"My real department," said he, "is the drama; I have only added operatic criticism to it, because our musical men can write nothing but notes. I do not understand much about music; those unfortunate finger exercises disgusted me with the pianoforte, and I have no voice for singing, but I am therefore all the more impressionable, all the freer from prejudice; handicraft is universally the death of art; all men of business are craftsmen, unbia.s.sed only is he who enjoys, and I am thus the fitting exponent of public opinion. What does our great public understand about music? Nothing, absolutely nothing; I a.s.sure you it is unbounded hypocrisy of our society that it pretends to be initiated in the secrets of an art, which one must study like the cabala in order to decipher its marks. Nowhere do the charlatans possess so great a field as here--

'That which cannot declined be Is ta'en for immortality.'

People worship the incomprehensible devoutly and do not know that it is everlastingly incomprehensible. On the other hand it is genuine music that electrifies, that penetrates the nerves; and who does not rejoice at a national melody, the notes of which can be caught up and retained while they are hummed around us, or at a piece for the trumpet at which even the horses begin to neigh and raise their heads?"

Giulia was indignant at the impudence with which the critical musical guide of the capital confessed his ignorance and claimed admiration for it.

"It is not very flattering," said she, "that you study the influence of our art amongst four-footed creatures."

"Influence--that of course is the princ.i.p.al thing! Whether a war-horse raises his head at the trumpet's note or Raffaelle's Cecilie at the sound of the harp, originates in one and the same cause--the magic of music! And in order to feel it thoroughly one must be hampered with no theory; music must insinuate itself around us, or rouse us like an elementary power."

"You may be right," said Giulia, "and yet they are two quite different matters--feeling the charms of music and writing upon them."

"You offer me a challenge," replied Spiegeler, not without bitterness.

"My criticisms are not learned enough for you; they contain nothing about fugues and counter-point, and I do not understand how to designate your highest notes according to the alphabet of _la Scala_.

Nevertheless, I can detect whether they are pure and beautiful or if they leave an unpleasant after-taste which you will then perceive in my criticisms. That was the case recently in 'Norma.' I pitied you on account of your indisposition. You must, indeed, spare yourself; people are already remarking that your performances are moving in a declining scale."

Giulia had risen angrily from the sofa.

"I am a great lover of truth," continued Spiegeler. "We here live in the town of a great Thinker, who spoke the truth ruthlessly. Until now in my criticisms I have extended the cloak of Christian charity over your shortcomings, but my conscience is awakened. For some time I have collected every variety of observations and remarks upon broken and cracked voices; they are not amiss these sc.r.a.ps of thought; they are mental iron filings, and I am seeking the magnet to which they can be attached; I cannot promise you that I may not utilise them in my criticism of your next performance if it satisfy my expectations as little as did your 'Norma.'"

The fiery blood of the Italian now conquered all prudence. Her tall figure was drawn up to its full height, her eye flashed, internal agitation quivered in the corners of her lips, as Giulia cried--

"Well, then, annihilate me; I will gladly be the victim so that not one of nay successors may have the acc.u.mulated poisonous flowers poured over her from the cornucopias of your intellect. We are all, indeed, the slaves of the public; it subscribes to my notes as to your wit, and when my voice becomes hoa.r.s.e and your genius is snuffed out, the Moor's occupation will be gone and he may retire."

"Very true," interposed Spiegeler, nodding his head in a.s.sent.

"The public is perfectly right; yet I, too, have the right to tell you what I think. I despise a criticism which alone aims at its own brilliance, even if it only be the light of mental corruption with which it wanders about like a will-o'-the-wisp."

Spiegeler cast a hostile glance at the singer, rose with difficulty, and grasped the crutch that stood beside him.

"I despise any criticism," continued Giulia, implacably, "that vaunts its own ignorance of that glorious art to which I and we all have dedicated our lives. We are and shall remain in the sanctuary; what do we care about the baying of the dogs at the portals of the temple?"

Noisily Spiegeler seized the second crutch.

"The criticism may be severe, but n.o.ble; brave and conversant with the rules and customs of war; I myself will eat the black soup with the Spartan, little as I may like it, yet not with the Helot! He must carry my shield, else I shall chastise him."

Spiegeler struck the floor with his crutch, so that the room shook.

"That to me, Signora! But beware, my bees may swarm!"

"I shall know how to protect myself against their sting."

"I doubt it; but I thank you--you accord me full liberty once more. I have longed for it, I showed consideration for your beauty, did any favour befall me in consequence? I showed consideration for your worldly fame, it dazzled me as it did the public. Worldly fame, like a soap-bubble it shall collapse. A circus in Barcelona, a Crystal Palace in England, to these may be added a _caf chantant_ in Moscow, and the magic is dissolved. Talent! What is talent? People possess it so long as it is believed in. Talent is a bill at sight, it must be redeemed.

It is little enough to possess talent alone; a singer must cease to begin when her voice begins to cease. There you have a few specimens; how do you like the colour? It is of a brilliant l.u.s.tre, brilliant!

