Melomaniacs Part 15

_To Mrs. William Murray_

BALAK, _January 31_.

MY DEAR MAMMA,--Certainly I got your last letter. I have not forgotten you at all, and the draft came all right. Bella Seymour exaggerates so. Herr Klug kisses all his pupils in the cla.s.s, but just as Grandpa Murray would. He's old enough to be our grandfather; besides, as Mrs. Ransom says, it is not for our beauty, but when we play well, that he rewards us. I'm sure I don't like it, and if Mrs. Klug, or his six or seven cousins who live with him, caught him they would make a lively time. I never saw such a jealous set of relatives in my life. How am I improving? Oh, splendid; just splendid. I do wish you wouldn't coax and worm out of Bella Seymour all I write. You know girls exaggerate so.

Good-by, darling mamma. Give my love to pa and Harry. I'll write soon.

Yes, I need one new morning frock. I owe for one at a store here where the Ransoms go. Lizzie Ransom is the nicest, but I play better than she does.

Your affectionate daughter, IRENE.

_To Miss Bella Seymour_

BALAK, _March 2_.

YOU MEAN OLD THING,--I got your letter, Bella, but I don't understand yet how you came to tell mamma the nonsense I wrote. Such a lot of things have happened since I wrote last fall. I haven't improved a bit. I have no talent, old man Kluggy says--he's such a soft old fool. He can't play a bit, but he's always talking about his method, his virtuosity, his wonderful memory and his marvellous touch. He must have played well when he was painted with Beethoven in the same picture.

Yes, he knew Beethoven. He's as old as old what's-his-name who ate gra.s.s and died of a colic, in the Bible. Golly, wouldn't I like to get out of this hole, but I promised pa I'd stick it out until spring. I play nothing but Klug compositions, his valses, mazurkas--mind _his_ nerve, he says he gave Chopin points on mazurkas; and Bella, Bella, what do you think, I've found out all about his cousins! I wrote ma that all the old hens in his house were his cousins, and I spoke of his wife. Bella, _he has no wife_, he has _no cousins_. What do you think? I'll tell you how I found it out. The Ransom girls know, but they don't let on to their mother. The first lesson I took, Klug--I hate that man--motioned me to wait until the other girls had gone. He pretended to fool and fuss over some autographs of Bach and a lot of other old idiots--I hate Bach, too, nasty dry stuff--and I knew what he was up to. He glared at me through his spectacles for a while and then mumbled out:

"You may kiss me before you go." Not much, I thought, and told him so.

He rang a bell. The servant came. "Send my wife down. Schnell, du." She hesitated and he yelled out, "Dummkopf" and then turned to me and smiled. The old monkey had forgotten that he had introduced me to Frau Klug two days before. In a minute I heard the swish of a silk dress and a fine-looking old lady entered. I was introduced to--what do you think?

Frau Klug, please. I nearly fell over, for I remembered well the frightened-looking German girl--a pretty girl, too, only dressed _rotten_. Well, I got out the best I could--I couldn't talk German or Balakian--a hideous language, full of coughing and barking sounds--so I bowed and got out. Now comes the funny part of it, Bella. Every time the old fool tries to kiss me I ask him to introduce me to his wife, and he invariably answers: "What, you have not met my wife?" and rings for the ugly servant who stands grinning until I really expect her to say "Which one?" but she never does. I've counted seventeen so far, all sizes, ages and complexions.

The cla.s.s says they are old pupils who couldn't pay their bills, so Kluggy got a mortgage on them, and they have to stay with him until they work the mortgage off by sewing, was.h.i.+ng, cooking and teaching beginners. I've not seen them all yet, and Anne Sypher, from Cleveland, swears that there is a dungeon in the house full of girls from the eighteenth century who hadn't money enough to pay for their lessons. I'm sure ugly Babette, the servant, is an old pupil, for one day I sneaked into the dining-room and heard her playing the Bella Capricciosa, by Hummel, on an upright piano that was almost falling apart. Heavens! how she started when she saw me! The old lady he introduced me to the second time was a pupil of Steibelt's, and she played the "Storm" for us in cla.s.s when the professor was sick. She must have been good-looking. Her fingers were quite lively. Honest, it is the joke of Balak, and we girls have grown so sensitive on the subject that we never walk out in a crowd, for the young men at the corners call out, "h.e.l.lo, there goes the new crop for 1902." It is very embarra.s.sing.

Bella, I want to tell you something. Swear that you will never tell my father or mother. I don't give a rap for music; I hate it, but I like the young men here in Balak, no, not the citizens. They are slow, but the soldiers, the regiment attached to the Royal Household. I've met a Lieutenant Fustics--oh, he's lovely, belongs to the oldest family in Serbia, is young, handsome and so fine in his uniform. He is crazy over music and America, and says he will never bear to be separated from me.

Of course he's in love and of course he's foolish, for I'm too young to marry--fancy, not eighteen yet, or, is it nineteen?--this place makes me forget my name--besides, pa wouldn't hear of such a thing. Herr Lieutenant Fustics asked my father's business, and told me all Americans were millionaires, and I just laughed in his face. I play for him in the salon--oh, no, not in my room--that would be a crime in this tight-laced old town. Now, Bella, _don't_ tell mamma this time. Why don't you write oftener? Love to all.

Your devoted IRENE.

P.S.--Bella, he's lovely.

_To William Murray, Esq._

BALAK, _May 12_.

DEAR PA,--Yes, I need $500, and Herr Klug says if I stay a year more I can play in public when I go back. Five hundred dollars will be enough _now_.

Your loving daughter, IRENE.

