He unbuttoned his frock-coat (I had never seen him wear any garment less
formal) and took out of it a slender little volume in vellum covers. He
passed it to me in silence. I opened it. It was a manuscript copy,
roughly stitched together. I recognized the handwriting as that of St.
Hilary.
“Well?” I asked curiously, returning it to him.
“This is a crude translation of certain passages in the Diary of Marius
Sanudo, a Venetian who lived about the beginning of the sixteenth
century. I made this translation in the Royal Library at Vienna the
other day. The Diary is one of the rarest books in the world. You are
wide enough awake to listen to it for an hour or two?”
“It concerns the clock?”
“It concerns the casket and the clock. You may imagine these extracts as
being divided into two chapters. Chapter I–concerning the jewels and the
casket; Chapter II–the clock. My remarks may be supposed to constitute a
third chapter. You have heard of Beatrice d’Este, the Duchess of Milan
and wife of Ludovico the Moor?”
“Practically only what you have told me about her. I know she lived
during the latter part of the fifteenth century.”
“Then I suppose you have never seen her portrait, attributed to Leonardo
da Vinci. It hangs in the Ambrosiana Library at Milan, the second room
to the left as you enter; and I assure you that it is well worth a
little pilgrimage to Milan to see. It is a profile of extraordinary
charm–a young girl of eighteen. It is difficult to imagine this adorable
child–for she was only twenty-two when she died–as an ambassadress to
the most powerful court in Europe.
“Her husband, Ludovico, toward the last part of his reign, was hard
pressed by his foes. After intrigues with two kings and a pope, he found
himself caught in the web of his own treachery. He needed money to pay
his allies. But his wonderful Sala del Tesoro, with its oak chest of
gold and plate, was empty. Only the jewels were left. I have already
told you that this collection has never since been equaled in artistic
value.
“Now, if you are familiar with the financial methods of these princes of
the Renaissance, you will know that in times of stress they resorted to
the rather vulgar expedient of simply putting their jewels in pawn.
“Beatrice had conducted these delicate little transactions at Venice for
her husband more than once. But now, before she had recourse to this
last desperate expedient, she was to plead before the Signory, as his
ambassadress, for help both of money and men. If the Signory refused to
help Ludovico, her husband, she was to appeal to the Doge; for the old
man had already shown the utmost regard for this high-spirited young
duchess. If, however, both Doge and Signory failed her, she was to pawn
the jewels with Albani, the richest goldsmith in Venice.
“With this introduction, I will read you the first extract from the
Diary of Messer Sanudo:
“‘Of all the cities of the world, Venice is the one where the greatest
honor is paid to strangers. But never was lord or lady received with
greater joy by the Signory in council. The Doge himself conducted her to
the seat of honor, and all eyes were turned to her in admiration at her
divine beauty. She wore a gold brocade embroidered with crimson doves,
with a jeweled feather in her cap, and a rope of pearls and diamonds
around her neck, to which the priceless ruby, the most glorious stone, I
think, man has ever seen, called El Spigo, is fastened as pendant.
“‘All were amazed at the words of wisdom and eloquence that fell from
her childish lips. She set forth her love for Venice, and piteously
implored our help against Milan’s foes. If it were not possible for us
to furnish men, at least let her not return quite empty of hand to her
dear lord; for she would rather die than cause him such grief and
despair.
“‘The Signory and Doge listened to her courteously. When she had ended,
the Doge rose and thanked her graciously for the words she had spoken.
He declared that nothing would give the Signory greater joy than to do
all she had asked. But he reminded her that at this time Venice was
herself at war with Genoa, her hereditary foe. Her own treasury was
empty. There was hardly to be found in all Venice a noble or plebeian
who had not loaned to the state money out of his private fortune. When
he had said this, he descended from his dais again, and gently taking
her by the hand, so led her without, the Signory being moved to
admiration at her dignity and grace.’”
“And of course they denied her petition, since they were Venetians?”
“That goes without saying. Have I not said that the jewels remain in
Venice to this day? At least the more glorious part of them.”
“I am impatient to hear of them.”
St. Hilary again read from the Diary of Sanudo:
“‘This day the duchess went in state to see the treasure of San Marco.
As the bucentaur, containing the Doge and one hundred and fifty of her
company, entered the Canale Grande, the duchess confessed that never
before had she beheld the like. From the windows and the balconies, hung
with the richest tapestries, noble ladies, glittering with gold chains
and gems, looked down on the sumptuous scene. It was the finest sight of
the whole world. And when they landed at the Molo, they could hardly
force their way through the press, though the Doge himself walked in
front of them. Every one turned to look at the magnificent jewels on the
duchess. On every side I heard, “This is the wife of Signor Ludovico.
