 | CHAPTER VI. The bravo |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Cæsar himself has work, and our oppression
Exceeds what we expected.
Shakspeare.
“Didst thou note him that left me?” eagerly demanded
the Signor Gradenigo.
“I did.”
“Enough so to recognize form and countenance?”
“'Twas a fisherman of the Lagunes, named
Antonio.”
The senator dropped the extended limb, and regarded
the Bravo, with a look, in which surprise
and admiration were equally blended. He resumed
his course up and down the room, while his companion
stood waiting his pleasure, in an attitude so
calm as to be dignified. A few minutes were
wasted in this abstraction.
“Thou art quick of sight, Jacopo!” continued the
patrician, breaking the pause—“Hast thou had dealings
with the man?”
“Never.”
“Thou art certain it is—”
“Your eccellenza's foster-brother.”
“I did not inquire into thy knowledge of his infancy
and origin, but of his present state;” returned
the Signor Gradenigo, turning away to conceal his
countenance from the glowing eye of Jacopo—“Has
he been named to thee by any in authority?”
“He has not—my mission does not lie with fishermen.”
“Duty may lead us into still humbler society,
young man. They who are charged with the
grievous burthen of the state, must not consider the
quality of the load they carry. In what manner
hath this Antonio come to thy knowledge?”
“I have known him as one esteemed by his fellows—a
man skilful in his craft, and long practised
in the mystery of the Lagunes.”
“He is a defrauder of the revenue, thou would'st
be understood to say?”
“I would not. He toils too late and early to have
other means of support than labor.”
“Thou knowest, Jacopo, the severity of our laws
in matters that concern the public moneys?”
“I know that the judgment of St. Mark, Signore,
is never light when its own interest is touched.”
“Thou art not required to utter opinions beyond
the present question. This man hath a habit of
courting the good-will of his associates, and of
making his voice heard concerning affairs of which
none but his superiors may discreetly judge.”
“Signore, he is old, and the tongue grows loose
with years.”
“This is not the character of Antonio. Nature
hath not treated him unkindly; had his birth and
education been equal to his mind, the senate might
have been glad to listen—as it is, I fear he speaks in
a sense to endanger his own interests.”
“Surely, if he speaks to offend the ear of St.
Mark.”
There was a quick suspicious glance from the
senator to the Bravo, as if to read the true meaning
of the latter's words. Finding, however, the same
expression of self-possession in the quiet features he
scrutinized, the latter continued as if distrust had
not been awakened.
“If, as thou sayest, he so speaks as to injure the
republic, his years have not brought discretion. I
love the man, Jacopo, for it is usual to regard, with
some partiality, those who have drawn nourishment
from the same breast with ourselves.”
“Signore, it is.”
“And feeling this weakness, in his favor, I would
acquainted, doubtless, with his opinions concerning
the recent necessity of the state, to command the
services of all the youths on the Lagunes in her
fleets?”
“I know that the press has taken from him the
boy who toiled in his company.”
“To toil honorably, and perhaps gainfully, in
behalf of the republic!”
“Signore, perhaps!”
“Thou art brief in thy speech to-night, Jacopo!
—But if thou knowest the fisherman, give him counsel
of discretion. St. Mark will not tolerate such
free opinions of his wisdom. This is the third occasion
in which there has been need to repress that
fisherman's speech; for the paternal care of the
senate cannot see discontent planted in the bosom
of a class, it is their duty and pleasure to render
happy. Seek opportunities to let him hear this
wholesome truth, for in good sooth, I would not
willingly see a misfortune light upon the head of a
son of my ancient nurse, and that, too, in the decline
of his days.”
The Bravo bent his body in acquiescence, while
the Signor Gradenigo paced the room, in a manner
to show that he really felt concern.
