Chapter 2

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 _carità_ 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 cortège 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!"

IV

Now that the brilliant pageant of the Betrothal had taken place, life went on serenely in the Palazzo Cornaro in San Cassan, while the seasons came and went and Caterina developed into a charming maiden of seventeen--expanding in the gracious atmosphere and the wonderful new joys that it brought her, as a rose matures to its most radiant perfection in the sunshine. Her eager mind which had hitherto known only the meagre culture bestowed upon young Venetian maids of her time and estate, awoke with ardent response, growing with leaps and bounds to meet the new demands--yet always deepening because the spring of her will had its impulse in noble emotions.

Her thin, restricted life had suddenly overflowed with interests: the boundaries of her vision had opened far beyond the narrow confines of the lagoons of Venice and the Euganean hills, as the consciousness dawned upon her of a world that had been rich in beauty and vital memories before Venice began to be. Life was beginning to pulsate tumultuously in her veins; her heart was awaking. All the fulness and delight of this germinal spring-time she owed to the lord and lover who was waiting for her across the shimmering, beckoning sea. What wonder that her maiden heart should cling to him with a passionate trust, while all her sweet self grew in shy loveliness out of the dream that she was fashioning, and the deepening currents of her being flowed purely about this vision of her betrothed, enthroning her love with her religion in one centre.

The mimic court in the Palazzo Cornaro, under the supervision of her monitors of Venice, was already attracting distinguished strangers--for the element of romance in her position made the salon of the future Queen of Cyprus the feature of Venetian social life; and long hours of eager study with masters of the many tongues spoken in the Cyprian court--alternating with the teachings of her mother's noble friend, the Patriarch, as he sought to familiarize her with the early Christian story of her distant island, proved the quick grasp of her mind--giving dangerous hints of strength which, if disregarded, might thwart the moulding purpose of the Signoria. So it seemed wise to forestall her questionings with such historic glimpses as should fascinate her with her realm to be, while Venice was silently smoothing out the crumples of that distant Cyprian shore; and it was fitting that the bride of Janus should make acquaintance with the literary and legendary treasures of this fabled isle of poets, for the house of Lusignan had been known for its taste in literature. But of a certain proverb current in Cyprus in the days of the Lusignans, the watchful Senate took care that she should be left in ignorance, _Ce n'est pas Minerve qui est née en Chypre_! and that Chief of the Ten whose difficult duty it had become to supervise the education of Caterina was giving peremptory instruction to the newly-created Historical Secretary to the Queen-elect:

"Begin with thy narration far back in the days of the Greek myths--she hath much poetry in her soul. Take her carefully over the early Christian traditions--she doth most seriously incline to venerate the Church:--there is food in these matters to consume much time."

"And then, Eccellentissimo, one may venture to tell the story of the House of Lusignan?"

The research of the learned Secretary had brought him in contact with Cyprus, but it had not inclined him to make fancy pictures of its kings.

"Of Guy--the founder--and of the Crusades; it is a tale a maid may hear," the Capo responded grimly. "Of gleanings, now and again, through the pages of the chronicle, as it may be wise. She hath not the judgment to endure it all, being yet scarce more than a child--and with leanings rather toward Church than State, being over-much under the influence of the Lady Fiorenza--_over-much_."

The words came with pauses which lent them force, and the new Secretary, being Senate-trained, lost none of their significance.

"Thine office doth demand discretion," the Chief continued, fixing the other with his piercing gaze. "One should choose the tale that may best please--that she may go glad-hearted and with a maiden's fancy."

"Aye, your Excellency--for maids and women are not as men; and facts not over-gentle may be best untold."

"Nay--not that--not that: but there is time--much time--and for the present the care shall be to delight."

"It is the office of a courtier, Eccellentissimo; it befools a scholar," the Historical Secretary exclaimed with indignation. "There be poets and romancers who would do it honor, rather than I--who have spent long years among the records searching for truth, that I may leave a chronicle to trust."

