A Golden Book of Venice Part 27

And for once he had experienced a curious sensation which cowardly men call "fear," but for which Piero had neither name nor tolerance, when all the people who had been worrying him led him in triumph to the altar and forced him down on his stubborn knees to take a solemn oath of allegiance, his great bronzed hand, all unaccustomed to restraint, resting meanwhile in the slippery silken clasp of the ducal secretary.

Here also had the gastaldo received, from those same patrician hands, the unfurled banner of the Nicolotti, with the sacramental words:

"We consign to you the standard of San Nicol, in the name of the Most Serene Prince and as proof that you are the chief gastaldo and head of the people of San Nicol and San Raffaele."

And after that had come freedom of breath, with the Te Deum, without which no ceremonial was ever complete in Venice, chanted by all those full-throated gondoliers--a jubilant chorus of men's voices, ringing the more heartily through the church for those unwonted hours of repression.

But when the doors had at last been thrown wide to the suns.h.i.+ne and the babel of life which rose from the eager, thronging populace who had no right of entrance on this solemn occasion--men who had no vote, women and children who had all their lives been Nicolotti of the Nicolotti--a Venetian must indeed have been stolid to feel no thrill of pride as the procession, with great pomp, pa.s.sed out of the church to a chorus of bells and cannon and shouts of the people, proclaiming him their chosen chief.

Piero Salin was a splendid specimen of the people--tall, broad-shouldered, gifted by nature and trained by wind and wave to the very perfection of his craft; positive, nonchalant, and masterful; affable when not thwarted; of fewer words than most Venetians; an adept at all the intricacies of gondolier intrigue, and fitted by intimate knowledge to circ.u.mvent the _tosi_. Moreover, he was in favor with the government, a crowning grace to other qualities not valueless in one of this commanding position.

No wonder that the enthusiasm of the populace was wild enough to bring the frankest delight to his handsome sun-bronzed face as they rushed upon him in a frenzy of appreciation and bore him aloft on their shoulders around the Piazza San Nicol, almost dizzied with their haste and the smallness of the circle opened to them in the little square by the throng who pressed eagerly around him to grasp his hand--to wave their banners, to shout themselves hoa.r.s.e for the Nicolotti, for San Nicol and San Raffaele, for _Piero, gastaldo grande_, for Venezia, for San Marco, with "Bravi," "Felicitazioni," and every possible childish demonstration of delight.

Should not the Nicolotti--blessed be the Madonna!--always overcome the Castellani with Piero at their head, in those party battles on the bridges which had now grown to be as serious a factor in the lives of the gondoliers of Venice as they were disturbing to the citizens at large, and therefore the more to the glory of the combatants?

Was he not their own representative--elected by the very voice of the people, as in those lost days of their freedom the doges had been? And did not the rival faction so stand in awe of the new gastaldo that from the moment of his nomination there had been disaffection in their ranks?

And now, as they shouted around him, many a st.u.r.dy red cap tossed his badge disdainfully into the throng and s.n.a.t.c.hed a black bonnet from the nearest head to wave it aloft with cries of "the black cap! The Nicolotti! Viva San Nicol!"

And again, when Piero essayed to prove himself equal to his honors, his few words dropped without sound upon the storm of vivas--"We do not want talking for our gastaldo--but doing!"

Since this happening Piero had been indeed a great man among the people--a popular idol, with a degree of power difficult to estimate by one unfamiliar with the customs and traditions of Venice; holding the key, practically, to all the traghetti of Venice, since even before this sweeping disaffection of the Castellani the Nicolotti were invariably acknowledged to be the more powerful faction, so that now it was a trifling matter to coerce a rival offending traghetto; and gondoliers, private and public, were, to say the least, courteous toward these n.o.bles of the Nicolotti, who were dealing with tosi as never before in the history of Venice.

In truth, but for those unknown _observors_ in secret service to the terrible Inquisition,--an army sixty thousand strong, one third of the entire population of Venice,--impressed from n.o.bles, gondoliers, ecclesiastics, and people of every grade and profession, from every quarter of the city, and charged to lose nothing of any detail that might aid the dreaded chiefs of the Inquisition in their silent and fearful work--the power of Piero would have been virtually limitless.

