The First Violin Part 29

_Ritterlich_, Karl Linders called him, half in jest, half in earnest; and _ritterlich_ he was.

In his outward demeanor to the world with which he came in contact, he was courteous to men; to a friend or intimate, as myself, an ever-new delight and joy; to all people, truthful to fantasy; and to women, on the rare occasions on which I ever saw him in their company, he was polite and deferential--but rather overwhelmingly so; it was a politeness which raised a barrier, and there was a glacial surface to the manner. I remarked this, and speculated about it. He seemed to have one manner to every woman with whom he had anything to do; the maid-servant who, at her leisure or pleasure, was supposed to answer our behests (though he would often do a thing himself, alleging that he preferred doing so to "seeing that poor creature's ap.r.o.n"), old Frau Henschel who sold the programmes at the ka.s.se at the concerts, to the young ladies who presided behind a counter, to every woman to whom he spoke a chance word, up to Frau Sybel, the wife of the great painter, who came to negotiate about lessons for the lovely Fraulein, her daughter, who wished to play a different instrument from that affected by every one else. The same inimitable courtesy, the same unruffled, unrufflable quiet indifference, and the same utter unconsciousness that he, or his appearance, or behavior, or anything about him, could possibly interest them. And yet he was a man eminently calculated to attract women, only he never to this day has been got to believe so, and will often deprecate his poor power of entertaining ladies.

I often watched this little by-play of behavior from and to the fairer s.e.x with silent amus.e.m.e.nt, more particularly when Eugen and I made shopping expeditious for Sigmund's benefit. We once went to buy stockings--winter stockings for him; it was a large miscellaneous and smallware shop, full of young women behind the counters and ladies of all ages before them.

We found ourselves in the awful position of being the only male creatures in the place. Happy in my insignificance and plainness, I survived the glances that were thrown upon us; I did not wonder that they fell upon my companions. Eugen consulted a little piece of paper on which Frau Schmidt had written down what we were to ask for, and, marching straight up to a disengaged shop-woman, requested to be shown colored woolen stockings.

"For yourself, _mein Herr_?" she inquired, with a fascinating smile.

"No, thank you; for my little boy," says Eugen, politely, glancing deferentially round at the piles of wool and packets of hosen around.

"Ah, so! For the young gentleman? _Bitte, meine Herren_, be seated." And she gracefully pushes chairs for us; on one of which I, unable to resist so much affability, sit down.

Eugen remains standing; and Sigmund, desirous of having a voice in the matter, mounts upon his stool, kneels upon it, and leans his elbows on the counter.

The affable young woman returns, and with a glance at Eugen that speaks of worlds beyond colored stockings, proceeds to untie a packet and display her wares. He turns them over. Clearly he does not like them, and does not understand them. They are striped; some are striped lat.i.tudinally, others longitudinally. Eugen turns them over, and the young woman murmurs that they are of the best quality.

"Are they?" says he, and his eyes roam round the shop. "Well, Sigmund, wilt thou have legs like a stork, as these long stripes will inevitably make them, or wilt thou have legs like a zebra's back?"

"I should like legs like a little boy, please," is Sigmund's modest expression of a reasonable desire.

Eugen surveys them.

"_Von der besten Qualitat_," repeats the young woman, impressively.

"Have you no blue ones?" demands Eugen. "All blue, you know. He wears blue clothes."

"a.s.suredly, _mein Herr_, but of a much dearer description; real English, magnificent."

She retires to find them, and a young lady who has been standing near us turns and observes:

"Excuse me--you want stockings for your little boy?"

We both a.s.sent. It is a joint affair, of equal importance to both of us.

"I wouldn't have those," says she, and I remark her face.

I have seen her often before--moreover, I have seen her look very earnestly at Eugen. I learned later that her name was Anna Sartorius.

Ere she can finish, the shop-woman with wreathed smiles still lingering about her face, returns and produces stockings--fine, blue-ribbed stockings, such as the children of rich English parents wear. Their fineness, and the smooth quality of the wool, and the good shape appear to soothe Eugen's feelings. He pushes away his heap of striped ones, which look still coa.r.s.er and commoner now, observing hopefully and cheerily:

"_Ja wohl!_ That is more what I mean." (The poor dear fellow had meant nothing, but he knew what he wanted when he saw it.) "These look more like thy legs, Sigmund, _nicht wahr_? I'll take--"

I dug him violently in the ribs.

