"Pardon me, your majesty," replied Kaunitz, quickly. "Silesia was a pinch from our snuff-box."
"True," said Frederick, laughing, "but the tobacco was so strong that it has cost me many an uncomfortable sneeze; and nobody as ever been civil enough to say, `Heaven bless you.'"
While the king and Kaunitz jested together, Signor Tobaldi had been singing his aria; and now that he ceased, Frederick, for the first time, became aware that any music had been going on.
"Your majesty," said the emperor, "has done injustice, for once, to a prima donna. Bernasconi is really sick, but she has sent a substitute."
"These substitutes," said Frederick, "are always on the look-out for such opportunities of sliding into notice; but unhappily they are not often equal to the tasks they are so eager to perform."
"This substitute," said Joseph, "is no rival opera-singer. She is a dear friend of Bernasconi's, who speaks of her singing with enthusiasm."
"Is that possible? Does one singer go into raptures over another? By all means let us hear the phoenix."
The king looked toward the stage, and his countenance assumed at once an expression of genuine interest.
Once more the orchestra began the introduction to Gluck's beautiful aria. Meanwhile a tall and elegant person was seen to advance toward the foot-lights. Her pure Grecian robe, half covered with a mantle of purple velvet, richly embroidered in gold, fell in graceful folds froth her snowy shoulders. Her dark hair, worn in the Grecian style, was confined by a diadem of brilliants; and the short, white tunic which she wore under her mantle, was fastened by a girdle blazing with jewels.
She was so transcendently beautiful that Frederick could not resist the temptation of joining in the applause which greeted her entrance. She seemed unconscious of the effect she produced, so earnestly and anxiously were her large, lustrous eyes fixed upon the spot where Frederick and Joseph were sitting together. She raised her graceful arms as she began the prayer of Alceste; but her looks were riveted upon the sovereigns, who represent divinity on earth. When she sang, the tones of her glorious voice sank deep into the hearts of all who listened. Now it was clear, pure, and vibrating, wooing the air like a clarionet—now it caressed the ear like a speaking violin—and upon it poured forth volumes of harmony that filled all space, as the the booming organ fills the aisles of a vast and lofty cathedral. Gluck, the hypercritical Gluck, would have been ravished to hear his music as she sang it; and Frederick, who, up to this hour, had refused to acknowledge the genius of the great German, now sat breathless with rapture, as he listened to such music and such interpretation of music as never had been heard before.