THE FERMATA.
Hummel's[1] amusing, vivacious picture, "Company in an Italian Inn,"became known by the Art Exhibition at Berlin in the autumn of 1814,where it appeared, to the delight of all who saw and studied it Anarbour almost hidden in foliage--a table covered with wine-flasks andfruits--two Italian ladies sitting at it opposite each other, onesinging, the other playing a guitar; between them, more in thebackground, stands an abbot, acting as music-director. With his batonraised, he is awaiting the moment when the Signora shall end, in a longtrill, the cadence which, with her eyes directed heavenwards, she isjust in the midst of; then down will come his hand, whilst theguitarist gaily dashes off the dominant chord. The abbot is filled withadmiration--with exquisite delight--and at the same time his attentionis painfully on the stretch. He wouldn't miss the proper downward beatfor the world. He hardly dare breathe. He would like to stop the mouthand wings of every buzzing bee and midge. So much the more therefore ishe annoyed at the bustling host who must needs come and bring the winejust at this supreme, delicious moment. An outlook upon an avenue,patterned by brilliant strips of light! There a horseman has pulled up,and a glass of something refreshing to drink is being handed up to himon horseback.
Before this picture stood the two friends Edward and Theodore. "Themore I look at this singer," said Edward, "in her gay attire, who,though rather oldish, is yet full of the true inspiration of her art,and the more I am delighted with the grave but genuine Roman profileand lovely form of the guitarist, and the more my estimable friend theabbot amuses me, the more does the whole picture seem to me instinctwith free, strong, vital power. It is plainly a caricature in thehigher sense of the term, but rich in grace and vivacity. I should justlike to step into that arbour and open one of those dainty littleflasks which are ogling me from the table. I tell you what, I fancy Ican already smell something of the sweet fragrance of the noble wine.Come, it were a sin for this solicitation to be wasted on the coldsenseless atmosphere that is about us here. Let us go and drain a flaskof Italian wine in honour of this fine picture, of art, and of merryItaly, where life is exhilarating and given for pleasure."
Whilst Edward was running on thus in disconnected sentences, Theodorestood silent and deeply absorbed in reflection. "Ay, that we will, comealong," he said, starting up as if awakening out of a dream; butnevertheless he had some difficulty in tearing himself away from thepicture, and as he mechanically followed his friend, he had to stop atthe door to cast another longing lingering look back upon the singerand guitarist and abbot. Edward's proposal easily admitted of beingcarried into execution. They crossed the street diagonally, and verysoon a flask exactly like those in the picture stood before them inSala Tarone's[2] little blue room. "It seems to me," said Edward, asTheodore still continued very silent and thoughtful, even after severalglasses had been drunk, "it seems to me that the picture has made adeeper impression upon you than upon me, and not such an agreeableimpression either." "I assure you," replied Theodore, "that I lostnothing of the brightness and grace of that animated composition; yetit is very singular,--it is a faithful representation of a scene out ofmy own life, reproducing the portraits of the parties concerned in itin a manner startlingly lifelike. You will, however, agree with me thatdiverting memories also have the power of strangely moving the mindwhen they suddenly spring up in this extraordinary and unexpected way,as if awakened by the wave of a magician's wand. That's the case withme just now." "What! a scene out of your own life!" exclaimed Edward,quite astonished. "Do you mean to say the picture represents an episodein your own life? I saw at once that the two ladies and the priest wereeminently successful portraits, but I never for a moment dreamed thatyou had ever come across them in the course of your life. Come now,tell me all about it, how it all came about; we are quite alone, nobodyelse will come at this time o' day." "Willingly," answered Theodore,"but unfortunately I must go a long way back--to my early youth infact." "Never mind; fire away," rejoined Edward; "I don't know overmuch about your early days. If it lasts a good while, nothing worsewill happen than that we shall have to empty a bottle more than we atfirst bargained for; and to that nobody will have any objection,neither we, nor Mr. Tarone."
