Littell's Living Age

"Decidedly," shrieked that lady, struggling violently, "I do not leave this chair till I go to bed! Let me alone, Sassi; you are causing me great pain and discomfort." And, being released, she flopped heavily back into her former position, with a grunt.

ployed, one fine November evening, a | shall judge for yourself - you who know stout, elderly gentlemen came sauntering what a voice is. It is but two steps from towards him from the direction of the here a little cottage, not a hundred hotel, smoking his after-dinner cigar, and yards off." And the enthusiastic Sassi stopped to listen to the rustic serenade. seized his ponderous partner by the arm, The air was deliciously soft and warm; and attempted to drag her to her feet. there was just enough of gentle southerly wind to set the olives and evergreen oaks sighing; the moon was streaming down full upon the white walls of Marta Vannini's cottage; Luigi, with wide-open jaws and chest well thrown forward, was bawling out "La Bella Sorrentina" with all the power of a magnificent pair of lungs; and presently an exquisitely-formed little head was thrust out from Annunziata's window into the moonlight. The elderly gentleman was so pleased with the whole scene that he thought he would sit down on the wall and watch it for a few minutes while he finished his cigar.

"Che bella ragazza!" he ejaculated, under his breath, with a fat, approving smile, as Annunziata nodded and waved her hand to her tuneful swain. He sat and looked and listened till the song had been gone through down to the last word of the last stanza, only giving vent to an occasional shuddering "Ah-h-h!" when Luigi sang flat- as, to tell the truth, he pretty frequently did — and then got up to return to his hotel.

But why does that elderly gentleman suddenly whisk round upon his heels with an exclamation of delight? What causes him to tear off his white Leghorn straw hat, as if in a frenzy, and dash it upon the ground? And why does he presently pounce upon it again, and scamper off towards the hotel as fast as his fat little round legs will carry him? It is only that Annunziata, by way of reply to her lover, has begun to sing one of the songs of the country. Everybody in Sorrento has heard her sing; everybody knows that she sings well, and has a sweet voice; but upon no one have her vocal powers produced such an effect as this before.

The old gentleman clatters noisily up the wooden staircase of the Albergo della Sirena, and bounces into the sitting-room, where his wife, who is twice as fat as himself, lies dozing in an arm-chair.

My dear!" he gasps," my dear "Well, Sassi, what is it now?" says she, still only half awake.

"My dear, I have heard the voice of an angel!"

"Che, che! There would not be room in heaven for all the angels you have heard, Sassi."

“Carissima mia, come and hear!

You

Signor Sassi sighed. "Well, well,” he said, "I will bring her here in the morning. You will hear her, and be convinced. I will make the fortune of that girl!"

"Bah!" said the signora, shrugging her shoulders and depressing the corners of her mouth. "You are always going to make somebody's fortune- and what is the result? Remember that girl at Venice whom you took to live with us for six months, and who, as I had already prophesied, turned out to have no more pow er of understanding music than that table. Remember the tenor, as you called him (though he was really nothing but a barytone), who stole my rings and your cashbox at Ancona. But what is the use of wasting breath on those who will not hear? I suppose this new angel will come and stay with us from to-morrow. I only beg you to notice that I prophesy she will prove to be a failure, and that she will run away with all our clothes into the bargain."

"You will see -you will see," replied old Sassi, nodding his head and closing his eyes with an aspect of serene certainty.

The next morning, while old Marta Vannini was hard at work over the washing, by means of which she lived, somebody rapped at the door with the handle of a stick, and on going to admit her visitor she was somewhat surprised to see an elderly stranger of benevolent aspect, who took off his straw hat and bowed down to the ground.

"Signora," said he, "let me, first of all, felicitate you."

"Your Excellency is very good," replied the wondering Marta, "but with times as hard as they are now, I don't know

"You possess a treasure, signora." "Santa Madonna! a treasure! I can assure your Excellency that this is the first I have heard of it."

"You possess a treasure, I was about to say, in your niece."

"Oh!" said Marta, with a lengthened

countenance. "Well, yes; she is a good | signora," he said, "for a few words with girl one cannot complain; but she you. I am Signor Sassi-you may perscarcely pays for her keep; and we poor haps have heard me spoken of?" people have to think of that."

"Not pay for her keep! Woman! is not a voice like hers payment enough for the keep of a whole regiment? Does not your heart leap into your mouth when you hear her sing?"

"But, caro signor mio," said old Marta, laughing a little (for she began to suspect that her interlocutor was not quite right in his head), "she is one of those who must work and not sing. One may sing all day long, like a cicala, but that will not bring in money."

"That is precisely where you are mistaken, my good madam; singing will sometimes bring in money enough to buy up the whole of Sorrento. Did you never hear of Alboni, and Grisi, and Malibran?"

No; Marta was unacquainted with any of these names.

