seated　by　the　haunted　Tomb　of　Virgil；　indulge　those　visions；　the
  subtle　vagueness　of　which　no　poetry　can　render　palpable　and
  defined；　for　the　Poet　that　surpasses　all　who　ever　sang；　is　the
  heart　of　dreaming　youth！　　Frequently　there；　too；　beside　the
  threshold　over　which　the　vine…leaves　clung；　and　facing　that
  dark…blue；　waveless　sea；　she　would　sit　in　the　autumn　noon　or
  summer　twilight；　and　build　her　castles　in　the　air。　　Who　doth　not
  do　the　same；not　in　youth　alone；　but　with　the　dimmed　hopes　of
  age！　　It　is　man's　prerogative　to　dream；　the　common　royalty　of
  peasant　and　of　king。　　But　those　day…dreams　of　hers　were　more
  habitual；　distinct；　and　solemn　than　the　greater　part　of　us
  indulge。　　They　seemed　like　the　Orama　of　the　Greeks；prophets
  while　phantasma。
  CHAPTER　1。II。
  Fu　stupor；　fu　vaghezza；　fu　diletto！
  〃Gerusal。　Lib。；〃　cant。　ii。　xxi。
  （〃Desire　it　was；　't　was　wonder；　't　was　delight。〃
  Wiffen's　Translation。）
  Now　at　last　the　education　is　accomplished！　　Viola　is　nearly
  sixteen。　　The　Cardinal　declares　that　the　time　is　come　when　the
  new　name　must　be　inscribed　in　the　Libro　d'Oro；the　Golden　Book
  set　apart　to　the　children　of　Art　and　Song。　　Yes；　but　in　what
  character？to　whose　genius　is　she　to　give　embodiment　and　form？
  Ah；　there　is　the　secret！　　Rumours　go　abroad　that　the
  inexhaustible　Paisiello；　charmed　with　her　performance　of　his　〃Nel
  cor　piu　non　me　sento；〃　and　his　〃Io　son　Lindoro；〃　will　produce
  some　new　masterpiece　to　introduce　the　debutante。　　Others　insist
  upon　it　that　her　forte　is　the　comic；　and　that　Cimarosa　is　hard　at
  work　at　another　〃Matrimonia　Segreto。〃　　But　in　the　meanwhile　there
  is　a　check　in　the　diplomacy　somewhere。　　The　Cardinal　is　observed
  to　be　out　of　humour。　　He　has　said　publicly；and　the　words　are
  portentous；〃The　silly　girl　is　as　mad　as　her　father；　what　she
  asks　is　preposterous！〃　　Conference　follows　conference；　the
  Cardinal　talks　to　the　poor　child　very　solemnly　in　his　closet；
  all　in　vain。　　Naples　is　distracted　with　curiosity　and　conjecture。
  The　lecture　ends　in　a　quarrel；　and　Viola　comes　home　sullen　and
  pouting：　　she　will　not　act；she　has　renounced　the　engagement。
  Pisani；　too　inexperienced　to　be　aware　of　all　the　dangers　of　the
  stage；　had　been　pleased　at　the　notion　that　one；　at　least；　of　his
  name　would　add　celebrity　to　his　art。　　The　girl's　perverseness
  displeased　him。　　However；　he　said　nothing；he　never　scolded　in
  words；　but　he　took　up　the　faithful　barbiton。　　Oh；　faithful
  barbiton；　how　horribly　thou　didst　scold！　　It　screeched；　it
  gabbled；　it　moaned；　it　growled。　　And　Viola's　eyes　filled　with
  tears；　for　she　understood　that　language。　　She　stole　to　her
  mother；　and　whispered　in　her　ear；　and　when　Pisani　turned　from　his
  employment；　lo！　both　mother　and　daughter　were　weeping。　　He　looked
  at　them　with　a　wondering　stare；　and　then；　as　if　he　felt　he　had
  been　harsh；　he　flew　again　to　his　Familiar。　　And　now　you　thought
  you　heard　the　lullaby　which　a　fairy　might　sing　to　some　fretful
  changeling　it　had　adopted　and　sought　to　soothe。　　Liquid；　low；
