“The ballet of Medea and Jason. It’s a very fine thing, certainly; but one has seen it so often. Read on, my dear.”
Isabella then read a passage, which, notwithstanding Mrs. Harcourt’s inclination to be displeased, captivated her ear, and seized her imagination.
“Slow out of earth, before the festive crowds,
On wheels of fire, amid a night of clouds,
Drawn by fierce fiends, arose a magic car,
Received the queen, and, hov’ring, flamed in air.
As with raised hands the suppliant traitors kneel,
And fear the vengeance they deserved to feel;
“Thrice, with parch’d lips, her guiltless babes she press’d,
And thrice she clasp’d them to her tortured breast.
Awhile with white uplifted eyes she stood,
Then plunged her trembling poniards in their blood.
Go, kiss your sire! go, share the bridal mirth!
She cried, and hurl’d their quiv’ring limbs on earth.
Rebellowing thunders rock the marble tow’rs,
And red-tongucd lightnings shoot their arrowy show’rs:
Earth yawns!—the crashing ruin sinks!—o’er all
Death with black hands extends his mighty pall.”
“They are admirable lines, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Harcourt.
“I knew, mamma, you would like them,” said Isabella; “and I’m sure I wish I had seen the ballet too.”
“You were never at an opera,” said Mrs. Harcourt, after Isabella had finished reading; “should you, either of you, or both, like to go with me to-night to the opera?”
“To-night, ma’am!” cried Isabella, in a voice of joy.
“To-night, mamma!” cried Matilda, timidly; “but you were not well this morning.”
“But I am very well, now, my love; at least quite well enough to go out with you—let me give you some pleasure. Ring for Grace, my dear Matilda,” added Mrs. Harcourt, looking at her watch, “and do not let us be sentimental, for we have not a moment to lose—we must prevail upon Grace to be as quick as lightning in her operations.”
Grace was well disposed to be quick—she was delighted with what she called the change of measures;—she repeated continually, in the midst of their hurried toilette—