A Night in the Cathedral
Franz Hoffner’s father was kappelmeister; and the old cathedral with its grained arches and cloistered aisles resounded with rare music, as the organist took his seat, and run his fingers over the keys with the careless ease of one who knows not only to control, but to infuse something of his own spirit into the otherwise senseless machine before him. Under his inspiration it became a living, breathing form; lifting the hearts of worshippers, and giving them glimpses of what is hereafter to be obtained.
Herr Hoffner was a rare musician; but, alas, musicians are no exception to the rule: the wheel is always turning; one goes up and another goes down. A new star had risen. Court belles and beauties grew enthusiastic. The elector’s heart was touched; his influence was asked. “Herr Hoffner has been here long enough,” it was said. There was a twinge of the electoral conscience.
Herr Hoffner went to his house a ruined man; and the new favorite, Carl Von Stein, played upon the keys so dear to the heart of the old organist.
Herr Hoffner had a wife and two lovely children; and one would suppose that he could live in the beautiful cottage the elector had given him, independent of the favorite. But no; deprived of his old instrument all else was lost to him. For hours would he sit before his humble door, heedless of his wife’s entreaties or the childish prattle of Franz and Nanette; his eye riveted on the old cathedral, and his hands playing nervously, as though cheating himself with the idea he was still at the organ. Then roused by a sudden inspiration, he would rush to the piano and play till his hands dropped from mere exhaustion.
Franz and Nanette loved music, and they could play skilfully, but they were all too young to be of service; and thus they lived cut off from all outward influences befitting their age; loving music above everything else, and yearning for the time when they could go out and win for their father, as he had once done for them.
Years passed. Franz Hoffner was a tall, slight boy, and his father was blind. Sitting at his cottage door he could no longer see the tall towers of the old cathedral, but he could hear the chime of stately bells—and his fingers played on: while Franz and Nanette not unfrequently climbed up the winding stairs, just to beg Herr Von Stein to let them touch the keys their father used to love.
It happened one day the organist went out and left the key in the lock. Franz entered with the evening worshippers. A nameless feeling seized him. Urged on by the sudden impulse, he mounted the stairs. He did not dream of playing, he only thought of the organ as his father’s friend; and to seat himself on the stool where his father had so often sat was all he aimed to do. A moment, and he spied the key; would there be any harm in raising the lid and playing himself? Herr Von Stein had never denied him. He grew courageous. A few chords and Franz forgot that his father would be expecting him; piece after piece was played till his memory could serve him no longer, and then he began to improvise.
All at once heavy shadows were cast over the keys: he looked down into the church, it was dark and still. A strange awe seized him, he felt that it was night; and the great doors locked. Hastily as his trembling limbs would allow, he crept down the stairs. Darkness shrouded the aisles. He reached the doors, they were barred and bolted. What would his father say? and Nanette, would she think where he was, and rouse the old door-keeper?
High up through the tower-window he caught sight of a star; and the moon poured her silver radiance full on the face of the organ. Creeping up the stairs, he once more opened the instrument. Surely some one would hear him if he played, and Nanette he knew would not leave him to stay in the old cathedral alone.
Hours passed: the full moon cast her splendor on a sweet child-face bent over the keys in the organ-loft of the old cathedral, a smile still played about his lips, and his light brown hair lay in rings on his broad, white forehead. Franz was asleep, and while asleep he dreamed.
A beautiful lady, he thought, came to the cottage; she had a sweet, lovely face, but so sad that Franz wondered what sorrow could have come to one so rich and beautiful. The lady caught the expression of his eye, and slipping her arm around him, drew him still nearer.
“You think because I am rich that I must be happy. Learn then, my child, that wealth does not bring happiness; neither does beauty win lasting favor. To be good is to be rich, and it also makes us beautiful. The power that we have in ourselves is far superior to the outward circumstances that surround us.”
“My father had this power,” replied Franz. “You see it did not profit him; for when he thought himself secure as kappelmeister, the elector gave his place to another, and now he is growing old and blind.”
“Is this so?” exclaimed the lady, a warm light flashing into her gray eye. “Did the elector give his place to another?”
“Indeed, he did; and it broke my father’s heart,” replied Franz. “Since then, we have neither of us known pleasure; only when we go to the cathedral, Nanette and me; and when we return, our father never tires of asking questions.”
“This must not always be,” replied the lady. “Will you come with me, my child, and it is possible we can show you a way whereby you can do something for a father whom you so much love.”
“I will go with you,” replied Franz; “but I must not be gone long, for my father will miss me when he wakes.”
Then Franz gave his hand to the beautiful lady, and she led him by a smooth way through the most lovely wood; tall trees, filled with singing birds, skirted the banks of clear, running streams, while flowering shrubs and vines flung their perfume to the air. At length she came to a gate so strong and high Franz thought it would be impossible to open it. But as they approached, it seemed to swing back noiselessly on its hinges. Franz saw there was a lodge there, with a gray-haired man, and little children playing before the door, and as the lady passed all bowed to her.
