CHAPTER IX
The Students' Concert
The time was drawing very near now for Herr Hoffmann's Students'Concert, and whenever Mildred thought about it her heart descendedsomewhere into the region of her boots. The Professor had been givingher lessons at his own house in addition to those she took at St.Cyprian's, and with the one exception of the day of the cricket match,she had attended every Saturday afternoon at the Philharmonic Hall topractise the "Fruehlingslied" with the students' orchestra. For the firsttime in her life she was really working hard, and sometimes she almostastonished herself at the progress she made. Technical difficulties,which before had seemed impossibilities, smoothed themselves away, andher supple fingers began to acquire a new mastery over her instrument.That she needed all her best efforts she knew well. The fear lest sheshould fail in her piece haunted her like a bad dream. The Professor wasnot easy to satisfy. His ideal was so high that she continually fellshort of it, and in spite of incessant practising and extra musiclessons, so hard seemed the task which she was attempting that shesometimes felt inclined to fling down her violin in despair, and give upthe concert altogether.
The one thing that upheld her was the remembrance of the story of herfather's life which her aunt had told her. The unknown father, whom shehad lost when she was still only a baby, had left her his Stradivariusas a legacy, with his dying injunction to make the good use of it whichhe had once hoped to do himself. The violin was her one link with him.Often now, when she practised it, she thought how his fingers had playedon it before, and what beautiful music they must have brought from it.To respect his last wish seemed to her a solemn obligation. What hecould not accomplish himself he had charged her to perform, and it was atrust which she must strive faithfully to fulfil. She felt as if hersuccess might compensate for his failure. The talent which he hadtrifled with she must foster to the utmost of her power. The Comte'ssecret (solved, alas, too late!) should be her watchword for the future.Her father's neglected genius was like a debt left owing to the generalgood of the world, and on her shoulders must fall the burden of payingit.
Added to this was the knowledge that she had a duty to the uncle andaunt who had already spent much on her music lessons, and to the collegewhere she was receiving her education. Her playing at this concert wasan important point for St. Cyprian's, and she must think not only of herown personal successes, but of winning laurels for the school. She knewthat Miss Cartwright had been disappointed in the result of theEisteddfod, and this was a golden opportunity of upholding thereputation which that festival had slightly undermined. St. Cyprian'smust show to all Kirkton that its special system of music culture wasof real value, and that its training could produce a pupil worthy of itshigh aims. Yet the very thought of how much depended upon her effortsbrought its own penalty.
"I wonder if everybody else is as nervous as I am?" she said, as shetalked the matter over with her aunt. "I've heard all the other studentsnow, down at the Philharmonic. We took a full rehearsal last Saturday. Idon't believe Mr. Frith, who plays the 'cello, minds at all. He nevercares in the least when the Professor's angry, he simply laughs andshrugs his shoulders. Miss Buchanan, the pianist, told me she couldn'tsleep at night for thinking about the concert. It means so much to her,because she hopes to get pupils of her own by and by. The orchestra willmanage best. The audience won't notice if one of them plays a wrongnote, though Herr Hoffmann's sure to hear it, and scold afterwards. Ihope the room won't be very hot, or I know I shall break a string. If Idid, it would upset me so dreadfully, I don't believe I should be ableto go on, even if the Professor handed me his own violin instead."
"We'll hope you may have a better fate than that," returned Mrs. Graham."Your little Strad. doesn't often treat you so unkindly. It's generallya most faithful servant."
"I'm glad I've such a splendid instrument," continued Mildred. "It makesthe most enormous difference to one's playing. When I try some of theother students' violins, they sound like banjos. I believe the Professorlikes my 'Strad.' far better than his own Amati. He often catches it upand plays on it, just out of sheer enjoyment. It is a beauty, with itslovely old Cremona varnish, and the wonderful label inside: 'AntoniusStradivarius Cremonensis fecit'. There's no mistake about itsgenuineness. By the by, Tantie, do you know the Mayor and Mayoress arecoming to the concert? Isn't it terrible?"
"I don't think you need mind them very much. They're probably kindlypeople who will have nothing but praise for all the performers. I shouldbe much more afraid of the newspaper critics, who really know the pointsof good playing, and will judge you by a musician's standard."
"If only there could be no audience!" groaned Mildred. "It's the feelingthat everyone will be looking at me that's so dreadful. We rehearsed inthe Town Hall last Saturday, and I quite enjoyed playing to rows ofempty benches!"
