The Royal Pawn of Venice

by Mrs. Lawrence Turnbull

  III

  These things took place in the spring of 1468; nor was it long beforethe ceremonial had been prescribed and the pageant had been made readyfor the betrothal of the youthful Caterina; for the Senate could be asprompt in action as far-seeing in judgment when haste seemed wise; andother rulers were looking with no disfavor on the King of Cyprus in thismatter of an alliance, for it was known that overtures had already beenoffered by the Court of Naples and by His Holiness of Rome for one ofhis own family who had claim to his protection.

  While Venice was plunged in a turmoil of preparation, the Casa Cornarogathered from all its palaces and surged up and down the grand stairwayof the Marco Cornari, bringing counsel, gifts and glorification; thedowagers to the remotest branches, were much in evidence, refurbished,and coming in solemn state to testify their approval of an alliance sohonorable to their house, with many wise worldly maxims and pious thanksto the Madonna.

  There was no quiet anywhere within the palazzo, save deep down in theheart of the Lady Fiorenza, who had never been one with her family inworldly ambitions; and far below the giddy current of the day'shappenings ran the ceaseless flow of the mother's wordless prayer,enfolding her child--pleading that that which was to come to her shouldmake and keep her noble.

  Resistance would have been vain, if only because she stood alone in herfamily circle; but the decision of the Senate was supreme--unquestionableand irrevocable; she stood alone indeed with only prayer to help her, anda great faith that because of it her child would be saved in the path ofdanger from which her love might not hold her feet. And so the day of theBetrothal dawned.

  * * * * *

  Ah, how the bells were ringing--Madre Beata! For such a _festa_ as neverhad been in Venice! The hearts of the happy people throbbed to theirrhythm, while each gave something to the splendor of the day--were itbut the color of a mantle, or the grace of a jubilant motion, or theradiance of a beaming face--there was no _festa_ in Venice of which thepeople 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 fishingboats with painted sails from the distant islands--hastening from theirunsold wares in the market stalls near the wooden bridge of the Rialtoto wait long hours for the pageant that no Venetian might miss. Fornever had there been such another, and there was not too much spacewhere one might stand to see the glory and the beauty of it! _Dio!_ butit was good to be born in Venice, where life was a _festa_!

  Along the Riva their radiant, dark faces gleamed in the sunshine, wherethey stood in serried ranks, picturesque in all the brilliant coloringthat their rustic wardrobes held in store for these days of _festa_;silken shawls that were heirlooms--strings of coral and amber and greatVenetian beads of every tint, or an edge of old lace on the gala_fazzuolo_ that many a noble lady might be proud to wear; everywherethere was color against the background of festive garlands and brilliantrugs decking the balconies of the palaces--a dazzling picture in thesunshine, under the blue of the Venetian sky.

  Every window in the Piazza and the Piazzetta was thronged withspectators in gala robes, while under the arcades that stretched fromSan Marco to the ancient church of San Giminiano across the square, thepeople surged crowding and jubilant; climbing to the roofs and ledges ofevery building, the campanile, the churches, the columned palaces,leaving not a space where a man might stand save the avenue through thecrowd which the soldiers kept free for the procession.

  The bells were beginning to ring--Santa Maria! all the bells--a truejubilee!

  Messer San Marco and San Tadoro were good to them to-day; how theirgolden images flashed in the sunshine on the columns! and the four greatgolden horses, in the dancing sunlight, seemed to quiver and pranceamong the frost-work of the arches of San Marco, while the gold and blueand 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 crowdwhich shut out all vision, beside the weary, expostulating motherswhose arms were filled with wee things who could not stand, and who hadcome 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 earlymorning 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 andbrocade, and the beautiful paintings, and the banners of San Marco, andthe great golden horses in the Piazza--the wonderful golden horses--upso high, thou knowest, eh, Battista? What dost thou want more?Pazienza!"

  There was a commotion on the Piazzetta; the first barge, heading thelong procession from the Palazzo Cornaro in San Cassiano far up theCanal Grande, was coming in sight, bearing the brilliant _Compagniadella Calza_, the noble youths of the Company of the Hose, whose gildedduty it was to appear at State Ceremonials in all the extravagance offantastic elegance with which Venice had decreed their costumes. Alaughing, dainty company, they sprang ashore at the landing of thePiazzetta, doffing their jewelled caps to the admiring crowd withcapricious grace and whimsical motions, like a flock of birds ofparadise, in doublets of velvet and cloth of gold, with hair floatingloose about their throats; with devices of fabulous birds--of starsflashing light--of mystic arabesques and hieroglyphs embroidered ontheir silken hose, in pearls and gold and precious stones:--truly a gayand frivolous company to be under the grave control of the Ten!

