by them either unplayable or unmusical; and,
finally, the whole number came to an agreement of scorn regarding one
fantastical episode--an analysis of Hamlet's yearning to know the mind
of his father, and a suggestion of his own indecision and unbalanced
mentality. This, a passage of some thirty bars, was universally declared
to be contrary to every known law or license possible to composition.

To this superior, scoffing company of weaklings Ivan, always
gentle-mannered, shrinking from argument or petty conflict as other men
from a nagging woman's tongue, undertook, by rehearsing, to explain his
heart's work. Had it not been for Nicholas, he would soon have left the
field to his opponents. Upborne by the conductor, he did manage to
endure two rehearsals. The evening after the second, however, found him,
haggard and white-faced, in the old apartment, pleading with Rubinstein,
in the presence of Laroche, to give the whole thing up, to strike his
name from the programme.

Rubinstein stoutly refused; and, the more he was entreated, the more
stubborn did he grow, till he had actually argued himself from a
position of doubt into a mulish insistence that if they played nothing
else that day, Ophelia should be properly rendered. Indeed by his
yielding, Ivan had unconsciously brought about the thing he had in his
own heart desperately desired.

At a little past midnight he left his former home, somewhat comforted in
heart and mind. However, he went to no more rehearsals; and speedily
gave his associates to understand that he wished the subject avoided;
though he failed to notice that his wishes were also Rubinstein's.
Nicholas, however, was harassed to a point of fury with all the world.
Never in his life had he encountered such insubordination among his men.
He set out to quell it persistently but tactlessly, regardless alike of
the temper of his prospective audience, and of the highest interests of
the boy whom he had taught, protected, and now unselfishly admired. He
was perhaps more wretched than Ivan. For that youth had temporarily
thrust this subject away from him and was dreaming day and night of his
opera, and of the word that was to come from Zaremba; that word of
absolute capitulation that should make the performance of Ophelia a mere
episode, barely worth considering.

All too speedily for the unhappy conductor came the afternoon of his
fifth symphony concert. By two o'clock pit and stalls were black with
people.