Aristarchi rose early, though it had been broad dawn when he had entered
his home. He lived not far from the house of the Agnus Dei, on the
opposite side of the same canal but beyond the Baker's Bridge. His house
was small and unpretentious, a little wooden building in two stories,
with a small door opening to the water and another at the back, giving
access to a patch of dilapidated and overgrown garden, whence a second
door opened upon a dismal and unsavoury alley. One faithful man, who had
followed him through many adventures, rendered him such services as he
needed, prepared the food he liked and guarded the house in his absence.
The fellow was far too much in awe of his terrible master to play the
spy or to ask inopportune questions.
The Greek put on the rich dress of a merchant captain of his own people,
the black coat, thickly embroidered with gold, the breeches of dark blue
cloth, the almost transparent linen shirt, open at the throat. A large
blue cap of silk and cloth was set far back on his head, showing all the
bony forehead, and his coal-black beard and shaggy hair had been combed
as smooth as their shaggy nature would allow. He wore a magnificent
belt fully two hands wide, in which were stuck three knives of
formidable length and breadth, in finely chased silver sheaths. His
muscular legs were encased in leathern gaiters, ornamented with gold and
silver, and on his feet he wore broad turned-up slippers from
Constantinople. The dress was much the same as that which the Turks had
found there a few years earlier, and which they soon amalgamated with
their own. It set off the captain's vast breadth of shoulder and massive
limbs, and as he stepped into his hired boat the idlers at the
water-stairs gazed upon him with an admiration of which he was well
aware, for besides being very splendidly dressed he looked as if he
could have swept them all into the canal with a turn of his hand.
Without saying whither he was bound he directed the oarsman through the
narrow channels until he reached the shallow lagoon. The boatman asked
whither he should go.
"To Murano," answered the Greek. "And keep over by Saint Michael's, for
the tide is low."
The boatman had already understood that his passenger knew Venice almost
as well as he. The boat shot forward at a good rate under the bending
oar, and in twenty minutes Aristarchi was at the entrance to the canal
of San Piero and within sight of Beroviero's house.
"Easy there," said the Greek, holding up his hand. "Do you know Murano
well, my man?"
"As well as Venice, sir."
"Whose house is that, which has the upper story built on columns over
the footway?"
"It belongs to Messer Angelo Beroviero. His glass-house takes up all the
left aide of the canal as far as the bridge."
"And beyond the bridge I can see two new houses, on the same side. Whose
are they?"
"They belong to the two sons of Messer Angelo Beroviero, who have
furnaces of their own, all the way to the corner of the Grand Canal."
"Is there a Grand Canal in Murano?" asked Aristarchi.
"They call it so," answered the boatman with some contempt. "The
Beroviero have several houses on it, too."
"It seems to me that Beroviero owns most of Murano," observed the Greek.
"He must be very rich."
"He is by far the richest. But there is Alvise Trevisan, a rich man,
too, and there are two or three others. The island and all the
glass-works are theirs, amongst them."
"I have business with Messer Angelo," said Aristarchi. "But if he is
such a great man he will hardly be in the glass-house."
"I will ask," answered the boatman.
In a few minutes he made his boat fast to the steps before the
glass-house, went ashore and knocked at the door. Aristarchi leaned back
in his seat, chewing pistachio nuts, which he carried in an embroidered
leathern bag at his belt. His right hand played mechanically with the
short string of thick amber beads which he used for counting. The June
sun blazed down upon his swarthy face.
At the grating beside the door the porter's head appeared, partially
visible behind the bars.
"Is Messer Angelo Beroviero within?" inquired the boatman civilly.
"What is your business?" asked the porter in a tone of surly contempt,
instead of answering the question.
"There is a rich foreign gentleman here, who desires to speak with him,"
answered the boatman.
"Is he the Pope?" asked the porter, with fine irony.
"No, sir," said the other, intimidated by the fellow's manner. "He is a
rich--"
"Tell him to wait, then." And the surly head disappeared.
The boatman supposed that the man was gone to speak with his master, and
waited patiently by the door. Aristarchi chewed his pistachio nut till
there was nothing left, at which time he reached the end of his
patience. He argued that it was a good sign if Angelo Beroviero kept
rich strangers waiting at his gate, for it showed that he had no need of
their custom. On the other hand the Greek's dignity was offended now
that he had been made to wait too long, for he was hasty by nature.
Once, in a fit of irritation with a Candiot who stammered out of sheer
fright, the captain had ordered him to be hanged. Having finished his
nut, he stood up in the boat and stepped ashore.
"Knock again," he said to the boatman, who obeyed.
