But before she had reached the dais prepared for the Signoria at the end of the great hall she paused, as if unable to proceed further, swaying slightly and throwing out her hands to steady herself; a sudden change swept over her face, and for a moment it seemed that she would fall; the child, losing hold of her hand, clung sobbing to her skirts, hiding his pretty head.
Her husband sprang to her aid, tenderly supporting her, but as instantly she seemed to recover her strength, smiling upon him graciously, while she gently disengaged herself from his hold, leaving the little one with him, and gliding rapidly forward, looked around her with unrecognizing eyes.
It had pleased the whim of the Republic to make some ecclesiastical parade on this festa of Venice which followed so closely upon the prosaic closing scene of the quarrel with Rome, wherein no churchly pomp had been permitted; and as Marina''''s bewildered gaze steadied itself upon the noble group of the Signoria, with whom to-day, in great state, sat the Patriarch of Venice with mitre and hierarchical robes and all the attendant group of Venetian bishops, a look of intense relief suddenly flashed over the trouble in her eyes—as if that which she had sought with such long suffering no longer eluded her.
\"Madre Beatissima!\" she cried, clasping her crucifix closely to her breast, and raising her eyes to heaven, \"I thank thee!\"
The light grew upon her face.
As her whole life had been merged in this struggle which had only conquered her overwrought heart and brain when she had felt that the Madonna had deserted her and delivered her to the wrath of Venice, so now, in her hallucination,—since the Madonna had brought her to Rome,—her faith and power of speech suddenly returned, and she rallied all her strength to fulfil her mission.
In that great and sumptuous Hall, flaunting and gay with banners which chronicled the victories and the power of the Republic—in the impregnable stronghold of the realm, under the astonished gaze of the entire Venetian court and the brilliant throng of the households of nobles and ambassadors who looked down from the circling galleries, expectant and awestruck under the spell of so strange a vision—this pale, slight champion of a desperate spiritual struggle, with no host to help her save her prayers and faith, with no standard but the cross clasped to her breast, knelt at the feet of the Patriarch, while the sunset light through the broad western window made a radiance where she knelt—as if Heaven at last had smiled upon her.
\"Oh, Holy Father!\" she implored, \"have mercy upon Venice! Forgive her unfaithfulness, because she hath meant no sin!
\"The Madonna hath granted me to reach Rome at last, because she hath laid her command upon me in a vision and it could not fail. But all those, my loved ones, have I lost by the weary way; and save for her mercy I could not have reached thee.
\"With prayers and penance have I striven—and ceased not—since the anguish of thy displeasure came upon Venice. Oh, Holy Father! for all the mothers who understand and grieve, and for our innocent little ones, and for all those, our beloved, who are good and noble—and yet know not the hard way of submission, because the Lord hath taught them some other way—lift thy wrath from Venice, that our Heavenly Father hide not his face in clouds too heavy for our prayers to reach him!
\"It is the will of the Madonna San Donato—thou canst not refuse to lift the doom!\"
The words leaped over each other like a torrent—impetuous, passionate, as if the moments for speech were few.
\"These do I bring—and these, for an offering!\" she cried, feverishly unclasping the lustrous pearls from her throat and girdle and laying them at the feet of the Patriarch. \"And all the dear happiness of my life have I given, that I might reach thee with this prayer for Venice! Oh, Holy Father, accept my sacrifice!\"
She reverently pressed the hem of the priestly robe to her lips, and those who knew of her flight from Venice understood that she fancied she had reached the Roman Court and was kneeling in the presence of the Sovereign Pontiff; but in their amazement that she alone, who was dying from the grief of it, did not know that the interdict had been removed, it had not seemed possible to answer her.
But there was no room for anger as they listened—though her plea was a judgment on the court of Venice—for her voice thrilled them with its unearthly sadness, and, looking into her beautiful, spirit face, they saw that all her consciousness was merged in her intense realization of the utmost terror of the curse, and in her one burning hope—to which all things else were as nothing and in which she herself was wholly lost.
The Patriarch, moved with immeasurable compassion, raised her tenderly. \"My daughter,\" he said, in a voice that trembled with feeling, \"Venice is restored to favor. The Interdict is removed!\"
Through the stern assembly a wave of sympathy surged irresistibly, impelling them to comfort this lovely, grieving lady, distraught by anguished brooding. Scarcely knowing that their emotion expressed itself in words, they caught up the Patriarch''''s answer and echoed it from group to group—from gallery to gallery—until it gathered impetus and rolled like a Hallelujah Chorus through the vast, vaulted chamber.
\"Venice is restored to favor; the Interdict is removed!\"
The light grew upon her face.
How should it seem strange to her that her prayer at the feet of the Holy Father had wrought this pardon for Venice—was it not for this that the blessed Madonna of San Donato had sent her? She had promised blessing for sacrifice!
She stood for a moment, radiant, while the chorus of many voices throbbed around her—her face like an angel''''s for joy and love—a glorified vision in the parting rays of the evening sun—then her faint fluttering breath died in a Benedicite !
* * * * * The vesper bells of Venice came softly through the twilight, calling to Ave Maria.