>UL 
 ENOR 
 
 HENDERSON 
 
 ii 
 
GIFT OF 
 Sir Henry Heyrnan 
 
 V\ 
 
She took the flower from her mouth and struck him gently across the 
 lips with it, and sang: "E bello e ardito". (Page 73) 
 
THE 
 SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 A ROMANCE 
 
 By 
 W. J. HENDERSON 
 
 Author of "The Story of Music," "The Art of the Singer," 
 "Some Forerunners of Italian Opera" 
 
 Frontispiece in color by 
 GEORGE GIBBS 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1912 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1912, 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 Published October, 1912 
 
 Sf \ WUJiu 
 
 THE QUINN A BODEN CO. PRESS 
 RAHWAY. N. J. 
 

 X 
 
 5 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 THERE are no portraits in this story. I have 
 dared to give a momentary glimpse of one supreme 
 interpreter, but none of the other characters in 
 this book ever existed. The need of a " local 
 habitation and a name " led to the choice of the 
 Metropolitan Opera House as the theater of 
 scenes in the drama. Those who are acquainted 
 with the history of the institution will know that 
 no such company as that found in this book ever 
 sang there, and that none of the incidents ever 
 took place. No more did those placed beyond 
 the walls of the opera house. But opera land is 
 an existing country; and a real artist might be 
 born in it in some such way as is hereinafter set 
 
 forth. 
 
 W. J. H. 
 
 55250 > 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 M 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 RS. HARLEY MANNERS, iust si 
 
 
 ping from her car in front of the Waldorf- 
 Astoria, was a vision of radiant expectancy. She 
 was hastening to one of those perfectly delightful 
 Monday morning musicales at which, for an in 
 considerable price, you could sit and rub shoul 
 ders with people right in the heart of the smart 
 set. Mrs. Harley Manners was not in that set. 
 She knew many people in it, and purred audibly 
 when they spoke to her. When they did not, 
 which was the more usual occurrence, she retained 
 her composure and waited. She knew that all 
 of them would have to speak to her from time to 
 time, for she was a cheerful and insistent laborer 
 on all sorts of committees for charitable entertain 
 ments, benefits, and what not. She was always 
 
2 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 ready to do most of the work, all of the talking, 
 and to sign a really handsome check. 
 
 So when she went to a Monday morning 
 musicale, and the sun of the smart set shone upon 
 her, she was repaid. If at the next one the 
 heavens were covered with gloomy gray clouds, 
 she imperturbably drew her wraps about her and 
 waited for brighter weather. Some people might 
 have called her a climber, but climbers usually at 
 tain higher altitudes, especially in the complicated 
 jungle of New York Society. No, Mrs. Harley 
 Manners was not a climber, for she never rose. 
 She was just a sitter. She sat tight and waited 
 for what never came. But her faith and patience 
 were inexhaustible, and she had a perennial ob 
 ject in life. She was trying to live down the ap 
 palling fact that her husband was not a banker, 
 a broker, or even a wine merchant, but a hotel 
 provision contractor. 
 
 So she stepped from her olive limousine just as 
 if she were one of the elect. She moved briskly 
 toward the entrance. She was early. That was 
 part of her policy. By going early she was more 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 3 
 
 likely to catch opportunities to corner in conversa 
 tion women who would have dodged her at the 
 last moment. On this particular Monday morn 
 ing her plans were frustrated by the unexpected 
 advent of Philip Studley, who, in the most incon 
 sequent and, indeed, inessential manner, chanced 
 to be passing the huge hotel. Studley was a non 
 descript in the seething life of New York. He 
 was the music critic of a morning newspaper, and 
 enjoyed all the glory and humiliations of such 
 a position. One of the humiliations was having 
 to endure the diplomatic enthusiasms of Mrs. Har- 
 ley Manners and her breed. For when this distin 
 guished sitter was not abiding in the neighborhood 
 of smart-set persons, she passed her hours in 
 prostration before the throne of some musical 
 celebrity. Next to receiving a smile from a society 
 leader, she valued having a musical personage at 
 luncheon or dinner. Philip Studley was a sort of 
 musical personage. At any rate, musical per 
 sonages talked about him. Some blessed him and 
 many cursed him. 
 
 Some of those singular creatures who regard 
 
4 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 it as an object in life to attend performances of 
 operas generally wearisome to their jaded minds 
 chiefly for the sake of gathering in exclusive com 
 partments denominated boxes and making known 
 to all the world the pregnant fact that they be 
 long to a coterie set above the small army of 
 nonentities in the orchestra stalls, some of these 
 self-satisfied fugitives from the brotherhood of 
 mankind were in the habit of giving vent from 
 time to time to their opinions of Studley and his 
 kind. They asserted that plebeians such as he 
 should not be permitted to discuss in newspapers 
 the doings of the entertainers hired to amuse the 
 lords and ladies of creation. Some of the men 
 were more deeply wounded by the critical com 
 ments than the women were, but only when the 
 offensive comments affected certain feminine song 
 birds. 
 
 And so it chanced at times that the war of 
 words about some newspaper scribbler waxed 
 quite hot, and it was known that on more than 
 one occasion the expulsion of Philip Studley from 
 the theater had been formally demanded at meet- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 5 
 
 ings of the board of directors. But wiser heads 
 had always prevailed, for there was much influence 
 in the argument that expulsion would confer too 
 much seeming importance on a very unimportant 
 person. And so Studley s name was from time 
 to time in the mouths of men and women to whom 
 Mrs. Harley Manners adoringly looked up from 
 her seat among the sitters. Furthermore, he 
 served as a target for Mrs. Manners most pointed 
 comments on " art " and " artists." In their 
 world these words meant music and people who 
 made it or performed it. She could talk with her 
 most eloquent ignorance to Studley, and wet him 
 down from head to foot with her little amateur 
 smatterings, and he had to answer tolerantly be 
 cause she was a woman. Otherwise he was not 
 especially useful, because he would not mingle 
 freely in the circles of those about whom he had to 
 write, and he was acquainted with only two or 
 three " artists." He could not widen the sphere 
 of Mrs. Harley Manners by introducing her to 
 more celebrities. She knew twenty times as many 
 of them as he did. But it was fated that on this 
 
6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 particular morning he was to present to Mrs. Man 
 ners a shocking and delicious piece of information. 
 
 " Going to the musicale, I suppose," he said 
 as he bowed to her. 
 
 " I rarely miss one," she replied, smiling up 
 into his face with that boyish frankness which 
 was her only charm; "and to-day I am so in 
 terested. There are to be examples of early 
 French music sung by that marvelous French tenor, 
 Remy." 
 
 "Yes," said Studley thoughtfully; "queer, 
 though, isn t it, that he has to roam around the 
 country doing this sort of thing, instead of singing 
 in opera, either here or in Paris? " 
 
 " I assure you," said Mrs. Manners earnestly, 
 " that he is such a true artist that he prefers to 
 do this sort of work, in which he is entirely un 
 hampered by the notions of impresarios or con 
 ductors." 
 
 " Yes, I rather fancied that had something to do 
 with it. He is an artist. That is undeniable." 
 
 He stopped short to smile brightly and bow to 
 a very erect young woman who was passing in a 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 7 
 
 dark-tinted limousine car. Mrs. Harley Manners 
 stared at her. Studley looked a little amused. 
 
 " Don t you know her? " he asked. 
 
 " No/ replied Mrs. Manners, " I do not. But, 
 really, Mr. Studley, I must be hastening or I shall 
 be late." 
 
 " Good-by," he said; " I m quite sure you will 
 become acquainted with Helen Montgomery. 
 Baroni is paying her ardent attention. I shouldn t 
 wonder if something really serious might come of 
 it. Good-morning." 
 
 He walked away, leaving her bereft of speech, 
 or even breath, for that was the very first minute 
 that any one outside of the inner circle of the music 
 world had heard of this thing. Mrs. Manners 
 rushed up to the concert room and made a dozen 
 frantic efforts to entice social persons into con 
 versation before she remembered that she had 
 never seen the name of Helen Montgomery re 
 corded " among those present." Then she won 
 dered if Henry Murtha, the society reporter of 
 a certain great daily, would know. So when 
 she was about to go to her seat, she luckily caught 
 
8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 him, and, pushing him into a corner whence he 
 could not escape, said: 
 
 Who is Helen Montgomery?" 
 What Helen Montgomery do you mean? " he 
 answered. 
 
 " I don t know, except that she is the one Baroni 
 is attentive to." 
 
 "Ah, yes; but you can hardly expect me to 
 know anything about that. You might ask one of 
 the musical news reporters." 
 
 But Mrs. Harley Manners drew the line there. 
 She decided that she would wait, because all things 
 come to those who wait, and she would not have 
 to wait more than two hours. She was going 
 right home, and one of her guests at luncheon was 
 a member of the opera company. Then she would 
 find out. How dared any mere woman aspire to 
 the attentions of the great Baroni? 
 
 Born plain Leander Barrett, he had lived the 
 more or less eventful life of a Pittsburgher till he 
 reached the age of seventeen. He was then in his 
 Freshman year at a famous university, and had 
 " made the glee club." Fortunately for him, the 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 9 
 
 university had a department of music, and its head 
 was one of those uncommon men who know some 
 thing about the singing voice. He heard Barrett 
 sing once or twice, and then sent for him. He 
 asked him what he expected to do after gradua 
 tion, and learned that the young man contemplated 
 the study of law. Having ascertained that the 
 parents of this youth were not of such deadening 
 social rank that they might not be brought to 
 consider an artistic career for their son, he sat 
 down and wrote a letter to old Peter Barrett, which 
 brought that excellent man by express to an inter 
 view. The long and short of it was that the 
 parents of young Barrett were convinced that their 
 son had an extraordinary tenor voice, and that it 
 might be his fortune. 
 
 The head of the music department assured the 
 parents that there was a thoroughly competent 
 teacher in the city where the college was, and thus 
 it came about that young Barrett was permitted to 
 continue his course and graduate before he was 
 sent to Europe to finish his studies. In Europe 
 his master found him thoroughly well grounded i/i 
 
io THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 voice technie, and proceeded to impart the neces 
 sary instructions in style and interpretation. In 
 four years the young man, who, curiously enough, 
 refused to go too fast, was ready for his debut. 
 He appeared as Elvino in " La Sonnambula " at 
 the Teatro Bellini in Catania, and the astonished 
 Italians rose at him. They had not heard anything 
 like him in many, many years. His voice was the 
 true lyric tenor, but of uncommon power, and he 
 sang with a tone production absolutely perfect, 
 so that his entire scale was perfectly equalized, and 
 his command of a ravishing mezza voce enabled 
 him to whisper sentiment into the soprano s ear 
 in an irresistible manner. In two months he was 
 engaged for Milan, where his Edgardo was a sen 
 sation. In less than a year he sang Romeo in 
 Paris. Two seasons later he was engaged for the 
 Metropolitan Opera House, and in one more he 
 reached Covent Garden. Leander Barrett, of 
 Pittsburgh, Pa., had conquered the world. 
 
 It was universally conceded that he was in 
 some ways the most gifted tenor since Jean de 
 Reszke. The Boston Herald declared that he 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR n 
 
 was far greater, because one night, when he had a 
 cold, he sang out of tune, and this the Boston man 
 declared showed that he was not a mere vocal 
 machine. The Evening Post of New York fell at 
 his feet because, when made up for Lohengrin, he 
 was the image of Max Alvary. That he sang it 
 like Campanini was not mentioned. The Tribune 
 published a deprecatory essay two columns long 
 after he sang DonOttavio inMozart s inaccessible 
 " Don Giovanni," and a sprightly weekly printed 
 eight pictures of him and his shoes and stockings, 
 with a Sunday page giving an intimate account of 
 his manner of taking his morning bath and dress 
 ing for the day. The American expressed regrets 
 about him because, being an American, he did not 
 advocate opera in English. The Sun went into a 
 profound analysis of his vocal method and his 
 treatment of recitative in all schools of opera, 
 showing thereby that he was a greater master of 
 the lyric art than Farinelli or Garat, singers of 
 whom the readers of the article had never heard, 
 and about whom, therefore, they cared absolutely 
 nothing. The Times asserted that he had no 
 
12 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 method at all, and that this was what made him a 
 truly great singer. 
 
 The truth was that Baroni, as the world called 
 him, had a perfect tenor voice of two octaves and 
 one note. He had a high D flat in his scale, but 
 never used it except occasionally in vocalizing. 
 He valued it because it kept his C in comfort. He 
 had personal magnetism, graceful action, and a 
 blind musical instinct which led him to make ef 
 fective and even bewitching, if not logical, nuances. 
 It was said of him that he was a highly cultivated 
 gentleman, who had profited greatly by the serious 
 studies of his university course. The fact was that 
 he had passed through the university much as hun T 
 dreds of other young men do. He had lived the 
 life of a club man, and some of the floating dust 
 of learning which was in the surrounding atmos 
 phere had settled upon his shoulders. He was not 
 well informed, nor had he any intellectual acumen. 
 He was not a musician, nor a true lyric artist; but 
 he had the talent of the theater, and this informed 
 his singing with a routine eloquence which he him 
 self could not rightly have explained. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 13 
 
 So Baroni conquered the world, and women 
 threw themselves in his path and begged him to 
 trample upon their souls. But he was a singularly 
 decent chap, and laughed at nearly all of them. 
 He had his little affairs, but they were without ex 
 ception confined to his profession. On the whole, 
 he lived a remarkably respectable life for an all- 
 conquering tenor. 
 
 Mrs. Harley Manners did not hear any of the 
 music at that Monday morning musicale. She 
 was thinking how stupid she had been not to ques 
 tion Studley. But she had really been startled into 
 mental numbness. Now, as the last note was still 
 vibrating on the air, she sprang to her feet and 
 intercepted Mrs. Harold Keen, who stared at her. 
 
 " Do you chance, Mrs. Keen," said Mrs. Man 
 ners, with her sweetest accent, " to know Helen 
 Montgomery? " 
 
 " Never heard of her," replied Mrs. Keen, 
 sweeping slowly onward. 
 
 " Not in the old set," reflected Mrs. Manners, 
 and then she halted Mrs. Fifi Stebbins, of the new 
 set, who answered vaguely, " There are Mont- 
 
i 4 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 gomerys almost anywhere, but I don t recall any 
 Helen. 1 
 
 Then Mrs. Harley Manners chased Mrs. Peter 
 Weismann, who was in neither set, and yet was not 
 in Mrs. Manners own immediate circle. And she 
 also never heard of this Helen Montgomery. 
 Defeated all along the line, Mrs. Harley Manners 
 returned to her car and directed the chauffeur to 
 take her home. And then kind fortune smiled on 
 her, for almost at her very door she spied Pro 
 fessor Silas Mabon, the distinguished chemist, and 
 she stopped the car to engage him in conversation, 
 which speedily led to the all-important question. 
 
 " I know a Helen Montgomery that is, I know 
 of her, I am not acquainted with her. My niece 
 knows her," said the Professor. " She is the 
 daughter of Edward Montgomery, the great 
 carpet manufacturer." 
 
 " Is Mr. Montgomery rich? " 
 
 " I have been told that he is worth three or four 
 millions." 
 
 " A-h-h-h-h! " whispered Mrs. Manners to her 
 own heart. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 T3HILIP STUDLEY walked along Fifth Ave- 
 * nue, and turned into a side street, where he 
 entered a club. It was not a fashionable club, nor 
 one in which the sons of millionaires would be 
 found. It was one of those quiet unobtrusive re 
 treats which, in the midst of the turmoil of New 
 York s wild pursuit of wealth and social distinc 
 tion, thrive in the green peace of intellectual ob 
 scurity. Studley, being a newspaper writer, knew 
 all sorts and conditions of men, but those who 
 frequented this club, he felt, were of his own 
 people. Perhaps he would have known more had 
 he gone oftener to the club, but for the most part 
 he dwelt in a little world colored by the rays of 
 his own imagination. He was very young, and 
 had much to learn. In the club he found a letter. 
 He recognized the clear, strong handwriting, and, 
 lighting a cigar, he retired to a quiet corner to 
 
 read. 
 
 15 
 
1 6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 k< I suppose you will be not in the least aston 
 ished," said the writer, " to learn that I am going 
 to be married, and to Leander Barrett. I am just 
 a little astonished myself, for I hardly know how 
 it arrived. It finished itself so suddenly that I 
 have not yet caught my breath. You see, I knew 
 Leander slightly when he was in college. He was 
 a great friend of my cousin, Billy Montgomery 
 you know him and it was through this that I 
 met him. Of course, at that time I did not dream 
 that he had so much in him. He seemed to me 
 to be just an ordinary college boy, and I enjoyed 
 his chaff and chatter, and passed him on just as 
 women always pass on nice boys. But when I be 
 gan to read of his achievements abroad in such 
 a wide variety of art works, I saw that I had failed 
 to measure his character at all. Strangely enough, 
 when he came back to this country and began to 
 sing at the opera, I did not meet him. He seemed 
 to have drifted into a totally new set. I suppose 
 that the exclusively musical set lives quite by itself. 
 At any rate, no one in the set in which I have 
 passed my life seems to know anything or care 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 17 
 
 anything about music. It is all literature, art, and 
 architecture. You must know all about Ghirlan- 
 dajo and Giotto and Bramante and Petrarch and 
 ever so many others whom I need not mention 
 to you, but if you speak of Josquin des Pres or 
 Claudio Monteverde, people stare at you and 
 coldly ask who they were. And if you can tell, 
 you are thought to be a crank. I don t know 
 why I ever became interested in these musical 
 masters, except that they seemed to me to be just 
 as much a demonstration of the intellectual life of 
 their times as the painters and the authors. 
 
 " It was only a few months ago that I fell in 
 with Leander again, and it was of all places in the 
 world in a department store. We bumped 
 violently against one another in a crowd, and, as 
 he turned to apologize, he recognized me and ex 
 claimed, Well, Miss Montgomery isn t it? 
 And, of course, I admitted that it was. He asked 
 me if I remembered him, but made no attempt to 
 tell me his name. He seemed to take it for 
 granted that I knew who he was now. Naturally 
 he supposed that I was a music lover. So we went 
 
1 8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 out of the shop together, and I took him uptown 
 in my car. We had a pleasant talk, and that 
 was the beginning of it. Somehow the affair 
 rushed itself along, and before I really was sure 
 that I knew him, he asked me the great question. 
 I am telling you all this, Philip, because in a sort 
 of way it is your right to know it. You have been 
 my closest friend, and I believe you really under 
 stand me. So if I say frankly to you that I ac 
 cepted Leander without much consideration, you 
 will comprehend me when I add that no sooner 
 had I done it than I realized that I would not 
 have it undone for all the world. Can you gather 
 that? I believe I m just a woman, after all. - 
 Anyhow, I know now that I love Leander, and 
 that I honor him above all men. His art is as 
 much a religion to me as it is to him. It is good 
 to hear him talk about the art of voice production, 
 Philip. It reminds me of the times when you 
 have talked to me about your art, only now I am 
 listening with new ears and an inspired under 
 standing. I wonder if women who are beloved 
 of business men and have to listen to them talk- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 19 
 
 ing about short stock and breaks in the market 
 and running the bears to cover and all that sort 
 of thing can listen with inspired understandings. 
 
 " Oh, I am blessed, Philip, to be the chosen of a 
 great artist, a master who has wonderful mes 
 sages of beauty to give to the world. But you 
 don t want to hear that, do you? I am sure you 
 have suspected that this was coming, but I was not 
 sure of it myself. You are the first person outside 
 of the family to whom I have given the news. 
 The engagement will not be announced till Mon 
 day. We are to be married in three weeks, for Le- 
 ander, as you know, does not remain till the end 
 of the season. We sail right after the ceremony, 
 and he is not going to sing at all in the summer. 
 We are going to have a real honeymoon, as Mr. 
 and Mrs. Lee Barrett, in out-of-the-way places. 
 He was not willing to wait till he came back for 
 the next season, and we both felt that we did not 
 wish to be separated for all those months. I dare 
 say some people will regard it as a hasty wedding, 
 but we who live in a world far above that known 
 by the ludicrous * society people will not he 
 
20 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 troubled. So I shall go to Europe with him and 
 come back with him when he returns for next sea 
 son. Meanwhile, Philip, I have told him that you 
 are my best friend, and that he must not object. 
 Do you know, he smiled and seemed greatly 
 pleased to know that we were such friends, and 
 when I told him that I should like to write to you 
 from Europe, he said, * By all means, you must not 
 let such a friendship as that fall away. Wasn t it 
 dear of him, Phil?" 
 
 And Phil thought it was. 
 
 The spreading of the great news was rapid. In 
 the evening of the same day it rushed with electric 
 speed through the atmosphere of a queer little 
 Italian restaurant, whither some of the divine 
 singers of the opera company went to eat their 
 dinners. An opera company is one of the most 
 peculiar of human institutions. It is a pushing, 
 eager, suspicious community, in which the largest 
 of human passions and the meanest of human jeal 
 ousies jostle and elbow one another at all hours 
 and in all circumstances. There are castes, and 
 there are iron gates through which the lower may 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 21 
 
 not pass to the higher. Away up in the blinding 
 glare of that sun of publicity, which rises with the 
 morning paper and sets only with the last edition 
 of the evening, dwell the royalties of the opera 
 realm, those mighty princesses and princes whose 
 number of appearances are guaranteed for the sea 
 son, and who do not receive salaries, but " cachets," 
 often rising to the proud proportions of four fig 
 ures. These masters do not dine in little Italian 
 restaurants. The most palatial hotels provide 
 them with gorgeous apartments, armies of lackeys, 
 and food with French titles. Some of them even 
 set up private domiciles for the season, and dis 
 play at least the outward semblance of a social 
 dignity equal to that of their employers. 
 
 Little Italian restaurants are for singers who 
 accept salaries, who humbly take so much a month 
 and sing as often as the merciless impresario 
 wishes. And there are other lines of distinction, 
 moral rather than financial, among the citizens of 
 opera land. There is, for instance, the company 
 of uninteresting women. Some of them have hus 
 bands whom they love and do not divorce. The*se 
 
22 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 women bear children and rear them with tender 
 ness and intelligence. Also among the uninter 
 esting women are those honest and ambitious be 
 ginners, who foolishly worship before the altar 
 of the chaste Diana, refusing the helping 
 masculine hands readily proffered to them at so 
 small a cost as a transfer of their devotion to a 
 different goddess. These vestals remain in the 
 gloom of minor roles and wearily wend their ways, 
 through season after season with painfully slow 
 progress toward the glories of the realm. None 
 of these women can appear in this chronicle. They 
 do not fashion history of this kind. Sometimes 
 they create history of another kind, important and 
 even epoch-making in the realm of art, but 
 of no value as material for the professional 
 gossip. 
 
 As for those women who figure in all animated 
 chronicles of the present kind, some of them may 
 have had husbands, but they have tried to forget 
 them, and usually with success. Little Italian 
 restaurants, with hot and opaque atmospheres, are 
 in accord with their temperaments, for their part 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 23 
 
 of the opera world is hot and opaque at all sea 
 sons of the year. 
 
 It was not a pretty place, that particular Italian 
 restaurant. All the men in it seemed to require 
 cigarette smoke as a condiment for food, and 
 they chewed and puffed alternately. The room 
 was filled with a wreathing blue fog, through 
 which strange head-dresses and still stranger 
 gowns could be seen, for the denizens of this world 
 always garb themselves in streamers of splendor 
 and look not unlike perambulating lamp shades. 
 
 They were not only singers. Some were im 
 pecunious painters and some were patrons of the 
 arts, who were wont to shout " bravo " from the 
 highest seats in the temple. It gave them a fine 
 satisfaction to eat within reach of real singers. 
 And they were not all Italians, for one feast of 
 spaghetti makes the whole world of Bohemia kin. 
 And some of the opera singers had their own no 
 tions about what was going on in the life of the 
 great tenor who ate his meals in gilded palaces. 
 They had no official information, but the gossip 
 mill of an opera house grinds exceeding small. 
 
24 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 "Who is it, this Montgomery?" asked Fera- 
 mordi, the Italian contralto, as she drank down 
 Chianti in great noisy gulps. On the stage she 
 was majestic in stride and tragic in tone, this Fera- 
 mordi, but she did not eat prettily at all. She had 
 never rid herself of the ghost of her hungry days 
 in the Santa Lucia quarter before her voice was 
 discovered. 
 
 "A society woman, is she not?" said Tre- 
 montini, the light barytone, who was sure he could 
 sing Amonasro, while every one else was sure he 
 could not. 
 
 " No," replied Abadista, the general utility 
 barytone, " I know. I always know. Her father 
 is a carpet maker." 
 
 " Well," said Feramordi, " and in this country 
 she can be in what they call their best society, these 
 beasts of Americans they have no aristocracy, 
 the shop-keeping, stock-selling pigs." 
 
 They were all speaking Italian, of course, but 
 Tremontini looked fearfully around and said in a 
 whisper: 
 
 " Careful, careful, my dear; some dog will be 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 25 
 
 carrying your words to one of the stockholders, 
 and you may fall upon evil days." 
 
 What do I care? " she said, affecting a cour 
 age which she did not feel. " I am the Feramordi, 
 am I not? I have all Europe and South America 
 in which to sing, have I not? " 
 
 Yes, yes, yes, a thousand and one times yes, 
 my darling; but I do not wish to go to South 
 America." 
 
 Then go to Tophet," she exclaimed, hurling 
 an evil look into his eyes; "I can live without 
 you." 
 
 They were not man and wife, either, these two, 
 and surely never would be. Their quarrels en 
 livened the life of the opera house, and always 
 ended in the same way. They invariably went 
 home together after a performance. Habit was 
 their master. They leaned upon one another in- 
 
 6 
 
 stinctively. 
 
 " But yet," continued Abadista, who at last got 
 another opportunity to speak, " she is not of this 
 American shop-keeping and stock-swindling aris 
 tocracy. She is of the outside. She has much 
 
26 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 money, but she does not dine and dance with any 
 of those who applaud us from the boxes. She is 
 unknown among them." 
 
 "Does she attempt music ?" asked Tremon- 
 tini. 
 
 " Alas, I do not know that," replied the utility 
 man. 
 
 " Via via!" exclaimed Feramordi; "what dif 
 ference does it make? If she is an amateur musi 
 cian, they will fight because she will know a little. 
 If she is not, they will also fight, because she will 
 be a fool and will know nothing." 
 
 For a few minutes the three said nothing 
 further. Their busy mouths were occupied with 
 spaghetti. From the next table floated scraps of 
 conversation. Those who sat there were French 
 and Polish members of the company. They were 
 not on bad terms with the Italians, but they knew 
 that Feramordi and Tremontini bullyragged each 
 other all through meals, and they were wiser 
 than Abadista, who was just stupid enough to 
 intrude upon the ferocious lovemaking of the bary 
 tone and contralto. One could not help hear- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 27 
 
 ing, however, a few words of the French chatter, 
 which was also about the gossip of the day. 
 
 " And why," demanded Madeleine Piroux, the 
 exquisite little French soprano, " shall I not ask 
 Leandro who and what his chere amie is? " 
 
 " Because, most adorable of women," replied 
 Ponitzky, the Polish bass, " you are just a little 
 epris of the Baroni yourself." 
 
 " Don t be jealous, Ladislas," she said, throw 
 ing a piece of bread at his mustache; " you know 
 that I love only you to-day." 
 
 " And whom to-morrow? " 
 
 To-morrow? Oh, what can one tell of to 
 morrow? It is always to-morrow." 
 
 " But, nevertheless, you will not ask him to-mor 
 row or the next day." 
 
 " Eheu ! I suppose he would smile so enchant- 
 ingly and show his beautiful teeth and begin to 
 talk about our joint appearance in Philadelph 
 sacre nom ! how can one say the word ! " 
 
 And the sum and substance of it all was that 
 the members of the opera company had just got 
 wind of the affair, and they really knew little 
 
28 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 enough. They had learned that Baroni was in 
 love with a Miss Montgomery, but who she was 
 they could not tell. Nor did they know that there 
 was to be a wedding so soon or, indeed, that there 
 was to be one at all, for being in love did not in 
 the operatic half-world necessarily imply a wed 
 ding. But on one point they were all perfectly 
 agreed, and that was that if there was a wedding, 
 the woman was a fool. For they were morally 
 certain that no woman not brought up in their 
 sphere could dwell peaceably with one of its deni 
 zens. They were not at all given to self-study, 
 these sublime egoists of the world of music. They 
 never thought about themselves in that way. They 
 regarded themselves as arrived, as complete, as 
 finished products of the wisdom of nature. But 
 they were satisfied that the rest of humanity dwelt 
 on a level far below theirs, and that only the 
 sublime people of their own planet could under 
 stand them. So there was no reason why every 
 one should not say that the woman was a fool. 
 Oh, it would, perhaps, be beautiful for a few 
 weeks, but what would she do if Baroni should 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 29 
 
 have one of his grand attacks of the ego? To be 
 sure, they had another name for it, but that was 
 what it was. Had he not nearly bitten off the 
 ear of Tremontini one night in " Cavalleria " just 
 because that honest and prosaic barytone had got 
 six recalls after the duo with Nagy Bosanska, the 
 Santuzza of the evening? And, perhaps, he was 
 enraged also at the Bosanska, but men did not 
 show anger at her. If they did, she just looked 
 deep into their eyes and they forgot. Bosanska 
 was much more to be feared than Baroni s ego, 
 for he was only an American, while she was a 
 mystery. 
 
 Some said that she was a Calabrian whose father 
 had slain her mother because he was not her 
 father. But others declared that she was nothing 
 so cheaply melodramatic as a Calabrian. Some 
 held that she was the daughter of a Moscow Jew 
 by a Tartar mother. Others declared that she 
 was the child of an Austrian nobleman and a Dal 
 matian peasant woman. None of them really 
 knew, for Nagy Bosanska was still a mystery. 
 And since they were all a little afraid of her, they 
 
30 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 asked her no questions. Men had asked Nagy 
 questions away back in the past, and had got looks 
 for answers, and for the sake of those looks they 
 had sunk into hell. It was the best and the worst 
 of all things to love Nagy Bosanska, as some men 
 in different parts of the world could tell. But the 
 one who could tell best of all was silent forever, 
 for he was the Hungarian gipsy who had shot 
 himself on a mountainside above Csorba, when a 
 certain Viennese nobleman had discovered the Bo- 
 sanska s voice and taken her away to the capital 
 to study under his protection. 
 
 And Nagy Bosanska, sitting in the retirement 
 of her apartment in Madison Avenue, and dining 
 in peace, accompanied by her ancient and subservi 
 ent companion, smiled as if her thoughts were most 
 amusing. 
 
 " Why do you smile, Doushka?" asked Mme. 
 Melanie, the companion. 
 
 "Don t talk Russian," said Nagy fiercely; 
 " you know I hate it." 
 
 " Holy saints! " said poor Melanie to herself, 
 " I forgot that it was the favorite pet name of that 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 31 
 
 Viennese devil. What a pity she does not find a 
 lover who will also be a master. The Viennese 
 terrorized her. All other men have been her 
 slaves." Then she said aloud: " Forgive me, dear 
 one. I am an old fool." 
 
 " But I will tell you," said Nagy Bosanska with 
 an inscrutable look in her gray-green eyes; " I 
 smile because a tenor is in love with a doll 
 baby." 
 
 Which shows that Nagy Bosanska knew nothing 
 at all about the matter. And in this she was 
 neither better nor worse than the rest of the opera 
 company. For Leander Barrett, despite his con 
 siderable experience in the opera realms, was yet 
 an American, and he had a way of keeping his af 
 fairs to himself. If he had told any one, however, 
 it certainly would not have been Nagy Bosanska, 
 for he regarded her with a supreme indifference. 
 He liked to sing with her because she was 
 tremendous; but off the stage he preferred 
 the American members of the company, who 
 were all cordially hated by the European 
 members. 
 
32 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Nevertheless, Mme. Melanie observed later 
 that the serpent was unusually alive this day in 
 the green eyes of Nagy, and she was very glad 
 that she was neither the tenor nor his bride-to-be. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 "1XJ AGY BOSANSKA wil1 y u sin at m ^ 
 
 -^ ^ wedding? " whispered Leandro Baroni. 
 
 Yes," she answered in something like a hiss, 
 " and dance at your funeral." 
 
 " You are most obliging," said Leandro. 
 
 " And you are merely stupid," commented 
 Nagy. 
 
 At the moment they were walking hand in 
 hand toward the cathedral in the second act of 
 " Lohengrin," and the audience was intent upon 
 the beauty of the scene. The thrill of it all had 
 penetrated the house, and there were many who 
 would have sworn that these two great artists had 
 so identified themselves with their roles that they 
 really lived the lives of Lohengrin and Elsa. As 
 the orchestra thundered the brazen echo of " Nie 
 sollst du mich befragen," and Ortrud stood threat 
 ening below the steps, Baroni and Bonsanska, who 
 could play charmingly on the surface of Wagner s 
 
 33 
 
34 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 music, passed slowly from the sight of the audi 
 ence. And he was saying to her: 
 
 "What will you sing?" 
 
 " I will sing," she answered, " * Mon coeur 
 s ouvre a ta voix. 
 
 And as she slipped from his encircling arm and 
 started toward the front to take her curtain call, 
 she smiled at him an inscrutable and disconcerting 
 smile. 
 
 u It is a contralto number," he said to himself, 
 " but that creature can sing anything with her two 
 octaves and a half. I wonder if Helen will think 
 it has any personal meaning directed at her." 
 
 By this time he was bowing gracefully over the 
 Bosanska s hand in front of the curtain, while the 
 audience applauded and the standees shouted 
 " bravi." As the two passed out of the public 
 sight, he said: 
 
 " Nagy Bosanska, you shall not sing the song of 
 Dalila at my wedding." 
 
 " No? Then I sing nothing." 
 And so it came about that little Madeleine Piroux 
 and Tremontini were the singers who did the duty 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 35 
 
 of artistic fellowship at the wedding two days 
 after the " Lohengrin " performance. Leandro 
 made his farewell appearance for the season as 
 the Swan Knight, and went home to see his 
 luggage made ready for Europe. 
 
 The wedding-day was not altogether a success, 
 for it was soft and foggy, and all the opera people 
 were in evil humor. Even Leandro was surly 
 when he arose and tramped ill-temperedly about 
 the room, sounding his middle C and shaking his 
 head because it was veiled. But presently he 
 smiled a little. 
 
 " It is not I who must sing to-day. I have only 
 to marry," he thought. " And then away, far 
 away from everything but love for months to 
 
 come." 
 
 A knock at the door startled him. It was only 
 
 his valet. The wedding was set for an early hour, 
 
 > 
 so that the happy couple might take the steamer 
 
 immediately after the ceremony. Helen had 
 vainly pleaded for a quiet wedding entirely in pri 
 vate, but Leander had assured her that his posi 
 tion as a public man demanded certain sacrifices. 
 
3 6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 It must be in a church; some of the company must 
 sing; their pictures must appear in the next day s 
 newspapers, and the reporters must be furnished 
 with full particulars. 
 
 u It is only for this once," said Leander; " when 
 we come back, it will all be an old story, and I 
 shall no longer be a subject for romantic reports. 
 I shall be an old married tenor." 
 
 And Helen sighed her resignation. After all, 
 they would not see the newspapers, for they would 
 be far out on the ocean, and then for months 
 they would be buried in out-of-the-way places in 
 Europe. Leander knew so many little nooks and 
 corners, where tourists never went, and there they 
 two would go and forget the rest of the world. 
 So she faced the church wedding and the photog 
 raphers at the door with calm courage. 
 
 In her wedding garb and treading the path 
 toward the altar she was, perhaps, not quite the 
 Helen Montgomery of every-day life; but still, 
 even the operatic guests confessed that she was 
 good to see. She was not a very tall woman, but 
 the noble lines of her figure gave her an appearance 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 37 
 
 of height, and her walk, which was the incarnation 
 of feminine dignity, added to the illusion. From 
 somewhere in the far back generations of her peo 
 ple she had got a dainty fineness of bone and a 
 satin sheen of creamy skin. The crimson in her 
 cheeks was usually that of the rose, though now 
 she was unwontedly pale. But the sweet pro 
 fundity of her steady, but soft, gray-brown eyes 
 was unruffled. She breathed an atmosphere of 
 perfectly poised, aristocratic, intellectual woman 
 hood. But it was no chilled atmosphere, for 
 Helen was adorably human and desirable. There 
 was a tempting fullness of the lips, a gracious 
 roundness of the bosom, and a deepness in the 
 strong respiration which bespoke the existence of a 
 slumbering passion ready to be awakened to a 
 splendid life. 
 
 As she moved bravely forward, she was happily 
 unconscious of the strange and motley crowd in 
 the little church. All that she saw was the re 
 lentless perspective of the narrow aisle terminating 
 in the dimly lighted altar before which she was to 
 kneel, while the crown of life was laid upon her 
 
3 8 THE SOUL OF A .TENOR 
 
 brow. Her eyes fixed themselves upon it, and she 
 moved unfalteringly toward it as one in a vision. 
 She did not even see Leander, standing there in 
 all the splendor of his six feet of straight, slim 
 manhood, waiting for her to deliver her future into 
 his hands. She did not hear the opera-house 
 orchestra and the church organ thundering the 
 " Coronation March " from the " Prophet " Le 
 ander had vowed that he would not have that 
 deadly " Lohengrin " music. She saw the cross 
 over the altar, and behind it a blurred picture of 
 a drooping figure with outspread arms. Her soul 
 was floating toward celestial regions. Helen was 
 consecrating herself to the stupendous conditions 
 of wifehood, and as she walked forward she 
 silently prayed that she might wear worthily her 
 crown; for the cross behind the altar did not seem 
 to be for her. 
 
 Twice in the course of the ceremony the sounds 
 of song were heard. In neither instance was it 
 the song which Leander had chosen. The 
 wretches treated the affair as if it were a Sunday- 
 night concert and changed the programme at will. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 39 
 
 The light, transparent, silver tones of Madeleine 
 Piroux wafted out into the church Alessandro 
 Stradella s " Se amor m annoda il piede," which 
 caused Leander to smile faintly and with a certain 
 indulgence. Tremontini sang " Sous les pieds 
 d une femme," from Gounod s " La Reine de 
 Saba," and the drift of the words made a mo 
 mentary impression even upon the absorbed spirit 
 of Helen, so that she lowered her head and blushed 
 in her sweet humility. As for Leander, he com 
 muned briefly with himself: 
 
 Tremontini well knows that he will not meet 
 me again till next season, and by that time I shall 
 have forgotten that I ought to kick him." 
 
 When the ceremony was over the orchestra 
 played the inevitable Mendelssohn wedding march. 
 Helen was Mrs. Barrett in private life, and Mme. 
 Baroni in the palpitating world of art. Her life 
 had doubled at the altar. She was two per 
 sonages, or, rather, one person and one personage. 
 But she did not realize it then. She had so much 
 to learn, and she was so sure that she already 
 knew. So she had also much to unlearn. 
 
40 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 The automobile was waiting at the door. Some 
 of the singers crowded about them as they came 
 out, and tried to embrace either the bride or the 
 bridegroom. It made no difference to them, so 
 long as they could give an emotional performance 
 in the presence of the photographers from the 
 evening papers lined up at the curb. Press agents 
 ran up and down the line making sure that the 
 actors in this historic scene were correctly identi 
 fied. Leander and Helen hastened into the car, 
 and the chauffeur gave a loud toot. In A flat, 
 Tremontini said it was, for he claimed to pos 
 sess absolute pitch, but he often sang out of tune. 
 The vehicle sped away, and the singers turned and 
 hesitated, for they found themselves mixed with 
 a crowd quite new to them. The friends of Helen 
 stared at these strange creatures, and said to one 
 another: 
 
 u How remarkable!" 
 
 And the singers stared back and said to one an 
 other : 
 
 " People who come from nowhere and go back 
 there." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 41 
 
 They had small esteem for those whom they 
 did not recognize as opera-goers. 
 
 " Hein ! These Americans they are so rich and 
 so stupid," declared Madeleine Piroux, who had 
 emerged from the church. 
 
 " But they pay the money," remarked Tremon- 
 tini philosophically. 
 
 " Bien ! That is what Americans are for," de 
 clared Madeleine with an air of finality. 
 
 "Shall we go to their luncheon?" asked Po- 
 nitzky, who had not breakfasted. 
 
 " Idiot! " answered Feramordi; " would I wish 
 to answer their ten thousand foolish questions? 
 You will take me to Henri s and we shall hide from 
 every one." 
 
 " Adorable angel," murmured Ponitzky, who 
 hated Henri s. 
 
 And so these great " artists," to whom an in- 
 
 * 
 
 scrutable Providence had confided the interpreta 
 tion of noble dramatic poems, and whose pulsating 
 interpretations nightly set thousands of souls 
 a-tremble, went their several ways, and the wor 
 shiping public continued to worship from the 
 
42 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 other side of that yawning gulf, the orchestra 
 pit. 
 
 Helen and Leander tarried not long at the 
 luncheon. Their steamer was to sail at three. 
 They had yet to make some minor changes in 
 their garb. At half-past one, while the hungry 
 ones were still at the tables, they slipped away. 
 Only Helen s father bade them adieu. The car 
 went noiselessly down the street, and so Helen 
 passed out of her old world and faced her new 
 one. She sat back with her eyes half closed, try 
 ing to gather her forces, for, although she was not 
 of the hysterical type, and though a wedding was 
 not a social ceremony to her, she had passed 
 through an excitement which puzzled her, because 
 it was of a new order. She faced the mental situ 
 ation as she rode toward the steamer. It cleared 
 itself quickly, for her will was strong. 
 
 She saw herself touched by the consciousness 
 that she was the bride of an artist. She smiled 
 slowly as she measured that. After all, an artist 
 was first a man, and a man was a human being, 
 like herself. Suppose she had been marrying an 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 43 
 
 architect, would she have had that same sense of 
 being translated into a foreign sphere? She 
 thought not. Suppose her husband were a 
 financier, or even a politician with huge visions 
 of power. Would she have had the same feel 
 ing? She knew she would not. Then, where ran 
 the imperceptible line which separated the architect 
 from the singer? Was Palestrina made of a dif 
 ferent clay from Bramante? Ideals, yes, there 
 was the difference. But each had them. They 
 differed merely in their investiture. Leander was 
 hardly a Palestrina, but he was a king among 
 singers. Palestrina was the Prince of music. 
 Surely Leander s pure and chaste ideals might 
 fairly be classed with those of the great son of 
 Sante, but there was nothing into which she could 
 not enter. And in all else he was only a man, like 
 a stockbroker or a carpet manufacturer. And 
 she understood dear old Papa better than he under 
 stood himself. 
 
 So, presently, she looked up with a brave show 
 of confidence, and found Leander looking down 
 into her eyes with such a genuine tenderness that 
 
44 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 she was profoundly moved by it. A sudden wave 
 of faith and comfort rushed over her, and left 
 her with a deep peace in her soul. She lifted her 
 face instinctively, and Leander, leaning down, 
 murmured : 
 
 " My wife." 
 
 And he kissed her on the lips a long, gentle 
 clinging kiss, that had no touch of passion, but 
 rather was an act of consecration. It was at that 
 moment, though he never knew it, that his love 
 reached its zenith. 
 
 " Lee," she said, " it seemed a little strange to 
 me for a moment; but now I am happy." 
 
 ; What seemed strange, dear? " 
 
 u I felt as if I had strayed out of my own world 
 into one unknown to me." 
 
 * Well, in a sense that is true. But I fancy your 
 feeling that way was due to your becoming the 
 wife of a sort of public man, you know what I 
 mean stepping out into the glare of the 
 footlights. You see, you ll have to face my 
 glory." 
 
 He smiled and spoke lightly, but the words 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 45 
 
 jarred upon her. She was not thinking of his 
 fame, but of his inner world. After all, though, 
 she could not expect to knock at its door and hear 
 him say, " Come in/ and thus complete every 
 thing. No, she would have to invade this won 
 derful new territory slowly. 
 
 " I was thinking rather of your ideal world," 
 she said softly. 
 
 " Yes, I see," he said pensively; " but you ll get 
 used to that. It really is not hard." 
 
 And again she wondered if she had not stupidly 
 failed to make herself understood. She was silent 
 for a few minutes, and then the car rolled up to 
 the pier. As it did so, he turned his eyes full 
 upon hers and said: 
 
 " Look here, sweetheart, we are going away on 
 a vacation; I don t want to talk shop." 
 
 " Shop? "she echoed. 
 
 " Yes, art and singing and opera and all tfiat 
 sort of thing. That s my trade, you know, and in 
 vacation I like to forget it for a time. And this 
 is going to be the greatest vacation of my whole 
 life. We are going away, you and I, into secret 
 
46 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 corners, and we aren t going to think of anything 
 in the world except our love." 
 
 And as they went on board the ship she was still 
 wondering how he intended to separate their love 
 from a partnership in the thing that made his in 
 tellectual life. But, after all, what he doubtless 
 meant was that they should not purposely enter 
 into discussions of musical subjects. Of course, 
 enlightening remarks would fall from his lips 
 from time to time, and she would gradually acquire 
 a deeper and surer knowledge of his ideals. And 
 then, in the season they would be absorbed in these 
 beautiful thoughts, for he would be living in the 
 world of the imagination. 
 
 And because they had exacted a promise that no 
 one should come to see them off, they stood com 
 fortably in a corner of the deck and watched the 
 big pier recede. When the ship had pointed her 
 bows at the Narrows, Helen resolutely turned her 
 back on New York, and, leaning on her husband s 
 arm, gazed at the blue rim beyond Fort Hamilton. 
 Somewhere behind that she would really begin her 
 new life. 
 
