A Siren — A Reader’s Guide

(0 User reviews) 2335

In Category - Fantasy Juvenile Worlds

Authors: Trollope, Thomas Adolphus, 1810-1892 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2004 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Fiction; Detective and mystery stories Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 174,979

Reading time 761 min

Text sections 14

The catalog record for A Siren — A Reader’s Guide provides practical reading context through 174,979 words, 12 hr 41 min estimated reading time, and 14 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 22.2 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #5179

Set in Ravenna during Carnival, this mystery novel follows the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare and the opera diva La Lalli, whose arrival stirs tensions. The narrative contrasts festive revelry with underlying suspicion, leading to a death and a trial that questions guilt.

Editorial Edition Score 4.8/5

★★★★★ ★★★★★

Calculated from edition completeness, EPUB availability, text structure and catalogue metadata. Not a user rating.

How this score is calculated

Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg5179

Read the Text

There had been a ball on the previous night at the Palazzo of the Marchese Lamberto di Castelmare. But the scene at the Circolo was a much more brilliant, animated, and varied one than that of the night before at the Castelmare palace. The Marchese Lamberto was the wealthiest noble in Ravenna, and--putting aside his friend the Cardinal Legate--was, in many other respects, the first and foremost man of the city. He was a bachelor of some fifty years old. And bachelors' houses and bachelors' balls have the reputation of enjoying the privilege of a somewhat freer and more unreserved gaiety and jollity than those of their neighbours more heavily weighted with the cares and responsibilities of life. But such was not the case at the Palazzo Castelmare. Presided over on such occasions as that of the great annual Carnival ball by a widowed sister-in-law of the Marchese, the Castelmare palace was the most decorous and respectable house, as its master was the most decorous and respectable man, in Ravenna.

Not that it was a dull house. The Marchese Lamberto, though a grave and dignified personage in the eyes of the "jeunesse doree" of Ravenna, was looked up to as one of the best loved, as well as most respected, men in the city. And there was not a member of the "society" who would not have been sadly hurt at not being invited to the great annual Carnival ball at the Castelmare palace. But the same degree of laissez aller jollity would not have been "de mise" there as was permissible at the Circolo. The fun was not so fast and furious as it was wont to be at the club of the nobles on the last night of Carnival.

The whole society were at the latter gathering. All the nobles of Ravenna were the hosts, and everybody was there solely and entirely to amuse and enjoy themselves. Host and guests, indeed, were almost identical. There were but few persons present, and those strangers to the town, who did not belong to their own class.

To the Marchese, on the previous night, most of the company had contented themselves with going in "domino." At the Circolo ball a very large proportion of the dancers were in costume. The Conte Leandro Lombardoni,--lady-killer, Don Juan, and poet, whose fortunes and misfortunes in these characters had made him the butt of the entire society, and had perhaps contributed, together with his well-known extraordinarily pronounced propensity for cramming himself with pastry, to give him the pale, puffed, pasty face, swelling around a pair of pale fish-like eyes, that distinguished him,--the Conte Leandro Lombardoni; indeed, had gone to the Castelmare palace as "Apollo," in a costume which young Ludovico Castelmare, the Marchese Lamberto's nephew, would insist on mistaking for that of Aesop; and had now, according to a programme perfectly well known previously throughout the city, come to the Circolo as "Dante." The Tuscan "lucco," or long flowing gown, had at least the advantage of concealing from the public eye much that the Apollo costume had injudiciously exhibited.

Ludovico Castelmare had adopted the costume of a Venetian noble of the sixteenth century; and very strikingly handsome he looked in that most picturesque of all dresses. The Marchese Lamberto was at the ball, of course, but not in costume. Perhaps the most striking figure in the rooms, however, was one of those few persons who have been mentioned as present, but not belonging to Ravenna, or to the class of its nobles. This was a lady, well known at that day throughout Italy as Bianca Lalli--"La Lalli," or "La Bianca," in theatrical parlance--for she was one of the first singers of the day. Special circumstances--to be explained at a future page--had rendered it possible for remote little Ravenna to secure the celebrated artist for the Carnival, which was now expiring. The Marchese Lamberto, who, among many other avocations and occupations, all of them contributing in some way or other to the welfare and advantage of his native city, was a great lover and connoisseur of music, and patron of the theatre, had been mainly instrumental in bringing La Lalli to Ravenna. The engagement had been a most successful one. The "Diva Bianca" had sung through the Carnival, charming all ears and hearts in Ravenna with her voice, and all eyes with her very remarkable and fascinating beauty. And now, on this last night of the festive season, she was the cynosure of all eyes at the ball.

