قراءة كتاب Arethusa
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"
serviceable to stronger men.
Zeno took the letter and glanced towards the harbour, far to the right of his house. Omobono made a short step backwards, but kept his eyes fixed on the paper.
'No foreign vessel has anchored to-day,' said the merchant; 'who brought this?'
'The captain of a Venetian ship, sir, which is anchored outside, before the Port of Theodosius.'
Zeno nodded carelessly as he cut the string. The letter was written on strong cotton paper from Padua, folded six times and secured by twisted hemp threads, of which the final knot had been squeezed into red wax and flattened under a heavy seal. Omobono watched his employer quietly, hoping to learn that he had rightly guessed the correspondent's name. Zeno, intent on reading, paid no attention to the secretary, who gradually edged nearer until he could almost make out the words.
This was what Zeno read, in very long sentences and in the Venetian dialect:—
Most Beloved and Honoured Friend—I despatch this writing by the opportunity of Sebastian Cornèr's good ship, sailing to-morrow, with the help of God, for Constantinople with a cargo of Florence cloth, Dalmatian linen, crossbows, Venetian lace, straw hats, and blind nightingales. May the Lord preserve the vessel, the crew, and the cargo from those unmentionable dogs of Genoese, and bring all safely to the end of the voyage within two months. The cloth, lace, and straw hats are mine, the rest of the cargo belongs to Sebastian Cornèr, except the nightingales, which are a gift from the Most Serene Republic to his majesty the Emperor, together with the man who takes care of the birds. What I say of my share in the cargo, most noble friend, is not as in the way of boasting myself a wealthy merchant, for indeed I am by no means rich, though by my constant industry, my sleepless watchfulness, and my honest dealing I have saved a crust of bread. Nay, I say it rather because I come with a request to you, and in order that you may know that there will be money due to me in Constantinople for the sale of this cargo, through the house of Marin Cornèr, the brother of Sebastian, who will pay you on your demand, most beloved and honoured friend, the sum of three hundred gold ducats. For I feel sure that you will undertake the business I ask, for love of me and a commission of a lira of piccoli for each ducat. I desire, in fact, that you will buy for me the most handsome slave that can be had for the money I offer, or even, if the girl were surpassingly beautiful, for three hundred and fifty ducats. The truth is, most noble friend, that my wife, who is, as you know, ten years older than I, and impeded by rheumatisms, is in need of a youthful and accomplished companion to help her to pass the time, and as I have always made it my duty and my business to fulfil and even, as in the present case, to anticipate her wishes, I am willing to spend this large sum of money for the sole purpose of pleasing her. Moreover I turn to you, most dear sir and friend, well knowing that your kindness is only matched by your fine taste. My wife would, I am sure, prefer as a companion a girl with fine natural hair, either quite black or very fair, the red auburn colour being so common here as to make one almost wish that women would not dye their hair at all. My dear and honoured friend, the teeth are a very important matter; pray give your most particular attention to their whiteness and regularity, for my wife is very fastidious. And also, I entreat you, choose a slave with small ankles, not larger than you can span with your thumb and middle finger. My wife will care less about a very small waist, though if it be naturally slender it is certainly a point of beauty. In all this, dearest sir, employ for love of me those gifts of discernment with which heaven has so richly endowed you, and I trust you will consider the commission a fair one. Sebastian Cornèr, who is an old man, will take charge of the slave and bring her to Venice, if you will only see that she is properly protected and fed until he is ready to sail, and this at the usual rate. I have also agreed with him that she is not to be lodged in the common cabin with the other female slaves whom he will bring from the Black Sea on his own account, but separately and with better food, lest she should grow unpleasingly thin. Yet it is understood that his regular slave-master is to be responsible for her protection, and will watch over her behaviour during the voyage. This, my most worthy, dear and honourable sir and friend, is the commission which I beg you to undertake; and in this and all your other affairs I pray that the hand of Providence, the intercession of the saints, and the wisdom of the one hundred and eighteen Nicene fathers may be always with you. From Venice. Marco Pesaro to the most noble patrician, Carlo Zeno, his friend. The fourteenth day of March in the year 1376.
Zeno smiled repeatedly as he read the letter, but he did not look up till he had finished it. His eyes met those of his secretary, who was now much nearer than before.
'Omobono,' said Zeno gravely, 'curiosity is unbecoming in a man of your years. With your grey beard and solemn air you are as prying and curious as a girl.'
Omobono looked contritely at his folded hands and moved the left one slowly within the right.
'Alas, sir,' he answered, 'I know it. I would that these hands held but a thousandth part of what my eyes have seen.'
'They would be rich if they did,' observed Zeno bluntly. 'It is fortunate that with your uncommon taste for other men's affairs you can at least keep something to yourself. Since you have no doubt mastered the contents of this letter as well as I——'
The good man protested.
'Indeed, sir, how could I have read a single word at this distance? Try for yourself, sir, for your eyes are far younger and better than mine.'
'Younger,' answered Zeno, 'but hardly better. And now send for Barlaam, the Syrian merchant, and bid him come quickly, for he may do business with me before the sun sets.'
'He will not do business to-day,' answered Omobono. 'This is Friday, which the Muslemin keep holy.'
'So much the worse for Barlaam. He will miss a good bargain. Send for Abraham of Smyrna, the Jewish caravan-broker.'
'He will not do business either,' said Omobono, 'for to-morrow is Sabbath, and Shabbes begins on Friday evening.'
'In the name of the blessed Mark our Evangelist, then send me some Christian, for Sunday cannot begin on Friday, even in Constantinople.'
'There is Rustan Karaboghazji, the Bokharian,' suggested Omobono.
Zeno looked sharply at the secretary.
'The slave-dealer?' he enquired.
Omobono nodded, but he reddened a little, poor man, and looked down at his hands again, for he had betrayed himself, after protesting that he knew nothing of the contents of the letter. Zeno laughed gaily.
'You are a good man, Omobono,' he said. 'You could not deceive a child. Do you happen to have heard that Rustan has what Messer Marco wants?'
But Omobono shook his head and grew still redder.
'Indeed, sir,—I—I do not know what your friend wants—I only guessed——'
'A very good guess, Omobono. If I could guess the future as you can the present, I should be a rich man. Yes, send for Rustan. I believe he will do better for me than the Jew or the Mohammedan.'
'They say here that it takes ten Jews to cheat a Greek, and ten Greeks to cheat a Bokharian, sir,' said Omobono.
'To say nothing of those Genoese swine who cheat the whole Eastern Empire! What chance have we poor Venetians in such a place?'
'May heaven send the Genoese the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah, and the halter of
