Proust In Venice
Sketches by Dean Gustafson
My gondola followed the course of the small canals; like the mysterious
hand of a genie leading me through the maze of this oriental city,
they seemed, as I advanced, to be cutting a path for me through
the heart of a crowded quarter which they bisected, barely parting,
with a slender furrow arbitrarily traced, the tall houses with
their tiny Moorish windows; and as though the magic guide had
been holding a candle in his hand and were lighting the way for
me, they kept casting ahead of them a ray of sunlight for which
they cleared a route....
The next day I set out in quest of my beautiful nocturnal piazza,
following calle after calle which were exactly like one another
and refused to give me the smallest piece of information, except
such as would lead me further astray...
I told my mother that I would not leave Venice, but she, thinking
it wiser not to appear to believe that I was saying this seriously,
did not even answer. I went on to say that she would soon see
whether I was serious or not. The porter brought us three letters,
two for her and one for me which I put in my wallet among with
several others without even looking at the envelope. And when
the hour came at which, accompanied by all my belongings, she
set off for the station, I ordered a drink to be brought out to
me on the terrace overlooking the canal, and settled down there
to watch the sunset, while from a boat that had stopped in front
of the hotel a musician sang O sole mio.
Please email P with your letters and comments.
This page brought to you by:
vision@well.com
and:
cynsa@well.com