Short Fiction Edgar Allan Poe (books for men to read .txt) đ
- Author: Edgar Allan Poe
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The evening thus spent was unquestionably the most delicious of my life. Madame Lalande had not overrated the musical abilities of her friends; and the singing I here heard I had never heard excelled in any private circle out of Vienna. The instrumental performers were many and of superior talents. The vocalists were chiefly ladies, and no individual sang less than well. At length, upon a peremptory call for âMadame Lalande,â she arose at once, without affectation or demur, from the chaise longue upon which she had sat by my side, and, accompanied by one or two gentlemen and her female friend of the opera, repaired to the piano in the main drawing-room. I would have escorted her myself, but felt that, under the circumstances of my introduction to the house, I had better remain unobserved where I was. I was thus deprived of the pleasure of seeing, although not of hearing, her sing.
The impression she produced upon the company seemed electricalâ âbut the effect upon myself was something even more. I know not how adequately to describe it. It arose in part, no doubt, from the sentiment of love with which I was imbued; but chiefly from my conviction of the extreme sensibility of the singer. It is beyond the reach of art to endow either air or recitative with more impassioned expression than was hers. Her utterance of the romance in Otelloâ âthe tone with which she gave the words âSul mio sasso,â in the Capulettiâ âis ringing in my memory yet. Her lower tones were absolutely miraculous. Her voice embraced three complete octaves, extending from the contralto D to the D upper soprano, and, though sufficiently powerful to have filled the San Carlos, executed, with the minutest precision, every difficulty of vocal compositionâ âascending and descending scales, cadences, or fiorituri. In the final of the Somnambula, she brought about a most remarkable effect at the words:
Ah! non guinge uman pensiero
Al contento ond âio son piena.
Here, in imitation of Malibran, she modified the original phrase of Bellini, so as to let her voice descend to the tenor G, when, by a rapid transition, she struck the G above the treble stave, springing over an interval of two octaves.
Upon rising from the piano after these miracles of vocal execution, she resumed her seat by my side; when I expressed to her, in terms of the deepest enthusiasm, my delight at her performance. Of my surprise I said nothing, and yet was I most unfeignedly surprised; for a certain feebleness, or rather a certain tremulous indecision of voice in ordinary conversation, had prepared me to anticipate that, in singing, she would not acquit herself with any remarkable ability.
Our conversation was now long, earnest, uninterrupted, and totally unreserved. She made me relate many of the earlier passages of my life, and listened with breathless attention to every word of the narrative. I concealed nothingâ âfelt that I had a right to conceal nothingâ âfrom her confiding affection. Encouraged by her candor upon the delicate point of her age, I entered, with perfect frankness, not only into a detail of my many minor vices, but made full confession of those moral and even of those physical infirmities, the disclosure of which, in demanding so much higher a degree of courage, is so much surer an evidence of love. I touched upon my college indiscretionsâ âupon my extravagancesâ âupon my carousalsâ âupon my debtsâ âupon my flirtations. I even went so far as to speak of a slightly hectic cough with which, at one time, I had been troubledâ âof a chronic rheumatismâ âof a twinge of hereditary goutâ âand, in conclusion, of the disagreeable and inconvenient, but hitherto carefully concealed, weakness of my eyes.
âUpon this latter point,â said Madame Lalande, laughingly, âyou have been surely injudicious in coming to confession; for, without the confession, I take it for granted that no one would have accused you of the crime. By the by,â she continued, âhave you any recollectionâ ââ and here I fancied that a blush, even through the gloom of the apartment, became distinctly visible upon her cheekâ ââhave you any recollection, mon cher ami, of this little ocular assistant, which now depends from my neck?â
As she spoke she twirled in her fingers the identical double eyeglass which had so overwhelmed me with confusion at the opera.
âFull wellâ âalas! do I remember it,â I exclaimed, pressing passionately the delicate hand which offered the glasses for my inspection. They formed a complex and magnificent toy, richly chased and filigreed, and gleaming with jewels, which, even in the deficient light, I could not help perceiving were of high value.
âEh bien! mon ami,â she resumed with a certain empressment of manner that rather surprised meâ ââEh bien! mon ami, you have earnestly besought of me a favor which you have been pleased to denominate priceless. You have demanded of me my hand upon the morrow. Should I yield to your entreatiesâ âand, I may add, to the pleadings of my own bosomâ âwould I not be entitled to demand of you a veryâ âa very little boon in return?â
âName it!â I exclaimed with an energy that had nearly drawn upon us the observation of the company, and restrained by their presence alone from throwing myself impetuously at her feet. âName it, my beloved, my EugĂ©nie, my own!â âname it!â âbut, alas! it is already yielded ere named.â
âYou shall conquer, then, mon ami,â said she, âfor the sake of the EugĂ©nie whom you love, this little weakness which you have at last confessedâ âthis weakness more moral than physicalâ âand which, let me assure you, is so unbecoming the nobility of your real natureâ âso inconsistent with the candor of your usual characterâ âand which, if permitted further control, will assuredly involve you, sooner or later, in some very disagreeable
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