These three terrible unknown chiefs of the Inquisition were never named among the people except with bated breath, as "i tre di sopra," _the three above_, lest some echo should condemn the speakers. But the unsought favor of the government was as much a check as an a.s.sistance to Piero's schemes, bringing him so frequently into requisition for official intrigues that he had less opportunity for counterplotting, while his knowledge of State secrets which he might not compromise, of the far-reaching vision of Inquisitorial eyes, and of the swift and relentless execution of those unknown _osservatori_ who had been unfaithful to their primal duty as spies, made him dare less where others were concerned than he would have foretold before he had been admitted to these unexpected official confidences; while for himself he had absolutely no fears--having but one life to order or to lose, and caring less for its length than for the freedom of its ruling while it remained to him.

And still Marina was, as she had always been, the gentlest influence in his reckless life,--to some slight extent an inspiring one,--steadying his daring yet generous instincts into a course that was occasionally nearer to n.o.bility than he could ever have chanced upon without her, yet never able to instil a higher motive power than came from pleasing her.

It was Piero who had escorted Fra Francesco to the borders of the Roman dominions, guarding him from pitfalls and discovery until he was free to undertake his barefooted penitential pilgrimage upon Roman soil; and from no faith nor sympathy in the gentle friar's views, but only because he was dear to Marina.

And through Piero's agents, established under threats as terrible as those of the Ten themselves, had come the news which, from time to time, he unfolded to her; while the same secret agent brought perhaps a rumor which the gastaldo grande confided to the Ten, wherewith some convent plotting was unmasked, or other news so greatly to the keeping of the peace of the Serene Republic, that Piero might have bought therewith propitiation for all those sins against it, of which the government was happily in ignorance. Now it was a hint of a plot in embryo to seize the a.r.s.enal, involving some members of distinction in the households of resident amba.s.sadors; or word of the whereabouts of that wandering, barefooted emissary with plenary powers, who had hitherto eluded Venetian vigilance.

It was Piero also--although he never confessed to it--who, out of compa.s.sion for Marina's priestly proclivities when she lay critically ill, had made it possible for the Jesuits to remove those coffers of treasure which, in spite of strictest orders to the contrary, accompanied them on their flight from Venice; it was not that he took part against Venice in the quarrel, but that the penalty of exile seemed to him sufficient, especially as Marina had a weakness for priests; and he could be generous in his use of power, though a man less daring would not have risked the freak. But there was a masterful pleasure in outwitting the Signoria and the Ten, lessened only by the consciousness that he must keep this triumph to himself, and Piero also knew how to hold his tongue--for discretion was a needful grace in that strange time of barbaric lawlessness shrouded in a more than Eastern splendor.

But even Piero sometimes quickened his step as he pa.s.sed the beautiful sea facade of the Ducal Palace, whose rose-tinted walls seemed made only to reflect suns.h.i.+ne; for perchance he guessed the name of that victim who hung with covered face between the columns, bearing in bold letters on his breast, by way of warning, the nature of the crime for which he paid such awful penalty--some crime against the State. "To-day," said Piero to himself, "it is this poor devil who cried to me to s.h.i.+eld him when I was forced to denounce him to the Signoria; to-morrow, for some caprice of their Excellencies--it may be Piero Salin!"

But the gastaldo relapsed easily into such philosophy as he knew. "By the blessed San Marco and San Teodoro themselves!" he was ready to cry, as he reached his gondola, "there must always be a last 'to-morrow'!"

XXV

Life had begun to move again, with slow, clogged wheels, in the Ca'

Giustiniani since that sudden favorable change had come to the Lady Marina. Her husband was no longer excused from attendance in the Council Halls of the Republic, and whether to quicken his interest in the affairs of the government or because, in due course, the time had come when a young n.o.ble so full of promise should take a prominent place in her councils, he was now constantly called upon to fill important offices in transient committees. Certainly there was some strange, ubiquitous power in that watchful governmental eye; and in the Broglio it had been whispered that if the young Senator were not held constant by multiplied honors and responsibilities the home influence might be fateful to the house of Giustiniani--a house too princely and too important to Venice to be suffered to tolerate any sympathy with Rome.

