THE FIRST LESSON
The next week was a pleasant one at Bellvieu. Molly Breckenridge
secured the consent of her father to remain for that long, and the
girls explored every nook and corner of the old mansion and its
grounds. Even the big, old-fashioned barn came in for its share of
their attention.
Horseback riding is one of the chief attractions at Bellvieu. Both
girls were good riders, and very fond of horses. Jim was not so
anxious, but usually accompanied them when they ventured away from
home.
Long rides into the country early in the morning, or in the cool of
the evening, were enjoyed to the utmost. Gerald came over frequently
and the big automobile served to give them many pleasant hours.
The first lesson with Herr Deichenberg had been postponed until after
Molly's departure, though that young lady was not aware of it. The
Herr refused to have the attention of his pupils distracted by
visitors, so, while impatient to begin his labors, he consented to a
postponement until Bellvieu should be clear of company and affairs
running along in their natural groove.
The day for Molly's departure finally rolled around, and at the
station to see her off, besides Dorothy and Jim, were Gerald and
Aurora. Molly waved a last farewell from the car window as the train
moved out of the station.
In Dorothy's ears still rang her promise:
"If papa consents, I will spend Christmas with you at old Bellvieu."
To which Dorothy had replied:
"Of course, he'll consent, for you're to invite him, too."
This pleased Molly greatly and she had promised to write her chum
what the judge's decision was.
The first violin lesson was set for the morning after Molly's
departure, Herr Deichenberg having kindly consented to come to
Bellvieu, greatly to the delight of both Dorothy and Aunt Betty.
Dorothy was eager to display her ability, and, feeling every
confidence in herself, was not the least bit flustered when she met
Herr Deichenberg at the door and ushered him into the big
drawing-room.
"It seems real good to see you again, Miss Dorothy," the old
professor said. "I have been t'inking about you a great deal vhile
you have been avay, und I am really anxious to have you back--really
und truly anxious."
"It was good of you to come to Bellvieu, Herr. I feel that I should
have gone to your studio."
"Ah! Don't mention dat. I--"
"But I am much younger than you. I can afford to exercise myself a
little if it will save you trouble."
"You are younger, yes. Yet, I am not as old in body as in looks. I
valk pretty straight, yet, eh, Miss Dorothy?" and laughing, he
chucked her playfully under the chin.
"You walk with military precision, Herr, except on a few occasions
when you forget yourself. Then I have noticed a slight stoop to the
shoulders," she replied.
"Ah, vhen I forget myself, yes--und I fear dat is very often, eh?"
"No, no; I think you do remarkably well."
"Do you, really? Dat iss very nice of you to say. If you vill pay me
all de time such compliments, I t'ink you need not come to my studio
at all. I vill be happy to come to your great home, here." He looked
out through the window, where the magnificent sweep of lawn, with its
flowers, trees and hedges, made a pretty picture. "It iss
beautiful--beautiful!"
While they were talking Aunt Betty, attired in a charming morning
gown, well-becoming to one of her age, entered the room.
Herr Deichenberg arose with a broad smile to greet her.
"Ah, here iss de mistress of de house," he said to Dorothy, then
turned to Aunt Betty, who had extended her hand with the words:
"Welcome again to Bellvieu, Herr Deichenberg."
"T'ank you, madame. It iss very kind of you. Really, if I sit here
much longer, admiring de flowers und de trees, I shall forget dat I
have come to give dis young lady a moosic lesson, und dat I shall
have another pupil vaiting for me in de studio at eleven."
"But it is well that you occasionally forget your labors, Herr."
"Ah, yes, but--"
"I know what you are going to say--that you have your living to
make."
"Madame, you have read the sordid t'oughts of an old man who is
supposed to have made a great success."
"And I'm sure you have made a great success. As for the money, Herr,
is that any reason you should ruin your health?"
"No, no, madame, but--"
"Ah, Herr," she interrupted again, "you are becoming too thoroughly
imbued with the American spirit, which thinks of nothing more than to
catch the dollars as they go rolling past. Then, after they are
corralled in a bank, or invested in property, you are not satisfied,
but begin to covet more."
"Madame, you have struck de key-note of it all, I fear. I plead
guilty. But I also plead, in extenuation, dat I have a vife to whom I
owe a great duty."
"Ah, yes, a wife! True, true; but did you ever put straight to her
the question whether she would prefer to have you slave for money or
give her a little more of your time for pleasure?"
"No; but I know vhat she vould say. You are right und I am wrong. But
come, Miss Dorothy, de lesson! I have brought with me my own
instrument. I vill get it at once."
Stepping across the room he picked up his violin case and began to
unfasten the clasps, while Dorothy watched him with fascinated gaze.
"Oh, Herr," cried the girl, "you--you didn't bring your old Cremona?"
"Surely. Vhat you t'ink, dat you are not good enough to be taught on
a Cremona, eh?"
"Oh, Herr, you know I didn't mean that!"
"Of course not," he laughed. "You meant dat you vould like to see it,
maybe?"
"Yes, yes."
"Vell, here it iss."
For a moment Dorothy was awed as she gazed at the rather
ordinary-looking violin.
