The great bell in the tower of the arsenal told twelve of the day, and
already the broader waters near the rios which led to the high
machicolated walls surrounding this famous Venetian stronghold were
crowded with gondolas of the people and barges from the islands filled
with men, women, and children, jubilant with holiday speech and
brilliant in gala colors; for this was one of those perpetually
recurring festas which so endeared this City of the Sea to its
pleasure-loving people.
This splendid ceremony of inspection by the Doge was a day of annual
triumph, for nowhere in all the world was there such an arsenal, and
nowhere such an army of workmen,--thirty-five thousand men trained to
the cunning from father to son in lifelong service,--with sailors,
sixteen thousand more, who should presently make a brave review within
those battlemented walls, to tickle the fancy of the Serenissimo and his
guests. For these pageants of Venice were not guiltless of timely hints
to the onlookers of the futility of opposition to a naval force so great
and so admirably controlled; and well might the Republic be proud of the
foundry, the docks, the galleys, which the Doge and the Signoria came
each year in state to visit, with all the nobles of the Maggior
Consiglio and many of the high officials.
This year it was to be a fête more magnificent than usual, for the
households of the ambassadors were bidden to the banquet which was
prepared in the Great Hall of the arsenal--the attractions of which were
invitingly rehearsed, as the speakers leaned across from gondola to
gondola, to exchange their pleasant bits of gossip with dramatic
exaggerations. "And the gondolas of the ambassadors! Santa Maria! the
Signori, 'i provveditori alle pompe' have nothing to say, for there is a
dispensation! the velvets and satins and golden fringes--it will be a
true glimpse of the _paradiso_!"
"And the great Signor medico, Acquapendente, will be made this day
Cavalière of the Republic, since he hath had the wonderful fortune to
save the life of our Padre Maestro Paolo; for it is well known there was
little hope of matins or vespers more for him, the night the _maledetti
bravi_ left the stiletto in his face!"
"And thou, Giuseppe!" cried a smiling mother from Mazzorbo, proudly
indicating her boy as an object of interest, and pushing him into a more
prominent position--"the bambino hath seen it with his own eyes, since
he is prentice at the metal graver's shop of Messer Maffeo Olivieri on
the Rialto; thou, tell us, Giuseppe, of this great goblet of graven
silver which the Master Olivieri hath ready for the presentation, by
order of the Signoria. È bello, ah? _Bellissimo_! And the Lion of San
Marco on the crown of it--_è vero_ Giuseppe?--with wings--_magnifico_!
And jewels of rubino in the eyes of it; and a tongue----"
"Cosi!" interposed Giuseppe, with dramatic effectiveness, thrusting out
his own with relish. "_Thus_!"
"Ma c'è altro!" cried a gondolier from Murano. "There is more yet! For
the magnificent galley which the little one of the Ca' Giustiniani--he
that is grandson to our Messer Girolamo Magagnati--hath given to the
Republic will be floated out from the basin of the arsenal and
christened this day!"
The spirits of the light-hearted crowd effervesced in a jubilant cheer.
"_I Giustiniani_!"
On every page of the history of Venice the name of the Giustiniani stood
brilliantly forth, and the stained and tattered banners in the great
hall of the arsenal were so many laurel leaves for this patrician house,
keeping the memory of the brilliant victory of Lepanto green in the
hearts of the Venetians. It was a Giustinian, "Gonfalonière," _standard
bearer_, who had brought the glorious news on his triumphant galley, the
solemn Lion of San Marco waving his banner above the drooping crescent
of the Turk from every green wreathed mast. It was this Giustinian who
had been carried in triumph on the shoulders of the people, before the
Doge and the Signoria--who had been the hero when that solemn Mass, in
honor of the victory, had been offered up in the ducal chapel--when the
Rialto and the Merceria, for the extravagant joy of Venice, were draped
in blue and scarlet and gold, bound laurel wreaths and decorated with
the art treasures of Titian and Giorgone. It was a name which the people
were accustomed to honor. "I Giustiniani!" they shouted.
There was a sudden hush, for the bells of the Campanile of San Marco
had given the signal, and there was a great stir before the Piazza--a
train of gondolas was sweeping into line far down the Canal Grande; the
guards on the watch-towers of the arsenal were full of animation; the
gondolas of the orderlies were buzzing like bees about the barge of the
grand admiral, who awaited the coming of the Doge, in all his
magnificence of satin ceremonial robes. He was like a noble to-day, this
man of the people. _Viva San Marco_!
