At length the joyful day arrived when I was to cease, in outward
appearance at all events, to be an alien; for returning at noon from the
fields, on entering my cell I beheld my beautiful new garments--two
complete suits, besides underwear: one, the most soberly colored,
intended only for working hours; but the second, which was for the
house, claimed my first attention. Trembling with eagerness, I flung off
the old tweeds, the cracked boots, and other vestiges of a civilization
which they had perhaps survived, and soon found that I had been measured
with faultless accuracy; for everything, down to the shoes, fitted to
perfection. Green was the prevailing or ground tint--a soft sap green;
the pattern on it, which was very beautiful, being a somewhat obscure
red, inclining to purple. My delight culminated when I drew on the hose,
which had, like those worn by the others, a curious design, evidently
borrowed from the skin of some kind of snake. The ground color was light
green, almost citron yellow, in fact, and the pattern a bright maroon
red, with bronze reflections.
I had no sooner arrayed myself than, with a flushed face and palpitating
heart, I flew to exhibit myself to my friends, and found them assembled
and waiting to see and admire the result of their work. The pleasure I
saw reflected in their transparent faces increased my happiness a
hundredfold, and I quite astonished them with the torrent of eloquence
in which I expressed my overflowing gratitude.
"Now, tell me one secret," I exclaimed, when the excitement began to
abate a little. "Why is green the principal color in my clothes, when no
other person in the house wears more than a very little of it?"
I had no sooner spoken than I heartily wished that I had held my peace;
for it all at once occurred to me that green was perhaps the color for
an alien or mere hireling, in which light they perhaps regarded me.
"Oh, Smith, can you not guess so simple a thing?" said Edra, placing her
white hands on my shoulders and smiling straight into my face.
How beautiful she looked, standing there with her eyes so near to mine!
"Tell me why, Edra?" I said, still with a lingering apprehension.
"Why, look at the color of my eyes and skin--would this green tint be
suitable for me to wear?"
"Oh, is that the reason!" cried I, immensely relieved. "I think, Edra,
you would look very beautiful in any color that is on the earth, or in
the rainbow above the earth. But am I so different from you all?"
"Oh yes, quite different--have you never looked at yourself? Your skin
is whiter and redder, and your hair has a very different color. It will
look better when it grows long, I think. And your eyes--do you know that
they never change! for when we look at you closely they are still
blue-gray, and not green."
"No; I wish they were," said I. "Now I shall value my clothes a hundred
times more, since you have taken so much pains to make them--well, what
shall I say?--harmonize, I suppose, with the peculiar color of my mug.
Dash it all, I'm blundering again! I mean--I mean--don't you know----"
Edra laughed and gave it up. Then we all laughed; for now evidently my
blundering did not so much matter, since I had shed my outer integument,
and come forth like a snake (with a divided tail) in a brand new skin.
Presently I missed Yoletta from the room, and desiring above all things
to have some word of congratulation from her lips, I went off to seek
her. She was standing under the portico waiting for me. "Come," she
said, and proceeded to lead me into the music-room, where we sat down on
one of the couches close to the dais; there she produced some large
white tablets, and red chalk pencils or crayons.
"Now, Smith, I am going to begin teaching you," said she, with the grave
air of a young schoolmistress; "and every afternoon, when your work is
done, you must come to me here."
"I hope I am very stupid, and that it will take me a long time to
learn," said I.
"Oh"--she laughed--"do you think it will be so pleasant sitting by me
here? I am glad you think that; but if you prefer me for a teacher you
must not try to be stupid, because if you do I shall ask some one else
to take my place."
"Would you really do that, Yoletta?"
"Yes. Shall I tell you why? Because I have a quick, impatient temper.
Everything wrong I have ever done, for which I have been punished, has
been through my hasty temper."
"And have you ever undergone that sad punishment of being shut up by
yourself for many days, Yoletta?"
"Yes, often; for what other punishment is there? But oh, I hope it will
never happen again, because I think--I know that I suffer more than any
one can imagine. To tread on the grass, to feel the sun and wind on my
face, to see the earth and sky and animals--this is like life to me; and
when I am shut up alone, every day seems--oh, a year at least!" She did
not know how much dearer this confession of one little human weakness
made her seem to me. "Come, let us begin," she said. "I waited for your
new clothes to be finished, and we must make up for lost time."
"But do you know, Yoletta, that you have not said anything about them?
Do I look nice; and will you like me any better now?"
"Yes, much better. You were a poor caterpillar before; I liked you a
little because I knew what a pretty butterfly you would be in time. I
helped to make your wings. Now, listen."
For two hours she taught me, making her red letters or marks, which I
copied on my tablet, and explaining them to me; and at the conclusion of
the lesson, I had got a general idea that the writing was to a great
extent phonographic, and that I was in for rather a tough job.
"Do you think that you will be able to teach me to sing also?" I asked,
when she had put the tablets aside.
The memory of that miserable failure, when I "had led the singing," was
a constant sore in my mind. I had begun to think that I had not done
myself justice on that memorable occasion, and the desire to make
another trial under more favorable circumstances was very strong in me.
She looked a little startled at my question, but said nothing.
"I know now," I continued pleadingly, "that you all sing softly. If you
will only consent to try me once I promise to stick like cobbler's
wax--I beg your pardon, I mean I will endeavor to adhere to the morendo
and perdendosi style--don't you know? What am I saying! But I promise
you, Yoletta, I shan't frighten you, if you will only let me try and
sing to you once."
