unearths some literary gems.
When she took a note that was high for her, Miss Darcey always put her right hand out into the air, as if she were indicating height, or giving an exact measurement. Some early teacher had told her that she could “place” a tone more surely by the help of such a gesture, and she firmly believed that it was of great assistance to her. (Even when she was singing in public, she kept her right hand down with difficulty, nervously clasping her white kid fingers together when she took a high note. Thea could always see her elbows stiffen.) She unvaryingly executed this gesture with a smile of gracious confidence, as if she were actually putting her finger on the tone: “There it is, friends!”
This morning, in Gounod’s “Ave Maria,” as Miss Darcey approached her B natural,—
Dans—nos a-lár———mes!
Out went the hand, with the sure airy gesture, though it was little above A she got with her voice, whatever she touched with her finger.
