After the solemn mass in the Duomo, the magnificent chords of a jubilant Te-Deum filled the Piazza with harmonies—it was the music of a Triumph indeed:—the soldiers, the knights, the high functionaries of State, the priests and chanting choirs were all there; but the central figure under the golden baldachino, upheld by the barons of the realm and surrounded with royal honors, was not the Conqueror—but the victim—the prey—the sacrifice. It was rather they—the leaders of this pageant, in their crimson robes of office with the shadow of the banner of San Marco above them, who rode proudly, sure of the honors and emoluments that awaited them when Venice should echo to them the Roman cry of victory—"Io Triumphe!"
And now the Queen pronounced the speech that Venice had decreed, wherein she claimed the love that her simple people had lavished upon her—
"For Venice—to whom we have freely yielded our right."
The words were strange upon her lips, and she spoke them stonily, as if she knew not that they had a meaning; and thus tortured from her, it may well be questioned whether the Recording Angel ever noted them in his book—yet they were her answer to the popolo who thronged about her with tears and blessings, as she journeyed from city to city to repeat the mournful ceremony of farewell; and the people heard them with sobs and groans.
In every city, as one for whom life had died and speech had lost its soul—she uttered these words which Venice had decreed; in every city she looked on mutely from under her royal canopy—she who was so powerless—while the flag of the island of Cyprus was supplanted by the banner of San Marco, and the sculptured marble tablet with the winged lions guarding its triumphant inscription, was placed as a record of a kingdom too weak to rule.
Fran. de Priuli Venetae Class.
Imper. Divi Marci Vess.
Cypri Feliciter Erectum Est.
No. mcccclxxxviii. 28 Febru.
How dreary the passage across those wide waters to the shores of the smiling Adriatic for the desolate woman who had left them in the first flush of her youth, with hopes as brilliant as the skies of Venice, and with a promise as fair—to return to them lonely, despoiled, heart-broken, craving rest! The gray light of the storm-clouds by the banks of the Lido and the moan of the rising winds which threatened to engulf the Bucentoro and the fleet of attendant barges coming in state to meet the deposed Queen, were typical of the change.
Not caring for the splendor of her equipage, though the Doge himself was her escort—not deceived by the pageant of welcome that Venice offered, Caterina—very beautiful and pale and still, with the sense of the motive power broken within her—passed up the long length of the Canal Grande by the side of the Serenissimo, receiving the glad homage of the people of Venice.
"Caterina Veneta! Caterina Regina!"
Venice was outdoing herself in triumph, showering regal honors upon her: the bells of all the Campanili were ringing a jubilee: music greeted her from the shores as they glided by—the portals wreathed with festal garlands, the beautiful city a glory of light and color; for the storm of the evening had passed and the morning had dawned in sunshine, and along the Riva the people were thronging to welcome her—the Queen who had bestowed the gift of her kingdom upon Venice!