XV

With the return of the young people from Rome, gala days had once more

dawned for the Ca' Giustiniani, and the two sumptuous palaces which met

at the bend of the Canal Grande were scenes of perpetual fête. The

palazzo Giustinian Giustiniani had been chosen from all the princely

homes of Venice as best fitted, from its magnificence, to be offered as

a residence to Henry the Third of France, when that monarch had deigned

to honor the Republic by accepting its prodigal hospitality. In the

banquet halls, which had been prepared with lavish luxury for his

reception, the few years that had passed had but mellowed the elaborate

carvings and frescoes, while the costly hangings--of crimson velvet with

bullion fringes, of azure silk embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, of

brocades interwoven with threads of gold--had gained in grace of fold

and fusion of tints.

If there were no halls of equal splendor in the palace which had been

prepared for Marcantonio and his bride, it displayed in all its

appointments an elegance and fitness which the stately Lady Laura was

eager to exhibit to the critical appreciation of the fastidious upper

circle of Venice.

Marina had had no share in its decorations, and when consulted before

her marriage had expressed but one wish. "These cares of rank are new to

me," she had said, with gentle dignity; "but thou wilt best know how to

choose the elegance befitting Marco's home; for my father hath warned me

that in these matters there is a custom which I, more than others, may

not break. Dear Lady Laura, for Marco's sake forget that I am of the

people, yet, remembering it, to choose but so much of splendor as

seemeth needful, lest the palazzo be too costly for a mistress not noble

by birth, and so"--she hesitated--"and so win Marco's friends to love me

less."

"Marina, Marco hath told me, with a very lover's face, that some are

noble by birth who are not so by name."

"Dear Lady," the girl answered, with a charming flush, "had Marco not so

plead with me there could have been no question of this home."

The eyes of the great lady beamed with a new and tender pride; in

nothing that her boy had ever done for her had he offered her so much as

in this love of his which had threatened to part them, but had stirred

instead the mother depths of her soul, which had become clouded by years

of luxury and artificial life and the knowledge of the ceaseless

ambitions and selfish scheming which her husband--for the intellectual

stimulus she gave him--had been accustomed to confide to her. And now

Marco was not less to her, but more, as he had promised; and if the

uncertain hope of that dim, distant, ducal coronet moved her less, it

was not that she would not still do her possible to help Giustinian to

his ambition--but it had become a smaller peak in the distance since the

home life had grown broad enough to bear her calmly when the proud

Senator rehearsed some failure or disappointment, with disproportioned

bitterness.

Thinking of these things she smiled at Marina with new appreciation; the

girl's gentle face seemed to her more lovely and her rare calm and grace

of spirit more truly noble than the Venetian vivacity of charm in which

at first she had found her lacking.

"Thou hast a way of winning," she said, "which many might envy thee; and

in seeming not to ask, thou shalt be served for love. It is the grace of

one born to rule. But hast thou _no_ wish? Is there no one place I may

make all beautiful at thine asking, within thy palace, to prove, sweet

Marina, how thy Marco's mother loves thee?"

She parted her soft hair and kissed her forehead, but neither of them

noticed that it was a first caress.

"I should like the oratory to be beautiful!" Marina cried, clasping her

hands with sudden enthusiasm; "very beautiful--like a gift to the Holy

Mother!"

"And it shall bring a blessing on thy marriage," the Lady Laura answered

her.

So when the secretary and his young wife had returned to Venice and

their palace was thrown open to guests, the private chapel of the Lady

Marina was discovered to be a marvel of decoration--with superb Venetian

frescoes set in marvelous scrollwork by Vittoria, with carvings of

mother-of-pearl from Constantinople, with every sumptuous detail that

could be devised; for, during the three years of their absence, the Lady

Laura had not wearied of her gracious task nor stayed her hand. And into

this incongruous setting--costly, overloaded, composite, and destitute

of true religious feeling, a very type of the time in Venice--Marina

brought the redeeming note of consecration, a priceless altar--ancient,

earth-stained, and rude, almost grotesque in symbolism--as a great prize

and by special dispensation, from an underground chapel in Rome. Also

the rare and beautiful ivory crucifix had its history; the malachite

basin for holy water had been a gift to the infant Giustinian from his

eminence the cardinal-sponsor on the day of his baptism; there were

other treasures, more rare and sacred still, within the shrine of the

oratory, and there was a gift from his Holiness Pope Clement VIII.

