At
first the music was a murmur. But presently it grew louder. She could
distinguish words now and then. Once she heard /carissima/, a moment
afterwards /amore/. Then the poison in which the tip of this last arrow
had been curiously steeped began its work in her. The quivering creature
hidden within her cowered, shrank, put up trembling hands, cried out, "I
cannot endure this thing. I do not know how to. I have never learnt the
way. This is impossible for me. This is a demand I have not the capacity
to fulfil!" And, even while it cowered and cried out, knew, "This I must
endure. This demand I shall be made to fulfil. Nothing will serve me; no
outstretched hands, no wailings of despair, no prayers, no curses even
will save me. For I am the soul in the hands of the vivisector."
Along the lake, past the old home of La Taglioni, past the Villa Pasta
with its long garden, past little Torno with its great round oleanders
and its houses crowding to the shore, the boatman sang. Gathering courage
as his own voice dispersed his melancholy, and the warm hopes of his
youth spread their wings once more, roused by the words of love his lips
were uttering, he fearlessly sent out his song. Love in the South was in
it, love in the sun, embraces in warm scented nights, longings in
moonlight, attainment in darkness. The boy had forgotten the veiled lady,
whose shrouded face and whose silence had for a moment saddened him.
Pages:
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283