CHAPTER IV.
IN THE INTERESTS OF MUSIC.
Tuesday morning, Jan. 14.
I am writing before breakfast. They told me to lie quietly in bed thismorning, but I'm not tired, not excited. Nothing more happened than Imight have expected. I couldn't have supposed that in my presencepeople would be stocks and stones!
But oh, it was beautiful, terrible! How can I write it? If I could onlyflash last night--every glorious minute of it--upon paper!
And I might have lost it--they didn't want to let me go! There was afull family council beforehand. John had taken quietly enough thecancelling of our half engagement for the evening, but he had strongobjections to my going to the Opera.
"If you prefer that--" he said; "but do you think it wise to appear insuch a public place with strangers?"
"But why not?"
I was impatient at so much discussion and discretion. My mind was madeup.
"There's no reason why you shouldn't, I suppose." John drew a greatsigh. "But I shall feel easier if--I think I'll go too."
"We'll all go," cried Aunt Frank--it was so funny to have them sitthere debating in that way the problem of Her--"we'll enjoy it of allthings--the Judge and I, and especially Ethel."
And so, when the great night came, Milly and I left the others in themidst of their preparations, and went off to dine with Mrs. Van Dam; wewere to go with her afterwards to see Mascagni's "Christofero Colombo."
It seems impossible now, but I was excited even about the dinner. Ithought it the beginning of recognition--and it was!--to be seized uponby this splendid, masterful young General.
She lives not far from us--on Sixty-seventh Street near Fifth Avenue,while we are on Seventy-second Street near Madison. The wall of herhouse near the ground looks like that of a fortress; there are no highsteps in front, but Milly and I were shown into a hall, oak finishedand English, right on the street level; and then into a room off thehall that was English, too--oak and red leather, with branching hornsabove the mantel and on the floor a big fur rug; and, presently, into alittle brocade-lined elevator that took us to Mrs. Van Dam'ssitting-room on the third floor.
"You ought to see the whole house," Milly whispered, as we were slowlyascending.
I had eyes just then for nothing but the General herself, who met us, afigure that abashed me, swishing a gleaming evening dress, her neck andhair a-glitter with jewels, more dominant and possessive and---yes,even more interested in me than when I had first seen her.
When we went down to dinner, I did see the house; for at a word fromMilly, partly in good nature and partly in pride, Mrs. Van Dam led theway through stately rooms that kept me alternating between confusionand delight, until she paused in a gilded salon, with stuccoed ceilingand softest of soft rose hangings, where I scarcely dared set foot uponthe shining floor.
Less in jest than wonder, I asked if Marie Antoinette didn't walk thereo' nights.
"It's _Diane_, isn't it, who walks here this night?" she said, linkingher arm in mine and leading me to a tall mirror. Then she changedcolour a little, took her arm away hastily and walked from the greatglass. Kind and friendly as she was, she couldn't quite like to see herown image reflected there--beside mine!
"_Diane_ and the Queen of Sheba!" exclaimed Milly, for beside oursimple frocks the General was indeed magnificent.
Her brow cleared at this, and she laughed with satisfaction. When Iblurted out something about having once run off to a shop parlour,before I came to Aunt, for a peep at a full-length glass, she laughedagain at the confession and called me "a buttercup, a perfect _Diane_."
At dinner we met Mr. Van Dam--a small man who doesn't talk much; and itseemed so exciting to have wine at table, though of course I did nottaste it, or coffee.
And it was delightful to lean back in the carriage, as we drove to theOpera House, and remember how Kitty and I used to pin up our skirtsunder our ulsters and jog about in street cars. Mrs. Van Dam wore awonderful hooded cloak of lace and fur, and her gloves fastened all theway to her elbows with silk loops that passed over silver balls.
