"Now I can face the whole world! And I will learn quick enough—oh, I am not such a stupid fellow as I look! Three years! What are three years? I would wait three centuries. Oh, Annunziata, dear Annunziata, what a happy day this is!"
And he stepped towards her, as if he would have taken her in his arms.
But she drew back. "Remember, I have promised nothing," she said. "And, Luigi, I make one condition—you must speak no more of this to me so long as I am here."
Luigi made no protest against the injustice of imposing conditions when no engagement had been entered into. He sighed, and yielded; and so well did he keep his word that no further expression of love escaped his lips during the week that Annunziata spent in her native village. Some eloquent looks he did indulge in; but of these she either was, or affected to be, unconscious.
In spite of the restriction placed upon him, Luigi enjoyed to the full every hour of those glorified, but alas! too swift-footed, seven days. Annunziata was so gracious, so kind, so merry, so like her old self; she seemed to take such pleasure in going over all their old haunts with him, and in sailing in his boat under the shadow of the cliffs that the orange-trees and olives hang over, that the young fisherman felt himself in an earthly paradise, and would gladly have consented to lead the same kind of life forever. Once, by dint of much pressing, he was induced to get his guitar out from its hiding-place, and sing "La Bella Sorrentina;" but he would not do so a second time. "You have learnt music now, and know that I have neither ear nor voice," he said. And so the guitar was put away again.
The fatal day of departure came; and Annunziata, as she leant back in the carriage, covering her face with her hands and sobbing as only an Italian woman can, almost wished that she never had been tempted to leave her tranquil home at Sorrento at all. It was a natural feeling; and doubtless it was equally natural that she should overcome it as soon as she was in the train flying northwards towards Signor Sassi, and wealth and distinction, leaving Luigi, poverty, and peace behind.
She spent that winter at Milan, working harder than she had ever done yet, learning, practising, and rehearsing over and over again, with the indefatigable Sassi to encourage her, and a host of critics, professional and amateur, to praise her and prophesy for her a glorious career. The manager of the English opera came, in the course of the winter, to hear her, and expressed himself very strongly as to her improvement since she had left London. In the spring she was taken to England; and then, at last, the momentous day dawned on which, for the first time, she was to sing before a public audience.
The opera that had been chosen for her was Mozart's "Flauto Magico" and her role was that of the "Queen of the Night," a part which perhaps was never before selected for a débutante. It will be remembered that the "Queen of the Night," though she appears but three times in the course of the whole opera, and remains on the stage only for a few minutes on each occasion, has, during those few minutes, a task to perform or which many of the most famous prime donne have been found incapable. The part can only be taken by a pure soprano of almost abnormal compass, and any lady who undertakes to fill it may feel assured that she will produce a sensation—either on account of complete failure, or of equally complete success.
Now Signor Sassi, knowing that his pupil was capable of accomplishing this feat, and knowing also how great would be the fame that would attend her achievement of it, had not been able to resist the temptation of risking much on the hazard of her triumph. She had sung and acted the part over and over again, not only to him but to several other competent judges, and he thought he was justified in the venture. Nevertheless, considering the youth and total inexperience of the performer, it was not surprising that many of Annunziata's friends were terribly nervous when the important evening arrived, and the opera-house began to fill.
Signor Sassi, who was behind the scenes, was very pale, and his hand shook, though he endeavoured to keep up a demeanour of jaunty carelessness; the manager himself looked worried and anxious; Signora Sassi was perspiring in the stalls, fanning herself vigorously with a huge fan, and keeping up her courage by sniffing at a bottle of strong, sweet scent, whereby much ill feeling was engendered amongst her immediate neighbours. The coolest of them all was the principal person concerned, who, oddly enough, was perfectly at her ease, calm and self-confident She was conscious of no other feeling than an intense desire to succeed, and a strong determination and belief that she would succeed.
