I need not say I looked upon Anastase with very different eyes next
time I crossed his path. He had never so much interested me; he had
never attracted me before,--he attracted me violently now, but not for
his own sake. I watched every movement and gesture,--every intimation
of his being, separable from his musical nature and dissociated from
his playing. He seemed to think me very inattentive on the Monday
morning, though, in fact, I had never been so attentive to him before;
but I did not get on very well with my work. At last he fairly stopped
me, and touched my chin with his bow.
"What are you thinking about this morning, sir?" he inquired, in that
easy voice of his, with that cool air.
I never told a lie in my life, white or black. "Of you, sir," I
replied. With his large eyes on mine, I felt rather scorched, but
still I kept faith with myself. "Of the Fräulein Cerinthia."
"I thought as much. The next Sunday you will remain at home."
"Yes, sir; but that won't prevent my thinking about you and her."
"Exactly; you shall therefore have sufficient time to think about us.
As you have not control enough to fasten your mind on your own
affairs, we must indulge your weakness by giving it plenty of room."
Then he pointed to my page with his bow, and we went on quietly. I
need not say we were alone. After my lesson, just before he proceeded
to the next violin, he spoke again.
"You do not know, perhaps, what test you are about to endure. We shall
have a concert next month, and you will play a first violin with me."
"Sir!" I gasped, "I cannot--I never will!"
"Perhaps you will change your note when you are aware who appointed
you. It is no affair of mine."
"If you mean, sir, that it is the Chevalier who appointed me, I don't
believe it, unless you gave your sanction."
He turned upon me with a short smile,--just the end of one,--and
raised his delicate eyebrows. "Be that as it may, to-night we rehearse
first, in the lesser hall; there will be nobody present but the band.
The Chevalier will hold his own rehearsal the week after next, for
there is a work of his on this occasion,--therefore we shall prepare,
and, I trust, successfully; so that the polishing only will remain for
him."
"Bravo, sir!"
"I hope it will be bravo; but it is no bravo at present," said he, in
dismissing me.
I had never heard Anastase play yet, and was very curious,--I mean, I
had never heard him play consecutively; his exhibitions to us being
confined to short passages we could not surmount,--bar upon bar,
phrase upon phrase, here a little, and there a very little. But now he
must needs bring himself before me, to play out his own inner nature.
I found Delemann in his own place presently,--a round box, like a
diminutive observatory, at the very top of the building, and
communicating only with similar boxes occupied by the brass in
general. I let myself in, for it would have been absurd to knock
amidst the demonstrations of the alto trombone. He was so ardent over
that metallic wonder of his that I had to pluck his sleeve. Even then
he would not leave off, at the risk of splitting that short upper lip
of his by his involuntary smile, until he had finished what lay before
him. It was one great sheet, and I espied at the top the words: "Mer
de Glace,--Ouverture; Seraphael." Madder than ever for a conclusion, I
stopped my ears till he laid down that shining monster and took
occasion to say, "That is what we are to have to-night."
"I know. But how abominable is Anastase not to let me have my part to
practise!"
"Very likely it is not ready. The brass came this morning, and the
strings were to follow. Mine was quite damp when I had it."
We went into rehearsal together, Franz and I. What a different
rehearsal from my first in England! Here we were all instruments.
Franz was obliged to leave me on entering, and soon I beheld him afar
off, at the top of the wooden platform, on whose raised steps we
stood, taking his place by the tenor trombone,--a gentleman of adult
appearance who had a large mouth. I have my own doubts, private and
peculiar, about the superior utility of large mouths, because Franz,
of the two, played best; but that is no matter here.
Our _saal_ was a simple room enough, guiltless of ornament; our
orchestra deal, clear of paint or varnish; our desks the same, but
light as ladies' hand-screens,--this was well, as Anastase, who was
not without his crochet, made us continually change places with each
other, and we had to carry them about. There were wooden benches all
down the _saal_, but nobody sat in them; there was not the glimmer of
a countenance, nor the shine of two eyes. The door-bolts were drawn
inside; there was a great and prevalent awe. The lamps hung over us,
but not lighted; the sun was a long way from bed yet, and so were we.
