XXI

So life went on, and those who looked to see the people fail and falter

under this burden which the rebellion of their rulers had brought upon

them saw them, with unshaken confidence, still loyally upholding the

banner of Saint Mark. Preparations for war--marshaling of soldiers,

building of galleys, increased activities at the arsenal--enlarged the

industries and added a judicious vivacity to the life of the people.

There was no war declared; but it was a time when border-lands should be

looked to and bravery encouraged and the martial spirit developed; and

the ever politic Senate tickled the fancy of its pleasure-loving people

with the pomp of a fête, on the day when the newly created

general-in-chief of the armies of the Republic assembled, with fanfare

of trumpets and roaring of cannon, his splendidly appointed corps in the

Piazza, the people thronging the arcades, crowding the windows and

balconies, waving and shouting, as the stately escort of three hundred

nobles, in crimson robes, led the way to San Marco for solemn

dedication. And here, like a knight vowed to holiest service, the

general knelt before the altar, while the Patriarch blessed his sword.

"In defense of Venice and the right," with a memory of the old

battle-cry of the Republic.

"Non nobis, Domine--sed tibi gloria!"

And the people, accepting as a favor the pageant which had been

cunningly devised to impress them, followed, thronging, up the giant

stairway, into the halls of the Council Chamber, into the stately

presence of the Serenissimo and the Signoria, to hear their latest

magnate profess his gratitude for the honor of his investiture and the

magnificence of his outfit, with solemn oaths of loyalty.

There was no war, though talk of it had little truce in those days; but

the cardinal nephews were busy in Ferrara and Ancona with the marshaling

of troops, and four of the princes of the Church had been appointed by

the Holy Father--vice-regent of the Prince of Peace--to superintend his

military operations and prepare his army of forty thousand infantry and

four thousand cavalry! Thus, in Venice, the spectacle of a

general-in-chief, with his splendid accoutrements, was timely and

inspiriting.

Meanwhile, in the palazzo Giustiniani the days dragged wearily, and knew

no sunshine; the Senator Marcantonio had been by special favor excused

from attendance in the Council Chamber; in his mind Venice was no longer

regnant; one thought absorbed him wholly through all that miserable

time--he had but one hope--everything centred in Marina.

When they had undressed her to apply restoratives a small, rough

crucifix had been taken from the folds of her robe near her heart; it

had belonged to Santa Beata Tagliapietra,--that devoted daughter of the

Church,--and the Lady Beata herself had given the precious heirloom out

of the treasures of the chapel of their house to her beloved Lady

Marina. Possibly she reflected, with a shudder, as she laid the relic on

the altar of the oratory of the palazzo Giustiniani, that the

remembrance of the constant dangers of Santa Beata had incited the Lady

Marina thus to peril her life. Of the long nights of vigil on the floor

of the oratory and of many other austerities which had filled those last

sad days since the quarrel with Rome had begun, the Lady Beata was

forced to give faithful account to the physicians who were summoned in

immediate consultation to the bedchamber of the Lady Marina. These

practices and the horror upon which she had dwelt ceaselessly would

sufficiently account for her condition, said the learned Professor

Santorio; and if she could but forget it there might be hope; meanwhile,

let her memory lie dormant--at present nothing must be done to rouse

her.

Perhaps already she had forgotten it; for the shock had been great and

life was at a very low ebb; had all memory gone from her of her life and

love? They thought she knew them, but she expressed no wish; she

scarcely spoke; lying listless and white under the heavy canopy of the

great carved bedstead, which had become the centre of every hope in

those two palaces on the Canal Grande, while the absorbing life of the

Ducal Palace, so little distant, was for Marcantonio as though it did

not exist. In that time of waiting--he knew not how long it was nor

what was passing--life was a great void to him, echoing with one

agonized hope; time had no existence, except as an indefinite point when

Marina should come back to him with her soul and heart in her eyes once

more.