"Try to forget that anybody is there. Just think of your piece, andimagine you're playing it at school, or in Herr Hoffmann's study. Itwill be time enough to remember the audience when people begin to clap.Have you anything prepared for an encore?"
"I don't suppose I shall get one, but the Professor's making me practisethe D minor Polonaise, so that I could be ready. It's a bright littlething, and not too long. Oh, how glad I shall be when it's all over! Andyet I don't want the day to come!"
The brief week left before the concert seemed to Mildred to run awayonly too quickly. The date had been fixed for 16th July, for HerrHoffmann liked his recital to form a winding-up of his year of musicaltuition, which had commenced in September. It was probably as anxious atime for him as for his quaking pupils, and he certainly spared notrouble in coaching them for their performance, though he lost histemper so often in the attempt that some of the students declared hewould never find it again.
At length the great day arrived. Mildred had had her final lesson fromher Professor, and a last word of encouragement from Miss Cartwright,who, with many of St. Cyprian's teachers and music pupils, was to be atthe concert. Poor Mildred, who grew hourly more and more nervous, wasalmost sick with apprehension as her aunt helped her to put on her whiteevening dress before the long mirror in the spare bedroom, and tied thewavy gold hair with a blue satin ribbon.
"Cheer up! You look like a little ghost!" said Mrs. Graham, pinching herniece's pale cheeks. "It won't be half so bad as you expect. You make itfar worse by thinking too much about it. All the other performers are inthe same case as yourself. You'll have plenty of companions inmisfortune."
"I don't want to break down and disgrace you," said Mildred, gulpingback something in her throat that threatened to rise up and choke her.
"You won't do that. You've worked really hard, and if there's any truthin the Comte's secret, I believe the Stradivarius knows it, and willmake you play well in spite of yourself. You've one great advantage overthe piano students, that you can bring your own instrument. Try to thinkthat though this is your first recital, your little violin is very wellaccustomed to appear in public, and will feel so at home in the concerthall that when you take the bow in your hand it will almost talk of itsown accord. It has been a long time in retirement, and to-night it'sanxious to show every one what it can do."
"I hope I shan't disappoint it!" said Mildred, laughing a little. "It'srather hard on it to belong to a beginner, as it's accustomed to suchlaurels. Tantie, I'm so glad you're sitting in the front row, so that Iknow you're near me. I believe if I feel very bad, it will just help meto see you there. I shan't think so much about other people if I canlook at your face."
The cab arriving at the door put an end to all further conversation.Mrs. Graham wrapped Mildred in an evening cloak, Uncle Colin was readyand waiting downstairs, and together they drove to the Town Hall.
"Good luck to you, lassie!" said Dr. Graham, kissing his tremblinglittle niece as he left her at the performers' entrance. "Don't youworry yourself! You'll play quite well enough to please me, and a greatmany other people besides. We don't expect a Paganini at fifteen. Doyour best, and you'll get through all right. Her
e comes Herr Hoffmann toencourage you."
It was indeed the Professor himself, so resplendent in evening dress, sobland and gracious, so overflowing with genial smiles and good humour,that Mildred hardly knew him.
"Ach! you have got a fit of ze nerves!" he declared, leading his pupilto a room at the back of the platform, where most of the students werealready assembled. "Take it not so to heart, lieb Kindlein! You will bea good Maedchen, and play just as I have taught you. Frisch! Wohlan! Hereis a cup of coffee, very strong. Drink! It will give you courage.Himmel! Did I not suffer myself like this once? But now it make me tosmile."
He patted her kindly on the shoulder as he handed her the cup of blackcoffee. It was not nice, but Mildred felt better when she had swallowedit, and, recovering her spirits a little, began to look round her, andtake some notice of her fellow performers. Some were anxiously tuningtheir instruments, and some were chatting with affected carelessness. Afew of them she knew already, for she had spoken to them at theorchestra rehearsals, and several came forward now to give her a word ofwelcome. She was the youngest in the room. Most of the other studentswere practised players, some of whom indeed were training for a musicalcareer. The Professor, anxious to keep up his deservedly high reputationas a teacher, would allow none but his best pupils to appear at hisrecitals.
"You get used to it in time," said one of the piano students, a tall,pretty girl with chestnut hair, just out of her teens, who stood workingher fingers about as if to keep her joints supple. "I thought I shouldhave died at my first concert, and now I don't really care very much."