"That, throwing everything else aside, I at length devoted myselfentirely to the noble art of music," began Theodore, "need excitenobody's astonishment, for whilst still a boy I would hardly doanything else but play, and spent hours and hours strumming on myuncle's old creaking, jarring piano. The little town was very badlyprovided for music; there was nobody who could give me instructionexcept an old opinionated organist; he, however, was merely a dryarithmetician, and plagued me to death with obscure, unmelodioustoccatas and fugues. But I held on bravely, without letting myself bedaunted. The old fellow was crabby, and often found a good deal offault, but he had only to play a good piece in his own powerful style,and I was at once reconciled both with him and with his art. I was thenoften in a curious state of mind; many pieces particularly of oldSebastian Bach were almost like a fearful ghost-story, and I yieldedmyself up to that feeling of pleasurable awe to which we are so pronein the days of our fantastic youth. But I entered into a veritable Edenwhen, as sometimes happened in winter, the bandmaster of the town andhis colleagues, supported by a few other moderate dilettante players,gave a concert, and I, owing to the strict time I always kept, waspermitted to play the kettledrum in the symphony. It was not untillater that I perceived how ridiculous and extravagant these concertswere. My teacher generally played two concertos on the piano by Wolffor Emanuel Bach,[3] a member of the town band struggled withStamitz,[4] while the receiver of excise duties worked away hard at theflute, and took in such an immense supply of breath that he blew outboth lights on his music-stand, and always had to have them relightedagain. Singing wasn't thought about; my uncle, a great friend andpatron of music, always disparaged the local talent in this line. Hestill dwelt with exuberant delight upon the days gone by, when the fourchoristers of the four churches of the town agreed together to give_Lottchen am Hofe_.[5] Above all, he was wont to extol the tolerationwhich united the singers in the production of this work of art, for notonly the Catholic and the Evangelical but also the Reformed communitywas split into two bodies--those speaking German and those speakingFrench. The French chorister was not daunted by the _Lottchen_, but, asmy uncle maintained, sang his part, spectacles on nose, in the finestfalsetto that ever proceeded forth from a human breast. Now there wasamongst us (I mean in the town) a spinster named Meibel, aged aboutfifty-five, who subsisted upon the scanty pension which she received asa retired court singer of the metropolis, and my uncle was rightly ofopinion that Miss Meibel might still do something for her money in theconcert hall. She assumed airs of importance, required a good deal ofcoaxing, but at last consented, so that we came to have _bravuras_ inour concerts. She was a singular creature this Miss Meibel. I stillretain a lively recollection of her lean little figure. Dressed in amany-coloured gown, she was wont to step forward with her roll of musicin her hand, looking very grave and solemn, and to acknowledge theaudience with a slight inclination of the upper part of her body. Herhead-dress was a most remarkable head-dress. In front was fastened anosegay of Italian flowers of porcelain, which kept up a strangetrembling and tottering as she sang. At the end, after the audience hadgreeted her with no stinted measure of applause, she proudly handed themusic-roll to my uncle, and permitted him to dip his thumb and fingerinto a little porcelain snuff-box, fashioned in the shape of a pug dog,out of which she took a pinch herself with evident relish. She had ahorrible squeaky voice, indulged in all sorts of ludicrous flourishesand roulades, and so you may imagine what an effect all this, combinedwith her ridiculous manners and style of dress, could not fail to haveupon me. My uncle overflowed with panegyrics; that I could notunderstand, and so turned the more readily to my organist, who, lookingwith contempt upon vocal efforts in general, delighted me down to theground as in his hypochondriac malicious way he parodied the ludicrousold spinster.
"The
more decidedly I came to share with my master his contempt forsinging, the higher did he rate my musical genius. He took a great andzealous interest in instructing me in counterpoint, so that I soon cameto write the most ingenious toccatas and fugues. I was once playing oneof these ingenious specimens of my skill to my uncle on my birthday (Iwas nineteen years old), when the waiter of our first hotel steppedinto the room to announce the visit of two foreign ladies whohad just arrived in the town. Before my uncle could throw off hisdressing-gown--it was of a large flower pattern--and don his coat andvest, his visitors were already in the room. You know what an electriceffect every strange event has upon those who are brought up in thenarrow seclusion of a small country town; this in particular, whichcrossed my path so unexpectedly, was pre-eminently fitted to work acomplete revolution within me. Picture to yourself two tall, slenderItalian ladies, dressed fantastically and in bright colours, quite upto the latest fashion, meeting my uncle with the freedom ofprofessional _artistes_, and yet with considerable charms of manner,and addressing him in firm and sonorous voices. What the deuce of astrange tongue they speak! Only now and then does it sound at all likeGerman. My uncle doesn't understand a word; embarrassed, mute as amaggot, he steps back and points to the sofa. They sit down, talktogether--it sounds like music itself. At length they succeed in makingmy good uncle comprehend that they are singers on a tour; they wouldlike to give a concert in the place, and have come to him, as he is theman to conduct such musical negotiations.
"Whilst they were talking together I picked up their Christian names,and I fancied that I could now more easily and more distinctlydistinguish the one from the other, for their both making theirappearance together had at first confused me. Lauretta, apparently theelder of the two, looked about her with sparkling eyes, and talked awayat my embarrassed old uncle with gushing vivacity and withdemonstrative gestures. She was not too tall, and of a voluptuousbuild, so that my eyes wandered amid many charms that hitherto had beenstrangers to them. Teresina, taller, more slender, with a long graveface, spoke but seldom, but what she did say was more intelligible. Nowand then a peculiar smile flitted across her features; it almost seemedas if she were highly amused at my good uncle, who had withdrawn intohis silken dressing-gown like a snail into its shell, and was vainlyendeavouring to push out of sight a treacherous yellow string, withwhich he fastened his night-jacket together, and which would keeptumbling out of his bosom yards and yards long. At length they rose todepart; my uncle promised to arrange everything for the concert for thethird day following; then the sisters gave him and me, whom heintroduced to them as a young musician, a most polite invitation totake chocolate with them in the afternoon.
