"I was not one of her customers. In the first place I had no money; in the second, I have always been obliged to look upon eating and drinking as a necessity, sometimes too much so, so that it has never entered my head to take pleasure and delight in it. And so we took no notice of each other. Only once, in order to tease me, my colleagues made her believe that I wanted some of her cakes. She stepped up to my desk and held her basket out to me. 'I don't want anything, my dear young woman,' I said. 'Well, why do you send for me then?' she cried angrily. I excused myself, and as I saw at once that a practical joke had been played, I explained the situation as best I could. 'Well then, at least give me a sheet of paper to put my cakes on,' she said. I tried to make her understand that it was chancery paper and didn't belong to me, but that I had some paper at home which was mine and that I would bring her some of it. 'I have enough myself at home,' she said mockingly, and broke into a little laugh as she went away.
"That had happened only a few days before and I was thinking of turning the acquaintance to immediate account for the fulfilment of my wish. The next morning, therefore, I buttoned a whole ream of paper—of which there was never a scarcity in our home—under my coat, and went to the office. In order not to betray myself, I kept my armor with great personal inconvenience upon my body until, toward noon, I knew from the going and coming of my colleagues and from the sound of the munching jaws that the cake-vender had arrived. I waited until I had reason to believe that the rush of business was over, then I went out, pulled out my paper, mustered up sufficient courage, and stepped up to the girl. With her basket before her on the ground and her right foot resting on a low stool, on which she usually sat, she stood there humming a soft melody, beating time with her right foot. As I approached she measured me from head to foot, which only added to my confusion. 'My dear young woman,' I finally began, 'the other day you asked me for paper and I had none that belonged to me. Now I have brought some from home, and'—with that I held out the paper. 'I told you the other day,' she replied, 'that I have plenty of paper at home. However, I can make use of everything.' Saying this, she accepted my present with a slight nod and put it into her basket. 'Perhaps you'll take some cake?' she asked, sorting her wares, 'although the best have been sold.' I declined, but told her that I had another wish. 'And what may that be?' she asked, putting her arm through the handle of her basket, drawing herself up to her full height, and flashing her eyes angrily at me. I lost no time telling her that I was a lover of music, although only a recent convert, and that I had heard her singing such beautiful songs, especially one. 'You—heard me—singing?' she flared up. 'Where?' I then told her that I lived near her, and that I had been listening to her while she was at work in the courtyard; that one of her songs had pleased me particularly, and that I had tried to play it after her on my violin. 'Can you be the man,' she exclaimed, 'who scrapes so on the fiddle?' As I mentioned before, I was only a beginner at that time and not until later, by dint of much hard work, did I acquire the necessary dexterity;" the old man interrupted himself, while with the fingers of his left hand he made movements in the air, as though he were playing the violin. "I blushed violently," he continued the narrative, "and I could see by the expression of her face that she repented her harsh words. 'My dear young woman,' I said, 'the scraping arises from the fact that I do not possess the music of the song, and for this reason I should like to ask you most respectfully for a copy of it.' 'For a copy?' she exclaimed. 'The song is printed and is sold at every street-corner.' 'The song?' I replied. 'You probably mean only the words!' 'Why, yes; the words, the song.' 'But the melody to which it is sung—' 'Are such things written down?' she asked. 'Surely,' was my reply, 'that is the most important part.' 'And how did you learn it, my dear young woman?' 'I heard some one singing it, and then I sang it after her.' I was astonished at this natural gift. And I may add in passing that uneducated people often possess the greatest natural talent. But, after all, this is not the proper thing, not real art. I was again plunged into despair. 'But which song do you want?' she asked. 'I know so many.' 'All without the notes?' 'Why, of course. Now which was it?' 'It is so very beautiful,' I explained. 'Right at the beginning the melody rises, then it becomes fervent, and finally it ends very softly. You sing it more frequently than the others.' 'Oh, I suppose it's this one,' she said, setting down her basket, and placing her foot on the stool. Then, keeping time by nodding her head, she sang the song in a very low, yet clear voice, so beautifully and so charmingly that, before she had quite finished, I tried to grasp her hand, which was hanging at her side. 'What do you mean!' she cried, drawing back her arm, for she probably thought I intended to take her hand immodestly. I wanted to kiss it, although she was only a poor girl.—Well, after all, I too am poor now!
