"What well appointed leader fronts us here?"KING HENRY VI.
"What well appointed leader fronts us here?"
KING HENRY VI.
The presence of Annina was a grave embarrassment to Gino. He had his secret wishes and limited ambition, like other men, and among the strongest of the former, was the desire to stand well in the favor of the wine-seller's daughter. But the artful girl, in catering to his palate with a liquor that was scarcely less celebrated among people of his class for its strength than its flavor, had caused a momentary confusion in the brain of Gino, that required time to disperse. The boat was in the Grand Canal, and far on its way to the place of its destination, before this happy purification of the intellects of the gondolier had been sufficiently effected. By that time, however, the exercise of rowing, the fresh air of the evening, and the sight of so many accustomed objects, restored his faculties to the necessary degree of coolness and forethought. As the boat approached the end of the canal he began to cast his eyes about him in quest of the well known felucca of the Calabrian.
Though the glory of Venice had departed, the trade of the city was not then at its present low ebb. The port was still crowded with vessels from many distant havens, and the flags of most of the maritime states of Europe were seen, at intervals, within the barrier of the Lido. The moon was now sufficiently high to cast its soft light on the whole of the glittering basin, and a forest composed of lateen yards, of the slender masts of polaccas, and of the more massive and heavy hamper of regularly rigged ships, was to be seen rising above the tranquil element.
"Thou art no judge of a vessel's beauty, Annina," said the gondolier to his companion, who was deeply housed in the pavilion of the boat, "else should I tell thee to look at this stranger from Candia. 'Tis said that a fairer model has never entered within the Lido than that same Greek!"
"Our errand is not with the Candian trader, Gino; therefore ply thy oar, for time passes."
"There's plenty of rough Greek wine in his hold; but, as thou sayest, we have naught with him. Yon tall ship, which is moored without the smaller craft of our seas, is the vessel of a Lutheran from the islands of Inghilterra. 'Twas a sad day for the Republic, girl, when it first permitted the stranger to come into the waters of the Adriatic!"
"Is it certain, Gino, that the arm of St. Mark was strong enough to keep him out?"
"Mother of Diana! I would rather thou didst not ask that question in a place where so many gondoliers are in motion! Here are Ragusans, Maltese, Sicilians, and Tuscans without number; and a little fleet of French lie near each other there, at the entrance of the Giudecca. They are a people who get together, afloat or ashore, for the benefit of the tongue. Here we are, at the end of our journey."
The oar of Gino gave a backward sweep, and the gondola was at rest by the side of a felucca.
"A happy night to the Bella Sorrentina and her worthy padrone!" was the greeting of the gondolier, as he put his foot on the deck of the vessel. "Is the honest Stefano Milano on board the swift felucca?"
The Calabrian was not slow to answer; and in a few moments the padrone and his two visitors were in close and secret conference.
"I have brought one here who will be likely to put good Venetian sequins into thy pocket, caro," observed the gondolier, when the preliminaries of discourse had been properly observed. "She is the daughter of a most conscientious wine-dealer, who is quite as ready at transplanting your Sicilian grapes into the islands as he is willing and able to pay for them."
"And one, no doubt, as handsome as she is ready," said the mariner, with blunt gallantry, "were the black cloud but fairly driven from before her face."
"A mask is of little consequence in a bargain provided the money be forthcoming. We are always in the Carnival at Venice; and he who would buy, or he who would sell, has the same right to hide his face as to hide his thoughts. What hast thou in the way of forbidden liquors, Stefano, that my companion may not lose the night in idle words?"
"Per Diana! Master Gino, thou puttest thy questions with little ceremony. The hold of the felucca is empty, as thou mayest see by stepping to the hatches; and as for any liquor, we are perishing for a drop to warm the blood."
"And so far from coming to seek it here," said Annina, "we should have done better to have gone into the cathedral, and said an Ave for thy safe voyage home. And now that our wit is spent, we will quit thee, friend Stefano, for some other less skilful in answers."
"Cospetto! thou knowest not what thou sayest," whispered Gino, when he found that the wary Annina was not disposed to remain. "The man never enters the meanest creek in Italy, without having something useful secreted in the felucca on his own account. One purchase of him would settle the question between the quality of thy father's wines and those of Battista. There is not a gondolier in Venice but will resort to thy shop if the intercourse with this fellow can be fairly settled."
Annina hesitated; long practised in the small, but secret exceedingly hazardous commerce which her father, notwithstanding the vigilance and severity of the Venetian police, had thus far successfully driven, she neither liked to risk an exposure of her views to an utter stranger, nor to abandon a bargain that promised to be lucrative. That Gino trifled with her as to his true errand needed no confirmation, since a servant of the Duke of Sant' Agata was not likely to need a disguise to search a priest; but she knew his zeal for her personal welfare too well to distrust his faith in a matter that concerned her own safety.
"If thou distrust that any here are the spies of the authorities," she observed to the padrone, with a manner that readily betrayed her wishes, "it will be in Gino's power to undeceive thee. Thou wilt testify, Gino, that I am not to be suspected of treachery in an affair like this."
"Leave me to put a word into the private ear of the Calabrian," said the gondolier, significantly.—"Stefano Milano, if thou love me," he continued, when they were a little apart, "keep the girl in parley, and treat with her fairly for thy adventure."
"Shall I sell the vintage of Don Camillo, or that of the Viceroy of Sicily, caro? There is as much wine of each on board the Bella Sorrentina, as would float the fleet of the Republic."
"If, in truth, thou art dry, then feign that thou hast it, and differ in thy prices. Entertain her but a minute with fair words, while I can get unseen into my gondola; and then, for the sake of an old and tried friend, put her tenderly on the quay, in the best manner thou art able."
"I begin to see into the nature of the trade," returned the pliant padrone, placing a finger on the side of his nose. "I will discourse the woman by the hour about the flavor of the liquor, or, if thou wilt, of her own beauty; but to squeeze a drop of anything better than the water of the Lagunes out of the ribs of the felucca, would be a miracle worthy of San Teodoro."
"There is but little need to touch on aught but the quality of thy wine. The girl is not like most of her sex, and she takes sudden offence when there is question of her appearance. Indeed, the mask she wears is as much to hide a face that has little to tempt the eye, as from any wish at concealment."
"Since Gino has entered frankly into the matter," resumed the quick-witted Calabrian, cheerfully, and with an air of sudden confidence to the expectant Annina, "I begin to see more probability of our understanding each other's meaning. Deign, bella donna, to go into my poor cabin, where we will speak more at our ease, and something more to our mutual profit and mutual security."
Annina was not without secret doubts, but she suffered the padrone to lead her to the stairs of the cabin, as if she were disposed to descend. Her back was no sooner turned, than Gino slid into the gondola, which one shove of his vigorous arm sent far beyond the leap of man. The action was sudden, rapid, and noiseless; but the jealous eye of Annina detected the escape of the gondolier, though not in time to prevent it. Without betraying uneasiness, she submitted to be led below, as if the whole were done by previous concert.
"Gino has said that you have a boat which will do the friendly office to put me on the quay when our conference is over," she remarked, with a presence of mind that luckily met the expedient of her late companion.
