“The following day I departed, Madame Deville kissed me several times,
and warmly embraced me. She seemed to feel more regret at parting from
me, than I had seen her manifest upon the similar occasions of bidding
adieu to Inez and Blanche; for myself, I felt sorry to leave, and yet
glad to go. To spend one’s existence in an automaton-like performance of
fixed rules, laid down for us by others, is surely not a life of action;
and action is the object and purpose of our being, that each should bear
his share of the joys, cares, and responsibilities of existence, is
evidently the intent of our being sent upon earth.
“Monsieur Belmont placed me in the hackney coach, which was to take us
to the post-house, whence we took the diligence, to one of the principal
towns on the road to Naples; my luggage was strapped on behind; my
teacher placed himself by my side and closed the carriage door; the
driver cracked his whip and we started. As I heard the rumbling of
the coach wheels on the rough stones of the pavement, a feeling of
loneliness, of isolation, stole over me. I, a simple schoolgirl, had left
the abode of years, and was about to be cast forth upon that great chaos,
the world; still I hoped that the invisible hand of some angel-guardian,
would guide me safely through the dark clouds of obscurity, even unto the
bright sun of the most perfect day. Since that day I have travelled over
half the inhabited world, but I never experienced a sadder feeling, than
on the day I bade farewell to the boarding-school at Vienna.
“It was a sweet morning in the month of May. Inez had left us in the
summer time, Blanche, when autumn’s yellow leaf strewed the ground;
but a fresh spring day heralded my departure. The brisk trot at which
we travelled soon carried us beyond the suburbs of the city, and the
magnificent metropolis of the Austrian empire, its monuments, splendid
churches, beautiful gardens, and glorious works of art, were left behind.
My eyes dwelt upon them admiringly, as they gradually receded from my
view; I was proud of the country, and place of my nativity; and in that
great city I had lived for so many years, and yet was as ignorant of
its gayeties, its vices and its crimes, as any poor countryman from the
neighboring mountains.
“Our road lay along a fertile plain, bordered on the right by a lofty
chain of mountains, on the left a small stream ran gurgling by; the
gentle murmur of its waters sounded like the regular sonorous breathing
of a sleeping child. Monsieur pulled out of his pocket a newspaper, and
went to reading politics. It was evident that beautiful scenery had no
charms for him. He left me undisturbed to my meditations, and I followed
them; I looked down on the long green grass at my feet, interspersed
with wild flowers, and I looked up at the blue heavens above my head,
traversed here and there by fleecy white clouds, and I felt thankful
to the beneficent Creator of all things, that he had placed me in so
beautiful a world. I glanced across the plain at the lofty dark blue
mountains, and then turned to the opposite side, where groves of tall
poplars and graceful lindens waved their dark green foliage in the
sunshine.
“Gradually, as we journeyed on, the scene changed; the plain was
distanced, and we ascended a hill and rode through a thick forest. I
listened to the mournful cooing of the doves, the chirping of the birds,
and the hollow sound of the breeze, as it whistled through the trees;
the snake glided through the brushwood and vanished at our approach, and
the deer ran startled away, little partridges ran about on the ground,
calling each other in the unintelligible language of the brute creation.
I enjoyed everything I saw with that untarnished freshness of feeling,
the attribute of early youth. Man becomes accustomed to anything, and
everything, and a continued repetition of the same thing, even if it be
beautiful, becomes tiresome. To love or appreciate a person or thing
long, we must throw around it, or them, an air of mystery, of reserve,
for undisputed possession sooner or later brings satiety. Poor frail
human nature! why is it, destined child of dust, that thou canst only
love ardently while the object of thy passion is unattained? A lover
will run all risks, do anything to obtain his mistress; yet when once
his own, grow weary of her in a month; the fervor of his passion will
cool down to positive indifference, sometimes degenerate into neglect or
personal abuse.
