by Myrtle Reed
V
The Light of Dreams
"How do you get on with the Master?" asked Iris.
"After a fashion," answered Irving; "but I do not get on with FraeuleinFredrika at all. She despises me."
"She does not like many people."
"So it would seem. I have been unfortunate from the first, though I wascareful to admire 'mine crazy jug.'"
"It is the apple of her eye," laughed Iris, "it means to her just whathis Cremona means to him."
"It is a wonderful creation, and I told her so, but where in the dickensdid she get the idea?"
"Don't ask me. Did you happen to notice anything else?"
"No--only the violin. Sometimes I take my lesson in the parlour,sometimes in the shop downstairs, or even in Herr Kaufmann's bedroom,which opens off of it. When I come, he stops whatever he happens to bedoing, sits down, and proceeds with my education."
"On the floor," said Iris reminiscently, "she has a gold jar whichcontains cat tails and grasses. It is Herr Kaufmann's silk hat, which heused to have when he played in the famous orchestra, with the brim cutoff and plenty of gold paint put on. The gilded potato-masher, with blueroses on it, which swings from the hanging lamp, was done by your humbleservant. She has loved me ever since."
"Iris!" exclaimed Lynn, reproachfully. "How could you!"
"How could I what?"
"Paint anything so outrageous as that?"
"My dear boy," said Miss Temple, patronisingly, with her pretty head alittle to one side, "you are young in the ways of the world. I was notachieving a work of art; I was merely giving pleasure to the Fraeulein.Much trouble would be saved if people who undertake to give pleasurewould consult the wishes of the recipient in preference to their own.Tastes differ, as even you may have observed. Personally, I have no usefor a gilded potato-masher--I couldn't even live in the same house withone,--but I was pleasing her, not myself."
"I wonder what I could do that would please her," said Lynn, half tohimself.
"Make her something out of nothing," suggested Iris. "She would likethat better than anything else. She has a wall basket made of a fishbroiler, a chair that was once a barrel, a dresser which has beenevolved from a packing box, a sofa that was primarily a cot, and a matchbox made from a tin cup covered with silk and gilded on the inside, notto mention heaps of other things."
"Then what is left for me? The desirable things seem to have been usedup."
"Wait," said Iris, "and I'll show you." She ran off gaily, humminga little song under her breath, and came back presently with aclothes-pin, a sheet of orange-coloured tissue paper, an old blackostrich feather, and her paints.
"What in the world--" began Lynn.
"Don't be impatient, please. Make the clothes-pin gold, with a blackhead, and then I'll show you what to do next."
"Aren't you going to help me?"
"Only with my valuable advice--it is your gift, you know."
Awkwardly, Lynn gilded the clothes-pin and suspended it from the back ofa chair to dry. "I hope she'll like it," he said. "She pointed to meonce and said something in German to her brother. I didn't understand,but I remembered the words, and when I got home I looked them up in mydictionary. As nearly as I could get it, she had characterised me as 'abig, lumbering calf.'"
"Discerning woman," commented Iris. "Now, take this sheet of tissuepaper and squeeze it up into a little ball, then straighten it out anddo it again. When it's all soft and crinkly, I'll tell you what to donext."
"There," exclaimed Lynn, finally, "if it's squeezed up any more it willbreak."
"Now paint the head of the clothes-pin and make some straight blacklines on the middle of it, cross ways."
"Will you please tell me what I'm making?"
"Wait and see!"
Obeying instructions, he fastened the paper tightly in the fork of theclothes-pin, and spread it out on either side. The corners were cut andpulled into the semblance of wings, and black circles were painted hereand there. Iris herself added the finishing touch--two bits of theostrich feather glued to the top of the head for antennae.
"Oh," cried Lynn, in pleased surprise, "a butterfly!"
"How hideous!" said Margaret, pausing in the doorway. "I trust it's notmeant for me."
"It's for the Fraeulein," answered Iris, gathering up her paints andsweeping aside the litter. "Lynn has made it all by himself."
"I wonder how he stands it," mused Irving, critically inspecting thebutterfly.
"I asked him once," said Iris, "if he liked all the queer things in hishouse, and he shrugged his shoulders. 'What good is mine art to me,' heasked, 'if it makes me so I cannot live with mine sister? Fredrika likesthe gay colours, such as one sees in the fields, but they hurt mineeyes. Still because the tidies and the crazy jug swear to me, it is noreason for me to hurt mine sister's feelings. We have a large house.Fredrika has the upstairs and I have the downstairs. When I can nolonger stand the bright lights, I can turn mine back and look out of thewindow, or I can go down in the shop with mine violins. Down there I seeno colours and I can put mine feet on all chairs.'"
