stories by english authors in germany(旅德英国作家的故事)-第4章
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possession he takes of their very spirit。 All the passion and pathos and
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wildness and longing had found an inspired interpreter； and those who
listened to her were held by the magic which was her own secret； and
which had won for her such honour as comes only to the few。 She
understood Schumann's music； and was at her best with him。
Had she； perhaps； chosen to play his music this evening because she
wished to be at her best？ Or was she merely being impelled by an
overwhelming force within her？ Perhaps it was something of both。
Was she wishing to humiliate these people who had received her so
coldly？ This little girl was only human； perhaps there was something of
that feeling too。 Who can tell？ But she played as she had never played in
London； or Paris； or Berlin； or New York； or Philadelphia。
At last she arrived at the 〃Carnaval；〃 and those who heard her declared
afterward that they had never listened to a more magnificent rendering。
The tenderness was so restrained； the vigour was so refined。 When the last
notes of that spirited 〃Marche des Davidsbundler contre les Philistins〃 had
died away； she glanced at Oswald Everard； who was standing near her
almost dazed。
〃And now my favourite piece of all；〃 she said； and she at once began
the 〃Second Novelette；〃 the finest of the eight； but seldom played in
public。
What can one say of the wild rush of the leading theme； and the
pathetic longing of the intermezzo？
。 。 。 The murmuring dying notes； That fall as soft as snow
on the sea；
and
The passionate strain that； deeply going； Refines the
bosom it trembles through。
What can one say of those vague aspirations and finest thoughts which
possess the very dullest among us when such music as that which the little
girl had chosen catches us and keeps us； if only for a passing moment； but
that moment of the rarest worth and loveliness in our unlovely lives？
What can one say of the highest music except that； like death； it is the
great leveller： it gathers us all to its tender keepingand we rest。
The little girl ceased playing。 There was not a sound to be heard； the
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magic was still holding her listeners。 When at last they had freed
themselves with a sigh； they pressed forward to greet her。
〃There is only one person who can play like that；〃 cried the major；
with sudden inspiration〃she is Miss Thyra Flowerdew。〃
The little girl smiled。
〃That is my name；〃 she said； simply； and she slipped out of the room。
The next morning； at an early hour； the bird of passage took her flight
onward； but she was not destined to go off unobserved。 Oswald Everard
saw the little figure swinging along the road； and she overtook her。
〃You little wild bird！〃 he said。 〃And so this was your great ideato
have your fun out of us all； and then play to us and make us feel I don't
know how； and then to go。〃
〃You said the company wanted stirring up；〃 she answered； 〃and I
rather fancy I have stirred them up。〃
〃And what do you suppose you have done for me？〃 he asked。
〃I hope I have proved to you that the bellows…blower and the organist
are sometimes identical；〃 she answered。
But he shook his head。
〃Little wild bird；〃 he said； 〃you have given me a great idea； and I will
tell you what it is： /to tame you/。 So good…bye for the present。〃
〃Good…bye；〃 she said。 〃But wild birds are not so easily tamed。〃
Then she waved her hand over her head； and went on her way singing。
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KOOSJE： A STUDY OF DUTCH
LIFE
by JOHN STRANGE WINTER
Her name was Koosje van Kampen； and she lived in Utrecht； that most
quaint of quaint cities； the Venice of the North。
All her life had been passed under the shadow of the grand old Dom
Kerk； she had played bo…peep behind the columns and arcades of the
ruined； moss…grown cloisters； had slipped up and fallen down the steps
leading to the /grachts/； had once or twice； in this very early life； been
fished out of those same slimy； stagnant waters； had wandered under the
great lindens in the Baan； and gazed curiously up at the stork's nest in the
tree by the Veterinary School； had pattered about the hollow…sounding
streets in her noisy wooden /klompen/； had danced and laughed； had
quarrelled and wept； and fought and made friends again； to the tune of the
silver chimes high up in the Domchimes that were sometimes old
/Nederlandsche/ hymns； sometimes Mendelssohn's melodies and tender
〃Lieder ohne Worte。〃
But that was ever so long ago； and now she had left her romping