“Monsieur still sat coning over the news; he had journeyed that road
a hundred times before, and consequently did not care for trees, nor
flowers, nor green grass. Towards evening the driver drew up before the
door of a small, dirty-looking post-house, situated in a deep ravine,
surrounded by steep precipices; a waterfall ran bounding down the rocks,
with a wild, musical sound. The situation was picturesque and grand;
two women, upon their knees, on the edge of the stream, washing their
clothes, chatted to each other, and their faces wore the expression of
smiling content. Upon the steps of the house sat a beautiful girl, sewing
some ribbonds together; on which she was placing glass beads of different
colors. She smiled to herself as she did so, probably anticipating the
effect this piece of rustic finery would have upon the heart of some
village lover. A princess, while contemplating a tiara of diamonds, could
not have felt happier than did this cottage girl with her head-dress of
ribbonds. There is something charming in nature, and in rural life; it
is so natural, so pure, so unalloyed by the manœuvering, the hypocrisy,
the turmoil of social existence; it is the primitive state of being our
first parents led, and to its peaceful shades has many a hackneyed man
and woman of the world returned, as a tired child to its mother’s arms,
to seek for peace and repose.
“After waiting sometime the diligence made its appearance; we got into
it, ourselves the only passengers, and the carriage returned from whence
it came; the postillion winded his horn as we flew rapidly away. We
followed the course of the Danube; it was a dark night, the sky only
illumined by the stars; I could not obtain a distinct view of this
majestic river, still as we rolled along upon its beautiful banks, I
thought of the lessons I had so often repeated about the invasion of the
Goths and Vandals, and how they had crossed the great river on their way
to Rome.
“Our journey occupied the space of four days; we travelled without
stopping, and long before we reached Naples, my strength was nearly
exhausted from fatigue. When the boundaries of Italy were passed, and we
had entered upon the fertile plains of Tuscany, my eyes dwelt delighted
on all they saw. The peasantry in their fanciful costume, the blooming
vineyards, and pretty cottages, all, by turns, enraptured me. Monsieur
Belmont sometimes talked to me about Naples and my future career;
sometimes read the everlasting newspapers, in which he seemed to take so
lively an interest, and sometimes dozed away the time.
“We passed several beautiful villas, and fine plantations; in the latter,
numerous male and female peasants were at work in the fields. Their
care-worn faces, begrimed with sweat and dirt, bearing testimony to the
labor they performed; from my heart I most sincerely pitied them. To
stand for hours under the burning heat of the sun digging, ploughing, and
gathering the grape when harvest-time arrived, could be no enviable task;
the women were frightful, the sun had turned their naturally dark skins
to a copper hue; their short petticoats exposed their sinewy legs and
bare feet, large and ugly, from never having been compressed in shoes.
They scarcely looked like human beings, and my gaze wandered quickly away
in search of more romantic objects to dwell upon.
“We stopped an hour at Pisa to dine; and as everything is hurry and
confusion at an Italian Inn, upon the advent of a stranger, Monsieur,
learning that our dinner would not be ready for a quarter of an hour,
took me down the street to look at the celebrated Leaning Tower of Pisa.
We paused before its graceful front, and I looked up at the eight tiers
of white marble arches, each different from the other in architecture,
and each beautiful. We ascended to its summit by a circular stairway,
which wound round and round within the building, till my head became
confused; from the top I obtained a fine view of this ancient, and once
powerful city. I looked down upon its broad, well-paved, but almost
deserted streets, and recalled the warlike days of the republic. The
tranquil Arno still ran swiftly past, as it did then; the plain on which
the town stands was just as smiling and lovely, as in the days of yore,
but the spirit of enterprise and commerce, which had once animated and
enriched this classic town, had forever passed away.
“Dinner was ready when we returned. The excitement of the journey, and
visit to the Leaning Tower, had almost deprived me of appetite, but
my teacher made amends for my bad taste, by eating with the greatest
voracity; he seemed to wonder at my indifference to the viands set before
us.
“‘Why don’t you eat, child,’ he suddenly demanded, while masticating some
oranges, ‘are you not hungry? I should think you would be after such a
long ride; you had better eat something, for you will need nourishment
before we stop again.’
“‘I don’t want anything to eat at present, sir,’ I answered, ‘and I have
some biscuits in my pocket; if I feel hungry, I can eat them.
“Once more we were off; we now had company, in the shape of two Italians,
young students from one of the universities of Pisa, returning home to
Naples; they were handsome, talkative young men. The usual civilities
having been mutually exchanged, Monsieur and they soon became involved in
a long political discussion, interesting, I have no doubt, to them, but
tiresome enough to me, since we take but little interest in that which
we do not understand. Their conversation was sustained, apparently with
much animation on both sides, for some hours. Monsieur Belmont talked
well, he had seen a great deal of society, in all its different phases,
and was a perfect man of the world; he did not look upon it with the same
feeling of satiety, with which a _roué_ views this fair earth; he had not
the refinement, the elegance of mind necessary to form that character;
his was merely the worldliness of a business-like mind. The young men
with whom he conversed, were evidently inexperienced and unsophisticated;
their views of life, and society in general, were certainly more
theoretical than practical.
