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diff --git a/old/60601-h/60601-h.htm b/old/60601-h/60601-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 410be53..0000000 --- a/old/60601-h/60601-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12503 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Flame, by Gabrielle D'Annunzio. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -h2 {font-weight: normal;} -h1 {margin-top: 4em; } -h2 {margin-top: 4em; } - -.half-title -{ - margin-top: 6em; - text-align: center; - font-size: 140%; - margin-bottom: 6em; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.top1 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p2 {margin-top: 2em; font-size: 130%; margin-bottom: 2em; } -.p4 {margin-top: 4em; font-size: 120%; } -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -.center1 {font-size: 140%; text-align: center;} - - div.chapter {page-break-before: always; } - - -hr.tb {width: 45%; margin-left: 27.5%; margin-right: 27.5%; } - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always; } - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - visibility: hidden; - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 20%; - margin-top: 2em; -} - - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - - -.caption {font-weight: normal; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; } - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -.box { - border: 2px solid; margin: 5%; font-size: 1.1em; - margin-top: 4em; - width: 30%; - padding: 2%; - margin-right: 15%; - margin-left: 30%; -} - -@media handheld { - .box {margin: 0; width: auto; font-size: 0.95em; } -} - -/* Poetry */ - -.poetry-container {text-align: center;} - -.poetry {display: inline-block; text-align: left; - font-size: 0.85em; - margin-top: 1em; - margin-bottom: 1em;} - -.verse - {padding-left: 4em; text-indent: -4em; } - -.ileft2 {text-indent: -3em; } - - - -.indent {padding-left: 4em; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} - -.indentp {padding-left: 30%; } -.indentq {padding-left: 15%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 2em;} -.indent1 {padding-left: 1em; } - -@media handheld { - -.poetry { - display: block; - text-align: left; - margin-left: 2.5em;} -} - - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.tnote - {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; - padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; padding-left: .5em; - padding-right: .5em;} - - </style> - </head> -<body> -<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60601 ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 536px;"> -<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="536" height="800" alt="cover" /> -</div> - - -<div class="tnote"> - -<p class="p2 center">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Obvious punctuation and other printing errors have been -corrected.</p> - -<p>The book cover was modified by the Transcriber and has -been put in the public domain.</p> - -<p>The Transcriber would like to point out to what are considered a -couple of translation inaccuracies from the original Italian language -version.</p> - -<p>In page <a href="#id59">59</a> the text reads:</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>While in the Italian edition (Publisher: Milano Fratelli Treves; year: -1900), the text reads:</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The Transcriber thinks a more adequate translation would be:</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>In page <a href="#id195">195</a> the text reads:</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>While in the Italian edition the text reads:</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The Transcriber thinks a more adequate translation would be:</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<hr class="tb" /> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="box"> -<p class="p2 center">THE LITERATURE OF ITALY</p> - -<p>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</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 1em; ">"A HISTORY OF ITALIAN<br /> -LITERATURE."</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 436px;" id="estatua"> -<img src="images/ilo1.jpg" width="436" height="700" alt="statue" /> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 376px;"> -<img src="images/ilo2.jpg" width="376" height="600" alt="ilobox" /> -</div> - - -<div class="indentp"> -<p>Literature<br /> -of Italy<br /> -1265 1907.</p> - -<p>Edited by Rossiter Johnson and<br /> -Dora Knowlton Ranous</p> - -<p>With a General Introduction by William<br /> -Michael Rossetti and Special Introductions<br /> -by James, Cardinal Gibbons,<br /> -Charles Eliot Norton, S. G. W. Benjamin,<br /> -William S, Walsh, Maurice<br /> -Francis Egan, and others<br /> -New translations, and former renderings<br /> -compared and revised</p> - -<p>Translators: James C. Brogan, Lord Charlemont,<br /> -Geoffrey Chaucer, Hartley Coleridge,<br /> -Florence Kendrick Cooper, Lady Dacre,<br /> -Theodore Dwight, Edward Fairfax, Ugo<br /> -Foscolo, G. A. Greene, Sir Thomas Hoby,<br /> -William Dean Howells, Luigi Monti, Evangeline<br /> -M. O'Connor, Thomas Okey, Dora<br /> -Knowlton Ranous, Thomas Roscoe, William<br /> -Stewart Rose, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, William<br /> -Michael Rossetti, John Addington<br /> -Symonds, William S. Walsh, William<br /> -Wordsworth, Sir Thomas Wyatt</p></div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="frontis"> -<img src="images/ilo3.jpg" width="460" height="700" alt="ilofronti" /> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1>THE FLAME</h1> - - -<p class="center">(<em>IL FUOCO</em>)</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; "><big>BY</big></p> - -<p class="center1">GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO</p> - -<p class="p2 center">TRANSLATED BY DORA KNOWLTON RANOUS</p> - -<p class="right" style="margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; padding-right: 40%;" > -.... <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">fa come natura face in foco</i>.</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 35%;" >—<em>DANTE</em></p> - -<p class="p6 center">THE NATIONAL ALUMNI</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p class="center">C<small>OPYRIGHT</small>, 1907, <small>BY</small><br /> -T<small>HE</small> N<small>ATIONAL</small> A<small>LUMNI</small></p> -</div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p4 center">CONTENTS</p> - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -<td align="right">PAGE</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">INTRODUCTION</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_ix">ix</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center">BOOK I<br /> -THE EPIPHANY OF THE FLAME.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER I—The Bells of San Marco</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER II—The Face of Truth</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_30">30</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER III—The Nuptials of Autumn and Venice</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_40">40</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER IV—The Spirit of Melody</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_67">67</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER V—The Epiphany of the Flame</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_77">77</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER VI—The Poet's Dream</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_95">95</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER VII—The Promise</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_123">123</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER VIII—"To Create with Joy!"</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_134">134</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="center">BOOK II<br /> -THE EMPIRE OF SILENCE.</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER I—"In Time!"</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_147">147</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER II—After the Storm</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_156">156</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER III—A Fallen Giant</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_173">173</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER IV—The Master's Vision</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_181">181</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER V—Sofia</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_201">201</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER VI—A Brother to Orpheus</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_209">209</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER VII—Only One Condition</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_221">221</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER VIII—Illusions</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_231">231</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER IX—The Labyrinth</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_239">239</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER X—The Power of the Flame</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_262">262</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER XI—Reminiscence</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_270">270</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER XII—Cassandra's Reincarnation</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_291">291</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER XIII—The Story of the Archorgan</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_304">304</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER XIV—The World's Bereavement</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_319">319</a> </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">CHAPTER XV—The Last Farewell</td> -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1em;"><a href="#Page_333">333</a> </td> -</tr> - -</table> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p class="p4 center">ILLUSTRATIONS</p> - - - -<div class="center"> -<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="ilust"> - -<tr> -<td align="left"> </td> -<td align="center">PAGE</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">"O espousals of Paris, fatal to the beloved!"—(Page 298)</td> - -<td align="right"><a href="#frontis">Frontispiece</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">He gazed deep into her eyes, and saw that she was as pale<br /> -as if her blood had been sapped to nourish the rich<br /> -fruits of the garden</td> - -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1.5em;"> <br /> - <br /> -<a href="#ilop130">130</a></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td align="left">He watched the woman turning and running like a mad<br /> -creature along the dark, delusive paths</td> - -<td align="right" style="padding-right: 1.5em;"> <br /> -<a href="#ilop259">259</a></td> -</tr> - -</table> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span></p> - -<h2>INTRODUCTION</h2> - - -<p>Gabriele D'Annunzio, poet, novelist, and -dramatist, was born in 1864, on the yacht <em>Irene</em> -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, <cite>Primo Vere</cite>, 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 <cite>Cronaca Bizantina</cite>, a magazine of art and literature. -He remained in Rome three years, producing in that time -<cite>Terra vergine</cite> ("Virgin Soil"), <cite>Canto novo</cite> ("New Song"), -and <cite>Intermezzo di rime</cite> ("Intervals of Rhyme"), all of -which were received with admiration and amazement, -and with not a little criticism for their unconventional -boldness of expression.</p> - -<p>D'Annunzio left Rome in 1884 and returned to his native -hills, where he wrote <cite>Il libro delle vergine</cite> ("The -Book of the Virgins") in 1884; <cite>San Pantaleone</cite> (1886), -and <cite>Isottèo Guttadauro</cite>. Then, abandoning his revolutionary -and realistic though splendid and intoxicating poetry -for prose, the young genius next surprised his public -with a novel, <cite>Giovanni Episcopo</cite>, followed by <cite>Il Piacere</cite> -("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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>His next important novel, <cite>Il trionfo della morte</cite> ("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—<cite>Il fuoco</cite> ("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.</p> - -<p>Besides his poems and novels, D'Annunzio has written -several plays, the best known being <cite>La Gioconda</cite> ("Joy"), -<cite>La Gloria</cite> ("Glory"), <cite>La morta città</cite> ("The City of the -Dead"), and <cite>Francesca da Rimini</cite>. 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."</p> - -<p class="right" style="padding-right: 1em; ">D. K. R.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="half-title">BOOK I<br /> -THE EPIPHANY OF THE FLAME</p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p4 center"><big>TO TIME AND TO HOPE</big></p> - - -<div class="blockquot"> -<p><em>Without hope, it is impossible to find<br /> -the unhoped-for.</em></p> - -<p class="indentq">—<em>HERACLITUS OF EPHESUS.</em></p> - - -<p><em>He who sings to the god a song of<br /> -hope shall see his wish accomplished.</em></p> - -<p class="indentq">—<em>ÆSCHYLUS OF ELEUSIS.</em></p> - -<p><em>Time is the father of miracles.</em></p> - -<p class="indentq">—<em>HARIRI DI BASRA.</em></p> -</div> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER I<br /> -<small>THE BELLS OF SAN MARCO</small></h2> - - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>Thus, delicately, she flattered her friend; thus she -pleased herself by exalting him with continual praise.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -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 <cite>Paradiso</cite> of Tintoretto for a background, and overhead -the <cite>Gloria</cite> of Veronese."</p> - -<p>Stelio Effrena looked long and searchingly into her -eyes.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The royal barge passed.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>When the royal barge passed the gondola, the man -and the woman saluted it. The Queen, recognizing the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -poet, the author of <cite>Persephone</cite>, 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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Massacre -des Innocents</cite> 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -and to revel in the gift of eternal poetry with -which its storied walls and waters were endowed.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"The flame and the power are within yourself, Stelio," -said La Foscarina almost humbly, without raising her -eyes.