_ CHAPTER XVIII
The Lady Marina was wan from fear and fasting but very resolute, though her face showed traces of tears, as her husband entered the oratory of the palace, whither she had implored him to come to her before he went to the Senate Chamber--a dignity to which he had but just been elected.
"Why hast thou summoned me hither?" he asked somewhat coldly; for, like most light-hearted people, he disliked scenes, and differences between himself and his wife were the more intolerable to him because he truly loved her.
"Oh, Marco, my beloved!" she exclaimed imploringly, "thou lovest Venice as much as I, and thy little word can save her from this great horror, for thou art in the councils of thy people."
"Nay, Marina, thou dost not understand," he answered deprecatingly, softening at the sight of her trouble. "I have but one vote; it is as nothing in the Senate--it would but draw indignation against our house. It is not possible to fail in loyalty to the Republic on this first occasion of moment."
"Thy father might be won, if thou hast but courage. Thou art a Giustinian; it is thy duty to speak in time of peril, and thy words would make others brave to follow thee. Thus shalt thou save Venice."
"If thou didst but know, carina, how the Senate and the Ten are set against this wish of thine! I should not speak of this matter to thee, for it is secret--but to calm thee and help thee understand."
"How shall it calm me to know that the people and the city are rushing under the ban? If this terrible resolution passes, if our child--our tender child--were to die to-morrow he would go without burial--a little wandering soul! Marco, thou lovest our child?"
Her pauses and her desperate struggle for control were full of inexpressible horror.
"Calm thyself, my darling; it shall not be," he answered, reassuringly.
"Oh, Marco mio! And thou wilt give thy vote against it? And thou wilt use thine influence in the Council? Promise me!"
She clung to him, sobbing and exhausted.
He soothed her for a moment silently; should he leave her under such a misunderstanding? It would be easier for them both, but he had intended no untruth. How was it possible to make such a woman understand? She was quiet now, and he was stealing away from her with a kiss on her forehead.
"Promise me!" she insisted, following him and clasping his arm with sudden strength.
"Marina, they are very set; and the Ten--thou dost not know their power."
"And shall all Venice brave the wrath of our most Holy Church because the Senate is afraid of the Ten? Are the Ten more powerful than the Holy Father and all the priesthood and sacraments of the Church? Marco, my beloved, how shall I save thee?" "Carina, these things are not coming upon Venice; thou dost not understand the law of Church and State."
"No, Marco," she answered boldly, "it is rather thou who dost not understand. There will be no services, no marriage for our people, no burial, no consolations of our holy religion, no sacraments--if this excommunication should come upon us."
"If we had sinned, Marina, and laid ourselves open to interdict, then these things should come--not otherwise."
"Ay, but we
have sinned--by rebellion against the Holy Church. Marco, it is not easy for men to submit; but Father Francesco says the women shall save Venice."
"The women of Venice are priest-ridden!" the young Senator cried angrily, breaking away from her. "If there is trouble, it is the priests who have brought it. They cannot be a separate power within Venice!"
"Not a separate power, Marco, only the representative of the Church, which is the supreme power."
"These things are not for women to discuss," he exclaimed in astonishment that she should attempt to reason on such a subject.
"Not for women, and not for men," she answered quietly. "The power of the Holy Father is by
divine right."
"Marina, if thou canst say so much, thou
shalt understand the rest!" he cried desperately. "So also is the power of temporal princes by divine right--if not even more, as some of the authorities would have it. But the temporal prince hath right only to that within his own jurisdiction. Granting the divine right to the spiritual prince, it lieth only within his own province. Paul V hath exceeded his rights. Leonardo Donato, Serenissimo of the Republic, is not guilty in self-defense."
She quivered as if a knife had been thrust through her; then, controlling herself by force, she dipped her fingers in the basin of holy water that stood upon the little altar. "It is sacrilegious to speak against the Holy Father," she said in a low, grieved tone, as she made the sign of the cross upon his breast. "May God forgive thee, my dear one--it is not thy fault. But in the Senate they are misleading thee!"
"My sweet wife," he answered, much troubled, and folding her closely. "Do not grieve. All will be well for Venice. We shall not bring harm upon her."
But she detected no yielding in his tone. She lifted her head from his breast, and moved slightly away from him.
"Marco," she asked firmly, "when is the vote to be cast?"
"To-day, before sunset, and I must not linger. It would bring misfortune upon our house if I were to be absent in an affair of such moment. Else would I not leave thee."
