 | CHAPTER X. The bravo |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
We shall not spend a large expense of time,
Before we reckon with your several loves,
And make us even with you.
Macbeth.
When the three gondolas reached the side of the
Bucentaur, the fisherman hung back, as if he distrusted
his right to intrude himself into the presence
of the senate. He was, however, commanded to
ascend, and signs were made for his two companions
to follow.
The nobles, clad in their attire of office, formed
a long and imposing lane from the gangway to the
stern, where the titular sovereign of that still more
titular republic was placed, in the centre of the high
officers of the state, gorgeous and grave in borrowed
guise and natural qualities.
“Approach,” said the Prince, mildly, observing
that the old and half-naked man that led the victors
hesitated to advance. “Thou art the conqueror,
fisherman, and to thy hands must I consign the
prize.”
Antonio bent his knee to the deck, and bowed his
head lowly ere he obeyed. Then taking courage,
he drew nearer to the person of the doge, where he
stood with a bewildered eye and rebuked mien,
waiting the further pleasure of his superiors. The
aged prince paused for stillness to succeed the slight
movements created by curiosity. When he spoke,
it was amid a perfect calm.
“It is the boast of our glorious republic,” he said,
“that the rights of none are disregarded; that the
lowly receive their merited rewards as surely as the
great; that St. Mark holds the balance with an even
the honors of this regatta, will receive them
with the same readiness on the part of him who bestows,
as if he were the most favored follower of
our own house. Nobles and burghers of Venice,
learn to prize your excellent and equable laws in
this occasion, for it is most in acts of familiar and
common usage that the parental character of a
government is seen, since in matters of higher moment,
the eyes of a world impel a compliance with
its own opinions.”
The doge delivered these preliminary remarks in
a firm tone, like one confident of his auditors' applause.
He was not deceived. No sooner had he
done, than a murmur of approbation passed through
the assembly, and extended itself to thousands who
were beyond the sound of his voice, and to more
who were beyond the reach of his meaning. The
senators bent their heads in acknowledgment of the
justice of what their chief had uttered, and the latter,
having waited to gather these signs of an approving
loyalty, proceeded.
“It is my duty, Antonio, and, being a duty, it hath
become a pleasure, to place around thy neck this
golden chain. The oar which it bears is an emblem
of thy skill; and among thy associates it will be a
mark of the republic's favor and impartiality, and
of thy merit. Take it, then, vigorous old man, for
though age hath thinned thy temples and furrowed
thy cheek, it hath scarce affected thy wonderful
sinews and hardy courage!”
“Highness!” observed Antonio, recoiling apace,
when he found that he was expected to stoop, in order
that the bauble might be bestowed, “I am not fit
to bear about me such a sign of greatness and
good-fortune. The glitter of the gold would mock
my poverty, and a jewel, which comes from so
This unexpected refusal caused a general surprise,
and a momentary pause.
“Thou hast not entered on the struggle, fisherman,
without a view to its prize? But thou sayest
truly, the golden ornament would, indeed, but ill befit
thy condition and daily wants. Wear it for the
moment, since it is meet that all should know the
justice and impartiality of our decisions, and bring
it to my treasurer when the sports are done; he
will make such an exchange as better suits thy
wishes. There is precedent for this practice, and
it shall be followed.”
“Illustrious Highness! I did not trust my old
limbs in so hard a strife without hopes of a reward.
But it was not gold, nor any vanity to be seen
among my equals with that glittering jewel, that led
me to meet the scorn of the gondoliers, and the displeasure
of the great.”
“Thou art deceived, honest fisherman, if thou
supposest that we regard thy just ambition with displeasure.
We love to see a generous emulation
among our people, and take all proper means to encourage
those aspiring spirits who bring honor to a
state, and fortune to our shores.”
“I pretend not to place my poor thoughts against
those of my prince,” answered the fisherman; “my
fears and shame have led me to believe, that it would
give more pleasure to the noble and gay had a
younger and happier borne away this honor.”
“Thou must not think this. Bend, then, thy
knee, that I may bestow the prize. When the sun
sets, thou wilt find those in my palace, who will
relieve thee of the ornament, at a just remuneration.”
“Highness!” said Antonio, looking earnestly at
the doge, who again arrested his movement, in surprise,
For my wants, the Lagunes, with the favor
of the Holy St. Anthony, are sufficient; but it is in
thy power to make the last days of an old man happy,
and to have thy name remembered in many an
honest and well-meant prayer. Grant me back my
child, forget the boldness of a heart-broken father!”