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"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; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -it was like a beautiful tree with its branches laden with -chrysalides."</p> - -<p>He paused, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"If they come forth from their prison to-night," he -added, "I am saved; if they do not, I am lost!"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>He interrupted himself, because he felt a quiver of the -hand he clasped in his own.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -vanished youth, and the fear of finding herself left alone -at last in a desert of ashes.</p> - -<p>"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:</p> - -<p>"Look! Look at your pomegranates!"</p> - -<p>But her voice shook a little.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p class="indent"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Quando tu coglierai il colchico in fiore su'l molle<br /> -Prato terrestre, presso la madre dal cerulo peplo.</i></p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -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 -<cite>Mystery</cite>, 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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -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 <em>mine</em>. 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.</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Persephone</cite>. -So, for you, and for those that love me, I have -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He spoke with perfect freedom, as if the mind of the -listening woman were a chalice into which he poured -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Ariadne</cite> 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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">musicale</i> 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -on it, some day when you deserve a severe punishment!"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>He understood her anxiety, and chose to amuse himself -with it.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Ah, Stelio! What do you mean?" she cried, half -rising.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Reassure yourself," he said. "I was only jesting. I -will go <em>ad bestias</em>, 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -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 <cite>Trionfi</cite> of Celio Magno and the -<cite>Favole Marittime</cite> of Anton Maria Consalvi, quoted and -commented on in them by me. What should I do, then?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you feel the Autumn, Perdita?" Stelio asked his -dreamy friend, in a penetrating voice.</p> - -<p>Again she had a vision of the dead Summer, enclosed -within opalescent glass and sunk among the masses of -seaweed.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I feel it—within myself!" she replied, with a -melancholy smile.</p> - -<p>"Did you not see it last night, when it descended -upon the city? Where were you last night, at sunset?"</p> - -<p>"In a garden of the Giudecca."</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span> -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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">nona rima</i>, 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"To the Hotel Danieli," La Foscarina said to the boatman.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you know that Donatella Arvale who is to sing -in <cite>Ariadne</cite>?" said Stelio suddenly.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Donna Andriana spoke to me of her last night as -a prodigy. She said that the idea of resurrecting <cite>Ariadne</cite> -had come to her on hearing Donatella Arvale sing divinely -the air: <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Come mai puoi—Vedermi piangere?</i> 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."</p> - -<p>The bells of San Marco gave the signal for the Angelus, -and their powerful notes spread in great waves of -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>She did not reply; she only pressed her lips together -more closely.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Shall I see you again this evening, after the festival?" -said La Foscarina, with a slight unsteadiness in her -voice. "Are you free?"</p> - -<p>She was eager now to hold him, to make him her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Is it a promise?" he murmured, bowing his head -lower to conceal his agitation. "Ah! at last!"</p> - -<p>She made no reply, but fixed on him a gaze of almost -mad intensity, which he did not see.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Good-by," he answered. "Take some place where I -may see you, among the crowd, when I speak my first -word."</p> - -<p>A confused clamor arose from San Marco, above the -sound of the bells, spread over the Piazzetta, and died -away toward the Fortuna.</p> - -<p>"May all light be on your brow, Stelio!" said La Foscarina, -holding out her burning hands to him passionately.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span></p> - -</div> - - -<h2>CHAPTER II<br /> -<small>THE FACE OF TRUTH</small></h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -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 <cite>Procuratie</cite> and -the old <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Libreria</i>."</p> - -<p>"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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>Stelio laid his hand on the prematurely bent shoulders -of the mystic doctor, and, smiling, repeated Petrarch's -words: "<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Non ego loquar omnibus, sed tibi, sed mihi, et his</i>."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Nevertheless," he replied gayly, addressing Piero -Martello, "it would be amusing to conjure up a tempest -on this sea."</p> - -<p>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 <em>Procuratie</em>, 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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Come, let us go," said he resolutely to his friends. -"It is the hour."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -gold, while all the Arts bowed before her, laden with -gifts as if they bore horns of plenty.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Look toward the foot of the stairway, Stelio," said -Daniele Glauro. "A group of devotees is waiting for -you to pass that way."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What do you see there?" inquired Piero Martello, -also leaning over the rim, worn in places by the ropes -of centuries.</p> - -<p>"The face of Truth!" the master answered.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>He bent over a medallion by Pisanello, feeling at his -temples the ardent, rapid pulsation of his thought.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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.—<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Dux equitum præstans Malatesta Novellus -Cesenæ dominus. Opus Pisani pictoris.</i>—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.—<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Cicilia Virgo, filia Johannis -Francesco primi Marchionis Mantuae.</i></p> - -<p>"Here comes La Foscarina, with Donatella Arvale," -announced Francesco de Lizo, who had been watching -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span> -the crowd that climbed the Censors' Stairway and -pressed into the vast hall.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p> - -</div> - - -<h2>CHAPTER III<br /> -<small>THE NUPTIALS OF AUTUMN AND VENICE</small></h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>Stelio Effrena measured this silence, upon which his -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I am certain," he exclaimed, "that Venice appeared -thus to Paolo Veronese, when he sought within himself -for an image of the Queen triumphant."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -could represent the glorious face only in the nimbus of -a shadow.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -the signal, so the golden angel from the summit of the -highest tower at last flashed out the announcement.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -wearied by the strain upon their emotions; their cool, -polished shoulders rose from their corollas of jewels.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -the world with different eyes; they would -think and dream with different souls.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span> -it awakens is full of a joy and a sadness wherein sin hides -its head.</p> - -<p>"He that has looked at the <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Concerto</i> 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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -have been and was not—weaves itself like the tissue of a -chimera.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -of love, but by a promise of glory; and the formless work -that he still cherished in his breast again leaped within -him.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">lampadeforie</i>, 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -of them, like that first Bonifacio, whom we should glorify, -gathered with incombustible fingers the inmost -flower of the flame."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p id="id59">"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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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!</p> - -<p>"Ah, if I only knew how to tell you of that prodigious -life which palpitates beneath her great necklaces and her -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Whence came to them their immeasurable power?</p> - -<p>"From the pure unconsciousness of the artificers that -created them.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In the sonority of the deep silence, the solitary voice -reached its climax.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"And these artists created by a medium that is in -itself a joyous mystery: by color, which is the ornament -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -of the world; by color, which seems the effort of matter -to become light.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -strange silence, like a butterfly of twilight darting into -the chalice of some great flower.</p> - -<p>"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?</p> - -<p>"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!</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span></p> - -</div> - - -<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /> -<small>THE SPIRIT OF MELODY</small></h2> - - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -his inward agitation as from the trembling waves of a -summer sea.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>He thrilled at the burst of human voices that saluted -with triumphal acclamation the unvanquished god.</p> - -<p class="indent"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Viva il forte, viva il grande!</i></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="indent"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Viva il forte, viva il grande!<br /> -Vincitor dell' Indie dome!</i></p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -flames in a crystal tube. The living image hung suspended -over the assemblage, which nourished it with -its own dream.</p> - -<p class="indent"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Viva il forte, viva il grande!</i></p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The song increased in power; all the voices blended -in the rush of melody. The hymn celebrated the tamer -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -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: <em>Evoé!</em></p> - -<p>But now suddenly surged above these heroic measures -a broad, pastoral rhythm, invoking the Theban Bacchus, -of the pure brow and gentle thoughts:</p> - -<p class="indent"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Quel che all'olmo la vite in stretto nodo<br /> -Pronuba accoppia, e i pampini feconda</i> ...</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Viva dell'olmo,<br /> -E della vite<br /> -L'almo fecondo<br /> -Sostenitor!</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Viva dell'Indie,<br /> -Viva de' mari,<br /> -Viva de' mostri<br /> -Il domator.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Come mai puoi<br /> -Vedermi piangere?</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p> - -</div> - - -<h2>CHAPTER V<br /> -<small>THE EPIPHANY OF THE FLAME</small></h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Viva!</i> 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -must light up the beauty of Venice in final, dazzling -splendor.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>He started suddenly as he perceived in the throng at -the top of the marble staircase, by the light of the smoking -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Then, turning toward her companion with a smile, she -said:</p> - -<p>"Donatella, this is the Master of the Flame."</p> - -<p>Without speaking, but with a slight smile, Donatella -Arvale responded to the low bow of the young man.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>A long, unanimous cry saluted the appearance of the -fair Queen in her pearls, as she stood at the head of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"The Epiphany of the Flame!" cried La Foscarina, -as she reached the Molo and gazed upon the marvelous -spectacle.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"We must praise Ariadne," he replied, "for having uttered, -in all this harmony, the most sublime note."</p> - -<p>Stelio said those flattering words only to induce the -fair singer to speak, only through a desire to know the -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">timbre</i> of that voice when it descended from the heights -of song. But his praise was lost in the reiterated clamor -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>"Then it will be a banquet?"</p> - -<p>"But not, alas! like that of Cana."</p> - -<p>"And will not Lady Myrta, with her Veronese greyhounds, -be there?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -a garb of indescribable richness, like the heaped-up treasures -the streams of light seemed to reveal in the depths -of the nocturnal waters.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Simply to hear her speak, and almost timidly, Stelio -said:</p> - -<p>"Shall you remain some time longer in Venice?