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The Glassblower of Murano - Marina Fiorato [18]

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found it necessary to make many trips to the Palazzo Vescovo in the months before the wedding, to discuss those all-important pigments. Sometimes he saw the Prince as well as his daughter. But mostly he saw the Principessa alone. These were very important matters, you understand. It was crucial to get such things absolutely right.

A week before her wedding it was discovered that the Principessa Angelina dei Vescovi was with child. The Principessa's tiring maid, a tool and spy of the Prince, observed her mistresses' linens, which remained a blanched white throughout the time of her monthly courses. The wench reported the Principessa's pregnancy to the Prince almost before Angelina knew of it herself. The betrothal was broken on grounds of ill health, and Angelina was spirited away, in the utmost secrecy, to her father's estates in Vicenza for her confinement. In an effort to salvage his daughter's reputation, the Prince threatened his servants with death if any word were breathed back in Venice of Angelina's disgrace. Corradino, in a clandestine visit to the palace to see Angelina, found himself met by two of the Prince's gentlemen and carted upstairs to the Prince's study. There he had a brief and bitter interview with Nunzio del Vescovi in which he was told in no uncertain terms that it was more than his life was worth either to attempt to contact Angelina again or to remain in the city. So harsh were the Prince's words, so belittling of Corradino's status, that he instantly lost all semblance of the nobility he had regained when he had first been received at the palace. He felt, now, that his talents were no match for the riches and the standing of the Prince, which he had once had and now lost. In years to come his mind would not let him remember many of the Prince's bitter words, but one exchange would not leave his memory.

After Nunzio had spent his rage he turned his back on Corradino and looked out over the lagoon. In a soft, defeated voice, he had said; `Sometimes, Signor Manin, even by touching something beautiful, we ruin it for ever. I)id you know that a butterfly, that most wondrous of insects, can never again fly once her wings have been touched by the fingers of man? The scales of her wings fall away, and they are useless. This you have done to my daughter.'

This sentiment, and the notion that Corradino was capable of destroying the beauty he had always striven to create, somehow frightened him more than anything else the Prince had said. For the second time in his life, Corradino fled in real fear back to Murano.

Corradino blamed the Libro D'oro, The Book of Gold. In 1376, in recognition of the skill of glassblowers and their value to the Republic, it had been decreed that the daughter of a glassblower could marry the son of a noble. But no such dispensation was given for the daughter of a noble to marry a humble glassblower, even one that came from noble stock. There was no future for Corradino and Angelina. Corradino returned to Murano with no idea of how the affair had been discovered, or of the child that he had fathered. He confided only in his dearest friend and mentor, who advised him to stay on Murano lest the Prince should make good his threat to seek revenge.

For two years Corradino heard nothing of his lover and worked as if a demon rode his back. Then he was given a dispensation to go into Venice to make a reliquary for the Basilica of San Marco and deemed it safe to return at last. On his first day in the city for two years he contrived to see Nunzio dei Vescovi.

His entry into the Palazzo del Vescovi was quite different this time. The grand doors to the water stood open as Corradino's gondola drew near - one partly unhinged and hacked for firewood. The great salons stood empty; looted of all their riches, the rich draperies rat-nibbled or torn down. No servants remained, and as Corradino mounted the rotting stairs he began to guess why.

The stench of the sickroom brought bile rising to Corradino's throat. Twisted on the bed lay Nunzio del Vescovi, cocooned in his vile coverlet, half his

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