The Bravo (41 page)

At the period of our tale, Venice boasted much of her antiquity, and
dreaded, in an equal degree, her end. She was still strong in her
combinations, but they were combinations that had the vicious error of
being formed for the benefit of the minority, and which, like the mimic
fortresses and moats of a scenic representation, needed only a strong
light to destroy the illusion. The alarm with which the patricians heard
the shouts of the fishermen, as they swept by the different palaces, on
their way to the great square, can be readily imagined. Some feared that
the final consummation of their artificial condition, which had so long
been anticipated by a secret political instinct, was at length arrived,
and began to bethink them of the savest means of providing for their own
security. Some listened in admiration, for habit had so far mastered
dulness, as to have created a species of identity between the state and
far more durable things, and they believed that St. Mark had gained a
victory, in that decline, which was never exactly intelligible to their
apathetic capacities. But a few, and these were the spirits that
accumulated all the national good which was vulgarly and falsely
ascribed to the system itself, intuitively comprehended the danger,
with a just appreciation of its magnitude, as well as of the means to
avoid it.

But the rioters were unequal to any estimate of their own force, and had
little aptitude in measuring their accidental advantages. They acted
merely on impulse. The manner in which their aged companion had
triumphed on the preceding day, his cold repulse by the Doge, and the
scene of the Lido, which in truth led to the death of Antonio, had
prepared their minds for the tumult. When the body was found, therefore,
after the time necessary to collect their forces on the Lagunes, they
yielded to passion, and moved away towards the palace of St. Mark, as
described, without any other definite object than a simple indulgence of
feeling.

On entering the canal, the narrowness of the passage compressed the
boats into a mass so dense, as, in a measure, to impede the use of oars,
and the progress of the crowd was necessarily slow. All were anxious to
get as near as possible to the body of Antonio, and, like all mobs, they
in some degree frustrated their own objects by ill-regulated zeal. Once
or twice the names of offensive senators were shouted, as if the
fishermen intended to visit the crimes of the state on its agents; but
these cries passed away in the violent breath that was expended. On
reaching the bridge of the Rialto, more than half of the multitude
landed, and took the shorter course of the streets to the point of
destination, while those in front got on the faster, for being
disembarrassed of the pressure in the rear. As they drew nearer to the
port, the boats began to loosen, and to take something of the form of a
funeral procession.

It was during this moment of change that a powerfully manned gondola
swept, with strong strokes, out of a lateral passage into the Great
Canal. Accident brought it directly in front of the moving phalanx of
boats that was coming down the same channel. Its crew seemed staggered
by the extraordinary appearance which met their view, and for an
instant its course was undecided.

"A gondola of the Republic!" shouted fifty fishermen. A single voice
added—"Canale Orfano!"

The bare suspicion of such an errand, as was implied by the latter
words, and at that moment, was sufficient to excite the mob. They raised
a cry of denunciation, and some twenty boats made a furious
demonstration of pursuit. The menace, however, was sufficient; for
quicker far than the movements of the pursuers, the gondoliers of the
Republic dashed towards the shore, and leaping on one of those passages
of planks which encircle so many of the palaces of Venice, they
disappeared by an alley.

Encouraged by this success, the fishermen seized the boat as a waif, and
towed it into their own fleet, filling the air with cries of triumph.
Curiosity led a few to enter the hearse-like canopy, whence they
immediately reissued dragging forth a priest.

"Who art thou?" hoarsely demanded he who took upon himself the authority
of a leader.

"A Carmelite, and a servant of God!"

"Dost thou serve St. Mark? Hast thou been to the Canale Orfano to shrive
a wretch?"

"I am here in attendance on a young and noble lady, who has need of my
counsel and prayers. The happy and the miserable, the free and the
captive, are equally my care!"

"Ha! Thou art not above thy office? Thou wilt say the prayers for the
dead in behalf of a poor man's soul?"

"My son, I know no difference, in this respect, between the Doge and the
poorest fisherman. Still I would not willingly desert the females."