"We mounted the steps with a solemn air and awkward gait; we both feltvery peculiar, as if we were going to meet some adventure to which wewere not equal. In consequence of due previous preparation my uncle hada good many fine things to say about art, which nobody understood,neither he himself nor any of the rest of us. This done, and after Ihad thrice burned my tongue with the scalding hot chocolate, but withthe stoical fortitude of a Scaevola had smiled under the fieryinfliction, Lauretta at length said that she would sing to us. Teresinatook her guitar, tuned it, and struck a few full chords. It was thefirst time I had heard the instrument, and the characteristicmysterious sounds of the trembling strings made a deep and wonderfulimpression upon me. Lauretta began very softly and held on, the noterising to _fortissimo_, and then quickly broke into a crisp complicatedrun through an octave and a half. I can still remember the words of thebeginning, '_Sento l'amica speme_.' My heart was oppressed; I had neverhad an idea of anything of the kind. But as Lauretta continued to soarin bolder and higher flights, and as the musical notes poured upon melike sparkling rays, thicker and thicker, then was the music that hadso long lain mute and lifeless within me enkindled, rising up instrong, grand flames. Ah! I had never heard what music was in my lifebefore! Then the sisters sang one of those grand impressive duets ofAbbot Steffani[6] which confine themselves to notes of a low register.My soul was stirred at the sound of Teresina's alto, it was sosonorous, and as pure as silver bells. I couldn't for the life of merestrain my emotion; tears started to my eyes. My uncle coughedwarningly, and cast angry glances upon me; it was all of no use, I wasreally quite beside myself. This seemed to please the sisters; theybegan to inquire into the nature and extent of my musical studies; Iwas ashamed of my performances in that line, and with the hardihoodborn of enthusiastic admiration, I bluntly declared that that day wasthe first time I had ever heard music. 'The dear good boy!' lispedLauretta, so sweetly and bewitchingly.
"On reaching home again, I was seized with a sort of fury: I pouncedupon all the toccatas and fugues that I had hammered out, as well as abeautiful copy of forty-five variations of a canonical theme that theorganist had written and done me the honour of presenting to me,--allthese I threw into the fire, and laughed with spiteful glee as thedouble counterpoint smoked and crackled. Then I sat down at the pianoand tried first to imitate the tones of the guitar, then to play thesisters' melodies, and finished by attempting to sing them. At lengthabout midnight my uncle emerged from his bedroom and greeted me with,'My boy, you'd better just stop that screeching and troop off to bed;'and he put out both candles and went back to his own room. I had noother alternative but to obey. The mysterious power of song came to mein my dreams--at least I thought so--for I sang '_Sento l'amica speme_'in excellent style.
"The next morning my uncle had hunted up everybody who could fiddleand blow for the rehearsal. He was proud to show what good musiciansthe town possessed; but everything seemed to go perversely wrong.Lauretta set to work at a fine scene; but very soon in the recitativethe orchestra was all at sixes and sevens, not one of them had any ideaof accompaniment Lauretta screamed--raved--wept with impatience andanger. The organist was presiding at the piano; she attacked him withthe bitterest reproaches. He got up and in silent obduracy marched outof the hall. The bandmaster of the town, whom Lauretta had dubbed a'German ass!' took his violin under his arm, and, banging his hat onhis head with an air of defiance, likewise made for the door. Themembers of his company, sticking their bows under the strings of theirviolins, and unscrewing the mouthpieces of their brass instruments,followed him. There was nobody but the dilettanti left, and they gazedabout them with disconsolate looks, whilst the receiver of exciseduties exclaimed, with a tragic air, 'O heaven! how mortified I feel!'All my diffidence was gone,--I threw myself in the bandmaster's way, Ibegged, I prayed, in my distress I promised him six new minuets withdouble trios for the annual ball. I succeeded in appeasing him. He wentback to his place, his companions followed suit, and soon the orchestrawas reconstituted, except that the organist was wanting. He was slowlymaking his way across the market-place, no shouting or beckoning couldmake him turn back. Teresina had looked on at the whole scene withsmothered laughter, while Lauretta was now as full of glee as beforeshe had been of anger. She was unstinted in her praise of my efforts;she asked me if I played the piano, and ere I knew what I was about, Isat in the organist's place with the music before me. Never before hadI accompanied a singer, still less directed an orchestra. Teresina satdown beside me at the piano and gave me every time; Lauretta encouragedme with repeated 'Bravos!' the orchestra proved manageable, and thingscontinued to improve. Everything was worked out successfully at thesecond rehearsal; and the effect of the sisters' singing at the concertis not to be described.