There was no answer this time.
"I can hear the fellow inside," said the boatman.
The grating was too high for a man to look through it from outside.
Aristarchi laid his knotty hands on the stone sill and pulled himself up
till his face was against the grating. He now looked in and saw the
porter sitting in his chair.
"Have you taken my message to your master?" inquired the Greek.
The porter looked up in surprise, which increased when he caught sight
of the ferocious face of the speaker. But he was not to be intimidated
so easily.
"Messer Angelo is not to be disturbed at his studies," he said. "If you
wait till noon, perhaps he will come out to go to dinner."
"Perhaps!" repeated Aristarchi, still hanging by his hands. "Do you
think I shall wait all day?"
"I do not know. That is your affair."
"Precisely. And I do not mean to wait."
"Then go away."
But the Greek had come on an exploring expedition in which he had
nothing to lose. Hauling himself up a little higher, till his mouth was
close to the grating, he hailed the house as he would have hailed a ship
at sea, in a voice of thunder.
"Ahoy there! Is any one within? Ahoy! Ahoy!"
This was more than the porter's equanimity could bear. He looked about
for a weapon with which to attack the Greek's face through the bars,
heaping, upon him a torrent of abuse in the meantime.
"Son of dogs and mules!" he cried in a rising growl. "Ill befall the
foul souls of thy dead and of their dead before them."
"Ahoy--oh! Ahoy!" bellowed the Greek, who now thoroughly enjoyed the
situation.
The boatman, anxious for drink money, and convinced that his huge
employer would get the better of the porter, had obligingly gone down
upon his hands and knees, thrusting his broad back under the captain's
feet, so that Aristarchi stood upon him and was now prepared to prolong
the interview without any further effort. His terrific shouts rang
through the corridor to the garden.
The first person to enter the little lodge was Marietta herself, and the
Greek broke off short in the middle of another tremendous yell as soon
as he saw her. She turned her face up to him, quite fearlessly, and was
very much inclined to laugh as she saw the sudden change in his
expression.
"Madam," he said with great politeness, "I beg you to forgive my manner
of announcing myself. If your porter were more obliging, I should have
been admitted in the ordinary way."
"What is this atrocious disturbance?" asked Zorzi, entering before
Marietta could answer. "Pray leave the fellow to me," he added, speaking
to Marietta, who cast one more glance at Aristarchi and went out.
"Sir," said the captain blandly, "I admit that my behaviour may give you
some right to call me 'fellow,' but I trust that my apology will make
you consider me a gentleman like yourself. Your porter altogether
refused to take a message to Messer Angelo Beroviero. May I ask whether
you are his son, sir?"
"No, sir. You say that you wish to speak with the master. I can take a
message to him, but I am not sure that he will see any one to-day."
Aristarchi imagined that Beroviero made himself inaccessible, in order
to increase the general idea of his wealth and importance. He resolved
to convey a strong impression of his own standing.
"I am the chief partner in a great house of Greek merchants settled in
Palermo," he said. "My name is Charalambos Aristarchi, and I desire the
honour of speaking with Messer Angelo about the purchase of several
cargoes of glass for the King of Sicily."
"I will deliver your message, sir," said Zorzi. "Pray wait a minute, I
will open the door."
Aristarchi's big head disappeared at last.
"Yes!" growled the porter to Zorzi. "Open the door yourself, and take
the blame. The man has the face of a Turkish pirate, and his voice is
like the bellowing of several bulls."
Zorzi unbarred the door, which opened inward, and Aristarchi turned a
little sideways in order to enter, for his shoulders would have touched
the two door-posts. The slight and gracefully built Dalmatian looked at
him with some curiosity, standing aside to let him pass, before barring
the door again. Aristarchi, though not much taller than himself, was the
biggest man he had ever seen. He thanked Zorzi, who pushed forward the
porter's only chair for him to sit on while he waited.
"I will bring you an answer immediately," said Zorzi, and disappeared
down the corridor.
Aristarchi sat down, crossed one leg over the other, and took a
pistachio nut from his pouch.
"Master porter," he began in a friendly tone, "can you tell me who that
beautiful lady is, who came here a moment ago?"
"There is no reason why I should," snarled the porter, beginning to
strip the outer leaves from a large onion which he pulled from a string
of them hanging by the wall.
Aristarchi said nothing for a few moments, but watched the man with an
air of interest.
"Were you ever a pirate?" he inquired presently.
"No, I never served in your crew."
The porter was not often at a loss for a surly answer. The Greek laughed
outright, in genuine amusement.
"I like your company, my friend," he said. "I should like to spend the
day here."