"The ladies shall receive no harm. Come into my boat, for there is need
of thy holy office."

Father Anselmo—the reader will readily anticipate that it was
he—entered the canopy, said a few words in explanation to his
trembling companions, and complied. He was rowed to the leading gondola,
and, by a sign, directed to the dead body.

"Thou see'st that corpse, father?" continued his conductor. "It is the
face of one who was an upright and pious Christian!"

"He was."

"We all knew him as the oldest and the most skilful fisherman of the
Lagunes, and one ever ready to assist an unlucky companion."

"I can believe thee!"

"Thou mayest, for the holy books are not more true than my words:
yesterday he came down this very canal in triumph, for he bore away the
honors of the regatta from the stoutest oars in Venice."

"I have heard of his success."

"They say that Jacopo, the Bravo—he who once held the best oar in the
canals—was of the party! Santa Madonna! such a man was too precious to
die!"

"It is the fate of all—rich and poor, strong and feeble, happy and
miserable, must alike come to this end."

"Not to this end, reverend Carmelite, for Antonio having given offence
to the Republic, in the matter of a grandson that is pressed for the
galleys, has been sent to purgatory without a Christian hope for his
soul."

"There is an eye that watcheth on the meanest of us, son; we will
believe he was not forgotten."

"Cospetto! They say that those the Senate look black upon get but little
aid from the church! Wilt thou pray for him, Carmelite, and make good
thy words?"

"I will," said Father Anselmo, firmly. "Make room, son, that no decency
of my duty be overlooked."

The swarthy, expressive faces of the fishermen gleamed with
satisfaction, for, in the midst of the rude turmoil, they all retained a
deep and rooted respect for the offices of the church in which they had
been educated. Silence was quickly obtained, and the boats moved on with
greater order than before.

The spectacle was now striking. In front rowed the gondola which
contained the remains of the dead. The widening of the canal, as it
approached the port, permitted the rays of the moon to fall upon the
rigid features of old Antonio, which were set in such a look as might be
supposed to characterize the dying thoughts of a man so suddenly and so
fearfully destroyed. The Carmelite, bare-headed, with clasped hands, and
a devout heart, bowed his head at the feet of the body, with his white
robes flowing in the light of the moon. A single gondolier guided the
boat, and no other noise was audible but the plash of the water, as the
oars slowly fell and rose together. This silent procession lasted a few
minutes, and then the tremulous voice of the monk was heard chanting the
prayers for the dead. The practised fishermen, for few in that
disciplined church, and that obedient age, were ignorant of those solemn
rites, took up the responses in a manner that must be familiar to every
ear that has ever listened to the sounds of Italy, the gentle washing of
the element, on which they glided, forming a soft accompaniment.
Casement after casement opened while they passed, and a thousand curious
and anxious faces crowded the balconies as the funeral cortége swept
slowly on.

The gondola of the Republic was towed in the centre of the moving mass
by fifty lighter boats, for the fishermen still clung to their prize. In
this manner the solemn procession entered the port, and touched the quay
at the foot of the Piazzetta. While numberless eager hands were aiding
in bringing the body of Antonio to land, there arose a shout from the
centre of the ducal palace, which proclaimed the presence already of the
other part of their body in its court.

The squares of St. Mark now presented a novel picture. The quaint and
oriental church, the rows of massive and rich architecture, the giddy
pile of the Campanile, the columns of granite, the masts of triumph, and
all those peculiar and remarkable fixtures, which had witnessed so many
scenes of violence, of rejoicing, of mourning, and of gaiety, were
there, like landmarks of the earth, defying time; beautiful and
venerable in despite of all those varying exhibitions of human passions
that were daily acted around them.

"But the song, the laugh, and the jest, had ceased. The lights of the
coffee-houses had disappeared, the revellers had fled to their homes,
fearful of being confounded with those who braved the anger of the
Senate, while the grotesque, the ballad-singers, and the buffoon, had
abandoned their assumed gaiety for an appearance more in unison with the
true feelings of their hearts.

