He stopped. He was weary, but he had not finished.
"Much harsher punishment might have befallen him!" he declared, looking again directly at Tonio. "Perhaps it was the love of his mother that restrained me. He'd been her joy since the day he was born, everyone knew it." And Andrea's eyes misted suddenly as if for the first time his thoughts were not clear to him. "He'd been so loved by his brothers. His frivolity was no irritant to them. No, they loved his jests, the poems he wrote, his idle chatter. Oh, how they all doted upon him. 'Carlo, Carlo.' And by the grace of God, none of them lived to see that irrepressible charm turned to the seduction of an innocent girl, that impetuosity sharpened to defiance.
"Dear God, what was I to do? I chose the only honorable course before me."
His brows came together. His voice was thinned with weariness, and for a moment he was communing with himself. Then he regained his power.
"I dealt with him lightly!" he insisted. "Yes, lightly. Soon he accepted his duties. He has done well with the allowance granted him. And laboring obediently in the services of the Republic in the East, he has petitioned again and again to be allowed to return. He has begged my forgiveness.
"But I will never allow him to return home!
"Yet this state of affairs will not endure forever. He has his young friends in the Grand Council, the Senate, boys who shared his youth with him. And when I die, he will return to this house from which he has never been disinherited. But you, Tonio, will be master here, you in the years to come will take the wife I have already chosen for you. Your children shall inherit the fortune and the name of Treschi."
The morning sun exploded on the golden lion of San Marco. It drenched in sparkling white light the long graceful arms of the arcades which disappeared into the motley shifting crowds, the great spear of the Campanile rising abruptly to heaven.
He stood before the glittering mosaics above the doors of the church. He gazed at the four great bronze horses on their pedestals.
He let himself be jostled by the crowd; he moved in an unconscious rhythm now and then, but his eyes remained fixed on the immense scheme of porticoes and domes that rose around him.
Never had he felt such love for Venice, such purified and painful devotion. And he knew in some way he was much too young really to grasp the tragedy that had befallen her. She seemed too solid; too substantial, too full of the magnificent.
Turning to the open water, the gleaming motionless sea, he felt himself for the first time in full possession of life itself as he stood in possession of history.
But a drawn and exhausted figure had left him only an hour before with an air of resignation in the face of old age that only filled him with dread. And there came back to him now his father's concluding words: "He will come home when I die. He will make this house a battleground again.
"Not six months passes that I do not receive some letter from his hand pledging he will marry the wife I choose for him, if only I will allow him to see his beloved Venice again.
"But he shall never marry!
"Would that I could, with my own eyes, see you at the altar with your bride, see your sons, see you put on your patrician robes for the first time and take your rightful place in the Council.
"But there isn't time for this, and God has given me clear signs that I must prepare you for what awaits you.
"Now, do you know why I send you out into the world, why I take your childhood from you with this fairy tale that you must be the escort of your mother? I send you out because you must be ready when the hour comes, you must know the world, its temptations, its vulgarity.
"But remember when your brother is under this roof again, I will not be here, but the Grand Council and the law will be on your side. My will shall fortify you. And your brother will lose the battle as he lost it before: you are my immortality."
14
A FLAWLESS BLUE SKY arched over the rooftops, with only a score of perfectly white clouds sailing inland. The servants hurried through the house announcing the sea was calm and surely the Bucintoro could safely carry the Doge to San Nicolo del Lido. All the windows over the canal stood open to the balmy breeze, and brilliantly colored carpets streamed from the sills under flapping banners. It was a spectacle repeated everywhere along the banks, as grand as Tonio had ever seen it.
And when he and Marianna and Alessandro, all of them gaily dressed, descended to the little dock, he caught himself whispering aloud, "I am here, this is happening!" It seemed impossible he'd passed into the panorama he'd so often witnessed from a distance.
His father waved from the balcony above the main door. The gondola was lined with blue velvet and garlanded with flowers. The great single oar had been gilded, and Bruno, in his bright blue uniform, guided the boat out into the flow as all around them came the other great families. Tossed in the wake of a hundred before them, they poured downstream to the mouth of the canal and the piazzetta.
