With the nonchalance that concealed a skill all Venetian the gondoliers
of the Giustiniani guided them gracefully through the floating craft
moored to the stakes which rose in sheafs before their palace,
announcing the colors of their noble house. Barges bearing flowers and
decorations for the fête, fruits and game, were unloading on the broad
marble steps, and through the wrought open-work of the splendid gates a
scene of activity was disclosed in the nearer court which served as an
office for the various departments of the household; while the
house-master had come down the steps from his cozy lodge beside the
entrance, and stood dispensing orders to a group of eager domestics.
In the deep shadow of the entrance-court the open one, through which the
light streamed radiantly, seemed far distant, and when the great bell
sent clanging echoes from court to court, gondoliers in undress
liveries, who were lazily lounging and chatting, sprang to a show of
activity over all those finishing touches of polish and nicety which had
been achieved long before; and the lithe figures coming and going,
throwing themselves into graceful attitudes over their semblance of
labor, exchanging joyous sallies in anticipation of the evening's
revelry, awoke a contagious merriment. Marcantonio rallied from the
heaviness of the morning and felt young again, as he yielded to their
influence and wandered among them, tossing compliments and repartees
with Venetian freedom.
In the midst of this harmless trifling the voice of Giustinian
Giustiniani sounded sternly.
"Marcantonio, these ancient arms have been burnished in honor of this
day; I have a moment to remind thee of their history--if thou hast
forgotten."
He was calling from across the open court, where the sunshine seemed
suddenly less, and Marcantonio hastened to respond.
The seneschal called for lights, for the workmanship of these heirlooms
was too fine to be appreciated in the gloom which pervaded the far inner
court; two or three iron lanterns were brought and hung up, and
link-boys flashed flaring torches upon the pieces on the wall near which
their master stood.
"Surely thou dost recall this breastplate of the General Taddeo
Giustiniani, who forced the Austrians to surrender Trieste, when Venice
laid siege to the city in 1369? It was wrought in the East, no doubt,
and the inlaying is of gold and precious; but not for this do we keep it
chained. It is a priceless jewel in the history of our house, for
Trieste meant much for Venice."
He raised the heavy chain that fastened it, and the links fell,
clanging, against the stones of the wall; for this hall, which served as
an armory, was like a prison in its construction,--as strong and as
forbidding,--and here, among the ancestral relics, were kept the arms
which every nobleman, by Venetian law, was required to hold in readiness
to equip his household against uprisings of the populace, who were, by
this same law, debarred these means of self-defense.
At a sign from the Senator a young squire came forward, proudly bearing
a sword with a jeweled hilt, in an intricately wrought scabbard.
Giustinian drew it from its sheath, displaying a blade exquisitely
damascened with acanthus foliage, as he turned to his son.
"This is especially thine own," he said, "in honor of this day--thy
maiden sword. So far as the handiwork of Cellini may make it worthy of a
son of our house, it hath been worthily chosen for thee. Yet, unless
thou leavest it to those who come after thee, enriched by the name of a
Giustinian who hath wrought of his best for Venice, it will be all
unworthy of a place among these trophies."
The torch-bearers flashed their lights over it, and the squires of the
household pressed forward to admire it, but Giustinian cut short the
enthusiastic chorus of the young men-at-arms and Marcantonio's eager
words of appreciation, crossing the sombre hall with stately steps; for
to his mind this important day held many ceremonies yet unfulfilled, and
the pomp with which he chose to surround them was not a circumstance to
be dilated on.
"This," he said, as he touched a quaint dagger, "belonged to thine
ancestor, Marco Giustiniani, Ambassador to the Scaglieri; there were
other envoys of our name in other Italian provinces, in England and the
Papal Court, for we have been great in statescraft as well as in war.
But I wrong thee in _seeming_ to think thou knowest not the history of
thine house. Perhaps, in these latter days, a man may best distinguish
himself in statesmanship, for the mind is a weapon not to be
slighted--when it is builded with strength, sharpened with careful use,
and so wielded"--his gaze fell full upon Marcantonio for a weighty
moment--"so wielded that it hath no pliancy save at the will of its
owner. For sometimes it chanceth"--again he paused for a moment--"that a
mind hath more masters than one, and Venice brooks no rival."
