VI.
In the days that followed, Maurice threw himself heart and soul intohis work. He had lost ground of late, he saw it plainly now: after hisvigorous start, he had quickly grown slack. He was not, to-day, at thestage he ought to be, and there was not a doubt but that Schwarz sawit, too. Now that he, came to think of it, he had more than once beenaware of a studied coolness in the master's manner, of a ratherostentatious indifference to the quality of the work he brought to theclass: and this he knew by hearsay to be Schwarz's attitude towardsthose of his pupils in whom his interest was waning. If he, Maurice,wished to regain his place in the little Pasha's favour, he must worklike a coal-heaver. But the fact was, the strenuous industry to whichhe now condemned himself, was something of a relaxation after themental anxiety he had recently undergone; this striking of a black andwhite keyboard was a pleasant, thought-deadening employment, and couldbe got through, no matter what one's mood.--And so he rose early again,and did not leave the house till he had five hours' practice behind him.
WER SICH DER EINSAMKEIT ERGIEBT, ACH, DER IST BALD ALLEIN: at the endof a fortnight, Maurice smiled to find the words of Goethe's songproved on himself. If he did not go to see his friends, none of themcame to him. Dove, who was at the stage of: "I told you so," in theaffair of the Cayhills, had found fresh listeners, who were moresympathetic than Maurice could be expected to be: and Madeleine was upto her ears in work, as she phrased it, with the "C minor Beethoven."
"Agility of finger equals softening of the brain" was a frequent gibeof Krafft's; and now and then, at the close of a hard day's work,Maurice believed that the saying contained a grain of truth. Openingboth halves of his window, he would lean out on the sill, too tired forconnected thought. But when dusk fell, he lay on the sofa, with hisarms clasped under his head, his knees crossed in the air.
At first, in his new buoyancy of spirit, he was able to keep foolishideas behind him, as well as to put away all recollection of thedisagreeable events he had been mixed up in of late: after having, forweeks, borne a load that was too heavy for him, he breathed freely oncemore. The responsibility of taking care of Ephie had been removed fromhim--and this by far outweighed the little that he missed her. Thematter had wound up, too, in a fairly peaceable way; all beingconsidered, things might have been worse. So, at first, he throve underhis light-heartedness; and only now became aware how great the strainof the past few weeks had been. His chief sensation was relief, andalso of relief at being able to feel relieved--indeed, the moment evencame when he thought it would be possible calmly to accept the fact ofLouise having left the town, and of his never being likely to see heragain.
Gradually, however, he began to be astonished at himself, and in thebackground of his mind, there arose a somewhat morbid curiosity, even aslight alarm, at his own indifference. He found it hard to understandhimself. Could his feelings, those feelings which, a week or two ago,he had believed unalterable, have changed in so short a time? Was hisnature one of so little stability? He began to consider himself withsomething approaching dismay, and though, all this time, he had beengoing about on a kind of mental tiptoe, for fear of rousing somethingthat might be dormant in him, he now could not help probing himself, inorder to see if the change he observed were genuine or not. And thiswith a steadily increasing frequency. Instead of continuing thankfulfor the respite, he ultimately grew uneasy under it. Am I a person ofthis weak, straw-like consistency, to be tossed about by every windthat blows? Is there something beneath it all that I cannot fathom?
He had not seen Louise since the night he had left her asleep, besidethe sofa; and he was resolved not to see her--not, at least, until shewished to see him. It was much better for him that the uncertainties ofthe bygone months did not begin anew; then, too, she had called him toher when she was in trouble, and not for anything in the world would hepresume on her appeal. Besides, his presence would recall to her theunpleasant details connected with Ephie's visit, which he hoped she hadby this time begun to forget. Thus he argued with himself, givingseveral reasons where one would have served; and the upshot of it was,that his own state of mind occupied him considerably.
