CHAPTER XXXII.
"THE QUEEN OF SONG."
"Give me the boon of love-- Renown is but a breath, Whose loudest echo ever floats From out the halls of death. A loving eye beguiles me more Than Fame's emblazon'd seal; And one sweet note of tenderness, Than triumph's wildest peal."--TUCKERMAN.
"Oranmore, my dear fellow, welcome back to Italy!" exclaimed adistinguished-looking man, as Louis--the day after his arrival inVenice--was passing through one of the picturesque streets of that"palace-crowned city."
"Ah, Lugari! happy to see you!" said Louis, extending his hand, whichwas cordially grasped.
"When did you arrive?" asked the Italian, as, linking his arm throughthat of Louis, they strolled toward the "Bridge of the Rialto."
"Only yesterday. My longings for Venice were too strong to be resisted;so I returned."
"Then you have not heard our 'Queen of Song' yet?" inquired hiscompanion.
"No. Who is she?"
"An angel! a seraph! the loveliest woman you ever beheld!--sings like anightingale, and has everybody raving about her!"
"Indeed! And what is the name of this paragon?"
"She is called Madame Evelini--a widow, I believe--English or Americanby birth. She came here as poor as Job and as proud as Lucifer. Now,she has made a fortune on the stage; but is as proud as ever. Half themen at Venice are sighing at her feet; but no icicle ever was colderthan she--it is impossible to warm her into love. There was an Englishduke here not long ago, who--with reverence be it spoken!--had moremoney than brains, and actually went so far as to propose marriage; and,to the amazement of himself and everybody else, was most decidedly andemphatically rejected."
"A wonderful woman, indeed, to reject a ducal crown. When does shesing?"
"To-night. You must come with me and hear her."
"With pleasure. Look, Lugari--what a magnificent woman that is!"
"By St. Peter! it's the very woman we are speaking of--Madame Eveliniherself!" exclaimed Lugari. "Come, we'll join her. I have the pleasureof her acquaintance. Take a good look at her first, and tell me if shedoes not justify my praises."
Louis, with some curiosity, scrutinized the lady they were approaching.She was about the middle height, with an exquisitely-proportionedfigure--a small, fair, but somewhat melancholy face, shaded by aprofusion of pale-brown ringlets. Her complexion was exquisitely fair,with dark-blue eyes and beautifully chiseled features. As he gazed, astrange, vague feeling, that he had seen that face somewhere before,flashed across his mind.
"Well, what do you think of her?" said Lugari, rousing him from areverie into which he was falling.
"That she is a very lovely woman--there can be but one opinion aboutthat."
"How old would you take her to be?"
"About twenty, or twenty-three at the most."
"Phew! she's over thirty."
"Oh, impossible!"
"Fact, sir; I had it from her own lips. Now, I'll present you; but takecare of your heart, my boy--few men can resist the fascinations of theQueen of Song."
"I have a counter-charm," said Louis, with a cold smile.
"The memory of some fairer face in America, I suppose. Well, we shallsee. Good-morning, Madame Evelini," he said, acknowledging that lady'ssalutation. "Charming day. Allow me to present to you my friend Mr.Oranmore."
From the first moment the lady's eyes had fallen on the face of Louis,she had gazed as if fascinated. Every trace of color slowly faded fromher face, leaving her cold and pale as marble. As his name was utteredshe reeled, as if she were faint, and grasped the arm of Lugari forsupport.
"_Whom_ did you say?" she asked, in a breathless voice.
"Mr. Oranmore, a young American," replied Lugari, looking in amazementfrom the lady to Louis--who, quite as much amazed as himself, stoodgazing upon her, lost in wonder.
"Oranmore!" she exclaimed, unheeding their looks--"Oranmore! Surely notBarry Oranmore?"
"That was my father's name," replied the astonished Louis.
A low cry broke from the white lips of the lady, as her hands flew upand covered her face. Lugari and Louis gazed in each other's faces inconsternation. She dropped her hands at last, and said, in a low,hurried voice:
"Excuse this agitation, Mr. Oranmore. Can I have the pleasure of aprivate interview with you?"
"Assuredly, madam," said the astonished Louis.
"Well, call at my residence in the Palazzo B----, this afternoon. Andnow I must ask you to excuse me, gentlemen. Good-morning."
She hurried away, leaving the two young men overwhelmed with amazement.
"What the deuce does this mean?" said Lugari.
"That's more than I can tell. I'm as much in the dark as you are."
"She cannot have fallen in love with him already," said Lugari, in themusing tone of one speaking to himself.
Louis laughed.
"Hardly, I think. I cannot expect to succeed where a royal duke failed."
"There's no accounting for a woman's whims; and he's confoundedlygood-looking," went on Lugari, in the same meditative tone.
"Come, Antonio, none of your nonsense," said Louis. "Come with me to mystudio, and spend the morning with me. It will help to pass the timeuntil the hour for calling on her ladyship."
