a wagner matinee-第3章

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drawn　breath　and　turned　to　my　aunt。　　Her　eyes　were　closed；　but



the　tears　were　glistening　on　her　cheeks；　and　I　think；　in　a　moment



more；　they　were　in　my　eyes　as　well。　　It　never　really　died；　then



the　soul　that　can　suffer　so　excruciatingly　and　so　interminably；



it　withers　to　the　outward　eye　only；　like　that　strange　moss　which



can　lie　on　a　dusty　shelf　half　a　century　and　yet；　if　placed　in



water；　grows　green　again。　　She　wept　so　throughout　the　development



and　elaboration　of　the　melody。







During　the　intermission　before　the　second　half　of　the　concert；　I



questioned　my　aunt　and　found　that　the　〃Prize　Song〃　was　not　new　to



her。　　Some　years　before　there　had　drifted　to　the　farm　in　Red　Willow



County　a　young　German；　a　tramp　cowpuncher；　who　had　sung　the　chorus



at　Bayreuth；　when　he　was　a　boy；　along　with　the　other　peasant　boys



and　girls。　　Of　a　Sunday　morning　he　used　to　sit　on　his



gingham…sheeted　bed　in　the　hands'　bedroom　which　opened　off　the



kitchen；　cleaning　the　leather　of　his　boots　and　saddle；　singing　the



〃Prize　Song；〃　while　my　aunt　went　about　her　work　in　the　kitchen。　



She　had　hovered　about　him　until　she　had　prevailed　upon　him　to　join



the　country　church；　though　his　sole　fitness　for　this　step；　insofar



as　I　could　gather；　lay　in　his　boyish　face　and　his　possession　of



this　divine　melody。　　Shortly　afterward　he　had　gone　to　town　on　the



Fourth　of　July；　been　drunk　for　several　days；　lost　his　money　at　a



faro　table；　ridden　a　saddled　Texan　steer　on　a　bet；　and　disappeared



with　a　fractured　collarbone。　　All　this　my　aunt　told　me　huskily；



wanderingly；　as　though　she　were　talking　in　the　weak　lapses　of



illness。







〃Well；　we　have　come　to　better　things　than　the　old　Trovatore



at　any　rate；　Aunt　Georgie？〃　I　queried；　with　a　well…meant　effort



at　jocularity。







Her　lip　quivered　and　she　hastily　put　her　handkerchief　up　to



her　mouth。　　From　behind　it　she　murmured；　〃And　you　have　been



hearing　this　ever　since　you　left　me；　Clark？〃　　Her　question　was　the



gentlest　and　saddest　of　reproaches。







The　second　half　of　the　program　consisted　of　four　numbers　from　the



Ring；　and　closed　with　Siegfried's　funeral　march。　　My



aunt　wept　quietly；　but　almost　continuously；　as　a　shallow　vessel



overflows　in　a　rainstorm。　　From　time　to　time　her　dim　eyes　looked



up　at　the　lights　which　studded　the　ceiling；　burning　softly　under



their　dull　glass　globes；　doubtless　they　were　stars　in　truth　to



her。　　I　was　still　perplexed　as　to　what　measure　of　musical



comprehension　was　left　to　her；　she　who　had　heard　nothing　but　the



singing　of　gospel　hymns　at　Methodist　services　in　the　square　frame



schoolhouse　on　Section　Thirteen　for　so　many　years。　　I　was　wholly



unable　to　gauge　how　much　of　it　had　been　dissolved　in　soapsuds；　or



worked　into　bread；　or　milked　into　the　bottom　of　a　pail。







The　deluge　of　sound　poured　on　and　on；　I　never　knew　what　she



found　in　the　shining　current　of　it；　I　never　knew　how　far　it　bore



her；　or　past　what　happy　islands。　　From　the　trembling　of　her　face



I　could　well　believe　that　before　the　last　numbers　she　had　been



carried　out　where　the　myriad　graves　are；　into　the　gray；



nameless　burying　grounds　of　the　sea；　or　into　some　world　of　death



vaster　yet；　where；　from　the　beginning　of　the　world；　hope　has　lain



down　with　hope　and　dream　with　dream　and；　renouncing；　slept。







The　concert　was　over；　the　people　filed　out　of　the　hall



chattering　and　laughing；　glad　to　relax　and　find　the　living　level



again；　but　my　kinswoman　made　no　effort　to　rise。　　The　harpist



slipped　its　green　felt　cover　over　his　instrument；　the　flute



players　shook　the　water　from　their　mouthpieces；　the　men　of　the



orchestra　went　out　one　by　one；　leaving　the　stage　to　the　chairs



and　music　stands；　empty　as　a　winter　cornfield。







I　spoke　to　my　aunt。　　She　burst　into　tears　and　sobbed　pleadingly。　



〃I　don't　want　to　go；　Clark；　I　don't　want　to　go！〃







I　understood。　　For　her；　just　outside　the　door　of　the　concert



hall；　lay　the　black　pond　with　the　cattle…tracked　bluffs；　the



tall；　unpainted　house；　with　weather…curled　boards；　naked　as　a



tower；　the　crook…backed　ash　seedlings　where　the　dishcloths　hung



to　dry；　the　gaunt；　molting　turkeys　picking　up　refuse　about　the



kitchen　door。







End