At a quarter to three I boarded a penny steamer from the Fondamenta della Croce, the broad sunny quay3 in front of my palace, and crossed over to the Molo. It was the first time in three years that I had used this humble4 craft. The penny steamer, be it understood, was a part of the new régime. It stood for hustle5 and democratic haste, the qualities in which dear Jacqueline had found me so sadly lacking.
It gave me an immense satisfaction–this little voyage. I paid my soldo to the shabby, uniformed conductor; I watched him uncurl the rope from the post; I heard the steersman shout down his hollow tube the directions to the engineer in his cubby-hole below; I seated myself between an unshaven priest and a frowsy old woman 18with a basket of eels6; and it all appealed to me as fresh and interesting.
The world was very bright that afternoon. The sky had never seemed so blue. There was something for me to do–what, I did not know precisely (for I had not taken Jacqueline’s suggestion very seriously), but somewhere I should find my task, and so win Jacqueline’s complete love and regard. In the meanwhile I was to see her.
I leaped ashore7, the first of the passengers, and walked briskly across the Piazzetta. I saw them immediately at one of the little black tables outside of Florian’s–St. Hilary in the center, and Mrs. Gordon and Jacqueline on either side. St. Hilary was talking–as usual.
He evinced no surprise at seeing me. That was not his way. He did not even shake hands. He merely saluted8 me with his rattan9 cane10, and continued to talk–as usual.
“Then it is the beauty of Venice that impresses you both?” he was saying. “The beauty! I am weary of the cry. Let me tell you that there is something infinitely11 more appealing to one than beauty in Venice, if one knows precisely how to look for it and where.”
“And what is that?” asked Mrs. Gordon, as St. Hilary paused.
19“It is its mystery,” he said impressively.
“Its mystery!” repeated vaguely12 Jacqueline’s aunt. “And why its mystery?”
“Listen. I wish you to understand. It is night. You are quite alone–you and your gondolier. And it is late–very late. All Venice is asleep. You drift slowly down the Grand Canal. You hear nothing but the weird13 cry, ‘stai-li oh,’ as a gondolier approaches a corner. Above are the stars, and in the dark waters about you are stars–a thousand of them–reflected in a thousand rivulets14. On this side and on that–dumb as the dead–are the despoiled15 palaces. They suffer in silence. They are desecrated16. Their glory is departed. Some of them are lodging-houses, a glass-factory, a post-office, a shop of cheap and false antiquities17. But Pesaro and Contarini once dwelt in them. Titian and Giorgione adorned18 their walls. Within was the splendor19 of the Renaissance–cloth of gold–priceless tapestries–bronzes–pictures–treasures of the East–of Constantinople, of far-off Tartary. Everything of beauty in the whole world found its way at some time within those barred gates.
“But where is it now–all that treasure, that beauty? Has every temple been ravaged20? Has the vandal prowled in the very holy of holies? 20Are only the bare walls left? Only the very skeletons of all that pride of the flesh? Or, somewhere, hidden perhaps centuries ago–in some dark cranny–in some secret chamber–is there some forgotten masterpiece–some beauty of cunning hand, some jewel patiently waiting for one to pluck it from its obscurity? There must be. I know there is. Do you hear? I say I know. There, madame, you have for me the mystery of Venice.”
“For you,” placidly21 replied Mrs. Gordon, “simply because you are a dealer22 in antiquities. But why is Venice in that regard more mysterious than other great cities?”
I thought Mrs. Gordon right. St. Hilary’s enthusiasm was far-fetched. The dapper little man, with his black, snapping eyes, his face the color of parchment, and lined as the palm of one’s hand, agile23 as a puppet on strings24, neat as a tailor’s model, was in earnest, absurdly in earnest, in this idle, quaint25 fancy of his.
“Perhaps so,” he sighed. “Say that it is the passion of the collector that talks and not the sober judgment26 of the dealer. And yet, and yet, it is this hope that sends me to impossible places in Persia, to Burma. Yes; it has brought me now to Venice.”
“To Venice!” I cried, astonished. “You 21allow yourself to be mastered by a whim27, as vague, as visionary as this?”
“My dear Hume, perhaps this whim, as you call it, is not vague or visionary to me,” he replied quietly.
“But,” I expostulated, “you have no proofs of your treasure. Why is it not behind the glass cases in St. Mark’s yonder? Why are not your canvases in the museums? Why are not your antiquities in the shops?”
He looked at me with a strangely thoughtful expression.
“What we have never had we do not miss,” he mused28. “No one missed the Venus de Milo, or the Frieze29 of the Parthenon, or the Kohinoor. Yet we call them to-day three of the wonders of the world.”
“Because there are but three of them,” I said impatiently. “I am afraid you must look far and wide before you find the lucky fourth.”
