Chequered Courtship

Front matter

r CHEQUERED COURTSHIP THE STANDARD WORK ON AUTHORSHIP. THE AUTHOR'S MANUAL Being a Complete Practical Guide to all Branches of Journalism, Literary Work generally, and Book-producing, with Special Advice in Reference to Imaginative Literature. By Percy Russell. Crown Svo, cloth, 5s. (Sixth Edition, New and Revised, with Portrait of the Author). SPECIAL NOTICE.— The New and Revised Edition contains Prefatory Remarks by the RIGHT HON. W. E. GLADSTONE, M.P., who has read and approved the volvme. " The aspirant to literature may certainly read Mr. Russell's book with profit." — Spectator. " Mr. Russell has got up his subject, with much care, and supplies a great deal of useful information. His advice and suggestions are sound and to the point." — Graphic. " Cordially recommending Mr. Russell's vade mecum." — Literary World.

Miss M. E. Braddon writes—" Your counsel both to the journalist and the imaginative writer is full of wisdom." LONDON : DIGBY, LONG & CO., 18 Bouverie St., Fleet St., E.C. BY ALICE AUGUSTA GORE LONDON DIGBY, LONG & CO., Publishers IS BOUVERIE STREET, FLEET STREET, E.C. 2)e&icatct> TO THE MEMORY OF MY MOST REVERED TEACHER AND FRIEND, DR. KARL DAMMANN.

Chapter I

Art is a bond that unites all the world." — Beethoven. The Herder family were essentially lovers of the fine arts; taste was seen in everything that met the eye, and the home was evidently so arranged as to make it attractive to those who had the good for tune to cross its threshold. The house, which was Gothic in style, was situated in one of the pretty suburbs for which the city of Burgamhafen is noted. Before it flowed the Elster, an arm of the historic River Elbe. Of the Elster the citizens are justly proud, for it gives life and beauty to the city in winter and in summer. On the other side of the river, and facing the house, stood a newly-built church — a stately pile, which added considerably to the picturesqueness of the scenery, and broke the hard, straight lines of sky. Avenues of trees stretched right and left, whilst small steamers and private pleasure-boats of various sizes and shapes were constantly plying up and down the river.

On entering the house one seemed to live in quite another century than the nineteenth, so ancient was the aspect of the interior arrangements, even to the smallest details; the coloured windows cast a dim -religious light about the place, whilst the heavy draperies which adorned the windows and folding-doors gave an air of mystery combined with cosiness ; treasures of art and grotesque curi osities from all parts of the world embellished the rooms, some hidden away in unexpected corners and niches ; stoves of singular form and colour, richly chased salvers and ancient porcelain, all served to make the illusion more complete — an illusion, however, provokingly broken by the sight of news papers lying about, giving the latest particulars as to the political situation in Bulgaria. The house and its occupants suited each other; German love of music, hospitality, and geniality characterized the Herders.

The words of hearty welcome painted in Gothic characters round the cornice in the hall aptly expressed their sentiment towards those whom they counted as friends. In this family Werner Spengel was a frequent and honoured guest. Spengel, like the Herders, belonged by birth and education to a nation which has bequeathed to the world a rich heritage of philosophy, poetry, and art — a nation which was the vanguard on the side of truth and liberty when Europe writhed in deadly struggle with the powers of darkness— a nation which in barbaric times stood alone in chivalric loyalty to woman. Endowed with a fine ear for sound, and, through a happy combination of talent and industry, a perfect master of the key board, Spengel was a musician of a high order, not by profession — for he was a merchant — but by elec tion of nature.

Music was his unfailing source of pleasure when released from the claims of business, and at her shrine he worshipped with a devotion seldom found among amateurs. He was of fragile build and very handsome; the mouth and chin were delicately formed, and the beautifully shaped head was thickly covered with raven black hair; the nose was somewhat aquiline, yet sufficiently strong to escape effeminacy, and an elegant Vandyck beard gave the finishing touch to an artistic mould of face. His eyes were large and brilliant, and shed a radiance over the distinguished features. In age he was some twenty-six years. Although music was the alpha and omega of his existence, still he was no selfish, pedantic recluse, but moved genially among his fellowmen; the small inner circle of friends of which he was the admired centre consisted of those having kindred tastes with his own.

