A Romance of the Republic - Lydia Maria Francis Child
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Mr. King colored to the temples; but he replied calmly: "I know not
whether Miss Royal recognizes me; for I have never seen her since the
evening we spent so delightfully at her father's house."
"I do recognize you," replied Rosabella; "and as the son of my
father's dearest friend, I welcome you."
She held out her hand as she spoke, and he clasped it for an
instant. But though the touch thrilled him, he betrayed no emotion.
Relinquishing it with a respectful bow, he turned to Mr. Fitzgerald,
and said: "You have seen fit to call me a Puritan, and may not
therefore accept me as a teacher of politeness; but if you wish to
sustain the character of a cavalier, you surely will not remain in a
lady's house after she has requested you to quit it."
With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Mr. Fitzgerald took his hat, and
said, "Where ladies command, I am of course bound to obey."
As he passed out of the door, he turned toward Rosabella, and, with a
low bow, said, "_Au revoir_!"
The Signor was trembling with anger, but succeeded in smothering his
half-uttered anathemas. Mr. King compressed his lips tightly for a
moment, as if silence were a painful effort. Then, turning to Rosa, he
said: "Pardon my sudden intrusion, Miss Royal. Your father introduced
me to the Signor, and I last night saw him at the opera. That will
account for my being in his room to-day." He glanced at the Italian
with a smile, as he added: "I heard very angry voices, and I thought,
if there was to be a duel, perhaps the Signor would need a second. You
must be greatly fatigued with exertion and excitement. Therefore, I
will merely congratulate you on your brilliant success last evening,
and wish you good morning."
"I _am_ fatigued," she replied; "but if I bid you good morning now, it
is with the hope of seeing you again soon. The renewal of acquaintance
with one whom my dear father loved is too pleasant to be willingly
relinquished."
"Thank you," he said. But the simple words were uttered with a look
and tone so deep and earnest, that she felt the color rising to her
cheeks.
"Am I then still capable of being moved by such tones?" she asked
herself, as she listened to his departing footsteps, and, for the
first time that morning, turned toward the mirror and glanced at her
own flushed countenance.
"What a time you've been having, dear!" exclaimed Madame, who came
bustling in a moment after. "Only to think of Mr. Fitzgerald's coming
here! His impudence goes a little beyond anything I ever heard of.
Wasn't it lucky that Boston friend should drop down from the skies,
as it were, just at the right minute; for the Signor's such a
flash-in-the-pan, there 's no telling what might have happened. Tell
me all about it, dear."
"I will tell you about it, dear mamma," replied Rosa; "but I must beg
you to excuse me just now; for I am really very much flurried and
fatigued. If you hadn't gone out, I should have told you this morning,
at breakfast, that I saw Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald at the opera, and
that I was singing at them in good earnest, while people thought I was
acting. We will talk it all over some time; but now I must study, for
I shall have hard work to keep the ground I have gained. You know I
must perform again to-night. O, how I dread it!"
"You are a strange child to talk so, when you have turned everybody's
head," responded Madame.
"Why should I care for everybody's head?" rejoined the successful
_cantatrice_. But she thought to herself: "I shall not feel, as I did
last night, that I am going to sing _merely_ to strangers. There will
be _one_ there who heard me sing to my dear father. I must try to
recall the intonations that came so naturally last evening, and see
whether I can act what I then felt." She seated herself at the piano,
and began to sing, "_Oh, di qual sei tu vittima_." Then, shaking her
head slowly, she murmured: "No; it doesn't come. I must trust to the
inspiration of the moment. But it is a comfort to know they will not
_all_ be strangers."
* * * * *
Mr. King took an opportunity that same day to call on Mr. Fitzgerald.
He was very haughtily received; but, without appearing to notice
it, he opened his errand by saying, "I have come to speak with you
concerning Miss Royal."
"All I have to say to you, sir," replied Mr. Fitzgerald, "is, that
neither you nor any other man can induce me to give up my pursuit of
her. I will follow her wherever she goes."
"What possible advantage can you gain by such a course?" inquired his
visitor. "Why uselessly expose yourself to disagreeable notoriety,
which must, of course, place Mrs. Fitzgerald in a mortifying
position?"
"How do you know my perseverance would be useless?" asked Fitzgerald.
"Did she send you to tell me so?"
"She does not know of my coming," replied Mr. King. "I have told you
that my acquaintance with Miss Royal is very slight. But you will
recollect that I met her in the freshness of her young life, when she
was surrounded by all the ease and elegance that a father's wealth and
tenderness could bestow; and it was unavoidable that her subsequent
misfortunes should excite my sympathy. She has never told me anything
of her own history, but from others I know all the particulars. It is
not my purpose to allude to them; but after suffering all she _has_
suffered, now that she has bravely made a standing-place for herself,
and has such an arduous career before her, I appeal to your sense of
honor, whether it is generous, whether it is manly, to do anything
that will increase the difficulties of her position."
"It is presumptuous in you, sir, to come here to teach me what is
manly," rejoined Fitzgerald.
"I merely presented the case for the verdict of your own conscience,"
answered his visitor; "but I will again take the liberty to suggest
for your consideration, that if you persecute this unfortunate young
lady with professions you know are unwelcome, it must necessarily
react in a very unpleasant way upon your own reputation, and
consequently upon the happiness of your family."
