this scene (shut up as I was in
the box of the gondola), I found myself in a very unpleasant situation.

My companion, to whom I communicated this circumstance, being very
desirous to keep up the credit of his countrymen, assured me that this
singing was very delightful when heard at a distance. Accordingly we got
out upon the shore, leaving one of the singers in the gondola, while the
other went to the distance of some hundred paces. They now began to sing
against one another; and I kept walking up and down between them both,
so as always to leave him who was to begin his part. I frequently stood
still, and hearkened to the one and to the other.

Here the scene was properly introduced. The strong declamatory, and, as
it were, shrieking sound, met the ear from far, and called forth the
attention; the quickly succeeding transitions, which necessarily
required to be sung in a lower tone, seemed like plaintive strains
succeeding the vociferations of emotion or of pain. The other, who
listened attentively, immediately began where the former left off,
answering him in milder or more vehement notes, according as the purport
of the strophe required. The sleepy canals, the lofty buildings, the
splendour of the moon, the deep shadows of the few gondolas that moved
like spirits hither and thither, increased the striking peculiarity of
the scene, and amidst all these circumstances it was easy to confess the
character of this wonderful harmony.

It suits perfectly well with an idle solitary mariner, lying at length
in his vessel at rest on one of these canals, waiting for his company or
for a fare; the tiresomeness of which situation is somewhat alleviated
by the songs and poetical stories he has in memory. He often raises his
voice as loud as he can, which extends itself to a vast distance over
the tranquil mirror; and, as all is still around, he is as it were in a
solitude in the midst of a large and populous town. Here is no rattling
of carriages, no noise of foot passengers; a silent gondola glides now
and then by him, of which the splashing of the oars is scarcely to be
heard.

At a distance he hears another, perhaps utterly unknown to him. Melody
and verse immediately attach the two strangers; he becomes the
responsive echo to the former, and exerts himself to be heard as he had
heard the other. By a tacit convention they alternate verse for verse;
though the song should last the whole night through, they entertain,
thems