The young prima donna: a romance of the opera

Chapter I

I am an old man, and old more from infirmities than years. Sickness and time, however, though they have robbed me of many blessings have left my memory fresh and green, as in the days of my childhood. To this I am indebted for almost the only amusement that remains to me. I sit and ruminate upon the days that are gone, and although these recollections are often fraught with agonizing sorrow I dwell upon them with a degree of tenacity, which shows how indelibly their memory is engraven on my heart.

To forget or to remember, at pleasure, is equally beyond the power of man. Sometimes I wish I could forget; — perhaps it is better as it is.

“ Let fate do her worst, there are moments of joy,

Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy,

Which come in the night time of sorrow and care,

And bring back the features that joy used to wear.

Long, long be my heart with such memories filled,

Like a vase in which roses have once been distilled,

You may break — you may ruin the vase if you will,

But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.”

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It is one of the melancholy pleasures of declining life, to recollect every circumstance concerning departed friends, whose beloved forms we can no longer see. In these serious moments of reflection, how relieving is the thought — what cordial balm to the heart, to know that the separation is only temporary — not eternal — that' there is a time to come of reunion with those, with whom our happiest days on earth were spent. When the short dream of life is over — when the dismal phantoms shall vanish at the brightness of the everlasting day.

“ Then shall no fate again divide the souls, Which nature thou didst for each other form.”

My solitary hours have lately been enlivened by the occasional society of a kind friend who passes every unemployed evening with me. To him, with all the garrulity of old age, I have unburdened my mind, by relating many a story of by-gone days; and so interested has he been, in the narration of some of them, that he has persuaded me to allow him to transcribe my words. Thence is the origin of the present tale, which, from his importunity, 1 have been tempted to bring from the depths of an old man’s memory.

I am by profession a clergyman; but a morbid feeling of the necessity of locomotion, prevented my ever becoming a steady performer of my clerical duties. I wandered far and near, and France, and the other European countries, I was for ever visiting.

However, it did happen that, for a few brief years, I was stationary perhaps I might have continued so for the rest of my life, but circumstances proved adverse to this event. I had accepted a curacy in a peaceful happy spot, and soon became so fond of it, and of the inhabitants of the locale, that I could have ended my days amongst them; but my rector dying — after some of the happiest years I ever spent — I was obliged to give up the curacy and again resumed my life of pilgrimage.

It was during the period to which I have just alluded, that I became acquainted with the loved being who is to be the heroine of my tale.

My parsonage was situated almost within the walls of the park, belonging to the Marquis of Belmont. It was a sweet picturesque little spot, possessing all the advantages which stately woods, and magnificent scenery afford.

My memory dwells for ever on that beauteous home; which, for a brief space, I could call my own. My ' garden in all the luxuriance of summer charms! — Methinks I can even smell the perfume of my favourite flowers, when in the early morning I sallied forth to greet my treasures. Oh ! memory — memory ! how it lingers over every cherished spot and nook of this, to me, almost a paradise! During the course of my wandering life, these were my only days of tranquil happiness : — they were as fleeting, as they were sweet.

The Marquis and his children were excellent people, and the young and rising family were ever to me objects of interest and admiration. The Village of Fairbourne was a pattern of neatness and comfort. The inhabitants, for the most part, an industrious and artless race, and most solicitous did I feel, both for their spiritual and temporal" welfare.

There was one little white cottage, standing rather apart from the rest of the houses, and surrounded by a small garden, which had been for some time unoccupied. One morning, however, on my walking through the village, I perceived an unusual degree of bustle, within its^ hitherto untenanted walls. The windows were all open, and the noise of scrubbing brushes was heard in every direction. I wfas still standing with a degree of inquisitive speculation, intending to make some inquiries upon the subject, when a cart drove up, laden with furniture belonging to thenew tenant.

I had been away for a fortnight, therefore had heard none of the village gossip; so I stepped into the shop, par excellence , in order to gain every informal

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tion concerning my new parishioner. I was told that the expected inhabitant of the white cottage was the widow of an officer, left with one little girl, and that her name was Elton.

“ She seems but poor in plight, Sir,” said the grocer, “ for I hear that her husband was killed in battle, and has left her with no other provision but her pension ; however, she has the cottage for next to nothing, and as this is a cheap place for living, perhaps she may be able to get on. The cottage is certainly a poor abode, if she has seen better days.”

I returned home this day full of the white cottage and the widow lady, conjuring up ail sorts of romantic visions with regard to her, and her situation. She arrived in the course of the week, and I, in due time, paid her my pastoral visit, but as usual was disappointed.

