University of Virginia Library

2. II.

THE three Inquisitors of State were met in their
chamber of the Ducal Palace. Its floor was of alternate
squares of black and white marble, and its walls
tapestried with dark hangings set off with silver fringe.
They were examining, with their masks thrown aside,
the accusations which a servitor had brought in from
the Lion's Mouth, which opened in the wall at the head
of the second stairway.

Two of the inquisitors wre dressed in black, and
the third, who sat between the others—a tall, stern man
—was robed in crimson. The face of the last grew
troubled as his eye fell upon a strange accusation, affecting

his honor, and perhaps his own safety. For even
this terrible council-chamber had its own law among its
members, and its own punishment for indiscretion.
More than once a patrician of Venice had disappeared
suddenly from the eyes of men, and a mysterious message
came to the Great Council that a seat was vacant
in the chamber of the Inquisition.

The accusation which now startled the member of
the Council was this:

“One of the Contarini.”

The Count Pesaro (for the inquisitor was none
other) in a moment collected his thoughts. He had remarked
the beautiful daughter of the ambassador; he
knew of the gallantries which filled the life of his son
Antonio; he recognized the jealousy of the Contarini.

But in the members of the fearful court of Venice
no tie was recognized but the tie which bound them to
the mysterious authority of the State. The Count Pesaro
knew well that the discovery of any secret intercourse
with the palace of the ambassador would be followed
by the grave punishment of his son; he knew
that any conspiracy with that son to shield him from the
State would bring the forfeit of his life. Yet the Inquisitor
said, “Let the spies be doubled?”

And the spies were doubled; but the father, more

watchful and wakeful than all, discovered that it was
not one son only, but both, who held guilty communication
with the servitors of the ambassador's palace. There
was little hope that it would long escape the knowledge
of the Council. But the Count anticipated their action,
by sacrificing the younger to the elder; the gondolier
of Enrico was seized, and brought to the chamber of
torture.

The father could not stay the judgment which pronounced
the exile of the son, and at night Enrico was
arraigned before the three inquisitors: the masks concealed
his judges; and the father penned the order by
which he was conveyed, upon a galley of the State, to
perpetual exile upon the island of Corfu.

The rigor of the watch was now relaxed, and Antonio,
fired by the secret and almost hopeless passion
which he had reason to believe was returned with equal
fervor, renewed his communications in the proscribed
quarter. A double danger, however, awaited him.
The old and constant jealousy of France which existed
in the Venetian councils had gained new force; all intercourse
with her ambassador was narrowly watched.

Enrico, moreover, distracted by the failure of a
forged accusation which had reacted to his own disadvantage,
had found means to communicate with the
scheming Fra Paolo. The suspicions of the Contarini
family were secretly directed against the neglectful Antonio.

His steps were dogged by the spies of a powerful
and revengeful house. Accusations again found
their way into the Lion's Mouth. Proofs were too
plain and palpable to be rejected. The son of Pesaro
had offended by disregarding engagements authorized
and advised by the State. He had offended in projecting
alliance with an alien; he had offended in holding
secret communication with the household of a foreign
ambassador.

The offence was great, and the punishment imminent.
An inquisitor who alleged excuses for the crimes
of a relative was exposed to the charge of complicity.
He who wore the crimson robe in the Council of the
Inquisition was therefore silent. The mask, no less
than the severe control which every member of the
secret council exerted over his milder nature, concealed
the struggle going on in the bosom of the old
Count Pesaro. The fellow-councillors had already seen
the sacrifice of one son; they could not doubt his consent
to that of the second. But the offence was now
greater, and the punishment would be weightier.

Antonio was the last scion of the noble house of
which the inquisitor was chief, and the father triumphed
at length over the minister of State; yet none in the
secret Council could perceive the triumph. None knew
better than a participant in that mysterious power which
ruled Venice by terror, how difficult would be any
escape from its condemnation.