CHAPTER VII. AT THE TEATRO EZZELINO
From my mother I had inherited one of those highly strung organizations which are largely affected by their surroundings, and which, like an Æolian harp, to the sighing wind vibrate with every breath of passion that passes over them--organizations which take their colour, their bias, their desires from the last event which occurs, and which are entirely in sympathy with the predominating feeling of the moment. In childhood this dangerous spirit of moods and fancies had been fostered by an old Scottish nurse, who used to thrill me with wild stories of Highland superstitions, and with weird ballads of elfish fantasy; but since I had mixed in the world I had learned to control and sway my imaginative faculty, and had thus acquired a command over myself. Bu