Giustinian the elder, being p.r.o.nounced in his patriotic partizans.h.i.+p, had replaced the amba.s.sador to his Most Catholic Majesty of Spain, whose attempts at conciliation were so ludicrously inadequate that a court of less astute diplomacy than Venice might have been tempted to withdraw its emba.s.sy. Spain and Venice had been stepping through a stately dance, as it were, decorous and princely,--though scarcely misleading,--an interminable round of bows and dignified advances leading no whither, since for a forward step there was a corresponding backward motion to complete the _cha.s.se_, and all in that gracious circle which flatters the actor and the onlooker with a pleasurable sense of progress; but the suspense as to the issue of this minuet was all on the side of Spain, and Venice had patience to spare for these pretty time-filling paces which presented such semblance of careless ease to the watching emba.s.sies. England, with an understanding quickened by her own experience, took a serious interest in the quarrel. But his Most Christian Majesty of France was foremost among the princes in efforts to hasten the conciliation of the disputants, and when Henry of France offered to mediate between the powers, Venice said him not nay. For if she would take no personal step toward conciliation, she yet held no code by which the intercession of a monarch might seem to lessen her dignity; and the coming of so princely an envoy as the Cardinal di Gioiosa was celebrated with fetes meet to grace the reception of so high a dignitary of the Church of Rome.

Hence Venice, under the ban, suggested rather a lively tourney in some field of cloth of gold, than an excommunicated nation in its time of mourning; there were frequent interchanges of diplomatic courtesies--receptions to special emba.s.sies which had lost nothing of their punctilious splendor. There had always been time in Venice for absolute decorum, and now there was not less than usual, since her conduct had been denounced--though Venice and her prestige were untarnished and the world was looking on!

Marcantonio, in spite of his deep home anxiety, was becoming more and more absorbed in the affairs of a government which made such claims upon him, and for the honor of his house, by all Venetian tradition, he must give to the full that which was exacted of him. But he worked without the brilliancy and enthusiasm of a few months past--as a man steadied by some great sorrow, striving more strenuously to give of his best where honor is concerned, because he is conscious that the heaviness of his heart makes all duty irksome.

For Marina, with returning health,--the physicians spoke of her thus since they had p.r.o.nounced her out of danger,--had not fully returned to him; it was less her whiteness and wanness that oppressed him than that nameless change in the face and eyes which suggested a ceaseless, pa.s.sionate suppression of the deep, impa.s.sioned self, under the listless exterior; there was an immeasurable loss in the sweetness of life to them both, though never since the early days of their love had he been so tender and patient, so eager to gladden her in little ways. But she answered his love more often with a mute caress of her hand upon his cheek than with smiles or words--yet with a touch that lingered, as if to a.s.sure him that her love was not less, though she herself was changed.

Something terribly real lay between them, of which it seemed better not to speak, since all his efforts to change her point of view had failed.

It was utterly sad to have her so nearly herself again, and yet so far from him. Life was hard for this young senator with his multiplied honors, his wealth, and prestige. Marina had always given impetus to his life; now it was he who watched and cared for her, while she seemed to have no will for anything, yet had lost that old charming ingenuousness which had underlain her power. He had promised himself, out of his new pathetic yearning when she had begun to improve, that never again should she know an ungratified wish, yet now he feared that she would give him no opportunity of granting a request, so apathetic had she grown. But one day, when he was trying to rouse her to express a desire, she laid her hand eagerly on his, asking a thing so strange that unconsciously he started away from her.

"Marco, mio, take me to Rome!"

For a moment, in spite of all that had gone before, the young Senator was betrayed into a forgetfulness of his tender mood--it was so strange, this request of a Lady of the Giustiniani, to choose Rome rather than Venice at a time of contest; but her face and manner and speech were luminous with hope; she was radiant again, as she had not been for many months; yet the words escaped from him unintentionally and sternly:

"_To Rome_!"

"Yes, Marco, thou and I and the little one! We should be so happy again in the palazzo Donatello, where baby came to us."

"Marina, a Giustinian abides by Venice. From the days when every man of the Ca' Giustiniani--save only the priest, who might not take up arms--laid down his life before Lepanto, none hath ever forsaken Venice."

"It is not to forsake our Venice, Marco mio!" she cried, with growing eagerness, "but to serve her--to plead with the Holy Father that he will remove the curse and let all the prayers of Venice ascend again to the Madre Beatissima, who listens no more! It is a service for a Giustinian to render!"