His friends noticed the improvement in him; the careworn expressionthat had settled down on him of late gave way to his old air ofanimation; and on all the small topics of the day, he brought asympathetic interest to bear, such as people had ceased to expect fromhim. Madeleine, in particular, was satisfied with her "boy," as shetook to calling him. She noted and checked off, in wise silence, eachinch of his progress along the road of healthy endeavour; and therelations between them became almost as hearty as at the commencementof their friendship. Privately, she believed that the events of thepast month had taught him a lesson, which he would not soon forget. Itwas sufficient, however, if they had inspired him with a distrust ofLouise, which would keep him from her for the present; for Madeleinehad grounds for believing that before many weeks had passed, Louisewould have left Leipzig.
So she kept Maurice as close to her as work permitted; and as thewinter's flood of concerts set in, in full force, he accompanied her,almost nightly, to the Old Gewandhaus or the ALBERTHALLE; for Madeleinewas an indefatigable concert-goer, and never missed a performer ofnote, rarely even a first appearance at the HOTEL DE PRUSSE or aBLUTHNER MATINEE. On the night she herself played in anAIBENDUNTERHALTUNG, with the easily gained success that attended allshe did, Maurice went with her to the green-room, and was the firstafterwards to tell her how her performance had "gone." That sameevening she took him with her to the house of friends of hers, theHensels. There he met some of the best musical society of the place,made a pleasant impression, and was invited to return.
Meanwhile, winter had set in, with extreme severity. Piercing northwinds drove down the narrow streets, and raged round the corners of theGewandhaus square: on emerging from the PROBE on a Wednesday morning,one's breath was cut clean off, and the tears raced down one's cheeks.When the wind dropped, there were hard black frosts--a deadly, stagnantkind of cold, which seemed to penetrate every pore of the skin andevery cranny of the house. Then came the snow, which fell for threedays and nights on end, and for several nights after, so that the townwas lost under a white pall: house-entrances were with difficulty keptfree, and the swept streets were banked with walls of snow, four andfive feet high. The night-frosts redoubled their keenness; the snowunderfoot crackled like electric sparks; the sleighs crunched theroads. But except for this, and for the tinkling of the sleigh-bells,the streets were as noiseless as though laid with straw, and especiallywhile fresh snow still formed a soft coating on the crisp layer below.All dripping water hung as icicles; water froze in ewers and pitchers;milk froze in cans and jugs; and this though the great stoves in thedwelling-rooms were heated to bursting-point. Red-nosed, red-eared men,on whose beards and moustaches the breath had turned to ice-drops,cried to one another at street-corners that such a winter had not beenknown for thirty years; and, as they spoke, they stamped their feet,and clapped their hands, to keep the chilly blood agoing. Women muffledand veiled themselves like Orientals, hardly showing the tips of theirnoses; and all manner of strange, antiquated fur-garments saw the day.At night, if one opened a window, and peered out at the housescrouching beneath their thick white load, and at the deserted,snow-bound streets, over which the street-lamps threw a pale, uncertainlight--at night, familiar things took on an unfamiliar aspect, and thewell-known streets might have been the untrodden ways that led to a newworld.
Early in November, all ponds and pools were bearing, and forthwith manyhundreds of people forgot the severity of the weather, and thronged outwith their skates.
Maurice was among the first. He was a passionate skater; and it was theone form of sport in which he excelled. As four o'clock came round, hecould contain himself no longer; he would rather have gone without hisdinner, than have missed, on the JOHANNATEICH, the two hours thatelapsed before the sweepers, crying: "FEIERABEND!" drove the skatersbefore them, with their brooms. In a tightly buttoned square jacket,the collar of
which was turned up as far as it would go, with the flapsof his astrachan cap drawn over his cars, his hands in coarse woollengloves, Maurice defied the cold, flying round the two ponds that formedthe JOHANNATEICH, or practising intricate figures with a Canadianacquaintance in a corner.
Madeleine watched him approvingly from one of the wooden bridges thatspanned the neck connecting the ponds. She rejoiced at his glowing faceand vigorous, boyish pleasure, also at the skill that marked him out asone of the best skaters present. For some time, Maurice tried in vainto persuade her to join him. Madeleine, usually so confident, was herediffident and timid. She had never in her life attempted to skate, andwas sure she would fall. And what should she do if she broke a thumb orstrained a finger?--with her PRUFUNG just before the door. She wouldnever have the courage to confess to Schwarz how it had happened; forhe was against "sport" in any form. But Maurice laughed at her fears.
