3. Our Leisures To Attend On Yours
Once out in the street, Antonio took a few moments to compose himself before continuing on to the house of Capulet. After his interview with Signior Rinuccini, he was more than a little apprehensive about what he might find in Signior Capulet. But, he reminded himself, those two men could not possibly be the only two merchants in Verona. Now that he was in the city, he could always ask Signior Neri to recommend him to others.
A tiny sting of guilt pricked his conscience for leaving Signior Rinuccini so rudely, but he squashed it quickly. He had better uses for his time than to spend them in the company of such a two-faced man, and it was far better to have left early than to have stayed and risked meeting the elder son, who would presumably be as calculating and cold as his father.
The streets of Verona were narrow and twisted, and Antonio was not paying much attention to his route. As a result, he was soon lost. He wandered for a little while, and finally stumbled out onto a broad, sunny piazza with a church at one end, and a graceful little arcade on the side. A gang of youths, clearly wealthy and gently born, lounged near a fountain, and they looked at Antonio with some interest as he approached them.
"I pray ye pardon my intrusion," Antonio said. "I am a stranger in these parts, and I have lost my way. Does any one of you know the way to the house of Capulet?"
The youths stared at him as though he had just asked to be guided to the gates of Hell itself. Several of them looked uncomfortable, and one or two stifled gasps of laughter. With a sinking feeling, Antonio recalled that Verona was in the midst of a feud that involved the house of Capulet. It took no great leap of imagination to guess that these boys were of the opposing house. He would find no aid from this quarter.
Just as he was about to bid the youths farewell and move on, one skinny blond boy gave his companions a shove. "What witless apes are you," he said, though his tone was more amiable than his words. "There is no shame in giving aid to a stranger, even if the name of Capulet be invoked. I shall breathe no word to your families." He left his friends and approached Antonio, though he kept a certain distance. "That way," he said, pointing down the street at the end of the arcade. "Pass by the Prince's palace, and follow the street of great houses where the aldermen of the city do dwell. That will lead you to the house that you seek."
Antonio bowed gravely. "My thanks to you," he said, but the boy had already melted back into the crowd of his companions. He nodded to the youths and set out in the direction that the blond boy had given him.
The directions were good, and it was not long before Antonio found himself at the gate of the house of Capulet. The house was of a size with the house of Rinuccini, and seemed to have a similar orchard attached. The servant who opened the door was a short boy with red hair and freckles and a broad, cheerful grin that somehow made his loud outfit of yellow, red, black, and white seem humorous rather than tasteless. He introduced himself as Peter and did not stop talking as he led Antonio through the corridors to find the master of the house.
Signior Leonardo Capulet awaited him in a cheerful, cluttered study. Large windows let the sun shine in upon frescoed plaster walls, and books and papers and other knickknacks littered the desk. In the midst of this controlled chaos, Signior Capulet bustled about. He was a stout man of middle years, clean-shaven, and attired in a rich but comfortable-looking red robe with a fine brown surcoat. When Peter called, he turned around to greet Antonio with open arms.
"Signior Solara!" he cried. "Be welcome in my house. I have anticipated this meeting ever since I received Signior Giacosa's kind letter. Come, seat yourself. Peter, wine!" He motioned Antonio to a sturdy, padded armchair near the hearth. Peter hurried away.
Antonio relaxed at once, and even felt himself smiling, something he did not do very often. Signior Capulet fussed with some of the papers on his desk, but quickly conceded defeat. "How does Stefano Giacosa?" he asked.
"He is well, and I am sure he would thank you for the asking. "His health and his wealth both prosper and he and his lady wife have begun to consider the prospect of a bride for their son, Bassanio."
Capulet's face split into a broad grin. "That is excellent news. You may relay word to him that, should he care to travel so far from Venice as to visit an acquaintance in Verona, he is most welcome, and I will show him the beauties of our town for his son."
Antonio gave a gracious nod. "I will be sure to tell him of your offer."