"You mistook your profession, sir. You should have been a preacher,"
said Fitzgerald, with a sarcastic smile. "I presume you propose to
console the lady for her misfortunes; but let me tell you, sir, that
whoever attempts to come between me and her will do it at his peril."
"I respect Miss Royal too much to hear her name used in any such
discussion," replied Mr. King. "Good morning, sir."
"The mean Yankee!" exclaimed the Southerner, as he looked after him.
"If he were a gentleman he would have challenged me, and I should have
met him like a gentleman; but one doesn't know what to do with such
cursed Yankee preaching."
He was in a very perturbed state of mind. Rosabella had, in fact, made
a much deeper impression on him than any other woman had ever made.
And now that he saw her the bright cynosure of all eyes, fresh fuel
was heaped on the flickering flame of his expiring passion. Her
disdain piqued his vanity, while it produced the excitement of
difficulties to be overcome. He was exasperated beyond measure, that
the beautiful woman who had depended solely upon him should now be
surrounded by protectors. And if he could regain no other power, he
was strongly tempted to exert the power of annoyance. In some moods,
he formed wild projects of waylaying her, and carrying her off by
force. But the Yankee preaching, much as he despised it, was not
without its influence. He felt that it would be most politic to keep
on good terms with his rich wife, who was, besides, rather agreeable
to him. He concluded, on the whole, that he would assume superiority
to the popular enthusiasm about the new _prima donna_; that he would
coolly criticise her singing and her acting, while he admitted that
she had many good points. It was a hard task he undertook; for on the
stage Rosabella attracted him with irresistible power, to which was
added the magnetism of the admiring audience. After the first evening,
she avoided looking at the box where he sat; but he had an uneasy
satisfaction in the consciousness that it was impossible she could
forget he was present and watching her.
The day after the second appearance of the Senorita Campaneo, Mrs.
Delano was surprised by another call from the Fitzgeralds.
"Don't think we intend to persecute you," said the little lady. "We
merely came on business. We have just heard that you were to leave
Rome very soon; but Mr. Green seemed to think it couldn't be so soon
as was said."
"Unexpected circumstances make it necessary for me to return sooner
than I intended," replied Mrs. Delano. "I expect to sail day after
to-morrow."
"What a pity your daughter should go without hearing the new _prima
donna_!" exclaimed Mrs. Fitzgerald. "She is really a remarkable
creature. Everybody says she is as beautiful as a houri. And as for
her voice, I never heard anything like it, except the first night I
spent on Mr. Fitzgerald's plantation. There was somebody wandering
about in the garden and groves who sang just like her. Mr. Fitzgerald
didn't seem to be much struck with the voice, but I could never forget
it."
"It was during our honeymoon," replied her husband; "and how could I
be interested in any other voice, when I had yours to listen to?"
His lady tapped him playfully with her parasol, saying: "O, you
flatterer! But I wish I could get a chance to speak to this Senorita.
I would ask her if she had ever been in America."
"I presume not," rejoined Mr. Fitzgerald. "They say an Italian
musician heard her in Andalusia, and was so much charmed with her
voice that he adopted her and educated her for the stage; and he named
her Campaneo, because there is such a bell-like echo in her voice
sometimes. Do you think, Mrs. Delano, that it would do your daughter
any serious injury to go with us this evening? We have a spare
ticket; and we would take excellent care of her. If she found herself
fatigued, I would attend upon her home any time she chose to leave."
"It would be too exciting for her nerves," was Mrs. Delano's laconic
answer.
"The fact is," said Mrs. Fitzgerald, "Mr. Green has told us so much
about her, that we are extremely anxious to be introduced to her.
He says she hasn't half seen Rome, and he wishes she could join our
party. I wish we could persuade you to leave her with us. I can assure
you Mr. Fitzgerald is a most agreeable and gallant protector to
ladies. And then it is such a pity, when she is so musical, that she
should go without hearing this new _prima donna_."
"Thank you," rejoined Mrs. Delano; "but we have become so much
attached to each other's society, that I don't think either of us
could be happy separated. Since she cannot hear this musical wonder, I
shall not increase her regrets by repeating your enthusiastic account
of what she has missed."
"If you had been present at her _debut_, you wouldn't wonder at my
enthusiasm," replied the little lady. "Mr. Fitzgerald is getting over
the fever a little now, and undertakes to criticise. He says she
overacted her part; that she 'tore a passion to tatters,' and all
that. But I never saw him so excited as he was then. I think she
noticed it; for she fixed her glorious dark eyes directly upon our box
while she was singing several of her most effective passages."
"My dear," interrupted her husband, "you are so opera-mad, that you
are forgetting the object of your call."
"True," replied she. "We wanted to inquire whether you were certainly
going so soon, and whether any one had engaged these rooms. We took a
great fancy to them. What a desirable situation! So sunny! Such a fine
view of Monte Pincio and the Pope's gardens!"
"They were not engaged last evening," answered Mrs. Delano.
"Then you will secure them immediately, won't you, dear?" said the
lady, appealing to her spouse.
With wishes that the voyage might prove safe and pleasant, they
departed. Mrs. Delano lingered a moment at the window, looking out
upon St. Peter's and the Etruscan Hills beyond, thinking the while how
strangely the skeins of human destiny sometimes become entangled with
each other. Yet she was unconscious of half the entanglement.
CHAPTER XXI.
The engagement of the Senorita 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 _debut_,
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 Senorita 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."