Rafael in Italy / A Geographical Reader

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.

* * *

"Do you like our lovely Venice?" Rafael asked, as the boat slipped away with oar and tide toward the bridge.

"Not well enough to stay here forever," answered the man, with a smile.

The boy opened his eyes in surprise. How could any one wish to leave the city after once seeing it! As for himself, he adored the place. To slip with his boat in and out of the canals and the lagoon, to dive from the steps and bridges and chase the other boys through the water, to listen to the music in the Piazza at night, seemed to him the only life worth living.

But the stranger was speaking again. "I could have been happy here centuries ago, when the city was in the making," he said. "It would have been glorious to fight for the right to live on these islands, and to have a hand in building such palaces and churches. Those were days of service for the men who loved their city."

Rafael knew well the history of Venice. As the officer spoke, the boy's eyes turned to the stately walls of the Doge's palace, and to the domes of the great churches; and he thought of the early Venetians who gave their lives in loving service for their country.

The stranger continued, "Your good Doge Dandolo had a powerful navy when he led the Venetians across the Mediterranean to conquer the islands of Candia and Cyprus."

Rafael nodded. "Si, Signore," he said. "There were many at home who held the city safe while he was away," he added, "and there was need enough of brave men then, both at home and abroad."

"Venice was a rich and powerful state in those days," said the stranger. "Now she has little left but her beauty, and that will fall to ruin, as the great bell-tower in the Piazza fell not long ago. A man likes to fight for something more than beauty."

Rafael nodded again. He liked this stranger who spoke so easily of the early life of Venice.

Just then the boat slipped into a nook under the bridge, where it was safe from the sweep of the gondolas which crowded near, and the two became silent in watching the approach of the barge filled with musicians and singers.

This barge was surrounded by a solid mass of gondolas, closely wedged together, each gondolier trying to push his boat as close as possible, so that his patrons might see and hear well.

Suddenly red lights flared up from the bridge and flooded everything with radiance. Palace fronts shone with a magical beauty; crimson banners waved from Moorish windows; statues and columns stood out clearly and asked boldly to be admired.

Rafael looked at his companion. "Did you ever see a more beautiful sight?" he asked.

But he could get no satisfaction from the stranger. "Beauty is not everything," was his answer; and Rafael racked his brain to think what more could be desired in this wonderland of marble and sky and water.

Suddenly the music from the barge swelled into a great volume of sound. "Viva l'Italia!" cried a voice from the bridge, and "Viva l'Italia!" echoed from all the gondolas.

Rafael waved his cap in the air. "Viva l'Italia!" he shouted in his boyish voice, while his heart beat fast with the enthusiasm of the moment. It seemed to his imagination that the singers were repeating the words of the stranger; that they were telling of the glory of battle, and of a life of service for one's country.

It was of Italy they sang-not of Venice-of Italy, and of Italy's king. "Viva l'Italia! Long live the King!" he shouted with the others; and at that moment he felt that he must become a soldier of the king, to live or die for Italy.

After the singing was over and the gondolas had begun to disperse, Rafael pushed his way down the canal; and at the steps where he had embarked, the stranger rose to leave the boat. As he did so, he stooped to place a coin in the boy's hand. "With thanks," he said. "I have had an evening to remember."

But Rafael pushed his hand away. "I never carry people for money, Signore," he said proudly.

The coin dropped from the American's hand to the bottom of the boat. "For Italy, then," he said. "There are many in your country who need it."

The boy let his boat drift with the tide, while he thought over the words of the stranger.

He and his mother were all that was left of an old Venetian family. Like many others, they had almost no means of support. They rented two of the upper floors of their house to people poorer than themselves; and might have rented the whole house to some of the foreigners who often asked for it, but the mother held to it with a great love. It was a link that kept alive the memory of the past, when her family was one of importance, and Venice was a rich and powerful city.

She would rather eat polenta and fish every day, if thereby she could keep the fine house as it had always been, rich with old furniture and the paintings of great artists.

She had taught her son to speak French and English, and no guide in the city knew every detail of its history so well as he. "Our history is our pride," she often said, with much emphasis, and the boy felt that she was right.

At last Rafael picked up the coin and put it into his pocket; then he took up the oar and pushed the boat back to his own mooring-post.

He found his mother, and told her that he was tired of his life of idleness. "I shall become a soldier of the king," he said.

"Ah," she said, "every Italian should serve his king. There is need of every one. Our country is very poor."

Rafael looked disturbed. "It is not the country that is poor," he answered. "Our good priest says that the country is rich, with all its vineyards, and orchards, and wheat-fields. It is only the people who are poor."

