A GALA DAY
At last the new Campanile was completed. When the historic old bell tower
had fallen that morning in July, the people had been stunned and had given
way to such grief as only Italians feel over the loss of a thing of beauty.
It had fallen at nine-thirty in the morning, and when the Town Council met
that evening, it had been at once decided that immediate steps be taken to
erect a new tower, "dov'era, com'era" (where it was and as it was). And in
this all Italy concurred. The first stone had been laid on St. Mark's day,
April 25, 1903.
Slowly the graceful tower had risen from the confused mass of debris at its
base, no effort being spared to make it as strong and beautiful as possible
to conceive. Three thousand piles had been used in the foundation, and
almost every fragment of the old had been utilized in the effort to
reproduce, as nearly as possible, the much-loved structure. Carefully
the shattered pieces of bas-reliefs had been fitted together by trained
artisans, the figure of Venice on the east walls had been completely
restored, while one favorite group of the Madonna and Child had been pieced
from sixteen hundred fragments: the bells had been recast, and when
this gala day dawned, the same gold angel surmounted the top of the new
Campanile that had looked protectingly over the city for generations.
What wonder that Venice was beside herself with joy, and that great
festivities had been arranged to celebrate the occasion--on St, Mark's day,
1912?
The city was filled with visitors; the little steamers and motor-boats
chugged right merrily along the canals, laden with sight-seers, while the
gondoliers reaped a rich, harvest from the crowds of strangers.
Among those who came to attend the festivities was the children's uncle,
Pietro Minetti. He was the elder brother of Giovanni, and was an important
personage (at least in his own estimation) for had he not left the little
Venetian home years before and become a citizen of the world? Andrea and
Maria were wild with delight when they heard he was coming, and speculated
much as to their rich uncle, for, of course, he must be rich as every one
was out in the great world.
And at first sight it seemed that he must be even richer than they had
dreamed, so elegant did he appear in his checked trousers and starched
shirt. His mustache was waxed, and he walked with a swagger as he jauntily
swung a cane.
All at once the little home on the side canal seemed poorer and shabbier
than ever, and Luisa couldn't help wishing the smells of fish and garlic
from the shop below were not quite so strong.
But though Pietro looked somewhat superciliously at the plain surroundings,
after the strangeness wore off he proved to be a most entertaining guest,
with his stories of the great cities which he had visited. He had been as
far as London, and the children drew close in order that they might not
lose a single syllable of his wonderful tales.
"Well, well!" he exclaimed, introducing the subject of the Campanile, "it
really seems as if the town is waking up! I hear there is a lift in the
tower, and the old angel on the top has been actually placed on a pivot, to
act as a weather vane as well as a thing of beauty. That's more than could
have been expected of slow Venetians. If it were only possible to get in a
few automobiles there might be some hope for the city."
"Automobiles!" Giovanni was indignant, resenting even the mention of such
newfangled contrivances. "Venice wouldn't be Venice with automobiles!"
"Well, motor-cycles, then!" laughed Pietro good naturedly; "anything that
would give some noise and ginger to the old town. Pep is what Venice
needs!" And he chuckled to himself at the thought of motor-cycles on St.
Mark's Square.
Neither Giovanni nor Luisa had any patience with such talk, but the
children edged nearer, and their eyes grew bigger as they asked him eager
questions in regard to the marvelous things he had mentioned.
"Have you ever seen horses?" Andrea ventured timidly; "I mean real horses,
not pretend ones like those on the top of St. Mark's?"
"Horses!" he repeated, bursting into so loud a laugh that Maria shrank
away, half frightened; "horses! Why, they're so old-fashioned that no one
cares for them any more. They're quite too slow for the twentieth century!"
Andrea's head swam--horses old-fashioned! What kind of a strange world was
it outside of Venice? All at once his childish air castles came tumbling
down. But before he could question further it was time for bed, and with
his imagination roused to the utmost he tossed uneasily until he fell
asleep to dream he was racing with the wind in a strange kind of car with
the Devil himself as driver.
