 | CHAPTER VII. The prima donna |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
It may have been three weeks, or more, after this, that there
was a great stir in New York about a foreign Prima Donna—a
singer whose excellence was equally indisputable and great.
The newspapers which, in such matters, usually speak in the
superlative style of Euphrosine, and in words as magnificent as
those of Brobdignag, now, in the excessive warmth of their enthusiasm,
happened upon a newer set of phrases, which left the
ancient forms of eulogy far behind them. The fountains of
public admiration were opened. The praises of the new candidate
for applause and sixpences, sounded from the high places of
authority, were heard repeated at every corner. The singer was
pronounced to be one who could sing louder, squeak longer, and
prolong the note through a more numerous and symmetrical set of
quavers than any vocalist of past or present celebrity. She was,
in short, the last lion of the town, and absorbed in her own glory,
for a season, its thousand phrases of hyperbole.
As a general rule I never suffer myself to do as all the town
does; but on this occasion I fell into the current and went forward
with the stream. I had my reasons, apart from any curiosity
either to see the lion or to hear his roar, which induced
me to depart from my wonted resolution. I fancied that the
music of the new performer would impair my recollection of the
old, and do away with the impression of that which I had lost so
suddenly. Up to this time I still deceived myself with the fancy
that all my interest in the unknown creature whom I so much
missed, had been the pure result of her musical sweetness and
superiority. I went—the house was full to overflowing—all
hearts save my own were full of expectancy and impatience.
The curtain rose—the crowd roared and clapped. With an indifference
the most unfashionable, I looked up at the performer,
and beheld in the famous Prima Donna, my own musical Unknown!
| CHAPTER VII. The prima donna | |