“Thou hast had advice of the judgment, in the
matter of the Genoese?” resumed the latter, when
another pause had given time to change the current
of his thoughts. “The sentence of the tribunals has
been prompt, and, though there is much assumption
of a dislike between the two republics, the world
can now see how sternly justice is consulted on our
isles. I hear the Genoese will have ample amends,
and that certain of our own citizens will be mulcted
of much money.”
“I have heard the same since the sun set, in the
Piazzetta, Signore!”
“And do men converse of our impartiality, and
more than all of our promptitude? Bethink thee,
Jacopo, 'tis but a se'nnight since the claim was preferred
to the senate's equity!”
“None dispute the promptitude with which the
republic visits offences.”
“Nor the justice, I trust also, good Jacopo. There
is a beauty and a harmony in the manner in which
the social machine rolls on its course, under such a
system, that should secure men's applause! Justice
administers to the wants of society, and checks the
passions with a force as silent and dignified, as if
her decrees came from a higher volition. I often
compare the quiet march of the state, contrasted
with the troubled movements of some other of our
Italian sisters, to the difference between the clatter
of a clamorous town, and the stillness of our own
noiseless canals. Then the uprightness of the late
decree is in the mouths of the masquers to-night?”
“Signore, the Venetians are bold when there is
an opportunity to praise their masters.”
“Dost thou think thus, Jacopo? To me they
have ever seemed more prone to vent their seditious
discontent. But 'tis the nature of man to be niggardly
of praise and lavish of censure. This decree
of the tribunal must not be suffered to die, with the
mere justice of the case. Our friends should dwell
on it, openly, in the cafés, and at the Lido. They
will have no cause to fear, should they give their
tongues a little latitude. A just government hath no
jealousy of comment.”
“True, Signore.”
“I look to thee and thy fellows to see that the
affair be not too quickly forgotten. The contemplation
of acts, such as this, will quicken the dormant
seeds of virtue in the public mind. He who has examples
of equity incessantly before his eyes, will
trust, will depart satisfied?”
“Doubt it not, Signore; he has all that can content
a sufferer; his own with usury, and revenge of
him who did the wrong.”
“Such is the decree—ample restoration and the
chastening hand of punishment. Few states would
thus render a judgment against itself, Jacopo!”
“Is the state answerable for the deed of the merchant,
Signore?”
“Through its citizen. He who inflicts punishment
on his own members, is a sufferer, surely. No one
can part with his own flesh without pain; is not this
true, fellow?”
“There are nerves that are delicate to the touch,
Signore, and an eye or a tooth is precious; but the
paring of a nail, or the fall of the beard, is little
heeded.”
“One who did not know thee, Jacopo, would
imagine thee in the interest of the emperor! The
sparrow does not fall in Venice, without the loss
touching the parental feelings of the senate. Well,
is there further rumor among the Jews, of a decrease
of gold? Sequins are not so abundant as of
wont, and the chicanery of that race lends itself
to the scarcity, in the hope of larger profits.”
“I have seen faces on the Rialto, of late, Signore,
that look empty purses. The Christian seems anxious,
and in want, while the unbelievers wear their
gaberdines with a looser air than is usual.”
“This hath been expected. Doth report openly
name any of the Israelites who are in the custom of
lending, on usury, to the young nobles?”
“All, who have to lend, may be accounted of the
class; the whole synagogue, rabbis, and all, are
of a mind, when there is question of a Christian's
purse.”
“Thou likest not the Hebrew, Jacopo; but he is
all friends, who are ready with their gold at need.
Still the young hopes of Venice must not be left to
waste their substance in unwary bargains with the
gainful race, and should'st thou hear of any of mark,
who are thought to be too deeply in their clutches,
thou wilt do wisely to let the same be known, with
little delay, to the guardians of the public weal. We
must deal tenderly with those who prop the state,
but we must also deal discreetly with those who will
shortly compose it. Hast thou aught to say in the
matter?”
“I have heard men speak of Signor Giacomo as
paying dearest for their favors.”
