The gondola turned, then sped under the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, making its way toward the Rio de Palazzo. The bells were now ringing joyously in the full daylight, drowning the noises of the market-place with their brazen tongues.
A thought, spontaneous as an instinct, led him back to the glorious spot where it seemed some trace must remain of his lyric inspiration and of the great Dionysian chorus: _Viva il forte!_ The gondola grazed the side of the Palace of the Doge, massive as a monolith cut by chisels not less apt in finding melodies than the bows of the musicians. With all his new-born soul he embraced the mass; he heard once more the sound of his own voice and the bursts of applause. He said again to himself: "To create with joy! That is an attribute of Divinity! Impossible to imagine, in the highest flight of the spirit, a more triumphal act. Even the phrase itself has something of the splendor of the dawn."
Again and again he repeated to the air, the waters, the stones, to the ancient city, to the young dawn: "To create with joy! To create with joy!"
When the prow passed under the bridge and entered the mirror of light, a freer breath gave him fresh realization, with his hope and his courage, of the beauty and strength of the life of the past.
"Find me a boat, Zorzi--a boat that will go out to sea."
He longed for still wider space in which to breathe; he longed to feel a strong wind, salt air and dashing spray; to see the sails swell, and the bowsprit pointed toward a boundless horizon.
"To the Veneta Marina! Find me a fishing-boat, a _bragozzo_ from Chioggia."
He perceived a large red and black sail, just hoisted, and now flapping in the breeze, superb as an ancient banner of the Republic, with the device of the Lion and the Book.
"That one there--that will do. Let us catch it, Zorzi."
In his impatience he waved his hand, to sign to the boat to stop.
"Call out to them to wait for me, Zorzi!"
The gondolier, heated and dripping, cried out to the man at the sail. The gondola flew like a canoe in a regatta.
But Stelio was panting, too, as if he were in pursuit of fortune, some happy aim, or the certainty of a kingdom.
"We have won the flag!" laughed the gondolier, rubbing his burning palms. "What foolishness!"