“And now comes the most striking movement in the score:  the duet between Osiride and Elcia in the subterranean chamber where he has hidden her to keep her from the departing Israelites, and to fly with her himself from Egypt.  The lovers are then intruded on by Aaron, who has been to warn Amalthea, and we get the grandest of all quartettes:  Mi manca la voce, mi sento morire.  This is one of those masterpieces that will survive in spite of time, that destroyer of fashion in music, for it speaks the language of the soul which can never change.  Mozart holds his own by the famous finale to Don Giovanni; Marcello, by his psalm, Coeli enarrant gloriam Dei; Cimarosa, by the air Pria che spunti; Beethoven by his C minor symphony; Pergolesi, by his Stabat Mater; Rossini will live by Mi manca la voce.  What is most to be admired in Rossini is his command of variety to form; to produce the effect here required, he has had recourse to the old structure of the canon in unison, to bring the voices in, and merge them in the same melody.  As the form of these sublime melodies was new, he set them in an old frame; and to give it the more relief he has silenced the orchestra, accompanying the voices with the harps alone.  It is impossible to show greater ingenuity of detail, or to produce a grander general effect.—­Dear me! again an outbreak!” said the Duchess.

Genovese, who had sung his duet with Carthagenova so well, was caricaturing himself now that la Tinti was on the stage.  From a great singer he sank to the level of the most worthless chorus singer.

The most formidable uproar arose that had ever echoed to the roof of the Fenice.  The commotion only yielded to Clarina, and she, furious at the difficulties raised by Genovese’s obstinacy, sang Mi manca la voce as it will never be sung again.  The enthusiasm was tremendous; the audience forgot their indignation and rage in pleasure that was really acute.

“She floods my soul with purple glow!” said Capraja, waving his hand in benediction at la Diva Tinti.

“Heaven send all its blessings on your head!” cried a gondolier.

“Pharaoh will now revoke his commands,” said the Duchess, while the commotion in the pit was calming down.  “Moses will overwhelm him, even on his throne, by declaring the death of every first-born son in Egypt, singing that strain of vengeance which augurs thunders from heaven, while above it the Hebrew clarions ring out.  But you must clearly understand that this air is by Pacini; Carthagenova introduces it instead of that by Rossini.  This air, Paventa, will no doubt hold its place in the score; it gives a bass too good an opportunity for displaying the quality of his voice, and expression here will carry the day rather than science.  However, the air is full of magnificent menace, and it is possible that we may not be long allowed to hear it.”

A thunder of clapping and bravos hailed the song, followed by deep and cautious silence; nothing could be more significant or more thoroughly Venetian than the outbreak and its sudden suppression.