No More Learning

The house where this happened is now no more; the
family del M-----nte is extinct, and Antonia's tomb may be seen in a
convent not far from Salerno.

"You see," continued the Sicilian, seeing us all stand silent and
thoughtful, "you see how my acquaintance with this Russian officer,
Armenian, or Franciscan friar originated. Judge now whether I had not
good cause to tremble at the sight of a being who has twice placed
himself in my way in a manner so terrible. "

"I beg you will answer me one question more," said the prince, rising
from his seat. "Have you been always sincere in your account of
everything relating to the chevalier? "

"To the best of my knowledge I have," replied the Sicilian.

"You really believed him to be an honest man? "

"I did; by heaven! I did," answered he again.

"Even at the tine he gave you the ring? "

"How! He gave me no ring. I did not say that he gave me the ring. "

"Very well! " said the prince, pulling the bell, and preparing to
depart. "And you believe" (going back to the prisoner) "that the ghost
of the Marquis de Lanoy, which the Russian officer introduced after your
apparition, was a true and real ghost? "

"I cannot think otherwise. "

"Let us go! " said the prince, addressing himself to us. The gaoler came
in. "We have done," said the prince to him. "You, sir," turning to the
prisoner, "you shall hear further from me. "

"I am tempted to ask your highness the last question you proposed to the
sorcerer," said I to the prince, when we were alone. "Do you believe
the second ghost to have been a real and true one? "

"I believe it! No, not now, most assuredly. "

"Not now? Then you did once believe it? "

"I confess I was tempted for a moment to believe it something more than
the contrivance of a juggler. "

"And I could wish to see the man who under similar circumstances would
not have had the same impression. But what reasons have you for
retracting your opinion? What the prisoner has related of the Armenian
ought to increase rather than diminish your belief in his super natural
powers. "

"What this wretch has related of him," said the prince, interrupting me
very gravely. "I hope," continued he, "you have now no doubt but that
we have had to do with a villain. "

"No; but must his evidence on that account--"

"The evidence of a villain, even supposing I had no other reason for
doubt, can have no weight against common sense and established truth.
Does a man who has already deceived me several times, and whose trade it
is to deceive, does he deserve to be heard in a cause in which the
unsupported testimony of even the most sincere adherent to truth could
not be received? Ought we to believe a man who perhaps never once spoke
truth for its own sake? Does such a man deserve credit, when he appears
as evidence against human reason and the eternal laws of nature? Would
it not be as absurd as to admit the accusation of a person notoriously
infamous against unblemished and irreproachable innocence? "

"But what motives could he have for giving so great a character to a man
whom he has so many reasons to hate? "

"I am not to conclude that he can have no motives for doing this because
I am unable to comprehend them. Do I know who has bribed him to deceive
me? I confess I cannot penetrate the whole contexture of his plan; but
he has certainly done a material injury to the cause he advocates by
proving himself to be at least an impostor, and perhaps something
worse. "

"The circumstance of the ring, I allow, appears somewhat suspicions. "

"It is more than suspicious," answered the prince; "it is decisive. He
received this ring from the murderer, and at the moment he received it
he must have been certain that it was from the murderer. Who but the
assassin, could have taken from the finger of the deceased a ring which
he undoubtedly never took off himself? Throughout the whole of his
narration the Sicilian has labored to persuade us that while he was
endeavoring to deceive Lorenzo, Lorenzo was in reality deceiving him.
Would he have had recourse to this subterfuge if he had not been
sensible how much he should lose in our estimation by confessing himself
an accomplice with the assassin? The whole story is visibly nothing but
a series of impostures, invented merely to connect the few truths he has
thought proper to give us. Ought I then to hesitate in disbelieving the
eleventh assertion of a person who has already deceived me ten times,
rather than admit a violation of the fundamental laws of nature, which I
have ever found in the most perfect harmony? "

"I have nothing to reply to all this, but the apparition we saw
yesterday is to me not the less incomprehensible. "

"It is also incomprehensible to me, although I have been tempted to
believe that I have found a key to it. "

"How so? " asked I.

"Do not you recollect that the second apparition, as soon as he entered,
walked directly up to the altar, took the crucifix in his hand, and
placed himself upon the carpet? "

"It appeared so to me. "

"And this crucifix, according to the Sicilian's confession, was a
conductor. You see that the apparition hastened to make himself
electrical. Thus the blow which Lord Seymour struck him with a sword
was of course ineffectual; the electric stroke disabled his arm. "

"This is true with respect to the sword. But the pistol fired by the
Sicilian, the ball of which we heard roll slowly upon the altar? "

"Are you convinced that this was the same ball which was fired from the
pistol? " replied the prince. "Not to mention that the puppet, or the
man who represented the ghost, may have been so well accoutred as to be
invulnerable by sword or bullet; but consider who it was that loaded the
pistols. "

"True," said I, and a sudden light broke upon my mind; "the Russian.
officer had loaded them, but it was in our presence. How could he have
deceived us? "

"Why should he not have deceived us? Did you suspect him sufficiently
to observe him? Did you examine the ball before it was put into the
pistol? May it not have been one of quicksilver or clay? Did you take
notice whether the Russian officer really put it into the barrel, or
dropped it into his other hand? But supposing that he actually loaded
the pistols, what is to convince you that he really took the loaded ones
into the room where the ghost appeared, and did not change them for
another pair, which he might have done the more easily as nobody ever
thought of noticing him, and we were besides occupied in undressing?
And could not the figure, at the moment when we were prevented from
seeing it by the smoke of the pistol, have dropped another ball, with
which it had been beforehand provided, on the the altar? Which of these
conjectures is impossible? "

