The morning call., 1892-10-31
WITHOUT THE MASK.

The small town Of Silver Creek was in
state Of intense excitement ever the news
that rare and wonderful singer. "in fact
one of the divnest voices ever heard upon
the stage" "a a New York daily had said,
was going to visit them for one night on her
way to San Francisco.
You should have seen the stampede TO the
music-st0re for reserved-seat tiekets-foT
any tickets-foV permission to stand inside
the hall In one day every inch OF room in
the shabby building was bought up, and
week before time. All Silver Creek was
either STEPPED in triumphant satisfaction or
plunged IN c0vetous loHgings.
The day arrived. So did the prima donna
and her attendants.
The crowd of sightseeTs, who were walt
ing at the railway station, saw nothing for
their pains, except three gentlemanly look
ing fore gners, who led an lmpenetTably
yelled lady into a cab.
Mile CephiSe de Faseati was driven to
the best hotel in the town.
No sooner were the doors of the Music
Hall opened than a dense multitude took
their seats, and thereafter ensued for one
full hour such crammings Of ruffles and
squeezngs past knees, and pushing Of ell
bows as had never been seen In that Music
Hall before.
arranged themselves as the orchestral the
subdued scrapings Of violins. and TOulading
of silver flutes. held the Juvenile part OF the
audience spellbOund Ia breathless anticipa-
ton, and everybody prepared to be aston
ished.
So they were.
The prima donna elided in from a side
door, her long amber satin robe trailing
over the caTpeted platform, her white satin
pettic0at adorned with lace and embroidery,
her gold hair flowing in Ti1glets and
sprinkl loosely with white camellias her
snowy throat enciTcIed by gold, her dainty
white feet decked with gilt butterflies, her
small. upright dgure, so lissome, so grace
fui. rising out Of gold and white Moorish
scarf which was knOtte loosely 81 one side.
a vision q perfect grace and Partisan
taste was she, but the lace which confronted
the audience was the ugiest ia the room.
j sort OF shock ran through the hearts Of
the audience. They had expected beauty
to match the famous thrOng. Why not?
The papers had called her young, attractive.
the Idol OF every city.
Here was q verita bic Gorgon.
There was a palpable silence as she
swept TO the front of the platform. where q
bank of flowers did duty instead Of foot
lights. The applause, which had risen up
like q whirlwind at the first glimpse Of the
gold aud white figure, was now hushed and
dumbSmitten.
Nile. Cephise turned with unmoved face
20 her orchestra, and straightway a low
sobbing broke from violin and silver flute
like the sOftest whispers Of the AOlian
harp, aud the voice rose up, not glad and
Joyous a. the tones of those who have found
life a holiday, but sadly, proudly, purely IN
It's lonely beauty like the voice of an angel
who, wandering through sOrdid scenes in
search OF the AlI-g0od, sings song not of
earth, but one taught by heavens ministers.
Oh, voice OF majesty, OF piercing, thrill
Ing, pulsng, peerless sweetness! How it
tranced each vulgar soul in the old hall that
night and dragged them from their sordid
selves to peep with awe-stTUck eyes through
the golden bars to heaYenl How ii taught
cold hearts their first lesson OF love, or char
ity, Of alteration to Him who rules above
ALL How it waited the angel faces of the
dead to weeping friends, and sent the inuO-
cent baby cheek back TO nestle on the moth
er's yearning bosomi
Beloved voice. guerdOn surely Of noble
soull
The song-or one should say the divine
psalm-Was ended, when ascreak at one Of
the doors broke the intense stiffness which
establishment and emotion had bound the
audience with. and an old woman. drip
ping from the cold rain without edged her,
self into the crowded building. She was
ragged and bowed with rheumatism a few
white sparse locks fell from her old black
bonnet over her poor, thin cheeks; her faded
shawl scarcely hid her b0ny arms from
of cotton worn TO rags, but mended some
bow to hang together. She had basket on
her arm filed with matches spools of cot
ton, tape and needles, but the matches were
spoiled by the rain and her whole stock
damaged.
Come. come, Mother Pelleter," said the
doorkeeper, taking her roughly by the arm.
you must 90 out Of this. 1t isn't the place
for the likes of you
"Ah, mon Dieug muttered the old
woman, looking eagerly about with her
keen black eyes. Il heard voice, sweet
voice. Where is It?'
Down stepped lady from reserved seat
close by-a lady with gorgeous silks, and
ermines. and opera-cloak, all au fat; but
her eyes were fun Of tears and her cheeks
were pale.
'She shall stay. Mr.. Harold" said the
lady; ''the music will warm her poor old
soul. A moatriot Of your OVID, Mother
Pelletler, young Parisienne, and she sings
like serauh. here, Mr.. Harold, is money
for her ticket Now, sit you down on this
step neac the stove, and lookl she Is going
to sing again"
The lady back in her place, the old
French woman crouching behind the stove,
Mile. Cephise reappeared, this time rap
tuEously applauded, and began a tinkling
French ehanson to the tripping measure OF
the accompanying orchestra
As the lark-like voice rose and rose TO
higher flights of DiQuant melody. and the
flute erept softly after, and the violin MIN
licked the gushing trills. the GREATNESS
audience gradually had their attention di-
VeTted by q strange incident.
Old Mother PelletIer at first saw nothing
but the rings Of the blazing lights and the
medley Of Rayly dressed ladies' like flowers
In well-stOeked garden bed, with their
futtering fans all in motion, and their faces
looking very white and patrician in the
strong light; and when she saw the burning