Count Fosco plays Italian music on the piano. — staff artist John McLenan's headnote vignette (composite woodblock engraving) for the twentieth weekly part of Wilkie Collins's The Woman in White: A Novel, published on 7 April 1860 in Harper's Weekly: A Journal of Civilization, "The Second Epoch. Miss Halcombe's Narrative Continued, July 5th," p. 213; p. 132 in the 1861 volume.

A Mystery: Fosco Demonstrates His Extensive Knowledge of Italian Music

Before I could get to the door the Count stopped me, by a request for a cup of tea. I gave him the cup of tea, and tried a second time to get away. He stopped me again — this time by going back to the piano, and suddenly appealing to me on a musical question in which he declared that the honour of his country was concerned.

I vainly pleaded my own total ignorance of music, and total want of taste in that direction. He only appealed to me again with a vehemence which set all further protest on my part at defiance. “The English and the Germans (he indignantly declared) were always reviling the Italians for their inability to cultivate the higher kinds of music. We were perpetually talking of our Oratorios, and they were perpetually talking of their Symphonies. Did we forget and did they forget his immortal friend and countryman, Rossini? What was 'Moses in Egypt' but a sublime oratorio, which was acted on the stage instead of being coldly sung in a concert-room? What was the overture to Guillaume Tell but a symphony under another name? Had I heard 'Moses in Egypt'? Would I listen to this, and this, and this, and say if anything more sublimely sacred and grand had ever been composed by mortal man?” — And without waiting for a word of assent or dissent on my part, looking me hard in the face all the time, he began thundering on the piano, and singing to it with loud and lofty enthusiasm — only interrupting himself, at intervals, to announce to me fiercely the titles of the different pieces of music: “Chorus of Egyptians in the Plague of Darkness, Miss Halcombe!” — “Recitativo of Moses with the tables of the Law.” — “Prayer of Israelites, at the passage of the Red Sea. Aha! Aha! Is that sacred? Is that sublime?” The piano trembled under his powerful hands, and the teacups on the table rattled, as his big bass voice thundered out the notes, and his heavy foot beat time on the floor.

There was something horrible — something fierce and devilish — in the outburst of his delight at his own singing and playing, and in the triumph with which he watched its effect upon me as I shrank nearer and nearer to the door. I was released at last, not by my own efforts, but by Sir Percival’s interposition. He opened the dining-room door, and called out angrily to know what “that infernal noise” meant. The Count instantly got up from the piano. “Ah! if Percival is coming,” he said, “harmony and melody are both at an end. The Muse of Music, Miss Halcombe, deserts us in dismay, and I, the fat old minstrel, exhale the rest of my enthusiasm in the open air!” He stalked out into the verandah, put his hands in his pockets, and resumed the Recitativo of Moses, sotto voce, in the garden. ["The Second Epoch. The Story continued by Marian Halcombe," Blackwater Park, Hampshire. July 5th," p. 213; pp. 131-132 in the 1861 volume.]

What inner truths do Fosco's blandishments hide?

Although she is thankful for Fosco's moderating influence on the surly Glyde's behaviour, she is well aware that the piano music and singing in Italian are part of Fosco's carefully maintained, suave persona. The illustration flags yet again the Count's penchant for musical performance in his native tongue, and especially of the music of his favourite composer, Rossini, and his Oratorio from Mose in Egitto (1819), which features the operatic commonplace of the conflict between love and duty.

These numerous illustrations of the musical Count may almost serve as a metaphor for his manipulativeness. Through his blandishments, decorous, well-mannered speeches and gestures he plays the ladies in the house, even the perceptive and wilful Marian Halcombe, and even manages to play that very truculent human instrument, the ill-mannered Sir Percival Glyde. And this latest performance has, Marian reflects afterwards, been a mere subterfuge, for while the Count has been exuberantly playing and singing Rossini Madame Fosco has been absent thirty minutes.

Related Material

• McLenan's regular, full-scale illustration for the twentieth weekly number in serial: "He took my hand and put it to his poisonous lips." for 7 April 1860.
• Fred Walker's poster: The Woman in White for the Olympic's October 1871 adaptation

Bibliography

Collins, Wilkie. The Woman in White: A Novel. New York: Harper & Bros., 1860.

Collins, Wilkie. The Woman in White: A Novel. Harper's Weekly: A Journal of Civilization. Illustrated by John McLenan. Vols. III-IV (16 November 1859 through 8 September 1860).

Collins, Wilkie. The Woman in White. Ed. Maria K. Bachman and Don Richard Cox. Illustrated by Sir John Gilbert and F. A. Fraser. Toronto: Broadview, 2006.

Peters, Catherine. "Chapter Twelve: The Woman in White (1859-1860)." The King of the Inventors: A Life of Wilkie Collins. London: Minerva Press, 1992. Pp. 205-225.

Vann, J. Don. "The Woman in White in All the Year Round, 26 November 1859 — 25 August 1860." Victorian Novels in Serial. New York: MLA, 1985. Pp. 44-46.

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Created 15 July 2024