July 10.
Good news at last about FrÄulein Hartmann! The crisis is past and she is much better. We all feel so relieved, especially the Poet's Wife, who is beginning to show the strain of the past weeks. Frau von Waldfel writes that her affairs are in a far worse condition than she anticipated. In fact she appears to be greatly disturbed, which accounts for her having written but twice since she went away. Lieutenant Blum called yesterday. He has been here but once since Frau von Waldfel's departure. Doesn't that strike you as rather extraordinary? I was in the room when he came, and I could but notice how closely he questioned the Poet's Wife about Frau von Waldfel's last letter. Indeed he seemed much more interested in her business troubles than in the condition of his fiancÉe. Is it possible that it is only her money that he is after? To tell the truth the thought has occurred to me before, but I never deemed it worthy of consideration till now. Every day the FrÄulein receives beautiful blue flowers such as one finds in the Isar-Thal if one looks carefully enough. The servants think they are the gift of her betrothed, so do not gossip over his nonappearance, but the Poet's Wife and I know better. We have not seen Heinrich daily pacing to and fro in the park opposite without learning many things. Do you know, when I see him looking up with yearning eyes at FrÄulein's window, I always think of the poet in Bernard Shaw's "Candida." The expression of Heinrich's face says as plainly as words, "We hold our tongues. Does that stop the cry of the heart?—for it does cry: doesn't it? It must, if you have a heart."
Yesterday and to-day examinations were held at the Conservatory. At eight o'clock all the professors appeared in the dignity of frock coats and black ties. They shut themselves up in a large room on the top floor, and one by one the pupils were called in to be examined before them. The only examination which was really trying was that in the history of music. Had it been a written one I should have approached it with only the usual nervousness, but an oral test is quite a different thing when one is a foreigner. All the pupils filed in together and sat in a single row on the platform. Before us was the formidable mass of professors with folded arms. Just in front of them was Stavenhagen behind a table and two other men who wrote down what we said. Before the director was a box full of paper slips on which were written the questions. When a pupil's name was called, he went to the box, drew three questions, and declaimed his answers to the joint audience of pupils and teachers. As I have told you, whenever I am nervous my German becomes affected in a peculiar fashion. I find myself forgetting words with remarkable rapidity and I insist on employing the English order of expression, which, to a MÜnchener, is nothing less than a mild form of madness. However, I managed to get through by not allowing the amused faces of the onlookers to trouble me, and although I discovered afterwards that I had called "The Damnation of Faust" an oratorio and had mixed my genders in the most ludicrous fashion, I was successfully "passed."
Now only the concert remains before the school closes for the summer. Then we are to take our final trip before sailing for home. Our itinerary has been specially planned to include places of musical interest and we are to go to Mozart's birthplace, Salzburg; Leipsic, crowded with memories of Bach and Wagner; Vienna where Beethoven, Schubert, and Brahms lie buried; Berlin, Dresden, and Bremen. We may run down to Budapest, since we are so near, and thus have an opportunity to hear a bona fide Hungarian orchestra. Isn't that fine, and doesn't it make you long to be with us?
Now no more for the present, my dear, as I want my last lesson for Thuille to be a good one, and my orchestration work is unfinished.
July 17.
The blow has fallen! To-day the FrÄulein received a letter from Frau von Waldfel, saying that she has lost everything, even her personal property, through an unwise investment. The poor woman is in great distress of mind with lawyers, creditors, and what not, but these lines at the end of her letter impressed me more strongly than all the rest: "I have just heard from Lieutenant Blum. He writes that he releases you from your betrothal, 'realizing that in this present trouble FrÄulein Hartmann can have no heart for festivities.' The sly fellow has had private information of my affairs here, and doubtless learned that if I scrape together all I have there will be just enough for your dowry and no more. Evidently he had hopes of living on my income after you both were married. It seems as though my present ill-fortune were enough without enduring this fresh disappointment."
My cheeks burned with indignation as I read. "The English employ a word which just suits this officer of the German army, and that is cad!" said I, decisively.
FrÄulein Hartmann looked at the blue flowers in her lap and smiled gently. There was a light in her eyes—a light indefinably beautiful—that I had never seen there before.
"Poor Auntie deserves all the sympathy you can give her," she said, "but as for myself—well, I haven't been as happy for months. I feel as though a great weight had been lifted from my heart. After all, kleine Amerikanerin," she continued naÏvely, "don't you think that people are happier without a lot of money to look after? Although six months ago the thought of all the delightful things money could buy——"
"Including a lieutenant?" I interrupted, involuntarily.
"Yes, including a lieutenant," she smilingly went on, "dazzled me, and made me a bit contemptuous of my Mannheim surroundings, now I really believe that our little home there is the loveliest, dearest spot in the whole world." "With Heinrich next door," I added.
"Perhaps nearer than next door," said the Poet's Wife, caressing the girl's blushing cheek, "at least if we are to believe what he told us this morning."
