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 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 Joseph Whitmore Barry 
 dramatic library 
 
 THE GIPT OF 
 TWO FRIENDS 
 
 OF Cornell University 
 
 1934 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PT 2617.E73L4 1913 
 
 Story of Helga 
 
 3 1924 026 243 521 
 
RUDOLPH HERZOG, THE AUTHOR OF "THE STORY 
 OF HELGa" 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 THE STORY OF HEIiGA 
 
 By Rndolph Herzog 
 
 Translated by Adele liewisohn 
 
 The author of this novel is without: 
 doubt the most widely read of German 
 novelists. The majority of his novels 
 have gone through sixty or seventy edi- 
 tions. In "The Story of Helga," the tal- 
 ented daughter of a noted prima donna 
 devotes herself to an artistic career, 
 making firm friends among the conserva- 
 tory students. Her youth and love of 
 art lead her into a mistaken idea of the 
 proportions* of life, and how she suf- 
 fered, struggled, and finally succeeded, 
 in winning freedom is told with humor, 
 pathos, and much realization of human 
 nature. 
 
 Bellman: "The three men in this 
 book are excellently well drawn, which 
 is an achievement, since nearly all the 
 novelists have woman under the micro- 
 scope and are neglecting her comple- 
 ment." 
 
a Cornell University 
 y Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026243521 
 
THE 
 
 STORY OF HELGA 
 
 BY 
 
 RUDOLPH HERZOG 
 
 Authorized English Version 
 by 
 
 AD%LE LEWISOHN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 E-P-DUTTON gr COMPANy 
 
 PUBUSHERS 
 

 Copyright, 1913 
 By E. p. Dhtton & Company 
 
 ^U^llo 
 
 Authorized translation from the fiftieth edition of " Das Lebenslied." 
 
TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
 I DEDICATE THIS TRANSLATION 
 
 A. L. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 PART I 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Helga Nuntlus stood before the square con- 
 servatory building, gazing up at its windows 
 which gleamed in the bright September sunshine. 
 She did not remember how she had come, nor 
 which streets she had passed. Every one of her 
 thoughts had been concentrated on her goal. And 
 now she had reached it. 
 
 Reposeful simplicity was the chief characteris- 
 tic of this long white building. The architect 
 had not attempted to show by its exterior the pur- 
 pose it would serve. No music turned to stone 
 spoke from its sides, no frieze attempted to pic- 
 ture a gently running andante slowly passing into 
 a soft lulling adagio. Not even the busts of the 
 great composers were there, to inspire the stu- 
 dents entering its portals. It was a sober, prac- 
 tical structure, but the September sun touched it 
 up with a rose-colored light, so that it looked 
 
2 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 as though in festive attire. Unpretentious, yet 
 noble and austere, it appeared to Helga Nuntius, 
 in whose dark eyes shone a world of awe and 
 longing, like a consecrated shrine. 
 
 Beautiful old chestnut trees lined the street and 
 led to a little park rich with flower-beds and 
 shrubs, in which there were many picturesque, 
 moss-covered seats. On one of these sat a young 
 man. He was very tall, loose jointed and long 
 legged and his motions were awkward. He 
 had pushed his hat back from his forehead and 
 with one hand he was idly stroking his short 
 French beard, while his eyes followed the initials 
 he was drawing on the sand with the point of his 
 cane. From a bypath hurried steps approached; 
 he paid no attention to them, but continued to 
 trace a frame of intricate design around the let- 
 ters. 
 
 " Franz, hello, Franz ! " 
 
 Straightening up with an effort he looked at the 
 two young men who leaned over his seat, one at 
 each side, with an embarrassed smile. 
 
 "The sun is hot, isn't It?" he said absently. 
 He could not think of anything else just then. 
 
 The man at his right, raising his eyebrows, 
 gave him a sharp glance and said: 
 
 " Did you discover that yourself? My, but 
 you are becoming quite an observer, old boy." 
 
 The other, at his left, shook him by both shoul- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 3 
 
 ders. " Come, Marschall," he said, " don't pay- 
 any attention to Braun's silly chatter. Here you 
 are, trying to catch a few rays of sunshine In your 
 ring and don't see that they are shining on the 
 smallest pair of feet In the land, and not ten yards 
 away from you. Come on, wake up." 
 
 " For heaven's sake, Richard, spare us ! I am 
 sure you never went to bed last night ! " 
 
 " I didn't have time." 
 
 " I called on the elves In the wood last night. 
 This morning they washed me with fairy dew and 
 that made me see what you blind fools cannot see. 
 Aha, are your eyes opening at last? Better close 
 your mouths. If she should turn and see you 
 now, she'd faint with fright." 
 
 " Shsh 1 " said Grube, and unconsciously put his 
 hat on straight. 
 
 " Shsh I " cautioned Braun with a nervous ges- 
 ture, and put on his glasses. 
 
 And there the three of them stood, half hidden 
 by the bushes, and staring at the girl close by, who 
 heeded neither the gently stirring breeze nor the 
 rhythmic steps of the soldiers marching up the 
 street. Oblivious of her surroundings she kept 
 her eyes fastened on the white building which to 
 her seemed Paradise. Her small head, modelled 
 perfectly, as though by a master artist, in a mo- 
 ment of inspiration, was bent slightly to one side, 
 so that her dark hair almost touched her shoul- 
 
4 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 der and her gray travelling hat slipped a little out 
 of place. Every nerve in her slender young body 
 was tense and her fingers clutched nervously the 
 music roll she was carrying. Her wide open eyes 
 seemed to plead for sympathy and understanding. 
 
 Now she took a faltering step forward. Her 
 knees pressed against her blue cloth skirt, show- 
 ing the fine, lithe lines of her body. She went 
 straight to the entrance and into the shaded vesti- 
 bule. 
 
 Braun let his glasses fall back on their long 
 black silk ribbon. His haughty, pale face 
 twitched for a moment. " I'll have to go," he 
 said. " The professor is waiting. See you 
 later!" 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the 
 square and a moment later they saw his broad, 
 muscular figure disappear in the doorway. 
 
 " Good Lord! " said Grube, after a pause, and 
 the two friends looked at each other in blank as- 
 tonishment. Then Marschall linked his arm into 
 his friend's and whistling a tune they walked to- 
 ward the conservatory. Marschall's face was 
 broad, young and eager. As he strode along sing- 
 ing and whistling his whole being revealed an In- 
 tense love of life. " Away with all worry and 
 care 1 " he hummed. 
 
 " Richard, behave yourself," said his friend; 
 " there is the secretary looking at you from the 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 5 
 
 window, and in just about a minute he will report 
 you to the director." 
 
 " Why, Franz, what an insult — I thought you 
 admired my voice and I've simply got to sing; I 
 feel happy today." 
 
 " Ah, thinking of that sweet young thing, are 
 you, eh? That means good-bye to your composi- 
 tion and harmony lesson, I suppose." And as 
 Marschall started to go, he called after him: 
 " Give her my best regards, if you meet her." 
 
 Suddenly Marschall came back, grasped him by 
 the shoulders and swung him about. 
 
 " Is life worth living anywhere except in Frank- 
 fort? " he cried with sparkling eyes. 
 
 " Damned fool," said Grube, freeing himself, 
 but his tone was affectionate and he looked at his 
 young friend with loving eyes. 
 
 Helga Nuntius had stopped at the registrar's 
 room to give her name and address. She had 
 pictured the man at the door as a sort of Hans 
 Sachs, with a fine, jovial face bearing an expres- 
 sion of sympathy and kindness. The man who 
 confronted her was big and fat with a rough, 
 coarse voice and none too polite. 
 
 " I've come by appointment," she said and 
 rather thought he would take her hand and lead 
 her before the faculty in triumph, announcing: 
 " The star has come; " but alas he only grunted: 
 " You're late. I don't think they will hear you 
 
6 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 today. We don't allow any unpunctuality." 
 Then he lead the way through the long corridors, 
 his clumsy feet pattering before her with loud 
 thuds on the marble floor which her dainty little 
 ones hardly touched, feeling it to be sacred 
 ground. She cast shy glances around and her 
 attention was arrested by the sounds coming from 
 various doors, a strain of song, a trill, a diffi- 
 cult run repeated many times : music, music from 
 all sides, a confused Babel of human voices, of 
 violins and pianos. A splendidly trained voice 
 began the Page's Aria from Mozart's " Wedding 
 of Figaro." Helga stood motionless and lis- 
 tened, and her face grew white with excitement 
 and her eyes opened wide and became staring 
 and solemn. " Love, love," said she, repeating 
 the words she heard — " what is love compared 
 with art! Art is all I ask for, I desire nothing 
 else. Oh, can I ever reach such heights and be 
 able to sing like that woman in there some day ! " 
 and she felt very small and humble. 
 
 The director's room was long and bare and in 
 its center there stood a concert grand before 
 which a group of men and women were engaged 
 in loud discussion as Helga entered. Suddenly 
 there was absolute silence. " Good Heavens, 
 what have we here," said a hard, shaky voice. 
 The director, a tall blond man with aristocra- 
 tic bearing, dressed in a long black frock coat, 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 7 
 
 came forward and smilingly held out his hand to 
 her. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, I believe? " 
 
 Helga bowed silently but did not return his 
 smile. 
 
 " What remarkable eyes I " thought the direc- 
 tor. " She looks like a dream of Spring without 
 youth in her eyes. These are the teachers in our 
 conservatory," he said aloud, pointing to the group 
 at the piano and introducing each by name. 
 
 " How do you do, little girl? " she heard in the 
 same shaky tones that had greeted her at her en- 
 trance. " Shake hands with an old man. How is 
 your mother? I suppose she told you that she 
 studied with me when she was young. Now she 
 is the famous Nuntius." There was a kindly 
 grumble in the old voice. Helga saw before her 
 a withered, wrinkled face, with little tufts of 
 straggly white hair growing irregularly about the 
 chin. He was, she knew, her master, who for 
 the next two years was to initiate her into the 
 secrets of his great art. He, too, was different 
 from what she had imagined him to be — a thun- 
 dering Jupiter with the mighty voice of the storm. 
 
 "Professor Faller?" she asked, rather shyly. 
 
 " Good guess, little Nuntius," he answered in 
 his husky voice which betrayed more than a chance 
 acquaintance with the spirits of Bacchus and Gam- 
 brinus.. 
 
8 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " My mother wishes to be remembered to you," 
 she said softly. 
 
 " So she hasn't quite forgotten her old teacher. 
 I am glad of that. Remember, little girl, of all 
 the virtues, loyalty is the rarest." 
 
 A smile went from face to face among the 
 teachers as the director interrupted, saying to 
 Helga : 
 
 " How long did your mother teach you? " 
 
 " For two years." 
 
 " That is all the tuition you have had? " 
 
 " Except theory. Mother did not wish me to 
 sing until I was seventeen." 
 
 " There she showed wisdom. The body must 
 develop first. Singing is not as easy as some 
 people seem to think." 
 
 " A true word wisely said," this from the pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 " So you are nineteen," continued the director. 
 " Was your mother at home all the time you were 
 taught? I thought she went on a tour last 
 year?" 
 
 " She stayed at home with me after my father 
 died," Helga answered with a tremor in her voice. 
 
 " So your father is dead." 
 
 " He was killed in an accident two years ago 
 and then Mother and I Hved in the little house 
 he had built in the heart of the forest. We stayed 
 there summer and winter. Mother sought to 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 9 
 
 forget her grief by teaching me until she thought 
 my voice was good enough for opera. Then, 
 suddenly, the old restlessness seized her — she 
 felt the call of the world once more. She simply 
 had to follow it. I can well understand that." 
 
 " And you are to complete your training here," 
 the director said after a short pause; "your 
 mother has sent enough money for two years' 
 tuition." 
 
 " Mother thought her tour of England and 
 America would take about two years." 
 
 " Well, we'll see what you have learned so far," 
 said the director and motioned to one of the ac- 
 companists. " I see you brought some notes with 
 you," glancing at the roll she held in her hand. 
 
 Helga bowed and went to the piano. Taking 
 her music from the roll she smoothed it tenderly. 
 Her face bore the same rapt expression as when 
 she had stood outside the white building in which 
 she was now to sing, — the Holy Temple of her 
 dreams. 
 
 " Haendel's ' Messiah,' " the accompanist an- 
 nounced. 
 
 " Hm," mused the director, " not the easiest 
 thing in the world." He raised a hand : " All 
 quiet, please." 
 
 " I know that my Redeemer liveth " — full and 
 clear the tones rang through the room and the 
 teachers looked at one another and wondered. 
 
lo THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 They had heard nothing like that in many a 
 day. 
 
 " And that He will in time awaken me " — ' this 
 was her faith, the hope to which she clung, that 
 which helped her to make Art a heaven for her- 
 self. 
 
 " Bravo I " cried the director when the last 
 notes had died away and the girl, with flushed 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes, turned around to face 
 him. He looked at Faller who sat near the win- 
 dow. His back was bent with age, but his head 
 was held up attentively, like that of an old battle 
 horse who hears the roar of cannon in the distance. 
 
 " Peculiar voice," he said, as the director bent 
 over him. " It isn't only her voice, but her 
 diction; the intelligence with which she uses it! 
 Give her back her money, there's nothing she can 
 learn here." 
 
 " But her voice is not quite steady," objected 
 the director; " it's not quite even through all the 
 register. You'll find plenty to do, Faller." 
 
 *' Nonsense ! Suppose the voice is not quite 
 even, her interpretation cannot be improved upon, 
 take my word for it. Get her out of this atmos- 
 phere of idiots and simpletons who seem to take 
 a special pride in their stupidity, I suppose be- 
 cause the Lord once promised the Kingdom of 
 Heaven to some of simple faith." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA ii 
 
 " Do you wish to teach her or not, Professor 
 Faller?" 
 
 The old man arose and smiled. 
 
 " See here, Mr. Director," he said, pulling the 
 other man's sleeve, " I've been a blooming ass all 
 my life, otherwise I wouldn't be here now. But 
 do you think for one moment I'll be ass enough 
 to let that sweet young thing fall into some char- 
 latan's hands? " 
 
 The director turned away. He knew the 
 peculiarities of the best teacher on the faculty. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, I know you will be happy to 
 learn that you have been accepted as a pupil by 
 Professor Faller. He has great confidence in 
 you ; show yourself worthy of it. And now let me 
 welcome you as a member of our conservatory 
 which some day will be proud of you, I hope." 
 
 He took her hand and held it kindly for a 
 moment. 
 
 " You will start with your lessons tomorrow. 
 Au revoir ! " 
 
 He nodded to the others and left the room. 
 A moment later all the rest excepting Helga and 
 Professor Faller had departed. 
 
 " Now then, shake hands again, little girl. I 
 can understand how you feel, for when I was 
 young I was just like you, full of enthusiasm, deny- 
 ing that there were such things as obstacles. The 
 
12 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Master of Bayreuth clapped me on the back more 
 than once when I sang ' Lohengrin ' and ' Tann- 
 hauser' for those jackanapes in Munich. Life 
 is the supreme test, my child, and we two are going 
 to try and make it pleasant for each other. Now 
 come here and let me kiss you." 
 
 Helga was not at all surprised at these last 
 words. She had only heard the magic word " Bay- 
 reuth " and this old shriveled-up man before her 
 was one of the chosen few who had sat at the 
 banquet of the gods. And as the thin lips of the 
 one-time Knight of the Holy Grail touched her 
 soft young mouth, she felt as though she had been 
 consecrated. Unconsciously, she lifted her arms 
 and for one second her hands rested on his 
 shoulders. 
 
 As she went out into the hall, it was no longer 
 on tip-toe or with bated breath. She stopped 
 before each door, as though she had the right to 
 do so. It seemed to her music rose beyond the 
 confining walls, to greet her on her way. For a 
 moment she felt as though she were submerged 
 in a flood, dashing into a whirlpool. A sudden 
 dizziness seized her — her hand sought the rail- 
 ing. 
 
 The registrar saw her from his lodge and came 
 up. "That's a voice, hey, miss? That's Mr. 
 Robert Braun. He beats them all. He's going 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 13 
 
 to be one of the big stars, the kind that they want 
 in America." 
 
 In tones of exquisite mellowness and over- 
 whelming passion Siegmund's " Love Plaint " 
 rang through the house. Helga listened spell- 
 bound, white to her lips. Never had she heard 
 such a voice, a voice that stirred one to the inner- 
 most depths. Oh, to be able to sing Sieglinde, to 
 answer his plaintive wooing in tones of longing 
 and hope and love — and slowly she entered the 
 world of dreams again. She heard the silver 
 ripple of strange fountains, her nostrils seemed 
 filled with the strange fragrance emanating from 
 gardens rioting with color ; before her imagination 
 there arose fantastic white halls filled with marble 
 gods — 
 
 Abruptly the voice of the registrar broke in upon 
 her reveries. To escape his loquacity she hurried 
 to the entrance, and the September sun showered 
 his gold at her feet, to show her that this outer 
 world had some beauty of its own. 
 
 But the registrar followed her and now insisted 
 upon congratulating her on her reception into this 
 world-renowned conservatory that produced peo- 
 ple like Mr. Braun. Then he asked her whether 
 she had engaged lodgings. 
 
 " I know of a very respectable woman w^o will 
 give you a room the size of a dance hall. And 
 meals! Even the Rothschilds don't have better 
 
14 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 ones ! " He himself expected no commission, oh, 
 no. He only liked to make sure that the pupils 
 of his conservatory were not imposed upon. 
 
 She thanked him, saying that she had found 
 rooms in the Bleidenstrasse. Would he tell her 
 the way, for she had not paid any attention to the 
 direction, when she came. 
 
 Then his manner changed with almost ludicrous 
 suddenness. Gruffly he told her that he had no 
 time to play the guide, went into the house and 
 banged the door behind him. 
 
 As Helga stood under the archway, irresolutely 
 looking up and down the street, a tall man, with 
 slightly bent body, came toward her and politely 
 raised his hat. 
 
 " You wish to go to the Bleidenstrasse? Will 
 you permit me to direct you? It seems, the regis- 
 trar found that there — was no tip for him." 
 
 He smiled as he spoke and as Helga looked 
 into the frank face with its somewhat melancholy 
 eyes she could not help liking the stranger. She 
 imagined him to be about forty or more. 
 
 " You are most kind," she said. 
 
 " My name is Franz Grube," and he raised his 
 hat once more. 
 
 Without a moment's hesitation she told him her 
 name. 
 
 "Is this your first visit to Frankfort?" he 
 asked her as they walked along. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 15 
 
 " Yes, I have never been here before," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 " Would you like me to show you around a bit? 
 I am just out for a walk and so have plenty of 
 time." 
 
 " ShaU we pass the Opera?" 
 
 " Ah," he said laughingly, " I thought you 
 would ask that and would have taken you there, 
 although it is not on the way to Bleidenstrasse." 
 The pleasure he felt at having divined her thought 
 made his bearded face appear younger and his 
 step take on greater buoyanqr. 
 
 " Isn't this a beautiful street? " he asked, point- 
 ing to the wide avenue into which they entered. 
 " It winds all around the inner city starting from 
 and ending at the Main shore. Here at your 
 left are the old ramparts, relics from the days of 
 Frankfort's glory. That's past and gone. Let 
 us remember only the Frankfort of today that has 
 been built up since 1866, a Phoenix arisen from 
 its ashes. One cannot live on tradition alone. 
 Each age must leave its own tradition for pos- 
 terity." 
 
 " Just the same as art," she remarked. 
 
 " Quite so," he said, surprised that the beauty 
 of the scene before her did not impress her. " But 
 life is more important than art — " 
 
 " You say that because you are not an artist" 
 
 " No, I am not." 
 
1 6 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 For a while they walked on in silence until they 
 passed a very high tower, gray with age. 
 
 " That's the Eschenheimer tower," Grube ex- 
 plained, as she looked at him questioningly, " a 
 remnant of the Middle Ages. Do you see that 
 perforated weather vane at the top? That's the 
 way a wretched poacher, whom the inhabitants of 
 Frankfort had pursued for many months before 
 they were able to catch him, showed his work- 
 manship. He shot the figure 9 into the vane — 
 and that saved his life." 
 
 " It was his art that saved him, you see." 
 " Certainly, but that same art had gotten him 
 into trouble first." 
 
 " That's nothing; that did not matter! " 
 " Depends on one's point of view! " 
 And on they walked, the girl to whom art was 
 life, with the elastic step of youth; the man who 
 held life to be the greatest prize, with the heavy, 
 sluggish stride of one whose hold on life is be- 
 coming slack. Falling autumn leaves covered the 
 flower beds by the side of the road, and the 
 flowers gave forth so fresh a fragrance one might 
 have imagined it to be Spring. Children shouting 
 joyously at their games crossed their path; turning 
 a curve they came upon a group of horseback- 
 riders who would rein in their steeds every time 
 a particularly smart carriage would pass carrying 
 on its cushions some particularly beautiful woman. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 17 
 
 The twitter of birds came from bushes and tree 
 tops — it was a day beloved of the gods. 
 
 Presently they emerged upon a plaza and Hel- 
 ga's enraptured gaze encountered a beautiful 
 white structure, Greek renaissance in style, flanked 
 by imposing marble columns and wonderful arches 
 — the opera house. 
 
 With a peculiar look Helga's eyes fastened 
 upon the building, and the walls seemed to fall 
 apart and show her a throne beneath crowning 
 laurel trees. Soft music reached her ear, which 
 gradually grew and increased in volume and lifted 
 her up and carried her to the throne amid the roar 
 of tonal waves. Branches of cool green laurel 
 descended upon her brow as a diadem and at her 
 feet lay red roses. — 
 
 With a deep breath Helga straightened herself. 
 Then her eyes sought the high gold letters stand- 
 ing out in bold relief from the richly ornamented 
 gable front of the opera house. " To the True, 
 the Beautiful, the Good," she read, not only with 
 her eyes, but with her soul. 
 
 Franz Grube had stepped aside and waited. In 
 a few minutes she turned around and held out her 
 hand to him. 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Grube," she said. 
 
 " Shall we go now? " 
 
 " Yes. That is, if you are sure that I am not 
 troubling you too much." 
 
1 8 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Quite sure. I am going to see you safely 
 home." 
 
 As they turned in to Catherine gate, Helga be- 
 lieved herself suddenly transported from the 
 present into the Middle Ages. But the maze of 
 narrow lanes with their rows of crooked gables 
 had an air of home and comfort about them. 
 They made her think of ancient fairy tales. And 
 she felt young and serene. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 The little brown house with its graded gables 
 in which lived Herr John Bettermann, Helga's 
 landlord, was wedged in so tightly between an 
 ancient patrician home and a modern apartment 
 house that from a distance it looked as though 
 accidentally a space had been left which a bird 
 had used to build a great big nest. It had no 
 claim to beauty; no one realized that more keenly 
 than John Bettermann who, as he stood before his 
 door, evenings, his hands tucked into the pockets 
 of his blue linen apron, nodding jovially to friends 
 passing by, was wont to remark: "Young birds 
 are never beautiful, you know ; you just wait ! " 
 Some day, he knew, it would arise in unheard-of 
 splendor. 
 
 For he had bought the house as a speculation 
 and as he sat with a few old cronies at his favorite 
 table in the old inn across the street, drinking 
 apple cider, the way he would repeat the word 
 " speculation " would have led you to think that 
 he expected it to make him a millionaire. He 
 would lean across the table and say impressively: 
 " Look here, this is the period the professors call 
 
 19 
 
20 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 the brightest in the history of Frankfort, because 
 everything is being torn down and rebuilt, — that's 
 why I bought this house." 
 
 " The one who sold it to you," one of his 
 friends would say, " gave you a rather bad deal." 
 
 " Do you think so ? Why, my dear fellow, you 
 don't understand. My old shanty is a blot on the 
 landscape, and therefore will be the first the 
 beauty commission will want removed. And 
 they'll have to pay me a pretty sum, I can tell 
 you ! " And the old man would rub his hands 
 gleefully. 
 
 " Well, friend Bettermann," one of the others 
 would say, " I suppose you won't mind paying for 
 my cider, since you'll soon be so rich. I had six 
 glasses." 
 
 And Bettermann would pay, although he could 
 ill afford it. So rarely did he visit the inn, that 
 he knew his wife would pardon his little extrava- 
 gance as she pardoned whatever he did, like a 
 loving mother with a spoiled baby. The two 
 old people had no children and loved each other 
 with devotion and with that shy affection we find 
 in early youth and in old age. He was over sixty 
 and, having received two bullets through his legs 
 in the war against France, had drawn a small 
 pension as a veteran ever since. His wounds had 
 healed so well, however, that he was able to dance 
 like a young man, even if a trifle stiffly. His wife. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 21 
 
 Lena, had married him just as he was, with his 
 many fine qualities and his few little faults. 
 
 Directly on entering the house one found at 
 the right Mrs. Lena's tiny dry goods store, while 
 at the left there was the leather store managed 
 by the owner himself. In the center of the en- 
 trance hall, between the two stores, there hung, 
 attached to a thick rope, the big scale In which 
 Bettermann used to weigh his wares. But that 
 did not happen very often and most of the time 
 the scale was used as a swing In which they would 
 sit after their day's work was done and compare 
 the contents of their treasure drawers, laughingly 
 and jokingly disputing which was the greater finan- 
 cial genius. And then John would swing to and 
 fro saying that there was no better cure for 
 asthma in the world. Although his asthma was 
 only imaginary. 
 
 Today old Bettermann was seated at the break- 
 fast table, a picture of expectation. His wife had 
 just taken a tray Into the room of the young lady 
 who had rented their two spare rooms. He could 
 hardly wait until she came out again to tell him 
 all about the new arrival. He loved gossip. 
 
 He kept stirring his coffee, the creamy surface 
 of which was dotted with little pieces of crust. 
 The table was scrubbed a snowy white and the 
 spotless floor strewn with glistening white sand. 
 Through the muslin curtains at the windows the 
 
22 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 morning sun shot a bright ray which danced before 
 John's eyes riveted to the door, and which he tried 
 to brush away now and then as though it were a 
 fly. At last he took a deep breath and his face 
 began to beam, for he had heard steps. His wife 
 must be bringing the young stranger along I Hur- 
 riedly he removed the vestiges of his breakfast 
 from his beard and got up to make his finest bow, 
 as she entered the room. 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Bettermann. Your wife 
 said that she did not know whether you would 
 allow me to have breakfast with you, so I came to 
 ask you myself." 
 
 " Is that what my wife said? Well, she ought 
 to have known better. Please sit down. Miss, if 
 you really think our fare good enough. Just 
 think, mother, the little lady is going to eat at our 
 table 1 " 
 
 " Yes, John, she is going to take all her meals 
 with us ! " 
 
 As he seated himself, he discovered the little 
 ships sailing around in his cup. Hastily he en- 
 deavored to cover them with his hand, but the 
 girl, slim and reposeful in her blue cloth dress, 
 had noticed them. Without seeming to be aware 
 of his visible confusion, she said: " Oh, that's just 
 what my father used to do. He always said he 
 could enjoy his morning paper so much more if 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 23 
 
 he ate his coffee. How I used to tease him to 
 let me do it, too I I simply love it ! " 
 
 " Here ! " cried Bettermann, lifting up the bread 
 basket and shaking it merrily before her eyes. 
 He was quite himself again. It was evident she 
 believed in the freedom, equality, the brotherhood 
 of man . . , and woman. 
 
 Less than five minutes later he was bending 
 far over the table telling his new friend the history 
 of his " speculation." 
 
 " And then," he finished, all out of breath, 
 " then you'll see how we'll live! On the fat of 
 the land! Fish and meat every day for dinner! 
 And as to board, you won't have to pay us a cent, 
 will she, mother? " 
 
 And mother smiled her friendly smile. She 
 knew, from this day on she would have two chil- 
 dren to take care of instead of one. But she did 
 not mind. She was one of those women to whom 
 life was not complete without motherhood. 
 
 " I must go to the conservatory now," said 
 Helga and a happy light came into her eyes. 
 
 The old man motioned to her to come to the 
 window. 
 
 " Here it is, right under your nose," he said, 
 pointing to a big old house across the street. 
 " That house has often seemed to me like a branch 
 of the conservatory, they have so many musicians 
 
24 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 going in and out. Look up there, to those round 
 windows." 
 
 Helga stood at the open window and peered at 
 the broad, old fashioned house opposite, that in 
 years gone by had been the cradle of a mighty 
 merchants' race. Huge beams arose from 
 amongst its stone walls and iron clasps, cunningly 
 wrought, held the woodwork at the windows and 
 doors. Above the eaves there were grotesque 
 gnomes of stone serving as water spouts and be- 
 low them was a long row of round windows pro- 
 tected half way up by a wrought iron balustrade, 
 for owing to the low ceiling of the upper story 
 they reached almost to the floor. 
 
 " That's Grubeshof," said Bettermann and his 
 face bore a reverential expression. " The last of 
 his race lives there now." 
 
 " He is a splendid man," answered the girl. 
 
 But Bettermann seemed of a difEerent opinion, 
 for he shook his head. 
 
 " He brought me home last night," continued 
 the girl. " I found him most sympathetic." 
 
 " Sympathetic," Bettermann repeated, as though 
 he did not like the word. " Sympathetic? And 
 he the last of his race? We were so proud of 
 these old Frankfort families; they should not be 
 allowed to die out. It makes me angry to think 
 of it." 
 
 Helga Nuntius looked in bewilderment at the 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 25 
 
 queer old man. What interest could he have in 
 the weal or the woe of the rich people of Frank- 
 fort, who never patronized his or his wife's little 
 store ? 
 
 Bettermann felt her look and grew red. 
 
 " I'll see you again later," he murmured and 
 was about to step back. But suddenly he bowed 
 deeply and his face was wreathed in smiles. 
 Turning around, Helga saw that a young woman 
 had appeared at one of the round windows op- 
 posite. She was dark-hairedl and a- few years 
 older than Helga. Involuntarily, Helga nodded 
 to her, too, and the tall girl waved her hand mer- 
 rily. 
 
 " That is Johanna," Mr. Bettermann said 
 proudly. 
 
 "Mr. Grube's sister, isn't it?" Helga asked. 
 
 " She is, and — " Bettermann laughed. 
 
 " And your very good friend, isn't she? " Helga 
 said teasingly. 
 
 " She is the angel of Grubeshof. You just ask 
 the gentlemen at the conservatory whether she is 
 or not." 
 
 " The conservatory! " the girl cried. " Heav- 
 ens, I shall have to run. Good-bye, good- 
 bye ! " 
 
 " Give my love to Mr. Marschall if you meet 
 him and tell him we'd like to see him again some 
 time." 
 
26 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " I don't know him! " laughed Helga as she 
 ran out. 
 
 " But you will soon," Bettermann called after 
 her. "I wonder how he'll like her!" and he 
 rubbed his hands. Then he went to his wife's 
 store, gave her a kiss and then went out to sit on 
 the scale and swing, and his mind was so busy he 
 forgot all about his asthma. 
 
 The electric car had taken Helga almost to the 
 doors of the conservatory and at nine o'clock 
 sharp she entered the room Professor Faller had 
 pointed out to her as the one in which she was to 
 take her lessons. Fifteen minutes elapsed before 
 she heard the shuffling steps of the old time singer. 
 As he entered, his mood seemed to Helga rather 
 out of keeping with the solemnity of the moment. 
 He nodded briefly in her direction, flung the win- 
 dow wide open, put his hand into his wide collar 
 and cleared his throat loudly and repeatedly. 
 Then he closed the window, climbed up on the 
 window sill, sat down with a grimace and, yawn- 
 ing, said to Helga : " I tell you, child, never touch 
 champagne. If you've got to drink, take white 
 wine. Moselle, the wine that grows in your own 
 country ! The devil take that French stuff ! — 
 Now then, let's begin ! " 
 
 Helga looked at her teacher In blank astonish- 
 ment. Was this then the greeting of the muses 
 of which she had dreamed? This the hymn to 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 27 
 
 music that was to escort her, Hke a blessing, into 
 the undiscovered land, over paths of silver and 
 bridges of gold, over emerald rivers and purple 
 meadows, to the throne crowned with laurel ? A 
 shiver ran through her. The sun crawled into the 
 corners. 
 
 The room was grey. 
 
 " Hurry, child, hurry ! Don't waste so much 
 time! Time! Youth alone can waste It thus! " 
 
 "What do you want me to sing?" the girl 
 asked' falteringly. 
 
 " Sing? Well, well! Why not Elsa or Sieg- 
 linde? Sing! You'll have to learn how to sing, 
 first of all, my dear child, you'll have to get your 
 apparatus into proper condition, to master the me- 
 chanical part. Then, in the name of God, you 
 can go ahead and shout. And now take those 
 exercises over there. We'll see what your 
 mother's method did for you." 
 
 Stiffly he climbed down from the window seat 
 and took his seat at the piano, striking a chord 
 or two. Helga took the book of exercises in her 
 hand. All the joy had gone out of her. The 
 leaves trembled in her hand. 
 
 " Scales ! " her teacher commanded and indi- 
 cated where to begin. Helga felt for a moment 
 as though her throat were closed tightly. Then 
 she thought of her art, and her hopes, and gath- 
 ering fresh courage, she began. 
 
28 THE STORY, OF HELGA! 
 
 " Slowly I " the master commanded. " Let 
 your voice out — breathe more evenly — there — > 
 that's it — pause after the first note of each bar — 
 there, very good, very good indeed! Now we 
 can go a little faster and take two or three bars 
 with one breath. Bravo, my child, bravo ! You 
 can sing at the royal opera tomorrow. But first, 
 if you don't mind, take the entire next run with 
 one breath. With one breath, do you hear? 
 Don't be scared." 
 
 And Helga, not minding his little sarcasm, kept 
 thinking of her art with growing intensity and re- 
 peated the notes again and again. A peculiar sen- 
 sation pervaded her — 'her own voice sounded 
 strange to her; it seemed to belong to someone she 
 did not know, coming from afar. 
 
 " Don't drag your notes! Mind your breath- 
 ing! " Another voice came from afar, raucous and 
 cracked, " Keep time ! Attack each note sepa- 
 rately ! Once again that F-scale ! " 
 
 She repeated it and he nodded his head ap- 
 provingly. Then he permitted her to sing thirds, 
 fourths, fifths and arpeggios and to end with a trill 
 that rose from her throat like a string of pearls. 
 
 The old man gave her a pleased look, played 
 a few more runs and got up. Expectantly Helga 
 awaited his next words. 
 
 " Well, little girl," he said, itapping her cold 
 cheek, — "well — " he thought for a moment — 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 29 
 
 " Because you've been so good you may run across 
 the street and order some breakfast for me. I 
 didn't have any this morning," 
 
 Disappointed, she lowered her head. 
 
 " It's right opposite. You go up to the counter 
 and say that Professor Faller wants a glass of wine 
 and a few caviare sandwiches, and if they don't 
 want to charge it you can tell them to send it 
 without, it's all the same to me I " 
 
 She put on her hat and went across the street 
 to give the order. On the way tears rose to her 
 lids, but she repressed them resolutely and won- 
 dered what was the matter with her. She felt a 
 void within her as though she had lost her soul. 
 
 As she returned to the lesson room to tell the 
 professor that his breakfast would be sent over in 
 a few minutes, she found a young man with him, 
 a muscular, clean-shaven young man with a 
 haughty face. " My name is Braun ! " he said 
 and went on looking over his music. 
 
 " Miss Helga Nuntius," introduced the pro- 
 fessor, " daughter of the great Nuntius, the most 
 famous star at present in America. She is tour- 
 ing just now. If you don't hurry you won't find 
 a single cent left for you anywhere from New 
 York to San Francisco." 
 
 Braun laughed. 
 
 " Dollars are what I want. I am not partial 
 to copper." 
 
30 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Oh, yes, you're a business man. I had for- 
 gotten," the professor retorted. 
 
 " See here. Professor, you don't teach for noth- 
 ing, do you? Why should I sing for nothing. 
 ' The artist should love his song ' the refrain goes, 
 but you never forget your remuneration, do you? " 
 
 " True enough. But there is another refrain : 
 ' She tossed unto the singer the rose upon her 
 breast.' I never let the rose wither by the way- 
 side either." 
 
 " And picking up the rose you lost your gold." 
 
 The old man looked at his favorite pupil with 
 a penetrating glance. 
 
 " There's no danger of your doing that. The 
 present generation sings with its brain instead of 
 its heart. We clung to the heart, you cling to the 
 purse. And not until our life Is ended will we be 
 able to tell which was worth while, how much 
 interest our capital drew." 
 
 " Tell me honestly, Professor : What is left of 
 your capital? " 
 
 The old singer took the young man by his coat 
 lapels, drew him into a corner, so that the girl 
 should not hear, and in his broken voice repeated, 
 while a faint red tinged his withered cheeks and 
 an unwonted light came into his bleary old eyes: 
 
 "What is left of my capital? You will have 
 to wait until you are sixty to understand what the 
 memory of the rose means. Wait until you are 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 31 
 
 sixty and have accumulated untold wealth. You'll 
 cut a figure In the history of art. People will con- 
 sider it part of their culture to speak of you and 
 to hear you. They will discuss you at the dinner 
 table. But of me, of poor me, they speak only in 
 whispers. I was the fiery lover of the beautiful 
 hostess who tells her young daughter of my con- 
 quests and then the girl goes to sleep and dreams 
 of such a knight. Memories like that, my boy, 
 remain with me, ever young, so I have not wasted 
 my capital, you see. You modern singers think of 
 yourselves only, you build palaces, you invest in 
 this and that; I worked for all of you, and if I 
 led the mad life of the artist and lost my gold to 
 pick up the rose, I helped to create the halo around 
 the head of the artist — that halo without which 
 you would all of you be little more than music 
 boxes ! — Come in ! Put the tray on the table. 
 What? You want money ? You tell your master 
 that if I had money I would eat at a respectable 
 hotel, instead of having to swallow the stuff he 
 sends over. Yes, yes, it's all right. Put it down 
 and go away." 
 
 Helga stood motionless all the time the tor- 
 rent of words had gushed forth from the old 
 singer's lips, not knowing how to take her leave. 
 At first she had understood but little of what he 
 said, but as his voice rose under the stress of his 
 emotion, she listened almost involuntarily. When 
 
32 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 the old man had ended, it seemed to her that Braun 
 must now say something splendid, great, liberating, 
 of the high, uplifting aims of pure art. 
 
 Braun, however, opened the bottle of wine for 
 the professor and filled his glass. " To your very 
 good health. If you don't mind, we'll start as 
 soon as you are ready." 
 
 Not a word about art, nothing exalted, to be 
 remembered ! Eating his sandwich, the professor 
 went to the piano and noticed Helga. 
 
 " You still here? Well, for all I care you may 
 stay and listen. That'll give you an idea of what 
 singing really means. Now then, Braun, take the 
 third scene. Yesterday, you know, we didn't get 
 down to real work." 
 
 His bony fingers glided over the keys, then his 
 eyes took on a fixed look and his face became in- 
 scrutable. The artist in him was awakened. 
 Braun still stood at the piano in his same careless 
 attitude. Now came his cue. Suddenly, there 
 was a transformation. His body erect in all the 
 vital force of youth, his haughty eyes softened .... 
 Eleglacally, dreamily, Siegmund's love-song from 
 the " Walkuere " rang forth. 
 
 Helga started. That was the voice she had 
 heard yesterday. That was the voice to the music 
 of which her imagination had roamed In far-off 
 gardens wherein were gathered the white gods she 
 was seeking. The minutes flew, she no longer 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 33 
 
 heeded them. She no longer saw the singer, she 
 only heard his song throbbing with passion. 
 
 Helga sat huddled together, allowing the music, 
 the words of which no longer reached her con- 
 sciousness, to overpower her. Once only she be- 
 came aware of their meeting, as he ended his plead- 
 ings. 
 
 And she felt nothing but the beating of her 
 heart. 
 
 Braun had drawn a silk handkerchief and dried 
 his forehead. The professor spoke a few words 
 anent the technical handling of different bars, then 
 arose and closed the piano. A light remark, a 
 witty retort, a short laugh — the lesson was over. 
 
 " Look here, Braun," said Faller, caressing 
 Helga's hair, " here is the born Sieglinde for you. 
 She'll grow into the part, both bodily and vocally, 
 you mark my words I Good-bye, children ! " 
 
 As Helga walked out silently with Braun, they 
 heard a merry whistling behind them. Involun- 
 tarily they stood still. 
 
 " That's Marschall," said Braun. " He Is the 
 most talented pupil in the whole composition class, 
 but Incredibly frivolous." 
 
 Marschall, having caught up with them, now 
 stood before them, tall and lithe, with yellow hair 
 and bright eyes. Laughingly, he looked at Helga 
 with open admiration in his glance and held out 
 his hand to her. 
 
34 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Braun would have been mean enough to mo- 
 nopolize you! But the more the merrier. My 
 name is Marschall." 
 
 " Miss Nuntius," Braun introduced noncha- 
 lantly, " just had her first lesson with Fallen " 
 
 " Ah, dear sIster-in-art, daughter of the Muses, 
 your throat must be dry. Won't you come and 
 have something to drink?" 
 
 " Crazy,as usual! " Braun said drily, lifted his 
 hat to Helga and went away. 
 
 As they stepped out on the street, Helga, taking 
 no further notice of the young man by her side, 
 took the homeward path. When, to get rid of 
 him, she looked up intending to wither him with 
 a glance, she encountered a face so merry, so full 
 of respect and admiration that she quickly averted 
 her own again. 
 
 " Don't be so angry with me," he said insinuat- 
 ingly, like a little boy. " I didn't mean to offend. 
 I will leave you, if you wish, but won't you let me 
 show you the Goethe house first? " 
 
 " Mr. Marschall! " she said, standing still and 
 looking severe. 
 
 " Madame ! " he replied, humbly and good na- 
 turedly. "We are both bound for the same 
 direction. You are living with my friends the 
 Bettermanns. What will they think of your treat- 
 ment of me? " 
 
 "Oh!" she said laughingly, abandoning her 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 35 
 
 role, " I almost forgot: Mr. Bettermann sent his 
 best regards to you and hopes you will come to 
 see him soon." 
 
 "You see?" he said triumphantly. "That 
 worthy citizen wants me to visit him, and soon, 
 at that. That stamps me as a man of honor. 
 Now you can't refuse to go and see the Goethe 
 house with me without insulting my friend Better- 
 mann." 
 
 " If you will promise to behave yourself." 
 " Call on Goethe and misbehave ! " 
 So they went and presently entered the domain 
 of Frau Rat, Goethe's mother, a fine old patrician 
 home, where nothing was changed from former 
 days. In the party wall near the top there was 
 the little window which Goethe's father had had 
 built in so as to be able to watch the street below 
 and his errant young son. As they wandered 
 through the rooms the many stored-up memories 
 became alive and a flood of faces rushed in upon 
 them. 
 
 " Johann Wolfgang," murmured Richard Mar- 
 schall — and each time they entered another room 
 he would repeat the name with reverence and with 
 awe — ■ and Helga's eyes grew wide and she saw 
 the spirits come to life and beckon to her, and she 
 felt friendly toward these silent flitting visions 
 made up of fancy and fact, whose memory had 
 become as dear to later generations as though they 
 
36 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 had been beloved friends or valiant comrades to 
 them. 
 
 " Johann Wolfgang," Richard murmured again 
 and the objects in the rooms began to tell their 
 tales. 
 
 The sun threw his gleams through the little win- 
 dows and gilded the narrow brown rooms in which 
 a youth had played who had conquered a world. 
 Silently, the two young people left the house and 
 wended their way home. 
 
 " I thank you," said Helga; " that was a very 
 beautiful hour." 
 
 And as they parted, they shook hands like two 
 good comrades. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Franz Grube sat at one of the little round win- 
 dows In the high Gothic chair he particularly liked 
 on account of its rare carvings and watched the twi- 
 light descend upon the houses and enfold them in 
 Its mist. Above Bettermann's house the cross of 
 St. Paul's Cathedral was still visible. 
 
 At Grube's feet, on a low stool, crouched Rich- 
 ard Marschall, his hands clasped around his knees, 
 dreaming, during a pause in their conversation. 
 
 It grew dark. The heavy beams seemed to 
 descend from the ceiling until they touched the 
 high wardrobes of Flemish and old German oak, 
 the heavy oak table, the Gothic altar pieces, the 
 huge, beautiful carved chest and the long row of 
 masterpieces of the old German and Holland 
 school that decorated the paneled walls. There 
 was no uniformity of style, but profound harmony, 
 of the kind that fills the passing guest with strange 
 feelings of home and comfort and seems to call to 
 him : " Sit thee down — whoever stretches his feet 
 under these tables Is our guest according to ancient 
 German usage such as our fathers practiced hun- 
 dreds of years ago, our fathers whose trains of 
 
 37 
 
38 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 chariots went forth from the spacious yards below 
 along the old state road down the Rhine toward 
 Holland, or over the Alps Into Italy." The 
 Grubeshof had a glorious past. 
 
 Perhaps it was of the past that the present 
 owner was thinking, as he sank deeper Into the old 
 altar chair and his hands closed more firmly around 
 its carved arms. The wood creaked under his 
 pressure. For a few seconds only — then he re- 
 laxed his grasp and the creaking ceased. For 
 some time silence reigned supreme. 
 
 Marschall finally broke the spell. 
 
