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THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 % ^obd. 
 
 -'(Sntbei)ren foUjt bu : foUjt entbet)rcnr 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 [^// Rights Reserved.'] 
 

 
 ^0 
 
 A. C. H., 
 
 IN SLIGHT TOKEN 
 
 OF 
 
 MY GEATITUDE AND AFFECTION, 
 
..^SQ:^ 
 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 
 
 EES ANGUSTA DOMI. 
 
 
 HAPTER 
 I. 
 
 ... ... ... 
 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 ... ... ... 
 
 ... 11 
 
 III. 
 
 . 
 
 ... 27 
 
 IV. 
 
 ... ... ... 
 
 ... 35 
 
 V. 
 
 ... ... 
 
 ... 42 
 
 I. 
 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 46 
 
 87 
 109 
 127 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 
 136 
 155 
 
 168 
 186 
 202 
 
 I. 
 II. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 EUGEN COURVOISIER. 
 
 223 
 252 
 
THE FIRST YIOLIK 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 RES AN GUST A DOMI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MISS HALLAM. 
 
 ONDEHFUL weather for April !" 
 Yes, it certainly was wonderful. 
 I fully agreed with the senti- 
 ment expressed at different periods of the 
 day by different members of my family ; 
 but I did not follow their example and 
 seek enjoyment 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 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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, save for Jane, our domestic, 
 who was carolling 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 my- 
 self, and went to the window — a pleasant, 
 sunny bay. In that window stood a small 
 work-table, with a flower-pot upon it, con- 
 taining a lilac primula. I remember it dis- 
 tinctly to this day, and I 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, 
 tenderly lighted by an April sun, to where 
 the river — the Skern — shone with a pleasant, 
 homely, silvery glitter, twining through the 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 smiling meadows till lie bent round the 
 solemn overhanging cliff crowned with mourn- 
 ful firs, which went by the name of the 
 Kifted or Riven Scaur. 
 
 In some such delightful mead might the 
 white-armed Nausicaa have tossed her cow- 
 slip balls amongst 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 striking four. 
 
 As if the striking of the hour had been a 
 signal for the breaking of a spell, the silence 
 that had prevailed came to 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 accus- 
 tomed to the grim contrasts amidst which 
 they live !" 
 
 1—2 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 I suffered my thoughts to wander off in 
 some such track as this, but they were all 
 through dominated by a heavy sense of op- 
 pression — 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 023ened. Jane held it open 
 and said nothing (a trifling habit of hers, 
 which used to cause me much annoyance), 
 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 neighbour, but a great 
 stranger to us nevertheless, so far, that is, as 
 personal intercourse went. 
 
 "Your servant told me that every one was 
 out except Miss May," she remarked in a 
 harsh, decided voice, as she looked not so 
 much at me as towards me, and I perceived 
 that there was something strange about her 
 eves. 
 
 " Yes ; I am sorry," I began doubtfully. 
 
 She had sallow, strongly-marked, but 
 proud and aristocratic features, and a manner 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 with more than a tinge of imperiousness. 
 Her face, her figure, her voice were famihar, 
 yet strange to me — famihar because I had 
 heard of her, and been in the habit of occa- 
 sionally seeing her from my very earliest child- 
 hood ; strange, because she was reserved and 
 not given to seeking her neighbours' 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 httle 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 T 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " He is well too, thank you. He has a 
 funeral this afternoon." 
 
 " I think you have two sisters, have you 
 
 not r 
 
 ^^ 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 whilst you can." 
 
 " I am not at all happy," I replied, not 
 thinking of what I was saying, and then 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 feeling that I could have bitten my tongue 
 out with vexation. What could it possibly 
 matter to 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 disagreeable ?" 
 
 " Oh no r 
 
 '^ Are your parents unkind '?" 
 
 '^ Unkind /" I echoed, thinking what a very 
 extraordinary woman she was, and wondering 
 what kind of experience hers could have been 
 in the past. 
 
 ^' Then I can not imagine what cause for 
 unhappiness you can have," she said com- 
 posedly. 
 
 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, 
 
7 HE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 grim and forbidding, with thin lips curved in a 
 mocking smile, and glittering, snake-like eyes 
 fixed upon my face. I shivered faintly ; and 
 she, though looking quickly at me, seemed to 
 think she had said enough about my unhappi- 
 ness. Her next question surprised me much. 
 
 ^' Are you fair in complexion T she in- 
 quired. 
 
 ^^ Yes," said I. '^ I am very fair — fairer 
 than either of my sisters. But are you near- 
 sighted T 
 
 "' Near sight^e^s," she replied, with a bitter 
 little laugh. ^^ Cataract. I have so many 
 joys in my life that Providence has thought 
 fit to temper the sunshine of my lot. I am to 
 content myself with the store of pleasant re- 
 membrances with which my mind is crowded^ 
 when I can see nothing outside. A delightful 
 arrangement. It is what pious people call a 
 ' cross ' or a ^ visitation ' or something of that 
 kind. I am not pious, and I call it the 
 destruction of what little happiness I had." 
 
 " Oh, I am very, verij 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^ 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 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 T 
 
 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 o:oinof too far. I wished most 
 ardently that my mother or Adelaide had 
 been there to take the weight of such a con- 
 versation 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 
 
10 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 go away again as soon as you like. Will 
 you r 
 
 '' 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 away towards 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. 
 
 " Traversons gravement ce mediant mascaracle qu'on 
 appelle le monde." 
 
 .HE houses in Skernford — the houses 
 of the "gentry" that is to say — lay 
 almost all on one side an old- 
 fashioned, sleepy-looking "green," towards 
 which their entrances lay ; but their real front, 
 their pleasantest aspect, w^as on their 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 hou^, the Grange, 
 farthest from the church. Between these, 
 larger and more imposing, in grounds beside 
 which ours seemed to dwindle down to a few 
 flower-beds, lay Deeplish Hall, whose owner, 
 
12 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Sir Peter Le Marchant had lately come ta 
 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 Avill 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 innocent 
 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 neighbour, 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 afterwards found — as I thought 
 when I first saw her. She seldom appeared 
 either in church or upon any other public 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 13 
 
 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 re- 
 port 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 in 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 as firmly, was that the 
 Baronet had ill-treated his wife — in what 
 way was not distinctly specified, but I 
 have since learnt that it was true ; she 
 was a gentle creature, and he made her life 
 miserable unto her. She was idolised by her 
 
14 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 elder sister, who, burning with indignation at 
 the treatment to which her darhng had been 
 subjected, had become, even in disposition, 
 an altered woman. 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 with- 
 drawn entirely from society, cherishing a per- 
 petual 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 corres- 
 pondence, 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 be- 
 come forgotten. 
 
 It was only since Sir Peter had appeared 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 15 
 
 suddenly some six Aveeks ago at Deeplisli 
 Hall, that these dry bones of tradition 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, raking up old 
 stories, and attributing to him various evil 
 qualities of a hard and loveless old age. But 
 after he had gone, the verdict of Stella and 
 myself was, ''Much worse than we expected."" 
 He was different from what we had expected. 
 Perhaps that annoyed us. Instead of being 
 able to laugh at him, we found something 
 oppressive, chilling, to me frightful, in the 
 cold sneering smile which seemed perpetually 
 hovering about his thin lips — in the fixed, 
 snaky glitter of his still, intent grey 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 
 
16 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 look- 
 ing at me with expression of approval. 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 ap- 
 proval. I had expressed my opinion on the 
 subject 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 mo- 
 ment of seeing Sir Peter, I had felt an 
 uncomfortable, uneasy feeling, which had I 
 been sentimental I might have called a pre- 
 sentiment, but I was not sentimental. I 
 was a healthy young girl of seventeen, be- 
 lieving 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 dis- 
 tractions of the most limited description 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 17 
 
 imaginable, but at least we knew no evil, and 
 — I speak for Stella and myself — 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', 
 2^ 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 hear 
 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 li^as repulsive ; he was 
 stealthy, hard, cruel, in appearance. I could 
 not account for Adelaide's perversity in liking 
 him, and passed puzzled days and racked my 
 brain in conjecture as to why when Sir Peter 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
81 THE FIRST VIOLIN:-. 
 
 came, Adelaide sliould be always at home, 
 always neat and fresh — not like me. Why 
 w^as 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 committed 
 the fatal mistake of pretending to be up in 
 the 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. Some one 
 said — I overheard it — that 'Hhat hand- 
 some Miss Wedderburn was undoubtedly 
 setting her cap at Sir Peter Le Marchant." 
 Never shall I forget the fury which at 
 first possessed me, the conviction 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 becoming 
 Lady Le Marchant. I shed countless tears 
 over the miserable discovery, and dared not 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIJSr, 19 
 
 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 oflance from that hated and chillino;; 
 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 know- 
 ledge 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 it had not been noticed ; but all my 
 joy Vas 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 listless- 
 ness and sadness. They all came back : my 
 father from the church ; my mother and Ade- 
 
 2—2 
 
20 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 laide from Darton, whither they had been on 
 a shopping expedition ; 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 into 
 the garden, and took my way towards the 
 river. I passed an arbour 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 apostro- 
 phised 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 
 €Ould confide. It gave me a strange sense of 
 loneliness and aloofness, and hardened me 
 more than the reading of a hundred satires 
 on the meannesses of society. 
 
 I went along the terrace by the river-side, 
 and looked up to the left — traces of Sir 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 21 
 
 Peter again. There was the terrace of 
 Deephsh 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. II 
 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 garden 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 Le 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 3" 
 
 and was sadly wondering what I could do to 
 escape from the net in which I felt myself 
 caught, when a shadow darkened the twihght 
 
22 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 in which I stood, and looking up I saw Sir 
 Peter, and heard these words : 
 
 '' Good-evening, Miss Wedderburn. Are 
 you enjoying a httle stroll T 
 
 By, as it seemed to me^ some strange 
 miracle all my inward 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 groundless, and my own vanity 
 and self-consciousness of unparalleled propor- 
 tions, or whether I had judged truly, and had 
 good reason for my qualms and anticipa- 
 tions. 
 
 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 im- 
 pulse to cover my face with my hands, and run 
 shuddering away from him. " I thank you 
 for the honour you offer me, and beg to 
 decline it." 
 
 He looked surprised, and still continued to 
 urge me in a manner which roused a deep 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 23 
 
 inner feeling of indignation within me, for it 
 seemed to say that he understood me to be 
 overwhehiied with the honour he proposed 
 to confer upon me, and humoured 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 some- 
 thing that turned my heart cold within me — 
 a cool, sneering tone, which not all his pro- 
 fessions 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 countenance 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 sceptic with 
 regard to the worth of women. He did not 
 
24 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 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 courteous to the last — till I had fairly 
 made Sir Peter understand that no earthly 
 power should induce me to marry him ; 
 till I had let him see that I fully compre- 
 hended the advantages of the position he 
 offered me, and declined them. 
 
 '' Miss Wedderburn," said he at last — and 
 his voice was 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 without reference to my parents. 
 In such a matter I judge for myself" 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 25. 
 
 *^ Always the same answer T 
 
 " Alw^ays the same, Sir Peter." 
 
 *^ It would be mosb ungentlemanly to press 
 the subject any further." His eyes were 
 fixed upon me with the same cold, snake-like 
 smile. ^' I will not be guilty of such a sole- 
 cism. 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 question, 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 disinte- 
 rested a person as yourself A different 
 disposition, though — quite. Will you allow 
 me to touch your hand before I retire '?" 
 
 Trembling with uneasy forebodings roused 
 by his continual 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, 
 
26 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Lucifer, Star of the Morning ! 
 
 How art thou fallen !" 
 
 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 sweet briar 
 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. 
 
28 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 There was a door between her room and 
 mine, and presently she passed it, and bear- 
 ing 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, 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 back-boards to teach 
 them uprightness, no master of deportment 
 to instil grace into their movements. Her 
 toilette and mine were not, as may be sup- 
 posed, 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 fresh- 
 ness ; 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. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIK 29 
 
 was just illumined by tlie candle she held, 
 and the light also caught the crown of mas- 
 sive 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 T 
 
 '^ It does not matter to any one." 
 
 " Indeed it does. You were talking to 
 Sir Peter Le Marchant. I saw you meet him 
 from my bedroom window." 
 
 '^ Did you r 
 
 ^^ 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 suffer- 
 ing acutely. 
 
 " He did." 
 
 '' Well, I suppose it would be a little diffi- 
 cult to accept him." 
 
 '' I did not accept him." 
 
 '' What T she inquired, as if she had not 
 quite caught what I said. 
 
 '' I refused him," said I, slightly raising 
 my voice. 
 
30 THE FIRST VIOLTN. 
 
 " What are you telling me T 
 
 '■^ The truth." 
 
 '' Sir Peter has fif— " 
 
 ^^ Don't mention Sir Peter to me aofain,'^ 
 said I nervously, and feeling as if my heart 
 would break. I had never quarrelled with 
 Adelaide before. No reconciliation after- 
 wards could ever make up for the anguish 
 which I was going through now. 
 
 '^ Just listen to me," she said, bending over 
 me, her lips 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 in- 
 come — naturally it would have been strange 
 if he hadn't — what is to become of us when 
 he is dead T 
 
 *' We can work." 
 
 '« Work 1" said she, with inexpressible 
 scorn. " Work ! Pray what can we do in 
 the way of work ? What kind of education 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 31 
 
 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 labour does not pay in these 
 days." 
 
 " I am sure you can do anything, Ade- 
 laide, 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 your- 
 self 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 amuse- 
 ment, and now you behave like a baby. You 
 refuse to endure a little discomfort, as the 
 price of placing yourself and your family for 
 ever 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 
 I thought you had more in you. Is it pos- 
 sible that you are nothing but a romp — 
 
32 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 nothing but a vulgar 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 dis- 
 gusting, too unkind !" 
 
 ^' Oh ! Adelaide, nothing could have made 
 up for being tied to that man," said I in a 
 small voice ; '' and I am not ambitious." 
 
 " Ambitious ! You are selfish — downright, 
 grossly, inordinately selfish. Do you suppose 
 no one else ever had to do what they did not 
 like ? Why did you not stop to tMnlz, instead 
 of rushing away from the thing like some 
 unreasoning animal T 
 
 '' 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 my- 
 self to him '?" 
 
 '^ And who would think any the worse of 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 33 
 
 you % And what if they did % With fifteen 
 thousand a year you may defy pubhc 
 opinion." 
 
 '' Oh, don't ! don't !" I cried, covering my 
 face with my hands. ^^ Adelaide, you will 
 break my heart 1" 
 
 Burying my face in the bed-quilt, I sobbed 
 irrepressibly. Adelaide's apparent uncon- 
 sciousness of, or callousness to, the stabs 
 she w^as 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 distractingly ; 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 realise that the Res domiy which 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
34 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 had always seemed to me so abundant for all 
 occasions, were really Res angusta, and that 
 circumstances might occur in which they 
 would be miserably inadequate. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Zu Rathe gehen, imd vom Rath zur That." 
 
 Briefe Beethoven's. 
 
 ^^^HERE was surely not much in 
 Miss Hallam to encourasre con- 
 fidences ; 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 Peter Le 
 Marchant's proposal to me, about Adelaide's 
 behaviour ; when, in halting and stammering 
 tones, and interrupted by tears, I confessed 
 that I had not spoken to my father or 
 mother upon the subject, and that I was 
 
 3—2 
 
36 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 Mar- 
 chant, 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 of 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 subjected to a re- 
 currence of it. I will think about it. Will 
 you have the goodness to read me a page of 
 this book T 
 
 Much surprised at this very abrupt change 
 of the subject, but not daring to make any 
 observation upon it, I took the book^the 
 current number of a magazine — and read a 
 page to her. 
 
 "That will do," said she. "Now, will 
 you read this letter, also aloud T 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 37 
 
 She put a letter into my hand, and I 
 read : 
 
 •" ' Dear Madam, 
 
 '^ ' In answer to your letter of 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 AUeestrasse. Dr. 
 Mittendorf, the oculist, lives not far from 
 here, and the Stadtische Augenhlinih — 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. 
 "No." 
 '' That lady writes from Elberthal. You 
 
38 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 have heard of Elberthal on the Rhine, I 
 presume T 
 
 ^' Oh yes ! A large town. There used 
 to be a fine picture-gallery there ; but in 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 sang, as well as 
 I could, an English version of ^' Die Lotus- 
 hlume." 
 
 My performance was greeted with silence, 
 which Miss Hallam at length broke, re- 
 marking : 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 39 
 
 ^' I suppose you have not had much 
 training T 
 
 ^^ 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 ad- 
 vantages with regard to those things — music 
 and singing, and so on. Will you come 
 there with me as my companion T 
 
 I heard, but did not fairly understand. 
 My head was in a whirl. Go to Germany 
 with Miss Hallam ; leave Skernford, 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 T 
 
40 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 '' You haven't answered me yet." 
 
 ''About being useful? I would do any- 
 thing 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 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 sentimentalising, you will take 
 your courage in your hands and come with 
 me." 
 
 " Miss Hallam," said I, with tragic ear- 
 nestness, 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 T 
 
 " 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, if you like to call yourself so, 
 do. It is decided that you come with me. 
 I will see your father about it to-morrow. I 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 41 
 
 always get my own way when I wish it. I 
 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 get- 
 ting away from Skernford was almost too 
 delightful ; the remembrance of Adelaide 
 made my heart ache. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Ade nun ihr Berge, ihr vaterlich Haus ! 
 Es treibt in die Feme mich niiichtig hinaus." 
 
 VOLKSLIED. 
 
 ONSENT 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 pros- 
 pects to Adelaide. I feared she would re- 
 sent my good fortune in going abroad, and 
 that her anger at my having spoiled those 
 other prospects would remain unabated. 
 Moreover a deeper feeling separated me from 
 her now- — the knowledge that there lay a 
 great gulf of feeling, sentiment, opinion be- 
 tween us, which nothing could bridge over 
 
THE FIRS7 VIOLIN. 43 
 
 or do away with. Outwardly w^e miglit be 
 amiable and friendly to each other, but con- 
 fidence, union, was fled for ever. Once again 
 in the future, I was destined, when our re- 
 spective 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 
 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 Avas 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 con- 
 templating 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 T 
 
 "Yes, Adelaide." 
 
 ^^ What are you going to do there T 
 
 ^^ My duty, I hope." 
 
 '' Charity, my dear, and duty too, begins at 
 
44 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 T 
 
 '"■ You know I always have wished to go." 
 