They soon reached the residence of the artist. The door was opened forthem by a boy of such singular beauty, that Lugari stared at him insurprise and admiration. His short, crisp, black curls fell over a browof snowy whiteness, and his pale face looked paler in contrast with hislarge, melancholy, black eyes.
"Well, Isadore," said Louis kindly, "has there been any one here since?"
"No, signor," replied the boy, dropping his eyes, while a faint colorrose to his cheek, as he met the penetrating gaze of the stranger.
"That will do, then. Bring wine and cigars, and leave us."
The boy did as directed, and hurried from the room.
"Handsome lad, that," said Lugari, carelessly. "Who is he?"
"Isadore something--I forget what. He _is_, as you say, remarkablyhandsome."
"He is not a Venetian?"
"No; English, I believe. I met him in Naples, friendless and nearlydestitute, and took charge of him. Have a glass of wine?"
Lugari looked keenly in the face of his friend with a peculiar smile,that seemed to say: "Yes--I understand it perfectly;" but Louis, busy inlighting a cigar, did not observe him.
The morning passed rapidly away in gay conversation; and at the hourappointed, Louis sat in one of the magnificent rooms of the PalazzoB----, awaiting the entrance of the singer.
She soon made her appearance, quite bewitching in blue silk, but lookingpaler, he thought, than when he had seen her in the morning.
"I see you are punctual," she said, holding out her hand, with a slightsmile. "Doubtless you are at your wits' end trying to account for mysingular conduct."
"My only wonder is, madam, how I could have merited so great an honor."
"Ah! I knew you would say something like that," said the lady."Insincere, like the rest of your sex. Well, you shall not be kept longin suspense. I have sent for you here to tell you my history."
"Madam!" exclaimed Louis, in surprise.
"Yes, even so. It concerns you more nearly, perhaps, than you think.Listen, now."
She leaned her head in her hand, and, for a moment, seemed lost inthought; while Louis, with eager curiosity, waited for her to begin.
"I am Irish by birth," she said, at last, looking up; "I was born inGalway. My father was a poor farmer, and I was his only child. I grew upa wild, untutored country girl; and reached the age of fifteen, knowingsorrow and trouble only by name.
"My occupation, sometimes, was watching my father's sheep on themountain. One day, as I sat merrily singing to myself, a horseman,attracted by my voice, rode up and accosted me. I was bold and fearless,and entered into conversation with him as if I had known him all mylife--told him my name and residence; and learned, in return, that hewas a young Americ
an of respectable and wealthy connections, who hadvisited Galway to see a friend.
"From that day forth, he was constantly with me; and I soon learned towatch for his coming as I had never watched for any one before. He wasrash, daring, and passionate; and, captivated by my beauty (for I _was_handsome then), he urged me to marry him privately, and fly with him. Ihad never learned to control myself in anything; and loving him with apassion that has never yet died out, I consented. I fled with him toEngland. There we were secretly wedded. He took me to France, where weremained almost a year--a year of bliss to me. Then he received lettersdemanding his immediate presence in America. He would have left mebehind him, and returned for me again; but I refused to leave him; Itherefore accompanied him to his native land, and a few weeks after--onestormy Christmas Eve--my child, a daughter, was born.
"I never saw it but once. The nurse must have drugged me--for I have adim recollection of a long, long sleep, that seemed endless; and when Iawoke, I found myself in a strange room with the face of a strange womanbending over me. To my wild, bewildered inquiries, she answered, that Ihad been very ill, and my life despaired of for several weeks; but thatI was now recovering. I asked for my husband and child. She knew nothingof them, she said. I had been brought there in a carriage, after night,by a man whose features she could not recognize--he was so muffled up.He had paid her liberally for taking charge of me, and promised toreturn to see me in a few weeks.
"I was a child in years and wisdom, and suspected nothing. I felt angryat his desertion, and cried like the petted child I was, at his absence.The woman was very kind to me, though I saw she looked upon me with asort of contempt, the reason of which I did not then understand. Still,she took good care of me, and in a fortnight I was as well as ever.
"One evening, I sat in my room silent and alone (for _I_ was notpermitted to go out), and crying like a spoiled baby, when the sound ofa well-known voice reached my ear from the adjoining room. With a cry ofjoy, I sprang to my feet, rushed from the room, and fell into the armsof my husband. In my joy at meeting him, I did not perceive, at first,the change those few weeks had made in him. He was pale and haggard, andthere was an unaccountable something in his manner that puzzled me. Hewas not less affectionate; but he seemed wild, and restless, and ill atease.
"My first inquiry was for my child.
"'It is dead, Eveleen,' he answered, hurriedly; 'and you were so illthat it became necessary to bring you here. Now that you are better, youmust leave this and come with me.'
