These things took place in the spring of 1468; nor was it long before
the ceremonial had been prescribed and the pageant had been made ready
for the betrothal of the youthful Caterina; for the Senate could be as
prompt in action as far-seeing in judgment when haste seemed wise; and
other rulers were looking with no disfavor on the King of Cyprus in this
matter of an alliance, for it was known that overtures had already been
offered by the Court of Naples and by His Holiness of Rome for one of
his own family who had claim to his protection.
While Venice was plunged in a turmoil of preparation, the Casa Cornaro
gathered from all its palaces and surged up and down the grand stairway
of the Marco Cornari, bringing counsel, gifts and glorification; the
dowagers to the remotest branches, were much in evidence, refurbished,
and coming in solemn state to testify their approval of an alliance so
honorable to their house, with many wise worldly maxims and pious thanks
to the Madonna.
There was no quiet anywhere within the palazzo, save deep down in the
heart of the Lady Fiorenza, who had never been one with her family in
worldly ambitions; and far below the giddy current of the day's
happenings ran the ceaseless flow of the mother's wordless prayer,
enfolding her child--pleading that that which was to come to her should
make and keep her noble.
Resistance would have been vain, if only because she stood alone in her
family circle; but the decision of the Senate was supreme--unquestionable
and irrevocable; she stood alone indeed with only prayer to help her, and
a great faith that because of it her child would be saved in the path of
danger from which her love might not hold her feet. And so the day of the
Betrothal dawned.
* * * * *
Ah, how the bells were ringing--Madre Beata! For such a _festa_ as never
had been in Venice! The hearts of the happy people throbbed to their
rhythm, while each gave something to the splendor of the day--were it
but the color of a mantle, or the grace of a jubilant motion, or the
radiance of a beaming face--there was no _festa_ in Venice of which the
people had not its part.
They had been gathering since earliest dawn in the Piazza San Marco,
arriving breathlessly in gondolas from the nearer points, in fishing
boats with painted sails from the distant islands--hastening from their
unsold wares in the market stalls near the wooden bridge of the Rialto
to wait long hours for the pageant that no Venetian might miss. For
never had there been such another, and there was not too much space
where one might stand to see the glory and the beauty of it! _Dio!_ but
it was good to be born in Venice, where life was a _festa_!
Along the Riva their radiant, dark faces gleamed in the sunshine, where
they stood in serried ranks, picturesque in all the brilliant coloring
that their rustic wardrobes held in store for these days of _festa_;
silken shawls that were heirlooms--strings of coral and amber and great
Venetian beads of every tint, or an edge of old lace on the gala
_fazzuolo_ that many a noble lady might be proud to wear; everywhere
there was color against the background of festive garlands and brilliant
rugs decking the balconies of the palaces--a dazzling picture in the
sunshine, under the blue of the Venetian sky.
Every window in the Piazza and the Piazzetta was thronged with
spectators in gala robes, while under the arcades that stretched from
San Marco to the ancient church of San Giminiano across the square, the
people surged crowding and jubilant; climbing to the roofs and ledges of
every building, the campanile, the churches, the columned palaces,
leaving not a space where a man might stand save the avenue through the
crowd which the soldiers kept free for the procession.
The bells were beginning to ring--Santa Maria! all the bells--a true
jubilee!
Messer San Marco and San Tadoro were good to them to-day; how their
golden images flashed in the sunshine on the columns! and the four great
golden horses, in the dancing sunlight, seemed to quiver and prance
among the frost-work of the arches of San Marco, while the gold and blue
and scarlet of frieze and archivolt made a picture of delight.
The little ones shouted and babbled, were lifted high on their fathers'
shoulders, or clamored with disappointed half-sobs down in the crowd
which shut out all vision, beside the weary, expostulating mothers
whose arms were filled with wee things who could not stand, and who had
come early in the day--so early--in hope of a treat for the _bambini_.
They had carried them around the Piazza when they came in the early
morning before the crowd--"Santa Vergine--wasn't that enough for them!
to get a sight of all the grand balconies where the nobili were to be,
with the garlands and the tapestries and the curtains of velvet and
brocade, and the beautiful paintings, and the banners of San Marco, and
the great golden horses in the Piazza--the wonderful golden horses--up
so high, thou knowest, eh, Battista? What dost thou want more?
