CHAPTER XIX
Herr Slavska
Mabel had discovered that a woman with a mission hasn't such a bad timeof it. She set out on her journey to Jean without one of her usualmisgivings. It was jolly to think that she might be able to be of someuse in the world. The tediousness of a long journey of changes till shereached the main-line and thundered direct to London did not pall on heras it had done before. Throughout she thought, "I'm getting nearer toJean, and I shall put her on her feet."
She prepared to hate the girls' club, but to be quite uninfluenced byit. She would take Jean out, till neither of them cared what the clubwas like at all. She forgot Robin and Isobel and everything except onething which she would never forget, and Jean.
She drove up to the door of the club in the most energetic andindependent mood she had ever experienced. She didn't care whether thesecretary looked her up and down or not. She merely went straight toJean's room. Jean didn't at all pretend that it was a downcome. Shesimply wept with delight at the sight of Mabel.
"And I never shed a tear, not one, till you came," said she. "I'm soglad you came just when I began to get better."
Mabel did not dare to tell her that she had only been home-sick.
"If I tell her that, she will lie in bed to convince me that she isreally ill," she thought.
Girls' voices were heard screaming volubly.
"What's that?" asked Mabel, thinking that some accident had occurred.
"Oh nothing. They call out for each other from their different rooms.I thought it was a parrot house when I came, but I'm getting accustomedto it. They've been so decent, you can't think, Mabel. I never knewgirls could be so comforting."
"Poor Jean," said Mabel.
"You'll stay, won't you," said Jean.
"Of course I shall. Just imagine, papa wanted to come and take youhome. It would have been so stale for you after you got there, withthose little presents people gave you and all that kind of thing, if youhad gone right back home again, wouldn't it?"
"Imagine Aunt Katharine alone," said Jean solemnly.
"So, if you possibly can, Jean, get up as soon as you feel able tocrawl. So that I can say you are all right. Papa says I may stay for aweek or two if you are."
"Oh, Mabs, I wish you would stay right on!"
"Where's my room?" asked Mabel. "What rickety furniture!"
"The room is next door, isn't it nice? And the furniture's bought forgirls. They think we like rickets."
"Wickets," corrected Mabel. "You could use that chair at a match."
"Oh, Mabs, how jolly it is to have you here to laugh at it. Mabs, I dofeel better."
Mabel saw her up in three-quarters of an hour.
Jean had still to be treated seriously however.
"You know, Mabs, I had the most dreadful feeling. I could quiteunderstand how poor girls without friends go and drown themselves."
"That's more like depression than appendicitis," Mabel ventured.
"I hadn't been sleeping," explained Jean with dignity.
Mabel thought of some sleepless nights.
"The best cure is always to believe that it can't last," said she. "Doyou remember papa's telling us how Carlyle comforted Mrs. Carlyle whenshe had toothache? He said it wouldn't be permanent."
"What a brute," said Jean.
"Well, it sent me to sleep once or twice when I remembered that," saidMabel. "But you never were ill like this before. You couldn't believein getting well, could you?"
"I was sure I was going to die," said Jean in a hushed voice.
Mabel's heart had ached. Could she tell Jean of that ache and how shehad been obliged to cover it up by making herself believe that it couldnot possibly be permanent.
"Jean, do you know, I think it's so jolly being here, getting to knowthe best way of doing things, and all that sort of thing, I think Ishall ask papa to let me stay longer. Do you think they would let me?"
"Well, they let me--and then I didn't want to," said Jean.
"And I didn't want to and now I do," said Mabel. "Let's try it for aweek or two anyhow."
A great depression had been lifted from her shoulders. She found herselfin the midst of girls who had all something to do in the world. Theygot up in the morning and came tearing down to breakfast and made off tovarious definite occupations, as though they had nineteen parties in oneday to attend. Some were studying, others "arrived" and working, only afew playing. Yet even the last had some excuse in the way of aproblematical career in front of them. Here one saw where the desire tobe something has quite as hygienic an effect on one, as the faculty ofattainment. Mabel had not been three days in the house till she was asfeverish as any to be getting on. Going with Jean for her first lessonfinished her. Jean was still of the opinion that she was an invalid,and she certainly was overwrought and nervous. She would have backedout of her lesson, except that Mabel accompanied her.
