Camilla: A Tale of a Violin

People of influence were consulted, and in vain. If the Directors of the Conservatory would not take the child it was no affair of theirs. They could do nothing about it. It did seem as if everything was against her and she began to realize what a very unhappy thing it is to be a girl. Still, she would not despair nor relax one effort to obtain her darling wish. She would keep on studying just the same and all through the weary weeks of waiting she practiced and studied as best she could under her father’s instruction.

The Winter passed away and the Spring came. It brought very little hope with it. Camilla could not enter the Conservatory. There were only nine places and there were seventy-six applicants and every one of them boys. When they grew up they could play in the theatres. That was the aim of their lives. The Conservatory was opened to teach them, to prepare them for this very work. Camilla would not play in an orchestra and, of course, she would be of no use to the country and it was idle to admit her to the classes.

Persistence finally carried the day. M. Urso fairly worried the learned officers of the Conservatory into a consent. The irritable little Director, Auber, lost his temper and said “Well, bring the girl. She is sure to fail. We will hear her play, but she cannot enter.”

The Ursos were greatly pleased with this concession. If they would hear Camilla just once it would be enough. They could hardly refuse to take a child of her great talents even if she did have the misfortune to be a girl.

At last the eventful day arrived. The seventy-six boys and the one girl were to be examined. Her case was quite hopeless, they said. She might play like an angel and it would avail nothing. The boys would have the places.

She never lost her courage, but with that quiet, serious manner that only served to hide her sturdy character, she took her father’s hand and soberly trotted through the streets without a fear. She knew what she could do, she had her piece by heart; she meant to break into that Conservatory, it was her only hope and she would try hard to do her very, very best.

M. Urso was excited and nervous. How would it all end? Would Camilla be admitted. It was doubtful, still, her genius might win the day in spite of the determined opposition that was raised against her. As for Camilla she clung to her violin in stubborn silence, and patiently waited for the great trial. All the candidates met in one room, the seventy-six boys and their friends and the one girl with her father.

All the names were numbered and the numbers placed in a box and shaken up. Then, some one drew them out, one at a time, and called off the numbers. Camilla’s number was nine, so her turn came quite early in the day. This was fortunate, for she was fresh and eager to begin and the jury had not become weary with their task. One at a time the boys were admitted to the presence of the grand jury. Big fellows, fourteen and fifteen years old, who had played before she was born. The case really looked discouraging and desperate. Would she ever get in? She was only seven, and looked hardly six. Her fingers were thin and her face pale. She hardly seemed fitted to compete with grown up lads. It did not deter her from trying, and when her number was called she felt sure she would do her best.

They led her into a room where eight solemn looking men sat in big green-backed chairs round a large table. Each had an inkstand and pen and paper and every one had a look of severe dignity that was positively appalling. There was the little Auber, the Director, Rossini the great composer looking fat and grand in his impressive wig, Carraffa the celebrated composer, Allard the violinist and four others looking equally wise and solemn.

They placed her before the double quartette of players who were to give the accompaniment and prepared to hear her work. She would try the andante and finale from the Fourth Concerto, by Rode with accompaniment for violin, second, viola, and violincello.

Here was her one grand chance. She must do her very best, stand just right, and remember everything Felix Simon had said. Her father and mother depended upon her.

The double quartette began to play and she forgot everything save the music. The solemn judges never spoke, nor made a sign in any way expressive of pleasure or disappointment. Some of them scratched their pens over the paper through it all. Others looked straight at her in a severe manner that was perfectly dreadful.

At last it was over. The eight gentlemen never smiled or uttered a word or gave even a look that seemed like hope. She couldn’t guess whether she had failed or won. Somebody led her back to her father in the room where the seventy and six boys were still waiting the result of the trial.

Those men looked so black and really it was all so grim and solemn that she was depressed and discouraged and for six long hours she sat in the room by her father waiting for the verdict to be pronounced. It was eleven o’clock in the morning when her turn came and it was not till five in the afternoon when the last boy had been heard.

