Delphi collected works o.., p.111
Delphi Collected Works of E. T. A. Hoffmann (Illustrated), page 111
“‘“Who was it who gave you the blow, poor little son?”
“‘Antonio, refreshed, and aglow with new fire of life, had risen upright. Raising his clenched right hand, he cried, with gleaming eyes:
“‘“That scoundrel Nicolo wanted to kill me, because he grudges and envies me every quattrino which any benevolent hand gives me. You know that I used to gain a hard-earned livelihood by carrying cargo from the ships and boats to the German’s warehouse, the Fontego, as they call it; you know the building, of course?”
“‘When Antonio pronounced the word “Fontego,” the old woman began to kicker and laugh in a horrible manner, and went on repeating the word “Fontego, Fontego, Fontego,” in a chattering, senseless way.
“‘“Silence that nonsensical laughter of yours, old lady, if I am to go on with my story,” Antonio cried. She was silent at once, and he continued.
“‘“Well, I had earned a quattrino or two, bought a new jacket, and came among the gondoliers as one of themselves. And, because I was always in good spirits, worked hard, and knew plenty of nice songs, I earned many a quattrino more than the others. And this awakened their envy; they slandered me to my master, and he turned me away. Wherever I went they cried “German dog! damned heretic!” after me; and three days ago, when I was helping to haul a boat on shore near San Sebastiano, they set upon me with stones and sticks. I defended myself like a man, but that brute of a Nicolo hit at me with an oar, grazing my head, and struck me so hard on the arm that he knocked me down. But now you have filled me with a good meal, old lady; and there can be no doubt that I feel your salve has done my arm good. See how I can move it; I shall be able to row as well as ever almost directly.”
“‘He had risen from the ground, and was swinging his hurt arm backwards and forwards vigorously. But the old woman cackled and laughed loud again, and cried, tripping and dancing about in narrow circles, in a strange way:
“‘“Row! row! my little son! Row, like a man! It is coming! it is coming! — the bright gold, glowing in grand flames! Row! row! like a man! — just once more, and then, never again.”
“‘Antonio was paying no further attention to the old woman’s proceedings, for a splendid spectacle had now begun to be visible to his eyes. Up from San Clemens the Bucentoro was advancing with resounding stroke of oars, and the Lion of the Adriatic on her fluttering standard; like some golden swan of powerful pinions, surrounded by thousands of boats and gondolas, she seemed, as she lifted her proud, royal head on high, to lord it over a jubilant multitude which had arisen, with glittering heads, from the deep abysses of the ocean. The evening sun was casting glowing rays over the sea, and over Venice, so that everything lay steeped in naming fire. But as Antonio, in utter forgetfulness of his troubles, was gazing at this sight, the glow grew bloodier and bloodier. A sullen hum came through the air, given back like some fearful echo by the deeps of the sea. A storm came sweeping up on black clouds, shrouding everything in thick darkness; the waves rose higher and higher, like hissing, foaming monsters, threatening to overwhelm everything. The boats and the gondolas were driven in all directions, like feathers before a gale. The Bucentoro, unfit, from her build, to weather the squall, drove hither and thither. Instead of the glad festive tones of the trumpets and cornets, rose cries of terror from those in danger on board of her.
“‘Antonio looked before him in amazement. Close to him he heard a clanking of chains. He looked down, and saw that there was a little skiff made fast to the quay, bounding up and down on the surges. Like a lightning-flash a thought struck his mind. He jumped into the skiff; cast it adrift; took hold of the oars, and stood bravely out to sea, making straight for the Bucentoro. The nearer he got to it, the more distinctly he heard the cries for help of those on board —
“‘“Save the Doge! — Save the Doge!”
