2. This Childhood Proof
Antonio rose early, as he had intended, but found that luck was not with him at the start of his journey. Two young noblemen of his acquaintance, Salarino and Solanio, appeared at his door with urgent pleas for advice. They had spent the previous evening amusing themselves in the ghetto, and had teased one young girl, saying that she was pretty enough that they would have to carry her off to the nuns for conversion. Unfortunately, the girl had run home in tears, and now her father had sent his servant to the houses of Salarino and Solanio with messages summoning both of them to the Doge's court. Salarino and Solanio were certain that they would be amerced a heavy fine, and clamored to Antonio, begging his help to pay it.
Though he knew he should not waste the daylight hours, Antonio had never been able to refuse a handsome young man anything. He bade his boatman tarry a while, and set off for the Rialto, scattering a large flock of pigeons as he passed through the Piazza San Marco. On the Rialto, Solanio pointed the girl's father out to Antonio. Not wishing to prolong the confrontation, Antonio marched smartly up to the usurer and whipped the red cap from his head.
"Give me my hat, sir," the Jew said, in a tone that was clipped but still polite.
"I shall give you that," Antonio replied, "and more besides. I am to understand that you have threatened my friends with the punishment of the Doge's court, Shylock."
"Ay, sir," Shylock said. "They did make threats against my daughter, and I will have justice."
"But not from the Doge. Think you that he would accept the accusation of a faithless Jew against two youths of such gentle birth as these?"
Shylock scowled. "They did threaten my daughter. I will have justice."
"And if the Doge were to judge that true justice required that your daughter become a Christian, as my friends have suggested? For I can find those who will whisper such wisdom in his ear." Antonio carefully kept his expression neutral as Shylock's scowl deepened. No one spoke for a moment.
Finally, Shylock gave a grunt. "Very well. I shall withdraw my suit and my daughter."
Antonio returned the cap and gave Shylock a friendly clap on the shoulder. Shylock twisted away and made a show of returning to his business. Antonio beckoned to Salarino and Solanio, and the trio left the Rialto for a quieter corner. "Look you that you do not anger the Jew again," Antonio said. "Stay clear of his daughter. She is not worth the trouble."
"Perhaps not now," Salarino said. "But when she is grown, may we not revisit the matter?"
Antonio glanced at the heavens for strength. "Do as you wish when that time is come. But prithee, do not delay me further."
The youths bowed to him, and he hurried back to his home. As he had instructed, his coach was still waiting for him, but the sun had risen high in the sky. With an exasperated curse at the stubbornness of Shylock, Antonio sat back as the boat glided out on its late start.
He had hoped to make it as far as Longare in his first day of travel, but settled for Padua instead. As his page ran to an inn to arrange lodging, Antonio glanced around the square where the coachman had paused to water the horses. From the window of the coach, he could see the back gate of the house where his merchant colleague Baptista dwelled. He would have to invite Baptista to join him for a drink that evening, Antonio mused.
A maid was busy doing something in the garden, though Antonio could not quite see what that task was. While her back was turned, the gate opened, and a little blonde girl of no more than four or five years peeked out. Seeing that no one objected, she ventured one step out, revealing a pretty, though highly impractical, white dress. She chewed thoughtfully on the end of her little plait and contemplated the large world outside her doorstep. Antonio smiled to see her. He had always had a secret fondness for children, even though he had never cared to find a wife and beget any of his own.
As he watched, a pack of slightly older boys charged across the square. Upon seeing the little girl all dressed in spotless white, they hooted and laughed. Then, one seized up a handful of mud from the street and tossed it. The little girl could not twist out of the way in time, and in an instant, her beautiful white skirt bore a filthy, dripping stain. Her face screwed up, and she began to cry.
The maid did not appear to notice, but someone else did. A cry of rage shrilled across the square, and the boys grew even more excited.
"Ho, Katharina!" they cried. "Look where she comes!"
Another girl, clearly the older sister of the little one, charged out of the gate, her dark hair flying loose from its pins. With a shriek of fury, she launched herself at the boys. Most of them scattered, but one unlucky lad went down in the mud beneath Katharina's fists. His fellows cheered, though Antonio could not tell whether they backed him or Katharina. He himself gave a small and secret cheer for the tomboyish girl bravely defending her sister's honor.
