Rosine

“ For all the youth of the town knows Rosina who sits all day in the portico of the Palazzo Spinola, via Carlo Felice! It is not for nothing that she has that tall and massive figure, those heavy coils of bright, black hair with the broad waves, that smooth skin with the faint fresh colour, those even rows of white teeth that appear so often when the merry smile parts her rosy lips! She knows how to use all the fair gifts of nature, and best of all how to make use of two saucy black eyes in the trade which she plies daily so well—for who sells so many flowers as Rosina? ”

“ So she sits, with flowers close around her—red and yellow tulips, festive-looking camellias—to set off the strongly-coloured portrait of herself; and as she sits she picks the heads of blossoms from baskets at her feet.
So the early morning is gone, and Rosina is at her post beneath the Carlo Felice door-way. The sun has outstripped the east wind in power by this time, and for those who walk within its hearty radiance, and avoid the northward corners of streets—for those who, like our Rosina, sit within reach of its rays in some sheltered corner, the Tramontana matters but little. ”

“ He awaited her in the salon below, and when she appeared there to him, such an expression dawned within his eyes as altered completely not only their habitual melancholy, but the customary shadows of his whole face as well. There is no flattery so subtle in its charm or so deeply touching in its homage as such a change, and Rosina felt as much complimented as any other woman would have been, had it been in her to work so great a miracle in so great, and such, a man. ”

“ With orient pearl, with ruby red, With marble white, with sapphire blue, Her body every way is fed, Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Nature herself her shape admires; The Gods are wounded in her sight; And Love forsakes his heavenly fires And at her eyes his brand doth light: Heigh ho, would she were mine! Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan The absence of fair Rosaline, Since for a fair there's fairer none, Nor for her virtues so divine: Heigh ho, fair Rosaline! Heigh ho, my heart! would God that she were mine! T. LODGE. ”

“ It is more Celtic than English, and when joined with those faculties of soul, conscience, or whatever they be that make England rule the waves, as they are joined in you, Bay, they leave no room for any anxiety about the creature's destiny. But Rosina, who is all senses and intelligence, alarms me by her recital of midnight walks on the Boulevard des Italiens with bohemian artists.... You can't live by gaslight and excitement, nor can naked intelligence run a jeune fille's life. ”

“ The young folks caught up an old song, and tagged that name on too, and called me Rosin the Bow. So it was first, Melody; but there are two songs, as you [32] know, my dear, to the one tune (or one tune is all I know, and fits both sets of words) , and the second song spells the word "Beau," and so some merry girls in a house where I often went to play, they vowed I should be Rosin the Beau. ”

“ Horton, Rosanna's grandmother, did not think that chauffeurs' families were ever the sort who ought to look down into the garden where Rosanna played and where she herself sat in state and had tea served of an afternoon.
At one side of the garden where the roses were wildest and the flowers grew thickest was a little cottage, built to fit Rosanna. Grown people had to stoop to get in and their heads almost scraped the ceilings. The furniture all fitted Rosanna too, even to the tiny piano. This was Rosanna's playhouse. ”

“ Rosy are her cheeks, rosy her lips, roses make up the little chaplet of perfumed flowers which crowns the hair-net of silver thread through the squares of which her deep blonde hair peeps out, and finally, rosy is the silk of her gorget, which, from the waist all the way up to the neck, tightly fastened by a row of marvelously wrought silver buttons, sets off her delicate contour. ”

“ Thou knowst me not—I am thy Rosinberg,
Thy dearest, truest friend, thy loving kinsman;
Thou dost not say to me. Why art thou come?
Bas. Shame knows no kindred; I am fall'n, disgrac'd;
My fame is gone, I cannot look upon thee.
Ros. My Basil, noble spirit! talk not thus!
The greatest mind untoward fate may prove:
Thou art our gen'rous, valiant leader still,
Fall'n as thou art—and yet thou art not fall'n;
Who says thou art, must put his hairness on,
And prove his words in blood.
Bas. Ah Rosinberg! this is no time to boast! ”

