"
The chorus and singers on the little stage exchanged smiles.
"I want your first violin," said her highness.
"Anton!"
A youth stood up in the orchestral pit.
"Now, your Highness?" said the Herr Direktor.
"Try her voice."
And the Herr Direktor saw that she was not smiling. He bade the
violinist to draw his bow over a single note.
"Imitate it, Gretchen," commanded her highness; "and don't be afraid of
the Herr Direktor or of the ladies and gentlemen in the gallery."
Gretchen lifted her voice. It was sweeter and mellower than the violin.
"Again!" the Herr Direktor cried, no longer curious.
Without apparent effort Gretchen passed from one note to another, now
high, now low, or strong or soft; a trill, a run. The violinist, of his
own accord, began the jewel song from _Faust_. Gretchen did not know the
words, but she carried the melody without mishap. And then, _I Dreamt I
Dwelt in Marble Halls_. This song she knew word for word, and ah, she
sang it with strange and haunting tenderness! One by one the musicians
dropped their instruments to their knees. The grand duke in the gallery
leaned over the velvet-buffered railing. All realized that a great voice
was being tried before them. The Herr Direktor struck his music-stand
sharply.
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