The First Violin. Fothergill Jessie

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СКАЧАТЬ if I would have let her, I say humbly, Mea culpa!

      “It seems a dull kind of a 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?”

      “Of course.”

      “Brothers and sisters?”

      “Two sisters,” I replied, mightily ruffled by 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, nicht wahr?”

      “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 gauche to try to smooth over my dislike. I did not know the pain I was giving, and if I had, should perhaps not have behaved differently.

      “Doch!” 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, Fräulein Sartorius, it must be owned, did not know how to apologize 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 can not be understood here, where women in comparison are free as air, and gave no little of the brusqueness and roughness to her manner. In an enlightened English home she would have been an admirable, firm, clever woman; here she was that most dreadful of all abnormal growths – a woman with a will of her own.

      “What do they do here?” I inquired, indifferently.

      “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?”

      “Yes. One must have something to do – some carrière– 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 Rubenstein.”

      “Ah, yes!” said I, politely, but without interest. I had never heard of Rubenstein and the “Verlorenes Paradies.” Before the furor of 1876, how many scores of provincial English had?

      “There is very much music here,” she continued. “Are you fond of it?”

      “Ye-es. I can’t play much, but I can sing. I have come here partly to take singing lessons.”

      “So!”

      “Who is the best teacher?” was my next ingenuous question.

      She laughed.

      “That depends upon what you want to learn. There are so many: violin, Clavier, that is piano, flute, ’cello, everything.”

      “Oh!” I replied, and asked no more questions 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 can not be a humbug, so others do not like me. But I believe some people like Elberthal very well. There is the theater – 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 something free and artist-like in his manner, in his loose waving hair and in his keen susceptibility to beauty. I thought of his emotion at hearing that glorious Bach music. Or was he a musician – what Anna Sartorius called ein Musiker? 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 composer, and my experience of teachers and performers was limited to one specimen – Mr. Smythe, of Darton, whose method and performances would, as I have since learned, 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, accouterments rattling. He was apparently an acquaintance 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 doubt he was a soldier. In my ignorance of the strictness of German military regulations as regards the wearing of uniform, I overlooked 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?” I inquired, abruptly.

      “Hauptmann.”

      “Thank you.” Hauptmann Eugen Courvoisier – 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 within my means.

      As I took off my things, I wondered when Herr Courvoisier would “make out his accounts.” I trusted soon.

      CHAPTER VIII

      “Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese.”

      Miss Hallam fulfilled her promise with regard to my singing lessons. She had a conversation with Fräulein 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 vereins – the clubs – societies, whatever you name them. At least he might try Miss Wedderburn’s voice.”

      “Who is he?”

      “The head of anything belonging to music in the town – königlicher 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?”

      “Every season there are СКАЧАТЬ