“Gesu Maria! my son and heir! Dost thou not
deceive me, man, to gratify thine own displeasure
against the Hebrews?”
“I have no other malice against the race, Signore,
than the wholesome disrelish of a Christian.
Thus much I hope may be permitted to a believer,
but beyond that, in reason, I carry hatred to no man.
It is well known that your heir is disposing freely
of his hopes, and at prices that lower expectations
might command.”
“This is a weighty concern! The boy must be
speedily admonished of the consequences, and care
must be had for his future discretion. The Hebrew
shall be punished, and as a solemn warning to the
whole tribe, the debt confiscated to the benefit of the
borrower. With such an example before their eyes,
the knaves will be less ready with their sequins.
Holy St. Theodore! 't were self-destruction to suffer
one of such promise to be lost for the want of prudent
forethought. I will charge myself with the
matter, as an especial duty, and the senate shall
have no cause to say that its interests have been
neglected. Hast thou had applications of late, in
thy character of avenger of private wrongs?”
“None of note—there is one that seeks me earnestly,
though I am not yet wholly the master of his
wishes.”
“Thy office is of much delicacy and trust, and,
as thou art well assured, the reward is weighty and
sure.” The eyes of the Bravo kindled with an expression
which caused his companion to pause. But
observing that the repose, for which the features of
Jacopo were so remarkable, again presided over his
pallid face, he continued, as if there had been no
interruption; “I repeat, the bounty and clemency
of the state will not be forgotten. If its justice is
stern and infallible, its forgiveness is cordial, and its
favors ample. Of these facts I have taken much
pains to assure thee, Jacopo.—Blessed St. Mark!
that one of the scions of thy great stock should
waste his substance for the benefit of a race of unbelievers!
But thou hast not named him who seeks
thee, with this earnestness?”
“As I have yet to learn his errand, before I go
further, Signore, it may be well to know more of
his wishes.”
“This reserve is uncalled for. Thou art not to
distrust the prudence of the republic's ministers, and
I should be sorry were the Inquisitors to get an unfavorable
opinion of thy zeal. The individual must
be denounced.”
“I denounce him not. The most that I can say
is, that he hath a desire to deal privately with one,
with whom it is almost criminal to deal at all.”
“The prevention of crime is better than its punishment,
and such is the true object of all government.
Thou wilt not withhold the name of thy correspondent?”
“It is a noble Neapolitan, who hath long sojourned
in Venice, on matters touching a great succession,
and some right, even, to the senate's dignity.”
“Ha! Don Camillo Monforte! Am I right, sirrah?”
“Signore, the same!”
The pause which followed was only broken by
the clock of the great square striking eleven, or the
fourth hour of the night, as it is termed, by the usage
of Italy. The senator started, consulted a time-piece
in his own apartment, and again addressed his
companion.
“This is well,” he said; “thy faith and punctuality
shall be remembered. Look to the fisherman,
Antonio; the murmurs of the old man must not be
permitted to awaken discontent, for a cause so
trifling, as this transfer of his descendant from a
gondola to a galley; and most of all, keep thy ears
attentive to any rumors on the Rialto. The glory
and credit of a patrician name must not be weakened
by the errors of boyhood. As to this stranger—
quickly, thy mask and cloak—depart as if thou wert
merely a friend bent on some of the idle pleasantries
of the hour.”
The Bravo resumed his disguise with the readiness
of one long practised in its use, but with a
composure that was not so easily disconcerted as
that of the more sensitive senator. The latter did
not speak again, though he hurried Jacopo from his
presence, by an impatient movement of the hand.
When the door was closed and the Signor Gradenigo
was again alone, he once more consulted the
time-piece, passed his hand slowly and thoughtfully
across his brow, and resumed his walk. For nearly
an hour this exercise, or nervous sympathy of
the body with a mind that was possibly overworked,
continued without any interruption from without.
