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life　of　the　stage；　that　fairy　world　of　music　and　song；　dawned

upon　her！　　It　was　the　only　world　that　seemed　to　correspond　with

her　strange　childish　thoughts。　　It　appeared　to　her　as　if；　cast

hitherto　on　a　foreign　shore；　she　was　brought　at　last　to　see　the

forms　and　hear　the　language　of　her　native　land。　　Beautiful　and

true　enthusiasm；　rich　with　the　promise　of　genius！　　Boy　or　man；

thou　wilt　never　be　a　poet；　if　thou　hast　not　felt　the　ideal；　the

romance；　the　Calypso's　isle　that　opened　to　thee　when　for　the

first　time　the　magic　curtain　was　drawn　aside；　and　let　in　the

world　of　poetry　on　the　world　of　prose！



And　now　the　initiation　was　begun。　　She　was　to　read；　to　study；　to

depict　by　a　gesture；　a　look；　the　passions　she　was　to　delineate　on

the　boards；　lessons　dangerous；　in　truth；　to　some；　but　not　to　the

pure　enthusiasm　that　comes　from　art；　for　the　mind　that　rightly

conceives　art　is　but　a　mirror　which　gives　back　what　is　cast　on

its　surface　faithfully　onlywhile　unsullied。　　She　seized　on

nature　and　truth　intuitively。　　Her　recitations　became　full　of

unconscious　power；　her　voice　moved　the　heart　to　tears；　or　warmed

it　into　generous　rage。　　But　this　arose　from　that　sympathy　which

genius　ever　has；　even　in　its　earliest　innocence；　with　whatever

feels；　or　aspires；　or　suffers。



It　was　no　premature　woman　comprehending　the　love　or　the　jealousy

that　the　words　expressed；　her　art　was　one　of　those　strange

secrets　which　the　psychologists　may　unriddle　to　us　if　they

please；　and　tell　us　why　children　of　the　simplest　minds　and　the

purest　hearts　are　often　so　acute　to　distinguish；　in　the　tales　you

tell　them；　or　the　songs　you　sing；　the　difference　between　the　true

art　and　the　false；　passion　and　jargon；　Homer　and　Racine；echoing

back；　from　hearts　that　have　not　yet　felt　what　they　repeat；　the

melodious　accents　of　the　natural　pathos。　　Apart　from　her　studies；

Viola　was　a　simple；　affectionate；　but　somewhat　wayward　child；

wayward；　not　in　temper；　for　that　was　sweet　and　docile；　but　in　her

moods；　which；　as　I　before　hinted；　changed　from　sad　to　gay　and　gay

to　sad　without　an　apparent　cause。　　If　cause　there　were；　it　must

be　traced　to　the　early　and　mysterious　influences　I　have　referred

to；　when　seeking　to　explain　the　effect　produced　on　her

imagination　by　those　restless　streams　of　sound　that　constantly

played　around　it；　for　it　is　noticeable　that　to　those　who　are　much

alive　to　the　effects　of　music；　airs　and　tunes　often　come　back；　in

the　commonest　pursuits　of　life；　to　vex；　as　it　were；　and　haunt

them。　　The　music；　once　admitted　to　the　soul；　becomes　also　a　sort

of　spirit；　and　never　dies。　　It　wanders　perturbedly　through　the

halls　and　galleries　of　the　memory；　and　is　often　heard　again；

distinct　and　living　as　when　it　first　displaced　the　wavelets　of

the　air。　　Now　at　times；　then；　these　phantoms　of　sound　floated

back　upon　her　fancy；　if　gay；　to　call　a　smile　from　every　dimple；

if　mournful；　to　throw　a　shade　upon　her　brow；to　make　her　cease

from　her　childishmirth；　and　sit　apart　and　muse。



Rightly；　then；　in　a　typical　sense；　might　this　fair　creature；　so

airy　in　her　shape；　so　harmonious　in　her　beauty；　so　unfamiliar　in

her　ways　and　thoughts；rightly　might　she　be　called　a　daughter；

less　of　the　musician　than　the　music；　a　being　for　whom　you　could

