/0/7919/coverbig.jpg?v=403093165396df95d0e68283ad1d09f4&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Rafael in Italy / A Geographical Reader by Etta Austin Blaisdell
Chapter 1 AN EVENING IN VENICE
It was a glorious summer evening. The moon, rising over the city of Venice, shone down on towers and domes and marble palaces, and made a golden path in the rippling waters of the lagoon.
The squares of the city were all ablaze with lights, while from every window and balcony twinkling jets of flame found their reflection in the canals, and lengthened into shimmering arrows of gold.
There were no sounds save the calls of the boatmen, the soft lapping of the waves against the marble walls and steps, and occasional strains of music from the military band in the Piazza of St. Mark.
No place in all the world shines with more brilliancy than Venice in carnival time. The city is like a diamond, as it catches the myriad rays from moonlight and starlight, and flashes countless answering gleams into the shadows of the night.
It is small wonder that people travel from the farthest corners of the earth to watch the glitter and sparkle of this City of the Sea.
The Grand Canal, Venice
Notice the mooring-posts and the black gondola.
It was on this summer evening that Rafael Valla, a Venetian lad of fourteen, decided to become a soldier of the king.
He was sitting in the water-gate of his mother's house, pointing with his toe to the reflection in the canal of a particularly large and brilliant star. "If the starlight moves to the right of my toe," he said to himself, "I will go to the Piazza."
He knew perfectly well that he would go to the Piazza. The music of the band was calling to him, and the star was slowly shifting its light, as it had done on many a night while Rafael sat waiting and dreaming in the gateway.
The tide was gently pulling his little boat away from the orange-and-black mooring-post, at the foot of the steps, toward the larger canal.
"Perhaps my boat knows of all the gay sights that are waiting for it in the Grand Canal," the boy thought idly. "It may well know," he added in his thought; "it has been there times enough."
The Grand Canal is the largest and finest of all the water-ways which thread the city. It is spanned by three beautiful bridges, and, on either side, rise the marble palaces of the ancient Venetian nobility; those rulers of men whose names fill the "Golden Book of Venetian History."
But Rafael lingered in the gateway. The music of the band was a promise of something still better. Soon hundreds of gondolas would gather at the bridge of the Rialto to hear the songs of the serenaders, and that was what the boy loved best.
As the bells in the square sounded the hour, he rose, reached for the rope, and pulled his boat toward the stone landing steps. His motions were alert and decisive, and made him seem a different boy from the one who had been leaning so carelessly against the post of the gateway.
Rafael was good friends with his oar, and the little boat, which was only large enough to seat three comfortably, hurried gladly toward the lights of the Grand Canal, and the music in the beautiful Piazza of St. Mark.
Hundreds of black gondolas were moving up and down the canals, manned by boatmen in white linen, for the night was very warm; and a melody from an Italian opera, sung in a musical tenor voice, floated from one of the boats.
"I, also, would sing, if it were not pleasanter to listen," said Rafael to his boat. Then it occurred to him that it might be most pleasant of all to find his friend Nicolo and take him to hear the singers at the Rialto bridge.
He turned toward the steps of the Piazzetta, murmuring as he did so, "These other boats are also moving toward the Rialto. I must find Nicolo quickly, or we shall lose our favorite place at the bridge."
The boy tied his boat in the shadow of the steps, and took his way across the small square into the larger one in front of the Cathedral of St. Mark.
Numberless columns and pillars surround this square, and each one was outlined with twinkling golden lights. From every ornament and statue that grace the cathedral and palaces shone countless numbers of the fairy flames. The crimson globes of the larger lamps in the square added a different tone, and the silver light of the moon blended with the whole, dazzling Rafael with the brilliancy.
He shaded his eyes from the glare, as he searched rapidly among the crowds for his friend. The polished stones of the pavement in front of the cafés were covered with little tables, and hundreds of people were sipping ices or drinking coffee.
Nicolo was often to be found selling trinkets among the people at the tables, but he was not there to-night. Nor was he seated on the back of one of the two stone lions that crouch on their pedestals just beyond the cathedral.
It is from these convenient seats that the band sounds better than almost anywhere else in the square. At least, the boys of Venice seem to find it so, and so many years have they climbed up to watch the crowds of people in the Piazza of St. Mark, that the backs of the lions are worn smooth with much rubbing.
A little bootblack and a water-boy held the places now, and occasionally begged for custom from any one who happened to linger near.
Passing in and out among the crowds were pretty young girls selling flowers, ragged boys carrying trays of fruit-crimson peaches, purple grapes and ripe figs-and men selling bracelets and necklaces of shells and colored beads.
It was a gay scene. An officer, in the naval uniform of the United States of America, stood in the central doorway of the cathedral, watching the movements of the crowd and listening to the music.
As Rafael gave up trying to find Nicolo and turned toward the canal, the officer left his place and followed the boy. "Where away?" he asked pleasantly, in English, as Rafael took his seat in the boat.
"To the Rialto; to hear the serenade, Signore," the boy replied courteously, also in English; and would have pushed away from the steps, but the stranger asked, "Will you take a passenger?"
"Si, Signore," answered Rafael, "I have been looking for one," and he held the boat still while the officer found a seat.
* * *
/0/3499/coverorgin.jpg?v=ed5cdd60451c5fcb14fe585984faa767&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/103295/coverorgin.jpg?v=5a85eea5bcf3152988e3005eb5809fb2&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/100385/coverorgin.jpg?v=d2377f2e89744f564e672d62cce9c375&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/1/101922/coverorgin.jpg?v=85446ccd5cc7810ecc42f10e6e51a892&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/99731/coverorgin.jpg?v=1ab75bbcaa41f3e59a6f82181f16c24f&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/77278/coverorgin.jpg?v=e33b5a48fd64490b6c3dab31c8798b9a&imageMogr2/format/webp)
/0/95375/coverorgin.jpg?v=37e4193c8b14e453853b3ee2adc5baee&imageMogr2/format/webp)
Chapter 1 AN EVENING IN VENICE
01/12/2017
Chapter 2 VIVA L'ITALIA!
01/12/2017
Chapter 3 RAFAEL'S TRAINED TOPS
01/12/2017
Chapter 4 STREETS OF VENICE
01/12/2017
Chapter 5 STRINGING VENETIAN BEADS
01/12/2017
Chapter 6 SUNSET FROM THE TOWER OF SAN GIORGIO
01/12/2017
Chapter 7 A CHAT ABOUT VERONA
01/12/2017
Chapter 8 EDITH'S FLORENTINE MOSAIC
01/12/2017
Chapter 9 RAFAEL LEAVES VENICE
01/12/2017
Chapter 10 GATHERING GRAPES IN TUSCANY
01/12/2017
Chapter 11 A MARATHON RUN TO ROME
01/12/2017
Chapter 12 THE GOLDEN MILESTONE
01/12/2017
Chapter 13 A RAMBLE IN ROME
01/12/2017
Chapter 14 A MORNING IN THE COLOSSEUM
01/12/2017
Chapter 15 MERRY NAPLES
01/12/2017
Chapter 16 THE BURIED CITY
01/12/2017
Chapter 17 THE MAGIC OF THE FOUNTAIN
01/12/2017
Other books by Etta Austin Blaisdell
More