“‘It is well known that, in squalls of this description, small boats such as the one he was in are much more sea-worthy, and easier to handle, than such large craft as the Bucentoro; and consequently many of them came hurrying up from every direction to save the beloved Marino Falieri. But it is the case, in this life, that the Eternal Power always vouchsafes the success of a brave action to one alone, so that others cumber themselves about it in vain. On this occasion the rescue of the new Doge was allotted to Antonio, and therefore he, and nobody else, succeeded in making his way, in his little fishing-boat, to the Bucentoro. Old Falieri, well accustomed to dangers of this kind, stepped with much coolness out of the magnificent but dangerous Bucentoro into Antonio’s boat, which bore him, lightly as a dolphin, over the breaking waves, and landed him in a few minutes safe and sound on the Piazza di San Marco. With dripping clothes, and great salt-drops in his grey beard, the old man was taken into the church, where the nobles, pale with alarm, concluded the ceremony of his triumphal entry. The populace, as well as the Signoria, were wholly upset by this unfortunate break-down of the triumphal entry. And, in addition to this, the Doge, in his hurry and confusion, was led through between the two columns where malefactors were usually put to death. In consequence, Signoria and populace grew silent in the midst of their rejoicing. The day, which had begun in such festivity, ended in sadness and gloom.
“‘On the Doge’s preserver nobody seemed to bestow a thought. Antonio himself was not thinking about the matter; he was lying in the entrance of the ducal palace, tired to death, half fainting from pain. It was all the more marvellous to him when, as it was almost dark night, a ducal halberdier took hold of him by the shoulder, and, with the words “Come along, good friend,” pushed him into the palace, and to the Doge’s chamber. The old man came up to him in a friendly manner, and, pointing to several well-filled purses which were on the table, said:
“‘“You have behaved like a man, my good son. Here, take these three thousand zecchini. If you want more, say so. But do me the favour never to let me see your face again.”
“‘As he spoke those latter words, sparks blazed from the old man’s eyes, and the point of his nose grew even redder than it was before. Antonio did not see the old man’s drift, but he did not let that circumstance much trouble him; so he took up, with some difficulty, the purses, thinking he had earned them very fairly.
“‘Shining in all the radiance of his newly-attained dignity, old Falieri looked down next morning upon the populace, from one of the windows of his palace, as they were crowding and thronging about, practising warlike exercises and the carriage of weapons. Soon Bodoeri who had been his most intimate friend from his earliest days — arrived; and as Falieri was so absorbed in himself and in his grandeur that he did not seem to notice him, he clapped his hands crying:
“‘“Hey, hey, Falieri! what are the sublime ideas brooding in that head of yours, now that it wears the Doge’s cap?”
“‘As if awakening from a dream, Falieri came to meet Bodoeri, constraining himself to an appearance of friendliness. He felt that it was to Bodoeri that he owed the cap in question, and his words had the effect of being a slight reminder of that circumstance. But every obligation pressed like an intolerable burden on his proud, overbearing spirit, and as he could not turn upon the senior member of the Council, and his own oldest friend, in the way in which he had sent Antonio about his business, he constrained himself to a word or two of thanks, and at once began to talk of the measures to be adopted against the overweening enemy.
“‘Bodoeri gave a significant smile. “That,” he said, “and the other matters demanded of you by the State, we will maturely consider and discuss, in full Council, an hour or two hence. I have not come here, at this early hour of the day, to discover, with you, the measures necessary for the checking of the presumptuous Doria, or for the bringing to reason of Ludwig the Hungarian, whose chops are watering for our Dalmatian sea-ports again. No, Falieri; I have been thinking of yourself only — and, in fact, of what perhaps you would not imagine I had been thinking of — of your marriage.”
“‘“How could you think of such a thing?” said the Doge, in anger; and, turning his back to Bodoeri, he looked out of the window. “It is a long time to Ascension Day. By that time, I trust — the enemy being conquered — victory, honour, new wealth, and brighter power will have fallen to the share of the sea-born Lion of the Adriatic. My chaste bride should find her bridegroom worthy of her.”
“‘“Ah!” said Bodoeri; “you are speaking of the grand Feast of Ascension, when you have to cast the golden ring from the Bucentoro into the waves, and consider that you wed yourself to the Adriatic Sea. But, Marino, you, who are the sea’s kinsman, can you think of no other bride than that cold, treacherous element, which you fancy you command, but which rebelled against you in such a threatening manner only yesterday? What pleasure can you imagine there should be found in the arms of such a bride — a foolish, self-willed thing who, as soon as you, gliding along in the Bucentoro, did but gently caress her chill, blue cheek, rose up in storm and wrath? No, no, Marino; my notion is that you should marry the loveliest daughter of earth that can be discovered.”
