The Primadonna | Page 2

richly

represented by diamonds in the subscriber's tier. Indeed the jewellery
was so plentiful and of such expensive quality that the whole row of
boxes shone like a vast coronet set with thousands of precious stones.
When the music did not amuse society, the diamonds and rubies
twinkled and glittered uneasily, but when Cordova was trilling her
wildest they were quite still and blazed with a steady light. Afterwards
the audience would all say again what they had always said about every
great lyric soprano, that it was just a wonderful instrument without a
particle of feeling, that it was an over-grown canary, a human flute, and
all the rest of it; but while the trills ran on the people listened in wonder
and the diamonds were very quiet.
'A-a--A-a--A-a--A-a--' sang Cordova at an inconceivable pitch.
A terrific explosion shook the building to its foundations; the lights
went out, and there was a long grinding crash of broken glass not far
off.
In the momentary silence that followed before the inevitable panic the
voice of Schreiermeyer, the manager, rang out through the darkness.
'Ladies and gentlemen! There's no danger! Keep your seats! The lights
will be up directly.'
And indeed the little red lamps over each door that led out, being on
another circuit, were all burning quietly, but in the first moment of
fright no one noticed them, and the house seemed to be quite dark.
Then the whole mass of humanity began to writhe and swell, as a
frightened crowd does in the dark, so that every one feels as if all the
other people were growing hugely big, as big as elephants, to smother
and crush him; and each man makes himself as broad as he can, and
tries to swell out his chest, and squares his elbows to keep the weight
off his sides; and with the steady strain and effort every one breathes
hard, and few speak, and the hard-drawn breath of thousands together
makes a sound of rushing wind like bellows as enormous as houses,
blowing steadily in the darkness.

'Keep your seats!' yelled Schreiermeyer desperately.
He had been in many accidents, and understood the meaning of the
noises he heard. There was death in them, death for the weak by
squeezing, and smothering, and trampling underfoot. It was a grim
moment, and no one who was there has forgotten it, the manager least
of all.
'It's only a fuse gone!' he shouted. 'Only a plug burnt out!'
But the terrified throng did not believe, and the people pressed upon
each other with the weight of hundreds of bodies, thronging from
behind, towards the little red lights. There were groans now, besides the
strained breathing and the soft shuffling of many feet on the thick
carpets. Each time some one went down there was a groan, stifled as
instantly and surely as though the lips from which it came were quickly
thrust under water.
Schreiermeyer knew well enough that if nothing could be done within
the next two minutes there would be an awful catastrophe; but he was
helpless. No doubt the electricians were at work; in ten minutes the
damage would be repaired and the lights would be up again; but the
house would be empty then, except for the dead and the dying.
Another groan was heard, and another quickly after it. The wretched
manager yelled, stormed, stamped, entreated, and promised, but with
no effect. In the very faint red light from the doors he saw a moving sea
of black and heard it surging to his very feet. He had an old
professional's exact sense of passing time, and he knew that a full
minute had already gone by since the explosion. No one could be dead
yet, even in that press, but there were few seconds to spare, fewer and
fewer.
Then another sound was heard, a very pure strong note, high above his
own tones, a beautiful round note, that made one think of gold and
silver bells, and that filled the house instantly, like light, and reached
every ear, even through the terror that was driving the crowd mad in the
dark.

A moment more, an instant's pause, and Cordova had begun Lucia's
song again at the beginning, and her marvellous trills and staccato notes,
and trills again, trills upon trills without end, filled the vast darkness
and stopped those four thousand men and women, spellbound and
silent, and ashamed too.
It was not great music, surely; but it was sung by the greatest living
singer, singing alone in the dark, as calmly and as perfectly as if all the
orchestra had been with her, singing as no one can who feels the least
tremor of fear; and the awful tension of the dark throng relaxed, and the
breath that came