[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
bed, having no recollection of his illness, and no suspicion that he had allowed Klaus to read his inner
thought. Nay; had he himself any knowledge that such a horrible idea as the sacrifice of his old master to his
ambition had ever entered his mind? Hardly. The only immediate result of his fatal illness was, that as, by
reason of his vow, his artistic passion could find no issue, another passion awoke, which might avail to feed
his ambition and his insatiable fancy. He plunged headlong into the study of the Occult Arts, of Alchemy and
of Magic. In the practice of Magic the young dreamer sought to stifle the voice of his passionate longing for
his, as he thought, for ever lost violin . . .
Weeks and months passed away, and the conversation about Paganini was never resumed between the master
and the pupil. But a profound melancholy had taken possession of Franz, the two hardly exchanged a word,
the violin hung mute, chordless, full of dust, in its habitual place. It was as the presence of a soulless corpse
between them.
The young man had become gloomy and sarcastic, even avoiding the mention of music. Once, as his old
professor, after long hesitation, took out his own violin from its dust-covered case and prepared to play,
Franz gave a convulsive shudder, but said nothing. At the first notes of the bow, however, he glared like a
madman, and rushing out of the house, remained for hours, wandering in the streets. Then old Samuel in his
turn threw his instrument down, and locked himself up in his room till the following morning.
One night as Franz sat, looking particularly pale and gloomy, old Samuel suddenly jumped from his seat, and
after hopping about the room in a magpie fashion, approached his pupil, imprinted a fond kiss upon the
IV 70
Nightmare Tales
young man's brow, and squeaked at the top of his shrill voice:
"Is it not time to put an end to all this?" . . .
Whereupon, starting from his usual lethargy, Franz echoed, as in a dream:
"Yes, it is time to put an end to this."
Upon which the two separated, and went to bed.
On the following morning, when Franz awoke, he was astonished not to see his old teacher in his usual place
to greet him. But he had greatly altered during the last few months, and he at first paid no attention to his
absence, unusual as it was. He dressed and went into the adjoining-room, a little parlour where they had their
meals, and which separated their two bedrooms. The fire had not been lighted since the embers had died out
on the previous night, and no sign was anywhere visible of the professor's busy hand in his usual
housekeeping duties. Greatly puzzled, but in no way dismayed, Franz took his usual place at the corner of the
now cold fire-place, and fell into an aimless reverie. As he stretched himself in his old armchair, raising both
his hands to clasp them behind his head in a favourite posture of his, his hand came into contact with
something on a shelf at his back; he knocked against a case, and brought it violently on the ground.
It was old Klaus' violin-case that came down to the floor with such a sudden crash that the case opened and
the violin fell out of it, rolling to the feet of Franz. And then the chords striking against the brass fender
emitted a sound, prolonged, sad and mournful as the sigh of an unrestful soul; it seemed to fill the whole
room, and reverberated in the head and the very heart of the young man. The effect of that broken
violin-string was magical.
"Samuel!" cried Stenio, with his eyes starting from their sockets, and an unknown terror suddenly taking
possession of his whole being. "Samuel! what has happened? . . . My good, my dear old master!" he called
out, hastening to the professor's little room, and throwing the door violently open. No one answered, all was
silent within.
He staggered back, frightened at the sound of his own voice, so changed and hoarse it seemed to him at this
moment. No reply came in response to his call. Naught followed but a dead silence . . . that stillness which in
the domain of sounds, usually denotes death. In the presence of a corpse, as in the lugubrious stillness of a
tomb, such silence acquires a mysterious power, which strikes the sensitive soul with a nameless terror . . . .
The little room was dark, and Franz hastened to open the shutters.
* * * * *
Samuel was lying on his bed, cold, stiff, and lifeless. . . . At the sight of the corpse of him who had loved him
so well, and had been to him more than a father, Franz experienced a dreadful revulsion of feeling a terrible
shock. But the ambition of the fanatical artist got the better of the despair of the man, and smothered the
feelings of the latter in a few seconds.
A note bearing his own name was conspicuously placed upon a table near the corpse. With trembling hand,
the violinist tore open the envelope, and read the following:
MY BELOVED SON, FRANZ,
When you read this, I shall have made the greatest sacrifice, that your best and only friend
and teacher could have accomplished for your fame. He, who loved you most, is now but an
IV 71
Nightmare Tales
inanimate lump of clay. Of your old teacher there now remains but a clod of cold organic
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]