"Come in," said Von Barwig wearily. He barely looked at the door as it
opened. In the ordinary course of events it was likely to be the
laundry boy, or Thurza with coal, or one of the musicians who lived in
the house, or perhaps a collector. It might have been almost any one
but the liveried footman who now stood at the door, hat in hand, with a
look of inquiry upon his face. Von Barwig stared at the man in
astonishment. Liveries in Houston Street were most uncommon.
"Excuse me, sir, I am looking for a Mr. Von Barwig," he said. "I was
directed to come here. Is this the right place, sir?" The man's
manner was polite enough, but there was a decided attitude of
superiority in his somewhat supercilious tone. Jenny made her escape
hastily.
Von Barwig could not collect his thoughts. He simply looked at the man
and made no reply.
"He's a music master in the neighbourhood, I believe, sir," went on the
servant. "A music master," he repeated.
"Yes, he was; but he is no more," said Von Barwig, who now realised
that the man wanted to find him.
"Dead, sir?"
"No, I am Mr. Von Barwig. I teach, but I give up. You hear? I have
finished; I give up, I give up!" he repeated in a voice quivering with
emotion as he walked up to the window. There was such utter pathos in
the old man's bearing that it caused even the footman to turn and look
at the speaker more closely. There was a pause; the servant appeared
uncertain what to do.
"Did you find him, Joles?" asked some one coming into the room. The
voice was that of a young lady, who was accompanied by a little boy
carrying a violin case. At the sound of her voice Von Barwig started
as if he had been shot, and with a half articulate cry he turned and
gazed in the direction from whence the voice came. He saw in the dim
twilight, for the sun had now nearly gone down, the half-blurred vision
of a young lady dressed in the height of fashion. Her features he
could not distinguish, as her back was to the window, but he could see
that she was a handsome young woman of about twenty years of age. As
Von Barwig turned toward her she looked at her note-book and asked if
he were Herr Von Barwig.
The old man bowed, tried to speak, but could not. His tongue cleaved
to the roof of his mouth. He pointed to a chair, and indicated that
she should be seated. She noticed his embarrassment and addressed the
servant.
"You had better wait for me downstairs, Joles," she said quickly. Then
as the man closed the door behind him she turned to Von Barwig, and
spoke in a rich, warm, contralto voice that vibrated with youth and
health. "You teach music, do you not? At least they said you did!"
Von Barwig swallowed a huge lump in his throat. "I did, but--not now;
I have given up." She looked at him but did not seem to understand.
"Lieber Gott, Lieber Gott!" broke from him in spite of his efforts to
suppress himself. "Elene, Elene!" Then he looked more closely at her
and shook his head.
"So you are not teaching any longer? Ah, what a pity!" she said.
"They speak so well of you in the neighbourhood. Perhaps I may be able
to induce you to change your mind!"
Von Barwig was now slowly gaining mastery over himself.
"Perhaps," he said, with a great effort at self-control.
"You do not know me, Herr Von Barwig?"
The old man's eyes glowed like live coals. "Elene, Elene!" he
murmured. "The living image! Lieber Gott, the living image!"
"I am Miss Hélène Stanton," she said with unconscious dignity. "You
may have heard of me," she added with a smile.
Miss Stanton's name was a household word in New York, especially in
that quarter of the city where her large charities had done so much to
alleviate the sufferings of the poor. Von Barwig had heard the name
many times, but at that moment he did not recognise it, although it was
the name of the greatest heiress in New York.
His ear caught the word "Hélène" and he could only repeat it over and
over again.
"Elene, Elene!"
"Hélène," corrected Miss Stanton.
"Ah, in my language it is Elene; yes, Elene!" Then a great hope took
possession of him. "Some one has sent you to me?" he asked. "Some one
has sent you?"
"Not exactly," she replied, "but you were well recommended." The old
man's manner, his emotion, his earnestness, somewhat embarrassed her.
"Why does he look at me so earnestly?" she thought. Perhaps it was a
mannerism peculiar to a man of his years.
Then she went on: "I am connected with mission work in the
neighbourhood here. I go among the poor a great deal--"
"Ah, charity!" he said. "Yes." And then he went up to the window and
pulled up the blinds as far as they would go that he might get more of
the fast-fading light.
"I saw you a few days ago at Schumein's, the music publishers, and your
name was suggested to me by one of the young ladies at the mission as
music master."
"Ah, you desire to take lessons?" he asked eagerly.
Miss Stanton smiled. "No, the child. Come here, Danny," and the boy
came toward her.
Von Barwig had seen no one but her. The little boy had remained in the
corner of the room, where the shadow of evening made it too dark to
distinguish the outline of his form.
