and composed music of his own which, although it was not radiant
like that of Franz, was full of brilliance and not without a certain
compelling power. Albrecht revolved in his mind how he might ruin Franz.
He tried to excite the envy of the courtiers against him, but Franz was
such a modest fellow, so kindly and good-natured, that it was not easy
to make people dislike him. Nevertheless there were many who were
tired of hearing him praised, and many who were secretly tired of the
perpetual beauty and radiance of Franz's music, and wished for something
new even though it should be ugly.

"An opportunity soon presented itself for Albrecht to carry out his evil
and envious designs. The Court Kapellmeister died, and not long after
this event a great feast was to be held at Court to celebrate Princess
Kunigmunde's birthday. The Emperor had offered a prize, a wreath of gilt
laurels, as well as the post of Court Kapellmeister to him who should
compose the most beautiful piece of music in his daughter's honour.
Franz seemed so certain of success that nobody even dared to compete
with him except Albrecht.

"When the hour of the contest came--it took place in the great
throne-room before the Emperor, the Empress, their sons, their
daughters, and the whole court after the banquet--Franz was the first
to display his work. He sat down at the clavichord and sang what he had
composed in honour of the Princess. He had made three little songs for
her. Franz had not much voice, but it had a peculiar wail in it, and he
sang, like the born and trained musician that he was, with that absolute
mastery over his means, that certain perfection of utterance, that power
of conveying, to the shade of a shade, the inmost spirit and meaning
of the music which only belong to those great and rare artists whose
perfect art is alive with the inspiration that cannot be learnt.

"The first song he sang was the call of a home-going shepherd to
his flock on the hills at sunset, and when he sang it he brought the
largeness of the dying evening and the solemn hills into the elegant
throne-room. The second song was the cry of a lonely fisherman on the
river at midnight, and as he sang it he brought the mystery of broad
starlit waters into the taper-lit, gilded hall. The third song was the
song of the happy lover in the orchard at dawn. And when he sang it
he brought the smell of dewy leaves and grass, the soaring radiance
of spring and early morning, to tha