"Coldish, I think," the stranger continued. "Technically skilful, but hardly any feeling!"
John considered for a moment or two, and then answered very judicially. "Yes! Yes, I think that's a fair description of him!"
He waited until the stranger was engaged in reading the programme, and then he jotted down on his writing-paper, "Mr. Pietro Mancinelli played Mascagni's Pavana delle Maschere with great technical ability, but with hardly any emotional quality!"
"I'm very glad I sat down beside this chap," he murmured to himself, as the accompanist played the opening bars of Handel's Droop not, young lover, and then he settled down to listen to the man who sang it. He was happier here, for singing was more easy to judge than instrumental music. Either a song was well sung, he told himself, or it was not well sung, and the gentleman who was singing Droop not, young lover certainly had a voice that sounded well in that great hall.... He wrote in his report that "Mr. Albert Luton's magnificent voice was heard to great advantage in Handel's charming aria..." and was exceedingly glad that he had lately read some musical notices in one of the newspapers, and could remember some of the phrases that had been used in them.
"Now for a treat," said the stranger, as a burst of hearty applause opened out from the platform and went all round the hall.
John glanced towards the passage leading to the artist's room and saw a smiling, plump lady, with very bright, dark eyes and dark hair come on to the platform. She was clad in white that made her Italian looks more pronounced.
"Tetrazzini!" the stranger whispered in John's ear.
The applause died down, and the singer stood rigidly in front of the platform while the pianist played the opening of Verdi's Caro nome. Then her voice sounded very clear and bell-like in the deep silence of the great hall. ... She sang Solveig's Song by Greig and A Pastoral by Veracini, and then the satiated audience allowed her to retire from the platform.
John sat back in his seat in a dazed fashion. All round him were applauding men and women ... and he could not applaud. There was a buzz of admiring talk, and he could hear the words "wonderful" and "magnificent" ... and he had not been moved at all. The great voice had not caused him to feel any thrill or emotion whatever. It was wonderful, indeed, but that was all that it was. There was no generous glow in her music; she did not cause him to feel any emotion other than that of astonishment at the perfection of her vocal organs. He had imagined that the great singer's voice would compel him to jump out of his seat and wave his hands wildly and shout and cheer ... but instead he had sat still and wondered at the marvellous way in which her throat functioned.
"Well?" said his neighbour, in the tone of one who would say that only words of an extremely adulatory character were conceivable after such a performance.