"Sein hoher Gang, sein' edle Gestalt,
Seines Mundes Lächeln, seiner Augen Gewalt,
Und seiner Rede Zauberfluss,
Sein Händedruck, und ach, sein Kuss!"
At this point Frau Bianci broke off playing, and leaned back in her chair with a sigh. Then she said with cutting sweetness of tone, "The idea of this song is to make your audience cry, not to make them laugh. That word is Lächeln, Lächeln, Lächeln!"
I felt as though I had suddenly shrunk from Marguerite to a naughty child of five. Then a sense of rebellion stirred me. I wanted to tell her that I had not been born with a German throat, and that such things as umlauts were a disgrace to any language. However, I controlled myself and said nothing.
"I think you had better go into Hofregisseur Müller's class," she said. "It will be of great benefit to you. Please attend to-morrow at nine o'clock."
Very meekly I answered, "Yes, Frau Professor," as I picked up my music and went out, not having the faintest idea who Hofregisseur Müller was, nor what his sonorous title meant.
At nine the following day I was at the Conservatory. On the stairs I met Miss P——, a Philadelphia girl who is in my piano class. She explained to me that Herr Müller was the Regisseur, that is, the coach for acting at the opera house, and that his class was the Aussprache, or dramatic class, for the vocal students who were to sing in public. She herself is studying for opera and finds her work with him very beneficial.
"But I'm not going on the stage," said I, quite startled. "What does one have to do?"