"You are right. But that striking resemblance to your deceased friend!
I have often seen him with you, and I immediately recognized him in the
apparition. "

"I did the same, and I must confess the illusion was complete. But if
the juggler from a few stolen glances at my snuff-box was able to give
to his apparition a resemblance, what was to prevent the Russian
officer, who had used the box during the whole time of supper, who had
had liberty to observe the picture unnoticed, and to whom I had
discovered in confidence whom it represented, what was to prevent him
from doing the same? Add to this what has been before observed by the
Sicilian, that the prominent features of the marquis were so striking as
to be easily imitated; what is there so inexplicable in this second
ghost? "

"But the words he uttered? The information he gave you about your
friend? "

"What? " said the prince, "Did not the Sicilian assure us, that from
the little which he had learnt from me he had composed a similar story?
Does not this prove that the invention was obvious and natural?
Besides, the answers of the ghost, like those of an oracle, were so
obscure that he was in no danger of being detected in a falsehood. If
the man who personated the ghost possessed sagacity and presence of
mind, and knew ever-so-little of the affair on which he was consulted,
to what length might not he have carried the deception? "

"Pray consider, your highness, how much preparation such a complicated
artifice would have required from the Armenian; how much time it takes
to paint a face with sufficient exactness; how much time would have been
requisite to instruct the pretended ghost, so as to guard him against
gross errors; what a degree of minute attention to regulate every minor
attendant or adventitious circumstance, which must be answered in some
manner, lest they should prove detrimental! And remember that the
Russian officer was absent but half an hour. Was that short space
of time sufficient to make even such arrangements as were most
indispensable? Surely, my prince, not even a dramatic writer, who has
the least desire to preserve the three terrible unities of Aristotle,
durst venture to load the interval between one act and another with such
a variety of action, or to presume upon such a facility of belief in his
audience. "

"What! You think it absolutely impossible that every necessary
preparation should have been made in the space of half an hour? "

"Indeed, I look upon it as almost impossible. "

"I do not understand this expression. Does it militate against the
physical laws of time and space, or of matter and motion, that a man so
ingenious and so expert as this Armenian must undoubtedly be, assisted
by agents whose dexterity and acuteness are probably not inferior to his
own; favored by the time of night, and watched by no one, provided with
such means and instruments as a man of this profession is never without
--is it impossible that such a man, favored by such circumstances,
should be able to effect so much in so short a time? Is it ridiculous
or absurd to suppose, that by a very small number of words or signs he
can convey to his assistants very extensive commissions, and direct very
complex operations? Nothing ought to be admitted that is contrary to
the established laws of nature, unless it is something with which these
laws are absolutely incompatible. Would you rather give credit to a
miracle than admit an improbability? Would you solve a difficulty
rather by overturning the powers of nature than by believing an artful
and uncommon combination of them? "

"Though the fact will not justify a conclusion such as you have
condemned, you must, however, grant that it is far beyond our
conception. "

"I am almost tempted to dispute even this," said the prince, with a
quiet smile. "What would you say, my dear count, if it should be
proved, for instance, that the operations of the Armenian were prepared
and carried on, not only during the half-hour that he was absent from
us, not only in haste and incidentally, but during the whole evening and
the whole night? You recollect that the Sicilian employed nearly three
hours in preparation. "

"The Sicilian? Yes, my prince. "

"And how will you convince me that this juggler had not as much concern
in the second apparition as in the first? "

"How so, your highness? "

"That he was not the principal assistant of the Armenian? In a word,
how will you convince me that they did not co-operate? "

"It would be a difficult task to prove that," exclaimed I, with no
little surprise.

"Not so difficult, my dear count, as you imagine. What! Could it have
happened by mere chance that these two men should form a design so
extraordinary and so complicated upon the same person, at the same time,
and in the same place? Could mere chance have produced such an exact
harmony between their operations, that one of them should play so
exactly the game of the other? Suppose for a moment that the Armenian
intended to heighten the effect of his deception, by introducing it
after a less refined one--that he created a Hector to make himself his
Achilles. Suppose that he has done all this to discover what degree of
credulity he could expect to find in me, to examine the readiest way to
gain my confidence, to familiarize himself with his subject by an
attempt that might have miscarried without any prejudice to his plan; in
a word, to tune the instrument on which he intended to play. Suppose he
did this with the view of exciting my suspicions on one subject in order
to divert my attention from another more important to his design.
Lastly, suppose he wishes to have some indirect methods of information,
which he had himself occasion to practise, imputed to the sorcerer, in
order to divert suspicion from the true channel. "

"How do you mean? " said I.

