ra and the august personages appeared: the emperor, the
empress, the Prince of Naples, the Duke and Duchess of Xara, Princess
Thera. And their entry seemed to electrify the hitherto dull, waiting,
nervously indifferent mood of the crowded house, as though, upon their
appearance, the light in the lustres shone more brilliantly, the house
blazed out with all the changeful flickerings of its jewels, all its
flashing gilt, all the curiosity of the bright eyes that gazed at the
imperial centre-group; as though the ladies' costumes suddenly blossomed
out with one rustle of heavy silken fabrics, while the unfurled fans
fluttered to and fro as though a breeze were blowing through many
flowers in unstinted light....

Then the curtain rising on the second act, with all its melodrama of
royal Egyptian state: the victory after the war and the consequent
dances; the hero's love for the Ethiopian slave; and the Pharaoh's
jealous daughter and the procession of the gods with the sackbuts: all
sung, orchestrated, swelling symphonically in a square frame against a
painted background; a stirring picture of royal Egyptian antiquity
chanted before the eyes of modern royalty, of a modern audience,
indifferent to the rest so long as they met wherever society decided
that they should meet at the moment, under the eyes of the emperor and
his family and his illustrious young guest.... The passions on the stage
unbridling themselves in swelling bursts of music, a world of music, of
love and despair, of war and triumph and priestly ambition in music, all
music, as though life were music, music the soul and essence of the
world.... And, beneath the glamour of this music and of this factitious
life, the visible acting of the players, the glory of the famous tenor,
with his too-modern head, his dress marked by unreal because unwarlike
splendour, his bows and his smile aimed at the real world outside his
small, framed world of make-believe, aimed at the audience that
applauded after the emperor had deigned to clap his hands....

It was at this moment, this moment of ovation, this moment of lustrous
triumph for the tenor, of applause led by the imperial hands. It was at
this moment: the Emperor Oscar turning to his aide-de-camp, the Marquis
of Xardi, behind him ... the aide listening respectfully to his
majesty's command that he should summon the singer to the
withdrawing-room of the imperial box ... the Empress Elizabeth and the
Duchess of Xara, glit