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A Wagner Matinee
I received one morning a letter； written in pale ink on
glassy； blue…lined notepaper； and bearing the postmark of a
little Nebraska village。 This communication； worn and rubbed；
looking as though it had been carried for some days in a coat
pocket that was none too clean； was from my Uncle Howard and
informed me that his wife had been left a small legacy by a
bachelor relative who had recently died； and that it would be
necessary for her to go to Boston to attend to the settling of
the estate。 He requested me to meet her at the station and
render her whatever services might be necessary。 On examining
the date indicated as that of her arrival I found it no later
than tomorrow。 He had characteristically delayed writing until；
had I been away from home for a day； I must have missed the good
woman altogether。
The name of my Aunt Georgiana called up not alone her own
figure； at once pathetic and grotesque； but opened before my feet
a gulf of recollection so wide and deep that； as the letter
dropped from my hand； I felt suddenly a stranger to all the
present conditions of my existence； wholly ill at ease and out of
place amid the familiar surroundings of my study。 I became； in
short； the gangling farm boy my aunt had known； scourged with
chilblains and bashfulness； my hands cracked and sore from the
corn husking。 I felt the knuckles of my thumb tentatively； as
though they were raw again。 I sat again before her parlor organ；
fumbling the scales with my stiff； red hands； while she； beside
me； made canvas mittens for the huskers。
The next morning； after preparing my landlady somewhat； I
set out for the station。 When the train arrived I had some
difficulty in finding my aunt。 She was the last of
the passengers to alight； and it was not until I got her into the
carriage that she seemed really to recognize me。 She had come
all the way in a day coach； her linen duster had become black
with soot； and her black bonnet gray with dust； during the
journey。 When we arrived at my boardinghouse the landlady put
her to bed at once and I did not see her again until the next
morning。
Whatever shock Mrs。 Springer experienced at my aunt's
appearance she considerately concealed。 As for myself； I saw my
aunt's misshapen figure with that feeling of awe and respect with
which we behold explorers who have left their ears and fingers
north of Franz Josef Land； or their health somewhere along the
Upper Congo。 My Aunt Georgiana had been a music teacher at the
Boston Conservatory； somewhere back in the latter sixties。 One
summer； while visiting in the little village among the Green
Mountains where her ancestors had dwelt for generations； she had
kindled the callow fancy of the most idle and shiftless of all
the village lads； and had conceived for this Howard Carpenter one
of those extravagant passions which a handsome country boy of
twenty…one sometimes inspires in an angular； spectacled woman of
thirty。 When she returned to her duties in Boston； Howard
followed her； and the upshot of this inexplicable infatuation was
that she eloped with him； eluding the reproaches of her family
and the criticisms of her friends by going with him to the
Nebraska frontier。 Carpenter； who； of course； had no money； had
taken a homestead in Red Willow County； fifty miles from the
railroad。 There they had measured off their quarter section
themselves by driving across the prairie in a wagon； to the wheel
of which they had tied a red cotton handkerchief； and counting
off its revolutions。 They built a dugout in the red hillside；
one of those cave dwellings whose inmates so often reverted to
primitive conditions。 Their water they got from the lagoons
where the buffalo drank； and their slender stock of provisions
was always at the mercy of bands of roving Indians。 For thirty
years my aunt had not been further than fifty miles from the
homestead。
But Mrs。 Springer knew nothing of all this； and must have
been considerably shocked at what was left of my kinswoman。
Beneath the soiled linen duster which； on her arrival； was the most
conspicuous feature of her costume； she wore a black stuff dress；
whose ornamentation showed that she had surrendered herself
unquestioningly into the hands of a country dressmaker。 My poor
aunt's figure； however； would have presented astonishing
difficulties to any dressmaker。 Originally stooped； her shoulders
were now almost bent together over her sunken chest。 She wore no
stays； and her gown； which trailed unevenly behind； rose in a sort
of peak over her abdomen。 She wore ill…fitting false teeth； and
her skin was as yellow as a Mongolian's from constant exposure to
a pitiless wind and to the alkaline water which hardens the most
transparent cuticle into a sort of flexible leather。
I owed to this woman most of the good that ever came my way
in my boyhood； and had a reverential affection for her。 During
the years when I was riding herd for my uncle； my aunt； after
cooking the three mealsthe first of which was ready at six
o'clock in the morning…and putting the six children to bed； would
often stand until midnight at her ironing board； with me at the
kitchen table beside her； hearing me recite Latin declensions and
conjugations； gently shaking me when my drowsy head sank down
over a page of irregular verbs。 It was to her； at her ironing or
mending； that I read my first Shakespeare'； and her old textbook
on mythology was the first that ever came into my empty hands。
She taught me my scales and exercises； tooon the little parlor
organ； which her husband had bought her after fifteen years；
during which she had not so much as seen any instrument； but an
accordion that belonged to one of the Norwegian farmhands。 She
would sit beside me by the hour； darning and counting while I
struggled with the 〃Joyous Farmer；〃 but she seldom talked to me
about music； and I understood why。 She was a pious woman； she
had the consolations of religion and； to her at least； her
martyrdom was not wholly sordid。 Once when I had been doggedly
beating out some easy passages from an old score of
Euryanthe I had found among her music books； she came up to
me and； putting her hands over my eyes； gently drew my head back
upon her shoulder； saying tremulously； 〃Don't love it so well；
Clark； or it may be taken from you。 Oh； dear boy； pray that
whatever your sacrifice may be； it be not that。〃
When my aunt appeared on the morning after her arrival she
was still in a semi…somnambulant state。 She seemed not to realize
that she was in the city where she had spent her youth； the place
longed for hungrily half a lifetime。 She had been so wretchedly
train…sick throughout the journey that she bad no recollection of
anything but her discomfort； and； to all intents and purposes；
there were but a few hours of nightmare between the farm in Red
Willow County and my study on Newbury Street。 I had planned a
little pleasure for her that afternoon； to repay her for some of
the glorious moments she had given me when we used to milk
together in the straw…thatched cowshed and she； because I was
more than usually tired； or because her husband had spoken
sharply to me； would tell me of the splendid performance of the
Huguenots she had seen in Paris； in her youth。 At two
o'clock the Symphony Orchestra was to give a Wagner program； and I
intended to take my aunt； though； as I conversed with her I grew
doubtful about her enjoyment of it。 Indeed； for her own sake； I
could only wish her taste for such things quite dead； and the
long struggle mercifully ended at last。 I suggested our visiting
the Conservatory and the Common before lunch； but she seemed
altogether too timid to wish to venture out。 She questioned me
absently about various changes in the city； but she was chiefly
concerned that she had forgotten to leave instructions about
feeding half…skimmed milk to a certain weakling calf； 〃old
Maggie's calf； you know； Clark；〃 she explained； evidently having
forgotten how long I had been away。 She was further troubled
because she had neglected to tell her daughter about the freshly
opened kit of mackerel in the cellar； which would spoil if it
were not used directly。
I asked her whether she had ever heard any of the Wagnerian
operas and found that she had not；