“No doubt,” he said indifferently, “no doubt.” And then with apparent irrelevance30, “Now one would not think that crowns were so easily lost.”
“And have they been?” I asked curiously31.
“Only the other day eight were found at one digging, not far from Toledo. They had been lost for a thousand years. There was a find for 22you. Then the crown of the Emperor of Austria, the holy crown, the szenta korona, has been lost and found no less than three times. The last time (not half a century ago) it disappeared after the defeat of Kossuth. Some said it had been taken to London; some, that it was broken up and the jewels sold in Constantinople. But for a few florins a peasant returned it as mysteriously as it had disappeared. Foolish peasant!”
“Mr. St. Hilary,” expostulated Mrs. Gordon severely32, “you would not have had him do otherwise?”
“I suppose not. But upon my word, sometimes I think that one might as well go in for big things as for little. There is the Gnaga Boh, the Dragon Lord, the most perfect ruby33 in the world. A half-witted creature, the widow of King Theebaw, wears it. We are great friends, that old hag and I, and I could have stolen it from her a thousand times. Some day perhaps she will give it to me. And that notorious Indian prince, Gwaikor of Baroda, has half a dozen stones of price. He, too, is a crony of mine. Nothing would be easier than to steal one of them.”
“My dear Mr. St. Hilary,” again interrupted Mrs. Gordon, “surely you do not contemplate34 burglary?”
23“That is precisely the trouble,” he complained mournfully, “I have a conscience. But findings are certainly keepings.”
“Ah, but it must be so difficult to find one’s findings,” said Jacqueline quaintly35.
“Not always. Have you never heard how the Hermes of Praxiteles was discovered?”
She shook her head.
“Pausanias, an old Greek historian, wrote of that statue about a thousand years ago–how he had seen it at Olympia. There was the passage for all the world to read. He wrote precisely what there was to dig for–precisely where one was to dig. But did any one believe him? Not for a thousand years. But when, after a thousand years, a party of Germans made up their minds that perhaps there was something in the story, and dug in Olympia as he told them, there was their Hermes waiting for them. You see one may have information as to where lies one’s treasure sometimes. But so few of us have faith.”
“And have you your information as well as your abundant faith, St. Hilary?” I inquired with mock solicitude36.
At this idle question, his heavily lidded eyes opened wide. The pupils dilated37. A challenge flashed from their blue depths. I stared at him. 24But almost immediately the heavy lids drooped38 again.
“All this is extremely interesting, Mr. St. Hilary,” said Jacqueline. “But is it not rather wide from our Venetian palace? Why do we wait?”
“Simply, my dear young lady, because the owner happens to be of a religious turn of mind; and at this moment, I believe, is confessing his sins in San Marco’s yonder.”
“Who is the owner of the palace?” inquired Mrs. Gordon. “And why does he wish to sell its contents?”
“The owner is a duke, the Duca da Sestos, and he wishes to sell because he is as impecunious39 as the rest of his tribe.”
“A duke!” cried Mrs. Gordon. “How interesting! And what kind of a duke is this gentleman?”
“Of the very flower of the Italian nobility. He is a prince of good fellows, a dashing cavalier, handsome as a young god, and twenty-six.”
“How very interesting,” repeated Mrs. Gordon, and looked at Jacqueline.
The look troubled me. Jacqueline herself seemed annoyed at it. She turned to St. Hilary.
“And have you any other treasures up your sleeve, Mr. St. Hilary?”
25“My dear young lady, shall I give you an inventory40 of one collection I know about? I promise to make all your mouths water.
“To begin with, there is a balas-ruby, known as El Spigo, or the ear of corn. In the fifteenth century it was valued at the enormous sum of two hundred and fifty thousand ducats. Then there is the jewel, El Lupo, the wolf. It is one large diamond and three pearls. These two stones would take the eye of the vulgar. But imagine a beryl, twice as big as your thumb-nail, and on it the portrait of the pope, Clement41 VII, carved by none other than the great Cellini.”
“I will buy it at any price,” cried Jacqueline.
“Then,” continued St. Hilary, touching42 his forefinger43 lightly, “there is a pale-red ruby. The stone is indifferent. But it is a cameo, and the likeness44 carved on it is that of Ludovico Il Moro, the Duke of Milan. Domenico de’ Camei is the artist, and they called him de’ Camei because he was the greatest carver of cameos in the world.”
“That is mine,” said Mrs. Gordon, her eyes on San Marco.
