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But their perfection of execution was attained at a cost almost too great. Brother Friedsam was a fanatic, and he was also an artist. He obliged the brethren and sisters to submit to the most rigorous training. In this, as in religion, he subordinated them to his ideals. He would fain tune their very souls to his own key; and he exacted a precision that was difficult of attainment by men and women of average fallibility and carelessness. The men singers were divided into five choruses of five persons each; the sisters were classified, according to the pitch of their voices, into three divisions, each of which sang or kept silent, according to the duty assigned to it in the notebook. At the love-feasts these choruses sat side by side at the table, so as to be ready to sing together with perfect precision whenever a song should be announced. At the singing school Brother Friedsam could not abide the least defect; he rated roundly the brother or sister who made any mistake; he scourged their lagging aspirations toward perfection. If it is ever necessary to account for bad temper in musicians, one might suggest that the water-gruel diet had impaired his temper and theirs; certain it is that out of the production of so much heavenly harmony there sprang discord. The brethren and sisters grew daily more and more indignant at the severity of the director, whom they reverenced as a religious guide, but against whom, as a musical conductor, they rebelled in their hearts.

The sisters were the first to act in this crisis. At their knitting and their sewing they talked about it, in the kitchen they discussed it, until their hearts burned within them. Even in illuminating the notebook with pretty billing turtledoves, and emblematic flowers such as must have grown in paradise, since nothing of the sort was ever known in any earthly garden–even in painting these, some of the nuns came near to spoiling their colors and blurring their pages with tears.

Only Margaretha Thome, who was known in the convent as Sister Tabea, shed no tears. She worked with pen and brush, and heard the others talk; now and then, when some severe word of Brother Friedsam’s was repeated, she would look up with a significant flash of the eye.

“The Hofcavalier doesn’t talk,” said Sister Thecla. This Thecla had given the nickname of “Hofcavalier” (noble courtier), to Tabea at her first arrival in the convent on account of her magnificent figure and high carriage.

“You shouldn’t give nicknames, Sister Thecla.”

The last speaker was a sister with an austere face and gray eyes which had no end of cold-blooded religious enthusiasm in them.

“I need not give you a nickname,” retorted Thecla to the last speaker; “Brother Friedsam did that when he called you Jael. You are just the kind of person to drive a tent-nail through a man’s head.”

“If he were the enemy of the Church of God,” said Jael, in a voice as hard as it was sincere.

Then the talk drifted back to the singing school and Brother Friedsam’s severity.

“But why doesn’t the Hofcavalier speak?” again persisted Thecla.

“When the Hofcavalier speaks, it will be to Brother Friedsam himself,” answered Tabea.

The temerity of this proposition took Thecla’s breath, but it set the storm a-going more vigorously than before among the sisterhood, who, having found somebody ready to bell the cat, grew eager to have the cat belled. Only Sister Jael, who for lack of voice was not included in either of the three choruses of the sisterhood, stoutly defended Brother Friedsam, thinking, perhaps, that it was not a bad thing to have the conceit of the singers reduced; indeed, she was especially pleased that Tabea, the unsurpassed singer of the sisters’ gallery, should have suffered rebuke.

At length it was agreed that Tabea should tell Brother Friedsam that the sisters did not intend to go to singing school again.