Fanny's First Novel

by Frank Frankfort Moore

“Not too difficult—for you,” said she.

“There are dangers,” he said thoughtfully. “I have known singers who tried to reach the hearts of their hearers by tricks—yes, and they succeeded through these illegitimate means in making themselves popular, while far better singers who had a scorn of such tricks and gave their best to all who listened to them, failed to please anyone who had not a knowledge of the true boundary of music.”

“I have seen these tricksters, too,” said Fanny. “I have witnessed their sentimental grimaces—their head shakings—their appeal to the feelings with pathetic eyes turned heavenward. They made me ashamed of them—ashamed of myself for listening to them, though people about me had been moved to tears. But I think that the people who are easily moved to tears are those who retain an impression the shortest space of time.”

“You give me confidence—encouragement,” he cried. “I have made up my mind that if I cannot reach a heart by the straight King's highway, I will not try to do so by any bypath. Bypaths are, we know, the resorts of brigands: they may captivate a heart or two, but only to leave them empty afterwards.”

So they talked together for many minutes. Faney Burney had a sufficient acquaintance among musicians, vocal as well as instrumental, to have learned, long ago, that they can easily be prevented from talking on any other subject than music, and the same reflection that had caused her to say that “Not yet—not yet,” had impelled her to lead Rauzzini in another direction than that in which he had shown so strong a tendency to go. He had been trying to make her understand that he had travelled through the obstructions of the hall not in order that he might obtain the criticism of so accomplished a maestro as Dr. Burney upon his singing, but in order that he should have a chance of talking to Dr. Burney's unaccomplished daughter; he had shown her that his wish was to converse on the topic of this unaccomplished daughter; but she had no mind to acquiesce in his aims for the present. She still felt herself to be the beggar maid, and she would not allow her king to get any nearer to her.

It was not until her cousin had returned to where she was seated, that the young Italian found that he had not made much progress with his suit. He had intended that this tête-à-tête with her should make her aware of how he felt in regard to her, but he had allowed his opportunity to pass, and in place of talking about her he had been led to talk of himself.

That was how he expressed himself to her when he found that their tête-à-tête was at an end.

“How has this come about?” he cried in surprise. “How is it that I have shown myself to be so vain as to make speeches about my singing when I meant to talk to you of yourself?”

“'Twas I who found a more profitable topic for you, signore mio,” she replied, feeling her way through the words of his native tongue, for he had spoken out his surprise in Italian.

He shook his head and made a gesture with his hands.