He had gathered the few books from her oratory and boudoir, and at

intervals when he could control his thought he pored over them,

treasuring every faint pencil-line, every sentence blotted by tears, as

an indication of having specially occupied her. Now that he could no

longer discuss these moods, how eagerly he sought for the light she

would so gladly have given him in those past, happier days!

In vain he asked of the Lady Beata whether they had discussed these

thoughts together--whether Fra Francesco had brought her the little worn

volumes.

"My lord, I know not," she answered coldly, resolved in her own heart to

tell him nothing that he did not already know, since only now it had

pleased him to concern himself with that religious attitude which was

costing Marina so dearly. For the whole strength of the love she would

once have yielded him for the asking, the Lady Beata now lavished upon

Marina, in jealous devotion.

But he could not be angry with Fra Francesco, who had only been faithful

in sharing his belief with her, while he, her husband, had refused to

help her. "My God!" he groaned; "why are we blind until the anguish

comes!"

As he drearily paced the stately chambers--so empty without Marina--what

would he not have given to hear her voice again repeat those eager

questions he had been so willing to repress! How could it ever have

vexed him that she should wish to understand the question that was

occupying Venice! But now he remembered having grown less and less

patient with her as she had returned to this theme, until, in

self-defense, she had said with gentle dignity, yet half-surprised at

his irritation:

"Marco, have a little patience with me. Remember that our young nobles

are trained in knowledge of these laws of Venice from quite early

boyhood."

"It is part training, if thou wilt," he had answered lightly; "or in

these questions women are stupid--I know not. But these matters concern

them not." And after that, he remembered now with shame, she had

troubled him no more, and he had felt it a relief; for during the few

discussions they had had together he had been aware that they approached

the question from a radically different point of view. He had never

taken the trouble to comprehend her ground nor to give her reasons for

his own; he had simply made assertions, with a sense of irritation that

any repetition should be called for in a matter quite out of a woman's

province; for the women of Venice had no part in that salon influence on

politics which was ascribed to their sisters of France, and her attempts

to gain understanding for a personal judgment had chafed him like an

interference in his own special field. He, with his subtly trained

intellect and legal knowledge, could so easily have convinced her, he

told himself remorsefully; but he had not taken the trouble even to look

through her lens, while she had been so eager to understand his point of

view--and only that she might reach the truth!

Now he had much time to understand it all! He recalled a strange, hurt

look when her questions had ceased, but it had not troubled him then;

she would forget it,--would understand that he preferred to talk about

other things,--he had said to himself, and he had been careful in

gracious little ways to show her that he was not displeased. And she had

been wise and had vexed him no more; there had been no arguments on this

or any other theme. And then the days of strain had come and the labors

of the Council had absorbed him. Now he saw that she had been too proud

and strong to subject herself to repeated insinuations of inferiority of

understanding, as she had been too loving and dutiful to prolong the

contest. And so--he groaned aloud as his mistake revealed itself to him

in those long, unhappy hours--he had lost the dear opportunity of

leading her aright; for he contemplated but one possible issue of such

an attempt on his part; he had scorned her entreaty when she came to him

for understanding of a mystery that was killing her, and he had driven

her to take up the study alone, with the help of her father confessor,

who knew but one side of the vexed question, and that _not_ the side of

Venice!

He was sure that it was a matter of conscience and not of contest with

Marina, therefore she _must_ know; he should have realized that! How had

Fra Francesco met her questions? Had he told her it was a matter beyond

the comprehension of women? Or had he been patient with her difficulties

and solved them with terrible positiveness? Was it he who had brought

her these manuals on "Fasts and Penances," "The Use and Nature of the

Interdict," "The Duty of the Believer," which completed for her the

pictures of horror her faith had already outlined? Marcantonio had taken

in all their dread meaning in rapid glances. How could she believe those

terrible things he had seen in her eyes--those terrible, terrible

things!

