A. H. Vesey

“ There are thousands to agonize and strive, to create the beautiful–and to fail, terribly. Why should you be dragged into the ranks of those slaves to an ideal? There are hundreds to make the world better. Why should you be a slave to conscience? But there are so few to make a fine art of living. Be one of them. Enjoy perfectly. Enjoy wisely. Life may be for you something so rare and beautiful that the horrible and the vulgar shall not exist for you.’ I listened to him. I came to Venice. Here I am.”
“There is something rather fine about it all,” said Jacqueline wistfully. ”

“ There it is. It has cost me something, that casket–your love and your respect. In doing precisely what you asked me, I have lost all that is dearest to me in the world. But there it is. It is really the casket of da Sestos.”
I placed it on the seat beside her.
“All this is painfully theatrical, Mr. Hume,” she said disdainfully. “I can have no possible use for it. Will you please take it again? I wish to heaven that I had never heard of it.”
“Can you really be in earnest, Jacqueline?” I asked sadly. “Are you determined to be unjust? Are you quite resolved not to listen to me?” ”

“ While Jacqueline had been intoxicated with the beauty of Venice, I had been intoxicated with the beauty of Jacqueline. I must say something, and something prosaic, or I should be forgetting myself.
“Oh, favored of the gods,” I murmured, “to be dead to unpleasant sights and sounds. And yet, not in Paradise, not even in this Paradise, are they quite shut out. Look, there is a penny steamer making its blatant way from the Molo to the Giudecca. And that far-off rumble is the express crossing the long bridge from Mestre. And, whew, that’s the twelve-o’clock whistle at the Arsenal. ”

“ Luigi had been dogging the footsteps of the dealer, replacing the coverings. He looked up anxiously.
“What! his Excellency is to sell this palace?” he faltered.
“All,” said the duke lightly, and ignored him. “You must know, ladies, that the uncle, by whose timely death I inherited the palace, was the last Venetian of our name. He never set foot in this palace, I am told. He lived abroad. The traditions of these Venetians were not his. Nor are they mine. I prefer to make traditions of my own. I am from Turin. There, one is at least in the world. There, one has ambitions for power and glory.” ”

“ The old man hesitated.
“Come, come, speak up,” said the duke roughly.
“Ah, yes, your Excellency,” replied the old man. “But I implore you not to sell or give away the clock. You will always regret it. Good luck goes with the clock, your Excellency.”
“But the motto,” urged Mrs. Gordon. “Has it any meaning?”
“Yes, yes, signora. It means that each hour brings its own gift, if one can only understand. One may never suffer, not hunger nor cold, not poverty nor disappointment, if one can only read the secret of each hour. ”

“ Hilary, do you forget that it was you who made me a dreamer? It is you who first preached to me impossible ideals of beauty and art. And when I failed to reach those ideals, you laughed at me; you consoled me with sneers. If I had not a soul to appreciate art and beauty, there was still the sensuous Venice for me to enjoy. And so, month by month, I have sunk into the slough of materialism, until, at last, it is almost too late for me to shake myself free. First, the woman I love flaunts at the dilettante, and then it is my friend. ”

“ It is not every day that one has such big game to key one’s nerves to fighting pitch.
We glided silently and swiftly down the broad stream. Glimmering lanterns of other gondolas danced about us. Every moment we overtook and were passed by guests. Every Rio poured forth its tribute, a doge, a monk, a queen, a knight. As we neared the palace the gondolas almost touched, so dense was the throng. A compact mass, we drifted toward the blaze of light pouring from the open hall of the Cæsarini Palace.
Slowly, one by one, the gondolas were deftly guided to the marble steps. St. Hilary grasped my arm. ”

“ Let me tell you that there is something infinitely 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 vaguely 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 weird cry, ‘stai-li oh,’ as a gondolier approaches a corner. ”

“ Is there in the whole world anything inanimate so graceful, so almost alive, so light and so cruelly sharp and strong as the prow of a gondola? It is the very incarnation of the spirit of the Venetians of the Renaissance.
To-night, as we penetrated the gloom that was absolute, except for the light of a tiny lantern on the deck forward, I could put myself back in the middle ages. I could see the black barge of the Fante, the captain of the inquisitorial guard, swiftly rowed with muffled oars to the palazzo of the unhappy wretch who had offended against the laws of Venice. ”

“ Oh, Dick, if he should!”
I laughed joyously–happily. “He shall not,” I cried, “because I am going to find it myself. And if I do find it, Jacqueline?”
“I shall be so glad,” she said shyly.
“But my book of legends,” I said with affected seriousness. “Am I to give up writing the legend of the clock? I thought I was to persist in my task. Nothing was to turn me from it.”
“But I am giving you this new task, Dick,” she said, laughing happily.
“Yes, yes,” I said, as I leapt aboard at the last moment. “I think I may find time to do this new task for you, and my legend of the clock as well.” ”

“ For the old man, as we know, was not so guileless a fool as the jeweler thought him. Thief or no thief, da Sestos is imprisoned–at first in a dungeon, with tortures, then in his own house. He could stand the tortures. He could endure the awful heat and thirst under the leads of the Ducal Palace. But slowly came the knowledge, the certainty, that he was imprisoned, not for a month, a year, but for a lifetime. The vengeance of the Doge was implacable.
“Then if he must perish, was the secret of the casket to be sealed on his lips forever? The egotism of the madman made that thought intolerable. ”

“ Hilary almost immediately. Jacqueline and the duke were dancing. I watched them gloomily. On what mad errand were St. Hilary and I bent to-night? We had forced ourselves here by browbeating two weak young fools, who were no doubt quite ready to turn and rend us. If we were exposed! And before Jacqueline! We were absolutely no more respectable than two thieves whose eyes are fixed greedily on the silver spoons.
My arm was jogged. St. Hilary stood beside me. His eyes danced. His forefinger rested lightly on the hilt of his dagger. ”