"The felucca itself should do that much, were there want of other means," gallantly returned the manner when they disappeared in the cabin.
Free to discharge his duty, Gino now plied his task with redoubled zeal. The light boat glided among the vessels, inclining, by the skilful management of his single oar, in a manner to avoid all collision, until it entered the narrow canal which separates the palace of the Doge from the more beautiful and classic structure that contains the prisons of the Republic. The bridge which continues the communication of the quays, was first passed, and then he was stealing beneath that far-famed arch which supports a covered gallery leading from the upper story of the palace into that of the prisons, and which, from its being appropriated to the passage of the accused from their cells to the presence of their judges, has been so poetically, and it may be added so pathetically, called the Bridge of Sighs.
The oar of Gino now relaxed its efforts, and the gondola approached a flight of steps over which, as usual, the water cast its little waves. Stepping on the lowest flag, he thrust a small iron spike to which a cord was attached, into a crevice between two of the stones, and left his boat to the security of this characteristic fastening. When this little precaution was observed, the gondolier passed up lightly beneath the massive arch of the water-gate of the palace, and entered its large but gloomy court.
At that hour, and with the temptation of the gay scene which offered in the adjoining square, the place was nearly deserted. A single female water-carrier was at the well, waiting for the element to filter into its basin, in order to fill her buckets, while her ear listened in dull attention to the hum of the moving crowd without. A halberdier paced the open gallery at the head of the Giant's Stairs, and, here and there, the footfall of other sentinels might be heard among the hollow and ponderous arches of the long corridors. No light was shed from the windows; but the entire building presented a fit emblem of that mysterious power which was known to preside over the fortunes of Venice and her citizens. Ere Gino trusted himself without the shadow of the passage by which he had entered, two or three curious faces had appeared at the opposite entrance of the court, where they paused a moment to gaze at the melancholy and imposing air of the dreaded palace, before they vanished in the throng which trifled in the immediate proximity of that secret and ruthless tribunal, as man riots in security even on the verge of an endless and unforeseen future.
Disappointed in his expectation of meeting him he sought, on the instant, the gondolier advanced, and taking courage by the possibility of his escaping altogether from the interview, he ventured to furnish audible evidence of his presence by a loud hem. At that instant a figure glided into the court from the side of the quay, and walked swiftly towards its centre. The heart of Gino beat violently, but he mustered resolution to meet the stranger. As they drew near each other, it became evident, by the light of the moon, which penetrated even to that gloomy spot, that the latter was also masked.
"San Teodoro and San Marco have you in mind!" commenced the gondolier. "If I mistake not, you are the man I am sent to meet."
The stranger started, and first manifesting an intention to pass on quickly, he suddenly arrested the movement to reply.
"This may be so or not. Unmask, that I may judge by thy countenance if what thou sayest be true."
"By your good leave, most worthy and honorable Signore, and if it be equally agreeable to you and my master, I would choose to keep off the evening air by this bit of pasteboard and silk."
"Here are none to betray thee, wert thou naked as at thy birth. Unless certain of thy character, in what manner may I confide in thy honesty?"
"I have no distrust of the virtues of an undisguised face, Signore, and therefore do I invite you, yourself, to exhibit what nature has done for you in the way of features, that I, who am to make the confidence, be sure it be to the right person."
"This is well, and gives assurance of thy prudence. I may not unmask, however; and as there seemeth little probability of our coming to an understanding, I will go my way. A most happy night to thee."
"Cospetto!—Signore, you are far too quick in your ideas and movements for one little used to negotiations of this sort. Here is a ring whose signet may help us to understand each other."
The stranger took the jewel, and holding the stone in a manner to receive the light of the moon, he started in a manner to betray both surprise and pleasure.
"This is the falcon crest of the Neapolitan—he that is the lord of Sant' Agata!"
"And of many other fiefs, good Signore, to say nothing of the honors he claims in Venice. Am I right in supposing my errand with you?"
"Thou hast found one whose present business has no other object than Don Camillo Monforte. But thy errand was not solely to exhibit the signet?"
"So little so, that I have a packet here which waits only for a certainty of the person with whom I speak, to be placed into his hands."
The stranger mused a moment; then glancing a look about him, he answered hurriedly—
"This is no place to unmask, friend, even though we only wear our disguises in pleasantry. Tarry here, and at my return I will conduct thee to a more fitting spot."
The words were scarcely uttered when Gino found himself standing in the middle of the court alone. The masked stranger had passed swiftly on, and was at the bottom of the Giant's Stairs ere the gondolier had time for reflection. He ascended with a light and rapid step, and without regarding the halberdier, he approached the first of three or four orifices which opened into the wall of the palace, and which, from the heads of the animal being carved in relief around them, had become famous as the receptacles of secret accusations under the name of the Lion's Mouths. Something he dropped into the grinning aperture of the marble, though what, the distance and the obscurity of the gallery prevented Gino from perceiving; and then his form was seen gliding like a phantom down the flight of massive steps.
Gino had retired towards the arch of the water-gate, in expectation that the stranger would rejoin him within its shadows; but, to his great alarm, he saw the form darting through the outer portal of the palace into the square of St. Mark. It was not a moment ere Gino, breathless with haste, was in chase. On reaching the bright and gay scene of the piazza, which contrasted with the gloomy court he had just quitted like morning with night, he saw the utter fruitlessness of further pursuit. Frightened at the loss of his master's signet, however, the indiscreet but well intentioned gondolier rushed into the crowd, and tried in vain to select the delinquent from among a thousand masks.
"Harkee, Signore," uttered the half-distracted gondolier to one, who, having first examined his person with distrust, evidently betrayed a wish to avoid him, "if thou hast sufficiently pleased thy finger with my master's signet, the occasion offers to return it."
"I know thee not," returned a voice, in which Gino's ear could detect no familiar sound.
"It may not be well to trifle with the displeasure of a noble as powerful as him, you know," he whispered at the elbow of another, who had come under his suspicions. "The signet, if thou pleasest, and the affair need go no further."
"He who would meddle in it, with or without that gage, would do well to pause."
The gondolier again turned away disappointed.
"The ring is not suited to thy masquerade, friend of mine," he essayed with a third; "and it would be wise not to trouble the podestà about such a trifle."
"Then name it not, lest he hear thee." The answer proved, like all the others, unsatisfactory and bootless.
Gino now ceased to question any; but he threaded the throng with an active and eager eye. Fifty times was he tempted to speak, but as often did some difference in stature or dress, some laugh, or trifle uttered in levity, warn him of his mistake. He penetrated to the very head of the piazza, and, returning by the opposite side, he found his way through the throng of the porticoes, looking into every coffee-house, and examining each figure that floated by, until he again issued into the piazzetta, without success. A slight jerk at the elbow of his jacket arrested his steps, and he turned to look at the person who had detained him. A female, attired like a contadina, addressed him in the feigned voice common to all.
"Whither so fast, and what hast thou lost in this merry crowd? If a heart, 'twill be wise to use diligence, for many here may be willing to wear the jewel."
