CHAPTER XXI
THE CONCERT
And so the short weeks went by and the fateful evening came. Frieda hadspent the whole afternoon with Frances. The gown, it appeared, had comein plenty of time. My formal orders had, of course, been disobeyed, forwomen, while they often bow gracefully to a mere man's edicts, always gooff and do as they jolly well please. In a sidestreet, not more than ablock and a half from the Avenue, our stout friend had unearthed apurveyor of feminine adornment who, she explained to me, was a positiveworker of spells when it came to dressing a woman. Also, she wasmoderate in her prices. The gown cost one hundred and sixty-five dollarsand the amount of change Frieda cascaded in my lap made me feel as if Iowned a bank. I expressed disbelief in the miraculous dressmaker andmade somber prophecies as to the outcome, all of which she treated withcontempt. At six o'clock they went off to her flat, where she hadprepared the light refection that would insure prompt digestion and easybreathing. I was instructed to dine where I pleased.
At seven thirty-five came a knock at my door. It was Frieda.
"Dave," she said, "if you're having trouble with that white tie, we'llfix it for you in a minute. Meanwhile, you're permitted to come in theother room. She's got the dress on, I hooked it myself and did herhair."
I followed her, eagerly. Both gaslights were flaming brightly. Eulaliewas circling around Frances, totally incapacitated by admiration. Theback was turned to me and the arms raised as she gave some mysterioustouch to the waves above her temples, but she turned at once and stoodbefore me, happily, with arms now held down and palms turned towards me,in an attitude of graceful abandonment.
"Here's your gown, Dave," she said. "From head to foot you areresponsible, slippers and all."
I refuse to go to Frieda for a description of it. I care nothing aboutdisplaying my ignorance and will say at once that I have not theslightest idea of what the materials were. All I know is that shelooked like beauty and grace incarnate. The lily might be no better forthe gilding, but it displayed her charm to the full. The beautiful armswere bare and the fair neck modestly displayed.
"Let me rub my eyes," I said, "it is another dream come to me."
"_Elle est belle comme un amour!_" clamored Eulalie.
She was indeed beautiful as a love, as the most splendid, honest,faithful love ever born in a human heart.
And then she came to me and put up her hands and seized upon myrecalcitrant tie and gave it a twist and a turn, smiling at me thewhile.
"You look ever so well, David," she told me. "You need take so littletrouble to make yourself look as young in body as you are in heart.You'll be but forty-two next birthday and yet seem to delight inpretending you're such an old fellow. Please stay young, Dave, for thesake of all who love you."
Yes, there was a bit of moisture in her eyes as she spoke. She was sonear me that I was conscious of her fragrance; I felt that I was withinthe aura of her sweetness, and my heart was thumping. But she turnedaway again, after one more reassured glance at my tie. She began to drawon a long pair of white gloves, as I went back to my room for a fewsprays of lily of the valley I had procured for her, which she pinned toher waist. Then she sat down in a chair that looked poorly fitted tobear so charming a burden.
"I needn't be there before nine, David," she told me, "and so thereisn't the slightest hurry. Frieda is going home to put on her best andwe'll stop for her in the cab."
So the painter of goddesses and nymphs waddled off, hurriedly, andclattered down the stairs. Frances leaned over Baby Paul's crib, for thelongest time, after which she gave Eulalie ever so many instructions asto her charge, while I contemplated her, my nerves all aquiver withthoughts of the coming ordeal.
"You--you look ever so calm, Frances," I told her. "Does--doesn't theidea of standing up there and singing to all those people make younervous?"
"Not a bit, Dave," she answered, gaily. "But if a little bit of stagefright should come I shall look at you and pretend to myself that I'mjust singing for you, and then everything will be all right. It willseem as if we were alone here, and the others won't matter. I feel likesinging this very minute and giving you a tiny concert of your own, butit might waken Baby."
She was undeniably happy. With the poor, little, husky voice she hadfelt a cripple, but the restored organ had changed her in everything butbeauty and kindness. She was confident now; the world was opening to heragain. She would be able to keep Baby Paul from all suffering such aspoverty might have brought, and it gave her an outlook upon the future,wider and more secure.
"I do hope I shall succeed," she said again. "I never had dreamed that awoman could accept all that I have taken from you, Dave. If this meansthat I shall have gained my independence, I shall be happy indeed, but Iwill always remember that the time I leaned upon you was made sweet andhopeful by your consideration and friendship. Come, David, it is time togo, I think. I feel that when I return, this evening, I may be able toexpress a little of what I owe you, and, then, thank God on my bendedknees."
"I shall be so proud to watch the dawning of your success andhappiness," I told her, with a catch in my throat.
"Yes, success would be splendid, Dave, but the happiness has been cominga long time. You brought me some of it in your pockets all last summerand gave it to me every week. Oh! Dave! God bless you!"
She put out her hand to me and looked deeply in my eyes. Her heart wasvery full, I know, but I felt that it was the gratitude a woman couldgive to a beloved brother.
