AT THE RECITAL

New Zealand Tablet, 6 April 1911, Page 605

AT THE RECITAL

Claire Hamilton came slowly, into her room after lunch. She looked in the mirror of her dresser and lightly touched her hair. Her expression was dissatisfied. Then she turned to the cheval glass that stood in the corner and closely scrutinized the hang of her skirt. All the while her face —a pretty face' —drooped in its lines, the mouth curving downward, the eyes heavy- and clouded, the brow ' slightly knitted. Yet, the room reflected in the long glass and the wide dresser-glass was sumptuous in furnishings, exquisite in tints, filled with all sorts of dainty and useless feminine appointments, as well as with rare old porcelains and glass and fine pictures, perfect furniture of dark old carvings and rare old mahogany. Claire herself was 111 harmony with her surroundings —tall, graceful, pretty, with the look and manner that long-inherited tastes and breeding give, yet her prettiness was damaged by discontent and by an expression of selfishness springing from an objectless existence. She had been left motherless at twelve, the only heir to great wealth; every whim had been gratified by a doting father, whose responsibility for the girl he considered fulfilled by doing everything she wanted him to do when she was at home and putting her at school in the hands of nuns to form her character. This they had tried to do, but Claire had never arisen beyond the negative form of goodness —she did no harm, but she did no good in the world, and she lived to be amused and to gratify her whims. Not a gay girl, not a hard-hearted girl, but a spoiled one, missing the opportunity for happiness that her great wealth gave her because she sought only her own happiness. Thus she had reached twenty-five and found the years beginning to be a little heavier on her hands as they accumulated. Now she went back to her dresser and picked up two tickets that lay on her engagement pad at hand. She looked at them and consulted the tiny watch pinned on the cushion. ' Well, I suppose I may as well go,' she thought. ' It's too late to get any one to go with me. I wish I had made Mimi go, but she hates a recital more than I do. Still, there isn't anything better on. hand.She touched a bell and a maid appeared. ' Tell them to call a taxicab, Therese, and bring my blue hat and coat,' she said in French. ' Bring the mink furs to-day; they take up less room and Carnegie Hall is always too crowded to take one's wraps off in it at best.' The maid disappeared. Presently she returned and dressed her mistress in her beautiful garments, gave her the gloves she asked for, took her muff and folding fan and followed her out and put her into the cab, which was , gasping its protest at delay at the door. 'Carnegie,' said Therese, closing the cab door, and Claire rolled away to the Schumann-Heink recital to which she was so indifferent.

She arrived late, and had to wait at the back of the hall among a few other tardy ones. ' The hall was crowded, the great contralto was singing, and her wonderful voice rolled out to Claire in all the beauty of its range, from pure soprano notes to the violoncello tones that grip the heart. All that gripped Clare was annoyance. 'Such a nuisance to stand live!' she thought. When the song ended she followed the usher down the aisle, well down, exactly in the centre, and had to pass and discommode six people to get to her seat. They all arose, clutching wraps and hats with stern faces and with the rigid bodies that express justified displeasure in such cases, for these ethers had come full of enthusiasm and it was maddening to be torn out of the music mood 'to admit the tardy. However, Claire sank into her seat, then half arose got out of her coat, removed her hat, secured the pins' disposed of her luggage as well as she could on her rebel* lions knees, and settled down to listen to a Venetian Gondeleid by Mendelssohn, inwardly disgusted with her, self for having come here.

