And the next morning I received from her this brief missive, which

threw me into a wild condition of joyous expectancy: "If you could

meet me in the Church of St. Gilles at eleven o'clock this morning, I

should like to have your advice upon a certain matter.--Rosa."

Seventy-seven years elapsed before eleven o'clock.

St. Gilles is a large church in a small deserted square at the back of

the town. I waited for Rosa in the western porch, and at five minutes

past the hour she arrived, looking better in health, at once more

composed and vivacious. We sat down in a corner at the far end of one

of the aisles. Except ourselves and a couple of cleaners, there seemed

to be no one in the church.

"You asked me yesterday about my engagements," she began.

"Yes," I said, "and I had a reason. As a doctor, I will take leave to

tell you that it is advisable for you to throw yourself into your work

as soon as possible, and as completely as possible." And I remembered

the similar advice which, out of the plenitude of my youthful wisdom,

I had offered to Alresca only a few days before.

"The fact is that I have signed a contract to sing 'Carmen' at the

Paris Opéra Comique in a fortnight's time. I have never sung the rôle

there before, and I am, or rather I was, very anxious to do so. This

morning I had a telegram from the manager urging me to go to Paris

without delay for the rehearsals."

"And are you going?"

"That is the question. I may tell you that one of my objects in

calling on poor Alresca was to consult him about the point. The truth

is, I am threatened with trouble if I appear at the Opéra Comique,

particularly in 'Carmen.' The whole matter is paltry beyond words, but

really I am a little afraid."

"May I hear the story?"

"You know Carlotta Deschamps, who always takes Carmen at the Comique?"

"I've heard her sing."

"By the way, that is her half-sister, Marie Deschamps, who sings in

your cousin's operas at the London Diana."

"I have made the acquaintance of Marie--a harmless little thing!"

"Her half-sister isn't quite so harmless. She is the daughter of a

Spanish mother, while Marie is the daughter of an English mother, a

Cockney woman. As to Carlotta, when I was younger"--oh, the

deliciously aged air with which this creature of twenty-three referred

to her youth--"I was singing at the Opéra Comique in Paris, where

Carlotta was starring, and I had the misfortune to arouse her

jealousy. She is frightfully jealous, and get worse as she gets older.

She swore to me that if I ever dared to appear at the Comique again

she would have me killed. I laughed. I forgot the affair, but it

happens that I never have sung at the Comique since that time. And now

that I am not merely to appear at the Comique, but am going to sing

'Carmen' there, her own particular rôle, Deschamps is furious. I

firmly believe she means harm. Twice she has written to me the most

formidable threats. It seems strange that I should stand in awe of a

woman like Carlotta Deschamps, but so it is. I am half-inclined to

throw up the engagement."




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