The engagement of the Señorita Rosita Campaneo was for four weeks,
during which Mr. King called frequently and attended the opera
constantly. Every personal interview, and every vision of her on the
stage, deepened the impression she made upon him when they first met.
It gratified him to see that, among the shower of bouquets she was
constantly receiving, his was the one she usually carried; nor was she
unobservant that he always wore a fresh rose. But she was unconscious
of his continual guardianship, and he was careful that she should
remain so. Every night that she went to the opera and returned from
it, he assumed a dress like the driver's, and sat with him on the
outside of the carriage,--a fact known only to Madame and the Signor,
who were glad enough to have a friend at hand in case Mr. Fitzgerald
should attempt any rash enterprise. Policemen were secretly employed
to keep the _cantatrice_ in sight, whenever she went abroad for air or
recreation. When she made excursions out of the city in company with
her adopted parents, Mr. King was always privately informed of it, and
rode in the same direction; at a sufficient distance, however, not
to be visible to her, or to excite gossiping remarks by appearing to
others to be her follower. Sometimes he asked himself: "What would my
dear prudential mother say, to see me leaving my business to
agents and clerks, while I devote my life to the service of an
opera-singer?--an opera-singer, too, who has twice been on the verge
of being sold as a slave, and who has been the victim of a sham
marriage!" But though such queries jostled against conventional ideas
received from education, they were always followed by the thought: "My
dear mother has gone to a sphere of wider vision, whence she can look
down upon the merely external distinctions of this deceptive world.
Rosabella must be seen as a pure, good soul, in eyes that see as the
angels do; and as the defenceless daughter of my father's friend,
it is my duty to protect her." So he removed from his more eligible
lodgings in the Piazza di Spagna, and took rooms in the Corso,
nearly opposite to hers, where day by day he continued his invisible
guardianship.
He had reason, at various times, to think his precautions were not
entirely unnecessary. He had several times seen a figure resembling
Fitzgerald's lurking about the opera-house, wrapped in a cloak, and
with a cap very much drawn over his face. Once Madame and the Signor,
having descended from the carriage, with Rosa, to examine the tomb of
Cecilia Metella, were made a little uneasy by the appearance of four
rude-looking fellows, who seemed bent upon lurking in their vicinity.
But they soon recognized Mr. King in the distance, and not far from
him the disguised policemen in his employ. The fears entertained by
her friends were never mentioned to Rosa, and she appeared to feel no
uneasiness when riding in daylight with the driver and her adopted
parents. She was sometimes a little afraid when leaving the opera late
at night; but there was a pleasant feeling of protection in the idea
that a friend of her father's was in Rome, who knew better than the
Signor how to keep out of quarrels. That recollection also operated
as an additional stimulus to excellence in her art. This friend had
expressed himself very highly gratified by her successful _début_,
and that consideration considerably increased her anxiety to sustain
herself at the height she had attained. In some respects that was
impossible; for the thrilling circumstances of the first evening could
not again recur to set her soul on fire. Critics generally said she
never equalled her first acting; though some maintained that what she
had lost in power she had gained in a more accurate conception of the
character. Her voice was an unfailing source of wonder and delight.
They were never weary of listening to that volume of sound, so full
and clear, so flexible in its modulations, so expressive in its
intonations.
As the completion of her engagement drew near, the manager was eager
for its renewal; and finding that she hesitated, he became more and
more liberal in his offers. Things were in this state, when Mr. King
called upon Madame one day while Rosa was absent at rehearsal. "She is
preparing a new aria for her last evening, when they will be sure to
encore the poor child to death," said Madame. "It is very flattering,
but very tiresome; and to my French ears their '_Bis! Bis_!' sounds
too much like a hiss."
"Will she renew her engagement, think you?" inquired Mr. King.
"I don't know certainly," replied Madame. "The manager makes very
liberal offers; but she hesitates. She seldom alludes to Mr.
Fitzgerald, but I can see that his presence is irksome to her; and
then his sudden irruption into her room, as told by Giovanna, has
given rise to some green-room gossip. The tenor is rather too
assiduous in his attentions, you know; and the _seconda donna_ is her
enemy, because she has superseded her in his affections. These things
make her wish to leave Rome; but I tell her she will have to encounter
very much the same anywhere."
"Madame," said the young man, "you stand in the place of a mother
to Miss Royal; and as such, I have a favor to ask of you. Will you,
without mentioning the subject to her, enable me to have a private
interview with her to-morrow morning?"
