Giovanni sat in his father's own room at home, with shut doors, and he
was writing. He had received as good an education as any young nobleman
or rich merchant's son in Venice, but writing was always irksome to him,
and he generally employed a scribe rather than take the pen himself.
To-day he preferred to dispense with help, instead of trusting the
discretion of a secretary; and this is what he was setting down.
"I, Giovanni Beroviero, the son of Angelo, of Murano, the glass-maker,
being in my father's absence and in his stead the Master of our
honourable Guild of Glass-makers, do entreat your Magnificence to
interfere and act for the preservation of our ancient rights and
privileges and for the maintenance of the just laws of Venice, and for
the honour of the Republic, and for the public good of Murano. There is
a certain Zorzi, called the Ballarin, who was a servant of the aforesaid
Angelo Beroviero, a Dalmatian and a foreigner and a fellow of no worth,
who formerly swept the floor of the said Angelo's furnace room, which
the said Angelo keeps for his private use. This fellow therefore, this
foreigner, the said Angelo being absent on a long journey, was left by
him to watch the fire in the said room, there being certain new glass
in the crucibles of the said furnace, which the said Zorzi, called the
Ballarin, was to keep hot a certain number of days. And now in the
torrid heat of summer, the canicular days being at hand, the furnaces in
the glass-house of the said Angelo have been extinguished. But this
Zorzi, called the Ballarin, although he has removed from the furnace of
the said Angelo the glass which was to be kept hot, does insolently and
defiantly refuse to put out the fire in the said furnace, and forces the
boys to make the fire all night, to the great injury of their health,
because the canicular days are approaching. But the said Zorzi, called
the Ballarin, like a raging devil come upon earth from his master Satan,
heeds no heat. And he has no respect of laws, nor of persons, nor of the
honourable Guild, nor of the Republic, working day and night at the
glass-blower's art, just as if he were not a Dalmatian, and a foreigner,
and a low fellow of no worth. Moreover, he has made glass himself, which
it is forbidden for any foreigner to make throughout the dominions of
the Republic. Moreover, it is a good white glass, which he could not
have made if he had not wickedly, secretly and feloniously stolen a book
which is the property of the aforesaid Angelo, and which contains many
things concerning the making of glass. Moreover, this Zorzi, called the
Ballarin, is a liar, a thief and an assassin, for of the good white
glass which he has melted by means of the said Angelo's secrets, he
makes vessels, such as phials, ampullas and dishes, which it is not
lawful for any foreigner to make. Moreover, in the vile wickedness of
his shameless heart, the said Zorzi, called the Ballarin, has the
presumption and effrontery to sell the said vessels, openly admitting
that he has made them. And they are well made, with diabolical skill,
and the sale of the said vessels is a great injury to the glass-blowers
of Murano, and to the honourable Guild, besides being an affront to the
Republic. I, the aforesaid Giovanni, was indeed unable to believe that
such monstrous wickedness could exist. I therefore went into the furnace
room myself, and there I found the said Zorzi, called the Ballarin,
working alone and making a certain piece in the form of a beaker. And
though he knows me, that I am the son of his master, he is so lost to
all shame, that he continued to work before me, as if he were a
glass-blower, and though I fanned myself in order not to die of heat, he
worked before the fire, and felt nothing, raging like a devil. I
therefore offered to buy the beaker he was making and I put down a piece
of money, and the said Zorzi, called the Ballarin, a liar, a thief and
an assassin, took the said piece of money, and set the said beaker
within the annealing oven of the said furnace, wherein I saw many other
pieces of fine workmanship, and he said that I should have the said
beaker when it was annealed. Wherefore I, being for the time the Master
of the honourable Guild in the stead of the said Angelo, entreat your
Magnificence on behalf of the said Guild to interfere and act for the
preservation of our ancient rights and privileges, and for the honour of
the Republic. Moreover, I entreat your Magnificence to send a force by
night, in order that there may be no scandal, to take the said Zorzi,
called the Ballarin, and to bind him, and carry him to Venice, that he
may be tried for his monstrous crimes, and be questioned, even with
torture, as to others which he has certainly committed, and be exiled
from all the dominions of the Republic for ever on pain of being hanged,
that in this way our laws may be maintained and our privileges
preserved. Moreover, I will give any further information of the same
kind which your Magnificence may desire. At Murano, in the house of
Angelo Beroviero, my father, this third day of July, in the year of the
Salvation of the World fourteen hundred and seventy, Giovanni Beroviero,
the glass-maker."