"Suppose, for instance, that he may have bribed some of my servants to
give him secret intelligence, or, perhaps, even some papers which may
serve his purpose. I have missed one of my domestics. What reason have
I to think that the Armenian is not concerned in his leaving me? Such a
connection, however, if it existed, may be accidently discovered; a
letter may be intercepted; a servant, who is in the secret, may betray
his trust. Now all the consequence of the Armenian is destroyed if I
detect the source of his omniscience. He therefore introduces this
sorcerer, who must be supposed to have some design upon me. He takes
care to give me early notice of him and his intentions, so that whatever
I may hereafter discover my suspicions must necessarily rest upon the
Sicilian. This is the puppet with which he amuses me, whilst he
himself, unobserved and unsuspected, is entangling me in invisible
snares. "

"We will allow this. But is it consistent with the Armenian's plan that
he himself should destroy the illusion which he has created, and
disclose the mysteries of his science to the eyes of the uninitiated? "

"What mysteries does he disclose? None, surely, which he intends to
practise on me. He therefore loses nothing by the discovery. But,
on the other hand, what an advantage will he gain, if this pretended
victory over juggling and deception should render me secure and
unsuspecting; if he succeeds in diverting my attention from the right
quarter, and in fixing my wavering suspicions on an object the most
remote from the real one! He could naturally expect that, sooner or
later, either from my own doubts, or at the suggestion of another, I
should be tempted to seek a key to his mysterious wonders, in the mere
art of a juggler; how could he better provide against such an inquiry
than by contrasting his prodigies with juggling tricks. By confining
the latter within artificial limits, and by delivering, as it were, into
my hands a scale by which to appreciate them, he naturally exalts and
perplexes my ideas of the former. How many suspicions he precludes by
this single contrivance! How many methods of accounting for his
miracles, which afterwards have occurred to me, does he refute
beforehand! "

"But in exposing such a finished deception he has acted very much
against his own interest, both by quickening the penetration of those
whom he meant to impose upon, and by staggering their belief in miracles
in general. Your highness' self is the best proof of the insufficiency
of his plan, if indeed he ever had one. "

"Perhaps he has been mistaken in respect to myself," said the prince;
"but his conclusions have nevertheless been well founded. Could he
foresee that I should exactly notice the very circumstance which
threatens to become the key to the whole artifice? Was it in his plan
that the creature he employed should render himself thus vulnerable?
Are we certain that the Sicilian has not far exceeded his commission?
He has undoubtedly done so with respect to the ring, and yet it is
chiefly this single circumstance which determined my distrust in him.
How easily may a plan, whose contexture is most artful and refined, be
spoiled in the execution by an awkward instrument. It certainly was not
the Armenian's intention that the sorcerer should trumpet his fame to us
in the style of a mountebank, that he should endeavor to impose upon us
such fables as are too gross to bear the least reflection. For
instance, with what countenance could this impostor affirm that the
miraculous being he spoke of must renounce all commerce with mankind at
twelve in the night? Did we not see him among us at that very hour? "

"That is true," cried I. "He must have forgotten it. "

"It often happens, to people of this description, that they overact
their parts; and, by aiming at too much, mar the effects which a
well-managed deception is calculated to produce. "

"I cannot, however, yet prevail on myself to look upon the whole as a
mere preconcerted scheme. What! the Sicilian's terror, his convulsive
fits, his swoon, the deplorable situation in which we saw him, and which
was even such as to move our pity, were all these nothing more than a
studied part? I allow that a skilful performer may carry imitation to a
very high pitch, but he certainly has no power over the organs of life. "

"As for that, my friend," replied the prince, "I have seen Richard III.
performed by Garrick. But were we at that moment sufficiently cool to
be capable of observing dispassionately? Could we judge of the emotion
of the Sicilian when we were almost overcome by our own? Besides, the
decisive crisis even of a deception is so momentous to the deceiver
himself that excessive anxiety may produce in him symptoms as violent
as those which surprise excites in the deceived. Add to this the
unexpected entrance of the watch. "

"I am glad you remind me of that, prince. Would the Armenian have
ventured to discover such a dangerous scheme to the eye of justice; to
expose the fidelity of his creature to so severe a test? And for what
purpose? "

"Leave that matter to him; he is no doubt acquainted with the people he
employs. Do we know what secret crimes may have secured him the silence
of this man? You have been informed of the office he holds in Venice;
what difficulty will he find in saving a man of whom he himself is the
only accuser? "

[This suggestion of the prince was but too well justified by the event.
For, some days after, on inquiring after the prisoner, we were told that
he had escaped, and had not since been heard of. ]

"You ask what could be his motives for delivering this man into the
hands of justice? " continued the prince. "By what other method, except
this violent one, could he have wrested from the Sicilian such an
infamous and improbable confession, which, however, was so material to
the success of his plan? Who but a man whose case is desperate, and who
has nothing to lose, would consent to give so humiliating an account of
himself? Under what other circumstances could we have believed such a
confession? "

"I grant all this, my prince. That the two apparitions were mere
contrivances of art; that the Sicilian has imposed upon us a tale which
the Armenian his master, had previously taught him; that the efforts of
both have been directed to the same end, and, from this mutual
intelligence all the wonderful incidents which have astonished us in
this adventure may be easily explained. But the prophecy in the square
of St. Mark, that first miracle, which, as it were, opened the door to
all the rest, still remains unexplained; and of what use is the key to
all his other wonders if we despair of resolving this single one? "

"Rather invert the proposition, my dear count," answered the prince,
"and say what do all these wonders prove if I can demonstrate that a
single one among them is a juggling trick? The prediction, I own, is
totally beyond my conception. If it stood alone; if the Armenian had
closed the scene with it, instead of beginning it, I confess I do not
know how far I might have been carried. But in the base alloy with
which it is mixed it is certainly rather suspicious. Time may explain,
or not explain it; but believe me, my friend! " added the prince, taking
my hand, with a grave countenance,--"a man who can command supernatural
powers has no occasion to employ the arts of a juggler; he despises
them. "

