CHAPTER XV
THE HERO OF THE SQUARE
It was some months before hostilities ended, but favorable word continued to come from the front, and the gloom that had so long overhung Italy was dissipated. Women worked with light hearts, men fought with the assurance of victory.
Chico was soon about again and was the hero of the Square. Although his nights were now somewhat restricted, he found it very pleasant to fly about the accustomed haunts, and if he was a little inclined to assume the airs of a war veteran, no one criticized.
When Pepita, amid the cares of domesticity, wearied a little of her husband's oft-repeated tales of life at the front, he had only to repair to the Piazza where, in the perches among the Statuary, he never failed to find plenty of cronies eager to pay him fascinated attention.
When the armistice was signed, Venice gave herself up to revelry, and the scenes when the Piazza was once more illuminated were wilder than at any Carnival time.
Processions of people, mad with joy, marched up and down, headed by Chico and his master, and shouting in praise of the brave bird.
It was not long before the city began to assume her customary appearance as greatly prized treasures were brought from their hiding-places.
The Colleoni statue once more stood in place; Titian's famous Assumption of the Virgin that had transferred to Pisa was returned securely packed in a huge chest, some seven and a half meters in length, and amid the wild excitement the bronze horses were restored to their position on the top of St. Mark's. People thronged to witness the ceremony and afterwards flocked into the church where the patricians of Venice intoned the Te Deum in thanksgiving.
When the time came for conferring honors upon the war heroes, Chico was not forgotten. After some discussion as to whether it would be practicable for the bird to wear a band of honor about his leg, the idea was abandoned, and a special medal was struck off and given to Andrea. It bore the arms of Italy on one side and a pigeon on the other, with the inscription, "De virtute." [Footnote: For courage.]
On the eventful day in the office of the War Department, after the presentation had been made, the General further addressed the boy who stood, all trembling at the honor that had come to his Chico.
"Special orders, my lad, have come from Rome that something shall be done for you."
As he paused, Andrea protested, "No, No! it is enough—the medal is enough!"
"The orders on this point are most explicit." The General's tone was positive. "Come tell us, what is your ambition?"
"To be an aviator, signore, in the service of my country," was the stammering answer.
"Bene! It shall be done. Your expenses shall be paid to the best government school of aviation, and, from this time on, an income of one hundred and fifty lire a month shall be allowed your parents, for it is understood your father has aged greatly in the service of his country."
Andrea bowed his head. He had no words to express his gratitude. But, once outside, he ran every step of the way home, in his eagerness to tell the wonderful news.
* * * * *
The Great War is now a matter of history, and once more tourists are flocking to Venice. Again gay laughter is heard on the Grand Canal. The little shops that line the sides of the Piazza of St. Mark's are now bright with glittering strands of beads, while the women are once more busy with their bobbins.
The clock tower, the Ducal Palace, the Campanile—they are all there, beautiful as ever, and now as ever stands St. Mark's Church, sharing the joy of her people as she has sympathized with them in their sorrow.
Perchance, reader, you may yourself sometime visit this city of "Beautiful Nonsense," and, if so, may call "Chico, Chico!" and look to see if one of the fluttering pigeons that so contentedly coo about the Square will not come and light upon your shoulder.
Should you be so fortunate as to catch a glimpse of an aeroplane circling in the blue sky, you may risk a guess that the aviator is Andrea, in the government employ.
You may even learn that he wears a medal ever about his neck and that sometimes he carries with him Chico as a mascot: sometimes, but not always, for little Pepita is sadly lonesome when her faithful mate is long away.
Who knows but that in the future this story of a homing pigeon may have a place with the other memories of this wonderful city, and that, five or six hundred years from now, children may gather about some old caretaker of St. Mark's and listen, with fascinated attention, as he tells of the service rendered Venice by a homing pigeon in the time of the Great War?