I had been so impatient during dinner, because they didn't sit downuntil eight o'clock, and then dawdled as if there were no Opera tofollow; but I needn't have worried, for although the performance hadbegun when we arrived, there were still many vacant places in the greathouse. I drew closer about my face the scarf that Ethel had lent meuntil we had passed through the dazzling lobby, up the stairway andthrough the corridors, and until the red curtains of the box hadparted, and I had slipped into the least conspicuous chair. Muffled asI was, I trembled at the first glance at the great, brilliantly lightedhouse, from which rose the stir of a gathering audience and a rustle oflow voices.
"Why, you're not nervous, are you?" the General asked. "I've broughtyou here early on purpose; you'll be comfortably settled before anybodynotices."
And she good-naturedly pushed me into a front place. The music was allthe while going on, but no one seemed to pay much attention.
"Who'll notice me in this big building?" I asked with a shaky littlelaugh.
But just at first, as I looked out over the house, I clutched the lacethat was still around my throat. It was warm after the chill airwithout, and my head swam. There was mystery in the swarming figuresand the murmur. The breath of the roses that lay over the box rails,the gleaming of bared shoulders, the flash of jewels seemed to belongto some other world--a world where I was native, and from which I hadtoo long been exiled. Surely in some other life I must have had myplace among gaily-dressed ladies who smiled and nodded, bendingtiara-crowned heads above gently waving fans. I felt kinship with them;I passionately longed to be noticed by them, and feared it even moreintensely.
Almost immediately after our arrival the curtain fell upon the firstscene. We had missed every word of it! Mrs. Van Dam left me for a fewminutes to myself, and as I became more composed, I put back my scarfand looked about a little more boldly. The house was yet far from full,but every moment people were coming in.
The boxes at each side of us were untenanted, but at no great distanceI saw Peggy Van Dam, seated beside a large woman--her mother, Mrs.Henry--and chatting busily with a stout, good-natured-looking youngman. Even Peggy had not noticed our entrance and, quite reassured, Ilifted my opera glass and began studying the audience.
We were near the front of the house in the first tier on the left, andI had in view almost the whole sweep of the great gold and crimsonhorseshoe. Down in the orchestra some of the women were as gorgeous insatins and brocades as those in the boxes, while others wore streetattire. Nearly all the men had donned evening dress, and I thought atfirst--but soon saw how absurd that was--that I could pick out John byhis office suit. I could not repress a little glow of pride, as Ilooked down upon those rows and rows of heads, to think that somewhereamong them, or above them, John was watching, rejoicing with me,fearing for me where for himself he would never fear. He'd lift, if hecould, every stone from my path. Mr. Hynes, now, would carry youforward so fast that you'd never see the stones.
I had no thought that Mr. Hynes was in the house, but, amusing myselfwith the idea, I lifted my glass--dear little pearl trinket with whichthe General had provided me--and looked for him, wondering how often apoor young lawyer attends the Opera. Of course I couldn't see anybody Iknew, nor could I read my libretto, for the words danced before myeyes; and Mrs. Van Dam, smiling at my interest, began chattering aboutthe people around us, speaking as if I would soon be as familiar withthe brilliant world of fashion and society as herself.
"I wonder," she said in her energetic way, "what it feels like to be atone's first opera."
Excitement was flashing from my eyes and burning on my cheeks as Ianswered:--
"It's--it's--oh, I can't tell you! But in the West," I added hastily,"we had oratorio."
"What a buttercup you are!" she said again.
Soon the curtain rose upon the second act--or scene. Whichever it was,that was all that I was fated to see or hear of the Opera. And for th
elittle while I could consider it, I must say I was disappointed. Thescenery was superb, but the voices--
"You've spoiled us, Nelly," Milly whispered.
"Colombo's not bad."
I squeezed her hand ecstatically.
I find that I don't criticise men so shrewdly; but oh, the thin, shrillpipe of Isabella, compared with what a woman's voice may be! Yet Iadmired her skill, and did not wonder that the house applauded.