"Corpo di Bacco!" exclaimed the disappointed gondolier; "any who find such a bauble of mine under foot, are welcome to their luck! Hast thou seen a domino of a size like that of any other man, with a gait that might pass for the step of a senator, padre, or Jew, and a mask that looks as much like a thousand of these in the square as one side of the campanile is like the other?"
"Thy picture is so well drawn that one cannot fail to know the original. He stands beside thee."
Gino wheeled suddenly, and saw that a grinning harlequin was playing his antics in the place where he had expected to find the stranger.
"And thy eyes, bella contadina, are as dull as a mole's."
He ceased speaking; for, deceived in his person, she who had saluted him was no longer visible. In this manner did the disappointed gondolier thread his way towards the water, now answering to the boisterous salute of some clown, and now repelling the advances of females less disguised than the pretended contadina, until he gained a space near the quays, where there was more room for observation. Here he paused, undetermined whether to return and confess his indiscretion to his master, or whether he should make still another effort to regain the ring which had been so sillily lost. The vacant space between the two granite columns was left to the quiet possession of himself and one other, who stood near the base of that which sustained the lion of St. Mark, as motionless as if he too were merely a form of stone. Two or three stragglers, either led by idle curiosity or expecting to meet one appointed to await their coming, drew near this immovable man, but all glided away, as if there were repulsion in his marble-like countenance. Gino had witnessed several instances of this evident dislike to remain near the unknown figure, ere he felt induced to cross the space between them, in order to inquire into its cause. A slow movement at the sound of his footsteps, brought the rays of the moon full upon the calm countenance and searching eye of the very man he sought.
The first impulse of the gondolier, like that of all the others he had seen approach the spot, was to retreat; but the recollection of his errand and his loss came in season to prevent such an exhibition of his disgust and alarm. Still he did not speak; but he met the riveted gaze of the Bravo with a look that denoted, equally, confusion of intellect and a half-settled purpose.
"Would'st thou aught with me?" demanded Jacopo, when the gaze of each had continued beyond the term of accidental glances.
"My master's signet."
"I know thee not."
"That image of San Teodoro could testify that this is holy truth, if it would but speak! I have not the honor of your friendship, Signor Jacopo; but one may have affairs even with a stranger. If you met a peaceable and innocent gondolier in the court of the palace since the clock of the piazza told the last quarter, and got from him a ring, which can be of but little use to any but its rightful owner, one so generous will not hesitate to return it."
"Dost thou take me for a jeweller of the Rialto that thou speakest to me of rings?"
"I take you for one well known and much valued by many of name and quality, here in Venice, as witness my errand from my own master."
"Remove thy mask. Men of fair dealing need not hide the features which nature has given them."
"You speak nothing but truths, Signor Frontoni, which is little remarkable considering thy opportunities of looking into the motives of men. There is little in my face to pay you for the trouble of casting a glance at it. I would as lief do as others in this gay season, if it be equally agreeable to you."
"Do as thou wilt; but I pray thee to give me the same permission."
"There are few so bold as to dispute thy pleasure, Signore."
"It is, to be alone."
"Cospetto! There is not a man in Venice who would more gladly consult it, if my master's errand were fairly done!" muttered Gino, between his teeth. "I have here a packet, which it is my duty to put into your hands, Signore, and into those of no other."
"I know thee not—thou hast a name?"
"Not in the sense in which you speak, Signore. As to that sort of reputation I am as nameless as a foundling."
"If thy master is of no more note than thyself the packet may be returned."
"There are few within the dominions of St. Mark of better lineage or of fairer hopes than the Duke of Sant' Agata."
The cold expression of the Bravo's countenance changed.
"If thou comest from Don Camillo Monforte, why dost thou hesitate to proclaim it? Where are his requests?"
"I know not whether it is his pleasure or that of another which this paper contains, but such as it is, Signor Jacopo, my duty commands me to deliver it to thee."
The packet was received calmly, though the organ which glanced at its seal and its superscription, gleamed with an expression which the credulous gondolier fancied to resemble that of the tiger at the sight of blood.
"Thou said'st something of a ring. Dost thou bear thy master's signet? I am much accustomed to see pledges ere I give faith."
"Blessed San Teodore grant that I did! Were it as heavy as a skin of wine, I would willingly bear the load; but one that I mistook for you, Master Jacopo, has it on his own light finger, I fear."
"This is an affair that thou wilt settle with thy master," returned the Bravo, coldly, again examining the impression of the seal.
"If you are acquainted with the writing of my master," hurriedly remarked Gino, who trembled for the fate of the packet, "you will see his skill in the turn of those letters. There are few nobles in Venice, or indeed in the Sicilies, who have a more scholarly hand, with a quill, than Don Camillo Monforte; I could not do the thing half so well myself."
"I am no clerk," observed the Bravo, without betraying shame at the confession. "The art of deciphering a scroll, like this, was never taught me; if thou art so expert in the skill of a penman, tell me the name the packet bears."
"'Twould little become me to breathe a syllable concerning any of my master's secrets," returned the gondolier, drawing himself up in sudden reserve. "It is enough that he bid me deliver the letter; after which I should think it presumption even to whisper more."
The dark eye of the Bravo was seen rolling over the person of his companion, by the light of the moon, in a manner that caused the blood of the latter to steal towards his heart.
"I bid thee read to me aloud the name the paper bears," said Jacopo, sternly. "Here is none but the lion and the saint above our heads to listen."
"Just San Marco! who can tell what ear is open or what ear is shut in Venice? If you please, Signor Frontoni, we will postpone the examination to a more suitable occasion."
"Friend, I do not play the fool! The name, or show me some gage that thou art sent by him thou hast named, else take back the packet; 'tis no affair for my hand."
"Reflect a single moment on the consequences, Signor Jacopo, before you come to a determination so hasty."
"I know no consequences which can befall a man who refuses to receive a message like this."
"Per Diana! Signore, the Duca will not be likely to leave me an ear to hear the good advice of Father Battista."
"Then will the Duca save the public executioner some trouble."
As he spoke, the Bravo cast the packet at the feet of the gondolier, and began to walk calmly up the piazzetta. Gino seized the letter, and, with his brain in a whirl, with the effort to recall some one of his master's acquaintances to whom he would be likely to address an epistle on such an occasion, he followed.
"I wonder, Signor Jacopo, that a man of your sagacity has not remembered that a packet to be delivered to himself should bear his own name."
The Bravo took the paper, and held the superscription again to the light.
"That is not so. Though unlearned, necessity has taught me to know when I am meant."
"Diamine! That is just my own case, Signore. Were the letter for me, now the old should not know its young quicker than I would come at the truth."
"Then thou canst not read?"
"I never pretended to the art. The little said was merely about writing. Learning, as you well understand, Master Jacopo, is divided into reading, writing, and figures; and a man may well understand one, without knowing a word of the others. It is not absolutely necessary to be a bishop to have a shaved head, or a Jew to wear a beard."
"Thou would'st have done better to have said this at once; go, I will think of the matter."
Gino gladly turned away, but he had not left the other many paces before he saw a female form gliding behind the pedestal of one of the granite columns. Moving swiftly in a direction to uncover this seeming spy, he saw at once that Annina had been a witness of his interview with the Bravo.
