My Austrian Love

nished I felt when I found myself next morning in Mr. Doblana's studio, carefully rummaging his drawers in search of the manuscript of his ballet Griseldis. I h

that I am a discreet person-a conversation between Mr. Doblana and the Herr Graf. It had taken plac

s. It gives this story, which otherwise would be quite pleasant, an almost scientific ap

an by the actual disappearance or destruction of its manuscript. A hostile report may mean its definite ruin. But once the idea had struck me that Mr. Doblana's strange calamity w

ng the slightest trace of the manuscript, I decided that I was right. I further concluded that th

t tied to a collaborator of so high a position as the Herr Graf he could not well take such a step without consulting him. Clearly Doblana had not obtained his support, a prominent memb

free Mitzi from the suspicion which lay upon her. From what I knew, it was absol

w

s the

ge on which the whole business turned. From the beginning I had conceived it so, and hard as I tried to get rid of this idea, it always came back to me: Giulay had sent the wire, in spite of his denial, knowing quite well

here was no probability of getting Mitzi to divest herself of the prejudice she had in favour of the ugly Hungarian. If I had expressed but a little of my

hat Fanny was absent on a holiday. At one moment I suspected the plump servant girl of being Giulay's accomplice. What if her going to visit her dying mother had only been a feint? Suppose that s

to tell them why I asked the question, they did not think as hard as I should have liked. They could not remember. And Mitzi who, of course,

n, they have no friends to call upon, they have no letters to write, no plays to see, no books to read, they hardly ever rest, and they wash, dress, eat, and sleep only when it is necessary for the conduct of the case. This is all untrue; in r

ing was the best way to learn how to do it. The opera would certainly not be performed, but that did not matter, as I wa

ther parrot-like from what Bischoff had said to me, namely, that it would be "a tissue of terror, of trembling, of anxious forebodings an

e an opera, but that he never had been able to find a libre

myself unable to express the local colour was too great. I was afraid of failing in o

m no Sco

ed it Hampshtead with his undeniable Austri

not tell that to a London

sake. Have you any ide

Auld Lan

sition of your great work, to write a few Scotch songs as an exerc

ort time at the rate of a song a day. Modest as I am, I must nevertheless confess that they are not bad, considering that I am ... no, that I was a British composer. British composers have been told so many times about their having no talent that they have come to believe it. But it is not true. We have quite as much heart and feeling and imagination as

e the man, wit

to himself

own, my n

ath ne'er wit

footsteps he

ng on a fore

a drawer in a nice cosy house in Belsize Park. They sleep, but they are not dead. They

o

me by an old aunt. They are full of war pictures which she forwards to me so that I may have an idea how things

signs Thirza Ellaline de Jones, and is

endship, for I am myself a lonely maiden. I often think how awful it must be for you to have nobody to think of, and that in y

ted under the fire of the guns, could after the war lead to a more pleasant union. I am scarcely of middle age, but I look much younger than I am, and I feel younger still. I do not enclose my photo, for I think that men who have gone through the serious bus

urn, and you w

rs e

llaline d

es of wax on the back show that it is r

d Levy, who offer the highest prices for

ird one is

you are used to, namely, that of Doctor Lahmann. I would have sent you some, but I find that their place in Holborn has disappeared. They have probably been wound up by our Gover

she does is a holy duty, which I think is rubbish. I suspect father of being in the secret and resent his hiding it from me. Still, I must say th

march played in the middle of the battlefield, instead of leaving you quiet and cosy i

the

oins a ha

arlin

at I have scarcely the time to write. I will only add to what your mother says, that a word to the wise will be sufficient. Bean is the dearest

kisses fro

el Co

ump! I confess that this opens persp

ou will be able to calculate that she is twenty. And I suppose that it is also twenty years since

of her musical performances. She is very shy, not generally, but in matters musical, and would never dare to sing or to play to a composer, even to an abdicated one. She plays tennis, but is no good at bridge. She writes many unimportant letters, all exceedingly short, and never reads a book, nor anything else. She spends

d of in books. She is more a vegetable than a flower; as a flower she is onl

elf quite capable of marrying her, and even of being a good husband to her, if it were absolutely nec

ike me to exchange ideas with a female, I would rather do it with Bean who has none, than with Thirza Ellaline who has less. As for the reason why I do all these "sanguinary deeds

I add, not because of Bean's income which is probably twenty times bigger, a fact that I could overlook

by the band of the Salvation Army has but little to do with it. Weeping under such stress has happened to more hardened people. Now there comes the news of her growing plump. But it comes as a mere abstraction, for I feel unable to imagine

l you how

's in the Highlands, my heart is not here." There was such an ardent longing in her voice, such a desire of seeing again the mountains covered with snow and the "wild-hanging woods," and to hear once more the "loud-pouring torrents." It was all so true, so sincere. I made her sing it again and again. She appreciated Burns' words. Sh

ing my song was equalled by mine at hearing her. When she had performe

felt her hand c

nd terror at once filled my heart. I gazed at her, and in the twilight I saw a tender s

t a little," I said, "t

a is a town that goes to sleep very early, thanks to a twopenny fine imposed on each inhabitant who comes home after ten o'clock. The sky was clear and the moon looked like a round silver cake from which s

by now into what our companionship little by little had grown. My heart was throbbing, hers probably

ed at it as if it had been the goal of our pilgrimage. We were as if transported. We were silent and gazed at Schubert as if he were something new and delightful, as if he were a new invention of the h

zi began to

een lying longingly at her door, and had voicelessly cherished her, the love, my love, broke f

u, Mitzi,

ppiness, for I felt that I was her's, vanquished, beaten by her charm

s to last? Fate, cruel, inexorable fate, had allowed me one minute, one single minut

factories. In Vienna there are still bootmakers. Their Company having from entrance fees, fines, and so on, acquired some money which was employed in the purchase of land, became known, because of the rise in the value of property, to have amassed enormous wealth. The bootmakers are still divided into m

mischief they will leave undone, if they see a possibility of its performance. There is no cheeky remark they will

. I could have thrown myself upon him and given him the thrash

ack beard on his chin, and with his mocking expression he reminded me of the Frenchman who at Salzburg had made room