"Well, they were ladies who made more money by singing one night at the opera than I suppose you would by washing in a couple of years. What do you think of that?"

"It is extraordinary," said Marta, with a sigh; "but surely, eccellenza, you do not mean that our Annunziata could do that!"

"Who knows? I should be better able to tell you if you would permit me to see her and hear her sing for a few minutes." "Annunziata!" shrieked the old woman in her shrill nasal accents, "leave the washing, and come here. Here is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you."

But Marta was as ignorant of the fame of Signor Sassi as she had admitted herself to be of Grisi and Alboni. "Hum!" grunted the old gentleman; "I am not altogether obscure, for all that. If chance ever takes you to Paris, London, or Vienna, you will find that Alessandro Sassi, the singing-master, is pretty well known in all those places. Not that I am a singingmaster now, I made money enough, years ago, to keep my wife and myself in comfort, and I have no children. Music and art occupy the place of children in my affections," said the little man, drawing himself up and tapping his breast. "Now this is what I propose to you," he continued. "During the present winter, which I intend to pass at Sorrento, the signorina shall come to me for singinglessons twice a day two hours in the morning, one in the afternoon. In the spring I take her, under the care of my wife, to Paris, where we reside; I continue her instruction there, and in the autumn I hope to introduce her to the public. In three years or two years perhaps - who can say?-she will be earning, if I am not mistaken, a considerable salary.”

"But, signore," gasped Marta, rather bewildered by the rapidity with which this programme was announced, "who is to pay you for all this?”

Sassi reddened a little. "I do not want money," he answered, in a slightly injured tone; "but you may feel at ease about incurring any obligation from me. The signorina shall repay me all I have spent upon her as soon as she is in a position to do so. And there is another thing. You will want some one to replace her in helping you with your work. I will pay what is necessary to secure you an assistant; and that also can be returned to me in due time. Now, what do you say? Are you contented?"

Annunziata made her appearance, smiling and surprised, and was greeted with much cordiality by Signor Sassi. Like the generality of Italians, she was wholly free from shyness, and though somewhat taken aback by the visitor's request, she made no difficulty about obliging him with a specimen of her musical capabilities. She sang him first one song, then another, and finally, repressing a strong inclination to burst out laughing, consented, for the first time in her life, to be put through her scales. Higher and higher rose the clear, full, true notes till Signor Sassi could no longer contain his delight. He seized Annunziata by both hands, and went near "Then there will be no harm done," to embracing her in his exultation. "Sign- replied Sassi, who had now quite recovorina," he exclaimed, "the world is open ered his good-humour. "I am well enough to you! A little work-a little perse-off to afford myself a caprice - it will not verance - and everything you touch will be the first time." And so Annunziata's turn to gold!" Then he twirled round, destiny was settled.

and faced the older woman ·

"And now,

What could Marta say but that she accepted so liberal an offer with willingness and gratitude, and that Annunziata should begin her lessons as soon as the gentleman pleased? "But what if it turns out a mistake, after all, she suggested," and all this expense leads to nothing?"

Luigi Ratta, passing down towards the

what a voice is. It is but two steps from here - - a little cottage, not a hundred yards off." And the enthusiastic Sassi seized his ponderous partner by the arm, and attempted to drag her to her feet.

ployed, one fine November evening, a | shall judge for yourself - you who know stout, elderly gentlemen came sauntering towards him from the direction of the hotel, smoking his after-dinner cigar, and stopped to listen to the rustic serenade. The air was deliciously soft and warm; there was just enough of gentle southerly wind to set the olives and evergreen oaks sighing; the moon was streaming down full upon the white walls of Marta Vannini's cottage; Luigi, with wide-open jaws and chest well thrown forward, was bawling out "La Bella Sorrentina" with all the power of a magnificent pair of lungs; and presently an exquisitely-formed little head was thrust out from Annunziata's window into the moonlight. The elderly gentleman was so pleased with the whole scene that he thought he would sit down on the wall and watch it for a few minutes while he finished his cigar.

"Che bella ragazza!" he ejaculated, under his breath, with a fat, approving smile, as Annunziata nodded and waved her hand to her tuneful swain. He sat and looked and listened till the song had been gone through down to the last word of the last stanza, only giving vent to an occasional shuddering "Ah-h-h!" when Luigi sang flat-as, to tell the truth, he pretty frequently did - and then got up to return to his hotel.

Signor Sassi sighed. "Well, well," he said, "I will bring her here in the morning. You will hear her, and be convinced. I will make the fortune of that girl!"