She did not seek to detain him.
"Promise me that thou wilt be reasonable," he said, looking back, as he parted the draperies of the doorway; "thou wilt not grieve."
"A promise for a promise, Marco; thou hast given me none, and may the Madonna have mercy upon us!"
After a long, lingering look at the drooping figure of his wife he dropped the curtain and descended to his gondola, sombre in spirit because of the work that awaited him in the Senate Chamber; his footsteps lagged wearily upon the stone floor of the long, dark passage, and the brilliant outer sunshine flooded him with a sense of desperately needed relief.
When Marina moved it was to throw herself before the altar, resting her head upon her clasped hands, in an agony of supplication.
* * * * *
In the midst of an excited debate, immediately preceding the final vote, the door of the Senate Chamber was suddenly thrown open by the keeper, who announced in an awestruck tone:
"A citizen claims the right of the humblest Venetian to bring before Messer the Doge a message of vital import in the question under discussion."
He uttered the words tremblingly, as if he had been taught them, and the interruption at such an hour, though not unprecedented, was at least unusual enough to cause consternation. The flood of words ceased; there was an uneasy movement among the senators, then a hush of suspense.
Without waiting for the customary consent of the Doge, a procession of white-robed, white-veiled women passed through the open doorway, moving slowly and solemnly to the Doge's throne. The leader stepped forth from her group of maidens and knelt at the foot of the dais.
This sudden arrest of action by these white-robed gliding figures, at a moment when the Senate was about to defy the authority of the Church, brought a superstitious thrill to many hearts within that chamber.
Among the younger senators it was whispered, in unsteady tones, that a message delayed for the death of a prince was likely to bring trouble--messengers, perchance, from another world--when forced again to discussion. They listened breathlessly for the message; but the figure still knelt in silence.
The group of Councillors on the dais swayed and parted against that wonderful background of Tintoret, the dead Christ and the two Doges reverently kneeling in proof of the devotion of this Most Serene Republic. Around the vast and sumptuous chamber, where the proud Signoria assembled, like a council of kings, Venice had chronicled her triumphs and her religious humility in endless repetition and intimately blended, as became her faith; the Doges Priuli, kneeling in prayer; Venice, mounted defiantly on the Lion of Saint Mark; other portraits of other doges, in attitudes of devotion; other pictures of the Christ, of the saints, always symbolic; but over all,--triumphant, beautiful,--with its irresistible sea-tones, cool and strong, Venice, Queen of the Sea, compelling the homage of her rulers, from the ceiling's height.
Twice the Doge essayed to speak, but the faces of the younger men warned him of the danger of such an interruption at a moment when the entire vote had seemed sure, and so filled him with wrath that he dared not speak until he could control his voice, lest its tremor be mistaken for fear. The moment seemed an hour.
"Reveal thyself!" Leonardo Donato commanded at last; "and rise!"
The supplicant slowly rose, throwing back her veil, and revealing a face that was spirit-like in its pallor and beauty, with deep eyes, unfathomably sad. Her maidens gathered close about her, as if to support her, for she trembled as she stood.
A low murmur arose. "The Lady of the Giustiniani!"
In all that vast Council Chamber there was no movement, save the slight commotion among a group of red-robed senators farthest from the throne, who were forcibly detaining the Senator Marcantonio Giustiniani, and the imperative gesture from the dais which had waved him back and hushed his involuntary exclamation of horror. Among the Savii, Giustinian Giustiniani sat livid with anger, close under the eyes of that one calm, terrible Counsellor whose gaze, fastened upon him, rendered speech impossible.
"My daughter," said the Doge, in a tone full of consideration, "this is not fitting. At another moment we will listen to thy request. Thou mayest withdraw."
"Serenissimo, Prince of Venice!" Marina cried, stretching forth her hands, "be gracious to me!
Now must I speak my message, or it will be too late--and it hath been granted me in a vision, for the welfare of the people of Venice.
If the Ruler of this Republic will win the consent of the Senate and the Council to comply with the admonitions of the Most Holy Father, the day shall be happy for Venice."
"Take her away--she is distraught," commanded one of the Chiefs of the Ten, starting forward.
There was a movement of irresolution among those immediately surrounding the Doge; but the Lady Marina, like one commissioned for a holy emprise, had no fear.