Intellectual fellowship is the highest type next to the spiritual. Whether enjoyed in silence, after the manner of Tennyson and Carlyle, of whom it is recorded that after spending three hours together without a word being exchanged, Tennyson rose to take leave, whereupon Carlyle begged him to come again, exclaiming, "We have had a grand night of it ! " or whether enjoyed in confidential interchange of thought, it is surely a foretaste of Paradise. Spengel's face was well known at the leading concerts — a face which, when listening, was so expressive of concentrated thought and intense enjoyment of the niceties of execution that several artistes have been heard to say that, they " played for one person in the audience, who always sat in one particular spot." When alone he found com panionship in his piano and in the books around him, which were not few in number, for he was an extensive reader, not only of German, but also of foreign authors.

His parents were dead, and he now had quiet, comfortable lodgment with a kindly-hearted widow, who attended to his wants with motherly care, neither understanding nor attempting, thanks to her womanly tact, to interfere with what she, simple soul, regarded as his " musical craze." Werner Spengel' s lot was cast in Burgamhafen ; it had many attractions for him, although the tone of society there was not as congenial to him as that of his native city, Bayreuth ; on the one hand, wealth and fashion disturbed that simplicity of living and genuineness of spirit in which environ ment alone pure art can flourish ; on the other hand, prejudice against the Wagner school caused feelings to run high in some influential quarters. What Werner missed in one direction was amply replaced by the enthusiasm of those among his intimate friends who were ardent admirers of the great master of modern times.

He was accustomed to spend an evening with the Herders every week during the autumn and winter, when music and pleasant intercourse whiled away the hours ; those hours brought to them and to him alike recreation and inspiration. He was a welcome guest too, for he was simple and natural, unspoiled by the eccentricities which sometimes make clever persons awkward and unsociable in society. More than three weeks had now passed without these friends having seen each other ; Werner had been to Leipzig in search of rest and change, and only returned to Burgamhafen as the leaves of the CHEQUERED COURTSHir. 10 trees were beginning to be touched with red and golden tints. One glorious evening, just after his return, Werner and Herr Herder were sitting on the terrace leading from the winter garden overlooking the river.

The latter gentleman was a strongly -built, fatherly, pleasant man, on the shady side of forty ; his love of music was as enthusiastic as Werner's; he was a performer of no mean order, and a pro found admirer of Richard Wagner's compositions. He had an extensive business as a pianoforte maker, a business which had become famed for the excellence of the workmanship expended upon the instruments. The two gentlemen had been talking together for some time, when Werner Spengel turned suddenly to his host, and, rising from his seat, said " Shall we not use the precious time without further delay? " Thereupon Herr Herder, who just before had been joined by his wife and second daughter Martina, passed with Werner through the winter garden into the music-room. After a few preliminaries in choosing a piece, Frau Herder and Werner played the first and second scenes from " Siegfried," arranged as a duet for the piano.

" The feelings excited by Wagner's magnificent compositions baffle description," said Werner at the conclusion of the performance, his eyes turning involuntarily to an oak-framed portrait of the master which hung over the piano. " Yes," replied Herr Herder, " they so inspire me that I do not know what to say or do." " He is indeed unapproachable," chimed in Frau Herder, who was as devoted a Wagnerian as either her husband or Werner. After a short pause, Werner was asked to play some of his own original compositions, to which request he acceded modestly and courteously, first playing some songs, to which Herr Herder supplied the melody on his cornet ; the quiet, tender feeling they breathed offered a strong and agreeable con trast to the storm and rush of " Siegfried." " What a pity that no one here can sing!" said Frau Herder; "one feels that the words are needed to give the true effect."

