The First Violin. Fothergill Jessie

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “It is the premier pas qui coûte,” said he, keeping a friendly but determined gaze upon my undecided face.

      “I want to accustom you to appearing in public,” he added. “By degrees, you know. There is nothing unusual in Germany for one in your position to sing in such a concert.”

      “I was not thinking of that; but that it is impossible that I can sing well enough – ”

      “You sing well enough for my purpose. You will be amazed to find what an impetus to your studies, and what a filip to your industry will be given by once singing before a number of other people. And then, on the stage – ”

      “But I am not going on the stage.”

      “I think you are. At least, if you do otherwise you will do wrong. You have gifts which are in themselves a responsibility.”

      “I – gifts – what gifts?” I asked, incredulously. “I am as stupid as a donkey. My sisters always said so, and sisters are sure to know; you may trust them for that.”

      “Then you will take the soprano solos?”

      “Do you think I can?”

      “I don’t think you can; I say you must. I will call upon Miss Hallam this afternoon. And the gage– fee – what you call it? – is fifty thalers.”

      “What!” I cried, my whole attitude changing to one of greedy expectation. “Shall I be paid?”

      “Why, natürlich,” said he, turning over sheets of music, and averting his face to hide a smile.

      “Oh! then I will sing.”

      “Good! Only please to remember that it is my concert, and I am responsible for the soloists; and pray think rather more about the beautiful glittering serpent than about the beautiful glittering thalers.”

      “I can think about both,” was my unholy, time-serving reply.

      Fifty thalers. Untold gold!

      CHAPTER XII

      “Prinz Eugen, der edle Ritter.”

      It was the evening of the haupt-probe, a fine moonlight night in the middle of May – a month since I had come to Elberthal, and it seemed so much, so very much more.

      To my astonishment – and far from agreeable astonishment – Anna Sartorius informed me of her intention to accompany me to the probe. I put objections in her way as well as I knew how, and said I did not think outsiders were admitted. She laughed, and said:

      “That is too funny, that you should instruct me in such things. Why, I have a ticket for all the proben, as any one can have who chooses to pay two thalers at the sasse. I have a mind to hear this. They say the orchestra are going to rebel against von Francius. And I am going to the concert to-morrow, too. One can not hear too much of such fine music; and when one’s friend sings, too – ”

      “What friend of yours is going to sing?” I inquired, coldly.

      “Why, you, you allerliebster kleiner Engel,” said she, in a tone of familiarity, to which I strongly objected.

      I could say no more against her going, but certainly displayed no enthusiastic desire for her company.

      The probe, we found, was to be in the great saal; it was half lighted, and there were perhaps some fifty people, holders of probe-tickets, seated in the parquet.

      “You are going to sing well to-night,” said von Francius, as he handed me up the steps – “for my sake and your own, nicht wahr?”

      “I will try,” said, I, looking round the great orchestra, and seeing how full it was – so many fresh faces, both in chorus and orchestra.

      And as I looked, I saw Courvoisier come in by the little door at the top of the orchestra steps and descend to his place. His face was clouded – very clouded; I had never seen him look thus before. He had no smile for those who greeted him. As he took his place beside Helfen, and the latter asked him some question, he stared absently at him, then answered with a look of absence and weariness.

      “Herr Courvoisier,” said von Francius – and I, being near, heard the whole dialogue – “you always allow yourself to be waited for.”

      Courvoisier glanced up. I with a new, sudden interest, watched the behavior of the two men. In the face of von Francius I thought to discover dislike, contempt.

      “I beg your pardon; I was detained,” answered Courvoisier, composedly.

      “It is unfortunate that you should be so often detained at the time when your work should be beginning.”

      Unmoved and unchanging, Courvoisier heard and submitted to the words, and to the tone in which they were spoken – sarcastic, sneering, and unbelieving.

      “Now we will begin,” pursued von Francius, with a disagreeable smile, as he rapped with his baton upon the rail. I looked at Courvoisier – looked at his friend, Friedhelm Helfen. The former was sitting as quietly as possible, rather pale, and with the same clouded look, but not deeper than before; the latter was flushed, and eyed von Francius with no friendly glance.

      There seemed a kind of slumbering storm in the air. There was none of the lively discussion usual at the proben. Courvoisier, first of the first violins, and from whom all the others seemed to take their tone, sat silent, grave and still. Von Francius, though quiet, was biting. I felt afraid of him. Something must have happened to put him into that evil mood.

      My part did not come until late in the second part of the oratorio. I had almost forgotten that I was to sing at all, and was watching von Francius and listening to his sharp speeches. I remembered what Anna Sartorius had said in describing this haupt-probe to me. It was all just as she had said. He was severe; his speeches roused the phlegmatic blood, set the professional instrumentalists laughing at their amateur co-operators, but provoked no reply or resentment. It was extraordinary, the effect of this man’s will upon those he had to do with – upon women in particular.

      There was one haughty-looking blonde – a Swede – tall, majestic, with long yellow curls, and a face full of pride and high temper, who gave herself decided airs, and trusted to her beauty and insolence to carry off certain radical defects of harshness of voice and want of ear. I never forgot how she stared me down from head to foot on the occasion of my first appearance alone, as if to say, “What do you want here?”

      It was in vain that she looked haughty and handsome. Addressing her as Fräulein Hulstrom, von Francius gave her a sharp lecture, and imitated the effect of her voice in a particularly soft passage with ludicrous accuracy. The rest of the chorus was tittering audibly, the musicians, with the exception of Courvoisier and his friend, nudging each other and smiling. She bridled haughtily, flashed a furious glance at her mentor, grew crimson, received a sarcastic smile which baffled her, and subsided again.

      So it was with them all. His blame was plentiful; his praise so rare as to be almost an unknown quantity. His chorus and orchestra were famed for the minute perfection and precision of their play and singing. Perhaps the performance lacked something else – passion, color. Von Francius, at that time at least, was no genius, though his talent, his power, and his method were undeniably great. He was, however, not popular – not the Harold, the “beloved leader” of his people.

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