Just as Katharina rubbed her opponent's nose in the dirt, the gate opened, and Signior Baptista himself came out into the street. He pulled his older daughter off of the boy, who took the opportunity to scurry away with his companions. Baptista leaned down, and began to scold Katharina in a tone of hushed fury, ending with a firm swat to her backside. Then he turned around and picked up his younger daughter. In a manner as gentle as his manner with Katharina had been harsh, he dried her tears and petted her hair as he carried her back inside the gate. Katharina watched them go with a scowl on her face, then flounced inside after them.
Antonio heard the gate slam, and then all was silent in the street once more. After a moment's thought, he decided not to invite Baptista for drinks, after all.
After Padua, Antonio stayed another night in Vicenza, and the coach reached Verona that evening. Antonio looked at the letters that Stefano had given him. He was to lodge with Signior Amerigo Neri and call upon the two merchants the next day. Signior Neri welcomed him warmly, claiming that any friend of Stefano Giacosa was welcome in his house.
"I only regret that my daughter is no longer here to welcome you," he said. "She would sing and accompany herself upon the lute, so sweetly that one would think that an angel from Heaven had been sent down to entertain us mortals on earth."
"I am sorry to hear of her absence," Antonio said. "Is she dead?"
"Dead?" Signior Neri laughed. "Nay, she is married. To Count Orsino, a fine match, and I am glad of it. But still, I miss her sweet presence in my home."
Antonio smiled at the doting father, and eagerly accepted his offer of a light supper. After they had eaten, he showed Signior Neri the letters of introduction that Stefano had written.
Signior Neri looked over both letters, and his eyebrows crawled slowly towards his hairline. When he had finished, he blew out a breath of admiration. "You aim high, Signior Solera," he said.
"Do I?" Antonio studied Signior Neri's dubious expression. "Will you tell me of your doubts, sir? For you are more acquainted with these gentlemen than I."
"I am," Signior Neri replied, "and that is only because my income derives from certain estates of land that I hold outside Verona's walls. These are proud men, Signior Solera, and in truth, I know not if they count each other more as friends or rivals. You would do well to tread with caution when you speak of business matters, but I wager that you will find both men well disposed to hear your suit."
"And if you were in my position?" Antonio asked. "With which one would you choose to throw in your fortune?"
Signior Neri pursed his lips together in thought for several long moments. "Signior Capulet," he said at last, "though he is entangled in the quarrel that divides our city. The other . . . well, you shall meet him on the morrow, and then you may make your own judgement in the matter."
Antonio took care dressing himself in the morning, and spent the early hours in pleasant conversation with his host as his Moor went ahead to the houses of the two merchants. When the Moor returned, Antonio summoned two more pages to attend him, gave the Moor a chest of samples to carry, and set out first for the house of Signior Giacomo Rinuccini.
The house was large and regal, and Antonio recalled that Signior Rinuccini had some family connection to the royal house of Verona as well as relations in Mantua. That would be useful, and it was certainly a point in Rinuccini's favor. The servant who opened the door was tall and handsome, and was of such noble bearing that he might almost have been mistaken for the master of the house himself. He nodded politely to the Moor, then turned to Antonio.
"I am Domenico," he said. "If it please you sir, my master awaits you within."
Antonio allowed Domenico to guide his little party along, and took advantage of the walk to glance over the household. The furnishings were rich and of impeccable taste, and Antonio caught a glimpse of a charming fruit orchard through one of the windows. It was clear that Signior Rinuccini was a man who did not hesitate to display his wealth, but did not flaunt it too overtly in the faces of his guests. This was the sort of man with whom Antonio enjoyed doing business, and he found himself looking forward to meeting the Signior.
After a short walk, Domenico ushered them into a small receiving room. A fire crackled in the hearth, lending a warm glow to the exquisite wood paneling. Antonio's host was seated in a chair by the fire, and he rose immediately to greet his guest.
"Signior Solara," Rinuccini said, his voice as dark and smooth as the wood of his receiving room. "I am honored to make your acquaintance, particularly after the words that my friend Stefano Giacosa has written concerning you." He smiled, and the waxed tips of his mustache bobbed a little. Antonio noted the tips and wondered if the man had connections in Rheims as well, or even Paris.