There was no banquet hall in the palazzo Marcantonio Giustiniani, but it

was not needed, for the two palaces were like one.

The Lady Laura was radiant. If there had ever been a question of the

place that Marcantonio's bride should occupy in that patrician circle,

the distinction conferred upon her by the Senate had sufficed to

establish it. There could be no jealousy of one who occupied the highest

place, of one so gracious and equal to her honors, only of those who

should win her favor. So all came in the hope of it, and all were won;

but there were no partialities, no intimacies; for all ambitions of the

young and newly created patrician, the fullness of the home life

sufficed to her.

Marina had grown more beautiful out of the joy of loving and the

increased satisfaction of her religious life, to which she was more than

ever devoted; her passion for beauty expressed itself by delight in

sumptuous ceremonial, while her love of romance and her unquestioning

faith were alike nourished on the legends of the saints which had become

far more to her during her stay in Rome, where every hour had been

happiness. These three years of absence had made some subtle difference

in the Lady Marina; there was more mystery about her with less reserve,

and a certain calm acceptance of the position all conceded had given her

courage to discuss religious history and opinions in a serious way that

was quite charming to the older prelates who mingled in Venetian social

circles, where simple earnestness of soul was a quality so rare that it

might have been mistaken for a depth of subtlety; but the Lady Marina

talked or listened only because the themes were of vital interest for

her. Besides, she had now her child to guide and she must know; and the

learned men who gave their lives to the study of higher things were

those, above all others, from whom she could learn the most; and with

this unconscious flattery a little court, of a character somewhat

unusual in Venice, had gathered in her salons. Her husband, coming in

late from the Council Chamber one evening, rallied her upon it, saying

that her receptions might be mistaken for those of a lady abbess--there

were so many friars and grave ecclesiastics among her guests. His light

tone concealed a little uneasiness, for the friar's warning had more

than once recurred to him.

But it was impossible to convey anything to Marina by a half-concealed

thrust, her nature was so essentially ingenuous, incapable of imagining

intrigues of any sort.

"Yes, it is indeed an honor!" she answered, with her ready, trusting

smile. "It is good of them, they are so much more interesting than the

others; and to-night the talk was quite delightful! I would thou hadst

been here, my Marco! Life is so much more beautiful since we have been

to Rome! _Everything_ that was delightful came with our marriage," she

added, turning her radiant face toward him.

He smiled, too, quite disarmed by her beauty and candor, and a little

amused that this life of a Venetian princess should be so lightly

included in this "everything" which marriage had brought to this maiden

of Murano; but he could not help thinking how easily she wore her

honors, and how she graced them; all Venice was at her feet, and she

preferred the dull talk of a few ecclesiastics to the vivacious

gallantry of the brilliant young nobles who thronged her salons--the

more anxious to please this queen of the day, that their efforts won

only the dignified and gracious, yet reserved, recognition that was

extended to all her guests alike. She was the very reverse of Venetian

in character and manner, but since she had been so honored by the

Republic that difference was recognized as her distinction and charm.

"I doubt not," Marcantonio said, laughingly, "that if nuns might take

part in our social functions thou wouldst prefer them also to thine own

maidens and all the noble ladies of the Canal Grande. But who held part

in this interesting ridotto to-night?"

"Truly, Marco, I think some day perchance I may get a dispensation and

have all the nuns of San Donate for baby's festa in the oratory--would

it not be beautiful to hear them chanting in our own palazzo! But that

is only a dream; I know not if it may ever be."

She came toward him, in her shimmering festal robes, with the

unconscious, happy grace of a child, dropping into a low seat close

beside him, leaning back and letting her hands fall in an attitude of

complete repose, while she gave him, without effort, the detail of the

evening's talk. He was a little surprised at the way in which she made

this graphic recital of a discussion he would have supposed beyond her

comprehension--or at least beyond her concern--and he was not wholly

pleased. He had quite forgotten that one of the charms of Marina upon

which he had insisted in the days when he had made much of this maiden

to his patrician mother was that in capacity for thought and in force of

character she was far above the maidens of ancient lineage, from whom

the Lady Laura would have had him choose his bride.

