The north wind in its increasing fury, commenced to batter tin roofs,chimney-tops, blinds, awnings, flag-poles, as if a giant hand were atwork, while odds and ends of debris fell crashing into the streets tobury themselves in the drifts. Those unfortunates who were compelled tobrave the elements, fought their way onward like wild beasts, cursing,shouting and screaming aloud.
Half-frozen, nearly blinded by the storm and the hail that cut herdelicate face like a knife, Christine suddenly found herself beforethe open portal of a palatial house. Driven by a momentary impulsefor shelter from the cold, penetrating blast, she entered. At once aray of hope illumined her desolate face. Now, if she were to try oncemore, and sing for these rich people, warm and comfortable behind thosewindows!
Quickly she withdrew her violin from its battered case, and beganin quivering tones to sing the Lorelei her father had taught her,before anyone was aware of her presence. The wonderful tones of herhigh soprano rang through the stately mansion, vibrating clear andpenetrating all the rooms.
"Here, here, the impertinence!" cried the irritated porter, jumpingout of his porter's lodge, pale with anger, and pointing to a signconspicuously hanging in the entrance of the spacious porte-cochere."How dare you, mean little baggage, you! Can't you see that beggers andorgan-grinders are not allowed to enter here? Heh! screaming at the topof her voice in such weather! Get out! get out! quick! march!" His tonewas sneering, and his lips curled contemptuously as he waved his handdisdainfully for her to leave the courtyard.
Greatly frightened and trembling in all her frozen little limbs,Christine was about to obey, and covered her violin, timidly looking atthe porter's ugly red face, when suddenly a window on the first floorwas flung open. The elegant form of a middle-aged man, with gold-rimmedeye-glasses, leaning out of the window, gave the porter so imperious acommand to withdraw at once, that the startled man, hardly daring tolift his eyes to this illustrious personage, retired with many a boband scrape to his porter's lodge.
Christine, greatly encouraged by this incident, and anxious to usethe opportunity, began to sing anew; for she thought that if she wonthe favor of the man at the window, it must surely mean help for hersorely-tried family. So she sang the Lorelei again--sang overpoweringlythose lovely, mystic notes--"Das hat mit threm singen die Loreleigethan."
The superb sound burst forth from the little shivering form, rockedhere and there by the raging storm, and seemed to breathe the longingsand distress of a pure childish soul. This piteous appeal for helpthrough the medium of Listz's greatest legendary love-song, was notwithout effect.
"Superb--a phenomenon--a star!" murmured the man at the window inamazement. He leaned out into the storm, gazing intently at the youngsinger, for he was no less a personage than Duke Hohenlohe, thegreatest musical critic and enthusiast in all Vienna. He withdrew fromthe window, closing it with a snap.
Christine was speechless with joy, and her dark, glowing eyes flashedin excited bewilderment when a richly liveried butler came down thestairs into the courtyard, handing her five gulden and demandingher address. She stood there--her face flushed with wonder, and herchildish lips parted as if hearing the magic music of another world.Cyclones of wind, thundering waves of ice and snow were forgotten. Hopehad entered her heart, and with the five gulden clasped tightly to herbreast, she made her way out of the courtyard, past the porter's lodgeinto the street. She hurried along as best she could, her heart singinga holy song of gratitude, and her lips smiling at the thought of thehappiness she was bringing to those at home. The last part of the wayshe ran and burst into the room where the family were huddled over afew half dead coals, like a childish almoner of plenty, stammering outher tale.
"It must have been the Lord holy, Jesus Christ, who had mercy on meand my children," cried the invalid mother, trembling with excitement,and folding her thin hands devoutly. "O Lord," she continued, "mostmighty and most merciful Saviour of all the widows and orphans, acceptthe lowly thanks of a poor invalid." She looked up to Heaven with agladdened heart as she saw her children happy, and for once, well-fed.
But Christine sat in a corner of the poorly furnished room as if in adream. A vague, confused remembrance of all that had happened in thecourtyard filled her with bewilderment. The only thing she really sawplainly was the joyous faces around her, the result of her gift--thefive gulden she had received.
