Chapter VII: Evening the Third

STRASBURG.--A MEMORABLE CHRISTMAS.--THE STORY OF THE LOST ORGANIST.

Our third night upon the Rhine was spent at Strasburg.

"The cathedral is the wonder of the city. The excursionist thinks of but little else during his stay there. Wherever he may be, the gigantic church is always in view. He beholds it towering over all.

"Its history is that of Germany. It grew with the German empire, and has shared all its triumphs and reverses. It was founded by Clovis. It has been imperilled by lightning some fifty times, and has as often repelled the shocks of war. In the tenth century it was burned; in the eleventh, plundered; and five years after it was nearly demolished by lightning.

"It was after the last calamity that the present structure was begun. At one time a _hundred thousand_ men were employed upon it: can we wonder that it is colossal?

"The giant grew. In 1140, 1150, and 1176 it was partly burned, but it rose from the flames always more great, lofty, and splendid.

"Indulgences were offered to donors and workmen; to contributors of all kinds. Men earned, or thought they earned, their salvation by adding their mites to the spreading magnificence. In 1303 it is said that all the peasants of Alsace might be seen drawing stone into Strasburg for the cathedral. Master builder succeeded master builder,--died,--but the great work went on. In the French Revolution the Jacobins tore from the cathedral the statues of two hundred and thirty saints; but it was still a city of saints in stone and marble. In 1870, in the Franco-Prussian war, its roof was perforated with shells, and on the 25th of August it burst into flames, and it was telegraphed over the world that the great cathedral was destroyed. But it stands to-day, majestic, regal, and beautiful, its spire piercing the sky.

"We visited the cathedral in the afternoon. We were at once filled with wonder at the windows. They burned with color, and seemed to hang in air amid the shadows of the lofty walls. They represented scriptural subjects.

"I was standing in awe, gazing upon a gorgeous circular window that seemed to blaze in the air like a planet, when Charlie touched my arm.

"'The clock?'

"'What?'

"'Can we not go up and see the fixings, and how it is all done?'

"'I am not thinking of that _toy_,' said I; 'you stand in a monument of art that it has taken a thousand years to build.'

"'Yes; I hope we shall be here to-morrow when the Twelve Apostles come out and the cock crows _at_ Peter.'"

A MEMORABLE CHRISTMAS.

The soldiers of Aurelian, the Roman emperor, used to sing,--

"We have slain a thousand Franks."

* * * * *

"We have cut off the heads of a thousand, thousand, thousand,
thousand.
One man hath cut off the heads of a thousand, thousand, thousand,
thousand, thousand;
May he live a thousand years."

The Franks came out of the North, and established themselves in Gaul
and Germania during the period of the early Roman emperors. Their
most renowned king was Clovis, with whom began the empire of France.
He was a savage and passionate man, born to command and to conquer.
He was a heathen. It is related of him that once, when he had
enriched himself with spoils from some of the early Christian
churches, the Bishop of Rheims desired that he would return a valued
vase that had been taken from the cathedral.

"Follow us to Soissons," said Clovis; "there the booty will be
divided."

In the division of the booty, a high-spirited and selfish Frankish
chieftain objected to the bishop's claim, and, to show his contempt
for him and the Church, struck the vase with his battle-axe. Clovis
was offended. He gave the bishop the vase, and soon after avenged
the insult by striking the chieftain dead with his own battle-axe,
saying,--

"Thus didst thou to the vase at Soissons."

His wife, Clotilde, was a Christian, and she often tried to persuade
him to embrace the Christian faith.

In 496 the Allemannians, a German confederation, who had been
assailing the Roman colonies on the Rhine, crossed the river, and
invaded the territory of the Franks. Clovis met the invaders near
Cologne. A severe battle followed. Clovis was hard pressed.

He called upon his gods, but they did not answer him. He saw he
was in danger of being utterly defeated and losing his army.

He had with him a servant of the queen.

"My Lord King," said this man, "believe only on the Lord of heaven,
whom the queen, my mistress, preacheth."

Clovis raised his eyes in hope towards heaven,--

"Christ Jesus, thou whom my queen Clotilde calleth the Son of God, I
have called upon my own gods, and they have left me. Thee I invoke.
Give me victory, and I will believe in thee, proclaim thee to my
people, and be baptized in thy name."

The tide of battle now suddenly turned, the Allemannians were
beaten, and their king was slain.

When his queen had learned of his vow, she sent for the Bishop of
Rheims to instruct him in Christianity. He publicly renounced his
gods, and his people at the same time accepted the queen's faith.