"Dear," said the FrÄulein, taking my hand in hers and speaking in those sweet, earnest tones which made her so winning, "did you think me very wicked and deceitful that night at the carnival ball? It has troubled me so much—the thought that you must despise me——"
"I won't allow you to say that," I interposed hastily.
"Yes, it always is a despicable thing to do—to deceive," she continued; "but I did so want to talk to Heinrich, and explain to him how things were. He wrote me a pitiful letter, begging to see me just once, and I was so unhappy that I finally devised that meeting. Now that we have been through all this I feel sure that my parents will have no objections to our marrying. They have always been fond of Heinrich. It was only the thought of my brilliant match that made them ignore, as it were, his very existence."
"Just as soon as she is well enough to travel I am going to take her home," said the Poet's Wife to me. "Heinrich is waiting here in Munich to go down with us. He is doing very well, by the bye, in his law work."
"Yes, indeed," said FrÄulein eagerly, "and sometimes next year when—when we are settled—you will come down and visit us—promise you will, meine Amerikanerin!"
I promised, and lingered a few moments longer to learn more of her plans. Then the Poet's Wife insisted that she had had excitement enough for one day, and we both left her leaning back in her chair and, with an expression of unutterable happiness, gazing dreamily out over the swaying tree-tops of the Platz.
At three o'clock I was at AinmÜller-strasse for my last lesson with Herr Professor. Did I tell you that some weeks ago I made a translation into English of the Rosenlied (Rose-song) by Anna Ritter? Thuille has written a three-part song for women's voices to these charming words and asked me if I would put them into English for him. To-day he gave me the first published copy and wrote across the bottom the following inscription: "Meiner lieben SchÜlerin; zur freundlichen Erinnerung. L.Thuille." (To my dear pupil in friendly remembrance. L.Thuille.)
I had brought as my lesson the overture for orchestra on which I have been spending considerable time lately, and a little song which occurred to me the other day at Tutzing. Nothing pleases Thuille so much as a completed piece of work, so I had worked very hard to finish the overture in time; in fact, even sitting up late at night, which is against all rules. He was pleased with the result and declared the song to be the best thing of its kind that I have done this year, which made me very happy. I did not mind that my eyes were tired.
"Take a good rest, FrÄulein," he said. "You must surely come back to us all next year. And here is a souvenir, so that you will not forget your old teacher when you are in far-away America."
The souvenir proved to be a photograph of himself, taken from the large oil painting which hangs in the salon. Beneath it he had written his name with some bars of music from Gugeline.
I thanked him repeatedly as we shook hands. Then I went down stairs with a vague regret in my heart as I realized that the year's work was over.
On Tuesday evening occurred the closing concert at the Conservatory. The stage was decorated with plants, and a marble bust of the Prince Regent occupied the place of honor. We sang the "Childhood of Christ," by Berlioz, which, as I wrote you, we have lately been rehearsing. At the close of the concert came the award of medals for special excellency in the work of the school. Do you not feel proud when I tell you that out of the ten medals presented two were captured by American girls? Miss Bartholomay from Buffalo, a pupil of Stavenhagen, received one. Among the German girls I was especially glad that FrÄulein Marianne BrÜnner, of Vienna, was awarded a prize, for I like her playing better than that of any one else in the school. She is also a pupil of Stavenhagen, and has unusual temperament and a splendid touch.
MÜtterchen was very proud when it was all over, and she found me in the dressing-room exchanging congratulations with a number of pupils. It was hard to say good-by to them all, for the association which study of any kind brings forms a certain bond not easy to break. The little Boer girl, who is to stay another year, is terribly homesick for South Africa, and wept heartrendingly as we parted. The German girls all wished me a "Gute Reise" (pleasant journey), and bade me not forget MÜnchen when I was again on American soil; my Irish friend, who sits next me in the chorus, promised to write and keep me informed of all the doings in the school; FrÄulein Fischer and Frau Bianci insisted that I come another year and study with them, and Stavenhagen shook hands heartily and wished me success. And now all that remains is to pack our trunks and shake the dust of Munich from our feet. I hate to leave the quaint old city and these warm-hearted German people, for I have grown very fond of both during my stay. Then there is the Obelisk and the Fountain, not to mention the other friends we must leave behind us. Edith and Louise have already gone to Paris, and Polly is somewhere in the Hartz mountains taking a holiday before starting for Vienna, where she is to study with Lescheticsky. In a few days we shall be scattered like leaves before the wind, some this way and some that. The year has been very rich in experience and pleasure, but, believe me, I shall not be sorry when we spread our sails for the harbor of New York and say to these friendly shores, "Auf wiedersehen."
A Story of Colorado Life
Justin Wingate, Ranchman
By JOHN H. WHITSON
Author of "Barbara, a Woman of the West," "The Rainbow Chasers," etc.
