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Page 5
Before nightfall, occasional streaks of sunshine shot across the
mountain. It did not last, however, and when we reached our
stopping-place, it was raining below and snowing above us.
The next morning our road dropped into a ravine, bringing something to
admire at every turn. Leaving our course, we visited the Cascade of
Horsfall, the beauty of which amply repaid us for the delay it cost.
That night we slept at Herisau, the largest town in the Canton, and
here I was to part with Spruner. There was no difficulty in reaching
the lower valley. With many shakes of the hand, and "May God's
blessing be upon you,'" we parted: one to take the railroad to Zurich,
the other back to his household charms, and the work he had chosen.
A Night In The Cathedral.
Franz Hoffner's father was kappelmeister; and the old cathedral with
its grained arches and cloistered aisles resounded with rare music, as
the organist took his seat, and run his fingers over the keys with the
careless ease of one who knows not only to control, but to infuse
something of his own spirit into the otherwise senseless machine
before him. Under his inspiration it became a living, breathing form;
lifting the hearts of worshippers, and giving them glimpses of what is
hereafter to be obtained.
Herr Hoffner was a rare musician; but, alas, musicians are no
exception to the rule: the wheel is always turning; one goes up and
another goes down. A new star had risen. Court belles and beauties
grew enthusiastic. The elector's heart was touched; his influence was
asked. "Herr Hoffner has been here long enough," it was said. There
was a twinge of the electoral conscience.
Herr Hoffner went to his house a ruined man; and the new favorite,
Carl Von Stein, played upon the keys so dear to the heart of the old
organist.
Herr Hoffner had a wife and two lovely children; and one would suppose
that he could live in the beautiful cottage the elector had given him,
independent of the favorite. But no; deprived of his old instrument
all else was lost to him. For hours would he sit before his humble
door, heedless of his wife's entreaties or the childish prattle of
Franz and Nanette; his eye riveted on the old cathedral, and his hands
playing nervously, as though cheating himself with the idea he was
still at the organ. Then roused by a sudden inspiration, he would rush
to the piano and play till his hands dropped from mere exhaustion.
Franz and Nanette loved music, and they could play skilfully, but they
were all too young to be of service; and thus they lived cut off from
all outward influences befitting their age; loving music above
everything else, and yearning for the time when they could go out and
win for their father, as he had once done for them.
Years passed. Franz Hoffner was a tall, slight boy, and his father was
blind. Sitting at his cottage door he could no longer see the tall
towers of the old cathedral, but he could hear the chime of stately
bells--and his fingers played on: while Franz and Nanette not
unfrequently climbed up the winding stairs, just to beg Herr Von
Stein to let them touch the keys their father used to love.
[Illustration]
It happened one day the organist went out and left the key in the
lock. Franz entered with the evening worshippers. A nameless feeling
seized him. Urged on by the sudden impulse, he mounted the stairs. He
did not dream of playing, he only thought of the organ as his father's
friend; and to seat himself on the stool where his father had so often
sat was all he aimed to do. A moment, and he spied the key; would
there be any harm in raising the lid and playing himself? Herr Von
Stein had never denied him. He grew courageous. A few chords and Franz
forgot that his father would be expecting him; piece after piece was
played till his memory could serve him no longer, and then he began to
improvise.
All at once heavy shadows were cast over the keys: he looked down
into the church, it was dark and still. A strange awe seized him, he
felt that it was night; and the great doors locked. Hastily as his
trembling limbs would allow, he crept down the stairs. Darkness
shrouded the aisles. He reached the doors, they were barred and
bolted. What would his father say? and Nanette, would she think where
he was, and rouse the old door-keeper?
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