"And most unworthily, Signor Segretario, if thou hast found no least trace of the great philosopher Zeno in the ancient city of Cition that was his birthplace; nor of Homer, that maker of literature, who hath, perchance, won space enough in the estimate of mankind to be worthy the brief thought of a child--even of thine--a scholar seeking for truth--he being the pride of Salamis.

"But the Signoria have never learned the backward step that they should withdraw an appointment which conferreth unwilling honor," the Chief concluded coldly. "Thou shalt find some beauty in the legends of the Cinyradæ, or the myths of Aphrodite, in this land of Cyprus where the goddess rose from the foam of the sea!"

"Were not substance better than froth to train a maid to rule, your Excellency?"

"Nay, but to _obey_; to _rule_ needeth not teaching."

"But--your Excellency----"

"Signore, foam shall suffice to teach obedience--thou hast heard the most gracious will of the Senate."

The eyes of the scholar who loved truth better than fortune dropped baffled; for he could not afford to surrender the favor of the Senate which promised him means to achieve in his own special field; and he groaned in spirit while the wide halls of the Frari, with their treasure of ancient MSS. rose before his mental vision as the most tempting spot on earth, with his own _magnum opus_ lying there unfinished, yet far toward completion. And for one who had meant to chronicle the complete history of a _movement_, who had sought ever to weigh and sift in the interests of truth alone, to surrender the freedom of his mind to the Senate--to come down to the teaching of a child--to be commanded what he should speak--it was maddening!

"My own work," he murmured in a last appeal:--"I have so little time."

"The time of a Venetian is his best gift to the State," the Capo made answer icily.

There was a pause during which the unwilling Secretary _felt_ the eyes of the Capo upon him, forcing him to lift his own. For an instant he met the strange fixed gaze which conveyed to him without words that what had passed between them was to be held inviolate; then, with a courteous salute, the man of power spoke:

"The interview is dismissed." And the Segretario Reale went out from the presence, his soul revolting at the absolutism that forced him to accept; and he despised himself.

* * * * *

Meanwhile the soul of the maiden was thrilling to the Patriarch's tales of early Christian conquests in her islands--at Paphos--at Salamis--of the miracles of the great Paulus, saint and bishop and leader--as her eyes followed along the red-lettered parchment page of the rare volume which the holy man had brought from the treasures of the "Marciana" for her teaching--translating the story from the Greek, which was yet hard for her, into her own softer tongue.

Cyprus had indeed been a favored land in those early days; for the Holy Spirit had commanded by a revelation that Barnabas and Paulus should set sail for Cyprus to preach the new faith at Salamis; and they had taken with them Marcus--their own San Marco!--it was so written in this strange, old book.

"Tell me about him!" Caterina cried, clasping her hands eagerly: "what did he do in my land?"

Every Venetian was familiar with the Patron-Saint of Venice in his symbolic guise, with his terrible, flashing jewelled eyes--as a power who would guard them and confound their enemies, rather than as an Evangelist--although the paw of the fierce Venetian lion rested always on the open gospel-page. But to hear of him as a man, before he was known as saint--young--'sister's son to Barnabas,' setting forth on this mission to Cyprus, made him strangely real to the young Venetian girl; it even brought Cyprus nearer with a tender home claim, to hear of the wanderings of San Marco among those temples of Aphrodite; and his scorn of the unholy worship kindled her soul as the Patriarch told how the young Evangelist had not feared to curse the godless Cyprian city for its idolatry--of the tumult that had been raised by his followers, as they hurled the images of the Pagan gods from their pedestals, ruining portions of the huge, unholy structure as they fell and killing some of those who were taking part in the games. She would visit these vast ruins in the ancient grove of Aphrodite, where giant-trees had grown among the fallen columns, and wonderful vases of gold and silver and alabaster, wrought like finest cameos, had been disinterred from mounds of rubbish to decorate the palaces of patricians.

Of these, antique goblets, some flashing with an indescribable rainbow lustre, delicate as an opal, had already been sent her among the rich gifts of Janus. And so life took on new color for her--historic memories and trifles of the day crossing each other at many points, linking the old to the new, in unsuspected continuity.

"Our San Marco was a hero even then!" she cried; "an early Crusader fighting for his faith!"