"Thus," says Count O------, "ended a conversation which I have related
word for word, because it shows the difficulties which were to be
overcome before the prince could be effectually imposed upon; and I
hope it may free his memory from the imputation of having blindly and
inconsiderately thrown himself into a snare, which was spread for his
destruction by the most unexampled and diabolical wickedness. Not all,"
continues Count O------, "who, at the moment I am writing, smile
contemptuously at the prince's credulity, and, in the fancied
superiority of their own yet untempted understanding, unconditionally
condemn him; not all of these, I apprehend, would have stood his first
trial so courageously. If afterwards, notwithstanding this providential
warning, we witness his downfall; if we see that the black design
against which, at the very outset, he was thus cautioned, is finally
successful, we shall be less inclined to ridicule his weakness than to
be astonished at the infamous ingenuity of a plot which could seduce an
understanding so fully prepared. Considerations of worldly interest can
have no influence upon my testimony; he, who alone would be thankful for
it, is now no more. His dreadful destiny is accomplished; his soul has
long since been purified before the throne of truth, where mine will
likewise have appeared before these passages meet the eyes of the world.
Pardon the involuntary tears which now flow at the remembrance of my
dearest friend. But for the sake of justice I must write this. His was
a noble character, and would have adorned a throne which, seduced by the
most atrocious artifice, he attempted to ascend by the commission of a
crime.






BOOK II.

"Not long after these events," continues Count O-----, in his narrative,
"I began to observe an extraordinary alteration in the disposition of
the prince, which was partly the immediate consequence of the last event
and partly produced by the concurrence of many adventitious
circumstances. Hitherto he had avoided every severe trial of his faith,
and contented himself with purifying the rude and abstract notions of
religion, in which he had been educated, by those more rational ideas
upon this subject which forced themselves upon his attention, or
comparing the many discordant opinions with each other, without
inquiring into the foundations of his faith. Religious subjects, he has
many times confessed to me, always appeared to him like an enchanted
castle, into which one does not set one's foot without horror, and that
they act therefore much the wiser part who pass it in respectful
silence, without exposing themselves to the danger of being bewildered
in its labyrinths.
A servile and bigoted education was the source of
this dread; this had impressed frightful images upon his tender brain,
which, during the remainder of his life, he was never able wholly to
obliterate. Religious melancholy was an hereditary disorder in his
family. The education which he and his brothers had received was
calculated to produce it; and the men to whose care they were entrusted,
selected with this object, were also either enthusiasts or hypocrites.

"To stifle all the sprightliness of the boy, by a gloomy restraint of
his mental faculties, was the only method of securing to themselves the
highest approbation of his royal parents. The whole of our prince's
childhood wore a dark and gloomy aspect; mirth was banished even from
his amusements. All his ideas of religion were accompanied by some
frightful image; and the representations of terror and severity were
those which first took hold of his lively imagination, and which the
longest retained their empire over it. His God was an object of terror,
a being whose occupation is to chastise; and the adoration he paid him
was either slavish fear, or a blind submission which stifled all his
energies. In all his youthful propensities, which a vigorous growth and
a fine constitution naturally excited to break out with the greater
violence, religion stood in his way; it opposed everything upon which
his young heart was bent; he learned to consider it not as a friend,
but as the scourge of his passions; so that a silent indignation was
gradually kindled against it in his heart, which, together with a
bigoted faith and a blind fear, produced an incongruous mixture of
feelings, and an abhorrence of a ruler before whom he trembled.

"It is no wonder, therefore, that he took the first opportunity of
escaping from so galling a yoke--but he fled from it as a bond-slave
who, escaping from his rigorous master, drags along with him a sense of
his servitude, even in the midst of freedom; for, as he did not renounce
the faith of his earlier years from a deliberate conviction, and did not
wait till the maturity and improvement of his reasoning had weaned him
from it, but escaped from it like a fugitive, upon whose person the
rights of his master are still in force, so was he obliged, even after
his widest separation, to return to it at last. He had escaped with his
chain, and for that reason must necessarily become the prey of any one
who should discover it, and know how to make use of the discovery. That
such a one presented himself, the sequel of this history will prove;
most likely the reader has already surmised it.

"The confessions of the Sicilian left a deeper impression upon his mind
than they ought, considering the circumstances; and the small victory
which his reason had thence gained over this weak imposture, remarkably
increased his reliance upon his own powers. The facility with which he
had been able to unravel this deception appeared to have surprised him.
Truth and error were not yet so accurately distinguished from each other
in his mind but that he often mistook the arguments which were in favor
of the one for those in favor of the other. Thence it arose that the
same blow which destroyed his faith in wonders made the whole edifice of
it totter. In this instance, he fell into the same error as an
inexperienced man who has been deceived in love or friendship, because
he happened to make a bad choice, and who denies the existence of these
sensations, because he takes the occasional exceptions for
distinguishing features. The unmasking of a deception made even truth
suspicious to him, because he had unfortunately discovered truth by
false reasoning.

"This imaginary triumph pleased him in proportion to the magnitude of
the oppression from which it seemed to deliver him. From this instant
there arose in his mind a scepticism which did not spare even the most
sacred objects.