"There is not the least chance of your falling," he cried up to her."Do come down, Madeleine. Before you've gone round twice, you'll beable to throw off all those mufflings."
Finally, she let herself be persuaded, and according to his promise,Maurice remained at her side from the moment of her first, hesitatingsteps, each of which was accompanied by a faint scream, to the timewhen, with the aid of only one of his hands, she made uncertain effortsat striking out. She did not learn quickly; but she was soon asenthusiastic a skater as Maurice himself; and he fell into the habit ofcalling for her, every afternoon, on his way to the ponds.
Dove was also of assistance in the beginning, and, as usual, was wellup in the theory of the thing, though he did not shine in practice.
"Oh, bother, never mind how you go at first. That'll come afterwards,"said Maurice impatiently. But Dove thought the rules should be observedfrom the beginning, and gave Madeleine minute instructions how to placeher feet.
Towards five o'clock, the ice grew more crowded, and especially wasthis the case on Wednesdays and Saturdays, when the schools hadhalf-holidays. On one of these latter days, Maurice did not findMadeleine at home; and he had been on the ponds for nearly an hour,before he espied her on a bench beside the GARDEROBE, having her skatesput on by a blue-smocked attendant. He waved his cap to her, and skatedover.
"Why are you so late?"
"Oh, thank goodness, there you are. I should never have dared to standup alone in this crowd. Aren't these children awful? Get away, youlittle brutes! If you touch me, I'll fall.--Here, give me change," shesaid to the ice-man, holding out a twenty-pfennig piece.
Maurice saw that she was unusually excited, and as soon as he had drawnher out of reach of the children, asked her the reason.
"I've something interesting to tell you, Maurice."
But here Dove, coming up behind, took possession of her left hand, withno other greeting than the military salute, which, on the ice, headopted for all his friends, male and female, alike; and Madeleinehastily swallowed the rest of her sentence.
They skated round the larger of the ponds several times withoutstopping. The cold evening air stung their faces; the sun had gone downin a lurid haze; Madeleine's skirts swayed behind her and lent her afictitious grace.
But presently she cried a halt, and while she rested in a quiet corner,they watched Maurice doing a complicated figure, which he and hisCanadian friend had invented the day before. Dove was explaining how itwas done--"It is really not so hard as it looks"--when, with a cry of"ACHTUNG!" some one whizzed in among them, scattered the group, and,revolving on himself, ended with a jump in the air. It was James. Hetook out his handkerchief and blew his nose, in the most unconcernedmanner possible.
"I don't think such acrobatic tricks should be allowed," said Madeleinedisapprovingly; she had been forced to grab Dove's arm to keep herbalance.
"Say, do you boys know the river has six inches and will be opento-morrow, if it isn't to-day?" asked James, stooping to tighten astrap.
"Is that so? Oh gee, that's fine!" cried Miss Martin, who had skatedleisurely up in his rear. "Say, you people, why don't we fix up a partyan' go up it nights? A lady in my boarding-house done that with somefolks she was acquainted with last year. Seems to me we oughtn't to bebehind."
Miss Martin was a skilled and graceful skater, and looked her best in adark fur hat and jacket, which set off her abundance of pale flaxenhair. Others had followed her, and it was resolved to form a party forthe following evening, provided Dove had previously ascertained if theriver actually was "free," in order that they ran no risk of beingignominiously turned off.
"The ice may be a bit rough, but it's a fine run to Connewitz."
"An' by moonlight, too--but say, is there a moon? Why, I presume thereought to be," said Miss Martin.
"'Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?'" quoted Dove,examining a tiny pocket-calendar.
"Oh gee, that's fine!" repeated Miss Martin, on hearing his answer."Say, we must dance a FRANCAISE. Mr. Guest, you an' I'll be partners, Isurmise," and ceasing to waltz and pirouette with James, she took along sweep, then stood steady, and let her skates bear her out to themiddle of the pond. Her skirts clung close in front, and swept outbehind her lithe figure, until it was lost in the crowd.
