The Ely miner., 1903-04-24
"Good Lord!" / CALCULATED in dis

!
for work l was engaged on, 1 ex-
pected to spend most of my mornings
| and evenings in the study l had in
structed Harris to have fitted up for
me.
That was before / was aware of the
musician next door. Well, if he gave
music lessons, playing beside Beetho-
simply have to move out, that was all
there was to it.
And yet, these spacious old rooms,
remodeled and SO graciously reminis-
cent of times and days long past, had
taken strong hold on my fancy, and
| would certainly leave them with re-
eret.
81 think the old gentleman goes out
to give his lessons, sir. l see him
pass with his violin case every day.
Harris explained, lighting the candles
| placed in bronze candelabra against
| the wall.
| / insisted on their being used, be-
cause the light mingled pleasantly
with the gas and softened it.
Who cares for any but the old mas
| ters, If once familiar with their sub
lime Inspirations, l thought, lazily en-
joying the glorious strains.
| Monsieur Daubert's sonatas carried
me pleasantly back to Heidelburg
and Leipsic, and my university days,
and in the light curl of smoke, going
up from my cigar to the faded fres-
Goes of the ceiling, I seemed to see
the laughing face of certain little
baroness, who certainly taught me
more and better German than the
professors did.
Bach and Handel, and those days of
| youthful love and folly, and the light
| hearted Joy all came back on the rip
| pling notes.
1t was late when Monsieur Daubert
closed his Erard with Il bang. Brush
ing away the pleasant old memories,
and getting up from my easy chair, [
prepared to follow his example and
go to bed.
''It won't be so unendurable,"
thought, the moonlight sonata still
ringing in my ears, provided he
| doesn't give music lessons"
Things never turn out as they are
expected to, which of course makes
the surprises of JOY and anguish
which go to make up human exist
ence.
/ mconsciously grew to wait i'm
patiently for those pleasant evening
hours of practice on the piano by.my
| neXt-door neighbor.
1t seemed to me when / had lived
for some months in my beautiful old
rooms, from whose balcony a distant
glimpse of crowded shipping along
the river front was visible, and into
| whose recesses the wind waited
scents of sweet olive and other winter
blossoms from a square nearby, as
the early spring came, and the doors
on the balcony were thrown open, |
grew to imagine L could read the
| character of my neighbor, the mu-
sician, in the touch on the keyboards,
| and by his wonderful Interpretation
of the thoughts, heart-beats and sub
lime aspirations, as expressed in the
music he drew in SO mastery and pa
thetic fashion from the instrument,
| which talked and plead and wept and
! dreamed strange dreams, under his
touch.
Yes, 1 could read it all distinctly.
There was deep intensity of feeling,
grand aspirations, pathetic sorrow,
and a gentleness almost feminine, and
yet bold-spirited decision in my
artist neighbor which betrayed a
| character of infinite capacities and
loveableness.
Harris, take this note over and
wait for an answer. hope Mr.. Dau-
bert will dine with me this evening"
When he came it seemed a bur-
lesque on my romantic reading of his
character, to see what an insignificant
man Mr.. Daubert really was, although
refined and remarkably good-looking
There was neither strength nor
purpose in his face, but he was we'll
| bred and pleasant. L laughed secretly
at my absurd Interpretation of imagi-
| nary characteristics because the skill
full technique of trained musician
interpreted correctly some splendid
| pages of music.
Monsieur Daubert grew flushed and
| decidedly voluble, and enjoyed the
Yquem and Roederer Harris poured
all to literally in the glasses. He be-
came communicative when coffee and
| liquors were placed on the table, and
| Harris went out.
sit was sad to be poor fellow,
playing nightly in an orchestra, when
formerly there had been SO much
wealth. His manner was that of his
ancestor, Jean Pierre Sauveur d'Au-
/, bert, and there was a marquisate
coming to him by rights, in the old
Dauphine province of France.
"How had it all vanished? Well
circumstances-and then after his
young wife's death-une ange de
beaute! !-he had been reckless and
foolish. Yes, Monsieur Daubert hum
bly, acknowledged that he had, in his
despair, plunged into speculation and
dissipation. Was he not excusable?
Everything had gone but his violin
and his talent. So he went from place
to place and played in orchestra.