“It chanced, one night, that the Doge — who had just received the news of Nicolo Pisani’s having been beaten in the engagement with Doria at Portelongo — was walking about the halls of the palace in much distress and anxiety, unable to sleep. He saw a shadow, apparently coming from Annunziata’s chamber, creeping towards the staircase. He hastened up to it; it was Michaele Steno, coming from his inamorata. A terrible thought struck Falieri; with a cry of “Annunziata,” he rushed at Steno with a naked stiletto. But Steno — stronger and more active than the old man — avoided the thrust, threw the Doge to the ground by a smart blow of his fist, and dashed down the steps, laughing aloud, and crying “Annunziata! Annunziata!” The old man raised himself, and made for Annunziata’s chamber, with flames of hell in his heart. Everything there was silent as the grave. He knocked. A stranger lady-in-waiting — not the one who usually slept near Annunziata’s room — opened the door.

  “‘“What are my princely consort’s wishes at this late, unwonted hour of the night?” said Annunziata, in a calm, angelically sweet voice, as she came out, hurriedly attired in a light night-robe. The old man gazed hard at her — then raised his hands to heaven, and cried —

  “‘“No! It is impossible, it is impossible!”

  “‘“What is impossible, my lord?” she asked, amazed at the Doge’s hollow, solemn accents. But Falieri, without answering her, turned to the lady-in-waiting —

  “‘“Why is it you are sleeping here to-night instead of Luigia?”

  “‘“Your Highness,” the girl answered, “Luigia wished to exchange duties with me to-night; she is sleeping in the front chamber on the staircase.”

  “The Doge hastened to the room indicated. Luigia opened to his loud knocking, and when she saw her master’s face glowing with anger, and his eyes flashing fire, she fell on her knees and confessed her fault, as to which an elegant pair of gentleman’s gloves on a chair (their perfume of ambergris betrayed their owner) left no room for doubt. Much irritated at Steno’s atrocious licentiousness, the Doge wrote to him next morning, commanding him to avoid all approach to the palace and the Dogaressa, on pain of banishment. Steno was furious at the miscarriage of his deep-laid plot, and the shame of banishment from his idol. And as he could not but see, from his enforced distance, that the Dogaressa spoke gently and courteously (as was her nature) with other young members of the Signoria, his envy and the wicked violence of his passion made him think that she had refused to listen to him because others had been before him, with better fortune. He had the effrontery to speak of this loudly and in public.

  “‘Whether it was that old Falieri heard of these shameless sayings, that the remembrance of that night came to him in the guise of a warning hint of destiny, or that, whilst fully convinced of his lady’s uprightness, and while savouring to the full all the comfort and happiness falling to his share, he nevertheless saw, in a clear light, the extent of the danger arising from the unnatural relations between them, the fact was that he became sullen and irritable. All the thousand demons of jealousy tortured him sorely. He shut Annunziata up in the inner chambers, and nobody was allowed to see her. Bodoeri took his grandniece’s part, and took Falieri soundly to task. But he would hear of no alteration in his system of conduct.

  “‘All this happened shortly before Giovedi Grasso. Now it was the custom that, on that great Festa, which the populace celebrated on the Piazza di San Marco, the Dogaressa sat beside the Doge under a canopy erected over one of the lesser galleries overlooking the Piazza. Bodoeri reminded him of this, and thought and urged that if he excluded Annunziata from taking her part in this ceremony, against all use and wont, it would be in very bad taste, and he would be much ridiculed by both Signoria and populace for his preposterous jealousy.

  “‘Old Falieri’s sense of honour suddenly woke up. “Think you,” he said, “that I am such an idiotic old fool as to hesitate to shew my precious jewel, lest I should not be able to keep thievish hands at bay with my good sword? No, old lord, you are mistaken. To-morrow I and Annunziata shall cross the Piazza di San Marco, in habits of ceremony; the people shall see their Dogaressa; and on Giovedi Grasso she shall receive from the hands of the daring gondolier who lowers himself down to her through the air the flowers which it is the custom she should so accept.”

  “‘The old custom which the Doge was alluding to was that, on Giovedi Grasso, some daring man of the people ascended, by ropes extending from the water to the top of the tower of San Marco, in a machine in the form of a little ship, and then shot down, with the speed of an arrow, to where the Doge and Dogaressa were seated, and handed her a bouquet of flowers. If the Doge were alone, it was handed to him.

