VI
When the Senator Bernardini had first made known to his statelypatrician Mother his acceptance of the appointment to Cyprus, she hadmet him with surprise and keen disappointment.
"There is surely some great error," she said; "for I had it inconfidence that the Embassy to France hath been offered thee by theSenate."
He confessed as much.
"Thou wilt revise thy decision: I would gladly see thee wear thyFather's honors. Thou hast the gift of statesmanship."
He waited to choose his words, for her tone betrayed more than herspeech, and he grieved to thwart her ambitions for him.
"So may it fit me the better for the Cyprian post," he answered with anattempt at playfulness.
"Thou wilt verily give up this Embassy to France to go with the Caterinato her new land! There is some reason of which thou sayest naught--elsewere it hard to comprehend thy choice. We are but two, Aluisi; may notthy mother hold thy confidence?"
For answer he raised her hand to his lips, smiling upon her. Her browcleared.
"It is not that the little cousin hath touched thy heart?" shequestioned half seriously--"thou who art known as gracious for all andtender for none! I have not this to bear for thee--now that the marriagewhich thy Father would have favored is no longer possible? Then Francewere surely wiser for thee--the Fates are kind."
"Nay, nay," he answered frankly--"have no fear. When I set sail fromVenetia for my long voyage, the Caterina was still a child. And when,returning, I found her grown a charming maid, she was already set apartfrom all such dreaming for any honorable knight of Venice. Thou dost notguess the spell that holdeth me?"
"It is not one of her fair maids of honor who go with her to her courtof Cyprus?"
"Nay, Madre carissima; thou art still before all others with thy waywardson."
"Yet my wish for thee--of France--thou dost pass by," she interruptedeagerly.
"It is but for duty to the Casa Cornaro,--in which thou wouldst be lastto see me fail, dear Lady of Venice!"
She laid her hand upon his arm as if she would constrain him.
"Tell me," she urged.
"Mother, when thy name and mine shall have been forgotten, _one_ name ofthe Casa Cornaro shall stand out never to be lost--since Fortune dothweave it into history. For honor to our house, we will not fail ourCaterina."
"And thou?"
"As thou wouldst have me--thou, my Mother--than whom among the Cornariare none found prouder--I have sworn as solemnly as any knight may takehis vow,--were it even in Crusade--to spend myself in service of thelittle Queen, my cousin--as in that far land there may be need."
But for the Lady of the Bernardini--Venetian to her heart's core--theisland of Cyprus had little charm; she had dreamed of a brilliant careerfor her only son which should open to him the best that Venice couldgive--and she was not satisfied.
"There is no fault with that dear child," she said; "and as thybride--if this had been--I could have loved her well. But if thyfortunes need be bound with hers--and all thine honors for which thouart so meet, and with which thy Venice would fain endow thee, must besurrendered for her sake,--'twere pity that this marriage which thyFather willed, went not forward."
"Sweet Mother--the 'might-have-beens' make faincants of men. It is notlove--but duty that calleth me. _There is no choice._ Where is thinehonorable teaching?"
"Bethink thee, Aluisi, of this post of dignity in France--a place ofpower--of service to thy country. How sayest thou 'there is no choice'?"
"Mother--when our stars have ordered otherwise--there is no more to itthan that--why then--if men lack strength to bend their wills to meettheir destiny,--it is not as they will,--it is not as their honorwills--but far otherwise. And theirs the fault."
She looked up into his noble face as he bent over her--a face not oftenyielded so fully to her gaze--dear as this widowed mother and her sonwere to each other, and intimate in friendship; and as she looked a calmfell upon her and she saw strength, truth, valor, judgment--the soul ofthe man like a rock beneath the light play of his speech.
She no longer willed to oppose his choice. She put up her hand and drewhim down beside her on the couch.
"There will be much to think of," she said after a long silence; "thineinterests in Venice will be hard to leave. Why--if some of Caterina'shouse must escort her and abide with her--why not her brother Zorzi? Whoshould be fitter in her defense?"
