Contarini now lay motionless, and Aristarchi went to work. With the utmost neatness he cropped off the silky hair, so close to Jacopo’s skull that it almost looked as if it had been shaved with a razor. In the same way he clipped the splendid beard away, and even the brown eyebrows, till there was not a hair left on Contarini’s head or face. Then he contemplated his work, and laughed at the weak jaw and the womanish mouth.
“You look like an ugly woman in man’s clothes,” he said, by way of consoling his victim.
He rose now, for he feared lest Contarini’s friends might break open the door downstairs. He shouldered the heavy bundle with ease, set his blue cap on the back of his head and bade Arisa go with him. She had her mantle ready, but she could not resist casting delighted glances at her late owner’s face. Before going, she knelt down one moment by his side, and inclined her face to his, with a very loving gaze. Lower and lower she bent, as if she would give him a parting kiss, till Aristarchi uttered an exclamation. Then she laughed cruelly, and with the back of her hand struck the lips that had so often touched her own.
A few moments later Aristarchi had placed her in his boat, the heavy bundle of spoils lay at her feet, and the craft shot swiftly from the door of the house of the Agnus Dei. For Michael Pandos, the mate, had been waiting under the window, and a stroke of the oars brought him to the steps.
In the closed room where the friends were playing dice, there began to be some astonishment at the time needed by Jacopo to replenish his purse. When more than half an hour had passed one pair stopped playing, and then another, until they were all listening for some sound in the silent house. The perfect stillness had something alarming in it, and none of them fully trusted Contarini.
“I think,” said Venier with all his habitual indolence, “that it is time to ascertain the colour of the lady’s hair. Can you break the lock?”
He spoke to Foscari, who nodded and went to the door with two or three others. In a few seconds it flew open before their combined attack, and they almost lost their balance as they staggered out into the dark hall. The rest brought lights and they all began to go up the stairs together. The first to enter the room was Foscari. Venier, always indifferent, was among the last.
Foscari started at the extraordinary sight of a man in magnificent clothes, lying on one shoulder, with his heels tied up to his hands and his shorn head and face moving slowly from side to side in the bright light of the wax candle that stood on the floor. The other men crowded into the room, but at first no one recognised the master of the house. Then all at once Foscari saw the rings on his fingers.
“It is Contarini,” he cried, “and somebody has shaved his head!”
He burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, in which the others joined, till the house rang again, and the banished servants came running down to see what was the matter.
Only Zuan Venier, a compassionate smile on his face, knelt beside Contarini and carefully withdrew the iron gag from his mouth.
At the same instant Aristarchi’s hatchet chopped through the hawser by which his vessel was riding, and he took the helm himself to steer her out through the narrow channel before the wind.
CHAPTER XXIII
WHEN PASQUALE HAD let Zorzi in, he crossed the canal again, moored the skiff with lock and chain, and came back by the wooden bridge. Zorzi went on through the corridor and came out into the moonlit garden. It was hard to believe that only forty-eight hours had passed since he had left it, but the freshly dug earth told him of Giovanni’s search, about which Pasquale had told him, and there was the pleasant certainty that the master had come home and could probably protect him, even against the Ten. Besides this, he felt stronger and more able to move than since he had been injured, and he was sure that he could now walk with only a stick to help him, though he was always to be lame. He had looked up at Marietta’s window before leaving the boat, but it was dark, for Pasquale had wished to be sure that no one should see Zorzi and it was long past the young girl’s bedtime.
Pasquale came back, and produced some more bread and cheese from his lodge, for both men were hungry. They sat down on the bench under the plane-tree and ate their meagre supper together in silence, for they had talked much during the long day. Then Pasquale bade Zorzi good night and went away, and Zorzi went into the laboratory, where all was dark. But he knew every brick of the furnace and every stone of the pavement under his feet, and in a few minutes he was fast asleep in his own bed, feeling as safe as if the Ten had never existed and as though the Signors of the Night were not searching every purlieu of Venice to take him into custody. And early in the morning he got up, and Pasquale brought him water as of old, and as his hose and doublet had suffered considerably during his adventures, he put on the Sunday ones and came out into the garden to breathe the morning air. Pasquale had no intention of going over to the house to announce Zorzi’s return, for he was firmly convinced that the most simple way of keeping a secret was not to tell it, and before long the master would probably come over himself to ask for news.
