XV
JOSEF
There is in the Faubourg St. Honore, not far from the Hotel of theSilver Scissors, an old house set far back in a court-yard of its own. Agray stone wall, the height of the first two stories, protects bothgarden and house from the eyes of the passer-by; and, save for the soundof singing, the place seems uninhabited most of the time.
On a misty morning in late November Katrine clapped the knocker of thisold house with fear in her heart, for her future hung on the word of thegreat teacher who lived here, Josef, whose genius, generosity, andbrutal frankness were the talk of the musical world. A Brittany peasantwoman opened the door with no salutation whatever, for the hugeBrigitte, in her white _coiffe_ and blue flannel frock, spoke in awedwhispers only, when the master was at home.
"Mademoiselle Dulany?" she asked.
Katrine nodded an affirmative.
"The master is expecting you," Brigitte said, leading the way up a wideoak staircase to the second floor, which had been made into one greatroom. It was a bare place, with no draperies and little furniture. Twogrand pianos stood at one end near a small platform, like a model-stand.There were photographs of some great singers on the walls, and a fewchairs huddled together.
In the corner at a desk a woman was writing from the dictation of a manwho stood gazing out of the window. He turned at Katrine's entrance. Shehas seen his picture frequently, and knew on the instant that it wasJosef, the greatest teacher in Europe--in the world.
"You may go, Zelie," he said to the woman. "I shall not need you tillto-morrow." And the dismissal over, he came forward toward Katrine asshe stood by the entrance, uncertain what to do.
He was a man about fifty years of age, below the medium height, heavilybuilt, and dressed in black, with a waistcoat buttoned to the collarlike a priest's. His hair was iron-gray, his eyes brown, and the pupilsof them widened and contracted when he spoke. He had a clean-shavenface of ivory paleness, a sensuous mouth and chin, and when he lookedat Katrine she understood his power, for it seemed to her as though hecould see backward to her past and forward to all of her future.
Being alone with her, he motioned her to a seat by the window, nearwhich he remained standing.
"I have been hearing that you have a voice. I have heard great thingsconcerning it. I hope they are true." His tone implied that he had smallbelief that they were. "You have a serious drawback. You are too rich."She started at this. "The management of your income, however, is givento me, as I suppose you know. Will you be so good as to remove yourjacket and hat, and walk up and down the room several times?"
Katrine obeyed.
"Good!" he said, at the first turn; and at the last, "_Very_ good!Sing," he said, as abruptly as he had issued his former order.
In the after years she was given to making light of her choice, but thecommand was scarcely spoken before she began, in her lovely, sonorousvoice, the song which it was her heritage to sing well:
"'Tis the most distressful country that ever I have seen, They're hanging men and women there for wearing of the green."
As she sang the three great stanzas, Josef stood motionless, his lipsdrawn, his eyes half shut, his face like a wooden man's; but his handstrembled, and as she ended her singing he opened the piano and seatedhimself in front of it. "Take the notes I strike," he said,"little--very little--so--so--so!" he sang.
Up and down, over and over, listening with his head turned to one sidelike a dog, he had her sing the tones, saying only, "Once more!" and"yet again!" and "over--over--over!" At last, with a sigh, he closed theinstrument. "I am not one given to extravagance in language," he said,"but you have the greatest _natural_ voice I have ever heard. It isalmost placed. Sit down a minute, I want to talk to you. Two kinds ofpupils I have had in my life: those with voice and no temperament, andthose with temperament and no voice. God seldom gives both; if He does,it is the great artist that may be made. To be great one must have both.But even with both given, one must have the ability to work, to worklike a galley-slave, to work when all the world is resting, at the deadof night, in the small hours of the morning. When all the others havelet go, you must hold on, till your head is tired and your body achesand you faint by the wayside; but you must never let go, you must learnto endure to the end. You will understand me. It is the _mental_ part ofwhich I speak. I do not mean that you are to wear your voice or yourbody out practising. It's something far harder. You must learn tosurrender yourself, to lose your life to have it!" He looked at herkeenly. She was drinking his words in, as it were, and the expression onher face assured even him. "Do you want me," he said, suddenly comingnearer, "to tell you about yourself; what I see in you?"
