Morris tribune. [volume] (Morris, Minn.) 1880-2000, 1884-01-30
GLORIOUS STRAINS.
How Zelda Seguin Sings Beauti.
full Old Song.
New York Correspondence.l

New York Correspondence
Everybody loves the exquisitely pathetic
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.
have heard her in her great roles in opera,
when the applause was so loud and long that
it almost drowned the mnemonic
echo of the melody, and when the
lights and stage splendors and copta-
gious enthusiasm enhanced the scene
and deepened the spell; but never have 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 eff
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 dramatic stage. journalists,
writers, poets, critics and people Of "many
minds" One evening was one of an in
formal company that gathered there. Among
steal composer with a brand new opera on
which he wanted Mrs. Seguins judg-
ment Very obligingly she sang
all the parts, the composer himself
presiding at the piano. 1t was delightful to
hear the honest comments of these people Of
genius on work that the people might, per-
haps, in short time be raying over or
stamping with its resentful heels.
The public sees 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 temporary belief in
the reality of it all, the actors coming into
their mimic world of kings and crowns and
tinsel and melodious love exactly at the right
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 Seguin has done un-
| limited quantities, and thereby earned the
| sincere gratitude of those who sought heI
| aid.
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-aI
accomplishment ali great singers do not pos
sess, strange as it may seem-somebody, yes
everybody present begged for Kathleen
! Mavourneen,n and 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
1 ripples over the emotions and awaken
merely responsive thrill. 1t stirred tn
soul 1t hecalue part of one
own cry against fate; brief blu
most moving expression of the cruelty of life
It called up the vision of Chopin dying in tn
island of Majorca. When the lovely youn,
Countess Potocka sang stanza from tn
song which once saved the life of Stradella
he said: &C. How beautiful it is; my God, hov
beautiful!'' and then closed his eyes that hi
spirit might float away on the glorious strain
to that world where there is neither discor,
nor discomfort.
How beautiful it was! that never-to-be-for
gotten Kathleen Mavourneenl All, yes, hoy
beautiful The famous singer was dressed il
soft white, which fit close about her delicat
throat. Her hair was arranged simply in
low coil at the back, and her round, whit
arms, from which the loose sleeves fell away
were clasped together and held low befor
her. She stood by the piano, lovely pic
ture, indeed, her marvelously swee
face untouched by a hard OF coarse line, il
perfect profile before the little company. He
expression was something altogether spiritual
The windows were open, and, as it was late
all the rude sounds of the street had die
away, and the rich notes of her voice foate
into the stiffness of the night like an ech
from some angelic choir,
Every listener sat entranced. The ordinar
pathos of music moves to tears, but this LITE
the spirit momentarily away from earth in
transport of sympathetic anguish.
Among the guests was one young man O
dreamy and mystical tendencies with WHOM
music was sort of worship. After it wa
over he said to me in low voice, and wit
burning eyes, 81 heard my dead mothe
speak to me when Mrs. Seguin sang th
words, why art thou silentP and felt he
presence. / always do when I hear Zeld
sing that song; and always at that point sh
speaks to me as if to tell me that she is no
silent, that she is with me-"
And the critic said of Mrs. Seguin: "Sh
is Kathleen Mavourneen. Nobody else ca
make the song living drama as she does.
And so with the memory of the gloriou
notes AMI the sweet face of the prima DOM
III OuT lOI6NSE we ScpdTaUeu
went our several ways, forever to hear til
echo of the words:
kathleen Mavourneen, awake from tn
slumbers,
The blue mountains glow in the suns colder
light,
oh, where is the spell that once hung on m
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 mus
sever,
Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we mus
part,
1t may be for years, and it may he for
ever,
heart;
1t may be for years, and it may be FOR
ever
Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavour
neen."