 " Franz," he said, lifting his head to scan his 
 friend's face, " Franz " — and gently placed his 
 hand on his knee. 
 
 " Yes, Richard. What were we talking of? 
 Oh, yes, the past. That's what we call it, the past; 
 but there are people whose present only lives on the 
 past. Like a wick that has been thrown on the 
 hearth from the lamp. It flickers. The lamp has 
 a new wick, which will not burn ; it smoulders dully, 
 while the little spark Is still full of life — yes, full 
 of life." 
 
 " Franz," Marschall said again, anxiously. 
 
 "You wonder why I tell you this story? I 
 don't know. Maybe because you're so jolly and 
 you won't mind my saying so, will you? Perhaps 
 because you talk of your love affairs in such a light- 
 hearted way, and because I am fond of you and 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 39 
 
 one must unburden one's self sometimes. Also, 
 perhaps, because the autumn is so beautiful, so 
 quiet and mysterious; almost like the young girl 
 across the street, at Bettermann's." 
 
 " Helga Nuntius," said Marschall aloud, and 
 the name seemed to echo through the room and 
 illuminate it. 
 
 Grube closed his eyes; his hands were around 
 the chair, as he continued, half to himself: 
 
 " I am older than you, in years at least. You 
 insist that my sensations are as keen as yours, some- 
 times keener. Although I am a man of business, 
 still I have devoted myself to art, and you thought 
 I did it for the love of art. But it was not, it was 
 the love of life ! " 
 
 And after a few minutes he went on : " When 
 you talked to me of love and adventure, I always 
 sympathized with you. Had I not the same am- 
 bition in former days? My father, the head of 
 the firm, was rich. I became engaged, the way 
 one becomes engaged at twenty-five. The same 
 tastes, the same position social and financial. One 
 day things happen, kisses are exchanged, one 
 is engaged. You know that formerly in Frank- 
 fort an engagement was as binding as a marriage. 
 And now, Marschall, I ask you, at what age does 
 a man know a woman? What do we really know 
 of the love which is not at all tender, as the poets 
 describe it, but which, like the storm that is in us, 
 
40 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 suffocates us and in which every thought has only 
 one aim. She comes! Before she came there was 
 nothing, and nothing will be left when she has 
 gone. My soul is her soul, my mind her mind, 
 we are two parts of a whole. Though I wander 
 through snows and over mountains, it is you I seek. 
 You know that story." 
 
 " Yet you did not have the strength — " 
 
 " Oh, yes, I did," Grube replied in a harsh voice. 
 " I would have had it. For the sake of her whom 
 I loved, I wiped out my whole life and started 
 anew. I had to take back my given word. I 
 fought against the pressure of my family. She 
 used to take my head between her hands and kiss 
 me. ' We are reaping the whirlwind,' she would 
 say, ' but we did sow the wind.' That was the be- 
 ginning of the storm. At the time I felt that what- 
 ever would befall us, she too, would wait. So I 
 worked day after day, and the months grew into 
 years, and she grew tired of waiting. She was a 
 singer, and the ' we ' became ' I ' for her. She 
 took back her word although she knew that for me 
 there was no turning back." 
 
 He sat, his long body stretched out, and stared 
 before him. 
 
 " She gave you back to your people," Marschall 
 said softly. 
 
 Grube turned around and stroked the younger 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 41 
 
 man's hair, pityingly as though he were trying 
 to comfort him. 
 
 " Gave me back to my family. Yes, apparently. 
 My real self remained with her. And the only 
 thing I reproach her with is that she knew it. 
 Don't let my story sadden you, Richard. It is 
 lucky that there is so little of me left, I have so 
 much less to drag around with me. And now I'll 
 lend you the money for Francesca, before the 
 others come." 
 
 " Never mind, Franz. I'm ashamed of my love 
 affairs before you. I asked you for the money and 
 you give me — " 
 
 "What? "laughed Franz. 
 
 " Faith, trust, courage, comfort, love and — 
 everything else — " 
 
 " I am like the old skeleton on which students 
 learn the art of healing. Here, help yourself." 
 
 He took some money from his desk and held it 
 out to the younger man. 
 
 " No, no, don't say a word — ■ that isn't neces- 
 sary between us, I think." He turned to the heavy 
 antique chandelier and presently a soft, mild light 
 suffused the room. 
 
 " Tell me, Franz," Richard asked, standing by 
 his side in the light, " what became of her? " 
 
 " What became of me. She became old before 
 her time." 
 
42 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because where love is genuine and sincere, 
 even its memory kills." 
 
 " So many people marry and seem contented." 
 " But there are so few real people in this world." 
 " What do you demand of them? " 
 The man who was looking back at life laid his 
 hands on the shoulders of the one who was look- 
 ing forward to life. 
 
 " What do I demand? When the word ' love ' 
 is spoken in the sense I take it; when the word 
 ' we ' is used in the way I use it, it is forever, and 
 no parting is ever possible. It means to walk to- 
 gether, to hope, to bear sorrow together, and 
 sometime, how, I don't know, to find happiness, 
 paradise together. He who leaves the other half 
 way is like a bandit who robs his fellow-traveler 
 and then leaves him in the desert. Don't talk to 
 me of sorrowful resignation or similar phrases. 
 Two people who are in love have no longer the 
 right to dispose of themselves, be it for good or 
 evil, for they have but a single soul. And if 
 they do, then one kills the other's soul. Such a 
 soul-stricken man you have before you, Richard. 
 Because she had not enough patience to wait a few 
 years, a whole human life is ruined. Do not fol- 
 low my example, boy, whatever you do. And now 
 put the music on the table, our singers will be here 
 shortly." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 43 
 
 " Do you really love these folk-songs — you 
 who travel miles to hear a Wagner performance ? " 
 
 " There's no use pretending, Richard. It won't 
 last much longer. The smouldering wick is burn- 
 ing out. The wick, that is the past and the past 
 is all there is to my life. What came later was 
 nothing but the dullness of merely existing. And 
 if I roused myself for a moment now and then it 
 was to listen to the folk-songs she loved to sing, 
 and to some of the vigorous, boisterous student's 
 songs, such as I liked best to sing to her. That is 
 why I made friends of you young chaps. Because 
 of your youth and your songs. You and your art 
 serve me for purposes of self-deception. Hush I 
 Don't say a word. You know I love you ! Here 
 they come. Go and tell Johanna to have the wine 
 ready." 
 
 He pushed Richard through the door leading 
 to the kitchen and quickly went to the window, 
 pressing his brow against the cool glass. That 
 seemed to calm him, for he was able to turn and 
 greet his guests with his usual look and manner. 
 
 The conservatory scholars buzzed in like a 
 swarm of bees, disputing, laughing, and whistling. 
 A stout young man went straight to the piano and 
 deliberately played " The Maiden's Prayer." In- 
 stantly all were silent, gazing with horror at the 
 player who seemed absorbed In the composition he 
 was rendering. Finally one of them went up to 
 
44 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 him, gently drew his hands off the keys and falter- 
 ingly entreated: 
 
 " Fred, think of your good old mother, who 
 spent so much money for your piano lessons. You 
 know something else, don't you? " 
 
 " Hey, Grube," another shouted, " have you 
 anything in the house that's good for thirsty 
 throats?" 
 
 " Certainly," Grube said laughing and looked 
 at the door through which Johanna Grube came at 
 that moment, tall and dark, with the earnest, 
 motherly expression usual to her beautiful face ; be- 
 hind her, Richard Marschall, carrying a small keg 
 of beer. One by one the merry young fellows ap- 
 proached, bowed and shook hands with Johanna. 
 
 "Is there anything else you wish, Franz? I 
 am going over to Bettermann's." 
 
 " Nothing, thank you. I am going to send the 
 boys home in an hour. They are too noisy today 
 for my mood. If you see Miss Nuntius, remem- 
 ber me to her." 
 
 " All right. I'll tell her. Good-bye, Mr. Mar- 
 schall, good-bye, all." 
 
 Johanna left and the young men made a dash 
 for the keg, but Grube stopped them. 
 
 " Sing me a few songs first, boys. I won't ask 
 much of you today." 
 
 " Just one round ! " they pleaded. He let them 
 have their way and presently they grouped them- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 45 
 
 selves around Marschall who raised his baton. 
 They became serious and solemn. Art was their 
 religion, even between two bumpers. 
 
 " Franz Grube's ' Song of Life,' " Richard com- 
 manded. 
 
 And in double quartet, the eight fresh young 
 voices arose and filled the room. Franz Grube 
 sat in his high Gothic chair at the window and 
 listened in silence, covering his eyes with his hands 
 as though to shield them from the glare of the 
 light. And when the singers paused, he did not 
 move. Another sound had strayed over to him 
 from across the street — a young girl's voice. 
 Softly, unheeded of the others, he opened the 
 window. Now the voice sank into silence. 
 Helga Nuntius' silhouette appeared at the win- 
 dow, then another, larger one. He recognized 
 his sister, Johanna. As he closed his window, he 
 thought of the vibrations which drew together 
 two women who both possessed the power to love 
 each other and suffer for each other. 
 
 The young songsters had long turned to their 
 bumpers of beer. They gradually fell into a 
 sentimental mood that found expression in their 
 choice of songs. Their conductor, too, fell under 
 the spell of melancholy. The story Franz Grube 
 had told him haunted him and he thought of the 
 woman who had defied destiny's decree because 
 her nature did not allow her to wait. 
 
46 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " All right, go ahead," he murmured, when they 
 clamored for another love song. 
 
 " Enough for tonight, thank you," they heard 
 their host's voice say. 
 
 They protested. What? Stop now, when 
 they were in such a fine mood? Marschall, 
 however, understood his friend. Without further 
 ceremony he simply put them out. 
 
 Grube had opened the window wide. His 
 sunken chest ached. He felt as though he could 
 not breathe enough oxygen into his lungs. Mo- 
 tionless he sat and gazed at the lighted windows 
 opposite. The girl who had come to live over 
 there would, too, have twists and turns in her 
 path of life, of that he felt certain; he had felt it 
 the first time he had looked Into those young, 
 prematurely grave eyes. And a strong and 
 glowing wave of sympathy went out from him to 
 her. 
 
 Marschall sat at the piano playing one of his 
 own compositions. It depicted a slender, deli- 
 cate mother hand seeking the careworn brow, the 
 seared heart of her child, to give it new strength; 
 tender, delicate mother hands that never tire of 
 their task; and they stroked and caressed, until the 
 watcher at the window quite forgot his own trou- 
 bles and thought only of the future of the stranger 
 across the way and began to smile to himself and 
 to murmur: " Helga Nuntlus." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 47 
 
 Was it a magic word he had spoken? The 
 door opened and on the threshold there stood 
 hesitating, with startled eyes, the one he had 
 called. And over her shoulder peered Johanna's 
 laughing face. Her arm was around the girl's 
 waist and she was delighted with the surprise she 
 had prepared for her brother. 
 
 " Well, Franz, are you glad we came? " 
 
 To Franz Grube it seemed as though one of his 
 most treasured paintings had come to life and was 
 coming toward him out of its frame. His eyes 
 dilated, his muscles strained. Drawing a deep 
 breath of delight he arose hastily and reached the 
 door in a few steps. 
 
 " Welcome to Grubeshof, Miss Nuntius. Ex- 
 cuse my absent-mindedness, please. Crusty old 
 bachelors like me are apt to dream in broad day- 
 light. But my joy at your coming is real enough, 
 I assure you." He shook hands with her and 
 held her hand long after the greeting was 
 ended. 
 
 " Your sister," Helga said, looking warmly at 
 the tall girl, " is kindness itself. Her warmth 
 envelops one. She just came and sought me out 
 in my room, and after fifteen minutes I capitu- 
 lated absolutely and followed her without a ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " If she were not my sister, Miss Nuntius, I 
 should kiss her for that." 
 
48 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " As I expected as well as deserve," cried Jo- 
 hanna. " Talk about brotherly gallantry! " 
 
 " Won't I do as a substitute, Miss Johanna ? " 
 Marschall's voice called from the piano. 
 
 Slowly Johanna turned her head. Her fore- 
 head had reddened and her mouth trembled 
 slightly, as with a timid joy that dares not face 
 the day because it fears its brightness. 
 
 " Thanks, Richard, but I'll take the will for the 
 deed." 
 
 He bowed and turned to the new guest, greet- 
 ing her like an old friend. Then they all gath- 
 ered around the large oak table on which stood a 
 caraffe filled with ruby wine and long-stemmed, 
 flower-like Venetian glasses. And they talked to 
 one another like members of one family accus- 
 tomed to meet every evening. 
 
 " What a splendid room ! " said Helga, her 
 eyes wandering from the people to the pictures 
 and to the carved wardrobes and cabinets. " You 
 feel that it is to be trusted, something like an old 
 family chronicle. I feel like doing nothing but 
 resting and smiling." 
 
 " Why not? " suggested her host. 
 
 " I am. I envy you. This is like an ancient 
 castle. You close your portals and all outer life 
 is barred out." 
 
 " And what remains?" 
 
 " Your real life. You send your thoughts 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 49 
 
 traveling and after a while you give them audi- 
 ence again." 
 
 " When you were a child, did you never play 
 with other children? " 
 
 " Yes, several times. A short distance from 
 the house where we lived in the woods there 
 was the forester's house and his boys would come 
 now and then and play with me. They used to 
 read Indian tales and tried to act them. For that 
 they needed me as a squaw. I had to sit in the 
 grass with my hair unbraided and then one of the 
 chiefs would seize me as the booty and drag me 
 through the thicket. And if I uttered a sound 
 they would look fierce and threatening and tell 
 me that that was the way of the cowardly pale- 
 faces, and not of an Indian princess. Later I 
 would have to take off my shoes and stockings and 
 with naked feet stamp upon the corn-cobs they 
 stole In the neighboring fields. ' Indian corn 
 mill ' they called it. How I used to love being 
 the squaw, in spite of hair-puUings, bleeding feet 
 and beatings." 
 
 " And that is the only memory you have of 
 your youth? " 
 
 " I remember my father. He was never cheery 
 or playful, but he loved me." 
 
 Franz Grube lifted his glass. " To his 
 health ! " he said. 
 
 " He is dead," answered the girl. 
 
50 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Then to his memory! " 
 
 They clinked glasses and the look with which 
 she thanked him touched him like a brotherly 
 kiss. 
 
 " I have often admired your mother," he con- 
 tinued ; " the last time at Bayreuth. Her Isolde 
 has no equal." 
 
 " She is a great artist," Helga said- And she 
 thought of her dead father whom they had car- 
 ried home after his loneliness had overwhelmed 
 him. 
 
 Then Marschall told of his father, who, once a 
 light-hearted, joyous student, was now a stiff- 
 necked adherent of the Established Church and 
 regarded all but classic music as directly inspired 
 by the devil. He had promptly disowned his son 
 Richard, who after six years' study of anatomy 
 had suddenly decided to become a musician. But 
 the son laughed so heartily at the storming rage 
 of the old gentleman that the old scar above his 
 forehead — witness of merry students' pranks — 
 took on a rosy glow. 
 
 " I'll get him around! You just wait until my 
 opera is performed. He may be orthodox, but 
 he will not scoff at the golden reward my genius 
 will bring." 
 
 A little later he took a seat at the piano and 
 played snatches from his opera; as the sounds 
 sparkled from under the keys Helga grew atten- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 51 
 
 tive and as the tones rose and struggled with one 
 another like human beings struggling desperately 
 for their happiness, she rose from her seat, drawn 
 towards him irresistibly by invisible hands; and 
 as the theme softened into all-understanding, all- 
 forgiving pity, she stood close to him at the 
 piano. . . . 
 
 It was quite late when she took leave of Mar- 
 schall in front of Bettermann's house. 
 
 " Our host alone," she said suddenly, pursu- 
 ing the trend of her thoughts aloud, " seems a 
 stranger to me. He must have suffered much." 
 
 " There was a time," Richard answered 
 gravely, " when he believed that love demanded 
 his whole life, while it wanted nothing but his 
 passing moments. He, however, had invested 
 his whole being in it and so he went bankrupt." 
 
 Lost in thought, she entered her little room, 
 stood long at the window and gazed at the Grube 
 house that rose superb and solemn. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 Autumn came, like a woman who late in life 
 feels once more the glow of love; like a woman's 
 second springtime. And all the blossoms lifted 
 their heads and their color became deeper and 
 their perfume sweeter because their joy had been 
 born of sorrow; they felt this was not a spring- 
 like flutter ; but the air was fraught with profound 
 recognition of the beauty of the hour; and to pro- 
 long this hour, to pour all its heaped-up riches 
 into it, knowing there could be no third rebirth 
 was a sacred mission to them. 
 
 An October sky of fiery glow stretched over 
 the river. The sun had gone down, but the pur- 
 ple glimmer in the air continued to cast its trem- 
 bling reflection on the waters. On the little Island 
 reaching to the bridge of Charlemagne, the trees 
 were still laden with purple splendor. Like an 
 enchanted garden the green strip of land lay amid 
 the whispering waters. Under low-hanging 
 branches, at small tables, many people sat, mostly 
 young men, enjoying their glass of wine and talk- 
 ing of sports and of the beauty of the October 
 
 52 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 53 
 
 evening; presently a silence fell, a whisper re- 
 sounded now and then — it seemed as though 
 each one felt the magic of nature and listened to 
 her voices. Let us do the talking today, they 
 seemed to say. And in melodious whisperings 
 the voices glided up and down the river and filled 
 the human heart with strange longings, with an 
 inexplicable desire to do well by one's self and 
 others, without giving any explanation — as 
 though filled with an all-pervading love. . . . 
 
 A little boat approached, slowly, leisurely, al- 
 most drifting down the stream, the oars barely 
 touching the water. From the reeds along the 
 shore rose the trill and twitter of a bird. Helga 
 lifted her hand, which she had let drip in the wa- 
 ter, and listened intently. She remained thus 
 motionless, until Richard Marschall laughingly 
 asked her: 
 
 " Are you asleep, Miss Nuntius? " 
 
 " Oh, no . . ." 
 
 " You dream too much." 
 
 " To dream is so beautiful." 
 
 " It is. If we don't forget the great reality, 
 life itself." 
 
 " We can't 'forget it. It doesn't give us a 
 chance to do so." 
 
 " Tell me one thing : All the time we were out 
 rowing, did you give one glance at the surround- 
 ing beauties of nature? Of course I don't expect 
 
54 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 you to look straight ahead, I don't dare to ask 
 for it, for straight ahead you would see — me, in 
 other words, thin air." 
 
 " There you are, Mr. Marschall. Your com- 
 passion is really nothing but a bit of hurt vanity. 
 I forgot to look at you." 
 
 " Oh," he cried, cutting the air with his oars, 
 " there's Mother Eve, quickly changing the sub- 
 ject. Won't do, though, change of subject is not 
 permitted. We weren't talking about me at all. 
 Although — well — although . . ." 
 
 " Of what were we talking? Well, now, 
 what: although . . .?" 
 
 " Well, if you must know . . . although you 
 might go further and do worse. Heavens, I be- 
 lieve I've been struck by lightning ! I won't say 
 another word, honest ! " 
 
 With feigned energy he plied the oars. 
 
 " Mr. Marschall — " 
 
 " Miss Nuntius?" 
 
 " We are to be good friends, are we not? " 
 
 " I should say so ! " 
 
 " Then promise me not to talk so foolishly any 
 more." 
 
 " You are perfectly right. A man steering a 
 boat with two oars has no business to talk about 
 things that require the use of his two arms." 
 
 " Will you pardon me if I go back to my 
 dreams? " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 55 
 
 " Certainly. Genuine compassion is always 
 ready to forgive." 
 
 " Compassion — ? " 
 
 " You are wasting your life, for you are dream- 
 ing it away. I wager you thought of nothing but 
 the conservatory and your art. That is worthy 
 and laudable, to be sure. But you must feel what 
 you sing and that knowledge you will gain from 
 life alone." 
 
 " In that case," she said derisively, not know- 
 ing why she felt a desire to insult him, " you 
 ought to be able to sing most wonderfully." 
 
 He was about to fly into a passion. Instead of 
 that he laughed. 
 
 " I am, only you can't hear it." 
 
 Silently she pondered over his last words; si- 
 lently he plied the oars. She glanced at his face. 
 There was obstinacy in it, but more than anything 
 else It expressed the joy of life. Now and then 
 — it was not the first time she noticed it — that 
 joy seemed born of inner serenity. Then his 
 bold eyes softened — they seemed to listen to se- 
 cret voices and answers. 
 
 " Mr. Marschall," she said softly after a while, 
 " please forgive me, I am sorry." 
 
 There was a gentle entreaty in her voice. He 
 looked up. "Honestly?" he asked, eyeing her 
 sideways. 
 
 " Honestly, Mr, Marschall, I am sorry." 
 
56 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Well," he said, " we'll see about it." With 
 a jerk he withdrew the oars, dropped them to the 
 edge of the boat and seized her hands. 
 
 " Am I forgiven now, Mr. Marschall? " 
 
 " Not yet," he murmured, bent down and cov- 
 ered her delicate wrists with ardent kisses. 
 
 She was so amazed at first she kept perfectly 
 still. And as she gazed down at his hair that 
 seemed to glow and burn so strangely in the even- 
 ing sun, she became aware of the glow in the air 
 and the water, became aware of the wondrous 
 beauty of the river and the fairy-like loveliness 
 of the landscape, the murmurs of the autumn 
 evening that filled her heart with nameless long- 
 ing. Why had she not noticed all this before? 
 How was it that, surrounded by all the beauties of 
 nature, she had mentally rehearsed an aria again 
 and again, until it seemed to be letter-perfect, and 
 that now she was forgetting her art, and that her 
 heart and eyes had become young and joy- 
 ous only when she had felt those warm young lips 
 on her hands, those lips that did not cease to seek 
 new places to kiss, from the tips of her fingers to 
 her wrists? 
 
 Suddenly there was a crunching noise. The 
 boat stuck fast in the reeds. 
 
 Richard Marschall straightened up quickly, and 
 the first thing he saw was her eyes. Not the eyes 
 he knew. These were the innocent, happy eyes 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 57 
 
 of a young girl, suiting perfectly her youthful ap- 
 pearance. 
 
 " We are stranded! " she laughed. 
 
 " What of it! " he replied, and looked at her 
 mouth with pleading eyes. 
 
 " We'll have to go on, Mr. Marschall. Surely 
 we cannot land on the island in the dark." 
 
 " We can do anything we want to." 
 
 " But we don't want to." 
 
 The voice was so certain and determined that 
 Marschall took up the oars without another word. 
 To free the boat from the reeds he had to stand 
 up. Balancing himself awkwardly, he slipped 
 and fell on his knees. At the same moment she 
 bent forward, stretched out her arms to save him 
 and as the boat gave a sudden jolt, their heads met 
 in a sounding blow. 
 
 She cried out laughingly, rubbing her forehead 
 with a childish grimace. But he drew her hands 
 away and kissed the little red mark. 
 
 " That will heal it," he said seriously, and be- 
 fore she could voice her. indignation he had taken 
 the oars and was now rowing down stream and 
 singing for dear life. 
 
 It is too late to scold him, she thought, and she 
 was glad of it. 
 
 They had passed under the first bridge and 
 were nearing the second. Then he broke the si- 
 lence. 
 
58 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " You have been making tremendous strides in 
 the six weeks you have been with Professor Faller, 
 I hear." 
 
 " Did the professor tell you that himself? " 
 
 " No. Braun did. His opinion is worth more 
 to me." 
 
 "Why?" she asked expectantly. 
 
 " Because for Braun nothing exists but the 
 voice. I am sure he has never taken a good look 
 at you, although he has met you at lessons and 
 oftener still at Grubeshof. But as to your voice, 
 he knows It through and through." 
 
 "Did he say he liked it?" 
 
 " More than that. He actually estimated its 
 value in dollars." 
 
 " Why do you always speak so scornfully of 
 your friend Braun?" she asked after a short 
 pause. " For he is your friend, is he not? " 
 
 " Oh, yes. He became my friend one day after 
 I had told him the truth about himself very 
 frankly." 
 
 " What fault have you to find with him ? " 
 
 "The worst one can find in a human being: 
 That except when he is singing, he has not a parti- 
 cle of soul, or feeling. His expressions of feel- 
 ing are nothing but acting." 
 
 " But he is an artist ! " she replied excitedly, 
 " the greatest among us ! " 
 
 Then he knew that her mood had changed, that 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 59 
 
 there would be no more thought of him in her 
 mind for this evening. Rapidly he rowed ashore. 
 
 As she alighted, a long, stooping figure came 
 to greet her. She could barely discern Franz 
 Grube's bearded face. 
 
 "Was it fine? Did you enjoy yourself, Miss 
 Nuntius, and did Richard behave? Here we are 
 all steeped in melancholy." 
 
 " It was lovely," she said quickly. " But why 
 are you melancholy? " 
 
 " Well, it is the spell of the October night that 
 seems to whisper to us to take all we can, for it 
 will never return." 
 
 " But since it invites you to help yourself, why 
 be melancholy about it? " 
 
 " Bravo, Miss Nuntius, that's the way I like you. 
 In the future I shall send you out with Richard 
 very often." 
 
 " Oh, no," she replied quickly, and added, more 
 slowly, taking his hand: "I'd rather stay with 
 you; especially these October nights." 
 
 " You came a bit late, little fairy." 
 
 He led her to the table, where she found Jo- 
 hanna Grube. She had to repeat the tale of their 
 mishap and they all teased Richard about his poor 
 oarsmanship. Johanna alone did not laugh; her 
 glance wandered questioningly from Richard to 
 Helga. She remained strangely silent the rest of 
 the evening. 
 
6o THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Multi-colored lamps glittered in the trees; the 
 streams of red had faded from the sky which now 
 spanned the river like an arch of purple velvet 
 strewn with millions of twinkling stars. 
 
 Helga was gazing enraptured at this beautiful 
 night scene when her attention was distracted by 
 approaching steps. Braun's broad shoulders ap- 
 peared among the bushes. Grube made room for 
 him at the table and he sat down, waving a greet- 
 ing to his friends. 
 
 " Back from your trip so soon?" Grube said. 
 
 " I arrived an hour ago, changed my clothes, 
 took a cab and here I am." 
 
 " Was the concert a success? " 
 
 " What a question ! " He motioned to the 
 waiter and ordered a glass of wine. 
 
 " Didn't any of you read the Daily News this 
 morning?" asked Richard sarcastically. "I am 
 astonished at such a display of ignorance." And 
 he quoted: "Beautiful maidens clad in flowing 
 white robes showered the incomparable singer 
 with roses . . ." 
 
 " Has he been drinking so early in the even- 
 ing? " Braun asked his neighbor. 
 
 " Why, he's only joking." 
 
 " Ridiculous ! " and he emptied his glass and 
 beckoned to the waiter to refill it. 
 
 Helga Nuntius felt like boxing Marschall's 
 ears. What did he mean by belittling Braun's 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 6i 
 
 success, of which he himself was more thoroughly 
 convinced than any one else. She had never seen 
 him jealous, but there was rancour in the tone of 
 his voice. She turned to Braun and, anxious to 
 change the conversation, asked him what he had 
 sung. 
 
 But Braun did not seem in the least disturbed. 
 He spoke quietly of his triumphs, as though he 
 were discussing those of a total stranger. There 
 was an element of greatness in this, for one could 
 not but feel that the young singer with the haughty 
 face was at any moment ready to prove his asser- 
 tions. 
 
 " What did you sing? " Helga repeated. 
 
 " Schubert's ' Schoene Muellerin.' The entire 
 series. Would you like to hear some of them? " 
 
 " It would tire you, after your trip — and 
 moreover here, in the open air — " but her voice 
 betrayed her desire to hear the songs. 
 
 He laughed and looked around from one to the 
 other. " How about it? " he asked. 
 
 " Really and truly? " " Will you give us such 
 a treat?" "How splendid of you I" they all 
 shouted. 
 
 " The evening is worthy of it," Grube said. 
 " Braun only does what we would all like to do : 
 Peal forth our gratitude in song." 
 
 They all became silent. Not a sound disturbed 
 the quiet of the night save the gentle lapping of 
 
62 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 the waves against the river shore and the sighing 
 of zephyr breezes. 
 
 And Robert Braun sang. 
 
 His legs stretched out full length, his elbows on 
 the arms of his chair, his glance fastened upon the 
 silvery outline of the Cathedral across the river, 
 he sang. And the words he sang became real to 
 his audience. Brooks sprang from jutting rocks 
 — a mill ghttered from between the alder-trees — 
 and the wanderer gave thanks to the brooklet. 
 And then came the music of many, many strings, 
 and each string felt the touch of the master and 
 sprang forth to chant its note: Wanderlust, 
 friendship, love, hope, doubt, wooing; the plaint 
 of the rejected, the triumph of the accepted, the 
 heaven-born joy of possession, the death-sad grief 
 of loss. Were these the songs of a miller and his 
 peasant-love or were they the songs of a prince 
 and his princess? Never had the island heard 
 such song. The wind was hushed and the night 
 he'd her breath; the moon beamed from roof to 
 roof as though she had undertaken the embellish- 
 ment of this strange night. And now the whole 
 quay with its domes and turrets reflected the deep 
 violet sky like a great, silver silhouette. And the 
 people on the island felt as though bewitched, as 
 though they had been chosen above all others to 
 be happy forever. And they looked at each other 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 63 
 
 with smiling eyes and a profound love of life per- 
 vaded their beings. 
 
 And so song followed upon song. Franz 
 Grube sat, pale of face, motionless. Johanna 
 smiled as she dried her tears ; her young strength 
 rebelled against the spell and tried to shake It off. 
 Helga, however, had yielded to it. She could 
 have listened to those perfect tones the whole night 
 lorlg. 
 
 Richard Marschall alone did not share the gen- 
 eral mood. He toyed with his glass, moved about 
 in his chair, called loudly for the waiter whenever 
 a pause ensued and plainly tried to pour cold wa- 
 ter Into the wine of their enthusiasm. He did 
 not himself quite understand his mood. He felt 
 something in the air against which it was neces- 
 sary to be on his guard. And as Grube asked him 
 softly what ailed him, he answered with Irritation 
 that Braun got on his nerves. 
 
 Robert Braun had finished. Eagerly his 
 friends crowded around him to shake his hand, to 
 slap him on the back, to applaud him, to thank 
 him. 
 
 " That's singing. Isn't It? " he said, and looked 
 about proudly. " Do you know any one else who 
 could do it?" 
 
 " Overbearing ass ! " Marschall said, and whis- 
 tled through his teeth. 
 
64 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " See here, Marschall, I did not ask for 
 your criticism." 
 
 "Oh, didn't you? But that of the others 
 you accept readily enough, because it reeks of in- 
 cense." 
 
 "What's the matter, Marschall?" one of the 
 men inquired; " you seem to be aching for a quar- 
 rel tonight." 
 
 " Perhaps. I can't stand all that nonsense I " 
 
 " But, my dear fellow, nothing at all has hap- 
 pened! " 
 
 " Hasn't it? Well, if none of you understood 
 what he meant by his ridiculous boasting, I did, 
 anyhow! " 
 
 " But how can that affect you? You are not 
 a singer, but a composer." 
 
 " Heavens, I'm not speaking of myself. I 
 leave that to such miserable wretches as Braun. 
 But he is not the only one here who knows a thing 
 or two about singing." 
 
 " Do they need someone to speak for them? 
 Hardly." 
 
 " But he needs you to speak for him, doesn't 
 he ? Where the devil Is he ? I want to tell him 
 that if anyone said to me one half of what I've 
 just said to him . . ." 
 
 " My dear fellow, do be happy that things are 
 quiet." 
 
 " That doesn't make any difference. This 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 65 
 
 question must be decided between men. And 
 Braun is nothing but a voice." 
 
 " Richard," came Grube's voice with a note of 
 warning, " I fear you are losing your sense." 
 
 Then Helga's voice rose, clear and contemptu- 
 ously. " How ugly lack of appreciation always 
 is." 
 
 Richard Marschall leaned back in his chair, 
 puffed at his cigar and watched the smoke curl in 
 the air. Why didn't he go away? No one would 
 have held him back. Surely they were all wait- 
 ing for him to go. What had been the object of 
 his attack on Braun? To make the latter ridic- 
 ulous, to brand his insupportable conceit, to show 
 him in his real colors. And what had been the re- 
 sult? Seven words! Those seven words filled 
 his head and became distorted and made grimaces 
 at him. They seemed to paralyze his limbs so 
 that he felt unable to rise. Why the devil had he 
 wanted to quarrel with his old friend and fellow 
 student? He awoke with a start, looked Helga 
 straight in the eye and left the table without a 
 word. 
 
 As he stood waiting for the boat to carry him 
 across, he heard the swish of a woman's garments 
 behind him. 
 
 " Good night, Richard. I shall not let you go 
 without a handshake ; I fully understand what oc- 
 curred to you." 
 
66 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 He looked Into Johanna Grube's face, nodded 
 without paying any attention to her words and 
 only said: " Thank you, dear sister." 
 
 Then he jumped into the boat and was rowed 
 across. 
 
 It was close upon ten o'clock as he passed the 
 Cider Inn on the market-place. Under the big 
 old linden tree the good citizens sat as though it 
 were a summer night. So crowded was the pop- 
 ular old place, that many a good man had made 
 room for newcomers at his table. Barrels, step- 
 ladders, a hand-cart turned upside down — every- 
 thing available had been converted into seats. 
 
 Richard Marschall entered the restaurant. As 
 he did so, he tripped over a pair of outstretched 
 legs. Song and laughter greeted his entrance. 
 
 "Hello, Mr. Marschall; come and have a 
 drink. This new cider is great. Gives you some 
 of the finest ideas ! Sit down, please do." 
 
 It was Bettermann who greeted his young friend 
 with suspicious hilarity. 
 
 " Good evening, Bettermann. Was your wife 
 foolish enough to give you the latch-key, to- 
 night?" 
 
 " Wouldn't be necessary, neighbor. It'll be 
 daytime when I get home." 
 
 " Here, waiter, bring me some cider. It seems 
 to put heart into a fellow. Well, Mr. Better- 
 mann, tell me something new." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 67 
 
 " Your health, Mr. Marschall. Your pres- 
 ence here is an honor to all of us." 
 
 And Bettermann began to relate stories of the 
 Franco-German war and as he drew upon his im- 
 agination he grew bolder and bolder. On the 
 battle field the generals had tapped him on the 
 shoulder; wherever he was quartered the women 
 fought for him and wanted to make a Frenchman 
 of him, and at the hospital, why, you should have 
 seen the noble princesses bending over his cot and 
 kissing his hero's brow! 
 
 And every time Bettermann wanted to stop, 
 Richard Marschall egged him on anew. Yet he 
 hardly heard what the old man was saying. All 
 he wanted was to hear the sound of a human voice 
 to drown his thoughts. He was afraid to be 
 alone. Again and again he heard the bird call 
 in the reed, heard the crunching of the boat and 
 the crackling of the reed bushes. Again he saw 
 two young eyes awakened to the joy of living from 
 out of the spell of art. 
 
 " Go on, Mr. Bettermann! " 
 
 " — Until that silly dazzler, the fellow 
 Braun — " 
 
 " I don't know any more, Mr. Marschall! " 
 
 " Neither do I ! " And Marschall called in a 
 harsh voice, " Waiter, the bill! " 
 
 As they walked through the moonlit street, 
 Marschall felt called upon to lend his old friend 
 
68 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 the support of his arm. As they came to the 
 bridge, Mr. Bettermann suggested a swimming 
 contest and he only could be persuaded not to di- 
 vest himself of coat and vest when Marschall de- 
 clared solemnly that Mr. John Bettermann had 
 won the race. 
 
 Yonder lay the Island, now shrouded in silence. 
 The towering trees seemed to hold a death watch. 
 Like a graveyard, thought Marschall, and he 
 forced his glance away from them. 
 
 "Wake up, Bettermann, we're almost homel " 
 
 " Home," the old fellow mumbled, gazing 
 about him with a vacant smile. 
 
 In front of his house he lifted his quavering 
 voice In a parting song. 
 
 Someone opened a window above and leaned 
 out. It was Helga. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Helga, I can't get up the steps! " 
 whimpered Bettermann. 
 
 " I'll come down ! " she answered with a laugh. 
 
 Richard Marschall stood as though turned to 
 stone. She must have recognized him, in the 
 bright light of the full moon. A splendid figure 
 he must cut next to the Intoxicated old man. 
 Maybe she thought he was drunk, too, and had 
 been so hours ago, on the Island. 
 
 Overwhelmed with shame and anger he tore 
 away from his companion so abruptly that the lat- 
 ter sat down on the stairs precipitately. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 69 
 
 " That was ugly of you, Mr. Marschall, very, 
 very ugly ! " he heard Bettermann call after him 
 as he ran down the street. 
 
 And it seemed to him as though the voice of 
 Helga Nuntius echoed the words: " Yes, indeed, 
 Mr. Bettermann, inexpressibly ugly I " 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 Frankfort lay buried in snow. In a single 
 night the November winds had swept the trees 
 bare and lashed the leaves into the river. Furi- 
 ous rainstorms had followed; like scrub-women 
 they had taken possession of the ornamental 
 shrubs and flower beds that dotted the city and 
 never stopped until the last traces of the sum- 
 mer's festival were removed and all the trees, 
 bare of foliage, stood about like polished furni- 
 ture in a sober household which after an evening 
 of unaccustomed jollification, returns to its daily 
 routine. 
 
 People went about grumblingly to their work; 
 and after a short while they forgot that it had ever 
 been different. 
 
 Helga Nuntius had hardly seen anything of her 
 friend Marschall. When she was not at the con- 
 servatory, she was at home at the piano, engrossed 
 in study. At the approach of dusk she would 
 make sure that no one was listening at the door; 
 then she would draw the shades and become a dif- 
 ferent being. Standing in the center of the room, 
 she lifted her lovely, slender arms, and humming 
 some aria mezzo voce would flit through the room 
 
 70 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 71 
 
 with a strange gleam in her eyes. Now she 
 would step lightly to her big chair, making it play 
 the part of her lover whom she would gaily em- 
 brace. Or she would stalk back, horror and de- 
 spair depicted on her mobile face, and totter and 
 fall to the ground, her beautiful hair billowing 
 about her. Then she would sit up, listen for a mo- 
 ment and start all over again. 
 
 She was no longer Helga Nuntius. She was 
 Anna, the bride of the demoniacal Helling; she 
 was Mignon, shy and strange; she was Elsa or 
 Eva, daughters of Wagner's dreams. After a 
 while it seemed to her as though she lived a new 
 strange life as soon as she had locked her door 
 and shut out the world outside. 
 
 Once Mr. Bettermann had listened at her key- 
 hole, his mouth wide open in wonderment. There 
 she was, flitting through the room, a shawl about 
 her youthful shoulders, raising and dropping It In 
 turns. He could not hear what she was saying 
 or singing, but as she danced her face took on a 
 bewitching expression and he saw her address the 
 objects in the room as though they were living 
 beings and suddenly — for days he felt the fright 
 she had given him — he saw her go down as 
 though struck by lightning and he would have 
 screamed aloud had she not risen as quickly as she 
 had fallen and practiced the awful fall all over 
 again. 
 
72 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Half an hour later she had come in to supper, 
 happy and merry, with the appetite of a child. 
 Mr. Bettermann kept to himself what he had seen. 
 It seemed to him as though he were made a con- 
 fidant of a great secret and covertly he would 
 stroke the back of the fairy at his table, as though 
 to make sure that she was really flesh and blood. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning about the middle of 
 December. The pure-white snow crunched un- 
 der Helga's feet as she wended her way to the con- 
 servatory, feeling at peace with herself and the 
 world. The aigrette on her little fur cap nodded 
 at each step and the close-fitting costume of dark 
 green cloth with its modest trimming of narrow 
 fur bands showed the charming lines of her youth- 
 ful figure. 
 
 On her way she met a number of students of the 
 conservatory. As a rule she avoided them, for 
 the free and easy manner of the young women 
 and their talk with the men were obnoxious to her. 
 Today, this crisp, pure winter morning, she only 
 felt that she was as young as they were. And as 
 one of them mischievously made a ball of snow 
 and threw it at her, she quickly drew off her gloves 
 and accepted his challenge. 
 
 It was late when she reached the professor's 
 studio. 
 
 " See here. Miss Nuntius, I shall have to scold 
 you. Do you really think you can treat me as 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 73 
 
 you do? Not much I Half an hour ago, when I 
 passed on my way to this circus for throat gym- 
 nastics and acrobatics, I saw you engaged in a 
 snow fight with some silly geese and young jack- 
 asses, the pupils of that blockhead — that is to 
 say, my honored colleague next door. If you in- 
 sist upon becoming like the others, do not expect 
 me to teach you. You'll take pity on an old man, 
 won't you? You know I get very nervous wait- 
 ing here all alone." 
 
 Helga felt so ashamed, she could not find a 
 word in reply. She stood in the large stage room 
 where she was to rehearse with Braun today. 
 And when she raised her head, to throw an en- 
 treating glance at her scolding old teacher, she 
 saw that Braun had arrived, that he was leaning 
 against one of the wings, obviously bored to death. 
 She bit her lips, took off her coat and cap and took 
 a step forward. 
 
 " I am ready," she said. 
 
 " That is very good, but it would have been 
 better had you seen fit to apologize." 
 
 Once more she threw a rapid glance in the direc- 
 tion of Braun. His face had not changed, ex- 
 pressing neither regret at her predicament nor em- 
 barrassment at the fact that he had had to listen 
 to the old man's sarcastic remonstrances. 
 
 An angry pride took possession of her. 
 
 " I was ready to apologize at once, Professor, 
 
74 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 but since you only seem to wish to humble 
 me . . ." 
 
 "To — to — what?" 
 
 " You understand me, I think. This Is the 
 very first time I have ever been guilty of unpunc- 
 tuality and I deserved a reprimand. But I doubt 
 whether I have deserved to receive it before wit- 
 nesses who have nothing at all to do with It." 
 
 " Very true, very true. Indeed! Did you hear, 
 Braun? Tell me. Miss Nuntlus, was it your 
 mother who taught you your manners? " 
 
 " It was my father who taught me." 
 
 " Your father? Indeed! Tell me, was he — 
 a nobleman or — or maybe even a schoolmas- 
 ter?" 
 
 " He was my father," she replied, breathing 
 heavily and looking at him without flinching. 
 
 The old man's gaze fell; then he blinked, 
 looked at the girl once more from the corner of 
 his eye and suddenly turned toward the stage. 
 
 "What are you doing, waiting about?" he 
 yelled at Braun, startling the singer with this sud- 
 den attack. " Didn't you hear that I had some- 
 thing to say to this young lady? " 
 
 " But permit me, Professor . . ." 
 
 " Permit nothing ! You claim to be an artist 
 and haven't an idea of what befits a plain human 
 being? Devil take you, why don't you see to it 
 that people will regard artists, too, as respectable 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 75 
 
 fellows, not as trained monkeys. Do you under- 
 stand? Not another wordl" 
 
 "Professor, what do you mean . . .?" 
 
 But the Infuriated old man had taken his seat 
 at the piano and begun the introductory bars to 
 the love duet between Elsa and Lohengrin. 
 
 " The sweet song is ended " — Braun sang, and 
 the beauty of his voice rang out clear and crisp. 
 A pause of a few seconds, then the professor 
 raised his hands and the next moment he leaned 
 over on the keys and laughed until the tears ran 
 down his cheeks. 
 
 " The sweet song is ended," he gasped. " Yes, 
 indeed, it is ended. And it was sweet, my song, 
 wasn't it? Good Lord, ' the sweet song ' ! " 
 
 And Helga laughed, too, and even Braun smiled 
 to himself. 
 
 " Well, children, let's make up. My bark is 
 worse than my bite. It's only because I love you 
 two and want to be proud of you. Here is little 
 Nuntius. For two years her mother taught her 
 and her mother was the best pupil I ever had and 
 has long been the great and only Nuntius. What 
 am I to teach the child of the great Nuntius? I 
 never could understand the ambition of so many 
 teachers and physicians who fear for their repu- 
 tation if they can't find anything to tinker with. 
 You have been taught by my method, anyhow, 
 child, you are blood of my blood, as it were, so 
 
76 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 I needn't worry about my reputation. But one 
 year only will I keep you here. It would be a 
 crime to hold you back any longer. A year from 
 now you'll have your engagement and from now 
 on we'll study nothing but repertory. Now get 
 up on the stage ! " 
 
 Helga Nuntius stood on the little stage, hesi- 
 tatingly. To act in broad daylight what she had 
 practiced in the secrecy of her room at night 
 seemed unthinkable. A wave of shame crept 
 over her and reddened her cheeks and took her 
 breath away. 
 
 As Braun drew near and opened his arms, she 
 felt deadly embarrassed. Closing her eyes she 
 abandoned herself to his embrace. 
 
 " Now make yourselves comfortable, chil- 
 dren ! " 
 
 She felt herself drawn to the divan with gentle 
 insistence, and strange sensations stirred her blood 
 as the Knight of the Holy Grail voiced his happi- 
 ness In notes of divine ecstasy. 
 
