Far below lay the strip of frivolous fairyland, all that
most strangers know of the Riviera: the pleasure towns with their palms
and tropical flowers, the decorated villas, to live in which Vanno
thought would be like living in hollowed-out birthday cakes. And the
soft, thoughtful grayness which was dimming the sunshine suited this
different, higher world as well as it suited his mood. The loveliness of
trees, and the pale splendour of mountain peaks carved in bas-relief
against the pearl-gray sky, rang out to his soul like a chime of bells
from a cathedral tower, giving him back the mastery of himself. It was
good to be here, where there were no sounds except the voice of Nature,
singing her eternal song, in the universal language, and where the life
of man seemed as distant as the far-down windows that glittered
mysteriously out of shadows, as the eyes of a cat glitter at night.
Inarticulate, enchanting whispers of the love and joy which have been in
the world and may be again floated up to Vanno's imagination like the
chanting of mermaids heard under the sea. He felt that, if he should
meet his Giulietta now, he would believe in her, and his belief would
make her worthy of itself, if she were not already worthy. "May the
wings of our souls never fail us," he said aloud, as if it were a
prayer.
Almost before the time when Vanno Della Robbia had known words enough
to clothe his most childish thoughts, he had possessed an unknown land,
a kingdom and a castle of his own more beautiful than sunset clouds.
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