The Goose Man Part 18

One evening in February, Theresa and Philippina chanced to be sitting by the lamp mending the week's wash. Jason Philip entered the room; there was a sheepish expression on his face; he rubbed his hands.

Since Theresa did not consider it worth her trouble to ask him why he was in such a good humour, he suddenly laughed out loud and said: "Now we can pack up, my dear. I see it in writing: The wonder of the age, or the humiliated relatives. A touching tableau presented by Herr Daniel Nothafft of the Schimmelweis family."

"I do not understand you; you are talking like a harlequin again," said Theresa.

"Compositions by Daniel are going to be played in a public concert,"

Philippina informed her mother with that old, harsh voice of hers.

"How do you know?" asked Theresa, in a tone of evident distrust.

"I read it in the paper."

"The miracle is to take place in the Harmony Society," said Jason Philip, by way of confirming Philippina's remark, with an expression of enigmatic malevolence. "There is to be a public rehearsal on Thursday, and there is nothing on earth that can keep me away. The music dealer, Zierfuss, has given me two tickets, and if you want to, why, you can come along and see how they make a local hero out of a plain loafer."

"I?" responded Theresa, in a tone of contemptuous amazement, "not one step will I take. What have I got to do with your imbecile concerts?"

"But these gentlemen are going to be disillusioned, terribly so,"

continued Jason Philip in a threatening tone. "There is still a certain amount of common sense left, just as there are means of proceeding against a common, ordinary swindler."

Philippina raised her head in the mood of a person who has come to a sudden decision: "C'n I go 'long, Pop?" she asked, her ears as red as fire.

It was more than a request. Jason Philip was startled at the intractable expression on the girl's face. "Sure," he said, avoiding as well as he could the mute opposition on the part of Theresa, "but take a whistle along so that you can make cat calls."

He sank back with a comfortable sigh on his chair, and stretched out his legs. Philippina knelt down and took off his boots. He then put on his slippers. Each of them bore a motto embroidered in red. On the left one were the words "For tired father"; on the right one, "Consolation."

IX

Eleanore had not told her father why she had left her position with Alfons Diruf. Nor did Jordan ask her why when he learned that she did not wish to speak about it. He suspected that there was some disagreeable incident back of it, and if he maintained a strict silence it was because he feared his own wrath and grief.

She soon found another position. A schoolmate and good friend of hers, Martha Degen, the daughter of the pastry-baker, had married Herr Rubsam, a notary public and an old man to boot. Eleanore visited the Rubsams occasionally, as did also her father; and in the course of conversation it came out that Herr Rubsam needed an a.s.sistant copyist. Since it was then impossible to give Eleanore a desk in the office, she was allowed to do all her work at home.

Friedrich Benda had also given her a cordial letter of recommendation to Herr Bock, Counsellor of Archives, who was just then engaged in writing a voluminous work on the history of Nuremberg. It would be her task to arrange Herr Bock's muddled ma.n.u.script.

It was a laborious undertaking, but she learned a great deal from it.

Her thirsty mind would draw nourishment even from dry and lifeless subjects.

She was seized with a desire to fill up the gaps in her education. She begged Benda first for this book and then for that one. And after having written the whole day long, she would often sit down and read until late at night.

Everything she came in contact with she either a.s.similated or shook off: she dragged nothing along in the form of surface impedimenta; it became a part of her being, or she threw it to one side.

Daniel had not called for a long while. He was busy with the rehearsals which Wurzelmann was conducting. Professor Doderlein was not to take charge of the orchestra until it had been thoroughly drilled. The programme was to consist of Daniel's works and the "Leonore Overture."

Wurzelmann referred to the Beethoven number as "a good third horse in the team."

Daniel also had a lot of business to transact with the impresario Dormaul: the company was to go on the road in March, and many things had to be attended to. The contract he signed was for three years at a salary of six hundred marks a year.

A few days before the public rehearsal he came to Jordan's with three tickets: one for Jordan himself and the other two for the sisters. The public rehearsal was quite like a regular concert; over a hundred persons had been invited.

Jordan was just getting ready to go out. "That is fine, that is great: I can hear some more music now. I am looking forward to the concert with extreme pleasure. When I was a young fellow I rarely missed a concert.

But that was long ago; indeed, when I think it over I see how old I am.

The years pa.s.s by like milestones on the highway of life. Well, Daniel, I thank you, thank you very much!"

Eleanore's joy was also great. As soon as her father had gone, she remarked that Daniel had looked for Gertrude; but she had left the room as soon as she saw him coming. Eleanore opened the door, and cried: "Gertrude, come in, right away! I have a surprise for you."

After a while Gertrude came in.

"A ticket for you to Daniel's concert," said Eleanore, radiant with joy, and handed her the green card of admission.

Gertrude looked at Eleanore; and she wanted to look at Daniel. But her heavy glance, slowly rising from the floor, barely reached his face before it returned to its downward position, aggrieved and pained. Then she shook her head, and said: "A ticket for the concert? For me? Are you serious, Eleanore?" Again she shook her head, amazed and indignant.

