To avoid them she conversed with Signora Livona, and her
manner to the Count assumed a mild reserve, which, though dignified,
was too gentle to repress his assiduities: he could see, hear, speak to
no person, but Emily while Cavigni observed him now and then, with a
look of displeasure, and Emily, with one of uneasiness. She now wished
for nothing so much as to return to Venice, but it was near midnight
before the gondolas approached St. Mark’s Place, where the voice of
gaiety and song was loud. The busy hum of mingling sounds was heard at
a considerable distance on the water, and, had not a bright moonlight
discovered the city, with its terraces and towers, a stranger would
almost have credited the fabled wonders of Neptune’s court, and
believed, that the tumult arose from beneath the waves. They landed at St. Mark’s, where the gaiety of the colonnades and the
beauty of the night, made Madame Montoni willingly submit to the
Count’s solicitations to join the promenade, and afterwards to take a
supper with the rest of the party, at his Casino. If anything could
have dissipated Emily’s uneasiness, it would have been the grandeur,
gaiety, and novelty of the surrounding scene, adorned with Palladio’s
palaces, and busy with parties of masqueraders. At length they withdrew to the Casino, which was fitted up with
infinite taste, and where a splendid banquet was prepared; but here
Emily’s reserve made the Count perceive, that it was necessary for his
interest to win the favour of Madame Montoni, which, from the
condescension she had already shown to him, appeared to be an
achievement of no great difficulty. He transferred, therefore, part of
his attention from Emily to her aunt, who felt too much flattered by
the distinction even to disguise her emotion; and before the party
broke up, he had entirely engaged the esteem of Madame Montoni. Whenever he addressed her, her ungracious countenance relaxed into
smiles, and to whatever he proposed she assented. He invited her, with
the rest of the party, to take coffee, in his box at the opera, on the
following evening, and Emily heard the invitation accepted, with strong
anxiety, concerning the means of excusing herself from attending Madame
Montoni thither. It was very late before their gondola was ordered, and Emily’s surprise
was extreme, when, on quitting the Casino, she beheld the broad sun
rising out of the Adriatic, while St. Mark’s Place was yet crowded with
company. Sleep had long weighed heavily on her eyes, but now the fresh
sea-breeze revived her, and she would have quitted the scene with
regret, had not the Count been present, performing the duty, which he
had imposed upon himself, of escorting them home. There they heard that
Montoni was not yet returned; and his wife, retiring in displeasure to
her apartment, at length released Emily from the fatigue of further
attendance. Montoni came home late in the morning, in a very ill humour, having
lost considerably at play, and, before he withdrew to rest, had a
private conference with Cavigni, whose manner, on the following day,
seemed to tell, that the subject of it had not been pleasing to him. In the evening, Madame Montoni, who, during the day, had observed a
sullen silence towards her husband, received visits from some Venetian
ladies, with whose sweet manners Emily was particularly charmed. They
had an air of ease and kindness towards the strangers, as if they had
been their familiar friends for years; and their conversation was by
turns tender, sentimental and gay. Madame, though she had no taste for
such conversation, and whose coarseness and selfishness sometimes
exhibited a ludicrous contrast to their excessive refinement, could not
remain wholly insensible to the captivations of their manner. In a pause of conversation, a lady who was called Signora Herminia took
up a lute, and began to play and sing, with as much easy gaiety, as if
she had been alone. Her voice was uncommonly rich in tone, and various
in expression; yet she appeared to be entirely unconscious of its
powers, and meant nothing less than to display them. She sung from the
gaiety of her heart, as she sat with her veil half thrown back, holding
gracefully the lute, under the spreading foliage and flowers of some
plants, that rose from baskets, and interlaced one of the lattices of
the saloon. Emily, retiring a little from the company, sketched her
figure, with the miniature scenery around her, and drew a very
interesting picture, which, though it would not, perhaps, have borne
criticism, had spirit and taste enough to awaken both the fancy and the
heart. When she had finished it, she presented it to the beautiful
original, who was delighted with the offering, as well as the sentiment
it conveyed, and assured Emily, with a smile of captivating sweetness,
that she should preserve it as a pledge of her friendship. In the evening Cavigni joined the ladies, but Montoni had other
engagements; and they embarked in the gondola for St. Mark’s, where the
same gay company seemed to flutter as on the preceding night. The cool
breeze, the glassy sea, the gentle sound of its waves, and the sweeter
murmur of distant music; the lofty porticos and arcades, and the happy
groups that sauntered beneath them; these, with every feature and
circumstance of the scene, united to charm Emily, no longer teased by
the officious attentions of Count Morano. But, as she looked upon the
moonlight sea, undulating along the walls of St. Mark, and, lingering
for a moment over those walls, caught the sweet and melancholy song of
some gondolier as he sat in his boat below, waiting for his master, her
softened mind returned to the memory of her home, of her friends, and
of all that was dear in her native country. After walking some time, they sat down at the door of a Casino, and,
while Cavigni was accommodating them with coffee and ice, were joined
by Count Morano. He sought Emily with a look of impatient delight, who,
remembering all the attention he had shown her on the preceding
evening, was compelled, as before, to shrink from his assiduities into
a timid reserve, except when she conversed with Signora Herminia and
the other ladies of her party. It was near midnight before they withdrew to the opera, where Emily was
not so charmed but that, when she remembered the scene she had just
quitted, she felt how infinitely inferior all the splendour of art is
to the sublimity of nature. Her heart was not now affected, tears of
admiration did not start to her eyes, as when she viewed the vast
expanse of ocean, the grandeur of the heavens, and listened to the
rolling waters, and to the faint music that, at intervals, mingled with
their roar. Remembering these, the scene before her faded into
insignificance.