Trilby by Maurier George du

Author:Maurier, George du [Maurier, George du]
Language: fra
Format: epub
Tags: CLASSIQUES, Gothique, V.O
Publisher: Feedbooks
Published: 1894-04-04T05:00:00+00:00

And when it began, and while it lasted, and after it was over, one felt really sorry for all the other singers. And nobody sang any more that night; for Glorioli was tired, and wouldn't sing again, and none were bold enough or disinterested enough to sing after him.

Some of my readers may remember that meteoric bird of song, who, though a mere amateur, would condescend to sing for a hundred guineas in the saloons of the great (as Monsieur Jourdain sold cloth); who would sing still better for love and glory in the studios of his friends.

For Glorioli—the biggest, handsomest, and most distinguished-looking Jew that ever was one of the Sephardim (one of the Seraphim!)—hailed from Spain, where he was junior partner in the great firm of Morales, Perales, Gonzales, and Glorioli, wine merchants, Malaga. He travelled for his own firm; his wine was good, and he sold much of it in England. But his voice would bring him far more gold in the month he spent here; for his wines have been equalled—if it be not libellous to say so—but there was no voice like his anywhere in the world, and no more finished singer.

Anyhow his voice got into Little Billee's head more than any wine, and the boy could talk of nothing else for days and weeks; and was so exuberant in his expressions of delight and gratitude that the great singer took a real fancy to him (especially when he was told that this fervent boyish admirer was one of the greatest of English painters); and as a mark of his esteem, privately confided to him after supper that every century two human nightingales were born—only two! a male and a female; and that he, Glorioli, was the representative 'male rossignol of this soi-disant dix-neuvieme siecle.'

'I can well believe that! And the female, your mate that should be—la rossignolle, if there is such a word?' inquired Little Billee.

'Ah! mon ami… it was Alboni, till la petite Adelina Patti came out a year or two ago; and now it is La Svengali.'

'La Svengali?'

'Oui, mon fy! You will hear her some day—et vous m'en direz des nouvelles!'

'Why, you don't mean to say that she's got a better voice than Madame Alboni?'

'Mon ami, an apple is an excellent thing—until you have tried a peach! Her voice to that of Alboni is as a peach to an apple—I give you my word of honour! but bah! the voice is a detail. It's what she does with it—it's incredible! it gives one cold all down the back! it drives you mad! it makes you weep hot tears by the spoonful! Ah! the tear, mon fy! tenez! I can draw everything but that! Ca n'est pas dans mes cordes! I can only madden with love! But La Svengali!… And then, in the middle of it all, prrrout!… she makes you laugh! Ah! le beau rire! faire rire avec des larmes plein les yeux—voila qui me passe! … Mon ami, when I heard

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