Giovanni had taken a long time in the composition of this remarkable
document. He sat in his linen shirt and black hose, but he had paused
often to fan himself with a sheet of paper, and to wipe the perspiration
from his forehead, for although he was a lean man he suffered much from
the heat, owing to a weakness of his heart.
He folded the two sheets of his letter and tied them with a silk string,
of which he squeezed the knot into pasty red wax, which he worked with
his fingers, and upon this he pressed the iron seal of the guild, using
both his hands and standing up in order to add his weight to the
pressure. The missive was destined for the Podestà of Murano, which is
to say, for the Governor, who was a patrician of Venice and a most high
and mighty personage. Giovanni did not mean to trust to any messenger.
That very afternoon, when he had slept after dinner, and the sun was
low, he would have himself rowed to the Governor's house, and he would
deliver the letter himself, or if possible he would see the dignitary
and explain even more fully that Zorzi, called the Ballarin, was a liar,
a thief and an assassin. He felt a good deal of pride in what he had
written so carefully, and he was sure that his case was strong. In
another day or two, Zorzi would be gone for ever from Murano, Giovanni
would have the precious manuscript in his possession, and when old
Beroviero returned Giovanni would use the book as a weapon against his
father, who would be furiously angry to find his favourite assistant
gone. It was all very well planned, he thought, and was sure to succeed.
He would even take possession of the beautiful red glass, and of the
still more wonderful white glass which Zorzi had made for himself. By
the help of the book, he should soon be able to produce the same in his
own furnaces. The vision of a golden future opened before him. He would
outdo all the other glass-makers in every market, from Paris to Palermo,
from distant England to Egyptian Alexandria, wheresoever the vast trade
of Venice carried those huge bales of delicate glass, carefully packed
in the dried seaweed of the lagoons. Gold would follow gold, and his
wealth would increase, till it became greater than that of any patrician
in Venice. Who could tell but that, in time, the great exception might
be made for him, and he might be admitted to sit in the Grand Council,
he and his heirs for ever, just as if he had been born a real patrician
and not merely a member of the half-noble caste of glass-blowers? Such
things were surely possible.
In the cooler hours of the afternoon he got into his father's gondola,
for he was far too economical to keep one of his own, and he had himself
rowed to the house of the Governor, on the Grand Canal of Murano. But at
the door he was told that the official was in Venice and would not
return till the following day. The liveried porter was not sure where he
might be found, but he often went to the palace of the Contarini, who
were his near relations. The Signor Giovanni, to whom the porter was
monstrously civil, might give himself the fatigue of being taken there
in his gondola. In any case it would be easy to find the Governor. He
would perhaps be on the Grand Canal in Venice at the hour when all the
patricians were taking the air. It was very probable indeed.
The porter bowed low as the gondola pushed off, and Giovanni leaned back
in the comfortable seat, to repeat again and again in his mind what he
meant to say if he succeeded in speaking with the Governor. He had his
letter of complaint safe in his wallet, and he could remember every word
he had written. In order to go to Venice, the nearest way was to return
from the Grand Canal of Murano by the canal of San Piero, and to pass
the glass-house. The door was shut as usual, and Giovanni smiled as he
thought of how the city archers would go in, perhaps that very night,
to take Zorzi away. He would not be with them, but when they were gone,
he would go and find the book under one of the stones. When he had got
it, his father might come home, for all Giovanni cared.