"Ah, the boy?" he said with a tone or disappointment in his voice.
"Not you, the boy? He needs instruction?" Then he looked at her
again. It was too dark for him to see the colour of her eyes. He went
to the door. "Jenny," he called, only he pronounced it "Chenny"; "a
lamp if you please."
"How courteous and dignified his manner is!" thought Miss Stanton,
"even in the most commonplace and trivial details of life a man's
breeding shows itself."
"We think the boy is a genius," she said aloud, "but his parents are
very poor and cannot afford to pay for his tuition."
"It is a poor neighbourhood," said Von Barwig, "but there will be no
charge. I will teach him for--for you!" He had already forgotten that
he had decided to take no more pupils.
"I have taken charge of his future," said Miss Stanton pointedly; "and
of course shall defray all the expense of his tuition myself. I have
the consent of his parents----"
Jenny came in with a large lamp and placed it on the piano. Von Barwig
could now see his visitor's face, and his heart beat rapidly.
"Tell me," he said, forcing himself to be calm, "your father and
mother? Are they----?"
Miss Stanton drew herself up slightly. "I am speaking of his parents,"
she said.
"Yes, his parents, of course! Yes, but your father--your mother," he
asked insistently. "Is she--is she--living?"
The deep earnestness and anxiety with which Von Barwig put this
question made it clear to Miss Stanton that it was not merely idle
curiosity that prompted him to ask, so stifling her first impulse to
ignore the question altogether she replied rather abruptly:
"No, she is not living." Then she added formally, "but that is quite
apart from the subject we are discussing."
Von Barwig did not hear the latter part of her answer. His eyes were
riveted on her. He could only repeat, "Dead--dead." Then he looked at
her and slowly shook his head in mournful tenderness, repeating the
words, "Dead--dead."
To her own surprise Miss Stanton did not resent this sympathy.
"I take an especial interest in this boy because his sister is one of
the maids in my father's home," she began.
Von Barwig's face fell. "Ah," he said, "you have a father. Fool that
I am," he went on. "Yes, of course; you have a father, and it is
not----"
At this point Miss Stanton made up her mind that Herr Von Barwig did
not understand English quite as well as he spoke it, for she repeated
rather sharply this time that she was discussing the boy's musical
education, not her own. Then she added that there remained only the
question of terms to discuss and she would detain him no longer.
Von Barwig did not hear her. He could only mutter to himself in
German, "A father, she has a father!" Then he told the boy to call the
next afternoon and he would hear him play. The lad thanked him and
went home to his parents.
After the boy's departure, Miss Stanton repeated her request to be
allowed to discuss the terms for the boy's tuition; and when the music
master made no response she said: "Very well; whatever your charges are
I will pay them."
"There will be none," said Von Barwig decidedly.
"But I wish to defray the entire expense," said Miss Stanton, greatly
mystified at Von Barwig's refusal to receive payment for his work.
"I cannot take money from you," he said.
"Cannot take money from me? I do not understand you!" and Miss Stanton
arose. "Please explain." There was an awkward pause.
Von Barwig saw that he had made a mistake. "I like to help all
children," he said somewhat lamely. "You are engaged in work of
charity; I do my share," he added.
The explanation only partially satisfied her, and she regarded him
doubtfully.
Von Barwig realised now that he had shown himself over-anxious. "I do
something for him, I shall take an interest in him," he said, "because
you brought him here."
"What a strange man!" she thought as she looked at him in surprise. "A
poor, struggling musician with the air and grace of a nobleman
conferring a favour on a lady of his own class!" Then she looked
around the studio with its old-fashioned piano and the stacks of old
music lying about here and there; a violin with one or two bows and
resin boxes in the corner, some music stands, Poons's 'cello case, a
broken metronome; and on the walls some cheap pictures of the old
musicians. In a fit of generosity, Miss Husted had bought them and put
them on the walls. Von Barwig had not the heart to remove them,
although cheap art did not appeal to him.
Miss Stanton looked at them now, and then at him, and a deep feeling of
pity came into her heart. "He has so little," she thought, "yet he is
willing to give; and he gives with the air of a prince!"
"I cannot allow you to--to--" she began. "You are not rich, and yet
you wish to teach for nothing. Surely your time is--is valuable----"
"I have more than I need," he replied with quiet dignity.
The heiress to twenty-five millions felt the rebuff and she liked him
all the more for it, but she would not accept his offer without an
effort to prevent the sacrifice.
"Why should you sacrifice yourself?" she asked.
"It is no sacrifice to--ah--please, please! Put it down to the whim of
an old man--what you will; but don't deny me this pleasure! Don't,
please!"