Look what fine jewels she wears! What splendid diamonds and rubies!” And
indeed every part of her vest whereon was embroidered the two towers of
the port of Genoa was covered with them.
“‘And when they came out of the treasure-house, I myself heard the Doge
say, “It is but a poor sight for you, dear lady, seeing that the jewels
which adorn you are as many and beautiful as those we guard so
carefully.” (Words that had better have been left unsaid, for such light
words bring into discredit the glories of our Venice.)
“The duchess answered boastingly (and who indeed could blame her,
seeing that the Doge should not have said what he did?), “Do these poor
stones please your Excellency? To-morrow I shall show you some gems that
are indeed wonderful.”
“‘And the Doge said sorrowfully, “I shall await to-morrow with the
greatest eagerness in the world.”’”
St. Hilary laid the book face downward on his knees.
“Now, it is a matter of record, Hume, that she did show the stones to
the Doge. Whether he fell under the glamour of their beauty, or the
charm and witchery of the lovely ambassadress, does not concern us. What
does concern us is the fact that the jewels were not locked up in the
strong-box of Albani the Jew, but of the Doge.”
“And the gems were never redeemed?” I interrupted.
“Never. Beatrice returned from her mission only to die a few months
later. Ludovico was taken captive by Louis of France, who dragged him to
Lyons, where, like a wild beast, he perished miserably in an iron cage.
“The next extract that I shall read from the Diary of Sanudo is two
years later. During these two years his pages are full of the troubles
Venice was caused by her enemy Genoa, and the straits to which she was
put to raise funds. Every citizen, we read, contributed his dole,
however humble. Except the Doge. Sanudo refers again and again to the
increasing distrust at this strange negligence on the part of the chief
officer of the state. But we know that his fortune was completely tied
up in the jewels.”
“But why did he not pawn the jewels?” I interrupted. “He must have known
that Beatrice was dead. They could never be redeemed.”
“Ah, that’s a pertinent question. Let our Diarist answer it for you.
This answer, I assure you, will be of interest:
“‘This day, the fourteenth of November, in the year of our blessed Lord
fourteen hundred and ninety-nine, I have heard that which is more
incredible than the travels of Messer Marco Polo to the great Mogul of
Tartary. Scarce an hour has passed that I was told it by one of the
Signory himself; and I hasten to write it down, lest any of its wonders
escape me.
“‘All Venice knows that though our Doge is the richest in the state, yet
he alone hath contributed to the treasury no proportion of the greatness
of his fortune. So that to-day, when one after another in the Signory
bemoaned the lack of money, and the Doge sat silent and neither made
excuse nor offered aid, murmurs of discontent and suspicion arose louder
than any that have yet been heard. At first the Doge smiled bravely and
affected to listen as heretofore. But there were those who saw him
tremble for very fear. And presently, one bolder than the rest, charged
the Doge to his face with treachery, in thus hiding his wealth in the
time of the state’s direst need. Still the Doge kept silence, until
murmurs and shouts arose on all sides. Then he arose, half dead for
fear, and declared that he would explain all. And this is the manner of
his speaking:
“‘“My lords of the Signory, I beseech you to have patience and listen to
me; for that I am indeed the most unfortunate of men you will see when I
have done speaking. The whole of my wealth did I loan to Ludovico the
Moor, at the entreaty of his wife, when last she visited this state two
years ago. She promised that she would redeem the gems before a year was
passed. But you, lords, know how she hath died and her husband Ludovico
lies imprisoned.
“‘“My lords, I had for the duchess the tenderness of a father for a
beloved daughter, and thinking that I would give her pleasure, when she
should come again to redeem her jewels, I hired Giovanni da Sestos, the
goldsmith, whose renown as an artist you all know, to make a casket for
the gems that should be as beautiful as the very gems themselves.
“‘“It was to be so small that it could be carried about. Yet it was to
be so strong that the most skilful thief would be baffled to break it
open. For when it was once closed, certain springs ingeniously contrived
by clockwork made it impossible even for the man who possessed the
casket to open it till a day of twelve hours should have passed.
“‘“I had made promise to Messer Giovanni that he should receive three
payments for his task. Two payments I made to him; one, when he
undertook the work; another, that he might buy the gems with which the
cover was to be richly adorned. The third payment I promised to make
when the casket should be given into my hands.
“‘“But hardly had Giovanni finished his task when Beatrice died. And, my
lords of the Signory, knowing now that the jewels could never be
redeemed, seeing that Ludovico is in prison and his wife dead, I vowed
that I would now pawn them to Albani the Jew, that I might at last help
the state in her need.