"As the devil said to Saint Anthony," concluded the porter.
Aristarchi laughed again. It was long since he had enjoyed such amusing
conversation, and there was a certain novelty in not being feared. He
repeated his first question, however, remembering that he had not come
in search of diversion, but to gather information.
"Who was the beautiful lady?" he asked. "She is Messer Angelo's
daughter, is she not?"
"A man who asks a question when he knows the answer is either a fool or
a knave. Choose as you please."
"Thanks, friend," answered Aristarchi, still grinning and showing his
jagged teeth. "I leave the first choice to you. Whichever you take, I
will take the other. For if you call me a knave, I shall call you a
fool, but if you think me a fool, I am quite satisfied that you should
be the knave."
The porter snarled, vaguely feeling that the Greek had the better of
him. At that moment Zorzi returned, and his coming put an end to the
exchange of amenities.
"My master has no long leisure," he said, "but he begs you to come in."
They left the lodge together, and the porter watched them as they went
down the dark corridor, muttering unholy things about the visitor who
had disturbed him, and bestowing a few curses on Zorzi. Then he went
back to peeling his onions.
As Aristarchi went through the garden, he saw Marietta sitting under the
plane-tree, making a little net of coloured beads. Her face was turned
from him and bent down, but when he had passed she glanced furtively
after him, wondering at his size. But her eyes followed Zorzi, till the
two reached the door and went in. A moment later Zorzi came out again,
leaving his master and the Greek together. Marietta looked down at
once, lest her eyes should betray her gladness, for she knew that Zorzi
would not go back and could not leave the glass-house, so that site
should necessarily be alone with him while the interview in the
laboratory lasted.
He came a little way down the path, then stopped, took a short knife
from his wallet and began to trim away a few withered sprigs from a
rose-bush. She waited a moment, but he showed no signs of coming nearer,
so she spoke to him.
"Will you come here?" she asked softly, looking towards him with
half-closed eyes.
He slipped the knife back into his pouch and walked quickly to her side.
She looked down again, threading the coloured beads that half filled a
small basket in her lap.
"May I ask you a question?" Her voice had a little persuasive hesitation
in it, as if she wished him to understand that the answer would be a
favour of which she was anything but certain.
"Anything you will," said Zorzi.
"Provided I do not ask about my father's secret!" A little laughter
trembled in the words. "You were so severe yesterday, you know. I am
almost afraid ever to ask you anything again."
"I will answer as well as I can."
"Well--tell me this. Did you really take the boat and go to Venice last
night?"
"Yes."
Marietta's hand moved with the needle among the beads, but she did not
thread one. Nella had been right, after all.
"Why did you go, Zorzi?" The question came in a lower tone that was full
of regret.
"The master sent me," answered Zorzi, looking down at her hair, and
wishing that he could see her face.
His wish was almost instantly fulfilled. After the slightest pause she
looked up at him with a lovely smile; yet when he saw that rare look in
her face, his heart sank suddenly, instead of swelling and standing
still with happiness, and when she saw how sad he was, she was grave
with the instant longing to feel whatever he felt of pain or sorrow.
That is one of the truest signs of love, but Zorzi had not learned much
of love's sign-language yet, and did not understand.
"What is it?" she asked almost tenderly.
He turned his eyes from her and rested one hand against the trunk of the
plane-tree.
"I do not understand," he said slowly.
"Why are you so sad? What is it that is always making you suffer?"
"How could I tell you?" The words were spoken almost under his breath.
"It would be very easy to tell me," she said. "Perhaps I could help
you--"
"Oh no, no, no!" he cried with an accent of real pain. "You could not
help me!"
"Who knows? Perhaps I am the best friend you have in the world, Zorzi."
"Indeed I believe you are! No one has ever been so good to me."
"And you have not many friends," continued Marietta. "The workmen are
jealous of you, because you are always with my father. My brothers do
not like you, for the same reason, and they think that you will get my
father's secret from him some day, and outdo them all. No--you have not
many friends."
"I have none, but you and the master. The men would kill me if they
dared."
Marietta started a little, remembering how the workmen had looked at him
in the morning, when he came out.
"You need not be afraid," he added, seeing her movement. "They will not
touch me."
"Does my father know what your trouble is?" asked Marietta suddenly.
"No! That is--I have no trouble, I assure you. I am of a melancholy
nature."
"I am glad it has nothing to do with the secrets," said the young girl,
quietly ignoring the last part of his speech. "If it had, I could not
help you at all. Could I?"