"I ran my fingers through my hair in my eagerness to secure the song and when she observed my anxiety, she consoled me and said that the organist of St. Peter's visited her father's store frequently to buy nutmeg, that she would ask him to write out the music of the song, and that I might call for it in a few days. Thereupon she took up her basket and went, while I accompanied her as far as the staircase. As I was making a final bow on the top step, I was surprised by the director, who bade me go to my work and railed against the girl, in whom, he asserted, there wasn't a vestige of good. I was very angry at this and was about to retort that I begged to differ with him, when I realized that he had returned to his office. Therefore I calmed myself and also went back to my desk. But from that time on he was firmly convinced that I was a careless employee and a dissipated fellow.
"As a matter of fact, I was unable to do any decent work on that day or on the following days, for the song kept running through my head. I seemed to be in a trance. Several days passed and I was in doubt whether to call for the music or not. The girl had said that the organist came to her father's store to buy nutmeg; this he could use only for his beer. Now the weather had been cold for some time, and therefore it was probable that the good organist would rather drink wine and thus not be in need of nutmeg so soon. A too hasty inquiry might seem impolite and obtrusive, while, on the other hand, a delay might be interpreted as indifference. I didn't dare address the girl in the corridor, since our first meeting had been noised broad among my colleagues, and they were thirsting for an opportunity to play a practical joke on me.
"In the meantime I had again taken up my violin eagerly and devoted myself to a thorough study of the fundamental principles. Occasionally I permitted myself to improvise, but always closed my window carefully in advance, knowing that my playing had found disfavor. But even when I did open the window, I never heard my song again. Either my neighbor did not sing at all, or else she sang softly and behind closed doors, so that I could not distinguish one note from another.
"At last, about three weeks having passed, I could wait no longer. Two evenings in succession I had even stolen out upon the street, without a hat, so that the servants might think I was looking for something in the house, but whenever I came near the grocery store such a violent trembling seized me that I was obliged to turn back whether I wanted to or not. At last, however, as I said, I couldn't wait any longer. I took courage, and one evening left my room, this time also without a hat, went downstairs and walked with a firm step through the street to the grocery store, in front of which I stopped for a moment, deliberating what was to be done next. The store was lighted and I heard voices within. After some hesitation I leaned forward and peered in from the side. I saw the girl sitting close before the counter by the light, picking over some peas or beans in a wooden bowl. Before her stood a coarse, powerful man, who looked like a butcher; his jacket was thrown over his shoulders and he held a sort of club in his hand. The two were talking, evidently in good humor, for the girl laughed aloud several times, but without interrupting her work or even looking up. Whether it was my unnatural, strained position, or whatever else it may have been, I began to tremble again, when I suddenly felt myself seized by a rough hand from the back and dragged forward. In a twinkling I was in the store, and when I was released and looked about me, I saw that it was the proprietor himself, who, returning home, had caught me peering through his window and seized me as a suspicious character. 'Confound it!' he cried, 'now I understand what becomes of my prunes and the handfuls of peas and barley which are taken from my baskets in the dark. Damn it all!' With that he made for me, as though he meant to strike me.
