that this Schilsky was a genius. Although so great a violinist, he
could play almost every other instrument with case; his memory had
become a by-word; his compositions were already famous. At the present
moment, he was said to be at work upon a symphonic poem, having for
its base a new and extraordinary book, half poetry, half philosophy, a
book which he, Dove, could confidently assert, would effect a
revolution in human thought, but of which, just at the minute, he was
unable to remember the name. Infected by his friend's enthusiasm,
Maurice here recalled having, only the day before, met some one who
answered to Dove's description: the genial Pole had been storming up
the steps of the Conservatorium, two at a time, with wild, affrighted
eyes, and a halo of dishevelled auburn hair.--Dove made no doubt that
he had been seized with a sudden inspiration.

Gewandhaus and Conservatorium lay close together, in a new quarter of
the town. The Conservatorium, a handsome, stone-faced building, three
lofty storeys high, was just now all the more imposing in appearance
as it stood alone in an unfinished street-block, and as, opposite,
hoardings still shut in all that had yet been raised of the great
library, which would eventually overshadow it. The severe plainness of
its long front, with the unbroken lines of windows, did not fail to
impress the unused beholder, who had not for very long gone daily out
and in; it suggested to him the earnest, unswerving efforts,
imperative on his pursuit of the ideal; an ideal which, to many, was
as it were personified by the concert-house in the adjoining square:
it was hither, towards this clear-limned goal, that bore him, like a
magic carpet, the young enthusiast's most ambitious dream.--But in the
life that swarmed about the Conservatorium, there was nothing of a
tedious austerity. It was one of the briskest times of day, and the
short street and the steps of the building were alive with young