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"¿No puede Vm. dormir?" said Don Luis to me, as he moved away towards the tent. "No, Senor," replied I. "Pienso a la veja Ingleterra; a mi Hermano y a mis amigos." "Por ventura a una amiguita," observed Don Luis. I laughed, and answering, "Es possible, Senor," went on writing. We are now regularly settled on the Bear River, and have, as yet, seen no signs of human life round about us.
"Dios te ayuda niño," said the Governor to me; I feared we should never play chess any more. "Que tonteria, andar a dormir in una barca, quando se lo podia sobre tierra firma!" I told him the story of the poor Russians, and in spite of his pride, the tears started in his eye, for he was kind-hearted.
'Do you remember the songs we used to sing, sitting out there sulla terrazza in the summer-time? She began singing softly in her ghost of a cracked voice a few bars from Stradella's 'Amor amor, non dormir piu. 'And you playing on the violin, it seems such a short time ago, and yet so long, long, long.
One night, at one of these abominable places, I was obliged to lie on a table, as they had not a bed to give me. I was awakened early by a most horrible smell. I thought I should be suffocated. I procured a light and inspected the room. On opening an old press I found several half-putrid cheeses, full of jumping gentlemen, and probably ladies, for there was a large assembly of them. I made my escape from this savoury, not sweet-smelling den, and threw myself into what they called a chair, which, from its form and ease must have been fabricated before the time of Adam. I found I had seated myself before a kind of crib, something like a corn-bin, in which was lying, fast asleep and snoring, the landlady, who was a coarse, dingy beauty of about forty. “Lead me not into temptation and deliver me from evil,” ejaculated I to myself. At this time a huge cock that had been roosting in some part of the kitchen gave a loud crow. She started up and called out “Oh, mon Dieu, je ne puis pas dormir
"She's asleep," she said to Austin. "No, I'm not," murmured the girl, unclosing her eyes; "Captain Selwyn knows; don't you? . . . What is that sparkling a fire-fly?" But it was the first paper lantern glimmering through the Hitherwood trees from the distant lawn. "Oh, dear," sighed Eileen, sitting up with an effort, and looking sleepily at Selwyn. "J'ai sommeil besoin dormir "
When seven o'clock struck, Eustace and I, who had been entertaining the children in their mothers' absence, heard the sound of steps upon the stairs. The guests arrived, bringing their own risotto with them. Welcome was short, if hearty. We sat down in carefully appointed order, and fell into such conversation as the quarter of San Vio and our several interests supplied. From time to time one of the matrons left the table and descended to the kitchen, when a finishing stroke was needed for roast pullet or stewed veal. The excuses they made their host for supposed failure in the dishes, lent a certain grace and comic charm to the commonplace of festivity. The entertainment was theirs as much as mine; and they all seemed to enjoy what took the form by degrees of curiously complicated hospitality. I do not think a well-ordered supper at any trattoria, such as at first suggested itself to my imagination, would have given any of us an equal pleasure or an equal sense of freedom. The three children had become the guests of the whole party. Little Attilio, propped upon an air-cushion, which puzzled him exceedingly, ate through his supper and drank his wine with solid satisfaction, opening the large brown eyes beneath those tufts of clustering fair hair which promise much beauty for him in his manhood. Francesco's boy, who is older and begins to know the world, sat with a semi-suppressed grin upon his face, as though the humour of the situation was not wholly hidden from him. Little Teresa, too, was happy, except when her mother, a severe Pomona, with enormous earrings and splendid fazzoletto of crimson and orange dyes, pounced down upon her for some supposed infraction of good manners creanza, as they vividly express it here. Only Luigi looked a trifle bored. But Luigi has been a soldier, and has now attained the supercilious superiority of young-manhood, which smokes its cigar of an evening in the piazza and knows the merits of the different cafés. The great business of the evening began when the eating was over, and the decanters filled with new wine of Mirano circulated freely. The four best singers of the party drew together; and the rest prepared themselves to make suggestions, hum tunes, and join with fitful effect in choruses. Antonio, who