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diff --git a/old/60601-0.txt b/old/60601-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ebc85d4..0000000 --- a/old/60601-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9874 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60601 *** - - TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: - - -Italic text is denoted by _underscores_. - -A number of words in this book have both hyphenated and non-hyphenated -variants. For the words with both variants present the one more used -has been kept. - -Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been corrected. - -The book cover was modified by the Transcriber and has been put in the -public domain. - -The Transcriber would like to point out to what are considered a couple -of translation inaccuracies from the original Italian language version. - -In page 59 the text reads: - -"I know of no marsh capable of provoking in human pulses a fever more -violent that that which at times steals up to us from the shadows of a -silent canal." - -While in the Italian edition (Publisher: Milano Fratelli Treves; year: -1900), the text reads: - -"Io non conosco palude capace di provocare in polsi umani una febbre -più violenta di quella che sentimmo talvolta venire verso di noi -all'improvviso dall'ombra di un canale taciturno." - -The Transcriber thinks a more adequate translation would be: - -"I know of no marsh capable of causing a fever in human pulses more -violent than the one we sometimes hear coming towards us suddenly from -the shadow of a taciturn channel." - -In page 195 the text reads: - -"He had astonished even himself by that sudden apparition, that -unexpected discovery which illumined the shadows of his mind, because -exterior reality, and almost tangible." - -While in the Italian edition the text reads: - -"Si stupiva egli medessimo di quell'apparizione subitanea, di quella -improvvisa scoperta che, illuminandosi nell buio del suo spirito si -esternava e quasi diveniva tangibile." - -The Transcriber thinks a more adequate translation would be: - -"He was surprised himself by that sudden appearance, of that sudden -discovery that, illuminating itself in the darkness of his spirit, it -became external and almost became tangible." - - - * * * * * - - - THE LITERATURE OF ITALY - - consists of sixteen volumes, of which - this one forms a part. For full particulars - of the edition see the Official - Certificate bound in the volume entitled - - "A HISTORY OF ITALIAN - LITERATURE." - - - [Illustration] - - - [Illustration] - - Literature of Italy - 1265 1907. - - Edited by Rossiter Johnson and - Dora Knowlton Ranous - - With a General Introduction by William - Michael Rossetti and Special Introductions - by James, Cardinal Gibbons, - Charles Eliot Norton, S. G. W. Benjamin, - William S, Walsh, Maurice - Francis Egan, and others - - New translations, and former renderings - compared and revised - - Translators: James C. Brogan, Lord Charlemont, - Geoffrey Chaucer, Hartley Coleridge, - Florence Kendrick Cooper, Lady Dacre, - Theodore Dwight, Edward Fairfax, Ugo - Foscolo, G. A. Greene, Sir Thomas Hoby, - William Dean Howells, Luigi Monti, Evangeline - M. O'Connor, Thomas Okey, Dora - Knowlton Ranous, Thomas Roscoe, William - Stewart Rose, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William - Michael Rossetti, John Addington - Symonds, William S. Walsh, William - Wordsworth, Sir Thomas Wyatt - - - [Illustration] - - - - - THE FLAME - (_IL FUOCO_) - - BY - - - GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO - - TRANSLATED BY DORA KNOWLTON RANOUS - - .... _fa come natura face in foco_. - - --_DANTE_ - - - THE NATIONAL ALUMNI - - - COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY - THE NATIONAL ALUMNI - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - INTRODUCTION ix - - - BOOK I - - THE EPIPHANY OF THE FLAME. - - - CHAPTER I--The Bells of San Marco 1 - - CHAPTER II--The Face of Truth 30 - - CHAPTER III--The Nuptials of Autumn and Venice 40 - - CHAPTER IV--The Spirit of Melody 67 - - CHAPTER V--The Epiphany of the Flame 77 - - CHAPTER VI--The Poet's Dream 95 - - CHAPTER VII--The Promise 123 - - CHAPTER VIII--"To Create with Joy!" 134 - - - BOOK II - - THE EMPIRE OF SILENCE. - - - CHAPTER I--"In Time!" 147 - - CHAPTER II--After the Storm 156 - - CHAPTER III--A Fallen Giant 173 - - CHAPTER IV--The Master's Vision 181 - - CHAPTER V--Sofia 201 - - CHAPTER VI--A Brother to Orpheus 209 - - CHAPTER VII--Only One Condition 221 - - CHAPTER VIII--Illusions 231 - - CHAPTER IX--The Labyrinth 239 - - CHAPTER X--The Power of the Flame 262 - - CHAPTER XI--Reminiscence 270 - - CHAPTER XII--Cassandra's Reincarnation 291 - - CHAPTER XIII--The Story of the Archorgan 304 - - CHAPTER XIV--The World's Bereavement 319 - - CHAPTER XV--The Last Farewell 333 - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - - "O espousals of Paris, fatal to the beloved!"--(Page 298) Frontispiece - - He gazed deep into her eyes, and saw that she was as pale - as if her blood had been sapped to nourish the rich - fruits of the garden 130 - - He watched the woman turning and running like a mad - creature along the dark, delusive paths 259 - - - - - INTRODUCTION - -Gabriele D'Annunzio, poet, novelist, and dramatist, was born in 1864, -on the yacht _Irene_ near Pescara in the Abruzzi, his mother being the -Duchess Maria Galesse of Rome. His education was begun in the College -of Prato, in Tuscany, and finished in the University of Rome. His mind -early showed signs of extraordinary power and brilliant versatility; -he studied art and produced very creditable work while a mere lad, -and at the age of sixteen he published his first poem, _Primo Vere_, -which attracted flattering attention and caused him to be hailed as an -infant prodigy. In 1880 he went to Rome and became a contributor to -the _Cronaca Bizantina_, a magazine of art and literature. He remained -in Rome three years, producing in that time _Terra vergine_ ("Virgin -Soil"), _Canto novo_ ("New Song"), and _Intermezzo di rime_ ("Intervals -of Rhyme"), all of which were received with admiration and amazement, -and with not a little criticism for their unconventional boldness of -expression. - -D'Annunzio left Rome in 1884 and returned to his native hills, where -he wrote _Il libro delle vergine_ ("The Book of the Virgins") in 1884; -_San Pantaleone_ (1886), and _Isottèo Guttadauro_. Then, abandoning -his revolutionary and realistic though splendid and intoxicating -poetry for prose, the young genius next surprised his public with a -novel, _Giovanni Episcopo_, followed by _Il Piacere_ ("The Child of -Pleasure"), in 1889. The former is a strong yet repelling story of -crude brutalism, told by a victim of relentless fate; the latter is a -kind of poem in prose, in which there is something above mere facility -of literary touch; he shows the power of the master poet or painter to -see the world at a glance, and with a dextrous hand to draw for eyes -less keen that world in all its changeful aspects. - -His next important novel, _Il trionfo della morte_ ("The Triumph of -Death") was produced in 1896. This brought upon him a storm of mingled -applause and criticism--admiration for its marvelous beauty of literary -expression, condemnation of the realistic study of a degenerate whose -sins lead him to suicide. But, with a proud defiance of criticism, with -eyes fixed only on his art, he dared after this achievement to write -the self-revelatory novel that is known as his masterpiece--_Il fuoco_ -("The Flame"). In this great novel, which may fairly be called unique, -we recognize the personification of a renascence of Latin genius. Under -the thinnest veil of disguise, the author presents his own figure and -that of one of the world's greatest tragic actresses, revealing the -most intimate details of their well known friendship. On this picture -of the most romantic of love-affairs, in Venice, the most romantic -of cities, he has lavished his finest strokes of genius, writing of -feminine nature with rare truth and skill, and an exquisite intuition -as to the workings of a woman's mind and the throbbings of her heart. - -Besides his poems and novels, D'Annunzio has written several plays, -the best known being _La Gioconda_ ("Joy"), _La Gloria_ ("Glory"), _La -morta città_ ("The City of the Dead"), and _Francesca da Rimini_. He is -unquestionably the greatest Italian writer of to-day, and few works of -Italian fiction appear that do not show something of his influence. A -European critic of keen discernment says: "Read his works, all ye men -and women for whom life has no secrets and truth has no terror." - - D. K. R. - - - - - BOOK I - - THE EPIPHANY OF THE FLAME - - - - - TO TIME AND TO HOPE - - - _Without hope, it is impossible to find the unhoped-for._ - - --_HERACLITUS OF EPHESUS._ - - - _He who sings to the god a song of hope shall see his wish - accomplished._ - - --_ÆSCHYLUS OF ELEUSIS._ - - - _Time is the father of miracles._ - - --_HARIRI DI BASRA._ - - - - - CHAPTER I - - THE BELLS OF SAN MARCO - - -"Stelio, does not your heart quail a little, for the first time?" -inquired La Foscarina, with a fleeting smile, as she touched the hand -of the taciturn friend seated beside her. "I see that you are pale and -thoughtful. Yet this is a beautiful evening for the triumph of a great -poet." - -With an all-comprehensive glance, she looked around at all the beauty -of this last twilight of September. In the dark wells of her eyes were -reflected the circles of light made by the oar as it flashed in the -water, which was illuminated by the glittering angels that shone from -afar on the campaniles of San Marco and San Giorgio Maggiore. - -"As always," she went on, in her sweetest tones, "as always, everything -is in your favor. On such an evening as this, what mortal could shut -out from his mind the dreams that you may choose to evoke by the magic -of your words? Do you not feel already that the multitude is well -disposed to receive your revelation?" - -Thus, delicately, she flattered her friend; thus she pleased herself by -exalting him with continual praise. - -"It is impossible to imagine a more magnificent and unique festival -than this, to persuade so disdainful a poet as you to come forth from -his ivory tower. For you was reserved this rare joy; to communicate -for the first time with the people in a sovereign place like the Hall -of the Greater Council, from the platform where once the Doge harangued -the assembled patricians, with the _Paradiso_ of Tintoretto for a -background, and overhead the _Gloria_ of Veronese." - -Stelio Effrena looked long and searchingly into her eyes. - -"Do you wish to intoxicate me?" he said, with a sudden laugh. "Your -words remind me of the soothing cup offered to a man on his way to the -scaffold. Ah, well, my friend, it is true: I own that my heart quails a -little." - -The sound of applause rose from the Traghetto di San Gregorio, -echoed through the Grand Canal, reverberating among the porphyry and -serpentine discs ornamenting the ancient mansion of the Dario, which -now leaned over slightly, like a decrepit courtesan loaded with her -jewels. - -The royal barge passed. - -"There is the one person among your audience whom etiquette demands -that you shall crown with some of your flowers of oratory," pursued the -charming flatterer, alluding to the Queen. "I believe that, in one of -your earlier books, you own to a taste and respect for ceremonials. One -of your most extraordinary flights of fancy is that description of a -day of Charles the Second, King of Spain." - -When the royal barge passed the gondola, the man and the woman saluted -it. The Queen, recognizing the poet, the author of _Persephone_, -and the distinguished tragic actress, turned to gaze at them with a -movement of instinctive curiosity. She was blonde and rosy, and her -face was lighted by her ever-ready smile, as she looked out from the -cloud of creamy Buranesi laces clinging around her shoulders. Beside -her sat Andriana Duodo, the patroness of Burano, where, on that -industrious little island, she cultivated flax, and raised the most -marvelous old-fashioned flowers. - -"Does it not seem to you that the smiles of those two women are so -similar as to be twin-like?" said La Foscarina, gazing at the silvery -ripples in the wake of the barge, wherein the double light seemed to -prolong its self. - -"The Countess has a magnificent and ingenuous soul--one of those -rare Venetian spirits that preserve their warmth, as their ancient -paintings retain their vivid color," said Stelio, earnestly, as if -in gratitude. "I have an absolute devotion for her sensitive hands. -They fairly quiver with pleasure when they touch rare lace or rich -velvet, lingering over the texture with a grace that seems almost shy -of betraying such voluptuous joy in mere touch. One day, when I had -accompanied her to the gallery of the Academia, she stopped before -the _Massacre des Innocents_ by the first Bonifazio. You recollect, -of course, the green robe of the prostrate woman that one of Herod's -soldiers is about to kill--a thing impossible to forget! She paused -long before it, seeming fairly to radiate from her own person the -perfect joy that filled her senses; then she said to me, 'Let us leave -this place now, Effrena! Take me away, but I must leave my eyes on -that robe--I cannot look at anything more!' Ah, do not smile at her, -dear friend! She was perfectly simple and sincere in saying that: she -really did leave her spiritual vision behind her on that bit of canvas -which Art, with a touch of color, has made the center of an infinitely -pleasurable mystery. Besides, it was really a blind woman that I -accompanied there, but I was suddenly seized with reverence for the -privileged soul for whom the magic of color had power to abolish for -the moment all memory of commonplace life, and to cut off all other -worldly communication. What should you call such a state of mind? A -filling of life's goblet to the brim, it seems to me. It is exactly -what I should like to do to-night, if I were not discouraged." - -A new clamor, louder and more prolonged, rose between the two guardian -columns of granite, as the royal barge approached the bank of the -Piazzetta, now black with the waiting throng. During the slight pause -that followed, the movement of the crowd shifted, like the changing of -eddies in a current, and all the galleries of the Palace of the Doges -were filled with a confused buzzing, like the mysterious murmur within -a sea-shell. Suddenly the buzz rose to a shout, rending the clear air -and finally dying away in the gathering twilight. The multitude seemed -to realize the divinity of that poetic hour, amid those incomparable -surroundings; and perhaps, in its acclaim to youthful royalty and -beauty, it expressed a vague longing to forget its prosaic existence, -and to revel in the gift of eternal poetry with which its storied walls -and waters were endowed. - -"Do you know, Perdita," Stelio suddenly exclaimed, "of any other place -in the world that possesses, like Venice, at certain times, the power -to stimulate all the forces of human life by the exaltation of all -desires to a feverish intensity? Do you know of any more irresistible -temptress?" - -She whom he called Perdita did not reply; she bent her head as if from -desire to concentrate her thoughts; but through all her being she felt -the indefinable thrill always felt at the sound of the voice of her -friend when it revealed the vehemence and passionate soul toward which -this woman was drawn by a mingling of love and terror that had no limit. - -"Peace! Oblivion! Do you find them down there, at the end of that -deserted canal, when you go home exhausted and fevered after inhaling -the commingled breath of the crowd that you are able to rouse to wild -enthusiasm by a single gesture? As for myself, when I float on these -dead waters, I feel my vital powers increase with bewildering rapidity; -at certain times my brain seems on fire, as if I were in delirium." - -"The flame and the power are within yourself, Stelio," said La -Foscarina almost humbly, without raising her eyes. - -He was silent, absorbed. Poetic imagery and impetuous music took form -within his brain, as if by virtue of some magic fecundation; and his -spirit reveled in the unexpected delight of that flood of inspiration. - -It was still that hour which, in one of his books, he had called -"Titian's hour," because all things glowed with a rich golden light, -like the nude figures of that great painter, appearing almost to -illumine the sky rather than to receive light from it. - -"Perdita," said the poet, who, at the sight of so many things -multiplying their beauties around him, was conscious of a kind of -intellectual ecstasy, "does it not seem to you that we are following -the funeral train of the dead Summer? There she lies in her funereal -barge, robed in golden draperies, like a Doge's wife, like a Loredana, -a Morosina, or a Soranza of the golden age; and her cortège conducts -her toward the Isle of Murano, where some lord of the flames will place -her in a coffin of opaline crystal, so that, submerged in the waters of -the lagoon, she can, at least, through her transparent eyelids, behold -the supple movement of the seaweed, and thus fancy herself enwrapped in -the undulating tresses of her own hair, while waiting for the sun of -resurrection to dawn." - -A spontaneous smile spread over La Foscarina's face, born in her eyes, -which glowed as if they really had beheld the vision of the beautiful -dead. - -"Do you know, Perdita," resumed Stelio, after a moment's pause, during -which both gazed at a file of small boats filled with fruit, floating -upon the water like great baskets, "do you know anything about a -particularly pretty detail in the chronicles of the Doges? The Doge's -wife, to meet the expenses of her robes of ceremony, enjoyed a certain -percentage of the tax on fruit. Does not this seem delightfully -appropriate? The fruits of these isles clothed her in gold and crowned -her with pearls! Pomona paying tribute to Arachne! an allegory that -Paolo Veronese might well have painted on the dome of the Vestiario. -When I conjure up the figure of the noble lady, tall and erect in her -high, jeweled buskins, it pleases me to think that something fresh -and rustic is connected with the rich folds of her heavy brocade: -the tribute of the fruits. What a savor this seems to add to her -magnificence! Only fancy, my friend, that these figs and grapes of the -new-come Autumn are the price of the golden robe that covers the dead -Summer." - -"What delightful fancies, Stelio!" said La Foscarina, whose face -became young again when she smiled, as a child to whom one shows a -picture-book. "Who was it that once called you the Image-maker?" - -"Ah--images!" said the poet, his fancy warming. "In Venice, just as one -feels everything to a musical rhythm, so he thinks of everything in -poetic imagery. They come to us from everywhere, innumerable, diverse, -more real and living to our minds than the persons we elbow in these -narrow streets. In studying them, we can lose ourselves in the depths -of their haunting eyes, and divine, by the curve of their lips, what -they would say to us. Some art tyrannical as imperious mistresses, and -hold us long beneath the yoke of their power. Others are enfolded in a -veil, like timid virgins, or are tightly swaddled, like infants; and -only he that knows how to rend their veils can lead them to the perfect -life. This morning, when I awakened, my soul was filled with images; -it was like a beautiful tree with its branches laden with chrysalides." - -He paused, with a laugh. - -"If they come forth from their prison to-night," he added, "I am saved; -if they do not, I am lost!" - -"Lost?" said La Foscarina, gazing earnestly at him, with eyes so full -of confidence that his heart went out to her in gratitude. "No, Stelio, -you will not lose yourself. You are always sure of yourself; you -bear your own destiny in your hands. I think your mother never could -have felt any apprehension on your account, even in the most serious -circumstances. Is not that true? Pride is the only thing that makes -your heart falter." - -"Ah, sweet friend, how I love you--how I thank you for saying that!" -said the poet frankly, taking her hand. "You continually foster my -pride and encourage me to believe that I have already acquired those -virtues to which I never cease to aspire. Sometimes you seem to have -the power of conferring I know not what divine quality on the things -that are born in my soul, and of making them appear adorable in my -own eyes. Sometimes, too, you fill me with the awe-struck wonder of -the sculptor who, having in the evening borne to the sacred temple -the marble gods still warm from his hands--I might say still clinging -to the fingers that moulded them--the next day beholds them standing -on their pedestals, surrounded by clouds of incense, and seeming to -exhale divinity from every pore of the insensate matter from which -he fashioned them with his perishable hands. And so, each time that -Fortune grants me the favor of being near you, I realize that you are -necessary to my life, although, during our long separations, I can -live without you, and you without me, despite the fact that both of -us well know what splendors would be born of the perfect union of our -lives. Thus, knowing the full value of that which you give me, and, -still more, of that which you could give me, I think of you as lost to -me; and, by that name which it pleases my fancy to call you, I try to -express at the same time this consciousness and this regret." - -He interrupted himself, because he felt a quiver of the hand he clasped -in his own. - -"When I call you 'Perdita,'" he resumed softly, after a pause, "I fancy -that you can see my desire approaching you, with a deadly blade deep in -its palpitating side. Even should it reach you, the chill of death has -already touched its audacious hand." - -The woman experienced an oft-felt suffering as she listened to the -poetic words that flowed from her friend's lips with a spontaneity that -proved them sincere. Again she felt an agitation and a terror that she -knew not how to define. She felt that she was slipping out of her own -life, and was transported into a kind of fictitious life, intense and -hallucinating, where even to breathe was difficult. Drawn into that -atmosphere, as fiery as the glow surrounding a lighted forge, she felt -that she should be capable of passing through any transfigurations that -it might please the master of her spirit to work in her to satisfy his -continual craving for poetry and beauty. She comprehended that, in his -idealistic mind, her own image resembled that of the dead Summer, -wrapped in its opalescent cerements. She felt a childish desire to gaze -into the poet's eyes as in a mirror, to contemplate the likeness of her -real self. - -That which rendered her melancholy most painful, was the recognition of -a vague resemblance between this agitation and the anxiety that always -possessed her when she sank her own personality in that of some sublime -creation of dramatic art. Was not this man drawing her, in fact, into -a similar region of higher but artificial life; and, that she might -figure there without remembrance of her everyday self, did he not seek -to cover her with a splendid disguise? But, while she was unable to -maintain so great a degree of intensity except by a painful effort, she -knew that he dwelt within that state of exaltation with perfect ease, -as if in his natural atmosphere, ceaselessly enjoying a marvelous world -of fancy, which he could renew or change at his own pleasure. - -He had come to realize in himself the intimate union of art and -of life, thus finding, in the depths of his own soul, a source of -perpetual harmony. He had become able to maintain within himself, -without lapse, the mysterious psychological condition that engenders -works of beauty, and thus, at a single stroke, to crystallize into -ideal types the fleeting figures of his varied existence. It was to -celebrate this conquest over his own mental powers that he put the -following words into the mouth of one of his heroes: "I witnessed -within myself the continual genesis of a higher life, wherein all -appearances metamorphosed themselves as if reflected in a magic -mirror." Endowed with an extraordinary linguistic facility, he could -instantly translate into words the most complicated workings of his -mind, with a precision so exact and vivid that sometimes, as soon -as expressed, they seemed not to be his own, having been rendered -objective by the isolating power of style. His clear and penetrating -voice, which, so to speak, seemed to define each word as distinctly -as if it were a note of music, enhanced still more this peculiar -quality of his speech, so that those who heard him speak for the -first time experienced an ambiguous feeling--a mingling of admiration -and aversion, because he revealed his own personality in a manner so -strongly marked that it seemed to denote an intention to demonstrate -the existence of a profound and impassable difference between himself -and his listeners. But as his sensibility equaled his intelligence, it -was easy for those that knew him well and liked him to absorb, through -his crystalline speech, the glow of his vehement and passionate soul. -These knew how illimitable was his power to feel and to dream, and from -what fiery source sprang the beautiful images into which he converted -the substance of his inner life. - -She whom he called Perdita knew it well; and, as a pious soul awaits -from God some supernatural help that shall work out its salvation, so -she seemed to be waiting for him to put her into the state of grace -necessary to enable her to elevate and maintain herself in those -fiery regions toward which a mad desire to be consumed impelled her, -despairing as she was at the thought of her vanished youth, and the -fear of finding herself left alone at last in a desert of ashes. - -"It is you now, Stelio," she said, with the slight smile she used to -hide her sadness, "who wish to intoxicate me." She gently drew her hand -from his. Then, to break the spell, she pointed to a loaded barge that -was slowly approaching them, and said: - -"Look! Look at your pomegranates!" - -But her voice shook a little. - -Then, in the dreamy twilight, on the water as silvery-green as the -leaves of the willow, they watched the passing boat overflowing with -that emblematic fruit which suggests things rich and hidden: caskets -of red leather, surmounted by the crown of a royal donor; some closed, -others half-open, revealing their close-packed gems. - -In a low tone, the tragic actress repeated the words addressed by Hades -to Persephone in the sacred drama, at the moment when the daughter of -Demeter tastes the fatal pomegranate: - - _Quando tu coglierai il colchico in fiore su'l molle - Prato terrestre, presso la madre dal cerulo peplo._ - -"Ah, Perdita! how well you know how to throw a shadow into your voice!" -interrupted the poet, feeling the harmony of the twilight that seemed -to throw a mystic vagueness over the syllables of his lines. "How well -you know how to become nocturnal, even before the evening is upon us! -Do you recall the scene where Persephone is on the point of throwing -herself into Erebus, to the wailing of the chorus of the Oceanides? -Her face is like yours when a shadow passes over it. Her crowned head -leans backward, as she stands rigidly erect in her saffron-colored -peplum; and the very spirit of the night seems flowing into her -bloodless flesh, deepening under her chin, in the hollows of her eyes -and around her nostrils, giving her face the look of a tragic mask. -It is your mask, Perdita! While I was composing my _Mystery_, the -remembrance of you aided me in evoking her divine person. That little -saffron-velvet ribbon you so often wear around your neck gave me the -note for Persephone's peplum. And one evening at your house, when I -was about to take leave of you at the threshold of a room where the -lamps were not yet lighted--an agitated evening of last autumn, you -remember?--you succeeded, with a single movement, in bringing to full -light in my being the creature that had lain long there undeveloped; -and then, without dreaming that you had brought about that sudden -birth, you shut yourself again within the solitary obscurity of your -own Erebus. Ah, I was certain that I could hear you sob, yet a torrent -of uncontrollable joy ran through my veins. I never have spoken to you -of this before, have I? I ought to have consecrated my work to you, as -to an ideal Lucina." - -She shrank under the eyes of the master of her spirit; she suffered -because of that mask which he admired on her face, and because of that -strange joy that she was aware was continually up-springing within him, -like a perpetually playing fountain. She felt oppressed by her own -personality; troubled because of her too-expressive face, the muscles -of which possessed a strange power of mimicry; pained to think of -that involuntary art which governed the significance of her gestures, -and of that expressive shadow which sometimes on the stage, during a -moment of anxious silence, she knew how to throw over her face like a -veil of grief--that shadow which now threatened to remain among the -lines traced by time on the face that was no longer young. She suffered -cruelly by the hand she adored--that hand so delicate and noble which, -even with a gift or a caress, had power to hurt her. - -"Do you not believe, Perdita," Stelio continued after another pause, -"in the occult beneficence of signs? I do not mean astral science or -horoscopic signs. I mean that, like those that believe themselves -under the influence of one planet or another, we can create an ideal -correspondence between our own soul and some terrestrial object, in -such a way that this object, becoming impregnated, little by little, -with the essence of ourselves, and being magnified by our illusion, -finally becomes for us the representative sign of our unknown destiny, -and takes on an aspect of mystery when it appears to us in certain -crises of our life. This is the secret whereby we may restore to our -withering hearts something of their pristine freshness. I know by -experience the beneficial effect we may derive from intense communion -with some earthly object. From time to time it is necessary for our -natures to become like a hamadryad, in order to feel within us the -circulation of new energy drawn from the source of life. Of course -you understand that I am thinking of your words just now, when the -boat passed. You expressed the same idea when you said 'Look at -your pomegranates!' For you, and for everyone that loves me, the -pomegranate never can be anything but _mine_. For you and for them, -the idea of my personality is indissolubly linked to that fruit which -I have chosen for an emblem, and which I have charged with significant -ideals, more numerous than its seeds. Had I lived in the times when -men excavated the Grecian marbles and found under the soil the still -damp roots of ancient fables, no painter could have represented me on -his canvas without putting in my hand the Punic apple. To sever from -my person that symbol would have seemed to the ingenuous artist like -the amputation of a living member, for, to his pagan imagination, the -fruit would have seemed to grow to my hand as to its natural branch. -In short, he would not have conceived me in any different way than he -thought of Hyacinthus or Narcissus or Ciparissus, all three of whom -would appear to him as youths symbolized by a plant. But, even in our -day, a few lively and warm imaginations exist that comprehend all the -meaning and enjoy all the savor of my invention. - -"You, yourself, Perdita, do you not delight in cultivating in your -garden a pomegranate, the beautiful 'Effrenian' tree, that you may -every summer watch me blossom and bring forth fruit? In one of your -letters, flying to me like a winged messenger, you described to me -the graceful ceremony of decorating the tree with garlands the day -you received the first copy of _Persephone_. So, for you, and for -those that love me, I have in reality renewed an ancient myth when, -in fancy, I have assimilated myself with a form of eternal Nature. -And when I am dead (and may Nature grant that I am able to manifest -my whole self in my work before I die!), my disciples will honor me -under a symbol of that tree; and in the sharp outline of the leaf, in -the flame of the flower, and in the hidden treasure of the ripe fruit, -they will recognize certain qualities of my art. By that leaf, by that -flower and fruit, as if by a posthumous teaching of the master, their -minds will be formed to a similar sharpness, flame-like intensity, and -treasured richness. - -"You will see now, Perdita, what is the real beneficence of symbols. -By affinity, I am led to develop myself in accord with the magnificent -genius of the plant which it pleases me to fancy as the symbol of my -aspirations toward a full, rich life. This arboreous image of myself -suffices to assure me that my powers should follow nature in order -to attain naturally the end for which they were created. 'Nature -has disposed me thus' is the epigraph of Leonardo da Vinci, which I -placed on the title-page of my first book; and the pomegranate, as it -continually blossoms and bears its fruit, repeats to me that simple -phrase over and over again. We obey only the laws written in our own -substance, and by reason of this we shall remain intact in the midst of -dissolution, in the unity and plenitude that make our joy. No discord -exists between my art and my life." - -He spoke with perfect freedom, as if the mind of the listening woman -were a chalice into which he poured his thoughts till it was full to -the brim. An intellectual felicity filled him, blended with a vague -consciousness of the mysterious action whereby his mind was preparing -itself for the effort it was soon to make. From time to time, as if -by a lightning flash, his mental vision beheld, as he bent toward his -beloved friend and listened to the beat of the oar in the silence of -the great estuary, the crowd, with its thousand faces, gathering in the -vast hall; and he felt a rapid throbbing of his heart. - -"It is a very singular thing, Perdita," said he, gazing at the pale -distance of the waters, "to observe how readily chance aids our -imagination in ascribing an element of mystery to the conjunction of -certain appearances with the aim we have fancied. I do not understand -the reason why the poets of to-day are so indignant at the vulgarity -of the present, and complain that they were born either too late -or too early. I am convinced that to-day, as always, every man of -intelligence has power to create for himself his own beautiful fable -of life. We should study the confused whirl of life with the same -lively imagination that Leonardo encouraged in his disciples when -he advised them to study the stains on the wall, the ashes on the -hearth, the clouds, even mud, and similar objects, in order to find -there 'wonderful inventions' and 'infinite things.' In the same way, -he declared, one can find in the sound of bells every name and every -word that can be imagined. That great master knew well that chance--as -the sponge of Apelles had already shown--is always the friend of the -ingenious artist. For example, I never cease to be astonished at the -ease and grace with which chance favors the harmonious development of -my inventions. Do you not believe that the dark god Hades forced his -bride to eat the seven seeds of the pomegranate in order to furnish me -with the subject of a masterpiece?" - -He interrupted himself with one of the bursts of boyish laughter that -revealed so clearly the persistence of natural joyousness in the depths -of his heart. - -"See, Perdita," he continued, still laughing, "whether I am not -right. Early in October last year I was invited to Burano by Donna -Andriana Duodo. We passed the morning in her flax-fields, and in the -afternoon we went to visit Torcello. At that time I was beginning to -saturate myself with the mythical story of Persephone, and already my -poem had begun to take shape in my brain, and it seemed to me that I -was floating on the waters of the Styx, and that I should arrive at -the abode of the Manes. Never had I experienced a purer and sweeter -understanding of death, and this feeling seemed to render me so -ethereal that I fancied I could tread the field of asphodel without -leaving there the least trace of my footsteps. The air was damp, warm, -the sky was gray; the canals wound between the banks covered with -half-faded verdure. (You know Torcello only by sunlight, perhaps.) But -all this time some one was talking, arguing, and declaiming in Charon's -boat. The sound of praise roused me from my reverie. Francesco di Lizo -was speaking of me, regretting that such an artist, so magnificently -sensual--I quote his own words--should be obliged to live apart from -the obtuse and hostile throng, and to celebrate the feast of sound, -color, and form in the solitary palace of his dream. He abandoned -himself to a lyric impulse, recalling the joyous and splendid life -of the Venetian painters, the popular favor that swept them, like a -whirlwind, up to the heights of the glory, beauty, strength and joy -which they multiplied around them in producing countless images on -walls and domes. - -"Then Donna Andriana said: 'Well, I promise solemnly that Stelio -Effrena shall have his triumphal feast in Venice.' The Dogaressa had -spoken! At that moment I beheld, on the low, mossy bank, a pomegranate -laden with fruit, which, like the hallucination of a vision, broke -the infinite squalor of that place. Donna Orsetta Contarini, who was -sitting beside me, uttered a cry of delight, and held out her hands, as -impatient as her lips. Nothing pleases me so much as a frank, strong -expression of desire. 'I adore pomegranates!' she cried, and she seemed -fairly to be tasting its fine, sharp flavor. She was as childish as -her name is archaic. Her cry moved me; but Andrea Contarini appeared -severely to disapprove of his wife's vivacity. He seemed to me like a -Hades that has little faith in the mnemonic virtue of the seven seeds -as applied to legitimate marriage. But the boatmen, too, were stirred -with sympathy, and rowed toward the shore, approaching it so close that -I was able to jump out first, and I began at once to despoil the tree, -my brother. It was another case, albeit from the lips of a pagan of the -words of the Last Supper: 'Take, eat, this is my body, which is given -for you. Do this in remembrance of me.' How does this seem to you, -Perdita? Do not think that I am inventing this story. I assure you it -is true." - -La Foscarina allowed herself to be fascinated by the free and elegant -fancy whereby he exercised the quickness of his wit and his facility -of expression. In his words was something intoxicating, variable, and -vigorous, which suggested to her mind the double and diverse image of -water and of fire. - -"Now," he continued, "Donna Andriana has kept her promise. Guided by -that hereditary taste for magnificence which she shows so plainly, -she has prepared a truly ducal feast in the Palace of the Doges, -in imitation of those that were held there toward the end of the -sixteenth century. She conceived the idea of rescuing from oblivion -the _Ariadne_ of Benedetto Marcello, and of making her sigh in the -same place where Tintoretto painted the daughter of Minos receiving -the crown of stars from Aphrodite. Don't you recognize in the beauty -of this idea the woman who wished to leave her dear eyes behind her -on that ineffable green robe? Remember, too, that this _musicale_ in -the Hall of the Greater Council has a historic precedent. In fifteen -hundred seventy-three, in this same Hall, was performed a mythological -composition by Cornelio Frangipani, with music by Claudio Merulo, in -honor of his most Christian Majesty Henry Third. Own, Perdita, that my -erudition astonishes you. Ah, if you only knew all that I have learned -on that subject! I will read you my lecture on it, some day when you -deserve a severe punishment!" - -"What! Are you not to read it to-night at the festival?" inquired La -Foscarina in surprise, fearing that, with his well known heedlessness -of engagements, Effrena had resolved to disappoint the expectant public. - -He understood her anxiety, and chose to amuse himself with it. - -"This evening," he replied, with tranquil assurance, "I shall take -a sherbet in your garden, and delight my eyes with the sight of the -pomegranate, with its jewels gleaming in the starlight." - -"Ah, Stelio! What do you mean?" she cried, half rising. - -In her words and movement was so keen a regret, and at the same time -so strange an evocation of the expectant gathering, that his mind was -troubled. The image of the formidable monster with innumerable human -faces amid the gold and somber purple of the vast hall reappeared -before his mental vision; in fancy he felt its fixed regard and hot -breath. He realized also the peril he had resolved to face in trusting -only to the inspiration of the moment, and felt a horror of a possible -sudden mental obscurity, an unexpected confusion of his thought. - -"Reassure yourself," he said. "I was only jesting. I will go _ad -bestias_, and I will go unarmed. Did you not see the sign reappear just -now? Do you believe, after the miracle of Torcello, that it reappeared -in vain? It has come to warn me again that the only attitude that -suits me is the one to which Nature disposes me. Now, you well know, my -friend, that I do not know how to speak of anything but myself. And so, -from the throne of the Doges, I must speak to my listeners only of my -own soul, under the veil of some seductive allegory, with the charm of -flowing musical cadences. I purpose to do this extemporaneously, if the -fiery spirit of Tintoretto will only inspire me, from the heights of -his Paradise, with sufficient ardor and audacity. The risk tempts me. -But into what a strange error I was about to fall, Perdita! When the -Dogaressa announced the feast to me, and begged me to do the honors, -I undertook to compose a dignified discourse, a really ceremonious -effort in prose, ample and solemn as one of those great robes of state -behind glass in the Correr Museum; not without making in the exordium a -profound genuflexion to the Queen; nor omitting to weave an impressive -garland for the head of the most serene Andriana Duodo! And for -several days it has given me a curious pleasure to dwell in spiritual -communion with a Venetian patrician of the sixteenth century, a master -of letters like Cardinal Bembo, a member of the Academy Uracini or -Adorni, a frequent visitor to the gardens of Murano and the hills of -Asolo. Certain it is that I felt a marked resemblance between the turn -of my periods and the massive gold frames that surround the paintings -on the ceiling of the Hall of Council. But, alas! yesterday morning, -when I arrived here, and, in passing along the Grand Canal, when I -wished to steep my weariness in the damp, transparent shade where the -marble still exhales the spirit of the night, I had a sudden impression -that my papers were worth much less than the dead seaweed tossed by -the tide, and they seemed as strange to me as the _Trionfi_ of Celio -Magno and the _Favole Marittime_ of Anton Maria Consalvi, quoted and -commented on in them by me. What should I do, then?" - -He threw around him an all-sweeping glance, as if exploring the waters -and the sky in search of an invisible presence, or a newly arrived -phantom. A yellowish light spread toward the solitary shores, which -stood out in sharp lines like the dark veins in agate. Behind him, -toward the Salute, the sky was scattered with light rosy and violet -ribbon-like clouds, giving it the appearance of a glaucous sea, peopled -with Medusas. From the gardens near the water descended the odor of -foliage saturated with light and heat--an odor so heavy one might -almost see it float on the waves like aromatic oil. - -"Do you feel the Autumn, Perdita?" Stelio asked his dreamy friend, in a -penetrating voice. - -Again she had a vision of the dead Summer, enclosed within opalescent -glass and sunk among the masses of seaweed. - -"Yes, I feel it--within myself!" she replied, with a melancholy smile. - -"Did you not see it last night, when it descended upon the city? Where -were you last night, at sunset?" - -"In a garden of the Giudecca." - -"I was here, on the Riva. When human eyes have contemplated such a -spectacle of joy and beauty, does it not seem to you that the eyelids -should close and seal themselves forever? I should like to speak -to-night, Perdita, of these hidden, secret matters. I should like to -celebrate within myself the nuptials of Venice and Autumn, in almost -the same tonality that Tintoretto used when he painted the nuptials of -Ariadne and Bacchus for the hall of the Anticollegio--azure, purple and -gold. Last night an old germ of poetry suddenly blossomed in my soul. -I recalled a fragment of a forgotten poem that I wrote when I began -to write in _nona rima_, one September in my early youth, when I had -come by sea to Venice for the first time. The title of the poem was -simply 'The Allegory of Autumn,' and the god was no longer represented -as crowned with vine-leaves, but with jewels, like one of Paolo -Veronese's princes, his being aglow with passion, about to approach -the Anadyomenean City, with her arms of marble and her thousand green -girdles. But the idea had not at that time reached the right degree -of intensity to be admitted to the realm of Art, and instinctively I -gave up the effort to manifest it in its entirety. But, in an active -mind, as in a fertile soil, no seed is lost; and now this idea returns -to me at an opportune moment and urgently demands expression. What a -just and mysterious fatality governs the mental world! It was necessary -that I should respect that first germ in order to feel its multiplied -virtues develop in me to-day. That Vinci, who looked deep into all -things profound, certainly meant something of this kind in his fable of -the grain of millet that says to the ant: 'If you will be kind enough -to let me satisfy my desire to be born again, I will render myself to -you again a hundredfold.' Admire the touch of grace in those fingers -capable of breaking iron! Ah, he is always the incomparable master! How -can I forget him for a time, that I may give myself to the Venetians?" - -The playful irony with which he had been speaking was suddenly -extinguished in his last words, and again he seemed plunged in his own -thoughts. - -"It is already late; the hour approaches; we must return," he said -presently, rousing himself as if from a troubled dream, for he had seen -reappear that formidable monster with the thousand human faces filling -the depth and width of the great hall. "I must go back to the hotel in -time to dress." - -Then, with a return of his boyish vanity, he thought of the eyes of the -unknown women who would see him that evening for the first time. - -"To the Hotel Danieli," La Foscarina said to the boatman. - -While the dentellated iron of the prow swung around on the water, with -a slow, animal-like movement, each felt a sadness different but equally -painful at leaving behind them the infinite silence of the estuary, -already overcome by darkness and death, and being compelled to return -toward the magnificent and tempting city, whose canals, like the veins -of a full-blooded woman, began to burn with the fever of night. - -They were quiet for some time, absorbed by their interior agitation, -which shook each heart to it depths. And all things around them exalted -the power of life in the man who wished to attract to himself the -universe in order not to die, and in the woman, who would have thrown -her oppressed soul to the flames in order to die pure. - -Both started at the unexpected sound of the salute at the lowering of -the flag on board a man-of-war anchored before the gardens. At the -summit of the black mass they saw the tricolored flag slide down the -staff and fold itself up, like a heroic dream that suddenly vanishes. -For a moment the silence seemed deeper, and the gondola glided into -darker shadows, grazing the side of the armed colossus. - -"Do you know that Donatella Arvale who is to sing in _Ariadne_?" said -Stelio suddenly. - -"She is the daughter of the great sculptor, Lorenzo Arvale," La -Foscarina replied, after an instant of hesitation. "I have no dearer -friend than she--and in fact she is my guest at present. You will meet -her at my house this evening, after the festival." - -"Donna Andriana spoke to me of her last night as a prodigy. She said -that the idea of resurrecting _Ariadne_ had come to her on hearing -Donatella Arvale sing divinely the air: _Come mai puoi--Vedermi -piangere?_ We shall have some divine music at your house, Perdita. Oh, -how I long to hear it! Below there, in my solitude, for months and -months, I hear only the music of the sea, which is too terrible, and my -own music, which is too tumultuous." - -The bells of San Marco gave the signal for the Angelus, and their -powerful notes spread in great waves of sound over the water, -vibrating among the masts of the vessels, and creeping out upon the -infinite reach of the lagoon. From San Giorgio Maggiore, San Giorgio -dei Greci, San Giorgio degli Schiavoni, San Giovanni in Bragora, -and San Moisé, from the Salute, the Redentore, and beyond, over the -entire domain of the Evangelista, to the distant towers of the Madonna -dell' Orto, San Giobbe and Sant' Andrea, tongues of bronze responded, -mingling in one great chorus, seeming to extend over the silent stones -and waters a single immense and invisible dome of metal, the vibration -of which might almost reach the first sparkling stars. Those sacred -voices seemed to lend to the City of Silence an ideal and infinite -grandeur. - -"Can you still pray?" said Stelio in a softened voice, looking at the -woman who, with eyes downcast, and hands clasped on her knees, seemed -absorbed in a silent orison. - -She did not reply; she only pressed her lips together more closely. - -The minds of both were confused by the strange, the new image, and the -new name, that had risen between them. Perturbation and passion seized -them again, drew them near each other with such force that they dared -not look into each other's eyes, for fear of what might be read there. - -"Shall I see you again this evening, after the festival?" said La -Foscarina, with a slight unsteadiness in her voice. "Are you free?" - -She was eager now to hold him, to make him her prisoner, as if she -feared he would escape her, as if she had hoped to find this night -some magic philter that would bind him to her forever. And, though -she comprehended now that the gift of all she had to give had become -necessary, she realized only too clearly, nevertheless, even through -the intoxication that bewildered her, the poverty of the gift so long -withheld. And a mournful modesty, a mingling of terror and pride, -contracted her slender frame. - -"I am free--and I am yours!" the young man answered in a half whisper, -without raising his eyes to hers. "You know that nothing is worth to me -what you can give." - -His heart, too, was stirred to its depths, with the two aims before his -ambition toward which, this night, all his energy bent, like a powerful -bow: the city and the woman, both tempting and mysterious, weary with -having lived too much, and oppressed with too many loves; both were too -much magnified by his imagination, and both were destined to disappoint -his hopes. - -In the moment that followed, a violent wave of mingled regret and -desire swept over him. The pride and intoxication of his hard, -persistent labor; his boundless ambition, which had been curbed within -a sphere too narrow for it; his intolerance of mediocrity, his demand -for the privileges of princes; his superb and empurpled dreams; his -insatiable need of preëminence, glory, pleasure--surged in his soul -with a confusing tumult, dazzling and suffocating him. And the craving -of his sadness inclined him to win the final love of this solitary, -nomadic woman, the very folds of whose garments seemed to suggest -the frenzy of the far-off multitudes, whom she had so often thrilled -and shaken with her art, by a cry of passion, a sob of grief, or a -death-like silence. An irresistible impulse drew him toward this woman, -in whom he fancied he saw the traces of all emotions and experiences, -toward that being, no longer young, who had known so many caresses, yet -was unknown by him. - -"Is it a promise?" he murmured, bowing his head lower to conceal his -agitation. "Ah! at last!" - -She made no reply, but fixed on him a gaze of almost mad intensity, -which he did not see. - -They relapsed into silence again, while the reverberation of the bells -passing overhead was so penetrating that they felt it in the roots of -the hair, as from a quiver of their own flesh. - -"Good-by," said La Foscarina, as they were landing. "When we leave the -hall, let us meet in the courtyard, near the second well, the nearest -to the Molo." - -"Good-by," he answered. "Take some place where I may see you, among the -crowd, when I speak my first word." - -A confused clamor arose from San Marco, above the sound of the bells, -spread over the Piazzetta, and died away toward the Fortuna. - -"May all light be on your brow, Stelio!" said La Foscarina, holding out -her burning hands to him passionately. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - THE FACE OF TRUTH - - -When he entered the court by the south door, Stelio Effrena, seeing the -black and white throng that swarmed up the Giants' Stairway, in the -ruddy light of the torches fixed in the iron candelabra, felt a sudden -sensation of repugnance, and paused at the entrance. He noted the -contrast between this paltry crowd and the noble architecture which, -magnified by the unusual nocturnal illumination, expressed, by their -varied harmoniousness, the strength and the beauty of a day that was -past. - -"Oh, how miserable!" he exclaimed, turning to the friends that -accompanied him. "In the Hall of the Greater Council, from the throne -of the Doges, how is it possible to find metaphors that will move a -thousand starched shirt-bosoms? Let us go back; let us inhale the odor -of the real crowd, the true crowd. The Queen has not yet left the royal -palace. We have time enough." - -"Until the moment that I see you on the platform, I shall not feel sure -that you will really speak," said Francesco de Lizo, laughing. - -"I believe that Stelio would prefer the balcony to the platform," said -Piero Martello, wishing to flatter the master's taste for sedition, -and his factious spirit, which he himself affected, in imitation. -"He would like to harangue, between the two red columns, the mutinous -people who threatened to set fire to the new _Procuratie_ and the old -_Libreria_." - -"Yes, certainly," said Stelio, "if the harangue had power to prevent -or to precipitate an irreparable act. I hold that we use the written -word to create a pure form of beauty, which, even in an uncut book, -is enclosed and shut in, as in a tabernacle that may be entered only -by election, with the same premeditated will used in the breaking of -a seal. But the spoken word, it seems to me, when it is addressed -directly to a multitude, should have only action for its aim. On -this condition alone can a proud spirit, without lessening itself in -dignity, communicate with the masses by means of voice and gesture. -Otherwise, his effort becomes merely histrionic. And so I repent -bitterly of having accepted this function of an ornamental orator, who -must not speak unless he speaks agreeably. Consider, I ask you, how -humiliating for me is the honor that they think to do me, and consider -also the uselessness of my speech. All these people, strangers here, -have left their mediocre occupations, or their favorite amusements, -to come and listen to me with the same vain and stupid curiosity that -would lead them to listen to some new virtuoso. For the women that will -listen to me, the art with which I have tied my cravat will be much -more appreciated than the art with which I shall round my periods. And, -after all, the only effect of my speech will be a clapping of hands, -deadened by gloves, or a brief, discreet murmur, to which I shall -reply with a gracious inclination of the head. Does it seem to you that -I am about to attain the summit of my ambition?" - -"You are wrong," said Francesco de Lizo. "You should congratulate -yourself for this happy occasion, which will allow you, for several -hours, to impress the rhythm of art on the life of a forgetful city, -and to make us dream of the splendors that might embellish our -existence by a renewed union of Art with Life. If the man that built -the Teatro di Festa were there, he would praise you for that harmony -which he predicted. But the most wonderful thing about this affair is -the fact that, notwithstanding your absence, and your ignorance of the -project, the festival seems to have been prepared under the direct -inspiration of your genius. This is the best proof that it is possible -to restore and diffuse taste, even in the midst of the barbaric -present. Your influence to-day is more powerful than you think. The -lady who has desired to honor you--she that you call the Dogeressa--at -every new idea that came to her, asked herself: 'Would it please -Effrena?' If you only knew how many young and eager spirits put to -themselves to-day the same question, when they consider the aspects of -their inner life!" - -"And for whom should you speak, if not for them?" said Daniele Glauro, -the fervent and sterile ascetic of Beauty, with that melodious voice -which seemed to reflect the frank and inextinguishable ardor of the -soul beloved by the master as one of the most faithful. "If, when you -stand upon the platform, you will look about you, you will easily -recognize the expression in their eyes. There are many of them, and -some have come a long distance; they await your words with an eagerness -that you perhaps do not understand. They are those who have imbibed -the spirit of your poetry, who have breathed the fiery ether of your -dream, and felt the grip of your chimera; those to whom you have -announced the transfiguration of the world by the miracle of a new -art. The number that you have attracted as an apostle of hope and of -joy is very great. They have heard that you are to speak in Venice, -in the Ducal Palace--one of the most splendid and glorious places on -earth. They will be able to see you and listen to you for the first -time, surrounded by the magnificence that seems to them an appropriate -frame to your personality. The old Palace of the Doges, which has so -long been wrapped in nocturnal darkness, is suddenly illuminated and -aroused this night for you, and, to their minds, it is you alone that -have had the power to rekindle these long-extinguished torches. Do you -understand now the eagerness of their expectation? Does it not seem to -you that to them only you ought to speak? The condition you impose on -the man that harangues a multitude may be fulfilled. You can awaken an -emotion in their breasts that shall turn them forever toward the Ideal. -For how many of them, Stelio, you might make this Venetian night an -experience never to be forgotten!" - -Stelio laid his hand on the prematurely bent shoulders of the mystic -doctor, and, smiling, repeated Petrarch's words: "_Non ego loquar -omnibus, sed tibi, sed mihi, et his_." - -He saw within himself the radiant eyes of his unknown disciples, and -heard within his soul, in clear tones, the sound of his own exordium. - -"Nevertheless," he replied gayly, addressing Piero Martello, "it would -be amusing to conjure up a tempest on this sea." - -They were standing under the arch, near a column, in contact with the -noisy, unanimous crowd, which gathered in the Piazzetta, stretched out -toward the Zecca, was swallowed up near the _Procuratie_, barred the -Torre dell'Orologio, occupied every space like a wave without form, and -communicated its living warmth to the marble columns and the walls, -against which it surged in its violent movement. From time to time, a -louder cry arose from the distance, at the farther end of the Piazza, -swelling higher and stronger until it burst out near them like a clap -of thunder, then diminishing until it died away in a murmur. - -"I should like to-night to find myself for the first time with a woman -I loved, on a floating couch, over there, beyond the gardens, toward -the Lido," said the romantic poet, Paris Eglano, a blond, beardless -youth, whose handsome mouth, with its full red lips, contrasted with -the almost angelic delicacy of his other features. "Within an hour, -Venice will present to some Nero-like lover, hidden in a gondola, the -spectacle of a city set on fire by its own delirium." - -Stelio smiled, noting to what extent his intimates had become imbued -with his own spiritual essence, and how deep the seal of his own style -had stamped itself on their minds. Suddenly the image of La Foscarina -flashed across his mental vision: La Foscarina, poisoned by too much -art, remembering too many amatory experiences, with the stamp of -maturity and of corruption on her eloquent mouth, the aridity of the -vein fever that burned in those hands that pressed out the juices of -deceitful fruits, and the marks of a hundred masks on that face which -had simulated the fury of all mortal passions. Thus she appeared to his -ardent thought of her, and his heart throbbed faster as he pictured her -emerging soon from the multitude, as from some element that enslaved -her, and thought that from her glance he should draw the necessary -inspiration. - -"Come, let us go," said he resolutely to his friends. "It is the hour." - -The cannon announced that the Queen had left the royal palace. A -prolonged quiver ran through the living human mass, like that which -precedes a storm at sea. From the bank of San Giorgio Maggiore, a -rocket rushed up with a long hiss, rising in the air like a fiery -stem and bursting into a mass of pink splendor at the top; then it -curved, grew fainter, and dissolved in trembling sparks, extinguished -finally with a slight crackling in the water. And the joyous clamor -that greeted the beautiful Queen, repeating her name--the name of the -starry, white flower and of the pearl--evoked in Stelio's imagination -the pomp of the ancient Promissione, the triumphal procession of the -Arts escorting the new Dogaressa to the palace; the wave of joy on -which Morosina Grimani mounted to her throne, shimmering with gold, -while all the Arts bowed before her, laden with gifts as if they bore -horns of plenty. - -"Certainly," said Francesco de Lizo, "if the Queen loves your books, -she will wear all her pearls this evening. You will have before you a -veritable labyrinth of jewels--all the hereditary gems of the Venetian -patricians." - -"Look toward the foot of the stairway, Stelio," said Daniele Glauro. "A -group of devotees is waiting for you to pass that way." - -Stelio stopped at the well indicated by La Foscarina. He leaned over -the bronze edge, his knees touching the little carved caryatides, and -saw in the dark water the reflection of the stars. For the moment his -soul isolated itself, shut out the surrounding sounds, and withdrew -into the shadowy disc, from which rose a slight dampness betokening -the presence of water. His excited desire felt a need to attain even -greater intoxication than this night promised him, and he felt that in -the farthest depths of his being lay a secret soul, which, like this -dark, watery mirror, remained immovable, strange, and intangible. - -"What do you see there?" inquired Piero Martello, also leaning over the -rim, worn in places by the ropes of centuries. - -"The face of Truth!" the master answered. - - * * * * * - -In the apartments contiguous to the Hall of the Greater Council, once -occupied by the Doge, but now by the pagan statues that were seized -as booty in ancient wars, Stelio awaited the summons from the master -of the ceremonies to mount to the platform. He was quite calm, and -smiled on the friends that spoke to him, but their words reached his -ear between pauses, like interrupted sounds borne from afar by the -wind. From time to time, with an abrupt, involuntary movement, he drew -near to one of the statues, and ran his hand nervously over it, as if -seeking some weak spot, that he might break it; or he bent curiously -over some rare medal, as if to read on it some indecipherable sign. -But his eyes saw nothing of all this; they were turned within, where -the multiplied power of his will evoked the silent forms that his -voice would presently transform into the perfection of verbal music. -His whole being contracted itself in an effort to raise to the highest -degree of intensity the representation of the extraordinary feelings -that possessed him. Since he could speak only of himself, and of his -own universe, at least he would unite in one ideal figure the sovereign -qualities of his art, and show to his disciples by his genius for -imagery what an invincible force hastened him through this life. Once -more he intended to show them that, in order to obtain the victory -over men and circumstances, there is no other way than to persevere in -exalting oneself and to magnify one's own dream of beauty or of power. - -He bent over a medallion by Pisanello, feeling at his temples the -ardent, rapid pulsation of his thought. - -"See, Stelio," said Daniele Glauro to him, with that pious reverence -which veiled his voice whenever he spoke of his religion, "see how the -mysterious affinities of Art work upon you, and how an infallible -instinct leads you, amid so many forms, and at the very moment when -your thought is about to reveal itself, toward the example of the most -perfect expression, the highest model of style. At the very instant -of coining your own idea, you are led to study one of Pisanello's -medallions; you are attracted by the impression of one of the greatest -stylists that ever have lived in the world, the most frankly Hellenic -soul of the whole Renaissance. And suddenly your forehead is illumined -by a ray of light." - -The pure bronze bore the effigy of a young man with beautiful, waving -hair, an imperial profile and Apollo-like neck, and the head was so -perfect a type of elegance and vigor that the imagination could not -picture him in life except as free from all decadence and eternally -unchangeable, as the artist had presented him in this circle of -bronze.