The moment was approaching; orderlies glided back and forth among the
excited people, prescribing their distance; the raft of small craft
shifted its position and presently a salute was fired from all the
cannon of the arsenal; the Doge, in his great State barge, was near.
The people shouted themselves hoarse when the smoke cleared away and
revealed the splendid train of private barges from Venice; there were
banners of the Republic and streaming pennons of the nobles; the
gondoliers wore the colors of their house, and were welcomed by the
people on these days of pageant as a distinct addition to the glories of
the festa--though on other days the barcarioli of the traghetti poured
out full vials of contempt upon their sashes of rose and silver and the
blazonry of arms upon their silken sleeves.
The gondolas and barges of the people drifted back again, close about
the train of magnates from Venice.
"I Giustiniani," they shouted; "il Marconino!"
There was a movement on one of the splendid barges bearing the colors of
the Giustiniani; a little child was caught up and held for a moment
high in the air; he waved his tiny hands gleefully--it was such
beautiful play!
"It is the grandson of Messer Girolamo Magagnati, of the Stabilimenti!"
they cried from the barges of Murano, surging nearer in the waterway.
"He belongs to us--to the people!" for the story was well known, and the
people of Venice were not less proud than the nobles who ruled them.
"Viva Messer Magagnati!"
The group upon the deck parted and disclosed an old man with bowed head
and faltering movements, supported by the young Senator Giustiniani, who
gravely recognized their salute; but there was no answering smile upon
his face; and Girolamo Magagnati, who had proudly confronted the
senators in their Council Chamber when he had declined their proffer of
nobility, in this day of triumph scarcely raised his eyes.
The mothers on the barges lifted their little ones in their arms and
taught them to call a name--"Il Marconino!" they ventured, in hesitant,
treble tones.
But now the splendid moment was near. The admiral, in his crimson robes
of state, had mounted to his place on the Doge's barge, and all the
floating crowd had fallen into ordered position, in a hush of vibrant
suspense, as, with slow majesty and grace, one by one the galleys of
Venice came forth in procession from the great basin of the arsenal,
sweeping round from the Punta della Motta into the lagoon, and passing
the Signoria with a salute. And now the great bell sounded again from
the arsenal tower, and was answered from the Campanile of San Marco,
and the suppressed excitement of the eager spectators burst forth in
cries of greeting to the _Marconino_--just set afloat--as she came
gracefully around in front of the Doge's barge, full manned and
saluting, magnificently equipped, the colors of the Giustiniani waving
below the crimson banner of San Marco, with its regnant Lion, and on her
prow the beautiful sculptured figure of a little child.
"_Il Marconino! Il Marconino_!"
There was a brief moment of confusion from the coming and going of
barges,--a short delay which brimmed their excitement to the fever
pitch,--then the waters cleared again of their floating craft, and the
Senator Marcantonio Giustiniani stepped forth on the deck to christen
the gift of his child.
The people looked, and would have shouted--but forebore--gazing
awestruck.
As he stood, firmly planted upon the prow, the crimson drapery of his
senator's robe parted and disclosed the firm young vigor of his limbs,
in their silken hose, and his very attitude showed power. But he wore
the face of a young Greek god who had lightly dreamed that he could
fashion Life out of grace and sunshine, and had waked to carve Endurance
out of Agony.
The child, held high in his arms, was radiant in the sunshine, its
rosebud mouth parting over pearly teeth in dimpling glee, the breeze
lifting the light rings of hair that caressed his soft, round throat,
the hands waving in childish ecstasy and grace. As they stood, just over
the beautiful bust of the "Marconino" which Vittorio had carved upon the
prow, child and father were an embodiment of the play of the crested
foam over the deep trouble of the waves beneath.
"Was it thus that the nobles took their triumphs?" the people questioned
low of each other. "And where was the Lady Marina, the daughter of
Messer Magagnati--_their_ lady, who had been good to the people?"
"She was there--within," some one answered, "she was not strong--the
salutes were too much for her. She was waiting within, with her
maidens."
