A storm of applause rolled through the opera house, and the curtain had
not even been drawn up as yet. It was for the overture, whose last
tones had just resounded. The theatre was filled to overflowing in
every place, with the sole exception of one small proscenium box close
to the stage; this was occupied by a single elderly gentleman, probably
some rich eccentric, whom it pleased to procure by lavish expenditure
of money the entire possession of a box, as on such an evening it would
otherwise hardly have been obtained. Every where else the dazzlingly
lighted spaces and tiers of boxes, with their rich parterres of ladies,
offered a brilliant and variegated picture. The world of artists, as
well as aristocracy, was fully represented. All which the town
possessed in the way of beauties, celebrities and persons of
distinction, had appeared to prepare a new triumph for the much admired
favourite of society. And was this merely what it was all for? No young
composer was offering his work timidly to the approbation or
disapprobation of the public: a recognised and undisputed sovereign in
the realms of music stepped before the world with a new display of his
talent, in order to gain a new conquest by it. This certainly lay
written very plainly, although not as if it were agreeable, upon
Maestro Gianelli's face, who conducted the orchestra. At the same time
he did not venture to fail in zeal or attention. He knew only too well
that if he attempted here, where of course a portion of the success
depended upon him, to intrigue against the all-powerful Rinaldo, it
must cost him his post, perhaps his entire future, as in such a case
the disfavour of the public would be ensured to him. Therefore he did
his duty to the fullest extent, and the overture was performed with
perfect execution.
The curtain rustled, and in anticipation the composer received the
homage of eager silence. Before the first act was half concluded there
was not one of the audience who had not already forgiven Reinhold the
tyranny with which he had disposed of all means in his hands, and
insisted mercilessly on having his views carried out. The
representation was in every respect perfect, and the scenery a
masterwork. All felt that it was a different hand to that of the usual
manager which had ruled here, and raised simple theatrical effects
everywhere to artistic beauty; but all these external advantages
disappeared before the all-attracting power of the work.
It was, perhaps, the most perfect which Rinaldo had ever composed in
his own peculiar line, a line by many so much admired, and by so many
others deplored. At all events this time he produced the very best in
that style to which Beatrice's influence had drawn him; was it the
highest which he could produce? This question was absorbed at present
in the ringing applause with which the audience greeted this new
creation of their favourite. Was it not Rinaldo again with all the
fiery spirit of his genius, of which none could tell positively whether
it were at home above, in the heights of idealism, or below in the
depths of passion, and which roused again in men's hearts all feelings
which lay between these two poles.
The storm raged over the northern heaths, and the billows surged
against the coast. As mists are driven along the cliffs, so rose and
fell the tones in chaotic confusion, until at last a dreamlike,
beautiful melody dawned forth. But it only hovered like a fleeting
vapoury picture over the whole, never completed, never ringing forth
clear and full, and soon it was lost amid other sounds, which not so
pure and sweet as it, yet attracted with a singularly strange charm.
The mists separated, and out of them appeared the demon-like beautiful
form, which was the chief performer and central figure of the whole
opera. Loud acclamation greeted Signora Biancona's appearance on the
stage. Beatrice showed to-day that she still understood how to be
beautiful, as at the commencement of her career. What art may have done
towards it was not now brought into consideration, enough that the
apparition standing before the public was perfect in every respect. The
half fantastic, half classic costume displayed her figure in all its
grace, her dark curls flowed loosely over her shoulders, and her eyes
gleamed with the old devouring fire. And now that voice was raised,
which had been the admiration of almost all Europe, full and powerful,
filling the extensive space--the singer still stood at the zenith of
her beauty and artistic strength.
The melodies flowed forth, still more glowing, more fiery, and before
the audience a picture of sounds was unfolded which seemed to borrow
its colours, now from the brightest sunlight, now from the scorching
heat of a crater. It pourtrayed the lost wild life of one whose cup was
filled to the brim, and who drained it to the very dregs. This rushing
forth beyond all bounds and limits, the volcanic glow of feelings, the
goblinlike play with tones carried the hearers irresistibly away on the
sea of passion, there to cast them adrift between shuddering and
enchantment, between heaven and hell. At times, indeed, notes rang out
like paeans of joy and triumph, but between were startling, harsh
discords, and then again sounds of that first lost melody were wafted
back, which ran through the entire opera like a soft, intensely painful
yearning plaint. As a dream of love and happiness passes through the
soul of man without ever descending to reality, so breathed and died
these tones in the distance, while in the foreground stood ever and
ever again the one figure, which Rinaldo had endowed with the highest
dramatic power, of which he was a master like none other, which he had
surrounded with all the magic of his melodies, whose sensual,
entrancing charms were laid like a ban upon the listeners' souls.
