"Who are those ladies, Matteo?" Francis asked his friend one evening,
as the latter, who was sitting with him in his gondola, while Giuseppi
rowed them along the Grand Canal, half rose and saluted two girls in a
passing gondola.
"They are distant cousins of mine, Maria and Giulia Polani. They only
returned a short time since from Corfu. Their father is one of the
richest merchants of our city. He has for the last three years been
living in Corfu, which is the headquarters of his trade. The family is
an old one, and has given doges to Venice. They are two of our richest
heiresses, for they have no brothers. Their mother died soon after the
birth of Giulia."
"They both look very young," Francis said.
"Maria is about sixteen, her sister two years younger. There will be no
lack of suitors for their hands, for although the family is not
politically powerful, as it used to be, their wealth would cause them
to be gladly received in our very first families."
"Who was the middle-aged lady sitting between them?"
"She is only their duenna," Matteo said carelessly. "She has been with
them since they were children, and their father places great confidence
in her. And he had need to, for Maria will ere long be receiving
bouquets and perfumed notes from many a young gallant."
"I can quite fancy that," Francis said, "for she is very pretty as well
as very rich, and, as far as I have observed, the two things do not go
very often together. However, no doubt by this time her father has
pretty well arranged in his mind whom she is to marry."
"I expect so," agreed Matteo.
"That is the worst of being born of good family. You have got to marry
some one of your father's choice, not your own, and that choice is
determined simply by the desire to add to the political influence of
the family, to strengthen distant ties, or to obtain powerful
connections. I suppose it is the same everywhere, Matteo, but I do
think that a man or woman ought to have some voice in a matter of such
importance to them."
"I think so, too, at the present time," Matteo laughed; "but I don't
suppose that I shall be of that opinion when I have a family of sons
and daughters to marry.
"This gondola of yours must be a fast one indeed, Francisco, for with
only one rower she keeps up with almost all the pair oared boats, and
your boy is not exerting himself to the utmost, either."
"She can fly along, I can tell you, Matteo. You shall come out in her
some evening when Giuseppi and I both take oars. I have had her ten
days now, and we have not come across anything that can hold her for a
moment."
"It is always useful," Matteo said, "to have a fast boat. It is
invaluable in case you have been getting into a scrape, and have one of
the boats of the city watch in chase of you."
"I hope I sha'n't want it for any purpose of that sort," Francis
answered, laughing. "I do not think I am likely to give cause to the
city watch to chase me."
"I don't think you are, Francisco, but there is never any saying."
"At any rate it is always useful to be able to go fast if necessary,
and if we did want to get away, I do not think there are many
pair-oared gondolas afloat that would overtake us, though a good four
oar might do so. Giuseppi and I are so accustomed to each other's
stroke now, that though in a heavy boat we might not be a match for two
men, in a light craft like this, where weight does not count for so
much, we would not mind entering her for a race against the two best
gondoliers on the canals, in an ordinary boat."
A few evenings later, Francis was returning homewards at about half
past ten, when, in passing along a quiet canal, the boat was hailed
from the shore.
"Shall we take him, Messer Francisco?" Giuseppi asked in a low voice;
for more than once they had late in the evening taken a fare.
Francis rowed, like Giuseppi, in his shirt, and in the darkness they
were often taken for a pair-oared gondola on the lookout for a fare.
Francis had sometimes accepted the offer, because it was an amusement
to see where the passenger wished to go--to guess whether he was a
lover hastening to keep an appointment, a gambler on a visit to some
quiet locality, where high play went on unknown to the authorities, or
simply one who had by some error missed his own gondola, and was
anxious to return home. It made no difference to him which way he
rowed. It was always possible that some adventure was to be met with,
and the fare paid was a not unwelcome addition to Giuseppi's funds.
"Yes, we may as well take him," he replied to Giuseppi's question.
"You are in no hurry to get to bed, I suppose?" the man who had hailed
them said as the boat drew up against the wall of the canal.
"It does not make much difference to us, if we are well paid, to keep
awake," Giuseppi said.
Upon such occasions he was always the spokesman.
"You know San Nicolo?"
"Yes, I know it," Giuseppi said; "but it is a long row--six miles, if
it's a foot."
"You will have to wait there for an hour or two, but I will give you
half a ducat for your night's work."
"What do you say, partner?" Giuseppi asked Francis.
"We may as well go," the lad replied after a moment's pause.
