“Thou hast been much of late among the lying Genoese, Stefano, that thou comest hither with these idle tales of what a heretic can do.  Genova la Superba!  What has a city of walls to compare with one of canals and islands like this?—­and what has that Apennine republic performed, to be put in comparison with the great deeds of the Queen of the Adriatic?  Thou forgettest that Venezia has been—­”

“Zitto, zitto! that has been, caro mio, is a great word with all Italy.  Thou art as proud of the past as a Roman of the Trastevere.”

“And the Roman of the Trastevere is right.  Is it nothing, Stefano Milano, to be descended from a great and victorious people?”

“It is better, Gino Monaldi, to be one of a people which is great and victorious just now.  The enjoyment of the past is like the pleasure of the fool who dreams of the wine he drank yesterday.”

“This is well for a Neapolitan, whose country never was a nation,” returned the gondolier, angrily.  “I have heard Don Camillo, who is one educated as well as born in the land, often say that half of the people of Europe have ridden the horse of Sicily, and used the legs of thy Napoli, except those who had the best right to the services of both.”

“Even so; and yet the figs are as sweet as ever, and the beccafichi as tender!  The ashes of the volcano cover all!”

“Gino,” said a voice of authority, near the gondolier.

“Signore.”

He who interrupted the dialogue pointed to the boat without saying more.

“A rivederli,” hastily muttered the gondolier.  His friend squeezed his hand in perfect amity—­for, in truth, they were countrymen by birth, though chance had trained the former on the canals—­and, at the next instant, Gino was arranging the cushions for his master, having first aroused his subordinate brother of the oar from a profound sleep.

CHAPTER II.

“Hast ever swam in a gondola at Venice?”
SHAKSPEARE.

When Don Camillo Monforte entered the gondola, he did not take his seat in the pavilion.  With an arm leaning on the top of the canopy, and his cloak thrown loosely over one shoulder, the young noble stood, in a musing attitude, until his dexterous servitors had extricated the boat from the little fleet which crowded the quay, and had urged it into open water.  This duty performed, Gino touched his scarlet cap, and looked at his master as if to inquire the direction in which they were to proceed.  He was answered by a silent gesture that indicated the route of the great canal.

“Thou hast an ambition, Gino, to show thy skill in the regatta?” Don Camillo observed, when they had made a little progress.  “The motive merits success.  Thou wast speaking to a stranger when I summoned thee to the gondola?”

“I was asking the news of our Calabrian hills from one who has come into port with his felucca, though the man took the name of San Gennaro to witness that his former luckless voyage should be the last.”