“‘“My old friend,” said Falieri, in a murmur, “this is a mere senile dream of yours.” As he spoke, he still looked out of the window. “An old man of eighty, bent and worn with labour and anxiety, who has never been married, can hardly be capable of love.”
“‘“Stay,” answered Bodoeri; “do not calumniate yourself. Does not winter, for all his rawness and cold, at last stretch arms all longing towards the beautiful goddess who comes to him borne on the wings of the warm, gentle zephyrs? And when he clasps her to his chilled breast, and the soft rapture runs through his members, where are his ice and snow? You say you are nearly eighty; and it is true. But do you reckon man’s age merely by his years? Do you not hold your head as high and walk with as firm a tread as you did forty years ago? Or perhaps you feel (though I know you do not) that your strength has begun to fail; that you have to wear a lighter sword; that a rapid pace wearies you; that you cough and fetch breath as you mount the steps of the ducal palace?”
“‘“By Heaven, I do not!” Falieri interrupted his friend, leaving the window, and striding up to him with a rapid, vigorous step. “No, by Heaven! I trace nothing of that.”
“‘“Well then,” said Bodoeri, “enjoy, with an old man’s enjoyment, and with all your capacity for enjoyment, all the earthly pleasures which are appointed for you. Take to you, as your Dogaressa, the wife whom I have found for you; and in her the ladies of Venice will have to recognise their first and foremost, in beauty and in every virtue, just as the men must acknowledge you their master in valour, intellect, and power.”
“‘Here Bodoeri began to sketch the portrait of a lady; and he blended the colours with such skill, and laid them on with such vividness, that old Falieri’s eyes sparkled, and his lips smacked as if he were savouring beaker after beaker of fiery wine of Syracuse.
“‘“And who,” he enquired, “is this paragon of loveliness?”
“‘“No other than my beloved niece,” Bodoeri answered.
“‘“Your niece!” cried Falieri. “Why she was married to Bertuccio Nenolo when I was Podesta of Treviso.”
“‘“Ah,” said Bodoeri, “you are thinking of my niece Francesca. But it is her daughter whom I am talking of. You remember that the war brought the rough, fierce Nenolo to his end, at sea. Francesca, in her sorrow, immured herself in a convent at Rome, and I brought up little Annunziata in deep retirement at my villa at Treviso.”
“‘“What?” Falieri again impatiently interrupted; “you propose that I should marry your niece’s daughter? How long is it since Nenolo’s marriage? Let us see! Annunziata must be, at the outside, a child of about ten! Nenolo’s marriage was not even dreamt of when I was appointed Podesta of Treviso; and that must be — —”
“‘“Five-and-twenty years ago,” cried Bodoeri. “Time has passed so quickly with you that you forget how long that time was ago. Annunziata is a girl of nineteen, beautiful as the sun, modest, gentle, inexperienced in love, for she has scarcely seen a man. She will cling to you with child-like affection, and utter devotion.”
“‘“I must see her; I must see her,” the Doge cried. The portrait of her, limned by the astute Bodoeri, came back to his mind’s eye.
“‘His wish was gratified that same day; for scarce had he returned from the Council to his own abode when Bodoeri (who had abundant reasons of his own for desiring to see his niece Dogaressa) brought the lovely Annunziata to him in private. When old Falieri saw this beautiful young creature he was astounded at her marvellous loveliness, and was scarcely able, in stammering, unintelligible words, to ask her to marry him. Annunziata, doubtless schooled beforehand by Bodoeri, fell on her knees before the aged prince, with deep blushes on her cheeks. She took his hand, pressed it to her lips, and said:
“‘“Oh, my liege! would you so far honour me as to raise me to your side on this throne? I will revere you from the depths of my soul, and be your true maid and servant till my life’s end.”
