The First Violin Part 55

"I'm--engaged--to be married."

I grieve to say that Eugen and I, after staring at him for some few minutes, until we had taken in the announcement, both burst into the most immoderate laughter--till the tears ran down our cheeks, and our sides ached.

Karl sat quite still, unresponsive, puffing away at his cigar; and when we had finished, or rather were becoming a little more moderate in the expression of our amus.e.m.e.nt, he knocked the ash away from his weed, and remarked:

"That's blind jealousy. You both know that there isn't a _Madchen_ in the place who would look at you, so you try to laugh at people who are better off than yourselves."

This was so stinging (from the tone more than the words) as coming from the most sweet-tempered fellow I ever knew, that we stopped. Eugen apologized, and we asked who the lady was.

"I shouldn't suppose you cared to know," said he, rather sulkily. "And it's all very fine to laugh, but let me see the man who even smiles at her--he shall learn who I am."

We a.s.sured him, with the strongest expressions that we could call to our aid, that it was the very idea of his being engaged that made us laugh--not any disrespect, and begged his pardon again. By degrees he relented. We still urgently demanded the name of the lady.

"_Als verlobte empfehlen sich_ Karl Linders and--who else?" asked Eugen.

"_Als verlobte empfehlen sich_[D] Karl Linders and Clara Steinmann,"

said Karl, with much dignity.

[Footnote D: The German custom on an engagement taking place is to announce it with the above words, signifying "M. and N. announce (recommend) themselves as betrothed." This appears in the newspaper--as a marriage with us.]

"Clara Steinmann," we repeated, in tones of respectful gravity, "I never heard of her."

"No, she keeps herself rather reserved and select," said Karl, impressively. "She lives with her aunt in the Alleestra.s.se, at number 39."

"Number 39!" we both e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.

"Exactly so! What have you to say against it?" demanded Herr Linders, glaring round upon us with an awful majesty.

"Nothing--oh, less than nothing. But I know now where you mean. It is a boarding-house, _nicht wahr?_"

He nodded sedately.

"I have seen the young lady," said I, carefully observing all due respect. "Eugen, you must have seen her too. Miss Wedderburn used to come with her to the Instrumental Concerts before she began to sing."

"Right!" said Karl, graciously. "She did. Clara liked Miss Wedderburn very much."

"Indeed!" said we, respectfully, and fully recognizing that this was quite a different affair from any of the previous flirtations with chorus-singers and ballet-girls which had taken up so much of his attention.

"I don't know her," said I, "I have not that pleasure, but I am sure you are to be congratulated, old fellow--so I do congratulate you very heartily."

"Thank you," said he.

"I can't congratulate you, Karl, as I don't know the lady," said Eugen, "but I do congratulate her," laying his hand upon Karl's shoulder; "I hope she knows the kind of man she has won, and is worthy of him."

A smile of the Miss Squeers description--"Tilda, I pities your ignorance and despises you"--crossed Karl's lips as he said:

"Thank you. No one else knows. It only took place--decidedly, you know, to-night. I said I should tell two friends of mine--she said she had no objection. I should not have liked to keep it from you two. I wish,"

said Karl, whose eyes had been roving in a seeking manner round the room, and who now brought his words out with a run; "I wish Sigmund had been here too. I wish she could have seen him. She loves children; she has been very good to Gretchen."

Eugen's hand dropped from our friend's shoulder. He walked to the window without speaking, and looked out into the darkness--as he was then in more senses than one often wont to do--nor did he break the silence nor look at us again until some time after Karl and I had resumed the conversation.

So did the quaint fellow announce his engagement to us. It was quite a romantic little history, for it turned out that he had loved the girl for full two years, but for a long time had not been able even to make her acquaintance, and when that was accomplished, had hardly dared to speak of his love for her; for though she was sprung from much the same cla.s.s as himself, she was in much better circ.u.mstances, and accustomed to a life of ease and plenty, even if she were little better in reality than a kind of working housekeeper. A second suitor for her hand had, however, roused Karl into boldness and activity; he declared himself, and was accepted. Despite the opposition of Frau Steinmann, who thought the match in every way beneath her niece (why, I never could tell), the lovers managed to carry their purpose so far as the betrothal or _verlobung_ went; marriage was a question strictly of the future. It was during the last weeks of suspense and uncertainty that Karl had been unable to carry things off in quite his usual light-hearted manner; it was after finally conquering that he came to make us partners in his satisfaction.