[Illustration]
"'T will make me thinkThe world is full of rubs, and that my fortuneRuns 'gainst the bias."RICHARD THE SECOND.
"'T will make me thinkThe world is full of rubs, and that my fortuneRuns 'gainst the bias."
RICHARD THE SECOND.
Though Venice at that hour was so gay in her squares, the rest of the town was silent as the grave. A city in which the hoof of horse or the rolling of wheels is never heard, necessarily possesses a character of its own; but the peculiar form of the government, and the long training of the people in habits of caution, weighed on the spirits of the gay. There were times and places, it is true, when the buoyancy of youthful blood, and the levity of the thoughtless, found occasion for their display—nor were they rare; but when men found themselves removed from the temptation, and perhaps from the support of society, they appeared to imbibe the character of their sombre city.
Such was the state of most of the town, while the scene described in the previous chapter was exhibited in the lively piazza of San Marco. The moon had risen so high that its light fell between the range of walls, here and there touching the surface of the water, to which it imparted a quivering brightness, while the domes and towers rested beneath its light in a solemn but grand repose. Occasionally the front of a palace received the rays on its heavy cornices and labored columns, the gloomy stillness of the interior of the edifice furnishing, in every such instance, a striking contrast to the richness and architectural beauty without. Our narrative now leads us to one of these patrician abodes of the first class.
A heavy magnificence pervaded the style of the dwelling. The vestibule was vast, vaulted, and massive. The stairs, rich in marbles, heavy and grand. The apartments were imposing in their gildings and sculpture, while the walls sustained countless works on which the highest geniuses of Italy had lavishly diffused their power. Among these relics of an age more happy in this respect than that of which we write, the connoisseur would readily have known the pencils of Titian, Paul Veronese, and Tintoretto—the three great names in which the subjects of St. Mark so justly prided themselves. Among these works of the higher masters were mingled others by the pencils of Bellino, and Montegna, and Palma Vecchio—artists who were secondary only to the more renowned colorists of the Venetian school. Vast sheets of mirrors lined the walls, wherever the still more precious paintings had no place; while the ordinary hangings of velvet and silk became objects of secondary admiration, in a scene of nearly royal magnificence. The cool and beautiful floors, made of a composition in which all the prized marbles of Italy and of the East polished to the last degree of art, were curiously embedded, formed a suitable finish to a style so gorgeous, and in which luxury and taste were blended in equal profusion.
The building, which, on two of its sides, literally rose from out the water, was, as usual, erected around a dark court. Following its different faces, the eye might penetrate, by many a door, open at that hour for the passage of the air from off the sea, through long suites of rooms, furnished and fitted in the manner described, all lighted by shaded lamps that spread a soft and gentle glow around. Passing without notice ranges of reception and sleeping rooms—the latter of a magnificence to mock the ordinary wants of the body—we shall at once introduce the reader into the part of the palace where the business of the tale conducts us.
At the angle of the dwelling on the side of the smaller of the two canals, and most remote from the principal water-avenue of the city on which the edifice fronted, there was a suite of apartments, which, while it exhibited the same style of luxury and magnificence as those first mentioned in its general character, discovered greater attention in its details to the wants of ordinary life. The hangings were of the richest velvets or of glossy silks, the mirrors were large and of exquisite truth, the floors of the same gay and pleasing colors, and the walls were adorned with their appropriate works of art. But the whole was softened down to a picture of domestic comfort. The tapestries and curtains hung in careless folds, the beds admitted of sleep, and the pictures were delicate copies by the pencil of some youthful amateur, whose leisure had been exercised in this gentle and feminine employment.
The fair being herself, whose early instruction had given birth to so many skilful imitations of the divine expression of Raphael, or to the vivid tints of Titian, was at that hour in her privacy, discoursing with her ghostly adviser, and one of her own sex, who had long discharged the joint trusts of instructor and parent. The years of the lady of the palace were so tender that, in a more northern region, she would scarcely have been deemed past the period of childhood, though in her native land, the justness and maturity of her form, and the expression of a dark, eloquent eye, indicated both the growth and the intelligence of womanhood.
"For this good counsel I thank you, my father, and my excellent Donna Florinda will thank you still more, for your opinions are so like her own, that I sometimes admire the secret means by which experience enables the wise and the good to think so much alike, on a matter of so little personal interest."
A slight but furtive smile struggled around the mortified mouth of the Carmelite, as he listened to the naive observation of his ingenuous pupil.
"Thou wilt learn, my child," he answered, "as time heaps wisdom on thy head, that it is in concerns which touch our passions and interests least, we are most apt to decide with discretion and impartiality. Though Donna Florinda is not yet past the age when the heart is finally subdued, and there is still so much to bind her to the world, she will assure thee of this truth, or I greatly mistake the excellence of that mind, which hath hitherto led her so far blameless, in this erring pilgrimage to which we are all doomed."
Though the cowl was over the head of the speaker, who was evidently preparing to depart, and his deeply-seated eye never varied from its friendly look at the fair face of her he instructed, the blood stole into the pale cheeks of the maternal companion, and her whole countenance betrayed some such reflection of feeling at his praise, as a wintry sky exhibits at a sudden gleam from the setting sun.
"I trust that Violetta does not now hear this for the first time," observed Donna Florinda, in a voice so meek and tremulous as to be observed.
"Little that can be profitably told one of my inexperience has been left untaught," quickly answered the pupil, unconscious herself that she reached her hand towards that of her constant monitor, though too intent on her object to change her look from the features of the Carmelite. "But why this desire in the Senate to dispose of a girl who would be satisfied to live for ever, as she is now, happy in her youth, and contented with the privacy which becomes her sex?"
"The relentless years will not stay their advance, that even one innocent as thou may never know the unhappiness and trials of a more mature age. This life is one of imperious and, oftentimes, of tyrannical duties. Thou art not ignorant of the policy that rules a state which hath made its name so illustrious by high deeds in arms, its riches, and its widely-spread influence. There is a law in Venice which commandeth that none claiming an interest in its affairs shall so bind himself to the stranger as to endanger the devotion all owe to the Republic. Thus may not the patrician of St. Mark be a lord in other lands, nor may the heiress of a name, great and valued as thine, be given in marriage to any of note, in a foreign state, without counsel and consent from those who are appointed to watch over the interests of all."
"Had Providence cast my lot in an humbler class, this would not have been. Methinks it ill comports with the happiness of woman to be the especial care of the Council of Ten!"
"There is indiscretion, and I lament to say, impiety in thy words. Our duty bids us submit to earthly laws, and more than duty, reverence teaches us not to repine at the will of Providence. But I do not see the weight of this grievance against which thou murmurest, daughter. Thou art youthful, wealthy beyond the indulgence of all healthful desires, of a lineage to excite an unwholesome worldly pride, and fair enough to render thee the most dangerous of thine own enemies—and thou repinest at a lot to which all of thy sex and station are, of necessity, subject!"
"For the offence against Providence I am already a penitent," returned the Donna Violetta. "But surely it would be less embarrassing to a girl of sixteen, were the fathers of the state so much occupied with more weighty affairs as to forget her birth and years, and haply her wealth?"
