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Updated: June 18, 2025
Christophe spoke with his eyes cast down, fearful of losing the thread of what he had to say. Hassler's silence encouraged him. He felt that Hassler was watching him and not missing a word that he said, and he thought he had broken the ice between them, and he was glad at heart. When he had finished he shyly raised his head confidently, too and looked at Hassler.
From there the Hassler put out to sea once more, for the Galapagos, arriving before Charles Island on the 10th of June, and visiting in succession Albemarle, James, Jarvis, and Indefatigable islands. Agassiz enjoyed extremely his cruise among these islands of such rare geological and zoological interest.
Upon his return from the Upper Mississippi, and for the period of a year, he was engaged with Nicollet and Mr. Hassler, then the head of the Coast Survey, in the arrangement of the scientific materials that had been collected during the expedition, and in the preparation of a map and a report.
He turned suddenly, laid his hand on Hassler's, and with love in his heart he repeated: "There is myself!" But Hassler did not move his hand, and if something stirred in his heart for a moment at that boyish cry, no light shone in his dull eyes, as they looked at Christophe. Irony and evasion were in the ascendant. He made a ceremonious and comic little bow in acknowledgment. "Honored!" he said.
He was sorry for that reception and a little angry with himself. In truth, it had been only one of those fits of sulky whimsies to which he was subject. He thought to make it good by sending Christophe a ticket for the opera and a few words appointing a meeting after the performance Christophe never knew anything about it. When he did not see him, Hassler thought: "He is angry.
The old man told him of Francois Marie Hassler, a young German artist who lived at Berlin. He had known him once. Jean-Christophe listened, all ears. Suddenly he said: "And you, grandfather?" The old man trembled. "What?" he asked. "Did you do things like that you too?" "Certainly," said the old man a little crossly. He was silent, and after they had walked a little he sighed heavily.
They took on an air of secrecy, although everybody, including Hassler, knew what was to come. In the silence of the night they began to play certain famous fragments of Hassler's compositions. He appeared at the window with the Prince, and they roared in their honor. Both bowed. A servant came from the Prince to invite the musicians to enter the Palace.
It was not long before Hassler opened his eyes and ears with the professional interest of the artist who is struck in spite of himself by a beautiful thing. At first he said nothing and lay still, but his eyes became less dim and his sulky lips moved. Then he suddenly woke up, growling his surprise and approbation.
The Hassler left her anchorage on this desolate shore on an evening of singular beauty. It was difficult to tell when she was on her way, so quietly did she move through the glassy waters, over which the sun went down in burnished gold, leaving the sky without a cloud.
After the long journey and all the expense he had incurred, although he had taken his holiday not only to see Hassler, but the museums, and to hear concerts and to make certain acquaintances he had only one idea in his head: To go.... He went back to the station. As he had been told, his train did not leave for three hours.
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