"But to return to Mohr and his young happiness, I would never have believed it possible that he could have changed so much for the better, as during the last few years.
"He was waiting for me at the railway station, holding in his arms a little boy about three years old, who smiled brightly at me with his wise black eyes. Not until we were out of the crowd and the child could be placed without danger on his own feet, did his father have his arms at liberty to embrace me. Then we walked slowly and silently along the road that led toward the little city, Mohr kept his eyes steadily fixed upon his boy, and only now and then cast a side glance at me, as if he wanted to ask if I had ever seen such a child. 'You must know,' he said at last, 'he has no other nurse than I, and he will not feel the lack. At first Christiane did not believe I had the necessary qualifications for his attendant, and also thought I should probably have something better to do. But now she has discovered that this is my real vocation. We must take ourselves as we are. Your old friend, Heinrich Mohr, who used to imagine that he was something in himself, something out of the common order, a poet, a musician--the devil knows what--has now come to the knowledge, that he's only a transition point, an intermediate step between the Mohrs who were still more insignificant and commonplace, and this little Mohr, who will be greater than all of us, the head and flower of the whole stock. What in me was only impulse, desire, presentiment and desperation, will in him become fulfillment. You laugh, my dear fellow, '(I was not laughing at all)' but first you must learn to know him. To be sure he doesn't inherit from his papa alone; his best qualities may have descended to him from his mother: her strong will, to risk all for all. The elements of a great artist perhaps exist in me too; but criticism, conceit and suspicion kept them forever apart. Well, it is no disgrace to bow to a law of nature. Raphael's father was a miserable dauber, the elder Mozart played his part in the orchestra very badly, and Beethoven's papa too, was by no means a shining light. It's very possible that it was uncomfortable enough for these worthy men to produce nothing remarkable, till they perceived that they had the honor of being transition points, only the retorts as it were, in which nature brewed the elixir of life, which under the name of their sons were to rejuvenate and bless the world?
"While saying these words, he gazed at the little boy who was trotting along very quietly beside the gutter, eating a cake, with a look through whose tenderness gleamed a shade of respect, which would have been laughable, if it were not so touching to see it in our old friend.
"'What's his talent?' I asked at last.
"'We're not yet clear about it,' he answered gravely. 'Like every unusually gifted person he has more than one eminent talent, and we allow them all to develop together. His memory and his musical ear are wonderful. Besides, he has a power of language of which many a boy of six need not be ashamed, and his perception of form and color is beyond all belief. You think me one of those fathers who are crazed by blind partiality; I can't blame you for it, nor will I attack your unbelief with a succession of tricks to display his genius; we take care not to spoil so delicate and rich a nature by training it for a prodigy. As you see him there, eating his cake and bounding merrily about in the sunlight, we leave him entirely to himself, and my whole method of education consists in not telling or teaching him anything, until he asks for information. In ten years, we'll talk about him again.'
"'And Christiane?' I asked.
"'You'll not recognize her,' he said laughing softly, like a person already rejoicing in another's anticipated astonishment. 'I know you've never understood why, from our first meeting, I didn't think her homely; you laughed at me when I said her face was only clouded by sorrow and calamity, and that when this dark varnish was removed a pleasing picture would appear. Well, "who laughs last laughs best." You'll see her and judge for yourself, whether the process of regeneration has not been thoroughly completed in her. It's no wonder either; for how she is appreciated, loved, honored! I may say the whole musical life of our city revolves around her. You've come just at the right time; the Cecilia Society she organized, gives an open air concert to-night; first "Winter and Spring" from the "Seasons" then a time for chat followed by some of Mendelssohn's quartettes. I make myself useful in my way, by playing accompaniments, distributing the parts, and often growling a little in baritone. With us, the women's voices are the best, Christiane's method of instruction has already produced its effect upon them. But we need tenors and basses. Addressing the participants at athletic sports, shooting matches, and workmen's picnics, ruins the voice; everybody thinks he shows his patriotism by shouting, and then can't control his tones when they are required for more delicate use. Well, we must put up with the shadows too. We're living in a provincial town.'