"Zorzi is but a youth--less in years than her own. How should she leanon such a boy?"
"Aluisi--thou hast some fear which thou hast not spoken."
He was silent though she waited. How might he declare the bitter need ofwatchfulness, yet not betray the knowledge gotten in those secretcouncils of the Republic!
"_Madre mia_," he said at last, when she had reminded him of herquestion. "Without cause I had made no vow. Canst thou not trust thyknight? And of my fealty, so solemnly sworn, Caterina knoweth naught. Itis for me and thee alone--_and least of all for the ear of Venice_. Butthou knowest--if it were no more than that the way of a crown be noteasy for a young and guileless maid--some one of her own should be withher in that strange land; and he should be wise in counsel."
"As thou?--who dost so qualify thyself?" she asked with a pitifulattempt to rally him--for her heart was sore. "What shall I do withoutthee--Aluisi!" Her voice had suddenly broken in yearning. It was notoften that such emotion escaped her. He folded her hand more closely asthey sat on in the silence, in the falling twilight, and his eyeswandered down the length of the splendid ancestral hall, while hisresolve strengthened within him--the knights and ladies of the house ofCornaro for centuries back leaning to him out of the quaint carving oftheir time-dimmed frames--fading from him, like ghosts, into the gloomof the distant corners, yet holding him with a strange, vitalfascination--for it was much to leave. The very tapestries rustled withthe legends of the Cornelii of long, long ago, on the shores of the RivoAlto, before the story of Venice had won its honored place in thechronicles of nations--yet not the less for their indistinguishableoutlines and mythical color were they woven into the proud consciousnessof the duty the Cornari owed their own.
Memories of the state his Mother had held here rose to meethim--memories of his Father, who had been a power in Venice. How couldhe ask the Lady of the Bernardini, with her whitening hair, to leave itall for Cyprus? Yet that was in his thought. He could not frame thewords; it was too much to ask--he must leave it to come from her.
"Is thy fear not to be spoken?" she asked at last. "And must we acceptit for the Caterina--who is very fair and tender?"
"It is the ways of Cyprus that I fear," he answered quickly; "and ofthat strange people--a blending of half-pagan races with the blood ofFrance and Greece. But, Madre mia--there must be no echoes from theCouncil-Chamber--none of our talk beyond thine own discreet hearing--itwould but harm her. And for _acceptance_--'must we _accept_ it for theCaterina?'--thou dost ask--it is an empty word! The will of Venice is_set_ to do this thing."
"Yet our cousin Marco--the child's own father--goeth not heavily; hehath no fear."
"He is mad with the glory of it--after Venice's own temper."
There had been some further talk--not over-much dwelling on vainregrets--and then the Lady of the Bernardini had asked,half-reluctantly:
"How if some Lady of the Cornari went with her?--I--having no daughterof my own--and loving her well? And--thou and I need not be parted."
"I dared not ask it of thee," he cried fervently--"for it is much. Idared not tell thee of the Senate's wish to name thee chief Lady ofCaterina's Court."
"The court of the child! The little Caterina!" she exclaimedimpetuously, rising and taking a few steps away from him with theirresistible impulse of offended dignity.
"I was bidden to lay their desire before thee--if it should be also ofthy will, my Mother; it was not a command," he hastened to assure her.
But she had already conquered herself--being strong as proud, and promptin decision, but ruled above all by her de
ep affections, and she cameback to his side before he had found words with which to propitiate her.
"It was strange to me," she said, "but Venice would be more strangewithout my boy. Let us go together."
"Thou canst verily bear to leave it all?" he asked when he could trusthimself to speak.
Her eyes followed the direction of his motion around the vast hall, thencame back to rest upon his face.
"The past is ours," she said, "but not to make us weak. Thy'might-have-beens' are not less wise for women than for men. I have onlythee."
"San Marco atone to thee for thy sacrifice," he cried devoutly.