They found a magnificent man, well groomed and of fierce but courtlymanners. He shook hands with the air of an arch-duke.
"And which is the fortunate mademoiselle?" he asked. "Not that I prefer'fortunate' because that she happens to be about to be taught by myself,but she has a voice? Hn?" It was a sound that had only the effect ofasking a question, but how efficiently!
He glared at Mabel, who produced Jean, as it were, by a motion of thehand.
"It is my sister who wants lessons," she said. This sounded likesomething out of a grammar book, and both girls saw the humour of it.But timidly, because Herr Slavska then invited them to sit, while heturned to the piano. He threw some music aside from the desk andcleared a place at the side for his elbow, as he sat down for a moment.
"They do not all have voices! No. But som, they have the soll. Youhave the soll? Hn?"
It did not seem necessary to inform Herr Slavska. He was walking up anddown now, flinging out more sentences before they had time to answer thelast.
"For myself. I had the voice and I had the soll. That is why I ask 'andwho is the mademoiselle who is so fortunate?' I am a voice, and look atme! I am a drudge to the great public. I gif lessons to stupids who donot love music. For what! For money to keep the stomach alive! Yes,that is it. And yet I say--which is the mademoiselle which isfortunate? For vit a voice and vit the soll, and vit the art which Ishall gif her, what does it matter about the stupid public? or thestomach?"
Herr Slavska waited for no answers.
"For years I was wrong. I had no art. None. I sang to the stupids andthey applauded. At last I make great discovery, I find the art. Now Ising to the few."
Herr Slavska paused for a moment.
"My sister has had no training at all, except as a pianist," said Mabel.
"Hn? Then I haf her, a flower, a bud unplucked!"
Herr Slavska grew excited.
"No nasty finger mark, no petal fallen. Ah! it is luck, it is luck formademoiselle. Come, mademoiselle."
He struck a note.
"Will you sing ze!"
Jean sang "ze." She sang "zo." Then he ran her voice into the top andbottom registers.
"You have the comprehension. It is the great matter," said HerrSlavska.
Then he blazed at her.
His "the," quite English when he remained polished and firm, degeneratedinto a "ze" at times such as these.
"You haf not ze breath, none," said he, as though Jean had committed anoutrage.
Jean, however, had begun to glow with the ardour of futureaccomplishment.
"That's what I came to learn," she said promptly.
"Aha, she has charac*tere*."
Herr Slavska was delighted, but Jean found this constant dissection ofherself trying.
Then the real work began. Herr Slavska breathed, made Jean breathe,hammered at her, expostulated, showed his own ribs rising and fallingwhile his voice remained even, tender, beautiful.
Mabel sat clasping her hands over one another.
"Oh, Herr Slavska, what a beautiful voice you have," she burst out atlast.
He looked at her with the greatest surprise.
"Ah! You are her sister? Hn? And you sit there listening to us?"
He had forgotten her existence.
"And you are not of the stupids, no! You say I haf a beautiful voice?Hn? It is ze art, mademoiselle, zat you hear now. Sixty-five, I am zatage! And I still fight for ze stomach wit my beautiful voice. But youare of ze few, is it not? I vil sing to you, mademoiselle, just once.Your sister goes. Ten minutes, mademoiselle--only ten minutes. Zen arest. And every day to me for two weeks! Hn? Is it not so?"
Then he cast up his arms in despair.
"Helas! It is my accompaniste. He _is_ not!"
Jean the direct stepped in.
"Oh, Mabel will play," she said.
Herr Slavska took one of his deepest breaths.