 ^^Sodol." 
 
 " I wish you were going too," said I 
 timidly. 
 
 ''Thank you. My views upon the subject 
 are quite different. When / 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 you will — which was 
 to be played in my absence. I had been up 
 the village to the post-office, and was return- 
 ing, when I saw advancing towards me two 
 figures which I had cause to remember — 
 my sister's queenly height; her white hat 
 over her eyes, and her sunshade in her hand. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 45 
 
 and beside her tlie 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 downwards to- 
 wards the Baronet. I shrank into a cottage 
 to avoid them as they came past, and waited. 
 Adelaide was saying : 
 
 " Proud — yes, I am proud, I suppose. Too 
 proud, at least, to " 
 
 There ! Out of hearing. They had passed. 
 I hurried out of the cottage, and home. 
 
 The next day I met Miss Hallam and her 
 maid (we three travelled 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 worlds 
 thought I. 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Ein Held aus der Fremde, gar kiihn." 
 
 E had left Brussels and Belgium 
 behind, had departed from the 
 regions of Chemins de fer, and 
 entered those of Eiseribalinen. We were at 
 Cologne, where we had to change, and wait 
 half an hour before we could go on to Elber- 
 thal. 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 some- 
 
THE FIRS! VIOLIN, 47 
 
 where in the dhn distance. Merrick, Miss 
 Hallam's maid, had to give her whole and 
 entire attention to her mistress. I followed 
 close in their wake, until^ as we had almost 
 come to the train, I cast my eyes downwards 
 and perceived that there was missing from 
 my arm a grey 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 particu- 
 larly 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 under 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 faculty for losing myself. 
 
48 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 platforms, offices, or booking-offices. 
 Glancing hastily round, I selected that door 
 which appeared to my imperfectly-developed 
 " locahty " to promise egress upon the plat- 
 form, jDushed it open, and going along a 
 covered passage, and through another door^ 
 found myself, 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 incognita back to my friends. 
 
 Gepdck- Expedition y I read, and thought it 
 did not sound promising. Telegraphs hureaiL 
 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 Elberthal train going away, 
 and my heart sank deep, deep within my 
 breast. I knew no German word. All I 
 could say was " Elberthal ;" and my nearest 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 49 
 
 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 consideration, 
 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. Yain delusion ! Decep- 
 tive dream of the fancy I There was a glass 
 window through which I looked and saw a 
 street thronged with passengers 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 I How I seized his arm, and drop- 
 ping my rugs gesticulated excitedly and 
 panted forth the word " Elberthal !" 
 
 '' Elberthal T said he in a guttural 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 bass ; ^^ Wollt Hit nacli Elherthal, Frdulein- 
 chen f 
 
 There was an impudent twinkle in his eye, 
 as it were impertinence trying to get the 
 better of beer, and I reiterated " Elberthal," 
 going very red, and cursing all foreign 
 speeches by my gods — a process often em- 
 ployed, I believe, by cleverer persons than I, 
 with reference to things they do not under- 
 stand. 
 
 '^ Sclionfort, Frdulein,'' he continued, Avith 
 a grin. 
 
 '' But w^here — what — Elberthal r 
 
 He was about to make some further reply, 
 when, turning, he seemed to see some one, 
 and assumed a more respectful demeanour. 
 I too turned, and saw at some little distance 
 from us a gentleman sauntering along, who, 
 though coming towards 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 new-comer drew nearer, and the porter, 
 taking the opportunity of quitting a scene 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 51 
 
 wliicli 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 ujD as if he beheld me or in any way 
 remarked my presence. His eyes were bent 
 towards 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 Kafir's Fifth Symphonie, 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 
 suddenly up, as if startled, fixed upon me a 
 pair of eyes which gave me a kind of shock ; 
 so keen, so bright, 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 daAvn 
 upon his lips. Not an Enghshman. I should 
 have known him for an outlander anywhere. 
 
 4—2 
 
52 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 think of my agony of blushes 
 in that immemorial moment.) I saw a hand- 
 some — 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 seem,ed to penetrate through and 
 through me ; while a slight smile curled the 
 light moustache upwards — a general aspect 
 which gave me the impression that he was 
 not only a personage, but a very great per- 
 sonage — with a flavour of something else 
 permeating it all which puzzled me 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 : 
 
 " Mein Frdulein, in what can I assist 
 you i 
 
 His English was excellent — his bow like 
 nothing I had seen before. Convinced that 
 I had met a genuine, thorough fine gentle- 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 53 
 
 man (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 the crowed I lost my friends, and — I 
 was going to Elberthal, and I turned the 
 wrong way — and — " 
 
 ^' Have come to destruction, niclit ivalir f " 
 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 r 
 
 " There is another — let me see — in one 
 hour — two — ivill 'mat nachsehen. Will you 
 come with me, Fraulein, and we will see 
 about the trains." 
 
 " If you would show me the platform," 
 said I. '' Perhaps some of them may still 
 be there. Oh, what ivill they think of me T 
 
 '' 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, 
 
54 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 lioio I could have lost 
 myself increased every minute. He 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 
 expected, yet my face fell when I saw how 
 utterly and entirely my party had disap- 
 peared. 
 
 ^^ You see them not T he inquired. 
 
 ^^No — they are gone," said I, turning 
 away from the window and choking down 
 a sob, not very effectually. Turning my 
 damp and sorrow^ful eyes to my companion, I 
 found he was still smiling to himself as if 
 quietly amused at the whole adventure. 
 
 '^ I'll go and see at 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 55 
 
 of ao^reeable mental leo^erdemain I was still 
 occupied when he returned. 
 
 *^ It is now half-past three, and there is a 
 train to Elberthal at seven." 
 
 " Seven r 
 
 " Seven : a very pleasant time to travel, 
 nielit ivahr? Then it is still quite light." 
 
 ^' So long ! Three hours and a half," I 
 murmured dejectedly, 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 favour ?" 
 
 " Bitte, mein Frdulein /" 
 
 ^' If you could show me exactly where the 
 train starts from, and — could I get a ticket 
 now, do you think T 
 
 "• I'm afraid not, so long before," he an- 
 swered, twisting his moustache, 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, re- 
 moving with great deliberation the bundles 
 
56 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 Avould be of no use. I am so 
 frightened of those men in blue coats and 
 big moustaches. I should not be able to say 
 a word to any of them." 
 
 " German is sometimes not unlike Eng- 
 lish." 
 
 '^ It is like nothing to me, except a great 
 mystery." 
 
 '' Billet is ' ticket,' " said he persua- 
 sively. 
 
 '^ Oh, is it T said I, with a gleam of hojDe. 
 '' Perhaps I could remember that. Billet'^' I 
 repeated reflectively. 
 
 '' BiKe^," he amended ; '' not BilXiir 
 
 " Bill-yet— Bill-?/e?^;' I repeated. 
 
 '' And ' to Elberthal ' may be said in one 
 word, ^Elberthal.' ^ Ein Billet — Elberthal — 
 erster Classe.J' 
 
 " Ein Bill-yet,'' I repeated automatically^ 
 for my thoughts were dwelling more upon 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 57 
 
 the charming quandary in which I found 
 myself, than upon his half-good-natured, 
 half- mocking instructions : '^ Ein Bill- yet, 
 Jirste — erste — it is of no use. I can't say it. 
 But " — here a brilliant idea struck me — '' if 
 you would write it out for me on a paper, 
 and then I could give it 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 ivalh to 
 Elberthal !" I suggested 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 !" 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. 
 Meanwhile he, without apparently feeling it 
 
58 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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, I held my 
 peace and bowed assentingly). He went on, 
 ^^ And I was delayed a httle. 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 undeveloped condition, I subsided 
 into silence, as he went on : 
 
 '^ I hope your friends will not be very 
 uneasy T 
 
 " Oh dear no !" I assured him, with a 
 pious conviction that I was speaking the 
 truth. 
 
 '^We shall arrive at Elberthal about 8.30." 
 
 I scarcely heard. I had plunged my hand 
 into my pocket, and found — a hideous con- 
 viction crossed mv mind. / had no money ! 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 59 
 
 I had, until this moment totally forgotten 
 having given my purse to Merrick to keep ; 
 and she, as pioneer of the party, naturally 
 had all our tickets under her charge. My 
 heart almost stopped beating. It was un- 
 heard of, horrible, 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 spend three hours and a half in 
 the station. / want some dinner. A four 
 hours' Prohe is apt to make one a little 
 hungry. Come, we will go and have some- 
 thing to eat." 
 
 The idea had evidently come to him as a 
 species of inspiration, 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 conscious- 
 ness. 
 
 " Perhaps you think not ; but you are, 
 all the same," he said. '' Come with me. 
 
60 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Fraulein. You have put yourself into luy 
 hands ; you must do what I tell you." 
 
 I followed him mechanically out of the 
 station and down the street, and I tried to 
 realise that instead of being with Miss Hal- 
 lam and Merrick^ my natural and respectable 
 protectors, safely and conventionally plod- 
 ding the slow way in the slow continental 
 train to the slow continental town^ I was 
 parading about the streets of Koln 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 unques- 
 tioningly, 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 feehng, that it had 
 been some nice old lady with whom I had 
 fallen in : it would have made the whole ad- 
 venture blameless, and, comparatively speak- 
 ing, agreeable. 
 
 We went along a street, and came to an 
 hotel, a large building, into which my con- 
 ductor walked, spoke to a waiter, and we 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 61 
 
 were shown into the restaurant, full of round 
 tables, and containmg some half-dozen parties 
 of people. I followed, with stony resigna- 
 tion. It was the severest trial of all, this 
 coming to an hotel alone with a gentleman in 
 broad daylight. I caught sight of a reflec- 
 tion in a mirror of a tall, pale girl, with 
 heavy, tumbled auburn hair, a brown hat 
 which suited her, and a severely simple 
 travelling-dress. I did not realise 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 comparatively secluded window 
 recess, partially overhung with curtains. 
 
 " How very kind and considerate of him !" 
 thought I. 
 
 " Would you rather have wine or coffee, 
 Fraulein V 
 
 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." 
 
 "Oh, doclil You must have something," 
 said he, smiling. '' I will order something. 
 Don't trouble about it." 
 
62 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ^' Don't order anything for me/' said I, 
 my cheeks burning again. '^ I shall not eat 
 anything." 
 
 ^^ If you do not eat^ you will be ill. Re- 
 member^ we do not get to Elberthal before 
 eight/' said he. ^^ Is it perhaps disagreeable 
 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 see- 
 ing 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 meaningly 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 circumstances. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 63 
 
 My companion took up a K'Olnische Zeitung^ 
 and glanced over the advertisements, wliile I 
 looked a little stealthily at him, and for the 
 first time took in more exactly what he was 
 like, and grew more puzzled wdth him each 
 moment. As he leaned upon the table, one 
 slight, long, brown hand propping his head, 
 and half 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 degenerate 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- 
 pressing. It had always looked to me more hke 
 
€4 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 liair-undressing. This hair fell in a heavy wave 
 over his forehead, and he had the habit, com- 
 mon 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 Avith lashes and brows 
 which enhanced the contrast to a complexion 
 at once fair and pale. A light moustache, 
 curving almost straight across the face, gave 
 a smiling expression to lips which were other- 
 wise grave, calm, almost sad. In fact, look- 
 ing 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 re- 
 moved from absolute mournfulness. Broad- 
 shouldered, long-armed, with a "physique in 
 every respect splendid, he was yet very dis- 
 tinctly removed from the mere handsome 
 animal 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 telling of a firm, 
 not to say imperious disposition ; a certain 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 65 
 
 €iirve 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 appear- 
 ance 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 — grey sum- 
 mer 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 grey Studentenhilte with which 
 Elberthal soon made me familiar, but which 
 struck me then as odd and outlandish. I 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
66 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 grew every moment more interested in my 
 scrutiny of this, to me, fascinating and re- 
 markable face, and liad forgotten to try to 
 look as if I were not looking, when he looked 
 up suddenly, 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 T 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 im- 
 perfect idiom. ^^ But have you decided T 
 
 '' Decided what T 
 
 '' Whether I am to be trusted ?" 
 
 '^ I have not been thinking about that," I 
 said uncomfortably, when to my relief the 
 appearance of the waiter Avith 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 Mittag- 
 essen, and too early for the Ahendbrod. Can 
 you suggest a name T 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 67 
 
 '^ At home it would be just the time for 
 afternoon tea." 
 
 ^^ Ah, yes I Your English afternoon tea is 
 very " He stopped suddenly. 
 
 ^' Have you been in England T 
 
 ^' This is just the time at which we drink 
 our afternoon coffee in Germany," said he, 
 looking at me with his impenetrably bright 
 eyes, just as if he had never heard me. 
 '^ When the ladies all meet together to talk 
 scan — Oh, hehilte ! what am I saying ? — to 
 consult seriously upon important topics, you 
 know. There are some low-minded persons 
 who call the whole ceremony a Klatscli — 
 KajfeeJdatscli. I am sure you and I shall talk 
 seriously upon important subjects, so suppose 
 we call this our KcfffeeMatsch, although Ave 
 have no coffee to it." 
 
 " Oh yes, if you like." 
 
 He put a piece of cutlet upon my plate, 
 and poured yellow wine into my glass. En- 
 deavouring to conduct myself with the dignity 
 of a grown-up person and to show that I did 
 know something, I inquired if the wine were 
 hock. 
 
 He smiled. '^ It is not Hochheimer — not 
 
 5—2 
 
G8 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Rheinwein at all — he — no, it, you say — it is 
 Moselle Avine — ' Doctor.' " 
 
 '' Doctor r 
 
 ^^ Doctorherger ; I do not know why so 
 called. And a very good fellow too — so say 
 all his friends, of whom I am a warm one. 
 Try him." 
 
 I complied with the admonition, and was 
 able to say that I liked Doctorherger. We 
 ate and drank in silence for some little time, 
 and I found that I w^as very hungry. I also 
 found that I could not conjure up any real 
 feeling of discomfort or uneasiness, and that 
 the prospective scolding from Miss Hallam 
 had no terrors in it for me. Never had I felt 
 so serene in mind, never more at ease in every 
 way, than now. I felt that this was wrong — 
 Bohemian, irregular, and not respectable, and 
 tried to get up a little unhappiness about 
 something. 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 was 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 69 
 
 already gone^, as you know. I shall not be 
 able to fulfil my engagements for to-night^ so 
 it really does not matter. I am enjoying my- 
 self very much." 
 
 '^ I am very glad I did meet you/' said I, 
 growing more reassured as I found that my 
 companion^ though exceedingly polite and at- 
 tentive to me, did not ask a question as to my 
 business, my travelling companions, my in- 
 tended 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 httle 
 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, Avith the same odd 
 smile which took me by surprise every time I 
 saw it : 
 
 '' The pleasure is certainly not all on your 
 side, mein Frdulein. I suppose from that 
 you have decided that I am to be trusted V 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 impres- 
 sions to me, and while I could no more have 
 said what it was like the moment 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 so- 
 briquet 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 inter- 
 course with my venerable suitor. Sir Peter, I 
 had come a little nearer to being actively 
 aware that I was good-looking, only to anathe- 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 71 
 
 niatise 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 involun- 
 tary 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 T was all he 
 said \ but it seemed somehow to give a point 
 to what had passed. 
 
 " The Dom— what is the Dom T 
 
 "The Kolner Dom; the cathedral." 
 
 '' Oh no I Oh, should we have time to see 
 it ?" I exclaimed. '' How I should like it 1" 
 
 " 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, grumb- 
 ling at every groschen she had to unearth in 
 payment. 
 
 Before we could leave our seclusion there 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 came up to us a young man who had looked at 
 us through the door and paused. I had seen 
 him ; had seen how he said something to a 
 companion^ and how the companion shook his 
 head dissentingly. The first speaker came up 
 to us, eyed me with a look of curiosity, and 
 turning to my protector with a benevolent 
 smile, said : 
 
 ^^ Eugen Courvoisier I Also hatte ich dock 
 Recht r 
 
 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 enthu- 
 siasm decided that it was a very good name. 
 The new comer, who seemed as if much 
 pleased with some discovery, and entertained 
 at the same time, addressed some questions to 
 Courvoisier, who answered him tranquilly 
 but in a tone of voice Avhich was very freez- 
 ing; and then the other, with a few words and 
 an unbelieving kind of laugh, said something 
 about a sclione Geschichte, 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. It was the first cathedral I 
 had ever been in. The shock and the wonder 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 73 
 
 of its grandeur took my breath away. When 
 I had found courage to look round, and uj) at 
 those awful vaults the roofs, I could not help 
 crying a little. The vastness, coolness, still- 
 ness and splendour crushed me — the great 
 solemn rays of sunlight coming in slanting 
 glory through the windows — the huge height 
 — the impression it gave of greatness, and of a 
 religious devotion to which we shall never 
 again attain ; of pure, noble hearts, and 
 patient, skilful hands, toiling, but in a spirit 
 that made the toil a holy prayer — carrying 
 out the builder's thought — great thought 
 greatly executed — all was too much for me, 
 the more so in that while I felt it all I could 
 not analyse 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 towards the high altar,, 
 and there was some expression upon his face 
 which I could not analyse — not the expressiou 
 of a person for whom such a scene has grown 
 or can grow common by custom — not the ex- 
 
74 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 pression of a sight-seer who feels that he must 
 aclimre ; not my own first astonishment. At 
 least he felt it — the whole grand scene, and I 
 mstinctively and instantly felt more at home 
 with him than I had done before. 
 
 '' Oh !" said I at last, '' if one could stay 
 here for ever, what would 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 there seemed 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 
 little village, and never had any adventures, 
 and—" 
 
 '' Get lost at railway stations, iind so 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 75 
 
 welter, I don't know enough of the mean- 
 ing 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 communica- 
 tively : 
 
 ^^ Never. I have— not quarrelled with 
 them exactly, but had a disagreement, be- 
 cause — 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 T 
 
 ^' 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 married him." 
 
 " Ought /" He looked startled. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 '^Yes. Adelaide — my eldest sister — said 
 so. But it Avas no use. I was very un- 
 happy^ 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 pro- 
 mised to let me have sin^no^ lessons." 
 
 " Singing lessons T 
 
 I nodded. '^ Yes ; and then when I know 
 a good deal more about singing, I shall go 
 back again and give lessons. I shall sup- 
 port myself, and then no one Avill have the 
 right to want to make me marry Sir 
 Peter." 
 