Her whole soul pleaded in face and gesture, beautiful and compelling; he felt her old power rea.s.serting itself; he almost groaned aloud as he put up his hand to shut out this beseeching vision of the wife whom he loved before all things but honor--lest he, being among the trusted rulers of his country, should fail to Venice out of the great joy of granting to Marina the happiness she craved.

Not for an instant did the young Venetian n.o.ble question his duty, while with head averted, lest Marina should guess his struggle, he invoked that ever-present image of Venetia regnant, which all her children recognize, to stay him from forgetting it until this temptation were past and he could be strong again; but now he knew that he was weak from an irrepressible yearning to clasp Marina in his arms and grant her heart's desire--at whatever cost; he dared not touch her lest he should yield.

The moment's silence intensified her eagerness and hope; he felt them burning in her eyes, and would not meet their prayer again. But she could not wait, and her hand, fluttering restlessly upon his shoulder, crept up to touch his cheek, thrilling him unbearably, as if each sensitive finger-tip repeated her urgency. He must yield if she kept it there. He s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand to his lips and dropped it quickly, nerving himself to speak steadily, lest he should betray irresolution--so covering the tenderness which would have atoned for the positive refusal.

"Marina, a Venetian may not demean himself to ask forgiveness of the Holy Father in a matter wherein Venice hath not sinned--but Rome."

"Marco, my beloved, if Venice were mistaken! If thou and I might save her!"

Her voice broke in a sob of agony, and her husband gathered her in his arms, struggling not to weep with her. "Carina--carinissima!" he repeated soothingly; yet, as she grew calmer, brought despair again.

"Nay, Marina, no loyal senator may question the decision of his government; thou presumest too far; but thine illness and thy suffering have made thee irresponsible."

Then, grieving so to cross her in her weakness and pain, with all his tenderness in his voice, he hastened to atone for the firmness of the declaration which had sufficiently proved his staunchness.

"Marina, thou and I--were we not Giustiniani--more than all other Venetians owe our loyalty in time of stress; and for love of thee, beloved, shall Venice find me faithful in her need--I and all my household true, and all my fortune hers in service, if need should be--as thus I vowed, before them all, on that day when the Senate gave thee to me and made thee the sweetest patrician lady in all the land. We will not fail them, beloved!"

He clasped her close, holding her firmly, as if to infuse her with his faith. "All blessings are for those who do the right, Marina; we need not fear."

Never had she seen his face so inspired, so masterful, so tender; it was a revelation. The whole of their beautiful love story was written on it, mastering all the traditions of Venice, yet binding him more closely to the service of his country.

For a moment she looked at him awestruck, longing to give the submission which would bring her rest; it was not strange that she loved him so; oh, if she might but acquiesce in his view of right! Madre Beatissima, life was hard, and the way of right was the way of the cross--how many holy women had found it so! One hand stole to the little crucifix beneath her robe and pressed its roughened surfaces into her breast, for she must not place the sweetness of this earthly love before the duty of the heavenly one. "Santa Maria, save me!" she prayed, while, only for one moment, she drooped her head to his shoulder and nestled close, that he should know her heart was his, whatever came--_whatever came_.

Was it strange that her agony threatened her reason? In that one little moment of comfort, which she yearned to hold free from suffering that its remembrance might uphold her, the powerful vision of the Tintoretto's awful _Judgment_ rose beckoningly before her. It was the doom of Venice, and she alone--so impotent--recognized the danger.

The vision pursued her night and day. The River of the Wrath of G.o.d, leaping up to meet those frowning skies of His most just anger, and Venice--superb, disdainful--overwhelmed between; the cloud of innumerable souls, tortured and writhing, fleeing from before the face of the Holy One, no more than a mere film of whirling atoms, falling--falling into an abyss of horrors--the dim, doomed shapes wearing faces that had smiled into hers--With an inarticulate moan she hid her face on her husband's shoulder.

"Marco," she whispered with an effort, for her strength was spent, "not though it were a vision, revealed by the Madonna San Donato, thou wouldest take me to Rome? Not though I could make thee comprehend what it means for me--and thee?"

She waited breathlessly for his answer, with pulses that seemed to pause for the momentous decision, not daring to look at him lest she should falter and retract; for never again would she ask this question, which, even now, she had put in the form of an a.s.sertion.