THE WALTZ MOVEMENT.

Cromwell Argus, Volume XXXVII, Issue 2008, 1 October 1906, Page 2

THE WALTZ MOVEMENT.

BY GUY DEXEREL.

Bernard played idly the last passage of the hunting song which he was fond of running over in idle moments, and left the piano to sit opposite Arabella, the work-table being just between them. It was a dreary n'ght ; Vida, pale and fairhaired, as she crossed the room to take her place on the piano stool just vacated by Bernard, stopped for a moment, drew aside the curtain and looked out. The fact is, they were all restless—Bernard and Arabella because the decision in regard to the symphony was to be given out at the Conservatory to-morrow, and Vida for no particular reason, except that they were so. Arabella —plain but sweet-faced, always gentle, always tranquil—embroidered placidly on. Women and music, as we know, are not dated ; but there is, after all. little need. If Bernard was 23, she was at least 28—always solicitous, always encouraging, always firm in her faith in his future. With a grave sort of smile she glanced at him again, and he, looking up suddenly, caught the transitory inspection. "I know what you are thinking," he said, slightly abashed, and perhaps vexed. "You are thinking that I cannot sit still. Well, it is true, but how could you expect me ? I feel that ray symphony will not win the prize at the Conservatory tomorrow, and yet. lam just as anxious as if I had a chance. The thing is crude —it is ugly—it is puerile." Vida suddenly played a few bars of a very pretty waltz movement ; it was singularly original and joyous, with a plaintiff undercurrent. They listened, surp-ised. It was from the symphony. "1 did not know you had practiced it, Vida," exclaimed Bernard. "This is only by ear," she explained . "She is cleverer than you thought" said Arabella. "Don't say clever," returned Bernard. "It means mediocrity, for everybody is clever nowadays. But I acknowledge that T did not imagine T had a disciple." "Two humble admirers who will be very proud of you one day," answered Arabella. "Even if the symphony shoidd fail you will be successful in the end. It is only an affair of patience. I give myself no concern." "Except, of course, dear Arabella, that if 1 win I must go away. The condition, as you know, is that the successful competitor is to spend two years in Europe to study. T hope you will see me leave with regret—both of you." The waltz had stopped. Vida sat with one hand idly on the keys, and the other pushing back her hair, which was always tangled at the temples. "He must not compel me to say that, must he Vida ?" .said the older woman. She had been everything to Bernard Denison—cared for him in his childhood, although he was, afte~ all, but a years younger than herself educated him, had his musical talent developed, cherished him in all the ways of life. His dream and hope of the success of the symphony in the competition was nothing to hers. She had prayed for it night and morning in secret hours. If he won the prize it meant a separation, the anguish of the thought of which to her he little suspected. But Arabella smiled lightly while he leaned over and talked to her in impassioned murmurs, and Vida's slender fingers strayed over the keys in careless and dreamy improvisations. Bernard and Arabella were among the earliest at the Institute next day. The expectant crowd of pupils, their parents and friends, soon filled the seats. Musicians and idly curious and the reporters of the newspapers had flocked in. There was a hush when the proceedings opened, and the director, Heinrich Daath, with his large, enthusiastic eyes and his flowing iron-gray hair, came forward, holding a paper in his hand. He read somewhat rapidly the preliminary explaining the plan upon which the prize was to be given out. Then he said the prize for the best musical composition had been awarded to Bernard Denison. There was loud applause and every one looked round. Where was he ? He was sitting by Arabella, nearly stupefied, his hand in hers, and she smiling through two great tears. They were congratulated as they went "out. The symphony was to be performed in public next Saturday afternoon. Thanking everybody they pushed through the crowd, and going up Charles street, took the car uptown. Bernard stood on the platform to smoke a cigarette—he must do it to contain himself. Arabella sat inside and found herself next to Madame Pracht, teacher of singing and former member of the opera. Arabella told her the news—think of it—so young a man, the composer of a perfectly original symphony. "1 congratulate; you, my dwar. I know Mr. Daath was happy to give it to him, for he is one gifted and kind-hearted man, though nervous sometimes, you understand. He and his wife are so much attached, perhaps the more because they have no children. You might think it strange too, for the wife is 10 years older than the husband. She made him—he owes everything to her. He has never forgotten the debt." Arabella's hear! gave a little leap; she was afraid thai her face might betray her. But Madame Pracht saw nothing ; she went on talking of Mr. Daath, who was so tine a man. At home Vida received the news very calmly. She always knew it would be so. she said, and in proof of her intruition she had got ready a special dinner to which all three sat down. They were intense days, those following for Bernard did not know how it would prove with the symphony in the performance. Uu did not mind the public : but his thoughts were of the musicians ; and the critics. No matter how much .merit there was in his work they would treat, it with derision, for how could so young a man possibly write a symphony ? Tt was to be taken no more seriously than a young poet's first tragedy. Saturday came, and with it a great crowd, quite filling the concert room of the institute. Bernard had thought he was to be asked to direct but it was not the case. I'roh-'ssor Daath preferred to direct himself —a great compliment from this gifted composer, who had himself written symphonies, oratoriwe, tuid even operas^

Bernard sat between the two giris in a quiet corner of the hall where they would be least observed. As the director waved his wand and the composition opened he felt his heart tighten and a vertigo in his brain. The opening was low and soft, anil as one instrument followed another into the arena—violins, horns, flutes and what not—and the melody swelled and deepened there could be no mistaking the pleasure of the audience. It was over —a prodigious success. They were on their way homeward, and had decided to walk a short distance before taking the car, and so, chatting radiantly and triumphatly, they went that memorable evening, with the twilight falling, the crowd of promenaders moving in the crisp, winter air through Washington Place Square and the lights and the brilliant people. The whole world seemed happy. At home at last ! The evening meal was being prepared. Arabella sat in her old place in the little back sitting room, while Vida, with Bernard at her side in the parlour, took her seat at the piano and played the waltz measure which she had learned by ear. After about 15 minutes Bernard stole over to where Arabella was sitting, and, bending over her, with his hand on her shoidder, he whispered : "How much I owe you, dea- Arabella ! Everything in my life ! All has come through you." She raised her own hand and laid it softly in his. "There is only one thing more." She did not reply. "But one thing more, and although I owe you so much, you will not refuse. Vida and I have just been talking of it. Hark to that waltz! How pretty it sounds under her delicate touch !" It was the waltz of the symphony, with its gay and brilliant melody, and the vague and mysterious murmurings of pain underneath. Both listened to the enchanting measure. Never had it seemed to exercise so potent a spell. "What I am going to ask," he resumed, "can be no surprise. You must have seen—must have discerned. Vida has promised to be my wife and we ask your consent." Arabella uttered a faint cry—her face was pale—he thought she was about to faint. But in a moment she smiled. "Ah ! I see," he said, "the joy was too much for you. You are better, are you not ? Lot me call Vida" He went quickly and summoned her, and the two stood by Arabella's side, perfectly happy. "You are better, dear Arabella ?"' he asked, anxiously. "Better —yes !" she answered. "The joy has been too much for me.-