A German Pompadour. Hon. Marie Hay
the songs of to-day?
Changing verse and melody to a soft récitatif, she begged her hearers to give good favour to the evening's festivities. She reminded them that the merry company would soon disperse for many months; she wished them peace and happiness, and she prayed that another spring would find the company reunited once again. 'Mars, God of War, hold thy hand; touch not this fair country!'
In her singing she had struck that note of regret which never leaves an audience unmoved; she appealed to the sadness which lingers for ever in the heart of man, and, after the vapid brilliancies of La Fontaine's comedy, the strain had all the greater power to stir. Wilhelmine, an unseen spectator at many rehearsals of the theatricals, had calculated this to a nicety, with an artist's instinct for playing upon human nature and emotion.
There were women among the audience who knew that ere the following spring many of those they loved might be shot down by French bullets; there were men in the parterre who knew this, and a wave of emotion swept over the whole audience. To the singer herself all this hardly mattered; the human hearts were merely instruments upon which she played a melody; yet her receptive, finely strung being thrilled in response to the feeling she evoked; a half-sob rose in her throat and flooded her flexible voice with a passion of sadness. When the song ended, there came a moment's breathless silence, then the applause broke forth, and Wilhelmine knew she had achieved a triumph.
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