"Probe zum verlorenen Paradiese."
Miss Hallam fulfilled her promise with regard to my singing lessons. She
had a conversation with Fräulein Sartorius, to whom, unpopular as she
was, I noticed people constantly and almost instinctively went when in
need of precise information or a slight dose of common sense and
clear-headedness.
Miss Hallam inquired who was the best master.
"For singing, the Herr Direktor," replied Anna, very promptly. "And then
he directs the best of the musical vereins--the clubs--societies,
whatever you name them. At least he might try Miss Wedderburn's voice."
"Who is he?"
"The head of anything belonging to music in the town--königlicher
musik-direktor. He conducts all the great concerts, and though he does
not sing himself, yet he is one of the best teachers in the province.
Lots of people come and stay here on purpose to learn from him."
"And what are these vereins?"
"Every season there are six great concerts given, and a seventh for the
benefit of the direktor. The orchestra and chorus together are called a
verein--musik-verein. The chorus is chiefly composed of ladies and
gentlemen--amateurs, you know--_Dilettanten_. The Herr Direktor is very
particular about voices. You pay so much for admission, and receive a
card for the season. Then you have all the good teaching--the _Proben_."
"What is a _Probe_?" I demanded, hastily, remembering that Courvoisier
had used the word.
"What you call a rehearsal."
Ah! then he was musical. At last I had found it out. Perhaps he was one
of the amateurs who sung at these concerts, and if so, I might see him
again, and if so--But Anna went on:
"It is a very good thing for any one, particularly with such a teacher
as von Francius."
"You must join," said Miss Hallam to me.
"There is a probe to-night to Rubinstein's 'Paradise Lost,'" said Anna.
"I shall go, not to sing, but to listen. I can take Miss Wedderburn, if
you like, and introduce her to Herr von Francius, whom I know."
"Very nice! very much obliged to you. Certainly," said Miss Hallam.
The probe was fixed for seven, and shortly after that time we set off
for the Tonhalle, or concert-hall, in which it was held.
"We shall be much too early," said she. "But the people are shamefully
late. Most of them only come to _klatsch_, and flirt, or try to flirt,
with the Herr Direktor."
This threw upon my mind a new light as to the Herr Direktor, and I
walked by her side much impressed. She told me that if I accepted I
might even sing in the concert itself, as there had only been four
proben so far, and there were still several before the haupt-probe.
"What is the haupt-probe?" I inquired.
"General rehearsal--when Herr von Francius is most unmerciful to his
stupid pupils. I always attend that. I like to hear him make sport of
them, and then the instrumentalists laugh at them. Von Francius never
flatters."
Inspired with nightmare-like ideas as to this terrible haupt-probe, I
found myself, with Anna, turning into a low-fronted building inscribed
"Städtische Tonhalle," the concert-hall of the good town of Elberthal.
"This way," said she. "It is in the rittersaal. We don't go to the large
saal till the haupt-probe."
I followed her into a long, rather shabby-looking room, at one end of
which was a low orchestra, about which were dotted the desks of the
absent instrumentalists, and some stiff-looking Celli and Contrabassi
kept watch from a wall. On the orchestra was already assembled a goodly
number of young men and women, all in lively conversation, loud
laughter, and apparently high good-humor with themselves and everything
in the world.
A young man with a fuzz of hair standing off about a sad and
depressed-looking countenance was stealing "in and out and round about,"
and distributing sheets of score to the company. In the conductor's
place was a tall man in gray clothes, who leaned negligently against the
rail, and held a conversation with a pretty young lady who seemed much
pleased with his attention. It did not strike me at first that this was
the terrible direktor of whom I had been hearing. He was young, had a
slender, graceful figure, and an exceedingly handsome, though (I
thought at first) an unpleasing face. There was something in his
attitude and manner which at first I did not quite like. Anna walked up
the room, and pausing before the estrade, said:
"Herr Direktor!"
He turned: his eyes fell upon her face, and left it instantly to look at
mine. Gathering himself together into a more ceremonious attitude, he
descended from his estrade, and stood beside us, a little to one side,
looking at us with a leisurely calmness which made me feel, I knew not
why, uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Anna took up her parable.
"May I introduce the young lady? Miss Wedderburn, Herr Musik-Direktor
von Francius. Miss Wedderburn wishes to join the verein, if you think
her voice will pass. Perhaps you will allow her to sing to-night?"
"Certainly, _mein Fräulein_," said he to me, not to Anna. He had a long,
rather Jewish-looking face, black hair, eyes, and mustache. The features
were thin, fine, and pointed. The thing which most struck me then, at
any rate, was a certain expression which, conquering all others,
dominated them--at once a hardness and a hardihood which impressed me
disagreeably then, though I afterward learned, in knowing the man, to
know much more truly the real meaning of that unflinching gaze and iron
look.
"Your voice is what, _mein Fräulein_?" he asked.