 "Di^ lieber Himmel r he ejaculated, half 
 to himself '^ Are you very musical, then T 
 
 ^' I can sing," said I. '' Only I want some 
 more training." 
 
 '^ And you will go back all alone and try 
 to give lessons '?" 
 
 ^' I shall not only try, I shall do it." I 
 corrected him. 
 
 '^ And do you like the prospect ?" 
 
 " If I can get enough money to live upon, 
 I shall like it very much. It will be better 
 than living at home and being bothered." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 77 
 
 '' I will tell you what you should do before 
 you begin your career/' said he, looking at 
 nie with an expression half wondering, 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 
 'Colour. Get a mask to wear over your face, 
 which is too expressive ; do something to 
 your eyes to alter their — " 
 
 The expression then visible in the said eyes 
 seemed to strike him, for he suddenly stopped, 
 and with a slight laugh, said : 
 
 " Acli, tuas rede ich fur dummes Zeug ! 
 Excuse me, mein Frdulein" 
 
 '^ 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 
 
78 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 the highest compHment in it — that of credit- 
 ing me with right motives : 
 
 ^^ Mein Frdulein, how can I tell ? It is 
 only that I knew some one, rather older than 
 you, and very beautiful, who had such a 
 pursuit. Her name was Corona Heidel- 
 berger, 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 
 ojDeratic singer," I speculated. 
 
 '' Oh, hehilte ! don't think of it !" he ex- 
 claimed, starting up and moving restlessly. 
 ^^ You do not know — you an opera singer — " 
 
 He was interrupted. There suddenly filled 
 the air a sound of deep, heavenly melody, 
 which swept solemnly adown the aisles, and 
 filled with its melodious thunder every corner 
 of the great building. I listened with my 
 face upraised, my lips parted. It was the 
 organ, and presently, after a wonderful 
 melody, which set my heart beating — a 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 79 
 
 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 sang 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, 
 Droliet den Pfleger zu ermorden 
 Denn es ist zur Sclilano;e 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-sup- 
 pressed enthusiasm in his eyes. 
 
 " Be thankful for your first introduction to 
 German music," said he, '^and that it was 
 grand old Johann Sebastian Bach whom you 
 heard. That is one of the soprano solos in 
 the Passions-iniisik — that is music." 
 
 There was more music. A tenor voice was 
 singing a recitative now, and that exquisite 
 
80 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 accompaniment, Avitli a sort of joyful so- 
 lemnity, 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 Matthdus 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 sang, 
 ''Whom will ye that I give unto you ?" and 
 the answer came, crashing down in one 
 tremendous clap, ^^ Barrabam !" And such 
 music was in the Avorld, had been sung for 
 years, and I 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 : 
 
 '' Herrgott ! We must go to the station, 
 Fritulein, if we wish to catch the train." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 81 
 
 And yet I did not think he seemed very 
 eager to catch it, as we went through the 
 busy streets in the warmth of evening, for it 
 was hot, as it sometimes is 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 Avent 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 dis- 
 tinctly as lately in the cathedral. Again he 
 sat down beside me, silently this time. I 
 glanced at his face, and a strange, sharp, 
 pungent thrill shot through me. The com- 
 panion of a few hours — was he only 
 that? 
 
 '^Are you very tired'?" he asked gently, 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 
 towards the train for Elberthal. This time 
 no wrong turning, no mistake. Courvoisier 
 put me into an empty compartment, and 
 followed me, said something to a guard who 
 w^ent past, of which E could only distinguish 
 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 Cour- 
 voisier, 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 oj)en 
 window, and I looked through it at the grey, 
 Dutch-like landscape, the falling dusk, the 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 83 
 
 poplars that seemed sedately marching along 
 with us. 
 
 " Why do you want to know how much T 
 he demanded. 
 
 ^^ Because I shall want to pay you, of 
 course, when I get my purse/' said I. 
 " And if you will kindly tell me your ad- 
 dress, too — but how much money did you 
 spend T 
 
 He looked at me, seemed about to laugh 
 off the question, and then said : 
 
 ^^ I helieve it was about three thalers ten 
 groschen, but I am 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 were something not 
 quite as it should be in the whole proceeding, 
 I looked very earnestly at him, but could find 
 
 6—2 
 
84 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 nothing but the most perfect gravity in his 
 expression. I repeated my address and name 
 slowly and distinctly, as befitted so business- 
 like 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 what 
 you owe me," he replied, putting the little 
 book into his pocket again. 
 
 " I wonder if any one will come to meet 
 me," I speculated, my mind more at ease in 
 consequence of the business-like demeanour 
 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 said gravely. 
 
 Now the train rolled into the Elberthal 
 station. There were lights, movement, a 
 storm of people all gabbling away in a 
 
■■ THE FIRST VIOLIN. 85 
 
 foreign tongue. I looked out. No face of 
 any one I knew. Courvoisier sprang down 
 and helped me out. 
 
 " Now I will put you into a Dvosdikel' said 
 he, leading the way to where they stood out- 
 side the station. 
 
 '' Alleestrasse, thirty-nine," he said to the 
 man. 
 
 ^^ Stop one moment," cried I, leaning 
 eagerly out. At that moment a tall, dark 
 girl passed us, going slowly towards the 
 gates. She almost paused as she saw us. 
 She was looking at my companion; I did 
 not see her face, and was only conscious of 
 her as coming between me and him, and so 
 annoying me. 
 
 '' Please let me thank you," I continued. 
 '' You have been so kind, so very kind — " 
 
 '' Oh, hitte selir ! It was so kind in you to 
 get lost exactly when and where you did," 
 said he, smiling. ^' Adieu, mein Frdulein,'' 
 he added, making a sign to the coachman, 
 who drove off. 
 
 I saw him no more. " Eugen Courvoisier " 
 — I kept repeating the name to myself, as if 
 I were in the very least danger of forgetting 
 
86 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 it — " Eugen Courvoisier." — Now that I had 
 parted from him I was quite clear as to my 
 own feehngs. 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 gaily 
 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." 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 ANNA SARTORIUS. 
 
 WAS expected. That was very 
 evident. An excited - looking 
 Dienstmddchen 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 I you are here at 
 
88 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 last. I Avas beginning to think that if you 
 did not come by this train, I must send some 
 one to Kohl to look after you." 
 
 ^^ By this train !" I rej)eated 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." 
 
 " Then — then — " I stammered, growing hot 
 all over. " Oh, how horrihle /" 
 
 '^ What is horrible T she demanded. ^^ And 
 you must be starving. Merrick, 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 any one 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 any one know how — stu2^id I have been. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 89 
 
 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 grey 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 re- 
 gard me now and then as I ate with but small 
 apjDetite. I was too excited by what had 
 passed, and by Avhat 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 raihvay station 
 again, you will be able to ask your way." 
 
 Merrick shook her head with an inex- 
 pressibly bitter smile. 
 
 "I'd defy any one to learn this 'ere language, 
 ma'am. They call an accident a Unglilch : if 
 
90 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 any one could tell me what that means, I'd 
 tliank them, that's all." 
 
 '' Don't express your opinions, Merrick, 
 unless you wish to seem deficient . in under- 
 standing ; but go and see that Miss Wedder- 
 burn 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 cathedral, 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 T 
 
 ^' 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 (mief part of the company had already 
 breakfasted. Baskets full of BrodcJien and 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 91 
 
 pots of butter, a long indiarubber pipe coming 
 from the gas to light a Theemaschine — lots of 
 cane-bottomecl 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 mysteries, 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 iiiorgen, Frdulein,^^ she said, as she 
 marched up to the darkly mysterious Thee- 
 maschine and began deftly to prepare coffee 
 for me, and to push the Brodchen towards 
 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 had so long to wait in Koln, 
 
92 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 yesterday. She liked my dress, and was it 
 eclit EngliscJi — also, how much did it cost ? 
 
 She was a cheery little person, and I liked 
 her. She seemed to like me too, and re- 
 peatedly said she was glad I had come. She 
 liked dancing, she said. Did I ? And she 
 had lately danced at a ball with some one w^ho 
 danced so well — ciber, 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 u]Dstairs again, and found that Miss 
 Hallam proposed, 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 Ave set out. 
 
 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 linden, and on either side this 
 Lindenallee was the carriage road, private 
 houses, shops, exhibition s^ boarding-houses. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 93 
 
 In the middle, exactly opposite our dwelling, 
 was the New Theatre, just drawing to the 
 close of its first season. T looked at it with- 
 out thinking much about it. I had never 
 been in a theatre 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 narrow, ill-paved street, 
 the aspect of whose gutters and inhabitants 
 alike excited my liveliest disgust. In this 
 street was the Eye Hospital, as was presently 
 testified to us by a board bearing the inscrip- 
 tion, Stddtische Augenhlinik. 
 
 We were taken to a dimly-lighted room in 
 which many people were waiting, some with 
 bandages over their eyes, others with 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 some one come in without 
 
94 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 either bandage or spectacles. The new comer 
 was a young man of middle height, and of pro- 
 portions slight without being thin. There was 
 nothing the matter with /i^^' eyes, unless perhaps 
 a slight shortsightedness : 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^ endued 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 desks, took names 
 down, and attended to people in general, was 
 called by him : 
 
 ''Herr Helfen — Herr Friedhelm Hel- 
 fen!" 
 
 ^' Ja — liier /" he answered^ going up to the 
 desk, upon which there ensued a lively con- 
 versation, though carried on in a low tone, 
 after which the young man at the desk pre- 
 sented a white card to ^^Herr Friedhelm 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 95 
 
 Helfen," and the latter, with a pleasant 
 " adieu/' went out of the room again. 
 
 Miss Hallam and Merrick presently re- 
 turned from the consulting-room, and we 
 went out of the dark room into the street, 
 which was filled with spring sunshine and 
 Avarmth : a contrast somethinof like that he- 
 tween Miss Hallam's life and my own, I have 
 thought since. Far before us, hurrying on, I 
 saw the young man with the violin-case : he 
 turned off by the theatre, and went in at a 
 side door. 
 
 An hour s wandering in the Hofgarten — 
 my first view of the Rhine — a dull, flat stream 
 it looked, too. I have seen it since then in 
 mightier flow. Then we came home, and 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 downstairs, 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. 
 
96 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Two or three ladies were already seated, 
 and an exceedingly 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 be- 
 fore 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 honour 
 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 brunette, rather stout, with large dark eyes 
 which looked at me in a way I did not like, a 
 head of curly black hair cropped short, an 
 odd brusque manner, and a something pecu- 
 liar or, as she said, selten in her dress. This 
 young lady sustained the introduction with 
 self-possession and calm. It was otherwise 
 with the young gentlemen, who appeared de- 
 cidedly mixed. There were some half-dozen 
 of them in all — a couple of English, the rest 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 97 
 
 German, Dutch, and Swedish. I had never 
 been hi company with so many nationahties 
 before, and was impressed with my situation 
 — needlessly so. 
 
 All these young gentlemen made bows 
 which were, in their respective ways, triumphs 
 of awkwardness, with the exception 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 Sartorius immediately 
 opened a conversation with me. 
 
 " Sprechen Sie Deutsch, Fixiidein f " was her 
 first venture, and having received my admis- 
 sion that I did 7iot speak a word of it, she 
 continued in good English : 
 
 '^ Now I can talk to you without offending 
 you. It is so dreadful when English people 
 who don't know German persist in thinking 
 that they do. There ivas an Englishwoman 
 here who always said iver when she meant 
 where, and ivo 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 V she continued ; 
 
 VOL. I. 7 
 
98 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ''I didn't catch what Frau Steinmann 
 said." 
 
 '* May Wedderburn/' I rephed, angry with 
 myself for blushing so excessively as I saw 
 that all the boys held their spoons suspended, 
 listening for my answer. 
 
 ^' May — das lieisst i^fa^V' said she, turning 
 to the assembled 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 T 
 
 *^ Yes," said I, and all the boys began to 
 giggle as if something 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 retiringness Avould better have be- 
 come them. Giggling inanely at everything 
 and nothing. Noisy and vociferous amongst 
 themselves or with inferiors ; shy, aAvkward, 
 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. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 99 
 
 '' Will yon let me paint yon T said Franlein 
 Sartorins, whose big eyes had been snrveying 
 me in a manner that made me nervons. 
 
 '' Paint me T 
 
 " Yonr likeness, I mean. Yon are very 
 pretty, and we never see that colour of hair 
 here." 
 
 " Are you a painter T 
 
 '* No, I'm only a Studentin yet ; but I 
 paint from models. Well, will you sit to 
 mer 
 
 '' Oh, I don't know. If I have time, 
 perhaps." 
 
 '^ What will you do to make you not have 
 time ?" 
 
 I did not feel disposed to gratify her 
 curiosity, and said I did not know yet what 
 I should do. 
 
 For a short time she asked no more ques- 
 tions, then : 
 
 " Do you like town or country best ?" 
 
 " I don't know. I have never lived in a 
 town." 
 
 '' Do you Hke amusements — concerts, and 
 theatre, and opera ?" 
 
 '' I don't know," I was reluctantly obliged 
 
 7—2 
 
100 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 dont JcnoiVj'' repeated Fraulein Sar- 
 torius, quickly seeing through my thin 
 assumption of indiiference, and proceeding to 
 draw me out as much as possible. I wished 
 Adelaide 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 T she added, appealing 
 to the boys. ^' Fraulein has never been to a 
 theatre 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 re- 
 marked : 
 
 '^ It is evident that I have not enjoyed 
 your advantages, but I trust that the gentle- 
 men " (with a bow to the listening boys) 
 ^'will make allowances for the difference 
 between us." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 101 
 
 The young gentlemen burst into a cliorus 
 of delighted giggles^ and Anna^ shooting a 
 rapid glance at me^ made a slight grimace, 
 but looked not at all displeased. I was, 
 though, mightily; but, elate with victory, I 
 turned to my compatriot 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 T I inquired of Miss Sartorius, who 
 replied quite amiably : 
 
 " They are students at the Realschide. 
 They have to be there at two o'clock, and 
 they say, ' Blessed be the meal-time 1' as 
 they go out." 
 
 ^' Do they ? How nice !" I could not help 
 saying. 
 
 " Would you like to go for a walk this 
 afternoon ?" said she. 
 
102 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 '' 0\ very much !" I had exclaimed, before 
 I remembered that I did not Hke her, and did 
 not intend to hke her. " If Miss HaUam can 
 spare me/' I added. 
 
 '' Oh, I think she wilL I shall be ready 
 at half-jDast 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 aj^pointed w^e set 
 out. 
 
 Anna took me a tour round the town, 
 showed me the lions, and gave me topo- 
 graphical 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 reserved, 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. 
 Meet culpa ! 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 103 
 
 '^ It seems a dull kind of 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 T 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Brothers and sisters T 
 
 " Two sisters," I replied, mightily rufEed 
 Dy 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 me at dinner, nidit 
 wahr T 
 
 " 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 
 gojiicJie to try to smooth over my dislike. I 
 
104 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 did not know the pain I was giving, and if I 
 had, should perhaps not have behaved 
 differently. 
 
 '' Dock r she said, smiling. "But I did 
 not know what a child you were, or I should 
 have let 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 apologise 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 rough- 
 ness to her manner. In an enlightened 
 English home she would have been an admir 
 able, firm, clever woman ; here she was that 
 most dreadful of all abnormal growths — a 
 woman with a will of her own. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 105 
 
 '' What do they do here T I inquired in- 
 differently. 
 
 " 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 T 
 
 " 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 
 Rubinstein." * 
 
 " Ah, yes !" said I j)olitely, but without 
 interest. I had never heard of Rubinstein 
 and the Verlorenes Paraclies. Before the 
 furore of 1876, how many scores of provincial 
 English had ^ 
 
 " There is very much music here," she con- 
 tinued. ^^ Are you fond of it V 
 
 ^'Ye-es. I can't play much, but I can 
 sing. I have come here partly to take sing- 
 ing lessons." 
 
 '' So !" 
 
 '' Who is the best teacher V was my next 
 ingenuous question. 
 
106 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 She laughed. 
 
 " That depends upon what you want to 
 learn. There are so many ; violin, Clavier^ 
 that is piano, flute, 'cdlo, everything." 
 
 '^ Oh !" I replied, and asked no more ques- 
 tions 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 
 beheve some people like Elberthal very well. 
 There is the theatre — 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 some- 
 thing free and artist-like in his manner, in his 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 107 
 
 loose waving hair and in his keen suscepti- 
 bihty to beauty. I thought of his emotion 
 at hearing that glorious Bach music. Or was 
 he a musician — what Anna Sartorius called 
 ein MusiJcerf 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. I had never 
 formed to myself the faintest idea of a com- 
 poser, and my experience of teachers and 
 performers was limited to one specimen — Mr. 
 Smythe of Darton, whose method and per- 
 formances would, as I have since learnt, have 
 made the hair of a musician 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, accoutre- 
 ments rattling. He was ajDparently an ac- 
 quaintance 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 
 
108 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 doubt he was a soldier. In my igDorance of 
 the strictness of German mihtary regulations 
 as regards the wearing of uniform, I over- 
 looked 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 T \ inquired abruptly. 
 
 '"■ Hawptmannr 
 
 " Thank you." Hauptmann Eugen Cour- 
 voisier — a noble and a 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 came 
 Avithin my means. 
 
 As I took off my things, I wondered when 
 Herr Courvoisier would '^ make out his 
 accounts." I trusted soon. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese." 
 
 ISS HALLAM fulfilled her pro- 
 mise with regard to my singing 
 lessons. She had a conversation 
 with Fraulein Sartorius^ to whom, unpopular 
 as she was, I noticed people constantly 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 Vereine — the clubs — 
 societies, whatever you name them. At least 
 he might try Miss Wedderburn's voice." 
 
no THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ^'Whoisher 
 
 '^ The head of anything belonging to music 
 in the town — hdniglicJier Musik-direktor, He 
 conducts all the great concerts, 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 f 
 
 '' 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 — Musik-verein. The 
 chorus is chiefly composed of ladies and 
 gentlemen — amateurs, you know — Dilettan- 
 ten. The Herr Direktor is very particular 
 about voices. You pay so much for admis- 
 sion, and receive a card for the season. 
 Then you have all the good teaching — the 
 Prohen^ 
 
 ^^ What is a Probe ?" I demanded hastily, 
 remembering that Courvoisier had used the 
 word. 
 
 '^ What you call a rehearsal." 
 
