The first movement closed on a cadence. No one spoke. Franklin, who
took the viola part, very softly tested his G string, which had gone
a little flat, while Scherer, from his seat at the piano, looked over
the top to where the 'cellist sat. Seeing that the trio of strings
was ready, he started the adagio which he played as a passionate
prologue. The piano was soon joined by the sombre strains of the
viola, taking up the subject in fugal form. Now another voice,
soaring aloft in seraphic ecstasy like a boy's, joined itself to the
others. It was the violin, played by the prince. Eduard did not
intend to make the violin part take precedence of the piano, as is so
often the way with soloists when they embark on chamber music. But
the exquisite tone of his instrument, and the upward curve of the
melody, put the others for a moment into the shade, so that the three
were forgotten, and, indeed, themselves both listeners and players,
kept their parts strictly modified to form a genuine accompaniment.
Soon, however, the 'cello made its entry with a second subject in a
more lively rhythm, and the boyish voice seemed to be replaced by the
mellow contralto of a woman. Then, gradually, the strings were
dominated by the virile notes of the piano, which, in generous
chords, united the melodies into a harmonious whole.
The little company had forgathered in Scherer's music-room, a place
devoid of carpets, and panelled throughout. Diana, who alone had
been invited as audience, had ensconced herself in a corner,
protected from the view of the players by darkness and distance.
Neither during the previous quartette, nor during the one they were
now performing had she cast her eyes towards the circle of light in
which the musicians played, save once, when the 'cello had introduced
the second theme. Then she had glanced over towards the player, who
was a new acquisition to their circle. She mused: "He presses his
instrument against him, and, gently caressing it with his hand,
brings forth its rich and perfect tones." Her thoughts took flight
into other realms of emotion; they hovered and dipped and rose again
on wings of sensual delight, until her whole being was suffused with
feelings such as she had not experienced since the previous summer,
her life having since then passed on a purely platonic level.
The men broke up, stretching their legs which had become stiff with
long sitting. They fluttered the pages of the music for a while in
silence. Then, with maternal gentleness, the three string players
tucked their instruments away into the cosy warmth of the cases, and
snapped the locks to, while Scherer, spreading cloths over the keys
and the outside of the piano, closed down the lid. Diana, meanwhile,
had not stirred from her corner.
Scherer came slowly towards her.
"You are smiling," he said softly, taking a seat at her side. "And
yet you have been gazing on Medusa's head."
"No, not Medusa's," she corrected, wincing as Scherer suddenly turned
on the full lights in the centre of the room. "I hardly heard the
presto. What's the opus number?"
Scherer named it.
"One of Beethoven's last works," he added, somewhat didactically.
She had asked her question merely to gain time, and his tone
instantly scattered what remained of her dreamlike trance. Suddenly
rising, she stepped over to join the other group.
"Don't be too severe in your criticism, please," said Franklin. "I
made a terrible hash of the last movement. But it goes so quickly,
and I've never had much technique. Besides, I'm not used to playing
with others."
"You'd rather play solo," teased Diana, laughingly.
They went in to dinner, Diana on Scherer's arm, and all five took
their places at the round table.
"Yes, I like playing alone," exclaimed Franklin, his whole tone
betraying how hard he found it to accommodate his libertarian
temperament to co-operative labours.
"And yet," said Scherer, motioning the prince to a chair next Diana's
and the other two men to the remaining places, "and yet, it seems to
me that a solo player can never be a genuine musician."
"Poets never get beyond the solo stage," commented the prince. "They
feel they must reign as absolute monarchs."
At these words the newcomer to the quartette raised his head. He had
hitherto taken hardly any share in the conversation, and now turned
his eyes on the speaker. But the prince was immersed in the
contemplation of his plate, and, instead of the prince's eyes, the
stranger met Diana's fixed upon him. There was an eloquent
expression of protest in the man's whole countenance, a critical
rebuke of the prince's paradoxical utterance.
"What a strange, dumb method of speech these Russians possess,"
thought Diana, lowering her eyes in turn to her plate.
After the introduction at the charity tableaux, Scherer had invited
Dr. Kyril Sergievitch to his house, and had been surprised and
delighted to learn that the young man played the 'cello. This was
decidedly an addition to his musical evenings, for he had long wished
to have a full quartette. His invitation had been all the more
cordial and pressing. When he had told Diana of his find, he waited
in vain for a token of surprise and curiosity in her, or, at least,
some sign that she was forcing herself to show indifference. She had
almost forgotten the Russian, and, in general was inclined to keep
music and musicians apart from her inner life. When she had felt her
hand in Sergievitch's huge fist earlier this evening, he seemed to
her more bashful than she had expected him to be. She found his
embarrassment difficult to explain, for Scherer had not told her of
the meeting at the charity ball, nor of the Russian's question that
same night, nor of their further encounters at the political club.
