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The Singing Lesson Xi STD Part 1

This short story summary describes Miss Meadows, an English teacher, preparing for her singing lesson. She is feeling deep despair after receiving a letter from Basil saying he does not want to get married. The story provides context about her interactions with other teachers and describes the noisy students awaiting their lesson. It highlights Miss Meadows ignoring a flower ritual with her favorite student Mary, showing how upset she is feeling over the letter.

Uploaded by

Brito Raj
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
Available Formats
Download as PPTX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
588 views

The Singing Lesson Xi STD Part 1

This short story summary describes Miss Meadows, an English teacher, preparing for her singing lesson. She is feeling deep despair after receiving a letter from Basil saying he does not want to get married. The story provides context about her interactions with other teachers and describes the noisy students awaiting their lesson. It highlights Miss Meadows ignoring a flower ritual with her favorite student Mary, showing how upset she is feeling over the letter.

Uploaded by

Brito Raj
Copyright
© © All Rights Reserved
Available Formats
Download as PPTX, PDF, TXT or read online on Scribd
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Class : XI

Subject : English
S.R : THE SINGING LESSON
Type : short story
WRITER : Katherine Mansfield
presented by
Mr.Brito Raj.A
English Department
With despair—cold, sharp despair—buried deep in her heart
like a wicked knife, Miss Meadows, in cap and gown and
carrying a little baton, trod the cold corridors that led to the
music hall. Girls of all ages, rosy from the air, and bubbling over
with that gleeful excitement that comes from running to
school on a fine autumn morning, hurried, skipped, fluttered
by; from the hollow class-rooms came a quick drumming of
voices; a bell rang; a voice like a bird cried, "Muriel.“
And then there came from the staircase a tremendous knock-
knock-knocking. Some one had dropped her dumbbells.

Baton – a thin stick used in the music Orchestra


Muriel - “bright sea”
Dumbbells-a short bar with a weight for muscle-
building.
The Science Mistress stopped Miss Meadows.
"Good morning," she cried, in her sweet, affected drawl. "Isn't
it cold? It might be winter.“
Miss Meadows, hugging the knife, stared in hatred at the
Science Mistress. Everything about her was sweet, pale, like
honey. You would not have been surprised to see a bee caught in
the tangles of that yellow hair.
"It is rather sharp," said Miss Meadows, grimly. The other
smiled her sugary smile.
"You look frozen," said she. Her blue eyes opened wide; there
came a mocking light in them. (Had she noticed anything?)

Drawl-lazy way of talking


Tangles – a confused mass
Grimly –harshly
Sugary- pleasant
"Oh, not quite as bad as that," said Miss Meadows,
and she gave the Science Mistress, in exchange for her
smile, a quick grimace and passed on...
Forms Four, Five, and Six were assembled in the music
hall. The noise was deafening. On the platform, by the
piano, stood Mary Beazley, Miss Meadows'
favourite, who played accompaniments. She was
turning the music stool. When she saw Miss Meadows
she gave a loud, warning "Sh-sh! girls!" and Miss
Meadows, her hands thrust in her sleeves, the baton
under her arm, strode down the centre aisle, mounted
the steps, turned sharply, seized the brass music stand,
planted it in front of her, and gave two sharp taps with
her baton for silence.
Grimace – expression of disgust on face
Accompaniments – music played to support voice
"Silence, please! Immediately!" and, looking at nobody, her
glance swept over that sea of coloured flannel blouses, with
bobbing pink faces and hands, quivering butterfly hair- bows,
and music-books outspread. She knew perfectly well what they
were thinking.
"Meady is in a wax." Well, let them think it! Her eyelids
quivered; she tossed her head, defying them. What could the
thoughts of those creatures matter to some one who stood
there bleeding to death, pierced to the heart, to the heart, by
such a letter ...
"I feel more and more strongly that our marriage would be a mistake. Not that I do
not love you. I love you as much as it is possible for me to love any woman, but, truth
to tell, I have come to the conclusion that I am not a marrying man, and the idea of
settling down fills me with nothing but—" and the word "disgust" was scratched out
lightly and "regret" written over the top.
Basil! Miss Meadows stalked over to the
piano. And Mary Beazley, who was waiting
for this moment, bent forward; her curls fell
over her cheeks while she breathed, "Good
morning, Miss Meadows," and she motioned
towards rather than handed to her mistress a
beautiful yellow chrysanthemum. This little
ritual of the flower had been gone through
for ages and ages, quite a term and a half. It
was as much part of the lesson as opening
the piano.
But this morning, instead of taking it up,
instead of tucking it into her belt while she
leant over Mary and said, "Thank you, Mary.
How very nice! Turn to page thirty- two," what
was Mary's horror when Miss Meadows totally
ignored the chrysanthemum, made no reply to
her greeting, but said in a voice of ice, "Page
fourteen, please, and mark the accents well."

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