Her daughter Martina did not include singing among her accomplishments, consequently the songs had to remain unsung. Other pieces afterwards followed, which showed that Werner was capable of composing in quite opposite styles. Again Wagner was taken up and played with increasing brilliancy till, the clock having struck the hour of ten, the " musical evening " was brought to a close. Supper was immediately served, which meal was enjoyed amid much merriment ; but Werner himself was strangely quiet and ill at ease. Soon after Herr Herder had begun to discuss with him the state of music in England as compared with Germany, his wife turned to Werner, saying : " Now, Herr Spengel, do tell us something about your journey. You must have enjoyed yourself immensely, for not once did you send us even a line," and she looked so straight and inquiringly into his face that he was rather embarrassed.

" Pray excuse my negligence, but really the time passed by so quickly, and I was so constantly in request by one and another acquaintance, that it was quite impossible to write." " Did you have much opportunity for indulging in music among your friends in Leipzig?" asked Herr Herder. " No ; very little." " Did you not greatly miss your favourite study?" remarked Frau Herder. " No, scarcely, for there was so much to see in Leipzig." " It was a dreadfully hot day when we accom panied you to the station," interposed Martina. " We thought a great deal about you during the journey. Did you have nice travelling companions?" To this innocent question Werner made no reply, and not appearing to heed it, looked at his watch and rose from the supper table, saying that it was later than he had imagined, and he must hasten to his lodgings, because he had forgotten to take his latch-key.

When he was gone, Frau Herder said to her husband : " What is the matter with him ? He seems different from what he used to be ; perhaps he is exhausted from the journey. His playing is as brilliant as ever, so I am altogether puzzled." " Yes, my dear, I was simply amazed as I listened to him this evening." " Ah ! would that we had half that man's talent ! It is wonderful, his insight into Wagner's genius, and the strength and delicacy of his execution." And so thought Martina, though no words passed her lips. She had been a silent but admiring listener that evening whilst engaged with her needle. " Still waters run deep," and this maiden of seventeen years was not a stranger to the magic spell produced by Werner's playing — a spell which was increased by the charm of his person and a manner indescribably fascinating, heightened by a certain dreaminess which that evening had been CHEQUERED COURTSHir. more apparent than usual.

Martina was not a little surprised at his demeanour, because he had only just returned from Leipzig. What could be the cause ? It was mysterious ; yes, mysterious. She had an indefinable fear that some lurking evil was the real cause. It was strange, and she could not find a satis factory solution ; she could but vainly speculate. There is a haze of mystery about us all ; we speak of knowing our friends, and we sincerely believe that we do, but, nevertheless, it is mostly in a superficial sense ; in some cases we do not know even the true story of their life. Such was Martina's position with regard to Werner Spengel, for, although he had found constant reception in the house of the Herder family, and that for rather more than three years, yet the story of his life was still a secret to them.

Added to that mystery, was a something not of this world which dignifies the persons and bearing of those who move in higher planes than ordinary mortals. This impenetrable something it is which holds regal sway over men and women of inferior moral and intellectual calibre, compelling arrogance and pride of place to bow in awe, where they cannot emulate or understand. That some thing is the divine in genius, and being divine it is inscrutable, as are all the outgoings of divinity in Nature and in art.

Chapter II

" Music should strike fire from the heart of man, and bring tears from the eyes of woman. " — Beethoven. A FEW days after the " musical evening " the Herders were at the station anxiously awaiting the arrival of the train which was to bring back their eldest daughter Hedwig, who had been travelling in Bavaria with her cousin, Fraulein Gotthold. Hedwig was a well-grown, merry, lively girl of nineteen summers ; with a light and joyous bound she sprang from the compartment, and was at once the centre of a happy family group ; in a few minutes bag and baggage were packed into a car, and away they drove home, where a more than usually dainty dinner had been prepared in antici pation of the return of the long absent one. Soon all were seated round the table, and a right gay party it was ; not one of the large family was missing, even the pug, exquisite in its ugliness, shared in the general rejoicing.