His father had been pointing out one heirloom after another while he
spoke, and the pauses which Marcantonio found irritating, because they
seemed to indicate hidden meanings to be unraveled, might proceed only
from his effort to carry several trains of thought at once; but it was a
habit of the elder Giustinian which held not a less share in the
education of his son because it was distasteful to him.
To-day the young patrician almost resented this persistent marshaling of
the shades of his ancestors, though at heart he was proud of them, and
the prestige and luxury of his surroundings suited him well; but he
chafed under his father's scrutiny, which, it seemed to him, unveiled
the differences of their temperaments to an almost indecorous degree.
The thought of Marina was tingling in his pulses, but he would not yield
it up until the propitious moment came; and the strong consciousness of
this sweet new queenship made the constant assertion of the sovereignty
of Venice not easy to endure. But the remembrance of his vow of
allegiance, just rendered before the Senate, returned to him rather as
the public investiture of his rights as a man than as a claim of
self-surrender; and he vowed to himself to use that right, in all
possible conflict between himself and the Republic, in questions
personal and dear; for the pleasant freedom of his life thus far had
left him less in awe of the senatorial majesty than Giustinian
Giustiniani would have deemed possible. But how could he hope to win his
father's consent to any unpatrician alliance!
He passed the elder Giustinian hastily and paused beyond the next group
of armor--battered breastplates, casques, and shields of the twelfth
century--but his thoughts were elsewhere.
"These," said the Senator, inexorably recalling him, "were of the famous
siege of Lepanto, where, but for the favor of the Holy Father, our house
had been extinct."
The young fellow's soul stirred within him, for he knew the story well.
How was it possible for a Giustinian to pause before this great stand of
antique trophies of prowess and not call to mind visions of heroism and
suffering in which the Giustiniani of those days--_every one who
belonged to Venice_--had yielded up his life in this great struggle with
the Turks!
Yes, every one who belonged to Venice. For the young Nicolò, the last
survivor of their ancient name, was already set apart from the world by
his priestly vows, amid the quiet groves of the island of San Nicolò. It
was a pretty romance--all those noble councillors, trembling from fear
of the extinction of this most ancient and princely house, framing
humble petitions to the Holy Father; the youthful monk, leaving the
tranquil solitude of his island sanctuary, unfrocked with honor by a
Pope's decree, to don the crimson robe of senator and wed the daughter
of the Doge! And later, when sons and daughters many had risen up to
call them blessed, the old haunting charm of the convent reasserting
itself, the return of the Giustinian--this solitary link between the
long lines of his noble house, before and after--to his lonely cell on
San Nicolò; the retirement of the Lady Anna from the sweet motherhood of
her home to reign as Lady Abbess in the convent of Sant' Elenà; the
nimbus of sainthood for the pair when their quiet days were closed--it
was a pretty story, leading easily to thoughts of Marina.
"To-morrow," said Giustinian Giustiniani, as if in answer to his
thoughts, "at dawn of day, there will be Mass in the capello Giustiniani
on Sant' Elenà; and later we must visit the shrines of San Nicolò and
San Lorenzo. For in the Church also we have had our part. A Giustinian
was first Patriarch of Venice; a saint was father to our else broken
line--we have had our share in Church and State, and it behooves a
member of the Consiglio to remember the honors of his house."
He stood for a moment looking up at the shield on which were blazoned
the arms of the Giustiniani, as if he missed something that should have
been there; then, slowly turning back to the central court, now flooded
with sunshine, he began the ascent of the grand stairway which led to
the banqueting hall. The gleaming marble panels bore a fretwork of
sculptured foliage with symbols entwined--the mitre, the cross, the
sword--in richest Renaissance; but in all the decorations of this lordly
palace, of the most ancient of the Venetians, not once did the mighty
Lion of St. Mark appear.