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>After he had spoken those simple, conventional words, -he reflected that even that question might suggest an -infinity of hope and eagerness.</p> - -<p>"I must leave Venice to-morrow," Donatella replied. -"I ought not to be here even now."</p> - -<p>Her voice, so clear and powerful in the heights of song, -was low and sober, as if suffused with a slight opacity, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"To-morrow!" Stelio exclaimed, not seeking to hide -his sincere regret. "Have you heard, Signora?"</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>"What?" asked Stelio quickly. "Is he ill? Is it true, -then, that Lorenzo Arvale is ill?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," Stelio replied, "Ariadne possesses a divine -gift whereby her power transcends all limits."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Ariadne had for the soothing of her griefs the gift -of forgetfulness," said Donatella, "and that I do not possess."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span> -lives as happily as did his Moravian ancestor in the Arcady -of Rosswald. Ah! I know a thousand exquisite -things about him!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Do beni vu gharè<br /> -Beleza e zoventù;<br /> -Co i va no i torna più,<br /> -Nina mia cara....</i></p> -</div> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">animula</i>, 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 <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">animula vagula</i> exists even in the -gravest and most violent natures, like the clown attached -to the person of Othello; and sometimes it misleads our -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -better judgment. That which you hear now, in the songs -and the melodies of the guitars, is the <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">animula</i>, 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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<i lang="la" xml:lang="la">abandon</i>, 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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="verse ileft2"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Se lassarè passar</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">La bela e fresca età,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Un zorno i ve dirà</i></div> -<div class="verse ileft2"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Vechia maura,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">E bramarè, ma invan,</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Quel che ghavevi in man</i></div> -<div class="verse"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Co avè lassà scampar</i></div> -<div class="verse ileft2"><i lang="it" xml:lang="it">La congiontura.</i></div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"How happy the beautiful Nineta is, with her monkey -and her little dog!" sighed the actress, looking back at -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span> -the light songsters and the smiling woman on the balcony.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">La zoventù xe un fior<br /> -Che apena nato el mor,<br /> -E un zorno gnanca mi<br /> -No sarò quela.</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">E vegna quel che vol,<br /> -Lassè che voga!</i></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>Again Donatella Arvale and Stelio Effreno looked at -each other with dazzled eyes. Again their faces, lighted -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -by the glare, glowed as if they were leaning over a furnace -or a burning crater.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /> -<small>THE POET'S DREAM</small></h2> - - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Stelio shuddered as he recalled to mind the ephemeral -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span> -flexible monster from the side of which had emerged the -Tragic Muse above the sphere of constellations.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"And each of us," said Fabio Molza, "felt that in your -presence, dominating the throng, before the poet, dwelt -a great and rare significance."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"You alone could make it triumphant," said Francesco -de Lizo. "The soul of the people is yours forever."</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>"Bayreuth!" interrupted Prince Hoditz.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The sudden opposition of his words seemed to spring -from a light, good-natured disdain.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>Stelio looked deep into her eyes; he felt that there was -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"But Wagner, too," said, Baldassare Stampa, who, having -just returned from Bayreuth, was still full of ecstasy, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span> -"when he first unwound the thread of his theories, departed -from the Greeks."</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"I have always thought that the Camerata was only -an idle reunion of scholars and rhetoricians," said Baldassare -Stampa.</p> - -<p>"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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Rappresentazione -di Anima et di Corpo</i>, 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span> -by the most delightful art that the human mind has discovered.' -That is sufficient, I think."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Enough! Enough!" cried Prince Hoditz, laughing. -"The barbarian is vanquished."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"There was a heroic soul, of pure Italian essence," -warmly acceded Daniele Glauro.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -Orpheus of his own fable, seemed to appear before them.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>But the spirit of Beauty they had called up was to -manifest itself through her.</p> - -<p>"Ariadne!" Stelio murmured, as if to awaken her from -a dream.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Lasciatemi morire!</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Lasciatemi morire!</i></p> -</div> - -<p>Was it Ariadne, still Ariadne, weeping in some new -grief, still rising to higher martyrdom?</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">E che volete<br /> -Che mi conforte<br /> -In cosa dure sorte,<br /> -In cosi gran martire?<br /> -Lasciatemi morire!</i></p> -</div> - -<p>The voice ceased; the singer did not reappear. The -aria of Claudio Monteverde composed itself in the auditors' -memories like an immutable lineament.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -and the poets had believed in the living presence of -Apollo on the new stage.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"All the agony of Amfortas is contained in a <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">mottetto</i> -that I know: <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Peccantem me quotidie</i>, 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.</p> - -<p>"But the contrast between Kundry and Parsifal, in -the second act, the Herzeleide <em>motif</em>, the impetuous figure, -that figure of pain drawn from the word of the sacred -feast, the <em>motif</em> 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -response, in which the <em>motif</em> 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!'"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span> -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 <em>motif</em>. "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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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 <cite>Orpheus</cite> and -of <cite>Ariadne</cite>. 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -effort to surpass himself. And now he had the -temple of his creed on the Bavarian hill.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Siegfried</cite> -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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>There was, then, in the multitude a secret beauty, in -which only the poet and the hero could kindle a spark. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"He has been here only a few days, at the Palazzo -Vendramin-Calergi," said Prince Hoditz.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>"He is tired," said Prince Hoditz, "very tired and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span> -feeble. That is the reason why we did not see him at -the Doge's Palace. His heart is affected." ...</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /> -THE PROMISE</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you wish me to remain here? Shall I return after -the others have gone? Say quickly! It is late!"</p> - -<p>"No, no, Stelio, I beg of you! It is late—it is too late! -You yourself say it is."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>"Your promise, your promise, Perdita! I will not be -put off!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"No, I will not be put off!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -had harbored his wilder instincts. "Pardon me! Forgive!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Pardon me!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Voices arose from the guests dispersed about the -garden, then a long silence followed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Pardon me! If my love oppresses you, I will continue -to stifle it; I will even renounce it forever, and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span> -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...."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Stelio!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Let us have no more uncertainty. It is late."</p> - -<p>He could not disguise his impatience of the social restraints -that must be observed on account of the other -guests.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 460px;" id="ilop130"> -<img src="images/ilo3.jpg" width="460" height="700" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="center caption"><em><small>HE GAZED DEEP INTO HER EYES AND SAW THAT SHE<br /> -WAS AS PALE AS IF HER BLOOD HAD BEEN SAPPED<br /> -TO NOURISH THE RICH FRUITS OF THE GARDEN</small></em></p> - -<p class="center caption"><em>From an Original Drawing by Arthur H. Ewer</em></p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Well?" demanded the young man feverishly, after -that burning kiss of body and soul.</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"Yes!"</p> - -<p>With a mechanical movement she crushed the fruit -in her hand, as if she wished to expel all its juice, which -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -trickled in a stream over her wrist. She trembled, as the -glacial wave rushed over her anew.</p> - -<p>"Go away when the others go, but then—return! I -will wait for you at the gate of the Gradenigo garden."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She went in the direction of the voices of the poets -who had exalted her ideal power.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /> -"TO CREATE WITH JOY!"</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Good-by! Good-by!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Good-by!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>"Zorzi!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Your servant, Signor!" said Zorzi with a smile, glancing -up at the brightening sky. "Sit down, Signor, and I -will row."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"We do not need this light any longer," murmured -the gondolier slyly, extinguishing the lantern of the gondola.</p> - -<p>"To the Grand Canal, by San Giovanni Decollato!" -cried Stelio, seating himself.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Stop before the Palazzo Vendramin-Calergi!" he ordered -the gondolier.</p> - -<p>The canal, ancient stream of silence and of poetry, was -deserted. The pale green sky was reflected in it with -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Hail to the Victorious One!" Stelio stood up and -cast his flowers at the threshold of the palace door.</p> - -<p>"On! On!" he cried.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Row, Zorzi, row! To the Veneta Marina, by the -Canal dall'Olio!" the young man cried.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span> -odor of pitch and of salt, the flutter of a red sail.... -Row, Zorzi!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I am hungry, Zorzi, I am very hungry!" said Stelio, -laughing.</p> - -<p>"A good sign when a wakeful night makes one hungry; -it makes only the old feel sleepy," said Zorzi.</p> - -<p>"Row to shore!"</p> - -<p>He bought at a stall some grapes of the Vignole and -some figs from Malamocco, laid on a plate of vine-leaves.</p> - -<p>"Row, Zorzi!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"To the Ponte della Paglia!"</p> - -<p>A thought, spontaneous as an instinct, led him back -to the glorious spot where it seemed some trace must -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -remain of his lyric inspiration and of the great Dionysian -chorus: <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Viva il forte!</i> 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."</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Find me a boat, Zorzi—a boat that will go out to sea."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"To the Veneta Marina! Find me a fishing-boat, a -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">bragozzo</i> from Chioggia."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"That one there—that will do. Let us catch it, Zorzi."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p> - -<p>In his impatience he waved his hand, to sign to the -boat to stop.</p> - -<p>"Call out to them to wait for me, Zorzi!"</p> - -<p>The gondolier, heated and dripping, cried out to the -man at the sail. The gondola flew like a canoe in a -regatta.</p> - -<p>"Bravo, Zorzi!"</p> - -<p>But Stelio was panting, too, as if he were in pursuit -of fortune, some happy aim, or the certainty of a kingdom.</p> - -<p>"We have won the flag!" laughed the gondolier, rubbing -his burning palms. "What foolishness!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>The mast creaked as if it were alive, swaying from -top to bottom.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You can come on board, if you like," he said. "Is -that all you want?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"The grapes and the figs, Zorzi!"</p> - -<p>From the gondola, Zorzi handed him the vine-leaf plate.</p> - -<p>"May it make new blood for you, Signor!"</p> - -<p>"And the bread?"</p> - -<p>"We have some warm bread," said one of the sailors, -"just out of the oven."