Stories with a Vengeance — page 95: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

_ Ihave spoken of. SOME AUTHENTICATED GHOST STORIES. Monga, he burst out laughing, said what in English may be translated as “ bosh,” and declared that the whole thing was a ruse of Rivalli, an opposition tenor of Collini, to prevent his singing the serenade “No, my little one,” he continued; “1 never alter my programme, and the work we talk about must represented, for see this!” He brought out of a corner of his office a huge coloured poster, ready to be pla- carded all over the place. It read thus :— “On Monday next will be produced, with grand scenic effect, Bellini’s favourite tragic opera, “I Montecchi e I nara Romeo, Signor Enrico Collini; Giulietta, Signorina Violette di Qualchi Cosa. During the ball scene the world-famed danseuse, Mademoiselle Blancpied, from the Grand Opera in Paris, will give her marvellous pas de Diablerie, and her renowned galop, Des Grimaces et des Contortions. Con- ductor, Herr Steeke.” What could I now doP Simply nothing but let matters take their course. had *¢____. got, my life upon a cast, And must withstand the hazard of the die,’’ or, to be correct, the dead. Besides, who could say? Maybe the ill-fated Mercutio, who had frightened the uncomely Cata- squalli and the somewhat “deformed, un. inished ” Screechvelli, and had (suppositi- ously) driven the antiquated and obese sottovoce off the stage with his presence, night be gallant enough to remain in his tomb when he knew that he had to appear toa young and well-favoured little canta- | trice. Thus, for two or three days, I went about ina sort of nervous tremour and appre- hension ; and on the night of the perform- ance, as I repaired to the theatre, I was quivering like an aspen leaf, and felt that ior voice IT had not a note in its whole compass which was not éremoloso. But still, it surprised me that having “screwed my courage to the sticking. place,” clothed myself in the rich and most becoming costume of the belle of the Capulets of Verona, and having on my entrance been greeted with enthusiastic applause by a crowded and critical audi- ‘ence, how my spirits rose to the occasion. | Iwas heart and soul in my réle; the ¢host was quite forgotten. ' The opera proceeded, and at every scene of mine, success followed upon success. Google 91 At last the curtain fell amidst the loudest of bravas and clapping of hands; my recall twice, thrice, was insisted upon, and upon every entrée bouquets of the choicest flowers were showered upon me. Moreover, the Prince Leandro d’Elles- ponté came into the salon, offered me his warmest congratulations, and gave me this ring as a souvenir of the enjoyment I had afforded him. Emanuel, of the Palais Royal, says that its diamonds are only paste. No matter; they sparkle, and look real at a distance. Of course several times during the piece I had to retire to my dressing-room to make alterations In my costume. On each occa- sion as I entered it was in terrible fear and trepidation, expecting to be greeted by the dreaded Mercutio ; but as I saw nothing, I became more and more assured, and con- vinced myself that the ghost must have been purely imaginative, or that its coun- terfeiting was a secret and clever trick of stage machinists, done to keep up a time- honoured theatrical tradition. When, as I said before, the whole thing was ended, I repaired once more to my apartment, to cast aside altogether stage habiliments, and to put on my own more homely and every-day attire. This time the French dresser, Fifine, was with me, and I felt quite plucky and chival- rous as we passed along the couwlisses and entered the room. The gas had been lowered, and but the very tiniest of sparks glimmered in the lamp. The candles also on the dressing-table had been extinguished, so that almost com- plete darkness reigned around. “ Ma for!” exclaimed the woman; “the manager is stingy indeed! Hardly half an hour are you, mademoiselle, out of this musty old room for the tomb scene on the stage, and down goes the gas to the fraction of an inch, and out go the bougies alto- gether. Bah! a gallant French director would have had the maudit hole made brilliant for your comfort, with, perhaps, a flask of champagne and a delicate morsel laid out for your refection. Béte! but T’ll have the lights up very soon, and ruin him in gas!” As she spoke she turned up the taps of the gaselier, and in one second the whole place was thrown into brightness and glare. “ Fifine—Fifine, look there—there!” I gasped out. ‘6 ere, my lady P—where? How you scare my wits out with your frightened air! Where? I see nothing.” : “ There, I tell you—there!”’ CY, JOO S CO)