And so we went away, with a last kiss blown at Baby Paul and a thousandgood wishes from Eulalie. The taxi I had ordered was at the door anddrove first to Dr. Porter's, and then to Frieda's, who was waiting forus, a very shapeless bundle done up in an ample and all-concealingcloak. I was thankful that her head was bare, having dreaded someabomination in the way of a hat.
"Oof!" she exclaimed. "My gown's horribly tight. Had to have thejanitress come up to hook it in the back and I hope nothing gives way.We're an awfully swell lot this evening. First thing you know they'll betalking about us in the papers, under the heading of Society News."
She maintained an endless chatter, in which I discovered much method. Itwas evidently her purpose to keep Frances from getting nervous. Finally,we reached the concert hall, in which people were still crowding.Richetti's circle of acquaintances is a vast and distinguished one andhis concerts, few and far between, are events in the musical world.
Frances and Frieda stood on the sidewalk, while I was paying the driver.
"We are going in by another entrance, David," she told me. "You go andfind your seats and possess your souls in patience. You will hear someexcellent music. When I come on, don't make too much noise because itmight distract my attention."
I gave her my hand, which she pressed in a strong and nervous clasp thatlasted for a fraction of a second, and then the two disappeared amongthe many people surging towards the doors.
For some minutes Porter and I stood at the back of the hall, as didmany others, in order not to interrupt a duet between basso and soprano,most creditable to two young people, who retired with many bows and muchapproval from the audience. The young lady was quite collected andsmiling, but the heavy-chested youth was blushing and evidently glad tohave passed through the ordeal. Women, I think, average greater couragethan men. In the interval before the next number we sought our placesand I had but slipped my hat in the grooves beneath my seat when mynearest neighbor, a very charming young person, addressed me at once,and I recognized in her the little lady who had called me an old fogy atthe Van Rossums.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Lambley," she said, and turned to a short andwide-shouldered youth who appeared to have taken the place of thesix-footer. "Freddy dear, I want to introduce Professor Lambley, who haswritten a great essay on Dionysius the Areopagite."
The young man pushed an able hand towards me and grasped mine.
"How jolly!" he exclaimed. "Something to do with aviation, isn't it?I'm expecting to take it up soon."
"How sill
y you are, Freddy," the young woman reproved him, "it's anawfully scientific thing."
"Oh! Well, then, that lets me out," acknowledged Freddy,conscientiously, "but I think a lot of the fellows who work out thoseaffairs. Knew a chap who was drowned at Montauk last summer, who waskeen on bees and bugs. Queer Johnnie!"
Our scientific and literary symposium ceased abruptly. The accompanistcame in and sat at the piano, being immediately followed by a young ladyI remembered seeing in Richetti's rooms. My little neighbor applauded,frantically, as did most of the audience.
"Her father's worth two millions," she informed me, "and she thinks hervoice is the biggest ever. Her hair doesn't naturally wave that way andshe's got too much rouge on. Richetti didn't want her to go on yet, butshe made her father insist."
My own knowledge of the divine art of singing, as I have confessed athousand times, amounts to little or nothing, but I found somethingpleasurable in listening to the plutocratic contralto. She was by nomeans embarrassed and began the "Angelic Voice" from _Gioconda_ in amost business-like fashion, finishing amid a salvo of applause.
"There! I've gone and split my glove," said the young lady beside me,"but I just had to do it. I'm going to their house-party next week andthe place is perfectly gorgeous."
Next, as an encore, came "He shall feed His flocks" from the _Messiah_,which received similar encomiums and the singer retired, smothered inflowers and followed by uproarious approval.
"Funny she should have selected that," came the voice near me, "seeingthat her father made all his money in wool."
In rapid succession came several other singers, all of whom appeared toimpress the audience favorably. My heart was beginning to thump again inmy breast, for the moment was approaching and I suffered from avicarious stage-fright that could have been no greater had I myself beensentenced to appear upon the stage. It may be that the hall wasoverheated; at any rate I had to pass my handkerchief a number of timesover my forehead, and my high collar began to choke me. I was graspingPorter's arm, convulsively, when, all of a sudden, before I couldrealize that the moment had come, she stood before the footlights,bowing before the moderate clapping of hands, and Richetti himself satat the piano.
"Great Scott!" said the wide-shouldered young man, "ain't she astunner!"
His companion replied something, but I did not listen. Richetti wasplaying a few preliminary bars of the melody. I saw her eyes movingconfidently over the orchestra seats and thought she recognized us witha nearly imperceptible accentuation of her smile. She was holding thesheets of music before her, but in them I could not detect the slightesttrace of tremor. Then, her gaze was uplifted a little and the songbegan, while all sense of fear left me and I breathed easily, leaningforward eagerly while each note entered my soul. It was Mendelssohn's"On Wings of Song." It seemed to me that the silence urbanely granted tothe other singers became more profound. The audience was surely holdingits breath. Not a stir of programmes sounded. Faces were no longerexpressing tolerant civility, for they had become intent and fervent.Something like the awed respect of a great churchly crowd filled thehall and was maintained till the very last note, after which came a verystorm of applause, delirious, impulsive, unrestrained for the longesttime, while she bowed again and again, and Richetti stood up beside herfor his share of the triumph.
