Just as everything was in full swing, just as they had decorated the
buildings and arranged the Herrenhaus, the news came of the death of
King Ludwig of Bavaria. The newspapers bore a broad black margin, and
were crowded with details concerning the tragedy at the Starnbergersee.
The entire country, including the family of Herr von Erfft, mourned the
loss of the art-loving monarch genuinely and for a long while.
Of an operatic performance there could be no thought. The Chancellor
cancelled his engagement, and the young men who had assembled for the
rehearsals went quietly home. Herr von Erfft gave Daniel a considerable
purse with which he might recompense his musicians for their trouble,
and, not wishing to treat Daniel himself as though he were an ordinary
mechanic, he invited him to spend a few more days on his estate.
Daniel did not decline; he had not in truth given one minute's thought
to where he would go when he left.
After he distributed the present from Herr von Erfft among the musicians
and discharged them, he took a long walk in the woods. He ate a frugal
meal in a village restaurant, and then sauntered around until evening.
When he returned, he found his hosts sitting at the table. He neglected
to beg their pardon; Frau Agatha looked at her husband and smiled, and
told the maids to bring in something for the Herr Kapellmeister. Sylvia
had a book in her hand and was reading.
Daniel was a trifle ill at ease; he merely took a bite here and there.
When Frau von Erfft left the table, walked over to the window, and
looked out into the cloudy sky, Daniel got up, went into the adjoining
room, and sat down at the piano.
He began to play Schubert's "Song to Sylvia." Having finished the
impetuous, heart-felt song, he struck up a variation, then a second, a
third, and a fourth. The first was melancholy, the second triumphant,
the third meditative, the fourth dreamy. Each was a hymn to forgotten
joy.
Herr von Erfft and Agatha were standing in the open door. Sylvia had sat
down close beside him on a tabourette; there was a pleasing, far-away
look in her eyes, riveted though they were to the floor.
He suddenly stopped, as if to avoid both thanks and applause. Sylvester
von Erfft took a seat opposite him, and asked him in a most kindly tone
whether he had any definite plans for the immediate future.
"I am going back to Nuremberg and get married," said Daniel. "My fiancee
has been waiting for me for a long time."
Herr von Erfft asked him whether he was not afraid of premature marriage
bonds. Daniel replied rather curtly that he needed some one to stand
between him and the world.
"You need some one to act as a sort of buffer," said Frau Agatha
sarcastically. Daniel looked at her angrily.
"Buffer? No, but a guardian angel if such a creature can shield me from
rebuffs," said Daniel, even more brusquely than he had spoken the first
time.
"Why do you wish to settle down and live in Nuremberg, a city of such
one-sided commercial interests?" continued Herr von Erfft, with an
almost solicitous caution. "Would you not have a much better opportunity
as a composer in one of the great cities?"
"It is impossible to separate the daughter from her father," replied
Daniel with unusual candour. "It is impossible. Nor is it possible to
get the old man to tear himself away from his former associations. He
was born and reared there. And I do not wish to live alone any longer.
Everybody needs a companion; even the miner digs with a better heart,
when he knows that up on the earth above his wife is preparing the soup.
I must say, however, that I am not so much taken up with the soup phase
of married life: it is the dear little soul that will belong to me that
interests me."
He turned around, and struck a minor chord.
"And even if everything were different, your great cities would not
attract me," he began again, wrinkling his face in a most bizarre way.
"What would I get out of them? Companions? I have had enough of them.
Music I can study at home. I can summon the masters of all ages to my
study. Fame and riches will find their way to me, if they wish to. The
dawn is missed only by those who are too indolent to get up, and real
music is heard by all except the deaf. God attends to everything else;
man has nothing to do with it."
He struck another chord, this time in a major key.
Herr von Erfft and his wife looked at him with evident joy and sympathy.
Sylvia whispered something to her mother, who then said to Daniel: "I
have a sister living in Nuremberg, Baroness Clotilde von Auffenberg.
From the time she was a mere child she was an ardent lover of good
music. If I give you a letter of introduction to her, I am quite sure
she will welcome you with open arms. She is unfortunately not in the
best of health, and a heavy fate is just now hanging over her; but she
has a warm heart, and her affections are trustworthy."
Daniel looked down at the floor. He thought of Gertrude and his future
life with her, and murmured a few words of gratitude. Frau von Erfft
went at once to her desk, and wrote a detailed letter to her sister.
When she had finished it, she gave it to Daniel with a good-natured
smile.
The next morning he left the castle with the feeling of regret that one
experiences on leaving the dwelling place of peace and separating from
noble friends.