Pazienza!"
There was a commotion on the Piazzetta; the first barge, heading the
long procession from the Palazzo Cornaro in San Cassiano far up the
Canal Grande, was coming in sight, bearing the brilliant _Compagnia
della Calza_, the noble youths of the Company of the Hose, whose gilded
duty it was to appear at State Ceremonials in all the extravagance of
fantastic elegance with which Venice had decreed their costumes. A
laughing, dainty company, they sprang ashore at the landing of the
Piazzetta, doffing their jewelled caps to the admiring crowd with
capricious grace and whimsical motions, like a flock of birds of
paradise, in doublets of velvet and cloth of gold, with hair floating
loose about their throats; with devices of fabulous birds--of stars
flashing light--of mystic arabesques and hieroglyphs embroidered on
their silken hose, in pearls and gold and precious stones:--truly a gay
and frivolous company to be under the grave control of the Ten!
The people shouted with delight as they took their stand at the steps
of the Piazzetta to receive the oncoming barges, for the "Calza" were
the very darlings of their eyes, and never had they been more brilliant.
With true Venetian comradery the crowd tossed them light banter on the
names of their divisions, with pantomimic interpretation, in response to
their sweeping salutations.
"_Cortesi_! saw one ever such courtesy!"
"San Marco keep you _Immortali_, for the grace of you!"
"_Sempiterni_!--everlasting--ay, to be young like that, with so much
pleasure in life--_Cielo_!"
"And the gondolieri of the _Sempiterni_--do they live also forever?
Signori Nobili, have you need of gondolieri?"
But it needed only a whimsical motion of the Calza to fasten all eyes on
the Canal Grande, where to the gracious rhythm of countless strings and
flutes, the barges of State were nearing the steps of the Piazzetta,
bearing the standards of Venice and Cyprus--their prows garlanded with
roses, their rowers wreathed with myrtle--banners and draperies of snow
and silver floating in the breeze.
Far up the Canal Grande the gondolas of the nobles, waiting before their
palaces, had glided into position as the procession swept down toward
the Piazza--each gondola showing the colors of its _casa_, each
fluttering a silken streamer in honor of Cyprus, each bearing its
freight of crimson-garbed Senators and ladies in festal array.
A murmur of intense satisfaction broke from the excited crowd along the
Riva, as the barges which bore the youthful bride and her
newly-appointed suite floated nearer; the great festal barges carved
with bas-reliefs from classic story, were all of white and silver, their
sails of satin, plumed with roses, and from each prow the figure of a
glorified swan flashed rosy light from eyes of ruby: and every rower in
white and silver plying his silver oar, wore the arms of Cornaro
blazoned on his sleeve, with a sash of the colors of Cyprus.
An opal light played over the group of the dainty maids of honor, yet
each showed, for her only color, the arms of her ancient Venetian house
wrought large upon the creamy fabric of her tunic, the threads of gold
and gleam of jewels half lost within its folds as she walked: but the
people looked for the heraldic devices and named them eagerly as, two by
two, the maidens stepped on shore--Mocenigo--Giustiniani--Morosini--
Dandolo--Contarini--a new name for every sweet young face--the King of
Cyprus could add none fairer, nor no more noble arms to the court of his
youthful Queen. The Senate had outdone itself in luxury of imagination.
"Ecco!" The low long-drawn sound of delight swept through the expectant
throng like the rustle of the wind among the rushes, for here, at last,
was La Caterina! and a very child she seemed as she stood surrounded by
the escort of noble Matrons of Honor most sumptuously clad, whom Venice
had appointed to act as sponsors in the ceremonial of the Adoption. She
was like a snow-drop in a garden of exotics--so pale and fair and young,
in her robes of filmy lace from the cushions of Burano--the great pearls
of Janus rising and falling with the frightened throbbing of her breast.
Her mother only stood beside her under the canopy--her hand clasping
that of her child with a pressure which gradually steadied her to forget
herself and to do her part mechanically, as she might be instructed:
for, deep in the heart of the Lady Fiorenza that ceaseless prayer upheld
her with a rare and noble dignity--it brought her calm for the drama she
had not willed, and faith that for her child all would be well. She had
pleaded with the Senate that on this day of deep import the barge of
Caterina should not be without the benediction of its tutelary saint,
since every gondola was wont to have its shrine; and behind them under
the canopy, from a mass of roses on an altar of alabaster, rose a noble
Madonna by Bellini, painted with exquisite grace--the votive picture
which later kept within the Chapel of the Lady Fiorenza in the Palazzo
Cornaro, the memory of this day.