Thanks to Mar tina's housewifely exertions and skill, everything in the cooking line was a success — a fact attested by the speedy disappearance of the contents of the various dishes. Hedwig was, of course, besieged with a hundred and one questions respecting what she had done, seen, and heard during her travels, each of which she was supposed to answer to the full satisfaction of the inquirer. It transpired that during her stay in Munich she had made an agreeable acquaintance with a young English lady. One day as she and her cousin were seated at a little table in the garden of a cafe, a stranger came up to them, and, in a half shy, half friendly manner, asked, in fairly good German, whether the empty seat at their table was at liberty. Hedwig had already noticed her, for she had passed up and down several times looking in vain for a vacant chair.

On receiving a reply in the affirma tive, she sat down beside Hedwig ; presently the waiter brought the ladies their coffee, and the stranger took the opportunity of ordering a cup for herself. Hedwig and her cousin were both interested and amused, because her pronunciation was decidedly foreign ; many minutes did not elapse before she began to remark upon the beautiful weather, and finally the three ladies fell into friendly conversation. It appeared that she was travelling in Germany with her father, that she had recently left Leipzig, and was to return to England by way of Burgam hafen, where she was invited to stay with friends ; in Munich she had taken up her temporary abode with a distant relative, who wished her to remain at least a fortnight. In Leipzig she had been staying with an old schoolfellow, who was married to a German professor, and had greatly enjoyed herself in that interesting city.

Winifred Newman — for that was her name — was a rosy-cheeked, bright eyed girl of apparently twenty years. Her voice was soft and her bearing affable, though touched with a certain self-consciousness essentially English; she was fair and of moderate height, her figure good, her dress tasteful and modest; when at rest her face had a sort of gone-in look ; the nose was Grecian, the mouth betokened firmness and mirthfulness; to hear her laugh was to laugh too, so contagiously full of fun was its ring. She came of a good English family on the father's side; he was a man of learning, a laborious and indefatigable student. Her mother was of Scotch descent; she had been dead about two years, and Winifred now superintended her father's house. Dr. Newman was to join his daughter in Munich in the course of a week, being necessitated to remain longer in Leipzig in consequence of B having been deputed by a geological society in England to represent it at a gathering of scientific men to be held in that city.

The accidental meeting in the garden of the cafe was the commencement of pleasant intercourse between the girls, which came abruptly to an end, at least for a time, as at the beginning of the following week Hedwig had to return to her home at Burgamhafen. In those few days, however, there was abundant opportunity, the weather being remarkably fine, in which to take long walks to gether; they explored unfrequented paths and were rewarded by many an agreeable surprise and innocent adventure unknown to those who timorously keep to beaten tracks. Winifred's warmth of feeling, appreciation of the beautiful and sublime in Nature, and her enthusiastic admiration of Germany found ready response in the true-hearted, unsophisticated Hedwig, who, whilst possessed of large sympathies, yet was German to the very core.

One afternoon they arranged to drink coffee together in the garden of the cafe at three o'clock, that being the time at which the band was accustomed to play. The time came, the weather was perfect, Nature like a grand poem. After exchanging friendly greetings they settled down to sip their coffee and enjoy the music; the band had just struck up the first piece, which was a selection from " Lohengrin," then followed the spirited overture to " Egmont." The girls' faces were a study, so rapt, so interested was the manner of their listening, not a word was exchanged, but there was the telegraphy of looks ; nor were those looks lost upon some of the band, for the young ladies were seated sufficiently close to the orchestra to be observed by those of the musicians nearest to the conductor. There are listeners and listeners.

