An I.D.B. in South Africa Part 3

As she arose from the piano, there was a murmur of regret.

"Don't rise, Miss Darcy," said Dainty, pleadingly. "Just think how hungry appreciative South Africans are for good music. We have never heard such singing here before. Please give us another selection."

Kate never indulged in affectations of reluctance, so resuming her seat, she sang a plaintive old negro melody from the plantations of American slavery, the only original music, some one has said, of which Americans can boast.

Kate's face was singularly attractive. Her eyes, inherited from an Irish mother, were dark blue shaded by black eyelashes. One might criticise her features, for they were not perfect, and might examine her dimpled face and say it was not pretty, yet it was so expressive, that a stranger on being introduced to her, when she was in a happy mood, would be fascinated, and think her altogether charming.

Major Kildare was attracted to Kate and completely captivated, when he learned in the course of conversation that they had mutual friends in his far away home, in merrie England. But he was not privileged to monopolise Miss Darcy, for others pressed around her, and Doctor Fox stood ever in the background, perhaps discussing some mining operation in the intricacies of which he was well versed, but never far from the sound of her voice. Having speculated in the gold and silver mines of California and Colorado, and being possessed of that sixth sense with which Americans are accredited, and which being evolved becomes, in a few, the gift of invention, Doctor Fox had won, by his knowledge of mining and his improvements in mining machinery, the favourable opinions of the officers of the Diamond Mining Company in which he was a heavy stockholder.

"Herr Schwatka," said Donald, "have you been down in the mine by the new shaft? It is now completed, and the cage is in perfect operation."

"I went down yesterday," replied Schwatka, "and I found it a wonder of mining enterprise. The ladies should visit it. Would you not like to go, Mrs Laure, and you, Miss Darcy?"

"We would be delighted; I will answer for both," said Kate, smilingly.

This evening was the beginning of a new era in the lives of these two women, who had felt singularly drawn to each other. Dainty realised that she gathered forces new to her from Kate, while the latter was fascinated by this beautiful wildling, who knew nothing of the great world, which the other had but recently left behind her.

As Major Kildare left the house that evening with Herr Schwatka, he enthusiastically remarked:

"By Jove! that Miss Darcy is a fine woman!"

Herr Schwatka took a pull at his cigar, and dreamily watched the rings in the bright moonlight as they slowly curled up into the still air. At last he said:

"She is, indeed, but I feel a little afraid of those fair '_Americaines_!' I can't keep pace with them. I met one in Vienna during the Exposition, and she was a revelation. Such a sight-seer!

Her mother was with her, but she could do very well without her. If she wanted to go out of an evening, and her mother was tired from her day's peregrinations, that girl would say: 'Go to bed, mamma; we are going to the opera?' or whatever it might be. And off we would go, without protest from the submissive mamma. It was some while before I could comprehend her; her ways were so different from those of my own countrywomen. One evening while we were driving to a fete, emboldened by her unreserved manner, I attempted a little lover-like caress. You should have seen the American then! She sat as straight as a needle, and was equally sharp. 'You and I are friends, aren't we?' she asked.

"'Doubtless,' I replied.

"'Well,' said she, 'if you wish us to continue as such, don't attempt to ditto that. I have come to see Europe, and I haven't much time to spare. If we commence to make love, I won't see anything but you, and as there is not the slightest possibility of your being the whole of Europe to me, if you will just be my comrade, I shall like it better.'

"I shall never forget the satisfied expression that stole over her face, as she folded her hands, and looked straight ahead with a gleam in her eyes, and then turned the conversation in the easiest manner imaginable.

It amused me immensely, but I didn't repeat the little indiscretion, and the few weeks she remained in Vienna were among the most delightful ones of my life. We were comrades, and I never understood till then how a woman could be perfectly free in her manners, yet perfectly true to her womanhood."

"By Jove! Schwatka, it isn't often that you find your match," said the major, laughing heartily, as they entered the "Queen's" Hotel.

That night the picture that only faded from the consciousness of Herr Schwatka, to reappear in his dreams, was that of a graceful woman--the wife of Donald Laure.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE STORY OF A SINGER.

What a charming creature is the enthusiastic talented girl, who is ever trying to solve the riddle of life with a girl's avidity. How earnestly she follows the light on her pathway! Sometimes deluded, but always in earnest; even leaving the old roof-tree in the search for satisfaction, often returning to it, weary and travel-stained, content to have one little corner by the home fireside, where she finds more happiness and rest in a day, than in her years of wandering and chasing b.u.t.terflies.

It is the clear-eyed, far-seeing girl, with a singing voice, that can thrill the hearts of her hearers, in whom we are now interested.

What a book could be written on the broken lives, the vanished hopes, and the lost voices, of American girls in Europe!

There, where the life is alluring, and maestros paid in gold; where Americans are looked upon as common prey by the Parisian shop-keeper, the student finds that Art is long, and not only time, but gold is fleeting.

There, many an enthusiastic girl possessed of ordinary talent, and led away by vanity and the flattery of over-zealous friends, is found living in a feverish belief in her ultimate success, and looking to her teacher to promote her interests.

He is more often but a shark, ready to devour her, body and soul. For he panders to her belief in his charlatanry, and flatters her vanity, until the money is nearly gone. Not until then does she realise that no one but herself has been deceived.

Her pride comes to her rescue, and with her voice still undeveloped, she rushes. .h.i.ther and thither in her frantic endeavours to secure the position she desires.