His pleading look disarmed her and she gave up trying to dissuade him.
"Very well," she said. "It shall be as you wish."
She could not help liking him, she said to herself. His manner, at
first a little embarrassing, now interested her strangely. He reminded
her of a German nobleman she had met in Washington at the German
Embassy. His grace, his bearing, his whole demeanour was noble and
dignified in the extreme. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have
regarded his offer to teach her little charge for nothing as a gross
breach of politeness, but with him she did not feel angry in the least.
"It's curious," she said, "I came here with a good object in view; and
you calmly appropriate my good intentions and make them your own, and
what is still more strange I allow you to do so."
"Ah, don't say that!" still the tearful, pleading voice that moved her
so.
"Yes, I allow you to do so," she persisted, and then she added, "Do you
know, Herr Barwig, I like you, in spite of a strong temptation to be
very angry with you?"
She had now moved around to the piano.
"You know," she said enthusiastically, "I love music and musical
people. Some of the very greatest artists come to my father's
musicales."
"My father," the words made Von Barwig's heart sink. "My father!"
She sat down at the piano; he raised the lamp and looked into her eyes,
and as he stood there with the lamp uplifted she looked into his face.
"Of whom do you remind me?" she said quickly. "Don't move----"
There was a deep silence. The old man could hear his heart beat.
"Of whom, of whom?" he gasped. "Go on; tell me! Try to remember! For
God's sake try to remember!"
"There, now, it's gone!" she said. "I can't think," she added after a
pause, greatly surprised at his look. "You know somehow or other I
always feel at home with musicians. What a busy little studio this
is," she went on, looking around. "You're quite successful, aren't
you?"
Von Barwig nodded.
"It must be very gratifying to earn a lot of money through your own
efforts; not for the mere money, but for the success. I'm glad you're
successful!" she said with such feeling that it surprised even herself.
"Why?" asked Von Barwig. "Why are you glad?"
"I don't know. I suppose--" she paused. She did not like to say it
was because she had thought he was very poor and was delighted to find
that he was not; so she said it was because of his kindness to the boy,
"and because I--I love music," she added.
"You play?" he inquired.
"A little."
"Play for me." The words came almost unbidden. It was an impulse to
which he responded because he could not help it. "Play for me," he
pleaded.
She ran her hands idly over the keys. "I ought to be angry," she
thought, "he, a mere music master, to ask me to play for him as if he
were an equal."
But the gentle expression on the old man's face as he regarded her with
a tender smile was so full of hallowed affection and respect that she
could not utter the words which came to her lips. She merely looked at
him and returned his smile with one of her own and Heaven opened for
the old man. She began to play.
"You know I play very little," she said.
"I love to hear music from your fingers," was all he could say.
Miss Stanton listened a moment.
"What music is that?" She heard the men upstairs playing. "It's very
pretty," she added. They both listened for a few moments. "It's
really beautiful! Can I get it? I'd like to know that melody."
"I make for you a piano score. It's the music they played the night
that she, that she--" his breath came quickly. "Lieber Gott! Elene;
so like Elene, so like!" he said, as he gazed at her.
Miss Stanton took off her gloves and began to play. She had hardly
struck the opening chords of a simple pianoforte piece when there came
a knock at the door. Before Von Barwig could speak a man entered. She
stopped playing and Von Barwig's heart sank as he recognised the
collector for the pianoforte house.
"I am engaged, sir. If you please, another time!"
"I've called for the piano," said the man, taking some papers out of
his pocket.
"Another time, for God's sake!" pleaded Von Barwig. "Please go on,
Miss Stanton."
"I want the piano or the money," said the man automatically.
"I have not--now. To-morrow I will call."
"The money or the piano is my instructions," said the collector. Von
Barwig stood as if stricken dumb. The shame, the degradation were too
great. He appealed to the man with outstretched hands. Tears were in
his eyes, but the man did not look at him; he went into the hall,
opened the front door, and yelled out, "Come on, Bill----"
Miss Stanton arose from the piano and walked over to the window. "It
is a very busy view from here, isn't it?" she said; "gracious, how
crowded the streets are!"
Poor Von Barwig's cup of misery was now full. She had been a witness
of his poverty. His lies about his success and his pupils were all
laid bare to her; he was disgraced forever in her eyes. He had lied to
her, and she had found him out.
The collector came back with the men and the process of moving the
piano began. Von Barwig's sense of humour came to his rescue.
"Thank heaven they are taking that box of discords away at last! What
a piano! Did you notice it, Miss Stanton?"
Miss Stanton had noticed it, and nodded, "I did indeed," she said.