The row was certainly a long one, but the night was delightful, and the
half ducat was a prize for Giuseppi; but what influenced Francis
principally in accepting was curiosity. San Nicolo was a little sandy
islet lying quite on the outside of the group of islands. It was
inhabited only by a few fishermen; and Francis wondered that a man,
evidently by his voice and manner of address belonging to the upper
class, should want to go to such a place as this at this hour of the
night. Certainly no ordinary motives could actuate him.
As the stranger took his place in the boat, Francis saw by the light of
the stars that he was masked; but there was nothing very unusual in
this, as masks were not unfrequently worn at night by young gallants,
when engaged on any frolic in which they wished their identity to be
unrecognized. Still it added to the interest of the trip; and dipping
his oar in the water he set out at a slow, steady stroke well within
his power. He adopted this partly in view of the length of the row
before them, partly because the idea struck him that it might be as
well that their passenger should not suspect that the boat was other
than an ordinary gondola. The passenger, however, was well satisfied
with the speed, for they passed two or three other gondolas before
issuing from the narrow canals, and starting across the broad stretch
of the lagoon.
Not a word was spoken until the gondola neared its destination. Then
the passenger said:
"You row well. If you like the job I may employ you again."
"We are always ready to earn money," Francis said, speaking in a gruff
voice quite unlike his own.
"Very well. I will let you know, as we return, what night I shall want
you again. I suppose you can keep your mouths shut on occasion, and can
go without gossiping to your fellows as to any job on which you are
employed?"
"We can do that," Francis said. "It's no matter to us where our
customers want to go, if they are willing to pay for it; and as to
gossiping, there is a saying, 'A silver gag is the best for keeping the
mouth closed.'"
A few minutes later the bow of the gondola ran up on the sandy shore of
San Nicolo. The stranger made his way forward and leapt out, and with
the words, "It may be two hours before I am back," walked rapidly away.
"Why, Messer Francisco," Giuseppi said when their passenger was well
out of hearing, "what on earth possessed you to accept a fare to such a
place as this? Of course, for myself, I am glad enough to earn half a
ducat, which will buy me a new jacket with silver buttons for the next
festa; but to make such a journey as this was too much, and it will be
very late before we are back. If the padrone knew it he would be very
angry."
"I didn't do it to enable you to earn half a ducat, Giuseppi, although
I am glad enough you should do so; but I did it because it seemed to
promise the chance of an adventure. There must be something in this. A
noble--for I have no doubt he is one--would never be coming out to San
Nicolo, at this time of night, without some very strong motive. There
can be no rich heiress whom he might want to carry off living here, so
that can't be what he has come for. I think there must be some secret
meeting, for as we came across the lagoon I saw one or two beats in the
distance heading in this direction. Anyhow, I mean to try and find out
what it all means."
"You had better not, sir," Giuseppi said earnestly. "If there is any
plot on foot we had best not get mixed up in it. No one is too high or
too low to escape the vengeance of the council, if found plotting
against the state; and before now gondolas, staved in and empty, have
been found drifting on the lagoons, and the men who rowed them have
never been heard of again. Once in the dungeons of Saint Mark it would
be of no use to plead that you had entered into the affair simply for
the amusement. The fact that you were not a regular boatman would make
the matter all the worse, and the maxim that 'dead men tell no tales'
is largely acted upon in Venice.
"I think, sir, the best plan will be to row straight back, and leave
our fare to find his way home as best he may."
"I mean to find something out about it if I can, Giuseppi. A state
secret may be dangerous, but it may be valuable. Anyhow, there can be
no great risk in it. On the water I think we can show our heels to
anyone who chases us; and once in Venice, we are absolutely safe, for
no one would suspect a gondola of Mr. Hammond, the English merchant, of
having any connection with a hired craft with its two gondoliers."
"That is true enough, sir; but I don't like it for all that. However,
if you have made up your mind to it, there is nothing more to be said."
"Very well. You stay here, and I will go and look round. You had better
get the gondola afloat, and be ready to start at the instant, so that,
if I should have to run for it, I can jump on board and be off in a
moment."
Francis made his way quietly up to the little group of huts inhabited
by the fishermen, but in none of them could he see any signs of
life--no lights were visible, nor could he hear the murmur of voices.
There were, he knew, other buildings scattered about on the island; but
he had only the light of the stars to guide him, and, not knowing
anything of the exact position of the houses, he thought it better to
return to the boat.
"I can find no signs of them, Giuseppi."
