_ 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.
"Hello, 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 brushing 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.
Von Barwig wore a grey satin tie, a flower was pinned in the lapel of his old Prince Albert coat, and his spotlessly clean cuffs and kid gloves gave him an appearance of festivity that was most unusual. "A wedding? You are right, all of you!" said Von Barwig, with a deep breath. Then he added, "I have been to a wedding, yes, a wedding! Ah, Jenny, how is my little girl?" Von Barwig took the flower he had in his coat and placed it in her hand. "Wear it, Jenny, wear it! Perhaps it will bring you good fortune! There should be two weddings, not one," he added, looking at Poons.
"Two, indeed!" ejaculated Miss Husted, with a toss of her curls. "One is too many sometimes!" Then she asked suddenly, "Have you had your breakfast yet?"
Von Barwig shook his head.
"Then, professor, you won't say no to a bite of hot breakfast with me," and Miss Husted smiled sweetly. Von Barwig still shook his head.
"Ah, do," pleaded Jenny.
"Dear, good, kind hearts, no! Many thousand thanks, no! I have much to do. Early to-morrow morning, my--" He was going to tell them that the steamship on which he had taken passage was going to sail early next morning. He looked at them all and did not complete his sentence. "How can I tell them I am going to leave them forever," he thought.
"I am not at all hungry; I have had breakfast, I assure you," he added quickly, partly to change the subject, and partly to avoid breakfasting alone with Miss Husted. He was in no mood to listen to imaginary troubles.
"I'm sorry, very sorry!" sighed that lady, and she went downstairs, disappointed, taking Jenny with her.
Von Barwig put on his little velvet house coat. "What have you for lunch, boys?" he asked. "I am a bit hungry."
"I thought so," said Pinac, quickly jumping up and opening the cupboard which housed their slender stock of provisions. "Some sausage, some loaf, some cold potato," he said, as he surveyed the contents of the shelf on which reposed the articles mentioned.
"Good; splendid!" said Von Barwig.
Fico laid the cloth while Poons set the knives and forks.
"And here's a 'arf bottle of wine," said Pinac.
"The same wine as yesterday?" asked Von Barwig.
"The very same wine," replied Pinac, handing him the bottle.
The old man pulled out the cork and smelled the contents of the bottle. "It
was wine; it
is vinegar," he remarked tersely as he handed Pinac back the bottle. "I prefer coffee!"
Pinac rushed to get it. Poons put on a few coals and some more wood into the little stove, and the process of coffee-making began.
"There's nothing like hot coffee to cheer you up on a cold day," said Von Barwig, rubbing his hands. "Not that I need cheering up, boys," he added quickly; "but hot coffee, the smell alone is enough to--to--whoever invented hot coffee was a genius! The chord of the ninth and the diminished seventh were ordinary discoveries; any musician was bound to stumble across them sooner or later. But this," and he poured the ground coffee into the pot, "is a positive invention of genius!"
Pinac noticed that Von Barwig was thinking of something else than what he was saying, for his eyes were glistening, and he was obviously labouring under some great excitement.
"We could have waited for you, Anton, but we were cold," said Pinac. "And hungry," added Fico.
"You were right; quite right!" said Von Barwig.
"Whose wedding did you attend, Anton?" asked Pinac.
"A pupil's wedding," answered Von Barwig quickly; as if he expected the question and was prepared to answer it. "Gott in Himmel, it's cold! Ha, of course," and he looked up; "that skylight isn't mended! Dear Miss Husted, she always forgets it. I must fix it myself. Yes," he went on thoughtfully, "a pupil of mine was married; a young lady. She is very happy, very happy; and I am happy that she is happy--I must always remember that."
"Remember what?" inquired Fico after a pause.
"Always remember that this is a happy moment and that I must live on it. This moment is my future; it is all I have to live on. The wedding day of my pupil is the sum and end of all for me."