Anastase kept us at "L'Amour Fugitif" and "Euryanthe,"--I mean, their
respective overtures,--a good while, and was very quiet all the time,
until our emancipation in the "Mer de Glace." His _face_ did not
change even then; but there was a fixity and straightening of the arm,
as if an iron nerve had passed down it suddenly, and he mustered us
still more closely to him and to each other. My stand was next his
own; and, looking here and there, I perceived Iskar among the second
violins, and was stirred up,--for I had not met with him except at
table since I came there.
It is not in my power to describe my own sensations on my first
introduction to Seraphael's orchestral definite creation. Enough to
say that I felt all music besides, albeit precious, albeit
inestimable, to have been but affecting the best and highest portion
of myself, but as exciting to loftier aspirations my constant soul;
but that _his_ creation did indeed not only first affect me beyond all
analysis of feeling, but cause upon me, and through me, a change to
pass,--did first recreate, expurge of all earthly; and then inspire,
surcharged with heavenly hope and holiest ecstasy. That qualitative
heavenly, and this superlative holiest, are alone those which disabuse
of the dread to call what we love best and worship truest by name. No
other words are expressive of that music which alone realizes the
desire of faith,--faith supernal alike with the universal faith of
love.
As first awoke the strange, smooth wind-notes of the opening _adagio_,
the fetterless chains of ice seemed to close around my heart. The
movement had no blandness in its solemnity, and so still and
shiftless was the grouping of the harmonies that a frigidity actual,
as well as ideal, passed over my pores and hushed my pulses. After a
hundred such tense, yet clinging chords, the sustaining calm was
illustrated, not broken, by a serpentine phrase of one lone oboe,
_pianissimo_ over the _piano_ surface, which it crisped not, but on
and above which it breathed like the track of a sunbeam aslant from a
parted cloud. The slightest possible retardation at its close brought
us to the refrain of the simple _adagio_, interrupted again by a rush
of violoncello notes, rapid and low, like some sudden under-current
striving to burst through the frozen sweetness. Then spread wide the
subject as plains upon plains of _water-land_, though the time was
gradually increased. Amplifications of the same harmonies introduced a
fresh accession of violoncelli, and oboi contrasted artfully in
syncopation, till at length the strides of the _accelerando_ gave a
glittering precipitation to the entrance of the second and longest
movement.
Then Anastase turned upon me, and with the first bar we fell into a
tumultuous _presto_. Far beyond all power to analyze as it was just
then, the complete idea embraced me as instantaneously as had the
picturesque chilliness of the first. I have called it tumultuous, but
merely in respect of rhythm; the harmonies were as clear and evolved
as the modulation itself was sharp, keen, unanticipated,
unapproachable. Through every bar reigned that vividly enunciated
ideal, whose expression pertains to the one will alone in any
age,--the ideal that, binding together in suggestive imagery every
form of beauty, symbolizes and represents something beyond them all.
Here over the surge-like, but fast-bound _motivo_--only like those
tossed ice-waves, dead still in their heaped-up crests--were certain
swelling _crescendos_ of a second subject, so unutterably, if vaguely,
sweet that the souls of all deep blue Alp-flowers, the clarity of all
high blue skies, had surely passed into them, and was passing from
them again.
Scarcely is it legitimate to describe what so speaks for itself as
music; yet there are assuredly effects produced by music which may be
treated of to the satisfaction of the initiated.