Before long the gondola was winding its way through the narrow canals,
now shooting swiftly along a short straight stretch, between a monastery
and a palace, now brought to by a turn of the hand at a corner, as the
man at the oar shouted out a direction meant for whoever might be
coming, by the right or left, as one should say "starboard helm" or
"port helm," and both doing the same, two vessels pass clear of one
another; and to this day the gondoliers of Venice use the old words, and
tell long-winded stories of their derivation and first meaning, which
seem quite unnecessary. But in Beroviero's time, the gondola had only
lately come into fashion, and every one adopted it quickly because it
was much cheaper than keeping horses, and it was far more pleasant to be
taken quickly by water, by shorter ways, than to ride in the narrow
streets, in the mud in winter and in the dust in summer, jostling those
who walked, and sometimes quarrelling with those who rode, because the
way was too narrow for one horse to pass another, when both had riders
on their backs. Moreover, it was law that after nine o'clock in the
morning no man who had reached the fig-tree that grew in the open space
before San Salvatore, should ride to Saint Mark's by the Merceria, so
that people had to walk the rest of the way, leaving their horses to
grooms. The gondola was therefore a great convenience, besides being a
notable economy, and old Francesco Sansovino says that in his day, which
was within a lifetime of Angelo Beroviero's, there were nine or ten
thousand gondolas in Venice. But at first they had not the high peaked
stem of iron, and stem and stern were made almost alike, as in the
Venetian boats and skiffs of our own time.
Giovanni got out at the steps of the Contarini palace, which, of the
many that even then belonged to different branches of that great house,
was distinguished above all others by its marvellous outer winding
staircase, which still stands in all its beauty and slender grace. But
near the great palace there were little wooden houses of two stories,
some new and straight and gaily painted, but some old and crooked,
hanging over the canals so that they seemed ready to topple down, with
crazy outer balconies half closed in by lattices behind which the women
sat for coolness, and sometimes even slept in the hot months. For the
great city of stone and brick was not half built yet, and the space
before Saint Mark's was much larger than it is now, for the Procuratie
did not yet exist, nor the clock, but the great bell-tower stood almost
in the middle of an open square, and there were little wooden booths at
its base, in which all sorts of cheap trinkets were sold. There were
also such booths and small shops at the base of the two columns. Also,
the bridge of Rialto was a broad bridge of boats, on which shops were
built on each side of the way, and the middle of the bridge could be
drawn out, for the great Bucentoro to pass through, when the Doge went
out in state to wed the sea.
Giovanni Beroviero was well known to Contarini's household, for all knew
of the approaching marriage, and the servants were not surprised when he
inquired for the Governor of Murano, saying that his business was
urgent. But the Governor was not there, nor the master of the house.
They were gone to the Grand Canal. Would the Signor Giovanni like to
speak with Messer Jacopo, who chanced to be in the palace and alone? It
was still early, and Giovanni thought that the opportunity was a good
one for ingratiating himself with his future brother-in-law. He would go
in, if he should not disturb Messer Jacopo. He was announced and ushered
respectfully into the great hall, and thence up the broad staircase to
the hall of reception above. And below, his gondoliers gossiped with the
servants, talking about the coming marriage, and many indiscreet things
were said, which it was better that their masters should not hear; as
for instance that Jacopo was really living in the house of the Agnus
Dei, where he kept a beautiful Georgian slave in unheard-of luxury, and
that this was a great grief to his father, who was therefore very
desirous of hastening the marriage with Marietta. The porter winked one
eye solemnly at the head gondolier, as who should imply that the
establishment at the Agnus Dei would not be given up for twenty
marriages; but the gondolier said boldly that if Jacopo did not change
his life after he had married Marietta, something would happen to him.
