Katherine Mansfield |
Katherine Mansfield (1883-1933) was born in New Zealand, She went to England to finish her education and married J. Middleton Murry, a well-known writer on literary topics. She died in France after a long illness. Although her life was short, she soon became well known, both in Britain and in Europe, for her short stories. Her specialqualities are her tender humanity, her clarity, her wit, and her courageous gaiety. |
"The Singing Lesson'
is a psychological study.
The way in which a music teacher shows her emotions through the songs that she teaches her class is
cleverly worked out. | |
With despair -cold, sharp despair- buried deep in her heart like a wicked knife, Miss Meadows, in cap and gown and carrying alittle baton, trod the cold corridors that led to the music hall. Girls of all ages, rosy from the air, and bubbling over with that gleeful excitement that comes from running to school on a fine autumn morning, hurried, skipped, fluttered by; from the hollow class-rooms came a quick drumming of voices; a bell rang; a voice like a bird cried, "Muriel." And then there came from the staircase atremendous knock-knock-knocking. Some one had dropped her dumbbells.
The Science Mistress stopped Miss Meadows.
"Good mor-ning," she cried, in her sweet, affected drawl. "Isn't it cold? It might be win-ter."
Miss Meadows, hugging the knife, stared in hatred at the Science Mistress. Everything about her was sweet, pale, like honey. You wold not have been surprised to see a bee caught in thetangles of that yellow hair.
"It is rather sharp," said Miss Meadows, grimly.
The other smiled her sugary smile."You look fro-zen," said she. Her blue eyes opened wide; there came a mocking light in them. (Had she noticed anything?)
"Oh, not quite as bad as that," said Miss Meadows, and she gave the Science Mistress, in exchange for her smile, a quick grimace and passed on...
Forms Four,Five, and Six were assembled in the music hall. The noise was deafening. On the platform, by the piano, stood Mary Beazley, Miss Meadows' favourite, who played accompaniments. She was turning the music stool. When she saw Miss Meadows she gave a loud, warning "Sh-sh! girls!" and Miss Meadows, her hands thrust in her sleeves, the baton under her arm, strode down the centre aisle, mounted the steps,turned sharply, seized the brass music stand, planted it in front of her, and gave two sharp taps with her baton for silence.
"Silence, please! Immediately!" and, looking at nobody, her glance swept over that sea of coloured flannel blouses, with bobbing pink faces and hands, quivering butterfly hair-bows, and music-books outspread. She knew perfectly well what they were thinking. "Meady is in awax." Well, let them think it! Her eyelids quivered; she tossed her head, defying them. What could the thoughts of those creatures matter to some one who stood there bleeding to death, pierced to the heart, to the heart, by such a letter...
..."I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake. Not that I do not love you. I love you as much as it is possible for me to love anywoman, but, truth to tell, I have come to the conclusion that I am not a marrying man, and the idea of settling down fills me with nothing but--" and the word "disgust" was scratched out lightly and "regret" written over the top.
Basil! Miss Meadows stalked over to the piano. And Mary Beazley, who was waiting for this moment, bent forward; her curls fell over her cheeks while she breathed,"Good morning, Miss Meadows," and she motioned towards rather than handed to her mistress a beautiful yellow chrysanthemum. This little ritual of the flower had been gone through for ages and ages, quite a term and a half. It was as much part of the lesson as opening the piano. But this morning, instead of taking it up, instead of tucking it into her belt while she leant over Mary and said, "Thank...