All these matters were
against him, and people wondered why old Angelo kept the waif in his
service, since he would have engaged any one out of a hundred young
fellows of Murano, all belonging to the almost noble caste of the
glass-workers, all good Christians, all trustworthy, and all ready to
promise that the lovely Marietta should never make the slightest
impression upon their respectfully petrified hearts. But Angelo had not
been accustomed to consider what his neighbours might think of him or
his doings, and most of his neighbours and friends abstained with
singular unanimity from thrusting their opinions upon him. For this,
there were three reasons: he was very rich, he was the greatest living
artist in working glass, and he was of a choleric temper. He confessed
the latter fault with great humility to the curate of San Piero each
year in Lent, but he would never admit it to any one else. Indeed, if
any of his family ever suggested that he was somewhat hasty, he flew
into such an ungovernable rage in proving the contrary that it was
scarcely wise to stay in the house while the fit lasted. Marietta alone
was safe. As for her brothers, though the elder was nearly forty years
old, it was not long since his father had given him a box on the ears
which made him see simultaneously all the colours of all the glasses
ever made in Murano before or since.
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