"The sovereign's return to his capital was to be celebrated there withseveral festive demonstrations; the sisters were summoned to sing inthe theatre and at concerts. Until the time that their presence wasrequired they resolved to remain in our little town, and thus it cameto pass that they gave us a few more concerts. The admiration of thepublic rose to a kind of madness. Old Miss Meibel, however, took with adeliberate air a pinch of snuff out of her porcelain pug and gave heropinion that 'such impudent caterwauling was not singing; singingshould be low and melodious.' My friend, the organist, never showedhimself again, and, in truth
, I did not miss him in the least I wasthe happiest fellow in the world. The whole day long I spent withthe sisters, copying out the vocal scores of what they were tosing in the capital. Lauretta was my ideal; her vile caprices, herterribly passionate violence, the torments she inflicted upon me at thepiano--all these I bore with patience. She alone had unsealed for methe springs of true music. I began to study Italian, and try my hand ata few canzonets. In what heavenly rapture was I plunged when Laurettasang my compositions, or even praised them. Often it seemed to me as ifit was not I who had thought out and set what she sang, but that thethought first shone forth in her singing of it. With Teresina I couldnot somehow get on familiar terms; she sang but seldom, and didn't seemto make much account of all that I was doing, and sometimes I evenfancied that she was laughing at me behind my back. At length the timecame for them to leave the town. And now I felt for the first time howdear Lauretta had become to me, and how impossible it would be for meto separate from her. Often, when she was in a tender, playful mood,she had caressed me, although always in a perfectly artless fashion;nevertheless, my blood was excited, and it was nothing but the strangecoolness with which she was more usually wont to treat me thatrestrained me from giving reins to my ardour and clasping her in myarms in a delirium of passion. I possessed a tolerably good tenorvoice, which, however, I had never practised, but now I began tocultivate it assiduously. I frequently sang with Lauretta one of thosetender Italian duets of which there exists such an endless number. Wewere just singing one of these pieces, the hour of departure was closeat hand--'_Senza di te ben mio, vivere non poss' io_' ('Without thee,my own, I cannot live!') Who could resist that? I threw myself at herfeet--I was in despair. She raised me up--'But, my friend, need we thenpart?' I pricked up my ears with amazement. She proposed that I shouldaccompany her and Teresina to the capital, for if I intended to devotemyself wholly to music I must leave this wretched little town some timeor other. Picture to yourself one struggling in the dark depths ofboundless despair, who has given up all hopes of life, and who, in themoment in which he expects to receive the blow that is to crush him forever, suddenly finds himself sitting in a glorious bright arbour ofroses, where hundreds of unseen but loving voices whisper, 'You arestill alive, dear,--still alive'--and you will know how I felt then.Along with them to the capital! that had seized upon my heart as anineradicable resolution. But I won't tire you with the details of how Iset to work to convince my uncle that I ought now by all means to go tothe capital, which, moreover, was not very far away. He at length gavehis consent, and announced his intention of going with me. Here was atricksy stroke of fortune! I dare not give utterance to my purpose oftravelling in company with the sisters. A violent cold, which my unclecaught, proved my saviour.
"I left the town by the stage-coach, but only went as far as the firststopping-station, where I awaited my divinity. A well-lined purseenabled me to make all due and fitting preparations. I was seized withthe romantic idea of accompanying the ladies in the character of aprotecting paladin--on horseback; I secured a horse, which, though notparticularly handsome, was, its owner assured me, quiet, and I rodeback at the appointed time to meet the two fair singers. I soon saw thelittle carriage, which had two seats, coming towards me. Lauretta andTeresina sat on the principal seat, whilst on the other, with her backto the driver, sat their maid, the fat little Gianna, a brown-cheekedNeapolitan. Besides this living freight, the carriage was packed fullof boxes, satchels, and baskets of all sizes and shapes, such asinvariably accompany ladies when they travel. Two little pug-dogs whichGianna was nursing in her lap began to bark when I gaily saluted thecompany.
"All was going on very nicely; we were traversing the last stage of thejourney, when my steed all at once conceived the idea that it was hightime to be returning homewards. Being aware that stern measures werenot always blessed with a remarkable degree of success in such cases, Ifelt advised to have recourse to milder means of persuasion; but theobstinate brute remained insensible to all my well-meant exhortations.I wanted to go forwards, he backwards, and all the advantage that myefforts gave me over him was that instead of taking to his heels forhome, he continued to run round in circles. Teresina leaned forward outof the carriage and had a hearty laugh; Lauretta, holding her handsbefore her face, screamed out as if I were in imminent danger. Thisgave me the courage of despair, I drove the spurs into the brute'sribs, but that very same moment I was roughly hurled off and foundmyself sprawling on the ground. The horse stood perfectly still, and,stretching out his long neck, regarded me with what I took to benothing else than derision. I was not able to rise to my feet; thedriver had to come and help me; Lauretta had jumped out and was weepingand lamenting; Teresina did nothing but laugh without ceasing. I hadsprained my foot, and couldn't possibly mount again. How was I to geton? My steed was fastened to the carriage, whilst I crept into it. Justpicture us all--two rather robust females, a fat servant-girl, twopug-dogs, a dozen boxes, satchels, and baskets, and me as well, allpacked into a little carriage. Picture Lauretta's complaints at theuncomfortableness of her seat, the howling of the pups, the chatteringof the Neapolitan, Teresina's sulks, the unspeakable pain I felt in myfoot, and you will have some idea of my enviable situation! Teresinaaverred that she could not endure it any longer. We stopped; in a triceshe was out of the carriage, had untied my horse, and was up in thesaddle, prancing and curvetting around us. I must indeed admit that shecut a fine figure. The dignity and elegance which marked her carriageand bearing were still more prominent on horseback. She asked for herguitar, then dropping the reins on her arm, she began to sing proudSpanish ballads with a full-toned accompaniment. Her light silk dressfluttered in the wind, its folds and creases giving rise to a sheenyplay of light, whilst the white feathers of her hat quivered and shook,like the prattling spirits of the air which we heard in her voice.Altogether she made such a romantic figure that I could not keep myeyes off her, notwithstanding that Lauretta reproached her for makingherself such a fantastic simpleton, and predicted that she would sufferfor her audacity. But no accident happened; either the horse had lostall his stubbornness or he liked the fair singer better than thepaladin; at any rate, Teresina did not creep back into the carriageagain until we had almost reached the gates of the town.