CHAPTER IV 
 
 "VTES," said Helen; " but it seems a pity to 
 
 -* leave this paradise of rest." 
 
 Leander twirled the sun umbrella and looked 
 up and down the Paquier. It was late in the 
 afternoon, and automobiles, laden with foolish 
 American tourists from Aix, were speeding along 
 the level road and sending clouds of dust into the 
 dignified face of the solemn Prefecture building. 
 Children were beginning to gather in the cool 
 shadows under the wide-spreading trees, and far 
 across the lake the first faint touches of purple 
 were stealing into the thousand hollows of the 
 majestic Tournette. The bugles were sounding 
 the retreat, and some two score baggy-kneed in 
 fantrymen of the gallant Fifty-fifth Brigade w ere 
 forming in line behind the Casino to march back 
 to their barracks after an hour of field exercise in 
 the hot sun. 
 
 The lake, a marvelous well of undefiled green, 
 
 47 
 
48 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 was shining like a moon, and the splendid Savoy 
 mountains looked paternally down upon it and 
 sheltered it and shut out the silly world from it. 
 The mountains, modest after Jungfraus and Mat- 
 terhorns, and therefore not advertised to travel 
 ers, sang silent songs against the lambent sky, and 
 the rain, which so often drifts across them in the 
 wet season, lingered far away, leaving the mighty 
 shoulder of the Parmelan standing forth clear and 
 strong like a buttress of the world. Helen sighed, 
 and quoted: 
 
 " But list; a voice is near; 
 
 Great Pan himself, low whispering through the reeds, 
 Be thankful thoti: for if unholy deeds 
 Ravage the world, tranquillity is here. : 
 
 Leander smiled with an expression of indulgence 
 in his luminous eyes, and quoted in his turn : 
 
 11 Ich weiss nicht was soil es bedeuten, 
 Dass ich so traurig bin. 
 
 " But that," declared Helen, " is a song of a 
 
 river." 
 
 Quanti volt al ciaar de luna 
 Mi t ho dit de vorett ben. " 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 49 
 
 Leander sang this sotto voce and Helen made a 
 little mouth of mutiny. 
 
 " And that," she said, " is a song of an over 
 rated lake where Americans tramp in one another s 
 footsteps and try to imagine themselves thrilling 
 with forbidden passions in the bosky groves of the 
 Villa Serbeloni, where still linger the perfumes of 
 many roses and the echoes of the voice of the beau 
 tiful Carrara." 
 
 " You like this lake better than Como or Garda, 
 don t you? " 
 
 Helen rose and sighed. 
 
 " Nothing is better than this, but one does not 
 make comparisons with Garda. Leave Claude 
 Melnotte s pastel picture also out of the question." 
 
 " Well," said Leander, laughing, " you are a 
 lady of lakes anyhow, and to-morrow you must 
 look at another, Leman, beloved of your friend 
 Byron." 
 
 " I am, indeed, sorry to go," said Helen simply; 
 " we have been happy here far from the madding 
 opera houses, and now must we really go? " 
 
 " My dear, you know it is all settled. I could 
 
50 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 not break my pledge to Lilli. I promised her two 
 years ago that whenever she called upon me to aid 
 her in the Mozart festival I would do so. She has 
 claimed the fulfilment of my promise. Of course, 
 I could send word that I was indisposed unable 
 to travel or " 
 
 " No," interrupted Helen; " you must not 
 descend to any of the petty things. We shall go. 
 Perhaps I shall like Salzburg." 
 
 And so the following day they left the shores 
 of the lake of eternal green, and, in a train filled 
 with tourists from Aix, rolled into Geneva in 
 time to make a comfortable connection for Zurich. 
 Thence they traveled onward, and still onward, to 
 Romanshorn and across the wayward Bodensee 
 into sleepy Lindau, and out again with the express 
 to sophisticated Munich. And still another day 
 they whirled eastward till the salty sides of the 
 Austrian Alps rose above the horizon and the 
 train boomed into Salzburg, and they plunged into 
 the turmoil of the pompous little custom house. 
 A few minutes later they walked into the Hotel 
 Europe, and out of a chair in the rotunda elevated 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 51 
 
 itself the majestic figure of the great Lilli, who 
 maternally kissed Leander on the brow and turned 
 with a smile to Helen : 
 
 u And this is the heilige Braut ; she is not angry 
 with me that I kiss him, for see, my hair is growing 
 white, and I am an old woman, and I heard him 
 cry when he was a baby." 
 
 And for answer Helen put up her sweet young 
 lips for a kiss, and, having got it, said gently : 
 
 " I have never heard you sing, dear Frau Lilli, 
 but in America they still speak of you with 
 veneration, and I am glad that you are Leander s 
 friend." 
 
 Yes," said the great woman reflectively; " I 
 am his friend. I hope to live to see him grow 
 wise. He is a good child, but a child." 
 
 Helen made no answer, for she did not pene 
 trate the meaning of the great woman s utterance. 
 A little later, when she was alone in her room, 
 looking out toward the Hohen Salzburg, she re 
 called the uneasy hours of their honeymoon. For 
 they had lingered by lakes and mountains without 
 finding that perfect peace to which she had looked 
 
52 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 forward. Leander was tender and affectionate, 
 but from the first she was conscious that his 
 thoughts had begun to wander. Sometimes he un 
 successfully tried to suppress a sigh, and when she 
 asked him why he sighed, he denied that he had 
 done so. The young wife was troubled. They 
 sat upon the shore at Stresa and watched the blue 
 shadows above Pallanza. They saw the Alps 
 across the Zeller See flame in the splendor of a 
 July sunset. They had seen the glories of 
 Grenoble and the peace of Annecy. But always 
 Leander s mind was out of tune. His thought 
 was making flights of its own to some other world. 
 He had not sung a note till just before they 
 started for Salzburg. He had given his wonder 
 ful voice a real rest. Then, as they walked 
 through the galleries of the Gorge du Fier, Lean 
 der suddenly sang a scale of an octave and a half, 
 ending with a clarion B flat, and as the echoes of 
 it rang among the rocks, he threw back his head 
 boyishly and laughed. 
 
 " I ll bet this alley never heard anything like 
 that before." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 53 
 
 And presently he was sure of it, for a guide 
 approached him and said: 
 
 " Monsieur has a good voice for singing. He 
 should go to Paris and study." 
 
 Lilli s letter had changed Leander s moods en 
 tirely. It was only then that Helen began to un 
 derstand. The moment her husband knew that he 
 was about to return to the public gaze, he became 
 buoyant in spirit, and his affectionate demonstra 
 tions toward his bride were more spontaneous and 
 sincere. Helen sighed. 
 
 " I suppose," she said to herself, " that it is use 
 less to expect an operatic artist to be entirely happy 
 except when he is exercising the spell of his art. I 
 foresee that a part of my business as a wife will be 
 to grasp this situation. Leander is a man with a 
 mission. Nature has set him apart from others 
 by the gift of a voice and an artist s soul. It is 
 for me to help that soul to perform its office in 
 the world. If I am to be the help that is meet 
 for him, this I must do." 
 
 The next day after their arrival at Salzburg 
 there was a rehearsal of " Don Giovanni." Helen 
 
54 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 had never before attended a rehearsal, and Lean- 
 der had tried to persuade her to remain away, but 
 she pleaded to be present, and said she would sit in 
 a dark corner where no one would see her, and 
 would be very quiet. Leander dubiously said he 
 would ask Lilli, but the great woman promptly 
 granted permission, and smiled graciously when 
 she did so. Already she had discerned that the 
 sweet young bride was treading wholly unfamiliar 
 paths, and perhaps she thought that the sooner 
 the girl learned true things the better it would be 
 for her. But she failed to count upon the fact that 
 Helen was still looking at the world of art 
 through rose-colored spectacles ; and, furthermore, 
 that a rehearsal at Salzburg was not quite in the 
 common order of things operatic. 
 
 It was all so strange to Helen. It almost de 
 stroyed some of her pet illusions to see Leander 
 as Don Ottavio walking about in a gray suit of 
 New York clothes, and wearing a straw hat, while 
 Lilli, with her hat off and her noble gray-crowned 
 head revealed in all its majesty, looked Donna 
 Anna in spite of her modern, yet nondescript, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 55 
 
 walking-frock. The theater was gloomy and the 
 atmosphere half-chilled. There was a musty odor 
 with a singular tang of moldy glue in it. Faint 
 traces of gas could also be detected, and the one 
 weak sunbeam which strayed across the ceiling 
 seemed to be half-obliterated by circling particles 
 in the crowded air. 
 
 The conductor wore a broad slouched hat and 
 had long oily hair. He beat time mechanically, 
 and seldom spoke to his men. The Zerlina, a 
 youthful prima donna, lately sprung into note and 
 highly conscious of the fact, sat at one side of the 
 stage. She wore an enormous hat with a brilliant 
 green feather drooping over her shoulders, and 
 carried a small dog entirely disguised in white 
 wool. Lilli cast a Junoesque eye on her, and the 
 glance seemed to bode her no good. The bary 
 tone, who was impersonating Don Giovanni, spent 
 all his spare time bending over the Zerlina. Hefen 
 smiled at this, and wove her own little romance, 
 which was some thousands of miles from the 
 truth. The Donna Elvira was a German, and a 
 devoted adorer of Lilli. They called one another 
 
56 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 by first names, but Lilli was not polite when she 
 was displeased with anything which Donna Elvira 
 did. 
 
 They all sang in suppressed tones. They were 
 saving their voices for the performance. The 
 Leporello, a gigantic Pole with a notable girth, 
 piped and whistled the " Madamina " till Lilli 
 suddenly cried, " Lieber Gott, das ist kein Gesang. 
 Singe, singe! " 
 
 " My dear Lilli," answered the Leporello ur 
 banely, " won t you be good enough to speak 
 Italian? I know this part in four languages, and 
 I must keep to one, or I shall become confused." 
 
 Whereupon the great woman launched a tempest 
 of Italian at him and he shook his huge head 
 deprecatingly, and began again. This time he let 
 loose the mighty volume of his big voice, and Lilli 
 raged once more : 
 
 " Man, man, you will raise the dead Com- 
 mendatore in the wrong scene." 
 
 For always it was Lilli who directed the re 
 hearsal. The conductor beat time, and occasion 
 ally scolded at a second violin, but he held his 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 57 
 
 peace for the most part, except once when he made 
 a blunder in the harpsichord part, which he played 
 to accompany the recitative secco. Lilli then be 
 stowed upon him several uncomplimentary titles, 
 and he looked up mildly and said : 
 
 " Gnadige Frau, I am too small to carry so 
 many names." 
 
 To all this Helen listened with some wonder, 
 for she had expected to hear learned discussions 
 about the correct reading of Mozart s great num 
 bers, or to find the singers going over phrases 
 again and again till they had them precisely right. 
 The whole rehearsal seemed to her to be pitched 
 upon a low level, far removed from the regions of 
 artistic ideals. When it was over, she and Le- 
 ander went for a drive to Hellbrunn, where they 
 took their afternoon coffee. While seated at the 
 table, Helen expressed her feelings to Leander. 
 
 " But, my dear," he replied, " we do not have 
 to study the roles now. We have all sung them 
 scores of times. Lilli must have done Anna a 
 hundred times. All that we have to do is bring 
 things together. We have to get into the same 
 
58 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 picture, you know. That is the main object here. 
 Now, in New York, we don t care whether we are 
 all in the same picture or not, for no one there 
 knows or cares. We sing every man and woman 
 for himself. The public has been trained there 
 to go to hear singers, and each one aims at mak 
 ing his greatest points in his own most certain 
 way. But here we must give ( Don Giovanni in 
 one style together, and that is what the great Lilli 
 is after. You will see, it will all come out beau 
 tifully. As for me, I do not have to bother. 
 You noticed that Lilli hardly spoke to me? " 
 
 " Yes," said Helen. " She seemed content to 
 let you go your own way." 
 
 " You see," said Leander complacently, " Lilli 
 knows that I am the best Don Ottavio in Europe, 
 and that my arias are certain to set the audience 
 wild." 
 
 Helen shrank a little at these words, but in a 
 moment she remembered that Lilli had said he was 
 still only a child, and the vanity of children is al 
 ways twin sister to their frankness. 
 
 She did not go to any more rehearsals. She 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 59 
 
 felt that in the future, when Leander was settled 
 for long seasons in opera houses, she would be 
 driven into going in order to be near him, and 
 study him in the behind the scenes of his art. But 
 it was not necessary yet, and in some dim way she 
 found the thing depressing. She had watched 
 painters making pictures, and sculptors modeling 
 statues, and found it inspiring; but this thing was 
 quite the opposite. Perhaps it was too much like 
 sitting beside a pianist when he was practising. 
 At any rate, she decided to defer further experi 
 ences of this kind till they were required of 
 her. 
 
 The evening of the performance of " Don Gio 
 vanni," the first of the festival series, found her 
 seated in the theater in a sort of dull torpor. Her 
 expected enthusiasm had deserted her. She cared 
 only that the festival should come to an end. She 
 wished heartily to go away from Salzburg. She 
 hated the Mozarteum with the great staring por 
 trait of Lilli as Donna Anna set up beside the 
 little yellow book of Maurel on the proper method 
 of performing " Don Giovanni." It seemed to 
 
60 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 her almost possible that these people, even the 
 great woman, were using Mozart as a means to 
 increase their own glory. But she dismissed the 
 thought as unworthy of her, and insulting to noble 
 artists. And in the theater, where the people 
 around her whispered about the genius of the com 
 poser quite as often as they did about that of 
 Lilli, she still found herself unable to shake off the 
 depression. The performance was really good, 
 but to Helen s uncertain view it was no better than 
 some she had seen in New York. At any rate, 
 that was what she thought till Lilli, gazing with 
 wondrous eyes after the departing Don Giovanni, 
 uttered the words, " Don Ottavio, son morta." 
 Then it was that Helen saw the heavens open and 
 the inner shrine of interpretative art disclosed to 
 her dazzled vision. From that moment the 
 drama became to her a realization of her most 
 beautiful dreams. One flaming shaft of the elo 
 quence of genius had reached her soul and set it 
 afire. Even Leander s " II mio tesoro " became 
 glorified in her mind, and when the audience, car 
 ried away by the ravishing beauty of his tones and 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 61 
 
 exquisite finish of his cantilena, thundered applause, 
 she thrilled with inexpressible pride. 
 
 " Yes," she thought; "he, too, lives in that 
 mighty world where Lilli lives. The artist is set 
 apart from the rest of us. It will not be so easy 
 to live in that world with him, but that is what I 
 have to do." 
 
 And when the festival was over, more humble in 
 spirit than when she had sat by the margin of the 
 lake of eternal green, Helen went with her husband 
 to Paris, where he was to procure costumes for a 
 new opera before setting sail for the land of 
 golden promise. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 f I ^HE leaves were flying across the yet green 
 
 * sward of Central Park and the first ag 
 gressive winds of the early autumn were probing 
 the crannies of the myriad chimneys of the rich 
 on the Fifth Avenue side. Philip Studley was 
 swinging along the walk beside the west drive, 
 his cheeks glowing from healthful outdoor exer 
 cise. He walked often in the Park. He loved 
 its sophisticated assumption of rusticity and he 
 had many familiars among the squirrels. But on 
 this day his exercise was destined to be rudely 
 terminated by the sudden apparition of Mrs. Har- 
 ley Manners in her car. She hailed him from the 
 drive and literally dragged him into her vehicle, 
 where in ten seconds she had him in the seething 
 turmoil of her undying musical chatter. 
 
 " I am astonished, Mr. Studley," she said, 
 
 " that after being a critic for several seasons you 
 
 62 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 63 
 
 have not become acquainted with more of the 
 
 artists." 
 
 " I have always felt that it would be bad policy 
 for me to do that," replied the young man. 
 " However, I am very well acquainted with the 
 wife of one and I suppose I shall come to know 
 him well, too." 
 
 " Ah, yes," said Mrs. Manners, " I remember. 
 You are a great friend of Mrs. Baroni, are you 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes. They are due here on Wednesday s 
 steamer." 
 
 " Have you heard anything about their sum 
 mer?" 
 
 " No, only that Baroni sang with immense suc 
 cess at the Mozart festival at Salzburg." 
 
 " I suppose you read that in the foreign 
 papers." 
 
 " Well, the truth is that Mrs. Baroni was kind 
 enough to send me all the criticisms." 
 
 Mrs. Harley Manners pricked up her ears. 
 Possibly this young wife "was going to be worth 
 cultivating. At any rate she seemed to perceive 
 
64 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 that as a mate for a tenor she had certain well- 
 defined duties. 
 
 " Mr. Studley, do you know where they intend 
 to stay when they arrive?" 
 
 Yes," said Studley unenthusiastically; "they 
 are going to the Plaza." 
 
 Mrs. Harley Manners let not the day pass 
 before she had ordered a " floral tribute " to be 
 placed in the rooms reserved for the great tenor 
 and his wife. Mrs. Manners already had bright 
 visions of the great man at her table. She also 
 pondered somewhat on the possible character of 
 the young wife, and wondered if a young matron 
 who belonged to no " set " would be easy to 
 cultivate. 
 
 Studley went home to his little room and sat 
 down to prepare certain " stuff," as he called it, 
 for the Sunday paper. While he clipped off use 
 less paragraphs from press agents matter or ran 
 his pencil through impossible adjectives, he sat 
 wrapped in inner reflection on Helen and her hus 
 band. Her two or three letters had given him 
 some small uneasiness. Was she going to make 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 65 
 
 the lamentable error of supposing that she must 
 forward her husband s interests? Was she going 
 to constitute herself a press agent? 
 
 Studley was very young and his knowledge of 
 the world of music was small. He was aflame 
 with beautiful ideals. It hurt him to think that 
 Helen might be an agency in lowering the splendid 
 standards of her husband. No one had written 
 so poetically about Baroni s Lohengrin (which 
 was not poetic) as Studley had. Webster, the 
 oldest of the music critics, had poked fun at him 
 for it, and warned him that in ten years he would 
 be writing more conservatively about better im 
 personations. But the young man smiled and 
 comforted himself with the thought that the 
 " General " was suffering the pangs of many 
 years. Studley had not been in the habit of 
 going to the opera house except when he was 
 compelled to do so in the discharge of his duties. 
 Some of the scribes called there every day. Some 
 spent much of their time at rehearsals, and they 
 knew all the singers, the conductors, the stage car 
 penter, the stage managers, and even some of the 
 
66 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 orchestra musicians. Some of these scribes wrote 
 more gossip than criticism. One of them always 
 carried a score under his arm and made much 
 pretense of consulting it. But Studley knew none 
 of the gossip which these men knew. He lived 
 in his beautiful world of ideals; and he had it 
 all to himself. But he did not know that. 
 
 And so he regretted that Helen had sent him 
 newspaper comments on Baroni s Salzburg tri- - 
 umphs. He called on her one day when he was 
 sure that Baroni was out and stayed only a few 
 minutes. For some reason which he could not 
 define he was uncomfortable in her presence, and 
 he had a singularly strong disinclination to meet 
 Baroni, However, the season was less than two 
 weeks old when the young commentator on 
 musical doings found himself face to face with 
 much that was new to him. 
 
 A new opera was to be produced. All the prin 
 cipals had studied their roles the previous season; 
 for it was a postponed production. The chorus 
 had been at work for a month. Now the early 
 orchestral rehearsals were in progress, rehearsals 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 67 
 
 without scenery or costumes, of course, but quite 
 sufficient to give expert hearers a clear concep 
 tion of the composer s artistic methods. Studley 
 went to one of these rehearsals to learn some 
 thing about the opera, and hid himself in a dark 
 spot under the boxes. 
 
 They were all present. The house was full of 
 shadows and the one or two exit lights dimly 
 burning under the boxes accentuated the gloom. 
 The gaping rows of empty orchestra stalls, with 
 here and there the feathers of a woman s hat 
 marking the presence of some spectator, had an 
 air of melancholy. Scrubwomen toiled among 
 the boxes and occasionally peered over the rails 
 and looked with dull curiosity in their eyes at the 
 moving shades in the pit below them. 
 
 Scattered about in the orchestra seats were 
 members of the company, some of them inter 
 ested in the rehearsal, others in those who were 
 rehearsing, and still others killing time by watch 
 ing their associates at work. A dozen assorted 
 newspaper men sat mostly on the left center aisle. 
 The connection between the front of the house 
 
68 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 and the stage was on the left and those who kept 
 continually running from one to the other always 
 assembled on that side. If one wished to know 
 all that was going on, it was imperative to be on 
 that side. Studley was on the other. He went 
 there to keep out of the way. In the front rows, 
 close behind the orchestra rail and also on the 
 left side, sat Mrs. Harley Manners. She had no 
 business whatever at a rehearsal. She was a rank 
 outsider. But she was always present at such 
 affairs. She made it a part of her life s business 
 to be there. In this way she became very friendly 
 with many singers and was able to get them to 
 dine at her house. Besides Mrs. Manners, there 
 were several " society " women. They also had 
 no reason except curiosity for being present at a 
 rehearsal and the impresario and singers resented 
 their presence. But they could not be kept out, 
 because they were either relatives or close friends 
 of directors. They made much trouble for the 
 hard-working impresario. They had many opin 
 ions as to how things ought to be done, and these 
 they framed into imperative demands upon their 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 69 
 
 husbands, brothers, or friends in the Board. 
 None of these women knew anything about music 
 or the stage. Like the majority of their kind, 
 they knew almost nothing about anything. They 
 could prattle fluently in French and they had 
 taken u music lessons " when they were at school. 
 They imagined that there was no more to know. 
 They never read the librettos of the operas nor 
 looked at the scores. They did not know clearly 
 what any opera was about. But they made no 
 hesitation in telling their husbands or brothers 
 that this or that scene was performed entirely 
 incorrectly and that the costumes were vile and 
 that the prima donna ought to be taken out of 
 the part. And what they said had no small power 
 in directing the affairs of the opera house. The 
 two or three who really knew things were wise 
 
 enough to let the professional musicians alone. 
 
 .> 
 
 The rehearsal was already in progress when 
 Studley entered the auditorium and slipped into 
 his seat apart from the others. Baroni was sit 
 ting in an orchestra stall beside his wife. He did 
 not " go on " till the first act was half done. 
 
yo THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Nagy Bosanska, wearing a walking skirt and a 
 silk waist, with her hat off and her lustrous hair 
 dressed high upon her shapely head, was going 
 through a scene with Ponitzky and under her 
 breath calling him " Pig " at every second meas 
 ure. Ponitzky paid no attention to her. He was 
 concentrating his gaze on the conductor. Pres 
 ently he shouted : 
 
 "Impossible! Impossible! Such a tempo is 
 not to be thought of. It must go twice as 
 fast." 
 
 The conductor threw down his baton and tore 
 his hair. " I tell you," he cried, " that I will not 
 be made responsible for such a reading. They 
 shall not say that I am a fool." 
 
 And while the two were still wrangling, Helen 
 whispered in Baroni s ear: " Leander, has not the 
 conductor the deciding voice as to tempi? " 
 
 " Well, my dear," answered the tenor, " he has 
 theoretically." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " The truth is, Helen, that Ponitzky is not as 
 young as he used to be and he can t sing the air 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 71 
 
 as slowly as that. He no longer has the breath 
 support." 
 
 " But I should think they would give the part 
 to some one else who can sing it slowly enough. 
 It will ruin the music to sing it so fast." 
 
 Yes, it will not be so good; but if they give 
 the role to any one else, there will be a lot of 
 trouble with Ponitzky. I think you ll hear the 
 air sung fast." 
 
 And for the first time Helen was faced with the 
 idea that artistic considerations sometimes had to 
 yield to the demands of " artists." 
 
 "By the way, Helen," said Leander; "isn t 
 that your friend Studley sitting away off there by 
 himself?" 
 
 Helen peered into the dark shadows under the 
 boxes for a moment before she recognized Philip. 
 
 Yes, I believe it is. Lee, you have eyes like 
 a ferret." 
 
 >c I ve got to go on pretty soon," said he. 
 * Why don t you invite him to come and sit with 
 you?" 
 
 " How can I, if he hides away over there? " 
 
72 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " I think he s looking this way now. Try him." 
 
 Helen smiled in Philip s direction and nodded, 
 although she did not believe that he was looking 
 at her. But he was and he returned both bow 
 and smile. Then she beckoned to him. Slowly 
 and apparently with some reluctance he rose and 
 crossed the house. 
 
 " I m so glad, Philip," she said; " Leander has 
 to go on the stage soon and I want you to keep 
 me company. You know my husband, don t" 
 you?" 
 
 The two men bowed, Philip rather more for 
 mally than the tenor. 
 
 44 I m glad of this opportunity," said Leander, 
 " to thank you for many kind words." 
 
 " You should not thank a critic," replied Philip 
 somewhat coldly. " The artist has only himself 
 to thank. If the critic fails to appreciate the art, 
 he is not fit to be a critic." 
 
 " Priggish young pup," thought Leander, as 
 he walked away to go on the stage; "he ll get 
 over all that if he stays in the business." 
 
 Which indicated that the tenor had a fine ca- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 73 
 
 pacity for misunderstanding. Philip and Helen 
 watched the stage with renewed interest. Nagy 
 Bosanska s scene with Ponitzky had ended some 
 time back, and her long monologue, through 
 which she slid languidly at less than half voice, 
 nodding and whispering and occasionally indi 
 cating her tempo with a stamp of the foot for 
 the benefit of the conductor, had come to its con 
 clusion in a sudden burst of liquid tone, let loose 
 at full voice. She turned to greet Leander as he 
 entered. They stood for a moment. Then with 
 her lithe, exquisite body swaying slightly from the 
 hips, her hands clasped behind her, and a flower 
 dangling by its long stem from her crimson lips, 
 she undulated slowly, languorously across the 
 stage till she stood before the tenor. She took 
 the flower from her mouth and struck him gently 
 across the lips with it, and sang: 
 
 " E bello e ardito. " 
 
 Twice she sang the line, as the score required, 
 and then laughed. Helen could not have told 
 why, but a sudden wave of coldness ran swiftly 
 through her veins and vanished, while there 
 
74 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 dimly sounded in the remotest chambers of her 
 memory the fate motive in " Carmen." And then 
 she turned to Philip and smiled. 
 
 " Do you know Mile. Bosanska? " she asked. 
 
 " No," he answered. " You see, the fact is 
 that I know only two or three of these opera 
 people and none of the important ones at all. 
 Kraft, the German conductor, is the one I know 
 best. He has really fine musicianship and I have 
 learned much from him." 
 
 "Listen! " exclaimed Helen; " Leander is ac 
 tually singing out loud." 
 
 Well, he is not exerting himself," said Philip, 
 " but he is not holding back anything either. I 
 suppose he gives his voice a little exercise some 
 times even at rehearsal." 
 
 But in a few minutes it became plain to the 
 two listeners that this could hardly be called voice 
 exercise. Leander and Nagy Bosanska had grad 
 ually abandoned themselves to the spirit of the 
 scene and before it was ended they were both 
 singing with a fervor of style and a splendor of 
 tone which would have glorified a first perform- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 75 
 
 ance. Nagy Bosanska, her form wreathing like 
 that of a sinuous serpent, hurled herself upon him 
 in the ecstasy of the simulated embrace called for 
 by the action and he grasped her in his athletic 
 arms and held her firmly while he pealed out the 
 clarion phrase in which the composer had voiced 
 the first declaration of passion in the opera. The 
 scene ended the act. As the last note sounded 
 from the piano, Nagy Bosanska still standing in 
 Leander s embrace, slowly lifted her eyes to his, 
 and then, springing backward, burst into a ringing 
 and somewhat sardonic laugh. Next she turned 
 and ran off the stage and out into the orchestra 
 stalls, where she fell back into a seat, still laugh 
 ing. Leander followed her, smiling uncon 
 cernedly. 
 
 " What moves you to such laughter, Nagy?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Only you," she replied; " but it is that you- 
 are such an innocent big baby." 
 
 Helen heard this, for the soprano was only 
 two rows in front of her, and a little color crept 
 into her cheeks. She had not yet become familiar 
 
76 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 with the freedom of the theater. Leander left 
 the soprano and returned to Helen, but Nagy 
 Bosanska stood up and gazed after him. Then 
 with a sudden silent movement she was at his side. 
 
 " And why shall you not introduce me to your 
 beautiful wife? " she said. 
 
 " Certainly," replied Leander with a chilly in 
 flection in his speech. " Helen, this is Mile. Nagy 
 Bosanska, who is to sing the soprano role- and 
 I suppose I may also take the liberty of intro 
 ducing Mr. Studley to you, Nagy." 
 
 The soprano smiled a slow, strange, inscrutable 
 smile, as she studied the three faces. Then she 
 suddenly laughed aloud. 
 
 " Mr. Studley," she said, " if you were a bary 
 tone, and Mrs. Baroni a contralto, we might sing 
 the quartet from Rigoletto. " 
 
 " You are casting my wife for the role of Mad- 
 dalena and yourself for Gilda, which you can t 
 sing. What on earth do you mean, Nagy? " said 
 Leander. 
 
 " I don t know myself. I am half gipsy. I 
 am not bound always to know what my thoughts 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 77 
 
 mean. They come they go piff ! like that. 
 But of course Mrs. Baroni could not be 
 a contralto," she added in a slow, low utterance; 
 " they and the barytones are always unhappy in 
 love." 
 
 And then with another thin cutting laugh Nagy 
 Bosanska ran back to the stage, while Leander 
 indulgently smiled and the other two looked unut 
 terable questions. 
 
 " Don t mind her," said Leander; " she thinks 
 it is her duty to be weird because she has gipsy 
 blood. But it does not mean anything." 
 
 But the young newspaper man thought it was 
 artistic temperament. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 ^TTMiE new opera was duly produced and prop- 
 -*- erly applauded by a brilliant audience. The 
 Herald had over a column of names of those pres 
 ent. It was a social event. Helen eagerly read all 
 the newspapers themorning after the performance. 
 
 " Oh, Lee," she exclaimed, " listen to this in 
 the Tribune. l The composer has published the 
 emotions of his chief actors in a melodic manner 
 of a reactionary. We are invited to listen once 
 again to the strumming of the Bellini guitar. I 
 think that is just a little too violent, don t you? " 
 
 " Oh, you mustn t mind what those fellows 
 say," replied Leander; "you see, their ideas and 
 ours are as far apart as the poles. What he calls 
 the Bellini guitar is nothing more or less than a 
 decent accompaniment under good writing for the 
 voice. This music can be sung. It gives a singer 
 a chance to make a tremendous success." 
 
 Helen remained silent for a few moments, for 
 
 78 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 79 
 
 she was trying to stifle the growing conviction that 
 opera singers placed themselves and their success 
 before the composer and his. This fundamental 
 truth had been flaunted before her senses now 
 several times. 
 
 "What does he say about Nagy? " asked 
 Leander. 
 
 Helen understood that her husband really 
 wished to know what was said about himself. She 
 had advanced that far in her education as the wife 
 of a tenor. But of course he would ask about 
 Nagy. 
 
 " He says that Mile. Bosanska valiantly en 
 deavored to reduce the heroine to terms of 
 Carmen and almost succeeded, and that she sang 
 with more brilliancy than insight." 
 
 " Nagy won t mind that sort of talk. She ll 
 translate that into her own language to this effect : 
 Mile. Bosanska was an irresistible little gipsy and 
 she sang so that the house rang with bravas. I 
 suppose there is something about the old husband, 
 too." 
 
 " Yes," answered Helen with some slight hesi- 
 
8o THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 tation. " He says that Baroni poured out his 
 glorious voice with his customary prodigality and 
 made all his habitual ritardandi and diminuendi 
 and used the mezza voce in the inevitable places, 
 and that it is a great pity that he has so much 
 vocal skill and so little imagination." 
 
 "Humph!" exclaimed Leander; "what does 
 he know about it, I should like to ask? A poverty- 
 stricken scribbler who tries to earn his living by . 
 seeming to be smart in the morning after he has 
 been stupid all the evening. He s an ignoramus. 
 I always knew he was." 
 
 Leander s cheeks were quite crimson by this 
 time and he went and looked out of the window 
 as hard as he could. Helen gazed at him re 
 flectively. Was it true that he lacked imagina 
 tion? She had never thought about it before. 
 Suddenly he turned and said: 
 
 " What does your friend Studley say about the 
 performance? " 
 
 Helen searched in the pile of papers till she 
 found that for which Philip wrote, and turning 
 to the amusement page read swiftly. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 81 
 
 " Well," she said presently, " he seems to think 
 that the opera is a clever, but superficial work, 
 and that " 
 
 " Oh, bother that rot!" exclaimed Leander. 
 "Let me tell you something, my dear girl; it 
 doesn t make an ounce of difference what these 
 so-called critics say about an opera. They write 
 a lot of pretentious twaddle. Most of them 
 haven t the faintest idea of what it is that makes 
 an opera a success. If the tenor and the soprano 
 have plenty of good melody to sing and one or 
 two lively love scenes with a corking climax, 
 allegro con brio, with a couple of B flats in it, 
 and there is a fair amount of doings for the 
 barytone and contralto, plenty of loud music for 
 the chorus, and a good ballet or procession, it is 
 a tolerably safe bet that the opera will catch on. 
 And that is what we are all in the business for. 
 We are not there for psychology or imaginations 
 or aesthetics. We are there to make the public 
 shout and clap its hands, and hasten to put more 
 dollars in the box office." 
 
 Then Helen laughed heartily, for she was as 
 
82 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 certain as she was of her own love for him that 
 this was merely Leander s pose. She was sure 
 that no man could sing as he could if he were 
 concerned only with the catchpenny devices of 
 the lyric stage. But long afterward the chilly 
 words came back into her mind. Leander smiled 
 indulgently when he heard the laugh. 
 
 * That does my heart good, girlie. These critic 
 fellows take themselves so seriously that they 
 make every one else merry. But you haven t yet 
 told me what Studley says about me." 
 
 " He says your singing had all the brilliancy 
 and changing tints of an iceberg," replied Helen 
 softly. 
 
 "Well, that s a fine backhander, isn t it? An 
 iceberg, eh ! See here, Helen, what sort of a chap 
 is this Studley, anyhow? " 
 
 " Surely, Lee, you don t care what he says, do 
 you?" 
 
 " No, of course not; but all the same he ought 
 not to write that way about me. I m the husband 
 of a woman he calls an old and close friend, 
 and it seems to me that he might just as 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 83 
 
 well make things a little more agreeable for all 
 of us." 
 
 You don t mean that you will show any resent 
 ment on account of his criticism, do you? " 
 
 " No, of course not. I m not such a fool as 
 to do that. You have to take these fellows as 
 they come, if you want to get anything out of 
 them in the long run. The idiots are not for sale, 
 you know. People who say they can be bought 
 know nothing about the game. That isn t the 
 way it s done. A little judicious flattery and con 
 tinual diplomacy are the only weapons. Of course 
 I m going to be agreeable when I see him, and 
 so must you. You must treat him all the better. 
 Be as sweet as you like to him; I won t mind. It s 
 all in a good cause." 
 
 " But I thought you didn t care what these 
 fellows said and that they don t know any 
 thing." 
 
 You misunderstood me, girlie. I said you 
 must not care what they wrote about an opera, 
 because they don t know. But one naturally cares 
 when they try to make people believe that there s 
 
84 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 something wrong with his singing. That s our 
 stock in trade." 
 
 After that there was a silence which was not 
 broken till Leander declared that it was time for 
 him to go out and take his morning walk. He 
 always did a swift four miles in the morning, 
 unless it was pouring. Ordinarily bad weather 
 was not considered. One of his peculiarities was 
 that he did not take care of himself after the 
 manner of singers, but after that of college ath 
 letes, and that was why he so seldom was " indis 
 posed," as they call it in opera land. 
 
 Ten minutes after he had gone, Philip Studley 
 was announced. Helen had told him he might 
 come in any day before luncheon, because his 
 afternoons were usually occupied with concerts. 
 Helen greeted him with unaffected pleasure. His 
 nature was distinctly grateful to her, though for 
 just what reason she could not herself tell. But 
 she did know that instinctively she disclosed to 
 him certain precious bits of her innner life which 
 equally instinctively she did not unshrinkingly lay 
 at the feet of her husband. And yet she knew 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 85 
 
 that she loved Leander, and that Philip, dear 
 fellow that he was, belonged to the undistin 
 guished fraternity of life-long brothers. 
 
 " Leander has just gone for his morning walk," 
 said Helen; " you know he reels off four or five 
 miles every day at a racing pace." 
 
 " Yes, I have read all about that in the papers. 
 You know the yellow journalism of to-day makes 
 far more account of the private habits of singers 
 than of their art." 
 
 "Certainly," laughed Helen; "it was almost 
 maddening to me at first to find camera men lying 
 in wait for us everywhere, but we don t mind I 
 mean I don t mind it now." 
 
 " Of course your husband doesn t mind it. He 
 must have grown used to it years ago," responded 
 Philip with a smile. 
 
 " Yes," answered Helen thoughtfully, and then 
 for a moment she was silent. 
 
 You know," she continued, as if with a slight 
 effort, " in his profession it is important for him 
 to keep in the public eye." 
 
 Philip thought that the right way to do this 
 
86 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 was by being a great artist, but he was too wise 
 to say so, and he briefly agreed with Helen. They 
 were both quiet for a few minutes. They were 
 real friends; they did not have to talk incessantly. 
 It was Helen who spoke first. 
 
 " Philip, I often wonder whether a woman can 
 enter perfectly into a man s ideals." 
 
 " I should say that depended upon the woman 
 and the ideals." 
 
 " Sometimes it seems to me that a wife ought 
 not to try to become part of her husband s intel 
 lectual or artistic life, but merely remain on the 
 borders of it as a sentinel to keep away intru 
 
 sion." 
 
 " You have your choice of two points of view 
 in the matter," said the young man, smiling; " in 
 the first place there is the discriminative theory of 
 Hamerton in his Intellectual Life. He believes 
 that the intellectual man ought to take one of 
 two courses. Either he should marry some sim 
 ple, dutiful woman who would devote herself en 
 tirely to the household and love him trustfully 
 without jealousy of his occupations, or some 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 87 
 
 highly intelligent woman, willing to undergo the 
 labor of following him in his studies." 
 
 Helen answered nothing, for neither of these 
 cases seemed to meet the immediate requirements 
 of her situation. 
 
 " Perhaps," said Philip after waiting for the 
 reply which did not come, " you will prefer to 
 think with Weininger that no woman ever knows, 
 or can know or will know, what she does when 
 she mates with a man; but that at any rate she 
 has the power to bridge some difficulties by acting 
 in direct opposition to what she is herself." 
 
 Helen looked up with a startled expression on 
 her face. 
 
 " Why should a woman do that? " she asked. 
 
 " Well, of course," replied Philip, u my knowl 
 edge of the married state is pretty small, for, as 
 
 my friend Hamerton, whom I quoted before, has 
 
 > 
 
 said, no man really knows anything about any 
 marriage except his own. But I am inclined to 
 think that some wives have to live a rather long 
 and weary falsehood in order to save their mar 
 ried lives from going to wreck." 
 
88 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 u It seems to me that neither Hamerton nor 
 Weininger has taken into consideration the state 
 of things which might exist between a man and 
 a woman who were willing to grant each other 
 perfect independence in intellectual matters." 
 
 " Hamerton has written something on that 
 point, but Weininger did not believe that women 
 had real intellects and he did believe that they 
 were incapable of truth. But your independence 
 plan might work well enough where both had 
 intellectual pursuits. But if the wife, for instance, 
 were a great novelist and the husband were only 
 a sportsman, I am afraid there would always be 
 trouble." 
 
 " Yes, but such people would never marry." 
 
 " It s been heard of," said Philip with a smile. 
 
 " Would you marry a woman who could not 
 share your inner life? " 
 
 " Oh, I ! Well, you see, I m an eclectic in all 
 my theories of sex relations. On that particular 
 point I am heart and soul with Ellen Key. There 
 is only one real kind of love and that is the kind 
 which unites the whole nature of the man with 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 89 
 
 the whole nature of the woman. It is neither all 
 physical or all spiritual, but the fullness of both. 
 Those who have this love know one another. 
 Their union is perfect. They are made truly 
 one and attain the highest glory of living." 
 
 Helen rose from her chair and walked quickly 
 to a window. For a few moments she stood look 
 ing out into the prosaic vista of the avenue and 
 then turned to Philip, and in a most casual man 
 ner, as if serious topics were furthest from her 
 mind, said: 
 
 You didn t care much for the new opera, did 
 you?" 
 
 " No, not much. It is smart, and I dislike 
 smartness in all its forms. All little brains are 
 smart. Big ones never are. Think of Michael 
 Angelo or Leonardo da Vinci doing anything 
 smart. Think of Beethoven being smart. No, 
 that is what George Bernard Shaw is, and news 
 papers cable his gabblings under three thousand 
 miles of ocean and aesthetic hucksters of both 
 sexes prattle them over in the market places. And 
 I am more than half afraid that Richard Strauss 
 
90 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 is smart in music in one way just as this new 
 opera s composer is in another. It s all paint and 
 mannerism, like the ridiculous fantasms of the 
 cubists and the futurists. Set one of those silly 
 things beside the disintegrating Last Supper of 
 Leonardo and it looks like a Parisian cocotte in 
 the presence of the Venus de Milo." 
 
 Another silence fell upon them. Helen s eyes 
 studied a pattern in the rug at her feet and Philip 
 studied her eyelashes as they fell in a soft shadow 
 on her delicate cheek. How exquisite she was, 
 how perfect an embodiment of the equal balance 
 of physical and spiritual qualities. Philip s ad 
 miration was frank; it had an element of adora 
 tion. If he had been a Catholic she would have 
 been his idea of the Madonna. Suddenly she 
 looked up and found him gazing straight into her 
 eyes. Her lids trembled just a little and a faint 
 pink crept into her cheeks. 
 
 " You cherish ideals, do you not, Philip? " she 
 said in a low voice. 
 
 " Of course. They are the best of life. Men 
 live for them, die for them." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 91 
 
 " Women have ideals, too," she said; " and I 
 think sometimes they, too, die for them." 
 
 And after that their talk was most common 
 place till Philip went away. In the street he 
 stopped as if an unseen force had hurled itself 
 against him. 
 
 u I wonder," he said to himself, " if everything 
 is all right there. Can it be that the coldness in 
 Baroni s singing is the reflection of an apathetic 
 nature? But even so, how is it that she has failed 
 to melt the ice? How could any man live near 
 her and not become great? " 
 
 It was a question that came back to him more 
 than once in days long afterward. He was not 
 in love with Helen. Perhaps, if circumstances 
 had been right, he might have been. He had 
 often felt the compelling charm of her divine per 
 son, but there had never been anything in his feel 
 ing for her beyond a strong tenderness. And now 
 as he pondered upon the new doubt in his mind 
 as to her happiness, he wondered more and more 
 whether the tenor really knew that he had taken 
 into his home one of the masterpieces of Nature. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 TN the swift passage of the crowded New York 
 "- season, when he had to attend from two to 
 five performances of music in each day and to 
 prepare a page of comment and notes for the 
 Sunday issue of his paper, Philip did not meet 
 Helen again for a month. Neither did he have 
 any conversation with her husband. He was con 
 scious of smoldering antagonism to the popular 
 tenor and he fought against it with all his resolu 
 tion. Nevertheless there was within him a grow 
 ing conviction that Leander was a self-centered 
 epitome of artistic insincerity. He studied the 
 man s art with the closest scrutiny, but could find 
 nothing in it below the surface. Yet he dared 
 not write the truth, for he feared that feeling 
 might be leading judgment. 
 
 If he had known neither Leander nor Helen, 
 his comments on the tenor s singing would un 
 doubtedly have been such as to arouse a storm in 
 
 92 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 93 
 
 operatic centers and probably to set the directors 
 to considering once more whether it would not 
 be a proper vindication of the glory of their insti 
 tution to cease advertising in Philip s paper, stop 
 issuing his tickets, and exclude him from the 
 house. But Philip wrote with reserve and harped 
 heavily on the beauty of Leander s voice and the 
 perfection of his technic. 
 
 If he had only known it, this was all that 
 Leander wished. Philip had yet to learn that 
 musicians, especially singers, almost never discuss 
 anything but technical points. Meanwhile matters 
 were moving in a direction which threatened the 
 general peace. Day by day Helen found herself 
 plunging deeper and deeper into a sea of doubt. 
 There was something in Leander s attitude toward 
 his art which troubled her. She could not tell 
 
 what it was, but in some vague way she felt that 
 
 > 
 
 it had a relation to his love for her. 
 
 The first clear awakening came to her one 
 morning when Leander was at work restudying an 
 old role in which he was to appear before the end 
 of the season. It was des Grieux in Puccini s 
 
94 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " Manon Lescaut," and he had, as he expressed 
 it, become " rusty " in almost every page of it. 
 Helen was astonished to find that he did not sit 
 down at home with the score and read it through 
 carefully before he began work with the accom 
 panist. He told her that such a proceeding would 
 be quite useless. He knew the story and the points 
 of the part. All that he had to do was to set to 
 work to recover the text and the music. He had 
 advanced as far as the second act and was now 
 working on that. 
 
 " Sempre la stessa, sempre la stessa. 
 Trepida divinamente 
 Nel 1 abbandono ardente, " 
 
 Leander sang, and then suddenly interrupted him 
 self to say to the accompanist: 
 
 " Confound the fool, why does he run me away 
 down to the bottom of my medium right there, 
 when in another phrase he carries me up to a 
 high A?" 
 
