The Goose Man Part 25

But the thing that drew him to the beautiful girl had nothing to do with this chance incident; nor was there the slightest trace of sensuousness in his feelings. It was all a sort of dream-like sympathy, similar to the quest of memory in search of a forgotten happiness. It was a vaguer and more plaguing sensation than the one that bound him so inviolably to Gertrude; it was more sorrow than joy, more unrest than consciousness.

This forgotten happiness slumbered deep down in his soul; it had been washed away by the waves of life. It was not Sylvia herself; it was perhaps a movement of her hand: where had he known this same movement before? It was the way she tossed her head back; it was her proud look, the blue of her eyes-but where had he seen all this before?

Forgotten, forgotten....

XII

Just as everything was in full swing, just as they had decorated the buildings and arranged the Herrenhaus, the news came of the death of King Ludwig of Bavaria. The newspapers bore a broad black margin, and were crowded with details concerning the tragedy at the Starnbergersee.

The entire country, including the family of Herr von Erfft, mourned the loss of the art-loving monarch genuinely and for a long while.

Of an operatic performance there could be no thought. The Chancellor cancelled his engagement, and the young men who had a.s.sembled for the rehearsals went quietly home. Herr von Erfft gave Daniel a considerable purse with which he might recompense his musicians for their trouble, and, not wishing to treat Daniel himself as though he were an ordinary mechanic, he invited him to spend a few more days on his estate.

Daniel did not decline; he had not in truth given one minute's thought to where he would go when he left.

After he distributed the present from Herr von Erfft among the musicians and discharged them, he took a long walk in the woods. He ate a frugal meal in a village restaurant, and then sauntered around until evening.

When he returned, he found his hosts sitting at the table. He neglected to beg their pardon; Frau Agatha looked at her husband and smiled, and told the maids to bring in something for the Herr Kapellmeister. Sylvia had a book in her hand and was reading.

Daniel was a trifle ill at ease; he merely took a bite here and there.

When Frau von Erfft left the table, walked over to the window, and looked out into the cloudy sky, Daniel got up, went into the adjoining room, and sat down at the piano.

He began to play Schubert's "Song to Sylvia." Having finished the impetuous, heart-felt song, he struck up a variation, then a second, a third, and a fourth. The first was melancholy, the second triumphant, the third meditative, the fourth dreamy. Each was a hymn to forgotten joy.

Herr von Erfft and Agatha were standing in the open door. Sylvia had sat down close beside him on a tabourette; there was a pleasing, far-away look in her eyes, riveted though they were to the floor.

He suddenly stopped, as if to avoid both thanks and applause. Sylvester von Erfft took a seat opposite him, and asked him in a most kindly tone whether he had any definite plans for the immediate future.

"I am going back to Nuremberg and get married," said Daniel. "My fiancee has been waiting for me for a long time."

Herr von Erfft asked him whether he was not afraid of premature marriage bonds. Daniel replied rather curtly that he needed some one to stand between him and the world.

"You need some one to act as a sort of buffer," said Frau Agatha sarcastically. Daniel looked at her angrily.

"Buffer? No, but a guardian angel if such a creature can shield me from rebuffs," said Daniel, even more brusquely than he had spoken the first time.

"Why do you wish to settle down and live in Nuremberg, a city of such one-sided commercial interests?" continued Herr von Erfft, with an almost solicitous caution. "Would you not have a much better opportunity as a composer in one of the great cities?"

"It is impossible to separate the daughter from her father," replied Daniel with unusual candour. "It is impossible. Nor is it possible to get the old man to tear himself away from his former a.s.sociations. He was born and reared there. And I do not wish to live alone any longer.

Everybody needs a companion; even the miner digs with a better heart, when he knows that up on the earth above his wife is preparing the soup.

I must say, however, that I am not so much taken up with the soup phase of married life: it is the dear little soul that will belong to me that interests me."

He turned around, and struck a minor chord.

"And even if everything were different, your great cities would not attract me," he began again, wrinkling his face in a most bizarre way.

"What would I get out of them? Companions? I have had enough of them.

Music I can study at home. I can summon the masters of all ages to my study. Fame and riches will find their way to me, if they wish to. The dawn is missed only by those who are too indolent to get up, and real music is heard by all except the deaf. G.o.d attends to everything else; man has nothing to do with it."

