Maurice Guest Read online

  V.

  He shunned Madeleine for days after this. He was morose and unhappy,and brooded darkly over the baseness of wagging tongues. For the firsttime in his life he had come into touch with slander, that invisibleHydra, and straightway it seized upon the one person to whom he was notindifferent. In this mood it was a relief to him that certain threewindows in the BRUDERSTRASSE remained closed and shuttered; with theload of malicious gossip fresh on his mind, he chose rather not to seeher; he must first accustom himself to it, as to the scar left by awound.

  He did not, of course, believe what Madeleine, with her infernalfrankness, had told him; but the knowledge that such a report wasabroad, depressed him unspeakably: it took colour from the sky andlight from the sun. Sometimes in these days, as he sat at his piano, hehad a sudden fit of discouragement, which made it seem not worth whileto continue playing. It was unthinkable that she could be aware howbusy scandal was with her name, and how her careless acts were spied onand misrepresented; and he turned over in his mind ways and means bywhich she might be induced to take more thought for herself in future.

  He did not believe it; but hours of distracting uncertainty came, nonethe less, when small things which his memory had stored up made him goso far as to ask himself, what if it should be true?--what then? But hehad not courage enough to face an answer; he put the possibility awayfrom him, in the extreme background of his mind, refused to let hisbrain piece its observations together. The mere suspicion was ablasphemy, a blasphemy against her dignified reserve, against her sweetpale face, her supreme disregard of those about her. Not thus wouldguilt have shown itself.

  Schilsky, who was the origin of all the evil, he made wide circuits toavoid. He thought of him, at this time, with what he believed to be afeeling of purely personal antipathy. In his most downcast moments, hehad swift and foolish visions publicly executing vengeance on him; butif, a moment later, he saw the violinist's red hair or big hat beforehim in the street, he turned aside as though the other had beenplague-struck. Once, however, when he was going up the steps of theConservatorium, and Schilsky, in leaping down, pushed carelesslyagainst him, he returned the knock so rudely and swore with suchdownrightness that, in spite of his hurry, Schilsky stopped and fixedhim, and with equal vehemence damned him for a fool of an Englishman.

  His despondency spread like a weed. A furious impatience overcame him,too, at the thought of the innumerable hours he would be forced tospend at the piano, day in, day out, for months to come, before theresult could be compared with the achievements even of many afellow-student. As the private lessons Schwarz gave were too expensivefor him, he decided, as a compromise, to take a course of extra lessonswith Furst, who prepared pupils for the master, and was quite willingto come to terms, in other words, who taught for what he could get.

  Once a week, then, for the rest of the summer, Maurice climbed thesteep, winding stair of the house in the BRANDVORWERKSTRASSE whereFurst lived with his mother. It was so dark on this stair that, in dullweather, ill-trimmed lamps burnt all day long on the differentlandings. To its convolutions, in its unaired corners, clung whatseemed to be the stale, accumulated smells of years; and these werecontinually reinforced; since every day at dinnertime, the variouskitchen-windows, all of which gave on the stair, were opened to let thepiercing odours of cooking escape. The house, like the majority of itskind in this relatively new street, was divided into countless smalllodgings; three families, with three rooms apiece, lived on eachstorey, and on the fifth floor, at the top of the house, the samenumber of rooms was let out singly. Part of the third storey wasoccupied by a bird-fancier; and between him and the Fursts above wagedperpetual war, one of those petty, unending wars that can only ariseand be kept up when, as here, such heterogeneous elements are forced tolive side by side, under one roof. The fancier, although his businesswas nominally in the town, had enough of his wares beside him to makehis house a lively, humming kind of place, and the strife dated back toa day when, the door standing temptingly ajar, Peter, the Fursts' leancat, had sneaked stealthily in upon this, to him, enchanted ground,and, according to the fancier, had caused the death, from fright, of adelicate canary, although the culprit had done nothing more than sitbefore the cage, licking his lips. This had happened several years ago,but each party was still fertile in planning annoyances for the other,and the females did not bow when they met. On the fourth floor, nextthe Fursts, lived a pale, harassed teacher, with a family which hadlong since outgrown its accommodation; for the wife was perpetually inchildbed, and cots and cradles were the chief furniture of the house.As the critical moments of her career drew nigh, the "Frau Lehrer"complained, with an aggravated bitterness, of the unceasing music thatwent on behind the thin partition; and this grievance, together withthe racy items of gossip left behind the midwife's annual visit, like atrail of smoke, provided her and Furst's mother with infinite food fortalk. They were thick friends again a few minutes after a scene solively that blows seemed imminent, and they met every morning on thelanding, where, with broom or child in hand, they stood gossiping bythe hour.

