Like the fairy Pari-Banou's magic tent, which could shelter an army of
ten thousand men, and yet was capable of being folded into the smallness
of a handkerchief, what one calls "the world" shrinks and stretches to
suit the individual case. Into the world of Polly and Patty Piper Lord
Castlecombe and his family sorrows entered not at all. They might
occasionally be viewed afar from the tent door; but even that distant
recognition was not vouchsafed to them now, when the great event of the
musical party absorbed the attention of the two sisters.
In addition to Miss Clara Bertram and Mr. Cleveland Turner, the occasion
was to be graced by the presence of Signor Vincenzo Valli. He was on a
visit to a noble family in Mr. Sweeting's neighbourhood, and had
volunteered to accompany that gentleman and his _protege_ to Miss
Piper's party. This honour, like other honours, was somewhat of a
burthen as well as a distinction. The programme of the evening's
performance, so carefully and anxiously arranged beforehand, must be
modified to suit Signor Valli; who, if he condescended to sing at all,
would do so only in accordance with his own caprice. And this would
probably occasion difficulties; since, although Miss Bertram's
amiability might be reckoned on, Mr. Cleveland Turner took a more
stiff-necked view of his own importance, and would not be disposed to
yield the _pas_ to Valli. Still Miss Piper had no cowardly regrets on
hearing of the distinction which was to befall her. She rose to the
occasion, and was prepared to undergo almost any impertinence from the
popular singing master with a Spartan smile.
"I ought to understand how to manage artists, if anybody does," said
she, remembering the many cups of tea she had poured out for that
_irritable genus_ in old times.
But the crowning interest and glory of the evening to her would be the
performance of an air from "Esther," which Miss Bertram had promised to
sing. The Misses Piper had invited her to visit them at first from
disinterested kindness; the young singer being tired with the work of
the season, and in need of rest and change of air. Under these
circumstances, both the sisters were too thoroughly gentlewomen to hint
at her singing for them. But Clara Bertram, casting about in her mind
for some way to show her gratitude to the kindly old maids, had herself
proposed to sing "something from 'Esther.'" And the offer was too
tempting to be refused.
The composition selected was of the most infantile simplicity, and could
have been learned by heart in ten minutes. But a copy of it had been
sent to town a fortnight ago for Miss Bertram to "study." And Mr.
Simpson had been supposed to be "studying" the accompaniment for an
equal length of time. In fact, the performance of the air from "Esther"
was the original germ out of which the musical party at Garnet Lodge had
been developed.
Clara Bertram arrived in Oldchester the morning before the great day:
partly in order that she might not be over-tired, and partly to give the
opportunity for a rehearsal of the air with Mr. Simpson. "Oh, I'm sure
we need not trouble Mr. Simpson," Clara began thoughtlessly. "It is
certain to go all right." But Miss Polly would not allow such a lax view
of responsibility.
"Excuse me, my dear," she said, "but the music of 'Esther' is
not quite a drawing-room ballad. Not that you will not sing it
charmingly--perfectly! There is no doubt about that. But there is a
certain breadth--a certain style of phrasing, necessary for sacred
music. It is most important that the accompanist should understand your
_reading_ of the air. Indeed, I am anxious to hear it myself. I have my
own idea as to the proper rendering of the opening phrase, 'Hear, O
King, and grant me my petition!' But I shan't say a word until I have
heard you. Your idea may be better than mine; Ha, ha, ha! Who knows?
'Hear, O King, and grant----?' My own notion would be to begin
softly--almost _sotto voce_--in a timid manner: 'Hear, O King;' and then
to rise into a _crescendo_ as the strain proceeds 'and grant me my
PETITION!' But I won't say a word. You must sing it as you _feel_ it."
May was, by special favour, admitted to the rehearsal. She had called to
see Clara Bertram on the afternoon of her arrival, and was ushered into
the long, low, old-fashioned drawing-room, where she found Miss Piper
seated at one end of it, amid a wilderness of rout-seats, and Mr.
Sebastian Bach Simpson at the piano, near to which Miss Bertram was
standing.
