The Music Master Part 43

Poons, who had not quite followed the intricacies of the conversation, went into Von Barwig's room and satisfied himself that his beloved friend was not there. The three men stared at each other. They said nothing, but the expression on their faces denoted anxiety. "Where has he gone?" seemed to be the question each asked silently of the other.

Von Barwig had been very quiet in the past year, so quiet that his actions seemed to his friends to be almost mysterious. Not that he was more reserved than usual, but there was a calmness, a resignation to existing conditions, a listlessness that seemed to them to amount to almost a lack of interest in life, and this mental att.i.tude on Von Barwig's part caused them no little anxiety.

"It's such an awful day," said Pinac as he looked out of the window.

"By G.o.d, yes!" a.s.sented Fico. "Another bliz."

The wind was howling up and down the streets and flurries of snow were being driven against the windows, banging the shutters to and fro as the great gusts of wind caught them in their grasp. The iron catch that held the shutter had long since been torn out by the winter blizzards, and the constant banging sound grated harshly on the sensitive ears of the musicians. Poons suffered more than the rest, and swore roundly in German every time the shutter struck against the window jamb.

"Jenny," came the shrill voice of Miss Husted up the stairway at the back of the hall. That lady was more than ever set against her niece's "taking up with a musician," as she called the love match between Poons and Jenny. Whenever Miss Husted missed Jenny on the floors below she invariably found her upstairs talking to young August.

"We were looking for the professor," said Jenny, as her aunt's head came up into view from the staircase below.

"Looking for the professor! Why, where is he?" asked Miss Husted.

"Surely he hasn't gone out on a day like this! Why, it's not fit for a dog; not fit for a dog! Oh dear, dear! I'll be worried to death till he comes back," and Miss Husted pressed Skippy more closely to her and went down stairs again; not, however, without first sending Jenny to the floor below, out of the reach of Poons's love-making eyes.

"It is true; he has gone out," said Pinac dolefully, as he looked out of the window at the blizzard.

Von Barwig had risen very early that morning and dressed himself with more than his usual care. He had much to do, for on the morrow he was to depart from the sh.o.r.es of America and return to his old home. He was going back to Leipsic, and the steams.h.i.+p sailed very early the next morning. The real cause of his absence at that moment was the fact that his daughter Helene was to be married that day, and he desired to witness the ceremony. Altogether, there was much to be done and little time to do it in. He had told Mr. Costello the night before that he was not going to return to the Museum; so that was ended, and his few clothes were packed in his little portmanteau with the a.s.sistance of Jenny, who was the only one who knew his secret. He also had to go downtown and buy his steams.h.i.+p ticket and make arrangements with an expressman to take his trunk, and he felt he must say good-bye to a few acquaintances before he went away forever. So, in order to complete all these arrangements in time to get to the church where the wedding was to take place, he had to get up quite early.

Von Barwig did not mind the cold weather at all. He trudged along the streets and stamped his feet to keep them warm while he brushed the snow off his face as it blew under his umbrella. His heart was light, for he rejoiced that his darling Helene was going to marry the man she loved. Her happiness was a.s.sured, he thought; besides, he himself was going to do something. He had a plan of action and he was going to carry it out. During the last few months he had had a great yearning to see his old home again, to hear his native language spoken, to hear the folk songs and familiar German airs sung once more and to look upon the faces of his fellow-countrymen again. Now that he knew his child was happy, he felt that he would be content simply to sit placidly in an obscure corner of the market-place in Leipsic, and watch the ebb and flow of life as it is lived over there in the beloved Fatherland. He did not ask to take part in it or to be one with his countrymen; all he asked was the privilege of watching their life for the few remaining years of his earthly existence. His pride had completely gone now, and it caused him not one pang to feel that he had left his native land in the flush and prime of success and was going to return an old, broken-down failure. On the contrary, the thought of again walking the streets of his native land, breathing the atmosphere, and hearing the voices of his beloved countrymen so lightened his heart that his steps were almost elastic. He kicked the snow aside with vigour, and jumped on the street car as if he were a boy. He saluted the conductor with such a hearty good-morning, that the man looked at him in astonishment.

"You must be feeling pretty good to call this a good morning," said that functionary, as he collected his fare.

"Back of this awful blizzard is the beautiful suns.h.i.+ne," said Von Barwig, with a smile.

"Yes, if you can see it!" replied the man, compelled to smile when he looked into Von Barwig's beaming face. "How far are you going downtown?" asked the conductor to prolong the conversation. The car was empty, and Von Barwig's cheery smile encouraged him to talk.

"Fowling Green," replied Von Barwig. "I buy my ticket back to Germany," he added lightly.

"Ah!" said the man, as if that explained everything. "You're glad to go back, eh? Most of 'em would never have come if they knew what they were going to get over here."

Von Barwig shrugged his shoulders and laughed a little.

