Stadium High School - Tahoma Yearbook (Tacoma, WA)

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22 THE TAHOMA Von Glieb struck a few notes, then played on and on. As he played the boy realized that it was a masterpiece and that Steam would be famous. When Fritz von Glieb stopped, he seemed hardly to see Arthur. It is great, is it not? asked Arthur. Creat! Ah. yes-no, I would call it exquisite music which only the greatest pain and suffering can producef, the old man said at last. People will weep and the name of Carl Steam will be distinguished, but they cannot know the breaking heart back of it, or under- stand, because they did not know the lover of music. They heard someone come softly in and saw Hilda standing there. By her face they saw that something was greatly wrong. Girl! Your father? Where is he? asked von Glieb. He died yesterday at evening, Hilda replied, simply. Arthur looked bewildered at first, then great pity for Hilda, more than thought of Stearn, took hold of himg but the moment was not sacred with him as with the old Master. He stood with bowed head, his eyes full of tears, for he felt the same awe and reverence which Carl Stearn had felt years before, for he, too. worshiped music. and he now knew that Stearn was his Master. It's fierce, said Arthur. He didn't even know that his opera was real music. My friend, God so thinks best, replied von Glieb. One night, two years later, the opera The Breaking Heart, was pro- duced for the first time at the great theatre in Berlin. People wept at the beauty and sadness of the opera, yet they could not undrstand. In one of the boxes sat a young American and his wife. People pointed to her and whispered that she was the daughter of the composer of the opera, Carl Steam. With them was an old man, bent and grey. Von Glieb sat through the opera breathless and as one in a dream, then turned to the young woman and said, Carl Stearn's reward is now great. God so thinks best. X U y will fs rut X 'L of QQ 3'

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THE. TAHOMA 23 opera, but I don't believe that any one else could think of it as I thought Of it, for they could not understand. Some day, perhaps. When I feel like lt, I will play it through for you. Please, now! said the young man, who felt merely a kindly pity toward the composer. So the musician drew from under a table very carefully and with much love, an old manuscript and sat down at the piano. Maybe not a beautiful picture, but one to reverence, the old German made, as he sat there in the early evening with the sunset light softly illumining his silvery hair, pushed back from his temples. His haggard face was more peaceful. He shut his eyes and commenced to play,,softly at first, then he seemed to forget all the bit- terness of his failure. Hunger and trouble were far away and forgotten things. The music ran from a peaceful major into a wailing minor key, sadness and gaiety followed each other, there was joy and great triumph. He was the master of music. In seemed as if it were his reward for all that he had suf- fered and his reward was exceedingly great. The music grew wild, then sang of fairies in their glades, their dances, of the fragrance of flowers and of spring- time: then it grew deep and mournful as if all the bitterness of past years had returned. Lower and lower he bent over the keys, the music was very soft land very tender. It grew so faint that it could scarcely be heard, then stopped. 'Still the lover of music bent over the keys with his eyes closed. The young man spoke to him, and receiving no answer, went softly out. . There Hilda found her father at dusk, bent over the keys. His face was as though he had seen some beautiful vision. Perhaps he had. But it was the vision of death. That afternoon Arthur had gone back to his hotel strangely moved. He did not consider the music remarkable. Ah, he did not love music, he could not understand. Yet the old man had made a wonderful impression upon him. He could go back on the morrow, and take von Glieb with him. Von Glieb was a judge of music and could tell the real worth of the opera. Besides, there was the girl, yes, the girl.. Well, tomorrow he would make everything all right. The next morning at ten, the young man and the old master were nearing the house in the quarter in which Steam lived. Von Glieb felt that' he had come on a useless mission, but it was for pity of Steam, when he remembered that scene at the same hour so many years ago. Hearing no response to their knocks, they went in, but found no one. Going into the front room, they found the manuscript. Well, I suppose it will not do any harm to try it, said the master. As he is not here, it can give him no pains if he has made another failure.

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THE. TAHOMA ianeirg W RUTH WILLIAMS Poetry Editor A PROPI-IECY lt's been work, work, work, From nine to half-past two, They loaded us down with home work It to0lE' fifteen minutes to do, And we've only had one holiday, Each whole long dreary week through. Oh, yes, indeed, it was awful, We can hardly wait to be free, But mark my words, in September We'll be lwaclf to talfe a P. C. We were quite sure in our first year, We never could stand it four, And when we attained our second, Were glad it was no more, But during our junior and Senior, From habit, we called it a bore. Oh, yes, indeed, it was awful, We can hardly wait to be free, But marlf my words, in September, We'll he lzaclf to talfe a P. C.. NADINE. SOULE., 'I3