"Oh, it's dear May Cheffington!" said Miss Piper, who had turned round
sharply at the opening of the door. "Yes, yes; come in, my dear. Not at
home to anybody else, Rachel! Not to _anybody_, do you hear? Now come
and sit down by me, my dear. She is going to try 'Hear, O King.' Very
glad to see you; you are so sympathetic, and such a favourite with
Clara! There now, don't make her talk! Nothing worse for the voice than
talking. Come and sit down."
May was, indeed, scarcely allowed to exchange greetings with her friend,
who whispered smilingly, "We'll have our chat by-and-by."
Then Mr. Simpson struck up the first chords of the symphony, and there
was breathless silence. He had not played three bars, however, before
Miss Piper jumped up and ran to the piano.
"Oh, I beg pardon, Mr. Simpson, for offering a suggestion to so sound a
musician as yourself, but _don't_ you think a little more stress might
be laid on that chord of the diminished seventh? It prepares the way,
you see, for the pleading tone of the composition. _Le-da_,
_de-da_--like that! Oh, thank you! _Quite_ my meaning. Please go on."
But Mr. Simpson did not proceed far without receiving another
"suggestion."
"A little more force and fulness, don't you think, in that resolution of
the discord? I should like a richer effect."
"I don't know how to make it richer," rasped out Mr. Simpson. "It is the
simple common chord, just four notes--C, E, G, C. I sounded 'em all. I
can play the bass as an octave, if you think _that_'ll be any richer."
"Oh, thank you! Yes, I really think it will. You see 'Esther' was scored
for full orchestra, and the composer's ear hankers after the
instrumental effects. But that octave in the bass is a _great_
improvement. Many thanks!"
And in this fashion the symphony was at length got through.
Then Clara uplifted her pure, clear voice, and sang. May listened in
delight. Surely Miss Polly must be enchanted! Even Mr. Simpson's hard
visage relaxed, as the thrilling notes rose in sweet pathetic pleading.
When they ceased, he wheeled round on the music-stool, and exclaimed
with the most unwonted fervour, "It's the loveliest soprano voice I've
heard since your great namesake, Clara Novello. Some of your notes
remind me of her altogether. Not that I expect to hear anything _quite_
like her 'Let the Bright Seraphim,' on this side of paradise."
May turned to Miss Piper. But, to her astonishment, Miss Piper's face
did not express unmingled delight. There was some slight and indefinable
shade on it.
"Well, I do think that is most beautiful," said May.
"Do you, my dear? Do you really?"
"Why, how is it possible to think otherwise, Miss Piper? No one could,
surely!"
"Well, it is very kind of you to say so, my dear; and, to be frank, it
shows a power of appreciation not quite common at your age. Of course it
would be affectation on my part, at this time of day, and with my
reputation behind me, to say I am surprised. But I am gratified, very
much gratified. And don't you think Miss Bertram did _her_ part
delightfully?"
May looked at her blankly, unable to say a word in reply. Fortunately,
no reply was needed, for Miss Piper bustled up to Clara and thanked her,
and praised her. But still her manner fell decidedly short of its usual
cordial heartiness. At length, with many apologies and flowery speeches,
she begged that the air might be repeated, if Clara were sure it would
not tire her; and, this being at once conceded, she asked, hesitatingly,
"And would you mind if I offered a little suggestion? Just a hint!"
"Certainly not, dear Miss Piper! I will do my best to carry out your
idea."
"Oh, that is so sweet of you! Thank you a thousand times! If Mr. Simpson
will kindly oblige us once more----? Now, you see, it is just here, on
that G in alt, where the voice rises on the words, 'Grant, oh, grant me
my petition!' The sound 'grant,' according to my original conception,
should be given with a sort of wail--not, of course, an unmusical sound,
but just with a tinge of sadness expressive of the then miserable and
depressed condition of the Jewish nation, and at the same time with a
tone--an _underlying_ tone, as it were--conveying the latent hope (which
really was in Queen Esther's mind all along, you know) that by her
efforts brighter days might yet be in store for them. You feel what I
mean?"
"I will try my best," answered Clara gently. And then she sang the air
again--precisely as she had sung it before.
"_Now_," cried Miss Piper, jumping up and clapping her hands in an
ecstasy of triumph, "it is _perfect_--absolutely perfect!"