“Is not this he who urged us with importunity,
concerning a youth that is gone into the service of
the state?” exclaimed the prince, across whose
countenance passed that expression of habitual reserve,
which so often concealed the feelings of the
man.
“The same,” returned a cold voice, which the
ear of Antonio well knew came from the Signor
Gradenigo.
“Pity for thy ignorance, fisherman, represses our
anger. Receive thy chain, and depart.”
Antonio's eye did not waver. He kneeled with
an air of profound respect, and folding his hands
on his bosom, he said—
“Misery has made me bold, dread Prince! What
I say comes from a heavy heart, rather than from a
licentious tongue, and I pray your royal ear to listen
with indulgence.”
“Speak briefly, for the sports are delayed.”
“Mighty Doge! riches and poverty have caused
a difference in our fortunes, which knowledge and
ignorance have made wider. I am rude in my discourse,
and little suited to this illustrious company.
But, Signore, God hath given to the fisherman the
same feelings, and the same love for his offspring,
as he has given to a prince. Did I place dependence
only on the aid of my poor learning, I should
now be dumb, but there is a strength within that
gives me courage to speak to the first and noblest in
Venice in behalf of my child.”
“Thou canst not impeach the senate's justice, old
impartiality of the laws!”
“Sovrano Mio! deign to listen, and you shall
hear. I am what your eyes behold—a man, poor, laborious,
and drawing near to the hour when he shall
be called to the side of the Blessed St. Anthony of
Rimini, and stand in a presence even greater than
this. I am not vain enough to think that my humble
name is to be found among those of the patricians
who have served the republic in her wars—
that is an honor which none but the great, and the
noble, and the happy, can claim; but if the little I
have done for my country is not in the Golden Book,
it is written here,” as Antonio spoke, he pointed to
the scars on his half-naked form; “these are signs
of the enmity of the Turk, and I now offer them as
so many petitions to the bounty of the senate.”
“Thou speakest vaguely. What is thy will?”
“Justice, mighty Prince. They have forced the
only vigorous branch from the dying trunk—they
have lopped the withering stem of its most promising
shoot—they have exposed the sole companion
of my labors and pleasures, the child to whom I
have looked to close my eyes, when it shall please
God to call me away, untaught, and young in lessons
of honesty and virtue, a boy in principle as in
years, to all the temptation, and sin, and dangerous
companionship of the galleys!”
“Is this all? I had thought thy gondola in the
decay, or thy right to use the Lagunes in question!”
“Is this all?” repeated Antonio, looking around
him in bitter melancholy. “Doge of Venice, it is
more than one, old, heart-stricken, and bereaved,
can bear!”
“Go to; take thy golden chain and oar, and depart
among thy fellows in triumph. Gladden thy
heart at a victory, on which thou could'st not, in
reason, have counted, and leave the interests of the
fitted to sustain its cares.”
The fisherman arose with an air of rebuked submission,
the result of a long life passed in the habit
of political deference; but he did not approach to
receive the proffered reward.
“Bend thy head, fisherman, that his Highness
may bestow the prize,” commanded an officer.
“I ask not for gold, nor any oar, but that which
carries me to the Lagunes in the morning, and
brings me back into the canals at night. Give me
my child, or give me nothing.”
“Away with him!” muttered a dozen voices;
“he utters sedition! let him quit the galley.”
Antonio was hurried from the presence, and
forced into his gondola with very unequivocal signs
of disgrace. This unwonted interruption of the
ceremonies clouded many a brow, for the sensibilities
of a Venetian noble were quick, indeed, to reprehend
the immorality of political discontent,
though the conventional dignity of the class suppressed
all other ill-timed exhibition of dissatisfaction.
“Let the next competitor draw near,” continued
the sovereign, with a composure that constant practice
in dissimulation rendered easy.
The unknown waterman to whose secret favor
Antonio owed his success, approached, still concealed
by the licensed mask.
“Thou art the gainer of the second prize,” said
the prince, “and were rigid justice done, thou
should'st receive the first also, since our favor is not
to be rejected with impunity.—Kneel, that I may
bestow the favor.”
“Highness, pardon!” observed the masker, bowing
with great respect, but withdrawing a single
step from the offered reward; “if it be your gracious
will to grant a boon, for the success of the
another form.”
