explain to me what Krespel had to do with violins, and particularly
with Antonia. "Well," replied the Professor, "not only is the
Councillor a remarkably eccentric fellow altogether, but he practises
violin-making in his own crack-brained way." "Violin-making!" I
exclaimed, perfectly astonished. "Yes," continued the Professor,
"according to the judgment of men who understand the thing, Krespel
makes the very best violins that can be found nowadays; formerly he
would frequently let other people play on those in which he had been
especially successful, but that's been all over and done with now for a
long time. As soon as he has finished a violin he plays on it himself
for one or two hours, with very remarkable power and with the most
exquisite expression, then he hangs it up beside the rest, and never
touches it again or suffers anybody else to touch it. If a violin by
any of the eminent old masters is hunted up anywhere, the Councillor
buys it immediately, no matter what the price put upon it. But he plays
it as he does his own violins, only once; then he takes it to pieces in
order to examine closely its inner structure, and should he fancy he
hasn't found exactly what he sought for, he in a pet throws the pieces
into a big chest, which is already full of the remains of broken
violins." "But who and what is Antonia?" I inquired, hastily and
impetuously. "Well, now, that," continued the Professor,--"that is a
thing which might very well make me conceive an unconquerable aversion
to the Councillor, were I not convinced that there is some peculiar
secret behind it, for he is such a good-natured fellow at bottom as to
be sometimes guilty of weakness. When we came to H---, several years
ago, he led the life of an anchorite, along with an old housekeeper, in
---- Street. Soon, by his oddities, he excited the curiosity of his
neighbors; and immediately he became aware of this, he sought and made
acquaintances. Not only in my house but everywhere we became so
accustomed to him that he grew to be indispensable. In spite of his
rude exterior, even the children liked him, without ever proving a
nuisance to him; for, notwithstanding all their friendly passages
together, they always retained a certain timorous awe of him, which
secured him against all over-familiarity. You have to-day had an
example of the way in which he wins their hearts by his ready skill in
various things. We all took him at first for a crusty old bachelor, and
he never contradicted us. After he had been living here some time, he
went away, nobody knew where, and returned at the end of some months.
The evening following his return his windows were lit up to an unusual
extent! This alone was sufficient to arouse his neighbors' attention,
and they soon heard the surpassingly beautiful voice of a female
singing to the accompaniment of a piano. Then the music of a violin was
heard chiming in and entering upon a keen ardent contest with the
voice. They knew at once that the player was the Councillor. I myself
mixed in the large crowd which had gathered in front of his house to
listen to this extraordinary concert; and I must confess that, besides
this voice and the peculiar, deep, soul-stirring impression which the
execution made upon me, the singing of the most celebrated artistes
whom I had ever heard seemed to me feeble and void of expression. Until
then I had had no conception of such long-sustained notes, of such
nightingale trills, of such undulations of musical sound, of such
swelling up to the strength of organ-notes, of such dying away to the
faintest whisper. There was not one whom the sweet witchery did not
enthral; and when the singer ceased, nothing but soft sighs broke the
impressive silence. Somewhere about midnight the Councillor was heard
talking violently, and another male voice seemed, to judge from the
tones, to be reproaching him, whilst at intervals the broken words of a
sobbing girl could be detected. The Councillor continued to shout with
increasing violence, until he fell into that drawling, singing way that
you know. He was interrupted by a loud scream from the girl, and then
all was as still as death. Suddenly a loud racket was heard on the
stairs; a young man rushed out sobbing, threw himself into a
post-chaise which stood below, and drove rapidly away. The next day the
Councillor was very cheerful, and nobody had the courage to question
him about the events of the previous night. But on inquiring of the
housekeeper, we gathered that the Councillor had brought home with him
an extraordinarily pretty young lady whom he called Antonia, and she it
was who had sung so beautifully. A young man also had come along with
them; he had treated Antonia very tenderly, and must evidently have
been her betrothed. But he, since the Councillor peremptorily insisted
on it, had had to go away again in a hurry. What the relations between
Antonia and the Councillor are has remained until now a secret, but
this much is certain, that he tyrannizes over the poor girl in the most
hateful fashion. He watches her as Doctor Bartholo watches his ward in
the Barber of Seville; she hardly dare show herself at the window; and
if, yielding now and again to her earnest entreaties, he takes her into
society, he follows her with Argus' eyes, and will on no account suffer
a musical note to be sounded, far less let Antonia sing--indeed, she is
not permitted to sing in his own house. Antonia's singing on that
memorable night has, therefore, come to be regarded by the townspeople
in the light of a tradition of some marvellous wonder that suffices to
stir the heart and the fancy; and even those who did not hear it often
exclaim, ever any other singer attempts to display her powers in the
place, 'What sort of a wretched squeaking do you call that? Nobody but
Antonia knows how to sing.'"