 Ah ! then he was musical. At last I had 
 found it out. Perhaps he was one of the 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. Ill 
 
 amateurs who sang at these concerts, and if 
 so, I might see him again, and if so — But 
 Anna went on : 
 
 ^' It is a very good thing for any one, 
 particularly with such a teacher as Von 
 Francius." 
 
 "You must join/' said Miss Hallam to 
 me. 
 
 '^ There is Probe to-night to Bubinstein'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 people are shamefully late. Most 
 of them only come to hlatscli, 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 
 accepted I might even sing in the concert 
 
112 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 in- 
 quired. 
 
 "General Eehearsal — when Herr Yon 
 Francius is most unmerciful to his stupid 
 pupils. I always attend that. I like to 
 hear him make sport of them, and then the 
 instrumentalists laugh at them. Von Fran- 
 €ius never flatters." 
 
 Inspired with nightmare-like ideas as to 
 this terrible " Haupt-probe/' I found myself, 
 with Anna, turning into a low-fronted build- 
 ing inscribed Stddtisclie Tonhalle, the concert- 
 hall of the good town of Elberthal. 
 
 " This way," said she. " It is in the 
 Hittersaal. 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 stifl"- 
 looking Celli and Contrahassi kept watch 
 from a wall. On the orchestra was already 
 assembled a goodly number of young men 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 113 
 
 and women, all in lively conversation, loud 
 laughter, and apparently high good-humour 
 with themselves and everything in the world. 
 
 A young man with a fuzz of hair standing 
 off about a sad and depressed-looking counte- 
 nance 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 grey clothes, who leaned negli- 
 gently against the rail, and held a conversa- 
 tion with a pretty young lady, who seemed 
 much 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 exceedingly 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 instantly to look at mine. Gathering 
 himself together into a more ceremonious atti- 
 tude, he descended from his estrade, and 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
114 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 stood beside us, a little to one side, looking 
 at us with a leisurely calmness which made 
 me feel, I knew not why, uncomfortable. 
 Meanwhile, Anna took up her parable. 
 
 ^' May I introduce the young lady ? Miss 
 Wedderburn, Herr Musik-direktor von Fran- 
 cius. 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 Frdulein" said he to me, 
 not to Anna. He had a long, rather Jewish- 
 looking face, black hair, eyes, and moustache. 
 The features were thin, fine, and pointed. 
 The thing which most struck me then, at any 
 rate, was a certain expression which, conquer- 
 ing all others, dominated them — at once a 
 hardness and a hardihood which impressed 
 me disagreeably then, though I afterwards 
 learnt, in knowing the man, to know much 
 more truly the real meaning of that unflinch- 
 ing gaze and iron look. 
 
 ^' Your voice is what, 7nein Frdulein T he 
 asked. 
 
 "• Soprano." 
 
 '' Sopran ? We will see. The Soprani sit 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 115 
 
 over there, if you will have the good- 
 ness." 
 
 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 !" 
 
 Herr von 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 sang 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 it. When 
 the first chorus was over, he turned to me : 
 
 '^ You have not sung in a chorus before f 
 
 -No." 
 
 " So ! I should like to hear you sing 
 something sola.'" He pushed towards me a 
 pile of music, and while the others stood 
 looking on and v/hispering amongst them- 
 selves, he went on, '' Those are all sopran 
 songs. Select one, if you please, and try it." 
 
 8—2 
 
116 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Not at all aware that the incident was con- 
 sidered unjDrecedented, and was creating a 
 sensation, I turned over the music, seeking 
 somethinof I knew, but could find nothino\ 
 All in German, and all strange. Suddenly I 
 came upon one entitled, Blute nm\ liebesHerz, 
 the sopran solo Avhich 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 de- 
 cided me. 
 
 '' I will try this," said I, showing it to 
 liim. 
 
 He smiled. '' 'S ist 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. In- 
 deed I found that in general the jokes of the 
 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, sang it 
 after the best wise I could — not ^'er'y brilliantly, 
 I dare say, but with at least all my heart poured 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. IIT 
 
 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 remem- 
 bered 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, and by 
 his clear, strange, commanding eyes. It all 
 came back to me — the strangest, happiest 
 day of my life. I sang 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 gentlemen were whispering 
 amongst 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 performance — upon 
 
118 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Yon Francius. He was pulling his mous- 
 tache and at first made no remark. 
 
 " You have sung that song before, gnddiges 
 Frdulein f " 
 
 " No. I have heard it once. I have not 
 seen the music before." 
 
 " So !" He bowed slightly, and turning 
 once more to the others, said : 
 
 '' We will begin the next chorus. Chorus 
 of the Damned. Now, meine HerrscJiaften, 
 I would wish to impress upon you one thing, 
 if I can, that is — Silence, meine Her r en r he 
 called sharply towards the tenors, who were 
 giggling inanely amongst themselves. " A 
 chorus of damned souls," he proceeded com- 
 posedly, '^ would not sing in the same un- 
 ruffled 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 !" ex- 
 pression on the part of the young ladies ; a 
 nudging of each other on that of the young 
 gentlemen), *^ and si7ig as if you luere damnecV 
 
 Scarcely any one seemed to take the matter 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 119 
 
 the least earnestly. The young ladies con- 
 tinued to giggle, and the young gentlemen to 
 nudge each other. Little enough of expres- 
 sion, if plenty of noise, was there in that 
 magnificent and truly difficult passage, the 
 changing choruses of the Condemned and 
 the Blessed ones — with its crowning ''Weh!" 
 thundering down from highest sopran 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 him better. 
 At least I venerated his thorough under- 
 standing 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, grey, blue, yellow — all turned 
 with such affecting devotion to his own. Com- 
 posing himself in an insouciant attitude, he 
 
120 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 beofan in a cool, indifferent 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 honoured 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 perform 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 disobedient. There are 
 thick clouds in the heavens — smoke, fire, and 
 sulphur — a clashing of swords in the serried 
 ranks of the angels : cannot you see Michael, 
 Gabriel, Baphael, leading the heavenly host ? 
 Cannot some of you sympathise a little with 
 Satan and his struggle '?" 
 
 Looking at him, I thought they must in- 
 deed be an unimaginative set ! in that dark 
 face before them was Mephistopheles at least 
 — der Geist der stets verneint — if nothing more 
 violent. His cool, scornful features were lit 
 up with some of the excitement which he 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 121 
 
 could not drill into the assemblage before 
 liim. Had he been gifted with the requisite 
 organ he would have acted and sung the chief 
 character in Faust con amove. 
 
 " Ach, um Gotteswillen ! " he went on^ 
 shrugging his shoulders, ^' try to forget what 
 you are ! Try to forget that none of you 
 ever had a wicked thought or an unholy as- 
 piration " 
 
 ('' 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 Wilhelm Holle !' 
 
 If 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 nennen es Hollenqual, 
 Die Menschen nennen es — Liebe !' 
 
 And sing it !" 
 
122 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 He had not become loud or excited in voice 
 or gesticulation, but his words, flung at them 
 like so many scornful little bullets, the in- 
 different resignation of his attitude, had their 
 effect upon the crew of giggling, simpering 
 girls and awkward, self-conscious young men. 
 Some idea seemed vouchsafed 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 alto- 
 gether 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 back- 
 ground, from his dark eyes, which turned for 
 a moment 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 revealed to 
 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 123 
 
 others, that tears came to my eyes. How 
 could that young woman, in the midst of a 
 subHme chorus, dehberately 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 sympa- 
 thetic singers ? The very dulness which in 
 fact prevailed revealed to me great regions 
 of possible splendour, almost too vast to think 
 of 
 
 At last it was over. I turned to the 
 Direktor, who was still near the piano, and 
 ^sked timidly : 
 
 '^ Do you think I may join ? Will my 
 voice do 1" 
 
 An odd expression crossed his face ; he 
 answered dryly : 
 
 "" You may join the Verein, mein Frciic- 
 lein — 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 a pretty brunette, who 
 had advanced with an engaging smile and 
 
124 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 an open score to ask him some 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 ma- 
 terials. 
 
 '' Your name, if you will be good 
 enough." 
 
 '' Wedderburn." 
 
 "Your Vorname, though — your first 
 name." 
 
 " My christian name — oh. May." 
 
 ''M — a — nal Perhaps you will be so 
 good as to write it yourself, and the street 
 and number of the house in which you 
 live." 
 
 I complied. 
 
 '' Have you been here long T 
 
 " Not quite a week." 
 
 "Do you intend to make any stay T 
 
 " Some months, probably." 
 
 " Humph ! If you Avish to make any 
 progress in music, you must stay much 
 longer." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 125 
 
 "• It — I — it depends upon other people how 
 long I remain." 
 
 He smiled slightly, and his smile was not 
 unpleasant ; 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 conversation 
 with you about your voice. Adieu, nieine 
 Daraen^ 
 
 With a slight bow which sufficiently dis- 
 missed us, he turned to the desk again, and 
 we went away. 
 
 Our homeward walk was a somewhat silent 
 one. Anna certainly asked me suddenly 
 where I had learnt to sing. 
 
 " I have not learnt properly. I can't helj) 
 singing." 
 
 " I did not know you had a voice like 
 that," said she, again. 
 
 ^' Like what T 
 
 " 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 V 
 
 ^^ Oh, very clever." 
 
126 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 '' 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." 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HERR VON FRANCIUS. 
 
 HEN Miss Hallam heard from Anna 
 Sartorius that my singing had evi- 
 dently 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 specified. Now, in the broad 
 daylight, and apart from his official, profes- 
 sional manner, I found the Herr Direktor 
 still different from the man of last night, and 
 yet the same. He looked even younger now 
 than on the estrade last night, and quiet 
 though his demeanour was, attuned to a 
 gentlemanly calm and evenness, there was 
 still the one thing, the cool, hard glance left,. 
 
128 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 Enghsh," I added. 
 
 Von Francius glanced from her to me with 
 a somewhat inquiring expression. 
 
 Miss Hallam received him graciously, and 
 they talked about all sorts of trifles, whilst I 
 sat by in seemly silence, till at last Miss 
 Hallam said : 
 
 '' Can you give me any opinion upon Miss 
 Wedderburn's voice T 
 
 " 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. Yon 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 : 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 129 
 
 " I must try her voice again, as I re- 
 marked. Last night I was struck with her 
 sense of the dramatic point of what we were 
 singing — a quaUty which I do not too often 
 find in my pupils. I think, mein Frdulein, 
 that with care and study, you might take a 
 place on the stage." 
 
 " The stage !" I repeated, startled, and 
 thinking of Courvoisier's words. 
 
 But Yon Francius had been reckoning 
 without his host. When Miss Hallam 
 spoke of ^^ putting the matter into his 
 hands," 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 f said he, with polite sarcasm. 
 " I spoke as simple Kilnstler — 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 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 abandon before she can attain the full extent 
 of her talent." 
 
 He spoke in the most perfectly matter-of- 
 fact way, and I trembled. I feared lest this 
 display of what Miss Hallam would consider 
 Httle short of indecent laxity and Bohe- 
 mianism, 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 Wedderburn 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 hkes, but she will never be allowed to 
 go upon the stage." 
 
 '' Then she may teach ?" said he inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Certainly. I believe that is what she 
 wishes to do, in case — if necessary." 
 
 ^' She may teach, but she may not act," 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 131 
 
 said he reflectively. ^' So be it, then I 
 Only," he added, as if making a last effort, 
 ^' I would just mention that, apart from 
 artistic considerations, while a lady may wear 
 herself out as a poorly-paid teacher, a prma 
 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." 
 
 Yon Francius, with a sarcastic, ambiguous 
 smile, turned to me : 
 
 " And you, niein Frdulein f " 
 
 '' I — no. I agree with Miss Hallam," I 
 murmured, not really having found my- 
 self able to think about it at all, but con- 
 scious 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 instruc- 
 
 9—2 
 
132 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 tions about practising. You must understand 
 that it is not pleasure or child's play which 
 you are undertaking. 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 murmured, looking doubtfully to- 
 wards Miss Hallam. 
 
 '^ Yes, May ; you will have time for it," 
 was all she said. 
 
 '^ Is there a piano in the house T 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 
 Frdidein, j ast 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, Fraulein ! 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." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 133 
 
 '^ Do not let us keep you on any account," 
 said he, with touching pohteness ; and she 
 went out. 
 
 '' Desto hesser /" 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, look- 
 ing up at me. ^^ Any relation of yours '?" 
 
 ^^No — oh no ! I am her companion." 
 
 " So ! And you mean to let her prevent 
 you from following the career you have a 
 talent for 1" 
 
 ^' If I do not do as she wishes, I shall have 
 no chance of following any career at all," said 
 I. ^' And, besides, how does any one know 
 that I have a talent — for — for — what you 
 sayr' 
 
 '^ 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 ^Hrial" that he gave 
 me ; we soon rose from the piano. 
 
134 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 *' To-morrow at eleven I come to give you 
 a lesson," said he. '^ I am going to talk to 
 Miss Hallam now. You please not come. 
 I wish to see her alone ; and I can manage 
 her better by myself^ niclit luahr /" 
 
 " Thank you," said I in a subdued tone. 
 
 " You must have a piano, too," he added ; 
 ^' and we must have the room to ourselves. 
 I allow no third person to be present in my 
 private lessons ; but go on the principle of 
 Paul Heyse's hero, Edwin, either in open 
 lecture, or tinter vier Augen." 
 
 With that he held the door open for me, 
 and as I turned into 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 any one I had ever seen 
 before ; and how aufally cool he was, 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 dif- 
 ferent men. As teacher he was strict, severe, 
 gave much blame and little praise ; but when 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 135 
 
 lie did once praise me, I remember, I carried 
 tlie 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 displea- 
 sure sometimes at its quality. He was a 
 teacher whom it was impossible not to re- 
 spect, 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. They chiefly 
 related to his domineering disposition and 
 determination to go his own way, and dis- 
 regard that of others. In this fashion my 
 life became busy enough. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 "' LOHENGRIN." 
 
 S time Avent on, the image of Eugen 
 Courvoisier, my unspoken of, un- 
 guessed at, friend, did not fade 
 from my memory. It grew stronger. I 
 thought of him every day — never went out 
 without a distinct hope that I might see him; 
 never came in without vivid disappointment 
 that I had not seen him. I carried three 
 thalers ten groschen so arranged in my purse 
 that I could lay my hand upon them at a 
 moment's notice, for as the days went on, it 
 appeared that Herr Courvoisier had not 
 made up his accounts, or if he had, had not 
 chosen to claim that part of them owed by 
 me. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 137 
 
 I did not see him. I began dismally to 
 think that after all the whole thing was at an 
 end. He did not live at Elberthal — he had 
 certainly never told me that he did, I re- 
 minded myself. He had gone about his 
 business and interests — had forgotten the 
 Avaif he had helped one spring afternoon, and 
 I should never see him again. My heart fell, 
 and sank 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 par- 
 ticularly eligible residence. I heard of 
 Brauns, Mllllers, Piepers, Schmidts, and the 
 like, as owners of the same — never the name 
 Courvoisier. He had disappeared — I feared 
 for ever. 
 
 Coming in weary one day from the town,, 
 where I had been striving to make myself 
 
138 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 theatre closes 
 ^fter to-night." 
 
 ^^ But I am not going." 
 
 '^ Yes, you are. Miss Hallam has a ticket 
 for you. I am going to chaperon you." 
 
 ^' I must go and see about that," said I 
 hastily, rushing upstairs. 
 
 The neAvs, incredible though it seemed, was 
 quite true. The ticket lay there. I picked 
 it up and gazed at it fondly. Stadttheater 
 zio Elberthal. Parquet, No. 16. As I had 
 never been in a theatre in my life, this con- 
 veyed 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 139 
 
 different operatic styles, and my ideas of 
 operatic music were based upon duets upon 
 selected airs from La Traviata, La Son- 
 namhula, 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 Jirst, and then 
 turned over to the Italian school — leaving 
 Mozart, Beethoven, Gliick to take care of 
 themselves, as they may very well do — 
 thus exactly reversing the usual (English) 
 process. 
 
 Anna was very quiet that evening. After- 
 wards 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 
 
140 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 — hardened 
 theatre-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 
 remarking that there were more people in the 
 Balcon than usual. The musicians were 
 drojDping into the orchestra. I was startled 
 to see a face I knew — that pleasant-looking 
 young violinist with the brown eyes, whose 
 name I had heard called out at the Eye 
 Hospital. They all seemed very fond of him, 
 particularly 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 FIRST VIOLIN. 141 
 
 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 round, 
 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 upon the stage. '' The seats are too 
 near toge — " 
 
 Further words were upon my lips, but they 
 were never uttered. In roving across the 
 orchestra to the foot-lights, 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. Freidhelm Helfen sat in 
 the one next below it. All the rest of the 
 musicians were assembled. The conductor 
 was in his place, and looked a little im- 
 patiently towards that empty chair. Through 
 
142 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 a door to the left of the orchestra there came 
 a man, carrying a viohn, and made his way, 
 with a nod here, 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 lie liked it. Fast friends, on the 
 face of it, were these two men. In this mo- 
 ment, though I sat still, motionless, and quiet, 
 I certainly realised as nearly as possible that 
 mpossible 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 new-comer raised his head, and as he 
 shouldered his violin, his eyes travelled care- 
 lessly along the first row of the Parquet — our 
 row. I did not awake ; things did not melt 
 away in mist before my eyes. He ivas Eugen 
 Courvoisier, and he looked braver, hand- 
 somer, gallanter, and more apart from the 
 crowd of men now, in this moment, than even 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 143 
 
 my sentimental dreams had pictured him. I 
 felt it all : I also know now that it was partly 
 the very strength of the feeling I had — the 
 very intensity of the admiration which took 
 from me reflection and reason for the moment. 
 I felt as if every one 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 towards me. 
 In one second they would be upon me. I 
 felt myself white with anxiety. His eyes were 
 coming — coming — slowly, surely. They had 
 fallen upon Vincent, and he nodded to him. 
 They fell upon me. It was for the tenth of a 
 second only. I saw a look of recognition 
 flash into his eyes — upon his face. I saw 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 beat- 
 ing, I dropped my eyes to the play-bill upon 
 my lap, and stared at the crabbed German 
 characters — the names of the players^ the 
 
144 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 characters they took. '' Elsa— Lohengrin." 
 I read them again and again, while my ears 
 were singing, my heart beating so, and I 
 thought every one in the theatre 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, and 
 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 
 unrecognisingly as if I had been a wooden 
 doll in a shop window. Was he looking past 
 me ? No. His eyes met mine direct — 
 glance for glance : not a sign, 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 observed him surreptitiously ; when he was 
 not playing, I kept my eyes fixed firmly upon 
 my play-bill. I did not know whether to 
 be most distressed at my own disloyalty to a 
 kind friend, or most appalled to find that the 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 145 
 
 man with whom I had spent a whole after- 
 noon in the firm conviction that he was out- 
 wardly, as well as inwardly, my equal and a 
 gentleman — (how the tears, half of shame, 
 half of joy, rise to my eyes now as I think of 
 my poor, pedantic little scruples then f) — 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 popula- 
 tion consisted of clergymen's widows, daugh- 
 ters of deceased naval officers, and old women 
 in general, and those old women ladies of the 
 genteelest description — the Army and the 
 Church (for which I 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, looked do^vn a 
 little ujDon Medicine and the Law, as being 
 perhaps more necessary, but less select factors 
 in that great sum — the Nation. Medicine 
 and the Law looked down very decidedly 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
146 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 upon commercial wealth, and Commerce in 
 her turn turned up her nose at retail estab- 
 Hshments, 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 gemcs, considering them, 
 with some few well-known and orthodox 
 exceptions, as Bohemians, and calling them 
 '^ persons " — a name whose mighty influence 
 is unknown to those who never were and 
 never will be '^ 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 compo- 
 sitions. 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 147 
 
 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 teaching and impressions. I do not 
 ask to be excused. I only say that I was 
 ignorant, as ignorant as ever even a girl of 
 seventeen was. I did not know the amount 
 of art and culture which lay amongst those 
 rather shabby-looking members of the Elber- 
 thal stddtische Kcvpelle — 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 performance of the Lohgesang. The 
 young man to whom I had seen Courvoisier 
 speaking was— I learnt it later — a performer 
 to ravish the senses, a conductor in the true 
 
 10—2 
 
148 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 sense — not a mere man who waves a stick up 
 and down, but one who can put some of the 
 meaning of the music into his gestures, and 
 dominate his players. I did not know that 
 the musicians before me were nearly all true 
 artists, and some of them undoubted gentle- 
 men to boot, even if their income averaged 
 something under that of a skilled Lancashire 
 operative. 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 I 
 was in having been, as it were, false to a 
 friend. The dreadful thino^ was, or ouoiit 
 to be — I could not quite decide Avhich — 
 that such a person should have been my 
 friend. 
 
