They listened not
for the thought, but only for the rhyme, and with ecstatic smiles and
admiring glances they nodded to each other when, thanks to the studies
which Corilla had made in Tasso, Marino, and Ariosto, she seemed of
herself to find rhymes for the most difficult words.
An immense storm of applause resounded when she ended; and as if
awakening from an intoxicating ecstasy, Corilla glanced around with an
expression of astonishment on her features; she looked around as if she
knew not whence she came, and in what strange surroundings she now found
herself.
After a short pause, which Carlo filled out with his harp, she again put
her hand into the urn and drew out a new theme; again the inspiration
seemed to pass over her, and the holy Whitsuntide of her muse to be
renewed. Constantly more and more stormily resounded the plaudits of her
hearers; it was like a continued thunder of enthusiasm, a real salvo
of joy. It animated Corilla to new improvisations; she again and
again recurred to the urn, drawing forth new themes, and seemed to be
absolutely inexhaustible.
"It is now enough," whispered Carlo, just as she had drawn forth a new
theme. "You have but a quarter of an hour left!"
"Only this theme yet," she begged in a low tone.
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