THE HOUSE IN THE GUMPENDORFER SUBURB.
Vienna was really terribly frightened by the near approach of the French
army, and the conviction of their dangerous position had excited
the people so fearfully that the Viennese, generally noted for their
peaceful and submissive disposition, had committed an open riot--for the
sole purpose, however, of compelling the all-powerful prime minister to
make peace with France. Archduke Charles had been defeated--the emperor
had fled to Hungary.
None of all these disastrous tidings had disturbed the inmates of
a small house on the outskirts of the Gumpendorfer suburb, in close
proximity to the Mariahilf line. This little house was a perfect image
of peace and tranquillity. It stood in the centre of a small garden
which showed the first tender blossoms of returning spring on its neatly
arranged beds. Dense shrubbery covered the white walls of the house with
evergreen verdure. Curtains as white and dazzling as fresh snow, and,
between them, flower-pots filled with luxuriant plants, might be seen
behind the glittering window-panes. Although there was nothing very
peculiar about the house, which had but two stories, yet nobody passed
by without looking up to the windows with a reverential and inquisitive
air, and he who only thought he could discover behind the panes the
fugitive shadow of a human being, made at once a deep and respectful
bow, and a proud and happy smile overspread his features.
And still, we repeat, there was nothing very peculiar about the house.
Its outside was plain and modest, and the inside was equally so. The
most profound silence prevailed in the small hall, the floor of which
had been sprinkled with fresh white sand. A large spotted cat--truly
beautiful animal--lay not far from the front door on a soft, white
cushion, and played gracefully and gently with the ball of white yarn
that had just fallen from the woman sitting at the window while she was
eagerly engaged in knitting. This woman, in her plain and unassuming
dress, seemed to be a servant of the house, but at all events a servant
in whom entire confidence was reposed, as was indicated by the large
bunch of keys, such as the lady of the house or a trusted housekeeper
will carry, which hung at her side. An expression of serene calmness
rendered her venerable features quite attractive, and a graceful smile
played on her thin and bloodless lips as she now dropped her knitting
upon her lap, and, with her body bent forward, commenced watching
the merry play of the cat on the cushion. Suddenly the silence was
interrupted by a loud and shrill scream, and a very strange-sounding
voice uttered a few incoherent words in English. At the same time a door
was opened hastily, and another woman appeared--just as old, just as
kind-looking, and with as mild and serene features as the one we have
just described. Her more refined appearance, however, her handsome
dress, her beautiful cap, her well-powdered toupet, and the massive gold
chain encircling her neck, indicated that she was no servant, but the
lady of the house.
However, peculiarly pleasant relations seemed to prevail between the
mistress and the servant, for the appearance of the lady did not cause
the latter to interrupt her merry play with the cat; and the mistress,
on her part, evidently did not consider it strange or disrespectful, but
quietly approached her servant.
“Catharine,” she said, “just listen how that abominable bird, Paperl,
screams again to-day. I am sure the noise will disturb the doctor, who
is at work already.”
“Yes, Paperl is an intolerable nuisance,” sighed Catharine. “I cannot
comprehend why the Kapellmeister--I was going to say the doctor--likes
the bird so well, and why he has brought it along from England. Yes, if
Paperl could sing, in that case it would not be strange if the Ka--,
I mean the doctor, had grown fond of the bird. But no, Paperl
merely jabbers a few broken words which no good Christian is able to
understand.”
“He who speaks English can understand it well enough, Catharine,” said
the lady, “for the bird talks English, and in that respect Paperl knows
more than either of us.”
“But Paperl cannot talk German, and I think that our language,
especially our dear Viennese dialect, sounds by far better than that
horrid English. I don’t know why the doctor likes the abominable noise,
and why he suffers the bird to disturb his quiet by these outrageous
screams.”
“I know it well enough, Catharine,” said the doctor’s wife, with a
gentle smile. “The parrot reminds my husband of his voyage to England,
and of all the glory and honor that were showered upon him there.”
“Well, as far as that is concerned, I should think it was entirely
unnecessary for my master to make a trip to England,” exclaimed
Catharine. “He has not returned a more famous man than he was already
when he went away. The English were unable to add to his glory, for
he was already the most celebrated man in the whole world when he went
there, and if that had not been the case, they would not have invited
him to come and perform his beautiful music before them, for then they
would not have known that he is such a splendid musician.”
