Charles Auchester Volume I Part 7

It was an anthem in the severe style, that tells so powerfully in four-voiced harmony; and the parts were copied upon gigantic tablets in front, against the wall that was Davy's background.

"I cannot see," said the other little creature, pulling the contralto's black-silk gown.

"I am sorry for you," replied the other, "but I believe that you can see, Laura, as well as I can; you mean you will not trouble yourself, or that you are idle to-night."

"And what if I do? I hate those horrid hymn sort of tunes; they will not be of any use to me."

"Silence!" uttered the voice of Lenhart Davy. There was seldom occasion for him to say so, but just now there had been a pause before we repeated the first movement of the anthem.

He told me he had a little leisure that evening, and would take me home. I was enchanted, and fully meant to ask him to come in with me; but I actually forgot it until after he had turned away. Margareth reproved me very seriously; "Your sisters would have asked him in, Master Charles, to supper." But the fact was, I had been occupied with my own world too much. I had said to him directly we were in the street, "Dear Mr. Davy, who are those two girls whose seats are the nearest to mine?"

"They belong to the cla.s.s like yourself, as you perceive, but they are not persons you would be likely to meet anywhere else."

"Why not, sir? I should like to be friends with all the singers."

Davy smiled. "So you may be, in singing, and, I hope, will be; but they are not all companions for you _out_ of the cla.s.s. You know that very well."

"I suppose, sir, you mean that some are poorer than we are, some not so well brought up, some too old, and all that?"

"I did, certainly; but not only so. You had better not make too many friends at your time of life,--rather too few than too many. Ask your mother if I am not correct. You see, she has a right to expect that you should love home best at present."

"I always should love _home_ best," I answered quickly; and I remember well how Davy sighed.

"You mean what even every boy must feel, that you should like to make a home for yourself; but the reward is after the race,--the victory at the end of the struggle."

It appeared to me very readily that he here addressed something in his own soul; for his voice had fallen. I urged, "I know it, sir; but do tell me the names of those two girls,--I won't let them know you told me."

He laughed long and heartily. "Oh! yes, willingly; you would soon have heard their names, though. The little one is Laura Lemark, the child of a person who has a great deal to do with the theatres in this town, and she is training for a dancer, besides being already a singer in the chorus at a certain theatre. Your mother would not like you to visit her, you may be sure; and therefore you should not try to know her. I placed you near her because she is the most knowing of all my pupils, except Miss Benette,[7] the young person who sat next you this evening."

"With the lovely voice? Oh! I should never know _her_ if I wished it."

"You need not wish it; but even if you did, she would never become troublesome in any respect. She is too calm, too modest."

"And pray, tell me, sir, is she to be a dancer too?"

"No, oh, no! She will decidedly become one of the finest singers in England, but I believe she will not go upon the stage."

"You call the theatre the stage, sir, don't you?"

"Yes, in this instance."

"But why won't she go upon the stage? Cannot she act?"

"She does not think she is called to it by any special gift."

"Did she say those words, sir?"

"Those very words."

"I thought she would just say them, sir. Does she know you very well?"

"She is my own pupil."

"Oh! out of the cla.s.s, sir, I suppose?"

"Yes, I teach her in my house."

"Sir, I wish you taught me in your house."

"I should say, too, that I wished it," answered Davy, sweetly; "but you have a sister to teach you at home, and Clara Benette has no one."

"I should like to have no one--to teach me, I mean,--if you would teach me. If my mother said yes, would you, sir?"

"For a little while I would with pleasure."

"Why not long, sir? I mean, why only for a little while?"

"Because there are others of whom you ought to learn, and _will_ learn, I am persuaded," he added, almost dreamingly, as he turned me to the moonlight, now overspread about us, and surveyed me seriously.

"The little violin-face,--you know, Charles, I cannot be mistaken in those lines."

"I would rather sing, sir."

"Ah! that is because you have not tried anything else."

"But, sir, _you_ sing."

"I suppose that I must say, as Miss Benette does, 'I have a special gift' that way," replied Davy, laughing.

"You have a special gift all the ways, I think, sir," I cried as I ran into our house. I told Millicent all he had said, except that Laura was to be a dancer; and yet I cannot tell why I left this out, for there was that about her fairly repelling me, and at the same time I felt as if exposed to some power through her, and could not restrain myself from a desire to see her again. Millicent told my mother all that I had said to _her_ the next morning at breakfast. My mother, who had as much worldliness as any of us, and that was just none, was mightily amused at my new interests. She could not make up her mind about the private lessons yet; she thought me too young, and that I had plenty of time before me,--at present the cla.s.s was sufficient excitement, and gave me enough to do. Clo quite coincided here; she, if anything, thought it rather too much already, though a very good thing indeed.

FOOTNOTE:

[7] Clara Benette, who plays such an important part in this romance, has been generally accepted as a sketch of Jenny Lind. The resemblances are not very close, however. At the time of the opening of the story she had not made her _debut_, and she did not appear in England until 1847, the year of Mendelssohn's death. It is true, however, that she was an intimate friend of the composer and followed his advice explicitly, and that he was largely instrumental in introducing her to the English public. She also founded a musical scholarship in London in his memory.

CHAPTER XIII.

Next time we met we began the anthem after our first exercise.

Laura[8]--by this time she was always Laura in my own world--nodded at me. She had on a green silk frock to-night; and surely no color could have so enhanced the clarified brightness of her strange eyes. Davy was pleased with us, but not with our enunciation of certain syllables. He requested us as a favor to practise between that meeting and the next. There were a great many a.s.sents, and Laura was very open in her "yes." Miss Benette whispered to herself, "Of course." And I, unable to resist the opportunity, whispered to her, "Does he mean that we are to practise alone, or one by one?"

"Mr. Davy will lend us our parts, and I daresay will copy them on purpose," she replied. "It will be better to practise alone, or at least one or two together, than a great many, or even a few. We can more easily detect our faults."

"How well she speaks!" I thought,--"quite as prettily as Millicent; her accent is very good, I am sure;" and I again addressed her. "I do not think you have any faults at all,--your voice seems able to do anything."

"I do nothing at all with it, it seems to me, and that I have very little voice at present. I think we had better not talk, because it seems so careless."