"I think a good audience is rather inspiring," said a violoncellist, aself-conscious young fellow whose long waving hair and artistic necktieproclaimed him a budding professional. "I can always play better from aplatform. A little applause seems to spur one on."
"Yes, if you get it," said another, nervously rubbing resin on his bow."That generally remains to be seen."
"I've never missed an encore at any concert I've played at," returnedthe first confidently. "I shall be astonished if my Barcarolle is not asuccess, though one can't expect much real musical appreciation fromtown councillors and an ignorant public. I believe they'd applaud aGerman band!"
"Not so ignorant as you seem to think," said a third student, coming upto join the group. "I don't know any audience that can tell good musicfrom bad better than a Kirkton one. It needs your best work to givesatisfaction, and there's always a full and most intelligent criticismin the _Herald_ next day."
"I suppose the old Professor's exploiting you," said the violoncellist,turning to Mildred. "He isn't keen on juvenile prodigies as a rule. Thelast he had was little Mathilde Zimmermann, and she did nothing afterall! Do you go out to 'At Homes'?"
"Oh, no!" replied Mildred. "This is the first concert I've ever playedat--except just at school. I don't want to now, only Herr Hoffmann saysI must."
"They aren't running her professionally, so she won't interfere with youor your engagements," put in the piano student. "She's the Professor'spet pupil at present, that's all. But if you don't wake up, she'll takethe shine out of you some day, so look to your laurels!" Then, speakingto Mildred, she added kindly: "Don't mind him, dear! You'll find whenyou begin to play in public that you'll meet with a good deal ofjealousy from other performers, but you mustn't let it worry you. Themusic's the only thing to care about, and if one can interpret that, onefeels it's something to live for, in spite of all."
"Are you ready, ladies and gentlemen?" cried the Professor, entering ina perfect whirlwind of excitement. "Ze hall is already full! It is zehour! Ze audience await us. Come, we commence!"
The first selection on the programme was an "Overture to Lucretius", andas nearly all of the company were members of the students' orchestra,Mildred found herself left alone with the few piano pupils. She hadoften attended concerts, but so far had always been numbered among theaudience. This was her first peep behind the scenes, and it seemedstrange to listen to the music from the back of the platform. She couldhear the applause at the conclusion of the overture, and the duet forviolin and violoncello which followed.
"It will be my turn next," said her friend of the chestnut locks."There's one comfort in coming on early, you get it over,--though Ialways find the audience cold at first. I suppose they think if theycall for encores too soon, they'll never get through the programme. Isee you're three-quarters down. That's the best place you could possiblyhave, just when everyone has got enthusiastic, and before it's time tobegin and think about catching trains. You couldn't have been morelucky. There's the last bar! Now for my ordeal! Good-bye!"
Sitting waiting with her violin in her hand, poor Mildred felt as if noconcert had ever dragged along so slowly. She wished she could take apeep into the hall, and see where her uncle and aunt were sitting. Thatthe room was very full she knew from the remarks of the other students,but so far the audience, though fairly appreciative, could hardly bedescribed as warm. Piece followed piece, then came the ten minutes'interval; the second part of the programme commenced, and at length the"Fruehlingslied" drew near. As the finale of the orchestral movementwhich preceded it died away, Mildred took her violin, and summoning allher courage went with a beating heart up the steep little staircasewhich led to the platform. The Professor stood at the top, his broadface beaming encouragement.
"So far it goes sehr gut," he announced. "No one have break down orspoil anything. Remember, mein Kind, not to hurry ze time in ze legatopassage, and to wait in ze allegretto till ze 'cello begin."
He tested her Stradivarius himself to see that it was in tune with theother instruments, then handed her between the rows of violin stands toher place in front of the piano, and taking up his baton rapped smartlyon the conductor's desk, as a signal for the orchestra to be inreadiness. For the first time in her life Mildred found herself face toface with a public audience. She stood there for a moment, such achildish little figure in her white dress, with her golden hair fallingover her shoulders, and a frightened look in her dark eyes, that a waveof sympathy seemed to pass through the hall, and a few people began toclap. She started at the sound, and so great a panic of fear seized herthat she felt as though she could scarcely draw her breath; but at thatinstant, looking down in front, she caught her aunt's eyes fixed uponher with a hope and confidence in them which calmed her, notwithstandingthe knowledge that hundreds of listeners were waiting for her firstnotes. Suddenly the remembrance of Mrs. Graham's words came back toher--the Stradivarius had been in public before, and could make hersucceed in spite of herself. It was the bird of the "Fruehlingslied". Shehad only to draw the bow, and it would surely sing.
