LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1960, 5 June 1880, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A KING’S MESSENGER IN AN AWKWARD PREDICAMENT.

[Prom “ Charab rs’ Journal.”]

It was towards the end of 1760, when one night an English king’s messenger reached Mestro, wanting to cross over to Venice. Sir John Hawser —such was his name—was young, brave, and very highly connected, and as such, perhaps, he had been chosen by the Ministry to convey some trifling message to King George lll.’s representative in that town. After a delay that wonld seem enormous to our modern express train travellers, a gondola was manned, his luggage loaded ia it, and ac last it began to glide towards the city. He reached Venice just before dawn ; aud after a hnrried toilet and a still more hurried breakfast, Sir John delivered his packet, and began exploring the lanes end allies of this incomprehensible town. Being tolerably proficient in the language, he soon found his way to the Piazza San Marco, and was duly astonished by its peculiar aspect. Then, as now, the Piazza was the heart of the city; laws and edicts were promulgated in it; sentences were pronounced from the balcony of the Ducal Palace ; whiht beggars, singers, and others of a similar caste gave it a strange animation.

Thoroughly enjoying the freedom of walking after his long j mney by coach and gondola, Sir John indulged his rambling propensities to the full extent. Whilst he was doing so a crowd collected in front of the Ducal Palace. Naturally curious, snd having nothing else to do, he hastened to the spot, and elbowed his way to the centre. By the red pillar of the balcony an usher was reading out the sentence of some unknown felon with all the pompous circumlolntions so much in favour in those days. The wretched prisoner, just brought out of some dark cell, seemed scarcely to realise the scene, as his eyes, unused now to the light of the sun gazed vacantly on the excited mob that surrounded the low scaffold on which he was standing. The sentence having been read, the prisoner wss taken away to the gaol where he was to undergo the term of imprisonment to which he had just been condemned ; and the crowd, the sight being over, gradually dispersed. The incident was in itself very trifling, and Sir John would probably have forgotten it within a week had it not been for its strange consequences. Whilst pushing and elbowing his way in the crowd it seems that some clever pickpocket bad robbed him of his lace handkerchief It is certainly very unpleasant to be cobbed even of a valueless article ; but in this case the thief had obtained a va’nable prize ; and besides, there was for hir John Hawser the additional sting of having been robbed by an Italian. He would have been leas angry if it had happened in London ; the pickpockets there were so clever that there was no shame in being *heir victim ; but to have been plundered by a clumsy Venetian was too mnch for his equanimity, and he burst out in a torrent ot abuse. Speaking mostly in Italian, but mixing a few English anathemas in his speech, he related his loss to a few bystanders. and was advised by them to complain to the police, or rather to those officials who under the Surenisaima fulfilled the present duties of the police. Though without great faith in this plan, he followed it, and gave notice to the authorities. Ho was assured by a very stately official that he need not have no fear, and that his property would soon be fonnd and restored to him. Forced to be content with this vague consolation, he went homo to his supper and bed. For three or four days after he continued visiting the principal monuments and churches, bat wi hoat receiving any farther information about hia lace handkerchief. I have said that Sir John was yonng_ and brave ; as a con sequence, he was impassioned and fiery ; whilst being born and bred in a free-thinking, free-speaking country, he was apt to express his thoughts as they came to his mind without reflection and without fear. It ia not surprising therefore that one night, under the arcades of the Procuratie, while relating hia loss to a few friends, he should have said what he thought of the vaunted secret police of Venice. They were, he said, a lot of stupid fools, very pompons and very stately, trying to hide their ignorance and incapacity under very high-sounding phrases; but the meanest London detective was worth the whole lot of them. As to the Secret Council, he did not belive it existed at all; or if jt did, it was no better tban the rest, Ah, Sir John ! If you needs must apeak so irreverently of the Sereniasima (the Secret C ouncil), why did you not use your own language ? Why did yon express your rash thoughts in Italian ? Did yon not know that walls have ears, and that every stone in Venice is a spy ? His iriends, astonished by this sudden outburst, attributed it at first to those last glasses of vino santo they had been drinking together: but knowing full well the jealous care the Serenlssima had of its reputation, they instinctively shrank from him as from a dangerous man. Availing themselves of favourable opportunities, they disappeared round dark corners, down side alleys; and very soon Sir John fonnd himself alone. Alone 1 At least so he thought; but a silent fig ire had been following him for some time, and was now eagerly and stealthily dogging him So carefully it walked,_ so noiselessly it stepped, that for a long time Sir John did not notice this unwelcome shadow, and even when he did ho attached no importance to It. But at last ha began to feel some donbts about this follower. Nothing could be guessed from his appearance. Completely wrapped up in a dark cloak, and with a wide hat shading and concealing the upper part of his face, the man would not have been recognised by his own brother. It was only the peculiar way in which he followed, and the ability with which he availed himself of every nook and corner, that implied a danger. Fearless still, but somewhat annoyed. Sir John pursued his way through the maze of alleys that led from the Piazza to his temporary home. Determined to try to throw off his masked companion, he quickened at first his step ; but at the next turning, a glance back showed that it was no use. Having by this time reached the Ponte San Moiae—one of the innumerable bridges that cross the minor canals of Venice —he stopped on its steps to see what his shadow would do. Astonished at first by this new ruse, the man hesitated a second, but a second only, and then disappeared In the shadow of the church. Onr hero vainly strained his eyes in trying to find out whether he had really gone, or whether he was only hiding behind the oolnmns and watching. He certainly began to feel an Intense interest In this new chase, in which he seemed to be the game hnuted