“‘Old Falieri was beside himself with rapture. When she took his hand he felt all his members thrill; and then he began so to shake and tremble with his head, and all his body, that he had to seat himself in his great chair as quickly as ever he could. It seemed as though Bodoeri’s views concerning the greenness of the Doge’s age were about to be controverted. And he could not repress a strange smile which twitched about his lips. The innocent Annunziata remarked nothing, and there was no one present besides. It may have been that old Falieri felt the undesirability of posing before the populace as the bridegroom of a girl of nineteen; that a sense arose within him that there was a certain risk in furnishing the Venetians — fond of fun and jesting — with a subject such as this for their sallies; and that it was best to keep the critical point of the date of his marriage in the shade. At all events, it was determined, with Bodoeri’s consent, that the wedding should be celebrated in the profoundest secrecy, and that the Dogaressa should, some days afterwards, be presented to the Signoria and populace as having been long since married to Falieri, and recently come from Treviso, where she had been waiting whilst he was absent on his mission to the Papal Court.
“‘Let us turn our glance to this well-dressed young gentleman, classically handsome, who is walking up and down the Rialto, with a purse of zecchini in his hand, talking with Jews, Turks, Greeks, and Armenians; who turns aside his gloomy brow, stops, and at last steps into a gondola and bids the gondoliers take him to the Palazzo di San Marco. Arrived there, he strolls up and down, with folded arms, and devious, uncertain step, with eyes fixed on the ground, unobservant, not dreaming that many a whisper, many a clearing of the throat, from many a window, and many a richly-draped balcony, are love-signals directed to his address. It is not so very easy to recognize in this youth the Antonio who, a few days ago, was lying in rags, poor and miserable, on the marble pavement of the Dogana.
“‘“Little son! — my golden little son Antonio! — good-day! good-day!” the old beggar-woman called out to him from the steps of St. Mark’s, where she was sitting, as he was pacing past her without taking any notice of her. Turning quickly round and seeing her, he put his hand in his purse and brought it out full of zecchini, which he was about to throw to her.
“‘“Let your money stay where it is,” she cried, with her usual cackling laughter. “What do I want it for? Am I not rich enough? If you really want to do me a kindness, get me a new hood; this one won’t hold out much longer against wind and weather. Yes! do that, my golden little son. But keep away from the Fontego! — keep away from the Fontego!”
“‘He stared into her pale yellow face, where the wrinkles were all twitching and working in a strange, gruesome fashion; and, as she went on clapping her withered, “bony hands, and gabbling out, in a whining tone, accompanied with her odd, repulsive chuckling,
“‘“Keep away from the Fontego!”
“‘Antonio cried,
“‘“Will nothing induce you to cease your idiotic nonsense, and behave like a reasonable being, you old witch?”
“‘But the instant he uttered this, the old woman rolled from the top to the bottom of the flight of lofty marble steps where she was sitting, as if struck by a flash of lightning. Antonio darted up to her and caught her in his arms, breaking her heavy fall.
“‘“Oh, little son! what a terrible word you used!” cried the old woman, in a faint, tearful voice. “Oh! kill me rather than say that terrible word again! Ah! you do not know how dreadfully you hurt me! — me, who bear you so faithfully in my heart. Ah! you do not know — —”
“‘She broke off suddenly, covered her head with the corner of her old cloak, and sighed and whimpered as in the deepest sorrow. Antonio was strangely moved: he took her in his arms, and carried her up the steps to the portico of the church, where he set her down on a marble bench.
“‘“You were very kind to me,” he said, releasing her head from the folds of the cloak. “You were very kind to me. It is you whom I have to thank for my good fortune. For if you had not helped me in my dire necessity I should have been at the bottom of the sea at this moment. I should never have rescued the Doge; I should never have got the zecchini. But even if you never had done anything for me, I feel that I must always have a strange, strong liking for you all my days, though that extraordinary cackle of yours and your senseless style of behaviour often make me feel plenty of inward gruesomeness with regard to you. The fact is, old woman, that in the days when I was gaining a mere livelihood by portering and rowing I always felt that I must work harder than I otherwise should have had to do, just that I might have a spare quattrino now and then to give to you.”
“‘“Oh, my Tonino! my golden little son!” she cried, lifting her hands to heaven, so that her staff fell clattering down the marble steps, and rolled far away; “oh, my Tonino! I know that, whatever you think, you must always be devoted to me with your whole heart, because —— silence — silence — silence!”
_preview.jpg)
_preview.jpg)