When they had reached the landing opening into the banquet hall the
Senator, turning in the direction of his own apartments, released his
son with a motion of his hand toward the great, splendid chamber from
which issued ripples of girlish laughter; and Marcantonio stood for a
few moments under the arches which opened into it, looking on
unobserved, for here it seemed that the fête was already reigning.
The noble maidens who attended the Lady Laura, fresh and charming, were
knotting loops of ribbon in pendant garlands or grouping flowers in
great vases between the columns which crossed the chamber from end to
end--darting up the stairway to the gallery to alter a festoon in
garland or brocade. Sallies of laughter, snatches of song, and pelting
of flowers, like a May-day frolic, made the work long in the doing, but
full of grace; and now and again, as if any purpose were wearying for
such light-hearted maidens, they dropped their garlands and glided over
the polished floor, twining and untwining their arms--a reflex in active
life, and not less radiant, of the nymphs of Bassano on the painted
ceiling, between those wonderful, gilded arabesques of Sansovino.
There was a little shriek of discomfiture as they suddenly perceived the
young lord of the day, but the Contessa Beata Tagliapietra came saucily
toward him as he was escaping.
"The Lady Laura hath charged me to ask the Signor Marcantonio whether
the garlands be disposed according to his liking."
She swept him a mocking reverence, so full of grace and coquetry that
the maidens all flocked back from their hiding-places to see how the
young signor would receive it.
"I know not which pleaseth me best," he answered lightly; "the grace of
the garlands, or the grace of the dance, or the grace of the _damigelle_
who have so wrought for the beauty of this fête. Nay, I may not enter,
for the Lady Laura will await my coming."
"Is this day then so full of gravity that one may not steal a moment to
dance at one's own fête, Signer Consiglière?" she retorted, mockingly.
But the Lady Laura herself was coming toward them, with slow, stately
steps, hiding her impatience--for the morning had seemed long.
At sight of her Marcantonio bent his knee with the knightly homage still
in vogue, and gave his hand to conduct her to her boudoir.
"Signer Consiglière,"--she began, with a stately congratulation, when
they were quite alone in her own boudoir; she had been planning, during
the long morning, a speech that should be of a dignity to suit so great
an occasion, but the words died away upon her lips; for once she forgot
Venice and the Ca' Giustiniani, and the mother was uppermost. She folded
her arms about him closely, and rested her head upon his shoulder in
delicious abandon.
"Marco, my boy!" she murmured.
His heart overflowed to her in unaccustomed endearments, so rarely did
she express any emotion, and to-day the rebound from the morning's
repression filled him with hope and gladness. All fear of winning her
aid was lifted. "_Madre mia_!" he cried, his face radiant with
happiness.
"This day is not as other days," she said, half in apology for her
weakness, as she recovered herself.
"I have a gift for thee, madre mia; let me bring it."
"I need no gift, Marco; for now hast thou everything before thee--every
honor that Venice may offer to a Venetian of the Venetians! Forget it
not, my Marco."
But he had already flown from her, with impatient, lover's footsteps.
Now that the moment had come he could not wait.
"Mother!" he cried, with shining eyes, as he placed the costly case upon
a table and drew her gently toward it.
She stood in mute astonishment before the faultless gift, this perfect
bit of Beroviero crystal,--opalesque and lucent, reflecting hidden
rainbow tints, enhanced by the golden traceries delicate and
artistic--the beautiful young face framed in those sea-gems dear to the
Venetian heart, each pearl a study of changing light.
"There is none like it in Venice!" she exclaimed; "nor hath there ever
been. Thou hast treated me like a queen, my Marco!"
"I wished it so," he answered impatiently, for he could not wait. "And
the face----"
"Never hath there been a more exquisite! It is the Titian's work?"
"Nay, of the Veronese; for the goblet is of mine own designing. And the
master, for my sake, hath spent himself upon the face."
"He will be here to-night, and we will thank him," she answered
graciously. "And for thee--thou hast excelled thyself."