  When Maurice rang, Frau Furst opened the door to him herself, havingfirst cautiously examined him through the kitchen window. Drying herhands on her apron, she ushered him through the tiny entry--a place ofdangers, pitch-dark as it was, and lumbered with chests andpresses--into Franz's room, the "best room" of the house. Here werecollected a red plush suite, which was the pride of Frau Furst's heart,and all the round, yellowing family photographs; here, too, stood thewell-used Bechstein, pile upon pile of music, a couple of music-stands,a bust of Schubert, a faded, framed diploma. For years, assuredly, thewindows had never been thrown wide open; the odours of stale coffee andforgotten dinners, of stove and warmed wood, of piano, music andbeeswax: all these lay as it were in streaks in the atmosphere, andmade it heavy and thought-benumbing.

  A willing listener was worth more than gold to Frau Furst and here, thefirst time he came, while waiting for Franz, Maurice heard in detailthe history of the family. The father had been an oboist in theGewandhaus orchestra, and had died a few years previously, of a chillincurred after a performance of DIE MEISTERSINGER. At his death, it hadfallen on Franz to support the family; and, thanks to Schwarz's aid andinfluence, Franz was able to get as many pupils as he had time toteach. It was easy to see that this, her eldest son, was the apple ofFrau Furst's eye; her other children seemed to be there only to meethis needs; his lightest wish was law. Each additional pupil that soughthim out, was a fresh tribute to his genius, each one that left him, nomatter after how long, was unthankful and a traitor. For the nights onwhich his quartet met at the house, she prepared as another woman wouldfor a personal fete; and she watched the candles grow shorter without atinge of regret. When Franz played at an ABENDUNTERHALTUNG, the familyturned out in a body. Schwarz was a god, all-powerful, on whom theirwelfare depended; and it was necessary to propitiate him by a quarterlyvisit on a Sunday morning, when, over wine and biscuits, she wept realand feigned tears of gratitude.

  In this hard-working, careworn woman, who was seldom to be seen but inpetticoat, bed-jacket, and heelless, felt shoes; who, her whole lifelong, had been little better than a domestic servant; in her thereexisted a devotion to art which had never wavered. It would have seemedto her contrary to nature that Franz should be anything but a musician,and it was also quite in the order of things for them to be poor. Twoyounger boys, who were still at school, gave up all their leisure timeto music--they had never in their lives tumbled round a football orswung a bat--and Franz believed that the elder would prove a skilfulviolinist. Of the little girls, one had a pure voice and a good ear,and was to be a singer--for before this Juggernaut, prejudice wentdown. Had anyone suggested to Frau Furst that her daughter should be aclerk, even a teacher, she would have flung up hands of horror; butmusic!--that was a different matter. It was, moreover, the single oneof the arts, in which this staunch advocate of womanliness granted hersex a share.

  "Ask Franz," she said to Maurice. "Franz knows. He wil
l explain. Allwomen can do is to reproduce what some one else has thought or felt."

  As an immortal example of the limits set by sex, she invariably fellback on Clara Schumann, with whom she had more than once come intopersonal contact. In her youth, Frau Furst had had a clear sopranovoice, and, to Maurice's interest, she told him how she had sometimesbeen sent for to the Schumann's house in the INSELSTRASSE, to singRobert's songs for him.