Then came a gentle tap at the door, and at
the usual bidding, one entered, closely masked, like
him who had departed, as was so much the usage
of that city, in the age of which we write. A
the senator of his character, for the reception, while
it was distinguished by the quaint courtesy of the
age, was that of one expected.
“I am honored in the visit of Don Camillo Monforte,”
said the host, while the individual named laid
aside his cloak and silken visor; “though the lateness
of the hour had given me reason to apprehend
that some casualty had interfered between me and
the pleasure.”
“A thousand excuses, noble senator, but the coolness
of the canals, and the gaiety of the square, together
with some apprehension of intruding prematurely
on time so precious, has, I fear, kept me out
of season. But I trust to the known goodness of
the Signor Gradenigo for my apology.”
“The punctuality of the great lords of Lower
Italy is not their greatest merit,” the Signor Gradenigo
drily answered. “The young esteem life so
endless, that they take little heed of the minutes that
escape them; while we, whom age begins to menace,
think chiefly of repairing the omissions of youth.
In this manner, Signor Duca, does man sin and repent
daily, until the opportunities of doing either are
imperceptibly lost. But we will not be more prodigal
of the moments than there is need—are we to hope
for better views in the Spaniard?”
“I have neglected little that can move the mind
of a reasonable man, and I have, in particular, laid
before him the advantage of conciliating the senate's
esteem.”
“Therein have you done wisely, Signore, both as
respects his interests and your own. The senate
is a liberal paymaster to him who serves it well,
and a fearful enemy to those who do harm to the
state. I hope the matter of the succession draws
near a conclusion?”
“I wish it were possible to say it did. I urge the
personal respect, nor of private solicitation. Padua
has not a doctor more learned than he who presents
my right to their wisdom, and yet the affair lingers
like life in the hectic. If I have not shown myself
a worthy son of St. Mark, in this affair with the
Spaniard, it is more from the want of a habit of
managing political interests, than from any want
of zeal.”
“The scales of justice must be nicely balanced
to hang so long, without determining to one side or
the other! You will have need of further assiduity,
Don Camillo, and of great discretion in disposing
the minds of the patricians in your favor. It will
be well to make your attachment to the state be observed,
by further service near the ambassador.
You are known to have his esteem, and counsel
coming from such a quarter will enter deeply into
his mind. It should also quicken the exertions of so
benevolent and generous a young spirit, to know
that in serving his country, he also aids the cause
of humanity.”
Don Camillo did not appear to be strongly impressed
with the justice of the latter remark. He
bowed, however, in courtesy to his companion's
opinion.
“It is pleasant, Signore, to be thus persuaded,”
he answered; “my kinsman of Castile is a man to
hear reason, let it come from what quarter it may.
Though he meets my arguments with some allusions
to the declining power of the republic, I do not see
less of deep respect for the influence of a state,
that hath long made itself remarkable by its energy
and will.”
“Venice is no longer what the city of the Isles
hath been, Signor Duca; still is she not powerless.
The wings of our lion are a little clipped, but his
leap is still far, and his teeth dangerous. If the
easily on his brow, he would do well to secure the
esteem of his nearest neighbors.”
“This is obviously true, and little that my influence
can do toward effecting the object, shall be
wanting. And now, may I entreat of your friendship,
advice as to the manner of further urging my
own long-neglected claims?”
“You will do well, Don Camillo, to remind the
senators of your presence, by frequent observance
of the courtesies due to their rank and yours.”
“This do I never neglect, as seemly both in my
station and my object.”
“The judges should not be forgotten, young man,
for it is wise to remember that justice hath ever an
ear for solicitation.”
“None can be more assiduous in the duty, nor is
it common to see a suppliant so mindful of those
whom he troubleth, by more substantial proofs of
respect.”
“But chiefly should you be particular to earn the
senate's esteem. No act of service to the state is
overlooked by that body, and the smallest good deed
finds its way into the recesses of the two councils.”