--_Dux equitum præstans Malatesta Novellus Cesenæ dominus. -Opus Pisani pictoris._--And beside it was another medallion by the -same artist, bearing the effigy of a virgin, with narrow chest, a -swan-like throat, and hair drawn back in the shape of a heavy bag; the -forehead, high and receding, seemed already to promise the aureole of -the blessed, and she was like a vase of purity sealed forever, hard, -precise, and limpid as a diamond, an adamantine pyx where the spirit, -consecrated like the Host, rested as a sacrifice.--_Cicilia Virgo, -filia Johannis Francesco primi Marchionis Mantuae._ - -"Here comes La Foscarina, with Donatella Arvale," announced Francesco -de Lizo, who had been watching the crowd that climbed the Censors' -Stairway and pressed into the vast hall. - -Again Stelio Effrena felt a wave of agitation sweep over him. The -murmur of the throng seemed to come from afar and mingle in his ears -with the throbbing of his arteries, and in this murmur he fancied he -heard once more the last words of Perdita. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - THE NUPTIALS OF AUTUMN AND VENICE - - -The murmur swelled louder, diminished, then ceased, as Stelio, with -firm, light movement, ascended the marble steps of the platform. As he -turned toward the audience, his dazzled eyes rested upon the formidable -monster with a thousand human faces, amid the gold and somber purple of -the immense hall. - -A sudden thrill of pride gave him complete self-control. He bowed -to the Queen and to Donna Andriano Duodo, who smiled upon him with -the same twin smiles he had seen from the gliding gondola on the -Grand Canal. He threw a keen glance toward the scintillating first -rows, seeking La Foscarina, then looked toward the farther end of -the hall, where only a dark zone, dotted with white spots, could be -distinguished. The silent, attentive multitude seemed to him like an -enormous, many-eyed chimera, its breast covered with glittering scales, -extending its black bulk under the arches of the rich, heavy ceiling -that hung over it like a suspended treasure. - -Dazzling was that chimeric breast, where sparkled necklaces that -must once have flashed their fires under the same ceiling on the -night of a coronation banquet. The tiara and the necklaces of the -Queen--the rows of pearls, like grains of light, somehow suggesting -the miraculous image of a smile just about to appear--the dark emeralds -of Andriano Duodo, taken long ago from the handle of a scimitar; -the rubies of Giustiniana Memo, set in the semblance of carnations -by the inimitable craftsmanship of Vettor Camelio; the sapphires of -Lucrezia Priuli, taken from the shoes in which the Most Serene Zilia -had walked to her throne on the day of her triumph; the beryls of -Orsetta Contarini, delicately set in dull gold by the art of Silvestro -Grifo; the turquoises of Zenobia Corner, bathed in a strange pallor -by the mysterious malady that, in a single night, changed them as -they lay on the warm breast of the Princess de Lusignan, among the -delights of Asolo--all the rich jewels that had illumined the nights -of the Anadyomenean city glowed with renewed fire on the breast of the -chimera, from which rose a moist odor of feminine breaths and many -perfumes. The rest of that strangely marked and shapeless body extended -to the rear of the hall, in a sort of long tail, passing between the -two gigantic spheres, which recalled to the memory of the "Image-maker" -the two bronze spheres that the monster with the bandaged eyes presses -with his paws in Giambellino's allegory. And this vast animal life, -devoid of all thought for the time before him who alone at that moment -must think, endowed with the inert fascination of enigmatic idols, -covered with its own silence as with a shield capable of receiving and -resisting any shock, awaited the first thrill of his dominating word. - -Stelio Effrena measured this silence, upon which his first syllable -must fall. While his voice was rising to his lips, an effort of -will summoning it and fortifying it against instinctive hesitation, -he perceived La Foscarina standing near the railing that encircled -the celestial sphere. The pale face of the tragic actress rose from -her bare neck, and the purity of her white shoulders was just above -the orbit of the zodiacal figures. Stelio admired the art of this -apparition. With his own eyes fixed upon those distant, adoring ones, -he began to speak slowly, as if the rhythm of the oars still lingered -in his ears. - -"One afternoon, not long ago, while I was returning from the gardens -along the warm bank of the Schiavoni, where the souls of poets -sometimes believe they see I know not what magic golden bridge spanning -a sea of light and silence toward a dream of infinite beauty, I -thought--or rather, I witnessed with my thoughts, as at some intimate -spectacle--of the nuptial alliance, under those skies, of Autumn and -Venice. - -"Everywhere was disseminated a spirit of life, arising from passionate -expectation and restrained ardor, which made me marvel at its -vehemence, but which seemed not altogether new to me; I had already -seen it in some shadowy zones, under the almost death-like immobility -of Summer; and sometimes I had felt it vibrating, like a mysterious -pulse, in the strange feverish odor of the water. Thus, I thought, it -is true, then, that this pure city of Art aspires to a supreme state -of beauty which for her returns annually, as the flowers return to the -forest. She tends to reveal herself in full harmony, as if always -she bore within her bosom, powerful and conscious, the same desire of -perfection from which she sprang and was formed throughout the ages, -like some divine creature. Under the motionless fire of Summer, she -seemed to palpitate no more, to breathe no more, but to lie dead in her -green waters. My feeling did not deceive me, however, when I fancied I -saw her secretly inspired by a spirit of life sufficient to renew the -most sublime of the ancient miracles. - -"That is what I thought, and what I saw. But how can I convey to -you that listen to me any idea of that vision of joy and beauty? No -sunrise, no sunset, could equal the glory of that hour of light on the -water and the marble. The unexpected apparition of the beloved woman -in a forest in springtime could not be as intoxicating as this sudden -revelation by daylight of the heroic and voluptuous city, which carries -in its marble embrace the richest dream of a Latin soul." - -The voice of the orator, clear, penetrating, almost icy at the -beginning, was suddenly warmed by the invisible sparks kindled within -him by the effort of improvisation, yet governed by the extreme nicety -of his ear. While his words flowed without hesitation, and the rhythmic -line of his periods set forth their beauty with the clearness of a -figure drawn at one stroke by a bold hand, his auditors were conscious -of the excessive tension of his mind, and it captivated them as one of -those terrifying feats at the circus, where all the herculean energies -of the athlete show the test by his quivering tendons and swelling -arteries. They felt the reality, the living warmth of the thought -thus expressed, and their pleasure was the greater because unexpected, -for most of his auditors had anticipated from this indefatigable -searcher after perfection the studied reading of a laboriously composed -discourse. His devotees observed with emotion this audacious test, as -if they saw before them, unveiled, the secret labor that had brought -forth the forms that had given them so much joy. And this first wave of -emotion, spreading by contagion, indefinitely multiplied and becoming -unanimous, returned to him who caused it, and seemed almost to overcome -him. - -This was the expected danger. Under the pressure of a wave so strong, -the speaker faltered. For a few seconds a thick cloud darkened his -brain; the light of his mind was extinguished, as a torch before an -irresistible wind; his eyes grew dim, as if he were about to faint. But -he felt how mortifying would be the shame of defeat if he yielded to -this seizure; and in that darkness, by a sort of effort of brute force, -or like the striking of steel on flint, his will rose in triumph over -the instinctive weakness. With glance and gesture, he directed the eyes -of the assemblage to the great masterpiece in the ceiling of that hall, -spreading there in a kind of sun-like radiance. - -"I am certain," he exclaimed, "that Venice appeared thus to Paolo -Veronese, when he sought within himself for an image of the Queen -triumphant." - -He explained the reason why the great master, after throwing upon his -canvas a profusion of gold, jewels, silks, purple, ermine, and all -imaginable richness, at last could represent the glorious face only in -the nimbus of a shadow. - -"We ought to exalt Veronese for that shadowy veil alone! Representing -by a human face the Queen of Cities, he yet knew how to express its -essential spirit, whose symbol was an inextinguishable flame seen -through a watery veil. And one I know well, who, having plunged his -soul in this sublime element, has withdrawn it enriched with a new -power, and consequently has lived a fuller and more ardent spiritual -life." - -This one he knew well--was it not himself? In the assertion of his own -personality he found again all his courage, and felt that henceforth -he was master of his thoughts and words, freed from danger, capable of -drawing within the charmed circle of his dream the enormous, many-eyed -chimera, with the glittering breast--the ephemeral and versatile -monster from whose side emerged its offspring, the Tragic Muse, her -head rising above the constellations. - -Obedient to his movement, the innumerable faces turned toward the -Apotheosis, their awakened eyes contemplating with wonder this marvel, -as if they beheld it for the first time, or under a new aspect. The -naked back of the woman with the golden helmet shone under the cloud -with an effect of muscular life so perfect that it looked as attractive -as palpable flesh. And, from this nudity, more realistic than all the -rest, victorious over Time, which had darkened around it heroic images -of sieges and battles, seemed to emanate a powerful enchantment, the -sweetness of which was augmented by the breath of the autumn night -coming through the open windows; while, from above, the princesses of a -former day, leaning over the balustrades between two columns, inclined -their illumined faces and opulent breasts toward their worldly sisters -below. - -Under the new spell of enchantment, the poet threw off his winged -words, harmonious as lyric strophes. He described the Queen City -palpitating with ardor within her thousand green girdles, extending her -marble arms toward the wild Autumn, whose humid breath reached her, -balmy with the delicious death of the fields and islands, making her -sigh like a bride awaiting her hour of joy. By the magic of his words, -Venice seemed to be possessed of marvelous hands, with which she wove -for herself the inimitable tissue of allegory that covered her. - -"And since, in all the world, poetry alone is truth, he that knows how -to contemplate it, and to draw it into his own soul by the virtue of -his thought, will be very near to mastering the secret of victory over -life." - -In pronouncing these last words, Stelio sought the eyes of Daniele -Glauro, and saw that they sparkled with happiness beneath that large, -meditative brow, which seemed swollen by the weight of an unborn world. -The mystic doctor was there, near the platform, with several of those -unknown disciples that he had described to the master as eager and -anxious, full of faith and expectation, impatient to break the chain -of their daily servitude, and to know the free intoxication of joy -and sadness. Stelio noted that they were grouped, like a nucleus of -compressed force, against the great red bookcases, wherein lay buried -innumerable volumes of useless and forgotten lore. He marked their -eager and attentive faces, their long hair, their lips, half parted -with child-like absorption, or closed tightly in a kind of violent -sensitiveness, their bright eyes, to which the breath of his words -carried lights and shadows, as a changeful breeze stirs a parterre of -delicate flowers. He felt that in his own hand he held all their souls -blended into one spirit, which he could at will agitate, crush, tear, -or burn, as if it were a filmy scarf. - -While his mind expanded and relaxed, in its continued effort, he still -retained a strange power of exterior investigation, a faculty of -material observation which became the clearer and more penetrating with -the warmth and quickening of his eloquence. - -Suddenly he saw with his mental vision the picture he wished to -present, and his verbal expression of it was after the manner of the -master painters that had reigned in that place, with the luxuriance of -Veronese, and the fire of Tintoretto. - -"All the vitalities and all the transfigurations of the ancient stones, -where Time has accumulated so many mysteries, and where glory has set -her emblems; all the alternations of marvelously easy creations and -destructions were reflected in the water; the effulgence of a jubilant -light glittered between the crosses of cupolas inflated by prayer, and -the slender saline crystals hanging under the arch of the bridges. Like -a sentinel on a rampart uttering his shrill cry to him that listens -for the signal, so the golden angel from the summit of the highest -tower at last flashed out the announcement. - -"And He appeared! The Bridegroom appeared, seated in his fiery chariot, -which he turned toward the Queen of Cities, and in his youthful, -superhuman countenance was a strange fascination springing from an -animal-like cruelty and delicacy contrasting with the deep eyes, full -of all knowledge. His blood rioted through his veins, from the tips of -his fingers to his nimble feet; mysterious, occult things veiled his -being, concealing joy as the grape in bloom conceals the vine; and all -the tawny gold and purple that surrounded him were like the vestment of -his senses. - -"With what passion, throbbing under her thousand emerald girdles, and -the richness of her jewels, the Queen of Cities gave herself to the -magnificent god!" - -Swept up in this rushing flight of words, the soul of the multitude -seemed to reach the sentiment of Beauty, as if it were a summit never -before attained. The pulse of the people and the voice of the poet -seemed to give back to those ancient walls their former life, and to -reawaken in that cold museum its original spirit: a flood of powerful -ideas, concrete, and organized in the most durable substance to attest -the nobility of a great race. - -The splendor of divine youth descended upon the women, as it might -have descended in a sumptuous alcove, for each felt within herself the -breathlessness of expectation and the joy of yielding, like that of the -Queen of Cities. They smiled with vague languor as if wearied by the -strain upon their emotions; their cool, polished shoulders rose from -their corollas of jewels. - -Stelio looked down upon the sparkling breast of the great, many-eyed -chimera, on which rose and fell many fluttering feather fans, like tiny -wings; and over his spirit passed an intoxicating glow that disquieted -him. The vibration of his nerves, acting upon those of his auditors -and thus reacting upon himself, unsettled him so much as almost to -unbalance him. For an instant he felt that he was oscillating above the -crowd, like a concave and sonorous body, the resonances of which were -engendered by an indistinct yet infallible will. - -He was surprised at the unknown power that dwelt within him, abolishing -his own personal limits and conferring the fulness of a chorus on his -single voice. - -This, then, was the mysterious truce which the revelation of Beauty -could grant to the daily existence of wearied man; this was the -mysterious will that could possess the poet at the moment when he -replied to the souls of his followers who questioned him as to the -value of life and tried to raise themselves, if only once, to the -height of the eternal Ideal. He was only the messenger through whom -Beauty offered to those men, assembled in this place consecrated by -centuries of human glory, the divine gift of oblivion. He was only the -translator into rhythmic speech of the visible language whereby, in -this same place, the noble craftsmen of a former day had expressed the -prayers and aspirations of the race. And for one hour, at least, those -men would contemplate the world with different eyes; they would think -and dream with different souls. - -In fancy, he passed beyond the walls that enclosed the palpitating -throng in a kind of heroic cycle, a circle of red triremes, fortified -towers, and triumphal theories. The place now seemed too narrow for -the exaltation of his new feeling; and once more he was drawn toward -the real people, the immense, unanimous crowd he had seen outside the -palace, who had sent upward in the starry night a clamor that, like -blood or wine, intoxicated them as they uttered it. - -And not alone to this multitude did his thoughts turn; his fancy beheld -an infinity of multitudes, massed together in theaters, dominated by an -idea of truth and of beauty, pale and intent before the great arch of -the stage, which should open before them some marvelous transfiguration -of life, or frenzied by the sudden splendor radiating from an immortal -phrase. And the dream of a higher Art, as it surged up again in his -thought showed him mankind once more reverencing poets, as those who -alone can interrupt at intervals its daily anguish, quench its thirst, -and dispense oblivion. He even judged too slight the test he was now -undergoing; he felt himself capable of creating gigantic fictions. The -still formless work that he nourished in his soul shook him with a -thrill of life as he looked again at the tragedienne, standing above -the sphere of constellations--the Muse with the transcendent voice, who -seemed to carry the frenzy of far-off throngs, now silenced, in the -classic folds of her robes. - -Almost overcome by the incredible intensity of emotion that had -possessed him during the brief pause, he began to speak again in -a lower tone. He spoke of the growth of art between the youth of -Giorgione and the old age of Tintoretto, and described it as golden, -purple, rich and expressive as the pomp of the earth irradiated by the -glow of sunset. - -"When I consider the impetuous creators of such marvelous beauty, my -mind recalls an image from a fragment of Pindar's: 'When the centaurs -became acquainted with the virtues of wine, sweet as honey and a -conqueror of men, they banished milk from their tables and hastened to -quaff their wine from silver horns.' No one in the world better knew -than they how to taste the wine of life. They drew from it a kind of -lucid intoxication that multiplied their powers and communicated to -their eloquence a fertilizing energy. And in their greatest creations, -the violent throbbing of their pulses seems to have persisted -throughout the ages, like the veritable rhythm of Venetian art. - -"Ah, how pure and poetic is the slumber of the Virgin Ursula on her -immaculate bed! The most religious silence reigns in that chamber, -where the pious lips of the sleeper seem to form themselves into the -act of uttering prayer. Through the doors and the windows steals the -timid light of dawn, illumining the syllables inscribed on her pillow: -INFANTIA is the simple word that spreads around that virginal head, -like the fresh aurora of the morning: INFANTIA. She sleeps, the maiden -already betrothed to the pagan prince and destined to martyrdom. So -chaste, so ingenuous, so fervent, is she not the image of Art such as -the precursors saw it, with the sincerity of their child-like eyes? -INFANTIA! The word evokes around that couch all those forgotten ones: -Lorenzo Veneziano, Simone da Cusighe, Catarino, Jacobello, Maestro -Paolo, Giambono, Semitecolo, Antonio, Andrea, Quirizio da Murano, and -all the laborious family by whom color--which later was the rival of -fire--was prepared in the burning island of furnaces. But would not -they themselves have uttered a cry of admiration if they had seen the -drops of blood that sprang from the maiden's heart when it was pierced -by the arrow of the beautiful pagan archer? A current so red from a -virgin nourished on white milk! This victory was a sort of festival: to -it the archers brought their finest bows, their richest garments, their -most elegant air. The golden-haired barbarian, aiming his arrows at the -martyr, with a movement so proud and graceful, does he not resemble an -adolescent and wingless Eros? That gracious slayer of innocence (or -perhaps his brother), after laying aside his bow, will abandon himself -to the enchantment of music to dream a dream of infinite pleasure. - -"It was indeed Giorgione that poured into him a new soul, and kindled -it with an implacable longing. The music that charms him is not the -melody that last night the lutes diffused among the curving arches, -over radiant thrones, or diminishing in the silence of distances in the -visions of the third Bellini. Under the touch of religious hands, it -still rises from the harpsichord; but the world it awakens is full of -a joy and a sadness wherein sin hides its head. - -"He that has looked at the _Concerto_ with the eyes of wisdom has -comprehended an extraordinary and irrevocable moment of the Venetian -soul. By means of a harmony of color--whose power of expression is -as boundless as the mystery of sounds--the artist reveals the first -agitation of an eager spirit to whom life has suddenly appeared under -the aspect of a rich inheritance. - -"The monk, seated at his harpsichord, and his older companion, do not -resemble those monks that Vettor Carpaccio represented as flying before -the wild beast tamed by Jerome, in San Giorgio degli Schiavoni. Their -essence is nobler and stronger; they breathe an atmosphere higher and -richer, propitious to the birth of a great joy, a great sadness, or -a superb dream. What notes do those beautiful, sensitive hands draw -from the keys on which they linger? Magic notes, no doubt, since they -have power to work in the musician a transfiguration so great. He is -half-way through his mortal existence, already far from his youth and -near his decline, yet only now life reveals itself to him, rich with -all good things, like a forest full of ripe, red fruit, the velvety -freshness of which his always busy hands never before have known. As -his senses still slumber, he has not yet fallen under the domination -of a single seductive image, but he suffers a sort of confused anguish -wherein regret overcomes desire, while in the web of harmonies that he -seeks, the vision of his past--but only as it might have been and was -not--weaves itself like the tissue of a chimera. - -"His companion divines this inner agitation, for he is already at the -threshold of old age; calm, sweet, and serious, he touches the shoulder -of the passionate player with a pacifying movement. But there, emerging -from the warm shadows like the embodiment of youthful ardor itself, -is the young man with hat beplumed and flowing locks, the glowing -flower of adolescence which Giorgione created under the influence of -a reflection from that Hellenic myth whence arose the ideal form of -Hermaphrodite. He is there, present, yet a stranger, separated from the -others, like a being that cares only for his own welfare. The music -exalts his inexpressible dream, and seems to multiply indefinitely his -capacity to enjoy. He knows himself master of that life which escapes -the other two, and the harmonies sought by the musician seem to him -only the prelude to his own feast. His glance is sidewise and intent, -turned toward a certain point, as if he would attract to himself -something that charms him; his closed lips are ready with a kiss as yet -ungiven; his brow is so spacious that the thickest garland would not -encumber it; but if I think of his hands, I fancy them crushing the -laurel leaves to perfume his fingers." - -The hands of the Inspirer illustrated the gesture of the covetous -youth, as if they were really pressing out the essence of the aromatic -leaf; and his voice lent to the image an illusion so strong that the -young men felt that here at last was one who could express their -cherished and secret thoughts and dreams, and give voice to their -unspeakable, continuous, and ceaseless longings. They occupied the free -space at the back of the seated audience, making a living border for -that compact mass; and, as the edges of a flag that waves in the breeze -have a stronger flutter, these youthful hearts beat faster than those -of older men at the warm breath of the poet's words. - -Stelio recognized them, distinguishing them by their singularity of -attitude, the intensity of emotion revealed by their compressed lips -and the glow of ardor in their cheeks. On the face of one, turned -toward the open balcony, he read the enchantment of the autumn night, -and the delicious breeze coming from the lagoon. The glance of another -indicated, by a ray of love, some woman, seated near by, looking as if -she were lost in tender recollections, her face white, her red lips -slightly parted, like the entrance to a hive moist with honey. - -His eyes continually returned to the promised woman, who looked as she -stood there like the living support of a starry sphere. He was grateful -to her for her choice of this manner of appearing to him when, for the -first time, he gave himself to the people. He no longer regarded her -as merely the passing fancy of a single night, a woman ripened by long -experience, but the marvelous instrument of a new art, the interpreter -of the greatest poetry, she that should incarnate in her changeful -personality his future fictions of beauty, she whose unforgettable -voice should carry to mankind the long-expected word. He now felt -attached to her, not by a promise of love, but by a promise of glory; -and the formless work that he still cherished in his breast again -leaped within him. - -"You that listen to me," he continued, "do you not see some analogy -between these three symbols of Giorgione's and the three generations, -all living at the same time, that illumined the dawn of a new century? -Venice, the City Triumphant, reveals herself to their eyes like a -great, a superabundant banquet, where all the riches accumulated -throughout centuries of war and commerce are to be set out without -stint. What richer fountain of pleasure could there be to initiate life -in insatiable desire? It is a time of agitation, almost of distraction, -which, because of its fulness, is worth an hour of heroic violence. -Alluring voices and laughter seem to float from the hills of Asolo -where, surrounded by all delights, reigns the daughter of San Marco, -Domina Aceli, who found in a myrtle grove of Cyprus the cincture of -Aphrodite. Now approaches the youth with the white plumes; he comes to -the banquet, followed by his uncurbed escort, and all desires kindle -and burn like torches quickened by the wind. And this was the beginning -of that divine Autumn of Art toward which men will always turn with -deep emotion as long as the human soul strives to transcend the -narrowness of its common existence in order to live a life more fervent -or to die a nobler death. - -"I see Giorgione imminent on the marvelous sphere, but I do not -recognize his mortal person; I seek him in the mystery of the fiery -cloud that envelops him. He appears to us more myth-like than human. -The destiny of no poet on earth is comparable to his. All concerning -his life is unknown; some even go so far as to deny his existence. -His name is inscribed on no work, and many refuse to attribute any -work to him with absolute certainty. But the whole of Venetian art was -illumined by his revelation; it was from him that the great Titian -received the secret of infusing glowing blood into the veins of the -beings he created. In fact, that which Giorgione represents in Art is -the Epiphany of the Flame. He deserves to be called 'the Flame-Bearer,' -like Prometheus. - -"When I consider the rapidity with which this sacred gift has passed -from one artist to another, glowing with increasing splendor from color -to color, I think of one of those _lampadeforie_, or festivals, in -which the Greeks tried to perpetuate the memory of the Titan son of -Japetus. On the day of the festival, a group of young Athenian horsemen -would set off at a gallop, riding from Ceramicus to Colonos, their -chief waving a torch that had been lighted at the altar of a temple. If -the torch was extinguished by the swiftness of the course, the bearer -handed it to a companion, who re-lighted it as he rode; and this one -gave it to a third; the third to a fourth, and so on, always galloping, -until the last bearer laid it, still alight, on the altar of the Titan. -This image, with all it suggests of fiery vehemence, represents to my -fancy the feast of the master-colorists of Venice. Each of them, even -to the least illustrious, held in his hand the sacred gift, if only for -an instant. Some of them, like that first Bonifacio, whom we should -glorify, gathered with incombustible fingers the inmost flower of the -flame." - -His fingers made a movement in the air as if to pluck the ideal flower. -His eyes turned again toward the celestial sphere, as if he wished to -offer the fiery gift to her who guarded the divine zodiacal beasts. "To -you, Perdita!" But the woman was smiling at some one at a distance. - -Following the thread of her smile, Stelio's eyes were led to an unknown -woman, who suddenly seemed to stand out illumined against a shadowy -background. - -Was not that the creature of music whose name had resounded against the -iron sides of the ship that evening, in the silence and the shadow? - -She seemed to Stelio to be almost an interior image, suddenly -engendered in that part of his soul where the brief sensation he had -felt while passing through the shadow of the vessel had remained like -an isolated and indistinct point. For a second she was beautiful--as -beautiful as were his yet unexpressed thoughts. - -"The city to which such creators have given a soul so powerful," he -continued, floating himself on the rising wave, "is considered to-day, -by the greater number, only as a vast inert reliquary, or as a refuge -of peace and oblivion. - -"In truth, I know of no other place in the world--unless it be -Rome--where a bold and ambitious spirit can better foster the active -virtue of his intellect, and all the energies of his being toward -the supreme heights, than on these quiet waters. I know of no marsh -capable of provoking in human pulses a fever more violent that that -which at times steals up to us from the shadows of a silent canal. Nor -do those men who, at noontide in the midsummer heat, lie among the ripe -grain, feel in their veins a more fiery wave of blood than that which -suffuses our eyes when we lean too intently over these waters, to see -whether, perchance, we may descry in their depths some old sword or -ancient diadem. - -"Do not all gracious spirits come hither, as to a place of sweet -refuge--those that hide some secret pain, those that have accomplished -some final renunciation, those that have become weak through some -morbid affection, and those that seek silence only to hear the soft -step of advancing Death? Perhaps in their fading eyes Venice appears -like a clement city of death, embraced by the waters of oblivion. But -their presence is no more important than the wandering weeds that float -at the foot of the steps of the marble palaces. They only increase the -odor of sickly things, that strange, feverish odor on which at times, -toward evening, after a laborious day, we nourish the fulness of our -own feelings. - -"But the ambiguous city does not always indulge the illusions of those -that look to her as a giver of peace. I know one who, in the midst of -sweet repose on her breast, started up as terror-struck as if when -lying beside his loved one, with her hand resting on his weary eyelids, -he had heard serpents hissing in her hair! - -"Ah, if I only knew how to tell you of that prodigious life which -palpitates beneath her great necklaces and her thousand green girdles! -Not a day passes that she does not absorb more and more of our souls: -sometimes she gives them back to us fresh and intact, restored to their -original newness, whereon to-morrow's events will be imprinted with -indelible clearness; again, she gives them back to us infinitely subtle -and voracious, like a flame that destroys all that it touches, so that, -at evening, among the cinders and the ashes, we may light upon some -wonderful sublimate. Each day she urges us to the act that is the very -genesis of our species: the unceasing effort to surpass ourselves. She -shows us the possibility of transforming pain into the most efficacious -stimulating energy; she teaches us that pleasure is the most certain -means of knowledge given to us by Nature, and that the man who has -suffered much is less wise than he that has enjoyed much." - -At these audacious words, a slight murmur of disapproval passed over -the auditorium; the Queen shook her head ever so little, in token of -denial; several ladies, in a rapid exchange of glances, seemed to -signify to one another a sentiment of graceful horror. But these signs -were overbalanced by the acclamation of youthful approval that rose -from all sides toward him that taught with a boldness so frank the art -of rising to the superior forms of life by the virtue of joy. - -Stelio smiled as he recognized his own, and so numerous; he smiled -to recognize the efficacy of his teaching, which already, in more -than one spirit, had dissipated the clouds of inert sadness, shown it -the cowardice of weak tears, and infused it with a lasting disdain -for feeble complaint and soft compassion. He rejoiced at having -been able to proclaim once more the principle of his doctrine, -emanating naturally from the soul of the art he glorified. And those -that had retired to a hermit's cell, there to adore a sad phantom -that lived only in the dim mirror of their own eyes; those that had -created themselves kings of palaces without windows, where, from time -immemorial, they had awaited a Visitation; those that had sought to -unearth among ruins the image of Beauty, but who had found only a -worn sphinx, which had tormented them with its endless enigmas; those -that stood every evening at their thresholds to greet the mysterious -Stranger bearing gifts under his mantle, and who, with pale cheeks, -laid their ears against the ground to catch the first sound of the -Stranger's approach; those whose souls were sterilized by resigned -mourning or devoured by desperate pride; those that were hardened -by useless obstinacy, or deprived of sleep by hope continually -disappointed--all these spirits he wished now to summon that they might -recognize their ailment under the splendor of that ancient yet ever-new -soul. - -"In truth," said he, in a tone full of exultation, "if the whole -population, abandoning their homes, should emigrate, attracted to-day -toward other shores as formerly their heroic youth were tempted by the -arch of the Bosphorus, in the time of the Doge Pietro Ziani, and the -voice of prayer should no more strike against the sonorous gold of the -concave mosaics, nor the sound of the oar perpetuate with its rhythmic -stroke the meditation of the silent stones, Venice would still remain -a City of Life. The ideal creatures protected by its silence live -in the whole past and for the whole future. In them we shall always -discover new concordances with the edifice of the universe, unforeseen -meetings with the idea born only yesterday, clear announcements of that -which is with us only a presentiment as yet, open answers to that which -as yet we have not dared to ask. - -"These ideal creatures are simple, but they are full of innumerable -meanings; they are ingenuous, yet are clothed in strange attire. Should -we contemplate them for an indefinite time, they never would cease to -pour dissimilar truths into our minds. Should we visit them every day, -every day they would appear to us under a new aspect, as do the sea, -the rivers, the fields, the woods, the rocks. At times the things they -say to us do not really reach our intellects, but reveal themselves to -us in a sort of confused happiness, which causes our own substance to -dilate and quiver to its inmost depths. Some bright day they will point -out to us the path to the distant forest, wherein Beauty has awaited us -from time immemorial, buried in her mystic hair. - -"Whence came to them their immeasurable power? - -"From the pure unconsciousness of the artificers that created them. - -"Those profound men ignored the immensity of the things they wished -to express. Penetrating with a million roots into the soil of life, -not like single trees, but like vast forests, they absorbed infinite -elements, which they transfused and condensed into ideal species, -whose essences nevertheless remained unknown to them, as the flavor -of the apple is unknown to the branch that bears it. They were the -mysterious means chosen by Nature in her effort to represent in an -integral form those types in which she has not yet succeeded. Because -of this, continuing the work of the Divine Mother, their minds, as -Leonardo says, have become transformed into 'a likeness of the Divine -Mind.' And because creative force rushed to their fingers incessantly, -like sap to the buds of trees, they created with joy." - -All the desire of the determined artist, panting and struggling to -obtain this Olympian gift, all his envy of those gigantic creators -of Beauty, all his insatiable thirst for happiness and glory, were -revealed in the tone in which he pronounced these last words. Once more -the soul of the multitude was under the magic of the poet's spell, -strained and vibrating like a single cord composed of a thousand -strands, the resonance of which could be incalculably prolonged. That -resonance awakened within the multitude the sense of a truth that had -lain dormant, but which the poet's words now revealed for the first -time. - -In the sonority of the deep silence, the solitary voice reached its -climax. - -"To create with joy! It is the attribute of Divinity! It is impossible -to imagine at the summit of the spirit an act more triumphal. Even the -words that signify it possess something of the splendor of sunrise. - -"And these artists created by a medium that is in itself a joyous -mystery: by color, which is the ornament of the world; by color, which -seems the effort of matter to become light. - -"And the newly awakened musical sense they had for color was such that -their creations transcend the narrow limits of figured symbols, and -assume the high revealing power of an infinite harmony. - -"Never have the words of Vinci, on whom Truth flashed one day with her -thousand secrets, appeared so true as when we stand before the great -symphonic canvases of the masters: 'Music cannot be called anything but -the sister of Painting.' They are not alone silent poetry, but also -silent music. The most subtle seekers of rare symbols, and those most -desirous to impress the sign of an internal universe on the purity of -a meditative brow, seem to us almost sterile compared with these great -unconscious musicians. - -"When we behold Bonifacio, in the parable of Dives, intoning with a -note of fire the most powerful harmony of color in which the essence -of a proud and voluptuous nature ever has revealed itself, we do not -ask questions about the blond youth, listening to the music and seated -between the two magnificent courtesans, whose faces glow like lamps -of purest amber; but, passing beneath the material symbol, we abandon -ourselves to the power of evocation of those chords, wherein our -spirits seem to-day to find a presentiment of I know not what evening, -heavy with beautiful destiny and autumnal gold, in a harbor as quiet -as a basin of perfumed oil where a galley palpitating with oriflammes -shall enter with a strange silence, like a butterfly of twilight -darting into the chalice of some great flower. - -"Shall we not, with our mortal eyes, really see it, some glorious -evening, approaching the Palace of the Doges? Does it not appear to us -from a prophetic horizon in the Allegory of Autumn which Tintoretto -offers us, like a superior, concrete image of our dream of yesterday? - -"Seated on the shore, like a deity, Venice receives the ring from the -young, vine-wreathed god who descends into the water, while Beauty -floats in the air with a starry diadem to crown the marvelous alliance! - -"Behold yon distant ship! It seems to bring a message from the gods. -Behold the symbolic Woman! Her body is capable of bearing the germs of -a world!" - -A whirlwind of applause broke out, dominated by the clamor of the young -men, who hailed him who had kindled before their anxious eyes a hope -so glowing, who had professed a faith so strong in the occult genius -of the race, in the lofty virtue of the ideals handed down by their -fathers, in the sovereign dignity of their spirit, the indestructible -power of beauty, in all the great things held as naught by modern -barbarity. The disciples extended their arms toward the master with -an effusion of gratitude, an impulse of love, for he had illumined -their souls as with a torch. In each lived again Giorgione's creation: -the youth with the beautiful white plumes, who advanced toward the -rich mass of spoils; and each fancied as multiplied to infinity his -own power to enjoy all things. Their cry expressed so plainly their -perturbation of spirit, that the master felt an inward tremor and the -inrush of a wave of sadness as he thought of the ashes of this sudden -fire, and of the cruel wakening of the morrow. Against what sharp -obstacles must be broken this terrible desire to live, this violent -will of each to shape the wings of Victory to his own destiny, and to -bend all the energies of his nature toward the sublime end! - -But that night favored youthful delirium. All the dreams of domination, -of pleasure and of glory, that Venice has first cradled, then stifled, -in her marble arms, seemed to rise anew from the foundations of the -palace, to enter from the open balconies, palpitating like a people -revivified under the arch of that rich and heavy ceiling, which was -like a suspended treasure. The strength which, on the ceiling and the -walls, seemed to swell the muscles of the gods, the kings, and the -heroes, the beauty which, in the nudity of the goddesses, the queens, -and the courtesans, ran like visible music--all that human strength and -beauty, transfigured by centuries of art, harmonized itself in a single -figure, which these intoxicated ones fancied they beheld, real and -breathing, erected before them by the new poet. - -They vented their intoxicated enthusiasm in that great cry which they -sent up to him who had offered to their thirsty lips a cup of his own -wine. Henceforth, all would be able to see the inextinguishable flame -through its watery veil. Some one among them already imagined himself -crumpling laurel leaves to perfume his hands; and another resolved to -seek at the bottom of a silent canal for the old sword and the ancient -diadem. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE SPIRIT OF MELODY - - -Alone with the statues in one of the rooms of the neighboring museum, -Stelio Effrena rested for a moment, shrinking from any other contact, -feeling the need of gathering his strength and quieting his nerves, -to free himself from the unusual vibration through which it seemed to -him all the essence of his spirit had been dissipated and scattered -over the composite soul of the throng. Of his recent words, no trace -remained in his memory, and of recent images he perceived no vestige. -The only phrase that lingered in his mind was that "inmost flower of -the flame," which he had conjured up in speaking of the glory of the -first Bonifacio, and which he had plucked with his own incombustible -fingers to offer to his promised love. He remembered how, at the -precise instant of this spontaneous offering, the woman had turned -away her head, and how, instead of a glance from her dreamy eyes, he -had encountered the indicating smile. Then the intoxicating cloud that -had been just on the point of melting away, seemed to condense itself -anew in his brain, in the vague form of the creature of music; and -he fancied that she held in her hand the flower of flame, as, in a -dominating attitude, she emerged above his inward agitation as from -the trembling waves of a summer sea. - -As if to celebrate that image, from the Hall of the Greater Council -came the first notes of the symphony of Benedetto Marcello, the -fugue-like movement of which revealed at once its grand style. A -sonorous idea, clear and strong as a living person, developed itself in -the powerful measure; and in that melody Stelio recognized the virtue -of the same principle around which, as around a thyrsus, he had twined -the garlands of his poesy. - -Then the name that had already resounded against the sides of the -vessel, in the silence and the shadow, that name which, in the great -wave of sound from the evening bells, had been lost like a sibylline -leaf, seemed to his fancy to propose its syllables to the orchestra -as a new theme to be interpreted by the musicians' bows. The violins, -viols, and violoncellos sang it in turn; the sudden blasts of the -heroic trumpets exalted it; and at last a whole quartette, in one -great, thrilling chord, flung it toward that heaven of joy where -later would sparkle the starry crown offered to Ariadne by the golden -Aphrodite. - -In the pause that followed, Stelio experienced a singular agitation, -almost like a religious ecstasy, before that annunciation. He realized -what it was worth to him, in that inestimable lyric moment, to find -himself alone amid this group of white and motionless statues. A shred -of the same mystery which, under the quarter of the ship, had seemed -to float lightly across his senses like a misty veil, again waved -before his eyes in that deserted hall, which was so near to the human -throng. It was like the silence of the sea-shell, lying on the shore -beside the stormy ocean. He again felt a conviction, such as he had -already experienced in certain extraordinary hours of his journey, of -the presence of his fate, which was about to give to his spirit a new -impulse, perhaps to quicken within him a marvelous act of will. And, -as he remembered the thousands of obscure destinies hanging over the -heads of that crowd, which had been so stirred by his images of an -ideal life, he congratulated himself on being able to adore alone the -propitious demon that came to visit him secretly, to offer to him a -veiled gift, in the name of an unknown mistress. - -He thrilled at the burst of human voices that saluted with triumphal -acclamation the unvanquished god. - - _Viva il forte, viva il grande!_ - -The vast hall resounded like a great timbrel, and the reverberation -penetrated through the Censors' Stairway, the Golden Stairway, the -corridors and the vestibules to the furthermost parts of the palace, -like a thunder of joy echoing in the serene night. - - _Viva il forte, viva il grande! - Vincitor dell' Indie dome!_ - -It seemed indeed that the chorus was saluting the apparition of the -magnificent god invoked by the poet on the City Beautiful. It seemed -that in those vocal notes the folds of his purple draperies quivered -like flames in a crystal tube. The living image hung suspended over -the assemblage, which nourished it with its own dream. - - _Viva il forte, viva il grande!_ - -In the impetuous fugue movement, the bass, the contraltos, the sopranos -repeated the frenzied acclamation to the Immortal of the thousand names -and the thousand crowns, "born on an ineffable bed, like to a young man -in his first youth." - -The old Dionysian intoxication seemed born again, diffusing itself -through that divine chorus. The fulness and freshness of life in the -smile of Zeus, who freed men's souls from sadness, expressed itself -in a luminous outburst of joy. The torches of the Bacchantes blazed -and crackled in the sound. As in an Orphic hymn, the brightness of -conflagration illumined that youthful brow, surmounted by azure hair. -"When the splendor of fire invaded the whole earth, he alone checked -the whirlwinds of flame." As in the Homeric hymn, there palpitated -the sterile bosom of the sea, expressing in regular cadences the -measured stroke of the oars that propelled the stout vessel toward -unknown lands. The Flower-bearer, the Fructifier, the visible Remedy -for mortal man, the sacred Flower, The Friend of Pleasure, Dionysius, -the liberator, suddenly appeared before mankind on the wings of song, -crowning for them that nocturnal hour with happiness, placing before -them once more the cup overflowing with all the good things of life. - -The song increased in power; all the voices blended in the rush -of melody. The hymn celebrated the tamer of tigers, of panthers, -lions and lynxes. A cry seemed to rise from Mænads with heads turned -backward, flying locks and floating robes, who struck their cymbals and -shook their castanets: _Evoé!_ - -But now suddenly surged above these heroic measures a broad, pastoral -rhythm, invoking the Theban Bacchus, of the pure brow and gentle -thoughts: - - _Quel che all'olmo la vite in stretto nodo - Pronuba accoppia, e i pampini feconda_ ... - -Only two voices, in a succession of sixths, now sang the flowery -nuptials, the leafy marriage, the flexible bonds. Before the eyes of -the multitude again passed that image already created by the poet -of the barque laden with clusters, like a vat filled with grapes to -be made into wine. And again the song seemed to recall the miracle -witnessed by the prudent pilot Medeia: "And behold! a sweet and -fragrant wine ran over the swift, black boat.... And behold! a vine -climbed to the top of the sail, and from it hung innumerable clusters -of grapes. And a dark ivy twined about the mast, and it was covered -with flowers, and beautiful fruits amid their foliage grew thereon, and -garlands were wound about the rowlocks." - -The spirit of the fugue then passed into the orchestra, and mounted in -exquisitely light roulades, while the voices struck on the orchestral -web with simultaneous percussion. And, like a thyrsus waving over the -Bacchic troop, a single voice floated out in the nuptial melody, with -the laughing joy and grace of the pastoral marriage: - - _Viva dell'olmo, - E della vite - L'almo fecondo - Sostenitor!_ - -The voices seemed to evoke the image of erect and graceful Tiades, -gently waving their thyrsi in the mists of divine intoxication, dressed -in long saffron-hued robes, their faces lighted up, ardent as those -women of Veronese, who leaned over their aerial balconies to listen to -the song. - -But the heroic acclamation once more sprang up with final vehemence. -The face of the conquering god reappeared amid torches frantically -waved aloft. Then, in unison, in a supreme burst of joy, voices and -orchestra thundered together at the many-eyed chimera under the -suspended treasure of that dome circled by red triremes, armed towers, -and triumphal bands: - - _Viva dell'Indie, - Viva de' mari, - Viva de' mostri - Il domator._ - -Stelio Effrena had gone as far as the threshold; through the throng -that made way before him he penetrated into the hall and halted -near the platform occupied by the orchestra and the singers. His -restless eyes sought La Foscarina near the celestial sphere, but -did not find her. The head of the Tragic Muse no longer rose above -the constellations. Where was she? To what place has she withdrawn? -Could she see him, although he could not see her? A confused anxiety -agitated him, and the remembrance of the early evening on the water -returned to him indistinctly, accompanied by the words of her recent -promise. Glancing up at the open balconies, he thought that perhaps she -had stepped outside to breathe the fresh night air, and that, perhaps, -leaning against the balustrade she felt passing over her cool throat -the wave of music, which would seem as sweet to her as the delight of a -kiss from beloved lips. - -But his impatience to hear the divine voice dominated all other -impatience, abolished all other desire. He observed that again a -profound silence reigned throughout the hall, as at the instant when he -had opened his lips to speak his first word. And, as at that instant, -the versatile and ephemeral monster, with a thousand human faces, -seemed to extend itself and yawn to receive a new soul. - -Some one near Stelio whispered the name of Donatella Arvale. He turned -his eyes toward the platform, past the row of violoncellos, which -formed a brown hedge. The singer remained invisible, hidden in the -delicate, quivering forest of bows, whence would arise the mournful -harmony that must accompany the Lament of Ariadne. - -Amid a sympathetic silence rose a prelude of violins. Then the -viols and violoncellos added a sigh more profound to that imploring -plaint. Was not this--after the Phrygian flute and the castanets, -after the instruments of orgies, which trouble the reason and provoke -delirium--was not this the august Doric lyre, grave and sweet, the -harmonious support of song? Thus was the Drama born from the boisterous -Dithyramb. The great metamorphosis of the Dionysian rite, the frenzy -of the sacred festival before the creative inspiration of the tragic -poet, were figured in that musical alternance. The fiery breath of the -Thracian god gave life to a sublime form of Art. The crown and the -tripod, the prize of the poet's victory, had displaced the lascivious -goat and the Attic basket of figs. Æschylus, keeper of a vineyard, had -been visited by the god, who had infused into him his spirit of flame. -On the bank of the Acropolis, near the sanctuary of Dionysius, a marble -theater had risen, capable of containing the chosen people. - -Thus suddenly opened in the mind of the Master the pathways of -centuries, extending through the distance of primitive mysteries. -That form of Art, toward which now tended the effort of his genius, -attracted by the obscure aspirations of human multitudes, appeared to -him in the sanctity of its origins. The divine sadness of Ariadne, -up-springing like a melodious cry from the furious Thiaros, made leap -once more within him the work he nourished in his soul, unformed -yet alive. With a glance, again he sought the Muse of the revealing -voice against the sphere of constellations, but he did not see her, -and turned once more to the forest of instruments, whence rose the -imploring plaint. - -Then, amid the slender bows, that rose and fell upon the strings -with alternating movement, appeared the singer, erect as a stem; -and, like a stem, she seemed to balance herself an instant on the -softened harmony. The youthfulness of her agile and robust body shone -resplendent through the texture of her robes, as a flame is seen -through the thinness of polished ivory. Rising and falling around -her white form, the bows seemed to draw their melody from the secret -music that dwelt within her. When her lips opened in an enchanting -curve, Stelio recognized the strength and purity of the voice before -the singer had uttered one modulation, as if she were a crystal statue -wherein he could behold the unspringing of a jet of living water. - - _Come mai puoi - Vedermi piangere?_ - -The melody of a by-gone love and long-dead sorrow flowed from those -lips with an expression so pure and strong that suddenly, within the -soul of the multitude, it was changed into a mysterious happiness. -Was that strain indeed the divine plaint of the daughter of Minos, as -she held out her arms in vain to the fair Stranger on the deserted -shore of Naxos? The fable vanished; the illusion of the moment was -abolished. The eternal love and eternal sorrow of gods and of men were -exhaled in that perfect voice. The futile regret for each lost joy, -the recollection of each fugitive blessing, the supreme prayer flying -toward every sail on the sea, toward every sun hiding itself among -the mountains, the implacable desire and the promise of death--all -these things passed into the great, solitary song, transformed by -the power of Art into sublime essences which the soul could receive -without suffering. The words were dissolved in tone, losing their -significance, changed into notes of love and sadness, indefinitely -illuminating. Like a circle that is closed, and yet dilates continually -in accordance with the rhythm of universal life, the melody encircled -the composite soul which dilated with it in immeasurable joy. Through -the open balconies, in the perfect calm of the autumn night, the -enchantment spread over the peaceful waters and mounted to the watchful -stars, higher than the motionless masts of the ships, higher than the -sacred towers, inhabited by the now silent bronze bells. During the -interludes the singer drooped her youthful head and stood motionless -as a white statue among the forest of instruments, where the long bows -rose and fell in alternate movement, perhaps unconscious of that world -which in a few brief moments her song had transfigured. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - THE EPIPHANY OF THE FLAME - - -Descending to the courtyard hastily, in order to escape importunate -curiosity, Stelio took refuge in a shadowy corner, to watch, among the -crowd coming down the Giants' Stairway, for the appearance of the two -women, the actress and the singer, who were to meet him near the well. - -Every instant his expectation became more anxious, while around him -rose the tumultuous cry that extended to the outer walls of the -palace and lost itself among the clouds, now lighted with a glare as -of a conflagration. An almost terrible joy seemed to spread over the -Anadyomenean City, as if a vehement breath had suddenly dilated all -breasts, filling the veins of all men with a superabundance of life. -The repetition of the Bacchic Chorus celebrating the crown of stars, -placed by Aphrodite on the forgetful head of Ariadne, had drawn a cry -from the throng on the Molo beneath the open balconies. When, at the -final elevation, the word _Viva!