wept over her body.

Then the dwarf came on and recited the programme for the next evening.
This was, as usual, followed by the last scene. The paladins all marched
in--that is to say, they were handed over and hooked up in two rows, the
audience recognizing each, and saying his name as he took his place, and
Carlo Magna came and addressed them in a magnificent speech beginning--

"Paladini! noi siamo stanchi."

Their fatigue was caused by their exertions at the siege of Barcelona and
their Emperor went on to promise them some repose before proceeding
against Madrid.

This epilogue struck me as out of place; nothing ought to have followed
the death of Bradamante, which was as affecting a scene as I have ever
witnessed. The only hitch occurred when Marfisa dismounted; her left
foot came to the ground capitally, but her right would not come over her
saddle for some time; she got it free at last, however, and stood upright
on both feet. I thought again of Master Peter's puppet-show and of how
the petticoat of the peerless Lady Melisendra caught in one of the iron
rails as she was letting herself down from the balcony, so that she hung
dangling in midair, and Don Gayferos had to bring her to the ground by
main force.

The rest of the scene in the grotto could not have gone better and the
audience were enthralled by it. Yet what was it after all? Nothing but
a couple of loosely jointed wooden dolls, fantastically dressed up in tin
armour, being pulled about on a toy stage. Yet there was something more;
there was the voice of the reader--the voice of "Lui che parla." In the
earlier part of the evening he had been giving us fine declamation, which
was all that had been required. The meeting between the two princesses
brought him his opportunity and he attacked the scene and carried it
through in a spirit of simple conviction, his voice throbbing with
emotion as he made for himself a triumph.

Art abounds in miracles, and not the least is this, that a man can take a
few watery commonplaces and by the magic of his voice transmute them into
the golden wine of romance. The audience drank in the glowing drops that
poured from his lips, and were stilled to a silence that broke in a great
sob as the curtain fell. What did they know of loosely jointed wooden
dolls or of toy stages? They were no longer in the theatre. They had
wandered the woods with Marfisa, they had sought Bradamante in the leafy
glades, they had fo