She bent her head, quivering from head to foot, before the power of thisman, who seemed uncanny in his knowledge.
"You have had some great sorrow. It is an unhappy love-affair. Iunderstand." Here he smiled his critical, unfathomable, remote smile."You are not yet eighteen, and have been capable of a great sorrow!Child," he said, "thank God for it! You have a voice of gold. We willmake of that sorrow diamonds and rubies and pearls to set in the voice,so that the world will stand at gaze before you. When you have realinsight you will know that nothing was ever taken from us that more wasnot put in its place."
"Master," she said, with something of his own abruptness, "may I talk toyou a little, a very little, about myself?"
Already Josef realized the charm of her companionship as well as theadoring humility with which her eyes shone into his and theunquestioning way she placed herself under his direction. He nodded hispermission with a smile.
"I want to be taught in _everything_. I know so little. It is not bookstudies I mean. I want to learn to be bigger, to think great thoughts. Iwant, most of all, to develop the power to be happy, to make the peoplearound me happy. _Most_, I want"--she drew up her chest and made anoutward gesture with her arms, a gesture significant of her whole naturein its indication of courage and generosity--"I want," she repeated, "togrow soul!"
Josef laughed aloud. "Ah," he cried, "you funny, little, unusual thing!I'm glad you've come to me. We will study, study, _and grow soultogether_, you and I. We will not accumulate facts to be laid onshelves, like mental lumber, but grow bigger thoughts: see ourselves andpeople clearer that the work may be broadened. And we will find ourideals changing, changing, getting bigger, higher. And the little peoplewill fall away from us, like Punch-and-Judy shows, painlessly, with kindthoughts, because we will have no further use for them. Wait! Trust themaster! Nothing makes one forget like a great art! In three--four years,you will meet the man, and say: 'Ach, Heaven! is it for this I suffered?Stupid me! Praise God things are as they are, and that I still haveJosef.'"
"I have thought sometimes," Katrine went on, "that men have many finetraits, which, without becoming masculine, women might study to acquire.I remember once I went to spend the day with a boy and a girl whosemother punished them both for some slight misdemeanor. Afterward thegirl cried all the rest of the morning, but the boy went out and made aswing, and in a little while was quite happy. I was only five, but I sawthen, and later, that women bear their sorrows differently from men. Idon't want to cry; I want to make swings."
"Very well. It is _very_ well," said the great man, and there was a mistin his eyes as he looked at the valiant little creature. "It's a greatgospel--that! I wish I could teach it to every woman on earth. _Don'tcry! Make swings_!"
She had resumed her hat and jacket, and, with the lesson-day slip in herhand, was at the farther door, when she turned with sweetest pleading inher eyes. "Illustrious One!" she said, "I've not told you all. I've notasked you what I really want to know."
Already there was between them that quick comprehension of each otherwhich exists for those people who have special gift.
"Well?" he said, waiting with a smile.
"You remember a pupil of yours named Charlotte Hopkins?"
"Very well, indeed."
"You changed her greatly."
"It is to be hoped so
," he answered, with a laugh.
"She told me much of you: of your power, of your ability to make peopleover. And she said you had studied in the East, and had learned how tomake people do your will, even when they were far away from you. Is ittrue?"
"Some say so," he answered.
"It is not hypnotism?" she questioned.
"I'm no Svengali, if that's what you mean," he responded, grimly. "I'llwatch you, Katrine Dulany, and, if I find you worthy, some day I maytell you more."
More moved by her personality than he had been by any other in thetwenty-five years of his teaching, he stood by the window and watchedher cross the court-yard below and disappear through the great irongates.
"Poor little girl!" he thought. "Beauty and gift and a divine despair.Everything ready to make the great artist. And then the heart of awoman, which is like quicksilver, to reckon with. I spoke bravely abouther forgetting, but I have doubts. Sometimes I wonder if it be possiblefor a person with a fine and generous nature to become a really greatartist. Perhaps it is necessary to have great egotism and selfishnessfor the arts' development. I wonder," he said, aloud; repeating, after aminute's silence, "I wonder--"