"Many circumstances concurred to encourage, and still more to confirm,
him in this turn of mind. He now quitted the retirement in which he had
hitherto lived, and gave way to a more dissipated mode of life. His
rank was discovered; attentions which he was obliged to return,
etiquettes for which he was indebted to his rank, drew him imperceptibly
within the vortex of the great world. His rank, as well as his personal
attractions, opened to him the circles of all the beaux esprits in
Venice, and he soon found himself on terms of intimacy with the most
enlightened persons in the republic, men of learning as well as
politicians. This obliged him to en large the monotonous and limited
circle to which his understanding had hitherto been confined. He began
to perceive the poverty and feebleness of his ideas, and to feel the
want of more elevated impressions. The old-fashioned turn of his
understanding, in spite of the many advantages with which it was
accompanied, formed an unpleasing contrast with the current ideas of
society; his ignorance of the commonest things frequently exposed him to
ridicule, than which he dreaded nothing more. The unfortunate prejudice
which attached to his native country appeared to him a challenge to
overcome it in his own person. Besides this, there was a peculiarity in
his character; he was offended with every attention that he thought was
paid him on account of his rank rather than his personal qualities. He
felt this humiliation principally in the company of persons who shone by
their abilities, and triumphed, as it were, over their birth by their
merit. To perceive himself distinguished as a prince, in such a
society, was always a deep humiliation to him, because he unfortunately
fancied himself excluded by his rank from all competition. These
circumstances convinced him of the necessity of cultivating his mind,
in order to raise it to a level with the thinking part of the world,
from which he had hitherto been so separated; and for that purpose he
chose the most modern books, and applied himself to them with all the
ardor with which he was accustomed to pursue every object to which he
devoted himself. But the unskilful hand that directed his choice always
prompted him to select such as were little calculated to improve either
his heart or his reason; besides that, he was influenced by a propensity
which rendered everything irresistible which was incomprehensible. He
had neither attention nor memory for anything that was not of that
character, and both his reason and his heart remained untouched, while
he was filling the vacuities of his brain with confused ideas. The
dazzling style of some writers captivated his imagination, while the
subtlety of others ensnared his reason. Together, they easily took
possession of a mind which became the prey of whatever was obtruded upon
it with a certain degree of dogmatism. A course of reading, which had
been continued with ardor for more than a year, had scarcely enriched
him with one benevolent idea, but had filled his head with doubts,
which, as a natural consequence with such a character, had almost found
an unfortunate road to his heart. In a word, he had entered this
labyrinth as a credulous enthusiast, had left it as a sceptic, and at
length became a perfect free-thinker.

"Among the circles into which he had been introduced there was a private
society called the Bucentauro, which, under the mask of a noble and
rational liberality of sentiment, encouraged the most unbridled
licentiousness of manners and opinion. As it enumerated many of the
clergy among its members, and could even boast of some cardinals at its
head, the prince was the more easily induced to join it. He thought
that certain dangerous truths, which reason discovers, could be nowhere
better preserved than in the hands of such persons, whose rank compelled
them to moderation, and who had the advantage of hearing and examining
the other side of the question. The prince did not recollect that
licentiousness of sentiment and manners takes so much the stronger hold
among persons of this rank, inasmuch as they for that reason feel one
curb less; and this was the case with the Bucentauro, most of whose
members, through an execrable philosophy, and manners worthy of such a
guide, were not only a disgrace to their own rank, but even to human
nature itself. The society had its secret degrees; and I will believe,
for the credit of the prince, that they never thought him worthy of
admission into the inmost sanctuary. Every one who entered this society
was obliged, at least so long as he continued to be a member of it, to
lay aside all distinctions arising from rank, nation, or religion, in
short, every general mark or distinction whatever, and to submit himself
to the condition of universal equality. To be elected a member was
indeed a difficult matter, as superiority of understanding alone paved
the way to it. The society boasted of the highest ton and the most
cultivated taste, and such indeed was its fame throughout all Venice.
This, as well as the appearance of equality which predominated in it,
attracted the prince irresistibly. Sensible conversations, set off by
the most admirable humor, instructive amusements, and the flower of the
learned and political world, which were all attracted to this point as
to their common centre, concealed from him for a long time the danger
of this connection. As he by degrees discovered through its mask the
spirit of the institution, as they grew tired of being any longer on
their guard before him, to recede was dangerous, and false shame and
anxiety for his safety obliged him to conceal the displeasure he felt.
But he already began, merely from familiarity with men of this class and
their sentiments, though they did not excite him to imitation, to lose
the pure and charming simplicity of his character, and the delicacy of
his moral feelings. His understanding, supported by real knowledge,
could not without foreign assistance solve the fallacious sophisms with
which he had been here ensnared; and this fatal poison had already
destroyed all, or nearly all, the basis on which his morality rested.
He surrendered the natural and indispensable safeguards of his happiness
for sophisms which deserted him at the critical moment, and he was
consequently left to the operation of any specious argument which came
in his way.