  silvery；　streamed　the　tones　beneath　the　enchanted　bow。　　The　most
  stubborn　grief　would　have　paused　to　hear；　and　withal；　at　times；
  out　came　a　wild；　merry；　ringing　note；　like　a　laugh；　but　not
  mortal　laughter。　　It　was　one　of　his　most　successful　airs　from　his
  beloved　opera；the　Siren　in　the　act　of　charming　the　waves　and
  the　winds　to　sleep。　　Heaven　knows　what　next　would　have　come；　but
  his　arm　was　arrested。　　Viola　had　thrown　herself　on　his　breast；
  and　kissed　him；　with　happy　eyes　that　smiled　through　her　sunny
  hair。　　At　that　very　moment　the　door　opened；a　message　from　the
  Cardinal。　　Viola　must　go　to　his　Eminence　at　once。　　Her　mother
  went　with　her。　　All　was　reconciled　and　settled；　Viola　had　her
  way；　and　selected　her　own　opera。　　O　ye　dull　nations　of　the　North；
  with　your　broils　and　debates；your　bustling　lives　of　the　Pnyx
  and　the　Agora！you　cannot　guess　what　a　stir　throughout　musical
  Naples　was　occasioned　by　the　rumour　of　a　new　opera　and　a　new
  singer。　　But　whose　the　opera？　　No　cabinet　intrigue　ever　was　so
  secret。　　Pisani　came　back　one　night　from　the　theatre；　evidently
  disturbed　and　irate。　　Woe　to　thine　ears　hadst　thou　heard　the
  barbiton　that　night！　　They　had　suspended　him　from　his　office；
  they　feared　that　the　new　opera；　and　the　first　debut　of　his
  daughter　as　prima　donna；　would　be　too　much　for　his　nerves。　　And
  his　variations；　his　diablerie　of　sirens　and　harpies；　on　such　a
  night；　made　a　hazard　not　to　be　contemplated　without　awe。　　To　be
  set　aside；　and　on　the　very　night　that　his　child；　whose　melody　was
  but　an　emanation　of　his　own；　was　to　perform；set　aside　for　some
  new　rival：　　it　was　too　much　for　a　musician's　flesh　and　blood。
  For　the　first　time　he　spoke　in　words　upon　the　subject；　and
  gravely　askedfor　that　question　the　barbiton；　eloquent　as　it
  was；　could　not　express　distinctlywhat　was　to　be　the　opera；　and
  what　the　part？　　And　Viola　as　gravely　answered　that　she　was
  pledged　to　the　Cardinal　not　to　reveal。　　Pisani　said　nothing；　but
  disappeared　with　the　violin；　and　presently　they　heard　the
  Familiar　from　the　house…top　（whither；　when　thoroughly　out　of
  humour；　the　musician　sometimes　fled）；　whining　and　sighing　as　if
  its　heart　were　broken。
  The　affections　of　Pisani　were　little　visible　on　the　surface。　　He
  was　not　one　of　those　fond；　caressing　fathers　whose　children　are
  ever　playing　round　their　knees；　his　mind　and　soul　were　so
  thoroughly　in　his　art　that　domestic　life　glided　by　him；　seemingly
  as　if　THAT　were　a　dream；　and　the　heart　the　substantial　form　and
  body　of　existence。　　Persons　much　cultivating　an　abstract　study
  are　often　thus；　mathematicians　proverbially　so。　　When　his　servant
  ran　to　the　celebrated　French　philosopher；　shrieking；　〃The　house
  is　on　fire；　sir！〃　　〃Go　and　tell　my　wife　then；　fool！〃　said　the
  wise　man；　settling　back　to　his　problems；　〃do　_I_　ever　meddle　with
  domestic　affairs？〃　　But　what　are　mathematics　to　musicmusic；
  that　not　only　composes　operas；　but　plays　on　the　barbiton？　　Do　you
