The Bravo (20 page)

In short, by a process which is common enough with man in all the
divisions and subdivisions of society, the merit of one was at once
intimately and inseparably connected with the glory and exultation of
all.

Had the triumph of the fishermen confined itself to this natural and
commonplace exhibition, it would not have given grave offence to the
vigilant and jealous power that watched over the peace of Venice. But
amid the shouts of approbation were mingled cries of censure. Words of
grave import were even heard, denouncing those who refused to restore to
Antonio his child; and it was whispered on the deck of the Bucentaur,
that, filled with the imaginary importance of their passing victory, the
hardy band of rioters had dared to menace a forcible appeal, to obtain
what they audaciously termed the justice of the case.

This ebullition of popular feeling was witnessed by the assembled
senate in ominous and brooding silence. One unaccustomed to reflection
on such a subject, or unpractised in the world, might have fancied alarm
and uneasiness were painted on the grave countenances of the patricians,
and that the signs of the times were little favorable to the continuance
of an ascendency that was dependent more on the force of convention than
on the possession of any physical superiority. But, on the other hand,
one who was capable of judging between the power of political
ascendency, strengthened by its combinations and order, and the mere
ebullitions of passion, however loud and clamorous, might readily have
seen that the latter was not yet displayed in sufficient energy to break
down the barriers which the first had erected.

The fishermen were permitted to go their way unmolested, though here and
there a gondola was seen stealing towards the Lido, bearing certain of
those secret agents of the police whose duty it was to forewarn the
existing powers of the presence of danger. Among the latter was the boat
of the wine-seller, which departed from the Piazzetta, containing a
stock of his merchandise, with Annina, under the pretence of making his
profit out of the present turbulent temper of their ordinary customers.
In the meantime, the sports proceeded, and the momentary interruption
was forgotten; or, if remembered, it was in a manner suited to the
secret and fearful power which directed the destinies of that remarkable
republic.

There as another regatta, in which men of inferior powers contended, but
we deem it unworthy to detain the narrative by a description.

Though the grave tenants of the Bucentaur seemed to take an interest in
what was passing immediately before their eyes, they had ears for every
shout that was borne on the evening breeze from the distant Lido; and
more than once the Doge himself was seen to bend his looks in that
direction, in a manner which betrayed the concern that was uppermost in
his mind.

Still the day passed on as usual. The conquerors triumphed, the crowd
applauded, and the collected senate appeared to sympathize with the
pleasures of a people, over whom they ruled with a certainty of power
that resembled the fearful and mysterious march of destiny.

"Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?"
SHAKESPEARE.

The evening of such a day, in a city with the habits of Venice, was not
likely to be spent in the dulness of retirement. The great square of St.
Mark was again filled with its active and motley crowd, and the scenes
already described in the opening chapters of this work were resumed, if
possible, with more apparent devotion to the levities of the hour, than
on the occasion mentioned. The tumblers and jugglers renewed their
antics, the cries of the fruit-sellers and other venders of light
luxuries were again mingled with the tones of the flute and the notes of
the guitar and harp; while the idle and the busy, the thoughtless and
the designing, the conspirator and the agent of the police, once more
met in privileged security.

The night had advanced, beyond its turn, when a gondola came gliding
through the shipping of the port with that easy and swan-like motion
which is peculiar to its slow movement, and touched the quay with its
beak, at the point where the canal of St. Mark forms its junction with
the bay.

"Thou art welcome, Antonio," said one, who approached the solitary
individual that had directed the gondola, when the latter had thrust the
iron spike of his painter between the crevices of the stones, as
gondoliers are accustomed to secure their barges; "thou art welcome,
Antonio, though late."

"I begin to know the sounds of that voice, though they come from a
masked face," said the fisherman. "Friend, I owe my success to-day to
thy kindness, and though it has not had the end for which I had both
hoped and prayed, I ought not to thank thee less. Thou hast thyself been
borne hard upon by the world, or thou would'st not have bethought thee
of an old and despised man, when the shouts of triumph were ringing in
thy ear, and when thy own young blood was stirred with the feelings of
pride and victory."

"Nature gives thee strong language, fisherman. I have not passed the
hours, truly, in the games and levities of my years. Life has been no
festa to me—but no matter. The senate was not pleased to hear of
lessening the number of the galleys' crew, and thou wilt bethink thee of
some other reward. I have here the chain and golden oar in the hope that
it will still be welcome."

Antonio looked amazed, but, yielding to a natural curiosity, he gazed a
moment with a longing at the prize. Then recoiling with a shudder, he
uttered moodily, and with the tones of one whose determination was made:
"I should think the bauble coined of my grandchild's blood! Keep it;
they have trusted it to thee, for it is thine of right, and now that
they refuse to hear my prayer, it will be useless to all but to him who
fairly earned it."

"Thou makest no allowance, fisherman, for difference of years and for
sinews that are in their vigor. Methinks that in adjudging such a prize,
thought should be had to these matters, and then wouldest thou be found
outstripping us all. Holy St. Theodore! I passed my childhood with the
oar in hand, and never before have I met one in Venice who has driven my
gondola so hard! Thou touchest the water with the delicacy of a lady
fingering her harp, and yet with the force of the wave rolling on the
Lido!"

"I have seen the hour, Jacopo, when even thy young arm would have tired
in such a strife between us. That was before the birth of my eldest son,
who died in battle with the Ottoman, when the dear boy he left me was
but an infant in arms. Thou never sawest the comely lad, good Jacopo?"

"I was not so happy, old man; but if he resembled thee, well mayest thou
mourn his loss. Body of Diana! I have little cause to boast of the small
advantage youth and strength gave me."

"There was a force within that bore me and the boat on, but of what use
hath it been? Thy kindness and the pain given to an old frame, that hath
been long racked by hardship and poverty, are both thrown away on the
rocky hearts of the nobles."