"If you don't strike it right," went on the car conductor, "it's worse here than anywhere in the world!" Von Barwig nodded. "There's no room in America for the man who fails," he added, ringing up a fare with an angry jerk and then relapsing into moody silence.

After many delays, owing to the packing of the snow on the car tracks, Von Barwig arrived at the steams.h.i.+p office, bought his ticket, and commenced his weary journey uptown.

"I shall see her to-day," he thought. "I shall see her. How beautiful she will look in her white dress and her orange blossoms! He--he--will give her to her husband. That scoundrel!" Von Barwig's heart sank.

"But she is happy, she is happy!" and this thought sustained him.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Helene and Beverly find love's haven.]

He had not seen her since the memorable moment in which he had placed the hand of his beloved pupil in that of her affianced husband and wished them joy and happiness. He had written to her and told her that her father, Mr. Stanton, was right; that it would be better that he did not resume his teaching. He had done this, that her happiness might not be destroyed by the coming to light of the scandal that had been dead and buried so many years. He felt it would not be right in the highest sense for him to expose Stanton merely to gratify his own sense of revenge. He believed that his child had learned to love Stanton as her own father; that it would be a cruelty to her to expose him; that it would rob her of her social position and perhaps of the man she loved. The girl might even turn on him and hate him for his selfish indulgence of revenge at the expense of her happiness. At the very best, he had nothing to offer her, and he knew she would refuse Stanton's bounty when she learned the truth. Von Barwig had reasoned it out on these lines, and at every fresh pang of suffering he found comfort in the false logic that seemed so like truth. It never occurred to him that Helene disliked Stanton; that she felt in her heart that the man was not her father; and that young Cruger would have married her in spite of a dozen scandals. Furthermore, he did not even dream that his pupil loved him and grieved for him to such an extent, that Stanton felt it absolutely necessary to separate them completely by telling her that her old music master had gone back to Germany and had died there. The car windows rattled noisily and the bells jangled monotonously, as the horses tramped through the snow on their way uptown, but Von Barwig heard them not, for his brain was thronged with thoughts of his darling Helene and his impending departure to his own country. How could he leave those kind hearts in Houston Street--Jenny, Poons, Miss Husted, Fico, Pinac! What would they all say?

Von Barwig bought a morning paper and in it he read that his daughter's marriage was to be attended by a very large and fas.h.i.+onable audience; that admission to the church was only by personal invitation. Von Barwig started. How was he to get into the church? He had no card of invitation. He almost laughed aloud as he thought of his position; her own father would not see her married because he had no invitation. He must invent some story to get in, but he must attract no attention. No one who knew of his a.s.sociation with the family must see him. He dare not risk a public _expose_ at the eleventh hour. No, her happiness must not be clouded even for a moment! But he must get in; he made up his mind to that.

When Von Barwig arrived at the church there were quite a number of people gathered there in spite of the inclemency of the weather, for news of the wedding had been largely heralded forth by the New York daily papers, owing to the great wealth of Mr. Stanton and the high social position of the Crugers, and it was looked upon as one of the great fas.h.i.+onable events of the year.

Thanks to Mr. Stanton's love of display and lavish outlay of money, the presents had been enumerated, the trousseau described, the names of the guests published in all the fas.h.i.+onable papers, greatly to Helene's annoyance. She would have preferred a quiet little wedding unattended save by those directly interested in the marriage, but Mr. Stanton wanted to spend money, and he did, most lavishly. A special orchestra and tons of flowers were ordered, notwithstanding that it was midwinter, and every prominent social and political person available had been invited to attend. In consequence, a platoon of police was needed to keep the crowds back, and when Von Barwig arrived, a long line of carriages had already formed at the church door.

A policeman barred his way when he attempted to enter without a ticket.

"Sorry, sir; but we must obey orders," said the man in uniform. It was the same at all the doors, and Von Barwig soon saw that it was useless to attempt to get in without a ticket. He stood there for a few moments trying to think what he should do, when he saw several men carrying violins and other musical instruments going through a small side door on the side street, off Fifth Avenue, that led into the vestry situated at the end of the great church. "I am a musician; I go in with the musicians," said Von Barwig, and he followed the men, unchallenged and unquestioned through the pa.s.sage leading to the vestry and from thence into the body of the great church. "For the first time in my life," thought Von Barwig, "my profession is of service to me!"

The great church was beautifully decorated with flowers, and the guests were now beginning to arrive. Von Barwig, un.o.bserved, crept silently to the darkest and farthest end of the church. He seated himself in a great pew on the centre aisle, where he could see without being seen.

