Part 35 (2/2)

18.

But evening's blue already thickens, The opera now calls to us, Rossini, Europe's darling, beckons a Th' intoxicating Orpheus.

To criticism inattentive, Selfsame as ever, new, inventive, He pours out tunes that effervesce, Cascade and flow and incandesce, They burn like youthful lovers' kisses In flames of love, in luxury, Or like the spurt and golden spray Of an Ai when out it fizzes...

But, gentlemen, who can define Do-re-mi-sol in terms of wine?

19.

But are these all its delectations?

What of the quizzical lorgnette?

What of the backstage a.s.signations?

The prima donna, the ballet?

The box where, in her beauty s.h.i.+ning, A trader's youthful wife,20 reclining, Disdainful and in languid pose, Whom pressing throngs of slaves enclose?

She hears, hears not the cavatina, Nor the entreaties or the jests, Halfway with flattery expressed...

While just behind her in a corner Her husband dozes, shouts 'encore', Yawns a and begins again to snore.

20.

At last there thunders the finale; The noisy audience greets the night; The square to which the people rally Is lit by stars and lantern light.

Ausonia's21 sons are gently singing A playful tune that goes on ringing Inside their heads and will not leave, While we roar out the recitative.

But it is late. Odessa's sleeping; The night is warm and mute and still.

The moon has risen, and a veil, Diaphanously light, is draping The sky. All's silent; save the roar Of Black Sea waves upon the sh.o.r.e...

21.

And so I lived then in Odessa...

CHAPTER X1.

1.

A ruler, timorous and wily, A balding fop, of toil a foe, Minion of Fame by chance entirely, Reigned over us those years ago.2 .......................................

2.

We knew him not at all so regal, When cooks, who were not ours, were sent To pluck our double-headed eagle, Where Bonaparte had pitched his tent.3 ................................................

3.

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