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Updated: June 20, 2025
But Charmian had not studied with Madame Thénant for nothing. This was an almost supreme moment in her life, and she knew it. She might never have another opportunity of influencing fate so strongly on Claude's behalf. Madame Sennier's white face, set in the frame of an opera-box, rose up before her.
The Heaths, Claude Heath, Charmian Heath, Claude Heath's opera, Armand Gillier and Claude Heath, Madame Sennier's quarrel with Claude Heath, Mrs. Heath's brilliant efforts for her talented husband, Joseph Crayford's opinion of Mrs.
We needn't have been in such a devil of a hurry after all. But we've got the laugh on them now. Sennier's first opera was a white man. No doubt about that. But the hoodoo seems out against this one.
Apparently Madame Sennier's been saying it was really written for Sennier and had been promised to him." "That's a lie." "Of course it is. But she's spread herself on it finely, I can tell you. Crayford's simply delighted." "Delighted, when I'm accused of mean conduct, of stealing another man's property." "It's no use getting furious over our papers! Doesn't pay!
And this optimism percolated through certain sections of society in New York, as had been the case in London before Sennier's Paradis Terrestre was given for the first time. Report of the opera was very good. And with each passing day it became better. Charmian remembered what had happened in London, and thought exultantly, "Success is in the air." It certainly seemed to be so.
And she remembered, with the extraordinary vitality of an ardent woman, who was still little more than a girl, how she had sat opposite to the white-faced, red-haired heroine on the first night of Jacques Sennier's Paradis Terrestre; how she had watched her, imaginatively entered into her mind, become one with her. That night Claude had written his letter to her, Charmian.
Nor did Jacob Crayford. Several others came, however, and there were comments, congratulations. The same things were repeated by several mouths with strangely similar intonations. And Charmian made appropriate answers. And all the time she kept on saying to herself: "This is my hour of triumph, as Madame Sennier's was at Covent Garden. Only this is America and not England.
Shiffney was, musically speaking of course, in love with Jacques Sennier. Since Wagner there had been nobody to play upon feminine nerves as the little Frenchman played, to take women "out of themselves." As a well-known society woman said, with almost pathetic frankness, "When one hears Sennier's music one wants to hold hands with somebody." Apparently Mrs.
"Well, aren't you? Two whole months, and you never told me you couldn't work." "I hated to, after you'd taken so much trouble with that room." "I know. But, still, directly you did tell me, I perfectly understood. I" she spoke with distinct pressure "I am a wife who can understand. Don't you remember that night at Jacques Sennier's opera?" "Yes." "Didn't I understand then?
"Very kind of her!" he said at last, giving back the note with the box ticket carefully folded between the leaves. "Of course we will go to hear Sennier's opera. He is coming to ours." "To yours!" "Ours!" Claude repeated, with emphasis. Charmian looked down. Then she went to the writing-table and put Mrs. Shiffney's note into one of its little drawers. She pushed the drawer softly.
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