A Golden Book of Venice - Mrs. Lawrence Turnbull
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They had passed Fusina, and the lagoon lay silvery, like a trail of
moonlight behind them--Venice in the distance, opalesque, radiant, a
city of dreams. The clouds above them, beautiful with changing sunset
lights, were no longer mirrored on a still lagoon, but mottled the
broken surfaces of the river with hues of bronze and purple, between the
leaves of the creeping water-plants which clogged the movement of the
oars; for they had exchanged the liquid azure pavement of their "Citta
Nobilissima" for the brown tide of the Brenta. On the river's brink the
rushes were starred with lilies and iris and ranunculus, and the
fragrance of sheeted flowers from the water-meadows came to them fresh
and delicious, mingled with the salt breath of the sea, while
swallows--dusky, violet-winged--circled about their bows, teasing their
progress with mystic eliptical flight--like persistent problems
perpetually recurring, yet to be solved by fate alone.
It was the hour of the Ave Maria, and Marina roused herself from her sad
reverie. The clouds piled themselves in luminous masses and drifted
into the hollows of the wonderful Euganean hills, and a crimson sunset
tinged peaks and clouds with glory, as Padua with its low arcaded
streets, and San Antonio--cousin to San Marco in minarets and Eastern
splendor--and the Lion of Saint Mark upon his lofty column, closed the
vista of their weary day. The chimes of Venice were too far for sound,
but from every campanile of this quaint city the vesper bells, solemn
and sweet, pealed forth their call to prayer--as if no threat of Rome's
displeasure made a discord in their harmony.
XXXI
Piero had watched all night before the little inn of the "Buon Pesce,"
impatient to meet and conquer his fate, while above, in an upper room,
the ladies Marina and Beata tried to sleep; but before the dawn they
were off again, down by the way of the brown, rolling river, taking the
weary length to Brondolo and the sea.
There were two gondolas now, and the men in each pulled as if the prize
of a great regatta awaited them--Nicolotti against Castellani--and
silently, saving voice and strength for a great need.
It might have seemed a pleasure party, save for the stress of their
speed, as they swept by the groves of poplar and catalpa, which bordered
the broad flood, to the sound of the waters only and the song of the
birds in the wood; water-lilies floated in the pools along the shore;
currents of fragrance were blown out to them on wandering winds; and in
the felze, as they were nearing Brondolo, Marina and the Lady Beata,
soothed by the gliding motion and the monotonous plash of the oars into
the needed sleep which the night had failed to bring them, were unaware
of the colloquy between Piero and his gondolier.
"Antonio!" Piero called cautiously to the man who was rowing behind the
felze, "I have somewhat to say to thee; are there those within thy
vision who may hear our speech?"
"Padrone, no; but the time is short for speaking much, for we reach the
lock with another turn of the Brenta."
"May the blessed San Nicolo send sunshine to dazzle the jewels in the
eyes of Messer San Marco till we are safe beyond it and out of
Chioggia!" Piero exclaimed fervently. "And thou, Antonio, swear me again
thy faith--or swear it not, as thou wilt. But thou shalt choose this
moment whom thou wilt serve; and it shall go ill with thee if thou keep
not thy troth."
"By San Marco and San Teodoro," Antonio responded readily, crossing
himself devoutly as he spoke, "I swear to do thy bidding, Messer
Gastaldo."
"And thou wilt die for the people against the nobles if need should be?"
"If thou leadest, Gastaldo Grande."
"Hast thou a pouch beneath thy stiletto where thou mayest defend with
thy life what I shall give thee?"
Antonio displayed it silently.
"This for the need of the cause in thy hand," said Piero, passing him a
purse of gold. "But gold is worthless to this token which shall win thee
the hearing of the bancali, and the aid of every loyal son of San
Nicolo, and shall be proof that thou bearest my orders and my trust."
The trust was great--the bancali were the governing board of the
traghetti.
Antonio unfastened his doublet and secured the precious token under his
belt.
"Command then, caro padrone."
"Slacken thy pace, for this may be our last speech together. Are those
who follow true as thou?"
"Messer Gastaldo," Antonio answered with reluctance, "by signs which be
but trifles to relate,--by a word dropped in Padua, and not for mine
ear,--one of them--I know not which--hath, perchance, affair with a
master mightier than thou." He made the usual gesture which indicated
the Three of that terrible Inquisition whose name was better left
unsaid--a sign much used in Venice where the very walls had ears.