Presently they came in sight of a magnificent castle, its walls white and glistening; while the sunlight glinting against the deep windows, flashed and scintillated like a bed of diamonds. As they came nearer, the lady left the broad road, and wound along a narrow path, and came to a little postern gate, and up a broad marble terrace, with sparkling fountains, and with flowers brighter than he had seen before, and birds of gay plumage flashing their beauty through the tree-tops. At the top of the terrace she gave him into the care of an elderly man, with a white flowing beard and eyes full of tenderness. A few words were said, and the old man took Franz by the hand and led him into a room, the floor of which was marble, smooth as glass, while the walls were green and gold. In the centre was a marble basin or pool, with steps leading down; the atmosphere was dim by reason of a sweet and subtle perfume rising from the water. Franz was hardly conscious till he came out of the bath; then his hair was carefully dressed, and a new suit of clothes was brought him.
He had only time to look at himself in the mirror, when the lady returned. She was dressed in a rich white silk, covered with lace and sprinkled with pearls and diamonds. On her head she wore a crown; bright and sparkling as it was, it was not half so beautiful as the sweet face that beamed below it. The deep traces of sorrow were gone, she looked like one happy in the consciousness of a good deed done, and a sweet smile was on her lip as she held out her hand to Franz. Together they walked down the marble hall and up the broad staircase, on through rows of stately ladies and martial-looking men, the crowd opening and bowing as they passed.
At length they came to a room larger, more magnificent than the rest. Persian carpets covered the floor, and the windows were draped with blue and gold. On a dais at the extremity of the room was an oaken chair of quaint device, in which sat a proud-looking man, pale and careworn as though weary of so much state and ceremony.
“My child,” said the prince, “Do you feel like playing for me? I am too weak to go to the cathedral, and I fancy if I can hear you play I shall feel better.”
Franz was a timid boy, but he loved to please. He was always ready to play for his father. He glanced at the lady, there was a sweet smile resting on her face. Dropping on his knee Franz kissed the hand of the prince. “I will do my best, since you are so good as to ask me.”
Franz looked up, and saw what he had not seen before, an organ quite like the one his father so loved.
“Play just as you do in the old cathedral,” whispered the lady, and then she seated herself in a chair by the side of the prince. Franz saw nothing but the keys, he heard nothing but the sweet soul harmony, and this he must interpret to the beautiful lady and the sick prince by means of his instrument. How long he played he never knew, but when he ceased a slight hand lay on his shoulder, and a sweet face bent above him.
“To do good, Franz, is the secret of happiness. This power is yours, and so long as you use it, so long you will be happy. The dear, heavenly Father watches over and cares for those whose lives are given for the good of others.” Saying this she led him away to the prince. But what was Franz’s surprise! beside him on his right hand were Franz’s father and mother, no longer blind, but dressed in costly robes, their faces radiant with happiness, while Nanette looked charmingly, in a white gauze dress and silver slippers. Franz was bewildered, not knowing whether to advance towards the prince, or to run and embrace his parents.
“This is the reward of obedience to your parents,” said the lady, kissing the boy’s white forehead.
The light of day came streaming through the tower window—the child awoke. It was cold. A chill ran through his frame. He had been in the cathedral all night, and his parents—what anguish they must have endured. Hastily as his numbed limbs would allow, he went down the stairs. A few worshippers were bowing before the altar; Franz dropped on his knees a moment, and then ran with all his speed out of the door and down the street.
Very glad were Franz’s parents when he returned, and Nanette wept for joy; but when at breakfast he related his dream, the face of the old organist lit up with a great hope.
“I know, my boy, it will all come true. So long as we love and trust Him, the good Christ will not leave us to suffer.”
Christmas had come. There were no presents for Franz and Nanette. Only one could they make, and this was a nice, warm dressing-gown for their blind father.
One day a beautiful lady took refuge in the cottage; her carriage had broken down, and she must stop till the postilion could return to the castle. At the cottage she heard Franz play and Nanette sing, and listened to the blind organist, as the cathedral bells broke on the evening air.
“You must come with me,” said the lady. “We have been planning concerts at the castle, and you shall give them.”
“My children are not old enough to go by themselves, and I am blind,” replied the father.
“I will not deprive you of your children,” said the lady; “my father has influence. And besides, he has near him an eminent physician; it is possible something can be done to restore your sight.”
In three days the lady returned, and carried Herr Hoffner with his wife and children to the castle. Charmed with the young musicians, the elector repented of the thoughtless deed, in depriving the father of his position as kappelmeister. Very tenderly did he treat him now, and under the care of the skilful physician, it was soon announced there was hope of his recovering his sight. This done, he was once more offered the position; but Herr Hoffner was a just man; to do by others as he would be done by was his motto. Herr Von Stein had filled the post acceptably; it was no fault of his that the old organist had lost his place. Herr Hoffner would not accept it, but only asked that he might be allowed to give concerts with his children. Franz labored diligently at his studies, and already was he beginning to surprise his friends, not only with his playing, but with his composition.
Years passed: there was a great gathering in that grand old capital. A musical festival was in progress, and all the celebrities the world over had congregated there. Franz Hoffner was in the zenith of his glory. At the close of the performance, and while the entire audience joined in acclamations of praise to the youthful leader, a rich medal was presented. On one side the profile view of the elector and his daughter, set round with diamonds; on the other, “Music is only valuable as it lifts the heart and purifies our fallen nature.”
Franz Hoffner lived to be a great musician; but he never ceased to think of his parents and Nanette. Honors were empty, and applause vain, only so far as they contributed to the happiness of those he loved.