Beatrice was, if any one, adapted to understand this music exactly in
its innermost being and nature and to do it justice; she, whose
peculiar element was passion, who, as an actress, had sought and found
her triumph in it only. It rang out of every note of her singing,
quivered out of every motion in her acting, which raised itself to a
greater dramatic height than ever before, while she represented hate
and love, devotion and despair, rage and revenge with life-like truth.
It was as though this woman poured forth a stream of fire, which
imparted itself to the audience, who, half charmed, half alarmed,
followed her performance. Never yet had the singer been so entirely
part of her task, never yet had she delivered it so perfectly as this
time. No one guessed, indeed, for what prize she struggled, what urged
her to employ her best powers. Was it not to win back _him_, whom
already she had more than half lost! He had admired the actress before
he had learned to love the woman, and the actress now called all the
power of her talent to her aid, in order to maintain that of the woman.
For the first time the storm of applause was indifferent to her, as it
succeeded every scene; for the first time she did not care for the
worship of the crowd; she only waited for the one glance of passionate
rapture which had so often thanked her on such evenings--but to-day she
waited in vain.
"Signora Biancona surpasses herself tonight," said Marchese Tortoni,
enthusiastically, to Captain Almbach, who was in his box. "Often as I
have admired her, I never saw her like this before."
"Nor I," replied Hugo, monosyllabically.
Cesario looked at him in undisguised astonishment. "That sounds very
cool, Signor Capitano. Have you no other expression of admiration for
this woman, who stands so close to your brother?"
Hugo's countenance was indeed as cool as his tone, while he replied
quietly, "That is just Reinhold's taste. Sometimes our views lie very
far apart. However, it would be unjust not to admire Signora Biancona
to-night without reserve, and I do it, too--that is to say, from a
spectator's point of view. Close to her, such a passion, beyond all
reason, which seems to know no limits, would be rather unnatural. I can
never quite dismiss the thought that one day Donna Beatrice will carry
this truly masterful acting into reality, and could be a sort of Medea
there also, who only breathes forth death and ruin. That she _can_ do
it, one sees by her eyes and--although I do not otherwise exactly
belong to the timid class, I could not love such a woman."
"And yet Reinhold's works require exactly this fiery representation,"
said the Marchese, reproachfully, "and of that only a Biancona is
capable."
"Yes, to be sure, she has always been his doom," murmured Hugo, "and he
will never be free so long as this doom reigns over him."
The two gentlemen had long since remarked Consul Erlau in the opposite
stage box, and exchanged greetings with him. They never suspected that
he was not alone any more than did others of the audience, as the lady
who accompanied him sat far behind in the background of the box,
entirely concealed by the folds of the half lowered curtain, but yet so
that she could quite overlook the stage, and her companion, when he
spoke to her, took the precaution of rising and stepping back also. She
wished, evidently, to avoid being seen, and also to avoid a visit from
the two gentlemen.
Ella had actually obtained the fulfilment of her wish by her indulgent
adopted father. So far she knew but few, and only the unimportant
compositions of her husband, several songs and fantasias, nothing else.
The peculiar field of his labours and its results--the opera--was
unknown to her. In consequence of the deadly wound inflicted upon her,
she had never been able to conquer herself sufficiently to witness the
triumphs which his operas obtained in her native town, those triumphs
which were founded on the ruins of her life's happiness; and what she
learned from the newspapers, or through strangers to whom her near
connection with the admired composer was not known, only plunged the
dagger deeper into her soul. Now, for the first time, the tone poet,
Rinaldo, appeared before her in the most genial of his works, now she
learned to know the power of those notes which so often had conquered
friends and foes, and even carried away opponents to admiration, and
the effect was overpowering. Half bent forward, listening breathlessly,
the young wife followed every note of the music; she was now still
capable, amid all the beauties which developed themselves before her,
of gazing into the dark depths which were disclosed therein. For the
first time she understood her husband's character entirely and wholly,
this glowing artist's nature with all its contradictions, with its
storms, tempests and struggles; for the first time she comprehended
what the deeply injured wife _would_ not comprehend until now, the
inner need of nature which compelled Reinhold to tear himself loose
from the confined fetters of provincial every-day life and to follow
the call of his genius, which made this catastrophe for him a struggle
between life and death.