 " Elsa, my wife . . . ! " 
 
 Then her own voice arose. Restrained at first, 
 but the short struggle between the desire for ex- 
 pression and the shy maidenly reserve gave her 
 notes and her manner so pure, so virginal a charm 
 that even the haughty face of the tenor betrayed 
 astonishment at so much womanly purity. Never 
 had he heard such singing, and involuntarily he en- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 77 
 
 deavored to attune his voice to hers. Brighter 
 shone the glowing fire of passion; humbly the 
 Knight pleaded; and their joy was that of two 
 beautiful, high-spirited children enveloped in the 
 mystic charm of poetry and music. 
 
 The old master at the piano strove hard to 
 keep his thoughts from reverting to things long 
 past. A mist rose before his eyes and out of the 
 mist there stood forth the holy Mecca of Music, 
 Bayreuth, and he saw himself standing on the 
 stage of the Festspielhaus ; and another stood at 
 his side, one with a profile chiselled as he had never 
 seen one since ; and that man, the divine Richard 
 Wagner himself, who patted him on the shoulder 
 and said: " Bravo, Faller, you are my man. To 
 you I entrust the fortunes of the Holy Grail." 
 
 Even more passionately rang Helga's voice. 
 The miracle of love was fulfilled, the miracle that 
 in one short hour changed the child into a woman. 
 
 Earnestly and nobly Braun Interpreted his role. 
 He had found the right mate. And as formerly 
 he had felt compelled to match his hero to the 
 bride-like- manner of the girl, so his noble great- 
 ness now fascinated Helga and she was in her 
 own little room and forgot herself and her sur- 
 roundings and she, as well as her acting, became 
 unrestrainedly visionary until, broken by the force 
 of Elsa's deed, she flung herself upon Lohen- 
 grin's breast and fell fainting at his feet. . . . 
 
78 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Then Faller gave full rein to his fancy. His 
 head bowed low over the keys, he played on for 
 himself. Motive upon motive, each remaining 
 like a little ray of sunlight before it flutters on to 
 make room for the next. Young Siegfried forg- 
 ing his sword; Walter singing his prize song and 
 Tristan, the hero, calling to Isolde, queen among 
 women. 
 
 The two young people on the stage had long 
 abandoned their parts. They had become Helga 
 Nuntius and Robert Braun, no longer illusory 
 beings, but every-day people standing at the right 
 and left of the stage and avoiding each other's 
 eyes. Illusory, perhaps, their embrace had been a 
 fact. How were they to bow stiffly to each other, 
 to bid each other a conventional farewell, after 
 that? Helga was at a loss how to leave the stage. 
 
 The playing had ceased. Faller's long hands, 
 with their knotted blue veins, lay on the keys. 
 Now he turned his head and the young people no- 
 ticed that the rims of his eyes were redder than 
 usual. 
 
 " Children," he said, " the thought of death is 
 terrible to me." 
 
 " Why, Professor, what an Idea I " 
 
 " Come along. Professor," Braun called to him, 
 " we'll go out and have something to drink." 
 
 But Faller, for once, was not to be tempted. 
 
 " If I think of how often I stood right in the 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 79 
 
 ocean of tone and allowed the waves to close over 
 my head and how I came forth purified, cleansed 
 of all the vices of life, clean and pure, the outer 
 and the inner man. That's what art does. It 
 pardons, heals and hallows everything. If you 
 believe in it. If — you — have faith in its magic 
 power." 
 
 They were silent. After a while he continued : 
 
 " No, no, I don't want to die. If I leave life 
 I shall have to leave my art. And I cannot leave 
 it, I tell you, I cannot! There is no joy for us in 
 Heaven; music is our joy, and If we leave life we 
 leave our joy behind. Children, children, don't 
 ponder over it, or you'll lose your minds ! To 
 leave music, to leave it behind. It Is impossible, I 
 tell you. It is Impossible ! " 
 
 Braun drew out his watch. 
 
 " It is twelve o'clock, Professor," he said. " I, 
 for one, am going to bid farewell to music for the 
 present." 
 
 " Get out, quickly! " 
 
 " I'll call for you tonight and we'll have din- 
 ner together." 
 
 " Get out of my presence, you, you Philistine! 
 What do you know about art? Have you ever 
 been shaken by It so that you had to bawl like a 
 baby? Not you. To you music is a cow to be 
 milked. With legs spread apart you sit under- 
 neath on your three-legged stool with a mien as 
 
8o THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 though you were foretelling mysteries, while In 
 fact you are milking away for dear life, until your 
 pall is full. And just as soon as you have gath- 
 ered your million you'll throw your chair against 
 the wall with a bang and henceforth won't care a 
 damn for your art. Go to the devil and leave me 
 alone." 
 
 " Good-bye, Professor ! " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 "Braun! I say, Braun!" 
 
 "What Is It, Professor?" 
 
 "What time did you say you'd call for me? " 
 
 " Around nine o'clock." 
 
 " Make It eight o'clock. The days are so short, 
 anyhow." 
 
 " Very well. Eight o'clock. See you later, 
 then. Good-bye, Miss Nuntlus." 
 
 Helga took her hat and coat, ready to go. 
 
 " God bless you, child. The bad examples 
 were made so as to show off the good ones all the 
 better. Otherwise neither God nor the Devil 
 would know the difference. Keep well and happy, 
 little girl. Good-bye." 
 
 The whole day she had walked about as In a 
 dream. In vain she searched for the thread of 
 Ariadne. What strange Goddess was Music that 
 she thus enthralled and confused her own priest- 
 esses? 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 There was great excitement in the house of 
 Bettermann. Even Mrs. Lena neglected her ht- 
 tle store today and the customers, coming for a 
 few eggs or a pound of flour were compelled to 
 wait unconscionably long. Not until they had 
 beaten a tattoo on the counter with their money, 
 would she appear with many excuses.. " Our 
 young lady is to sing today," she would say, with 
 a pleading look. And the customers forgot the 
 cold and their intended purchases in their curi- 
 osity to hear the news, until Mrs. Lena would say 
 once more pleadingly, " I must help her dress, 
 you know; the child Is so excited she can't close 
 a hook. You can understand that. Her first 
 public appearance, you know." 
 
 And all agreed it was impossible to get one's 
 clothes properly hooked before one's first appear- 
 ance and asked when the young lady would leave 
 the house and said they would be before the door 
 to see her step into her carriage. 
 
 Helga Nuntius sat in her bedroom at the little 
 old-fashioned dressing table, on each side of 
 which were two metal candelabras; the bright 
 
 8i 
 
82 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 light of the candles shone on her little dark head, 
 on which Mrs. Lena had first practiced her art as 
 a hairdresser. 
 
 " There's one thing queer about you," said the 
 good woman; " you don't need to have your hair 
 all frizzled and waved — just a few pats and it's 
 fine. With you everything is most beautiful, just 
 the way nature has made it." 
 
 Helga looked at herself in the glass — " Isn't 
 it cut too low? " said she hesitatingly, pointing to 
 her corsage. 
 
 " My child, it isn't cut any deeper than a little 
 heart. And how slender and pretty your neck 
 peeps out — you should have it three times as 
 low." 
 
 " Mrs. Bettermann," she said laughingly, and 
 in the mirror she saw the color rise on her face 
 and her neck, tinting them a pale rose. She arose 
 quickly and looked at her friend In confusion. 
 
 " Miss Helga," said this good woman, search- 
 ing for words and patting her skirt with her hands. 
 
 " What is it, Mrs. Bettermann? " 
 
 " Miss Helga, you look so — so — " 
 
 "How do Hook?" 
 
 " So — " and her motherly eyes were fastened 
 on Helga as she grew red and stammered, " I 
 would so love to kiss you just once." 
 
 And the young girl put her arms around the 
 old woman, who patted her lovely face with a 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 83 
 
 mother's tenderness while Helga murmured, 
 " You dear old darling." 
 
 Mr. John Bettermann had knocked several 
 times. No human being had ever felt such ex- 
 citement as he had tonight — as though he were 
 to make his first appearance on the stage — and 
 he had the dreadful, suffocating feeling that he 
 could not possibly appear. In his best black Sun- 
 day suit he wandered about the rooms and up and 
 down the stairs, for he, too, had received a 
 ticket for the conservatory concert. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, Mr. Grube is here," he called. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, Mr. Braun — I thought / 
 was to take you to the conservatory." 
 
 Helga opened the door. " I am ready, but it is 
 still too early! " 
 
 Bettermann stood and stared as though at a 
 strange vision. 
 
 " Close your mouth, John," Mrs. Lena said — 
 and she gave him a friendly pinch — " it is really 
 our young lady." 
 
 " Is this our young lady? " 
 
 Then the old man took hold of his necktie and 
 stretched his neck and said — " That won't do, I 
 can't go with you — Miss Helga. I am not fine 
 enough." 
 
 " Why," said Helga, " are you going to leave 
 me in the lurch ? " 
 
 " John," said Mrs. Lena, " let her pass into 
 
84 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 the parlor; she will catch cold on your account." 
 
 Then the master of the house ran ahead, opened 
 the door and announced solemnly : 
 
 " Miss Nuntius " — 
 
 As the girl passed, she smiled and then they 
 both laughed like two children, — first she greeted 
 Grube and then her colleague, Braun, whose ap- 
 pearance in Bettermann's house came as a surprise 
 to her. 
 
 " I thought, being colleagues," Braun explained, 
 and handed her a bunch of chrysanthemums, " if 
 you will allow me I will take you along with me. 
 My cab is at the door." 
 
 " I am so surprised," said Helga Nuntius. 
 " Thank you a thousand times. Good evening, 
 Mr. Grube, how are you?" 
 
 " Now that I see you, I could not feel better." 
 
 Mr. Bettermann rubbed his hands until his wife 
 beckoned to him to stop. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius," said Grube, " I too had ex- 
 pected to escort you to your first public appear- 
 ance — and I was the first to arrive — Mr. Bet- 
 termann can tell you." 
 
 Mr. Bettermann seconded the statement and 
 looked very slyly at the long stemmed la France 
 roses on the table, still wrapped in tissue paper. 
 
 " I was going to ask you to wear one of those," 
 said Grube, with an awkward motion toward the 
 flowers. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 85 
 
 She shook his hand heartily for she knew why 
 he was so visibly agitated. 
 
 A noise was heard on the steps and as Mr. 
 Bettermann opened the door curious to see who 
 it was — Richard Marschall flew into the room, 
 with a red, overheated face — his long coat cov- 
 ered with snowflakes and in his hand a large 
 paper parcel from which huge poppies were peep- 
 ing. 
 
 " Good evening," said he, "am I in time? I 
 came to call for you," and he looked about him, 
 much disturbed and wrought up at the burst of 
 laughter which greeted his words. 
 
 " Oh, I see," said he, " my rivals got ahead 
 of me, as usual." 
 
 " Why are you so late ? " whispered Mr. Bet- 
 termann, who loved the gay, merry, light-hearted 
 young man. 
 
 " On account of the flowers," said Marschall. 
 " I had made up my mind they must be poppies. 
 They are the only flowers whose color suits your 
 hair. Miss Nuntius, so I had to run from florist 
 to florist before I could find one who had them, 
 at this time of the year." 
 
 " Why did you take so much trouble for me? " 
 
 " I'll tell you some other time ■ — now we'll 
 have to draw lots as to who is to be your escort. 
 Give me some matches, Bettermann, — long wins, 
 short loses — " 
 
86 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 But Mrs. Bettermann would not hear of it. 
 
 " You must not excite Miss Nuntius before she 
 sings," she said. 
 
 " But something must be done, you see that 
 yourself." 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Marschall. Mr. Grube came 
 first — he will take her. Mr. Braun will sing 
 with her and you, Mr. Marschall ..." 
 
 " I'll take her home after the performance. 
 Will that do, Mrs. Bettermann? Are you satis- 
 fied. Miss Nuntius?" 
 
 " I am, Mr. Marschall." 
 
 " So each friend will have his share," Mrs. 
 Bettermann said with a laugh. 
 
 " I am not at all nervous now," said the young 
 girl to her as they left. " I am only happy." 
 
 While Mr. Bettermann ran to the stand to get 
 another cab, Helga Nuntius drove away with 
 Franz Grube. He pressed his long figure tightly 
 into the corner, so as not to wrinkle her flimsy 
 dress. Uncomfortable as he sat, in his eyes 
 flamed a bright light, for she sat at his side like 
 a happy bride, and it seemed to him — he shook 
 his head at himself. But the bridal feeling did 
 not leave him all evening. 
 
 " Look, Miss Nuntius, this is what I had hoped 
 for — to accompany you on your first step into 
 the world." 
 
 "Why are you all so good to me?" 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 87 
 
 And the tall grave man who had meditated and 
 speculated so much about life, answered: "Be- 
 cause you are such a pure, sweet child. You could 
 do things that no one else could do, because every- 
 one would know you meant no wrong. That's 
 all." 
 
 She remained silent — frightened — and as he 
 noticed It, he took her little hands, stroked them 
 and started several times to say something more. 
 " No," said he to himself, " she needs no advice 
 from me — she will know the good from the 
 bad — Interference won't do. Genuine nature Is 
 best left unaided — I am too old and too tired to 
 start all over again." 
 
 After a while, he heard her say: " Of what are 
 you thinking? " 
 
 " I am wondering whether I dare ask a favor 
 of you tonight." 
 
 " Ask anything you desire, Mr. Grube." 
 
 " Will you come home to Grubeshof after the 
 performance — my sister Johanna stayed at home 
 to prepare supper. You would make us very 
 happy." 
 
 " How can such a little thing as that make you 
 happy? " 
 
 " Today Is my birthday. At my age one may 
 tell without appearing importunate." 
 
 She was about to congratulate him when the 
 carriage stopped before the conservatory entrance. 
 
88 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 She pressed all her flowers into his arms, keeping 
 only his roses. 
 
 " Sing for me tonight," he pleaded. She 
 nodded her head and disappeared. He stood on 
 the sidewalk, the snow whirling about him, cover- 
 ing his hat and coat, with the flowers in his hand, 
 until a second carriage appeared, from which 
 emerged Marschall, Braun and Bettermann. 
 
 The singer with his silk handkerchief to his 
 mouth, went quickly into the house. Marschall 
 recognized his friend and saw the flowers he held. 
 
 " Why, Franz," he said, and brought his hand 
 down hard on the other's shoulder, " you forgot 
 to give her the flowers — they won't improve out 
 here. Pardon me, will you? I will take them 
 to her." 
 
 " They have accomplished their purpose." 
 
 " No, no, they have done nothing of the kind as 
 yet." 
 
 " Be good, Richard, and let me have them. 
 Miss Nuntius gave them to me for a birthday 
 present." 
 
 "For a birthday present! What! Your 
 birthday and I didn't know of it? Many happy 
 returns, much luck, old man." 
 
 " Thank you, you are coming after the perfor- 
 mance, aren't you ? Johanna counts on you with- 
 out fail." 
 
 " Is Miss Nuntius coming? " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 89 
 
 " Yes, you will bring her, since you are to be 
 her escort home." 
 
 " Franz," said Richard Marschall admiringly, 
 " you are a damned big-souled man." 
 
 Mr. John Bettermann had posted himself 
 near the door. A few snowflakes had fallen on 
 his high silk hat and as he dried them with his 
 fingers, several furrows of a dull red color became 
 visible. These annoyed him very much — be- 
 cause he wished to appear especially fine tonight. 
 
 " Come along, my boy," cheered Marschall. 
 " They'll be dry long before you marry a second 
 time — you can't stand out here and wait " — 
 So they entered the concert hall together. Bet- 
 termann smiled broadly and felt as though he 
 must announce his coming to everyone he met so 
 as to establish the fact he was indeed a legitimately 
 invited guest. He kept close to Marschall whose 
 unconcern in these wonderful surroundings im- 
 pressed him deeply. 
 
 The room was crowded — they found seats 
 in one of the last rows. The first numbers were 
 orchestral, then came the duet between Braun and 
 Helga Nuntius. 
 
 Franz Grube listened to the Beethoven Sonata 
 with deep interest. He kept his flowers on his 
 knee, notwithstanding the astonished glances of 
 his neighbors, and as the melodious sounds arose 
 in the air, he stroked the flowers from stem to 
 
90 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 petal, and no one in that concert room was as 
 happy as he was. 
 
 Mr. Bettermann was waiting impatiently for 
 the second number. A young woman played a 
 violin solo, a Wieniawski piece. It seemed very 
 strange to him, that a lady should play the violin 
 in public — a real lady, too, almost as fine as their 
 young lady. He could not get over it. 
 
 Richard Marschall looked at his watch and was 
 visibly bored. 
 
 At last the first part of the programme was 
 ended. Now an accompanist took his place at the 
 piano, and through the small door on the left of 
 the stage, Helga Nuntius and Robert Braun came 
 forth. 
 
 Franz Grube allowed his head to drop far 
 back — he started with what, to himself, seemed 
 a strange movement, sure of himself, proud. He 
 knew that what came now belonged to him. It 
 was to be part of his birthday gift. She sang for 
 him. She had promised — the first-fruits of her 
 art were for him. And why not the first-fruits 
 of her life? The emotions called up by the 
 thought crowded into his mind and frightened 
 him. Twenty years ago, and if that other love 
 had never existed! 
 
 In one minute, all desire and bitterness were 
 hushed and he felt serene and happy, like a little 
 boy who, speechless with joy, looks at the table 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 91 
 
 covered with presents for him. Now he knew he 
 had really received his birthday present. 
 
 Helga Nuntius looked directly at him. 
 
 She had found him in the crowd; over the heads 
 of the crowd she looked at him — her eyes re- 
 mained fixed on him. Timidly at first as though 
 her holy service to her art was somewhat damp- 
 ened by the clamorous applause of the audience, 
 then with perfect control, her voice pealed forth 
 — fresh, pure, passionate as at the first rehear- 
 sal. 
 
 Robert Braun's noble voice melted into hers 
 most wonderfully — like two sister bells, matched 
 by a master, their two voices blended. 
 
 " Chosen people," thought Grube, then he cor- 
 rected his thoughts. " Chosen artists," he said. 
 " Time will only demonstrate whether or no they 
 are chosen people." 
 
 Everyone about him applauded, and the artists 
 were called out times and times and still they ap- 
 plauded, when a voice called " encore " — and 
 everybody turned around to see the enthusiast. 
 
 It was Mr. Bettermann. In his mad excite- 
 ment, he arose from his seat. At the same time 
 an old man with dried, wrinkled face, got up in 
 the first row, bowed to him and called " Bravo! " 
 to the embarrassed Bettermann. 
 
 "Who was that?" he asked of Marschall as 
 they entered the dressing-room. 
 
92 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " That was Professor Faller, the renowned 
 singing master." 
 
 Mr. Bettermann had succeeded in recovering 
 his coat and hat and was busily engaged ironing 
 the latter with his sleeve, when someone caught 
 him by the arm; he turned and looked into Pro- 
 fessor Faller's unshaven face. 
 
 " Say, my friend, that was very nice of you be- 
 fore — that encore, really nice — that was im- 
 pulsive, you know — yours was the one natural 
 voice in the whole stupid frozen audience. Give 
 me your hand, so — thank you. You are an ar- 
 tist — Faller says so." 
 
 " My name is Bettermann." 
 
 " Where do you go for a drink? " 
 
 " At the Inn, near the market-place," said Mr. 
 Bettermann, his heart beating like a sledge ham- 
 mer. 
 
 " Ah, cider," said the professor, with raised 
 brows, " a very healthful drink," and rushed off. 
 Mr. Bettermann — not the least bit insulted at 
 his hasty exit — hurried off to tell his wife, Mrs. 
 Lena, about the great event of the evening. 
 Henceforth at the tavern he did not confine his 
 conversation to his speculations only, but held 
 monologues about music and art. Where did he 
 get his knowledge? his friends would ask one 
 another. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 93 
 
 " Professor Faller seems to think I know," he 
 would answer and that settled things. 
 
 " Why did you not look at me while we were 
 singing, Miss Nuntius? " asked Braun, as they re- 
 turned to the back of the stage. 
 
 " I heard you, that was more important." 
 
 " That's no reason why you should have looked 
 at Marschall all evening." 
 
 "Mr. Marschall? I don't even know where 
 he sat. I only looked at Mr. Grube. You know, 
 Mr. Braun, I think the best way to overcome stage 
 fright is to find one sympathetic soul in the room 
 or one who seems to be so, and sing to him alone." 
 
 " You sang splendidly. Miss Nuntius. You 
 will become a star and that's what I want to be- 
 come too. Be something that others are not, it's 
 the only thing that pays." 
 
 " I want to be an artist," said Helga with burn- 
 ing cheeks. 
 
 " We will have to appear together, our voices 
 are as though made for each other; as we sang I 
 could think of nothing else." 
 
 " Not of your part?" 
 
 " I knew that by heart." 
 
 She looked at him wonderingly and shook her 
 head. 
 
 Someone knocked at the door and Marschall 
 entered the green room. Without paying the 
 
94 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 least attention to Braun, he took the girl's hands 
 and kissed them. 
 
 "You wonder!" he said, "you darling! you 
 sang like an angel! Come here, Braun, sacrifice 
 yourself, let me beat you to a jelly." 
 
 " Behave yourself, Marschall." 
 
 " Some other time. Hurry, Miss Nuntius, the 
 carriage is waiting. Now we must celebrate your 
 victory." 
 
 Helga could hardly say good night to Braun, 
 she was whisked away so hurriedly. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius," Marschall said as they sat in 
 the carriage, " you are not still angry with me, 
 are you, on account of my silly talk that night — 
 on the island? You know, I was not tipsy then 
 nor when I accompanied Mr. Bettermann either. 
 So please forgive me and don't be angry. Good 
 girl, you gave me your hand of your own accord. 
 I would like to cry Hurrah," and he knocked his 
 head against the top of the carriage so forcibly that 
 he crushed in his hat. The snow flurry continued. 
 The few people passing along quickly in the streets 
 looked like phantoms. The two in the carriage 
 had rubbed a bit of the window pane clear and 
 amused themselves by interpreting the appearances 
 of the caricatures. 
 
 The carriage stopped. Marschall paid the 
 driver, took the girl in his arms and ran into the 
 vestibule with her without allowing her satin- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 95 
 
 slippered feet to touch the ground. Thence up 
 the stairs, directly into Franz Grube's sitting room. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Marschall," she said, red as a rose, 
 " put me down." 
 
 " I will," he said, and put her down. 
 
 " Suppose someone had seen you, Mr. Mar- 
 schall." 
 
 " Don't worry, Miss Nuntius. It wouldn't 
 have hurt my reputation." 
 
 " Heavens ! " said she, " what's the use of get- 
 ting angry with you, you're so foolish? " 
 
 " You see," said he triumphantly, " you can't 
 do it yourself, and I don't insist. On the contrary, 
 but there's time for that. Will you please walk 
 in, or would you rather that I carry you — ? " 
 
 " Don't you dare," said she, passing him and 
 entering the room. 
 
 The master of the house came forward to greet 
 her. 
 
 She pressed his hand and once more congrat- 
 ulated him, and then she listened with silent joy 
 to the praise Franz Grube meted out to her, for 
 her performance of the evening. 
 
 " I do not belong to those. Miss Nuntius, who 
 judge of the greatness of an art by its diiEculty, 
 but simply by the effect it produces. That may 
 sound old-fashioned, but I think at heart every- 
 one feels that way, only most people are afraid 
 to admit it. They would rather be bored to death, 
 
96 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 and it was always the same, hundreds of years 
 ago. It Is mostly a question of personality. To 
 have personality Is worth a thousand times more 
 than to be up to date." 
 
 They seated themselves at the table. Only the 
 four — Franz and Johanna Grube, Helga Nun- 
 tlus and Richard Marschall, an old servant unos- 
 tentatiously waiting upon them. 
 
 " I should have liked to have invited a great 
 crowd tonight," said Johanna Grube, " but Franz 
 would not hear of it, — and of course, the child 
 must have his will on his birthday." 
 
 " Johanna is always happy when she has some- 
 thing to bother about," said Grube, " and the more 
 she has to do the happier she feels." 
 
 " Funny," said Marschall, — " I think some of 
 the conservatory students know her pantry better 
 than they know the classrooms at the conservatory. 
 It reminds me of the man who walked from Paris 
 to Moscow without a cent in his pocket and ar- 
 rived there thirty pounds heavier. Newman said 
 he would venture to stay at Frankfort for three 
 years without food, if during that time luck would 
 have it that Miss Johanna did not get married." 
 
 " But that isn't because I can do much for 
 them," Johanna defended herself as they all 
 laughed. " That's simply because the dear boys 
 need so little," said she. 
 
 " That's so," said Marschall, " when their 
 
THE STORY, OF HELGA 97 
 
 stomachs are full, they are perfectly well satisfied 
 • — they have most exceptional natures." 
 
 " What about yourself, Richard? " 
 
 " I am not quite so unusual. With me it's my 
 heart that's hungry instead of my stomach. 
 Thank you for your solicitude, Miss Johanna." 
 
 " I'm afraid," said she, nodding to him in a 
 friendly manner, " my stock is not large enough 
 to feed you." 
 
 Then he remained silent and musingly turned 
 his glass between his fingers. 
 
 When the table was cleared, Grube took Helga 
 into his sister's sitting room — a room finished in 
 heavy mahogany, on the walls of which, in oval 
 gilded frames, hung the pictures of the family and 
 of their ancestors. Four large porcelain vases 
 of the Biedermeyer period were filled with flowers. 
 
 " Will you stay in here until the other room is 
 put in order? Later on Marschall will play, I am 
 happy to say," said Grube. 
 
 As they sat on the little plush-covered sofa near 
 the round window and looked out at the snow, 
 Grube continued to talk of his friend. " Mar- 
 schall's a fine fellow, or will be once he is finished. 
 He belongs to the race of those who laugh and 
 suffer but who retain their youth all their lives, 
 who understand everything because nothing human 
 is strange to them." 
 
 " And Braun — do you not love him, too ? " 
 
98 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Love him ? That is saying a good deal. I 
 appreciate him and admire the artist in him, but 
 his happiness depends on money — wants to play 
 his part in the big world. What Marschall wants 
 is happiness and to be able to laugh at the world 
 from out of a hidden corner." 
 
 " You are the happiest of all of them." 
 
 " Because I ask nothing of anyone — " 
 
 " But you could if you would." 
 
 "Do you think so? I will tell you an ex- 
 perience of my travels if it will not bore you." 
 
 From the next room Marschall's laugh, full of 
 youthful spirits and Johanna's deep calm voice 
 could be heard. In the open fireplace the sparks 
 blew merrily and the wood crackled. Outside the 
 wind juggled with the snowflakes and tossed them 
 about. Helga Nuntius lay back in her corner of 
 the sofa, her eyes fixed on the tired, sunken figure 
 of the man at her side, and all her thoughts were 
 with him. He began — 
 
 " On my father's side we were all merchants. 
 That calling was as much a matter of course as 
 our baptism. I, for my part, had pronounced 
 artistic proclivities, and in order to follow them at 
 least to some extent, I became a collector of an- 
 tiques. A few years ago there was a wonderful ex- 
 position at Diisseldorf. I went there and stopped 
 with an artist friend of mine. At the exhibi- 
 tion, it was chiefly the younger school that had 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 99 
 
 been given the preference. And it was time, for 
 art was rapidly deteriorating in Diisseldorf. But 
 the older element, those who had counted in 
 former days and could not understand that their 
 sun should set, would not permit the younger gen- 
 eration to supplant them, They raised a hue 
 and a cry about violation of rights and brutal reck- 
 lessness and called a meeting at which they or- 
 ganized a salon of the Ancients. I was present at 
 the meeting, and I shall never forget it. In a 
 separate room of a restaurant there sat some 
 thirty white-haired men around a table set in horse- 
 shoe fashion. White hair, white beards, embit- 
 tered faces. I could draw them for you now. 
 And one by one they arose and voiced their protest 
 against the new art; their protest became a wild 
 howl ; it was not for art they howled, but for them- 
 selves. Thirty men who had lived their time and 
 filled it and who now could not understand that 
 their future lay in the past. They held their fate 
 in their own hands, because they had nothing to 
 do but live on the success of that past, but they 
 would gamble with their fate so as to flatter their 
 artistic impotence. Miss Nuntius, I saw that 
 picture before me, saw the hopeless misery of 
 those struggling old men who became grotesque 
 because they had not the strength to stop in time." 
 And after a pause, he lifted his head and looked 
 into the girl's compassionate eyes, for she had 
 
lOo THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 placed her hand in his. " Let us have the courage 
 of truth and conviction in life as well as in art. 
 I have had my time and have lived; I could not 
 honestly ask much for what is left of me, because 
 there is little left that is worth anything. Should 
 I become a grotesque so near the end? " 
 
 " No," said Helga Nuntius, and pressed his 
 hand convulsively, " but that time is far off." 
 
 He arose and leaned his head against the snow- 
 covered pane — then he turned determinedly. 
 
 " It is very near. Miss Nuntius — it is almost 
 here," and suddenly taking her hands so that she 
 too arose quickly, he said, " do you think it were 
 possible for me to see you, to sit near you, to feel 
 the glow of your warm blood and not stretch out 
 my arms to you — and ask and pray you to be 
 generous, you wonderful fairy, you blessed Helga, 
 and to be my wife — to be — my — wife — ? " 
 
 Tears poured from her eyes but she did not 
 wipe them away but looked into his eyes so close 
 to hers and she was not ashamed of her emotion. 
 
 " I love you very, very much, Mr. Grube, for 
 that very reason I must not deceive you. I have 
 nothing to give you, dear friend." Then he arose. 
 " You little dream lady from out of the clouds," 
 he said, " thank you for your greeting of the 
 spring. The greeting is mine — the spring is 
 yours." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA loi 
 
 Then she arose on tiptoe, and with an earnest 
 calm face, she kissed him on the lips. 
 
 And he held her head and smiled into her eyes 
 as though he saw a sea in them on which a boat 
 adorned with streamers sailed, and in the boat 
 stood his youth and waved him farewell. 
 
 Then he kissed her too, and they went in to 
 join the others. 
 
 Thus ended Helga Nuntius' first encounter with 
 love. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Back of the railway station at Frankfort the 
 gorgeous panorama of the Taunus mountains rose 
 in a blue haze and called to humanity below, 
 " Come up, it is springtime, come." And as the 
 season ripened into June that call became louder 
 and more insistent. And when the forest trees 
 were covered with tender young leaves a spirit of 
 unrest, strange longings, entered the human heart 
 and held it in their sweet thralldom. And this 
 spirit also pervaded Richard Marschall; he could 
 no longer resist the call of the wild and one morn- 
 ing he appeared before Helga Nuntius, ready for 
 a flight into the woods. 
 
 She had just seated herself at the breakfast table 
 with Mr. and Mrs. Bettermann, when Marschall 
 stormed into the room barely taking time to knock 
 at the door. 
 
 " Haven't you looked out of the window, Miss 
 Nuntius?" 
 
 " I do that every morning." 
 
 "But one morning is surely not like another; 
 you are twenty years of age and do not know that 
 there are some days that mean nothing to us and 
 
 102. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 103 
 
 some on which God himself seems to beam on us. 
 Today he is leaning far out of the window and 
 enjoying the glorious sunshine. Come quick and 
 look." 
 
 " Yes, it is really a beautiful day." 
 
 " A beautiful day? It is simply heavenly and 
 the whole world is like a fairyland. I was out in 
 the woods at five o'clock to hear the birds sing. 
 And now take your coat and hat and we'll go to 
 the fabled land of dreams to be found in the valley 
 of nowhere." 
 
 " But, Mr. Marschall, this is not vacation time, 
 I can't get away for a whole day. I have to 
 study." 
 
 " Who says you are not to study? Many and 
 new things will I teach you. You will learn that 
 every art must have its root in nature. Learn 
 how wonderful God's will is, how glorious it is 
 to be alive and able to enjoy life. Did you give 
 Aunt and Uncle Bettermann a kiss? Please, 
 Mr. Bettermann, don't get excited — we're not 
 going to America but into the Fairies' woods. 
 I'll bring her back unharmed." 
 
 " If you had only let me speak, Mr. Marschall, 
 you could have been well on your way by this time. 
 Surely we two cannot go away together for a 
 whole day." 
 
 " Do I look so suspicious? " said the composer 
 and looked himself up and down. 
 
I04 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Marschalll" 
 
 " Listen to me, Miss Nuntius," said Marschall, 
 " I was not going to tell you until we got out into 
 the woods. Today is my birthday ... in a way. 
 Humbug, you will say. Well, perhaps, but my 
 opera ' Merlin ' has been accepted. When I 
 reached home last night, the letter with its address, 
 ' Royal Opera House, Weimar,' lay on my table. 
 ' Will you kindly let us know when you will arrive 
 in Weimar to superintend a production of your 
 opera, " Merlin " which has been accepted by us ? ' 
 I know every word by heart as a Dervish knows 
 his prayer. I tried to sleep for a few hours but I 
 could not. Then I ran into the hills; then I 
 thought of my father in his little .village who will 
 be happy I think, old fashioned as he is." 
 
 " That was lovely, Mr. Marschall, and I con- 
 gratulate you doubly." 
 
 She took his hands and looked into his beaming 
 eyes. 
 
 " How happy you must be to create music for 
 the joy of the world." 
 
 " Create music? That's not my aim, it's only 
 the means to an end; I want to give people emo- 
 tions, to awaken them, to make them feel ! It all 
 lies in us and all we have to do is to lift our hands 
 to take it out. The will to love as we wish to 
 love, the will to suffer as we must suffer, the will 
 to live with all of our force, the will to be happy. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 105 
 
 As their Battle Hymn electrifies tired old soldiers 
 with new life — Forward, friends, we have but 
 one life, let us live I " 
 
 " Oh, you're so beautifully enthusiastic," said 
 she, stirred by his warmth. 
 
 " So are you — only at present it is in the ab- 
 stract — we have plenty of time after death to 
 flutter about in a land of dreams and images. 
 Until that time we must use our fists and fight 
 wherever we stand, it does not matter. Now let 
 us get the benefit of this lovely day. You have no 
 lessons at the conservatory. Come with me to 
 see my father; you will do a good deed because 
 you will prevent the old boy from pouring forth 
 the entire prayer book upon my head. He'll have 
 to be happy for once because after all he's waiting 
 to be made happy. He is a very old man, Miss 
 Nuntius, it is plainly your duty to come along." 
 
 " You are incorrigible," laughed Helga Nun- 
 tius. " You are trying to play upon my sym- 
 pathies. If you hadn't given your father cause 
 for anger against you, you wouldn't need my help 
 now to make him happy; but I will go with you." 
 
 " I thank you," said he, with a sigh of satisfac- 
 tion, " in the name of my old and revered — " 
 
 Quickly she held her hand over his mouth. 
 " Do be sensible and I will get my hat." 
 
 A few minutes later they were in the trolley on 
 their way to the train that was to convey them to 
 
io6 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 a little station in the woods, whence they started 
 on their walking tour through the Taunus. In her 
 dainty white dress, trimmed with braid, Helga 
 marched valiantly at Marschall's side. As they 
 climbed the first hill, he cried, " I will cut you an 
 Alpine stick," and with his knife he chopped off 
 a branch from a large bush which he ornamented 
 with scrolls and presented to her. " Now let us 
 sing, the woods are ours." 
 
 The woods stretched out miles in length. The 
 top branches of the bushes and trees met and 
 formed arches and alleyways of emerald green. 
 Under their feet the moss made a soft green car- 
 pet with white flittering patterns formed by the 
 sun which penetrated through a thousand little 
 cracks and holes In this leafy palace. The hum- 
 ming and buzzing of bees and butterflies followed 
 through the green solitude of the woodland 
 heights. All was redolent with the fragrance of 
 fresh pine, sassafras and other children of the for- 
 est. At a curve in the path there gurgled a clear 
 little rivulet. 
 
 " That is an enchanted princess," said Mar- 
 schall, and drew off his hat to bow low to the little 
 stream. " Will your majesty allow me to kiss 
 you?" and he lay full length on the moss and 
 drank of the cool limpid water. And on and on 
 they wandered and the sun played hide and seek 
 with them and laughed at them from tree to tree. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 107 
 
 " We, too, are bewitched," said Helga Nuntius. 
 And he motioned with his hand and answered — ' 
 
 " Everything is bewitched out here." 
 
 After they had cHmbed for an hour they stood 
 on the brink of the mountain. The woods rolled 
 into the valley. Deep down between meadows 
 and plains lay the road, and beyond, the hills rose 
 and formed a chain around the valley. 
 
 " This is like the passage of an old Gothic mon- 
 astery," said Marschall, as they found a winding 
 path among the trees. 
 
 " I am expecting a white-bearded hermit to ap- 
 pear at any minute," said Helga. 
 
 " What would you do if he appeared? " 
 
 " I would beg for his blessing." 
 
 " For both of us, I hope — a marriage bene- 
 diction in the open. Splendid 1" 
 
 She shook her head — " What an idea ! " 
 
 " If you don't specially care for a ceremony in 
 the open, my father could perform it up there. 
 If you would insist — with a little persuasion he 
 would open his church for us, but first he would 
 throw us from the altar three times — by way of 
 calling us to our senses." 
 
 " I will make it easy for him, for I will not lose 
 mine." 
 
 " Don't say that. Miss Nuntius. Have you for- 
 gotten what a good catch I am?" and he drew 
 forth the letter of acceptance from Weimar. He 
 
io8 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 waved it in the breeze, fluttered it before Helga's 
 face, and as she tried to take it, grasped her hand 
 and started her on a run through moss and thicket 
 until they reached the end of the path. Quite 
 out of breath they stopped, took one look at their 
 surroundings, and then Marschall tossed his hat 
 into the air and let forth a call which reached 
 throughout the mountain-tops. And Helga 
 tossed up her hat, too, and called with him, and 
 raised her arms to the sky, carried along by his 
 magnetism. 
 
 " Well, you foolish little girl? " said Marschall. 
 
 "Well, you foolish big boy?" she imitated 
 him. 
 
 " This is a fairy world." 
 
 " This is truly a fairy world." 
 
 Then they went to seek rest in the heather. She 
 lay perfectly still and did not move a muscle. She 
 was full of a sort of homesickness, and he kept on 
 repeating, " I cannot turn back, I must go further 
 and further into life." That thought flowed 
 through her blood and made her heart swell until 
 in deep surprise she recognized what she felt was 
 joy, joy at life, joy at the world, joy with herself. 
 
 Two little squirrels played in the woods. The 
 cuckoo called incessantly. Then they arose. The 
 church bell sounded through the valley. Its pure 
 vibrations mounted to them as though from a bot- 
 tomless sea. They still listened long after the 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 109 
 
 last sound had stopped and only the leaves In the 
 wood fluttered like a green sea caressed by the 
 wind, 
 
 " Don't speak," said Richard. 
 
 " I am happy. You have a beautiful day on 
 which to celebrate the acceptance of your opera." 
 
 " Who can think of opera now? Look around 
 at this immensity in which we are like two little 
 ants, but the ants, too, love life and work until 
 they start a hill which, by the way, we had better 
 climb and be off," and trilling like two birds, they 
 went and passed fields of golden corn and nod- 
 ding wheat, softly swaying back and forth, and 
 everywhere he gathered bunches of red poppies 
 and pinned them in her hair and on her dress. And 
 so they reached the village. 
 
 It was one o'clock in the afternoon and the vil- 
 lage street was deserted. In front of the pastor's 
 house, a square white cottage covered with red 
 roses, lay a little black spitz dog sunning him- 
 self. 
 
 As their steps approached, he sniffed about and 
 perceiving Marschall jumped up on him with wild 
 howls of joy. 
 
 " Fritz, old boy, are you still alive? Well, I 
 am happy to see you and so is this beautiful lady, 
 my friend." 
 
 Helga, however, was on her knees stroking him, 
 petting and caressing him. Then he walked on 
 
no THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 his hind legs between the two and would beg, first 
 of one, then of the other. In the house a window 
 rattled. A voice called: 
 
 "Hallo, is company there? Please come in." 
 
 " Thank you. Father, we are coming." 
 
 "You, Richard?" 
 
 " Yes, and I am bringing something lovely 
 along for you. Change your coat, you've got to 
 represent the family." 
 
 " Stop your nonsense, boy. Is anyone with 
 you?" 
 
 Then Richard and Helga made their way 
 through the flower beds and Helga stood before 
 the old pastor, who with his long cherry pipe in 
 his hand leaned out of the open window. Helga 
 no longer laughed. With the usual serious look 
 in her eyes, she looked up and courtesied in her 
 old fashioned way. 
 
 " I bid you welcome," said the pastor, suppress- 
 ing his astonishment. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, Father, a colleague of mine at 
 the conservatory. Before she goes out into the 
 world to become famous, I want her to know our 
 Taunus hills." 
 
 " Come in. Miss Nuntius." The old man met 
 them on the threshold. He had a tall, upright 
 figure, and his complexion was clear and red as 
 that of a peasant. He was almost seventy, but 
 his looks belied his age. 
 
THE STORT OF HELGA iii 
 
 " I am sorry Richard did not let me know that 
 you were coming," and he looked at the poppies 
 in her hair in amazement. " My housekeeper has 
 gone to a baptism; there might be something good 
 enough for Richard, but for such a fine lady — " 
 And again his eye was fastened on the burning red 
 flowers in her hair and on her bosom. 
 
 " Oh, pardon me," she said, and removed the 
 flowers. 
 
 " I beg of you, keep them on. Everything 
 looks well on the young." 
 
 " You never said that to me, Father, but I will 
 remember it." 
 
 The old man gave his son a long look. 
 
 " He is so happy today," said Helga quickly, 
 " whether I would or not, I had to come along to 
 help him tell you the joyful news." 
 
 " I am curious to hear it," said the old man, 
 doubtingly. They sat in the pastor's study. 
 Against the walls stood stately bookshelves. In 
 the corners were heavy old clothes-chests, and on 
 the broad work-table, among the Bibles, treatises 
 on theology and hymn books, stood a picture of 
 a young woman with sweet, tender eyes. The air 
 was full of fragrance wafted through the open 
 window into the room from the red, climbing roses. 
 " They were my wife's," said the old man, fol- 
 lowing Helga's eye, and then he pointed to the 
 picture on his table, " She died in her spring- 
 
112 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 time. The Lord decreed it! His name be 
 praised! " 
 
 "That's his mother," thought Helga; "he is 
 her very image," and she nodded secretly to the 
 faded picture. 
 
 " Well, and the wonderful message — " 
 
 " My opera has been accepted, Father, by the 
 Royal Opera in Weimar — " 
 
 "In Weimar!" 
 
 " Yes, here, read it for yourself. Perhaps I 
 didn't read it correctly." 
 
 The old man took the letter, looked at his son, 
 put on his eyeglasses and read. It took him re- 
 markably long to read those few lines. A fly 
 flew on the paper, he did not disturb it. Then 
 the young people noticed he had ceased read- 
 ing. 
 
 " Father," said Richard Marschall. 
 
 " Well, my boy, I suppose I must congratulate 
 you. Weimar ! At the very first stroke ! Now 
 I suppose you will enjoy my discomfiture." 
 
 " Oh, Father — " 
 
 " And the lovely lady was brought as a wit- 
 ness." , 
 
 " No, Reverend," said Helga softly, " you do 
 him an injustice. I would never have accom- 
 panied him had he not told me of the joy he would 
 bring to you." 
 
 " That may be so," said the old man thought- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 113 
 
 fully. Then he arose and took his son's hand. 
 "You are honest, Richard, that I know — only 
 too superficial, too worldly; but even though our 
 paths are widely different, I wish you joy, with all 
 my heart." 
 
 Then he declared he must go into the kitchen to 
 prepare a meal for them. But the young people 
 would not hear of it and insisted upon preparing 
 it themselves. 
 
 " Father, show Miss Nuntius the garden. She 
 is to pick the salad. I will peel potatoes and fry 
 the bacon. We are as hungry as wolves." 
 
 His long pipe held loosely on one side of his 
 mouth, the pastor wandered through the garden 
 with her, and threw many a glance of amazement 
 at the slender, white-clad figure standing with 
 tucked-up skirt in the vegetable patch, picking 
 fresh lettuce and then cleaning it on the little 
 stone covered table near the door. It seemed 
 strange to him to see her attend to her work so 
 earnestly. He would not have expected It from 
 her appearance. And yet she was of the world 
 worldly, like the others, one of the lambs gone 
 astray, a follower of the art which was sure to 
 work her ultimate damnation. 
 
 He did not know why, but instinctively he felt 
 a great pity for the girl swell In his heart. 
 
 While the young people ate, he sat with them 
 and drank a glass of Rhine wine while they told 
 
114 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 him their plans. When he heard that Helga 
 would make her debut this coming winter he 
 pursed his lips and stared into the glass. He was 
 too well bred to argue with a guest, but tumultu- 
 ous thoughts rose in his mind and he had to empty 
 his glass frequently so as to ward off an impending 
 phillipic. 
 
 " You see, Father, we have our ideals just as 
 you had yours in your youth, only with you It was 
 politics, while with us it is art and music. And 
 the same impulse is at the bottom of yours as of 
 ours — desire for expression." 
 
 " What became of all the enthusiasts, what be- 
 came of all those friends who sat and studied with 
 me ? What could they accomplish without Chris- 
 tianity? Only those who walk unquestionlngly 
 with the Lord and have the faith of little children 
 — will be in truth inspired and will keep their 
 ideals pure and unsullied. Years ago kings 
 thought themselves invincible, now the people rule. 
 There's but one reality, that's God — everything 
 else is a dream." 
 
