As early as seven o'clock there was a small crowd in front of the Marsoc
residence, from which was to be buried the famous tenor, Siegfried
Brazier. His death, his many romances, his marriages, his debts and his
stalwart personality canalized public curiosity, and after the doors had
been thrown open a constantly growing stream of men, women, children,
and again women, women, women, flowed into the house through the hall,
into the big reception-room, past the modest coffin with its twin
bouquets of violets, out of the side door and into the street again. The
fact that at midday there were to be imposing public obsequies, did not
check the desire of the morbid-minded to view the corpse in a more
intimate fashion. No members of the family were downstairs; but over the
broad balustrade hung two veiled women, their eyes burning with
curiosity. As the tide of humanity swept by Belle felt her arm pinched:
"There, there! the old woman in a crape veil. That's mother Madison.
She'll have to alter her will now. Perhaps she's done it already. She
was in love with Sig. Yes, that old thing." Selene gave a husky titter.
"And she's sneaking in to see the poor boy and thinks no one will
recognize her. I'd like to call out her name." Belle clapped her hand
over Selene's mouth.
"Look, now," said the latter, releasing herself; "look at those chorus
girls. What cheek! All with violets, because it was _his_ favorite
flower. What a man; what a man!" ...
Belle's companion leaned heavily on her, and Val came up and persuaded
his sister to go to the front room. His eyes were hollow and his voice
broke as he whispered to Belle that they might be seen. Besides, it was
nearly time--he went downstairs....
From the latticed window the two women watched. First, the police
cleared the way; the ragamuffins were driven into the street. Then the
fat undertaker appeared with Val and stood on the curb as the coffin, an
oak affair with silver handles and plate, was carried to the hearse. Val
and the undertaker got into a solitary carriage, and amidst much
gabbling and wondering gossip were driven off. It was a plain, very
plain, funeral, every one said, and without a note of music. As the
crowd dribbled away, Selene recognized two of the prima donnas and the
first contralto of the opera, and she nudged Belle in a sardonic manner.
"More of them, Belle, more of them. We ought to feel flattered," then
both women burst into hysterical sobbing and embraced desperately. They
read in each other's eyes a mutual desire.
"Shall we risk it?" whispered Belle. Selene was already putting on her
heavy mourning veil. Belle at once began to dress, and James was
despatched for a carriage. The street was clear when the widows went
forth, and in half an hour they reached the opera-house. Here they were
delayed. A mounted policeman tried to turn their hansom away.
Selene beckoned to him and explained:
"I am Mrs. Brazier," and the officer bowed. They were driven to a side
entrance, and the assistant-manager took the pair to his box. There
they sat and trembled behind their long crape veils....
Some one on the stage was speaking of music, the "Heavenly Maid," and
the women dissolved in tears at the glowing eulogies upon their husband.
The huge auditorium was draped entirely in black. In it was thronged a
sombre-coated mass of men and the women known in the fashionable and
artistic world. The stage was filled with musicians, and in its centre,
banked by violets, violets only, was the catafalque. The numerous
candles and flowers made the air dull and perfumed; the large
chandeliers burned dimly, and when the Pilgrims' Chorus began, Belle
felt that she was ready to swoon.
The stage-setting was the last scene of "Götterdämmerung", and the
chorus was in costume. A celebrated orator had finished; the chorus
welled up solemnly, and Selene said again and again:
"Oh, Sig! Sig! what a funeral, what a funeral for such a man!" "It's
just the kind he would have liked," remonstrated Belle, in a barely
audible voice, and Selene shivered. When the music ceased a soprano sang
the Immolation music and there was weeping heard in the body of the
house. The ushers with difficulty kept the aisles clear, and the lobbies
were packed with perspiring persons. Wherever Selene peeped she saw
faces, and they all wore an expression of grief. Nearly all the women
carried handkerchiefs to their eyes, and many of the men seemed
shamefaced at the tears they could not keep back. In one of the front
stalls a solitary figure knelt, face buried in hands.
"There's Val, Belle. There, near the stage, to the left. I do believe
he's praying. And for what? For a man who had no brains, no heart; a
reckless, handsome man, who was simply a voice, a sweet, lying voice."
"For shame, Selene, for shame! He was your--he was our husband." Belle's
lips were white and trembling as she murmured, "May God rest his poor
soul. He was a sweet boy, poor Sig, may God rest his soul. Oh, how I
wish he were alive!" Selene looked disdainful, and her eyes grew black.
"I don't," she said, so loudly that a man in the next box leaned over,
and then as "Siegfried's Trauermarsch" sounded, the coffin was carried
in pompous procession from the building. There was a brief conflict
between the ushers and a lot of women over the flowers on the stage, and
every one, babbling and relieved, went out into the daylight.... The
widows waited until the police had emptied the house, then sent for
their carriage. They lunched at home and later, after many exchanges of
affection, Belle drove away to catch the evening train. Selene watched
her from the window.
"I do believe she loved him after all! I wish she'd set her cap now for
Val. Pooh! what a soft fool she is. Sig was _my_ legal husband, and I
alone can bear his name, for she has no certificate. What an interesting
name, Mrs. Siegfried Brazier, widow of the famous Wagnerian tenor. Is
that you, Val?" Val came in, dusty and exhausted.
"Did you go to the cemetery?" "Yes." "Was any one there?" "Only one old
woman." "Mrs. Madison!" cried Selene, in rasping, triumphant tones.
"No," wearily answered the man, lying....