Maurice Guest

by Henry Handel Richardson

  II.

  The next fortnight flew by; and familiar faces began to appear again.The steps and inner vestibule of the Conservatorium became a lounge forseeing acquaintances. In the cafe at the corner, the click of billiardballs was to be heard from early morning on.

  Maurice looked forward to meeting his friends, with some embarrassment.It was unlikely that the events of the summer had remained a secret;for that, there was a clique in the place over-much on the alert forscandal, to which unfortunately the name of Louise Dufrayer lent itselfonly too readily. He could not decide what position to take up, withregard to their present intimacy; to flaunt it openly, to be pointed atas her lover, would for her sake be repugnant to him. It made himreject an idea he had revolved, of begging her to let him announcetheir engagement: for, in the present state of things, the word"BRAUTIGAM" had an evil sound. Eventually, he came to the conclusionthat they must be more cautious than they had ever been, and giveabsolutely no food for talk.

  One day, in the GRASSISTRASSE, he came upon a little knot of men heknew. And it was just as he supposed; the secret was a secret nolonger. He saw it at once in their treatment of him. There was a spiceof deference in their manner: and their looks expressed curiosity,envious surprise, even a kind of brotherly welcome. After this, Mauricechanged his mind. The only course open to him was to brazen things out.He would not wait for his friends to show him what they thought; hewould be beforehand with them.

  A chance soon offered of putting his intentions into practice. Onentering Seyffert's one afternoon, he espied Dove, who had justreturned. Dove sat alone at a small table, reading the TAGEBLATT;before him stood a cup of cocoa. When he saw Maurice, he raised thenewspaper a trifle higher, so that it covered the level of his eyes.But Maurice went across the room, and touched him on the shoulder. Dovedropped his shield, and sprang up, exclaiming with surprise. Mauricesat down beside him, and, by dint of a little wheedling, put Dove athis ease. The latter was bubbling over with new experiences and futureprospects. It seemed that in Peterborough, Dove's native town, the artof music was taking strides that were nothing short of marvellous. Tohear Dove talk, the palm for progress must be awarded to Peterborough,over and above all the other towns of Great Britain; and he was agogwith plans and expectations. During the holidays, he had heldconversations with several local magnates, all of whom expressedthemselves in favour of his scheme for founding a school of music, andpromised him their support. Dove had returned to Leipzig in a brand-newoutfit, and a hard hat; his studies were coming to an end in spring,and he began to think already of casting the skin of Bohemianism.

  Maurice listened to him leniently--even drew Dove out a little. But hekept his eye on the clock. In less than half an hour, he would be withLouise; from some corner of the semidarkened room, she would springtowards him, and throw herself into his arms.

  The majority of the classes were not yet assembled, when one day, arumour rose, and spreading, ran from mouth to mouth. Those who heard itwere at first incredulous; as, however, it continued to make headway,they whistled to themselves, or vented their surprise in a breathless"ACH!" Later in the day, they stood about in groups, and excitedlydiscussed the subject. Ten of Schwarz's most advanced pupils had leftthe master for the outsider named Schrievers. At the head of the liststood Furst.

  The Conservatorium, royally endowed and municipally controlled, held toits time-honoured customs with tenacity. The older masters laboured touphold tradition, and such younger ones as were progressively inclined,had not the influence to effect a change. Unattached teachers wereregarded with suspicion--unless they happened to be former pupils ofthe institution, in which case it was assumed that they carried out itsprecepts. There had naturally always been plenty of others as well; butthese were comparatively powerless: they could give their pupilsneither imposing certificates, nor gala public performances, such asthe PRUFUNGEN, and, for the most part, they flourished unknown. Thiswas previous to the arrival of Schrievers. It was now about a year anda half ago that his settling in Leipzig had caused a flutter in musicalcircles. Then, however, he had been forgotten, or at least rememberedonly at intervals, when it was heard that he had caught another fish,in the shape of a renegade pupil.

  Schrievers was a burly, red-bearded man, still well under middle age,and possessed of plenty of push and self-confidence. It soon transpiredthat he was an out-and-out champion of modern ideas in music; for, fromthe first, he was connected with a leading paper, in which he made hisviews known. He had a trenchant pen, and, with unfailing consistency,criticised the musical conditions of Leipzig adversely. The progressiveLISZTVEREIN, of which he was soon the leading spirit, alone escaped;the opera, bereft of Nikisch, and the Gewandhaus, under its gentle andaged conductor, were treated by him with biting sarcasm. But his chiefbutt was the Conservatorium, and its ancient methods. He asserted thatnot a jot of the curriculum had been altered for fifty years; and itsspeedy downfall was the sole result to be expected and hoped for. Thefact that, at this time, some seven hundred odd students were enrolledon its books went far to discredit this pious hope; but, nevertheless,Schrievers harped always on the same string; and just as perpetualdropping wears a stone, so his continued diatribes ate into emotionaland sensitive natures. He began to attract a following, and,simultaneously, to make himself known as a pupil of Liszt. This broughthim a fresh batch of enemies. Even a small German town is seldomwithout its Liszt-pupil, and in Leipzig several were settled, none ofwhom had ever heard of Martin Schrievers. They refused to admit him totheir jealous clique. In their opinion, he belonged to that goodlyclass of persons, who, having by hook or by crook, contrived to spendan hour in the Abbe of Weimar's presence, afterwards abused the sacrednarre of pupil. He was hated by these chosen few with more vigour thanby the conservative pedagogues, who, naturally enough, saw the ruin ofart in all he did.