"There it is," Alessandro whispered, and as the gondolas pitched forward and rocked back, seeking to hold their place in waiting, he pointed to the glare and flash of the Bucintoro itself at anchor. A giant galley resplendent in gilt and crimson, it carried the Doge's throne and a throng of golden statues. Tonio lifted his mother by her small waist so she might see, and glancing up, he smiled to see Alessandro's muted wonder.
He himself could hardly endure the excitement. All his life he would remember it, he thought, this moment when the trumpets and fifes let loose shrill and magnificent in the air to announce that the Doge was being carried from the Palazzo Ducale.
The sea was littered with flowers; petals everywhere rode the faceted waves so it seemed the water became solid. The golden boats of the chief magistrates were moving out, then came the ambassadors, and the papal nuncio behind them. The great warships and merchant vessels that spanned the lagoon gave off their salutes with flags unfurling.
And finally all the fleet of patricians advanced towards the lighthouse of the Lido.
Cries, waving, chattering, laughter, it was a great lovely roar in his ears.
But nothing surpassed the cry that went up when the Doge had cast his ring into the water. All the bells of the island rang, the trumpets blasted; thousands upon thousands cheered at the top of their voices.
It seemed the whole city was afloat, roaring in one great communal cry, and then it broke up, boats turning back to the island by whichever way they chose, great trains of silk and satin spread out behind them to float on the water. It was chaotic, it was mad, it was dazzling. The sun blinded Tonio; he raised his hand to shield his eyes as Alessandro steadied him. The Lisani came alongside, their gondoliers in rose-colored garments, their servants pitching white blossoms into their wake, as Catrina threw kisses with both hands, her dress of silver damask ballooning out behind her.
It was enough in itself. He was spent and almost dizzy and felt he wanted to retreat to some little shady corner of the world just to savor it.
What more could happen? And when Alessandro told them they were now going to the Doge's feast at the Palazzo Ducale he was almost laughing.
Hundreds were seated at the long white-draped tables; a fortune in wax blazed over the heavy silver carving of the candelabra while servants streamed through the doors carrying elaborate dishes on giant trays--fruits, ices, steaming platters of meat--and along the walls the common people poured in to observe the never-ending spectacle.
Tonio could scarce taste anything; Marianna was whispering every moment of what she saw, who was this, who was that, Alessandro's low voice giving her all the news of the world that was splendid and full of friendly marvels. The wine went at once to Tonio's head. He saw Catrina across a great pale and smoky gulf, beaming at him, her blond hair a mass of thick and perfectly formed little curls, her heavy bosom adorned with diamonds.
She had a painterly blush to her cheeks which made the ideal beauties of paintings seem real to him suddenly; she was overblown, glorious.
Alessandro meantime was so at ease; he cut t
he meat on Marianna's plate, moved the candles when they blinded her, never turning completely away from her. Perfect cavalier servente, Tonio was thinking.
But watching him, Tonio felt the old mystery of eunuchs return. He hadn't thought of it in years. What did Alessandro feel? What was it like to be him? And even as he felt himself magnetized by Alessandro's languid hands and half-mast lids, that miraculous grace with which he managed the smallest gesture, he felt an involuntary shudder. Does he never hate it? Is he never consumed with bitterness?
The violins had started again. A great roar of laughter had broken out at the head table. Signore Lemo passed, nodding quickly.
The carnival was beginning. Everyone was rising to go into the piazza.
Magnificent paintings were mounted for all to see, the wares of the goldsmiths and glassblowers flashed and glittered in the light that flooded from the open cafes where people crowded to take chocolate, wine, ices. The shops were aglow with frothy chandeliers and splendid fabric exhibited for sale as the people themselves made up a gleaming mass of the most dazzling satin, silk, and damask.
The giant piazza stretched into infinity. The light glared as if it were high noon, and over all, the round arched mosaics of San Marco gave off a dim sparkle as if they were alive and bearing witness.
