Thus they went on, aggravating their regrets. The Tsarevitch listened to them, while looking at the villa and involuntarily smiled. The contrast seemed so strange between these prosaic dreams and the fantastic reality.
Another boat was gliding along the fairy path of the sea, leaving a black trace in the quivering gold. The sound of a mandoline and a song sung by a young girl’s voice was wafted across the water.
Quant’ è bella giovinezza,
Che si fugge tuttavia.
Chi vuol esser lieto, sia;
Di doman non c’è certezza!
This love song had been composed by Lorenzo di Medici Il Magnifico, for the triumphant procession of Bacchus and Ariadne at Florentine festivities. It sounded the short-lived joy of the Renaissance, and infinite sorrow for its loss. The Tsarevitch listened, unable to make out its meaning, yet the music filled his soul with sweet melancholy.
Fair fleeting youth must snatch at happiness.
He knows not if to-morrow curse or bless.
“And now, Mistress, a Russian song!” begged Æsop.