"We know not yet, Antonio. The good saints will hear our prayers, when
we least think they are listening. Come with me, for I am sent to seek
thee."

The fisherman regarded his new acquaintance with surprise, and then
turning to bestow an instant of habitual care on his boat, he cheerfully
professed himself ready to proceed. The place where they stood was a
little apart from the thoroughfare of the quays, and though there was a
brilliant moon, the circumstance of two men in their garbs being there,
was not likely to attract observation; but Jacopo did not appear to be
satisfied with this security from remark. He waited until Antonio had
left the gondola, and then unfolding a cloak, which had lain on his arm,
he threw it, without asking permission, over the shoulders of the other.
A cap, like that he wore himself, was next produced, and being placed on
the grey hairs of the fisherman, effectually completed his
metamorphosis.

"There is no need of a mask," he said, examining his companion
attentively, when his task was accomplished. "None would know thee,
Antonio, in this garb."

"And is there need of what thou hast done, Jacopo? I owe thee thanks for
a well meant, and, but for the hardness of heart of the rich and
powerful, for what would have proved a great kindness. Still I must
tell thee that a mask was never yet put before my face; for what reason
can there be why one who rises with the sun to go to his toil, who
trusteth to the favor of the blessed St. Anthony for the little he hath,
should go abroad like a gallant, ready to steal the good name of a
virgin, or a robber at night?"

"Thou knowest our Venetian custom, and it may be well to use some
caution in the business we are on."

"Thou forgettest that thy intention is yet a secret to me. I say it
again, and I say it with truth and gratitude, that I owe thee many
thanks, though the end is defeated, and the boy is still a prisoner in
the floating-school of wickedness; but thou hast a name, Jacopo, that I
could wish did not belong to thee. I find it hard to believe all that
they have this day said on the Lido, of one who has so much feeling for
the weak and wronged."

The Bravo ceased to adjust the disguise of his companion, and the
profound stillness which succeeded his remark proved so painful to
Antonio, that he felt like one reprieved from suffocation, when he heard
the deep respiration that announced the relief of his companion.

"I would not willingly say—"

"No matter," interrupted Jacopo, in a hollow voice. "No matter,
fisherman; we will speak of these things on some other occasion. At
present, follow, and be silent."

As he ceased, the self-appointed guide of Antonio beckoned for the
latter to come on, when he led the way from the water side. The
fisherman obeyed; for little did it matter to one poor and
heart-stricken as he, whither he was conducted. Jacopo took the first
entrance into the court of the Doge's palace. His footstep was
leisurely, and to the passing multitude they appeared like any others of
the thousands who were abroad to breathe the soft air of the night, or
to enter into the pleasures of the piazza.

When within the dimmer and broken light of the court, Jacopo paused,
evidently to scan the persons of those it contained. It is to be
presumed he saw no reason to delay, for with a secret sign to his
companion to follow, he crossed the area, and mounted the well known
steps, down which the head of the Faliero had rolled, and which, from
the statues on the summit, is called the Giant's Stairs. The celebrated
mouths of the lions were passed, and they were walking swiftly along the
open gallery when they encountered a halberdier of the ducal guard.

"Who comes?" demanded the mercenary, throwing forward his long and
dangerous weapon.

"Friends to the state and to St. Mark."

"None pass at this hour without the word."

Jacopo motioned to Antonio to stand fast, while he drew nearer to the
halberdier and whispered. The weapon was instantly thrown up, and the
sentinel again paced the long gallery with practised indifference. The
way was no sooner cleared than they proceeded. Antonio, not a little
amazed at what he had already seen, eagerly followed his guide, for his
heart began to beat high with an exciting but undefined hope. He was not
so ignorant of human affairs as to require to be told that those who
ruled would sometimes concede that in secret which policy forbade them
to yield openly. Full, therefore, of the expectation of being ushered
into the presence of the Doge himself, and of having his child restored
to his arms, the old man stepped lightly along the gloomy gallery, and
darting through an entrance, at the heels of Jacopo, he found himself at
the foot of another flight of massive steps. The route now became
confused to the fisherman, for, quitting the more public vomitories of
the palace, his companion held his way by a secret door, through many
dimly lighted and obscure passages. They ascended and descended
frequently, as often quitting or entering rooms of but ordinary
dimensions and decorations, until the head of Antonio was completely
turned, and he no longer knew the general direction of their course. At
length they stopped in an apartment of inferior ornaments, and of a
dusky color, which the feeble light rendered still more gloomy.

"Thou art well acquainted with the dwelling of our prince," said the
fisherman, when his companion enabled him to speak, by checking his
swift movements. "The oldest gondolier of Venice is not more ready on
the canals, than thou appearest to be among these galleries and
corridors."

"'Tis my business to bring thee hither, and what I am to do, I endeavor
to do well. Antonio, thou art a man that feareth not to stand in the
presence of the great, as this day hath shown. Summon thy courage, for a
moment of trial is before thee."

"I have spoken boldly to the Doge. Except the Holy Father himself, what
power is there on earth besides to fear?"

"Thou mayest have spoken, fisherman, too boldly. Temper thy language,
for the great love not words of disrespect."

"Is truth unpleasant to them?"

"That is as may be. They love to hear their own acts praised, when their
acts have merited praise, but they do not like to hear them condemned,
even though they know what is said to be just."

"I fear me," said the old man, looking with simplicity at the other,
"there is little difference between the powerful and the weak, when the
garments are stripped from both, and the man stands naked to the eye."

"That truth may not be spoken here."

"How! Do they deny that they are Christians, and mortals, and sinners?"

"They make a merit of the first, Antonio—they forget the second, and
they never like to be called the last by any but themselves."