 ^^ How he must despise me !" I thought, 
 my cheeks burning, my eyes fastened upon 
 the play-bill. ^^ 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 I did all I could to help her. I 
 saved her a great deal of anxiety and incon- 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 149 
 
 venience. 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 a quite surprising extent ; but 
 she has just cut me dead. What do you 
 think of her V " 
 
 Until the curtain went up I sat in torture. 
 When the play began, however, even my dis- 
 comfort vanished in my wonder at the 
 spectacle. It was the first I had seen. Try 
 to picture it, worn-out and blase fre- 
 quenter of play and opera ! Try to realise 
 the feelings of an impressionable young person 
 of seventeen when Loliengrin was revealed to 
 her for the first time — Lohengrin, the mystic 
 knight, with the glamour of eld upon him — 
 Lohengrin, sailing in blue and silver, like a 
 dream, in his swan-drawn boat, stepping ma- 
 jestic forth, and speaking in a voice of purest 
 melody, as he thanks the bird and dismisses 
 it: 
 
 " Dahin, woher micli trug clein Kalin 
 Kehr wieder niir zu unserm Gliick ! 
 Drum sei getreu dein Dienst getlian, 
 Leb wohl, leb wohl, meiii lieber Schwan." 
 
150 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 glittering 
 armour was Lohengrin, the son of Percivale, 
 not Herr Siegel, the first tenor of the com- 
 pany, 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 pro- 
 gramme called her, not the chorus leader, 
 with two front teeth missing, an in artistically 
 made-up countenance, and large feet. I sat 
 through the first act with my eyes riveted upon 
 the staofe. What a thrill shot throuofh me as 
 the tenor embraced the soprana, and warbled 
 melodiously, ^' Msa, ich liebe Dicli T 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 151 
 
 moustache and surveying the company. Some 
 of the other performers were leaving the or- 
 chestra by two httle doors. If only he would 
 go too ! As I nervously contemplated a 
 gracefully 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 
 mesmerised, 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 up to the 
 boarding, leaned his elbow upon it, and said 
 to Eustace Vincent : 
 
 " Good-evening : ivie geMs Ihnen T 
 Vincent held out his hand. ^' Very well, 
 thanks. And you ? I haven't seen you 
 lately." 
 
 "Then you haven't been at the theatre 
 
152 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 lately," lie laughed. He never testified to 
 
 me by word or look that he had even 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 whether I was most wretched or most 
 
 relieved at the discovery. It spared me a 
 
 great deal of embarrassment; it filled me, 
 
 too, with inward shame beyond all description. 
 
 And then, 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 them. 
 
 I, meanwhile, sat still — heard every tone of 
 
 his voice, took in every gesture of his head 
 
 or his hand, and 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 lono- 
 
 time. What was the feeling that clutched 
 
 me — held me fast — seemed to burn me? 
 
 And what was that I heard? Vincent 
 
 sj)eaking : 
 
 '' Last Thursday week, Courvoisier — why 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 153 
 
 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 T 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 in Koln and couldn't get 
 back till evening," said he. '' Come along, 
 Eriedel ; there's the call-bell." 
 
 I raised my eyes — met his. I do not know 
 what expresssion 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 '?" 
 
154 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 '^ 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 V 
 
 " Yes ; he was there too." 
 
 I pondered. Brinks whistled loudly the 
 air of Elsa's Bixmtzug, and Ave paced across 
 the Lindenallee. We had not many paces to 
 go. The lamps were lighted, the peoj^le were 
 thronging thick as in the day-time. The air 
 was full of laughter, talk, whistling and hum- 
 ming of the airs from the opera. My ear 
 strained eagerly through the confusion. I 
 could have caught the faintest sound of Cour- 
 voisier's voice had it been there, but it was 
 not. And we came home ; Vincent opened 
 the door with his latch-key, said, '' It has not 
 been very brilliant, has it 1 That tenor is a 
 stick/' and we all went to our different rooms. 
 It was in such wise that I met Eugen Cour- 
 voisier for the second time. 
 
CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 " Will you sing V 
 
 ^^^^ HE theatre season closed with that 
 evenmg on which Lohengrin was 
 performed. I ran no risk of meet- 
 ing Courvoisier face to face again in that 
 alarming, sudden manner. 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 : wherever there 
 was music there was also Eugen Courvoisier 
 — naturally. There Avas only one stddtische 
 Kapelle in Elberthal. Once a week at least 
 — each Saturday — I saw him, and he saw 
 me at the unfailino^ Instrumental Concert to 
 
156 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 which every one in the house went, and to 
 absent myself from which would instantly 
 have set every one wondering what could be 
 my motive for it. My usual companions were 
 Clara Steinmann, Vincent, the Englishman, 
 and often Frau Steinmann herself Anna 
 Sartorius and some other girl-students of art 
 usually brought sketch-books, and were far 
 too much occupied in making studies or cari- 
 catures of the audience to pay much 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 
 sketch-books. 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 sketch-books — of 
 portraits or wicked caricatures of the audience 
 that frequented the concerts of the Instru- 
 mental Musik Verein. I wonder where they 
 all are ? Who has them ? What has be- 
 come of the light-hearted sketchers ? I often 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIA. 157 
 
 recall those homely Saturday evenmg con- 
 certs; the long, shabby saal with its faded 
 out-of-date decorations ; its rows of small 
 tables with the well-known groups around 
 them; the mixed and motley audience. How 
 easy, after a little while, to pick out the Eng- 
 lish, 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 out- 
 shining those of every one else in the room ; 
 the students shrouded in a mystery, sacred 
 and impenetrable, of tobacco smoke. The 
 spruce-looking schoolboys from the Gymna- 
 sium and RealscJmle, the old captains and 
 generals, the Fraulein their daughters, the 
 gnddigen Frauen their Avives ; dressed in the 
 disastrous plaids, checks, and stripes, which 
 somehow none but German women ever get 
 hold of Shades of Le Follet ! What cos- 
 tumes there were on young and old for an 
 observing eye ! What bonnets, what boots, 
 what stupendously daring accumulation of 
 colours and styles and periods of dress 
 crammed and piled on the person of one sub- 
 
158 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 stantial Frau Generalin, or Doctorin or 
 Professorin ! 
 
 The low orchestra — the tall, slight, yet 
 commanding figure of Yon Francius on the 
 estrade ; his dark face with its indescribable 
 mixture of pride, impenetrability and insou- 
 ciance ; the musicians behind him — every face 
 of them as well known to the audience as 
 those of the audience to them : it was not a 
 mere " concert," 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 weak ; that overture where the 
 Blaseinstrumente came out so well — the sym- 
 phonies one heard — the divine wealth of un- 
 dying art and beauty ! Those days are past : 
 despite what I suffered in them they had 
 their joys for me. Yes; I suffered 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 feel- 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 159 
 
 ing of inward self-contempt which made me 
 beheve I saw that expression there. His face 
 had for me a miserable, basilisk-like attrac- 
 tion. When I was there and he was there, I 
 must look at him and endure the silent, smiling 
 disdain 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 un- 
 winkingly and unseeingly. I managed to 
 make myself thoroughly miserable — ^pale and 
 thin with anxiety and self-reproach. I let 
 this man, and the speculations 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 any one 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 
 
160 THE MRST VIOLIN. 
 
 intend to cut me, I met him one day, not in 
 the street, but in the house, on the stairs. 
 He sprans^ 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 hfe 
 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 it for a moment, then with a 
 grave coolness which chilled me to the soul, 
 murmured something about ^^ not having the 
 honour," 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 had told me that Herr von Francius 
 was waiting. I looked at him as I went into 
 the room. How different he was from that 
 other man : darker, more secret, more scorn- 
 ful-looking, with not less power, but so much 
 less benevolence. 
 
 I was distraite, and sang exceedingly ill. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 161 
 
 We had been going through the solo sopran 
 parts of the Paradise Lost. I beheve I sang 
 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 ques- 
 tion : 
 
 *' Ah, Lord ! ... The Serpent ! 
 The beautiful, glittering Serpent, 
 With his beautiful, glittering words, 
 He, Lord, did lead astray 
 The weak Woman !" 
 
 "Bahr exclaimed Von Francius, when I 
 had sung it some three or four times, each 
 time worse, each time more distractedly. 
 He flung the music upon the floor, and his 
 eyes flashed, startling me from my uneasy 
 thoughts back to the present. He was look- 
 ing at me with a dark cloud upon his face. 
 I stared, stooped meekly, and picked up the 
 music. 
 
 " Fraulein, what are you dreaming about V 
 he asked impatiently. '' You are not singing 
 Eva's shame and dawning terror as she feels 
 
 VOL. T. 
 
 11 
 
162 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 myself 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 wasted 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 les- 
 son 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 
 behaviour a short time ago. 
 
 '' Yery well. Now. You are Eva, please 
 remember, the first Avoman, and you have 
 gone wrong. Think of who is questioning 
 you, and ~" 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 163 
 
 ^' 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 startled 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 disappoint- 
 ment 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 
 sang 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 '?" 
 
 11—2 
 
164 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 He bowed silently, and still kept his eyes 
 fixed upon my face, as if to say, " Eefuse if 
 you dare !" 
 
 '' I — I'm afraid I should make such a mess 
 of it/' I murmured at last. 
 
 '' Why any more than to-day T 
 
 '' Oh ! but all the people !" said I, expostu- 
 lating ; '' 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 
 aUve 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 Elberthal. 
 What can there be so formidable about 
 themT 
 
 I murmured something. 
 
 '' Well, will you do it X' 
 
 ^' I am sure I should break down," said I, 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 165 
 
 trying to find some sign of relenting in his 
 eyes. I discovered none. He was not wait- 
 ing to hear whether I said ^^yes" or '^no;" 
 he was waiting until I said ''yes." 
 
 " If you did," he repHed with a friendly 
 smile, " I should never teach you another 
 note." 
 
 ''Why not r 
 
 " Because you would be a coward, and not 
 worth teachinof." 
 
 " But Miss Hallam T 
 " Leave her to me." 
 I still hesitated. 
 
 "It is the premier pas qui coute" 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 
 
166 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 a number of other ^Deople. And then, on 
 the stao^e " 
 
 ^^ 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 respon- 
 sibility." 
 
 ''I — gifts — what gifts 1" I asked incre- 
 dulously. ^' 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 sopran solos T 
 
 " Do you think I can T 
 
 ^' 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 lhQ2^aidr 
 
 " Why, oiatilrlich,'' 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 that it 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 167 
 
 is my concert, and I am responsible for the 
 soloists ; and pray think rather more about 
 the beautiful glittering serpent than about 
 the beautiful g^litterinsf thalers." 
 
 ^^ I can think about both," was my unholy, 
 time-serving reply. 
 
 Fifty thalers ! Untold gold ! 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 " Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter." 
 
 |,"y^:p T ^vas the evemng 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 agree- 
 able astonishment — Anna Sartorius informed 
 me of her intention to accompany me to the 
 Probe. I 23ut 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 in- 
 struct me in such thing. Why, I have a 
 ticket for aU the Proben, as any one can have 
 
THE FIRST V TO LIN. 169 
 
 who chooses to pay two thalers at the casse. 
 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 too much 
 of such fine music ; and when one's friend 
 sings, too " 
 
 " What friend of yours is going to sing 1" I 
 inquired coldly. 
 
 " Why, you, you allerliebster Tdeiner Engel,'^ 
 said she, in a tone of familiarity, to which I 
 strongly objected. 
 
 I could say no more against her going, but 
 certainly displayed 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 jDarquet. 
 
 " You are going to sing well to-night," said 
 Von Francius, as he handed me up the steps 
 — " for my sake and your own, nicht luahr T 
 
 "" 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. 
 
170 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 weariness. 
 
 '•^ Herr Courvoisier," said Yon Francius — 
 and I, being near, heard the whole dialogue 
 '' you always allow yourself to be waited for." 
 
 Courvoisier glanced up. I, with a new, 
 sudden interest, watched the behaviour of the 
 two men. In the face of Yon Francius I 
 thought to discover dislike, contempt. 
 
 '' I beg your pardon ; I was detained," an- 
 swered Courvoisier 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 submitted to the words, and to the 
 tone in which they were spoken — sarcastic, 
 sneering, and unbelieving. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 171 
 
 "• Now we will begin," pursued Von Fran- 
 cius, with a disagreeable smile, as lie 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. Cour- 
 voisier, first of the first violins, and from 
 whom all the others seemed to take their 
 tone, sat silent, grave, and still. Von Fran- 
 cius, though quiet, was biting. I felt afraid 
 of him. Something must have happened to 
 put him into 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 
 watchiag 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 
 
172 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 the phlegmatic blood, set the professional 
 instrumentalists laughing at their amateur 
 co-operators, hut provoked no reply or resent- 
 ment. It was extraordinary, the effect of 
 this man's will upon those he had to do with 
 — upon women in particular. 
 
 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 want 
 of ear. I never forgot how she stared me 
 down from head to foot on the occasion of 
 my first appearance alone, as if to say, ^' What 
 do you want here T 
 
 It was in vain that she looked haughty 
 and handsome. Addressing her as Fraulein 
 Hlilstrom, Von Francius gave her ""a sharp 
 lecture, imitated the effect of her voice in a 
 particularly soft passage with ludicrous ac- 
 curacy. 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 crimson, received a sarcastic smile which 
 bafEed 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 perfec- 
 tion and precision of their play and singing. 
 Perhaps the performance lacked something 
 else — j)^ssion, colour. Yon Francius, at that 
 time at least, was no genius, though his 
 talent, his power, and his method were un- 
 deniably 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." '^Niclit ivahr?'' ^^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. 
 
] 74 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 They say Courvoisier has a party of his own, 
 and that all the orchestra are on his side." 
 ^' So /" in accents of curiosity and astonish- 
 ment. '^ J a ivohl ! And that if Yon Fran- 
 cius does not mind, he will see Herr Cour- 
 voisier in his place/' 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 in- 
 terested me. Yon Francius gave me a sign 
 of approval when I had finished, but it was 
 a mechanical one. He was thinking of other 
 things. 
 
 The Probe was over. I walked slowly 
 down the room looking for Anna Sartorius, 
 more out of politeness than because I wished 
 for her company. I was relieved to find that 
 she had already gone, probably not finding all 
 the entertainment she expected, and I was 
 able, with a good conscience, to take my way 
 home alone. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 175 
 
 My way liome ! not yet. I was to live 
 through something before I could take my 
 way home. 
 
 I went out of the larofe saal througfh the 
 long verandah 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 Tonliall^wdi^ a 
 tall house, one of a row, and of this house 
 the lowest floor was used as a shop for anti- 
 quities, curiosities, and a thousand odds and 
 ends useful or beautiful to artists ; costumes, 
 suits of armour, old china, anything and 
 everything. The window was yet lighted. 
 As I paused for a moment before taking my 
 homeward way, I saw two men cross the 
 moonlit street and go in at the open door of 
 the shop. One was Courvoisier ; in the other 
 I thought to recognise Friedhelm Helfen, 
 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- 
 
176 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ness, timidity. My reluctant steps took me 
 to the window of the antiquity shop, and I 
 stood looking in before I could make up my 
 mind to enter. Bits of rococo ware stood in 
 the window, majolica jugs, chased metal 
 dishes and bowls, bits of renaissance-work, 
 tapestry, carpet, a helm with the vizor 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, 
 entered the shop. A pretty young woman 
 in a quaint dress, which somehow harmonised 
 with the place, came forward. She looked at 
 me as if wondering what I could possibly 
 want. My very agitation gave calmness to 
 my voice as I inquired : 
 
 '^Does Herr Courvoisier, a Musikei\ live 
 here T 
 
 " Ja wolil /" 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 uncarpeted staircase. On the 
 first landing a door opened at the sound of 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 177 
 
 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 Stage. 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 failings I ascended 
 the last flight of stairs, and found myself 
 upon the highest etage before another door, 
 on which was roughly painted up Eugen 
 Courvoisier. I looked at it with my heart 
 beating suffocatingly. Some one had scrib- 
 bled in red chalk beneath the christian name, 
 Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter. Had it been 
 done in jest or earnest ? I wondered, and 
 then knocked. Such a knock ! 
 