 " It is certain that he is a pig," answered the 
 French accompanist, who had no love for Puccini. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 95 
 
 " You should sing only in the Manon of Mas 
 senet. But if monsieur will pardon me, he can 
 take the low phrase with almost no voice at all, 
 for who will care, so long as the high A comes 
 out well?" 
 
 " Now, Cartier, old man, that s what I call 
 horse sense. You are the best trainer I ve had 
 in five years and it s all because you have 
 
 sense." 
 
 " Leander," said Helen in a soft voice, " can 
 you tell me what this Italian text means in this 
 passage for des Grieux? " 
 
 " Well, roughly speaking, Helen, it s like this. 
 Des Grieux says, Manon, you thoughtlessly be 
 tray me. Always the same are you. Divinely 
 trembling in ardent abandonment, good and gen 
 tle, how the passion of your embrace thrills me. 
 Then suddenly overwhelmed by the splendor of 
 pleasure, I, your slave and your victim, descend 
 the ladder of infamy. Earth to earth am I, and 
 the pitiable hero of a gambling hell. 
 
 "I see," said Helen thoughtfully. " Why 
 would it not be better to saturate yourself with 
 
96 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 the misery of these thoughts and try to express 
 them in the music than to worry over a high A? " 
 
 Leander looked at her in immeasurable aston 
 ishment for a few moments and then burst into a 
 fit of laughter. He looked at Cartier and Cartier 
 smiled politely, as one who was disposed to listen 
 with some respect to the utterance of the wife, but 
 not inclined to offend the tenor. 
 
 " My dear girl," said Leander, when he had 
 recovered from his laughter, u I am trying to do 
 just the very thing you have told me to do, but 
 I am doing it as a professional, not as an ama 
 teur. If I get the musical phrases right, the ex 
 pression will take care of itself. That has all 
 been arranged by the composer. But when he 
 writes an ineffective passage for the voice, he 
 spoils his own plan and lessens my chance for 
 success with the scene." 
 
 " I see," said Helen; u go on with your study, 
 Lee; I shan t interrupt you again." 
 
 There was something curiously dry and hard 
 in the tone in which she spoke, and for a moment 
 it arrested the attention of the tenor, but not for 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 97 
 
 long. He was soon buried in the score of Puccini 
 again, and she heard him saying to Cartier: 
 
 " Now there is fine writing for the voice." 
 
 Then he sang: " Vitima descendo la scala del 
 1 infamia." 
 
 " Some sense in that, eh? " he said to Cartier. 
 " Starting with the upper G on * vi and keeping 
 the voice up to the E on scendo and then giv 
 ing the B flat on * la why, it sings itself." 
 
 Cartier said to himself that if he had been 
 composing the scene he would not have put the 
 emphasis on u la " but on " sea," the first syllable 
 of " scala," but since the tenor had an advan 
 tageous placing of his high B flat, all would be 
 well. 
 
 When the morning s work was over Leander 
 went out for his usual four miles of exercise. And 
 for once he and Helen took their luncheon alone 
 in their apartment. When they had finished and 
 were sitting yet at the table, the young wife gazed 
 rather wistfully at her husband and said: 
 
 " Lee, I wish you would be more frank with 
 
 me." 
 
98 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " What do you mean, little girl? " 
 
 " Let me into the inner closet of your artistic 
 life; don t talk to me as if I were an outsider, an 
 amateur incapable of understanding your ideals. 
 I am not an amateur at all. I am your wife, a 
 part of you, a part of your soul, and there is 
 nothing that you can be or feel or think that I 
 cannot understand." 
 
 She spoke with a sudden and rising ardor, and 
 Leander gazed upon her with kindling admiration. 
 He rose quickly from his seat, and, striding 
 around to her side, kissed her cheek kindly. 
 
 " You dear girl," he said, " of course you are 
 
 not an amateur." 
 
 " Lee," she said gravely, as he resumed his 
 seat, " it isn t a child s bruise to be cured with 
 a kiss." 
 
 " Sweetheart, you are making a mountain out 
 of a molehill, aren t you? I don t quite catch 
 the point of your trouble." 
 
 " Surely, Lee, you do not expect me to believe 
 that when you are studying a role, you think of 
 nothing but the voice effects." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 99 
 
 " Well, it comes to pretty near that. If you 
 were an amateur, as you don t seem willing to be, 
 I should let you talk a lot of rubbish, but I can t 
 do that sort of thing with my wife. If I get the 
 vocal effects of this part all properly planned, I 
 shall have another big success with it, and it ought 
 to be bigger than it was when I first sang it, be 
 cause I know so much more now than I did then." 
 
 Helen remained silent for fully a minute trying 
 to gather the inner significance of these words. 
 It had always been her habit of mind to strive 
 to look clear through anything that was said to 
 her and study it from the rear, as it were. And 
 just now her husband s words seemed to her to 
 mean so much more than they said. 
 
 " Lee," she finally said, " am I to believe that 
 opera singers think only of technical effects? " 
 
 " That is about what it all comes to, dear. We 
 
 > 
 
 are all trying to make successes of our roles, are 
 we not? And the way to do that is to get the 
 big effects over the footlights." 
 
 " But don t you think of the glory of the mas 
 ter who wrote the work? " 
 
ioo THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " Now, my dear love, can t you see that if I 
 get the voice effects all right in Lohengrin that 
 the part will carry as Wagner intended it to, and 
 that I shall have a big success? It is all right 
 to talk about the composer, but just think of this : 
 if I could not make a big public success in * Lo 
 hengrin, what good would it be for me to rever 
 ence Wagner? Any performance of the opera 
 with a failure in the title role would not be to the 
 glory of Wagner, would it? The first thing to 
 look out for is the success of the singer. The 
 composer will come out all right if that is made 
 certain." 
 
 Leander smiled indulgently upon her, as if he 
 were talking to a child and flooding its imma 
 ture intelligence with new light. And indeed 
 he was doing just that, for Helen was listen 
 ing to him with a growing, yet wholly in 
 definable, fear in the most secret recesses of her 
 soul. 
 
 " I think I understand," she said slowly and in 
 a low tone. 
 
 Leander rose and went to her side. He patted 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 101 
 
 her softly on the head and cooed at her with a 
 little sarcasm in his tone : 
 
 " Don t be an amateur, Helen, if you can help 
 it. Remember that you are the wife of a profes 
 sional and learn to look at things with profes 
 sional eyes. And don t forget that the most im 
 portant thing in the business for us is my suc 
 
 cess." 
 
 " I am trying to come down to that level," re 
 sponded Helen. 
 
 Leander stared at her for an instant and ceased 
 to caress her. He strode across the room and 
 back. 
 
 " Look here, Helen," he said; " I don t quite 
 like the way you speak about it. You have no 
 reason for saying that you are coming down to 
 my level." 
 
 " I said that level." 
 
 > 
 
 Well, it amounts to the same thing. It s my 
 
 level, isn t it? " 
 
 1 You seem to desire that I should think so." 
 There was a silence between them for several 
 
 minutes, while Leander went and gazed out of a 
 
102 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 window and seemed to be plunged in annoying 
 thought. He drummed on a pane of glass and 
 whistled softly. Suddenly he stopped and went 
 back to his wife s side. 
 
 " Helen," he said; u I am pained; I am disap 
 pointed. I am beginning to be afraid that you do 
 not understand." 
 
 " Do not understand what?" she asked in a 
 dull tone. 
 
 " Me," he replied. 
 
 She hesitated a little before she spoke again. 
 " I I think I understand you. Perhaps it is art 
 that I do not understand." 
 
 " Yes, that must be it. Think about it, Helen. 
 You really must get the right idea of the thing, 
 or we shall have disputes about it often, and I m 
 afraid I m not very patient. You see, I am an 
 artist. Art is my business, and and well, you 
 know you ought to pay attention to what I say 
 about it. Good-by for a while." 
 
 He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the 
 forehead and went out. Mechanically she passed 
 her hand across the spot where he had kissed her 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 103 
 
 and drew a quick, short breath, as if something 
 had suddenly hurt her. Then she crossed her 
 hands in her lap and gazed before her into the 
 land of thought. 
 
 No, she told herself, it was not amazing after 
 all that a singer should bestow so much considera 
 tion on the purely mechanical side of his art. 
 Leander was right, he was surely right, in saying 
 that if he planned the vocal effects artistically 
 that was to say, with a view to their public results, 
 their stimulus to an audience the great scenes of 
 an opera would carry across the footlights and 
 the composer s aims would be achieved. 
 
 But oh, she could not bear the notion that 
 Leander was doing it all without any thought for 
 anything save his own public success. It was 
 too hard to believe that, but she could not es 
 cape the conviction that there was nothing mor>e. 
 It was all for personal glory, for self, 
 self, self! 
 
 When she had confessed that to her own inner 
 most soul, she sprang up from her chair and ran 
 across the room aimlessly, as if seeking some way 
 
io 4 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 of escape from the dark thing which was standing 
 so menacingly in front of her. 
 
 Self! The glory and the worship of self! 
 His personal success the only thing to be sought; 
 his instructions to be her gospel of art; and 
 he whimpered that she misunderstood him! 
 Great Heaven ! The trouble was that she under 
 stood too much. " Misunderstood ! " The piti 
 ful cry of the weak man. She knew that, even 
 she, for she had seen weak people in her life. 
 And it was the weakness of selfishness. 
 
 And what did it all signify for her? That he 
 wished her to join the sheeplike herd of his adu 
 lators, to lie at his feet and adore his majesty, 
 to make him an idol and offer him a worship 
 which he would accept as his just due? No, it 
 could not mean so much as that. Her dreams of 
 a great and perfect love in the union of two souls 
 made not of the common order could not fall to 
 such a miserable wreck as that. Leander was 
 right. She misunderstood him. She must learn 
 to regard it all from his point of view, not so 
 poetic as hers, perhaps, but true and therefore 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 105 
 
 nearer to the ideal. Leander loved art and her 
 more than himself, of course. 
 
 And then she sank into a chair, buried her face 
 in her hands, and shook with a furious storm of 
 weeping. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 much later in the same week Philip 
 Studley was accosted by Webster, as the 
 two walked slowly out of a concert hall, where 
 they had been painfully listening to the demon 
 stration of the lamentable incapacity of a pianist 
 recently arrived after a sensationally successful 
 tour of Australia. 
 
 " Let us go and smoke a strong cigar and get 
 the taste of it out of our mouths," said Webster. 
 
 " Thanks," replied Philip with a smile, "if 
 you ll take the qualification off the cigar I ll go 
 with pleasure." 
 
 " Smoke a cigarette, if you like, my child." 
 
 And so they went together to a certain educa 
 tional chop house where learned Thebans of the 
 theater and the lyric hall sometimes assemble to 
 talk of their great professions. Their conversa 
 tion dwelt not at all on the poor pianist whom 
 
 they had just heard. They were only too glad 
 
 1 06 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 107 
 
 to forget her. They soon drifted into opera, for 
 through the half-curtained window they could see 
 the ugly walls of the yellow temple of lyric art. 
 Philip s youthful enthusiasms interested and 
 touched the " General." He listened reflectively 
 while the younger critic aired some of his views 
 about the distinguished artists who excited audi 
 ences in the theater across the street. How sad 
 it all seemed to the elder man that the whole 
 thing should be so hollow. What a pity that a 
 fresh and virile young soul should waste its 
 splendor on such worthless things. He shook his 
 head slowly till Philip asked him why he was do 
 ing it. 
 
 " Well," said the General, " I hate to destroy 
 illusions, but these so-called artists are pretty 
 much all alike." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " asked Philip, 
 who had for some time been convinced that Web 
 ster was soured by his own want of recognition 
 in foreign musical centers. Certain Berlin papers, 
 for example, had referred contemptuously to what 
 they called the " dilettante criticism " of Amer- 
 
io8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 ica, and this had caused the General to go out 
 into a corridor of the opera house and lash him 
 self into a fury. Philip recalled that and similar 
 incidents and he feared that Webster s dicta were 
 not always free from bias. 
 
 u Well," said the General, " you keep yourself 
 unspotted from the world, my son. You have 
 done so without difficulty so far, and you will have 
 to do so now, even if it is not so easy. I know 
 that you are a friend of Baroni s wife and it is go 
 ing to be hard for you to avoid being drawn into 
 the opera crowd. But keep away from them as 
 much as you can. They are no better than a lot 
 of cattle." 
 
 " You don t mean that," replied Philip, smiling. 
 
 "Don t I?" demanded Webster somewhat 
 warmly; " wait and see. The opera singer is first, 
 last, and all the time for himself. His own public 
 success and the increase of his salary are his ob 
 jects in life." 
 
 " Don t you think Baroni is a real artist? " 
 
 " As real as any of them. Baroni values 
 Gounod, for example, just as far as Gounod fits 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 109 
 
 Baroni and helps him to become famous, and not 
 one bit further. He studies his roles earnestly 
 in order to make as big a success as possible for 
 Baroni. That s all he thinks about. Don t delude 
 yourself into the belief that he or any of the rest 
 of them care anything for the great art of music. 
 Did you ever see Baroni sit through a Brahms 
 symphony or a concert of the Kneisel Quartet? " 
 
 Philip started. He certainly never had seen 
 the tenor at a Kneisel concert; but yes he re 
 membered now he had once discovered him in a 
 box at a Philharmonic, and so he told Webster. 
 
 ; Wlio was the soloist at that concert? " asked 
 the Old Man. 
 
 Philip searched his memory. 
 
 " Freiburg, the German tenor," he answered. 
 
 "Exactly; the other tenor!" exclaimed the 
 General sardonically. And Philip understood. 
 He was silent for a few moments, and then he said 
 to Webster : 
 
 u I have already become acquainted through 
 them with one of the sopranos of the company 
 Mile. Bosanska." 
 
no THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Webster sat bolt upright in his chair and laid 
 a firm hand on the shoulder of his young confrere. 
 
 " My boy/ he said, " shun the women as you 
 would the devil. So far as we of the critical fra 
 ternity are concerned every one of them is a vam 
 pire a rag, and a bone, and a hank of hair 
 and she never can understand." 
 
 They cannot all be like that," answered 
 Philip. 
 
 * Those who are not will none the less en 
 deavor to make a fool of you. Remember that 
 no one in the musical profession has any other 
 use for you than one, namely, to get you to write 
 praise in your paper." 
 
 Philip smiled again. He hoped he would not 
 be so soured when he had spent twenty-five years 
 in the business of writing music criticism. At 
 present he felt very human and he believed that 
 musicians were just as human as himself. He had 
 faith in the best of them. He was willing to 
 believe that the little ones were all self-seekers, 
 and that they had no true artistic ideals, but he 
 was sure that the great masters and mistresses of 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR in 
 
 art who made Siegfried and Tristan and Briinn- 
 hilde and Isolde and Armide and Orfeo live on 
 the mimic stage were reverent worshipers before 
 the altar of aesthetic beauty. So he smiled some 
 what indulgently as he rose and looked at his 
 watch. Webster read his thoughts and sighed. 
 He had been through it all, and he knew. 
 
 " I m sorry," Philip said; "but I ve promised 
 to drop in at Mrs. Manners at home." 
 
 "Oh, Heaven help us!" exclaimed the Gen 
 eral. " You too, Brutus! Can t you keep away? 
 That woman is the demon ex machina of the 
 musical world. If you go to her house, you ll 
 meet every professional musician whom you do 
 not wish to meet, especially the vampires." 
 
 " The vampires? " 
 
 " Yes, of course. Women like Mrs. Manners 
 receive them in their homes, these creatures, IJttle 
 better than the shadows who prowl the great 
 white way at night. They invite them to luncheon 
 and dinner and get decent women to come and 
 be introduced to them and all because they are 
 opera singers. If the same women were engaged 
 
ii2 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 in any other line of business, Mrs. Manners and 
 her kind would draw their skirts together when 
 passing them for fear of getting soiled." 
 
 Webster panted in his indignation and strode 
 away, shaking his head mournfully, as one who 
 sees his friend taking a glass more than is good 
 for him. And Philip went to Mrs. Manners 
 house. He had never known her intimately, but 
 in the present season he had met her often at 
 rehearsals and in the concert hall and she had 
 seemed to make a point of pushing the acquaint 
 ance. She was always at home on Thursday 
 afternoons, she had told him, and he had prom 
 ised to go. He had neglected to do so, and had 
 been duly upbraided and had neglected some more 
 and been upbraided some more till now he felt 
 that it would be altogether too rude to delay the 
 matter any longer. So with the melancholy words 
 of the General still lingering in his ears, he en 
 tered Mrs. Manners drawing-room. 
 
 You climbed a flight of rather chillingly im 
 portant stairs to reach this drawing-room and 
 all the way up a grim marble statue of Verdi, ex- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 113 
 
 ecuted by a German who adored Bruckner, glared 
 down upon you from an icy niche in a white wall. 
 But when you had accomplished the ascent, you 
 found yourself in a curious labyrinth of rooms, 
 all more than half dark, and with the darkness 
 accentuated by tiny rose-shaded Eastern lamps 
 burning in the most unexpected places and casting 
 the most distracting shadows. You also became 
 conscious of an olfactory irritation, slight, but 
 none the less perceptible, caused by thin, acrid 
 smoke issuing from the tops of these same lamps. 
 Incense of some sort or other it was, and you 
 easily persuaded yourself that Mrs. Manners 
 burned it before her musical gods who came to 
 visit her on her at home days. 
 
 Three rooms ranged through the floor, but the 
 cunning distribution of doors and mirrors pro 
 duced an illusion of innumerable apartments open- 
 
 > 
 
 ing into ever further and further remote regions. 
 And heavy portieres, more little lamps, and 
 myriads more of distracting shadows heightened 
 the effect. Furthermore you could not discern the 
 lineaments of any one seated in the drawing-room, 
 
n 4 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 which was really the second of the three, for the 
 lights and shadows made sight most uncertain. 
 So that when you suddenly heard the thin voice 
 of Mrs. Manners cutting the air close to your ear 
 and looked around to discover that she was not 
 what you had just taken for another shadow, you 
 experienced a delightful little shock, which was 
 precisely what she wished you to experience. 
 Philip went through it all, and was somewhat 
 amused when he heard her saying to his left ear: 
 
 " Mr. Studley, this is just too sweet of you. 
 Come right over here and be introduced to the 
 greatest woman in the world." 
 
 He was literally dragged toward a broad heavy 
 shadow, which presently turned out to be a sofa, 
 and out of this wide area of gloom issued a liquid 
 voice, which said: 
 
 " But it is not necessary to present Mr. Studley; 
 he and I are already acquainted." 
 
 Philip had not the faintest idea who was speak 
 ing, but he composedly sat down beside the up 
 right part of the shadow, which presently turned 
 its head so as to permit one of the little lamps 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 115 
 
 to cast a dim ray upon it, and he perceived that 
 he was gazing into the green eyes of Nagy Bo- 
 sanska. And for the moment, with the uncertain 
 light of the Oriental lamp wavering in their lumi 
 nous depths, they made him think of cruel and 
 treacherous green waters rushing over quicksands. 
 
 " I am sure you remember that we met Mrs. 
 Baroni, you and I, at the same time, at a rehearsal 
 months ago," she said in her strangely sensuous 
 voice. 
 
 " Mrs. Baroni and I made your acquaintance. 
 She and I are old friends. Indeed I have known 
 her even longer than he has." 
 
 " She has the grand air," said Nagy musingly, 
 as she let her sloe-black lashes mask her eyes for 
 a moment; " and Baroni he has no air at all. 
 He is a great baby. I wonder why she took him. 
 But one cannot understand love. It is royal v a 
 master, not to be questioned is it not so? " 
 
 And the sloe-black lashes rose slowly, showing 
 the green depths aflame with baleful fires. For a 
 moment some strange thing stirred far down in 
 the secret lair of Philip s soul, something he had 
 
n6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 never felt before, something that burned within 
 him like an inward blush and at the same moment 
 stung like the sudden lash of a whip. He 
 wrenched his eyes away from those of the woman 
 with an effort and gripped himself well before he 
 answered : 
 
 " I am not able to qualify as an expert, made 
 moiselle. I have had no experience." 
 
 Nagy Bosanska s eyes half closed again and she 
 gave a little faint sigh. 
 
 " No experience ! You have not yet lived; you 
 are still asleep in the cradle of life. When will 
 you wake up, I wonder? " 
 
 Philip did not answer; he merely smiled. 
 
 " Ah, my friend," said Nagy, leaning forward 
 till her face was close to his and he could feel 
 the faint sensuous warmth of her breath upon his 
 cheek, " you smile in your sleep, but you will 
 weep when you are awakened. I, Nagy Bo- 
 sanska, tell you this, and it is true." 
 
 And again Philip smiled, for he remembered 
 what Baroni had told him; she was a gipsy and 
 she had to play up to the role. But nevertheless 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 117 
 
 there was something about the woman that 
 troubled him. He had always been free from 
 the seduction of the senses. Women had always 
 appealed to him with potent spell, but his high 
 idealism had kept him clean. Nagy Bosanska, 
 however, had moved something within him that 
 was beyond his understanding. 
 
 And while he was -still wondering he heard 
 Mrs. Manners at the entrance to the room ex 
 claiming: 
 
 " I knew you would take pity on us some day, 
 and to think that it should be this, of all days! " 
 
 A moment later she came up to Nagy and 
 Philip, triumphantly leading Baroni. The tenor 
 and the newspaper man shook hands rather for 
 mally, and the latter said: 
 
 " I had the pleasure of seeing your wife at 
 home not long ago." 
 
 " Yes, I ve heard of your being there and I m 
 sorry to have missed you." 
 
 Nagy looked from one to the other with a 
 wicked little gleam in her wonderful eyes. Life 
 for her was a perpetual turmoil of tangled sex 
 
n8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 relations, and she suspected at once that the critic 
 and the tenor s wife what? She did not know, 
 but she had to suspect because an inscrutable 
 Providence had created her that way. She never 
 ended with mere suspicion, for with her certain 
 knowledge was bound to come. She had a pro 
 found insight into human nature, that insight 
 which has so often enabled her race to look into 
 the faces of men and women and so measure their 
 characters as to make prophecies not far amiss. 
 Sooner or later she was sure to know Philip s real 
 feelings for Helen, and to respect him for them. 
 But just now she counted it her time to watch. 
 So she said little, but she listened, and meanwhile 
 she was deeply considering Baroni. 
 
 She was certain she did not suspect that life 
 was to him yet an uncut volume. He had looked 
 at the attractive binding and had peeped at the 
 title page. Yes, he had even glanced at the 
 preface. Some day he would begin to cut the 
 leaves and read. Then he would discover him 
 self and yes he might be very well worth 
 while. But would the patrician wife ever find that 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 119 
 
 out? Pah! How could she, that puritanical 
 American woman? What a pity he had not loved 
 her Nagy ! What a revelation of life she would 
 have made him. But would he really be worth 
 while? 
 
 " What? Oh, I suppose so," she said, answer 
 ing at random a remark of Mrs. Manners. " I 
 must go on that is what you say here, isn t it? 
 Will you ride up with me in my car, Baroni? " 
 
 Philip had just invited the tenor to go to his 
 club with him, and Baroni had not answered. 
 Now the tenor smiled at him apologetically and 
 said to Nagy: 
 
 " I suppose if I decline the first invitation you 
 have ever given me, you ll spoil our next scene 
 together." 
 
 And so Nagy carried him off in her triumphal 
 chariot. 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 "QHALL I take you home? " asked Nagy. 
 
 ^ " Um-m-m well, no, I don t think I 
 shall go just yet. I want to stop at the 
 
 Nagy interrupted him with a ripple of laughter. 
 The laugh of Nagy Bosanska was more wonderful 
 than many fountains. Sometimes it showered 
 flashing streams of silvery staccati, and then it 
 was as if one heard a scale of detached notes on 
 a flute. Sometimes it flowed downward in a swift 
 chromatic torrent, like a scale of semitones in the 
 high positions of the A string of a cello. And if 
 ten other descriptions of it were written, no one 
 would have more than a shadow of knowledge, 
 for it was ever different. This time Nagy rippled 
 and that ripple was like the Waldweben in " Sieg 
 fried " or the bubbling of water on the lips of 
 a drowning man. One could never be perfectly 
 certain whether it was tragedy or comedy with 
 
 120 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 121 
 
 Nagy. Upon Leander all was quite lost. Noth 
 ing had any special significance to him. He was 
 so utterly American. He had no more imagina 
 tion than a stock broker. And yet there was 
 something in him, something which had never be 
 come an active force. And doubtless it was this 
 which caused the wise Nagy to say that he was a 
 great baby and was not yet awake. So when she 
 had interrupted him with her incomprehensible 
 laughter, she said: 
 
 You don t want to go home, and the first year 
 of your married bliss is not yet finished! " 
 
 " Oh, cut that out, Nagy. You know nothing 
 about it and it is not for you to discuss." 
 
 You are right, my friend," she said with a 
 sudden and wonderful softness in her voice. 
 " She is very beautiful and you are a very happy 
 man." 
 
 Leander swallowed the words with difficulty. 
 Of course Helen was very beautiful, but he did 
 not relish hearing Nagy comment upon her. 
 However, he answered heartily: 
 
 " Now you re talking sense, Nagy." 
 
122 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 * Yes, sometimes I feel quite sensible and it 
 interests me. I am always ravished with novelty. 
 But after all, since you are not in a hurry to go 
 home and you do not know just where else to go, 
 why do you not come and pass a few minutes at 
 my little retreat? It is most quiet there and the 
 old Melanie, my companion, will be overjoyed. 
 She is of your adorers." 
 
 Entrancing, inexhaustible Nagy! There was 
 in this speech a naivete, a childish simplicity which 
 came as balm to the inflamed sensibilities of the 
 tenor. He saw himself relaxing in body and spirit 
 in the bower of this adorable exotic. He leaped 
 instinctively to the conclusion that it would be 
 restful there. How restful Nagy herself was at 
 this instant; how soft, how gentle, how soothing. 
 He hesitated a moment, drew a quick breath, and 
 said: 
 
 " Can t say I m eager about your companion, 
 Nagy; but it does sound inviting." 
 
 And so he went. He had begun to have a 
 lively curiosity about Nagy. Hitherto she had 
 been to him only a brilliant apparition of the 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 123 
 
 theater and he had delighted in singing with her 
 because her style was so aflame with dramatic 
 modulations, so elastic, so subtle, and so magnetic 
 that she helped him to make successes. He had 
 sometimes been a little jealous of her effect on 
 audiences, but not for long. He realized that she 
 was a splendid foil for him and that her methods 
 made his own stand out more clearly. But now 
 he was slowly developing an interest in the per 
 sonality of the woman. He had never before 
 been in Nagy s apartment and he walked around, 
 studying it, while Nagy threw off her wraps and 
 sank into a deep chair, from which she regarded 
 him with an expression for her unusually 
 thoughtful. 
 
 You might have known Nagy a lifetime and 
 never have guessed how she would furnish a dwell 
 ing. Her flat was one of those large, airy, light 
 
 * 
 
 ones which exist in some parts of New York. 
 Nagy did not love too much light and she had 
 draped her windows with heavy curtains of a rich 
 ruby red, too dark and opulent in tone to be ag 
 gressive. The walls of the drawing-room were 
 
124 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 covered with a figured brocade of the same tint 
 as that of the curtains. The floor was in dark 
 wood and the rugs were all in deep velvety shades. 
 There were few pictures a copy of Franz Hals 
 " Hille Robbe," with the wicked owl perched upon 
 her shoulder, an etching after Lucas van Ley- 
 den s " Eulenspiegel," and a remarkably well- 
 executed copy of Couture s " Les Remains de la 
 Decadence," small, but faithful in spirit and color. 
 These were the chief pieces. There were some 
 smaller things, photographs and one or two prints, 
 including a sepia view of the interior of the 
 Church of Our Lady at Treves. It was a strange 
 and incongruous mixture, like Nagy herself. 
 There were no flowers in the room. Nagy al 
 ways threw them away as fast as she received 
 them. But on a table in a corner stood a Hun 
 garian cembalon. Mme. Melanie could have told 
 Leander that when Nagy was in a harsh mood 
 she could hammer out the most blood-curdling 
 music from the jangling wires. 
 
 ; Well, my friend," said Nagy, " how do you 
 like it?" 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 125 
 
 " It s fine," answered Leander; " so restful and 
 quiet." 
 
 And he sank down into a chair and sighed. 
 
 "Cigarette?" murmured Nagy, holding out 
 her little gold case. 
 
 Leander took one. Nagy lighted her own and 
 then leaned forward to let him take a light from 
 it while she still held it in her lips. The tenor 
 accepted the Promethean gift, and they both 
 smiled with a touch of amusement as they 
 leaned back after the feat had been accom 
 plished. 
 
 " Funny you and I have never been better ac 
 quainted, Nagy," said Leander; "for although 
 we talk familiarly and treat one another with the 
 imitation of intimacy that one finds in an opera 
 house, we don t know one another particularly 
 well, do we? " 
 
 " Speak for yourself, Baroni. I know both 
 you and me. You will perhaps one day know 
 you, but you will never know me." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you think I don t 
 know myself now? " 
 
126 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " Not the least little bit in the world, my dear 
 boy." 
 
 Well, how am I going to become ac 
 quainted? " asked Leander with an indulgent 
 smile. 
 
 * Through love," slowly answered Nagy. 
 
 Leander was silent, and presently Nagy con 
 tinued : 
 
 " But it is very well; you have begun rightly. 
 You have found the beautiful, proud woman, 
 made her your wife, and she will educate you in 
 love, and thus you will come to be as wise as a 
 god." 
 
 Yes, I see," commented Leander as he slowly 
 blew thin smoke from his lips. He fell into a 
 silence. He forgot that he was in Nagy s pres 
 ence. His mind was retracing certain steps in 
 the past and finding them not what he now wished 
 that they had been. And Nagy smoked her ciga 
 rette, said no word, and watched him through the 
 fringes of her eyes. She was beginning to believe 
 that he might be worth while. And she could 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 127 
 
 not drive out of her mind a suspicion that his 
 senses and his soul had neither one been yet 
 touched by the woman whom he had married. 
 She was certain that he had something worth 
 stirring. She would interest herself by indulging 
 in experiment. She glided over to the piano 
 which stood in one corner of the room, and before 
 Leander was aware that she had seated herself 
 she began to play a strange, weird Oriental melody 
 such as he had never heard. He turned and 
 listened attentively, and suddenly she modulated 
 and swept into the accompaniment of a song. 
 
 " Guschi ki behakk bazi biiwed der herne dschai, 
 Belli jari, belli dost jari dschani men wai. 
 
 And there was not a little more of the queer 
 sliding melody of melting intervals and oily 
 
 scales. Leander, understanding nothing yet, felt 
 
 > 
 strange waves running through all his sense. It 
 
 was as if he had suddenly been thrust into the 
 depths of a fragrant tropical garden. He drew 
 a quick breath, looked swiftly at Nagy, and said 
 in a strained tone: 
 
128 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " For Heaven s sake, Nagy, what is that, and 
 what does it mean? " 
 
 " Oh, it is a Persian folk song," she answered 
 lightly. Then flashing into a half-serious man 
 ner, she added: "As for the meaning, it is in 
 effect this: * I am singing here alone. Hear me 
 and do not turn away, beloved soul. 
 
 Leander smiled one of his familiar indulgent 
 smiles. The tension which had temporarily come 
 upon him was relieved and he relaxed all over 
 inside and out. 
 
 " Always love songs, aren t they, Nagy? I sup 
 pose you never sing a song with a moral to it, 
 or a purely fantastic song, eh? I sometimes be 
 lieve that you never think of anything but love. 
 You appear to have an idea that that is life." 
 
 1 You are mistaken, my friend. I do not think 
 about it always. But I live for it always. It is 
 life, or at any rate it is the only thing worth living 
 for. It is the only power that can raise life above 
 the level of the grimy earth and make it truly 
 great. But in this sordid America no one is great. 
 You are a nation of hucksters. You see nothing, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 129 
 
 you know nothing, you feel nothing. You have 
 two objects in existence, the pocket and the stom 
 ach. The one is for the other. The pocket 
 that is for money. The money is to buy things 
 for the stomach, things to eat and to drink. Also 
 to go to the things for the stomach. You become 
 rich. What do you do? You buy an automo 
 bile. Do you ride in it through dream-haunted 
 valleys and heaven-storming mountains, that you 
 may feed great your souls upon the spirit of the 
 world? No, you go as fast as the car can fly 
 to some famous place for getting things for the 
 stomach. You eat, you drink, and your soul be 
 comes as the soul of a pig. That is your pleasure. 
 The next day you hasten downtown to get more 
 dollars to buy more things to eat and drink. And 
 that is what you fancy is life, for it is your life. 
 But you are all dead, dumb, soulless. You know 
 
 6 
 
 nothing, you see nothing. This beautiful world, 
 that was made to glorify us, is lost, wasted on 
 you. Everything that is great and noble is 
 crushed here into the mire. Where are your 
 poets, your painters, your sculptors, your great 
 
1 30 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 masters of music? Parrots, taught in Europe to 
 repeat our alphabets! Children, who prattle by 
 rote! Pah! Fools! And what are your women? 
 Sheep, bleating, idle sheep. They are emanci 
 pated women of the harem, women who have no 
 souls. Bon Dieu! What a nation! The men 
 hagglers for more dollars and the women over 
 dressed geese, waiting always to be fed. Not 
 one beautiful thought in their lazy minds ! And 
 then you smile like a fool at me and say that I 
 think always of love. Of what shall a real woman 
 think, you wooden image? Do you believe that 
 I, Nagy Bosanska, an eternal spirit, a living, burn 
 ing, throbbing soul, that shakes the very sky 
 above me, that I shall be a thing of the pocket 
 and the stomach, like an American odalisque? 
 No, I live, I am! I vibrate with the eternal fires! 
 I am an immortal poem, a deathless song! I am 
 all that was and all that shall be. I am the holy 
 temple of celestial passion. The riddle of life 
 is open to me. I am as the very gods. But you 
 pish I Man, you are a marionette. " 
 
 And Nagy, panting, strode across the room 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 131 
 
 and flung herself upon the keyboard of the piano 
 in a wild torrent of exotic harmonies above which 
 she suddenly burst once more into song : 
 
 " As ich wolt gehat adus wus ich mein 
 Wolt ich doch gliklich gewein; 
 Mir thut doch mein harz oisgehn 
 Wen ich thu dichdersehen. 
 
 As the last line of the quaint Jewish song died 
 slowly away, Nagy turned swiftly and buried her 
 face in her hands, while her exquisite frame shook 
 with a thunderstorm of weeping. 
 
 " Now what on earth is the matter with you, 
 Nagy? " asked Leander, going over and standing 
 beside her in a rather uncertain attitude. 
 
 "It is nothing," she sobbed; "you must not 
 give to me any attention. It will pass. No one 
 can help me. I think no one understands me. 
 Do you know how dreadful that is? " 
 
 Leander did not answer immediately, and she 
 furtively watched his face from beneath her 
 drooping lashes. Presently the tenor walked 
 away from her and sank again into a deep chair. 
 He seemed to forget that Nagy was in the room 
 
132 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 and lost himself in a profound reflection. Nagy 
 went and stood beside him. She looked down on 
 him with an inscrutable expression. There was 
 in it tenderness, amusement, contempt, and yearn 
 ing. Softly, very softly she laid a hand upon his 
 splendid bright hair, and, as he did not move, she 
 stroked the silky locks caressingly, as a mother 
 might stroke those of her child. 
 
 Yes," she said; " it is certain that I am - 
 stupid. I forgot. You do not have to be mis 
 understood. You have your beautiful wife who 
 sees down into the very shrine of your being and 
 understands all of your moods, your hopes, your 
 fears, your delicate artistic perceptions, your 
 music soul. Yes, that is very wonderful. It is 
 always more wonderful for a man than it is for 
 a woman. A woman does not expect to be un 
 derstood by a man; it is impossible. But a woman 
 can understand the man she loves. He has no 
 secrets from her. His soul is her daily scripture. 
 She reads it, she drinks it in with every thought. 
 It is her life study. It becomes her soul. Ah, 
 that is the glory of love." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 133 
 
 Leander sprang up from the chair, throwing 
 her hand rudely from his hair. 
 
 "Nagy, I will not listen," he said; " be 
 quiet." 
 
 " What have I done? Is it that I have been 
 familiar with the sacredness of your love? But 
 you will forgive me for that, for I am only your 
 friend, your friend, who is thinking of your hap 
 piness, Baroni." 
 
 Again he was silent, and Nagy ventured to take 
 his hand in hers. 
 
 " Or shall I dare," she continued, " to fear 
 that it is not perfect, and that the stately queen 
 does not see all the way into the soul of the great 
 artist?" 
 
 " Nagy, be silent," said Leander sternly. 
 You must not dare to question me about my 
 wife." 
 
 " It is true. I am very sorry. Ah, one should 
 not expect poetic insight from an American 
 woman. I am sorry. But fear nothing. I shall 
 bury this in my heart, Baroni. I shall not speak 
 of it. It shall be our own little secret, which we 
 
134 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 shall not breathe even to each other. But when 
 you are weary and sad and need to be understood, 
 you will remember that Nagy Bosanska is your 
 friend, will you not? And she has the eternal 
 woman soul, the soul of the world." 
 
 She leaned against him and he felt the firm 
 round curves of her beautiful body swelling 
 through the slight silken gown, and the dainty 
 perfume which always exhaled from her rose to . 
 his nostrils like an incense. He smiled down upon 
 her and his head bent slowly as if drawn by an 
 irresistible force. She lifted her voluptuous red 
 lips, which were slightly parted so that her quick 
 breathing could almost be seen. Leander s eyes 
 darkened with a look of the wild beast that dwells 
 in every man, and he gripped her with his arm. 
 But the woman, wise as a serpent, saw that the 
 hour had not yet come. She had touched only 
 the outer skin of his grosser sense. At the very 
 instant when it seemed as if their lips must melt 
 together in a kiss, she drew back swiftly, pressed 
 a hand over her heart in an expressive gesture, 
 and said in a barely audible voice: 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 135 
 
 " You will come to see me again when the 
 world seems dull to you and I shall try to make 
 you forget, shall I not? " 
 
 Leander shook himself as if he found dust upon 
 his garments. Forget? That was the one thing 
 he must not do. He must remember every minute 
 that he was the husband of a good and true 
 woman, who unfortunately cherished utterly false 
 ideals about his profession. 
 
 " No yes no; I suppose so. It s getting to 
 ward dinner time, Nagy, and I must be getting 
 home." 
 
 " Home! Yes, that is the right place for you, 
 Baroni. But I shall see you here again some time. 
 I am sure of it." 
 
 She gave him her hand, which he kissed quite 
 formally, and he departed. As soon as he was 
 gone, she called her companion. 
 
 " Melanie," she said; " I shall dine out. You 
 can do as you please or go to the devil. Tele 
 phone at once to Comparelli that I shall expect 
 him here in half an hour to take me to dinner." 
 
 And when Melanie had gone to obey the com- 
 
136 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 mands Nagy remained standing thoughtfully be 
 side the piano and singing in an undertone: 
 
 " Si tu ne m aimes pas, je t aime; 
 Si je t aime, prends garde a toi. 
 
 Wise, far-seeing Nagy! But she did not see 
 to the borders of all things. 
 
CHAPTER X 
 
 f"T"^HE spell of Nagy had fallen upon the tenor, 
 -* and he knew it not. He believed that he 
 had walked out of its magic circle when he had 
 left her apartment. And it was creeping behind 
 him like his own shadow. And there was another 
 man upon whom it had fallen, a man whom Nagy 
 herself had forgotten when her eyes were drawn 
 to the tenor, but whom she would presently re 
 member. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Philip Studley was uneasy in his mind. He 
 strode up and down his room and smoked vi 
 ciously. He was dissatisfied with himself, for 
 suddenly he realized that he had conceived a sin 
 gularly active curiosity about a prima donna. He 
 had fallen to trying to analyze Nagy Bosanska 
 and had discovered that his methods were inade 
 quate. There was more material for analysis than 
 
 he knew how to handle. He turned his examina- 
 
 137 
 
i 3 8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 tion inward. He became introspective and then 
 he was quite as much in the dark as he was before. 
 He found himself crowded with conflicting feel 
 ings. He knew that it was all wrong for him 
 to think about a prima donna at all. That con 
 viction stood out with perfect distinctness. But 
 right beside it stood another, namely that he 
 desired to think about her very much. 
 
 Then he pondered on the wise words of Web 
 ster. How much did the General really know? 
 All the " boys " said that Webster never went 
 near a woman. It was whispered that a very 
 beautiful and interesting prima donna had once 
 followed him halfway across Europe only to be 
 compelled in the end to say to him, " You re a 
 Parsifal." Philip was well aware that he himself 
 was no Parsifal, but neither was he a Klingsor. 
 
 Why could he not interest himself in the ex 
 citing phenomenon called Nagy Bosanska without 
 getting into difficulties? Besides, had he any 
 reason to flatter himself that the prima donna 
 would be especially interested in him? Oh, yes, 
 he was a critic, to be sure, and the General had 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 139 
 
 declared that so far as the guild was concerned 
 all the prima donnas were vampires. But Philip 
 was morally certain that no vampire could get 
 anything from him. He was sure that he was 
 unapproachable. His three gears experience had 
 seemed so large to him ! Anyhow, he decided that 
 he would go down to the opera house and listen to 
 some of a rehearsal of " Manon Lescaut." It 
 was not at all likely that she would be there, of 
 course, as she was not in the cast of Puccini s 
 opera. And so he walked into the almost im 
 penetrable gloom of the auditorium and sat down 
 in a quiet corner. 
 
 The usual lot was there, with Mrs. Harley 
 Manners in the foreground. The rehearsal was 
 more uninteresting than such things commonly 
 were, for the reason that none of the singers was 
 trying to do anything more than indicate "the 
 music, and the conductor, Comparelli, was in a 
 bad humor; which caused him to stop the orchestra 
 every two or three minutes and deliver an angry 
 lecture in swift Italian. There was no reason 
 except Comparelli why Nagy Bosanska should 
 
1 40 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 have been present at this rehearsal, and even 
 Comparelli was no longer a strong reason. Her 
 friendship with him was overripe. His conceit 
 had wearied her. She would soon cast him off, 
 that was certain. 
 
 She had been swept off her feet at first by his 
 masterful conducting. She had once more 
 dreamed her beautiful dream, that she had found 
 a man who would fill her life. But this was what 
 Nagy was always seeking and had never found. 
 She drained the wine from ordinary souls in a 
 few draughts, and went onward, ever onward, 
 consumed by a fierce thirst. No man who walked 
 upon life s common levels could be her mate. But 
 she herself was as boundless as the sea and as 
 inexhasutible as space. She was a measureless 
 giver and men fought for her gifts, but usually 
 in vain. She gave only where she fancied she 
 saw her happiness, and she was still wandering in 
 pursuit of her vision. 
 
 However, she was in the theater, and her keen 
 eyes discovered the young man sitting in his quiet 
 corner. Presently she glided noiselessly into a 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 141 
 
 seat behind him and when the first act was ended 
 leaned forward and breathed upon his cheek. 
 There was something sinister in that breathing of 
 Nagy Bosanska. A score of women might let 
 a man feel their breath on his face without stir 
 ring his pulse. But when Nagy did that the 
 primal man of Rodin rose up in pride and force. 
 It felt like a voluptuous caress. The actual touch 
 of the woman s lips could not have done more, 
 and, being less subtle, might have done less. 
 Philip was about to turn, when she murmured 
 with her mouth close to his ear: 
 
 " Since I first met you I have thought some 
 times that I was sorry that I had." 
 
 " Really? " said Philip, freed at once from the 
 strange influence of that breathed caress; " I am 
 sure I know of no reason why you should think 
 of the matter at all." 
 
 " Well, I have found reasons." 
 
 " Perhaps," said Philip, politely responding 
 to her plain indication that she wished to be 
 asked, " you would not mind telling me one of 
 them." 
 
1 42 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " Since I met you I have much wished to be 
 friends with you." 
 
 " And is that a reason for wishing that you 
 had not met me? " 
 
 * Yes, for if I try to be friends with you, you 
 will believe it is because I wish you to write flat 
 tery of me in your paper." 
 
 " And you, of course, wish to stand entirely 
 on your merits." 
 
 " Of a certainty. Would not you, if you were 
 a singer? " 
 
 u Oh, I m not so sure. I ve been told that 
 prima donnas desire unending praise. They think 
 it fools the public; but it does not." 
 
 " I do not fool the public; I conquer it. If my 
 best is not good enough, I make it better. Is not 
 that what I should do? " 
 
 1 Yes, but that is not the usual course." 
 
 "Neither am I usual; I am Nagy Bosanska. 
 And yet I cannot make you believe in me." 
 
 She bowed her head so that stray tendrils of 
 
 -her hair brushed his cheek and her voice sank 
 
 into a deep musical murmur. Then she raised 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 143 
 
 her head again and looked deep into his eyes 
 and his eyes turned not away. Some strange 
 swift current passed from one to the other. 
 Philip trembled in his chair. The magic spell of 
 Nagy Bosanska was upon him. And still they 
 stared into one another s eyes, like Tristan and 
 Isolde in the first act. Presently Philip, hardly 
 knowing his own voice, so tense and low was it, 
 heard himself saying to her: 
 
 " It is for you to make me believe in you if 
 you think it worth while." 
 
 " If," she whispered, " you will believe in me 
 in your heart of heart I shall not care what you 
 write about me. It is your faith I crave." 
 
 The word " write " restored Philip temporarily 
 to his senses. 
 