"To miss such a beautiful festa! Santa Maria!"--the strong peasant
mothers, clasping their infants in their arms, with prattling,
barefooted children clinging to their mantles--so glad for this glimpse
of holiday--looked again at the beautiful, stern face of this father who
had youth and gifts and wealth, his seat in the Consiglio, his boy in
his arms--but no smile for the people pressing around him ready to shout
his name, and they crossed themselves with a nameless yearning and
dread.
But the nobles, with more understanding, looked upon him and forgot
their jealousy.
For the Lady Marina was within, waiting with her maidens in a private
chamber of the arsenal until the hour of the banquet, when her presence
had been required by the Signoria. Only so much had her father--the
giver of the gift--and Marcantonio, on this day of honor to his
name--been able to obtain of the imperious Republic. There were rumors
afloat, questions were asked, and the body of nobles must bear witness
to the clemency of the State, who could be gracious in forgiving. If the
Lady of the Giustiniani might not have the custody of her child, it was
not that because of her transgressions they would refuse her any grace
or honor.
Meanwhile Giustinian Giustiniani, standing proudly erect among the
nobles of the Doge's suite, searched the crowd for further homage, and
wondered at the silence when the charming figure of the baby Marconino
danced in his father's arms--a very embodiment of life and glee.
It was over in a moment, and the crowd of smaller barges fell back in
disorder, for the Doge was passing through the gates of the arsenal; the
galleys were returning back by San Pietro in Castello, and that which
was to follow of the glories of the day was only for the great ones now
gathering behind that charmèd gate, where the golden chair was waiting
in which the Serenissimo should make his royal progress. There was
nothing more for the people until the hour of the Ave Maria should call
the stately procession forth on its homeward way.
But the brilliant memories of this morning would gladden many a less
golden day--Viva San Marco! Their voluble tongues were suddenly
unloosed, and those who had been favored with near glimpses of the
heroes of the day became centres of animated discussion. Life was good
in Venice! "And thou, Nino, forget not that the Madonna hath been
'gentile' to thee! Thou shalt tell thy little ones, when thou art old,
that thou hast this day seen, with thine own eyes, the Marconino, who
hath given the great galley to the Republic!"
The banquet was over, and there was a stir among the Signoria when the
infant Giustinian was called for that he might receive the thanks of
the Republic for his princely gift; and a murmur of admiration circled
from lip to lip as the blooming child was brought into the banquet hall.
All eyes were now turned upon the Lady Marina, who had hitherto remained
surrounded by her household and inconspicuous among the group of noble
Venetian ladies who gave distinction to this festa.
It was Marcantonio who, with a tenderness that was pathetic and a touch
that was a caress, led her down from her place and folded the little
one's hand in hers. He would have led her to the throne; but a gesture
that was scarcely more than a glance conveyed a command he dared not
disobey.
They looked to see a flush of pride on her beautiful face as, in answer
to the Doge's summons, she came slowly forward, with the tiny hand of
the boy clasped in hers--his unsteady, childish footsteps echoing
unevenly on the marble pavement between her measured movements. But she
walked as in a dream, as if she were no longer one of this bright
company, yet strangely beautiful to see, with a face like some noble
spirit,--pale and grieving,--and in her eyes a great trouble that was
full of dignity and love. Over the dark velvet of her robe the
bountiful, white waves of her hair streamed like a bridal veil,
wreathing her brows and her young, pathetic face with silken rings of
drifted snow.
But before she had reached the dais prepared for the Signoria at the end
of the great hall she paused, as if unable to proceed further, swaying
slightly and throwing out her hands to steady herself; a sudden change
swept over her face, and for a moment it seemed that she would fall; the
child, losing hold of her hand, clung sobbing to her skirts, hiding his
pretty head.
Her husband sprang to her aid, tenderly supporting her, but as instantly
she seemed to recover her strength, smiling upon him graciously, while
she gently disengaged herself from his hold, leaving the little one with
him, and gliding rapidly forward, looked around her with unrecognizing
eyes.
It had pleased the whim of the Republic to make some ecclesiastical
parade on this festa of Venice which followed so closely upon the
prosaic closing scene of the quarrel with Rome, wherein no churchly pomp
had been permitted; and as Marina's bewildered gaze steadied itself upon
the noble group of the Signoria, with whom to-day, in great state, sat
the Patriarch of Venice with mitre and hierarchical robes and all the
attendant group of Venetian bishops, a look of intense relief suddenly
flashed over the trouble in her eyes--as if that which she had sought
with such long suffering no longer eluded her.