Nay, how should she not believe them? And how implicitly she must have

believed them to have endured so much in hope of averting this doom!

"Marina! Carina!" his heart went out to her in a great wail of pity; a

woman--so tender, so young--kneeling at night in her chapel, alone with

the vision of the horror she was praying to avert; bearing the fasting

and the penance and the weakness, all alone, in the hope that God would

be merciful; gathering up her failing strength so bravely for that

thankless scene in the Senate. And he, her husband, who had never meant

that his love should fail her, could have spared her all this pain by a

little comprehension! Could she ever forgive him? And would she

understand some day? Might he reason it all out lovingly with her when

her strength came back to her--"For baby's sake!" that sweet, womanly,

natural plea which he had disregarded?

"Signor Santorio," he moaned, "if I might but reason with her, I might

cure her!"

"Nay," said Santorio, "not yet; the shadow hath not left her eyes. Let

her forget."

She had been growing stronger, they said, doing quite passively the

things they asked of her toward her restoration; she recognized them

all, but she expressed neither wish nor emotion, lying chiefly with

closed eyes in the cavernous depths of the great invalid chair where

they laid her each day, yet responding by some movement if they called

her name--rarely with any words; nothing roused her from that mood of

unbroken brooding.

"She will not forget," the great Santorio said in despair. "We must try

to rouse her. Let her child be brought."

The ghost of a smile flitted for an instant about her pale lips and over

the shadowy horror in her eyes, as Marcantonio leaned over her with

their boy in his arms. "Carina," he cried imploringly, "our little one

needeth thee!"

She half-opened her arms, but this wraith of the mother, he remembered,

frightened the child, who clung sobbing to his father.

Marina fell back with a cry of grief, struggling for the words which

came slowly--her first connected speech since her illness. "It is the

curse! It parts even mothers and children!"

A strange strength seemed to have come to her; a sudden light gleamed in

her eyes; she turned from one to the other, as if seeking some one in

authority to answer her question, and fixed upon Santorio's as the

strongest face.

"The official acts of a Pope are infallible?" she questioned, with

feverish insistence, after the first futile attempt to speak. "The Holy

Father who succeeds him may not undo his acts of mercy?"

"Yes, yes, it is true," Santorio assented, waiting eagerly for the

sequence.

A little color had crept into her cheeks; her hands were burning; they

grasped the physician's arm like a vise; the change was alarming.

"The edict cannot hurt my baby! Santissima Maria, thou hast saved him!"

she cried. "For he hath the special blessing of his Holiness Pope

Clement, and our Holy Father cannot reach him with this curse of

Venice!"

"We cannot keep her mind from it," said Santorio, aside to Marcantonio;

"it is essential to calm it with the right view--no argument, it might

induce the most dangerous excitement. Send for some bishop or theologian

who takes the right view; let him present it as a fact, and with

authority; her life depends upon it."

He leaned down to his patient in deep commiseration to tell her that all

was well--that Venice was under no ban, that God's blessing still

shielded her churches and her children; but she raised her eyes steadily

to his, and the strength of the belief, which he saw clearly written

within them, filled him with awe and hushed his speech. How was it

possible to make her understand!

"Nay," said Marina faintly, still holding him with her sad, solemn eyes,

"do not speak. Since Fra Francesco comes no more there is but one who

speaketh truth to me. It is the vision of my beautiful Mater Dolorosa of

San Donato, which leaveth me not."

There was a stir in the depths of the streets below--a noise of the

populace coming nearer, following along the banks of the Canal Grande,

as if the cause of their excitement were in some hurried movement on

its placid waters; the shouts and jeers of the strident voices were

broken by authoritative commands of the Signori della Notte--the

officers of police--and the tramp of their guards failing to create

order; and above the hubbub rose the cry, distinctly repeated again and

again--the cry of an angry populace, "Andè in malora! Andè in malora!"

("Curses go with you!")