Lynn laughed, but Margaret, who was listening intently, only smiledsadly.
That afternoon, when the boy went up the hill, with the butterflydangling from his hand by a string, he was greeted with childish criesof delight on either side. Hoping for equal success at the Master's, herang the bell, and the Fraeulein came to the door. When she saw who itwas, her face instantly became hard and forbidding.
"Mine brudder is not home," she said, frostily.
"I know," answered Lynn, with a winning smile, "but I came to see you.See, I made this for you."
Wonder and delight were in her eyes as she took it from his outstretchedhand. "For me?"
"Yes, all for you. I made it."
"You make this for me by yourself alone?"
"No, Miss Temple helped me."
"Miss Temple," repeated the Fraeulein, "she is most kind. And youlikewise," she hastened to add. "It will be of a niceness if Miss Templeand you shall come to mine house to tea to-morrow evening."
"I'll ask her," he returned, "and thank you very much." Thus Lynn madehis peace with Fraeulein Fredrika.
* * * * *
Laughing like two irresponsible children, they went up the hill togetherat the appointed time. Lynn's arms were full of wild crab-apple blooms,which he had taken a long walk to find, and Iris had two little pots ofpreserves as her contribution to the feast.
Their host and hostess were waiting for them at the door. FraeuleinFredrika was very elegant in her best gown, and her sharp eyes werekind. The Master was clad in rusty black, which bore marks of frequentsponging and occasional pressing. "It is most kind," he said, bowinggallantly to Iris; "and you, young man, I am glad to see you, asalways."
Iris found a stone jar for the apple blossoms and brought them in. TheMaster's fine old face beamed as he drew a long breath of pink andwhite sweetness. "It is like magic," he said. "I think inside of everytree there must be some beautiful young lady, such as we read about inthe old books--a young lady something like Miss Iris. All Winter, whenit is cold, she sleeps in her soft bed, made from the silk lining of thebark. Then one day the sun shines warm and the robin sings to her andwakes her. 'What,' says she, 'is it so soon Spring? I must get to workright away at mine apple blossoms.'
"Then she stoops down for some sand and some dirt. In her hands shemoulds it--so--reaching out for some rain to keep it together. Then shesays one charm. With a forked stick she packs it into every little placeinside that apple tree and sprinkles some more of it over the outside.
"'Now,' says she, 'we must wait, for I have done mine work well. It isfor the sun and the wind and the rain to finish.' So the rain makes allvery wet, and the wind blows and the sun shines, and presently the sandand dirt that she has put in is changed to sap that is so glad it runslike one squirrel all over the inside of the tree and tries to sing likeone bird.
"'So,' says this young lady, 'it i
s as I thought.' Then she says onemore charm, and when the sun comes up in the morning, it sees that thebranches are all covered with buds and leaves. The young lady and themoon work one little while at it in the evening, and the next morning,there is--this!"
The Master buried his face in the fragrant blooms. "It is a mostwonderful sweetness," he went on. "It is wind and grass and sun, and thesouls of all the apple blossoms that are dead."
"Franz," called Fraeulein Fredrika, "you will bring them out to tea,yes?"
As the entertainment progressed, Lynn's admiration of Iris increased.She seemed equally at home in Miss Field's stately mansion and in thetiny bird-house on the brink of a precipice, where everything appearedto be made out of something else. She was in high spirits and kept themall laughing. Yet, in spite of her merry chatter, there was an undertoneof tender wistfulness that set his heart to beating.
The Master, too, was at his best. Usually, he was reserved and quiet,but to-night the barriers were down. He told them stories of his studentdays in Germany, wonderful adventures by land and sea, and conjured upglimpses of the kings and queens of the Old World. "Life," he sighed,"is very strange. One begins within an hour's walk of the ImperialPalace, where sometimes one may see the Kaiser and the Kaiserin, and oneends--here!"
"Wherever one may be, that is the best place," said the Fraeulein. "Thedear God knows. Yet sometimes I, too, must think of mine Germany andwish for it."
"Fredrika!" cried the Master, "are you not happy here?"
"Indeed, yes, Franz, always." Her harsh voice was softened and herpiercing eyes were misty. One saw that, however carefully hidden, therewas great love between these two.
Iris helped the Fraeulein with the dishes, in spite of her protests. "Onedoes not ask one's guests to help with the work," she said.
"But just suppose," answered Iris, laughing, "that one's guests havewashed dishes hundreds of times at home!"
In the parlour, meanwhile, the Master talked to Lynn. He told him ofgreat violinists he had heard and of famous old violins he hadseen--but there was never a word about the Cremona.