Having a singular weakness for such like fantastic histories, I found
it necessary, as may easily be imagined, to make Antonia's
acquaintance. I had myself often enough heard the popular sayings about
her singing, but had never imagined that that exquisite artiste was
living in the place, held a captive in the bonds of this eccentric
Krespel like the victim of a tyrannous sorcerer. Naturally enough I
heard in my dreams on the following night Antonia's marvellous voice,
and as she besought me in the most touching manner in a glorious adagio
movement (very ridiculously it seemed to me, as if I had composed it
myself) to save her--I soon resolved, like a second Astolpho,[Footnote:
A reference to Ariosto's Orlando Furioso. Astolpho, an English cousin
of Orlando, was a great boaster, but generous, courteous, gay, and
remarkably handsome; he was carried to Alcina's island on the back of a
whale.] to penetrate into Krespel's house, as if into another Alcina's
magic ca stle, and deliver the queen of song from her ignominious
fetters.
It all came about in a different way from what I had expected; I had
seen the Councillor scarcely more than two or three times, and eagerly
discussed with him the best method of constructing violins, when he
invited me to call and see him. I did so; and he showed me his
treasures of violins. There were fully thirty of them hanging up in a
closet; one amongst them bore conspicuously all the marks of great
antiquity (a carved lion's head, etc.), and, hung up higher than the
rest, and surmounted by a crown of flowers, it seemed to exercise a
queenly supremacy over them. "This violin," said Krespel, on my making
some inquiry relative to it, "this violin is a very remarkable and
curious specimen of the work of some unknown master, probably of
Tartini's [Footnote: Giuseppe Tartini, born in 1692, died in 1770, was
one of the most celebrated violinists of the eighteenth century, and
the discoverer (in 1714) of "resultant tones," or "Tartini's tones," as
they are frequently called. Most of his life was spent at Padua. He did
much to advance the art of the violinist, both by his compositions for
that instrument, as well as by his treatise on its capabilities.] age.
I am perfectly convinced that there is something especially exceptional
in its inner construction, and that, if I took it to pieces, a secret
would be revealed to me which I have long been seeking to discover,
but--laugh at me if you like--this senseless thing which only gives
signs of life and sound as I make it, often speaks to me in a strange
way of itself. The first time I played upon it I somehow fancied that I
was only the magnetizer who has the power of moving his subject to
reveal of his own accord in words the visions of his inner nature.
Don't go away with the belief that I am such a fool as to attach even
the slightest importance to such fantastic notions, and yet it's
certainly strange that I could never prevail upon myself to cut open
that dumb lifeless thing there. I am very pleased now that I have not
cut it open, for since Antonia has been with me I sometimes play to her
upon this violin. For Antonia is fond of it--very fond of it." As the
Councillor uttered these words with visible signs of emotion, I felt
encouraged to hazard the question, "Will you not play it to me,
Councillor?" Krespel made a wry face, and falling into his drawling,
singing way, said, "No, my good sir!" and that was an end of the
matter. Then I had to look at all sorts of rare curiosities, the
greater part of them childish trifles; at last thrusting his arm into a
chest, he brought out a folded piece of paper, which he pressed into my
hand, adding solemnly, "You are a lover of art; take this present as a
priceless memento, which you must value at all times above everything
else." Therewith he took me by the shoulders and gently pushed me
towards the door, embracing me on the threshold. That is to say, I was
in a symbolical manner virtually kicked out of doors. Unfolding the
paper, I found a piece of a first string of a violin about an eighth of
an inch in length, with the words, "A piece of the treble string with
which the deceased Stamitz [Footnote: This was the name of a well-known
musical family from Bohemia. Karl Stamitz is the one here possibly
meant, since he died about eighteen or twenty years previous to the
publication of this tale.] strung his violin for the last concert at
which he ever played."
This summary dismissal at mention of Antonia's name led me to infer
that I should never see her; but I was mistaken, for on my second visit
to the Councillor's I found her in his room, assisting him to put a
violin together. At first sight Antonia did not make a strong
impression; but soon I found it impossible to tear myself away from her
blue eyes, her sweet rosy lips, her uncommonly graceful, lovely form.