"Hold on, Eugen! How much do they cost the pair, Fraulein?"

"Two thalers twenty-five; the very best quality," she says, with a ravis.h.i.+ng smile.

"There! eight s.h.i.+llings a pair!" say I. "It is ridiculous."

"Eight s.h.i.+llings!" he repeats, ruefully. "That is too much."

"They are real English, _mein Herr_," she says, feelingly.

"But, _um Gotteswillen_! don't we make any like them in Germany?"

"Oh, sir!" she says, reproachfully.

"Those others are such brutes," he remarks, evidently wavering.

I am in despair. The young woman is annoyed to find that he does not even see the amiable looks she has bestowed upon him, so she sweeps back the heap of striped stockings and announces that they are only three marks the pair--naturally inferior, but you can not have the best article for nothing.

Fraulein Sartorius, about to go, says to Eugen:

"_Mein Herr_, ask for such and such an article. I know they keep them, and you will find it what you want."

Eugen, much touched and much surprised (as he always is and has been) that any one should take an interest in him, makes a bow, and a speech, and rushes off to open the door for Fraulein Sartorius, thanking her profusely for her goodness. The young lady behind the counter smiles bitterly, and now looks as if b.u.t.ter would not melt in her mouth. I, a.s.suming the practical, mention the cla.s.s of goods referred to by Fraulein Sartorius, which she unwillingly brings forth, and we straightway purchase. The errand accomplished, Eugen takes Sigmund by the hand, makes a grand bow to the young woman, and instructs his son to take off his hat, and, this process being complete, we sally forth again, and half-way home Eugen remarks that it was very kind of that young lady to help us.

"Very," I a.s.sent, dryly, and when Sigmund has contributed the artless remark that all the ladies laughed at us and looked at us, and has been told by his father not to be so self-conceited, for that no one can possibly wish to look at us, we arrive at home, and the stockings are tried on.

Constantly I saw this willingness to charm on the part of women; constantly the same utter ignorance of any such thought on the part of Eugen, who was continually expressing his surprise at the kindness of people, and adding with the gravest simplicity that he had always found it so, at which announcement Karl laughed till he had to hold his sides.

And Sigmund? Since the day when Courvoisier had said to me, slowly and with difficulty, the words about parting, he had mentioned the subject twice--always with the same intention expressed. Once it was when I had been out during the evening, and he had not. I came into our sitting-room, and found it in darkness. A light came from the inner room, and, going toward it, I found that he had placed the lamp upon a distant stand, and was sitting by the child's crib, his arms folded, his face calm and sad. He rose when he saw me, brought the lamp into the parlor again, and said:

"Pardon, Friedel, that I left you without light. The time of parting will come, you know, and I was taking a look in antic.i.p.ation of the time when there will be no one there to look at."

I bowed. There was a slight smile upon his lips, but I would rather have heard a broken voice and seen a mien less serene.

The second, and only time, up to now, and the events I am coming to, was once when he had been giving Sigmund a music lesson, as we called it--that is to say, Eugen took his violin and played a melody, but incorrectly, and Sigmund told him every time a wrong note was played, or false time kept. Eugen sat, giving a look now and then at the boy, whose small, delicate face was bright with intelligence, whose dark eyes blazed with life and fire, and whose every gesture betrayed spirit, grace, and quick understanding. A child for a father to be proud of. No meanness there; no littleness in the fine, high-bred features; everything that the father's heart could wish, except perhaps some little want of robustness; one might have desired that the limbs were less exquisitely graceful and delicate--more stout and robust.

As Eugen laid aside his violin, he drew the child toward him, and asked (what I had never heard him ask before):

"What wilt thou be, Sigmund, when thou art a man?"

"_Ja, lieber Vater_, I will be just like thee."

"How just like me?"

"I will do what thou dost."

"So! Thou wilt be a musiker like me and Friedel?"

"_Ja wohl!_" said Sigmund, but something else seemed to weigh upon his small mind. He eyed his father with a reflective look, then looked down at his own small hands and slender limbs (his legs were cased in the new stockings).

"How?" inquired his father.

"I should like to be a musician," said Sigmund, who had a fine confidence in his sire, and confided his every thought to him.

"I don't know how to say it," he went on, resting his elbows upon Eugen's knee, and propping his chin upon his two small fists, he looked up into his father's face.