 " My dear Mile. Bosanska," he said, " if I con 
 demned your Tosca you would regard me as your 
 enemy." 
 
 For answer she gazed steadily into his eyes 
 once more and then whispered: 
 
 " To-morrow evening I shall be at home 
 alone. Come and let me try to convince you." 
 
144 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 As she rose to depart, Philip shook his head 
 with a smiling negative and she smiled back a 
 contradiction. And at half-past eight the follow 
 ing evening, Philip, finding that after all there was 
 neither opera nor concert demanding his attention, 
 thought he might as well be convinced, if only for 
 the satisfaction of discomfiting Webster, and he 
 walked calmly into Nagy s parlor. He found 
 the room mystic, with a delicious half-gloom, in . 
 the midst of which he saw Nagy, a wonderful 
 vision. 
 
 Her hair, which was of the softest and most 
 velvety black, was coiled in something like a 
 Grecian knot and hung low upon her neck, while 
 in front it swept in two seductive curves away 
 from her broad white forehefad. The robe, which 
 covered, but did not wholly conceal, her adorable 
 body, was cut rather low around the neck, so that 
 the firm lines of her splendid throat and the 
 round breast partly revealed themselves and the 
 elbow sleeves permitted a ravishing display of 
 her marvelously beautiful forearms. 
 
 Philip was no expert in the garments of women, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 145 
 
 but he was sure that the soft clinging stuff which 
 floated around Nagy must have come out of the 
 East. It had a sensuous languor that breathed 
 Oriental luxury. When Nagy moved it twined 
 around her caressingly and threw the lines of her 
 form into clear relief. And she seemed so charm 
 ingly unconscious that she was like an odalisque 
 or an houri of the Turkish paradise. She undu 
 lated toward him with a strange inscrutable smile 
 upon her ripe lips. She held out her hand and 
 let her rosy fingers caress his for a moment. 
 
 * I dreamed that you would come," she mur 
 mured in her low register. 
 
 I knew I would," he answered, astonished to 
 hear his own voice sound a wooing note. 
 
 They stood gazing at each other till suddenly 
 Nagy laughed a little forced laugh and said: 
 
 " How foolish we look standing without a word 
 in the middle of the room. Come and sit by me 
 on the sofa and tell me things." 
 
 She drew him to the sofa and sank into its em 
 brace. Philip felt once more that singular inde 
 finable influence which he had noted when he sat 
 
146 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 beside her at Mrs. Manners , but he could not 
 now even make an attempt to shake it off. 
 
 " I think I cannot tell you anything," he said 
 presently; " you seem to me to know everything 
 already." 
 
 " Peste ! I am not so old as that, my friend." 
 
 " No, not old; young. It is the wisdom of 
 eternal youth." 
 
 She did not answer, but smiled a faint, half- - 
 hidden smile and looked at him with a sweet gen 
 tleness in her eloquent eyes. For some time after 
 that their conversation was not rapid. It was 
 composed chiefly of a richly instrumented silence 
 with occasional flashes of recitative. In the in 
 tervals of silence Nagy looked down at the floor. 
 If he spoke she looked up into his eyes. The 
 young man s pulse fluttered as a bird sometimes 
 does at the beginning of the serpent s charming. 
 Suddenly Nagy rose and walked across the room 
 rapidly. Then she just as suddenly sat down in 
 a large chair far away from him. She said noth 
 ing and he said nothing; but he saw her bosom 
 rising and falling rapidly and he noticed that she 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 147 
 
 clenched her hands. His impulse to rush across 
 the room and seize her in his arms must have be 
 trayed itself in his face, for she rose from the 
 chair as swiftly as she had dropped into it, and, 
 throwing her hands out in front of her, ex 
 claimed: 
 
 " Sit still ! I am going to sing for you." 
 
 She went over to the piano and seated herself. 
 Her hands stroked the keys caressingly and the 
 strings sang flute-like, subdued tones. 
 
 " No opera," she murmured; " something alto 
 gether different, something quite for you." 
 
 The inflection on the last word was like a kiss. 
 Then she began to sing, first a quaint acrid pierc 
 ing song of the Greek isles with pungent, melodic 
 surprises in its flattened second and its augmented 
 fifth. Hardly was Philip s ear filled with the keen 
 taste of this when she glided into a Turkish love 
 song, with a spineless tune and harmonies 
 startlingly suggestive of a depraved soul. Nagy 
 sang in tones which Philip had never before 
 heard in her voice, low, mellow, cooing notes, like 
 those of the dove in the mating season. But still 
 
i 4 8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 the young man was able to contemplate the sing 
 ing with his mind, although his soul confessed the 
 marvelous witchery of the tones. Nagy seemed 
 instinctively to realize that her songs were not 
 conquering him. With a sudden modulation she 
 slipped into the first words of " Wie bist du meine 
 Konigin." If Philip had one musical weak spot, 
 it was for the songs of Brahms. Nagy watched 
 him narrowly through her eyelids and saw that 
 he was now really moved. So she sang on 
 through " Liebestreu," " Immer leiser wird mein 
 Schlummer," " Von ewiger Liebe," and " Wie 
 Melodien." It was a matchless exposition of the 
 innermost soul of the self-contained German mas 
 ter. How this wild, untrammeled, undisciplined 
 creature, with her imperfect training and her 
 depreciating operatic experiences, ever acquired 
 such a noble and potent art is something that re 
 mained forever one of the mysteries of Philip s 
 life. He rose from the sofa slowly and re 
 luctantly, as if drawn by some supernatural power 
 against which his weakening will battled in vain. 
 He drew near to her and stood beside her, breath- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 149 
 
 ing quickly. She gave him a quick, short glance, 
 and he saw that there were tears in her eyes. 
 Suddenly she rose and laid her hands upon his 
 shoulders : 
 
 " Do you believe in me now? " 
 " Yes," he answered in a choked voice. 
 Both were silent. They stood straining their 
 looks to read each other s heart. Philip s senses 
 swam with deep, elemental throbs of a passion 
 such as he had never dreamed. His limbs trem 
 bled and his sight grew dim. Nagy was moved. 
 This beautiful, fresh, youthful emotion, so pure 
 in its naivete, so rich and splendid in its self- 
 surrender, roused to a pulsating response all that 
 was most generous in her strange nature. Per 
 haps this would be for life. She leaned forward 
 slowly, tenderly, till she lay caressingly against 
 his breast. He made one last feeble effort to free 
 himself. She felt the movement and looked up 
 into his eyes and he was sure that he saw the 
 glisten of tears. A mighty thrill swept through 
 him. Could it be true that this marvelous crea 
 ture loved him? He cast away all thought. He 
 
150 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 suddenly wrapped her in his arms and flung his 
 lips upon hers. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The morning light had a lurid tint to the eyes 
 of Philip. He even cowered under it as if shrink 
 ing from an impending blow. A lassitude, such as 
 he had never before known, lay upon his mind. 
 He felt only the chill glare of the dull, cold light 
 and a faint trembling in his limbs. He asked 
 himself nothing. The mental numbness resolved 
 itself into a steady stare at the thin line of white 
 between the portieres at the window. Real con 
 sciousness returned to him only when he heard 
 as from a distance the voice of Nagy. 
 
 u It is growing late. There is coffee in the 
 next room when you are ready." 
 
 He did not see her. He did not try. He shiv 
 ered as he recalled the previous evening. He 
 rose slowly and heavily and in half an hour passed 
 into the adjoining chamber, where he found her 
 sitting at the little table, looking divinely lovely 
 and exquisitely submissive. She turned a plead 
 ing pair of eyes upon him and lifted her red 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 151 
 
 mouth. He bent down and kissed her and then 
 sighed deeply as he seated himself opposite her. 
 
 " Why do you sigh, my friend? " she asked. 
 
 u What shall I do next?" he responded. 
 " Shall I resign?" 
 
 "Resign what?" 
 
 u My post as music critic? " 
 
 " But for what should you do this? " 
 
 " Because I love you," he answered with simple 
 earnestness. " I cannot write honestly about you, 
 can I?" 
 
 Nagy gave him one of her long melting looks 
 from half-closed eyes. 
 
 " What a dear innocent child it is ! Do you 
 think, Philip, that I would care for you if you 
 were not honest? " 
 
 " It is not you, but myself, that I cannot trust." 
 
 " How is that?" 
 
 " Everything you do will be beautiful to me. 
 I shall adore you if you sing out of tune." 
 
 : I never sing out of tune," 
 
 There was a note of challenge in the declara 
 tion, but the infatuated young man did not hear it. 
 
152 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " No," he continued; " but you may do some 
 thing which ought to seem wrong to me, and it 
 will not." 
 
 " Come, then," she said, passing around the 
 table and twining her arms about his neck. It 
 shall be a battle between us. You shall swear to 
 write always the truth about me, and I I shall 
 try always to make you blind with love." 
 
 Philip sighed again, and Nagy broke into a 
 low ripple of laughter. 
 
 " Silly boy! " she said; " it shall be nothing of 
 that kind. It shall be something much better. 
 When I am on the stage, I shall be for you Mile. 
 Bosanska, prima donna assoluta. You shall study 
 me as a curiosity of art and write about me as 
 something that dwells behind footlights and not 
 in your world. And then you shall come to me 
 and I shall be just a woman who loves you." 
 
 And that was the beginning of their impossible 
 compact. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 TT was a bright, sharp morning, with almost no 
 * wind. The frost lay white upon the shrunken 
 grasses of the park lawns, and Helen strode rap 
 idly along the walk gazing upon the field of dia 
 monds with unobservant eye. Her mind was ab 
 sorbed in her own affairs. More than one man 
 passing on horseback or in a vehicle turned his 
 head to drink in the beautiful vision. With her 
 perfectly shaped head bowed, and her long soft 
 lashes falling upon her rosy cheeks, her lips parted, 
 and her hair shining in the sunlight, Helen was a 
 ravishing figure. Every line of her expressed 
 high-bred character and intellect. But a single ex 
 amination of her face sufficed to convince one that 
 she was a sensitive human instrument with infinite 
 vibrations. It was in the line of her upper lip that 
 much was revealed. The two little points under 
 the nostrils turned upward just the least bit in the 
 world, and this gave the lip the air of reaching 
 
 153 
 
154 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 itself forward always in the invitation of a kiss. 
 It was a lip to rouse the ardor of any man, and it 
 had had its day with Leander. But now? 
 
 Perhaps it was of that " But now? " that Helen 
 was in a dim way trying to think. The opera sea 
 son was dragging its slow length along, and she 
 realized that a barrier, undefined, unconfessed, was 
 growing up between her and her husband. Le 
 ander was restive in her presence, impatient of her 
 words, unmelted by her caresses. She almost 
 shrank from offering to kiss him, and yet she felt 
 that if she did not, he would be offended, for she 
 knew how childish he was in regard to all atten 
 tions. He expected so much, and gave so little. 
 But it was not so much this that troubled her as 
 the thought that he was slowly coming to give 
 almost nothing, and to value but lightly that which 
 he received. What was at the bottom of it all? 
 
 Helen knew that she loved him. That was set 
 tled for life, she thought. It was not her fault, 
 she believed. She gave him all, all that she had, 
 and she felt it no shame to confess to her own soul 
 that she had much to give. She knew that never 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 155 
 
 in the earliest transports of their union had Lean- 
 der given as much as he had received. He was 
 merely the man, taking boldly that which was his 
 right; she was the woman, whose rapture it was to 
 give and to suffer the deepest pangs of woman s 
 agony of joy in the giving. Leander had told her 
 more than once that she did not understand him; 
 but she knew well that he did not understand her. 
 She was not afraid of that. She was afraid of 
 only one thing. She dreaded to admit that he 
 failed to perceive the fullness and splendor of her 
 love for him. She would not confess it. But 
 away down in the secret place where unconfessed 
 thoughts hide, this one existed in spite of her. 
 
 Ever since that day on which the full revelation 
 of his egotism had smitten her so sharply she had 
 been discovering further evidence of Leander s in 
 ability to comprehend anything which did not fawn 
 before his greatness. Helen had turned away in 
 disgust from the prostrate attitude of such women 
 as Mrs. Harley Manners, who spent much of their 
 time in telling the tenor how marvelously he had 
 sung this aria or that scene. And why did he sit 
 
156 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 and smile complacently when such talk was 
 paraded before him? How could any man who 
 really had the true humility of a great artist listen 
 to the flattery of ignorant amateurs, who could 
 not know whether his art was beautiful or not? 
 How much more easy it would be for Helen to un 
 derstand his accepting with interest some intelligent 
 bit of praise from one of his fellow singers. Even 
 that strange creature, Nagy Bosanska, would at 
 least know what the vocal excellence of a scene 
 really was. 
 
 And at this moment Helen was crossing a drive 
 and had to stop in order to avoid being run down 
 by an automobile. She raised her eyes and saw in 
 the car, in close conversation, her husband and 
 Mile. Bosanska. As the car slowed down to take 
 a curve they both looked up and saw her. At 
 once Mile. Bosanska signaled her chauffeur to 
 stop, and, leaning out of the car, called 
 to Helen: 
 
 " Mrs. Baroni, come with us, will you not? I 
 have brought your husband to talk to me about 
 some of our scenes together." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 157 
 
 Helen walked up to the side of the car and 
 smiled at them both. 
 
 " Thank you, Mile. Bosanska, but I am out for 
 a good walk, and you two are much better without 
 me. I should only put an end to your studies. 
 You see, I do not understand all these nice little 
 operatic relations and distinctions." 
 
 " What do you mean, Helen? " asked Baroni in 
 a strained tone. 
 
 " Just what I say, Leander. You must not try 
 to make what the conductors call readings of my 
 simple prattle. Good-by. Have a pleasant ride, 
 and be sure you get your scenes all planned, so 
 that they ll make hits." 
 
 And the automobile rolled slowly up the slope 
 as Helen strode off in the opposite direction. It 
 was fated to be a morning of small but significant 
 incidents, and this one was not the least significant 
 of them. Helen went on her way, thinking that 
 her words had been unnecessarily pointed. Lean 
 der might almost think that she was jealous. Was 
 she? She asked herself that question, and then 
 smiled. What reason had she to suppose that her 
 
158 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 husband was interested in the soprano any more 
 than one singer might be interested in another who 
 helped him to make successes? 
 
 She had learned not a little about the inner life 
 of an opera house. She knew that all sorts of ir 
 regular relations existed in that strange artificial 
 world, where the unreal people seemed to belong 
 to a species different from that commonly called 
 human. She had seen a prima donna holding in , 
 abject subjection two men at the same time, and 
 she had watched the comet-like rise of an unknown 
 young singer who was credited with the most im 
 partial distribution of her favor among those in 
 power. She knew, as every one else knew, that 
 Nagy Bosanska and Comparelli,the conductor, had 
 been entangled in a relation of long standing, but 
 she had been told (falsely, indeed) that it was en 
 tirely a liaison de convenance on the part of the 
 soprano, who had a surprising way of freeing her 
 self from bonds at a moment s notice. But she 
 had discerned nothing in the conduct of her hus 
 band to suggest to her anything more disagreeable 
 than the domination of his own splendid egotism. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 159 
 
 She had no fear that he was likely to fall a prey 
 to the seductions of Mile. Bosanska. And even if 
 he were in such danger, it could not well be re 
 garded as anything serious. He loved his wife 
 still. 
 
 So she strode along the walk, while the caresses 
 of the ardent breeze heightened the glow in her 
 cheeks and the light in her eyes. And suddenly 
 she became aware of a familiar figure walking on 
 the opposite side of the drive. It was Philip 
 Studley, with his head bent low, his hands in his 
 pockets, and his coat collar turned up. He was 
 going in the direction opposite to that in which 
 Helen was walking, and as they drew nearer to 
 gether she noted that his face was pale, and that 
 he was biting his lips in an agitated manner. 
 Rapidly she crossed the road and intercepted 
 him. 
 
 " Some unfortunate wretch must be going to 
 catch it in the Sunday article," she said, laugh 
 ing. 
 
 He looked up, greeted her in a somewhat con 
 fused manner, and then she saw that his eyes were 
 
160 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 bloodshot and the lids heavy, as if he had passed 
 a sleepless night. 
 
 " Let me walk with you. Philip/ she said; " you 
 seem to me to be not quite well." 
 
 She slipped her hand inside his arm and smiled 
 kindly at him. 
 
 ; What do you mean? " he asked; " I am per 
 fectly well." 
 
 The eagerness with which he spoke brought a 
 sudden suspicion into Helen s mind. Could he 
 have been dissipating? But she knew that he was 
 one of the steadiest of men. 
 
 " I am glad to hear that," she declared; " I sup 
 pose it is too much work, then." 
 
 " Oh, I don t know," he answered a little im 
 patiently. 
 
 "Did you pass Leander?" inquired Helen, 
 hoping to find a diverting topic. * You came 
 down the road just after he and Mile. Bosanska 
 went up in her car." 
 
 Philip stopped short in the path and stared into 
 her face. 
 
 " Did you meet them? " he demanded. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 161 
 
 Yes; they invited me to get into the car; but 
 you know they were out talking over scenes, and I 
 should only have been in the way." 
 
 " Oh! " That was Philip s reply, and then he 
 strode on in silence. 
 
 " You see," continued Helen, " I think that 
 when it comes to matters of their profession, these 
 singers are best left to themselves. They do not 
 care to have outsiders intruding." 
 
 You are not an outsider," said Philip; " you 
 are the man s wife." 
 
 " Of course, I am not an outsider in that sense, 
 only in opera affairs." 
 
 They did not invite me to get into the car. 
 She pretended not to see me." 
 
 Philip spoke with some bitterness in his tone, 
 and Helen stared at him in astonishment. 
 
 " Why should she pretend? " 
 
 " Because because 
 
 He stopped, and, summoning a smile to his lips, 
 continued with some assumption of carelessness: 
 
 " I really don t know. I suppose I am fool 
 ishly sensitive." 
 
1 62 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Helen looked at him very hard, and he turned 
 his eyes away. Then each tried to probe the 
 other s heart. Helen was troubled. She pressed 
 his arm gently and said : 
 
 " Philip, I wish I were not anxious about you." 
 
 " Are you ? Why should you be ? " 
 
 " I am, but I am not sure that I ought to tell you 
 why." 
 
 The young man s cheek flushed, and he turned 
 his head so that he looked squarely into her eyes. 
 
 " Say anything you please, Helen. You are an 
 old friend." 
 
 Still she hesitated for some moments before she 
 went on. 
 
 " Don t spoil your career by becoming interested 
 in a prima donna. No, don t answer. I know 
 you are not in real peril yet; but she is very 
 fascinating, and you are still young, and I do hope 
 to see you at the top of your profession, recog 
 nized all over the world as our leading authority." 
 
 The young man s lips burned with eagerness to 
 say, u You are too late; I love her;" but he 
 knew that he must not. Unanswerable questions 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 163 
 
 would follow. He could tell no one. He must 
 go on hugging his secret, ashamed of the thing 
 that had come to trouble his life. In the brief 
 time which had passed there had been no perform 
 ance calling for the expression of new opinions. 
 Nagy had been repeating her old roles, and Philip 
 found it easy enough to write non-committal gen 
 eralities. Furthermore, Nagy was a consummate 
 artist, and there was seldom any difficulty in find 
 ing ground for praise. Yet, like all other artists, 
 she had her limitations, and she was sure some day 
 to fail to recognize them, and what then? 
 
 " Helen," he said at length, " what makes you 
 think that I need this warning? " 
 
 Your strange manner this morning. You actu 
 ally seemed to be jealous of my husband." 
 
 " My dear Helen, that is, of course, quite pre 
 posterous. You must know that that I what 
 do you mean, anyhow? Do you believe 
 that ?" 
 
 * I believe that my husband has no concern in 
 your affair at all," she replied as kindly as she 
 could. " And I believe that unless you make up 
 
1 64 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 your mind to avoid close friendship with Mile. 
 Bosanska, she will exercise a detrimental influence 
 upon you. That is quite all that it is possible for 
 me to say in regard to this matter, Philip." 
 
 They had reached one of the park gates, and the 
 young man, who could find no words with which 
 to continue the conversation, and who was, indeed, 
 covered with confusion, made a half-intelligible ex 
 cuse, and hastened away, leaving Helen to finish 
 her walk alone. As she went on close to the park 
 wall, she felt a genuine regret for her old friend, 
 but she had no suspicion of the seriousness of his 
 trouble. She was certain that he would have the 
 determination to keep away from the prima donna, 
 and that, in a brief time, he would be beyond the 
 reach of her charms. And at that very instant 
 Philip was striding through a side street, filled with 
 contending emotions, for he had heard enough of 
 the history of Nagy Bosanska to make him fear. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 ^T^HE next afternoon he stood in her drawing- 
 "* room. There she came to him a melting, 
 loving woman, whose embrace was close and 
 tender. He was reassured. He believed that her 
 love was his, and that it was the crowning glory 
 of his life. He had been present on the previous 
 evening, when she sang Marguerite for the first 
 time in New York. She was a singer of the kind 
 usually called " phenomenal " by newspapers, be 
 cause her repertoire, like herself, was wayward and 
 unaccountable. It ranged through a series of 
 roles which no one woman could be expected to 
 sing. Yet this curious creature, with her sin 
 gularly capricious temperament and her marvel 
 ous voice, which swept the scale from low A to 
 high D, sang them, some well, some ill, but all in 
 terestingly. 
 
 Philip had sat through the performance of 
 
 " Faust " in a state of dumb amazement. He 
 
 165 
 
1 66 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 found his passionate mistress transformed into a 
 prima donna of the Grand Opera. Her Mar 
 guerite was perfect in every external necessity. It 
 was the essence of polite convention. And Philip 
 knew that Nagy was not polite, not conventional, 
 and, above all things, not phlegmatic. That gave 
 him his cue. He praised her Marguerite in 
 phrases as polished and pretty as her own per 
 formance. But he declared that in the subtle and 
 eloquent personality of this matchless prima donna 
 there was far more than the role could evoke. 
 The part, therefore, was depressing to her. It 
 chilled the native fire of her soul. It left her 
 with only the resources of her perfect routine to 
 guide her through a faultless, but dispiriting, im 
 personation. A correct and exquisitely beautiful 
 singer of Gounod s musical ideas, she was none the 
 less not an illusive Marguerite. Every word 
 which Philip wrote was studied in its accuracy. 
 He did not temper the wind to the shorn lamb. 
 He had never done that in his young critical life, 
 and, remembering his compact with Nagy, he com 
 pelled himself to speak the truth about the woman 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 167 
 
 he loved. Had she not told him that she could 
 not love him if he were not true to himself? And 
 so that next afternoon, on his way home from a 
 deadening piano recital at Mendelssohn Hall, he 
 went to her, and she melted into his arms and 
 caressed his hair as she gazed into his eyes. 
 
 " Ami choisi de mon coeur," she murmured, 
 " que je t aime, que je t aime." 
 
 " Say it in English, dear," he whispered. 
 
 " How I love you," she cooed, with her ravish 
 ing little foreign accent, which made the phrase 
 sound even more caressing than it was. 
 
 You were not hurt by my words? " he asked. 
 
 "No, no," she answered swiftly; "how could 
 your sweet honesty, your beautiful courage, hurt 
 me? And Marguerite is not a good part for me, 
 anyhow. That is true. I have not sung Gounod 
 before in New York. I am going to sing Juliette 
 next week. You ll find that much different." 
 
 Something in this speech sent a momentary chill 
 through Philip s veins, but he soon rallied. Doubt 
 less, what she said was true. He would wait. 
 
 " You wrote exactly what your mind told you, 
 
1 68 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 did you not? " she asked; "you did not let your 
 heart misguide you ? " 
 
 " That is it, dear; you have said it." 
 
 She mused a minute as her head rested on his 
 shoulder. Then she lifted her lips for a kiss, and 
 when he had poured out some of his soul, she 
 murmured : 
 
 " You are the first who ever thought my Mar 
 guerite cold. How can it be? " 
 
 " That is one of the impenetrable mysteries of 
 art," he answered with an indulgent air. 
 
 "Like some of your criticisms, eh?" 
 
 u Oh, Lord! " he exclaimed; " if you re going 
 to talk about them, I expect we shall soon be 
 buried in impenetrable mysteries." 
 
 She laughed and cooed at him, and twined her 
 soft arms about him, and he was most utterly and 
 foolishly happy. Then she looked up into his 
 face with a strange compelling expression in the 
 marvelous green eyes. The air turned rosy 
 around the young man, he trembled, and suddenly 
 clasped her convulsively. Then for a time he 
 knew nothing accurately except that he was trans- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 169 
 
 ported into the realms of unspeakable ecstasy. 
 And when he left her an hour later, he was more 
 completely hers than ever before. 
 
 He did not see her the next day or two, for he 
 and she were both much occupied with their pro 
 fessional labors. Finally came the performance 
 of " Romeo et Juliette." Philip was nervous. 
 He suffered an indescribable agony for her, but she 
 was apparently as calm as a summer noon. He 
 wished she had not been. She sang the waltz 
 song faultlessly. The scintillating cadenza flashed 
 from her lips deliciously, and the dear public went 
 into raptures. Indeed, the whole first act was 
 most commendable. She was the Lady Juliette in 
 very truth. But with the second act began the 
 descent into elegance. Philip was troubled. 
 Was this the woman who had thrilled the house 
 with her blazing Carmen, with her exquisitely 
 pathetic Mimi, with her superb Tosca? Was 
 this the singer who had poured out for him the im 
 mortal treasures of a great spirit in " Wie bist du 
 meine Konigin "? And then he had a flash of in 
 spiration. In the morning his paper said this: 
 
170 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " Beautiful, proud, stately, the daughter of a 
 hundred earls, as it were, this Juliette moved to her 
 fate with the poise of a grande dame of the 
 revolution. Not a flaw was there in the delivery 
 of the unctuous music of Gounod. The river of 
 melody flowed, undulating and glinting, ever on 
 ward. The ear was ravished by such singing. 
 But in the end it was the taste, not the emotions, 
 that was satisfied. What was the secret of it?. 
 This public well knows that Mile. Bosanska does 
 not lack temperament. But in this elegant salon 
 music there is something that cabins, cribs, and con 
 fines her splendid genius. One easily imagines her 
 moving the world with an interpretation of * Wie 
 bist du meine Konigin, or Liebestreu. 
 
 There was much more of it, but this will suf 
 fice to show the trend of the entire article. Philip 
 wrote it in an intense mood, and pondered each 
 word of it. He felt, when he had finished it, 
 that he had turned out something quite beyond 
 cavil. He was sure that, if Nagy were in the least 
 annoyed at his discovery that her temperament 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 171 
 
 was crushed by Gounod, she would be deeply 
 touched by his reference to her marvelous Brahms 
 singing, and to the very songs which she had sung 
 for him on the day when they had discovered their 
 hearts to each other. 
 
 She must know that there was neither soul nor 
 foundation to the music of Gounod, that the score 
 of " Romeo et Juliette " was as far from 
 Shakespeare as that of " Faust " was from Goethe. 
 Nagy, that profound, inscrutable embodiment of 
 the ewig weibliche, would penetrate with a single 
 flash of her illuminating intellect to the very bot 
 tom of all things. She would know, she would 
 understand, she would always understand. The 
 General was a fool, and there was no wisdom in 
 his heart. 
 
 And in her singing of the Brahms songs she 
 had probed the depths of all human experience. 
 What melting tints had come into her voice! 
 What indescribable accents, filled with the utter 
 most pain of concentrated tenderness, had vital 
 ized every phrase! How could such a woman 
 toy with the table dessert of Gounod? She was 
 
172 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 made for life, not for the pastime of a horde of 
 prattling society people, expressing in shop-worn 
 phrases their conventional raptures over this con 
 ventional music. And so, confident of her far- 
 reaching vision, he went to her in the afternoon. 
 
 " So," she said in a low purring tone, " you 
 don t think I m fit for an opera singer." 
 
 Philip was transfixed in the center of the room. 
 For the instant words would not come to him. 
 Presently he stammered: 
 
 " My dear love- " 
 
 " Omit that just now," she said, interrupting 
 him with precision. " I m somewhat afraid, my 
 good friend, that you do not understand the na 
 ture of your calling or mine. How dared you 
 to intimate that I would be better as a lieder 
 singer than as the prima donna of Gounod s mas 
 terpieces? Stupendous! I, Nagy Bosanska, the 
 idol of two continents, to descend to Carnegie 
 Lyceum and a piano accompaniment! " 
 
 " But surely you can be a greater artist there 
 than in a Gounod candy factory. Besides, my 
 dearest, I have never said that you were not 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 173 
 
 superb in other works. Still, I do believe that you 
 are the greatest lieder singer in the world." 
 
 " Greatest idiot you ! I m the first Juliette. 
 Saint-Saens told me so. I am a prima donna, the 
 great Nagy Bosanska. As for you, you are a 
 fool." 
 
 " I thought that it was understood between us 
 that I was to write according to my convictions, 
 and that this would have no relation to our love," 
 Philip said slowly. 
 
 " My dear friend, you cannot expect me to love 
 a fool, can you? You are surely a fool. I have 
 no patience with fools." 
 
 " I am, perhaps, fool enough to have given you 
 a great love," said Philip bitterly. 
 
 u Oh, prince of simpletons ! Go, go. Can 
 you not see that you weary me ? You are a child. 
 I am a woman. I thought you might bring- me 
 joy, but I find that you only tire me. You are too 
 stupid to be the lover of a real woman. Run 
 away and find yourself a little yellow-haired, blue- 
 eyed doll to play with." 
 
 With no little dignity Philip picked up his hat. 
 
174 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " You are quite right in your attitude," he 
 said; "I have made a grave mistake. I think 
 we shall do better to remain on opposite sides 
 of the footlights. You sing opera; I shall write 
 comment. You have taught me wonders of life. 
 I have seen a little way into the soul of a woman, 
 and I have tasted the depths of passion. I thank 
 you. I am grown somewhat wiser than I was." 
 
 He went to the door of the room, but on its - 
 threshold the ruling passion of the critic proved 
 too strong for him, and, with a cold smile on his 
 face, he said : 
 
 " Nevertheless, Mile. Bosanska, it is my opinion 
 that you would be the greatest lieder singer in the 
 world." 
 
 " Beast! " she shrieked, and, picking up a vase 
 which was near at hand, she hurled it at him. It 
 crashed against the door as he closed it behind 
 him, and then Nagy threw herself upon a sofa 
 and filled the room with peals of uncontrollable 
 laughter. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 DAY by day the chasm between Helen and 
 her husband widened. She strove in vain 
 to bridge it. She reached out toward him with 
 all the sweet lure of her beautiful spirit. She 
 wove around him a dream of subtle, intangible 
 passion, a thin, lambent flame of pure fire, which 
 burned immortal on the altar of her soul. But 
 it was all to no purpose, for he seemed to be in 
 sensible, and her conviction that Leander wor 
 shiped only one god, self, grew stronger and 
 stronger. She saw it always in his attitude toward 
 his art. In his demeanor toward herself it took 
 the form of more or less intolerant endurartce. 
 Sometimes his impatience was curbed for a period, 
 but only to break forth again with renewed 
 violence. 
 
 It was a petty impatience, but it showed that 
 
 his nature was under a pressure. But when it 
 
 175 
 
176 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 came to questions of art, he spoke in no uncertain 
 terms. It was impossible to avoid the conclusion 
 that for Leandro Baroni music was simply the 
 instrument by which he raised himself to glory. 
 The music itself was great or little, according to 
 the opportunities it afforded him. 
 
 Helen had tried to persuade him to go with her 
 to certain concerts, such as those of the Kneisel 
 Quartet or the Boston Symphony Orchestra, but 
 he would not consent. There was nothing to be 
 learned, he declared, from listening to fellows 
 sawing fiddles or blowing brass. At the opera 
 house one heard quite enough of them, and most 
 of the time too much. They made such a noise 
 that no human voice could carry above it. The 
 old-fashioned opera composers, who wrote for 
 harpsichord and strings, were the only sensible 
 ones, after all. Of the mysterious influence of 
 Nagy Bosanska on this self-centered nature Helen 
 had as yet no suspicion. She knew that the selfish 
 man was a weak man, but she felt that Leander 
 was entirely and exclusively interested in himself, 
 and prepared to accept worship from any quarter, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 177 
 
 so long as he was not required to give anything in 
 return for it. 
 
 Nevertheless, daily the tenor was unconsciously 
 drawing closer to the strange Hungarian gipsy. 
 A drifting, purposeless character, he unconsciously 
 leaned against the elemental forces of this other 
 complex and inexplicable soul. For such a man 
 as Leander such a woman was as the great sea 
 to a floating feather. It was inevitable that in 
 time he would hover over the fathomless abyss, 
 fall, and be drawn down into the depths. And 
 all that was required to bring about the catas 
 trophe was a direct controversy between husband 
 and wife. Leander was selfish and weak enough 
 to remember and accept Nagy s invitation to him 
 to come to her if the world was hard upon him. 
 
 Trifles have sufficed to start revolutions when 
 everything was ripe. It was the merest of tnfles 
 that broke the last of Helen s bridges across the 
 spreading chasm. She was enduring a visitation 
 from Mrs. Harley Manners. That industrious 
 lady, going up and down the world seeking to 
 devour some celebrity, had hoped that she might 
 
178 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 gather in the tenor and his wife as the central at 
 tractions of a musicale in aid of charity, to be 
 given at her house. Her plan of campaign was 
 to open with a masterly assault on the good will 
 of Helen, and, accordingly, she was enthroned in 
 a chair of state while Helen summoned her forti 
 tude and hardened her ears. In the midst of 
 the conversational monologue Leander unexpect 
 edly arrived, and was greeted with fluttering ser 
 vility by Mrs. Manners. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Barrett," she said, for she had now 
 advanced to such intimacy that she did not use 
 his stage name; "you are so delightful to come 
 home while I am here. I so much wanted to see 
 you." 
 
 Leander smiled his habitual indulgent smile. 
 He accepted all homage as his inalienable right, 
 and accorded it his royal favor. 
 
 " I heard your Walther in Die Meistersinger 
 the other night. I am now certain that I never 
 understood the character before. All the other 
 tenors have given me the impression that Walther 
 was a sort of society man, who did not think that 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 179 
 
 singing was really worthy of his dignity, while 
 you have shown me that he sang as he had 
 to because he was a real poet. It was so inter 
 esting." 
 
 There was much more of the same sort before 
 Mrs. Manners, finding that she really had to look 
 in at Mrs. Truman Bellows afternoon, hastened 
 down the avenue in her limousine. 
 
 " Leander," said Helen, after the departure had 
 been successfully effected, " how can you bear to 
 listen so readily to the meaningless nonsense that 
 woman talks? " 
 
 " Nonsense? What nonsense? " 
 
 " Such twitter as she emitted about some tenors 
 making her think Walther a society man and your 
 teaching her the truth." 
 
 "Well, I did, didn t I?" 
 
 > 
 
 " Nun sang er wie er musst , 
 
 Und wie er musst , so konnt er s. 
 
 Helen softly sang the words, and then, smiling, 
 added: 
 
 " Leander, I m sure you don t think that Mrs. 
 
180 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Manners invented that idea. You ve heard Hans 
 Sachs say it too often." 
 
 " Oh, rubbish. As usual, you are trying to 
 belittle my art." 
 
 Helen rose with dignity and looked at him with 
 a serious countenance. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Leander, what was that? " 
 
 " I say that you are trying to pooh-pooh the 
 praise which I extract even from such connois 
 seurs as Mrs. Manners. I don t understand why 
 you assume such a position. You ought to be glad 
 that I arouse her enthusiasm." 
 
 " I am sorry to see that you are willing to ac 
 cept the silly comment of a wholly superficial 
 mind as a tribute to your art. I am only eager 
 to see that art deepen and widen." 
 
 " You are what? I see now. I have been 
 coming to it for some time, and now I m there. I 
 told you long ago that you did not understand 
 me, and now I repeat it. You do not understand 
 me, and it isn t possible for you to do so. You 
 live outside of the world of art, and you can t 
 find the way into it. You misconceive everything 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 181 
 
 I do, and my greatest successes become failures in 
 your eyes. Hereafter I wish you to keep your 
 opinions of my art to yourself." 
 
 " Am I to understand that you prefer those of 
 that distinguished connoisseur, Mrs. Harley Man 
 ners?" 
 
 " Don t talk like a fool. You make me lose 
 my temper, and that s bad for my voice. Can t 
 you mind your own affairs, and let mine alone? 
 I tell you that you are incapable of understanding 
 the workings of the world of art or the mind of 
 a great artist." 
 
 " That sounds to me like a formal declaration 
 of the failure of our marriage, Leander," said 
 Helen very gently. 
 
 " You may take it that way if you like," snarled 
 the great tenor, and, flatly turning his back upon 
 her, he strode out of the room. 
 
 Ten minutes later he entered the half-dark 
 apartment of Nagy Bosanska. The light which 
 softly glowed through it was a rose madder tint, 
 shot with a shade of burnt sienna. A strange, 
 pallid blood color, it exerted a searching influence 
 
1 82 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 on his vibrating nerves. He stared at the woman. 
 She lay on her couch, clad in a sweeping drapery 
 of thin green, which fell close around every line 
 of her symmetrical body. The train of the robe 
 ran out on the rug before her in a long curve, 
 and the picture she made was serpentine, uncanny, 
 fascinating. She seemed a daughter of the Nile 
 or a Rhine maiden, ready to lure the passing 
 knight to the depths under the Loreleiberg. Le- 
 ander stood speechless and gazed at her, while she 
 looked back at him with an inscrutable tenderness 
 in her green eyes. 
 
 What is the mystery of the flesh? Or is it a 
 mystery? Men have fallen before Delilah, be 
 fore Cleopatra, before Salammbo, before Fulvia, 
 who saved Rome, before Ninon, the immortal, 
 and even before Fanny Legrand, the Carmen of 
 the back stairs. What destroyed Samson, An 
 tony, Matho, or Lentulus, the senator? No, it 
 was not the mere lure of the sense. It was the 
 irresistible union of the flesh and the devil. The 
 mighty workings of the sex power in the women 
 whose sex reigned imperial and imperious this 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 183 
 
 was the force which gave the desire of men do 
 minion over their souls and over their honor. 
 This was the force which laid even their daily 
 common sense to voluptuous sleep upon the per 
 fumed pillows of white breasts. 
 
 For the elemental working of the sex force in 
 woman makes her great, arouses all that is 
 splendid in her blood, all that is majestic in her 
 intellect. With this she becomes a queen, sov 
 ereign mistress of a man or of men, according 
 to the bent of her spiritual genius. The woman 
 whose sex instincts are only half-developed never 
 reigns at all; she merely marches through a flat 
 world and has her triumphs in the drawing-room 
 or the kitchen. The woman whose soul burns 
 itself out in one great love, and whose sex force 
 arises to its demands, is glorified into a world 
 power. She whose sex impulse sputters first for 
 one object and then for another, is only a local 
 power, for she lacks the foundation of universal 
 greatness, stability. Still, indeed, she is great, 
 for she is the flesh and the devil; and wherever she 
 goes the gates of Eden close behind her, and the 
 
1 84 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 doors of Hell swing wide before her. And she 
 has her power and dominion, and men, poor fools, 
 sell their souls for her and fancy they have found 
 the foot of life s rainbow. 
 
 Leander knew Delilah only as an opera char 
 acter. Of the others he knew nothing. Yet he 
 was gazing into the bottomless deeps of Nagy s 
 eyes, where dwelt all the lost souls of the Deli- 
 lahs, the Cleopatras, and the Fulvias. She 
 could no more help adventuring into new seas of 
 passion than could a hawk help pursuing a spar 
 row. The child of Lilith, the incarnation of all 
 those who of old were the world s delight, she 
 burned now with real flame for this new thing, 
 which she saw approaching the borders of her life. 
 She saw herself on the brink of a new love, facing 
 a sleeping soul which she would awaken. 
 
 " You have come, mon ami," she said in low 
 flute-like tone; " you have waited long." 
 
 " I have remembered something you said to me 
 when I was last here," said Baroni. 
 
 "Yes?" she responded, with an exquisite 
 rising inflection; " I know what it was. When 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 185 
 
 you are weary and sad, and need to be understood, 
 you will remember that Nagy Bosanska is your 
 friend. That was it, was it not? " 
 
 " Yes," he whispered in a manner half-reluctant 
 But it was a part of Nagy s magic that she made 
 men say what was in their hearts, even when they 
 most desired to keep it there. The woman made 
 no immediate answer. She seemed to be lost in 
 thought, and presently she shook her head and 
 sighed deeply. 
 
 " I have found it impossible, too," she mur 
 mured. 
 
 "Found what impossible?" asked Leander 
 with astonishment in his voice. 
 
 * To get perfect sympathy and understanding 
 from one not of our own world." 
 
 Nagy looked down at the rug and sighed. Le 
 ander leaned over her and gently took her hand in 
 his. 
 
 Why, Nagy, you seem unhappy." 
 
 u No, Baroni, no, I am not unhappy. I am, 
 perhaps, a little, just a little, disappointed, but I 
 could be unhappy only if I had loved." 
 
1 86 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 He did not know what to say to her, and for 
 a few moments there was a silence, after which 
 she went on in purling low tones : 
 
 " I thought I had found one who would be 
 able to enter into my art and to grasp it from 
 outside. But I found that the fool was thinking 
 only of his own work, a silly, stupid, mechanic, 
 who tries to make an art of talking about art." 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Leander, suddenly enlight 
 ened. ;( That damned critic fellow is the most 
 exasperating idiot on earth. Nagy, I m amazed 
 at you. How could you take a fancy to him? " 
 
 " Only a curiosity, my dear Baroni, only a curi 
 osity. It was he who was serious. I had to send 
 him away. He could not understand. And now 
 she cannot understand." 
 
 "She? Who?" 
 
 She smiled up at him and shook her head. 
 
 " I think you once forbade me to discuss her." 
 
 Again a silence fell between them. Nagy 
 broke it. 
 
 " Only an artist can understand an artist." 
 
 " Of course. These outside people have wild 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 187 
 
 notions. They make me weary. They talk a lot 
 of idiotic poetry, and think that means something 
 practical to a singer. We who live in the great 
 world of the theater know that what we have to 
 do is to keep in good voice and sing. We ve got 
 to look out for our success with the public, and 
 that s the only way to get it." 
 
 " My dear Baroni, you are wonderfully young," 
 said Nagy with a smile. 
 
 " Rubbish! I m " 
 
 " I don t mean years. They have meant 
 nothing to you. You are still a boy, Baroni; your 
 soul is asleep, and it is such a splendid soul 
 that I long to see it awake and thrilling the 
 world."" 
 
 " How is it to be awakened? oh, I remember. 
 I asked you that once, and you told me." 
 
 " Yes, I told you that love would awaken it." 
 
 " Well, it hasn t." 
 
 " No, not yet. It has not come to you yet." 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me that that she has 
 never loved me? " 
 
 " I cannot speak for her. I speak of you. 
 
1 88 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Love has not come to you. But it s close, close, 
 close." 
 
 Something in her voice sent a shiver through 
 Leander. He remembered again how he had felt 
 when he had been in that same room before, and 
 he then had fled. Now he determined to know 
 what this was which affected him. The restrain 
 ing power which had held him before was gone. 
 Nagy knew it. Wise as a serpent, she felt that 
 her hour was at hand, and she pulsated with swift 
 little throbs of that indescribable excitement which 
 told her that the incarnated forces within her 
 were at their work. 
 
 " Nagy," said Leander, " I do not wish to be 
 asleep." 
 
 " Love is a master, not a servant, Baroni." 
 
 " I will serve him," said Leander, his breath 
 coming fast. " Can t you teach me the mysteries, 
 Nagy? You are very wonderful, I think." 
 
 She was silent, and he touched her hand with 
 his lips. They were hot and dry. Nagy started 
 and shook her head. 
 
 " You have so much to learn, you poor boy. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 189 
 
 You are not half-grown. But I think I shall 
 like you." 
 
 She put up a hand and caressed his hair. He 
 bent his head and kissed her very gently. It was 
 all so quiet so apparently passionless. Nothing 
 could have been more decorous. And he did not 
 know that it was the will of the woman that gov 
 erned the situation. 
 
 " Leander," she said presently, " can you take 
 me to dinner and afterward come back here and 
 talk about it to me? " 
 
 And thus it came about that, an hour later, 
 he returned and took her to dinner in a restaurant 
 where he was sure that none of the opera-house 
 people would ever go, and also it happened that 
 the little Madeleine Piroux and her faithful Po- 
 nitzky had gone there, also to be quite alone, and, 
 although hidden in a corner behind some plants, 
 they saw Nagy and Leander pass through the hall 
 on their way to the rear room. Ponitzky smiled a 
 grim smile. 
 
 * Too bad, ma petite ange," he said coolly. 
 " I m afraid your chances with the Baroni are 
 
i9o THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 very small, now that the Bosanska has taken him 
 in hand." 
 
 Madeleine shook her pretty head. 
 
 "Pestel What shall I care? I am not in 
 love with him." 
 
 " Only because he never gave you more than 
 a kindly look," said Ponitzky, who had always 
 been uneasy about the tenor. " But he is in safe . 
 hands now for a time. He will not be much 
 use to you after she is through with him." 
 
 " She will destroy him body and soul," said 
 Madeleine, " or she will make him the greatest 
 singer the world has ever known." 
 
 " That is what the English call a rather tall 
 order, isn t it?" sneered Ponitzky. 
 