_ rang out from the chorus of Mænads, -Satyrs, and Egipans, the chorus of the populace had responded to it -like a formidable echo from the harbor of San Marco. And in this moment -of Dionysian delirium it seemed as if the people remembered the forests -of old that were burned on sacred nights, and had given a signal for -the conflagration that must light up the beauty of Venice in final, -dazzling splendor. - -The dream of Paris Eglano--the spectacle of marvelous flames offered -to love on a floating couch--flashed before Stelio's vision. The -persistent image of Donatella Arvale lingered in his thought: a supple, -youthful figure, strong and shapely, rising erect amid the sonorous -forest of bows, which seemed to draw their notes from the hidden music -within herself. And, seized with a strange distress, through which -passed something like the shadow of horror, he saw the image of the -other woman: poisoned by art, worn with experience, with the taste of -maturity and worldly corruptness on those eloquent lips, a feverish -dryness in those hands, which had pressed the juice from deceitful -fruits, and with the marks of a thousand masks on the face that had -simulated the fury of all mortal passions. To-night, at last, after a -long period of waiting and of hope, he was to receive the gift of that -heart, no longer young, which had been claimed by others before him, -but which he never yet had called his own. How his heart had throbbed -in the early evening as he sat beside that silent woman, floating -toward the City Beautiful over the waters that seemed to bear them on -with the terrifying smoothness of mysterious machinery. Ah, why did -she come now to meet him in company with the other temptress? Why did -she place beside her despair and worldly wisdom the pure splendor of -innocent youth? - -He started suddenly as he perceived in the throng at the top of the -marble staircase, by the light of the smoking torches, the form of La -Foscarina pressed so closely against that of Donatella Arvale that the -robes of both blended into one mass of whiteness. He followed them with -his eyes until they reached the lowest stair, anxious as if at each -step they had approached the edge of an abyss. The unknown during these -hours had already led in the heart of the poet a life so intense that -on seeing her approach him he experienced the emotion that would have -seized him before a breathing incarnation of one of the ideal creatures -born of his art. - -She descended slowly on the human wave. Behind her, the Palace of the -Doges, filled with streams of lights and confused sounds, made one -think of those fairy-tale awakenings which suddenly, in the depths of -the forest, transfigure inaccessible castles where for centuries the -hair on royal heads had grown longer and longer during a protracted -sleep. The two guardian Giants shone red in the blaze of the torches; -the cuspid of the Golden Gate sparkled with tiny lights. And still -the clamor rose and swelled above the groups of marbles, loud as the -moaning of the stormy sea against the walls of Malamocco. - -In this tumult, Effrena saw advancing toward him the two temptresses, -escaping from the crowd as if from the clasp of a monster. And his -fancy pictured extraordinary assimilations, which should be realized -with the ease of dreams and the solemnity of liturgic ceremonies. He -said to himself that Perdita was leading this magnificent prey to -him, that he might discover some rarely beautiful secret, that some -great work of love might be accomplished, in which she desired to be -his fellow artisan. He told himself that this very night she would -say to him most marvelous words. Across his spirit passed once again -the indefinable melancholy he had felt when he leaned over the bronze -rim to contemplate the reflection of the stars in that dark mirror; -he waited in expectation of some event that should stir that secret -soul in the furthermost depths of his being, where it lay motionless, -strange, intangible. By the whirling of his thoughts, he comprehended -that he was again plunged into that delirium which the glamor of the -lagoon had given him at twilight. Then, emerging from the shadowy -corner, he went forward to meet the two women with an intoxicating -presentiment. - -"Oh, Effrena!" said La Foscarina, as she reached the well, "I had given -up all hope of finding you here. We are very late, are we not? But we -were caught in the crowd and could not escape." - -Then, turning toward her companion with a smile, she said: - -"Donatella, this is the Master of the Flame." - -Without speaking, but with a slight smile, Donatella Arvale responded -to the low bow of the young man. - -"We must find our gondola," said La Foscarina. "It is waiting for us at -the Ponte della Paglia. Will you come with us, Effrena? We must profit -by the opportunity. The crowd is rushing toward the Piazzetta. The -Queen will leave by the Porta della Carta." - -A long, unanimous cry saluted the appearance of the fair Queen in her -pearls, as she stood at the head of the stairs, where long ago, in the -presence of the populace, the Doge received the ducal ensign. Again the -name of the white starry flower and the pearl arose from the crowd and -was echoed among the marbles. Flashes of joy sparkled against the dark -sky, a thousand fiery doves flew from the pinnacles of San Marco, like -messengers of Fire. - -"The Epiphany of the Flame!" cried La Foscarina, as she reached the -Molo and gazed upon the marvelous spectacle. - -Donatella Arvale and Stelio Effrena stood side by side, astonished; -then they looked into each other's eyes, bewildered. And their faces, -illumined by the reflections, shone as if they were leaning over a -furnace or a glowing crater. - -All the innumerable appearances of the volatile and multi-colored Fire -spread over the firmament, crept over the waters, curled around the -masts of the ships, enwreathed the cupolas and the towers, adorned -the friezes, draped the statuary, bejeweled the capitals, enriched -every line and transfigured every aspect of the sacred and profane -architectures around that profound and mysterious watery mirror, -which multiplied these marvels. The astonished eye could no longer -distinguish between the contour and the quality of the elements, but -it was charmed by a moving vision wherein all forms lived a lucid, -fluid life, suspended in vibrating ether, so that the slender prows -curving over the waves and the myriad of golden doves against the dark -sky seemed to rival one another in the glory of swift motion, and -together to reach the summit of immaterial beauty. That which in the -twilight had seemed a silvery palace of Neptune, built in imitation -of a rare shell, at this hour had become a new temple, erected by the -nimble genii of the Fire. It seemed like one of those labyrinthian -constructions of our dreams, prodigiously enlarged, that rise on -andirons, at the hundred gates of which stand the two-faced augurs who -make ambiguous gestures to the watching maiden; or like one of those -fairy-like red palaces, at the thousand windows of which appear the -faces of salamander princesses, who smile amorously upon the dreaming -poet. - -Rosy as a setting moon, the sphere of the Fortuna, borne on the -shoulders of the Atlantides, radiated on the triple loggia, its rays -engendering a cycle of satellites. From the Riva, from San Giorgio, -from the Giudecca, with a continual crackling, clusters of fiery stems -rose toward the clouds, and there blossomed into sparkling roses, -lilies, and palms, a flowery paradise, forming an aerial garden that -continually faded and bloomed again with yet stranger and richer -blossoms. It was like a rapid succession of springs and autumns in the -empyrean. An immense sparkling shower of leaves and petals fell from -the celestial dissolutions, enveloping all things in its golden shimmer. - -From a distance, through gaps in the glittering rain, a flotilla gay -with flags could be seen approaching over the waters of the lagoon: a -fairy-like fleet such as might float through the dream of a sybarite -sleeping his last sleep on a bed steeped in deadly perfumes. Like -those, perhaps, their ropes were made from the twisted hair of slaves -captured in conquered cities, and still redolent of fragrant oils; like -those, perhaps, their hulls were laden with myrrh, spikenard, benzoin, -cinnamon, aromatic herbs; with sandal-wood, cedar, terebinth, and all -oderiferous woods in rich profusion. The indescribable colors of the -flags suggested perfumes and spices. Of blue-green peacock shades, -saffron, violet, and indistinct hues, those flaming flags seemed to -spring from some burning interior and to have been colored by some -unknown process. - -"The Epiphany of the Flame!" repeated La Foscarina. "What an unforeseen -commentary on your poem, Effrena! The City of Life responds by a -miracle to your act of adoration. She burns, through her watery veil. -Are you not satisfied? Look! Millions of golden pomegranates are -hanging everywhere!" - -The actress was smiling, her face illumined by the magic fire. She was -suddenly possessed by that singular gayety of hers which Stelio knew -well, and which, because of its effect of incongruity with her usual -pose, suggested to him the image of a dark, closed house where violent -hands had suddenly opened on rusty hinges all the doors and windows. - -"We must praise Ariadne," he replied, "for having uttered, in all this -harmony, the most sublime note." - -Stelio said those flattering words only to induce the fair singer to -speak, only through a desire to know the _timbre_ of that voice when -it descended from the heights of song. But his praise was lost in the -reiterated clamor of the crowd, which overflowed on the Molo, making a -longer stay impossible. From the bank, Stelio assisted the two friends -into their gondola; then he sat down on a stool at their knees, and the -long, dentellated prow sparkled, like all else, in the magic fire. - -"To the Rio Marin, by the Grand Canal," La Foscarina ordered the -gondolier. "Do you know, Effrena, we are to have at supper some of your -best friends: Francesco de Lizo, Daniele Glauro, Prince Hoditz, Antimo -della Bella, Fabio Molza, Baldassare Stampa"-- - -"Then it will be a banquet?" - -"But not, alas! like that of Cana." - -"And will not Lady Myrta, with her Veronese greyhounds, be there?" - -"Rest assured that we shall have Lady Myrta. Did you not see her in the -hall? She sat in the first row, lost in admiration of you." - -Because they had looked into each other's eyes as they spoke, a sudden -emotion seized them. The remembrance of that full twilight hour on the -water that rippled beneath their oar filled their hearts with a wave of -troubled blood; and each was surprised by a swift return of the same -agitation felt when leaving the silent estuary already in the power -of shadow and death. Their lips refused to utter vain, light words; -their souls refused to make the effort to incline themselves through -prudence toward the passing trivialities of the superficial life, which -now seemed worthless to both; and their spirits became absorbed in -the contemplation of the strange fancies that rose from their inmost -thoughts in a garb of indescribable richness, like the heaped-up -treasures the streams of light seemed to reveal in the depths of the -nocturnal waters. - -And, because of that very silence, they felt the presence of the singer -weigh heavily upon them, as in the moment when her name had first -been spoken between them; and little by little the oppression became -intolerable. Although Stelio was seated close to her, she appeared no -less distant than when she rose above the forest of instruments; she -was as absent and unconscious as she had been when her voice soared -high in song. She had not yet spoken. - -Simply to hear her speak, and almost timidly, Stelio said: - -"Shall you remain some time longer in Venice?" - -He had pondered on the first words he should say to her, but was -dissatisfied with whatever rose to his lips, for all phrases seemed too -vivid, insidious, full of ambiguous significance, capable of infinite -changes and transformations, like the unknown seed from which may -spring a thousand roots. And it seemed to him that Perdita could not -hear one of those phrases without feeling that a shadow darkened her -love. - -After he had spoken those simple, conventional words, he reflected that -even that question might suggest an infinity of hope and eagerness. - -"I must leave Venice to-morrow," Donatella replied. "I ought not to be -here even now." - -Her voice, so clear and powerful in the heights of song, was low and -sober, as if suffused with a slight opacity, suggesting the image -of the most precious metal wrapped in the most delicate velvet. Her -brief reply indicated that there was a place of suffering to which she -must return, where she must undergo some familiar torture. Like iron -tempered with tears, a strong though sorrowful will shone through the -veil of her youthful beauty. - -"To-morrow!" Stelio exclaimed, not seeking to hide his sincere regret. -"Have you heard, Signora?" - -"I know," the actress replied, gently taking Donatella's hand. "I am -filled with regret to see her go. But she cannot remain away longer -from her father. Perhaps you do not yet know"-- - -"What?" asked Stelio quickly. "Is he ill? Is it true, then, that -Lorenzo Arvale is ill?" - -"No, he is only fatigued," said La Foscarina, touching her forehead -with a gesture perhaps involuntary but which revealed to Stelio the -horrible menace hanging over the genius of the artist who had seemed as -fertile and indefatigable as one of the old masters--a Della Robbia or -a Verrocchio. - -"He is only fatigued," repeated La Foscarina. "He needs repose and -quiet. And his daughter's singing is very soothing to him. Do you not -believe, also, Effrena, in the healing power of music?" - -"Certainly," Stelio replied, "Ariadne possesses a divine gift whereby -her power transcends all limits." - -The name of Ariadne came spontaneously to his lips to indicate the -singer as she appeared to his fancy, for it seemed to him impossible -to pronounce the young girl's real name preceded by the ordinary -appellation imposed by social usage. In his eyes she was perfect -and singular, free from the little ties of custom, living her own -sequestered life, like a work of art on which style had set its -inviolable seal. He thought of her as isolated like those figures that -stand out with clear contour, far from common life, lost in mystic -reverie; and already, before that impenetrable character, he felt a -sort of passionate impatience, somewhat similar to that of a curious -man before something hermetically sealed that tempts him. - -"Ariadne had for the soothing of her griefs the gift of forgetfulness," -said Donatella, "and that I do not possess." - -A bitterness perhaps involuntary infused these words, in which Stelio -fancied he detected the indication of an aspiration toward a life -less oppressed by useless suffering. He guessed at her revolt against -a certain form of domestic slavery, the horror of her self-imposed -sacrifice, her vehement desire to rise toward joy, and her inborn -aptitude for being drawn like a beautiful bow by a strong hand that -would know how to use it for some high conquest. He divined that she -had no longer any hope of her father's recovery, and that she was -saddened at the thought that henceforth she could only be the guardian -of a darkened hearth, of ashes without a spark. The image of the great -artist rose in his mind, not as he was, since Stelio never had known -him personally, but such as he had fancied the sculptor after studying -his ideas of beauty expressed in imperishable bronze and marble. His -mind fixed itself on that image with a sensation of terror more -icy than that which the most appalling aspects of death could have -inspired. And all his strength, all his pride and his ardor seemed to -resound within him like weapons shaken by a menacing hand, sending a -quiver through every fiber of his heart. - -Presently La Foscarina lifted the funereal black curtain, which -suddenly, amid the splendors of the festival, had seemed to change the -gondola into a coffin. - -"Look!" she said, pointing out to Stelio the balcony of Desdemona's -palace: "See the beautiful Nineta receiving the homage of the Serenade, -as she sits between her pet monkey and her little dog." - -"Ah, the beautiful Nineta!" said Stelio, rousing himself from his -wild thoughts, and saluting the smiling occupant of the balcony, a -little woman who was listening to the music, her face illumined from -two silver candelabra, from the branches of which hung wreaths of the -last roses of the year. "I have not yet seen her this time. She is -the gentlest and most graceful animal I know. How fortunate was our -dear Howitz to discover her behind the lid of an old harpsichord when -he was rummaging in that curiosity shop at San Samuele! Two pieces -of good fortune in one day: the lovely Nineta and a harpsichord lid -painted by Pordenone. Since that day, the harmony of his life has -been complete. How I should like to have you penetrate to his nest! -You would find there a perfect example of that which I spoke of this -evening, at twilight. There is a man who, by obeying his native taste -for simplicity, has arranged for himself with minute art his own little -love-story, in which he lives as happily as did his Moravian ancestor -in the Arcady of Rosswald. Ah! I know a thousand exquisite things about -him!" - -A large gondola, decorated with many-colored lanterns, and laden with -singers and musicians, had stopped beneath the balcony of Desdemona's -house. The old song of brief youth and fleeting beauty rose sweetly -toward the little woman who listened with her child-like smile, sitting -between the monkey and the lapdog, making a group like one of Pietro -Longhi's prints. - - _Do beni vu gharè - Beleza e zoventù; - Co i va no i torna più, - Nina mia cara...._ - -"Does it not seem to you, Effrena, that these surroundings express the -true soul of Venice, and that the other picture, which you presented -to the multitude, is only your own fancy?" said La Foscarina, nodding -her head slightly in time with the rhythm of the sweet song that spread -through the Grand Canal and was reechoed from afar by singers in other -gondolas. - -"No," Stelio replied, "this does not at all represent the true soul of -Venice. In each one of us, fluttering like a butterfly over the surface -of our deeper nature, is a lighter soul, an _animula_, a little playful -sprite that often dominates us for the moment, and leads us toward -simple and mediocre pleasures, toward puerile pastimes and frivolous -music. This _animula vagula_ exists even in the gravest and most -violent natures, like the clown attached to the person of Othello; and -sometimes it misleads our better judgment. That which you hear now, in -the songs and the melodies of the guitars, is the _animula_, or lighter -spirit, of Venice; but her real soul is discovered only in silence, -and most terribly, be assured, in full summer, at noonday, like the -soul of the great god Pan. Out in the harbor of San Marco, I thought -that you felt its mystic vibration during those moments of the great -conflagration. You are forgetting Giorgione for Rosalba!" - -Around the large gondola beneath the balcony had gathered other -gondolas bearing languid women who leaned out to listen to the music in -attitudes of graceful _abandon_, as if in fancy they felt themselves -sinking into invisible arms. And around this romantic group the -reflections of the lanterns in the water quivered like a flowering of -rare and luminous water-lilies. - - _Se lassarè passar - La bela e fresca età, - Un zorno i ve dirà - Vechia maura, - E bramarè, ma invan, - Quel che ghavevi in man - Co avè lassà scampar - La congiontura._ - -It was, in truth, the song of the last roses that entwined the -candelabra. It called up in Perdita's mind the funeral cortège of the -dead Summer, the opalescent veil in which Stelio had wrapped the sweet -body in its golden robe. Through the glass, sealed by the Master of -Fire, she could see her own image at the bottom of the lagoon, lying on -a field of seaweed. A sudden chill stole over her; once more she felt -horror and disgust of her own body, no longer young. And, remembering -her recent promise, thinking that perhaps this very night the beloved -one would claim its fulfilment, she shuddered with a sort of sorrowful -modesty, a mingling of fear and pride. Her experience and despairing -eyes ran over the young girl beside her, studying her, penetrating her, -realizing her occult but certain power, her intact freshness, pure -health, and that indefinable virtue of love that emanates like an aroma -from chaste maidens when they have arrived at the perfection of their -bloom. She felt that some secret current of affinity existed between -this fair creature and the poet; she could almost divine the words he -addressed to her in the silence of his heart. A bitter pang seized her, -so intolerable that, with an involuntary movement, her fingers clutched -convulsively the black rope of the arm-rest beside her, so that the -little metal griffin that held it creaked audibly. - -This movement did not escape Stelio's anxious vigilance. He understood -her agitation, and for a moment he experienced the same pang, but it -was mingled with impatience and almost with anger, for her anguish, -like a cry of destruction, interrupted the fiction of transcendent life -that he had been constructing within himself in order to conciliate the -contrast, to conquer this new force that offered itself to him like a -bow to be drawn, yet at the same time not to lose the savor of that -ripe maturity which life had impregnated with all its essences, and the -benefit of that devotion and that passionate faith which sharpened his -intelligence and fed his pride. - -"Ah, Perdita!" he said to himself, "From the ferment of your human -loves, why has not a love more than human sprung. Ah, why have I -finally vanquished you by my pleading, although I know it is too late? -and why do you allow me to read in your eyes the certainty of your -yielding, amid a flood of doubts which, nevertheless, never again -will have power to reëstablish the abolished interdiction. Each of us -knows full well that that interdiction conferred the highest dignity -upon our long communion, yet we have not known how to preserve its -rule, and at the last hour we yield blindly to an imperious internal -call. Yet, a short time ago, when your noble head dominated the belt -of constellations, I no longer saw in you an earthly love, but the -illuminating, revelatory Muse of my poetry; and all my heart went out -to you in gratitude, not for the promise of a fleeting happiness, but -for the promise of glory. Do you not understand--you, who understand -everything? By a marvelous inspiration, such as always comes to you, -have you not turned my inclination, by the ray of your smile, toward -a resplendent youthfulness which you have chosen and reserved for me? -When you descended the stairway together, and approached me, had you -not the appearance of one that bears a gift or an unexpected message? -Not wholly unexpected, perhaps, Perdita! For I have anticipated from -your infinite wisdom some extraordinary action toward me." - -"How happy the beautiful Nineta is, with her monkey and her little -dog!" sighed the actress, looking back at the light songsters and the -smiling woman on the balcony. - - _La zoventù xe un fior - Che apena nato el mor, - E un zorno gnanca mi - No sarò quela._ - -Donatella Arvale and Stelio also looked back, while the light barque, -without sinking, bore over the water and past the music the three faces -of a heavy destiny. - - _E vegna quel che vol, - Lassè che voga!_ - -Suddenly, in front of the red palace of the Foscari, at the curve of -the canal, they saw the state vessel of the Doge of Venice so brightly -illumined that it looked like a burning tower. New streaks of fire -flashed against the sky. Other flaming doves flew up from the deck, -rose above the terraces, sank among the statues, hissed as they fell -into the water, multiplied themselves in thousands of sparks, and -floated along in smoke. Along the parapets, from the decks, the poop, -the prow, in a simultaneous explosion, a thousand fountains of fire -opened, dilated, blended, illuminating with an intense, fiery radiance -each side of the canal as far as San Vitale and the Rialto. Then the -vessel of the Doge glided out of sight, transformed into a purple -thunder-cloud. - -"Go through San Polo!" called La Foscarina to the gondolier, bending -her head as under a storm, and shutting out the roar with her palms -over her ears. - -Again Donatella Arvale and Stelio Effreno looked at each other with -dazzled eyes. Again their faces, lighted by the glare, glowed as if -they were leaning over a furnace or a burning crater. - -The gondola turned into the canal of San Polo, gliding along through -the darkness. A cold shadow seemed suddenly to fall over the spirits of -the three silent occupants. Under the arch of the bridge, the hollow -echo of the dipping oar struck upon their souls, and the hilarity of -the festival sounded infinitely far-away. All the houses were dark; -the campanile rose silent and solitary toward the stars; the Campiello -del Remer and the Campiello del Pistor were deserted, and the grass -breathed there in untrodden peace; the trees, bending over the low -walls of the little gardens, seemed to feel their leaves dying on the -branches pointing to the serene sky. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - THE POET'S DREAM - - -"So, for a few hours at least, the rhythm of Art and the pulse of Life -have again throbbed in unison in Venice," said Daniele Glauro, raising -from the table an exquisite chalice, to which only the Sacred Host was -wanting. "Allow me to express, for myself and also for the many that -are absent, the gratitude and fervor that blend in one single image of -beauty the three persons to whom we owe this miracle: the mistress of -the feast, the daughter of Lorenzo Arvale, and the poet of Persephone." - -"And why the mistress of the feast, Glauro?" asked La Foscarina, -smiling in graceful surprise. "I, like you, have not given joy, but -have received it. Donatella and the Master of the Flame: they alone -merit the crown; and to them alone the glory must be given." - -"But, a short time ago, in the Hall of the Greater Council," said the -mystic doctor, "your silent presence beside the celestial sphere was -not less eloquent than the words of Stelio, nor less musical than the -song of Ariadne. Once again you have divinely carved your own statue in -silence, and it will live in our memories blended with the music and -the words." - -Stelio shuddered as he recalled to mind the ephemeral flexible monster -from the side of which had emerged the Tragic Muse above the sphere of -constellations. - -"That is true, very true," said Francesco de Lizo. "I, too, had the -same thought. As we looked at you, we all realized that you were the -soul of that ideal world which each of us forms for himself, according -to his own aspirations and thoughts when listening to the mystic word, -the song, the symphony." - -"And each of us," said Fabio Molza, "felt that in your presence, -dominating the throng, before the poet, dwelt a great and rare -significance." - -"One might almost have said that you alone were about to assist at the -mysterious birth of a new idea," said Antimo della Bella. "Everything -around us seemed awakening itself to produce it--that idea which must -soon be revealed to us, as a reward for the profound faith with which -we have awaited it." - -The Animator, with another trembling of the heart, felt the work that -he cherished within him leap once more, formless yet, but already -living; and his whole soul, as if impelled by a lyric breath, suddenly -felt drawn toward the fertile and enlightening power that emanated -from the Dionysian woman to whom these fervent spirits addressed their -praise. - -Suddenly she had become very beautiful: a nocturnal creature, fashioned -by dreams and passion on a golden anvil, living embodiment of immortal -fate and eternal enigmas. She might remain motionless and silent, but -her famous accents and her memorable gestures seemed to live around -her, vibrating indefinitely, as melodies seem to hover over the cords -accustomed to sound them, as rhymes seem to breathe from the poet's -closed book, wherein love and sorrow seek comfort and intoxication. -The heroic fidelity of Antigone, the oracular fury of Cassandra, the -devouring fever of Phædre, the cruelty of Medea, the sacrifice of -Iphigenia, Myrrha before her father, Polyxenes and Alceste before the -face of death, Cleopatra, fitful as the wind and the fires of the -world, Lady Macbeth, the dreamy murderess with the little hands; and -those great, fair lilies empearled with dew and tears--Imogen, Juliet, -Miranda, Rosalind, Jessica, and Perdita--the tenderest, most terrible, -and most magnificent souls dwelt within her, inhabited her body, shone -from her eyes, breathed through her lips, which knew both honey and -poison, the jeweled chalice and the cup of wormwood. Thus, through -unlimited space, and endless, the outlines of human life and substance -appeared to perpetuate themselves; and from the simple movement of a -muscle, a sign, a start, a quiver of the eyelids, a slight change of -color, an almost imperceptible inclination of the head, a fugitive play -of light and shade, a lightning-like virtue of expression radiating -from that frail and slender body, infinite worlds of imperishable -beauty were continually generated. - -The genii of the places consecrated by poetry hovered around her, -and encircled her with changing visions: the dusty plain of Thebes, -the arid Argolide, the parched myrtles of Trezene, the sacred olives -of Colonus, the triumphant Cydnus, the pale country of Dunsinane, -Prospero's cavern, the Forest of Arden, land dampened with blood, -toiled upon with pain, transfigured by a dream or illumined by an -inextinguishable smile, seemed to appear, to recede, then to vanish -behind her head. And a vision of countries still more remote--regions -of mists, northern lands, and, far across the ocean, the immense -continent where she had appeared like an unknown force amid astonished -multitudes, bearer of the mystic word and the flame of genius--vanished -behind her head: the throngs, the mountains, rivers and gulfs, the -impure cities, the ancient, enfeebled, savage race, the strong people -aspiring to dominate the world, the new nation that wrests from Nature -her most secret energies to make them serve an all-powerful work in -erecting edifices of iron and of crystal; the bastard colonies that -ferment and grow corrupt on virgin soil; all the barbarous crowds -she had visited as the messenger of Latin genius; all the ignorant -masses to whom she had spoken the sublime language of Dante; all the -human herds from which had mounted toward her, on a wave of confused -anxieties and desires, the aspiration to Beauty. - -She stood there, a creature of perishable flesh, subject to the sad -laws of time, but an illimitable mass of reality and poetry weighed -upon her, surged around her, palpitated with the rhythm of her breath. -And not upon the stage alone had she uttered her cries and suppressed -her sobs: this had entered into her daily life. She had loved, fought -and suffered violently, in her soul and in her body. What loves? What -combats? What pangs? From what abysses of melancholy had she drawn the -exaltations of her tragic force? At what springs of bitterness had -she watered her free genius? She had certainly witnessed the crudest -misery, the darkest ruin; she had known heroic effort, pity, horror, -and the threshold of death. All her thirst had burned in the delirium -of Phædre, and in the submissiveness of Imogen had trembled all her -tenderness. Thus Life and Art, the irrevocable Past and the eternal -Present, had made her profound, many-souled, and mysterious, had -magnified her ambiguous destiny beyond human limits, and rendered her -equal to great temples and natural forests. - -Nevertheless, she stood there, a living, breathing woman, under the -gaze of the poets, each of whom saw her, and yet in her many others. - -"Ah! I will embrace you as in some mad revelry; I will clasp you, -shake you; from your ripe experience, I will draw all the divine and -abnormal secrets that weigh upon you--the things you have already done, -and those on which you still meditate in the mysterious depths of your -soul," sang the lyric demon in the ear of the poet, who recognized -in the mystery of this woman the surviving power of primitive myth, -the renewed initiation of the god that had concentrated in one single -ferment all the energies of Nature, and, by a variety of rhythms, had -raised, in an enthusiastic worship of himself, the senses and the -spirit of man to the highest summits of joy and of pain. - -"I have done well, I have done wisely, to wait!" said Stelio to -himself. "The passing of years, the tumult of dreams, the agitation of -struggle and the swiftness of triumph, the experience of many loves, -the enchantment of poets, the acclamations of the people; the marvels -of earth, the patience and the fury, the steps in the mud, the blind -flight, all evil, all good, that which I know and do not know, that -which you know, as well as that which you are ignorant of--all this had -to be to prepare the fulness of this night, which belongs to me!" - -He felt himself suffocate and turn pale. A wild impulse seized him by -the throat, and would not relax its hold. His heart swelled with the -same keen emotion that had possessed both in the twilight, as they -floated over the water. - -And, as the exaggerated radiance of the city and the event had suddenly -disappeared, the glory of this woman of the night reappeared to -his mind still more closely blended with the city of the wonderful -necklaces and the thousand emerald girdles. In the city and in the -woman, the poet now saw a power of expression that he never had seen -before: each glowed in the Autumn night; the same feverish fire that -coursed through the canals ran also in her veins. - -The stars sparkled, the trees waved their branches behind Perdita's -head, back of which were the shadows of a garden. Through the open -balconies the sweet air of heaven entered the room; shook the flames of -the candelabra and the chalices of flowers; swept through the doorways, -making the draperies wave to and fro, animating that old house of the -Capello, wherein the last great daughter of San Marco whom the people -had covered with gold and glory had gathered relics of republican -magnificence. Galleon lamps, Turkish targets, bronze helmets, leathern -quivers, and velvet scabbards ornamented the apartments inhabited by -the last descendant of that marvelous Cesare Darbes who maintained the -Art of Comedy against the Goldonian reform, and changed the agony of -the Most Serene Republic into a burst of laughter. - -"I only ask that I may be the humble servitor of that idea," was La -Foscarina's reply to Antimo della Bella's words. Her voice trembled a -little, her eyes had met Stelio's gaze. - -"You alone could make it triumphant," said Francesco de Lizo. "The soul -of the people is yours forever." - -"The drama can only be a rite or a message," declared Glauro -sententiously. "Acting should again become as solemn as a religious -ceremony, since it embraces the two constituent elements of all -worship: the living person, in whom, on the stage as before an altar, -the word of the revealer is made incarnate, before a multitude as -silent as if in a temple"-- - -"Bayreuth!" interrupted Prince Hoditz. - -"No; the Janiculum!" exclaimed Stelio, suddenly breaking his silence of -blissful dizziness. "A Roman hill. We do not need the wood and brick of -Upper Franconia; we will have a marble theater on a Roman hill." - -The sudden opposition of his words seemed to spring from a light, -good-natured disdain. - -"Do you not admire the work of Richard Wagner?" Donatella Arvale -inquired, with a slight frown that for a moment made her Hermes-like -face look almost hard. - -Stelio looked deep into her eyes; he felt that there was something -obscurely hostile in the young girl's manner, and also that he himself -experienced against her an indistinct suggestion of enmity. At this -moment he again saw her living her own isolated life, fixed in some -deep, secret thought, strange and inviolable. - -"The work of Richard Wagner," he replied, "is founded in the German -spirit, and its essence is purely northern. His reform is not without -analogy with that attempted by Luther; his drama is the supreme flower -of the genius of a race, the extraordinarily powerful summary of -the aspirations that have stirred the souls of the symphonists and -national poets, from Bach to Beethoven, from Wieland to Goethe. If -you could imagine his work on the Mediterranean shores, amid our pale -olive-trees, our slender laurels, under the glorious light of the Latin -sky, you would see it grow pale and dissolve. Since, according to his -own words, it is given to the artist to behold a world as yet unformed -resplendent in its future perfection, and to enjoy it prophetically -through desire and through hope, I announce to you the coming of a new, -or rather a renewed, art which, by the strong, sincere simplicity of -its lines, by its vigorous grace, by its ardor of inspiration, by the -pure power of its harmonies, will continue and crown the immense ideal -edifice of our elect race. I glory in being Latin, and--will you pardon -me, most exquisite Lady Myrta, and you, my delicate Hoditz?--in every -man of different blood I see a barbarian." - -"But Wagner, too," said, Baldassare Stampa, who, having just returned -from Bayreuth, was still full of ecstasy, "when he first unwound the -thread of his theories, departed from the Greeks." - -"It was an uneven and a tangled thread," the poet replied. "Nothing -is further from the Orestiades than the tetralogy of the Ring. The -Florentines of the Casa Bardi have penetrated much deeper into the true -meaning of Greek tragedy. All honor to the Camerata of the Conte di -Vernio!" - -"I have always thought that the Camerata was only an idle reunion of -scholars and rhetoricians," said Baldassare Stampa. - -"Did you hear that, Daniele?" exclaimed Stelio, addressing the mystic -doctor. "When was there in the world a more fervid intelligence? They -sought the spirit of life in Grecian antiquity; they tried to develop -harmoniously all human energies, to manifest man in his integrity -by every method of art. Giulio Caccini taught that that, which -contributed to the excellence of the musician is not only the study -of particular things, but of everything in general; the tawny hair of -Jacopo Peri and of Zazzerino flamed in their song like that of Apollo. -In the discourse that serves as a preface to the _Rappresentazione -di Anima et di Corpo_, Emilio del Cavaliere presents the same ideas -on the organization of the new theater that have since been realized -at Bayreuth, comprising the rules of perfect silence, an invisible -orchestra, and appropriate darkness. Marco da Gagliano, in celebrating -a festal performance, eulogizes all the arts that contributed to it 'in -such a way that through the intellect all the noblest sentiments are -flattered at the same time by the most delightful art that the human -mind has discovered.' That is sufficient, I think." - -"Bermino," resumed Francesco de Lizo, "presented an opera in Rome, for -which he himself built the theater, painted the decorations, carved the -ornamental statues, invented the machinery, wrote the words, composed -the music, arranged the dances, rehearsed the actors, and in which he, -too, danced, sang, and acted." - -"Enough! Enough!" cried Prince Hoditz, laughing. "The barbarian is -vanquished." - -"No, that is not yet enough," said Antimo della Bella; "it remains -to us to glorify the greatest of all these innovators; him that was -consecrated a Venetian by his passion and death, him whose tomb is in -the Church of the Frari, and is worthy of a pilgrimage--the divine -Claudio Monteverde." - -"There was a heroic soul, of pure Italian essence," warmly acceded -Daniele Glauro. - -"He accomplished his work in the tempest, loving, suffering, -struggling, alone with his faith, his passion, and his genius," said La -Foscarina slowly, as if absorbed in a vision of that sad and courageous -life that had nourished the creations of its art with its warmest -blood. "Tell us about him, Effrena." - -Stelio thrilled as if she had suddenly touched him. Again her -expressive mouth called up an ideal figure, which rose as if from a -sepulcher before the eyes of the poets, with the color and the breath -of life. The ancient viola-player, bereaved, ardent, and sorrowful, -like the Orpheus of his own fable, seemed to appear before them. - -It was a fiery apparition, more fervid and dazzling than that which had -glowed in the harbor of San Marco; a flaming force of life, expelled -from the deepest recesses of Nature toward the expectant multitude; -a vehement zone of light, flashing out from an interior sky to -illumine the most secret depths of human will and desire; an unheard -word emerging from original silence to say that which is eternal and -eternally ineffable in the heart of the world. - -"Who could speak of him, even if he himself should speak to us?" said -the Inspirer, agitated, unable to conceal the wave of emotion surging -in his soul like the troubled waters of a stormy sea. - -He looked at the singer, and beheld her as she had appeared during -the pauses, when she stood amid the forest of instruments, white and -inanimate as a statue. - -But the spirit of Beauty they had called up was to manifest itself -through her. - -"Ariadne!" Stelio murmured, as if to awaken her from a dream. - -She arose without speaking, reached the door, and entered the adjoining -room. The light sweep of her skirts and her soft footfall were audible; -then they heard the sound of the piano being opened. All were silent -and expectant. A musical silence filled the vacant place in the -supper-room. A sudden gust of wind shook the flames of the candles -and swayed the flowers. Then all became motionless in the anxiety of -anticipation. - - _Lasciatemi morire!_ - -Suddenly their souls were ravished by a power comparable to the -strength of the eagle which, in Dante's dream, bore the poet to the -region of flame. They burned together in eternal truth; they heard the -melody of the world pass through their luminous ecstasy: - - _Lasciatemi morire!_ - -Was it Ariadne, still Ariadne, weeping in some new grief, still rising -to higher martyrdom? - - _E che volete - Che mi conforte - In cosa dure sorte, - In cosi gran martire? - Lasciatemi morire!_ - -The voice ceased; the singer did not reappear. The aria of Claudio -Monteverde composed itself in the auditors' memories like an immutable -lineament. - -"Is there any Greek marble that has a perfection of style more sure -and simple?" said Daniele Glauro softly, as if he feared to break the -musical silence. - -"But what sorrow on earth ever has wept like that?" stammered Lady -Myrta, her eyes full of tears, that ran down her poor, pale cheeks, -which she wiped with her trembling hands, misshaped by gout. - -The austere intellect of the ascetic and the sweet, sensitive soul shut -within the old, infirm body bore witness to the same power. In the same -way, nearly three centuries before, at Mantua, in the famous theater, -six thousand spectators had been unable to repress their sobs; and the -poets had believed in the living presence of Apollo on the new stage. - -"See, Baldassare," said Stelio, "here is an artist of our own race -who by the simplest means succeeded in attaining the highest degree -of that beauty which the German but rarely approached in his confused -aspirations toward the land of Sophocles." - -"Do you know the lament of the ailing king?" asked the young man with -the sunny locks, which he wore long as a heritage from the Venetian -Sappho, the "high Gaspara," unfortunate friend of Collalto. - -"All the agony of Amfortas is contained in a _mottetto_ that I know: -_Peccantem me quotidie_, but with what lyric impetus, what powerful -simplicity! All the forces of tragedy are there, sublimated, so to -speak, like the instincts of a multitude in a heroic heart. The -language of Palestrina, much more ancient, appears to me still purer -and more virile. - -"But the contrast between Kundry and Parsifal, in the second act, the -Herzeleide _motif_, the impetuous figure, that figure of pain drawn -from the word of the sacred feast, the _motif_ of Kundry's aspiration, -the prophetic theme of the promise, the kiss on the lips of the 'pure -fool,' all that rending and intoxicating contrast of desire and -horror.... 'The wound, the wound! Now it burns, now it bleeds within -me!' And above the despairing frenzy of the temptress, the melody of -submission: 'Let me weep on thy breast! Let me unite myself with thee -for one hour; then, even if God repel me, through thee I shall be -redeemed and saved.' And Parsifal's response, in which the _motif_ -of the 'pure fool,' now transfigured into the promised Hero, returns -with lofty solemnity: 'Hell would be our fate for all eternity if for -one single hour I should permit thee to clasp me in thy arms.' Then -the wild ecstasy of Kundry: 'Since my kiss has made thee a prophet, -embrace me wholly, and my love will render thee divine! One hour, one -single hour with thee, and I shall be saved!' And the last effort of -her demoniac will, the last gesture of enticement, the entreaty and the -furious words: 'Only thy love can save me! Oh, let me love thee! Mine -for a single hour! Thine for a single hour!'" - -Perdita and Stelio, entranced, gazed into each other's eyes; for an -instant their spirits rushed together and mingled, in all the joy of an -actual embrace. - -La Marangona, the largest bell of San Marco, sounded midnight, and, -as at the eventide, the two enamored ones felt the reverberation of -the bronze bell in the roots of their hair, almost like a quiver of -their own flesh. Once more they felt, hovering over them, the whirlwind -of sound, in the midst of which, in the twilight, they had suddenly -become aware of the rising apparition of consoling Beauty, evoked -by unanimous prayer. All the beauty of the waters, the timidity of -concealed longing, the anxiety, the promise, the parting, the festival, -the formidable, many-headed monster, the great, starry sphere, the -clamor, the music, the song, and the wonders of the miraculous Flame, -the return through the echoing canal, the song of brief youth, the -mental struggle and silent agitation in the gondola, the sudden shadow -over their three destinies, the banquet illumined by beautiful thought, -the presentiments, hopes, pride, all the strongest pulsations of life -were renewed between those two, quickened, became a thousand, and again -one. They felt that in that one moment they had lived beyond all human -limits, and that before them was opening a vast unknown, which they -might absorb as the ocean absorbs, for, though they had lived so much, -they felt their hearts were empty; though they had drunk so deep, they -were still athirst. An overmastering illusion seized upon these rich -natures, and each seemed to grow immeasurably more desirable in the -other's eyes. The young girl had disappeared. The expression of the -despairing, nomadic actress seemed to repeat: "Embrace me wholly, and -my love will render thee divine! One hour, one single hour with thee, -and I shall be saved! Mine for a single hour! Thine for a single hour!" - -The eloquent commentary of the enthusiast still dwelt upon the sacred -tragedy. Kundry, the mad temptress, the slave of desire, the Rose of -Hell, the original perdition, the accursed, now reappeared in the -spring dawn; she reappeared humble and pale in her messenger's attire, -her head bent, her eyes cast down; and her harsh, broken voice spoke -only the single phrase: "Let me serve! Let me serve!" - -The melodies of solitude, of submission, of purification prepared -around her humility the enchantment of Good Friday. And behold -Parsifal, in black armor and closed helmet, his spear lowered, lost -in an infinite dream: "I have come by perilous paths, but perhaps -this day I shall be saved, since I hear the murmur of the sacred -forest." ... Hope, pain, remorse, memory, the promise, faith panting -for the soul's health, and the sacred, mysterious melodies wove the -ideal mantle that should cover the Simple One, the Pure, the promised -Hero sent to heal the incurable wound. "Wilt thou take me to Amfortas -to-day?" He languished and fainted in the old man's arms. "Let me -serve! Let me serve!" The melody of submission rose again from the -orchestra, drowning the original impetuous _motif_. "Let me serve!" The -faithful woman brings water, kneels humbly and eagerly, and washes the -feet of her beloved. The faithful one drew from her bosom a vase of -balm, anointed the beloved feet, and wiped them with her flowing hair. -"Let me serve!" The Pure One bent over the sinner, sprinkling water on -her wild head: "Thus I accomplish my first office; receive this baptism -and believe in the Redeemer!" Kundry burst into tears, and knelt with -her brow in the dust, freed from impurity, freed from the curse. And -then, from the profound final harmonies of the prayer to the Redeemer, -rose and spread with superhuman sweetness the melody of the flowery -fields: "How beautiful to-day is the meadow! Once I was entwined with -marvelous flowers; but never before were the grass and wild blossoms so -fragrant!" In ecstasy, Parsifal contemplated the fields and forests, -dewy and smiling in the light of morn. - -"Ah! who could forget that sublime moment?" cried the fair-haired -enthusiast, whose thin face seemed to reflect the light of that joy. -"All, in the darkness of the theater, remained motionless, like one -solid, compact mass. One would have said that, in order to listen to -that marvelous music, the blood had ceased to flow in our veins. From -the Mystic Gulf, the symphony rose like a shaft of light, the notes -transformed into rays of sunshine, born with the same joy as the blade -of grass that pierces the earth, the opening flower, the budding -branch, the insect unfolding its wings. And all the innocence of -new-born things entered into us, and our souls lived over again I know -not what dream of our far-away childhood.... INFANTIA, the device of -Carpaccio! Ah, Stelio! how well you brought it back to our riper age! -How well you knew how to inspire us with regret for all that we have -lost, and with hope of recovering it by means of an art that shall be -indissolubly reunited to life!" - -Stelio Effrena was silent, oppressed by the thought of the gigantic -work accomplished by the barbaric creator, which the enthusiasm of -Baldassare Stampa had evoked as a contrast to the fervid poet of -_Orpheus_ and of _Ariadne_. A kind of instinctive rancor, an obscure -hostility that did not spring from the intellect, sustained him against -the tenacious German who had succeeded, by his own unaided effort, -in inflaming the world. To achieve his victory over men and things, -he, too, had exalted his own image and magnified his own dreams of -dominating beauty. He, too, had approached the multitude as if it were -his chosen prey; he, too, had imposed upon himself, as if it were a -discipline, an unceasing effort to surpass himself. And now he had the -temple of his creed on the Bavarian hill. - -"Art alone can lead men back to unity," said Daniele Glauro. "Let us -honor the nobler master that has proclaimed this dogma for all time. -His Festival Theater, though built of bricks and wood, though narrow -and imperfect, has none the less a sublime significance, for within it -Art appears as a religion in a living form; the drama there becomes a -rite." - -"Yes, let us honor Richard Wagner," said Antimo della Bella, "but, if -this hour is to be memorable by an announcement and a promise from -him who this night has shown the mysterious ship to the people, let -us invoke once more the heroic soul that has spoken to us through -the voice of Donatella Arvale. In laying the corner-stone of his -Festival Theater, the poet of _Siegfried_ consecrated it to the hopes -and victories of Germany. The Apollo Theater, which is now rising -rapidly on the Janiculum, where eagles once descended, bearing their -prophecies, must be the monumental revelation of the idea toward which -our race is led by its genius. Let us reaffirm the privilege with which -nature has ennobled our Latin blood." - -Still Stelio remained silent, deeply stirred by turbulent forces that -worked within his soul with a sort of blind fury, like the subterranean -energies that swell, rend, and transform volcanic regions for the -creation of new mountains and new chasms. All the elements of his inner -life, assailed by this violence, seemed to dissolve and multiply at -the same time. Images of grandeur and of terror passed through this -tumult, accompanied by strange harmonies. Swift concentrations and -dispersions of thought succeeded one another, like electric flashes -in a tempest. At certain moments, it seemed to him that he could hear -songs and wild clamors through a doorway that was opened and closed -incessantly; sounds as if a tempestuous wind bore to his ears the -alternate cries of a massacre and an apotheosis. - -Suddenly, with the intensity of a feverish vision, he saw the scorched -and fatal spot of earth whereon he wished to create the souls of his -great tragedy; he felt all its parching thirst within himself. He saw -the mythical fountain which alone could quench the burning aridity; and -in the bubbling of its springs the purity of the maiden that must die -there. He saw on Perdita's face the mask of the heroine, quiescent in -the beauty of an extraordinarily calm sorrow. Then the ancient dryness -of the plain of Argos converted itself into flames; the fountain of -Perseia flowed with the swiftness of a stream. The fire and the water, -the two primitive elements, rushed over all things, effaced all other -traces, spread and wandered, struggled, triumphed, acquired a word, -a language wherewith to unveil their inner essence and to reveal the -innumerable myths born of their eternity. The symphony expressed the -drama of the two elementary Souls on the stage of the Universe, the -pathetic struggle of two great living and moving Beings, two cosmic -Wills, such as the shepherd Arya fancied it when he contemplated the -spectacle from the high plateau with his pure eyes. And, of a sudden, -from the very center of the musical mystery, from the depths of -the symphonic Ocean, arose the Ode, brought by the human voice, and -attaining the loftiest heights. - -The miracle of Beethoven renewed itself. The winged Ode, the Hymn, -sprang from the midst of the orchestra to proclaim, in phrases absolute -and imperious, the joy and the sorrow of Man. It was not the Chorus, -as in the Ninth Symphony, but the Voice, alone and dominating, the -interpreter, the messenger to the multitude. "Her voice! her voice! -She has disappeared. Her song seemed to move the heart of the world, -and she was beyond the veil," said the Animator, who in mental vision -saw again the crystal statue within which he had watched the mounting -wave of melody. "I will seek thee, I shall find thee again; I will -possess myself of thy secret. Thou shalt sing my hymns, towering at -the summit of my music!" Freed now from all earthly desire, he thought -of that maiden form as the receptacle of a divine gift. He heard the -disembodied voice surge from the depths of the orchestra to reveal the -part of eternal truth that exists in ephemeral fact. The Ode crowned -the episode with light. Then, as if to lead back to the play of -imagery his ravished spirit from "beyond the veil," a dancing figure -stood out against the rhythm of the dying Ode. Between the lines of a -parallelogram drawn beneath the arch of the stage, as within the limits -of a strophe, the mute dancer, with her body seemingly free for a -moment from the sad laws of gravity, imitated the fire, the whirlwind, -the revolutions of the stars. "La Tanagra, flower of Syracuse, made -of wings, as a flower is made of petals!" Thus he invoked the image -of the already famous Sicilian who had re-discovered the ancient -orchestic art as it had been in the days when Phrynichus boasted that -he had within himself as many figures of the dance as there were -waves on the ocean on a stormy winter night. The actress, the singer, -the dancer--the three Dionysian women--appeared to him like perfect -and almost divine instruments of his creations. With an incredible -rapidity, in word, song, gesture and symphony, his work should -crystallize itself and live an all-powerful life before the conquered -multitude. - -He was still silent, lost in an ideal world, waiting to measure the -effort necessary to manifest it. The voices surrounding him seemed to -come from a long distance. - -"Wagner declares that the only creator of a work of art is the people," -said Baldassare Stampa, "and that the sole function of the artist is to -gather and express the creation of the unconscious multitude." - -The extraordinary emotion that had stirred Stelio when, from the throne -of the Doges, he had spoken to the throng seized on him once more. In -that communion between his soul and the soul of the people an almost -divine mystery had existed; something greater and more exalted was -added to the habitual feeling he had for his own person; he had felt -that an unknown power converged within him, abolishing the limits of -his earthly being and conferring upon his solitary voice the full -harmony of a chorus. - -There was, then, in the multitude a secret beauty, in which only the -poet and the hero could kindle a spark. Whenever that beauty revealed -itself by the sudden outburst from a theater, a public square, or -an entrenchment, a torrent of joy must swell the heart of him who -had known how to inspire it by his verse, his harangue, or a signal -from his sword. Thus, the word of the poet, when communicated to the -people, was an act comparable to the deed of a hero--an act that -brought to birth in the great composite soul of the multitude a sudden -comprehension of beauty, as a master sculptor, from the mere touch of -his plastic thumb upon a mass of clay, creates a divine statue. Then -the silence that had spread like a sacred veil over the completed poem -would cease. The material part of life would no longer be typified by -immaterial symbols: life itself would be manifested in its perfection -by the poet; the word would become flesh, rhythm would quicken in -breathing, palpitating form, the idea would be embodied with all the -fulness of its force and freedom. - -"But," said Fabio Molza, "Richard Wagner believes that the real heart -of the people is composed only of those that experience grief in -common--you understand, grief in common." - -"Toward Joy--still toward eternal Joy," Stelio reflected. "The real -heart of the people is composed of those that feel vaguely the -necessity of raising themselves, by means of Fiction, Poetry, the -Ideal, out of the daily prison in which they serve and suffer." - -In his waking dream he beheld the disappearance of the small theaters -of the city, where, amid suffocating air heavy with impurities, before -a crowd of rakes and courtesans, the actors make public prostitution -of their talents. And then, on the steps of the new theater, his mental -vision beheld the true people, the great, unanimous multitude, whose -human odor he had inhaled, whose clamor he had listened to in the great -marble shell, under the stars. By the mysterious power of rhythm, his -art, imperfectly understood though it was, had stirred the rude and -ignorant ones with a profound emotion, penetrating as that felt by a -prisoner about to be released from his chains. Little by little, the -sensation of joy at their deliverance had crept over the most abject; -the deep-lined brows cleared; lips accustomed to brutal vociferation -had parted in amazement; and, above all, the hands--the rough hands -enslaved by instruments of toil--had stretched out in one unanimous -gesture of adoration toward the heroine who in their presence had -wafted toward the stars the spirit of immortal sorrow. - -"In the life of a people like ours," said Daniele Glauro, "a great -manifestation of art has much more weight than a treaty of alliance -or a tributary law. That which never dies is more prized than that -which is ephemeral. The astuteness and audacity of a Malatesta are -crystallized for all time in a medal of Pisanello's. Of Machiavelli's -politics nothing survives but the power of his prose." - -"That is true, most true!" thought Stelio; "the fortunes of Italy are -inseparable from the fate of the Beauty of which she is the Mother." -This sovereign truth now appeared to him the rising sun of that divine, -ideal land through which wandered the great Dante. "Italy! Italy!" -Throughout his being, like a call to arms, seemed to thrill that name, -that name which intoxicates the world. From its ruins, bathed in so -much heroic blood, should not the new art, robust in root and branch, -arise and flourish? Should it not become a determining and constructive -force in the third Rome, reawakening all the latent power possessed by -the hereditary substance of the nation, indicating to her statesmen -the primitive truths that are the necessary bases of new institutions? -Faithful to the oldest instincts of his race, Richard Wagner had -foreseen, and had fostered by his own efforts, the aspiration of the -German States to the heroic grandeur of the Empire. He had evoked the -noble figure of Henry the Fowler, standing erect beneath the ancient -oak: "Let warriors arise from every German land!" And at Sadowa and -at Sedan these warriors had won. With the same impulse, the same -tenacity, people and artist had achieved their glorious aim. The same -degree of victory had crowned the work of the sword and the work of -melody. Like the hero, the poet had accomplished an act of deliverance. -Like the will of the Iron Chancelor, like the blood of his soldiers, -the Master's musical numbers had contributed toward the exalting