"Perhaps the hand of a friend might yet have been in time to extricate
him from this abyss; but, besides that I did not become acquainted with
the real character of the Bucentauro till long after the evil had taken
place, an urgent circumstance called me away from Venice just at the
beginning of this period. Lord Seymour, too, a valuable acquaintance of
the prince, whose cool understanding was proof against every species of
deception, and who would have infallibly been a secure support to him,
left us at this time in order to return to his native country. Those in
whose hands I left the prince were indeed worthy men, but inexperienced,
excessively narrow in their religious opinions, deficient in their
perception of the evil, and wanting in credit with the prince. They had
nothing to oppose to his captious sophisms except the maxims of a blind
and uninquiring faith, which either irritated him or excited his
ridicule. He saw through them too easily, and his superior reason soon
silenced those weak defenders of the good cause, as will be clearly
evinced from an instance which I shall introduce in the sequel. Those
who, subsequent to this, possessed themselves of his confidence, were
much more interested in plunging him deeper into error. When I returned
to Venice in the following year how great a change had already taken
place in everything!

"The influence of this new philosophy soon showed itself in the prince's
conduct. The more openly he pursued pleasure, and acquired new friends,
the more did he lose in the estimation of his old ones. He pleased me
less and less every day; we saw each other more seldom, and indeed he
was seldom accessible. He had launched out into the torrent of the
great world. His threshold was eternally thronged when he was at home.
Amusements, banquets, and galas followed each other in rapid succession.
He was the idol whom every one courted, the great attraction of every
circle. In proportion as he, in his secluded life, had fancied living
in society to be difficult, did he to his astonishment find it easy.
Everything met his wishes. Whatever he uttered was admirable, and when
he remained silent it was like committing a robbery upon the company.
They understood the art of drawing his thoughts insensibly from his
soul, and then with a little delicate management to surprise him with
them. This happiness, which accompanied him everywhere, and this
universal success, raised him indeed too much in his own ideas, because
it gave him too much confidence and too much reliance upon himself.

"The heightened opinion which he thus acquired of his own worth made him
credit the excessive and almost idolatrous adoration that was paid to
his understanding; which but for this increased self-complacency, must
have necessarily recalled him from his aberrations. For the present,
however, this universal voice was only a confirmation of what his
complacent vanity whispered in his ear; a tribute which he felt entitled
to by right. He would have infallibly disengaged himself from this
snare had they allowed him to take breath; had they granted him a moment
of uninterrupted leisure to compare his real merit with the picture that
was exhibited to him in this seducing mirror; but his existence was a
continued state of intoxication, a whirl of excitement. The higher he
had been elevated the more difficulty had he to support himself in his
elevation. This incessant exertion slowly undermined him; rest had
forsaken even his slumbers. His weakness had been discovered, and the
passion kindled in his breast turned to good account.

"His worthy attendants soon found to their cost that their lord had
become a wit. That anxious sensibility, those glorious truths which his
heart once embraced with the greatest enthusiasm, now began to be the
objects of his ridicule. He revenged himself on the great truths of
religion for the oppression which he had so long suffered from
misconception. But, since from too true a voice his heart combated the
intoxication of his head, there was more of acrimony than of humor in
his jests. His disposition began to alter, and caprice to exhibit
itself. The most beautiful ornament of his character, his modesty,
vanished; parasites had poisoned his excellent heart. That tender
delicacy of address which frequently made his attendants forget that he
was their lord, now gave place to a decisive and despotic tone, which
made the more sensible impression, because it was not founded upon
distinction of rank, for the want of which they could have consoled
themselves, but upon an arrogant estimation of his own superior merit.
When at home he was attacked by reflections that seldom made their
appearance in the bustle of company; his own people scarcely ever saw
him otherwise than gloomy, peevish, and unhappy, whilst elsewhere a
forced vivacity made him the soul of every circle. With the sincerest
sorrow did we behold him treading this dangerous path, but in the vortex
in which he was involved the feeble voice of friendship was no longer
heard, and he was too much intoxicated to understand it.

"Just at the beginning of this epoch an affair of the greatest
consequence required my presence in the court of my sovereign, which
I dared not postpone even for the dearest interests of friendship.
An invisible hand, the agency of which I did not discover till long
afterwards, had contrived to derange my affairs, and to spread reports
concerning me which I was obliged to contradict by my presence. The
parting from the prince was painful to me, but did not affect him. The
ties which united us had been severed for some time, but his fate had
awakened all my anxiety. I, on that account, prevailed on Baron von
F------ to inform me by letter of every event, which he has done in the
most conscientious manner. As I was for a considerable time no longer
an eye-witness of these events, it will be allowable for me to introduce
the Baron von F------ in my stead, and to fill up the gap in my
narrative by the contents of his letters. Notwithstanding that the
representation of my friend F------ is not always what I should have
given, I would not alter any of his expressions, so that the reader will
be enabled to discover the truth with very little trouble. "




LETTER I.

BARON VON F----- TO COUNT VON O---------.

May 17.

I thank you, my most honored friend, for the permission you have given
me to continue in your absence that confidential intercourse with you,
which during your stay here formed my great pleasure. You must be aware
that there is no one here with whom I can venture to open my heart on
certain private matters. Whatever you may urge to the contrary, I
detest the people here. Since the prince has become one of them, and
since we have lost your society, I feel solitary in the midst of this
populous city. Z------ takes it less to heart, and the fair ones of
Venice manage to make him forget the mortifications he is compelled to
share with me at home. And why should he make himself unhappy? He
desires nothing more in the prince than a master, whom he could also
find elsewhere. But I! --you know how deep an interest I feel in our
prince's weal and woe, and how much cause I have for doing so; I have
now lived with him sixteen years, and seem to exist only for his sake.
As a boy of nine years old I first entered his service, and since that
time we have never been separated. I have grown up under his eye--a
long intercourse has insensibly attached me more and more to him--I have
borne a part in all his adventures, great and small. Until this last
unhappy year I had been accustomed to look upon him in the light of a
friend, or of an elder brother--I have basked in his smile as in the
sunshine of a summer's day--no cloud hung over my happiness! --and all
this must now go to ruin in this unlucky Venice!