“It was the fourth day of our journey, we were rapidly approaching the
enchanting Parthenope, the far-famed Eldorado of Italy. Already I could
see the distant summit of Vesuvius, vomiting forth clouds of smoke. The
majestic castle of San Elmo, upon the hill, and that of Castle Nuovo,
by the harbor, looked like two faithful sentinels, watching over their
beloved city. Innumerable vessels, from all quarters of the globe, and of
all sizes and shapes, rode quietly upon the azure bosom of the beautiful
harbor. The domes and spires of its gothic churches rose high in air,
glittering in the sunshine. The character of the scenery had changed as
we neared the town; the dense, gloomy forests of Austria, and the wild
mountainous scenery of northern Italy, had given place to the rocky,
volcanic soil, and level plains of the environs of Naples, adorned with
grapevines and fruit trees, while far away in the distance I saw the
dark-blue tops of the Appenines. Well may the Neapolitan exclaim, with
patriotic ardor, ‘See Naples and die;’ he thinks it a piece of heaven
fallen upon earth, the garden spot of the world, and, with justice, may
he cherish this opinion.
“The coach horses dashed down the hill leading into the city, as if the
prince of darkness was at their heels, dragging the diligence after them
at furious speed. Our travelling companions left us as we entered the
gates; and after dashing through the fashionable thoroughfare, the street
called Toledo, the postillion drove in various directions, up one street,
and down another; now through broad, handsome streets, now through dirty
crooked lanes, until at length, he stopped before the door of a cottage,
built in gothic style, of gray stone; it faced upon a quiet, pretty
piazza, adorned with trees and flowers. Honeysuckle, myrtle and cypress
vine, hung gracefully around the latticed windows of this sylvan abode. I
wondered where my guardian was taking me to.
“At the noise of the coach wheels, the street door opened, and a woman
who had once been handsome, but whose interesting countenance now bore
the traces of age, attired in gray silk, stood upon the threshold. She
bowed and smiled to Monsieur as the diligence drew up; he undid the coach
door, jumped out, assisted me to do the same, and then presented her to
me as Madame Bonni.
“‘This is my little protegee, Madame, whom I wrote you I should bring
on to Naples this year to make her debut; we have had a long, and dusty
travel from Vienna.’
“‘I am delighted to see you, my friend, and you also, my child; but pray
enter my parlor, and I will order refreshments for you; you must feel
very much fatigued after so long a journey.’
“The good lady took my hand and led me into her parlor. Monsieur, after
giving some directions to the servants about the luggage, followed also.
It was really a fairy little room, hung with fine paintings on the
walls, damask curtains at the windows, several marble statues placed on
pedestals, while a melodious musical box, and a beautiful canary bird in
a cage, seemed to vie with each other in harmony. I took a seat near a
window, the lady sat opposite me, and Monsieur threw himself on a sofa,
and complained of the hot weather and trouble of travelling.
“‘So this is the young lady who sings so splendidly; but I understood
that you had three protegees to bring out: where are the other two?’
inquired the lady, after having attentively surveyed me for a moment.
“‘This one is the youngest of the three; they were all educated at the
same school together—Madame Deville’s, at Vienna—but Inez and Blanche
completed their education first, being the oldest, and have been
performing four or five years. Inez is making a fortune for herself at
Berlin, and Blanche I left at Munich.’
“‘I should like to hear the young lady sing, if she will oblige me with
a song; I have a fine piano here.’ She crossed the room, uncovered an
enormous German instrument, and ran her fingers over the keys.
“‘Certainly my pupil will be happy to do so,’ said my teacher, answering
for me. ‘She has no need to be afraid of singing: her voice is
magnificent; she will make the greatest singer of the day. Come, Genevra,
sing something from Norma for my friend.’
“I placed myself at the piano; I was confident of my own abilities, and
therefore felt no hesitancy in complying with the request. I chose an air
from Norma, and sang it. I recollected many years before how astonished
I had been at the power and compass of Blanche’s voice, but now my own
tones far excelled hers. I was almost surprised at myself, as I rose from
the piano.
