LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IX, Issue 1301, 21 May 1878, Page 3

LITERATURE.

THE LAST DBOSCHKY. By Walter Herries Pollock. | "Temple Bar."] Concluded. ' I suppose,' said Miss Manners, ' that temperament affects these as well'as all other matters ' ' Only,' said Kivers, ' one hears so much about the artistic temperament, which seems toj mean that all artists have the same temperament. ' 'That,' replied Misa Manners, e is, I should think, impossible. Your friend M. de Courval,' she continued, looking curiously at the head, ' is, I suppose, very impulsive.' ' It is an interesting face, is it not, my dear?' said Mrs Manners. Nora made no answer, and soon after the party broke up. Five minutes after every one had gone away, Courval,Jwho had been kept late at rehears %l came in,

Rivers, the week after his strawberry party, called on Mrs Manners with a request that she and her daughter would come to his box at the opera to hear Courval in the 'Trovatore.'

'Perhaps, however,' he said, after he had descanted on the excellence of the opera, ' Miss Manners doesn't care about Verdi f

'On the contrary,' caid Miss Manners, 'it seems to me that Verdi has the true Italian gift of melody, which I know is somewhat out of fashion now, but which I continue to like.'

'Do come then,' said Bivers ; ' we'll take care that nobody asks you about Ascot.' ' I see you have an alarmingly good memory,' said Miss Manners with a smile ; ' shall we not accept Mr River's kind invitation, mamma ?' 'By all means, my dear,' said Mrs Manners, and so the matter was settled. In the afternoon, beforo the performance of the 'Trovatore,' Rivers went to see Courval, and informed him that a very pretty girl, who had greatly admired his effigy, was coming for the first time to hear him sing. ' Mind you sing your best, my dear boy,'he said, 'for Miss Manners is a terribly severy critic,' ' She can scarcely be worse than those of La Scala,' replied Courval. 'My dear Rivers, I have seen a singer standing at the side of the stage, all rustling with perspiration, in his fright at the audience.' 'Rustling? Oh 1 I see, ruisselant,' said Bivers; ' you mean streaming, my dear Courval.'

'C'est tout comme,' replied the tenor carelessly. Rivers, however, |wa«i as much delighted at his own cleverness iu detecting CourYal's mistake as Courval could have been had a good fairy told him his voice would never grow old. In tho. evening Bivers, still in high goodhumor, devoted himself daring dinner and the drive to the opera house to praising not only Courval's singing, but his character also, in such high terms that Miss Manners at last said, ' take care, Mr Rivers, I shall begin to think that you are a treacherous friend, and wish to make me think ill of M. do Courval.'

' What do you mean, Miss Manners ? Haven't I been praising himj up to the skies ?'

' Indeed, yes. So high that there is some danger of his going completely out of sight. Have you not observed that the way to make a person disliked is to praise him excessively to people who do not know him V ' Mot sensible people, surely, Miss Manners,' said Elvers with a bow. ' No women are sensible, are «iey, mamma?' said the girl, turning to ker mother. < Speak for yourself, my dear,' rejoined 6he worthy lady. Rivers was about to make reply; but at this moment the music began, and mindful of Mi'sa Manners's strauge whim for listening to the opera rather than to conversation carried on during it, he held his peace ; and when Maurice came on the stage he on'y asked Miss Manners what impression Oourval made on her by lifting his eyebrows in interruption. She, who had listened with much attention to his first song outside, witched him carefully for a few moments, and made a sign of approval to Rivers. In the second act a curious thing happened. Courval was singing 'Mai reggendo,' with that line voice and exquisite skill of phrasing that Rivers had been justly exalting, when his eyes suddenly assumed an expression of wonder entirely foreign to the meaning of what he was singing,'and he sang atrociously sharp on an F. The thing was ; unaccountable to everybody, and his hearers i

marked their sympathy with the pain which it evidently caused him by applauding him even more thau usual at the end of the song. But Miss Manners, who had given a little shiver of disgust when she heard the terrible sound, remained perfectly impassive. At the end of the act Rivers went round to his friend, whom he found in a curious state of agitation.

' Mon cher, c'est elle !' he cried, as Rivers came into his dressing-room. ' Qui, elle V replied the other, much mystified. 'Je vais vous dire. Et voila pourquoi ' At this point Courval was called to go on the stage, and Rivers came away in a puzzled state. As the opera went on Miss Manners's interest seemed to revive. She listened attentively, even eagerly, to Courval singing, and asked Rivers with a touch of asperity why he had smiled during the sing, ing of the Miserere.

' It was a ludicrous association that I really couldn't resist,' he replied. 'I remember once going on, Everbody in front was thinking how romantic the captive hero andthewhole thingwas, don't you know, and there I found the imprisoned Maurice sitting behind the tower walls on a rickety chair, reading his music through a pince-nez by the light of a tallow candle. I couldn't help thinking of it just now.' 'Oh !' said Miss Manners. And that was almost the last observation she made during the evening. Next day Rivers appeared in Courval's rooms anxious for an explanation of the strange words the tenor had spoken the night before.

' It is quite simple,' said Courval 5 'my eye caught that lady who was with you in the box, and I saw that it was she whose photograph I received by mistake. And then I sang false—but false I What must she think of me ?'

'Why,' said Pavers, what she thinks of you ?' ' Why should I care ? But do you no. know then that her face has haunted me ever since I saw its representation, that in her I have seen all my 'ideal of charm and grace, that I am miserable until you present me to her?'

'should you care

'My dear fellow,' said Rivers, ' how could I know till you told me ?'

