After their luncheon Easter went to Ash's for a lesson; also to pour
into the sympathetic ear of Madame her impressions of the rehearsal;
like the egotist she was, these personal impressions were intrinsically
of more importance to her than the music or the singing. Ulick had
left her, promising himself to see her at dinner that evening; he
didn't propose to let Stone altogether monopolize her; but he couldn't
be jealous of anybody much less of little Alfred Stone. It was a
temperamental defect and he recognized it. Never to be jealous implied
either supreme self-satisfaction or blunt indifference--which is worse
than the rankest egotism. As he rode down town on the Third Avenue "L"
to the office of the "Clarion," he recalled the gracious reception of
Easter by the great Isolde; Lilli had been unusually amiable. Was it
because Paul Godard was in her dressing-room? Ulick detested Paul,
though calmly. That young millionaire sprig, who dabbled in music as
he did in stocks and society, went everywhere. At Baireuth Ulick had
dodged his company. Paul was so complacently conscious of himself
that he irritated Ulick. And his dilettante attitude toward life and
the Seven Arts was intolerable to Invern, who, notwithstanding his
philosophy of laissez-faire, was a sincere student, one who despised
the slipshod method and smattering of knowledge, the vice of the other
young man.
Godard never noticed Ulick's reserved manner. He bubbled over when he
met the critic as he bubbled over Lilli's Isolde, as he bubbled over
Otero's dancing at Koster and Bial's. Paul admired all manifestations
à la mode. His judgments were Mr. Everyman's. In the same breath he
could praise Degas and Meissonier, Meyerbeer and Debussy. The absence
of discriminating values in his conversation would send Ulick into a
cold rage. He didn't like Paul's openly expressed admiration of Easter.
Madame Lehmann had questioned her as to her plans, and, unasked, Paul
had made some suggestions. "Now, there's Trabadello in Paris. I fancy
he is the man for you. Or Mathilde Marchesi." What infernal impudence,
thought Ulick. A stranger butting in like that. Lehmann, hearing the
name of Frida Ash, approved, adding, "But my dear young lady, you
musn't stay in New York too long. Your formative years should be spent
in Europe, in Paris, in Berlin, in Milan. Some day you should try to
sing at Baireuth if only the humblest rôles. You know that I was one
of the Rhine-Daughters there at the first performance of the Ring in
1876. But if you go to Germany next Summer come to see me. Perhaps--if
your voice--you have an excellent stage presence--who knows?" Paul
Godard became ecstatic. "Ah, who knows?" he echoed like a parrot--so
Ulick called him; "lucky Miss Brandès--Oh, I wonder if you are any
relative of the divine Marthe--" "There he goes again with that damfool
question," said Ulick to himself. "She ought to change her name." As
they went away Ulick overheard Lilli say: "Yes, very effective. Cold
temperament. Brilliant, but hard. She will push herself." He quickly
glanced at the girl, who acted as if she hadn't heard this frank
criticism. The enthusiasm which was like a halo when she had entered
the presence of La Diva had quite disappeared. She was composed when
she parted, after thanking Madame Lehmann for her kindness. Then and
there Ulick made note that whenever anyone was polite to Easter she
assumed a patronizing air. You can't have too much pride, advises
Nietzsche. Ulick doubted the soundness of this axiom. Decidedly,
Easter was too self-confident, too conceited, and pride goeth before a
fall.
To his disappointment, when they were in the street, she began asking
questions about Godard. Ulick had hoped she would be overwhelmed by
the unexpected reception accorded her by Lehmann. She did not refer
to the singer except to call her "a nice but condescending old lady."
Paul Godard was another matter. Was he rich? Wasn't he handsome, a
fascinating young man, and so witty, wise and helpful! Didn't Ulick
notice how sensible were his suggestions? Who is Trabadello? Does
he teach Wagner rôles? Marchesi can't. She's for such ornamental
singers as Melba and Eames. That sort of singing didn't interest her.
Flute-playing--nothing stirring or dramatic. She meant to be a Wagner
singer, an extraordinary Isolde and Brunnhilde. Keep your Marguerites,
your Gildas, Juliettes, yes, even your Carmens. I must conquer Wagner,
she triumphantly asserted. Ulick exploded. Possibly the allusions to
Godard got on his nerves, anyhow, it was the proper time to put this
braggart in her place. "You and your Wagner," he testily exclaimed.
