“Music certainly can be work, and where there is real talent, it can be a splendid career,” Mr. Delrick continued. “I think you ought to let your son learn an instrument. His longing for it is so great that he would gladly do the heaviest work to have this wish gratified.”
Vinzenz Lesa put by his pipe, which was a sure sign of intense excitement.
“Sir,” he said with suppressed anger, “Vinzenz Lesa’s only son shall not be a musician. He has an estate on which he can live like a gentleman. If he wants to blow a trumpet later on, he can well afford to. But it is quite another matter to take a boy away from a healthy, sound work and bring him up to playing instruments and making music. He has no sense yet and would probably come to me and say what you have just told me, that he wants to make music his career. No sir, Vinzenz Lesa’s son is not going to be a travelling musician.”
“All musicians do not necessarily have to be vagabonds,” was Mr. Delrick’s quick reply. “There are many musicians with glorious gifts who do their work quite differently.”
“Yes, and they all come to one’s house,” continued the excited father, “many hundreds of them. They all make music. The father plays on a broken fiddle and a woman in rags sings with a shrill voice. That’s the end of all of them! If you had an only son, sir, would you let him become such a one?”
“Surely not one like that,” replied Mr. Delrick. “But if I should happen to have a son with great gifts as a composer, nothing would prevent me from furthering his wishes.”
“My boy has not got great gifts,” said the father obstinately, “because such great gifts don’t happen often. Will you believe me when I say that as soon as Vinzi comes to reason, he’ll be glad and grateful that he can live on a beautiful farm and doesn’t have to wander about the world as a musician?”
Mr. Delrick had to admit to himself that he really did not know how much talent Vinzi had. All he knew was the boy’s great longing. He also felt that Mr. Lesa’s opinion about a musician’s miserable life could not possibly be changed. He had puzzled how he could be certain on that point. How otherwise would he have the right to fight the father’s great disinclination? Maybe he should rather support the father’s opinion and help to bring his son to the right path.
“Mr. Lesa,” he said, rising and giving his hand to his host, “don’t let us talk about it any more today, for we don’t seem to come to an understanding, but I mean to take it up again and I hope we shall fully agree with each other then. We have always gotten along so well till now.”
“So we have,” replied Vinzenz Lesa, shaking the proffered hand. “Whenever we don’t agree, I always know that you mean well.”