It was not until the very submerging climax that the playing of
Anastase was recalled to me. Then, amidst long, ringing notes of the
wild horns, and intermittent sighs of the milder wood, swept from the
violins a torrent of coruscant _arpeggi_, and above them all I heard
his tone, keen but solvent, as his bow seemed to divide the very
strings with fire; and I felt as if some spark had fallen upon my
fingers to kindle mine. As soon as it was over, I looked up and
laughed in his face with sheer pleasure; but he made no sign, nor was
there the slightest evidence of the strenuous emotion to which he had
been abandoned,--no flush of cheek nor flash of eye, only the least
possible closer contraction of the slight lips. He did nothing but
find fault, and his authority appeared absolute; for when he
reprimanded Iskar in particular, and called him to account for the
insertion extraordinary of a queer _appogiatura_, which I did not know
he had heard, that evil one came down without a smirk, and minced
forth some apology, instead of setting up his crest, as usual. I was
very thankful at last when the room was cleared, as it was infernally
hot, and I had made up my mind to ask Anastase whether my violin were
really such a good one; for I had not used it before this night.
When no one was left except he and I, I ventured to ask him whether I
could carry anything anywhere for him, to attract his attention.
"Yes," said he, "you may gather up all the parts and lay them together
in that closet," pointing to a wooden box behind the platform; "but do
not put your own away, because you are going to look over it with me."
I did as he directed, and then brought myself back to him. But before
I could begin, he took my fiddle from my arms, and turning it round
and round, demanded, "Where did you get this?" I told him in a few
words its history, or what I imagined to be its history. He looked
rather astonished, but made no comment, and then he began to play to
me. I do not suppose another ever played like him; I may, perhaps,
myself a very little, but I never heard anybody else. The peculiar
strength of his tone I believe never to have been surpassed; the
firmness of his _cantabile_ never equalled; his expression in no case
approached. Santonio's playing dwindled in my mind, for Anastase,
though so young, performed with a pointedness altogether mature; it
was that on which to repose unshifting security for the most ardent
musical interest; yet, with all its solidity, it was not severe even
in the strictest passages. Of all playing I ever heard on my adopted
instrument, and I have heard every first-rate and every medium
performer in Europe, it was the most forceful,--let this term suffice
just here. I said to him when he had finished with me, "How much
fuller your playing is than Santonio's! I thought his wonderful until
I heard yours." But with more gentleness than I had given him credit
for, he responded, laying down my little treasure, "I consider his
playing myself far more wonderful than mine. Mine is not wonderful;
it is a wrong word to use. It is full, because I have studied to make
it the playing of a leader, which must not follow its own vagaries.
Neither does Santonio, who is also a leader, but a finer player than
I,--finer in the sense of delicacy, experience, finish. Now go and eat
your supper, Auchester."
"Sir, I don't want any supper."
"But I do, and I cannot have you here."
I knew he meant he was going to practise,--it was always his supper, I
found; but he had become again unapproachable. I had not gained an
inch nearer ground to him, really, yet. So I retired, and slipped into
the refectory, where Franz was keeping a seat for me.
I was positively afraid to go out the next Sunday, and the next it
rained,--we all stayed in. On the following Wednesday would come our
concert, and by this time I knew that the Chevalier would be
accompanied by certain of his high-born relations. But do not imagine
that we covered for them galleries with cloth and yellow fringe. It
was altogether to me one of my romance days; and, as such, I partook
in the spirit of festivity that stirred abroad. The day before was
even something beyond romance. After dinner we all met in the
garden-house, as we called the pillared alcove, to arrange the
decorations for our hall, which were left entirely to ourselves, at
our united request. About fifty of us were of one mind, and, somehow
or other, I got command of the whole troop,--I am sure I did not mean
to put myself so. I sent out several in different directions to gather
oak-branches and lime-boughs, vine-leaves and evergreens, and then sat
down to weave garlands for the arches among a number more. Having seen
them fairly at work, I went forth myself, and found Maria Cerinthia
at home; she came with me directly, and we made another pilgrimage in
search of roses and myrtles. Josephine went too, and we all three
returned laden from the garden of a sincere patroness down in the
valley beneath the hill, of whom we had asked such alms.