"If you had seen me then at concerts and operas, if you had seen merevelling in all sorts of music, and as a diligent accompanist studyingarias, duets, and I don't know what besides at the piano, you wouldhave perceived, by the complete change in my behaviour, that I wasfilled with a new and wonderful spirit. I had cast off all my rusticshyness, and sat at the pianoforte with my score before me like anexperienced professional, directing the performances of my _primadonna_. All my mind--all my thoughts--were sweet melodies. Utterlyregardless of all the rules of counterpoint, I composed all sorts ofcanzonets and arias, which Lauretta sang, though only in her own room.Why would she never sing any of my pieces at a concert? I could notunderstand it. Teresina also arose before my imagination curvetting onher proud steed with the lute in her hands, like Art herself disguisedin romance. Without thinking of it consciously, I wrote several songsof a high and serious nature. Lauretta, it is true, played with hernotes like a capricious fairy queen. There was nothing upon which sheventured in which she had not success. But never did a roulade crossTeresina's lips; nothing more than a simple interpolated note, at mosta _mordent_; but her long-sustained tones gleamed like meteors throughthe darkness of night, awakening strange spirits, who came and gazedwith earnest eyes into the depths of my heart. I know not how Iremained ignorant of them so long!
"The sisters were granted a benefit concert; I sang with Lauretta along scena from Anfossi.[7] As usual I presided at the piano. We cameto the last _fermata_. Lauretta exerted all her skill and art; shewarbled trill after trill like a nightingale, executed sustained notes,then long elaborate roulades--a whole _solfeggio_. In fact, I thoughtshe was almost carrying the thing too far this time; I felt a softbreath on my cheek; Teresina stood behind me. At this moment Laurettatook a go
od start with the intention of swelling up to a 'harmonicshake,' and so passing back into _a tempo_. The devil entered into me;I jammed down the keys with both hands; the orchestra followed suit;and it was all over with Lauretta's trill, just at the supreme momentwhen she was to excite everybody's astonishment. Almost annihilating mewith a look of fury, she crushed her roll of music together, tore itup, and hurled it at my head, so that the pieces flew all over me. Thenshe rushed like a madwoman through the orchestra into the adjoiningroom; as soon as we had concluded the piece, I followed her. She wept;she raved. 'Out of my sight, villain,' she screamed as soon as she sawme. 'You devil, you've completely ruined me--my fame, my honour--andoh! my trill. Out of my sight, you devil's own!' She made a rushat me; I escaped through the door. Whilst some one else was performing,Teresina and the music-director at length succeeded in so far pacifyingher rage, that she resolved to appear again; but I was not to beallowed to touch the piano. In the last duet that the sisters sang,Lauretta did contrive to introduce the swelling 'harmonic shake,' wasrewarded with a storm of applause, and settled down into the best ofhumours.
"But I could not get over the vile treatment which I had received ather hands in the presence of so many people, and I was firmly resolvedto set off home next morning for my native town. I was actually engagedin packing my things together when Teresina came into my room.Observing what I was about, she exclaimed, astonished, 'Are you goingto leave us?' I gave her to understand that after the affront which hadbeen put upon me by Lauretta I could not think of remaining any longerin her society. 'And so,' replied Teresina, 'you're going to letyourself be driven away by the extravagant conduct of a little fool,who is now heartily sorry for what she has done and said. Where elsecan you better live in your art than with us? Let me tell you, it onlydepends upon yourself and your own behaviour to keep her from suchpranks as this. You are too compliant, too tender, too gentle. Besides,you rate her powers too highly. Her voice is indeed not bad, and it hasa wide compass; but what else are all these fantastic warblings andflourishes, these preposterous runs, these never-ending shakes, butdelusive artifices of style, which people admire in the same way thatthey admire the foolhardy agility of a rope-dancer? Do you imagine thatsuch things can make any deep impression upon us and stir the heart?The 'harmonic shake' which you spoilt I cannot tolerate; I always feelanxious and pained when she attempts it. And then this scaling up intothe region of the third line above the stave, what is it but a violentstraining of the natural voice, which after all is the only thing thatreally moves the heart? I like the middle notes and the low notes. Asound that penetrates to the heart, a real quiet, easy transition fromnote to note, are what I love above all things. No uselessornamentation--a firm, clear, strong note--a definite expression, whichcarries away the mind and soul--that's real true singing, and that'show I sing. If you can't be reconciled to Lauretta again, then think ofTeresina, who indeed likes you so much that you shall in your own waybe her musical composer. Don't be cross--but all your elegant canzonetsand arias can't be matched with this single ----,' she sang in hersonorous way a simple devotional sort of canzona which I had set a fewdays before. I had never dreamed that it could sound like that I feltthe power of the music going through and through me; tears of joy andrapture stood in my eyes; I seized Teresina's hand, and pressing it tomy lips a thousand times, swore I would never leave her.