The church was now filling up; it was a splendid sight. The orchestra and the organ played some selections; finally the wedding march from Lohengrin sounded, and every one arose to get a peep at what was happening in the centre aisle. Von Barwig craned his neck to see. The bride had entered the church and was coming up the aisle on the arm of Mr. Stanton, her supposed father, preceded by the ushers. The bridegroom and his best man awaited them at the chancel steps. At the sight of Stanton Von Barwig felt his heart beat thickly. This man had broken up his home, robbed him of his wife and child, and now posed as the girl's father. What a splendid revenge he could take by publicly denouncing him in the midst of his friends. Von Barwig quickly stifled any impulse in that direction. He had come to witness his daughter's happiness, not to mar it by the demonstration of publicly unmasking a villain. He sat back in his seat and watched the proceedings with breathless interest. The marriage ceremony proceeded. The old clergyman who read the service, unlike most of his cla.s.s, read it with feeling, as if he understood the meaning of the words he was uttering.

So clear, so natural was his utterance that Von Barwig followed every word of it, scarcely realising that the man was reading and not merely speaking. When he came to the question, "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" the clergyman looked around the church as if expecting some one in the vast congregation to rise and say, "I do."

There was no answer. It seemed to Von Barwig that the minister was looking directly at him, and not only looking at him, but tacitly asking a reply. Once more in compelling tones came the momentous question, "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" Von Barwig was now quite positive that the clergyman was addressing himself directly to him, and he felt that the moment had come to declare the truth to the whole world.

As in a dream one makes no effort to connect the present with the past or future or to account in any way for the logic of events, so did Von Barwig make no effort to understand how or why his secret was known to the clergyman. He simply accepted the fact as it appeared to him and made no effort to resist the impulse to rise and declare himself. So when Henry Stanton uttered the words, "I do," almost at the same moment from the back of the church came the loud, deep voice of Von Barwig quivering with emotion, "I do, I do!" Everybody arose and looked around. For a moment there was great consternation in the church.

Cries of "Hush, hus.h.!.+" came from every quarter and several of the ushers came over to the pew in which Von Barwig sat. At the sound of Von Barwig's voice, Helene started as if she had received an electric shock. Beverly thought she was going to faint and supported her with his arm.

Helene recognised in a moment that it was the voice of her old music master, the man she had been told was dead and buried months ago. She looked quickly at Mr. Stanton for an explanation. "He is not dead; what does it mean?" she asked. "Go on with the ceremony," was all the reply she could get from Mr. Stanton. The clergyman went on quietly with the marriage service. Von Barwig, as soon as the usher tapped him on the arm, realised that he had made a dreadful mistake, and sank back into his seat, trembling with excitement and shame. He had not intended to do such a thing and could not explain even to himself how it had happened. The wedding ceremony was now over, the process of signing and witnessing gone over in the vestry, and in a short while the bride and bridegroom came down the aisle to the sound of Mendelssohn's inspiring wedding march. As they pa.s.sed by the pew in which Von Barwig crouched to avoid recognition, some of the roses in the bride's bouquet fell to the ground almost at his feet. He picked them up and tenderly kissed them. Apparently unconscious of his presence, Helene, surrounded by her friends, pa.s.sed down the aisle, down the steps and out into her carriage escorted by Beverly. They were both radiantly happy.

"It's a happy marriage," said society with an approving nod.

"It's a happy marriage," alike said friends and relations.

"It's a happy marriage," said the stranger outside as the blus.h.i.+ng bride stepped into her carriage and the smiling bridegroom closed the door shutting them out from view.

"It's a happy marriage," echoed Von Barwig as he trudged through the snow on his way home. "It's a happy marriage. Thank G.o.d for that!"

Chapter Twenty-four

As Von Barwig walked wearily up the stairway leading from the third floor to the top floor (or _atelier_ as Miss Husted preferred to call it), he heard the sounds of music. It was Fico playing a waltz, "The Artist's Life," on the mandolin, while Poons extemporised a _pizzicato_ accompaniment on the 'cello.

"Ah, my boys, they are in," he said to himself. "I hope they didn't wait breakfast for me."

"Professor, professor!" came the cheery voice of Miss Husted, as she greeted him warmly. "I'm so glad to see you!"

The music stopped.

"h.e.l.lo, Anton, old friend," cried Fico as he grasped Von Barwig by the hand.

"Go on playing, don't stop for me!" said Von Barwig, taking off his rubbers and brus.h.i.+ng the snow off his hat and coat.

Poons hurriedly put away his 'cello. He was ashamed of playing ordinary waltz music in the presence of Von Barwig. With him tradition was strong; the old man was still Herr Von Barwig, the great Leipsic Gewandhaus Concert conductor, with whom his father had had the honour of playing first horn.

The boy's mother had instilled this into his very soul.

"Why, Great Scott! Look at him! Where have you been? _Ma foi_, you look like a wedding; oh, Fico?" and Pinac pointed to Von Barwig.

"That's so, professor, you look just as handsome as a bridegroom,"

burst out Miss Husted.