That he also broke those bonds, which under every circumstance ought
to have been held sacred by him, that he sacrificed the duties of a
father and a husband, who forsook his own for what would have been
justifiable independence of a free man, could not be exonerated even by
his genius; but in Ella's heart there now dawned, softly suggested, the
question--what had she herself been in those days to her husband, that
she should have required him to resist temptation, which came before
him in the guise of a Beatrice Biancona, and what could she offer
against a passion, whose glowing romance had, from the first, ruled the
artist more than the man. The wife entrusted to him was then far too
much oppressed with the burden of her education and surroundings, to be
able to raise herself in any degree to his height; in her place there
stood another in all the glory of her beauty and talent, and this other
showed the young composer the path of liberty and fame. He had
succumbed! Ella felt from the depths of her inmost heart that he would
not have done so, could she have been to him then what she was to-day.
For the last time the curtain was drawn up, and until the last note
Reinhold showed that he had been true to himself. The finale was as
grand as the entire opera, and created a thrilling effect. Yet the work
was wanting in one thing, the highest, for which not all the brilliant
flashes of genius could atone, namely, harmony with itself. It had no
peace, and awoke none in the minds of the audience. The composer
appeared to have infected his work with the conflict which lay
unappeased in his own breast; it was after all but the despair of life,
of happiness, of himself. When the nightlong tempest had raged until
exhausted, no fluttering morning's red peeped forth, promising a new
and better day; on the wide, dreary waste of waters only the wreck was
driven about, and clinging to it the shipwrecked traveller reached his
native coast at last--too late to be saved. When wearied and wounded to
death he sinks down there; once more is heard completed, as if 'twere
ghostly tones from the far off unapproachable distance, that dream-like
melody for the first time ringing out full and perfect in death, and
the notes fade and die softly, as the life-blood ebbs away.
The reception of this opera by the audience far surpassed any success
which Rinaldo had ever gained. Surely this music and performance were
certain of approbation from a southern public. There every spark took
fire, there each flame ignited and spread from one to another. One
would have imagined the applause must have exhausted itself at last,
the acclamations must have moderated themselves, but to-day even the
most exalted enthusiasm appeared capable of rising still higher. After
the close of each act, after every scene, it broke forth anew, and
ended at last in a regular uproar with which the whole house demanded
the composer's appearance most tumultuously.
Signor Rinaldo let them wait long before he acceded to this demand, he
allowed Signora Biancona to come forward alone, again and again, in
despite of all the stormy cries which were for him. Only at the end of
the opera, when the calls resembled a riot and the enthusiasm could no
longer be controlled, only then did he show himself and was greeted in
such a manner by the audience as must have satisfied the most
immeasurable ambition.
Proudly and calmly Reinhold stepped on to the stage; he stood almost
immovable amid the enthusiastic acclamations. He had long since
learned to accept all triumphs as something due to him, and great
as were to-day's, not for one moment did they deprive him of his
self-possession. His dark eyes swept slowly along the rows of boxes,
but suddenly remained fascinated at a certain point. It was as though
an electric shock had at once passed through his whole being, he
started so violently, and his glance flashed--that glance of passionate
delight for which Beatrice tonight had in vain laid out all the power
of her talent; and if the fair head which had only become visible for
one moment did disappear again at the next, yet he knew who was
concealed behind the curtains of the box, who was witness of his
triumph.
"Eleonore, that was imprudent!" said Erlau, also retreating from the
balustrade. "You leaned too far forward. You were seen."
The young wife made no reply; she stood erect, both hands grasping
the back of the seat from which she had risen in perfect
self-forgetfulness. The large eyes, full of tears, were still directed
unabashed to the stage where Reinhold just then came forward again to
thank the audience, that cheering excited crowd, for whom he was the
sole centre of attraction. All the thousand eyes were fixed upon him
alone; all these lips and hands announced his victory, and while
wreaths and branches of laurel fell at his feet, his name, as if
carried aloft by one surging wave, resounded back in a thousand echoes.
* * * * *
At the ---- Embassy a large _soiree_ took place, the first
entertainment of its kind for the season. A numerous assembly of guests
moved through the magnificent apartments of the ambassadorial hotel.
Trains swept and uniforms flashed in the rooms beaming with light and
scented with the perfume of flowers; near charming ladies' faces and
distinguished wearers of orders might be seen many grave, noteworthy
figures in simple civilian's dress, and amongst all these well-known
forms and names, many foreign ones were mixed, who, according to their
appearance and title, claimed more or less attention, to lose
themselves again in the throng of guests.