"Was it a fine wedding, Anton?" asked Pinac gently. He could see that the old man was much moved and he wanted to bring him out of the world of abstract ideas into the world of tangible, concrete thought.
"Very fine," replied Von Barwig. There was silence for a moment, then he went on reminiscently: "The father and mother of the bridegroom sat in church. The mother of my little pupil is dead, or she--she would have been there. When the minister said, 'Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?' perhaps you think I did not envy that father who answered 'I--I do!' Ah, he was a fine looking man, indeed yes, a fine looking man! After the wedding was over--I--I walked home. What is in my heart I cannot tell you; but she is happy, happy! What more can I ask? What more dare I ask?" he broke off suddenly.
"What is it, Anton?" asked Fico gently, "you are worried, anxious!"
"You are in trouble, Anton," said Pinac, taking Von Barwig's hand. "Come confide in your friends; they help you."
Von Barwig forced a laugh. "I troubled? Why, no, no! I have been to a wedding; a happy wedding, a smiling bride, a fine fellow of a bridegroom. A few tears, yes; but happy, happy tears! Come, come, long faces! Cheer up," cried Von Barwig hysterically, and he slapped Poons on the back to conceal his emotion.
"Mazette! Do you smell something?" inquired Pinac, sniffing the air. "Something is burning!"
Von Barwig started and hastily looked into the coffee pot. "Ach Gott, boys," he said, "it's the coffee!" and he laughed.
"Is it boiling?" asked Pinac.
"Boiling! No, it's burning! I--forgot to put the water in it," and he laughed aloud.
"Let me make the coffee this time," said Pinac, busying himself at that occupation without further delay.
"Yes, and I mend that skylight," said Von Barwig, climbing up the steps that led to the skylight window. But Von Barwig was not successful. The wind was so strong that it blew away everything that he tried to substitute for the missing pane of glass. Finally he determined, as he could not mend it, to stuff it up temporarily and to that end he asked Pinac to hand him up a cloak, which was lying on a chair, and which he thought was his own. His effort to stuff it into the broken skylight was only too successful, for, as it went through to the other side, the wind caught it, tore it out of his hands and blew it completely away. There was a great outcry as the men realised that Pinac's overcoat had blown away and was lost. It was only when Jenny brought up the missing article, which had fallen into the street below, that their excitement was allayed. Von Barwig made no further effort to mend the skylight.
A little later, after the men had gone out to their respective engagements, Jenny found Von Barwig busily engaged in packing his last few remaining possessions into the little old-fashioned portmanteau which he had brought over from Leipsic with him. He had pulled it out into the hallway, as his room was too small for him to pack comfortably.
"I've packed all your other things away. Everything is ready now," said Jenny in a low voice.
The old man nodded and patted her hand as if to thank her for all her goodness.
"Have you told them?" she asked.
"No," replied Von Barwig sadly; "I can't, I haven't the courage. I can't stand parting; I shall write them."
Jenny was so filled with emotion that she could hardly speak. "You told
me," she said after a while.
"Yes, you are the only one that could understand. I had to tell you, Jenny! I can't go like a thief in the night without letting some one know. You will tell them that I had to go, that there was nothing else to do. Explain for me; you will do that, won't you? Don't let them think that I--I didn't care."
Jenny nodded. Tears were running down her cheeks. "And you never found the baby, the lost little girl you came over to find; the baby that is now a young lady?"
"Ja, I go back without her," said Von Barwig, avoiding the question. "That is our secret, eh, little friend? You will never speak of it, never tell a soul, eh? And you write to me, you tell me all the news of the neighbourhood. Let me know how the poor pupils get on without their old music master. Here, Jenny! here is money for stamps."
The girl shook her head. "No, no!" she cried, "not that!"
"Hush! Money for stamps for the little letters, about the little pupils," and Von Barwig pressed a bill into her hand.
"Any one on these woiks?" bellowed a loud, deep bass voice from below.