"I felt utterly crushed, but the thought that my honesty was being questioned soon brought me back to my senses. I therefore made a curt bow and told the uncivil man that my visit was not intended for his prunes or his barley, but for his daughter. At these words the butcher, who was standing in the middle of the store, set up a loud laugh and turned as if to go, having first whispered a few words to the girl, to which she laughingly replied with a resounding slap of her flat hand upon his back. The grocer accompanied him to the door. Meanwhile all my courage had again deserted me, and I stood facing the girl, who was indifferently picking her peas and beans as though the whole affair didn't concern her in the least. 'Sir,' he said, 'what business have you with my daughter?' I tried to explain the circumstance and the cause of my visit. 'Song! I'll sing you a song!' he exclaimed, moving his right arm up and down in rather threatening fashion. 'There it is,' said the girl, tilting her chair sideways and pointing with her hand to the counter without setting down the bowl. I rushed over and saw a sheet of music lying there. It was the song. But the old man got there first, and crumpled the beautiful paper in his hand. 'What does this mean?' he said. 'Who is this fellow?' 'He is one of the gentlemen from the chancery,' she replied, throwing a worm-eaten pea a little farther away than the rest. 'A gentleman from the chancery,' he cried, 'in the dark, without a hat?' I accounted for the absence of a hat by explaining that I lived close by; at the same time I designated the house. 'I know the house,' he cried. 'Nobody lives there but the Court Councilor'—here he mentioned the name of my father—'and I know all the servants.' 'I am the son of the Councilor,' I said in a low voice, as though I were telling a lie. I have seen many changes during my life, but none so sudden as that which came over the man at these words. His mouth, which he had opened to heap abuse upon me, remained open, his eyes still looked threatening, but about the lower part of his face a smile began to play which spread more and more. The girl remained indifferent and continued in her stooping posture. Without interrupting her work, she pushed her loose hair back behind her ears. 'The son of the Court Councilor!' finally exclaimed the old man, from whose face the clouds had entirely disappeared. 'Won't you make yourself comfortable, sir? Barbara, bring a chair!' The girl stirred reluctantly on hers. 'Never mind, you sneak!' he said, taking a basket from a stool and wiping the dust from the latter with his handkerchief. 'This is a great honor,' he continued. 'Has His Honor, the Councilor—I mean His Honor's son, also taken up music? Perhaps you sing like my daughter, or rather quite differently, from notes and according to rule?' I told him that nature had not gifted me with a voice. 'Oh, perhaps you play the piano, as fashionable people do?' I told him I played the violin. 'I used to scratch on the fiddle myself when I was a boy,' he said. At the word 'scratch' I involuntarily looked at the girl and saw a mocking smile on her lips, which annoyed me greatly.
"'You ought to take an interest in the girl, that is, in her music,' he continued. 'She has a good voice, and possesses other good qualities; but refinement—good heavens, where should she get it?' So saying, he repeatedly rubbed the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. I was quite confused at being undeservedly credited with such a considerable knowledge of music, and was just on the point of explaining the true state of affairs, when some one passing the store called in 'Good evening, all!' I started, for it was the voice of one of our servants. The grocer had also recognized it. Putting out the tip of his tongue and raising his shoulders, he whispered: 'It was one of the servants of His Honor, your father, but he couldn't recognize you, because you were standing with your back to the door.' This was so, to be sure, but nevertheless the feeling of doing something on the sly, something wrong, affected me painfully. I managed to mumble a few words of parting, and went out. I should even have left the song behind had not the old man run into the street after me and pressed it into my hand.
"I reached my room and awaited developments. And I didn't have to wait long. The servant had recognized me after all. A few days later my father's private secretary looked me up in my room and announced that I was to leave my home. All my remonstrances were in vain. A little room had been rented for me in a distant suburb and thus I was completely banished from my family. Nor did I see my singer again. She had been forbidden to vend her cakes in the chancery, and I couldn't make up my mind to visit her father's store, since I knew that this would displease mine. Once, when accidentally I met the old grocer on the street, he even turned away from me with an angry expression, and I was stunned. And so I got out my violin and played and practised, being frequently alone half the day.
"But even worse things were in store for me. The fortunes of our house were declining. My youngest brother, a headstrong, impetuous fellow, was an officer in a regiment of dragoons. As the result of a reckless wager, he foolishly swam the Danube, mounted and in full armor, while heated from the exertion of a ride. This escapade, which occurred while he was far away in Hungary, cost him his life. My older brother, my father's favorite, held an appointment as a member of provincial council. In constant opposition to the governor of the province, he even went so far as to promulgate untruthful statements in order to injure his opponent, being secretly incited thereto, as rumor had it, by our father. An investigation followed, and my brother took French leave of the country. Our father's enemies, of whom there were many, utilized this circumstance to bring about his downfall. Attacked on all sides, and at the same time enraged at the waning of his influence, he delivered daily the most bitter speeches at the meetings of the council, and it was in the middle of a speech that he suffered a stroke of apoplexy. They brought him home, bereft of the power of speech. I myself heard nothing of all this. The next day in the chancery I noticed that the men were whispering secretly and pointing at me with their fingers. But I was accustomed to such treatment and paid no further attention to it. On the following Friday—the sad event had occurred on a Wednesday—a black suit of clothes with crepe was suddenly brought to my room. I was naturally astonished, asked for the reason, and was informed of what had taken place. Ordinarily my body is strong and capable of resistance, but then I was completely overcome. I fell to the floor in a swoon. They carried me to bed, where I lay in a fever and was delirious throughout the day and the entire night. The next morning my strong constitution had conquered, but my father was dead and buried.