The second scene was just closing, and I was lost in dreams of the finethings that I shall do for art and music when I'm a great societyleader, when the box door opened, and there entered an elderly couple,much alike--tall, thin, rather stately and withered. I knew that theymust be Mrs. Marmaduke Van Dam, the General's mother-in-law, and herhusband. Impulsively I sprang up to allow them to come to the frontplaces.
And then--the catastrophe!
I was conscious at first only of an instant's confusion, of a hurriedintroduction in undertones. Then I found myself again sitting, my armtingling to the clutch of Milly's fingers. In her pale, pretty face herlight eyes glowed with a fright that was not all painful.
The blood seemed to flow back to my heart as I realised what I haddone. The sudden stir in our box had called attention, and I had beenstanding in the glare of electric lights overhead and at my feet, mywhite dress outlined against the blood-red curtains.
"Take this fan," Milly whispered from behind me. "Will you have myseat?"
Shame dyed my face. After such a heedless act I couldn't look at theGeneral. I knew that, in his surprise at my appearance, Mr. MarmadukeVan Dam had fumbled noisily with his chair, and that Mrs. Marmaduke haddropped her shoulder wrap--she was in evening dress; how can elderlywomen do it?--I knew that in spite of their rigid politeness they foundit hard to keep their eyes from me. I hoped the General had been toobusy to appreciate my folly, and I drew a quivering breath of reliefthat it had had no more serious consequences.
Yet I was queerly dissatisfied. The Metropolitan Opera House is a bigbuilding, and the part of the audience to which I could have beenconspicuous was small. Yet some people must have seen; had they takenno notice?
For some space--minutes or seconds--it seemed so.
Then a confused murmur, a shifting, restless movement, began near us inthe orchestra. A good many people down there, as well as in the boxesat each side, had noticed me earlier. Now they began whispering totheir neighbours. Heads were turned our way; people were asking,answering, almost pointing. I could see the knowledge of me spread fromseat to seat, from row to row, as ripples spread from a stone throwninto still water. Opera glasses were levelled. Comment grew, swelled toa stir of surprise. The curtain had dropped for the interval betweenscenes; our box became for the moment the centre of interest, and thelights were high. Even the orchestra was resting.
Then it was given me to see how in a great audience Panic may leapwithout cause from Opportunity.
The stir grew, spread. Fascinated, I gazed down at the disturbance. Iknew that a frightened smile still curved my lips. I felt my eyes glow,luminous and dilated. My heart almost stopped beating, gripped bytriumph and horror. Afterwards I realised that I had not availed myselfof the screen Milly offered; I hadn't lifted the fan to shield my face;I had not stirred to hide myself.
"Bob!" whispered the General. "Quick! Don't you see?"
Robert Van Dam sprang to his feet, offering, as I thought, to exchangeplaces with me. Once more I started up, and chairs were moved to giveme passage.
While again I stood under the glare of the lights, and while for thesecond time the movement in the box drew attention thither, somebodybelow half rose to look at me. Two or three--a dozen--followed. As Idropped into my seat at the back of the box, and cast the scarf againabout my head, twenty, thirty people were struggling out of theirchairs.
From my shelter I watched as, farther and farther away, the heads beganto turn. From places where I had not been visible I heard the murmurswelling, the scuffle of people rising. I had disappeared from sight,the first to rise had dropped back into their seats as if ashamed, butothers increased the uneasy tumult of low, tense sounds.
My brain worked quickly. I understood the shuddering thrill that passedover the audience. It was as if all my life I had seen such vastassemblies, and knew the laws that rule their souls. Even before itcame I guessed it was coming; a voice--it was a man's--crying out:--
"What is it? Is it--fire?"
And from away across the house came the answering call--not a questionthis time, not hesitant, but quick and sharp:--"Fire!"
What should I do? Why was not John or Mr. Hynes there to tell me? Wildthoughts darted through my mind. Should I stand once more? Show myself?Should I cry: "It was I, only I! They were looking at me. There is nofire!"