 " Leave us to that dream, Father," said Rich- 
 ard Marschall. " In your youth you felt it your- 
 self, and did not feel it as an error. It spurs us 
 on; he who thinks nothing of himself and has no 
 self-confidence will be mistrusted by the world. 
 Why should the world believe in you if you don't 
 believe in yourself? Experience is not heredl- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 115 
 
 tary, Father, each must have his own. Goethe 
 thought so." 
 
 " Do you agree with him, Miss Nuntius ? " the 
 old man asked the musing girl. 
 
 Helga turned to glance at him. " I know so 
 little, I can hardly tell. I have only hopes." 
 
 " Don't fail to have the right hope," and the 
 pastor held out his hand to her. Then they spoke 
 of music. He did not like the music of this age — 
 Music must spring from the universal fountain 
 of love, he thought, must be not only technical 
 but for all people, all times. The musicians 
 should be artists, not artisans, who court applause. 
 " The hand approves but the heart is chilled," and 
 he discussed the great giant Haendel and the naive 
 but splendid Bach. 
 
 " No art, to be real art, can appeal to the head 
 only," said Helga ; " we can't make a science out 
 of our emotions." 
 
 " That's what I think of religion," said the old 
 man, with a wrathful glance at the pamphlets on 
 the table; " we can't play ball with our Father in 
 Heaven, merely to launch new ideas on creation 
 which tomorrow will be overturned by someone 
 with other ideas," and then he turned to his son 
 with child-like glee and a smile of satisfaction, and 
 said, " I succeeded in getting the new organ. Do 
 you want to see it? " 
 
 " Yes, Father." 
 
ii6 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 The old gentleman took his keys from a hook 
 on the wall and went ahead. 
 
 Helga Nuntlus stood in the back of the little 
 church filled with the graves of worthies who went 
 to their rest long before the present era. Her 
 white figure stood out like a Botticelli against the 
 dark background. Richard Marschall pointed 
 out the resemblance to his father, who was sitting 
 at the organ playing sacred chorals, but the music 
 was more forcible to him than the story it un- 
 folded, because the music meant everlasting youth, 
 and his eye would wander to the young girl back 
 in a pew, and his thoughts flew to the little uni- 
 versity town at which he studied in his youth and 
 he saw himself a young student again, setting out 
 happy and care-free to woo the girl who became 
 his wife. 
 
 He seemed changed, as later he walked back 
 between the young people to the little jasmine- 
 covered arbor. He exchanged stories of student 
 life with his son, hummed an air in a deep bass 
 voice and offered to open another bottle of Rhine 
 wine. Richard Marschall had become very quiet. 
 Suddenly he arose, declaring it was time to go. 
 
 " There is a storm In the air. Father, and we 
 must go if we wish to escape. It will take us an 
 hour to walk through the woods to the station." 
 
 Dr. Marschall accompanied them to the edge of 
 the forest, and stood looking after them for some 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 117 
 
 time. As Richard Marschall and Helga Nuntius 
 entered the forest, a strong gale threw her against 
 him. " The storm is upon us," said he, and took 
 her hand and walked faster. The forest was 
 dark. Heavy black clouds with bright silver rims 
 hung over the high crowns of the trees, as though 
 they had become entangled in the branches. Then 
 came another mighty blast, and amidst the blind- 
 ing lightning and crashing thunder the heavens 
 seemed to open. Richard Marschall put his plaid 
 over Helga's shoulders, but she insisted he share 
 it with her, so they strode on, shoulder to shoul- 
 der, through the uproar. 
 
 " Are you afraid? " he asked. 
 
 And she answered with a shake of the head. 
 
 Then suddenly he began to talk about himself 
 and his past. 
 
 " I won't make myself any better than I am. I 
 have debts, I have had many love affairs, but I want 
 to get away from them all. I want to make a 
 change. I promise you that." 
 
 "Why should you promise me? I am sorry 
 you have had such a life. But since you re- 
 pent — " 
 
 " Repent? " repeated Marschall. " Oh, nol I 
 do not repent." 
 
 "No? But—" 
 
 " Why should I repent that which gave me 
 pleasure as well as a knowledge of life ? I regret 
 
ii8 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 nothing, for what I have sown in youth I shall 
 reap as a man, and my youth will keep my art 
 young. I know what lightness and vigor can do." 
 
 " If you feel like that about it why do you want 
 to get away from it all? " 
 
 " Because I've sowed long enough, I must now 
 gather in the harvest." 
 
 " Is that your only reason? " 
 
 " No," said he, and his voice was very quiet, 
 " that is not my only reason, — also, because I love 
 you." 
 
 As they reached a crossing of the roads the 
 storm attacked them with redoubled fury. Closely 
 they leaned against each other. Then Helga said 
 so softly that he could scarcely hear her voice: 
 " Because you love me . . .?" 
 
 " Because I love you more than my home, my 
 art, my life." 
 
 " It is impossible to love anything more than 
 one's art." 
 
 " Helga, Helga, girl, wake up, life is calling 
 to you — " 
 
 " Life, as you know it, frightens me." 
 
 " Because you do not know it." He had to 
 raise his voice against the riot of the forest. 
 
 Helga shivered underneath their rug, now heavy 
 with rain. " Have we much further to go ? I 
 am afraid." 
 
 " Helga, I love you — " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 119 
 
 Then he noticed that she was crying. " Don't, 
 dear," said he In a voice strangely gentle. " I 
 will simply wait for you." 
 
 She shook her head. " Don't do that, Mr. 
 Marschall, you would be disappointed. I am too 
 fond of you for that. I want to live for my art. 
 I dare not divide myself — we two really are not 
 suited for each other, fond as we are of each other. 
 You are life, forcible, real life — I feel even now 
 how that draws me from my art. I beg of you 
 leave me to my work." 
 
 " Miss Nuntlus, the divine peace of art is an 
 illusion, and life will not be mocked." 
 
 " I must follow the destiny I have chosen so as 
 not to lose myself." 
 
 " I shall wait," he repeated, and they walked 
 silently and gravely out of the woods which they 
 had entered early In the day with songs and 
 laughter and never a care. 
 
 As they reached home and bid each other fare- 
 well In front of Bettermann's house, Marschall 
 pointed to Grubeshof. 
 
 " Things are pretty bad over there. He's been 
 laid up for the past eight days and must have ab- 
 solute quiet. His lungs are gone. I am going 
 over to see him and cheer him up." 
 
 "Mr. Marschall!" 
 
 " Miss Nuntlus." 
 
 "Will — will we lose him?" 
 
120 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " You said the main thing was not to lose one's 
 self — what do the others matter?" 
 
 With bowed head she entered the house, and 
 Richard Marschall crossed over to Grubeshof and 
 walked up the stairs with a steady step and entered 
 the room of his dying friend. 
 
 Grube lifted his head from his pillow, looked 
 at his sister Johanna and said with a smile, 
 
 " Richard always brings life with him." 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Richard Marschall did not go home that day 
 nor for several days after. He did not appear at 
 the conservatory until the last days of the term. 
 He sat at his friend's bedside, the friend whose 
 life was only a-flicker, like the wick to which he 
 had once compared himself. At night he and 
 Johanna Grube took turns watching. During his 
 time of rest he slept on a divan near the open door. 
 In the daytime, they sat together at the bedside and 
 forced themselves to maintain a cheerful appear- 
 ance. Franz Grube had never liked a sad or 
 cheerless face near him. They often laughed to 
 please him. That was their great sacrifice. 
 
 Otherwise no one except the doctor was allowed 
 to see the sick man. 
 
 Every morning Helga Nuntius came to inquire 
 about his condition, but she was not allowed to 
 come in, no matter how his eyes lit up and how 
 longingly he listened for her footsteps. Johanna 
 would meet her at the door and say a few kind 
 words to her. 
 
 " Why should I frighten the child by my ap- 
 pearance?" he would say. "This way she will 
 
 IZI 
 
122 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 keep a passable picture of me in her mind and not 
 have to shudder each time she thinks of me." 
 
 " The only matter of importance is that you are 
 pleased," said Richard Marschall. Then the sick 
 man would rock his head from side to side on the 
 pillow. 
 
 " Dying people are egotistical, I know," he 
 would say; "they think the whole world must 
 move according to the dictates of one human soul. 
 The first time I died — you know what I mean, 
 Richard — I expected the world to end. Then 
 I was surprised to see that nothing was changed, 
 that everyone attended to his affairs as he did be- 
 fore. Then I stopped wondering. I have been 
 dead twenty years, and should have become wiser. 
 If I had her at my bedside, it would make me 
 happy for a few hours, but it would make her mis- 
 erable for an interminable space of time. I go 
 and she remains. It would not be a fair bargain. 
 I was never a good business man, but I always was 
 an honest man." 
 
 Those dying days of his friend made a man of 
 Richard Marschall. Every morning and evening 
 he would accompany the doctor to the door, anx- 
 ious for a ray of hope. The man of science 
 would shrug his shoulders. " There's nothing to 
 be done." 
 
 " Isn't there any local point where you can 
 fight it?" 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 123 
 
 " The lungs are gone." 
 
 " Would a change of climate help him? " 
 
 " You can't move him now, he's too weak. 
 Weeks ago I begged him to go away to Switzer- 
 land and try an air cure — you know his answer. 
 ' If I go, doctor, how much reprieve do you give 
 me, on your word of honor?' 'Well,' I an- 
 swered, ' perhaps until the winter, perhaps longer.' 
 He laughed and answered, ' I don't accept may- 
 bes and perhapses; moreover, the conservatory 
 only closes at the end of June, so I have my friends 
 near me, and at least once in a while I can hear 
 some music' " 
 
 " There is no hope then? " 
 
 " Each day of grace he has is a gift from God." 
 
 Then Richard Marschall went back to the sick 
 room and in a jovial manner tapped his friend's 
 shoulder. "Well, old boy, didn't I tell you? 
 Have patience just a little longer." 
 
 A smile lit up Franz Grube's emaciated features 
 and he said, " You rascal, I have all the patience 
 I need." 
 
 One evening the sick man fell into deep slum- 
 ber. His strength had given out. Richard and 
 Johanna were at his side, silently listening to his 
 breathing. The shadows filled the room, and it 
 grew dark. But neither of them thought of light. 
 As the clock struck, the sleeper moved restlessly. 
 Then Marschall rose noiselessly and stopped the 
 
124 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 clock; into every room he went and stopped the 
 pendulum, then resumed his seat by the side of the 
 tireless nurse, and neither moved in the great si- 
 lence. 
 
 The cathedral clock chimed midnight and the 
 churches rang out twelve o'clock. No sound was 
 heard on the streets. Johanna Grube moved and 
 touched her friend's hand. 
 
 " Richard, how can I ever repay you? " 
 
 " Johanna, how can you talk like that? " 
 
 " You do not know what a comfort you are to 
 me." 
 
 " I am indebted to you for so much," he mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " That might have been, long ago," said she, " a 
 very long time ago." 
 
 " I did not want to worry you with my troubles 
 lately, and then, no one ever believes a frivolous 
 person has troubles." 
 
 " Richard, you, should not speak like that." 
 
 " You know one day her name was Jenny and 
 the next Louise, and now it's — " 
 
 " Helga," said the big girl gently. 
 
 " Well," said Marschall, with glowering face, 
 " what of it? Wouldn't you laugh if I were sud- 
 denly to tell you of my unchangeable feelings for 
 her alone? " 
 
 " No," said she, pressing his hand, " I wouldn't 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 125 
 
 laugh. It comes to us all once in life, — our great 
 passion." 
 
 " But not everybody has as bad a record as I 
 have." 
 
 " Do you think love will care ? True love must 
 always have something to forgive." 
 
 " But Helga Nuntius does not trust me. I felt 
 that, even though she spoke of her art — and I — 
 I — can't make believe." 
 
 " No, Richard, and you must not try. That's 
 what is so fine in you." 
 
 "Hm!" 
 
 She sat very still and stared into the night. 
 And after a pause in which his thoughts had taken 
 flight across the street to John Bettermann's house 
 he heard as from out of the distance, " Perhaps 
 you will find someone else to make you happy." 
 
 " No," said he very quietly. 
 
 Then all was quiet. Marschall looked up. He 
 felt Johanna's eyes on him, and was startled as he 
 saw her wet eyelashes and her deadly pallor. 
 
 "What's the matter, Johanna? It is almost 
 daybreak, and for hours I have not spoken a word 
 to you." 
 
 "What does that matter? There must be no 
 formality between us, Richard." 
 
 Her words were very soft and low. He took 
 her hand and kissed it and she stroked his hair 
 
126 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 gently and said, " I must repeat, Richard — true 
 love must always have something to mother and 
 to forgive — you say you feel true love — there- 
 fore you must pardon and be the mother, even if 
 it takes years. True love does not ask — she only 
 knows she is always present, ready to protect." 
 
 Richard Marschall stared at her with wide open 
 eyes — his face lit up. The dawn of another day 
 peered into the room. 
 
 " Where did you learn to comfort, Johanna? " 
 
 "Perhaps from myself — perhaps from my 
 brother Franz. We, the last of the Grubes, seem 
 to have had a special love mission left to us." 
 
 Then Richard arose and drew the big girl into 
 his arms. " Sister, dear, dear sister," he said. 
 
 " Brother Richard," she smiled bravely. 
 
 About eight, o'clock Franz Grube opened his 
 eyes — at exactly the hour Helga Nuntius ap- 
 peared daily to ask as to his condition. But to- 
 day he listened for her step with more interest than 
 usual. 
 
 " She will be here in a moment," said Mar- 
 schall. " Be good and lie still." 
 
 " Johanna," whispered the sick man, " when she 
 comes leave the door open. I would like to hear 
 her voice." 
 
 " Yes, Franz," said his sister, and she felt how 
 hard her heart beat. She understood his desire, 
 and over the bed her anxious eyes sought the com- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 127 
 
 forting glance of Marschall. Light footsteps 
 were heard. Then she composed herself, smiled 
 at her brother and went to the door. 
 
 Richard Marschall placed his arm under his 
 friend's shoulder and partly held him in a sitting 
 position. He had heard Helga Nuntius' voice. 
 
 " Can't I see him if he is better? " 
 
 " He is not well enough to receive company, 
 thank you, dear Helga." 
 
 " Will you send for me when he can? I take 
 my last lesson today and I will be at Bettermann's 
 all day long." 
 
 " Her last lesson at the conservatory," softly 
 said the sick man. 
 
 " I promise to send for you," said Johanna. 
 " You can take your lesson with an easy heart. 
 Good luck to you, dear." 
 
 " Please give him these roses. I had them cut 
 especially this morning," said Helga. 
 
 " Franz will be happy that you thought of him 
 so early in the day." 
 
 And the sick man nodded again. 
 
 " Give him my love and tell him I hope to see 
 him soon." 
 
 Franz Grube listened until her steps were lost 
 in the distance. The roses Johanna brought him 
 he took with trembling fingers, buried his face in 
 them and inhaled their fragrance with delight. 
 Gently Marschall laid him back on his pillows. 
 
128 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 "How still the house is," said Grube; "why 
 don't the clocks strike? The world won't stand 
 still because I am dying." 
 
 " You are not dying, Franz." 
 
 " Promise me not to have any ceremonies, and 
 not to mourn when I die. Have my favorite 
 songs sung. Dirges would be unsuitable. I know 
 too well how beautiful life is, and I should have 
 loved to live." 
 
 The doctor came, the examination lasted but a 
 few minutes. " Today you may have a glass of 
 champagne, Grube." 
 
 " I will drink to your health, Doctor," his 
 breath came faster and faster. " God bless 
 you. Doctor, and you, Johanna, kiss me — God 
 bless you, dear, with you there is peace and com- 
 fort. And you, Richard, you sunny boy, you are 
 life and the joy of life." 
 
 They bent over him and kissed him. 
 
 " Play for me," and his voice was barely audi- 
 ble. 
 
 Marschall sat at the piano and played gentle, 
 sad motives. And as he saw that the dying man 
 grew restless, he changed his tune and played a 
 sweet folk-song, varying the theme many times, 
 and then another came and a third and a fourth 
 like a long procession of people decorated with 
 leaves and flowers marching in the summer sun- 
 shine. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 129 
 
 Franz Grube had fallen asleep with a smile on 
 his face. Softer and softer his breath came and 
 went. 
 
 And Richard Marschall played on, played of 
 love and springtime, of youth and happiness. And 
 Johanna leaned far back In her chair and the tears 
 coursed down her face unchecked. 
 
 Towards noon Marschall stopped in the middle 
 of a melody. Franz Grube sat upright in his bed 
 and beckoned to them. " You promised me," 
 said his glance. Then Richard arose. Firmly he 
 grasped Johanna's hand, threw a last long glance 
 in ihe direction of the bed and together they left 
 the room without looking back. Franz Grube 
 had fallen back among the pillows. The last 
 agony was upon him. Convulsively the emaciated 
 hands grasped the roses — a name struggled to his 
 lips — a woman's name. And alone he struggled 
 through the death struggle. Then his long limbs 
 relaxed — a sigh — then silence. 
 
 Franz Grube had found peace and rest. 
 
 At the very minute when her friend went out to 
 meet the Great Unknown, Helga also took her first 
 step into an unknown land. 
 
 She found no peace when she left Grubeshof. 
 She arrived at the conservatory long before the 
 hour of her lesson, and wandered through the 
 rooms aimlessly. She tried to attribute her own 
 
I30 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 depression to the fact that today was her last les- 
 son at the conservatory, but she felt it was the fear 
 of an unknown something which possessed her. 
 Her forebodings had not assumed any exact form, 
 but they turned her smiles to tears. Today for 
 the first time she missed a strong hand, an encour- 
 aging word — and a longing she could not repress 
 overcame her. She missed her father, the one 
 family tie she had. She had never felt so close to 
 him. How curious that she should think of him 
 today — 
 
 As she returned to the class room, Professor 
 Faller awaited her. He, too, seemed nervous, 
 he shook her hand hastily, then caught it and 
 pressed it so convulsively that she cried out with 
 pain. 
 
 " Well, well, children grow up and become men 
 and women. What have you decided ? " 
 "About what, Professor Faller?" 
 " I mean, do you really want to sing today? 
 This last hour? ,You can't learn anything more 
 with old Faller except how to repair your voice 
 from time to time when you've used it too much. 
 You will go out into the world and leave me here 
 In the shadow." 
 
 "What ails you today, Professor?" 
 " Today I feel like Schubert. That man knew 
 the human soul as no other ever did. Sing some- 
 thing of his as a parting song." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 131 
 
 So she sang with all the feeling of which she 
 was capable and when she reached the lines, 
 
 "Tell me where my home doth lie," 
 
 the door opened and Robert Braun entered the 
 room. Contrary to his usual habit he dropped 
 silently into a chair. 
 
 Professor Faller turned his head. The song 
 was finished. 
 
 " Braun 1 " he called shortly. 
 
 "Professor I" 
 
 " Now it's your turn. Sing Schubert, too." 
 
 To please the old man, he sang the " Song to 
 a Harp." His muscular figure erect, a compell- 
 ing light in his eyes, invincible in his belief in him- 
 self, he looked at Helga and let the power and 
 lure of his incomparable voice enter Into her 
 soul. 
 
 That was art, great, splendid art which be- 
 longed to her as well as to him, and he smiled at 
 her, and she smiled back at him, with a dreamy 
 smile — yet she was a-fire with excitement. 
 
 As the last note was hushed, Professor Faller 
 closed the piano and left the room without look- 
 ing at either of his pupils. Braun waited until 
 the door closed on him, then strode quickly to 
 Helga's side, the singer's joy of conquest still In 
 his eyes. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, what have you decided? " 
 
132 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " I am going to sing in Kassel, and then go to 
 stay with relatives of my father's." 
 
 "Why in Kassel?" 
 
 " Kassel has a Royal Opera. That is a good 
 beginning. I have letters of introduction from 
 my mother." 
 
 " What nonsense I Letters of introduction, a 
 good beginning — people like you and me don't 
 need a beginning; we start at the top and require 
 no outside assistance. What! Go through all 
 the misery of singing repertoire in insignificant 
 little second rate theatres and perhaps spoil our 
 voices — our voices that are our fortune ? No, 
 Miss Nuntius, we don't need to do that, thank 
 Heavens! " 
 
 " You certainly do not." 
 
 " And neither do you. Each of us alone would 
 capture an audience, and together we will raise the 
 house, and no Impresario will dare to dictate terms 
 to us. They could engage us together and let us 
 go together, but of course no audience that had 
 once heard us would permit that. Miss Nuntius, 
 our voices were created for each other." 
 
 " But what If you are mistaken? " 
 
 " I couldn't be. Professor Faller could have 
 told you so long ago, if he hadn't wanted to finish 
 teaching you In peace." 
 
 " Well, what do you want me to do ? " 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, my agent has booked me for a 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 133 
 
 tour of England and Scotland at once. In the 
 autumn we will sing on trial at Bayreuth, to see 
 whether we will do for the performances next 
 spring. Faller spoke of us to Cosima Wagner. 
 In the winter we will appear at Covent Garden. 
 If we succeed, and I do not for a moment doubt it, 
 we will be engaged for America. We will not ac- 
 cept any regular engagement, only for special per- 
 formances during a given time. You know we 
 are artists, not artisans." 
 
 " Oh, to live like that — solely for one's art! " 
 
 " We can. Miss Nuntius." 
 
 She looked into his eyes and knew that the fu- 
 ture was his. 
 
 " Miss Nuntius, will you allow me to cable to 
 your mother? " 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " To ask her consent. We need her permission 
 for our marriage." 
 
 "I am — I am to — marry you?" she stam- 
 mered, pale as a ghost, and suddenly she under- 
 stood the meaning of her fear and restlessness 
 earlier in the day. 
 
 Braun took her cold hands. " Yes," said he, 
 " you are to be my wife, or if you prefer to put 
 it that way — my fellow-artist." 
 
 The word entered her mind and would not leave 
 it and all her dreams took life, as on the day she 
 first entered this conservatory, her dreams of the 
 
134 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 strange, many-colored garden in which silver 
 streams rustled and white templed halls rose, filled 
 with the statues of marble gods. Chords rang 
 through the air, as from invisible harps. 
 
 " Helga, have I your permission? " 
 
 She stood motionless and stared into the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " Helga, art is calling." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " I will go with you." 
 
 " You and I," and he put his arm about her. 
 And she wondered in a shy way why he did not 
 seal the betrothal with a kiss. 
 
 The door opened and Professor Faller's wrin- 
 kled face appeared. 
 
 " Come in. Professor, Helga does not mind." 
 
 He entered and shook hands with them and said 
 to Helga, who only half understood: 
 
 " You know. Miss Nuntius, the business part of 
 it is certain. You two will create a sensation. 
 And moreover — well, my sincerest congratula- 
 tions." 
 
 A knock at the door, short and loud. The jan- 
 itor appeared. " Miss Nuntius, a man wants to 
 speak to you at once." 
 
 Out in the corridor she saw Bettermann running 
 towards her. His face told her 'that something 
 extraordinary had happened, for he still wore his 
 blue apron and held his crumpled cap in his hands. 
 
 " He is dead, Miss Helga." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 135 
 
 " Franz Grube ! " 
 
 She stared at him with horror in her eyes. 
 
 " He died half an hour ago. Come, come, 
 Miss Helga, be strong! " 
 
 Her whole body trembled; she wept as though 
 her heart were breaking. Bettermann stroked her 
 hair tenderly. 
 
 " I will go with you at once," she said, looking 
 around for Braun. 
 
 Then they drove to Grubeshof and Mr. Bet- 
 termann recounted how Marschall had not left the 
 sick man for the past two weeks because his death 
 had been expected at any moment; no one had 
 mentioned it, however, because Mr. Grube was 
 such a modest man and did not want anyone to 
 feel unhappy on his account. Helga pictured in 
 her mind the tall figure of her friend; she under- 
 stood his kindly thoughtfulness and her tears fell 
 anew in spite of Braun's warning to spare herself. 
 
 Mr. Bettermann said that the boys of the con- 
 servatory who had always loved Grube were now 
 on their way to do him the last kindness in their 
 power. 
 
 In the death chamber Richard Marschall sat at 
 his dead friend's side. 
 
 A gentle knock at the door; it quietly opened, 
 and the boys from the conservatory filed in with 
 sorrowful faces. One by one they went to Jo- 
 hanna Grube and silently pressed her hand ; from 
 
136 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Johanna Grube they went to Richard Marschall, 
 and then they gathered around Grube's bed and 
 looked at their dead friend. 
 
 As the door opened again no one turned. It 
 was no time for curiosity, they felt, although they 
 all heard the faltering footstep. 
 
 And then Helga Nuntius was on her knees be- 
 fore the bed and sobbed in the pillows. 
 
 Richard Marschall stood at the head. He had 
 seen Helga enter, had seen her withdraw her hand 
 from Braun's. Then he knew the day was one of 
 twofold sorrow for him. Helga Nuntius had 
 made her choice. 
 
 " Dearest friend," said Johanna, stooping to 
 raise the kneeling girl. Even in this hour she 
 brought comfort to others. 
 
 " Why wouldn't you allow me to see him once 
 before he went? " 
 
 " Because he loved you." 
 
 Then she looked at her roses on his breast, and 
 from them her glance wandered to Marschall and 
 from Marschall to Braun, and she felt she had 
 been given a three-fold love. A friend's love, a 
 man's love, and the love that art brings. Her 
 brain was in a whirl. Vaguely she felt that there 
 was something she wished had never happened — 
 what was it? A black curtain seemed to drop 
 before her eyes and she swayed. Braun came for- 
 ward and put his arm around her. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 137 
 
 Richard Marschall stood motionless at the head 
 of the bed. He sternly repressed his thoughts 
 which wandered from his dead friend to his lost 
 love. This hour belonged to the dead, and the 
 more he regarded the cold, pale face the more he 
 felt the enormity of his loss. 
 
 He felt unable to comprehend that this man 
 should lie thus like any other man. Franz Grube's 
 life had been so different and so must his death be. 
 He began to sing softly his favorite song, and even 
 if the words sounded out of place, still he knew 
 that was what Grube would have wished. 
 , The conservatory students listened in amaze- 
 ment. Then they understood, and joined in un- 
 der their breath, but not in the old merry, swing- 
 ing rhythm; devoutly, solemnly, they sang: 
 
 " As the eagle lifts his pinions longing for the sun on high — " 
 
 So they sang to the dead man his favorite song 
 of life. 
 
 Then they went out into the day and into the 
 light of life. 
 
 And the song echoed In Helga Nuntius' ears, as, 
 led by Braun, she walked to John Bettermann's 
 house. And she heard It as she sat weeping at her 
 window. 
 
 Then in the midst of her sorrow an inner voice 
 spoke to her : " You are to be a bride." 
 
 Her tears ceased flowing. 
 
138 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 "A bride?" she asked, and she waited for a 
 strong, joyful emotion. 
 
 But all the answer she received was a frightened 
 little laugh. 
 
 This was Helga's farewell to her student days. 
 
PART II 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 Richard Marschall arrived at the Central Sta- 
 tion. As he walked along Kaiser Street he was 
 delighted at the Improvements he met on all sides. 
 Each time he came to pay a short visit to this town 
 he walked up and down its new sections until he 
 felt thoroughly at home In them. 
 
 This time he did not stop to look at the new 
 building. It was a bleak, gray November day, 
 one of those days which make one feel as though 
 in mourning for the whole world. Richard Mar- 
 schall, however, was not affected by fog or gloom, 
 and he strolled along humming a merry, never 
 ending tune. 
 
 " At last! " said Johanna Grube, as she clasped 
 his hands. She stood in her high-cellinged, wood 
 panelled room with the round windows. " At 
 last! Your visits are so few and so far between, 
 dear Richard, that I have forgotten whether it Is 
 six months or a year that you have been absent 
 from Frankfort." 
 
 " My work takes up all my time, Johanna." 
 139 
 
HO THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " You work too hard." 
 
 " Too hard? You wouldn't believe how few 
 hours a real day has, but I am going to remain 
 over until tomorrow." 
 
 " Come," and they seated themselves on the 
 window bench, from which one could look out at 
 the street. 
 
 " Let me look at you," said she; " I must see 
 whether the great conductor still resembles Rich- 
 ard Marschall." 
 
 " I am afraid more than the maestro would 
 wish him to." 
 
 " So much the better. Remember, it is not now 
 a question of how much you satisfy your learned 
 self, but how much your old friends are satisfied 
 with you." 
 
 " Well, then, tell me what you read in my face." 
 
 " Your eyes, well, they have remained clear, one 
 might say the light heartedness had given way to 
 a serious happiness ; the old spirit still plays about 
 the mouth. How about the inner man? " 
 
 " The inner man is in an ecstasy of joy." 
 
 "At what?" 
 
 " At the fact that he is sitting here with you. 
 I would like to waltz about the room with you. 
 Tomorrow, I'm off for Hamburg. You know, 
 my new opera is to be played with a wonderful 
 cast." 
 
 " I congratulate you with all my heart." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 141 
 
 " Guess who will sing the title role? " 
 
 " Tell me, that seems to be your principal sur- 
 prise for me." 
 
 " So it is. Mrs. Helga Braun Nuntius — what 
 do you say to that? " 
 
 "Helga?" 
 
 " Helga." 
 
 She rubbed off a bit of the mist from the win- 
 dow pane and he could see her draw a deep breath. 
 
 " Don't you think I am lucky, Johanna? " 
 
 She nodded and looked away, then she nodded 
 again and looked at him. 
 
 " Johanna, something is troubling you. Why 
 won't you tell me ? " 
 
 " Tell me about your opera, that will be bet- 
 ter." 
 
 " You know I can't do that — I hate to speak 
 of it." 
 
 " Do you think, Richard, it will be good for you 
 to see Helga Nuntius again? " 
 
 " Who knows? I can only say that I feel very 
 happy." 
 
 " It is five years since you have seen her; she 
 must have changed." 
 
 " She cannot change to me." 
 
 He bent forward and caught Johanna's hand. 
 " Johanna, there are people who can have all sorts 
 of love affairs and yet only love once. To whom 
 five or fifty years are the same once they have be- 
 
142 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 come conscious of this love which blots out all that 
 went before. Whether Helga has changed into 
 a spoiled, capricious prima donna, or into a petted 
 woman of the world, or is just a poor quiet soul, 
 she will always be to me the girl I loved, as she is 
 now the woman I love." 
 
 He leaned back again. Then a boyish light 
 shone from his eyes. 
 
 " My entire being is one great joy." 
 
 " Try to keep it, Richard, for it lends power 
 to your art." 
 
 " She helped me from the first. It started the 
 year Helga came to Frankfort, you remember the 
 year my ' Merlin ' was accepted. I often stayed 
 up the entire night after I left Franz and visual- 
 ized whole scenes, parts of the score and when 
 I had finished, I did not know a note of what I 
 had on the paper. And after Helga married 
 Braun and went out into the wide world and I was 
 appointed conductor in that little hole of a place, 
 I thought of nothing but how pleased she would 
 be if I too became famous. Then I put aside all 
 sorrow, and clad myself in joy. Then ' Merlin ' 
 was put on and scored a success. The first night 
 I wrote an eight page letter to Helga and thanked 
 her and then straightway burnt it. Crazy, wasn't 
 it? Shortly after I received an answer to the 
 letter I had burnt, so the winds must have borne 
 its ashes to her. Yes, she congratulated me — 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 143 
 
 about six words — but for me they were six 
 pages, and since that time I have felt I would 
 always work with a joyful spirit. And joyful 
 work means victory. So I created my new opera." 
 
 " In spite of the fact that Helga Nuntius no 
 longer exists for you, as you once wished she 
 should." 
 
 " In spite of that — I love her because I need 
 to love her to live." 
 
 " And you will tell her that? " 
 
 " Johanna, how can a clever woman like you 
 ask such a question ? " 
 
 " She is Mrs. Robert Braun," said Johanna 
 Grube ; " you can't get away from that." 
 
 Richard Marschall rose, and walked up and 
 down the room. 
 
 Then his voice arose from the depths of the 
 room, quiet and clear. 
 
 " I could if she became free," said he. " I 
 have more confidence in myself than necessary, 
 Johanna ; the ego in me always held its head very 
 high. When the day arrived on which I knew 
 Helga was to marry, I felt I should go mad, not 
 because I had lost her, but because someone else 
 had won her. Another man! The picture re- 
 mained stamped on my brain. It hurt me so, I 
 could not think of it without groaning, without 
 feeling an insane anger and a terrible, terrible 
 pain. 
 
144 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Do you understand, Johanna ? " he asked after 
 a while. 
 
 " I understand." 
 
 " At that time I thought — now everything is 
 ended. What remains is only ruins. You know 
 that would beat in my brain without stopping; 
 always the same refrain — nothing but ruins, 
 nothing but ruins ! — and I used to smile vaguely 
 and be surprised that my heart still beat regularly, 
 only there was in my chest a great pressure that 
 would not decrease, but grew fiercer and fiercer 
 each time the thought came — she has chosen 
 another. You see, Johanna, it's all egotism, self- 
 ishness." 
 
 Then they sat down to eat at the same table 
 as of old and were served by the same old servant 
 and spoke of the quartette which used to sing at 
 Grubeshof and of how Franz would sit in the 
 carved Gothic chair at the window and listen. 
 
 " Franz Grube!" 
 
 Johanna's eyes filled with tears as she spoke of 
 him and Richard lifted his glass and drank to his 
 memory, and they spoke of the friends who had 
 left the conservatory to make their fortunes in the 
 world — and before they knew it they were again 
 speaking of Helga Nuntius. 
 
 Richard drew out his card case and took a 
 picture on a postal card out of it. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 145 
 
 " Here she Is." 
 
 Johanna Grube looked at the picture which bore 
 the name of an American photographer. Under- 
 neath was written " Helga Braun Nuntius." 
 
 " Did she send it to you? " 
 
 " No, I bought it." 
 
 " She has fulfilled the promise of her youth. 
 That is a remarkable head. Only her eyes have 
 grown even older than they were," and very gently 
 she added — " It is not a happy face." 
 
 " But one full of genius." 
 
 " Wouldn't you rather have it happy? " 
 
 " Of what use are my wishes. But now you 
 shall see just how I feel toward Robert Braun, 
 the greatest tenor of the present day. Here you 
 have it, a picture of joy — doesn't he look happy, 
 as though each half hour was a pay day? " 
 
 She laughed and looked at the picture. 
 
 " A handsome man." 
 
 " If you would dress me in Lohengrin's silver 
 armor, I wouldn't be bad either." 
 
 " Is that envy? " 
 
 " It is a picturesque illusion," said he and 
 placed the picture back into his case. 
 
 After that he began to speak of his new opera, 
 playing parts of the score on the piano. The air 
 was replete with sound and Johanna grew tense 
 with excitement. 
 
146 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Richard, Richard." 
 
 He slid his hands from the keys, turned about, 
 worn out, but with shining eyes. 
 
 "Are you satisfied?" 
 
 " Satisfied ! I should love to sing it. To sing 
 and live it. I hate to think I must leave all that 
 to others, that I am only plain Johanna Grube, 
 who has had no life of her own." 
 
 And all at once all of Johanna's composure — 
 all her self-control, departed, her head fell on her 
 arms on the table and she sobbed aloud as though 
 she had quite forgotten her friend's presence. 
 
 " Johanna," cried Richard In dismay. " What 
 is the matter? I have excited you with my non- 
 sense. How stupid of me. Let me tell you, your 
 nature is a thousand times greater than if you sang 
 my opera or did anything else. Goodness of 
 heart can't be bought for all of the gold of the 
 NIbelungen. You don't know how far above us 
 all you are ! " 
 
 He had almost pulled her up and pressed her 
 head against his shoulder. " Think, Johanna, to 
 whom could I confess all this If you were not here, 
 and there are others like me; there's no woman as 
 popular, as beloved, as you are." 
 
 Then she dried her tears and for one minute 
 remained quiet against his shoulder. 
 
 " Go over and see the Bettermanns — they will 
 be so happy." 
 
THE STORY, OF HELGA 147 
 
 " Certainly I will go. Helga will certainly 
 ask about her foster parents, and then I will look, 
 up Professor Fallen I must have a whole pocket- 
 ful of gossip when I get to Hamburg. It will be 
 the only present I can take her." 
 
 " It is the best because it is brought with love." 
 
 On the scale in the hall sat Mr. Bettermann, but 
 the scale did not swing merrily, and the old man's 
 heart was heavy. 
 
 " What can I do for you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Give me a hearty hand shake, old boy," cried 
 Richard Marschall. 
 
 Then Mr. Bettermann eyed him closely. 
 
 " Mr. Marschall himself, as true as I live I — 
 Oh, Mr. Marschall, my whole life is spoiled. 
 The building commission was here today and said 
 my house is unsound. I wouldn't care about the 
 new house, I love this old street, but it's on account 
 of my wife; she looked forward to the new house 
 and now, instead of paying me a big price for this 
 one they have simply condemned it, and so I can't 
 buy a new house or keep the old one." 
 
 Richard Marschall sympathized with him; he 
 knew what it meant to have a dream castle tumble 
 to the ground. 
 
 " I will talk to your wife," he said. 
 
 He found Mrs. Bettermann in her little store 
 at her books. Her eyes were red. 
 
 " How do you do, Mrs. Bettermann? " 
 
148 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Marschall, how well you look! Did 
 you see my husband? " 
 
 " This moment. Sad news, Mrs. Bettermann." 
 
 She looked at her apron and pressed her lips 
 together. 
 
 " The gable is sinking," said she with repressed 
 emotion. " That was to be expected, but my hus- 
 band didn't want to have anything restored, wish- 
 ing to sell the house to the city. They would not 
 pay the price. I suppose my husband only dreamt 
 they would and then this morning the commission 
 came. We must leave on the first." 
 
 " I am so sorry on your account." 
 
 " Oh, I wouldn't care — I didn't want a new 
 house, but my husband — " 
 
 In spite of the tragic situation Richard smiled. 
 
 " Well, if that's all, it can be remedied. Your 
 husband thinks your heart is set on the new house. 
 Why don't you pull down this little house and re- 
 build — the ground Is yours — It can't cost much 
 to rebuild this house." 
 
 " Little or much, Mr. Marschall, we can't do it. 
 It Is always the question of having and not 
 having — " 
 
 " I will speak about It to Miss Grube, perhaps 
 she can help you out." 
 
 Mr. Bettermann entered and looked shyly at 
 his wife's red eyes. 
 
 " Isn't it true, Mr. Bettermann, that you don't 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 149 
 
 want to leave this house except on your wife's 
 account? " 
 
 " But John," said Mrs. Bettermann, " I could 
 never feel at home in another house. I have 
 always looked forward with fear to the day we 
 would have to move." 
 
 Mr. Bettermann could not contain himself; he 
 embraced her and kissed her on both cheeks. And 
 by the time Richard Marschall turned to leave, 
 Mr. Bettermann had erected at least five stories 
 of a new house in place of the condemned one. 
 
 " Do you want to send any message to Helga 
 Nuntius? You remember your foster-daughter," 
 said Marschall. 
 
 " Give her my love, Mr. Marschall ; she was our 
 pet. I will never forget her. Tell her to come 
 to visit us as our guest, but not before spring 
 when our new house will be ready, will you? " 
 
 " With pleasure, Mr. Bettermann, and she will 
 surely want to come." 
 
 He then called on Professor Faller at his lodg- 
 ings. He wanted to bring Helga Nuntius greet- 
 ings from all. 
 
 The old singer lived on the fourth story of a 
 greyish apartment house. The stairs were dark, 
 the early November dusk darkening them still 
 more. As Richard Marschall stood before the 
 door on which was nailed the professor's card, he 
 heard sounds of piano and violin. They were 
 
ISO THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 playing Beethoven. He dared not knock, but en- 
 tered silently. He knew Faller's ways and habits. 
 
 The room was almost completely shrouded in 
 darkness, a little red lamp near the piano giving 
 the only light — a red, round glow. Faller was 
 seated at the instrument. He had forgotten the 
 outer world. A former pupil of his, now a mem- 
 ber of an orchestra, stood behind him and played 
 an accompaniment. 
 
 Soon Marschall became conscious of others 
 being in the room. They were crowded on the 
 chairs and on the worn couch. Buried hopes and 
 a stupid, sullen ardor lay in their eyes. Only to a 
 few did Beethoven bring fresh hopes of some 
 future success. And as they nodded their heads 
 and their eyes followed the smoke of their cigar- 
 ettes, they called up a picture of their youth, when 
 things were different. 
 
 The music ceased. 
 
 " Is there anybody else here? " Faller asked. 
 
 Marschall hurriedly stepped forward and 
 greeted the professor, who put on his glasses and 
 lifted his lamp to see him. 
 
 " Richard Marschall, at one time a student at 
 the conservatory, now orchestra conductor," said 
 Marschall. 
 
 " Never heard of him," said the professor. 
 " Do you want to engage me to sing? I'm sorry," 
 he added sarcastically, " but I must refuse." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 151 
 
 The others came closer. The word engage- 
 ment was a magic one with these poor people. 
 
 " Professor," answered Marschall, " I only 
 wanted to ask about your health. You once had 
 a pupil, who has much to thank you for, and would 
 like to hear news of you." 
 
 " That would be a marvel, a person remember- 
 ing to thank me — there's no such thing! " 
 
 " Your scholar, Helga Nuntlus, Is an excep- 
 tion." 
 
 " Nuntlus — correct — but there were two — 
 which Is this marvel of thankfulness ? " 
 
 " The younger, the one who married your fa- 
 vorite pupil, Robert Braun." 
 
 The old professor's manner changed suddenly 
 as he recalled the pupil, and over his withered face 
 a flash of lightning seemed to pass. 
 
 " Get out all of you," said he to those in the 
 room. " We are speaking of artists." 
 
 He closed the door after the last one and opened 
 the window as though the place now needed an 
 airing. 
 
 " Don't, don't speak. I remember — Braun, 
 Nuntlus, that was my day of glory as a teacher, 
 that was glorious material! I never found it 
 again — all this Is worthless trash — voices like 
 crickets, stupid as giraffes. They drive me mad." 
 
 " Professor, may I greet Helga Nuntlus for 
 you?" 
 
152 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " No, you may not." 
 
 That sounded so hard and autocratic that 
 Richard Marschall instinctively drew back. 
 
 " Do you think I want her to make fun of me? 
 When you tell her you saw Faller amongst a lot 
 of boors? No, sir, you're mistaken — Faller will 
 never sink so low — his memories keep his head 
 above the water. Create memories for yourself 
 — nothing else matters. Good night, sir." 
 
 Marschall still hesitated. " Your pupil, Helga 
 Nuntius, would be so happy to know that you have 
 not forgotten her." 
 
 He received no answer. The old artist had re- 
 turned to the piano stool and stared into the red 
 lamp. Then Richard went softly from the room. 
 
 He had descended three flights when he heard 
 the door torn open behind him. 
 
 " Of course you can greet her and very heartily 
 too — from her old teacher." 
 
 As he further descended the steps he heard the 
 sound of the piano. The old professor had re- 
 turned to Beethoven, to the solitary one on his 
 lonely heights. 
 
 Richard Marschall sat with Johanna Grube for 
 a long time at Grubeshof. They spoke of human 
 destiny, of the dreams of the past, and of John 
 Bettermann's joy — which Johanna Grube prom- 
 ised to help bring true. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 " My dear friends," read Robert Braun and 
 looked up from the open letter before him with a 
 deliberate smile at his wife, who, with graceful 
 movements was arranging the tea table and filling 
 the cups. " Did you hear me, Helga, it's from 
 your old beau." 
 
 " My beau? I had none." 
 
 " The Director of the Royal Opera, Mr. Rich- 
 ard Marschall. But his change of fortune does 
 not seem to have bettered his manners." 
 
 " Why, is the letter badly written? " 
 
 " Listen to the postscript : ' Dear Braun and my 
 dear friend.' I'm sure anyone could have taught 
 him to say dear friends." 
 
 " Did he really write that? " asked Helga and 
 while she filled the samovar anew, her womanly 
 instinct explained things to her. It was not subtle, 
 there was nothing to add — the dear friend was 
 formal and still had the friendly ring of a former 
 youthful friendship. She was still the same for 
 him, while for his former companion at the con- 
 servatory he had only a formal address. 
 
 " When you have finished I would like to read 
 the letter," said Helga. 
 
 153 
 
154 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Here it is." And Robert Braun tossed the 
 envelope containing the letter to his wife and con- 
 tinued his breakfast. She, however, leaned back 
 in her chair and read slowly, line by line. " Art 
 be praised — were it not for her kindly interven- 
 tion, how many years might still pass before we 
 could meet again. However, tomorrow, I arrive 
 at Hamburg to be present at the dress rehearsal 
 of my opera ' Hadwiga ' and to introduce my- 
 self to the critical public. How it will please them 
 I do not know. As for myself, I know today that 
 it will mean meeting my friend of the old days, 
 which my opera recalls to me so vividly. A meet- 
 ing with you, dear friend, and with that god of 
 good fortune himself personified in Robert Braun. 
 And now permit me to thank you for having con- 
 sented to sing in ' Hadwiga.' That is a great 
 victory for me, for it shows that you have faith 
 in me. Not to disappoint you will mean more to 
 me than public acclamation. Tomorrow, dear 
 friend, I hope once more to shake your hand after 
 having wandered about our old Frankfort. And 
 you, my doughty victor of many battles, I thank 
 you too. One does not need to wish you luck. 
 You would laugh, for fortune has always smiled 
 on you. Nothing but kindest regards from, 
 " Your faithful, 
 
 " Marschall." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 155 
 
 Helga looked at the letter, lost in her own 
 thoughts. As she read between the lines, she 
 became engrossed in thought. 
 
