Early the next morning, the travelers began their journey toward Turin.
The wide and fertile plain stretching from the foot of the Alps to the city was not yet covered, as it would later be, by a long avenue of trees. Instead, the landscape was filled with olive groves, mulberry trees, and palms tangled with vines. The peaceful countryside was crossed by the swift River Po, which flowed down from the mountains and continued its journey toward Turin.
As they moved closer to the city, Emily looked with wonder at the Alps rising in the distance.
The mountains appeared more magnificent with every passing moment. One range rose behind another, their highest peaks hidden beneath drifting clouds. At times, the summits disappeared completely; at others, they suddenly emerged above the clouds like enormous towers reaching toward the sky.
The lower slopes were broken into strange and beautiful shapes, painted with soft blue and purple shades that changed constantly with the movement of light and shadow.
Far to the east lay the plains of Lombardy, while the towers of Turin appeared in the distance. Beyond them, the Apennine Mountains formed the edge of the horizon.
When Emily entered Turin, she was overwhelmed by its beauty.
The city’s grand churches and magnificent palaces stretched outward from the great square, and every avenue seemed to open toward a view of distant mountains.
She had never seen anything like it in France.
Indeed, she had never even imagined such splendor.
Madame Montoni wished to visit some of the famous palaces, but Montoni had been to Turin many times and cared little for beautiful scenery or impressive buildings.
“We cannot stay here,” he said. “We must continue our journey.”
So, after taking only the necessary refreshments, they immediately prepared to leave for Venice.
During the journey, Montoni’s manner became increasingly serious and proud. He spoke little to his wife and showed her no warmth. His silence did not seem to come from respect, but rather from pride and dissatisfaction.
Emily noticed that he paid almost no attention to her.
With Cavigni, however, he often discussed politics and military affairs, especially the troubled condition of the country.
Emily observed something strange about Montoni. Whenever someone mentioned a bold military achievement, his eyes suddenly brightened.
Yet the expression in them was not entirely noble.
She sometimes thought the fire in his eyes looked more like the cruel excitement of ambition than the true passion of courage.
A brave spirit would have suited his proud and commanding appearance, for even Cavigni, despite his charm and confidence, seemed less impressive beside him.
When they entered the Milanese territory, the gentlemen exchanged their French hats for the traditional Italian caps of embroidered scarlet cloth.
Emily was surprised to see that Montoni added a military plume to his hat, while Cavigni wore only the usual feather.
At first she wondered why he had chosen such a mark of a soldier.
But she soon decided that Montoni probably wore it only as a practical disguise, allowing him to travel more safely through a region filled with armed groups.
The beauty of the countryside could not hide the destruction caused by war.
Where the land had not been abandoned, signs of violence appeared everywhere.
Vines had been torn from the branches that supported them.
Olive trees had been crushed beneath marching feet.
Even the mulberry groves had been cut down by enemies who used the wood to burn the homes of the villagers.
Emily looked away sadly from these painful reminders of conflict.
Instead, she turned her eyes toward the distant Alps of the Grisons, whose lonely peaks seemed to offer a safe refuge for those suffering from human cruelty.
Along the road, they often saw groups of soldiers moving across the land.
At the small inns where they stopped, food was scarce, and many other hardships showed the effects of the civil war.
Yet they were never seriously threatened, and they eventually reached Milan without major difficulty.
They did not remain there to admire the city’s famous buildings, not even stopping to see its enormous cathedral, which was still under construction.
Beyond Milan, the country appeared even more damaged.
Although everything seemed peaceful, the silence felt like the stillness after a terrible storm.
The land seemed to carry the memory of the violence it had suffered.
It was not until they had passed beyond the eastern borders of Milan that they saw another army.
As evening approached, they noticed a large force moving across the distant plain.
The soldiers’ weapons caught the final rays of sunlight and flashed brightly.
As the army passed through a narrow road between two hills, Emily could see several commanders on horseback standing on higher ground, giving signals for the soldiers to continue.
Other officers rode along the lines, directing the movement of the troops.
Some separated from the front of the army and traveled across the open plain.
Montoni watched carefully.
Then he recognized the banners, feathers, and uniforms.
“This must be Captain Utaldo’s army,” he said.
He knew the famous commander personally.
“Stop the carriages,” Montoni ordered. “We must allow them to pass.”
Soon, the faint sound of military music reached them.
The sound grew louder as the soldiers approached.
Emily heard drums, trumpets, cymbals, and the ringing of weapons striking together in rhythm with the march.
Montoni leaned from the carriage window and waved his hat.
Captain Utaldo saw him and returned the greeting by raising his spear.
