3 Books To Know Nobel Prize in Literature. Paul Heyse

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3 Books To Know Nobel Prize in Literature - Paul Heyse


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select as the objects of my secret adoration, the handsomest, most agreeable, and most admired men, who never cast a glance at me. I had artist's blood in my veins, I could not help being filled with enthusiasm about everything that was lovable, charming, and distinguished, even if my heart should burst in consequence. But now I have reached my thirty-fourth year; youth with its foolish desires for love-sorrows, yearnings, anxieties, and honey that turns to gall, may well have raved itself calm. Do you wish to know more of my story? I am very sorry; but unfortunately I have nothing to tell of love adventures, broken vows, wanderings from the path of virtue. Unfortunately, I say. They would have made a change in the dreary grey of my days and years, a few blood red spots, a stain effaced with thousands of tears. Instead of that, I'm an old maid in the fullest sense of the word, and your 'magic of sin' has no power over my beggarly pride. Can you even imagine a bright, interesting, exciting romance with such a frontispiece?"—She suddenly removed the green shade and raised the little lamp to her face, which she turned full upon him in the bright glare.

      "That's a matter of taste," he replied without the slightest change of countenance. "For instance, I for my part have always preferred faces full of character to smooth, meaningless ones, which might nevertheless be considered very charming, pretty, and attractive. Superficial sweetness nauseates me. To feel strength, bitterness, even icy scorn and hatred melt in the glow of passion, always seemed to me more desirable than the sentimental fusion of two harmonious souls. The woman who is to attract me, must have something of the devil in her. Put down the lamp Fräulein Christiane. It is illuminating charms which under some circumstances might become dangerous, and as I am at present entirely indifferent to you—"

      At this moment the bell was violently pulled.

      "Thanks for the interruption," said Christiane in a subdued tone, that the person outside might not hear; "I should have given you an answer, which perhaps would have seemed altogether too unwomanly. Now I shall dismiss you without ceremony, and indeed—"

      The bell rang again. Lorinser had put his feet on the floor, but did not seem inclined to leave his corner.

      She looked at him with a glance of indescribable astonishment and anger, then took the lamp and went into the ante-room to open the door.

      Mohr was standing outside; his face was deeply flushed, and his eyes, as soon as the door opened, strove with a keen, intent gaze, to pierce the darkness within; but his manner was perfectly unembarrassed, almost formal.

      "I beg a thousand pardons, Fräulein," he said, "for having knocked at your door a second time at so unseasonable an hour, but if I violate ceremony, to an artist my errand will plead my excuse. I only beg fifteen minutes conversation;—Have you a visitor?" he continued, as he suddenly perceived the figure of a man in the adjoining room. "So much the better, that will prevent all thought of indecorum. Will you allow me to enter? There's a disagreeable draught on these stairs. Or shall I interrupt you?"

      "Not in the least," replied Christiane, with a very gloomy expression, as she slightly bent her head. "To be sure I've not the honor of your acquaintance—"

      "As a friend of your fellow lodgers up stairs, I thought I had a sort of right to introduce myself to you. A short time ago, in a merry mood, I made an unsuccessful attempt to do so, though my friend Edwin tried to prevent me. You cannot have condemned it so severely as I did myself, so soon as I came to my senses."

      "I have no recollection, sir—"

      "So much the better. It was quite dark in the entry. Today, by the lamp light, permit me to introduce myself to you: plain Heinrich Mohr; I scorned to buy a doctor's title. A man usually who has nothing to make him must have some distinction."

      "Will you be kind enough to inform me—"

      She was still standing in the ante-room with the lamp in her hand, as if she wished to get rid of him as quickly as possible, while he from time to time cast eager glances into the sitting room.

      "I will come to the point at once," said he leaning against a chest of drawers which stood near the door. "What I have to propose, is no secret and requires no privacy. Unfortunately, it is tolerably well known to all who are aware of my existence—but will you not sit down, Fraulein? To stand so—" He made a movement toward the door of the sitting room.

      "Thank you. I'm not tired."

      "Nor I. So to proceed: I'm unfortunately endowed with all sorts of mediocre talents. One would be enough to make a man who is no fool, but possesses a critical judgment, thoroughly unhappy. In the arts bungling even is worse than in medicine. What does it matter if a few men die more or less? But to corrupt or lower the standard of art, is a sin against the divinity of genius. Don't you think so too, Fraulein?"

      She looked at him intently, without opening her lips.

      "But," he continued, "there's a false modesty too. Many a great man would never have believed in his own talents, if kind friends had not discovered them. Other gifts are, as it were, trampled under foot in the crowd, through malice and envy—men are very envious, Fraulein, Germans especially. I allude of course to the common envy of trade, which is no more allied to the ideal, high-souled envy, than a toad-stool is to a truffle—in short it's not easy for every man to know what's in him. My eyes have gradually been opened to the fact that my talent for rhyming amounts to nothing. But music, music! I play the piano very poorly and my voice is like a raven's; but in regard to the gift of composition, it always seems to me that I can compare very favorably with the shallow composers of waltzes, or writers of street songs. As for yourself, Fräulein—pardon me for having listened to your playing; you confided your musical confessions to the quiet courtyard—I—I have the deepest reverence for your talent—for—how shall I express it?—for the strong nature expressed in your style of playing. Now you see—I have just finished—for a long time I have been engaged on a great composition, which I have sometimes called—it's only a fancy, or rather a bad joke—my sinfonia ironica. You understand: so far, none of it has been written out, but in my head everything is as good as ready for the press—except the instrumentation. Musicians to whom I've now and then played parts of it, have usually been bigoted adherents of some particular school. I must confess that I gave none of them credit for really entering into the spirit of the work. With you the case is wholly different. I would wager, that if you would only give me an hour—"

      "Sir," she interrupted, "you over-estimate my knowledge and judgment. I sincerely regret—"

      "Pray do me the favor, Fräulein, not to condemn me unheard. I ask nothing more than that you will listen to the first few bars, where the irony is still in the stage of oppression and grief—C. minor, which afterwards changes into F.—"

      "I've never been able to understand the so-called language of music," she answered curtly. "So it would be better—"

      "Do you dislike the title? Very well! I'll give it up. It shall merely be absolute music, like any other. I'll submit to hear Wagner all the days of my life, intensified one day in the week by Offenbach, if the first bars do not prove that the rest is at least worth hearing. You must allow me to play the introduction on your piano—"

      He did not wait for her permission, but hastily entered the sitting room, so that there was nothing left her but to follow with the lamp.

      Lorinser was still sitting in the sofa corner. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling and he seemed so lost in thought that he did not notice the new comers.

      Christiane set the lamp heavily on the table, as if she wished to rouse him by the rattling of the shade.

      "Allow me to introduce you to each other, gentlemen," she said coldly. "Herr—what is your name?"

      "Heinrich Mohr, Fräulein. A name hitherto very obscure, but which you will perhaps help to some moderate distinction. But an introduction is scarcely necessary. I already have the honor of knowing that gentleman."

      Lorinser fixed his piercing eyes on the other's face and then carelessly replied: "I didn't know I had the pleasure of your acquaintance before."

      "That's a matter of course," replied Mohr, approaching the little table and raising


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