 '' Herein r 
 
 I opened the door, and stepped into a large, 
 long, low room. On the table, in the centre, 
 burnt a lamp, and sitting there, with the 
 light falling upon his earnest young face, was 
 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
178 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Helfen, the violinist^ and near to him sat 
 Courvoisier, 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 night-dress 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 look- 
 ing down with love unutterable upon the 
 beautiful, dazzling child-face. Despite the 
 different 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 relation- 
 ship. My musician and the boy were father 
 and son. 
 
 Courvoisier looked up as I came in. For 
 one half moment there leapt 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 179 
 
 an errand as yet unknown to him, and did 
 not speak. The Httle one, from Helfen's 
 knee^ stared at me with large, solemn eyes, 
 and Helfen himself looked scarcely less 
 imj)ressed. 
 
 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 companion at 
 Koln, to an icy coldness of ceremony : 
 
 '^ Mein Frdulein, I do not understand." 
 
 '' You — you — the things you paid for. Do 
 you not remember me V 
 
 *^ Kemember 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, wdiile the 
 
 12—2 
 
180 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 young violinist sat with the child on 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 it is im- 
 possible 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 at an 
 end." 
 
 Such a voice of ice, and such a manner, to 
 chill the boldest heart, I had never yet 
 encountered. The cool, unspeakable disdain 
 cut me to the quick. 
 
 '' You have no right to refuse the money," 
 said I desperately. ''You have no right to 
 
 insult me by — by " An appropriate 
 
 peroration refused itself. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 181 
 
 Again the sweet, proud, courteous smile ; 
 not only courteous, 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 gen- 
 tleman to a lady. 
 
 " You will excuse the semblance of rude- 
 ness which may appear if I say that if you 
 unfortunately are not of a very decided dis- 
 position, I am. It is impossible that I 
 should ever have the slightest intercourse 
 with a lady who has once unequivocally 
 refused my acquaintance. The lady may 
 honour me by changing her mind ; I am 
 sorry that I cannot respond. I do not change 
 mine." 
 
 ^^ 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 at me as he had often looked at me 
 since the night of Lohengrin^ with a glance 
 that baffled and chilled me. 
 
182 THE FIRST VIOLIN^. 
 
 '' I wished to apologise " 
 
 '' 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 
 gentleman, of saying that I choose to abide 
 by that decision, now, and always." 
 
 I was surprised. Despite my own apolo- 
 getic 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 an 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-con- 
 sequence, committed in haste and confusion 
 by an ignorant girl ? Even then, even in 
 that moment I asked myself these questions, 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 183 
 
 my astonishment being almost as great as my 
 pain, for it was the very reverse, the i^erij 
 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, h las ! and alas ! this 
 was the truth ! 
 
 He had come to the door ; he stood by it 
 now, holding it open, looking at me so courte- 
 ously, so deferentially, with a manner of 
 one who had been a gentleman and lived 
 with 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 defi- 
 ance, 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. 
 
184 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Will you not take it, please f I asked in 
 a quivering voice and with trembling lips. 
 
 '^ Impossible, mein Frdulein,'' Avitli 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 as 
 if it had closed upon a bright belief of my 
 youth. I leaned for a moment against the 
 j)assage 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 hated, hateful three thalers ten gro- 
 schen were still clasped in my hand. What 
 was I to do with it '? Throw it into the 
 Rhine, and wash it away for ever ? Give it 
 to some one in need ? Fling it into the 
 gutter ? Send it him by post ? T dis- 
 missed 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, 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 185 
 
 I would go and look at them, and they would 
 preach me eloquent serm^ons. 
 
 As I went into the house, up the stands 
 to my room, the front door opened again, 
 and Anna Sartorius overtook me. 
 
 '' I thought you had left the Probe T said 
 I, staring at her. 
 
 " So I had, Herzcheii,'' 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 moonlight '?" 
 
 '' Good-night," said I, too weary and toa 
 indifferent even to answer her. 
 
 " It must have been a tiring walk ; you 
 seem weary, quite ermildet/' said she mock- 
 ingly, and I made no answer. 
 
 " A Hauptprohe is a dismal thing, after 
 all," she called out to me from the top of the 
 stairs. 
 
 From my inmost heart I agreed with her. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 KAFFEEKLATSCH. 
 
 Phillis. I want none o' thy friendship ! 
 Lesbia. Then take my enmity !" 
 
 HEN a number of ladies meet to- 
 gether to discuss matters of 
 importance, we call it ' Kaffee- 
 klatsch/" Courvoisier had said to me on that 
 never-forgotten afternoon of my adventure 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 at 
 
 any entertainment of this kind. At last 
 there came an invitation to Frau Steinmann 
 and to Anna Sartorius, to assist at a '^ Coffee" 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 187 
 
 of unusual magnitude, and Frau Steinmann 
 suggested that I should go with them and 
 see what it was like. Nothing loath, I con- 
 sented. 
 
 '' 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 every 
 one's candid opinion of every one else — pre- 
 sent 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 Klat- 
 scherei. 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 
 
188 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 very best frock, which I had been told it was 
 de. rigueur to wear, ^' I thought women never 
 gossiped so much amongst men." 
 
 Fraulein Sartorius laughed loud and long. 
 
 *^ The men ! Du meine Gilte ! Men at a 
 Kaffeeklatsch ! Show me the one that a 
 man dare even look into, and I'll crown you 
 ■ — and him too — with laurel, and bay, and the 
 wild parsley. A man at a Kaffee — mag Gott 
 es hewaJiren !" 
 
 " 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 towards the Goldsteinstrasse, 
 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'm sorry there are no gentlemen," said 
 I, and I was. I felt I looked well. 
 
 Arrived at the scene of the Kaffee, we Avere 
 conducted to a bedroom where we laid aside 
 our hats and mantles. I was standing before 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 189 
 
 the glass, drawing a comb through my up- 
 turned hair, and contemplating with irre- 
 pressible satisfaction the delicate lavender 
 hue of my dress, when I suddenly sa.w re- 
 flected 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 schacVt 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 1 1 I did not like her. A shade 
 crossed her face. 
 
 '' Is it that you are thoroughly unamiable V 
 said she, in a voice 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 offence ?" 
 
 '' 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." 
 
190 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 '' Do you always hate it T said she from 
 the window, whither she had turned. "' Ach t 
 there goes Herr Courvoisier !" 
 
 The name startled me like a sudden report. 
 I made an 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 is a handsome fellow, nidit ivalir T 
 she said, still watching me, while I thought 
 Frau Steinmann never Avould manage to 
 arrange her cap in the style that pleased her. 
 '' But a Taugenichts all the same," pursued 
 Anna, as T did not speak. '' Don't you think 
 so T she added. 
 
 "" A Taugenichts — I don't know what that 
 is." 
 
 '' What you call a good-for-nothing." 
 
 " Oh." 
 
 *^ Nicht wahr f she persisted. 
 
 '^ I know nothing about it." 
 
 "■ I do. I will tell you all about him 
 sometime." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 191 
 
 ^^ 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 the 
 hand into the centre of the room, when she 
 introduced me to about a dozen ladies ; and 
 every one in the room stopped talking and 
 working, and stared at me intently and un- 
 winkingly until my name had been pro- 
 nounced, after which some continued still to 
 stare at me, and others audibly repeated or 
 attempted to repeat my name, commenting 
 openly upon it. Meanwhile I was conducted 
 to a sofa at the end of the room, and requested 
 in a set phrase, '^ Bitte, Frdulein, nehmen 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 
 
192 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 honour, but Anna Sartorius, behind me, 
 whispered : 
 
 " Sit down directly, unless you want to be 
 thought an outer 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 you like Elberthal ? What is your 
 christian name % How old are you ? Have 
 you been or are you engaged to be married ? 
 They break off engagements in England for 
 a mere trifle, don't they % Sclirecklich ! Did 
 you get your dress in Elberthal ? What did 
 it cost the elle f Young English ladies wear 
 silk much more than young German ladies. 
 You never go to the theatre on Sunday 
 in England — you are all pietistisch. How 
 beautifully you speak our language I Beally 
 no foreign accent !" (This repeatedly and un- 
 blushingly, 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 ? 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 193 
 
 singing ? From whom ? Hen* von Francius ? 
 Ach, so r (Pause, while they all look im- 
 pressively 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 Perhaps you 
 are the lady who is to take the solos ? Yes ! 
 Du lieber Himmel ! What do you think of 
 Herr von Francius ? Is he not nice T {Netty 
 though, signifies something feminine and 
 finikin.) • '^No ? How odd ! There is no ac- 
 counting for the tastes of Englishwomen. 
 Do you know many people in Elberthal ? 
 No ? ScJiade ! No officers ? not Hauptmann 
 Sachse ?" (with voice growing gradually 
 shriller), " nor Lieutenant Pieper ? Not know 
 Lieutenant Pieper! Um Gotteswilleii ! What 
 do you mean ? He is so handsome ! such 
 i3yes ! such a moustache ! Herrgott ! And you 
 do not know him ? I will tell 3^ou something. 
 When he went off to the autumn manoeuvres 
 at Frankfurt (I have it on good authority), 
 twenty young ladies went to see him 
 off." 
 
 ^' Disgusting r I exclaimed, unable to 
 control my feelings any longer. I saw 
 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
194 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 compelled the photo- 
 grapher 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 them- 
 selves." 
 
 ^^ But he is so handsome, so delightful. 
 He dances divinely, and knows such good 
 riddles, and acts — acli, liimmlisch /" 
 
 '^ But how absurd to make such a fuss of 
 him !" I cried, hot and indignant. '^ The 
 idea of going on so about a man /" 
 
 A chorus, a shriek, a Babel of expostula- 
 tions. 
 
 ^^ Hor 'mal, Tliekla ! Friiulein does not 
 know Lieutenant Pieper, and does not think 
 it right to schioarm for him." 
 
 '^ The darling ! No one can help it who 
 knows him 1" said another, 
 
 " Let her wait till she does know him," 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 195 
 
 said Thekla, a sentimental young woman, 
 pretty in a certain sentimental way, and 
 graceful too — also sentimentally — with the 
 sentiment that lingers about young ladies* 
 albums with leaves 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. Kommen Sie 'mal 
 her, Frdulein ! See him ! Judge for your- 
 self!" 
 
 A strong hand dragged me, whether I 
 would or no, 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 moustache ever seen; 
 tightly curling black hair, and the dearest 
 little feet and hands imaginable. 
 
 ^' Oh, the dear, handsome, delightful 
 fellow I" 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 : 
 
 13—2 
 
196 THE FIRST VIOLIN 
 
 " Look how he sahites — divine, isn't 
 it?" 
 
 I turned away, smihng an irrepressible 
 emile. My musician, 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 little 
 being 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 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 ; who 
 did not w^ear polished kid boots, and was not 
 seen oft' from the station by twenty devoted 
 admirers of the opposite sex, was not deluged 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 197 
 
 with bouquets. With a feehng as of some- 
 thing singing at my heart I went back to my 
 place, smiUng still. 
 
 '' See ! she is quite charmed with the Herr 
 Lieutenant ! Is he not delightful T 
 
 " Oh, very ; so is a Dresden china shep- 
 herd, but if you let him fall he breaks." 
 
 " Wie komisch ! how odd I" was the uni- 
 versal comment upon my eccentricity. The 
 conversation then wandered ofP to other mili- 
 tary stars, all of whom were reizend, huhsch 
 or nett. So it went on until I got heartily 
 tired of it, and then the ladies discussed their 
 female neighbours, 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 accustomed manner. 
 I hstened, half curious, half appalled, and 
 thought of various speeches made by Anna 
 Sartorius. Whether she were 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 evening there. 
 
3 98 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 As we walked down the Konigsallee — how 
 w^ell to this day do I remember it I the chest- 
 nuts 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 com- 
 posure : 
 
 '' So you don't admire Lieutenant Pieper 
 so much as Herr Courvoisier T 
 
 ^' What do you mean 1" 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 confidence and comment on my 
 part. I was not inclined to give either. I 
 shrank with morbid nervousness from owning 
 to any knowledge of Eugen. My pride, nay, 
 my very self-esteem, bled whenever I thought 
 of him or heard him mentioned. Above all, 
 I shrank from the idea of discussing him, or 
 anything pertaining to him, with Anna Sar- 
 torius. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 199 
 
 " It will be time for you to agree with me 
 when I give you anything to agree about/' 
 said I coldly. '' I know nothing of either of 
 the gentlemen, and wish to know nothing. ' 
 
 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 T 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 droschke. And I saw you cut him at 
 the opera ; and I saw you go into his house 
 after the Generalprohe. 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 busi- 
 
200 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ness/' 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 thinof." 
 
 '^ 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 any one. 
 
 Anna looked surprised ; then a look of 
 anger crossed her face. 
 
 '' You cannot be in earnest," said she. 
 
 ^' I assure you I am. I wisli you ivould 
 leave me alone,'' I said, exasperated beyond 
 endurance. 
 
 ^' You don't wish to know what I can tell 
 you about him T 
 
 '' No, I don't. What is more, if you begin 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 201 
 
 talking to me about him, I will put my fingers 
 in my ears, and leave you." 
 
 '' Then you may learn 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. '' I don't wish for your 
 society, and will say good-evening to you." 
 
 With that I turned down a side street lead- 
 ing into the Alleestrasse, and left her. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 So! 
 Another chapter read ; with doubtful hand 
 I turn the page ; with doubtful eye I scan 
 The heading of the next. 
 
 ROM that evening Anna let me 
 alone, as I thought, and I was 
 glad of it, nor did I attempt any 
 reconciliation, 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 recognised as Stella's : 
 
 ''Dear May, 
 
 '' I dare say Adelaide will be writing 
 to you, but I will take time by the forelock. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 203 
 
 SO to speak/ and give you ?72y views on the 
 subject first. 
 
 '' There is news, strange to say 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 
 ^bout it, or should be, if it were any one else 
 but Adelaide. But she knows so remarkably 
 well what she is about, that perhaps, after all, 
 my fears are needless. And yet — but it 
 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. 
 
204 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 Write soon, and tell me what you think 
 about it. 
 
 "Thine, speculatively, 
 
 ''Stella Wedderburn." 
 
 I did not feel surprise at this letter. Fore- 
 boding, grief, shame, I did experience at find- 
 ing that Adelaide was bent upon her own 
 misery. But then, I reflected, she cannot be 
 very sensible to misery, or she would not bo 
 able to go through with such a purpose. I 
 went upstairs to communicate this news to 
 Miss Hallam. Soon the rapid movement 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 Ade- 
 laide, and I spoke of her as seldom as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 205 
 
 ^acciistomed 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 bountifully by me, and I knew 
 she loved me, though she never said so. 
 
 '' May," she presently remarked, '^yes- 
 terday, when you were out, I saw Dr. Mit- 
 tendorf " 
 
 '' Did you. Miss Hallam ?" 
 '' Yes. He says it is useless my remain- 
 ing 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. 
 
206 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ^' 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 overwhelmed. 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 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, Frdulein,'' 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 news ?" 
 
 '' 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 207 
 
 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 endeavoured to 
 realise what had happened — what was going 
 to happen. There rang in my head nothing 
 but the words, ^^ I am going home next 
 week." 
 
 Home again ! What a blank yawned be- 
 fore me at the idea ! Leave Elberthal — 
 leave this new life which had just begun to 
 grow real to me ! Leave it — go away ; be 
 whirled rapidly away back to Skernford— 
 away from this vivid life, away from — Eugen. 
 I drew a long breath, as the wretched igno- 
 minious 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 sat 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 
 
*208 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 home, and spend the rest of my Hfe at Skern- 
 ford. 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 forgetting 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 my knowing it, Von 
 Francius had come in, and was standing by, 
 looking at me. 
 
 " Good-morning 1" said I, with a vast effort, 
 partially collecting my scattered thoughts. 
 
 ''Are you ready for your lesson, mein 
 Fraidein f 
 
 " N— no. I think, Herr Direktor, I will 
 not take any lesson to-day, if you will excuse 
 it." 
 
 '' But why ? Are you ill ?" 
 
 '' No," said I. '' At least — perhaps I want 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 209 
 
 to accustom myself to do without music - 
 lessons " 
 
 '' So r 
 
 " 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, whilst 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 astonish- 
 ment, regret, or dismay, I should not like to 
 have said — flashed across his face. 
 
 ^' Have you had bad news T 
 
 '' Yes, very. Miss Hallam returns to Eng- 
 land next week." 
 
 ^^ But why do you go \ Why not remain 
 here T 
 
 '' 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 V 
 
 " Obligation has no choice," said I grace- 
 fully. '' I would give anythinrj if I could 
 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
210 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 uncon- 
 trollably. 
 
 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 com- 
 pose yourself, and listen to something I have 
 to say T 
 
 I looked up. I 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 
 exchanged between Courvoisier and his friend 
 Helfen. 
 
 " See," said he, *^ I take an interest in you, 
 Fraulein May. Why should I hesitate to 
 say so % You are young — you do not know 
 the extent of your own strength, or of your 
 own weakness. I do. I will not flatter — it 
 is not my way — as I think you know." 
 
 I smiled. I remembered the plentiful 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 211 
 
 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 possihility of getting that training in 
 England T 
 
 "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. T was looking at him with 
 all my senses concentrated 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 : 
 
 14-2 
 
212 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 '' 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 artiste T 
 
 ^^ Can there be any question as to which 
 I should like to do T 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 T 
 
 " 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 Yon 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. Yon Francius 
 condescended to say that I had done well. 
 Then he rose. 
 
 " Now I am going to have a private inter- 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 213 
 
 view with Miss Hallam," said he, smiling. 
 " I am always having private interviews with 
 her, niclit ivalir ? Nay, Fraulein May, do not 
 let your eyes fill with tears. Have confi- 
 dence in yourself and your destiny, as I 
 have." 
 
 With that he was gone, leaving me to 
 practise. How very kind Von Francius was 
 to me ! I thought — not in the least the kind 
 of man people called him. I had great con- 
 fidence in him — in his will. I almost believed 
 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 pos- 
 sible means of support. Tired of conjecturing 
 upon a subject upon which I was so utterly 
 in the dark, I soon ceased that foolish pur- 
 suit. 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 
 
214 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 
 behaved like a Spartan. I felt quite sorry 
 to have to give her so much pain." 
 