“ The Rosie is faithless, she's nae the less the fair,
The thought of her beauty but feeds my despair;
With painful remembrance my bosom is full,
And weary of life is the Harper of Mull.
As slumb'ring I lay by the dark mountain stream,
My lovely young Rosie appear'd in my dream ”

“ In a few minutes, he came out again, dressed in his black coat for meeting, with a Bible and hymn-book in one hand, and a curious volume in the other, written in strange, twisted, twirligig characters, such as Rosina had never before in her life set eyes on. ‘See here!’ he cried, opening it wide before her; ‘dat is book ob spells. Dat is African spell for gain lubber. I explain him to you’—and his hand turned rapidly over several of the brown and well-thumbed pages: ‘Isaac Pourtalès, mulatto; Rosina Fleming, black le-ady; dat is de page. ”

“ Re-enter Rosinberg.
Ros. I have repented me, I will not go;
They will be too long absent.— (Pauses, and looks at Basil, who remains still musing without seeing him.)
What mighty thoughts engage my pensive friend?
Bas. O! it is admirable.
Ros. How runs thy fancy? what is admirable?
Bas. Her form, her face, her motion, ev'ry thing!
Ros. The princess? yes, have we not prais'd her much?
Bas. I know you prais'd her, and her off'rings too! ”

“ A little girl is needed here, isn't she? And there is no need at all of another woman. I can't be like Aunt Vesta or Auntie Joy; so I think I might stay just Melody." Then shaking her curls back, she cried, "Well, anyhow, I am just Melody now, and nothing more; and I mean to make the most of it. Come, Rosin, come! I am ready for music. The dishes are all washed, and there's nothing more to do, is there, Auntie? It is so long since Rosin has been here; now let us have a good time, a perfect time!"
De Arthenay took up his fiddle once more, and caressed its shining curves. ”

“ All the buds that bore any promise for immediate use were nipped off at the very flower and thrown into the common basket, and when the round of the camellia grove had been made Rosina went on her knees to pluck the purple heartsease, to strip the beds where bloom the pale Neapolitan violets, and then on her tip-toes, with upstretched, graceful arm, to tear down the ‘fiorellin d’oro’ from the wall, to break the blossom of the Judas tree. All the time the wind was sharp, the sky darkly blue ”

“ It was about nine o’clock, and Rosina, in spite of the environments, was beginning to realize forcibly that more interesting men than the one before her undoubtedly did exist, when the ice that she was putting in her mouth suddenly seemed to glide the full length of her spine, giving her a terrible sensation of frozen fright. She had just heard somebody behind her speaking in German to the garçon, and German, French, or English, that voice was unmistakable. How, what, or why she knew not, but he was surely there behind her, and the instant after he passed close at her side. ”

“ As a curious and rare plant, guarded by the active hand, and watched by the careful eye of the gardener, raises or depresses his hopes at first putting forth its tender blossoms, till a kind and congenial season brings it to maturity, and its beauties, suddenly bursting on the sight, prove an ample reward for his fostering care,—so did the heart of Roseline expand and rejoice at every proof the prisoner gave of the goodness of his disposition, and the superior excellence of his understanding. ”

“ The mistress passed on to the queen of the garden, La Rosiere, fragrant beyond all other roses, its reflexed, claret-coloured petals soft and velvety, its leaves—when did a rose’s greenery fail to be its perfect complement?—tinged underneath with a faint blush of its own deep colour. ”

“ Rossini came in the interval betwixt the acts to tell the Rosina of the night, at that moment surrounded by a crowd of admirers, that he had left Malibran in tears in her box, in despair at ever attaining such a purity of tone and such a perfection of execution as she had displayed. This was a sincere tribute of admiration, and not of envy, on the part of that lamented vocalist; whose real character, being impressed with the eccentricity which too often besets genius, few could understand, and whose warmth of heart and imagination made her too often the victim of cold-blooded worldliness. ”

