t, is a sin
against the divinity of genius. Don't you think so too, Fraulein?"

She looked at him intently, without opening her lips.

"But," he continued, "there's a false modesty too. Many a great man
would never have believed in his own talents, if kind friends had not
discovered them. Other gifts are, as it were, trampled under foot in
the crowd, through malice and envy--men are very envious, Fraulein,
Germans especially. I allude of course to the common envy of trade,
which is no more allied to the ideal, high-souled envy, than a
toad-stool is to a truffle--in short it's not easy for every man to
know what's in him. My eyes have gradually been opened to the fact that
my talent for rhyming amounts to nothing. But music, music! I play the
piano very poorly and my voice is like a raven's; but in regard to the
gift of composition, it always seems to me that I can compare very
favorably with the shallow composers of waltzes, or writers of street
songs. As for yourself, Fraeulein--pardon me for having listened to
your playing; you confided your musical confessions to the quiet
courtyard--I--I have the deepest reverence for your talent--for--how
shall I express it?--for the strong nature expressed in your style of
playing. Now you see--I have just finished--for a long time I have been
engaged on a great composition, which I have sometimes called--it's
only a fancy, or rather a bad joke--my _sinfonia ironica_. You
understand: so far, none of it has been written out, but in my head
everything is as good as ready for the press--except the
instrumentation. Musicians to whom I've now and then played parts of
it, have usually been bigoted adherents of some particular school. I
must confess that I gave none of them credit for really entering into
the spirit of the work. With you the case is wholly different. I would
wager, that if you would only give me an hour--"

"Sir," she interrupted, "you over-estimate my knowledge and judgment. I
sincerely regret--"

"Pray do me the favor, Fraeulein, not to condemn me unheard. I ask
nothing more than that you will listen to the first few bars, where the
irony is still in the stage of oppression and grief--C. minor, which
afterwards changes into F.--"

"I've never been able to understand the so-called language of music,"
she answered curtly. "So it would be better--"

"Do you dislike the title? Very well! I'll give it up. It shall merely
be absolute music, like any other. I'll submit