“‘Magnificent!’ cried the lady, ‘I never heard such a voice, not even
among our best songstresses; so much sweetness and power combined; she
will make a great sensation in our city, when she makes her appearance.’
“Monsieur smiled; he looked pleased, but said nothing; I presume he was
afraid of spoiling me by too much praise. At this moment, a domestic
entered, bearing a tray of refreshments, and conversation for the moment
was postponed.
“Madame took me into her pretty garden, and showed me her birds and
flowers. She gathered me a bouquet of choice flowers, which I afterwards
placed in water. When I went to my room at night, she told me she was the
widow of an Italian army officer, and now lived upon an annuity paid her
by government; she never had any children, and felicitated herself upon
my visit, as that of a companion and friend. She was not intellectual,
nor pretty now, but kind-hearted and sincere, and sincerity and goodness
are certainly attractive. I did not in return confide to her the details
of my childhood, for I could not have done so without humbling myself in
my own, and in her esteem, and my pride would not allow me to do that,
but I spoke on general subjects; of the city, its beautiful scenery, and
splendid buildings, and of the beauty of the peasantry I had seen as I
journeyed toward it. On these subjects the enthusiastic Italian was at
home, for the Neapolitans are desperately enamoured of their own lovely
land. We passed an hour in pleasant conversation, then returned to the
parlor, where tea was served; my teacher favored us with a song; he sang
magnificently; and I also sang a duet with him, which elicited Madame’s
raptures. At ten o’clock, we retired to rest, I felt almost worn out
with fatigue; the lady conducted me up stairs, to a neat little chamber
opposite her own.
“‘I hope this room will suit you,’ said the kind-hearted woman, as she
followed me into it; ‘if you want anything, pray ring the bell and my
servant will attend you; I know you must long to go to rest, after so
long a journey, so I will not tire you by conversation. Good night, my
child.’
“‘Good night,’ I replied. The door closed, and I was left alone; I set
my little lamp in the fire-place, and after I had undressed and repeated
the rosary, I stepped into the pretty bed, draperied with white, and drew
its curtains close around me. I could scarcely realize that I was not in
Madame Schiller’s dormitory; and, at dawn, I started suddenly from my
slumber, imagining I heard her voice calling the girls to rise. Finding
myself wide awake, I thought I would get up, and did so; all was quiet in
the house, no one stirring; faint hues of morning sun were rising slowly
in the East. I heard the sound of deep, sonorous breathing, as I passed
a door at the head of the stairs, which I justly concluded were the
nocturnal tones of my guardian. I went into the parlor, and finding on a
table an interesting novel, took it in my hand, and sought the garden;
under a wide-spreading Acacia tree, I sat down upon a rustic bench; I
saw an old female domestic making a fire in the kitchen, and beginning
to prepare breakfast; I looked at her as she moved about, and wondered
if I should ever live to become as old and ugly as she; if my cheeks,
now so round and firm, should become shriveled and hanging like pieces
of dried skin; my form, attenuated and hideous; my hair turn gray and
fall out, and my eyes watery and blinking, like those of a sick lap-dog;
yet it was natural to suppose, that in the course of nature all those
things would come to pass. We see those who have once been handsome and
intellectual, grow ugly, old, and stupid; their beauty fades away like
a fleeting dream; their intellect declines with the vigor of body which
supported it. If mind is soul, and if the soul is immortal, should we
not reasonably suppose, that this etherial principal would preserve
itself bright and untarnished from the gathering gloom of years; that
time, instead of dimming, would only add new glories to its spiritual
splendor; but these thoughts were then too metaphysical for my youthful
comprehension.
“While thus I mused, the sun had risen high, and his bright rays fell
across the gravel walk where I sat; I heard footsteps in the vestibule,
and looking up, saw Madame Bonni attired in a white muslin wrapper; she
perceived me, and came into the garden.
“‘Why, my child, you are indeed an early riser,’ was her morning
salutation; ‘I expected you would sleep late after your journey; but you
look refreshed, and I am happy to see it.’
“‘At school, we always rose at dawn of day; from habit, I awake early,
and prefer spending the sweet morning hours in reading, rather than waste
them in slumber.’
“‘You are right in doing so; when I was young I was fond of reading
too, but since I have advanced in life, its busy cares have banished
literature and romance from my mind.’
“The old woman whom I had observed, now came to her mistress, and
announced that breakfast was ready; I followed Madame to the dining-room;
we sat down to a comfortable breakfast, served with exquisite neatness.
