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until the end of the party, which lasted until midnight, and she listened to his words more eagerly than to the gospel, even when they were addressed to other people and not herself. As you may imagine, Baldassare was asked more about his voyages, deeds, and constant dangers than anything else, and he spoke of them with such decorum and serenity that everyone tookgreat pleasure in listening to him. In reality all his stories were dedicated to one listener only, and she did not let one breath of his words escape her. With such ease did he talk about the strangest adventures that his listeners were led to believe they themselves must have actually experienced them. Nor did he place himself too much in the foreground, as seafarers, especially young ones, are won’t to do. Only one time, when he was recounting a battle with African pirates, did he mention a wound—its scar ran diagonally across his left shoulder—and Margherita held her breath as she listened, fascinated and horrified at the same time.
    At the end of the party he accompanied her and her father to their gondola, bade them farewell, and remained standing for a long time, gazing at the torch of the gondola as it glided over the dark lagoon. Only after he completely lost sight of the gondola did he return to his friends in the arbor of a tavern, where the young cavaliers, and also some pretty maids, spent the rest of the warm night drinking yellow Greek wine and sweet red. Among them was Giambattista Gentarini, one of the richest young men of Venice, who enjoyed life to the hilt. He approached Baldassare, touched his arm, and said with a laugh, “I had really hoped that you would tell us tonight about your amorous affairs during your voyages! Now there’s probably no chance of this since the beautiful Cadorin has stolen your heart. But you better know that this beautiful lady is made of stone and has no soul. She’s like one of Giorgione’s paintings. Though you truly can’t find much fault with his women, they’re not made out of flesh and blood. They exist only for our eyes. Seriously, I advise you to keep away from her—or would you like to become the laughingstock of the Cadorinian family and the third to be rejected?”
    In response, Baldassare only laughed and did not feel compelled to justify his actions. He emptied a couple of glasses of the sweet, oil-colored Cyprian wine and went home earlier than his friends.
    The very next day at the proper hour, he visited old Signore Cadorin in his small pretty palace and sought as best he could to make himself acceptable and to win the father’s favor. In the evening he serenaded Margherita with many singers and musicians and had some success—she stood listening at the window and even appeared for a short time on the balcony. Naturally, the entire city began talking about this right away, and the idlers and scandal-mongers knew of the engagement and the supposed day of the wedding even before Morosini put on his best suit to ask Margherita’s father for her hand. In fact, he spurned the custom of that time, and instead of sending one or two of his friends to present his case, he appeared himself before the father. Soon enough, however, the gossips, who always know it all, could take pleasure in seeing their predictions confirmed.
    When Baldassare went to Margherita’s father and expressed his wish to become his son-in-law, Cadorin was, to say the least, most embarrassed.
    “By almighty God, my dear young man,” he said imploringly, “I don’t underestimate the honor that your proposal means for my family. Nevertheless, I beg you not to proceed with your plans. It would spare you and me much grief and trouble. You’ve been away from Venice a long time on voyages, so you don’t know how many problems this unfortunate girl has caused me. Indeed, she has recently rejected two honorable proposals without any reason whatsoever.She doesn’t care about love and men. And I confess that I have spoiled her