One might go on and tell the tale of continued rebellion, of angry words
on both sides, of pleas and complaints and fruitless arguments, of
bitter controversy and yet bitterer silence.
Daniel fled and returned and let the slothful days glide by, stormed
about in the vicinity, and lay in the high grass beside the pools or
opened his window at night, cursing the silence and envying the clouds
their speed.
His mother followed him when he went to his little room and pressed her
ear to the door, and then entered and saw the candle still lit, and went
to his bed and was frightened at his gleaming eyes which grew sombre at
her approach. Full of the memories of her early cares and fears for him,
and thinking that the darkness and the sight of her weakness would
prevail upon him, she pleaded and begged once more. And he looked up at
her and something broke in his soul, and he promised to do as she
demanded.
So we see him next at the house of the leather merchant Hamecher in
Ansbach. He sits on a bale of leather in the long, dismal passage way or
on the cellar steps or in the store room, and dreams and dreams and
dreams. And gradually the worthy Hamecher's indulgent surprise turned to
blank astonishment and then to indignation, and at the end of six months
he showed the useless fellow the door.
Once more Jason Philip condescended to grant his favour, and chose a new
scene and new people for his nephew, if only to remove him from
Spindler's baneful influence. At the mention of the city of Bayreuth no
one became aware of Daniel's fiery ecstasy, for they had never heard of
the name of Richard Wagner but always of the name of the wine merchant
Maier. And so he came to Bayreuth, the Jerusalem of his yearning, and
forced himself to an appearance of industry in order to remain in that
spot where sun and air and earth and the very beasts and stones and
refuse breathe that music of which Spindler had said that he himself had
a profound presentiment of its nature but was too old to grasp and love
it wholly.
Daniel did his best to make himself useful. But in spite of himself he
scrawled music notes on the invoices, roared strange melodies in lonely
vaults, and let the contents of a whole keg of wine leak out, because in
front of him, on the floor, lay the score of the English Suites.
At a rehearsal he slipped into the Festival Playhouse, but was put out
by a zealous watchman, and on this occasion made the acquaintance of
Andreas Doederlein, who was a professor at the Nuremberg conservatory and
a tireless apostle of the redeemer. Doederlein seemed not disinclined to
understand and to help, and expressed a real delight at the deep,
original enthusiasm and burning devotion of his protege. And Daniel,
intoxicated by a rather vague and not at all binding promise of a
scholarship at the conservatory, fled from Bayreuth by night, made his
way on foot back to Eschenbach, threw himself at his mother's feet, and
almost writhed there before her and begged and implored her, and in
words almost wild sought to prevail on her to attempt to change the mind
of Jason Philip. He tried to explain to her that his life and happiness,
his very blood and heart were dedicated to this one thing. But she, who
was once kindly, was now hard--hard as stone, cold as ice. She
understood nothing, felt nothing, believed nothing, saw only the
frightfulness, as she called it, of his incurable aberration.
All these matters might have been related at length. But they are as
inevitable in their character and sequence as the sparks and smoke that
follow upon fire. They are quite determinable; they have often happened,
and have always had the same final effect.
What clung to Marian's soul was an immemorial prejudice against a
gipsy's life and a stroller's fate. Her ancestors and her husband's had
always earned their livelihood in the honest ways of a trade. She could
not see what the free tuition at Doederlein's conservatory would avail
Daniel, since he had nothing wherewithal to sustain life. He told her
that Spindler had taught him how to play on the piano, that he would
perfect his skill and so earn his sustenance. She shook her head. Then
he spoke to her of the greatness of art, of the ecstasy which an artist
could communicate and the immortality he might win, and that perhaps it
would be granted him to create something unique and incomparable. But
these words she thought mad and pretentious delusions, and smiled
contemptuously. And at that his soul turned away from her, and she
seemed a mother to him no more.
When Jason Philip Schimmelweis learned what was afoot, he would not let
the troublesome journey deter him, but appeared in Marian's shop like an
avenging angel. Daniel feared him no longer, since he had given up
hoping for anything from him. He laughed to himself at the sight of the
stubby, short-necked man in his rage. Gleams of mockery and of cunning
still played over the red cheeks of Jason Philip, for he had a very high
opinion of himself, and did not think the windy follies of a boy of
nineteen worthy of the whole weight of his personality.
While he talked his little eyes sparkled, and his red, little tongue
pushed away the recalcitrant hairs of his moustache from his voluble
lips. Daniel stood by the door, leaning against the post, his arms
folded across his chest, and regarded now his mother, who, dumb and
suddenly old, sat in a corner of the sofa, now the oil portrait of his
father on the opposite wall. A friend of Gottfried Nothafft's youth, a
painter who had been long lost and forgotten like his other works, had
once painted it. It showed a man of serious bearing, and brought to mind
the princely guildsman of the Middle Ages. Seeing the picture at that
moment enlightened Daniel as to the ancestral strain that had brought
him to this mood and to this hour.
And turning now once more to Jason Philip's face, he thought he
perceived in it the restlessness of an evil conscience. It seemed to him
that this man was not acting from conviction but from an antecedent
determination. It seemed to him further that he was faced, not merely by
this one man and his rage and its accidental causes, but by a whole
world in arms that was pledged to enmity against him. He had no
inclination now to await the end of Jason Philip's oratorical efforts,
and left the room.
Jason Philip grew pale. "Don't let us deceive ourselves, Marian," he
said. "You have nursed a viper on your bosom."
Daniel stood by the Wolfram fountain in the square, and let the purple
of the setting sun shine upon him. Round about him the stones and the
beams of the ancient houses glowed, and the maids who came with pails to
fetch water at the fountain gazed with astonishment into the brimming
radiance of the sky. At this hour his native town grew very dear to
Daniel. When Jason Philip entered the square, at the corner of which the
stage-coach was waiting, he did his best not to be seen by Daniel and
avoided him in a wide semi-circle. But Daniel turned around and fastened
his eyes on the man, who strode rapidly and gazed stubbornly aside.
This thing too has happened before and will happen again. Nor is it
amazing that the fugitive should turn and inspire terror in his pursuer.