"Are you so silly and ignorant as to fancy that you can step out
of Madame Ash's solfeggi class straight to the footlights? You are
enormously ignorant--don't interrupt me. Frida has told me. Your voice
is remarkable, and so is your musical memory. But you have no style,
no personality--yes, don't get angry, Easter"--he paused, but her face
was averted, and he couldn't tell if she were angry at the familiar
address--"personality, I mean in your art; you have enough in life,
too much," he ventured. She didn't reply and then they had gone to
Moretti's. When they parted she seemed in good humour.
But as she strolled up Irving Place en route to her lesson her
expression was far from contented. He had scratched her vanity and she
felt unforgiving. What was Ulick to her? He wasn't a music-critic, he
wouldn't be so useful as Stone. Yet, he had a lot of influence. She
could see that, and then hadn't he brought her to Lilli and mightn't
that meeting decide her artistic fate? She made up her mind that it
should. Already New York was a drag on her spirit and she a resident
only a few weeks. No, she would follow Lilli to Berlin and study with
her no matter what Ulick, or Stone, or Ash said to the contrary. And
the money? Where in the world was it to come from? She calmly turned
over in her mind the possibilities of Paul Godard. That wouldn't do,
she decided, and rejected the idea, not however because of its inherent
immorality. She began thinking of Allie Wentworth and her set. Allie
was an Ash pupil and Easter played her accompaniments. An intimacy
ensued. Allie was an heiress. Old Wentworth was the Olive-Oil King, or
some such idiotic title, and he had money to burn, Easter reflected.
There might be something in that direction. Paul was nice, his eyes
had measured every inch of her, and those eyes had eloquently related
their admiration. What if she played for a bigger stake? this notion
she also reflected as improbable of execution; besides, she would'
never marry. Marriage. Stupid slavery for an ambitious woman.... Her
thought poised lightly on Ulick and despite herself she coloured ...
he is a charming boy, but so self-opinionated. She was late and had to
mollify Madame Frida. Luckily the pupil she had kept waiting was Miss
Wentworth. She chatted with her at the end of the lesson. Allie was a
masculine creature, who affected a mannish cut of clothes. She wore
her hair closely cut and sported a hooked walking stick. Her stride
and bearing intrigued Easter, who had never seen that sort before. All
of Wentworth's friends were of the sporting order. All smoked, and, a
shocking deviation from the conventionality of that time, they drove
their own motor-cars. Easter thought them rather free in their speech,
and too familiar. Allie was always hugging her when alone. She drank
liqueurs with her coffee and wasn't ashamed to avow the habit. She
invited Easter to visit her and Madame Frida gave her consent. They are
immensely wealthy, she confided to her pupil and may be of use to you
some day. Allie is a crazy-cat but a jolly girl.
When Easter told her of Lehmann's suggestion Madame was amazed. "What!
You a chit who only have a a voice and a pretty face to go to Lehmann
before you know how to sing? If Lilli heard you once she wouldn't be
so generous with her invitation. Why, child, you must stay with me two
or three years, then it may be time to think of Isolde. Lilli and her
Grünewald villa!" Easter drawled out that she proposed singing for
Lehmann after the Christmas holidays so that Lilli wouldn't be buying
a pig in a poke. Again, consternation on the part of Ash. Well, if you
sing for Lilli suppose we get to work on some Bach. Easter loathed
Bach, although she knew that his music was necessary to the formation
of a sound vocal style. So she didn't demur, and presently she was
delivering an old chorale, accompanying herself, and singing with such
tonal richness and exaltation of feeling that the tears came unbidden
to the eyes of the veteran teacher. Afterwards she told Stone that the
girl was a torment but--a genius. Yes, the word was spoken. Why, she
eats the words out of my mouth, cried Madame Frida. She anticipates me.
Conceited? Yes. She has a good right to be. At the present rate--she
will be singing Wagner in a couple of years ... Alfred, you think she
has no temperament? She is bursting with it. When she kicks over the
traces, I shouldn't like to be in the coach behind. But sly--selfishly
sly. After this psychological diagnosis Madame emitted a sigh of
satisfaction.