Friendless, moneyless, and alone: what can she do?

A singer's life is emphatically a mixture of fulfilled hopes and bitter disappointments.

A famous teacher in Paris says to his pupils:

"Before starting out on your career, make for yourself two pockets; one very large, and the other exceedingly small; the large one for the snubs, and the small one for the money."

Talent is one thing, but management is another, and without the latter, talent goes begging. Art may become a cla.s.sic in the hands of talent, but the singer must depend largely upon the manager (often ungrammatical of speech, and arbitrary of manner), if she would know practical success and be known of the world. Kate Darcy had both tact and talent, and the gift of knowing how to use them.

Her childhood was pa.s.sed in the atmosphere of the theatrical world in New York City, where her father was a violinist, and earned his bread by the sweep of his bow.

When yet a child, she developed great musical talent, and possessed that rarest and most delightful of all voices, a rich contralto.

At fifteen the child was a rising artist, studying day and night, until, at the age of seventeen, being graceful and well developed, she became a leading contralto of an English Opera Company. Her voice grew in strength and richness, and with the growth of the voice came ambition to study under the best masters. That will-o'-the-wisp of art drew her on to Italy, to prepare herself to enter the lists of fame and win a high niche in the temple of song.

She felt that she could conquer anything. She believed in herself--a very necessary requisite for youth, when talented and ambitious. There were no "perhaps's" or "might be's" crystallised in the amber of her belief. She was vividly conscious that she possessed the great gift of a rare voice, and did not doubt that somewhere in the world it would be appreciated, and made to yield the wealth which Love always wants, in order to bestow gifts and comforts on its beloved.

On her last appearance on the concert platform in her native city, previous to her departure for Italy, she bore herself with such unaffected simplicity, and seemed so earnest in her efforts, that everyone felt like breathing a benediction for her future success; they realised that the goal she aimed at was only to be reached by years of labour, and by the patient pursuit of opportunities.

She sang several numbers, but nothing half so beautiful as the low, entreating tones in which she breathed out "Kathleen Mavourneen." As the words rolled out, "It may be for years, and it may be forever," many an eye filled with tears at the tender pathos in which she veiled the uncertainties of the future.

Kate went to Italy with her mother (who had become a widow), and studied under the direction of the great maestro, Lamperti. She had but few faults to overcome, but she applied herself unceasingly. The voice is a jealous mistress, and stands guard over every thought and action, demanding high recompense from the being who possesses the power to soothe or thrill a soul in darkness. Any letting down the bars of stern discipline of the intellect, finds that vigilant sentinel inquiring the cause.

The ear of the lover becomes aware that the divine voice has lost its love tones; those pure heaven-born messages come to him with a harsher sound. Then when the singer's thoughts have drifted into some dark miasma, the sensitive instrument cannot attune itself in those dreamy poisonous vapours, and the delicate string loses its perfect harmony.

The lover again wonders what powers of earth or air have taken possession of that erstwhile melodious instrument, now, "like sweet bells jangled and out of tune."

Thus it is if, from looking and listening, with hearing keen and heart responsive, the eyes of the soul ever upward turned for inspiration (the only att.i.tude that makes the spirit by and by victorious), she ceases for a moment, and, hearing the jingling of false bells, looks below; she sees the reflection of the sun on some tinsel-robed, fair, but deluded sister, and is attracted to her. The delights of dissipation in the society of thoughtless, undedicated companions allure her from the path where gleams the pure, white light of art. As she turns, thinking to live only for a little hour with her companions, the gates of the lighted realm, where few enter, close behind her. When she has wandered through the pleasures, which prove to be but the shadows of reality, the temple of that beautifully-tuned and soul-inspiring instrument is a wreck, and the angel-voice fled. Such is the result of neglecting that exacting sovereign, the G.o.ddess of music.

She demands the consecration of the whole self, in return for the prize she offers. And none realised it better than Kate. So she gained the excellence of real attainment.

After a brilliant career of seven years, she wearied of incessant travel, and longed to make her home in some quiet corner, away from the sound and whirl of the great busy world, and yet near enough to its heartbeats to feel the pulsation. She found such a spot near London, where she took her old mother, for whom she had an idolatrous love, and where she hoped to enjoy her life in semi-seclusion for a season. She furnished her gem of a house with rare taste, and filled it with souvenirs of the world she had conquered. There her mother fell ill, and demanded, in her nervous, irritable state, in which she would allow the service of no other nurse, constant, care from Kate.

Often when Kate returned home late at night from some concert where she had been the idol of the hour, she would sit and hold her mother in her arms until the cold night air had chilled her to the very bone, for the invalid could not endure a fire in the room. No murmur fell from Kate's lips, and when the dear sufferer succ.u.mbed to the disease and pa.s.sed quietly away, her grief was overwhelming.

But joy trod on the heel of sorrow. A presence had come into her life which grew to be a part of it.

He was one whom everybody admired; a man of culture and refinement, an able musical critic and no mean musician.

He had won her heart, and they were soon to plight their vows sit the marriage altar. Some weeks after her mother's death, he departed one morning for Paris, with her kiss on his lips. In a few hours came the news that a channel steamer had collided and gone down with all on board. Her lover was among them!

In a week's time she had left London for the Continent; six months later, she was seen again in the gay world of Paris: but her face was white and wan, and her spirit broken.

Her musical studies were kept up, but her heart was not in her work; and when one night she appeared at the Theatre des Italiens, and received an ovation, she broke down at the end of the phrase, with stage fright.