"You are aware that it is contrary to her established rule to see any
gentleman, except in the presence of myself or Papa Balbino. But you
have manifested so much delicacy, as well as friendliness, that we all
feel the utmost confidence in you." She smiled significantly as she
added: "If I slip out of the room, as it were by accident, I don't
believe I shall find it very difficult to make my peace with her."
Alfred King looked forward to the next morning with impatience; yet
when he found himself, for the first time, alone with Rosabella, he
felt painfully embarrassed. She glanced at the fresh rose he wore,
but could not summon courage to ask whether roses were his favorite
flowers. He broke the momentary silence by saying: "Your performances
here have been a source of such inexpressible delight to me, Miss
Royal, that it pains me to think of such a thing as a last evening."
"Thank you for calling me by that name," she replied. "It carries me
back to a happier time. I hardly know myself as La Señorita Campaneo.
It all seems to me so strange and unreal, that, were it not for a few
visible links with the past, I should feel as if I had died and passed
into another world."
"May I ask whether you intend to renew your engagement?" inquired he.
She looked up quickly and earnestly, and said, "What would you advise
me?"
"The brevity of our acquaintance would hardly warrant my assuming the
office of adviser," replied he modestly.
The shadow of a blush flitted over her face, as she answered, in a
bashful way: "Excuse me if the habit of associating you with the
memory of my father makes me forget the shortness of our acquaintance.
Beside, you once asked me if ever I was in trouble to call upon you as
I would upon a brother."
"It gratifies me beyond measure that you should remember my offer, and
take me at my word," responded he. "But in order to judge for you, it
is necessary to know something of your own inclinations. Do you enjoy
the career on which you have entered?"
"I should enjoy it if the audience were all my personal friends,"
answered she. "But I have lived such a very retired life, that I
cannot easily become accustomed to publicity; and there is something
I cannot exactly define, that troubles me with regard to operas. If
I could perform only in pure and noble characters, I think it would
inspire me; for then I should represent what I at least wish to be;
but it affects me like a discord to imagine myself in positions which
in reality I should scorn and detest."
"I am not surprised to hear you express this feeling," responded he.
"I had supposed it must be so. It seems to me the _libretti_ of operas
are generally singularly ill conceived, both morally and artistically.
Music is in itself so pure and heavenly, that it seems a desecration
to make it the expression of vile incidents and vapid words. But is
the feeling of which you speak sufficiently strong to induce you to
retire from the brilliant career now opening before you, and devote
yourself to concert-singing?"
"There is one thing that makes me hesitate," rejoined she. "I wish
to earn money fast, to accomplish certain purposes I have at heart.
Otherwise, I don't think I care much for the success you call so
brilliant. It is certainly agreeable to feel that I delight the
audience, though they are strangers; but their cries of '_Bis! Bis_!'
give me less real pleasure than it did to have Papasito ask me to sing
over something that he liked. I seem to see him now, as he used to
listen to me in our flowery parlor. Do you remember that room, Mr.
King?"
"Do I _remember_ it?" he said, with a look and emphasis so earnest
that a quick blush suffused her eloquent face. "I see that room as
distinctly as you can see it," he continued. "It has often been in my
dreams, and the changing events of my life have never banished it from
my memory for a single day. How _could I_ forget it, when my heart
there received its first and only deep impression. I have loved you
from the first evening I saw you. Judging that your affections were
pre-engaged, I would gladly have loved another, if I could; but though
I have since met fascinating ladies, none of them have interested me
deeply."
An expression of pain passed over her face while she listened, and
when he paused she murmured softly, "I am sorry."
"Sorry!" echoed he. "Is it then impossible for me to inspire you with
sentiments similar to my own?"
"I am sorry," she replied, "because a first, fresh love, like yours,
deserves better recompense than it could receive from a bruised and
worn-out heart like mine. I can never experience the illusion of love
again. I have suffered too deeply."
"I do not wish you to experience the _illusion_ of love again," he
replied. "But my hope is that the devotion of my life may enable you
to experience the true and tender _reality_" He placed his hand gently
and timidly upon hers as he spoke, and looked in her face earnestly.
Without raising her eyes she said, "I suppose you are aware that my
mother was a slave, and that her daughters inherited her misfortune."