"Are you ready? Now!" whispered the Professor. He waved his baton, andthe piece began.
Once the ice was broken, Mildred forgot the hall and the rows of people.There was something inspiring in the subdued accompaniment of theorchestra, her violin was like a living creature that thrilled under herfingers, and so well did it respond to her touch that all the springtimeseemed to ring in the full, clear tones. She had got at the heart of themusician's meaning, and those who listened felt that throb of puredelight which comes to us sometimes with the sight of the dawn or theearly song of a thrush, that sense of freshness, of oneness with Natureat her gladdest, that can raise our commonplace lives for the moment tothe level of the skies above.
It was an astounding performance for a girl of scarcely sixteen. Thepiece not only demanded extreme facility of execution, but the maturestthought and feeling, and to many it appeared incredible that so young aplayer could have assimilated so much of the life and the mystery ofthings as to enable her thus to interpret the mind of a great composer.The audience seemed to hold its breath as the last crisp chord resoundedand died away; then it broke into a perfect storm of applause. There wasno mistaking the warmth of the reception, for instead of subsiding, theclapping grew louder, and shouts of "Brava!" and "Encore!" echoedthrough the hall. Suddenly realizing that she was the centre of alleyes, Mildred made a frightened acknowledgme
nt, and fled precipitatelyto the staircase, to be brought back by her triumphant master, who,taking her hand, led her once again to the front of the platform.
"Courage, mein Kind!" he whispered. "One little effort more! You willnot fail now? Ze encore!"
How Mildred played the "Polonaise" she never quite knew. She onlyafterwards retained a confused remembrance of glaring light, a sea offaces before her, and a sense that the notes came of themselves, urgedsomehow from her fingers by the knowledge that they gave pleasure to herhearers. It seemed a dream, a strange, bewildering unreality, anexhilaration such as she had never before experienced, but which endedin so great a revulsion of feeling that as she turned from theapplauding audience to leave the platform she could control herself nolonger, and, breaking down utterly, burst into tears.
"There, there!" said the Professor soothingly, patting the subduedgolden head; "it is finished now, and you are my very good pupil. Waitin ze anteroom till I come, for I would speak to you after zeperformance."
"It was beautiful--beautiful!" cried the piano student, kissing Mildredas she helped her down the staircase. "Don't cry, dear! It was worth theeffort. Such music is only granted to a few. Be thankful the talent isyours, and that you are able to give it to the world. We, who are lessgifted, can only envy the future that lies before you."
The rest of the programme was soon finished, and the orchestra,returning, crowded round Mildred to congratulate her on her success,while some members of the audience, invited by Herr Hoffmann into theanteroom, added kind words of approval and praise.
"Let us go, Tantie!" said Mildred, clinging to her aunt, who had come tofetch her, and longing unspeakably for the quiet of home again; "I wantto get away from all this!"
"The cab's waiting, darling! We're going now," said Mrs. Graham, hastilymaking Mildred's adieux and her own, and trying to edge her way throughthe crowded room. A group of people talking together blocked theirprogress at the door, and as they paused for a moment to find anopportunity of passing, a lady sprang forward and shook Mildred warmlyby the hand, a lady whom she recognized at once as the stranger who hadspoken to her at Herr Hoffmann's on the day she had first visited hishouse, and had waited so long for her music lesson.
"My dear, I am charmed! Your master ought indeed to be proud of you! Ishould have known you the minute you came on to the platform, evenwithout your name on the programme. I am going to Westmorland to-morrow,and I shall be sure to tell your uncle what a clever niece he has. Suchmusic would be enchanting in a drawing-room. I hope I may see you againbefore long."
"Come, Mildred!" said her aunt, hurrying her away from the effusivestranger. "Here is Herr Hoffmann waiting to say good-bye."
"Mein Freundchen!" cried the Professor, holding his pupil's little handin a bearlike grip, and relapsing into German in his excitement. "Is itnot worth while to have taken trouble? Ze exercises, ze scales, you didnot like them at ze time, but they are ze all-necessary foundation oftrue art. To-night you have shown me that you can make progress. Go on!There is much remaining to be done. Do not let one little applause causeyou to think that you can yet play. It is try each time a something moredifficult till you can master it, and some day you will thank ze oldProfessor that he has made you work. Auf Wiedersehen!"
The Girls of St. Cyprian's: A Tale of School Life Page 9