</p> - -<p>Hunger would certainly give that bread a delicious -flavor, finding therein all the nourishment of the grain.</p> - -<p>"Your servant, Signor, and a fair wind to you!" said -the gondolier, taking leave.</p> - -<p>"Starboard!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"To the right!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -with a diadem of light. Venice Anadyomene reigned -over the waters, and from her beauty all her veils were -ravished.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>And the world was his!</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a><br /><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p> - -</div> - - -<p class="half-title">BOOK II<br /> -THE EMPIRE OF SILENCE</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a><br /><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p> - -</div> - - -<h2>CHAPTER I<br /> -"IN TIME!"</h2> - - -<p>"In time!" In a room of the Academy, La -Foscarina had stopped before <cite>La Vecchia</cite>, 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.</p> - -<p>"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:</p> - -<p>"Stelio, do you know that closed house in the Calle -Gambara?"</p> - -<p>"No—which house?"</p> - -<p>"The house of the Countess of Glanegg."</p> - -<p>"No, I don't know it."</p> - -<p>"Do you not know the story of the beautiful Austrian?"</p> - -<p>"No, Fosca. Tell it to me."</p> - -<p>"Will you go with me as far as the Calle Gambara; -it is only a short distance?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I will go."</p> - -<p>They walked along, side by side, toward the closed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>She trembled, stopped; her eyelids drooped, her cheeks -turned pale.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Tell me, Stelio, what can I do for thee?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What dost thou wish? Tell me—what can I do for -thee?"</p> - -<p>"Love me—only love me!"</p> - -<p>"Poor friend, my love is sad."</p> - -<p>"It is perfect; it crowns my life."</p> - -<p>"But you are young."</p> - -<p>"I love you!"</p> - -<p>"You should possess one with strength equal to your -own."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Do not say that!"</p> - -<p>"Each day you confirm me in the assurance that all -promises made to me will be kept."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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...."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Where are we going?" Stelio asked, surprised at her -sudden movement, and at the unforeseen interruption, -that came like a burst of magic music.</p> - -<p>She stopped, smiling her faint smile that showed her -heart was aching. ("IN TIME!")</p> - -<p>"I wished to escape," she replied, "but I cannot."</p> - -<p>She looked like a pale flame, as she stood there.</p> - -<p>"I had forgotten, Stelio, that I was to take you to the -closed house."</p> - -<p>Like one lost in a desert, she stood there, helpless, -under the gray sky.</p> - -<p>"It seemed to me that we were to go somewhere else. -But we are already here. 'In time'!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Come away—let us go," he said, trying to lead her -with him. "Let us go somewhere else."</p> - -<p>"I cannot."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Foscarina! Foscarina!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Come! Let us go!"</p> - -<p>She smiled pensively.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Guess the Countess's name, Stelio. It is beautiful -and rare—as beautiful as if you had originated it."</p> - -<p>"I do not know."</p> - -<p>"Radiana! The prisoner is called Radiana."</p> - -<p>"But whose prisoner is she?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Are you trying to describe an allegory?"</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span> -so he ran away. They heard the flight of his little bare -feet on the wet stones and rotting leaves.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"No, never."</p> - -<p>"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. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>Every pause in that veiled voice questioning the mystery -was filled with deepest melancholy.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>Both looked closely at the nailed blinds.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps she is sitting behind them, looking at us," -he added, in a half whisper.</p> - -<p>This thought made them both shudder.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p> - -</div> - - -<h2>CHAPTER II<br /> -AFTER THE STORM</h2> - - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>"Die?" said her beloved, in a dreamy voice, without -moving or opening his eyes, as if he were wrapped in -a melancholy trance.</p> - -<p>"Yes—die—before you hate me!"</p> - -<p>Stelio opened his eyes quickly, raised himself erect and -held up one hand, as if to prevent her from saying more.</p> - -<p>"Ah, why do you torment yourself in this way?" he -said.</p> - -<p>He saw that she was ivory pale; her hair fell in wandering -wavy locks over her cheeks; she seemed consumed -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -by some corrosive poison; her face was full of -terror and misery.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing with me? What are we both -doing?" she exclaimed in anguish.</p> - -<p>"I love you!"</p> - -<p>"Not as I wish, not as I have dreamed; I do not wish -to be loved thus."</p> - -<p>"But you set my heart on fire, and then madness -seizes me."</p> - -<p>"It is like the madness of hatred."</p> - -<p>"No, no; do not say that!"</p> - -<p>"Your fierceness makes me feel that you hate me—that -you even wish to kill me."</p> - -<p>"But you make me blind, I tell you, and then I know -not what I say or do."</p> - -<p>"What is it that maddens you so? What do you see -in me?"</p> - -<p>"Ah, I know not—I cannot tell!"</p> - -<p>"But I know very well what it is!"</p> - -<p>"Why do you torment yourself, I say? I love you! -This is the love...."</p> - -<p>"That condemns me! I must die of it! Call me once -more by the name you gave me long ago."</p> - -<p>"You are mine! You belong to me, and I will not lose -you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, you will lose me."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>His irritation and misunderstanding only aggravated -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>Presently she raised her head and looked at him with -painful effort.</p> - -<p>"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...."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"You wound my heart sometimes, Stelio," she said -softly, her lips still caressing the violets. "Sometimes -you are cruel to it."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -the evil impulse that tempts us. Do you know the sort -of kindness I mean?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"In you, yes, Foscarina, I know it."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she asked in a clear voice:</p> - -<p>"Do you think that I believe myself sure of you?"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Yes, but what does that prove?" was her reply. -"Youth sleeps quietly on any pillow. You are young"—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He saw the well known sadness in the lines of that -loved face, and his voice trembled with tenderness.</p> - -<p>"Kindness!" said she, caressing with light touch the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>He interrupted her by springing to his feet and taking -the loved face between his hands.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>Stelio felt that he held her soul in his hands—a living -spring, infinitely beautiful and precious.</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>Still holding her face between his palms, he leaned over -and kissed her passionately on her lips.</p> - -<p>This time she shivered; the glacial flood she felt at -times seemed passing over her.</p> - -<p>"No! no!" she pleaded, turning away from the young -man. Dreamily she bent to gather up the scattered -violets.</p> - -<p>"The compact!" she said, after an interval of silence. -"Why have we violated it?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>She shrank back among the cushions, and looked fixedly -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -at the fire, to avoid meeting the eyes of her beloved.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>Stelio started, but dared not contradict her.</p> - -<p>"Yes, with horror," she repeated, in a clearer tone, -implacable against herself, having already triumphed -over her fear and regained her courage.</p> - -<p>Both were now face to face with the truth.</p> - -<p>She continued without faltering.</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>Her face was covered with blushes; her voice had -grown impetuous, and her eyes were brilliant.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -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!"—</p> - -<p>She paused an instant, overcome by that memory as -by a new shame.</p> - -<p>"And then to have reached that dawn—to have seen -you leaving my house in that way on that horrible morning—Do -you remember?"</p> - -<p>"I was happy—happy!" cried the young man, in a -stifled voice, pale and agitated.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"You deceive yourself!"</p> - -<p>"Confess! Come, speak the truth. Only through truth -can we now hope to save ourselves."</p> - -<p>"I was happy, I tell you; my whole heart expanded -with joy; I dreamed, I hoped, I felt as if I were born -anew."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"Foscarina! Foscarina!"</p> - -<p>Stelio leaned over her and closed her lips with a trembling -hand.</p> - -<p>"No, no, do not say that! You are mad! Hush! hush!"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"And so I must go," she sighed at last. "Is there no -help for it? Is there no pardon?"</p> - -<p>"I love you!" her lover repeated.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"I love you!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What are you looking at so intently?" she said at -last, feeling his fixed gaze. "Have you found a gray -hair?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p> - -<p>He knelt before his love again, flexible and tender.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>He slipped his fingers through the thick tresses. She -closed her eyes, feeling again the spell of his terrible -power over her.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>"Do not be sad! do not be sad!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -creature. The strength of her hands was incredible, -like the energy of evil intent in her whole being.</p> - -<p>"Who awaits me? What did you say? What is the -matter with you? Come back to your senses, Foscarina!"</p> - -<p>He stammered his appeal, he trembled, fancying he saw -madness in that distorted face. But she was like one -distraught and heard him not.</p> - -<p>"Foscarina!" He called her with all his soul, white -with terror, as if to stop with his cry her escaping reason.</p> - -<p>She gave a great start, opened her hands, and gazed -around as if just roused from a long sleep, of which she -remembered nothing.</p> - -<p>"Come, sit down."</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>"Who has beaten me?"</p> - -<p>She felt of her bruised arms, and touched her face -lightly, trembling as if she were cold.</p> - -<p>"Come; lie down! Put your head here."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Are you cold?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Shall I cover you with something?" Stelio inquired.</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>He sought for some wrap, and found on a table a piece -of antique velvet, which he spread over her. She smiled -faintly.</p> - -<p>"Are you comfortable like that?"</p> - -<p>She made an affirmative sign by simply closing her -eyelids.</p> - -<p>Stelio gathered up the violets, now warm and languid, -and laid them on the pillow near her head.</p> - -<p>"So?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you feel the heat? Are you getting warm?" he -asked softly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER III<br /> -A FALLEN GIANT</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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! <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Perge -andacter!</i> So here we are, on this ignoble gray carcass -that smokes and seethes like a kettle. Look at Venice, -dancing down there!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -circled in the wind, their strange, wild laughter echoing -above the crested waves.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -gaze of the other Woman, and threw around the -old man a vague, funereal shadow.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Ah, glorious sea, thou shalt hear me still! Never -shall I find on the earth the health I seek. To thee, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -therefore, will I remain faithful, O waves of the boundless -sea!" The impetuous harmonies of <cite>The Flying Dutchman</cite> -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: <i lang="de" xml:lang="de">"Iohohé! Iohohé!</i> 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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"True!" said Glauro.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What matters it?" said Glauro. "He possesses the -divine faculty of fervor and a taste for all-powerful -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -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'."</p> - -<p>"That may be," said Effrena.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -itself forever on the minds of the two young -men.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>The motionless face gave a slight sign of returning -life.</p> - -<p>"Yes, let us offer our services," said Glauro, whose -face was pale.</p> - -<p>They looked at the woman with the snow-white cheeks; -then they advanced and offered their arms.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>In their arms they bore the Hero's body—the unconscious -form of him who had inundated the world with the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER IV<br /> -THE MASTER'S VISION</h2> - - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Ah, if only I am not overwhelmed by my own abundance, -and if I can master the anxiety that suffocates -me, Daniele!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"It seems as if the Adriatic had overthrown the Murazzi, -in this tempest," said Daniele, pausing to look at -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -the waves that had mounted even to the Piazza. "We -must return."</p> - -<p>"No, let us cross the ferry. Here is a boat. Look at -the reflection of San Marco on the water!