“Would I could have communication with those
reverend fathers! I think the justice of my claim
would speedily work out its own right.”
“That were impossible!” gravely returned the
senator. “Those august bodies are secret, that
their majesty may not be tarnished by communication
with vulgar interests. They rule like the unseen
influence of mind over matter, and form, as it
were, the soul of the state, whose seat, like that of
reason, remains a problem exceeding human penetration.”
“I express the desire, rather as a wish than with
any hope of its being granted,” returned the Duke of
St. Agata, resuming his cloak and mask, neither of
Signore; I shall not cease to move the Castilian
with frequent advice, and, in return, I commit my
affair to the justice of the patricians, and your own
good friendship.”
Signor Gradenigo bowed his guest through all
the rooms of the long suite, but the last, where he
committed him to the care of the groom of his
chambers.
“The youth must be stirred to greater industry
in this matter, by clogging the wheels of the law.
He that would ask favors of St. Mark must first
earn them, by showing zealous dispositions in his
behalf.”
Such were the reflections of the Signor Gradenigo,
as he slowly returned towards his closet,
after a ceremonious leave-taking with his guest, in
the outer apartment. Closing the door, he commenced
pacing the small apartment, with the step
and eye of a man who again mused with some
anxiety. After a minute of profound stillness, a
door, concealed by the hangings of the room, was
cautiously opened, and the face of still another
visitor appeared.
“Enter!” said the senator, betraying no surprise
at the apparition; “the hour is past, and I wait
for thee.”
The flowing dress, the gray and venerable beard,
the noble outline of features, the quick, greedy, and
suspicious eye, with an expression of countenance
that was, perhaps, equally marked by worldly sagacity,
and feelings often rudely rebuked, proclaimed
a Hebrew of the Rialto.
“Enter, Hosea, and unburthen thyself,” continued
the senator, like one prepared for some habitual
communication. “Is there aught new that touches
the public weal?”
“Blessed is the people over whom there is so
citizen of the republic, noble Signore, without the
bowels of the senate moving, as the parent yearneth
over its young? Happy is the country in which
men of reverend years and whitened heads watch,
until night draws toward the day, and weariness
is forgotten in the desire to do good, and to honor
the state!”
“Thy mind partaketh of the eastern imagery of
the country of thy fathers, good Hosea, and thou
art apt to forget that thou art not yet watching on
the steps of the temple. What of interest hath the
day brought forth?”
“Say rather the night, Signore, for little worthy
of your ear hath happened, save a matter of some
trifling import, which hath grown out of the movements
of the evening.”
“Have there been stilettoes busy on the bridge?—
ha!—or do the people joy less than common in their
levities?”
“None have died wrongfully, and the square is
gay as the fragrant vineyards of Engedi. Holy
Abraham! what a place is Venice for its pleasures,
and how the hearts of old and young revel in their
merriment! It is almost sufficient to fix the font in
the synagogue, to witness so joyous a dispensation
in behalf of the people of these islands! I had not
hoped for the honor of an interview to-night, Signore,
and I had prayed, before laying my head upon
the pillow, when one charged by the council brought
to me a jewel, with an order to decipher the arms
and other symbols of its owner. 'Tis a ring, with
the usual marks, which accompany private confidences.”
“Thou hast the signet?” said the noble, stretching
out an arm.
“It is here, and a goodly stone it is; a turquoise
of price.”
“Whence came it—and why is it sent to thee?”
“It came, Signore, as I gather more through
hints and intimations of the messenger than by his
words, from a place resembling that which the
righteous Daniel escaped, in virtue of his godliness
and birth.”
“Thou meanest the Lion's Mouth?”
“So say our ancient books, Signore, in reference
to the prophet, and so would the council's agent
seem to intimate, in reference to the ring.”
“Here is naught but a crest with the equestrian
helmet—comes it of any in Venice?”
