The Lady Marina was wan from fear and fasting but very resolute, though
her face showed traces of tears, as her husband entered the oratory of
the palace, whither she had implored him to come to her before he went
to the Senate Chamber--a dignity to which he had but just been elected.
"Why hast thou summoned me hither?" he asked somewhat coldly; for, like
most light-hearted people, he disliked scenes, and differences between
himself and his wife were the more intolerable to him because he truly
loved her.
"Oh, Marco, my beloved!" she exclaimed imploringly, "thou lovest Venice
as much as I, and thy little word can save her from this great horror,
for thou art in the councils of thy people."
"Nay, Marina, thou dost not understand," he answered deprecatingly,
softening at the sight of her trouble. "I have but one vote; it is as
nothing in the Senate--it would but draw indignation against our house.
It is not possible to fail in loyalty to the Republic on this first
occasion of moment."
"Thy father might be won, if thou hast but courage. Thou art a
Giustinian; it is thy duty to speak in time of peril, and thy words
would make others brave to follow thee. Thus shalt thou save Venice."
"If thou didst but know, carina, how the Senate and the Ten are set
against this wish of thine! I should not speak of this matter to thee,
for it is secret--but to calm thee and help thee understand."
"How shall it calm me to know that the people and the city are rushing
under the ban? If this terrible resolution passes, if our child--our
tender child--were to die to-morrow he would go without burial--a little
wandering soul! Marco, thou lovest our child?"
Her pauses and her desperate struggle for control were full of
inexpressible horror.
"Calm thyself, my darling; it shall not be," he answered, reassuringly.
"Oh, Marco mio! And thou wilt give thy vote against it? And thou wilt
use thine influence in the Council? Promise me!"
She clung to him, sobbing and exhausted.
He soothed her for a moment silently; should he leave her under such a
misunderstanding? It would be easier for them both, but he had intended
no untruth. How was it possible to make such a woman understand? She was
quiet now, and he was stealing away from her with a kiss on her
forehead.
"Promise me!" she insisted, following him and clasping his arm with
sudden strength.
"Marina, they are very set; and the Ten--thou dost not know their
power."
"And shall all Venice brave the wrath of our most Holy Church because
the Senate is afraid of the Ten? Are the Ten more powerful than the Holy
Father and all the priesthood and sacraments of the Church? Marco, my
beloved, how shall I save thee?" "Carina, these things are not coming
upon Venice; thou dost not understand the law of Church and State."
"No, Marco," she answered boldly, "it is rather thou who dost not
understand. There will be no services, no marriage for our people, no
burial, no consolations of our holy religion, no sacraments--if this
excommunication should come upon us."
"If we had sinned, Marina, and laid ourselves open to interdict, then
these things should come--not otherwise."
"Ay, but we _have_ sinned--by rebellion against the Holy Church. Marco,
it is not easy for men to submit; but Father Francesco says the women
shall save Venice."
"The women of Venice are priest-ridden!" the young Senator cried
angrily, breaking away from her. "If there is trouble, it is the priests
who have brought it. They cannot be a separate power within Venice!"
"Not a separate power, Marco, only the representative of the Church,
which is the supreme power."
"These things are not for women to discuss," he exclaimed in
astonishment that she should attempt to reason on such a subject.
"Not for women, and not for men," she answered quietly. "The power of
the Holy Father is by _divine_ right."
"Marina, if thou canst say so much, thou _shalt_ understand the rest!"
he cried desperately. "So also is the power of temporal princes by
divine right--if not even more, as some of the authorities would have
it. But the temporal prince hath right only to that within his own
jurisdiction. Granting the divine right to the spiritual prince, it
lieth only within his own province. Paul V hath exceeded his rights.
Leonardo Donato, Serenissimo of the Republic, is not guilty in
self-defense."