"There would be little merit in being content with a world fashioned after our own caprices, though it may be questioned if we should be happier by having all things as we desire than by being compelled to submit to them as they are. The interest taken by the Republic in thy particular welfare, daughter, is the price thou payest for the ease and magnificence with which thou art encircled. One more obscure, and less endowed by fortune, might have greater freedom of will, but it would be accompanied by none of the pomp which adorns the dwelling of thy fathers."
"I would there were less of luxury and more of liberty within its walls."
"Time will enable thee to see differently. At thy age all is viewed in colors of gold, or life is rendered bootless, because we are thwarted in our ill-digested wishes. I deny not, however, that thy fortune is tempered by some peculiar passages. Venice is ruled by a policy that is often calculating, and haply some deem it remorseless." Though the voice of the Carmelite had fallen, he paused and glanced an uneasy look from beneath his cowl ere he continued. "The caution of the senate teaches it to preclude, as far as in it lies, the union of interests that may not only oppose each other, but which may endanger those of the state. Thus, as I have said, none of senatorial rank may hold lands without the limits of the Republic, nor may any of account connect themselves, by the ties of marriage, with strangers of dangerous influence, without the consent and supervision of the Republic. The latter is thy situation, for of the several foreign lords who seek thy hand the council see none to whom the favor may be extended without the apprehension of creating an influence here, in the centre of the canals, which ought not to be given to a stranger. Don Camillo Monforte, the cavalier to whom thou art indebted for thy life, and of whom thou hast so lately spoken with gratitude, has far more cause to complain of these hard decrees, than thou mayest have, in any reason."
"'Twould make my griefs still heavier, did I know that one who has shown so much courage in my behalf, has equal reason to feel their justice," returned Violetta, quickly. "What is the affair that, so fortunately for me, hath brought the Lord of Sant' Agata to Venice, if a grateful girl may, without indiscretion, inquire?"
"Thy interest in his behalf is both natural and commendable," answered the Carmelite, with a simplicity which did more credit to his cowl than to his observation. "He is young, and doubtless he is tempted by the gifts of fortune and the passions of his years to divers acts of weakness. Remember him, daughter, in thy prayers, that part of the debt of gratitude may be repaid. His worldly interest here is one of general notoriety, and I can ascribe thy ignorance of it only to a retired manner of life."
"My charge hath other matters to occupy her thoughts than the concerns of a young stranger, who cometh to Venice for affairs," mildly observed Donna Florinda,
"But if I am to remember him in my prayers, Father, it might enlighten my petition to know in what the young noble is most wanting."
"I would have thee remember his spiritual necessities only. He wanteth, of a truth, little in temporalities that the world can offer, though the desires of life often lead him who hath most in quest of more. It would seem that an ancestor of Don Camillo was anciently a senator of Venice, when the death of a relation brought many Calabrian signories into his possession. The younger of his sons, by an especial decree, which favored a family that had well served the state, took these estates, while the elder transmitted the senatorial rank and the Venetian fortunes to his posterity. Time hath extinguished the elder branch; and Don Camillo hath for years besieged the council to be restored to those rights which his predecessor renounced."
"Can they refuse him?"
"His demand involves a departure from established laws. Were he to renounce the Calabrian lordships, the Neapolitan might lose more than he would gain; and to keep both is to infringe a law that is rarely suffered to be dormant. I know little, daughter, of the interests of life; but there are enemies of the Republic who say that its servitude is not easy, and that it seldom bestows favors of this sort without seeking an ample equivalent."
"Is this as it should be? If Don Camillo Monforte has claims in Venice, whether it be to palaces on the canals, or to lands on the main; to honors in the state, or voice in the senate; justice should be rendered without delay, lest it be said the Republic vaunts more of the sacred quality than it practises."
"Thou speakest as a guileless nature prompts. It is the frailty of man, my daughter, to separate his public acts from the fearful responsibility of his private deeds; as if God, in endowing his being with reason and the glorious hopes of Christianity, had also endowed him with two souls, of which only one was to be cared for."
"Are there not those, Father, who believe that, while the evil we commit as individuals is visited on our own persons, that which is done by states, falls on the nation?"
"The pride of human reason has invented diverse subtleties to satisfy its own longings, but it can never feed itself on a delusion more fatal than this! The crime which involves others in its guilt or consequences, is doubly a crime, and though it be a property of sin to entail its own punishment, even in our present life, he trusts to a vain hope who thinks the magnitude of the offence will ever be its apology. The chief security of our nature is to remove it beyond temptation, and he is safest from the allurements of the world who is farthest removed from its vices. Though I would wish justice done to the noble Neapolitan, it may be for his everlasting peace that the additional wealth he seeks should be withheld."
"I am unwilling to believe, Father, that a cavalier, who has shown himself so ready to assist the distressed, will easily abuse the gifts of fortune."
The Carmelite fastened an uneasy look on the bright features of the young Venetian. Parental solicitude and prophetic foresight were in his glance, but the expression was relieved by the charity of a chastened spirit.
"Gratitude to the preserver of thy life becomes thy station and sex; it is a duty. Cherish the feeling, for it is akin to the holy obligation of man to his Creator."
"Is it enough to feel grateful!" demanded Violetta. "One of my name and alliances might do more. We can move the patricians of my family in behalf of the stranger, that his protracted suit may come to a more speedy end."
"Daughter, beware; the intercession of one in whom St. Mark feels so lively an interest, may raise up enemies to Don Camillo, instead of friends."
Donna Violetta was silent, while the monk and Donna Florinda both regarded her with affectionate concern. The former then adjusted his cowl, and prepared to depart. The noble maiden approached the Carmelite, and looking into his face with ingenuous confidence and habitual reverence, she besought his blessing. When the solemn and customary office was performed, the monk turned towards the companion of his spiritual charge. Donna Florinda permitted the silk, on which her needle had been busy, to fall into her lap, and she sat in meek silence, while the Carmelite raised his open palms towards her bended head. His lips moved, but the words of benediction were inaudible. Had the ardent being intrusted to their joint care been less occupied with her own feelings, or more practised in the interests of that world into which she was about to enter, it is probable she would have detected some evidence of that deep but smothered sympathy, which so often betrayed itself in the silent intelligence of her ghostly father and her female Mentor.
"Thou wilt not forget us, Father?" said Violetta, with winning earnestness. "An orphan girl, in whose fate the sages of the Republic so seriously busy themselves, has need of every friend in whom she can confide."
"Blessed be thy intercessor," said the monk, "and the peace of the innocent be with thee."
Once more he waved his hand, and turning, he slowly quitted the room. The eye of Donna Florinda followed the white robes of the Carmelite, while they were visible; and when it fell again upon the silk, it was for a moment closed, as if looking at the movements of the rebuked spirit within. The young mistress of the palace summoned a menial, and bade him do honor to her confessor, by seeing him to his gondola. She then moved to the open balcony. A long pause succeeded; it was such a silence, breathing, thoughtful, and luxurious with the repose of Italy, as suited the city and the hour. Suddenly Violetta receded from the open window, and withdrew a step, in alarm.
"Is there a boat beneath?" demanded her companion, whose glance was unavoidably attracted to the movement.