“The upright Solomon guide the judgment of his
servant in a matter of this delicacy! The jewel is
of rare beauty, such as few possess but those who
have gold in store for other purposes. Do but regard
the soft lustre in this light, noble Signore, and
remark the pleasing colors that rise by the change
of view!”
“Ay—'tis well—but who claimeth the bearings?”
“It is wonderful to contemplate how great a value
may lie concealed in so small a compass! I have
known sequins of full weight and heavy amount
given for baubles less precious.”
“Wilt thou never forget thy stall and the wayfarers
of the Rialto? I bid thee name him who
beareth these symbols as marks of his family and
rank.”
“Noble Signore, I obey. The crest is of the
family of Monforte, the last senator of which died
some fifteen years since.”
“And his jewels?”
“They have passed, with other movables of
which the state taketh no account, into the keeping
of his kinsman and successor—if it be the senate's
pleasure that there shall be a successor to that ancient
name—Don Camillo of St. Agata. The
wealthy Neapolitan who now urges his rights here
stone.”
“Give me the ring; this must be looked to—hast
thou more to say?”
“Nothing, Signore—unless to petition, if there is
to be any condemnation and sale of the jewel, that
it may first be offered to an ancient servitor of the
republic, who hath much reason to regret that his
age hath been less prosperous than his youth.”
“Thou shalt not be forgotten. I hear it said,
Hosea, that divers of our young nobles frequent thy
Hebrew shops with intent to borrow gold, which,
lavished in present prodigality, is to be bitterly repaid
at a later day by self-denial, and such embarrassments
as suit not the heirs of noble names.
Take heed of this matter—for if the displeasure of
the council should alight on any of thy race, there
would be long and serious accounts to settle! Hast
thou had employment of late with other signets, besides
this of the Neapolitan?”
“Unless in the vulgar way of our daily occupation,
none of note, illustrious Signore.”
“Regard this,” continued the Signor Gradenigo,
first searching in a secret drawer, whence he drew
a small bit of paper, to which a morsel of wax adhered;
“canst thou form any conjecture, by the impression,
concerning him who used that seal?”
The jeweller took the paper and held it towards
the light, while his glittering eyes intently examined
the conceit.
“This would surpass the wisdom of the son of
David!” he said, after a long and seemingly a fruitless
examination; “here is naught but some fanciful
device of gallantry, such as the light-hearted cavaliers
of the city are fond of using, when they tempt
the weaker sex with fair words and seductive vanities.”
“It is a heart pierced with the dart of love, and
a motto of `pensa al cuore trafitto d'amore.”'
“Naught else, as my eyes do their duty. I should
think there was but very little meant by those
words, Signore!”
“That as may be. Thou hast never sold a jewel
with that conceit?”
“Just Samuel! We dispose of them daily, to
Christians of both sexes and all ages. I know no
device of greater frequency, whereby I conceive
there is much commerce in this light fidelity.”
“He who used it did well in concealing his
thoughts beneath so general a dress! There will be
a reward of a hundred sequins to him who traces
the owner.”
Hosea was about to return the seal as beyond his
knowledge, when this remark fell casually from the
lips of the Signor Gradenigo. In a moment his eyes
were fortified with a glass of microscopic power,
and the paper was again before the lamp.
“I disposed of a cornelian of no great price,
which bore this conceit, to the wife of the emperor's
ambassador, but conceiving there was no more in
the purchase than some waywardness of fancy, I
took no precaution to note the stone. A gentleman
in the family of the Legate of Ravenna, also, trafficked
with me for an amethyst of the same design,
but with him, neither, did I hold it important to be
particular. Ha! here is a private mark, that in
truth seemeth to be of my own hand!”
“Dost thou find a clue? What is the sign of
which thou speakest?”
“Naught, noble senator, but a slur in a letter,
which would not be apt to catch the eye of an overcredulous
maiden.”
“And thou parted with the seal to—?”