“ Ma’s a bad old woman . . . only don’t tell her I said so. You see I’m a friend of the family. Dear little girl, Rosie, too. Verbus Satienti—I always let ’em think I was at Oxford—Good for business.”
It was rather disturbing; for though it was no news to Edwin that Mrs. Beaucaire’s headaches were euphemistic, the fact had done no more than contribute to the ideal qualities with which he had invested her daughter. There was something romantic as well as pitiful in the idea of Rosie’s contrasting innocence: the rose that has its roots in foulness is not less a rose. ”

“ Visits to native ladies are much more amusing when I go with Rosina, than when there is a stiff secretary translating from the other side of the punkah. The Begum was delighted with some English flowers that I took her, and began asking Rosina about England, and amongst other things, she and her attendants having ascertained that it was really true that we walked out in London, wanted very much to know if we did not wear veils and loose trousers on those occasions. Rosina made them all laugh very much, and the Begum gave her £5 when we went away. ”

“ When you take a baby to raise, it's a satisfaction to get a pretty one. Geraldine promised to be very pretty. Her hair was growing out in loose little ringlets like Rosie's own, and her eyes, too, were like Rosie's, only bluer. Perhaps, when Rosie fattened her, she would have a dimple. Rosie herself had a lovely dimple that was much admired. Let's see: was it in the right cheek or the left? Rosie made sure by smiling and feeling for it. Yes, she really hoped that Geraldine would develop a dimple. Was there anything on earth sweeter than a dimpled baby?... ”

“ Rosina gasped.
“Why not? He’ll be just as interesting in Constance as he is here, or in Lucerne.”
“You don’t really think that he would come too; Molly, not really?”
“Certainly I think that he would.”
“Oh, Molly!”
“’Tis their way here on the Continent; they’ve nothing else to do, you know. I know a man who went from Paris to St. Petersburg after a girl (I know it for a fact, for the girl was myself) , and another who came from Naples to Nice just to call, and went back at midnight.”
( [104] ) Rosina appeared most uncomfortable. ”

“ And Rosina now says, "see the rosy morn appearing;" and now "the morn returns in saffron dress'd."—Selim in Blue Beard, sings, "Gray-eyed morn begins to peep," his is no compliment to the beauty of the goddess. If she had changed colours with the magician, it would have been well; a gray beard is fit for an old man, and blue eyes for a young woman. ”

“ When you come to my age, you will find sitting down on the slope of a beach a much longer job than you think it now. By the time I was settled, Rosanna had dried her own eyes with a very inferior handkerchief to mine—cheap cambric. She looked very quiet, and very wretched; but she sat down by me like a good girl, when I told her. When you want to comfort a woman by the shortest way, take her on your knee. I thought of this golden rule. But there! Rosanna wasn’t Nancy, and that’s the truth of it! ”

“ Charming, by which I mean such interesting, things resident in what I there touch on; with the way they look at each other, Rosanna and Gray, if one is talking about looks. Gray keeps it in comedy, so far as he can—making a tone, a spell, that Rosanna doesn't break into, as she breaks, anything to call really breaks, into nothing as yet: I seem to see the final, from-far-back-prepared moment when she does, for the first and last time, break as of a big and beautiful value. ”

“ I have met with rare kindness; no man of my generation, I would wager, has the number of friends I can boast, and all kind, all hearty, all ready with a "welcome to Rosin the Beau." And now here, at your aunts' kind wish and your prayer, my dearest Melody, dear as any child of my own could be, I am come to spend [120] my last days under your roof; and what more could mortal man ask than this, I truly know not. My violin and your voice, Melody; they were made for each other; everybody says that, my dear, and neither you nor I would deny it. ”

“ It was his dependence that swayed her and decided her. It was the boy Ronnie needing tenderness and care.
Involved and fantastic as it may sound, I have the belief that it was the mother instinct that took Rose off with Ronnie more than love. What I mean is that she did not go with him as most women go with men, through ordinary passion, but because he was fragile and in need of protection and she thought of him as her own, or—subconsciously of course—even as one of those unborn sons which he himself would have begotten. So mystical can women be! ”