"Madre Beatissima!" she cried, clasping her crucifix closely to her
breast, and raising her eyes to heaven, "I thank thee!"
The light grew upon her face.
As her whole life had been merged in this struggle which had only
conquered her overwrought heart and brain when she had felt that the
Madonna had deserted her and delivered her to the wrath of Venice, so
now, in her hallucination,--since the Madonna had brought her to
Rome,--her faith and power of speech suddenly returned, and she rallied
all her strength to fulfil her mission.
In that great and sumptuous Hall, flaunting and gay with banners which
chronicled the victories and the power of the Republic--in the
impregnable stronghold of the realm, under the astonished gaze of the
entire Venetian court and the brilliant throng of the households of
nobles and ambassadors who looked down from the circling galleries,
expectant and awestruck under the spell of so strange a vision--this
pale, slight champion of a desperate spiritual struggle, with no host to
help her save her prayers and faith, with no standard but the cross
clasped to her breast, knelt at the feet of the Patriarch, while the
sunset light through the broad western window made a radiance where she
knelt--as if Heaven at last had smiled upon her.
"Oh, Holy Father!" she implored, "have mercy upon Venice! Forgive her
unfaithfulness, because she hath meant no sin!
"The Madonna hath granted me to reach Rome at last, because she hath
laid her command upon me in a vision and it could not fail. But all
those, my loved ones, have I lost by the weary way; and save for her
mercy I could not have reached thee.
"With prayers and penance have I striven--and ceased not--since the
anguish of thy displeasure came upon Venice. Oh, Holy Father! for all
the mothers who understand and grieve, and for our innocent little ones,
and for all those, our beloved, who are good and noble--and yet know not
the hard way of submission, because the Lord hath taught them some other
way--lift thy wrath from Venice, that our Heavenly Father hide not his
face in clouds too heavy for our prayers to reach him!
"It is the will of the Madonna San Donato--thou canst not refuse to lift
the doom!"
The words leaped over each other like a torrent--impetuous, passionate,
as if the moments for speech were few.
"These do I bring--and these, for an offering!" she cried, feverishly
unclasping the lustrous pearls from her throat and girdle and laying
them at the feet of the Patriarch. "And all the dear happiness of my
life have I given, that I might reach thee with this prayer for Venice!
Oh, Holy Father, accept my sacrifice!"
She reverently pressed the hem of the priestly robe to her lips, and
those who knew of her flight from Venice understood that she fancied she
had reached the Roman Court and was kneeling in the presence of the
Sovereign Pontiff; but in their amazement that she alone, who was dying
from the grief of it, did not know that the interdict had been removed,
it had not seemed possible to answer her.
But there was no room for anger as they listened--though her plea was a
judgment on the court of Venice--for her voice thrilled them with its
unearthly sadness, and, looking into her beautiful, spirit face, they
saw that all her consciousness was merged in her intense realization of
the utmost terror of the curse, and in her one burning hope--to which
all things else were as nothing and in which she herself was wholly
lost.
The Patriarch, moved with immeasurable compassion, raised her tenderly.
"My daughter," he said, in a voice that trembled with feeling, "Venice
is restored to favor. The Interdict is removed!"
Through the stern assembly a wave of sympathy surged irresistibly,
impelling them to comfort this lovely, grieving lady, distraught by
anguished brooding. Scarcely knowing that their emotion expressed itself
in words, they caught up the Patriarch's answer and echoed it from group
to group--from gallery to gallery--until it gathered impetus and rolled
like a Hallelujah Chorus through the vast, vaulted chamber.
"Venice is restored to favor; the Interdict is removed!"
The light grew upon her face.
How should it seem strange to her that her prayer at the feet of the
Holy Father had wrought this pardon for Venice--was it not for this that
the blessed Madonna of San Donato had sent her? She had promised
blessing for sacrifice!
She stood for a moment, radiant, while the chorus of many voices
throbbed around her--her face like an angel's for joy and love--a
glorified vision in the parting rays of the evening sun--then her faint
fluttering breath died in a _Benedicite_!
* * * * *
The vesper bells of Venice came softly through the twilight, calling to
Ave Maria.