IV.
The whole neighborhood was in an uproar. A score of tongues werewagging, ears were cocked to hear the news, and gesticulations andcries were everywhere. Even the invalids of the white Tanneries withtheir ridiculous looking caps, stretched their shaky heads out of thewindows in order to listen to the great news related by Mrs. Langohr,the wandering gossip-monger of this poverty-stricken district.
"A real Count has heard her on Christmas Eve, you say?"
"A Count! Naw! Something higher up, smarty," snapped the gossip-monger,raising her voice to a shrill pitch and throwing herself into theproper attitude of importance. "It was a Duke if you want to know it.Yes, he heard her, and yesterday sent his carriage for her."
"His carriage!" echoed the crowd, and fell back amazed, unwilling totrust their own ears.
"With four white horses attached to it," added Mrs. Langohr with atriumphant laugh. "A girl from our suburb, imagine!"
"Hump! that's a greater miracle than the stories of the returningPilgrims from Rome," sniffed an old, wrinkled woman, shaking herludicrously shaped head with a certain vehemence and "soit disant"dignity which eminently befitted one enjoying the reputation of thefemale Socrates of the suburb.
The nightcaps at the windows commenced to shake visibly, and a heatedargument of possible reasons for this exciting event followed.
"What will he do with her?" asked the female Socrates with solemnity,wiping each wrinkle separately with a dubious-looking red handkerchief,a sign that she intended to cross-examine everybody rigidly.
"What he--the Duke will do? He will make a great singer out of her,smarty," sneered the next-door neighbor, disappearing quickly indoors,to the great disappointment of the neighbors who had gathered for thepurpose of hearing the great news at first hand with all the details.
"A great singer?" asked the shaky nightcaps at the windows, withdubious smiles, ignorant of what had gone before, and looking in blankamazement at each other. "Who--who is he?"
But so it had actually happened.
Christine had attracted first the attention, then the interest of DukeHohenlohe, and had been placed in the Vienna Conservatory of Music.Here, as a protege of one of its principal patrons, she was beingcarefully instructed by the most prominent singing teachers of theinstitution, and making extraordinary progress.
But poor Peter! He had become so downcast at the loss of his littlefriend, that he cared nothing for even the merriest of his formerpranks, and spent his time in counting the days until he could seeher again. He had promised Christine before she had gone to theConservatory, to help her family in every way he could, and what Peterpromised, he kept faithfully. But, oh! how dear Christine had become tohim--how necessary to his very existence! He gladly deprived himself ofeven the barest necessities of life in order to be of service to herand the mother and sisters she loved.
Now--in the few months that she had been living near the Conservatory,how tall and beautiful she had grown, and what depths of expression layin her dark, speaking eyes! Goodness! the simple-hearted shoemaker'sboy felt his heart leap and tremble, when he dared to look into theirsparkling wells of light, they followed him whether he waked or slept.
He saw them in his grimy little shop, talked to them when he was sewingon buttons, or knocking vigorously at the hard, unresponsive leather,and smiled happily at the visionary picture always before his mind'seye, to the great astonishment of his observing mistress.
So five years sped by--five years which seemed five eternities toPeter's love-sick heart. But these five years had developed the pretty,sad-eyed girl into a beautiful, graceful woman, with a clever vigorousintellect, and an ambiti
on to reach the highest eminence within thegrasp of true womanhood and constant endeavor in the world of song.
So there was but little time to give poor Peter, as her approachingdebut was near, and Christine studied night and day, with tirelessenergy, the important roles which she would be expected to portray.
In the meantime, dark clouds were gathering on the horizon of theAustrian monarchy. Rebellion after rebellion broke out on the southernfrontier of its vast dominions, and Peter, now of age, was enlisted asa soldier, and sent away to the centre of the insurgent provinces. Hehad to march with his regiment in the darkness of the night withouteven being able to see Christine to utter a few parting words. He washeart-broken, though what he wanted to tell her was not known evento himself. All he knew was that he loved her dearly, and that histortured, love-sick heart was writhing and bleeding at the thought thatmonths and months would pass before he could again set eyes on herslender, graceful figure, and lovely smiling face.