Peter returned with the wine, and Capulet insisted that they drink a toast to their meeting. This formality accomplished, Capulet launched into a long description of his current business dealings. Where Rinuccini made his money primarily by speculating on luxury goods and relying on his land income to cushion him against bad guesses, Capulet had many diverse interests all over both Verona and Mantua, and relied on this variety to keep him; if one interest failed, the others would still support him. This was closer to Antonio's own method of doing business, and, while he had some desire for a partner who used other methods, he found himself nodding sympathetically as Capulet spoke.
"You have fingers in so many different markets," he ventured, when Capulet paused for breath. "Do you find much competition from your great rival?"
"Montague?" Capulet seemed startled that Antonio had raised that particular topic. "Nay, Montague does not deal in such things. We do not meet in the marketplace."
Antonio wondered what the basis of the feud was, since it did not seem to have arisen from a business rivalry, but he decided that the better part of wisdom lay in silence. At any rate, it did not appear that any partnership between himself and Capulet would be marred by the feud with the house of Montague.
Capulet seemed to sense that Antonio was moving towards securing the partnership, and his manner grew even more affable. "Come," he said, "let me show you my house. I am sure you saw almost nothing on your way inside, for Peter moves with the swiftness of youth."
This was certainly true, and Antonio accepted the offer gladly. The house was constructed in a large square around a central courtyard, where a fountain tinkled merrily. Many windows looked out onto this courtyard, some of which were opened to take advantage of the spring breezes. One entire corridor was open to the air, with only a roof to ward off rain. Servants bustled about, pausing to make reverence to the master, who acknowledged them with smiles and nods.
A blur of movement in the courtyard caught Antonio's eye, and he and Capulet glanced out a window to investigate. A striking little girl in a red velvet dress ran giggling through the courtyard, her long dark hair streaming behind her. She paused and looked up at the window. Spotting her father and his guest, she waved, then darted away to hide behind the fountain as a plump woman just coming into her middle years emerged from the house. The girl could not stifle another giggle, and the woman advanced, caught her in her arms, and started to tickle her.
Antonio was so absorbed in this scene that he started when Capulet laid a hand on his shoulder. "My daughter, Juliet," he said quietly, in a voice warmed with pride.
"A charming girl. How old is she?"
"On Lammas Eve she will be ten," Capulet said. "In her are all my hopes."
Antonio considered this information. Juliet was still young, but then, so was Bassanio. Bassanio should have more time to enjoy his youth and secure a place in the world, but by the time that he had done that, Juliet would be of an appropriate age to marry. And, as Capulet's only child, she would bring a considerable fortune of her own to the union. She seemed friendly enough, and Antonio guessed that she and Bassanio might well find happiness together.
Capulet smiled. "You seem to have an interest in her."
"Ay. She is young, but perhaps, in a few years . . . for the son of Giacosa?"
"A worthy offer," Capulet said. "I shall consider it. There are far worse fates for Juliet than to be the bride of the heir to a merchant of Venice."
Antonio nodded his agreement, and decided not to mention to Capulet that, as things stood now, Bassanio stood to inherit Antonio's fortune as well as his father's.
"Well," Capulet said, "as we are already debating marriage, it is clear that we two have much in common. Shall we seal our own partnership, and leave that of the children for another day?"
"Ay, let us do so." Antonio shook hands with Capulet, and felt entirely comfortable with the deal. For a brief moment, he felt sorry for little Valentine, but shrugged it off. Even if he had made a deal with Rinuccini, there was nothing that he could have done for the child, so it was best not to think too much about him.
"Since you and I are now partners, you must dine with my family," Capulet said. "And perhaps you will do us the honor of lodging here until you are ready to return to Venice?"
"I am currently lodging with Signior Amerigo Neri, but I suspect that he will not mind overmuch if I move," Antonio allowed.
"Splendid. Send your Moor to fetch your things."
