"
The Doge continued to stare on the speaker with the fixedness of regard
that one might be supposed to fasten on a creature of unearthly existence.
"Melchior," he said slowly, turning his eyes from one to the other of the
forms that filled them, for Sigismund had advanced to the side of Maso, in
kind concern for the old man's condition,--"Melchior, we are but feeble
and miserable creatures in the hand of one who looks upon the proudest and
happiest of us, as we look upon the worm that crawls the earth! What are
hope, and honor, and our fondest love, in the great train of events that
time heaves from its womb, bringing forth to our confusion? Are we proud?
fortune revenges itself for our want of humility by its scorn. Are we
happy? it is but the calm that precedes the storm. Are we great? it is but
to lead us into abuses that will justify our fall. Are we honored stains
tarnish our good names, in spite of all our care!"
"He who puts his trust in the Son of Maria need never despair!" whispered
the worthy clavier touched nearly to tears by the sudden distress of one
whom he had learned to respect.
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