the touching tenderness which
envelops them, as a purple mist hanging over a forest in autumn, fully
compensates for the loss of youthful vigor."

Her voice was, indeed, wonderful,--not simply clear and flexible, but
dazzling and glancing, like the lightning that plays around the horizon
on a hot midsummer's night; and her execution was as if the Cherub
All-Knowledge and the Seraph All-Love had united their divine powers in
one human form.

In the Sextette, which followed, the tenor showed to great advantage.
His voice, though no longer young, was beautifully managed; it had an
exquisite _timbre_, and on this night there was added to it a rare
expression and character.

When he asked the poor trembling Lucia if the signature to the marriage
contract was hers, there was a concentrated rage in his singing that was
fearful; and Madame C---- almost cowered to the floor, as he held her
firmly by the wrist,--for the scenes were sung in costume and with
action,--and demanded,--

"A me rispondi. Son tue cifre? Rispondi!"

Her affirmative was like the silvery wail of a fallen angel. Then
followed the terrible imprecation passage. He darted out the

"Maledetto sia l'istante!"

with such startling fury that the notes and words seemed to be forked,
stinging, serpent tongues.

The _Stretta_ ensued, and the music-tide flowed so high and full that
the fashionable audience forgot all artificial conventionalities, and
yielded themselves freely to the ennobling emotions of human sympathy.
Above the whole sublime assemblage of sounds wailed out that fearful
note of the fallen cherub; and the fainting of Lucia, at the close of
the Sextette, I felt sure was not a feigned one.

As the curtain fell over the temporary stage, several gentlemen hurried
out to make inquiries about Madame C----, for there seemed to be an
opinion similar to mine pervading the room. The curtain rose, and it was
announced that she was too ill to sing again; but the murmur of regret
was silenced almost immediately by the appearance of the chorus with
Signor D----, the tenor.

They began the Finale. Signor D----looked haggard and wan, but very
stern, and there was more of wrath than repentance in his singing. Was
it fancy or reality? The heart-rending

"O bell' alma innamorata!"

seemed to be accompanied by distant, half-veiled sobs. No one else
appeared to notice them, and I half doubted their reality.

The Finale ended; and for a few mome