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you not hear the theme of a melody in that chorus -of moans? Listen!"</p> - -<p>They had debarked from the little boat, and had resumed -their walk through the narrow streets.</p> - -<p>"Listen!" Stelio repeated. "I can detect a melodic -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -theme, which swells and decreases without power to -develop itself. Do you hear it?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Have you ever thought what might be the music of -that species of pastoral ode sung by the Chorus in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -<cite>Œdipus Tyrannus</cite>, 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."</p> - -<p>"Do you purpose, then, to reëstablish the ancient -Chorus on the stage?"</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"We cannot remain here," said Glauro, leaning against -a door; "the wind will blow us down."</p> - -<p>"Go on; I will overtake you. Only a moment," cried -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -the master, covering his eyes with his hand, and concentrating -his soul upon sound alone.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Ah! I have seized you!" Stelio cried suddenly, with -triumphant joy.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Daniele! I have found it!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"Come, come!" said Stelio, taking him by the arm and -urging him on with boyish gayety. "I must run!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p> - -<p>He drew him through the narrow streets leading to -San Giovanni Elemosinario.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>This metaphysical law confirmed Stelio in his belief -of the justness of his own intuition.</p> - -<p>"Imagine," said he, "an interval between two scenic -symphonies wherein all the <em>motifs</em> 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 <cite>Leonora</cite>, or the prelude to <cite>Coriolanus</cite>. That musical -silence, pulsating with rhythm, is like the mysterious -living atmosphere where alone can appear words of pure -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Mahomet</cite>, 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?"</p> - -<p>They were now entering the Campo di San Cassiano -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Orestes</cite>. -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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Orestes</cite>, -pierced perpetually with the darts and flames of their -destiny. Hereafter, all the ideal life with which you -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span> -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"—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, I see! I see!"</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>Again he was distressed at his inability to embrace -all and express all.</p> - -<p>"Have you ever seen, at certain times, the whole universe -standing before you, as distinct as a human head? -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -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 <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">foyer</i> of -the new theater as an admonition. But who will give -to a poet the sword of Hermes and the mirror of Athena?</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -for he too was able to see through the eyes of the other.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p id="id195">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?</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"I have seen! I have seen!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Not with impunity," he continued, "does a man open -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span> -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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"And now good-by, Daniele," said the master, reminded -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span> -of his need to hasten, as if some one waited for -him or called him.</p> - -<p>The eyes of the Tragic Muse remained immovable in -the depths of his dream, sightless, petrified in the divine -blindness of statues.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?"</p> - -<p>"To the Palazzo Capello."</p> - -<p>"Does La Foscarina know the thread of your work?"</p> - -<p>"Vaguely."</p> - -<p>"And what figure shall you give to her?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p> - -<p>They stopped on the Ponte Savio. Stelio was silent, -under a flood of love and melancholy, which had suddenly -come upon him.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -wander in fancy through forests when you examine the -marble he pillaged. Good-by, Daniele."</p> - -<p>"I shall stop at the Palazzo Vendramin for news," -said the faithful brother.</p> - -<p>These words recalled afresh the thought of the great -ailing heart, the weight of the hero in their arms, the -terrible removal.</p> - -<p>"He has conquered—he can die," said Stelio.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER V<br /> -SOFIA</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>The woman's heart beat fast in the ignorance of fear.</p> - -<p>"Why? What have you done?"</p> - -<p>"I suffer."</p> - -<p>"From what?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Anxiety, anxiety—from that trouble of mine which -you know well."</p> - -<p>She clasped him in her arms. He felt that she was -trembling in doubt.</p> - -<p>"Are you mine—are you still mine?" she asked, in a -stifled voice, her lips pressed to his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"Yes—always yours."</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>She clasped him in her arms with the fondness of a -lover, a sister, a mother—with all human love.</p> - -<p>"What can I do for you? Tell me!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What can I give you?"</p> - -<p>He smiled wearily, overcome by sudden languor.</p> - -<p>"What do you wish? Ah, I know!"</p> - -<p>He smiled again, allowing himself to be caressed by -that voice, by those adoring hands.</p> - -<p>"You wish for everything, do you not? You desire -everything?"</p> - -<p>Still he smiled sadly, like an ailing child listening to -descriptions of delightful games.</p> - -<p>"Ah, if I only could! But no one in the world can -give you anything of any value, dearest friend. Your -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span> -poetry and your music—they alone can demand everything. -I remember that ode of yours beginning 'I was -Pan.'"</p> - -<p>He leaned against the faithful heart his head now -filled with the light of beautiful thoughts.</p> - -<p>"'I was Pan.'"</p> - -<p>Through his spirit passed the splendor of that lyrical -moment, the delirium of that ode.</p> - -<p>"Have you seen your sea to-day? Did you see the -storm?"</p> - -<p>He shook his head, without speaking.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>He embraced her silently. That voice penetrated his -very soul, and refreshed it.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span> -her soul. That is what you said—'the roots of her -soul.'"</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"And another time?" he asked softly, for the pause -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span> -was long, and he feared that she would not continue. -She smiled, then looked sad.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"And another time?" he said aloud.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -things, become profane, no longer prayed to or adored. -Is Sofia devout? Has she the habit of prayer?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Sometimes your sister used to enter your room while -you were at work, and lay a blade of grass on the page -newly begun."</p> - -<p>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?—</p> - -<p>Those words quivered with life, but they were not -spoken; yet the voice trembled at their mute presence.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>He himself had told her once, almost in the same -words, but now these memories came back like unexpected -visions.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>Stelio's fevered mind was calmed. A slow peace, like -slumber, descended upon him.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER VI<br /> -A BROTHER TO ORPHEUS</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Helion! Sirius! Altair! Donovan! Ali-Nour! Nerissa! -Piuchebella!"</p> - -<p>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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">rovana</i>, used in -ancient times in Venice. The sunlight bathed the -women and the roses in the same soft warmth.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>A slight blush rose to La Foscarina's cheeks; she -looked at the fawn-colored greyhound.</p> - -<p>"He is the strongest and the most beautiful," she -replied.</p> - -<p>"I believe that Stelio would like to have him," added -the old lady, with a sweet, indulgent smile.</p> - -<p>"What is there that he would not like to have?"</p> - -<p>Lady Myrta noted the tinge of melancholy in the tone -of the woman in love. She remained silent.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Does your lover grieve you?" the elder woman would -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span> -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!—</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Ah, here is Stelio!" said Lady Myrta at that instant, -seeing the young man advancing among the laurels.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"From the country of Giorgione!"</p> - -<p>"No, from the cloister of Santa Apollonia. Do you -know that place?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Is that one of your inventions to-day?"</p> - -<p>"Invention? It is a cloister of stone, a real cloister, -with a well and with little columns."</p> - -<p>"It may be so, but everything that you have once -looked at, Stelio, becomes your invention."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Ali-Nour! Crissa! Nerissa! Clarissa! Altair! Helion! -Hardicanute! Veronese! Hierro!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span> -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 <em>galgo</em> 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 <em>sloughi</em>, 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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>His peculiar accent animated the sensitive creatures, -which listened with suppressed and intermittent growls.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Oh, indeed!" exclaimed Lady Myrta, concerned. "Is -it possible, Stelio? And Magog—how is he?"</p> - -<p>"Magog is safe and well."</p> - -<p>These were the names of a pair of greyhounds that -Lady Myrta had given to the young man.</p> - -<p>"How did it happen?"</p> - -<p>"Alas, poor Gog! He had already killed thirty-seven -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>"Never."</p> - -<p>"Then you never have seen one of the rarest spectacles -of daring, vehemence, and grace in the world. Look!"</p> - -<p>He drew Donovan toward him, knelt beside him, and -began feeling the animal with his expert hands.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>With sure and easy touch, he opened the mouth of -the dog, which offered no resistance.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Yes, perfect! Once I saw an Arab of the tribe of -Arbâa measuring his <em>sloughi</em> in that way. Ali-Nour, did -you tremble when you discovered the herd of gazelles? -Imagine, Foscarina—the <em>sloughi</em> 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 -<em>sloughi</em> 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."</p> - -<p>Blithe and graceful, he had let Donovan go, and had -taken between his hands the serpentine head of the slayer -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <em>sloughi</em>, 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -the miracle which in the mystic past swelled with divine -milk the breasts of the Mænads at the approach of the -hungry young panthers.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"There, Donovan, there!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"There, Donovan!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>From the contagion of her lover's gayety, La Foscarina -laughed too. Her fawn-tinted gown and the tan coats -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Would you like to own Donovan?" said Lady Myrta, -with a touch of graceful, malicious significance. "I -know your arts!"</p> - -<p>Stelio ceased laughing, and blushed like a boy.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>—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!</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER VII<br /> -ONLY ONE CONDITION</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What is the matter with you to-day, Fosca? What -has happened to you? Why are you so distant to me? -Speak! Tell me!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Leave me here alone, I entreat you—I beg of you! -I must be alone! I implore you!"</p> - -<p>She turned as if to flee, but he detained her.</p> - -<p>"But tell me! Speak at least one word that I may -understand."</p> - -<p>Still she sought to escape, and her movement expressed -unspeakable anguish.</p> - -<p>"I implore you! If you pity me, the only thing you -can do for me now is to let me go."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But one word—at least one word, so that I shall -understand."</p> - -<p>A flash of fury passed over the agitated face.</p> - -<p>"No! I wish to be alone!"</p> - -<p>Her voice was as hard as her glance. She turned, -taking a step or two like a person overcome by dizziness -seeking some support.</p> - -<p>"Foscarina!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>—Where shall I go? Where shall I go?—Through all -her agitation and despair, she had still a sense of the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -sweetness of things, the warmth of the gilded marbles, -the perfume of the quiet air, the languor of human -leisure.</p> - -<p>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!—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>—Love, love each other! I will go away, I shall disappear! -Good-by!—</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes at the thought of death, and in -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -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.—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>—Never more, then? Never more!—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>This was her refuge, the secret place for her solitude, -defended by the fidelity of her melancholy as by silent -guardians.