She turned from me with a somewhat clouded expression of face, and
walked with slow steps to the dais, and placing her hands on the keys,
caused two of the small globes to revolve, sending soft waves of sound
through the room.
I advanced towards her, but she raised her hand apprehensively. "No, no,
no; stand there," she said, "and sing low."
It was hard to see her troubled face and obey, but I was not going to
bellow at her like a bull, and I had set my heart on this trial. For the
last three days, while working in the fields, I had been incessantly
practicing my dear old master Campana's exquisite _M'appar sulla
tomba_, the only melody I happened to know which had any resemblance
to their divine music. To my surprise she seemed to play as I sang a
suitable accompaniment on the globes, which aided and encouraged me,
and, although singing in a subdued tone, I felt that I had never sung so
well before. When I finished, I quite expected some word of praise, or
to be asked why I had not sung this melody on that unhappy evening when
I was asked to lead; but she spoke no word.
"Will you sing something now?" I said.
"Not now--this evening," she replied absently, slowly walking across the
floor with eyes cast down.
"What are you thinking of, Yoletta, that you look so serious?" I asked.
"Nothing," she returned, a little impatiently.
"You look very solemn about nothing, then. But you have not said one
word about my singing--did you not like it?"
"Your singing? Oh no! It was a pleasant-tasting little kernel in a very
rough rind--I should like one without the other."
"You talk in riddles, Yoletta; but I'm afraid the answers to them would
not sound very flattering to me. But if you would like to know the song
I shall be only too glad to teach it to you. The words are in Italian,
but I can translate them."
"The words?" she said absently.
"The words of the song," I said.
"I do not know what you mean by the words of a song. Do not speak to me
now, Smith."
"Oh, very well," said I, thinking it all very strange, and sitting down
I divided my attention between my beautiful hose and Yoletta, still
slowly pacing the floor with that absent look on her face.
At length the curious mood changed, but I did not venture to talk any
more about music, and before very long we repaired to the eating-room,
where, for the next two or three hours, we occupied ourselves very
agreeably with those processes which, some new theorist informs us,
constitute our chief pleasure in life.
That evening I overheard a curious little dialogue. The father of the
house, as I had now grown accustomed to call our head, after rising from
his seat, stood for a few minutes talking near me, while Yoletta, with
her hand on his arm, waited for him to finish. When he had done
speaking, and turned to her, she said in a low voice, which I, however,
overheard: "Father, I shall lead to-night."
He put his hand on her head, and, looking down, studied her upturned
face. "Ah, my daughter," he said with a smile, "shall I guess what has
inspired you to-day? You have been listening to the passage birds. I
also heard them this morning passing in flocks. And you have been
following them in thought far away into those sun-bright lands where
winter never comes."
"No, father," she returned, "I have only been a little way from home in
thought--only to that spot where the grass has not yet grown to hide the
ashes and loose mold." He stooped and kissed her forehead, and then left
the room; and she, never noticing the hungry look with which I witnessed
the tender caress, also went away.
That some person was supposed to lead the singing every evening I knew,
but it was impossible for me ever to discover who the leader was; now,
however, after overhearing this conversation, I knew that on this
particular occasion it would be Yoletta, and in spite of the very poor
opinion she had expressed of my musical abilities, I was prepared to
admire the performance more than I had ever done before.
It commenced in the usual mysterious and indefinable manner; but after
a time, when it began to shape itself into melodies, the idea possessed
me that I was listening to strains once familiar, but long unheard and
forgotten. At length I discovered that this was Campana's music, only
not as I had ever heard it sung; for the melody of _M'appar sulla
tomba_ had been so transmuted and etherealized, as it were, that the
composer himself would have listened in wondering ecstasy to the
mournful strains, which had passed through the alembic of their more
delicately organized minds. Listening, I remembered with an
unaccountable feeling of sadness, that poor Campana had recently died in
London; and almost at the same moment there came to me a remembrance of
my beloved mother, whose early death was my first great grief in
boyhood. All the songs I had ever heard her sing came back to me,
ringing in my mind with a wonderful joy, but ever ending in a strange,
funereal sadness. And not only my mother, but many a dear one besides
returned "in beauty from the dust" appeared to be present--white-haired
old men who had spoken treasured words to me in bygone years;
schoolfellows and other boyish friends and companions; and men, too, in
the prime of life, of whose premature death in this or that far-off
region of the world-wide English empire I had heard from time to time.
They came back to me, until the whole room seemed filled with a pale,
shadowy procession, moving past me to the sound of that mysterious
melody. Through all the evening it came back, in a hundred bewildering
disguises, filling me with a melancholy infinitely precious, which was
yet almost more than my heart could bear. Again and yet again that
despairing _Ah-i-me_ fell like a long shuddering sob from the
revolving globes, and from voices far and near, to be taken up and borne
yet further away by far-off, dying sounds, yet again responded to by
nearer, clearer voices, in tones which seemed wrung "from the depths of
some divine despair"; then to pass away, but not wholly pass, for all
the hidden cells were stirred, and the vibrating air, like mysterious,
invisible hands, swept the suspended strings, until the exquisite bliss
and pain of it made me tremble and shed tears, as I sat there in the
dark, wondering, as men will wonder at such moments, what this tempest
of the soul which music wakes in us can mean: whether it is merely a
growth of this our earth-life, or a something added, a divine hunger of
the heart which is part of our immortality.