"Bah!" said the signora, shrugging her shoulders and depressing the corners of her mouth. "You are always going to make somebody's fortune-and what is the result? Remember that girl at Venice whom you took to live with us for six months, and who, as I had already prophesied, turned out to have no more power of understanding music than that table. Remember the tenor, as you called him (though he was really nothing but a barytone), who stole my rings and your cashbox at Ancona. But what is the use of wasting breath on those who will not hear? I suppose this new angel will come and stay with us from to-morrow. I only beg you to notice that I prophesy she will prove to be a failure, and that she will run away with all our clothes into the bargain."

But why does that elderly gentleman suddenly whisk round upon his heels with an exclamation of delight? What causes him to tear off his white Leghorn straw hat, as if in a frenzy, and dash it upon the ground? And why does he presently "You will see -you will see," replied pounce upon it again, and scamper off to- old Sassi, nodding his head and closing wards the hotel as fast as his fat little his eyes with an aspect of serene cerround legs will carry him? It is only tainty. that Annunziata, by way of reply to her The next morning, while old Marta lover, has begun to sing one of the songs | Vannini was hard at work over the washof the country. Everybody in Sorrento ing, by means of which she lived, somehas heard her sing; everybody knows body rapped at the door with the handle that she sings well, and has a sweet voice; of a stick, and on going to admit her visbut upon no one have her vocal powers itor she was somewhat surprised to see an produced such an effect as this before. elderly stranger of benevolent aspect, who took off his straw hat and bowed down to the ground.

The old gentleman clatters noisily up the wooden staircase of the Albergo della Sirena, and bounces into the sitting-room, where his wife, who is twice as fat as himself, lies dozing in an arm-chair.

My dear!" he gasps," my dear "Well, Sassi, what is it now?" says she, still only half awake.

'My dear, I have heard the voice of an angel !"

"Che, che! There would not be room in heaven for all the angels you have heard, Sassi."

"Carissima mia, come and hear!

You

Signora," said he, "let me, first of all, felicitate you."

"Your Excellency is very good, “replied the wondering Marta, “but with times as hard as they are now, I don't know

I can

"You possess a treasure, signora." "Santa Madonna! a treasure! assure your Excellency that this is the first I have heard of it."

"You possess a treasure, I was about to say, in your niece."

"Oh!" said Marta, with a lengthened

countenance. "Well, yes; she is a good girl one cannot complain; but she scarcely pays for her keep; and we poor people have to think of that."

"Not pay for her keep! Woman! is not a voice like hers payment enough for the keep of a whole regiment? Does not your heart leap into your mouth when you hear her sing?"

"But, caro signor mio,” said old Marta, laughing a little (for she began to suspect that her interlocutor was not quite right in his head), "she is one of those who must work and not sing. One may sing all day long, like a cicala, but that will not bring in money."

"That is precisely where you are mistaken, my good madam; singing will sometimes bring in money enough to buy up the whole of Sorrento. Did you never hear of Alboni, and Grisi, and Malibran?"

No; Marta was unacquainted with any of these names.

"Well, they were ladies who made more money by singing one night at the opera than I suppose you would by washing in a couple of years. What do you think of that?"

"It is extraordinary," said Marta, with a sigh; "but surely, eccellenza, you do not mean that our Annunziata could do that!"

"Who knows? I should be better able to tell you if you would permit me to see her and hear her sing for a few minutes.” "Annunziata!" shrieked the old woman in her shrill nasal accents, "leave the washing, and come here. Here is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you."

signora," he said, "for a few words with you. I am Signor Sassi-you may perhaps have heard me spoken of?"

But Marta was as ignorant of the fame of Signor Sassi as she had admitted herself to be of Grisi and Alboni. "Hum!" grunted the old gentleman; "I am not altogether obscure, for all that. If chance ever takes you to Paris, London, or Vienna, you will find that Alessandro Sassi, the singing-master, is pretty well known in all those places. Not that I am a singingmaster now, I made money enough, years ago, to keep my wife and myself in comfort, and I have no children. Music and art occupy the place of children in my affections," said the little man, drawing himself up and tapping his breast. this is what I propose to you," he continued. "During the present winter, which I intend to pass at Sorrento, the signorina shall come to me for singinglessons twice a day-two hours in the morning, one in the afternoon. In the spring I take her, under the care of my wife, to Paris, where we reside; I continue her instruction there, and in the autumn I hope to introduce her to the public. In three years or two years perhaps

"Now

who can say?—she will be earning, if I am not mistaken, a considerable salary."

"But, signore," gasped Marta, rather bewildered by the rapidity with which this programme was announced, "who is to pay you for all this?"