There was a tremendous excitement when the Janitor came out to read the names of the nine successful ones. Every one sat perfectly still while the names were pronounced. First a boy’s name. She expected that and was resigned. Then another boy’s name was given. It began to be discouraging. Then one more boy’s name. Her chances were slipping away. She would not be taken in. One more boy’s name. There were murmurs of disappointment from the crowd. Half the names gone. Poor Camilla was ready to cry with disappointment.

Just here Allard, one of the jury passed through the room and stopping a moment said to Camilla’s father:

“The little Urso is admitted.”

Nobody could believe it! There was some mistake! That mite of a girl taken in? The four remaining names given by the Janitor were hardly heard in the uproar and confusion that broke out. The boys who had failed and even their friends were for mobbing the child. It was dreadful, an outrage, perfectly unheard of, a shame, and all that. What right had a girl to come and take the place away from some good boy who could undoubtedly play much better? M. Urso had used influence with the jury and done many wicked things to bring about this unheard of result.

M. Urso threw up his hat in the air, behaved in a wild and happy manner and gave no heed to the taunts of the people. He gave Camilla a ten franc gold piece and conducted himself in a startling and peculiar fashion generally that would have astonished his friends had they seen him. As for Camilla her mind was absorbed in that gold piece. She had never seen anything quite so magnificent. Here were riches, indeed, and she didn’t care a pin for the silly boys who stormed and roared about her. What a noise they did make over it! “Stupid boys, they couldn’t play, and that was the reason they were so mad about it.” She must go home and show her prize to her aunt. How glad her mother would be to hear of her success. Hugging her violin close she paid no attention to the rude people in the room and silently suffered her father to lead her away.

It was a happy day for the Ursos. To think that the little one had fairly broken down the bars of the Conservatory and compelled them to take her in by the simple strength of her genius. Soon after her mother joined them from Nantes and the reunited family was indeed a happy one.

Since that time several girls have been admitted to the Paris Conservatory, but they have to thank Camilla, the youngest of them all, for clearing the way.

Now she began to think that all the weary months with the dumb violin, the long hours of practice, the days and nights spent with dear, cross, old Felix Simon were happily rewarded. With all the elation and pride of her parents she seemed only to be glad, in a quiet way, that she could now go on and learn more and more.

Many weeks must pass before the long summer vacation would be over and the Fall term of the school begin. In the meantime not a day was lost. Three or four hours practice every morning with her father, a walk after dinner, and then two hours more practice. No pieces. Nothing but exercises in long, slow notes to keep up the strong, pure tone, and scales in every key.

There is nothing so successful as success. Just as the vacation was nearly over the little Camilla had another most flattering offer of instruction. De Beriot, whose music she had played at the concert at Nantes, visited Paris and gave several concerts. While he was in the city M. Urso called upon him and asked permission to bring Camilla to his room. Yes. He would gladly hear her play. This was certainly a great favor and soon after she went to his hotel and played some of his music to him. He was greatly pleased with the child and at once offered to take her to Brussels where he lived, and give her a complete musical education at his own expense. He was at that time the first teacher of the violin at the Conservatory of music at Brussels, a place that is now filled by Vieuxtemps, and he was certainly a master of the violin. He would do this freely if he might have entire control of her education. She was not to appear in public till he was quite ready. It might not be for many years. To be sure, in three years, by the time she was ten, she would be a wonderful player, but by waiting longer she would become one of the few great violinists of the world.

This was indeed generous. They were thankful and would be delighted to place her under his instruction if they could go too, and be near her all the time. They had no means of supporting her in another city. She could not leave father and mother. They already found it difficult to get along. Paris seemed very different from their anticipations. It was hard to decline such a splendid offer, but it was harder to part with Camilla, and she could not go.

