“Then make yourself very fine and very pretty, and let me hear if your voice is in good order to-day.” He went to the piano and struck a few chords, and throughout the still, decorous house, people in every room heard the sweet voice chanting:
| “I will go back to the great sweet mother, Mother and lover of men––the sea”–– |
heard it again in the weird, startling incantation:
| “Weave me the nets for the gray, gray fish”–– |
and up and down stairs doors were softly opened, and through every heart there went a breath of the salt sea and a longing for the wide stretches of rippled sands and tossing blue waters.
Roland perceived the effect of the music and was satisfied. He had no fear of their future. What if the gold was low in his purse? That charmful voice was an unfailing bank from which to draw more. He was so proud of his darling, so full of praises 170 and admiration, that Denas really put on an access of genius as she robed herself to his flattering words. Pleasure, and hope, and a pretty pride in her husband’s eulogies lent her new physical graces. She was conscious that there were eyes at every window watching Roland and herself leave the house, and she felt certain that their owners were saying: “What a handsome couple! How fond they are of each other! What a wonderful voice she has!”
It is easy to be gay, and even beautiful, to such thoughts; and Roland and Denas reached Signor Maria’s in a glow of good-humour and good hope. The Signor was at home and ready to receive them. He was a small, thin, dark man with long, curling black hair and bright black eyes. He bowed to Roland and looked with marked interest into the fair, sparkling face of Denas. He was much pleased with her appearance and quite interested in her ambitions. Then he opened the piano and said, “Will monsieur play, or madame?”
Roland played and Denas sang her very best. The Signor listened attentively, and Roland was sure of an enthusiastic verdict; on the contrary, it was one of depressing qualifications. The Signor acknowledged the quality of the voice, its charmful, haunting tones––but for the opera! oh, much more––very, very much more was needed. Madame must go to Italy for three years and study. She must learn the Italian language; the French; the German. Ah! then there was the acting also! Had madame histrionic power? That was indispensable for the grand opera. But in three years––perhaps 171 four––with fine teachers her voice might be very rich, very charming. Now it was harsh, crude, unformed. Yes, it wanted the soft, mellowing airs of Italy. Where had madame been living––what was called “brought up?”
Denas answered she had always lived by the sea, and the Signor nodded intelligently and said: “Yes! yes! that was what he heard in her voice; the fresh wild winds––yes, wild and salt! It is airs from the rose gardens, velvety languors off the vineyards, heat and passions of the sunshine madame wants. Indeed, monsieur may take madame to Italy for two, three, perhaps four years, and then expect her to sing. Yes, then, even in grand opera.”
This was undoubtedly the Signor’s honest opinion, but Roland and Denas were greatly depressed by it; Denas especially so, for she had an inward conviction that he was right; she had heard the truth. It was almost two different beings that left Signor Maria’s house. Silently Roland handed Denas into the waiting cab, silently he seated himself beside her.