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>Her fingers trembled, and she fancied she could detect -Donatella's favorite perfume, as if the young girl -were sitting beside her.</p> - -<p>—Is she beautiful? Really beautiful? How does she -look?—</p> - -<p>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.—</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span> -or by the raucous call of the sea-gulls. At first the -silence seemed terrible, then it grew sweet.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>—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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -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.—</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"True, true!" she murmured, as if answering a distinct -voice, in formal judgment, pronounced in the silence -by invisible Fate.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"True, true!" she repeated aloud, raising her head.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -a lively and vulgar rhythm, which sounded sadder in -that light and silence than the saddest things of life.</p> - -<p>"Who is singing?"</p> - -<p>With obscure emotion she arose, approached the shore, -and listened.</p> - -<p>"The madwomen of San Clemente!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER VIII<br /> -ILLUSIONS</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>She did not reply, but gazed silently at the lips that -said these graceful things; and, without hope, she simply -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.—</p> - -<p>"Here we are at San Giorgio in Alga. We shall reach -Fusina in a few minutes."</p> - -<p>The little walled islet passed before them, with its -marble Madonna, perpetually admiring her reflection in -the water, like a nymph.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>The boat reached the shore of Fusina. They roused -themselves, and gazed at each other with dazzled eyes.</p> - -<p>—Does he love me, then?—</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -in him an unlimited ardor of life, a sense of -<em>euphoria</em>, 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!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span> -lamp was flickering, the body was fading, and that all -things were perishing, dying.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He looked at her keenly.</p> - -<p>"You suffer," he said, with a depth of pity in his tone -that made the woman turn pale. "Do you too feel this -terror?"</p> - -<p>She looked around with the anxiety of one pursued, -and fancied she saw a thousand ominous phantoms rising -from the earth.</p> - -<p>"Those statues!" said Stelio, in a tone that changed -them in her eyes into witnesses of her own wasting -life.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you wish to return? The boat is still there."</p> - -<p>She seemed not to hear.</p> - -<p>"Speak, Foscarina!"</p> - -<p>"Let us go—let us go on," she replied. "Wherever -we may go our fate will not change."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Dear, dear soul!" said Stelio, leaning toward her and -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.—</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER IX<br /> -THE LABYRINTH</h2> - - -<p>But that day they were to pass through other -shadows, to know other fears.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Shall we go farther?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, let us go on."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Here is Strà."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>As La Foscarina entered one room, she said:</p> - -<p>"<em>In time!</em> Here, too!"</p> - -<p>There, on a bracket, stood a transformation into -marble of <cite>La Vecchia</cite> 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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Maria Luisa di Parma, in eighteen hundred and seventeen," -continued the monotonous voice.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>But the guardian knew only that name and the date.</p> - -<p>"Why does she attract you?" La Foscarina asked. "I -know nothing of her history."</p> - -<p>"Her end, the last years of her life of exile, after so -much struggle and passion, are extraordinarily full of -poetry."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"This is the Emperor's room," said the guardian solemnly, -flinging open a door.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">condottiere</i> 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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He lifted the edge of the yellow counterpane, and let -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -it fall as suddenly as if the pillow under it had been full -of vermin.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>The air, in truth, was like that of a vault.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>"Let us go!" begged La Foscarina again, seeing him -still delay.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Are we still living?" he asked, when they found themselves -in the air without, in the park, far from the unwholesome -odor.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What heat! Do you feel it? How sweet the grass -is!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Life might still be sweet!" she sighed, in a voice -wherein was the miracle of hope born anew.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you love me? Tell me?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Ah, life with thee is sweet, sweet—yesterday as well -as to-morrow!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>—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!—</p> - -<p>During this moment of respite, she had not succeeded -either in conquering her sadness or reviving her hope; -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -but her anguish was softened, and she had lost all bitterness -and rancor.</p> - -<p>"Do you wish to go away?"</p> - -<p>—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.—</p> - -<p>Suddenly her eyes looked like two sparkling springs.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Her eyes had two crystal masks before them; they -glittered in the sunshine, and seemed almost fixed in -her fevered face.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Yes, let us talk, if you wish."</p> - -<p>But she was obliged to lift her face a little to keep -her tears from falling.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Foscarina!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -finger-tips with them, and touched her temples without -drying them. And, while she still kept her tears upon -herself, she tried to smile.</p> - -<p>"Forgive me, Stelio. I am so weak!"</p> - -<p>"Ah, dear fingers—beautiful as Sofia's! Let me kiss -them as they are, still wet."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"They are salt!"</p> - -<p>"Take care, Stelio! Some one may see us."</p> - -<p>"No one is here."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps down there, in the hothouses."</p> - -<p>"There is not a sound. Hark!"</p> - -<p>"What a strange silence! It is ecstasy."</p> - -<p>"We might hear the falling of a leaf."</p> - -<p>"And the keeper?"</p> - -<p>"He has gone to meet some other visitor."</p> - -<p>"Does anyone ever come here?"</p> - -<p>"The other day Richard Wagner came here with -Daniela von Bülow."</p> - -<p>"Ah, yes, the niece of the Countess Agoult, of 'Daniel -Stern.'"</p> - -<p>"And, among all those phantoms, with which did that -great stricken heart converse?"</p> - -<p>"Who can tell?"</p> - -<p>"Only with himself, perhaps."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"You know all the secrets of Venice!"</p> - -<p>"Not all yet."</p> - -<p>"How warm it is here! See how tall those cedars are. -There is a swallow's nest hanging on that limb."</p> - -<p>"The swallows went away very late this year."</p> - -<p>"Will you really take me to the Euganean hills in the -spring?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, Foscarina, I should like to do so."</p> - -<p>"Spring is so far-away!"</p> - -<p>"Life can still be sweet."</p> - -<p>"We are living in a dream."</p> - -<p>"Look at Orpheus with his lyre, all dressed in lichens."</p> - -<p>"Ah, what a land of dreams! No one comes here any -more. Grass, grass everywhere! There is not a single -human footstep."</p> - -<p>"Deucalion with his stones, Ganymede with his eagle, -Diana with her stag—all the gods of mythology."</p> - -<p>"How many statues! But these, at least, are not in -exile. The ancient hornbeams still protect them."</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>"They fairly burn. One would think each had a live -coal at its heart. Yes, they seem actually to burn."</p> - -<p>"The sun is growing red. This is the hour for the -Chioggia sails on the lagoon."</p> - -<p>"Gather a rose for me."</p> - -<p>"Here is one."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but its leaves are falling."</p> - -<p>"Well, here is another."</p> - -<p>"These leaves are falling too."</p> - -<p>"They are all at the point of death. Perhaps this one -is not."</p> - -<p>"Do not break it off."</p> - -<p>"Look! These seem to be redder still. Bonifazio's -velvet—do you remember it? It has the same strength."</p> - -<p>"'The inmost flower of the flame.'"</p> - -<p>"What a memory!"</p> - -<p>"Listen! They are closing the doors of the conservatories."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span></p> - -<p>"It is time to go," said Stelio, abruptly yet gently.</p> - -<p>"The air is beginning to be cooler."</p> - -<p>"Do you feel cold?"</p> - -<p>"No, not yet."</p> - -<p>"Did you leave your cloak in the carriage?"</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"We will wait at Dolo for the train, and return to -Venice by the railway."</p> - -<p>"Yes."</p> - -<p>"We still have time to spare."</p> - -<p>"What is this? Look!"</p> - -<p>"I don't know."</p> - -<p>"What a bitter odor! It is a sort of shrubbery of -box and hornbeams."</p> - -<p>"Ah, it is the labyrinth!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Have you ever been in a labyrinth?" Stelio inquired.</p> - -<p>"No, never," she replied.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"It is open," said Stelio, feeling the gate yield as he -leaned on it. "Do you see?"</p> - -<p>He pushed back the rusty iron gate, took a step forward, -and crossed the threshold.</p> - -<p>"Where are you going?" asked his companion, with -instinctive fear, putting out a hand to detain him.</p> - -<p>"Do you not wish to go in?"</p> - -<p>She was perplexed. But the labyrinth attracted them -with its mystery, illumined by deep flames.</p> - -<p>"Suppose we should lose ourselves?"</p> - -<p>"You can see for yourself that it is very small. We -can easily find the gate again."</p> - -<p>"And suppose we don't find it?"</p> - -<p>He laughed at this childish fear.</p> - -<p>"We might remain in there through all eternity!" he -said.</p> - -<p>"No, no! No one is anywhere near. Let us go away."</p> - -<p>She tried to draw him back, but he defended himself, -stepping backward toward the path. Suddenly he disappeared, -laughing.</p> - -<p>"Stelio! Stelio!"</p> - -<p>She could see him no longer, but she heard his ringing -laughter in the midst of the wild thicket.</p> - -<p>"Come back! come back!"</p> - -<p>"No, no! Come in and find me."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Stelio, come back! You will be lost," she called.</p> - -<p>"I shall find Ariadne."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Stelio!"</p> - -<p>In her frantic hallucination, she cried out as if she had -seen him embraced by the other woman, torn from her -arms forever.</p> - -<p>"Stelio!"</p> - -<p>"Come and find me!" he answered laughing, still invisible.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span> -followed another, and all looked alike, and the circle -seemed to have no end.</p> - -<p>"Look for me!" cried the voice from a distance, -through the living hedges.</p> - -<p>"Where are you? Where are you? Can you see me?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I am losing myself! Come and meet me!"</p> - -<p>Again that boyish laugh came from the maze.</p> - -<p>"Ariadne, Ariadne! the thread!"</p> - -<p>Now the words came from the opposite side, striking -her heart as if with a blow.</p> - -<p>"Ariadne!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Stelio, where are you?"</p> - -<p>No reply. She listened and waited in vain. The seconds -seemed like hours.</p> - -<p>"Where are you? I am afraid!"</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I can see you!" suddenly said a laughing voice, in -the deep shadows, very near her.</p> - -<p>"Where are you?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Where are you? Oh, do not play any more! Do not -laugh in that way! Enough!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Enough, Stelio! I cannot run any more. I shall -fall."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"Leave me! Leave me! It is not I whom you seek!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Take me away from this place. I cannot bear any -more. My strength is gone. I suffer."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Wait a little! I will try to find the way out. I will -call some one."</p> - -<p>"Are you going away?"</p> - -<p>"Don't be afraid! There is no danger."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span> -was new to him, like wild agitations born of extravagant -dreams.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Through an opening, he took her hands; he started -on touching them; they were icy cold.</p> - -<p>"Foscarina, what is the matter? Are you really ill? -Wait! I will try to break through."</p> - -<p>He attempted to break down the hedge, and snapped -off a few twigs, but its thickness resisted him, and he -scratched his hands uselessly.</p> - -<p>"No, it is impossible."</p> - -<p>"Cry out! Call some one."</p> - -<p>He cried aloud in the silence.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Let me go, Foscarina. I shall find the tower easily, -and will call from there. Some one will be sure to hear -me."</p> - -<p>"No! No!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Stelio! Stelio!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p> -</div> - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 414px;" id="ilop259"> -<img src="images/ilo4.jpg" width="414" height="700" alt="" /> -<p class="center caption"><em><small>HE WATCHED THE WOMAN TURNING AND RUNNING LIKE -A MAD CREATURE ALONG THE DARK, DELUSIVE PATHS</small></em></p> - -<p class="center caption"><em>From an Original Drawing by Arthur H. Ewer</em></p> -</div> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<p>"Stelio!"</p> -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I am here! I am here!