That morning it had seemed an easy thing to wait even two years before
giving him a sign, before dropping in his path the rose which she would
not ask of him again. The minutes seemed years now. For she knew well
enough what his trouble was, since yesterday; he loved her, and he
thought it infinitely impossible, in his modesty, that she should ever
stoop to him. After she had spoken, she looked at him with half-closed
eyes for a while, but he stared stonily at the trunk of the tree beside
his hand. Gradually, as she gazed, her lids opened wider, and the
morning sunlight sparkled in the deep blue, and her fresh lips parted.
Before she was aware of it he was looking at her with a strange
expression she had never seen. Then she faintly blushed and looked down
at her beads once more. She felt as if she had told him that she loved
him. But he had not understood. He had only seen the transfiguration of
her face, and it had been for a moment as he had never seen it before.
Again his heart sank suddenly, and he uttered a little sound that was
more than a sigh and less than a groan.
"There are remedies for almost every kind of pain," said Marietta
wisely, as she threaded several beads.
"Give me one for mine," he cried almost bitterly. "Bid that which is to
cease from being, and that to be which is not earthly possible! Turn the
world back, and undo truth, and make it all a dream! Then I shall find
the remedy and forget that it was needed."
"There are magicians who pretend to do such things," she answered
softly.
"I would there were!" he sighed.
"But those who come to them for help tell all, else the magician has no
power. Would you call a physician, if you were ill, and tell him that
the pain you felt was in your head, if it was really--in your heart?"
She had paused an instant before speaking the last words, and they came
with a little effort.
"How could the physician cure you, if you would not tell him the truth?"
she asked, as he said nothing. "How can the wizard work miracles for
you, unless he knows what miracle you ask? How can your best friend help
you if--if she does not know what help you need?"
Still he was silent, leaning against the tree, with bent head. The pain
was growing worse, and harder to bear. She spoke so softly and kindly
that it would have been easy to tell her the truth, he thought, for
though she could never love him, she would understand, and would forgive
him. He had not dreamed that friendship could be so kind.
"Am I right?" she asked, after a pause.
"Yes," he answered. "When I cannot bear it any longer, I will tell you,
and you will help me."
"Why not now?"
The little question might have been ruinous to all his resolution, if
Zorzi had not been almost like a child in his simplicity--or like a
saint in his determination to be loyal. For he thought it loyalty to be
silent, not only for the sake of the promise he had given in return for
his life, but in respect of his master also, who put such great trust in
him.
"Pray do not press me with the question," he said. "You tempt me very
much, and I do not wish to speak of what I feel. Be my friend in real
truth, if you can, and do not ask me to say what I shall ever after wish
unsaid. That will be the best friendship."
Marietta looked across the garden thoughtfully, and suddenly a chilling
doubt fell upon her heart. She could not have been mistaken yesterday,
she could not be deceived in him now; and yet, if he loved her as she
believed, she had said all that a maiden could to show him that she
would listen willingly. She had said too much, and she felt ashamed and
hurt, almost resentful. He was not a boy. If he loved her, he could find
words to tell her so, and should have found them, for she had helped him
to her utmost. Suddenly, she almost hated him, for what his silence made
her feel, and she told herself that she was glad he had not dared to
speak, for she did not love him at all. It was all a sickening mistake,
it was all a miserable little dream; she wished that he would go away
and leave her to herself. Not that she should shed a single tear! She
was far too angry for that, but his presence, so near her, reminded her
of what she had done. He must have seen, all through their talk, that
she was trying to make him tell his love, and there was nothing to tell.
Of course he would despise her. That was natural, but she had a right to
hate him for it, and she would, with all her heart! Her thoughts all
came together in a tumult of disgust and resentment. If Zorzi did not go
away presently, she would go away herself. She was almost resolved to
get up and leave the garden, when the door opened.
"Zorzi!" It was Beroviero's voice.
Aristarchi already stood in the doorway taking leave of Beroviero with,
many oily protestations of satisfaction in having made his
acquaintance. Zorzi went forward to accompany the Greek to the door.
"I shall never forget that I have had the honour of being received by
the great artist himself," said Aristarchi, who held his big cap in his
hand and was bowing low on the threshold.
"The pleasure has been all on my side," returned Beroviero courteously.
"On the contrary, quite on the contrary," protested his guest, backing
away and then turning to go.
Zorzi walked beside him, on his left. As they reached the entrance to
the corridor Aristarchi turned once more, and made an elaborate bow,
sweeping the ground with his cap, for Beroviero had remained at the door
till he should be out of sight. He bent his head, making a gracious
gesture with his hand, and went in as the Greek disappeared. Zorzi
followed the latter, showing him out.
