You know that five years ago women were not allowed to study counterpoint at the Conservatory. In fact, anything more advanced than elementary harmony was debarred. The ability of the feminine intellect to comprehend the intricacies of a stretto, or cope with double counterpoint in the tenth, if not openly denied, was severely questioned. This carefully nourished conservatism has yielded considerably. The counterpoint class is now open to women, although as yet comparatively few avail themselves of the opportunity. Formerly, too, all the teachers in the Conservatory were men, but one finds to-day two women enrolled as professors among the forty on the list.
"I should like to enter the Partitur Lesen class," said I, innocently, not then having learned all this.
Stavenhagen looked at the little man. The little man looked back at Stavenhagen. If I had thrown a bombshell they could not have appeared more startled. The little man at once abandoned his letters and stood staring, a few feet in front of me.
"There have never been any women in the class. I am right, am I not, Herr Sekretariat?" said Stavenhagen.
"You are right, Herr Direktor," responded the other. He held his hands behind him and gazed at me as one might at a curious species of animal. I felt I ought to be tagged, like those poor creatures in the Zoo, "Rare. From North America."
"Is the class full, Herr Sekretariat?" inquired Stavenhagen.
"About thirty men have registered, Herr Direktor," solemnly answered the secretary.
There was a pause.
"Have you ever played string quarters from score, Fräulein?" inquired the director.
"Yes, Herr Direktor," said I, with that supreme calmness which comes at times when one is inwardly much disturbed. Again there was a pause. Even I began to be impressed by the solemnity of the occasion.