Tales From Two Hemispheres | ||
4. IV.
At half-past four o'clock in the afternoon, Halfdan found himself standing in a large, dimly lighted drawing-room, whose brilliant upholstery, luxurious carpets, and fantastically twisted furniture dazzled and bewildered his senses. All was so strange, so strange; nowhere a familiar object to give rest to the wearied eye. Wherever he looked he saw his
“You are Mr. —, the Norwegian, who wishes to give music lessons?” she said, holding a pair of gold-framed eyeglasses up to her eyes, and running over the note which she held in her hand. It read as follows:
DEAR MARTHA,—The bearer of this note is a young Norwegian, I forgot to ascertain his name, a friend of Olson's. He wishes to teach music. If you can help the poor devil and give him something to do, you will oblige, Yours, H. V. K.
Mrs. Van Kirk was evidently, by at least twelve years, her husband's junior, and apparently not very far advanced in the forties. Her blonde hair, which was freshly crimped, fell lightly over her smooth, narrow forehead; her
“Your name, if you please?” said Mrs. Van Kirk, having for awhile measured her visitor with a glance of mild scrutiny.
“Halfdan Bjerk.”
“Half-dan B—, how do you spell that?”
“B-j-e-r-k.”
“B-jerk. Well, but I mean, what is your name in English?”
Halfdan looked blank, and blushed to his ears.
“I wish to know,” continued the lady energetically, evidently anxious to help him out, “what your name would mean in plain English. Bjerk, it certainly must mean something.”
“Bjerk is a tree—a birch-tree.”
“Very well, Birch,—that is a very respectable name. And your first name? What did you say that was?
“H-a-l-f-d-a-n.”
“Half Dan. Why not a whole Dan and be done with it? Dan Birch, or rather Daniel Birch. Indeed, that sounds quite Christian.”
“As you please, madam,” faltered the victim,; looking very unhappy.
“You will pardon my straightforwardness, won't you? B-jerk. I could never pronounce that, you know.”
“Whatever may be agreeable to you, madam, will be sure to please me.”
“That is very well said. And you will find that it always pays to try to please me. And you wish to teach music? If you have no objection I will call my oldest daughter. She is an excellent judge of music, and if your playing meets with her approval, I will engage you, as my husband suggests, not to teach Edith, you understand, but my youngest child, Clara.”
Halfdan bowed assent, and Mrs. Van Kirk rustled out into the hall where she rang a bell, and re-entered. A servant in dress-coat appeared, and again vanished as noiselessly as he had come. To our Norseman there was some
“Mr. Birch,” said Mrs. Van Kirk, “this is my daughter Miss Edith,” and as Halfdan sprang to his feet and bowed with visible embarrassment, she continued:
“Edith, this is Mr. Daniel Birch, whom your father has sent here to know if he would be serviceable as a music teacher for Clara. And now, dear, you will have to decide about the merits of Mr. Birch. I don't know enough about music to be anything of a judge.”
“If Mr. Birch will be kind enough to play,” said Miss Edith with a languidly musical intonation,” I shall be happy to listen to him.”
Halfdan silently signified his willingness and
Halfdan sat down at the grand piano and played Chopin's Nocturne in G major, flinging out that elaborate filigree of sound with an impetuosity and superb abandon which caused the ladies to exchange astonished glances behind his back. The transitions from the light and ethereal texture of melody to the simple, more concrete theme, which he rendered with delicate shadings of articulation, were sufficiently startling to impress even a less cultivated ear than that of Edith Van Kirk, who had, indeed, exhausted whatever musical resources New York has to offer. And she was most profoundly impressed. As he glided over the last pianissimo notes toward the two concluding chords an ending so characteristic of Chopin she rose and hurried to his side with a heedless eagerness, which was more eloquent than emphatic words of praise.
“Won't you please repeat this passage?” she said, humming the air with soft modulations; “I have always regarded the monotonous repetition of this strain” and she indicated it lightly
“It is my favorite composition,” answered he, modestly. “I have bestowed more thought upon it than upon anything I have ever played, unless perhaps it be the one in G minor, which, with all its difference of mood and phraseology, expresses an essentially kindred thought.”
“My dear Mr. Birch,” exclaimed Mrs. Van Kirk, whom his skillful employment of technical terms in spite of his indifferent accent had impressed even more than his rendering of the music,—“you are a comsummate{sic} artist, and we shall deem it a great privilege if you will undertake to instruct our child. I have listened to you with profound satisfaction.”
Halfdan acknowledged the compliment by a bow and a blush, and repeated the latter part of the nocturne according to Edith's request.
“And now,” resumed Edith, “may I trouble you to play the G minor, which has even puzzled me more than the one you have just played.”
“It ought really to have been played first,” replied Halfdan. “It is far intenser in its coloring and has a more passionate ring, but its conclusion does not seem to be final. There is no rest in it, and it seems oddly enough to be a mere transition into the major, which is its proper supplement and completes the fragmentary thought.”
Mother and daughter once more telegraphed wondering looks at each other, while Halfdan plunged into the impetuous movements of the minor nocturne, which he played to the end with ever-increasing fervor and animation.
“Mr. Birch,” said Edith, as he arose from the piano with a flushed face, and the agitation of the music still tingling through his nerves. “You are a far greater musician than you seem to be aware of. I have not been taking lessons for some time, but you have aroused all my musical ambition, and if you will accept me too, as a pupil, I shall deem it a favor.”
“I hardly know if I can teach you anything,” answered he, while his eyes dwelt with keen delight on her beautiful form. “But in my present position I can hardly afford to decline so flattering an offer.”
“You mean to say that you would decline it
“No, only that I should question my convenience more closely.”
“Ah, never mind. I take all the responsibility. I shall cheerfully consent to being imposed upon by you.”
Mrs. Van Kirk in the mean while had been examining the contents of a fragrant Russia-leather pocket-book, and she now drew out two crisp ten-dollar notes, and held them out toward him.
“I prefer to make sure of you by paying you in advance,” said she, with a cheerfully familiar nod, and a critical glance at his attire, the meaning of which he did not fail to detect. “Somebody else might make the same discovery that we have made to-day, and outbid us. And we do not want to be cheated out of our good fortune in having been the first to secure so valuable a prize.”
“You need have no fear on that score, madam,” retorted Halfdan, with a vivid blush, and purposely misinterpreting the polite subterfuge. “You may rely upon my promise. I shall be here again, as soon as you wish me to return.”
“Then, if you please, we shall look for you to-morrow morning at ten o'clock.”
And Mrs. Van Kirk hesitatingly folded up her notes and replaced them in her pocket-book.
To our idealist there was something extremely odious in this sudden offer of money. It was the first time any one had offered to pay him, and it seemed to put him on a level with a common day-laborer. His first impulse was to resent it as a gratuitous humiliation, but a glance at Mrs. Van Kirk's countenance, which was all aglow with officious benevolence, re-assured him, and his indignation died away.
That same afternoon Olson, having been informed of his friend's good fortune, volunteered a loan of a hundred dollars, and accompanied him to a fashionable tailor, where he underwent a pleasing metamorphosis.
Tales From Two Hemispheres | ||