It was a blow to Piero, but he wasted no words.
"They then--both--are apart from this and all my counsel. It shall be
for thee alone, Antonio."
"So safer, Messer Gastaldo. I listen--and forget, save as it shall serve
thee."
"First, then, Antonio; I have sworn to escort the Lady of the
Giustiniani in safety to Rome, from which naught shall keep me--save if
the Ten have other plans, the Madonna doth forgive the broken vow!"
It was a strange admission from a man stalwart and fearless like Piero,
but he made it without shame, as a soldier acquiescing in destiny.
"Santissima Maria!" Antonio ejaculated with unusual fervor and crossing
himself in full realization of the meaning.
"At Brondolo a brig is waiting--orange and yellow of sail, device of a
blazing sun; a hunchback, with doublet of orange above the mast for
luck, and a fine figure of a _gobbo_ upon the deck--a living
hunchback--by which thou shalt know it for mine, and bound to my order
whether it come by me or by my token. If we reach and board her it shall
be well--and Rome, so will it heaven, before us all! But if the dreaded
ones are on the search and overtake us----"
Again the sign.
The tragedy of the situation was in his face as he looked steadily at
Antonio, who did not flinch.
"Thy duty, then, Antonio, shall lie elsewhere. Thou must escape, unseen,
while they lay hands upon the lady and me, whom first they will secure
before they give thee a thought."
Antonio instantly touched his stiletto, and looked his question with a
fearless glance.
"Nay," said the gastaldo scornfully, and drawing a line quickly about
his own throat. "Thou wilt serve me better with thy head in its place.
Thou shalt return to Venice--by Fusina or Brondolo, as thy wit shall
serve thee--leaving the precious gondolieri to prove whether their
silken sashes be badges of men or traitors! Art thou listening?"
"Command me, padrone!"
"Within two days, if I be free, the bancali shall have news of me.
Listen well, Antonio,"--again the hand and eyes went up with the dreaded
unmistakable sign,--"if thou seest THEM seize me before thou takest
leave, wait no longer than to plan with the bancali to come and demand
my release. Thou shalt tell the bancali that I sent thee; thou shalt
tell them there are affairs of moment for the Nicolotti which shall go
hard for the traghetti if I be not there to work them--Art listening,
Antonio?" he questioned feverishly.
Antonio's eyes were fastened upon his. "Padrone, yes!" he answered
breathlessly.
"With my token thou canst command the loyalty of every Nicolotto--is it
thine oar that made that rustle?--and perchance, if there were a rising
of the traghetti to demand aught of the Signoria--come nearer,
Antonio!--the Castellani also, if they willed to join with their
traghetti in asking for justice--would not serve under my token the less
heartily for the word, confided low to their bancali--dost
understand?--_that if their taxes and their fines oppress them_, these
also, I being free, will pay this year to the maledetto Avvogadoro del
Commun."
Antonio gravely bowed his head in assent.
"This at thy discretion--thou understandest, Antonio--and so that no
violence come from the massing of the people, but only the proof of its
will and of the numbers who make the demand. Only--if it be not granted,
they shall make a stand at the traghetti and _fight_----"
"Padrone, yes!"
"For--thou dost mark me, Antonio?--this Lady of the Giustiniani hath
been a saint among the people; she hath given them much in gifts--she
hath given almost her life in prayers and penances, that heaven may
avert its wrath from Venice, which she in truth believeth the Holy
Father--may the saints make him suffer for it!--hath brought upon the
people by his curse--may heaven forbid! And she, being now noble, hath
preferred the cause of the _people_ to the cause of the _nobles_, and
bringeth upon her the displeasure of the Signoria by her flight to
Rome. For--see it well, Antonio!--if the Senate hold the Lady of the
Giustiniani for fault in this,"--Piero paused and uttered the last words
with a slow, mysterious emphasis, while Antonio listened with an
intensity that missed no shading of meaning,--"_it will be the cause of
the people against the nobles_."
"If they harm her not," he resumed in his usual tone, after a moment's
pause, "my fate shall be avenged in the judgment and command of the
bancali of the Nicolotti only. They shall not risk the people's good for
the poor life of one leader!"
"Padrone!" Antonio cried, with flashing eyes. "Commandi altro?" ("Hast
thou other commands?")
"None, save that if I return not--and not otherwise--thou shalt seek
with my token the Master Girolamo Magagnati; thou shalt tell him of this
my confidence, holding nothing back; and thou shalt pray him, of his
honor, to discharge the debt which may be found lacking in the treasury
of the Nicolotti,--since the moneys have been taken for the need of the
lady on her journey,--the which, if I return, I have means, and more, to
repay."
