“I feel ’tis gone, ’tis lost for aye,The bliss of love,” etc.
“I feel ’tis gone, ’tis lost for aye,The bliss of love,” etc.
“I feel ’tis gone, ’tis lost for aye,The bliss of love,” etc.
“I feel ’tis gone, ’tis lost for aye,
The bliss of love,” etc.
She sang in an under-tone; but this very suppression of her voice revealed so much, that our artist was deeply moved. He could no longer contain his emotion. Gently he opened the door of the room where she sat singing in darkness; and as the song ended, he threw himself at her feet, seized her hand, and pressed it to his burning lips. She sprang from the piano, terrified, snatched her hand away, and hurried out of the room.
Louis stood confused for a moment, then walked up and down the apartment, filled with emotions of delight. Then he seated himself at the piano, and poured forth the feelings of his heart in music. Just at the height of his rapture the hall-door opened, and presently a loud voice cried, “No more of that; you play dissonances! Away with your Mozartish stuff!” It was Ricco. The artist rose, and saluted him with some embarrassment.
“What is the meaning of this Egyptian darkness?” cried the Italian; “and why are you playing here all alone?” He pushed open the doors, and the light shone in from the tea-room, where Nina was seated.
Late as it was, Louis hastened to his friend Heissenheimer, and told him all that had occurred.
“You do injustice to my fair friend Nina,” said the merchant; “she has kindness of heart, feeling, and”—
“No more of her!” interrupted the artist: “I have made up my mind what to do, and am determined to offer my hand to Caroline!”
“Well,” said his old friend, “then I will say no more. But the how, and when? You had better do it in writing; for you cannot easily find an opportunity of speaking alone with her. I will be the bearer of your letter—yourpostillon d’amour.”
Louis agreed with joy, and promised to bring the letter next morning.
After he had returned home, he considered the step he was about to take; and asked himself earnestly, if he believeda noble apprehension and feeling for a noble art, a sufficient pledge for nobility and purity of soul? He thought of instances in which the highest taste in art had seemed to be accompanied by a mean andunworthy spirit; but further attention convinced him that in all these cases the taste had been perverted or vitiated, or else the world’s judgment had mistaken the character of the individuals.
After some reflection, he wrote a letter containing a formal offer of his hand to Caroline. He confessed his former partiality for Nina, and that his affection had been won by the feeling and soul evinced in her singing. On that security for mind and heart he was willing to rest the happiness of his life!
The letter was given next morning to Heissenheimer, who promised to deliver it. About noon, the impatient artist called again on the merchant, who had left for him the following note:
“Dear Louis:“Your letter was delivered; but I have no answer for you, for I could only slip it into Caroline’s hand, her mistress being present. Ricco and his daughter are gone into the country. They sent to invite you to join them; but you were not at home. Pressing business prevents my seeing you. I send you information, however, as the circumstances may be favorable to you; it is possible you may find Caroline alone at the house. This evening I shall expect to hear from you.“Heissenheimer.”
“Dear Louis:
“Your letter was delivered; but I have no answer for you, for I could only slip it into Caroline’s hand, her mistress being present. Ricco and his daughter are gone into the country. They sent to invite you to join them; but you were not at home. Pressing business prevents my seeing you. I send you information, however, as the circumstances may be favorable to you; it is possible you may find Caroline alone at the house. This evening I shall expect to hear from you.
“Heissenheimer.”
Our artist lost no time in hastening to the chapel-master’s house. He rang, and rang; but no one admitted him. After several trials with the same success, he resolved to wait till evening, when Ricco and Nina might be expected to return. Caroline would then be certainly at home. Who knows, thought he, that she has not some friend, whom she has gone to consult?
He counted the hours impatiently, till it was quite dark; and stood again among the lindens opposite the house. The windows were open, but the curtains down; there was no light, a sure sign that the chapel-master had not returned. All at once he heard the sound of a piano. It must be Caroline, taking the opportunity of the absence of her master and mistress, to indulge herself in her beloved art!
Quickly, but noiselessly, Louis stole up the steps, entered at the door, and passed through the hall. He listened at the doorleading into the room; she was singing, with her rich, expressive voice, the same song he had first heard. He could distinguish every word, the closing line being repeated with some variations. The whole song was unspeakably touching, and full of life, love, and hope, such as only a poetic spirit could express. It filled the listener, like magic, with a feeling of delicious sadness; the soft breath of spring, the whisper of love, could alone be compared with it!
Louis breathed quickly. Now is the time or never, thought he, and opened the door. There was only sufficient light in the room to show the outline of a female figure, sitting with drooping head before the piano.
The young man drew nigh, unobserved; and suddenly seizing her hand, “Caroline!” he cried, in a voice trembling with emotion. She started up; he still held her hand, and whispered, “Caroline, canst thou love me?”
The girl trembled, and placed the hand that was at liberty before her eyes. Her lover tried to remove it, and felt her burning tears upon his own. He pressed her to his bosom.
At last, she whispered softly, “Will you love me, questioning not who I am?” Louis kissed the lips that uttered these words, and replied, “Forever and ever!”