Crazy, crazy thought! For the thing was over as soon as it began.
Those who had started the confusion and who understood its cause, beganshouting:--
"Sit down! Sit down!"
From the topmost gallery a tremendous great voice came bellowing down:--
"What--_fool_--said--that?"
There was a little laugh, a hiss or two rebuked the disorder; then thebaton signalled the orchestra, and the music recommenced, smoothly andin perfect time; the conductor had never turned his head. The curtainwent up; the incident was closed.
I drew a long, sighing breath of relief as one, then another, then alltogether, as if by a single impulse, the people sat down in theirplaces. It had been but an instant. The painted stage, the glitteringcourt ladies, Isabella on her throne, the suppliant Colombo, were as ifnothing had happened.
"First-rate orchestra," muttered Robert Van Dam.
The General turned in her chair and looked at me. She did not speak,but I could see that she was excited; it seems to me now that her eyeswere very bright, and that her strong, square-chinned face lookedcuriously satisfied.
"Let's go," I gasped; "I want to go home."
Choking with sobs, though not unhappy, I felt as if I wished to run, tofly; but, as I tottered out of the box, I could scarcely stand. Mr. VanDam helped me, the General and Milly following. In the corridor we werejoined by Peggy and the florid young man whom I had seen with her.
"Why--why, you're not going? You are not going?" Peggy cried. Shebreathed quickly, and her teeth and eyes alike seemed to twinkle."Can--can't Mr. Bellmer or I--do something?"
"Nothing at all," said the General in brisk staccato, fastening mywraps with an air of proprietorship; "nobody's in voice to-night, doyou think? Miss Winship doesn't care to stay."
Before we reached the lobby, John came from somewhere, hurrying towardsus. I was walking between Mr. Bellmer and Robert Van Dam, but withscarcely a look at them he tucked my hand under his arm, just as hewould have done in the old days at the State University. At the doorMr. Van Dam looked for a cab.
"I'll take her home," said John grimly.
"I'll go with you; I must see her safe with Mrs. Baker," the Generalreplied, understanding at once. "Mr. Bellmer, tell Mother, please, thatBob and I have gone with Miss Winship. Or--Bob, you won't be needed;you explain to Mother."
The two men hurried away upon their errand, though I fancied they wentreluctantly. Peggy had not come down.
All the way home John's brows were black, and he looked straight aheadof him. As we passed under the glow of electric lamps, Milly smiledbravely at me across the carriage, respect and awe mingling with hersympathy. The General sat at my side erect; her eyes glittered, and shelooked oddly pleased--not like a woman who had been at the focus of ascene, and had been dragged away from the Opera before it was over, butlike a General indeed, planning great campaigns.
As for me, I felt that I must laugh--cry. Did ever such a ridiculousthing, such a wonderful, glorious thing, such a perfectly awful thing,happen to any other girl that ever lived?
I was living the scene again--seeing the mass of heads, the sea ofupturned faces. Again I was gazing into the one face that had beendistinct, the eyes that had drawn mine in all th
at blur and confusion,that had looked back at me, as if in answer to my voiceless call forhelp, with strength and good cheer. Even in the moment of my utmostterror, I had been sustained by that message from Ned Hynes. How did Ichance to see him just at that crisis, when I didn't know of hispresence? And why didn't he come to us afterwards, as John did?
Mrs. Baker and Ethel saw us leave the box, and were at home with Unclealmost as soon as we.
"Are you safe, Nelly?" Aunt cried, rushing at me; then, with thesharpness of tense nerves, she rebuked the Judge: "Ba-ake, you hissedher!"
"Nay, my dear; in the interests of music, I frowned upon disorder." Headded, with waving of his antennae eyebrows: "It was Helen's firstopera."
We all laughed hysterically, and then Mrs. Van Dam and John went away.
Could--_could_ Mr. Hynes have gone to the Opera just because he hadheard that I would be there?