CHAPTER NINE

The first movement closed on a cadence. No one spoke. Franklin, who took the viola part, very softly tested his G string, which had gone a little flat, while Scherer, from his seat at the piano, looked over the top to where the 'cellist sat. Seeing that the trio of strings was ready, he started the adagio which he played as a passionate prologue. The piano was soon joined by the sombre strains of the viola, taking up the subject in fugal form. Now another voice, soaring aloft in seraphic ecstasy like a boy's, joined itself to the others. It was the violin, played by the prince. Eduard did not intend to make the violin part take precedence of the piano, as is so often the way with soloists when they embark on chamber music. But the exquisite tone of his instrument, and the upward curve of the melody, put the others for a moment into the shade, so that the three were forgotten, and, indeed, themselves both listeners and players, kept their parts strictly modified to form a genuine accompaniment.

Soon, however, the 'cello made its entry with a second subject in a more lively rhythm, and the boyish voice seemed to be replaced by the mellow contralto of a woman. Then, gradually, the strings were dominated by the virile notes of the piano, which, in generous chords, united the melodies into a harmonious whole.

The little company had forgathered in Scherer's music-room, a place devoid of carpets, and panelled throughout. Diana, who alone had been invited as audience, had ensconced herself in a corner, protected from the view of the players by darkness and distance. Neither during the previous quartette, nor during the one they were now performing had she cast her eyes towards the circle of light in which the musicians played, save once, when the 'cello had introduced the second theme. Then she had glanced over towards the player, who was a new acquisition to their circle. She mused: "He presses his instrument against him, and, gently caressing it with his hand, brings forth its rich and perfect tones." Her thoughts took flight into other realms of emotion; they hovered and dipped and rose again on wings of sensual delight, until her whole being was suffused with feelings such as she had not experienced since the previous summer, her life having since then passed on a purely platonic level.

The men broke up, stretching their legs which had become stiff with long sitting. They fluttered the pages of the music for a while in silence. Then, with maternal gentleness, the three string players tucked their instruments away into the cosy warmth of the cases, and snapped the locks to, while Scherer, spreading cloths over the keys and the outside of the piano, closed down the lid. Diana, meanwhile, had not stirred from her corner.

Scherer came slowly towards her.

"You are smiling," he said softly, taking a seat at her side. "And yet you have been gazing on Medusa's head."

"No, not Medusa's," she corrected, wincing as Scherer suddenly turned on the full lights in the centre of the room. "I hardly heard the presto. What's the opus number?"

Scherer named it.

"One of Beethoven's last works," he added, somewhat didactically. She had asked her question merely to gain time, and his tone instantly scattered what remained of her dreamlike trance. Suddenly rising, she stepped over to join the other group.

"Don't be too severe in your criticism, please," said Franklin. "I made a terrible hash of the last movement. But it goes so quickly, and I've never had much technique. Besides, I'm not used to playing with others."

"You'd rather play solo," teased Diana, laughingly.

They went in to dinner, Diana on Scherer's arm, and all five took their places at the round table.

"Yes, I like playing alone," exclaimed Franklin, his whole tone betraying how hard he found it to accommodate his libertarian temperament to co-operative labours.

"And yet," said Scherer, motioning the prince to a chair next Diana's and the other two men to the remaining places, "and yet, it seems to me that a solo player can never be a genuine musician."

"Poets never get beyond the solo stage," commented the prince. "They feel they must reign as absolute monarchs."

At these words the newcomer to the quartette raised his head. He had hitherto taken hardly any share in the conversation, and now turned his eyes on the speaker. But the prince was immersed in the contemplation of his plate, and, instead of the prince's eyes, the stranger met Diana's fixed upon him. There was an eloquent expression of protest in the man's whole countenance, a critical rebuke of the prince's paradoxical utterance.

"What a strange, dumb method of speech these Russians possess," thought Diana, lowering her eyes in turn to her plate.

After the introduction at the charity tableaux, Scherer had invited Dr. Kyril Sergievitch to his house, and had been surprised and delighted to learn that the young man played the 'cello. This was decidedly an addition to his musical evenings, for he had long wished to have a full quartette. His invitation had been all the more cordial and pressing. When he had told Diana of his find, he waited in vain for a token of surprise and curiosity in her, or, at least, some sign that she was forcing herself to show indifference. She had almost forgotten the Russian, and, in general was inclined to keep music and musicians apart from her inner life. When she had felt her hand in Sergievitch's huge fist earlier this evening, he seemed to her more bashful than she had expected him to be. She found his embarrassment difficult to explain, for Scherer had not told her of the meeting at the charity ball, nor of the Russian's question that same night, nor of their further encounters at the political club.