Diana and Sergievitch sat opposite one another, strangers, although
each had seen the other at different times on a stage under somewhat
peculiar circumstances.
Conversation emerged slowly for all were still under the spell of the
music, and at first was carried on by the three other men, while
Diana and the Russian sat silent, the latter intent and listening,
the former abstracted.
"If everyone were to play tutti all the time," Franklin was saying
challengingly, "who would be left to create and lead? The conductor?
He's only an employee!"
"Perhaps the invisible composer, Herr Franklin," said Scherer.
"Dust and ashes this long while since," exclaimed the prince.
"Ideas, if they are to be fecund here below, must filter down to us
from the spheres of those who hold aloof from the world's turmoil."
Again the Russian raised his handsome head with its crown of fair
hair. But his forehead was puckered in a frown as if he were trying
to keep his eyes from flashing. This time it was Scherer who was
given the benefit of the Russian's silent conversation. The effect
on the host was somewhat uncanny, and, hoping to break the spell he
said to his guest.
"You appear to be dubious?"
"Why should not ideas rise, once in a while? May it not be that this
earth of ours holds hidden treasures, stores of ideas, undreamed of
in that enlightened heaven of yours?" His eyes turned to the prince,
dark and questioning.
Silence.
"A threatening storm," thought Franklin.
"Heavy artillery," thought the prince.
Then to crush any possibility of a debate in the Russian manner,
Prince Eduard said aloud:
"Certainly, certainly, you are right, Doctor. Heaven and earth are
each of them the mental terminuses of the human express."
"Why except the sea?" demanded Diana, a warm protest in her voice.
"What can one do with fishes and molluscs, Madam?" asked the Russian
coldly. "The sea is just nature and nothing more!"
Diana turned away from the speaker, with an aggrieved air the prince
was quick to detect. Franklin seemed to hear in space a conversation
similar to this, but better developed and on a higher intellectual
plane. Scherer was unwilling that so all-embracing a theme should
occupy his guests while at dinner, and so soon after the enjoyment of
the music. He tried therefore to soothe matters by saying:
"One thing is certain, that we have been permitted to hear the music
of earth, sky, and ocean through the medium of your exquisite 'cello."
Passionate debater though he was, and loath to miss the opportunity
of discussion with such an adversary as the prince, the Russian was
nevertheless sidetracked by this reference to his beloved instrument.
After a slight pause he said:
"Yes, it has a lovely tone. It is seventeenth century, from Brescia,
a legacy from a friend of mine."
The quiet warmth with which he spoke acted soothingly upon the
company, and the talk wandered off on to the subject of old fiddles.
The prince told the story of his own violin, which he had inherited
from long dead ancestors, he himself being the eleventh member of his
family to be a competent player. Diana spoke of the wonderful lute
Wilhelm had found, an instrument of so great value that Scherer alone
was in a position to buy it, and even he would have to cut his
expenses down for a year at least to do so. All made merry over the
story, especially Scherer himself, who invariably chuckled over
stories concerning his "great wealth." By the time the tokay was
served they were in good fettle, and at ease one with the other.
"All the sunshine of Hungary has been captured in this bottle," cried
Diana, "and there is more sunlight in this one glass than in the
whole of the Balkans! In actual fact, I never have suffered from
cold so greatly as in our Castoria, among the Macedonian lakes; and
never experienced such heat as on Lake Flatten."
Everybody now complained of the unusual cold, which this year had
continued intense even into March.
"Each morning as I turn that draughty corner in the Wilhelms Platz,"
said the prince, "my thoughts fly to Hamlet, Act One, the scene on
the platform before the castle at Elsinore, when Francisco says:
''Tis bitter cold.' As soon as I enter the office, the resemblance
to Hamlet becomes acute, because of the prevalent indecision in
ministerial circles. So let us, Herr Scherer, up anchor and set sail
for Zanzibar."
Franklin declared that nothing would please him better than to have
the whole party as his guests in his Arab home; the Russian invited
them all to Livadia, where the tsar's fist could not reach them;
Scherer, who seemed to be enjoying some secret of his own apart from
the others, turned to Diana, asking:
"And you? Whither does our good European want to take us?"