imagine　that　some　fate　was　reserved；　less　of　actual　life　than　the

romance　which；　to　eyes　that　can　see；　and　hearts　that　can　feel；

glides　ever　along　WITH　the　actual　life；　stream　by　stream；　to　the

Dark　Ocean。



And　therefore　it　seemed　not　strange　that　Viola　herself；　even　in

childhood；　and　yet　more　as　she　bloomed　into　the　sweet　seriousness

of　virgin　youth；　should　fancy　her　life　ordained　for　a　lot；

whether　of　bliss　or　woe；　that　should　accord　with　the　romance　and

reverie　which　made　the　atmosphere　she　breathed。　　Frequently　she

would　climb　through　the　thickets　that　clothed　the　neighbouring

grotto　of　Posilipo；the　mighty　work　of　the　old　Cimmerians；and；

seated　by　the　haunted　Tomb　of　Virgil；　indulge　those　visions；　the

subtle　vagueness　of　which　no　poetry　can　render　palpable　and

defined；　for　the　Poet　that　surpasses　all　who　ever　sang；　is　the

heart　of　dreaming　youth！　　Frequently　there；　too；　beside　the

threshold　over　which　the　vine…leaves　clung；　and　facing　that

dark…blue；　waveless　sea；　she　would　sit　in　the　autumn　noon　or

summer　twilight；　and　build　her　castles　in　the　air。　　Who　doth　not

do　the　same；not　in　youth　alone；　but　with　the　dimmed　hopes　of

age！　　It　is　man's　prerogative　to　dream；　the　common　royalty　of

peasant　and　of　king。　　But　those　day…dreams　of　hers　were　more

habitual；　distinct；　and　solemn　than　the　greater　part　of　us

indulge。　　They　seemed　like　the　Orama　of　the　Greeks；prophets

while　phantasma。





CHAPTER　1。II。



Fu　stupor；　fu　vaghezza；　fu　diletto！

〃Gerusal。　Lib。；〃　cant。　ii。　xxi。



（〃Desire　it　was；　't　was　wonder；　't　was　delight。〃

Wiffen's　Translation。）



Now　at　last　the　education　is　accomplished！　　Viola　is　nearly

sixteen。　　The　Cardinal　declares　that　the　time　is　come　when　the

new　name　must　be　inscribed　in　the　Libro　d'Oro；the　Golden　Book

set　apart　to　the　children　of　Art　and　Song。　　Yes；　but　in　what

character？to　whose　genius　is　she　to　give　embodiment　and　form？

Ah；　there　is　the　secret！　　Rumours　go　abroad　that　the

inexhaustible　Paisiello；　charmed　with　her　performance　of　his　〃Nel

cor　piu　non　me　sento；〃　and　his　〃Io　son　Lindoro；〃　will　produce

some　new　masterpiece　to　introduce　the　debutante。　　Others　insist

upon　it　that　her　forte　is　the　comic；　and　that　Cimarosa　is　hard　at

work　at　another　〃Matrimonia　Segreto。〃　　But　in　the　meanwhile　there

is　a　check　in　the　diplomacy　somewhere。　　The　Cardinal　is　observed

to　be　out　of　humour。　　He　has　said　publicly；and　the　words　are

portentous；〃The　silly　girl　is　as　mad　as　her　father；　what　she

asks　is　preposterous！〃　　Conference　follows　conference；　the

Cardinal　talks　to　the　poor　child　very　solemnly　in　his　closet；

all　in　vain。　　Naples　is　distracted　with　curiosity　and　conjecture。

The　lecture　ends　in　a　quarrel；　and　Viola　comes　home　sullen　and

pouting：　　she　will　not　act；she　has　renounced　the　engagement。



Pisani；　too　inexperienced　to　be　aware　of　all　the　dangers　of　the

stage；　had　been　pleased　at　the　notion　that　one；　at　least；　of　his

name　would　add　celebrity　to　his　art。　　The　girl's　perverseness

displeased　him。　　However；　he　said　nothing；he　never　scolded　in

words；　but　he　took　up　the　faithful　barbiton。　　Oh；　faithful

barbiton；　how　horribly　thou　didst　scold！　　It　screeched；　it

gabbled；　it　moaned；　it　growled。　　And　Viola's　eyes　filled　with

tears；　for　she　understood　that　language。　　She　stole　to　her

mother；　and　whispered　in　her　ear；　and　when　Pisani　turned　from　his

