The herald., 1896-02-16

being fragment OF letter written
to Count Ruzzini By Nicolo Ferrara of
Belluno, who, going to Venice in the
fiftieth year OF his age, brought the
fsshioning both of broadswords and of
rapiers to much perfection. Long
servant Of the Moro family, Nicolo
died in a room of the Palazzo Balbi, in
the year 1702, carrying with him to the
grave many cunning secrets of the art
he had go worthily adorned.l
"Body OF Bacchus, forget! AS soon
would forget the face of her that had
my first love. And yet have killed
many a man, count. The quiver of
flesh upon my blade has been meat and
drink to me often since the day slew
Marco Foscari in my fathers garden at
Bsiluno. But the work in the garden
of swords! All, that was like new wine
in my veins.
II had been in the city-bsnedetta
la mia Venezia-tive years when Giro
lamo brought the trouble TO my doors.
Tae people had learned already to ap-
plaud me; men bent the weapons of
Nicolo aud cried that the devil was in
the steel. Bat made them as the son
of Andrea taught me, and finer for
play or work never came out of Damas-
Gus.
"Itaught Girolamo and he came daily
to my house-at first to hold me in
fence with the fine conceit that I was
making him my master; after that, as
presently I was to learn, for love of
Christine, the daughter of my neigh
bor, Orio Zorzi. she had then grown
quite the woman; her beauty, though
she had coms ouiy to her fifteenth
year, was ths talk of all the painters
over upon the Guidecca. And for her,
count, l would have broken my sword,
the sword OF Andrea of Belluns, the
ike to which there is not in the world.
IL would have broken my sword for
Christiue--ay, indeed, for she was all
my company, and the day was rare
when shs did not sit at my feet in
pleasant talk after my work WAS end
ed. Often we supped out there in the
little garden with the music OF the Ia
COON in our ears. Her father, Orio,
was a widower, and O man of many oc-
cupations, as you know well. His bus
mess carried him frequently to cara,
and even to the remoter east. And he
L
his child when he was gone, for our
houses lay blcx to back under the
shadow of the new church of Our Lady
of Safety; and what fashioning and
hammering of blades l did was kept
for my shop over youder in the city
of Murano. Then, as in my later years
the setting of the sun over the waters
of Chioggia brought me always to my
home. Little Christine loved to wait
for me upon the riya; she had supper
set in that pleasant arbor whence one
may see the shores of the Lido and
the purple crowns of the Eugenaean
hills. Oh, it was good to see her thus;
the child become the woman, the little
maid playing mother. And [ have
never said her nay-not even when she
told me of Paolo Steno, and of the
words which he spoke when the Ascen-
'eior brought him to her from Torcello.
4 "For what would you? The maid
must become the wife, and the wife the
mother, as it is written. And If the
youth be honest, of good heart and
will, and the child be ready, how is the
love of an old man to come between
them? Not, be it understood, that eny
consent of mine could help her to this
happiness. Her father was hard man;
Paolo was simple fellow Of the peo-
pie, who had nothing but his honest
labor at the making of the finer glass
ware to help him. 1 foresaw trouble
from the beginning of it; ard when I
talked of the thing to Orio, his d love
for me alone permitted him to hear me
out.
"And thou, old friend, cried he, ito
talk OF this to me! What, wed her to a
lout that blows beads upon string?
My daughter. whose lap L will fill ten
times with sequins? Madonna mia,
what words.
"He went on to speak of sending her
to convent OF sisters at San Glenn
ente, and of other hard intentions; nor
had | any courage to wrestle with him
then, in the early moment OF his dis
pleasure. Itwas plain that Paolo must
come no more to my house by the
church of the Salute; and while | gave
Orio this promise, weIt in my heart
for little Christine. But oh, how cum
ming is woman-how quick to see and
mend her uisfortunes!
"'Nicolo,' said she to me that very
night a. supper, dear Nicolo'-for this
was her way of speaking-'what shall
do, how shall I live without him.
w III huOWS. ohtti w CISSl ueI
'what time may bring? nave seen men
more set than your father, and yet
turned about when month has gone
like blade in a rotten basket. Per.
chance, before the feast. you shall
dance with Paoio at Torcello, little
Christine
'She gave me no Fair word of answer;
but presently, when she mad thought,
she said to me:
"'Nicolo, thou knowest the house of
Paoio's brother Lorenzo, over il the
city yonder?'
"'As know my own, said /. for they
be close together as the pillars upon
the Piazza
"'And, Nicolo, thou knowest that
Paolo now goes every day after mass to
help Lorenzo in his work"
$50 surely, child, l know-rare the
day is that do not speak with him on
his way
"'An1 he may not come here now
when his work is done?'
"'I fear not, little friend
'She mused yet 3 little while, and
then, putting her red lips very close to
mine, che SAID:
"'NicoIo, if / may not see him here,
could | not come to watch thee make
swords? And Paolo, he would be near
Dear Nicolo, do not turn thy head
away; l know that thou lowest me. Oh
say that may come, and l will pray