Illustrated. 12mo. $1.50
Another strong Western story with spirited and graphic picturing of local conditions, the agricultural development of a Western ranch section, and the struggle between the ranchmen and the farmers. The story has three remarkably striking scenes of danger—a high-grass fire, a stampede of excited cattle, and a terrific storm and cloud-burst. There is abundant love interest; also a strong political element, dealing with Colorado politics and the fight between cattlemen and irrigationists to control the legislature, in which the hero becomes the storm centre. The attempt of a beautiful, crafty, and unscrupulous woman, who is a wrecker of hearts and of men, to influence his vote for United States senator plays an important part.
A Tale of the Arizona Desert
CURLY
By ROGER POCOCK
Author of "Following the Frontier," etc.
Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood. 12mo. $1.50
A remarkable story of cattle ranges of Arizona, the great desert, and the grand caÑon of the Colorado river. The author has written a romance of adventure, of conflict, and of love,—a story of breathless interest, remarkable situation, and great humor and pathos. Chalkeye, the cowboy who tells the story, Captain McCalmont, the robber-chief, Lord Babshannon, the owner of a Colorado ranch, his son "Jim," and "Curly," who gives the name to the story, are characters of great strength, finely portrayed and well contrasted.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers
BOSTON, MASS.
A Romance of South Africa
ON THE FIRING LINE
By ANNA CHAPIN RAY and
HAMILTON BROCK FULLER
With Frontispiece by H. W. Moore. 12mo. $1.50
In this fine romance of love and war Miss Ray has a wider field than she has compassed before and strikes a deeper note of feeling. The events take place in South Africa during the Boer War, and in local details Mr. Fuller has given valuable aid. As in the author's other books, the characters awaken interest because they are so human.
By the Author of "A Rose of Normandy"
A KNOT OF BLUE
By WILLIAM R. A. WILSON
Illustrated by Ch. GrÜnwald. 12mo. $1.50
In a new tale of absorbing interest the author of the successful "Rose of Normandy" has faithfully portrayed feminine tenderness and sweetness of character, and at the same time has shown that a work of fiction can have for its motif the gratification of personal revenge without offending the highest moral taste of the modern civilized world. "A Knot of Blue" abounds in intrigue, adventure, the joy of living and achieving, and it throbs with romantic tenderness. The scene is laid in Old Quebec.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers
BOSTON, MASS.
A Spell-binding Creation
Mysterious Mr. Sabin
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
Author of "Anna the Adventuress," etc.
Illustrated. 397 pages. 12mo. $1.50
Deals with an intrigue of international moment—the fomenting of a war between Great Britain and Germany and the restoration of the Bourbon monarchy in France as a consequence. Intensely readable for the dramatic force with which the story is told, the absolute originality of the underlying creative thought, and the strength of all the men and women who fill the pages.—Pittsburg Times.
Not for long has so good a story of the kind been published, and the book is the more commendable because the literary quality of its construction has not been slighted.—Chicago Record-Herald.
By the Author of "The Shadow of the Czar"
THE WEIRD PICTURE
By JOHN R. CARLING
Author of "The Viking's Skull," "The Shadow of the Czar," etc.
With Pictures by Cyrus Cuneo. 12mo. $1.50
When a man is summoned home to attend the marriage to another man of the woman he loves, and when the bridegroom is his own brother, the situation is certainly very striking. The wedding does not take place, for the bridegroom is murdered. The scene in which the victim appears to his brother, on the latter's arrival at Dover, is singularly impressive. All this is disclosed in the opening chapter, and paves the way for a story which becomes more and more intense and interesting as its remarkable plot is developed.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers
BOSTON, MASS.
A Gallant Romance of Love and Daring
MY LADY CLANCARTY
By MARY IMLAY TAYLOR
Author of "On the Red Staircase," etc.
Illustrated by Alice Barber Stephens. 12mo. $1.50
In this gallant romance of love and daring, in which the action is swift, the characters are individual and interesting, and the atmosphere and setting are well adapted to the theme. Lady Elizabeth Spencer, daughter of Lord Sunderland, and through his sordid and ambitious motives married at the age of eleven to Lord Clancarty, makes the most charming of heroines, and her nobility of character and faithful love are finely and tenderly portrayed.
A Story of Adventure, Intrigue, and Love
A PRINCE OF LOVERS
By SIR WILLIAM MAGNAY
Author of "The Red Chancellor," etc.
Illustrated by Cyrus Cuneo. 12mo. $1.50
In this new novel by Sir William Magnay, the heroine, "Princess Ruperta," a princess of the blood royal, sick of the monotony and unreality of Court, goes out one night, incognito, with her maid. Danger unexpectedly threatens her, and when she is gallantly rescued from this danger by a young and handsome stranger, it is not unnatural that (betrothed compulsorily as she is for State reasons to a royal person whom she has never seen) love is born in the heart of the Princess as well as in that of her unknown rescuer. Then follows a series of adventures brilliantly imagined and enthrallingly told.
LITTLE, BROWN, & CO., Publishers
BOSTON, MASS.
Footnotes
Also an English Custom.
A universal custom all over Europe.
She died in Munich the following year.
Transcriber's Note
Half title has been removed.
Spelling has been retained as printed.