 " Not for her," she answered, and then, in her 
 own heart, added, " nor for him." 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 T T was years since " L Africaine " had been 
 ^ given, and the opera house was in a state of 
 excitement. It was conceded that the cast was 
 one of unusual strength, and Comparelli, the 
 genius of the baton, was to conduct. It was ru 
 mored that he was in a diabolical frame of mind. 
 All kinds of reasons were given to account for it, 
 but little Madeleine Piroux smiled contemptuously 
 when Ponitzky repeated some of them to her. 
 
 " They know nothing. Only Nagy can tell the 
 real reason." 
 
 " Then you mean that she has quite thrown him 
 over? The tenor wins. Parbleu ! I should 
 not like to sing the * Paradiso air to Compa- 
 relli s accompaniment to-night." 
 
 "Fool! You know that Comparelli conducts 
 better when he is in a vicious temper." 
 
 It was, indeed, to be a great performance, with 
 
 Nagy as Selika, Baroni as Vasco di Gama, Le- 
 
 191 
 
192 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 maire, the great French barytone, as Nelusko, 
 Madeleine as Inez, the redoubtable Ponitzky him 
 self as Don Pedro, and the French bass, Caron, 
 as both the priests, Catholic and Brahmin. Tre- 
 montini was certain that he should have been the 
 Nelusko, but Comparelli sniffed him out of ex 
 istence. 
 
 Behind the scenes there was the customary 
 bustle. Psychological experts would have found 
 all varieties of deep and hidden emotions in the 
 bosoms of the singers as they smeared themselves 
 with cosmetics or gummed " imperials " upon 
 their lordly chins, but, as a plain matter of fact, 
 their real emotions were mainly those of the one 
 sort who were nervous about reappearing in old 
 roles long unpractised, and those of the other, 
 buoyantly confident of one more brilliant suc 
 cess. 
 
 The technical director, Carroll, swore softly, 
 because he hated the cheap, yet bothersome, stage 
 effects of " L Africaine." Storchi, the chorus 
 master, who was fat and short, exuded vast 
 streams of perspiration, as he rolled about among 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 193 
 
 his children, and scolded or besought, according 
 to what seemed to him to be the requirements of 
 the case. Manelli, the ballet master, cursed 
 Meyerbeer for the unterpsichorean character of 
 the ballet music, and vowed that his ensembles 
 would go for nothing, and that the public would 
 not know that it was not his fault. 
 
 One who had never been concerned in an 
 operatic revival would have been sure that nothing 
 would go right, that " il gran consiglio " would 
 never convene, that the high priest would be Cath 
 olic when he ought to be Brahmin, and sing " Ite, 
 missa est " in Madagascar, that the ship would 
 never be stormed, and that the manzanilla tree 
 would shed cocoanuts upon the stage. Yet the 
 inexorable operation of that extraordinary force 
 called " routine " brought order out of seeming 
 chaos, and the various parts of the complicated 
 machine started running in a comparatively smooth 
 manner. 
 
 But it was not a pleasant atmosphere behind 
 the scenes. The undercurrent of first-night irri 
 tation was unmistakable, and only some small im- 
 
194 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 pulse was needed to bring about a childish outburst 
 of the " artistic temperament." Nothing hap 
 pened in the course of the first scene. The grand 
 council chanted its sonorous deliberations, and the 
 priestly Lemaire pontificated with his customary 
 display of low tones and wide-armed gesture. Le- 
 ander responded brilliantly to the familiar demand 
 of the noble Don as to why he wished so ardently 
 to plow unknown seas, and his high-flown proc 
 lamation of his ambition to incur immortality 
 moved the gallery, the standees, who understood 
 its meaning, and such box occupants as had so 
 far confessed their lack of social duties as to ap 
 pear early in their seats. Nagy, the most lissome, 
 flashing-eyed, sinuous, and seductive of savage 
 queens, had stood defiant in the presence of the 
 poor occidentals, upon whom she looked with con 
 tempt, and had given an indefinite promise of 
 greater wonders to come in the prison scene. 
 
 Philip Studley sat in his orchestra-chair from 
 the rising of the curtain, and endeavored manfully 
 to sense Nagy and all her doings as if she had 
 never ceased to be what she should have been 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 195 
 
 to him, merely a subject for discussion. He drew 
 a long breath of relief as he felt, after her en 
 trance, that it was not going to be so hard, after 
 all. He studied her with a coolness which, in 
 deed, quite astonished him. The footlights and 
 the orchestra pit made a deep and impassable 
 chasm between them. The costume and the 
 make-up placed a curtain of unreality there. He 
 could not regard this tufted savage as the throb 
 bing creature whom he had held in his arms. He 
 was under the spell of the illusion of the theater. 
 Even he, the professional chronicler of incidents, 
 could not wholly escape the working of that 
 strange fantasy. There was much applause after 
 the choral chantings of the first act. Philip went 
 out into the corridor and stretched himself. Be 
 hind the scenes the unpleasant smell of grease 
 paint increased. The singers hastened from the 
 stage to their dressing-rooms. Their painted 
 countenances glistened with streams of fluent per 
 spiration. Their musty costumes, also moistened, 
 assisted the paint in adding variations to the de 
 pressing theme of stage air. They were utterly 
 
196 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 unpoetic persons. They were disillusions of the 
 most unhappy type. The most palpitating of all 
 matinee girls would have shrunk from the open 
 arms of the great Baroni. The most ardent 
 pursuer of stage beauties would have drawn back 
 from a close inspection of the incomparable Mile. 
 Bosanska. 
 
 " Pouf ! " exclaimed this same incomparable so 
 prano, as she rushed off the stage, where she had 
 waited after her exit out of curiosity to see the 
 end of the act; "pouf! The idiot of a Meyer 
 beer ! What an entrance for a prima donna ! " 
 
 You get your chance in the next act, don t 
 you?" said the stage manager, who was laugh 
 ing mildly at her vehemence. " The first act is 
 the tenor s, and it is pretty nearly the end of him, 
 too, isn t it?" 
 
 At this instant Nagy was out in the hallway 
 beyond the stage and leading to certain dressing- 
 rooms, and here she was almost swept from her 
 feet by the rush of Mrs. Harley Manners. In 
 those days only a very few favored persons had 
 the entree to the sacred regions behind the scenes. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 197 
 
 The newspaper men and the directors, composer s 
 agents, and some few similar dignitaries, were 
 on the door list of the portal between the stage 
 and the " front of the house," but one of Mrs. 
 Harley Manners specialties was to be where she 
 had no business, and she had a way of penetrating 
 the stage region even in the course of a first-night 
 performance. 
 
 " Oh, Mile. Bosanska," she exclaimed. " How 
 wonderful you are ! Your costume and your act 
 ing! Oh, I cannot tell you what I really feel. 
 You have reawakened for me the visions of 
 Cleopatra." 
 
 " But contain yourself, Madame. I have yet 
 done nothing. The first scene belongs to the 
 tenor. Save your raptures till after the next act. 
 Au revoir." 
 
 Nagy, who could be intolerably rude when she 
 wished to, undulated down the hallway, exhibiting 
 a very graceful back to the discomfited Mrs. Har 
 ley Manners, who vainly sought for Leandro in 
 order that she might say things to him or ask him 
 unanswerable questions. Nagy, however, knew 
 
i 9 8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 that Leandro was still taking curtain calls, and 
 that he would find a way to dodge the omnipresent 
 woman. 
 
 When Nagy turned her rounded shoulders on 
 Mrs. Harley Manners, she found herself con 
 fronted by two directors of the opera company, 
 men in exquisitely perfect evening clothes, and fin 
 ished for social use till they positively shone with 
 " position." Nagy looked them both up and 
 down with undisguised admiration. She was a 
 lawless and ungovernable little creature, and she 
 had an inexpressible contempt for men whom she 
 regarded as mere appendages to large fortunes. 
 The various attempts of money magnates to win 
 the favor of Nagy had met with disastrous fail 
 ure. The creatures could not even begin to un 
 derstand her, but they adored her extraordinary 
 physical charms. And now these two stood be 
 fore her, smiling their elegant smiles and talking 
 their habitual prattle. 
 
 " Most charming, indeed, Mile. Bosanska," 
 said one; "you are really marvelous in costume 
 and make-up." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 199 
 
 "Indeed, quite so," said the other: "and this 
 make-up becomes you, too." 
 
 " Oh, thank you so much," answered Nagy 
 demurely. u But I can return your compliments. 
 You are both quite perfect in your costume and 
 make-up, too. I m sure you must look interest 
 ing in your boxes, but I regret that I can t see you 
 from the stage." 
 
 And the impudent beauty turned the flawless 
 shoulders on them, too, and glided away down 
 the hall. Presently, when the discomfited di 
 rectors had passed out to the front of the house, 
 Leander came through the iron door leading from 
 the stage to the dressing-rooms, and found him 
 self gazing into the eyes of Madeleine Piroux. 
 She had waited to have one fleeting word with 
 him. 
 
 " You are in the best of voice, my friend. You 
 will have another triumph." 
 
 " And you, too, Mademoiselle. You are 
 looking your best and singing like a little 
 angel." 
 
 And he went on, leaving her smiling rather bit- 
 
200 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 terly as she realized how much his praise might 
 mean to her if it only meant a little more to him. 
 From up on the second floor of the dressing-rooms 
 came the rumble of Lemaire s voice. He was not 
 satisfied with his recitatives in the first scene, and 
 was vocalizing to warm up. Ponitzky was roar 
 ing like a bull, and occasionally pausing to swear 
 in indescribable Polish. He had flatted badly in 
 the first scene. So had Caron, who was cough 
 ing and sputtering and cursing the remains of a 
 cold which he had thought was entirely gone. 
 Every one except Nagy and Leander was in a 
 tempestuous humor. But Leander found Nagy 
 waiting for him in front of his door. She smiled 
 softly and murmured : 
 
 " It will be very good to-night. I shall cer 
 tainly kiss you as you sleep in the prison." 
 
 " I hope you will not forget," responded Lean 
 der with ardor in his voice. 
 
 " I shall talk to you after the next act." 
 
 " Where?" 
 
 "Here. Do you find it objectionable? Are 
 you afraid of the scandal?" 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 201 
 
 "What, in an opera house? Is there any 
 thing else in one? " 
 
 He laughed, and she glided off to her dress 
 ing-room, which was further along the same hall. 
 Leander entered his room and sat down to wait 
 for the next act. He was well pleased. The 
 house was packed. He had been enthusiastically 
 received, much more so than Nagy, for many of 
 the subscribers failed to recognize her in the make 
 up of a queen of Meyerbeerian Madagascar. Peo 
 ple came and went in the passage outside of his 
 dressing-room, but they made no attempt to in 
 trude upon him. His dresser, long trained in 
 the cunning of opera houses, stood on guard at 
 the door while Leander lay back in his easy-chair, 
 closed his eyes, and permitted his whole body to 
 relax. It was his way of resting in the entr actes. 
 The dressing-room was not a reposeful retreat, and 
 it was necessary to close one s eyes. On one side 
 was a long shelf covered with bottles, boxes, 
 brushes, and other paraphernalia of " make-up." 
 Above this shelf hung a mirror, and on each side 
 of the mirror was a glaring electric light. On the 
 
202 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 opposite side of the room was a full-length mirror 
 in which the tenor might observe his figure when 
 arrayed for the stage. There was a closet in one 
 corner, two or three hard-looking chairs, a ragged 
 rug on the floor, and rows of hooks for hanging 
 up clothing. There was none of that luxury 
 which the Sunday newspapers sometimes de 
 scribed. 
 
 As Leander lay limp in his one comfortable 
 chair, he suddenly chanced upon a resemblance be 
 tween the story of the opera and the entrance of 
 Nagy into his life. Selika followed Vasco di 
 Gama into a strange land, and afterward he went 
 with her to her own country, a kingdom over the 
 seas, enchanted, magical, mystic, almost fabulous, 
 where vivid colors filled the eye, and burning 
 thoughts the soul. Swimming in this flood of 
 tropical glory, Vasco di Gama forgot all but the 
 splendor of Selika s eyes. 
 
 " E del tuo ciglio o ciel il divorante ardor 
 
 Come di fiamma un raggio passo nel mio seno. 
 
 He hummed the music in a half-whisper and 
 smiled. Would it be so? Would Nagy be the 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 203 
 
 Selika of his life, and Helen the pale and uninter 
 esting Inez? He forgot for the moment that 
 Inez carried off Vasco, after all, while Selika, de 
 spairing, died under the manzanilla tree. But 
 Nagy would surely never do anything so weak as 
 that. Just then the dresser stood aside and per 
 mitted little Madeleine Piroux to put her head 
 into the room. She could not remain away. 
 There was a slow pain dragging at her gentle 
 heart, and yet she could not refrain from twisting 
 the knife in the wound. She had no hope that, 
 like Inez, whom she impersonated, she would find 
 her suspicions that he loved Selika to be ground 
 less. 
 
 " Are you rested, Baroni?" she asked softly. 
 
 " Yes, I m ready. But we re not called yet" 
 
 At that moment Nagy came slowly through the 
 hall, and paused just behind Madeleine. 
 
 " What a charming picture you make together," 
 she murmured. " It is a grand pity that I must 
 separate you, is it not? " 
 
 Madeleine turned and gazed directly into 
 Nagy s eyes. She shrugged her pretty French 
 
204 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 shoulders, and walked quietly away. Nagy low 
 ered her head and sent from under her brows a 
 strange glance from the wonderful green eyes. 
 
 "Foolish child, is she not?" she said to 
 Baroni. 
 
 " She s a nice little girl, Nagy; that s all, and 
 you you are a woman." 
 
 " Do not be alarmed, my dear Baroni. I am 
 not troubled. But it is bad for her. She would 
 sing better if she loved Ponitzky the great 
 
 pig." 
 
 The call boy appeared at this moment, and 
 summoned them for the prison scene. Leander 
 walked languidly down to the stage and stretched 
 himself upon the couch in the alcove, while Nagy 
 idly extended her hand to the property man to 
 receive the fan with which she was to soothe the 
 sleeping Vasco. It was in this scene that the 
 smoldering fires of Nagy s temperament sprang 
 to flame. The audience suddenly awakened to the 
 fact that there was a tremendous force of char 
 acter in the savage queen, and between her and 
 the crushed and fragile Inez, who found herself 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 205 
 
 enmeshed in the toils of fate, the tragic contrast 
 was moving. 
 
 The curtain fell amid a storm of plaudits. 
 Nagy and Madeleine went together before the 
 audience. Nagy led the little French soprano 
 most gracefully, and, when in the center of the 
 stage, calmly dropped the hand, turned her back 
 on Madeleine, and appropriated all the applause 
 to herself. She did not so much as bestow a frag 
 ment of a glance on either Baroni or Ponitzky, 
 who had rather humbly followed the two women, 
 and were now awkwardly standing at either side. 
 It was a characteristic opera-house scene, but only 
 a few reporters and other long-practised observers 
 detected the significance of it. In less than five 
 minutes half a dozen of the news-gatherers were 
 on the stage striving to find out whether there 
 was a " story " in the slighting of Mile. Piroux 
 by Mile. Bosanska, but they could get no facts. 
 
 " I quarrel with this angel! " exclaimed Nagy. 
 " She is an angel, is she not?" 
 
 This question was shot full in the face of the 
 uncomfortable Ponitzky, who gallantly answered: 
 
20.6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 u A real angel; indeed, our only angel, is it not 
 so,Nagy?" 
 
 And thereupon the big basso retired with a pro 
 found chuckle. The yellowest reporters per 
 sisted for a time, but finally abandoned the sub 
 ject, and hastened away to the press-room to write 
 it up anyhow. Nagy, true to her promise, went 
 to Leander s dressing-room to talk to him, as 
 neither of them had any change to make till after 
 the next scene. It was not long afterward that 
 Philip Studley passed through the door between 
 the auditorium and the stage. The impresario 
 had sent a message to him, asking for the priv 
 ilege of a few minutes conversation in his office, 
 which was in the rear part of the building. Philip 
 was not at all familiar with the region behind 
 the scenes, and he quite easily went astray. In 
 stead of passing down the corridor leading to the 
 offices, he turned into the hallway upon which the 
 dressing-rooms opened. It was at this un- 
 propitious instant that Leander s dresser, stand 
 ing on guard outside the door, spied a certain 
 chorus damsel in whom he took a particular in- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 207 
 
 terest, and he slipped a few paces down the 
 passageway to speak a word in her somewhat too 
 red ear. And thus it happened that when Philip 
 saw a door on his left hand partly open, and 
 thought it must be the one which he was seeking, 
 he walked into it, found himself in the dressing- 
 room of the tenor, and beheld that famous 
 artist holding Mile. Nagy Bosanska in a close 
 embrace. 
 
 For a few seconds there was a tense and un 
 comfortable silence. It was Nagy who first re 
 covered composure. 
 
 " This is, indeed, an unexpected honor, Mr. 
 Studley. May we inquire how we came to de 
 serve it? " 
 
 " I have very few words to say to either one 
 of you. I had no knowledge that this was yqur 
 trysting-place. I was trying to go to the office. 
 I lost my way. I do not apologize. You, 
 Mademoiselle, know quite well why I do not. I 
 am delighted to gain some insight into your true 
 nature. It is 
 
 " That s enough of that sort of talk," ex- 
 
208 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 claimed Leander in a low tone; "if you ve any 
 thing to say that s to the point, say it and get 
 out; but omit Mile. Bosanska s name, do you un 
 derstand? " 
 
 " Perfectly. I presume you are authorized to 
 protect Mile. Bosanska? I congratulate you." 
 
 " My dear young friend, don t try to be sar 
 castic; it does not suit you at all. And my posi 
 tion in relation to Mile. Bosanska is none of your 
 damned business." 
 
 That, my dear Mr. Baroni, is pure assump 
 tion on your part. I regard as my business any 
 thing which is likely to affect the welfare of a 
 woman much superior to Mile. Bosanska, a woman 
 who has honored me with her friendship for 
 years, a woman 
 
 ;( Who chances to be my wife. You certainly 
 do not lack for assurance. One might think you 
 the authorized protector of Mrs. Baroni." 
 
 Why, you cad! " said Philip hotly; " you are 
 willing to make innuendoes against your own wife, 
 but you demand that the position of Mile. Bo 
 sanska be not discussed. I am sorry to have 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 209 
 
 spoken to you at all. I have certainly lowered 
 myself by doing so." 
 
 " You get out of my room ! " cried Leander, 
 quite losing his temper and moving toward Philip. 
 But Nagy sprang before him and threw her arms 
 around his neck. 
 
 " Stop, stop," she said in a low tone, " you must 
 bear with this young man, my dear Baroni. His 
 emotions are in a state of much confusion. He 
 is not master of himself. He really is quite at 
 sea. He has been most unfortunate in his rela 
 tions with women, and he does not see clearly. 
 Of course he will go away." 
 
 " I see many things much more clearly than I 
 used to," said Philip; " I have had some instruc 
 tion from a profound mistress of the art of life." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I forgot for the moment," said Le 
 ander, suddenly beginning to laugh. u I remem 
 ber now. He aspired to the position which he 
 now so delicately charges me with occupying. But 
 * la commedia e finita, so far as you are con 
 cerned, my dear young friend." 
 
 " You speak truly," said Philip, who had partly 
 
210 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 regained his composure. " I trust that in your 
 own case it will not be something worse than a 
 comedy. Good-evening." 
 
 The young man retired with an approach to 
 dignity, while Leander and Nagy stood looking 
 at each other inquiringly. Nagy slowly shook her 
 head. 
 
 4 You see, Leandro, he was quite impossible; 
 but I cannot help feeling sorry for him. He 
 seems always to be unsuccessful in love. Poor in 
 fant! It is so foolish of him to adore your 
 wife." 
 
 Leander stood in reflection for a few moments. 
 
 " I can t imagine Helen giving any serious con 
 sideration to a prig like that," he said. 
 
 " Would it matter greatly if she did? " 
 
 In his heart Leander felt that it did. He did 
 not relish the idea of Helen s finding comfort so 
 easily. But when he looked into Nagy s liquid 
 eyes and read what he saw there, he tossed aside 
 all reflection. 
 
 "Perhaps it wouldn t matter at all," he said; 
 u some time or other there is sure to be an ex- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 211 
 
 plosion, I suppose. Things can t go on this 
 way." 
 
 " And nothing else at all counts," murmured 
 Nagy, with her lips close to his cheek, " so long as 
 you and I are together, dear." 
 
 And then it seemed to be clear to Leander that 
 it would be better if the empty pretense of his 
 married life were to come to an end right away. 
 What business had Studley to act as if interposing 
 between him and Helen? Leander suddenly felt 
 that he was badly used, and he hugged the idea to 
 his heart. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 cause of complaint, once domiciled in the 
 tenor s soul, acted as such cherished ideas 
 generally do. It behaved like the genie who was 
 let out of the box and spread to such propor 
 tions that he obscured the heavens. True, this 
 particular evil one did not spoil Leander s Vasco 
 di Gama, but as soon as the final curtain had fallen 
 he developed with amazing rapidity. 
 
 Helen sat in her orchestra stall and watched 
 the performance with a dull pain at her heart. 
 She never went behind the scenes any more. She 
 disliked the atmosphere; she disliked the singers. 
 Their whole attitude toward what they called 
 their " art " discouraged her. And it hurt her 
 to think that Leander dwelt in this surrounding, 
 and that he was thoroughly contented in it. She 
 listened to the golden tones of his magnificent 
 voice, and smiled when the audience burst into 
 
 212 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 213 
 
 rapturous applause. She knew that Leander 
 thoroughly understood his instrument, and that 
 he played upon it with a master s technique. But 
 she also knew that in the perfect placing of his 
 tones, in the exquisite finish of his phrasing, and 
 in the elegant disposition of his nuances, lay for 
 Leander the whole of his art. 
 
 It was no triumphant evening for her when he 
 carried people off their feet by his delivery of the 
 " Paradiso." She hated the aria, because of its 
 claptrap devices and its superficially clever appeal 
 to the gallery. She wished that Leander would 
 sing real music. She could not refuse the tribute 
 of admiration to Nagy. Meyerbeer might be 
 only theatrical tinsel, but the gipsy s tempera 
 ment was real. She vitalized the empty measures 
 with real emotion. Helen recognized it, and said 
 to herself, " She is a greater artist than he." And 
 then she thought of the rumors she had heard 
 about his attentions to Nagy. 
 
 " No," she said to herself, " there can be 
 nothing substantial in any of it. Leander is too 
 self-centered to develop an infatuation for any 
 
214 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 one but himself. I am not sure that it would not 
 be a good thing for him to conceive a passion for 
 the strange Hungarian. I cannot pierce his shell 
 of Self. If she should do so, he might discover 
 his own soul. For there is one to discover. I 
 have tried to awaken it in vain. And yet God 
 knows that I have given him what no other woman 
 
 can." 
 
 And as she sat thus thinking she was divinely 
 adorable. There was a sweet humidity in her 
 beautiful eyes, and a gentle flush on her delicate 
 cheek, as she recalled to herself the intensity of 
 some exquisite moments now unhappily long past. 
 She fervently desired to bring them back, but she 
 could not discover the way, for her kisses fell dead 
 upon Leander s lips, and her embraces lax upon 
 his breast. 
 
 She did not wait for him after the performance. 
 She had never made a practice of that. In the 
 early days of the season she had sometimes waited, 
 and they had ridden home together in her car, 
 Leander well pleased with himself and his even 
 ing s success, she trying to lead the conversation 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 215 
 
 away from the endless theme, but in vain. They 
 had both insensibly grown weary of it, and Lean- 
 der had begun to invent excuses for going home 
 alone. So she accepted the situation, and rode 
 away with some woman friend whom she had in 
 vited to the opera. On this night she went alone, 
 and, as the car turned into the Avenue, she gazed 
 listlessly out of the window at the wet and shining 
 street. 
 
 It had been raining, and the Avenue, though 
 crowded with whirring cars, had a dour and 
 depressing aspect. The shops were all dark, and 
 shadows fell from their gloomy fronts across the 
 bedraggled pavement. Here and there a 
 dwelling, still dignified among the impudent in 
 truders from the world of trade, shed a faint yel 
 low ray from the transom or, perhaps, even 
 showed illumination in some of its spacious win 
 dows. Pedestrians tramped heavily along the 
 sidewalks with bowed heads and hidden faces. 
 The fine, penetrating rain, which was swept in 
 from the grim Atlantic by a chill easterly wind, 
 searched every corner and cranny. Even in her 
 
2i6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 well-appointed car Helen felt the touch of its 
 dampness. She was glad when the vehicle rolled 
 up to the entrance of the great hotel, and she was 
 able to go to her comfortable apartment. 
 
 It was not just what she wished. If she had en 
 joyed her own way, she would have had a house 
 and servants, a real home. But Leander had 
 wished to live in a hotel. It was not worth while, 
 he thought, to take a house just for a season, and 
 she had desired to please him. So there they had 
 been, and as his demeanor toward her had 
 changed, so she had felt her solitude all the more. 
 She entered her drawing-room and, letting her 
 wraps fall into the ready arms of her maid, sank 
 into a corner of the sofa. 
 
 " Louise," she said, " you may bring me my 
 drink here." 
 
 The maid slipped noiselessly from the room, 
 and presently returned with some biscuits and a 
 little silver urn. Helen had early formed the 
 habit of having supper before retiring. She had 
 formerly waited always for Leander, but now his 
 movements after the opera were too uncertain. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 217 
 
 Sometimes he came directly home, but quite as 
 often he went to a restaurant or some club. On 
 this particular evening he reached the apartment 
 about an hour after Helen. He went directly to 
 their room. Helen was sitting by a small table, 
 clad in a silk-and-lace peignoir. She was prepared 
 for retiring, but she had felt sleepless and unready 
 to go to bed. She was nervous, she could not 
 tell why; but she seemed indefinitely to expect 
 something. So she sat in the bedroom trying 
 vainly to read. She and Leander occupied the 
 same room, for neither of them believed in that 
 singular form of marriage in which the husband 
 occasionally visits his wife s chamber, with an un 
 expected demand that she accept his embraces as 
 she might accept lightning from a clear sky. Le 
 ander and Helen had never discussed the matter, 
 but when he had arranged the renting of tHeir 
 apartment, he had chosen one in which each could 
 have a separate dressing-room, with their bedroom 
 between. Leander entered from his dressing- 
 room, and Helen quietly rose from her seat, went 
 over to him, put her arms around his neck, and 
 
218 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 kissed him. He accepted the kiss passively, and 
 then said: 
 
 " Why haven t you gone to bed? " 
 
 " I am not at all sleepy, Leander; indeed, I am 
 much too wakeful." 
 
 " What s the matter with you? " he demanded. 
 
 " I don t know, I m sure. Nothing serious." 
 
 Leander passed into his dressing-room and 
 changed from his dress coat into a loose jacket. 
 
 u How did you like the performance?" he 
 asked when he returned. 
 
 " I thought it was very good, indeed," answered 
 Helen in a rather dull tone. 
 
 Leander looked at her suspiciously for a mo 
 ment. The expression in his eyes was not a pretty 
 one. Then he said in a keen tone : 
 
 " See anything of your particular friend Stud- 
 ley to-night? " 
 
 Helen glanced up, rather startled by the ques 
 tion and his manner, and this only served to deepen 
 his suspicions. 
 
 " Why, yes, Leander, of course. Philip al 
 ways comes and says a few words to me when I 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 219 
 
 am at the opera. He is one of my oldest and, I 
 think, my best friends." 
 " Is he, really?" 
 
 Leander s tone was bitter with sneering innu 
 endo. Helen, however, appeared not to notice 
 this. 
 
 " Yes, he has always been a good friend to me. 
 I wonder that you do not recall that you desired 
 me to see that this friendship did not wane. I 
 was not quite sure of your meaning at the time." 
 
 " And now you are. Is that what you mean ? 
 Well, let me tell you now that I no longer desire 
 that you keep this friendship warm. The fellow 
 is no friend of mine, and you know it." 
 
 " I certainly know nothing of the kind, Lee. I 
 am sure he admires you greatly." 
 
 "Is it evidence of his admiration that he ^ al 
 ways thinks he must write about me with a sort 
 of patronizing toleration? What does he know 
 of such an art as mine, anyhow? " 
 
 u Lee, how can I tell why he writes as he does? 
 It is not a subject which he and I can discuss. I 
 cannot question him about his criticisms of you, 
 
220 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 and he never mentions the subject to me. I am 
 sure he tries to be as kind as he can." 
 
 Leander strode across the room, lighted a 
 cigarette, and flung himself into a chair. His face 
 was flushed, and his eyes had an unpleasant glitter. 
 He looked not unlike a spoiled child in a bad 
 humor. Helen dimly felt that his temper was 
 something of that sort, and she endeavored to be 
 indulgent. But she had not read him rightly. 
 
 " Did you," he suddenly asked, " see Studley 
 to-night before or after he was in my dressing- 
 room? " 
 
 " I did not know that he was in your room at 
 all." 
 
 " Oh, indeed. Well, he was there after the 
 prison scene. Did you see him before that? " 
 
 " No; I saw him when he was going out after 
 the ship scene." 
 
 " I don t believe you," said Leander sullenly. 
 
 " If you are going to indulge in talk of that 
 kind, Leander, I think our conversation had bet 
 ter end for to-night." 
 
 " Oh, you think so, do you? Well, our con- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 221 
 
 versation is not going to end just yet. I have 
 something more to say." 
 
 Helen, who had risen, resumed her seat. She 
 was striving bravely to be patient, for she felt 
 now that something serious underlay the mood of 
 her husband. 
 
 " Have you ever had any conversation," he 
 asked, " with your fine friend Studley about my 
 acquaintance with Mile. Bosanska? " 
 
 " Is there any reason why I should speak of it 
 to any one?" asked Helen calmly, as she gazed 
 frankly into his eyes. 
 
 Leander s temper rushed swiftly to the boiling- 
 point. He sprang from his chair, crossed the 
 room in three strides, and stood in front of her 
 in an attitude actually menacing. She wondered 
 vaguely what he was going to do to her. But he 
 contented himself with agitated speech and much 
 brandishing of the arms. 
 
 4 Your friend Studley came into my dressing- 
 room and found me in conversation with Mile. Bo 
 sanska. He had the impudence to make sar 
 castic comments, to intimate that I ought not to 
 
222 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 be there with her, to insinuate that there was some 
 disloyalty to you in it. Now I want to tell you 
 right away that I won t stand anything of that 
 sort. I will not have any whippersnapper of a 
 newspaper man, just because he is in your confi 
 dence, coming into my room and " 
 
 Helen had risen and placed herself directly in 
 front of him. She had gently shaken her head in 
 mild protest as he spoke, and at length had 
 stretched out her two ivory arms and laid her 
 dainty hands on his shoulders. Then she inter 
 rupted the rush of his words. 
 
 " Lee, my dear, dear Lee, you mustn t say such 
 things to me. I have no knowledge of Philip s 
 movements, nor have I any control over them. 
 But you may be perfectly certain of one thing, my 
 dear, and that is that I would scorn to spy either 
 directly or indirectly on your actions. I have 
 never given the least thought to your friendship 
 for Mile. Bosanska except, except " 
 
 She hesitated. Her rigorous regard for truth 
 urged her to qualify her statement, yet she hardly 
 knew how. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 223 
 
 "Except what?" demanded Leander, seizing 
 her hands and roughly removing them from his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Except that I have thought that maybe in 
 the end it might help you to discover your own 
 real self." 
 
 Helen s beautiful, soft eyes were lowered, and 
 tears gathered under their fringes. Her hands 
 drooped at her sides, and the rising and falling of 
 her small round bosom could be seen through the 
 filmy laces of her peignoir. Her curved crimson 
 lips were gently parted, and her pearly teeth shone 
 visible, while her breathing, almost sighing, was 
 clearly audible. She was so lovely and so de 
 sirable that if Leander had not been obsessed by 
 self, he would have clasped her in his arms and 
 
 kissed her upon the eyes. But he was driven by 
 
 > 
 
 forces which he did not comprehend. 
 
 " My real self, my real self! There we have 
 it," he exclaimed. " You have from the begin 
 ning tried to tell me that there is something wrong 
 with my character, that I don t understand the 
 meaning of my own art. And your devoted 
 
224 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 friend, Philip Studley, your extremely devoted 
 friend, agrees with you to a jot. Now I want to 
 tell you once and for all, as I have told you be 
 fore, that neither you nor he know what you are 
 talking about. I know my business. You don t 
 know it. From the day we were married you 
 have failed to understand me. No, you needn t 
 speak. I know I ve told you that before, too. 
 But I don t intend to tell it again. You can t bring 
 yourself into the life of an artist at all. Mile. 
 Bosanska does know how to understand my art, 
 and if I choose to talk to her about it instead of 
 to you, you ve no one to blame but yourself." 
 
 Helen looked up sorrowfully, and the tears 
 glistened in the corners of her eyes. 
 
 " I do not quite know what all this means, Le- 
 ander; but if you can get from Mile. Bosanska 
 sympathy and understanding which I cannot give 
 you, I see no reason why you should not do so." 
 
 " That s right! " he cried; " tell me that if I m 
 not satisfied with you, I can go to the devil with 
 her. That s what you mean, of course. All 
 right, all right. Anyhow, this is the end of every- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 225 
 
 thing between you and me. We ll have no more 
 pretenses, anyhow. I ll leave you to yourself. 
 You can have this room, and I ll sleep in my dress 
 ing-room. Good-night." 
 
 He wheeled sharply around and rushed into his 
 dressing-room. He slammed the door behind 
 him, and the next second Helen heard the key 
 turn in the lock. She almost smiled in the midst 
 of her grief, for the act struck her as intensely 
 childish. And so, indeed, it was. All of Le- 
 ander s conduct had been childish, and wholly 
 consistent with the character of a spoiled opera 
 singer. But that did not render the trial easier 
 for the wife. She walked to her mirror, and, 
 standing in front of it, let the peignoir slip from 
 her shoulders. She gazed thoughtfully at the 
 ravishing image before her. She slowly shook her 
 head. 
 
 " It is not that, not that," she said to herself. 
 " I am more beautiful than she, and I give him a 
 grand passion which she cannot even imagine, for 
 I give him my whole life, my soul forever and 
 forever. But he does not know, he does not un- 
 
226 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 derstand. And it is all because he does not yet 
 know his own soul. Suppose it wakes for her; 
 what then? " 
 
 And drawing her garment about her again, she 
 crossed the room and fell on her knees beside her 
 lonely bed, begging Heaven to uncoil the tangled 
 skein which was winding itself around her life. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ^TT^HE season was at its end. The customary 
 -* " gala " performance of selected acts from 
 various operas had been given, not on a sub 
 scription night, of course, but as one of the numer 
 ous extras which had become features of the time 
 in opera world. This out of the way, the real 
 farewells took place. Neither Leander nor Nagy 
 had been implicated in the proceedings of the 
 " gala " performance. They were reserved for 
 the last matinee. They had been heard together 
 once more in " Carmen," and the intense se 
 ductiveness of the Hungarian s impersonation had 
 again wrought its unfailing effect, while Leander s 
 matchless delivery of the flower song had thrown 
 five hundred " matinee girls " into indescribable 
 raptures. Of course little Madeleine Piroux sang 
 Micaela, while Tremontini had the opportunity 
 of his career in Escamillo. And because Tre 
 montini sang, the Toreador Feramordi was in the 
 
 227 
 
228 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 theater and keeping close watch on all his doings. 
 Ponitzky strolled into the house after the third 
 act, ready to take the little Piroux away with him. 
 Comparelli conducted and smiled wickedly up at 
 Nagy, whose defection from him was now com 
 mon knowledge behind the scenes. 
 
 After the matinee many of the singers gath 
 ered in the same little Italian restaurant. The 
 greasy atmosphere of the place gave them a pleas 
 ure which they could not have defined. They 
 slowly relaxed after the strain of the day. Po 
 nitzky lolled in his chair like a huge bear at play 
 and quizzically gazed at his mistress. He blew 
 cigarette smoke across the table, and in grumbling 
 bass tones said: 
 
 " Pity you re not engaged for South America, 
 my angel." 
 
 Madeleine returned his gaze steadily, and an 
 swered : 
 
 " I do not feel so. I m rather glad of it." 
 
 Ponitzky smiled an evil smile. 
 
 " It will be a most agreeable season for Baroni 
 and Nagy." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 229 
 
 The little French soprano shrugged her shoul 
 ders and looked around the room with an assump 
 tion of indifference. 
 
 " Ah," continued Ponitzky, " I see it matters 
 not at all to you. I was mistaken." 
 
 " Ponitzky," said Madeleine quietly, " you and 
 I have been together about long enough, I think. 
 I am of the opinion that you are not worth while. 
 I ceased to care for you long ago ; yet while you 
 were willing to treat me decently I was willing to 
 continue with you. But I am not obliged to 
 swallow your abuse." 
 
 She rose from the table, but Ponitzky put up 
 his hand and arrested her. 
 
 " Sit down," he said; " don t be a fool. But 
 you are right. It is wrong for me to taunt you. 
 I am really fond of you, Madeleine. Can you 
 blame me for being hurt when I know that,* if 
 you could have Baroni, you would leave me for 
 him to-morrow? But you know it is impossible. 
 Nagy has him in her claws." 
 
 Madeleine had resumed her seat. She smiled 
 faintly at the big basso. 
 
230 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " Ponitzky," she said, " you haven t been un 
 kind to me, on the whole. And I m accustomed to 
 you. You are a habit, a bad one, but still not easy 
 to break. Only you must not try to hurt me. I 
 crave kindness. I have been alone in the world for 
 years. I have no relatives, no friends. I accepted 
 your companionship because I was so lonely. I am 
 content to remain with you, if you will be kind." 
 
 " Mon Dicu, little girl," said Ponitzky, lean 
 ing across the table toward her, " I m sorry. I 
 will never hurt you again. You are a good girl, 
 and I will try to make you happy." 
 
 " As for Baroni," she went on; " he is nothing 
 to me never can be. You can rest easy as to 
 that. And his wife will save him from Nagy." 
 
 " Well, not in Buenos Ayres at any rate." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " She does not go." 
 
 Ponitzky smiled another evil smile. He could 
 not help them. He was saturated with the role 
 of Mephistopheles in which he had made his great 
 est success in three operas, Gounod s, Boito s, and 
 Berlioz s. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 231 
 
 " She does not go ! Then it is true, that which 
 I suspected. All is not well with them. But stop ; 
 how do you know this? " 
 
 " Why, ma vie, every one knows it. Stahlberg, 
 the transportation man, has engaged passage for 
 Baroni and his valet, but not for his wife." 
 
 " But that may not mean anything except that 
 she is to go by another steamer." 
 
 " He sails on the Vasari on the twentieth. She 
 does not go; be sure of that. Ask Tremontini, 
 or better, Feramordi. She is going." 
 
 Tremontini and his beloved contralto were sit 
 ting at the next table with Abadista and two or 
 three others. 
 
 u I hear," said Madeleine, leaning toward 
 them, " that you are going down on the same 
 steamer as Baroni and his wife." 
 
 " With Baroni, yes," replied Feramordi shortly, 
 " with his wife, no. She will not visit South 
 America. She remains in North America. The 
 climate is said to suit her much better." 
 
 There was a ripple of cheap laughter and 
 Madeleine turned away sore at heart, for she 
 
2 3 2 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 realized that there must have been a rupture be 
 tween Leander and Helen, and she well knew that 
 the wife was worth a score of women such as the 
 fascinating Hungarian. The information was ac 
 curate. The breach which had opened on the 
 night of the " L Africaine " performance had 
 widened. The husband and wife had continued to 
 dwell apart, and Leander had determined to leave 
 her behind him when he went to the Argentine" 
 capital. Helen was not sure that this would not 
 be best for him. She still believed that he needed 
 the scarifying experience of some great spiritual 
 awakening, and she hoped that a temporary sep 
 aration would bring it about. For the idle com 
 ments of her acquaintances she cared nothing, but 
 she knew that these could be quieted by her asser 
 tion that she could not risk the Argentine climate. 
 But Helen did not know all that was in Baroni s 
 mind. If she had, she might perhaps have in 
 sisted on going with him. 
 
 It was understood when Leander sailed that 
 Helen was to join him in Europe, whither he 
 
I III- SOUL OF A TKNOR 233 
 
 was to go directly from South America. If 
 letters from Buenos Ayres were brief and busi 
 ness-like, lie and Helen had agreed that at least 
 the outward appearance of marriage must con 
 tinue. In fact they had not actually spoken of 
 this in plain words, but nevertheless they under 
 stood each other. I le wrote to her when it was 
 necessary, but at no other time. She answered 
 him in the same way. They were merely drifting. 
 The South American engagement lasted till mid- 
 July and Helen passed much of the hot weather 
 out of New York. She took advantage of this 
 opportunity to visit her few relatives. She had 
 little in common with them, but the formalities 
 of life demanded that she show them some atten 
 tion. It was when she returned to New York 
 to prepare to go to Kurope that she obtained a 
 clearer insight into the situation. She received 
 a letter from Leander, which read thus: 
 
 " I do not see any reason why there should be 
 a continuation of an impossible relation between 
 us. The best thing for us to do is to continue 
 
234 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 apart. You will be happier, I am sure, and so 
 will I. It was a mistake for you to marry an 
 artist, for the world in which he moves is not 
 your world and will never become so. You cannot 
 adjust yourself to its requirements and cannot 
 accustom yourself to its flexible conditions. I 
 have accepted certain engagements in Europe for 
 the next year and shall not sing in the United 
 States. I am satisfied that it will be far better for 
 my future success to remain absent for at least 
 one season. This will render it easy for you to 
 account for your being away from me. You can 
 say that you do not find yourself in good health in 
 St. Petersburg and other places where I am going 
 to sing, and that you prefer to have an established 
 residence instead of traveling about. Or possi 
 bly you will prefer to give some other reason 
 which does not occur to me. Settle it to suit your 
 self. At any rate, you will be better off away 
 from me." 
 
 The letter fell from her trembling fingers. She 
 threw up her hands and covered her eyes. Her 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 235 
 
 head swam with thick heavy pulsations and she 
 had a feeling of suffocation. Her gentle bosom 
 heaved convulsively and her whole frame shook 
 with the agony of this blow, so cruelly and coldly 
 dealt. For there was no faintness in Helen s love. 
 It was the well-spring of her life, and Leander s 
 weaknesses had only served to arouse in her that 
 beautiful protective instinct of maternity which 
 is a part of every true woman s love for erring 
 man. For half an hour she lay back in her chair 
 unable to move or think. Her senses were 
 stunned, her faculties rendered inoperative. But 
 she was too strong to remain smitten into inactiv 
 ity. The splendid forces of her character slowly 
 gathered themselves and her dominant intellect 
 reassumed its control. She suddenly sprang from 
 
 the chair, with flashing eyes and hands clenched 
 
 > 
 
 till her nails turned white. 
 
 " It shall not be! " she exclaimed. " Now it 
 is between her and me. Well, so be it. But I 
 must think, I must think." 
 
 She went and stood by a window and gazed at 
 the slow-moving white clouds over the ugly house- 
 
236 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 tops. Out of the long and deep reflection she 
 drew the outlines of her course of action. This 
 was to be a battle of woman s wits, not the wild 
 turmoil of unbridled emotions. And one of the 
 things Helen evolved was a letter to her husband. 
 In it she said: 
 
 " I am content to follow your wishes. I need 
 hardly tell you that I know the true reason of your 
 actions. But I feel only commiseration for you. 
 I shall certainly not sue for a divorce. It would 
 be foolish and it would do you, at least, no good. 
 You might be stupid enough to marry her, and 
 then you would soon be suing for a divorce your 
 self, for she will tire of you. You will not trouble 
 yourself to send me any of your earnings. You 
 know that I have plenty of money of my own, 
 and I am sure that in the circumstances you will 
 require all you can get. You know my permanent 
 address. If you have occasion to communicate 
 with me, please do so. Perhaps it would be as 
 well for you to send me a few newspaper clippings 
 from time to time in order that I may be able to 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 237 
 tell people where you are and all about your im 
 
 mense successes." 
 
 And this reference to his successes was the only 
 note of reproach in her carefully composed letter. 
 It was in London that Leander read it. He was 
 sitting in the Savoy restaurant with Nagy. The 
 familiar crowd of diners was around them and a 
 few recognized them and pointed them out. No 
 one, however, attracts attention for a long time 
 in the Savoy, for all the driftwood of the world 
 floats through it. 
 
 Interesting letter, mon ami?" murmured 
 Nagy. 
 
 " Rather," replied Leander. " It is refresh 
 ingly cool at any rate." 
 
 " From madame, I presume." 
 
 4 Yes," answered Leander shortly and with an 
 absent air, as he folded it and replaced it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 "Reproachful?" 
 
 " Not at all. That is what astonished me a 
 little." 
 
238 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 "No hostilities?" 
 
 " No; she says she will not begin any action." 
 
 Nagy s green eyes seemed to turn inward and 
 she held deep communion with herself. 
 
 This woman will bear watching. She knows 
 things. But if she imagines that I am going to 
 discover Leander s soul for him in order that she 
 may bask in the sunlight of a great awakening 
 she does not understand Nagy Bosanska. And 
 she will not take action for the divorce. Then 
 she is afraid he might marry me and that he 
 would be lost to her for good and all. Why, 
 the silly woman still loves him and she 
 has hopes. He is mine and I mean to keep 
 him." 
 
 " What are you thinking in there behind those 
 eyes, Nagy? " asked Leander. 
 
 " The thoughts of a woman." 
 
 " That may mean a thousand things," said he, 
 smiling. " But you will tell me at least one of 
 them, will you not? " 
 
 " Yes; she is afraid that we might marry." 
 
