‘You do not sing?’ asked the lady of the house from me, when we had done.
‘I will have the honour to improvise before you,’ said I, as a thought entered my mind.
‘He is an improvisatore,’ I heard whispered around me. The eyes of the ladies sparkled; the gentlemen bowed. I took a guitar, and begged them to give me a subject.
‘Venice!’ cried a lady, looking boldly into my eyes.
‘Venice!’ repeated the young gentlemen, ‘because the ladies are handsome!’
I touched a few chords; described the pomp and glory of Venice in the days of her greatness, as I had read about it, and as my imagination had dreamed of its being, and all eyes flashed; they fancied that it was so now. I sang about the beauty in the balcony in the moonlight night, and every lady imagined I meant it for her, and clapped her hands in applause.... I sang about the proud sea,—the bridegroom of Venice; about the sons of the sea,—the bold mariners and fishermen in their little boats. I described a storm; the wife’s and the bride’s longing and anxiety; described that which I myself had seen; the children who had let fall the holy crucifix, and clung to their mothers, and the old fisherman who kissed the feet of the Redeemer.... And now my heart was wonderously light; the empty canals of Venice and the old palaces seemed to me beautiful—a sleeping fairy world.
HANS ANDERSEN.
VENICE AND HER CHILDREN
Though Orio had quadrupled the sum he had desired, all the treasures of the world were nothing to him without a Venice to spend them in. At that time love of country was a passion so strong, so powerful, that it influenced all hearts, the vilest as well as the noblest. And truly there was little merit in loving Venice then,—she was so beautiful, so powerful, so gay! She was such a bountiful mother to all her children; such a delightful lover of their glory! Venice gave such caresses to her triumphant warriors, such glowing praise for their bravery, such elegant and noble rewards for their prudence, such rare pleasures to recompense their slightest services! Nowhere else could one find such splendid feasts, enjoy such luxurious idleness, or plunge at will, to-day in a whirlwind of pleasure, to-morrow in voluptuous repose. Venice was the most beautiful city of Europe; the most corrupted and the most virtuous. The righteous could there be always good, the vicious always bad. It had sunshine for some, shade for others. While there were wise institutions and touching ceremonies to proclaim noble actions, there were also caves, inquisitors and executioners, to maintain order and subdue dangerous passions. There were days of triumph and ovation for the virtuous, and nights of debauchery and excess for the vicious: and in no other part of the world were ovations so exciting, excesses so poetical. Venice was the natural country for all strong minds, good or evil. It was the undeniable fatherland of all who knew it.
GEORGE SAND.