“ 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,” placidly replied Mrs. Gordon, “simply because you are a dealer 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. ”

“ A clue, but always an imaginary clue, would prick us into feverish activity, which invariably led us nowhere.
But toward the end of the third week of our search, St. Hilary came to my rooms one afternoon, triumphant. He had actually made a discovery. And this discovery proved, beyond the peradventure of a doubt, not only that the clock had a story to tell, not only that the twelve hours actually did constitute twelve links of a chain, but that somewhere, in the background of each hour, there was some mark corresponding to a like mark in some part of Venice. ”

“ The Doge unconsciously furthers his plans by his intense fear lest the fact that he possesses the jewels be made known. Only da Sestos, his son, and the Doge, indeed, knew the gems were in Venice. He has been told the very room in which the Doge is to receive from him the wonderful casket. He has thoroughly reconnoitered the ground. He knows that this bed-chamber of the Doge looks out on a court, which, in the dead of night, will surely be quite deserted. And so, with a coil of rope about his waist and a dagger beneath his blouse, he keeps the appointment. ”

“ Gordon delightedly. “Now what do you think that brave promise means, Mr. St. Hilary?”
“Pooh, pooh, madame! It promises too much to mean anything. ‘Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy and wealthy and wise.’ ‘Time is money’–there are a score of proverbs as vague and as meaningless.”
“Oh, but you mustn’t cast any aspersions on my dear clock. Perhaps Luigi can read the riddle more cleverly. Do you know if there is any legend connected with the clock?” ”

“ My love for Jacqueline is great enough not to grudge her happiness, even if that happiness is to be with another man. But to see her persuaded into a marriage that every instinct tells me is wrong, that I know must prove unhappy–I can not allow that to be done without a protest, though in making that protest I have betrayed my own love for her. Mrs. Gordon, if I know nothing of Duke da Sestos, I do know something of his class. Can I say nothing that will influence you? ”

“ But here and there, as a thing so insignificant that it is overlooked, one finds a low-ceiled trattoria, where at the noon hour the stevedores drink the strong wines of Chioggia and shout out their lusty songs; or it may be an infinitesimal shop, where sharp-faced old women sell fish and cheese and cherries.
All day long children sprawl and quarrel and play on the sun-baked pavement; and artists paint endless pictures of the red and orange sails drifting slowly by, with the Salute and Ducal Palace for a background. Yes, the Giudecca quarter is the quarter of the people. ”

“ I found it harder than ever to get into things. I found myself more and more the mere spectator of life–not a happy existence, nor a good foundation for an American to begin the duties of life with.”
“I should think not,” said Jacqueline severely. If she had pity for the lonely little boy, she had no mercy for the man. “And so because you idled through college and liked it, you came here to Venice to idle away the rest of your life?” ”

“ And supposing that I could tell them the very hiding-place, would one of all those hundreds, even the poorest, take the trouble to go and see? Would the hunchbacked bootblack in the Arcade there, gnarled and twisted with the cold of winter and the heat of summer? Would the Jewish shopkeepers, the antiquarian in the library, the tourists, who had come three thousand miles to feast their eyes on wonders? Not the most visionary would stir in his seat. Only St. Hilary and I, it appeared, in the whole world were absolute fools this afternoon. ”

“ Gordon adoringly.
“But these Venetians, bah, I know them!” he continued. “To gossip a little, to dawdle over their silly newspapers at the Café Quadri–to eat, to drink, to flirt–that is their dream of happiness. They are rocked to sleep in their wonderful gondolas. They drift on the smooth surface of their sluggish canals out to the great sea of oblivion. No. The silent waterways of this 34melancholy, faded Venice are not exactly paths of glory.”
“No,” said Jacqueline, and perhaps unconsciously she looked at me. ”

“ Already I suspected that the duke was on the trail of the casket. Instead of being alarmed or annoyed, it gave me the keenest delight. Brain against brain. Wit against wit. Courage against courage. I could have asked nothing more to my liking. For instinctively I had felt the mettle of my foe and measured the chances of my rival for Jacqueline’s heart. ”

“ And so the hiding-place of the casket and the jewels is hidden in the clock for no man to guess unless he be such a man as da Sestos–one who has something of the very madness of desire and cunning that possessed the goldsmith. ”

“ At every hour, as old Luigi said, it tells its secret.”
“That is it,” replied St. Hilary. “And when you and I, Hume, shall have mastered those twelve secrets, we shall know where our jewels are hidden. And now, have you still curiosity to know whether this is a legend or a fact?”
“Yes.”
“Then you will help me to look for it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We may fail.” He looked at me keenly.
“Of course.”
“I like your monosyllables. I believe you are really in earnest.”
“Yes; I am in earnest.”
“Good again. Then we pool our interests. If we are successful, we share alike. Is that fair?” ”

“ Hilary again read from the Diary of Sanudo:
“‘This day the duchess went in state to see the treasure of San Marco. As the bucentaur, containing the Doge and one hundred and fifty of her company, entered the Canale Grande, the duchess confessed that never before had she beheld the like. From the windows and the balconies, hung with the richest tapestries, noble ladies, glittering with gold chains and gems, looked down on the sumptuous scene. It was the finest sight of the whole world. ”

“ This sala of the Cæsarini Palace, one of the most impressive in Venice, both in size and plan, is a square apartment, one side facing the Grand Canal, the other, a little side canal. Quite two-thirds of the room is raised above the rest of the floor, and is ascended by three marble steps. The effect on entering was indescribably brilliant. Dancing had already commenced on this immense dais. Every moment a couple descended and ascended the marble steps. ”