Mrs. Elton was a common place sort of woman, about thirty-five years old, full of cares and perplexities, which rendered her cross and fidgelty, and evidently possessing very little self-possession, or arrangement. Her cottage, however, was already put into decent order.

On my complimenting her upon the activity she displayed, in so soon giving a home appearance to her new abode, she replied : — “ Oh, Sir ! I have had nothing to do with it. I have neither the spirits nor the strength to exert myself I can do little else than sit and cry over my misfortunes; it has all been done by Rosalie and her nurse.”

Then it was Rosalie that I was anxious to see ; but on my requesting to be introduced to the young lady, her mother told me that most probably she was not fit to be seen, and that I must excuse her appearing that day, for though she was a good girl, she was seldom a very tidy one, and now that she had so much to do, she was not presentable.

“In her poor father’s life-time,” Mrs. Elton rontinued, “some pains were taken with her education ; and. when we were abroad, she had the benefit of

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masters ; but now I suppose she must give up every thing, and just turn into a mere household drudge. I am sure,” she added, wimpering, “ I can do nothing for her.”

The young lady’s scruples were not as great as those of her mamma, for scarcely had she thus spoken, when the door opened, and in she walked.

I must allow that she was not strictly neat in her appearance: her clothes were soiled, and she was evidently heated by household ^exertions — but there was something in the countenance of the little girl, as she stopped short, confused and blushing, at the door — confounded by the unexpected sight of a stranger, and by her mother’s reprehensive looks, which went directly to my heart. Not that beauty was her recommendation, for at this time, Rosalie had very little.

She was a short girl of ten years old, with a remarkably sallow complexion; however, the vivid blush wi h which she greeted me, brightened her skin, and showed to the greatest advantage, a pair of— certainly — the most magnificent eyes I had ever beheld. In a moment afterwards, the blush had faded, and the complexion resumed its swarthiness ; — without its assistance, the eyes lost all their splendour.

Mrs. Elton rebuked the little girl for her abrupt entrance, and ordered her to leave the room. She would have obeyed immediately had not I taken hold of one of her — I must allow — dirty small hands, and drawn her towards me. This simple action was the foundation of our farther friendship. Rosalie seemed gratified, for she turned her large eyes upon me with a look of affection, which I remember at this moment, and leant caressingly against me whilst I spoke to her.

We very soon became acquainted, and I went home, filled with a degree of interest for my newly acquired young friend, which I felt would be both strong and lasting.

The next morning, as I was walking through the vil-

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lage, my thoughts reverted to my little acquaintance, and I sallied towards the garden-gate, merely to look over it, in the hope of gaining a sight of her black eyes.

" I saw her at a short distance, up to her ears in soil and dirt, busily digging a flower bed; but my steps were riveted to the spot on which I stood, and my surprised senses listened to a strain of melody — as unexpected as it was beautiful.

Notwithstanding her laborious occupation, Rosalie was singing an Italian air from one of Rossini’s operas, and so splendid was the voice, and so extraordinary’the execution, that I, who from my long residence in Italy — the land of song — am a passionate lover of music, was enchanted beyond the power of description.

I listened until she suddenly broke off the strain in the midst of a beautiful cadence; her attention was attracted by the sight of a large worm which she had disturbed during her labours, and whose progress she was now watching with infantile delight. What a contrast between her child-like actions, and the extraordinary science her voice exhibited! I opened the gate, and walked towards her. She was delighted to see me, and unrestrained bv the presence of her mother, chattered on with childish freedom.

I soon discovered all her wants and wishes. She was very fond of flowers, but her present garden was quite uncultivated. I found that two or three days’ labour would set it all to rights, and promised to send a man to perform the task — and plants and seeds.

Rosalie’s face beamed with delight at the anticipation of her expected treasures.

“Thank you — thank you a thousand times, dear good Sir,” she exclaimed, in an ecstacy of joy and gratitude.

" But I expect to be repaid, Rosalie,” I said. Her countenance fell.

“What have I to give? Not one flower — nothing in the world.”

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“Yes, you have; you must sing to me just such another song, as I heard you so sweetly warbling whilst I stood at the gate.”

“ Oh! if that is all,” she exclaimed, joyfully, “ I will repay you to the very extent of your wishes. What shall it be?”

She then seated herself upon a broken bench. “ Sit down by me,” she said, “ and I will sing to you as long as you please.”

And she did sing; and so beautifully, that my curiosity, as well as my admiration, was excited.

“ And where did you learn this?” I asked, after she had finished.