Alessandro kept his charges close and it was he who led Marianna and Tonio into the small shop where they were at once outfitted with their bautas and dominoes.
Tonio had never actually worn the bauta, the birdlike mask of chalk-white cloth that covered not only the face, but the head as well in its black mantle. It smelled strange to him, closing over his eyes and nose; he gave a little start to see himself a stranger in the mirror. But it was the domino, the long black garment that hung to the ground, that made them all truly anonymous. You could not tell who was man or woman now; nothing of Marianna's dress showed beneath; she was a little gnome giving off a sweet, mercurial laughter.
Alessandro appeared a specter beside her.
And emerging into the blinding light again, they were but one trio now among hundreds of such nameless and faceless ones, lost in the press, holding tight to one another as music and shouts filled the air, and others appeared in wild and fantastical costumes.
The giant figures of the commedia dell'arte rose above the crowd. It was like seeing puppets overblown with monstrous life; painted faces flashed grotesqely under torches. Tonio realized suddenly Marianna was all but doubled over with laughter. Alessandro had whispered something in her ear as he supported her on his arm. She clung to Tonio with the other hand.
Someone shouted to them: "Tonio, Marianna."
"Shhh, how do you know who we are!" Marianna said. But Tonio had already recognized his cousin Catrina. She wore but a half mask and her mouth was a little crescent of red beneath, naked and delicious looking. He felt an embarrassing rush of passion. Bettina, the little serving girl, came to mind; was it possible for him to find Bettina? "My darling!" Catrina drew him close. "That is you, isn't it?" She gave him such a kiss that he felt almost dizzy.
He stepped back. The sudden hardness between his legs was maddening him; he would rather die than have her know it, but when her hand slipped about his neck, finding the one place that was not draped, he felt himself on the verge of some humiliating shock he couldn't conceal. She was pressed against him; the friction was defeating him.
"What's come over your father that he let you out, both of you?" Catrina said. And now, thank God, she turned her rich affection on Marianna.
Tonio suddenly saw the house; the dark rooms, the shadowy passages; he saw his father standing alone in the center of that dimly lit study as the morning sun made solid objects of the candle flames, his skeletal frame bearing the weight of history.
He flung open the windows. The rain was coming in fragrant gusts, nothing strong enough to clear the piazza. It had been packed still when they finally slipped away, Alessandro guiding them through the tight little calle to the canal and signaling for a gondola. And now, as Tonio peeled off his moist and wrinkled clothes, he put his elbows on the sill and looked up above the close wall to the smoky sky to see no stars in it, but the thin silver rain silently falling.
"Where are my singers?" he whispered. He wished he could feel sad; he wished he could feel the loss of innocence, and the burden of life, but if he felt sad that emotion was a luxurious sweetness. And without thinking, he raised his voice and let out a long call to his singers. He felt his voice pierce the darkness. He felt his throat open; he felt the notes like something palpable cutting free, and from somewhere in the dark and tangled world beneath came another voice, lighter, more tender, he thought, a woman's voice calling to him.
He sang nonsense to her. He sang of springtime and love and flowers and the rain, his phrases full of florid images. He grew louder and louder and then he stopped, holding his breath, to the last bit of echo.
There were singers all around him in the dark. Tenors picked up the melody he had commenced; a voice came from the canal; and there was the tink of tambourines, and the strum of guitars, and dropping to his knees he put his hand on the sill and laughed softly even as sleep threatened to close over him.
A vagrant image passed before his mind's eye. Carlo in his scarlet robe in the embrace of his father; and it seemed all of a sudden he was someplace else, lost in an endless commotion, his mother screaming.
"But why did she scream?" His father's voice came rapid, intimate, yet the answer eluded him. In reality he had never dared to ask that question.
"But was she the bride Carlo refused? Is that it? Was she the one Carlo would not marry? And why? Why? Did she love him? And was she then married to a man so old...."