  "Clara accompanied me," she said, relating this, the great reminiscenceof her life; "and he was there, too, although I never saw him face toface. He was too shy for that. But he was behind a screen, andsometimes he would call: 'I must alter that; it is too high;' or'Quicker, quicker!' Sometimes even 'Bravo!'"

  Her motherly ambitions for Franz knew no bounds. One of the fewdiversions she allowed herself was a visit to the theatre--when Franzhad tickets given to him; when one of her favourite operas wasperformed; or on the anniversary of her husband's death--and, on suchoccasions, she pointed out to the younger children, the links thatbound and would yet bind them to the great house.

  "That was your father's seat," she reminded them every time. "Thesecond row from the end. He came in at the door to the left. And that,"pointing to the conductor's raised chair, "is where Franz will sit someday." For she dreamed of Franz in all the glory of KAPELLMEISTER; sawhim swinging the little stick that dominated the theatre-audience,singers and players alike.

  And the children, hanging over the high gallery, shuffling theirrestless feet, thus had their path as dearly traced for them, theirdestiny as surely sealed, as any fate-shackled heroes of antiquity.

  * * * * *

  Late one afternoon about this time, Franz might have been foundtogether with his friends Krafft and Schilsky, at the latter's lodgingin the TALSTRASSE. He was astride a chair, over the back of which hehad folded his arms; and his chubby, rubicund face glistened withmoisture.

  In the middle of the room, at the corner of a bare deal table that waspiled with loose music and manuscript, Schilsky sat improving andcorrecting the tails and bodies of hastily made, notes. He was still inhis nightshirt, over which he had thrown coat and trousers; and, wideopen at the neck, it exposed to the waist a skin of the dead whitenesspeculiar to red-haired people. His face, on the other hand, was sallowand unfresh; and the reddish rims of the eyes, and the coarselyself-indulgent mouth, contrasted strikingly with the generalyouthfulness of his appearance. He had the true musician's head: roundas a cannon-ball, with a vast, bumpy forehead, on which the soft fluffyhair began far back, and stood out like a nimbus. His eyes were eitherdesperately dreamy or desperately sharp, never normally attentive or atrest; his blunted nose and chin were so short as to make the face looktop-heavy. A carefully tended young moustache stood straight out alonghis cheeks. He had large, slender hands, and quick movements.

  The air of the room was like a thin grey veiling, for all three puffedhard at cigarettes. Without removing his from between his teeth,Schilsky related an adventure of the night before. He spoke in jerks,with a strong lisp, intent on what he was doing than on what he wassaying.

  "Do you think he'd budge?" he asked in a thick, spluttery way. "Not he.Till nearly two. And then I couldn't get him along. He thought itwasn't eleven, and wanted to relieve himself at every corner. Toirritate an imaginary bobby. He disputed with them, too. Heavens, whatsport it was! At last I dragged him up here and got him on the sofa.Off he rolls again. So I let him lie. He didn't disturb me."

  Heinrich Krafft, the hero of the episode lay on the short,uncomfortable sofa, with the table-cover for a blanket. In answer toSchilsky, he said faintly, without opening his eyes: "Nothing would.You are an ox. When I wake this morning, with a mouth like gum arabic,he sits there as if he had not stirred all night. Then to bed, andsnores till midday, through all the hellish light and noise."

  Here Furst could not resist making a little joke. He announced himselfby a chuckle-like the click of a clock about to strike.

  "He's got to make the most of his liberty. He doesn't often get offduty. We know, we know." He laughed tonelessly, and winked at Krafft.

  Krafft quoted:

  In der Woche zwier--

  "Now, you fellows, shut up!" said Schilsky. It was plain that banter ofthis kind was not disagreeable to him; at the same time he was just atthe moment too engrossed, to have more than half an car for what wassaid. With his short-sighted eyes close to the paper, he was listeningwith all his might to some harmonies that his fingers played on thetable. When, a few minutes later he rose and stretched the stiffnessfrom his limbs, his face, having lost its expression of raptconcentration, seemed suddenly to have grown younger. He set aboutdressing himself by drawing off his nightshirt over his head. At a wordfrom him, Furst sprang to collect utensils for making coffee. HeinrichKrafft opened his eyes and followed their movements; and the look hehad for Schilsky was as warily watchful as a cat's.

