The Secret of the Glass Read Online Free PDF
Author: Donna Russo Morin
plumed and festooned barge. He dug in his pocket for the many golden coins to pay the family’s fare. Viviana opened her mouth to protest, snapping her jaw shut, offering a serene, if forced, smile in place of any harsh words.
With a wave to the crowd packing the piazzetta and overflowing into the larger piazza, Doge Donato stepped through the mam-mouth arch formed by the columns to board the Bucintoro with his chosen special guests. Among the contingent were not only the most powerful senators and council members of the land, but also the visiting kings, queens, and princes that Oriana so longed to see.
She grabbed Sophia’s arm. “Can you see any of them?”
Both young women strained to see across the water near the rail of their garlanded craft and onto the ceremonial galley.
Sophia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as she looked off into the distance. “ Sì, I see someone. Oh, he is very handsome, very slim, and muscular. What’s this? He’s stopped…he’s looking around for…for something.”
“What?” Oriana popped with excitement. “ Che cosa? What does he look for?”
Sophia stood on tiptoe and craned her neck back and forth to see over and around the heads in front of them. “He looks…he looks…for you.”
“Uffa!” Oriana slapped Sophia’s arm, annoyed but laughing at her sister’s mischievous smile.
“Shh,” Sophia insisted with an indulgent sidelong grin. “The best and last part is coming. Wait until it’s over and we’ll find your prince for you.”
Oriana quieted, chastised, but took her sister’s hand in hers as the ceremony began.
Venice’s Festa della Sensa , Marriage to the Sea, had been celebrated for almost six hundred years. What began as a commemoration of the Serenissima ’s naval prowess was now a tradition on Ascension Day to pay tribute to the sea that held their land in its loving embrace, a ceremony that paid homage to the power, prestige, and prosperity each brought to the other and their interdependence.
All the members of the procession were aboard, the bells began to peal, a cannon exploded on shore, and the Bucintoro began to sail out into the glistening blue waters amidst the cheering. The burgundy and gold ducal galley, constructed in the renowned Arsenale, was a floating palace, rebuilt once every century. Its wood shimmered, polished to a glossy finish, its flags bright and flapping in the midday sun. Every now and again, the golden trim sparkled as if kissed by the sun. The gilded mythological creatures rose in stark relief along the bright red sides of the long slim vessel. Forty-two crimson oars, each eleven meters long and manned by four arsenaloti —the craftsmen of the Arsenale , one of the greatest industrial complexes in the world—propelled the flagship, named for the ancient mythological word meaning “big centaur,” out toward the port.
The waters around them churned and the flotilla of boats of every shape and size including the barge carrying the Fiolarios, whirled around the Bucintoro, worker bees buzzing around the queen. Eagerly they followed it out to the Porto di Lido, where the deeper waters of the Adriatic waited, where the tip of the long curved sandbar ended. As the large boat stilled, the Bishop of Castello, the religious official who had presided over the ceremony since its inception, stood beside the Doge on the bow. Below them, adorning the prow, was the gilded wooden sculpture representing Venice dressed as Justice, with both a sword and scales.
From the Fiolarios’ perch a few boats away, the distinct figures of the two men were clearly visible, the short one in a black robe, purple sash, skull cap, and beard, and the taller one, with his gold embroidered cape furling out in the wind and distinctive head-dress upon his skull. Never more than when seen in profile, the ducal cap cast a unique silhouette; rising from the flat top front of the head, the back rose majestically to peak in a small horn shape, the
With a wave to the crowd packing the piazzetta and overflowing into the larger piazza, Doge Donato stepped through the mam-mouth arch formed by the columns to board the Bucintoro with his chosen special guests. Among the contingent were not only the most powerful senators and council members of the land, but also the visiting kings, queens, and princes that Oriana so longed to see.
She grabbed Sophia’s arm. “Can you see any of them?”
Both young women strained to see across the water near the rail of their garlanded craft and onto the ceremonial galley.
Sophia pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes as she looked off into the distance. “ Sì, I see someone. Oh, he is very handsome, very slim, and muscular. What’s this? He’s stopped…he’s looking around for…for something.”
“What?” Oriana popped with excitement. “ Che cosa? What does he look for?”
Sophia stood on tiptoe and craned her neck back and forth to see over and around the heads in front of them. “He looks…he looks…for you.”
“Uffa!” Oriana slapped Sophia’s arm, annoyed but laughing at her sister’s mischievous smile.
“Shh,” Sophia insisted with an indulgent sidelong grin. “The best and last part is coming. Wait until it’s over and we’ll find your prince for you.”
Oriana quieted, chastised, but took her sister’s hand in hers as the ceremony began.
Venice’s Festa della Sensa , Marriage to the Sea, had been celebrated for almost six hundred years. What began as a commemoration of the Serenissima ’s naval prowess was now a tradition on Ascension Day to pay tribute to the sea that held their land in its loving embrace, a ceremony that paid homage to the power, prestige, and prosperity each brought to the other and their interdependence.
All the members of the procession were aboard, the bells began to peal, a cannon exploded on shore, and the Bucintoro began to sail out into the glistening blue waters amidst the cheering. The burgundy and gold ducal galley, constructed in the renowned Arsenale, was a floating palace, rebuilt once every century. Its wood shimmered, polished to a glossy finish, its flags bright and flapping in the midday sun. Every now and again, the golden trim sparkled as if kissed by the sun. The gilded mythological creatures rose in stark relief along the bright red sides of the long slim vessel. Forty-two crimson oars, each eleven meters long and manned by four arsenaloti —the craftsmen of the Arsenale , one of the greatest industrial complexes in the world—propelled the flagship, named for the ancient mythological word meaning “big centaur,” out toward the port.
The waters around them churned and the flotilla of boats of every shape and size including the barge carrying the Fiolarios, whirled around the Bucintoro, worker bees buzzing around the queen. Eagerly they followed it out to the Porto di Lido, where the deeper waters of the Adriatic waited, where the tip of the long curved sandbar ended. As the large boat stilled, the Bishop of Castello, the religious official who had presided over the ceremony since its inception, stood beside the Doge on the bow. Below them, adorning the prow, was the gilded wooden sculpture representing Venice dressed as Justice, with both a sword and scales.
From the Fiolarios’ perch a few boats away, the distinct figures of the two men were clearly visible, the short one in a black robe, purple sash, skull cap, and beard, and the taller one, with his gold embroidered cape furling out in the wind and distinctive head-dress upon his skull. Never more than when seen in profile, the ducal cap cast a unique silhouette; rising from the flat top front of the head, the back rose majestically to peak in a small horn shape, the