Von Barwig started as he recognised the voice of Mr. Al Costello. "I see you again before I go, Jenny," he said quickly as the portly person of the Museum manager emerged up the stairway. He carried a large newspaper parcel in his hands. Jenny looked in amazement at the fat, florid face of the big man. The incongruity of this great big, noisy individual calling on the dear, quiet little professor was too much for her and she went away wondering.
"Say, profess'!" bawled he of the large diamond; "if the freak that runs this joint don't put some one on the door, one of these days she'll get her props pinched."
Von Barwig bowed. He had not the slightest idea what Mr. Costello was talking about, but he knew it was advice of some sort and that he must appear to be grateful.
After shaking hands with Von Barwig and making a few passing inquiries as to the night professor's health Mr. Costello came to the direct object of his visit.
"The members of my bloomin', blink house," began Mr. Costello in his most ponderous manner, "want me to present you with this--er--token, as a memento and a souvenir and a memorial of the occasion, in which our night professor gave us the grand shake, or words to that effect. I can't remember the exact hinkey dink they gave me; but, professor, it amounts to this," and Mr. Costello unwrapped the parcel he had so carefully brought upstairs with him. "This loving cup is a token of the regard and esteem in which you are held by us in general, and me and my wife in particular. And I can tell you my wife is particular, very particular," added Mr. Costello sententiously. "Here, take it!" and the Bowery Museum proprietor thrust a large pewter water pitcher into Von Barwig's hands.
The old man was quite surprised and not a little affected. This new proof of the affection of the poor, unfortunate creatures who made their afflictions the means of earning their livelihood touched him to the very heart, and for a moment he was unable to find words to express his feelings.
Mr. Costello lit a cigar.
Von Barwig looked at the water pitcher and then at Costello and began: "Mr. Costello, and--and--" he paused.
"Freaks," prompted Costello.
"No, no!" interposed Von Barwig quickly. "No, not freaks! Ladies and gentlemen of the Curio Salon."
"Very neatly put, but they'd get a swelled head if they heard it," broke in Costello, puffing on his cigar.
"I accept your gift with--with great--great pleasure," went on Von Barwig; "with more pleasure than I can say!"
"Drink hearty and often," said Costello loudly. "May it never be empty! Say, profess', the fat woman's all broke up; honest, she liked you!" and the big man roared with laughter at the bare idea of the stout lady's sorrow.
"The midgets," inquired Von Barwig. "How is their health?"
"You couldn't kill 'em with an axe!" replied Costello.
"And 'eat 'em alive!' She is still eating 'em, eh?" inquired Von Barwig with a slight smile.
"She does nothing
but eat! Ah! she gives me a pain; she's a four-flush!" growled the Museum proprietor. "She don't make good!"
"Tell them, I have grown fond of them all, and I--part from them with regret, deep regret! They have kind hearts. Ah, there are many kind hearts in this world," and Von Barwig sighed deeply.
Costello looked at him and shook his head slowly: the man was touched. That any one could express anything like affection or sentiment for the poor creatures in his curiously assorted collection was a marvel to him.
"Put it there, profess'," he said, and held out his hand to Von Barwig. "You're all right, profess'; you're all right, and your job is always open for you, rain or shine, summer or winter! You can always come back--good or bad biz--the job is yours for the askin'. There ain't nobody that can touch you in your line; and you're all to the good at that! Good-bye, profess'," and shaking Von Barwig's hand heartily the big man went away, leaving the object of his praises standing alone, deep in thought.
His reverie was interrupted by the sound of a slight scream. It was Miss Husted. She had met Mr. Costello on the stairway, and that gentleman had frightened her by playfully poking her in the ribs and bursting into a loud laugh.
Von Barwig hastily put the water pitcher into his trunk.
"What a rude man!" declared Miss Husted, as she came into the room, holding Skippy in one hand and a dish of hot steak and potatoes in the other. "Well, professor--" she said with her sweetest smile, "if Mahomet won't come to the breakfast, the breakfast must come to Mahomet! There's some hot coffee downstairs, oh, I see you have some," she said, as she looked at the coffee pot on the stove; "come now, sit down and eat!"