Since your departure several changes have taken place in our
establishment. The Prince of --d----- arrived here last week, with a
numerous and brilliant retinue, and has caused a new and tumultuous life
in our circle. As he is so nearly related to our prince, and as they
are moreover at present upon pretty good terms, they will be very little
apart during his sojourn, which I hear is to last until after the feast
of the Ascension. A good beginning has already been made; for the last
ten days our prince has hardly had time to breathe. The Prince of
--d---- has all along been living in a very expensive way, which was
excusable in him, as he will soon take his departure; but the worst of
the business is that he has inoculated our prince with his extravagance,
because he could not well withdraw himself from his company, and, in the
peculiar relation which exists between the two houses, thought it
incumbent upon himself to assert the dignity of his own. We shall,
moreover, depart from Venice in a few weeks, which will relieve the
prince from the necessity of continuing for any length of time this
extraordinary expenditure.

The Prince of --d-----, it is reported, is here on business of the
Order, in which he imagines that he plays an important part. That he
has taken advantage of all the acquaintances of our prince you may
readily imagine. He has been introduced with distinguished honor into
the society of the Bucentauro, as he is pleased to consider himself a
wit, and a man of great genius, and allows himself to be styled in his
correspondences, which he keeps up throughout all parts of the world,
the "prince philosophique. " I do not know whether you have ever had the
pleasure of meeting him. He displays a promising exterior, piercing
eyes, a countenance full of expression, much show of reading, much
acquired naturalness (if I may be allowed the expression), joined to a
princely condescension towards the human race, a large amount of
confidence in himself, and an eloquence which talks down all opposition.
Who could refuse to pay homage to such splendid qualities in a "Royal
Highness? " But to what advantage the quiet and sterling worth of our
prince will appear, when contrasted with these dazzling accomplishments,
the event must show.

In the arrangement of our establishment, various and important changes
have taken place. We have rented a new and magnificent house opposite
the new Procuracy, because the lodging at the Moor Hotel became too
confined for the prince. Our suite has been augmented by twelve
persons, pages, Moors, guards, etc. During your stay here you
complained of unnecessary expense--you should see us now!

Our internal arrangements remain the same as of old, except that the
prince, no longer held in check by your presence, is, if possible, more
reserved and distant towards us than ever; we see very little of him,
except while dressing or undressing him. Under the pretext that we
speak the French language very badly, and the Italian not at all, he has
found means to exclude us from most of his entertainments, which to me
personally is not a very great grievance; but I believe I know the true
reason of it--he is ashamed of us; and this hurts me, for we have not
deserved it of him.

As you wish to know all our minor affairs, I must tell you, that of all
his attendants, the prince almost exclusively employs Biondello, whom he
took into his service, as you will recollect, on the disappearance of
his huntsman, and who, in his new mode of life, has become quite
indispensable to him. This man knows Venice thoroughly, and turns
everything to some account. It is as though he had a thousand eyes,
and could set a thousand hands in motion at once. This he accomplishes,
as he says, by the help of the gondoliers. To the prince he renders
himself very useful by making him acquainted with all the strange faces
that present themselves at his assemblies, and the private information
he gives his highness has always proved to be correct. Besides this,
he speaks and writes both Italian and French excellently, and has in
consequence already risen to be the prince's secretary. I must,
however, relate to you an instance of fidelity in him which is rarely
found among people of his station. The other day a merchant of good
standing from Rimini requested an audience of the prince. The object
of his visit was an extraordinary complaint concerning Biondello. The
procurator, his former master, who must have been rather an odd fellow,
had lived in irreconcilable enmity with his relations; this enmity he
wished if possible to continue even after his death. Biondello
possessed his entire confidence, and was the repository of all his
secrets; while on his deathbed he obliged him to swear that he would
keep them inviolably, and would never disclose them for the benefit of
his relations; a handsome legacy was to be the reward of his silence.
When the deceased procurator's will was opened and his papers inspected,
many blanks and irregularities were found to which Biondello alone could
furnish a key. He persisted in denying that he knew anything about it,
gave up his very handsome legacy to the heirs, and kept his secrets to
himself. Large offers were made to him by the relations, but all in
vain; at length, in order to escape from their importunities and their
threats of legally prosecuting him he entered the service of the prince.
The merchant, who was the chief heir, now applied to the prince, and
made larger offers than, before if Biondello would alter his
determination. But even the persuasions of the prince were fruitless.
He admitted that secrets of consequence had really been confided to him;
he did not deny that the deceased had perhaps carried his enmity towards
his relations too far; but, added he, he was my dear master and
benefactor, and died with a firm belief in my integrity. I was the only
friend he had left in the world, and will therefore never prove myself
unworthy of his confidence. At the same time he hinted that the avowals
they wished him to make would not tend to the honor of the deceased.
Was not that acting nobly and delicately? You may easily imagine that
the prince did not renew his endeavors to shake so praiseworthy a
determination. The extraordinary fidelity which he has shown towards
his deceased master has procured him the unlimited confidence of his
present one!