Monsieur joined us in a few minutes: he was yawning, and expressed
himself as feeling very dull; and, in fact, his appearance fully
corroborated the assertion.
“After breakfast, I accompanied him to the San Carlo Opera house, where
he took me, he said, that I might see the actors rehearse, and observe
stage trick and manner. Since then I have seen tricks enough played off
upon the stage of life, independent of the drama. We need not go to the
theatre to see actors and actresses. We ascended through the basement
story, the passage obstructed by old rubbish, stage furniture, to the
green-room—a miserable looking apartment, draperied with green baize;
several actors and actresses stood in groups, conversing, in their
ordinary dress; I looked out behind the scenes; I saw on all sides the
rough boards of the theatre, and the large open spaces through which
the actors went upon the stage, and the scenes were shifted backward
and forward; everything looked unfinished and bare, it looked like the
skeleton frame of a house, and in no way realized my romantic visions of
a theatre. Several of the actors held Opera books in their hands, which
they appeared to be studying; Monsieur went around the room, bowing, and
shaking hands with all, receiving, and paying compliments in return.
“‘Ah, my dear fellow,’ exclaimed a tall, dark-complexioned man, seizing
him by the arm, ‘when did you arrive? Glad to see you among us again. I
did not expect to see you for a year to come; thought you intended going
to Paris to perform. I was at Munich a few weeks ago, where I heard of
the brilliant success of a protegee of yours, a Mademoiselle Blanche
Ricorsi; I went several nights to see her play; a beautiful girl, she
sings divinely.’
“‘And here is another pupil of mine,’ said Monsieur, drawing me toward
him, ‘whom I intend shall astonish the fashionable world of Naples.’
“‘Ah, Mademoiselle, charmed to see you; hope you will do credit to so
distinguished a preceptor; you must sing something for me this morning;
I should like to hear your style of voice; we are now going in to
rehearsal. Come, ladies and gentlemen, are you ready? Allow me to escort
you, Mademoiselle.’
“With French politeness and volubility, he offered me his arm; at
that time, unacquainted with the ways and usages of society, I felt
momentarily surprised; but mechanically I accepted it, and the others
following behind, we stepped out upon the stage; it was an enormous
platform, and I felt, and looked, almost like a little child, as I walked
across its smooth boards. I wondered how I should feel when I should be
the most conspicuous object on that floor, when I should see before me
those successive walls of human faces, so terrifying to a novice,—the
eyes of all bent upon me.
“The actors walked toward the front of the stage; part of the orchestra
was in the musicians’ box, and accompanied their voices with instrumental
music; they were rehearsing for Norma; some of the voices were sweet and
thrilling, others grated harshly on my ear. The woman who was to perform
the part of Norma, was neither young nor pretty: she did not look the
beautiful stately priestess. The man who was cast for the character of
Polelio, was as ugly a person as one need wish to see. I stood leaning
against one of the side scenes and listened to them as they ran through
the Opera. When ended, the French manager requested me to sing a song,
which he chose. I felt somewhat diffident at exhibiting my voice before
so many strangers. I wished to refuse, but a look from Monsieur Belmont,
which spoke a command, changed my purpose, and I complied. I began almost
falteringly at first, but gathering courage as I went on, I forgot those
who were listening to me, and became absorbed in the sentiment of the
song. I think I can say without egotism, that I sang well; when I had
ceased the manager approached with a surprised air:
“‘Good heavens! Mademoiselle, you are a perfect nightingale, your high
notes are exquisite; I shall be proud to constitute you prima donna of my
troupe, when you are ready to appear; you must have applied yourself with
unceasing assiduity to have formed your voice.’
“‘I have been learning for six or eight years past, under the tuition of
Monsieur Belmont.’
“‘Your execution has indeed astonished me, in one so young; and I was
equally amazed when I heard Blanche, another pupil of my friend’s, sing
at Munich.’
“‘How is Blanche now? is she well? is she happy?’
“‘You know her, then?’
“‘Oh yes, we were educated at the same school.’
“‘I cannot answer you in regard to her happiness; but she looks
beautiful, and sings like a bird.’
“‘Did you ever see my other friend, who was also a pupil of Monsieur’s,
Inez Fontana?’
“‘A year ago, I saw her at Dresden; she left the following day to fulfil
an engagement at Berlin; she is a charming woman, handsome, dark; has a
deep, sweet, sonorous voice, but not the power or execution of yourself
or Blanche. There was a rumor afloat in town of her being about to marry
and leave the stage; it may be only report, however; I cannot vouch for
its truth.’
