V.
It is difficult at the present day to realise such scenes as that presented by the Imperial Theatre during the performance that evening. The comparative smallness of the interior and dimness of the lights, combined with the incomparable splendour and richness in the appearance of the audience which filled every portion of the theatre, even to the gallery of the servants, with undiminished brilliancy, produced an effect of subdued splendour and of a mystic glow of colour which we should look for in vain in any theatre in Europe now.
The Empress-Queen and her husband occupied a central box, and the Court, graduated according to rank, and radiating from this centre, filled boxes, pit, and gallery. The Prince's box was on the royal tier, not far from the Empress. He was accompanied by the Princess and his sister.
"I am delighted with Isoline," the Princess said; "that poor child's death has worked wonders upon her in a way no one would have expected. She seems to have thrown off her singular fancies, and behaves as other people do."
"Isoline never was very easy to understand," said the Prince.
Whether or not she were inspired by the presence of the Prince, the Signorina had never sung so wonderfully as she did that night. The frigid silence of Imperial etiquette, so discouraging and chilling to southern artists, gave place, now and again, to an irrepressible murmur of emotion and applause. The passionate yearning of the purest love, the pathos of unselfish grief, found a fit utterance in notes of an inimitable sweetness, and in melodies whose dainty phrases were ennobled and mellowed at once by delicate art and loftiest feeling. The house gave way at last to an uncontrollable enthusiasm, and, regardless of Court etiquette, the entire assembly rose to its feet amid a tumult of applause.
Not far from the Maestro, who was conducting the music from the centre of the orchestra, was seated Carricchio. He had, of course, discarded his professional dress, and had attired himself, according to the genius of his countrymen, in rich but dark and plain attire. Any one who could have watched his face—that face which the little Schoolmaster was used to wonder at—and could have marked the quaint mingling, on the large worn features, of the old humorous movement with the new emotions of wonder and of love, would not have spent his moments in vain.
But the success was too complete. The Empress-Queen was shocked at the breach of decorum. She was not in the least touched by the Signorina's singing, and the story of the opera was unintelligible to her. It was suggested by those who were offended and injured by the success of the piece, and by the displacement of other operas, that this arrangement entailed increased expense upon the royal treasury, and, amid the penurious and pettifogging instincts of the Court of Vienna in those days, this was a fatal thrust. The theatre, it was said, was required for other pieces, notably for a new opera by Metastasio himself.
"It was very beautiful, Ferdinand," said the Princess, as they left the box; and, struck by her tone and by the unaccustomed use of his name, the Prince looked at her with surprise, for it was years since he had seen the sweet, softened, well-remembered look in her eyes. "I liked that boy!"
"I will convey your approbation to the Signorina," replied the Prince; "it will complete the triumph of the night."