He struck another chord, this time in a major key.

Herr von Erfft and his wife looked at him with evident joy and sympathy.

Sylvia whispered something to her mother, who then said to Daniel: "I have a sister living in Nuremberg, Baroness Clotilde von Auffenberg.

From the time she was a mere child she was an ardent lover of good music. If I give you a letter of introduction to her, I am quite sure she will welcome you with open arms. She is unfortunately not in the best of health, and a heavy fate is just now hanging over her; but she has a warm heart, and her affections are trustworthy."

Daniel looked down at the floor. He thought of Gertrude and his future life with her, and murmured a few words of grat.i.tude. Frau von Erfft went at once to her desk, and wrote a detailed letter to her sister.

When she had finished it, she gave it to Daniel with a good-natured smile.

The next morning he left the castle with the feeling of regret that one experiences on leaving the dwelling place of peace and separating from n.o.ble friends.

XIII

The streets of Nuremberg were hung with black banners. It was raining.

Daniel took a cheap room in The Bear.

It had already grown dark when he started to Jordan's. He met Benno at the front door. He did not recognise the foppishly-dressed young man, and was on the point of pa.s.sing by without speaking to him; but Benno stopped, and laughed out loud.

"Whew, the Herr Kapellmeister!" he cried, and his pale face, already showing the signs of dissipation, took on a scornful expression. "Be careful, my friend, or Gertrude will swoon."

Daniel asked if they were all well. Benno replied that there was no lack of good health, though some of the family were a little short of change. Then he laughed again. He spoke of his father, said the old gentleman was not getting along very well, that he was having quite a little trouble to get anything to do, but then what could be expected with a man of his age, and the compet.i.tion and the hard times! Daniel asked if Eleanore was at home. No, she was not at home: she had gone on a visit with Frau Rubsam over to Pommersfelden, and planned to stay there for a few weeks. "Well, I'll have to be hurrying along," said Benno, "my fraternity brothers are waiting for me."

"Good gracious! Do you have fraternity brothers too?"

"Of course! They are the spice of my life! We have a holiday to-day: The King's funeral. Well, G.o.d bless you, Herr Kapellmeister, I must be going."

Daniel went up and rang the bell; Gertrude came to the door. It was dark; each could see only the outline of the other.

"Oh, it's you, Daniel!" she whispered, happy as happy could be. She came up to him, and laid her face on his shoulder.

Daniel was surprised at the regularity of his pulse. Yesterday the mere thought of this meeting took his breath. Now he held Gertrude in his arms, and was amazed to find that he was perfectly calm and composed.

In the room he led her over to the lamp, and looked at her for a long while, fixedly and seriously. She grew pale at the sight of him: he was so strange and so terrible.

Then he took her by the hand, led her over to the sofa, sat down beside her, and told her of his plans. Her wishes and his tallied exactly. He wanted to get married within four weeks. Very well; she would get married.

He found her the same unqualifiedly submissive girl. In her eyes there was an expression of fatal docility; it terrified him. There was no cowardly doubt in her soul; her cool hand lay in his and did not twitch.

With her hand her whole soul, her whole life, lay in his hand. He wanted to raise some doubt in her mind: he spoke in a down-hearted tone of his future prospects; he said that there was very little hope of his ever winning recognition from the world for his compositions.

"What is the good of recognition?" she asked. "They can take nothing from you, and what they give you is clear gain."

He became silent. The feeling of her worth to him swept like a fiery meteor through the heaven of his existence.

The statement that they were going to remain in Nuremberg made her happy, particularly because of her father. She said there was a small apartment for rent on aegydius Place, three rooms, a very quiet neighbourhood. They went over to the window; Gertrude showed him the house. It was close to the church, right where the Place makes a turn.

Jordan came in, and welcomed Daniel with a long handshake. His hair had become greyer, he walked with more of a stoop, and his clothes showed traces of neglect.

When he heard what Daniel and Gertrude were planning to do, he shook his head: "It is a bad year, children. Why are you in such a hurry? Both of you are still young."

"If we were older, we would have less courage," replied Daniel.