The two men grasped hands and looked into each other's eyes for a brief
recording moment, having each touched that _best_ in the other which was
not shown to all men, and so begotten trust each in each.
"By the Holy Madonna and San Nicolo, I will not fail!" Antonio promised,
and in a moment had seized his oar again and was springing forward on
the bridge of his gondola, as if his thoughts were light and rhythmic as
his motions.
They sped on with a few swift, silent strokes--then, "Brondolo!" he
cried brightly; but a sudden desperate steadying of resolution was felt
in the fierce stroke which sent the gondola forward with a jerk.
The fishing-skiffs of Chioggia fluttered like gaudy butterflies before
them, dipping their wings of orange and crimson and every conceivable
sunset tint to catch the breeze; and the air was suddenly vibrant with
sounds of traffic and busy life. Men called to each other with song and
jest from heavily laden barks, while they waited the hour of sailing; or
lay at ease on the top of their wares, smoking luxurious draughts of
content from their comrade pipes,--lords of their craft, though their
couch was but a pile of cabbages or market produce,--exchanging some
whimsical comment upon the affairs of busier neighbors which brimmed
these frequent hours of _dolce far niente_ with unflagging interest.
And there, among the lighter shipping, was the brig bound to the order
of the gastaldo grande, with the yellow sails and device of the rising
sun--with the gobbo in orange doublet on the masthead for good luck, and
the gobbo on the deck to make it sure. Piero turned and looked for it,
as they passed the lock. And there too----
"_Corpo di San Marco_!" ejaculated Antonio under his breath, for he
stood higher than Piero upon the bridge of the gondola and facing
forward.
There, full in sight, and riding proudly at anchor, the beautiful curves
of her swan-like prows made cannon proof with plates of shining
steel,--and below, in lieu of figurehead to promise victory, those
letters of dread omen, C.D.X.,--with thirty oars-men from the arsenal
of Venice, to ensure her speed, each ready at his oar-lock to wield his
oar, with a band of marksmen trained to finest tempered arms to quell
the resistance which no Venetian would dare offer with those letters on
the prow; the gold and scarlet banner of San Marco, for good fortune, at
her masthead; the wind swelling her impatient sail, as the curb but
frets the steed--_the galley of the Ten was not waiting without a
purpose_!
The shock of the boats as they passed through the lock had roused the
sleepers rudely, and Piero had time but for a swift glance of command to
Antonio, bidding him escape, when a gondola bearing the ducal colors
floated out from the sea of small waiting craft and saluted them
courteously. The dignified signor who addressed them wore the violet
robe and stole of a secretary of the Doge, and his face was the face of
that secretary in whose silken hand the gastaldo's had lain prisoned
when he took the oath of office!
Resistance was impossible.
"Messer Gastaldo," said the secretary suavely, "it hath pleased those
who have ever the welfare of Venice at heart to provide for the most
noble Lady of the Giustiniani an escort which better fitteth her rank
than the size of thy _barchetta_ permitteth, and a dwelling more
honorable than the 'Osteria del Buon Pesce,' where, in company of the
Lady Beata Tagliapietra, she hath passed the night."
The secretary paused and placidly noted the effect of his words upon
Piero, who could have gnashed his teeth for anger at those talking walls
of Venice which had betrayed him--so cautiously had he told his secret
to the Lady Beata only, in that short moonlight stroll!
At a sign from the secretary a second gondola, wearing the ducal livery
and filled with the gorgeous costumes of the palace guards, came out
from the floating mass and approached the gondola of the people, where
the Lady Marina sat trembling like a frightened fawn.
There was a struggle among the lesser craft to draw closer to this
dramatic centre; they jostled each other unceremoniously; a splash, like
a falling oar, was heard, but scarce noted in the absorbing interest of
the moment; only a bare-legged boy jumped off from a tiny fishing-skiff
near which the oar had floated, and swam with it to to the gondola from
which it had fallen--since it was this boat which was making the
carnival for them! Piero, alone, had slightly turned his head and noted
that no one now stood on the _ponte piede_ behind the felze of his
gondola.
"The galley waits to receive the noble ladies to whom I am commissioned
_by those who have sent me_ to offer my respectful homage," said the
secretary, bowing low before the felze. "The noble ladies will proceed
thither in the ducal gondola which attends them. And thou, Messer
Gastaldo, wilt graciously aid me in their escort--since, verily, they
owe much to thy chivalry."