"All this was said with such a radiant face that I saw he would not have exchanged places with any band leader in Vienna or Berlin. I now noticed that the trick which was so peculiar to him, drawing his under lip awry and showing his white upper teeth, had entirely disappeared. He could laugh with his mouth wide open like a child.
"But the author of the comedy 'I am, I, and rely on myself' was still so much like himself, that he didn't ask a question about how I had fared, how my wife looks, and how our little city suits us. But this omission was most amply compensated for by Frau Christiane, who met us just outside the city, a few paces from her charming little house, which is situated among gardens and meadows just beyond the gate. After the first embarrassment always engendered by seeing old faces again, she seemed perfectly at ease, her first question was about you, then I was obliged to tell her about father and his marriage with Frau Valentin, and next of our neighbor Franzelius and his little wife, and so we were soon perfectly comfortable. My attention was attracted by her quiet, gentle manner, which had a shade of suppressed humility, especially when she turned toward her husband, for whose slightest gesture she seemed to be on the alert. Only when the conversation turned upon art, especially in the domain of music, the old harsh strength of our strange friend flashed out like fire beneath ashes. Meantime Mohr had brought a bottle of wine into the pretty honeysuckle covered arbor of their little garden, and now smoking a cigar, sat at the table, while his eyes constantly wandered from his wife to the little boy playing near. 'Did I say too much?' he asked triumphantly, when she was at last called away to give a singing lesson to the Burgermaster's daughter; I was not obliged to use any special self-constraint, not to disturb my old friend in his happy illusions; for the sunlight of happiness although it could not transform our shade loving plant into a blooming rose, has brightened the stern, gloomy face so much, that no one will ever fear it; often at one of her husband's droll ideas, or when the child came bounding up to her with a question, so sweet a smile flitted over her mouth, that one almost forgot her mustache. Her eyes were noticeable enough in old times and happiness has given them a soft, soul-full light. She dresses, so far as I understand such matters, by no means in a rustic fashion, but in extremely modest colors, and without any ornaments. That the people value her highly and know how to prize her talents, I had ample opportunity to notice in the evening at the concert, which all the city attended.
"Much might be told of this concert, but I was most glad to see how Mohr had altered; his satirical vein was entirely lacking, I'm still too weary from to-day's walk for a minute description, so I must reserve this genre picture for a vérbal report, I'll only mention one episode, which shows the tender relations in which our friends stand toward each other. While Father Hayden was being played, in which Christiane did herself great credit, Mohr sat on a bench in the garden, with the boy beside him, who, after a liberal supply of fruit and bread and butter listened very quietly. It had grown tolerably late, and in the pause before the quartette began, the 'sand man' appeared. As the maid-servant was no where to be seen, Papa Mohr took the child in his arms and carried it home, where he stayed until he had put it to bed and given it into the charge of the negligent servant. When he again entered the garden, to enjoy the remainder of the programme, he stood still in astonishment and could scarcely believe his ears. Was that Mendelssohn? No. But what was it? It seemed so familiar--and yet--it could not be what he thought. Yet what else could it be? Yes, it was a quartette which he had himself composed years ago and locked up in a large box with other unsuccessful attempts, including the 'Sinfonia Ironica.' And now he heard it sung before the whole audience, and sung so well, that its conclusion was hailed with frantic applause and shouts of 'Da Capo,' although it had only appeared as a modest supplement to Hayden and Mendelssohn. Who would have suspected Frau Christiane to be capable of such a trick? And especially that, in reply to the numerous questions about the composer, she would be bold enough to name her own husband! But the applause now burst forth like a storm, and I could see how popular our old ci-devant mocker and man-hater was, among his fellow citizens. It was most charming of all, to see him approaching his wife, publicly embrace her and then scold her for having betrayed his youthful errors, while she took advantage of the successful stratagem to tell him what talents he really possessed, and what she had always admired and valued in him.