Von Barwig meekly obeyed her. In his excitement he had forgotten that he had not tasted a mouthful that day. He did not know how hungry he was until he sat down to the steaming hot coffee and the excellent little steak and potatoes furnished by Miss Husted. If she furnished the professor with food for the body, she also furnished him with food for the mind, for the dear good lady talked, and talked, and talked. Fortunately Von Barwig was a good listener; that is, he had the faculty of thinking of something else than what was being said. He had always been the repository for all her troubles, but until to-day she had never gone so far as to confess to him the reasons why she had never married, and would never marry, not if the last man in the world asked her. She told him of her first engagement and how it had resulted disastrously, how she had loaned the object of her affections large sums of money, until finally he ran away, leaving her penniless, and she had been compelled to work for a living. Von Barwig was very sympathetic that morning and it was this sympathy which drew her out.
"We live too much in the past, you and I," said Von Barwig. Then, after a pause, he added: "I, too, have had a loss. You live in your loss, I in mine. We remember what we should forget and we forget what we should remember. We must turn to the present, the here, and the now; the living claims our attention, not the dead. What is gone before is over and done with. Have done with it. The memory of the past kills the present and the future. It never cures it. Ah, dear lady, live in the present; it's your only chance of happiness. Jenny, August Poons, they are the present! Live in them, don't discount their happiness, your own happiness, by waiting for some impossible future for your niece. It is in them, my dear friend, you will find happiness. It is in them you will find affection and love. It is in their joy you will find joy; their children shall be your children. Don't deny yourself that happiness!"
Miss Husted was silent for a long while. Von Barwig took her hand in his, speaking in a low, gentle voice. "It is the last request I make before I go to-morrow!"
"Before you go!" cried Miss Husted. "Why, where are you going?"
Von Barwig still held her hand tenderly clasped in his. He looked at her sadly, but made no answer.
"Professor!" she gasped, and then for the first time she noticed that his trunk was outside his room; packed, ready to go.
"You're going away?" she wailed pathetically. "You're going away?" The tears came to her eyes. "Where, where are you going?" she asked in a tone of entreaty. "Where? Where?"
"Home," he replied simply.
"Home?" she repeated tearfully.
"Home, back to Leipsic. My life here is over. I should have gone months ago, but I waited to see a dear, dear pupil married. What I have come for is accomplished, and now I go back; my mission is ended. See, I have bought my ticket," and Von Barwig brought out his ticket to show her.
Miss Husted was fairly stunned. She could only look at him in silence.
"Look! see my ticket," repeated Von Barwig, handing it to her to look at.
"First-class?" she asked plaintively. She always thought for her dear professor's comfort.
"Yes, first-class steamer," he replied.
"Why it's a steerage ticket!" she said, looking closely at it.
"Yes, first-class steerage! Ach, what does it matter? I get there all right," said Von Barwig. "Here is what I owe you, all reckoned up to the penny! Here," and he thrust a small roll of bills in her hand.
"Oh, professor!" wailed Miss Husted. It was all she could say. She did not even realise that he had given her money.
"I shall not tell the others until the very last moment. I'll wake them up before daylight and say good-bye to them. Ah, it is not easy to see these old friends go out; one by one, like lamps in the dark!"
Miss Husted could only gaze at him through her tear-bedimmed eyes and shake her head mournfully. Von Barwig tried to cheer her.
"Come, think of Jenny, of Poons! New thoughts, new life, a new family! Now I say good-bye to one or two good neighbours, to Galazatti and the grocer, and the poor old Schneider. I'll be back, I'll be back," and Von Barwig put on his cloak and rushed off.