It was a pleasant scene for the onlookers.
But the Lady Marina sat motionless, and gave neither word nor sign in
response to the invitation of the ducal secretary.
"Shall the pleasure of the lady of this noble house not be consulted?"
Piero questioned, struggling to cover his defiance under a tone of
deference.
But his answer was only in the secretary's eyes,--smiling,
imperious,--more defiant than his own impotent will; and in the courtly
waiting attitude, which had not changed, and which seemed unbearably to
lengthen out the passing seconds.
The Lady Beata, winding compassionate arms around her friend, had raised
her veil, whispering words of tenderness.
But there was no recognition in the glance that met hers--only the
immeasurable pathos of a hopeless surrender; the fervent passion of
Marina's will and faith had made all things seem possible of
achievement, though Venice was against her, for had not the mission been
given her in a vision by the Holy Madonna of San Donato--Mother of
Sorrows--and was not the issue sure? And yielding all thought of self
she had braced every faculty to accomplish the holy task of which she
alone felt the urgency. But the overtaxed heart and brain could endure
no longer thwarting; their activity and unquestioning purpose had been
her only power; and the moment she ceased to struggle will and reason
fled together.
Pitifully acquiescent, she went with them unresisting.
* * * * *
A haze that was not luminous hung in the sky; night was creeping on
without a sunset, as they battled their way up the Giudecca against the
current which rushed like a boiling torrent around San Giorgio--the blue
calm of the waters turned to a frenzied, foam-lashed green.
The men rowed fast, with tight-furled sail, but the storm came faster;
ranks of threatening clouds were hurrying from the east, gathering like
armies of vengeful spirits, darker, closer about them, shutting off
every breath of air; an oppression, throbbing with nameless fears, was
upon them--a hush, as if life had ceased; then the scorching, withering
torment of a fierce sirocco, and the moan of the wind, like a soul in
pain.
Marina grew faint and wide-eyed for terror, but they could not soothe
her by word or touch; she sat with clasped hands, gasping for breath,
listening to the low, long boom on the shores of the Lido, like muffled
thunder, ceaselessly recurring--the terrible noise of the great waves
beating against the sea-walls--beating and breaking in fury, tossing
their spray high in air and whirling it in clouds, like rain mists, far
across the lagoon. Would the barriers stand--or yield and leave them to
their doom? Were the great waters of the Adriatic uprising in vengeance
to overwhelm this city in her sin? Boom upon boom sounded through all
the voices of the storm. Santa Maria! was it this that the Tintoretto
had foretold!
A dazzling, frenzied flash of light,--a vast peal of thunder that was
like the wrath of a mighty, offended God,--then darkness, and a torrent
of rain--the waters in the shifting path of the wind leaping up to meet
the waters from the sky!
The vesper bells of Venice came sobbing through the storm, tossed and
broken by the tornado into a wraith of a dirge; and now, by some
fantastic freak of nature, as the winds rose higher, the iron tongues
from every campanile--for a brief moment of horror--came wrangling and
discordant, as if tortured by some demon of despair.
"_Ave Maria, Gratia plena_!"
the women cried together, falling on their knees, while the men toiled
and struggled to hold the invincible galley of the Ten outside the
whirling path of the storm--advancing and retreating at the will of the
elements, against which their own splendid, human strength was like the
feeble, untaught effort of a helpless infant.
"_Mater Dei, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis
nostrae_."
The words rose in a wail between the gusts.
For measureless moments, mighty as hours, they battled between San Marco
and San Giorgio, tossed to and fro--now nearer the haven of the great
white dome, now--as a lightning flash unveiled San Marco--near enough to
see a cloud of frightened doves go whirling over the flood which swept
the Piazza from end to end and poured out under the great gates of the
Ducal Palace into the lagoon.
"_Summa Parens clementia--nocte surgentes_----"
XXXII
A Day momentous for Venice--or was it Rome?--had come and passed; it
chronicled the right of the Crown to make its own laws within its own
realm, without reference to ecclesiastical claims which had hitherto
been found hampering; it defined the limits of Church and State, as no
protest had hitherto done.
But Venice was calm in her triumph as she had been unmoved in disaster,
and would not reflect the jubilant tone of the cardinal when he had
returned from Rome empowered to withdraw the censures upon the terms
stipulated by the Republic.
