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Updated: June 22, 2025
He stopped short and bit his lip, turning white again as a spasm of excruciating pain shot along his right side, from his foot upwards. Marietta bent over him, full of anxiety. "You are suffering!" she said tenderly. "You must not try to move." "It is nothing," he answered through his closed teeth. "It will pass, I daresay." "It will not pass to-day," said Nella.
What will it matter to you if the throne of Posen becomes the laughing-stock of Europe? 'I really don't know, Prince, Nella smiled roguishly. 'But we Americans have, a habit of going right through with anything we have begun. 'Ah! he said, 'who knows how this thing will end? All our trouble, our anxieties, our watchfulness, may come to nothing.
Little as she had slept that night, she felt that it would be intolerable to lie down; so she took her little basket of beads and tried to work. Nella was dozing in the next room.
He recognised her, and stared in wild surprise. "You must try and not move," she said softly. "Nella has almost finished." He forgot what he suffered, and the agonised contraction of his brows and mouth relaxed. Marietta wiped away the ashes from his forehead and cheeks, and smoothed back his thick hair. No woman's hand had touched him thus since his mother's when he had been a little child.
To the first two questions he replied, rather lamely, that he had been influenced by Nella, and also by a natural spirit of adventure; to the third he replied that he had always been in the habit of carrying things through, and was now actuated by a mere childish, obstinate desire to carry this one through. Moreover, he was splendidly conscious of his perfect ability to carry it through.
So I watched. The figure went close up against the wall, and disappeared from my view. I leaned over the balcony as far as I dared, but I couldn't see him. I could hear him, however. 'What could you hear? questioned Racksole sharply. 'It sounded like a sawing noise, said Nella; 'and it went on for quite a long time nearly a quarter of an hour, I should think a rasping sort of noise.
That is what I mean. Do you think I would talk of such a beautiful thing, just to make you unhappy, if you were not to have one? But you will not forget poor Nella, my little lady? You will take me with you to Venice?" "Then you think I am to marry some one from the city? What is his name?" "The master knows. That is enough.
"Per me si va nella eitti dolente, Per me si va nell' eterno dolore, Per me si va tra la perduta gente." Here are three lines which, in their matchless simplicity and grandeur, might well excite despair in the breast of any translator. Let us contrast Mr. Longfellow's version.
He whom the mourning of his widow taught to drink the sweet wormwood of pain, tells us of Nella praying in her lonely bed, and we learn from the mouth of Buonconte how a single tear may save a dying sinner from the fiend. Sordello, that noble and disdainful Lombard, eyes us from afar like a couchant lion.
"I will answer as well as I can." "Well tell me this. Did you really take the boat and go to Venice last night?" "Yes." Marietta's hand moved with the needle among the beads, but she did not thread one. Nella had been right, after all. "Why did you go, Zorzi?" The question came in a lower tone that was full of regret.
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