Characters
- May Wedderburn, a young auburn-haired English lady;
a singer.
- Eugen Courvoisier, the first violinist; a lonely
man who hides a sad secret.
- Friedhelm Helfen, Eugen's friend; second violinist
with the orchestra.
- Sigmund Courvoisier, Eugen's young son
- Anna Sartorius, an art student, and a lodger in
the same boarding-house as May
- Max Von Francius, conductor of the orchestra; May's
singing instructor and friend
- Adelaide Wedderburn, May's eldest and favorite
sister
- Stella Wedderburn, May's other sister
- Sir Peter le Marchant, bad baronet, husband of
Adelaide
- Arkwright, Sir Peter's secretary
- Karl Linders, cellist
- Clara, daughter of May's first landlady
- Graf (Duke) Bruno and Gräfin (Duchess) Hildegarde
von Rothenfels, Eugen's relatives
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Summary
(spoiler alert):
Rather than marry the odious Sir Peter le Marchant, a man
she does not love, young May Wedderburn becomes companion
to her elderly neighbor, Miss Hallam. The woman is going blind,
and she takes May with her to Germany in search of a cure.
May is to be Miss Hallam's companion in exchange for singing
lessons, and the chance to get away from Sir Peter's un
On the journey, she and May become separated. May, who speaks
little German, is helped by a stranger, Eugen Courvoisier.
He tells her that the next train does not leave until the
evening, so they spend the day sightseeing. Upon arriving
at her destination, May is informed that there were many trains;
the one she was on was the last. She is annoyed but, believing
she will never see Eugen again, decides to forget the matter.
One evening at the opera, she spies him in the orchestra;
he is the First Violin. She "cuts" him (that is, pretends
they have never met before); he takes it as punishment for
some as-yet-unrevealed wrong that he has done. She feels guilty
and tries to make amends, but he refuses her offers of friendship.
She determines to forget him, and begins taking singing lessons.
She cannot forget, however, and when her companion returns
to England, she remains in Germany. Due to the fact that she
is pursuing a career in music, their paths cross frequently,
with varying results.
We get glimpses of the life that might have been May's had
she married Sir Peter; to spite May, he marries her sister
Adelaide, whom May adores. Adelaide, believing that material
security is more important than love or even care, becomes
a badly-treated bird in a gilded cage. She visits May, and
reveals the sad details of her life, and apologizes for ever
having tried to force May into that situation. She falls in
love with Von Francius, who helps her escape from her abusive
marriage.
Through Friedhelm's telling of his part of the story, we
learn that Eugen is a lonely man with a sad secret, which
he does not share even with his best friend. He is apparently
of noble birth, and he is raising his young son alone for
unspecified reasons. He seems to be punishing himself for
something, and his renunciation of friendship with May (which
he greatly desires) is part of that punishment.
Eventually, we do reach a happy ending. (This would not be
one of my favorite books if we did not.) Through Anna
Sartorius, we learn the cause of Eugen's self-exile. His ex-wife
(now deceased) forged checks in his name, and he chivalrously
hid the fact, taking the blame upon himself rather than soil
her (undeserved) good name. He did insist on caring for their
child, as she did not. His family, believing him guilty, disowned
him. Now that the secret has become known, he feels free to
speak of the situation, since it is not due to him that it
was revealed.
He and May are married, and live Happily Ever After (more
or less).
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Commentary:
This is an old-fashioned book (I've seen it described as
"decorously passionate"), the kind they just don't write anymore.
If a book like this were to turn up in stores today, it would
probably be mocked. The main plot hinges on chivalry and manners;
imagine a modern man enduring years of self-imposed exile
to protect his guilty wife's good name. Rather improbable;
but I enjoyed it for all that. Besides the musical focus,
there are several "romantic" scenes in the grand sense; lush
descriptions of scenery and emotion, with nothing Improper.
For an excerpt, continue reading.
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Notes:
The writing can get wordy, with long (though always grammatical)
sentences and lots of commas, hyphens and semicolons. I don't
mind this - I actually enjoy it - but if it's not your cup
of tea, don't say you weren't warned. For an idea of the style,
see below.
German words and/or phrases are used frequently, without
translation. They can sometimes be understood in context,
and do not always need to be understood to get the meaning
of the passage. It does help to have a German dictionary or
phrase-book handy.