Then came the Conservatory. There were several teachers of the violin. She might have the choice, and decided to go into Lambert Massart’s class. He was the most popular teacher. He was known to be cross and irritable. His pupils had a sorry time of it but they generally became good artists. She meant to be an artist and she would go to him. It was fortunate, for as soon as he heard her play and learned something of her history and circumstances, he generously offered to give her private lessons at his own house without money and without price.

“Heaven helps those who help themselves.” Salvatore Urso saw his store of money melting away fast. It was not easy to find a place in the orchestras in Paris. There was not a church in the city that did not have several applicants waiting for the position of organist. Evil days were beginning to come upon them. Nearly nine months had slipped away and Camilla had only just succeeded in entering the Conservatory. For all that, she had entered and her talents had won a good friend in the great teacher Massart. They had no noble patron to aid them, there was no wealthy friend to help them along. Everything depended upon themselves and Camilla. She, brave little girl had done well and could now go on and fulfill her splendid destiny.

Her first lesson at the Conservatory opened her eyes to the life that was before her. There were eight boys in Massart’s class besides herself. At first the boys sneered at her and resented her presence. Not content with this they tried to annoy her with rudeness and to plague her with boyish pranks. She took it all patiently, replied to nothing and clung to her violin in stubborn silence.

Massart was a large, rosy faced man with an uncertain temper. He seemed much younger than he really was, and though at times he was dreadfully cross and savage, he was at heart a kind and generous man. His manner of teaching was peculiar. One pupil played at a time and the rest looked on in silence while the master walked up and down the room with a long slender stick in his hand. At first she thought it was a baton to beat time with or to point to the music. Presently she found it had quite another use. One stupid boy did not take the proper position. Massart told him how to stand and the boy put his feet in the right place. Presently he changed one foot and down come the stick with a snap on the boy’s legs. “Oh! M. Massart that hurt” cried the boy. “I meant it should,” said he. “Do it right next time.”

If, thought Camilla, that is the way, I’ll remember it. Somehow it was not so easy. Massart gave a direction once and then came the stick. They must do it right once and for all. Before she knew it there was a slap on her own limbs. It didn’t hurt much because her skirts warded off the blow. As for the boys they had to take it sharp and heavy.

Then that little finger on her right hand. It would spring up as she moved the bow. Massart said very pleasantly that she must keep it down. She put it down but presently it flew up again and then came a stinging blow from the slender stick that was not so pleasant.

That poor little finger had a sorry time of it before it would lay down properly. Many a time it ached with the blows of the switch, and once she thought it was certainly broken. She was obliged to nurse it in a cot for two days. At last it came just right and has never gone wrong since.

Some days Massart was in a terrible passion and stormed up and down the room, and the stick danced about the boys legs till the little Camilla felt sore all over, out of pure sympathy. It made her very cautious and careful and as a natural result she escaped much of the shower of blows that the master offered so freely. One day a stupid boy persisted in holding his violin wrong and suddenly it flew up to the ceiling in a hundred fragments. Poor Camilla fairly cried with fright when the master kicked it out of the pupil’s hands and really had to take refuge in sudden tears. She clung to her instrument with might and main after that. He would not be able to kick it away in that style from her hands.

Up early in the morning, breakfast, then three hours practice at home with her father, then to her lessons from two till four at the Conservatory. Then home again to study till bed time. Such was her day.

Three times a week, at all sorts of hours, as happened to be convenient, she went to Massart’s house for the extra lessons he gave her as a private pupil. He was a famous teacher and pupils gladly paid him twenty francs an hour for instruction on the violin. Camilla had it all for nothing. It was the only gift she ever did have. Nobody had ever given her money. They gave her an education and that was worth more than money. She must work hard and show that she appreciated the master’s kindness.

Besides these lessons, she studied harmony and practiced solfeggio at the Conservatory. Her every hour was taken up with something. When her fingers were weary with playing she could write out her exercises in harmony.