"Giustizia!—" cried a thousand deep voices, as the body of Antonio was
borne into the court—"Illustrious Doge! Giustizia. in palazzo, e pane
in piazza! Give us justice! We are beggars for justice!"

The gloomy but vast court was paved with the swarthy faces and
glittering eyes of the fishermen. The corpse was laid at the foot of the
Giant's Stairs, while the trembling halberdier at the head of the
flight, scarce commanded himself sufficiently to maintain that air of
firmness which was exacted by discipline and professional pride. But
there was no other show of military force, for the politic power which
ruled in Venice, knew too well its momentary impotency, to irritate when
it could not quell. The mob beneath was composed of nameless rioters,
whose punishment could carry no other consequences than the suppression
of immediate danger, and for that, those who ruled were not prepared.

The Council of Three had been apprised of the arrival of the excited
fishermen. When the mob entered the court, it was consulting in secret
conclave, on the probabilities of the tumult having a graver and more
determined object, than was apparent in the visible symptoms. The
routine of office had not yet dispossessed the men already presented to
the reader, of their dangerous and despotic power.

"Are the Dalmatians apprised of this movement?" asked one of the secret
tribunal, whose nerves were scarcely equal to the high functions he
discharged. "We may have occasion for their volleys, ere this riot is
appeased."

"Confide in the ordinary authorities for that, Signore," answered the
Senator Gradenigo. "I have only concern, lest some conspiracy, which may
touch the fidelity of the troops, lies concealed beneath the outcry."

"The evil passions of man know no limits! What would the wretches have?
For a state in the decline, Venice is to the last degree prosperous. Our
ships are thriving; the bank flourishes with goodly dividends; and I do
assure you, Signore, that, for many years, I have not known so ample
revenues for most of our interests, as at this hour. All cannot thrive
alike!"

"You are happily connected with flourishing affairs, Signore, but there
are many that are less lucky. Our form of government is somewhat
exclusive, and it is a penalty that we have ever paid for its
advantages, to be liable to sudden and malevolent accusations, for any
evil turn of fortune that besets the Republic."

"Can nothing satisfy these exacting spirits? Are they not free—are they
not happy?"

"It would seem that they want better assurance of these facts, than our
own feelings, or our words."

"Man is the creature of envy! The poor desire to be rich—the weak,
powerful."

"There is an exception to your rule, at least, Signore, since the rich
rarely wish to be poor, or the powerful, weak."

"You deride my sentiments to-night, Signor Gradenigo. I speak, I hope,
as becomes a Senator of Venice, and in a manner that you are not
unaccustomed to hear!"

"Nay, the language is not unusual. But I fear me there is something
unsuited to a falling fortune, in the exacting and narrow spirit of our
laws. When a state is eminently flourishing, its subjects overlook
general defects in private prosperity, but there is no more fastidious
commentator on measures than your merchant of a failing trade."

"This is their gratitude! Have we not converted these muddy isles into a
mart for half Christendom, and now they are dissatisfied that they
cannot retain all the monopolies that the wisdom of our ancestors has
accumulated."

"They complain much in your own spirit, Signore,—but you are right in
saying the present riot must be looked to. Let us seek his highness, who
will go out to the people, with such patricians as may be present, and
one of our number as a witness: more than that might expose our
character."

The Secret Council withdrew to carry this resolution into effect, just
as the fishermen in the court received the accession of those who
arrived by water.

There is no body so sensible of an increase of its members as a mob.
Without discipline, and dependent solely on animal force for its
ascendency, the sentiment of physical power is blended with its very
existence. When they saw the mass of living beings which had assembled
within the wall of the ducal palace, the most audacious of that throng
became more hardy, and even the wavering grew strong. This is the
reverse of the feeling which prevails among those who are called on to
repress this species of violence, who generally gain courage as its
exhibition is least required.