"I am aware of it," he replied. "But that only makes me ashamed of my
country, not of her or of them. Do not, I pray you, pain yourself or
me by alluding to any of the unfortunate circumstances of your
past life, with the idea that they can depreciate your value in my
estimation. From Madame and the Signor I have learned the whole story
of your wrongs and your sufferings. Fortunately, my good father taught
me, both by precept and example, to look through the surface of things
to the reality. I have seen and heard enough to be convinced that your
own heart is noble and pure. Such natures cannot be sullied by the
unworthiness of others; they may even be improved by it. The famous
Dr. Spurzheim says, he who would have the best companion for his life
should choose a woman who has suffered. And though I would gladly have
saved you from suffering, I cannot but see that your character has
been elevated by it. Since I have known you here in Rome, I have been
surprised to observe how the young romantic girl has ripened into the
thoughtful, prudent woman. I will not urge you for an answer now, my
dear Miss Royal. Take as much time as you please to reflect upon it.
Meanwhile, if you choose to devote your fine musical genius to the
opera, I trust you will allow me to serve you in any way that a
brother could under similar circumstances. If you prefer to be a
concert-singer, my father had a cousin who married in England, where
she has a good deal of influence in the musical world. I am sure she
would take a motherly interest in you, both for your own sake and
mine. Your romantic story, instead of doing you injury in England,
would make you a great lioness, if you chose to reveal it."
"I should dislike that sort of attention," she replied hastily. "Do
not suppose, however, that I am ashamed of my dear mother, or of her
lineage; but I wish to have any interest I excite founded on my own
merits, not on any extraneous circumstance. But you have not yet
advised me whether to remain on the stage or to retire from it."
"If I presumed that my opinion would decide the point," rejoined he,
"I should be diffident about expressing it in a case so important to
yourself."
"You are very delicate," she replied. "But I conjecture that you would
be best pleased if I decided in favor of concert-singing."
While he was hesitating what to say, in order to leave her in perfect
freedom, she added: "And so, if you will have the goodness to
introduce me to your relative, and she is willing to be my patroness,
I will try my fortune in England. Of course she ought to be informed
of my previous history; but I should prefer to have her consider
it strictly confidential. And now, if you please, I will say, _An
revoir_; for Papa Balbino is waiting for some instructions on matters
of business."
She offered her hand with a very sweet smile. He clasped it with a
slight pressure, bowed his head upon it for an instant, and said, with
deep emotion: "Thank you, dearest of women. You send me away a happy
man; for hope goes with me."
When the door closed after him, she sank into a chair, and covered her
face with both her hands. "How different is his manner of making love
from that of Gerald," thought she. "Surely, I can trust _this_ time.
O, if I was only worthy of such love!"
Her revery was interrupted by the entrance of Madame and the Signor.
She answered their inquisitive looks by saying, rather hastily, "When
you told Mr. King the particulars of my story, did you tell him about
the poor little _bambino_ I left in New Orleans?"
Madame replied, "I mentioned to him how the death of the poor little
thing afflicted you."
Rosa made no response, but occupied herself with selecting some pieces
of music connected with the performance at the opera.
The Signor, as he went out with the music, said, "Do you suppose she
didn't want him to know about the _bambino_?"
"Perhaps she is afraid he will think her heartless for leaving it,"
replied Madame. "But I will tell her I took all the blame on myself.
If she is so anxious about his good opinion, it shows which way the
wind blows."
The Señorita Rosita Campaneo and her attendants had flitted, no one
knew whither, before the public were informed that her engagement was
not to be renewed. Rumor added that she was soon to be married to a
rich American, who had withdrawn her from the stage.
"Too much to be monopolized by one man," said Mr. Green to Mr.
Fitzgerald. "Such a glorious creature belongs to the world."
"Who is the happy man?" inquired Mrs. Fitzgerald.
"They say it is King, that pale-faced Puritan from Boston," rejoined
her husband. "I should have given her credit for better taste."
In private, he made all possible inquiries; but merely succeeded in
tracing them to a vessel at Civita Vecchia, bound to Marseilles.
To the public, the fascinating _prima donna_, who had rushed up from
the horizon like a brilliant rocket, and disappeared as suddenly, was
only a nine-days wonder. Though for some time after, when opera-goers
heard any other _cantatrice_ much lauded, they would say: "Ah, you
should have heard the Campaneo! Such a voice! She rose to the highest
D as easily as she breathed. And such glorious eyes!"