"The water was never more quiet. But thou hearest those strains of the hautboys?"
"Are they so rare on the canals, that they drive thee from the balcony?"
"There are cavaliers beneath the windows of the Mentoni palace; doubtless they compliment our friend Olivia."
"Even that gallantry is common. Thou knowest that Olivia is shortly to be united to her kinsman, and he takes the usual means to show his admiration."
"Dost thou not find this public announcement of a passion painful? Were I to be wooed, I could wish it might only be to my own ear."
"That is an unhappy sentiment for one whose hand is in the gift of the Senate! I fear that a maiden of thy rank must be content to hear her beauty extolled and her merits sung, if not exaggerated, even by hirelings beneath a balcony."
"I would that they were done!" exclaimed Violetta, stopping her ears. "None know the excellence of our friend better than I; but this open exposure of thoughts that ought to be so private, must wound her."
"Thou mayest go again into the balcony; the music ceases."
"There are gondoliers singing near the Rialto—these are sounds I love! Sweet in themselves, they do no violence to our sacred feelings. Art thou for the water to-night, my Florinda?"
"Whither would'st thou?"
"I know not; but the evening is brilliant, and I pine to mingle with the splendor and pleasure without."
"While thousands on the canals pine to mingle with the splendor and pleasure within! Thus is it ever with life: that which is possessed is little valued, and that which we have not is without price."
"I owe my duty to my guardian," said Violetta; "we will row to his palace."
Though Donna Florinda had uttered so grave a moral, she spoke without severity. Casting aside her work, she prepared to gratify the desire of her charge. It was the usual hour for the high in rank and the secluded to go abroad; and neither Venice with its gay throng, nor Italy with its soft climate, ever offered greater temptation to seek the open air.
The groom of the chambers was called, the gondoliers were summoned, and the ladies, cloaking and taking their masks, were quickly in the boat.
"If your masterWould have a queen his beggar, you must tell himThat majesty, to keep decorum, mustNo less beg than a kingdom."ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
"If your masterWould have a queen his beggar, you must tell himThat majesty, to keep decorum, mustNo less beg than a kingdom."
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.
The silent movement of the hearse-like gondola soon brought the fair Venetian and her female Mentor to the water-gate of the noble, who had been intrusted by the Senate with the especial guardianship of the person of the heiress. It was a residence of more than common gloom, possessing all the solemn but stately magnificence which then characterized the private dwellings of the patricians in that city of riches and pride. Its magnitude and architecture, though rather less imposing than those which distinguished the palace of the Donna Violetta, placed it among the private edifices of the first order, and all its external decorations showed it to be the habitation of one of high importance. Within, the noiseless steps and the air of silent distrust among the domestics, added to the gloomy grandeur of the apartments, rendered the abode no bad type of the Republic itself.
As neither of his present visitors was a stranger beneath the roof of the Signor Gradenigo—for so the proprietor of the palace was called—they ascended its massive stairs, without pausing to consider any of those novelties of construction that would attract the eye of one unaccustomed to such a dwelling. The rank and the known consequence of the Donna Violetta assured her of a ready reception; and while she was ushered to the suite of rooms above, by a crowd of bowing menials, one had gone, with becoming speed, to announce her approach to his master. When in the ante-chamber, however, the ward stopped, declining to proceed any further, in deference to the convenience and privacy of her guardian. The delay was short; for no sooner was the old senator apprised of her presence, than he hastened from his closet to do her honor, with a zeal that did credit to his fitness for the trust he filled. The countenance of the old patrician—a face in which thought and care had drawn as many lines as time—lighted with unequivocal satisfaction as he pressed forward to receive his beautiful ward. To her half-uttered apologies for the intrusion, he would not listen; but as he led her within, he gallantly professed his pleasure at being honored with her visits even at moments that, to her scrupulous delicacy, might appear the most ill-timed.
"Thou canst never come amiss, child as thou art of my ancient friend, and the especial care of the state!" he added. "The gates of the Gradenigo palace would open of themselves, at the latest period of the night, to receive such a guest. Besides, the hour is most suited to the convenience of one of thy quality who would breathe the fresh evening air on the canals. Were I to limit thee to hours and minutes, some truant wish of the moment—some innocent caprice of thy sex and years, might go ungratified. Ah! Donna Florinda, we may well pray that all our affection—not to call it weakness—for this persuasive girl, shall not in the end lead to her own disadvantage!"
"For the indulgence of both, I am grateful," returned Violetta; "I only fear to urge my little requests at moments when your precious time is more worthily occupied in behalf of the state."
"Thou overratest my consequence. I sometimes visit the Council of Three Hundred; but my years and infirmities preclude me now from serving the Republic as I could wish Praise be to St. Mark, our patron! its affairs are not unprosperous for our declining fortunes. We have dealt bravely with the infidel of late; the treaty with the Emperor is not to our wrong; and the anger of the church, for the late seeming breach of confidence on our part, has been diverted. We owe something in the latter affair to a young Neapolitan, who sojourns here at Venice, and who is not without interest at the Holy See, by reason of his uncle, the Cardinal Secretary. Much good is done by the influence of friends properly employed. 'Tis the secret of our success in the actual condition of Venice; for that which power cannot achieve must be trusted to favor and a wise moderation."
"Your declarations encourage me to become, once more, a suitor; for I will confess that, in addition to the desire of doing you honor, I have come equally with the wish to urge your great influence in behalf of an earnest suit I have."
"What now! Our young charge, Donna Florinda, has inherited, with the fortunes of her family, its ancient habits of patronage and protection! But we will not discourage the feeling, for it has a worthy origin, and, used with discretion, it fortifies the noble and powerful in their stations."
"And may we not say," mildly observed Donna Florinda, "that when the affluent and happy employ themselves with the cares of the less fortunate, they not only discharge a duty, but they cultivate a wholesome and useful state of mind?"
"Doubt it not. Nothing can be more useful than to give to each class in society, a proper sense of its obligations, and a just sentiment of its duties. These are opinions I greatly approve, and which I desire my ward may thoroughly understand."
"She is happy in possessing instructors so able and so willing to teach all she should know," rejoined Violetta.
"With this admission, may I ask the Signor Gradenigo to give ear to my petition?"
"Thy little requests are ever welcome. I would merely observe, that generous and ardent temperaments sometimes regard a distant object so steadily, as to overlook others that are not only nearer, and perhaps of still more urgent importance, but more attainable. In doing a benefit to one, we should be wary not to do injury to many. The relative of some one of thy household may have thoughtlessly enlisted for the wars?"
"Should it be so, I trust the recruit will have the manhood not to quit his colors."
"Thy nurse, who is one little likely to forget the service she did thy infancy, urges the claim of some kinsman to an employment in the customs?"
"I believe all of that family are long since placed," said Violetta, laughing, "unless we might establish the good mother herself in some station of honor. I have naught to ask in their behalf."
"She who hath reared thee to this goodly and healthful beauty, would prefer a well-supported suit, but still is she better as she is, indolent, and, I fear, pampered by thy liberality. Thy private purse is drained by demands on thy charity;—or, perhaps, the waywardness of a female taste hath cost thee dear, of late?"