Marina had named, among others, Fra Francesco, her own spiritual

director, a Servite friar of gentle and winning demeanor, who was much

beloved both in his convent and in other circles where his duties called

him. He was a man of simple habits and the most exemplary life, whose

whole force lay in his extreme devotion to duty and his passionate love

for the Church; his sole anxiety was for her glory, and he would have

been supremely happy in the life he had chosen, were it not for his

growing anxiety lest from her own sons she should receive dishonor. He

was always a welcome visitor at the palazzo Giustiniani, and already

the little prince of the household had a special smile for him.

"Ah, Fra Francesco, of course!" said Marcantonio, in an indulgent tone;

"our own friars and ecclesiastics are welcome. But, carina, these

foreign priests are often of a different way of thinking; and Don

Fernanzo Lillo, that fluent Spaniard--verily I would have thee don thy

most freezing dignity when he comes again."

"But, Marco mio, thou doest him injustice; he is most interesting; he

was telling about the frescoes of the Michelangelo in the Sistine

Chapel; he knoweth them well, yet I think he liketh them little."

"It matters not," said Marcantonio, a little disdainfully; "thou hast

already seen them; thou canst have thine own opinion of their merit."

"But to hear all the allegories explained and all the illusions to the

history of our Holy Church is _most_ interesting," Marina pursued

calmly; "for the dear padre of San Donate had but little instruction; I

must know about all these things for baby's sake--he is growing so

fast."

"He is not going to be an artist," his father answered shortly; "and if

he were, we could find a better person to instruct him than a Spanish

member of the Jesuit College."

"_Marco_!" exclaimed his wife, with a long note of surprise; "is not our

Holy Church one? and are not her sons scattered over the whole world? I

knew not he displeased thee," she continued, in a changed tone, after a

little pause. "Of course I will not see him again. But is it Don

Fernanzo Lillo himself, or--or--Marco--it cannot be the order! Thou

canst not be so narrow!"

"At this time, Marina, with matters thus between Venice and Rome, I do

not care to entertain any of their order or any foreign priests in our

home; they do not place things in the proper light, and we have always

held a special position of loyalty toward Venice. When she is in

difficulties all the Ca' Giustiniani should seem to remember it; it

could make no other difference."

"I do not understand," she answered, looking at him with perplexed

brows.

"Why shouldst thou!" he exclaimed, glad to change a distasteful topic;

"such weariness is not needful for thee. I will not bring the worries of

the Council Chamber into thy boudoir."

"Nay, Marco, it would please me," she answered eagerly, rising instantly

from her languid attitude to come and stand over him, laying one hand on

his shoulder, half in caress and half in command. "Thy father tells

these matters to the Lady Laura; and for baby's sake I should understand

these troubles which touch our Republic. He will ask me questions very

soon."

"Well, then," he consented ungraciously, "what is it thou wouldst ask?"

She laughed at his reluctance, pressing her hand with a firmer and yet

more loving touch on his shoulder. "Because I am a Giustinian," she

began, with a plea which invariably won him, "tell me about this

question of Vicenza which occupies them all so much--I could not

understand. Who is this Abbott of Nervessa?"

At her first words he had folded her caressing hand in his, but he

dropped it in immediate displeasure and walked quickly away from her,

speaking indignantly. "They talked of this in thy presence?"

"They said an abbé was imprisoned in the Piombi; they said it was

against the law to imprison ecclesiastics except by the authority of the

Pope. Oh, Marco mio, I am afraid he will be very angry!"

"What else did they tell thee?" he questioned doggedly.

"They said there was a Canon Saraceni also--both imprisoned in Venice.

Marco mio, it is an insult to our Holy Father!"

"What else?"

"Nothing more--but only about some law of Venice that I did not

understand; I wished to ask thee."

"And Fra Francesco was here and heard them talk?"

"Nay, Fra Francesco stays never long; and this was but a few moments

before thy coming. I left the Sala Tiziana to see if all were going well

in this little salon, and they were speaking of Vicenza, and I asked

them. Wherefore art thou angry, Marco? What kept thee so late to-night?"

She had never seen him in such a mood; he had persistently refused to

meet her beseeching glance; but now he drew a quick breath of relief,

and came back to her side.

"It was this miserable matter of Vicenza that detained the Council in

such lengthy session," he said, "and it was not fit to have been

mentioned in thy presence, my sweet wife; I might well be angry. But

since thou wert not there, I can pardon them."

"Yes, it was I who questioned them," she repeated eagerly, anxious to

shield her guests from her husband's indignation, though she did not

understand it. "They were talking of the Abbot of Nervessa and of his

Holiness, and when I came they rose to do me honor; and I also, to be

not lacking in courtesy, said, 'Le prego, Signori--I beg of you,' and

bade them continue the talk in which they had seemed full of interest.