"Soprano."
"Sopran? We will see. The soprani sit over there, if you will have the
goodness."
He pointed to the left of the orchestra, and called out to the
melancholy-looking young man, "Herr Schonfeld, a chair for the young
lady!"
Herr von Francius then ascended the orchestra himself, went to the
piano, and, after a few directions, gave us the signal to begin. Till
that day--I confess it with shame--I had never heard of the "Verlorenes
Paradies." It came upon me like a revelation. I sung my best,
substituting _do_, _re_, _mi_, etc., for the German words. Once or
twice, as Herr von Francius's forefinger beat time, I thought I saw his
head turn a little in our direction, but I scarcely heeded it. When the
first chorus was over, he turned to me:
"You have not sung in a chorus before?"
"No."
"So! I should like to hear you sing something _sola_." He pushed toward
me a pile of music, and while the others stood looking on and whispering
among themselves, he went on, "Those are all sopran songs. Select one,
if you please, and try it."
Not at all aware that the incident was considered unprecedented, and was
creating a sensation, I turned over the music, seeking something I knew,
but could find nothing. All in German, and all strange. Suddenly I came
upon one entitled "Blute nur, liebes Herz," the sopran solo which I had
heard as I sat with Courvoisier in the cathedral. It seemed almost like
an old friend. I opened it, and found it had also English words. That
decided me.
"I will try this," said I, showing it to him.
He smiled. "_'S ist gut!_" Then he read the title off the song aloud,
and there was a general titter, as if some very great joke were in
agitation, and were much appreciated. Indeed I found that in general
the jokes of the Herr Direktor, when he condescended to make any, were
very keenly relished by at least the lady part of his pupils.
Not understanding the reason of the titter I took the music in my hand,
and waiting for a moment until he gave me the signal, sung it after the
best wise I could--not very brilliantly, I dare say, but with at least
all my heart poured into it. I had one requisite at least of an artist
nature--I could abstract myself upon occasion completely from my
surroundings. I did so now. It was too beautiful, too grand. I
remembered that afternoon at Köln--the golden sunshine streaming through
the painted windows, the flood of melody poured forth by the invisible
singer; above all, I remembered who had been by my side, and I felt as
if again beside him--again influenced by the unusual beauty of his face
and mien, and by his clear, strange, commanding eyes. It all came back
to me--the strangest, happiest day of my life. I sung as I had never
sung before--as I had not known I could sing.
When I stopped, the tittering had ceased; silence saluted me. The young
ladies were all looking at me; some of them had put on their
eye-glasses; others stared at me as if I were some strange animal from a
menagerie. The young gentlemen were whispering among themselves and
taking sidelong glances at me. I scarcely heeded anything of it. I fixed
my eyes upon the judge who had been listening to my performance--upon
von Francius. He was pulling his mustache and at first made no remark.
"You have sung that song before, _gnädiges Fräulein_?"
"No. I have heard it once. I have not seen the music before."
"So!" He bowed slightly, and turning once more to the others, said:
"We will begin the next chorus. 'Chorus of the Damned,' Now, _meine
Herrschaften_, I would wish to impress upon you one thing, if I can,
that is--Silence, _meine Herren_!" he called sharply toward the tenors,
who were giggling inanely among themselves. "A chorus of damned souls,"
he proceeded, composedly, "would not sing in the same unruffled manner
as a young lady who warbles, 'Spring is come--tra, la, la! Spring is
come--lira, lira!' in her mamma's drawing-room. Try to imagine yourself
struggling in the tortures of hell"--(a delighted giggle and a sort of
"Oh, you dear, wicked man!" expression on the part of the young ladies;
a nudging of each other on that of the young gentlemen), "and sing as if
you were damned."
Scarcely any one seemed to take the matter the least earnestly. The
young ladies continued to giggle, and the young gentlemen to nudge each
other. Little enough of expression, if plenty of noise, was there in
that magnificent and truly difficult passage, the changing choruses of
the condemned and the blessed ones--with its crowning "WEH!" thundering
down from highest soprano to deepest bass.
"Lots of noise, and no meaning," observed the conductor, leaning himself
against the rail of the estrade, face to his audience, folding his arms
and surveying them all one after the other with cold self-possession. It
struck me that he despised them while he condescended to instruct them.
The power of the man struck me again. I began to like him better. At
least I venerated his thorough understanding of what was to me a
splendid mystery. No softening appeared in the master's eyes in answer
to the rows of pretty appealing faces turned to him; no smile upon his
contemptuous lips responded to the eyes--black, brown, gray, blue,
yellow--all turned with such affecting devotion to his own. Composing
himself to an insouciant attitude, he began in a cool, indifferent
voice, which had, however, certain caustic tones in it which stung me
at least to the quick:
"I never heard anything worse, even from you. My honored Fräulein, my
_gnädigen Herren_, just try once to imagine what you are singing about!