Could this be the great Cremona of which she had heard so much?
This--this--why, this looked more like a ten-dollar fiddle picked up
in a pawnshop!
She knew, however, that the Herr would not deceive her, so she took
the instrument tenderly in her hands while the old German watched her
intently. When he saw the look of reverence that crossed her face, he
seemed pleased.
"You vould like to try it, yes, Miss Dorothy?"
"Oh, Herr, if I only may!"
"Surely, surely. Iss it stingy I am, do you t'ink? Surely you may try
it, my leetle girl. Here--use my own bow, too. It iss well resined,
und in good shape for to make fine moosic. Now, let me hear you
play."
Not until she had drawn the bow across the strings and heard the
deep, sweet tones of the old Cremona, did Dorothy realize that in her
hands she held an instrument constructed by one of the finest of the
old masters--an instrument that had come down, perfectly preserved
through the ages, growing better with each passing year.
As the girl played one of the simple pieces which lay uppermost on
the piano-rack, the big living-room was filled to overflowing with
matchless melody. So clear and pure were the tones that Dorothy could
hardly believe her ears. Was it indeed she who made such delightful
music, or was she dreaming?
Herr Deichenberg's voice brought her back to her normal state of
mind.
"It iss beautiful--de melody. I did not believe you could do it, even
on a Cremona."
"It is not me, Herr, but this wonderful violin," the girl cried in
admiration.
"Oh, come, now, vhen ve simmer t'ings down to a fine point, de
Cremona iss not so different from your own instrument, Miss Dorothy."
"Oh, Herr, surely you are mistaken. Why, I seem to be dreaming when I
am playing on the Cremona."
"Und vhy iss dat? Because you have made up your mind dat dis iss
absolutely de finest violin in de whole vorld, und have prepared
yourself to hear somet'ing vhich iss not there. De tones are clear
und full, but so are those of your own violin, on vhich you played
for me vhen I vass here before."
Dorothy shook her head in disbelief, unable to appreciate the full
truth of his words.
Herr Deichenberg smiled.
"You von't believe me, eh? Very vell. Let us on with de lesson. I
shall convince you at another time."
"I'm afraid you will have a hard time ever convincing me of that,"
the girl replied.
Dorothy's own violin was tuned, and on this, under the music master's
direction, she ran scales for the better part of an hour--to limber
her fingers, Herr Deichenberg said.
"But they are already limber, Herr," she returned, in a tone of mild
protest.
"Vait, vait," he good-naturedly said. "Vait just a few veeks und den
you vill see vhat you shall see. I vill have you doing vhat you
Americans call 'stunts' on dat violin. Really, it vill surprise you!
Your fingers are stiff. See; I vill show you. Now, try dis
exercise--here!" He opened one of her music books and pushed the
music before her.
"Right there, now. One--two--t'ree! One--two--t'ree!--"
Dorothy swung off into the exercise with apparent ease, but soon
reached a difficult scale in the third position. Somehow her fingers
would not go where she intended them. She tried it once--twice--then
stopped, flushing.
"You see?" said the Herr professor. "If I vant to be mean, I vould
say, 'I told you so.'"
"Oh, Herr, I beg your pardon! I will never dispute your word
again--never--never! My fingers _are_ stiff. They are all right for
ordinary music in the first and second positions, but the third I can
hardly do at all, and I'm sure I have practiced and practiced it."
"Surely you have practiced it, but never as you shall during de next
few veeks. It iss only by constant application to a certain method
dat great violin players are made. Dey are expected to accomplish de
impossible. Dat may sound rather vague to you, but you vill some day
understand vhat I mean."
"I understand what you mean now, Herr. I find an exercise which it is
impossible for me to play. But I keep everlastingly at it until I can
play it. In that way I have achieved what _seemed_ to be the
impossible."
"Dat iss it--dat iss it! You catch my idea exactly. Do you t'ink you
vill be able to accomplish many of those impossible t'ings?"
"I shall perform every task you set for me, no matter how long or how
hard I have to try."
"Ah, now, dat iss de proper spirit. If all young ladies vere like you
vhat a beautiful time de moosic teachers vould have."
"They would, Herr?"
"Oh, yes; dey vould be so overjoyed dat dey vould be avay on a
vacation most of de time."
"I suppose you have all sorts of pupils, Herr?" said Aunt Betty, who
had been an interested listener to the conversation between the girl
and the professor.
"Yes; mostly young girls, madame, und to say dat dey are a big
trouble iss but expressing it mildly. In fact, dey are de greatest of
my troubles. Dey pay me vell, yes, but vhat iss pay vhen you must
labor with dem hour after hour to get an idea t'rough their heads?
Vy, for example I vill show you. A lady pupil vill valk into my
studio, t'row off her t'ings und prepare for a lesson. Vhen I say now
you do dis or dat, she vill reply, 'Oh, Herr, you should not ask of
me de impossible!' Und I try to explain dat it iss only by practice
dat she vill ever make a great musician. Den perhaps she vill reply:
'Vell, if I had known it vass such hard vork maybe I vould not have
tried to play,' und den she heaves such a sigh dat for a moment I
really feel ashamed of myself for making her vork so hard. Oh,
madame, it iss awful! Sometimes I almost go crazy in my head." He
turned again to Dorothy. "But, come, young lady, back to de lesson,
und ve vill soon be t'rough."