Upon this the porter inquired superciliously what, in the name of a
great many beings, celestial and infernal, could possibly happen to any
Contarini who chose to do as he pleased. The gondolier answered that
there were laws, the porter retorted that the laws were made for
glass-blowers but not for patricians, and the two might have come to
blows if they had not just then heard their masters' voices from the
landing of the great staircase; and of coarse it was far more important
to overhear all they could of the conversation than to quarrel about a
point of law.
Giovanni was too full of his plan for Zorzi's destruction to resist the
temptation of laying the whole case before Contarini, who was so soon to
be a member of the family, and as Jacopo, who was himself going out,
accompanied his guest downstairs, Giovanni continued to talk of the
matter earnestly, and Contarini answered him by occasional monosyllables
and short sentences, much interested by the whole affair, but wishing
that Giovanni would go away, now that he had told all. He was in
constant fear lest Zorzi should say something which might betray the
meetings at the house of the Agnus Dei, and had often regretted that he
had not been put quietly out of the way, instead of being admitted to
the society. Now after hearing what Giovanni had to say, he had not the
slightest doubt but that Zorzi had really broken the laws, and it seemed
an admirable solution of the whole affair that the Dalmatian should be
exiled from the Republic for life. That being settled, he wished to get
rid of his visitor, as Arisa was waiting for him.
"I assure you," Giovanni said, "that this miserable Zorzi is a liar, a
thief and an assassin."
"Yes," assented Contarini carelessly, "I have no doubt of it."
"The best thing is to arrest him at once, this very night, if possible,
and have him brought before the Council."
"Yes."
Contarini had agreed with Giovanni on this point already, and made a
movement to descend, but Giovanni loved to stand still in order to talk,
and he would not move. Contarini waited for him.
"It is important that some member of the Council should be informed of
the truth beforehand," he continued. "Will you speak to your father
about it, Messer Jacopo?"
"Yes," answered Contarini, and he spoke the word intentionally with
great emphasis, in the hope that Giovanni would be finally satisfied and
go away.
"You will be conferring a benefit on the city of Murano," said Giovanni
in a tone of gratitude, and this time he began to come down the steps.
The gondolier had heard every word that had been said, as well as the
servants in the lower hall; but to them the conversation had no especial
meaning, as they knew nothing of Zorzi. To the gondolier, on the other
hand, who was devoted to his master and detested his master's son, it
meant much, though his stolid, face did not betray the slightest
intelligence.
Giovanni took leave of Contarini with much ceremony, a little too much,
Jacopo thought.
"To the Grand Canal," said Giovanni as the gondolier helped him to get
in, and he backed under the 'felse.' "Try and find the Governor of
Murano, and if you see him, take me alongside his gondola."
The sun was now low, and as the light craft shot out at last upon the
Grand Canal, the breeze came up from the land, cool and refreshing.
Scores of gondolas were moving up and down, some with the black 'felse,'
some without, and in the latter there were beautiful women, whose
sun-dyed hair shone resplendent under the thin embroidered veils that
loosely covered it. They wore silk and satin of rich hues, and jewels,
and some were clad in well-fitting bodices that were nets of thin gold
cord drawn close over velvet, with lawn sleeves gathered to the fore-arm
and the upper-arm by netting of seed pearls. Beside some of them sat
their husbands or their fathers, in robes and mantles of satin and silk,
or in wide coats of rich stuff, open at the neck; bearded men,
straight-featured, and often very pale, wearing great puffed caps set
far back on their smooth hair, their white hands playing with their
gloves, their dark eyes searching out from afar the faces of famous
beauties, or, if they were grey-haired men, fixed thoughtfully before
them.