"Neither. I have little need of gold, for one of my years cannot properly maintain the magnificence of her condition. I come, guardian, with a far graver solicitation than any of these."
"I hope none in thy favor have been indiscreet of speech!" exclaimed the Signor Gradenigo, casting a hasty and suspicious look at his ward.
"If any have been so thoughtless, let them abide the punishment of their fault."
"I commend thy justice. In this age of novel opinions, innovations of all descriptions cannot be too severely checked. Were the senate to shut its ears to all the wild theories that are uttered by the unthinking and vain, their language would soon penetrate to the ill-regulated minds of the ignorant and idle. Ask me, if thou wilt, for purses in scores, but do not move me to forgetfulness of the guilt of the disturber of the public peace!"
"Not a sequin. My errand is of nobler quality."
"Speak without riddle, that I may know its object."
Now that nothing stood between her wish to speak, and her own manner of making known the request, Donna Violetta appeared to shrink from expressing it. Her color went and came, and she sought support from the eye of her attentive and wondering companion. As the latter was ignorant of her intention, however, she could do no more than encourage the supplicant by such an expression of sympathy as woman rarely refuses to her sex, in any trial that involves their peculiar and distinctive feelings. Violetta struggled with her diffidence, and then laughing at her own want of self-possession, she continued—
"You know, Signor Gradenigo," she said, with a loftiness that was not less puzzling, though far more intelligible than the agitation which a moment before had embarrassed her manner, "that I am the last of a line eminent for centuries in the state of Venice."
"So sayeth our history."
"That I bear a name long known, and which it becomes me to shield from all imputation of discredit in my own person."
"This is so true, that it scarce needed so clear an exposure," drily returned the senator.
"And that, though thus gifted by the accidents of fortune and birth, I have received a boon that remains still unrequited, in a manner to do no honor to the house of Thiepolo."
"This becometh serious! Donna Florinda, our ward is more earnest than intelligible, and I must ask an explanation at your hands. It becometh her not to receive boons of this nature from any."
"Though unprepared for this request," mildly replied the companion, "I think she speaks of the boon of life."
The Signor Gradenigo's countenance assumed a dark expression.
"I understand you," he said, coldly. "It is true that the Neapolitan was ready to rescue thee, when the calamity befell thy uncle of Florence, but Don Camillo Monforte is not a common diver of the Lido, to be rewarded like him who finds a bauble dropped from a gondola. Thou hast thanked the cavalier; I trust that a noble maiden can do no more in a case like this."
"That I have thanked him, and thanked him from my soul, is true!" fervently exclaimed Violetta. "When I forget the service, Maria Santissima and the good saints forget me!"
"I doubt, Signora Florinda, that your charge hath spent more hours among the light works of her late father's library, and less time with her missal, than becomes her birth?"
The eye of Violetta kindled, and she folded an arm around the form of her shrinking companion, who drew down her veil at this reproof, though she forbore to answer.
"Signor Gradenigo," said the young heiress, "I may have done discredit to my instructors, but if the pupil has been idle the fault should not be visited on the innocent. It is some evidence that the commands of holy church have not been neglected, that I now come to entreat favor in behalf of one to whom I owe my life. Don Camillo Monforte has long pursued, without success, a claim so just, that were there no other motive to concede it, the character of Venice should teach the senators the danger of delay."
"My ward has spent lier leisure with the doctors of Padua! The Republic hath its laws, and none who have right on their side appeal to them in vain. Thy gratitude is not to be censured; it is rather worthy of thy origin and hopes; still, Donna Violetta, we should remember how difficult it is to winnow the truth from the chaff of imposition and legal subtlety, and, most of all, should a judge be certain before he gives his decree, that, in confirming the claims of one applicant, he does not defeat those of another."
"They tamper with his rights! Being born in a foreign realm, he is required to renounce more in the land of the stranger than he will gain within the limits of the Republic! He wastes life and youth in pursuing a phantom! You are of weight in the senate, my guardian, and were you to lend him the support of your powerful voice and great instruction, a wronged noble would have justice, and Venice, though she might lose a trifle from her stores, would better deserve the character of which she is so jealous."
"Thou art a persuasive advocate, and I will think of what thou urgest," said the Signor Gradenigo, changing the frown which had been gathering about his brow, to a look of indulgence, with a facility that betrayed much practice in adapting the expression of his features to his policy. "I ought only to hearken to the Neapolitan in my public character of a judge; but his service to thee, and my weakness in thy behalf, extorts that thou would'st have."
Donna Violetta received the promise with a bright and guileless smile. She kissed the hand he extended as the pledge of his faith, with a fervor that gave her attentive guardian serious uneasiness.
"Thou art too winning even to be resisted by one wearied with rebutting plausible pretensions," he added. "The young and the generous, Donna Florinda, believe all to be as their own wishes and simplicity would have them. As for this right of Don Camillo—but no matter—thou wilt have it so, and it shall be examined with that blindness which is said to be the failing of justice."
"I have understood the metaphor to mean blind to favor, but not insensible to the right."
"I fear that is a sense which might defeat our hopes—but we will look into it. My son has been mindful of his duty and respect of late, Donna Violetta, as I would have him? The boy wants little urging, I know, to do honor to my ward and the fairest of Venice. Thou wilt receive him with friendship, for the love thou bearest his father?"
Donna Violetta curtsied, but it was with womanly reserve.
"The door of my palace is never shut on the Signor Giacomo on all proper occasions," she said, coldly. "Signore, the son of my guardian could hardly be other than an honored visitor."
"I would have the boy attentive—and even more, I would have him prove some little of that great esteem,—but we live in a jealous city, Donna Florinda, and one in which prudence is a virtue of the highest price. If the youth is less urgent than I could wish, believe me, it is from the apprehension of giving premature alarm to those who interest themselves in the fortunes of our charge."
Both the ladies bowed, and by the manner in which they drew their cloaks about them, they made evident their wish to retire. Donna Violetta craved a blessing, and after the usual compliments, and a short dialogue of courtesy, she and her companion withdrew to their boat.
The Signor Gradenigo paced the room in which he had received his ward for several minutes in silence. Not a sound of any sort was audible throughout the whole of that vast abode, the stillness and cautious tread of those within, answering to the quiet town without; but a young man, in whose countenance and air were to be seen most of the usual signs of a well-bred profligacy, sauntering along the suite of chambers, at length caught the eye of the senator, who beckoned him to approach.
"Thou art unhappy, as of wont, Giacomo," he said, in a tone between paternal indulgence and reproach. "The Donna Violetta has, but a minute since, departed, and thou wert absent. Some unworthy intrigue with the daughter of a jeweller, or some injurious bargain of thy hopes with the father, hath occupied the time that might have been devoted more honorably, and to far better profit."
"You do me little justice," returned the youth. "Neither Jew nor Jewess hath this day greeted my eye."
"The calendar should mark the time for its singularity! I would know, Giacomo, if thou turnest to a right advantage the occasion of my guardianship, and if thou thinkest with sufficient gravity of the importance of what I urge?"