It is not an exercise--it is not a love song, either of which you would
no doubt perform excellently. Conceive what is happening! Put yourself
back into those mythical times. Believe, for this evening, in the story
of the forfeited Paradise. There is strife between the Blessed and the
Damned; the obedient and the disobedient. There are thick clouds in the
heavens--smoke, fire, and sulphur--a clashing of swords in the serried
ranks of the angels: can not you see Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, leading
the heavenly host? Can not some of you sympathize a little with Satan
and his struggle?"
Looking at him, I thought they must indeed be an unimaginative set! In
that dark face before them was Mephistopheles at least--_der Geist der
stets verneint_--if nothing more violent. His cool, scornful features
were lighted up with some of the excitement which he could not drill
into the assemblage before him. Had he been gifted with the requisite
organ he would have acted and sung the chief character in "Faust" _con
amore_.
"_Ach, um Gotteswillen!_" he went on, shrugging his shoulders, "try to
forget what you are! Try to forget that none of you ever had a wicked
thought or an unholy aspiration--"
("Don't they see how he is laughing at them?" I wondered.)
"You, Chorus of the Condemned, try to conjure up every wicked thought
you can, and let it come out in your voices--you who sing the strains of
the blessed ones, think of what blessedness is. Surely each of you has
his own idea! Some of you may agree with Lenore:
"'Bei ihm, bei ihm ist Seligkeit,
Und ohne Wilhelm Holle!'
"If so, think of him; think of her--only sing it, whatever it is.
Remember the strongest of feelings:
"'Die Engel nennen es Himmelsfreude
Die Teufel nennen es Höllenqual,
Die Menschen nennen es--LIEBE!'
"And sing it!"
He had not become loud or excited in voice or gesticulation, but his
words, flung at them like so many scornful little bullets, the
indifferent resignation of his attitude, had their effect upon the crew
of giggling, simpering girls and awkward, self-conscious young men. Some
idea seemed vouchsafed to them that perhaps their performance had not
been quite all that it might have been; they began in a little more
earnest, and the chorus went better.
For my own part, I was deeply moved. A vague excitement, a wild, and not
altogether a holy one, had stolen over me. I understood now how the man
might have influence. I bent to the power of his will, which reached me
where I stood in the background, from his dark eyes, which turned for a
moment to me now and then. It was that will of his which put me as it
were suddenly into the spirit of the music, and revealed me depths in my
own heart at which I had never even guessed. Excited, with cheeks
burning and my heart hot within me, I followed his words and his
gestures, and grew so impatient of the dull stupidity of the others that
tears came to my eyes. How could that young woman, in the midst of a
sublime chorus, deliberately pause, arrange the knot of her neck-tie,
and then, after a smile and a side glance at the conductor, go on again
with a more self-satisfied simper than ever upon her lips? What might
not the thing be with a whole chorus of sympathetic singers? The very
dullness which in face prevailed revealed to me great regions of
possible splendor, almost too vast to think of.
At last it was over. I turned to the direktor, who was still near the
piano, and asked timidly:
"Do you think I may join? Will my voice do?"
An odd expression crossed his face; he answered, dryly:
"You may join the verein, _mein Fräulein_--yes. Please come this way
with me. Pardon, Fräulein Stockhausen--another time. I am sorry to say I
have business at present."
A black look from a pretty brunette, who had advanced with an engaging
smile and an open score to ask him some question, greeted this very
composed rebuff of her advance. The black look was directed at
me--guiltless.
Without taking any notice of the other, he led Anna and me to a small
inner room, where there was a desk and writing materials.
"Your name, if you will be good enough?"
"Wedderburn."
"Your _Vorname_, though--your first name."
"My Christian name--oh, May."
"M--a--_na_! Perhaps you will be so good as to write it yourself, and
the street and number of the house in which you live."
I complied.
"Have you been here long?"
"Not quite a week."
"Do you intend to make any stay?"
"Some months, probably."
"Humph! If you wish to make any progress in music, you must stay much
longer."
"It--I--it depends upon other people how long I remain."
He smiled slightly, and his smile was not unpleasant; it lighted up the
darkness of his face in an agreeable manner.
"So I should suppose. I will call upon you to-morrow at four in the
afternoon. I should like to have a little conversation with you about
your voice. Adieu, _meine Damen_."
With a slight bow which sufficiently dismissed us, he turned to the desk
again, and we went away.
Our homeward walk was a somewhat silent one. Anna certainly asked me
suddenly where I had learned to sing.
"I have not learned properly. I can't help singing."
"I did not know you had a voice like that," said she again.
"Like what?"
"Herr von Francius will tell you all about it to-morrow," said she,
abruptly.
"What a strange man Herr von Francius is!" said I. "Is he clever?"
"Oh, very clever."
"At first I did not like him. Now I think I do, though."
She made no answer for a few minutes; then said:
"He is an excellent teacher."