"Nay, for I claim my right, as citizen of Venice, to bring my grievance to the Doge's throne!" she answered proudly. "I am mother to a son who shall one day take his seat among the nobles of this Council; I am daughter to a man of the people,--beloved by his own class and honorably known, in the records of the Ten, among the industries of Venice,--who hath but now refused the seat of honor they would have granted him, that he might more truly serve the interests of the people; I am wife to a noble whose ancient name hath been written again and again in records of highest service most honorable to the Republic. My grievance is the grievance of Venice--of the nobles and the people!"
She spoke with the exaltation of inspiration, and there was a hush in the chamber, as if she had wrought some spell they could not break.
Presently into this silence a voice--low, clear, emotionless--dropped the consenting words, "Speak on, that justice be not defrauded by the half-told tale."
Instinctively the eyes of the senators turned to the face of the Chief Counsellor, whose opinions had ruled the debate for many days past; but he sat serene and unmoved among his violet-robed colleagues, with no trace of sympathy nor speech upon his placid and inscrutable countenance. If the words were his they were simply an impartial reminder of duty--they concealed no opinion; the senators were to be the judges of the scene, and justice required them to listen.
They gave a quickened interest.
"I plead for the people, who have no representatives here--for the people, who are faithful to the Church and dutiful to the Holy Father; let not this undeserved horror come upon them. Leave them their heaven, who have no earthly paradise!"
The lady's strength seemed failing, for the last words had come more painfully, though with a ring of passionate indignation.
Again Marcantonio Giustiniani broke from his detaining colleagues in an attempt to reach his wife; and a second time the hands of the Councillors waved him back.
"Spare us this anathema, most gracious Prince!" she cried. "I speak for the mothers of all the babes of Venice. And oh, my Lords,"--and now the words came in a low, intense wail, as she turned instinctively and included them all in the beseeching motion of her hands,--"if you have no mercy on yourselves, at least have mercy on your tender little ones! Do not bring damnation on these innocent, helpless children by your own act. Be great enough to submit to a greater power!"
"It is unseemly," murmured another of the Councillors, yet low, as if afraid of his own judgment in a case so strange.
Leonardo Donato had been in possession of the supreme ducal authority but a few weeks, not long enough to unlearn the tone of command and the quick power of decision which had distinguished him as ambassador, when he had been chosen with the unanimous approval of this august assembly, to conciliate the court of Rome in the hour of the Republic's great emergency. His presence of mind returned to him; the scene had lasted long enough, and the situation was critical. The noble Lady Marina must be retired without disgrace, for the honor of the Ca' Giustiniani; but, above all, that she might not heighten the impression which her presence had already created. And she must be placed where she could exercise no further influence, yet in a way that should awaken no commiseration; for she was beautiful and terribly in earnest, and in her deep eyes there was the light of a prophet, and all Venice was at her feet.
The Doge spoke a word low to his Councillors, who sat nearest him on either side, and they, with decorous signs of approval, passed it on to the others. Thus fortified he rose, descended the steps of the ducal throne, and addressed her with grave courtesy; the whole house, as in custom bound, rising also while their prince was standing.
"We do not forget, most noble Lady Marina Giustiniani, that more than many others thou art a daughter of the Republic, being especially adopted by the Act of the Signoria; and thy love for Venice wins forgiveness for the strangeness of thy fear that we, her loyal rulers, could work her harm. But thou art distressed and needing rest, from the pain of the vision which thou hast confided to us. We will care for thee, as a father should.
"Let the noble Senator Marcantonio Giustiniani approach and conduct his lady to private apartments within our palace, where she may rest, with her maidens, until she shall be refreshed. One of our secretaries shall show the way and remain to see that every aid is bestowed."
The secretary whom the Doge had designated by a glance had approached and received a rapid order, spoken in an undertone; Marina had fallen, almost fainting, upon her husband's arm, as he reached her after the permission so intolerably delayed, yet he dared not move in that imperious presence without further bidding. His hand stole over hers to comfort her. She had suffered so much that he could not be angry.
Leonardo Donato's eyes quickly scanned the faces of the senators, seeking the two least sympathetic.
"The Senators Morosini and Sagredo will escort them," he said, "and will return in haste with the Senator Giustiniani to do their duty to the Republic."
At the door Marina turned again, rallying her failing strength with a last desperate effort, but the words came in a broken, agonized whisper: "O Santissima Maria Vergine! Mater Dolorosa! because thou art the special guardian of this Virgin City--and here, in her councils, none of thy reverend fathers may plead for thee--be merciful, Madre Beatissima! Save us from our doom!" _