Capulet's table was rich and fine, and it was further graced by his young wife, Isabella. It was abundantly clear how Juliet had come by her looks, for her mother was an elegant figure, with delicate features and flashing eyes. She treated her husband with respect, and if Antonio saw some distance between them, he ascribed it to the difference in their ages. The dinner was almost as pleasant as meals he had shared with Stefano, and he was more certain than ever that he had made the correct choice.
As he and Capulet spoke of Venice, he recalled one last errand, and asked Capulet for the name of the best hatmaker in Verona. Capulet chortled when he heard the reason for the request, and assigned Peter to guide Antonio there as soon as dinner was finished.
At the hatmaker's shop, Antonio browsed through a selection of hats already made, for he did not intend to stay in Verona long enough to order one made on the spot. The fashion in Verona appeared to be small felt caps, either with turned-up brims or a gently swelling crown. They were too simple to please Bassanio, or indeed anyone in Venice, but at the back of the shop, Antonio found something that was not the velvet that Bassanio had imagined but that would do quite nicely. It was a gorgeous creation of yellow silk, a padded roll around the head, wrapped in silk and strings of beads, supporting elegantly arranged and artfully slouched folds of material. It was outrageous, exotic, and extravagant, just the sort of thing that would delight Bassanio. The hatmaker noticed Antonio's interest, and smiled.
"That was ordered by the royal family," he said, "but at the last minute, I was asked to replace it in white."
"It is perfect," Antonio replied. He haggled a little with the hatmaker, and soon emerged into the afternoon sunshine with Peter trailing behind him carrying the wonderful hat wrapped carefully in a length of linen.
When he arrived at Capulet's house, he found the Moor bearing the last of his trunks inside, and another footman, called Sampson, showed him to a comfortable and well-appointed guest room.
Capulet invited a few select friends to join them for a light supper and drinks afterward in the orchard. The men were sociable and eager to her the latest news of Venice. In return, they shared information about the surrounding area, as well as the latest gossip from the court in Mantua. One had recently had the opportunity to attend that court, and spoke admiringly of the young Jew who served as one of the chief musicians. Antonio raised an eyebrow, and reminded himself to tell Stefano that his information had been true after all.
He slept deeply, worn out by the activity of the day and cradled in Capulet's excellent cushions. He woke in the morning refreshed, and took a little bit of leisure in washing and dressing himself for the day. However, when he stepped outside into the corridor, he noticed with amazement that the servants seemed excited, constantly pausing to share bits of gossip with each other.
Puzzled, Antonio made his way through the house until he found Signior Capulet in his study. Capulet seemed even more distressed than his servants, and was frantically sorting through his books. When Antonio entered, Capulet at first stared at him blankly before remembering his duties as host.
"Ah, Signior Solera," he said. "I trust you rested well?"
"I did. But what has happened? Your servants are in a mood, and you yourself appear to have much on your mind."
"Ay . . . forgive me, this is quite sudden." Capulet's focus wavered for an instant, then returned. "I do not have all of the details yet, and I fear that I must go to the Prince before long. But you should hear this news, for no reason other than that you will know the names involved. You did make a noble choice yesterday in entering an alliance with me; I know that I was not your only candidate for this position. I say this not in self-flattery, but merely to convey to you the import of the latest news of Verona."
"And what is that?"
Capulet blinked. For all his verbosity, it seemed that whatever had happened was so startling that he did not quite have the proper words to describe it.
"Such a thing has not happened in Verona before, to my knowledge," he offered. "It is an astonishment to me that it could have happened so suddenly, in the middle of the night."
Now Antonio was beginning to worry. "What is it? Has the plague come to Verona?" The city might be quarantined, and he would not be able to leave, perhaps for weeks.
Capulet looked startled, then shook his head. "Nay, nothing of the sort. The calamity is confined only to the men of business and commerce in the city. It appears that . . . Giacomo Rinuccini was banished from Verona last night."
The two men stared at each other, utterly lost for words.