Part 3 (1/2)

I don't regret it, either, for I am just as fond of refinement as you are; but what I do object to is the introduction of extraneous ideas which are contrary to the spirit of Americanism. I love Chicago because it is fairly American, and represents more truly than the older cities the Yankee spirit which made us a free people. You may have vulgar parvenus here, but where are they not to be found? This may be the only large city where New England Puritanism affects society, but it is, at least, American, and better than European immorality. There may be only a few people here who are initiated into the esoterics of manners and manias, but how many good husbands, loving wives, and happy children are there among your rich! you may dine at seven o'clock and go to dances at ten; some of you may talk with a tw.a.n.g and p.r.o.nounce _u_ like double _o_; but how many sn.o.bs and sycophants, how many unemployed and dissipated men, how many intriguers and gamblers have you in Chicago society? For my part I love refinement and _les pet.i.ts soins_ as much as you do, Marion; but if we can't have the good of European life without the bad, if we can't cultivate manners without vices, better far go back to sewing bees and church sociables, and keep our morals pure; better have baked beans and blue laws than truffled capon and depravity. There, I feel quite exhausted, but I have had my say.”

”Really, Florence, you almost take my breath away. I have not heard such a screeching of the American eagle since I can remember. It ought to make me very much ashamed, I suppose, but somehow the flapping of the bird of freedom's wings never did inspire me.”

”I positively refuse to quarrel any more, but I do wish you could feel different; you would be so much happier,” Florence replied.

”O, it is of no use. I am discontented by nature, I suppose. My ideals are too high, my realities too low. Success among people of rank, reputation, and intellect, is what I desire; a position among merchants, manufacturers, and shop-keepers is what I have. For intellectual variety I read a few papers before the Renaissance Club, and meet such occasional notables as stop over here long enough to view the stock-yards. I am the wife of a Chicago banker with all the prerogatives of that position, but nothing more, and with no prospect of being anything more.”

”Nothing short of a coronet and a Court appointment would satisfy you, I fear. As for merchants and shop-keepers, all American society is composed mainly of them or their spendthrift children. But I am firm in my intention not to argue any more, so let us go back to Madonna Laura.

If you want to feel better satisfied with Chicago, think about the sickening spectacle of Roman society at the time of Petrarch, and the futile efforts of his friend, Rienzi, to regenerate it.”

”We sha'n't have time either for reading or discussion before dinner.

There is Roswell's key in the door, and he was never known to leave the office before six o'clock. What gown are you going to wear? Something charming, as usual; but don't forget that the drapery in the Auditorium is old gold plush.”

”Why, Marion, I had quite forgotten we were going to the Opera to-night.

Tamagno in 'Otello': that will be a treat.”

CHAPTER IV.

IN AN OPERA BOX.

A long and motley line of carriages was slowly arriving at the Auditorium entrance. A surging, gaping crowd was jostling the few policemen on duty and trying to catch a glimpse of the brilliant dresses of the women hurrying into the lobby. Long, furry wraps and covered heads, perhaps a gleam of hidden diamonds, were all they saw; but it was a pa.s.sing glance into a forbidden, dazzling world. Footmen scurried, doors were slammed, horses stamped, and husky-voiced policemen called out orders to the coachmen. A long awning covered the carpeted walk, and electric lamps shed a brilliant light upon the m.u.f.fled comers and the eager faces of the waiting crowd. It was not a wan, hungry crowd of starving beggars, such as often surrounds a foreign theater; it was not a silent, wondering crowd; but American-like, it was cheerful and humorous, envious, perhaps, but merry in its envy. It laughed and gibed at every novelty, and its jokes were shared alike by the smart English coachmen and the driver of the antiquated family ”carry-all.” It was impudent, too, but it was the impudence of the great Republic,--the bold a.s.sertion of freedom and prosperity.

In the crowded lobby long lines of people were depositing wraps at the cloak-room windows, some were standing in little groups, and hundreds of others were pa.s.sing up the grand marble staircase into the hall above; Libretto sellers' cries and the scurrying tread of many feet upon the hard mosaic mingled with the distant strains of music, and scores of glittering lights shone upon the marble walls, and the countless, brilliant dresses of the moving throng. On into the great hall the people went. Five thousand seats were being filled, and, tier above tier, they rose like a section of a Roman theatre. Two rows of boxes lined the sides. Delicate wall tints and carefully toned lights blended softly with pretty faces and many colored gowns. The colors were an artist's work and masterly was it done. Up from the stage rose a ma.s.s of faces. An unbroken mult.i.tude it was, grand and impressive. Down at the front a little man was frantically leading an army of skilled musicians, whose rhythmical efforts filled the n.o.ble audience-room with the overture of Verdi's masterpiece, and as the last note rolled far away, up into the balcony loft, and was lost amid the subdued whisperings and rustling programmes, the lights were dimmed, the stately curtain slowly rose, and ten thousand hands applauded a welcome to the great singer from distant Italy. Thousands of music lovers wonderingly listened to the amazing power and range of Tamagno's voice, hundreds stood at the back of the amphitheatre, and even the little swinging gallery away up in the eaves was crowded with humble enthusiasts. But there were a conspicuous few whose whisperings and laughter mingled with the artist's notes; a few whose bids were highest at the auction sale of boxes, and whose tardy, noisy coming accentuated their social prominence and exasperated every lover of good music and good manners.

Among these was Mrs. Roswell Sanderson, who, with her husband, Florence Moreland, and Mr. Walter Sedger, had just entered a box, in the upper, left-hand tier.

”What a superb audience-room,” said Florence Moreland as she put aside her fur-lined cloak and took her opera gla.s.s out of its case. ”How beautifully it lights up. I don't think I ever saw a finer sight.”

”Do you think so, Florence?” replied Marion Sanderson. ”To me it is just like everything else Chicago produces, stupendous and gaudy. They have tried to make an opera house, a concert hall and a convention room, and, consequently, have produced a building which is neither fish, flesh, nor fowl.”

”What do you mean?” asked Florence.

”I mean that as an opera house it is a woful failure. They have shoved two tiers of boxes off at the sides and have given the entire house up to seats; they have put in a hideous organ where the proscenium boxes ought to be, and have invented all manner of machines for lowering the roof and shutting off the galleries; and as for those miserable little columns holding up that balcony, they are simply ridiculous.”

”Marion very seldom admires home productions,” Roswell Sanderson interposed.

”That is just the trouble,” added Florence. ”For my part I admire the progressive spirit which prompted the architect to depart from conventional ideas. If there are no boxes at the back, every one can see and hear, and I think that ma.s.s of people rising gently from the stage one of the most superb sights one could wish to see. The effects of the Paris and Vienna opera houses are not to be compared to it.”

”Don't be so disagreeably contradictory to all I say,” retorted Marion.

”I sha'n't for the present, dear, because I wish to hear some of that glorious music. You must not take what I say seriously.”

Then they were silent, for, unconsciously, they were brought under the spell of the great tenor's art.

”What a divine voice that man has,” said Florence, as the curtain slowly fell after the first act. ”I fairly held my breath during that high _C_.

Mr. Sedger, please applaud, and help bring him out. There he comes!

Bravo, bravo, Tamagno!”