To listen well is an art. Good listeners contribute more to the inspiring of a preacher, lecturer, actor, or musician than they sometimes imagine. In the quarter of an hour's pause between the two parts of the programme, Miss Newman and Fraulein Herder fell into an animated discussion about musical matters in general and Wagner in particular; Hedwig was a vehement admirer of him, and maintained that Winifred's lack of enthusiastic admiration was due to her not properly understanding his works. " If you understood him you would be compelled to admire him — you could not do otherwise." " I do admire him, but not to an exaggerated degree; I admit that his genius is superb and his works difficult of comprehension, because they are so extraordinary, but I think it is unfair to place him above Beethoven.

He is unapproachable, the grandest interpreter of the infinitely various emotions of the human heart who has ever lived. He and Mozart are my heroes in the sphere of music, and I am jealous of their being in the least underrated." Hedwig looked amused as she listened, and not a little pleased at the warmth of tone in which Winifred pleaded for Beethoven's supremacy. " I also greatly admire Beethoven and Mozart, but you must come to Burgamhafen and hear plenty of Wagner's compositions, then you will be better able to judge. I only hope some day you will hear his operas as they are rendered in Bay reuth, for that is the only place, I believe, where they are to be heard to perfection." Long ere their talk had ended that afternoon they both found that they were one in love of classical music. Hedwig, before leaving Munich, made Winifred promise that she would write and let her know as soon as the date of her arrival in Burgamhafen was quite decided.

Thus the two girls were separated for a while, but of them it was not true "out of sight out of mind," for it was a beautiful instance of genuine friendship, a friendship destined to colour their whole future lives.

Chapter III

" Give me some music ; music, moody food Of us that trade in love ! " — Shakespeare. Werner Spengel was sitting alone in his private room one evening. He had been reading, or rather trying to read, a musical criticism, but in vain; he was ill at ease and could not concentrate his thoughts. At last he hastily laid aside the book, rose, lighted a cigar, and paced the room to and fro. Then he sat down again and buried his face in his hands. Whilst thus lost to all around, he had not heard a light, quick tap at the door, and was, therefore, somewhat disconcerted by the entrance of a young man, who frankly and unceremoniously held out his hand, saying : " Welcome, welcome back to Burgamhafen, old fellow ! " It was Ekkehard Henschel, the bosom friend of Werner. He had the distinction of being his only intimate youthful friend, for Werner had a peculiar trait among others — a trait due to his craving for living experience and for that inspira tion to be derived from contact with mature minds — a love of intercourse with older men of ability.

I ■> CHEQUERED COURTSHIP. Ekkehard was a promising young sculptor of twenty-three years of age. He had light hair and moustache, intelligent roguish eyes of an indefin able colour. At times he was as playful as a kitten, at others thoughtful and reserved to moodiness. He was devoted to art, had a fine ear for music and a rare love for Nature. Werner, contrary to his usual habit, coldly acknowledged Ekkehard's cheery words of welcome. " Why, what is the matter ? " asked he. " You look like a duck in thunder, and stare at me as if you were dreaming." A faint smile passed over Werner's pallid features, and his friend continued : " You have been somewhat of a dreamer as long as I have known you, but after the visit to Leipzig I did expect to see a brighter face than this. Enough ! just tell me something about your doings.

How was it at Leipzig?" " Pretty fair," answered Werner, scarcely listing his eyes. " Did you go to the Gewandhaus ? " " Yes." " Did you make any excursions ? " " Several." " Did you go further than Leipzig ? I had an idea you intended to visit friends in Sommerfeld." " There was no time for that." " Did you give my card to my old fellow student?" Yes. " Has he sent me a message ? " Werner searched on his writing-table, which was strewn with papers, and under a heap he found a letter ; handing it to Ekkehard, he said : " Siemsen gave me this for you." " Oh ! what a budget." Whilst Ekkehard was occupied with the perusal of the long letter, Werner went to the window, and, looking listlessly out upon the passers-by, played on the panes. " I am glad that Siemsen has at last sent the promised information.