Beroviero brought Marietta with him, as he often did, and when they were within he naturally stopped to question Pasquale about his search, while Marietta went on to the garden. The porter took a long time to shut the door, and instead of answering Beroviero, shook his ugly head discontentedly, and muttered imprecations on all makers of locks, latches, bolts, bars and other fastenings, living, dead and yet unborn. So it came to pass that Marietta came upon Zorzi suddenly and alone, when she least expected to meet him.
He was standing by the well-remembered rose-bush, leaning on his stick with one hand and lifting up a trailing branch with the other. But when he heard Marietta’s step he let the branch drop again and stood waiting for her with happy eyes. She uttered a little cry, that was almost of fear, and stopped short in her walk, for in the first instant she could have believed that she saw a vision; then she ran forward with outstretched hands, and fell into his arms as he dropped his stick to catch her. As her head touched his shoulder, her heart stopped beating for a moment, she gasped a little, and seemed to choke, and then the tears of joy flowed from her eyes, her pulses stirred again, and all was well. He felt a tremor in his hands and could not speak aloud, but as he held her he bent down and whispered something in her ear; and she smiled through the shower of her happy tears, though he could not see it, for her face was hidden.
Just then Beroviero entered from the corridor, followed by Pasquale, and the two old men stood still together gazing at the young lovers. It was on that very spot that the master, when going upon his journey, had told Zorzi how he wished he were his son. But now he forgot that he had said it, and the angry blood rushed to his forehead.
“How dare you?” he cried, as he made a step to go on towards the pair.
They heard his voice and separated hastily. Marietta’s fresh cheek blushed like red roses, and she looked down, as shamefacedly as any country maid, but Zorzi turned white as he stooped to pick up his stick, then stood quite upright and met her father’s eyes.
“How dare you, I say?” repeated the old man fiercely.
“I love her, sir,” Zorzi answered without fear for himself, but with much apprehension for Marietta.
“And have you forgotten that I love him, father?” asked Marietta, looking up but still blushing. “You know, I told you all the truth, and you were not angry then. At least, you were not so very angry,” she added, shyly correcting herself.
“If she has told you, sir,” Zorzi began, “let me—”
“You can tell me nothing I do not know,” cried Beroviero, “and nothing I wish to hear! Be off! Go to the laboratory and begin work. I will speak with my daughter.”
Then Pasquale’s voice was heard.
“A furnace without a fire is like a ship without a wind,” he said. “It might as well be anything else.”
Beroviero looked towards the old porter indignantly, but Pasquale had already begun to move and was returning to his lodge, uttering strange and unea
rthly sounds as he went, for he was so happy that he was really trying to hum a tune. The master turned to the lovers again. Zorzi had withdrawn a step or two, but showed no signs of going further.
“If you are going to tell me that I must change my mind,” said Marietta, “and that it is a shame to love a penniless glass-blower—”
“Silence!” cried the old man, stroking his beard fiercely. “How can you presume to guess what I may or may not say about your shameless conduct? Did I not see him kissing you?”
“I daresay, for he did,” answered Marietta, raising her eyebrows and looking down in a resigned way. “And it is not the first time, either,” she added, shaking her head and almost laughing.
“The insolence!” cried Beroviero. “The atrocious boldness!”
“Sir,” said Zorzi, coming nearer, “there is only one remedy for it. Give me your daughter for my wife—”
“Upon my faith, this is too much! You know that Marietta is betrothed to Messer Jacopo Contarini—”
“I have told you that I will not marry him,” said Marietta quietly, “so it is just as if I had never been betrothed to him.”
