A Foregone Conclusion | Page 2

you;" and at the
same time Don Ippolito, having removed his broad, stiff,
three-cornered hat, came forward and made a beautiful bow. He had
lost for the moment the trepidation which had marked his approach to
the consulate, and bore himself with graceful dignity.
It was in the first year of the war, and from a motive of patriotism
common at that time, Mr. Ferris (one of my many predecessors in

office at Venice) had just been crossing his two silken gondola flags
above the consular bookcase, where with their gilt lance-headed staves,
and their vivid stars and stripes, they made a very pretty effect. He
filliped a little dust from his coat, and begged Don Ippolito to be seated,
with the air of putting even a Venetian priest on a footing of equality
with other men under the folds of the national banner. Mr. Ferris had
the prejudice of all Italian sympathizers against the priests; but for this
he could hardly have found anything in Don Ippolito to alarm dislike.
His face was a little thin, and the chin was delicate; the nose had a fine,
Dantesque curve, but its final droop gave a melancholy cast to a
countenance expressive of a gentle and kindly spirit; the eyes were
large and dark and full of a dreamy warmth. Don Ippolito's prevailing
tint was that transparent blueishness which comes from much shaving
of a heavy black beard; his forehead and temples were marble white; he
had a tonsure the size of a dollar. He sat silent for a little space, and
softly questioned the consul's face with his dreamy eyes. Apparently he
could not gather courage to speak of his business at once, for he turned
his gaze upon the window and said, "A beautiful position, Signor
Console."
"Yes, it's a pretty place," answered Mr. Ferris, warily.
"So much pleasanter here on the Canalazzo than on the campos or the
little canals."
"Oh, without doubt."
"Here there must be constant amusement in watching the boats: great
stir, great variety, great life. And now the fine season commences, and
the Signor Console's countrymen will be coming to Venice. Perhaps,"
added Don Ippolito with a polite dismay, and an air of sudden anxiety
to escape from his own purpose, "I may be disturbing or detaining the
Signor Console?"
"No," said Mr. Ferris; "I am quite at leisure for the present. In what can
I have the honor of serving you?"
Don Ippolito heaved a long, ineffectual sigh, and taking his linen
handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his forehead with it, and rolled it
upon his knee. He looked at the door, and all round the room, and then
rose and drew near the consul, who had officially seated himself at his
desk.
"I suppose that the Signor Console gives passports?" he asked.

"Sometimes," replied Mr. Ferris, with a clouding face.
Don Ippolito seemed to note the gathering distrust and to be helpless
against it. He continued hastily: "Could the Signor Console give a
passport for America ... to me?"
"Are you an American citizen?" demanded the consul in the voice of a
man whose suspicions are fully roused.
"American citizen?"
"Yes; subject of the American republic."
"No, surely; I have not that happiness. I am an Austrian subject,"
returned Don Ippolito a little bitterly, as if the last words were an
unpleasant morsel in the mouth.
"Then I can't give you a passport," said Mr. Ferris, somewhat more
gently. "You know," he explained, "that no government can give
passports to foreign subjects. That would be an unheard-of thing."
"But I thought that to go to America an American passport would be
needed."
"In America," returned the consul, with proud compassion, "they don't
care a fig for passports. You go and you come, and nobody meddles.
To be sure," he faltered, "just now, on account of the secessionists, they
do require you to show a passport at New York; but," he continued
more boldly, "American passports are usually for Europe; and besides,
all the American passports in the world wouldn't get you over the
frontier at Peschiera. You must have a passport from the Austrian
Lieutenancy of Venice,"
Don Ippolito nodded his head softly several times, and said,
"Precisely," and then added with an indescribable weariness, "Patience!
Signor Console, I ask your pardon for the trouble I have given," and he
made the consul another low bow.
Whether Mr. Ferris's curiosity was piqued, and feeling himself on the
safe side of his visitor he meant to know why he had come on such an
errand, or whether he had some kindlier motive, he could hardly have
told himself, but he said, "I'm very sorry. Perhaps there is something
else in which I could be of use to you."
"Ah, I hardly know," cried Don Ippolito.