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Stop! Stop! Do not run like that! Some one has -heard me. A man is coming. I can see him coming. -Wait! Stop!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Stop!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Here he is!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"Shall I find her in a swoon upon the ground," he -thought.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span> -were inert and lifeless. And as they drove along, -the statues passed and passed beside them.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>And here and there, along the banks of the stream, -like the ghosts of a people disappeared, the statues -passed and passed!</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER X<br /> -THE POWER OF THE FLAME</h2> - - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">lauri sub umbra</i>. 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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span> -I live I shall renounce nothing that may appeal to my -wish and fancy." The struggle was bitter and unequal.</p> - -<p>As she remained silent, unconsciously hastening her -steps, he prepared himself to face the other truth.</p> - -<p>"I understand, of course, that that was not what you -wished to know."</p> - -<p>"You are right: it was not that. Well?"</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>At this moment a workman met them, and offered to -show them over the neighboring glass factory.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>—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.</p> - -<p>—O virtue of Fire!—thought the Inspirer, turned from -his anxiety by the miraculous beauty of the element that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span> -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.—</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>—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.—</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span> -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!—</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>Revealing ingenuous emotion, the master workman -took a step toward her and bowed respectfully.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"At your service, master."</p> - -<p>"A prince, then."</p> - -<p>"Yes, a harlequin playing the prince."</p> - -<p>"You know all the secrets of the art, eh?"</p> - -<p>The Muranese made a mysterious gesture which -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span> -seemed to call up all the deep ancestral knowledge of -which he affirmed himself the last heir.</p> - -<p>"Then, mistress, will you deign to accept it?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>La Foscarina chose to take it with her, without having -it packed, as one carries a flower.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER XI<br /> -REMINISCENCE</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"How sweet and terrible was the fate of Gaspara -Stampa," said Stelio. "Do you know her <em>Sonnets</em>? 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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Vivere ardendo e non sentire il male!</i>"</p> -</div> - -<p>"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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Signore, io so che in me non son più viva,<br /> -E veggo omai ch'ancor in voi son morta?</i>"</p> -</div> - -<p>"I don't remember, Fosca."</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>"It was an evening in September."</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"My name was still Perdita. Stelio, do you recall -another sonnet of Gaspara's beginning:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Io vorrei pur che Amor dicesse come<br /> -Debbo seguirlo....</i></p> -</div> - -<p>And the madrigal beginning:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Se tu credi piacere al mio signore?</i>"</p> -</div> - -<p>"I did not know you were so familiar with the unhappy -Anasilla, my dear."</p> - -<p>"Ah, I will tell you. I was hardly fourteen years -old when I played in an old romantic tragedy called -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span> -<cite>Gaspara Stampa</cite>. 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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"I know what hunger is, Stelio, and what the approach -of night seems like when a place of rest is uncertain," -she said softly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"And I have known other things."</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span> -her poverty and hunger, created in her heart a feeling -of real superiority over him she believed invincible.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">polenta</i> were -toasting on the gridiron. Twenty years ago everything -was exactly the same—the same fire, the same -dishes, the same <i lang="it" xml:lang="it">polenta</i>. 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span> -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!</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span> -It was the Adige, flowing down from Verona, from the -city of Juliet."</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>"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!'"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span></p> - -<p>Her voice, repeating the immortal words, penetrated -the heart of her lover like a heart-rending melody. She -paused a moment, then repeated:</p> - -<p>"Too late!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>With her smile of inimitable sadness, she said:</p> - -<p>"I <em>was</em> 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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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 <em>abandon</em>. 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>Again she paused, and closed her eyes as if she were -dizzy, but her sorrowful lips still smiled at her friend.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Again her first sudden question returned to her mind: -"Do you think often of Donatella?"</p> - -<p>A short path led to the Fondamenta degli Angeli, -whence the lagoon could be seen, smooth and luminous.</p> - -<p>"How beautiful that light is!" she said. "It is like -that night when my name was still Perdita, Stelio."</p> - -<p>She now touched a note that she had touched in an -interrupted prelude.</p> - -<p>"The last night of September," she added. "Do you -remember?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>A moment's pause. Her pallor was animated by a -wonderful vitality.</p> - -<p>"Then, in that shadow, you first spoke Donatella's -name."</p> - -<p>She made a new effort, as a swimmer, submerged by a -wave, rises again and shakes his head free of the foam.</p> - -<p>"She began then to be yours!"</p> - -<p>She felt as if she were growing rigid from head to -foot. Her eyes stared fixedly at the glittering water.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span></p> - -<p>They sat down on a low wall, facing the water.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>She listened motionless, with fixed eyes.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span> -who had sung, I believed that a secret thought guided -you from the moment that you did not come alone to -meet me."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I believed that you yourself had chosen her. Your -look was that of one who knows and foresees. I was -struck by it."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span> -dead Summer was lying in the depths of the lagoon. -Words were words, that was all.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>—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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>She saw that blood was dripping from her fingers; -she wrapped them in her handkerchief. She looked at -the sparkling fragments on the grass.</p> - -<p>"The cup is broken! You had praised it too highly. -Shall we raise a mausoleum for it here?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Let us imitate Nero, since we have already imitated -Xerxes!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span> -it suit you to have me try it? Am I not as docile as -you could wish?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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"—</p> - -<p>She interrupted him, exasperated by his gentleness.</p> - -<p>"Hurt me? And what does that matter? Have no -pity, no pity! Do not weep over the beautiful eyes of -the wounded hare!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What ails you? What do you see?" Stelio inquired -anxiously.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Shall we stop here a little while? Would you like -some water?"</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She took her hands from her face, leaned toward her -friend's shoulder, and found again her voice in saying:</p> - -<p>"Forgive me!"</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER XII<br /> -CASSANDRA'S REINCARNATION</h2> - - -<p>She humbled herself with shame. From that day -every action of her silently begged for pardon -and oblivion.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <cite>Il Pensieroso</cite>.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span> -the centuries. I know only the mobile shadow of your -face, Fosca, that equals that shadow in intensity, and -sometimes even surpasses it."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>But she comprehended his great emotion better when -one day, after she had been reading to him, he spoke -of the exile of Dante.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span> -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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span> -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!—</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>He spoke in the sudden fever of invention. The -scene appeared before him, then disappeared, submerged -in a flood of poetry.</p> - -<p>"What shall you do? What shall you say?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The actress felt the coursing of her blood; her voice -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span> -was to resound through the silence of thousands of years, -to revive the ancient suffering of men and heroes.</p> - -<p>"You will take their hands; you will feel their two -lives stretching toward each other."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"And then? And then?"</p> - -<p>The Inspirer rushed impetuously toward the actress, -as if he wished to strike her in order to draw sparks -from her.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Do you remember your answer?"</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He seized both her hands; both were intent on the -flashes generated by their blended forces; the same electric -spark ran through their nerves.</p> - -<p>"You are there, near the spoil of the slave-princess, -and you feel the mask. What shall you say?"</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>"How large her mouth is!"</p> - -<p>"You see her, then?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I too can see her. The mouth is large; the terrible -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span> -effort of prophecy dilated it; she cried aloud, -cursed, and lamented without ceasing. Can you imagine -her mouth in silence?"</p> - -<p>Still in the same attitude, as if in ecstasy, she said -slowly:</p> - -<p>"What profundity in her wonderful silence!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"And her eyes?" he demanded, agitated. "Of what -color were her eyes?"</p> - -<p>She made no reply.</p> - -<p>The marble lines of her face changed slightly, as if -under a wave of suffering. A furrow appeared between -her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Her eyes," continued the revealer, "were as sweet -and sad as two violets."</p> - -<p>She paused again, panting, as one who suffers in a -dream. Her lips were dry, her temples moist.</p> - -<p>"Thus they were before they closed forever!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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? -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>He went to the piano, and struck a few notes with -one hand.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>He laughed a little; but his soul was swaying like the -sea.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span> -garden. His aspiration reached out toward the musical -creature, toward her that must chant his hymns at the -summit of his tragic symphonies.</p> - -<p>In a low, clear voice the woman said:</p> - -<p>"If Donatella were here with us!"</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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."</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>If once the young man's madness and ardor had caused -her to suffer, she now suffered far more in seeing that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>—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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span> -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!—</p> - -<p>And she went on preparing for her journey.</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER XIII<br /> -THE STORY OF THE ARCHORGAN</h2> - - -<p>From time to time a breath of Spring passed -across the February sky.</p> - -<p>"Do you feel the Spring?" said Stelio to his -friend, inhaling deep breaths of the new air.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Yes, Spring has already arrived at the Tre Porti."</p> - -<p>Once more they floated aimlessly along the lagoon, -that water as familiar to their thoughts as is the web -to the weaver.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span></p> - -<p>His air of mystery in describing the action of the -sailors made La Foscarina smile.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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, -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span> -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?</p> - -<p>"Tell it to me," she begged.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He laughed.</p> - -<p>"You are as eager for stories as Sofia."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Well, the master glassblower heard at Zeno's house -praises of the famous organ of the King of Hungary, -and cried: '<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Corpo di Bacco!</i> You shall see what an organ -I will build, with my stick, <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">liquida musa canente!</i> I will -make the god of organs! <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Dant sonitum glaucæ per stagna -loquacia cannæ.