 Much wondering w^hat could have passed 
 between them, I left Von Francius silently, 
 and sought Miss Hallam. 
 
 '' Are you there. May T said she. '' What 
 have you been doing all morning T 
 
 ''Practising — and having my lesson." 
 
 " Practising — and having your lesson — 
 exactly what I have been doing. Practising 
 giving up my own wishes, and taking 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 prin- 
 ciples." 
 
 '' Miss Hallam " 
 
 '' You were in great trouble this morning 
 when you heard you were to leave Elberthal. 
 I knew it instantly. However, you shall 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 215 
 
 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 dispose of my 
 doings. I shall be glad to do as you wish." 
 
 " Well," said she composedly, ^' I wish 
 you to write a letter to your parents, which I 
 will dictate ; of course they must be con- 
 sulted. Then, if they consent, I intend to 
 provide you with the means of carrying on 
 your studies in Elberthal under Herr von 
 Francius." 
 
 I almost gasped. Miss Hallam, who had 
 been a byword 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. Miss Hallam." 
 
 '' I have trusted you ever since you refused 
 Sir Peter Le Marchant, and were ready to 
 
216 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 leave your home to get rid of him," said she, 
 with grim humour. 
 
 She then told me that she had settled 
 everything with Von Francius, even that I 
 was to remove to diflPerent lodgings, more 
 suited for a solitary student than Frau Stein- 
 mann's busy house. 
 
 '' And," she added, " I shall ask Doctor 
 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 T 
 
 " Wehrhahn, 39, is the address," said he. 
 
 I was not quite sure where that was, but 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 217 
 
 did not ask further,, 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 ofrim 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 Steinmann's 
 house. Clara promised to come and see me 
 sometimes. 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 a 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 
 
218 THE HRST VIOLIN. 
 
 the curiosity shop exactly opposite. "Not 
 here !" 
 
 '^Wehrhahn, 39, Fraulein." 
 
 '^Yes." 
 
 "This is it." 
 
 I stared around. Yes — on the wall stood 
 in plainly-to-be-read white letters, Wehrhalm, 
 and on the door of the house, 39. Yielding 
 to a conviction that it was to be, I murmured 
 '' 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-looking, tolerably large one. There 
 was a little closet of a bedroom 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 219 
 
 — 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 neighbours 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 Genrehilder and does not make much 
 by it — so a picture of a child with a ravelled 
 skein of wool, or a little girl making earrings 
 for herself with bunches of cherries — for 
 my part I don't see much in them, and 
 wonder that there are people who will lay 
 down good hard thalers for them. Then there 
 is Herr Courvoisier, the Musiker — but per- 
 haps you know who he is ?" 
 
 " Yes," I assented. 
 
 " And his little son !" Here she threw up 
 her hands. ^' Ach ! the poor man ! There 
 a,re people who speak against him, and every 
 
220 THE FIRST VIOLIN. " 
 
 one knows he and the Herr Direktor are 
 not the best friends, but sehen Sie luohl, Frdu- 
 leiuj the Herr Direktor is well off, settled^ 
 provided for ; Herr Courvoisier has his way 
 to make yefc, and the world before him ; and 
 what 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 Musiher too. 
 I hear them practising a good deal some- 
 times — 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 in it — Drunteii im Unterland, or In 
 Berlin, sagt er, or something one knows. Na ! 
 I 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 
 knitting, 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, Frdulein, if I use a few pro- 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 221 
 
 fessional proverbs. My husband, the sainted 
 man ! was a piano-tuner by ealHng, and I 
 have picked up some of his musical expres- 
 sions and use them, more for his sake than 
 any other reason — for I have heard too much 
 music to beheve in it so much as ignorant 
 people do. Nmi ! I will send Fraulein her 
 box up, and then I hope she will feel com- 
 fortable and at home, and send for whatever 
 she wants." 
 
 In a few moments my luggage had come 
 upstairs, and when they who 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 vase of flowers. I also 
 saw a piano in the clear-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 circum- 
 stances which had placed me as the opposite 
 
222 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 neighbour, in the same profession too, of 
 Eugen Courvoisier ! Pure chance it certainly 
 was, for Yon Francius had certainly had no 
 motive in bringing me hither. 
 
 " Kismet /" I murmured once again, and 
 wondered what the future would bring. 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 EUGEN COURVOISIER. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 He looks his angel in the face 
 Without a blush : nor heeds disgrace, 
 Whom nought disgraceful done 
 Disgraces. Who knows nothing base 
 
 Fears nothing known." 
 
 :T was noon. The Probe to Tann- 
 liduser was over, and we, the 
 members of the Kai^elle, turned 
 out, and stood in a knot around the orchestra 
 entrance to the Elberthal Theatre. 
 
 It was a raw October noontide. The last 
 traces of the bygone summer were being 
 swept away by equinoctial gales, which whirled 
 
224 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 the remaining yellowing leaves from tlie 
 trees, and strewed with them the walks of 
 the deserted Hofgarten ; a stormy grey sky 
 promised rain at the earliest opportunity; our 
 Rhine went gliding by like a stream of ruffled 
 lead. 
 
 " Proper theatre weather," observed one 
 of my fellow-musicians ; ^^ but it doesn't seem 
 to suit you, Friedhelm. What makes you 
 look so down V 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders. Existence was 
 not at that time very pleasant to me ; my 
 life's hues were somewhat of the colour 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 be- 
 fore 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 quali- 
 ties were the objects of my deep wonder 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 225 
 
 and mild envy. '" And they say," he con- 
 tinued, "that he's coming: to-nisfht : so Fried- 
 helm, my boy, you may look out. Your 
 master's on the way." 
 
 '' So !" said I, lending but an indifferent 
 attention ; " what is his name ?" 
 
 " That's his way of gently intimating that 
 he hasn't got no 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 
 some one else, but Die Direhtion managed to 
 beat him. He dislikes the new fellow before- 
 hand, 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 
 leader of the first violins — it followed 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 
 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
226 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 estimation at any rate. Our late first violinist, 
 who had recently died, had been on visiting' 
 terms with persons of the highest respect- 
 ability, had given lessons to the very best 
 families, and might have been seen bowing 
 to young ladies and important dowagers 
 almost any day. No w^onder his successor 
 was speculated about with some curiosity. 
 
 '' Alle Wetter r cried Karl Linders im- 
 patiently — that young man was much given 
 to impatience — '' Avhat 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" 
 
 " Weiss 's nit,'' said another, shrugging his 
 shoulders; ^'I've only heard that Von Francius 
 had a row with the Direction, and was out- 
 voted." 
 
 *' What a sweet temper he will be in 
 at the Probe to-morrow !" laughed Karl. 
 '' Won't he give it to the Mddclien right and 
 left !" 
 
 '^ What time is he coming V proceeded one 
 of the oboists. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 227 
 
 '' Don't know : know nothing about it ; 
 perhaps he'll appear in Tannhiiuser to-night. 
 Look out, Friedhelm." 
 
 '^ Here comes little Luischen," said Karl, 
 with a winning smile, a straightening of his 
 collar, and a general arming-for-conquest ex- 
 pression, as some of the '* ladies of the chorus 
 and ballet" appeared from a side door. " Isn't 
 she pretty?" he went on, in an audible 
 aside to me. " I've a crow to pluck with 
 her too. Tag, FrduleinP' he added, ad- 
 vancing 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 
 charmino: of her sex. The others, with one 
 or two exceptions, also turned. I said good- 
 morning to Linders, who wished, with a noble 
 generosity, to make me a partaker in his 
 cheerful conversation with Fraulein Luise of 
 the first soprans, slipped from his grasp and 
 took my way homewards. Fraulein Luischen 
 was no doubt very pretty, and in her way 
 a companionable person. Unfortunately I 
 never could appreciate that way. With 
 every wish to accommodate myself to the only 
 
 15—2 
 
228 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 society with wliich fortune supplied me, it 
 was but ill that I succeeded. 
 
 I, Friedhelm Helfen, was at that time a 
 lonely, soured misanthrope 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 any one 
 who could have even a theoretical reason for 
 taking any interest in me. Gradually during 
 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 
 worshipped my art with all my strength as 
 the most beautiful thing on earth ; the art of 
 arts — the most beautiful and perfect develop- 
 ment of beauty which mankind has yet suc- 
 ceeded in attaining to, and when the very 
 fact of its being so and of my being gifted 
 with some poor power of expressing and in- 
 terpreting that beauty was enough for me — 
 gave me a place in the world with which I 
 was satisfied, and made life understandable to 
 me. At that time this belief — my natural 
 and normal state — was clouded over; between 
 
2HE FIRS! VIOLIN. 229 
 
 me and the goddess of my idolatry had fallen 
 a veil ; I wasted my brain tissue in trying to 
 philosophise — cracked my head, and almost 
 my reason over the endless, unanswerable 
 question, Cid bono ? that question which 
 may so easily become the destruction of the 
 fool who once allows himself to be drawn into 
 dallying with it. Cai 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 for ever in her snares, which she sets for 
 the feet of men. To what use all this toil % 
 To what u^e— music? After by dint of 
 hard twisting my thoughts and coping de- 
 sperately with problems that I did not 
 understand, having managed to extract a 
 conviction that there was use in music — a 
 use to beautify, gladden, and elevate — I 
 began to ask myself, further : '' What 
 is it to me whether mankind is elevated 
 or not ? made better or worse 1 higher or 
 lower T 
 
 Only one who has asked himself that 
 question, as I did, in bitter earnest, and 
 
230 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 fairly faced the answer, can know the horror, 
 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 companion 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 side this life is a nothingness 
 so large that you will be as nothing 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." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 231 
 
 This mood was strong upon me on that 
 particular day, and as I paced along the 
 Schadowstrasse towards 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 ate and 
 drank at the same restauration as that 
 frequented 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 contain- 
 ing, some great, others little thoughts lay 
 around me. Lately it seemed as if the 
 flavour 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 theatre ; the lights, the people, the 
 
232 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 weary round of painted ballet-girls, and ac- 
 customed voices and faces of audience and 
 performers. The same number of bars to 
 play, the same to leave unplayed ; the Avhole 
 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 practised my part, and I 
 remember being a little touched with the ex- 
 quisite 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 Waldeinsamheit (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 drunk, and 
 was in full possession of the uninterrupted 
 solitude coveted by busy men. Once I 
 thought that it would have been pleasant if 
 some one had known and cared for me well 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN, 233 
 
 enough to run up the stahs, put his head 
 mto the room, and talk to me about his 
 aiFairs. 
 
 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 unprecedented that I sat and 
 stared at the said door instead of speaking, as 
 if Edgar Poe's raven had pub in a sudden 
 appearance and begun to croak its " never- 
 more " 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 some one 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 
 
^34 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 at first for a bundle done up in a 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 he, bowing, and I involun- 
 tarily returned his bow, wondering 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 T I asked, im- 
 pressed by his voice, manner, and appearance ; 
 agreeably impressed. A little masterful 
 he looked — a little imperious, but not un- 
 approachable, 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 T I bowed. '' My 
 name is Eugen Courvoisier. I am the new 
 member of your stddtisclies Orchester." 
 
 '' Oh, was /" said I, within myself " That 
 our new first violin!" 
 
 '' And this is my son," he added, looking 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 235 
 
 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 or- 
 chestra contained amongst its sufficiently 
 varied specimens of nationality and appear- 
 ance, 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 r' he said. 
 
 '' At seven — yes. It is Tannhduser to- 
 night. And the rooms — I believe they have 
 rooms in the house." 
 
 " Ah, then I will inquire about it," said he, 
 wdth an exceedingly open and delightful smile. 
 '' I thank you for telling me. Adieu, meiii 
 Herr." 
 
236 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Is he asleep T 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 that 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. 
 
 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 came 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 237 
 
 looked at the man I found he was different 
 from what I had thought ; older, sparer, with 
 more sharply-cut features. 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 ivalir f said the other softly. 
 
 '* Look here," I added, going to a sofa 
 which was strewn with 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 about the passages, and the house is 
 full of draughts." 
 
 I do not know what had so suddenly sup- 
 plied 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 
 
238 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 wait one moment while I rushed to my bed 
 to ravish it of its pillow. Then with the 
 sight of the bed (I was buying my ex- 
 perience) 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 be- 
 sought earnestly. " He will sleep lor a time 
 here, won't he T 
 
 *' You are very good/' said my visitor, hesi- 
 tating a moment. 
 
 '^ Put him there !" said I, flushed with ex- 
 citement, 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 skil 
 fully and as quickly as a woman would have 
 done it. 
 
 " How clever he must be," I thought, 
 looking at him with awe, and with little 
 less awe contemplating the motionless 
 child. 
 
 '' Wouldn't you like something to put over 
 him T I asked, looking excitedly about. " I 
 have an overcoat. I'll lend it you." And I 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 23^^ 
 
 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 r' 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 to- 
 wards the door. 
 
 " I dare because I must," replied he. 
 
 He closed the door, and we went down- 
 stairs to seek the persons in authority. 
 Courvoisier related his business and con- 
 dition, and asked to see rooms. The woman 
 hesitated when she heard there was a child. 
 
 "The child will never trouble you, 
 madam," 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 amuse- 
 ment, 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 
 
240 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 much attending to, and she did not profess to 
 open her house to them. 
 
 " You will not be troubled with either lad}'^ 
 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 un- 
 smilingly. 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 favour to 
 Herr Helfen." 
 
 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 of the house, where I 
 lived. Throwing open a door, she said there 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 241 
 
 were two rooms which must go together, 
 Courvoisier 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 could do it." 
 
 '' Nee r said the woman curtly ; ^' for that 
 I can't do it. Um Gotteswillen ! One must 
 ive. 
 
 She paused, reflecting, and I watched 
 anxiously. She was going to refuse. My 
 heart sank. Rapidly reviewing my own cir- 
 cumstances and finances, and making a hasty 
 calculation in my mind, I said : 
 
 '^ Why can't we arrange it ? Here is a 
 big room and a little 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 
 
 VOL. I. 16 
 
242 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 herself, drew herself up, smoothed down her 
 apron, and said : 
 
 "■ Yes, that lets itself be heard. If Herr 
 Helfen ao^reed to that, she would like it." 
 
 " Oh, but I can't think of putting you to 
 the extra expense," 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 T I added, with great 
 earnestness and touching his arm. " It is a 
 large airy room ; he can run about there, and 
 make as much noise as he likes." 
 He still seemed to hesitate. 
 " I can afford it," said I. '' I've no one 
 but myself, unluckily. If you don't object to 
 my company, let us try it. We shall be 
 neighbours in the orchestra." 
 " So !" 
 
 " Why not at home too ? I think it is 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. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 243 
 
 '' If I did not think it would inconvenience 
 you," he began. 
 
 '' Then it is settled T 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 marvellous 
 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 
 similar 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 
 
 IG— 2 
 
244 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 one scene of your future exertions, the Stddt- 
 ische Tonhalley 
 
 " So !" said lie, turning away again from 
 tlie 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, rub- 
 bing my hands and gazing round the room 
 with avidity. '' 1 have long wished to be 
 able to inhabit this room. We must make it 
 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, niclit 
 luahr f 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 re- 
 turned 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 trea- 
 sure ; he still slept peacefully and calmly on. 
 We were deep in im'prom'ptu carpentering 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 245 
 
 and contrivances for use and comfort, 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. Courvoisier fol- 
 lowed 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 did not 
 move. I said apologetically that I feared I 
 had wakened it. 
 
 '' Oh no ! He's been av/ake for some 
 time," said Courvoisier. The child saw him^ 
 and stretched out its arms towards him. 
 
 " Na! junger Taugenichts T he said, taking 
 it up and kissing it. " Thou must stay 
 here till I come back. Wilt be happy till I 
 
 03) 
 
 come i 
 
 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 process. A feeling altogether 
 new and astonishing overcame me. I turned 
 hastily away, and as I picked up my violin- 
 
246 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 case, was amazed to find my eyes dim. My 
 visitors were something unprecedented to 
 me. 
 
 " You are not compelled to go to the 
 theatre 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, mei7ie Herren ?" 
 she demanded. 
 
 " To work, madame," he replied, lifting his 
 cap with a courtesy which seemed to disarm 
 her. 
 
 " But the child V 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 Courvoisier 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 Ave scrambled 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 247 
 
 into the orchestra, and found that the over- 
 ture was abeady begun. 
 
 Though there is certainly not much time 
 for observing one's fellows when one is help- 
 ing in the overture to Tannhduser, yet I saw 
 the many curious and astonished glances 
 which were cast towards 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 introduced 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 r said one of the men, 
 shivering. " Have you travelled far to 
 day 1" he inquired of Courvoisier, by way of 
 opening the conversation. 
 
 '' From Koln only." 
 
 '' Live there V 
 
 ''No." 
 
 The man continued his catechism, but in 
 another direction. 
 
248 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Are you a friend of Helfen's T 
 
 '' I rather think Helfen has been a friend 
 to me/' said Courvoisier, smiling. 
 
 '^ Have you found lodgings already V 
 
 ^^Yes." 
 
 *' So 1" 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, drinking 
 beer, and laughing over some not very bril- 
 liant joke ; we three were a little apart. 
 Courvoisier stately and imposing-looking, 
 and with that fine manner of his, politely 
 answering his interrogator, a small, sharp- 
 featured man, who looked up to him, and 
 rattled complacently away, while I sat upon 
 the table amongst 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 lightness in my head which I could not 
 understand. It had quite escaped me that 1 
 had neither eaten nor drunk since my break- 
 fast at eight o'clock, on a cup of coffee and a 
 dry BrodcJien, and it was now twelve hours 
 later. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 249 
 
 The pause was not a long one, and we 
 returned to our places. But Tannliciuser 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. Courvoisier 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 over- 
 came me. As the curtain went down amidst 
 applause, everything reeled around me. I 
 heard the bustle of the others — of the audi- 
 ence going away, I myself could not move. 
 
 '' Was ist denn mit ihm f ' I heard Cour- 
 voisier say as he stooped over me. 
 
 '^ Is that Friedhelm Helfen T asked Karl 
 Linders, surveying me. ^' Potz hlitz! 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 Courvoisier. '' Lend him an 
 arm, and I'll give him one on this side." 
 
 Together they hauled me down to the 
 retiring-room. 
 
250 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " 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 without anything to eat, nicM ?" 
 
 "■ I believe I have," I assented feebly. 
 '' But I'm all right; I'll go home." 
 