  “‘Next day the Doge did as he had said he would. Annunziata had to put on her most gorgeous robes of state and pass, with Falieri, escorted by the Signoria, and attended by guards and pages of honour, across the crowded Piazza di San Marco. People shoved and crowded their lives out almost to get a glance at the beautiful Dogaressa, and, when they saw her, they thought they had been in Paradise, and beheld the loveliest of all the angels therein. According to the nature of the Venetians, amid all the wildest outbreaks of the maddest delight, plenty of facetious and jocular sayings and rhymes were to be heard, touching outspokenly enough on the theme of the old Falieri and his young wife. He seemed to pay no heed to them, however, pacing along as pathetically as you please at Annunziata’s side, divested, for the time, of all jealousy (although he saw glances of burning admiration bent upon her on every side), every feature of his face smirking and smiling with complacency. Before the principal gate of the palace the guards had some difficulty in dividing the crowd, so that when the Doge passed in with his consort there were only small groups standing about of the better dressed citizens, whom it was not so easy to keep out of the inner court. And, at the moment when the Dogaressa entered this inner court, a young man, who was standing there in the pillared passage, with a few other persons, suddenly cried, “Oh, Thou God of Heaven!” and fell down senseless on the marble pavement. Everybody rushed up and surrounded him, so that the Dogaressa could not see him. But when he fell, a glowing dagger-thrust went through her heart; she turned pale, and tottered; and nothing but the scent bottles of the women who hurried up to her prevented her from fainting. Old Falieri, shocked and terrified, wished the young man in question, and this attack of his, at the devil, and helped his Annunziata — hanging her head, with closed eyes, over her breast, like a wounded dove — up the stairway, into the inner chamber.

  “‘Meanwhile a strange sight was seen by those of the crowd who had crushed into the inner court of the palace. The young man (who was supposed to be dead) was about to be carried away, when an old, hideous beggar-woman, in rags, came hobbling up with loud outcries of sorrow, elbowed a passage for herself through the thickest of the crowd, and, on reaching the young man, who was lying insensible, cried —

  “‘“Let him alone, you fools! let him alone! He is not dead.” She cowered down, took his head into her lap, and stroked his brow, calling him by the fondest names.

  “At sight of the horrible, hideous face of the old hag bending over the beautiful features of the young man, which seemed to be petrified in death (whereas a repulsive muscular twitching played over hers); her dirty rags fluttering above the handsome dress which he had on; her withered, brown-yellow arms trembling about his brow and his bared bosom, everyone thrilled with an inward horror. It seemed as though he was lying in the arms of the grinning form of Death itself. The people who were standing round crept, one by one, away, and but a very few were left when at length he opened his eyes with a deep sigh. At the old woman’s request they carried him to the Grand Canal, where he was placed in a gondola, and, with the old woman, conveyed across the water to the house which she indicated as his dwelling.

  “‘I need not explain to you that the young man was Antonio, and the old woman the beggar who said she was his old nurse.

  “‘When he had come to his senses, and saw by his bedside the old woman (who had given him some strengthening drops), he said — after fixing for a long while a melancholy gaze upon her — in a hollow voice, sustained with difficulty:

  “‘“You are with me, Margareta! That is well. Where should I find a more faithful nurse? Oh! forgive me, mother, that I — a weak, foolish boy — should have doubted, even for a moment, what you revealed to me. Yes, yes! you are that Margareta who nursed me. I always knew that it was so. But the Devil confused my thoughts. I have seen her — it was she — it was she! I told you that there was some dark spell within me, controlling me in a manner that I could not comprehend. It has come gleaming out of the darkness now, with noonday brilliance, to annihilate me, in nameless rapture. I know all now — everything! Was not Bertuccio Nenolo my foster-father, who brought me up at a country house near Treviso?”

  “‘“Ah, yes!” she said; “Bertuccio Nenolo it was, the grand sea-hero, whom the ocean swallowed, just as he thought to place the laurel-wreath on his brow.”

  “‘“Do not interrupt me,” he continued. “Hear me patiently out. Things went well with me while I lived with Bertuccio Nenolo. I wore fine clothes. Whenever I was hungry, the table was always laid. When I had said my three little prayers, I might go out and roam about in the woods and meadows as I chose. Close to the house there was a dark wood of pines, full of perfume and music. I lay down there one evening, as the sun was sinking, weary with running about, under a great tree, and gazed up at the blue sky. Whether it was the earthy scent of the herbs that was the cause I do not know, but my eyes closed, and I sunk into a dreamy reverie, from which I was roused by the sound of something striking the ground close beside me, in the grass. I started up. A child, with the face of an angel, was standing beside me. She looked down upon me with a heavenly smile, and said in a sweet voice —

  “‘“How softly and quietly you were sleeping, you dear boy; and yet death was very near to you — a horrible death.”

