BARON F------ TO COUNT O-------.
June 20.
This Civitella is certainly one of the most obliging personages in the
world. The prince had scarcely left me the other day before I received
a note from the marquis enforcing his former offers with renewed
earnestness. I instantly forwarded, in the prince’s name, a bond for
six thousand zechins; in less than half an hour it was returned, with
double the sum required, in notes and gold. The prince at length
assented to this increase, but insisted that the bond, which was drawn
only for six weeks, should be accepted.
The whole of the present week has been consumed in inquiries after the
mysterious Greek. Biondello set all his engines to work, but until now
in vain. He certainly discovered the gondolier; but from him he could
learn nothing, save that the ladies had disembarked on the island of
Murano, where they entered two sedan chairs which were waiting for them.
He supposed them to be English because they spoke a foreign language,
and had paid him in gold. He did not even know their guide, but
believed him to be a glass manufacturer from Murano. We were now, at
least, certain that we must not look for her in the Giudecca, and that
in all probability she lived in the island of Murano; but, unluckily,
the description the prince gave of her was not such as to make her
recognizable by a third party. The passionate interest with which he
had regarded her had hindered him from observing her minutely; for all
the minor details, which other people would not have failed to notice,
had escaped his observation; from his description one would have sooner
expected to find her prototype in the works of Ariosto or Tasso than on
a Venetian island. Besides, our inquiries had to be conducted with the
utmost caution, in order not to become prejudicial to the lady, or to
excite undue attention. As Biondello was the only man besides the
prince who had seen her, even through her veil, and could therefore
recognize her, he strove to be as much as possible in all the places
where she was likely to appear; the life of the poor man, during the
whole week, was a continual race through all the streets of Venice. In
the Greek church, particularly, every inquiry was made, but always with
the same ill-success; and the prince, whose impatience increased with
every successive failure, was at last obliged to wait till Saturday,
with what patience he might. His restlessness was excessive. Nothing
interested him, nothing could fix his attention. He was in constant
feverish excitement; he fled from society, but the evil increased in
solitude. He had never been so much besieged by visitors as in this
week. His approaching departure had been announced, and everybody
crowded to see him. It was necessary to occupy the attention of the
people in order to lull their suspicions, and to amuse the prince with
the view of diverting his mind from its all-engrossing object. In this
emergency Civitella hit upon play; and, for the purpose of driving away
most of the visitors, proposed that the stakes should be high. He hoped
by awakening in the prince a transient liking for play, from which it
would afterwards be easy to wean him, to destroy the romantic bent of
his passion. “The cards,” said Civitella, “have saved me from many a
folly which I had intended to commit, and repaired many which I had
already perpetrated. At the faro table I have often recovered my
tranquillity of mind, of which a pair of bright eyes had robbed me, and
women never had more power over me than when I had not money enough to
play.”
I will not enter into a discussion as to how far Civitella was right;
but the remedy we had hit upon soon began to be worse than the disease
it was intended to cure. The prince, who could only make the game at
all interesting to himself by staking extremely high, soon overstepped
all bounds. He was quite out of his element. Everything he did seemed
to be done in a passion; all his actions betrayed the uneasiness of his
mind. You know his general indifference to money; he seemed now to have
become totally insensible to its value. Gold flowed through his hands
like water. As he played without the slightest caution he lost almost
invariably. He lost immense sums, for he staked like a desperate
gamester. Dearest O------- , with an aching heart I write it, in four
days he had lost above twelve thousand zechins.
Do not reproach me. I blame myself sufficiently. But how could I
prevent it? Could I do more than warn him? I did all that was in my
power, and cannot find myself guilty. Civitella, too, lost not a
little; I won about six hundred zechins. The unprecedented ill-luck of
the prince excited general attention, and therefore he would not leave
off playing. Civitella, who is always ready to oblige him, immediately
advanced him the required sum. The deficit is made up; but the prince
owes the marquis twenty-four thousand zechins. Oh, how I long for the
savings of his pious sister. Are all sovereigns so, my dear friend?
The prince behaves as though he had done the marquis a great honor, and
he, at any rate, plays his part well.
Civitella sought to quiet me by saying that this recklessness, this
extraordinary ill-luck, would be most effectual in bringing the prince
to his senses. The money, he said, was of no consequence. He himself
would not feel the loss in the least, and would be happy to serve the
prince, at any moment, with three times the amount. The cardinal also
assured me that his nephew’s intentions were honest, and that he should
be ready to assist him in carrying them out.
The most unfortunate thing was that these tremendous sacrifices did not
even effect their object. One would have thought that the prince would
at least feel some interest in his play. But such was not the case.
His thoughts were wandering far away, and the passion which we wished to
stifle by his ill-luck in play seemed, on the contrary, only to gather
strength. When, for instance, a decisive stroke was about to be played,
and every one’s eyes were fixed, full of expectation, on the board, his
were searching for Biondello, in order to catch the news he might have
brought him, from the expression of his countenance. Biondello brought
no tidings, and his master’s losses continued.
The gains, however, fell into very needy hands. A few “your
excellencies,” whom scandal reports to be in the habit of carrying home
their frugal dinner from the market in their senatorial caps, entered
our house as beggars, and left it with well-lined purses. Civitella
pointed them out to me. “Look,” said he, “how many poor devils make
their fortunes by one great man taking a whim into his head. This is
what I like to see. It is princely and royal. A great man must, even
by his failings, make some one happy, like a river which by its
overflowing fertilizes the neighboring fields.”
Civitella has a noble and generous way of thinking, but the prince owes
him twenty-four thousand zechins.
At length the long-wished-for Saturday arrived, and my master insisted
upon going, directly after dinner, to the church. He stationed himself
in the chapel where he had first seen the unknown, but in such a way as
not to be immediately observed. Biondello had orders to keep watch at
the church door, and to enter into conversation with the attendant of
the ladies. I had taken upon myself to enter, like a chance passenger,
into the same gondola with them on their return, in order to follow
their track if the other schemes should fail. At the spot where the
gondolier said he had landed them the last time two sedans were
stationed; the chamberlain, Z------, was ordered to follow in a separate
gondola, in order to trace the retreat of the unknown, if all else
should fail. The prince wished to give himself wholly up to the
pleasure of seeing her, and, if possible, try to make her acquaintance
in the church. Civitella was to keep out of the way altogether, as his
reputation among the women of Venice was so bad that his presence could
not have failed to excite the suspicions of the lady. You see, dear
count, it was not through any want of precaution on our part that the
fair unknown escaped us.
Never, perhaps, was there offered up in any church such ardent prayers
for success, and never were hopes so cruelly disappointed. The prince
waited till after sunset, starting in expectation at every sound which
approached the chapel, and at every creaking of the church door. Seven
full hours passed, and no Greek lady. I need not describe his state of
mind. You know what hope deferred is, hope which one has nourished
unceasingly for seven days and nights.