"What wilt thou do about it, caro mio?" asked his mother, with a laugh.

"I shall earn some money," replied Rafael. "My boat has shown me how."

* * *

Children feeding Pigeons in the Piazza of St. Mark, Venice

Notice the three flag-poles, and the bronze horses over the central doorway of the Cathedral.

It was early in the afternoon of the next day. The tide was low in the canals of Venice. Hundreds of green crabs could be seen clinging lazily to the stone walls of the houses, wherever there was a place still cool and wet from the salt sea-water.

At the base of the two great columns in the Piazzetta, groups of Venetian beggars were soundly sleeping. The gondoliers call these beggars "crab-catchers," because they cling about the mooring-steps of the canals to beg centimes from the passengers in the gondolas.

The Venetian pigeons were also sleeping. Their way of begging is more pleasing than that of the crab-catchers, but they are beggars for all that. They never wait for the sound of the bell which the good priest rings every day when it is time for them to be fed, but fly down to the pavement whenever they catch sight of a person with a bit of grain. They flutter down by twos and threes, and beg with their best coos for something to eat.

But now they had all disappeared from the pavement, and might be seen, dozing with their heads under their wings, up among the eaves of the fine palaces and beautiful public buildings which surround the Square of St. Mark.

The children, who love to feed the pigeons, had disappeared, too, and all Venice seemed to be taking its afternoon nap.

An American lady and her daughter, paying no heed to the heat of the sun, turned the corner of the Doge's palace and entered the Piazzetta, meaning to cross to the farther end of the large square, where wood-carvings are for sale in one of the shops.

"Mother," said the girl suddenly, "I wish we knew of something to see besides the buildings in this square. We have been here four days, and have bought a lovely carved cherub, or a souvenir spoon of Venice, for every one of our friends, but we don't know anything about this beautiful old city."

"We must be careful not to get lost again, Edith," answered her mother. "This Piazza is always perfectly safe. If we keep within sight of the cathedral we can easily find our way back to the hotel at any time."

"I should like to get lost again," said Edith decidedly. "There must be many other interesting places to see besides the Doge's palace and St. Mark's Cathedral, if we only knew where to look for them."

"You can learn much about the life of the city by looking from the hotel windows," said her mother.

"Oh, Mother, I can't sit at the window and watch the gondolas on the Grand Canal without wishing to ride in one," replied Edith. "Why can't we hire one, and go in and out among all the islands?"

Her mother stopped in the middle of the square and looked doubtfully out over the water of the lagoon. "We cannot be too careful what we do," she said. "Those gondoliers might leave us on one of the outer islands, and we could not get back to the hotel, for we do not know a single word of Italian."

"Oh, they don't do such things in Venice, I know," answered Edith; "and besides, we might take a guide along with us. There must be many who speak English, and who would be glad to show us the city sights for the sake of earning some Italian lire."

"Where should we look to find some one to speak English?" asked her mother.

As if in answer to her words there came the sound of boys' voices from a corner of the square, where the Merceria, with its shops, leads to the Rialto bridge. Edith and her mother looked up and saw a group of boys gathered around the pedestal of the lion farthest from the great church.

English words floated across to the American people, although the voice which spoke them was an Italian one.

"Signor Rafael Valla will now present his troupe of trained tops," said the voice.

The American girl watched the group eagerly. Rafael-the boy of the boat and the serenade-knelt in the center, with a collection of tops on the pavement beside him.

The tops were of many different makes and colors. There were the light, agile ones from Japan, that spin only a moment. There were the big German tops that spin with a great humming sound, but are not at all graceful. There were the solid, business-like English tops that do their work and then go off at the close of the performance with a bow and an off-hand dash, as if to make room for the next on the program.

At last Rafael took up one which was wrapped in gold-foil, and which seemed to be both graceful and business-like, and wonderfully accomplished. It hung balanced between two outer circles of steel, and spun in every possible position-on the pavement, on the top of a post, and at right angles to it-all at one spinning.

"It is my golden spinner," said the boy, in Italian. "It has travelled among all the great cities of the world, and never failed to keep an engagement."

The boys laughed, and Edith joined in the laughter, although she did not know the meaning of the words.

Rafael looked up into her face and smiled. It was the opportunity which she had hoped for. She had noticed his unusual appearance, and that he was dressed with care.

"Speak to him, Mother," she urged, in English. "Perhaps he will tell us where we may go to see the sights."

The boy rose and took off his cap. "I speak English, Signora," he said. "There are truly many things to see in Venice, if you wish to see them."

* * *