  “‘“Close to my breast I saw a small black snake, with its head shattered. The girl had killed it with the branch of a nut tree just as it was going to strike at me. I trembled, in a delicious awe. I knew that angels often came from Heaven to rescue human beings from the attacks of enemies. I fell on my knees. I raised my clasped hands. “Ah! you are an angel,” I cried, “whom the Lord hath sent to deliver me from death! “The beautiful creature stretched her arms to me, and whispered, with rosy blushes suffusing her cheeks —

  “‘“No, you dear boy! I am not an angel. I am only a girl — a child, like yourself.”

  “‘“My reverential awe passed into unspeakable rapture. I rose; we clasped each other in our arms; we pressed our lips upon each other’s, speechless, weeping, sobbing, in delicious, nameless pain. A voice, clear as silver, culled through the trees, ‘Annunziata! Annunziata!’

  “‘“I must leave you now, you darling boy; my mother is calling me,” whispered the girl. An unspeakable pain pierced my heart.

  “‘“Oh, I do so love you!” I sobbed out, while the girl’s hot tears fell burning on my cheeks.

  “‘“I am so fond of you, darling boy,” the girl cried, pressing a parting kiss on my lips.

  “‘“Annunziata!” the voice called again, and the girl disappeared among the trees. Margareta! that was the moment when that mighty love flame passed into my soul, which will for ever burn on there, always kindling fresh flame. A few days after this I was driven away from that house. Father Bluenose said (when I could never cease talking of the angel that had appeared to me, whose sweet voice I heard in the rustling of the trees, in the purling of the streams, in the mystic sighs of the sea) that the girl could have been none other than Nenolo’s daughter Annunziata, who had come with her mother the day before, and had gone away on the day following. “Oh, mother Margareta! this Annunziata is the Dogaressa!”

  “‘Antonio hid his face in his pillow, and sobbed and wept in inexpressible pain.

  “‘“Dear Tonino,” the old woman answered, “be a man, and resist this foolish pain bravely. No one should despair in love troubles. To whom do Hope’s golden blossoms bloom but to those who love? At evening one docs not know what the morning will bring. What we see in dreams comes to pass in our lives. The castle which floated in the clouds stands, all in a moment, on the earth, bright and glorious. You do not believe in my sayings; but my little finger tells me (and somebody else, I dare say, into the bargain) that the bright banner of Love is coming fluttering towards you, with gladsome wavings, over the sea. Have patience, my son Tonino, have patience.”

  “‘In such sort did the old woman try to comfort poor Antonio, to whom her words sounded like beautiful music. He did not allow her to quit him any more. The beggar of the Franciscan porch disappeared, and in her stead people saw Antonio’s housekeeper, in good clothes, limping about San Marco, and buying the household necessaries.

  “‘Giovedi Grasso came; the fêtes in celebration of it were to be more brilliant than usual. In the middle of the lesser Piazza di San Marco a lofty scaffold was erected for a special display of fireworks, of a sort unseen hitherto, which a Greek, versed in the mysteries of such matters, was going to exhibit. When the evening came, old Falieri mounted to the gallery with his beautiful wife, mirroring himself in the splendour of her loveliness, and of his own happiness, with radiant glances, challenging all beholders to amazed admiration. Just as he was about to seat himself on his throne, however, he saw that Michaele Steno was in the same gallery, so placed that he had the Dogaressa continually in his sight, and that she must necessarily see him. Burning with wild anger and mad jealousy, Falieri screamed out imperiously that Steno must be immediately turned out of that gallery. Steno raised his arm at Falieri; but the guards forced him away, gnashing his teeth in fury, and threatening vengeance with frightful imprecations.

  “‘Meanwhile Antonio, whom the sight of his beloved Annunziata had set wholly beside himself, had made his way through the crowd, and, with a thousand torments in his heart, was pacing alone in the dark night, up and down beside the sea. He was thinking whether it would not be better to extinguish the flame which consumed him in the ice-cold waves than to be slowly tortured to death by inconsolable sorrow and pain. A small thing would have made him throw himself into the sea. He was standing on the last of the steps which led down to it, when a voice, coming from a little boat, cried:

  “‘“Ah! a fair good evening, Signor Antonio!”

  “‘In the light reflected from the palace, Antonio recognised the merry Pietro, one of his former comrades, standing in the boat, feathers and gold leaf on his shining head-dress, his new striped jacket decked with gay ribbons, and a great, beautiful bouquet of exquisite flowers in his hand.

  “‘“Good evening, Pietro,” answered Antonio. “What grand folks are you going to row to-night, that you are dressed so gaily?”

  “‘“Well, Signor Antonio,” said Pietro, getting up, so that the boat rocked under him, “I’m going to earn three zecchini. I’m bound for the top of the tower of San Marco, and then down again, to hand those flowers to the beautiful Dogaressa.”

 

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