He awoke with a start. And in the warm damp felt a shudder. Ah, no, he thought, never, never again mention it to her. And sliding into dream again he saw his brother's face rising slowly to the surface of that picture.
15
ANGELO AND BEPPO were confused; Lena was fussing with his mother's dress though she said over and over, "Lena, I'm wearing a domino, no one will even see it!"
Alessandro, however, was coolly in charge. Why didn't Angelo and Beppo go out and enjoy themselves? It took approximately five seconds for them to bow, to nod, and to vanish.
The piazza was now so crowded they could scarce move. Trestle stages had risen everywhere with jugglers, mimes, wild animals snarling in their cages as tamers cracked the whip. Acrobats somersaulted over the heads of the throng, the wind bringing warm rain that dampened no one.
It seemed to Tonio that over and over again they were caught in a living stream that forced them towards the jampacked cafes or thrust them out from under the porticoes; they gulped brandy and coffee here and there; sometimes they flopped at a table, just long enough to rest, their voices sounding strange to them piping up from their masks.
Meanwhile the extravagant maskers were cropping up everywhere. Spaniards, Gypsies, Indians from the wilds of North America, beggars in tatters of velvet, young men got up to be women with painted faces and lofty wigs, and women turned out as men, their lovely little bodies inexpressibly enticing in silk breeches and close-fitting stockings.
It seemed there was so much to do, they could make up their minds to none of it. Marianna wanted her fortune told but would not stand in line at the fortuneteller's table where the woman whispered secrets through a long tube right into the victim's ear so no one need share the revelation of his destiny. More wild beasts; the roar of the lions was thrilling. A woman snatched Tonio by the waist, turned him twice, three times in a wild dance, and then let him go; it was impossible to tell if she was a scullery maid or a visiting princess. He fell back at one point against the pillars of the church, his mind swept clean of all thought as it had seldom been in his life, and let the crowd merge into a magnificent spectacle of color. The commedia was being enacted on a distant stage, the actors' cries piercing the din, and quite suddenly he wanted to dissolve and rest in the quiet of the palazzo.
&nbs
p; Then he felt Marianna's hand slip out of his, and turning he could not find her.
He glanced back and forth. Where was Alessandro?
It seemed a tall figure straight ahead must surely be he, but the figure was moving away from him. He gave a loud shout, and couldn't even hear it himself; and glancing back saw a little figure in bauta and domino in the arms of another masker. It seemed they kissed, or whispered to one another, the stranger's mantle concealing both their faces. "Mamma." He went towards the tiny one, and the crowd intervened before he could reach her.
Then he heard Alessandro behind him. "Tonio!" He had been saying the proper address, Excellency, over and over and getting no answer.
"Ah, she's disappeared!" Tonio said desperately.
"She's right there," came Alessandro's reply, and again there was a little figure, bird-faced, eerie, peering right at him.
He tore off his mask, wiping at the sweat of his face, and closed his eyes for a moment.
They did not go home until two hours before they were to be at the theater. Marianna let down her long black hair and stood with her glassy eyes to the side as if enchanted. Then seeing the serious expression on Tonio's face, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him.
"But, Mamma..." He drew back suddenly. "When we were near the church door, did someone...did someone...?" He stopped, positively unable to continue.
"Did someone what? What's the matter with you?" she asked warmly. She shook out her hair. Her face was all angles, her mouth drawn back in a dazed smile. "I don't remember anything by the church door. When were we at the church door? That was hours ago. Besides"--she let out a little laugh--"I have you and Alessandro to protect my honor."
He was staring at her with something that was very near horror.
She seated herself before the glass as Lena undid the snaps of her gown. All of her movements were swift, yet uncertain. She lifted the glass stopper of her cologne and held it before her lips. "What shall I wear, what shall I wear, and you, look at you, you who all your life have begged to go to the opera. Don't you know who is singing tonight?" She turned with her hands on the edge of the cushioned bench looking up at him. Her dress had fallen down and her breasts were almost bare, yet she didn't seem to know it. She looked childlike.