“ Oh !” she replied, “ I have sung ever since I was born.” She added, with a deep sigh, “ my poor father doated upon music — he was an excellent performer, and took great pains with me. Then, abroad, I went very often to the opera, and we saw a good deal of professional people, who liked to hear me sing, and taught me the fine songs I have just been singing. But I know some English airs if you like them better ” — and then she commenced that beautiful dittv, “ Auld Robin Gray.”

Can I ever forget that clear young voice — those tones of native melody?

No ! — at this moment, though years have passed by, their sounds still ring in my ears. I feel, indeed, that they were angelic strains, and I indulge in the hope that I shall hear them again. The lips from which they proceeded are cold in death. Although that voice of melody is now mute — in heaven, it is my cherished idea — my dearest hope, that my sweet young friend may be one of the choir of angels who sing eternal praises at the throne of God! May I, through the merits of His Son, meet her hereafter in those realms of peace !

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Chapter II

It was the month of May ; the Marquis’s family were in London, and not expected to return to the country until August. Before this period my acquaintance with Rosalie had deepened into extreme intimacy. I soon discovered her family history. Her mother — a great beauty, though penniless — had married Mr. Elton, then a lieutenant in a marching regiment, with no other income but his pay. She had been abroad with her husband, who, having there attained the rank of captain, fell in an engagement, leaving his widow and child almost destitute. By the assistance of some friends, she was enabled to return to England, and to furnish the cottage in which she was now residing, where, upon a scanty pittance, she believed she was doomed to pass the rest of her life. She was accompanied by one female servant, a soldier’s wive, whose husband had perished on the field of glory. She had nursed the little Rosalie from her birth ; and from the firm mind of this good woman, the child had gained all the excellence which she afterwards displayed. I found the little girl almost totally uneducated, but anxious, beyond all measure, to learn. My plan was soon arranged ; she was to come to me every morning, and I was to be her instructor. These were pleasant hours to me; her quickness was incredible, and my zeal in teaching equally great.

Education, when it works upon a superior mind, draws out to view every talent and perfection ; — personal virtue displays its greatness — the sentiments become generous — the manners endearing — it gives a polish to every action. Rosalie improved every day; her manners softened; even her countenance increased

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in expression, for, before we met, the poor child had many disadvantages against which to struggle. Her mother’s temper was capricious and unamiable, and I soon discovered that she was both ignorant and silly. Rosalie had never been properly managed, so no wonder that the seeds of evil, as well as of good had been implanted in her nature ; — those of evil were but of fragile growth — the soil from which they sprung was too rich and good to nurture them, and every day I witnessed new perfections in my little pupil.

The autumn came, and with the season the family of the Park arrived to gladden every heart. The party consisted of a great many children, of all ages, from babies, to youths of fifteen and sixteen. They were a charming group !

The Marchioness was an excellent, kind-hearted woman ; unspoilt by prosperity and the world — her tastes were simple. She, as well as her noble husband, loved the country and unostentatious pursuits, and were both desirous that their children should do the same. Their return to Belmont Abbey was hailed with joy by every class.

The countenances of the young people were open and beautiful, with an expression of high-breeding, at the same time full of affability and cheerfulness. The youths of the family were tall and gracefully made, and their whole appearance natural and easy.

As an admired author expresses himself, “ There is a healthful hardiness about real dignity, that never dreads .contact and communion with others, however humble; — it is only spurious pride that is morbid and sensitive.” The young ladies delighted to stop and talk to the poor people of the village — to notice the children, and hear the story of the humble cottagers. I loved them all, and their return was, ever to me, a gala day.

I now hoped that I had prepared for them a pleasant surprise. We had always been very proud of our little village choir ; it had been one of my most favourite hobbies, and I had been assisted, very assi-

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duously, by the young ladies and their governess — a German, who possessed great musical abilities. Now, I had indeed, gained a powerful auxiliary ! Rosalie practised hard to produce an effect, and was to introduce a solo for the first Sunday's anthem. Her strong contralto voice was beautifully adapted to church music. It was thus I intended to present my little protegee to this illustrious family.

Saturday arrived, and the whole aspect of the place was brightened by the presence of its noble owners. The next day, as usual, the whole household joyfully attended my little church.

My heart beat high at the moment the music commenced, when Rosalie appeared in front of the gallery, and chaunted forth, with the utmost sweetness and skill, that beautiful sacred song of Pergolesi’s, “ Lord! have mercy upon me!” She was ably accompanied by our organist, a young beginner of some science.

