[Illustration: Decorative A]
mong the best-known residents of Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz
when Hans Pumpernickel first appeared in that beautiful city were three
musicians--Herr von Kaerlingtongs, who was the only, and consequently the
best, violinist in town, Dr. Otto Teutonstring, and Heinrich Flatz, who
had played the 'cello once before the King of Prussia with such effect
that the king said he'd never heard anything like it before. The town
was naturally very proud of the trio, and particularly of Dr.
Teutonstring, who, though far from being a muscular man, had once played
the bass-viol for sixteen consecutive hours in the musical contest at
the Schnitzelhammerstein carnival, beating by one hour and twenty-two
minutes the strongest and most enduring bass-viol player in Germany.
They were the most amiable old gentlemen in the world. It very seldom
happened that they failed to agree, which was rather wonderful, because
it often happens, unhappily, that musicians grow jealous of one another,
and say and do things that make it impossible for them to live together
peaceably. You may not all of you remember that famous and very sad
instance of the lengths to which this jealousy is sometimes allowed to
run wherein Luigi Sparragini, the well-known Italian violinist, in his
rage at the applause received at a concert by his rival, Siegfried von
Heimstetter, broke a Stradivarius violin valued at a thousand pounds
over Von Heimstetter's head, to be rebuked in return by Von Heimstetter,
who induced Sparragini to look at the mechanism of a grand piano he had,
letting the cover fall on the other's head as soon as he had poked it
in, thereby utterly ruining the piano and severely injuring Sparragini's
nose.
Nothing of this kind, as I have intimated, ever marred the serenity of
the three amiable musicians of Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz.
"We have no cause each other to be jealous of," Herr von Kaerlingtongs
had said. "I the fiddle play; they the fiddle do not play."
"True," observed Heinrich Flatz. "The potato just as well the watermelon
might be jealous of. If I the fiddle played, then might I Von
Kaerlingtongs be jealous of. Therefore also already can the same be said
regarding Teutonstring. In no manner are we each other the rivals of."
In all of which, as Hans Pumpernickel said to me, there was much
common-sense. "Discord is not music," said he, "and if these men were
discordant they would not be musicians. If they were not musicians they
would have to make a living in some other kind of business. They are not
fit for any other kind of business, wherefore they are wise as well as
amiable."
The consequence of all this harmony between the three dear old gentlemen
was that they were always together. They practised together, and on
public occasions they played together, and their fellow-townsmen were
delighted with them. At weddings they played the wedding-marches, each
as earnestly as though he were playing a solo. At the Mayor's banquets
they were always present, adding much to the pleasure of these sumptuous
repasts by the soft and beautiful strains which they discoursed. "I am
not a king," said Mayor Ehrenbreitstein upon one of these occasions;
"but if I were, I could not hear better music. We have an orchestra
without a court. What more can we desire?"
"Nothing," said Hans Pumpernickel, "unless it be another tune."
"A good idea," cried one of the aldermen. "Let us have another tune."
And so the cry would go about the board, and the three happy old
gentlemen would good-naturedly go to work again and play another tune.
It came about very naturally, then, that whenever a rival band of
musicians, desirous of wresting the laurels from the respective brows of
Herren Von Kaerlingtongs, Teutonstring, and Flatz, came to
Schnitzelhammerstein, they found them so strongly intrenched in the
affections of the people that, while they lived and played in harmony
together, no others could hope to make a living from music in that
community. They rapidly grew rich; for it came to pass that, with the
exception of house rent, and new strings for their instruments, and
other mere incidentals of a musician's work, they had no expenses to
pay. Their food cost them nothing, they attended so many banquets; and
when, occasionally, a day would come upon which no breakfast, luncheon,
or dinner required their services, it was always found that they had
carried away enough fruit and cake and other dainties from the affairs
that had been given to last them through such rare intervals as found
them without an engagement.
In other respects, too, did these worthies show themselves entitled to
be called wise. Some five years after they began to grow famous in
Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz some of their admirers suggested
that they ought not to confine themselves to the small town in which
they had waxed so great, but should go out into the world and dazzle all
mankind by the brilliance of their playing.
"The great orchestras of Austria," said one of these, "do not content
themselves with laurels won at home. They travel into far countries,
and win fame and fortune all the world over. Why do not you go?"
"We will talk it over," Herr Teutonstring replied. "I for one am opposed
to making such a trip, because I am an old man, and my bass-viol is
heavy."
"Can you not send it about by freight?" said the man who proposed the
scheme.
"Would you send your child by freight?" asked Herr Teutonstring.
"I would not," returned the other.