"Lauretta looked upon my intimacy with her sister with envious butsuppressed vexation, and she could not do without me, for, in spite ofher skill, she was unable to study a new piece without help; she readbadly, and was rather uncertain in her time. Teresina, on the contrary,sang everything at sight, and her ear for time was unparalleled. Neverdid Lauretta give such free rein to her caprice and violence as whenher accompaniments were being practised. They were never right for her;she looked upon them as a necessary evil; the piano ought not to beheard at all, it should always be _pianissimo_; so there was nothingbut giving way to her again and again, and altering the time just asthe whim happened to come into her head at the moment But now I took afirm stand against her; I combated her impertinences; I taught her thatan accompaniment devoid of energy was not conceivable, and that therewas a marked difference between supporting and carrying along the songand letting it run to riot, without form and without time. Teresinafaithfully lent me her assistance. I composed nothing but pieces forthe Church, writing all the solos for a voice of low register.Teresina, too, tyrannised over me not a little, to which I submittedwith a good grace, since she had more knowledge of, and (so at least Ithought) more appreciation for, German seriousness than her sister.
"We were touring in South Germany. In a little town we met an Italiantenor who was making his way from Milan to Berlin. My fair companionswent in ecstasies over their countryman; he stuck close to them,cultivating in particular Teresina's acquaintance, so that to my greatvexation I soon came to play rather a secondary part. Once, just as Iwas about to enter the room with a roll of music under my arm, thevoices of my companions and the tenor, engaged in an animatedconversation, fell upon my ear. My name was mentioned; I pricked up myears; I listened. I now understood Italian so well that not a wordescaped me. Lauretta was describing the tragical occurrence of theconcert when I cut short her trill by prematurely striking down theconcluding notes of the bar. 'A German ass!' exclaimed the tenor. Ifelt as if I must rush in and hurl the flighty hero of the boards outof the window, but I restrained myself. She then went on to say thatshe had been minded to send me about my business at once, but, moved bymy clamorous entreaties, she had so far had compassion upon me as totolerate me some time longer, since I was studying singing under her.This, to my utter amazement, Teresina confirmed. 'Yes, he's a goodchild,' she added; 'he's in love with me now and sets everything forthe alto. He is not without talent, but he must rub off that stiffnessand awkwardness which is so characteristic of the Germans. I hope tomake a good composer out of him; then he shall write me some goodthings--for there's very little written as yet for the alto voice--andafterwards I shall let him go his own way. He's very tiresome with hisbilling and cooing and love-sick sighing, and he worries me too muchwith his wearisome compositions, which have been but poor stuff up tothe present.' 'I at least have now got rid of him,' interruptedLauretta; 'and Teresina, how the fellow pestered me with his arias andduets you know very well.' And now she began to sing a duet of mycomposing, which formerly she had praised very highly. The other sistertook up the second voice, and they parodied me both in voice and inexecution in the most shameful manner. The tenor laughed till the wallsrang again. My limbs froze; at once I formed an irrevocable resolve. Iquietly slipped away from the door back into my own room, the windowsof which looked upon a side street. Opposite was the post-office; thepost-coach for Bamberg had just driven up to take in the mails andpassengers. The latter were all standing ready waiting in the gateway,but I had still an hour to spare. Hastily packing up my things, Igenerously paid the whole of the bill at the hotel, and hurried acrossto the post-office. As I crossed the broad street I saw the fairsisters and the Italian still standing at the window, and looking outto catch the sound of the post-horn. I leaned back in the corner, anddwelt with a good deal of satisfaction upon the crushing effect of thebitter scathing letter that I had left behind for them in the hotel."
* * * * * * *
With evident gratification Theodore tossed off the rest of the fieryAleatico[8] that Edward had poured into his glass. The latter, openinga new flask and skilfully shaking off the drops of oil[9] which swam atthe top, remarked, "I should not have deemed Teresina capable of suchfalseness and artfulness. I cannot banish from my mind the recollectionof what a charming figure she made as she sat on horseback singingSpanish ballads, whilst the horse pranced along in graceful curvets.""That was her culminating point," interrupted Theodore; "I stillremember the strange impression which the scene made upon me. I forgotmy pain; she seemed to me like a creature of a higher race. It isindeed very true that such moments are turning-point
s in one's life,and that in them many images arise which time does not avail to dim.Whenever I have succeeded with any fine _romance_, it has always beenwhen Teresina's image has stepped forth from the treasure-house of mymind in clear bright colours at the moment of writing it."
