He was also informed of the death of Herr Carovius. His last hours were said to have been very hard: he had kept crying out, “My flute, give me my flute!”
VIII
In August, 1909, Daniel’s pupils celebrated the fiftieth birthday of their master. They made him a great number of presents, and gave him a dinner in the inn at the Sign of the Ox.
One of his pupils, an extremely handsome young fellow for whose future Daniel had the highest of hopes, presented him with a huge bouquet of orange lilies, wild natives of the woods around Eschenbach. He had gathered them himself, and arranged them in a costly vase.
The menu at the dinner was quite frugal; the wine was Franconian country wine. During the dinner, Daniel rose, took his glass in his hand, and, with a far-away look in his eyes, said: “I drink to the health and happiness of a creature who is a stranger to all of you. She grew up here in Eschenbach. Many years ago she vanished in a most mysterious way. But I know that she is alive and happy at this hour.”
His pupils all raised their glasses. They looked at him, and were deeply moved by the strength and clarity of his features.
After the dinner he and his pupils went to the old church. He had both of the large doors opened so that the bright light of day might pour in unimpeded. Up in the lofty vaults of the nave, where all had been dark but a moment ago, there was now a milky clearness and cheerfulness.
He went to the organ and began to play. Some men and women who chanced to be passing by came in and sat down on the benches with the boys. Then a group of children entered. They tripped timidly through the open doors, stopped, looked around, and opened their eyes as wide as children can. Other people came in; for the tones of the organ had penetrated the humble homes. They looked up at the organ silently and seriously; for its exalted melodies had, without their being prepared for it, carried them away from their everyday existence, and lifted them up above its abject lowliness.
The tones grew louder and louder, until they sounded like the prayer of a heart overflowing with feeling. As the close of the great hymn drew on, a little girl was heard weeping from among the uninvited auditors.
It was Agnes who wept. Had life been fully awakened in her? Was love calling her out into the unknown? Was the life of her mother being repeated in her?