The exercises were to begin at ten o'clock the next morning, and the Piazza
was fairly packed with people hours before that time. Thanks to Paolo our
little group had a good place to view the proceedings in a certain musty
alcove of St. Mark's, and there they sat cramped through what seemed to
Maria like interminable hours.
As for St. Mark's Square, even Pietro had only words of praise for its gala
appearance: from the three flagstaffs opposite the church fluttered the
colors of Italy. Everywhere was music, everywhere was gayety, and the
crowds of people united in glad cries of "Viva Venezia!" [Footnote: Long
live Venice!]
For Venice, more than any other place in the world, belongs to rich and
poor alike, and in the midst of it all, sympathizing with every mood, is
St. Mark's Church, the pride of the Venetian people. Never did she seem
more glorious than on this gala day, never did her gold mosaics sparkle
more brilliantly in the sunshine than when the great high magistrate
pronounced the solemn words: "Dov'era, com'era," and the bells rang to mark
the completion of the exercises.
Then, hark! a whirr, whirr of wings, a sudden darkening of the sky that
caused the joyful thousands to look into the heavens above them.
In an instant the shadow resolved itself into over twenty-five hundred
pigeons that had been brought to Venice that they might carry the glad news
to every part of Italy.
Then it was that the populace went wild with joy; thousands of
handkerchiefs fluttered, the cries of "Viva Venezia!" swelled and rent the
air, until they were drowned by the inspiring notes of the Italian national
tune, played by patriotic musicians in the bandstand at Florian's.
Our little group shared in all the excitement, waving with the rest
and joining in glad cries of "Urra! Urra!" Even Pietro was aroused to
admiration, and as the music died away and the crowds began to disperse, he
exclaimed: "There's no doubt but that Venice has outdone herself, and it
was a master stroke to make such use of homing pigeons. These spoiled birds
that flutter about the Square have no spirit in them, and I doubt if one of
them could carry a message even from the Lido!"
"Chico could," asserted Andrea stoutly, touched to the quick by the
sweeping declaration; "he could carry a message from 'most anywhere to
Venice!"
"Who's Chico?" Pietro asked quickly, elbowing his way through the surging
mass of people in the church.
"He's my pigeon!" Andrea answered, eager to defend his bird, and raising
his voice in an effort to make himself heard above the confusion. "I've
trained him, and I'll show you to-morrow! I don't suppose I could get to
him in all this crowd."
"To-morrow will do as well," Pietro managed to ejaculate, as they found
themselves at last in the Square, which was still solidly jammed with
people. "I am somewhat of a pigeon-fancier myself, and if that bird of
yours is what you say he is we'll see, we'll see!"
With this their conversation was interrupted and not again resumed, the
remainder of the afternoon being spent in promenading the Square, going up
in the lift of the Campanile, and managing to appease their appetites with
the various pastes and fruits which Pietro generously stood treat for.
Almost before they were aware of it, the afternoon was drawing to a close,
and with the coming of twilight Venice became more of a fairyland than
ever.
Outlining the buildings throughout the Square, throwing into prominence
every graceful point and cornice, were thousands of electric lights: St.
Mark's herself appeared more like a jewel box than ever, and was only
surpassed by the Campanile which was ablaze from top to bottom.
Everywhere was music, everywhere was light, and in this new and splendid
setting, Venice looked a very gorgeous "Bride of the Sea!"
The spirit of the old Carnival days was once more present: as women in
black shawls and strange masked figures threaded their way amid the throngs
of people accompanied by wild music, while confetti, thrown from every
balcony, caused shouts of laughter and fell harmlessly upon them.
There were to be fireworks on the water, and Paolo had offered his old
gondola that they might join the gay crowds on the Grand Canal. Here Pietro
was supreme, and it required only the twisting of a scarf about his waist
to transform him into a gondolier, at least in the eyes of his not too
critical audience.
So Giovanni and the children crowded into the shabby gondola and rowed with
thousands of others up and down, watching the rockets soaring into the sky
and bursting into myriads of dazzling stars as they fell into the water
below.
Later, when the display was over, Pietro guided them among the storied
palaces of the long ago, now close behind some concert barge, playing
softest strains of grand opera, or answering the low call of passing
gondoliers with like musical response.