She was very pale; but a shrewd remark or a merry sally would call up a
winning smile on her face and suffuse her cheeks with a deep burning
flush, which, however, soon faded away to a faint rosy glow. My
conversation with her was quite unconstrained, and yet I saw nothing
whatever of the Argus-like watchings on Krespel's part which the
Professor had imputed to him; on the contrary, his behavior moved along
the customary lines, nay, he even seemed to approve of my conversation
with Antonia. So I often stepped in to see the Councillor; and as we
became accustomed to each other's society, a singular feeling of
homeliness, taking possession of our little circle of three, filled our
hearts with inward happiness. I still continued to derive exquisite
enjoyment from the Councillor's strange crotchets and oddities; but it
was of course Antonia's irresistible charms alone which attracted me,
and led me to put up with a good deal which I should otherwise, in the
frame of mind in which I then was, have impatiently shunned. For it
only too often happened that in the Councillor's characteristic
extravagance there was mingled much that was dull and tiresome; and it
was in a special degree irritating to me that, as often as I turned the
conversation upon music, and particularly upon singing, he was sure to
interrupt me, with that sardonic smile upon his face and those
repulsive singing tones of his, by some remark of a quite opposite
tendency, very often of a commonplace character. From the great
distress which at such times Antonia's glances betrayed, I perceived
that he only did it to deprive me of a pretext for calling upon her for
a song. But I didn't relinquish my design. The hindrances which the
Councillor threw in my way only strengthened my resolution to overcome
them; I MUST hear Antonia sing if I was not to pine away in reveries
and dim aspirations for want of hearing her.
One evening Krespel was in an uncommonly good humor; he had been taking
an old Cremona violin to pieces, and had discovered that the sound-post
was fixed half a line more obliquely than usual--an important
discovery!--one of incalculable advantage in the practical work of
making violins! I succeeded in setting him off at full speed on his
hobby of the true art of violin-playing. Mention of the way in which
the old masters picked up their dexterity in execution from really
great singers (which was what Krespel happened just then to be
expatiating upon) naturally paved the way for the remark that now the
practice was the exact opposite of this, the vocal score erroneously
following the affected and abrupt transitions and rapid scaling of the
instrumentalists. "What is more nonsensical," I cried, leaping from my
chair, running to the piano, and opening it quickly--"what is more
nonsensical than such an execrable style as this, which, far from being
music, is much more like the noise of peas rolling across the floor?"
At the same time I sang several of the modern fermatas, which rush up
and down and hum like a well-spun peg-top, striking a few villainous
chords by way of accompaniment.
Krespel laughed outrageously and screamed: "Ha! ha! methinks I hear our
German-Italians or our Italian-Germans struggling with an aria from
Pucitta, [Footnote: Vincenzo Pucitta (1778-1861) was an Italian opera
composer, whose music "shows great facility, but no invention." He also
wrote several songs.] or Portogallo, [Footnote: Il Portogallo was the
Italian sobriquet of a Portuguese musician named Mark Anthony Simao
(1763-1829). He lived alternately in Italy and Portugal, and wrote
several operas.] or some other Maestro di capella, or rather schiavo
d'un primo uomo." [Footnote: Literally, "The slave of a primo uomo,"
primo uomo being the masculine form corresponding to prima donna, that
is, a singer of hero's parts in operatic music. At one time also female
parts were sung and acted by men or boys.] Now, thought I, now's the
time; so turning to Antonia, I remarked, "Antonia knows nothing of such
singing as that, I believe?" At the same time I struck up one of old
Leonardo Leo's [Footnote: Leonardo Leo, the chief Neapolitan
representative of Italian music in the first part of the eighteenth
century, and author of more than forty operas and nearly one hundred
compositions for the Church.] beautiful soul-stirring songs. Then
Antonia's cheeks glowed; heavenly radiance sparkled in her eyes, which
grew full of reawakened inspiration; she hastened to the piano; she
opened her lips; but at that very moment Krespel pushed her away,
grasped me by the shoulders, and with a shriek that rose up to a tenor
pitch, cried, "My son--my son--my son!' And then he immediately went
on, singing very softly, and grasping my hand with a bow that was the
pink of politeness, "In very truth, my esteemed and honorable
student-friend, in very truth, it would be a violation of the codes of
social intercourse, as well as of all good manners, were I to express
aloud and in a stirring way my wish that here, on this very spot, the
devil from hell would softly break your neck with his burning claws,
and so in a sense make short work of you; but, setting that aside, you
must acknowledge, my dearest friend, that it is rapidly growing dark,
and there are no lamps burning to-night, so that, even though I did not
kick you downstairs at once, your darling limbs might still run a risk
of suffering damage. Go home by all means; and cherish a kind
remembrance of your faithful friend, if it should happen that you
never,--pray, understand me,--If you should never see him in his own
house again." Therewith he embraced me, and, still keeping fast hold of
me, turned with me slowly towards the door, so that I could not get
another single look at Antonia. Of course it is plain enough that in my
position I couldn't thrash the Councillor, though that is what he
really deserved. The Professor enjoyed a good laugh at my expense, and
assured me that I had ruined for ever all hopes of retaining the
Councillor's friendship. Antonia was too dear to me, I might say too
holy, for me to go and play the part of the languishing lover and stand
gazing up at her window, or to fill the role of the lovesick
adventurer. Completely upset, I went away from H---; but, as is usual
in such cases, the brilliant colors of the picture of my fancy faded,
and the recollection of Antonia, as well as of Antonia's singing (which
I had never heard), often fell upon my heart like a soft faint
trembling light, comforting me.