"Don't you wish YOU could skate like that?" asked the sharp-tonguedlittle student, called Dickensey, who was standing beside Madeleine.Madeleine, who held him in contempt because his trousers were baggy atthe knees, and because he had once appeared at a ball in white cottongloves, answered with asperity that there were other things in lifebesides skating. She had no further chance of speaking to Maurice inprivate, so postponed telling her news till the following evening.
Shortly after eight o'clock, the next night, a noisy party whistled andhallooed in the street below Maurice's window. He was the last to join,and then some ten or eleven of them picked their steps along thehard-frozen ruts of the SCHLEUSSIGER WEG, a road that followed theriver to the outskirts of the town. Just above the GERMANIABAD, a roughscat had been erected on the ice, for the convenience of skaters. Theywere the first to make use of it; the snow before it was untrodden; andthe Pleisse wound white and solitary between its banks of snow.
They set off in a higgledy-piggledy fashion, each striking out forhimself. When, however, they had passed the narrower windings, goneunder the iron bridge which was low enough to catch the unwary by theforehead, and when the full breadth of the river was before them, theytook hands, and, forming a long line, skated in time to the songs someone struck up, and in which all joined: THE ROSE OF SHARON, JINGLEBELLS, THERE IS A TAVERN IN OUR TOWN. As they advanced to the cornerswhere the big trees trailed their naked branches on the ice, just as insummer they sank their leaves in the water, Miss Jensen, who, despiteher proportions, was a surprisingly good skater, sent her big voiceover the snow-bound stillness in an aria from the PROPHET; and afterthis, Miss Martin, no; to be done, struck up the popular ALLERSEELEN.This was the song of the hour; they all knew it, and up and down andacross the ice rang out their voices in unison: WIE EINST IM MAI, WIEEINST IM MAI.
Inside Wagner's WALDCAFE at Connewitz, they sat closely packed roundone of the wooden tables, and drank beer and coffee, and ate BERLINERPFANNKUCHEN. The great iron stove was almost red-hot; the ladies threwoff their wrappings; cold faces glowed and burnt, and frozen handstingled. One and all were in high spirits, and the jollity reached aclimax when, having exchanged hats, James and Miss Jensen cleared aspace in the middle of the floor and danced a nigger-dance, the ladywith her skirts tucked up above her ankles. In the adjoining room, someone began to play a concertina, and then two or three couples stood upand danced, with much laughter and many outcries at the narrowness ofthe space. Even Dove joined in, his partner being a very prettyAmerican, whom Miss Martin had brought with her, and whose side Dovehad not left for a moment. Only Madeleine and Dickensey sat aloof, andfor once were agreed: Americans were really "very bad form." There wasno livelier pair than Maurice and Miss Martin; the latter's voice couldbe heard above all others, as she taught Maurice new steps in a cornerof th
e room. Her flaxen hair had partly come loose, and she did notstop to put it up. They were the first to run through the dark garden,past the snow-laden benches and arbours, which, in summer, were buriedin greenery; and, from the low wooden landing place, they jumped handin hand on to the ice, and had shot a long way down the river beforeany of the rest could follow them.
But this did not please Madeleine. As it was, she was vexed at nothaving had the opportunity of a quiet word with Maurice; and when shehad laboriously skated up, with Dickensey, to the spot where, in abright splash of moonlight, Maurice and Miss Martin were cuttingingenious capers, she cried to the former in a peremptory tone:"There's something wrong with my skate, Maurice. Will you look at it,please?" and as sharply declined Dickensey's proffered aid.
Maurice came to her side at once, and in this way she detained him. ButDickensey hovered not far off, and Miss Martin was still in sight.Madeleine caught her skate in a crack, fell on her knee, and said shehad now loosened the strap altogether. She sat down on a heap of snow,and Dickensey's shade vanished good-naturedly round a corner.
"Well, YOU seem to be enjoying yourself," she said as Maurice drew offhis gloves and knelt down.