Several officers who recognized Montoni rode over and greeted him warmly.
When Utaldo himself arrived, the army stopped while he spoke with Montoni.
Emily learned from their conversation that this was a victorious army returning to its own territory.
The many wagons following them carried the treasures taken from their enemies, wounded soldiers, and prisoners captured during battle.
The prisoners would eventually be exchanged or released after the peace agreement between the neighboring states was completed.
The next day, the commanders would separate.
Each leader would take his share of the captured wealth and return with his own soldiers to his castle.
That evening, therefore, would be a great celebration of their victory and a farewell between the commanders.
Emily watched the officers with admiration and some fear.
They possessed a proud military appearance mixed with the arrogance of noble families of that age.
Their elegant clothing added to their impressive presence.
Their tall feathers, decorated coats, Persian sashes, and old Spanish cloaks gave them the appearance of heroes from ancient romances.
Utaldo invited Montoni to join their celebration.
“Come with us,” he said. “Our camp is only a few miles away. The ladies will be comfortable and welcome.”
But Montoni refused.
“I must reach Verona tonight,” he replied.
After discussing the condition of the roads ahead, they parted.
The travelers continued without interruption.
Several hours after sunset, they reached Verona.
Emily did not see the beauty of the city until the next morning, when they left early and continued toward Padua.
There they boarded a boat on the Brenta River, which carried them toward Venice.
The scene changed completely.
The destruction of war disappeared.
Peace and elegance surrounded them.
The banks of the Brenta displayed a landscape of extraordinary beauty.
Emily gazed in amazement at the villas of the Venetian nobles.
Their cool porticos and elegant columns were surrounded by tall poplars and cypress trees.
Their gardens overflowed with orange blossoms whose fragrance filled the air.
Willows dipped their delicate leaves into the water and shaded cheerful groups of people whose music floated across the river.
It seemed as though the Carnival of Venice had spread along the entire river.
Boats traveled constantly toward the city, filled with people dressed in colorful costumes like figures from a living masquerade.
As evening approached, groups of dancers appeared beneath the trees.
Cavigni amused Emily by explaining the names of the noble families who owned the villas along the river.
He also described their personalities, though Emily suspected that his descriptions revealed more of his own wit than the truth.
Sometimes she enjoyed his conversation.
But Madame Montoni no longer found his cheerful manner entertaining.
She often appeared serious and unhappy.
Montoni remained distant and silent.
When Emily first saw Venice, she was filled with wonder.
The city seemed to rise directly from the sea.
Islands, towers, and palaces appeared above the shining water, their reflections trembling across the surface.
The setting sun painted the waves with golden light and illuminated the marble balconies and columns of St. Mark’s.
As their boat moved forward, the greatness of Venice became clearer.
The terraces and magnificent buildings looked almost unreal, as if some magician had summoned them from the ocean.
The sun slowly disappeared.
Darkness spread across the water and climbed the mountains of Friuli until only a faint purple glow remained.
A deep and beautiful silence covered everything.
Emily felt as if the entire world had fallen asleep, leaving only the soul awake.
Tears filled her eyes as she looked toward the vast sky.
Then she heard distant music floating across the water.
She listened silently.
No one in the group spoke.
The boat moved so smoothly that its motion could hardly be felt.
The magical city seemed to drift toward them.
Soon Emily heard a woman’s voice singing with gentle instruments.
The song was filled with such sadness and tenderness that she knew it came from a true feeling.
She sighed.
“Those sounds come from the heart,” she thought.
And she remembered Valancourt.
She looked around anxiously.
The evening darkness allowed her to see only vague shapes.
Far away, she thought she saw a gondola.
Then many voices and instruments joined together.
The music became so beautiful and solemn that it seemed like a choir of angels descending through the night.
Then it faded away.
For a moment, Emily imagined that heavenly voices had returned to the skies.
Again the music rose with the wind, trembled softly, and disappeared.
The silence afterward was almost as powerful as the music itself.
Emily remembered words written by her father and whispered:
“Sometimes I hear,
upon the silent midnight air,
celestial voices rise in holy harmony,
lifting the soul toward heaven.”
The group remained quiet for several moments.
Finally, a general sigh seemed to break the spell.
Emily continued enjoying the gentle sadness that filled her heart.
But as they approached St. Mark’s Square, the lively scene before them brought her attention back.
The rising moon illuminated the terraces, balconies, and magnificent arches.
People walked gracefully through the streets, while soft guitars and gentle voices echoed among the buildings.
The music they had heard earlier now passed beside them in a gondola.
Many other boats moved across the moonlit water, filled with happy groups enjoying the evening breeze.
Most carried musicians.