Annunziata made her appearance, smiling and surprised, and was greeted with much cordiality by Signor Sassi. Like the generality of Italians, she was wholly free from shyness, and though somewhat taken aback by the visitor's request, she made no difficulty about obliging him with a specimen of her musical capabilities. She sang him first one song, then another, and finally, repressing a strong inclination to burst out laughing, consented, for the first time in her life, to be put through her scales. Higher and higher rose the clear, full, true notes till Signor Sassi could no longer contain his delight. He seized Annunziata by both hands, and went near "Then there will be no harm done," to embracing her in his exultation. "Sign- replied Sassi, who had now quite recovorina," he exclaimed, "the world is open ered his good-humour. "I am well enough to you! A little work-a little perse-off to afford myself a caprice it will not verance - and everything you touch will be the first time." And so Annunziata's turn to gold!" Then he twirled round, destiny was settled. and faced the older woman

What could Marta say but that she accepted so liberal an offer with willingness and gratitude, and that Annunziata should begin her lessons as soon as the gentleman pleased? "But what if it turns out a mistake, after all," she suggested, "and all this expense leads to nothing?"

"And now, Luigi Ratta, passing down towards the

extraordinary facility of youth which is | martine has done. It is a portion of his set upon one thing to-day, and to-morrow" Confidences;" he is the hero, the god of has forgotten its very existence. If we the little southern world, into which he may judge of "Saul" from the "Frag- threw himself with all the enthusiasm of ment Biblique," which we find in Lamar- youth. Of all his landscapes, except the tine's later volumes, it will be difficult to home scenery of Milly, there is none of believe in Talma's admiration. This, as which he has so taken in the peculiar and far as we can judge, was the only time pervading charm. The sunny yet dangerthat he attempted the drama. Even ous sea, the lovely isles, the hill-terraces, earlier, however, than "Saul," the inci- with their wonderful Elysian points of dent which forms the groundwork of the vision, the subtle sweetness of the air, the tales of "Graziella" and "Raphael" had mingling of sky and water, with all their occurred in the young poet's own life; ineffable tones of light and colour, have and nothing could have served the occa- been nowhere more perfectly represented; sion better, or called forth his genius so and if the passion and despair of the well as the romance which no natural young Neapolitan may be excessive, they modesty prompted him to keep secret, in are made possible by her country, by the all its delightful mixture of reality and softening effects of that seductive air, and fiction the "Dichtung und Wahrheit" by the extreme youth of the heroine. of which a greater poet and mightier ge- Very different is the sickly and unnatural nius did not disdain the charm. effect of the companion story "Raphael," the scene of which is laid in the town, and on the lake, of Aix in Savoy, and in which the sentimental passion of the two lovers becomes nauseous to the reader in its very commencement, and is infinitely more objectionable in its ostentatious purity than any ordinary tale of passion. The hero of "Graziella" is young and guileless, half unaware of, and more than half partaking the innocent frenzy he awakens; but Raphael is a miserable poor creature, good for nothing but to lie at his mistress's feet, to listen to her movements through the door that divides them, to rave about her perfections and his love. The sickly caresses- the long, silent raptures in which the two gaze into each other's eyes-the still more sickly ravings of their love, which has no pleasant beginning, no dramatic working up to wards a climax, but jumps into languishing completeness at once,- all breathe an unhealthy, artificial, enervating atmosphere, pernicious to the last degree for any young mind which could be charmed by it, and not far from disgusting to the maturer reader. In both these productions, the poet, as we have said, is his own hero. The incidents are professedly true; and the author gives himself credit throughout his autobiographical works for having passed through all the tumults and agitations of these exhibitions of wouldbe passion. We say would-be, for there is not in reality any passion in them. Nothing of the fiery directness of overwhelming emotion is in either narrative. "Raphael," in particular, is slowly piled up with a leisurely gloating over the mental fondnesses and fine sentiments of the languishing pair, which stops all feeling

It is only just to Lamartine, however, to say that his graceful but languishing and sentimental tales are more prepossessing to the reader, and call forth in a much lesser degree the natural opposition which is roused in everybody's mind by highly-pitched egotism and vanity, than those of Goethe. "Graziella," in particular, is a beautiful little idyl, perfectly pure, picturesque, and touching. The Italian girl herself has something of the charm which we have already remarked in Lamartine's early sketches of his own childhood. She is represented in all the homely circumstances of her lot, without any attempt to make an impossible young lady out of the humble Procitana. This error, which is one into which English romancers continually fall, does not seem to affect the Frenchman, though whether this may be a consequence of the democratical atmosphere of his nation, or arises merely from his higher artistic susceptibility, it is difficult to tell. Whatever the cause may be, however, Graziella is as complete a fisher-girl as the little Lamartine was a goat-herd among his native hills. Neither her costume nor her habits of life are sacrificed to the elevation and refinement necessary to a heroine. To be sure, the costume of a fisher-lass from Procida is less objectionable in romance than the homely gown of an English country girl; but the plot ventures almost to the edge of ridicule when he represents his Graziella trying on the costume of civilization, and pinching her larger beauty into the French corsets and silk gown, which in her ignorance she thought likely to please him. Altogether this poetic little tale is, we think, the finest thing La

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Littell's Living Age, Volumen129