But Marcantonio answered nothing to her praise; his eyes were fixed upon
the miniature of the Veronese.
"If Paolo Cagliari findeth none so beautiful among the noble damigelle
who will grace thy fête to-night as this face which he hath painted, we
will forgive him," she said playfully. "But thee, Marco, we will not
forgive. The time hath come when thou shouldst choose; thy father and I
have spoken of this."
She came close to him and folded his hand caressingly. "The Contessa
Beata Tagliapietra hath a wonderful charm; and there is the Lady
Agnesina Contarini--a face for a Titian!"
"Mother! I pray thee----" Marcantonio interrupted.
"Nay, Marco--to-day it is fitting; for thy wedding should follow soon
upon this fête. Thou art no longer a boy, and Venice looks to us to help
thee choose a fitting bride; for there is none other of this generation
of thy name, and thou,--I will not hide it from thee since thou needest
heartening,--thou wilt be a fortunate wooer with these maidens, or--or
elsewhere. But my little Beata is charming-----"
"Mother," said Marcantonio, flushing like a boy, yet drawing himself up
proudly, "I have already crowned her who shall be my bride with pearls;
and for her face--thou hast named it exquisite." Then, unbending, he
threw his arms around her and kissed her on the forehead.
The Lady Laura stood as if petrified.
"I know her not," she said, when she could speak. "Name her to me." Her
voice was hard and strained.
"Do not speak so, madre mia! Love her--she is so charming! And she will
not come to me unless thou love her too."
"How, then--if she is thy bride?" The words seemed to choke her.
"Nay, but my _chosen_ bride--holding my vows with my heart; yet, unless
thou plead with me for my happiness she will not wed me--she is so
proud."
"Name her," the Lady Laura repeated, unbending slightly.
"Marina Magagnati."
She stood listening, as if more were to follow, then she shook her head.
"I know not the name, unless--but it is not possible! She is not of
Venice, then?"
"A Venetian of the Venetians, my mother, with the love of Venice in her
soul--but not----"
"Marcantonio, explain thine enigma! How should there be a name of all
our nobles unknown to me?"
"There are nobles of the 'Libro d'Oro,' my mother, and--nobles of the
people, and she is of these."
"How canst thou name a mesalliance to me--Marcantonio Giustiniani,
Nobile di Consiglio--on this day, when thou hast given thy vows to
Venice! Thou dost forget the traditions of thine house."
"Nay, mother; Venice and the Ca' Giustiniani I am not likely to forget,"
he answered, with sudden bitterness. "One thing--quite other--am I much
more likely to forget; but for this have I sworn, that which my heart
teaches me for noble will I do, and she whom I love will I wed--or none
other."
"Marco!" the word seemed a desperate appeal.
"That do I swear upon this sword which my father hath given me to prove
my knighthood--'to enrich,' he hath said, 'the records of our house.'
And thou wilt help me, my mother, for I love thee!" His voice had grown
tender and pleading again.
"I also love thee, Marco," she answered more gently, for none could
resist his voice when this mood was upon him; "but I may not help thee
to undo thyself and forget the honor of thine house."
"Mother," said Marcantonio, sternly, "charge me with no unknightly deed!
To love Marina is to love a woman nobler than any of thy maidens; thou
knowest her not. I would bring her to thee to win thee, but she will not
come. It is thou, she saith, who must send her sign of favor."
"I fear me it must be long in going, my Marco; yet I love thee well. How
should I send my favor to a daughter of the people!"
"Those are the words of Marina Magagnati."
"She is wise then; she will help thee to forget."
"The vow of a Giustinian is never broken; that hast thou taught me, my
mother, from the legends of our house. This sword, upon which I have
sworn it, I lay at thy feet. Bid me raise it in token of thy favor and
of thine aid in this one thing which I ask of thee."
They stood looking into each other's faces, her pride melting under the
glow of the beautiful new strength in the face of the son whom she had
thought so yielding; yet it was she who had striven to teach him
knightliness.