"The honor is mine, sir," he replied. Rinuccini offered him a second chair and sent Domenico to fetch wine. The chair was broad and comfortable, which Antonio's sore back appreciated. Rinuccini seated himself with a flourish of his green brocaded robe. He made some pleasant remarks about the weather, and inquired about Antonio's journey. In only a short time, Domenico reappeared with the wine.
"To your health, Signior Solara," Rinuccini said, "and to a profitable meeting." Antonio smiled, and the two men drank. The wine was excellent, and Antonio said so.
"It is from my own vineyards," Rinuccini replied. "That is part of my secret. I have lands and estates that provide well enough for my family that I can afford to speculate. The proper courage in that matter can bring handsome rewards."
Antonio looked around him at the rich surroundings, equal to anything he would have expected of a man of similar station in Venice. "So it appears," he said. Rinuccini was clearly a shrewd man, and the prospect of forging an alliance with him was looking more attractive with each passing moment. "You have built an empire," he observed.
Rinuccini smiled, then laughed out loud. "Ay, you are correct, though perhaps your Doge would not be pleased to hear the comparison. But there is more to it. As any good emperor must, I have begotten myself heirs, and I am certain that they will raise my empire to new heights."
"Oh?" Antonio's interest was piqued.
"Unfortunately, my elder son is not at home today," Rinuccini said. "But allow me to present the younger." He turned to his servant. "Domenico, fetch Valentine to me."
Domenico bowed, and left the room. He returned a few moments later with Valentine in tow. The boy seemed young, perhaps seven or eight, but he was already possessed of a natural grace, and Antonio was sure he would be heartbreakingly handsome when he grew up. Valentine stood just inside the doorway, his eyes darting nervously back and forth between his father and the stranger.
"Come forward, Valentine." Rinuccini's voice was still as smooth and soft as silk, but Valentine suddenly took on the appearance of a deer that has smelled the scent of hunters on the breeze. He took one hesitant step forward, then another, edging a little closer to Antonio each time. There was something troubling about that, but Antonio pushed it to the back of his mind.
"This man is my guest, a great merchant from Venice itself," Rinuccini said. "I would have thee speak for him. Give us a piece that thou hast learned."
Valentine swallowed, then placed his hands behind his back. In a soft clear voice that shook a little at first, but then steadied, he began to recite.
"The eyes I spoke of once in words that burn,
The arms and hands and feet and lovely face
That took me from myself for such a space
Of time and marked me out from other men . . ."
Antonio was familiar with the sonnet, and Valentine spoke it well. He was obviously a clever child, well trained and eager to please. Antonio liked him at once, but could not help but notice the glances that Valentine shot towards his father. It took him a few moments to make the connection, but one glance of his own at Rinuccini's stony face left no room for doubt. Valentine was not merely shy; he was terrified of his father.
"Here let my loving song come to a close;" Valentine recited,
"The vein of my accustomed art is dry,
And this, my lyre, turned at last to tears."
"Bravo!" Antonio said, and smiled at the boy. Valentine managed a charming, nervous half-smile, then fled the room. Antonio heard a sharp intake of breath, and looked around just in time to see ice cold anger on Rinuccini's face before the man composed himself into the genial host he had been when Antonio had first laid eyes on him.
An image flashed in his mind of Bassanio at Valentine's age. Though Stefano had not been the sort to spoil his son with too much attention, Bassanio had always been lively, confident, and a great friend to his father's guests, eager to show off and be praised. By contrast, Valentine's pinched, frightened expression distressed Antonio deeply.
"Shall I show you the storehouses?" Rinuccini asked, calm and unctuous once more.
Suddenly, Antonio did not want to be in the same room with the man any longer than necessary. He gazed at Rinuccini's meticulously groomed beard and sumptuous clothing, and saw only a frightened child.
"Nay, I have seen enough," Antonio said. "I thank you for your hospitality, and I shall trouble you no longer."
Something shifted in Rinuccini's face, and for an instant, Antonio caught a glimpse of the same icy fury that Rinuccini had turned on his son. But that coldness was gone in an instant. Rinuccini bowed deeply. "Of course," he said. "Domenico will show you to the door."
Gratefully, Antonio left that house and set off to visit Signior Capulet.