Next to Claire sat a little old lady, and beyond her a slender old gentleman. The little old lady's cheeks were pink, her eyes bright with excitement; she was trying hard to get back to the mood from which Claire's disturbing entrance had shaken her, and her husband still frowned—so there were three people over whom the first stanza of the song flowed to soothe them before they could hear properly. The little old lady's cheeks beside her lost none of their pinkness, nor her eyes their brightness, but the pucker smoothed out of her forehead as she listened, and her lips parted as if to drink in the song. Her husband leaned forward, no less enraptured ? toward the end making small inarticulate sounds of satisfaction, preluding the applause into which he broke wildly as the last note of the song died away. Claire began to be amused at the fresh delight of her neighbors, _ thrice her age in years, far younger than she in enthusiasm. There was a smile in her eyes as she glanced at the little old lady, who caught it and responded to it with misapprehension of what called it forth. .•„., ( Such a pity, dear, you lost the first two numbers,' she murmured. ' She is wonderful.' Claire smiled slightly, but did not reply, for the accompanist struck the opening chords of the next number, and Claire was not inclined to make acquaintance, even with gentle little old ladies, if they were not accredited to her. But the dear couple's enthusiastic joy increased through these next two songs, which completed the first part of the programme and liberated Madam Schumann-Heink, whose amber gown disappeared through the stage door in the midst of thundering applause. The little old lady drew a long breath and removed her hand from her husband's arm, which she had grasped to emphasize her delight in the ' Friihlingslied ' that closed the group of Mendelssohn songs. Unconsciously Claire had been watching what is always one of the prettiest tilings in the worldold age that has retained the heart of childhood. The old lady caught her eye before she looked away. She smiled with entire friendliness and confidence in being welcome. Claire's delinquency in coming late had been forgiven, the annoyance it caused giving way to pity that she had missed two of the songs. ' Oh,' said the little old lady, rapturously, ' isn't it a blessing to hear such music while we are waiting for heaven ' She has a. beautiful voice and uses it well,' said Claire with her older note of competent, experienced criticism.

'Oh, my dear, she's wonderful!' cried the little old lady. ' Such range, such expression, such delicious melting depth, yet delicacy! We've been counting on this recital ever since the last one; we come to hear her whenever she sings.' 'I came near not coming,' said Claire involuntary. 'Oh, I'm so glad you didn't.'miss it!' exclaimed the little old lady, assuming that this had been due to some obstacle that Claire had surmounted. ' Never mind being late; you missed only two songs, and look what a long programme she gives us! And she is so k'nd, and everybody loves her so, as a woman as well as a singer, that she is sure to be generous to us and give us encores!' The little old lady almost smacked her lips over the anticipation, and her eyes brightened still more. Oh, dear me, yes; there will be a good deal of singing before we get through,' said Claire, and she smiled outright this time, remembering that she had planned to get away before the end of the recital and go to tea somewhere. Claire had a winning smile when her eyes smiled, too. Now the dear little old lady, ignorant of the heretical intention that had called out the smile, smiled back and grew confidential. ' You see, my dear,' she said happily, ' we are not rich people, and six dollars is really a great deal to spend for a recital. But my husband and I have been planning savingfor it for a good while. There isn't anything better to invest money in, if you can spare it, than such a treat as this!' , Claire remembered the unused ticket at home and she glanced at the seat beside her, on which she had piled her wraps, with an unusual pang of shame. She might have tried to have found some one to whom to send the ticket! There was her dressmaker's daughter, studying undoubtedly Nellie Hartung would have been delighted to have had that ticket. And her pleasure would have cost Claire no more effort than the addressing of an envelope: Claire could not understand, when she stopped to consider it, why she should feel so sorry for her thoughtlessness, but the delight of the little lady beside her and her revelation of its rarity, explained her awakening. . , • < , . 'Here she comes!' said the little old lady in breathless delight, as Madam Schumann-Heink came out again, smiling at her friends, for such the entire great audience was. c

She sang Schubert songs then to them, with the encores the little old lady had anticipated, and the little old lady and her husband exchanged murmurs, hand-clasps, and glances that were dewy with the emotions the music awakened. Often they both included Claire in their enjoyment, and were so sure of her sympathy that they got it. When the great singer had gone again and this second part of the recital was over, the little old lady turned to

Claire.

