During the winter which followed the summer of their union the X.’s
became members of a coterie, with which dancing was held in high
esteem. Mrs. X. was _enciente_, but showed her condition scarcely
at all, and so danced, and afterward played for the dancers at the
hebdomadal reunions, up to within a month of her confinement.
She had left school with fair musical powers fairly cultivated, and
with a voice sweet, but not powerful. The lover who had praised her
singing, when her husband, spoke in thoughtless, disparaging strain of
its quality. This so wounded and discouraged her that no inducement
could make her open her lips again. But, as I have said, she continued
to play on the piano-forte, more or less on each occasion, “dance
music” already at her fingers’ ends, and short, easy, gay compositions
with which she was familiar before leaving school, and which needed
no notes as reminders. At home she read and studied no new music, or
music of a higher character. This was partly because her musical taste
was uncultivated, and partly because the new draft on her energy was
attended by depression, and she felt justified in yielding to her
feelings, and dropping all mental and bodily effort. “I will be more
studious, more orderly and hospitable after baby is born. But now I
shall drop everything--let things slide.”
The boy born of these ante-natal circumstances resembled his father in
his coarser mental calibre, while he lacked the ambition and steady
purpose which characterized the latter. He, however, took to the keys
of the piano as a duck takes to water. When a lad, his fingers grasped
the chords and flew swiftly through the scales. This endless series of
polkas, schottisches, and cotillions wearied the entire household. He
hated classical music, and cared little for vocal melody or harmony.
Two years after the birth of this boy, a younger sister of Mrs. X. made
them a visit of some months’ duration, and she insisted that Clara
should take part with her in duets, notwithstanding that her unused
voice and pregnant state promised little success from the effort. As
soon as Mr. X. was quite out of sight on the way to his business (for
the old criticism still rankled in her mind, and the mutual performance
was kept a secret from him), the two would be at the instrument with
Mendelssohn, Wallace, and others before them, making delicious harmony.
There is nothing like singing to free the soul, and awaken its heights
and depths. Nothing could have been more fortunate for little Clara,
who made her entry into the world before her aunt’s departure, than
the antecedent occupation of her mother. In time her voice proved to
be as sweet and far stronger than her mother’s, and in all her nature
she realized the inspiring effect of those hours when persuaded by her
sister, her mother had lost sight of herself in the pure emotions and
thoughts of those famous masters.