  Various reasons were given for his success, no one being willing tobelieve that it was due to his merits as a teacher. Some said that herecognised in a twinkling the weak points of the individual with whomhe had to deal. He humoured foibles, was tender of self-conceit. Healso flattered his pupils by giving them music that was beyond theirpowers of execution: those, for instance, who had worked long and withfeeble interest at Czerny, Dussek and Hummel, were dazzled at theprospect of Liszt and Chopin, which was suddenly thrust beneath theireyes. Other ill-wishers believed that his chief bait was the musicalSOIREES he gave when a famous pianist came to the town. By virtue ofhis journalistic position, he was personally acquainted with all thegreat; they visited at his house, and his pupils had thus not merelythe opportunity of getting to know artists like Rubinstein andd'Albert, and of hearing them play in private, but, what was more tothe point, of themselves taking part in the performance, and perhapsreceiving a golden word from the great man's lips. And though no hugeparchment scroll was forthcoming on the termination of one's studies,yet Schrievers held the weapon of criticism in his hand, and, at thefirst tentative public appearance of the young performer, could make ormar as he chose. He lived on good terms, too, with his fellow-critics,so that wire-pulling was easy--incomparably more so than were theembarrassing visits, open to any snub, which were common if one wasonly a pupil of the Conservatorium, and which, in the case of theladypupils, included costly bouquets of flowers.

  Among those who had deserted Schwarz were some, like Miss Martin,malcontents, who had flitted from place to place, and from master tomaster, in the perpetual hope of discovering that ideal teacher whowould estimate them at their true worth. These were radiantly satisfiedwith the change. Miss Martin bore, wherever she went, an octave-studyby Liszt, and flaunted it in the faces of her friends: and Miss Moses,who had been under Bendel, could not say two sentences without throwingin: "That Chopin ETUDE I studied last," or: "The Polonaise in E flatI'm working at;" for, beforehand, she too had been a humble performerof Haydn and Bertini. James had the prospect of playing a Concerto byLiszt--forbidden fruit to the pupils of the Conservatorium--in one ofthe concerts of the LISZTVEREIN, and was sure, in
advance, of beingfavourably criticised. Boehmer wished to specialise in Bach, and ifSchwarz set himself against one thing more than another, it was aone-sided musical taste: within the bounds of classicism, the masterdemanded catholic sympathies; those students who had romantic leaningstowards Chopin and Schumann, were castigated with severely classicalcompositions; and, vice versa, he had insisted on Boehmer widening hishorizon on Schubert and Mendelssohn. And there were also severalothers, who, having been dragged forward by Schwarz, from inefficientbeginnings, now left him, to write their acquired skill to Schrievers'credit. Furst was the greatest riddle of all. It was he who, onsubsequent concert-tours, was to have extended the fame of theConservatorium; he was the show pupil of the institution, and, in thecoming PRUFUNGEN, was to have distinguished himself, and his masterwith him, by playing Beethoven's Concerto in E flat.

  Other teachers besides Schwarz had been forsaken for the new-comer, butin no case by so large a body of students. They bore their lossesphilosophically. Bendel, one of the few masters who spoke English--itwas against the principles of Schwarz to know a word of it: foreignpupils had to learn his language, not he theirs--Bendel, frequentedchiefly by the American colony, was of a phlegmatic temperament and noteasily roused. He alluded to the backsliders with an ironical jest,preferring to believe that they were the losers. But Schwarz was of adiametrically opposite nature. In the short, thickset man, with theall-seeing eyes, and the head of carefully waved hair, just streakedwith grey--a head at once too massive and too fine for the clumsybody--in Schwarz, dwelt a fierce and indomitable pride. His was one ofthose moody, sensitive natures, quick to resent, always on the look-outfor offence. He was ever ready to translate things into the personal;for though he had an overweening sense of his own importance, there wasyet room in him for a secret doubt; and with this doubt, he, as itwere, put other people to the test. The loss of the flower of his flockmade him doubly unsure; he felt himself a marked man, for Bendel andother enemies to jeer at. Aloud, he spoke long and vehemently, as ifmere noisy words would heal the wound. And the pupils who had remainedfaithful to him, gathered all the more closely round him, and burned ashe did. If wishes could have injured or killed, Furst's career wouldthen and there have come to an end: his ingratitude, his treachery, andhis lack of moral fibre, were denounced on every hand.

