She first makes her appearance in the Circassian costume, when she is sold from the home of infancy, and carried to a strange land; and the dress Blanche wore, was of white silk, ornamented with gold lama lace; a turban of tissue, spangled with gold stars, surmounted her flaxen curls waving on her shoulders; the graceful trousers gathered into a gold bandelette at the ancle, exposed fully to view her tiny feet, encased in their little Circassian slippers. The affectionate, sad farewell to her parents and young acquaintances, and the song she sings, ‘My native land, farewell,’ shook the house with applause. Every one had heard of, but none had yet seen the Munich nightingale; curiosity had been on the alert for some time, to witness our combined appearance, and glancing out from the side scenes I observed the royal box occupied, and the queen leaning forward with an air of rapt attention.
I personated the friend and companion of Ajesha. Nina accompanies her into captivity, but is finally redeemed by her friends, and returns home. The music of the farewell scene between Ajesha and Nina, was very sweet; when they bid each other adieu, and sing, ‘We have been friends together in sunlight and in tears;’ and we mutually felt indeed we had been friends together. The queen enthusiastically applauded, clapping her hands like a girl; and bouquets were promiscuously showered upon us from all parts of the house: two wreaths were cast at our feet by the king and queen. The coincidence struck me, it was on a similar occasion, the night of my debut in that theatre, that the wreath had been thrown me; not by royalty, but by one whose gemmed, singular face had strangely haunted me since, and as we both uplifted our eyes to the royal box, who should I see gazing on me behind their majesties, but the same face, the same large liquid eyes that had magnetised mine two months before. My astonishment was so great, I could scarcely recollect myself enough to step backward as the heavy drop curtain fell.
Who could that man be accompanying the royal family? and apparently on familiar terms with them. I could not doubt it was the very same one, the donor of the diamonded wreath, those beautiful flowers I had preserved for so many days with so much care, who seemed to regard me with an air of so much interest.
I had no time for reflection, Monsieur Belmont hurried us to our dressing-rooms, to dress for the palace scene, when Ajesha and Nina are first presented to the Emir.
I could not help mentally contrasting the absurd difference between the acting on the stage, and the motley confusion behind the scenes; the heaps of stage furniture, costume, old scenery, the scene shifters running hither and thither, black mutes, soldiers, noblemen, the women of the harem, in the most charming stage of negligee, nearly approaching to that of genuine nature, and above all other tones, I heard those of the worthy manager, who was directing the men how to arrange the grand salon de reception, into which we were to be carried in close litters.
“Here,” shouted he, “make haste; what are you all about? where’s the dias for the salon? place it here, spread out the carpet; now, is that done? arrange yourselves in a row behind the throne, to the guards; light the lamps; get the instruments of music.”
I entered the little room, where I dressed amid his reiterated injunctions and commands to the assembled court.
What an empty show, thought I, as I hastily attired myself in the rose colored satin petticoat, and black velvet boddice, and placed a waving plume of white feathers in my hair.
The Count Godolpho, an old roué and habitué of the “scenes” for years back, stopped me with a fine compliment, as I was getting into the veiled litter by the side of Blanche.
“What! Mademoiselle Sfonza, is it you? fair as a star-lit nymph of air!” This was a poetical fancy of his own: I never met with the like expression in print. “Our pet child of song, stay a moment, let me look at you.”