"No more can I send my bass-viol by freight," said Herr Teutonstring,
fondly twanging the strings of his huge instrument. "This is my whole
family. I love it as I would a child for whom I must care; as a father
who has helped me to become what I am. Nevertheless, we will talk it
over."
And they did talk it over, and as a result decided that the world,
if it desired to hear them play, must come to
Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz.
"If we go," said Herr Von Kaerlingtongs, "who will provide music for
Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz?"
"Who, indeed?" said Heinrich Flatz, gazing at the floor after the
manner of the truly wise man.
"Since you have both asked that question," said Herr Teutonstring, "out
of mere politeness I must answer it. My answer is, briefly, I haven't
the slightest idea."
"But some one must," persisted Von Kaerlingtongs.
"Yes," said the others.
"Then one of two things must happen," said Von Kaerlingtongs. "Either by
our absence the people of this town must be deprived of good music,
which would be very ungrateful of us, who have gained so much profit
from them, or they must discover that there are others who can play as
well as we do, whereby we would cease to be the greatest in the
world--which strikes me as bad policy."
"Von Kaerlingtongs," said Heinrich Flatz, with tears of joy in his eyes,
"you are not only a musician, you are a thinker."
"Do not flatter me, my dear Flatz," said Von Kaerlingtongs, modestly.
"You do not know what a struggle it is to me to keep from giving way to
pride."
"Well, I agree to all that you have said," said Herr Teutonstring; "and
I have to add that, as we are only young in spirit, and as my bass-viol
is very heavy, I think we should be content to remain at home."
"Particularly," added Heinrich Flatz, "in view of the fact that there
can be but one result. We should succeed. Now where is the gratification
in success? Simply in the knowledge that you have succeeded. We know
that now. Wherefore why should we put ourselves to inconveniences simply
to find out what we already know? Does a man with a pantryful of tarts
go seeking tarts? He does not--"
"If he is wise," said Herr Teutonstring.
"And we are wise," added Herr von Kaerlingtongs.
"Which settles the point. We'll stay at home," said Herr Flatz.
And they did, and subsequent events showed the wisdom of their
course, for in less than a year's time the King came to
Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz.
Some said that he stopped there merely because there was a better
luncheon-counter at the railway station than anywhere else along the
road. Others persisted that his Majesty had heard of the marvellous
powers of the three musicians, and, being fond of music, had travelled
all the way from the capital, a distance of more than a hundred miles,
to hear them. However this was, the fact remained that the King
announced that for two hours he would be the guest of the little city
concerning which we have spoken so much. The town naturally was all of a
flutter, and great preparations were made to receive his Majesty.
"I will make a speech," said the Mayor, "and our orchestra can serenade
his Majesty."
"The serenade is a good idea," said Hans Pumpernickel, innocently.
"Shall I inform Herr Teutonstring and his fellow-players that that is
your opinion?"
"As a rule, I avoid having opinions," said the Mayor, "but in this
instance I think it is safe to hazard one. You may inform the
gentlemen."
"And the speech?" suggested Hans.
"We'll see about that," said the Mayor. "If I can get a good one, I
shall deliver it."
"Very well," said Hans. "I'll try to think of something for you to say.
Meanwhile I'll see Von Kaerlingtongs."
Hans did as he said, and, despite their wisdom, the three musicians were
as much in a flutter as the rest of the city. To play before the King
was an unexpected honor, although Heinrich Flatz affected to treat it as
quite an ordinary thing.
"He is a very fair judge of music," said Flatz, patronizingly, "for a
King. I think that, after all, we'd better do our best."
"Yes," said Von Kaerlingtongs, "you are right, as usual, though I will
say right here that, in doing my best, I am actuated as much by my
loyalty to my art as by any other motive. I _always_ do my best."
"And I also," put in Teutonstring. "Now the question that arises is what
is our best?"
"That _is_ indeed the question," said Herr Flatz. "I, having already had
the honor to play before his Majesty, am perhaps better fitted than
either of you to say what he likes. When I was so distinguished I played
Djorski's Symphony in B Minor. Therefore I contend that that is what we
should play. His Majesty remarked that he had never heard anything like
it before. He would doubtless like to hear it again. Therefore I say
that is the thing for us to play."
"Ordinarily," said Teutonstring, "I can agree with Herr Flatz, but this
time I cannot. _I_ am at my best in Darmstadter's Oratorio. There can be
no question about it that the bass-viol is at its highest, most
ennobling point in that composition, which is why I say let us have the
Oratorio. The King, having heard the Symphony in B Minor, would
naturally rather hear something else. The Symphony, no doubt, would
awaken pleasant memories, but the Oratorio would give him something new
to remember in the future."
