What is it that now and again makes a woman in a single moment take such a powerful grip of a man's fancy that he can never shake himself free again, and never wants to?
Tunes can be like that, sometimes. Not the pretty little tinkling tunes that please everybody at once; the pleasure of them can fade in a year, a month—even a week, a day! But those from a great mint, and whose charm will last a man his lifetime!
Many years ago a great pianist, to amuse some friends (of whom I was one), played a series of waltzes by Schubert which I had never heard before—the "Soirées de Vienne," I think they were called. They were lovely from beginning to end; but one short measure in particular was full of such extraordinary enchantment for me that it has really haunted me through life. It is as if it were made on purpose for me alone, a little intimate aside à mon intention—the gainliest, happiest thought I had ever heard expressed in music. For nobody else seemed to think those particular bars were more beautiful than all the rest; but, oh! the difference to me!
And said I to myself: "That's Leah; and all the rest is some heavenly garden of roses she's walking in!"
Tempo di valsa:
Rum—tiddle‑iddle um tum tum,
Tiddle‑tiddle‑iddle‑iddle um tum, tum
Tum tiddle iddle‑iddle um tum, tum
Tiddle‑iddle, iddle‑hay! ... etc., etc.
Rum—tiddle‑iddle um tum tum,
Tiddle‑tiddle‑iddle‑iddle um tum, tum
Tum tiddle iddle‑iddle um tum, tum
Tiddle‑iddle, iddle‑hay! ... etc., etc.
That's how the little measure begins, and it goes on just for a couple of pages. I can't write music, unfortunately, and I've nobody by me at just this moment who can; but if the reader is musical and knows the "Soirées de Vienne," he will guess the particular waltz I mean.
Well, the Düsseldorf railway station is not a garden of roses; but when Leah stepped out of that second‑class carriage and looked straight at Barty, dans le blanc des yeux, he fitted her to the tune he loved best just then (not knowing the "Soirées de Vienne"), and it's one of the tunes that last forever:
"Du bist die Ruh', der Friede mild!"