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"Torna in fior di giovinezza Isaotta Blanzesmano, Dice: Tutto al mondo e vano: Nell'amore ogni dolcezza." She understood while she sang she had never understood before, nor could conceive why she understood now what love had been to the world, was being, would be so long as there was a world. The sweetness of love did not merely present itself to her imagination, but penetrated her soul.
I shall lose my winter's profit, all of it, all; it will be said there is fever at the Del Mondo, no one will hereafter come to me. There are lodgings plenty, comfortable, oh, so comfortable! I will not have my season ruined by a sickness; no, I will not!" Madame Frulini's voice was again rising to a scream. "Be silent!" said Katy, sternly; "you will frighten the child.
The female sex are the "Schiera gentil the pur adorna il mondo." The gentle bevy that adorns the world.
It was an occasion not to be passed over in silence, so, although I am not good at speech-making, I rose with my glass in my right hand and, laying my left on Giovanni's shoulder said "Quattro sono le cinque parti del mondo e sono le tre seguenti: Sicilia, Inghilterra."
Barlow would substitute il mondo, "the world still offends me," that is, as we suppose, by holding a false opinion of her conduct. Mr. Barlow's suggestions are always to be received with respect, but we cannot but think him wrong in proposing this change. Our four texts read elmodo.
He then recited the programme for the next evening, telling us that all who came would see the baptism of Costantino, Imperatore del Mondo. As soon as he had gone, Pasquino and Onofrio came on and in dialect comically commented upon the programme.
Non la conobbe il mondo mentre l'ebbe Con ibill'io, ch'a pianger qui rimasi. That attachment was not so much a single event, as the first link in a long chain which was coiled around my heart. It were a tedious and bitter history, even were it permitted, to tell you of all the sins and misfortunes to which in afterlife that passion was connected.
Non la conobbe il mondo mentre l'ebbe Con ibill'io, ch'a pianger qui rimasi. That attachment was not so much a single event, as the first link in a long chain which was coiled around my heart. It were a tedious and bitter history, even were it permitted, to tell you of all the sins and misfortunes to which in afterlife that passion was connected.
It was called "Il Mondo," and it had everything in it that heart could wish. Our rooms were miracles of neatness and comfort; they had the freshness, not the rawness, of recent repair, and they opened into the dining-hall, where we were served with indescribable salads and risotti.
"Il mondo va da sé," said a cynical Italian statesman "the world goes by itself." But it does not. If the world were not each year renewed, refreshed, glorified by the magnificent honor and fine expectancies of its young men, it would soon become simply fiendish in its sordidness, selfishness, and baseness.
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