“‘I should like to see the morning journals, to know what they say of you.’
“‘So should I,’ said Monsieur, as he rose from the table; ‘and as it is unnecessary for you to attend rehearsal this morning, I will go out and look in the newspapers, to see what is said about you, and when I return, bring them to you.’
“He departed, and I spent the morning in practising some of my songs. At noon he returned, and I had the satisfaction of reading a long panegyric on my personal appearance, manner, and singing. They called me the Austrian nightingale, a name which I was afterwards known by for many years. That night, I played again, to a house crowded to overflowing. The applause was as great as the evening previous, and flowers were again thrown me, but when, as on leaving the stage, I timidly glanced upward to the stage box, my eyes encountered, instead of the beautiful orbs which had enchanted me the night before, an impertinent opera-glass directed at my face. I felt disappointed, I scarce knew why; for what reason had I to suppose that the same stranger should not be there again?
“A month after my first appearance, I received an invitation, through Monsieur Belmont, to sing at the private soiree of a lady of rank, the Countess Bramonti; and although the idea of being merely a singer for the entertainment of others, was not gratifying to my sensitive pride, still, to oblige my kind benefactor, who had been to me a perfect saviour, I consented to go. I had suddenly become the rage of Naples. ‘I awoke one morning,’ as a great poet has since said, ‘and found myself famous;’ numerous gentlemen had called on me, attracted, I suppose, by rumors of my youth, my isolated position, and my good looks, for I can say without vanity that, at sixteen, I possessed personal attractions. I only repeat what others said, and one cannot remain long ignorant of that which is universally known: we seldom appreciate the value of beauty, and the great influence it exercises upon the minds of men, until it is on the decline, and then we cling to and treasure its wrecks with jealous care.
“I dressed myself for the party in a white satin robe, and placed an artificial wreath of silver oats in my hair. I had arranged it in smooth bandeau, the heat of the weather rendering ringlets uncomfortable. When attired, I glanced at myself in the mirror, and feeling satisfied with my appearance, was, consequently, in a good humor; for it is said, that, when pleased with one’s self, one is always pleased with others.
“Seeking for my gloves on the toilet table, my eyes rested momentarily on the withered wreath, which I still preserved. The leaves hung lifeless; the bright hues of the flowers had faded. Alas! poor ephemeral flowers, is not your brief but beautiful existence a type of woman’s life also? When young and lovely they are loved and cherished; led forth like queens to be admired and adored, every wish anticipated, every caprice gratified; but when Time’s rude hand has robbed these charms of their pristine glory, lovers gradually disappear like twinkling stars at dawn of day, and woman is left alone in the evening of her days, to think and dream over the past.
“The Countess Bramonti resided in a noble mansion at the court end of the city. To the marble steps of this aristocratic abode our carriage whirled on the night of which I speak. The moon shone brightly; and as I stepped from it, I saw, by its light, long lines of carriages, extending from the house each way down the street. The liveried servants in the grand hall escorted me to the dressing room, where I left my hood and shawl. Several beautiful women, some of them of the nobility of Naples, were dispersed about the apartment, conversing in subdued tones, and arranging their dress before the long mirrors. Monsieur came for me at the door, and, leaning on his arm, I entered the grand hall of reception. At the head of this magnificent room, upon an elevated dias, covered with crimson velvet, stood the Countess herself, a large, finely-formed woman, perhaps forty years of age, becomingly dressed in full, flowing robes of scarlet velvet, and ostrich plumes waved majestically in her dark, luxuriant hair. She received me with that urbanity and politeness which is ever the result of good breeding, and the attribute of an elegant mind.
“As I passed through the gay and apparently happy crowd of smiling, lovely faces, many turned to look after me; but I felt the attention my presence excited, was paid rather to my sudden notoriety as a cantatrice, than to myself. Actresses, however virtuous, proud and talented they may be, will always, from their false position, experience a feeling of humiliation when introduced in private circles of society. They see and feel how much more beautiful and attractive woman is when sheltered from the rude gaze of the world, illumining only one mansion with her beauty, and diffusing love and kindness only to her own family and friends. Such a life is evidently, both from her mental and physical formation, more suitable for her than the empty plaudits of a gaping mob, or that applause of the world which exhilarates momentarily, and leaves an aching void when gone. But we are all mere creatures of circumstance, and the noblest souls are most frequently subjected to the stings and arrows of outrageous fortune.
“These thoughts glanced across my mind, as the gay waltzers whirled past me, and the fine band stationed in the gallery poured forth its bewitching strains of music. The Countess had descended from her position, and mingled in the crowd, attended by several gentlemen. As she swept past me, gracefully supporting the train of her dress upon her arm, a tall, handsome young man, of elegant bearing, who walked at her right hand, bent his expressive blue eyes upon me for an instant, and then appeared to inquire of her who I was. The lady had passed me, but she looked back over her shoulder, as if to ascertain of whom he spoke, and then whispered something in reply. He again turned, and looked at me, not impertinently, but observingly. Numerous persons now intervened between me and my lady hostess, and I lost sight of her and the gentleman. After several quadrilles and waltzes had been danced, the music paused for a while, and the Countess resumed her seat upon the throne. My guardian told me she wished to hear me sing. I wondered how I should sing with no instrument to accompany me; but that difficulty was soon solved; he led me through the crowd, and ascended the dias, where I saw a grand piano, which had been provided for the occasion. Monsieur Belmont seated himself at it, and I stood by his side. We sang a duet from Lucia de Lammermoor. I could not help observing that, during the whole song, the eyes of the gentleman who had been previously observing me, and who still stood by the Countess, were fixed upon me steadfastly—his earnest gaze almost annoyed me. At its conclusion, the Countess, apparently at his request, presented him to me as Monsieur de Serval.
“‘I have, then, the pleasure of seeing our new star in the world of song; this is to me an unexpected pleasure,’ said the gentleman, as he inclined his graceful form toward me. I bowed, and my eyes fell before his; no reply was needed.