Zicci | Page 5

stage in one of her
most brilliant parts. The house resounded with applause. Glyndon was
transported with a young man's passion and a young man's pride. "This
glorious creature," thought he, "may yet be mine."
He felt, while thus rapt in delicious revery, a slight touch upon his
shoulder; he turned, and beheld Zicci. "You are in danger," said the
latter. "Do not walk home to-night; or if you do, go not alone."
Before Glyndon recovered from his surprise, Zicci disappeared; and
when the Englishman saw him again, he was in the box of one of the
Neapolitan ministers, where Glyndon could not follow him.
Isabel now left the stage, and Glyndon accosted her with impassioned
gallantry. The actress was surprisingly beautiful; of fair complexion
and golden hair, her countenance was relieved from the tame and gentle
loveliness which the Italians suppose to be the characteristics of
English beauty, by the contrast of dark eyes and lashes, by a forehead
of great height, to which the dark outline of the eyebrows gave some
thing of majesty and command. In spite of the slightness of virgin
youth, her proportions had the nobleness, blent with the delicacy, that
belongs to the masterpieces of ancient sculpture; and there was a
conscious pride in her step, and in the swanlike bend of her stately head,

as she turned with an evident impatience from the address of her lover.
Taking aside an old woman, who was her constant and confidential
attendant at the theatre, she said, in an earnest whisper,--
"Oh, Gionetta, he is here again! I have seen him again! And again, he
alone of the whole theatre withholds from me his applause. He scarcely
seems to notice me; his indifference mortifies me to the soul,--I could
weep for rage and sorrow."
"Which is he, my darling?" said the old woman, with fondness in her
voice. "He must be dull,--not worth thy thoughts."
The actress drew Gionetta nearer to the stage, and pointed out to her a
man in one of the nearer boxes, conspicuous amongst all else by the
simplicity of his dress and the extraordinary beauty of his features.
"Not worth a thought, Gionetta," repeated Isabel,--"not worth a thought!
Saw you ever one so noble, so godlike?"
"By the Holy Mother!" answered Gionetta, "he is a proper man, and has
the air of a prince."
The prompter summoned the Signora Pisani. "Find out his name,
Gionetta," said she, sweeping on to the stage, and passing by Glyndon,
who gazed at her with a look of sorrowful reproach.
The scene on which the actress now entered was that of the final
catastrophe, wherein all her remarkable powers of voice and art were
pre-eminently called forth. The house hung on every word with
breathless worship, but the eyes of Isabel sought only those of one calm
and unmoved spectator; she exerted herself as if inspired. The stranger
listened, and observed her with an attentive gaze, but no approval
escaped his lips, no emotion changed the expression of his cold and
half-disdainful aspect. Isabel, who was in the character of a jealous and
abandoned mistress, never felt so acutely the part she played. Her tears
were truthful; her passion that of nature: it was almost too terrible to
behold. She was borne from the stage, exhausted and insensible, amidst
such a tempest of admiring rapture as Continental audiences alone can

raise. The crowd stood up, handkerchiefs waved, garlands and flowers
were thrown on the stage, men wiped their eyes, and women sobbed
aloud.
"By heavens!" said a Neapolitan of great rank, "she has fired me
beyond endurance. To-night, this very night, she shall be mine! You
have arranged all, Mascari?"
"All, signor. And if this young Englishman should accompany her
home?"
"The presuming barbarian! At all events let him bleed for his folly. I
hear that she admits him to secret interviews. I will have no rival."
"But an Englishman! There is always a search after the bodies of the
English."
"Fool! Is not the sea deep enough, or the earth secret enough, to hide
one dead man? Our ruffians are silent as the grave itself. And I,--who
would dare to suspect, to arraign, the Prince di --? See to it,--let him be
watched, and the fitting occasion taken. I trust him to you,-- robbers
murder him; you understand: the country swarms with them. Plunder
and strip him. Take three men; the rest shall be my escort."
Mascari shrugged his shoulders, and bowed submissively. Meanwhile
Glyndon besought Isabel, who recovered but slowly, to return home in
his carriage. (1) She had done so once or twice before, though she had
never permitted him to accompany her. This time she refused, and with
some petulance. Glyndon, offended, was retiring sullenly, when
Gionetta stopped him. "Stay, signor," said she,