Whereupon she went to the window, leaned her arm against the cross bars, and pressed her head against her arm.

Daniel followed her with looks of glowing anger. "You can take sheep to the slaughter," he said, "you can throw thieves in a dungeon, you can transport lepers to a hospital for incurables, but you cannot force an emotional girl to listen to music."

He became silent; a pause ensued. Tortured at the thought that Daniel's eyes were riveted on her back, Gertrude turned around, went to the stove, sat down, and pressed her cheek against the Dutch tiles.

Daniel took two steps, stood by her side, and exclaimed: "But suppose I request that you go? Suppose my peace of mind or something else of importance to the world, consolation, liberation, or improvement, depends on your going? Suppose I request that you go for one of these reasons? What then?"

Gertrude had become as pale as death. She looked at him for a moment, then turned her face to one side, drew up her shoulders as if she were shivering with cold, and said: "Well-then-then-I'll go. But I will be sorry for it ... sorry for it."

Eleanore was a witness to this scene. Her eyes, wide open when it began, grew larger and larger as it advanced through its successive stages. As she looked at Daniel a kindly, languishing moisture came to them, and she smiled.

Daniel, however, had become vexed. He mumbled a good-bye and left.

Eleanore went to the window and watched him as he ran across the square, holding his hat with both hands as a shield against the driving wind.

"He is an amusing fellow," she said, "an amusing fellow."

She then lifted her eyes to the clouds, whose swift flight above the church roof pleased her.

X

It was the original intention to begin the regular evening concert with the third "Fidelio Overture." Doderlein was of the opinion that it offered no special difficulties: the general rehearsal was to be devoted primarily to the works of the novice. He raised his baton, and silence filled the auditorium.

The "Nuremberg Serenade" opened with ensemble playing of the wind instruments. It was a jovial, virile theme which the violins took up after the wind instruments, plucked it to pieces in their capricious way, and gradually led it over into the realm of dreams. The night became living: a gentle summer wind blew, glow worms flitted about, Gothic towers stood out in the sultry darkness, plebeian figures crept into the narrow, angular alleys; it was night in Nuremberg. The acclamation a glorious past with an admonition to the future fell upon the smug complacency of the present, the heroic mingled with the jocose, the fantastic with the burlesque, romanticism found its counterpart, and all this was achieved through a flood of genuine melody in which stodginess played no part, while charm was abundant in every turn and tune.

The professional musicians were astonished; and their astonishment was vigorously expressed in their criticisms. The general admiration, to be sure, was somewhat deafened by the unpleasant end that the rehearsal was destined to come to; but one critic, who enjoyed complete independence of soul, though an unfortunate incident in his life had compelled him to relinquish his influential circle in the city and retire to a limited sphere of activity in the province, wrote: "This artist has the unquestioned ability to become the light and leader of his generation.

Nature created him, his star developed him. May Heaven give him the power and patience indispensable to the artist, if he would be born again and become a man above the gifts of men. If he only does not reach out too soon for the ripe fruits, and, intoxicated by the allurements of the lower pa.s.sions, fail to hear the voice of his heart! He has taken a lofty flight; the azure gates of renown have swung wide open to him.

Let him only be cautious about his second descent into the night."

The same connoisseur found the composition of "Vineta" less ingenious, and its instrumentation suffering from the lean experience of a beginner. Yet even this work was strongly applauded. The impresario Dormaul clapped his hands until the perspiration poured from his face.

Wurzelmann was beside himself with enthusiasm. Old Herold smiled all over his face. The long-haired found it of course quite difficult to subdue their jealousy, but even they were not stingy with their recognition.

But how did Herr Carovius feel? His spittle had a bitter taste, his body pained him. When Andreas Doderlein turned to the audience and bowed, Carovius laughed a laugh of tremendous contempt. And Jason Philip Schimmelweis? He would have felt much more comfortable if the hand-clapping had been so much ear-boxing, and Daniel Nothafft, the culprit, had been the objective. The boy who had been cast out had become the leader of men! Jason Philip put his hand to his forehead, shook his head, and was on the point of exclaiming, "Oh, ye deceivers and deceived! Listen, listen! I know the boy; I know the man who has made fools of you here this evening!" He waited to see whether the misunderstanding, the colossal swindle, would not be cleared up automatically. He did not wait in vain.

At the close of the "Serenade," Jordan was struck by Gertrude's feverish paleness. He asked her whether she felt ill, but received no reply.

During the performance of the second piece she kept putting her hands to her bosom, as if she were suffering from repressed convulsions. Her eyes were now lifeless, now glowing with an uncanny fire. As soon as the piece was finished, she turned to her father and asked him to take her home. Jordan was frightened. Those sitting next to him looked at the girl's pale face, sympathised with her, and made conventional remarks.

Eleanore wanted to go home too, but Gertrude whispered to her in her imperious way and told her to stay. Familiar as she was with Gertrude's disposition, she thought that it was simply a pa.s.sing attack of some kind, and regained her composure.