My eyes, for a moment, fell upon the countenances of the occupants of the Belmont pew, and 1 saw with satisfaction, that admiration, surprise, and delight beamed from them. Certainly, nothing could well surpass the beauty of the voice of the little cantalrice, and, although far from lovely, her childish appearance and sweet countenance were passports which found their way into the hearts of all who heard her.

From this moment Rosalie might date the happiness, which flowed with a rich current, during the five ensuing years of her life — days, indeed, of joy to her, sweet soul! although their brilliancy, perhaps, rendered those that followed but the more dark and dismal.

In the bitterness of my feelings I sometimes blame myself; but still the firm reliance that God directs our every effort must solace me ; and the conviction that he often “ chasteneth whom he loveth,” is my support, when self-reproach wrings my heart, and I bow my head in humility to his dispensations. His consolations are the only true ones; and now I comfort myself by thinking, that all the sorrows she felt in this world,

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have been but thorns in her passage to that eternal state, in which, I reverentially trust, she is far happier than we who are still on earth.

Rosalie became almost domesticated at the Abbey. The family were all enthusiasts upon the subject of music, and this circumstance, in the first instance, made them patronize the little singer. The German, governess, Mademoiselle Kramer, was too happy to assist in cultivating such splendid talent; and the English instructress willingly lent her aid to perfect her in other branches of education. 1, also continued my lessons, therefore our little girl did not lack tuition ; and Mademoiselle Kramer and I had soon settled in our own minds, that Rosalie was to be brought up in such a manner, as would fit her for a first rate governess.

She soon became a universal favourite throughout the whole house ; her sweet temper and lively disposition, made her equally acceptable in the nursery, school-room, and drawing room. The little ones clung round her with infantine love, and the elder children prized her for her acquirements and excellent qualities.

Lord and Lady Belmont felt much interest for Rosalie, and considered her society an advantage to their daughters, as she was too happy to impart to them all she could, of the talent she possessed to so brilliant a degree. And the boys — though they sometimes laughed at her, and called her “ Rose, Rose ! coal black Rose,” and quizzed her little squat figure — still, they were not happy without her; and when they returned home for their vacations, “ Where is the yellow rose?” was the first question they asked, if they did not see her immediately on their arrival.

The eldest son, Lord Fitz-Ernest, was a charming youth. He was ever the kind friend of our little heroine ; he always called her by her own pretty name, and, in the mischievous pranks of his brothers, which were often aimed to tease and torment “ the dark litvol. i. — 2

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tie Rose,” she had invariably found a supporter in him.

He was passionately fond of music, and, in her labours of practising, to givedjim pleasure was her greatest aim. On his return to his home, how charmed was she to exhibit before him all her new songs, and the improvement she had made in his absence! — to hear his praise had been her hope during all her exertions to attain perfection in the science.

This was, indeed, a luxurious life for Rosalie, for many months, at least, in the year. The rest of the time she spent ostensibly with her mother, although, during the greater part of the day, she was to be seen at the rectory.

Mrs. Elton was any thing but an intellectual companion fof her daughter. She had been accustomed to a life of gaiety and variety, and now, completely thrown upon her own resources, was for ever whining and bewailing her condition. She was jealous of the situation her daughter held at the Abbey, for Lady Belmont did not extend much of her notice to her. She was too vulgar-minded to meet with much reciprocity of sentiment from the refined members of Belmont Abbey.

They were, however, attentive to her wants, and she was liberally supplied with temporal civilities. The gamekeeper had orders never to forget her ; the Abbey garden afforded her fruit and vegetables; but Mrs. Elton was never satisfied. To live in a^own was her ambition, where she might have gossip and tea parties in abundance. Nothing kept her in our village but my remonstrances, and frequent endeavours to impress upon her mind, the advantages which a residence there afforded her daughter. The time, to her, passed slowly and heavily ; her temper became fretful, and her ennui almost insupportable.

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Chapter III

We will pass over a lapse of time — several years — which glided by in quick and happy succession. Rosalie increased in wisdom, but slowly in stature. Perhaps it was to her diminutive figure she owed a great deal of the indulgence she received throughout the whole of the Belmont family. Although almost fifteen she looked a complete child. Had she attained the growth of others of her own age, it might have entered the Marchioness’s head, that such a fascinating and accomplished girl, would be rather a dangerous companion for her sons, some of whom were nearly grown up. As it was, Rosalie still continued their little pet and plaything.