“That is no reason for marrying Zorzi,” retorted Beroviero. “A pretty match for you! Angelo Beroviero’s daughter and a penniless foreigner who cannot even be allowed to work openly at his art!”
“If I go away,” Zorzi answered quietly, “I may soon be as rich as you, sir.”
At this unexpected statement Beroviero opened his eyes in real astonishment, while Zorzi continued.
“You have your secrets, sir, and I have kept them safe for you. But I have one of my own which is as valuable as any of yours. Did you find some pieces of my work in the annealing oven? I see that they are on the table now. Did you notice that the glass is like yours, but finer and lighter?”
“Well, if it is, what then?” asked Beroviero. “It was an accident. You mixed something with some of my glass—”
“No,” answered Zorzi, “it is altogether a composition of my own. I do not know how you mix your materials. How should I?”
“I believe you do,” said Beroviero. “I believe you have found it out in some way—”
Zorzi had produced a piece of folded paper from his doublet, and now held it up in his hand.
“I am not bargaining with you, sir, for you are a man of honour. Angelo Beroviero will not rob me, after having been kind to me for so many years. This is my secret, which I discovered alone, with no one’s help. The quantities are written out very exactly, and I am sure of them. Read what is written there. By an accident, I may have made something like your glass, but I do not believe it.”
He held out the paper. Beroviero’s manner changed.
“You were always an honourable fellow, Zorzi. I thank you.”
He opened the paper and looked attentively at the contents. Marietta saw his surprise and interest and took the opportunity of smiling at Zorzi.
“It is altogether different from mine,” said Beroviero, looking up and handing back the document.
“Is there fortune in that, sir, or not?” asked Zorzi, confident of the reply. “But you know that there is, and that whenever I go, if I can get a furnace, I shall soon be a rich man by the glass alone, without even counting on such skill as I have with my hands.”
“It is true,” answered the master, nodding his head thoughtfully. “There are many princes who would willingly give you the little you need in order to make your fortune.”
“The little that Venice refuses me!” said Zorzi with some bitterness. “Am I presuming so much, then, when I ask you for your daughter’s hand? Is it not in my power, or will it not be very soon, to go to some other city, to Milan, or Florence—”
“No, no!” cried Beroviero. “You shall not take her away—”
He stopped short, realising that he had betrayed what had been in his mind, since he had seen the two standing there, clasped in one another’s arms, namely, that in spite of him, or with his blessing, his daughter would before long be married to the man she loved.
“Come, come!” he said testily. “This is sheer nonsense!”
He made a step forward as if to break off the situation by going away.
“If you would rather that I should not leave you, sir,” said Zorzi, “I will stay here and make my glass in your furnace, and you shall sell it as if it were your own.”
“Yes, father, say yes!” cried Marietta, clasping her hands upon the old man’s shoulder. “You see how generous Zorzi is!”
“Generous!” Beroviero shook his head. “He is trying to bribe me, for there is a fortune in his glass, as he says. He is offering me a fortune, I tell you, to let him marry you!”
“The fortune which Messer Jacopo had made you promise to pay him for condescending to be my husband!” retorted Marietta triumphantly. “It seems to me that of the two, Zorzi is the better match!”
Beroviero stared at her a moment, bewildered. Then, in half-comic despair he clapped both his hands upon his ears and shook himself gently free from her.
“Was there ever a woman yet who could not make black seem white?” he cried. “It is nonsense, I tell you! It is all arrant nonsense! You are driving me out of my senses!”
And thereupon he went off down the garden path to the laboratory, apparently forgetting that his presence alone could prevent a repetition of that very offence which had at first roused his anger. The door closed sharply after him, with energetic emphasis.
At the same moment Marietta, who had been gazing into Zorzi’s eyes, felt that her own sparkled with amusement, and her father might almost have heard her sweet low laugh through the open window at the other end of the garden.
“That was well done,” she said. “Between us we have almost persuaded him.”