and -perpetuating of the soul of his race. - -"He has been here only a few days, at the Palazzo Vendramin-Calergi," -said Prince Hoditz. - -And suddenly the image of the barbaric creator seemed to Stelio to -approach him; the lines of his face became visible, the blue eyes -gleamed under the wide brow, the lips closed tight above the powerful -chin, armed with sensuousness, pride, and disdain. The slight body, -bent with the weight of age and glory, straightened itself, appeared -almost as gigantic as his work, took on the aspect of a god. The blood -coursed like a swift mountain torrent, its breath sighed like a forest -breeze. Suddenly the youth of Siegfried filled the figure and permeated -it, radiant as the dawn shining through a cloud. "To follow the impulse -of my heart, to obey my instinct, to listen to the voice of Nature -within myself--that is my supreme law!" The heroic, resounding words, -springing from the depths, expressed the young and healthy will that -had triumphed over all obstacles and all evil, always in accord with -the law of the Universe. And the flames, called forth from the rock by -the wand of Wotan, arose in the magic circle: "On the flaming sea a way -has opened! To plunge into that fire, oh, ineffable joy! To find my -bride within that flaming circle!" All the phantoms of the myth seemed -to blaze anew and then vanish. - -Then the winged helmet of Brunehilde gleamed in the sunlight: "Glory -to the sun! Glory to the light! Glory to the radiant day! My sleep -was long. Who has awakened me?" The phantoms fled in tumult, and -dispersed. Then arose from the dark shadows the maiden of the song, -Donatella Arvale, as she had appeared to him amid the purple and gold -of the immense hall in a commanding attitude and holding a fiery -flower in her hand: "Dost thou not see me, then? Do not my burning -gaze and ardent blood make thee tremble. Dost thou not feel this wild -ardor?" Though she was absent, she seemed to resume her power over his -dream. Infinite music seemed to rise from the silent, empty place in -the supper-room. Her Hermes-like face seemed to retain an inviolable -secret: "Do not touch me; do not trouble my repose, and I will reflect -forever thy luminous image. Love only thyself and renounce all thought -of me!" And again, as on the feverish water, a passionate impatience -tortured the Animator, and again he fancied the absent one like a -beautiful bow to be drawn by a strong hand that would know how to use -it as an instrument to achieve some great conquest: "Awake, virgin, -awake! Live and laugh! Be mine!" - -Stelio's spirit was drawn violently into the orbit of the magic world -created by the German god; its visions and harmonies overwhelmed him; -the figures of the Northern myth towered above those of his own art -and passion, obscuring them. His own desire and his own hope spoke the -language of the barbarian: "I must love thee, blindly, and laughing: -and, laughing, we must unite and lose ourselves, each in the other. O -radiant Love! O smiling Death!" The joyousness of the warrior-virgin -on the flame-circled summit reached the loftiest height; her cry of -love and liberty mounted to the heart of the sun. Ah, what heights and -what depths had he not touched, that formidable Master of human souls! -What effort could ever equal his? What eagle could ever hope to soar -higher? His gigantic work was there, finished, amidst men. Throughout -the world swelled the last mighty chorus of the Grail, the canticle of -thanksgiving: "Glory to the Miracle! Redemption to the Redeemer!" - -"He is tired," said Prince Hoditz, "very tired and feeble. That is -the reason why we did not see him at the Doge's Palace. His heart is -affected." ... - -Once more the giant became a man: the slight body, bent with age and -glory, consumed by passion, slowly dying. And Stelio heard again in -his heart Perdita's words, which had called up the image of another -stricken artist--the father of Donatella Arvale. "The name of the bow -is BIOS ("life"), and its work is death!" - -The young man saw his pathway blazed before him by victory--the long -art, the short life. "Forward, still forward! Higher, ever higher!" -Every hour, every second, he must strive, struggle, fortify himself -against destruction, diminution, oppression, contagion. Every hour, -every second, his eye must be fixed on his aim, concentrating and -directing all his energies, without truce, without relaxation. He felt -that victory was as necessary to his soul as air to his lungs. At the -contact with the German barbarian, a furious thirst for conflict awoke -in his Latin blood. "To you now belongs the will to do!" Wagner had -declared, on the day of the opening of the new theater: "In the work -of art of the future, the source of invention will never run dry." Art -was infinite, like the beauty of the world. There are no limits to -courage or to power. Man must seek and find, further and still further. -"Forward, still forward!" - -Then a single wave, vast and shapeless, embodying all the aspirations -and all the agitations of that delirium, whirling itself into a -maelstrom, seemed to take on the qualities of plastic matter, obeying -the same inexhaustible energy that forms all animals and all things -under the sun. An extraordinary image, beautiful and pure, was born -of this travail, lived and glowed with unbearable intensity. The poet -saw it, absorbed it with a pure gaze, felt that it took root in the -very depths of his being. "Ah, to express it, to manifest it to the -world, to fix it in perfection for all eternity!" Sublime moment that -never would return! All visions vanished. Around him flowed the current -of daily life; fleeting words sounded; expectation palpitated, desire -still lived. - -He looked at the woman. The stars sparkled; the trees waved, and the -dark garden spread out behind Perdita, and her eyes still said: "Let me -serve! Let me serve!" - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - THE PROMISE - - -Descending the terrace to the garden, the guests had dispersed among -the shady paths and under the vine-covered trellises. The night breeze -was damp and warm, touching the long lashes on delicate eyelids like -lips brushing them in a caress. The invisible stars of the jasmine -perfumed the darkness; the rich fragrance of fruit, too, was even -stronger than in the island gardens. A vivid power of fertility -emanated from this narrow trace of cultivated earth, which appeared -like a place of exile, surrounded by a girdle of water, and, like an -exiled soul, all the more intense. - -"Do you wish me to remain here? Shall I return after the others have -gone? Say quickly! It is late!" - -"No, no, Stelio, I beg of you! It is late--it is too late! You yourself -say it is." - -La Fosacarina's voice was full of mortal terror. Her white arms and -shoulders trembled in the shadows. She wished at once to refuse and to -yield; she wished to die, yet she wished to feel his strong embrace. -She trembled more and more; her teeth chattered slightly, for a glacial -stream seemed to submerge her, chilling her from head to foot. The -strange emotion caused a fancy that her very limbs were ready to break, -and she was conscious that the stiffness of her set features had even -changed the sound of her voice. And still she longed at once to die -and to be loved; still, over her terror, her chill, her body no longer -young, hung the terrible sentence the beloved had pronounced, which she -herself had repeated: "It is late--it is too late!" - -"Your promise, your promise, Perdita! I will not be put off!" - -The tide, swelling like a full, fair throat, the estuary, lost in -darkness and death, the City, when illumined by the twilight fire, the -water flowing in the invisible clepsydra, the bronze bells with their -vibrations reaching to the sky, the eager wish, the contracted lips, -lowered eyelids, feverish hands, all recurred with the memory of the -silent promise. With wild ardor he longed to clasp that being, whose -knowledge of all things was immeasurably deep and rich. - -"No, I will not be put off!" - -His ardor had come to him from far-distant ages, from the most ancient -origins, the primitive simplicity of sudden unions, the antique mystery -of sacred furies. Like the horde that was possessed by the enchantment -of the gods, and descended the mountain side, tearing up trees, rushing -on with blind fury, momentarily increasing, its numbers swelled by -other madmen, spreading madness in its way, and finally becoming one -vast bestial yet human multitude, impelled by a monstrous will, so the -crudest of instincts urged him on, confusing all his ideas in a dizzy -whirl. And what most attracted him in that wandering and despairing -woman, whose knowledge was deep and rich, was the consciousness that -she was a being oppressed by the eternal servitude of her nature, -destined to succumb to the sudden convulsions of her sex; a being who -soothed the fever of stage life in sensuous repose, the fiery actress, -who passed from the frenzied plaudits of the multitude to the embrace -of a lover; the Dionysian creature who chose to crown her mysterious -rites as they were crowned in the ancient orgies. - -His amorous madness was now immeasurable, and was a mingling of -cruelty, jealousy, poetry and pride. He regretted that he never had -sought her after some dramatic triumph, warm from the breath of the -people, breathless and disheveled, showing the traces of the tragic -soul that had wept and cried in her, with the tears of that alien -spirit still damp on her agitated face. As by a flash of light, he had -a sudden vision of her reclining, at rest, yet full of the power that -had drawn forth a howl from the monster, panting like a Mænad after the -dance, athirst and weary. - -"Ah, do not be cruel!" entreated the woman, who felt in the voice of -the beloved, and read in his eyes, the madness that possessed him. From -the burning gaze of the young man she shrank with pathetic modesty. His -insistence hurt the sensitive delicacy of her spirit. She recognized -in it all that there was of mere selfish impulse; she well knew that -he thought of her as something poisonous and corrupt, with memories of -many loves, a wandering, implacable temptress. She divined the sudden -grudgingness, jealousy and feverish resentment that had blazed up in -the long-beloved friend, to whom she had consecrated all of herself -that was most precious and most sincere, preserving the perfection of -that sentiment by her steadfast refusal to break down all barriers. -Now, all was lost; all was suddenly devastated, like a fair domain -at the mercy of rebellious and vindictive slaves. Then, almost as if -she were passing through the last agonies of death, her whole bitter -and stormy past rose before her: that life of struggle and pain, -bewilderment, effort, passion, and triumph. She felt all its heavy -burden weighing on her, and recalled the ineffable joy, the feeling -of mingled terror and freedom, with which, in her far-distant youth, -she had given her first, fresh love to the man who had deceived her. -And through her mind passed the image of herself, that maiden who had -disappeared, who perhaps was still dreaming in some solitary place, -or weeping, or promising herself future happiness. "Too late--it is -too late!" The irrevocable word rang continually in her ears like the -reverberation of the bronze bells. - -"Do not be cruel, Stelio!" she repeated, white and delicate as the -swansdown that encircled her shoulders. She seemed suddenly to have -shorn herself of her power, to have become slight and weak, to have -assumed a secret, tender personality, easy to kill, to destroy, to -immolate as a bloodless sacrifice. - -"No, Perdita, I will not be cruel," he stammered, suddenly discomposed -by her face and voice, his heart stirred with human pity, arising from -the same depths that had harbored his wilder instincts. "Pardon me! -Forgive!" - -He would have liked to take her in his arms that moment, to nurse her, -console her, let her weep on his breast, and to dry her tears. He felt -that he no longer recognized her, that some unknown creature stood -before him, infinitely humble and sad, deprived of all strength. His -pity and remorse were like the emotion we feel if we unwillingly hurt -or offend an invalid or a child--some lonely and inoffensive little -being. - -"Pardon me!" - -He would have liked to kneel, to kiss her feet in the grass, to murmur -little fond phrases in her ear. He bent toward her and touched her -hand. She started violently, opened wide her large eyes upon him; then -lowered her eyelids and stood motionless. Shadows seemed to gather -under her arched brows, throwing into relief the curve of her cheeks. -Again the glacial wave submerged her. - -Voices arose from the guests dispersed about the garden, then a long -silence followed. - -Presently a crunching of gravel, as if trodden by a heavy foot, was -heard, followed by another long silence. Soon a confused clamor was -heard coming from the canals; the jasmine's fragrance was heavier than -before, as a heart in suspense quickens in movement. The night seemed -fraught with miracles, and eternal forces worked harmoniously between -the earth and the stars. - -"Pardon me! If my love oppresses you, I will continue to stifle it; I -will even renounce it forever, and obey you. Perdita! Perdita! I will -forget all that your eyes said to me a little while ago, in the midst -of the idle talk. What embrace, what caress could more wholly unite our -souls? All the passion of the night threw us together. I received your -soul like a wave. And now it seems that never again can I separate my -heart from yours, nor can you separate yours from mine. Together we -must go forward to meet I know not what mysterious dawn...." - -He spoke in a low tone, with absolute abandon, having become for the -moment a vibrating substance that responded to every change in the -nocturnal spirit that bewitched him. That which he saw before him was -no longer a corporeal form, an impenetrable prison of flesh; it was a -soul unveiled by a succession of appearances not less expressive than -melody itself, an infinite sensibility, delicate and powerful, which, -in that slight frame, created in turn the fragility of the flower, the -vigor of marble, the flash of the flame, all shadows and all light. - -"Stelio!" - -She hardly breathed that name aloud; yet in the sigh that died on her -soft lips was as thrilling a note of wonder and exultation as would -have been revealed in the most piercing cry. In the accent of the -man she had recognized love: love, real love! She, who had so often -listened to beautiful and perfect words pronounced by that clear voice, -and who had suffered under them as from a torture or a heartless jest, -now saw her own life and all the world suddenly transformed at this -new accent. Her very soul seemed changed; that which had encumbered -it fell away into dim, far-off obscurity, while to the surface rose -something free and immaculate, that dilated and curved over her like -the sky; and, as the wave of light mounts from the horizon to the -zenith with mute harmony, the illusion of happiness mounted to her -lips. A smile softly spread over her lips, which quivered like leaves -in the breeze, showing a glimpse as pearly as the jasmine's starry -flowers. - -"All is abolished--all is vanished. I never have lived, I never have -loved, I never have suffered. I am renewed. I never have known any love -but this. My heart is pure. I should wish to die in the joy of your -love. Years and experience have passed over me without reaching that -part of my soul which I have kept for you, that secret heaven which has -suddenly opened to the unforeseen, has triumphed over all my sadness, -and has remained alone to cherish the strength and the sweetness of -your name. Your love will save me; the fulness of my love will render -you divine!" - -Words of wildest transport sprang from her liberated heart, though -her lips dared not speak them. But she smiled--smiled her infinite, -mysterious, silent smile! - -"Is it not true? Speak--answer me, Perdita! Do you not feel too our -need of each other--all the stronger from our long renunciation, from -the patience with which we have awaited this hour? Ah, it seems to me -that all my presentiments and all my hopes would count as nothing, if -it were fated that this hour should not come to pass. Say that without -me you could not have waited, after life's darkness, for the glorious -dawn, as I could not wait without you!" - -"Yes, yes!" - -In that stifled syllable, she was lost irrevocably. The smile faded, -the lines of the mouth became heavy, causing it to appear in sharply -drawn relief against the pallor of her face; the lips seemed athirst, -strong to attract, to cling, insatiable. And her whole body, which just -before had seemed to shrink in sensitiveness and apprehension, now drew -itself up again, as if formed anew, recovering all its physical power, -and inundated by an impetuous wave of emotion. - -"Let us have no more uncertainty. It is late." - -He could not disguise his impatience of the social restraints that must -be observed on account of the other guests. - -"Yes!" La Foscarina repeated, but in a new accent, her eyes dwelling -upon his, commanding, imperious, as if she felt certain now of -possessing a philter that should bind him to her forever. - -Stelio felt his heart-throbs quicken still more at the thought of the -love this mysterious being must be able to give. He gazed deep into her -eyes, and saw that she was as pale as if all her blood had been sapped -by the earth to nourish the rich fruits of the garden; and it seemed to -him that the present was part of a dream-life, wherein he and she lived -alone in all the world. - - [Illustration: _HE GAZED DEEP INTO HER EYES AND SAW THAT SHE WAS AS -PALE AS IF HER BLOOD HAD BEEN SAPPED TO NOURISH THE RICH FRUITS OF THE - GARDEN_] - - _From an Original Drawing by Arthur H. Ewer_ - - -La Foscarina was standing under a shrub laden with fruit. The sudden -beauty that had illumined her in the supper-room, made up of a thousand -ideal forces, reappeared in her face with still greater intensity, -kindled now from the flame that never dies, the fervor that never -languishes. The magnificent fruits hung over her head, bearing the -crown of a royal donor. The myth of the pomegranate was revivified in -the mystery of midnight, as it had been at the passing of the boat in -the mystic twilight. Who was this woman? Was she Persephone herself, -Queen of Shades? Had she dwelt in that unknown region where all human -agitations seem as trifling as idle winds on a dusty, interminable -road? Had she contemplated the springs of the world, sunk deep in the -earth? Had she counted the roots of the flowers, immobile as the veins -in a petrified body? Was she weary or intoxicated with human tears, -laughter, and sensuousness, and with having touched, one after another, -all things mortal, to make them bloom only to see them perish? Who was -she? Had she struck upon cities like a scourge, silenced forever with -her kiss all lips that sang, stopped the pulsation of tyrannous hearts? -Who was she--who? What secret past made her so pale, so passionate, -so perilous? Had she already divulged all her secrets and given all -her gifts, or could she still, by new arts, enchant her new lover, for -whom life, love, and victory were one and the same thing? All this, -and more, was suggested to him by the little veins in her temples, the -curve of her cheeks, the lithe strength of her body. - -"All evil, all good, that which I know and do not know, that which you -know, as well as that which you are ignorant of--all this had to be, to -prepare the fulness of this night." Life and the dream had become one. -Thought and sense were as wines poured into the same cup. Even their -garments, their faces, their hopes, their glances, were like the plants -of the garden, like the air, the stars, the silence. - -Sublime moment, never to return! Before he realized it, his hands -involuntarily reached out to draw her to himself. The woman's head -fell backward, as if she were about to faint; between her half-closed -eyelids and her parted lips her eyes and her teeth gleamed as things -gleam for the last time. Then swiftly she raised her head again and -recovered herself; her lips sought the lips that sought hers. - -After a moment they saw each other again in a lucid way. The voices of -the guests in the garden were wafted to their ears, and an indistinct -clamor from the far-off canal rose from time to time. - -"Well?" demanded the young man feverishly, after that burning kiss of -body and soul. - -The lady bent to lift a fallen pomegranate from the grass. The fruit -was ripe; it had burst open in its fall and now poured out its blood -from the wound it had received. With the vision of the fruit-laden -boat, the pale islet, and the field of asphodels, to the impassioned -woman's mind returned the words of the Inspirer: "This is my body.... -Take, eat!" - -"Well?" - -"Yes!" - -With a mechanical movement she crushed the fruit in her hand, as if she -wished to expel all its juice, which trickled in a stream over her -wrist. She trembled, as the glacial wave rushed over her anew. - -"Go away when the others go, but then--return! I will wait for you at -the gate of the Gradenigo garden." - -She trembled still, partly from terror, a prey to an invincible power. -As by a flash of light, again he saw her reclining, at rest, panting -like a Mænad after the dance. They gazed at each other, but could not -bear the fierce light of each other's eyes. They parted. - -She went in the direction of the voices of the poets who had exalted -her ideal power. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - "TO CREATE WITH JOY!" - - -Lost! Lost! Now she was lost! She still lived--vanquished, humiliated, -as if some one had trampled pitilessly upon her; she still lived, and -dawn was breaking, the days were beginning again, the fresh tide was -flowing once more into the City Beautiful, and Donatella was still -sleeping upon her pure pillow. Into an infinite distance had faded the -hour, in reality so short a time before, when she had waited at the -gate for her beloved, recognized his step in the funereal silence of -the deserted path, and felt her knees weaken as if from a blow, while -a strange reverberation rang in her ears. How far-away now seemed that -hour! yet the little incidents of her vigil returned to her mind with -intensity: the cold iron rail against which she had leaned her head, -the sharp, acrid odor that rose from the grass as from a retting-vat, -the moist tongue of Lady Myrta's greyhounds that came noiselessly and -licked her hands. - -"Good-by! Good-by!" - -She was lost! He had left her as he would have left some light love, -almost with the manner of a stranger, almost impatient even, drawn by -the freshness of the dawn, by the freedom of the morning. - -"Good-by!" - -From her window she perceived Stelio on the bank of the canal; he was -inhaling deep breaths of the fresh morning air; then in the perfect -calm that reigned over all things, she heard his clear, confident voice -calling the gondolier: - -"Zorzi!" - -The man was asleep in the bottom of his gondola, and his human slumber -resembled that of the curved boat that obeyed his movements. Stelio -touched him lightly with his foot, and instantly he sprang up, jumped -to his place and seized the oar. Man and boat awoke at the same time, -as if they had but one body, ready to glide over the water. - -"Your servant, Signor!" said Zorzi with a smile, glancing up at the -brightening sky. "Sit down, Signor, and I will row." - -Opposite the palace, the door of a large workshop was thrown open. It -was a stonecutter's shop, where steps were fashioned from the stone of -Val-di-Sole. - -"To ascend!" thought Stelio, and his superstitious soul rejoiced at -the good omen. On the sign, the name of the quarry seemed radiant with -promise--the Valley of the Sun. He had already seen, a short time -before, the image of a stairway, on a coat-of-arms in the Gradenigo -garden--a symbol of his own ascension. "Higher, always higher!" Joy -came bubbling up from the depths of his being. The morning awakened all -manly energies. - -"And Perdita? And Ariadne?" He saw them again, as they descended the -marble stairway, in the light of the smoking torches. "And La Tanagra?" -The Syracusan appeared to his vision, with her long, goat-like eyes, -reposing gracefully upon her mother earth, motionless as a bas-relief -on the marble in which it is carved. "The Dionysian Trinity!" He -fancied them as exempt from all passion, immune from all evil, like -creations of art. The surface of his soul seemed covered with swift and -splendid images, like sails scattered over a swelling sea. His heart -beat calmly, and with the approaching sunrise he felt a renewal of his -life-forces, as if he were born anew with the morning. - -"We do not need this light any longer," murmured the gondolier slyly, -extinguishing the lantern of the gondola. - -"To the Grand Canal, by San Giovanni Decollato!" cried Stelio, seating -himself. - -As the dentellated prow swung into the Canal of San Giacomo dall'Orio, -he turned to look once more at the palace, of a leaden hue in the early -dawn. One lighted window grew dark at that moment, like an eye suddenly -blinded. "Good-by! Good-by!" The woman no longer young was up there -alone, sad with the sadness of death; the Song-Maiden was preparing to -return to the place of her long sacrifice. He knew not how to pity, -he could only promise. From the abundance of his strength, he drew an -illusion that he might change those two destinies for his own joy. - -"Stop before the Palazzo Vendramin-Calergi!" he ordered the gondolier. - -The canal, ancient stream of silence and of poetry, was deserted. The -pale green sky was reflected in it with its last fading stars. At -first glance, the palace had an aerial appearance, like an artificial -cloud hung over the water. The shadows in which it was still wrapped -suggested the quality of velvet, the beauty of something soft and -magnificent. And, just as in studying a deep-piled velvet, the pattern -gradually becomes discernible, the architectural lines revealed -themselves in the three Corinthian columns that rose with rhythmic -grace and strength to the point where the emblems of nobility, the -eagles, the horses, and the amphora, were mingled with the roses of -Loredan. NON NOBIS, DOMINE, NON NOBIS. - -Within that palace throbbed the great ailing heart. Stelio saw again -the image of the barbaric creator: the blue eyes gleaming under the -broad brow, the lips compressed above the powerful chin, armed with -sensuousness, pride, and disdain. Was he sleeping? Could he sleep, -or was he lying sleepless with his glory? The young man recalled -strange things that were told of Wagner. Was it true that he could -not sleep unless his head rested on his wife's bosom, and that, -despite advancing years, he clung to her as a lover to his mistress? -He remembered a story told him by Lady Myrta, who, while she was in -Palermo, had visited the Villa d'Angri, where the very closets in the -room occupied by the master had remained impregnated with an essence -of rose so strong that it made her ill. He fancied that slight, tired -body, wrapped in sumptuous draperies, ornamented with jewels, perfumed -like a corpse ready for the pyre. Was it not Venice that had given -him, as long ago it had given Albert Dürer, a taste for luxury and -magnificence? Yes, and it was in the silence of her canals that he -had heard the passing of the most ardent breath of all his music--the -deadly passion of Tristan and Isolde. - -And now, within that palace throbbed the great ailing heart, and there -its formidable impetuosity was flagging. The patrician palace, with -its eagles, its horses, amphora, and roses, was as tightly closed and -silent as a great tomb. Above its marble towers the sunrise turned the -pale green sky to rosy pink. - -"Hail to the Victorious One!" Stelio stood up and cast his flowers at -the threshold of the palace door. - -"On! On!" he cried. - -Urged by this sudden impatience, the gondolier bent to his oar, and -the light craft threaded its way along the stream. A brown sail -passed silently. The sea, the rippling waves, the laughing cry of the -sea-gulls, the sweeping breeze arose before his desire. - -"Row, Zorzi, row! To the Veneta Marina, by the Canal dall'Olio!" the -young man cried. - -The canal seemed too narrow for the expanse of his soul. Victory was -now as necessary to his spirit as air to his lungs. After the delirium -of the night, he wished to prove the perfection of his physical nature -by the light of day and in the sharp breeze of the sea. He did not wish -to sleep. He felt a circle of freshness around his eyes, as if he had -bathed them with dew. He had no desire for repose, and the thought of -his bed in the hotel filled him with disgust. "The deck of a ship, the -odor of pitch and of salt, the flutter of a red sail.... Row, Zorzi!" - -The gondolier redoubled his efforts. The Fondaco dei Turchi disappeared -from their view, a vision of marvelously yellow old ivory, like the -only remaining portico of some ruined mosque. They passed the Palazzo -of the Cornaro and the Palazzo of the Pesaro, those two giants -blackened by time as by smoke from a fire; they passed the Ca' d'Oro, a -divine marvel of air and stone; and suddenly the Rialto bridge showed -its ample back, laden with shops, already bustling with life, sending -forth the odor of vegetables and fish, like a great horn of plenty -pouring out upon the shores the fruits of earth and sea to feed the -Queen of Cities. - -"I am hungry, Zorzi, I am very hungry!" said Stelio, laughing. - -"A good sign when a wakeful night makes one hungry; it makes only the -old feel sleepy," said Zorzi. - -"Row to shore!" - -He bought at a stall some grapes of the Vignole and some figs from -Malamocco, laid on a plate of vine-leaves. - -"Row, Zorzi!" - -The gondola turned, then sped under the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, making -its way toward the Rio de Palazzo. The bells were now ringing joyously -in the full daylight, drowning the noises of the market-place with -their brazen tongues. - -"To the Ponte della Paglia!" - -A thought, spontaneous as an instinct, led him back to the glorious -spot where it seemed some trace must remain of his lyric inspiration -and of the great Dionysian chorus: _Viva il forte!_ The gondola -grazed the side of the Palace of the Doge, massive as a monolith cut -by chisels not less apt in finding melodies than the bows of the -musicians. With all his new-born soul he embraced the mass; he heard -once more the sound of his own voice and the bursts of applause. He -said again to himself: "To create with joy! That is an attribute of -Divinity! Impossible to imagine, in the highest flight of the spirit, -a more triumphal act. Even the phrase itself has something of the -splendor of the dawn." - -Again and again he repeated to the air, the waters, the stones, to the -ancient city, to the young dawn: "To create with joy! To create with -joy!" - -When the prow passed under the bridge and entered the mirror of light, -a freer breath gave him fresh realization, with his hope and his -courage, of the beauty and strength of the life of the past. - -"Find me a boat, Zorzi--a boat that will go out to sea." - -He longed for still wider space in which to breathe; he longed to feel -a strong wind, salt air and dashing spray; to see the sails swell, and -the bowsprit pointed toward a boundless horizon. - -"To the Veneta Marina! Find me a fishing-boat, a _bragozzo_ from -Chioggia." - -He perceived a large red and black sail, just hoisted, and now flapping -in the breeze, superb as an ancient banner of the Republic, with the -device of the Lion and the Book. - -"That one there--that will do. Let us catch it, Zorzi." - -In his impatience he waved his hand, to sign to the boat to stop. - -"Call out to them to wait for me, Zorzi!" - -The gondolier, heated and dripping, cried out to the man at the sail. -The gondola flew like a canoe in a regatta. - -"Bravo, Zorzi!" - -But Stelio was panting, too, as if he were in pursuit of fortune, some -happy aim, or the certainty of a kingdom. - -"We have won the flag!" laughed the gondolier, rubbing his burning -palms. "What foolishness!" - -The movement, the tone, the good-humor, the astonished faces of the -fishermen leaning over the rail, the reflection of the red sail in the -water, the cordial odor of fresh bread from a neighboring bake-shop, -the smell of boiling pitch from a dock-yard, the voices of workmen -entering the arsenal, the strong emanations from the quays, impregnated -with the odor of the old rotten vessels of the Serene Republic, the -resounding blows of the hammer on the vessels of the new Italy--all -these rude and healthful things aroused a wonderful joyousness in the -heart of the young man, who laughed aloud for very gladness. - -"What do you wish?" demanded the older of the fishermen, bending toward -the ringing laughter his bearded bronzed face. "What can I do for you, -Signor?" - -The mast creaked as if it were alive, swaying from top to bottom. - -"You can come on board, if you like," he said. "Is that all you want?" - -He brought a ladder and attached it to the stern. It was a simple -affair of ropes and pegs, but to Stelio it seemed, like all else in the -rough craft, to have a life of its own. As he stepped upon it he felt -almost ashamed of his light, glossy shoes. The heavy, calloused hand of -the sailor, covered with blue tattoo-marks, helped him to climb up and -pulled him on board with a jerk. - -"The grapes and the figs, Zorzi!" - -From the gondola, Zorzi handed him the vine-leaf plate. - -"May it make new blood for you, Signor!" - -"And the bread?" - -"We have some warm bread," said one of the sailors, "just out of the -oven." - -Hunger would certainly give that bread a delicious flavor, finding -therein all the nourishment of the grain. - -"Your servant, Signor, and a fair wind to you!" said the gondolier, -taking leave. - -"Starboard!" - -The lateen sail, with the Lion and the Book, swelled crimson. The craft -turned toward the open sea, directing its course toward San Servolo. -The shore seemed to assume a sharp curve, as if to repel it. - -"To the right!" - -The boat veered with great force. A miracle met it: the first rays of -the sun pierced the fluttering sail and illumined the angels on the -campaniles of San Marco and San Giorgio Maggiore, setting on fire the -globe of the Fortuna and crowning the five miters of the Basilica with -a diadem of light. Venice Anadyomene reigned over the waters, and from -her beauty all her veils were ravished. - -"Glory to the Miracle!" An almost superhuman feeling of power and of -freedom swelled the young man's heart as the wind had swollen the sail -transfigured for him. In its crimson splendor, he saw himself as in the -splendor of his own blood. It seemed to him that all the mystery of -this beauty demanded of him a triumphal act. He felt confident that he -was able to accomplish it. "To create with joy!" - -And the world was his! - - - - - BOOK II - - THE EMPIRE OF SILENCE - - - - - CHAPTER I - - "IN TIME!" - - -"In time!" In a room of the Academy, La Foscarina had stopped before -_La Vecchia_, by Francesco Torbido--that wrinkled, toothless, flaccid, -yellow old woman, who could no longer either smile or weep, that human -ruin worse than decay, that species of earthly Parca, who, instead of -spindle, thread, or scissors, held in her hand a card bearing that -significant warning. - -"In time!" she said again, when she and her companion were once more in -the open air. She said it to break the pensive silence, during which -she had felt her heart sink, like a stone cast into dark waters. She -spoke again suddenly: - -"Stelio, do you know that closed house in the Calle Gambara?" - -"No--which house?" - -"The house of the Countess of Glanegg." - -"No, I don't know it." - -"Do you not know the story of the beautiful Austrian?" - -"No, Fosca. Tell it to me." - -"Will you go with me as far as the Calle Gambara; it is only a short -distance?" - -"Yes, I will go." - -They walked along, side by side, toward the closed mansion. Stelio -fell back a step, that he might observe the actress, that he might -behold her grace as she walked in that warm, dead air. With his ardent -gaze he seemed to embrace her whole person: the line of her shoulders -sloping with noble grace, the free and pliant waist on the strong -hips, the knees that moved lightly among the folds of her robe, and -that pale, passionate face, those eloquent lips, that brow, lofty -and beautiful as that of a man, the fringe of dark lashes over the -elongated eyes, that sometimes were clouded over, as if tears rose to -them and remained unshed--the whole passionate face full of lights and -shadows, love and sadness, feverish force and quivering life. - -"I love you! I love you! You alone please me! Everything about you -pleases me!" he said to her suddenly, whispering the words close to -her cheek. He was now walking so close as almost to press against her, -as he accommodated his step to hers, his arm passed under her arm. He -could not bear to know that she was seized with startled anguish at -those terrible warning words. - -She trembled, stopped; her eyelids drooped, her cheeks turned pale. - -"My friend!" she said, in a tone so faint that the two words seemed -modulated less by her lips than by the rare smile of her spirit. - -Her sudden sadness melted away, changed into a wave of tenderness that -poured in a lavish flood over her friend. Her unbounded gratitude -inspired her with an eager desire to find some great gift for him. - -"Tell me, Stelio, what can I do for thee?" - -She imagined some marvelous test, some unheard-of proof of love. "Let -me serve! Let me serve!" cried her heart. She yearned to own the whole -earth, that she might offer it to him. - -"What dost thou wish? Tell me--what can I do for thee?" - -"Love me--only love me!" - -"Poor friend, my love is sad." - -"It is perfect; it crowns my life." - -"But you are young." - -"I love you!" - -"You should possess one with strength equal to your own." - -"But it is you, and only you, that each day increases my strength and -exalts my hope. My blood runs quicker when I am near you in your mystic -silence. At those times things are born in my brain that in time you -will marvel to see. You are necessary to me." - -"Do not say that!" - -"Each day you confirm me in the assurance that all promises made to me -will be kept." - -"Yes, you will have your own beautiful destiny. For you I have no fear; -you are sure of yourself. No peril can surprise you, no obstacle can -impede your progress. Oh, to be able to love without fear! One always -fears when one loves. It is not for you that I fear. You seem to me -invincible. I thank you for that also." - -She showed him her faith, deep as her passion, lucid and unlimited. For -a long time, even in the heat of her own struggles and the vicissitudes -of her wandering life, she had kept her eyes fixed on this young, -victorious existence, as on an ideal form born of the purification of -her own desire. More than once, in the sadness of vain loves and the -nobility of the prohibition imposed between them, she had thought: "Ah, -if, some day, from all my courage, hardened in many storms, from all -the strong, clear things that grief and revolt have revealed in the -depths of my soul, from the best of myself, I could fashion for thee -the wings that shall bear thee upward in thy last supreme flight!" More -than once, her melancholy had been dissipated in a heroic presentiment. -And then she had subjected her soul to restraint, had raised it to the -highest plane of moral beauty that she could, had guided it in paths of -purity, solely to merit that for which she hoped and feared at once--to -be worthy of offering her servitude to him who was so impatient to -conquer the world. - -And now a sudden violent shock of Fate had thrown her before him in -the guise of a mere weak woman, overcome by earthly passion. She had -united herself to him by the closest tie; she had watched him at dawn, -sleeping; she had had sudden awakenings, alarmed by cruel fear, and had -found it impossible to close her tired eyes again, lest he should gaze -on her while she slept, and see in her face the lines of care and years. - -"Nothing is worth the inspiration you give me," said Stelio, pressing -her arm close and seeking her soft wrist under her glove, urged by a -longing to feel the pulsation of that devoted life. "Nothing is worth -the assurance that nevermore until death shall I be alone." - -"Ah, you too feel that, do you--that it is forever?" she cried in a -transport of joy at seeing the triumph of her love. "Yes, forever, -Stelio--whatever happens, wherever your destiny may lead you, in -whatever way you wish me to serve you, either near you or afar...." - -In the misty air rose a confused and monotonous sound, which La -Foscarina recognized as the chorus of sparrows gathered among the dying -trees in the garden of the Countess of Glanegg. The words died on her -lips; she made an instinctive movement as if to turn back and to draw -her companion with her. - -"Where are we going?" Stelio asked, surprised at her sudden movement, -and at the unforeseen interruption, that came like a burst of magic -music. - -She stopped, smiling her faint smile that showed her heart was aching. -("IN TIME!") - -"I wished to escape," she replied, "but I cannot." - -She looked like a pale flame, as she stood there. - -"I had forgotten, Stelio, that I was to take you to the closed house." - -Like one lost in a desert, she stood there, helpless, under the gray -sky. - -"It seemed to me that we were to go somewhere else. But we are already -here. 'In time'!" - -She appeared to him now as she had in that memorable night, when she -had said "Do not be cruel, Stelio!" Clothed in her sweet, tender -soul she stood there, so easy to kill, to destroy, to immolate in a -bloodless sacrifice. - -"Come away--let us go," he said, trying to lead her with him. "Let us -go somewhere else." - -"I cannot." - -"Let us go home--let us go to your house; we will light a fire, the -first fire of October. Let me pass this evening with you, Foscarina. It -will rain soon. It would be so sweet to sit in your room and talk, or -be silent, hand-in-hand. Come! Let us go." - -He would have liked to take her in his arms, to nurse her, soothe -her, charm away her sadness. The sweetness of his own words augmented -his tenderness. Of all her lovable person, he loved most fondly the -delicate little lines that radiated from the corners of her eyes to -her temples, the little purple veins that made her eyelids look like -violets, the curve of her cheeks, the pointed chin, and all that seemed -touched by the finger of Autumn, every shadow that overspread that -passionate face. - -"Foscarina! Foscarina!" - -Whenever he called her by her real name, his heart beat faster, as if -something more deeply human had entered into his love, as if suddenly -her whole past had seized once more the figure he was pleased to -isolate in his dream, and as if innumerable threads formed a bond -uniting it more closely than ever to implacable life. - -"Come! Let us go!" - -She smiled pensively. - -"But why? The house is very near. Let us pass it by the Calle Gambara. -Do you not wish to know the story of the Countess of Glanegg? Look! One -would think it a convent." - -The street was deserted as the path leading to a hermitage; it was -gray, damp, strewn with dead leaves. The east wind had brought a light, -warm mist that softened all sounds. - -"Behind those walls, a desolate soul survives the beauty of its body," -said La Foscarina softly. "Look! The windows are closed, the blinds -are nailed, the doors are sealed. Only one door is still open for the -servants, and through it they carry the dead woman her nourishment, -though she is walled up as if in an Egyptian tomb. The servants feed a -body that no longer has the spirit of life." - -The naked trees, which rose to the top of the cloister-like enclosure, -looked almost smoky in the mist; the sparrows, more numerous than the -leaves, twittered incessantly. - -"Guess the Countess's name, Stelio. It is beautiful and rare--as -beautiful as if you had originated it." - -"I do not know." - -"Radiana! The prisoner is called Radiana." - -"But whose prisoner is she?" - -"The prisoner of Time, Stelio. Time stands on guard at her door, with -his scythe and hour-glass, as she is shown in old prints." - -"Are you trying to describe an allegory?" - -A boy passed, whistling. When he saw the two strangers looking at -the closed windows, he stopped to gaze too, his large eyes full of -curiosity and astonishment. They were silent. Presently the little boy -grew tired of staring; nothing interesting could be seen; the windows -were not opened; everything was motionless, so he ran away. They heard -the flight of his little bare feet on the wet stones and rotting leaves. - -"Well," said Stelio, "and what did Radiana do? You have not yet told -me who is this woman, nor the reason why she is a recluse. Tell me her -story. I have already been thinking of Soranza Soranzo." - -"The Countess Glanegg is one of the greatest ladies of the aristocratic -Viennese world, and perhaps the most beautiful I ever have seen. -Franz Lenbach has painted her in the armor of the Valkyries, with the -four-winged helmet. Have you ever visited his red studio in the Palazzo -Borghese?" - -"No, never." - -"Go there some day, and ask him to show you that portrait. You will -see it unchanged, as I see it now through all those walls. She has -wished to remain like that in the memory of those that saw her in the -splendor of her beauty. One day, when the sun shone too bright, she saw -that the time had come for that beauty to fade, and she resolved to -take leave of the world in such a way that men should not be witnesses -of the decay and destruction of her famous beauty. Perhaps it was her -sympathy with things that disintegrate and fall in ruins that has kept -her in Venice. She gave a magnificent farewell banquet, where she -appeared, still sovereignly beautiful; then she withdrew forever from -the world to this house that you see, in this walled garden, where, -alone with her servants, she awaits the end. She has become a legendary -figure. They say that there are no mirrors in her house, and that she -has forgotten her own face. She has forbidden even her most devoted -friends and her nearest relatives to visit her. How does she live? What -are her thoughts? By what means does she wile away the time of waiting? -Is her soul in a state of grace?" - -Every pause in that veiled voice questioning the mystery was filled -with deepest melancholy. - -"Does she pray? Does she contemplate? Does she weep? Or, perhaps, has -she become inert, and suffers no more than a withered apple in the back -of some old closet." - -"What if she should suddenly show herself at that window?" said Stelio, -feeling something like a real sensation, as he fancied he heard a -creaking hinge. - -Both looked closely at the nailed blinds. - -"Perhaps she is sitting behind them, looking at us," he added, in a -half whisper. - -This thought made them both shudder. - -They were leaning against a wall facing the house, and did not wish to -move a step. The encircling inertia affected them, the smoke-like mist -enveloped them more and more thickly; the chatter of the birds lulled -their senses as a drug given to feverish patients. The siren whistles -pierced the air from afar. The brown leaves dropped from the trees. How -long it took for a floating leaf to reach the earth! All around them -was mist, heaviness, slow consumption, ashes. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - AFTER THE STORM - - -"I must die, my dear--I must die!" said La Foscarina, in a -heart-rending voice, after a long silence, raising her face from the -cushions where she had buried it, after a stormy scene of passion, in -which the ardent words of her beloved had given her as much pain as -pleasure. - -She looked at Stelio, who had thrown himself, half reclining, on a -divan near the balcony, and now lay silent, his eyes half-closed, his -disordered hair touched with a ray of gold from the setting sun. She -realized that she was possessed by an incurable madness, spreading -throughout her declining body. Lost! Lost! She was irrevocably lost! - -"Die?" said her beloved, in a dreamy voice, without moving or opening -his eyes, as if he were wrapped in a melancholy trance. - -"Yes--die--before you hate me!" - -Stelio opened his eyes quickly, raised himself erect and held up one -hand, as if to prevent her from saying more. - -"Ah, why do you torment yourself in this way?" he said. - -He saw that she was ivory pale; her hair fell in wandering wavy locks -over her cheeks; she seemed consumed by some corrosive poison; her -face was full of terror and misery. - -"What are you doing with me? What are we both doing?" she exclaimed in -anguish. - -"I love you!" - -"Not as I wish, not as I have dreamed; I do not wish to be loved thus." - -"But you set my heart on fire, and then madness seizes me." - -"It is like the madness of hatred." - -"No, no; do not say that!" - -"Your fierceness makes me feel that you hate me--that you even wish to -kill me." - -"But you make me blind, I tell you, and then I know not what I say or -do." - -"What is it that maddens you so? What do you see in me?" - -"Ah, I know not--I cannot tell!" - -"But I know very well what it is!" - -"Why do you torment yourself, I say? I love you! This is the love...." - -"That condemns me! I must die of it! Call me once more by the name you -gave me long ago." - -"You are mine! You belong to me, and I will not lose you." - -"Yes, you will lose me." - -"But why? I do not understand. What wild fancy is this of yours? Does -my love offend you? Do you not love me in the same way?" - -His irritation and misunderstanding only aggravated her suffering. She -covered her face with her hands. Her heart throbbed with hammer-like -beating in her rigid breast, seeming to echo in her brain. - -Presently she raised her head and looked at him with painful effort. - -"I have a heart, Stelio," she said, with trembling lips, as if she were -struggling with a sort of fierce timidity in order to force herself -to speak those words. "I suffer from a heart, too keenly alive--oh, -Stelio, alive and eager and anguished as you never will know...." - -She smiled the sweet, faint smile with which she sought to disguise her -suffering; hesitated a moment, then reached toward a bunch of violets, -which she took and pressed close to her lips. Her eyelids drooped, -her classic brow, between her dark hair and the flowers, showed its -ivory-like beauty. - -"You wound my heart sometimes, Stelio," she said softly, her lips still -caressing the violets. "Sometimes you are cruel to it." - -It seemed as if those fragrant, humble blossoms helped her to confess -her sadness, to veil still more the timid reproach she had made to her -beloved. She was silent; Stelio bowed his head. The logs on the hearth -crackled; the autumn rain fell monotonously in the fading garden. - -"I long for kindness, with a thirst that you never will understand. For -that deep, true kindness, dear friend, which does not speak but which -comprehends, which knows how to give all in a single look or a single -movement; which is strong, sure, always armed against the evil impulse -that tempts us. Do you know the sort of kindness I mean?" - -Her voice, alternately strong and wavering, was so warm with inner -light, was so full of revelation of a soul, that it passed through the -young man's blood more like a spiritual essence than a sound. - -"In you, yes, Foscarina, I know it." - -He took in his own hands the slender hands that lay filled with -violets on her lap; he bowed his head low over them and kissed them -submissively. Then he knelt at her feet, in the same submission. The -delicate perfume seemed to arouse his tenderness. During the long pause -the fire and the rain continued their murmured speech. - -Suddenly she asked in a clear voice: - -"Do you think that I believe myself sure of you?" - -"Have you not watched over my slumbers?" he replied, but in an altered -tone, for he was suddenly seized by a new emotion: with her query he -had seen rise before him her naked soul; and he felt that that soul had -penetrated his own, and recognized his secret yearning for the belief -and confidence of others in himself. - -"Yes, but what does that prove?" was her reply. "Youth sleeps quietly -on any pillow. You are young"-- - -"I love you and I have faith in you! I give myself entirely to you. You -are my life's companion, and your hand is strong." - -He saw the well known sadness in the lines of that loved face, and his -voice trembled with tenderness. - -"Kindness!" said she, caressing with light touch the hair on his -temples. "You know how to be kind--you even feel a need to comfort at -times. But a fault has been committed, and it calls for expiation. -Once it seemed to me that for you I could do the humblest as well as -the highest things; but now I feel that I can do only one thing--to go -away, disappear, and leave you free with your destiny." - -He interrupted her by springing to his feet and taking the loved face -between his hands. - -"I can do this, which love alone could not do," she said softly, -turning pale, and looking at him with an expression he never had seen -before. - -Stelio felt that he held her soul in his hands--a living spring, -infinitely beautiful and precious. - -"Foscarina, Foscarina! my soul, my life! Yes, you can give me more than -love--I know it well, and nothing is worth to me that which you give -me; no other offer could console me for not having you beside me on my -way. Believe me, believe! I have said this to you so often--don't you -remember?--even before you became all my own, when the compact still -held between us"-- - -Still holding her face between his palms, he leaned over and kissed her -passionately on her lips. - -This time she shivered; the glacial flood she felt at times seemed -passing over her. - -"No! no!" she pleaded, turning away from the young man. Dreamily she -bent to gather up the scattered violets. - -"The compact!" she said, after an interval of silence. "Why have we -violated it?" - -Stelio's eyes were fixed on the changeful splendor of the fire on the -hearth, but in his open hands lingered the strange sensation, the trace -of a miracle--that human face over which, through its sad pallor, had -passed a wave of sublime beauty. - -"Why?" the woman repeated sadly. "Ah, confess--confess that you, too, -before we were seized with the blind madness of that night, felt that -the higher life was about to be devastated and lost; that we must not -yield if we wished to save the good that remained in us--that powerful, -intoxicating thing which seemed to be the only treasure left in my -life. Confess, Stelio! speak the truth! I can almost name the exact -moment when the better voice spoke to you in warning. Was it not on the -water, on the way home, when we had with us--Donatella?" - -Before pronouncing that name she had hesitated a second, then she felt -an almost physical bitterness--a bitterness that descended from her -lips to the depths of her soul, as if the syllables held poison for -her. She awaited his reply with suffering. "I do not know how to think -about the past, Fosca," the young man replied; "moreover, I do not -wish to think about it. I have lost no good attribute that belonged to -me. It pleases me that your soul springs to your ripe lips, heavy with -sweetness, and that your fair cheek pales when I embrace you." - -"Hush, hush!" she begged. "Do not speak like that! Do not prevent me -from saying what it is that troubles me! Why do you not help me?" - -She shrank back among the cushions, and looked fixedly at the fire, to -avoid meeting the eyes of her beloved. - -"More than once I have seen a look in your eyes that has filled me with -horror," she said at last, with a touch of hoarseness in her effort to -speak. - -Stelio started, but dared not contradict her. - -"Yes, with horror," she repeated, in a clearer tone, implacable against -herself, having already triumphed over her fear and regained her -courage. - -Both were now face to face with the truth. - -She continued without faltering. - -"The first time I saw it was out there in the garden--that night--you -know! I understood then what it was you saw in me; all the mire over -which I have walked, all the infamy that clung to my feet, all the -impurity for which I have so much disgust! Ah, you could not have -acknowledged the visions that kindled your thoughts that night! Your -eyes were cruel and your mouth was convulsed. When you felt that you -wounded my sensitiveness, you took pity on me. But then--but since -then"-- - -Her face was covered with blushes; her voice had grown impetuous, and -her eyes were brilliant. - -"To have nourished for years, with all the best that was in me, a -sentiment of devotion and unbounded admiration, near you or from afar, -in joy and in sadness; to have accepted in the purest spirit all the -consolation offered by you to mankind through your poetry, and to have -awaited eagerly other gifts, even higher and more consoling; to have -believed in the great force of your genius since its dawn, and never -to have relaxed my watch over your ascent, and to have accompanied -it with a wish that has been my morning and evening prayer all these -years; to have continued, with silent fervor, the effort to give some -beauty and harmony to my own spirit, that it might be more worthy to -approach yours; so many times, on the stage, before an ardent audience, -to have pronounced with a thrill some immortal phrase, thinking of -those which perhaps one day you would communicate to mankind through -my lips; to have worked without respite, to have tried always to rise -to a higher and simpler form in my art, to have aspired unceasingly to -perfection, fearing that nothing less would please you, that otherwise -I should seem inferior to your dream; to have loved my fleeting glory -only because some day it might serve yours; to have hastened, with the -fervent confidence of faith, the latest of your revelations, that I -might offer myself to you as the instrument of your victory before my -own decay; against all and everything, to have defended this secret -ideal in my soul, against all and against myself as much as against -others; to have made of you my melancholy, my steadfast hope, my heroic -test, the symbol of all things good, strong, and free--ah, Stelio! -Stelio!"-- - -She paused an instant, overcome by that memory as by a new shame. - -"And then to have reached that dawn--to have seen you leaving my house -in that way on that horrible morning--Do you remember?" - -"I was happy--happy!" cried the young man, in a stifled voice, pale and -agitated. - -"No, no! Do you remember? You left me as you would have left some light -love, some passing fancy, after a few hours of idle pastime." - -"You deceive yourself!" - -"Confess! Come, speak the truth. Only through truth can we now hope to -save ourselves." - -"I was happy, I tell you; my whole heart expanded with joy; I dreamed, -I hoped, I felt as if I were born anew." - -"Yes, yes!--happy to breathe freely, to feel your youth in the breeze -and the fresh air. What did you see in her who in her renunciation had -so many times suffered keenly--yes, you know it well!