“To continue, there is a turquoise45 cameo, half as large as the palm of your hand, and on it is carved the Triumph of Augustus. Thirty figures are on that stone. There is an Isis head in malachite. The only other to compare with it 26is in the Hermitage collection at St. Petersburg. Few portraits of Beatrice d’Este exist. One of them is carved on one of my stones, and is known as a diamond portrait. Imagine a thin plate of diamonds, evenly polished on both sides with little facets46 on the edges. The diamonds make, as it were, the glass frame of the portrait itself, which is carved on lapis lazuli by the great Ambrosius Caradossa.”
“That,” I interrupted, “must be mine.”
“I must not forget two curious poison-rings–one with a sliding panel; the other, still more dangerous, a lion with sharp claws–the claws hollowed and communicating with a small poison-receptacle. We must be careful how we finger that ring when we take our treasure out of the casket. Yes; and the casket itself is worth looking at. By an ingenious system of clockwork, the cover could not be opened in less than twelve hours.”
“And where, where are all these treasures?” demanded Mrs. Gordon, taking her eyes from the cathedral for the moment.
“My dear lady, so far as I know, they are here in Venice.”
“In Venice!” I cried.
“But, unfortunately, they disappeared nearly five hundred years ago.”
27There was a chorus of disappointment and reproaches. Mrs. Gordon again impatiently turned her attention to San Marco.
“And there is absolutely no clue to them?” demanded Jacqueline.
“No clue, dear lady,” he murmured, spreading wide his hands.
“But at least tell us whose the gems47 were?” I asked.
“Ah, yes, that at least I can tell you. The gems belonged to Beatrice d’Este, Duchess of Milan and wife of Ludovico Il Moro. She pawned48 them to the Doge of Venice to raise money for her husband’s army.”
“And they have absolutely disappeared?” I insisted.
“As if they had never existed. But they do exist, and here in Venice. Think of it! In Venice. And now, perhaps, my dear Hume, you can understand the fascination49 of Venice for me.” He sighed deeply.
“But why are you reminded of them so particularly this afternoon?” I persisted curiously.
“Because we are going to see the box that is said to have contained the casket.”
“In the palace of our duke?” asked Jacqueline’s aunt.
28St. Hilary bowed. “In the palace of our duke, madame.”
“And how did it come there?” I asked in my turn.
“It is said that the duke’s ancestor, a great goldsmith in Venice––”
He ended his sentence abruptly50. “Here comes our duke,” he said.
I looked up. The dealer in antiquities had not exaggerated his charms. He was tall. His figure was as noble as his carriage. His hand rested lightly on his sword-hilt. His bold eyes, of a piercing blue, searched Jacqueline’s lovely face. He had the all-conquering air of a young god. His eyes wandered to mine. We looked steadily51 at each other. We measured each other. Instinctively52 I distrusted him.
St. Hilary made the introductions. “I have asked my friends to go with me. I have not taken too great a liberty?” he said in French.
“Not at all,” assured the duke. “I am only sorry I have kept the ladies waiting. My launch is waiting at the Molo. Shall we go at once?”
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1
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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salute
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| vi.行礼，致意，问候，放礼炮；vt.向…致意，迎接，赞扬；n.招呼，敬礼，礼炮 | |
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quay
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| n.码头，靠岸处 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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hustle
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| v.推搡；竭力兜售或获取；催促；n.奔忙(碌) | |
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eels
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| abbr. 电子发射器定位系统（=electronic emitter location system） | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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rattan
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| n.藤条，藤杖 | |
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cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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rivulets
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| n.小河，小溪( rivulet的名词复数 ) | |
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despoiled
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| v.掠夺，抢劫( despoil的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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desecrated
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| 毁坏或亵渎( desecrate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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antiquities
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| n.古老( antiquity的名词复数 )；古迹；古人们；古代的风俗习惯 | |
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adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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splendor
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| n.光彩；壮丽，华丽；显赫，辉煌 | |
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ravaged
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| 毁坏( ravage的过去式和过去分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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placidly
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| adv.平稳地，平静地 | |
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dealer
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| n.商人，贩子 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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strings
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| n.弦 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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29
frieze
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| n.(墙上的)横饰带，雕带 | |
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irrelevance
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| n.无关紧要；不相关；不相关的事物 | |
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curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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ruby
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| n.红宝石，红宝石色 | |
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34
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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quaintly
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| adv.古怪离奇地 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impecunious
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| adj.不名一文的，贫穷的 | |
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40
inventory
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| n.详细目录，存货清单 | |
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clement
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| adj.仁慈的；温和的 | |
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42
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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44
likeness
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| n.相像，相似（之处） | |
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45
turquoise
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| n.绿宝石；adj.蓝绿色的 | |
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46
facets
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| n.（宝石或首饰的）小平面( facet的名词复数 )；（事物的）面；方面 | |
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47
gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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48
pawned
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| v.典当，抵押( pawn的过去式和过去分词 )；以（某事物）担保 | |
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49
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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50
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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51
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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52
instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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