The little ones cried and struggled down among the crowd, seeing
nothing, and conscious from the chorus of ecstatic exclamations that
they were missing a golden moment.
"_Pace!_ Yes, they are coming: she is there--the Regina. Every one of
you shall see--every one. _Pazienza!_ Some one will hold the _bimbo_ who
sleeps? Then I could lift Tonino and Maria. _Mille Grazie!_"
A dozen sympathetic arms had instantly offered in response to this
appeal, for the good-natured Venetian crowd adored _festas_--they
also--and it would be a pity of pities that the bambini should miss it,
and this one was like heaven!
"Ah, but she is beautiful, the bride--beautiful as an angel: and
young--young like my Teresina! And to be a queen--Santa Maria!--she who
was like the other daughters of the nobili on the Canal Grande! Ah, but
life is wonderful for them--the nobili--but Messer San Marco is gentile
to make this _festa_ for Venice!" The recollection of their own little
part in the festa came with a patient sigh.
"It is our Caro Maestro Giovanni Bellini who hath fashioned it all they
say--the garlands, the barges--the costumes--he talked with their
Excellencies, the Signoria."
The rumor went round, for the Maestro was the honest pride of Venice.
"It is he, verily, who hath painted our Blessed Lady for the barca of
the Lady Caterina; for Madonna Fiorenza is almost a saint--and
_devote_----! She hath the heart of a _carita_ within her."
"They come now from the palazzo of the Cornaro," cried the little
peasant-mother eagerly. "Hearest thou, my _bimbo_?" She moved the
restless hands to and fro, the round eyes following the motion. "Clap
thy hands for the Regina--thou too, give thy greeting; thou wilt
remember it when thou art old. May the holy Madonna bless her!"
The shouts to which Caterina landed were deafening: the children
screamed for very ecstasy.
The lagoon, from the Riva far out toward the islands was a dense mass of
floating craft of the poorer sort, for below the Piazza there had been
no restriction, and the waters were crowded with islanders--old people
grateful for this nearness to the pageant, with a chance of separation
from the standing, jostling crowd, and proud of lending the color of
their pennons and painted sails for their share of the glory of the day.
If one could see nothing, it was good to be there to hear the
shouting--one would understand the better when Tonio should be taking
his bit of supper and free to talk--for he was no good to his old mother
now, with watching the tacking and the people. And one might as well be
dead as to stay far off in Burano on a day like this! _Cielo_, but the
bells and the shouting were divine! It made one young again.
"A _king_, thou sayest? Who is the king that the child is going to
marry? What is he like, Tonio? I cannot see so far."
"_Not there?_ Holy Mother, but it is a strange wedding! There would have
been the gossip of all the islands to answer if there hadn't been two to
a wedding when I was young. But the Signori Nobili must have everything
after their own new fashions. And to miss his own _sposalizio_! San
Marco is not good to him--he'll never see another half so fine. Is she
so young as they say--like Maria, there?"
"Ah, to be Signori just for to-day!" sighed the little peasant-mother in
the crowd, as the dazzling cortege passed out of sight into the golden
glooms of San Marco. "To go with the nobili into the Duomo where one may
behold the Pala d'Oro and the wonderful golden candlesticks which the
Serenissimo hath given--to see the Serenissimo take her for the Daughter
of the Republic--wonder of wonders! And then to the Palazzo Ducale for
the Betrothal--_Pazienza_, one must wait; they will come again later, my
_bambini_. Ah, but the beauty of it!" For the brave little woman was
weary, and there was nothing like enthusiasm for keeping up one's
courage, "and Heaven alone knew where Zorzi was with the _barca_!"
The crowd relaxed and grew restless, losing some of the gaiety of its
temper when a weary neighbor settled back a little too roughly on a
fellow-shoulder, or the babies who had been put down on the ground to
rest lost the last sweet morsels they had been munching and clamored in
vain for more--too much excited by the unusual noises and happenings to
deign to notice the brothers of the next size who were busily turning
somersaults in their behalf.
