his
own realm; he turned to the song; he chose the clear, restrained forms
of chamber music; he studied with unwavering industry the old masters;
he deduced from their works the right rules of composition; and he set
these up before him like a dam against arbitrariness and aesthetic
demoralisation.

He was not unmindful of the fact that by so doing he was cutting himself
off from association with men, and renouncing, probably forever, the
satisfaction that comes from monetary reward and outward success. He
knew, too, that he was not making his life easier by adopting this
course, nor was he gaining the popular favour of the emotionalists.

When he would sit in a cafe late at night and show Wurzelmann one score
after another, sing a few bars in order to bring out the quality of a
song, improvise an accompaniment, praise a melody, or explain the
peculiarity of a certain rhythm, he surprised the little slave, and
drove him into an attitude of self-defence. All this was fundamentally
new to Wurzelmann. If Daniel proved that the new was not new after all,
that the trouble lay in the fact that the deranged and shattered souls
of the present century had lost the power to assimilate unbroken lines
in their complete purity, Wurzelmann at once became an advocate of
modern freedom, insisting that each individual should be allowed to do
all that his innate talent enabled him to vindicate.

Daniel remained unconvinced. Was not the whole of life, the rich
contents of human existence, to be found in the beautiful vessel that
had been proved long ago? Could any one say that he was displaying a
spirit of greediness in his love for the classical? And were joy and
sorrow, however intense, less perceptible when expressed through a
concise, well ordered medium? "What a distorted view a man takes when he
becomes so narrow-minded," thought Daniel. "His ambition makes it
impossible for him to feel; his very wit militates against clear
thinking."

Thus they went from town to town, month after month, year after year.
The company had in time its traditions, its _chronique scandaleuse_, its
oft-tested drawing cards, its regular patrons, its favourite stands, and
its stands that it avoided if humanly possible.

The local paper greeted them editorially; the children stood on the
sidewalks to gape their fill at the ladies from the theatre; the retired
major bought a reserved seat for the first performance; the barber
offered his services; and