"Why, yes, aren't you?" he replied so frankly that she did not continuethe subject.
"I've been trying all the evening to get a word with you. I told youyesterday, you remember, that I wanted to speak to you. Sit down here,for a moment, so that we can talk in peace," and she spread part of herskirt over the snow-heap.
Maurice complied, and she could not discover any trace of reluctance inhis manner.
"I want your advice," she continued. "I was taken quite by surprisemyself. Schwarz sent for me, you know, after counterpoint. It was aboutmy PRUFUNG at Easter. If I play then, it's a case of the C minorBeethoven. Well, now he says it's a thousand pities for me to break offjust at the stage I'm at, and he wants me to stay for another year. IfI do, he'll give me the G major--that's a temptation, isn't it? On theother hand, I shall have been here my full time--three years--atEaster. That's a year longer than I originally intended, and I feel I'mgetting too old to be a pupil. But this talk with Schwarz has upset myplans. I'm naturally flattered at his interesting himself in me. Hewouldn't do it for every one. And I do feel I could gain an immensedeal in another year.--Now, what do you think?"
"Why, stay, of course, Madeleine. If you can afford it, that is. Ican't imagine anyone wanting to leave."
"Oh, my capital will last so long, and it's a good enough investment."
"But wasn't a place being kept open for you in a school?"
"Yes; but I don't think a year more or less will make much differenceto them. I must sound them, of course, though," said Madeleine, and didnot mention that she had written and posted the letter the nightbefore. "Then you advise me to stay?"
"Why, of course," he repeated, and was mildly astonished at her. "Ifeverything is as smooth as you say."
"You would miss me, if I left?"
"Why, of course I should," he said again, and wondered what in theworld she was driving at.
"Well, all the better," replied Madeleine. "For when one has really gotto like a person, one would rather it made a difference than not."
She was silent after this, and sat looking down the stretch of ice theyhad travelled: the moon was behind a cloud, and the woods on eitherside were masses of dense black shadow. Not a soul was in sight; theriver was like a deserted highway. Madeleine stared down it, and didnot feel exactly satisfied with the result of her investigation. Shehad not expected anything extraordinary--Heaven forbid!--but she hadbeen uncomfortably conscious of Maurice's surprise. To her last remark,he had made no answer: he was occupied with the screw of one of hisskates.
She drew his attention to the fact that, if she remained in Leipzig foranother twelvemonth, they would finish at the same time; and thereuponshe sketched out a plan of them going somewhere together, and startinga music-school of their own. Maurice, who thought she was jesting,laughingly assented. But Madeleine was in earnest: "Other people havedone it--why shouldn't we? We could take a 'cellist with us, and go toAmerica, or Australia, or Canada--there are hundreds of places. Andthere's a great deal of money in it, I'm sure. A little capital wouldbe needed to begin with, but not much, and I could supply that. You'vealways said you dreaded going back to the English provinces todecay--here's your chance!"
She saw the whole scheme cut and dried before her. As they, skatedafter the rest, she continued to enlarge upon it, in a detailed waythat astonished Maurice. He confessed that, with a head like hers toconduct it, such a plan stood a fair chance of success; and thusencouraged, Madeleine undertook to make a kind of beginning at once, bysounding some of the numerous friends she had, scattered throughAmerica. Her idea was that they should go over together, and travel tovarious places, giving concerts, and acquainting themselves, as theydid so, with the musical conditions of the towns they visited.
"And the 'cellist shall be an American--that will draw."
According to the pace at which they were skating, the others shouldhave remained well out of reach. But on turning a corner, they cameupon the whole party dancing a FRANCAISE--which two memberswhistled--on a patch of ice that was smoother than the rest.
"Here, Guest, come along, we want you," was the cry as soon as Mauriceappeared; and, to Madeleine's deep displeasure, she was thrown on Dove,whose skill had not sufficed. When the dancing was over, Maurice oncemore found himself with Miss Martin, whom, for some distance, he pushedbefore him, she standing steady on her skates, and talking to him overher shoulder.
