Piano and Song Part 4

JOHN SPRIGGINS _(jovial and narrow-minded, a member of an ancient musical family)._ MRS. SPRIGGINS _(irritable, envious, and malicious)._ LIZZIE, _their daughter, 13, years old (lively and pert)._ SHEPARD, _her piano-teacher (very laborious)._ DOMINIE, _a piano-master (very stern)._ EMMA, _his daughter, a pianist (silent and musical)._

MRS. SPRIGGINS (_to Dominie_). So this is your daughter who is to give a concert to-morrow? She is said to have less talent than your eldest daughter. With her, they say, nothing requires any labor.

DOMINIE. You must ask my eldest daughter herself about that. I have hitherto held the opinion that both of them played correctly, musically, and perhaps finely, and yet both differently: that is the triumph of a musical education. But this cheap comparative criticism is already too thoroughly worn out. Pray what else have you on your mind?

MRS. S. Have you not yet sent your younger daughter to school? They say your eldest could neither read nor write at fourteen years of age.

DOMINIE. My daughters always have a private teacher in the house, in connection with whom I instruct them in music, in order that their literary education shall occupy fewer hours, and that they shall have time left for exercise in the open air to invigorate the body; while other children are exhausted with nine hours a day at schools and inst.i.tutes, and are obliged to pay for this with the loss of their health and the joyousness of youth.

MRS. S. It is very well known that your daughters are obliged to play the whole day long.

DOMINIE. And not all night too? You probably might explain their skill in that way. I am astonished that you have not heard that too, since you have picked up so many shocking stories about me and my daughters.

MRS. S. (_dismisses the subject, and asks suddenly_). Now just how old is your daughter Emma?

DOMINIE. She is just sixteen years and seven weeks old.

MRS. S. Does she speak French?

DOMINIE. Oui, elle parle Francais, and in musical tones, too,--a language which is understood all over the world.

MRS. S. But she is so silent! Does she like to play?

DOMINIE. You have given her no opportunity to speak, she is certainly not forth-putting. For the last two years she has taken great pleasure in playing.

MRS. S. You acknowledge, then, that formerly you had to force her to it?

DOMINIE. In the earlier years of her natural development, as she was a stranger to vanity and other unworthy motives, she certainly played, or rather pursued her serious studies, chiefly from obedience and habit.

Does your daughter of thirteen years old always practise her exercises without being required to do so? Does she like to go to school every day? Does she always sew and knit without being reminded of it?

MRS. S. (_interrupting_). Oh, I see you are quite in love with your daughters! But they say you are terribly strict and cruel in the musical education of your children; and, in fact, always.

DOMINIE. Do you suppose I do this from affection? or do you infer it, because they have proved artists, or because they look so blooming and healthy, or because they write such fine letters, or because they have not grown crooked over embroidery, or because they are so innocent, unaffected, and modest? or--

MRS. S. (_irritably_). We will drop that subject. But I must give you one piece of good advice. Do not make your daughter Emma exert herself too much, as you have done with your eldest daughter.

DOMINIE. If that is so, Mrs. Spriggins, it seems to have agreed with her very well.

MRS. S. (_vehemently_). But she would have been better--

DOMINIE. If she had not played at all? That I can't tell exactly, as I said yesterday. Well, you are satisfied now with Emma's state of health?

MRS. S. It is of no use to advise such people as you.

DOMINIE. I have always devoted myself to my business as a teacher, and have daily taken counsel with myself about the education of my daughters, and of other pupils whom I have formed for artists; and, it must be acknowledged, I have done so with some ability.

MRS. S. (_not attending to him, but turning to Emma_). But does it not make your fingers ache to play such difficult music?

DOMINIE. Only when her teacher raps her on the knuckles, and that I never do.

(_Emma looks at the parrot which is hanging in the parlor, and strokes the great bull-dog._)

JOHN SPRIGGINS (_entering with his daughter Lizzie_). Herr Dominie, will you be so good as to hear our daughter Lizzie play, and advise us whether to continue in the same course. Music is, in fact, hereditary in our family. My wife played a little, too, in her youth, and I once played on the violin; but my teacher told me I had no talent for it, no ear, and no idea of time, and that I sc.r.a.ped too much.

DOMINIE. Very curious! He must have been mistaken!

JOHN S. But I always was devotedly fond of music. My father and my grandfather, on our estate, often used to play the organ for the organist in church, and the tenants always knew when they were playing.

My father used often to tell that story at table. Ha, ha! It was very droll!

DOMINIE. Curious!

JOHN S. Well, to return to my violin. I gave it up after a year, because it seemed rather scratchy to me, too.

DOMINIE. Curious! Probably your ear and your taste had become more cultivated.

JOHN S. Afterwards, when I accepted an office, my wife said to me, "My dear, what a pity it is about your violin." So I had it restrung, and took a teacher. It seems as if it were only yesterday.

DOMINIE (_casting down his eyes,--the servant brings ice_). That was very curious!

JOHN S. But the government horn-player thought he could not get on in duets with me.

DOMINIE. Curious! So you were obliged to play only solos? But to return to your daughter. Will you be good enough to play me something, Miss Lizzie?

MRS. S. (_condescendingly, in a low voice_). She is a little timid and embarra.s.sed at playing before your daughter Emma.

EMMA. You really need not be so.

MRS. S. Bring "Les Graces" by Herz, and Rosellen's "Tremolo."

LIZZIE. But, mamma, I have forgotten that piece by Herz, and I have not learned the "Tremolo" very well yet. That is always the way with me. Mr.

Shepard says I may console myself: it was always the same with his other scholars. He says I shall finally make my way. But Mr. Shepard is so strict. Are you very strict, Herr Dominie?

MRS. S. Why, my child, you have heard me say so before. Herr Dominie is the very strictest--but (_playfully_) he will not acknowledge it.

DOMINIE. There is one thing you must allow, Mrs. Spriggins,--that my pupils always take pleasure in my lessons; and that must be the case because their progress is evident and gives them delight, and every thing is developed in the most natural way.

MRS. S. (_less sharply_). We won't discuss that; but how are your daughters able to play so many pieces to people, and moreover without notes, if they have not been obliged to practise all day long, and if you have not been very cruel with them, while my Lizzie cannot play a single thing without bungling?

DOMINIE. Allow me, madam, it must be the fault of Mr. Shep--

MRS. S. No, no! you must excuse me, but we don't permit any reflections on our Mr. Shepard: he is very particular and unwearied.

DOMINIE. It does not depend entirely upon that, but--

JOHN S. Upon my honor, it is marvellous to see how talented pupils always seem to flock to _you_. It is easy to teach such! Ha, ha! You must not forget, however, that my grandfather played on the organ. Now, Lizzie, sit down and play something.

(_She chooses a cavatina from "The Pirates," with variations. The introduction begins with _e_ flat in unison. Lizzie strikes _e_ in unison and the same in the ba.s.s, and exclaims: "There, mamma, didn't I tell you so? I don't remember it now." Mr. Shepard enters, steps up hastily, and puts her finger on _e_ flat._)