I
Daniel gradually gained followers. Those whom the "little slave" won
over to his cause were hardly to be called patrons: they were patriots.
They were delighted at the thought that a _maestro_ should have been
born and risen to fame in soulful old Franconia. In the actual life of
their protege they took but little interest.
Daniel's followers were young people.
Professor Herold was a strange man. His reputation reached far beyond
the boundaries of his native province, and yet, owing to his whimsical
peculiarities, he had not the slightest desire to leave home. On such
sons and daughters of the natives as were diligent in their pursuit of
musical studies, he poured out the whole of his sarcasm. His chief, his
darling ambition was to wean them away from their fondness for worthless
music and clap-trap performances of it. He did not succeed: you were not
considered educated unless you could play the piano, and in the homes of
these merchants education was highly regarded.
Enticed by his name, all kinds of people came from a distance to take
lessons from Professor Herold. Having read the score of "Vineta," he
said to two of these: "Fetch me that fellow dead or alive." And they
fetched him.
The two came more frequently to Daniel, and then others, pupils of
Professors Wackerbarth and Doederlein. At times he would take luncheon
with them in the students' restaurant. We will call them the
long-haired, or the pale-faced. Many of them looked like snake-charmers.
They were almost without exception hopelessly stupid, but they all had
some kind of a bee in their bonnet.
There were some young girls among them; we will call them the
dreamy-eyed, or the lost-in-dreams. Daniel had no use for them
whatsoever. His patience with the long-haired was equally lacking.
He told "the old man," as Professor Herold was called, of his antipathy
to these students. Professor Herold snapped like a vicious dog, brushed
the white bristles back over his enormous head, and said: "Well, my
young original, you have made a discovery. Don't you know that music
cajoles into its magic circle the very riff-raff of any community? Don't
you know that music is a subterfuge for the neglect of human duty? Don't
you know that the voluptuous fumes it spreads over the cities results in
the general corrosion and consumption of men's hearts? Don't you know
that of every five hundred so-called artists, four hundred and
ninety-nine are nothing but the cripple guard of God above? Therefore he
who does not come to music with the holiest fire burning in the depths
of his soul has his blood in time transformed by it into glue, his mind
into a heap of rubbish."
Whereat he pushed Daniel out of the door, so that he might work
undisturbed on his little pictures. Of these the walls of his room were
full. He painted them in his leisure hours. They were small in size, and
smaller still in merit; but he was proud of them. They represented
scenes from country life.