Never did they return home without bringing with them some token, which showed that they remembered her, even when absent. Lord Fitz-Ernest evinced towards her, perhaps, the greatest share of goodwill; he was older than his brothers, and of a graver and more sensitive disposition. He could not bear to see his little prot£g6e for a moment mortified ; therefore, in all their parties of pleasure, he took care that Rosalie should be included. He saw that she was provided with a pony, which best suited her — or if a carriage excursion was in question, she must be squeezed in — even if there was no other seat than his knee.

“ My dear Eitz-Ernest,” I once heard Lady Belmont say, “ I fear we are almost spoiling that child ; placing her in a false position, at least in one unfitting her for what is to be her fate hereafter, for her situation in society. Poor little thing ! in a very few years— for we forget her age — she must commence the wearisome m6tier of governess. All we are now doing for her — making her so happy, and upon such a complete

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equality with your sisters, will, I almost think, cause her to enter her vocation with disgust.”

“ But she is still such a baby,” replied the young man ; “ it must be a very long time before her misfortunes commence.”

“ I beg your pardon, you forget that she is nearly fifteen.”

“ Fifteen,” exclaimed Fitz-Ernest laughing, “ she is more like a child of nine years old. I am sadly afraid our coal black Rose, as Henry calls her, will never make a dignified instilutrice. Fancy that brat teaching the young ideas how to shoot ! Not that she lacks them herself, for she’s a clever little thing.”

And at the same moment seeing her upon the lawn, he rushed out of the open window, and soon was seen engaged in a game of romps, with her and his sisters.

.1 must particularly mention Lady Gertrude. This sweet girl was about the age of Rosalie, but most unlike her in personal appearance. She was tall, exquisitely fair, and beautiful. Shehad everevinced thegreatest affection for our heroine. All the sisters loved her, but none with the tenderness of the lovely Gertrude ; to her she looked up with a feeling approaching to adoration. She was Rosalie’s beau-idial of earthly perfection. To see the two girls together, no one would have guessed that their ages were so nearly alike: Lady Gertrude looked the woman, Rosalie the child. This sweet young lady was so kind, so fond of her, so anxious for her improvement — for her happiness, that could she have had it all her own way, they would never have been separated. She often importuned her mother to allow Rose to accompany them to London, but Lady Belmont thought it would be hard upon Mrs. Elton, and would not comply with this desire.

During the course of this summer, Belmont Abbey was destined to receive a visit from royalty, and we were to have nothing but fetes and grand doings. To these festive days, the youngpeople looked forward with great delight. Poor Rosalie ! little did she dream how deeply her fate was involved in the events which this

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visit produced ! — Her race of happiness was almost run — the whole aspect of her situation was about to change.

Amongst the various amusements provided for the illustrious guest, some professional people were engaged to perform, during the evenings. Rosalie, whose voice improved every year, was also to take her part. Anxiously and arduously had she worked, to do honour to the instructions she had received under the roof of her benefactors. Mademoiselle Kramer was most proud of her pupil, and longed to exhibit her almost as a rival to some of the artistes. She forgot how richly Rosalie had been gifted by nature, and fancied she owed every thing to her skill in teaching, which was in truth very great. Laboriously did she make the little girl practice, both vocal and instrumental music, before the expected arrival. Had she guessed what were to be the results of all this perfection* how mute would have been her voice ! — how inflexible her fingers 1

Rosalie was in a state of great nervous excitement during this period, and I did not think that she was in good spirits. She appeared over-worked and worried. She came to me as usual at the rectory, but our lessons did not proceed as calmly as they were wont to do.

“ I wish this visit was over,” she said to me one morning, “ I dare not express how I dread it, for Mademoiselle Kramer would imagine that 1 meant to fail in my performance — and that would half kill her. But these Italian people 1 the very idea of them terrifies me. It appears so like presumption to put myself in competition with them. Who will listen to my voice when they are present? and if you could but imagine, my dear Sir, how I dislike exhibiting before strangers 1 for my friends I could sing for ever; but, for display only, I dread it.”

I tried to reassure her, but she shed tears, and was totally unlike her own merry self. Was it a presentiment of evil that made her thus sad? The expected.

2*

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moment arrived — the prince and his suite were at the Abbey ; all was festive gaiety. A concert was prepared for him that evening. I shall never forget my surprise at Rosalie’s appearance. It had been the fashion, to consider her almost ugly; I had never been of that opinion. Her eyes, every one allowed were splendid, and her countenance was sweet ; her complexion had always been the bane of her beauty, but when it wras lighted up by colour, every feature appeared to soften, and many a time I looked at her, and inwardly predicted to myself, with a sigh of regret, that the time would arrive when Rosalie would be too beautiful for the situation she was to hold in life.