THE HERO OF THE SQUARE
It was some months before hostilities ended, but favorable word continued
to come from the front, and the gloom that had so long overhung Italy was
dissipated. Women worked with light hearts, men fought with the assurance
of victory.
Chico was soon about again and was the hero of the Square. Although his
nights were now somewhat restricted, he found it very pleasant to fly about
the accustomed haunts, and if he was a little inclined to assume the airs
of a war veteran, no one criticized.
When Pepita, amid the cares of domesticity, wearied a little of her
husband's oft-repeated tales of life at the front, he had only to repair
to the Piazza where, in the perches among the Statuary, he never failed to
find plenty of cronies eager to pay him fascinated attention.
When the armistice was signed, Venice gave herself up to revelry, and the
scenes when the Piazza was once more illuminated were wilder than at any
Carnival time.
Processions of people, mad with joy, marched up and down, headed by Chico
and his master, and shouting in praise of the brave bird.
It was not long before the city began to assume her customary appearance as
greatly prized treasures were brought from their hiding-places.
The Colleoni statue once more stood in place; Titian's famous Assumption of
the Virgin that had transferred to Pisa was returned securely packed in
a huge chest, some seven and a half meters in length, and amid the wild
excitement the bronze horses were restored to their position on the top of
St. Mark's. People thronged to witness the ceremony and afterwards flocked
into the church where the patricians of Venice intoned the Te Deum in
thanksgiving.
When the time came for conferring honors upon the war heroes, Chico was not
forgotten. After some discussion as to whether it would be practicable for
the bird to wear a band of honor about his leg, the idea was abandoned, and
a special medal was struck off and given to Andrea. It bore the arms of
Italy on one side and a pigeon on the other, with the inscription, "De
virtute." [Footnote: For courage.]
On the eventful day in the office of the War Department, after the
presentation had been made, the General further addressed the boy who
stood, all trembling at the honor that had come to his Chico.
"Special orders, my lad, have come from Rome that something shall be done
for you."
As he paused, Andrea protested, "No, No! it is enough--the medal is
enough!"
"The orders on this point are most explicit." The General's tone was
positive. "Come tell us, what is your ambition?"
"To be an aviator, signore, in the service of my country," was the
stammering answer.
"Bene! It shall be done. Your expenses shall be paid to the best government
school of aviation, and, from this time on, an income of one hundred and
fifty lire a month shall be allowed your parents, for it is understood your
father has aged greatly in the service of his country."
Andrea bowed his head. He had no words to express his gratitude. But, once
outside, he ran every step of the way home, in his eagerness to tell the
wonderful news.
* * * * *
The Great War is now a matter of history, and once more tourists are
flocking to Venice. Again gay laughter is heard on the Grand Canal. The
little shops that line the sides of the Piazza of St. Mark's are now bright
with glittering strands of beads, while the women are once more busy with
their bobbins.
The clock tower, the Ducal Palace, the Campanile--they are all there,
beautiful as ever, and now as ever stands St. Mark's Church, sharing the
joy of her people as she has sympathized with them in their sorrow.
Perchance, reader, you may yourself sometime visit this city of "Beautiful
Nonsense," and, if so, may call "Chico, Chico!" and look to see if one of
the fluttering pigeons that so contentedly coo about the Square will not
come and light upon your shoulder.
Should you be so fortunate as to catch a glimpse of an aeroplane circling
in the blue sky, you may risk a guess that the aviator is Andrea, in the
government employ.
You may even learn that he wears a medal ever about his neck and that
sometimes he carries with him Chico as a mascot: sometimes, but not always,
for little Pepita is sadly lonesome when her faithful mate is long away.
Who knows but that in the future this story of a homing pigeon may have a
place with the other memories of this wonderful city, and that, five or six
hundred years from now, children may gather about some old caretaker of St.
Mark's and listen, with fascinated attention, as he tells of the service
rendered Venice by a homing pigeon in the time of the Great War?