“But they were delighted to see him, Catharine, and I tell you they
have perfectly overwhelmed him with honors. Every day they gave him
festivals, and even the king and queen urged him frequently to take
up his abode in England. The queen promised him splendid apartments in
Windsor Castle, and a large salary, and in return my husband was to do
nothing but to perform every day for an hour or so before her majesty,
or sing with her. Nevertheless, he had the courage to refuse the
brilliant offers of the king and queen, and do you know, Catharine, why
he rejected them?”
Catharine knew it well enough; she had frequently heard the story from
her mistress during the two years since the doctor had returned from
England, but she was aware that the lady liked to repeat it, and she
liked it very much, too, to hear people talk about her beloved master’s
fame and glory, having faithfully served him already for more than
twenty years. Hence she said, with a kind-hearted smile:
“No, indeed, I don’t know it, and I cannot comprehend why the doctor
said no to the king and queen of England.”
“He did so for my sake, Catharine!” said the lady, and an expression of
joyful pride shed a lustre of beauty and tenderness over her kind old
face. “Yes, I tell you, it was solely for my sake that my husband came
home again. ‘Remain with us!’ said the king to him. ‘You shall have
every thing the queen has offered you. You shall live at Windsor, and
sing once a day with the queen. Of you, my dear doctor, I shall not be
jealous, for you are an excellent and honest German gentleman.’ And when
the king had told him that, my husband bowed respectfully, and replied:
‘Your majesty, it is my highest pride to maintain this reputation. But
just because I am an honest German, I must tell you that I cannot stay
here--I cannot leave my country and my wife forever!’”
“‘Oh, as far as that is concerned,’ exclaimed the king, ‘we shall send
for your wife. She shall live with you at Windsor.’ But my husband
laughed and said: ‘She will never come, your majesty. She would not
cross the Danube in a skiff, much less make a trip beyond the sea. And,
therefore, there is nothing left to me but to return myself to my little
wife.’ And he did so, and left the king, and the queen, and all the
noble lords and ladies, and came back to Vienna, and to his little wife.
Say, Catharine, was not that well done of him?”
“Of course it was,” said Catharine; “the fact was, our good doctor loved
his wife better than the queen, and all the high born people who treated
him so well in England. And, besides, he knew that people hereabouts
treat him with as much deference as over there, and that if he only
desired it, he could hold daily intercourse with the emperor, the
princes, and the highest dignitaries in the country. But he does not
care for it. The fact is, our master is by far too modest; he is always
so quiet and unassuming, that nobody, unless they knew him, would
believe for a single moment that he is so far-famed a man; and then he
dresses so plainly, while he might deck himself with all the diamond
rings and breast-pins, the splendid watches and chains, which the
various sovereigns have given to him. But all these fine things he keeps
shut up in his desk, and constantly wears the old silver watch which he
has had already God knows how long!”
“Why, Catharine, that was the wedding-present I gave him,” said the good
wife, proudly; “and just for that reason my husband wears it all the
time, although he has watches by far more beautiful and valuable. At the
time I gave him that watch, both of us were very poor. He was a young
music-teacher, and I was a hairdresser’s daughter. He lived in a small
room in my father’s house, and as he often could not pay the rent, he
gave me every day a lesson on the piano. But in those lessons, I did not
only learn music--I learned to love him, too. He asked me to become his
wife, and on our wedding-day, I gave him the silver watch, and that is
just the reason why he wears it all the time, although he has by far
better ones. His wife’s present is more precious to him than what kings
and emperors have given to him.”
“But he might wear at least a nice gold chain to it,” said Catharine.
“Why, I am sure he has no less than a dozen of them. But he never wears
one of them, not even the other day when the Princess Esterhazy called
for him with her carriage to drive with him to the emperor. The doctor
wore on that occasion only a plain blue ribbon, on which his own name
was embroidered in silver.”
“Well, there is a story to that ribbon,” said the mistress,
thoughtfully. “My husband brought it likewise from Loudon, and he got it
there on one of his proudest days. I did not know the story myself, for
you are aware my husband is always so modest, and never talks about his
great triumphs in Loudon, and I would not have learned any thing about
the ribbon if he had not worn it the other day when he accompanied
the princess to the emperor. Ah, Catharine, it is a very beautiful and
touching story!”
Catharine did not know this story at all; hence she asked her mistress
with more than usual animation to tell her all about the ribbon.
The doctor’s wife assented readily. She sat down on a chair at
Catharine’s side, and looked with a pleasant smile at the cat who had
come up to her, and, purring comfortably, lay down on the hem of her
dress.