  Schilsky, an undeveloped Hercules--he was narrow in proportion to hisheight--and still naked to the waist, took some bottles from a longline of washes and perfumes that stood on the washstand, and, crossingto an elegant Venetian-glass mirror, hung beside the window, latheredhis chin. It was a peculiarity of his only to be able to attendthoroughly to one thing at a time, and a string of witticisms utteredby Furst passed unheeded. But Krafft's first words made him start.

  Having watched him for some time, the latter said slowly. "I say, oldfellow, are you sure it's all square about Lulu and this Dresdenbusiness?"

  Razor in hand, Schilsky turned and looked at him. As he did so, hecoloured, and answered with an over-anxious haste: "Of course I am. Imade her go. She didn't want to."

  "That's a well-known trick."

  The young man scowled and thrust out his under-lip. "Do you think I'mnot up to their tricks? Do you want to teach me how to manage a woman?I tell you I sent her away."

  He tried to continue shaving, but was visibly uneasy. "Well, if youwon't believe me," he said, with sudden anger, though neither of theothers had spoken. "Now where the deuce is that letter?"

  He rummaged among the music and papers on the table; in chaoticdrawers; beneath dirty, fat-scaled dinner-dishes on the washstand;between door and stove, through a kind of rubbishheap that had formedwith time, of articles of dress, spoiled sheets of music-paper, soiledlinen, empty bottles, and boots, countless boots, single and in pairs.When he had found what he looked for, he ran his eyes down the page, asif he were going to read it aloud. Then, however, he changed his mind;a boyish gratification overspread his face, and, tossing the letter toKrafft, he bade them read it for themselves. Furst leaned over the endof the sofa. It was written in English, in a bold, scrawly hand, andran, without date or heading:

  MY OWN DEAREST

  NOW ONLY FOUR DAYS MORE--I COUNT THEM MORNING AND NIGHT. I AM GOOD FORNOTHING--MY THOUGHTS ARE ALWAYS WITH YOU. YESTERDAY AT THE GALLERY ISAT ALONE IN THE ROOM WHERE THE MADONNA IS, PRETENDINGENTHUSIASM--WHILE THE REST WENT TO HOLBEIN--AND READ YOUR LETTER OVERAND OVER AGAIN. BUT IT MADE ME A LITTLE UNHAPPY TOO, FOR I SOON FOUNDOUT THAT YOU HAD WRITTEN IT AT THREE DIFFERENT TIMES. IS IT REALLY SOHARD TO WRITE TO LULU?

  HAVE YOU WORKED BETTER FOR WANT OF INTERRUPTION?--MY DAMNEDINTERRUPTIONS, AS YOU CALLED THEM LAST WEEK WHEN YOU WERE SO ANGRY WITHME. SHALL YOU HAVE A GREAT DEAL TO SHOW ME WHEN I COME HOME? NO--DON'TSAY YOU WILL--OR I SHALL HATE ZARATHUSTRA MORE THAN I DO ALREADY.

  AND NOW ONLY TILL FRIDAY. THIS TIME YOU WILL MEET ME YES?--AND NOT COMETO THE STATION AN HOUR LATE, AS YOU SAID YOU DID LAST TIME. IF YOU ARENOT THERE--I WARN YOU--I SHALL THROW MYSELF UNDER THE TRAIN. I AMWRITING, TO GRUNHUT. GET FLOWERS--THERE IS MONEY IN ONE OF THE VASES ONTHE WRITING-TABLE. OH, IF YOU ONLY WILL, WE SHALL HAVE SUCH A HAPPYEVENING--IF ONLY YOU WILL. AND I SHALL NEVER LEAVE YOU AGAIN, NEVERAGAIN.

  YOUR OWN LOVING, L.