She poured out unstinted thanks and compliments to both singer and
accompanist, observing to the latter that this recalled the great days
of the public performance of "Esther," and that she considered Miss
Bertram's rendering of "Hear, O King," far superior to that of the
well-known vocalist who had sung it originally. "But then, you see,
_she_ could not, or would not, take a hint. Consequently--although, of
course, she sang the notes perfectly--she never fully mastered my
conception. Now a word has been enough to show Miss Bertram the inner
meaning of my music; and she interprets it in the most _exquisite_
manner."
Before going away May contrived to have a few words with Clara Bertram
in her room.
"It is such a pleasure to hear you sing again," said May. "How I wish
Granny could hear you!"
"Will not your grandmother be here to-morrow evening?"
"Oh no," answered May, colouring. "She does not go out to parties.
Granny does not belong to the class of the ladies and gentlemen who come
here. Her husband was a tradesman in this town. But she is the finest
creature in the world. And she has more real dignity than any one I
know."
"Your grandmother lives here? But then--how is it--your mother is not a
foreigner?"
"A foreigner? Good gracious! No. My mother was Miss Susan Dobbs. She
died years ago, when I was a little child. Why do you ask?"
"Oh, nothing. I fancied--Valli said something about having known Madame
Cheffington abroad."
"That was possible. My parents lived abroad for years. My father is on
the Continent now. I and the two little brothers before me were born in
Belgium."
"Oh! I suppose that must be it," said Clara slowly. "Valli talks at
random sometimes."
"Signor Valli talks very much at random if he ever said my mother was a
foreigner. By the way, do you know he is to be here to-morrow evening?"
"Yes; so I hear."
"You do not hear it with rapture, apparently."
"No; I do not like him very much."
"He likes _you_ very much, if appearances may be trusted," said May
laughingly.
"He is always making love to me after his fashion. That is why I do not
like him."
Clara spoke gravely, but with her habitual serenity. There was something
in her manner which seemed to be akin to her voice; something clear, but
not cold: a crystal with the sun in it.
"Oh, that is hideous, isn't it?" cried May, with eager fellow-feeling.
"When people want to marry you, and you shudder at the bare idea of
marrying _them_."
"I don't think Valli wants to marry me," answered Clara calmly. "Indeed,
I believe he feels a great deal of hostility towards me at times. He is
never satisfied unless his pupils will, more or less, flirt with him--a
kind of philandering which I object to. Besides, it wastes one's time.
But he has been spoiled more than you would believe by fashionable
ladies. I suppose you never read much of George Sands' writings?"
"No," answered May, opening great eyes of wonder.
"Nor I, except 'Consuelo,' and the sequel to it. I read them for the
musical part, which is wonderfully good. Well, in the 'Comtesse de
Rudolstadt' there is a certain Monsieur de Poelnitz, of whom it is said
that _en qualite d'ex-roue il n'aimait pas les filles vertueuses_. It
always seems to me that Valli, in his quality of philanderer, dislikes
women who won't flirt, whether he wants to flirt with them himself or
not."
"How odious! How despicable!"
"And yet he has his good qualities. He is very faithful and generous to
his family, and sends a great part of his earnings to them in their
little Sicilian village."
Then, seeing that May still looked very much shocked and astonished,
Clara added, in a lighter tone, "But let us talk of something more
pleasant. You were speaking of your grandmamma. If you think she would
like it, I should be so glad to go and sing to her at her own home."
"Like it! Of course she would like it! And I scarcely know how to thank
you as you ought to be thanked, for fear of sounding like Miss Piper!"
Clara smiled. "Miss Piper and her sister are both very kind to me," she
said.
"Yes; but I wish Miss Polly wasn't so ridiculous. Of course, her music
is poor and silly. It is only your beautiful singing that makes it sound
well. But then you could make 'Baa, baa, blacksheep,' sound well! And
then to hear the outrageous, conceited nonsense she talks----! I wonder
that you can endure it so meekly. _I_ couldn't!" answered May, with the
trenchant intolerance of her eighteen years.
"Oh yes, you could, under the circumstances. I am only too glad to give
the kind old lady any pleasure. And she is _not_ so outrageously
conceited--for an amateur. But now I fear I must turn you out, much as I
should like you to stay; for Miss Piper sent me upstairs to lie down;
and if she finds I am not doing so, I shall have to drink another cupful
of Miss Patty's excellent beef-tea, which is so strong, it makes me feel
quite tipsy!"