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sway on the decline. _Sic transit gloria mundi!_ You bare-footed
Carmelites do well to mortify the flesh in youth, by which you escape
the pains of a decreasing power. One like you can have few wrongs of his
younger days to repair?"
"We are none of us without sin," returned the monk, crossing himself.
"He who would flatter his soul with being perfect lays the additional
weight of vanity on his life."
"Men of my occupation, holy Carmelite, have few opportunities of looking
into themselves, and I bless the hour that hath brought me into company
so godly. My gondola waits--will you enter?"
The monk regarded his companion in distrust, but knowing the uselessness
of resistance, he murmured a short prayer and complied. A strong dash of
the oars announced their departure from the steps of the palace.
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CHAPTER XV.
O pescator! dell' onda
Fi da lin;
O pescator! dell' onda,
Fi da lin;
Vien pescar in qua;
Colla bella tua barca,
Colla bella se ne va,
Fi da lin, lin, la--
VENETIAN BOAT SONG.
The moon was at the height. Its rays fell in a flood on the swelling
domes and massive roofs of Venice, while the margin of the town was
brilliantly defined by the glittering bay. The natural and gorgeous
setting was more than worthy of that picture of human magnificence; for
at that moment, rich as was the Queen of the Adriatic in her works of
art, the grandeur of her public monuments, the number and splendor of
her palaces, and most else that the ingenuity and ambition of man could
attempt, she was but secondary in the glories of the hour.
Above was the firmament, gemmed with worlds, and sublime in immensity.
Beneath lay the broad expanse of the Adriatic, endless to the eye,
tranquil as the vault it reflected, and luminous with its borrowed
light. Here and there a low island, reclaimed from the sea by the
patient toil of a thousand years, dotted the Lagunes, burdened with the
group of some conventual dwellings, or picturesque with the modest roofs
of a hamlet of the fisherman. Neither oar, nor song, nor laugh, nor flap
of sail, nor jest of mariner, disturbed the stillness. All in the near
view was clothed in midnight loveliness, and all in the distance bespoke
the solemnity of nature at peace. The city and the Lagunes, the gulf
and the dreamy Alps, the interminable plain of Lombardy, and the blue
void of heaven, lay alike in a common and grand repose.
There suddenly appeared a gondola. It issued from among the watery
channels of the town, and glided upon the vast bosom of the bay,
noiseless as the fancied progress of a spirit. A practised and nervous
arm guided its movement, which was unceasing and rapid. So swift indeed
was the passage of the boat, as to denote pressing haste on the part of
the solitary individual it contained. It held the direction of the
Adriatic, steering between one of the more southern outlets of the bay
and the well known island of St. Giorgio. For half an hour the exertions
of the gondolier were unrelaxed, though his eye was often cast behind
him, as if he distrusted pursuit; and as often did he gaze ahead,
betraying an anxious desire to reach some object that was yet invisible.
When a wide reach of water lay between him and the town, however, he
permitted his oar to rest, and he lent all his faculties to a keen and
anxious search.
A small dark spot was discovered on the water still nearer to the sea.
The oar of the gondolier dashed the element behind him, and his boat
again glided away, so far altering its course as to show that all
indecision was now ended. The darker spot was shortly beheld quivering
in the rays of the moon, and it soon assumed the form and dimensions of
a boat at anchor. Again the gondolier ceased his efforts, and he leaned
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forward, gazing intently at this undefined object, as if he would aid
his powers of sight by the sympathy of his other faculties. Just then
the notes of music came softly across the Lagunes. The voice was feeble
even to trembling, but it had the sweetness of tone and the accuracy of
execution which belong so peculiarly to Venice. It was the solitary man,
in the distant boat, indulging in the song of a fisherman. The strains
were sweet, and the intonations plaintive to melancholy. The air was
common to all who plied the oar in the canals, and familiar to the ear
of the listener. He waited until the close of a verse had died away, and
then he answered with a strain of his own. The alternate parts were thus
maintained until the music ceased, by the two singing a final verse in
chorus.
When the song was ended, the oar of the gondolier stirred the water
again, and he was quickly by the other's side.
"Thou art busy with thy hook betimes, Antonio," said he who had just
arrived, as he stepped into the boat of the old fisherman already so
well known to the reader. "There are men, that an interview with the
Council of Three would have sent to their prayers and a sleepless bed."
"There is not a chapel in Venice, Jacopo, in which a sinner may so well
lay bare his soul as in this. I have been here on the empty Lagunes,
alone with God, having the gates of Paradise open before my eyes."
"One like thee hath no need of images to quicken his devotion."
"I see the image of my Saviour, Jacopo, in those bright stars, that
moon, the blue heavens, the misty bank of mountain, the waters on which
we float, aye, even in my own sinking form, as in all which has come
from his wisdom and power. I have prayed much since the moon has risen."
"And is habit so strong in thee that thou thinkest of God and thy sins
while thou anglest?"
"The poor must toil and the sinful must pray. My thoughts have dwelt so
much of late on the boy, that I have forgotten to provide myself with
food. If I fish later or earlier than common, 'tis because a man cannot
live on grief."
"I have bethought me of thy situation, honest Antonio; here is that
which will support life and raise thy courage.
"See," added the Bravo, stretching forth an arm Into his own gondola,
from which he drew a basket, "here is bread from Dalmatia, wine of Lower
Italy, and figs from the Levant--eat, then, and be of cheer."
The fisherman threw a wistful glance at the viands, for hunger was
making powerful appeals to the weakness of nature, but his hand did not
relinquish its hold of the line, with which he still continued to angle.
"And these are thy gifts, Jacopo?" he asked, in a voice that, spite of
his resignation, betrayed the longings of appetite.
"Antonio, they are the offerings of one who respects thy courage and
honors thy nature."
"Bought with his earnings?"
"Can it be otherwise? I am no beggar for the love of the saints, and few
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in Venice give unasked. Eat, then, without fear; seldom wilt thou be
more welcome."
"Take them away, Jacopo, if thou lovest me. Do not tempt me beyond what
I can bear."
"How! art thou commanded to a penance?" hastily exclaimed the other.
"Not so--not so. It is long since I have found leisure or heart for the
confessional."
"Then why refuse the gift of a friend? Remember thy years and
necessities."
"I cannot feed on the price of blood!"
The hand of the Bravo was withdrawn as if repelled by an electric touch.
The action caused the rays of the moon to fall athwart his kindling eye,
and firm as Antonio was in honesty and principle, he felt the blood
creep to his heart as he encountered the fierce and sudden glance of his [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]