Christmas Day, 496, will be ever memorable in Christian history; it
was on that day that the King of the Franks was baptized.

The occasion was one of barbaric splendor, and such as might be
expected of a warlike king in those rude times. The road from the
palace to the baptistery, over which the king was to pass, was
curtained with silk, mottoes, and banners, like a triumphal way. The
houses of Rheims were hung with festive ornaments, and the
baptistery itself was sprinkled with balm and "all manner of
perfume."

The procession moved from the palace like a pageant for a feast of
victory. The clergy led, bearing the Gospels, standards, and cross.
Hymns were chanted, as they swept along. Then came the Bishop of
Rheims, leading the king; after him, the rejoicing queen; and lastly
the neophytes who were to receive baptism with the king.

On the way, the king seemed impressed with the glittering pageant.

"Is this kingdom promised me?" he asked.

"No," said the bishop; "but it is the entrance to the road that
leads to it."

At the baptistery the bishop said to the king,--

"Lower your head with humility; adore what thou hast burned; burn
what thou hast adored."

Clovis was then solemnly baptized, and with him three thousand
warriors. With the imposing rite, Christianity in France began, and
with him began that great monument of the faith, Strasburg
Cathedral.

Charlie Leland furnished the most interesting story on this evening. It well illustrated features of German and French musical life that are unknown in America. In Germany and in the French provinces the organist of the town is a very important person. The choice of an organist in these towns is a very interesting event, and during the last century excited more discussion than at the present time.

THE YOUNG ORGANIST: A MYSTERY.

The towns on the Rhine are all famous for their organs, and proud of
the eminent organists they have had in the past. Each town points
with pride to some musical legend and history.

The story I have to tell is associated with an ancient provincial
town.

It is now hardly more than a small town, and possesses not above a
thousand inhabitants; but in the latter part of the last century it
was more than ten times its present size, and its church, now in
ruins, was then one of the most beautiful ever seen in that part of
the country.

This church was finished in the year 1795, and was for a long time
the great object of curiosity for miles around. It was of the Gothic
and Romanesque style of architecture, and was not only finely
proportioned on the exterior, but had within a magnificence of
decoration that astonished one more and more the longer he gazed
upon it.

The church, unlike some of the older ones standing at that time, had
a magnificent organ. This had been paid for by a separate
subscription, raised in small sums by the common people, and, having
been built by skilful workmen in Bordeaux, was at length set up in
the church amid considerable enthusiasm and excitement.

But who should play this grand instrument? How should a competent
organist be selected?

The people were greatly interested in the matter, and discussed it
on the corner of the _rues_, in the _brasseries_ or taverns; and for
a period of six or eight weeks you might be sure, if you saw more
than two people talking earnestly together, that they were
deliberating upon the choice of an organist.

Since the people, both high and low, had so freely contributed for
the purchase of the organ, it was thought very proper that they
should be allowed to choose a person to play it. And, the decision
being thus left to the multitude, the most feasible plan that was
suggested was that all should go, on an appointed day, to the
church, and should then listen to the playing of the various
candidates.

There were, in all, nearly a score of aspiring musicians in and near
the town; and each of these, hoping for a favorable decision for
himself, gave no end of little suppers and parties, so that the
influential ones among the townsmen fared sumptuously from all.

But out of the entire number there were two, between whom the choice
really lay. These were Baptiste Lacombe and Raoul Tegot.

The former of these had lived in the town only five years. He had
come from Bruges, so he said; and although he astonished everybody
by his skill, he had not been liked from the first. He was very
reserved and parsimonious, and his eye never met frankly the person
with whom he talked. But no harm was known of him, and he found in
Tranteigue plenty of exercise for his art.

Raoul Tegot, on the contrary, was a native of the town; and,
together with his young son, François, was beloved by all. He had
married one of the village maidens, and had been so inconsolable at
her death, which occurred when François was a baby, that he never
thought more of marriage, but devoted himself to his child and his
art.

He was certainly a very able musician, and, being so universally
liked, many people urged that a public performance be dispensed
with, and that he be elected at once. But although Baptiste Lacombe
was not _liked_, his _skill_ found many admirers; and, besides, it
was flattering to the worthy countryfolk to think of sitting
solemnly in judgment at the great church; and so the proposed plan
was adhered to.

Finally, the weeks of anticipation came to an end, the appointed day
was at hand, and, according to the arrangements previously made, at
nine o'clock in the forenoon the three great doors of the church
were swung open, and the throng, orderly and even dignified, entered
and filled the edifice.