  One day, at this time, Maurice entered Schwarz's room. The class wasassembled; but, although the hour was well advanced, no one had begunto play. The master stood at the window, with his back to thegrass-grown courtyard. He was haranguing, in a strident voice, thethree pupils who sat along the wall. From what followed, Mauricegathered that that very afternoon Schwarz had been informed of the lossof four more pupils; and though, as every one knew, he had hitherto notset much store by any of them, he now discovered latent talent in allfour, and was, at the same time, exasperated that such nonentitiesshould presume to judge him.

  To infer from the appearance of those present, the storm had raged foraconsiderable period. And still it went on. After the expiry of afurther interval, Krafft who, throughout, had sat shading his eyes withhis hand, woke as though from sleep, yawned heartily, stretched himselfand, taking out his watch, studied it with profound attention. For thefirst time, Schwarz was checked in his flow of words; he coughed,fumbled for an epithet, then stopped, and, to the general surprise,motioned Krafft to the piano.

  But Heinrich was in a bad mood. He stifled another yawn beforebeginning, and played in a mechanical way.

  Schwarz had often enough made allowance for this pupil's varying moods;he was not now in the humour to do so.

  "HALT!" he cried before the first page was turned. "What in God's nameis the meaning of this? Do you come here to read from sight?"

  Krafft continued to play as if nothing had been said.

  "Do you hear me?" thundered Schwarz.

  "It's impossible," said Krafft, and proceeded.

  "BARMHERZIGER GOTT!--" The master's short neck reddened, and twisted inits collar.

  "Give me music I care to play, and I'll show you how it should be done.I can make nothing of this," answered Krafft.

  Schwarz strode up to the piano, and swept the volume from the rack; itfell with a crash on the keys and on Krafft's hands, and effectuallyhindered him from continuing.

  What had gone before was as a summer shower to a deluge. With his armsstiffly knotted behind his back, Schwarz paced the floor with a treadthat shook it. His steely blue eyes flashed with passion; the veinsstood out on his forehead; his large, prominent mouth gaped above histuft of beard; he struck ludicrous attitudes, pouring out, meanwhile,without stint--for he had soon passed from Krafft's particular case ofinsubordination to the general one--pouring out the savage anger anddeep-felt injury that had accumulated in him. Finally, he invited theclass to rise and leave him, there and then. For what, in God's name,were they waiting? Let them up and away, without more ado!

  On receiving the volume of Beethoven on his fingers, Krafftstraightened out the pages, and taking down his hat from its peg, leftthe room, with movements of a calculated coolness. But only a pupil ofBullow's might take such a liberty; the rest had to assist quietly atthe painful scene. Maurice studied his finger nails, and Dove did notonce remove his eyes from the leg of the piano. They, at least, knewfrom experience that, in time, the storm would pass; also that itsounded worse, than it actually was. But a new-comer, a stout Bavarianlad, with hair cut like Rubinstein's, who was present at the lesson forthe first time, was pale and frightened, and sat drinking in every word.

  Towards the end of the hour, when quiet was re-established, one'sinclination was rather to escape from the room and be free, than to sitdown to play something that demanded coolness and concentration. Dove,who was not sensitive to externals, came safely through the ordeal; butMaurice made a poor job of the trio in which he had hoped to excel.Schwarz did not even offer to turn the pages. This, Beyerlein, thenew-comer, did, in a nervous desire to ingratiate himself; but he wasstill so flustered that, at a critical moment, he brought the musicdown on the keys. Schwarz said nothing; wrapped in the moody silencethat invariably followed his outbursts, he hardly seemed aware thatanyone was playing. After two movements of the trio, he signed toBeyerlein to take his turn, and proffered no comment on Maurice's work.Maurice would have hurried away, without a further word, had he notalready learned the early date of his performance. He knew, too, thatif the practical side of the affair--rehearsals with string players,and so on--was not satisfactorily arranged, he would be blamed for it.So he reminded Schwarz of the matter. From what ensued, it was plainthat the master still bore him a grudge for absconding in summer.Schwarz glared coldly at him, as if unsure to what Maurice alluded; andwhen the latter had recalled the details of the case to his mind, hesaid rudely: "You went your way, Herr Guest. Now I go mine." Hecommenced to turn the leaves of his ponderous note-book, and afterMaurice had stood for some few minutes, listening to Beyerlein trip andstumble through Mozart, he felt that, for this day at least, he couldput up with no more, and left the class.