"There is much in what you say, Herr Teutonstring," put in Von
Kaerlingtongs. "There is also much in what my dear friend Flatz says; but
it seems to me that there is more in what I have to say than in the
combined suggestions of both of you. The Symphony in B Minor is
excellent, the Oratorio is quite as excellent, but neither of them comes
up to Dboriak's Moonlight Sonata, which, when I play it, makes me feel
as though the whole world lay at my feet--as if I were the King of all
creation. Now I am a man; the King is a man; we are both men. It is but
natural to suppose that if this Sonata makes me, a man, feel like the
King of all creation, it will also make that other man, the King, feel
the same way. What is our object in playing before the King? To please
him. How can we best please him? Simply by making him feel that he is
the King of all creation. Perfectly simple, my dear Flatz. Plain as a
pikestaff, Teutonstring. Therefore let us play Dboriak's Moonlight
Sonata."
It was thus that the three musicians, who had always hitherto agreed,
came to have the first difference of their lives, and what made it seem
worse than all was that this difference occurred at a time which seemed
to them in their secret hearts to be the greatest event of their lives.
Perhaps it was the very importance of this event that made each of them
firm in his belief that he was right and the others wrong. Neither would
yield to the others, and an hour before the arrival of the royal train
found Flatz determined to play the Symphony, Teutonstring determined to
play the Oratorio, and Von Kaerlingtongs equally immovable in his
determination to play the Moonlight Sonata, and nothing else. They
labored with one another in vain. Doctor Teutonstring tried to win over
Herr Flatz, saying that if together they should play the Oratorio they
could let Von Kaerlingtongs render the Sonata without much harm, since
the bass-viol and 'cello together could drown the sounds of the violin.
Herr Flatz would agree to a combination of two against one only in case
the Symphony were selected, and when the King arrived no change
whatsoever had been made in the determination of the musicians. Ruin
stared them in the face, but each preferred ruin to a base surrender of
what he thought to be for the best.
Of course, as the King alighted from the train the people cheered, and,
when the Mayor rose to greet him with the speech he had to make, they
cheered again, but these cheers were as nothing to those which greeted
the appearance of the musicians. Many nations had kings; all cities had
mayors; what city had such an orchestra? No wonder they cheered.
And then the serenade began.
Herr Flatz resined his bow and began the Symphony in B Minor, while Von
Kaerlingtongs and Teutonstring, equally determined, started in on the
opening measures of the Sonata and Oratorio respectively.
[Illustration: "THE THREE FIDDLED WITH ALL THEIR STRENGTH"]
"It's something new they've got up for the occasion," whispered the
people, as the three men fiddled away with all their strength.
"A most original composition!" said the King to the Chancellor.
"I never heard such discord in my life," said a small boy on the
outskirts of the crowd.
Still they kept on. The Symphony and the Oratorio were longer than the
Sonata, so that Von Kaerlingtongs soon found himself outdone by his
fellow-players, but, nothing daunted, he played the Sonata over again.
And so it went, until, with a final grand burst of notes (I was almost
about to say harmony), they stopped.
"Magnificent!" said the King.
"A really classic composition," murmured the Chancellor.
And the people shrieked with delight.
The musicians, perspiring with excitement, stood overcome with surprise.
They had succeeded beyond their wildest hopes, but the King brought them
to their senses in a minute by asking:
"What is the composer's name?"
"What'll we tell him?" moaned Teutonstring. "It will never do to confess
what we have done now."
"I'm sure I don't know," returned Flatz, with a shiver.
"The composer's name, sir," replied Von Kaerlingtongs, more ready of wit
than the others--"the composer's name is--ah--is--"
"Well?" said the King, impatiently.
"It is Kaerlingteutonflatz," said Von Kaerlingtongs.
"Give him a thousand marks," said the King, "and distribute a thousand
more to these gentlemen," he added.
And then the royal party proceeded on its way.
As for the composer, Kaerlingteutonflatz, he was never heard of again;
but several other eminent musicians modelled their music after his, and
obtained a renown that was not only world-wide, but has lasted until
this day.
The three musicians of Schnitzelhammerstein-on-the-Zugvitz, when they
had recovered from their surprise and excitement, began to smile, and
never stopped until they died--and I am not certain that they stopped
then--nor did they ever confide their secret to any one but Hans
Pumpernickel, who in turn confided it to me, so that this is really the
first time the public has been let into the secret origin of what was
then the music of the future and what is to-day the music of the
present.