"All the better, Messer Francisco. There are some sorts of game, which
it is well for the safety of the hunter not to discover. I was very
glad, I can tell you, when I heard your whistle, and made out your
figure returning at a walk. Now you are back I will take an hour's nap,
and I should advise you to do the same."
But Francis had no thought of sleep, and sat down at his end of the
gondola, wondering over the adventure, and considering whether or not
it would be worth while to follow it up another night. That it was a
plot of some sort he had little doubt. There were always in Venice two
parties, equally anxious perhaps for the prosperity of the republic,
but differing widely as to the means by which that prosperity would be
best achieved, and as to the alliances which would, in the long run,
prove most beneficial to her. There were also needy and desperate men
ready enough to take bribes from any who might offer them, and to
intrigue in the interest of Padua or Ferrara, Verona, Milan, or
Genoa--whichever might for the time be their paymasters.
Francis was English, but he had been long enough in Venice to feel a
pride in the island city, and to be almost as keenly interested in her
fortunes as were his companions and friends; and a certain sense of
duty, mingled with his natural love of adventure, decided him to follow
up the chance which had befallen him, and to endeavour to ascertain the
nature of the plot which was, he had little doubt, being hatched at San
Nicolo.
In a very few minutes the regular breathing of Giuseppi, who had curled
himself up in the bottom of the boat, showed that he had gone to sleep;
and he did not stir until, an hour and a half after the return of
Francis, the latter heard the fall of footsteps approaching the
gondola.
"Wake up, Giuseppi, here comes our fare!"
Francis stood up and stretched himself as the stranger came alongside,
as if he too had been fast asleep.
"Take me back to the spot where I hailed you," the fare said briefly,
as he stepped into the boat and threw himself back on the cushions, and
without a word the lads dipped their oars in the water and the gondola
glided away towards Venice.
Just as they reached the mouth of the Grand Canal, and were about to
turn into it, a six-oared gondola shot out from under the point, and a
voice called out:
"Stop, in the name of the republic, and give an account of yourselves!"
"Row on," the passenger exclaimed, starting up. "Ten ducats if you can
set me safely on shore."
Had the lads been real gondoliers, it is probable that even this
tempting offer would not have induced them to disregard the order from
the galley, for they would have run no slight risk in so doing. But
Francis had no desire to be caught, and perhaps imprisoned for a
considerable time, until he was able to convince the council that his
share of the night's work had been merely the result of a boyish freak.
With two strokes of his oar, therefore, he swept the boat's head round,
thereby throwing their pursuers directly astern of them; then he and
Giuseppi threw their whole weight into the stroke, and the boat danced
over the water at a pace very different to that at which it had
hitherto proceeded.
But, fast as they went, the galley travelled somewhat faster, the
rowers doing their utmost in obedience to the angry orders of their
officer; and had the race been continued on a broad stretch of water,
it would sooner or later have overhauled the gondola. But Francis was
perfectly aware of this, and edged the boat away towards the end of the
Piazzetta, and then, shooting her head round, dashed at full speed
along the canal by the side of the ducal palace, the galley being at
the time some forty yards behind.
"The first to the right," Francis said, and with scarce a pause in
their speed, they turned off at right angles up the first canal they
came to. Again and again they turned and twisted, regardless of the
direction in which the canals took them, their only object being to
gain on their pursuers, who lost considerably at each turn, being
obliged always to check their speed, before arriving at each angle, to
allow the boat to go round.
In ten minutes she was far behind, and they then abated their speed,
and turned the boat's head in the direction in which they wished to go.
"By San Paolo," the stranger said, "that was well done! You are masters
of your craft, and sent your boat along at a pace which must have
astonished those fellows in that lumbering galley. I had no reason to
fear them, but I do not care to be interfered with and questioned by
these jacks-in-office of the republic."
A few minutes later they reached the place where he embarked, and as he
got out he handed the money he had promised to Giuseppi.
"Next Thursday night," he said, "at half past ten."
"It seems a dangerous sort of service, signor," Giuseppi said
hesitatingly. "It is no joke to disobey the officers of the republic,
and next time we may not be so fortunate."
"It's worth taking a little risk when you are well paid," the other
said, turning away, "and it is not likely we shall run against one of
the state galleys another night."
"Home, now, Giuseppi," Francis said, "we can talk about it tomorrow.
It's the best night's work you ever did in your life, and as I have had
a grand excitement we are both contented."