The ensuing scenes of war and bloodshed sickened him; but Christine'shallowed picture, always with him, gave him strength to withstand allhorrors. She appeared as the radiant star of his life, and he wasguided in his loneliness by the single hope of seeing her again.Perhaps the ignorant simple lad covered his face and wept--wept tearsof despair and joy in anticipating that inexpressible happiness whichthe future might hold in store.
V.
To the music-loving public of Vienna, first nights and debuts ofpromising students are great events, especially when the aspirants formusical honors come from the home conservatory, and more especiallywhen a certain student of the conservatory is heralded as a singer witha phenomenal voice, which she will display in the famous role of Luciadi Lammermoor.
So it was that long before the doors of the imposing opera house wereopened, eager crowds excitedly discussing the appearance of the newsinger, stood at the entrance impatiently awaiting the hour. And beforethe portals had been thrown open half an hour, the great house wasfilled to suffocation.
Many of the Austrian nobility sat in their private boxes, and thosepersons belonging to the aristocracy occupied seats in the parterreand, in fact, every available place. The people, dangerously crowdingthe galleries, looked in open-eyed wonder at the stage whereChristine, in the costume of Lucia stood trembling with shy timidity.A vague terror overshadowed her lovely features. She was endeavoringheroically to enter into her role, but the sight of so many people,whom for the first time she saw assembled, and the countless numberof eager eyes riveted on her, made her dizzy. She lost her courage,and stood there helpless and frightened with downcast eyes, unable tocommence, in spite of the fact that the nervous stage manager in thewings had already twice given her the cue.
The director of the conservatory stood in the wings at the oppositeside of the stage, and nodded encouragingly to her. But as she seemednot to see him, he became livid, and wrathfully commenced to revilehimself for having yielded to the temptation of bestowing thisdifficult role on Duke Hohenlohe's protege, who evidently was notsufficiently trained in self-control to appear as an independent star.
Just at the decisive moment, however, Duke Hohenlohe entered theproscenium box and smiled kindly at her. Christine's fingers closedspasmodically over each other. She perceived at last what was at stake.
With eyes full of tears, she controlled herself by a superb effort,and looked up at him as if saying: "You may trust me. I shall be equalto the situation," and then she began to sing, at first timidly andtremulously, but soon carried away by the grandeur of this passionaterole, she surpassed herself; her high notes echoed through every partof the vast opera house with such dazzling magnificence, that anuproarious "Bravo," rang vociferously forth from thousands of voices,and thousands of hands applauded wildly.
And when she had rendered the great bravura aria in the second act,with rare perfection, a continuous storm of applause greeted her. DukeHohenlohe smiled with gratification. He was indeed proud of his littleprotege, whom he had discovered in the blinding snow storm.
The director of the Conservatory, still standing in the wings, couldnot believe his eyes and ears. Christine was not only a great singer,but she had proved herself a great actress. The manner in which she hadportrayed the mad Lucia was an immense surprise. Flowers and bouquetsof all sizes and colors flew from all directions upon the youngdebutante. Curtseying timidly, her lovely face flushed and happy beyonddescription, she looked at the corner in the second gallery where Mrs.Miller sat praying with folded hands, as if in a trance.
"Mother--dear Mother," she murmured to herself, with profound humility,and disappeared.
The Duke Hohenlohe had just entered the imperial box where sat theEmperor. With a reverential bow, and a look of great satisfaction onhis noble face, he said smilingly:
"Your Majesty, it was I who discovered the new star."
"Indeed? Tell me how," responded his Majesty, greatly interested.
"I happened to listen to her singing on Christmas Eve. She stood in mycourtyard with an old broken violin and shivered with cold; and whenshe sang the Lorelei, the snow circled around her wretched little form.It was a pity."
"Duke, you have aroused my curiosity. Can I--?"
"See her? Oh, your Majesty--the great honor--she will be overwhelmed,"the Duke replied, bowing deeply as he withdrew from the imperial box.