 " Well, what do you think of it? " asked Braun, 
 and she raised her head and looked at him. 
 
 " It seems a very friendly one," she said simply. 
 
 " A little pointed, I thought. Didn't you no- 
 tice that?" 
 
 " Not particularly." 
 
 " Look at the end — about the smiling fortune." 
 
 " Oh, Robert, he is unmarried, you know." 
 
 " That almost sounds like a regret." 
 
 " In that case, it would strike me as much as 
 you. Granted he is sentimental. What of that? 
 Don't let your tea get cold — that's more im- 
 portant." 
 
 " Helga, don't take that tone, if you please." 
 
 " No, dear Robert, it is no longer necessary 
 between us." 
 
 He drew up his brows for a moment, then 
 raised his cup to his lips. 
 
 " That he went back to that old hole of a 
 Frankfort only to have the Bettermanns make a 
 fuss over him is clownish. Great victory to have 
 you believe in him ! Glad to see us ! I believe it, 
 . . . because it will bring him in so much more. 
 Oh, please don't get insulted. Your friend Mar- 
 schall is as mercenary as I am and if I know why 
 I remain here, he knows how to attend to his af- 
 
156 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 fairs very wisely, too. He is ready to give us a 
 little taffy. He will gather strength through 
 us." 
 
 " What I prize above all in you, Robert, is 
 your unvarnished directness." 
 
 " Many thanks. I have done pretty well with 
 my attitude towards the world." 
 
 " Not everyone is as clever as you are." 
 
 " They would get further ahead if they were." 
 
 Helga felt an odd chill run through her. 
 
 "Are you cold, Helga?" 
 
 " No, but I have not felt well, lately." 
 
 " This blasted Hamburg weather, no voice can 
 stand it, much less one's spirits." 
 
 " Robert," said she after a while, " honestly, 
 do you ever suffer from depression?" 
 
 Robert Braun arose and stretched his limbs. 
 
 " Well, my child, not what you call depression," 
 — he laughed. " You will get angry if I say any 
 more, — but for a cold-blooded mortal like me 
 only realities exist. I suffer not from depression 
 but from very bad humor. If, for example, we 
 have offers for more than one place on the same 
 night and we must give one up, it annoys me to 
 lose so many thousands needlessly. Then I am 
 depressed." 
 
 " Is our bank account not yet large enough to 
 suit you? " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 157 
 
 "We will discuss that in five years; then we 
 will have a cool, round million." 
 
 " In five years," and she looked at the letter 
 still in her hands and smoothed the paper on her 
 knee, " in five years." 
 
 And she thought that in a short while she 
 would celebrate the fifth anniversary of her wed- 
 ding, and pictures of each anniversary passed be- 
 fore her eyes. They were no sombre pictures; 
 they were brightly lit as though chosen for the 
 public gaze; it wasn't sunshine, however, with 
 which they were lit, but stage lights. It was the 
 light of her chosen art. 
 
 Robert Braun did not long for sunshine. The 
 days were to him an unwelcome interruption of 
 the radiant lights which found him the centre of 
 the stage. He had one great quality, he never 
 for one moment lost sight of his goal, and each 
 success which his wife shared with him seemed a 
 double step on his clearly lighted way. Success 
 — success — that was the word which replaced 
 happiness in Braun's make up. 
 
 To Helga a home would have brought a meas^ 
 ure of happiness. For five years they had lived 
 in hotels, railroad cars, apartments rented at best 
 for a few months. Five times they had gone to 
 America, traveled in all the large cities, but in 
 her heart there was no comfort. She had found 
 
158 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 nothing in her husband's life but hunger for suc- 
 cess. 
 
 Helga looked for sunshine and happiness as a 
 woman will. Secretly at first, without clear con- 
 sciousness, the whispering voice within her spoke. 
 She pressed her forehead against the cold glass 
 panes and looked out with wide open eyes at the 
 life others led. So it went on day by day. 
 
 " Do you really feel ill, Helga? " 
 
 " I can't get warm — it's an inexplicable feel- 
 ing." 
 
 " If you wish I will send for a doctor." 
 
 " He wouldn't understand — " and she grasped 
 his hand which was on the back of her chair and 
 said with a deep breath, " You alone can help me, 
 Robert." 
 
 " I'm no doctor, child." 
 
 " No, but you are my husband." 
 
 " What has that to do with the doctor? " 
 
 " Robert," she broke out, " I can't stand it any 
 more. I am married and am still absolutely 
 alone." 
 
 " My dear," he said soothingly, " isn't that 
 rather childish talk ? " 
 
 " Oh, God, if I only were a child once more." 
 
 " Helga, you have your art. That, to real 
 artists, is life and youth." 
 
 " I am a woman — a woman, can't you under- 
 stand?" 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 159 
 
 " You are above all Helga Braun Nuntius, an 
 artist of distinction." 
 
 " Oh, that's very beautiful, but it's not every- 
 thing." 
 
 " It is everything." He pressed her hand and 
 turned toward the door of his dressing-room. 
 
 "Robert!" she cried and stood before him, 
 placing both arms on his shoulders. " I come to 
 you in my despair. Help me. I cannot bear 
 this life any longer. I'm completely worn out — 
 inwardly — if your eye could penetrate, you would 
 see. I don't know myself — you made me your 
 wife. I was young. I had passed youth by until 
 you came. You should have made me acquainted 
 with it so that I would not wake up one day and 
 realize what I had missed. Now I always hear 
 steps behind me, steps which cannot reach me be- 
 cause I am never still. Let them reach me, Rob- 
 ert, let us sit down and wait for them so that we 
 may realize that we are not only artists but human 
 beings — a man and a woman." 
 
 He was confused at her outbreak. He could 
 not understand woman's moods. 
 
 "What do you want, Helga?" he asked her 
 uncertainly. 
 
 " To think of ourselves only for a while, of 
 you and me, and not of our art." 
 
 " What greater life can we have than that of 
 artists ? " 
 
i6o THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Robert, the woman In me awoke later than 
 it does in other, perhaps happier, natures. She 
 clamors for her rights, but they seem to drift 
 further and further away from me." 
 
 " Is there anything I have done of which you 
 can complain? " 
 
 " No," said she slowly, and took her hands 
 from his shoulders. " I followed you willingly." 
 
 " And I married Helga Nuntius as she was, 
 not as she is." 
 
 " Is that your only answer? " 
 
 " The woman I married had to be an artist. 
 I was not uncertain of it. I knew my own am- 
 bitions and what I could do for you, so you see, 
 Helga, we can neither of us complain." 
 
 " No," said she, " I have no cause for com- 
 plaint, at least not until today when I discussed it 
 with you." 
 
 " You are over-nervous," said Braun, and 
 patted her on the head. " You will have a chance 
 to rest for eight days on the ocean, that will send 
 all of these little sentimental ideas out of your 
 head." 
 
 "Robert," said she, "do me one favor — we 
 are husband and wife, one must help the other. 
 I have helped you with the best within me. There 
 is nothing left. Now, it is your turn. I am 
 homesick. I want a home and a little peace." 
 
 Robert Braun looked at her and shook his head. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA i6i 
 
 " Youi are really 111, I believe, child, otherwise you 
 would not even suggest giving up America. They 
 could sue us and we'd have to reimburse them for 
 their loss. I positively believe that this letter is 
 the cause of it all — " 
 
 "This letter! This has been in me a long 
 time, but I have not had the courage to speak to 
 you of it." 
 
 "Very well, once for all time — I will not 
 countenance any stupid nonsense that means a loss 
 of money." 
 
 " They could not sue us. Any doctor would 
 state that we are overworked and Insist that we 
 take a rest." 
 
 " I do not need a rest. I'm not a farmer who 
 wants the peace of the fields. I'm Robert Braun, 
 and that's what I want to remain — that Is the road 
 to victory for both of us. And now you had bet- 
 ter go for a walk or a drive. I have a rehearsal 
 after which I want to look at the crowd on the 
 stock exchange. They say it is wonderful. We 
 should learn whatever possible. You, little farm 
 girl, perhaps In five years — Now kiss me good- 
 bye." 
 
 After a while she grew quieter and left the 
 house in which they had rented rooms for the 
 four weeks of their engagement. The sun battled 
 with the fog and presently shone victorious. She 
 walked along the artificial lake and began to en- 
 
1 62 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 joy the beauty of the scene. Smooth and glis- 
 tening the shallow sheet of water lay before her, 
 and little white sail boats flew merrily on before 
 the wind. Members of the boating clubs were 
 rowing in their shells and the calls of their captain 
 rang clearly through the air. A fleet of white 
 swans sailed proudly in and out between the many 
 boats to their own little flower bedecked houses. 
 Helga stood at the bridge connecting the old and 
 new city and thought how good it would be to 
 come to a bridge that would take you from one 
 shore of life to another. From life to solitude, 
 back to life again — to that life in which one's 
 happiness is secure in itself, in which the joyous 
 laugh is kept hidden in one's own garden. In 
 this garden springs flow — springs of youth — 
 and a little dreary smile played about her fine lit- 
 tle mouth. Then she turned back and went into 
 the opera house. 
 
 They were rehearsing Trovatore, to try out the 
 voice of a highly recommended young singer. 
 Helga opened the door, noiselessly entered, and 
 seated herself so as to hear the first few bars. 
 Only the stage and the orchestra pit were lighted, 
 the figure of the conductor loomed up like a spec- 
 tre In the distance. The chore women were dust- 
 ing between the chairs and in the aisles — in the 
 boxes some old women appeared and with a few 
 hasty strokes, moved the dust from one place to 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 163 
 
 another. On the stage there stood a young 
 woman and a man in a heavy shooting jacket. 
 They were rehearsing the second scene of the 
 fourth act, the duet between Leonore and the 
 Count. 
 
 " Stop ! " called the conductor and knocked 
 two or three times with his baton on his music 
 desk. " I knew perfectly well that you have no 
 ear for music, Miss, but I did not know you were 
 deaf. When I say stop, you should understand 
 
 — and stop. It was simply awful I " 
 
 " I am sorry," faltered the young girl, and 
 threw a look of anguish at the orchestra. " Will 
 you please tell me where I made the mistake? " 
 
 " Where ? " echoed the conductor sarcastically, 
 with courteous coldness, " where the mistake was 
 
 — if you asked me when you sang correctly, it 
 would be more easily answered. Start all over 
 again from the beginning and kindly show a lit- 
 tle more interest. If you don't like the part 
 please say so at once and we will give it to some- 
 one else." 
 
 " But I love the part! " cried the young girl, 
 " and I am so happy to have it." Anxious tears 
 rose to her eyelids. 
 
 " Well ! Then kindly express your pleasure 
 in your voice. Ready ! " and he tapped the tempo 
 with his baton on his desk. 
 
 The poor young thing was so frightened that 
 
1 64 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 she had almost no voice left with which to sing. 
 Then Helga Braun saw her make a mighty effort 
 and commence to sing — 
 
 "Near thee — Thou see'est me — The be- 
 loved is not near death." 
 
 " Let your voice out," called the conductor, 
 " I don't hear you ! " and the young girl courage- 
 ously sang it over again, and her clear fresh young 
 voice so dominated the whole that Helga quite 
 forgot the man in the shooting jacket who sang 
 the count. 
 
 " I want to thank you, sir," she said, " for try- 
 ing me." 
 
 " You'd better wait until tomorrow. A fine 
 performance that'll be ! " 
 
 Something in Helga rebelled at this. Why 
 should all illusion be taken from this novice? 
 What laws had she broken that she had to stand 
 such treatment before the entire orchestra and 
 chorus. She was a girl of education and breed- 
 ing, and had done very well, with thrice the 
 amount of inspiration shown by the sleepy count 
 to whom the conductor said no word. 
 
 " Poor thing," thought Helga. " How long 
 will your inspiration last in this theatre," and she 
 decided to go at once to the girl's dressing-room, 
 to take her in her arms and comfort her. 
 
 As she left her seat she walked up to the con- 
 ductor. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 165 
 
 " Ah, our great diva," and he climbed over the 
 orchestra railing to kiss her hand repeatedly. 
 " Have you been here long? I had to scold a 
 good deal," and he laughed, a little embarrassed, 
 " but you know those late suppers, they play the 
 mischief with one the next day." 
 
 " Tell me, Maestro," said Helga Braun, " the 
 little one who sang Leonore, is she your discov- 
 ery? I must congratulate you, for you certainly 
 have found a jewel." 
 
 " Do you think so ? No, I did not discover 
 her ; she comes from Trieste where an agent who 
 is rather keen discovered her. So you like her, 
 do you? " 
 
 " There can be no question of that, Maestro. 
 Such a fresh, sympathetic voice, and now that she 
 is lucky enough to be under you she will learn. 
 Yes, I want to go behind the scenes to meet her. 
 Will you come to dinner with me and my husband 
 tonight, after the opera? " 
 
 " Thank you so much, Madam, I should be 
 most happy and I quite agree with you as to the 
 soprano." 
 
 He opened the door, kissed her hand respect- 
 fully and Helga Braun went to the soprano's 
 dressing-room where she found the young girl in 
 tears. She sat at her dressing-table and sobbed 
 as if her heart would break. She started as 
 Helga entered. 
 
1 66 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " I do not know whether I have the advantage 
 of being personally known to you," said she. 
 
 "The advantage?" the young girl repeated. 
 " Why you are Mrs. Braun Nuntius, of course." 
 
 " Then allow me to congratulate you on your 
 voice." 
 
 The young girl arose, her eyes had a bitter ex- 
 pression. 
 
 "Were you at the rehearsal?" 
 
 " I heard the last act, that was sufficient." 
 
 " Do you too, want to make fun of me as the 
 conductor did?" and she suddenly clasped her 
 hands to her face and sobbed : " That is too 
 cruel." 
 
 Helga put her arms about her and drew her to 
 her breast. 
 
 " Foolish girl, how can you be so silly. You 
 say you know Helga Braun Nuntius and still do 
 not trust her. Do you think I would come to 
 you except to tell you that you are splendidly 
 gifted? You did wonderfully well at rehearsal 
 and if you continue, you will be the best prima 
 donna in Hamburg." 
 
 The young girl lifted her head and looked at 
 her comforter. She blushed a rosy red and said 
 simply, " You are so good. So far, you are the 
 first kind soul I have met since I went on the 
 stage." 
 
 "WeU, well," said Helga, smilingly. "It's 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 167 
 
 not as bad as that, there are people with very good 
 hearts and much culture on the stage, only if you 
 want to find them you must take the trouble to 
 look for them. Do you want to walk a part of 
 the way home with me ? I would like a talk with 
 you. I expressed my appreciation of your voice 
 to the conductor before I came to you." 
 
 The young girl had started to put on her hat — 
 now she stopped. 
 
 " To the conductor I " and each word told her 
 fright. 
 
 " That was my duty, you fluttering little goose. 
 I told him how gifted I thought you were and 
 he—" 
 
 "He—?" 
 
 " Quite agreed with me, and I believe will take 
 special interest in you." 
 
 Then the girl threw herself on the breast of 
 the beautiful woman who had the whole world at 
 her feet and who, withal, had remained so truly 
 a woman that she felt the sufferings of a sister 
 heart. Helga Braun was happy and at peace 
 with the world. 
 
 As they walked, the girl told of her life, her 
 hopes and her disappointments. 
 
 " I have been on the stage only two years, both 
 of which were spent in Trieste. That's where 
 the manager from Hamburg heard me. Oh, the 
 happiness when I was able to write home : I have 
 
1 68 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 an engagement. For my people are quite poor. 
 Their last penny had been spent for my studies 
 and for clothes. My fright of this morning, 
 when I thought I would be sent away was not on 
 account of myself; it is a vital question with my 
 people. Oh, the terrible anxiety lest one is not 
 accepted, the horrible prospect of having to make 
 the rounds of the agents' offices again, the fear 
 of getting into debt and the frightened eyes of 
 the dear ones at home, who do not understand, 
 that is the worst of all. How much of the very 
 life blood, of all that's good and true does art 
 rob us of before we get a foot on the ladder. If 
 I did not need it so dreadfully, if there were any 
 other road open I would not give my youth for 
 anything so uncertain. What am I talking 
 about — there are of course, exceptions — you, 
 dear, kind woman, are the best proof of it." 
 
 " It is curious," thought Helga, " that we 
 women all feel alike on that one subject. Some 
 sooner, some later, but every one of us feels it 
 once in her life. It is the problematic love life 
 of the sex, which we do not understand and whose 
 sufferings are our joys. Now my turn has come." 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 Richard Marschall arrived in Hamburg and 
 put up at the principal hotel. After a bath and 
 a change of clothes he felt restless and walked 
 about the streets. 
 
 He felt filled with a delicious unrest which he 
 could not explain. Was it the pleasure of seeing 
 visualized on the stage, the visions which filled 
 his nights — was it the joy of battle which every 
 soldier feels before the enemy? Or was it the 
 air, the sea air, the same air which Helga Braun 
 had breathed these three weeks? 
 
 He laughed like a boy who has caught himself 
 in a trap. It must be the air. He pushed his 
 hat back on his head and with his ulster flying in 
 the breeze whistled the old college songs — and 
 a late roysterer, who passed by, stood still to look 
 at the queer whistling figure. His surprise in no 
 way disturbed Marschall, who sang and whistled 
 ahead cheerily until he reached the hotel where 
 he immediately retired and slept the sleep of the 
 just until he awoke with a start, early the next 
 morning. 
 
 The dress rehearsal of " Hadwiga " was to 
 I £9 
 
I70 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 take place at ten o'clock. At eight he was on 
 his way to the Flower shop and at nine o'clock 
 Helga received a large bunch of fresh pink roses 
 with a card — " Best regards from Frankfort 
 through the courtesy of Hamburg." 
 
 " Tell me, Helga," said Robert Braun, " you 
 don't suppose he expects to stop with us. I did 
 not ask him." 
 
 " Certainly not — he would never have ac- 
 cepted even if he had been asked." 
 
 " I don't believe that — they all save wherever 
 they can." 
 
 Helga bent over her flowers and said: "He 
 is not one of them. He is a sunny, happy man, 
 who is only interested in what he does, not in 
 what others do." 
 
 " I suppose a little of your affection for him 
 still remains." 
 
 " I wouldn't have married you, Robert, had I 
 felt any affection for him." 
 
 " Pardon me, I was only teasing. I'll ask him 
 to dinner after the opera, although I promised to 
 meet our agent at half-past eleven. I suppose he 
 will excuse me until then." 
 
 " I am happy you are willing to sacrifice your- 
 self a little." 
 
 " Oh, I am capable of it, when it Is necessary." 
 
 " Robert, make one for me — a single one." 
 
 " What? " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 171 
 
 " What I asked of you yesterday — I would be 
 so grateful to you." 
 
 " Helga, I must ask you to be serious and not 
 to spoil my humor the first thing every morning. 
 We are not children." 
 
 " I would like to be one if only for a year." 
 
 He looked at his watch. " Hurry and get 
 ready for the rehearsal." She placed the flowers 
 in a vase, put on her hat and coat and accom- 
 panied her husband. 
 
 Richard Marschall and the director of the 
 opera were discussing Marschall's opera; the di- 
 rector proposed a tour of different cities, saying 
 that he felt he could guarantee them a very big 
 net sum, 
 
 " How about getting Braun and Mrs. Braun 
 to take parts ? " Marschall asked. 
 
 " Braun would be all right, everyone Is wild 
 over him, and you can count on him, but his wife 
 is going to pieces. She's not the same woman 
 she was two years ago." 
 
 " Surely she is not ill." 
 
 " 111, no, there is no heart or lung trouble — ■ 
 it all happened out of a clear sky — it comes 
 sometimes in the middle of a scene — she begins 
 to drag — her face looks haggard and her eyes 
 dull, and in the next scene, perhaps she is per- 
 fect again. She dreams, that's all. I'm afraid 
 one day she will forget her part and we will have 
 
172 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 to lower the curtain; that would hurt Braun too; 
 I want to speak to Braun about her. He ought 
 to sing alone one season and leave her to rest in 
 some little corner of the earth. That would help 
 both of them." 
 
 " Yes," said Richard, and his thoughts went 
 out to Helga. " Yes, but we must go — excuse 
 me, Director." 
 
 He threw away his cigarette, arose heavily and 
 dried his forehead on which little beads of per- 
 spiration had appeared. 
 
 " Aha ! " laughed the director — " Stage fright 
 — you have got it! " 
 
 " Perhaps — perhaps." 
 
 " Come along — I will go with you. Do you 
 want a box or will you sit in the orchestra ? " 
 
 "If you will just direct me — in the orches- 
 tra; I don't want to take up any more of your 
 time." 
 
 " Very well — I'll look you up later. This 
 way, please." 
 
 Richard Marschall sat in the last row of the 
 orchestra. He heard music which he vaguely 
 knew to be his own. He did not care, he listened 
 carefully but all he heard was, " Her face looks 
 unnatural, she must be careful." 
 
 Helga — suffered — mentally — and so visibly 
 that even the unimaginative theatre director no- 
 ticed it. Who could have hurt that pure, that 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 173 
 
 ideal woman's soul instead of treating her care- 
 fully — very softly, petting and spoiling her — 
 that soul — " She has her husband to take care 
 of her." 
 
 And as this idea came to him he seemed to 
 choke, and a wild, unreasoning rage shook him 
 and sent his blood racing. He clenched his fists 
 and breathed heavily. 
 
 She had her husband — what sort of a man 
 could he be, what a brutal selfish creature. Rob- 
 ert Braun was his name — what was that the di- 
 rector had said? — He was a hero — all the 
 world was mad about him. 
 
 A voice rose, a phenomenal voice, full of sweet- 
 ness, softness, clearness and beauty — Robejt 
 Braun's. 
 
 "What magic is this?" thought Marschall. 
 What a dreadful lie art is, so handsome and seem- 
 ingly so emotional and, in reality, with no more 
 feeling than a bird of prey ! " 
 
 Robert Braun sang. A wondrous voice, a voice 
 that transformed men into boys, that made women 
 lose their heads — and at one time made Helga 
 Nuntius his. 
 
 There he stood on the stage, this marvel, a 
 halo of glory about his head. And the women 
 adored him. And next to her husband Helga 
 Nuntius stood and sang, and Richard with all his 
 manliness could not forget the past — only one 
 
174 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 thing mattered — all the pain of the world had 
 changed to pleasure. She was there — he would 
 speak to her again, look in her eyes once more, 
 hold her hand. 
 
 And he did not move as the director came to 
 take him to the green room. He begged not to 
 be introduced until after the performance. And 
 he saw Helga and heard her and wondered 
 whether he had not better go back to the station 
 at once. How could he know? How could he 
 have foretold? He had kept the memory of the 
 dreamy girl fresh in his heart so many years — 
 and now the child had taken a woman's form, so 
 touching in her beauty, which seemed as though 
 useless to her, with her disappointed mouth, her 
 tender, tired mouth; his eyes were glued to that 
 mouth, and his heart beat louder and louder — 
 until he realized he had not remained the same, 
 that his youthful longings had given way to the 
 passions of a man. 
 
 " No, no," he finally thought, " I will fight it 
 down, I will not utter a word, she shall never 
 know ! " 
 
 A door near him opened. The director ap- 
 peared. 
 
 " May I introduce you now, Mr. Marschall ? 
 The company is still on the stage." 
 
 He followed the director and presently heard 
 names repeated. He thanked the conductor of 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 175 
 
 the orchestra for the very fine and finished per- 
 formance of his work. He exchanged friendly- 
 greetings with Robert Braun and now he stood 
 before Helga — held her hand and could not find 
 a word. 
 
 And her feminine intuition helped to bridge 
 the painful pause. 
 
 " I have so much to thank you for, Mr. Mar- 
 schall. I don't know where to begin; your kind 
 letter, your lovely roses, and the splendid part 
 which I sang. I can't tell you how much it af- 
 fects me." 
 
 " All thanks are due to you," he heard himself 
 say. 
 
 " Well, and the pleasure of seeing you again." 
 
 He bowed and loosed his clasp of her hands. 
 
 "Have you any engagement?" said Braun, 
 linking his arm in Marschall's. " A little fresh 
 air before we dine will do us good. Will you 
 come with my wife and myself — " 
 
 Richard looked at Helga and as he saw the ex- 
 pression in her eyes, he accepted, — so they left 
 together. 
 
 " To the harbor," said she, as they reached the 
 Holsten place. And they walked along the broad 
 streets to the little green round isle near the har- 
 bor. 
 
 "Are you hungry?" said Braun. "You are 
 so quiet." 
 
176 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 "Hungry!" Richard Marschall looked at 
 him, amazed. 
 
 " You must excuse me, old friend, if we drag 
 you about with us, but after such a nervous strain 
 it is impossible to eat at once, one's stomach is ex- 
 hausted. Only air seems to give us back our 
 vitality." 
 
 " Did you think he had grown more poetical? " 
 asked Helga humorously. 
 
 " A man like Robert Braun may be excused if 
 he is not poetical," said Marschall. 
 
 " You can be thankful, Mr. Composer, if I 
 put your poetry before the public. If one spends 
 one's days rehearsing and one's nights perform- 
 ing other people's poetical emotions, there's little 
 time left for one's own sentiments. I am glad 
 if I can only take care of my body." 
 
 " That is most important after all," Marschall 
 laughed, and looked at Braun's heroic propor- 
 tions. 
 
 " I am glad you are having some fun," said 
 Braun, shrugging his shoulders, " but you won't 
 change my attitude toward life any more than my 
 wife can." 
 
 " Oh," said Marschall, in a tone meant to be 
 facetious, " I can't believe you give your wife 
 cause for complaint." 
 
 "You came from Frankfort?" interrupted 
 Helga hastily. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 177 
 
 " Yes, dear friend, I came from our old be- 
 loved Frankfort. I thought you would like to 
 hear what's become of your old friends." 
 
 " You did not go there on my account ? " 
 
 " Look at the picture back there, a perfect stage 
 decoration," said Braun, endeavoring to change 
 the subject, and pointing out the row of pillars on 
 each side of the harbor. Before them extended 
 the broad, flat sheet of water, and the various 
 docks of the harbor each with lines of white sailed 
 ships, one behind' the other, as though on a string. 
 Chains clanged — hammers thundered, people 
 talked in all tongues mingling with the whistles 
 and voices of the ships — speaking the language 
 of the sea. And every sound seemed to take part 
 in that mightiest of all symphonies — "Work — 
 Work!" 
 
 The work of the world as condensed in the 
 Harbor of Hamburg. 
 
 And in the midst of all the turmoil, smaller and 
 larger crafts adorned with flags of all nations, 
 crowded with pleasure-seekers who for all of this 
 sweat and blood of labor found the expression: 
 " Most interesting." Helga Braun's breath came 
 quickly. Her hands were cold. 
 
 " Come," said she, and her voice sounded tired, 
 " come and tell me about Frankfort." 
 
 Then Richard Marschall commenced to relate. 
 They crossed a bridge — one wedged In between 
 
178 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 mighty storehouses and commercial houses. 
 Richard Marschall pointed to it and said: " It's 
 like John Bettermann's house." 
 
 " Tell me more, do." 
 
 And he spoke of the friends of their youth and 
 drew friendly portraits of them and their lives. 
 He told of the Bettermanns and gave Helga their 
 regards as well as those of Faller and Johanna 
 Grube. 
 
 " You do not know the power of your name." 
 
 Helga's eyes grew wider — she insisted : " Tell 
 -me more." 
 
 " Mr. Bettermann made me his special envoy. 
 You are invited to visit him this spring, to help 
 inaugurate his new house. He is busy all day 
 long with his architect, you know." 
 
 "When will he build his Villa? Heavens, 
 how I remember the night he took me about with 
 him In the snow. He was Haroun-al-Raschid 
 and I the Grand Vizier. That was a wonderful 
 time. Those were hours which remain everlast- 
 ingly young to me." 
 
 " Helga, you're really growing too sentimen- 
 tal." 
 
 " It was not intended to interest you, Robert," 
 and for the first time a note of hostility sounded in 
 her .voice. 
 
 " So Mr. Bettermann's world-renowned spec- 
 ulation has become a reality." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 179 
 
 " I am sorry to disappoint you," and Richard 
 Marschall told of the sad outcome of the Better- 
 mann speculations. Helga Braun stood still, but 
 Robert laughed heartily. 
 
 " Why are you laughing, Robert? " 
 
 " Because I think the whole story is so comi- 
 cal." 
 
 " Comical? I think it is tragic and pitiful and 
 I want to help them at once." 
 
 " Oh, no, dear Helga, I should rather have our 
 money invested In something safer than a piece 
 of sentimental folly." 
 
 " You need not bother, Mrs. Braun, the old 
 people are being cared for. Johanna Grube, you 
 remember Franz's sister, at Grubeshof, gave them 
 the necessary sum the very evening I asked her, 
 so that Mr. Bettermann can build on his own lit- 
 tle ground. It won't be the great house he had 
 planned, but honestly, what would those two old 
 souls have done in there ? There are people who 
 could not belong to the great world If you were to 
 cover them with money and jewels. Let's be 
 happy; the Bettermanns are to remain in their 
 own little nest. There are plenty of others for 
 the big villas." 
 
 " You are the greatest comforter," said she ; 
 " you always make one happier. You are a great 
 artist, Mr. Marschall, how have you changed 
 
i8o THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 your nature that used to be so passionate, to such 
 a calm, unemotional, harmonious one?" 
 
 " Humanity has taught me," was his only an- 
 swer. 
 
 " More than your chosen calling." 
 
 " More, because my work depends for growth 
 on my love." 
 
 " I think," said she thoughtfully, " you! are 
 correct. It's the truth. Art is only a blossom 
 of life." 
 
 They drove to a restaurant on the harbor 
 and seated themselves at a corner table. Lan- 
 terns encircled the whole basin and their glow- 
 ing lights glittered and danced on the dark wa- 
 ters. 
 
 " Yes, and Professor Faller and Johanna Grube 
 sent you messages. At first, Faller tried to be a 
 Spartan and not show his sentiments and then he 
 ran after me and sent his best regards to his most 
 famous pupil, Helga Nuntius. He has the gen- 
 uine artistic temperament. He is drowning his 
 old age in Beethoven — Faller and Beethoven — 
 that's another tragedy." 
 
 " Echoes from my youth," thought Mrs. Rob- 
 ert Braun, and she felt no hunger, nor thirst, but 
 her limbs felt heavy and her eyes smarted. Rob- 
 ert Braun shook his head, then he called the 
 waiter to bring him some champagne. " Every- 
 thing is all right," said he. " You must not let 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA i8i 
 
 those things spoil your appetite. You need all 
 your strength." 
 
 " You can't always travel by express train, dear 
 Braun. There are distances one must cover on 
 foot while we have the strength for the days when 
 we will no longer have strength." 
 
 " That's all nonsense. Yesterday I went to 
 see the stock exchange, it's a wonderful sight. I 
 would be carried in a rocking chair if I couldn't 
 walk. Distances we must cover on foot — what 
 nonsense! You talk like a German school mas- 
 ter." 
 
 "Let's not fight at the table, — your health, 
 Marschall." 
 
 " And yours, Braun." 
 
 Helga no longer took part in the conversation; 
 she looked steadily out of the window, wrapped 
 in her thoughts. She was very tired — always 
 the same street, always the same thought. Rich- 
 ard Marschall read the apathy in her face. 
 
 " It is still early, dear, but if you are tired I 
 would advise you to go home and rest! " 
 
 "At eight o'clock?" 
 
 " Do go. Tomorrow will be a hard day and 
 you don't want to fail your old friend, do you? " 
 
 " You are right," and she arose, " tomorrow 
 belongs to you." 
 
 " I will go to the station to meet our agent," 
 said Braun. " I won't be late." 
 
1 82 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " If you allow me, I will take your wife home," 
 said Marschall. 
 
 " Very kind of you, many thanks." 
 
 Before the restaurant, they parted. Richard 
 Marschall helped Helga Braun into a coupe as 
 carefully as though she were a sick child. 
 
 " I am so tired," she said, " so sleepy," and 
 she leaned back in the coupe. " I am always tak- 
 ing the express train, day and night; that's what 
 ails me." 
 
 " Rest, dear," said he. Then like a tired child 
 she placed her head against his shoulder and slept 
 in spite of the rattling of the coupe. 
 
 Richard Marschall sat motionless. He felt 
 her soul, her lonely, tired soul, wandering in the 
 never-ending meadows of art, and deep sympathy 
 filled him, a worldless feeling like unto the love 
 for a little child whom one sings asleep, and he 
 began humming a lullaby. He watched while his 
 friend slept, softly, sweetly, and peacefully. 
 
 " You are home, dear friend," said Marschall 
 gently. The coupe halted, and she awoke. 
 
 " Home — I must have dreamed. Yes, of 
 course, good night, Richard." 
 
 He kept the coupe and drove to his hotel, and 
 continued to hum and to sing, for in the narrow 
 enclosure of the carriage he still seemed to feel 
 her breathing. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 " Today," said Helga Braun to herself, " I 
 must be entirely alone. This morning must be 
 mine — after last night." 
 
 She arose softly, so as not to disturb her hus- 
 band and dressed to go out. Then she prepared 
 tea, and while the water boiled, stood at the wide 
 open window into which a strong, keen breeze 
 blew. To feel strong once again, was the burden 
 of her thoughts. She had made a vow to rest 
 and to gain back her strength, and it was of this 
 vow she now wanted to think. 
 
 She drank her tea, and told the maid she was 
 going to take a walk — to tell her husband that 
 she would be back for lunch. Then she jumped 
 into the coupe and gave orders to drive out into 
 one of the suburbs. 
 
 From her half-hidden seat she glanced at the 
 country. She remembered every word Richard 
 Marschall had spoken, every word of greeting 
 he had brought her as a present, and her tired 
 spirit of the night before changed into one of 
 elation. She felt well and happy as never before. 
 She could have sung loudly with joy. 
 
 183 
 
1 84 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 A melody haunted her, and made her uneasy. 
 Where had she heard it? Had her husband 
 hummed it? It seemed like a lullaby. No, Rob- 
 ert never hummed lullabies. Clearer and clearer 
 it came to her. Now she remembered she had 
 slept on Richard's shoulder — and then it came 
 to her ; she smiled, as gleeful as a child. 
 
 Richard Marschall sang that lullaby to her — 
 sang her to sleep. He had brought her rest and 
 peace — Richard Marschall. And she smiled un- 
 til her eyes filled with tears that ran down the thin 
 cheeks and fell on her hands in her lap. He was 
 her friend, and at one time he wanted to be 
 more than a friend. That she remembered with- 
 out any emotion, as we remember the sunny days 
 of youth. Every joyful memory seemed in some 
 way to be connected with him. Her love life be- 
 longed to her husband — should have belonged 
 to him, had he lighted the spark and cherished it 
 — and he did neither the one nor the other. All 
 he had cherished had been himself and his art. 
 He had led his life, certain she would follow him. 
 His self-possessed assurance, which set aside the 
 will of all others, as of no account, made Helga 
 feel ashamed, and still looking at the open coun- 
 try, she questioned for the first time her right to 
 her name, Helga Braun. There • always re- 
 mained Helga Nuntius, she told herself, after the 
 marriage as well as before. And moreover, she 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 185 
 
 thought, " If I have remained Helga Nuntius dur- 
 ing the past five years I can never have been his 
 wife — only his fellow artist. Of course, he 
 loves me in his own way, but — and lightning-like 
 the idea crossed her mind — suppose I should 
 lose my voice, would he still cling to me? 
 Wouldn't he feel that I was a chain about him? 
 Wouldn't I leave him far poorer than when I 
 went to him? 
 
 And then she asked herself, " How far could 
 his love — how far does your own love — 
 reach?" And it seemed to her as though she 
 looked into an unknown land — full of thorns — 
 through which the sun shone without any light. 
 A chill breeze seemed to blow over her, though 
 the day was warm and full of autumnal beauty. 
 
 " What does my love mean? " 
 
 She tried to visualize the word. Love, but, no 
 matter how she tried to picture it, nothing would 
 come to her mind to which she could hold fast — 
 that she could clasp to herself — no moment of 
 oblivion of all but themselves, no moment of won- 
 derous physical ache — nothing but the bonds of 
 their mutual art — triumphs from without. 
 
 She knew nothing of love, which she only felt 
 as an intrinsic desire, just as she felt the reality 
 of her need of rest after five years of wandering. 
 
 No, she did not know much about love. 
 
 And it seemed as though she must cry out, so 
 
1 86 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 that the winds would carry it to all corners of the 
 world — " here lies love that has been forgotten 
 — take me along I I am a woman as others are. 
 Why should I be locked out? Why should I have 
 the shadow of love and not love itself? " 
 
 " I know," she said, " what I think. There' is 
 life and there is art. I have only lost my way. 
 That is why I flutter in the air." 
 
 And she felt she must find the way again if her 
 life were to continue. 
 
 The coupe passed a cemetery, where beautiful 
 plants and flowers glowed in the sunshine, and 
 wonderful trees carried their ancient dignity in 
 their erect trunks. 
 
 " Oh, the beautiful garden," said Helga, and 
 she asked the driver to stop for a while. She 
 stepped out of the coupe. 
 
 As she turned back, she said to herself, " Thank 
 you, silent monuments. You have taught me 
 something vital. We must take something from 
 the earth when we go to your land, a gleam of 
 sunlight or a reflection of something which made 
 us happy — something that may go with us into 
 eternity." With a face as bright as the day, and 
 with a clear voice she called to the driver. He 
 could not believe his ears. How could anyone 
 be so happy after a visit to the cemetery? 
 
 " Now, show what your horse can do. I will 
 double your fare." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 187 
 
 Then they flew past meadows and woods, and 
 the coachman cracked his whip, and the clear, 
 fresh breeze brought a delicate pink to Helga's 
 cheeks, and to her body, wrapped in a soft shawl, 
 a feeling of unutterable joy. 
 
 " That is music," she thought, " songs without 
 words." So she entered the house joyous and 
 buoyant. Robert met her at the door. 
 
 " Helga, words fail me." 
 
 "Why, I should like to know? Because I 
 didn't sleep all day? Oh, Robert, you should 
 have been with me! I feel again like a human 
 being! I know what I owe to myself as a live 
 woman — to breathe fresh air. Try it, Robert? 
 Won't you — this beautiful autumn air — to 
 breathe?" 
 
 " Have you forgotten tonight, and what a part 
 you have to sing ? You behave like a silly girl of 
 sixteen." 
 
 " I wish I knew how to explain it to you. 
 Scold me, it makes me feel young." 
 
 " Helga," said Robert Braun, with a frown on 
 his forehead, " your behavior is shocking. But 
 I won't discuss It now, we have this difficult part 
 to sing for the first time. So I don't want to 
 quarrel. As I wish to spare my voice, I will let 
 your outrageous actions pass for this time. 
 Lunch Is ready, and after that you will at once He 
 down and rest, well covered, until theatre time, 
 
1 88 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 so that you get that stupid, useless excursion out 
 of your bones. No remonstrance, please. I at 
 least know what is needful for my voice on such 
 an important day." 
 
 " Then, Robert, you must allow me to speak — 
 and speak I must as much as I regret to trouble 
 you — and much as the hour seems ill chosen." 
 
 Robert Braun pressed the button. He did not 
 wish his appetite spoiled; he knew exactly what 
 was necessary to keep up his physical strength 
 for an evening like this, an important first night. 
 Silently he pointed out a chair to his wife and the 
 luncheon was served. Helga seated herself 
 without hesitation. She partook of the dishes 
 placed before her and drank some wine — and 
 long after her appetite had been appeased she took 
 pleasure in watching her husband who never had 
 appeared quite so famished. 
 
 At length he arose, nodded tc his wife and was 
 about to leave the room. 
 
 " Robert, please." 
 
 " Well, what is it, I must rest for half an hour." 
 
 " I want you to think of me for a minute." 
 
 " In that case you too had better rest. You 
 need it quite as badly as I do." 
 
 " I have needed rest for a long time and will 
 take such a long rest that fifteen minutes more or 
 less will not count." 
 
 "What under the sun is the matter now? I 
 
THE STORYi OF HELGA 189 
 
 hope you're not going to return to that nonsense 
 of yesterday. Hurry up." 
 
 " It all depends on you. You call nonsense 
 what to me is life. I begged you several days 
 ago, Robert — it was no nonsense — because I 
 aever gave way, although perhaps it would have 
 been better for me had I restrained myself less. 
 I feel the end has come and I must decide what 
 is best for me. Please do not laugh, it is very 
 real and earnest — if I continue this make-be- 
 lieve existence I shall perish." 
 
 " Dear Helga, those are fantasies. How 
 many times must I repeat it? One does not die 
 so quickly as you seem to imagine, especially an 
 artist. Art keeps you alive, it keeps your health 
 up for you." 
 
 " So much so that I have lost mine." 
 
 " Wait until tonight, and when you have been 
 called out before the footlights half a dozen 
 times, this morning's talk will seem absurd to you, 
 you won't know where all of these stupid ideas 
 came from. Until then, take care of yourself." 
 
 " No, not until then." She stepped to the 
 door and stood with her back to it. " I am as 
 quiet as I have ever been. I will sing ' Had- 
 wiga ' and I will sing her with the best that's in 
 me. Richard Marschall and his work shall never 
 suffer through any fault of mine. But after that 
 my personal desire must for once be considered. 
 
I90 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 That has never happened so far. As long as it 
 never occurred to you, I must from now on take 
 matters into my own hands." 
 
 " Is that a threat? " said he angrily. 
 
 " Music is sapping my vitality, music, nothing 
 but music. You must see that I am giving out. 
 What human being can stand this wandering ex- 
 istence, with never a moment for rest ? " 
 
 " That sounds like your friend Marschall — 
 how peculiar." 
 
 " There's nothing peculiar about it, it's true 
 and real. Even your stage life can't have killed 
 all your real perceptions, otherwise you would be 
 very unhappy." 
 
 " Unhappy? Trust me, I can give you an ex- 
 ample in your own family. Like breeds like, 
 they say. Look at your mother." 
 
 " What of her? " said Helga, quickly. " What 
 has she to do with our conversation?" and her 
 mouth trembled. 
 
 " Oh, I only mention her to show you that one 
 may keep well on the stage. Yes, your mother 
 — there's an artist without Philistine words. It's 
 a pity you don't try to emulate her." 
 
 " No, I wouldn't," said Helga curtly. 
 
 He stared at her as though a strange figure 
 stood before him; as though he had not heard 
 correctly. 
 
 " No, you wouldn't," he repeated, drawing the 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 191 
 
 words. " Does that mean that you do not ap- 
 prove of your mother? " 
 
 " It is not for me to pass on my mother." 
 
 " Have you a sense of duty towards her ? " 
 
 " Only deep painful regrets." 
 
 " That is ridiculous; your mother was born unr 
 der a lucky star and it has followed her, because 
 all her life she has attended strictly to her art." 
 
 " My mother," and Helga's eyes did not move 
 from the ground, " all her life thought of herself 
 alone." 
 
 " Helga ! " 
 
 " Of herself." 
 
 " Of her art — of her music." 
 
 "Oh, yes, of her music — she loved that — 
 but it was always a means of an end to her. She 
 could not live without admiration — and music 
 helped her to it — she could not live without voy- 
 aging about and art covered her restlessness, and 
 at last she could not live without seeming to her- 
 self as young as the youngest girl — yes, as her 
 daughter and her art gave her the appearance of 
 youth. You see how much of a lucky star she 
 was born under — how much she thought of art. 
 "Can't you understand?" she continued softly. 
 My mother conceived art, not as the crowning 
 glory of life, but as a means to her own selfish 
 satisfaction — therefore I pity her." 
 
 " An artist must be an egotist." 
 
192 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 "And if the artist is wife and motiier? Shall 
 I tell you how our household was run — after the 
 egotism of art crept into our home? When my 
 mother married my father they loved each other 
 beyond all bounds, my mother who had no se- 
 crets, often told me of it. And my father died 
 of it: that tells his side of it. Soon after my 
 birth, the old restlessness came over my mother 
 once more. She used up my father's entire for- 
 tune in a few years, like a spoiled child, and he 
 learned to laugh at it. Then for days she would 
 sit at home without a word, and torture the life 
 out of him, or else trouble him with her out- 
 bursts of rage. So father allowed her to go out 
 again on the stage, and soon she sang as special 
 attraction at all the operas and her magnetic 
 personality opened to her the doors to the best 
 society — where she had as great a success as on 
 the stage. Bayreuth followed, then America 
 spoiled her as no artist has ever been spoiled. So 
 she became the great Nuntlus — the much sought 
 after Nuntius — and if my father during her short 
 visits, nor without embarrassment, spoke of his 
 loneliness or of her duty toward me, the answer 
 would be, ' How can I ? I am the famous Nun- 
 tius.' You see, I never understood these things. 
 My awakening only came later — but now I un- 
 derstand." 
 