“‘It would seem very strange to me, to see my old school mate married.’
“‘Why, is it not natural to suppose, that a handsome young woman, with a
good reputation, should marry, and make some worthy man happy?’
“‘It is natural that women in private life should do so, but actresses
seldom do.’
“‘But when they have the opportunity, should they not embrace it?’
“I was about to reply, when my teacher, having finished his
confabulations with his acquaintances, approached me.
“‘Well, my friend,’ cried he, ‘what do you think of my little pupil, I
see you have been conversing with her?’
“‘I am afraid Mademoiselle would think I flattered her, if I spoke my
real sentiments,’ answered the gallant Frenchman, with his hand upon his
heart.
“Monsieur laughed; for compliments seemed to him, as they always seemed
to me, mere nonsense; things which are said without being felt, and
therefore valueless. The actors had now all left the stage; after
inviting his old friend to call upon him, Monsieur and myself returned
home.
“I pass over the space of four months, during which time, I was occupied
in learning the part of Norma; my preceptor gave me lessons every day
in acting, in a large unoccupied room, Madame Bonni appropriated to my
use for that purpose; determined to succeed, I studied with ardor and
assiduity, until at length, I perfected myself in my part, to his and my
own complete satisfaction.
“It was the night of my appearance: large placards announcing that fact,
with my name printed upon them in immense capitals, had been posted
in front of the theatre for several days previous; Monsieur said they
anticipated a crowded house. I had been in a state of feverish excitement
all day, which increased rather than diminished as evening drew near;
the costume of Norma I had prepared sometime before, and sent it to my
dressing-room at the theatre to await my coming. Madame Bonni, desirous
of hearing me sing, had engaged seats in one of the stage boxes for
herself and a gentleman friend.
“‘You do not feel apprehensive of a failure, do you, Genevra?’ asked
my teacher, as he, Madame, and myself, sat conversing together in the
parlor, in the afternoon.
“‘Not in the least, sir; I feel perfectly confident of success.’
“‘I am glad to hear you say so; I hope you will make a sensation; if you
feel self-possessed, you will act so, and consequently succeed. I expect
Blanche here in a few weeks to fulfil an engagement, and then you can
sing together.’
“‘Is Blanche coming to Naples? how glad I shall be to see her again, and
Inez, does she never come here to play?’
“‘Inez has often sang here since she left your school; you know it is six
years ago; but she generally prefers playing, alternately at Dresden or
Berlin, where she is extremely popular.’
“‘Is it true, what the manager told me, that she thought of marrying, and
leaving the stage?’
“‘I am not conversant with any of her matrimonial plans; you can ask
Blanche when she arrives; I presume they are each other’s confidants.’.
“Monsieur resumed his conversation with Madame about old times, and I
went to my favorite seat in the garden, to while away the time till
six o’clock. The air was soft and balmy; the delightful sea breeze,
which blows off the coast every morning and evening, was now refreshing
the air; under that clear, tropical sky, everything looks beautiful;
the flowers seem to be of brighter hue; the turf more verdant; the
people happier, than under those cold northern climes, where the bleak
winters, and cloudy skies, seem to chill and contract men’s souls.
The kind-hearted Neapolitan lives only in the present; he enjoys the
pleasures of to-day without thinking of the future; he is willing to
share what little he has, with any fellow creature less plentifully
endowed than himself; and is it not better to live and feel thus, than to
spend one’s lifetime in amassing treasures, which, when we die, we are
obliged to leave for others to enjoy; since nothing is truer than that,
man brings nothing into the world with him, neither can he carry anything
away. Death is a market place where all men meet; the king, noble, and
peasant, are all equal, when they meet in the bosom of mother earth. As
I soliloquized, twilight gathered upon the face of things animate and
inanimate; it is charming to watch the shades of evening gray descend
upon a land like that; to see the mellow hues of dusk come slowly on, and
the bright sun disappear, till finally they fade away into indefinite
night. I should have liked to have staid and watched the sky, but
Monsieur called me; it was time to go, he said; in fact, I had actually
forgotten all about my theatrical engagement.
“I went to my room and put on my bonnet and shawl, we got into a hack and
drove off; Madame would not come for an hour, as the curtain did not rise
till half-past seven.