Overall the evening light descended like a mist of gold, reflected from
the sculptured walls of palaces, where marble columns and light
traceries of stone were dyed red and orange and almost purple by the
setting sun, and nestling among the carved beams and far-projecting
balconies of wooden houses that overhung the canal, gilding the water
itself where the broad-bladed oars struck deep and churned it, and swept
aft, and steered with a poising, feathering backstroke, or where tiny
waves were dashed up by a gondola's bright iron stem. Slowly the water
turned to wine below, the clear outlines of the palaces stood out less
sharply against the paling sky, the golden cloudlets, floating behind
the great tower of Saint Mark's presently faded to wreaths of delicate
mist. The bells rung out from church and monastery, far and near, till
the air was filled with a deep music, telling all Venice that the day
was done.
Then the many voices that had echoed in greeting and in laughter, from
boat to boat, were hushed a moment, and almost every man took off his
hat or cap, the robed Councillor and the gondolier behind him; and also
a good number of the great ladies made the sign of the cross and were
silent a while. It was the hour when Venice puts forth her stealing
charm, when the terrible distinctness of her splendour grows gentle and
almost human, and the little mystery of each young life rises from the
heart to hold converse with the sweet, mysterious all. Through the long
day the palaces look down consciously at themselves, mirrored in the
calm water where they stand, and each seems to say "I am finer than
you," or "My master is still richer than yours," or "You are going to
ruin faster than I am," or "I was built by a Lombardo," or "I by
Sansovino," and the violent light is ever there to bear witness of the
truth of what each says. Within, without, in hall and church and
gallery, there is perpetual brightness and perpetual silence. But at the
evening hour, now, as in old times, a spirit takes Venice and folds it
in loving arms, whispering words that are not even guessed by day.
The Ave Maria had not ceased ringing when Giovanni's gondolier came up
with the Governor of Murano. He was alone, and at his invitation
Giovanni left his own craft and sat down beside the patrician, whose
gondola was uncovered for coolness. Giovanni talked earnestly in low
tones, holding his sealed letter in his hand, while his own oarsman
watched him closely in the advancing dusk, but was too wise to try to
overhear what was said. He knew well enough now what Giovanni wanted of
the Governor, and what he obtained.
"Not to-night," the Governor said audibly, as Giovanni returned to his
own gondola. "To-morrow."
Giovanni turned before getting under the 'felse,' bowed low as he stood
up and said a few words of thanks, which the Governor could hardly have
heard as his boat shot ahead, though he made one more gracious gesture
with his hand. The shadows descended quickly now, and everywhere the
little lights came out, from latticed balconies and palace windows left
open to let in the cool air, and from the silently gliding gondolas
that each carried a small lamp; and here and there between tall houses
the young summer moon fell across the black water, rippling under the
freshening breeze, and it was like a shower of silver falling into a
widow's lap.
But Giovanni saw none of these things, and if he had looked out of the
small windows of the 'felse,' he would not have cared to see them, for
beauty did not appeal to him in nature any more than in art, except that
in the latter it was a cause of value in things. Besides, as he suffered
from the heat all day, he was afraid of being chilled at evening; so he
sat inside the 'felse,' gloating over the success of his trip. The
Governor, who knew nothing of Zorzi but was well aware of Giovanni's
importance in Murano, had readily consented to arrest the poor Dalmatian
who was represented as such a dangerous person, besides being a liar and
other things, and Giovanni had particularly requested that the force
sent should be sufficient to overpower the "raging devil" at once and
without scandal. He judged that ten men would suffice for this, he said.
The fact was that he feared some resistance on the part of Pasquale,
whom he knew to be a friend to Zorzi. He had carefully abstained from
alluding to Zorzi's lameness, lest the mere mention of it should excite
some compassion in his hearer. He had in fact done everything to assure
the success of his scheme, except the one thing which was the most
necessary of all. He had allowed himself to speak of it in the hearing
of the gondolier who hated him, and who lost no time in making use of
the information.
It was nearly supper-time when he deposited Giovanni at the steps of the
house and took the gondola round to the narrow canal in which the boats
lay, and which was under Nella's window. The shutters were wide open,
and there was a light within. He called the serving-woman by name, and
she looked out, and asked what he wanted. Then, as now, gondoliers
worked indoors like the servants when not busy with the boats, and slept
in the house. The man was on friendly terms with Nella, who liked him
because he thought her mistress the most perfect creature in the world.
