extraordinary talents; nor did he say more than the truth, for in
Paris and the circle in which the viscount moved, he was looked
upon and cited as a model of perfection. Franz added that his
companion, deeply grieved at having been prevented the honor of
being presented to the countess during her sojourn in Paris, was
most anxious to make up for it, and had requested him (Franz) to
remedy the past misfortune by conducting him to her box, and
concluded by asking pardon for his presumption in having taken it
upon himself to do so. The countess, in reply, bowed gracefully to
Albert, and extended her hand with cordial kindness to Franz; then,
inviting Albert to take the vacant seat beside her, she recommended
Franz to take the next best, if he wished to view the ballet, and
pointed to the one behind her own chair. Albert was soon deeply
engrossed in discoursing upon Paris and Parisian matters, speaking
to the countess of the various persons they both knew there. Franz
perceived how completely he was in his element; and, unwilling to
interfere with the pleasure he so evidently felt, took up Albert's
glass, and began in his turn to survey the audience. Sitting alone,
in the front of a box immediately opposite, but situated on the
third row, was a woman of exquisite beauty, dressed in a Greek
costume, which evidently, from the ease and grace with which she
wore it, was her national attire. Behind her, but in deep shadow,
was the outline of a masculine figure; but the features of this
latter personage it was not possible to distinguish. Franz could
not forbear breaking in upon the apparently interesting
conversation passing between the countess and Albert, to inquire of
the former if she knew who was the fair Albanian opposite, since
beauty such as hers was well worthy of being observed by either
sex. "All I can tell about her," replied the countess, "is, that
she has been at Rome since the beginning of the season; for I saw
her where she now sits the very first night of the season, andher where she now sits the very first night of the season, and
since then she has never missed a performance. Sometimes she is
accompanied by the person who is now with her, and at others she is
merely attended by a black servant."
"And what do you think of her personal appearance?"
"Oh, I consider her perfectly lovely — she is just my idea of
what Medora must have been."
Franz and the countess exchanged a smile, and then the latter
resumed her conversation with Albert, while Franz returned to his
previous survey of the house and company. The curtain rose on the
ballet, which was one of those excellent specimens of the Italian
school, admirably arranged and put on the stage by Henri, who has
established for himself a great reputation throughout Italy for his
taste and skill in the choreographic art — one of those masterly
productions of grace, method, and elegance in which the whole corps
de ballet, from the principal dancers to the humblest
supernumerary, are all engaged on the stage at the same time; and a
hundred and fifty persons may be seen exhibiting the same attitude,
or elevating the same arm or leg with a simultaneous movement, that
would lead you to suppose that but one mind, one act of volition,
influenced the moving mass — the ballet was called "Poliska."
However much the ballet might have claimed his attention, Franz was
too deeply occupied with the beautiful Greek to take any note of
it; while she seemed to experience an almost childlike delight in
watching it, her eager, animated looks contrasting strongly with
the utter indifference of her companion, who, during the whole time
the piece lasted, never even moved, not even when the furious,
crashing din produced by the trumpets, cymbals, and Chinese bells
sounded their loudest from the orchestra. Of this he took no heed,
but was, as far as appearances might be trusted, enjoying soft
repose and bright celestial dreams. The ballet at length came to a
close, and the curtain fell amid the loud, unanimous plaudits of anclose, and the curtain fell amid the loud, unanimous plaudits of an
enthusiastic and delighted audience.
Owing to the very judicious plan of dividing the two acts of the
opera with a ballet, the pauses between the performances are very
short, the singers in the opera having time to repose themselves
and change their costume, when necessary, while the dancers are
executing their pirouettes and exhibiting their graceful steps. The
overture to the second act began; and, at the first sound of the
leader's bow across his violin, Franz observed the sleeper slowly
arise and approach the Greek girl, who turned around to say a few
words to him, and then, leaning forward again on the railing of her
box, she became as absorbed as before in what was going on. The
countenance of the person who had addressed her remained so
completely in the shade, that, though Franz tried his utmost, he
could not distinguish a single feature. The curtain rose, and the
attention of Franz was attracted by the actors; and his eyes turned
from the box containing the Greek girl and her strange companion to
watch the business of the stage.
Most of my readers are aware that the second act of "Parisina"
opens with the celebrated and effective duet in which Parisina,
while sleeping, betrays to Azzo the secret of her love for Ugo. The
injured husband goes through all the emotions of jealousy, until
conviction seizes on his mind, and then, in a frenzy of rage and
indignation, he awakens his guilty wife to tell her that he knows
her guilt and to threaten her with his vengeance. This duet is one
of the most beautiful, expressive and terrible conceptions that has
ever emanated from the fruitful pen of Donizetti. Franz now
listened to it for the third time; yet its notes, so tenderly
expressive and fearfully grand as the wretched husband and wife
give vent to their different griefs and passions, thrilled through
the soul of Franz with an effect equal to his first emotions upon
hearing it. Excited beyond his usual calm demeanor, Franz rose with