It is capital ; just what I was needing. Have you heard about my new piece of work ? " But Werner, who was still standing at the window, did not pay any heed to his friend's question. Ekkehard, who had noticed that Werner either did not answer his questions, or only in mono syllables, now became impatient. " What is come over you ? It seems to me that my presence disturbs you, so I will make myself scarce," whereupon he folded the letter, took his hat and stick, and was about to rush off without further ado, when Werner, suddenly conscious of his lack of civility, hastened after him and held him fast. " Ekkehard ! " he exclaimed, and the former allowed himself to be led back into the room. For a moment neither spoke ; Ekkehard was excited, but he was quickly pacified by the deeply sad expression of his friend's face, and was still more overcome as Werner now extended his hand as if to ask forgiveness.

" Excuse me," said Werner entreatingly, but Ekkehard stood motionless. " You must have some secret trouble ; something must be the matter, for you have never treated me like this before," said he at last, in as gentle a tone as he could muster, and putting his right hand impressively into Werner's, he continued : " Can you not confide in me ? " Werner looked upon the ground. " Another time, my dear fellow ; not to-day," he stammered, passing his hand over his forehead. " But will you forgive me, Ekkehard ? " " Forgive you what ? " " For seeming to play with your confidence." " Don't speak about it any more. I was offended, but it is all over now." " Well, you won't bear any grudge against me for my surly behaviour to-day ? " " To be sure not ; that I promise you ; " so saying, a hearty shake of the hand confirmed the renewal of their friendship.

Ekkehard was himself once more, and his face was lighted up with its customary expression of good humour and intelligence. Werner's, however, had already relapsed into its former sad look ; it was but a furtive gleam of sun shine which had played upon his handsome features as they shook hands together. Ekkehard felt sincerely sorry for Werner, and hoping to rouse him by playfulness, he suddenly looked him full in the face, half inquiringly and half mischievously. " Come now ; out with it. Have you seen some pretty maiden who has taken your heart by storm ? " " Beware ! Beware ! Trust her not ; She is fooling thee ! Werner met the question with merely an un successful attempt at a laugh. " Well, before I go (for I must be off at once) I want just to mention that we are due at Herder's next Wednesday.

Father and Norbert are going about seven o'clock, and I shall pop in somewhat later. I have to work hard at my new model, so I shall not be able to go early. By the way, you have not seen this model ; if you will come when you have half an hour to spare I will show it to you, for I want to know what you think about it." "Yes ; we are to meet at Herder's next week," said Werner, more cheerfully. " I spoke to Herr Herder in the city this morning, and he asked me to come ; he said they intended to try some of Wagner's and Mozart's compositions on the wind instruments." "Mind you come! Good night!" and, shaking Werner's hand once more, Ekkehard opened the door, bounded down the stairs, and was gone, leaving Werner alone, not quite knowing whether to be amused or vexed by his friend's abruptness.

His heart was still heavy ; though words of confession had almost started to his lips, yet he had lacked the courage to hear his own voice when it came to the point. Does it seem strange that to this dearest friend Werner Spengel sealed his lips con cerning that which was then agitating him ? We deem it not strange. There are sacred secrets which it were profanity hastily to unbosom. In this mood Werner sat down at the piano to find some relief for his pent-up feelings in extem porizing. Never poet spoke truer words than Moore: " 'Tis only music's stiain Can sweetly soothe and not betray." The instrument, which was a grand, presented to him by Herr Herder, stood in the middle of the room, the presiding genius, as it were, of this sanctum. The tones, as they gave forth now a full majestic forte, then a melting pianissimo, seemed to be almost human, so melting, so rich and full was the timbre.

The room, with its artistic disorder, its interesting orderly confusion of bric-a-brac, the faces of musicians and poets who looked down upon one from busts and portraits, all unmistakably indicated the refined, artistic taste of Werner Spengel. As surely as we give a room somewhat of our own characteristic taste, so surely it, in its turn, influences us. So this room, in which Werner spent many a studious, lonely hour, doubt less exercised no inconsiderable influence over its gifted occupant.