he prelude to the
final rondo, "Jenny Lind said to me in a whisper, 'Listen well to this
song, Roger, for these are the last notes of mine that you will hear in
any theatre.'"

The next day a farewell ball, to which a supper succeeded, was given by
the manager at the Bedford Hotel to celebrate the conclusion and
brilliant success of the tour: "That dear Jenny drew from her finger a
ring set with a diamond of the finest water, and presented it to me with
the words, 'May every sparkle of this stone, Roger, recall to you one of
my wishes for your happiness!' In this phrase there was all the woman
and a tinge of the Swede."

The next day he takes a final ride with the prima donna and Madame
Lablache. "I was very sad," he writes: "the idea of ending this happy
day has spoiled my pleasure. How well she looks on horseback, with her
great blue eyes and her loosened fair hair! And why does she quit the
stage? Is she tired of doing good? As long as she has been an artist she
has lived the life of a saint. They tell me of a bishop who has put
certain scruples into her head. May Heaven be his judge!

"I know that in Paris people say, 'Why does she not come here to
consecrate her reputation? She is afraid, doubtless, of comparisons and
recollections.' No, no! she has nothing to fear. She preserves in her
heart of hearts, doubtless, some resentment for the indifference--to
call it no more--wherewith the last manager of the Opera received her
advances for a hearing when her fresh young talent had just left the
hands of Manuel Garcia. But since then Meyerbeer has composed operas for
her; Germany, Sweden, England have set the seal upon her reputation: we
can add nothing to it. As to homage, what could we give her? Wherever
she goes, as soon as she arrives in a city its chief personages hasten
to meet her; when she leaves the theatre five or six hundred persons
await her exit with lighted torches; every leaf that falls from her
laurel-wreaths is quarrelled over; crowds escort her to her hotel; and
serenades are organized under her windows. At Paris, when once the
curtain falls the emotion is over, the artist no longer exists. A
serenade! Who ever saw such a thing outside of the _Barber of Seville?_
It is in bad taste to do anything singular. As to escorting a prima
donna home, Malibran could find her way alone very well."

Roger returned to Paris, recording as he did so the fact that he was by
no means overjoyed at finding himself at