During the next few days Francis debated seriously with himself whether
to follow up the adventure; but he finally decided on doing so, feeling
convinced that there could be no real danger, even were the boat seized
by one of the state galleys; as his story, that he had gone into the
matter simply to discover whether any plot was intended against the
republic, would finally be believed, as it would be beyond the bounds
of probability that a lad of his age could himself have been concerned
in such a conspiracy. As to Giuseppi, he offered no remonstrance when
Francis told him that he intended to go out to San Nicolo on the
following Thursday, for the ten ducats he had received were a sum
larger than he could have saved in a couple of years' steady work, and
were indeed quite a fortune in his eyes. Another such a sum, and he
would be able, when the time came, to buy a gondola of his own, to
marry, and set up housekeeping in grand style. As for the danger, if
Francis was willing to run it he could do the same; for after all, a
few months' imprisonment was the worst that could befall him for his
share in the business.
Before the day came Matteo Giustiniani told Francis a piece of news
which interested him.
"You remember my cousin Maria Polani, whom we met the other evening on
the Grand Canal?"
"Of course I do, Matteo. What of her?"
"Well, what do you think? Ruggiero Mocenigo, whom I pointed out to you
on the Piazza--the man who had been banished for two years--has asked
for her hand in marriage."
"He is not going to have it, I hope," Francis said indignantly. "It
would be a shame, indeed, to give her to such a man as that."
"That is just what her father thought, Francisco, and he refused
Ruggiero pretty curtly, and told him, I believe, he would rather see
her in her grave than married to him; and I hear there was a regular
scene, and Ruggiero went away swearing Polani should regret his
refusal."
"I suppose your cousin does not care much about his threats," Francis
said.
"I don't suppose he cares much about them," Matteo replied; "but
Ruggiero is very powerfully connected, and may do him damage, not to
speak of the chance of his hiring a bravo to stab him on the first
opportunity. I know my father advised Polani to be very cautious where
he went at night for a time. This fellow, Ruggiero, is a dangerous
enemy. If he were to get Polani stabbed, it would be next to impossible
to prove that it was his doing, however strong the suspicion might be;
for mere suspicion goes for nothing against a man with his influence
and connections. He has two near relations on the council, and if he
were to burn down Polani's mansion, and to carry off Maria, the chances
are against his being punished, if he did but keep out of the way for a
few months."
As in England powerful barons were in the habit of waging private wars
with each other, and the carrying off a bride by force was no very rare
event, this state of things did not appear, to Francis, as outrageous
as it would do to an English lad of the present day, but he shook his
head.
"Of course one understands, Matteo, that everywhere powerful nobles do
things which would be regarded as crimes if done by others; but,
elsewhere, people can fortify their houses, and call out and arm their
retainers, and stand on their guard. But that here, in a city like
this, private feuds should be carried on, and men stabbed when
unconscious of danger, seems to me detestable."
"Of course it isn't right," Matteo said carelessly, "but I don't know
how you are going to put a stop to it; and after all, our quarrels here
only involve a life or two, while in other countries nobles go to war
with each other, and hundreds of lives, of people who have nothing to
do with the quarrel, may be sacrificed."
This was a light in which Francis had hardly looked upon the matter
before, and he was obliged to own that even private assassination,
detestable as it was, yet caused much less suffering than feudal war.
Still, he was not disposed entirely to give in to his friend's opinion.
"That is true, Matteo; but at the same time, in a war it is fair
fighting, while a stab in the back is a cowardly business."
"It is not always fair fighting," Matteo replied. "You hear of castles
being surprised, and the people massacred without a chance of
resistance; of villages being burned, and the people butchered
unresistingly. I don't think there is so much more fairness one way
than the other. Polani knows he will have to be careful, and if he
likes he can hire bravos to put Ruggiero out of the way, just as
Ruggiero can do to remove him. There's a good deal to be said for both
sides of the question."
Francis felt this was so, and that although he had an abhorrence of the
Venetian method of settling quarrels, he saw that as far as the public
were concerned, it was really preferable to the feudal method, of both
parties calling out their retainers and going to war with each other,
especially as assassinations played no inconsiderable part in the
feudal struggles of the time.
On the Thursday night the gondola was in waiting at the agreed spot.