The seats, which in French churches and cathedrals are movable, had
all been taken away, and the crowd quite filled the whole space. All
male inhabitants of the town who were over twenty years of age were
to vote, and each, the town officials and the poorest artisans
alike, had one ballot.

The great and beautiful organ took up nearly the whole of the large
gallery over the entrance, and extended up and up into the
clear-story until it was mingled with the supports of the roof.

In the organ-loft the candidates were crowded together in eager
expectation, and the glances that passed from one to another were
not the kindliest. Each of them had been allowed several hours, at
some time during the past week, for practice on the instrument; and
each doubtless considered himself deserving of the position.

Presently, when all was still, Monseigneur Jules Émile Gautier, a
very learned gentleman of the town, who had been chosen for that
purpose, ascended two steps of the stairway which curved up and
around the richly carved pulpit, and announced the name of the
person who was to begin.

I should not be able to give, in detail, the progress of the trial;
for the history of the affair is not minute enough for that. But
suffice it to say that the last name on the list was Raoul Tegot;
and the name immediately preceding it was that of Baptiste Lacombe.

At length, in his turn, Monsieur Lacombe, his iron-gray hair
disordered, his hands rubbing together nervously, and his eyes
flashing--as was afterwards remarked upon--with a malicious fire,
stepped forward and along to the organ-seat, and for a few moments
arranged his stops.

Then he began lightly and delicately, creeping up through the varied
registers of the noble instrument, blending the beautiful sounds
into wonderful combinations, now and then working in a sweet melody,
and then again upward until the grand harmonies of the full organ
rolled forth. There was something mysterious and awe-inspiring in
the effort. It seemed to the people that they had never heard music
before.

The music ceased. The people came back to their prosaic selves
again, looked in each other's faces, and said, with one breath,
"Wonderful!"

Gradually they recovered their sober judgment, and then, mingled
with the murmurs of admiration, were heard the remarks, "That is
fine, but Raoul Tegot will make us forget it!" "Yes, wait until you
hear Raoul Tegot!"

Soon Gautier ascended the two steps of the pulpit, and called the
name of their kind, generous townsman.

All waited breathlessly. All eyes were turned towards the
organ-loft. The musicians there looked around and at each other.
But poor Raoul Tegot could not be seen.

Where was he? The people waited and wondered, but he did not come.
Monsieur Baptiste Lacombe was greatly excited, and was wiping the
perspiration from his heated face. "Perhaps he was afraid to come,"
he ventured to remark to a man near him, at the same time looking
out of a window.

Several noticed his agitation; but they only said, "Ah, mon Dieu,
how he did play! No wonder that he is nervous."

The disquiet and confusion in the nave and aisles increased.

A messenger had been sent to look for the missing man; but he could
not be found.

What was to be done?

Finally, some friends of Monsieur Lacombe made bold to urge his
immediate election, declaring that he had far surpassed all
competitors; and they even hinted at cowardice on the part of Raoul
Tegot.

This insinuation was indignantly denied by Tegot's friends, who were
very numerous but helpless; they knew their friend too well to
believe him capable of such conduct. He was, they said, probably
detained somewhere by an accident.

But, wherever he was, he was _not_ present; and when a vote was
taken, hastily, by a showing of hands, Monsieur Baptiste Lacombe had
ten times as many ballots as any other person, and, of course, poor
Monsieur Tegot, not having competed, was not balloted for at all.

The people dispersed to their homes; some in vexation that their
favorite had not appeared, others in a little alarm at his strange
absence. Young François Tegot had not seen his father since early
morning, and could not conjecture where he might be.

The next day the missing organist did not appear, and his friends
began to inquire and to search for him; but they were wholly
unsuccessful. A little boy said that he had seen him go into the
church with Monsieur Lacombe early that morning; but Monsieur
Lacombe said, very distinctly and with some vehemence, that the
missing man had left the church an hour later to go to a cottage at
the edge of the town, where he was to give a lesson in singing.

So the affair lay wrapped in mystery. There were many surmises, but
nothing definite was known. A few expressed suspicion of the rival
candidate; but the suspicion was too great to be thrown rashly upon
anybody. Thus no progress in the inquiry was made. A human life did
not mean so much in those stormy days after the Revolution as
formerly; and the mysterious disappearance, without being in the
least cleared up, gradually faded from men's minds and passed out of
their conversation.

Months and years passed away, and nothing was known of the poor man.
His son, now come to the years of manhood, always declared that his
father would not have been absent from the trial willingly; and he
firmly believed that he had met with a violent death. More than this
he would not say; but sometimes when he looked towards Monsieur
Baptiste Lacombe,--still the respected organist of the church,--his
eyes were observed to flash meaningly.