--rather than -break the vow that she had taken and borne with her in her wanderings -over the earth? Tell me! what did you see in me, if you did not believe -me a corrupt creature, the heroine of chance amours, the vagabond -actress who in her own life, as on the stage, may belong to any man and -every man?" - -"Foscarina! Foscarina!" - -Stelio leaned over her and closed her lips with a trembling hand. - -"No, no, do not say that! You are mad! Hush! hush!" - -"It is horrible!" murmured the woman, sinking back on the cushions, -unnerved by her agitation, submerged in the bitter wave that had -flooded her heart. - -But her eyes remained wide open, fixed as two crystal orbs, hard as -if they had no lashes, fastened on Stelio. They prevented him from -speaking, from denying or softening the truth they had discovered. In a -moment or two he found that gaze intolerable, and gently pressed the -lids down with the tips of his fingers, as one closes the eyes of the -dead. She noted the movement, which was full of infinite melancholy; -she felt that only tender love and pity were in that touch. Her -bitterness passed away, her eyes grew moist. She extended her arms, -clasped them around his neck, and raised herself a little. She seemed -to be shutting her soul within herself, and became once more gentle and -weak, full of silent pleading. - -"And so I must go," she sighed at last. "Is there no help for it? Is -there no pardon?" - -"I love you!" her lover repeated. - -She disengaged one arm, and held her open hand toward the fire, as -if to conjure fate. Then once more she clasped her lover in a close -embrace. - -"Yes, still a little while! Let me remain with you a little longer. -Then I will go away; I will go somewhere, far-away, and die on a stone -under a tree. But let me stay with you a little longer." - -"I love you!" - -The blind and indomitable forces of life were whirling over them in -that embrace. And because they realized this with terror their clasp -grew closer; and from that embrace sprang an impulse, both good and -evil, that stirred them to the soul. In the silent room, the voices -of the elements spoke their obscure language, which was like an -uncomprehended reply to their mute questioning. The fire, near them, -and the rain, from without, discoursed, replied, narrated. Little by -little, these voices reached the spirit of the Animator, enticed it, -charmed it, drew it into the world of innumerable myths, born of their -eternity. His keener spiritual senses heard the deep resonance of the -two melodies expressing the intimate essence of the two elementary -wills--the two marvelous melodies that he had found, to weave them -into the symphonic web of the new tragedy. Of a sudden, all sadness -and anxiety left him as in a happy truce, an interval of enchantment. -And the woman's clasp relaxed, as if in obedience to some command of -liberation. - -"There is no help for it!" she repeated to herself, seeming to repeat -a formula of condemnation heard by her in the same mysterious way that -Stelio had heard the wonderful melodies. - -She leaned forward, resting her chin in her hand and her elbow on her -knee; and in this attitude she gazed a long time into the fire, with a -slight frown on her brow. - -As Stelio looked at her, his soul was troubled. He yearned to find some -way of breaking the iron band that oppressed her, of dissipating that -mist of sadness, of leading his beloved back to joy. - -The fire in its sudden burst of flame illumined her face and hair; her -forehead was as beautiful as a noble manly brow; something natural and -untamed was suggested in the rippling waves and changeful hue of her -thick hair. - -"What are you looking at so intently?" she said at last, feeling his -fixed gaze. "Have you found a gray hair?" - -He knelt before his love again, flexible and tender. - -"I see only your beauty. In you I always find something that delights -me. I was looking then at the strange wave of your hair here--a wave -not made by the comb, but by the storm!" - -He slipped his fingers through the thick tresses. She closed her eyes, -feeling again the spell of his terrible power over her. - -"I see only your beauty. When you close your eyes thus, I feel that you -are mine to the depth of your heart--lost in me, as the soul is one -with the body: a single life, mine and thine." - -She listened in the half light, and his voice seemed to come from a -long distance, and to be speaking not to her but to another woman; -she felt as if she were overhearing a lover's protestations to his -mistress, and suddenly fancied herself mad with jealousy, possessed -by a desire to kill, filled with a spirit of revenge; but that body -must remain motionless, her hands hanging at her sides, nerveless and -powerless. - -"You are my delight and my inspiration. You have a stimulating power -of which you are unconscious. Your simplest act suffices to reveal to -me some truth of which I was ignorant. And love is like the intellect: -it shines in the measure of the truth it discovers. Why, why do you -grieve yourself? Nothing is destroyed, nothing is lost. It was intended -that we should be united, so that together we might rise to joy and -triumph. It was necessary that I should be free and happy in your -true and perfect love in order to create the work of beauty that so -many men expect of me. I need your faith; I need to pass through joy -and to create. Your presence alone suffices to inspire my mind with -incalculable fruitfulness. Just now, when your arms held me close, I -heard a sudden torrent of music, a flood of melody, passing through the -silence." - -To whom was he speaking? Whom did he ask for joy? Was not his imperious -demand for music a yearning toward her that sang, transfiguring the -universe with her song? Of whom, if not of fresh youth and maidenhood, -could he ask joy and creation? While she had held him in her embrace, -it was the other woman who had sung and spoken within him! And now, -now--to whom was he speaking, if not to that other woman? She alone -could give him what was necessary for his art and his life. The -maiden was a new force, a closed beauty, an unused weapon, keen and -magnificent for the intoxication of war. Malediction! Malediction! - -Mingled sorrow and anger stirred her heart, in that vibrating darkness -which she dared not leave. She suffered the torments of a nightmare; as -if she were rolling toward a precipice with the indestructible burden -of her vanished years--years of misery and of triumph--her fading -face with its thousand masks, her despairing soul, and the thousand -other souls that had inhabited her mortal body. This grand passion of -her life, which was to have saved her, seemed now to be pushing her -relentlessly toward ruin and death. In order to reach her, and through -her to attain to his highest joy, the passion of her beloved was -compelled to make its way through what he believed to be a multitude -of unknown loves; it would contaminate, corrupt and embitter itself, -perhaps even change by slow degrees to disgust. Always that shadowy -multitude must keep alive in him that instinct of brutal ferocity which -lurked in his strong nature. Ah, what had she done? She herself had -armed a furious devastator, and had put him between her friend and -herself. No escape was possible. She herself, on that night of the -flame, had led before him the fresh and beautiful prey, of whom he had -taken possession by one of those looks that are a choice and a promise. -To whom was he speaking now, if not to that other woman. Of whom did he -ask joy? - -"Do not be sad! do not be sad!" - -But now she heard his words only confusedly, more faint than before, as -if her soul had sunk into a chasm; but she felt his impatient hands as -they touched her caressingly. And, in that red darkness, wherein, as it -seemed to her, all madnesses and folly were born, she felt a surging -revolt in her veins. - -"Do you wish me to take you to her? Do you wish me to call her to you?" -cried the unhappy woman, suddenly opening her eyes with an expression -that astonished Stelio; she seized his wrists and shook him with a -grasp so tight that he felt her nails in his flesh. "Go! go! She awaits -you! Why do you remain here? Go, run! She awaits you!" - -She sprang up, raising him at the same time, and tried to push him -toward the door. She was no longer recognizable, transfigured by fury -into a dangerous, threatening creature. The strength of her hands was -incredible, like the energy of evil intent in her whole being. - -"Who awaits me? What did you say? What is the matter with you? Come -back to your senses, Foscarina!" - -He stammered his appeal, he trembled, fancying he saw madness in that -distorted face. But she was like one distraught and heard him not. - -"Foscarina!" He called her with all his soul, white with terror, as if -to stop with his cry her escaping reason. - -She gave a great start, opened her hands, and gazed around as if just -roused from a long sleep, of which she remembered nothing. - -"Come, sit down." - -He led her back to the cushions, and gently made her settle herself -among them. She allowed herself to be soothed by his solicitous -tenderness. Presently she moaned: - -"Who has beaten me?" - -She felt of her bruised arms, and touched her face lightly, trembling -as if she were cold. - -"Come; lie down! Put your head here." - -He made her lie on the couch; disposed her head comfortably, put a -light cushion over her feet, softly and carefully, leaning over her as -over a dear invalid, giving up to her all his heart still throbbing -with fear. - -"Yes, yes," she repeated, in a voice no louder than a sigh, at each -movement he made, as if she would prolong the sweetness of these cares. - -"Are you cold?" - -"Yes." - -"Shall I cover you with something?" Stelio inquired. - -"Yes." - -He sought for some wrap, and found on a table a piece of antique -velvet, which he spread over her. She smiled faintly. - -"Are you comfortable like that?" - -She made an affirmative sign by simply closing her eyelids. - -Stelio gathered up the violets, now warm and languid, and laid them on -the pillow near her head. - -"So?" - -Her eyelids drooped even more slightly than before. He kissed her -forehead, amid the perfume of the violets; then he turned to stir the -fire, putting on more wood and raising a fine blaze. - -"Do you feel the heat? Are you getting warm?" he asked softly. - -He approached and bent over the poor soul. She slept; the contraction -of her face had relaxed, and the lines of her mouth were composed in -the equal rhythm of sleep; a calm like that of death spread over her -pale face. "Sleep! Sleep!" He was so moved by love and pity that he -would have liked to transfuse into that slumber an infinite virtue of -consolation and forgetfulness. - -He remained standing on the rug, watching her, counting her -respirations. Those lips had said: "I can do one thing that love alone -cannot do." Those lips had said: "Do you wish me to take you to her? Do -you wish me to call her to you?" He neither judged nor resolved, but -let his thoughts scatter. Once again he felt the blind, indomitable -forces of life whirling over his head, over that sleeping form, and -also his terrible desire to cling to life. "The bow is named BIOS, and -its work is death." - -In the silence, the fire and the rain continued to talk. The voice -of the elements, the woman sleeping in her sadness, the imminence of -fate, the immensity of the future, remembrance and presentiment, all -these things created in his mind a state of musical mystery wherein -the yet unwritten work surged anew and illumined his thought. He -listened to his melodies developing themselves indefinitely, and heard -a personage in the drama say: "This alone quenches our thirst, and all -the thirst in us turns eagerly toward this freshness. If it did not -exist, none could live here; we should all die of thirst." He saw a -country furrowed by the dry, white bed of an ancient river, dotted with -bonfires which lighted up the extraordinarily calm, pure evening. He -saw a funereal gleam of gold, a tomb filled with corpses all covered -with gold, and the crowned corpse of Cassandra among the sepulchral -urns. A voice said: "How soft her ashes are! They run between the -fingers like the sands of the sea." Another voice said: "She speaks of -a shadow that passes over things, and of a damp sponge that effaces -all traces." Then night fell; stars sparkled, the myrtles breathed -perfume, and a voice said: "Ah! Behold the statue of Niobe! Before -dying, Antigone sees a stone statue whence gushes an eternal fountain -of tears." The error of the age had passed away; the remoteness of -centuries was abolished. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - A FALLEN GIANT - - -One afternoon in November, Stelio returned on the steamer from the -Lido, accompanied by Daniele Glauro. They had left behind them the -thunder of the greenish waves of the Adriatic, the trees of San Niccolò -despoiled by a predaceous wind, whirlwinds of dead leaves, heroic -phantoms of departures and arrivals, the memory of the archers playing -to win the scarlet ensign, and the mad rides of Lord Byron, devoured by -the desire to surpass his own destiny. - -"I too, to-day, would have given a kingdom for a horse," said Effrena, -in self-ridicule, irritated by the mediocrity of life. "Not a cross-bow -nor a horse in San Niccolò, not even the courage of an oarsman! _Perge -andacter!_ So here we are, on this ignoble gray carcass that smokes and -seethes like a kettle. Look at Venice, dancing down there!" - -The anger of the waves was extending to the lagoon. The waters were -agitated by a violent wind, and the agitation seemed to reach to the -foundations of the city, and the palaces, cupolas, and campaniles -appeared to heave like vessels on the water. Clusters of floating -seaweed showed their white roots; and flocks of sea-gulls circled in -the wind, their strange, wild laughter echoing above the crested waves. - -"Wagner!" Daniele Glauro said suddenly, in a low tone, touched with -emotion, as he pointed at an old man leaning against the railing of a -prow. "There he is, with Franz Liszt and Donna Cosima. Do you see him?" - -Stelio's heart beat quicker; for him too all other surrounding figures -disappeared; his bitter sense of ennui and inertia disappeared; and -he felt remaining only the suggestion of superhuman power evoked by -that name, and realized that the only reality hovering over all those -indistinct phantoms was the ideal world conjured up by that name around -the little old man leaning over the troubled waters. - -Victorious genius, fidelity of love, unchangeable friendship, the -supreme apparitions of heroic nature, were reassembled in silent union -beneath the tempestuous sky. The same dazzling whiteness crowned -the three heads, whose hair had become blanched through sadness. A -troubled sorrow was revealed in their faces and attitudes, as if the -same undefined presentiment oppressed their blended spirits. The -white face of the woman had a beautiful, strong mouth, with clear-cut -lines, revealing a tenacious soul; and her light, steel-like eyes were -fixed continually on him who had chosen her for the companion of his -noble warfare, watching over him who, having vanquished all hostile -forces, would be powerless to vanquish Death, whose menace perpetually -pursued him. That feminine vigil, full of fear, opposed itself to the -invisible gaze of the other Woman, and threw around the old man a -vague, funereal shadow. - -"He seems to be suffering," said Daniele Glauro. "Do you not see? He -seems almost on the point of swooning. Shall we go to them?" - -Effrena looked with inexpressible emotion at those white locks blown -about by the sharp wind on the aged neck under the broad brim of the -felt hat, and at the almost livid ear, with its swollen lobe. That -body, which had withstood the keenest warfare by the proud instinct of -its own domination, now looked as limp as some rag which the wind could -bear away and destroy. - -"Ah, Daniele! what can we do for him?" said Stelio, yielding to an -almost religious impulse to manifest in some way his reverence and pity -for that great oppressed heart. - -"What can we do?" repeated Glauro, to whom that ardent desire to -offer something of himself to the hero now suffering the human fate -had immediately communicated itself. Their souls were blended in that -impulse of fervor and gratitude, that sudden exaltation of their innate -nobility; but they could give nothing more than that. Nothing could -check the secret ravages of the fatal malady; and both were filled with -profound sorrow as they saw the snowy hair tossed about on the old -man's neck by the wind coming from afar, and bringing to the quivering -lagoon the murmur and the foam of the open sea. - -"Ah, glorious sea, thou shalt hear me still! Never shall I find on the -earth the health I seek. To thee, therefore, will I remain faithful, -O waves of the boundless sea!" The impetuous harmonies of _The Flying -Dutchman_ returned to Effrena's memory, with the despairing call that -pierces through them from time to time; he fancied that in the rushing -wind he could hear again the wild chant of the crew on the ship with -the blood-red sails: _"Iohohé! Iohohé!_ come ashore, black Captain! -Seven years have passed!" Again his imagination conjured up the figure -of Richard Wagner in youth; he saw once more the lonely one wandering -in the living horror of Paris, poor yet undaunted, devoured by the -fever of genius, his eyes fixed on his star, and his mind resolved to -force the world to recognize it. In the myth of the shadowy captain, -the exiled one had seen the image of his own breathless race, his -furious struggle, his supreme hope. "But some day the pale hero may be -delivered, should he meet on earth a woman that will be faithful to him -until death." - -The woman was there, beside the hero, an ever vigilant guardian. She -too, like Senta, knew the sovereign law of fidelity; and death was soon -to dissolve the sacred vow. - -"Do you think that, steeped as he is in poetic myths, he has dreamed of -some extraordinary manner of dying, and that he now prays every day to -Nature to conform his end to his dream?" said Glauro, thinking of the -mysterious will that induced the eagle to mistake for a rock the brow -of Æschylus, and led Petrarch to die alone over the pages of a book. -"What would be an end worthy of him?" - -"A new melody of unheard-of power, which in his youth had been to him -indistinct and impossible to fix, should suddenly rend his soul like a -terrible sword." - -"True!" said Glauro. - -The wind-driven clouds were battling in phalanxes through space; the -towers and cupolas seemed swaying in the background; the shadows -of city and sky, equally vast and mobile on the troubled waters, -alternately changed and blended, as if they had been produced by things -equally near dissolution. - -"Look at the Magyar, Daniele; there is a generous soul! He has served -the hero with boundless faith and devotion; and by this service, more -than by his art, he has won glory. But see how this very feeling, so -strong and so sincere, inspires him with almost theatrical affectation, -because of his continual wish to impose upon his spectators a -magnificent image of himself, which shall delude them." - -The Abbé Liszt straightened his thin and bony frame, which seemed -encased by a coat of mail, and drawing himself to his full height -he bared his head to pray, addressing a mute prayer to the God of -Tempests. The wind stirred his thick white hair, that leonine mane that -at times seemed to emit electric currents which affected his listeners, -and many women. His magnetic eyes were raised to heaven, while the -words of his inaudible prayer moved his thin lips, lending a mystic air -to that face so deeply furrowed with wrinkles. - -"What matters it?" said Glauro. "He possesses the divine faculty of -fervor and a taste for all-powerful strength and dominating passion. -Does not his art aspire toward Prometheus, Orpheus, Dante, Tasso? He -was attracted by Richard Wagner as by some great force of nature; -perhaps he heard in him the theme he has attempted to express in his -symphonic poem: 'That which is heard on the Mountain'." - -"That may be," said Effrena. - -But both started on seeing the old man turn suddenly, with the gesture -of one groping in darkness, and clutch convulsively at his companion, -who uttered a cry. They ran toward the group. Everyone on the boat -crowded around them, struck by that cry of anguish. A look from the -woman prevented the curious from venturing too close to the apparently -lifeless body. She herself supported him, laid him on a bench, felt -his pulse, and bent over to listen to his heart-beats. Her love and -her grief traced an inviolable circle around the stricken one. The -bystanders stepped back and waited in silence, anxiously looking on -that livid face for signs of either life or death. - -The face was still and pale, as it lay on the woman's knees. Two -deep furrows descended along the cheeks toward the half-open mouth, -deepening near the imperious nose. Puffs of wind ruffled the thin, -fine hair on the full forehead, and the white collar of beard below -the square chin where the vigor of the jawbone was visible through the -wrinkled skin. The temples were covered with perspiration, and one of -the feet twitched slightly. The smallest detail of that fallen figure -impressed itself forever on the minds of the two young men. - -How long did his suffering endure? The shadows continued to float over -the dark water, broken at intervals by long shafts of sun-rays that -appeared to pierce the air and bury themselves like arrows in the dark -waves. The regular cadence of the engine beat upon the air; and now -arose the wild laughter of the sea-gulls, and a sort of dull, prolonged -moan from the tempest-stricken city. - -"We must carry him," said Stelio in his friend's ear; he was -intoxicated by the sadness of the situation and by the solemnity of his -own visions. - -The motionless face gave a slight sign of returning life. - -"Yes, let us offer our services," said Glauro, whose face was pale. - -They looked at the woman with the snow-white cheeks; then they advanced -and offered their arms. - -How long did that terrible removal last? The distance from the boat to -the shore was not great, but those few steps seemed a long journey. The -waves dashed against the posts of the pier; the distant moan came to -them from the Grand Canal as if from the winding paths of a cavern; the -bells of San Marco rang for vespers; but this confusion of sounds had -lost all immediate reality, and seemed infinitely profound and distant, -like a lament of the ocean itself. - -In their arms they bore the Hero's body--the unconscious form of -him who had inundated the world with the flood of melody from his -oceanic soul, the mortal being of the Revealer who had translated into -infinite song the essence of the Universe for man's adoration. With an -ineffable thrill of terror and joy, such as would stir a man who should -see a mighty river dashing itself over vast rocks, a volcano bursting -into flame, a conflagration devouring a forest, a dazzling meteor -obscuring the light of the stars, Effrena felt beneath the hand that -he had slipped under the shoulder to sustain the body--and he paused -an instant to gather his strength, which was failing him, and gazed at -that white head against his breast--he felt the renewed beating of that -sacred heart. - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE MASTER'S VISION - - -"You were strong, Daniele--you who can hardly break a twig! And he was -heavy, that old barbarian; his body seemed built over a framework of -bronze: well constructed, firm, able to stand on a deck that might rise -and fall--the body of a man that nature destined for the sea. Whence -came your strength, Daniele? I almost feared for you, but you did not -even stagger. Do you realize that we have borne a hero in our arms? -This is a day we ought to distinguish and celebrate in some way. His -eyes opened again and looked into mine; his pulse revived under my -hand. We were worthy to carry him, Daniele, because of our fervor." - -"You are worthy not only to carry him, but of gathering and preserving -some of the most beautiful promises offered by his art to men who still -have hope." - -"Ah, if only I am not overwhelmed by my own abundance, and if I can -master the anxiety that suffocates me, Daniele!" - -The two friends walked on and on, side by side, in exalted and -confident mood, as if their friendship had taken on an added nobility. - -"It seems as if the Adriatic had overthrown the Murazzi, in this -tempest," said Daniele, pausing to look at the waves that had mounted -even to the Piazza. "We must return." - -"No, let us cross the ferry. Here is a boat. Look at the reflection of -San Marco on the water!" - -The boatman rowed them to the Torre dell' Orologio. The rising -tide soon overflowed the Piazza, looking like a lake surrounded by -porticoes, reflecting the greenish-yellow twilight sky. - -"EN VERUS FORTIS QUI FREGIT VINCULA MORTIS," read Stelio on the curve -of an arch, below a mosaic of the Resurrection. "Did you know that -Richard Wagner held his first colloquy with Death in Venice, exactly -twenty years ago, at the time he produced Tristan? Consumed by a -hopeless passion, he came here to die in silence, and here he composed -that wild second act, which is a hymn to eternal night. And now fate -has led him back to the lagoons. Fate, it seems, has decreed that here -he shall breathe his last, like Claudio Monteverde. Is not Venice full -of musical desire, immense and indefinable? Every sound transforms -itself into an expressive voice. Listen!" - -The city of stone and water seemed indeed to have become as sonorous as -a great organ. The hissing and moaning had changed to a sort of choral -supplication, rising and falling in regular rhythm. - -"Do you not hear the theme of a melody in that chorus of moans? Listen!" - -They had debarked from the little boat, and had resumed their walk -through the narrow streets. - -"Listen!" Stelio repeated. "I can detect a melodic theme, which swells -and decreases without power to develop itself. Do you hear it?" - -"It is not given to me to hear what you hear," replied the sterile -ascetic to the genius. "I will await the time when you can repeat to me -the word that Nature speaks to you." - -"Ah!" Stelio resumed, "to be able to restore to melody its natural -simplicity, its ingenuous perfection, its divine innocence; to draw -it, living, from its eternal source, from the true mystery of nature, -the inmost soul of the Universe! Have you ever reflected upon the myth -connected with the infancy of Cassandra? She had been left one night -in the temple of Apollo; and in the morning she was found lying on the -marble floor, wrapped in the coils of a serpent that licked her ears. -And from that day she understood all the voices of Nature in the air, -all the melodies of the world. The power of the great seeress was only -a high musical power; and a part of that Apollonian virtue entered -the souls of the poets that coöperated in the creation of the tragic -Chorus. One of those poets boasted of understanding the voices of -all birds; another was able to hold converse with the winds; another -comprehended perfectly the language of the sea. More than once I have -dreamed that I too was lying on the marble floor, folded in the coils -of that serpent. The magic of that old myth must be renewed, Daniele, -in order that we may create the new art. - -"Have you ever thought what might be the music of that species of -pastoral ode sung by the Chorus in _Œdipus Tyrannus_, Œwhen Jocasta -flees, horror-struck, and the son of Laïus still cherishes the illusion -of a last hope? Do you recall it? Try to imagine the strophes as if -they were a frame, within which an expressive dance-figure is animated -by the perfect life of melody. The spirit of Earth would rise before -you: the consoling apparition of the great common Mother at the -unhappiness of her stricken, trembling children--a celebration, as it -were, of all that is divine and eternal above Man, who is dragged to -madness and death by blind and cruel Destiny. Try now to conceive how -this song has helped me in the writing of my great tragedy to find the -means of the highest and at the same time the simplest expression." - -"Do you purpose, then, to reëstablish the ancient Chorus on the stage?" - -"Oh, no! I shall not revive any ancient form; I intend to create a -new form, obeying only my instinct and the genius of my own race, as -did the Greeks when they created that marvelous structure of beauty, -forever inimitable--the Greek drama. For a very long time, the three -practicable arts of music, poetry, and dancing have been separated; the -first two have developed toward a superior form of expression, but the -third is in its decadence, and I think that now it is impossible to -combine them in a single rhythmical structure without taking from one -or another its own dominant character, which has already been acquired. -If they are to blend in one common effect, each must renounce its own -particular effect--in other words, become diminished. Among the things -most susceptible of rhythm, Language is the foundation of every art -that aspires to perfection. Do you think that language is given its -full value in the Wagnerian drama? Do you not think that the musical -conception itself often loses some of its primitive purity by being -made to depend on matters outside the realm of music? Wagner himself -certainly realizes this weakness, and shows it when he approaches -a friend in Bayreuth, covering his eyes with his hand, that he may -abandon his sense of hearing entirely to the virtue of the pure sound -of the voice." - -"This is all new to me," said Glauro, "yet it rejoices and intoxicates -me as we rejoice when we hear something that has been long foreseen and -felt by presentiment. Then, as I understand, you will not superpose -the three rhythmic arts, but will present them each in its single -manifestation, yet all linked by a sovereign idea, and raised to the -supreme degree by their own significant energy?" - -"Ah, Daniele! how can I give you any idea of the work that lives within -me?" Stelio exclaimed. "The words you use in trying to formulate my -meaning are hard and mechanical." - -They stood at the foot of the Rialto steps. The gale swept over them; -the Grand Canal, dark in the shadow of the palaces, seemed to bend like -a river hastening to a cataract. - -"We cannot remain here," said Glauro, leaning against a door; "the wind -will blow us down." - -"Go on; I will overtake you. Only a moment," cried the master, -covering his eyes with his hand, and concentrating his soul upon sound -alone. - -Formidable was the voice of the tempest, in the midst of the immobility -of centuries, turned to stone. Its unaccompanied song, its hopeless, -wailing lamentation, was raised in memory of the multitudes that -had become ashes, the scattered pageants, the fallen grandeur, the -innumerable days of birth and of death--things of an age without name -or form. All the melancholy of the world rushed in the wind over that -eager, listening soul. - -"Ah! I have seized you!" Stelio cried suddenly, with triumphant joy. - -The complete and perfect line of the melody had been revealed to him, -now belonged to him, and would become immortal in his spirit and in the -world. - -"Daniele! I have found it!" - -He raised his eyes, and saw the first stars in the adamantine sky. -He feared to lose the precious treasure he had found. Near, a column -he now saw a man with a flickering light at the end of a long pole, -and heard the slight sound of the lighting of a lantern. Swiftly and -eagerly he jotted down in his notebook, under the lamplight, the notes -of the melodic theme, compressing into five lines the message of the -elements. - -"O day of marvels!" said Daniele Glauro, on seeing Stelio on the -steps, as light and agile as if he had robbed the air of some of its -elasticity. "May Nature cherish you forever, my brother!" - -"Come, come!" said Stelio, taking him by the arm and urging him on with -boyish gayety. "I must run!" - -He drew him through the narrow streets leading to San Giovanni -Elemosinario. - -"What you told me one day, Daniele, is quite true. I mean that the -voice of things is essentially different from their sound," said -Stelio. "The sound of the wind may represent the moans of a frightened -throng, the howling of wild animals, the falling of cataracts, the -rustle of waving banners, or mockery, threats, and despair. But the -voice of the wind is the synthesis of all these sounds: that is the -voice which sings and tells of the terrible travail of time, the -cruelty of human destiny, the eternal warfare for an illusion eternally -born anew." - -"And have you never thought that the essence of music does not lie in -the sounds alone?" asked the mystic doctor. "It often dwells in the -silence that precedes and follows sound. Rhythm makes itself felt in -these intervals of silence. Rhythm is the very heart of music, but its -pulsation is inaudible except during the intervals between sounds." - -This metaphysical law confirmed Stelio in his belief of the justness of -his own intuition. - -"Imagine," said he, "an interval between two scenic symphonies wherein -all the _motifs_ concur in expressing the inmost essence of the -characters that are struggling in the drama as well as in revealing -the inmost depths of the action, as, for instance, in Beethoven's -great prelude in _Leonora_, or the prelude to _Coriolanus_. That -musical silence, pulsating with rhythm, is like the mysterious living -atmosphere where alone can appear words of pure poetry. Thus the -personages seem to emerge from the symphonic sea as if from the -hidden truth that works within them; their spoken words will possess -an extraordinary resonance in that rhythmic silence, will reach the -farthest limit of verbal power, because it will be animated by a -continuous aspiration to song that cannot be appeased except by the -melody which must rise again from the orchestra, at the close of the -tragic episode. Do you understand me?" - -"Then you place the episode between two symphonies, which prepare it -and also terminate it, because music is the beginning and the end of -human utterance." - -"Thus I bring nearer to the spectator the personages of the drama. -Do you recall the figure employed by Schiller in the ode he wrote in -honor of Goethe's translation of _Mahomet_, to signify that, on the -stage, only the ideal world seems real. The chariot of Thespis, like -the barque of Acheron, is so slight that it can carry only shadows or -the images of human beings. On the stage commonly known, these images -are so unreal that any contact with them seems as impossible as would -be contact with mental forms. They are distant and strange, but in -making them appear in the rhythmic silence, accompanied by music to -the threshold of the visible world, I shall be able to bring them -marvelously close, because I shall illumine the most secret depths -of the will that produces them. I shall reveal, in short, the images -painted on the veil and that which happens beyond the veil. Do you -understand?" - -They were now entering the Campo di San Cassiano lonely and deserted -on the banks of the gray stream; their voices and their footsteps -echoed there as if in an amphitheater of stone, distinct above the -sound of the Grand Canal, which made a rushing noise like that of -a river. A purple mist rose from the fever-laden waters, spreading -like a poisonous breath. Death seemed to have reigned there a long -time. The shutter of a high window beat in the wind against the wall, -grinding on its hinges, a sign of abandonment and ruin. But, in the -mind of the Inspirer, all these appearances produced extraordinary -transfigurations. He saw again the wild and solitary spot near the -tomb of Mycenæ. Myrtles flourished between the rugged rocks and the -cyclopic ruins. Beside a rock lay the rigid, pure body of the Victim. -In the death-like silence he could hear the murmuring water and the -intermittent breath of the breeze among the myrtles. - -"It was in an august place," said he, "that I had the first vision of -my new work--at Mycenæ, under the gateway of the Lions, while I was -re-reading _Orestes_. Land of fire, country of thirst and delirium, -birthplace of Clytemnestra and of the Hydra, earth forever sterile by -the horror of the most tragic destiny that ever has overtaken a human -race. Have you ever thought about that barbarian explorer who, after -passing the greater part of his existence among his drugs behind a -counter, undertook to find the tombs of the Atridæ among the ruins -of Mycenæ, and who one day (the sixth anniversary of the event is of -recent date) beheld the greatest and strangest vision ever offered to -mortal eyes? Have you ever pictured to yourself that fat Schliemann at -the moment when he discovered the most dazzling treasure ever held by -Death in the dark obscurity of the earth for centuries--for thousands -of years? Have you ever fancied that this superhuman and terrible -spectacle might have been revealed to some one else--to a youthful and -fervent spirit, to a poet, a life-giver, to you, to me, perhaps? Then -the fever, the frenzy, the madness--Imagine!" - -He was on fire and vibrating, suddenly swept away by his own fancy as -by a whirlwind. His seer's eyes sparkled with the gleam of the buried -treasure. Creative force flowed to his brain as blood to his heart. -He was an actor in his own drama, with accent and movement expressing -transcendent beauty and passion, surpassing the power of the spoken -word, the limit of the letter. And his brother spirit hung upon his -speech, trembling before the sudden splendor that proved to him the -truth of his own divinations. - -"Imagine! Imagine that the earth in which you explore is baleful--it -must still exhale the miasma of monstrous wickedness. The curse upon -the Atridæ was so terrific that some vestige of it must still have -remained to be feared in the dust that they once trod upon. You are -bewitched: the dead you seek and cannot find are reincarnated in you, -and breathe in your body with the terrible breath with which Æschylus -infused them, huge and sanguinary as they appear in the _Orestes_, -pierced perpetually with the darts and flames of their destiny. -Hereafter, all the ideal life with which you have nourished yourself -must assume the form and impress of reality. And still you go on in -this land of thirst, at the foot of the bare mountain, enclosed within -the fascination of the dead city, always delving in the earth, with -those terrifying phantoms ever before your eyes in the burning dust. At -each thrust of the spade you tremble to the very marrow, eager to see -the face of one of the Atridæ, still perfect, but with the signs still -visible of the violence he suffered, the inhuman carnage. And behold -it! the gold, the gold, the bodies, piles of gold, bodies covered with -gold"-- - -The Atridæ princes seemed to be lying there on the stones, a miracle -evoked in the obscurity of the pathway. And the one who had evoked -these images, as well as his listener, shuddered at the same instant. - -"A succession of tombs: fifteen bodies, intact, one lying beside -another, on a golden bed, with masks of gold on their faces, their -brows crowned with gold and breasts bound with gold; and covering -them, on their forms, at their sides, at their feet, everywhere, a -prodigality of golden things, countless as the leaves falling in a -fairy forest. Do you see? Do you see?" - -"Yes, yes, I see! I see!" - -"For a second, that man's soul has traversed hundreds and thousands of -years, has breathed the terrible legend, has palpitated in the horror -of the ancient carnage. For a second, his soul has lived that antique -life of violence. The slain ones were all there: Agamemnon, Eurymedon, -Cassandra, and the royal escort, and for a moment they lay under -his eyes, motionless. Then--they vanished into nothingness--do you -see?--like a vapor exhaled, like scattered foam, like flying dust, like -I know not what frail and fleeting thing--engulfed in the same fatal -silence that surrounded their radiant immobility. And there was only -a handful of dust and a mass of gold!" Daniele Glauro, deeply moved, -seized his friend's hand; and the Inspirer read in his faithful eyes -the mute flame of enthusiasm consecrated to the great work. - -They stopped near a door in the dark wall. A mysterious sense of -distance possessed the mind of each, as if their souls were lost in the -mists of time; and they fancied that behind that door an ancient people -lived enthralled by a changeless Destiny. The sound of a rocking cradle -came from the house, and the croon of a soft lullaby to a wailing -child. The stars glowed in the narrow glimpse of sky; against the walls -the sea was moaning. And in another spot a hero's heart suffered while -waiting for death. - -"Life!" said Stelio, resuming his walk, and drawing Daniele with him. -"Here, at this moment, all that trembles, weeps, hopes, breathes, and -raves in the immensity of life, gathers itself in your mind, condensing -itself there with a sublimation so rapid that you believe yourself able -to express it all in a single word. But what word? What word? Do you -know it? Who will ever know it well enough to speak it?" - -Again he was distressed at his inability to embrace all and express all. - -"Have you ever seen, at certain times, the whole universe standing -before you, as distinct as a human head? I have, a thousand times. Ah, -to cut it off, like him that cut off Medusa's head, at one stroke, and -hold it up before the multitude so that it never should be forgotten! -Have you ever thought that a great tragedy might resemble the attitude -of Perseus? I tell you this: I should like to take the bronze of -Benvenuto Cellini from the Loggia of Orcagna and place it in the -_foyer_ of the new theater as an admonition. But who will give to a -poet the sword of Hermes and the mirror of Athena? - -"Perseus!" continued the Inspirer. "In the ravine, below the citadel -of Mycenæ, is a fountain called Perseia, and it is the only living -thing in that place where all is parched and dead. Men are attracted -toward it as to a spring of life in that region where the melancholy -whiteness of the dried river-beds is visible late in the twilight. All -human thirst ardently approaches that freshness. And throughout my -work the music of that stream shall be heard--the water, the melody -of the water. I have found it! In that, the pure element, shall be -accomplished the pure Act which is the aim of the new tragedy. On its -clear, cold waters shall sleep the virgin destined to die 'deprived -of nuptials,' like Antigone. Do you understand? The pure Act marks -the defeat of antique Destiny. The new soul suddenly breaks the iron -band that held it, with a determination born of madness, of a lucid -delirium that resembles ecstasy, or a deeper, clearer vision of Nature. -In the orchestra, the final ode is of the salvation and liberation of -man, obtained through pain and sacrifice. The monstrous Fate is there, -vanquished, near the tombs of the Atridæ, before the very corpses of -the victims. Do you understand? He that frees himself by means of the -pure Act, the brother that kills his sister to save her soul from the -horror that was about to seize her, has himself in reality seen the -face of Agamemnon!" - -The fascination of the funereal gold had taken fresh hold upon his -fancy; the evidence of his internal vision gave him a look as of one -under a spell of hallucination. - -"One of the corpses surpasses all the others in height and in majesty: -his brow is crowned with a golden diadem, and he wears a cuirass, -shoulder-plates, and a girdle of gold, surrounded with swords, lances, -daggers, cups, and countless golden discs scattered like petals over -his body, more venerable than a demigod. The man bends over this body, -while it is vanishing in the light before his very eyes, and lifts -the heavy mask. Ah, does he not then see the face of Agamemnon? Is -not this corpse perhaps the King of kings? The mouth and the eyes -are open. Do you remember that passage of Homer's? 'As I lay dying, -I raised my hands to my sword; but the woman with dog-like eyes went -away, and would not close my eyes and my mouth, at the moment when I -was about to descend to the abode of Hades.' Do you remember? Well, -the mouth of this corpse is open, and its eyes are open. He has a high -brow, ornamented with a single large golden leaf; the nose is long and -straight, the chin oval"-- - -The magician paused an instant, his eyes fixed and dilated. He was a -seer. All about him disappeared, and his fiction remained the only -reality. Daniele trembled, for he too was able to see through the eyes -of the other. - -"Ah, the white spot on the shoulder, too! He has raised the armor. The -spot, the spot! the hereditary mark of the race of Pelops 'of the ivory -shoulder'! Is he not indeed the King of kings?" - -The rapid, half-broken utterances of the seer were like a succession of -flashes whereby he himself was dazzled. He had astonished even himself -by that sudden apparition, that unexpected discovery which illumined -the shadows of his mind, because exterior reality, and almost tangible. -How had he been able to discover that spot on Agamemnon's shoulder? -From what abyss of his memory had suddenly surged up that detail so -strange, yet precise and decisive as a mark that affords recognition of -a body dead since the preceding day? - -"You were there!" exclaimed Daniele, intoxicated. "It was you yourself -that lifted that armor and that mask! If you have really seen what you -have just described, you are no longer a man!" - -"I have seen! I have seen!" - -Again he became an actor in his own drama, and it was with a violent -palpitation that he heard, from the lips of a living person, the words -of the drama--the very words that were to be spoken in the episode -itself: "If you have really seen what you have described, you are no -longer a man." From that instant, the explorer of sepulchers took on -the aspect of a noble hero fighting against the ancient destiny that -had risen from the ashes of the Atridæ to contaminate and overthrow him. - -"Not with impunity," he continued, "does a man open tombs and gaze -upon the faces of the dead--and what dead! He lives alone with his -sister, the sweetest creature that ever has breathed the air of -earth--alone with her, in the dwelling full of light and silence, as in -a prayer, a consecration. Now, imagine one that unconsciously drinks -poison, a philter, I know not what impure thing, which poisons his -blood and corrupts his thoughts--suddenly, while his soul is at peace. -Imagine this terrible evil, this vengeance of the dead! He is suddenly -seized by an unholy passion; he becomes the miserable, trembling prey -of a monster; he fights a desperate, secret fight, without truce, -without mercy, day and night, every hour, every moment--all the more -atrocious the more the innocent pity of the poor creature inclines -toward his evil. How can this man be freed? From the very beginning -of the tragedy, as soon as the innocent one begins to speak, it is -evident that she is destined to die. And all that is said and done in -the episodes, all that is expressed by the music, and by the songs and -dances of the interludes, serves to lead her slowly but inexorably -toward death. She is the equal of Antigone. In her brief, tragic -hour, she passes accompanied by the light of hope and the shadow of -presentiment; she passes accompanied by songs and tears, by the noble -love that offers joy, by the mad love that engenders mourning; and -she never pauses except to fall asleep on the cold, clear waters of -the fountain that called to her from the solitudes with its continual -murmur. Hardly has her brother killed her when he receives from her, -through death, the gift of his redemption. 'All stain,' he cries, -'is effaced from my soul! I have become wholly pure! All the sanctity -of my former love has reëntered my soul like a torrent of light. Were -she here now, all my thoughts of her would be pure as lilies. Were she -to rise again, she could walk over my heart as over immaculate snow. -Now she is perfect; now she can be adored as a divinity. I will lay -her in the deepest of my sepulchers, and around her I will lay all my -treasures.' Thus, the act of death, into which he has been drawn by -his lucid madness, becomes an act of purification and of liberation, -marking the defeat of ancient Destiny. Emerging from the symphonic -ocean, the ode shall sing of the victory of man, shall illumine the -darkness of the catastrophe with an unknown light, and shall elevate to -the summit of music the first word of the Drama renewed." - -"The gesture of Perseus!" exclaimed Daniele, still under the spell of -exaltation. "At the end of the tragedy you cut off the head of the -Moira, and show it to the multitude, ever young and ever-new, which -shall bring the spectacle to a close amid great cries of enthusiasm." - -Both saw, as in a dream, the marble theater on the Janiculum, the -multitude swayed by the idea of truth and of beauty, the illimitable -starry Roman sky; they saw the frenzied multitude descending the slope -of the hill, bearing in their rude hearts the confused revelation of -poetry; they heard the clamor prolonging itself in the darkness of the -immortal city. - -"And now good-by, Daniele," said the master, reminded of his need to -hasten, as if some one waited for him or called him. - -The eyes of the Tragic Muse remained immovable in the depths of his -dream, sightless, petrified in the divine blindness of statues. - -"Where are you going?" - -"To the Palazzo Capello." - -"Does La Foscarina know the thread of your work?" - -"Vaguely." - -"And what figure shall you give to her?" - -"She shall be blind, having already passed into another world, and gone -beyond the life of this. She shall see that which others do not see. -Her feet shall be in the shadows, but her head in the light of eternal -truth. The contrasts of the tragic hour shall reverberate in the -darkness of her soul, multiplying themselves there like thunder among -the deep circles of solitary rocks. Like Tiresias, she shall comprehend -everything, permitted or forbidden, celestial and terrestrial, and she -shall know 'how hard it is to know when knowing is useless.' Ah, I -shall put marvelous words into her mouth, and silences that shall give -birth to infinite beauties." - -"On the stage," said Glauro, "whether she speaks or is silent, her -power is almost more than human. She reveals to us the existence in -our own hearts of the most secret evil and the most hidden hopes; -by her enchantment, our past becomes present; and, by the virtue of -her aspect, we recognize ourselves in the trials suffered by others -throughout time, as if the soul she reveals to us were our own." - -They stopped on the Ponte Savio. Stelio was silent, under a flood of -love and melancholy, which had suddenly come upon him. - -"I wish I had not to leave you to-night, Stelio," confessed the -faithful brother, who was also invaded by a peculiar melancholy. "When -I am with you, I breathe more freely, and live a swifter life." - -Stelio was silent. The wind had abated somewhat. The brown church and -the square tower of naked brick seemed to be praying silently to the -stars. - -"Do you know the green column that stands in San Giacomo dall' Orio?" -Daniele resumed, intending to hold his friend a little longer, because -he dreaded to say farewell. "What sublimity! It is like the fossilized -condensation of an immense green forest. In following its innumerable -veins, the eye travels in a dream through sylvan mysteries. When I look -at it I fancy myself visiting Sila and Ercinna." - -Stelio knew the column. One day Perdita had leaned long against the -precious shaft, contemplating the magic frieze of gold that curves -above the canvas of Bassano, obscuring it. - -"To dream--always to dream," he sighed, with a return of that bitter -impatience which had suggested sneering words to him when he had come -on the boat from the Lido. "To live on relics! Think of Dandolo, who -overthrew the column and an empire at the same time, and who preferred -to remain doge when he might have become emperor. Perhaps he lived more -than you, who wander in fancy through forests when you examine the -marble he pillaged. Good-by, Daniele." - -"I shall stop at the Palazzo Vendramin for news," said the faithful -brother. - -These words recalled afresh the thought of the great ailing heart, the -weight of the hero in their arms, the terrible removal. - -"He has conquered--he can die," said Stelio. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - SOFIA - - -Stelio entered La Foscarina's house like a spirit. His mental -exaltation changed the aspect of things. The hall, lighted by a galley -lamp, appeared immense to him. The detached cabin of a gondola standing -on the pavement near the door, startled him as if he had suddenly seen -a coffin. - -"Ah, Stelio!" exclaimed the actress, rising with a start and hastening -toward him impetuously, with all the spring of her eagerness that had -been repressed by expectation. "At last!" - -She stopped before him suddenly, without touching him. The swift -impulse vibrated in her visibly. She was like a wind when it falls. -"Who has detained you from me?" was her thought, while her heart was -filled with doubt; for in one instant she had discerned something about -the beloved one that rendered him intangible to her--something strange -and far-away in his eyes. - -But he had found her most beautiful at the very moment when she -sprang from the shadows, animated by a violence like that of the -tempest sweeping the lagoons. The cry, the gesture, the sudden halt, -the vibration of her body, the light in her countenance suddenly -extinguished like a fire fallen to ashes, the intensity of her gaze, -like the glow of battle, the breath that parted her lips as heat -breaks open the lips of the earth--all these aspects of her real self -showed a capability of pathos comparable only to the effervescence of -natural energies, the power of cosmic force. The artist recognized in -her the Dionysian creature, the living material, apt for receiving the -rhythms of art, to be modeled according to poetic forms. And, because -he saw her character as varying as the waves of the sea, he found -inert the blind mask he thought to put on her face; the tragic fable -through which she was to pass in sadness seemed narrow, and too limited -was the order of sentiment whence she should draw her expressions, -almost subterranean the soul she must reveal. His mental images were -seized with a sort of panic, a fleeting terror. What could be that -single work in the immensity of life? Æschylus composed more than a -hundred tragedies, Sophocles still more. They had constructed a world -with gigantic fragments lifted by their titanic arms. Their labor was -as vast as a cosmogony. The Æschylian figures seemed still warm with -ethereal life, shining with sidereal light, humid from the fertilizing -cloud. The spirit of the Earth worked in the creators. - -"Hide me, hide me! Do not ask me anything, and let me be silent!" -he implored, incapable of concealing his perturbation, powerless to -control the tumult of his disordered thoughts. - -The woman's heart beat fast in the ignorance of fear. - -"Why? What have you done?" - -"I suffer." - -"From what?" - -"Anxiety, anxiety--from that trouble of mine which you know well." - -She clasped him in her arms. He felt that she was trembling in doubt. - -"Are you mine--are you still mine?" she asked, in a stifled voice, her -lips pressed to his shoulder. - -"Yes--always yours." - -This woman always suffered a horrible fear every time she saw him -depart from her, every time she saw him return. When he went, was it -not toward the unknown betrothed? When he returned, was it not to bid -her a last farewell? - -She clasped him in her arms with the fondness of a lover, a sister, a -mother--with all human love. - -"What can I do for you? Tell me!" - -A continual need tormented her to offer, to serve, to obey a command -that urged her toward peril, toward a struggle to seize some good that -she might bring to him. - -"What can I give you?" - -He smiled wearily, overcome by sudden languor. - -"What do you wish? Ah, I know!" - -He smiled again, allowing himself to be caressed by that voice, by -those adoring hands. - -"You wish for everything, do you not? You desire everything?" - -Still he smiled sadly, like an ailing child listening to descriptions -of delightful games. - -"Ah, if I only could! But no one in the world can give you anything of -any value, dearest friend. Your poetry and your music--they alone can -demand everything. I remember that ode of yours beginning 'I was Pan.'" - -He leaned against the faithful heart his head now filled with the light -of beautiful thoughts. - -"'I was Pan.'" - -Through his spirit passed the splendor of that lyrical moment, the -delirium of that ode. - -"Have you seen your sea to-day? Did you see the storm?" - -He shook his head, without speaking. - -"Was it a great storm? One day you told me that you have many mariners -among your forefathers. Have you been thinking to-day of your home on -the dunes? Are you homesick for the sand? Do you wish to go back there? -You have worked a great deal there, and have done great work. It is a -consecrated house. Your mother was with you while you worked. You could -hear her stepping softly in the next room. Sometimes she stopped to -listen, did she not?" - -He embraced her silently. That voice penetrated his very soul, and -refreshed it. - -"And your sister was with you, too? You told me her name once, and I -have not forgotten it. She is called Sofia. I know that she is like -you. I should like to hear her speak once, or to watch her walking -along the road. Once you praised her hands. They are beautiful, are -they not? You told me one day that when she is sad her hands hurt her, -as if they were the roots of her soul. That is what you said--'the -roots of her soul.'" - -He listened, almost happy. How had she discovered the secret of -soothing him, the balm for his soul? From what hidden spring did she -draw the fluid melody of those memories? - -"Sofia never will know the good she has done to the poor traveler. I -know little of Sofia herself, but I know that she resembles you, and I -have often pictured her to myself. I can see her at this moment. When -I have been in distant countries, far-away among strangers, feeling -almost lost, she has appeared to me often, and borne me company. She -has appeared to me suddenly, when I had neither called nor expected -her. Once I saw her at Mürren, where I had arrived after a long, weary -journey, made in order to see a poor friend who was at the point of -death. Day was breaking; the mountains had that cold, delicate color -of beryl that is seen only among glaciers. Why did she come? We -waited, together. The sun touched the summits of the mountains. Then a -brilliant rainbow crowned them for a moment, then vanished. And Sofia -vanished with the rainbow, with the miracle." - -He listened, almost happy. Were not all the beauty and all the truth -that he himself would like to express contained in a stone, or in a -flower of those mountains? The most tragic struggle of human passions -was not worth the apparition of that mystic light upon the eternal -snows. - -"And another time?" he asked softly, for the pause was long, and he -feared that she would not continue. She smiled, then looked sad. - -"Another time I was at Alexandria in Egypt, in a time of confused -horror, as if after a shipwreck. The city had an aspect of -putrefaction, like a city in decay. I remember: a street full of -muddy water; a white horse, thin as a skeleton, that splashed in the -water, its mane and tail of an ochre color; the turrets of an Arabian -cemetery, the far-away gleam of the marsh of Mareotis. What misery! -What disgust!" - -"Oh, dear soul, never, never again shall you be left alone and -despairing," said Stelio in his heart, now filled with fraternal -tenderness for the nomad woman who recalled the sadness of her -continual wanderings. - -"And another time?" he said aloud. - -"Another time it was in Vienna, in a museum. There was a great, empty -hall, the rain whipped against the windows; innumerable precious relics -were there in crystal cases; the signs of death were everywhere, exiled -things no longer prayed to or adored. Together Sofia and I leaned over -a case containing a collection of holy arms, with their metal hands -fixed in an immovable gesture. There were martyr's hands sown with -agates, amethysts, topaz, garnets, and pale turquoises. Through certain -openings, splinters of bone were visible. One hand held a golden lily, -another a miniature city, another clasped a column. One was smaller -than the others; it had a ring on every finger, and held a vase full of -ointment: the relics of Mary Magdalene. Exiled things, become profane, -no longer prayed to or adored. Is Sofia devout? Has she the habit of -prayer?" - -He did not reply. He felt that he should not speak, nor give any -visible sign of his own life in the enchantment of that distant life. - -"Sometimes your sister used to enter your room while you were at work, -and lay a blade of grass on the page newly begun." - -The enchantress trembled; a veiled image seemed to be suddenly -revealing itself.--Do you know that I began to love her--the girl that -sings, the girl whom you cannot have forgotten--because I thought of -your sister? Yes--in order to pour into a pure soul the tenderness my -soul wished to offer to your sister, from whom so many cruel things -separated me! Do you know that?-- - -Those words quivered with life, but they were not spoken; yet the voice -trembled at their mute presence. - -"Then you would grant yourself a few moments of rest. You went to the -window with her, and both gazed out upon the sea. A plowman drove his -young oxen over the sand to teach them a straight furrow. When they -were finally taught, they no longer plowed the sand, but went up on the -hill. Who has told me these things?" - -He himself had told her once, almost in the same words, but now these -memories came back like unexpected visions. - -"Then flocks of sheep passed along the shore; they came from the -mountains, and were on the way to the plains of the Puglia. All was -still; a golden silence covered the shore. Later, you went with -your sister, and followed the tracks left by the sheep along the wet -sand.... Who has told me all these things?" - -Stelio's fevered mind was calmed. A slow peace, like slumber, descended -upon him. - -"Then sudden storms sprang up; the sea sometimes overflowed the dunes -and the land, leaving foam on juniper and tamarisk trees, on myrtle and -rosemary. Heaps of seaweed and jetsam would be thrown on the beach. A -boat had been wrecked somewhere. The sea brought firewood to the poor, -and mourning to heaven knows whom! The beach would be thronged with -people, each trying to collect the largest bundle of wood. Then your -sister would bring other aid--bread, wine, vegetables, linen. Blessings -would rise louder than the noise of the waves. You looked out of the -window, and thought that none of your beautiful images was worth the -odor of warm bread. You left the half-finished page, and hurried to -help Sofia, speaking to the women, the children and the old men.... Who -has told me all these things?" - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - A BROTHER TO ORPHEUS - - -From that first evening, Stelio had preferred to go to the house of -his beloved through the gate of the Gradenigo garden, making his way -through trees and shrubs that had become wild again. The actress had -received permission to open a communication between her own garden -and that of the long-abandoned palace by means of an opening in the -dividing wall. But soon afterward, the Lady Myrta had come to live in -the great silent rooms wherein the last guest had been the son of the -Empress Josephine, the Viceroy of Italy. The apartments were ornamented -with old, stringless musical instruments, and the garden was peopled by -graceful hounds, that lacked any prey. - -To Stelio, nothing seemed sweeter or more sad than that walk toward -the woman that waited for him while counting the hours--so slow, yet -so swift in their flight. In the afternoon, the path of San Simeone -Piccolo turned a pale golden hue, like a bank of the finest alabaster. -The reflected rays of sunlight danced on the iron prows that stood in -a row by the pier. A few decaying gondola cabins lay in the shadow of -the pavements, with their curtains and cushions stained and spoiled by -rain, as if they were catafalques worn out by continual use in funeral -ceremonies, grown old on the way to the churchyard. The garden gate -opened at the end of the Campiello della Comare, green and mossy like a -country cemetery; it spread out between two columns, topped by broken -statues, on the limbs of which the dry branches of ivy were outlined -like veins. - -"Helion! Sirius! Altair! Donovan! Ali-Nour! Nerissa! Piuchebella!" - -Seated on a bench near a rose-covered wall, Lady Myrta was calling -her dogs. La Foscarina stood near her, in a fawn-colored costume, the -material of which resembled that superb textile called _rovana_, used -in ancient times in Venice. The sunlight bathed the women and the roses -in the same soft warmth. - -"You are dressed like Donovan to-day," said Lady Myrta to the actress, -with a smile. "Did you know that Stelio prefers Donovan to all the -others?" - -A slight blush rose to La Foscarina's cheeks; she looked at the -fawn-colored greyhound. - -"He is the strongest and the most beautiful," she replied. - -"I believe that Stelio would like to have him," added the old lady, -with a sweet, indulgent smile. - -"What is there that he would not like to have?" - -Lady Myrta noted the tinge of melancholy in the tone of the woman in -love. She remained silent. - -The dogs lay near them, serious and sad, sleepy and dreamy, far from -plains, steppes, and deserts, stretched out in the clover, where also -grew the gourds, with their greenish-yellow fruit. - -"Does your lover grieve you?" the elder woman would have liked to ask -of the woman in love, for the silence weighed on her, and she felt her -own heart revivified by the fire within that sorrowful soul. But she -dared not. She only sighed. Her heart, ever young, still throbbed at -the sight of despairing passion and beauty menaced. - -"Ah, you are still beautiful, and your lips still attract kisses, and -the man that loves you can still be intoxicated with your sweet pallor -and your eyes," she thought, as she looked at the pensive actress, -toward whom the November roses leaned. "But I am a specter." - -She lowered her eyes, gazed upon her own deformed hands lying on her -lap, and wondered that those hands were hers, they were so dead and -distorted, lamentable monsters that could no longer touch anyone -without exciting disgust, that had nothing to caress any more except -the dogs. She felt the wrinkles in her face, the false teeth against -her gums, the false hair on her head, all the ruin of her poor body, -which once was obedient to the graceful will of her delicate spirit; -and she wondered at her own persistence in struggling against the -outrages of Time, in deceiving herself, in recomposing every morning -that ridiculous illusion with essences, oils, unguents, rouge and -powder. But, in the perpetual springtime of her dreams, was she not -ever youthful? Was it not yesterday, only yesterday, that she had -caressed a loved face with her perfect fingers, hunted the fox and the -deer in the northern counties, danced with her betrothed in the park -to an air of John Dowland's?