is a powerful young fellow, with bronzed cheeks and a perfect tempest of coal-black hair in flakes upon his forehead, has a most extraordinary soprano sound as a bell, strong as a trumpet, well trained, and true to the least shade in intonation. Piero, whose rugged Neptunian features, sea-wrinkled, tell of a rough water-life, boasts a bass of resonant, almost pathetic quality. Francesco has a mezzo voce, which might, by a stretch of politeness, be called baritone. Piero's comrade, whose name concerns us not, has another of these nondescript voices. They sat together with their glasses and cigars before them, sketching part-songs in outline, striking the keynote now higher and now lower till they saw their subject well in view. Then they burst into full singing, Antonio leading with a metal note that thrilled one's ears, but still was musical. Complicated contrapuntal pieces, such as we should call madrigals, with ever-recurring refrains of 'Venezia, gemma Triatica, sposa del mar, descending probably from ancient days, followed each other in quick succession. Barcaroles, serenades, love-songs, and invitations to the water were interwoven for relief. One of these romantic pieces had a beautiful burden, 'Dormi, o bella, o fingi di dormir, of which the melody was fully worthy. But the most successful of all the tunes were two with a sad motive. The one repeated incessantly 'Ohimé! mia madre morì; the other was a girl's love lament: 'Perchè tradirmi, perchè lasciarmi! prima d'amarmi non eri così! Even the children joined in these; and Catina, who took the solo part in the second, was inspired to a great dramatic effort. All these were purely popular songs. The people of Venice, however, are passionate for operas. Therefore we had duets and solos from 'Ernani, the 'Ballo in Maschera, and the 'Forza del Destino, and one comic chorus from 'Boccaccio, which seemed to make them wild with pleasure. To my mind, the best of these more formal pieces was a duet between Attila and Italia from some opera unknown to me, which Antonio and Piero performed with incomparable spirit. It was noticeable how, descending to the people, sung by them for love at sea, or on excursions to the villages round Mestre, these operatic reminiscences had lost something of their theatrical formality, and assumed instead the serious gravity, the quaint movement, and marked emphasis which belong to popular music in Northern and Central Italy. An antique character was communicated even to the recitative of Verdi by slight, almost indefinable, changes of rhythm and accent. There was no end to the singing. 'Siamo appassionati per il canto, frequently repeated, was proved true by the profusion and variety of songs produced from inexhaustible memories, lightly tried over, brilliantly performed, rapidly succeeding each other. Nor were gestures wanting lifted arms, hands stretched to hands, flashing eyes, hair tossed from the forehead unconscious and appropriate action which showed how the spirit of the music and words alike possessed the men. One by one the children fell asleep. Little Attilio and Teresa were tucked up beneath my Scotch shawl at two ends of a great sofa; and not even his father's clarion voice, in the character of Italia defying Attila to harm 'le mie superbe citt
"How did this come?" she asked. Crane had returned with it almost at once. She read the card with annoyance. It was covered with instructions in domestic French. When she and her sister had talked she was to come back for the night to Dolly's. "Il faut dormir sur ce sujet." while Helen was to be found une comfortable chambre a l'hotel.
The tune was flowing and sweet; and as our boat drifted on, the words of the singer became audible. "O miroir ondoyant! Je rève en te voyant Harmonie et lumière, O ma rivière, O ma belle rivière! "On voit se réfléchir Dans ses eaux les nuages; Elle semble dormir Entre les pâturages Où paissent les grands boeufs Et les grasses genisses. Au pâtres amoureux Que ses bords sont propices!"
"Dios te ayuda nino," said the Governor to me; I feared we should never play chess any more. "Que tonteria, andar a dormir in una barca, quando se lo podia sobre tierra firma!" I told him the story of the poor Russians, and in spite of his pride, the tears started in his eye, for he was kind-hearted.
Coda vez que considero que me tengo de morir, tiendo la capa en el suelo y no me harto de dormir. But no, not sleeping, but dreaming dreaming life, since life is a dream. Among us Spaniards another phrase has very rapidly passed into current usage, the expression "It's a question of passing the time," or "killing the time." And, in fact, we make time in order to kill it.