Entering Cecilia, after climbing the slope leisurely, we saw a coach
at the porter's door,--the door where letters and messages were
received, not the grand door of the school, which all day stood open
for the benefit of bustling Cecilians. I thought nothing of this
coach, however, as one often might have seen one there; but while
Maria took back Josephine, I obtained possession of all the flowers
which she had placed in my arms, promising to be with us anon in the
garden-house. Past the professors' rooms I walked; and I have not yet
mentioned the name of Thauch, our nominal superintendent, the
appointed of the Chevalier, who always laughingly declared he had
selected him because he knew nothing about music, to care for us _out_
of music. Thauch sat at the head of the middle table, and we scarcely
saw him otherwise or spoke to him; thus I was astonished, and rather
appalled, to be called upon by him when I reached his room, which was
enclosed, and where he was writing accounts. I was not aware he even
knew my name; but by it he called upon me. "Sir," I said, "what do you
want?" as I did not desire to halt, for fear of crushing up my sweet
fresh roses. He had risen, and was in the doorway, waiting, with true
German deliberation, until I was quite recovered from my
breathlessness; and then he did not answer, but took my shoulders and
pushed me into his parlor, himself leaving the room, and shutting
himself out into the passage.
Shall I ever forget it? For, gasping still, though I had thrown all my
flowers out of my arms, I confronted the bright, old-fashioned,
distinct, yet dream-like faces of two who sat together upon the chairs
behind the door. You will not expect me to say how I felt when I found
they were my own sister Millicent, my own Lenhart Davy, and that they
did not melt away. I suppose I did something,--put out my hands,
perhaps, or turned some strange color which made Davy think I should
faint; for he rose, and coming to me, with his hilarious laugh put his
arms about me and took me to my sister. When once she had kissed me,
and I had felt her soft face and the shape of her lips, and smelled
the scent of an Indian box at home that clung to her silk handkerchief
yet, I cried, and she cried too; but we were both quiet enough about
it,--she I only knew was crying by her cheek pressing wet against
mine. After a few moments so unutterable, I put myself away from her,
and began distinctly to perceive the strangeness of our position.
Millicent, as I examined her, seemed to have grown more a woman than I
remembered; but that may have pertained to her dress, so different
from the style with which I associated her,--the white ribbons and
plain caps under the quaint straw bonnet, and the black-silk spencer.
Now, she wore a mantle of very graceful cut, and the loveliest pink
lining to her delicate fancy hat; this gave to her oval countenance a
blushful clearness that made her look lovely in my eyes. And when I
did speak, what do you think I said? "Oh, Millicent, how odd it is!
Oh, Mr. Davy, how odd you look!"
"Now, Charles," said he, in answer,--and how the English accents
thrilled the tears into my eyes,--"now, Charles, tell me what you mean
by growing so tall and being so self-possessed. You are above my
shoulder, and you have lost all your impudence."
"No, Mr. Davy, I haven't--kiss me!" said I; and I threw my arms about
him, and clung on there till curiosity swelled unconquerable.
"Oh, Mr. Davy, how extraordinary it is of you to come so suddenly,
without telling me! And mother never said the least word about it. Oh,
Millicent, how did you get her to let you come? And, oh," suddenly it
struck me very forcibly, "how very strange you should come with Mr.
Davy! Is anybody ill? No, you would have told me directly, and you
would not be dressed so."
Millicent looked up at Davy with an unwonted expression, a new light
in her eyes, that had ever slept in shade; and he laughed again.
"No, nobody is ill, and she would _not_ be dressed so if I had not
given her that bonnet, for which she scolded me instead of thanking
me,--for it came from Paris."
"Oh!" I exclaimed, and I felt all over bathed in delight. I ran to
Millicent, and whispered into that same bonnet, "Oh, Millicent! are
you married to Mr. Davy?"
She pulled off one of her pale-colored gloves and showed me the left
hand. I saw the ring--oh, how strange I felt,--hot and cold; glad and
sorry; excited, and yet staid! I flew to my first friend and kissed
his hand: "Dear Mr. Davy, I am so glad!"