--There are no mirrors in the house of the -Countess Glanegg; there are too many in Lady Myrta's house--was La -Foscarina's thought.--One has hidden her decline from herself and from -everyone else; the other sees herself growing older day by day. She -counts her wrinkles one by one, gathers up her dead hair in her comb, -feels her teeth rattling against her pale gums, and tries to repair -the damage by artificial devices. Poor tender soul, who wishes still -to be smiling and charming! But we must die, disappear, descend into -the earth!--She observed the little cluster of violets that Lady Myrta -had pinned to her skirt. In all seasons fresh flowers were fastened -there, barely visible, hidden among the folds, a sign of her daily -illusion of springtime, of the ever-new enchantment she wove about -herself by the aid of memory, music, poetry, and all the arts of dreams -against old age, infirmity, and solitude.--We should live one supreme, -flaming hour, then disappear forever in the earth before all charm has -vanished, before all grace is dead!-- - -She felt the beauty of her own eyes, the careless strength of her -hair, blown back by the wind, all the power of rhythm and transport -that slumbered in her muscles and her bones. She heard again in fancy -the words of her lover, saw him again in his tender transport of love, -in the sweetness of languor, the moments of profound oblivion.--Still -a little while, still a few days longer I shall please him, and -seem beautiful to him, and put fire in his blood. A little while -longer!--With her feet in the deep grass, her brow raised to the -sunlight, amid the fragrance of fading roses, in the fawn-colored robe -that made her seem like the magnificent beast of prey, she glowed with -passionate joy of life and hope, a sudden quickening of the blood, as -if that future which she had renounced by her resolution to die were -flowing back into the present.--Come! come!--Within herself she called -to her beloved with a sort of intoxication, sure that he would come, -because she already felt that he would, and never had she been deceived -by her presentiment. - -"Ah, here is Stelio!" said Lady Myrta at that instant, seeing the young -man advancing among the laurels. - -La Foscarina turned swiftly, with a blush. The greyhounds rose, -pricking up their slender ears. The meeting glance of those lovers -had something in it like an electric flash. Again, as always, in the -presence of that wonderful creature, her lover had the divine sensation -of suddenly being enfolded in a cloud of flaming ether, in a vibrant -wave that seemed to isolate him from ordinary atmosphere and almost to -ravish his senses. - -"You were awaited here by all that dwell in this seclusion," said Lady -Myrta, with a smile that hid the emotion that stirred the youthful -heart in the infirm and aged body at the sight of love and longing. "In -coming here, you have responded to a call." - -"That is true," said the young man, holding the collar of Donovan, -which, remembering his caresses, had run to meet him. "The fact is, I -have come a long distance. Guess from where?" - -"From the country of Giorgione!" - -"No, from the cloister of Santa Apollonia. Do you know that place?" - -"Is that one of your inventions to-day?" - -"Invention? It is a cloister of stone, a real cloister, with a well and -with little columns." - -"It may be so, but everything that you have once looked at, Stelio, -becomes your invention." - -"Ah, Lady Myrta, I should like to offer you that gem of a cloister. I -wish I might move it here, into your garden. Imagine a small, secret -cloister, opening on a sequence of slender columns, set in pairs like -nuns when they walk, fasting, in the sun; very delicate, neither white, -gray nor black, but that most mysterious tint ever given to stone by -the great master colorist--Time. In the midst of these is a well, -and on the curb, which is worn by the rope, hangs a pail without a -bottom. The nuns have disappeared, but I believe that the shades of the -Danaïdes frequent the place." - -He stopped speaking suddenly, seeing himself surrounded by the -greyhounds, and began to imitate the guttural sounds the kennel-men -make to gather the dogs. The animals became excited; their wistful eyes -brightened. - -"Ali-Nour! Crissa! Nerissa! Clarissa! Altair! Helion! Hardicanute! -Veronese! Hierro!" - -He knew them all by name, and when he called them they seemed to -recognize him for their master. There was the Scottish hound, native of -the highlands, with thick, rough coat; the Irish wolf-hound, ruddy and -strong, with brown irises showing clearly in their whites; the Tartary -hound, spotted with black and yellow, a native of vast Asiatic steppes, -where at night he had guarded a tent against hyenas and leopards; -the Persian dog, light-colored and small, with ears covered with long -silky hair, a fluffy tail, of lighter tint on the sides and legs, more -graceful than the antelopes he had killed; there was also the Spanish -_galgo_ that had migrated with the Moors, that magnificent animal held -in leash by a pompous dwarf in the painting by Velásquez, instructed -to course and to force on the naked plains of the Mancha; the Arabian -_sloughi_, illustrious depredator of the desert, with black tongue and -palate, a noble animal, all pride, courage, and elegance, accustomed -to sleep on rich rugs and to lap pure milk from a pure vase. Assembled -in a pack, they quivered around him who knew how to reawaken in their -torpid blood their primitive instincts of pursuit and carnage. - -"Which among you was Gog's best friend?" he asked, looking from one to -another of the pairs of beautiful, eager eyes fixed upon him. "You, -Hierro? You, Altair?" - -His peculiar accent animated the sensitive creatures, which listened -with suppressed and intermittent growls. - -"Well, I must tell you all something that I have kept secret till -to-day. Gog--do you hear?--who could crush a hare with one snap of his -jaws--Gog is crippled." - -"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Lady Myrta, concerned. "Is it possible, Stelio? -And Magog--how is he?" - -"Magog is safe and well." - -These were the names of a pair of greyhounds that Lady Myrta had given -to the young man. - -"How did it happen?" - -"Alas, poor Gog! He had already killed thirty-seven hares. He -possessed all the virtues of his fine breed: swiftness, resistance, -incredible rapidity in turning, and the constant desire to kill his -prey, besides the classical manner of running straight and seizing his -prey from behind almost at the same instant. Have you ever watched a -greyhound in coursing, Foscarina?" - -"Never." - -"Then you never have seen one of the rarest spectacles of daring, -vehemence, and grace in the world. Look!" - -He drew Donovan toward him, knelt beside him, and began feeling the -animal with his expert hands. - -"No machine in nature exists that is more exactly and powerfully -adapted to its purpose. The muzzle is sharp in order to penetrate the -air; it is long, so that the jaws can crush the prey at the first snap. -The skull is wide between the ears in order to contain the greatest -courage and skill. The jowls are dry and muscular, and the lips so -short they hardly cover the teeth." - -With sure and easy touch, he opened the mouth of the dog, which offered -no resistance. - -"Look at those white teeth! See how long the eyeteeth are, with a -little curve at the top, the better to hold his prey. No other species -of dog has a mouth so well constructed for biting." - -His hands lingered over the examination, and his admiration for the -superb specimen was unbounded. He was kneeling in the clover, and -received in his face the breath of the dog, which quietly permitted -him to examine it, as if it comprehended and enjoyed the praise of the -connoisseur. - -"See what elegance in his ribs, arranged with the symmetry of a fine -keel, and in that line curved inward toward the abdomen, which is -hidden. All point to one aim. The tail, thick at the root and slender -at the tip--look! almost like that of a rat--serves as a sort of -rudder, necessary to enable him to turn swiftly when the hare doubles. -Let us see, Donovan, whether you are perfect also in this respect." - -He took the tip of the tail, passed it under the leg, and drew it -toward the haunch-bone, where it exactly touched the projecting part. - -"Yes, perfect! Once I saw an Arab of the tribe of Arbâa measuring his -_sloughi_ in that way. Ali-Nour, did you tremble when you discovered -the herd of gazelles? Imagine, Foscarina--the _sloughi_ trembles when -he discovers his prey, quivers like a willow, and turns his soft, -pleading eyes toward his master, begging to be released. I do not know -the reason why this pleases me and stirs me so much. His desire to kill -is terrible; his whole body is ready to stretch itself like a bow, -yet he trembles! Not with fear, nor with uncertainty, but with sheer -desire. Ah, Foscarina! if you could see a _sloughi_ at that moment, you -would not fail to learn from him his manner of quivering, and you would -render the manner human by the power of your tragic art, and would -give mankind a new sensation. Up, Ali-Nour! swift desert arrow! Do you -remember? But now you tremble only when you are cold." - -Blithe and graceful, he had let Donovan go, and had taken between his -hands the serpentine head of the slayer of gazelles; he gazed into -those deep eyes, wherein lurked nostalgia for the silent, tropical -land; for tents unfolded after a march toward some deceiving mirage; -for fires kindled for the evening meal under stars that seemed to throb -in the waves of the wind just above the summits of the palm-trees. - -La Foscarina had entered into that physical enchantment of love whereby -the limits of one's being seem to dilate and be fused in the air, so -that every word and movement of the beloved object brings a feeling -of happiness sweeter than any caress. Her lover had taken between his -hands the head of Ali-Nour, but she felt the touch of those hands upon -her own brow. He was gazing into Ali-Nour's eyes, but she could feel -that gaze deep in her own soul. - -Had he not touched the obscurest mystery of her being? Did he not -compel her to feel within herself the animal depths whence had sprung -the unexpected revelation of her tragic genius, moving and maddening -the multitude as would a splendid spectacle of sea and sky, a gorgeous -sunrise, a tremendous tempest. When he had spoken of the trembling -_sloughi_, had he not divined the natural analogies whence she drew the -power of expression that amazed peoples and poets? It was because she -had re-discovered the Dionysian sense of Nature as a naturalizer, the -antique fervor of instinctive and creative energies, the enthusiasm of -the multiform god emerging from the fermentation of all sap, that she -appeared so new and so great on the stage. Sometimes she felt within -herself something like an immanence of the miracle which in the mystic -past swelled with divine milk the breasts of the Mænads at the approach -of the hungry young panthers. - -Stelio began again to imitate the guttural call of the kennel-keeper. -The dogs grew more excited; their eyes brightened again; the tense -muscles swelled under the coats--tawny, black, white, gray, spotted; -the long haunches were curved like bows ready to hurl into space those -bodies dry and slender, like a quiver-full of arrows. - -"There, Donovan, there!" - -Stelio pointed to a reddish-gray object in the grass at the end of -the garden; it looked somewhat like a crouching hare with flattened -ears. The imperious voice deceived the hesitating hounds, and it was -beautiful to see the slender, vigorous bodies quivering in the sunlight. - -"There, Donovan!" - -The great tawny dog looked him deep in the eyes, gave a formidable -bound toward the imaginary prey, with all the vehemence of his -reawakened instinct. He reached the spot in an instant, then stopped, -disappointed, followed by the whole pack. - -"A gourd! a gourd!" cried the deceiver, with shouts of laughter. "Not -even a rabbit. Poor Donovan! He bit only a gourd! Poor Donovan! what -humiliation! Take care, Lady Myrta, lest he drown himself in the canal -for very shame!" - -From the contagion of her lover's gayety, La Foscarina laughed too. Her -fawn-tinted gown and the tan coats of the hounds shone in the sunlight -against the green clover. Her white teeth, revealed by rippling -laughter, graced her mouth with a renewal of youth. - -"Would you like to own Donovan?" said Lady Myrta, with a touch of -graceful, malicious significance. "I know your arts!" - -Stelio ceased laughing, and blushed like a boy. - -A wave of tenderness filled La Foscarina's heart as she saw the boyish -blush. She fairly sparkled with love; she felt a wild wish to clasp him -in her arms at that very moment. - -Before thanking Lady Myrta, Stelio looked again at the dog, admiring -him as he was, strong, splendid, perfect, with the mark of style on his -limbs as if Pisanello had drawn him for the reverse of a medal. Then he -looked at La Foscarina, who had turned to the group of animals, moving -over the grass with a swift undulation, like the movement called the -greyhound step by the ancient Venetians. She advanced, with Donovan, -holding him by the collar. The chill of evening began to be felt, the -shadow of the bronze cupola grew longer on the grass; a purple mist, in -which the last flecks of golden sunlight swam, began to spread over the -branches that swayed in the breeze. - ---See, we are yours!--the woman seemed to be saying mutely, while the -animal, beginning to shiver, pressed close against her.--We are yours -forever. We are here to serve you! - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - ONLY ONE CONDITION - - -Heartrending was the sweetness of that November, smiling like a sick -person who fancies himself to have reached a state of convalescence and -feels an unusual sense of relief and well-being, knowing not that his -hour of agony draws near. - -"What is the matter with you to-day, Fosca? What has happened to you? -Why are you so distant to me? Speak! Tell me!" - -Stelio had entered San Marco by chance, and had seen her there, leaning -against the chapel-door that leads to the baptistry. She was alone, -motionless, her face devoured by fever and by shadows, with terrified -eyes fixed on the fearful figures of the mosaics that flamed in a -yellow fire. - -"Leave me here alone, I entreat you--I beg of you! I must be alone! I -implore you!" - -She turned as if to flee, but he detained her. - -"But tell me! Speak at least one word that I may understand." - -Still she sought to escape, and her movement expressed unspeakable -anguish. - -"I implore you! If you pity me, the only thing you can do for me now is -to let me go." - -"But one word--at least one word, so that I shall understand." - -A flash of fury passed over the agitated face. - -"No! I wish to be alone!" - -Her voice was as hard as her glance. She turned, taking a step or two -like a person overcome by dizziness seeking some support. - -"Foscarina!" - -But he dared not detain her longer. He saw the despairing one walk -through the zone of sunlight that invaded the basilica like a rushing -torrent entering through a door opened by an unknown hand. Behind her -the deep golden cavern, with its apostles, martyrs, and sacred beasts, -glittered as if the thousand torches of the daylight were pouring in on -it. - -"I am lost in the depths of sadness.... This violent impulse to revolt -against fate, to rush away in search of adventure--to seek.--Who will -save my hope? Whence will come a ray of light?... To sing, to sing! But -I would sing a song of life at last.... Can you tell me where the Lord -of the Flame is at present?" - -These words, in a letter from Donatella Arvale, were branded on her -eyes and on her soul, with all the characteristics of handwriting, as -much alive as the hand that traced them, as throbbing as that impatient -pulse. She saw them graved on the stones, outlined on the clouds, -reflected in the water, indelible and inevitable as the decrees of Fate. - ---Where shall I go? Where shall I go?--Through all her agitation and -despair, she had still a sense of the sweetness of things, the warmth -of the gilded marbles, the perfume of the quiet air, the languor of -human leisure. - -She turned with a start, fearing yet hoping to be followed by her -lover. She could not see him. She would have fled had she seen him, -but her heart ached as if he had sent her to death without a word of -recall.--All is over!-- - -She entered the Porta della Carta, having crossed the threshold. The -intoxication of her sorrow led her to the spot where, on a night of -glory, the three destinies had come together. She went to the well, -the point of that rendezvous. Around that bronze curb the whole life -of those few seconds rose again with the distinct outline of reality. -There she had said, addressing her companion with a smile: "Donatella, -this is the Lord of the Flame!" Then the immense cry of the multitude -had drowned her voice, and above their head rose a flight of fiery -pigeons against the dark sky. - -She approached the well, and gazed into it. She leaned over the curb, -saw her own face in the deep mirror, saw in it terror and perdition, -saw the motionless Medusa she carried in the depth of her soul. Without -realizing it, she repeated the action of him she loved. She saw his -face, too, and Donatella's, as she had seen them illumined for an -instant that night, close together, lighted by the radiance in the sky. - ---Love, love each other! I will go away, I shall disappear! Good-by!-- - -She closed her eyes at the thought of death, and in that darkness -she saw the kind, strong eyes of her mother, infinite as a horizon of -peace.--You are at peace, and you await me--you whose life and death -were of passion.-- - -She stood erect, then departed by the Molo, stepped into a gondola, and -ordered it to be rowed to the Giudecca. The buildings and the water -formed a miracle of gold and opal. The image of dead Summer flashed -across her memory--dead Summer dressed in gold and shut in a coffin -of opalescent glass. She imagined herself submerged in the lagoon, -sleeping on a bed of seaweed; but the memory of the promise made on -that water, and kept in the delirium of that night, pierced her heart -like a knife, and threw her into a convulsion. - ---Never more, then? Never more!-- - -She reached the Rio della Croce. The gondola stopped before a closed -door. She landed, took out a small key, opened the door, and entered -the garden. - -This was her refuge, the secret place for her solitude, defended by the -fidelity of her melancholy as by silent guardians. - -"Never more?" She walked under the trellises, approached the water, -stopped a moment, felt weary, and at last sat down on a stone, held her -temples between her hands, and made an effort to concentrate her mind, -to recover her self-possession. "He is still here, near me. I can see -him again. Perhaps I shall find him standing on the steps of my house. -He will take me in his arms, kiss my lips and eyes, tell me again -that he loves me, that everything about me pleases him. He does not -know--he does not understand. Nothing irreparable has happened. What is -it, then, that has so upset and disturbed me? I have received a letter -written by a girl who is far-away, imprisoned in a lonely villa near -her demented father, who complains of her lot and seeks to change it. -That is all. There is no more to say. And here is the letter." - -Her fingers trembled, and she fancied she could detect Donatella's -favorite perfume, as if the young girl were sitting beside her. - ---Is she beautiful? Really beautiful? How does she look?-- - -The lines of the image were indistinct at first. She tried to seize -them, but they eluded her. One particular above all others fixed itself -in her mind--the large, massive hand.--Did he see her hand that night? -He is very susceptible to the beauty of hands. When he meets a woman, -he always looks at her hands. And he adores Sofia's hands.--She allowed -herself to dwell on these childish considerations, then she smiled -bitterly. And suddenly the image became perfect, lived, glowing with -youth and power, overwhelmed and dazzled her.--Yes, she is beautiful! -And hers is the beauty he desires.-- - -She kept her eyes fixed on the silent splendor of the waters, with -the letter on her lap; she was nailed there by the inflexible truth. -And involuntary thoughts of destruction flashed upon her inert -discouragement; the face of Donatella burned by fire, her body crippled -by a fall, her voice ruined by an illness! Then she had a horror of -herself, followed by pity for herself and the other woman.--Has she -not too the right to live? Let her live, let her love, let her have -her joy.--She imagined for the young girl some magnificent adventure, -a happy love, an adorable betrothed, prosperity, luxury, pleasure.--Is -there only one man on this earth, then, that she can love? Is it -impossible that to-morrow she might meet some one who would win her -heart? Is it impossible that her fate should suddenly turn her in -another direction, take her far from here, lead her through unknown -paths, separate her from us forever? Is it necessary that she should be -loved by the man I love? Perhaps they never will meet again.--She tried -thus to escape her presentiment. But a contrary thought whispered: -"They have met once; they will seek each other, they will meet again. -Her soul is not obscure--not one that can be lost in the multitude. She -possesses a gift that shines like a star, and it will always be easily -recognizable even from afar--her song. The marvel of her voice will -serve her as a signal. She will surely avail herself of this power; she -too will pass among mankind leaving a wake of admiration behind her. -She will have glory as she has beauty--two attributes that will easily -attract Stelio. They have met once; they will meet again." - -The sorrowing woman bent as if under a yoke. A clear, pearly light -bathed the lagoon in radiance. The islands of La Follia, San Clemente, -and San Servilio were enveloped in a light mist. From a distance came -at intervals a faint cry, as of shipwrecked sailors becalmed, answered -by the harsh voice of a siren whistle or by the raucous call of the -sea-gulls. At first the silence seemed terrible, then it grew sweet. - -The woman, little by little, recovered her deep goodness of heart, -felt again her old tenderness for the beautiful creature in whose -personality she had once deceived her desire to love the good sister, -Sofia. She thought again of the hours passed in the lonely villa on -that hill of Settignano, where Lorenzo Arvale created his statues in -the fulness of his strength and fervor, ignorant of the blow that was -about to fall. She lived again in those days, saw again those places; -she sat once more in memory for the famous sculptor who modeled her -in clay, while Donatella sang some quaint old song; and the spirit of -melody animated at once the model and the effigy, and her thoughts and -that pure voice and the mystery of Art composed an appearance of a life -almost divine in that great studio open on all sides to the light of -heaven, whence Florence and its river was visible in the springtime -valley. - -In addition to fancying the girl a reflection of Sofia, had she not -been attracted otherwise to her--the sweet Donatella, who never had -known a mother's caress since her birth? She saw her again, grave and -calm beside her father, the comfort for his hard work, guardian of the -sacred flame, and also of a resolve of her own--a secret resolve, which -preserved itself as bright and keen as a sword in its sheath. - ---She is sure of herself; she is mistress of her own power. When at -last she knows she is free, she will reveal herself as one made to -rule. Yes, she is made to subjugate men, to excite their curiosity and -their dreams. Even now, her instinct, bold and prudent as experience -itself, directs her.--La Foscarina remembered Donatella's attitude -toward Stelio on that night; her almost disdainful silence, her brief, -dry words, her manner of leaving the table, her disappearance, leaving -the image of herself framed within the circle of an unforgettable -melody. Ah, she knows the art of stirring the soul of a dreamer. -Certainly he cannot have forgotten her. And just as certainly he -awaits the hour when it shall be given him to meet her again--not less -impatiently than she, who asks me where he is.-- - -Again she lifted the letter and ran her eyes over it, but her memory -traveled faster than her eyes. The enigmatic query was at the foot -of the page, like a half-veiled postscript. Looking at the written -words, she felt again the same sharp pang as when she read them the -first time, and once more her heart was shaken as if the danger were -imminent, as if her passion and her hope were already lost beyond -recall.--What is she about to do? Of what is she thinking? Did she -expect him to search for her without delay, and, disappointed in that, -does she now wish to tempt him? What does she intend to do?--She -struggled against that uncertainty as against an iron door which -she must force in order to find again behind it the light of her -life.--Shall I answer her? Suppose I reply in such a way as to make -her understand the truth, would my love necessarily be a prohibition -of hers?--But here her soul rose with a mingled feeling of repugnance, -modesty, and pride.--No, never! Never shall she learn of my wound from -me--never, not even should she question me!--And she realized all the -horror of an open rivalry between a woman no longer young and a girl -strong in her maiden youth. She felt the humiliation and cruelty of -such an unequal struggle. "But if not Donatella, would it not be some -one else," again whispered the contrary spirit "Do you believe you can -bind a man of his nature to your melancholy passion? The only condition -under which you should have allowed yourself to love him, and to offer -him a love faithful unto death, was in keeping the compact that you -have broken." - -"True, true!" she murmured, as if answering a distinct voice, in formal -judgment, pronounced in the silence by invisible Fate. - -"The only condition on which he can now accept your love, and recognize -it, demands that you leave him free, that you give up all claim on him, -that you renounce all, forever, and ask for nothing--the condition of -being heroic. Do you understand?" - -"True, true!" she repeated aloud, raising her head. - -But the poison bit her. She remembered all the sweetness of -caresses--the lips, the eyes, the strength and ardor of the lover had -re-animated all her being. - -A far-away monotonous sound of song floated in the air--a song of -women's voices, that seemed to rise from bosoms oppressed, from throats -as slender as reeds, like the sound evoked from the broken wires of -old spinets at a touch on the worn keys; a shrill, unequal tone, in -a lively and vulgar rhythm, which sounded sadder in that light and -silence than the saddest things of life. - -"Who is singing?" - -With obscure emotion she arose, approached the shore, and listened. - -"The madwomen of San Clemente!" - -From the isle of La Follia, from the barred windows of the light, -lonely hospital, came the lively yet melancholy chorus. It trembled, -hesitated in the immensity of space, grew fainter and almost died away, -then rose again and swelled to a piercing shriek, diminished once more, -and finally sank to silence. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - ILLUSIONS - - -Yes, heart-rending was the sweetness of that November, smiling like -a sick person who has become free from suffering, knowing it is the -last, and tasting again the sweetness of life, which reveals to him new -charms when just about to leave him. - -"Look at the Euganean hills below us, Foscarina; if the wind should -come they will rise and float in the air like gauzy veils, and pass -over our heads. I never have seen them so transparent. Some day I -should like to go with you to Arquà; the villages there are as pink as -the shells we find in myriads in the earth. When we arrive there, the -first drops of a sudden shower will be robbing the peach-blossoms of -their petals. We will wait under one of the arches of the Palladio to -avoid getting wet. Then, without inquiring the way of anyone, we will -look for the fountain of Petrarch. We will carry with us his poems in -the small edition of Misserini's, that little book you keep beside your -bed and cannot close any more because it is so full of pressed leaves -and grasses. Would you like to go to Arquà some spring day?" - -She did not reply, but gazed silently at the lips that said these -graceful things; and, without hope, she simply took a fugitive -pleasure in their movement and accent. For her there was in his image -of the Spring the same enchantment as in a stanza of Petrarch's; but -she could lay a bookmark in the one and find it again, while the poetic -fancies must be lost with the passing hour. - -She wished to say: "I will not drink at that fountain," but kept -silence, that she might still enjoy the caress.--Oh, yes, intoxicate me -with illusions! Play your own game; do with me as you will.-- - -"Here we are at San Giorgio in Alga. We shall reach Fusina in a few -minutes." - -The little walled islet passed before them, with its marble Madonna, -perpetually admiring her reflection in the water, like a nymph. - -"Why are you so sweet, my beloved? I never have seen you like this -before. I know not where I am with you to-day. I cannot find words to -tell you with what a sense of melody your presence inspires me. You -are here beside me, I can hold your hand, yet you are diffused in the -horizon, you yourself are the horizon, blended with the waters, with -the islands, with the hills. When I was speaking just now, it seemed -that each syllable created in you infinitely dilating circles, like -those round that leaf just fallen from the gold-leaved tree. Is it -true? Tell me that it is. Oh, look at me!" - -He felt himself enveloped in this woman's love as by the air and the -light; he breathed in that soul as in a distinct element, receiving -from it an ineffable fulness of life as if a stream of mysterious -things were flowing from her and from the glory of the daylight at the -same time, and pouring itself into his heart. The desire to make some -return for the happiness she gave him lifted him to an almost religious -height of gratitude, and suggested to him words of thanks and of praise -which he would have spoken had he been kneeling before her in the -shadows. But the splendor of sky and sea around them was so great that -he could only be as silent as she. And for both this was a moment of -marvelous communion in the light; it was a journey brief yet immense, -in which both traversed the dizzy distances they had within themselves. - -The boat reached the shore of Fusina. They roused themselves, and gazed -at each other with dazzled eyes. - ---Does he love me, then?-- - -Hope and pain revived in the woman's heart. She did not doubt the -sincerity of her beloved, nor that his words expressed the ardor of -his heart. She knew how absolutely he abandoned himself to every wave -of emotion, how incapable he was of deception or of falsehood. More -than once she had heard him utter cruel truths with the same feline, -flexible grace that some men adopt when they wish to appear charming. -She knew well the direct, limpid gaze which sometimes became hard and -icy, but which never was otherwise than straight; but she knew also the -rapidity and marvelous diversity of emotion and thought that rendered -his spirit unseizable. There was always in him something flexible and -vigorous that suggested to the actress the double and diverse image -of flame and of water. And it was this man she wished to fix, to -captivate, to possess! There was always in him an unlimited ardor of -life, a sense of _euphoria_, or joy in existence, as if every second -were the supreme instant, and he were about to tear himself from the -pleasure and pain of living, as from the tears and embraces of a last -farewell. And it was for this insatiable avidity that she wished to -remain the only nourishment! - -What was she to him, if not an aspect of that "life of the thousand -and thousand faces," toward which the poet's desire, according to one -of his own images, continually shook all its thyrsi? For him she was -a theme for visions and inventions, like the hills, the woods, the -storms. He absorbed mystery and beauty from her as from all forms of -the universe. Even now he had withdrawn his thoughts from her, and was -occupied with a new quest; his changeful, ingenuous eyes sought for -some miracle to marvel at and adore. - -She looked at him, but he did not turn his face toward her; he was -studying the damp, foggy region through which they were driving slowly. -She sat beside him, feeling herself deprived of her strength, no longer -capable of living in and for herself, of breathing with her own breath, -of following a thought that was unknown to her beloved, hesitating even -in her enjoyment of natural objects that he had not pointed out. - -Her life seemed to be alternately dissolving and condensing itself. An -instant of intensity would pass, and then she waited for the next, and -between them she was conscious of nothing save that time was flying, -the lamp was flickering, the body was fading, and that all things were -perishing, dying. - -"My dear, my friend," said Stelio, suddenly turning and taking her -hand, impelled by an emotion that had overcome him, "why did we come to -these places? They seem very sweet, but they are full of terror." - -He looked at her keenly. - -"You suffer," he said, with a depth of pity in his tone that made the -woman turn pale. "Do you too feel this terror?" - -She looked around with the anxiety of one pursued, and fancied she saw -a thousand ominous phantoms rising from the earth. - -"Those statues!" said Stelio, in a tone that changed them in her eyes -into witnesses of her own wasting life. - -The country around them was as deserted and silent as if its former -inhabitants had been gone for centuries, or were sleeping in graves -new-made the day before. - -"Do you wish to return? The boat is still there." - -She seemed not to hear. - -"Speak, Foscarina!" - -"Let us go--let us go on," she replied. "Wherever we may go our fate -will not change." - -Her body swayed to the slow, lulling roll of the wheels, and she -feared to interrupt it; she shrank from the least effort, the smallest -fatigue, overcome by heavy inertia. Her face was like the delicate veil -of ash that covers a live coal, hiding its consumption. - -"Dear, dear soul!" said Stelio, leaning toward her and lightly -touching the pale cheek with his lips. "Lean on me; give yourself -entirely to me; have confidence in me. Never will I fail you, never -will you fail me. We shall find it--we shall find the true secret on -which our love can rest forever, immovable. Do not be reserved with me. -Do not suffer alone, nor hide your sorrows from me. When your heart -swells with grief, speak to me. Let me believe that I can comfort you. -Let us not hide anything from each other. I shall venture to recall to -you a condition that you yourself made. Speak to me, and I will always -answer you truthfully. Let me help you--me, who have received from you -so much of good. Tell me that you do not fear to suffer. I believe your -soul capable of supporting all the sadness of the world. Do not let me -lose faith in that force of passion, whereby more than once you have -seemed to me divine. Tell me you do not fear suffering.... I don't -know.... I may be mistaken. But I have felt a shadow around you, like -a desperate wish to withdraw yourself, to leave me, to find some end. -Why? Why? And, just now, looking at all this terrible desolation that -smiles at us, a great fear suddenly filled my heart--I thought that -perhaps even your love might change like all things, and pass away into -nothingness. 'You will lose me.' Ah, those words were yours, Foscarina! -They fell from your own lips." - -She did not answer. For the first time since she had loved him, his -words seemed vain, useless sounds, moving powerless through the air. -For the first time, he seemed to her a weak and anxious creature, bound -by inexorable laws. She pitied him as well as herself. He asked her to -be heroic, a compact of grief and of violence. At the moment when he -attempted to console and comfort her, he predicted a difficult test, -prepared her for torture. But what was courage worth, of what use was -any effort? What were all miserable human agitations worth, and why -think of the future, even of the uncertain morrow? - -The Past reigned supreme around them, and they themselves were nothing, -and everything was nothing.--We are dying; both of us are dying. We -dream, and then we die.-- - -"Hush! Hush!" was all she said, softly, as if they were in a cemetery. -A slight smile touched her lips, and rested there as fixedly as the -smile on the lips of a portrait. - -The wheels rolled on over the white road, along the shores of the -Brenta. The stream, sung and praised in the sonnets of the gallant -abbés in the days when gondolas laden with music and pleasure had -glided down its current, had now the humble aspect of a canal, where -the iris-necked ducks splashed in flocks. On the damp, low plain the -fields smoked, the bare trees showed plainly, their leaves rotting on -the damp earth. A slow, golden mist floated above an immense vegetable -decay that seemed to encroach even upon the walls, the stones, the -houses, seeking to destroy them like the leaves. The patrician -villas--where a pale life, delicately poisoned by cosmetics and -perfumes, had burned itself out in languid pastimes--were now in ruins, -silent and abandoned. Some had an aspect like a human ruin, with -empty spaces that suggested hollow orbits and toothless mouths; others -were crumbling, and looked as if ready to fall in powder, like a dead -woman's hair when her tomb is opened; and here, there, everywhere, rose -the still surviving statues. They seemed innumerable, like a scattered -people. Some were still white, others were gray or yellow with lichens, -or green and spotted with moss. They stood in all sorts of attitudes: -goddesses, heroes, nymphs, seasons, hours, with their bows and arrows, -their wreaths, cornucopias, and torches, with all the emblems of power, -riches and pleasure, exiled now from fountains, grottoes, labyrinths, -arbors, and porticoes: friends of the greenwood and the myrtle, -protectors of fleeting loves, witnesses of eternal vows, figures of a -dream far more ancient than the hands that had carved them, and the -eyes that had contemplated them in the ruined gardens. And, in the -sweet sunlight of the dying season, their shadows were like the shadows -of the irrevocable Past--all, all that loves no longer, laughs and -weeps no more, never will live, never will return. And the unspoken -word on their marble lips was the same that was expressed in the fixed -smile on the lips of the world-weary woman--NOTHING! - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE LABYRINTH - - -But that day they were to pass through other shadows, to know other -fears. - -Henceforth the tragic meaning of life filled both their minds, and -they tried in vain to banish the physical sadness which from moment to -moment made their spirits more clear yet more disturbed. They clasped -each other's hand, as if they were groping in dark, dangerous places. -They spoke little, but often they gazed into each other's eyes, and -the look of the one poured into that of the other a wave of confused -emotion, the mingling of their love and horror. But it did not calm -their hearts. - -"Shall we go farther?" - -"Yes, let us go on." - -Still they clasped each other's hand closely, as if they were about to -go through some strange test, and were resolved to experiment as to -what depths could be reached by the combined force of their melancholy. -At the Dolo, the wheels made the chestnut-leaves rustle and crackle -beneath them, and the tall changing trees flamed over their heads like -crimson draperies on fire. At a distance was the Villa Barbariga, -silent, deserted, of a reddish hue in its denuded garden, showing -vestiges of old paintings in the cracks of its façade, like streaks of -rouge on the wrinkled cheeks of an old woman. And, at every glance, the -distances of the landscape seemed fainter and bluer, like things slowly -submerged. - -"Here is Strà." - -They alighted before the Villa Pisani, and, accompanied by its -guardian, they visited the deserted apartments. They heard the sound -of their own footsteps on the marble that reflected them, the echoes -in the historic arches, the creaking of the doors, the tiresome voice -of the keeper awakening the memories of the place. The rooms were -vast, hung with faded draperies and furnished in the style of the -Empire, with Napoleonic emblems. The walls of one room were covered -with portraits of the Pisani, procurators of San Marco; of another, -with marble medallions of all the Doges; of a third, with a series of -flowers painted in water-colors and mounted in delicate frames, pale as -the dry flowers that are laid under glass, in memory of love or death. - -As La Foscarina entered one room, she said: - -"_In time!_ Here, too!" - -There, on a bracket, stood a transformation into marble of _La Vecchia_ -by Francesco Torbido, made even more repulsive by the relief, by the -subtle skill of the sculptor, to bring out with his chisel each tendon, -wrinkle, and hollow place in the old woman's face. And at the doors of -this room seemed to appear the ghosts of the crowned women that had -hidden their unhappiness and their decay in that vast dwelling, at once -like a palace and a monastery. - -"Maria Luisa di Parma, in eighteen hundred and seventeen," continued -the monotonous voice. - -"Ah, the Queen of Spain, wife of Charles the Fourth, and mistress of -Manuel Godoï," said Stelio. "She attracts me more than all the others. -She came here when they were in exile. Do you know whether she stayed -here with the King and the favorite!" - -But the guardian knew only that name and the date. - -"Why does she attract you?" La Foscarina asked. "I know nothing of her -history." - -"Her end, the last years of her life of exile, after so much struggle -and passion, are extraordinarily full of poetry." - -And he described that violent and tenacious character, the weak, -credulous King, the handsome adventurer who had enjoyed the smiles of -the Queen, and had been dragged through the streets by the infuriated -mob; the agitations of the three lives bound together by Fate, and -swept before Napoleon's will like leaves in a whirlwind; the tumult at -Aranjuez, the abdication, the exile. - -"And Godoï--the Prince of Peace, as the King called him--faithfully -followed the sovereigns into exile; he remained faithful to his royal -mistress, and she to him. They all lived together under the same roof -thenceforth, and Charles never doubted the virtue of Maria Luisa. -Even to the day of his death, he lavished all manner of kindness on -the two lovers. Imagine their life in this place; imagine here such a -love coming safely through a storm so terrible. All was broken down, -overthrown, reduced to powder by the destroyer. Bonaparte had passed -that way, but had not smothered that love, already old, beneath the -ruins. The faithfulness of those two violent natures moves my heart not -less than the credulity of the kindly King. Thus they grew old. Imagine -it! The Queen died first, then the King; and the favorite, who was -younger than they, lived a wandering life a few years more." - -"This is the Emperor's room," said the guardian solemnly, flinging open -a door. - -The great shade seemed omnipresent in the villa of the Doge Alvise. The -imperial eagle, symbol of his power, dominated all the faded relics. -But in the yellow room, the shade seemed to occupy the vast bed, to -rest under the canopy, surrounded by the four bedposts ornamented at -the top with golden flames. The formidable sigla inscribed within the -laurel crown shone upon the polished side of the bed. And this species -of funereal couch seemed to be prolonged in the dim mirror hanging -between the two figures of Victory that supported the candelabra. - -"Did the Emperor sleep in this bed?" inquired the young man of the -custodian, who pointed out to him on the wall the portrait of the great -_condottiere_ mantled in ermine, wearing a crown of laurel and holding -a scepter, as he appeared at the coronation blessed by Pius VII. "Is it -certain?" - -He was surprised at himself at not feeling the emotion experienced by -ambitious spirits at the sight of the traces of heroes--that strong -throb he knew so well. - -He lifted the edge of the yellow counterpane, and let it fall as -suddenly as if the pillow under it had been full of vermin. - -"Let us go away from this place; let us go!" said La Foscarina, who had -been looking through the windows at the park, where the golden bars of -the setting sun alternated with bluish-green zones of shade. "We cannot -breathe here," she added. - -The air, in truth, was like that of a vault. - -"Now we pass into the room of Maximilian of Austria," said the droning -voice, "he took the dressing-room of Amélie de Beauharnais for his -bedroom." - -They crossed this apartment in a flood of crimson light. The sunlight -struck on a crimson couch, flashed rainbows from a frail chandelier -with crystal drops that hung from the ceiling and kindled perpendicular -red lines on the wall. Stelio stopped on the threshold, evoking in his -fancy as he did so, the pensive figure of the young Archduke, with blue -eyes, that fair flower of Hapsburg fallen in a barbaric land one summer -morning! - -"Let us go!" begged La Foscarina again, seeing him still delay. - -She hastened through the immense salon, painted in fresco by Tiepolo; -the Corinthian bronze gate closing behind her gave forth a clang as -resonant as the stroke of a bell, sending prolonged vibrations through -space. She flew along, terrified, as if the whole palace were about -to crumble and fall, and the light to fail, and she dreaded lest she -should find herself alone among the shadows with these phantoms of -unhappiness and death. As Stelio followed, through the space wherein -the air was moved by her flight, between those walls enclosing -relics, behind the famous actress who had simulated the fury of deadly -passions, the desperate efforts of will and of desire, and the violent -conflict of splendid destines on the stage of all lands, the warm blood -in his veins grew chill, as if he were passing through a freezing -atmosphere; he felt his heart grow cold, his courage flag; his reason -for being lost its hold on his mind, and the magnificent illusions -with which he had fed his soul, that it might surpass itself and his -destiny, wavered and were dispersed. - -"Are we still living?" he asked, when they found themselves in the air -without, in the park, far from the unwholesome odor. - -He took La Foscarina's hand, shook her gently, gazed into her eyes and -tried to smile; then he drew her into the sunlight in the middle of the -green meadow. - -"What heat! Do you feel it? How sweet the grass is!" - -He half-closed his eyes, that he might feel the sun's rays on his -eyelids, and was once more filled with the joy of living. The woman -imitated him, calmed by the pleasure her beloved showed; and she looked -from under her half-closed eyelids at his fresh, sensuous mouth. They -sat thus for some time, hand-in-hand, their feet resting on the warm -grass. Her thoughts turned back to the Eugenean hills, which he had -described, to the villages pink as the buried shells, to the first -drops of rain on the tender leaves, Petrarch's fountain, to all things -fair and pleasant. - -"Life might still be sweet!" she sighed, in a voice wherein was the -miracle of hope born anew. - -The heart of her beloved became like a fruit suddenly ripened by a -miraculous ray. Joy, delight, and tenderness spread through his whole -being. Once more he reveled in the joy of the moment, as if it were the -last of life. Love was exalted above Destiny. - -"Do you love me? Tell me?" - -She made no answer, but she opened wide her eyes, and the vastness of -the universe was within the circle of those pupils. Never was boundless -love more powerfully signified by mortal woman. - -"Ah, life with thee is sweet, sweet--yesterday as well as to-morrow!" - -He seemed intoxicated with her, with the sunlight, the grass, the -divine sky, as with something never before seen or possessed. The -prisoner leaving his stifling cell, the convalescent who beholds the -sea after looking death in the face, are not more intoxicated. - -"Would you like to go now? Shall we leave our melancholy behind us? -Would you like to go to a country where there is no autumn?" - ---The autumn is in myself, and I carry it everywhere--she thought; but -she smiled the slight smile with which she veiled her sadness.--It is -I--it is I that must go away alone; I will disappear; I will go -far-away and die, my love, O my love!-- - -During this moment of respite, she had not succeeded either in -conquering her sadness or reviving her hope; but her anguish was -softened, and she had lost all bitterness and rancor. - -"Do you wish to go away?" - ---To go away, always to be going away, to wander throughout the world, -to go long distances!--thought the nomad woman.--Never to stop, never -to rest! The anxiety of the journey is not over yet, but already the -truce has expired. You wish to comfort me, my friend, and, to console -me, you propose that I should go far-away once more, although I -returned to my home, as it were, but yesterday.-- - -Suddenly her eyes looked like two sparkling springs. - -"Leave me in my home a little while longer. And remain here, too, if -that is possible. Later, you will be free, you will be happy. You -have so long a time before you! You are young. You will win what you -deserve. They will not lose you, even if they must wait for you." - -Her eyes had two crystal masks before them; they glittered in the -sunshine, and seemed almost fixed in her fevered face. - -"Ah, always the same shadow!" Stelio exclaimed, with an impatience he -could not conceal. "But what are you thinking of? What do you fear? Why -not tell me what it is that troubles you? Explain yourself. Who is it -that must wait for me?" - -She trembled with terror at that question, which seemed new and -unexpected, although he only repeated her own last words. She trembled -to find herself so near danger, as if, in walking across this fair -meadow, a precipice had suddenly opened under her feet. - -And suddenly, in that unfamiliar place, on that beautiful grass, at the -end of the day, after all those specters, sanguinary or bloodless, rose -a living image of will and desire, which filled her with far greater -terror. Suddenly, above all the figures of the Past, arose the figure -of the Future, and again the aspect of her life was changed; and the -sweetness of the respite was already lost, and the fair meadow with its -sweet grass was worth nothing. - -"Yes, let us talk, if you wish." - -But she was obliged to lift her face a little to keep her tears from -falling. - -"Do not be sad!" pleaded the young man, whose soul was suspended on -those eyelids, whence the tears would not fall. "You hold my heart -in your hand. I never will fail you. Then why torment yourself? I am -wholly yours." - -For him, too, the image of Donatella was there, with her rounded -figure, her body as robust and agile as a wingless Victory, armed with -the glory of maidenhood, attractive yet hostile, ready to struggle, and -then to yield. But his soul was suspended from the eyelids of the other -woman, like the tears that veiled the eyes in which he had seen the -vastness of the universe, the infinity of love. - -"Foscarina!" - -At last the warm tears fell, but she did not let them course down -her cheeks. With one of those movements that sometimes sprang from -her sadness with the swift grace of a freed wing, she checked them, -moistened her finger-tips with them, and touched her temples without -drying them. And, while she still kept her tears upon herself, she -tried to smile. - -"Forgive me, Stelio. I am so weak!" - -"Ah, dear fingers--beautiful as Sofia's! Let me kiss them as they are, -still wet." - -Within his caressing arm, he drew her across the field to a zone of -golden green. Lightly, with his arm supporting hers, he kissed her -finger-tips, one after another, more delicate than the buds of the -tuberose. She startled, and he felt her tremble at each touch of his -lips. - -"They are salt!" - -"Take care, Stelio! Some one may see us." - -"No one is here." - -"Perhaps down there, in the hothouses." - -"There is not a sound. Hark!" - -"What a strange silence! It is ecstasy." - -"We might hear the falling of a leaf." - -"And the keeper?" - -"He has gone to meet some other visitor." - -"Does anyone ever come here?" - -"The other day Richard Wagner came here with Daniela von Bülow." - -"Ah, yes, the niece of the Countess Agoult, of 'Daniel Stern.'" - -"And, among all those phantoms, with which did that great stricken -heart converse?" - -"Who can tell?" - -"Only with himself, perhaps." - -"Perhaps." - -"Look at the glass windows and walls of the conservatories--how they -sparkle! They appear iridescent. Rain, sunshine and time have painted -it in that way. Does it not seem to reflect a distant twilight? Perhaps -you have sometimes stopped on the Pesaro quay, to look at the beautiful -pentafore window of the Evangelists. If you raised your eyes, you could -see the windows of the palace marvelously painted by the changes of -weather." - -"You know all the secrets of Venice!" - -"Not all yet." - -"How warm it is here! See how tall those cedars are. There is a -swallow's nest hanging on that limb." - -"The swallows went away very late this year." - -"Will you really take me to the Euganean hills in the spring?" - -"Yes, Foscarina, I should like to do so." - -"Spring is so far-away!" - -"Life can still be sweet." - -"We are living in a dream." - -"Look at Orpheus with his lyre, all dressed in lichens." - -"Ah, what a land of dreams! No one comes here any more. Grass, grass -everywhere! There is not a single human footstep." - -"Deucalion with his stones, Ganymede with his eagle, Diana with her -stag--all the gods of mythology." - -"How many statues! But these, at least, are not in exile. The ancient -hornbeams still protect them." - -"Here strolled Maria Luisa di Parma, between the King and the favorite. -From time to time she would pause to listen to the click of the -blades that cut the hornbeams to form arches. She would let fall her -handkerchief, perfumed with jessamine, and Don Manuel Godoï would pick -it up with a graceful gesture, hiding the pain he suffered when he -stooped--a souvenir of the outrages he had endured at the hands of the -mob in the streets of Aranjuez. How warm the sun was, and how excellent -the snuff in its enameled box, when the King said with a smile: -'Certainly, our dear Bonaparte is not so well off at Saint Helena as -we are here.' But the demon of power, of struggle, and of passion was -still alive in the Queen's heart. Look at those red roses!" - -"They fairly burn. One would think each had a live coal at its heart. -Yes, they seem actually to burn." - -"The sun is growing red. This is the hour for the Chioggia sails on the -lagoon." - -"Gather a rose for me." - -"Here is one." - -"Oh, but its leaves are falling." - -"Well, here is another." - -"These leaves are falling too." - -"They are all at the point of death. Perhaps this one is not." - -"Do not break it off." - -"Look! These seem to be redder still. Bonifazio's velvet--do you -remember it? It has the same strength." - -"'The inmost flower of the flame.'" - -"What a memory!" - -"Listen! They are closing the doors of the conservatories." - -"It is time to go," said Stelio, abruptly yet gently. - -"The air is beginning to be cooler." - -"Do you feel cold?" - -"No, not yet." - -"Did you leave your cloak in the carriage?" - -"Yes." - -"We will wait at Dolo for the train, and return to Venice by the -railway." - -"Yes." - -"We still have time to spare." - -"What is this? Look!" - -"I don't know." - -"What a bitter odor! It is a sort of shrubbery of box and hornbeams." - -"Ah, it is the labyrinth!" - -A rusty iron gate barred the entrance to the labyrinth between two -columns that bore two Cupids riding on stone dolphins. Nothing was to -be seen on the other side of the gate, except the beginning of the -path, and a kind of solidly built and intricate thicket, dark and -mysterious. In the center of the maze rose a tower, at the summit of -which stood the statue of a warrior, as if reconnoitering from that -point. - -"Have you ever been in a labyrinth?" Stelio inquired. - -"No, never," she replied. - -They lingered to examine the entrance to the deceptive playground, -composed by an ingenious gardener for the amusement of ladies and -their cavaliers in the days of hoops and flowered waistcoats. But age -and neglect had rendered it mournful and wild, had deprived it of -all appearance of grace and regularity, and had changed it into thick -yellowish-brown woodland, full of inextricable turns through which the -slanting rays of the setting sun shone so red that some of the shrubs -looked like smokeless fire. - -"It is open," said Stelio, feeling the gate yield as he leaned on it. -"Do you see?" - -He pushed back the rusty iron gate, took a step forward, and crossed -the threshold. - -"Where are you going?" asked his companion, with instinctive fear, -putting out a hand to detain him. - -"Do you not wish to go in?" - -She was perplexed. But the labyrinth attracted them with its mystery, -illumined by deep flames. - -"Suppose we should lose ourselves?" - -"You can see for yourself that it is very small. We can easily find the -gate again." - -"And suppose we don't find it?" - -He laughed at this childish fear. - -"We might remain in there through all eternity!" he said. - -"No, no! No one is anywhere near. Let us go away." - -She tried to draw him back, but he defended himself, stepping backward -toward the path. Suddenly he disappeared, laughing. - -"Stelio! Stelio!" - -She could see him no longer, but she heard his ringing laughter in the -midst of the wild thicket. - -"Come back! come back!" - -"No, no! Come in and find me." - -"Stelio, come back! You will be lost," she called. - -"I shall find Ariadne." - -At that name, she felt her heart throb suddenly, then contract, then -palpitate confusedly. Was not that the name he had called Donatella, -that first night? Had he not called her Ariadne down there, in the -gondola, while seated at the young girl's feet? She even remembered his -words: "Ariadne possesses a divine gift, whereby her power transcends -all limits." She recalled his accent, his attitude, his look. - -Tumultuous anguish seized upon her, obscured her reason, prevented -her from realizing the spontaneity of the happening, and the simple -careless jest in her friend's speech. The terror that lay hidden in -the depths of her love rose in rebellion, mastered her, blinded her -with misery. The trifling little accident assumed an appearance of -cruelty and derision. She could still hear that laugh ringing from the -melancholy maze. - -"Stelio!" - -In her frantic hallucination, she cried out as if she had seen him -embraced by the other woman, torn from her arms forever. - -"Stelio!" - -"Come and find me!" he answered laughing, still invisible. - -She rushed into the labyrinth to find him, and advanced straight toward -the voice and the laugh, guided by her impulse. But the path turned; -a wall of bushes rose before her, impenetrable, and stopped her. -She followed the winding, deceiving path; but one turning followed -another, and all looked alike, and the circle seemed to have no end. - -"Look for me!" cried the voice from a distance, through the living -hedges. - -"Where are