down. Then, convinced that he had seen the last of hia tilent friend, he decided on continuing his way horns; and was just going to move, when a cloak was thrown oyer hia head and chest, completely gsggina him, whilst several strong arms entwined themselves round hia body and effectually pinioned him. Before he could recover bin senses, a voice whispered, in Italian, in his ear:—‘You area prisoner of the Serenis sima ; resistance is of no use.’

Even after these words, the import of which he dimly guessed, Sir John would have tried to strike one blow at least for hia life or for hia liberty ; but the cloak in which he had been wrapped up was so artistically and so securely fastened that he could not move a musolo nor utter a cry. There was no help for it. and he doggedly awaited his fate. The voices round him seemed to hold a short conference, and they then lifted him from the ground, and carrying him a short distance, deposited him in what he felt to be a gondoia. The journey wns not long, though to him it seemed an age, and very soon the rooking ration ceased. They evidently had reached their destination. A few seconds more, and he was landed in the same unceremonious manner. After depriving him of his sword and securing bis hands, his coptors released him from the folds of the mantle in which he had been almost choked. He found himself in a very small passage, dimly lighted, and intensely damp. The low ceiling, the strong stone Wtl s, ihe massive iron doors that lined it, reminded him at once of all he had heard and read about the State prisons at Venic», and his heart sank within him. Without, however, giving him much time for reflection, or asking him any questions, his captois opened one of the cells thrust him in, a’-d bolted the door. Left alone in the most absolute darkness, our friend eroped about as well ss his tied hands would allow him until he found a stone bench, on which he dropped, completely unmanned by the novelty and horror of his position, Ha had heard of prisoners being kept in these State prisons for months, even for years, without light, with just enough of the coarsest food to keep them alive, and without the shadow f a judgment. Others 'had been tried and’ oxeontfd within these dark walls, and their friends outside had never known their fate. Was he, too, going to disappear without a struggle from this world ? Was his body going to be dropped into the ‘ Canal grande ? Or was he to linger in hia cell until hia youth, his strength, and perhaps hia mind, were gone, to be released only a wreck of his former self as a warning to others ?