Marietta saw the door close after her father, and she knew that Zorzi
must come back through the garden in a few moments. She bent her head
over her beads as she heard his step, and pretended not to see him. When
he came near her he stood still a moment, but she would not look up, and
between annoyance and disappointment and confusion she felt that she was
blushing, which she would not have had Zorzi see for anything. She
wondered why he did not go on.
"Have I offended you?" he asked, in a low voice.
Oddly enough, her embarrassment disappeared as soon as he spoke, and the
blush faded away.
"No," she answered, coldly enough. "I am not angry--I am only sorry."
"But I am glad that I would not answer your question," returned Zorzi.
"I doubt whether you had any answer to give," retorted Marietta with a
touch of scorn.
Zorzi's brows contracted sharply and he made a movement to go on. So her
proffered friendship was worth no more than that, he thought. She was
angry and scornful because her curiosity was disappointed. She could not
have guessed his secret, he was sure, though that might account for her
temper, for she would of course be angry if she knew that he loved her.
And she was angry now because he had refused to tell her so. That was a
woman's logic, he thought, quite regardless of the defect in his own. It
was just like a woman! He sincerely wished that he might tell her so.
In the presence of Marietta the man who had confronted sudden death less
than twenty-four hours ago, with a coolness that had seemed imposing to
other men, was little better than a girl himself. He turned to go on,
without saying more. But she stopped him.
"I am sorry that you do not care for my friendship," she said, in a hurt
tone. She could not have said anything which he would have found it
harder to answer just then.
"What makes you think that?" he asked, hoping to gain time.
"Many things. It is quite true, so it does not matter what makes me
think it!"
She tried to laugh scornfully, but there was a quaver in her voice which
she herself had not expected and was very far from understanding. Why
should she suddenly feel that she was going to cry? It had seemed so
ridiculous in poor Nella that morning. Yet there was a most unmistakable
something in her throat, which frightened her. It would be dreadful if
she should burst into tears over her beads before Zorzi's eyes. She
tried to gulp the something: down, and suddenly, as she bent over the
basket, she saw the beautiful, hateful drops falling fast upon the
little dry glass things; and even then, in her shame at being seen, she
wondered why the beads looked, bigger through the glistening tears--she
remembered afterwards how they looked, so she must have noticed them at
the time.
Zorzi knew too little of women to have any idea of what he ought to do
under the circumstances. He did not know whether to turn his back or to
go away, so he stood still and looked at her, which was the very worst
thing he could have done. Worse still, he tried to reason with her.
"I assure you that you are mistaken," he said in a soothing tone. "I
wish for your friendship with all my heart! Only, when you ask me--"
"Oh, go away! For heaven's sake go away!" cried Marietta, almost
choking, and turning her face quite away, so that he could only see the
back of her head.
At the same time, she tapped the ground impatiently with her foot, and
to make matters worse, the little basket of beads began to slip off her
knees at the same moment. She caught at it desperately, trying not to
look round and half blinded by her tears, but she missed it, and but for
Zorzi it would have fallen. He put it into her hands very gently, but
she was not in the least grateful.
"Oh, please go away!" she repeated. "Can you not understand?"
He did not understand, but he obeyed her and turned away, very grave,
very much puzzled by this new development of affairs, and sincerely
wishing that some wise familiar spirit would whisper the explanation in
his ear, since he could not possibly consult any living person.
She heard him go and she listened for the shutting of the laboratory
door. Then she knew that she was quite alone in the garden, and she let
the tears flow as they would, bending her head till it touched the trunk
of the tree, and they wet the smooth bark and ran down to the dry earth.
Zorzi went in, and began to tend the fire as usual, until it should
please the master to give him other orders. Old Beroviero was sitting in
the big chair in which he sometimes rested himself, his elbow on one of
its arms, and his hand grasping his beard below his chin.
"Zorzi," he said at last, "I have seen that man before."
Zorzi looked at him, expecting more, but for some time Beroviero said
nothing. The young man selected his pieces of beech wood, laying them
ready before the little opening just above the floor.
"It is very strange," said Beroviero at last. "He seems to be a rich
merchant now, but I am almost quite sure that I saw him in Naples."
"Did you know him there, sir?" asked Zorzi.
"No," answered his master thoughtfully. "I saw him in a cart with his
hands tied behind him, on his way to be hanged."
"He looks as if one hanging would not be enough for him," observed
Zorzi.
Beroviero was silent for a moment. Then he laughed, and he laughed very
rarely.
"Yes," he said. "It is not a face one could forget easily," he added.
Then he rose and went back to his table.