 " But what did your mother miss ? " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 193 
 
 " She missed," said Helga Braun, looking at 
 him, " she missed real love, because she loved her- 
 self, her comfort and her name so much that she 
 had no time even for the soul of her child. My 
 father one day took his gun and shot himself. 
 He ended his love for her. I never felt any — 
 because — because my mother thought of me too 
 late. If you hold up my mother's life to me as 
 an artist's goal, you are wrong. Noble art cannot 
 be selfish. It is debasing art which makes us 
 selfish egotists." 
 
 "What has that to do with me?" Robert 
 Braun asked proudly and he put on his glasses. 
 
 " Robert, now this is my last attempt. We 
 are rich enough to take a vacation. I won't ask 
 too much. If you think it impossible to break 
 our contract in America, I will gather all my 
 energy and try to get through with it, — if you 
 promise me on your word of honor to make no 
 other engagements after America, but come back 
 to Germany and live quietly In retirement for a 
 year." 
 
 " No," said Robert shortly, " I will accept no 
 ultimatum. No," he repeated and turned toward 
 her. " To stop now while we are so much sought 
 for would be suicide. What has that to do with 
 our marriage — you can't say I am not faithful 
 to you, that's sure." 
 
 '* Faithfulness alone is not enough in marriage. 
 
194 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 We live together out of habit and for business 
 reasons. It's as though we were wrapped in one 
 spider web. I must get out into the fresh air — 
 I can't stand it." 
 
 " Do you want me to play the sentimental lover 
 and kneel before you with a bunch of roses in 
 my hand? " 
 
 " Not that tone, if you please, Robert. This 
 is a serious matter. If you can bear to see me 
 suffer and prize your calling more than your wife, 
 it is time for me to stop talking, and to put an end 
 to this sort of life which necessitates so much 
 talk." 
 
 " Of the two I think I was imposed upon a 
 good deal more than you were. I had pictured 
 you quite different from what you really are, and 
 now I don't intend to take the consequences of 
 my mistake. What we started out to do we must 
 complete — that's my idea of our life." 
 
 " Then it is out of the question for us to live 
 together any longer," said Helga. 
 
 " You like to talk in riddles, Helga." 
 
 " I say, if such is your position, there is no 
 longer any justification for our remaining mar- 
 ried." 
 
 " Good Lord, don't speak of marriage as a 
 shopkeeper's wife would. Once for all, with us 
 it is a question of art." 
 
 "No, I shall only speak of marriage now, and 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 195 
 
 I have quite made up my mind as to my next 
 move — please don't be afraid, I will not make a 
 scene. I have not enough strength left for 
 that." 
 
 She stepped close to him and her earnest eyes 
 never left his for one moment. " You have been 
 disappointed, Robert, and I am sorry for it, but 
 you noticed that long ago and I have now decided 
 that we need no longer speak of a change of 
 plans. You may pursue your path unhampered. 
 You are free from this moment on — and since 
 I have no intention to live with you any longer, I 
 suppose you in your turn will set me free." 
 
 Robert Braun's surprise was undisguised. 
 
 " Nonsense," he said. 
 
 " You will be compelled to do so, Robert. 
 There is no other way." 
 
 " I repeat — nonsense." 
 
 " At least leave me my faith in your chivalry 
 as a gentleman." 
 
 " People do not part because they happen to 
 have different views. The woman simply accepts 
 the man's better understanding." 
 
 " And if she has no faith, nor belief In that 
 better understanding — when the time comes when 
 she no longer feels herself that man's wife — and 
 that time has come for me? What then? There 
 is nothing else to do." 
 
 " I suppose I can do whatever suits me," said 
 
196 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Braun brusquely and tried to pass. But still she 
 would not let him go. 
 
 " You can, but — so can I." 
 
 He stood nonplussed. The tone of her voice 
 was strange to him. 
 
 " I won't give you your freedom." 
 
 " I have taken it." 
 
 " You are my wife. I have the power to make 
 you stay." 
 
 " It's not so easy as all that. Just try." 
 
 *' There can be no question of trying. You 
 have expressed your disappointment and Thave 
 agreed with you." 
 
 " Must I appeal to your pride? Would you 
 really wish to live with a woman who did not 
 want to be with you any more? Don't you feel 
 how that would degrade us both? I have made 
 up my mind — I will not accompany you." 
 
 Robert Braun grew quite pale and his voice 
 sounded husky as he spoke. 
 
 " You won't make a scandal, will you? " 
 
 " Nothing would be less to my liking. We can 
 remain friends, even apart." 
 
 " But we will not part. There is no reason in 
 the world why we should." 
 
 " Must we wait until all the world knows of 
 it and tongues wag at our own private affairs? 
 Shall we drag through the mud that which, right 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 197 
 
 or wrong, we have held sacred? Then we would 
 have a good reason to be ashamed." 
 
 But he was still unconvinced. 
 
 " There is no reason in the world for a divorce. 
 I have never given you grounds for one." 
 
 " Robert, don't shake my last belief in you, — 
 in your chivalry. I don't want to leave you with 
 hatred and disgust in my heart. Well-bred peo- 
 ple do not wait until the last moment to leave 
 each other. We have been good comrades, let 
 us feel that we may shake hands and look into 
 each other's eyes frankly and — " 
 
 She reached out her hand. 
 
 " Tomorrow, Robert. Tonight belongs to 
 Marschall." 
 
 " Marschall — Oh — Marschall ! " 
 
 She only laughed. " Don't bother yourself 
 with useless thoughts. My soul is clean." 
 
 " No, I will never allow you to leave me. I 
 wouldn't think of it. It is our duty, if nothing 
 else — to remain together." 
 
 " My only duty now is to myself. It is too 
 late, Robert." 
 
 Then he pushed her aside and rushed stormily 
 into the next room. " Just try ! " 
 
 " Robert! " she cried and sank on her knees 
 and before the closed door, her head pressed 
 against it, she sobbed wildly. Gradually her bit- 
 
198 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 terness changed into deep low weeping, as she 
 had wept once over one who was dead, over her 
 friend in Frankfort. For she knew that another 
 period of her Hfe was to begin. 
 
 She arose and dried her last tears. 
 
 " Tonight," she thought with a quiet convic- 
 tion, " I will appear in Marschall's ' Hadwiga,' 
 as Mrs. Braun, but tomorrow — tomorrow I will 
 begin my life anew as Helga Nuntius." 
 
 Before her eyes autumn fields and meadows 
 seemed to pass. ' But beneath her feet sprouted 
 the first blades of grass with which winter first 
 greets the spring. 
 
 Her eyes lost their heavy sadness and were lit 
 by a new hope. 
 
CHAPTER y: 
 
 " My dear Friend: " Johanna Grube's letter to 
 Marschall read. " There must be some kind of 
 vibration between Frankfort and Hamburg which 
 brings you all close to me, like years ago, when 
 Franz was still alive, here in Grubeshof, and we 
 had to look over to Bettermann's house to see 
 Helga Nuntius. As I write I almost hear her 
 sweet voice which always seemed to come from a 
 fairyland where everyone walked on flowers, wore 
 robes of white and sandals and held long-stemmed 
 flowers In their hands, and I hear Franz's voice 
 and yours, dear friend, who never seemed to com- 
 prehend why we did not sing student or love songs 
 all day long. I walk about the rooms, listening 
 to you all, who are absent but whose personality 
 still pervades the room. There must have been 
 witchery about those days — and I am beginning 
 to understand those people whose youth extends 
 into their old age because they have so many 
 youthful recollections. 
 
 " You see, I count myself amongst them. And 
 you, dear friend, it seems to me as though you had 
 changed, as though you had entered Helga Nun- 
 
 199 
 
200 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 tlus' dreamland and that dream lady had become 
 fascinated by the voice of the world. 
 
 " I have no fear for you, but I am terribly in 
 earnest about what you wrote of Helga Nuntius 
 — ■ I feel your uneasiness, your unchanging love — 
 for Helga Braun. Don't frown, I am not going 
 into a religious discussion or a moral lecture, but 
 I think it is good for you to have a friend, even 
 at a distance, with whom you can discuss your in- 
 nermost thoughts. You see I would like to be, 
 and I have been so for a long time, this physically 
 humble, but mentally near confident person. You 
 speak to yourself and say: ' A girl appeared on 
 my path, and that girl became a woman, and the 
 wife of another.' You say to yourself: ' My 
 love has nothing to do with that because love is 
 self-sufficient, and doesn't depend on possession.' 
 That sounds noble and would be noble if that love 
 had really renounced all hope and become mother- 
 like. 
 
 " But, dear friend, such love is only the privilege 
 of woman. No man will ever resign himself to 
 see the woman he loves in the arms of another 
 and walk quietly along as a friend. He cannot 
 control the tone of his voice, the glance of his 
 eyes ; not that he wishes to disturb her peace or to 
 hurt her, but because a man wants her not only to 
 know his love but also to appreciate his renuncia- 
 tion. Do you think, dear friend, that you can be 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 201 
 
 near Helga Braun without betraying any emotion 
 — don't you think she will perceive your feeling 
 for her and if she does, do you think it will help 
 her? Richard dear, you would never forgive 
 yourself and you would spoil all your beautiful 
 dreams. Love Helga Nuntius. Helga Braun is 
 someone quite different, a new personality in your 
 life. Do not confuse the two personalities if you 
 have any desire to make your happiness durable. 
 " Richard, do not be surprised if I am writing 
 you so frankly. I, Johanna Grube, an ancient 
 damsel; but tell me, really, isn't it quite absurd, 
 that an unmarried woman of thirty should not dis- 
 cuss whatever she chose to — what a boy of sev- 
 enteen would not hesitate to discuss. I believe in 
 sex equality. It would make us prouder and 
 purer, freer from lies. You will feel how many 
 wishes for the success of your opera as for your 
 welfare this letter holds, for you and your opera 
 are one. God keep you in His care and allow you 
 to retain your sunny disposition. 
 
 " Johanna Grube." 
 
 Richard Marschall slowly folded the letter and 
 placed it in his breast pocket. He opened the 
 window and looked out, engrossed in thought, on 
 the waters of the Alster Basin. " A splendid 
 girl," thought he. " She could have made any 
 man happy. She is like a mother to me. That 
 
202 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 is lucky, otherwise I might imagine . . . still I 
 am to be envied." 
 
 An hour later he sat in the director's box and 
 had eyes only for Helga. With surprise he 
 looked at Helga Braun. How she entered into 
 the spirit of her part for the love of her husband 
 — with what eyes she looked at him, how she 
 caressed him. " I am no fool, I can still distin- 
 guish the woman from the artist. His wife — 
 and now Robert Braun has become inspired — no 
 wonder. Ah, how that man sings — I have never 
 heard him like this — he has a soul or he must be 
 pretty clever to give Illusion to one. They must 
 be happy, but they hide it from the public. 
 
 " What did you say. Director? Yes, yes, that's 
 what I call applause. These people show their 
 feelings. What — I am called " — and then he 
 stood at the stage door and was pushed on the 
 stage and bowed to the audience and then the cur- 
 tain fell and he stumbled against Robert Braun, 
 who stood far forward against the stage door, 
 waiting eagerly for him. He understood the look 
 and grasped the singer's hand, and he grasped the 
 hand of another person whom Robert Braun has- 
 tily called, and before he could gather his thoughts 
 anew he again stood before the footlights with 
 Helga at his right hand and Robert Braun at his 
 left and together they thanked the public for its 
 thundering applause. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 203 
 
 A very peculiar battle was waged before those 
 footlights, a battle of which no one had any con- 
 ception, neither the singers nor Richard Marschall 
 nor the many people present. Only two human 
 beings knew that tonight Helga Braun was sing- 
 ing her swan song and bidding farewell to her 
 married life. And Robert Braun felt it, and 
 knew she was escaping him. He thought of the 
 days at the conservatory where he had gained her 
 through the power of his song and he endeavored 
 now to regain her by the same means. He donned 
 the armor of his art and there was a pleading, a 
 compelling urge in his voice which even this over- 
 powering artist had never expressed before and a 
 charm went forth from him to the audience and in- 
 toxicated them. He looked about his kingdom 
 in triumph, at his vassals. That he, who had the 
 power to make thousands laugh or cry at his 
 will should be powerless with his own wife? — 
 and his song became the victor's song and 
 to this art which could endure no other gods 
 besides itself, Helga Braun sang her song of 
 adieu. 
 
 Over and beyond the painted scenery wild for- 
 ests stretched before her. She would go alone 
 through the woods, through the silent snow, along 
 the silent paths until she had found her way back 
 to nature and to humanity. 
 
 It was a strange battle which these two waged 
 
204 THE STORY OF HELGA ^ 
 
 and no one knew of it, not even Richard Mar- 
 schall. 
 
 He interpreted those farewell glances to Rob- 
 ert Braun as tokens of love — and her parting 
 song in which all the beauty of her voice rang out, 
 as a song of triumph. 
 
 The director seized him and shook him from 
 side to side. 
 
 " What success. Do me a favor. Let me at- 
 tend to your business affairs; go home and write 
 your operas; you must not think of anything ex- 
 cept of your next composition. Do you hear! 
 No relaxation ! You must work body and soul if 
 your art is to be fruitful, and be nurtured for some- 
 thing golden. What do you think, Braun? You 
 understand such things." 
 
 " Without pain, no gain," laughed Braun. 
 
 " Dear lady," said Marschall, as he raised 
 Helga Braun's hand to his lips, " I wish I could 
 thank you for all you have done for me, but you 
 are so rich in everything I can do nothing for 
 you." 
 
 Helga looked at him for a long time, then 
 pressed his hand. " Now I must go to my dress- 
 ing-room — farewell, dear friend." 
 
 " But Helga," called Braun after her, " have 
 you forgotten Marschall is to be our guest at din- 
 ner? We will drive to the hotel together. I 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 205 
 
 have asked the director and some friends. It is 
 our farewell for this season." 
 
 "Just on that account?" 
 
 " Just on that account — that's a funny idea." 
 
 " I don't like a public farewell." 
 
 She shook hands with the director, with Rich- 
 ard Marschall and at last with her husband. 
 " Good-bye to all of you, I am going home." 
 
 And she departed, her skirt lifted and held 
 closely to her side; she passed back of the scenes 
 and disappeared. Somewhere a door clanged. 
 
 " I must ask you to excuse my wife," said 
 Braun, turning to Marschall. " It is the first time 
 I have known her to follow an impulse. It is so 
 strange to me that I imagine she must feel ill." 
 
 " But I will gladly excuse you, Braun. Your 
 wife comes first, there is no question." 
 
 "What! You mean that? You know I do 
 not like to play the doting husband. No, no, I 
 am not tied to apron strings. Of course we will 
 go and dine." 
 
 " I don't want to keep you. Director," said Rich- 
 ard Marschall, as he and the director stood in the 
 clear evening air, " I will go to the telegraph of- 
 fice and then I will call for Braun and meet 
 you." 
 
 " Thanks for being considerate to an harassed 
 old man — see you later." 
 
 " Until later, Director." 
 
2o6 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 He 3id not go to the telegraph office, but he 
 walked round the opera house to the stage en- 
 trance and stood near by in a dark corner. 
 
 Like a stage door Johnnie, thought he, and 
 waited patiently for Helga Braun. Every time 
 a figure appeared he started. A few chorus men 
 and women hurried by him, without looking round, 
 happy that the day's slavery was ended. Then 
 came some of the principals, drawing their cloaks 
 more firmly about their necks, and discussing in 
 sign language where they should go to have a bite. 
 Then all was quiet and Richard Marschall saw 
 himself back in Frankfort looking up at the win- 
 dow in Bettermann's house as he often did after 
 spending an evening at Franz Grube's house, and 
 he thought of the night of Helga's first appear- 
 ance, when he, Grube and Braun begged to ac- 
 company her. 
 
 There she was. In a long sealskin coat, a thick 
 ermine boa around her throat, her large plumed 
 hat overshadowing her face, she came with rapid 
 footsteps to the curb, called a taxi and entered it. 
 As she tried to raise the window her eyes encoun- 
 tered Marschall's. He drew off his hat and bowed 
 deeply. 
 
 " Get home safely," he said, as the auto turned 
 the corner and disappeared. 
 
 He heard a step behind him — it was Robert 
 Braun, wrapped in his long, fur-lined coat. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 207 
 
 "Has my wife come out?" 
 
 " She drove off this minute." 
 
 " Did you speak to her, did she say anything? " 
 
 " I only had time to bow." 
 
 " It was very kind of you to wait for me ; let 
 us go." And he shoved his arm through Mar- 
 schall's as though to make sure of him, and with- 
 out further ado said: 
 
 " Tell me, what do you think of Helga? " 
 
 "Of your wife? What does that matter, the 
 main thing is that you are pleased with her." 
 
 " Don't be so obtuse. You know that's not 
 what I meant. I mean, what do you think of her 
 appearance and how does she strike you physic- 
 ally, you, her old friend." 
 
 " In heaven's name, man, speak clearly, is she 
 ill, or have you quarrelled? " 
 
 " Both — as far as there can be any question 
 of such a thing with Helga — but if you haven't 
 noticed anything with those sharp eyes of which I 
 used to be afraid in former days, it can't be so 
 bad. Anyway, my affairs don't interest you, ex- 
 cuse me." 
 
 " You are right. I would make a poor father 
 confessor." 
 
 " You know," said Braun, " that it is the regu- 
 lar opera company which is going to Interpret your 
 opera In the future ; we were only engaged for the 
 first performance." 
 
2o8 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " I know that and I thank you for the part you 
 took in the performance. You need not feel sorry 
 that you accepted — your role suited you wonder- 
 fully — ^and you sang like a god. It will be a 
 very big advertisement for America." 
 
 "America — that's it — I want to catch the 
 next steamer. Germany seems to get on Helga's 
 nerves and make her stupidly sentimental. 
 Women's nerves — I can't stand them — " 
 
 " No, you can't stand them — " 
 
 As they entered the restaurant, Braun said: 
 " Your sarcasm doesn't touch me a bit. How 
 about giving Helga and me the sole rights to 
 sing ' Hadwiga ' in America ? I would pay you 
 well." 
 
 " I wouldn't sign any contracts except by day- 
 light." 
 
 " All right — don't forget tomorrow, that I am 
 interested in it." 
 
 They entered the private room reserved for 
 Braun and found the other guests already assem- 
 bled. 
 
 Just then Helga Braun arrived at her hotel. 
 She told the chauffeur to wait, went quietly to her 
 room and turned on the light. She took a large 
 hand bag, packed a dress, a change of clothing, 
 and her necessaries and closed it again. She did 
 everything so quietly that her mind must have 
 been fully made up. Then she seated herself at 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 209 
 
 the desk. Quietly, without a change of expres- 
 sion in her pale, earnest face, she took her pen to 
 write. 
 
 " Dear Robert — Since this morning you know 
 I no longer intend to be your wife. I will not re- 
 call all the reasons which part us, neither will I 
 try to remember the date. Two people who bear 
 the same name and have walked part of the way 
 together, must not shame each other at the end. 
 I leave you, as I do not wish to trouble you with 
 a sick woman — a woman longing for all she does 
 not possess. Please accept my decision, it's for 
 your good as well as for mine. I will never again 
 sing with you. That will upset your plans, but 
 you will get over it. I will cable to America that 
 I have nervous prostration. Should the director, 
 in spite of that, demand damages, they must be 
 paid. I do not want any of our united savings, 
 my little yearly income from my uncle's estate will 
 suffice me. I will start life anew; that will give 
 it interest. Please begin action for a divorce at 
 once. Your lawyer will find a reason. I wish 
 you the best of everything in your journey through 
 life. Also I thank you for what you have done 
 for me — forget that I leave without your sanc- 
 tion. Of what use would words be — I hold out 
 my hand to you — God bless you, Robert. 
 
 "Helga Nuntius." 
 
2IO THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 She sealed and addressed the letter, then took 
 her bag and went out. 
 
 Her glance once more included the many 
 wreaths of triumph, the pictures of famous 
 friends — poor beloved ones — for the last time 
 and suddenly she said aloud : " I must leave you 
 — I must have no remembrance — only hopes." 
 
 Thus Helga Nuntius left her husband and her 
 home. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Richard Marschall had left the hotel early in 
 the morning for a sail up the river. He wanted 
 to rid himself of the effects of the past night's 
 revel. While he himself had indulged more mod- 
 erately than usual he had noticed with astonish- 
 ment that Braun, contrary to his usual habit 
 gulped down champagne as though it were water. 
 But he had had no chance to ponder over it. 
 There had been toast upon toast, some of them re- 
 quiring a response. It had been after three when 
 he reached his rooms after having seen to it that 
 Braun, who protested loudly against such interfer- 
 ence with his private life, was taken home in a 
 taxi. 
 
 Upon awakening he had glanced at the morning 
 paper that amply testified to his wonderful art 
 and to the success of his new opera. Then he 
 telegraphed to Johanna Grube and went to the 
 boat landing. At first the landscape was swathed 
 in a silver haze but after a while the sun fought 
 its way through and the day became clear and 
 bright. 
 
 Richard Marschall wandered along. He 
 
212 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 walked through vast parks which in spite of their 
 naked wintriness preserved evident vestiges of 
 beauty. At every turn in the valley of the Elbe, 
 at every turn in the road, new vistas spread before 
 him. Then he cut through meadows and fields 
 until he came to a little inn where he took his 
 lunch. His unrest drove him on. His thoughts 
 returned continually to the events of the night 
 before. He still could find no resemblance be- 
 tween the Helga Braun, who had interpreted his 
 " Hadwiga," and the Helga Braun, who, later in 
 the evening, had leaned forward in the taxi with 
 the strained white face. Again and again Robert 
 Braun, wildly carousing, appeared before his 
 mind's eye. Never had he seen the man whose 
 whole existence was scheduled strictly by rule take 
 a drop too much, not even in his years of study 
 when Professor Faller had so loved to demon- 
 strate that a musician's throat was a thing apart. 
 
 Could it be that Braun had used the bottle as 
 a means to forget? Then Helga's passionate 
 singing, too . . . But why? What had hap- 
 pened? Or was something going to happen? Or 
 had it already happened? 
 
 He felt unspeakably depressed; something 
 seemed to call out to him from the distance. He 
 stood and listened with lips pressed together. He 
 remembered that in the morning when embarking 
 he had felt that same unaccountable unrest. It 
 
THE STORY, OF HELGA 213 
 
 had disappeared in the cool breeze. And now it 
 had returned. Hours ago it had returned. His 
 heart beat furiously and suddenly he found him- 
 self running, fleeing from a nameless some- 
 thing. 
 
 The sun sank, it was hardly four o'clock in the 
 afternoon. When he arrived at the landing it 
 was to find that he would have to wait an hour for 
 the boat. He climbed a near-by hill, sat down in 
 the garden of a little inn, and looked down upon 
 the limpid waters of the Elbe, and found peace 
 there. The mighty stream was like liquid gold, 
 threaded with velvet lights and flanked by emer- 
 ald bands where shallow waters glided over sand 
 banks. Darkness crept slowly along and threw 
 a gray veil over the glow of the sunset; the 
 little ship lights gleamed like red fire signals 
 spread over the face of the waters. Suddenly a 
 ship's whistle let out a long drawn call like the 
 bellowing of a wild beast. Richard Marschall 
 jumped up. It was dark all round him — and 
 with the night his restlessness reappeared. He 
 wondered how he could have sat dreaming for an 
 hour when perhaps in the city . . . and again he 
 stood on the dock, boarded the ship, but this time 
 he walked up and down the deck, measured it 
 from side to side, stared into the leaping foam — 
 compared his watch with that of a sailor. And 
 at last, as everything on earth must terminate, the 
 
214 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 trip also came to an end. Richard found him- 
 self back at his hotel. 
 
 "Any mail for me?" 
 
 " Two telegrams, sir," said the man at the 
 desk. 
 
 He opened them and crumpling them together, 
 put them into his pocket. They were messages 
 of congratulation from Johanna Grube and from 
 the theatre at Frankfort. 
 
 " Did anybody ask for me? " 
 
 " Nobody — except — Mr. Robert Braun." 
 
 " Oh I " said Marschall. His heart seemed to 
 stop beating. " When did he call? " 
 
 " This morning at ten and this afternoon at 
 four. He said it was on important business." 
 
 " Thank you," said Marschall. " Should Mr. 
 Braun return, show him up to my rooms." 
 
 He walked upstairs, not noticing the elevator 
 boy who held the door open for him, entered his 
 rooms, turned on the electric lights and seated 
 himself in a corner of the sofa. And all the time 
 he kept on wishing Braun would come at once — 
 that very minute — he wanted to — 
 
 Someone knocked at his door, hard and loud. 
 
 " Come in," and as he arose his eyes tried to 
 take in at one glance all there was to know. 
 
 " Really," said Robert Braun, remaining stand- 
 ing at the open door, " have you actually deigned 
 to return? " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 215 
 
 " I am sorry I was out when you came. I took 
 a trip on the water. Won't you come in? " 
 
 Braun entered, closing the door behind him, 
 and said hoarsely: 
 
 " Are you alone? " 
 
 " Why ? With whom could I be ? " 
 
 " Oh, one can never tell." 
 
 "What is the matter, Braun? What do you 
 want to know? " 
 
 " I want to know where you have been since 
 early this morning." 
 
 "On the Elbe. Didn't the porter tell you?" 
 
 " Porters tell what they are told to tell. So 
 you insist you were on the Elbe for a day's out- 
 ing?" 
 
 " That sounds like cross questioning." 
 
 " It is cross questioning." 
 
 Richard Marschall straightened up. " We are 
 no silly boys, Braun — we know the value of 
 words, don't forget that. And now explain, if 
 you please." 
 
 "Very well — we won't get excited; I don't 
 know whether the whole affair is worth exciting 
 myself about. Well, you took that trip alone? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " And you have no idea where Helga is? " 
 
 Richard Marschall, pale as death, staggered 
 and gripped the edge of the table. " For God's 
 sake — tell rae — Helga ? " 
 
2i6 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " You know nothing? " 
 
 " Don't ask stupid questions — tell me — " 
 
 " And you had no warning of what she was 
 about to do ? " 
 
 " I haven't the slightest Idea of what you 
 mean." 
 
 " She disappeared last night." 
 
 "Helga?" 
 
 " Mrs. Braun." 
 
 Marschall did not heed the correction. Before 
 his eyes little black specks danced and his mind 
 worked feverishly. Then he shook his head. 
 " You are crazy — it can't be ! " 
 
 " My dear boy, I am perfectly sane, I assure 
 you; otherwise I should not be here." 
 
 " Here, always here, your combination of ideas 
 begins to appear sinister to me. Tell me," and 
 with a firm hand he seized him by the coat collar — 
 " surely you do not mean to insinuate — " 
 
 " Insinuate — what? " 
 
 Richard Marschall's hand fell. 
 
 " No," he said, " that would be an insult to 
 your wife." 
 
 " Please do not mind me." 
 
 " Braun, you are not in your right senses." 
 
 " I repeat. I am thoroughly conscious." 
 
 " Braun," he spouted at him, " I forbid you to 
 use this tone. In my presence the lady whom I 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 217 
 
 knew as Helga Nuntius is not to be Insulted, not 
 even by you, even If you are her husband." 
 
 "What Is the matter with you, Marschall? " 
 
 " I'll tell you what's the matter, once for all. 
 You are not a Pasha — Helga Is not a slave. You 
 wooed and won Helga Nuntius. She became 
 your wife of her own will. Do women who have 
 been worshipped before marriage sink to the level 
 of children the day of the ceremony — a child to 
 be hectored, chided and punished?" 
 
 " You plead for this woman as though you had 
 a special right." 
 
 " Between husband and wife there can only be 
 mutual rights. Those I have not, but I feel much 
 reverence for a woman whom I have loved for 
 many years." 
 
 " And whom you still love? " 
 
 " Whom I still love, yes." 
 
 "And Helga — she knosvs — you told her?" 
 burst forth Braun. 
 
 " My poor friend," said Richard Marschall, 
 " you seem to have a remarkable idea of real love. 
 One does not insult where one reveres." 
 
 Robert Braun walked back and forth, his lips 
 set tight. Then he halted in front of Marschall. 
 
 " On your word, Marschall — " 
 
 "If you think that necessary — yes. Besides, 
 your wife never even thought of me." 
 
21 8 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Robert Braun sat down, breathing heavily; he 
 drew a letter from his pocket and without look- 
 ing up handed it to Marschall. 
 
 "There, read — I must come to some deci- 
 sion — 
 
 And Richard Marschall read Helga Nuntius' 
 letter to the man from whom she had parted. He 
 read the letter a second time — and a third time 
 he read every single word and he saw with terri- 
 fying clearness what was written between the lines. 
 
 " Have you finished? " 
 
 " All comment is unnecessary — a whole diary 
 lies in that one page." 
 
 " So that's your opinion, is it ? " 
 
 " Yes, Braun." 
 
 " Then in plain words you advise me to get a 
 divorce? " 
 
 " There can be no question of advice. The 
 separation seems to be an accomplished fact." 
 
 "You think that Helga will insist? That I 
 must accept this caprice of hers ? " 
 
 " You must know better than I whether the 
 woman who for five years walked at your side is 
 capable of taking as the result of a caprice this 
 step th'an which none is harder for a woman to 
 take." 
 
 "I know nothing — what do I know of her! 
 Her appearance, her voice, yes, those I know. 
 But of what she thinks — of what goes on behind 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 219 
 
 that forehead of hers I have never known. She 
 never confided in me. I never asked. I never 
 was inquisitive. I had enough to do to take care 
 of our artistic career, so that we did not linger too 
 long in the second rank. I fulfilled my part of 
 the bargain, she did not." 
 
 Then Richard Marschall took his first glance 
 into a lonely woman's soul — he saw her as she 
 had looked from the train, her gaze growing more 
 and more weary of the beautiful fields and moss- 
 pathed woods, whose green boughs seemed to 
 stretch out their arms to her, and his cheery na- 
 ture was shocked at the picture of a young life 
 wounded by the lack of what seemed to him an 
 absolute necessity of life. Helga Nuntius had 
 awakened to life and gone forth alone. Where 
 was her friend in her time of need — and it seemed 
 to him as though again he heard a distant call. 
 Then he realized his duty as a friend. 
 
 " Then you would not change your life to please 
 her? " he asked Braun. 
 
 " Why not ask whether I would like to order 
 my funeral. My calling is my life — my path is 
 prescribed for me — I do not deviate from it." 
 " Even if you see that it would kill her? " 
 " It would kill me if I lived otherwise." 
 " Then give her a divorce, Braun. You can- 
 not drag the dead with you for the rest of your 
 life. I will only speak of you since that is the 
 
220 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 language you understand best. What would you 
 gain by holding her against her will? You have 
 lost her as an artistic partner, for she will never 
 again appear with you. And as to the world of 
 her thoughts, you admit that you never bothered 
 with it — consequently this entails no loss for you. 
 You would only set up obstacles in your own path 
 and sacrifice your peace of mind for a phantom. 
 Do not refuse her request, Braun, for Helga did 
 what was best for you when she parted from you 
 as soon as she did." 
 
 Robert Braun had gone to the window and 
 looked out at the crowds moving along the street. 
 
 " What you say is very wise." 
 
 " This time wisdom Is truth." 
 
 " Only this time. Not always." 
 
 " Your marriage must have taught you that." 
 
 " Oh — " 
 
 Then he turned and took his hat. His face 
 had resumed the haughty expression that it bore 
 even when he was a young conservatory student. 
 
 " No," he said, " I am not used to running after 
 any one. Whoever does not want to come with 
 me may stop by the wayside. I would not have 
 my art and my future spoiled on account of a run- 
 away woman. Tomorrow I will begin action. 
 You can tell her so, when you see her, for you will 
 see her, I suppose." 
 
 Richard Marschall did not say a word. Let 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 221 
 
 the other jibe in bitterness and derision, — he 
 heard nothing but a far-off call and now he had 
 his answer ready. 
 
 " Good night," said Robert Braun. " Excuse 
 me for having troubled you." 
 
 Richard went to him with his hand outstretched, 
 but the singer's glance was already turned towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Good-bye," was all he said. 
 
 From the window he saw his erstwhile comrade 
 depart. 
 
 Then he turned, stretched up his arms as though 
 giving vent to a cry from the very depth of his 
 soul. 
 
 " Helga, don't be afraid — your friends are 
 coming." 
 
 What now? Where was he to look for her? 
 He thought that she was perhaps wandering about 
 some strange city alone, tired, without protection. 
 It made his brain reel. Then he suddenly knew 1 
 Frankfort! Of course she had gone to Frank- 
 fort. He grew several years younger. Once 
 more he was the Richard Marschall who saw sun 
 gleams wherever he glanced. He started to pack 
 up and then stopped. What if she had not gone 
 to Frankfort — then the trip would be useless, and 
 he would have lost two days. What could not 
 happen in two days? What if she fell a prey to 
 melancholy broodings? What was he to do? 
 
222 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Not rush off haphazard! The sensible thing to 
 do was to telegraph to Johanna Grube. He hur- 
 ried to the nearest telegraph bureau. 
 
 " Helga Nuntius left last night — please wire 
 if with you or Bettermanns — worried — Mar- 
 schall." 
 
 Then, very slowly, so as to kill time, he re- 
 turned to his hotel and began to pack his trunk 
 systematically. That helped him pass half an 
 hour. Then he sat down in an armchair, his 
 arms in his knees, his head buried in his hands, so 
 as not to hear or see anything. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when the answer came. 
 
 " Helga is neither with me nor Bettermanns. 
 Can I help you? Anxious about both of you. Jo- 
 hanna." 
 
 The room seemed too small for Richard. He 
 went out and walked until he came to one of the 
 suburbs of Hamburg; he entered a restaurant in 
 the busiest quarter and sat at a little table back In 
 the comer and drank one glass after another of 
 strong red wine which stirred his blood and gave 
 him new vitality. 
 
 He leaned back and looked about — there were 
 only a few guests In the room besides himself lis- 
 tening to the plaintive airs of a gypsy band. One 
 by one they went and soon Richard sat alone in 
 company with the smiling host and the brown- 
 skinned Hungarians who packed away their In- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 223 
 
 struments. " Why do they stop playing? " asked 
 Richard of the restaurant keeper. 
 
 " Because it doesn't pay them to play for one 
 man," was the sole answer. 
 
 " I don't want to go," said Richard. " Bring 
 me a bottle of champagne and give each of the 
 musicians a beer and tell them to play. I will 
 pay them." 
 
 The leader of the band approached Richard 
 and asked deprecatingly : 
 
 " What do you wish us to play, sir? Opera or 
 a waltz or Hungarian songs? " 
 
 " Anything you want. Here is money." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," 
 
 And they began their inimitable music. The 
 violin and cello sobbed and smiled and sobbed 
 again — dreams of moonlight and silvery waves 
 — on and on the gypsies played and their dreams 
 filled the room and enveloped the soul of Richard 
 Marschall, until he began to forget and closed his 
 eyes and gave himself up to the spell of the weird 
 Hungarian music. 
 
 How good that felt! To let the violins 
 think for him, to have his thoughts expressed in 
 those vibrating tones. " Oh, beloved music," he 
 thought. " What a comfort you are! " 
 
 The orchestra sounded like the distant echo of 
 a dream. Only the delicate notes of the first vio- 
 lin seemed real and they were so sweet and clear 
 
224 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 that they penetrated his soul and demanded an an- 
 swer. 
 
 " Oh, blessed music," repeated Marschall very 
 softly so as not to dispel the picture that crossed 
 his mind's eye like a specter. And the player 
 swung his Instrument up and down before the silent 
 listener, and sighing moonlight seemed to flow 
 from his strings and a ray of light gathered up 
 the dreamer and carried him to the woman of that 
 old city on the Main, to the strange girl who had 
 come down from the silent forests to the noise and 
 hustle of the valley. 
 
 From silent forests? 
 
 Richard Marschall's eyes opened wide. He 
 did not see the leader creeping about him like a 
 shadow, nor the rest of the fellows who with 
 dreamy eyes took up their leader's theme, and 
 spun it out. He only saw far above him silent 
 forests and a little hunting lodge — and a child 
 sitting in front of the house trying to look through 
 the tree tops. 
 
 "The Kaufinger Wald!" said Richard Mar- 
 schall aloud. 
 
 The music ceased. 
 
 " What Is it you wish, sir? " 
 
 " The Kaufinger Wald," said Richard again, 
 standing bolt upright. " Away with you, fellows I 
 You did well!" 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 225 
 
 The host hurried to him. " He does not un- 
 derstand, sir. Have you a special wish?" 
 
 " Give me a time table ! " He looked up the 
 early express. His eyes glistened. He paid his 
 bill, rewarded richly the gypsy sextette and shook 
 hands with their leader. ' You're a fine fellow," 
 he said, " and the music — the music — well — 
 good-bye, I am off ! " 
 
 Through the cold night air, he drove to his 
 hotel. Dead silence reigned in the streets, but 
 the air seemed vibrant with the music of a thou- 
 sand jubilant violins. 
 
 " I've found you, Helga. I've got you I You 
 have run home, as all children do. When one 
 needs new strength one remembers the place of 
 one's childhood." 
 
 In the hotel he wrote one letter to the director 
 of the theatre, apologizing for his sudden de- 
 parture, and another letter to his own theatre in 
 Munich asking for a few days' additional leave of 
 absence. The clock struck four. He threw him- 
 self on the sofa in his clothes, but he could not 
 sleep. He listened to every sound in the hotel, 
 he caught himself whistling through his teeth the 
 same refrain over and over again — .the refrain 
 of Franz Grube's " Song of Life." 
 
 Then he sprang up, washed his face and hands 
 with cold water, opened the door to the corridor 
 
226 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 and called to the watchman half asleep across the 
 hall. 
 
 One hour later he sat in the express train that 
 was to take him to Kassel by way of Hanover. 
 
 " Now's the time to be sensible ! " he said to 
 himself, and began to whistle anew. 
 
 " Kaufinger Wald I Two words that held a 
 world of meaning. For the woods are wide — 
 there are hunting lodges by the dozen, the heav- 
 ens are high and God only knows where Helga 
 is." 
 
 At Gottingen he got off the train and made in- 
 quiries. Leaving the station he walked down to 
 the Lion Inn, the keeper of which provided him 
 with a carriage. But he had never heard of a 
 hunting lodge belonging to a Mr. Nuntius who had 
 died so many years before ; perhaps the pastor who 
 lived on the outskirts of the town near the woods 
 would know. 
 
 So Richard went to see the old minister who 
 remembered the name Nuntius very well indeed 
 and quite regretted that he could not go with the 
 stranger and show him the way through the woods. 
 
 He said, " The forester at Kleinalmerode on 
 the Hessian border, will direct you. It will take 
 you about three hours to get there. Too bad I 
 cannot accompany you." 
 
 And Richard Marschall drove through the si- 
 lent forest. After an hour's ride, he stopped at 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 227 
 
 the forester's house, where he secured the desired 
 information. Soon snow began to fall. The 
 snowfall became heavier every minute, and Rich- 
 ard Marschall went into the Kaufinger Wald as 
 into a magic wood that changes as soon as a hu- 
 man foot touches the sod — behind him the falling 
 snow covered all traces. 
 
 Dusk approached and still Richard Marschall 
 followed the path through the silent woods. No 
 living being crossed his way. His hat and coat 
 were heavy with snow, but he felt nothing but joy, 
 like the sweet Christmas joy — of which the snow 
 and the German woods are part and parcel. 
 
 " There," said the driver, pointing with his 
 whip to an opening giving on one of the meadows 
 of the forest. It was the first word the driver had 
 spoken in hours. The snow had made him taci- 
 turn. Marschall saw a wide, bright light in front 
 of him. " Is that house occupied? " he asked. 
 
 " The forest-keeper says the present owner has 
 a caretaker in it." 
 
 " Then I suppose he will give us shelter for the 
 night." 
 
 " Ah, yes, — a good tip always works wonders." 
 
 " Very well. Stop, please." 
 
 Richard Marschall jumped out. By the lan- 
 tern's light he drew a gold coin from his purse — 
 the driver should have a treat today. Then he 
 walked over the glistening snow towards the light 
 
228 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 that now spread in a wide circle on tree and bush. 
 It had stopped snowing. A holy peace encom- 
 passed the woods. 
 
 Richard Marschall stepped into the circle of 
 light. 
 
 There she stood, tall and slender — the woman 
 he loved. 
 
 " Helga I " 
 
 She was without hat or coat and looked into 
 the dark forest which the snow had decorated with 
 a royal coat of ermine. 
 
 " Helga 1 " 
 
 She turned towards him. 
 
 " Richard Marschall ! How strange, I was 
 just thinking of Frankfort and of you. I was 
 counting my friends." 
 
 " Here I am, Mrs. Helga," he said. 
 
 A pale, faint smile trembled on her lips. 
 
 " Come — this is my home, even though I am 
 but a guest. The caretaker will make room for 
 you." 
 
 He caught the hand she held out to him and 
 led her into the house from which she had taken 
 her first unguarded step qut into the world, to find 
 the magical kingdom of Art. 
 
PART III 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 " This is the road." 
 
 " I think you are mistaken." 
 
 " I hope I know my own home." 
 
 " So do I. Didn't I find you yesterday? " 
 
 " Dear friend," said Helga, and she closed her 
 eyes for a minute, but she had said it warmly and 
 sincerely. 
 
 " Well, well," said Richard Marschall, disre- 
 garding her thanks. " Are you going to keep your 
 word?" 
 
 She opened her eyes and looked at him with'her 
 clear gaze. " I am. What I told you last night 
 was meant for all times. I will never look back- 
 ward — only forward — just as though I had 
 dreamt a foolish dream and had awakened, happy 
 to see the sun and to realize it was all a dream." 
 
 " That's right, Mrs. Helga, and now look and 
 see what a wonderful thing the sun really is . . ." 
 
 " There, look, there he is," she said, joyfully 
 looking at the sky. 
 
 " He looks pale," said Richard, " but he will 
 
 229 
 
230 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 feel better when he discovers all the beauty that 
 has unfolded during the night." 
 
 " Didn't I tell you — he is looking around won- 
 deringly, he is growing quite rosy. Good day — 
 did you sleep well? " 
 
 He waved his hat in the clear morning air. 
 
 " He has taken notice, Mrs. Helga — look how 
 he sends forth his rays as though he were afraid 
 he would burn his fingers with the glittering snow. 
 How merrily he smiles at the clean white garment 
 with which his old love, mother earth, has clothed 
 herself — and now his whole face is one smile — " 
 
 Helga laughed, too. 
 
 " What a goose you are, you romance about 
 everything above and below." 
 
 " That's what I will teach you — to laugh mer- 
 rily, to enjoy yourself — that's what I have come 
 for." 
 
 " Only for that reason? " 
 
 " That's all — please look upon me as a builder 
 of bridges — if you wish, I will accept you as a 
 pupil. Are you satisfied?" 
 
 " Yes — although I will have to pay a big 
 price." 
 
 " I am glad you bring up that question — we 
 would have to make some arrangement about the 
 price." 
 
 Her eyes grew serious. 
 
 " You see, I had decided to do it anyhow, but 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 231 
 
 I should like to have some kind of a contract with 
 you. It rests with you." 
 
 " What is it? " said she, after a pause. 
 
 " I would like to forget the name you bore in 
 Hamburg — although it's yours to use before the 
 public — and Mrs. Nuntius — that doesn't seem 
 to sound just right either. May I call you Mrs. 
 Helga — because of our old friendship? " 
 
 " Because of our new friendship," she said and 
 she gave him her hand. 
 
 " That's my price, and you have paid," he said, 
 " and now all you have to do is to follow me." 
 
 " Mr. Bridge Builder," and a merry laugh re- 
 turned to her lips — " You have to direct me." 
 
 " Well, then, not the road which you pointed 
 out — but the one over yonder." 
 
 " But we don't want to go to Kassel — we want 
 to climb the Bilstein Mountain." 
 
 And they went on, and her heart was light — 
 all worries and cares seemed banished. She felt 
 as a young girl who has never come in contact 
 with the realities of life. They walked between 
 stately pine trees from which a shower of fine dust 
 fell upon them, whenever Marschall's arm bent a 
 branch to allow Helga to pass. Her cheeks were 
 red and the snow crystals at the tips of her eye- 
 lashes made her eyes gleam all the more brightly. 
 Her jacket, covered with snow from the trees, 
 looker like a miller's coat. When Richard lifted 
 
232 THE STORY OF HELGA' 
 
 the branches for her to pass, his eyes widened with 
 wonderment, but he did not otherwise betray his 
 feelings. He felt that he must not make her self- 
 conscious — that he must help her discreetly until 
 she had regained her self-confidence, until one day 
 she would again stand firmly on her own feet with- 
 out knowing that he had guided her. Of what 
 other use was he — he the bridge builder — the 
 friend? 
 
 He laughed to himself. But she noticed it. 
 
 " What are you laughing at? " she asked. " If 
 it is something nice, why don't you tell me ? " 
 
 " I thought I saw a wood sprite." 
 
 " The woods are full of them. As a child I 
 used to stand behind a tree and tempt them forth." 
 
 " How did you do that? " 
 
 " As children do in the fairy books. I took off 
 my shoes, stockings and apron and laid them on 
 the meadow path so they could be noticed — and 
 then I crouched bare-footed behind a tree and sang 
 very softly." 
 