you? Where are you? Can you see me?" - -She looked about for some opening in the hedge through which she might -see. But all she saw was thick, interlacing branches, and the redness -of the setting sun which lighted them on one side, while shadows -darkened them on the other. The box-bushes and the hornbeams were so -closely mingled that they increased momentarily the bewilderment of the -breathless woman. - -"I am losing myself! Come and meet me!" - -Again that boyish laugh came from the maze. - -"Ariadne, Ariadne! the thread!" - -Now the words came from the opposite side, striking her heart as if -with a blow. - -"Ariadne!" - -She turned back, ran, turned again, tried to break through the hedge, -to see through the undergrowth, to break the branches. She saw nothing -but the maze, always the same in every direction. At last she heard a -step, so close that she thought it must be just behind her, and she -started. But she was deceived. Again she explored her green prison; she -listened, waited; she could hear no sound but her own breathing and the -beating of her heart. The silence had become absolute. She gazed at -the clear sky, curving in its immensity over the two green walls that -held her prisoner. She felt that that immensity and narrowness were -the only things in the world. And she could not succeed in separating -in her thoughts the reality of that place from the image of her mental -torture, the natural aspect of things from that kind of living allegory -created by her own anguish. - -"Stelio, where are you?" - -No reply. She listened and waited in vain. The seconds seemed like -hours. - -"Where are you? I am afraid!" - -No reply. But where was he, then? Had he found the way out? Had he left -her there all alone? Would he continue to play this cruel game? - -A mad desire to scream, to sob, to throw herself on the ground, to hurt -herself, to make herself ill, to die, assailed the distracted woman. -Again she raised her eyes to the silent sky. The tops of the tall -hornbeams were reddened, like logs when they have ceased to blaze and -are about to fall in ashes. - -"I can see you!" suddenly said a laughing voice, in the deep shadows, -very near her. - -"Where are you?" - -He laughed among the leaves, but without revealing himself, like a -faun in hiding. This game excited him; his body grew warm and supple -by this exercise of his agility; and the wild mystery, the contact -with the earth, the odor of autumn, the strangeness of this unexpected -adventure, the woman's bewilderment, even the presence of the marble -deities mingled with his physical pleasure an illusion of antique -poetry and grace. - -"Where are you? Oh, do not play any more! Do not laugh in that way! -Enough!" - -He had crept, bareheaded, into the bushes on his hands and knees. He -felt the dead leaves, the soft moss. And as he breathed among the -branches, and felt his heart throb with the strange delight of the -situation, with the communion between his own life and the vegetable -life around him, the spell of his fancy renewed among those winding -ways the industry of the first maker of wings, the myth of the monster -that was born of Pasiphaë and the Bull, the Attic legend of Theseus -in Crete. All that ancient world became real to him. In that glowing -autumn evening, he was transfigured, according to the instincts of his -blood and the recollections of his mind, into one of those ambiguous -forms, half animal and half divine, one of those glittering genii whose -throats were swollen with the same gland that hangs from the neck of -the goat. A joyous voluptuousness suggested strange surprises to him, -suggested the swiftness of pursuit, of flight, capture, and a fleeting -embrace in the shadows of the wood. Then he desired some one like -himself, fresh youthfulness that could share his laughter, two light -feet to fly before him, two arms to resist him, a prize to capture at -last. Donatella with her curved figure recurred to his mental vision. - -"Enough, Stelio! I cannot run any more. I shall fall." - -La Foscarina uttered a scream on feeling her skirt pulled by a hand -that had reached through the shrubbery. She bent down, and saw in the -shadows the face of a laughing faun. The laughter struck her ear -without calming her distress, without breaking the sense of suffering -that overpowered her. As she looked at his boyish face, she saw at -the same instant the face of the singer, who seemed to be stooping -with her, imitating her movement as if she were a shadow. Her mind -became more confused, and she could not distinguish between illusion -and reality. The other woman seemed to overthrow her, oppress her, -suffocate her. - -"Leave me! Leave me! It is not I whom you seek!" - -Her voice was so changed that Stelio broke off his laughter and his -sport, withdrew his arm, and rose to his feet. She could not see him; -the leafy, impenetrable wall was between them again. - -"Take me away from this place. I cannot bear any more. My strength is -gone. I suffer." - -He could find no words to comfort her. The simultaneous coincidence -of his recent thought of Donatella, and her sudden divination of it, -impressed him deeply. - -"Wait a little! I will try to find the way out. I will call some one." - -"Are you going away?" - -"Don't be afraid! There is no danger." - -But while he spoke thus to reassure her, he felt the inaneness of his -words--the incongruity between that laughable adventure and the obscure -emotion born of a far different cause. And now he too felt the strange -ambiguity whereby the trifling event appeared in two confusing aspects: -a suppressed desire to laugh persisted under his concern for her, so -that his perturbation was new to him, like wild agitations born of -extravagant dreams. - -"Do not go away!" she implored, a prey to her hallucinations. "Perhaps -we can meet there at the next turning. Let us try. Take my hands." - -Through an opening, he took her hands; he started on touching them; -they were icy cold. - -"Foscarina, what is the matter? Are you really ill? Wait! I will try to -break through." - -He attempted to break down the hedge, and snapped off a few twigs, but -its thickness resisted him, and he scratched his hands uselessly. - -"No, it is impossible." - -"Cry out! Call some one." - -He cried aloud in the silence. - -The top of the hedge had lost its deep color, but a red light now -spread over the sky above them. A triangle of wild ducks passed in -sweeping flight. - -"Let me go, Foscarina. I shall find the tower easily, and will call -from there. Some one will be sure to hear me." - -"No! No!" - -But she heard him move away, followed the sound of his steps, and -was once more bewildered by the maze, once more alone and lost. She -stopped, waited, listened, and looked at the sky. She lost all sense of -time; the seconds seemed hours. - -"Stelio! Stelio!" - -She was no longer capable of an effort to control her disordered and -exasperated mind. She felt the approach of a crisis of mad fear, -as one feels the approach of a whirlwind. - - [Illustration: _HE WATCHED THE WOMAN TURNING AND RUNNING LIKE A MAD - CREATURE ALONG THE DARK, DELUSIVE PATHS_] - - _From an Original Drawing by Arthur H. Ewer_ - - -"Stelio!" - -He heard that cry full of anguish, and hastened his search along the -winding paths that first seemed to lead him toward the tower and then -away from it. The laughter had frozen in his heart. His whole soul -shook to its foundation every time his name reached him, uttered by -that invisible agony. And the gradual lessening of the light brought up -an image of blood that is flowing away, of slowly fading life. - -"I am here! I am here!" - -One of the paths brought him at last to the open space where the tower -stood. He ran furiously up the winding stairs, felt dizzy when he -reached the top, closed his eyes while grasping the railing, opened -them again, and saw a long zone of fire on the horizon, the disk -of the rayless moon, the gray plain, and the labyrinth below him, -black and spotted with box-bush and horn-beam, narrow in its endless -convolutions, looking like a dismantled edifice covered with wild vines. - -"Stop! Stop! Do not run like that! Some one has heard me. A man is -coming. I can see him coming. Wait! Stop!" - -He watched the woman turning and running like a mad creature along the -dark, delusive paths, like something condemned to vain torture, to some -useless but eternal fatigue, like a sister of the fabulous martyrs. - -"Stop!" - -It seemed that she did not hear him, or that she could not control -her fatal agitation, and that he could not rescue her, but must always -remain there, a witness of that terrible chastisement. - -"Here he is!" - -One of the keepers had heard their cries, had approached them, and -now entered by the gateway. Stelio met him at the foot of the tower, -and together they hastened to find the lost woman. The man knew the -secret of the labyrinth, and Stelio prevented any chatter and jests by -surprising him with his generosity. - -"Has she lost consciousness--has she fallen?" The darkness and the -silence were sinister, and he felt alarmed. She did not answer when -he called her, and he could not hear her footsteps. Night had already -fallen on the place, and a damp veil was descending from the purple sky. - -"Shall I find her in a swoon upon the ground," he thought. - -He started at seeing a mysterious figure appear at a turning, with a -pale face that attracted all the last rays of daylight, white as a -pearl, with large, fixed eyes, and lips closely compressed. - -They turned back toward the Dolo, taking the same route beside the -Brenta. She never spoke, never opened her lips, never answered, as if -she could not unclose her teeth. She lay in the bottom of the carriage, -wrapped in her cloak, and now and then she shook with a deep shudder, -as one attacked by malarial fever. Her friend tried to take her hands -in his to warm them, but in vain--they were inert and lifeless. And as -they drove along, the statues passed and passed beside them. - -The river flowed black between its banks, under the purple and silver -sky; the moon was rising. A black boat came down the stream, towed by -two gray horses with heavy hoofs, led by a man who whistled cheerfully, -and the funnel smoked on the deck like a chimney on a hut. The yellow -light of a lantern flashed, and the odor of supper floated on the air; -and here and there, as they drove along, the statues passed and passed -beside them. - -It was like a Stygian landscape, like a vision of Hades, a region of -shadows, mist, and water. Everything grew misty and vanished like -spirits. The moon enchanted and attracted the plain, as it enchants -and attracts the water, absorbing the vapors of earth with insatiable, -silent thirst. Solitary pools shone everywhere; small, silvery canals -were visible, glittering at uncertain distances. Earth seemed to be -gradually losing its solidity, and the sky seemed to regard its own -melancholy reflected in innumerable placid mirrors. - -And here and there, along the banks of the stream, like the ghosts of a -people disappeared, the statues passed and passed! - - - - - CHAPTER X - - THE POWER OF THE FLAME - - -"Do you think often of Donatella, Stelio?" La Foscarina inquired -suddenly, after a long silence, during which neither had heard anything -but the sound of their own footsteps along the canal path of the -Vetrai, illumined by the multi-colored lights from the fragile objects -that filled the windows of the neighboring shops. - -Her voice sounded harsh and strained. Stelio stopped suddenly, as one -who finds himself confronted by an unexpected difficulty. His spirit -had been roaming over the red and green isle of Murano, begemmed -with flowers in her present desolate poverty, which seemed to blot -out the memory of the joyous time when poets had sung her praises -as "a sojourn for nymphs and demigods." He had been thinking of the -famous gardens where Andrea Navagero, Cardinal Bembo, Aretino, Aldo, -and their learned followers, rivaled one another in the elegance of -their Platonic dialogues, _lauri sub umbra_. He had been thinking of -convents, luxurious as boudoirs, inhabited by little nuns dressed -in white camelot and laces, with curls on their temples, and necks -uncovered, after the fashion of the ancient honored courtesans, given -to secret loves, much sought after by wealthy patricians, with such -euphonious names as Ancilla Soranzo, Cipriana Morosini, Zanetta Balbi, -Beatrice Falier, Eugenia Muschiera, pious instructors in the ways of -love. His changeful dreams were accompanied by a plaintive little air, -a forgotten dance measure, in which the faint soul of Murano tinkled -and whispered. - -At this abrupt question, the air fled from his memory, all imaginings -were dispersed, the enchantment of the old life vanished. His wandering -mind was called back, and came with reluctance. He felt beside him the -throbbing of a living heart, which he must inevitably wound. He looked -at his friend. - -She was walking beside the canal, calm, with no sign of agitation, -between the green water and the iridescence of the rows of delicate -vases. Only her slender chin trembled slightly, between her short veil -and fur collar. - -"Yes, sometimes," he replied, after an instant of hesitation, recoiling -from falsehood, and feeling the necessity to elevate their love above -ordinary deceptions and pretensions, so that it should remain for him a -cause of strength, not of weakness, a free agreement, not a heavy chain. - -She pursued her way without wavering, but she had lost all -consciousness of movement in the terrible throbbing of her heart, which -shook her from head to foot. She saw nothing more: all she was aware of -was the nearness of the fascinating water. - -"Her voice is unforgettable," Stelio went on, after a pause, having -found his courage. "Its power is amazing. From that first evening, -I have thought that that singer might be the marvelous instrument -for my great work. I wish she would consent to sing the lyric parts -of my tragedy, the odes that arise from the symphonies and resolve -themselves into figures of the dance at the end, between episodes. La -Tanagra has consented to dance. I have confidence in your good offices, -dear friend, to obtain also the consent of Donatella Arvale. Thus the -Dionysiac trinity would be reëstablished in a perfect manner on the new -stage, for the joy of mankind." - -Even while he spoke he realized that his words had a false ring, that -his unconscious air contrasted too crudely with the dark shadow on -the woman's face. In spite of himself, he had exaggerated his frank -tone in speaking of Donatella merely as an instrument of art, a purely -ideal force to be drawn into the circle of his magnificent enterprise. -In spite of himself, disturbed by the anxiety in that soul so near -his own, he had leaned slightly toward deception. Certainly what he -had said was the exact truth, but his friend had demanded from him -another truth. He broke off suddenly, unable to endure the sound of -his own words. He felt that at that hour, between the actress and -himself, art had no meaning, no vital value. Another force dominated -them, more imperious, more disquieting. The world created by intellect -seemed inert as the ancient stones on which they trod. The only real -and formidable power was the poison running in their human blood. The -will of the one said: "It is my will that you shall love and serve me, -wholly, mine alone, body and soul." The will of the other said: "It is -my will that you shall love and serve me, but while I live I shall -renounce nothing that may appeal to my wish and fancy." The struggle -was bitter and unequal. - -As she remained silent, unconsciously hastening her steps, he prepared -himself to face the other truth. - -"I understand, of course, that that was not what you wished to know." - -"You are right: it was not that. Well?" - -She turned to him with a sort of convulsive violence that reminded him -of her fury one far-off evening, when she had cried madly: "Go! Run! -She awaits you!" - -At this moment a workman met them, and offered to show them over the -neighboring glass factory. - -"Yes, let us go in there," said La Foscarina, hurriedly following the -workman. Presently they reached the furnace room, and were enveloped in -its fiery breath, as they gazed at an incandescent altar, the glow from -which dazzled their eyes with a painful glare. - ---To disappear, to be swallowed up, to leave no sign!--cried the -woman's heart, intoxicated with the thought of destruction.--In -one second that fire could devour me like a dry stick, a bundle of -straw.--And she went nearer to the open mouths in which she could see -the molten flame, more resplendent than a midsummer sun, rolling around -the earthen pots in which the shapeless mass was melting; the workmen, -standing around, awaited the right moment to approach with iron tubes -to shape that mass with the breath from their lips and the instruments -of their art. - ---O virtue of Fire!--thought the Inspirer, turned from his anxiety -by the miraculous beauty of the element that had become to him as -familiar as a brother, since the day he had found the revealing -melody.--Ah, that I might give to the life of the creatures that love -me the perfection of the forms to which I aspire! That I might fuse -all their weaknesses in some white heat, and make of the product -obedient matter in which to impress the commandments of my heroic will -and the images of my pure poetry! Why, my friend, why will you not be -the divine living statue molded by my spirit, the work of faith and -sorrow whereby our lives might surpass even our art? Why are we so near -resembling ordinary lovers, who lament and curse? When I heard from -your lips those admirable words: 'I can do one thing that love alone -cannot do,' I believed indeed that you could give me more than love. -You must be able always to do those things that love can do, besides -those it cannot do, in order to meet my insatiable nature.-- - -Meanwhile, work was going on about the furnace. At the end of the -blow pipes the molten glass swelled, twisted, became silvery as a -little cloud, shone like the moon, cracked, divided into a thousand -infinitesimal fragments, glittering and thin as the threads we see at -daybreak stretching from tree to tree. The glass-blowers were making -harmonious vases. The apprentices placed a small, pear-shaped mass -of burning paste on the spot chosen by the master-workmen; and the -pear lengthened, twisted, transformed itself into a handle, a rim, a -spout, a foot, or a stem. The glowing heat slowly died out under the -instruments, and the half-formed cup was again exposed to the heat, -then drawn from it docile, ductile, sensitive to the lightest touches -that ornamented and refined it, conforming it to the model handed down -by their ancestors, or to the free invention of a new creator. - -Extraordinarily light and agile were the human gestures that produced -these elegant creatures of the fire, of breath and iron; they were like -the movements of a silent dance. The figure of La Tanagra appeared -to the Inspirer among the perpetual undulations of the flame, like a -salamander. Donatella's voice seemed to sing to him the powerful melody. - ---To-day, again, I myself have given you the thought of her for a -companion--thought La Foscarina--I myself have called her up between -us, and evoked her shadow when perhaps your thoughts were elsewhere; I -have suddenly led her to you, as on that night of delirium.-- - -It was true, it was true! From the instant when the singer's name had -been spoken on the water by Foscarina, she herself had unconsciously -exalted the new image in the poet's mind, had nourished it with her -jealousy and fear, had strengthened and increased it day by day, -and had at last illumined it with certainty. More than once she had -said to the young man, who perhaps had forgotten: "She awaits you!" -More than once she had presented to his imagination that distant, -mysterious figure of expectancy. As on that Dionysian night, when the -conflagration of Venice had lighted up the two youthful faces with the -same reflection, it was now her own passion that illumined them, and -they glowed only because she herself had made them.--Certainly, he now -possesses that image, and it possesses him. My anguish only augments -his ardor. It is a joy to him to love her before my despairing eyes!-- - -"As soon as the vase is shaped, we put it in the furnace room to be -tempered," replied one of the men to a query from Stelio. "If it were -exposed to the air immediately it would crack in a thousand pieces." - -They could see the radiant vases, still slaves of the fire, still under -its empire, gathered in a receptacle joined to the furnace in which -they had been fused. - -"They have been there ten hours," said the workman, pointing to -his graceful family. "Is this our great Foscarina?" he added in an -undertone to Stelio. He had recognized her when she had lifted her -veil, suffocating with the heat. - -Revealing ingenuous emotion, the master workman took a step toward her -and bowed respectfully. - -"One evening, my lady, you made me tremble and weep like a child. Will -you allow me, in memory of that evening, which I never shall forget, to -offer you a little work from the hands of the poor Seguso?" - -"A Seguso, are you?" said the poet, leaning toward the little man, to -look at him closer; "are you of the great family of glass-blowers, one -of the genuine race?" - -"At your service, master." - -"A prince, then." - -"Yes, a harlequin playing the prince." - -"You know all the secrets of the art, eh?" - -The Muranese made a mysterious gesture which seemed to call up all the -deep ancestral knowledge of which he affirmed himself the last heir. - -"Then, mistress, will you deign to accept it?" - -La Foscarina had not spoken, fearing to trust her voice, but now all -her affable grace rose above her sadness and accepted the gift while -compensating the giver. - -The vase held by the little bent man that had created it was like -a miraculous flower blooming on a twisted shrub. It was a thing of -beauty, mysterious as natural things are mysterious; it held the life -of a human breath in its hollow; its transparence equaled that of sky -and water; its purple rim was like a floating seaweed; no one could -have told the reason why it was so beautiful; and its value was either -slight or beyond price, according to the eyes that looked at it. - -La Foscarina chose to take it with her, without having it packed, as -one carries a flower. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - REMINISCENCE - - -They left the factory, and walked along a road that was enclosed -between the walls of silent gardens. The bronze-like laurels were -touched with gold at the tops by the setting sun. The air was filled -with sparkling gold-dust. - -"How sweet and terrible was the fate of Gaspara Stampa," said Stelio. -"Do you know her _Sonnets_? Yes, I saw them one day on your table. She -was a strange mingling of ice and fire. Sometimes her mortal passion, -above the Petrarchism of Aretino, lifted a glorious cry. I remember a -magnificent verse of hers: - - _Vivere ardendo e non sentire il male!_" - -"Do you remember, Stelio," said La Foscarina, with that peculiar slight -smile of hers which gave her face the look of one walking in her sleep, -"do you remember the sonnet that begins: - - _Signore, io so che in me non son più viva, - E veggo omai ch'ancor in voi son morta?_" - -"I don't remember, Fosca." - -"Do you remember your beautiful fancy about the dead Summer? Summer -was lying on a funeral barge, dressed in gold like a dogaressa, and -the procession was bearing her toward the Island of Murano, where a -master of the flame was to enclose her in a shroud of opalescent glass, -so that when she should be submerged in the depths of the lagoon, she -could at least watch the waving seaweed. Do you remember?" - -"It was an evening in September." - -"The last night of September, the night of the Allegory. There was a -great light on the water. You were in an exalted mood, and talked and -talked. What things you said! You had come from solitude, and your -overcharged soul broke forth. You poured a sparkling wave of poetry -over your companion. A bark passed, laden with pomegranates. I called -myself Perdita. Do you remember?" - -As she walked she felt the extreme lightness of her step and felt that -something in her was vanishing, as if her body were on the point of -being changed to an empty chrysalis. - -"My name was still Perdita. Stelio, do you recall another sonnet of -Gaspara's beginning: - - _Io vorrei pur che Amor dicesse come - Debbo seguirlo...._ - -And the madrigal beginning: - - _Se tu credi piacere al mio signore?_" - -"I did not know you were so familiar with the unhappy Anasilla, my -dear." - -"Ah, I will tell you. I was hardly fourteen years old when I played in -an old romantic tragedy called _Gaspara Stampa_. I played the leading -part. It was at Dolo, where we passed the other day on our way to -Strà. We played in a small rustic theater--a kind of tent. It was the -year before my mother died. I remember it very well. I can remember -the sound of my own voice, which was weak then, when I forced it in -the tirades because some one in the wings kept whispering to me to -speak louder, louder!... Well, Gaspara was despairing; she wept and -raved for her cruel Count. There were many things about it all that my -small, profaned soul did not know or understand, and I know not what -instinct and comprehension of sorrow led me to find the accent and -the cries that could stir the miserable crowd from which we expected -to gain our daily bread. Ten hungry persons used me as a breadwinner; -brutal necessity cut and tore away from me all the dream-flowers -born of my trembling precocity. Oh, it was a time of weeping and -suffocation, of terror, of unthinking weariness, of mute horror. Those -that martyrized me knew not what they were doing, poor creatures, made -stupid by poverty and work. God pardon them and give them peace! Only -my mother--she, too, who 'for having loved too well and been too little -loved, unhappy lived and died'--only my mother had pity on my pain, and -knew how to take me in her arms, how to calm my horrible trembling, to -weep when I wept, to console me. My blessed mother!" - -Her voice changed. Her mother's eyes once again looked upon her, kind -and firm and infinite as a peaceful horizon.--Tell me, tell me what I -must do! Guide me, teach me, you who know!--Her heart felt again the -clasp of those arms, and from the distance of years the old pain came -back, but not harshly; it was almost sweet. The memory of her struggles -and her sufferings seemed to bathe her soul in a warm wave, to sustain -and comfort it. The test had been hard and the victory difficult, -obtained at the price of persistent labor, against brutal and hostile -forces. She had witnessed the deepest misery and ruin, she had known -heroic efforts, pity, horror, and the face of Death. - -"I know what hunger is, Stelio, and what the approach of night seems -like when a place of rest is uncertain," she said softly. - -She stopped between the high walls, and lifted her little veil, looking -deep into her friend's eyes. He grew pale under that look, so sudden -was his emotion and surprise at her words. He felt confused, as if in -the incoherence of a dream, incapable of applying the true significance -of those words to the woman who was smiling at him, holding the -delicate glass in her ungloved hand. Yet he had heard what she said, -and she stood there before him in her rich fur cape, looking at him -with beautiful soft eyes, misty with unshed tears. - -"And I have known other things." - -It relieved her heart to speak like this; his humility gave her -strength, as if she had accomplished some proud and daring deed. She -never had felt conscious of her power and worldly glory in the presence -of her beloved, but now the memory of her obscure martyrdom, her -poverty and hunger, created in her heart a feeling of real superiority -over him she believed invincible. - -"But I have no fear of suffering," she said, remembering the words he -had spoken once: "Tell me you do not fear to suffer.... I believe your -soul capable of bearing all the sorrow of the world." And her hand -stole up to his cheek and caressed it, and he understood that she had -answered those words spoken long ago. - -He was silent, as intoxicated as if she had presented to his lips the -very essence of her heart pressed out into that crystal cup like the -blood of the grape. He waited for her to go on. - -They reached a crossroads where stood a miserable hut, falling into -ruin. La Foscarina stopped to look at it. The rude, unhinged windows -were held open by a stick laid across them. The low sun struck the -smoked walls within, and revealed the furniture--a table, a bench, a -cradle. - -"Do you remember, Stelio," said La Foscarina, "that inn at Dolo where -we waited for the train. Vampa's inn, I mean. A great fire burned -on the hearth, the dishes glittered on the shelves, and slices of -_polenta_ were toasting on the gridiron. Twenty years ago everything -was exactly the same--the same fire, the same dishes, the same -_polenta_. My mother and I used to go in there after the performance, -and sit on the bench before a table. I had wept, cried, raved, and -had died of poison or by the sword, on the stage. I still heard in -my ears the resonance of the verses I had uttered, in a voice that -was not my own, and a strange will still possessed my soul, and I -could not shake it off--it was as if another person, struggling with -my inertness, persisted in performing over again those movements and -actions. The simulation of an outside life remained in the muscles of -my face, and some evenings I could not calm them. Already, even then, -the mask, the sensation of the living mask, was beginning to grow. My -eyes would remain fixed, and a chill crept at the roots of my hair. -I had difficulty in recovering full consciousness of myself and my -surroundings. - -"The odors from the kitchen sickened me; the food on our plates seemed -too coarse, heavy as a stone, impossible to swallow. My disgust at -everything sprang from something indescribably delicate and precious, -of which I was conscious under all my weariness--a vague feeling -of nobility beneath my humiliation. I hardly know how to express -it. Perhaps it was the obscure presence of that power which later -developed in me, of that election, of that difference wherewith Nature -has marked me. Sometimes the consciousness of that difference from -others became so strong that it almost raised a barrier between my -mother and myself--God forgive me!--almost separated me from her. A -great loneliness possessed me; nothing around me had power to touch -me any more. I was alone with my destiny. My mother, even though she -was with me, gradually receded into an infinite distance. Ah, she was -to die soon, and was already preparing to leave me, and perhaps this -withdrawal was the forerunner. She used to urge me to eat, with the -words only she knew how to say. I answered: 'Wait! Wait!' I could only -drink; I had a great craving for cold water. At times, when I was more -tired and trembling than usual, I smiled a long-continued smile. And -even that dear woman herself, with her deep heart, could not understand -whence came my smile! - -"Incomparable hours, wherein it seemed that the bodily prison was being -broken through by the soul that wandered to the extremest limits of -life! What must your youth have been, Stelio! Who can imagine it? We -have all felt the weight of sleep that descends upon us after fatigue -or intoxication, heavy and sudden as a stroke from a hammer, and it -seems to annihilate us. But the power of dreams sometimes seizes upon -us in waking hours with the same force; it holds us and we cannot -resist it, though the whole thread of our existence seems on the point -of being destroyed. Ah, some of the beautiful things you said that -night in Venice come back to my mind, when you spoke of her marvelous -hands weaving her own lights and shadows in a continuous work of -beauty. You alone know how to describe the indescribable. - -"Well, ... on that bench, in front of that rustic table, in Vampa's -inn at Dolo, where destiny led me again with you, I had the most -extraordinary visions that dreams ever have called up in my brain. -I saw that which is unforgettable; I saw the real forms around me -obliterated by the dream-figures born of my instinct and my thoughts. -Under my fixed eyes, dazzled and scorched by the smoky petroleum lamps -of the improvised stage, the world of my expression began to throb -with life. The first lines of my art were developed in that state of -anguish, of weariness, fever, disgust, in which my sensibility became, -so to speak, plastic, after the manner of the incandescent material we -saw the workmen holding at the end of the tube. In it was a natural -aspiration to be modeled, to receive breath, to fill a mold. On certain -evenings, in that wall covered with copper utensils, I could see myself -reflected as in a mirror, in attitudes of grief or rage; with an -unrecognizable face; and, in order to escape from this hallucination, -to break the fixity of my gaze, I opened and shut my eyes rapidly. My -mother would say, over and over: 'Eat, my daughter, at least eat this.' -But what were bread, wine, meat, fruits, all those heavy things, in -comparison with what I had within me? I said to her: 'Wait!' and when -we rose to go, I used to take only a large piece of bread with me. -I liked to eat it in the country the next morning, under a tree, or -sitting on the bank of the Brenta.... Oh, those statues! They did not -recognize me the other day, Stelio, but I recognized them! - -"It was in the month of March, I remember. I went out into the country -very early with my bread. I walked at random, though I meant to go to -the statues. I went from one to another, and stopped before every one, -as if I were paying a visit. Some appeared very beautiful to me, and I -tried to imitate their poses. But I remained longer with the mutilated -ones, as if to console them. In the evening, on the stage, I remembered -some of them while I was acting, and with so deep a feeling of their -distance and their solitude that I felt as if I could not speak any -more. The audience would grow impatient at these pauses too prolonged. -At times, when I had to wait for my companion in the scene to finish -his tirade, I used to stand in the attitude of one of those statues, -and remain as motionless as if I had been made of stone. I was already -beginning to carve my own destiny. - -"I loved one of them tenderly; it had lost its arms, which once -balanced a basket of fruit on its head. But the hands still remained -attached to the basket, and the sight of them always aroused my pity. -This statue stood on its pedestal in a flax-field; a little canal of -stagnant water was near it, in which the reflected sky repeated the -tender blue of the flowers. And always, since that time, in my most -glowing moments on the stage, visions of some landscape rise in my -memory, particularly when by the mere force of silence I succeed in -producing a thrill in the listening throng." - -Her cheeks had flushed a little, and as the sun wrapped her in a -radiant garment, drawing sparkles from her furs and from the crystal -cup, her animation seemed like an increase of light. - -"What a spring that was! In one of my wandering journeys I saw a -great river for the first time. It appeared to me suddenly, swollen, -and flowing rapidly between two wild banks. I felt then how much of -divinity there is in a great stream running through the earth. It was -the Adige, flowing down from Verona, from the city of Juliet." - -An ambiguous emotion filled her heart while she recalled the poverty -and poetry of her youth. She was impelled to continue, though she -did not know how she had arrived at these confidences, when she had -intended to speak to her friend of another young life, not belonging -to the past, but to the present. By what surprise of love had she been -turned from an effort of her will, from her firm decision to face the -painful truth, from the concentration of her slumbering energy to -linger in the memory of the past, and to cover with the image of her -own lost virgin self that other image which was so different? - -"We reached Verona one evening in May. I was devoured by anxiety. I -clasped close to my heart the book in which I had copied the lines -of Juliet, and continually repeated to myself the words of my first -entrance: 'How now? Who calls? I am here. What is your will?' My -imagination was excited by a strange coincidence: on that very day I -was fourteen years old--the age of Juliet. The Nurse's gossip sounded -in my ears; and, little by little, my own destiny seemed mingled with -that of the Veronese. At the corner of every street I thought I could -see a throng approaching me, accompanying a coffin covered with white -roses. When I saw the Arche degli Scaligeri behind its iron bars, I -cried to my mother, 'Here is Juliet's tomb!' And I burst into sobs, -and had a desperate desire to love and to die. 'O thou too early seen -unknown, and known too late!'" - -Her voice, repeating the immortal words, penetrated the heart of her -lover like a heart-rending melody. She paused a moment, then repeated: - -"Too late!" - -They were the ominous words spoken by her lover, which she herself had -repeated in the garden, when both were on the brink of being swept -away on the flood of their passion: "It is late; too late!" The woman -that was no longer young now faced the former image of herself, in her -maidenhood, throbbing in the form of Juliet before her first dream of -love. Having reached the limit of experience, had she not at the same -time preserved the dream intact--but to what purpose? If to-day she -looked at the image of her far-distant youth, it was only to trample -upon it in leading her beloved to the other woman, to her who lived and -waited. - -With her smile of inimitable sadness, she said: - -"I _was_ Juliet! One Sunday in May, in the immense arena in the -amphitheater under the open sky, before an audience that had breathed -in the legend of love and death, I was Juliet herself. No thrill from -the most responsive audience, no applause, no triumph, ever has had -from me the fulness and intoxication of that unique hour. Actually, -when I heard Romeo say: 'O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright,' -my whole being kindled. With great economy, I had managed to buy a -large bunch of roses, and these were my only ornament. I mingled the -roses with my words, my gestures, with every attitude. I dropped one -at Romeo's feet when we first met; I strewed the petals of another on -his head, as I stood on the balcony; and I covered his body with them -as he lay in the tomb. The words came with the strangest ease, almost -involuntarily, as in delirium, and I could feel the throbbing in my -veins accompanying them. - -"I could see the great amphitheater, half in sunlight, half in -shadow, and in the lighter part a sparkling from thousands of eyes. -The day was as calm as this. Not a breath of air disturbed the folds -of my robes, or the hair that floated on my uncovered neck. I felt -my strength and animation momentarily increasing. How I spoke of the -lark and the nightingale! I had heard them both a thousand times in -the country. I knew all their songs of the woods, the meadows, and -the sky. Every word, as it left my lips, seemed to have been steeped -in the warmth of my blood. There was no fiber in me that did not give -forth harmonious sound. Ah, the grace, the state of grace! Every time -it is given to me to rise to the highest summit of my art I live again -in that indescribable _abandon_. Yes, I was Juliet! I cried out in -terror at the approach of dawn. The breeze stirred my hair. I could -feel the extraordinary silence on which my lamentation fell. The -multitude seemed to have sunk into the ground. I spoke of the terror -of the coming day, but already I felt in reality 'the mask of night -upon my face.' Romeo had descended. We were already dead; already -both had entered the vale of shadows. Do you remember? My eyes sought -the fading light of the sky. The people were noisy in the arena; they -were impatient for the death scene; they would listen no more to -the mother, the nurse, or the friar. The quiver of that impatience -quickened my throbbing heart. The tragedy swept on. I recall the odor -of the pitch from the funeral torches, and of the roses that covered -me, and I remember the sound of far-off bells, and of the sky that was -losing its light, little by little, as Juliet was losing her life, and -a star, the first star, that swam in my eyes with my tears. When I -fell dead on Romeo's body, the cry of the multitude in the shadows was -so violent that I was frightened. Some one lifted me and dragged me -toward that cry. Some one held the torch close to my tear-stained face, -which must have been the color of death.... And thus, Stelio, one night -in May, Juliet came to life again, and appeared before the people of -Verona." - -Again she paused, and closed her eyes as if she were dizzy, but her -sorrowful lips still smiled at her friend. - -"And then? Then came the need to move, to go no matter where, to -traverse space, to breathe in the wind. My mother followed me in -silence. We crossed a bridge, walked beside the Adige, and went on and -on. My mother asked at times where we were going. I wished to find the -Franciscan convent where Juliet's tomb was hidden, since, to my great -regret, she was not buried in one of those beautiful tombs behind the -great iron gates. But I did not wish to say so, and I could not speak. -My voice seemed to have been lost with the last word of the dying -Juliet. 'Where are we going?' again asked that indefatigable kindness. -Ah, then the last word of Juliet came to me in reply. We were again -near the Adige, beside a bridge. I think I began to run, because soon -afterward I felt myself seized by my mother's arms, and I stood leaning -against the parapet, choking with sobs. 'There let me die!' I wished -to say, but could not. The river carried with it the night and all its -stars. I felt that the desire to die was not mine alone. Ah, blessed -mother!" - -She became very pale; her whole heart felt once more the embrace of -those arms, the kiss of those lips, those tender tears, the depth of -that suffering. - -With a mingled feeling of surprise and alarm, Stelio watched the great -waves of life that passed over her, the extraordinary expressions, -the alternating lights and shadows; but he dared not speak, dared not -break in upon the occult workings of that great, unhappy soul. He could -only feel confusedly in her words the beauty and sadness of things -unexpressed. - -"Speak to me still," he said. "Draw nearer to me, sweet soul! No moment -since I first loved you has been worth the steps that we have taken -together to-day." - -Again her first sudden question returned to her mind: "Do you think -often of Donatella?" - -A short path led to the Fondamenta degli Angeli, whence the lagoon -could be seen, smooth and luminous. - -"How beautiful that light is!" she said. "It is like that night when my -name was still Perdita, Stelio." - -She now touched a note that she had touched in an interrupted prelude. - -"The last night of September," she added. "Do you remember?" - -Her heart was filled with exaltation to such a degree that she almost -feared it would fail her. But she resolved that her voice should utter -firmly the name that must break the silence between her friend and -herself. - -"Do you remember the ship anchored before the gardens? A salute greeted -the flag as it slid down the mast. Our gondola touched the ship as we -passed under its shadow." - -A moment's pause. Her pallor was animated by a wonderful vitality. - -"Then, in that shadow, you first spoke Donatella's name." - -She made a new effort, as a swimmer, submerged by a wave, rises again -and shakes his head free of the foam. - -"She began then to be yours!" - -She felt as if she were growing rigid from head to foot. Her eyes -stared fixedly at the glittering water. - -"She must be yours," she said at last, with the sternness of necessity -in her voice, as if to repel with a second shock the terrible things -that were ready to surge up from her fiery heart. - -Seized by sudden anguish, incapable of interrupting by a word the -lightning-like apparitions of her tragic soul, Stelio halted, and laid -his hand on his companion's arm to make her stop also. - -"Is it not true?" she asked with a sweetness almost calm, as if her -tension had suddenly relaxed, and her passion had quietly accepted the -yoke laid upon it by her will. "Speak! I do not fear to suffer. Let us -sit down here. I am a little tired." - -They sat down on a low wall, facing the water. - -"What can I say to you?" said the young man in a stifled voice, after -a pause, unable to overcome the agitation arising from the certainty -of his present love and the consciousness of his desires, inexorable -as fate. "Perhaps what you have imagined is true; perhaps it is only -a fancy of your own mind. I am certain to-day of only one thing, and -that is that I love you and recognize in you all that is noble. I know -one other thing that is noble--that I have a work to do and a life to -live according to the dictates of Nature. You, too, must remember. On -that September evening I spoke to you a long time of my life and of the -genii that are leading it to its final destiny. You know that I can -renounce nothing." - -He trembled as if he held in his hand a sharp weapon, with which, as he -was compelled to move it, he could not avoid wounding the defenseless -woman. - -"No, nothing; and especially your love, which ceaselessly exalts my -strength and my hope. But did you not promise me more than love? Can -you not do for me things that love alone cannot do? Do you not desire -to be the constant inspiration of my life and my work?" - -She listened motionless, with fixed eyes. - -"It is true," he continued, after an anxious pause, recovering his -courage, and feeling that on the sincerity of this moment depended -the fate of that free alliance whereby he had hoped to be broadened, -not confined. "It is true; that evening, when I saw you descend the -stairs in the midst of the throng in company with her who had sung, I -believed that a secret thought guided you from the moment that you did -not come alone to meet me." - -The woman felt a chill run through the roots of her hair. Her fingers -trembled round the crystal cup, wherein the colors of sky and water -were blended. - -"I believed that you yourself had chosen her. Your look was that of one -who knows and foresees. I was struck by it." - -By her keen torture, the woman realized how sweet a falsehood would -have been. She wished that he would either lie or be silent. She -measured the distance that lay between her and the canal--the water -that swallows and lulls to sleep. - -"There was something about her that was hostile to me. She remained -to me obscure, incomprehensible. Do you remember the way she -disappeared? Her image faded, and only the desire of her song remained. -You yourself, who led her to me, have more than once revived the -remembrance of her. You have seen her shadow even where she was not." - -She saw Death itself. No other wound had gone deeper, had hurt her -so cruelly.--I alone! I alone have brought it on myself!--And she -remembered the cry that had brought this misery: "Go! She awaits you!" -Suddenly the internal tempest seemed to become a mere hallucination. -She thought herself non-existent, and wondered to see the glass shining -in her hand; she lost all corporeal sense. All that had happened was -only a trick of the imagination. Her name was Perdita. The dead Summer -was lying in the depths of the lagoon. Words were words, that was all. - -"Could I love her? Were I to see her again, should I desire to turn her -destiny toward mine? Perhaps. But of what use would that be? And of -what use would all the vicissitudes and necessities of life be against -the faith that links us? Could you and I resemble commonplace lovers -who pass their days in quarreling, weeping, and cursing?" - -The woman gnashed her teeth. She had a wild instinct to defend herself, -and to hurt him as in a hopeless struggle. A murderous desire flashed -across her maddened brain. - ---No, you shall not have her!--And the brutality of her tyrant seemed -monstrous to her. Under the measured and repeated blows, she felt that -she was like a man she had once seen on the dusty road of a mining -town, prostrated by repeated blows on his head from a mallet in his -enemy's hand. That hideous memory mingled with her mental torture. She -sprang up, impelled by the savage force that filled her being. The -glass broke in her convulsed hand, cut her, fell in a sparkling shower -at her feet. - -Stelio startled. The woman's motionless silence had deceived him, but -now he looked at her and saw her at last; and once more he saw, as on -that night in her room when the logs had crackled on the hearth, the -expression of madness on her agitated face. He stammered some words of -regret, but impatience boiled under his concern. - -"Ah," said La Foscarina, mastering her agony with a bitterness that -convulsed her mouth, "how strong I am! Another time have a care that -your wounds are not made so slowly, since my resistance is so slight, -my friend." - -She saw that blood was dripping from her fingers; she wrapped them in -her handkerchief. She looked at the sparkling fragments on the grass. - -"The cup is broken! You had praised it too highly. Shall we raise a -mausoleum for it here?" - -She was very bitter, almost mocking, her lips opening slightly to utter -a mirthless laugh. Stelio stood silent, chagrined, his heart full of -rancor at beholding the destruction of so beautiful an effort as that -perfect cup. - -"Let us imitate Nero, since we have already imitated Xerxes!" - -She felt even more keenly than he the harshness of her sarcasm, the -insincerity of her voice, the malignity of the laugh that was like a -muscular spasm. But she was unable to conquer her soul at that moment. -She felt a bitter, irresistible necessity to scorn, to devastate, -to trample under foot, invaded by a sort of perfidious demon. Every -vestige of tenderness and benevolence had vanished, every hope, every -illusion. The bitter hatred that lurks under the love of ardent natures -was dominant. On the man's face she could discern the same shadow that -darkened her own. - -"Do I irritate you? Do you wish to return to Venice alone? Would you -like to leave the dying season behind you? The tide is falling, but -there is always enough water for one who has no intention of returning. -Would it suit you to have me try it? Am I not as docile as you could -wish?" - -She said these insensate things in a hissing tone, and became almost -livid, as if suddenly burned by some corroding poison. And Stelio -remembered having seen the same mask on her face on a distant day of -love, madness and sadness. His heart contracted, then softened. - -"Ah, if I have hurt you, I ask for pardon," he said, trying to take her -hand and soothe her by a gentle act. "But did we not begin together to -approach this matter? Was it not you that"-- - -She interrupted him, exasperated by his gentleness. - -"Hurt me? And what does that matter? Have no pity, no pity! Do not weep -over the beautiful eyes of the wounded hare!" - -The words broke between her teeth. Her contracted lips opened in a -convulsion of wild laughter that was like heart-rending sobs. Her -companion shuddered, spoke to her in a low tone, aware of the curious -eyes of the women who sat at the thresholds of their cabins. - -"Calm yourself! Calm yourself! Oh, Foscarina, I beg of you! Do not act -so, I entreat! We shall soon be at the quay, and then we shall go home. -I will tell you--You will understand me then. Come, now we are in the -street. Do you hear me?" - -He feared she would fall in her hysterical convulsion, and stood ready -to support her. But she only walked faster, unable to speak, smothering -that wild laughter with her bandaged hand. - -"What ails you? What do you see?" Stelio inquired anxiously. - -Never could he forget the change in those eyes. They were dull, -staring, sightless, yet they seemed to see something that was not -there; they were filled with an unknown vision, occupied by some -monstrous image which without doubt had generated that mad and -anguished laughter. - -"Shall we stop here a little while? Would you like some water?" - -They found themselves now on the Fondamenta dei Vetrai. How long was it -since they had walked beside the stagnant canal? How much of their life -had vanished in the interval? What profound shadow were they leaving -behind them? - -Having descended into the gondola, and wrapped herself in her cloak, -La Foscarina tried to control her hysteria, holding her face with both -hands, but from time to time the terrible laugh would escape; then -she pressed her hands closer to her mouth, as if she were trying to -suffocate herself. - -The lagoon and the deep twilight obliterated all forms and colors; only -the rows of posts, like a file of monks on a path of ashes, showed -against the dark background. When the bells began their clamor, her -soul remembered, her tears gushed forth; the horror was vanquished. - -She took her hands from her face, leaned toward her friend's shoulder, -and found again her voice in saying: - -"Forgive me!" - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - CASSANDRA'S REINCARNATION - - -She humbled herself with shame. From that day every action of her -silently begged for pardon and oblivion. - -A new grace seemed born within her. She became more cheerful, spoke -more gently, walked softly about the house dressed in quiet colors, -veiling her beautiful eyes with the deep shadow of her lashes, -because she dared not look at her friend. The fear of tiring him, of -displeasing or boring him, gave her the wings of divination. Her ever -watchful sensibility listened at the inaccessible door of his dreams. - -Her spirit, determined to create a new feeling capable of conquering -the violence of instinct, revealed in her face with marvelous signs -the difficulty of her task. Never before had her supreme art found -expressions so singular. Looking at her one day, Stelio spoke to her of -the infinite power concentrated in the shadow produced by the helmet on -the face of _Il Pensieroso_. - -"Michelangelo," he said, "has, in a small cavity in the marble, -concentrated all the effort of human meditation. Just as the stream -fills a hollowed palm, so the eternal mystery that surrounds us fills -the small space made by the Titan's chisel in the material from the -mountains; and there it has remained, growing denser through all the -centuries. I know only the mobile shadow of your face, Fosca, that -equals that shadow in intensity, and sometimes even surpasses it." - -Eager for poetry and knowledge, she yearned for the Inspirer's -presence. She became for him the ideal figure of one that listens and -understands. The strange, unique arrangement of her hair suggested -fluttering, impatient wings round her pure forehead. - -She read aloud to him pages from the sovereign poets. The august form -of the Book seemed magnified by the attitude she assumed in holding it, -by her way of turning the pages, by her religious gravity of attention, -and the harmony of the voice that changed the printed symbols into -vocal cadences. While reading Dante, she was as severe and noble as the -sibyls in the dome of the Sistine Chapel, sustaining the weight of the -sacred volumes with all the heroism of their bodies moved by the breath -of prophecy. - -When the last syllable had been spoken, she saw Stelio rise -impetuously, feverishly, and roam about the rooms, stirred by the dart -of the god, panting in the excitement roused by the confused tumult -of his own creative force. Sometimes he approached her with glowing -eyes transfigured by a sudden beatitude, kindled by an inner flame, -as if an immortal truth had just been revealed. With a shudder that -drove away from her heart the memory of every caress, she saw him lay -his head upon her knees, overwhelmed by the tremendous struggle he -carried on within himself, by the shock that accompanied some hidden -metamorphosis. She suffered, yet she was happy, though she knew not -whether he too suffered or was happy; her heart was filled with pity, -fear, and reverence to feel that vigorous form laboring thus in the -genesis of the idea. She kept silence; she waited, adoring that head -that lay upon her knees, filled with thoughts unrevealed. - -But she comprehended his great emotion better when one day, after she -had been reading to him, he spoke of the exile of Dante. - -"Imagine, Fosca, if you can without bewilderment, the transport and -ardor of that great soul, when uniting itself with elementary energies -in order to conceive his words! Imagine Alighieri, his mind already -filled with his incomparable vision, on the way to exile, an implacable -pilgrim, driven by his passion and his poverty from country to country, -from refuge to refuge, across plains, over mountains, beside rivers and -seas, in all seasons, suffocated by the sweetness of spring, shivering -under the harshness of winter, always alert, attentive, with wide, -voracious eyes, anxious with the inner travail whereby his gigantic -work was formed. Imagine the fulness of that soul in the contrast -between common necessities and the flaming apparitions that rose -suddenly before him at a turn in the road, on the bank of a stream, -from a hollow in the rocks, on the slope of a hill, in the depths of -the forest, or in a meadow where the larks were singing. By means -of his senses, life multiform and multiplex poured into his spirit, -transfiguring into living images the abstract ideas that filled his -brain. The sound, the appearance, and the essence of the very elements -themselves entered into his occult labor, developing it with voices, -lines, color, movement, and with innumerable mysteries. Fire, air, -earth, and water worked in collaboration at the sacred poem, penetrated -the sum of its doctrine, warmed it, aërated it, watered it, covered it -with leaves and flowers. Open this Christian book, and imagine at the -same time the face of a Greek god. Do you not see, springing from both, -shadows and light, the flashes or the wind from the heavens?" - -She began to feel that her own life was becoming one with the -all-absorbing work, that her own personal self was entering, drop by -drop, into the personage of the drama, that her look, her poses, her -gestures and voice were going to the composing of the figure of the -heroine "living beyond life." She fancied that she was dissolving into -her elements in the fire of that other intellect, only to be re-formed -by the necessity of a heroism that should dominate Fate. - -Sometimes it seemed to her that she was losing her human sincerity, -and that she would always remain in the state of fictitious excitement -into which she threw herself while studying a tragic rôle she was to -create. Thus she experienced a new torment. She tried to shut and -contract her soul under his keen glance, as if to prevent his intellect -from penetrating her mind and robbing her of her secret life. She grew -afraid of the seer.--He will read in my soul the silent words that he -will put in the mouth of his creation, and I shall only speak them on -the stage, under my mask.--Sometimes she felt a sudden need to break -the spell, to withdraw from the image that was to be like her, to spoil -those lines of beauty, which forced her to a determined sacrifice. Was -there not also in the tragedy a maiden thirsting for love and eager for -joy, a maiden in whom a great mind recognized the living incarnation -of his most exquisite dream, the Victory that was to crown his life? -And was there not also an impassioned woman no longer young, who had -one foot already in the dark shadow, and who had but a few steps more -to take in order to disappear? More than once she was tempted to -contradict her seeming resignation by some violent act. Then, like a -penitent, she redoubled her fervor to ward off the peril, hardened -herself to discipline, sharpened her vigilance, repeating with a sort -of intoxication the act of supreme renunciation that had risen from the -depths of her sadness at the aspect of the purifying flame.--You must -have all; I shall be content with seeing you live, seeing your joy. And -do with me as you will!