childhood behind her； and had become a maid…servanta very dignified
and aristocratic maid…servant indeedwith no less a sum than eight pounds
ten a year in wages。
She lived in the house of a professor； who dwelt on the Munster
Kerkhoff； one of the most aristocratic parts of that wonderfully aristocratic
city； and once or twice every week you might have seen her； if you had
been there to see； busily engaged in washing the red tile and blue slate
pathway in front of the professor's house。 You would have seen that she
was very pleasant to look at； this Koosje； very comely and clean； whether
she happened to be very busy； or whether it had been Sunday； and； with
her very best gown on； she was out for a promenade in the Baan； after
duly going to service as regularly as the Sabbath dawned in the grand old
Gothic choir of the cathedral。
During the week she wore always the same costume as does every
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other servant in the country： a skirt of black stuff； short enough to show a
pair of very neat…set and well…turned ankles； clad in cloth shoes and
knitted stockings that showed no wrinkles； over the skirt a bodice and a
kirtle of lilac； made with a neatly gathered frilling about her round brown
throat； above the frilling five or six rows of unpolished garnet beads
fastened by a massive clasp of gold filigree； and on her head a spotless
white cap tied with a neat bow under her chinas neat； let me tell you； as
an Englishman's tie at a party。
But it was on Sunday that Koosje shone forth in all the glory of a black
gown and her jewellerywith great ear…rings to match the clasp of her
necklace； and a heavy chain and cross to match that again； and one or two
rings； while on her head she wore an immense cap； much too big to put a
bonnet over； though for walking she was most particular to have gloves。
Then； indeed； she was a young person to be treated with respect； and
with respect she was undoubtedly treated。 As she passed along the quaint；
resounding streets； many a head was turned to look after her； but Koosje
went on her way like the staid maiden she was； duly impressed with the
fact that she was principal servant of Professor van Dijck； the most
celebrated authority on the study of osteology in Europe。 So Koosje never
heeded the looks； turned her head neither to the right nor to the left； but
went sedately on her business or pleasure； whichever it happened to be。
It was not likely that such a treasure could remain long unnoticed and
unsought after。 Servants in the Netherlands； I hear； are not so good but that
they might be better； and most people knew what a treasure Professor van
Dijck had in his Koosje。 However； as the professor conscientiously raised
her wages from time to time； Koosje never thought of leaving him。
But there is one bribe no woman can resistthe bribe that is offered by
love。 As Professor van Dijck had expected and feared； that bribe ere long
was held out to Koosje； and Koosje was too weak to resist it。 Not that he
wished her to do so。 If the girl had a chance of settling well and happily
for life； he would be the last to dream of throwing any obstacle in her way。
He had come to be an old man himself； he lived all alone； save for his
servants； in a great； rambling house； whose huge apartments were all set
out with horrible anatomical preparations and grisly skeletons； and； though
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the stately passages were paved with white marble； and led into rooms
which would easily have accommodated crowds of guests； he went into no
society save that of savants as old and fossil…like as himself； in other
words； he was an old bachelor who lived entirely for his profession and
the study of the great masters by the interpretation of a genuine old
Stradivari。 Yet the old professor had a memory； he recalled the time when
he had been young who now was oldthe time when his heart was a good
deal more tender； his blood a great deal warmer； and his fancy very much
more easily stirred than nowadays。 There was a dead…and…gone romance
which had broken his heart； sentimentally speakinga romance long since
crumbled into dust； which had sent him for comfort into the study of
osteology and the music of the Stradivari； yet the memory thereof made
him considerably more lenient to Koosje's weakness than Koosje herself
had ever expected to find him。
Not that she had intended to tell him at first； she was only three and
twenty； and； though Jan van der Welde was as fine a fellow as could be
seen in Utrecht； and had good wages and something put by； Koosje was by
no means inclined to rush headlong into matrimony with undue hurry。 It