But it would not be long before the procession came again; for the last
of the sumptuous nobles who made this holiday for the people had
disappeared under the portico of San Marco.
The bells were chiming now in soft low undertones, a very ripple of
sound--like the breath of the summer-breeze upon the sea--stilling the
shrill voices of the people in the Piazza, calming the exuberance of
their motions. For it was a signal. They knew that within the Duomo,
before the great altar where slept their patron-saint, ablaze now with
lights and the marvel of the Pala d'Oro which was not for the sight of
the eyes save on days of a _festa_ like this, the child of the Cornaro
was waiting to be made the Daughter of Venice.
* * * * *
And now--for the bells were silent--in the magnificent storied chamber
of the Gran Consiglio, where so many momentous questions of state had
been discussed, in the presence of the Serenissimo, the Signoria, the
Senate and the Forty Noble Matrons, a new leaf was to be added to the
story of the Republic, and thither the feeble old Doge led the Daughter
of Venice with the brilliant assemblage who had witnessed the ceremony
of the Adoption in the Duomo.
Caterina had moved through the splendid pageant of the morning as in a
dream, still too much a child to comprehend the responsibilities it
portended--too much in awe of the distinguished company assembled to do
her honor to be conscious of any feeling but unwonted timidity. But the
tottering footsteps of the old man who held her hand as he led her
through the Porta della Carta into the Ducal Palace, awoke her inborn
sense of pity, and it was she who upheld him with her strong, young,
vital clasp, recovering her own perfect poise in the act of giving help.
The Ambassador Mastachelli was waiting with his suite, and the signing
of the parchment which bore the seals of Venice and of Cyprus was the
trifle of a moment. A circlet of rubies--the sign of the promise--had
been consecrated by the saintly Patriarch, Lorenzo Giustiniani, and the
Lady Fiorenza took comfort from the look in his noble face as he bent
over Caterina to give the benediction. She would seek his aid in the
training of the young betrothed for her life on that distant island.
But now--at last--the hour was the people's once more, for the
Serenissimo stood on the balcony above the portal of San Marco, between
the great golden horses, with the Daughter of Venice beside him--the
sunlight irradiating her white robes and beautiful, girlish face.
"Caterina--Regina--_Figlia di Venezia_--_Nostra Venezia_!" A great cry
rent the air; it came from thousands of hearts and thrilled her own to
its core, and the first, great emotion of her young life swept through
her, transforming and wholly possessing her.
A mist swam before her and her heart throbbed as if it would break: she
dimly saw innumerable faces leaning to her from roofs and balconies and
windows, and below in the great Piazza, the dense mass of the people
with faces offering love and homage, lifting their children to clap
their tiny hands for her--it was wonderful--beautiful--had the Madonna,
indeed, given her so much!
The mist cleared before her eyes and each face, to the remotest corners
of the Piazza stood out individualized, while a sudden great love of
humanity was born within her. "She would pray to make her people
happy--she would be something to the poor and suffering ones of her
distant land of Cyprus--the Holy Mother would teach her----"
It was the supreme moment that does not come to all, yet when it comes
holds the making or the marring of a life--as the lightning gleams for
an instant only through a rift of cloud, awe-inspiring and too luminous
to be forgotten. To Caterina, on the verge of womanhood, it came with
the force of a prophetic vision, giving her sight of the tie between a
queen and her people--it was like the strong mother-love of a great
woman--all-embracing; the splendor of the pageant, the personal homage
had no longer part in the exaltation of that great moment--it was the
_real_ beneath it all that stirred her soul. She lost herself in the
emotion, seeking only for expression; she opened her arms wide to them
as if she would embrace them all, turning on every side to smile her
heart out to them--tossing kisses to the children who clapped their
eager hands for her--scattering sunshine with that rare magnetic power
which is the most wondrous gift that Heaven can bestow.
"_Simpatica!_" the responsive people cried with glowing faces.
"_Angiola!_--_Tanto Simpatica!_"
The Lady Fiorenza standing where she could see the face of her child
gave thanks for the vision, with joyful tears.
"This hast thou granted her, _Madonna mia Beatissima_, for a wedding
gift!"