“When the time comes thou wilt soon find me if it is necessary—And thy music,” pursued Eugen. “Remember that in all troubles that may come to thee, and whatever thou mayst pass through, there is one great, beautiful goddess who abides above the troubles of men, and is often most beautiful in the hearts that are most troubled. Remember—whom?”
“Beethoven,” was the prompt reply.
“Just so. And hold fast to the service of the goddess Music, the most beautiful thing in the world.”
“And thou art a musician,” said Sigmund, with a little laugh, as if it “understood itself” that his father should naturally be a priest of “the most beautiful thing in the world.”
I hurry over that short time before the parting came. Eugen said to me:
“They are sending for him—an old servant. I am not afraid to trust him with him.”
And one morning he came—the old servant. Sigmund happened at the moment not to be in the sitting-room; Eugen and I were. There was a knock, and in answer to our Herein! there entered an elderly man of soldierly appearance, with a grizzled mustache, and stiff, military bearing; he was dressed in a very plain, but very handsome livery, and on entering the room and seeing Eugen, he paused just within the door, and saluted with a look of deep respect; nor did he attempt to advance further. Eugen had turned very pale.
It struck me that he might have something to say to this messenger of fate, and with some words to that effect I rose to leave them together. Eugen laid his hand upon my arm.
“Sit still, Friedhelm.” And turning to the man, he added: “How were all when you left, Heinrich?”
“Well, Herr Gr—”