St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1888-03-08
MISCELLANY.
THE MISER'S HAND.
A Legend of Michael Angelo.

The Italians have many pretty
stories which they tell one to another
as they sit about talking to each other
in friendly way of an evening. Here
is one that they tell, and it is favOE-
lite with them =
One evening in the year 1920, a fe-
male, completely envelOped in long
black mantle, was walking toward the
Rialto bridge, Gin Venice. Her steps
were weak and uneven, and at inter-
walls she looked around with hurried
frightened look.
She paused at the centre of the
bridge and looked down with a shud
der on the clear, blue waters of the
Adriatic. Then closing her eyes and
murmuring family, "AntoniO, my An
tonic, adieu," she prepared to throw
herself over the parapet.
Just as she was falling a man rushed
forward, seized her with a powerful
grasp, and, drawing her back, said:
''Girl, destroy not the life which has
been given youl If you are unhappy
enter your church, kneel on its hal
lowed pavement, pour out your sorrow
and thank your Maker that you have
been prevented from rushing uncalled
into his presence"
By degrees she told HIN who she
was and where she lived. Her history
might be summed up in few words:
An avaricious father, poor lover, Il
mutual but unhappy love. Vainly had
Maria pleaded with her father, rich
innkeeper in Venice, the cause of her
lover, Antonio BarbarigO, the hand
soonest gondOlier plying beneath the
Bridge of Signs.
At length, this evening, her father,
Giannettini, so far forgot himself as to
strike his daughter with some violence,
and she, with a far more culpable neg
lect of her duty, fed from her home,
and, as we have seen, was arrested on
the verge of suicide.
The person who had saved her led
her gently to her home, and having
given her up to her father seated him
self in an obscure corner of the hostel
ry.
Giannettini received his child with
rude reprOaches and, bidding her re-
tire to her own apartments, he cast a
suspicious glance at the person who
had brought her home, whose stout,
manly figure and firm cOuntenance,
however, deferred the innkeeper from
addressing him in hostile manner.
AS Maria turned to depart a young
goDdolier appeared at the door, and
furtively approaching her said:
DEAREST Dearest !"
Giannettini rushed forward, shout
ing
"Out of this Out of my house, beg
garm
"Certainly, you are rich," replied the
young man; "but what binders that l
should not become so, to? A stout
arm, a brave heart, an honest soul,
will, with the help of heaven do much"
ga lovers dream!"
The man in the corner had listened
attentively to this dialogue. He arose
and touching BarbOrigO's shoulder,
said
"Well spoken, gondolier. Courage
brings success, and struggling, con-
quest. Maria shall be thy WIFE"
"Never!" cried Giannettini.
"Well," said the unknown, turning
disdainfully toward him, ''if this youth
could lay down six hundred pistoles,
would you object to the marriage 2"
SO saying, he drew from his pocket
bit of parchment and crayon, and
turning to a table began rapidly to
sketch a mans hand. 1t was repre-
scented open, impatient, with a hollow
ed palm, as if expecting shower of
gold pieces. 1t had, so to speak, an
avariciOus expression, and one of the
fingers was circled with massive ring.
"'Tis my handI" cried Giannettini.
"And your history" said the artist.
Giving the sketch to Antonio, the
author desired him to carry it to Pietro
Benvolo, librarian at the Palace of st.
Mark, and demand in exchange for it
six hundred pstoles.
"Six hundred fools heads !" cried the
inn keeper. 'T would not give a zee
chin for it,"
An hour passed, then hasty, joyous
steps were heard, and Antonio appear
ed, bearing in his hand a bag and a
letter. The bag contained six hun
dred pistoles, and the letter was adj
dressed to the artist and prayed him to
honor him, the librarian, with a visit.
''Take these coins and weigh them,"
said the unknown, as he threw the bag
toward Giannettini.
Antonio Barbarigo stood before his
benefactor, pale and trembling with
joy.
lone favor more," he said; ''who
are you 2"
"Men call me Michael Angelo !"
AS to the crayOn sketch of the mi
ser's hand, it was taken from Italy by
IL soldier in Napoleon's army and
placed in the Louvre. During the in
vasion of 1914 it was unfortunately
lost, and, so far as can be ascertained,
has never been recovered. The story
of its production still fingers among
the traditions of Venice.