</i> The waters of the lagoon shall give it its -tone, and in it the stones, the buoys, and the fish also -shall sing. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Multisonum silentium.</i> 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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>"Tell me the reason why Perdilanza entered the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span> -shadow of affliction," said La Foscarina, as both leaned -over and looked deep into the beautiful clear waters.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span> -Instinctively she said within herself:—I am going far-away; -do not wound me.—</p> - -<p>She wished to hear the remainder of the story, however, -for she longed to understand him fully.</p> - -<p>"Well, what happened then to the man with the scarlet -thread?" she inquired.</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>Adoration -of the Magi</cite> 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. <i lang="la" xml:lang="la">Lenius aspirans aura secunda venit.</i> Do you understand, -old man?'"</p> - -<p>The story-teller burst into a ringing laugh, for he could -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"What a charming fancy!" exclaimed La Foscarina -at this fresh picture. "Where have you seen that?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Stelio paused, because the details of the fantasy -crowded his imagination to such a degree that he knew -not which to choose to relate.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And then?" urged his companion, with interest.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"And what did it eat?"</p> - -<p>"Pollen and salt."</p> - -<p>"Who gave it the food?"</p> - -<p>"No one. It was sufficient to inhale the pollen and -salt scattered on the breeze."</p> - -<p>"And did it never try to escape?"</p> - -<p>"Always. But Seguso took infinite precautions, like -the lover he was."</p> - -<p>"And did Ornitio return his love?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, it began to love him after a time, particularly -because of the scarlet thread that the master wore continually -around his bare neck."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And Perdilanza?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"But how does the story end?"</p> - -<p>"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 -<i lang="it" xml:lang="it">Serenissimo</i>, between the Patriarch and the Archbishop of -Spalatro, goes out of the harbor of San Marco on the -<cite>Bucentaur</cite>. 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 <cite>Bucentaur</cite> -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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span> -<cite>Bucentaur</cite>, 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."</p> - -<p>"But what had happened?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"But Ornitio?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"And Dardi's head?"</p> - -<p>"Where it is, no one knows," concluded the story-teller, -laughing.</p> - -<p>The woman bent her head in thoughtful silence.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps there is a hidden meaning in your tale," -she said, after a pause. "Perhaps I have understood."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"You will have your great destiny. I have no fear -for you."</p> - -<p>He ceased to laugh.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my friend, I must conquer. And you shall help -me. Every morning I too receive my menacing visitor—the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"But it is the measure of your power."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I should say not before but around my spirit. Sometimes -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>He took one of his friend's hands.</p> - -<p>"Do you hear the song?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Where is it?" she said, raising her face to the sky. -"Is it in heaven or on the earth?"</p> - -<p>An infinite melody seemed to be flowing through the -peaceful, silvery atmosphere.</p> - -<p>She felt Stelio's hand quiver.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>The actress felt the mystic chill steal over her once -more, as if the soul of the blind woman reëntered her -own soul.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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. -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span> -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!"</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<p>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!"</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER XIV<br /> -THE WORLD'S BEREAVEMENT</h2> - - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When the gondola touched the shore, she was surprised -at having arrived.</p> - -<p>"Do you wish to land, or do you prefer to go back?" -asked Stelio, coming out of his reverie.</p> - -<p>For a moment she hesitated, because her hand lay in -his, and to move would have meant a lessening of -sweetness.</p> - -<p>"Yes," at last she said, with a smile. "Let us walk -on this grass a little while."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span></p> - -<p>"How many times we have walked together on the -grass, have we not, Stelio?"</p> - -<p>"But now comes the steep rock," he replied.</p> - -<p>"Let the rock come, no matter how steep and rough -it may be," said La Foscarina.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Why do we feel so joyous and free on this lonely -island?"</p> - -<p>"And do you know the reason why?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"But we are in a state of grace," said La Foscarina.</p> - -<p>"The more we hope, the more we live," was the reply.</p> - -<p>"And the more we love, the more we hope."</p> - -<p>The rhythm of the aerial song continued, drawing -from them their ideal essences.</p> - -<p>"How beautiful you are!" said Stelio.</p> - -<p>A sudden flush flowed over that impassioned face. -She was silent, but her breath came quick, and she half-closed -her eyes.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>She drew deep breaths.</p> - -<p>"There is an odor like that of new-mown hay. Don't -you detect it?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span></p> - -<p>"That is the odor that comes from the banks of seaweed -that are beginning to be uncovered."</p> - -<p>"See how beautiful the country is!"</p> - -<p>"That is Le Vignole. Down there is the Lido. And -over there is the Island of Sant' Erasmo."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"I am certain," said La Foscarina, "that almond trees -are in blossom somewhere near. Let us go on the -dyke."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Wait!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Did the wings hurt?" Stelio asked with a laugh.</p> - -<p>And he regarded the ripples, roughened not by the -comb but by the wind.</p> - -<p>"Yes, the least weight annoys me. If I should not -appear eccentric, I should always go without a hat. But -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Oh, here comes a Capuchin!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Shall I go in?" said Stelio, with a look at La Foscarina, -who was smiling.</p> - -<p>"Yes, go."</p> - -<p>"But you will be all alone."</p> - -<p>"Never mind; I will stay here alone."</p> - -<p>"I will bring you a bit from the sacred pine."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<p class="indent poetry"> -O BEATA SOLITUDO!<br /> -O SOLA BEATITUDO!</p> -</div> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span> -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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>Stelio ran toward her, joyous as a child, followed by -the Capuchin, who bore a bouquet of fragrant thyme.</p> - -<p>"Look! Take it. See what a wonderful thing it is!"</p> - -<p>She took the branch, trembling, and her eyes were -bright with tears.</p> - -<p>"And you knew it was blooming!" said Stelio.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>The friar smiled with playful indulgence.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span></p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Here is some savory thyme," he added, offering the -herbs to La Foscarina.</p> - -<p>They could hear a choir of youthful voices singing a -Response.</p> - -<p>"Those are our novices; we have fifteen with us."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Praise to Thee, O Lord, for our Mother Earth!" said -the woman with the flowering branch.</p> - -<p>The Franciscan was susceptible to the beauty of that -feminine voice, and was silent.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"At this hour, on the hills of Umbria," said he that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>The Capuchin made the sign of the cross, and took -his leave.</p> - -<p>"Praise be to Jesus Christ!"</p> - -<p>The visitors watched him as he moved away under -the deep shadows cast by the cypresses.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>Alternately a ray of light and a bar of shadow fell -across his tonsure and his tunic.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>For Sofia's sake she kissed the relic. The lips of the -good sister would touch the spot where she had pressed -her own.</p> - -<p>"Yes—send it."</p> - -<p>Silently they strolled along, their heads bent, in the -footsteps of the man of peace, approaching the landing -between the rows of cypress trees.</p> - -<p>"Do you not sometimes wish to see her again?" asked -La Foscarina, with a touch of shyness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, very much," was Stelio's soft-spoken answer.</p> - -<p>"And your mother?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, my heart yearns for her—for that mother who -looks for me each day."</p> - -<p>"And would you not like to go back there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I shall return, perhaps."</p> - -<p>"When?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"And why do you not go to them, then? What holds -you here?"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>In fancy he could see the kneeling peasant, pounding -cow-dung, clay, and barley-husks in a stone mortar, -according to an ancient recipe.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>"She is with us now."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span></p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Ah, why do you disappoint her?"</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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.</p> - -<p>They reëmbarked, and floated away, silent for a long -time. The aerial melody still fell softly on the archipelago.</p> - -<p>"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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span> -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."</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"Ah, you know it, too!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Yes, you know it well!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Ah, well, then—go back to your sea, to your own -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span> -countryside, to your own home. Light your lamp once -more with the oil of your own olives."</p> - -<p>Stelio's lips were closely compressed, and a deep -frown wrinkled his brow.</p> - -<p>"The dear sister will come to your side again to lay -a blade of grass on the difficult page."</p> - -<p>He bent his brow, which was clouded with a thought.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Slowly, after a long silence, Stelio spoke:</p> - -<p>"And if she should ask me about the fate of the virgin -who reads the lament of Antigone?"</p> - -<p>La Foscarina started.</p> - -<p>"And suppose she asks me about the love of the -brother who searches through the tombs?"</p> - -<p>The woman felt a dread of this phantom.</p> - -<p>"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?"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span> -of mysterious fatality and a certain confused terror -which they could neither conquer nor comprehend.</p> - -<p>"And you?" said Stelio suddenly, after a long silence.</p> - -<p>La Foscarina made no reply.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"Oh, is that you, Daniele?"</p> - -<p>Stelio had recognized at the door of his own house, -on the Fondamenta Samedo, the figure of Daniele -Glauro.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span></p> -</div> - -<h2>CHAPTER XV<br /> -THE LAST FAREWELL</h2> - - -<p>All the world seemed to have diminished in -value.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"What are you doing?" Stelio asked.</p> - -<p>"I am making ready to leave the country."</p> - -<p>She saw a change pass over his face, but she did not -waver.</p> - -<p>"And where are you going?"</p> - -<p>"A long distance from here—I shall cross the Atlantic."</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Have you really decided on this, then, so suddenly?"</p> - -<p>She was simple, sure of herself, and prompt in her -reply.</p> - -<p>"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 <cite>The Victory -of Man</cite> 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!"</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span> -stop her speech. Her pauses grew longer, and her hand -wandered uncertainly among her books and treasures.</p> - -<p>"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!"</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>"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."</p> - -<p>"A great melancholy," she answered.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>They turned toward each other, looking into the -depths of each other's eyes. Then they embraced, as -if to seal a silent compact.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Yes, all the world seemed to have diminished in value.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span> -Apollo, that they might bear at the funeral ceremony -bunches of laurel gathered on the Janiculum.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>The woman with the snow-white face made a slight -movement, yet preserved the same attitude, rigid as a -statue.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The funeral barge awaited them at the entrance. The -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span></p> - -<p>The six young men, rendered equal in their fervor, -took the branches of laurel and strewed them over the -hero's coffin.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="top1"><em>Settignano di Desiderio:<br /> -<span class="indent1">February 13, 1900.</span></em></p> - -<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 60601 ***</div> -</body> -</html> - - - |