The men were silent, waiting upon her words.
"I? I have but one home," said Diana softly, "but I am afraid it is
not to the liking of all here present." Her smile slowly changed
from an external demonstration of social affability to one of inward
enjoyment, while her companions sat expectant. Then quickly and
fervently, she added: "My home is on the sea."
"I love the sea," said the Russian, who felt that her shaft had been
aimed at him. "I don't expect any of you have sailed the seas so
much as I. But I did not voyage on them in search--of ideas!"
"If only I possessed one that would please you," said Scherer
blithely.
As he spoke he drew a postcard from his wallet and offered it to his
neighbour at table. Diana looked upon the picture of a yacht,
graceful and white, with but one funnel, and displaying abundance of
tackle--a boat that could be used either as steamer or as sailing
vessel. Aft, the deck was sheltered by an awning. The name of the
yacht could be deciphered at the stern. It read, "Excelsior." Diana
waved the picture aloft, crying:
"Excelsior!"
"Excelsior," echoed Scherer, smiling.
Franklin was the first to question. Then the whole company joined in
a chorus of gleeful laughter.
"A friend in Hamburg has asked me whether I will not hire it for a
few weeks because he himself has to go to London this spring. So I
was wondering if you would care to give the sea and me the pleasure
of your company for a little while...."
Eduard looked up in surprise. In a flash he sensed all that the
invitation held of adventure. He glanced at Diana, then at Scherer,
for Diana's eyes were fixed upon her host.
She was probably the only one of the party used to sudden invitations
of the kind, and the way in which Scherer had spoken told her the
command he was exercising over himself. She was loath to make a
decision before the three men concerned had expressed their feelings
in the matter. But since all eyes were now upon her, and everyone
seemed waiting upon her word, she felt constrained to say something.
Nothing better came to her mind than to exclaim once more:
"Excelsior!"
Now there was a different ring in her voice, as though she had said:
"Excellent!"
Scherer handed round other papers with sketches of the yacht from
various angles, information regarding its tonnage, accommodation, and
so forth. Questions, surmises, proposals, flew from mouth to mouth.
Only the Russian sat silent, waiting for the others to allow him a
glimpse. But they seemed to have completely forgotten him. At last
Scherer, to whom an adventure appealed only so long as he felt it was
going to run the course he had planned, turned with sudden resolve
towards Sergievitch, saying:
"And you, Doctor, if these gentlemen will but allow you a glimpse of
the pictures, will see that there are six cabins in addition to those
belonging to the crew. Will you choose one for yourself? I should
recommend either No. 5 or No. 6, whichever seems to you the nicer."
The other men turned eagerly towards him encouraging him to a
decision. But he sat silently gazing at Diana, who, unconscious of
his scrutiny, was examining the intricacies of cordage one of the
pictures displayed. At last the young man said:
"It is very kind of you, but I came to Germany to study ideas, not to
voyage on the blue sea, not to study nature."
They laughed, and each was brought back upon himself. Even the
prince felt he ought to think the matter over before deciding. But
Scherer said:
"So that's settled. The only question remaining open is when we
shall start. I was thinking that April would be a good month to
choose. What do you say?"
Eduard and Franklin agreed. Diana demurred:
"I shall have to get leave of absence from my employer, first!"
"Your contract with the firm is quite clear upon that matter,"
retorted Scherer.
Diana looked pensive and remained so for the rest of the evening.
The prince, as he contemplated her, realized how closely attuned she
was to nature, to the sea and the wind and the sun. When Scherer
left her to rejoin Franklin, who wished to have further particulars
as to the length of the voyage, the prince and the Russian moved
forward to her side, and the three thus stood grouped in the middle
of the room.
"Are you going, too?" asked Diana, including both men in her glance.
"I'm entirely at your orders," answered the prince, assuming a
certain military rigidity of pose.
The Russian laughed:
"Your orders! So German!"
"But only to those in authority," said the prince curtly.
"Is this fair lady...?" began Sergievitch.
"Only in the realm of ideas," Diana was quick to rejoin with a merry
laugh. "Not in nature! And you?"
"I would pray for personal liberty," said the Russian proudly, his
anarchist spirit rising in the ascendant.
"At your orders," retorted Diana coldly, looking through him
haughtily as he bowed his acknowledgment.
Then she turned with a pleasant smile towards the prince.