Tu vegga o per violenzia o per inganno Patire o disonore o mortal danno.
"Orlando Furioso," Cant.xlii.i.
(Thou art about, either through violence or artifice, to suffer either dishonour or mortal loss.)It was a small cabinet; the walls were covered with pictures, one of which was worth more than the whole lineage of the owner of the palace.Oh, yes! Zanoni was right.The painter IS a magician; the gold he at least wrings from his crucible is no delusion.A Venetian noble might be a fribble, or an assassin,--a scoundrel, or a dolt; worthless, or worse than worthless, yet he might have sat to Titian, and his portrait may be inestimable,--a few inches of painted canvas a thousand times more valuable than a man with his veins and muscles, brain, will, heart, and intellect!
In this cabinet sat a man of about three-and-forty,--dark-eyed, sallow, with short, prominent features, a massive conformation of jaw, and thick, sensual, but resolute lips; this man was the Prince di --.His form, above the middle height, and rather inclined to corpulence, was clad in a loose dressing-robe of rich brocade.On a table before him lay an old-fashioned sword and hat, a mask, dice and dice-box, a portfolio, and an inkstand of silver curiously carved.
"Well, Mascari," said the prince, looking up towards his parasite, who stood by the embrasure of the deep-set barricadoed window,--"well! the Cardinal sleeps with his fathers.I require comfort for the loss of so excellent a relation; and where a more dulcet voice than Viola Pisani's?""Is your Excellency serious? So soon after the death of his Eminence?""It will be the less talked of, and I the less suspected.Hast thou ascertained the name of the insolent who baffled us that night, and advised the Cardinal the next day?""Not yet."
"Sapient Mascari! I will inform thee.It was the strange Unknown.""The Signor Zanoni! Are you sure, my prince?""Mascari, yes.There is a tone in that man's voice that I never can mistake; so clear, and so commanding, when I hear it I almost fancy there is such a thing as conscience.However, we must rid ourselves of an impertinent.Mascari, Signor Zanoni hath not yet honoured our poor house with his presence.He is a distinguished stranger,--we must give a banquet in his honour.""Ah, and the Cyprus wine! The cypress is a proper emblem of the grave.""But this anon.I am superstitious; there are strange stories of Zanoni's power and foresight; remember the death of Ughelli.No matter, though the Fiend were his ally, he should not rob me of my prize; no, nor my revenge.""Your Excellency is infatuated; the actress has bewitched you.""Mascari," said the prince, with a haughty smile, "through these veins rolls the blood of the old Visconti--of those who boasted that no woman ever escaped their lust, and no man their resentment.The crown of my fathers has shrunk into a gewgaw and a toy,--their ambition and their spirit are undecayed! My honour is now enlisted in this pursuit,--Viola must be mine!""Another ambuscade?" said Mascari, inquiringly.