-- - -Then Stelio loved her for the unexpected visions she brought him. He -trembled and turned pale one day when she entered the room with her -soft step, her face fixed in calm sorrow, as if she were emerging from -depths of wisdom whence all human agitations seem but a puff of wind on -a dusty road. - -"Ah, at last! I have created you! I have created you!" he cried, -thinking he saw his heroine herself standing on a threshold of the -distant chamber filled with treasure taken from the tombs of the -Atrides. "Stand still a moment! Do not move your eyelids--keep your -eyes motionless, as if they were petrified! Now you are blind. But -you can see things that others do not see, and nothing can be hidden -from you. Here in this place the man you love has declared his love -to another, who trembles at the revelation. They are still here, they -have just let go each other's hands, and their love quivers in the air. -The room is full of funeral treasure, and on two tables are laid out -the riches that covered the bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra. There -are the coffers filled with necklaces, and there are the urns full -of ashes. The balcony looks out upon the plain of Argos and on the -distant mountains. It is twilight, and all that terrible gold glitters -in the creeping shadows. Do you understand? And you are there, on the -threshold, led by the nurse. You are blind, yet nothing is hidden from -you. Stop a moment!" - -He spoke in the sudden fever of invention. The scene appeared before -him, then disappeared, submerged in a flood of poetry. - -"What shall you do? What shall you say?" - -The actress felt a chill at the roots of her hair. Her very soul -vibrated. She became blind and prophetic. The cloud of Tragedy -descended and hung over her head. - -"What shall you say? You will call them. You will call both of them by -name in that silence where the great royal spoils repose." - -The actress felt the coursing of her blood; her voice was to resound -through the silence of thousands of years, to revive the ancient -suffering of men and heroes. - -"You will take their hands; you will feel their two lives stretching -toward each other." - -The blindness of the immortal statues was in her eyes. She could see -herself sculptured in the great silence, and feel the thrill of the -mute throng, seized with awe at the sublime power of her attitude. - -"And then? And then?" - -The Inspirer rushed impetuously toward the actress, as if he wished to -strike her in order to draw sparks from her. - -"You must awake Cassandra from her sleep; you must feel her ashes -revive in your hands; she must be present in your mental vision. Will -you? Do you understand? Your living soul must touch her ancient soul, -and blend into one soul and one grief, so that the flight of time -seems annihilated. Cassandra is in you, and you are in her. Have you -not loved her, and do you not love Priam's daughter also? Who that -once shall hear it can ever forget, who can ever forget the deep notes -of your voice and the convulsion of your lips at the first cry of -fatalistic fury: 'O Earth! O Apollo!' I see you once more, deaf and -dumb, on your chariot with the look of a wild beast just captured. But -among so many terrible cries, some were infinitely sweet and sad. The -old men compared you to the nightingale. What were the words you used -when you spoke of your beautiful river? And when the old men questioned -you about the love of the god--do you remember your answer?" - -The Tragic Muse palpitated as if the breath of the god again invaded -her. She had become ardent, ductile material, subject to all the -inspirations of the poet. - -"Do you remember your answer?" - -"O espousals, espousals of Paris, fatal to the beloved! O you, paternal -waters of the Scamandros! Once, on your shores, my youth was nourished -by you!" - -"Ah, divine woman, your melody does not make one regret the syllables -of Æschylus! I remember. The soul of the multitude, seized by the -lamentation 'of discordant sounds,' relaxed and was soothed by that -melodious sigh, and each of us received the vision of years long past -and our innocent happiness. You can say: 'I was Cassandra.' In speaking -of her, you will remember a former life. Her mask of gold will be in -your hands." - -He seized both her hands; both were intent on the flashes generated by -their blended forces; the same electric spark ran through their nerves. - -"You are there, near the spoil of the slave-princess, and you feel the -mask. What shall you say?" - -In the pause that followed, both seemed to be waiting for a flash. -The actress's eyes again became fixed and blind, her face became like -marble. The Inspirer let go her hands, and they made the gesture -of feeling the sepulchral golden mask. In a voice that created the -tangible form, she said: - -"How large her mouth is!" - -"You see her, then?" - -"Yes, I too can see her. The mouth is large; the terrible effort of -prophecy dilated it; she cried aloud, cursed, and lamented without -ceasing. Can you imagine her mouth in silence?" - -Still in the same attitude, as if in ecstasy, she said slowly: - -"What profundity in her wonderful silence!" - -She seemed to be repeating words suggested to her by mysterious genii, -and, while the poet listened to her, he fancied that he himself had -been about to speak them. A profound tremor shook him, as if he were -witnessing a miracle. - -"And her eyes?" he demanded, agitated. "Of what color were her eyes?" - -She made no reply. - -The marble lines of her face changed slightly, as if under a wave of -suffering. A furrow appeared between her eyes. - -"Her eyes," continued the revealer, "were as sweet and sad as two -violets." - -She paused again, panting, as one who suffers in a dream. Her lips were -dry, her temples moist. - -"Thus they were before they closed forever!" - - * * * * * - -Sometimes Stelio came to his friend's house breathless and excited, as -if pursued by an Erinni. La Foscarina never questioned him, but her -personality soothed that restless spirit. - -"Sometimes I am afraid of the vastness of my conceptions," he said. -"I am afraid of being suffocated by them. You believe me to be a -little mad, do you not? Do you remember that stormy evening when I -returned from the Lido? How sweet you were that evening! A short time -before that, standing on the Bridge of the Rialto, I found a Motive. -I had translated the words of the Elements into notes. Do you know -what a Motive is? It is a small spring, from which may be born many -other springs, a tiny seed that may give birth to a crown of forests; -a little spark that may kindle an endless chain of conflagration--a -nucleus that produces infinite force. A few days ago I began to develop -the Motive of that stormy evening, which I shall call the Pipes of -Æolus. Listen to it." - -He went to the piano, and struck a few notes with one hand. - -"It contains no more than that, but you cannot imagine the generating -force of those few notes. A tempest, a whirlwind of music has been -born of them, but I have not yet been able to master it. I am almost -vanquished, suffocated, constrained to fly." - -He laughed a little; but his soul was swaying like the sea. - -"The Pipes of Prince Æolus, opened by the companions of Ulysses. Do you -remember it? The imprisoned winds arise and push back their vessel, and -the men tremble with terror." - -His spirit could not rest long, and nothing could divert him from his -mental work. He kissed his friend's hand, paced to and fro, stopping -before the piano that Donatella had played when she sang Claudio's -melody. He wandered to the window, and gazed upon the leafless garden. -His aspiration reached out toward the musical creature, toward her that -must chant his hymns at the summit of his tragic symphonies. - -In a low, clear voice the woman said: - -"If Donatella were here with us!" - -He turned, approached her, and gazed at her fixedly, silently. She -smiled her slight, mask-like smile at seeing him so near her, yet so -far removed. She felt that he loved no one at that moment--not herself, -not Donatella, but that he regarded both simply as instruments of -his art, forces to employ, bows to bend. He was on fire with poetry, -and she, with her poor wounded heart, her secret torture, her mute -plea--she was there, intent on nothing but her sacrifice, ready to pass -beyond love and life, as the heroine of the future drama. Meanwhile, -each day must make its mark on her face, discolor her lips, fade her -hair; each day, in the service of old age, would hasten the work of -destruction in her miserable flesh. And then? - -She recognized that it was love, after all, unquenchable passion, that -created all the illusions and all the hopes which seemed to aid her in -accomplishing "what love alone cannot do." - -She realized that the torturing restraint of those days had not -succeeded in creating in her even a symptom of the new feeling whereby -love was to be made sublime. Her secret task, therefore, meant simply -continual dissimulation. Was it worth while to live for this? - -If once the young man's madness and ardor had caused her to suffer, she -now suffered far more in seeing that that ardor had grown calm, and -that a sort of reserve had taken its place--a reserve that sometimes -repelled the gentlest caress. She felt shame at her regret, knowing -that he was possessed by his great idea, and was concentrating all his -energies upon it. But a dark rancor often mastered her in the evening, -after he had departed, and blind suspicions nightly tortured her -sleepless soul. - ---To go away!--The necessity to do this came suddenly, urgently. She -had said to her beloved once, on a memorable day: "There is only one -thing I can do--go away, and leave you free with your fate. This thing -I can do, which love alone could not do." Henceforth, delay was no -longer possible; she must break off with all hesitation, and emerge -finally from that kind of fatal suspension of movement, in which she -had lived so long in agitation. - -Since that October dawn, their outward life had been unchanged. -Nevertheless, she felt that it was impossible for her to continue to -live in that way any longer. She felt a consciousness of something -fully accomplished, as in the tree that has yielded all its fruit, as -in the river that has reached the sea. - -Her courage revived; her soul grew stronger, her energies awoke once -more, and the virile qualities of the leader again came to life. In -a few days she had arranged her professional route, reassembled her -dramatic company, and fixed the date of departure.--You must go and -work over there among the barbarians across the ocean. You must wander -still from town to town, from hotel to hotel, from theater to theater, -and every night you will draw howls from the crowd that pays you. You -will gain much money; you will return laden with gold and with wisdom, -unless it happens that you are crushed by a wheel some misty day on a -crowded street. Who knows? From whom have you received the order to -depart? From some one within yourself--deep, deep within you--who sees -that which you cannot see, like the blind woman in the tragedy. Who -knows whether over there, on one of those wide, peaceful rivers, your -soul will not find its harmony and your lips will not learn that smile -they have attempted so many times in vain! Perhaps you will discover a -few white hairs and that smile in your mirror at the same time!-- - -And she went on preparing for her journey. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE STORY OF THE ARCHORGAN - - -From time to time a breath of Spring passed across the February sky. - -"Do you feel the Spring?" said Stelio to his friend, inhaling deep -breaths of the new air. - -La Foscarina fell behind him a step or two, because her resolute heart -was weakening; she lifted her face to the sky, now flecked with white -clouds like floating plumes. The raucous shriek of a siren whistle -prolonged itself in the estuary, becoming fainter by degrees until -the sound was as soft as the note of a flute. It seemed to the woman -that something rose from the depths of her heart and escaped with that -prolonged note, as a poignant grief gradually changes into a tender -memory. - -"Yes, Spring has already arrived at the Tre Porti." - -Once more they floated aimlessly along the lagoon, that water as -familiar to their thoughts as is the web to the weaver. - -"Did you say at the Tre Porti?" the young man cried, enthusiastically, -as if his soul were reawakened. "It is there, near the lower bank, at -the setting of the moon, that the sailors take the Wind prisoner, and -bring it, chained, to Dardi Seguso. Some day I will tell you the story -of the Archorgan." - -His air of mystery in describing the action of the sailors made La -Foscarina smile. - -"What story?" she asked, enticed by his significant tone. "And what -does Seguso do here? Has the story anything to do with the master -glassblower?" - -"Yes, but a master of a former day, who knew Latin and Greek, music and -architecture, who was admitted to the Academy of the Pellegrini, whose -gardens are at Murano; he was often invited to sup with Titian in his -house in the Contrada dei Biri; was a friend of Bernardo Cappello, of -Jacopo Zane, and other ancient Petrarchists. At Caterino Zeno's house -he saw the famous organ built for Matthias Corvinus, King of Hungary, -and his magnificent idea came to him in the course of a discussion -with that Agostino Amadi who succeeded in adding to his collection of -instruments a true Grecian lyre, a great Lesbian heptachord, rich with -gold and ivory. Ah, imagine it, that relic of the school of Mitylene, -brought to Venice by a galley which, in passing through the waters of -Santa Maura, caught and dragged the body of Sappho as far as Malamocco, -like an armful of dead grass! But that, too, is another tale." - -Again the nomad woman recovered her youthful spirits enough to smile, -pleased as a child to whom one shows a picture-book. How many marvelous -stories, how many delightful fancies had not the Visionary conjured -up for her on those waters, during the long hours of the afternoon? -How many enchantments had he not known how to weave for her, to the -rhythm of the oar, in words that made all things seem reality? How -many times, seated beside her beloved in the light boat, had she not -enjoyed that sort of waking dream in which all cares were banished, -carried away on waves of poetry? - -"Tell it to me," she begged. - -She wished to add:--This story will be the last.--But she restrained -herself, because up to this time she had not spoken to him of her fixed -resolution. - -He laughed. - -"You are as eager for stories as Sofia." - -At that name, as when she heard the name of Spring, she felt her -resolution weaken; the cruelty of her fate pierced her heart, and her -whole being turned with yearning toward her escaping happiness. - -"Look!" he said, pointing to the mirror-like lagoon, rippled here and -there by a light breeze. "Do not those infinite lines of silence aspire -to become music?" - -Silvery-white in the calm afternoon, the estuary seemed to bear the -islets on its breast as lightly as the softest clouds hung from the sky. - -"Well, the master glassblower heard at Zeno's house praises of the -famous organ of the King of Hungary, and cried: '_Corpo di Bacco!_ -You shall see what an organ I will build, with my stick, _liquida -musa canente!_ I will make the god of organs! _Dant sonitum glaucæ -per stagna loquacia cannæ._ The waters of the lagoon shall give it -its tone, and in it the stones, the buoys, and the fish also shall -sing. _Multisonum silentium._ You shall see, by the body of Diana!' -All his hearers laughed, save Giulia da Ponte--because she had black -teeth! And the Sansovino gave a dissertation on hydraulic organs. -But the boaster, before taking his leave, invited the company to -hear his new music on the day of the Sensa, and promised that the -Doge on his Bucentaur should halt in the middle of the lagoon to -listen. That evening the news that Dardi Seguso had lost his senses -spread to Venice, and the Council, which had a tender regard for its -famous workmen, sent a messenger to Murano to learn the truth about -the report. The messenger found the artisan with his sweetheart, -Perdilanza, who was very loving to him because she was anxious, -and feared that Dardi was insane. The master, after looking at the -messenger with fiery eyes, burst into a hearty laugh, which reassured -her as to his state of mind; then, quite calm again, Seguso ordered -the messenger to report to the Council that, on the day of the Sensa, -Venice, San Marco, the Grand Canal, and the Palace of the Doges -should possess yet another miracle. On the following day, he made a -formal request for the possession of one of the five little islets -that circled Murano like the satellites of a planet, but have now -disappeared, or have dwindled to mere sandbanks. After exploring the -waters around Temòdia, Trencòre, Galbaia, Mortesina, and La Folèga, he -chose Temòdia as one chooses a bride, and Perdilanza entered the shadow -of affliction. Look, Fosca; perhaps even now we are passing over the -memory of Temòdia. The organ-pipes are sunk deep in the mud, but they -never will decay. There are seven thousand of them. We are passing over -the ruins of a forest of melodious glass. How delicate the seaweed is -here!" - -"Tell me the reason why Perdilanza entered the shadow of affliction," -said La Foscarina, as both leaned over and looked deep into the -beautiful clear waters. - -"Because her name had been driven from the lips and the heart of her -lover by the name of Temòdia, which he constantly uttered with vehement -ardor, and because the island was the only place to which she might -not follow him. There he had constructed his new work-rooms, and there -he stayed the greater part of the day, and almost all night, assisted -by his workmen, whom he had bound to silence by a solemn oath before -the altar. The Council, in ordering that the master should be provided -with everything necessary for his tremendous task, had decreed that he -should lose his head should his work prove inferior to his proud boast. -Then Dardi tied a scarlet thread around his bare neck." - -La Foscarina felt as if she were in a dream. Stelio seemed to have been -speaking of himself in those strange figures of speech, as on that last -night of September when he had explained the myth of the pomegranate, -and the name of the imaginary woman began with the first two syllables -of the name he had given her in those days! Was any personal -significance veiled behind this story? Why had he, deliberately, in -the vicinity of the place where she had been seized with that terrible -laughter, called up, by that fanciful tale, the memory of the broken -vase? In trying to understand, she made for herself an instrument -of torture, with the dream-fancies of Stelio's brain. She did not -remember that as yet he was ignorant of her approaching departure. -Instinctively she said within herself:--I am going far-away; do not -wound me.-- - -She wished to hear the remainder of the story, however, for she longed -to understand him fully. - -"Well, what happened then to the man with the scarlet thread?" she -inquired. - -"More than once he felt his head was insecure on his shoulders," Stelio -replied laughingly. "He had to blow pipes as large as the trunk of a -tree, and he had to do it with his own mouth, unaided by bellows. He -blew and blew with all his might, without ceasing. Fancy it! The lungs -of a Cyclops would hardly be strong enough for that. Ah, some day I -shall describe the fever of that existence hanging between the ax and -the production of a miracle, in colloquy with the elements. He had -Fire, Water, and Earth, but lacked Air--the movement of the Air. But -every day the Council of Ten sent to him a red-haired man to wish him -good morning--you know, that red-haired man, with a cap over his eyes, -who embraces the column in the _Adoration of the Magi_ of the second -Bonifazio. After colossal labors, Seguso had a brilliant idea. He found -a magician, who was said to have power over the Wind in favor of long -navigations. He said to the wizard: 'I need a little wind, not too -light nor too strong, but steady and gentle, which I could manage as I -wish: only a little breeze with which to blow some glass that I have in -my head. _Lenius aspirans aura secunda venit._ Do you understand, old -man?'" - -The story-teller burst into a ringing laugh, for he could fancy the -scene with all its details in a house on the Calle della Testa, at San -Zanepolo, where the Schiavone lived with his daughter. - -La Foscarina tried to join in his gayety; but his boyish laughter -pained her as it had once before when she was lost in the labyrinth. - -"It is a long story," Stelio went on. "Some day I shall use it, but -I am keeping it for a time when I have more leisure. Now fancy! The -magician works the spell. Every night Dardi sent his sailors to the Tre -Porti to spread a snare for the little Wind. At last, one night, or -rather just before dawn, when the moon was about to set, they caught it -asleep on a sandy bank in the midst of a flock of tired swallows it had -borne thither. - -"There it lay, on its back, breathing as lightly as a child in the -salty aroma of the waters, almost covered by innumerable little -forked tails. The rising tide rocked it in its slumber, and the -black-and-white travelers fluttered about it, weary with their long -flight." - -"What a charming fancy!" exclaimed La Foscarina at this fresh picture. -"Where have you seen that?" - -"Here begins the real charm of the story," he answered. "They seize the -sleeping Wind, bind it with osier withes, carry it aboard their boat, -and set sail for Temòdia. The bark is invaded by the flock of swallows, -which will not abandon the leader of their flight." - -Stelio paused, because the details of the fantasy crowded his -imagination to such a degree that he knew not which to choose to -relate. - -"And then?" urged his companion, with interest. - -"I can tell no more now, Fosca. I know too many things.... Well, -imagine that Dardi falls in love with his prisoner. It is called -Ornitio, because it leads flights of migrating birds. A continual -twittering of swallows surrounds Temòdia; nests hang from the posts and -the scaffolding that surround the great structure; wings are singed -in the flames of the furnace, when Ornitio blows through the tube to -create a light and luminous column with that ball of burning paste. But -before he had tamed it and taught it what to do, he had much trouble -with it. The Master of the Flame began by speaking Latin to it, and -reciting lines of Virgil to it, believing it would understand. But the -azure-haired Ornitio spoke Greek, naturally, with a slightly sibilant -accent. It knew Sappho's odes by heart, and while it breathed through -the unequal tubes, it remembered the pipes of Pan." - -"And what did it eat?" - -"Pollen and salt." - -"Who gave it the food?" - -"No one. It was sufficient to inhale the pollen and salt scattered on -the breeze." - -"And did it never try to escape?" - -"Always. But Seguso took infinite precautions, like the lover he was." - -"And did Ornitio return his love?" - -"Yes, it began to love him after a time, particularly because of the -scarlet thread that the master wore continually around his bare neck." - -"And Perdilanza?" - -"She was left alone, and languished in her grief. I will tell you more -of her some day. Some day I shall go to the seashore of Palestrina, and -I will write this fable for you in the golden sand." - -"But how does the story end?" - -"The miracle is accomplished. The Archorgan is raised at Temòdia with -its seven thousand glass pipes, resembling one of those frozen forests -which Ornitio--who was a little inclined to boast of the wonders it had -met in its travels--declared it had seen in the land of the Iporborrei. -At last comes the day of the Sensa. The _Serenissimo_, between the -Patriarch and the Archbishop of Spalatro, goes out of the harbor of San -Marco on the _Bucentaur_. So great is the pomp that Ornitio believes -it must be the triumphal return of the son of Chronos. The fountains -are set playing all around Temòdia; and animated by the eternal silence -of the lagoon, the gigantic organ peals forth, under the magic fingers -of the new musicians, a wave of harmony so vast that it reaches as -far as the mainland and even to the Adriatic. The _Bucentaur_ stops, -because its forty oars have suddenly fallen at its sides, abandoned -by the astonished crew. But suddenly the wave of harmony breaks into -discordant sounds, and at last it dies away in a faint murmur. Dardi -feels the instrument becoming dumb under his fingers, as if his own -soul had failed. What has happened? The master hears only great shouts -of jeers and scorn that come to him through the silent pipes--the sound -of firing and the uproar of the populace. A group embarks from the -_Bucentaur_, bringing the red-haired man, who bears a block and an ax. -The blow is aimed exactly at the scarlet thread; the head falls, and is -thrown into the water, where it floats like the head of Orpheus." - -"But what had happened?" - -"Perdilanza had thrown herself into the cataract! The water dragged her -into the machinery of the organ. Her body, with its famous hair, lay -across the great delicate instrument, and silenced its musical heart." - -"But Ornitio?" - -"Ornitio rescued the head from the water and flew away with it toward -the sea. The swallows heard of its flight and followed it, and very -soon a cloud of black wings and white surrounds the fugitive. All the -nests in Venice remain empty after this sudden flight." - -"And Dardi's head?" - -"Where it is, no one knows," concluded the story-teller, laughing. - -The woman bent her head in thoughtful silence. - -"Perhaps there is a hidden meaning in your tale," she said, after a -pause. "Perhaps I have understood." - -"Alas, yes! if there were any resemblance between my audacity and that -of the master workman. Perhaps I too should wear a scarlet thread -around my neck, as a sort of warning." - -"You will have your great destiny. I have no fear for you." - -He ceased to laugh. - -"Yes, my friend, I must conquer. And you shall help me. Every morning -I too receive my menacing visitor--the expectation of those that love -me and those that hate me. Expectation should wear the dress of the -executioner, for nothing on earth is so pitiless." - -"But it is the measure of your power." - -He felt the vulture's beak in his breast. Instinctively he straightened -himself up, seized with an impatience of even their slow idling on the -water. Why did he live in such idleness? Every hour and every minute he -ought to be trying, struggling, fortifying himself against destruction, -diminution, violation, contagion. Every hour and every minute his eyes -should be fixed on his aim, and all his energies should be concentrated -upon it. - -"Do you know this saying of the great Herodotus: 'The name of the bow -is Bios, and its work is death'? This saying is one that excites our -spirits even before communicating to it its exact meaning. I heard -it continually within myself, that evening last autumn, when I was -sitting at your table--the night of the Epiphany of the Flame. That -night I had an hour of true Dionysian life, an hour of secret though -terrible delight, as if I held in my breast the burning mountain where -the Tiades howl and shriek. Sometimes I could really hear songs and -clamor, and the cries of distant battle. It astonished me that I could -remain motionless, and the sense of my bodily immobility increased my -mental frenzy. I could see only your face, which suddenly appeared -extraordinarily beautiful, revealing all the strength of your soul; -and behind it I could see other countries and other peoples. If I -could only tell you how I saw you! In the tumult, at the passage of -marvelous images, accompanied by floods of music, I called to you as -in the thick of battle; I made appeals which perhaps you heard--not -for love alone, but for glory; not for one thirst, but for two, and -I know not which was the more ardent. And the face of my great work -appeared to me then the same as your face. I saw it, I tell you! And -with incredible rapidity my work took form in words, song, movement, -and symphony, and was so real that if I succeed in infusing a part of -it into that which I wish to express, I shall surely inflame the world. - -"To express oneself! That is the necessity. The greatest vision has -no value if it is not manifested and condensed in vital forms. And -I have everything to create. I am not pouring my substance into -hereditary molds. My work is entirely my own invention. I must not, -and I will not, obey anything but my instinct and the genius of my -race. Nevertheless, like Dardi, who saw the famous organ at the house -of Caterino Zeno, I too have another work before my mind--a work -accomplished by a formidable creator, a gigantic work in the eyes of -man." - -The image of the barbaric creator reappeared to him: the blue eyes -gleamed under the vast forehead, and he saw once more the white -hair tossed by the wind about that aged neck. He remembered his own -indescribable thrill of joy and fear when he had so unexpectedly felt -beneath his hand the throbbing of that sacred heart. - -"I should say not before but around my spirit. Sometimes it is like -a stormy sea trying to draw me down and swallow me. My Temòdia is a -granite rock in the open sea, and I am like an artisan trying to erect -upon it a pure Doric temple. Compelled to defend the order of his -columns from the violence of the waves, his spirit is always strained -in order never to cease to hear, in the midst of the clamor, the secret -rhythm which alone must regulate the intervals between lines and -spaces. And in this sense too my tragedy is a battle." - -He took one of his friend's hands. - -"Do you hear the song?" he asked. - -"Where is it?" she said, raising her face to the sky. "Is it in heaven -or on the earth?" - -An infinite melody seemed to be flowing through the peaceful, silvery -atmosphere. - -She felt Stelio's hand quiver. - -"When Alessandro enters the illuminated chamber where the virgin has -been reading the lament of Antigone," he said, "he tells how he has -come on horseback across the plain of Argos, where the song of the -larks fills the sky. He says that one lark fell at his horse's feet, -like a stone, and lay there silent, overcome by its own frenzy of joy -in its song. He picked it up. 'Here it is.' Then you hold your hand -toward him, you take the bird, and murmur: 'Ah, it is still warm!' And -while you speak the virgin trembles. You can feel her quivering." - -The actress felt the mystic chill steal over her once more, as if the -soul of the blind woman reëntered her own soul. - -"At the end of the Prelude, the impetuosity of the chromatic -progressions expresses this growing joy, this fever of delight.... -Listen, listen!... Ah, what a miracle! This morning, Fosca, this -morning I was at work upon my melody, and now it is developing itself -in the air! Are we not in a state of grace?" - -A spirit of life seemed indeed running throughout the solitude; a -vehement inspiration filled the silence with emotion. La Foscarina gave -up her whole soul to it, as a leaf yields itself to the whirlwind, -ravished to the very summit of love and faith. - -But a feverish impatience to act, to work, to accomplish seized the -young man. His capacity for work seemed multiplied. He thought of the -plenitude of the hours to come; he saw his work in concrete form--the -pages, the scores, the variety of needs, the richness of material -adaptable to rhythm. - -"In a week, Fosca, if grace assists me, my Prelude will be finished, -and I should like to try it immediately with an orchestra. Perhaps I -shall go to Rome to do this. Antimo della Bella is even more impatient -than I; I receive a letter from him almost every day. I believe that -my presence in Rome is necessary for a few days in order to prevent -certain errors that may arise in the building of the theater. Antimo -writes about the possibility of tearing down the old stone stairs -leading from the Corsini Garden to the Janiculum. The street that will -lead to the theater, after one passes the Arch of Septimius, will -continue beside the Palazzo Corsini, cross the garden, and extend -to the foot of the hill. The hill is green and mossy, covered with -cypress, laurel, and flags. The Paulina fountain rises at the left. -A flight of stone steps leads to a terrace from which open two paths -bordered by Apollo-like laurels, and worthy of leading the people -toward Poetry. Can anyone imagine a nobler entrance? Centuries have -wrapped it in mystery; no sound is heard but the song of birds, the -tinkling of fountains, the whisper of the forest. And I believe -that poets and innocents can even hear there the fluttering of the -Hamadryads and the breath of Pan!" - -The ugly shores, crumbling stones, decaying roots, traces of ruined -buildings, the odor of dissolution, the funereal cypresses, the black -crosses, in vain recalled to him the words the statues beside the -Brenta had spoken with their marble lips. Only the great song of -victory and liberty, stronger than all other signs, now touched the -heart of him who was to create with joy. "On! on! Higher! ever higher!" - -And the heart of Perdita, purified from all cowardice, ready for any -test, betrothed itself once more to Life! As in that distant hour of -the delirious night, she repeated: "Let me serve! Let me serve!" - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - THE WORLD'S BEREAVEMENT - - -The gondola entered a canal enclosed between two green shores, which -reached the line of vision so precisely that the numerous reeds were -perceptible, the newer ones discernible by their paler tint. - -From the fulness of her soul, and the abundance of her nature, La -Foscarina sought everywhere for living things to love; her glance -became child-like once more, and all things were reflected in it as in -the peaceful water, and some seemed to reappear from the distant past, -like apparitions. - -When the gondola touched the shore, she was surprised at having arrived. - -"Do you wish to land, or do you prefer to go back?" asked Stelio, -coming out of his reverie. - -For a moment she hesitated, because her hand lay in his, and to move -would have meant a lessening of sweetness. - -"Yes," at last she said, with a smile. "Let us walk on this grass a -little while." - -They landed on the Island of San Francesco. A few slender young cypress -shrubs greeted them timidly. Not a human face was to be seen. The -invisible myriad filled the desert with their canticle of praise. The -mists rose in clouds near the sunset hour. - -"How many times we have walked together on the grass, have we not, -Stelio?" - -"But now comes the steep rock," he replied. - -"Let the rock come, no matter how steep and rough it may be," said La -Foscarina. - -Stelio was surprised at the unusual gayety in his companion's voice. He -looked at her, and saw a sort of intoxicated joy deep in her beautiful -eyes. - -"Why do we feel so joyous and free on this lonely island?" - -"And do you know the reason why?" - -"To others, this is a melancholy pilgrimage. Most persons, when they -come to this place, leave it with the taste of death on their lips." - -"But we are in a state of grace," said La Foscarina. - -"The more we hope, the more we live," was the reply. - -"And the more we love, the more we hope." - -The rhythm of the aerial song continued, drawing from them their ideal -essences. - -"How beautiful you are!" said Stelio. - -A sudden flush flowed over that impassioned face. She was silent, but -her breath came quick, and she half-closed her eyes. - -"A warm current of air is passing," she said in a half whisper. "Did -you not feel on the water an occasional breath of warmer air?" - -She drew deep breaths. - -"There is an odor like that of new-mown hay. Don't you detect it?" - -"That is the odor that comes from the banks of seaweed that are -beginning to be uncovered." - -"See how beautiful the country is!" - -"That is Le Vignole. Down there is the Lido. And over there is the -Island of Sant' Erasmo." - -The sun had now thrown aside its veil and was showering gold upon the -estuary. The damp banks emerging from the fog suggested the opening of -flowers. The shadows of the slender cypresses began to grow longer and -of a deeper blue. - -"I am certain," said La Foscarina, "that almond trees are in blossom -somewhere near. Let us go on the dyke." - -She shook her head, tossing back her hair with one of those instinctive -movements that seemed to break a bond or to free her of some fetter. - -"Wait!" - -And quickly withdrawing from her hat two large pins that held it in -place, she uncovered her head. She turned back to the landing and -tossed the sparkling hat into the gondola; then she rejoined her -friend, running her fingers lightly through the waves of her hair, -through which the air passed, while the sun shone on it warmly. She -seemed to feel relieved, as if she breathed more freely. - -"Did the wings hurt?" Stelio asked with a laugh. - -And he regarded the ripples, roughened not by the comb but by the wind. - -"Yes, the least weight annoys me. If I should not appear eccentric, -I should always go without a hat. But when I see the trees I cannot -resist my impulses. My hair remembers that it was born wild and free, -and it wishes to breathe in its natural way--in the desert, at least." - -Frank and gay in her manner, she glided over the grass with her -graceful, swaying movement. And Stelio recalled the day when, in the -Gradenigo garden, she had appeared to his eyes like the beautiful tawny -greyhound. - -"Oh, here comes a Capuchin!" - -The friar-guardian approached them, and greeted them with affability. -He offered to conduct Stelio within the walls of the monastery, but -said that the rules forbade the admission of his companion. - -"Shall I go in?" said Stelio, with a look at La Foscarina, who was -smiling. - -"Yes, go." - -"But you will be all alone." - -"Never mind; I will stay here alone." - -"I will bring you a bit from the sacred pine." - -He followed the friar under the portico with a raftered roof, whence -hung the empty swallows' nests. Before he crossed the threshold, he -turned once more to wave his hand at his friend. Then the door closed -after him. - - O BEATA SOLITUDO! - O SOLA BEATITUDO! - -Then, as a change in the stops of an organ changes its whole tone, the -woman's thoughts were suddenly transfigured. The horror of absence, -to her the worst of all evils, bore down upon her loving soul. Her -beloved was no longer there; she no longer heard his voice, felt his -breath, touched his firm and gentle hand. She no longer saw him live; -she could no longer realize that the air, the lights and shadows, all -the life of the world, harmonized itself with his life!--Suppose that -door never should open again--that he never should return to me!--No, -that could not be. He would surely cross that threshold again in a few -minutes, and once more she would receive him into her eyes and into her -very soul. But alas! in a few days, would he not thus disappear again, -as he had disappeared now? And first the field, then the mountain, -then other fields and mountains and rivers, then the strait and the -ocean, the infinite space that neither tears nor cries can cross, would -they not come between her and that brow, those eyes, those lips? The -image of the far-off brutal city black with coal and bristling with -arms, filled the peaceful island; the crash of hammers, the grinding -of wheels, the puffing of engines, the immense groaning of iron, -drowned the melody of the springtime. And with each of these simple -things--with the grass, the sands, the brooks, the seaweed, that soft -feather floating downward, perhaps from the breast of a songbird--was -contrasted the vision of streets overflowing with the human torrent, -houses with thousands of deformed eyes, full of fevers that are enemies -to sleep, theaters filled with the restlessness or the stupor of men -who yield one hour to relaxation from the ferocious battle for lucre. -And still, as in a vision, she saw again her own face and her name -on walls contaminated by the leprosy of posters, on boards carried -by stupid bearers, on gigantic bridges of factories, on the doors of -public vehicles, here, there, and everywhere. - -"Look! Look at this! A branch of flowering almond! There is an almond -tree in bloom in the monastery garden, in the second cloister, near the -sacred pine! And you could detect the odor!" - -Stelio ran toward her, joyous as a child, followed by the Capuchin, who -bore a bouquet of fragrant thyme. - -"Look! Take it. See what a wonderful thing it is!" - -She took the branch, trembling, and her eyes were bright with tears. - -"And you knew it was blooming!" said Stelio. - -He perceived the glittering silvery drops in her eyes, which made them -look like the petals of a flower. And at that instant, of all her -adored person, he loved most blindly the delicate lines that went from -the corners of her eyes to her temples, the tiny veins that made her -eyelids look like violets, the sweet curve of her cheek, the tapering -chin, and all that never would bloom again, all the shadows of that -impassioned face. - -"Ah, Father," said she, with a bright glance, repressing her sadness, -"will not Christ's Poor Man weep again in heaven for this broken -branch?" - -The friar smiled with playful indulgence. - -"When this good gentleman saw our tree," he replied, "he gave me no -time to speak, but had the branch in his hand in a moment, and I could -only say Amen. But the almond tree is rich." - -He was placid and affable, with a crown of hair still nearly black, -with a refined, olive-skinned face, and great tawny eyes, as clear as a -topaz. - -"Here is some savory thyme," he added, offering the herbs to La -Foscarina. - -They could hear a choir of youthful voices singing a Response. - -"Those are our novices; we have fifteen with us." - -He accompanied the visitors to the meadow behind the convent. Standing -on a bank, at the foot of a blasted cypress, the good monk pointed to -the fertile isles, praised their abundance, mentioned their varieties -of fruit, lauded the more delightful according to the seasons, and -directed their attention toward the boats sailing toward the Rialto -with their new harvest. - -"Praise to Thee, O Lord, for our Mother Earth!" said the woman with the -flowering branch. - -The Franciscan was susceptible to the beauty of that feminine voice, -and was silent. - -Lofty cypresses encircled the pious field; four of them showed the -marks of lightning strokes. Their tops were motionless, and were the -only sharp outlines in the level of the meadows, and waters that -blended with the horizon. Not the slightest breeze now stirred the -infinite mirror. A profound enchantment like an ecstasy filled the -lovely place with rapture. The melody of the winged creatures still -continued to float from invisible regions, but it, too, seemed to begin -to flag and soften in this silent sanctuary. - -"At this hour, on the hills of Umbria," said he that had despoiled the -flowering almond of the cloister, "every olive-tree has at its base, -like a covering that is shed, a heap of its cut branches; and the tree -seems more beautiful because the heap of branches hides its rugged -roots. Saint Francis passes in the air, and with his finger he heals -the pain of the wounds made by the pruning-knife." - -The Capuchin made the sign of the cross, and took his leave. - -"Praise be to Jesus Christ!" - -The visitors watched him as he moved away under the deep shadows cast -by the cypresses. - -"He has found peace," said La Foscarina. "Does it not seem so to you, -Stelio? There is great peace in his face and his voice. Look at his -gait, too." - -Alternately a ray of light and a bar of shadow fell across his tonsure -and his tunic. - -"He gave me a piece of the sacred pine," said Stelio. "I will send it -to Sofia, who is devoted to the seraphic saint. Here it is. It has no -resinous odor now. Smell it!" - -For Sofia's sake she kissed the relic. The lips of the good sister -would touch the spot where she had pressed her own. - -"Yes--send it." - -Silently they strolled along, their heads bent, in the footsteps of the -man of peace, approaching the landing between the rows of cypress trees. - -"Do you not sometimes wish to see her again?" asked La Foscarina, with -a touch of shyness. - -"Yes, very much," was Stelio's soft-spoken answer. - -"And your mother?" - -"Yes, my heart yearns for her--for that mother who looks for me each -day." - -"And would you not like to go back there?" - -"Yes, I shall return, perhaps." - -"When?" - -"I do not know yet. But I do wish to see once more my mother and Sofia. -I long to see them very much, Foscarina." - -"And why do you not go to them, then? What holds you here?" - -He took the hand that hung idly at her side, and they continued to walk -thus. As the oblique rays of the sun lighted the right cheek of each, -they saw their united shadows preceding them on the grass. - -"When you were speaking of the hills of Umbria just now," said La -Foscarina, "perhaps you were thinking of the hills of your own part of -the country. That figure of the pruned olive tree was not new to me. -I remember you speaking to me once before of the pruning of trees. In -no other form of his labor can the farmer gain a deeper sense of the -mute life that is in a tree. When he stands before a pear, an apple, -or a peach tree with the pruning-knife and shears that may increase -their fertility and strength, but which could nevertheless as easily -cause their death, the spirit of divination surges within him, from -the wisdom he has acquired from his long communings with the earth and -the sky. The tree is at its most delicate moment, when its senses are -awakened, and the sap is flowing to the buds that swell and swell, and -are just ready to open. And man, with his pitiless knife, must regulate -the mysterious movement of the sap. The tree is there intact, ignorant -of Hesiod and of Virgil, in labor with its flowering and its fruit; and -every branch in the air is as full of life as is the arm of the man -that wields the knife. Which is the branch that must be cut off? Will -the sap heal the cut? You told me about your orchard once--I remember -it. You said that all the cuts should be turned toward the north, so -then the sun should not see them." - -She spoke as she had spoken in that far-off evening in November, when -the young man had arrived at her house, breathless from the tempest of -wind, after he had borne the hero in his arms. - -He smiled, and let himself be led by that dear hand. He inhaled -the fragrance of that flowery branch in which was a suggestion of -bitterness. - -"It is true," he said. "And Laimo would prepare the ointment of Saint -Fiacre in the mortar, and Sofia would bring him the strong linen to -bandage the larger wounds, after they had been cleansed." - -In fancy he could see the kneeling peasant, pounding cow-dung, clay, -and barley-husks in a stone mortar, according to an ancient recipe. - -"In ten days," he continued, "the whole hill, seen from the seas, will -be like a great pink cloud. Sofia wrote to remind me of it. Has she -ever reappeared to you?" - -"She is with us now." - -"She is now standing at the window, looking out at the purpling sea; -and our mother, leaning on the window-ledge with her, says to her: 'Who -knows whether Stelio may not be on that sail boat which I see waiting -at the mouth of the river for the wind? He promised me he would return -unexpectedly by sea, in a small boat.'--And then her heart aches." - -"Ah, why do you disappoint her?" - -"Yes, Fosca, you are right. But I can live far-away from her for months -and months, yet feel that my life is full. Then--an hour comes when -nothing in the world appears to me so sweet as her dear eyes and there -is a part of myself that remains inconsolable. I have heard the sailors -of the Tyrrhenean Sea call the Adriatic the Gulf of Venice. To-night -I remember that my house is on the Gulf, and that seems to bring it -nearer to me." - -They had reached the gondola once more, but turned to look back at the -isle of prayer, where grew the tall cypresses with their imploring arms. - -"Over yonder is the canal of the Tre Porti that leads to the open sea," -said the homesick one, fancying that he could see himself standing on -the deck of the little brig, in sight of his tamarisks and myrtles. - -They reëmbarked, and floated away, silent for a long time. The aerial -melody still fell softly on the archipelago. - -"Now that the plan of your work is finished," said La Foscarina, -beginning again her gentle persuasion, though her heart trembled in her -breast, "you will need peace and quiet for your labor upon it. Have -you not always worked best at your home? In no other place will you be -able to soothe the restless anxiety that possesses you. I know it well." - -"That is true," he replied. "When the yearning for glory seizes us, -we believe that the conquest of art must be like the siege of a -fortification, and that trumpets and shouts accompany the courageous -assault; while in reality the only work that is of real value is that -which has been developed in austere silence--work performed with slow, -indomitable perseverance, in hard, pure solitude. Nothing is of any -value save the complete abandonment of soul and body to the Idea which -we desire to establish among men as a permanent and dominating force." - -"Ah, you know it, too!" - -The woman's eyes were filled with tears again, at the sound of those -inexorable words, in which was expressed the depth of virile passion, -the heroic necessity of mental domination, the firm determination to -surpass himself and to force his destiny without flinching. - -"Yes, you know it well!" - -And she was thrilled, as one that beholds a noble spectacle; and, -contemplating that embodied force of will, all else appeared vain to -her. The tears she had felt in her eyes when he had brought her the -flowering branch now seemed mean and weakly effeminate in comparison -with those that in this moment welled up and were alone worthy to be -kissed away by her friend. - -"Ah, well, then--go back to your sea, to your own countryside, to your -own home. Light your lamp once more with the oil of your own olives." - -Stelio's lips were closely compressed, and a deep frown wrinkled his -brow. - -"The dear sister will come to your side again to lay a blade of grass -on the difficult page." - -He bent his brow, which was clouded with a thought. - -"You will rest in talking with Sofia by the window; and perhaps you -will see again the flocks of sheep on their way from the plain to the -mountains." - -The sunlight was approaching the gigantic acropolis of the Dolomites. -The phalanx of clouds was disordered as if in battle, pierced by -innumerable darts of light, and steeped in a marvelous blood-like -crimson. - -Slowly, after a long silence, Stelio spoke: - -"And if she should ask me about the fate of the virgin who reads the -lament of Antigone?" - -La Foscarina started. - -"And suppose she asks me about the love of the brother who searches -through the tombs?" - -The woman felt a dread of this phantom. - -"And suppose the page on which she lays the blade of grass were the -page wherein that trembling soul tells of its secret and terrible -battle against the horrible evil?" - -In her sudden terror, the woman could find no words. Both relapsed into -silence, looking long at the sharp peaks of the distant mountains, -which glowed as if just emerging from primordial fire. The spectacle -of this eternally desolate grandeur awakened in them a sense of -mysterious fatality and a certain confused terror which they could -neither conquer nor comprehend. - -"And you?" said Stelio suddenly, after a long silence. - -La Foscarina made no reply. - -The bells of San Marco sounded the signal for the Angelus, and their -tremendous clamor swelled in ever-widening waves over the still crimson -lagoon which they were leaving to the memories of shadows and death. -From San Giorgio Maggiore and San Giorgio dei Greci, from San Giorgio -degli Schiavoni and San Giovanni in Bragora, from San Moisé, from the -Salute, the Redentore, and, from one place to another, throughout the -whole domain of the Evangelists, even to the distant towers of the -Madonna dell' Orto, of San Giobbe and Sant' Andrea, the bronze voices -answered, mingling in one great chorus floating over the silent stones -and waters, a veritable dome of sound, invisible, yet the vibrations of -which seemed to communicate with the scintillation of the first stars. -And the reverberation above the heads of the two in the gondola was so -great that they seemed to feel it in the roots of their hair and in the -cool shiver of their flesh. - -"Oh, is that you, Daniele?" - -Stelio had recognized at the door of his own house, on the Fondamenta -Samedo, the figure of Daniele Glauro. - -"Ah, Stelio, I have been waiting for you!" cried Daniele breathlessly, -striving to make himself heard above the pealing of bells. "Richard -Wagner is dead!" - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - THE LAST FAREWELL - - -All the world seemed to have diminished in value. - -The nomad woman had armed herself anew with courage, and planned the -route of her next professional tour. From the thought of the hero -lying in his coffin, a lofty inspiration came to all noble hearts. La -Foscarina knew how to receive it and to convert it to the thoughts and -actions of daily life. - -It happened that her beloved surprised her at the time she was packing -her familiar books, the little cherished treasures from which she never -parted--things that for her possessed the power of imparting dreams or -consolation. - -"What are you doing?" Stelio asked. - -"I am making ready to leave the country." - -She saw a change pass over his face, but she did not waver. - -"And where are you going?" - -"A long distance from here--I shall cross the Atlantic." - -Stelio became slightly paler. But suddenly he was seized with doubt; he -thought she was not speaking the truth; that she wished only to prove -him; that her decision was not absolutely fixed, and that she expected -to be persuaded to remain. The unlooked-for disillusion on the banks of -Murano had left its mark on his heart. - -"Have you really decided on this, then, so suddenly?" - -She was simple, sure of herself, and prompt in her reply. - -"My decision is not exactly sudden. My idleness has lasted too long, -and I have the responsibility of all my company on my shoulders. While -I am waiting for the Theater of Apollo to be opened, and for _The -Victory of Man_ to be finished, I shall go once more to bid farewell -to the Barbarians. I must work for your beautiful enterprise. We -shall need a great deal of gold to restore the treasures of Mycenæ. -And all that is connected with your work must appear with unrivaled -magnificence. I do not wish Cassandra's mask to be of some base metal. -But, above all, I wish to satisfy your desire that for the first three -days the populace shall have free admission to the theater, and after -that on one day of every week. My faith aids me to leave you. Time -flies. It is necessary that each person should be in his own place, -ready and full of strength, when the great day comes. I shall not fail -you. I hope that you will be satisfied with your friend. I am going -away to work, and certainly the task will be more difficult than I ever -have found it before. But you, my poor boy, what a burden you have to -bear! What an effort we demand from you! What great things we expect -from you! Ah, you know it!" - -She had begun courageously, in a tone that was almost blithe, trying -to seem what above all she must be--a good and faithful instrument at -the service of a powerful genius, a strong and willing companion. But -a wave of repressed emotion would rise in her throat and stop her -speech. Her pauses grew longer, and her hand wandered uncertainly among -her books and treasures. - -"May everything be ever propitious to your work! That is the only thing -that really matters--all else is nothing. Let us lift our hearts!" - -She shook her head, with its two wild wings, and held out both hands -to her beloved. He, pale and grave, clasped them close. In her dear -eyes, that were like sparkling springs of water, he saw a flash of the -same beauty that had dazzled him one evening in the room where the fire -had roared, and he had listened to the development of the two great -melodies. - -"I love you and I have faith in you," he said; "I will not fail you and -you will not fail me. Something springs from us that shall be stronger -than life itself." - -"A great melancholy," she answered. - -Before her, on a table, lay the familiar book, with pages turned -down and margins full of scribbled notes; here and there a petal, a -flower, a blade of grass lay between the leaves--signs of the sorrow -that had asked and obtained from them the consolation of relief or of -forgetfulness. Before her were strewn all the little cherished objects -dear to her, strange, varied; nearly all were things of no value: a -doll's foot, a silver heart, an ivory compass, a watch without a dial, -a small iron lantern, a single earring, a flint, a key, a seal, and -other trifles; but all were consecrated by some memory, animated by -some superstitious belief, touched by the finger of love or of death, -relics that could speak only to one of war and of truce, of hope -and of sadness. Among these objects were figures to which artists -had entrusted their secret confession, signs and enigmas, profound -allegories, hiding truths that, like the sun, could not be gazed at by -mortal eyes. - -The young man put his arm around his friend's waist, and silently -they went to the window. They saw the far-distant sky, the trees, the -towers, the end of the lagoon over which Twilight was bending her face, -while the Euganean hills were as quiet and blue as if they were the -wings of earth folded in the peacefulness of eventide. - -They turned toward each other, looking into the depths of each other's -eyes. Then they embraced, as if to seal a silent compact. - - * * * * * - -Yes, all the world seemed to have diminished in value. - -Stelio Effrena had asked of the widow of Richard Wagner that the two -young Italian men that had carried the unconscious hero from the vessel -to the shore that night in November, with four of their friends, -might have granted to them the honor of bearing the coffin from the -death-chamber to the boat and from the boat to the hearse. This request -was granted. - -It was the sixteenth of February, at one o'clock in the afternoon. -Stelio Effrena, Daniele Glauro, Francesco de Lizo, Baldassare Stampa, -Fabio Molza, and Antimo della Bella waited in the hall of the palace. -The latter had come from Rome, bringing with him the artisans engaged -in the building of the Theater of Apollo, that they might bear at the -funeral ceremony bunches of laurel gathered on the Janiculum. - -They waited in silence, without even looking at one another, each -overcome by the throbbing of his own heart. Nothing was heard save a -faint dropping of water on the steps before the great door, where, on -the candelabra at the doorposts appeared the two words: DOMUS PACIS. - -The boatman, who had been dear to the hero, came to call them. In that -rough yet faithful face, the eyes showed that the lids were burned by -weeping. - -Stelio Effrena advanced first, followed by his companions. After -ascending the stairs, they entered a low-studded, darkened room, filled -with the melancholy odor of flowers and fluids. They paused there a few -minutes. A door opened. They passed through the doorway one by one into -the next room. Each turned pale as he entered. - -The body was there, enclosed in its crystal coffin, and beside it stood -the woman with the face of snowy pallor. The second coffin, of polished -metal, stood shining on the floor. - -The six bearers ranged themselves about the coffin, awaiting a sign. -The silence was profound, and no one moved; but an impetuous sadness -shook each soul like a tempest of wind. - -Each gazed on the elect of Life and of Death. An infinite smile -illumined the face of the hero lying there--infinite and distant as the -glint of a glacier, as the sparkle of the sea, as the halo of the star. -Their eyes could not bear to look long at it, but their hearts, with -an awe-struck fear that made them religious, felt as if they had the -revelation of a divine secret. - -The woman with the snow-white face made a slight movement, yet -preserved the same attitude, rigid as a statue. - -Then the six friends approached the body, extended their arms, summoned -up their strength. Stelio Effrena took his place at the head and -Daniele Glauro took his at the feet, as on that day in November. The -young men lifted their burden with one movement, at a low-spoken word -from the leader. The eyes of each were dazzled, as if a sudden ray of -sunlight had pierced the crystal. Baldassare Stampa broke into sobs. -The same knot was in each throat. The coffin swayed, then it was -lowered into its metal covering, which enveloped it like a suit of -armor. - -The six friends remained overcome with grief. They hesitated to put the -cover in its place, fascinated by that infinite smile. Stelio Effrena -heard a light rustling, and looked up. He saw the white face bending -over the body, a superhuman apparition of love and grief. That instant -was like eternity. The woman disappeared. - -When the coffin was closed, they lifted their burden a second -time--heavier now. Out of the room and down the stairs they bore -it slowly. Rapt in a kind of sublime anguish, they could see their -fraternal faces reflected in the polished metal. - -The funeral barge awaited them at the entrance. The pall was laid -over the coffin. The six friends waited, with heads uncovered, for the -family to descend. They came, all together. The widow passed them, -veiled. But the splendor of her face would remain in their memories -forever. - -The procession was short; the funeral barge went first, followed by the -widow with her relatives; then came the young men. The sky was cloudy -above the broad road of stone and water. The deep silence was worthy of -Him who transformed the forces of the universe for man's worship into -infinite song. - -A flock of doves, flying from the marbles of the Scalsi, winged their -way with a flash of plumage above the bier and across the canal, -circling the cupola of San Simeone. - -At the quay a silent gathering of faithful friends was waiting. The -large wreaths perfumed the air. The water rippled softly under the -prows of the boats. The six companions lifted the coffin from the boat -and bore it on their shoulders to the railway and placed it in the -proper compartment. No one spoke. - -Then the two artisans from Rome came forward, with the clusters of -laurel gathered on the Janiculum. They were tall, powerful men, -chosen among the strongest and finest, and seemed cast in the mold -of the ancient Roman race. They were calm and serious, with all the -wild freedom of the Agro in their eyes. Their bold outlines, narrow -foreheads, short curling hair, solid jaws and bull-necks, recalled -the profiles of ancient consuls. Their bearing, free from any servile -obsequiousness, showed them to be worthy of their function. - -The six young men, rendered equal in their fervor, took the branches of -laurel and strewed them over the hero's coffin. - -Noble were those Latin laurels, cut on the hill where, in a time long -past, the eagles descended bearing prophecies; where, in more recent -though still fabulous times, a river of blood has been shed for the -beauty of Italy by the legions of the Liberator. The branches were -straight, dark, and strong; the leaves were firm, deeply veined, with -sharp edges, green as the bronze of fountains, rich with triumphal -aroma. - -And they journeyed toward the Bavarian hill still sleeping beneath its -frost and ice, while their trunks were already budding anew in the -light of Rome, to the murmur of invisible waters. - - _Settignano di Desiderio: - February 13, 1900._ - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60601 *** |