Marco, in the Senate--do they know that the Pope is angry about the

Abbot of Nervessa?"

Her eyes were full of the eagerness of her question. If they but knew

all would be well, she thought; she had so wished for Marco to be there

and hear them talk!

"Marina, this whole matter is a question for the government to decide;

it is not for ecclesiastics to discuss--they know nothing of any laws

but their own. This is a civil case."

"Would they not understand things better if they were allowed

representation in the Senate?" she persisted. "And what is this law? And

why is the subject not fit for Venetian nobles to discuss, since it

touches them so nearly?" She was growing disturbed, for she feared some

injustice, since Marco had not been indignant at the strange condition

she had unfolded to him, and she had thought it must suffice only to

name it to him.

The young patrician looked at her in amazement. Fra Paolo was indeed

right, yet he had been almost indignant at the suggestion.

"The subject cannot be discussed," he said, in quick, hard tones,

"because the Abbot of Nervessa hath committed crimes so atrocious that

thou would'st shrink at the bare naming of them. And for Saraceni--the

Canon of Vicenza--there came one day to the Senate a noble lady of

Vicenza, young, and very beautiful, and in great trouble, casting

herself at the feet of the Serenissimo, imploring protection from

disgrace that the canon would bring upon her--a scandal I had never

thought to name to thee. And there are other charges."

"It cannot be true!" she cried, flushed and trembling. "Dear Marco, they

are priests!"

"The truth will be decided by the integrity of the law," he answered,

severely; "they shall have justice at our courts; but it is a question

for the civil courts, since the people also cry for justice, and the

ecclesiastical law is not to deal with heinous civil offenses--though

committed by one in priestly robes. It is a just law of Venice--ancient,

and only now reaffirmed."

"This is the law they spake of, Marco?"

Now that she dimly understood there was some great trouble coming on the

people, she must know the right at any cost--even that of her husband's

displeasure; it was her duty to him, and she had put her question

firmly.

"This--and another," he answered, unwillingly. "Listen, Marina, for I am

weary of thy questions. The law to forbid new foundations of church or

monastery, or the introduction of new religious orders without the

sanction of the government--also an ancient law, and but now

reaffirmed--is doubtless that of which they spake."

Marina stood confounded, with flashing eyes; how could the Republic

dare to question the liberties of the Church! "Thou meanest, Marco, that

the Church, which is the head, must ask the Doge what she may do when

she would increase her own religious institutions--when she hath need of

buildings for her holy work!"

"Thou hast an understanding quicker than I had believed," he answered,

with irritation; "and listen further, Marina--'since a Giustinian should

know the reason for the matters which concern the government,' that was

thy word, if I remember--the half of the territory of Venice hath

already passed into the hands of the clergy. Is that not ground enough

to hold their establishments, that thou wouldst grant them more? And for

the value of these possessions--for nowhere is a government more

generous to the ecclesiastics than the Republic hath been--it hath been

rated that a fourth part of the entire realty of the dominion--nay, some

count it a third part--is already the property of the Church. Shall we

nobles of Venice turn paupers and humbly beg of the clergy a pittance

for our children?"

He laughed and kissed her hand as he rose. "Since thou hast asked it,"

he said lightly, "I have given thee the law--and there is an end of it.

But let it not fret thee; Venice will know how to care for her own."

But Marina had suddenly grown very pale. "Marco," she gasped, detaining

him, "will it be a war?--a war between Venice and--and----"

She broke off; she could not speak the word which seemed a sacrilege.

"Think of our child!" she whispered, as he gathered her in his arms, and

tried to soothe her. "Marco, are we not a Christian nation? And our

Patriarch--does he know about the displeasure of the Holy Father? What

will become of us?"

"There will be no war," Marcantonio declared, with assurance. "Thou

see'st, carina, these matters are not for women to discuss; they cannot

understand; they are questions for the government alone; and well it is

for us that the clergy are out of it, or we might have the spectacle of

a Senate drowned in tears! There will be no war," he declared again,

mistaking the self-control for which she had bravely struggled as an

outcome of his attempts at consolation. "And now, since thou art thy

sweet self again, hath the boy not made the day richer for thee with

some tale of wonder thou wouldst unfold?"