  The people shouted with delight as they took their stand at the stepsof the Piazzetta to receive the oncoming barges, for the "Calza" werethe very darlings of their eyes, and never had they been more brilliant.With true Venetian comradery the crowd tossed them light banter on thenames of their divisions, with pantomimic interpretation, in response totheir 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 muchpleasure 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 onthe Canal Grande, where to the gracious rhythm of countless strings andflutes, the barges of State were nearing the steps of the Piazzetta,bearing the standards of Venice and Cyprus--their prows garlanded withroses, their rowers wreathed with myrtle--banners and draperies of snowand silver floating in the breeze.

  Far up the Canal Grande the gondolas of the nobles, waiting before theirpalaces, had glided into position as the procession swept down towardthe Piazza--each gondola showing the colors of its _casa_, eachfluttering a silken streamer in honor of Cyprus, each bearing itsfreight of crimson-garbed Senators and ladies in festal array.

  A murmur of intense satisfaction broke from the excited crowd along theRiva, as the barges which bore the youthful bride and hernewly-appointed suite floated nearer; the great festal barges carvedwith bas-reliefs from classic story, were all of white and silver, theirsails of satin, plumed with roses, and from each prow the figure of aglorified swan flashed rosy light from eyes of ruby: and every rower inwhite and silver plying his silver oar, wore the arms of Cornaroblazoned on his sleeve, with a sash of the colors of Cyprus.

  An opal light played over the group of the dainty maids of honor, yeteach showed, for her only color, the arms of her ancient Venetian housewrought large upon the creamy fabric of her tunic, the threads of goldand gleam of jewels half lost within its folds as she walked: but thepeople looked for the heraldic devices and named them eagerly as, two bytwo, the maidens stepped on shore--Mocenigo--Giustiniani--Morosini--Dandolo--Contarini--a new name for every sweet young face--the King ofCyprus could add none fairer, nor no more noble arms to the court of hisyouthful Queen. The Senate had outdone itself in luxury of imagination.

  "Ecco!" The low
long-drawn sound of delight swept through the expectantthrong 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 bythe escort of noble Matrons of Honor most sumptuously clad, whom Venicehad appointed to act as sponsors in the ceremonial of the Adoption. Shewas 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 pearlsof Janus rising and falling with the frightened throbbing of her breast.Her mother only stood beside her under the canopy--her hand claspingthat of her child with a pressure which gradually steadied her to forgetherself and to do her part mechanically, as she might be instructed:for, deep in the heart of the Lady Fiorenza that ceaseless prayer upheldher with a rare and noble dignity--it brought her calm for the drama shehad not willed, and faith that for her child all would be well. She hadpleaded with the Senate that on this day of deep import the barge ofCaterina should not be without the benediction of its tutelary saint,since every gondola was wont to have its shrine; and behind them underthe canopy, from a mass of roses on an altar of alabaster, rose a nobleMadonna by Bellini, painted with exquisite grace--the votive picturewhich later kept within the Chapel of the Lady Fiorenza in the PalazzoCornaro, the memory of this day.

  The little ones cried and struggled down among the crowd, seeingnothing, and conscious from the chorus of ecstatic exclamations thatthey were missing a golden moment.

  "_Pace!_ Yes, they are coming: she is there--the Regina. Every one ofyou shall see--every one. _Pazienza!_ Some one will hold the _bimbo_ whosleeps? Then I could lift Tonino and Maria. _Mille Grazie!_"

  A dozen sympathetic arms had instantly offered in response to thisappeal, for the good-natured Venetian crowd adored _festas_--theyalso--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: andyoung--young like my Teresina! And to be a queen--Santa Maria!--she whowas like the other daughters of the nobili on the Canal Grande! Ah, butlife is wonderful for them--the nobili--but Messer San Marco is gentileto make this _festa_ for Venice!" The recollection of their own littlepart in the festa came with a patient sigh.

  "It is our Caro Maestro Giovanni Bellini who hath fashioned it all theysay--the garlands, the barges--the costumes--he talked with theirExcellencies, 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 ofthe 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 littlepeasant-mother eagerly. "Hearest thou, my _bimbo_?" She moved therestless hands to and fro, the round eyes following the motion. "Clapthy hands for the Regina--thou too, give thy greeting; thou wiltremember it when thou art old. May the holy Madonna bless her!"

  The shouts to which Caterina landed were deafening: the childrenscreamed for very ecstasy.

  The lagoon, from the Riva far out toward the islands was a dense mass offloating craft of the poorer sort, for below the Piazza there had beenno restriction, and the waters were crowded with islanders--old peoplegrateful for this nearness to the pageant, with a chance of separationfrom the standing, jostling crowd, and proud of lending the color oftheir 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 theshouting--one would understand the better when Tonio should be takinghis bit of supper and free to talk--for he was no good to his old mothernow, with watching the tacking and the people. And one might as well bedead as to stay far off in Burano on a day like this! _Cielo_, but thebells and the shouting were divine! It made one young again.

  "A _king_, thou sayest? Who is the king that the child is going tomarry? What is he like, Tonio? I cannot see so far."