Reinhold and Captain Almbach were also amongst those invited; the
former was, as usual, the object of flattery and compliments from all
sides, although demonstrated rather less noisily than so lately in the
theatre. Reinhold had for long been considered one of the greatest
celebrities in society. His new opera made him quite the lion of the
season, and nowhere could he show himself without being surrounded and
congratulated by every one present.
The charming representative of his work, Signora Biancona, shared this
universal attention with him. Unfortunately, this time it was
impossible to express the admiration of both at the same time, as they
seemed rather to avoid than seek each other. Observant lookers-on
declared that some slight rupture must have occurred between them, as
they had arrived separately and never once drew together. Nevertheless
the actress was continually surrounded with admiration, due, probably,
in no small degree to her beauty. Beatrice understood perfectly how to
"drape" herself for the drawing-room as well as for the stage, and if
her toilette generally displayed something fantastic, it harmonised so
peculiarly with her style of appearance that she only appeared the more
fascinating. The singer preferred black, like many of her country
women, and had selected it again to-day, but the dress composed of
velvet, satin and lace was still most extravagantly magnificent, and
rich jewels glistened on the dark ground. Single crimson flowers,
apparently scattered carelessly here and there in her hair, seemed to
fasten the black lace veil, and with these the Italian's dark
complexion and burning flash of her eyes, formed a whole, which if
intended to create an effect, certainly attained this result in the
highest degree.
"Ah, Herr Almbach, so I find you here?" asked Lord Elton, who, glad to
find any one with whom he could speak English, came up to Captain
Almbach. "I wanted to see you for several days. Your brother's new
opera----"
"For mercy's sake, my Lord, do not talk about that!" interrupted Hugo,
with a gesture of horror, "since the day of its performance I have been
nearly plagued to death with my brother's opera; everybody feels in
duty bound to congratulate me too. How often have I wished for a
revolution, an earthquake, or at least a slight outbreak of Vesuvius,
so that at least something else may be talked of in society."
Lord Elton shook his head half-laughingly, half-disapprovingly. "Herr
Almbach, you should not speak so recklessly, if a stranger heard you he
might misunderstand you."
"Oh, I have amused myself several times by getting rid of some of his
worst admirers by such expressions of my sentiments," said Hugo, quite
unconcerned. "I do not feel obliged to offer myself upon the altar of
my brother's popularity by listening to their speeches. How Reinhold
can endure this triumph so long, I cannot conceive. Artist natures must
be very peculiarly organised in this respect; my sailor's nerves would
have given way long since."
Lord Elton seemed to enjoy the Captain's humour again to-day; he
remained steadily at his side, and was a silent, but yet very attentive
listener to all the remarks which Hugo as usual poured forth
mercilessly upon every known and unknown person.
"If I only knew why Marchese Tortoni suddenly makes such a comet-like
course through the room," mocked he; "that door seems to be the magnet
which attracts him irresistibly--ah! yes, now indeed I can understand
this move."
The last words sounded so unmistakably angry, that Lord Elton also
looked attentively at the entrance. There appeared Consul Erlau with
Ella on his arm. Marchese Tortoni was immediately at her side, and all
three passed through the doorway. The lady wore an apparently simple
white costume, but one could see that Erlau liked to display himself as
a millionaire, even so far as his adopted daughter was concerned. The
white lace dress, which floated so lightly around Ella's delicate
figure, far surpassed in costliness most of those heavy velvet and
satin robes which rustled through the room, and the row of pearls which
adorned her neck was of such enormous value, that many of the sparkling
jewels were as nothing beside it. Her fair head merely wore its natural
ornament; no diamond, not even a flower, decorated the rich blonde
plaits, whose faint golden glimmer harmonised so wondrously well with
the delicate pink colour of her complexion. That figure required no
studied artifice of the toilet to prove itself beautiful, it was so
without any such aid, and if the ladies' glances soon discovered what
cost was concealed under this seemingly simple costume, the gentlemen
had no less keen eyes for the poetry of the apparition which sailed
past them.
The three had arrived in the middle of the room, when, by chance, one
of the groups in whose midst Reinhold had been, suddenly broke up, and
he himself appeared standing almost immediately opposite to his wife.