Continue Reading →

The novel opens on the last night of Carnival in Ravenna, a city described as "ancient and once imperial, but now provincial and remote." The narrator immediately establishes a contrast between the dying revelry and the looming solemnity of Lent, noting that Carnival's life "is intensified with a constantly crescendo movement up to the last minutes of its existence." This temporal pressure sets the stage for a story where public festivity masks private unease.

The Marchese Lamberto, a central figure, appears in the Corso procession visibly altered—"very unlike his usual self"—yet onlookers misread his distress as fatigue or age. The narrative voice here is ironic, hinting at hidden truths beneath surface observations. The Diva, La Lalli, is introduced through gossip as a woman who "works hard at her vocation," her motives questioned by the crowd. The excerpt establishes a world of spectacle and speculation, where every gesture is watched and interpreted.

Carnival as a Stage for Misreading

The Carnival setting is not mere backdrop but an active force in the narrative. The Corso, with its endless procession of carriages turning and meeting, becomes a stage where characters perform for an audience of peers. The Marchese Lamberto, sitting amid flowers, is observed by all, yet no one guesses the real cause of his change. The narrator lists the bystanders' guesses—"Time begins to tell on the Marchese," "he takes too much out of himself"—each plausible but wrong. This pattern of misreading recurs throughout the excerpts: the crowd speculates about La Lalli's "game," assuming a hidden lover or mercenary motive. The novel thus establishes a tension between what is seen and what is true, a theme that will likely deepen as the plot unfolds.

The structure of the Corso—each carriage passing every other once per circuit—mirrors the novel's own method of circling around characters, offering partial views. The Marchese's carriage, with its half roof, limits sightlines, a physical emblem of restricted knowledge. The reserved bouquet, destined for La Lalli, becomes a public token of interest, yet its meaning remains ambiguous. The narrative invites readers to question appearances, much as the characters do, but with the advantage of the narrator's ironic commentary.

The Diva and the Divided Gaze

La Lalli, the opera singer, is never directly described in the excerpts; she exists through the words of others. She is called "the Diva of the theatre," a title that confers both reverence and suspicion. The crowd's chatter reveals a divided gaze: admiration for her beauty—"looking so lovely"—mixed with cynical speculation about her motives. One speaker suggests she is "simply to work hard at her vocation, and make as much money as she can," while another imagines a hidden baritone who owns her heart. The narrative thus presents her as a figure of fascination and ambiguity, her true character obscured by the projections of those around her.

The Marchese's interest in her is framed through his known involvement with theatrical matters, but the excerpts hint at something more personal. The reserved bouquet, the careful arrangement of carriages, and the Marchese's visible distress all point to a connection that the public misinterprets. The novel's title, A Siren, suggests a dangerous allure, and La Lalli embodies this: she is a performer whose art and person are intertwined, drawing men into her orbit. Yet the excerpts offer no direct access to her interiority, leaving her as enigmatic to the reader as to the Ravenna society.

Suspicion and the Unreliable Witness

The excerpts from later books—titled "Who Did The Deed?" and "Poena Pede Claudo"—signal a shift from social observation to detective investigation. The narrative moves from the Carnival's public spectacle to the private aftermath of a death. The chapter headings suggest a trial and a search for truth: "Suspicion," "Guilty or Not Guilty?," "The Case against Paolina." Yet the excerpts do not reveal the crime or the verdict, only that suspicion falls on multiple characters, including Paolina Foscarelli and an aged friar.

The narrator's earlier irony gives way to a more forensic tone, but the pattern of misreading persists. The public's opinion, as seen in the Corso, now becomes a force in the investigation. The novel seems to explore how communities construct guilt from incomplete evidence. The title of Book VI, "Poena Pede Claudo"—"punishment limps"—suggests that justice is slow or imperfect. Readers are left to weigh the fragments: the Marchese's distress, La Lalli's allure, and the whispered accusations. The excerpts offer no resolution, only the promise that appearances will be tested.

This novel rewards attention to its layered narration and the gap between public perception and private reality. The Carnival setting is not decorative but functional, establishing a world where everyone performs and no one is quite what they seem. Readers should note how the narrator's tone shifts from ironic social commentary to the more somber register of the investigation. The excerpts provide a rich foundation for observing these patterns, but the full novel will test whether any character can see through the masks.

Ravenna’s carnival masks always made me uneasy, that hollow joy hiding something sharper. Reading about La Lalli’s arrival reminded me of winter evenings when a guest’s perfume could sour the whole room. Perhaps that’s why Evan Harrington — Volume 6 — Text and Context lingers—the same quiet thread of social performance, where every smile feels like a verdict waiting to be read. Evan Harrington — Volume 6 — Text and Context held that same ache of watching people act out roles they can’t escape.