  "_Not there?_ Holy Mother, but it is a strange wedding! There would havebeen the gossip of all the islands to answer if there hadn't been two toa wedding when I was young. But the Signori Nobili must have everythingafter their own new fashions. And to miss his own _sposalizio_! SanMarco is not good to him--he'll never see another half so fine. Is sheso young as they say--like Maria, there?"

  "Ah, to be Signori just for to-day!" sighed the little peasant-mother inthe crowd, as the dazzling cortege passed out of sight into the goldenglooms of San Marco. "To go with the nobili into the Duomo where one maybehold the Pala d'Oro and the wonderful golden candlesticks which theSerenissimo hath given--to see the Serenissimo take her for the Daughterof the Republic--wonder of wonders! And then to the Palazzo Ducale forthe Betrothal--_Pazienza_, one must wait; they will come again later, my_bambini_. Ah, but the beauty of it!" For the brave little woman wasweary, and there was nothing like enthusiasm for keeping up one'scourage, "and Heaven alone knew where Zorzi was with the _barca_!"

  The crowd relaxed and grew restless, losing some of the gaiety of itstemper when a weary neighbor settled back a little too roughly on afellow-shoulder, or the babies who had been put down on the ground torest lost the last sweet morsels they had been munching and clamored invain for more--too much excited by the unusual noises and happenings todeign to notice the brothers of the next size who were busily turningsomersaults in their behalf.

  But it would not be long before the procession came again; for the lastof the sumptuous nobles who made this holiday for the people haddisappeared under the portico of San Marco.

  The bells were chiming now in soft low undertones, a very ripple ofsound--like the breath of the summer-breeze upon the sea--stilling theshrill voices of the people in the Piazza, calming the exuberance oftheir motions. For it was a signal. They knew that within the Duomo,before the great altar where slept their patron-saint, ablaze now withlights and the marvel of the Pala d'Oro which was not for the sight ofthe eyes save on days of a _festa_ like this, the child of the Cornarowas waiting to be made the Daughter of Venice.

  * * * * *

  And now--for the bells were silent--in the magnificent storied chamberof the Gran Consiglio, where so many momentous questions of state hadbeen discussed, in the presence of the Serenissimo, the Signoria, theSenate and the Forty Noble Matrons, a new leaf was to be added to thestory of the Republic, and thither the feeble old Doge led the Daughterof Venice with the brilliant assemblage who had witnessed the ceremonyof the Adoption in the Duomo.

  Caterina had moved through the splendid pageant of the morning as in adream, still too much a child to comprehend the responsibilities itportended--too much in awe of the distinguished company assembled to doher honor to be conscious of any feeling but unwonted timidity. But thetottering footsteps of the old man who held her hand as he led herthrough the Porta della Carta into the Ducal Palace, awoke her inbornsense 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 signingof the parchment which bore the seals of Venice and of Cyprus was thetrifle of a moment. A circlet of rubies--the sign of the promise--hadbeen consecrated by the saintly Patriarch, Lorenzo Giustiniani, and theLady Fiorenza took comfort from the look in his noble face as he bentover Caterina to give the benediction. She would seek his aid in thetraining of the young betrothed for her life on that distant island.

  But now--at last--the hour was the people's once more, for theSerenissimo stood on the balcony above the portal of San Marco, betweenthe great golden horses, with the Daughter of Venice beside him--thesunlight irradiating her white robes and beautiful, girlish face.

  "Caterina--Regina--_Figlia di Venezia_--_Nostra Venezia_!" A great cryrent the air; it came from thousands of hearts and thrilled her own toits core, and the first, great emotion of her young life swept throughher, transforming and wholly possessing her.

  A mist swam before her and her heart throbbed as if it woul
d break: shedimly saw innumerable faces leaning to her from roofs and balconies andwindows, and below in the great Piazza, the dense mass of the peoplewith faces offering love and homage, lifting their children to claptheir 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 cornersof the Piazza stood out individualized, while a sudden great love ofhumanity was born within her. "She would pray to make her peoplehappy--she would be something to the poor and suffering ones of herdistant land of Cyprus--the Holy Mother would teach her----"

  It was the supreme moment that does not come to all, yet when it comesholds the making or the marring of a life--as the lightning gleams foran instant only through a rift of cloud, awe-inspiring and too luminousto be forgotten. To Caterina, on the verge of womanhood, it came withthe force of a prophetic vision, giving her sight of the tie between aqueen and her people--it was like the strong mother-love of a greatwoman--all-embracing; the splendor of the pageant, the personal homagehad 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 theemotion, seeking only for expression; she opened her arms wide to themas if she would embrace them all, turning on every side to smile herheart out to them--tossing kisses to the children who clapped theireager hands for her--scattering sunshine with that rare magnetic powerwhich 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 childgave thanks for the vision, with joyful tears.

  "This hast thou granted her, _Madonna mia Beatissima_, for a weddinggift!"