"That wasn't a bit pretty of you, Mr. Guest," she asserted, with herlong, slow, twanged speech. "It was fixed up yesterday, I recollect,that you were to dance the FRANCAISE with me. Yes, indeed. An' then Ihad to take up with Mr. Dove. Now Mr. Dove is just a lovely gentleman,but he don't skate elegantly, an' he nearly tumbled me twice. Yes,indeed. But I presume when Miss Wade says come, then you're mostobliged to go."
"How is it one don't ever see you now?" she queried a moment later. "Itisn't anyhow so pleasurable at dinner as it used to be. But I hearyou're working most hard--it's to' bad."
"It's what one comes to here."
"I guess it is. But I do like to see my friends once in a while. Say,now, Mr. Guest, won't you drink coffee with me one afternoon? I'll makeyou some real American coffee if you do, sir. What they call coffeehere don't count."
She turned, offered him her hand, and they began to skate in long,outward curving lines.
"I think one has just a fine time here, don't you?" she continued."Momma, she came right with me, an' stopped a bit, till I was fixed upin a boarding-house. But she didn't find it agreeable, no sir. Shemissed America, an' presumed I would, too. When she was leaving, shesaid to me: 'EI'nor Martin, if you find you can't endure it among theseDutch, just you cable, and poppa he'll come along an' fetch you righthome,' But I'm sure I haven't desired to quit, no, not once. I thinkit's just fine. But then I've gotten me so many friends I don't everneed to feel lonesome. Why, my friend Susie Fay, she says: 'Why,EI'nor, I guess you're acquainted with most every one in the place.'An' I reckon she's not far out. Anyways there ain't more than twoAmericans in the city I don't know. An' I see most all strangers thatcome. Say, are you acquainted with Miss Moses? She's from Chicago, an'resides in a boarding-house way down by the COLONNADEN. I gotacquainted with her yesterday. She's a lovely lady, an', why, she'sjust as smart as she can be. Say, if you like, I'll invite her along,so you can get acquainted with her too."
Maurice expressed pleasure at the prospect; and Miss Martin continuedto rattle on, with easy frankness, of herself, her family, and herfriends. He listened vaguely, with half an ear, since it was onlyrequired of him to throw in an occasional word of assent. But suddenlyhis attention was arrested, and brought headlong back to what she wassaying: in the string of names that fell from her tongue, he believedhe had caught one he knew.
"Miss Dufrayer?" he queried.
"That's it," replied his companion. "Louise
Dufrayer. Well, sir, as Iwas going on to remark, when first I was acquainted with her, she wasjust as sweet as she could be; yes, indeed; why, she was just dandy.But she hasn't behaved a bit pretty--I presume you heard tell of whattook place here this fall?"
"Then you know Miss Dufrayer?"
"Yes, indeed. But I don't see her any more, an' I guess I don't wantto. Not but what I've heard she feels pretty mean about it now--begpardon?--how I know? Why, indeed, the other day, Schwarz come in an'told us how she's moping what she can--moping herself to death--if Irecollect, those were his very words. Yes, indeed. She don't takelessons no more, I presume. I think she should go right away from thiscity. It ain't possible to be acquainted with her any more, for allshe's so lonesome, an' one feels sort of bad about it, yes, indeed. Butmomma, the last thing she said to me was: 'Now EI'nor Martin, just keepyour eyes open, an' don't get acquainted with people you might feel badabout afterwards.' An' I presume momma was right. I don't-- Oh, say, dolook at her, isn't she a peach?"--this, as her pretty friend, with Dovein tow, came gliding up to them. "Say, Susie Fay, are you acquaintedwith Mr. Guest?"
"MR. Guest. Pleased to know you," said Susie cordially; and Miss Martinwas good-natured enough to skate off with Dove, leaving Maurice to herfriend.
But afterwards, at the bench, as he was undoing Madeleine's skates, heoverheard pretty Susie remark, without much care to moderate her voice:"Say, EI'nor Martin, that's the quietest sort of young man I've evershown round a district. Why, seems to me, he couldn't say 'shoh.' Guessyou shouldn't have left us, EI'nor."
And Miss Martin guessed so, too.