But, then, who could have denounced him ? Who could have an interest in destroying him in this cowardly fashion ? All the people he knew were above suspicion; and yet even the Serenisslma would not have arrested an Englishman, a king’s messenger, without some good reason. In that dreadful silence, broken only by the quiet plashing of the water on the stone walla in which he was imprisoned, his memory was particularly vivid, and recalled to his mind all the incidents i f his stay. At last he remembered those few hot foolish words he had used that very night; they, and tney alone, c .uld be the eanse of his present condition. This, however, brought no relief; it aggravated only his fears and his despondency, since he well knew what awful punishments were inflicted on those who, to use the Venetian phrase, ‘blasphemed the government.’ Having settled the cause of his arrest, he gradually fell into a dull, drowsy state of half unconsciousness, staring blindly in the darkness, listening vacantly in the vain hope of catching some sound, however faint, of that outside world he bad so recently left. The silence was as complete as the darkness that surrounded him, and hours passed without bringing any change. After a very Img time, of which he could not even guess the length, he distinctly heard a noise as of bolts and keys at his prison door ; suddenly it opened,’J’and a flood of light illuminated every corner of the dismal cell. Dazzled at first by the g’are of the torches, he could not see the men by whom they were carried ; but gradually, as his eyes grew accustomed to the light he saw they were all armed, all masked, and all dressed in blavk. In the meantime his hands had been released of their fetters, and hia guards had quietly surrounded him. Without a word, without a sound, they led him on In their midst. Through dark halls and narrow staircases, through crooked passages and low beetling doors they marched as noiselessly as a group of ghosts surrounding a mortal man. At last their goal la reached ; a door is flung open, and Sir John is ushered into a spacious rocm. At one end, on a raised platform, sit ten judges, all masked, all draped in large bla k cloaks. By their side, but a little lower down, are the scribes of this silent tribunal. Judges and scribes as motionless as if they had been staines, and not human beings. As soon as the several actors in this strange scene had reached their proper places, a man still masked, and dressed in the same dark hue, began in a monotonous slow tone to give his evidence. Thrngh muffled by the folds of hia mask, his voice was peculiarly distinct and clear, and Sir John at once knew it as the same he bad heard when he was arrested. Cold and pitiless as steel, without a tremor and without a pause, the voice repeated all the words used by the culprit when, in his rash burst of passion, he had derided and mocked the knowledge and the power of the Serenissima. Slowly and regularly the words followed e»ch other as the links of a length ened chain, as steadily as the drops of rain on a winter’s day. The pens of the scribes, creaking as they hurried over the paper, made a fit accompaniment to this recital. Except for them, all was as motionless, as still as if no human hearts were beating under those black silk mantles. It ended at last, and with a sense of relief Sir John strained his senses to see, to heir what would follow.

After a short pause, the Judge who sat at the centre of the table stood up and addressed him in these terms :— ‘ You have heard Ihe evidence against you ; now follow us and hear your sentence.’ No cross examination, no defence was allowed by the laws of this council. Hieing together as if moved by a single mind, the funeral procession followed its leader, and left the hall by the door through which Sir John had entered it. Again through the same winding passages, again down the same narrow steps, silently and noiselessly they glided like ghosts returning to their graves Surrounded by his guards, Sir John followed immediately alter the last of the Judges, wondering all the time what was to be his fate. When they had reached the lowest floor of the building, and wer*j nearing again the loathsome cell from which he had so lately been taken, the cortege divided, and Sir John was brought face to face with the senior Judge. “ You have insulted the Serenissima ; you have denied its power of punishing crime, because you had been robbed of a paltry handkerchief, and it has not been immediately found and given back to you. Now look!’ As he said these last words, the masked judge stepped on one aide and directed Sir John’s gaze to a darker corner of the dark passage. 'Xhere, hanging against the wall, was the corpse of a man, the rope that encircled his neck disappearing through the stone. Entranced by this sight, and thinking that perhaps he also was going to be hanged in the same manner by an unseen hand. Sir John felt rooted to the spot. After a short silence, the judge continued : ‘ This man was the thief; in his right hand you will find your handkerchief. Jake it. As for you, wo ought not perhaps to bo so lenient ; but in consideration of your youth, »nd of the high position yon hoi I in your country, we will overlook yonr fault. You are forgiven. Outside this gate a gondola waits for you ; it will take yon to Mestre, and thence yon will be conveyed to the frontier. Go! Bnt remember always what yon have seen to-night.’ Seizing with a trembling hand the lace handkerchief that had been the causa of so much trouble, Sir John wanted to speak, wanted to thank his unknown judge ; but before he could recover his voice, the phantoms had disappeared, and two gaolers only were by his side. Without a word, and app: t mtly without an effort, these two men opened a secret door leading to the canal, and helped the now liberated man into a gondola that was moored to the steps, and in the forepart of which lay his luggage. No word was said, no order was given ; the two gondoliers seemed to know their doty, and they silently paddled away from the palace in which Sir John had spent that dreadful night. At Mestre a coach was waiting for him. In a few hours the frontier was crossed. Then only did he begin to breathe freely. Bat for a long time afterwards he avoided any allusion to his Venetian adventure; and for many years he could not bear to speak of it.