Two years afterwards I received an appointment in B---, and set out on
a journey to the south of Germany. The towers of H---- rose before me
in the red vaporous glow of the evening; the nearer I came the more was
I oppressed by an indescribable feeling of the most agonizing distress;
it lay upon me like a heavy burden; I could not breathe; I was obliged
to get out of my carriage into the open air. But my anguish continued
to increase until it became actual physical pain. Soon I seemed to hear
the strains of a solemn chorale floating in the air; the sounds
continued to grow more distinct; I realized the fact that they were
men's voices chanting a church chorale. "What's that? what's that?" I
cried, a burning stab darting as it were through my breast. "Don't you
see?" replied the coachman, who was driving along beside me, "why don't
you see? they're burying somebody up yonder in yon churchyard." And
indeed we were near the churchyard; I saw a circle of men clothed in
black standing round a grave, which was on the point of being closed.
Tears started to my eyes; I somehow fancied they were burying there all
the joy and all the happiness of life. Moving on rapidly down the hill,
I was no longer able to see into the churchyard; the chorale came to an
end, and I perceived not far distant from the gate some of the mourners
returning from the funeral. The Professor, with his niece on his arm,
both in deep mourning, went close past me without noticing me. The
young lady had her handkerchief pressed close to her eyes, and was
weeping bitterly. In the frame of mind in which I then was I could not
possibly go into the town, so I sent on my servant with the carriage to
the hotel where I usually put up, whilst I took a turn in the familiar
neighborhood to get rid of a mood that was possibly only due to
physical causes, such as heating on the journey, etc. On arriving at a
well-known avenue, which leads to a pleasure resort, I came upon a most
extraordinary spectacle. Councillor Krespel was being conducted by two
mourners, from whom he appeared to be endeavoring to make his escape by
all sorts of strange twists and turns. As usual, he was dressed in his
own curious home-made gray coat; but from his little cocked-hat, which
he wore perched over one ear in military fashion, a long narrow ribbon
of black crape fluttered backwards and forwards in the wind. Around his
waist he had buckled a black sword-belt; but instead of a sword he had
stuck a long fiddle-bow into it. A creepy shudder ran through my limbs:
"He's insane," thought I, as I slowly followed them. The Councillor's
companions led him as far as his house, where he embraced them,
laughing loudly. They left him; and then his glance fell upon me, for I
now stood near him. He stared at me fixedly for some time; then he
cried in a hollow voice, "Welcome, my student friend! you also
understand it!" Therewith he took me by the arm and pulled me into the
house, up the steps, into the room where the violins hung. They were
all draped in black crape; the violin of the old master was missing; in
its place was a cypress wreath. I knew what had happened. "Antonia!
Antonia!" I cried, in inconsolabie grief. The Councillor, with his arms
crossed on his breast, stood beside me, as if turned into stone. I
pointed to the cypress wreath. "When she died," said he, in a very
hoarse solemn voice, "when she died, the sound-post of that violin
broke into pieces with a ringing crack, and the sound-board was split
from end to end. The faithful instrument could only live with her and
in her; it lies beside her in the coffin, it has been buried with her."
Deeply agitated, I sank down upon a chair, whilst the Councillor began
to sing a gay song in a husky voice; it was truly horrible to see him
hopping about on one foot, and the crape strings (he still had his hat
on) flying about the room and up to the violins hanging on the walls.
Indeed, I could not repress a loud cry that rose to my lips when, on
the Councillor making an abrupt turn, the crape came all over me; I
fancied he wanted to envelop me in it and drag me down into the
horrible dark depths of insanity. Suddenly he stood still and addressed
me in his singing way, "My son! my son! why do you call out? Have you
espied the angel of death? That always precedes the ceremony." Stepping
into the middle of the room, he took the violin-bow out of his
sword-belt, and, holding it over his head with both hands, broke it
into a thousand pieces. Then, with a loud laugh, he cried, "Now you
imagine my sentence is pronounced, don't you, my son? but it's nothing
of the kind--not at all! not at all! Now I'm free--free--free--hurrah!
