France -- History -- Louis XIII, 1610-1643 -- Fiction
lustrous pearls round fair necks, and twined amid sunny curls; such
rubies and sapphires, with their radiant surroundings of brilliants;
such thick, heavy chains of virgin gold, of curious and beautiful
workmanship; such priceless laces, yellow with age, of just that
much-desired tint which is creamy at night; such superb old brocades,
stiff and rich enough to stand alone; and best of all, such sweet,
sparkling, young faces, as were to be seen here and there in this
aristocratic circle. A few of the ladies, not wishing to be known had
kept on their little black velvet masks, though they did not prevent
their being recognised, spoken of by name, and commented on with great
freedom by the plebeian crowd in the pit. One lady, however, who was
very carefully masked, and attended only by a maid, baffled the
curiosity of all observers. She sat a little back in her box, so that
the full blaze of light should not fall upon her, and a large black
lace veil, which was loosely fastened under her chin, covered her head
so effectually that it was impossible to make out even the colour of
her hair. Her dress was rich and elegant in the extreme, but sombre in
hue, and in her hand she held a handsome fan made of black feathers,
with a tiny looking-glass in the centre. A great many curious glances
were directed at her, which manifestly made her uneasy, and she shrank
still farther back in her box to avoid them; but the orchestra soon
struck up a merry tune, and attracted all eyes and thoughts to the
curtain, which was about to rise, so that the mysterious fair one was
left to her enjoyment of the animated scene in peace. They began with
“Lygdamon et Lydias,” in which Leander, who played the principal part,
and wore a most becoming new costume, was quite overwhelmingly
handsome. His appearance was greeted by a murmur of admiration and a
great whispering among the ladies, while one unsophisticated young
creature, just emancipated from her convent-school, exclaimed
rapturously, aloud, “Oh! how charming he is!” for which shocking
indiscretion she received a severe reprimand from her horrified mama,
that made her retire into the darkest corner of the box, covered with
blushes and confusion. Yet the poor girl had only innocently given
expression to the secret thought of every woman in the audience, her
own dignified mother included; for, really, Leander was delightfully,
irresistibly handsome as Lygdamon—a perfect Apollo, in the eyes of
those provincial dames. But by far the most agitated of them all was
the masked beauty; whose heaving bosom, trembling hand—betrayed by the
fan it held—and eager attitude—leaning breathlessly forward and
intently watching Leander’s every movement—would inevitably have borne
witness to her great and absorbing interest in him, if anybody had been
observing her to mark her emotion; but fortunately for her all eyes
were turned upon the stage, so she had time to recover her composure.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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