That will create a sensation!"

Giulia stood as if bewildered beneath the drizzling rain of these aphorisms. She kept her hands pressed convulsively upon the table.

"I can discover new stars," cried Spiegeler, "and transform them into falling ones. I have given the German stage two _prime donne_. I can create queens of the opera, but also hurl them to destruction. _Nous verrons_, Signora!"

Beate rusted in from the adjoining room.

Stamping with his crutches, the lame reporter left the boudoir.

"What have you done? _Corpo di bacco!_"

"I feel myself free and great as Italy's most promising actress, young Adelaide Ristori, when, as Mary Stuart, she plunged the knife into her enemy's bosom."

"Unbounded recklessness! What possessed you? We shall be obliged to bear the consequences."

The bell was rung outside.

"I fear nothing more! He comes--it is he!"

With downcast mien Beate announced Lieutenant Buschmann and Herr Bller.

Giulia received her adorers with cold reserve.

Bller, who was as tall as Buschmann, but who, behind the corpulent officer, looked like the latter's shadow, was now one of the Signora's friends most capable of sacrificing himself. After she had rejected his attentions, he had relinquished all hopes of winning her; however, he had vowed to himself to protect and watch over her as much as he possibly could.

He was a young man of principle, n.o.ble-hearted and faithful to his duty; but his exterior was not very prepossessing. A figure thin as a lamp-post, grey eyes, a haggard face and a sharply prominent nose; he seemed to be the embodiment of Immanuel Kant's conception of duty.

Lieutenant Buschmann's principles were less firmly planted, but his outward appearance was superior. It was imposing, of great physical size; his features expressed perfect self-complacency, a healthy colour lay upon his cheeks, and confidence of success flashed from his eyes.

He was little adapted to stand in the ranks, therefore he was generally ordered upon duties which had nothing in common with the march past on parade.

Far removed from resigning, like his friend Bller, who on that account was his friend, he still went out bent upon conquest; for him the beautiful _prima donna_ was a worthy prize.

She looked favourably upon him because he spoke good Italian, and that had also been the excuse for his first visit. Just as he always connected the useful with the agreeable, so he looked upon his visits to Signora Bollini at the same time as lessons in exercising and improving himself in Italian. Even if his loftier plans were shipwrecked, he should not have spent his time quite uselessly, but to the benefit of his linguistic studies.

Thus he now commenced an Italian conversation with the singer, while Beate imparted to Herr Bller the declaration of war which her friend had thrown to the critic. This cast Bller into a state of great perturbation; already he perceived the _mene tekel_ of Belshazzar written in black and white, and felt every sharply pointed word pierce his own bosom like the stroke of a dagger.

Buschmann spoke of "Norma," of the art treasures of Naples and Florence, he lingered fondly over plastic pictures which he certainly set forth in an sthetic light; at the same time, however, he let a bold word fall occasionally, taking greater intimacy for granted.

Then the bell rang again! Giulia started. This time her expectations had not deceived her, it was Herr von Blanden's card which Beate handed to her. How her heart beat! she pressed her hand upon it and rested the other upon the table to keep herself steady. How painful to be obliged to receive him just now; she wished the officer far away who had drawn so defiantly close to her, and even modest Herr Bller, who cast such mournful glances at her, and ever again filled the basket, which he had received,[1] with fresh flowers expressive of his homage; and yet, perhaps, she should be less embarra.s.sed if she were not alone when she greeted him for the first time. She signed to her friend, and soon after Blanden entered the room.

She went to meet him, and offered her hand to him; but she trembled in so doing, and a burning colour suffused her cheeks.

"I am rejoiced," said he, after having been introduced to the other gentlemen, "to be able here in the cold north to renew a brief acquaintance begun in Italy."

Blanden spoke with calmness and ease, and sought by these tactics to mask Giulia's agitation, but Buschmann, who had as good an eye for a countenance as he had for reconnoissance, had long since perceived that no indifferent meeting was now taking place. His jealousy had immediately been roused; he decided at once to reconnoitre the ground more closely, and ventured to the front with one question after another as to the time and place of that meeting, but if he counted upon evasive replies, he had been mistaken. Blanden took it upon himself to speak, and answered so clearly and decidedly that the officer withdrew his _vedettes_.

Blanden felt himself once more entirely under the spell of that beautiful woman of the south; not myrtles and laurels, not the mirror of the lake with the reflection of the lofty Alpine peaks, not the aromatic breath of orange flowers acted now intoxicatingly upon his senses, and yet it was the self-same charm that held him in its spell, at the contemplation of those harmonious features and of that n.o.ble form. But she appeared distant to him, majestically distant, and he could hardly believe that he had once folded her in his arms.

Beneath indifferent conversation both concealed the emotions and thoughts that stirred them inwardly. Vainly Blanden hoped that the first visitors would withdraw and grant him an undisturbed interview.

Lieutenant Buschmann stood bravely to his post, and did not give the slightest indication of retiring from the field; he even at times a.s.sumed a familiar tone towards the singer, which she repelled with displeasure.