STRINGING VENETIAN BEADS
Edith hurried along beside Rafael, and Mrs. Sprague followed slowly
into the courtyard of the palace, up the Giant's Staircase and through
great rooms, until they came out upon a balcony overlooking the square
which they had just left.
"Is it not lovely?" Rafael asked simply.
Without answering, Edith balanced her camera upon the railing of the
balcony and snapped a picture of the two columns in the Piazzetta,
near a landing place of the Grand Canal.
"Everyone in the United States knows that picture," she said, "and
when they see that I have taken it, they will know that I was really
here once."
"Is it that you will show it to everyone in the United States?" asked
Rafael with interest.
Edith looked at him quickly, thinking that he was laughing at her; but
as she saw that he was serious she answered, "Oh dear! no; only to my
friends, who were glad to have me come to see Italy, so that I can
tell them about it."
"Is that why so many people come to my country," he asked,--"to tell
others about it?"
Edith laughed. "I came to buy a string of Venetian beads," she
answered roguishly.
But the boy would not laugh in answer. "It may be that you will take
away with you a more precious necklace than your glass one, if you
will let me show you our wonderful pictures and buildings," he said.
It was a pretty speech, and the girl answered him with another. "You
mean a necklace of memory pictures," she said. "Yes, I have begun to
string such a necklace. My memory of St. Mark's Cathedral is one of
the beads, and this splendid square is another. Then there is a bead
for the moonlight on the canals, and one for the fluttering pigeons at
their midday meal.".
Mrs. Sprague then told Rafael how they had wandered off into a part of
the city where the canals were narrow and dirty, where the houses were
old and crumbling to ruins, and where the streets seemed hardly more
than cracks between the walls.
"I don't wish to put that memory picture into my necklace," said
Edith.
"It is not necessary," answered Rafael. "There will be many beautiful
beads. This afternoon we will climb the bell-tower of San Giorgio when
the sun is setting, and there you will get a picture of this 'pearl
of the world' that will make you forget every other."
But Edith was turning her camera upon the pavement below, where three
flag-poles stand in front of St. Mark's.
"The lazy pigeons in the square were lean and hungry when those three
masts were placed before the cathedral," Rafael told her. "The
Venetians were hardy sailors, bold adventurers, and rich merchants in
those days; and it was an honor for Morea and the eastern islands of
Candia and Cyprus to fly their banners in our city. All the vessels
from the East and the West stopped at our port, and the fame of Venice
spread far and wide."
"You speak boastfully," said Edith saucily.
"It is all true," Rafael said earnestly. "Four hundred years ago there
was no place in the whole world where so much pomp and magnificence
could be seen as in St. Mark's Square and on the Grand Canal.
"Over in the museum at the arsenal"--Rafael's voice broke in his
excitement--"there is a model of a ship of state, in which, for
hundreds of years, the Doge used every year to go out to the entrance
of the lagoon and throw a jewelled ring into the waters of the
Adriatic, to make Venice the bride of the sea.
"People from far and wide, by thousands and tens of thousands, came to
see the ceremony. It was a marvellous sight to see," he added proudly,
as if he had seen it many times.
"Two or three hundred senators, in their scarlet robes, marched with
the Doge from this palace to the wharf, where the ship of state waited
for them; and thousands of magnificent gondolas followed it on its
journey to the Lido port, where the ceremony took place."
"I thought all gondolas must be black," Edith objected. "A procession
of black gondolas would not be very magnificent."
"It is the law now that all gondolas must be black," Rafael explained,
"because in olden times so many nobles wasted their fortunes in
decorating their gondolas extravagantly with rich carvings, gold
ornaments, and gorgeous draperies. You can see that such a procession,
reaching from here to the Lido port, would be a splendid sight.
"There must be many rings out there," he added.
Edith had listened, charmed with the sound of so much splendor. "Let
us go to the Lido for a sea bath," she said; "perhaps we can find a
ring."
Rafael shook his head. "The last ring was thrown into the water more
than a hundred years ago," he said. "The sands have covered them all
too deeply by this time."
Then he pointed to the four bronze horses which stand over the central
doorway of the cathedral. "They are the only horses in our whole
city," he said. "They are almost two thousand years old, and have
travelled hundreds of miles, by sea and land.
"It is said that they first stood on a triumphal arch in Rome, but
they were taken to Constantinople by the Emperor Constantine, where
they were kept many hundreds of years. Dandolo, a Doge of Venice,
conquered the city about seven hundred years ago, and brought the
horses to Venice as a sign of his victory.
"They were placed over the door where they now stand, and have been
there ever since, except for a visit of eighteen years to Paris, to
please the Emperor Napoleon."
"See how they paw the air," said Edith. "They look as if they were
eager to be off again to the ends of the earth."
"No," said Rafael, "we Venetians love those bronze horses. No one will
ever take them away from us again.
"We need them," he added with a laugh, "how else would we know what
horses are like, when we read about them in books?"
"It is a great pity that the bell-tower in the square fell," said Mrs.
Sprague; "this new one that they are building in its place must be
very expensive."
Rafael laughed merrily. "That is a queer thing about the Italians," he
said; "if it is a great piece of art which we wish to preserve, we do
not care what the expense may be."
Then he added soberly, "The fishermen miss the old tower more than any
of us, because they used to find their way into the Lido port by it."
"You say so much about the Lido," said Edith.
"We will go over there after we have looked at some of the pictures
inside the palace, and at the dungeons, and the Bridge of Sighs,"
answered Rafael.
Edith shuddered. "I will look at the pictures, but not at the
dungeons," she said; "and I can look at the Bridge of Sighs every time
I come from our hotel into the Piazza."
As they stepped back into the room behind them, she repeated the names
of three of the great painters whose works have helped to make Venice
a treasure-city.
"Titian, Veronese, Tintoretto," she said over and over again, as she
looked at the pictures which Rafael pointed out to her in the long
rooms. "If I find more of their paintings in other cities of Italy, it
will seem like meeting old friends."
Rafael smiled. "Italy is rich because of her artists," he said. "You
will find their works in every city. It may not always be the
paintings of those same three men, but there are others which are also
famous."
Then his happy face grew serious. "It makes the heart sad to think
what wonderful dreams our great Italians have had," he said. "My
mother says that no dream, no thought of beauty, was ever felt
anywhere, that has not found expression here in Italy."
As he spoke, he led the mother and daughter out of the palace and
across the Piazzetta to the steps where his little boat was tied, and
Edith wondered if his words were true.
Before her sight-seeing in Italy was ended, she was very sure that
they were.