ll singing, Antonio leading
with a metal note that thrilled one's ears, but still was musical.
Complicated contrapuntal pieces, such as we should call madrigals, with
ever-recurring refrains of "Venezia, gemma Triatica, sposa del mar,"
descending probably from ancient days, followed each other in quick
succession. Barcaroles, serenades, love-songs, and invitations to the
water were interwoven for relief. One of these romantic pieces had a
beautiful burden, "Dormi, o bella, o fingi di dormir," of which the
melody was fully worthy. But the most successful of all the tunes were
two with a sad motive. The one repeated incessantly "Ohime! mia madre
mori;" the other was a girl's love lament: "Perche tradirmi, perche
lasciarmi! prima d'amarmi non eri cosi!" Even the children joined in
these; and Catina, who took the solo part in the second, was inspired to
a great dramatic effort. All these were purely popular songs. The people
of Venice, however, are passionate for operas. Therefore we had duets
and solos from "Ernani," the "Ballo in Maschera," and the "Forza del
Destino," and one comic chorus from "Boccaccio," which seemed to make
them wild with pleasure. To my mind, the best of these more formal
pieces was a duet between Attila and Italia from some opera unknown to
me, which Antonio and Piero performed with incomparable spirit. It was
noticeable how, descending to the people, sung by them for love at sea,
or on excursions to the villages round Mestre, these operatic
reminiscences had lost something of their theatrical formality, and
assumed instead the serious gravity, the quaint movement, and marked
emphasis which belong to popular music in Northern and Central Italy. An
antique character was communicated even to the recitative of Verdi by
slight, almost indefinable, changes of rhythm and accent. There was no
end to the singing. "Siamo appassionati per il canto," frequently
repeated, was proved true by the profusion and variety of songs produced
from inexhaustible memories, lightly tried over, brilliantly performed,
rapidly succeeding each other. Nor were gestures wanting--lifted arms,
hands stretched to hands, flashing eyes, hair tossed from the
forehead--unconscious and appropriate action--which showed how the
spirit of the music and words alike possessed the men. One by one the
children fell asleep. Little Attilio and Teresa were tucked up beneath
my Scotch shawl at two ends of a great sofa; and not even his father's
cla