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Updated: June 19, 2025
It was on the aneckdotale plan, and speakin of aneckdotes reminds me of a little story it is wun of Mr Ward's, by the way; it will bare repitition it lass, so far, stood it very well. It is of a young made, hoose name it was Mehitabull some of it, at least enuff for the present porpussus and of a nobil and galyunt lovyier, which his naim it was John Jones.
This is one, for example, in which he upbraids "the merchantis of renown" for allowing "Edinburgh their nobil town" to remain in the state in which he describes it: "May nane pass through your principall gates For stink of haddocks and of skates, For cryin' of carlines and debates, For fensome flytings of defame. Think ye not shame Before strangers of all estates That sic dishonour hurt your name?
Or perhaps, deliberately, she sought to give this solitary listener that which it would have cost thousands of dollars for a wider public to hear. She sang first the leading arias of her more prominent operatic roles. "Nobil signors," she sang, her voice lingering.
Torrebianca, I need n't remind those who are familiar with Sampaolo, is the name of a mountain, a bare, white, tower-like peak of rock, that rises in the middle of the island, the apex of the ridge separating the coast of Vallanza from the coast of Orca. "Madame Torrebianca? La Nobil Donna Susanna Torrebianca?" She tried the name on her tongue. "Yes, for an impromptu, Torrebianca is n't bad.
Put it in black and white, says I. 'La Nobil Donna Susanna Torrebianca, of the Palazzo Sebastiani, via Quattro Fontane, Rome, party of the second part. A beau vers, is n't it? The lilt, the swelling cadence, the rich rhyme, the hidden alliterations, and then the sensitive, haunting pathos, the eternal verities adumbrated by its symbolism. I 've stood upon Achilles' tomb, and heard Troy doubted.
"Yes, yes," he said, a little testily; "unless and I pray it may not be so unless you ever need the help of an old friend." "Dear Signor Graziano!" "And now you will sing me my 'Nobil Amore'?" "I will do anything you like." The signorino sighed and looked at her for a minute. Then he led her into the little parlour, where Madame Petrucci was singing shrilly in the twilight.
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