had written to all these people to obtain information as to the actress' life and character. Day by day the replies now came in; not one single letter contained an accusation, a shred of suspicion; the testimony that was given to the singer's private life was most brilliant. No scandal had contributed to the augmentation of her fame; she owed it entirely to her talent, of which all spoke with admiration.

Blanden dropped all suspicions, and the project of making Giulia his wife took still deeper root. He had reason to expect that she would be ready to resign the stage, as she had frequently lamented the disappointments to which she was daily more and more exposed in her artistic career; nor did she conceal a feeling, which caused her uneasiness, the conviction that the epoch of her glory was at an end, and that the decadence of her voice was making its announcement gently but perceptibly. Surely therefore was she often so melancholy; who would not, with a heavy heart, bear the claims of a day of reckoning as it crumbles from us one object of pride, one advantage after another, and with such cruel indifference sweeps away all the flowers of our life.

Primavera! But there is a spring-time of feeling, which time cannot kill. It was that which bound Giulia to the wintry provincial town, when she might have been celebrating her triumphs in the capitals of the south.

This it was that made her await the arrival of her friend with a palpitating heart, as she had once awaited him in the moonlight by Lago Maggiore; and if to her other admirers she made no secret of his visits; if she denied herself to them as soon as he was present, or received him at a time when she was inaccessible to others; in so doing she obeyed no decree of prudence which counselled her not to alienate her other enthusiastic friends by distinguishing the one; it was a necessity, a happiness for her to have him quite alone; happiness that might not be desecrated by contact with the world.

Blanden still exercised the same entrancing magic over her as in those days of unguarded devotion; she had remained true to him since that time, little as it was his right or her duty thus to continue faithful. His image alone accompanied her through life; all emotions to which she must give expression upon the stage were for him. She confessed it to him, and he uttered no doubt of such assurances. Blanden's person would account for such passion; it was distinguished and possessed of a peculiar charm. An enthusiast, a dreamer, as he had been from his youth upwards, he seemed to be one still, when, with half-closed languid eyes, he buried himself in the rich stores of his mental life; but then they would suddenly flash and open, and gleam with passion and manly power. In all else he was in perfect harmony; his figure symmetrical, the well-bred smile upon his lips, full of intellectual superiority; his conversation, in earnest and in jest, combined sweetness and charm. As Desdemona to Othello's tales, Giulia listened to the descriptions of the adventures which Blanden had met with in distant lands and oceans, he raised her imagination far above the painted decorations of theatrical life; she was susceptible to all the grandeur and beauty of nature, to all intellectual struggles; only the unrest and bustle of her artist's calling prevented her giving herself up to those mental enjoyments for which she longed now more fervently than formerly. To her it would have appeared unutterable bliss to belong entirely to the man in company with whom she might revel in such enjoyments; to the man who offered her a refuge from the tempests of stage life. With what just pride she would have borne the name with which that noble scion represented a family so esteemed in the world!

And yet--from out the past one shoal reared itself in her life: a shoal upon which all her proud dreams of a future should be wrecked.

In sleepless nights she meditated how she could guide her ship round that reef; her senses became confused in the rapid flight of thought from one possibility to another, which, clutched convulsively, never granted a firm hold; sometimes she rose to the daring venture of defying those rocks and trying if the high storm-lashed billows of her life would not bear her over. Her experiences upon the stage became daily more unpleasant, the enthusiasm of her adherents more disputed by steady opposition.

These were the results of Spiegeler's malicious condemnation.

On the other hand the poet Schöner prepared one slight pleasure for her; he who belonged to her warmest admirers, and two years ago had striven eagerly to gain her favour, but who had been rejected. For a long time he avoided all intercourse with her, but without bearing any ill-will remained one of her most zealous adorers. Now, when her enemies roused themselves, he sought her out again, and, like a troubadour, devoted his lyre to the noble lady. He read a poem to her, in which he sang of her as the primavera of Baltic winter, and at the same time attacked her opponents with epigrammatic arrows, and those mighty blows which he had acquired in the fencing-school of political poetry.

The poem appeared in the most important papers, and again increased the diminishing numbers of Giulia's followers. She was heartily grateful to him for it, because she perceived that his thoughts were noble and free from personal motives, that he but followed his own convictions.

The more retiringly Schöner behaved, the more obtrusive became Lieutenant Buschmann; he could not accustom himself to the idea that he must retire from so long a siege without success. The uniform friendliness of the singer seemed to him like scorn; from day to day he hoped for a more passionate return. Constantly renewed disappointment embittered him. His character was somewhat violent, he tolerated no barriers, and once when the singer, through her maid, refused him admittance on a morning call, he forced himself ruthlessly into her boudoir, and reproached her passionately.

It was the day after his visit to Frau Hecht's kitchen, when Blanden met the Italian again in the street. Arrested on the previous evening, Baluzzi was once more set free.

Blanden took advantage of this chance encounter to lead the conversation to the amber merchant. Giulia only vouchsafed meagre information; he was a distant connection of hers, who often importuned her with petitions, as he had once performed some great service out of gratitude for which she had taken him under her protection. Then she broke off the conversation, it was evidently an unwelcome subject. But she remained abstracted all the evening, and even confounded two Italian composers with whom she had been familiar from her youth upwards.

After a sleepless night, Giulia had a long conversation with her friend.

"It cannot go on so, Beate! The internal conflict consumes me. His claims become more and more unbounded; how happy I was when he, fettered by illness or misfortune of long duration, the veil of which he will not raise, remained in the interior of Russia; I breathed freely; now more than ever, I am in his bondage."

Beate shrugged her shoulders.

"Notwithstanding all your brilliant receipts, we shall be beggars again."

"Oh, that is not the worst! I would give up everything if I could purchase my freedom!"

"That is not his wish! He would spend everything at once; he also prefers to have a safe reserve for the future."

"Oh, there is a hell that binds us for evermore. Lasciate ogni speranza voi che entrale! You are clever and cunning, Beate! Try once more if you cannot set me free. I have no more ideas, no more plans! Whenever I ponder over it, my senses become desolate and dead. I stare into vacuity!"