"I thought you would be, Charles. If I had anticipated any objection
on your part, I should have written to you first!"
"Oh, Mr. Davy!" I cried, laughing, "but why did they not write and
tell me?"
"My dear brother, it was that we wished to spare you all
disappointment."
"You mean I could not have come home. No, I don't think I could, even
for your wedding, Millicent, and yours, Mr. Davy; we have been so busy
lately."
Davy laughed. "Oh, I see what an important person you have become! We
knew it; and it was I who persuaded your mother not to unsettle you. I
did it for the best."
"It was for the best, dearest Charles," said Millicent, looking into
Davy's face as if perfectly at home with it. She had never used to
look into his face at all.
"Oh!" I again exclaimed, suddenly reminded, "what did you wear,
Millicent, to be married in?"
"A white muslin pelisse, Charles, and Miss Benette's beautiful veil."
"Yes; and, Charles," continued Davy, "Millicent gratified us both by
asking Miss Benette to be her bridesmaid."
"And did she come?" I asked, rather eagerly.
"No, Charles; she did not."
"I knew she would not," I thought, though I scarcely knew why.
"But she came, Charles, the night before, and helped them to dress the
table; and so beautiful she made it look that everybody was
astonished,--yet she had only a few garden flowers, and a _very_ few
rare ones."
"But how long have you been married, Mr. Davy? and are you going to
live _here_? What will the class do? Oh, the dear class! Who sits by
Miss Benette now, Mr. Davy?"
He laughed.
"Oh, Charles, if you please, one question at a time! We have been
married one week,--is it not, Millicent?"
She smiled and blushed.
"And I am not going to leave my class,--it is larger now than you
remember it. And I have not left my little house, but I have made one
more room, and we find it quite wide enough to contain us."
"Oh, sir, then you came here for a trip! How delicious! Oh, Millicent,
do you like Germany? Oh, you will see the Chevalier."
"Well, Charles, it is only fair, for we have heard so much about him.
Nothing in your letters but the Chevalier, and the Chevalier, and we
do not even know his name from _you_. Clo says whenever your letters
come, 'I wish he would tell us how he sleeps;' and my mother hopes
that Seraphael is 'a good man,' as you are so fond of him."
"But, Charles," added Davy, with his old earnestness and with a
sparkling eye, "how, then, shall we see him, and where? For I would
walk barefoot through Germany for that end."
"Without any trouble, Mr. Davy, because to-morrow will be our concert,
and he is coming to conduct his new overture,--only his new overture,
mind! He will sit in the hall most part, and you will see him
perfectly."
"My dear, dear Charles," observed Millicent, "it is something strange
to hear you say 'our concert.' How entirely you have fulfilled your
destiny! And shall we hear you play?"
"Yes," I replied, with mock modesty, but in such a state of glowing
pride that it was quite as much as I could do to answer with becoming
indifference. "Yes, I am to play a first violin."
"A first violin, Charles?" said Davy, evidently surprised. "What!
already? Oh, I did not predict wrong! What if I had kept you in my
class? But, Millicent, we must not stay," he added, turning to her;
"we only came to carry Charles away, as we are here on forbidden
ground."
"Not at all, Mr. Davy," I cried, eager to do the honors of Cecilia. "A
great many of them go out to see their friends and have their friends
come to see them; but I had no one until now, you see."
"Yes, but, Charles," replied my sister, "we understand that no
visitors are permitted entrance the day before a concert, and thought
it a wise regulation too. They made an exception in our case because
we came so far, and also because we came to take you away."
"Where are we going, then? Going away?"
"Only to the inn, where we have a bed for you engaged, that we may see
something of you out of study. You must go with us now, for we have
obtained permission."
"Whatever shall I do?"
"What now, Charles?"