 " Did the wood elves appear? " 
 
 " I really don't know. Sometimes a hare 
 darted past — and little wild squirrels ran up the 
 trees — once, I saw a most reverent looking owl — 
 she touched me with her wings and I was so 
 frightened I could not move. When I regained my 
 courage, I ran back to the meadow, but my shoes 
 and stockings as well as my skirt had disappeared. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 233 
 
 Then I wept bitterly because I thought I had 
 missed the elves on account of the stupid owl — " 
 
 " That's what happens." 
 
 On they went, until they stood on a high plateau 
 — and ever on and above them, the lowering pines 
 pointed to new paths far and beyond. 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Mrs. Helga ? " 
 
 " I was thinking of the time we went to see 
 your father. Do you remember how we wandered 
 through the Taunus? It was the most beautiful 
 day I ever spent. The same strange stillness, the 
 silence that releases the voices of the soul; your 
 father played the organ and I sang the ' Mes- 
 siah'." 
 
 " Yes, and my father fell in love with the youth- 
 ful songstress — " 
 
 " And in the evening," she added — and then 
 stopped short. 
 
 And Richard stopped short too; and then, 
 quietly collecting himself, he continued gaily as 
 though they were now about to talk of the mer- 
 riest incident of that day. " Oh, yes, and in the 
 evening we had a thunder storm — and I had 
 one too, but one that had not been sent by the 
 Lord! Ho, ho, Mrs. Helga, here we are on 
 the Bilstein Mountain." 
 
 " Give me your hand." 
 
 " Willingly," said he and nodded in the di- 
 rection of the high water tower in the distance. 
 
234 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " You have forgiven me? "• 
 
 "What? Of course — come along. In ten 
 minutes we will reach the top." 
 
 " Please don't pretend. Are you really no 
 longer angry with me? — look at me." 
 
 Then he looked at her — clearly and frankly. 
 
 " Are you satisfied? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes. It worried me all day — now there's 
 nothing else to hurt our friendship — " 
 
 " No," and though he uttered the word gaily, 
 It pained him. 
 
 " Dear friend, — if I did not have you — " 
 
 He looked into her quiet, trusting, hopeful face 
 — and changed the subject. 
 
 Higher and higher they climbed and the blood 
 coursed more rapidly through their veins and 
 their eyes sparkled with renewed zest for life. 
 
 " Don't turn around — wait until we reach the 
 tower at the top," she said. " I have to do the 
 honors of my home — " and with panting breath 
 they reached the plateau on the top of the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 " My home land," said she, and they both felt 
 awed by the wonderful panorama beyond and be- 
 low them. 
 
 " Look over there in the distance — that silver 
 ribbon — how lovely. That is the Nerra — and 
 that is the Nerra valley through which you passed 
 when you came to seek your friend yesterday." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 235 
 
 He looked for the remains of old towers but 
 the mountain hid them from view. " I will never 
 forget you, beautiful valley," he murmured. 
 
 And she named the different villages of the val- 
 ley to him, — then proudly she named the moun- 
 tains and told the fairy stories connected with 
 them which her father had told her; then she 
 pointed out in the far distance a black ridge. 
 
 " Isn't it beautiful up here? " she asked. 
 
 He took her hand and kissed it. 
 
 " So beautiful that I understand why you came 
 back here first." She was silent, but allowed him 
 to retain her hand. They descended slowly, and 
 stopped at one of the tiny mountain inns — it was 
 deserted. The owner, Helga remembered, lived 
 down in the valley during the winter and only 
 came up with the cattle in the spring. 
 
 " By that time you'll be frozen to death," said 
 Marschall. " You sit down and rest while I see 
 what can be done." He pushed a chair next to 
 the cold iron stove, took his coat and wrapped it 
 about her knees and feet. Then he drew his 
 knife and a few minutes later returned, red with 
 cold, but with an armful of brushwood which he 
 had found near by — in a few minutes he had 
 built a fire that glowed with much splutter and 
 noise. And in front of it they passed a happy 
 hour. 
 
 Suddenly the door was torn open and a party 
 
236 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 of tourists appeared and with them the peasant 
 woman from the valley, to whom the inn belonged, 
 and who carried a big ham, bread and potatoes in 
 her basket. Very soon they were all seated at 
 the long narrow table, talking and eating mer- 
 rily, Helga the merriest of them all. 
 
 They started back at a brisk step and shortly 
 the winter sun began to set and the sky glowed 
 red like a forest fire. 
 
 " Do you know what we used to think, when 
 we saw this spectacle, as children?" 
 
 " Tell me," he begged softly. 
 
 " When the evening drew near and the sky be- 
 gan to glow — " 
 
 " You thought of Christmas time." 
 
 " Yes, and the pleasure of anticipation. Every 
 sound we heard and every shadow we saw bore 
 some relation to the Christ child — Now the 
 Christ child is baking our cakes, we thought, when 
 we saw the red hot glow — and then I would 
 wonder if my cake was being baked, too." 
 
 "Well, think of it now," he said —" Christ- 
 mas is very near." 
 
 " I am thinking of it," and it seemed her de- 
 pressed feeling was about to return. " I have 
 had no Christmas cake baked for me in many 
 years." 
 
 " Then you must expect an extra big one this 
 time." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 237 
 
 " No," said she, " what would I do alone with 
 all the cake that is left over ? " 
 
 " Alone? — who said you would be alone? " 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " I won't permit it," said Richard. 
 
 " You have no choice," she said. " I am going 
 to remain up here until spring time." 
 
 "And then—" 
 
 " Then I shall have found the advice I am 
 looking for." 
 
 " Don't you believe that. This wilderness will 
 mar your judgment. After half a year up here 
 you will be more estranged to the world than ever 
 — why, you would have built up another dream 
 world — just as before." 
 
 "Well, then, where do I belong?" 
 
 " In the world, of course, as quickly as your 
 feet can take you — into life." 
 
 " I have only just come out of it. Tired, 
 broken down, whatever you want to call It." 
 
 " You came from a life that never can be real. 
 Let's be honest, Mrs. Helga." 
 
 " I am, but I must have time to gather strength 
 for a new life." 
 
 " What I am going to say may sound harsh, 
 but I am your friend and I must say it. You 
 have had five years in which to gather strength. 
 Now the door is ajar — to hesitate would be cow- 
 ardice — and I know you are not a coward." 
 
238 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 As she did not answer, he turned to look at 
 her. 
 
 " Heavens, what an ass I am — please, please 
 forgive me 1 " 
 
 She walked quickly, looking straight before her, 
 but the tears were streaming down her cheeks — 
 it was the first time he had ever seen Helga weep. 
 
 "Please," he begged — "don't cry. I won't 
 say another word, only don't cry. I can't stand 
 it — I have never cried In all my life, but I will 
 now. If you don't stop." 
 
 " Don't mind this, these tears cannot hurt me. 
 Quite the contrary." 
 
 " But you must stop — how could I have been 
 so stupid? " 
 
 " Dear friend, I must thank you for so 
 much — " 
 
 "What? Thank me for my clumsiness? 
 You'd better scold me." 
 
 " I know you understand, you always under- 
 stood, even before I did — I have not cried in 
 five years. The last time was when Franz Grube 
 died, and I was — engaged. I don't know 
 whether I cried on account of the one or the other 
 . — and then all my tears seemed to stop — and 
 would not flow any more. I had no comfort." 
 
 " Now you have not only comfort but help." 
 
 " I'm not a coward," said she, after a long 
 pause. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 239 
 
 " No, you are not a coward and you will prove 
 it now." 
 
 " But I don't know the way. At the first ob- 
 stacle I'd come to, I'd stand helpless." 
 
 " That's what I'm here for, — to help you over 
 the obstacle." 
 
 She tried to smile. 
 
 Through the bushes there glimmered the white 
 hunting lodge Helga Nuntius' father had built 
 to await the return of his life that had gone forth 
 when his wife had left him ; as he only knew how 
 to wait, not how to take and hold, he had died 
 waiting. 
 
 " Believe me," said Richard Marschall, " if 
 you want to hear life's laugh — that laugh must 
 be an echo of yours. Our destiny is always a re- 
 flection of ourselves." 
 
 " I believe that," said she, and as they returned 
 to the house, Helga's eyes were bright and clear 
 like the morning when they started. 
 
 It was a happy day. Until late that night they 
 sat together at the roughly hewn oaken table at 
 which Helga had sat in her childhood, — and it 
 seemed to her that she was a child once more as 
 she sat opposite her friend and listened to the 
 words that fell from his lips and that spoke to 
 her with so much persuasive force. 
 
 " Tomorrow," said Marschall, " we will take 
 a carriage to Kassel — from Kassel I will tele- 
 
240 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 graph to Johanna Gruhe, to whom I could bring 
 no finer present than you. You can stay with Jo- 
 hanna until you grow tired. You must ask Mr. 
 Bettermann's pardon for not going straight to 
 him, by telling him that you will stay at his house 
 this spring — and in dear old Frankfort you will 
 find diversion and a new inspiration. For the 
 rest, trust in God." 
 
 " Dear old Frankfort," said she — " I really 
 believe the little Christ child baked a Christmas 
 cake for me, too, today." 
 
 "And did he give you an appetite?" he 
 laughed, and arose to wish her good night. 
 
 " I wish I were standing under the Christmas 
 tree this very minute." 
 
 " You will from tomorrow on. No, from to- 
 day on — There — look!" 
 
 Over the snow-covered woods hung a deep blue 
 sky dotted with myriads of silver stars. 
 
 He heard her quick breath and knew that the 
 Christmas spell held her in Its thrall. 
 
 Then she turned around. 
 
 " Good night, Master Bridge Builder." 
 
 " Good night, pupil ! " 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 The game-keeper had drawn a sleigh from the 
 barn early In the morning and carefully Inspected 
 it by the light of a stable lantern. 
 
 " I thought," said he to Richard Marschall, 
 who stood beside him in the frozen snow, " you 
 would prefer a sleigh to the station carriage we 
 have here — so I went to find it for you." 
 
 "You are a jewel, my friend," said Richard 
 Marschall, and merrily whistling he walked about 
 to Inspect the team from all sides — " but what 
 about a horse? We can't use your team of 
 goats." 
 
 The man laughed — then considered. " I think 
 the head forester will help us out. I could be 
 back in an hour. You will have a fine sleigh ride, 
 the snow hasn't been so hard for years." 
 
 A window opened under the gable. Helga ap- 
 peared with rosy red cheeks. " Good morning," 
 she called down, " I have been up for an hour." 
 
 " Come down — I'll give you a trial ride." 
 
 She disappeared from the window and in a 
 moment was beside him. 
 
 " I haven't been up as early as this for a year 
 241 
 
242 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 and a day — and I slept In the little blue gable 
 room like a baby." 
 
 Richard looked at her with unconcealed admi- 
 ration, 
 
 " You have lovely red cheeks — don't let any- 
 one steal them from you." 
 
 "No danger — I like them too well myself." 
 
 He took her arm and they walked together 
 across the courtyard in which the dusk of the win- 
 ter morning kept pace with the red glow of -the 
 smoking stable lantern. 
 
 " Look, Mrs. Helga — I have written the tele- 
 gram to Johanna Grube, and before I sent the 
 boy with it to the nearest telegraph station, I 
 thought you might like to send a telegram to your 
 lawyer at Kassel, giving your address. We don't 
 want to forget anything that will save time." 
 
 " You think of everything," she said heartily. 
 " When will I accustom myself to think for my- 
 self if you think for me even in such little things? " 
 
 " There will be enough for you to do — but 
 I want you to remember always that I am on 
 hand." 
 
 " I know that," she said simply, and they went 
 into the house. 
 
 While the game-keeper was on his way to secure 
 the head forester's horse, Helga showed her 
 friend the entire house and the rooms where she 
 used to play as a little child, where she had sat 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 243 
 
 on her father's lap and together with him had 
 gazed out of the window when the storms of win- 
 ter raged round the house, or when the first rus- 
 tle of spring had stirred the woods — always 
 waiting for her mother's return. Richard saw her 
 before him as a small person, serious far be- 
 yond her years, who sat huddled in a corner 
 near the piano and brooded about her mother's 
 great and holy art which was stronger than her 
 father's sad eyes and stronger than her own tears. 
 And he put himself in the place of the lonely little 
 soul whose imagination, without outlet or guid- 
 ance, circled incessantly around the adored mother 
 whose life it clothed in a magic light until the idea 
 became fixed in the little brain. 
 
 They spoke little as they wandered through the 
 rooms. " Here my father taught me, this was 
 his work-room. There he lay when dead. His 
 death brought Mother back to me. And in this 
 room Mother taught me — until music again 
 gained the mastery over her. Then we both left 
 our home." 
 
 " Let us go out in the air, Mrs. Helga." 
 
 " Yes," she said — " and have no fear for me. 
 I am leaving this part of my past as completely 
 as the part known to you." 
 
 He went ahead — and as he turned at the door 
 he saw her go into the work-room of her father 
 and touch the back of his chair with her lips. 
 
244 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Without another look she descended the stairs 
 with her friend to the courtyard where the game- 
 keeper was harnessing a horse to the sleigh. 
 
 "All ready, sir?" he said. "You can start 
 at once. Mother has wrapped hot bricks into 
 shawls and put them into the sleigh. You will 
 be comfortable and warm at the start, at least." 
 
 Then the bells began to jingle — the whip 
 snapped — the caretaker came running out to say 
 good-bye — and for the last time Helga's glance 
 rested on the white house, from which she now 
 started for the second time — out and into the wide 
 world. She felt the pressure of Marschall's hand 
 on hers and knew that this voyage would not be 
 into the unknown — and all the sadness of part- 
 ing changed to joyful expectation. 
 
 The horse sped. A sharp frost was in the 
 air, but Richard and Helga did not feel it; at 
 least they did not mind it — they were warm and 
 happy. They stopped at a little inn near the 
 edge of the woods and had something " to warm 
 them up," as Richard expressed it. 
 
 " That was hot brandy," she said, horrified 
 after he had made her empty a small glassful at 
 one draught. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, and he took a second 
 glass of it. " You are an apt pupil of mine." 
 
 " That was the first I have ever had," Helga 
 said. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 245 
 
 On they sped and soon the first houses came into 
 sight. 
 
 " Kassel," said the driver, and pointed up to 
 the red brick roofs. 
 
 They wanted to walk into the town and bade a 
 hearty farewell to their good-natured coachman, 
 who with a smile of satisfaction rattled the silver 
 coins in his pocket long after his guests had gone. 
 He was to leave the hand baggage at the station. 
 
 On the four o'clock express Richard Marschall 
 and Helga started for Frankfort — he read aloud 
 to her from a book that he bought at the station 
 — a long thrilling story of crime. Every time 
 they reached a station, the detective had almost 
 unravelled the crime and caught the offender — 
 and she could hardly wait until the train started 
 to hear more. Just before they arrived at Frank- 
 fort, the great international rogue who had loved 
 and left five or six wives was caught and brought 
 to justice. 
 
 " He could have been caught earlier in the 
 day," commented Richard, closing the book, " but 
 the author was paid by the chapter." 
 
 " Don't criticize. It was thrilling." 
 
 " Yes, it got us to Frankfort. Here we are — 
 Welcome to our city. Madam." He helped her 
 out of the compartment, called a porter for the 
 luggage and then they took a taxi and drove to 
 Grubeshof. Helga kept her little dark head 
 
246 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 close to the frozen window pane, and greeted the 
 city in which she had o«ce been so happy. 
 
 " Are you sure it will not excite you too much? " 
 said Marschall from his corner. 
 
 Her ear caught the note of interest in his voice 
 and it warmed her. Without turning her head 
 from the window, she felt for his hand and held 
 it until they reached Grubeshof. 
 
 They were greeted at the door by the same 
 old servant as of yore, who took their bags — and 
 in the wide open door of the living-room stood 
 Johanna Grube with reddened eyes. Before Hel- 
 ga knew it, she felt herself drawn into the room 
 — two soft arms about her shoulders and two lov- 
 ing lips pressed firmly against her own. 
 
 Then the big strong girl called to Richard over 
 the brown head hidden against her breast. 
 " We'll make her happy between us, won't we, 
 Richard? " 
 
 And Richard Marschall took Johanna Grube's 
 hand and petted it and kissed it. The enormous 
 crystal chandelier lit up the room like the noon- 
 day sun; a roaring fire crackled and sputtered in 
 the open chimney. The table was set with snowy 
 napery and beautiful old silver and decorated 
 with purple asters. From Helga's place, sur- 
 rounded with green smilax, arose the fragrance 
 of a bunch of roses. 
 
 " I have never welcomed anyone so gladly," 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 247 
 
 said Johanna. " Come into my room for a mo- 
 ment, and then we will have dinner. I require 
 no explanations, but we shall have a long, long 
 chat." 
 
 She came back from her room alone, and 
 smiled at Marschall. 
 
 " You did well to bring her to me ; that is true 
 friendship." 
 
 " Johanna," he said, " your generosity has no 
 equal. I came to beg, and you thank me." 
 
 " Well," she said thoughtfully, " is not that 
 beautiful? Must it not be thus between people 
 who are so near to each other? When the one 
 asks a favor, the other sees in that a sign of friend- 
 ship ; giving and receiving become one." 
 
 " Will you keep her with you as long as she 
 wants to stay? " 
 
 " Until one day someone comes to claim her? " 
 
 " He never will," said Marschall, and thought 
 of Braun " — I think the divorce papers will soon 
 be sent on to her." 
 
 " Until another claims her then, Richard. I'll 
 keep her for him." 
 
 " Not a word about me, Johanna," he said 
 hastily. " I have acted with entirely the same 
 motives you have, — only fond remembrances, and 
 I will stick to what I have started to do." He 
 paused and dropped his eyes. " And Johanna, 
 she herself knows that to be so, otherwise she 
 
248 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 would not have come with me. So don't let us 
 frighten her, let us help her find peace with her- 
 self. I will learn to content myself with little." 
 
 " For how long, you dear stupid? " 
 
 "How long?" he repeated earnestly. "Per- 
 haps a lifetime. It is out of my hands at any 
 rate," 
 
 She stroked his hair with motherly hands. 
 
 " Helga is coming," she said, " be jolly." 
 
 The injunction was not necessary. Beaming 
 like a victorious admiral whose fleet had been 
 brought to a secure harbor, he raised his glass 
 and drank to the health of everybody in Frank- 
 fort, past, present and future. 
 
 " And the Bettermanns ? " asked Helga of Jo- 
 hanna, seated opposite her. 
 
 " They have rooms right near their house — 
 the neighbors were all fond of them and so ar- 
 ranged a little flat for them until their own house 
 is completed. Mr. Bettermann has grown ten 
 years younger. After calling on his customers — 
 you know he has no store now — he plays at being 
 architect. In that one week he had the whole 
 house torn down to the last stone." 
 
 " Well, there wasn't much to pull down," said 
 Marschall, and drank to the good luck of the 
 Bettermanns. 
 
 " He Is going to have a strictly Gothic front to 
 his house," said Johanna. " He says he must 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 249 
 
 have it in very pure style on account of his artistic 
 friends." 
 
 " How much extra will the style cost you? " 
 
 " Why, Richard! " laughed Johanna, and there 
 was merriment in the old mansion. 
 
 The clock chimed eleven. Richard arose 
 hastily. 
 
 " How time flies I And you allow me to impose 
 upon your hospitality, although you are dead tired. 
 I am going straight to the hotel. You will allow 
 me to return tomorrow morning, I know. My 
 train goes at about three o'clock." 
 
 " You — Intend to leave? " asked Helga as he 
 took her hand. 
 
 " I shan't be very far away — in about two and 
 a half hours I can reach you. Besides, we will 
 have the whole morning to ourselves. Good 
 night, Mrs. Helga. It feels good to be under 
 this roof, — doesn't it? " 
 
 "Good night, Mr. Marschall," but she held 
 his hand tightly. " I can't find the proper words 
 of thanks for you," she said excitedly, — " I just 
 went along with you as though it could not be 
 otherwise." 
 
 " It couldn't," said Marschall, pressing her 
 hands to his lips. " And now you have Jo- 
 hanna — " 
 
 " Please help me to thank him," she begged of 
 Johanna with moist eyes. " He has a way of 
 
250 THE STORX OF HELGA 
 
 doing deeds of kindness that makes it impossible 
 to thank him." 
 
 But Richard had disappeared. His coat col- 
 lar turned up to his ears, his hands in his pockets, 
 he went down the street whistling. 
 
 " Now let me show you your room," said Jo- 
 hanna. " I know you are tired." 
 
 " I could talk to you all night, and I would like 
 to also." 
 
 " Well, then, come and sit on this bench near 
 the window. Do you remember the last time you 
 were in this room on this seat? It was the night 
 you made your first public appearance." 
 
 " And it was your brother Franz's birthday," 
 finished Helga, and her glance passed affection- 
 ately over the family pictures in their oval frames. 
 Yes, she remembered — she had never forgotten. 
 Here the faithful man who did not want to de- 
 ceive her, had spoken words of love and she had 
 kissed him on the mouth. 
 
 " There is a letter and a telegram here for you 
 — will you read them ? " 
 
 Johanna had tried to steady her voice, but it 
 trembled in spite of her. Helga heard it, and 
 now it seemed to her that it was her turn to com- 
 fort Johanna. 
 
 " Dear Miss Johanna — I assure you I did not 
 leave until after mature reflections, not until all 
 the past had died for me. Therefore it has no 
 
THE STORY OF HELGAi 251 
 
 more terrors for me — you can quietly give me 
 anything that comes for me — you need never be 
 uneasy about me, I assure you." 
 
 Then Johanna gave her the letter and the tele- 
 gram. " I shall be in the next room. If you 
 want to talk to me, you only need to call me." 
 
 Helga quietly opened the telegram. It was 
 from her lawyer at Kassel and stated laconically 
 — "Asked to accept divorce from Hamburg — 
 wire instructions or acceptance." Then she took 
 her letter and saw it was from Robert Braun. 
 Without hesitating she opened it and read the 
 many pages thickly covered with writing. 
 
 " Dear Helga — 
 
 "Although the only address you left me was 
 that of your lawyer at Kassel, I address this 
 letter to Grubeshof as your lawyer, whom I 
 asked by wire, replied that he did not know your 
 present whereabouts. I am convinced the let- 
 ter will find you there — because I know your 
 liking for Frankfort. You may read this with- 
 out fear; I am not going to be importunate nor 
 will I make any unfriendly remarks on what is 
 now an accepted fact. What forces me to write 
 to you personally instead of through your law- 
 yer is the wish any decent man would feel, to 
 bid the woman who was his wife for a certain num- 
 ber of years, and of whom the worst he could 
 
252 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 say would be that she was not suited to his kind 
 of life — a friendly farewell and to wish her a 
 happy future. I do so now — I wish you the 
 best there is in life. Find out for yourself 
 whether there is for an artist any other road to 
 happiness besides art. You wished a divorce — 
 you will have to bear the consequences. As far 
 as I am concerned, I hope they will not prove too 
 unpleasant. I cannot say more — you asked me 
 in your letter to begin divorce action as soon as 
 possible — unfortunately legal proceedings are 
 slow. But I hope that in the course of a per- 
 sonal Interview with the Judge I can convince him 
 of the exceptional gravity of this case on account 
 of my tour in America and on the Continent. Yet 
 it will take three quarters of a year before we can 
 obtain the decree. Pardon me for giving as cause 
 wilful desertion on your part, but it was necessary 
 to do so. Please give your lawyer full power to 
 act. I take it for granted that for once my busi- 
 ness like manner will not displease you — because 
 it will help us to avoid painful explanations. We 
 will confine ourselves to facts entirely. 
 
 " It goes without saying that you will receive 
 a full account of our combined earnings. You 
 will, according to the amounts of our salaries, re- 
 ceive one third, I two thirds. I must beg of you 
 to accept it — I have no need of presents. I have 
 sent my lawyer's name and address to your law:- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 253 
 
 yer in Kassel. Our personal correspondence will 
 be closed with this letter — I doubt whether you 
 ever find the bridge leading from the life of art 
 to the art of life. But I hope you will. This 
 is my last farewell to you. 
 
 " Robert Braun." 
 
 For a long time Helga pondered over every line 
 of the letter and suddenly it seemed to her she 
 must pray — as though a danger had passed near 
 by — and clasping her hands she thought, " Dear 
 God, I thank you for having saved me from the 
 most awful disappointment; for the fact that Rob- 
 ert Braun was Robert Braun, true to his nature, 
 but no less. Now I will never have to be ashamed 
 of my marriage. Dear God, I thank you." 
 
 She arose and found Johanna Grube still up — 
 and they sat together and forgot the hour. 
 
 " Didn't I keep my word. Miss Johanna? Are 
 you satisfied with me? " 
 
 " You are a wonderful woman. I should have 
 never thought such a letter could be the means of 
 restoring your peace of mind. You must have 
 read it with extraordinary eyes." 
 
 " I think it was my duty towards myself and 
 him." 
 
 " Just what do you mean, Mrs. Helga? " 
 
 " I mean, that extraordinary circumstances de- 
 serve an extraordinary interpretation. That has 
 
254 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 been clear to me from the first, but never as clear 
 as today. That letter is the cause of it — it does 
 not contain a single kind word — but neither does 
 it contain one word of reproach or insult. We 
 must judge of each man's greatness or smallness ac- 
 cording to his Individuality. A man who laughs 
 at all inner life cannot be judged by his motives, 
 but only by his outward actions and that he dis- 
 appointed me in that respect, that he made me 
 feel ashamed — that is a source of joy to me. 
 Now I know that although his attitude toward 
 life was different from mine, at the same time it 
 was not a base one. That thought makes me 
 happy." 
 
 Johanna Grube took her in her arras. 
 
 " Miss Johanna — " 
 
 " Yes, dear little friend." 
 
 " I will drop his name — from this day I am 
 Helga Nuntius, although still Mrs. Helga Nun- 
 tlus. That is all my dreams have come to, so 
 far — " 
 
 Silently the two women sat together. Now the 
 big clock in the dining-room began to chime, 
 heavily, like a church clock. But Helga Nuntius 
 did not move. 
 
 Johanna, too, sat motionless. Her thoughts 
 were with Richard Marschall. She, too, had to 
 close a chapter of her life, and she did close it that 
 evening. " Love " — once more the word trem- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 255 
 
 bled through her soul. And with a deep breath 
 she whispered, " Motherly love." 
 
 Then it seemed to her as though she felt her 
 brother's hand on her head. 
 
 And she smiled, " You and I and our loves ! " 
 
 Leaning forward she called Helga by her name. 
 Slowly the heavy eyelids opened. Then she low- 
 ered the sweet young head into the pillow and 
 dropping on her knees took, the shoes off the slen- 
 der feet. " Helga," she repeated, and she un- 
 dressed her as a mother would a child. Heavy 
 with sleep, the brown head rested on the pillow. 
 
 By the light of a single candle, she sat near the 
 bed for a long time and watched the tender bosom 
 rise and fall in dreamless slumber. 
 
 " How beautiful she is — nothing unlovely will 
 ever dare to touch her." Towards morning she 
 kissed her on the lips. 
 
 " Good night," she said, " from now on I, too, 
 shall sleep peacefully. All has become clear to 
 me. I have found my mission — to love you both 
 — one for the sake of the other." 
 
 She went out, smiling and upright, but on her 
 virgin features an invisible hand had painted the 
 sorrows and joys of motherhood — of which love 
 is born. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 " Good-bye, Mrs. Helga — I hope you will 
 make rapid progress in the art of life." 
 
 " Will you come back soon, Mr. Marschall? " 
 " I have just been figuring out the cost of a com- 
 mutation ticket on this road." 
 
 " I will give you one for Christmas." 
 " All right. How bright your eyes are today. 
 Good-bye, again — here comes the conductor." 
 From the window in his compartment he called to 
 her, " I'll be back in a week." 
 
 The train started and Helga waved her hand- 
 kerchief until the cars disappeared around a 
 curve. Then she expected the old sense of lone- 
 liness to return, but it did not come. Many voices 
 seemed to be singing in her heart and their music 
 filled her with undreamt of happiness. " No 
 more worrying," she mused as she walked along. 
 " I will take everything as a gift, to be returned 
 in kind whenever possible. That is what gives 
 one an everlasting holiday spirit, so my master 
 bridge builder has taught me, and I am his pupil 
 and must obey. Now to whom can I make a gift 
 In my turn? " 
 
 256 
 
THE STORY OE HELGA 257 
 
 She walked through the park and came to the 
 conservatory, broad and white as of old — com- 
 placent with dignity, owing nothing to painter or 
 architect, and she thought of that morning in Sep- 
 tember, six years ago, when trembling with excite- 
 ment she had for the first time entered that goal 
 of her desire. 
 
 She went in and asked for Professor Faller's 
 address. 
 
 As she ascended the steps of the house where 
 her old teacher lived, she heard him playing. He 
 was interpreting the worthlessness of life with the 
 help of his great friend Beethoven. But she 
 knocked at the door energetically — to her life did 
 not seem worthless at that time. 
 
 " Keep out of here ! " a grumbling voice called 
 from within. 
 
 " I'll do nothing of the kind," cried Helga, and 
 put her head through the door. 
 
 " By Jove — Am I master in my house or am I 
 not?" 
 
 " Never — when a lady is present." 
 
 " Oh, really ! I have no use for women folks. 
 What do you want? I have no more curls to give 
 away — and I am too old to make love." 
 
 " But I am not," laughed his visitor as she flew 
 to the piano and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
 " How are you, dear Professor. Where is the 
 cavalier whose reputation as a man and a Bay- 
 
258 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 reuth artist is world-wide? I have come to visit 
 him." 
 
 " Tell me," said the old man, raising his eye- 
 brows. " Are you crazy or am I ? " 
 
 " I can only answer for myself, Professor, I 
 am not." 
 
 " You are not? " the professor bellowed, hit- 
 ting the keys. " Then I must be ! " 
 ■ " Professor, won't you look at me? " 
 
 " I never look at women folks — I want peace 
 and rest. Good-bye, Madam," and with a cyni- 
 cal smile, he began to hammer the Elvira aria 
 from Don Juan. 
 
 Without hesitation, Helga took up the tune: 
 " Mich verlaesst der Undankbare — So am I left, 
 thou ungrateful one — " 
 
 Then the hammering changed into a sympa- 
 thetic accompaniment, and the old man, without 
 looking round, said, " That cannot be anybody but 
 little Nuntius ! " 
 
 " Will you speak to me now? " and she laid her 
 hands over his, which rested on the keys. 
 
 He grasped them and held them tightly. She 
 felt them tremble, and the lovely head went close 
 to his withered cheek. He did not move, only 
 breathed deeply as though, with the fragrance of 
 her hair, he inhaled memories of the spring- 
 time. 
 
 " How good of you," he said, " how sweet! " 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 259 
 
 " That I came? Are you just a little bit glad 
 to see me, as I am to see you?" 
 
 " Are you really glad? " 
 
 " Would I be here if I wasn't? " 
 
 Then he raised his arms over his shoulders, 
 pulled her down and kissed her eyes. 
 
 " Dear, dear Professor." 
 
 " Is it really you? You have come especially 
 for my sake? You didn't forget old Faller? 
 You are the only one of those whom I have made 
 famous who is loyal to me. That is why I seem 
 childish in my delight. I could laugh and laugh 
 and laugh ! " 
 
 " I'll laugh with you. Go ahead." 
 
 And they laughed — so heartily that the room 
 echoed with the jubilant sounds. Her head lay 
 close to his — he had not released her. 
 
 " Do you see, now, how young you are yet, you 
 old cross patch? " she said. 
 
 " And how young you have remained — I can 
 scarcely believe my eyes." 
 
 Suddenly he pushed her aside and rose. 
 
 " Please excuse me a moment," he said with a 
 blush and fumbled at his shabby thread-worn 
 house-coat — " It's in memory of the Bayreuth 
 cavalier, you know." 
 
 When he had gone she sat on the piano chair, 
 her hands in her lap, and did not even feel sur- 
 prised at her elation. " If Richard Marschall 
 
26o THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 could see me now," she thought, " he would be 
 pleased with his pupil. It is not so difficult after 
 all to build bridges — it is a very pleasurable 
 task. 
 
 " I must teach my new art to the professor — 
 I have learnt so much that I can impart it to oth- 
 ers." 
 
 Then the old man returned in a long frock coat 
 with a golden watch chain from which dangled a 
 miniature. He walked very straight and three 
 steps from her made a sweeping bow — and she 
 arose and made him a deep courtesy which would 
 have passed muster at court. 
 
 " Madam, permit me to kiss your hand." 
 
 " I appreciate the honor." 
 
 And very reverently he kissed her hands and 
 then offered her his arm and accompanied his 
 guest to the sofa. 
 
 " Now for a comfortable chat. How is 
 Braun?" 
 
 " That's a bad beginning," said Helga kindly. 
 " We are about to be divorced." 
 
 " The devil you are I " the professor cried and 
 stared at her. Then his head dropped on his chest 
 and he murmured: "I'm no good any morel 
 I'm always saying the wrong thing, always ! " 
 
 It hurt her to see him so deeply affected. 
 
 " Otherwise, I couldn't have come to visit you," 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 261 
 
 she said softly; " now I can go wherever I please. 
 And I would like to come to see you very often, if 
 you will have me without the name Braun attached 
 to mine." 
 
 " I knew it would happen," said the professor. 
 " In a way, it was my fault. That fellow, with 
 his wonderful voice, used to make me do anything 
 he wanted to. But I fail to understand how he 
 could ever leave a woman like you? " 
 
 " I have left him." 
 
 " Helga — really — you have it in you to be 
 as sensible as all that?" 
 
 She laid her hand on his knee, appeasingly — 
 "Professor—" 
 
 " You don't know it, my girl, but I was his go 
 between. I'm deadly ashamed when I think of 
 it."^ 
 
 " Why, Professor, you have absolutely no rea- 
 son to be ashamed. It was all my fault. I 
 thought real life only existed where Art was. And 
 Robert Braun had all the best which Art could 
 give, and so, of course, I thought I would live life 
 with him. But I found that all he cared for was 
 money." 
 
 The old man interrupted her. " What are mem- 
 ories to him? Nothing, less than nothing. Cre- 
 ate memories for yourself, child, in your own 
 heart and in the hearts of your fellow-creatures. 
 
262 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 That's what makes one immortal. Life makes 
 the artist, through his life he reaches his goal. 
 Faller knows what he's talking about." 
 
 That was his favorite topic — Helga easily 
 kept him at it. The old parchment-like face 
 lighted up, the withered features became firm — 
 and the fire of enthusiasm mounted to his eyes. 
 He went on feverishly so as to make her forget 
 his unfortunate question. He thought the girl 
 even more forsaken than he was himself. Her 
 womanly instinct told her that at once, but she 
 took good care not to tell him, as she knew his 
 sympathy for her would take him away from him- 
 self and do him good. 
 
 " I cannot believe," concluded the professor, 
 " that an artist must walk on stilts — that's all 
 nonsense. If he hobnobs with the gods, people 
 no longer understand him. If one wants to ap- 
 peal to the people one must go among them and 
 speak their language. Otherwise your art is a 
 dead art to them." 
 
 " I want to go among the people. Professor — 
 that is why I returned." 
 
 " And that is why you came to me? " he asked 
 in sudden surprise. 
 
 " I could not have done better," she retorted. 
 " What you said just now is exactly what drove 
 me from a life of art. I have to have special 
 lessons. I have so much to make up." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 263 
 
 " No, no," he insisted, " you have come to the 
 wrong address. You need youth — " 
 
 " And you, Professor? " He looked at her in 
 distrust — but she repeated the question — " And 
 you, Professor? " 
 
 "Well," he said slowly — "what about me? 
 What do you want with me? " 
 
 " I want to look up to you — so that I, a young 
 woman, may gain courage, seeing how resolutely 
 you, an old man, hold on to life. I will come to 
 study with you — and we will take walks through 
 the town — we will make the most of our lives, 
 in our own way." 
 
 " You and I — in our own way — we won't say 
 die — you know that's what troubled me since I 
 have become too shaky — to go to the conserv- 
 atory? I must have music and, you know, you 
 are music." 
 
 She blushed, but he continued with the garru- 
 lousness of old age. 
 
 " When may I come — whenever I want to ? 
 That's good, because I will want to very often," 
 and he winked at her — you won't expect me to 
 marry you, will you; for my memories would 
 not allow that." 
 
 " What a happy day I've had ! " Helga thought 
 as she went down the street. " Suppose I still 
 sat alone In the forest cottage ! " and her heart 
 went out to the man who had brought her away 
 
264 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 before she was entirely entombed in the snow. A 
 few passersby turned to look at the beautiful 
 slender woman. She felt it, but was simply de- 
 lighted to please without stage make-up. She felt 
 young and gay. That was the mood in which to 
 visit the Bettermanns, and thence she turned her 
 footsteps. 
 
 Mr. John Bettermann and his wife were taking 
 their afternoon coffee. The table was covered 
 with plans of buildings. He was reading an arti- 
 cle from the Architects' Journal to Mrs. Lena — 
 and once and a while, to keep his voice in trim, 
 would take a gulp of coffee. 
 
 " There you go again," said Mrs. Lena, " build- 
 ing in the clouds — we don't want to build a mu- 
 seum in the Bleidenstrasse." 
 
 " Listen carefully," said Mr. Bettermann, " that 
 will strengthen your sense of beauty." 
 
 " How can you develop a sense of beauty on 
 what we have to build with I What you want is 
 something practical." 
 
 " Never mind. Mother, you don't understand 
 that." 
 
 " You don't understand it yourself." 
 
 " Is that so? You just go on selling buttons in 
 your store, but please don't Interfere with my 
 Gothic Architecture." 
 
 A knock sounded at the door. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 265 
 
 Mr. Bettermann looked at his wife, and she 
 looked at him — " Come in." 
 
 "Is this Mr. Bettermann's? " Bettermann 
 jumped, startled. Surely he knew that voice — 
 and the Architects' Journal flew to the floor and 
 he ran to the door so quickly that he lost his slip- 
 pers. 
 
 " Miss Helga — Miss Helga — have you heard 
 that I am building — Mother, now you will hear 
 wonders. Sit down ■ — Heavens, the joy has gone 
 to my head. Are you comfortable? You know 
 Gothic style. Mother, hurry up — Miss Helga 
 wants some coffee." 
 
 And Mrs. Bettermann ran for the cup and 
 brought a lamp. Mr. Bettermann stuffed a big 
 hard pearl-beaded sofa pillow behind his guest's 
 back — and pressed the Architects' Journal into 
 her hand. Mrs. Lena relieved her of it and gave 
 her the steaming coffee instead — and they all 
 talked at the same time and grew greatly excited. 
 
 "What am I to do first?" said Helga, quite 
 overwhelmed. 
 
 In unison they answered : " Let us welcome you 
 most heartily." 
 
 Helga stayed with the old folks until evening. 
 Mr. Bettermann's boyish old face beamed as their 
 guest recounted tales of well-known cities and peo- 
 ple — and their wonderful churches and public 
 
2 66 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 buildings. He almost cried with joy when Helga 
 confessed that Gothic was her favorite style in 
 architecture. 
 
 " There, Mother," said he — " Do I understand 
 anything? Didn't Faller say to me years ago — 
 ' You are an artist '? " Suddenly he excused him- 
 self and hopped out in his slippers to look at his 
 building lot a few doors away. 
 
 " He Is perfectly crazy with joy," said Mrs. 
 Bettermann, " but it keeps him alive. What a 
 man raves about becomes life to him. If at the 
 end we have nothing but four walls with a roof, 
 he will think it is Gothic. Please don't mind his 
 calling you Miss, for to him you will always be 
 Miss Nuntius." 
 
 " That's all right," said Helga, " because I've 
 become Helga Nuntius again." 
 
 When the women parted, Mrs. Bettermann 
 said to her husband, " This time I hope that Mrs. 
 Nuntius will have a better eye for where happi- 
 ness is to be found." 
 
 As Helga passed the building she saw the 
 Gothic enthusiast flitting about. As she entered 
 Grubeshof, Johanna came to meet her. 
 
 Laughingly she said, " You gad-about, you have 
 company upstairs awaiting you." 
 
 "Company! Who can it be? " 
 
 " He said you invited him especially. And he 
 scolded, too — he said if he could not rely on you, 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 267 
 
 what was left of life for him? So I comforted 
 him with a bottle of Rhine wine and opened the 
 piano for him. Listen, he is singing." And 
 from the music room came the sound of a cracked 
 voice. 
 
 " And he sat and forgot in his castle on the Rhine, 
 For his heart and his wounds were stilled by the wine." 
 
 " The professor," cried Helga. " Oh, Miss 
 Johanna, I feel so secure and strong — how 
 could I ever have imagined myself alone and for- 
 saken? " 
 
 No, she was no longer alone, — even if her cir- 
 cle was composed of a rather peculiar group of 
 people. Had Richard Marschall thought of this 
 when he brought her back to these surroundings? 
 Had he wanted to teach her that it was not nec- 
 essary to wander far to gather sunshine, that the 
 light pours in through any window if the shade is 
 lifted high enough? 
 
 He wrote very often, and she knew every word 
 by heart. On the nights when his duties did not 
 keep him at the theatre, he would come over. 
 One day as the snow melted on the ground, and 
 little brown buds appeared on the trees of the 
 near-by woods, he said : 
 
 " Your foundation is laid, Mrs. Helga. We 
 may soon begin to build upon it." 
 
268 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 She had not entirely understood, but the appre- 
 ciation in his voice did her good. 
 
 The next day she began her singing lessons with 
 Professor Faller. The people of Frankfort would 
 meet a peculiar looking trio walking about — a 
 beautiful young woman accompanied by two 
 queer old men — the one tall, lanky and yel- 
 low, with broad hat and long black frock coat, the 
 other short, fat and rosy, also wearing a long 
 black frock coat, but always with a high silk hat. 
 
 At first Professor Faller would not consent to 
 the " Gothic Leatherjack," as he called him, ac- 
 companying them. But Helga had insisted. She 
 valued both friends equally — but when the soured 
 old artist began to feel the naive admiration of 
 the little leather dealer, he gradually grew accus- 
 tomed even to his rusty silk hat. 
 
 " The old fellow has not only imagination, but 
 also taste," he conceded one day to Helga as they 
 returned from one of their walks, — because that 
 day the professor had given a long monologue on 
 true art — and Mr. Bettermann had not missed 
 one word. That evening Professor Faller ac- 
 cepted an invitation tendered to him respect- 
 fully by Bettermann to drink a glass of apple ci- 
 der. 
 
 Helga suddenly found herself wondering how 
 she could please Richard Marschall next time he 
 came — but he always arrived before she had 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 269 
 
 quite decided. In the few hours that he would 
 stay, he filled the house with his cheer. 
 
 " I can't allow any spider-webs to settle any- 
 where," he would announce, and then he would 
 open the piano and play those Hungarian dances 
 that he loved so since that night of the gypsies in 
 the Hamburg restaurant. 
 
 Spring time brought to life unknown, unnamed 
 emotions in Helga's heart. She would close her 
 eyes so as not to betray her joy. But Richard 
 Marschall saw it — and then he would rivet his 
 eyes to the keyboard as though he were afraid of 
 striking the wrong note. 
 
 At the end of April he arrived for a two days' 
 stay. 
 
 "Aren't you going to take a vacation?" Jo- 
 hanna asked him. " You must have a rest, else 
 we will have you sick on our hands." 
 
 " I wouldn't care." 
 
 Helga approached him and said, " That was an 
 ugly word. Shall I follow your example?" 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Mrs. Helga — " 
 
 " Will you take it back — at once ? " 
 
 " I take it back and I am ashamed to have set 
 you a poor example." 
 
 " Promise never to do it again." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 " How long the days are," she said — and 
 opened the window so as to fill the room with the 
 
270 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 soft evening air. " It seems as though night will 
 never come again." 
 
 " Will you take a walk with me ? " 
 
 " I would love to — shall we ask Johanna? " 
 
 But Johanna had household matters to attend 
 to. " Our friend, Richard, must be well taken 
 care of today," she said. 
 
 They started out. As Helga linked her arm in 
 his, he bit his lips so as not to show their quiver 
 — and yet her touch was very gentle. 
 
 Mr. Bettermann stood before the walls of his 
 new house, which were decorated at the top with 
 flags and wreaths. 
 
 " I will come, too," he called. 
 
 " Tomorrow," she called back to him, " other- 
 wise Professor Faller will be angry." 
 
 He understood, waved his cap and bowed. 
 
 They walked on in the spring evening. The 
 trees were beginning to shed their brown cover- 
 ings and to show little green leaves. April's cold 
 nights had retarded the opening of the blossoms. 
 
 " Yet some day what is now hidden will be re- 
 vealed," said Marschall. 
 
 " What ails you, dear friend, you are quite dif- 
 ferent today." 
 
 " Not towards you, Mrs. Helga — never to- 
 wards you, only towards myself — and that's fool- 
 ish." 
 
 "What is it?" pleaded she. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 271 
 
 " Spring," he answered shortly, " or my work." 
 
 "Doesn't your work interest you any more? 
 Men like you find their best pleasure in work." 
 
 " If one knows why one works." 
 
 " Has anything unpleasant happened? Tell 
 me and let me share it with you." 
 