At the beginnings of some of the chapters are brief "quotes"
from sheet music; these may be taken as the soundtrack for
the chapter. "Quoted" music includes Schumann's Träumerei
and Opus 177 of Joachim Raff. You can find more information
on Joachim Raff and his symphonies, as well as audio clips
from various movements of his Lenore symphony (specifically
the Third Movement march) mentioned in The First Violin)
at the following locations:
The story is told in alternating perspectives, sometimes
by May and sometimes by Friedhelm Helfen. The first edition
was issued in three volumes in 1877.
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How Can I Get
A Copy?
All right, so now you want to read this book, don't you?
Go on, you know you do. :) It's out of print, sadly, and fairly
hard to find. However, if you haunt your local antique and
old book stores, you may be fortunate enough to find a copy,
for a reasonable amount of money even. Happily, there is a
place online which will help you find this book. Bibliofind
can help you find sources for just about whatever book you
are looking for. Here is a list
of available copies of The First Violin, with prices
and descriptions. Prices at the time of this writing ranged
from (US) $2.00 to (US) $140.00, depending on the condition
of each particular copy. My copy isn't for sale. :)
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An Excerpt
from Chapter III, "May's Story":
"Friedel, come here! You are just in time. Fräulein Wedderburn
will be good enough to accompany us, and we can try the
Fourth Symphony."
"What you call 'Spring'?" inquired Helfen, coming up smilingly.
"With all my heart. Where is the score?"
"What you call Spring?" Was it possible that in winter
- on a cold and unfriendly day - we were going to have spring,
leafy bloom, the desert filled with leaping springs, and
blossoming like a rose? Full of wonder, surprise, and a
certain excitement at the idea, I sat still and thought
of my dream, and the rain beat against the windows, and
a draughty wind fluttered the tinselly decorations of last
night. The floor was strewed with fragments of garments
torn in the crush - paper and silken flowers, here a rosette,
there a buckle, a satin bow, a tinsel spangle. Benches and
tables were piled about the room, which was half dark; only
to westward, through one window, was visible a paler gleam,
which might by comparison be called light.
The two young men turned over the music, laughing at something,
and chaffing each other. I never in my life saw two such
entire friends as these; they seemed to harmonize most perfectly
in the midst of their unlikeliness to each other.
"Excuse that we kept you waiting, mein Fräulein,"
said Courvoisier, placing some music before me. "This fellow
is so slow, and will put everything into order as he uses
it."
"Well for you that I am, mein Lieber," said Helfen
composedly. "If anyone had the enterprise to offer a prize
to the most extravagant, untidy fellow in Europe, the palm
would be yours - by a long way, too."
"Friedel binds his music and numbers it," observed
Courvoisier. "It is one of the most beautiful and affecting
of sights to behold him with scissors, paste-pot, brush,
and binding. It occurs periodically about four times a year,
I think, and moves me almost to tears when I see it....
Now, mein Bester, for the 'Frühling.'"
"[T]he Fräulein ought to have it explained,"
expostulated Helfen, laughing. "Everyone has not the
misfortune to be so well acquainted with you as I am. He
has rather insane fancies, sometimes," he added, turning
to me, "without rhyme or reason that I am aware, and
he chooses to assert that Beethoven's Fourth Symphony, or
the chief motive of it, occurred to him on a spring day,
when the master was, for a time, quite charmed from his
bitter humor, and had, perhaps, someone by his side who
put his heart in tune with the spring songs of the birds,
the green of the grass, the scent of the flowers. So he
calls it the 'Frühling Symphonie,' and will persist
in playing it as such. I call the idea rather farfetched,
but then that is nothing unusual with him."
... The symphony was as springlike as possible. We tried
it nearly all through; the hymnlike and yet fairylike first
movement; the second, that song of universal love, joy,
and thanksgiving, with Beethoven's masculine hand evident
throughout. To the notes there seemed to fall a sunshine
into the room, and we could see the fields casting their
covering of snow, and withered trees bursting into bloom;
brooks swollen with warm rain, birds busy at nest-making;
clumps of primroses on velvet leaves, and the subtle scent
of violets; youths and maidens with love in their eyes;
and even a hint of later warmth, when hedges should be white
with hawthorn, and the woodland slopes look, with their
sheets of hyacinths, as if some of heaven's blue had been
spilled upon earth's grass.