Yet, at this latest moment, the cardinal mediator, from lack of
discretion, had come near to failure; for the terms being less favorable
than he had desired to obtain for the Holy Father, he could not resist
attempting to win some little further grace before pronouncing the final
word, when the Signoria, weary of temporizing, told him plainly that his
Holiness must come at once to a decision, or Venice would forget that
she had so far yielded as to listen to any negotiations.
There was no pageant at the close of this long drama of which the
princes of Europe had been interested spectators. Venice sat smiling and
unruffled under her April skies when the ducal secretary escorted the
two famous prisoners from the dungeons of the Palace to the residence of
the French ambassador, and there, _without prejudice to the Republic's
right of jurisdiction over criminal ecclesiastics_, explicitly
stipulated, bestowed this gift--so fitting for the gratification of a
"Most Christian Majesty"--upon the representative of France, who must
indeed have breathed more freely when this testimonial of favor, with
its precious burden of nameless crimes, had been consigned by him to one
who waited as an appointee of the Pope.
The Doge and the Signoria sat in their accustomed places in their
stately Assembly Chamber when the cardinal came with congratulations
upon the withdrawal of the interdict, and the words of the Serenissimo,
as he gave the promised parchment, were few and dignified.
"I thank the Lord our God that his Holiness hath assured himself of the
purity of our intentions and the sincerity of our deeds."
And the writing of that parchment, sealed with the seal of Saint Mark,
stood thus:
"Essendo state levate le Censure e restate parimente rivocato il
Protesto." ("The censures having been taken off the protest remains
equally revoked.")
It was whispered low that the cardinal, under his cape, made the sign of
the cross and murmured a word of absolution. But if the Signoria
suspected his intention there was no movement of acquiescence; only,
when the short ceremony of the passing of the document was completed,
they observed the usual forms of courtesy with which the audience of so
princely an envoy is closed when his mission is accomplished.
If Paul V had surrendered with reluctance his hope of a sumptuous
ceremony in San Pietro, where delegates of penitent Venetians should
kneel in public and confess and be graciously absolved--if the Cardinal
di Gioiosa had indulged flattering visions of a procession of priests
and people to the patriarchal church in the Piazza, with paeans of
joy-bells and shouts of gladness that Venice was again free to resume
her worship, and that her penitent people were pardoned sons of the
Church--he was doomed to disappointment. The cardinals of Spain and
France, attended only by their households, celebrated Mass in the ducal
chapel of San Marco; and the people came and went--as they did before
and after, through that day and all the days since the interdict had
been pronounced, in this and all the churches of Venice--and scarcely
knew that their doom was lifted, as they had hardly realized that the
curse had ever penetrated from those distant doors of San Pietro to the
sanctuary of San Marco!
But the world knew and never forgot how that stately court of Venice had
met the thunder of the Vatican and lessened its power forever.
The cause had been won in moderation and dignity upon a basis of civil
justice that was none the less accredited because the Teologo Consultore
who sat in chancelor's robes behind the throne was a zealous advocate of
the primitive principles of Christianity, and defended, without fear of
obloquy or death, the right of the individual conscience to interpret
for itself the laws of right,--as founded upon the words of
Christ,--because the extraordinary keenness, fineness, and breadth of
his masterly mind enabled him to conceive with unusual definiteness the
limits of civil and spiritual authority, and to ascribe the overgrowth
of error upon the Church he loved to the misconception and weakness of
human nature. He did not place Venice, the superb,--with her pride and
pomp and power and intellectual astuteness, with her faults and
worldliness and her magnificent statesmanship,--against the _spiritual_
kingdom of Christ's Church on earth and declare for Venice _against_ the
Church.
But he weighed in the clear poise of his brain the Book of the Divine
Law--which none knew better than he--with the laws of the princes of
this world--which also few knew better--and declared that _One_, lowly
and great, had defined the limits of the Church's jurisdiction when He
said, "My kingdom is not of this world."
But in Rome the reasoning was not so simple, and threats of vengeance
pursued this "terrible friar," whose bold judgments had ruled the
councils of rebellious Venice.
But though peace was declared with Rome the labors of the Senate were
scarcely lessened; there were still adjustments to be made which were
not whispered abroad--there were embassies to be dissolved and
appointed, gifts to be voted, honors to be heaped upon the head of the
man whose counsels had led to such results, and in whose person the
Senate now united the three offices of the Counsellors to the Doge,
making Fra Paolo sole Teologo Consultore.