Francis had thought it probable that the stranger might this time ask
some questions as to where they lived and their usual place of plying
for hire, and would endeavour to find out as much as he could about
them, as they could not but suspect that he was engaged in some very
unusual enterprise. He had therefore warned Giuseppi to be very careful
in his replies. He knew that it was not necessary to say more, for
Giuseppi had plenty of shrewdness, and would, he was sure, invent some
plausible story without the least difficulty, possessing, as he did,
plenty of the easy mendacity so general among the lower classes of the
races inhabiting countries bordering on the Mediterranean. Their fare
came down to the gondola a few minutes after the clock had tolled the
half hour.
"I see you are punctual," he said, "which is more than most of you men
are."
Francis was rowing the bow oar, and therefore stood with his back to
the passenger, and was not likely to be addressed by him, as he would
naturally turn to Giuseppi, who stood close behind him. As Francis had
expected, as soon as they were out on the lagoon the passenger turned
to his companion and began to question him.
"I cannot see your faces," he said; "but by your figures you are both
young, are you not?"
"I am but twenty-two," Giuseppi said, "and my brother is a year
younger."
"And what are your names?"
"Giovanni and Beppo Morani."
"And is this boat your own?"
"It is, signor. Our father died three years ago, leaving us his boat."
"And where do you usually ply?"
"Anywhere, signor, just as the fancy seizes us. Sometimes one place is
good, sometimes another."
"And where do you live?"
"We don't live anywhere, signor. When night comes, and business is
over, we tie up the boat to a post, wrap ourselves up, and go to sleep
at the bottom. It costs nothing, and we are just as comfortable there
as we should be on straw in a room."
"Then you must be saving money."
"Yes; we are laying money by. Some day, I suppose, we shall marry, and
our wives must have homes. Besides, sometimes we are lazy and don't
work. One must have some pleasure, you know."
"Would you like to enter service?"
"No, signor. We prefer being our own masters; to take a fare or leave
it as we please."
"Your boat is a very fast one. You went at a tremendous rate when the
galley was after us the other night."
"The boat is like others," Giuseppi said carelessly; "but most men can
row fast when the alternative is ten ducats one way or a prison the
other."
"Then there would be no place where I could always find you in the
daytime if I wanted you?"
"No, signor; there would be no saying where we might be. We have
sometimes regular customers, and it would not pay us to disappoint
them, even if you paid us five times the ordinary fare. But we could
always meet you at night anywhere, when you choose to appoint."
"But how can I appoint," the passenger said irritably, "if I don't know
where to find you?"
Giuseppi was silent for a stroke or two.
"If your excellency would write in figures, half past ten or eleven, or
whatever time we should meet you, just at the base of the column of the
palace--the corner one on the Piazzetta--we should be sure to be there
sometime or other during the day, and would look for it."
"You can read and write, then?" the passenger asked.
"I cannot do that, signor," Giuseppi said, "but I can make out figures.
That is necessary to us, as how else could we keep time with our
customers? We can read the sundials, as everyone else can; but as to
reading and writing, that is not for poor lads like us."
The stranger was satisfied. Certainly every one could read the
sundials; and the gondoliers would, as they said, understand his
figures if he wrote them.
"Very well," he said. "It is probable I shall generally know, each time
I discharge you, when I shall want you again; but should there be any
change, I will make the figures on the base of the column at the corner
of the Piazzetta, and that will mean the hour at which you are to meet
me that night at the usual place."
Nothing more was said, until the gondola arrived at the same spot at
which it had landed the passenger on the previous occasion.
"I shall be back in about the same time as before," the fare said when
he alighted.
As he strode away into the darkness, Francis followed him. He was
shoeless, for at that time the lower class seldom wore any protection
to the feet, unless when going a journey over rough ground. Among the
gondoliers shoes were unknown; and Francis himself generally took his
off, for coolness and comfort, when out for the evening in his boat.
He kept some distance behind the man he was following, for as there
were no hedges or inclosures, he could make out his figure against the
sky at a considerable distance. As Francis had expected, he did not
make towards the village, but kept along the island at a short distance
from the edge of the water.
Presently Francis heard the dip of oars, and a gondola ran up on the
sands halfway between himself and the man he was following. He threw
himself down on the ground. Two men alighted, and went in the same
direction as the one who had gone ahead.
Francis made a detour, so as to avoid being noticed by the gondoliers,
and then again followed. After keeping more than a quarter of a mile
near the water, the two figures ahead struck inshore. Francis followed
them, and in a few minutes they stopped at a black mass, rising above
the sand. He heard them knock, and then a low murmur, as if they were
answering some question from within. Then they entered, and a door
closed.