“‘“But when Giovanni wrote to me to say that the casket, which he had at
last completed, was more beautiful than anything like it since the
beginning of the world, I longed greatly to see the jewels in the
glorious box before they should be out of my possession forever. And now
see how the heavy hand of God hath punished me for my weakness.
“‘“For I had written to Giovanni to bring to me the casket alone and at
night. (For I did not wish that any should know that I possessed the
gems till I had pawned them and until the money should be paid into the
treasury of the state.) I bade him come at the hour of twelve to my
bed-chamber. I told him I should receive him alone. I would let him in
by a secret stairway.
“‘“And so, when all Venice slept, I admitted him to my room, where there
was none other than myself, except the guard.
“‘“My lords of the Signory, never did I dream of anything so rare and
beautiful as that casket. It seemed to me that I should die for very
desire of it. And at last I thought of a cunning plan. Giovanni himself
fell guilelessly in with this plan. For he was eager to see whether the
gems would fit the little pockets that he had made for each of the more
costly. And so we placed the gems in the pocket of the casket, and then,
as if by chance, I closed the cover, which could not be opened for a
whole day of twelve hours. And now, I thought, Giovanni must leave both
casket and gems; for I had intended to put him off with smooth promises,
saying that it was late, and that on the morrow he should have his third
payment of money.
“‘“But Giovanni clasped the casket in both his hands and swore he would
not leave it with me until I should have paid him every ducat I owed
him. But the man’s anger was without reason, for he knew I could not pay
him the money that he asked until I had first pawned the jewels. And
presently, when I attempted to soothe him, he became as violent as a
wild beast. (And indeed the goldsmith da Sestos, though a great artist,
was always, I verily believe, half mad.) The guard at last became afraid
for my life. For Giovanni swore that I had entrapped him, and
obstinately refused to leave the palace until I should have paid him
all.
“‘“Seeing now that nothing would move him to reason, I made pretense
that I could fetch from the treasury the money he demanded; and leaving
the guard in my bed-chamber to keep watch on the treasure, I left my
room. But I was careful to draw the bolts after me, so that it was
impossible that he should escape with the casket.
“‘“And indeed it was my purpose to call the soldiers of the guard who
kept watch at the foot of the secret stairway, so that the insolent
fellow might be thrust without the palace, for he had angered me
greatly. I was without the chamber but a few moments, but when I
returned with the guard and the doors were unbolted, a scene of horror
met my eyes.
“‘“The guard lay dead with a dagger in his breast. Giovanni writhed on
the floor in an agony of pain, grievously wounded, though not unto
death. And the casket was gone.
“‘“My lords of the Signory, you will ask how the casket was gone, seeing
that the door had been locked and the two men were both in my
bed-chamber. But the window, looking out on the court of the Ducal
Palace, was open. From the balcony hung a rope strong enough to bear the
weight of a man.
“‘“It was many days before Giovanni came to his senses. Then he told how
two men had been hid in the balcony. No sooner had I gone from the
chamber than they had set on him and the guard. He accused me of hiding
the men in the balcony. (I much wonder that I did not think of it. But,
to my cost, I did not, and it is a man deprived of wealth and honor that
speaks to you this day.)”
“‘The Signory heard the confession of the Doge for the most part in
silence (though some there were that jeered). When he had finished, he
who had first accused the Doge of treachery demanded what proof the
senate might have of this fable, seeing that no doubt the Doge had
caused the death of Giovanni. (And, indeed, it had been a great mystery,
his disappearance.)
“‘At that the Doge made a sign, and one fetched Giovanni from the leads
where he had been languishing since the stealing of the gems. But
Giovanni protested with tears that far from being guilty himself, it was
the Doge who had caused the gems to be taken, and nothing could shake
him from this belief. So that at last there were many of the Signory who
inclined to it. And presently, when they had questioned him closely,
they decreed, partly because certain ones believed him innocent of all
evil-doing, and partly because he was so incomparable an artist, that he
should no longer be held a prisoner under the _piombi_ of the Ducal
Palace, but should return to his own house. But lest by any chance he
had been guilty of the loss of the gems, he was there to be held a
prisoner; and guards were appointed to have charge over him day and
night.
“‘This is the truly miraculous story of the jewels of the Doge; but few
in Venice believe it. For what goldsmith could not be bribed to swear to
such a story? And as for the Doge, it would seem that the state could
find one better fitted to wear the cap and ermine robe.’”
“And that is chapter one?” I asked, taking a long breath.
“That is chapter one,” echoed St. Hilary.