“This is unusual! It is not wont that prizes,
offered by the hand of a Venetian doge, should go
a-begging.”
“I would not seem to press more than is respectful,
in this great presence. I ask but little, and, in
the end, it may cost the republic less, than that
which is now offered.”
“Name it.”
“I, too, and on my knee, in dutiful homage to the
chief of the state, beg that the prayer of the old
fisherman be heard, and that the father and son may
be restored to each other, for the service will corrupt
the tender years of the boy, and make the age
of his parent miserable.”
“This touches on importunity! Who art thou,
that comest in this hidden manner, to support a
petition, once refused?”
“Highness—the second victor in the ducal
regatta.”
“Dost trifle in thy answers? The protection of
a mask, in all that does not tend to unsettle the peace
of the city, is sacred. But here seemeth matter to
be looked into.—Remove thy disguise, that we see
thee, eye to eye.”
“I have heard that he who kept civil speech, and
in naught offended against the laws, might be seen
at will, disguised in Venice, without question of his
affairs, or name.”
“Most true, in all that does not offend St. Mark.
But here is a concert worthy of inquiry: I command
thee, unmask.”
The waterman, reading in every face around him
the necessity of obedience, slowly withdrew the
means of concealment, and discovered the pallid
countenance and glittering eyes of Jacopo. An involuntary
movement of all near, left this dreaded
of Venice, in a wide circle of wondering and curious
listeners.
“I know thee not!” exclaimed the doge, with an
open amazement that proved his sincerity, after regarding
the other earnestly for a moment. “Thy
reasons for the disguise should be better than thy
reasons for refusing the prize.”
The Signor Gradenigo drew near to the sovereign,
and whispered in his ear. When he had done,
the latter cast one look, in which curiosity and aversion
were in singular union, at the marked countenance
of the Bravo, and then, he silently motioned
to him to depart. The throng drew about the royal
person, with instinctive readiness, closing the space
in his front.
“We shall look into this, at our leisure,” said the
doge. “Let the festivities proceed.”
Jacopo bowed low, and withdrew. As he moved
along the deck of the Bucentaur, the senators made
way, as if pestilence was in his path, though it was
quite apparent, by the expression of their faces, that
it was in obedience to a feeling of a mixed character.
The avoided, but still tolerated Bravo descended
to his gondola, and the usual signals were given to
the multitude beneath, who believed the customary
ceremonies were ended.
“Let the gondolier of Don Camillo Monforte
stand forth,” cried a herald, obedient to the beck
of a superior.
“Highness, here;” answered Gino, troubled and
hurried.
“Thou art of Calabria?”
“Highness, yes.”
“But of long practice on our Venetian canals,
or thy gondola could never have outstripped those
of the readiest oarsmen.—Thou servest a noble
master?”
“Highness, yes.”
“And it would seem that the Duke of St. Agata
is happy in the possession of an honest and faithful
follower?”
“Highness, too happy.”
“Kneel, and receive the reward of thy resolution
and skill.”
Gino, unlike those who had preceded him, bent a
willing knee to the deck, and took the prize with a
low and humble inclination of the body. At this
moment the attention of the spectators was drawn
from the short and simple ceremony by a loud shout,
which arose from the water, at no great distance
from the privileged bark of the senate. A common
movement drew all to the side of the galley, and the
successful gondolier was quickly forgotten.
A hundred boats were moving, in a body, towards
the Lido, while the space they covered on the water
presented one compact mass of the red caps of
fishermen. In the midst of this marine picture was
seen the bare head of Antonio, borne along in the
floating multitude, without any effort of his own.
The general impulsion was received from the vigorous
arms of some thirty or forty of their number,
who towed those in the rear by applying their force
to three or four large gondolas in advance.
There was no mistaking the object of this singular
and characteristic procession. The tenants
of the Lagunes, with the fickleness with which extreme
ignorance acts on human passions, had suddenly
experienced a violent revolution in their
feelings towards their ancient comrade. He who,
an hour before, had been derided as a vain and ridiculous
pretender, and on whose head bitter imprecations
had been so lavishly poured, was now lauded
with cries of triumph.
The gondoliers of the canals were laughed to
scorn, and the ears of even the haughty nobles were
pampered menials.
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 fisherman 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
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 mean time, 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 was 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.
| CHAPTER X. The bravo | |