Diana and Sergievitch sat opposite one another, strangers, although each had seen the other at different times on a stage under somewhat peculiar circumstances.

Conversation emerged slowly for all were still under the spell of the music, and at first was carried on by the three other men, while Diana and the Russian sat silent, the latter intent and listening, the former abstracted.

"If everyone were to play tutti all the time," Franklin was saying challengingly, "who would be left to create and lead? The conductor? He's only an employee!"

"Perhaps the invisible composer, Herr Franklin," said Scherer.

"Dust and ashes this long while since," exclaimed the prince. "Ideas, if they are to be fecund here below, must filter down to us from the spheres of those who hold aloof from the world's turmoil."

Again the Russian raised his handsome head with its crown of fair hair. But his forehead was puckered in a frown as if he were trying to keep his eyes from flashing. This time it was Scherer who was given the benefit of the Russian's silent conversation. The effect on the host was somewhat uncanny, and, hoping to break the spell he said to his guest.

"You appear to be dubious?"

"Why should not ideas rise, once in a while? May it not be that this earth of ours holds hidden treasures, stores of ideas, undreamed of in that enlightened heaven of yours?" His eyes turned to the prince, dark and questioning.

Silence.

"A threatening storm," thought Franklin.

"Heavy artillery," thought the prince.

Then to crush any possibility of a debate in the Russian manner, Prince Eduard said aloud:

"Certainly, certainly, you are right, Doctor. Heaven and earth are each of them the mental terminuses of the human express."

"Why except the sea?" demanded Diana, a warm protest in her voice.

"What can one do with fishes and molluscs, Madam?" asked the Russian coldly. "The sea is just nature and nothing more!"

Diana turned away from the speaker, with an aggrieved air the prince was quick to detect. Franklin seemed to hear in space a conversation similar to this, but better developed and on a higher intellectual plane. Scherer was unwilling that so all-embracing a theme should occupy his guests while at dinner, and so soon after the enjoyment of the music. He tried therefore to soothe matters by saying:

"One thing is certain, that we have been permitted to hear the music of earth, sky, and ocean through the medium of your exquisite 'cello."

Passionate debater though he was, and loath to miss the opportunity of discussion with such an adversary as the prince, the Russian was nevertheless sidetracked by this reference to his beloved instrument. After a slight pause he said:

"Yes, it has a lovely tone. It is seventeenth century, from Brescia, a legacy from a friend of mine."

The quiet warmth with which he spoke acted soothingly upon the company, and the talk wandered off on to the subject of old fiddles. The prince told the story of his own violin, which he had inherited from long dead ancestors, he himself being the eleventh member of his family to be a competent player. Diana spoke of the wonderful lute Wilhelm had found, an instrument of so great value that Scherer alone was in a position to buy it, and even he would have to cut his expenses down for a year at least to do so. All made merry over the story, especially Scherer himself, who invariably chuckled over stories concerning his "great wealth." By the time the tokay was served they were in good fettle, and at ease one with the other.

"All the sunshine of Hungary has been captured in this bottle," cried Diana, "and there is more sunlight in this one glass than in the whole of the Balkans! In actual fact, I never have suffered from cold so greatly as in our Castoria, among the Macedonian lakes; and never experienced such heat as on Lake Flatten."

Everybody now complained of the unusual cold, which this year had continued intense even into March.

"Each morning as I turn that draughty corner in the Wilhelms Platz," said the prince, "my thoughts fly to Hamlet, Act One, the scene on the platform before the castle at Elsinore, when Francisco says: ''Tis bitter cold.' As soon as I enter the office, the resemblance to Hamlet becomes acute, because of the prevalent indecision in ministerial circles. So let us, Herr Scherer, up anchor and set sail for Zanzibar."

Franklin declared that nothing would please him better than to have the whole party as his guests in his Arab home; the Russian invited them all to Livadia, where the tsar's fist could not reach them; Scherer, who seemed to be enjoying some secret of his own apart from the others, turned to Diana, asking:

"And you? Whither does our good European want to take us?"