Dorothy nodded her willingness, which caused the Herr professor to
smile and nod delightedly at Aunt Betty.
"Dat iss de proper spirit," he kept repeating, half aloud.
Scale after scale the girl ran over, repeating dozens of times the
same notes, until Herr Deichenberg would nod his head that she had
played it to his satisfaction. Then on to another and the same
performance over again.
Her work won from the Herr the heartiest of commendation, and when he
left he told both Dorothy and Aunt Betty that he would look forward
to the next lesson with a great deal of pleasure.
Thereafter, twice each week, the Herr came to Bellvieu. He seemed to
dearly love the old place, for during her first four weeks of lessons
Dorothy was unable to win from him his consent to take her to his
home.
Finally, he agreed that the next lesson should be in the studio, but
only after considerable pleading on her part.
"I am doing it to please you," he told her, "for if I have my vay, I
vould much rather come to dis beautiful place."
Dorothy could hardly wait for the time of the visit to come.
The Herr had asked Aunt Betty to accompany her great-niece, to meet
Frau Deichenberg, and on the morning in question they set out
together in the barouche.
Metty finally drew up on a quiet street before the quaintest-looking
little house Dorothy had ever seen. It was not a bungalow, yet about
it were certain lines which suggested that type of structure. It was
all in one story, with great French windows on two sides, and with
trailing vines climbing the porch posts onto the roof in thoroughly
wild abandon.
Herr Deichenberg came out to meet them and lead them into the
living-room of the house, where Dorothy and Aunt Betty met for the
first time Frau Deichenberg, who had been out on the occasion of
Aunt Betty's first visit. The Frau proved to be a kindly German lady
who spoke English with even more accent than her distinguished
husband.
The welcome to the studio was complete in every way, and as Dorothy
went from room to room examining the rare curios and works of art,
which the Herr and his wife had gathered from various parts of the
world, she felt that her visit had not been in vain.
In the large, well-lighted music room, where the Herr received his
pupils, Dorothy found the things of greatest interest. Half a dozen
violins were scattered about on the shelves, or lying on the
old-fashioned piano, while clocks of every conceivable size and
shape, bronze statues from the Far East, and queerly woven baskets
from the Pampas, mingled with the Mexican pottery and valuable
geological specimens from her own United States.
Finally, when the girl's curiosity had been thoroughly satisfied,
Aunt Betty and Frau Deichenberg were shown into another room and the
music master and his pupil began their lesson.
It was not until the lesson was over that the Herr turned to his
pupil with a merry twinkle in his eyes and observed:
"You are so fond of moosic, perhaps you do not know dat every year I
give a concert in de theater before de opening of de regular season."
"Oh, yes, I have often heard of your concert," the girl replied. "I
have longed to go to them, but something has always kept me from it."
"Vell, you are going to my next one."
"I am? Oh, how good of you, Herr!"
"Yes, it iss very good of me, for there you shall meet one of my most
promising pupils."
"Oh, tell me who it is," she replied, unable to restrain her
curiosity.
"Vell, it iss a secret dat has not yet been vhispered to a soul. But
I don't mind telling you. De name of de young lady iss Miss Dorothy
Calvert."
"Why, Herr Deichenberg, you don't mean that--?"
Dorothy stopped short. A lump came into her throat and she was unable
to continue.
"Dat iss just vhat I mean," he smiled, reading her thoughts. "You are
to play at de concert, vhere you are expected to do both yourself und
your moosic teacher proud."
"Oh, Herr, I hadn't imagined such an honor would be conferred upon me
this year. Why, surely there are other pupils who have more talent
and can make a better showing for you than I?"
"My dear young lady, it iss I who shall be de best judge of dat."
"Oh, I didn't mean--"
"Never before have I had a young lady refuse an invitation to play at
my concert."
"Why, Herr, I haven't refused. You don't understand me. I--I--"
"Yes, yes. I understand you perfectly--I have surprised you and you
have not yet found time to catch your breath. Iss dat not so?"
"Yes, but--"
"Oh, no 'buts.' I know vhat you vould say. But it is not necessary. I
have made up my mind, und once I do dat, I never change."
"I know, Herr, but--"
"Didn't I say no 'buts'? You shall show de people of Baltimore vhat a
really fine violinist dey have in their midst."
"Well, if you insist, of course I shall play. And are you to play my
accompaniments?"
"I, my dear young lady? No, no; I shall have my hands full vidout
attempting dat. But you shall have a full orchestra at your beck und
call to t'under at you vun minute und to help you lull de audience to
sleep de next."
"Herr, you overwhelm me!"
"Such vass not my intention. I am merely telling you vhat I know to
be de truth. You are a remarkable girl und nothing I can say vill
turn your head. I have tried it und I know. Dat iss vhy I do not
hesitate to say it."
When Dorothy Calvert left Herr Deichenberg's studio that morning she
was the happiest girl in Baltimore.