They had a contented and satisfied look. They breathed their native air voluptuously, trod the soil of Italy, and viewed with joy the tri-colored flag floating in the breeze.
Luca Barbaro carried a sketch-book in his hand, Primate, a roll of music.
"Greeting, brothers," said the first. "How is your health? This delicious temperature ought to completely cure you. What do you think of good old Genoa?"
"She reminds us somewhat of the Middle Ages," replied Jacob.
"Does she not speak to you of the future?" asked one of the Italians. "Do you not then feel that delicious breath of springtime which promises to all nations a garland of flowers?"
"Utopist!" interrupted the Israelite sadly. "The springtime comes not at the same time for all lands. Men are brothers in words, but not in deeds. Each one is ready to become a fratricide in self-defence. Little by little humanity will perhaps come out of the shadows of servitude, of charlatanism and egotism, which stifle all generous tendencies in order to satisfy the thirst for gold and grandeur."
"Do not blaspheme!" cried Luca. "I believe in humanity. It is possible that there is a handful of vile reactionists and a band of miserable charlatans, but in general men are the sons of God. By music, painting, literature, and devotion, souls will open, all hearts will be purified, intelligence will develop, virtue will spread abroad, and soon a luminous springtime will brighten the world."
"Amen!" cried Primate; "amen! But I have a question to ask you. We have come here to rest, have we not?"
"Yes! Yes! Certainly!"
"Very well; for once let us leave the subjects of philosophy and politics. Leave all that to the reactionists. Let us amuse ourselves with art and with life."