  Furst could not make out much of this; he was still spelling throughthe first paragraph when Krafft had finished. Schilsky, who had gone ondressing, kept a sharp eye on his friends--particularly on Krafft.

  "Well?" he
asked eagerly as the letter was laid down.

  Krafft was silent, but Furst kissed his finger-tips to a large hangingphotograph of the girl in question, and was facetious on the subject ofdark, sallow women.

  "And you, Heinz? What do you say?" demanded Schilsky with growingimpatience.

  Still Krafft did not reply, and Schilsky was mastered by a violentirritation.

  "Why the devil can't you open your mouth? What's the matter with you?Have YOU anything like that to show--you Joseph, you?"

  Krafft let a waxen hand drop over the side of the sofa and trail on thefloor. "The letters were burned, dear boy--when you appeared." Heclosed his eyes and smiled, seeming to remember something. But a momentlater, he fixed Schilsky sharply, and asked: "You want my opinion, doyou?"

  "Of course I do," said Schilsky, and flung things about the room.

  "Lulu," said Krafft with deliberation, "Lulu is getting you under herthumb."

  The other sprang up, swore, and aimed a boot, which he had been vainlytrying to put on the wrong foot, at a bottle that protruded from therubbish-heap.

  "Me? Me under her thumb?" he spluttered--his lips became more markedunder excitement. "I should like to see her try it. You don't know me.You don't know Lulu. I am her master, I tell you. She can't call hersoul her own."

  "And yet," said Krafft, unmoved, "it's a fact all the same."

  Schilsky applied a pair of curling tongs to his hair, at such a degreeof heat that a lock frizzled, and came off in his hand. His angerredoubled. "Is it my fault that she acts like a wet-nurse? Is that whatyou call being under her thumb?" he cried.

  Furst tried to conciliate him and to make peace. "You're a lucky dog,old fellow, and you know you are. We all know it--in spite ofoccasional tantaras. But you would be still luckier if you took afriend's sound advice and got you to the registrar. Ten minutes beforethe registrar, and everything would be different. Then she might playup as she liked; you would be master in earnest."

  "Registrar?" echoed Krafft with deep scorn. "Listen to the ape! Not ifwe can hinder it. When he's fool enough for that--I know him--it willbe with something fresher and less faded, something with the bloomstill on it."

  Schilsky winced as though he had been struck. Her age--she was eightyears older than he--was one of his sorest points.

  "Oh, come on, now," said Furst as he poured out the coffee. "That'shardly fair. She's not so young as she might be, it's true, but no onecan hold a candle to her still. Lulu is Lulu."

  "Ten minutes before the registrar," continued Krafft, meditativelyshaking his head. "And for the rest of life, chains. And convention.And security, which stales. And custom, which satiates. Oh no, I am notfor matrimony!"

  Schilsky's ill-humour evaporated in a peal of boisterous laughter."Yes, and tell us why, chaste Joseph, tell us why," he cried, throwinga brush at his friend. "Or go to the devil--where you're at home."

  Krafft warded off the brush. "Look here," he said, "confess. Have youkissed another girl for months? Have you had a single billet-doux?"

  But Schilsky only winked provokingly. Having finished laughing, he saidwith emphasis: "But after Lulu, they are all tame. Lulu is Lulu, andthat's the beginning and end of the matter."

  "Exactly my opinion," said Furst. "And yet, boys, if I wanted to makeyour mouths water, I could." He closed one eye and smacked his lips. "Iknow of something--something young and blond ... and dimpled ... andround, round as a feather-pillow"--he made descriptive movements of thehand--"with a neck, boys, a neck, I say----" Here in sheer ecstasy, hestuck fast, and could get no further.

  Schilsky roared anew. "He knows of something ... so he does," hecried--Furst's pronounced tastes were a standing joke among them. "Showher to us, old man, show her to us! Where are you hiding her? If she'sunder eighteen, she'll do--under eighteen, mind you, not a day over.Come along, I'm on for a spree. Up with you, Joseph!"