So the days and weeks slipped away. Busy over her studies she hardly noticed that the winter had come again till she began to need warmer clothing. She went to aunt Caroline. Mother was busy on some embroidery. It was strange how much time mother gave to that work now. She had not done so at Nantes. Aunt Caroline gave her an old dress that had been mended several times. Camilla put it on without remark. She thought it odd, that there was no new dress for the winter but said nothing. Somehow things seemed to be changed. Her father was discouraged and her mother never went out, and worked hard all day at embroidery. What had happened? She could not tell.

CHAPTER IV.

THE WOLF GROWLS

It was a busy life for Camilla. As the winter advanced her hours of study increased. More practice at home and more difficult lessons at the school. Studies from Rode, Baillot, Fiorillo, Viotti, Kreutzer, Sporha and the great masters of the violin, were taken up in turn. It was designed that she should become acquainted with all the master works of the day. In addition to regular studies in scales, finger exercises and the like, she went through all the works of the masters that she might become familiar with their style and learn to appreciate the best art. There were no trifling songs, no silly pieces designed to show how fast she could scrabble through a great many notes. Nothing of this kind allowed. Solid work, grand concertos, sonatas and solos passed under her hand in review and in an artistic atmosphere, she began to grow to the stature of an artist while only a child.

The boys in the class soon laid aside their rude manners and forgot their jealousy in admiration. Massart laughed at them and said: “Fie! Boys! The hen is beating the roosters.” Much truth was hidden in the master’s pleasantry. Camilla was rapidly distancing them all. She was the favorite scholar. She had the advantage of Massart’s private instruction three times a week and exhibited an aptitude for the work that advanced her quickly to the head of the class. This was an honor, for it must be remembered, that these boys had been selected as the cream of all the candidates. Each had displayed marked talent for the violin. Had it been otherwise they would not have been in the Conservatory.

All were like Camilla, quite poor. Some were even supported by pensions from their native towns, and nearly all of them afterwards became good players. There was Lacham, Leon Regniér, and Isidor Lotto who afterwards became so famous, and several others.

Henri Wieniawski was in the class before Camilla, but at the time was still about the school. They often met and there began a friendship that has continued to this day. Of Massart’s pupils, three, Camilla, Lotto and Wieniawski have become famous the world over and are among the great artists now living.

Besides her regular studies Massart advised Camilla to join a quartette in order to perfect herself in reading music at sight. Once a week she spent an hour or two in playing with three others at the Conservatory and in this way heard much fine music and accustomed her young eyes to read the notes quickly and taught her slender fingers to interpret the music at command.

Not all of her days were happy. Massart was dreadfully cross at times. He would detect the slightest flaw in the work. Once he marched a stupid boy out of the room by the ear and told him never to come back again. If she should be treated like that it would really break her heart. She would try her best to attend to all that was said and to do everything just right. Massart might storm and rage about the room, but it should not be from any neglect on her part. Altogether it was not a very lovely life. Try as hard as she could it did not always please, and some days it was really pretty tough for such a very small girl.

Another trouble came. Mother would bend over that dreadful embroidery all day long, and things did not seem so prosperous as in Nantes. Father was busy looking about for new rooms and almost before Camilla was aware of it they were ready for a change of residence.

They could not afford the rent of the rooms on the Rue St. Nicholas d’Antin, and they found cheaper quarters in a flat just under the roof in an old house on the Rue Lamartine, and up six flights of long, dark stairs.

It was a sad change from their comfortable home in sunny Nantes. There was nothing to be seen out of the windows save steep, red roofs, the sky, and sundry wild cats that roamed over the tiles. The streets thereabouts were narrow and crooked, with mean little sidewalks hardly wide enough for one.

It was not the Paris of to-day. The wide and handsome Rue de La Fayette that now passes near the Rue Lamartine and the beautiful Square Montholon with its trees and gardens was not in existence then. Camilla first knew Paris as a city of short, crowded streets lined with tall houses and cheap shops and crowded with work people and small householders.

They had only been settled in the new home a few weeks when a greater trouble came to them. The wolf began to growl in the echoing entry way of the tall house. They began to think he would climb the stairs or come in over the tiles and scare even the starved cats away.