In time we had the honor of an introduction to Fraulein Steinmann, and our amazement and amus.e.m.e.nt were equally great. Karl was a tall, handsome, well-knit fellow, with an exceptionally graceful figure and what I call a typical German face (typical, I mean, in one line of development)--open, frank, handsome, with the broad traits, smiling lips, clear and direct guileless eyes, waving hair and apt.i.tude for geniality which are the chief characteristics of that type--not the highest, perhaps, but a good one, nevertheless--honest, loyal, brave--a kind which makes good fathers and good soldiers--how many a hundred are mourned since 1870-71!

He had fallen in love with a little stout dumpy _Madchen_, honest and open as himself, but stupid in all outside domestic matters. She was evidently desperately in love with him, and could understand a good waltz or a sentimental song, so that his musical talents were not altogether thrown away. I liked her better after a time. There was something touching in the way in which she said to me once:

"He might have done so much better. I am such an ugly, stupid thing, but when he said did I love him or could I love him, or something like that, _um Gotteswillen_, Herr Helfen, what could I say?"

"I am sure you did the best possible thing both for him and for you," I was able to say, with emphasis and conviction.

Karl had now become a completely reformed and domesticated member of society; now he wore the frock-coat several times a week, and confided to me that he thought he must have a new one soon. Now too did other strange results appear of his engagement to Fraulein Clara (he got sentimental and called her Clarchen sometimes). He had now the _entree_ of Frau Steinmann's house and there met feminine society several degrees above that to which he had been accustomed. He was obliged to wear a permanently polite and polished manner (which, let me hasten to say, was not the least trouble to him). No chaffing of these young ladies--no offering to take them to places of amus.e.m.e.nt of any but the very sternest and severest respectability.

He took Fraulein Clara out for walks. They jogged along arm in arm, Karl radiant, Clara no less so, and sometimes they were accompanied by another inmate of Frau Steinmann's house--a contrast to them both. She lived _en famille_ with her hostess, not having an income large enough to admit of indulging in quite separate quarters, and her name was Anna Sartorius.

It was very shortly after his engagement that Karl began to talk to me about Anna Sartorius. She was a clever young woman, it seemed--or as he called her, a _gescheidtes Madchen_. She could talk most wonderfully.

She had traveled--she had been in England and France, and seen the world, said Karl. They all pa.s.sed very delightful evenings together sometimes, diversified with music and song and the racy jest--at which times Frau Steinmann became quite another person, and he, Karl, felt himself in heaven.

The substance of all this was told me by him one day at a probe, where Eugen had been conspicuous by his absence. Perhaps the circ.u.mstance reminded Karl of some previous conversation, for he said:

"She must have seen Courvoisier before somewhere. She asks a good many questions about him, and when I said I knew him she laughed."

"Look here, Karl, don't go talking to outsiders about Eugen--or any of us. His affairs are no business of Fraulein Sartorius, or any other busybody."

"I talk about him! What do you mean? Upon my word I don't know how the conversation took that turn; but I am sure she knows something about him. She said 'Eugen Courvoisier indeed!' and laughed in a very peculiar way."

"She is a fool. So are you if you let her talk to you about him."

"She is no fool, and I want to talk to no one but my own _Madchen_,"

said he, easily; "but when a woman is talking one can't stop one's ears."

Time pa.s.sed. The concert with the Choral Symphony followed. Karl had had the happiness of presenting tickets to Fraulein Clara and her aunt, and of seeing them, in company with Miss Sartorius, enjoying looking at the dresses, and saying how loud the music was. His visits to Frau Steinmann continued.

"Friedel," he remarked abruptly one day to me, as we paced down the Casernenstra.s.se, "I wonder who Courvoisier is!"

"You have managed to exist very comfortably for three or four years without knowing."

"There is something behind all his secrecy about himself."

"Fraulein Sartorius says so, I suppose," I remarked, dryly.

"N--no; she never said so; but I think she knows it is so."

"And what if it be so?"

"Oh, nothing! But I wonder what can have driven him here."

"Driven him here? His own choice, of course."