“Yes,” said she, “the story of that ribbon is quite touching, and I do
not know really, Catharine, but I will have to shed a few tears while
telling it. It was in Loudon, when my husband had just returned from
Oxford, where the university had conferred upon him the title of Doctor
of--”
“Yes, yes, I know,” grumbled Catharine, “that is the reason why we
now have to call him doctor, which does not sound near as imposing and
distinguished as our master’s former title of Kapellmeister.”
“But then it is a very high honor to obtain the title of doctor of music
in England, Catharine. The great composer Handel lived thirty years in
England without receiving it, and my husband had not been there but a
few months when they conferred the title upon him. Well, then, on the
day after his return from Oxford, he was invited to the house of a
gentleman of high rank and great wealth, who gave him a brilliant party.
A large number of ladies and gentlemen were present, and when my husband
appeared among them they rose and bowed as respectfully as though he
were a king. When the doctor had returned the compliment, he perceived
that every lady in the room wore in her hair a ribbon of blue silk, on
which his name had been embroidered in silver. His host wore the same
name in silver beads on his coat-facings, so that he looked precisely as
if he were my husband’s servant, and dressed in his livery. Oh, it was
a splendid festival which Mr. Shaw--that was the gentleman’s name--gave
him on that day. At length Mr. Shaw asked the doctor to give him a
souvenir, whereupon he presented him with a snuff-box he had purchased
in the course of the day for a few shillings; and when my husband
requested the lady of the house, whom he pronounces the most beautiful
woman on earth, to give him likewise a souvenir; Mrs. Shaw thereupon
took the ribbon from her head and handed it to him; and my husband
pressed it to his lips, and assured her he would always wear that ribbon
on the most solemn occasions. You see, Catharine, he keeps his promise
religiously, for he wore the ribbon the other day when he was called
to the imperial palace. But my story is not finished yet. Your master
called a few days after that party on Mr. Shaw, when the latter showed
him the snuff-box he had received from my husband. It was enclosed in a
handsome silver case, a beautiful lyre was engraved on the lid, with an
inscription stating that my great and illustrious husband had given him
the box. [Footnote: The inscription was: “Ex dono celeberrimi Josephi
Haydn.”] How do you like my story, Catharine?”
“Oh, it is beautiful,” said the old servant, thoughtfully; “only, what
you said about that beautiful Mrs. Shaw did not exactly please me. I am
sure the doctor got the parrot also from her, and for that reason likes
the bird so well, although it screeches so horribly, and doubtless
disturbs him often in his studies.”
“Yes, he got the bird from Mrs. Shaw,” replied her mistress, with a
smile. “She taught Paperl to whistle three airs from my husband’s finest
quartets, singing and whistling the music to the bird every day during
three or four weeks for several hours, until Paperl could imitate them;
and when my husband took leave of her, she gave him the parrot.”
“But the bird never whistles the tunes any more. I have only heard
Paperl do it once, and that was on the day after the doctor’s return
from England.” “I know the reason why. The bird hears here every day
so much music, and so many new melodies which the doctor plays on his
piano, that its head has grown quite confused, and poor Paperl has
forgotten its tunes.”
“It has not forgotten its English words, though,” murmured Catharine.
“What may be the meaning of these words which the bird is screaming all
the time?”
“That beautiful Mrs. Shaw taught Paperl to pronounce them, Catharine. I
do not know their precise meaning, but they commence as follows: ‘Forget
me not, forget me not--’ Good Heaven! the bird has commenced screaming
again. I am sure it has not had any sugar to-day. Where is Conrad? He
ought to attend to the bird.”
“He has gone down town. The doctor has given him several errands.”
“Good Heaven! the screams are almost intolerable. Go, Catharine, and
give poor Paperl a piece of sugar.”
“I dare not, madame; it always snaps at me with its abominable beak, and
if the chain did not prevent it from attacking me, it would scratch out
my eyes.”
“I am afraid of it, too,” said the lady, anxiously; “nevertheless we
cannot permit the bird to go on in this manner. Just listen to it--it
is yelling as though it were going to be roasted. It will disturb
my husband, and you know the doctor is composing a new piece. Come,
Catharine, we must quiet the bird. I will give him the sugar.”
“And I shall take my knitting-needles along, and if it should try to
bite, I will hit it on the beak. Let us go now, madame.”
And the two women walked boldly across the anteroom, toward the door of
the small parlor, in order to commence the campaign against the parrot.
The cat followed them gravely and solemnly, and with an air as though
it had taken the liveliest interest in the conversation, and thought it
might greatly assist them in pacifying the screaming bird.