_To Miss Bella Seymour_

BALAK, _May 25_.

DEAR, SWEET BELLA,--I'm gone; Hector, that's his name, proposed to me--and proposed a secret marriage--he says that I can study quietly, inspired by his love, for a year, for his regiment will stay in Balak for another year. Oh, Bella, I'm so happy. How I wish you could see him.

I simply don't go near the piano. Old Klug is cross with me and I'm sure the Ransoms are jealous. Good-by, Bella, don't tell mamma.

Remember I trust you.

Your crazy IRENE.

P. S.--I'm wild to get married!

_To Frau Wilhelm Murray_

BALAK, _June 25_.

HIGH RESPECTED AND HONORABLE MADAME,--I've not seen your daughter, the Fraulein Irene Murray, since April, although she has been in Balak. I fear she has more talent for a military career than as a pianist. She does owe me for two lessons. Please send me the amount--40 marks. Send it care of Frau Klug--Frau Emma Klug. With good weather,

ARMIN KLUG.

_To William Murray, Esq._

_August 1._

DEAR WILLIAM,--I've found her--my heart bleeds when I think of her face, poor child--miles from Balak. Of course she followed the regiment when the wretch left, and of course he is a married man. Oh!

William, the disgrace, and all for some miserable music lessons. Send the draft to Balak--to the Oriental Bank. I went as far as Belgrade.

Poor, tired, daring Irene, how she cried for Chicago and for her papa!

Yes, it will be all right. The girls in that old mummy's cla.s.s gossiped a little, but I fixed up a story about going to Berlin and lessons there. Only the hateful Ransoms smile, and ask every day particularly for Irene. I'd like to strangle them. Have patience, William; will be back in the spring--early in the spring. My sweet, deceived child, our child William! Oh, I would kill that Fizz-sticks, or whatever his name is. His regiment is off in the mountains somewhere, and I'm afraid of the publicity or I'd get our consul to introduce me to the Queen. She is a lady, and would listen to my complaint. But Irene begs me with frightened eyes not to say a word to any one. So I'll go on to Vienna and thence to Paris. For gracious sake, tell that Seymour girl--Bella Seymour--not to bother you about Irene; tell her anything you please.

Tell her Irene is too busy practising to answer her silly letters. And William, not a word to Grandpa Murray--not a word, William!

Your loving wife, MARTHA KILBY MURRAY.

P. S.--I don't know, William.

_Extract from the Daily Eagle, November 5, 1903_

The most interesting feature of the concert was the debut as a pianist of Miss Irene Murray, the daughter of William Murray, Esq., of the Drovers' National Bank. Miss Murray, who was a slip of a girl before she went abroad two years ago to study with the celebrated Herr Armin Klug, of Balak, returns a superb, self-possessed young woman of regal appearance and queenly manners. She played a sweet bit, a fantasia by her teacher, Herr Klug, ent.i.tled "The Five Blackbirds," and displayed a wonderful command of the resources of the keyboard. For encore she dashed off a brilliant morceau by Herr Klug, ent.i.tled "Echoes de Seraglio." This was very difficult, but for the fair debutante it was child's play. She got five recalls, and after the concert held an impromptu reception in her dressing-room, her happy parents being warmly congratulated by their fellow townsmen. We predict a great career for Irene Murray. Among those present we noticed, etc., etc....

AN INVOLUNTARY INSURGENT

Whereas it is far away from bloodshed, battle-cry and sword-thrust that the lives of most of us flow on, and the men's tears are silent to-day, and invisible, and almost spiritual....--MAETERLINCK.

Racah hated music. Even his father quoted with approval Theophile Gautier's witticism about it being the most costly of noises. Racah, as a boy, shouted under the windows of neighbors in whose rooms string-music was heard of hot summer evenings. On every occasion his nature testified to its lively abhorrence of tone, and once he was violently thrust forth from a church by an excited s.e.xton. Racah had whistled derisively at the feebly executed voluntary of the organist. An old friend of the family declared that the boy should be trained as a music critic--he hated music so intensely. Racah's father would arch his meagre eyebrows and crisply say, "My son shall become a priest." "But even a priest must chaunt the ma.s.s; eh, what?"

The boy's sister had a piano and tried to play despite his violent mockery. One afternoon, when the sun drove the town to its siesta, he wandered into the room where stood the instrument. Moved by an automatic impulse, the lad placed one finger on a treble key. He shuddered as it tinkled under the pressure; then he struck the major third and held both keys down, trembling, while drops of water formed under his eyes. He hated the sound he made, but could not resist listening to it. Waves of disgust rolled hotly over his heart, and he almost choked from the large, bitter-tasting ball that rose in his throat. He then struck the triad of C major in a clumsy way--a quarter of an hour later his family found him in a syncope at the foot of the piano, and sent for a doctor.

Racah's eyes were open, but only the whites showed. The pulse was strangely intermittent, the heart m.u.f.fled, and the doctor set it down to nervous prostration brought on by strenuous attendance at church. It was Holy Week and Racah a pious boy.

He soon recovered, avoided the instrument, and kept his peace.... About this time he began going out immediately after supper, remaining away until midnight. This, coupled with a relaxation of religious zeal, drove his pious father into a frenzy of disappointment. But being wise in old age, he did not pester his son, especially as the pale, melancholy lad bore on his face no signs of dissipation. These disappearances lasted for over a year. Racah was chided by his mother, a large, chicken-minded woman, who liked gossip and chocolate. He never answered her, and on Sundays locked himself in his room. Once his sister listened at the door and told her father that she heard her brother counting aloud and clicking on the table with some soft, dull-edged tool, a tiny mallet, perhaps.