“Entering, as I had done before, through the basement, my teacher went
to the green-room, where many of the actors were already assembled, and
I to my dressing-room, passing on the way numerous princes, grand dukes,
and nobles; who, like too many of their titled brethren, could boast no
other wealth than the insignia of their order. They all stared at me as I
hurried past them; curious, I suppose, to observe the new singer.
“I quickly arrayed myself in the long white robes, and mysterious girdle
of the priestess; scarcely had I completed my toilet, when there came a
knock at the door: I opened it, and saw the manager.
“‘Are you ready, Mademoiselle? It is time to go on; you know the part
perfectly, do you not?’ he continued, as we approached the side scene,
where I was to enter.
“‘Perfectly, Monsieur. Entertain no apprehensions on my account.’
“The gentleman smiled, bowed, released my arm, and I entered alone. I saw
an immense crowd of human faces and forms before me; the house presented
a brilliant array of fashion and beauty; the light of the chandeliers
was dazzling; far from feeling intimidated, I felt perfectly at home. I
had been fearful lest I should forget my notes, but they remained firmly
impressed on my mind; a tumult of applause shook the house as I came
forward to the foot-lights; when it had subsided I began to sing, almost
forgetful that there was any audience there, and thinking only of my
part. I acted naturally, and, therefore, pleasingly—for nature is ever
pleasing. At the conclusion of the first act, a round of applause again
greeted me; and when I went behind the scenes, Monsieur and the manager
warmly congratulated me on my self-possession, in the song Dele Conte,
a duet between Norma and Adelgisa; I was encored, and sang it twice;
my cheeks were flushed like crimson, and I felt elated at my manifest
triumph. At the conclusion of the Opera, a shower of bouquets and wreaths
were thrown at my feet; one splendid wreath of exotic flowers, which
struck my hand as it fell on the floor, was thrown from one of the stage
boxes; happening to uplift my eyes, as I was singing the last song of the
Opera, my gaze met that of a magnificent looking man, who stood quietly
contemplating me. There was something in the magnetic attraction of those
large languid black eyes, which sent a new thrill of life, a feeling
I had never experienced, rushing through my veins; what could that
inexplicable sensation mean? it was probably that man who had thrown the
wreath at my feet. One of the actors gallantly picked it up, and placed
it upon my head. Once more I heard myself applauded; delightful sound of
approval, and the curtain fell.
“I felt exhausted from my violent exertion of voice, and sat down in
the green-room, while the manager fanned me, and the other actors
complimented me. Monsieur Belmont seemed well pleased with me and
himself, and was in his best humor.
“‘You have made a decided hit, Mademoiselle,’ said my faithless husband
of the play; ‘although you are not yet perfect in stage trick and manner,
yet you have done wonders for the first time.’
“‘I am obliged to you for the compliment, Monsieur,’ I replied.
“One of the servants of the theatre came into the room, bearing an armful
of bouquets (the beautiful wreath still remained upon my head). When
deposited in my lap, the jewels amid the flowers sparkled in the lamp
light. ‘What do you intend doing with all these flowers, petite enfant?’
asked my guardian.
“‘Oh, I shall carry them home to Madame Bonni, as trophies of my triumph:
are they not beautiful, Monsieur?’
“‘Yes, very beautiful; some of those jewels among them I should think
were valuable; but it is time to depart. Let the servant carry your
flowers to the carriage.’
“The manager politely attended me to the door of the carriage, and placed
me in it.
“Madame Bonni had reached home before us, and we passed an hour in
discussing the events of the night. Good little woman! the world still
seemed fresh and new to her, although she had long since passed the
zenith of life. Even so trivial a thing as a visit to a theatre could
afford her pleasure. Happy are those, I say, who can be pleased by
trifles. What is our whole existence but a composition of trifles?
“I went to bed, but not to sleep for many hours. When I entered my room,
and stopped before the mirror, the diamonds among the flowers of my
wreath glistened like stars. I took it from my head, and after removing
the jewels, and a beautiful ring hanging to it, I placed it in water with
my bouquets. Sleep seemed to fly my eyelids. However, for long after I
had gone to bed, the plaudits of the audience, and the languid eyes of
the gentleman in the stage box, seemed alternately to ring in my ears,
or swim before my eyes. At last, the angel Sleep kindly weighed down my
eyelids with her rosy fingers, and I forgot the opera, the gentleman, and
the bouquets.