But Zoe started and thrilled at the first note, and crept up to the piano
as if drawn by an irresistible cord. She gazed on the singer with
amazement and admiration. His voice was a low tenor, round, and sweet as
honey. It was a real voice, a musical instrument.
"More tunable than lark to shepherd's ear When wheat is green, when
hawthorn buds appear."
And the Klosking had cured him of the fatal whine which stains the
amateur, male or female, and had taught him climax, so that he
articulated and sung with perfect purity, and rang out his final notes
instead of slurring them. In short, in plain passages he was a
reflection, on a small scale, of that great singer. He knew this himself,
and had kept clear of song: it was so full of reminiscence and stings.
But now jealousy drove him to it.
It was Vizard's rule to leave the room whenever Zoe or Fanny opened the
piano. So in the evening that instrument of torture was always mute.
But hearing a male voice, the squire, who doted on good music, as he
abhorred bad, strolled in upon the chance; and he stared at the singer.
When the song ended, there was a little clamor of ladies' voices calling
him to account for concealing his talent from them.
Pages:
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385