The men were silent, waiting upon her words.

"I? I have but one home," said Diana softly, "but I am afraid it is not to the liking of all here present." Her smile slowly changed from an external demonstration of social affability to one of inward enjoyment, while her companions sat expectant. Then quickly and fervently, she added: "My home is on the sea."

"I love the sea," said the Russian, who felt that her shaft had been aimed at him. "I don't expect any of you have sailed the seas so much as I. But I did not voyage on them in search--of ideas!"

"If only I possessed one that would please you," said Scherer blithely.

As he spoke he drew a postcard from his wallet and offered it to his neighbour at table. Diana looked upon the picture of a yacht, graceful and white, with but one funnel, and displaying abundance of tackle--a boat that could be used either as steamer or as sailing vessel. Aft, the deck was sheltered by an awning. The name of the yacht could be deciphered at the stern. It read, "Excelsior." Diana waved the picture aloft, crying:

"Excelsior!"

"Excelsior," echoed Scherer, smiling.

Franklin was the first to question. Then the whole company joined in a chorus of gleeful laughter.

"A friend in Hamburg has asked me whether I will not hire it for a few weeks because he himself has to go to London this spring. So I was wondering if you would care to give the sea and me the pleasure of your company for a little while...."

Eduard looked up in surprise. In a flash he sensed all that the invitation held of adventure. He glanced at Diana, then at Scherer, for Diana's eyes were fixed upon her host.

She was probably the only one of the party used to sudden invitations of the kind, and the way in which Scherer had spoken told her the command he was exercising over himself. She was loath to make a decision before the three men concerned had expressed their feelings in the matter. But since all eyes were now upon her, and everyone seemed waiting upon her word, she felt constrained to say something. Nothing better came to her mind than to exclaim once more:

"Excelsior!"

Now there was a different ring in her voice, as though she had said: "Excellent!"

Scherer handed round other papers with sketches of the yacht from various angles, information regarding its tonnage, accommodation, and so forth. Questions, surmises, proposals, flew from mouth to mouth. Only the Russian sat silent, waiting for the others to allow him a glimpse. But they seemed to have completely forgotten him. At last Scherer, to whom an adventure appealed only so long as he felt it was going to run the course he had planned, turned with sudden resolve towards Sergievitch, saying:

"And you, Doctor, if these gentlemen will but allow you a glimpse of the pictures, will see that there are six cabins in addition to those belonging to the crew. Will you choose one for yourself? I should recommend either No. 5 or No. 6, whichever seems to you the nicer."

The other men turned eagerly towards him encouraging him to a decision. But he sat silently gazing at Diana, who, unconscious of his scrutiny, was examining the intricacies of cordage one of the pictures displayed. At last the young man said:

"It is very kind of you, but I came to Germany to study ideas, not to voyage on the blue sea, not to study nature."

They laughed, and each was brought back upon himself. Even the prince felt he ought to think the matter over before deciding. But Scherer said:

"So that's settled. The only question remaining open is when we shall start. I was thinking that April would be a good month to choose. What do you say?"

Eduard and Franklin agreed. Diana demurred:

"I shall have to get leave of absence from my employer, first!"

"Your contract with the firm is quite clear upon that matter," retorted Scherer.

Diana looked pensive and remained so for the rest of the evening. The prince, as he contemplated her, realized how closely attuned she was to nature, to the sea and the wind and the sun. When Scherer left her to rejoin Franklin, who wished to have further particulars as to the length of the voyage, the prince and the Russian moved forward to her side, and the three thus stood grouped in the middle of the room.

"Are you going, too?" asked Diana, including both men in her glance.

"I'm entirely at your orders," answered the prince, assuming a certain military rigidity of pose.

The Russian laughed:

"Your orders! So German!"

"But only to those in authority," said the prince curtly.

"Is this fair lady...?" began Sergievitch.

"Only in the realm of ideas," Diana was quick to rejoin with a merry laugh. "Not in nature! And you?"

"I would pray for personal liberty," said the Russian proudly, his anarchist spirit rising in the ascendant.

"At your orders," retorted Diana coldly, looking through him haughtily as he bowed his acknowledgment.

Then she turned with a pleasant smile towards the prince.

BOOK FIVE