Farewell, my dear friend. How I sigh for the quiet life we led when
first you came amongst us, for the stillness of which your society so
agreeably indemnified us. I fear my happy days in Venice are over, and
shall be glad if the same remark does not also apply to the prince. The
element in which he now lives is not calculated to render him
permanently happy, or my sixteen years' experience has deceived me.




LETTER II.

BARON VON F---- TO COUNT VON O------
June 4.

I should never have thought that our stay at Venice would have been
productive of any good consequences. It has been the means of saving a
man's life, and I am reconciled to it.

Some few evenings ago the prince was being carried home late at night
from the Bucentauro; two domestics, of whom Biondello was one,
accompanied him. By some accident it happened that the sedan, which had
been hired in haste, broke down, and the prince was obliged to proceed
the remainder of the way-on foot. Biondello walked in front; their
course lay through several dark, retired streets, and, as daybreak was
at hand, the lamps were either burning dimly or had gone out altogether.
They had proceeded about a quarter of an hour when Biondello discovered
that he had lost his way. The similarity of the bridges had deceived
him, and, instead of crossing that of St. Mark, they found themselves in
Sestiere di Castello. It was in a by-street, and not a soul was
stirring; they were obliged to turn back in order to gain a main street
by which to set themselves right. They had proceeded but a few paces
when they heard cries of "murder" in a neighboring street. With his
usual determined courage, the prince, unarmed as he was, snatched a
stick from one of his attendants, and rushed forward in the direction
whence the sound came. Three ruffianly-looking fellows were just about
to assassinate a man, who with his companion was feebly defending
himself; the prince appeared just in time to arrest the fatal blow. The
voices of the prince and his followers alarmed the murderers, who did
not expect any interruption in so lonely a place; after inflicting a few
slight wounds with their daggers, they abandoned their victim and took
to their heels. Exhausted with the unequal combat, the wounded man sunk
half fainting into the arms of the prince; his companion informed my
master that the man whose life he had saved was the Marquis Civitella,
a nephew of the Cardinal A------. As the marquis' wounds bled freely,
Biondello acted as surgeon to the best of his ability, and the prince
took care to have him conveyed to the palace of his uncle, which was
near at hand, and whither he himself accompanied him. This done, he
left the house without revealing his name.

This, however, was discovered by a servant who had recognized Biondello.
Already on the following morning the cardinal, an old acquaintance from
the Bucentauro, waited upon the prince. The interview lasted an hour;
the cardinal was much moved; tears stood in his eyes when they parted;
the prince, too, was affected. The same evening a visit was paid to the
sick man, of whose case the surgeon gives a very favorable report; the
mantle in which he was wrapped had rendered the thrusts unsteady, and
weakened their force. Since this event not a day has passed without the
prince's paying a visit at the cardinal's, or receiving one from him,
and a close intimacy has begun to exist between him and the cardinal's
family.

The cardinal is a venerable man of sixty, with a majestic aspect, but
full of gayety and good health. He is said to be the richest prelate
throughout all the dominions of the republic. He is reported to manage
his immense fortune in a very liberal manner, and, although prudently
economical, to despise none of the joys of this life. This nephew, who
is his sole heir, is not always on the best of terms with his uncle.
For, although the cardinal is anything but an enemy to youthful
pleasures, the conduct of the nephew must exhaust the utmost tolerance.
His loose principles and dissipated manner of living, aided unhappily by
all the attractions which can make vice tempting and excite sensuality,
have rendered him the terror of all fathers and the bane of all
husbands; this last attack also was said to have been caused by an
intrigue he had begun with the wife of the ambassador, without speaking
of other serious broils from which the power and the money of the
cardinal could scarcely extricate him. But for this the cardinal would
be the happiest man in Italy, for he possesses everything that can make
life agreeable; but by this one domestic misfortune all the gifts of
fortune are annulled, and the enjoyment of his wealth is embittered to
the cardinal by the continual fear of finding nobody to inherit it.

The whole of this information I have obtained from Biondello. The
prince has found in this man a real treasure. Every day he becomes more
indispensable, and we are continually discovering in him some new
talent. Some days ago the prince felt feverish and could not sleep; the
night-lamp was extinguished, and all his ringing failed to arouse the
valet-de-chambre, who had gone to sleep out of the house with an
opera-dancer. At length the prince determined to rise himself, and to
rouse one of his people. He had not proceeded far when a strain of
delicious melody met his ear. Like one enchanted, he followed the sound,
and found Biondello in his room playing upon the flute, with his
fellow-servants assembled around him. The prince could hardly believe his
senses, and commanded him to proceed. With a surprising degree of
facility he began to vary a touching adagio air with some fine extempore
variations, which he executed with all the taste of a virtuoso. The
prince, who, as you know, is a judge of music, says that he might play
with confidence in the finest choir in Italy.

"I must dismiss this man," said he to me next morning, "for I am unable
to reward him according to his merits. " Biondello, who had overheard
these words, came forward, "If you dismiss me, gracious prince," said
he, "you deprive me of my best reward. "

"You are born to something better than to serve," answered my master.
"I must not stand in the way of your fortune. "

"Do not press upon me any better fortune, gracious sir, than that which
I have chosen for myself. "

"To neglect talent like yours--No! I can never permit it. "

"Then permit me, gracious sir, sometimes to exercise it in your
presence.