"Mine friend, the Doctor," said the Master, "do you perchance know him?"
"Yes," answered Lynn, "I have that pleasure. He's all right, isn't he?"
"So he thinks," returned the Master, missing the point of the phrase."In an argument, one can never convince him. He thinks it is for me togo out on one grand tour and give many concerts and secure much fame,but why should I go, I ask him, when I am happy here? So many peopleknow what should make one happy a thousand times better than the happyone knows. Life," he said again, "is very strange."
It was a long time before he spoke again. "I have had mine fame," hesaid. "I have played to great houses both here and abroad, and womenhave thrown red roses at me and mine violin. There has been much in thepapers, and I have had many large sums, which, of course, I have alwaysgiven to the poor. One should use one's art to do good with and not tobecome rich. I have mine house, mine clothes, all that is good for me toeat, mine sister and mine--" he hesitated for an instant, and Lynn knewhe was thinking of the Cremona. "Mine violins," he concluded, "minelittle shop where I make them, and best of all, mine dreams."
Iris came back and Fraeulein Fredrika followed her. "If you will give meall the little shells," she was saying, "I will stick them together withglue and make mineself one little house to sit on the parlour table. Itwill be most kind." Her voice was caressing and her face fairly shonewith joy.
"I will light the lamp," she went on. "It is dark here now." Suiting theaction to the word, she pulled down the lamp that hung by heavy chainsin the centre of the room, and the gilded potato-masher swung back andforth violently.
"No, no, Fredrika," said the Master. "It is not a necessity to light thelamp."
"Herr Irving," she began, "would you not like the lamp to see by?"
"Not at all," answered Lynn. "I like the twilight best."
"Come, Fraeulein," said Iris, "sit over here by me. Did I tell you howyou could make a little clothes-brush out of braided rope and a bit ofblue ribbon?"
"No," returned the Fraeulein, excitedly, "you did not. It will be mostkind if you will do it now."
The women talked in low tones and the others were silent withoutlistening. The street was in shadow, and here and there lanterns flashedin the dark. Down in the valley, velvety night was laid over the riverand the willows that grew along its margin, but the last light lingeredon the blue hills above, and a single star had set its exquisite lamp togleaming against the afterglow.
The wings of darkness hovered over the little house, and yet no word wasspoken. It was an intimate hush, such as sometimes falls between lovers,who have no need of speech. Lynn and Iris looked forward to the future,with the limitless hope of Youth, while the others brooded over a pastwhich had brought each of them a generous measure of joy and pain.
The full moon came out from behind the clouds and flooded the valleywith silver light. "Oh," cried Iris, "how glorious it is!"
"Yes," said the Master, "it is the light of dreams. All the ugliness ishidden, as in life, when one can dream. Only the beauty is left. Wait,I will play it to you."
He went downstairs for his violin and Lynn moved closer to Iris.Fraeulein Fredrika retreated into the shadow at the farthest corner ofthe room.
Presently the Master returned, snapping and tightening the strings. Itwas not the Cremona, but the other. He sat down by the window and themoonlight touched his face caressingly. He was grey with his fifty yearsand more, but as he sat there, his massive head thrown back and his hairsilvered, he seemed very near to the Gates of Youth.
In a moment, he was lost to his surroundings. He tapped the bow on thesill, as an orchestra leader taps for attention, straightened himself,smiled, and began.
It was a rippling, laughing melody, played on muted strings, full ofunexpected harmonies, and quaintly phrased. In a moment, they caught thewitchery of it, and the meaning. It was Titania and her fairies,suddenly transported half-way around the world.
Mystery and magic were in the theme. Moonbeams shimmered through it,elves played here and there, and shining waters sang through Summersilences. All at once there was a pause, then, sonorous, deep, andsplendid, came another harmony, which in impassioned beauty voiced theministry of pain.
As before, Lynn saw chiefly the technique. Never for a moment did heforget the instrument. Iris was trembling, for she well knew those highand lonely places of the spirit, within the borders of Gethsemane.
The Master put down the violin and sighed. "Come," faltered Iris, "it islate and we must go."
He did not hear, and it was Fraeulein Fredrika who went to the door withthem. "Franz is thinking," she whispered. "He is often like that. Hewill be most sorry when he learns that you have gone."
"This way," said Iris, when they reached the street. They went to thebrow of the cliff and looked once more across the shadowed valley to theluminous ranges of the everlasting hills. She turned away at last,thrilled to the depths of her soul. "Come," she whispered, "we must goback."
They walked softly, as though they feared to disturb someone in thelittle house, but there was no sound from within nor any light save atthe window, where the light of dreams streamed over the Master's faceand made it young.