"But," said Edward, "but let us not forget the artistic Lauretta; and,scattering all rancour to the winds, let us drink to the health of thetwo sisters." They did so. "Oh," exclaimed Theodore, "how the fragrantbreezes of Italy arise out of this wine and fan my cheeks,--my bloodrolls with quickened energy in my veins. Oh! why must I so soon leavethat glorious land again!" "As yet," interrupted Edward, "as yet in allthat you have told me I can see no connection with the beautifulpicture, and so I believe that you still have something more to tell meabout the sisters. Of course I perceive plainly that the ladies in thepicture are none other than Lauretta and Teresina themselves." "You areright, they are," replied Theodore; "and my ejaculations and sighs, andmy longings after the glorious land of Italy, will form a fittingintroduction to what I still have to say. A short time ago, perhapsabout two years since, just before leaving Rome, I made a littleexcursion on horseback. Before an inn stood a charming girl; the ideastruck me how nice it would be to receive a cup of wine at the hands ofthe pretty child. I pulled up before the door, in a walk so thicklyplanted on each side with shrubs that the sunlight could only make itsway through in patches. In the distance I heard sounds of singing andthe tinkling of a guitar. I pricked up my ears and listened, for thetwo female voices affected me somehow in a singular fashion; strangelyenough dim recollections began to stir within my mind, but they refusedto take definite shape. I dismounted and slowly drew near to thevine-clad arbour whence the music seemed to proceed, eagerly catchingup every sound in the meantime. The second voice had ceased to sing.The first sang a canzonet alone. As I came nearer and nearer that whichhad at first seemed familiar to me, and which had at first attracted myattention, gradually faded away. The singer was now in the midst of aflorid, elaborate _fermata_. Up and down she warbled, up and down; atlength she stopped, holding a note on for some time. But all at once afemale voice began to let off a torrent of abuse, maledictions, curses,vituperations! A man protested; a second laughed. The other femalevoice took part in the altercation. The quarrel continued to wax louderand more violent, with true Italian fury. At length I stood immediatelyin front of the arbour; an abbot rushes out and almost runs over me; heturns his head to look at me; I recognise my good friend SignorLodovico, my musical news-monger from Rome. 'What in the name ofwonder'--I exclaim. 'Oh, sir! sir!' he screams, 'save me, protect mefrom this mad fury, from this crocodile, this tiger, this hyaena, thisdevil of a woman. Yes, I did, I did; I was beating time to Anfossi'scanzonet, and brought down my baton too soon whilst she was in themidst of the _fermata_; I cut short her trill; but why did I meet hereyes, the devilish divinity! The deuce take all _fermatas_, I say!' Ina most curious state of mind I hastened into the arbour along with thepriest, and recognised at the first glance the sisters Lauretta andTeresina. The former was still shrieking and raging, and her sisterstill seriously remonstrating with her. Mine host, his bare armscrossed over his chest, was looking on laughing, whilst a girl wasplacing fresh flasks on the table. No sooner did the sisters catchsight of me than they threw themselves upon me exclaiming, 'Ah! SignorTeodoro!' and covered me with caresses. The quarrel was forgotten.'Here you have a composer,' said Lauretta to the abbot, 'as charming asan Italian and as strong as a German.' Both sisters, continuallyinterrupting each other, began to recount the happy days we had spenttogether, to speak of my musical abilities whilst still a youth, of ourpractisings together, of the excellence of my compositions; never didthey like singing anything else but what I had set. Teresina at lengthinformed me that a manager had engaged her as his first singer intragic casts for the next carnival; but she would give him tounderstand that she would only sing on condition that the compositionof at least one tragic opera was intrusted to me. The tragic was aboveall others my special department, and so on, and so on. Lauretta on herpart maintained that it would be a pity if I did not follow my bent forthe light and the graceful, in a word, for _opera buffa_. She had beenengaged as first lady singer for this species of composition; and thatnobody but I should write the piece in which she was to appear wassimply a matter of course. You may fancy what my feelings were as Istood between the two. In a word, you perceive that the company which Ihad joined was the same as that which Hummel painted, and that just atthe moment when the priest is on the point of cutting short Lauretta's_fermata_." "But did they not make any allusion," asked Edward, "toyour departure from them, or to the scathing letter?" "Not with asingle syllable," answered Theodore, "and you may be sure I didn't, forI had long before banished all animosity from my heart, and come tolook back upon my adventure with the sisters as a merry prank. I did,however, so far revert to the subject that I related to the priest howthat, several years before, exactly the same sort of mischance befellme in one of Anfossi's arias as had just befallen him. I painted theperiod of my connection with the sisters in tragi-comical colours, and,distributing many a keen side-blow, I let them feel the superiority,which the ripe experiences, both of life and of art, of the years thathad elapsed in the interval had given me over them. 'And a good thingit was,' I concluded, 'that I did cut short that _fermata_, for it wasevidently meant to last through eternity, and I am firmly of opinionthat if I had left the singer alone, I should be sitting at the pianonow.' 'But, signor,' replied the priest, 'what director is there whowould dare to prescribe laws to the _prima donna_? Your offence wasmuch more heinous than mine, you in the concert hall, and I here in theleafy arbour. Besides, I was only director in imagination; nobody needattach any importance to that, and if the sweet fiery glances of theseheavenly eyes had not fascinated me, I should not have made an ass ofmyself.' The priest's last words proved tranquillising, for, althoughLauretta's eyes had begun to flash with anger as the priest spoke,before he had finished she was quite appeased.
