H. R. H. the Duke of Brunswick is a thorough devotee to Caïssa; we never saw him but he was playing chess with some one or other. We were frequent visitors to his box at the Italian Opera; he had got a chess-board even there, and played throughout the performance. On our first visit "Norma" was performed. The Duke's box is right on the stage; so close, indeed, that you might kiss the _prima donna_ without any trouble. Morphy sat with his back to the stage, and the Duke and Count Isouard facing him. Now it must not be supposed that he was comfortable. Decidedly otherwise; for I have already stated that he is passionately fond of music, and, under the circumstances, wished chess at Pluto. The game began and went on: his antagonists had heard _Norma_ so often that they could, probably, sing it through without prompting; they did not even listen to most of it, but went on disputing with each other as to their next move. Then Madame Penco, who represented the Druidical priestess, kept looking towards the box, wondering what was the cause of the excitement inside; little dreaming that Caïssa was the only _Casta Diva_ the inmates cared about. And those tremendous fellows, the "supes," who "did" the Druids, how they marched down the stage, chaunting fire and bloodshed against the Roman host, who, they appeared to think, were inside the Duke's box.
Some of the pleasantest hours passed by Paul Morphy in the French capital were spent at the Baronne de L.'s. This lady, who has long ranked as one of the great beauties of Parisian society, is renowned as a patroness of the arts. Her friendship for the lamented Pradier has passed into history, and her _salons_ are the weekly resort of the most celebrated sculptors, painters, and authors of France. And no wonder, for the Baronne is gloriously merry and witty, a true child of the sunny South. A Creole, from the French West Indies, she immediately took a liking to Morphy, "Because," said she, "he is another lazy Creole like myself;" and she invited all her acquaintances to come and see him. She would get Morphy opposite her, and St. Amant or Lequesne by her side to stop her when she was about making too serious a mistake, and would play game after game, making us all laugh the whole time with her charming anecdotes and _jeux d'esprit_. How she would amuse us when she declared that parties and late hours were killing her, and that _they did kill her last season_, and yet she was always as fresh as a newly plucked rose. When she found how fond Morphy was of music, the principal singers from the opera would be present. I remember one night she asked that finest of living _baritones_, "the honey-voiced" Graziani, to play our hero at the odds of the Queen. Signor Graziani had caught the general enthusiasm, and was applying his leisure moments to chess with the energy of a Standigl, and had lately been taking lessons from Préti. He at first objected to play, from modesty, but the Baronne had determined he should, and she told him that, if he would play a game, Morphy would sing a _duo_ with him afterwards. This was a sparkle of her fun, of course; but Graziani played, not one, but three games, and he then said: "If anybody asks me if I understand chess, I shall say, 'Oh, yes; I play sometimes with Mr. Morphy.'"