How long Miss Husted sat there at the table she never knew; she was too stunned to think. Going, her dear professor, going! It could not be true, she would not believe it! But she had seen his steamship ticket and there was his trunk. She went over to the little portmanteau and saw that the key was in the lock. She opened it to see if it was packed properly. She then noticed the little roll of bills in her hand and for the first time realised that it was his money she had taken. "Perhaps it is his last few dollars," she mourned. She stooped down and secreted the money in one of the pockets of his Prince Albert coat; then she closed the lid of the portmanteau. As she did so she burst into a flood of tears, and giving way completely to her feelings, she knelt by the little trunk and fairly sobbed as if her heart would break. When Pinac, Fico and Poons returned to their respective rooms they found her kneeling by the trunk. When they spoke to her she pretended to be singing a worn-out ditty of years gone by. It struck the men as being most tearful for a comic song.
It was some time before Miss Husted had sufficiently recovered herself to knock at Poons's door and inform him that she had withdrawn her opposition to his marriage with her niece. How she made herself understood is one of the mysteries and must remain so, but Poons understood and felt that she was now his friend. With a boyish shout he seized her around the neck and hugged her so tightly and kissed her so fervently that her principal curl came near severing its connection with the portion of her hair that really and truly belonged to her. It was not until she had slapped his face several times, and told him she was to be his aunt and not his sweetheart, that he released her, and even then he insisted on holding her hand and telling her how much he loved Jenny. So much noise did the boy make that Pinac and Fico rushed out of their room to find out what was the matter.
Poons's explanation to them was nearly as lucid as his previous effort to enlighten Miss Husted. He threw his arms around their necks and kissed them on both cheeks and danced them around the room. He pointed to Miss Husted and tried to kiss her again, just to show his friends the relationship between them, but that good lady had had enough of Poons's osculatory manifestations and indignantly threatened to slap him again if he tried to carry on with her! Jenny joined them and there was more explaining and still more kissing. When Von Barwig came back he found them all in an uproar congratulating each other in mixed American and Continental fashion. His presence added to the general joy. He kissed Jenny tenderly and formally gave her to Poons. He squeezed Miss Husted's hand in silence as he realised that his efforts on behalf of the young couple had been successful and he shook hands with his friends.
"It is a day of rejoicing, so let us rejoice!" said Von Barwig, as he emerged from his little room with a violin bow and some music in his hand. He then took a ring off his finger. "Poons, here! This ring was given me by your father twenty-five years ago. Wear it for my sake! For you, Pinac, my Mendelssohn Concerto. See, here is Mendelssohn's own signature! Fico, here is my Tuart bow. It is broken in two places, but it is a fine bow."
"What is all this?" asked Pinac.
"It is my birthday!" replied Von Barwig, slightly at a loss for an answer.
"Your birthday is next month, Anton," said Fico.
"Well, I celebrate it now! It is my birthday, I celebrate it when I please. Come, no more questions, let us make this a day of rejoicing! Come, wish me luck! Your hands in mine, boys, and wish me luck and God-speed!"
They did not understand, but did as he asked them. Miss Husted and Jenny understood, and they were sad and silent as they watched the men wish Von Barwig good luck. As they stood there, clasping each other by the hands and singing one of their glees, Thurza rushed up stairs and shouted: "Some one to see Miss Husted." The good lady invited them all downstairs to her room to have a glass of wine in honour of the occasion, and disappeared below stairs, followed by the men. Von Barwig promised to join them later, but now he wanted to be alone.
After they had gone he seated himself by the stove.
"All is finished," he thought. "Helene is married; a happy marriage. Jenny and Poons are provided for, so my work is done. To-morrow I shall be here no longer! Leipsic, once more Leipsic. Heimweh, Heimweh!"
Although he spoke habitually in English, he thought in the German language. How strange it all seemed! The music of his last symphony had been running through his head all morning. He could hear it plainly.
"I pick up the pieces of my life where I left off," he mused. "Back to Leipsic I go. How strange it will seem after all these years?" Home, home; the thought soothed him. He was tired out, for he had been awake since early dawn and the food he had eaten and the warm glow of the fire on his face made him drowsy. With the music of his last symphony echoing in his mind, the old man fell asleep. _