One "floral tribute" received an ovation as it was borne up the aisle by four men, and hauled up on to the stage by a man who came from the side scenes. It was a harp made entirely of flowers, about six feet high. It made quite a screen for me as I went in and out. The card of the harp was brought to me, and I read, "H. P. Stalton, 'Asleep in Jesus,' North Conway." I had no idea what it meant, but mama remembered that some years ago, when she and I were traveling in the White Mountains, we stopped overnight at the little town of North Conway. At the hotel we heard that a lady had died, and her son was terribly grieved. There was to be a funeral service the next morning in the parlor of the inn. I asked, "Do you think that I might sing something?" "Of course, any music would be welcome," was the answer. So I chose the hymn, "Asleep in Jesus," which I sang when the time came. As there was nothing but an old piano, I preferred to sing without accompaniment. I was very much affected, and I suppose my voice showed my emotion, because other people were equally affected. As for the young man, he knelt on the floor and put his hands over his face and sobbed out loud. Poor fellow, my heart bled for him!
I sang the hymn through with difficulty. The last verse I sang pianissimo and very slowly. The silence was painful; you could have heard a pin drop. The whole scene was very emotional, and I remember feeling that I never wanted to go through such a thing again. The young man had not forgotten, after all these years, either the song or the singer. Hence the beautiful harp of flowers to thank me. I should have liked to have seen him, to thank him.
There is a very sad, pathetic, and patriotic song called "Tender and True" by a composer, Alfred Pease, which I sing. Strakosch said, "You must have in your répertoire something American." This song is about a young soldier who takes "a knot of ribbon blue" from his ladylove, and who dies on the battle-field with the knot of ribbon on his breast. When I sing "the flag draped over the coffin lid" the whole audience is dissolved in tears. The women weep openly; the men hide behind their opera-glasses and try to blow their noses noiselessly between the verses.
I always finish with "Beware!" and Charles always accompanies me, which pleases him very much. He thinks that American audiences are very appreciative, because they stand up and clap and the women wave their handkerchiefs.
I tell him they stand up because the next thing they are going to do is to go out.
WORCESTER, December, 1871.
DEAR MOTHER,—Thanks for your letter. I had hoped to have received better news of Charles.
When he left Thursday he did not look well, but I thought it was owing to the excitement and late hours and the irregular life we have been leading. He wanted to go to Cambridge, where he thought that he could take better care of himself. I would have gone with him, but I felt that I could not leave Strakosch and Worcester in the lurch.
If I don't receive a reassuring telegram from you, I shall start off without delay.
I was dreadfully nervous and unstrung, as you will see, when I tell you how I blundered. I do not like singing in oratorio. Getting up and sitting down all the time, holding and singing from a book, losing my place and having to find it in a hurry, is not what I like. However, I got on very well at first, but there is a place in the score where three angels come forward and sing a trio without accompaniment. Then the soprano (me) steps in front and sings, without a helping note: "Hail, Hail, O Lord God of Hosts!" The orchestra and chorus take up the same phrase after me.