The Cheyenne daily leader. [volume] (Cheyenne, Wyo.) 1870-1884, 1883-10-17
GLORIOUS STRAINS.
How Zelda Seguin Sings a Beauti-
full Old Song.


old song Kathleen Mavourneen; but there is
only one woman on the American stage who
can sing it in a way to move the soul, and
that one is Zelda Seguin.' To hear it from
her lips is to become possessed of a memory
that is priceless.
l have heard her In her great roles in opera,
when the applause was SO loud and long that
it almost drowned the mnemonic
C of the melody, and when the
lights and stage splendors and conta-
gious enthusiasm enhanced the scene
and deepened the spell; but never have l heard
anything more exquisitely beautiful, or more
perfect vocal melody than this one sweet
song as she sings it at home, unembellished
by the dazzle of stage costume or scenic Of
feet.
She and her husband, Mr.. Wallace, are
delightfully."- genial with their friends,
and their apartments on Irving place, in New
York, during the summer were much fire.
quented by the bright people" the artists OF
the lyric and ramatic stage, journalists,
writers, poets, critics and people of many
minds" One evening l was one Of an in
formal company that gathered there. Among
he guests were an eminent critic and a mu-
steal composer with a brand new opera on
which he wanted Mrs. Seguin's judg-
ment Very ~obligingly she sang
all the parts, the composer himself
~ SDc BAaAAps IL was htllBh W
hear the honest comments of these people of
genius on a work that the people might, per-
maps, in a short time be raving over or
stamping with its resentful heels.
The public sees a play or an opera perfected
and complete when it sees it at all, the scene
well set, the orchestra lending its magic to
cheat the senses into a temporary belief in
the reality of it all, the actors coming into
their mimic world of kings and crowns, and
Il fInCal aud rna1AItnt,, I@-u -. 81 a a l. II.
time, and, seeing it already made, think
nothing about the process of making. A
part of this process is getting the opinion of
artists whose judgment is valuable and will
be honestly given. of this helpful but unre-
munerative work Zelda SeSuin has done I'M
limited quantities, and thereby earned the
sincere gratitude of those who sought her
aid. o
But as to the song. After the new opera
had received a couple of hours
of Mrs. Seguin's close attention,
and by the way, she reads music
with a readiness that astonishes experts-an
accomplishment all great singers do not pos
sess, strange as it may seem-somebody, yes,
everybody present begged for Kathleen
Mavourneen," aud she sang it.
Such singing one is not apt to hear many
times in a lifetime, even with large oppor-
tunities; and hearing it one forgets it never.
1t was not the order of vocalization which
ripples over the emotions and awakens
merely a responsive thrill 1t stirred the
soul 1t became a part Of ones
own cry against fate; a brief but
most moving expression Of the cruelty of life
1t called up the vision of Chopin dying in the
island Of Majorca. When the lovely young
Countess Potocka sang "a stanza from the
song which once saved the life of Strndella.
he said; How beautiful it is; my God. how
beautifully and then closed his eyes that his
spirit might float away on the glorious strains
to that world where there is neither discord
nor discomfort.
How beautiful it wasl that er-to.be-
gotten Kathleen Mavourneenl All, yes, how
beautiful The famous singer was dressed in
soft white, which fit close about her delicate
throat. Her hair was arranged simply in a
low coil at the back, and her round, white
arms, from which the loose sleeves fell away,
were clasped together and held low before
her. She stood by the piano. a lovely pic
ture, indeed, her marvelously sweet
face untouched by a hard or coarse line, in
perfect profile before the little company. Her
expression was something altogether spiritual.
The windows were open, and, as it was late,
all the rude sounds of the street had died
away, and the rich notes of her voice Hoated
into the stiffness of the night like an echo
from some angelic choir.
Every listener sat entranced. The ordinary
pathos Of music moves to tears, but this lifted
the spirit momentarily away from earth in a
transport of sympathetic anguish.
Among the guests was one young man of
dreamy and mystical tendencies, with whom
music was a sort of worship. After it was
ovor he said to me in a low voice, and with
burning eyes, 81 heard my dead mother
speak to me when Mrs. Seguin sang the
words, why art thou silentr aud | felt her
presence. 1 always do when / hear Zelda
sing that song; and always at that point she
speaks to me as IL to tell me that she is not
silent, that she is with me-"
Aud the critic said of Mrs. Seguin: "She
is Kathleen Mavourneen. Nobody else can
make the song a living drama as she does"
And so with the memory of the glorious
notes and the sweet face of the prima donna
in our minds, forever we separated and
went our several ways, forever to hear the
echo of the words:
kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy
The blue mountains glow in the SUMS golden
light,
Oh, where is the spell that once hung on my
numbers,
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night,
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night.
ooh, hast thou forgotten how soon we must
sever,
Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we must
part,
1t may be for years, and it may be for
ever,
Oh, why art thou silent, thou voice of my
heart;
1t may be for years, and it may be for
ever,
Than why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavour-
neen."