  He was ready, come forth from the utter confusion around him, like agod from a cloud. He wore light grey clothes, a loosely knotted, brightblue tie, with floating ends and conspicuous white spots, and buttonedboots of brown kid. Hair and handkerchief were strongly scented.

  Krafft, having been prevailed on to rise, made no further toilet thanthat of dipping his head in a basin of water, which stood on the tailof the grand piano. His hair emerged a mass of dripping ringlets,covetously eyed by his companions.

  They walked along the streets, Schilsky between the others, whom heovertopped by head and shoulders: three young rebels out against thePhilistines: three bursting charges of animal spirits.

  There was to be a concert that evening at the Conservatorium, and,through vestibule and entrance-halls, which, for this reason, wereunusually crowded, the young men made a kind of triumphal progress.Especially Schilsky. Not a girl, young or old, but peddled for a wordor a look from him; and he was only too prodigal of insolentlyexpressive glances, whispered greetings, and warm pressures of thehand. The open flattery and bold adoration of which he was the objectmounted to his head; he felt secure in his freedom, and brimful ofselfconfidence; and, as the three of them walked back to the town, hisexhilaration, a sheer excess of well-being, was no longer to be keptwithin decent bounds.

  "Wait!" he cried suddenly as they were passing the Gewandhaus. "Wait aminute! See me make that woman there take a fit."

  He ran across the road to the opposite pavement, where the only personin sight, a stout, middle-aged woman, was dragging slowly along, herarms full of parcels; and, planting himself directly in front of her,so that she was forced to stop, he seized both her hands and workedthem up and down.

  "Now upon my soul, who would have thought of seeing you here, youbaggage, you?" he cried vociferously.

  The woman was speechless from amazement; her packages fell to theground, and she gazed open-mouthed at the wild-haired lad before her,making, at the same time, vain attempts to free her hands.

  "No, this really is luck," he went on, holding her fast. "Come, a kiss,my duck, just one! EIN KUSSCHEN IN EHREN, you know----" and, in veryfact, he leaned forward and pecked at her cheek.

  The blood dyed her face and she panted with rage.

  "You young scoundrel!" she gasped. "You impertinent young dog! I'llgive you in charge. I'll--I'll report you to the police. Let me go thisinstant--this very instant, do you hear?--or I'll scream for help."

  The other two had come over to enjoy the fun. Schilsky turned to themwith a comical air of dismay, and waved his arm. "Well I declare, if Ihaven't been and made a mistake!" he exclaimed, and slapped hisforehead. "I'm out by I don't know how much--by twenty years, at least.No thank you, Madam, keep your kisses! You're much too old and ugly forme."

  He flourished his big hat in her face, pirouetted on his heel, and thethree of them went down the street, hallooing with laughter.

  They had supper together at the BAVARIA, Schilsky standing treat; forthey had gone by way of the BRUDERSTRASSE, where he called in toinvestigate the vase mentioned in the letter. Afterwards, theycommenced an informal wandering from one haunt to another, now bythemselves, now with stray acquaintances. Krafft, who was stillenfeebled by the previous night, and who, under the best ofcircumstances, could not carry as much as his friends, was the first togive in. For a time, they got him about between them. Then Furst grewobstreperous, and wanted to pour his beer on the floor as soon as itwas set before him, so that they were put out of two places, in thesecond of which they left Krafft. But the better half of the night wasover before Schilsky was comfortably drunk, and in a state to unbosomhimself to a sympathetic waitress, about the hardship it was to bebound to some one older than yourself. He shed tears of pity at hislot, and was extremely communicative. "'N KORPER, SCHA-AGE IHNEN, 'NKORPER!" but old, old, a "HALB'SCH JAHR' UND'RT" older than he was, anddesperately jealous.

  "It's too bad; such a nice young man as you are," said the MAMSELL,who, herself not very sober, was sitting at ease on his knee, swingingher legs. "But you nice ones are always chicken-hearted. Treat her asshe deserves, my chuck, and make no bon
es about it. Just let herrip--and you stick to me!"