I felt there was a drama in the air, and it made me a little nervous; to conceal which I said to Heidenmauer: "What's your conception? What's your subject?"
"My conception would be realized in the subject of M. Vendemer's play--if he'll do that for me in a great lyric manner!" And with this the young German, who had stopped playing to answer me, quitted the piano and Vendemer got up to meet him. "The subject is splendid--it has taken possession of me. Will you do it with me? Will you work with me? We shall make something great!"
"Ah, you don't know what you ask!" Vendemer answered, with his pale smile.
"I do--I do: I've thought of it. It will be bad for me in my country; I shall suffer for it. They won't like it--they'll abuse me for it--they'll say of me _pis que pendre._" Heidenmauer pronounced it _bis que bendre._
"They'll hate my libretto so?" Vendemer asked.
"Yes, your libretto--they'll say it's immoral and horrible. And they'll say _I'm_ immoral and horrible for having worked with you," the young composer went on, with his pleasant healthy lucidity. "You'll injure my career. Oh yes, I shall suffer!" he joyously, exultingly cried.
"Public opinion, yes. I shall also make you suffer--I shall nip your prosperity in the bud. All that's _des bêtises--tes pétisses_," said poor Heidenmauer. "In art there are no countries."
"Yes, art is terrible, art is monstrous," Vendemer replied, looking at the fire.
"I love your songs--they have extraordinary beauty."
"And Vendemer has an equal taste for your compositions," I said to Heidenmauer.
"Tempter!" Vendemer murmured to me, with a strange look.
"_C'est juste!_ I mustn't meddle--which will be all the easier as I'm dining out and must go and dress. You two make yourselves at home and fight it out here."
"Do you _leave_ me?" asked Vendemer, still with his strange look.
"We will dine together--he and I--at one of those characteristic places, and we will look at the matter in its different relations," said Heidenmauer. "Then we will come back here to finish--your studio is so good for music."
"There are some things it _isn't_ good for," Vendemer remarked, looking at our companion.
"It's good for poetry--it's good for truth," smiled the composer.