We have a gramophone, my dear,' she said, and we have most of Schumann-Heink's records. You don't know how we enjoy itunless you have one?' . Claire shook her head. ''l wish you had,' said the dear little old lady simply. It is wonderful to bring the great musicians into your home. My husband and I hesitated in coming to this recital, because, you see, records are expensive, the good ones, and we could have bought two for the. price of our tickets. But I told him I thought we should enjoy those Ave had more for having heard Schumann-Heink, and I'm certainly glad we came. We have been economizing for the recital; now we shall begin to economize for the records . She laughed with a bright glance, like a blue-eyed bird's, her head on one side. Claire smiled down at her with a soft look, remembering her box at the opera, her pleasures, the indifference with which she had decided to come to this recital since nothing better offered. 'You ought to hear all the fine concerts, you love music so dearly,' she said. 'Oh, who doesn't love it?' cried the little old lady. My dear father was a violinist of no mean order; he played wonderfully. I was brought up in music and on it. My husband would have sung, and his voice been one to have remembered, only he had to provide for his mother when he was young, and then was. ill—and then youth was over - But you are wrong that we should hear everything! I m sure we enjoy our records at home better for having to deny ourselves many that we want, and our concerts the more for having so few of them. I believe, really, we are the happiest people here to-day!' me enjoy it twice as much. But I'd like to have you hear all the great singers, often.' My dear, you are young and I can see you have most of your desires gratified. You have no notion of the pleasure that lies in choosing and waiting for pleasure' said the little old lady. . . -,, .' Nor anv notion of contentment, . I'm afraid' said Claire involuntarily. The reappearance of the singer ended this conversation, and with new appreciation Claire listened to the third part of the programme, the Brahms, Strauss and English songs At last this, too, was over, and Madam SchumannHeink bowed and waved her hands, with her cordial, bright smile, at the vociferous audience clapping and crowding to the stage, insatiable of her voice, begsinc for more. OB,b

.Shell sing ever so many times; I know she will!' cried the little old lady, standing up and clapping wildly. 'Now, Mary, don't get tired!' remonstrated her husband, pounding away madly ]with his stick. 'She's sure to come. Just look at those flowers! I couldn't half see them while I was sitting down.' a j We r re Catholics and wr e hear beautiful music every .Sunday— was thinking of what you said about our hearing fine music,' said the little old lady, pausing breathless and turning to Claire, 'and you have no idea what ioy we get out of our records. Why, my dear, we have Caruso, Sembrich, Melba—l couldn't begin to tell you who, nor how beautiful they singing to us right in our little t 1 . ™ are tne ]uckiest people, my husband and I' i/ook! j There she comes; I knew she would! Now we'll ™"6 d J ? W)f " r 11 a ? reater treat than ever. Oh, listen! Thats the "Erlkomg-' she's beginning!' At last Schumann-Heink made her final bow and went away in her sunshiny satin, with her sunshiny smile. The little old lady turned to pick up her coat and muff with a sigh of supreme content. 'Think of being able to make people happy as she can! she said. 'Would you think me impertinent if I asked for your card? said Claire. 'Because you have given me more pleasure than you know.' The little old lady asked her husband to write their name and address, quite flustered by Claire's request It was only afterward that she remembered that she had not asked the tall girl, so beautifully clad, to return the courtesy But two days later, when a big box containing seventy-five records of glorious music came, and in it a note, she knew from whom it came, though the note was not signed. 'You taught me harmonies that are.sweeter than music —contentment and unselfishness. Please Jet me send you these harmonies which we all love, but which are only music. And pray for the sender, a Catholic like you, that she may be less selfish, more in tune to vour key.' On the way home from the recital Claire passed in her cab a young man whose poverty was his one serious fault She leaned out and he saw her. She beckoned him. He came to her and she put out her hand. 'I am going to take you home with me for a cup of tea ' she said. ' I have been to Schumann-Heink's recital.' ' He flushed. 'Claire, why do you torment me? I have tried not to see you,' he said. M know, but I want to see you,' she said gently There was the dearest old couple at the concert, ratherpoor, I'm afraid, but blissfully happy and, oh, so dear and sweet! I want to tell you about them.' ; 'Claire!' he protested. 'Claire?' he added nuestioningly. : ■ ... H , 'I know, Tom. It was a wonderful recital, and thev were more wonderful. ' I've been thinking,' she said —■

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