 " Why, she says as much." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 239 
 
 " So I thought. But what is marriage to us? 
 How long will you love me, Leander? " 
 
 " As long as you make me, light of my life." 
 
 Already? You are learning fast, my friend. 
 You grow wiser by the minute. You see what 
 it means to dwell in the heart of Nagy Bosanska." 
 
 Leander hummed a line from " Lohengrin " : 
 
 " Dein Lieben sei mein stolz Gewahr. " 
 
 Nagy smiled and lifting her glass looked in 
 tently at him over the rim as she said in her 
 softest tone: 
 
 " The world is ours." 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 TN early August Helen sailed for Cherbourg. 
 -*- Her thoughts had been countless in the course 
 of the days which followed the announcement of 
 Leander s plans. Her bitter grief did not desert 
 her, but neither did that splendid resolution which 
 had formed itself into words on the eventful day. 
 It was to be a struggle for the soul of a man and 
 Helen had her plan of campaign. She was never 
 ignorant of the whereabouts of her recreant hus 
 band and his serpentine charmer. The operatic 
 world has no secret places. So long as Leander 
 and Nagy continued to sing, it mattered not 
 whether the husband wrote business letters to his 
 wife or not, she could always keep herself in 
 formed of their doings. She knew that in Sep 
 tember they would be in Berlin and so she deter 
 mined that Paris would be the center of her cam 
 paign of masterly inactivity. She had her own 
 
 ideas of Leander s deepest soul. She thought she 
 
 240 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 241 
 
 knew it much better than he did and she was 
 going to make an experiment in discovering it to 
 him. So one day in September Mrs. Harley Man 
 ners gasped for breath when she saw Helen pass 
 ing in state along the Avenue de Bois de Bou 
 logne in her car. Mrs. Harley Manners was 
 riding modestly in a taxicab, for she was in Paris 
 for only a few days on her way homeward from 
 a most exciting sojourn in St. Moritz. She was 
 accompanied on this occasion by Mile. Madeleine 
 Piroux, who was singing in a special season at 
 the Opera Comique. 
 
 " Am I dreaming? " asked Mrs. Manners, " or 
 was that Mrs. Baroni who just went by? " 
 
 * You are quite awake, my dear Mrs. Man 
 ners," answered Madeleine with a faint smile. 
 * You have but just arrived in Paris or you 
 would have heard of the coming of Mrs. Baroni." 
 
 "Is Mr. Baroni here?" 
 
 " Oh, no, he is singing in Berlin for the mo 
 ment. Later he goes to Copenhagen, Stockholm, 
 and St. Petersburg. It is to be a brilliant winter 
 season in Russia." 
 
242 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 What! Doesn t he sing in New York this 
 coming winter? " 
 
 " Can it be that you do not know this? It is 
 impossible. It was doubtful even when he started 
 for South America, and while there he came to 
 his decision." 
 
 " I am out of the world," moaned Mrs. Man 
 ners. " But tell me about his wife." 
 
 >l It is given out that she does not wish to 
 travel all over Europe and that particularly the 
 climate of Russia is not for her. Accordingly 
 she remains here. She has taken a splendid house 
 in the Rue de la Faisanderie. She has a corps of 
 servants, two automobiles, and her special courier. 
 She has engaged a famous master of cuisine as 
 chef and a Swiss hotel proprietor as major domo. 
 It is said that she will establish a grand salon." 
 
 " But she cannot live alone in Paris and do 
 this." 
 
 " She is not alone. She has brought with her 
 a most estimable aunt, who is sixty, ugly, and 
 exceedingly correct, but who speaks the most mar 
 velous French." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 243 
 
 " I wonder," said Mrs. Harley Manners mus 
 ingly. 
 
 " You wonder what? " 
 
 " If she has an aunt. I never before heard of 
 this sudden aunt." 
 
 " Nor I, but must we hear of all aunts, you and 
 I? Besides, what matters it? In the world of 
 Paris, if Mrs. Baroni is brilliant and interesting 
 and brings the right people together in her house, 
 she will have no difficulty. All will be well. 
 Here one must be amusing, interesting, or aston 
 ishing. That is all. But she has the key to all 
 doors." 
 
 "Yes? What key is this, my dear Mile. 
 Piroux?" 
 
 " I do not know how it has happened, but there 
 can be no question that she is acquainted with the 
 necessary persons. She has the entree of the 
 houses of the old nobility and of the Republicans. 
 She has been seen already with the Minister of 
 Education and with the head of one of the oldest 
 Bourbon houses. They seemed to be friends of 
 hers. She is on the right path, be assured." 
 
244 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Harley Manners decided that 
 she must at once try to arrange to start for New 
 York on a later steamer, and in the meanwhile she 
 must write a note to dear Mrs. Baroni asking 
 her to luncheon. 
 
 For some reason which she could never quite 
 fathom dear Mrs. Baroni was always otherwise 
 engaged, and Mrs. Harley Manners had to em 
 bark at Cherbourg without having expressed her 
 personal approval of Mrs. Baroni s new depar 
 ture in life. The last time the industrious seeker 
 after musical celebrities saw the tenor s wife she 
 was riding up the Avenue des Champs Elysees 
 with the American ambassador, a personage 
 whom Mrs. Harley Manners herself knew only 
 by sight. And it had been only the previous day 
 that she had beheld Mrs. Baroni in the act of 
 taking tea at the Paillard in the Pre Catalan with 
 a certain Archduke who was celebrated as a 
 physician. At the same table sat a distinguished 
 French painter and an Italian archaeologist. 
 
 Mrs. Harley Manners had succeeded in at 
 tracting the attention of the tenor s wife, and 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 245 
 
 had received a most gracious smile, which was 
 at the same instant a dismissal, so that she had 
 not dared to approach the eminent tea-table. 
 When the tenor s wife went up the noisy Champs 
 Elysees with the Ambassador she did not even see 
 Mrs. Harley Manners. So on the day before her 
 enforced departure for Cherbourg Mrs. Harley 
 Manners, abandoning all reserve, hastened to call 
 upon the charming Mile. Madeleine Piroux in her 
 piquant apartment in the Rue des Petits Pois. 
 Happily the soprano was at home with her faith 
 ful Ponitzky in attendance. 
 
 " It is most heartrending," declared Mrs. Har 
 ley Manners; " but I must positively sail the day 
 after to-morrow. My husband will not exist any 
 longer without me." 
 
 " Paris will miss you," said Madeleine. " Byt 
 it will not be long before most of us are back in 
 New York." 
 
 You will not come before November, I sup 
 pose." 
 
 " No, but it is only five weeks away. I shall 
 be almost on your heels." 
 
246 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " And I at your feet," added Ponitzky. 
 
 " But in the meantime," Mrs. Harley Manners 
 hastened to say, " you will be good enough to 
 take pity on a poor benighted New Yorker, will 
 you not? Write to me, my dear Mile. Piroux, 
 and tell me all the news and gossip of this adora 
 ble Paris; say that you will." 
 
 Madeleine understood perfectly what was ex 
 pected of her, but she had not the slightest ob 
 jection to gratifying the wish of this volatile and 
 superficial woman, who after all had her use in 
 that dreary and prosaic New York, whither one 
 was pitilessly forced to go for so many months 
 to get the imperial dollar. 
 
 " Yes, of a certainty I shall write to you, my 
 dear Mrs. Manners, and you shall know every 
 thing that you can wish to know." 
 
 " You are assuredly the sweetest thing," said 
 Mrs. Manners, rushing forward and dabbing 
 kisses on Madeleine s carnation cheeks. " Good- 
 by, and as soon as you arrive in New York 
 remember that you and M. Ponitzky are to dine 
 with me at once, at once, remember." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 247 
 
 And she evanished still gushing like a mill-dam. 
 Madeleine smiled at Ponitzky. 
 
 " Droll creature, is she not? And most droll 
 when she tries to be like a Frenchwoman. It is 
 amusing." 
 
 But the little soprano remembered her promise, 
 and it was not long before all the Manners circle 
 in New York knew the wondrous stir which the 
 tenor s wife was creating in Paris, a stir which 
 was much larger by the time it reached New York 
 via Mrs. Manners. And when the various mem 
 bers of the opera company returned to Gotham 
 for their season they all had something to say 
 about Mrs. Baroni and her doings. As for the 
 tenor himself, they said little enough, for none of 
 them liked him. His free and frank manners had 
 
 always been offset by his unconcealable egotism. 
 
 * 
 
 Of course in a community of egotists each mem 
 ber finds a hostile force in each of the others, and 
 there is no other community of egotists so thor 
 oughly self-centered as an opera company. 
 
 It was gratifying to those who had friends in 
 New York to tell them about the remarkable 
 
248 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 career which the American woman was making in 
 Parisian society. She had begun by showing her 
 self in public places in the company of people of 
 political, artistic, and scientific fame. The natural 
 outcome was that all Paris was soon telling about 
 her and the sporting set, which inevitably num 
 bered many of the old and idle aristocracy, 
 showed an inclination to take her up. But she 
 would have none of it. She clung to the intel 
 lectual aristocracy, which is, after all, the highest 
 aristocracy of France, and she found an entree 
 into certain houses of the old Faubourg where 
 only the cream of the world can go. 
 
 It is perfectly true that the Americans in Paris 
 were chagrined by the success of this woman, 
 wholly unplaced in American society. They mar 
 veled at her reception. If they had only pos 
 sessed the secret of the beginning they would have 
 marveled still more. Helen had reached Paris 
 armed with only two letters of introduction. That 
 which opened the world to her was written by 
 Dr. Silas Mabon, the distinguished chemist, and 
 it was addressed to one of the forty immortals, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 249 
 
 who chanced also to be the scion of one of the 
 oldest houses of France. 
 
 It was not long before the news of Helen s 
 new departure reached her husband. He and 
 Nagy had completed their Berlin engagement and 
 were singing a " guest " performance in " Car 
 men " in Dresden. They were sitting in a rather 
 gorgeous apartment on the first floor of the Hotel 
 Bellevue, an apartment in which yellow and blue 
 satin brocades vied with one another in riotous 
 German splendor. Leander had just received his 
 letters, forwarded from Paris, and among them 
 was one envelope which contained only clippings 
 from newspapers. These were paragraphs of so 
 cial news recording the doings of Mme. Leandro 
 Baroni, wife of the distinguished tenor, now trav 
 eling in Allemagne. He read them thoughtfully, 
 and, folding them up, was about to put them in 
 his pocket, when Nagy said: 
 
 " Press cuttings, my dear? Who is singing in 
 Paris at this time of the year? " 
 
 " Oh, these are not about singers," he answered 
 evasively. 
 
250 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " You may as well tell me all about it now as 
 later, Leander. You know you are going to tell 
 
 me." 
 
 Leander gazed steadily at her for a few mo 
 ments. He seemed to be taking stock of her atti 
 tude toward him. It had come to be one of quiet 
 possession and assured control. He wondered 
 just how much further it would go. Then he 
 took up the clippings, unfolded them, and blowing 
 a thin spiral of blue smoke from his cigarette, 
 said: 
 
 These cuttings, my dear Nagy, are about my 
 wife." 
 
 " Mon Dieu; so she has become a public 
 woman, has she? What line has she gone in 
 for?" 
 
 " It seems that she has established a brilliant 
 salon in Paris, even at this untoward season of 
 the year. I fancy that when every one has re 
 turned, she is going to be something of a figure." 
 
 " Ah, a Recamier from Fifth Avenue. She 
 should make a success in at least one phase of the 
 character." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 251 
 
 " What do you mean? " asked he. 
 
 " Recamier s success was largely due to the fact 
 that her temperament prevented her from being 
 assailed by scandal. I suppose, too, that when 
 the right time comes that delightful little Studley 
 will be ready to play the role of Chateaubriand. 
 But she will not refuse him, as her predecessor 
 did." 
 
 Leander made no answer. He sat with his 
 eyes fixed upon some far distant scene which his 
 imagination had reconstructed for him. There 
 was a strange look in those eyes, the look of a man 
 who has discovered something and found it pain 
 ful. Nagy watched him for a few moments and 
 said to herself: 
 
 That was a mistake of mine. He remembers 
 the hours when the temperament was permittee! to 
 reveal itself. Those American women, they are 
 not so cold as they seem. They are the children 
 of their own Puritan ancestors and they must al 
 ways act like the Puritans. But they are not cold. 
 They are only slow, that is all. I must make him 
 forget." 
 
252 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Nagy had already begun a process of education. 
 She found Leander an apt pupil. Faculties which 
 had merely lain dormant began to awaken and to 
 work vigorously. He had never known the poign 
 ant grip of beauty upon the soul. He had cher 
 ished the blind American habit of treating aesthetic 
 emotion as something of which one should be 
 ashamed. He had walked through miles of Eu 
 ropean picture galleries in his earlier days and 
 made flippant comments on masterpieces. He 
 had declared that cathedrals were nothing better 
 than exaggerated stone heaps. He had gathered 
 joyfully to himself some one s description of stat 
 ues as " stone dolls." He had regarded the Alps 
 as shade producers for luxurious hotels and the 
 Adriatic as a good bathing resort. But already, 
 under the tutelage of Nagy s brilliant mind and 
 palpitating love for the physically beautiful, he 
 was beginning to enjoy. 
 
 " Come," she said suddenly, " we are going to 
 motor out to Pillnitz and dine there. You shall 
 show me the beauties of the sunset on the Elbe 
 and I shall show you the soul of Nagy Bosanska." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 253 
 
 Lcander smiled. He laid a hand on her shoul 
 der and lightly kissed her hair. 
 
 You will show me your soul, Nagy? Do you 
 think you have kept much of it hidden from me 
 in these months we have been together? " 
 
 " My friend," she answered in a mournful 
 voice; " when I first took you to myself, you could 
 not have seen even the outline of a soul, even if 
 you and it had been alone in the world. You see 
 now perhaps the outline, but nothing more. Of 
 Nagy Bosanska you know only the beauty of her 
 body and the might of her love. But she is for 
 you still a Sphinx and you will never read her. 
 Yet you may perhaps know a little more than you 
 do now." 
 
 " Shall I ever know all, Nagy? " 
 
 " No ; when you know all, you will leave me. I 
 shall no longer enchain you." 
 
 " Nagy, you are very wise, but you are also a 
 fool. I shall adore you always." 
 
 Yet even as he said it his thoughts reverted to 
 his wife and her salon, and he wondered how she 
 had contrived to rise to the surface of that glitter- 
 
254 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 ing sea of Paris. He wondered how she had 
 developed into a force. He did not dream that 
 it had all been accomplished out of a woman s 
 resolution to show her husband that she was 
 greater than his mistress. But Nagy had divined 
 it in an instant. The war was on. At Pillnitz 
 Nagy was determined to win her first victory. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 "TT OU cannot know the soul of Nagy Bo- 
 
 -* sanska," said the Hungarian. 
 
 She was watching the roseate tints of the de 
 clining day dancing in the ripples of the Elbe. She 
 sat opposite Leander at a table on which was the 
 finale of their dinner. She smoked her cigarette, 
 and a few solemn Hausfrau eyes looked upon 
 her with disapproval. Two American women, 
 with the title " tourist " stamped upon them, 
 gazed at her with vulgar curiosity and made re 
 marks about her in strident tones. Like most of 
 their kind, they fancied that no one else under 
 stood their language. Two or three Germans of 
 the better type spoke of her confidentially, and a 
 Polish Jew in the corner stared at her with dis 
 tended eyes. He was the only one who knew 
 her. But Nagy was accustomed to public atten 
 tion. She had merely taken the precaution to see 
 that no one was close enough to overhear her con- 
 
 255 
 
256 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 versation with Baroni and she spoke to him in 
 Italian. 
 
 " I am not sure that I know this soul myself, 
 for it has soundless depths and elusive spaces. 
 But I know much more of it than you know of 
 yours. I have really lived, Baroni, not merely 
 painted a life out of my vain imaginings. I have 
 known joy and sorrow. I have eaten of the fruit 
 of the tree of knowledge and have known the dif 
 ference between good and evil. I have looked it 
 squarely in the face, my friend, and have not 
 blinded myself with a foolish picture, fashioned 
 after the conventions of those who dare not think. 
 I have lived the almost unknown life of an honest 
 woman, who lies to no one, not even herself. I 
 have done what I have done because it was my 
 pleasure to do it, and I have not had to comfort 
 myself with cowardly excuses. I have never sold 
 myself to any man, as your virtuous American 
 maidens do when they marry millionaires. I have 
 never been the mere slave of a man whom I hated, 
 as some pious women are because it is wicked to 
 obtain divorces. I have boldly lived the life that 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 257 
 
 nine-tenths of the women of this world would live 
 if they had the courage to shatter the barriers of 
 convention which men and priests have set up for 
 them. Goethe was a poet indeed when he wrote 
 * The woman soul leadeth us upward and on. 
 This is nonsense. Where, in every instance but 
 one in ten thousand, is the woman soul? Shamed, 
 crushed, trodden into the mire, every instinct of 
 sex and self-respect outraged by forced obedience 
 to some convention of a world utterly sensual and 
 utterly dishonest about it. The only true woman 
 is she who is free of all restrictions, who gives 
 herself as she will, when she will, where she will. 
 All others are shameless and nameless, my dear 
 friend. And the soul of Nagy Bosanska is not 
 the soul of one of those. It is clean and honest 
 and strong because it has always been free, be 
 cause it has looked good and evil squarely in the 
 eyes." 
 
 Nagy paused and gazed again at the rosy lights 
 growing to a deeper crimson on the river below 
 them and Leander fell into a deep thought. A 
 vague unrest had been awakened within him, an 
 
258 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 undefinable something which moved him, but 
 which he could neither place nor name. He 
 groped blindly till Nagy s voice again claimed his 
 attention. 
 
 " I remember a fragrant hollow in the palms 
 of the brown mountains. All around it rose the 
 sheer and rocky heights, like the outer walls of 
 the world; but it was filled with the laughter of 
 sweet waters, floored with a velvet of soft green 
 and roofed with the gentle shade of dark-limbed 
 trees. There we dwelt, my father and mother, 
 my brothers and sisters and I. My father went 
 often away and was long gone, but he always came 
 back with plenty. We stayed there for months, 
 but at length the gipsy spirit could rest no longer. 
 Then we tramped weary miles up and down the 
 great mountain passes. But we always found rest 
 ing places where we remained for months at a 
 time. I do not know whether it was this life that 
 fashioned my soul. I do know that I, too, tramp 
 up and down the passes of life, rest for a time in 
 green valleys, and then press forward again. 
 
 " Well, let all that go. The time came when 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 259 
 
 I joined in the open air festivals of my people. 
 I was the maddest of all the dancers. The wine 
 of the Czardas flowed in my veins. None so 
 languorous and melting in the lassu as Nagy, none 
 so swift and flame-like in the friss. And then I 
 began to play upon the cembalon and the guitar 
 and to sing. And soon it was said that in all 
 the Hohe Tatra there was no voice like that of 
 Nagy not Bosanska I had another name then. 
 " All went well enough till my father, eager to 
 get money, took us all to the borders of the Lake 
 of Csorba. It was there that Ferencz, a gipsy, fell 
 in love with me. I remember him because he was 
 the first who told me. I am sure now that there 
 were others before him, but I did not know then 
 what was the matter with them. I accepted 
 Ferencz s love without any question, because I 
 wanted it. It was mine and I took it. I know 
 now that it was the one great love that I have 
 ever had. I know now that I loved him. But I 
 was a fool then, because I was only a girl, and 
 girls know nothing about anything. Sometimes 
 girls really love, but they do not know it. Some- 
 
260 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 times they think they love when they are only 
 excited by vanity. Men do not know love till they 
 are at least thirty. Women cannot even dream 
 what it is before they are twenty-five. And I am 
 only twenty-seven now. Then I was seventeen. 
 It is a thousand years since then, and I am im 
 mortal. 
 
 " Well, at Csorba are hotels, and though we 
 remained in the mountain above the lake, the 
 visitors found us out. At least one did. I was 
 singing and my voice was floating away out over 
 the lake. Suddenly a man broke through the 
 bushes. He stared at me. I stared at him. He 
 was not young and he was ugly, but his face had 
 power. I was afraid of him. He told me that 
 my voice was worth a fortune. Shall I tell you 
 all that he said? It is not worth while. I fell 
 under the spell of his power. I thought I loved 
 him. In a week he carried me away secretly to 
 Vienna to study, and also to be his mistress. 
 Ferencz shot himself at the door of my empty 
 tent. I did not know it then. I was still a girl. 
 I knew nothing. I only wished to enjoy, to revel 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 261 
 
 in the splendors of the new world which had 
 opened itself to me, and in the passion of this 
 man of strange power. The intendant of the first 
 opera house in which I was asked to sing made 
 love to me and I laughed at him. Then my mas 
 ter for that was what he was beat me. Yes, 
 Leander, you need not start like that. I, Nagy 
 Bosanska, have been beaten like a dog and have 
 cringed before a man. But he was a devil. He 
 wished me to sell myself. He said that only thus 
 could I succeed in the theater. That is why when 
 my education was completed and I could sing as 
 you have heard me and speak six languages and 
 had steeped my mind in poetry and art, I stole 
 out one black night alone and left Vienna. I did 
 not know what I was going to do. I meant only 
 to escape from that devil. And I did. I found 
 
 a train going southward over the Semmering. I 
 
 > 
 
 went to Venice and thence further southward and 
 at last I came to Palermo, and there I paused. 
 I sought an interview with the musical director. 
 I was beautiful. He received me. I could sing; 
 he listened. He made love to me. I laughed at 
 
262 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 him. He was dazed and he engaged me. I 
 changed my name to Elena Tataria. I kept that 
 name while I remained in Palermo. It was after 
 I had left that city that I read in a newspaper of 
 the death of my former tyrant. Then my heart 
 no longer shook within me. I resumed my own 
 given name, Nagy, and added Bosanska, for I am 
 a Hungarian patriot, and I will have no name that 
 is not of my own soil." 
 
 Nagy paused once more. The sun had long 
 before passed below the hills. The lambent twi 
 light of the north was filling the sky. Here and 
 there lights winked in the windows of distant 
 houses. Boats moving on the river cast black 
 shadows. Waiters turned on electric lamps in the 
 darker corners of the terrace. Crowds sur 
 rounded Nagy and Leander, but the wise ober- 
 kellner saw that none came too close to them. 
 He had learned from the Polish Jew who Nagy 
 was and he foresaw trinkgeld in marks, not pfen- 
 nige. Leander ordered allasch for himself and 
 the soprano. Then she continued with her story. 
 
 " I shall not bury you under all the details of 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 263 
 
 my life. But this I will tell you. I have studied 
 myself. I am a thing of flame, as a true gipsy 
 should be. I am blown hither and thither by the 
 wind of circumstance. I sometimes smolder and 
 sometimes blaze, but I never die. I have sounded 
 all the depths of human passion and I have fath 
 omed the meaning of the human heart. And 
 always I have turned from it to Nature. You, 
 my dear Baroni, have never learned to be a part 
 of creation. You dwell by yourself, shut up 
 within the narrow walls of your own ego. You 
 are all-sufficient. That is why you are not an 
 artist." 
 
 Leander moved uneasily in his chair and 
 seemed about to speak, but Nagy checked him 
 with a gesture. 
 
 " Oh, Providence, vouchsafe me one day of 
 pure joy! Long has the echo of perfect felicity 
 been absent from my heart. When, oh when, 
 oh, Thou divine one, shall I feel it again in na 
 ture s temple and in man s? Never? Ah, that 
 would be too hard! 
 
 These extraordinary sentences flowed out in 
 
264 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Nagy s deepest tones. Leander stared at her. 
 
 " Surely, Nagy, those words are not your 
 own," he said. 
 
 " No," she answered, reverently inclining her 
 beautiful head, " they are Beethoven s. Note, 
 Baroni, my friend, he unites nature s temple with 
 man s. Beethoven was an artist. He knew that 
 the education of a soul must be sought in the 
 study of nature and life. You have studied 
 neither. You have not even seen them. Your 
 eyes are turned inward. You see only Baroni, 
 and only the surface of that." 
 
 " You are rather hard on me, Nagy," he said 
 with a deprecatory smile. " I have seen you." 
 
 She laughed aloud. 
 
 " My dear Baroni, I have already told you that 
 you have seen nothing except my surface. I have 
 seen your soul. And I have taken a fancy to save 
 it. For it is in deep peril. The soul that sleep- 
 eth, it is lost. When I began to sing I sang as 
 you do, with my voice. I had no difficulty in 
 getting success that way. But I cared nothing for 
 success. I cared only for my own joy in living. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 265 
 
 I was battling always with a sorrow, like the 
 great master, Beethoven. Even I, the poor singer, 
 suffered the pangs of disenchantment. First of 
 all, I woke to know that I had thrown away the 
 priceless jewel of a real love, a love which would 
 have changed the whole nature of my life. If I 
 had become the wife of Ferencz, I would have 
 stayed in the mountains and would never have 
 learned the horrors of the world. I could never 
 have learned that men are satyrs and women De- 
 lilahs. I would have borne children and obeyed 
 my lord and master Ferencz and kissed his knees 
 for love. I would have dwelt in the pit of ig 
 norance, but I would have had the love of the 
 only man who ever saw my soul; for he did see 
 it. And we two would have grown together to 
 be as great as the old Pagan gods and the earth 
 would have been our garden. All that I threw 
 away because I was a girl and a fool when I saw 
 the vision of the world and all the wonder that 
 would be. But the soul of Nagy Bosanska was 
 not born to perish. Alone it has triumphed. It 
 has grown. I have lived. I am a power." 
 
266 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Leander smiled one of his indulgent smiles. He 
 enjoyed hearing Nagy boast of this mysterious 
 power, although he could not comprehend what 
 she meant by it. 
 
 " It seems to me, Nagy," he said, " that I have 
 the advantage of you. I, too, am a power and 
 the world is at my feet and I suffer nothing." 
 
 " By solemn vision and bright silver dream 
 His infancy was nurtured. Every sight 
 And sound from the vast earth and ambient air 
 Sent to his heart its choicest impulses. 
 The fountains of divine philosophy 
 Fled not his thirsting lips: and all of great 
 Or good or lovely which the lovely past 
 In truth or fable consecrates he felt 
 And knew. " 
 
 Nagy chanted the lines in flute-like tones and 
 fixed a Delphic gaze on Leander as she did so. 
 
 " What on earth is that, Nagy? " he asked. 
 
 " Some lines from a poem by one of your Eng 
 lish poets, Shelley by name. Read * Alastor, Ba- 
 roni. And better still, read Byron s * Manfred. 7 
 I am both. Both should have been women. Men 
 do not feel as they felt." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 267 
 
 " Nagy, you talk wonderfully. You ought to 
 write a novel." 
 
 " Novels are written by babblers, and read by 
 children. But life is not a fairy tale. And now 
 I tell you once more that you will awaken. Give 
 me your hand and cross my palm with silver. The 
 gipsy will read your fortune." 
 
 " Oh, come, Nagy, that s all nonsense, you 
 know," he said, laughing. 
 
 " Scoff not at that which you do not understand. 
 Do as I bid you." 
 
 Still laughing, he drew a mark from his pocket 
 and placed it in her palm. She looked swiftly 
 at his hand and then gazed intently into his 
 eyes. 
 
 " I see a storm. The strength that is sufficient 
 unto itself will be shattered, but out of the wreck 
 will rise another strength, which will be as great 
 as the faith of a child, and it will rule. I, Na gy 
 Bosanska, the gipsy, have spoken." 
 
 There was a moment of intense silence between 
 them, while Leander felt vaguely the throbbings 
 of some strange power within him. Then Nagy 
 
268 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 leaned back in her chair and burst into a low ripple 
 of exquisite laughter. 
 
 " Come," she said; "let us go. You are still 
 a fool, my friend." 
 
 They rode back through the soft, starry Sep 
 tember night almost without a word. Nagy, pro 
 found, Delphic Nagy, permitted her spell to work. 
 She knew that the revelation which she had 
 made had powerfully affected her lover. He was 
 sunk in thought. Ever and anon he glanced fur 
 tively at her and in the glance were passion, adora 
 tion, wonder, worship. Nagy read the swift 
 glances in the dim light of the stars. She knew 
 that she had drawn him closer to her with a new 
 and fervent interest. She was certain that the 
 victory was hers. His feeble curiosity in regard 
 to his wife would vanish. He would go forward 
 to St. Petersburg, not back to Paris. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Helen waited in vain for some sign that her 
 campaign in the French capital had yielded her a 
 victory. When she read of the continued public 
 successes of Leander and Nagy, she knew that she 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 269 
 
 had lost. But later she fell a prey to a consuming 
 hunger to see her husband s face, to hear his voice 
 once more. And when the time had come, she 
 traveled southward. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 \ WINTER S snows cover the workings of 
 -* *- many strange forces of nature. Among 
 other things which can develop in the dark months 
 are the impulses of a human heart. Leander and 
 Nagy sang together in Berlin and then traveled 
 northward into the land of the Little Father. The 
 splendors of St. Petersburg were new to them, 
 but they conquered that capital just as they had 
 conquered others before they saw it. The bril 
 liant and amiable Russians made much of them. 
 They went to Moscow and stood in the low- 
 vaulted chapel where Ivan the Terrible had sat 
 in the dark corner and marked his victims and 
 where Napoleon had afterward slept. They 
 heard the wondrous music of the great choir in 
 the Church of the Annunciation. They saturated 
 themselves in the marvels of the Tartar city. 
 
 And perhaps it was here that something began 
 
 to develop within Leander. He knew not what it 
 
 270 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 271 
 
 was, but for some reason the words of Nagy 
 began to have a new meaning for him. He was 
 continually lost in amazement at the breadth and 
 depth of her learning. In St. Petersburg she 
 spoke to the people in the streets in their own 
 language. In the Cathedral of St. Isaak she told 
 Leander the significance of the text of a mass. In 
 Moscow she explained to him the Oriental archi 
 tecture. She went out into the country with him 
 and she told him what the peasants were saying 
 and doing. Belated once in a driving snow, she 
 directed their driver to stop at a small inn by the 
 roadside and entered without hesitation a grimy, 
 smoky room, peopled by low-browed, sulky-look 
 ing peasants. It was plain that they resented the 
 presence of the two aristocrats. Leander did not 
 like the appearance of things, but Nagy smiled 
 and addressed the peasants. 
 
 She called them little brothers and asked them 
 if they knew a certain fable of Kryloff about a 
 swallow and the wolves who fed it when it was 
 hungry. They declared that they did not. They 
 knew all the fables of Kryloff, but they had not 
 
272 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 heard this one. Thereupon Nagy told it to them 
 and they figuratively took her to their hearts, 
 called her little mother, and vowed she should 
 have all that was in the house. And so she and 
 Leander were feasted. And afterward she asked 
 for a balalaika and when they brought it to her, 
 she played her own accompaniment while she sang 
 them a wondrous song about the Kamarinsky 
 peasant. When she and Leander drove away, the 
 peasants shouted blessings after them. 
 
 " How comes it that you knew one of their 
 own fables which they themselves did not know? " 
 asked Leander after the inn was far behind 
 them. 
 
 " Oh, sweet innocent, there is no such fable. 
 I invented it for our need." 
 
 " And you know the fables of Kryloff so inti 
 mately that you can imitate them well enough to 
 deceive Russian peasants! Nagy, you re a 
 wizard." 
 
 And so day after day the influence of this 
 unique nature worked upon Leander and insensi 
 bly he began to respond to it. It was in Moscow, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 273 
 
 too, that he began to perceive that his mind had 
 focused itself upon a strange, if somewhat intan 
 gible notion, to wit, that there was something in 
 the public estimation of Nagy different from that 
 in which he was held. 
 
 At first he rejected the thought as preposterous. 
 Then he temporarily comforted himself with the 
 reflection that people naturally bestowed more at 
 tention on a beautiful and seductive woman than 
 on a man. This theory quieted his mind for 
 a long time. He said to himself: 
 
 " Of course Nagy does sing admirably, but it 
 is not so much her singing as her temperament 
 and her beauty that set the house afire." 
 
 But in the course of a few weeks Leander found 
 that this comfort also was denied him, for he 
 had a strange and indefinable feeling in his own 
 breast when Nagy rose to some of her most tem 
 pestuous outpours of dramatic expression. Le 
 ander would not admit it in words, but he was 
 swayed by the artistic force of the woman. And 
 then he suddenly asked himself a pertinent ques 
 tion : 
 
274 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 u I have been singing with Nagy a long time. 
 How is it that I never felt this before? " 
 
 And that question he could not answer, for he 
 had not yet learned enough about self-analysis to 
 perceive that it was his own slow and secret spirit 
 ual growth which enabled him to see things hith 
 erto hidden from him. Nagy s work was begin 
 ning to bear fruit. The sleeping soul was 
 approaching its hour of awakening. And so 
 through all the winter months the work went on. 
 The germs of spiritual force, which had so long 
 been dormant in Leander, began to vitalize under 
 the snows of a Russian winter. The tenor began 
 to have new and strange moods. At times he 
 would shut himself up in solitary reflection. 
 These periods were short at first, but gradually 
 grew longer. But each of them was followed by 
 a mood of tumultuous energy. The waves were 
 rising in the stormy spirit. 
 
 When the Russian engagement had ended the 
 two singers journeyed slowly southward. It was 
 in April that they appeared as guests in a few 
 performances at the Teatro San Carlo, Naples. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 275 
 
 Leander s restlessness had grown and Nagy was 
 studying him closely. Sometimes he plunged into 
 wildest passion, as if seeking to steep his soul in 
 oblivion. Again he became cool and restrained 
 in demeanor. Nagy, like Venus in " Tannhauser," 
 strove to weave anew the spell of her enchant 
 ments. And he, like Tannhauser, would from 
 time to time seize his spiritual harp and sing her 
 praises. But the ice was becoming thin and Nagy 
 had a faint cold fear at her heart, for even as 
 Venus deeply loved Tannhauser, so she had come 
 to love Leander. 
 
 Their first appearance together was made in 
 Tosca." Here, of course, the great glory of 
 the evening fell to the soprano, but there was a 
 singular burst of emotion through the house at 
 the opening of the third act. Leander sang the 
 recitatives apathetically, but when he came to the 
 cantabile, the first words, " Oh, dolci baci, o Ian- 
 guide carezze," seemed to open some secret spring 
 in his soul. For the first time in his entire op 
 eratic career he did something more than sing the 
 air with tonal perfection and exquisitely finished 
 
276 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 nuance. He published its meaning. He became 
 really eloquent. The house rang with plaudits. 
 He seemed unable to comprehend the reason. He 
 sank back into his former apathy and finished his 
 role mechanically. He nearly ruined the duet 
 with Nagy by reason of his icy coldness. The 
 Neapolitans almost shouted " Bah " at him. If 
 he had not been Baroni, they would surely have 
 done so, but they forgave him because his phrasing 
 was perfect. 
 
 Leander went back to the hotel after the per 
 formance quite tired out. " Tosca " had wearied 
 him. Two nights later he was to sing Don Jose 
 to Nagy s Carmen. The very thought of it al 
 most sickened him. He wondered if he might 
 not be suddenly indisposed. Then in an instant 
 his egotism began to push itself forward. Why 
 should he not sing? Nagy had been enjoying all 
 the success. As Don Jose he was at his best. He 
 would sing. He would triumph over Nagy, espe 
 cially in the last act. He would show her that he, 
 too, could have temperament when it was neces 
 sary. He smiled as he thought of the splendors 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 277 
 
 of his voice and style in the flower song. Yes, 
 in Don Jose he would teach his mistress a lesson. 
 
 He was early at the theater. He did not see 
 the assembling of the audience. The Piazza San 
 Ferdinando and the Strada San Carlo were 
 crowded with equipages and pedestrians. The 
 nobility and the proletariat jostled one another 
 in the streets. The boxes and the galleries were 
 packed. The fame of the interpretations of the 
 two forestieri had spread through the town, de 
 spite the honorable endeavors of the local musical 
 journals to convince every one that only Italians 
 could disclose the real contents of Bizet s work. 
 
 The first act went with a fine vitality. Leander 
 had an excellent companion in the Italian Micaela 
 and the duet was beautifully sung. The applause 
 was tumultuous. Nagy gained no more for her 
 
 Habanera. She was happy, for she rejoiced in 
 
 > 
 
 Leander s success. He told her that he rejoiced 
 in hers. He lied. He had a canker at heart, 
 something that he could not explain. The curtain 
 rose on the second act. More people had entered 
 the house. Certain persons of distinction who 
 
278 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 always went late had come to occupy their boxes. 
 The dance was intoxicating. Nagy flung herself 
 into its closing measures with all the sinuous grace 
 and abandon given to her by her gipsy nature. To 
 her it was but another form of the friss of the 
 Czardas. The Escamillo was a shouting Italian, 
 who tore the Toreador song to tatters to the in 
 expressible delight of the gallery. Everything 
 went with a swing till Nagy had hurled the inevi 
 table chair up the stage and pitched the accouter- - 
 ments of the discomfited Don Jose at him, bidding 
 him to begone. And then Leander poised himself 
 for the triumph of the flower song. Nagy sank 
 into a seat and he bent over her as he let the 
 opening measures flow from his throat in those 
 entrancing tones which had mastered two conti 
 nents. And at this moment he looked past Nagy 
 into the lower box on the right of the stage and 
 full into the eyes of his wife. 
 
 The phrase which he was singing broke in two 
 in the middle. He felt his breath rush from him 
 in a sharp, convulsive gasp. He made a desperate 
 effort to regain control of it. A fiery red cloud 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 279 
 
 rushed before his eyes. He threw his hands over 
 them. He hurled his diaphragm upward with all 
 the strength of his will. No sound came. He 
 heard strange indefinable noises in the house. 
 They sounded like hisses and execrations. There 
 is no audience in the world so swift to proclaim 
 its opinions as that of San Carlo. Leander 
 straightened himself up. He dragged his gaze 
 away from that marvelous, proud, beautiful face, 
 which had burst upon him like a vision from para 
 dise. The next instant the fiery red cloud blinded 
 him and blackness followed it. He fell prone 
 upon the stage in a faint. 
 
 Wild confusion followed. The curtain was 
 rung down and Nagy strove with her own lovely 
 hands to gather him into her arms. Men hurried 
 upon the stage and the tenor was carried to his 
 dressing-room. A physician was summoned. A 
 quick examination showed that nothing serious 
 had befallen the singer. A touch of vertigo, that 
 was all, the physician declared. Oh, yes, he would 
 assuredly be able to finish the performance. Le 
 ander, who had recovered his consciousness by 
 
280 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 this time, looked up and smiled. Something of 
 the bulldog feeling of college days came back to 
 him. He murmured: 
 
 " I shall finish. No fear that I shall not." 
 Nagy bent over him with cooing words, but he 
 quietly waved her away. The stage manager went 
 before the curtain and told the audience that the 
 great Signer Baroni had unfortunately been at 
 tacked by vertigo, but that in a few minutes, a very 
 few minutes, he would be able to continue the, 
 performance. If the highly honorable signoras 
 and signers would kindly be patient, it would be 
 well. Meanwhile Leander had whispered to his 
 valet to clear the room. The physician had done 
 all that he could, but there were still several per 
 sons in the little space. Leander wished to be 
 alone. Every one went out except Nagy. She 
 of course remained. Leander sat up and took a 
 drink of brandy. Then he gazed at Nagy with 
 a long, thoughtful gaze. She returned the look 
 with melting eyes. Leander studied the eyes as 
 if they were some strange freak of nature which 
 had never before come within the sphere of his 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 281 
 
 experience. Nagy was suddenly conscious of a 
 cold feeling at heart. Leander rose. 
 
 " Come," he said, " let us go and finish the act. 
 We have played our little tragedy out to the end. 
 Now we must play that for which the audience is 
 waiting." 
 
 They returned to the stage. The curtain was 
 raised again. The audience applauded wildly. 
 The orchestra resumed at the beginning of the 
 flower song. And this time Leander sang it to the 
 end, but as he had never sung it before in all his 
 remarkable career. Not once during the delivery 
 of the song did he look into the eyes of Nagy, 
 but always past them into that box on the right of 
 the stage. And there was something poignant in 
 the quality of his tone, something which seemed 
 new. When he sang the last words, " Lo schiavo 
 suo, Carmen, mi fe," he was still looking past 
 Nagy into that box. Helen sat erect and jus-t* a 
 trifle pale. When Leander had fallen, she had 
 turned swiftly to the Duchess of Fiesole, whose 
 guest she was, and said some words. An at 
 tendant had been despatched to the stage with an 
 
282 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 inquiry and the answer had been reassuring. The 
 act ended in a storm of applause. Leander ap 
 peared with Nagy time and time again to receive 
 the approval of the audience, but he would not 
 look into her face. Nor did he look into the box. 
 Now that the lights were turned up, he stared with 
 a fixed gaze into the center of the house. When 
 the recalls had ended, the tenor dropped the hand 
 of his associate, turned his back upon her, and 
 walked quickly to his dressing-room to change his 
 costume for the third act. But Nagy was close 
 upon his heels. Panting and flushed, she made 
 a swift sign to the valet, who slipped from the 
 room, and left her alone with Leander. 
 
 4 You are a master to-night, my friend," she 
 said. 
 
 Leander, who had not noted her movements, 
 wheeled and confronted her with glowing eyes. 
 
 " You devil from hell," he said in tense, low 
 tones; " it was you who led me away from my 
 faith." 
 
 " Your faith, my dear Baroni? Really, that is 
 something of which I never heard before." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 283 
 
 If you value your life, don t try sarcasm with 
 
 me." 
 
 There was something in his eyes that made 
 Nagy for the first time shrink from him. But 
 the flaming little gipsy had not bowed her spirit 
 before a man s since she trembled before the man 
 of power who beat her. She bravely smiled up 
 into Leander s face and murmured: 
 
 " Mon ami, I mean no sarcasm. I love 
 you." 
 
 " You love me! You!" 
 
 " Yes, I. Dare you hint that I do not? I have 
 taught you to see your own soul." 
 
 " My soul ! Great God ! " he cried. " I have 
 a soul and where is it? What have I done with 
 it?" 
 
 " You are ungrateful, my dear Leander. Do 
 you regret that you are now wiser? When I took 
 you to my heart you were a block, a dolt, a blind, 
 dumb thing that knew only itself. You have made 
 some progress, but you are still only at the bor 
 ders of discovery. You are as a little puppy that 
 has just opened its eyes and seen the glare of the 
 
284 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 sun. You are dazzled by new thoughts. You 
 
 are- 
 
 " Silence, you Jezebel! I am what I am, and 
 much of that is what you have made me. You 
 prate to me of soul. But you have wound round 
 me the damnable bonds of sense. You have made 
 of me a slave of desire. You have steeped me in 
 the passion of the flesh. But at last I see myself 
 as I am. I am ashamed to the heart s core. I cry 
 for liberty. I will have it! " 
 
 ( Tannhauser, Act I, scene i, " said Nagy 
 bitterly. * You wish to go back to your pale and 
 holy Elizabeth, my " 
 
 " Damn you! " he cried; " don t you dare to 
 speak of her. She is not for us to discuss. I am 
 shut out of her life and well you know it. You 
 have done that. But I shall be out of yours, too." 
 
 Nagy gazed at him intently. Could it be that 
 in awakening his soul, which was so assuredly 
 stirring to life, she had robbed herself of his 
 passion? No, he was not ready for that. She 
 raised her face with a great yearning upon it and 
 said: 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 285 
 
 " Baroni, I love you. You have no right to 
 speak to me as you do. If I took you, remember 
 that I also gave myself." 
 
 " As you had done a dozen times before," he 
 interrupted bitterly. 
 
 " Generous words, are they not? But I for 
 give. I shall not give you up." 
 
 " Go, go ! " he cried; " you cannot keep me." 
 
 He thrust her from the room and slammed the 
 door behind her. With feverish fingers he tore 
 open his garments and began to change his cos 
 tume for the third act. His dresser, finding that 
 the soprano had departed, returned to help him. 
 He began the act in a mood of perfect composure. 
 He was dimly conscious of that strange new power 
 which he had lately felt within him, but he could 
 not grasp it, he could not define it, he could not 
 control it. He only knew that something above 
 and beyond him was urging him, he knew not 
 whither. Until he found himself facing Nagy in 
 the last scene of the act he was coldly imperative 
 in his treatment of the role. His struggle with 
 Escamillo had in it something of contempt. But 
 
286 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 when he once more saw Nagy, this time in the 
 habiliments of a gipsy which sat upon her with 
 native grace and deviltry, his wrath again rose 
 within him. The people on the stage started in 
 astonishment at the new timbre which his tones 
 assumed when he delivered the line: 
 
 " Ah! bada a te, Carmen, stanco son di soffrir. 
 
 Still Nagy lived in her role and her pitying 
 glance at Micaela was equaled by her affectation 
 of scorn of Don Jose. But the torrent within 
 Leander burst its bonds when he rushed down the 
 stage and seized Carmen by the throat, forcing 
 her to the ground and thundering in her ears the 
 words : 
 
 " E forzare tisapro 
 
 A subir la sorte ingrata 
 Che due vite insiem lego. 
 
 He shook Nagy as if she were a leaf and almost 
 flattened her face against the boards of the stage. 
 She cried out in choked tones with the pain he 
 inflicted. The people on the stage started for- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 287 
 
 ward, for they saw there was something more 
 than acting. They understood that an intense 
 tragedy of real life was exhibited in its last 
 agonized scene. They dimly felt that here was 
 something greater than the familiar liaison of the 
 opera house. There was something strange and 
 potent and appalling in the relation between this 
 Hungarian, who came of a race of lawless men 
 and women, and this American, who was an illeg 
 itimate son of a nation of money grubbers. The 
 house was aroused to extravagant demonstrations. 
 Across the footlights it looked like a brilliantly 
 realistic piece of acting and the audience was as 
 tonished at the vigor of the hitherto cold Amer 
 icano. 
 