It was not the first encounter of this kind between the husband and
wife, and they must always be prepared for the possibility of meeting
on such occasions. And so Ella seemed to be; only for a moment did her
arm tremble on that of her companion, and a fleeting colour came and
went in her cheeks; then, however, the large eyes swept calmly on, and
she turned to the Marchese, who was telling her the names of some of
the persons present. Reinhold, on the contrary, stood as powerless as
if he had forgotten everything around him. Although his wife's present,
appearance was no longer strange to him, yet she looked quite different
by the dim lamp-light of the garden room at Villa Fiorina, in the
gloomy, rainy light of the verandah on that stormy day, and in the
half-dark background of the opera box. He had never seen her as
to-night, in the dazzling flood of light in the saloon, in the airy
pale dress; and, despite the place and surroundings, it came wafted to
him, as a recollection of that dream-like morning hour at Mirando, when
the sea broke so deeply blue beneath the castle terrace, and the scent
of flowers arose from the gardens, while the white figure leaned
against the marble parapet--certainly her face was turned from him
then, but now it was turned to another. At the sight of Cesario, who
still maintained his place by her side, dream and recollection
vanished; before Reinhold rose his brother's words which had robbed him
of all peace almost ever since that conversation. "Perhaps for
another," resounded in his heart. An ardent, threatening glance fell
upon Cesario; returning to the circle he had barely left, he withdrew
with a violent movement from the Marchese's greeting and address.
The latter looked at him astounded. He had not the remotest idea of the
cause of this sudden avoidance, but he suspected for long already, that
more than enmity only, as he had imagined, lay between Reinhold and
Erlau. It had not escaped him that some secret connection had taken
place between Ella and his friend, and to-day's encounter confirmed
this notion only too strongly. Cesario was too proud to take refuge in
espionage like Beatrice, and so he endured an uncertainty, whose
explanation he had as yet no right to require of Ella or the Consul,
and which Reinhold would not explain to him.
The German merchant was almost a stranger in the gathering, yet his
companion's appearance soon began to create a sensation. Erlau had, to
be sure, knitted his brows at the unexpected sight of Reinhold, but
when he perceived that Ella remained apparently quite calm, the meeting
rather gave him satisfaction. The Consul was evidently very proud of
his adopted daughter, and noted the admiring glances and whispered
remarks which followed her everywhere. He told himself that her former
husband must see these glances, must hear these remarks, and with a
scarcely concealed triumphant expression he walked on past the groups.
The throng of guests moving up and down, and the numerous reception
rooms, made it easy for those to avoid each other who did not wish to
meet.
About a quarter of an hour after Erlau's arrival, Captain Almbach drew
near to greet him.
"Are you here, Herr Captain Almbach?" asked the Consul, astonished.
Hugo made a slightly ironical bow. "I have the honour. Does it
displease you so much?"
"Certainly not! You know I am always pleased to see you; but out of our
own house one only meets you in your brother's company. It appears
impossible to go anywhere in society without running up against Signor
Rinaldo."
"He is intimate with the master of the house," explained Hugo.
"Naturally," growled the Consul. "I should like to find one circle that
does not adore him, and in which he does not reign. I could not refuse
our Ambassador's invitation, and wished, too, to show my poor Eleonore
something more than merely a sick-room. Have you spoken to her?"
"Of course," said Captain Almbach, looking across the room where Ella
was standing engaged in conversation with the Marchese, Lord Elton, and
some ladies; "that is to say as much as Marchese Tortoni made it
possible for me to do so. He claims the lion's share of the
conversation. I retire modestly."
"Yes, my dear Herr Captain, you must accustom yourself to that,"
laughed Erlau. "In society Ella is seldom at liberty to converse with
one alone. I wish you could see her do the honours of my drawing-room.
Here, we are almost entire strangers, otherwise I assure you Marchese
Tortoni and Lord Elton would not be the only ones who would annoy you
in this way."
Ella in the meanwhile had finished her conversation, and left the group
with a slight bow, in order to return to her adopted father. As the
Marchese, much to his displeasure, was detained by one of the ladies,
Ella was crossing the room quite alone, when suddenly, in the middle of
it, a dark velvet dress pushed past her so closely and rudely that it
seemed as if done on purpose. Looking up, she perceived close to her
the beautiful but, at this moment, alarming countenance of Signora
Biancona.
Ella betrayed neither fear nor confusion, she took her lace dress up
slowly, and moved slightly aside. There lay on her part a quiet, but
very determined protest against any contact in this movement, and
Beatrice seemed to understand it only too well, still she came even
nearer. Ella felt a hot breath close to her cheek, and heard the
whispered words--
"Signora, I beg for a moment's audience!"
Ella answered with a look of astonishment and indignation. "You--of
me?" asked she, equally low, but with an unmistakable intonation.
"I beg for a few moments," repeated Beatrice, "you will grant me them,
Signora?"
"No!"
"No?" said the Italian's voice, in hardly concealed scorn. "Then you
fear me so much that you dare not be alone with me even for a short
time?"