Leaning on the arm of the young man, the agitated girl led the way out of the music room, and through two or three apartments, towards Nina’s cabinet. As they stood before the door, she whispered again, “Grant me my first petition; close your eyes till the word is given to open them.” Louis obeyed, in some surprise; they entered the cabinet; she drew away her hand; they stood a moment still. At last, he heard a strange voice say, “Now, Louis!” and opened his eyes.
The room was lighted up; directly before him stood Heissenheimer; a few paces off, Ricco, supporting the form of a young girl, whose face was hid on his breast. The Italian seemed much moved, but did not utter a word.
Louis stood mute with surprise and embarrassment; at length,recollecting himself, he repeated anxiously the name of “Caroline!” The weeping girl lifted her face from Ricco’s bosom, and turned towards him. It wasNina!
“Nina!” exclaimed the young man.
“Nina—Caroline—what you will,” answered Heissenheimer; “but the self-same enchantress, whose song has won your heart.”
“No! Is it possible? Oh, can I believe it!” cried Louis, looking bewildered around him.
“The same!” said Ricco. And Nina herself confirmed the truth.
No longer doubting, the artist seized her fair hand, and drew her gently to his breast. Long, long, he held her there in silence; amazement—love—unspeakable rapture—deprived him of the power of speech.
At last Ricco, who had been walking up and down the room in great emotion, broke the silence. “Young friend,” he cried, “thou hast nobly borne the trial. Art is a divinity—and for the true artist,nosacrifice is too great! I vowed—and would have kept my vow—to give my daughter to no one who could not value her mind and heart beyond her outward charms! He who could admire the superficial, frivolous maiden, beautiful as she was, and wish for nothing more—would have been unworthy of her better self. Too often have I heard fair words in praise of art; too rarely does the action correspond; and he alone has right to upbraid his opponents with their want of discernment, who not only has better judgment, but suffers that judgment to guide his conduct. Now, take my girl if you will! I welcome you as my son!” Louis answered by embracing the kind old man.
When their feelings were in some measure calmed, Heissenheimer commenced his explanations.
“You have much to thank me for, young man! Till yesterday I was as much deceived as yourself, and was only let behind the scenes after my discovery. I would have you know, all was truth I told you about my hearing the music, and so forth; except that I surprised, not the maid Caroline, but our sweet friend Nina, whileher father was accompanying her in the song you heard a few moments since. There was no escape; both were brought to confession, and having them in my power, I stipulated that you should be kept no longer in suspense, else I know not how many fiery trials awaited you.”
“It was my father’s will, not mine!” cried Nina; “if you only knew how hard it was for me to play such a part!”
Louis answered by an expressive look; and Ricco said, deprecatingly, “My art—my child—my all, was at stake! We are told to be wise as the serpent.”
“But if the issue had not been fortunate?” said the young man.
“Nothing venture—nothing win!” replied the Italian. “We all risked something. Let us rejoice that it has ended so happily.”
“Only the poor village musician,” said Heissenheimer, “has reason to complain, that I sent him out of the world so sentimentally, without asking his leave! Doubtless he would not be much obliged to me—for to-day is his birth-day, and his daughter Caroline is gone to pay him a visit. But what think you, fair lady, of our friend as a physiognomist? Here he has been finding out that your features were inexpressive—and those of Caroline very interesting!”
“Do not make sport of me!” cried Louis, “you were as much in the dark till yesterday as myself.”
“Well!” said the old merchant—“at least I shall claim a kiss for my reward aspostillon d’amour!”
“Come,” interrupted the chapel-master; “let us adjourn to the little back room, where we may find something to eat!” They went, Nina leading the way, leaning on the arm of her lover. The “little back room” was a private cabinet, the window of which opened on a small garden in the rear of the house. Here was an excellent instrument, by which Ricco was accustomed to compose, and his daughter to sing. A large book-case contained, in rich binding, the works of celebrated composers of the old Italian school, down to the latest. There was Palestrina, Lulli,&c., and also Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven. Portraits of the great masters hung round the walls; the bust ofMozartstood on the book-case.
Louis believed himself in a sanctuary! The fair priestess stood by his side, and smiled upon him. Her usual frank and lively manner was exchanged for something of timidity and reserve; but love beamed in her eyes, and kindly regard was expressed in the looks of all present. Heissenheimer was the first to recover his vivacity; and he brought them back to this world by protesting that he was inordinately hungry and thirsty. He should prefer a flask of good Johannisberger to all the dews of Castaly! And they would not forget to drink the health of all the divinities of love and music; yea, the present company included, besides the poor village musician and his daughter Caroline, who certainly ought to have a share in their good wishes!
FOOTNOTES:[15]The incidents and criticism of this tale are taken from a novelle of Ludwig Rellstab, entitled “Julius.”
[15]The incidents and criticism of this tale are taken from a novelle of Ludwig Rellstab, entitled “Julius.”
[15]The incidents and criticism of this tale are taken from a novelle of Ludwig Rellstab, entitled “Julius.”
THE END.