employment；　lo！　both　mother　and　daughter　were　weeping。　　He　looked

at　them　with　a　wondering　stare；　and　then；　as　if　he　felt　he　had

been　harsh；　he　flew　again　to　his　Familiar。　　And　now　you　thought

you　heard　the　lullaby　which　a　fairy　might　sing　to　some　fretful

changeling　it　had　adopted　and　sought　to　soothe。　　Liquid；　low；

silvery；　streamed　the　tones　beneath　the　enchanted　bow。　　The　most

stubborn　grief　would　have　paused　to　hear；　and　withal；　at　times；

out　came　a　wild；　merry；　ringing　note；　like　a　laugh；　but　not

mortal　laughter。　　It　was　one　of　his　most　successful　airs　from　his

beloved　opera；the　Siren　in　the　act　of　charming　the　waves　and

the　winds　to　sleep。　　Heaven　knows　what　next　would　have　come；　but

his　arm　was　arrested。　　Viola　had　thrown　herself　on　his　breast；

and　kissed　him；　with　happy　eyes　that　smiled　through　her　sunny

hair。　　At　that　very　moment　the　door　opened；a　message　from　the

Cardinal。　　Viola　must　go　to　his　Eminence　at　once。　　Her　mother

went　with　her。　　All　was　reconciled　and　settled；　Viola　had　her

way；　and　selected　her　own　opera。　　O　ye　dull　nations　of　the　North；

with　your　broils　and　debates；your　bustling　lives　of　the　Pnyx

and　the　Agora！you　cannot　guess　what　a　stir　throughout　musical

Naples　was　occasioned　by　the　rumour　of　a　new　opera　and　a　new

singer。　　But　whose　the　opera？　　No　cabinet　intrigue　ever　was　so

secret。　　Pisani　came　back　one　night　from　the　theatre；　evidently

disturbed　and　irate。　　Woe　to　thine　ears　hadst　thou　heard　the

barbiton　that　night！　　They　had　suspended　him　from　his　office；

they　feared　that　the　new　opera；　and　the　first　debut　of　his

daughter　as　prima　donna；　would　be　too　much　for　his　nerves。　　And

his　variations；　his　diablerie　of　sirens　and　harpies；　on　such　a

night；　made　a　hazard　not　to　be　contemplated　without　awe。　　To　be

set　aside；　and　on　the　very　night　that　his　child；　whose　melody　was

but　an　emanation　of　his　own；　was　to　perform；set　aside　for　some

new　rival：　　it　was　too　much　for　a　musician's　flesh　and　blood。

For　the　first　time　he　spoke　in　words　upon　the　subject；　and

gravely　askedfor　that　question　the　barbiton；　eloquent　as　it

was；　could　not　express　distinctlywhat　was　to　be　the　opera；　and

what　the　part？　　And　Viola　as　gravely　answered　that　she　was

pledged　to　the　Cardinal　not　to　reveal。　　Pisani　said　nothing；　but

disappeared　with　the　violin；　and　presently　they　heard　the

Familiar　from　the　house…top　（whither；　when　thoroughly　out　of

humour；　the　musician　sometimes　fled）；　whining　and　sighing　as　if

its　heart　were　broken。



The　affections　of　Pisani　were　little　visible　on　the　surface。　　He

was　not　one　of　those　fond；　caressing　fathers　whose　children　are

ever　playing　round　their　knees；　his　mind　and　soul　were　so

thoroughly　in　his　art　that　domestic　life　glided　by　him；　seemingly

as　if　THAT　were　a　dream；　and　the　heart　the　substantial　form　and

body　of　existence。　　Persons　much　cultivating　an　abstract　study

are　often　thus；　mathematicians　proverbially　so。　　When　his　servant

ran　to　the　celebrated　French　philosopher；　shrieking；　〃The　house

is　on　fire；　sir！〃　　〃Go　and　tell　my　wife　then；　fool！〃　said　the

wise　man；　settling　back　to　his　problems；　〃do　_I_　ever　meddle　with

domestic　affairs？〃　　But　what　are　mathematics　to　musicmusic；

that　not　only　composes　operas；　but　plays　on　the　barbiton？　　Do　you

know　what　the　illustrious　Giardini　said　when　the　tyro　asked　how