"We spent the evening together. Many changes take place in fourteenyears, which was the interval that had passed since I had seen my fairfriends. Lauretta, although looking somewhat older, was still notdevoid of charms. Teresina had worn better, without losing her gracefulform. Both were dressed in rather gay colours, and their manners werejust the same as before, that is, fourteen years younger than theladies themselves. At my request Teresina sang some of the serioussongs that had once so deeply affected me, but I fancied that theysounded differently from what they did when I first heard them; andLauretta's singing too, although her voice had not appreciably lostanything, either in power or in compass, seemed to me to be quitedifferent from my recollection of it of former times The sisters'behaviour towards me, their feigned ecstasies, their rude admiration,which, however, took the shape of gracious patronage, had done much toput me in a bad humour, and now the obtrusiveness of this comparisonbetween the images in my mind and the not over and above pleasingreality, tended to put me in a still worse. The droll priest, who inall the sweetest words you can imagine was playing the _amoroso_ toboth sisters at once, as well as frequent applications to the goodwine, at length restored me to good humour, so that we spent a verypleasant evening in perfect concord and gaiety. The sisters were mostpressing in their invitations to me to go home with them, that we mightat once talk over the parts which I was to set for them and so concertmeasures accordingly. I left Rome without taking any further steps tofind out their place of abode."
"And yet, after all," said Edward, "it is to them that you owe theawakening of your genius for music." "That I admit," replied Theodore,"I owed them that and a host of good melodies besides, and that is justthe reason why I did not want to see them again. Every composer canrecall certain impressions which time does not obliterate. The spiritof music spake, and his voice was the creative word which suddenlyawakened the kindred spirit slumbering in the breast of the artist;then the latter rose like a sun which can nevermore set. Thus it isunquestionably true that all melodies whi
ch, stirred up in this way,proceed from the depths of the composer's being, seem to us to belongto the singer alone who fanned the first spark within us. We hear hervoice and record only what she has sung. It is, however, theinheritance of us weak mortals that, clinging to the clods, we are onlytoo fain to draw down what is above the earth into the miserablenarrowness characteristic of things of the earth. Thus it comes to passthat the singer becomes our lover--or even our wife. The spell isbroken, and the melody of her nature, which formerly revealed gloriousthings, is now prostituted to complaints about broken soup-plates orink-stains in new linen. Happy is the composer who never again so longas he lives sets eyes upon the woman who by virtue of some mysteriouspower enkindled in him the flame of music. Even though the youngartist's heart may be rent by pain and despair when the moment comesfor parting from his lovely enchantress, nevertheless her form willcontinue to exist as a divinely beautiful strain which lives on and onin the pride of youth and beauty, engendering melodies in which timeafter time he perceives the lady of his love. But what is she else ifnot the Highest Ideal which, working its way from within outwards, isat length reflected in the external independent form?"
"A strange theory, but yet plausible," was Edward's comment, as the twofriends, arm in arm, passed out from Sala Tarone's into the street.
* * * * * * *
FOOTNOTES TO "THE FERMATA":
[Footnote 1: Johann Erdmann Hummel, born 1769, died 1852, a Germanpainter, studied in Italy, painted various kinds of pieces, and alsowrote treatises on perspective and kindred subjects. The picture herereferred to became perhaps almost as much celebrated from the fact ofits having suggested this amusing sketch to Hoffmann as for itsintrinsic merits as a work of art.]
[Footnote 2: The keeper of a well-known tavern in Berlin, at about thetime when this tale was written, 1817 to 1820.]
[Footnote 3: The third son of the Sebastian Bach--_the_ Bach--justmentioned above. He was sometimes called "the Berlin Bach," or "theHamburg Bach."]
[Footnote 4: See note, p. 12 above.]
[Footnote 5: This was one of a species of musical composition called_Singspiele_, a development of the simple song or _Lied_, by JohannAdam Hiller, (properly Hueller), born 1728, died 1804.]
[Footnote 6: Agostino Steffani, an Italian by birth (1655), spentnearly all his life in Germany at the courts of Munich and Hanover. Hewrote several operas, and was renowned for his duets, motets, &c.]
[Footnote 7: Pasquale Anfossi, an Italian operatic composer of theeighteenth century. He was for a time the fashion of the day at Rome,but occupies now only a subordinate rank amongst musicians.]
[Footnote 8: A red, aromatic, sweet Italian wine, made chiefly atFlorence.]
[Footnote 9: The wine was presumably in flasks of the usual Italiankind, bottles encased in straw or reed, &c., with oil on the top of thewine instead of a cork in the neck of the bottle.]
Weird Tales. Vol. I (of 2) Page 2