There was to be a grand _fête_ in the church, and great preparation
was made. As the organ needed repairs, it was decided to repair it
thoroughly; and one of the builders from Bordeaux was sent for.

He was to come on Thursday; but he chanced to arrive the day before,
and was to begin work early the following morning. That night a
light glimmered out of the darkness of the gallery of the church.

Two days passed. The repairing of the organ went on; but there was
much to be done, and it might take a week. One afternoon, as
François passed through the centre of the village, two men came
hurriedly out of the town-house, and hastened away towards the
church. It was the organ-builder, very much excited, and one of the
officials of the town. The young man, venturing on his well-known
skill as an organist, followed them; and the three entered the
building. A few worshippers were at the great altar, and the sacred
edifice seemed unusually quiet and peaceful.

The organ-builder seemed too agitated to answer the questions that
the town official asked him, but led the way quickly to the
organ-loft. "Put your foot on that pedal!" he said excitedly,
pointing to a particular one of the scale.

The official was too bewildered to comply, and François did it for
him.

"Now try the next one!" said he.

François did so, but no sound came; only a queer, intermittent
rumbling, like a bounding and rebounding.

"It does not sound," said the organ-builder. "Follow me and I will
show you why."

"It never has sounded since the great trial-day, years ago,"
muttered the young man. But he followed on.

They clambered up a rickety staircase, a still more rickety ladder,
and came to a platform at a level with the top of the organ; and all
around them, reaching up out of the dim light below, were the open
pipes. Passing hurriedly around, on a narrow plank, to the back of
the organ, their agitated guide paused before a row of immense pedal
pipes, and, without allowing his own eyes to look, he held the light
that he carried for the others.

Both looked down into the cavernous tube that he indicated, and
both started back in surprise and fear.

"It is a man's legs!" gasped the frightened town official.

After the first moment of surprise had passed, they began to get
back their wits; and the young man advised that they send for
several strong men and lift out the pipe.

This seemed sensible, and in a half-hour the men were at hand and
the pipe was drawn down to the level of the organ-loft and laid
horizontally. The workmen had been informed of the nature of their
work, and all were under intense excitement. The pipe was very long,
and the body was at least five feet from the top. One of the workmen
reached in a pole having a hook at the end, and the next minute drew
forth the dead body of the sinister old organist, Baptiste Lacombe.

There was a pause of silent horror. Nobody cared particularly for
the dead man, but the manner of his death was terrible.

"How did it happen?" whispered one.

"Perhaps it was suicide," answered another.

They began more closely to examine the huge tube. François Tegot,
who, although thus far cooler than the others, now seemed unable to
stand, pointed to the hand of the dead man, which was tightly
clenched upon a small cord. One of the workmen approached, and with
some difficulty drew out the line: and a new thrill of expectation
went through the silent company when they saw, attached to the end
of the line, an old leather bundle covered with dust.

Young Tegot now seemed to master himself by a great effort, and,
motioning the workman back, he advanced, and, lifting the bag
tenderly out into a more convenient position, he said solemnly, as
if to himself, "I have long suspected something was wrong, and now I
shall know."

Then he examined the bag, and at length took from his pocket a knife
and carefully cut open one side.

Despite the fact that he expected the revelation that now came, he
started back, for the opening revealed a piece of cloth,--a coat,
which even the town official could recollect to be the coat of the
long-lost organist, Raoul Tegot, François's father.

The young man stepped back and sank again into his seat, and the
others, coming forward, laid the bag quite open, and drew forth a
watch and an embroidered vest; in a pocket of the coat was found a
purse. "Here is an odd treasure," said one of the workmen, holding
up a locket of dull gold.

François seized it and opened it. The color forsook his face and his
eyes filled with tears. He simply said,--

"My mother."

The town official now whispered to the surprised organ-builder, that
the villanous Lacombe had killed poor Tegot on the morning of the
trial, and had secreted the body in some unknown place and hidden
the valuables here. Frightened by the fear of discovery, he had
attempted to remove the treasures, had fallen into the pipe, and had
thus met a horrible death.

"There is nothing secret," said François, "but shall be revealed.
Sin is its own detector, and its secrets cannot rest."

The excitement among the townspeople was for many days even greater
than it had been at the time of Tegot's disappearance, and many and
bitter were the reproaches heaped upon the wicked organist's memory.

François was immediately chosen organist, and held the position
during his entire life.