'lt is true. But now that you know you will help me. When will you take me to see her ? To-day I have a rehearsal all the afternoon. But after to-day ' ' We'll go and call to-morrow, my dear fellow,' said Bivers, who, in spite of his somewhat butterfly-like life, wag always ready to help his friends. Wondering much what would come of the unexpected emotion which Courval had revealed to him, he went to call on Mrs Manners, intending to ask if ho might bring Courval with him the next day. She was not at home, and he left a note expressing his request. On the morrow at an appointed time Courval came to call for Rivers, who put into his hands this note : ' Dear Mr Rivers, —We should have been very glad to make the acquaintance of your friend, whose singing delighted us so much the other night. Unfortunately we have just received news from my sister which calls us at once to the Continent, where we may have to remain for some time. We shall hope to see you again in the winter. ' Yours very truly,

' A. Manners.'

' Ah, malheur !' cried Courval, and refused to be comforted by any of the compassionate and encouraging remarks which Rivers poured forth. 'After all,' thought Rivers to himself, ' perhaps it's just as well. Ido not suppose it could ever have come to anything. And now Courval will forget what was probably only a passing fancy.'

In this Rivera was mistaken. What Courval experienced, so far from being a passing fancy, was that romantic and exploded thing—love at first sight. The pet tenor, who ihimself was the object of hundreds of passing fancies which he either knew or cared nothing about, was deeply in love with a girl of whom he had once caught sight in an opera box, and whose photograph, obtained by accident, he kept in a secret pocket of his note-book. One autumn day Courval, who had just finished an engagement in a foreign town, was strolling down the street, and seeing a little knot of people collected in the box office of the theatre, went idly in, thinking he might as well spend his evening in listening to a comedy which was advertised. The theatre was one in which drama and opera were given on alternate nights. As he approached the dispenser of tickets, ; two Englishwomen, apparently mother and daughter, were making inquiries. ' Does M. Courval sing to-night ? ' asked the elder. 1 No, madame, his engagement is just over. There is no opera to-night.' The girl turned away her head with an impatient gesture, and Courval, catching sight of her face, saw that it was Miss Manners. Overcome by some strange and unnatual timidity, he hastily lost himself among the now thickening crowd. He smiled at his own stupidity afterwards, and having wasted a good deal of time in imagining all the different ways in which if he had not been an imbecile he might have made acquaintance with Mrs Manners, he arrived at the conclusion that he had thrown away the chance fate had given him, and that she would not encourage foolishness by offering him another. However, Maurice de Courval was born with a golden spoon as well as a golden voice in his mouth. The day after what he deemed his irrevocable failure he had been some little way up the river which ran near the town where he was staying. He had gone by steamer, and in the cool of the evening walked back along the shore opposite to the town until he came to a ferry, by which he crossed, intending to take a droschky from a stand stationed at the opposite. Ihe ferry was crowded. It carried over, besides a horse and cart, a crowd of peasants in picturesque costumes, who lived in a little hamlet on the opposite bank, and two ladies who had stepped on to it unperceived by Courval at the last moment. They reached the bank, and it was seen that there wasjonly one droschky left on the staad. Courval had hailed it, and was just stepping towards it when he heard the words 1 How provoking!' spoken in a soft voice close behind him. He turned, and was in the middle of a polite resignation of all claims to the carriage when he saw that he was speaking to Miss and presumably Mrs Manners. Here was the opportunity which he thought he had lost for ever. He managed, with a confusion which was strange to him, to introduce himself to the two ladies, one of whom had recognised him even before he had offered to give up.

Before they got back to the town he had completely won the heart of Mrs Manners, who asked him to dine with them —an invitation which he accepted with a gratitude he had never shown for more magnificent hospitality. After dinner he sang, but made some excuse when asked for the particular air in which he had sung out of tune when they heard him in the ' Trovatore.' ' I have not sung in that opera since the night—since the London season,' he said, ' and I do not like to sing even in private a thing I am not fresh from practising.' ' Is it true,' began Miss Manners, who had been somewhat silent, aud then stopped. 'ls what true, dear ?' said her mother. 'I was thinking of Mr Rivers telling us how he found M. de Courval reading his part in the "Miserere" by the light of a tallow candle.' 'Yes, yes, it is true,' said Courval, delighted at her remembering the story. Since then I have made reclamations, complaints, insisted on wax.' Miss Manners and her mother were staying in the town some days more, and Courv -1, who, before he had met them, had in • tended to go away immediately, stayed also. Before long he grew to believe that his hopes as to Miss Manners were not in vain. He had lived long enough in England to have learned English ways in the matter of proposals, aucl one day when he and Miss Miss Manners were lcif fc alone in her mother's drawing-room, he said to her—'Do not think me impertinent if I ask whether you remember one night in the " Travatore" in London my singing false.' ■

Miss Manners, blushing a little, said she did remember. ' And do you know why ? It was because I caught sight of a face that for days and days I had been longing to see—of your face! And now that I have seen it again, no, not again, for wherever I have been I have seen nothing else, but that was only in fancy—now that I have seen it again in life, I know that when its light is taken from me there will be nothing for me but darkness and misery.' These words Courval spoke excitedly with his pretty tinge of French accent, and then went on to tell Miss Manners how deeply he loved her, and asked if she could love him. To which she answered, • I too have loved you ever since that night, Maurice.' She pronounced his name in a tone which showed that she loved to hear it sound in her own voice. At this moment Mrs Manners came in, and, as is the way with some mothers, was much astonished aft an event which she might have seen approaching minute by minute. Her suspicion, however, was fortunately not of an unpleasant nature. ' But how did you know my face before you saw me at the opera?' Maurice produced the photograph, and explained its history. 1 1 will always love the man who made that mistake. It was his carelessness that brought us together.' 'No,' said Mrs Manners, 'it was the last droschky.'