"Well, Mr. Davy, you may laugh, but we are to decorate our
concert-hall, and they are waiting for me, I daresay. All those
flowers, too, that you made me throw down, were for garlands. If I
might only go and tell them how it is--"
"See, Charles, there is some one wanting to speak to _you_. I heard a
knock."
I turned, and let in Franz. He could not help glancing at the pink
lining, while he breathlessly whispered, "Do not mind us. Fräulein
Cerinthia is gone to fetch her brother; and while they are at supper,
we shall dress the hall under her directions, and she says you are to
go with your friends."
"That is my sister, Delemann," said I; and then I introduced them,
quite forgetting that Millicent had changed her name, which amused
them immensely after Franz was gone, having gathered up my roses and
taken them off. Then Davy begged me to come directly, and I hurried to
my room and took him with me. How vain I felt to show him my press, my
screen, my portmanteau full of books, and my private bed, my violin,
asleep in its case; and last, not least, his china cup and saucer, in
the little brown box! While I was combing my hair, he stood and
watched me with delight in his charming countenance, not a cloud upon
it.
"Oh, dear Mr. Davy, how exquisite it is that you should be my brother!
I shall never be able to call you anything but Mr. Davy, though."
"You shall call me whatever you please. I shall always like it."
"And, sir, please to tell me, am I tidy,--fit to walk with a bride and
bridegroom?"
"Not half smart enough! Your sister has brought your part of the
wedding ceremony in her only box,--and, let me tell you, Charles, you
are highly favored; for the muslin dresses and laces will suffer in
consequence!"
"I don't believe that, sir," said I, laughing.
"And why not, sir?"
"Because, sir, my sisters would none of them travel about with muslin
dresses if they had only one box."
"They would travel about, as Mrs. Davy does, in black silk," answered
Davy, pursuing me as I ran; but I escaped him, and rejoined Millicent
first, who was waiting for us with all possible patience.
There are a few times of our life--not the glorious eternal days, that
stand alone, but, thank God! many hours which are nothing for us but
pure and passive enjoyment, in which we exist. How exquisitely happy
was I on this evening, for example! The prospect of the morrow so
intensely bright, the present of such tender sweetness! How divine is
Love in all its modifications! How inseparable is it from repose, from
rapture!
As we went along the village and passed the shops, in the freshening
sunbeams, low-shining from the bare blue heaven, I fetched a present
for my brother and sister in the shape of two concert-tickets, which,
contrary to Tedescan custom, were issued for the advantage of any
interested strangers. I put them into Millicent's hand, saying, "You
know I gave you no wedding-gift."
"Yes, Charles, you gave me this," and she looked up at Davy; "I should
never have known him but for you."
"Which means, my love, that I am also to thank Charles for introducing
me to you;" and Davy took off his hat with mock reverence.
"Oh! that won't do, Mr. Davy; for you said you had seen a beautiful
Jewess at our window before you knew who lived in our house; and of
course you would have got in there somehow, at last."
"_Never!_" said Davy, in a manner that convinced me he never would.
"Then I _am_ very glad," said I,--"glad that I ran away one morning.
The Chevalier says that nothing happens accidentally to such as I."
They laughed till they saw how serious I had grown again, and then
smiled at each other. Arrived at our inn, we rested. Will it be
believed that Davy had brought some of his own tea, besides several
other small comforts? This much amused me. After our tea--a real home
tea, which quite choked my unaccustomed faculties at first--Davy put
his wife on the sofa, and with a bright authority there was no
resisting, bade her be still while he fetched my part of the ceremony.
This consisted of half a dozen pairs of beautiful white kid
gloves,--treasures these indeed to a fiddler!--a white silk waistcoat,
a small case of Spanish chocolate, and a large cake, iced and
almonded.
"That was made at home, Charles," said Millicent, "and is exactly like
that we sent to our friends."
In those days it was not old fashion, gentle reader, to send out
bride-cake to one's friends. I need only mention a white favor or two,
and a frosted silver flower, because I reserved the same for Josephine
Cerinthia.