  know　what　the　illustrious　Giardini　said　when　the　tyro　asked　how
  long　it　would　take　to　learn　to　play　on　the　violin？　　Hear；　and
  despair；　ye　who　would　bend　the　bow　to　which　that　of　Ulysses　was　a
  plaything；　〃Twelve　hours　a　day　for　twenty　years　together！〃　　Can　a
  man；　then；　who　plays　the　barbiton　be　always　playing　also　with　his
  little　ones？　　No；　Pisani；　often；　with　the　keen　susceptibility　of
  childhood；　poor　Viola　had　stolen　from　the　room　to　weep　at　the
  thought　that　thou　didst　not　love　her。　　And　yet；　underneath　this
  outward　abstraction　of　the　artist；　the　natural　fondness　flowed
  all　the　same；　and　as　she　grew　up；　the　dreamer　had　understood　the
  dreamer。　　And　now；　shut　out　from　all　fame　himself；　to　be
  forbidden　to　hail　even　his　daughter's　fame！and　that　daughter
  herself　to　be　in　the　conspiracy　against　him！　　Sharper　than　the
  serpent's　tooth　was　the　ingratitude；　and　sharper　than　the
  serpent's　tooth　was　the　wail　of　the　pitying　barbiton！
  The　eventful　hour　is　come。　　Viola　is　gone　to　the　theatre；her
  mother　with　her。　　The　indignant　musician　remains　at　home。
  Gionetta　bursts　into　the　room：　　my　Lord　Cardinal's　carriage　is　at
  the　door；the　Padrone　is　sent　for。　　He　must　lay　aside　his
  violin；　he　must　put　on　his　brocade　coat　and　his　lace　ruffles。
  Here　they　are；quick；　quick！　　And　quick　rolls　the　gilded　coach；
  and　majestic　sits　the　driver；　and　statelily　prance　the　steeds。
  Poor　Pisani　is　lost　in　a　mist　of　uncomfortable　amaze。　　He　arrives
  at　the　theatre；　he　descends　at　the　great　door；　he　turns　round　and
  round；　and　looks　about　him　and　about：　　he　misses　something；
  where　is　the　violin？　　Alas！　his　soul；　his　voice；　his　self　of
  self；　is　left　behind！　　It　is　but　an　automaton　that　the　lackeys
  conduct　up　the　stairs；　through　the　tier；　into　the　Cardinal's　box。
  But　then；　what　bursts　upon　him！　　Does　he　dream？　　The　first　act
  is　over　（they　did　not　send　for　him　till　success　seemed　no　longer
  doubtful）；　the　first　act　has　decided　all。　　He　feels　THAT　by　the
  electric　sympathy　which　ever　the　one　heart　has　at　once　with　a
  vast　audience。　　He　feels　it　by　the　breathless　stillness　of　that
  multitude；　he　feels　it　even　by　the　lifted　finger　of　the　Cardinal。
  He　sees　his　Viola　on　the　stage；　radiant　in　her　robes　and　gems；
  he　hears　her　voice　thrilling　through　the　single　heart　of　the
  thousands！　　But　the　scene；　the　part；　the　music！　　It　is　his　other
  child；his　immortal　child；　the　spirit…infant　of　his　soul；　his
  darling　of　many　years　of　patient　obscurity　and　pining　genius；　his
  masterpiece；　his　opera　of　the　Siren！
  This；　then；　was　the　mystery　that　had　so　galled　him；this　the
  cause　of　the　quarrel　with　the　Cardinal；　this　the　secret　not　to　be
  proclaimed　till　the　success　was　won；　and　the　daughter　had　united
  her　father's　triumph　with　her　own！
  And　there　she　stands；　as　all　souls　bow　before　her；fairer　than
  the　very　Siren　he　had　called　from　the　deeps　of　melody。　　Oh；　long
  and　sweet　recompense　of　toil！　　Where　is　on　earth　the　rapture　like
  that　which　is　known　to　genius　when　at　last　it　bursts　from　its