The sound of their instruments blended with the waves and the steady rhythm of the oars.
Emily felt as if she had entered a fairy world.
Even Madame Montoni appeared pleased.
Montoni congratulated himself on returning to Venice.
“This is the greatest city in the world,” he said.
Cavigni was more cheerful than ever.
Their boat entered the Grand Canal, where Montoni’s mansion stood.
As Emily looked around, she saw new wonders.
The palaces designed by famous architects appeared more magnificent than anything her imagination had created.
The air was filled only with beautiful sounds.
Masks danced on moonlit terraces.
The entire city seemed like a dream from a fairy tale.
At last, the boat stopped before a large palace.
A servant of Montoni crossed the terrace and welcomed them.
They entered a grand hall and climbed a marble staircase leading to a magnificent reception room.
Emily was astonished by its beauty.
The walls and ceilings were covered with historical and symbolic paintings.
Silver lamps hung from silver chains.
The floor was covered with colorful Indian carpets.
The couches and curtains were made of pale green silk embroidered with gold.
Balconies opened onto the Grand Canal, allowing fresh air and distant music to enter.
Emily looked around in surprise.
Considering Montoni’s gloomy personality, she had never expected such luxury.
She remembered the rumors that he had lost his fortune and thought:
“If Valancourt could see this house, he would finally know those rumors were false.”
Madame Montoni seemed to behave like a princess in her own palace.
But Montoni himself remained restless and dissatisfied.
He did not even offer his wife a proper welcome.
Soon afterward, he ordered his gondola and left with Cavigni to enjoy the evening.
Madame Montoni became quiet and thoughtful.
Emily tried to cheer her, but her aunt’s answers showed only irritation and unhappiness.
Finally, Emily gave up and went to the balcony to enjoy the wonderful scene outside.
The first thing she noticed was a group of dancers below.
A young woman played the guitar while another shook a tambourine.
They moved with such lightness and happiness that even the most miserable person could have smiled.
Behind them came a strange group dressed as gondoliers, musicians, and mysterious figures.
They sang together with gentle instruments.
Soon Emily recognized the verses of Ariosto.
They sang of the wars between the Moors and Charlemagne, and then of Orlando’s suffering.
Afterward, the music changed.
The sorrowful beauty of Petrarch’s poetry filled the night.
Italian music, Italian emotion, and the moonlight of Venice combined to create a powerful enchantment.
Emily listened deeply.
Her tears fell silently.
Her thoughts traveled far away to France and to Valancourt.
Each song seemed more beautiful and sorrowful than the last.
When the musicians finally disappeared, she remained lost in peaceful sadness.
The feeling was like looking at a beautiful landscape under moonlight, or remembering beloved people who had been lost forever.
Soon another sound caught her attention.
The deep harmony of horns rose from the distance.
Emily saw the gondolas gathering along the terraces.
She stepped onto the balcony and noticed a strange procession moving across the canal.
As it approached, the music grew louder.
It seemed as if the ancient gods of the sea had risen from the ocean.
Neptune appeared with Venice represented as his queen.
Sea creatures and water spirits surrounded them.
The magnificent spectacle, combined with the surrounding palaces, seemed like a dream created by a poet.
Emily watched until the procession disappeared.
Her imagination remained filled with images of sea nymphs.
“How wonderful it would be,” she thought, “to live beneath the ocean among coral gardens and crystal caves.”
She imagined swimming with her sister nymphs, listening to the waves above and the songs of sea creatures.
After sunset, she dreamed of floating across the water beside lonely shores and comforting sad travelers with beautiful music.
She imagined offering them sweet fruits from Neptune’s palace and guiding lost sailors safely home.
Lost in these fantasies, Emily almost wished she could leave the human world and become a creature of the sea.
Then she was called back to a simple mortal supper.
She smiled at her own imagination.
She knew Madame Montoni would have been greatly displeased if she had heard such strange thoughts.
After supper, Madame Montoni remained awake for a long time.
Montoni did not return.
Eventually, Emily went to her room.
But the magnificence of the reception hall was not repeated throughout the palace.
As she walked through the endless rooms, she was surprised by their abandoned appearance.
Many rooms seemed untouched for years.
The walls held faded tapestries.
The paintings on the ceilings had lost their colors because of dampness.
The great palace felt empty and forgotten.
At last, Emily reached her own chamber.
It was large, high, and lonely, like the rest of the house.
Its tall windows opened toward the Adriatic Sea.
The gloomy room filled her mind with dark thoughts.
But when she looked at the sea, her imagination returned to the dream of the sea nymph.
Wanting to escape serious thoughts, she began creating a poem.
She called it:
The Sea Nymph