The Daughter of an Empress

Without answering, he took her arm, and, beckoning Count Paulo to his

side, led the princess to the circle of ladies.

Behind those closed curtains that still concealed the mysterious niche

it had meanwhile become stirring. Busy servants hastened hither and

thither, lighting the lamps and arranging the festoons and draperies. It

seems they had here erected a little stage, and the large wall-picture

that formed the background of this stage bore the appearance of a

decoration. A side curtain, serving as a partition, formed a second

room, which seemed destined for a sort of greenroom, in the centre of

which was a large and well-lighted mirror, and before it stood a young

woman regarding herself with the greatest attention, here plucking

at her dress and there arranging her train or an ornament. She was

evidently the one who was to appear upon the stage; her costume betrayed

it. It was not the fashionable costume of the day, such as was worn by

the distinguished ladies of Roman society; it was an ideal Greek

dress that seemed to have been made for the purpose of displaying and

rendering yet more voluptuous and enticing the great beauty of the

wearer.

She was very beautiful, this woman, with her sparkling black eyes

and dark shining hair, which had been gathered into a Grecian knot

behind--beautiful, with the laurel-wreath resting upon her high

forehead--beautiful, in the transparent Grecian robe which only so far

concealed the luxuriant forms of her full figure as to allow them to be

divined--beautiful, with those full, round, and entirely uncovered arms,

with their jewelled bracelets--beautiful, with her graceful neck, her

fully exposed, naked shoulders, and her voluptuously swelling bosom.

She was, in her appearance, a Greek, only her face was not Grecian. It

was wanting in the noble forms, the still cheerfulness and repose of

Grecian beauty, modest even in its voluptuousness. It was only the face

of a sensual and passionate Roman woman, and no Lais would have ventured

such a smile as played upon the dark-red lips of this Roman woman, or

such glowing glances as she shot like arrows from her dark eyes.

Standing before the glass, she viewed herself, her lips murmuring low

words, occasionally turning her eyes from the mirror to the little table

standing near it, upon which lay several open books.

What murmured she, and what read she in those books? Singular! she

was uttering single, isolated, unconnected words, which had nothing in

common with each other but the sound of melody; they were rhymes, but

without connection or sense, without inward mental correlation.

"So," she now said to herself, with a satisfied smile, "I am now

perfectly armed and prepared. All these rhymes ready for use, and I

have not to fear embarrassment in repeating any of them. Ah, they shall

admire me, these good Romans. I will animate and inflame them, and

excite all my enamored cardinals to such an ecstasy that they must

finally prevail upon the silly, obstinate old pope against his own will

to fulfil my only desire. I will attain my end, even if I am compelled

to pawn my honor and my salvation for it! Bah! honor; what can honor be

to a woman? Beauty is our honor, further nothing! And fair, it seems to

me, I yet am! And if I am fair," she more glowingly continued, after

a pause, "how comes it that Carlo has ceased to love me? Ah, the false

one, to betray and desert me when I love him most!"