And after this she gave us "Chantez, Riez" of Gounod, and the gorgeousswing of it was uplifting, and the wonderful tone lent it greatness andthe lilt of it a true significance of the joy of living. As a furtherencore she sang Rossini's "Stabat Mater." Her voice broke into thepassion of grief of the mother bereft, in the grandeur of the hopeeternal, and the people were hushed, breathless, conquered.
At last she was allowed to leave the stage, with Richetti's hand held inher own. The man was beaming, delighted.
"Come with me," I cried to Porter. "We are to be allowed back of thestage. She's expecting us. Did you see Richetti's look of pride? You'refar more responsible for this result than he, bless your heart! Comealong."
And so we made our way to a large room at the back of the hall. It wasmuch crowded with women in gorgeous dresses and men among whom Irecognized Bartolo Cenci of the Metropolitan and Colonel Duff, the greatimpresario of con-certs and lecture tours, and the shrewd features ofFitzMaurice the musical critic of the _Banner_, small, hawk-eyed and ofbustling manner.
In a corner, with Frieda at her side, stood Frances, with a little courtsurrounding her. Richetti, a few paces away, was talking volubly withmen, who were probably of the Press. We went to the new diva, who didnot await our coming, but stepped towards us, with both hands extended.
"I'll tell you later all that I feel, Dave," she half whispered to me."Oh! Dr. Porter, dear friend, I am so glad that you have been able tosee the results of your work. Come with me!"
She took him by the arm and led him to Richetti.
"Professor, I want to present Dr. Porter. I could not sing a note, andhe worked marvels upon me; gave me a new throat, I think, and a betterone than ever."
Upon this, the _maestro_ nearly fell on Porter's neck and wept, callinghim a savior and a performer of miracles, after which he insisted onintroducing him to a number of the eager gatherers of information and toBartolo Cenci, who wrote down his address on his cuff. Our good littlePorter was nearly overwhelmed.
Finally a number of us were haled off to Richetti's rooms where a greattable was set with flasks of _Chianti_ and a huge Milanese _risotto_,and it was nearly two o'clock before we packed ourselves in a taxi,feeling as if such a superfluous thing as sleep could be put off tillthe Greek Kalends.
Frieda refused to be dropped off at her flat. Porter was also compelledto come to the top of the little brownstone house. We did our best to bequiet in going up, and I hope we awoke no honest sleepers. They crowdedinto my room, Frances leaving us to see that Baby Paul was thriving. Shereturned on tiptoe.
"Eulalie is snoring on the sofa," she announced, "and Baby is sleepinglike an angel."
So we remained there for an hour, at least, and Frieda told us howColonel Duff had rushed up to ask about Frances's plans for the rest ofthe winter, and Cenci had inquired, most pointedly, whether she alreadyhad an engagement for next season and what operas she had studied, towhich she had replied that her arrangements were in Richetti's hands,whereupon they had assaulted the _maestro_ and nearly torn him limb fromlimb in their eagerness to engage her.
"The proudest man in the world, some day," said Frieda, "will be BabyPaul. He will be going about boasting that Madame Francesca is hismother, and people will love him for her sake."
Then Frances clasped as much of Frieda's form as she could possibly holdin her arms, and kissed her, telling her that she was saying a lot ofnonsense, and finally our stout friend went away under Porter'sguidance, who had promised to see her home, and Frances and I were leftalone on the landing.
Here, a little yellow gas-jet was flickering, very small and poor, andthe balustrade upon which I leaned gave a crackling groan. We heard theclosing of the front door and turned to one another. Again her hand wasput forth and I took it and raised it to my lips. When I lifted my headI dimly saw a tear shining upon her cheek.
"Dear friend," she said, "I owe it all to you."
With this she clasped my shoulders in both hands and, for an instant,her lips touched the side of my face.
A second later she had closed her door behind her, and I feverishlychanged my coat. Then, I put on my heavy ulster and made my way to theold square, where I sat down in the frosty air. That touch upon my cheekhad left my temples throbbing, my heart on fire. The whole world seemedconfused, the shining stars were dancing overhead, the noises of thesleeping city buzzed in my head, maddeningly.
Finally, I began to feel the cold, and the earth grew stiller and morepeaceful. An instant later a great milk-dray rattled across the square,going up Fifth Avenue, the usual alarm warning me of bedtime. So I wenthome, collected again and tranquil. She had given me a tiny fragment ofherself, a reward perhaps too great for the
little I had been able to dofor her. Peace had returned to me and I fell asleep.
A Top-Floor Idyl Page 21