An instant later, Christine, greatly confused and flattered by therequest of the Emperor, stood in his presence and received his heartycongratulations. As if in a dream she glanced at the second gallerywhere her mother still sat, and wept tears of joy. The Emperorcordially extended his royal hand, which she was permitted to kissbefore retiring. The following day the success of the new star asLucia was heralded over the city. The leading journals contained longarticles about her magnificent rendering of the difficult role, andthe beauty of her voice, at the same time, complimenting the committeeof directors of the Imperial Opera House for this opportunity givento native talent, thus making an exception to the general rule thatprophets are not recognized in their own country.
VI.
"Your first appearance was a triumph that will live in the memoryof Vienna, my dear Christine. In fact, your magnificent renderingof a role which only such singers as Patti, Sembrich and Melba haveattempted, has exceeded all expectations. Candidly, I had commenced toblame myself for having yielded to the wishes of Duke Hohenlohe," saidthe director of the Conservatory with a radiant smile, as he enteredChristine's simple four-room apartment, a day later. "And I am mostglad to have been commissioned by the Board of Directors to offer you athree years' contract with a suitable salary--but, my dear girl, whatis the matter?"
Christine stood before him pale as a ghost. A slight tremor shookher slender frame, her eyes were downcast and red with weeping. Shestammered a few words which the director could not understand.
He scrutinized her face sharply, being wholly puzzled, as heendeavored to fathom the true cause of this state of mind.
"Pardon me, my dear girl, if I express my surprise. I hope you arenot dissatisfied with your debut. Why, you ought to be singingrhapsodies--be filled with ambition and enthusiasm--after beingreceived by his Majesty and complimented upon your remarkable success."
Without replying, her lips quivering and dumb, Christine slowly andsolemnly opened the door of the adjacent room. A mysterious, oppressivesomething seemed to fill the room like the shadow of death.
In the centre was a catafalque, at the end of which stood two lightedcandles, sputtering lightly like the last feeble shrieks of a departingsoul. Near the catafalque, on a small pedestal, rested the picture ofpoor Peter, embedded in a mass of roses.
The autumn sun, shining through the lilac and myrtle boughs thatrustled close to the window, glinted over the pure, pale face of thesinger. Mournfully, her tearful eyes sought the object of her deepdevotion. On a black velvet cushion near Peter's picture, stood apair of old shoes surrounded by jasmine and white camelias. A ray ofsunshine stealing through the myrtle leaves made golden ripples
on theshoes.
Christine pressed her hand to her heart, as if beholding that scenein the tavern of her childhood days. "Not yesterday," she said to thedirector in a trembling voice--"not yesterday, but five years ago Imade my debut as a singer, when I earned these shoes in recognition ofmy singing--from him--" She pointed to Peter's picture, almost overcomeby emotion.
"I sympathize most keenly with you, but my dear girl, what are they?"
"They are my only mementoes of my dear friend Peter, who lost hislife in the service of the Empire--the first victim of the terriblerebellion at the Southern frontier." She stopped, unable to continue,while her heart contracted painfully, and big tears of sympathy andlove for the shoemaker's apprentice trickled down her blanched face.
* * * * *
Christine is now one of the greatest opera stars on the horizon, andher sisters are following in her footsteps. But every year when the sadday of poor Peter's death comes, Christine, clothed all in black, goesout to the cemetery with flowers in hand, and sits for hours under thepure white marble obelisk where, in gilded letters, these words aretraced:
_ERECTED IN HONOR OF PETER STARK_,
_By his devoted, sorrowing friend_,
_CHRISTINE_.
CONCETTA
AN ITALIAN NOVELETTE
I.
Many large and small boats were dancing merrily on the Bay ofCastellamare, so richly populous with many rare species of fish. Themirrorlike blue surface was only ruffled by the small steamers on theirway to and from Sorrento, carrying throngs of pleasure-seeking touristsfrom all parts of the world.
The Gnomes of the Saline Mountains: A Fantastic Narrative Page 7
