A Golden Book of Venice

idea had come to him that night after the Veronese had touched his own faulty sketch into such rounded life; besides, he had thought but one beautiful thought since he had, as it were, b

ous and tireless. And the young noble's unique fancy for a superb goblet of crystal da Beroviero, with a miniature of Marina of Murano enlaced in exquisite gold borders and set round with costly pearls-a trifle fit to offer to a princess-not onl

her royal husband. This goblet, then, must surpass that one in magnificence, for it was the Veronese's opportunity; and in his soul, genial as it was, some sense of rivalry, born of Titian's assumption of the highest place in Venetian art, would last forever, in spite of the great master's manife

ing for the work. "My picture is nearly completed, and it will suffice

e difficult to obtain her consent, and for that ve

if I peril it by lack of chivalry! There is no proud

y. "She also shall look down from the

ish to give his mother, on his great day, the most beaut

ing," she answe

arina-since

illed with tears and she moved away,

t is well. It is this that shall win the consent of my mother,

imperious body, so relentless in its decrees, so tenacious in its traditions, so positive in its autocracy; but the threatened invincibility of this

glio-it shall be arrange

le flame of life and there had been no spare moments for Marcantonio, he had tried to absorb himself, as far as possible, in the preparation of this gift-since she would not let him go to her-and he had come to regard it as the symbol of success; for failure was never for an instant contemplated in his vision of the future. There were

id pageants for the Church, its festivities for the people, its fluttering of doves in the Piazza, and of timid, eager maiden hearts, waiting in a sort of shy assurance for that earliest

broidered cushions to watch the gondola that was just landing at the step of the Piazzetta; the restless movements of her tapering jeweled fingers were the only sign o

ntil he passed out of sight, after pausing with his father for a moment before the great columns of San Marco and San Teodoro, looking up perhaps with a keener sense of the dread scenes they had witnessed than had ever before possessed hi

he should offer to his mother upon his return from the Ducal Palace. But the day was one to banish every hint of failure, making him more conscious of his power than he had ever been before, and he felt himself floating toward attainment-whatever the difficulties might be. But with his first step upon the Piazzetta he forgot the glory of the sun

rolled forth from the space between the columns, and the jeweled eyes of the terrible winged Lion flashed defiance upon any who questioned, in the remotest way, the will or the act of the Republic. He glanced toward the elder man, some deprecatory comment rising to his

nly due to Marcantonio's imagination, and the young fellow's light rejoinder passed unuttered, intensifying his discomfort. He realized that he was not searching for this symbolism with a poet's appreciatio

tes of the Republic; the richly sculptured decorations detached themselves at once in allegory, the figures all leading up to Venice enthroned, holding out to the world her proud motto, "Fortis, justa, trono furias, mare sub pede pono." (Strong, just, I put the furies be

the moment of irresolutio

gnified purpose. Before thou enterest the Consiglio I would have thee reverently mark how, at the palace gate, Just

se he knew every angle and carving of the palace from the aesthetic point of view better th

already progressing. Secretaries at their desks were preparing papers for discussion, while their assistants came and went with messages from the various departments of the great body of workers within the palace; they were

an, with pride; "they have not a thought beyond their papers, and most wonderfully

!" Marcantonio exclaimed,

, enriched with costly furs and relieved by massive gold chains, absorbed in discussion of some practical details for the better ordering of the Fondachi, those storehouses and marts for foreign trade peculiar to Venice; some grave attorney, more soberly arrayed, making haste toward the gloom of the secretary's corner; a sprinkling of friars on ecclesiastical business, of gondoliers in the varied liveries of the senators waiting their masters' call; here and there a figure less in keeping with the magnificence around him, too full of his trouble to be abashed, going to ask for justice at the Doge's feet-the heart of Venice was

t without emotion?" the young patrician asked himself, forgetti

"Welcome," he said, "to the Consiglio, Marcantonio Giustiniani. Thou wilt not forget that thou comest o

uction into the official life of his sumptuous state-he longed to feel the human throb beneath it, that the sense of its weight might be lifted; but he

hand wistfully and

trolled. And again, more steadily, though n

in their department were inexorable,-the act of confirmation before the Imperial Senate, whither, in grave procession, they immediately fared, preceded by the sacred "Libro

lers, and they were followed with glances of interest as they passed through the Piazza. For it was whispered in the Broglio that there were reasons-valid and patriotic, as were all the arguments of Ven

ell a stinging memory of the tale-which was no legend-of that pathetic group in their island sanctuary-the brothers who were left, after the death of Otto, the exiled Doge, and of Orso, the noble bishop-prince, all of the house of Orseoli, who, with their abbess-sister Felicia, were wounded to

subject was a dangerous one, not honorable to Venice-"Nay, there are no Orseoli. But it is for honor to the Giustiniani that none hath been chos

ini. "The Giustinian is not a man for our promissione which, verily, fitteth ill with the dignity