He moved up to the building. It was a hut of some size, but had a
deserted appearance. It stood between two ridges of low sand hills, and
the sand had drifted till it was halfway up the walls. There was no
garden or inclosure round it, and any passerby would have concluded
that it was uninhabited. The shutters were closed, and no gleam of
light showed from within.
After stepping carefully round it, Francis took his post round the
angle close to the door, and waited. Presently he heard footsteps
approaching--three knocks were given on the door, and a voice within
asked, "Who is there?"
The reply was, "One who is in distress."
The question came, "What ails you?"
And the answer, "All is wrong within."
Then there was a sound of bars being withdrawn, and the door opened and
closed again.
There were four other arrivals. The same questions were asked and
answered each time. Then some minutes elapsed without any fresh comers,
and Francis thought that the number was probably complete. He lay down
on the sand, and with his dagger began to make a hole through the wood,
which was old and rotten, and gave him no difficulty in piercing it.
He applied his eye to the orifice, and saw that there were some twelve
men seated round a table. Of those facing him he knew three or four by
sight; all were men of good family. Two of them belonged to the
council, but not to the inner Council of Ten. One, sitting at the top
of the table, was speaking; but although Francis applied his ear to the
hole he had made, he could hear but a confused murmur, and could not
catch the words. He now rose cautiously, scooped up the sand so as to
cover the hole in the wall, and swept a little down over the spot where
he had been lying, although he had no doubt that the breeze, which
would spring up before morning, would soon drift the light shifting
sand over it, and obliterate the mark of his recumbent figure. Then he
went round to the other side of the hut and bored another hole, so as
to obtain a view of the faces of those whose backs had before been
towards him.
One of these was Ruggiero Mocenigo. Another was a stranger to Francis,
and some difference in the fashion of his garments indicated that he
was not a Venetian, but, Francis thought, a Hungarian. The other three
were not nobles. One of them Francis recognized, as being a man of much
influence among the fishermen and sailors. The other two were unknown
to him.
As upwards of an hour had been spent in making the two holes and taking
observations, Francis thought it better now to make his way back to his
boat, especially as it was evident that he would gain nothing by
remaining longer. Therefore, after taking the same precautions as
before, to conceal all signs of his presence, he made his way across
the sands back to his gondola.
"Heaven be praised, you are back again!" Giuseppi said, when he heard
his low whistle, as he came down to the boat. "I have been in a fever
ever since I lost sight of you. Have you succeeded?"
"I have found out that there is certainly a plot of some sort being got
up, and I know some of those concerned in it, but I could hear nothing
that went on. Still, I have succeeded better than I expected, and I am
well satisfied with the night's work."
"I hope you won't come again, Messer Francisco. In the first place, you
may not always have the fortune to get away unseen. In the next place,
it is a dangerous matter to have to do with conspiracies, whichever
side you are on. The way to live long in Venice is to make no enemies."
"Yes, I know that, Giuseppi, and I haven't decided yet what to do in
the matter."
A quarter of an hour later, their fare returned to the boat. This time
they took a long detour, and, entering Venice by one of the many
canals, reached the landing place without adventure. The stranger
handed Giuseppi a ducat.
"I do not know when I shall want you again; but I will mark the hour,
as agreed, on the pillar. Do not fail to go there every afternoon; and
even if you don't see it, you might as well come round here at half
past ten of a night. I may want you suddenly."
Before going to sleep that night, Francis thought the matter over
seriously, and finally concluded that he would have no more to do with
it. No doubt, by crossing over to San Nicolo in the daytime, he might
be able to loosen a plank at the back of the hut, or to cut so large an
opening that he could hear, as well as see, what was going on within;
but supposing he discovered that a plot was on hand in favour of the
enemies of Venice, such as Padua or Hungary, what was he to do next? At
the best, if he denounced it, and the officers of the republic
surrounded the hut when the conspirators were gathered there, arrested
them, and found upon them, or in their houses, proofs sufficient to
condemn them, his own position would not be enviable. He would gain,
indeed, the gratitude of the republic; but as for rewards, he had no
need of them. On the other hand, he would draw upon himself the enmity
of some eight or ten important families, and all their connections and
followers, and his life would be placed in imminent danger. They would
be all the more bitter against him, inasmuch as the discovery would not
have been made by accident, but by an act of deliberate prying into
matters which concerned him in no way, he not being a citizen of the
republic.
So far his action in the matter had been a mere boyish freak; and now
that he saw it was likely to become an affair of grave importance,
involving the lives of many persons, he determined to have nothing
further to do with it.