_September_ 4_th_.—I was sorry to leave Venice, and regretted my peaceful
excursions upon the Adriatic, when the Euganean hills were lost in a
golden haze, and the sun cast his departing gleam across the waters. No
bright rays illuminated my departure, but the coolness and perfume of the
air made some amends for their absence.
About an hour’s rowing from the isle of Saint Giorgio in Alga, brought us
to the shores of Fusina, right opposite the opening where the Brenta
mixes with the sea. This river flows calmly between banks of verdure,
crowned by poplars, with vines twining round every stalk, and depending
from tree to tree in beautiful festoons. Beds of mint and flowers clothe
the brink of the stream, except where a tall growth of reeds and osiers
lift themselves to the breezes. I heard their whispers as we glided
along; and had I been alone might have told you what they said to me; but
such aërial oracles must be approached in solitude. The morning
continued to lower as we advanced; scarce a wind ventured to breathe; all
was still and placid as the surface of the Brenta. No sound struck my
ears except the bargemen hallooing to open the sluices, and deepen the
water.
As yet I had not perceived an habitation; no other objects than green
inclosures and fields of Turkish corn, shaded with vines and poplars, met
my eyes wherever I turned them.
Our navigation, the tranquil streams and cultivated banks, in short the
whole landscape, had a sort of Chinese cast, which led me into Quang-Si
and Quang-Tong. The variety of canes, reeds, and blooming rushes,
shooting from the slopes, confirmed my fancies, and when I beheld the
yellow nenupha expanding its broad leaves to the current, I thought of
the Tao-Sé, and venerated one of the chief ingredients in their beverage
of immortality. Landing where this magic vegetation appeared most
luxuriant, I cropped the flowers; but searched in vain for the kernels,
which, according to the doctrine of the Bonzes, produce such wonderful
effects. Though I was deceived in this pursuit, I gained, however, in
another. The bank upon which I had sprung presented a continual walk of
level turf, surrounded by vines, concealing the trees which supported
them, and forming the most delightful bowers. Under these garlands I
passed, and gathered the ripe clusters which dangled around, convinced
that Noah had discovered a far superior beverage to that of the Tao-Sé.
Whilst I was thus agreeably employed, it began to rain, and the earth to
exhale a fresh, reviving odour, highly grateful to one who had been so
long confined to walls and waters. After breathing nothing but the
essence of the canals and the flavours of the Rialto, after the jingling
of bells and brawls of the gondoliers, imagine how agreeable it was to
scent the perfume of clover, to tread a springing herbage, and listen in
silence to the showers pattering amongst the leaves. I staid so long
amidst the vines, that it grew late before we rowed by the Mira, a
village of palaces, whose courts and gardens, as magnificent as statues,
terraces, and vases can make them, compose a grand, though far from a
rural prospect.
Not being greatly delighted with such scenery, we stayed no longer than
our dinner required, and reached the Dolo an hour before sunset. Passing
the great sluices, whose gates opened with a thundering noise, we
continued our course along the peaceful Brenta, winding its broad full
stream through impenetrable copses, surmounted by tall waving poplars.
Day was about to close when we reached Fiesso; and it being a misty
evening, I could scarcely distinguish the pompous façade of the Pisani
palace. That where we supped looks upon a broad mass of foliage, which I
contemplated with pleasure as it sank in the dusk.
We walked a long while under a pavilion stretched before the entrance,
breathing the freshness of the wood after the shower, and hearing the
drops trickle down the awning above our heads. The Galuzzi sang some of
her father Ferandini’s compositions, with a fire, an energy, an
expression, that one moment raised me to a pitch of heroism, and the next
dissolved me in tears. Her cheek was flushed with inspiration, her eyes
glistened; the whole tone of her countenance was like that of a person
rapt and inspired. I forgot both time and place whilst she was breathing
forth such celestial harmony. The night stole imperceptibly away, and
morning dawned before I awoke from my trance. I don’t recollect ever to
have passed an evening, which every circumstance conspired so much to
improve. In general, my musical pleasures suffer terrible abatements
from the phlegm and stupidity of my neighbourhood, but here every one
seemed to catch the flame, and to listen with reciprocal delight. The C—
threw quick around her the glancing fires of genius: and, what with the
song of the Galuzzi, and those intellectual meteors, I scarcely knew to
what element I was transported; and doubted for several moments whether I
had not fallen into a celestial dream. I loathed the light of the
morning star, which summoned me to depart; and, if I may express myself
so poetically,
“Cast many a longing, ling’ring look behind.”