"'And you will publicly proclaim our marriage, and we will not beseparated more?' I eagerly inquired.
"He made no answer, save to urge me to make haste. In a few moments Iwas ready; a carriage at the door. He handed me in, then followed, andwe drove rapidly away.
"'Where are we going?' I asked, as we drove along.
"'Back to Ireland; you are always wishing to return.'
"'But you will go with me, will you not?' I asked, in vague alarm.
"'Yes, yes; to be sure,' he answered, quickly. Just then, the murmur ofthe sea reached my ear; the carriage stopped, and my husband assisted meout.
"A boat was in waiting on the shore. We both entered, and were rowed tothe vessel lying in the harbor. I reached the deck, and was conductedbelow to a well-furnished cabin.
"'Now, Eveleen, you look fatigued and must retire to rest. I am going ondeck to join the captain for a few hours,' said my husband, as he gentlykissed my brow. His voice was low and agitated, and I could see his facewas deadly pale. Still, no suspicion of the truth entered my mind. Iwas, indeed, tired; and wearily disengaging myself from the arms thatclasped me in a parting embrace, I threw myself on my bed, and in a fewminutes was fast asleep. My husband turned away and went on deck, and--Inever saw him more."
Her voice failed, and her lips quivered; but after a few moments shewent on.
"The next morning the captain entered the cabin and handed me a letter.I opened it in surprise. A draft for five thousand dollars fell out, butI saw it not; my eyes were fixed in unspeakable horror on the dreadfulwords before me.
"The letter was from my husband. He told me that we were parted forever,that he had wedded another bride, and that the vessel I was in wouldconvey me home, where he hoped I would forget him, and look upon thepast year only as a dream. I read that terrible letter from beginning toend, while every word burned into my heart and brain like fire. I didnot faint nor shriek; I was of too sanguine a temperament to do either;but I sat in stupefied despair; I was stunned; I could not realize whathad happened. The captain brought me a newspaper, and showed me theannouncement of his marriage to some great beauty and heiress--some MissErliston, who----"
"What!" exclaimed Louis, springing fiercely to his feet. "In the name ofheaven, of whom have you been talking all this time?"
"Of my husband--of your father--of Barry Oranmore!"
He staggered into his seat, horror-stricken and deadly white. There wasa pause, then he said, hoarsely:
"Go on."
"I know not how that voyage passed--it is all like a dream to me. Ireached Liverpool. The captain, who had been well paid, had me conveyedhome; and still I lived and moved like one who lives not. I was in astupor of despair, and months passed away before I recovered; when Idid, all my childishness had passed away, and I was in heart and mind awoman.
"Time passed on. I had read in an American paper the announcement of myfalse husband's dreadful death. Years blunted the poignancy of my grief,and I began to tire of my aimless life. He had often told me my voicewould make my fortune on the stage. Acting on this hint, I went toLondon, had it cultivated, and learned music. At last, after years ofunremitting application, I made my _debut_. It was a triumph, and everyfresh attempt crowned me with new laurels. I next visited France; then Icame here; and here I have been ever since. To-day, when I beheld you,the very image of your father as I knew him first, I almost imagined thegrave had given up its dead. Such is my story--every word true, asheaven hears me. Was I not right, when I said it concerned you morenearly than you imagined?"
"Good Heaven! And was my father such a villain?" said Louis, with agroan.
"Hush! Speak no ill of the dead. I forgave him long ago, and surely youcan do so too."
"Heaven help us all! what a world we live in!" said Louis, while, with apang of remorse, his thoughts reverted to Celeste; and he inwardlythought how similar her fate might have been, had she consented to gowith him.
"And was your child really dead?" he inquired, after a pause, duringwhich she sat with her eyes fixed sadly on the floor. "He may havedeceived you in that as in other things."
"I know not," she answered; "yet I have always had a sort ofpresentiment that it still lives. Oh, if heaven would but permit me tobehold her alive, I could die happy!"
Louis sat gazing upon her with a puzzled look.
"I know not how it is," he said, "but you remind me strangely of someone I have seen before. I recognize your face, vaguely and indistinctly,as one does faces they see in dreams. I am _sure_ I have seen some oneresembling you elsewhere."
"Only fancy, I fear," said the lady, smiling, and shaking her head. "Doyou intend hearing me sing to-night?"
"Oh, decidedly! Do you think I would miss what one might make apilgrimage round the world to hear once?"
"Flattery! flattery! I see you are like all the rest," said MadameEvelini, raising her finger reprovingly.
"Not so, madam; I never flatter. And now I regret that a previousengagement renders it necessary for me to leave you," said Louis, takinghis hat and rising to leave.
"Well, I shall expect to see you soon again," she said, with anenchanting smile; and Louis, having bowed assent, left the house; and,giddy and bewildered by what he had just heard, turned in the directionof his own residence.
Sharing Her Crime: A Novel Page 33