 Rejecting Karl's pressing entreaties to join 
 him at supper at his favourite Wirthschafty 
 we went home, purchasing our supper on the 
 w^ay. Courvoisier's first step was towards the 
 place where he had left the child. He was 
 gone. 
 
 " Verschwunden I '' cried he, striding off 
 to the sleeping-room, whither I followed him. 
 The little lad had been undressed and j)ut 
 to bed in a small crib, and was sleeping 
 serenely. 
 
 " That's Frau 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. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 251 
 
 '^What on earth made you spend more 
 than twelve hours without food T he asked 
 me, laying down his knife and fork, and 
 looking at me. 
 
 '' I'll tell you some time 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 idea was divine. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 '' Though nothing can bring back the hour 
 Of splendour 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." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 ROM that October afternoon I 
 was a man saved from myself. 
 Courvoisier had said, in answer to 
 my earnest entreaties about joining house- 
 keeping : *' We will try — you may not like 
 it, and if so, remember you are at liberty to 
 withdraw when you will." The answer con- 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 25^. 
 
 tented me, because I knew that I should not 
 try to withdraw. 
 
 Our friendship progressed by such quiet, 
 imperceptible degrees, each one knotting tho 
 past more closely and inextricably 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 bro- 
 ther." 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 Avith a different kind of 
 beauty. How still he was, and how patient I 
 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 of sky which 
 was to be seen through the window above 
 the house-tops. 
 
254 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 The child's name was Sigmund ; he dis- 
 played a friendly disposition towards me, 
 indeed he was passively friendly and — if 
 one may say such a thing of a baby — cour- 
 teous 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 
 '^ gentleman," in the finest outer sense of the 
 word. His inner life he kept concealed from 
 us. I believe he had some method of com- 
 municating his ideas to Eugen, even if he 
 never spoke. Eugen could never 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 255 
 
 formed, and intensely sensitive to nervous 
 shocks, had nothing of the coward in him, 
 as was proved to us in a thousand ways : 
 shivered through and through his Httle frame 
 at the sight of a certain picture to which he 
 had taken a great antipathy, a -picture which 
 hung in the pubhc 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 clenched 
 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 Liehling r he murmured, as it 
 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 had crotchety ideas about truth and honour, 
 such as one might expect from so knightly- 
 looking a personage. It was Karl Linders 
 who, at a later period of our acquaintance, 
 amused himself by chalking up, '-'Prim Eugen,. 
 der edle Ritter,'' beneath his name. His 
 musical talent— or rather genius, it Avas more 
 than talent — was at that time not one-fifth 
 part known to me, yet even what I saw 
 excited my wonder. But these, and a long^ 
 list of other active characteristics, all faded 
 into insignificance before the towering passion 
 of his existence — his love for his child. It 
 was strange, it was touching, to see the 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 can- 
 not 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 257 
 
 fellow could exist — there was kindliness in 
 his glance, hon camaraderie 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 I 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 behaviour 
 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 the leaders outside as well as 
 in, but you walk yourselves away, and stay at 
 Ifiome I At home, indeed ! Let green gos- 
 lings and grandfathers stay at home." 
 
 Indeed, Herr Linders was not a person 
 who troubled home much ; spending his time 
 from morning to night between theatre and 
 concert-room, restauration and Verein. 
 
 VOL. I. 17 
 
258 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " What do you do at home T he asked 
 irately. 
 
 ^' That's our concern, mein Lieber^' said I 
 composedly, thinking of young Sigmund, 
 whose existence was unknown except to our 
 two selves, and laughing. 
 
 ^^ Are you composing a symphonie ? or an 
 opera buffa ? You might tell a fellow." 
 
 I laughed again, and said we led a peace- 
 able life, as honest citizens should ; and added, 
 laying my hand upon his shoulder, for I had 
 more of a leaning towards 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 con- 
 tempt. '' I'm a man ; not a milksop. Be- 
 sides, how do I know what your example is ? 
 You say you behave yourselves ; but how am 
 I to know it \ I'll drop upon you unawares, 
 and catch you, sometime. 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. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 259 
 
 These devices and desires led us straight 
 home, followed by a sneering laugh from 
 Herr Linders, 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 burnt plea- 
 santly on the table ; our big room looked 
 homely and charming by these evening lights. 
 Master Sigmund was wide awake in honour 
 of the occasion, and sat upon my knee whilst 
 his father played the fiddle. I have not 
 spoken of his playing before — it was, in its 
 Avay, unique. It was not a violin that he 
 played — it was a spirit that he invoked — 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 
 strazige melody which wrung my heart — full 
 of minor cadences, with an infinite wail and 
 weariness in it. I closed my eyes and 
 listened. It was sad, but it was absorbmg. 
 When I opened my eyes again and looked 
 down, I found that tears were running from 
 Sigmund's eyes. He was sobbing quietly— 
 his head against my breast. 
 
 '' I say, Eugen ! Look here !" 
 
 17—2 
 
260 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " Is he crying ? Poor little chap ! He'll 
 have a good deal to go through before he's 
 fertig mit Allen,'' said Eugen, laying down 
 his violin. 
 
 ^^ What was that ? I never heard it before." 
 
 " I have^ often," said he, resting his chin 
 upon his hand, '^ in the sound of streams — in 
 the rush of a crowd — upon a mountain — yes^ 
 
 even alone with the woman I " he broke 
 
 off abruptly. 
 
 *^ But never on a violin before T said I 
 significantly. 
 
 '' No, never." 
 
 " Why don't you print some of those im- 
 promptus that you are always making?" I 
 asked. 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. Ere I could 
 pursue the question some one 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 
 recognised as those of Karl Linders. 
 
 " I told you fellows I'd hunt you u]^, and I 
 always keep my word," said he composedly. 
 '' You can't very well turn me out for calling 
 upon you." 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 261 
 
 He advanced. Courvoisier rose, and with 
 a courteous cordiality offered his hand, and 
 drew a chair up. Karl came forward, looking 
 round, smilingf 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. Amazement 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 astonishment, then said 
 in a whisper : 
 
 ^' Donnerwetter ! A child !" 
 
 '^ Don't use bad language before the little 
 innocent," said I, enjoying his confusion. 
 
 '' Which of you does it belong to T Is it 
 he or she T 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, looking at Eugen in such a peculiar 
 manner — half respectful, half timid, half 
 
262 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ashamed — that I could no longer contain my 
 feelings, 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 — speechless — crest- 
 fallen. 
 
 ^' 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," said he, stifling his 
 laughter. "" Sit down, 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 oversaw or heard or dreamt 
 of," said he at last. '^ That's what brought 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 263 
 
 you home in such a hurry every night. Let 
 me congratulate you, Friedel ! You make a 
 iirst-rate nurse ; when everything else fails 
 I will give you a character as Kindermddchen ; 
 €lean, sober, industrious, and not given to run- 
 ning after young men." With which he 
 roared again, and Sigmund surveyed him 
 with a somewhat severe, though scarcely a 
 disapproving expression. Karl seated him- 
 self near him, and, though not yet venturing to 
 address him, cast various glances of blandish- 
 ment and persuasion 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 — natilrlich ! You 
 ought to know better, Herr Courvoisier — yoio 
 ought, at any rate," she added, scorn drop- 
 ping into heart-piercing reproach. " Give 
 
264 THE FIRST VIOLIN, 
 
 him to me/' she added, taking him from me^ 
 and apostrophising 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 w^e 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 be- 
 gan. 
 
 " Come, come, raein Herr, what does that 
 mean '? Kiss the little angel, and be thank- 
 ful you may. The innocent ! You ought to 
 be delighted," said she, standing with grena- 
 dier-like stiffness beside him. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 265 
 
 '' He won't bite you, Karl/' I said, reas- 
 suringly. " He's quite harmless." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Herr Linders stooped 
 forward, and touched the cheek of the child 
 with his lips ; then, as if surprised, stroked 
 it with his finger. 
 
 '' Lieher Himmel ! how soft ! Like satin, 
 or rose-leaves 1" he murmured, as the woman 
 carried the child away, shut the door, and 
 disappeared. 
 
 " Does she tackle you in that way every 
 night ?" he inquired next. 
 
 '' Every evening," said Eugen. '' And I 
 Httle dare open my lips before her. You 
 would notice how quiet I kept. It's because 
 I am afraid of her." 
 
 Frau Schmidt, who had at first objected so 
 strongly to the advent of the child, Avas now 
 devoted to it, and would have resented ex- 
 ceedingly the idea of allowing any one 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 kindness upon the ground that as a 
 Christian woman she could not stand by and 
 
9M THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 see it mis-handled 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 knew 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 affec- 
 tation of indifference : 
 
 *" How old is he — der hleine Bengel T 
 
 ^^ Two — a little more." 
 
 ^^ Handsome little fellow !" 
 
 "• Glad you think so." 
 
 '' Sure of it. But I didn't know, Cour- 
 voisier — 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 267 
 
 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 T 
 
 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 guess. I could decide 
 upon many points of his character. He was 
 a good friend, a high-minded and a pure- 
 minded man ; his every-day 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 
 
268 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 Avas not yet two and a 
 half. The story upon which his father main- 
 tained so deep a silence was not, could not be 
 a very old one. His behaviour gave me no 
 clue 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 putting obtrusive questions to 
 Eugen Courvoisier. The danger was some- 
 how quietly tided over, the delicate ground 
 avoided. 
 
 The conversation wandered quietly off to com- 
 mon-place topics — the state of the orchestra ; 
 tales of its doings; the tempers of our different 
 conductors — Malperg of the opera ; Woelfl of 
 the ordinary concerts, which took place two 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 269 
 
 or three times a week, when we fiddled and 
 the pubhc ate, drank, and hstened ; lastly, 
 Von Francius, koniglicher Musikdirektor. 
 
 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 amongst the violon- 
 cellists, and had attained his twenty-eighth 
 year without displaying any violent talent or 
 tendency to distinguish himself, otherwise 
 than by getting as much mirth out of life as 
 possible, and living in a perpetual state of 
 ^^ carelesse contente." 
 
 He desired to know what Courvoisier 
 thought of Von Francius ; for curiosity — the 
 fault of those idle persons who afterwards 
 develop into busy bodies — was already be- 
 ginning 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 ceremonious- 
 ness of the latter towards his chief, were 
 topics of speculation and amusement to the 
 whole orchestra. 
 
270 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ^' 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," he 
 went on tranquilly. 
 
 ^^ Girls 1" ejaculated Karl. 
 
 ^.^ You mean the young ladies in the chorus, 
 don't you V asked Courvoisier, unmovedly. 
 '^He does bully them, I don't deny; but they 
 come back again." 
 
 '' Oh, I see !" said Karl, accepting the re- 
 buff. 
 
 He had not referred to the young ladies of 
 the chorus. 
 
 '^ Have you heard Von Francius play?" he 
 began next. 
 
 '' Natilrlich /" 
 
 " 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 271 
 
 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 key-board 
 and plays iviiJi it, and it says what he hkes." 
 
 I looked at him, and was satisfied. He 
 found the same want in Yon Francius's 
 '^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 T He subsided 
 again, merely giving a meek assent to the 
 proposition, and saying suggestively : 
 
 " He's not liked, though he is 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 Fran- 
 cius does," said Karl, driven to 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. 
 
272 . THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 " I'm certain of one thing : Yon Francius 
 will go on slapping the puhhc's face. I won't 
 say how it will end ; but it would not sur- 
 prise me in the least to see the pubhc 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 th€ fulness of his 
 heart his mouth spake : 
 
 "■ I really wouldn't have intruded if I had 
 
 known " 
 
 " Known what T inquired Eugen, with 
 well-assumed surprise. 
 
 '' I thought you were just by yourselves, 
 
 you know, and " 
 
 "So we are ; but we can do with other 
 society. Friedel here gets very tedious 
 sometimes — in fact, langweilig. Come again, 
 nicht wahr T 
 
 " 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. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 273 
 
 "■ He will return ; I know he will !" sang 
 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 en- 
 folded a parcel of considerable dimensions, 
 and displayed to our enraptured view a white 
 woolly animal of stupendous dimensions, fas- 
 tened upon a green stand, which stand, when 
 pressed, caused the creature to give forth a 
 howl, like unto no lowing of oxen nor bleat- 
 ing of sheep ever heard on earth. This 
 inviting-looking creature he held forth to- 
 wards 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. 
 
 ^' Perhaps not," said Karl more cheerfully, 
 kneeling down by my side — Sigmund sat on 
 
 VOL. L 18 
 
274 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 my knee — and squeezing the stand, so that 
 the woolly ammal howled. '' Sieh ! Sigmund t 
 Look at the pretty lamb !" 
 
 " Oh, come, Karl ! Are you a lamb ? Call 
 it an eagle at once/' said I sceptically. 
 
 '' It is a lamb, isn't 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 any- 
 thing, and no one could contradict you." 
 
 " Well, der Kleine doesn't know the differ- 
 ence : it's a toy,'' said Karl desperately. 
 
 ^^ Not a toy that seems to take his fancy 
 much," said T, 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 275 
 
 hours with that thing that she calls a 
 rabbit." 
 
 Eugen had come to the rescue, and grasped 
 the woolly animal which Karl had contemp- 
 tuously thrown aside. After convincing him- 
 self 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 en- 
 dure the presence of the beast, and seemed 
 to wish him to do the same, from some dark 
 and inscrutable 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 embracing 
 it round the body, held it to his side, and 
 looked at Eugen with a pathetic expres- 
 sion. 
 
 '' Pretty plaything, niclit wahr T said 
 Eugen encouragingly. 
 
 Sigmund nodded, silently. The animal 
 emitted a howl ; the child winced, but 
 
 18—2 
 
276 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 looked resigned. Eugen rose and stood at 
 some little distance, looking on. Sigmund 
 continued to embrace the animal with the 
 same resigned expression, until Karl, stoop- 
 ing, 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 preserved 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 Sigmund happened to be a little 
 cross or mournful — ^^ Suppose you just go 
 home, Karl, and fetch that ^ lamb-rabbit-lion.' 
 I'm sure he would like it." From that time 
 the child had another worshipper, and we a 
 constant visitor in Karl Linders. 
 
 We sat together one evening — Eugen and 
 I, after Sigmund had been in bed a long 
 time, after the opera w^as over — chatting, as 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 277 
 
 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 V 
 
 '' /, heivahre ! I never knew what it was 
 to be in love in my life," said I, with perfect 
 truth. 
 
 " Is that true, Friedel T he asked, appa- 
 rently 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 V 
 
 '^ Oh, I was alone in the world. I had 
 
278 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 been reading, reading, 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 indiscrimi- 
 nate contents of a toify-shop would have 
 upon Sigmund's stomach — it made it sick. 
 In my crude, ungainly, unfinished fashion 
 I turned over my information, laying down 
 big generalisations upon a foundation of ex- 
 perience of the smallest 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 279 
 
 think life a good thing " (Eugen was smiling 
 to himself in great amusement), '' I came to 
 the conclusion that the best thing I could do 
 was to leave the world." 
 
 ii Were you going to starve yourself to 
 death ? That is rather a tedious process, 
 nicht wahr f 
 
 " 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 in- 
 terior 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 1 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 
 
280 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 Karl, if I didn't show it so much, and after 
 that " 
 
 '' After that T 
 
 ^^ 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 ?" 
 
 Courvoisier's brow clouded a little. 
 
 '^ I don't know," was all he said. Later,. 
 I learnt the reason of that ^^ don't know." 
 
 '' 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 T I 
 asked, with a whole-hearted laugh. '"■ I tell 
 you I don't know Avhat it is to be in love. 
 The other fellows are always in love. They 
 are in a constant state of Schwdrmerei 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 281 
 
 wish I could, for they seem to enjoy it so 
 much." 
 
 '' You heathen I" 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 con- 
 fused to find that I had been so nearly 
 overstepping 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 ridicu- 
 lous, chivalrous, punctilious fellow as you are. 
 Tell me something — did you never speculate 
 about me T 
 
 '' Never impertinently, I assure you, 
 Eugen," said I earnestly. 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " You impertinent I That is amusing, I 
 must say. But surely you have given me 
 a thought now and then, have wondered 
 whether I had a history, or sprang out of 
 nothing ?" 
 
 '^ Certainly, and wondered what your 
 
282 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 story was ; but I Fdo 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 liave 
 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 re- 
 turn as I deserved — perhaps more." 
 
 As I could not cordially assent to this 
 proposition, I remained silent. 
 
 After a pause he went on : '^\ 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 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. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 283 
 
 '' 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 T 
 
 " Ha, ha !" said he ungenially. "■ Things 
 not dreamt of, Friedel, by your straightfor- 
 ward 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 complain. I have no 
 right to complain." 
 
 Again he laughed. 
 
 "" I once knew some one," 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 description," 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 know- 
 ledge 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. 
 
284 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 ^' It is not merely that ; but suppose it were, 
 what then V 
 
 " It Hes 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 who 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," he uttered, after a pause, 
 during which I did not speak again. 
 
 Eugen puffed fitfully at his cigar, and at 
 
 * Ca;put — a German slang expression, with the general 
 significance of the English " gone to smash," but also a 
 hundred other and wider meanings, impossible to render 
 in brief. 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 285 
 
 last, knocking the ash from it, and avoiding 
 my eyes, he said in a low voice : 
 
 '^ I suppose sometime I must leave the 
 boy." 
 
 ^^ Leave him !" I echoed intelligently. 
 
 " 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 not 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 V 
 
 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 r 
 
286 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 He assented. 
 
 *^ When it does, will you give him to me — 
 to my charge altogether T 
 
 *' What do you mean T 
 
 '^ 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 amongst stran- 
 gers, 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 finished, 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 
 
THE FIRST VIOLIN. 287 
 
 said, with a forced smile, which cut me, some- 
 how, 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 knowinof — see him 
 growing into a man like you, Friedel ; it 
 would be worth the separation, even if one 
 had not to make a merit of necessity; yes, 
 well worth it." 
 
 ^^ Like me % Nee, mein Lieher ; he shall be 
 something rather better than I am, let us 
 hope," said 1 ; '^ but there is time enough to 
 talk about it." 
 
 '^ Oh yes I In a year or two from now," 
 said he, almost 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." 
 
288 THE FIRST VIOLIN. 
 
 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 an- 
 other 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 sorrow 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 exaltation, pure pur- 
 pose, full satisfaction, and sufficient reward. 
 My quarrel with existence was made up. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 BILLING j*ND SONS, PKINTERS, GUILDFORD, SURREY. 
 
 S. & H.