 But Nagy was not deceived. Crushed, dishev 
 eled, breathless, she knew that her dominion over 
 him was gone forever. She had tried to show 
 him his soul and he had begun to see the light. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 TT THEN the curtain had fallen on the final 
 ^ scene of the most remarkable performance 
 of " Carmen " within the memory of Neapolitans 
 Leander tore off the rags of the costume, and 
 breathing a profound sigh, said: 
 
 " That was my last Don Jose. I shall never be 
 able to sing the accursed part again." 
 
 He left the theater quickly and alone. Nagy 
 might find her own way to the hotel or to Avernus. 
 He wished only that he might never again look 
 into the baleful green eyes or scent the seductive 
 perfume of her raven hair. She had a horrible 
 mastery of his senses. He knew it, and yet he felt 
 that the hour of his liberation had come. Nagy 
 had spoken much of souls. She dreamed of a 
 love in which the perfect agony of physical pas 
 sion would be united to that celestial mingling of 
 spiritual natures which poets sang. Leander knew 
 
 now that this was the only real love, that this 
 
 288 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 289 
 
 was the greatest thing in the world, the thing 
 which raised men to heights beyond those occu 
 pied even by angels. And he knew, too, that he 
 was unfit for it, that he had been as Tannhauser, 
 wallowing in the miry depths of sensuality. Free 
 dom, freedom ! That he must have. And yet he 
 hesitated to face Nagy alone in their apartments 
 at the hotel. 
 
 The night was soft and mild and a young April 
 moon swam in the whitecapped billows of an in 
 digo sky. It was warm and grateful air that sang 
 sweetly out of the hills. Leander hailed a cab, 
 an open one, and told the cocchiere to drive him 
 out to the Trattoria Pallino. Leander had no 
 fear about entering the strictly Italian resorts at 
 night. He knew the people, their language, and 
 their customs. And on this night he wished to 
 be where none of his adulators would discover 
 him. 
 
 A score of people were in the place when he 
 entered. He was not recognized. He sat in a 
 half-dark corner and ate his supper silently. 
 Thought hounded him, keen, cutting, aching 
 
2 9 o THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 thought. He saw again the pure lines of that 
 noble face which had gazed at him out of the 
 Fiesole box. He realized how he had brought 
 shame and sorrow upon Helen. He knew that she 
 had given him a love more splendid than anything 
 which could ever enter the much-vaunted " soul 
 of Nagy Bosanska." He knew that she had be 
 stowed upon him a grand passion which his un 
 developed spirit had not known how to compre 
 hend. But now it was too late. He had placed 
 between her and himself an impassable gulf. She 
 had said that she would take no action, but that 
 was only the resolution of the first hours of her 
 desertion. Doubtless the time would come when 
 she would be eager to obtain her freedom. Per 
 haps she might find consolation in that newspaper 
 fool. He seemed to be a great friend of hers. 
 
 Well, whatever she did, it would be right. He, 
 Leander, certainly had no more claim upon her. 
 She had not been able to enter into his artistic 
 sphere and he had not grasped the beauty and 
 bliss of her self-effacement in the love she gave 
 him. It was well as it was. He would continue 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 291 
 
 to go his way and she would go hers. And then 
 he broke down and hid his face in his hands. For 
 he knew that in spite of everything he still loved 
 her, and would have given his soul to have her 
 again at his side. He lifted his head, for he was 
 dimly aware that the Italians were watching him 
 furtively. He called the waiter. 
 
 " Ho mal di testa," he said; " il mio conto." 
 He paid his bill, and, with a polite u Buona 
 sera " to the assembly, left the place. He rode 
 slowly back to his hotel. He hoped that Nagy 
 had by this time retired and would be sound 
 asleep. He stole into his own room, which was 
 separated from hers by a small salon. He sat 
 down and smoked a cigarette. Thought still bur 
 dened him. He knew not what he ought to do. 
 His mind was in a confusion. His spirit was 
 shaken to its center. He undressed and got into 
 his pajamas, turned out the lights, and stood look 
 ing out into the moonlit night. He could see the 
 dim outlines of Ischia away out on the sea line 
 at his right and the rugged back of Capri looming 
 on the left. Here and there a shadowy sail 
 
292 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 showed where the night fisherman was at his toil. 
 
 " Out yonder peace, peace," murmured the 
 tenor, as he leaned against the casement. 
 
 He heard a sound as of a gentle sigh near him, 
 and, turning, saw the figure of Nagy in the center 
 of his room. He stared at her and caught his 
 breath. Then he said in a low, hard tone: 
 
 " Go back to your own room." 
 
 " Not till I have said a word to you. My 
 friend, you were very brutal with me on the stage 
 to-night, but I forgive you, for you were an 
 noyed." 
 
 He remained silent, gazing at her coldly. She 
 could feel the chill of it. 
 
 " You are unhappy, are you not? But you did 
 not mean all those things which you said to me at 
 the theater to-night. You called me a devil. You 
 said that I had put your soul in torment. You 
 were vexed; but you did not mean all that." 
 
 " I meant every word and every act," he said 
 in the same hard tone. 
 
 Nagy shivered. The conviction which had 
 come upon her at the end of the third act of the 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 293 
 
 opera that she had lost her power over him as 
 sailed her with renewed force. But she would 
 make one more struggle. She stretched her arms 
 out toward him and moved slowly forward, with 
 the sinuous undulations of her beautiful form only 
 half hidden by the slight drapery which she had 
 thrown around it, and laid her hands upon his 
 shoulders. Then she drew herself to him till she 
 was so close that her breath fanned his cheek, 
 while she murmured: 
 
 " Leander, my love, my love, if I have given 
 you any suffering, let me try to atone for it. You 
 must, you must. It is my right. It is the right of 
 my great love for you." 
 
 The tenor stood quite moveless and his hands 
 remained folded behind his back. He looked at 
 her calmly and steadily, though within him there 
 still rose from time to time faint waves of that 
 old thirst of the blood, which had consumed trie 
 dry dust of his brain and transformed the once 
 gentle current of his veins into fire. But he moved 
 not an inch toward her. He regarded her ivory 
 arms and her swelling bosom with unflickering 
 
294 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 eyes. He knew perfectly now that what he had 
 felt for her was not a real love. 
 
 " Go back to your own room, Nagy. You are 
 fighting against the inevitable. I cannot speak to 
 you as I would, but it is your due that I should 
 at least try." 
 
 He paused a moment as if gathering his forces 
 for the last blow, and then in the same low, cold, 
 hard voice he continued: 
 
 " I believe that you speak the truth when you 
 tell me that you have loved me. I am shamed 
 by my own knowledge. You have not made me 
 suffer, Nagy, but I must make you. I must con 
 fess that I have never given you what you have 
 given me. I have taken, like a man, all that you 
 laid before me. You have done for me more 
 than any one did before you. You told me many, 
 many wonderful truths. I was asleep. You 
 awakened me. You have led me through mar 
 velous paths, into splendid heights. But now I 
 am in the valley and the way is not plain. But 
 one thing I do know, and that one thing I must 
 tell you. It is the only honest thing I have done, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 295 
 
 Nagy, when I tell you that I have never given you 
 what you have given me. I have loved your 
 beauty, I have gone mad with your passion, but 
 I have only been a primal savage man, Nagy, and 
 it is all over. I am sorry; I wish I were worthy 
 of you, but I am not. You are a thousand times 
 better than I am. I tell you only the ugly truth 
 when I say that now I have nothing at all to give 
 you. Everything is ended. I have no longer the 
 right to look upon your beauty. Go back to your 
 
 own room." 
 
 With an incredibly swift movement she glided 
 backward several feet and gathered her draperies 
 about her as if they closed the world between 
 him and her. She stood a moment like an antique 
 statue. Then with a dry sob she wheeled and 
 passed into her own chamber. Leander slowly 
 turned once more to the window, leaned against 
 the casement, and looked out upon the night and 
 the sea. 
 
 " Out yonder peace, peace," he said. 
 
 Before the next evening the news had spread 
 through Naples that Signor Baroni s indisposition 
 
296 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 of the previous night had proved to be sufficient 
 after all to put an end to his activities. He would 
 sing no more that season. In fact it was said that 
 he had already left the city on a steamer of the 
 Servizi Marittimi bound for Constantinople and 
 Odessa. 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 , really, it is quite too much for any one 
 to endure," declared Mrs. Harley Man 
 ners, as she purred in her seat at the first general 
 rehearsal of the season. You know, I have al 
 ways disliked having a Monday night box, for 
 that society set will not tolerate any of the great 
 artistic works. But, of course, you know, what 
 is one to do? It was always the night on which 
 that adorable Baroni sang, and one just simply 
 had to hear him, you understand. So I have 
 always had my Monday night box, and so, don t 
 you see, they keep it for me from season to sea 
 son, and what am I to do? I naturally have to 
 take it. But I can t endure that society set. They 
 are such stupid people. They have no real culture 
 and no ideals at all." 
 
 Philip Studley listened to her with commendable 
 patience. Mrs. Manners had passed through 
 
 many experiences since the memorable autumn 
 
 297 
 
298 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 when she had returned from Paris, dazed at the 
 sudden blaze of Mrs. Baroni s glory. Less than 
 a week after she had reached home, her husband 
 had quietly curled up in his morning bath and 
 passed out of existence by the quick route of 
 heart disease. Mrs. Harley Manners found her 
 self a not altogether inconsolable widow, with a 
 substantial fortune entirely under her own control. 
 A year had passed. Mrs. Harley Manners had 
 threaded her way discreetly, but with some agil 
 ity, through the various phases of mourning, and 
 had emerged a gentle dove of exquisitely gradu 
 ated black and white. At the opening of the sea 
 son there were even hints in certain not too con 
 spicuous corners of her costume that crimson roses 
 would soon bloom again. 
 
 " I am sorry to hear such bad accounts of the 
 society set from you," said Philip. " But, of 
 course, it is no news. Your statements only agree 
 with what others have told me, and what I have 
 picked up myself from a few unexpected meet 
 ings. But you see, we social pariahs rather laugh 
 at the attitude of these money lords and ladies. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 299 
 
 They have no social position except what they 
 buy. And they can t buy their way into all the 
 worlds, you know. Did you ever notice how sel 
 dom an American heiress catches a German 
 noble?" 
 
 Mrs. Manners sat up and stared. No, she cer 
 tainly had not thought of that. 
 
 u But American society people are received in 
 the finest houses in France," she said. 
 
 Yes, received," said Philip, with meaning; 
 " but they never lead, as they do in London." 
 
 Your friend, Mrs. Baroni, seems to me to be 
 a good deal of a leader in Paris." 
 
 " Mrs. Baroni was never in society here. She 
 belongs to a set which looks upon our so-called 
 society with quiet contempt. I never saw any of 
 them at her house in Paris." 
 
 Why, have you been in Paris? When? " 
 
 > 
 
 " I was there for a short time last spring, just 
 after Mrs. Baroni returnee! to Paris from Italy. 
 She was not very well for a few days. She gave 
 some brilliant entertainments, to all of which she 
 did me the honor to invite me. Then un- 
 
300 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 expectedly she closed her Paris residence, and 
 went to the north. Now she has returned to New 
 York." 
 
 "Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Harley 
 Manners. " I am certainly out of the world. I 
 did not know any of this at all. I must call on her 
 at once." 
 
 " I am afraid you will find some difficulty in 
 seeing her. She is keeping herself in the greatest 
 seclusion." 
 
 " Is she not in good health? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, perfect. But while her husband is 
 singing in the East, she does not feel like going 
 out." 
 
 Mrs. Harley Manners ruminated. It was a 
 very lame explanation, she thought. But murder 
 and social gossip will out, as she well knew, and so 
 she had only to wait. When the rehearsal had 
 moved its wearisome progress as far as the be 
 ginning of the second act, Philip quietly departed. 
 He had an engagement of which he had naturally 
 made no mention to the vivacious Mrs. Harley 
 Manners. He was to meet Helen at the Holland 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 301 
 
 House for luncheon. She was waiting for him 
 when he arrived. 
 
 " Philip," said she when they had finished their 
 first course, " I want you to tell me where Mile. 
 Bosanska is stopping." 
 
 " My dear Helen, did you ask me to luncheon 
 only to make that important inquiry? You 
 could easily have found that out at the opera 
 house." 
 
 " I do not desire to have any one know that I 
 have made the inquiry. That is why I make it of 
 you." 
 
 " My dear Helen, of course. She is not at 
 her old apartment this season. You will find her 
 in a new one on the other side of town. I heard 
 of it myself only yesterday from our man who 
 covers the musical news." 
 
 And Philip told her the number and street. 
 
 " I am going to call on her," said Helen in a 
 calm tone. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Helen, but you ought 
 not to do that, you know." 
 
 " On the contrary, it is the very thing I must 
 
302 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 do. I do not know where Leander is, and his 
 agent here will not tell me. He firmly but po 
 litely declares that his instructions are to give no 
 information to any one, not even me." 
 
 "Well, I m blessed! But do you think Mile. 
 Bosanska knows? Was there not a story of a 
 quarrel between them in Naples? " 
 
 There undoubtedly was a quarrel, and he left 
 the city, but she followed him within a week. I 
 am sure she knows where he is, and I think I 
 have a right to know." 
 
 ; Do you write to him ? " 
 
 "I have written to him; there are important 
 business matters; I have sent letters to his Paris 
 address. I have had no answers." 
 
 " But what good can come of your going to 
 Mile. Bosanska? Let me go for you. Oh, no, 
 I forgot. She would laugh at me. Can t you 
 send, or, better, why not write? " 
 
 " I am going to see her, to look her in the face, 
 to talk to her." 
 
 Philip gazed with some astonishment at Helen. 
 There was a ring of power in her voice. She had 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 303 
 
 risen as if to meet an emergency. That same 
 afternoon she arrived at Mile. Bosanska s apart 
 ment. The maid told her that the singer was 
 lying down, and could see no one. 
 
 " Go and tell your mistress that I shall wait 
 till she gets up," said Helen, and the maid hur 
 riedly went. Presently she returned and bade 
 Helen enter the salon and be seated. In a few 
 minutes Nagy, clad in a loose peignoir, en 
 tered. 
 
 " Madame," she said, " I need hardly apologize 
 for appearing in this costume. You could not 
 have expected to wait till I made a toilet." 
 
 " I am satisfied to see you as you are, Mile. 
 Bosanska," said Helen. " I am here to ask you 
 a pointed question, a very strange and humiliating 
 question, but I must do it. Where is my hus 
 band?" 
 
 Nagy started as if she had been struck full in 
 the face. 
 
 " My God ! " she cried with anguish unmistak 
 able in her tone, " I do not know ! " 
 
 "You do not know?" 
 
304 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " No. Do you suppose that I would lie to 
 you now? I do not know where he is. I know 
 that he is lost to me, and that I still love 
 him." 
 
 Helen rose from her seat, pale and trembling. 
 * You do not hesitate to tell me, his wife, that 
 you love him? " 
 
 ; Why should I ? You know that he and I have 
 been together; but surely you did not think me a 
 thing of the gutter ! You may be a proud woman, . 
 Madame, but your pride is no greater than mine. 
 I gave myself because of the joy I found in giv 
 ing." 
 
 Helen walked across the room, endeavoring to 
 grip herself well before answering. When she 
 felt that she could speak steadily, she returned and 
 faced Nagy. 
 
 " You and I, I fear, cannot stand upon the 
 same ground in this matter. I am willing to be 
 lieve that, as you say, you gave yourself for the 
 sheer joy of giving. So did I. Perhaps that 
 has not occurred to you." 
 
 " Oh, yes; I believe you think you love." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 305 
 
 Helen smiled, and for a few moments remained 
 silent in order that Nagy might, perhaps, gather 
 the full significance of her next words. 
 
 " Can you or any other woman do more than 
 think she loves ? Are you any surer of your love 
 than I am of mine, because you know that when 
 you gave yourself to my husband, you knew it was 
 not for life?" 
 
 There was a keen and stinging significance in 
 the last clause as Helen uttered it in her clear cool 
 tones, and Nagy s face flushed. 
 
 " How do you know that? I did not think of 
 it! I just gave myself without any thought ex 
 cept that I loved him, that I wanted him, that I 
 wanted passionately to belong to him, and that I 
 knew that he needed me." 
 
 " And, Mile. Bosanska, when I gave myself to 
 him at the altar, and pledged myself before God 
 and man to cling to him in life and in death, tabe 
 one with him through all that this world might 
 bring to us, I did it wholly and utterly because I 
 loved him, because I wanted him, because I wanted 
 passionately to belong to him, because I knew 
 
3 o6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 that he needed me. And when I gave, I gave my 
 self to be one woman for one man, never to be 
 touched by another, to be sacred to him, body and 
 soul, to be sealed to him by a love which I knew 
 was to die only when I die." 
 
 Nagy stood quite motionless. Her face re 
 vealed astonishment. She had not thought that 
 the calmly poised patrician American could have 
 such feeling. 
 
 * You American women cannot understand such 
 a passion as mine," she said defiantly. 
 
 " That is where you are mistaken, Mile. Bo- 
 sanska. You yourself are a marvelously delicate 
 and responsive human instrument, but you make 
 the error of thinking that other instruments are 
 not responsive, because they do not disclose every 
 thing. But accept my word for one thing, that 
 the love which I cherish for my husband contains 
 everything which makes love noble and sacred. 
 There is no such thing as a great love without 
 a great passion. Do you understand me? " 
 
 * Yes, Madame, I have more respect for you 
 than I had. But how is it that if you had this 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 307 
 
 splendid passion you could not awaken your hus 
 band s soul?" 
 
 Helen turned away. This, indeed, had been 
 the question of her own life. How had she 
 failed? She could not answer. Nagy laughed 
 aloud and threw herself upon a couch, sitting 
 proudly as if she were a queen. 
 
 * That was reserved for me, Madame. I found 
 what was hidden from you." 
 
 "How, how?" Helen asked the question 
 eagerly before she had time to reflect. 
 
 " That ought, perhaps, to be my secret, ought it 
 not?" said Nagy maliciously. 
 
 " I grant you that. And I am going even 
 further, Mile. Bosanska. I am going to tell you 
 that if the quickening of his soul is to be pre 
 served by the influence of your love, I shall ac 
 cept a continuance of the situation which began 
 when he went to South America with you." 
 
 Nagy lowered her eyes. She was trying to shut 
 herself up within her own spirit in order to fathom 
 the precise significance of this attitude on the part 
 of Helen. It would never have occurred to Nagy 
 
3 o8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 to give Leander up to another woman for his 
 own sake. Presently she shrugged her shoulders 
 and rose from the couch. 
 
 " You are a fool," she said in her customary 
 blunt way to Helen, u but you are a great woman. 
 But it is all too late. I have told you that I do 
 not know where he is." 
 
 " Am I, then, to understand that your relations 
 with him are really broken off for all time?" 
 
 " You must have known it. You saw him, 
 faint on the stage in Naples." 
 
 " Yes, he had an attack of vertigo. It was 
 nothing." 
 
 Nagy stared at her as one who could not be 
 lieve her own senses. 
 
 " Madame, your husband fainted because he saw 
 your face in a box. He repulsed me from that 
 instant. He refused to remain with me. He fled 
 from Naples. He was as a man awakened from 
 a dream. He was no longer under my sway. 
 His spirit, which I had aroused from its slumber, 
 had grown too strong for me to control. But he 
 dared not look you in the face. He fled from 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 309 
 
 both of us. I do not know where he has gone. 
 But of one thing I am sure, and that is that he is 
 not happy." 
 
 " He repulsed you?" 
 
 " He spurned me not in hot anger, but in cool 
 thought. He even thanked me for what I had 
 done for him." 
 
 Nagy s bitterness in saying these last words 
 was intense. Helen was lost in astonishment. 
 Leander had broken with the Hungarian. Then 
 the quarrel was because he had looked into her own 
 face. He was shamed, yes, that was it. But 
 that was not enough to account for everything. 
 However ashamed he might be, he would not have 
 abandoned Nagy for that reason. They would 
 have gone together. They could always sing to 
 gether. There was not an opera house in all 
 Europe which would not welcome them. Helen 
 stood silent in profound reflection. Then a light 
 slowly dawned in her eyes. She looked at Nagy, 
 who was watching her through those half-closed 
 lids. She walked up to the Hungarian and 
 grasped her by the arm. 
 
3 io THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " He has ceased to love you? " she whispered. 
 
 " I will tell you what no other woman could 
 have influenced me to tell. I will tell you, because 
 you shall see that you have been a blind fool, a 
 senseless creature, holding in the hollow of your 
 hand a great, sleeping heart, and not knowing 
 what to do with it. Leander never loved me. 
 He told me that, and then fled." 
 
 Helen released the gipsy s arm and threw her 
 hands over her own eyes. 
 
 " I am not too late, I am not too late. He 
 does not love her." 
 
 She uncovered her face, and for a moment the 
 two women stood gazing searchingly at one an 
 other. Then Helen held out her hand. 
 
 " Au revoir, Mile. Bosanska. Perhaps, after 
 all, I am your debtor." 
 
 Nagy ignored the hand. 
 
 " Au revoir, Madame," she said. " Try to 
 make more of your opportunities." 
 
 And Helen departed, still ignorant of Leander s 
 whereabouts, but with a new feeling of sweet hope 
 in her heart. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 \ MAN of tall stature, bronzed by exposure 
 * *- to the summer sun, was standing in deep 
 contemplation on the ragged summit of the Ten- 
 gerszem-Csucs. From his eyrie more than eight 
 thousand feet high he gazed silently upon the stu 
 pendous panorama spread below him. Little 
 shining lakes, laughing streamlets, noble pines, 
 mighty rocks, and broad expanses of billowing 
 grass made the imposing picture. The man was 
 clad in a walking-garb, for he had tramped many 
 miles through the enchanted region, filled with 
 gipsy lore. He had pondered on many things. 
 His beard had grown straggly, and his eyes had 
 sunk under his cleanly marked brows. Now he 
 had climbed up from the shore of the Lake* of 
 Csorba, refusing the help of a guide, and was rest 
 ing while he held commune with his soul. 
 
 A great change had come over him. The 
 smiling, confident, uplifted face of Leandro Baroni 
 
 3" 
 
312 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 had taken on a new expression. The proud chal 
 lenge of his eyes was gone. In its place there 
 was a great introspectiveness. He was as one to 
 whom the whole exterior world contributed new 
 ideas. He himself was hardly conscious of the 
 extent of his development. He nursed a secret 
 sorrow, of which the chief basis was self-accusa 
 tion. But of the effect of that sorrow upon his 
 own personality he was not wholly aware. 
 
 When he had fled from Naples he had gone 
 into the seclusion of a little town, Salo by name, 
 on the west shore of the matchless Lago di Garda. 
 There he had stayed under the strange spell of a 
 crushing numbness. He had felt as one stricken 
 by a heavy physical blow. But the enchantment 
 of the vineyards and the sunny days had slowly 
 melted him. He had turned his face to the north. 
 A fussy little steamboat, squat, puffing, grimy, and 
 crowded with grimy, squat men and women, had 
 carried him to Riva, and thence a rocking and 
 bounding little railway train, stifling with its own 
 smoke, to Mori. With hardly any definite aim, 
 he moved still to the north, but the wistful call of 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 313 
 
 Bozen halted him. And there the eloquence of 
 the mountains for the first time reached his soul. 
 He went up in the inclined railway to Oberbozen. 
 He had no clear purpose in going, but the oratory 
 of the portier at the Kaiserkrone fairly drove him 
 to the journey. And there he saw Rosengarten, 
 that grand prince of Dolomites, with its crown of 
 auburn flaming into rose-red in the rays of the 
 sinking sun. He sat on the terrace of the little 
 hotel and gazed at the picture. He had seen 
 mountains often, but only with the external vision. 
 They had been pleasant to look at, effective vari 
 ations in rock and snow, but had said nothing to 
 him. Now a strange influence worked upon him, 
 and he became absorbed. A waiter hovered 
 around him, and with a start he realized that he 
 was doing something unheard of, occupying a 
 seat in a restaurant and asking for nothing. He 
 ordered coffee, and when it had been placed before 
 him, he forgot it. 
 
 "What is it?" he asked himself. "Why 
 should that massive shoulder of the earth, spring 
 ing square against the liquid sky, move me with 
 
314 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 an emotion? What is the emotion? Why have 
 I never known it before? What has happened to 
 me?" 
 
 He watched the colors turn dull on Rosengarten. 
 He stayed at the little hotel to take his dinner, 
 and it was on the last train that he went down to 
 Bozen again, and back to the Kaiserkrone. 
 
 The Herr has enjoyed the visit, not true?" 
 said the portier. " It was well that I spoke of it, 
 was it not? " 
 
 " I shall remember your excellent advice when 
 I am leaving," said Leander. 
 
 The next day he started for Vienna. He had a 
 conviction that in the Austrian capital in the sum 
 mer he could escape the eyes of acquaintances. 
 He had allowed his beard to grow, and he had 
 become richly sunburned. He dressed himself 
 inconspicuously. He took lodgings in an obscure 
 hotel garni, and ate in restaurants not frequented 
 by the tourists or the people of the musical world. 
 He spent his time chiefly in the libraries and art 
 galleries, and endeavored to recover habits of 
 study laid aside since university days, but it was 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 315 
 
 not easy. The mind, accustomed to facile methods, 
 balked at honest labor. But the strange new 
 force, which was at work within him, drove him 
 mercilessly. He shut his teeth and bowed him 
 self over his tasks. He was trying for the first 
 time in his life to grasp the meaning of Art. He 
 was trying to find out what were the real purposes 
 and principles of it. He gathered to himself all 
 that seemed likely to throw light upon it, from 
 Plato to Nietzsche. He slowly regained the 
 elasticity of his mind. Then he read omnivo- 
 rously and swiftly. And slowly the scales fell 
 from his eyes. 
 
 " I have been blind and deaf, and I had better 
 have been also dumb," he said to himself. " I 
 have thought myself great when I was but a child s 
 rattle. I have had fine titles for my doings. I 
 must first of all learn to swallow the words of 
 Zarathustra : * Let thy virtue be too high for the 
 familiarity of names; if thou hast to speak of it, 
 be not afraid to stammer. Ah, even that is not 
 enough. First I must try to acquire some virtue. 
 Where? How?" 
 
3 i6 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 And so it came about that the restless desire 
 of his spirit sent him once more into the moun 
 tains, and, as if by instinct, he wandered into the 
 Hohe Tatra, and to the border of that lake beside 
 which Nagy s first lover had shot himself at the 
 door of her empty tent. Here he came finally 
 upon a revelation of the meaning of Nagy Bo- 
 sanska in his life. Upon this he pondered again 
 and again, and as he stood upon the summit of 
 the Tengerszem-Csucs, he was thinking of that 
 marvelous woman. 
 
 " Oh, the wonder of it all," he thought; " the 
 wonder of it! How was it that she and I sang 
 together season after season, and yet the firewood 
 lay cold upon the hearth-stones of life? Then 
 without warning the torch was applied, and this 
 great and glorious spirit gave its immortal flame 
 to mine? Nagy said that Goethe was nothing but 
 a poet when he wrote that the woman soul lead- 
 eth us upward and on, but he spoke eternal truth. 
 And now I know that without her, she whom most 
 of the silly creatures of a blind world would call 
 the incarnation of Kipling s Vampire, I never 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 317 
 
 could know and never could understand. It was 
 Nagy who boasted that she would awaken my 
 soul. I was a blind man, and suddenly the sun 
 fell upon my sight. And I saw a vision. I saw 
 the face of the one woman. It smote me to the 
 earth. It was Nagy who had led me to the height 
 from which* I could see. I have lived in a dream. 
 Helen, my wife, was right when she told me that I 
 was possessed of self. And the furnace fires of 
 an earthly passion have burned away this dross 
 from my soul. God forgive me; I am as a thistle 
 blown by the wind. But the future shall be dif 
 ferent." 
 
 And he went down to Csorba s shore again, and 
 there he met Karl Zichy. It was the next after 
 noon, and Leander was musing in the depths of 
 the woods. Without thought he began to sing, at 
 first softly, and then more loudly. He sang from 
 memory and imperfectly " Wie bist du meine 
 Konigin." He seated himself upon the trunk of a 
 fallen tree, and fell again into thought. He did 
 not hear a light footstep near him, and looked up 
 in surprise when a low voice addressed him. 
 
3i8 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " Pardon me, but was it not you I heard sing 
 ing?" 
 
 Leander saw before him a short spare old man 
 with a seamed face, and deep, searching eyes, set 
 under a broad high forehead. It was a face 
 which indicated power and thought. Leander was 
 less ready to repulse his fellow men than he had 
 been. He answered gently, but with some re 
 serve: 
 
 You are right; I did venture to sing. I 
 thought I should not disturb any one here." 
 
 " I should not say that I was disturbed, but 
 rather interested. You were singing Brahms, but 
 pardon me not quite correctly." 
 
 * You are right," responded Leander with a 
 smile. " I have never studied the song. I was 
 only trying to recall it from memory. I once 
 heard a woman sing it marvelously." 
 
 " I have never heard any lieder singer deliver 
 it marvelously." 
 
 This was not a lieder singer, and she would 
 not sing it in public. She sang Brahms only in 
 private. She was an opera singer." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 319 
 
 " There have been two great opera singers who 
 could also sing Brahms," said the little old man; 
 " Sembrich and Lehmann." 
 
 " I do not mean either. I speak of Nagy Bo- 
 sanska, the Hungarian soprano." 
 
 " You know our Nagy Bosanska? " said the old 
 man. His glance kindled and his head was 
 proudly lifted. 
 
 " I have heard her sing Wie bist du meine 
 Konigin. " 
 
 " Pardon me. You interest me much. Will 
 you allow me an old man s privilege? I am 
 called Karl Zichy. I was a protege of our great 
 Hungarian conductor, Seidl. I have lived much 
 in the atmosphere of Bayreuth, where the name 
 of Brahms is not spoken. But I have also lived 
 much in Vienna. I am that strange thing, a musi 
 cian whose two gods are Wagner and Brahms. 
 Possibly you will bear with me further if I>say 
 to you that you have a wonderful voice, and that 
 you sang like a singer." 
 
 " I am a singer," said Leander slowly and 
 heavily; "just that and nothing more." 
 
320 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 "Pardon me yet once again; but if you know 
 this, you are already something more." 
 
 " I stand on the borders of knowledge, that is 
 all." 
 
 Leander relapsed into silence, and seemed to 
 have lost himself again in his musing. But pres 
 ently he looked up and saw that Zichy was still 
 standing there, regarding him closely. 
 
 * You have said that you grew up in the atmos 
 phere of Bayreuth," said Leander. " Would you, 
 be willing to discuss some Wagnerian subjects with 
 me?" 
 
 Willingly, since you are interested in them." 
 
 They dined together that evening, and in the 
 reflective period of the after-dinner cigar Le 
 ander said: 
 
 " Mr. Zichy, I am hiding here under my real 
 name, Lee Barrett. It may be, however, that 
 you will not know my stage name. It is Leandro 
 Baroni." 
 
 Zichy smiled, and, leaning forward, studied 
 the tenor s face closely. 
 
 " I have heard you sing twice, Mr. Barrett," 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 321 
 
 said he; " but you do not resemble the Romeo or 
 the Don Jose whom I saw." 
 
 " I ask you now," continued Leander, " whether 
 your engagements are pressing for the present." 
 
 " I have none at all." 
 
 Then will you take me as a pupil? I wish to 
 study the great dramas and the great German 
 songs. I find in you the mind which can lead 
 
 mine." 
 
 Zichy gazed at him thoughtfully for several 
 seconds. 
 
 " It will be a great opportunity," he said softly. 
 " Mr. Barrett, I will enter into a contract with 
 you gladly. I believe that you can become very 
 great." 
 
 " I do not wish to be great any more," said 
 Leander, shaking his head; " I have suffered too 
 much of that greatness. I desire now to be an 
 artist. I have come to see that the creator is he 
 who is great, not the interpreter. But I have 
 learned that I have a solemn duty to perform, and 
 that this voice was given to me for the purpose 
 of performing it. I have been unfaithful to my 
 
322 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 trust, Mr. Zichy. But it is not too late. And a 
 woman has shown me the way to the truth. She 
 offered me the fruit of the tree of knowledge, and 
 I did eat." 
 
 Zichy made no comment on this speech. He 
 was too old and too wise to ask for confidences. 
 He was well aware that in good time he would 
 learn the history of Leander s spiritual life. So 
 on the next day the two men started for Buda- 
 Pesth, where they were to pass the winter in se 
 clusion and study. Day by day Leander s respect 
 for the aged Hungarian grew. Zichy was not 
 merely a musician, but a philosopher and a 
 scholar. He opened up to Leander the whole 
 meaning of the Wagnerian drama. Before the 
 winter had passed the tenor had read the great 
 epics upon which Wagner built, and saturated 
 himself with their poetic spirit. But his most rapt 
 hours were those in which Zichy labored with 
 him over the masterpieces of Schubert, Brahms, 
 and the other great song writers. He felt that 
 in them he would find basic truth. One day in 
 January, while they were sitting by the piano, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 323 
 
 Leander suddenly bowed his head as though 
 ashamed to look squarely at Zichy, and said: 
 
 " I used to try to sing Lohengrin. * 
 
 Zichy made no answer, but waited for Leander 
 to go on. 
 
 " And I was applauded enthusiastically for my 
 delivery of the narrative in the last scene. Zichy, 
 I think if one sang that rightly there would be no 
 applause, only a great silence, as there is after the 
 first act of * Parsifal. " 
 
 " Perhaps, my dear Baroni, you expect too 
 much of a facile public. But one, at any rate, 
 should try to sing it that way." 
 
 When I sang it I was always thinking of my 
 own success. Zichy, a woman told me that I was 
 the slave of my ego, and I spurned her for it. 
 But every day, every hour now I see more clearly 
 that she was right in everything she told me, and 
 that I was a blind fool, with my face against the 
 mirror of my own conceit." 
 
 * This woman of whom you have spoken to me 
 was a great one. How is it that you left her? " 
 
 " I have spoken to you of two women. One 
 
3 2 4 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 was my wife. The other was a glorious artist, 
 a breathing incarnation of passion and self-forget- 
 fulness, a flame of temperament, a pealing voice 
 of universal expression." 
 
 " And it was, of course, this second woman who 
 gave you of the fruit of the tree of knowledge." 
 
 " Which the other woman had offered me also, 
 but from her I would not take it, because she was 
 too great for me to understand. The artist taught 
 me to comprehend, and now I know that I shall 
 never reach even the feet of my wife." 
 
 Leander arose and tramped restlessly up and 
 down the room, while Zichy sat by the piano and 
 watched him. But presently an idea came to the 
 aged musician, and he began to play softly the 
 music prefatory to the narrative of Lohengrin. 
 Leander stopped short in his walk, and at the 
 proper instant began to sing softly: 
 
 "In fernem Land, unnahbar euren Schritten, 
 Liegt eine Burg, die Monsalvat genannt." 1 
 
 As he continued he sang with more tone, but 
 always with a feeling of reverence, of aloofness 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 325 
 
 from his surroundings. When he came to the 
 end, Zichy dropped his hands from the piano and 
 said: 
 
 " I am sure that is not the way you used to 
 sing it." 
 
 " I do not think so; I hope not; I am not cer 
 tain of myself." 
 
 ; We shall study it, and you shall learn to sing 
 it always that way," said Zichy, and then Le- 
 ander knew that he had at last found the meaning 
 of the scene. And presently Zichy spoke again: 
 
 " I am sorry that your voice is a little too high 
 for Tannhauser." 
 
 "I am glad," said Leander; "I do not wish 
 to sing the part. I am Tannhauser." 
 
 It was in the month of June that the two 
 men left Buda-Pesth and traveled westward. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 F I ^HERE was nothing new to Leander in 
 * Munich, yet everything was strange. He 
 had walked through both Pinakotheks and the 
 Glyptothek, and had loitered in the Schalk gal 
 lery in the unregenerate days when his thought 
 was centered upon his own voice, but now, in the 
 company of Zichy, he retrod the old paths, and at 
 every step made discoveries. They spent two 
 weeks in the Bavarian capital, and in that time 
 Leander continued to expand. Not only did his 
 intellect stretch itself and gather strength, but his 
 heart continued to open and make room for the 
 human side of life. And as it did so, he under 
 stood better and better the measureless breadth 
 and depth of the hearts of two women. After 
 the two weeks in Munich he and Zichy went to 
 Interlaken and saturated themselves with the early 
 summer splendors of the Jungfrau. Leander had 
 
 removed his beard and restored himself as nearly 
 
 326 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 327 
 
 as possible to his former appearance. But still he 
 escaped meeting acquaintances. And it was in In- 
 terlaken that a letter from his Paris agent found 
 him. 
 
 " Zichy," he said; " I shall go back." 
 
 "To New York?" 
 
 Yes, the Metropolitan is calling me still, and 
 this time I shall not refuse. You will go with 
 me?" 
 
 Yes, if you desire it. I have never been in 
 America." 
 
 " I desire it, and I need you. We have still 
 much to study together." 
 
 In mid- July they were in Zermatt. And here 
 Leander was seized with a great hunger to walk to 
 the Gornergrat. 
 
 u My dear friend, this is not for me," said 
 Zichy with a smile. " You will give me leave to 
 go in the train." 
 
 " We shall meet at the Riffelalp," said Lean 
 der; " I shall abandon the walk there and ride 
 with you." 
 
 For once there was no curtain of jealous mist 
 
328 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 to shut the glories of the mountains from the sight 
 of men. Leander set off early in the morning in 
 a magnificent blaze of sheer sunshine. A brilliant 
 pyramid of ivory, the frowning Matterhorn, bold 
 est and strongest of peaks, stood out a dazzling 
 spire against a sapphire sky and the Riffelalp 
 Hotel hung clear and close in the transparent air 
 on the heights above the village. Leander strode 
 away, filled with the joy of living. The spiritual 
 depression which had hung upon him for so long 
 a time had left him. In that pure and holy atmos 
 phere the mean dross of life shrank away. He 
 sang in his soul as he climbed the slopes to the 
 Riffelalp, which he reached before the middle of 
 the day. The train followed close upon his heels, 
 and Zichy dismounted. Then, when he had spied 
 Leander, they secured seats together, and went 
 onward to the Gornergrat. They stood in the 
 very eyrie of peak and glacier. And as they stood, 
 another man moved along the levels just behind 
 them. They took no notice of him, for tourists 
 were always plenty at the Gornergrat. 
 
 But this man saw Leander and started. It was 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 329 
 
 Philip Studley, who had arrived in Zermatt the 
 previous night, and had hastened to the Gorner- 
 grat with the first morrow. He was astonished 
 to see Leander, and still more so when he noted 
 the indescribable, but unmistakable alteration in 
 the expression of his face. He hesitated, debat 
 ing whether he should advance and make his 
 presence known. He decided that it would be 
 wiser not to do so. He felt that, after all, he 
 had no right to thrust himself upon the tenor s 
 privacy. But he could not help watching the 
 singer, and the conviction grew upon him that a 
 deep change of some sort had taken place. He 
 saw the venerable man with Leander speak to him, 
 and he observed that the singer bent his head and 
 listened with a deeply thoughtful air. Then he 
 saw Leander catch up the thread of the conversa 
 tion and stretch out his arm in a noble and com 
 manding gesture. It was evident that the tenbr 
 spoke of the majestic scene upon which he and 
 his companion were gazing, and it was equally 
 plain that the younger man s eloquence was not 
 without its weight for the older one. At the very 
 
330 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 moment, when Philip was most absorbed in watch 
 ing the two, Leander was quoting Zichy: 
 
 " Spirit of Nature, here! 
 
 In this interminable wilderness 
 Of worlds, at whose immensity 
 Even soaring fancy staggers, 
 Here is thy fitting temple. " 
 
 " Whose lines are those? " asked the old Hun 
 garian. 
 
 " An English poet s, Shelley by name. A Hun 
 garian gipsy taught me to read him." 
 
 And Zichy knew that he was thinking again of 
 Nagy Bosanska. Philip watched the two till they 
 were ready to descend again to Zermatt. He kept 
 himself out of their range of observation, and en 
 tered the train without being seen by them. He 
 permitted them to leave the terminus in advance 
 of himself, and took his way to his hotel without 
 being discovered. In the evening he sat in his 
 room, reflecting on the change which he had noted 
 in the tenor. He attributed it to the sobering ef 
 fect of experience, but inevitably failed to meas 
 ure it at its true value. While he was thus en- 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 331 
 
 gaged in thought, there came to him the voice of 
 a man singing softly, and he recognized the rich 
 mezza voce of Baroni. He could not identify 
 the song, because he could not hear enough of it. 
 But he was certain that the singer was not far 
 away. His curiosity was sufficient to cause him 
 to try to hear more. He went to the window and 
 listened a moment, endeavoring to determine the 
 direction from ^vhich the tones came. He found 
 that the tenor and his companion were sitting on 
 a small balcony just below his window. He leaned 
 out, feeling that, even if that singular sense which 
 detects the propinquity of another person, moved 
 either of them to look up, he would not be recog 
 nized in the dim light. The singing had now 
 ceased, and the men were conversing in low tones. 
 Presently Baroni s companion raised his voice 
 enough to permit Philip to hear a sentence. 
 
 " You ought to give recitals. Your interpreta 
 tions of Brahms should not be lost to the world." 
 
 " There is one who can interpret him far better 
 than I," replied the tenor. 
 
 And then their voices sank again, so that Philip 
 
332 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 could not distinguish their words. But he under 
 stood immediately that Leander spoke of Nagy. 
 And he smiled a rather grim smile as he recalled 
 his own endeavor to impress upon her the im 
 portance of her lieder singing. A few moments 
 passed in silence, and then Leander began again 
 to sing softly. The music drifted upward to 
 Philip s ears, and his memory easily supplied the 
 words, which were dear to him : 
 
 "<Wie bist du meine Konigin, 
 Durch sanfte Giite wonnevoll! 
 Du lach le nur Lenzdufte weh n 
 Durch mein Gemtite wonnevoll. " 
 
 His memory brought back to him the deep 
 passion of Nagy s delivery, and he found him 
 self noting with amazement in the tenor s sup 
 pressed delivery a similar intensity, a wealth of 
 color and nuance, which he had never heard in 
 Leander s singing on the stage. He shook his 
 head. 
 
 " A marvelous woman, that gipsy soprano," he 
 said to himself. " She has found the gateway 
 to his musical soul and opened it. What if, in 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 333 
 
 doing so, she has changed the whole man? My 
 dear Helen ! It may be that he will yet come to 
 see her true worth." 
 
 The next morning he learned that Leander 
 and his companion had gone down to Visp on their 
 way to the West. And later in the same day he 
 read in a London newspaper in the hotel reading- 
 room that the tenor had accepted a new con 
 tract with the Metropolitan Opera House. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 t" I "A HE Italian restaurant was reeking with its 
 accustomed collection of odors. The wait 
 ers were sweating and the eaters were coiling 
 spaghetti around their forks with the callous in 
 difference of long habit. There was the familiar 
 intermingling of persons belonging to two worlds 
 the artistic and the inartistic. There were long 
 haired painters with broad, limp neckties and ex 
 ceedingly loose coats. There were lean and pallid 
 magazine specialists, whose eager faces seemed to 
 be peering into every corner in search of some 
 thing to expose. But the most conspicuous per 
 sons were the little company of opera singers, of 
 whom Madeleine Piroux and Ponitzky were the 
 stars, while Tremontini and La Feramordi, sup 
 ported by the judicious Abadista, believed that 
 they were the real luminaries. 
 
 " Clever of our able impresario to hold off the 
 
 334 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 335 
 
 reappearance of Baroni till Wednesday night, was 
 it not?" remarked Tremontini. 
 
 " It seems so," said Ponitzky. " Every one 
 wishes to hear him again, but, of course, the Mon 
 day night houses are all sold out anyhow." 
 
 " But," interposed Madeleine, " that is not the 
 reason at all." 
 
 " Ah," exclaimed Feramordi sarcastically, 
 " then you tell it to us." 
 
 " I am going to," responded the adorable 
 French soprano calmly; " it seems that he wished 
 Baroni to sing Lohengrin on the opening night, 
 but that Baroni was bent on making his reappear 
 ance in a new role, Tristan." 
 
 " Oh, well, of course he had to give him his 
 way," said Ponitzky. 
 
 " Yes," said Tremontini, " but what on earth 
 has possessed Baroni to take up German roles? 
 Is his voice failing, do you suppose? " 
 
 " Why, he always sang Lohengrin and Wal- 
 ther," said Abadista. 
 
 " Yes, he sang them in all three languages, but 
 they are sung by every tenor in these days. But 
 
336 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 when you come to Tristan and the Siegfrieds, it 
 is a somewhat different matter, isn t it?" said 
 Tremontini. * You know they tried once to get 
 me to study that diabolical Alberich, but I drew 
 the line at that. Wolfram von Eschenbach was 
 quite enough for me." 
 
 " And where the deuce was Baroni all the time, 
 anyhow? " asked Ponitzky. 
 
 Well, no one seems to know. I have heard 
 that he was in the Far East," said Abadista, who 
 prided himself on knowing everything; " but there 
 is no telling. Only one thing is certain, and that 
 is that he disappeared from the surface of Europe 
 and did not sing for more than a year." 
 
