Part 12 (1/2)
Of the two Armenian priests, the younger held himself aloof, as if he understood full well the inconveniences of sympathy--a dry, steely, well-balanced man, without enthusiasm, but fine in temperament, well bred, and with at least the culture of a man of the present world. But Pere Michel, the elder, was more willing to impart his mental gifts and experiences to such as would hear them. And he was a man of another age, with obsolete opinions, which he produced like the unconscious bearer of uncurrent coin.
Here is a little specimen of his talk, the subject being that of dreams and revelations: ”What is to happen, that G.o.d alone can know. But that which is already happening, or which has happened at a distance, this the _demonio_ may know and reveal. And he will reveal it to you in a dream, or in a vision, or by a presentiment.”
”But what does the _demonio_ get, Pere Michel, for the trouble of revealing it to us?”
”The satisfaction of making men superst.i.tious?”
_Non c'e male, Pere Michel._ And what, thought I, is the chief advantage of being pope, cardinal, arch-priest, confessor? The satisfaction of making men superst.i.tious. At another time I remarked upon the fact that the monasteries in Greece are usually situated at some height on a mountain side. ”They are of the order of St. Basil,” said the old man; ”he always loved the retirement of the mountains, and his followers imitate him in this.” Pere Michel had a pleasant smile, with just enough of second childhood to be guileless, not foolish. And I may here say that the Armenian priesthood appear to me to have quite an individuality of their own, corresponding to no order of the Romish priesthood with which I am acquainted.
The excessive heat of the cabins and after deck one day induced me to head a valorous invasion of the forward deck, followed by as many of the sisterhood as I was able to recruit. The steamer being a very long one, we had to make quite a journey before we entered that almost interdicted region, crossing a long bridge, and pa.s.sing the captain's sacred office.
We carried books and work; our _fauteuils_ followed us. And here we found cool breezes and delicious shade. The sailors and deck pa.s.sengers lay in heaps about the boards, taking their noonday nap in a very primitive manner. We profited by this discovery so far as to repeat the invasion daily while the voyage lasted.
But it came to end sooner than one might suppose from this long description. We had left Syra on Sunday night; on Thursday afternoon we landed in Trieste. Farewell, Turco-Italians, Austro-Italians, Sieben Gebirgers, Transylvanians, Dalmatians, ladies, babies, priests, and all.
When shall we meet again? Scarcely before that great and final a.n.a.lysis which promises to distinguish, once for all, the sheep from the goats.
And even for that supreme consummation and its results, all of you may command my best wishes.
FRAGMENTS.
Up to the point last reached, my jottings down had been made with tolerable regularity. Living is so much more rapid than writing, that an impossible babe, who should begin his diary at his birth, would be sure to have large arrears between that period and the day of his death, however indefatigable he might be in his recording. A man cannot live his life and write it too; hence the work that men who live much leave to their biographers. So, of the s.p.a.ce that here intervened between Trieste and Paris, I lived the maximum and wrote the minimum; that is, the little death's-head and cross-bone mementos with which the diary is forced to record the spot at which each day fell and lay, together with the current expenses of its interment. In some places even these are wanting, and the stricken soul, looking over the diary, cries out, ”O, my leanness!” or words to that effect. Yet the poor doc.u.ment referred to shall help us what it can, beginning with the return from cheap, cosy Trieste to that polished jewel of the Adriatic, which now s.h.i.+nes doubly in its new setting of liberty.
We went, as we came, in the Lloyd steamer, declining, however, to engage a state-room, mindful of the exceeding closeness of that in which we suffered on our outward voyage. The embarkation was made, like that from Venice, at the mysterious hour of midnight; and we, coming on board at half past ten, secured such sofa and easy-chair privileges as moved the wrath of a high-talking German party who came at the last moment, and shouted for a quarter of an hour the a.s.sertion that his Damen were fully equal, if not superior, to any other Damen on board the steamer, and that if the other Damen had places, his surely ought much more to have them. The cameriere merely shrugged his shoulders, and we failed to be convinced that our first duty would be to vacate our limited accommodations, and stand at large for the benefit of these or any other virgins of the tardy and oily description. The blatant champion thereon took himself and his Damen up stairs. We reserved to ourselves the good intention of sharing our advantages with them at a later period, when the pa.s.sage of the present acerbity should make intercourse possible.
The cabin soon became insufferably hot and close. After various ineffectual attempts at repose, in a cramped position on the sofa, with a shawl bundle for a pillow, I went on deck, where I at least found fresh air and darkness, the blazing lamp in the cabin being enough, of itself, to banish sleep. Every available spot here was occupied by groups or single figures, whose _tout ensemble_, what with the darkness and their draping, const.i.tuted a very respectable gallery of figures, much resembling the conspirators in Ernani, or Mme. Tussaud's Chamber of Horrors, in the absence of the illuminating medium. I unconsciously seated myself on one sleeping figure, which kicked and cried, O! With difficulty I found a narrow vacancy on one of the side benches, after occupation of which I wrapped my shawl about me, and gave up to the situation.
”For we were tired, my back and I.”
Seasick women sobbed and gasped around me, not having, as we, graduated in the great college of ocean pa.s.sage. The night was very black.