 " You are too good, Mrs. Helga — there is 
 nothing unpleasant — on the contrary, — I am to 
 conduct a Festival Cycle, for which I am to en- 
 gage first-class artists. My opera ' Hadwiga ' 
 is to be the piece de resistance. That is a great 
 piece of luck for me." 
 
 " Then it must be the spring even though it is 
 belated," said Helga — " the trees are still brown 
 and the buds scarcely out, but yet it is bound to 
 come in all its glory one of these days." 
 
 " That is the spring for all the world. But I 
 mean a special one." 
 
 " Is there another?" 
 
 " If you stand on your tip-toes, you will per- 
 ceive it." 
 
 " It is like the fairy tale of the Garden of Par- 
 adise — only known to children born on a Sun- 
 day, isn't it? " 
 
 "Shall we be Sunday children, Mrs. Helga?" 
 
 " I cannot be, dear friend, my courage is still 
 too young for this new faith." 
 
 " Stand on tip-toe, Mrs. Helga. Stand on tip- 
 toe — don't you see anything?" 
 
272 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 She looked up at him in astonishment — his 
 sudden agitation seemed contagious. 
 
 "What am I to see? " 
 
 " There — " and he pointed with great shining 
 eyes over the park wall. She tried to raise her- 
 self on her toes. 
 
 " I can't see." 
 
 " Let me help you. Nobody can see us." And 
 he reached out his strong arms and lifted her up 
 high. 
 
 The deserted park lay before her eyes. The 
 moon had risen and shed her radiance over the 
 bushes and trees as yet bare and stark. But in the 
 midst of the forlorn park there was a little white 
 island. The brown trees were Invisible — only 
 a mass of buds. It was like a Heavenly vision — 
 a Land of Dreams — a blossoming promise — a 
 fluttering secret — as though, quite in secret, the 
 young spring was to be born in this spot. 
 
 A sigh escaped Helga Nuntius. 
 
 " The Garden of Paradise." 
 
 " Mrs. Helga — " 
 
 A tremor ran through her body at the pleading 
 cadence in his voice. Then she stood on her feet. 
 
 " I thank you." 
 
 And as she had pronounced the word she felt 
 tortured at the thought that always she had only 
 thanks for him and never a gift. 
 
 " Yes," he said quietly, " such a Garden of 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 273 
 
 Paradise, in the midst of the world, unknown to 
 all but me, that is my dream. After the day's 
 work is done, to be able to look over the hedge 
 ... I would stand on tip-toe until I had found 
 the island of blossoms. I know I should find it — 
 I have learnt again tonight that persistence alone 
 will win the game." 
 
 He offered his arm to his companion. She 
 went on hesitatingly — as though she wanted to 
 return to the wall — but her lips refused to voice 
 the request. So they passed into the crowded 
 streets from out of the spell of the Garden of 
 Paradise. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 " Why doesn't he come ? " asked Helga Nun- 
 tius of Johanna Grube, as week after week Rich- 
 ard Marschall failed to appear. " Do you think 
 he is ill — or that he has forgotten us? " 
 
 " Do you think Richard so small? " 
 
 " Sometimes," she said thoughtfully, " I think 
 I know him, and sometimes . . ." 
 
 " Sometimes you fight against your knowledge 
 — isn't that so, little lady? " 
 
 " Little lady," said Helga, stretching her slen- 
 der body. 
 
 " Very well, then, big lady. Now give me a 
 big answer. Why do you miss him so much? " 
 
 " Miss him — who knows — let's see." And 
 before her friend knew it, Helga had put her arms 
 around her and kissed her many times and was 
 gone before Johanna Grube had ceased to marvel 
 at this outburst of affection. 
 
 Was this really Helga Nuntlus? 
 
 These outbursts happened frequently and often 
 at the most unexpected moments; In the midst of 
 a conversation Helga would seize her friend and 
 draw her to her breast, or she arose for no pur- 
 
 374 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 275 
 
 pose at all and sauntered about the rooms hum- 
 ming some melody and would stroke every object 
 with her white hands, as though the need to love 
 had been aroused in her, as though her unrest was 
 caused by not being able to express it sufficiently. 
 She would sit at the piano, sing her favorite arias, 
 and then stop suddenly and run over to help Mr. 
 Bettermann select his wall paper and then to Pro- 
 fessor Faller with whom she would sing scales and 
 exercises for hours. 
 
 Once she walked as far as the Park, but the 
 wall was too high and she could not look over, no 
 matter how hard she tried to stand on tiptoe. 
 
 " I can't do it without his help," she thought, 
 like a petulant child. " Why doesn't he help me ? " 
 
 Then she laughed at herself and slipped away 
 — as though afraid to be found on a forbidden 
 path. 
 
 But whether she sat silent with friends or walked 
 humming about, she seemed to wear a crown of 
 sun rays in her hair. If anyone asked her, she 
 would say laughingly: 
 
 " I must take Richard Marschall's place. By 
 the time he returns we must all have learnt it." 
 
 " What — what must we know? " 
 
 " His favorite song," she said, full of impor- 
 tance — " His Song of Life." 
 
 " Is it a work of art? " 
 
 " Ah," she would answer and look into the dis- 
 
276 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 tance, " it is no work of art. It is the christening 
 present of the Lord to mankind — and many a 
 one who took art for his godmother later found 
 God's gift superfluous, and forgot the mother who 
 alone can make us happy — Mother Earth. For 
 we are all of the earth — " 
 
 " Children," Professor Faller would whisper, 
 " look out, there is a philosopher among us." 
 
 "There is also a mocking old gentleman!" 
 cried Helga, and covered his mouth with her 
 hand. 
 
 "Why doesn't he come?" she asked o( 
 Johanna, a few days later. " It's two months 
 since we have seen him." 
 
 " Because — he wants — " and Johanna Grube 
 held a letter aloft. 
 
 " Wants what? " insisted Helga. 
 
 " Wants you to go to him! " 
 
 " I ? " said Helga slowly, dropping her arms. 
 "How can I?" 
 
 " What are you thinking of? He doesn't want 
 you as his guest, but at the theatre ! " 
 
 " The theatre ! " she repeated mechanically. 
 
 " Dear Helga, you must not be angry with our 
 friend. He thinks of us, you may be assured, as 
 often as we do of him." 
 
 " As we do of him," she said. 
 
 " But look at the work he has had to do in these 
 two months — the idea of giving those extra per- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 277 
 
 formances was so sudden, and Richard had to at- 
 tend to everything — engage the artists, have in- 
 numerable rehearsals, rehearse with his orchestra, 
 and what not." 
 
 "And I?" 
 
 " He wants you to sing his ' Hadwiga ' — it has 
 never been performed in Kassel. It is a great 
 honor for Richard — the Prince has had ' Had- 
 wiga ' interpolated in the Berlioz cycle." 
 
 "He wants me to reappear on the stage? " 
 
 "Does it frighten you? You can't compare 
 this with the past, I am sure. It will be true joy 
 to show the people the beauties of life, the blos- 
 som of which Is art. That is, I think, what you 
 will feel if you return to the stage now." 
 
 " You are right," she said with a deep sigh. 
 
 "You accept then — you will go to him?" 
 
 And she answered, with a sweet smile, " I must 
 show him that his pupil is ready to graduate." 
 
 Then Johanna Grube handed her the two let- 
 ters which had come for her. " Had it been oth- 
 erwise I would have sent them back, marked ' not 
 found,' " she said. 
 
 Helga took them, but before she opened them 
 she turned her friend's face to hers and so com- 
 pelled her to look at them. 
 
 " Why — are you so — so happy over it? " 
 
 "Because, — because," stammered Johanna, 
 " because sometimes I am a most enigmatic per- 
 
278 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 son,"^ — and she freed herself and ran from the 
 room. 
 
 Helga had flushed a deep red. " No, no," she 
 said, " I am mistaken — she could not be so sweet 
 to me if she — it is impossible." 
 
 The first letter was from the management of the 
 Royal Theatre. In flattering terms she was asked 
 to sing at the music festival in August and to take 
 the part of " Hadwiga " in Richard Marschall's 
 opera. She was further requested to come and 
 rehearse the following week. The necessary 
 business agreements were enclosed. 
 
 She took the second letter ■ — it was from Rich- 
 ard Marschall. 
 
 " How short," said she, disappointed, and 
 therefore read it twice. 
 
 " My dear friend — 
 
 " Richard Marschall makes his first appearance 
 as a business man — that is a new note — Rich- 
 ard Marschall — manager — impresario — will 
 you entrust yourself to him? I have the impres- 
 sion that you can do so more safely than to the 
 Bridge Builder of the same name, who flippantly 
 called himself teacher and might really have 
 learned much from his pupil. But as impresario, 
 I am a huge success — for my bridges are even 
 now swinging high above those of the so-called 
 Bridge Builder. You have no idea of how It hu- 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 279 
 
 manizes a man, what secret qualities he discovers, 
 when he turns over from his emotional side to his 
 business side — and allows his egotism to parade 
 openly. Mrs. Helga, I want to be a success — I 
 want to draw a full house with ' Hadwiga ' — I 
 want to hear everyone applaud with enthusiasm, 
 the man at the box oiEce as much as the public. 
 All this win only be possible If you will trust my 
 managerial qualities and come to me. Before 
 others, we shall of course act as though we con- 
 sidered all the gold of Peru as so much tin, as 
 though we thought only of the work. Secretly, 
 we shall wink at each other. Please come — I 
 need you. 
 
 " Your ever devoted, 
 
 " Richard M." 
 
 " I don't know whether to laugh or cry," she 
 thought. And softly she repeated, " I need you. 
 
 " And I — when I tried to look Into the park 
 without him and — In that blossoming Garden of 
 Paradise — " 
 
 Her whole days were spent with Faller — 
 whether he wanted or not, he had to sing her duets 
 with her. He declared he would lose the beauti- 
 ful baritone quality of his voice in singing tenor 
 parts, but notwithstanding, the strange concerts 
 continued In the old grey house; clear and sweet 
 the young woman's voice soared outward, and 
 
28o THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 haltingly, the cracked voice would take up the 
 part — so inspired by the fire and beauty in the 
 woman's voice that age and strength would dis- 
 appear and inspiration alone remain. The old 
 race-horse took the hurdles with the three-year- 
 old. 
 
 Berlioz's opera, " The Trojans," had been suc- 
 cessfully performed — a select audience had gath- 
 ered to share the musical treat. Every night, 
 Helga Nuntius sat in the little balcony box — her 
 eyes fixed on the conductor in trembling excite- 
 ment. She suffered all the agonies of stage fright 
 for her friend. 
 
 When he turned before lifting his baton to look 
 at the house, his eyes would meet hers for a sec- 
 ond. Electric vibrations filled the air. She 
 would have liked to help him In some imaginary 
 peril — until, with his arm raised above the or- 
 chestra, he seemed like a valiant general leading 
 his army to victory. 
 
 The footlights threw a glow over his hair and 
 that glow was all she saw in the darkened oi'ches- 
 tra. She felt as though she must put her hands 
 on It, and say, with a loving touch, " I am near 
 you." 
 
 And now she stood on the stage herself, she, 
 his Hadwiga. 
 
 The Royal box was occupied, the theatre 
 crowded to the doors — and in the midst of all 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 281 
 
 these strange people sat Johanna Grube — peace 
 in her heart, with a believer's eyes, her hands 
 folded, as though she were in church. 
 
 " My two loves," was her heart's pronounce- 
 ment. 
 
 Richard Marschall walked across the stage. In 
 one wing he found her whom he sought. " I had 
 to see you before you start," he said. " How do 
 you feel ? " 
 
 " I can't explain — I feel as though I were to 
 walk out upon meadows in bloom and saw peo- 
 ple with happy faces dressed gaily for a festival 
 everywhere — I have to thank you for that, dear 
 friend." 
 
 " Oh, no," he retorted — " Only yourself." 
 
 " No compliments between us, please. I feel 
 so happy these days that I must share it with all 
 with whom I come in contact. I now understand, 
 for the first time, that art is a mission." 
 
 "Yes," he said — "You must first feel life 
 firmly under your feet if you want to tell and sing 
 of it." 
 
 " I feel it — for that I thank you. Give me 
 your hands — so — there's the call — farewell, 
 dear friend." 
 
 " Roses or wounds I carry home this day," 
 hummed Richard Marschall — as he stood with 
 his arm aloft — and with sparkling eyes, he sur- 
 veyed his musicians. A swift smile across to the 
 
282 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 cellists and horn players — a short nod of the 
 head — and through the house the legend of 
 Hadwiga laughed and sobbed with the voice of 
 the music. 
 
 And then the last note died away — and upon 
 the stage, the two appeared again and again and 
 still the thunder of applause rolled on and when at 
 last the curtain fell, Richard seized his Hadwiga 
 around the waist and shouted : 
 
 " Good Lord — I should like to thrust you up 
 into the clouds — into the sky, that's where you 
 belong." And she with her hands on his shoul- 
 ders — cried not less excitedly: " No, no, I want 
 to remain on earth — it is all so beautiful." 
 
 At the hotel she found a telegram, but before 
 she opened it she went to Johanna, who took her 
 in her arms and kissed her without a word. 
 
 The telegram had been forwarded by the book- 
 keeper at Kassel. An important letter from her 
 lawyer arrived that night. With dull eyes, Helga 
 looked at the paper. At home fate awaited 
 her. 
 
 " I shall leave tonight. At three o'clock I can 
 catch the express. At half past five I can be back 
 in Frankfort." 
 
 " I am going with you." Johanna Grube's 
 hands trembled slightly as she folded the tele- 
 gram. 
 
 Richard Marschall sent up his card and they 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 283 
 
 sat in the little parlor until It was time to go to the 
 station. 
 
 It was a hasty farewell and they did not look 
 long into each other's eyes. 
 
 The train hurried through the night. Helga 
 sat at the window, silently watching the dawn. 
 Waving fields stirring in the early breezes flew 
 past her vision and suddenly a fear seized her. 
 "Again to be seated in the express train?" A 
 horrible nightmare seemed to clutch her. She 
 felt as though she must scream — " Stop ! Stop I " 
 — but the train raced on. 
 
 " Now I shall know whether I am to live or 
 die," said Helga as they reached Grubeshof. The 
 sun showed through the little round window where 
 she had sat with Franz Grube. Then she opened 
 the letter, with steady, quiet fingers. " The first 
 time I sang Hadwiga," the thought followed her, 
 " I wanted my freedom, and the second time I 
 sang Hadwiga — " 
 
 Her body trembled convulsively — she clutched 
 at her throat — then came one sound — " Free! " 
 
 Johanna Grube knelt beside her, speaking a 
 thousand endearing words and stroking her face. 
 
 " Helga — Helga — wake up — " 
 
 " What is that you are saying? " Helga asked 
 when consciousness had returned. 
 
 " I am speaking of the joy before you, — you 
 and Richard." 
 
284 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 "And Richard! Ah, I was too long in ap- 
 preciating what I had — discovering my heart — 
 and now he'll never know." 
 
 " Helga — it is a sin to talk like that." 
 
 " Don't you understand, Johanna ? I showed 
 him my feelings. I can't ask him to take me — " 
 
 " We women can do much when we love." 
 
 " But not that, not that. If he asks me, I shall 
 be so glad to tell him — " 
 
 " He did ask you once — and you made him 
 suffer ! Now it is your turn. Take the burden 
 from him and if it is a sacrifice, it will be offered 
 up on the altar of love ! " 
 
 " And what if he does not accept it? " 
 
 " Love doesn't question. It thinks of nothing 
 but the happiness of her beloved. Don't cover 
 your eyes, Helga, I am only thinking of the 
 reality,' — for I, too, love Richard Marschall." 
 
 Helga jumped up — she stared at Johanna's 
 face, and then something seemed to clutch at her 
 throat and she cried — in despair : " No — no." 
 
 " I love Richard Marschall," said Johanna once 
 more. " Long ago, I loved him as you love him 
 now. Then my feelings underwent a change, both 
 on his and on your account. I saw where his hap- 
 piness lay and I retired without a struggle. You 
 know women will struggle even if they do not ac- 
 knowledge it. He was my friend from early 
 youth. Had I tried hard enough I would have 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 285 
 
 succeeded — and had I won him through pity, I 
 would have worked day and night to change that 
 pity — to something warmer. But then the pos- 
 sibility of making him much happier arose. This 
 possibility I would not allow to slip by. Then 
 you appeared, and all my love had but one aim — 
 to give him what his heart desired; because you 
 two have become one to me. Helga, we were 
 speaking of sacrifice. I have made mine, and 
 one who has sacrificed much has the right to know 
 to what purpose It was done. Now what will you 
 do?" 
 
 No sound passed from Helga's lips — there 
 seemed to be no life left in her. 
 
 Then Johanna went to her and took her in her 
 arms and said: 
 
 "Will you be my sister? I need someone to 
 love." 
 
 " You love him ■ — even now ! " 
 
 " No," she said laughingly, " that was long 
 ago. Now I love you In him — " 
 
 " Johanna." 
 
 " Do not feel unhappy. I am telling you the 
 truth." 
 
 Then Helga kissed and embraced her friend. 
 
 " You — I should have had nothing left on 
 earth if I lost him." 
 
 " Do you love him so much?" 
 
 " Listen," she said. " Now — now I hear 
 
286 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 music," and with all her might she called: " Rich- 
 ard!" 
 
 The call was such as only a loving woman can 
 call — Helga Nuntius stood on her self-built 
 bridge and called : 
 
 " He will hear me and come to me." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 " Will you tell him when he comes? " 
 
 " Everything — it will not be a sacrifice, only a 
 great joy." 
 
 The sun streamed through open windows. 
 Golden dust danced in Its rays and from under the 
 gable of Mr. Bettermann's new house a jolly old 
 baby face appeared. 
 
 " Good morning," he called, and waved his cap. 
 " All is ready for the fray. Day after tomorrow, 
 the dedication will take place. Shall I write and 
 tell Mr. Marschall?" 
 
 " I will attend to that," Helga called back, and 
 the old man answered: " Hurrah I " 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 It was the last evening of the music festival. 
 All day long Richard Marschall had waited for 
 the telegram he had asked Johanna Grube to send 
 him. But it had not arrived at half past five 
 when he started for the theatre. Then hope died 
 within him and left a great void and he did not 
 know what to do. " The lawyer's letter must 
 have contained bad news," he thought and pressed 
 his lips together; " everything is over — and Jo- 
 hanna is wondering how to break it to me gen- 
 tly." 
 
 His musicians looked at him with astonishment 
 as he lifted his baton in a tired, listless manner. 
 He noticed it and blushed deep red. " Oh, no," 
 he murmured, "I mustn't let that interfere;" a 
 supreme effort and he was himself again. His 
 musicians as well as his audience fell under the 
 spell of his personality. And he spent his strength 
 unsparingly and when finally he was called out 
 upon the stage to receive the usual ovations, he 
 felt the ground rock under his feet. 
 
 " Dear friend," the director said to him, " I 
 insist on your leaving tomorrow for your vacation. 
 
 887 
 
288 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 You know you are not the least one of our draw- 
 ing cards and I can't have you go to pieces under 
 the strain." 
 
 He thanked him with an absent look. He had 
 thought of going home to his father for a brief 
 rest. 
 
 " My kindest regards to the Reverend. You 
 are going tomorrow? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Good, very good. If you could engage Mme. 
 Nuntius for us, my gratitude would be boundless. 
 But I won't bother you with business matters now 
 — I hope you will have a happy time and a good 
 rest." 
 
 They shook hands and Richard started home. 
 Only now he felt how inexpressibly tired and worn 
 out he was. 
 
 As he turned on the lights in his room he saw 
 his mail on the table. Listlessly he sorted out the 
 letters, but suddenly he grew interested. That 
 handwriting — whose was it? In another mo- 
 ment the envelope flew to the floor and he sat with 
 head bent forward skipping half the words and 
 then reading them again and again. 
 
 " Deaf Richard " it started — with beating 
 heart he returned to it again and again to see 
 whether It did not change to " dear friend " or 
 something more usual. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 289 
 
 " Dear Richard: As I looked out into the early 
 morning sunshine — for I did not go to bed last 
 night — Mr. Bettermann appeared at the Villa 
 Phoenix and shouted to me that his house would 
 be dedicated the day after tomorrow. And I 
 agreed to write and ask you to come. The house 
 is strictly Gothic and all unbelievers are shown the 
 ogival doors and windows. I know you will do 
 your old friend the honor of taking part in the 
 ceremonies; and if I may add a word for myself 
 
 — dear Richard, I want to tell you something. 
 It is hard to tell and yet so easy and I must tell 
 you personally. Please come. 
 
 "Your Helga." 
 
 Never before had Richard felt such a longing 
 for home. He wanted his father — someone 
 who was near to him, whose blood was his blood, 
 someone with whom he could talk and laugh a 
 whole day and a whole night — until the day after 
 tomorrow had arrived. As he changed cars to 
 go up the mountains at noon, the following day, 
 his exuberance of spirits ebbed considerably as he 
 approached his father's home. 
 
 " I wonder whether I can speak to him," he 
 thought. " I don't know anything to tell except 
 
 — Dear Richard and your Helga." Surely that 
 was not enough to order a wedding sermon. 
 
290 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 But for all that he went steadily on. As he 
 reached the parsonage, the pastor arose from his 
 desk, went to the window and pushed the rose 
 bushes aside. Everything was as before, even his 
 call: " Is anyone there? " 
 
 " Your son has come to visit you." 
 
 "Well, well, come in — come in, my boy! " 
 
 And the old man stood on the threshold with 
 arms wide open. He was limber and straight as 
 of old and his cheeks were still rosy — and the 
 little scars, souvenirs of his college days, had 
 become a little more jagged from the wrinkles 
 In the skin. But his bright eyes sparkled like a 
 youth's. 
 
 " That was a good idea, boy I " 
 
 "Are you pleased? Then I will stay until to- 
 morrow noon." 
 
 "Good! Leave of absence ? " 
 
 " Four weeks." 
 
 " And of that you have reserved exactly twenty- 
 four hours for me? Richard, I'm afraid you — " 
 and he tapped him playfully on the forehead. 
 
 " We'll talk about that later, Father — maybe 
 I shall come back and stay longer. It depends on 
 you." 
 
 " You are of the new school! " laughed the old 
 iman. " The son's behavior depends on the 
 father's behavior. Come in and let me have a 
 good look at you." He surveyed him with pride. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 291 
 
 " The bud seems to have developed. The mortal 
 body does not matter, but the immortal soul does." 
 A smile lit up his ruddy face. 
 
 " Now, we will have coffee — in the garden or 
 wherever you wish. Then we will take a walk 
 through the village — " 
 
 The garden was in its full summer splendor. 
 Bees hummed about the flower beds and vied with 
 the butterflies for a little of their pollen. The 
 orchard trees were heavy with fruit. The red 
 roof of the parsonage loomed up peacefully 
 through the foliage. 
 
 The old pastor sipped his coffee and enjoyed 
 the beauty of the day. 
 
 " These were the days your mother loved. 
 When everything hummed and sang and blos- 
 somed and grew, — then she would take you on 
 her knee and say: " Oh, the beautiful, beautiful 
 world. Boy, I want you to go out into it." 
 
 " And the son went out and today he knows his 
 mother was right — the world is beautiful, 
 Father." 
 
 The old man puffed at his pipe. " There are 
 days," said he, " when I miss your mother very 
 much. When one grows to be my age, life ap- 
 pears different — and c'ay by day one peers more 
 anxiously into the bushes to catch the gleam of a 
 white dress, one like your mother wore as a young 
 woman." 
 
292 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " She died very young," said Richard thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Yes," said his father, " God gave her only 
 youth. I often wonder whether God took her 
 away so that she did not have to grow old. She 
 believed in God's goodness only, not as I did, in 
 both his goodness and anger." 
 
 "Father—" 
 
 " I know what you want to say," said the old 
 man. " I sometimes think now that I was too 
 harsh to you. Come, we will play the organ." 
 
 They sauntered leisurely through the garden 
 like two old friends who understand each other. 
 At each flower-bed they stopped. 
 
 " Father, if you had been like this ten years 
 ago, how gladly I should have learnt your religion 
 from you." 
 
 " It must have been — wait a moment — six 
 years it must have been, since you came with a 
 young girl. She stood there and cut some salad. 
 I can see her plainly now. Then I looked after 
 you both as you hurried back into the world, from 
 which I, too, and your mother, had come. That 
 evening — I am ashamed to acknowledge it — I 
 drank a bottle of wine — and It agreed with me." 
 
 " That's the main thing," said Richard, " that 
 it agreed." 
 
 The pastor stood still. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 293 
 
 " What was her name? The young girl's who 
 came with you ? " 
 
 " Helga Nuntius. Did you like her? " 
 
 " I could not rid myself of the impression she 
 made on me for ever so long — my sympathies are 
 not usually so quickly awakened. What became 
 of her?" 
 
 " A wonderful artiste, one of the few big 
 ones — " 
 
 "Married?" 
 
 Richard Marschall breathed deeply. 
 
 " She was. I think, however, that yesterday 
 she got her divorce." 
 
 " Divorce — how terrible. I should not have 
 expected that of her." 
 
 "Why not. Father?" 
 
 " Whom God hath joined, let no man put asun- 
 der." 
 
 " And what if God had nothing to do with It? " 
 
 " I don't understand such talk." 
 
 " Father, people marry without love sometimes. 
 I am sure you as a minister must know that." 
 
 " It was a crime against God's command, or as 
 you moderns have it, against ethics. Whosoever 
 dares to commit such sacrilege must have the cour- 
 age to bear the consequences." 
 
 " And if an innocent one is caught in the net, 
 one who acted from ignorance — " 
 
294 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " What human being can call himself innocent? 
 Read the Bible." 
 
 " The Bible also says, Let him who Is without 
 sin cast the first stone." 
 
 The old man took his pipe out of his mouth and 
 looked sharply at his son. Then he changed the 
 subject. 
 
 After supper was over, they remained seated at 
 the table, smoking their cigars and drinking their 
 wine, and both of them were filled with a sense of 
 comfort. 
 
 " It is a long time since we have dined to- 
 gether," said the old man. " Here's to joy, my 
 son!" 
 
 " Your health, Father." And their glasses 
 touched with a silvery tinkle. Then Richard 
 said: 
 
 " Father, I have been knighted." 
 
 "What, you?" 
 
 " Yes. By the Prince himself, — after yester- 
 day's performance of my ' Hadwiga.' Isn't that 
 worth opening one of your finest?" 
 
 " Indeed, yes. I'll go into the cellar and bring 
 up something special. Do you want to come 
 along? Here, take the candle." 
 
 " You know how to honor a Knight," laughed 
 Richard, as they returned with their arms filled 
 with bottles. " That's not a bad collection for a 
 country parson." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 295 
 
 " It is all left from the time your mother lived, 
 my boy. I have never touched it. Your mother 
 should have lived — I have been so lonely. So 
 all I had to do was to go to work and polish my- 
 self until I grew clear but sharp and all the former 
 memories were rubbed away." 
 
 " Take mine instead — Father." 
 
 " That's a good Idea," — said the old man medi- 
 tatively. 
 
 " Father — I would have liked to see you as a 
 young man — at college." 
 
 " I believe it. I wasn't a bad one, either." 
 
 " Nor very tame — I'll wager." 
 
 " Tame, oh, no ; I was a bit wild, I think." 
 
 " And you could drink a drop or two, couldn't 
 you?" 
 
 " I can still do that. That was a good school, 
 Mr. Knight, the University of Marburg. We 
 drank with inspiration to our country, our college, 
 our love. Not to the social excitement the young 
 men of today fritter their time away with." 
 
 " And the girls of Marburg. Wh^t did they 
 think?" 
 
 " Oh, my boy," laughed the old pastor. " We 
 never gave them time to think." 
 
 " That's a fine example for your son. Father." 
 
 " The modem flirt and the long drawn out non- 
 sense of today were not in style. A ,kiss In all 
 honor — we had no time for long-winded court- 
 
296 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 ships. We couldn't let our youth fly, only to wake 
 up some day and find that we had wasted it 1 " 
 
 " That's what I call honest — " 
 
 " Honest? " cried the old man and his eyes 
 sparkled — "It was beautiful — wonderful. You 
 should have known your mother when I first saw 
 her. I had little money, and she had only her 
 virgin beauty and her happy disposition. Do you 
 suppose I asked anyone's permission? I simply 
 said to myself, — she or none ! and that was all. 
 I felt like a Titan, strong enough to conquer a 
 world." 
 
 " What did your father say? " 
 
 " My father? Well, my son, I hope I won't 
 look as he did when you come to tell me 
 of your engagement some day. But in face of 
 all the fathers in the world, I took her in my arms 
 — and married her." 
 
 He wiped the perspiration from his brow, 
 and slowly emptied his glass as though drinking 
 to some beloved shadow. 
 
 " Father, I can't keep it back any longer. Lis- 
 ten to me. I have been very lonely these past 
 years. I have been quite as unhappy as you 
 were." 
 
 " Lonely in the midst of the world? Why? " 
 
 " Because I have been in love, Father." 
 
 "And didn't dare? You should have been 
 with me in Marburg." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 297 
 
 " I should have learnt to battle against the 
 world, I suppose." 
 
 " You would indeed. If love is strong enough 
 he conquers every time." 
 
 " Father, that is the voice of the blood. I love 
 Helga Nuntius — and she will and must be mine." 
 
 The old man put down his glass and arose. 
 
 And Richard Marschall arose, too, and did not 
 move an eyelash. 
 
 " The woman is divorced, Richard." 
 
 " She has a right to happiness like all of us." 
 
 " She should have looked for it in her first mar- 
 riage. He who seeks — shall find, but many don't 
 care to take the trouble." 
 
 " She asked very litde and for all that spent 
 five years without finding it." 
 
 " What was it? " 
 
 " A home — a little place to rest — she had a 
 sad childhood and a dreary marriage. She asks 
 little for herself." 
 
 " You don't value yourself very highly, my son." 
 
 " I value myself highly enough to know that 
 I shall create a home for her — and in the home 
 soil I will sow the seed of new wishes and even 
 new fulfilments." 
 
 " You want to try me, I suppose, Richard; but 
 you are mistaken if you think you can swerve me 
 from the convictions for which I have sacrificed 
 a whole life." 
 
298 THE STORY OE HELGA 
 
 "And the primal instincts of your youth? 
 Don't they carry a thousand times the weight of a 
 conviction gathered from a thousand books ? Who 
 felt so strong in his love, that he was ready to 
 brave the whole world for it? My father ! Who 
 did not stop to ask permission — but cried : 
 ' She or none ' — ^Again it was my father. And 
 who, no matter what the world said, would take 
 his love in his arms, and defend her? My 
 father! And I love my father more than words 
 can tell." 
 
 " Richard, Richard, she is a divorced woman! " 
 
 " Father, if you had met mother when she was 
 weary and broken from a loveless marriage — 
 and you felt that you alone of all the world could 
 help her back and give her some faith in life ; be- 
 cause your love was so great and so pure — would 
 you have passed her by because of your convic- 
 tions? Would you have hidden your head and 
 run away from yourself' — ? " 
 
 " I I ?" 
 
 " Would you have permitted her to remain be- 
 hind you and despair of God and man — only 
 because orthodoxy permits of no tolerance ? " 
 
 " Boy, boy," said the old man, " do you take 
 after your father or after your mother? " Then 
 the old pastor went to the table and took the 
 glass, and when he turned around, his back 
 was particularly straight and his eyes shone. 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 299 
 
 " Come here and drink with me, to someone 
 especially." 
 
 "To' whom, Father?" 
 
 " To my daughter-in-law. Here's to her, 
 Richard!" 
 
 Suddenly the old gentleman felt his head pressed 
 closely against a throbbing heart. It was many 
 a year since he had been held thus. And he kept 
 stroking his son's head, saying again and again : 
 
 " My boy, my dear boy, you can count on your 
 old father any time." He tried his best to hide 
 his deep emotion, but something had melted 
 around his heart and a feeling of undreamed of 
 happiness flooded his soul and strove for utter- 
 ance. He began to tell of his youth, of the 
 dreams he had dreamed and of the deeds he had 
 done. 
 
 It was almost two o'clock. 
 
 " Another bottle, Father? " 
 
 But the old man rose and stretched his strong 
 limbs. 
 
 " No, no, boy, time to go to bed," and lamp in 
 hand he retired to his room. 
 
 And Richard stood for a long time before the 
 faded picture which hung on the wall. 
 
 " Mother, I must thank you for this happy 
 evening. You gave me as heritage an eye to see 
 beauty and follow the light. Helga and I will 
 give it to our descendants. If she is only mine — i 
 
300 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 Helga. Good night, Mother. Your heritage 
 will be well taken care of." 
 
 The wild rose bush at the window trembled in 
 the early morning breezes — and a wonderful 
 perfume streamed through the dawn and he arose 
 to meet the morning. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Richard's father had accompanied him as far 
 as the station. 
 
 " I am as strong as you are. I can walk for 
 two hours without feeling it." 
 
 " Father, I have been thinking — " 
 
 " So have I. Something bothered me all night. 
 I'd like to tell you of it." 
 
 " Go ahead." 
 
 " Well, then, without beating about the bush — 
 what would you think if I were to retire this 
 Spring and draw my pension? " 
 
 " Fine I It's exactly what I was going to sug- 
 gest." 
 
 " Good! It will make it easier for me to tell 
 you of my plans. I intend to spend the few years 
 of life I have left in the city." 
 
 "Do I understand you aright, Father — you 
 are willing to do that? " 
 
 " I would like to see something of your work, 
 my son, before I die. Not from a sense of duty 
 but because you are my son. I want to peer into 
 your world, be led about and be proud of my chil- 
 dren. And, — to make myself better than I am. 
 
 301 
 
302 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 I should like to hear some of your concertos and 
 operas. Tell me, Richard, would it bother you 
 if I lived, say, in the same street with you? " 
 
 " Of course you'll live in our home. Father. 
 What do you think of me ? " 
 
 " Very well — one floor above or below — but 
 I must have my own lodgings." 
 
 " So be it. And now let me thank you with all 
 my heart. And I feel that although my path has 
 diverged from yours, Father, still we have wan- 
 dered together a good part of the road." 
 
 " When you have children of your own and they 
 take different paths from yours, you will feel it 
 even more than I do. You know after all, the 
 father always runs after his children, even if in 
 secret." 
 
 At the station they embraced" heartily. 
 
 " Don't dare to return without your wife." 
 
 " Suppose she won't have me? " 
 
 " Tell her, that she owes it to me to be good 
 to you." 
 
 Then the train started for Frankfort. Jo- 
 hanna Grube met her friend at the station — and 
 Richard turned around, as though he expected 
 someone else. 
 
 " She would not come," called Johanna. " She 
 took it into her head to go for a walk." 
 
 " Do you know which way she went, Johanna? " 
 
 " Up to the old Park." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 303 
 
 " Did she send me any message? " 
 
 " Certainly — I will tell it to you if you'll be 
 patient." 
 
 " It is six o'clock. If we want to get to Better- 
 mann's in time — " 
 
 " I called on them and told them you could not 
 get there before nine o'clock — wasn't that 
 right? " 
 
 " That will be in, three hours — one can't build 
 a house in that time, but the foundation can be 
 laid." 
 
 " It would be lovely if we could celebrate a 
 double event tonight — Mr. Bettermann would 
 consider It a good omen." 
 
 " I'd do anything to please Mr. Bettermann, 
 Johanna." 
 
 " Now I will leave you," said she, as they 
 reached the door. " Hurry, jump in — there's 
 the carriage which will take you to the Park." 
 
 Helga Nuntius stood before the wall of the 
 Park as Richard Marschall approached. But 
 she did not look into the garden, she looked at 
 him. 
 
 "Richard!" 
 
 He grasped her hands and held them closely 
 until her feverish pulse was calmed. 
 
 "Helga!" 
 
 " I have made a tryst with you — " she said and 
 would not meet his eye. 
 
304 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " How I love this place," he answered. " It's 
 like the very cradle of life." 
 
 " Now I must speak," she thought, " and I can't 
 think of a single word to say." 
 
 Then he came to her assistance. 
 
 " Shall we walk through the fields? The streets 
 are so noisy today." 
 
 " I would love to, but they expect us." 
 
 Without a word they went across the fields. 
 The red poppies burned like sparks of flame in the 
 midst of the golden grain. Then they both 
 thought of the same thing and their eyes met. 
 
 " Do you remember how your father looked at 
 my red poppies the time we went to see him? He 
 has very stern views, hasn't he, Richard? " 
 
 Then Richard thought of last night. " My 
 father's ideas and mine are identical now." 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, and looked startled. 
 
 He looked at her in surprise and said with a 
 laugh — " Or if you prefer — my father thinks as 
 I do." 
 
 " Thank God ! " she exclaimed involuntarily. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because — I should have been afraid to — 
 to ask you something — Richard — " 
 
 "Ask me, Helga?" 
 
 " No — not now — later — " and she walked 
 hastily on. 
 
 " You wear a white dress today just like the one 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA' 305 
 
 you wore that day in the woods," said he after a 
 pause, and his eyes took in each line of the beloved 
 figure, so slender and girlish. 
 
 " That must be a coincidence," she said quickly. 
 
 " Oh, you need not excuse yourself." 
 
 " I don't." 
 
 " Well, then, It's not an accident? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 Richard began to pick all the poppies he could 
 reach. He insisted on her permitting him to 
 adorn her hair and dress with them. 
 
 " I want you exactly as you were that day, 
 Helga," he said, as he pinned a large blossom into 
 her hair. " Then I shall forget the six long years 
 that have elapsed, 'and we will pick up the threads 
 where we dropped them." 
 
 The blood mounted scarlet to her cheeks as 
 he touched her hair. She moved her lips, but not 
 a word came from them. And Richard acted as 
 though he did not notice it. 
 
 "Richard!" 
 
 "Helga!" 
 
 " Does your father remember me ? " 
 
 " Oh, how vain ! " 
 
 " It's not vanity, but I should like to know — " 
 
 " He spoke more of you than of me. He drank 
 your health, and when we parted at the station he 
 sent you his regards." 
 
 " And — he knows of my divorce ? " 
 
3o6 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " He sent his regards," replied Richard. 
 
 " And drank my health." She closed her eyes 
 for a second. She walked ahead, the path being 
 too narrow for both. 
 
 " Richard." 
 
 "Helga?" 
 
 "The divorce—" 
 
 "The divorce has been granted you? " 
 
 " Yes, I am free." 
 
 Then a great silence fell over them. 
 
 " Why doesn't he help me? " — and her heart 
 beat so she thought he must hear It. 
 
 " Is that all she has to say to me," he thought, 
 growing pale; "why doesn't she say more? 
 Why is it so quiet here?" But he could not 
 speak either — and he tortured himself with the 
 sight of her white and red beauty. 
 
 They reached the end of the fields, weary with 
 the terrible strain. 
 
 " Let us rest a moment," said she. 
 
 He knew of a little inn where they could have 
 tea. 
 
 " In half an hour we must return." The words 
 sounded like self-derision. 
 
 " Oh, you blind, blind man." 
 
 " Why don't you give me sight? " 
 
 " I can't tell you anything, except that I am 
 happy — so happy that I should like to — race 
 through the woods with you as we did long ago — " 
 
THE STORY OE HELGA 307 
 
 !Ajid then she knew she must tell him before they 
 reached the next farm. 
 
 So she stopped dead still. A wild spirit of mis- 
 chief seemed to possess her. 
 
 " I can't walk another step, I am so tired — if 
 you want to get me home you'll have to carry me." 
 
 She jumped on a stone and reached out her arms 
 to be taken. And he took her to him. 
 
 " Come, you dear, tired child." 
 
 She put her arms about his neck and lay stiU 
 against his breast. 
 
 " I'm not tired at all," she said. " It was a 
 lie." 
 
 " That was a pleasant lie. At least for me," 
 he answered. " And now tell me the reason for 
 it at once." 
 
 " I wanted you to carry me." 
 
 " Do you imagine it would help to make you 
 happy? " 
 
 " Yes, Richard, yes, inexpressibly happy." 
 
 Jubilantly the words came from her lips and 
 sounded like a caress. And he stood rooted to the 
 spot and gazed at her and his chest rose and fell 
 heavily. 
 
 Helga raised herself in his arms, so that her 
 eyes were on a level with his and pressed her lips 
 to his. When she raised her head, she was pale 
 to the roots of her brown hair, but the light re- 
 mained in her eyes. 
 
3o8 THE STORY OF HELGA 
 
 " Richard." 
 
 " Kiss me again, so I may know that you are 
 real." 
 
 She slipped to the ground and took his head be- 
 tween her hands. 
 
 " No, it was not an impulse. I had to kiss you. 
 I simply could not help it." 
 
 Then he took her and held her close against 
 him, and they looked at each other in surprise, as 
 though they were transformed. 
 
 " Come, Helga — we must go." 
 
 " Tell me if you really want me." 
 
 " Since I first saw you, seven years ago." 
 
 " Seven long years? The Helga you loved has 
 ceased to exist." 
 
 " Then I love you doubly — as Helga Nuntius 
 and Helga Marschall." 
 
 " Helga Marschall," she repeated, as though 
 the words were music in her ears. 
 
 And they went along until they came to a hill 
 from which they looked down at the city with its 
 lights and spires and towers. To the right and 
 left the wheat and rye fields waved, and a warm, 
 sweet smell arose from the ripening grain. 
 
 " A healthy smell — I love it," said Richard. 
 
 " Oh, Richard, how wonderful it is to be 
 healthy." 
 
 " Your health is my concern," he answered, 
 " and I will keep all sickness from you." 
 
THE STORY OF HELGA 309 
 
 " I have learned to love life, Richard, because 
 you mean life to me." 
 
 " And I — whatever I created for art was 
 but for you. I always thought of life — with 
 you." 
 
 " In the spring time," she said. 
 
 " By that time we will build our house — a little 
 white house in a large garden. You must come 
 along and help me." 
 
 " I'll never leave you again — I will help build 
 it and help you to be happy in it." 
 
 They sat in the grass and looked down towards 
 the city. Among the fragrant, trembling corn, the 
 red poppies shone. Then Richard laid his head 
 in her lap and they sat quite still. 
 
 " You," she said, with an odd tremor in her 
 voice, and after a while she bent down and looked 
 into his face and stroked his head and his fore- 
 head. 
 
 He heard her quick deep breath. "What is 
 it, dear love? " 
 
 " Now I am at home." 
 
 Then he raised her arm and drew her head 
 down and their lips met — under the ripening 
 grain. And from out of the earth came deep 
 voices filled with life and music, chords full of 
 strength and beauty. 
 
 " Do you know that song? " asked Richard, and 
 listened. 
 
3IO THE STORY OF HELGAJ 
 
 And she listened and heard as he did and said, 
 " You have taught me. It Is the song of life." 
 
 Side by side they went through the fields from 
 which the song rose, and they heard the same 
 voices in the cities and amidst the people waiting 
 for them. When they looked at each other they 
 heard it — and when their hands met : 
 
 " It is immortal," said Richard. 
 
 " And we will be, too. If we believe in it." 
 
 " I believe in it, beloved." 
 
 And on the horizon, a vision of a white house 
 in a flower smothered garden appeared to them. 
 
 " Come," said Richard Marschall, " It is our 
 home." 
 
 THE END 
 
REVIEW. DECEMBER 21, .913 
 
 A SONG OF LIFE 
 
 Rudolph Herzog's 
 Great Opera 
 
 Story of a 
 Singer 
 
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 and Mrs. Bettermann, that delightful 
 couple who give the book a touch of that 
 Teutonic flavoj in which It is otherwise, 
 considering the nationality of Its au- 
 thor, singularly'Iaoking-^for Helga and 
 the rest ooUld be transferred to Amer- 
 ica with no loss of individuality ; Rich- 
 ard's father, the old clergyman who 
 learned liberality so late in life, austere 
 yet lovable; and Johanna Grube, she 
 who made the great renunciation, and 
 upon whose " virgin features an unseen 
 hand painted the joys and sorrows of 
 motherhood — of which love is bom." 
 They are a goodly company of honest, 
 sane people; indeed, the novel itself is 
 one which impresses the reader a^ em- 
 inently sane. 
 
 For though much of the plot has to do 
 with an unhappy marriage, there is in 
 it no touch of the morbid or erotic. The 
 two parties to that mistaken contract In- 
 dulge neither in hysterics nor liaisons, 
 but behave like sensible people, respect- 
 ing themselves and each other. Helga 
 in many ways represents the modem 
 woman as she is, not as literary car- 
 toonists delight to picture her. That she 
 has a glorious gift in her beautiful voice 
 does not set her apart from humanity, 
 but draws her closer to it ; ddes not di- 
 vide her from the man who is her mate, 
 but enables them to travel hand in hand. 
 It Is this very human quality, this 
 psychic growth of faulty men and wom- 
 en, which makes " The Story of Helga " 
 so unlike the average musical novel. 
 Richard Marschall is a great conductor 
 and composer; he is also a very simple 
 and sincere man. Helga is a famous 
 prima donna; she is also a clean-souled 
 woman, striving to do the thing she be- 
 lieves to be right — no victim of moods 
 and whims, but a woman naturally 
 evolved from the girl who came to the 
 conservatory as to a temple, who, as 
 Franz Grube once told her, " could do 
 things no one else could do, because 
 every one would know she meant no 
 wrong."