graceful architectural pretensions without, and within very charmingly
galleried; while overhead it was roofed with a blue dome set with such
starry mosaic as never covered temple or theatre since they used to
leave their houses of play and worship open to the Attic skies. The
old Hebrew story had, on this stage brought so near to Nature, effects
seldom known to opera, and the scene evoked from far-off days the
awful interest of the Bible histories,--the vague, unfigured oriental
splendor--the desert--the captive people by the waters of the river of
Babylon--the shadow and mystery of the prophecies. When the Hebrews,
chained and toiling on the banks of the Euphrates, lifted their voices
in lamentation, the sublime music so transfigured the commonplaceness
of the words, that they meant all deep and unutterable affliction, and
for a while swept away whatever was false and tawdry in the show, and
thrilled our hearts with a rapture rarely felt. Yet, as but a moment
before we had laughed to see Nebuchadnezzar's crown shot off his head
by a squib visibly directed from the side scenes,--at the point when,
according to the libretto, "the thunder roars, and a bolt descends
upon the head of the king,"--so but a moment after some new absurdity
marred the illusion, and we began to look about the theatre at the
audience. We then beheld that act of _dimostrazioni_ which I have
mentioned. In one of the few boxes sat a young and very beautiful
woman in a dress of white, with a fan which she kept in constant
movement. It was red on one side, and green on the other, and gave,
with the white dress, the forbidden Italian colors, while, looked
at alone, it was innocent of offense. I do not think a soul in the
theatre was ignorant of the demonstration. A satisfied consciousness
was reflected from the faces of the Italians, and I saw two Austrian
officers exchange looks of good-natured intelligence, after a glance
at the fair patriot. I wonder what those poor people do, now they
are free, and deprived of the sweet, perilous luxury of defying their
tyrants by constant acts of subtle disdain? Life in Venetia must be
very dull: no more explosion of pasteboard petards; no more treason
in bouquets; no more stealthy inscriptions on the walls--it must be
insufferably dull. _Ebbene, pazienza_! Perhaps Victor Emanuel may
betray them yet.

A spirit of lawless effrontery, indeed, seemed to pervade the whole
audience in the theatre that night at Vicenza,