I'm free! Now I shall make no more violins--no more violins--hurrah! no
more violins!" This he sang to a horrible mirthful tune, again spinning
round on one foot. Perfectly aghast, I was making the best of my way to
the door, when he held me fast, saying quite calmly, "Stay, my student
friend, pray don't think from this outbreak of grief, which is
torturing me as if with the agonies of death, that I am insane; I only
do it because a short time ago I made myself a dressing-gown in which I
wanted to look like Fate or like God!" The Councillor then went on with
a medley of silly and awful rubbish, until he fell down utterly
exhausted; I called up the old housekeeper, and was very pleased to
find myself in the open air again.
I never doubted for a moment that Krespel had become insane; the
Professor, however, asserted the contrary. "There are men," he
remarked, "from whom nature or a special destiny has taken away the
cover behind which the mad folly of the rest of us runs its course
unobserved. They are like thin-skinned insects, which, as we watch the
restless play of their muscles, seem to be misshapen, while
nevertheless everything soon comes back into its proper form again. All
that with us remains thought passes over with Krespel into action. That
bitter scorn which the spirit that is wrapped up in the doings and
dealings of the earth often has at hand, Krespel gives vent to in
outrageous gestures and agile caprioles. But these are his lightning
conductor. What comes up out of the earth he gives again to the earth,
but what is divine, that he keeps; and so I believe that his inner
consciousness, in spite of the apparent madness which springs from it
to the surface, is as right as a trivet. To be sure, Antonia's sudden
death grieves him sore, but I warrant that to-morrow will see him going
along in his old jog-trot way as usual." And the Professor's prediction
was almost literally filled. Next day the Councillor appeared to be
just as he formerly was, only he averred that he would never make
another violin, nor yet ever play on another. And, as I learned later,
he kept his word.
Hints which the Professor let fall confirmed my own private conviction
that the so carefully guarded secret of the Councillor's relations to
Antonia, nay, that even her death, was a crime which must weigh heavily
upon him, a crime that could not be atoned for. I determined that I
would not leave H---- without taxing him with the offence which I
conceived him to be guilty of; I determined to shake his heart down to
its very roots, and so compel him to make open confession of the
terrible deed. The more I reflected upon the matter, the clearer it
grew in my own mind that Krespel must be a villain, and in the same
proportion did my intended reproach, which assumed of itself the form
of a real rhetorical masterpiece, wax more fiery and more impressive.
Thus equipped and mightily incensed, I hurried to his house. I found
him with a calm smiling countenance making playthings. "How can peace,"
I burst out--"how can peace find lodgment even for a single moment in
your breast, so long as the memory of your horrible deed preys like a
serpent upon you?" He gazed at me in amazement, and laid his chisel
aside. "What do you mean, my dear sir?" he asked; "pray take a seat."
But my indignation chafing me more and more, I went on to accuse him
directly of having murdered Antonia, and to threaten him with the
vengeance of the Eternal.
Further, as a newly full-fledged lawyer, full of my profession, I went
so far as to give him to understand that I would leave no stone
unturned to get a clue to the business, and so deliver him here in this
world into the hands of an earthly judge. I must confess that I was
considerably disconcerted when, at the conclusion of my violent and
pompous harangue, the Councillor, without answering so much as a single
word, calmly fixed his eyes upon me as though expecting me to go on
again. And this I did indeed attempt to do, but it sounded so
ill-founded and so stupid as well that I soon grew silent again.
Krespel gloated over my embarrassment, whilst a malicious ironical
smile flitted across his face. Then he grew very grave, and addressed
me in solemn tones. "Young man, no doubt you think I am foolish,
insane; that I can pardon you, since we are both confined in the same
mad-house; and you only blame me for deluding myself with the idea that
I am God the Father because you imagine yourself to be God the Son. But
how do you dare desire to insinuate yourself into the secrets and lay
bare the hidden motives of a life that is strange to you and that must
continue so? She has gone and the mystery is solved." He ceased
speaking, rose, and traversed the room backwards and forwards several
times. I ventured to ask for an explanation; he fixed his eyes upon me,
grasped me by the hand, and led me to the window, which he threw wide
open. Propping himself upon his arms, he leaned out, and, looking down
into the garden, told me the history of his life. When he finished I
left him, touched and ashamed.