Presently a form nestled at my right. It was the elder neophyte, disgusted with the cabin, and willing to be anywhere else. The moon rose late, a de-crescent. The whole time was amphibious, neither sleeping nor waking, neither day nor night. Suddenly, a perceptible chill seized upon us; a little later the black sky grew gray, and the series of groups that filled the deck were all revealed, like hidden motives in the light of some new doctrine. The sunrise was showery, and attended by a rainbow. The people bestirred themselves, stretched their benumbed limbs, and shook their tumbled garments into shape. Black coffee could now be had for ten sous a cup, and _cafe au lait_ for twenty, with a crust of bread which defied gnawing. The diary says, ”L. and I grew quite tearful as we saw beautiful Venice come out of the water, just as we had seen her disappear. At the health station we were fumigated with chloride of lime--an unpleasant and useless process. We arrived opposite the Piazzetta at half past seven A. M. The captain was kind in helping us to find our effects and to get off. The gondoliers asked five francs for bringing us to our lodgings, and got them. The Barbiers could not receive us at our former snug abode, but monsieur went round to show us some rooms in Palazzo Gambaro, which he offered for seven francs _per diem_. We were glad to take them. Went to Florian's cafe for breakfast, visited San Marco, and then proceeded to install ourselves in our new lodging. Ordered a dinner for six francs, which proved abundant. Took a long sleep,--from one to four P. M.,--having only dozed a little during the night. Our lodgings are very roomy and pleasant--two large rooms well furnished, and two smaller ones. We expect to enjoy many things here, and all the more because we now know something of what is to be seen.”
This expectation was fully realized during the week that followed, although the meagre entries of the diary give little a.s.sistance in recalling the strict outlines of the brilliant picture. It was now height of season in Venice. The grand ca.n.a.l was brilliant, every evening, with gondolas, and gondoliers in costumes. Now we admired full suits of white, with scarlet sashes, trimmed with gold fringe, now gray and blue, edged with silver. Now an ugly jockey costume, got up by some Anglo-maniac, insulted the Italian _beau-ideal_, and, indeed, every other. For the short coat and heavy clothes, suited at once to the saddle and the English climate, were utterly unsuited to the action of rowing, as well as to the full bloom of an Italian summer. I cannot help remarking upon this unsightly livery, because it was an eyesore, and because it was obviously considered by its proprietor as a brilliant success. In stylish gondolas, the rowers are two in number, and always dressed in livery. The fas.h.i.+onables, in height of millinery bliss, float up and down the grand ca.n.a.l, until it is time for the rendezvous on the Piazza. As you pa.s.s the palaces, you often see the gondola in waiting below, while in a balcony or arched window above, the fresh, smiling faces make their bright picture; and the domestic stands draped in the white opera-cloaks or bournooses. And I remember a hundred little nonsensical songs about this very pa.s.sage in Venetian life.
”Prent'e la gondoletta, Tutt'e serena il mar, Ninetta, mia diletta, Vieni solcar il mar Il marinar, che gioja--che gioja il marinar!”
Which I translate into English equivalency as follows:--
The two-in-hand is waiting, The groom is in his boots; The lover's fondly prating, The lady's humor suits: Susanna! Susanna!
What joy to flog the brutes!
What joy, what joy in driving!
What joy, what joy to drive!
Like all other poetical visions, these, once seen, speedily become matters of course. Still, we found always a fairy element in the ”_Gita in gondoletta_.” Our gondolier had always a weird charm in our eyes. He seemed almost a feudal retainer, a servant for life or death. His shrewd glance showed that he was not easily to be astonished. He could tip over an obnoxious person in the dark, stab at a street corner, carry the most audacious of letters, and deliver the contraband answer under the very nose of high-snuffing authority. Nought of all this did we desire of him: in fact, nothing but safe conduct and moderate charges. Yet we admired his mysterious talents, and wondered in what unwritten novels he might have figured. For, indeed, the watery streets of Venice, no less than her gondoliers, suggest the idea of romantic and desperate adventure. What balconies from which to throw a rival, dead or alive!
What silent, know-nothing waters to receive him! What clever a.s.sistants to aid and abet!
But enough of the evening row, which ends at the Piazzetta. Here you dismiss your man-at-oars, naming the hour at which you shall require his presence, he being meanwhile at liberty to sleep in his gondola, or lo leave it in charge with a friend, and to follow you to the Piazza, where you will amuse yourself after your fas.h.i.+on, he after his. Here the banners are floating, the lights glancing, the band stormily performing.
Florian's cafe is represented by a crowd of well-dressed people sitting in the open air, with the appliances of chair and table covered by their voluminous draperies. If you arrive late, you may wait some time before a table, fourteen inches by ten, is vouchsafed to you. Ices are very good, very cheap, and very small. Tea and bread and b.u.t.ter are excellent. While you wait and while you feast, a succession of venders endeavor to impose upon you every small article which the streets of Venice show for sale. Shoes, slippers, alabaster work, sh.e.l.l work, tin gondolas concealing inkstands, nets, bracelets, necklaces,--all these things are offered to you in succession, together with allumettes, cigars, journals, and caramels, or candied fruits strung upon straws.
If you are mild in your discouragement of these venders, they will fasten upon you like other vermin, and refuse to depart until they shall have drawn the last drop of your change. I found a brisk charge necessary, with appeals to Florian's _garcon_, after whose interference, life on the Piazza became practicable.