"Doubt it not, father. He who hath so much suffered for the want of that which the Donna Violetta possesses in so great a profusion, needeth little prompting on such a subject. By refusing to supply my wants, you have made certain of my consent. There is not a fool in Venice who sighs more loudly beneath his mistress's window, than I utter my pathetic wishes to the lady—when there is opportunity, and I am in the humor."
"Thou knowest the danger of alarming the senate?"
"Fear me not. My progress is by secret and gradual means. Neither my countenance nor my mind is unused to a mask—thanks to necessity! My spirits have been too buoyant not to have made me acquainted with duplicity!"
"Thou speakest, ungrateful boy, as if I denied thy youth the usual indulgences of thy years and rank. It is thy excesses, and not thy spirits, I would check. But I would not now harden thee with reproof. Giacomo, thou hast a rival in the stranger. His act in the Giudecca has won upon the fancy of the girl; and like all of generous and ardent natures, ignorant as she is of his merits, she supplies his character with all necessary qualities by her own ingenuity."
"I would she did the same by me!"
"With thee, Sirrah, my ward might be required to forget, rather than invent. Hast thou bethought thee of turning the eyes of the council on the danger which besets their heiress?"
"I have."
"And the means?"
"The plainest and the most certain—the lion's mouth."
"Ha! that, indeed, is a bold adventure."
"And, like all bold adventures, it is the more likely to succeed. For once, fortune hath not been a niggard with me. I have given them the Neapolitan's signet by way of proof."
"Giacomo! dost thou know the hazard of thy temerity? I hope there is no clue left in the handwriting, or by any other means taken to obtain the ring?"
"Father, though I may have overlooked thy instruction in less weighty matters, not an admonition which touches the policy of Venice hath been forgotten. The Neapolitan stands accused, and if thy council is faithful, he will be a suspected, if not a banished man."
"That the Council of Three will perform its trust is beyond dispute. I would I were as certain that thy indiscreet zeal may not lead to some unpleasant exposure!"
The shameless son stared at the father a moment in doubt, and then he passed into the more private parts of the palace, like one too much accustomed to double-dealing, to lend it a second, or a serious thought. The senator remained. His silent walk was now manifestly disturbed by great uneasiness; and he frequently passed a hand across his brow, as if he mused in pain. While thus occupied, a figure stole through the long suite of ante-chambers, and stopped near the door of the room he occupied. The intruder was aged; his face was tawny by exposure, and his hair thinned and whitened by time. His dress was that of a fisherman, being both scanty and of the meanest materials. Still there was a naturally noble and frank intelligence in his bold eye and prominent features, while the bare arms and naked legs exhibited a muscle and proportion which proved that nature was rather at a stand than in the decline. He had been many moments dangling his cap, in habitual but unembarrassed respect, before his presence was observed.
"Ha! thou here, Antonio!" exclaimed the senator, when their eyes met. "Why this visit?"
"Signore, my heart is heavy."
"Hath the calendar no saint—the fisherman no patron? I suppose the sirocco hath been tossing the waters of the bay, and thy nets are empty. Hold! thou art my foster-brother, and thou must not want."
The fisherman drew back with dignity, refusing the gift, simply, but decidedly, by the act.
"Signore, we have lived from childhood to old age since we drew our milk from the same breast; in all that time have you ever known me a beggar?"
"Thou art not wont to ask these boons, Antonio, it is true; but age conquers our pride with our strength. If it be not sequins that thou seekest, what would'st thou?"
"There are other wants than those of the body, Signore, and other sufferings besides hunger."
The countenance of the senator lowered. He cast a sharp glance at his foster-brother, and ere he answered he closed the door which communicated with the outer chamber.
"Thy words forebode disaffection, as of wont. Thou art accustomed to comment on measures and interests that are beyond thy limited reason, and thou knowest that thy opinions have already drawn displeasure on thee. The ignorant and the low are, to the state, as children, whose duty it is to obey, and not to cavil. Thy errand?"
"I am not the man you think me, Signore. I am used to poverty and want, and little satisfies my wishes. The senate is my master, and as such I honor it; but a fisherman hath his feelings as well as the Doge!"
"Again! These feelings of thine, Antonio, are most exacting. Thou namest them on all occasions, as if they were the engrossing concerns of life."
"Signore, are they not to me? Though I think mostly of my own concerns, still I can have a thought for the distress of those I honor. When the beautiful and youthful lady, your eccellenza's daughter, was called away to the company of the saints, I felt the blow as if it had been the death of my own child; and it has pleased God, as you very well know, Signore, not to leave me unacquainted with the anguish of such a loss."
"Thou art a good fellow, Antonio," returned the senator, covertly removing the moisture from his eyes; "an honest and a proud man, for thy condition!"
"She from whom we both drew our first nourishment, Signore, often told me, that next to my own kin, it was my duty to love the noble race she had helped to support. I make no merit of natural feeling, which is a gift from Heaven, and the greater is the reason that the state should not deal lightly with such affections."
"Once more the state! Name thy errand."
"Your eccellenza knows the history of my humble life. I need not tell you, Signore, of the sons which God, by the intercession of the Virgin and blessed St. Anthony, was pleased to bestow on me, or of the manner in which he hath seen proper to take them one by one away."
"Thou hast known sorrow, poor Antonio; I well remember thou hast suffered, too."
"Signore, I have. The deaths of five manly and honest sons is a blow to bring a groan from a rock. But I have known how to bless God, and be thankful!"
"Worthy fisherman, the Doge himself might envy this resignation. It is often easier to endure the loss than the life of a child, Antonio!"
"Signore, no boy of mine ever caused me grief, but the hour in which he died. And even then"—the old man turned aside to conceal the working of his features—"I struggled to remember from how much pain, and toil, and suffering they were removed to enjoy a more blessed state."
The lip of the Signer Gradenigo quivered, and he moved to and fro with a quicker step.
"I think, Antonio," he said, "I think, honest Antonio, I had masses said for the souls of them all?"
"Signore, you had; St. Anthony remember the kindness in your own extremity! I was wrong in saying that the youths never gave me sorrow but in dying, for there is a pain the rich cannot know, in being too poor to buy a prayer for a dead child!"
"Wilt thou have more masses? Son of thine shall never want a voice with the saints, for the ease of his soul!"
"I thank you, eccellenza, but I have faith in what has been done, and, more than all, in the mercy of God. My errand now is in behalf of the living."
The sympathy of the senator was suddenly checked, and he already listened with a doubting and suspicious air.
"Thy errand?" he simply repeated.
"Is to beg your interest, Signore, to obtain the release of my grandson from the galleys. They have seized the lad in his fourteenth year, and condemned him to the wars with the Infidels, without thought of his tender years, without thought of evil example, without thought of my age and loneliness, and without justice; for his father died in the last battle given to the Turk."
As he ceased, the fisherman riveted his look on the marble countenance of his auditor, wistfully endeavoring to trace the effect of his words. But all there was cold, unanswering, and void of human sympathy. The soulless, practised, and specious reasoning of the state, had long since deadened all feeling in the senator on any subject that touched an interest so vital as the maritime power of the Republic. He saw the hazard of innovation in the slightest approach to interests so delicate, and his mind was drilled by policy into an apathy that no charity could disturb, when there was question of the right of St. Mark to the services of his people.