Hosea hesitated, for the foresaw some danger of
of the truth.
“If it be important that the fact be known,
Signore,” he said, “I will consult my books. In a
matter of this gravity, the senate should not be
misled.”
“Thou sayest well. The affair is grave, and the
reward a sufficient pledge that we so esteem it.”
“Something was said, illustrious Signore, of a
hundred sequins; but my mind taketh little heed
of such particulars, when the good of Venice is in
question.”
“A hundred is the sum I promised.”
“I parted with a signet-ring, bearing some such
design, to a female in the service of the nuncio's
first gentleman. But this seal cannot come of that,
since a woman of her station—”
“Art sure?” eagerly interrupted the Signor Gradenigo.
Hosea looked earnestly at his companion; and
reading in his eye and countenance that the clue
was agreeable, he answered promptly,—
“As that I live under the law of Moses! The
bauble had been long on hand without an offer, and
I abandoned it to the uses of my money.”
“The sequins are thine, excellent Jew! This
clears the mystery of every doubt. Go; thou shalt
have thy reward; and if thou hast any particulars
in thy secret register, let me be quickly possessed
of them. Go to, good Hosea, and be punctual
as of wont. I tire of these constant exercises of
the spirit!”
The Hebrew, exulting in his success, now took
his leave, with a manner in which habitual cupidity
and subdued policy completely mastered every
other feeling. He disappeared by the passage
through which he had entered
It seemed, by the manner of the Signor Gradenigo,
ended. He carefully examined the locks of several
secret drawers in his cabinet, extinguished the lights,
closed and secured the doors, and quitted the place.
For some time longer, however, he paced one of
the principal rooms of the outer suite, until the usual
hour having arrived, he sought his rest, and the
palace was closed for the night.
The reader will have gained some insight into the
character of the individual who was the chief actor
in the foregoing scenes. The Signor Gradenigo
was born with all the sympathies and natural kindliness
of other men, but accident, and an education
which had received a strong bias from the institutions
of the self-styled republic, had made him the
creature of a conventional policy. To him Venice
seemed a free state, because he partook so largely
of the benefits of her social system; and, though
shrewd and practised in most of the affairs of the
world, his faculties, on the subject of the political
ethics of his country, were possessed of a rare and
accommodating dullness. A senator, he stood in
relation to the state as a director of a moneyed institution
is proverbially placed in respect to his corporation;
an agent of its collective measures, removed
from the responsibilities of the man. He could
reason warmly, if not acutely, concerning the principles
of government, and it would be difficult, even
in this money-getting age, to find a more zealous
convert to the opinion that property was not a
subordinate, but the absorbing interest of civilized
life. He would talk ably of character, and honor,
and virtue, and religion, and the rights of persons;
but when called upon to act in their behalf, there
was in his mind a tendency to blend them all with
worldly policy, that proved as unerring as the gravitation
of matter to the earth's centre. As a Venetian,
he was equally opposed to the domination of one, or
republican, and, in reference to the last, leaning to
that singular sophism which calls the dominion of
the majority the rule of many tyrants! In short,
he was an aristocrat; and no man had more industriously
or more successfully persuaded himself into
the belief of all the dogmas that were favorable to
his caste. He was a powerful advocate of vested
rights, for their possession was advantageous to
himself; he was sensitively alive to innovations on
usages and to vicissitudes in the histories of families,
for calculation had substituted taste for principles;
nor was he backward, on occasion, in defending
his opinions by analogies drawn from the decrees
of Providence. With a philosophy that seemed to
satisfy himself, he contended that, as God had established
orders throughout his own creation, in a descending
chain from angels to men, it was safe to
follow an example which emanated from a wisdom
that was infinite. Nothing could be more sound
than the basis of his theory, though its application
had the capital error of believing there was any
imitation of nature in an endeavor to supplant it.
| CHAPTER VI. The bravo | |