 " It was after his break with our divine Nagy, 
 was it not?" asked Feramordi. "Really, she 
 must have had a ruinous effect upon him." 
 
 " I wonder," murmured Madeleine. 
 
 " Have you been at any Tristan rehearsals? " 
 inquired Ponitzky of Abadista. 
 
 " Yes," he answered; "but Baroni does not 
 sing. He merely mumbles. There seems to be a 
 good understanding between him and Kraft." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 337 
 
 "Well," declared Feramordi, "the whole 
 thing is impossible. Baroni has the most beau 
 tiful tenor voice in the world, that is granted, and 
 he has a perfect technique; but he has no soul 
 and no intelligence. His Faust and Romeo were 
 always pretty, but nothing else, and his Don Jose 
 was ridiculous. Such a man cannot even suspect 
 what is in Tristan." 
 
 " I wonder," murmured Madeleine again. 
 
 The astonishment of the opera singers over the 
 announcement that Baroni would make his re 
 appearance as Tristan was truly professional. It 
 had its compensations, based upon a sweet and 
 secret trust that all would be ill. Perhaps only 
 Madeleine cherished a belief in the tenor. The 
 others patiently and serenely awaited the hour of 
 his downfall. They knew well that, as La Fera 
 mordi had said, Baroni s voice and exquisite tonal 
 technique would carry him far, but they also knew 
 that these would not carry him through the third 
 act of the great Wagnerian love drama. He 
 might manage to delude an audience in the first 
 two; but in the third there could be no deception. 
 
338 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 But what the opera singers felt in regard to the 
 new departure was a trifle compared to what others 
 felt. The opera-going public was deeply annoyed. 
 For some years it had cherished the belief that 
 here, at least, was one singer who would not be 
 afflicted with the Wagner insanity, who would con 
 tinue to make frequent the presentation of 
 " Faust," " Romeo et Juliette," " Carmen," and 
 " Ai da." Yet now, after having robbed them of 
 his presence for two years, he returned with the 
 announcement that he, too, was going to become 
 a " Wagnerian interpreter." It was almost too 
 much to bear. But still one really had to hear 
 him, and, of course, it would be interesting to see 
 him in a new costume, and with a beard yes, peo 
 ple said that he would wear a beard in Tristan. 
 Fancy Baroni trying to look like a sort of wild 
 Norseman. Wasn t Tristan a Norseman? Any 
 how, he sailed in a ship such as Norsemen used. 
 
 Helen, the wife, sat at home and pondered. 
 She was troubled to her heart s core. She had 
 believed that Leander s return to New York meant 
 that he was returning to her; but as yet he had 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 339 
 
 made no sign. The publication of the news that 
 he was to reappear as Tristan had moved her. 
 She felt that it had a significance. She hazarded 
 the guess that it was Leander s purpose to disclose 
 in the beginning of his renewed labors at the 
 Metropolitan that he had put away childish things, 
 that he had found something more in his art than 
 the glorification of Self. She dared even to think 
 that, with the subjugation of his egotism to his 
 art would come a renewal of his feeling for her, 
 or, rather, that he might at any rate be willing 
 to face duty. And so she sat and waited and 
 waited, but nothing happened. Leander did not 
 communicate with her directly or indirectly. But 
 she was determined to be present at the perform 
 ance of " Tristan und Isolde. " 
 
 At the last rehearsal of the drama, Mrs. Har- 
 ley Manners was among those present. She 
 bustled from seat to seat in her customary brislc 
 style, prattling vivaciously and saying all sorts of 
 priceless nothings. It was not till after the first 
 act, however, that she spied Philip Studley, who 
 was rising from his seat to go out. 
 
340 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 " What! " she said; " going away so soon? " 
 Yes," he answered; " I thought that, perhaps, 
 I might get a line on the performance from this 
 rehearsal, so that I could get something up in ad 
 vance, but Mr. Baroni is merely walking through 
 the part, and not giving any clew to his impersona 
 tion." 
 
 " Oh, do you think that? " she said suddenly, 
 almost breathless with a new idea; "I thought 
 that he was doing it just as he intends to on 
 Wednesday evening." 
 
 " No, I am positive that it will not be any 
 thing of this sort. Mr. Baroni has not been idle 
 in the two years he has been away, especially the 
 last year. He has been studying. I happen to 
 know that. You will see that he has ideas." 
 
 " You amaze me," declared Mrs. Harley Man 
 ners. " I know that he sings divinely, but I sup 
 posed that it was impossible for him to sing this 
 part. Indeed, only one man has ever sung it, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes, I know," replied Philip, smiling; " but I 
 think we are going to hear the second." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 341 
 
 " I am delighted. Of course, I am going to 
 be here. You know, I never miss a performance 
 of Tristan und Isolde, and with Mme. Olbaum 
 as Isolde and Mme. Massliebchen as Brangane, 
 not to speak of Herr Zollecoffer as Kurvenal, it 
 is sure to be an interesting evening, even if Baroni 
 is too well, too nice." 
 
 Nagy Bosanska went to no rehearsals. She had 
 nodded her beautiful head and smiled out of her 
 sea-green eyes, when she read that Baroni would 
 sing Tristan. She sat in the soft light of her 
 apartment and communed with herself. 
 
 " And so the prophecy of Nagy Bosanska, the 
 gipsy, is brought to its fulfilment by Nagy Bo 
 sanska, the woman." 
 
 She leaned back and laughed a little, and then 
 there were tears in her eyes. 
 
 " The splendid Baroni ! He was such a child 
 when I took him away from his fool of a wife. 
 And now he is a man, and he and I could rule the 
 world together, but I have lost my power. And 
 he will go back to the good domestic love, and be 
 an honest breadwinner for his family. Ah, but I 
 
342 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 talk nonsense. I know that I lie. I lie to salve 
 my own wound. Baroni will be great. The 
 gipsy has said it, and it is true." 
 
 Nagy had not come through it all unscathed. 
 Fierce and fiery as her nature was, she was, in 
 spite of herself, a woman. She had been sent into 
 the world a born polygamist, and she had learned 
 to look that hard fact squarely in the eyes. But 
 the inspection was not altogether pleasing to her. 
 She knew that the waning and leaping of the 
 immortal flame within her, waning and leaping 
 even as the flame on Hunding s hearth-stone, were 
 more splendid than the soft glow of the farthing 
 rushlight which guided so many excellent women 
 from the altar to the grave ; but, none the less, she 
 had reached the period when she felt that life s 
 wanderlust should be over. She would have liked 
 to settle down to a somewhat wayward imitation 
 of domestic existence, a finale of life composed in 
 an adagio, but appassionato. Leander might have 
 been the companion of this happy state. But here 
 for once her insight had failed her. 
 
 She had dreamed that she would mould him to 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 343 
 
 her own ends, and he had risen to her level only 
 to obtain a wider and keener view of his own per 
 sonality. She had taught him her runes, even as 
 Brunnhilde taught Siegfried, and the result was 
 that he left her. She had lost track of him in 
 the year following their separation. If she had 
 known that he had visited the Lake of Csorba and 
 digested there the spiritual food which she had 
 given him, she would have understood still better 
 the impossibility of any future between them. For 
 Nagy had the wisdom of a serpent, and she would 
 have interpreted rightly that pilgrimage of Lean- 
 der to the spot where her own strange life had 
 begun. And if she had known all that, she would 
 have interpreted much more accurately the new de 
 parture in his public career. She had prophesied 
 that he would become great; but she did not know 
 how much of humility he had acquired, how much 
 of the simple faith of intellectual honesty. 
 
 As for Leander himself, he attended the neces 
 sary rehearsals and remained away from the 
 opera house as much as possible. He went for 
 long walks, and at other times buried himself in 
 
344 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 study. Part of each day was spent at the piano 
 with Zichy by his side. Sometimes they pored 
 over passages in the score, striving to correlate 
 them correctly with the drama as a whole, and 
 again they read page after page in the prose writ 
 ings of the master. All of this they had done 
 over and over again in Europe, but there was 
 scarcely a day in which Leander did not find more 
 intimate revelations of the profound meaning of 
 Wagner. And to convey that to his audience was 
 his whole aim. 
 
 At any rate, he thought it was. Deep down in 
 his heart there was an undefined purpose, which 
 he would not have dared to fashion into words. 
 He did not venture even to confront it, but rather 
 strove to deceive himself as to its very existence. 
 But every night when he was alone in his room, 
 before going to bed he gazed long and intently 
 at a small portrait of a woman which he carried 
 in his pocket during the day. And, as he gazed, 
 a great tenderness and worship would come into 
 his eyes, and sometimes even a moisture. 
 
 When the eventful Wednesday evening arrived 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 345 
 
 the opera house was packed. Even the standing 
 room behind the orchestra rail was crowded. It 
 was a curious assemblage, but perfectly character 
 istic. Two-thirds of the people in the house were 
 there to hear Baroni in a new role. Even the in 
 disputable fact that he was going to sing in one of 
 those long, dreary Wagner music dramas, in which 
 he would not be able to lean over the footlights 
 and hurl a high B flat at the gallery, even that tre 
 mendous and dispiriting fact did not suffice to keep 
 the old Baroni enthusiasts at home. The other 
 third of the audience was composed of all sorts 
 and conditions of men and women, among whom 
 was a fair sprinkling of real lovers of Wagner s 
 immortal hymn of love. 
 
 Helen sat in the orchestra circle on the left, 
 and not far from the stage. She had chosen a 
 seat where she herself would be inconspicuous, but 
 from which she could watch Leander s faee. 
 While the orchestra was playing the tumultuous 
 prelude, she began to wish that she had not come. 
 Tremors, first hot and then cold, pursued one an 
 other through her limbs. At moments she felt 
 
346 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 faint, and her head swam. She began to realize 
 all that this new departure might mean in its 
 effect on Baroni s future success, and she was seized 
 with a great fear. She clasped her hands in her 
 lap so tightly that it pained her. She shut her 
 teeth with grim determination. She must, she 
 must know what this thing meant. Why had Le- 
 ander essayed Tristan? And that was what she 
 had to know. 
 
 The curtain rose, and the song of the sailor 
 floated down from aloft. Helen did not even 
 hear it. All her senses were crowded into a fierce 
 eagerness for the first sight of Leander. She 
 leaned forward in her seat, waiting for the cry of 
 Isolde for air, when Brangane would draw back 
 the curtains of the tent and disclose the stern 
 of the ship. And as she leaned forward a woman 
 sitting in an upper box on the opposite side of the 
 house also leaned forward and saw her. It was 
 Nagy. And the bold gipsy, too, was pale and 
 eager, and she, too, was holding herself in a 
 mighty grip ; for she throbbed with nervous anxiety 
 for the man she had loved, and to whom she was 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 347 
 
 still drawn by a subtle power. She saw Helen, and 
 caught her breath with a quick short sigh. She 
 divined all that the wife was feeling. Helen did 
 not see Nagy. Her eyes were fixed immovably 
 on the stage. At length the organ tones of Mme. 
 Olbaum pealed the cry for air, and the curtains 
 glided back, showing the poop deck. Leander 
 was an imposing figure as he stood on the plat 
 form. Motionless and portentous he was with 
 his towering height and his broad shoulders. And 
 his eyes had a wonderful look. Webster said to 
 himself that they were like the eyes of Niemann. 
 
 " Looks well, doesn t he? " whispered the man 
 behind Helen. " I didn t suppose that senti 
 mental fellow could get himself up like that." 
 
 Helen stared at her husband, and a hot mist 
 came over her eyes. She had not seen him for 
 nearly two years, and in an instant she detected 
 a change. She knew that it was a larger man 
 hood that confronted her. With all her soul she 
 listened when the Kurvenal said, " Botschaft von 
 Isolde," and Leander opened his lips for the first 
 words, "Was ist s? Isolde?" His tones were 
 
348 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 equable, thin, cutting, his poise untroubled, his 
 gaze unmoved. He was the incarnation of trained 
 coldness. An imperceptible chill went through 
 the house. It was the first grip of the new Tris 
 tan. Helen thrilled to her heart s core, for she 
 recognized power. When the tent curtains were 
 closed again upon the riotous outbreak of Kur- 
 venal, she sank back with a slight feeling of 
 fatigue. Leander had preserved that deadly and 
 imperious coldness throughout the first scene. 
 Even his golden voice had taken on a ring of steel. 
 Helen hardly heard the great scene between Isolde 
 and Brangane. She waited for the entrance of 
 Tristan. At length he came, slowly, almost 
 majestically, striding between the opened curtains 
 of the tent, while under Kraft s magic the orchestra 
 sang the tremendous measures of the entrance mu 
 sic. What had happened to Leandro Baroni? 
 People all over the house were beginning to realize 
 that this incursion into a new field was not some 
 thing to create the idle chatter of a passing hour. 
 Baroni looked every inch the mighty hero of the 
 antique epic. But still that steely voice continued, 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 349 
 
 the expression of the spirit mightily controlled. 
 Presently, however, came a profound, but subtle, 
 
 change. 
 
 " War Morold dir so werth, 
 
 Nun wieder nimm das Schwert, 
 
 Und fiihr es sicher und fest 
 
 Dass du nicht dir s entfallen lasst. 
 
 In these lines the color of the voice changed, 
 and there was for the first time a shadow of 
 vibrato. The iron Tristan had been moved. It 
 was a little touch of something like genius. Those 
 who could discern it sat up straight in their seats. 
 Was this the old-time Baroni? Still more did the 
 tenor open up the turmoil of the knight s heart 
 when he accepted the proffered cup and prepared 
 to drink what he believed to be a draught of death. 
 And then followed the pantomimic agony of love s 
 outbreak, the shattering of the bonds of honor. 
 And with the long deep-breathed sigh of " Isolde," 
 Baroni suddenly let loose the whole richness of*his 
 vocal color, and chanted in one word something of 
 the eternal mystery of passion which he had 
 learned. Helen almost cried out when she heard 
 that utterance. It was not the old self-conscious 
 
350 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Leander, but a new creation, an artist lost in 
 the splendor of his art. 
 
 Still, the audience did not grasp the full mean 
 ing of it. The message of this Tristan was yet 
 to be spread through all the house. With the 
 second act there came an impression such as the 
 Metropolitan had not known in years. Helen 
 herself almost forgot for a moment that it was 
 Leander to whom she was listening. The delivery 
 of the duet, " O sink hernieder," by him and 
 Mme. Olbaum, was something never to be forgot 
 ten, but it was not then that this Tristan affected 
 his hearers most. This was not far removed from 
 the style of triumph which the great Baroni had 
 so often enjoyed. But after the entrance of King 
 Mark and the false Melot, then there was an ut 
 terance of such heartrending pathos, such a 
 probing of the very bottom of the human soul, 
 that men and women in various parts of the house 
 were visibly moved. It came with that agoniz 
 ing speech beginning: 
 
 " Wohin nun Tristan scheidet 
 Willst du, Isold , ihm folgen? " 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 351 
 
 Helen shook in her chair and struggled with all 
 the resources of her will to master the mighty 
 waves of emotion which welled up within her. 
 She knew that there were people not far away who 
 recognized her, and she would not have had them 
 detect her feelings. She turned as pale as death, 
 and when the curtain had fallen she went out into 
 the corridor, and then out into the lobby, where 
 she inhaled long breaths of cold air. Meanwhile 
 the house was seething. Men and women were 
 applauding, and the name of " Baroni, Baroni," 
 rang through the place. But Leander s attitude 
 was one of dignified modesty. His deference to 
 the superb Olbaum, who had given the audience 
 an Isolde fit to stand beside his Tristan, was 
 marked. Finally the acclamations ceased, and 
 people poured out into the corridors. There was 
 a great buzzing of comment. 
 
 " Good thing for that fellow Baroni to* go 
 abroad and study a couple of years, wasn t it?" 
 said one of the wise ones; "wonder where he 
 worked." 
 
 " I hear he picked up some old beggar from 
 
352 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 Bayreuth who used to be with Wagner," said the 
 other, " and this old chap has coached him up in 
 all this sort of thing." 
 
 ; Well, a rattling good job, too, isn t it? You 
 know he almost makes the devilish stuff inter 
 esting." 
 
 Helen managed to slip back into her seat, while 
 the wise ones were talking to one another in the 
 corridor. And then came the last act. And with 
 it came the deluge. What Leander had done be-, 
 fore was plainly seen to be preparation for this. 
 Gaunt, hollow-cheeked, heavy-eyed, he lay upon 
 the couch of pain and poured out the misery of his 
 soul in such poignant accents of grief and despair 
 as that hardened auditorium had never heard be 
 fore. And when at last he sprang to his feet in 
 the delirious vision of the ship, and tore the 
 bandage from his wound, one vast sigh and shud 
 der swept through the house. The piercing agony 
 of his tones was almost more than the audience 
 could endure. Helen fell back in her seat, and 
 made no attempt to hide the tears which streamed 
 down her cheeks. And then the death and the 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 353 
 
 sublime Pax vobiscum of Isolde, sung majestically 
 by the great Olbaum. Men and women with one 
 accord said, as they left the theater, that it was the 
 greatest performance of the drama ever heard in 
 New York, and that Baroni had proved himself 
 to be the foremost heroic tenor in the world. 
 
 " Zichy," said Leander, when they were alone 
 after the performance, " do you think they felt it, 
 that they were moved by the drama ? " 
 
 " My dear boy," said Zichy, swallowing hard 
 and blinking his eyes, " I know they did. I wish 
 the Master could have lived for this night." 
 
 " You think he would have been pleased? " 
 
 " He would have given his right hand to get 
 such a Tristan." 
 
 For answer Leander suddenly dropped into a 
 chair and shook with dry sobs. 
 
 " What is it, my dear friend? What is it? " 
 
 The tenor looked up with a fathomless sorcow 
 in his expression. 
 
 " Zichy," he said, " I saw my wife s face for an 
 instant to-night. My God! What have I done 
 with my life? " 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 F I ^HE morning after the performance Leander 
 -*- awoke with a dull, listless feeling. After 
 all, what did this spiritual progress bring him? 
 He was fully aware that he had risen. He had 
 thrilled through every fiber of his being on the 
 previous night with the consciousness that he was 
 at last a true servant of his art. But this morn 
 ing he lay in his bed wondering if, after all, it was 
 worth while. For, knowing that he had done 
 something uplifting, that he had poured out all 
 that was best in his resurrected soul, he still felt 
 that his life was floating upon the wayward tide 
 of a great helplessness. When he had risen and 
 breakfasted, he sent for Zichy, who came, bringing 
 the morning papers. 
 
 " Good-morning, my dear boy," said the old 
 man; "you are acclaimed, indeed, to-day." 
 
 Leander put it all aside with a weary wave of 
 the hand. 
 
 354 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 355 
 
 " What does it matter? " he murmured. 
 
 Zichy gazed at him thoughtfully. The aged 
 musician understood the real cause of the tenor s 
 trouble. 
 
 ; Why do you not go to her? " he said softly. 
 
 " She would not receive me," answered Lean- 
 der. " I have closed her doors against myself." 
 
 And that was all that Zichy could persuade him 
 to say on the subject. It was a pity that the tenor 
 could not see into his wife s new apartment in Cen 
 tral Park West. Unlike him, she had risen with 
 the dawn of a glorious light in her eyes. She felt 
 that something new and beautiful had come into 
 her life. Leander was separated from her, but 
 he had found himself. She knew that the old ar 
 rogant egotism had been quelled. In no other 
 way could Leander have ascended the starry 
 heights of art. While he was a worshiper of his 
 own glory, he was only an opera singer. But now 
 he was a master. What was to happen next? 
 Helen had not slept well. She had tossed rest 
 lessly on her Led, and she was not ashamed to 
 confess to herself that the cause of her restless- 
 
356 THE SOUL OF A TEXOR 
 
 ness was a passionate yeanling for the man she 
 loved. When she had dressed for the morning, 
 her first impulse was to sit down and write hirn 
 a note, telling him how glad she was. But her sec 
 ond thoughts drew her away from any act which 
 Leander might interpret as an advance on her 
 part. It would be a mistake. He would not wish 
 her to humble herself. If he still cared for her, 
 if the obliteration of Self had revealed to him the 
 real value of her love, he would seek her again. 
 
 At noon Philip Studley called on her. She had 
 no need to ask him what he thought of the in 
 terpretation. She had already drunk in his col 
 umn of warm praise. Philip, keen to note every 
 shade of expression in her tender eyes, saw the 
 unrest. 
 
 " Helen," he said, " you have not reached your 
 goal." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 * You need him, my dear girl, and I am going 
 to add that he needs you. He will never be com 
 plete till he has rest in his heart, and it is surely 
 not there now." 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 357 
 
 Helen looked thoughtfully at Philip and 
 said: 
 
 " How can I be sure of that? " 
 
 " Tell me once and for all. Helen, have you 
 any feeling now about his past relations with Mile. 
 Bosanska?" 
 
 "Yes," she answered slowly and deliberately; 
 " his intimacy with her was one of the greatest 
 things that ever happened to him. It aroused 
 his real temperament." 
 
 " Then there should be really nothing in the 
 way of a reconciliation." 
 
 11 How can I tell? " she said wearily; " I do not 
 know whether he really desires one. Perhaps he 
 will find spiritual repose better alone." 
 
 Philip took his departure soon after that. He 
 went to his club to luncheon, and there, after some 
 deliberation, he came to a determination, and he 
 wrote a brief note to Baroni. In it he said : 
 
 " You will pardon me if I take two liberties. 
 First, I am going to add my personal congratula 
 tions to my professional comment on your genu- 
 
358 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 ine Tristan of last night. Second, I am going to 
 speak as the oldest and most intimate friend of 
 your wife. She will be at home at five o clock. 
 She is not happy." 
 
 Leander read this note with a flood of con 
 fused emotions. For a moment he was disposed to 
 resent the officiousness, as it seemed to him, of 
 Philip, but with his new attitude of mind he soon 
 realized that the man was, indeed, very close to 
 Helen, and that for her sake he had a right to go 
 far, if he thought it necessary for her welfare. 
 Then a wild tumult spread through all his veins. 
 He would see her, he would look once more into 
 her eyes. Yes, he would do this at least, even if 
 she again banished him from her sweet presence. 
 She should at any rate know that he had at last 
 learned to know her worth. 
 
 Helen was sitting in her boudoir, vainly trying 
 to compose her mind. She had a strange sense of 
 something big impending, and she was filled with 
 tremors. But she knew not what it was that was 
 coming to her. When the bell rang at five 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 359 
 
 o clock, she heaved a long sigh and half uttered 
 a wish that people would leave her to her 
 self. The next minute a servant entered and 
 said: 
 
 " Madam, it is a gentleman really a gentle 
 man and tall and handsome. But he will not 
 give a card or a name. He says only to tell you 
 that he wishes to speak to you." 
 
 Helen rose and dismissed the wondering girl. 
 For a moment she stood questioning the possibil 
 ities, but swiftly the certainty came to her that 
 no one would approach her thus except Leander. 
 With an effort she steadied herself, and presently, 
 with all her forces well within her grip, she 
 entered her drawing-room and saw her hus 
 band standing by the mantel. Both of them hes 
 itated and trembled a little. Neither knew just 
 what to do, but Helen gathered herself together. 
 She smiled kindly and held out her hand. Lean 
 der took it softly in his own, which was as hot as 
 fire. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Leander," she said in 
 a low tone. She was almost afraid to trust her 
 
360 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 voice. " I was at the opera last night, and " 
 
 " I saw you," he said huskily. 
 
 " I am astonished at that," she continued 
 calmly, " for I thought there was too little light 
 in the house. It was a great performance." 
 
 u It is a great masterpiece," he said; " no per 
 formance can reach it." 
 
 Helen s heart gave a quick throb. It was un 
 speakable delight to her to hear Leander use such 
 words. 
 
 " I have learned something, I hope," continued 
 Leander, " since I left y New York." 
 
 "You have gained, indeed, very greatly," she 
 answered. 
 
 " I have had several teachers," responded Le 
 ander. " First of all, the woman with whom I 
 was. Helen, I should be less than a man if I 
 denied my debt to her. She first showed me how 
 small and mean I was, and led me to the gateway 
 of Art." 
 
 " I shall thank her for it as long as I live," 
 answered Helen, her voice sinking to a tremulous 
 whisper. 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 361 
 
 Leander sprang to his feet. A flame of eager 
 light had rushed into his eyes. 
 
 " You still care?" he exclaimed, "you still 
 care enough for that? " 
 
 For a moment there was a silence between 
 them, and then Leander fell upon his knees before 
 her, and buried his face in his hands upon her 
 lap. There, with his eyes hidden, he spoke rap 
 idly and brokenly: 
 
 " Helen, I do not ask you to forgive me, be 
 cause you will not wish me to do that, if you still 
 have some affection for me. But I do ask you to 
 let me come back to my place at your side, if not 
 in your whole life. Let me strive to show you 
 how I honor and reverence you, how I have 
 learned to understand that in the early days of 
 our marriage you were entirely right in every 
 particular. I was, indeed, the incarnation of self, 
 and because I was that I charged you with in 
 ability to comprehend me, to enter into my artistic 
 life. I know now that I had not any artistic 
 life, and that the only artist in our house was 
 you, who thought great and beautiful thoughts, 
 
362 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 and who would have led me to noble heights if I 
 had not been a blind and obstinate fool. I had 
 the paradise of a man s soul beside me, and I 
 turned my back upon it and fled. I never knew 
 how the change was worked in my soul, but that 
 strange creature gradually awakened my spirit. 
 And when it was fully aroused, I looked into the 
 theater one night at Naples and saw your face. 
 And then I knew that I had thrust myself out of 
 paradise and that there was only one thing left 
 for me in this world, to try to atone. I feared 
 that you would never permit me to speak to you 
 again, but you have done so, and you tell me you 
 still care. I am not worthy to touch your hand, 
 my dear, but you will let me live near you and try 
 to show you that I do understand better? " 
 
 She did not answer, but he felt her form shak 
 ing. He slowly raised his head and gazed 
 into her eyes. She gave him a sad look in 
 return. 
 
 "You will not?" he said. 
 
 " I cannot take you on those terms." 
 
 She spoke slowly, and Leander bowed his head 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 363 
 
 again. He thought she would say more, but she 
 was silent. Suddenly a great light broke upon 
 him, and he looked up. 
 
 " Helen," he exclaimed, " I love you. Dear 
 heart, do you not know that I have learned it? 
 Do you not see that the supreme crown of all my 
 revelation has been the full understanding of that? 
 Oh, my dear, my dear, if you will but take up 
 again the heart that never knew itself, it will be 
 hereafter a shrine for your image." 
 
 Then she laid her two beautiful arms around 
 his neck and drew his head to a pillow upon her 
 heaving breast. 
 
 " Leander," she said in a voice which vibrated 
 with passion, " have you never known that you 
 are my idol? What do I want of atonement? I 
 care nothing that another woman showed you the 
 secrets of your own soul. I care for nothing but 
 to lie in your arms, to be held close, close, close to 
 your heart, to feel the eternal fire of your love 
 glowing upon me, and glorifying me, to be yours, 
 my husband, yours in flesh and spirit, to grow 
 wholly one with you, to walk hand in hand with 
 
364 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 you down the path of life to the gate of death, 
 and, by God s will, to be with you in eternity." 
 
 And then he lifted his head and uttered a great 
 cry. 
 
 " Helen, Helen, my wife ! " 
 
 Their lips met in a kiss, a long, clinging kiss, 
 such as Siegfried imprinted upon the lips of 
 Briinnhilde when he woke her from the sleep of a 
 goddess and led her to the triumph of woman 
 hood. 
 
 On the following morning Leander was 
 obliged to visit the office of the impresario. An 
 humble appeal over the telephone had reached 
 him. The great man spoke very gently, and the 
 tenor tried to answer even more gently. Helen 
 went with him, for she seemed unwilling to take 
 her now glorified eyes off his face for a moment. 
 When they were ushered into the bureau of the 
 impresario, they found it unoccupied, except for 
 one figure seated in a shadowy corner. The figure 
 rose and revealed the great green eyes of Nagy 
 
THE SOUL OF A TENOR 365 
 
 Bosanska, which regarded the pair searchingly 
 for several moments. 
 
 " I perceive," she said at length, " that the 
 prophecy of the gipsy has been fulfilled." 
 
 " I have been told," responded Helen in a 
 gentle tone, " of that prophecy, and I believe its 
 fulfilment came about because in the end the 
 gipsy s witchcraft was so beneficent." 
 
 The two women gazed intently at one another 
 for a moment, and the quiet, steady confidence 
 of Helen s eyes was triumphant. Nagy s bril 
 liant green orbs trembled as she said slowly: 
 
 " He will be a king among men, for you are 
 a greater woman than I am." 
 
 The impresario entered and told Leander that 
 he wished to give one of those seductive " special " 
 performances, the opera to be (l Carmen," with a 
 
 star cast, including Nagy and the tenor. Leander 
 
 * 
 
 looked at his wife, who smiled. 
 
 " I shall always be honored to sing with Mile. 
 Bosanska," he said; "I owe to her all that I 
 know of the real meaning of Art." 
 
 And when Mrs. Harley Manners heard about 
 
366 THE SOUL OF A TENOR 
 
 this forthcoming performance, she said to Philip 
 
 Studley: 
 
 " Now I know that I am growing old. I 
 thought everything was at an end between him 
 and the Hungarian. I don t know anything, and 
 I don t understand what I do know. But it s a 
 shame that they don t give it on Monday. You 
 see, I ve always had my box on Monday night, 
 and they keep it for me from season to season; 
 so what can I do? " 
 
ROMAIN HOLLAND S 
 
 JEAN-CHRISTOPHE 
 
 DAWN MORNING YOUTH REVOLT 
 
 Translated by GILBERT CANNAN. 
 
 600 pp. $1.50 net; by mail, $1.62. 
 
 It commences with vivid episodes of this musician s child 
 hood, his fears, fancies, and troubles, and his almost uncanny 
 musical sense. He plays before the Grand Duke at seven, 
 but he is destined for greater things. An idol of the hour, in 
 some ways suggesting Richard Strauss, tries in vain to wreck 
 his faith in his career. Early love episodes follow, and at the 
 close the hero, like Wagner, has to fly, a hopeful exile. 
 
 "Hats off, gentlemen a genius. . . . Has the time come for the aoth 
 century to uncover before a master work? A book as big, as elemental, as 
 original as though the art of fiction began to-day." Springfield Republican. 
 (Entire notice on application^ 
 
 " The most momentous novel that has come to us from France, or from any 
 other European country, in a decade. . . . Highly commendable and 
 effective translation . . . the story moves at a rapid pace. It never 
 lags." E. F. Edgett in Boston Transcript. 
 
 JEAN-CHRISTOPHE IN PARIS 
 
 THE MARKET-PLACE 
 ANTOINETTE THE HOUSE 
 
 473 PP- $1-50 net; by mail, $1.62. 
 
 A writer in the London Daily Mail comments on the 
 French volumes here translated as follows : " In The Mar 
 ket-Place, we are with the hero in his attempt to earn his 
 living and to conquer Paris. The author introduces us to 
 the numberless society circles in Paris and all the cliques 
 of so-called musicians in pages of superb and bitter irony 
 and poetic fire. Christophe becomes famous. In the next 
 volume, Antoinette is the sister of Christophe s great friend, 
 Olivier. She loves Christophe. . . . This, the best volume 
 of the series, is a flawless gem. The House introduces us 
 to the friends and enemies of the young musician. They 
 gravitate around Christophe and Olivier, amid the noisy and 
 enigmatic whirl of Parisian life." 
 
 It is worth adding that toward the close of this book a 
 war-cloud appears between France and Germany. Chris 
 tophe, with Olivier, visits his mother and his Fatherland. 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK. 
 
SOME FORERUNNERS OF ITALIAN OPERA 
 
 By W. J. HENDERSON, Musical Critic of The Sun, Au 
 thor of "Richard Wagner, His Life and Dramas," The Art 
 of the Singer," etc. I2mo, 243 pp., $1.25 net. By mail, $1.33. 
 
 An account of Mediaeval lyric drama, showing among 
 other things, the real artistic significance of the birth of 
 recitative, and leading up to the introduction of opera in the 
 last decade of the sixteenth century by Peri and Caccini. 
 
 The contents cover early Liturgical Drama, the Sacre 
 Rappresentazioni, Birthplace of the Secular Drama, The 
 Artistic Impulse, Poliziano s "Favola di Orfeo" (five chapters 
 covering the work, the performance, music, solos and or 
 chestra), Frottola Drama to Madrigal, Preponderance of the 
 Spectacular, Influence ot the Taste for Comedy, Vecchi and 
 the Matured Madrigal Drama, the Spectacular Element in 
 Music, and the Medium for Individual Utterance. 
 
 " A delightful introduction to Mr. Apthorp s The Opera Past 
 and Present. . . . A landscape full of varied charms. . . . Highly 
 suggestive and full of instruction." New York Tribune. 
 
 11 Americans will visit Rome this year and there hear some of 
 the historic operatic performances. . . . They, if seriously minded, 
 will do well, in packing their trunks, to include, besides their Baede 
 ker, a copy of Mr. Henderson s new volume. . . . The writer has 
 studied his subject exhaustively. ... Of Mantua s intellectual 
 atmosphere, its activity and importance as a literary and musical 
 centre, the author gives a vivid picture." Nation. 
 
 "Chapters which show patient research and an exercise of a 
 finely critical faculty. . . . Scholarly, and contains much that 
 is new in the way of conclusions. While it is chiefly historical and 
 critical, it is written in a manner that holds the attention and the 
 picture of life and manners will entertain the general reader." 
 Boston Herald. 
 
 1 Many musical illustrations from early Italian composers are 
 given, and add greatly to the value of a scholarly book." American 
 Library Association Booklist. 
 
 "It shows industry and learning and ... it is written in fluent 
 and excellent English. . . . By long odds, the most entertaining 
 and illuminating critic among us a man whose authority is exceeded 
 only by his charm of style. . . . The music of the period. . . . He 
 gives a number of extremely interesting examples of it. ... An ex 
 tremely interesting and informing book. A valuable contribution to 
 the history of Music." Baltimore Evening Sun. 
 
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BY FILSON YOUNG 
 
 THE WAGNER STORIES 
 
 Library Edition, $1.50 net. Gift Edition (limp leather) 
 $2.50 net. 
 
 An account of Wagner s music dramas, from "The Flying 
 Dutchman," thru "Parsifal," that any intelligent reader witn 
 no knowledge of music may understand and enjoy. From the 
 sixth English edition. 
 
 "Among the countless descriptions of Wagner s operas it may be 
 distinguished for its literary style and understanding of the subject. 
 . . . Mr. Eric Maclagan s rendering of the songs is poetical and 
 lyrical." New York Sun. 
 
 MASTERSINGERS 
 
 Includes Tristan und Isolde, Tschaikowsky s Sixth Sym 
 phony (the famous "Pathetique"), Beethoven s Pastoral Sym 
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 Old Cathedral Organists, Berlioz, An Irish Musician, etc. 
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 MORE MASTERSINGERS 
 
 Music in Modern Life, The Musician as Composer, Inter 
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 etc. $1.35 net. 
 
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 pretation effected by Wagner. . . . Other chapters, all of them worth 
 reading." Nation. 
 
 "An extraordinarily faithful picture in words of the sensations 
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 offending either the musical or the literary sense of his readers. . . . 
 Keen criticisni of the conditions of Wagner performance at Bayreuth." 
 London Times. 
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS AND 
 THE NEW WORLD OF HIS DISCOVERY: A Narrative. 
 
 With colored frontispiece and other illustrations, maps, bibli 
 ography, index, etc. New One Volume Edition. 464 pp., 
 8vo. $2.50 net. 
 
 During the past fifteen years a flood of light has been 
 thrown on this subject. 
 
 Henry Vignaud, the distinguished historian of Columbus, 
 says: 
 
 "This book marks an epoch in Columbian literature; for in it the 
 hero is shown for the first time as a living man." 
 
 "A very successful and interesting effort of constructive biography. 
 . . . Clothes him in flesh and blood and breathes into him the breath 
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 as alive and real as one s next-door neighbor." New York Times. 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
LAVIGNAC S MUSIC AND MUSICIANS 
 
 Translated by WILLIAM MARCHANT. ^tk printing. 
 
 With Chapters on Music IN AMERICA and THE PRESENT STATE OF 
 THE ART OF Music by H. E. KREHBIEL. $1.75 net.* Practically a 
 Cyclopaedia of its subject, with numerous illustrations. 
 
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 . . . one of the most important books on music that has ever been published. 
 
 ANGELO NEUMANN S PERSONAL RECOLLEC 
 TIONS OF WAGNER 
 
 With portraits, etc. 8vo. $2.50 net.* 
 
 By the famous manager of the Wagner Traveling Theater that 
 visited Germany, Holland, Belgium, Italy, Austria, England ard 
 Russia. Vivid personal glimpses of Wagner acting his own 
 characters and many humorous and dramatic episodes of life behind 
 the scenes. 
 
 "The most important biographic contribution to musical literature since the 
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 plete review and sample pages on application J 
 
 WAGNER S ART, LIFE, AND THEORIES 
 
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 $th printing. I2mo. $1.50 net.* 
 
 WAGNER S RING OF THE NIBELUN6 
 
 By G. T. DlPPOLD. Revised Edition. 6th printing. $1.50. 
 
 The mythological basis is explained. (76 pp.) Then the stories 
 of the four music dramas are given with translations of many 
 passages and some description of the music. (160 pp.) 
 
 BANISTER S MUSIC 
 
 A hand book on musical theory, jth printing. 80 cents net.* 
 
 "One would have to buy half a dozen volumes to acquire the contents of 
 this one little book." ^V. Y. Times. 
 
 JOHNSON S (Helen K., ed.) OUR FAMILIAR 
 SONGS AND THOSE WHO MADE THEM 
 
 300 standard songs of the English-speaking race, arranged with 
 piano accompaniment, and preceded by sketches of the writers and 
 histories of the songs, j 2th printing. $3.00. 
 
 * Postage 8 additional on net books. 
 
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DOROTHY CANFIELD S THE SQUIRREL- CAGE 
 
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 day. This original and complete version of Lydia Emery s 
 love story contains much not in its serial form. 
 
 " One has no hesitation in classing The Squirrel-Cage with the 
 best American fiction of this or any season. Regarded merely as a 
 realistic story of social ambitions in a typical Ohio town, it has all 
 the elements of diversity, feeling, style, characterization and plot to 
 captivate almost any member of that large and growing public which 
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 " She brings her chief indictment against the restless ambition of the 
 American business man, and the purposeless and empty life of the 
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 are made very real and human. . . . The story of a young girl s 
 powerlessness to resist the steady pressure of convention." Bookman. 
 
 " A remarkable story of American life to-day, worth reading and 
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 pathy." New York Sun. 
 
 R. E. VERNEDE S THE FLIGHT OF FAVIEL 
 
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 mercial success in England, and introduces a promising nov 
 elist to the American public. 
 
 Mr. Faviel, light-heartedly, and not foreseeing the conse 
 quences, starts to win a wager that he can disappear abso 
 lutely for a month without being discovered even by detec 
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 siderable humor as well as the spice of adventure. 
 
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BEULAH MARIE DIX S THE FIGHTING BLADE 
 
 By the author of " The Making of Christopher Ferringham," 
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 VARIAN. $1.30 net. 
 
 The "fighting blade" is a quiet, boyish German soldier 
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 heroic and self-sacrificing. He loves a little tomboy Royalist 
 heiress. 
 
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 reader. . . . Told with great spirit. She has written her romance 
 with dash. The heroine is very attractive, the love part is told 
 delightfully." 
 
 New York Tribune :" With an historic background and atmos 
 phere. .... Lovers of this kind of fiction will find here all that 
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 hero ... is certainly as fine a specimen of fighting manhood (with 
 a gentle heart) as ever has been put before us. . . . He lives, mind 
 you, he s wholly natural. . . . Oliver Cromwell makes a brief ap 
 pearance, but a striking one. . . . Some of the minor characters . . . 
 are as well-drawn. . . . From the beginning . . . until the very 
 end the story holds the reader s glad, intimate interest." 
 
 DONAL HAMILTON HAINES S THE RETURN OF PIERRE 
 
 A tale of 1870. The adventures of Pierre a country lad 
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 New York Tribune: " Capital studies of the realities of war as 
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 their obscure heroisms, the range of their emotions before and during 
 and after actual battle. Decidedly worth while . . . convincing and 
 gripping." 
 
 Living Age:"Vonal Hamilton Haines ... has accomplished an 
 unusual thing. ... A wonderful blending of gentleness and nobility 
 of spirit with uncompromising realism which make this book one of 
 the most noteworthy of the season." 
 
 Boston Transcript: "His descriptions are fresh and unstudied. . . . 
 A clear, forcible presentation of an element in war which is too 
 seldom laid before us. It is the tragedy of war, on which the stress 
 
 Postage on net books 8% additional. 
 
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 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 
 
BOOKS TO MAKE ELDERS YOUNG AGAIN 
 By INEZ HAYNES GILLMORE 
 
 PHOEBE AND ERNEST 
 
 With 30 illustrations by R. F. SCHABELITZ. $1.35 net. 
 
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 understandingly with, and sometimes at, Mr. and Mrs. Martin 
 and their children, Phoebe and Ernest. 
 
 " Attracted delighted attention in the course of its serial publication. 
 Sentiment and humor are deftly mingled in this clever book." New 
 York Tribune. 
 
 " We must so back to Louisa Alcott for their equals." Boston Ad 
 vertiser. 
 
 " For young and old alike we know of no more refreshing story." 
 New York Evening Post. 
 
 PHOEBE, ERNEST, AND CUPID 
 
 Illustrated by R. F. SCHABELITZ. $1.35 net. 
 In this sequel to the popular Phoebe and Ernest," each 
 of these delightful young folk goes to the altar. The chap 
 ters, which have already created such interest in the Amer 
 ican Magazine, are : " Ernest and the Law of Order " 
 " Phoebe and the Little Blind God " " Phoebe Among the 
 Bohemians " " Ernest Lays down His Arms " " Phoebe 
 Closes with Cupid " " The Discoveries " " The House 
 Book " " I, Phoebe, Take Thee, Toland " " Ernest and the 
 Conspirators " " Phoebe and the Most Important Bird " 
 "Till He Gets Him a Wife" "The Found Children." 
 
 JANEY 
 
 Illustrated by ADA C. WILLIAMSON. $1.25 net. 
 " Being the record of a short interval in the journey thru 
 life and the struggle with society of a little girl of nine." 
 
 " Our hearts were captive to Phoebe and Ernest, and now accept 
 Janey. . . . She is so engaging. . . . Told so vivaciously and 
 with such good-natured and pungent asides for grown people" 
 Outlook. 
 
 " Depicts youthful human nature as one who knows and loves it. 
 Her Phoebe and Ernest studies are deservedly popular, and now, in 
 Janey, this clever writer has accomplished an equally charming por 
 trait." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 PUBLISHERS NEW YORK. 
 
WILLIAM DE MORGAN S NOVELS 
 
 ALL THIS POPULARITY?" asks E. V. LUCAS, writ 
 ing in the Outlook of De Morgan s Novels. He answers : 
 De Morgan is "almost the perfect example of the humorist; 
 certainly the completest since Lamb . . . hardly a single 
 page is free from a smile. . . . Humor, however, is not 
 all. There must also be enough dramatic interest to hold 
 the reader, enough fidelity in the character-drawing to per 
 suade. ... In the De Morgan world it is hard to find an 
 unattractive figure . . . the charm of the young women. 
 . . . All brave and humorous and gay, and all trailing clouds 
 of glory from the fairyland from which they have just come." 
 JOSEPH VANCE 
 
 The story of a great sacrifice and a life-long love. 
 
 "The book of the last decade; the best thing in fiction since Mr. 
 Meredith and Mr. Hardy ; must take its place as the first great English 
 novel that has appeared in the twentieth century." LEWIS MELVILLE 
 in New York Times Saturday Review. 
 
 ALICE-FOR-SHORT 
 
 The romance of an unsuccessful man, in which the long 
 buried past reappears in London of to-day. 
 
 "If any writer of the present era is read a half century hence, a 
 quarter century, or even a decade, that writer is William De Morgan." 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 SOMEHOW GOOD 
 
 How two brave women won their way to happiness. 
 "A book as sound, as sweet, as wholesome, as wise, as any in the 
 range of fiction." The Nation. 
 
 IT NEVER CAN HAPPEN AGAIN 
 
 A story of the great love of Blind Jim and his little daugh 
 ter, and of the affairs of a successful novelist. 
 
 "De Morgan at his very best, and how much better his best is than 
 the work of any novelist of the past thirty years. 1 The Independent. 
 
 AN AFFAIR OF DISHONOR 
 
 A very dramatic novel of Restoration days. 
 U A marvelous example of Mr. De Morgan s inexhaustible fecundity 
 of invention. . . . Shines as a romance quite as much as Joseph 
 Vance does among realistic novels." Chicago Record-Herald. 
 
 A LIKELY STORY 
 
 " Begins comfortably enough with a little domestic quarrel in a 
 studio. . . . The story shifts suddenly, however, to a brilliantly 
 told tragedy of the Italian Renaissance embodied in a g;rl s portrait 
 . . . which speaks and affects the life of the modern people who hear 
 it. ... The many readers who like Mr. De Morgan will enjoy this 
 charming fancy greatly." New York Sun. 
 
 A Likely Story, $1.35 net; the others, $1.75 each. 
 
 *** A thirty-two page illustrated leaflet about Mr. De Morgan, with 
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LIBRARY, 
 
 
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