"I have ripped the arm of my doublet," he said. "Can you mend it for me
this evening?"
"Bring it up to me now," answered Nella. "There is time before supper.
You can wait outside my room while I do it. My mistress is already gone
downstairs."
"You are an angel," observed the gondolier from below. "The only thing
you need is a husband."
"You have guessed wrong," answered Nella with a little laugh. "That is
the only thing I do not need."
She disappeared, and the gondolier went round by the back of the house
to the side door, in order to go upstairs. In a quarter of an hour,
while she stood in her doorway, and he in the passage without, he had
told her all he knew of Giovanni's evil intentions against Zorzi,
including the few words which the Governor had spoken audibly. The torn
sleeve was an invention.
Giovanni was visibly elated at supper, a circumstance which pleased his
wife but inspired Marietta with some distrust. She had never felt any
sympathy for the brother who was so much older than herself, and who
took a view of things which seemed to her sordid, and she did not like
to see him sitting in her father's place, often talking of the house as
if it were already his, and dictating to her upon matters of conduct as
well as upon questions of taste. Everything he said jarred on her, but
as yet she had no idea that he had any plans against Zorzi, and being of
a reserved character she often took no trouble to answer what he said,
except to bend her head a little to acknowledge that he had said it.
When she was alone with her father, she loved to sit with him after
supper in the big room, working by the clear light of the olive oil
lamp, while he sat in his great chair and talked to her of his work. He
had told her far more than he realised of his secret processes as well
as of his experiments, and she had remembered it, for she alone of his
children had inherited his true love and understanding of the noble art
of glass-making.
But now that he was away, Giovanni generally spent the evening in
instructing his wife how to save money, and she listened meekly enough
to what he told her, for she was a modest little woman, of colourless
character, brought up to have no great opinion of herself, though her
father was a rich merchant; and she looked upon her husband as belonging
to a superior class. Marietta found the conversation intolerable and
she generally left the couple together a quarter of an hour after
supper was over and went to her own room, where she worked a little and
listened to Nella's prattle, and sometimes answered her. She was living
in a state of half-suspended thought, and was glad to let the time pass
as it would, provided it passed at all.
This evening, as usual, she bade her brother and his wife good night,
and went upstairs. Nella had learned to expect her and was waiting for
her. To her surprise, Nella shut the window as soon as she entered.
"Leave it open," she said. "It is hot this evening. Why did you shut it?
You never do."
"A window is an ear," answered Nella mysteriously. "The nights are still
and voices carry far."
"What great secret are you going to talk of?" inquired Marietta, with a
careless smile, as she drew the long pins from her hair and let the
heavy braids fall behind her.
"Bad news, bad news!" Nella repeated. "The young master is doing things
which he ought not to do, because they are very unjust and spiteful. I
am only a poor serving-woman, but I would bite off my fingers, like
this"--and she bit them sharply and shook them--"before I would let them
do such things!"
"What do you mean, Nella?" asked Marietta. "You must not speak of my
brother in that way."
"Your brother! Eh, your brother!" cried Nella in a low and angry voice,
quite unlike her own. "Do you know what your brother has done? He has
been to Messer Jacopo Contarini, your betrothed husband, and he has
told him that Zorzi is a liar, a thief and an assassin, and that he will
have him arrested to-night, if he can, and Messer Jacopo promised that
his father, who is of the Council, shall have Zorzi condemned! And your
brother has seen the Governor of Murano in Venice, and has given him a
great letter, and the Governor said that it should not be to-night, but
to-morrow. That is the sort of man your brother is."
Marietta was standing. She had turned slowly pale while Nella was
speaking, and grasped the back of a chair with both hands. She thought
she was going to faint.