"I say I shall sing to you--I Herr Slavska. Ant you say 'Mabel willplay.' Hn? Mabel? Who is dis grand Mademoiselle Mabel?"
The humour of it suddenly appeared to come upper-most, and Herr Slavskabecame wickedly, cunningly suave.
"Ah yes, then if mademoiselle will," he said blandly.
He produced music.
Mabel was rooted with fear to the couch. Never in her life before hadshe been nervous.
"Jean, how could you," whispered she.
Oh, fortune and the best of luck! He turned to a song of Brahms'. Howoften had Mabel tried to drum that song into the willing but unculturedRobin! That Robin in his lame way should help her now seemed thefunniest freak of fate. She played the first bars hopefully, joyfully.She _knew_ she couldn't do anything silly there.
"But what!"
Herr Slavska had caught her by the shoulders, and looked in her eyes.
"Mademoiselle Mabel! From ze country! Mademoiselle plays like zat!Hn?"
He bowed grandly.
"My apologies, Mees Mademoiselle Mabel. We vill haf a rehearsal."
He sang through part of his programme for a concert. Mabel energeticallyremarked afterwards to Jean that she had never really felt heavenly inher life before.
"Oh, Jean," she said, "_Jean._"
"What would you," said Herr Slavska. "You must also study a little MeesMademoiselle Mabel. You have great talent. Ah, if you could study inze Bohemian school, Mees Mademoiselle. Hav I not said for years tothese stupids stupids public, there is no school like to that of Prague?Now all ze violinists tumble tumble over ze one another to Sevcik to go.See, it is ze fate. If you could go to Prague, mademoiselle. Praguewould make a great artiste of you."
Here was living, wonderful life for Mabel! If Herr Slavska thought somuch of her, why should she not have lessons in London?
Mr. Leighton never received such a letter as he had from her next day.If was full of thanks for his having made her play so much and go toconcerts when she was young. "Now I really know the literature ofmusic. It's the little slippy bits of technique that I'm not up in. Isaw every one of them come out and hit me in the eye when I played forHerr Slavska. Do you think I could really stay and take lessons, dearpapa? It would prime me for such a lot. I've often thought aboutCuthbert for instance, that it must be so jolly for him to feel primed.And after knowing life here, I'd only be more contented at home. Itisn't that one can't be bored in London. I think you can far far morethan anywhere. If you saw that girl with the pink bow! She onlydresses and dresses, one costume for the morning, another for theafternoon and so on. I suppose she has been taught to be a perfectlady. The girls in our house aren't the crowd that believe in beinglike men or anything of that sort. They want to get married if theymeet a nice enough husband. But nobody wants to get left, and it's sonice to be primed for that. I've sometimes felt I might one day be'left,' and it's awful. I shouldn't mind so much if I had a profession.Jean is like a new girl. She's full of breathings and 'my method' andall that kind of thing. And she has to have an egg flip every morningat eleven if you please. I'm longing to have a master who orders me eggflip, but they don't do that for piano, do they?
"Oh, please, papa, say you don't care for us for six months, and let usdo you some credit at last. We were just little _potty_ players atRidgetown...."
Mr. Leighton took a mild attack of influenza on the strength of this,but he was infinitely pleased at the enthusiasm of Mabel. Mrs. Leightongot into the Aunt Katharine mood, where such "goings on" seemediniquitous.
"I don't see why you should pay so much money to keep them out of theirown home," said she.
By next post, she sent a hamper of cakes to the girls.
Then came a letter from Mr. Leighton, which Mabel locked in a littlemorocco case along with some other treasures, "to keep for ever."
"I am to stay, and I'm to have lessons from any VollendollenvallejowskiI like to name," she cried to Jean. The two rocked on a bamboo chair inhappy abandonment till some explosive crackling sounds warned them thatjoy had its limits.
Every girl in the house was invited into the tea "with cakes from home."
"What a love of a father and a duck of a mother we've got," said theconvalescent homesick Jean.
The Story Book Girls Page 19