She quivered as if a knife had been thrust through her; then,
controlling herself by force, she dipped her fingers in the basin of
holy water that stood upon the little altar. "It is sacrilegious to
speak against the Holy Father," she said in a low, grieved tone, as she
made the sign of the cross upon his breast. "May God forgive thee, my
dear one--it is not thy fault. But in the Senate they are misleading
thee!"
"My sweet wife," he answered, much troubled, and folding her closely.
"Do not grieve. All will be well for Venice. We shall not bring harm
upon her."
But she detected no yielding in his tone. She lifted her head from his
breast, and moved slightly away from him.
"Marco," she asked firmly, "when is the vote to be cast?"
"To-day, before sunset, and I must not linger. It would bring misfortune
upon our house if I were to be absent in an affair of such moment. Else
would I not leave thee."
She did not seek to detain him.
"Promise me that thou wilt be reasonable," he said, looking back, as he
parted the draperies of the doorway; "thou wilt not grieve."
"A promise for a promise, Marco; thou hast given me none, and may the
Madonna have mercy upon us!"
After a long, lingering look at the drooping figure of his wife he
dropped the curtain and descended to his gondola, sombre in spirit
because of the work that awaited him in the Senate Chamber; his
footsteps lagged wearily upon the stone floor of the long, dark passage,
and the brilliant outer sunshine flooded him with a sense of desperately
needed relief.
When Marina moved it was to throw herself before the altar, resting her
head upon her clasped hands, in an agony of supplication.
* * * * *
In the midst of an excited debate, immediately preceding the final vote,
the door of the Senate Chamber was suddenly thrown open by the keeper,
who announced in an awestruck tone:
"A citizen claims the right of the humblest Venetian to bring before
Messer the Doge a message of vital import in the question under
discussion."
He uttered the words tremblingly, as if he had been taught them, and the
interruption at such an hour, though not unprecedented, was at least
unusual enough to cause consternation. The flood of words ceased; there
was an uneasy movement among the senators, then a hush of suspense.
Without waiting for the customary consent of the Doge, a procession of
white-robed, white-veiled women passed through the open doorway, moving
slowly and solemnly to the Doge's throne. The leader stepped forth from
her group of maidens and knelt at the foot of the dais.
This sudden arrest of action by these white-robed gliding figures, at a
moment when the Senate was about to defy the authority of the Church,
brought a superstitious thrill to many hearts within that chamber.
Among the younger senators it was whispered, in unsteady tones, that a
message delayed for the death of a prince was likely to bring
trouble--messengers, perchance, from another world--when forced again to
discussion. They listened breathlessly for the message; but the figure
still knelt in silence.
The group of Councillors on the dais swayed and parted against that
wonderful background of Tintoret, the dead Christ and the two Doges
reverently kneeling in proof of the devotion of this Most Serene
Republic. Around the vast and sumptuous chamber, where the proud
Signoria assembled, like a council of kings, Venice had chronicled her
triumphs and her religious humility in endless repetition and intimately
blended, as became her faith; the Doges Priuli, kneeling in prayer;
Venice, mounted defiantly on the Lion of Saint Mark; other portraits of
other doges, in attitudes of devotion; other pictures of the Christ, of
the saints, always symbolic; but over all,--triumphant, beautiful,--with
its irresistible sea-tones, cool and strong, Venice, Queen of the Sea,
compelling the homage of her rulers, from the ceiling's height.
Twice the Doge essayed to speak, but the faces of the younger men warned
him of the danger of such an interruption at a moment when the entire
vote had seemed sure, and so filled him with wrath that he dared not
speak until he could control his voice, lest its tremor be mistaken for
fear. The moment seemed an hour.
"Reveal thyself!" Leonardo Donato commanded at last; "and rise!"
The supplicant slowly rose, throwing back her veil, and revealing a face
that was spirit-like in its pallor and beauty, with deep eyes,
unfathomably sad. Her maidens gathered close about her, as if to support
her, for she trembled as she stood.