"Not one note in harmonious relationship with another," went on Von
Barwig, trying to smile as they upset his music on the floor. "Not a
sharp or a flat that is on good terms with his neighbour."
The only reply the piano mover made was to drop one of the piano legs
heavily on the floor, making the dust fly.
"The black and white keys forever at war with each other," said Von
Barwig, forcing a laugh, in which his visitor joined. Seeing her
merriment, Von Barwig began to recover his spirits. "The next time you
call, Miss Stanton," he said, "I will have here an instrument that
shall contain at least a faint suggestion of music. In the meantime I
am most thankful that I have no longer to listen to a piano that sounds
like a banjo."
The whole situation appealed forcefully to Miss Stanton's sense of
humour, and she thoroughly enjoyed the old man's jesting. "If he can
rise above a condition like that," she thought, "he must be a splendid
man." She longed to comfort, to help him; but how?
As the men finally took out the piano, Von Barwig pretended to breathe
a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad it's gone," he said, "you can't tell what a relief!" He
laughed, but his laugh did not deceive her; her musical ear recognised
its artificiality in a moment. She could feel rather than see he was
suffering, and she felt for him.
They were left standing alone together. The room looked quite empty
without the piano; it was like the breaking up of a home. Neither of
them spoke for a moment, and Von Barwig could see that she had found
him out again.
"What an awful liar she must think I am," thought he.
"Poor, dear old man trying to conceal his poverty," thought she. Then
an idea came to her.
"I want you to come and see me, Herr Von Barwig," she said. "I am
going to take up piano study again, and I want you to help me. I shall
be at home to-morrow afternoon at three. Of course you must be very
busy, but if you have no other engagement will you call?"
"I will call, madam. I--I am--not engaged at that hour," said Von
Barwig gratefully, as he bowed to her. Miss Stanton acknowledged the
bow.
"You won't find me a very apt pupil, but you'll take me, won't you?
Do, please take me!"
The old man could not speak; too many conflicting thoughts were working
in his mind. "Take her! Good God--" The very idea overwhelmed him.
"You will take me, won't you?" she urged gently.
He took the card, and nodded. He dared not trust himself to speak; he
would have broken down and he knew it.
"Good-bye!" she said. "Good-bye; it's getting so late, I must go!" She
held out her hand. He took it and kissed it reverently, bowing his
head as if she were a queen.
"Good-bye," she said again at the hall door. "Don't forget!" she
added, as she waved her hand from the carriage window. Joles slammed
the door shut and got on the box, and she was driven away.
The old man watched the carriage until it was out of sight, returning
to his room in a dream. He could not realise or explain his feelings.
He had been happy, perfectly happy; that was all he knew. He had been
at rest, contented, satisfied for a few brief moments, and that glimpse
of heaven had put new, strange thoughts into his life--thoughts that
made his blood pulsate. He recognised that life had taken on a new
aspect; how or why he knew not. A strange young lady had called upon
him, and had left a card; he was to see her again, and his whole life
was changed. This was the only point that was clear to him, that his
life had changed. How long he sat there, trying to think it out and
understand, he knew not.
The old crack-faced clock, with one hand, that Miss Husted had put on
the mantelpiece, struck the hour with its old cracked bell, and it
startled him. He had heard it hundreds of times, but now its weird,
metallic tone jarred on the harmony of his feelings. He counted the
strokes; five, six, seven, eight. Eight o'clock! He started up, for
his dream had come to an end, and he came back to earth again, back
into the world of Houston Street, back to the Bowery, to Costello, to
the Museum, to his nightly labour for his daily bread. Mechanically he
changed his velvet jacket for his street dress, and hastily put on his
cape coat and hat. "No, it's not a dream!" he told himself, as he read
the card she had given him. "Miss Hélène Stanton, Fifth Avenue and
Fifty-seventh Street." He put the card carefully in his pocket-book
and placing his violin case under his arm started to go out. Then
remembering that the lamp was still burning, he went back and carefully
turned it out.
"Fifth Avenue, and Fifty-seventh Street," he said to himself;
"to-morrow at three, to-morrow at three."
He went into the street and the noise and bustle of the Bowery jarred
upon his sensitive ear. "To-morrow at three," he joyfully sang to
himself. "To-morrow at three!" But high above the din and rattle of
traffic and street noises, high above Von Barwig's song, rang out
Costello's voice as if to drown his happiness.
"Eat 'em alive," it said. "Eat 'em alive; eat 'em alive!" Von Barwig
heard it; shuddered, and sang no more. "Eat 'em alive," he muttered
mournfully to himself. "Eat 'em alive--eat 'em alive."