en denied this woman with the vibrant voice and temperament of
fire. Singing only in the Wagner music dramas critics awarded her the
praise that pains. She did not sing as Patti, but oh! the sonorous
heart....

"Goetterdaemmerung" was being declaimed in a fervent and eminently
Teutonic fashion. The house was fairly filled though it could hardly be
called a brilliant gathering; the conductor dragged the tempi, the waits
were interminable. A young girl sat and wonderingly watched. Her mother
was the Brynhild....

This daughter was a strange girl. Her only education was the continual
smatter which comes from many cities superficially glided. She spoke
French with the accent of Vienna, and her German had in it some of the
lingering lees of the Dutch. Wherever they pitched their tent the girl
went abroad in the city, absorbing it. Thus she knew many things denied
women; and when her mother was summoned to Bayreuth, she soon forgot all
in the mists, weavings and golden noise of Wagner. Then followed five
happy years. The singer prospered at Bayreuth and engagements trod upon
the heels of engagements. Her girl was petted, grew tall, shy, and one
day they said, "She is a young woman." The heart of the child beat
tranquilly in her bosom, and her thoughts took on little color of the
life about her.

Once, after "Tristan und Isolde" she asked:

"Why do you never speak of my father?"

Her mother, sitting on the bed, was coiling her glorious hair; the open
dress revealed the massive throat and great white shoulders.

"Your father died years ago, child. Why do you ask now?"

The girl looked directly at her.

"I thought to-night how lovely if he had only been Tristan instead of
Herr Albert."

The other's face was draped by hair. She did not speak for a moment.

"Yes. But he never sang: your father was not a music lover." ...

Presently they embraced affectionately and went to bed; the singer did
not sleep at once. Her thoughts troubled her....

Madame Stock was a great but unequal artist. She had never concerned
herself with the little things of the vocal art. Nature had given her
much; voice, person, musical temperament, dramatic aptitude. She erred
artistically on the side of over-emphasis, and occasionally tore passion
to pieces. But she had the true fire, and with time would compass
repose and symmetry. Toward conquering herself she seldom gave a
thought. Her unhappy marriage had left its marks; she was cynical and