Zorzi took her willing hand and drew her to him, and she was almost as near to him as before, when she straightened herself with quick and elastic grace, and laughed again.
“No, no!” she said. “If he were to look out and see us again, it would be too ridiculous! Come and sit under the plane-tree in the old place. Do you remember how you stared at the trunk and would not answer me when I tried to make you speak, ever so long ago? Do you know, it was because you would not say — what I wanted you to say — that I let myself think that I could marry Messer Jacopo. If you had only known what you were doing!”
“If I had only known!” Zorzi echoed, as they reached the place and Marietta sat down.
They were within sight of the window, but Beroviero did not heed them. He was seated in his own chair, in deep thought, his elbows resting on the wooden arms, his fingers pressing his temples on each side, thinking of his daughter, and perhaps not quite unaware that she was talking to the only man he had ever really trusted.
“I must tell you something, Zorzi,” she was saying, as she looked up into the face she loved. “My father told me last night what he had done yesterday. He saw Messer Zuan Venier—”
Zorzi showed his surprise.
“Pasquale told my father that he had been here to see you. Very well, this Messer Zuan advised that if you could be found, you should be persuaded to go before the tribunal of the Ten of your own free will, to tell your story. And he promised to use all his influence and that of all his friends in your favour.”
“They will not change the law for me,” Zorzi replied, in a hopeless way.
“If they could hear you, they would make a special decree,” said Marietta. “You could tell them your story, you could even show them some of the beautiful things you have made. They would understand that you are a great artist. After all, my father says that one of their most especial duties is to deal with everything that concerns Murano and the glass-works. Do you think that they will banish you, now that you have a secret of your own, and can injure us all by setting up a furnace somewhere else? There is no sense in that! And if you go of your own free will, they will hear you kindly, I think. But if you stay here, they will find you in the end, and they will be very angry t
hen, because you will have been hiding from them.”
“You are wise,” Zorzi answered. “You are very wise.”
“No, I love you.”
She spoke softly and glanced at the open window, and then at his face.
“Truly?”
He smiled happily as he whispered his question in one word, and he was resting a hand on the trunk of the tree, just as he had been standing on the day she remembered so well.
“Ah, you know it now!” she answered, with bright and trusting eyes.
“One may know a song well, and yet long to hear it again and again.”
“But one cannot be always singing it oneself,” she said.
“I could never make it ring as sweetly as you,” Zorzi answered.
“Try it! I am tired of hearing my voice—”
“But I am not! There is no voice like it in the world. I shall never care to hear another, as long as I live, nor any other song, nor any other words. And when you are weary of saying them, I shall just say them over in my heart, ‘She loves me, she loves me,’ — all day long.”
“Which is better,” Marietta asked, “to love, or to know that you are loved?”
“The two thoughts are like soul and body,” Zorzi answered. “You must not part them.”
“I never have, since I have known the truth, and never shall again.”
Then they were silent for a while, but they hardly knew it, for the world was full of the sweetest music they had ever heard, and they listened together.
“Zorzi!”
The master was at the window, calling him. He started a little as if awaking and obeyed the summons as quickly as his lameness would allow. Marietta looked after him, watching his halting gait, and the little effort he made with his stick at each step. For some secret reason the injury had made him more dear to her, and she liked to remember how brave he had been.
He found Beroviero busy with his papers, and the results of the year’s experiments, and the old man at once spoke to him as if nothing unusual had happened, telling him what to do from time to time, so that all might be put in order against the time when the fires should be lighted again in September. By and by two men came carrying a new earthen jar for broken glass, and all fragments in which the box had lain were shovelled into it, and the pieces of the old one were taken away. The furnace was not quite cool even yet, and the crucibles might remain where they were for a few days; but there was much to be done, and Zorzi was kept at work all the morning, while Marietta sat in the shade with her work, often looking towards the window and sometimes catching sight of Zorzi as he moved about within.
Complete Works of F Marion Crawford Page 1011