The First Violin Part 56

Karl laughed.

"_Nee_, _nee_, Friedel, not quite."

"I should advise you to let him and his affairs alone, unless you want a row with him. I would no more think of asking him than of cutting off my right hand."

"Asking him--_lieber Himmel!_ no; but one may wonder--It was a very queer thing his sending poor Sigmund off in that style. I wonder where he is."

"I don't know."

"Did he never tell you?"

"No."

"Queer!" said Karl, reflectively. "I think there is something odd behind it all."

"Now listen, Karl. Do you want to have a row with Eugen? Are you anxious for him never to speak to you again?"

"_Herrgott_, no!"

"Then take my advice, and just keep your mouth shut. Don't listen to tales, and don't repeat them."

"But, my dear fellow, when there is a mystery about a man--"

"Mystery! Nonsense! What mystery is there in a man's choosing to have private affairs? We didn't behave in this idiotic manner when you were going on like a lunatic about Fraulein Clara. We simply a.s.sumed that as you didn't speak you had affairs which you chose to keep to yourself.

Just apply the rule, or it may be worse for you."

"For all that, there is something queer," he said, as we turned into the restauration for dinner.

Yet again, some days later, just before the last concert came off, Karl, talking to me, said, in a tone and with a look as if the idea troubled and haunted him:

"I say, Friedel, do you think Courvoisier's being here is all square?"

"All square?" I repeated, scornfully.

He nodded.

"Yes. Of course all has been right since he came here; but don't you think there may be something shady in the background?"

"What do you mean by 'shady'?" I asked, more annoyed than I cared to confess at his repeated returning to the subject.

"Well, you know, there must be a reason for his being here--"

I burst into a fit of laughter, which was not so mirthful as it might seem.

"I should rather think there must. Isn't there a reason for every one being somewhere? Why am I here? Why are you here?"

"Yes; but this is quite a different thing. We are all agreed that whatever he may be now, he has not always been one of us, and I like things to be clear about people."

"It is a most extraordinary thing that you should only have felt the anxiety lately," said I, witheringly, and then, after a moment's reflection, I said:

"Look here, Karl; no one could be more unwilling than I to pick a quarrel with you, but quarrel we must if this talking of Eugen behind his back goes on. It is nothing to either of us what his past has been.

I want no references. If you want to gossip about him or any one else, go to the old women who are the natural exchangers of that commodity.

Only if you mention it again to me it comes to a quarrel--_verstehst du?_"

"I meant no harm, and I can see no harm in it," said he.

"Very well; but I do. I hate it. So shake hands, and let there be an end of it. I wish now that I had spoken out at first. There's a dirtiness, to my mind, in the idea of speculating about a person with whom you are intimate, in a way that you wouldn't like him to hear."

"Well, if you will have it so," said he; but there was not the usual look of open satisfaction upon his face. He did not mention the subject to me again, but I caught him looking now and then earnestly at Eugen, as if he wished to ask him something. Then I knew that in my anxiety to avoid gossiping about the friend whose secrets were sacred to me, I had made a mistake. I ought to have made Karl tell me whether he had heard anything specific about him or against him, and so judge the extent of the mischief done.

It needed but little thought on my part to refer Karl's suspicions and vague rumors to the agency of Anna Sartorius. Lately I had begun to observe this young lady more closely. She was a tall, dark, plain girl, with large, defiant-looking eyes, and a bitter mouth; when she smiled there was nothing genial in the smile. When she spoke, her voice had a certain harsh flavor; her laugh was hard and mocking--as if she laughed at, not with, people. There was something rather striking in her appearance, but little pleasing. She looked at odds with the world, or with her lot in it, or with her present circ.u.mstances, or something. I was satisfied that she knew something of Eugen, though, when I once pointed her out to him and asked if he knew her, he looked at her, and after a moment's look, as if he remembered, shook his head, saying:

"There is something a little familiar to me in her face, but I am sure that I have never seen her--most a.s.suredly never spoken to her."

Yet I had often seen her look at him long and earnestly, usually with a certain peculiar smile, and with her head a little to one side as if she examined some curiosity or _lusus naturae_. I was too little curious myself to know Eugen's past to speculate much about it; but I was quite sure that there was some link between him and that dark, bitter, sarcastic-looking girl, Anna Sartorius.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

"Didst thou, or didst thou not? Just tell me, friend!

Not that _my_ conscience may be satisfied, _I_ never for a moment doubted thee-- But that I may have wherewithal in hand To turn against them when they point at thee: A whip to flog them with--a rock to crush-- Thy word--thy simple downright 'No, I did not.'

Why! How!

What's this? He does not, will not speak. Oh, G.o.d!

Nay, raise thy head and look me in the eyes!

Canst not? What is this thing?"

It was the last concert of the season, and the end of April, when evenings were growing pleasantly long and the air balmy. Those last concerts, and the last nights of the opera, which closed at the end of April, until September, were always crowded. That night I remember we had Liszt's "Prometheus," and a great violinist had been announced as coming to enrapture the audience with the performance of a Concerto of Beethoven's.

The concert was for the benefit of von Francius, and was probably the last one at which he would conduct us. He was leaving to a.s.sume the post of Koniglicher Musik-Direktor at ----. Now that the time came there was not a man among us who was not heartily sorry to think of the parting.

Miss Wedderburn was one of the soloists that evening and her sister and Mr. Arkwright were both there.

Karl Linders came on late. I saw that just before he appeared by the orchestra entrance, his beloved, her aunt, and Fraulein Sartorius had taken their places in the parquet. Karl looked sullen and discontented, and utterly unlike himself. Anna Sartorius was half smiling. Lady Le Marchant, I noticed, pa.s.singly, looked the shadow of her former self.

Then von Francius came on; he too looked disturbed, for him very much so, and glanced round the orchestra and the room; and then coming up to Eugen, drew him a little aside, and seemed to put a question to him. The discussion, though carried on in low tones, was animated, and lasted some time. Von Francius appeared greatly to urge Courvoisier to something--the latter to resist. At last some understanding appeared to be come to. Von Francius returned to his estrade, Eugen to his seat, and the concert began.

The third piece on the list was the Violin Concerto, and when its turn came all eyes turned in all directions in search of ----, the celebrated, who was to perform it. Von Francius advanced and made a short enough announcement.

"_Meine Herrschaften_, I am sorry to say that I have received a telegram from Herr ----, saying that sudden illness prevents his playing to-night. I am sorry that you should be disappointed of hearing him, but I can not regret that you should have an opportunity of listening to one who will be a very effectual subst.i.tute--Herr Concertmeister Courvoisier, your first violin."

He stepped back. Courvoisier rose. There was a dead silence in the hall.

Eugen stood in the well-known position of the prophet without honor, only that he had not yet begun to speak. The rest of the orchestra and von Francius were waiting to begin Beethoven's Concerto; but Eugen, lifting his voice, addressed them in his turn: