"I would thou hadst come to beg masses, or gold, or aught but this, Antonio!" he answered, after a moment of delay. "Thou hast had the company of the boy, if I remember, from his birth, already."
"Signore, I have had that satisfaction, for he was an orphan born; and I would wish to have it until the child is fit to go into the world armed with an honesty and faith that shall keep him from harm. Were my own brave son here, he would ask no other fortune for the lad than such counsel and aid as a poor man has a right to bestow on his own flesh and blood."
"He fareth no worse than others; and thou knowest that the Republic hath need of every arm."
"Eccellenza, I saw the Signor Giacomo land from his gondola, as I entered the palace."
"Out upon thee, fellow! dost thou make no distinction between the son of a fisherman, one trained to the oar and toil, and the heir of an ancient house? Go to, presuming man, and remember thy condition, and the difference that God hath made between our children."
"Mine never gave me sorrow but the hour in which they died," said the fisherman, uttering a severe but mild reproof.
The Signor Gradenigo felt the sting of this retort, which in no degree aided the cause of his indiscreet foster-brother. After pacing the room in agitation for some time, he so far conquered his resentment as to answer more mildly, as became his rank.
"Antonio," he said, "thy disposition and boldness are not strangers to me; if thou would'st have masses for the dead, or gold for the living, they are thine; but in asking for my interest with the general of the galleys, thou askest that which, at a moment so critical, could not be yielded to the son of the Doge, were the Doge—"
"A fisherman," continued Antonio, observing that he hesitated—"Signore, adieu; I would not part in anger with my foster-brother, and I pray the saints to bless you and your house. May you never know the grief of losing a child by a fate far worse than death—that of destruction by vice."
As Antonio ceased, he made his reverence and departed by the way he had entered. He retired unnoticed, for the senator averted his eyes with a secret consciousness of the force of what the other in his simplicity had uttered; and it was some time before the latter knew he was alone. Another step, however, soon diverted his attention. The door re-opened, and a menial appeared. He announced that one without sought a private audience.
"Let him enter," answered the ready senator, smoothing his features to the customary cautious and distrustful expression.
The servant withdrew, when one masked and wearing a cloak quickly entered the room. When the latter instrument of disguise was thrown upon an arm, and the visor was removed, the form and face of the dreaded Jacopo became visible.
"Caesar himself has work, and our oppressionExceeds what we expected."SHAKSPEARE.
"Caesar himself has work, and our oppressionExceeds what we expected."
SHAKSPEARE.
"Didst thou note him that left me?" eagerly demanded the Signer Gradenigo.
"I did."
"Enough so to recognise 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 burden 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 goodwill 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—at 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 have him admonished to be prudent. Thou art 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 con sulted 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 come at last to love the quality. The Genoese, I 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 themselves, 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 of good service in the Republic's straits. We count 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! 'twere 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 aware, 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 glance at the figure of his guest seemed to apprise 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 of 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 tribunal in all proper assiduity, omitting no duty of 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, Signer Duca; still she is not powerless. The wings of our lion are a little clipped, but his leap is still far, and his teeth dangerous. If the new-made prince would have his ducal coronet sit 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 towards 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 we 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 which had been entirely laid aside. "Adieu, noble 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 grey 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 unburden 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 fatherly a care! Can there be good or evil to the citizen of the Republic, noble Signore, without the bowels of the senate moving, as the parent yearneth over his young? Happy is the country in which men of reverend years and whitened heads watch, until night draws towards 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 guided 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 in Venice, is the present owner of this precious 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 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 the 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 over-credulous maiden."
"And thou parted with the seal to----?"
Hosea hesitated, for he foresaw some danger of losing his reward by a too hasty communication 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, that the receptions for that evening had now 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 dulness. 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 of the whole; being, as respects the first, a furious 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.
"The moon went down; and nothing now was seenSave where the lamp of a Madonna shoneFaintly."ROGERS.
"The moon went down; and nothing now was seenSave where the lamp of a Madonna shoneFaintly."
ROGERS.
Just as the secret audiences of the Palazzo Gradenigo were ended, the great square of St. Mark began to lose a portion of its gaiety. The cafés were now occupied by parties who had the means, and were in the humor, to put their indulgences to more substantial proof than the passing gibe or idle laugh; while those who were reluctantly compelled to turn their thoughts from the levities of the moment to the cares of the morrow, were departing in crowds to humble roofs and hard pillows. There remained one of the latter class, however, who continued to occupy a spot near the junction of the two squares, as motionless as if his naked feet grew to the stone on which he stood. It was Antonio.
The position of the fisherman brought the whole of his muscular form and bronzed features beneath the rays of the moon. The dark, anxious, and stern eyes were fixed upon the mild orb, as if their owner sought to penetrate into another world, in quest of that peace which he had never known in this. There was suffering in the expression of the weather-worn face; but it was the suffering of one whose native sensibilities had been a little deadened by too much familiarity with the lot of the feeble. To one who considered life and humanity in any other than their familiar and vulgar aspects, he would have presented a touching picture of a noble nature, enduring with pride, blunted by habit; while to him, who regards the accidental dispositions of society as paramount laws, he might have presented the image of dogged turbulence and discontent, healthfully repressed by the hand of power. A heavy sigh struggled from the chest of the old man, and, stroking down the few hairs which time had left him, he lifted his cap from the pavement, and prepared to move.
"Thou art late from thy bed, Antonio," said a voice at his elbow. "The triglie must be of good price, or of great plenty, that one of thy trade can spare time to air himself in the Piazza at this hour. Thou hearest, the clock is telling the fifth hour of the night."
The fisherman bent his head aside, and regarded the figure of his masked companion, for a moment, with indifference, betraying neither curiosity nor feeling at his address.
"Since thou knowest me," he answered, "it is probable thou knowest that in quitting this place I shall go to an empty dwelling. Since thou knowest me so well, thou should'st also know my wrongs."
"Who hath injured thee, worthy fisherman, that thou speakest so boldly beneath the very windows of the Doge?"
"The state."
"This is hardy language for the ear of St. Mark! Were it too loudly spoken, yonder lion might growl. Of what dost thou accuse the Republic?"
"Lead me to them that sent thee, and I will spare the trouble of a go-between. I am ready to tell my wrongs to the Doge, on his throne; for what can one, poor and old as I, dread from their anger?"
"Thou believest me sent to betray thee?"
"Thou knowest thine own errand."
The other removed his mask, and turned his face towards the moon.
"Jacopo!" exclaimed the fisherman, gazing at the expressive Italian features; "one of thy character can have no errand with me."
A flush, that was visible even in that light, passed athwart the countenance of the Bravo; but he stilled every other exhibition of feeling.
"Thou art wrong. My errand is with thee."
"Does the senate think a fisherman of the Lagunes of sufficient importance to be struck by a stiletto? Do thy work, then!" he added, glancing at his brown and naked bosom; "there is nothing to prevent thee!"
"Antonio, thou dost me wrong. The senate has no such purpose. But I have heard that thou hast reason for discontent, and that thou speakest openly, on the Lido and among the islands, of affairs that the patricians like not to be stirred among men of your class. I come, as a friend, to warn thee of the consequences of such indiscretion, rather than as one to harm thee."
"Thou art sent to say this?"
"Old man, age should teach thy tongue moderation. What will avail vain complaints against the Republic, or what canst thou hope for, as their fruits, but evil to thyself, and evil to the child that thou lovest?"
"I know not; but when the heart is sore the tongue will speak. They have taken away my boy, and they have left little behind that I value. The life they threaten is too short to be cared for."
"Thou should'st temper thy regrets with wisdom. The Signor Gradenigo has long been friendly to thee, and I have heard that thy mother nursed him. Try his ears with prayers, but cease to anger the Republic with complaints."
Antonio looked wistfully at his companion, but when he had ceased he shook his head mournfully, as if to express the hopelessness of relief from that quarter.
"I have told him all that a man, born and nursed on the Lagunes, can find words to say. He is a senator, Jacopo; and he thinks not of suffering he does not feel."
"Art thou not wrong, old man, to accuse him who hath been born in affluence of hardness of heart, merely that he doth not feel the misery thou would'st avoid, too, were it in thy power? Thou hast thy gondola and nets, with health and the cunning of thy art, and in that art thou happier than he who hath neither; would'st thou forget thy skill, and share thy little stock with the beggar of San Marco, that your fortunes might be equal?"
"There may be truth in what thou sayest of our labor and our means, but when it comes to our young, nature is the same in both. I see no reason why the son of the patrician should go free and the child of the fisherman be sold to blood. Have not the senators enough of happiness in their riches and greatness, that they rob me of my son?"
"Thou knowest, Antonio, the state must be served, and were its officers to go into the palaces in quest of hardy mariners for the fleet, would they, think you, find them that would honor the winged lion in the hour of his need? Thy old arm is muscular, and thy leg steady on the water, and they seek those who, like thee, have been trained to the seas."
"Thou should'st have said, also, and thy old breast is scarred. Before thy birth, Jacopo, I went against the infidel, and my blood was shed, like water, for the state. But they have forgotten it, while there are rich marbles raised in the churches, which speak of what the nobles did, who came unharmed from the same wars."
"I have heard my father say as much," returned the Bravo, gloomily, and speaking in an altered voice. "He, too, bled in that war; but that is forgotten."
The fisherman glanced a look around, and perceiving that several groups were conversing near, in the square, he signed to his companion to follow him, and walked towards the quays.
"Thy father," he said, as they moved slowly on together, "was my comrade and my friend. I am old, Jacopo, and poor; my days are passed in toil, on the Lagunes, and my nights in gaining strength to meet the labor of the morrow; but it hath grieved me to hear that the son of one I much loved, and with whom I have so often shared good and evil, fair and foul, hath taken to a life like that which men say is thine. The gold that is the price of blood was never yet blessed to him that gave or him that received."
The Bravo listened in silence, though his companion, who, at another moment, and under other emotions, would have avoided him as one shrinks from contagion, saw, on looking mournfully up into his face, that the muscles were slightly agitated, and that a paleness crossed his cheeks, which the light of the moon rendered ghastly.
"Thou hast suffered poverty to tempt thee into grievous sin, Jacopo; but it is never too late to call on the saints for aid, and to lay aside the stiletto. It is not profitable for a man to be known in Venice as thy fellow, but the friend of thy father will not abandon one who shows a penitent spirit. Lay aside thy stiletto, and come with me to the Lagunes. Thou wilt find labor less burdensome than guilt, and though thou never canst be to me like the boy they have taken, for he was innocent as the lamb! thou wilt still be the son of an ancient comrade, and a stricken spirit. Come with me then to the Lagunes, for poverty and misery like mine cannot meet with more contempt, even for being thy companion."
"What is it men say, that thou treatest me thus?" demanded Jacopo, in a low, struggling voice.
"I would they said untruth! But few die by violence, in Venice, that thy name is not uttered."
"And would they suffer one thus marked to go openly on the canals, or to be at large in the great square of San Marco?"
"We never know the reasons of the senate. Some say thy time is not yet come, while others think thou art too powerful for judgment."
"Thou dost equal credit to the justice and the activity of the inquisition. But should I go with thee to-night, wilt thou be more discreet in speech among thy fellows of the Lido, and the islands?"
"When the heart hath its load, the tongue will strive to lighten it. I would do anything to turn the child of my friend from his evil ways, but forget my own. Thou art used to deal with the patricians, Jacopo; would there be possibility for one, clad in this dress, and with a face blackened by the sun, to come to speak with the Doge?"
"There is no lack of seeming justice in Venice, Antonio; the want is in the substance. I doubt not thou would'st be heard."
"Then will I wait, here, upon the stones of the square, until he comes forth for the pomp of to-morrow, and try to move his heart to justice. He is old, like myself, and he hath bled, too, for the state, and what is more he is a father."
"So is the Signor Gradenigo."
"Thou doubtest his pity—ha?"
"Thou canst but try. The Doge of Venice will hearken to a petition from the meanest citizen. I think," added Jacopo, speaking so low as to be scarcely audible, "he would listen even to me."
"Though I am not able to put my prayer in such speech as becometh the ear of a great prince, he shall hear the truth from a wronged man. They call him the chosen of the state, and such a one should gladly listen to justice. This is a hard bed, Jacopo," continued the fisherman, seating himself at the foot of the column of St. Theodore, "but I have slept on colder and as hard, when there was less reason to do it—a happy night."
The bravo lingered a minute near the old man, who folded his arms on his naked breast, which was fanned by the sea-breeze, and disposed of his person to take his rest in the square, a practice not unusual among men of his class; but when he found that Antonio was inclined to be alone, he moved on, leaving the fisherman to himself.
The night was now getting to be advanced, and few of the revellers remained in the areas of the two squares. Jacopo cast a glance around, and noting the hour and the situation of the place, he proceeded to the edge of the quay. The public gondoliers had left their boats moored, as usual, at this spot, and a profound stillness reigned over the whole bay. The water was scarce darkened by the air, which rather breathed upon than ruffled its surface, and no sound of oar was audible amid the forest of picturesque and classical spars, which crowded the view between the Piazzetta and the Giudecca. The Bravo hesitated, cast another wary glance around him, settled his mask, undid the slight fastenings of a boat, and presently he was gliding away into the centre of the basin.
"Who cometh?" demanded one, who seemingly stood at watch, in a felucca, anchored a little apart from all others.
"One expected," was the answer.
"Roderigo?"
"The same."
"Thou art late," said the mariner of Calabria, as Jacopo stepped upon the low deck of the Bella Sorrentina. "My people have long been below, and I have dreamt thrice of shipwreck, and twice of a heavy sirocco, since thou hast been expected."
"Thou hast had more time to wrong the customs. Is the felucca ready for her work?"
"As for the customs, there is little chance of gain in this greedy city. The senators secure all profits to themselves and their friends, while we of the barks are tied down to low freights and hard bargains. I have sent a dozen casks of lachryma christi up the canals since the masquers came abroad, and beyond that I have not occasion. There is enough left for thy comfort, at need. Wilt drink?"
"I am sworn to sobriety. Is thy vessel ready, as wont, for the errand?"
"Is the senate as ready with its money? This is the fourth of my voyages in their service; and they have only to look into their own secrets to know the manner in which the work hath been done."
"They are content, and thou hast been well rewarded."
"Say it not. I have gained more gold by one lucky shipment of fruits from the isles than by all their night-work. Would those who employ me give a little especial traffic on the entrance of the felucca, there might be advantage in the trade."
"There is nothing which St. Mark visits with a heavier punishment than frauds on his receipts. Have a care with thy wines, or thou wilt lose not only thy bark and thy voyage, but thy liberty!"
"This is just the ground of my complaint, Signor Roderigo. Rogue and no rogue, is the Republic's motto. Here they are as close in justice as a father amid his children; and there it is better that what is done should be done at midnight. I like not the contradiction, for just as my hopes are a little raised by what I have witnessed, perhaps a little too near, they are all blown to the winds by such a frown as San Gennero himself might cast upon a sinner."
"Remember thou art not in thy wide Mediterranean, but on a canal of Venice. This language might be unsafe, were it heard by less friendly ears."
"I thank thee for thy care, though the sight of yonder old palace is as good a hint to the loose tongue as the sight of a gibbet on the sea-shore to a pirate. I met an ancient fellow in the Piazzetta about the time the masquers came in, and we had some words on this matter. By his tally every second man in Venice is well paid for reporting what the others say and do. 'Tis a pity, with all their seeming love of justice, good Roderigo, that the senate should let divers knaves go at large; men, whose very faces cause the stones to redden with anger and shame!"
"I did not know that any such were openly seen in Venice; what is secretly done may be favored for a time, through difficulty of proof, but—"
"Cospetto! They tell me the councils have a short manner of making a sinner give up his misdeeds. Now, here is the miscreant Jacopo. What aileth thee, man? The anchor on which thou leanest is not heated."
"Nor is it of feathers; one's bones may ache from its touch, without offence, I hope."
"The iron is of Elba, and was forged in a volcano. This Jacopo is one that should not go at large in an honest city, and yet is he seen pacing the square with as much ease as a noble in the Broglio!"
"I know him not."
"Not to know the boldest hand and surest stiletto in Venice, honest Roderigo, is to thy praise. But he is well marked among us of the port, and we never see the man but we begin to think of our sins, and of penances forgotten. I marvel much that the inquisitors do not give him to the devil on some public ceremony, for the benefit of small offenders!"
"Are his deeds so notorious that they might pronounce on his fate without proof?"
"Go, ask that question in the streets! Not a Christian loses his life in Venice without warning; and the number is not few, to say nothing of those who die with state fevers, but men see the work of his sure hand in the blow. Signor Roderigo, your canals are convenient graves for sudden deaths!"
"Methinks there is contradiction in this. Thou speakest of proofs of the hand that gave it, in the manner of the blow, and then thou callest in the aid of the canals to cover the whole deed. Truly, there is some wrong done this Jacopo, who is, haply, a man slandered."
"I have heard of slandering a priest, for they are Christians, bound to keep good names for the church's honor, but to utter an injury against a bravo would a little exceed the tongue of an avocato. What mattereth it whether the hand be a shade deeper in color or not, when blood is on it."
"Thou sayest truly," answered the pretended Roderigo, drawing a heavy breath. "It mattereth little indeed to him condemned, whether the sentence cometh of one or of many crimes."
"Dost know, friend Roderigo, that this very argument hath made me less scrupulous concerning the freight I am called on to carry, in this secret trade of ours. Thou art fairly in the senate's business, worthy Stefano, I say to myself, and therefore the less reason that thou should'st be particular in the quality of the merchandise. That Jacopo hath an eye and a scowl that would betray him, were he chosen to the chair of St. Peter! But doff thy mask, Signor Roderigo, that the sea-air may cool thy cheek; 'tis time there should no longer be this suspicion between old and tried friends."
"My duty to those that send me forbid the liberty, else would I gladly stand face to face with thee, Master Stefano."
"Well, notwithstanding thy caution, cunning Signore, I would hazard ten of the sequins thou art to pay to me, that I will go on the morrow into the crowd of San Marco, and challenge thee openly, by name, among a thousand. Thou mayest as well unmask, for I tell thee thou art as well known to me as the lateen yards of my felucca."
"The less need to uncover. There are certain signs, no doubt, by which men who meet so often should be known to each other."
"Thou hast a goodly countenance, Signore, and the less need to hide it. I have noted thee among the revellers, when thou hast thought thyself unseen; and I will say of thee this much, without wish to gain aught in our bargain, one of appearance fair as thine, Signor Roderigo, had better be seen openly than go thus for ever behind a cloud."
"My answer hath been made. What the state wills cannot be overlooked; but since I see thou knowest me, take heed not to betray thy knowledge."
"Thou would'st not be more safe with thy confessor. Diamine! I am not a man to gad about among the water-sellers, with a secret at the top of my voice; but thou didst leer aside when I winked at thee dancing among the masquers on the quay. Is it not so, Roderigo?"
"There is more cleverness in thee, Master Stefano, than I had thought; though thy readiness with the felucca is no secret."
"There are two things, Signor Roderigo, on which I value myself, but always, I hope, with Christian moderation. As a mariner of the coast, in mistral or sirocco, levanter or zephyr, few can claim more practice; and for knowing an acquaintance in a carnival, I believe the father of evil himself could not be so disguised that eye of mine should not see his foot! For anticipating a gale, or looking behind a mask, Signor Roderigo, I know not my own equal among men of small learning."
"These faculties are great gifts in one who liveth by the sea and a critical trade."
"Here came one Gino, a gondolier of Don Camillo Monforte, and an ancient fellow of mine, aboard the felucca, attended by a woman in mask. He threw off the girl dexterously enough, and, as he thought, among strangers; but I knew her at a glance for the daughter of a wine-seller, who had already tasted lachryma christi of mine. The woman was angered at the trick, but making the best of luck, we drove a bargain for the few casks which lay beneath the ballast, while Gino did his master's business in San Marco."
"And what that business was thou didst not learn, good Stefano?"
"How should I, Master Roderigo, when the gondolier scarce left time for greeting; but Annina—"
"Annina!"
"The same. Thou knowest Annina, old Tomaso's daughter; for she danced in the very set in which I detected thy countenance! I would not speak thus of the girl, but that I know thou art not backward to receive liquors that do not visit the custom-house, thyself."
"For that, fear nothing. I have sworn to thee that no secret of this nature shall pass my lips. But this Annina is a girl of quick wit and much boldness."
"Between ourselves, Signor Roderigo, it is not easy to tell who is in the senate's pay here in Venice, or who is not. I have sometimes fancied, by thy manner of starting, and the tones of thy voice, that thou wert thyself no less than the lieutenant-general of the galleys, a little disguised."
"And this with thy knowledge of men!"
"If faith were always equal, where would be its merit? Thou hast never been hotly chased by an infidel, Master Roderigo, or thou would'st know how the mind of man can change from hope to fear, from the big voice to the humble prayer! I remember once, in the confusion and hurry of baffling winds and whistling shot, having always turbans before the eye, and the bastinado in mind, to have beseeched St. Stefano in some such voice as one would use to a dog, and to have bullied the men with the whine of a young kitten. Corpo di Bacco! One hath need of experience in these affairs, Signor Roderigo, to know even his own merits."
"I believe thee. But who is this Gino of whom thou hast spoken, and what has his occupation, as a gondolier, to do with one known in thy youth in Calabria?"
"Therein lie matters exceeding my knowledge. His master, and I may say my master, for I was born on his estates, is the young Duca di Sant' Agata—the same that pushes his fortunes with the senate in a claim to the riches and honors of the last Monforte that sat in thy councils. The debate hath so long endured, that the lad hath made himself a gondolier by sheer shoving an oar between his master's palace and those of the nobles he moves with interest—at least such is Gino's own history of his education."
"I know the man. He wears the colors of him he serves. Is he of quick wit?"
"Signor Roderigo, all who come of Calabria cannot boast that advantage. We are no more than our neighbors, and there are exceptions, in all communities as in all families. Gino is ready enough with his oar, and as good a youth in his way as need be. But as to looking into things beyond their surface, why we should not expect the delicacy of a beccafica in a goose. Nature makes men, though kings make nobles. Gino is a gondolier."
"And of good skill?"
"I say nothing of his arm or his leg, both of which are well enough in their places; but when it comes to knowing men and things—poor Gino is but a gondolier! The lad hath a most excellent heart, and is never backward to serve a friend. I love him, but thou would'st not have me say more than the truth will warrant."
"Well, keep thy felucca in readiness, for we know not the moment it may be needed."
"Thou hast only to bring thy freight, Signore, to have the bargain fulfilled."
"Adieu. I would recommend to thee to keep apart from all other trades, and to see that the revelries of to-morrow do not debauch thy people."
"God speed thee, Signor Roderigo. Naught shall be wanting."
The Bravo stepped into his gondola, which glided from the felucca's side with a facility which showed that an arm skilled in its use held the oar. He waved his hand in adieu to Stefano, and then the boat disappeared among the hulls that crowded the port.
For a few minutes the padrone of the Bella Sorrentina continued to pace her decks, snuffing the fresh breeze that came in over the Lido, and then he sought his rest. By this time the dark, silent gondolas, which had been floating by hundreds through the basin, were all gone. The sound of music was heard no longer on the canals, and Venice, at all times noiseless and peculiar, seemed to sleep the sleep of the dead.
[Illustration]
"The fisher cameFrom his green islet, bringing o'er the wavesHis wife and little one; the husbandmanFrom the firm land, with many a friar and nun.And village maiden, her first flight from home,Crowding the common ferry."ROGERS.
"The fisher cameFrom his green islet, bringing o'er the wavesHis wife and little one; the husbandmanFrom the firm land, with many a friar and nun.And village maiden, her first flight from home,Crowding the common ferry."
ROGERS.
A brighter day than that which succeeded the night last mentioned never dawned upon the massive domes, the gorgeous palaces, and the glittering canals of Venice. The sun had not been long above the level of the Lido before the strains of horns and trumpets arose from the square of St. Mark. They were answered in full echoes from the distant arsenal. A thousand gondolas glided from the canals, stealing in every direction across the port, the Giudecca, and the various outer channels of the place; while the well known routes from Fusina and the neighboring isles were dotted with endless lines of boats urging their way towards the capital.
The citizens began to assemble early, in their holiday attire, while thousands of contadini landed at the different bridges, clad in the gay costumes of the main. Before the day had far advanced, all the avenues of the great square were again thronged, and by the time the bells of the venerable cathedral had finished a peal of high rejoicing, St. Mark's again teemed with its gay multitude. Few appeared in masks, but pleasure seemed to lighten every eye, while the frank and unconcealed countenance willingly courted the observation and sympathy of its neighbors. In short, Venice and her people were seen, in all the gaiety and carelessness of a favorite Italian festa. The banners of the conquered nations flapped heavily on the triumphal masts, each church-tower hung out its image of the winged lion, and every palace was rich in its hangings of tapestry and silk, floating from balcony and window.
In the midst of this exhilarating and bright spectacle was heard the din of a hundred thousand voices. Above the constant hum, there arose, from time to time, the blasts of trumpets and the symphonies of rich music. Here the improvisatore, secretly employed by a politic and mysterious government, recounted, with a rapid utterance, and in language suited to the popular ear, at the foot of the spars which upheld the conquered banners of Candia, Crete, and the Morea, the ancient triumphs of the Republic; while there, a ballad-singer chanted, to the greedy crowd, the glory and justice of San Marco. Shouts of approbation succeeded each happy allusion to the national renown, and bravos, loud and oft-repeated, were the reward of the agents of the police, whenever they most administered to the self-delusion and vanity of their audience.
In the meantime, gondolas rich in carvings and gildings, and containing females renowned for grace and beauty, began to cluster in hundreds around the port. A general movement had already taken place among the shipping, and a wide and clear channel was opened from the quay at the foot of the Piazzetta, to the distant bank, which shut out the waves of the Adriatic. Near this watery path, boats of all sizes and descriptions, filled with the curious and observant, were fast collecting.
The crowd thickened as the day drew in, all the vast plains of the Padovano appearing to have given up their people to swell the numbers of those that rejoiced. A few timid and irresolute masquers now began to appear in the throng, stealing a momentary pleasure under the favor of that privileged disguise, from out of the seclusion and monotony of their cloisters. Next came the rich marine equipages of the accredited agents of foreign states, and then, amid the sound of clarions and the cries of the populace, the Bucentaur rowed out of the channel of the arsenal, and came sweeping to her station at the quay of St. Mark.
These preliminaries, which occupied some hours, being observed, the javelin-men, and others employed about the person of the head of the Republic, were seen opening an avenue through the throng. After which, the rich strains of a hundred instruments proclaimed the approach of the Doge.
We shall not detain the narrative, to describe the pomp in which a luxurious and affluent aristocracy, that in general held itself aloof from familiar intercourse with those it ruled, displayed its magnificence to the eyes of the multitude, on an occasion of popular rejoicing. Long lines of senators, dressed in their robes of office, and attended by crowds of liveried followers, came from under the galleries of the palace, and descended by the Giant's Stairway into the sombre court. Thence, the whole issued into the Piazzetta in order, and proceeded to their several stations on the canopied deck of the well known bark. Each patrician had his allotted place, and before the rear of the cortège had yet quitted the quay, there was a long and imposing row of grave legislators seated in the established order of their precedency. The ambassadors, the high dignitaries of the state, and the aged man who had been chosen to bear the empty honors of sovereignty, still remained on the land, waiting, with the quiet of trained docility, the moment to embark. At this moment, a man of an embrowned visage, legs bare to the knee, and breast open to the breeze, rushed through the guards, and knelt on the stones of the quay at his feet.
"Justice!—great prince!" cried the bold stranger; "justice and mercy! Listen to one who has bled for St. Mark, and who hath his scars for his witnesses."
"Justice and mercy are not always companions," calmly observed he who wore the horned bonnet, motioning to his officious attendants to let the intruder stay.
"Mighty prince! I come for the last."
"Who and what art thou?"
"A fisherman of the Lagunes. One named Antonio, who seeketh the liberty of the prop of his years—a glorious boy, that force and the policy of the state have torn from me."
"This should not be! Violence is not the attribute of justice—but the youth hath offended the laws, and he suffereth for his crimes?"
"He is guilty, Excellent and most Serene Highness, of youth, and health, and strength, with some skill in the craft of the mariner. They have taken him, without warning or consent, for the service of the galleys, and have left me in my age, alone."
The expression of pity, which had taken possession of the venerable features of the prince, changed instantly to a look of uneasiness and distrust. The eye, which just before had melted with compassion, became cold and set in its meaning, and signing to his guards, he bowed with dignity to the attentive and curious auditors, among the foreign agents, to proceed.
"Bear him away," said an officer, who took his master's meaning from the glance; "the ceremonies may not be retarded for a prayer so idle."
Antonio offered no resistance, but yielding to the pressure of those around him, he sank back meekly among the crowd, disappointment and sorrow giving place, for an instant, to an awe and an admiration of the gorgeous spectacle, that were perhaps in some degree inseparable from his condition and habits. In a few moments, the slight interruption produced by this short scene, was forgotten in the higher interest of the occasion.
When the ducal party had taken their places, and an admiral of reputation was in possession of the helm, the vast and gorgeous bark, with its gilded galleries thronged with attendants, swept away from the quay with a grand and stately movement. Its departure was the signal for a new burst of trumpets and clarions, and for fresh acclamations from the people. The latter rushed to the edge of the water, and by the time the Bucentaur had reached the middle of the port, the stream was black with the gondolas that followed in her train. In this manner did the gay and shouting cortège sweep on, some darting ahead of the principal bark, and some clinging, like smaller fish swimming around the leviathan, as near to her sides as the fall of the ponderous oars would allow. As each effort of the crew sent the galley further from the land, the living train seemed to extend itself, by some secret principle of expansion; nor was the chain of its apparent connexion entirely broken, until the Bucentaur had passed the island, long famous for its convent of religious Arminians. Here the movement became slower, in order to permit the thousand gondolas to approach, and then the whole moved forward, in nearly one solid phalanx, to the landing of the Lido.
The marriage of the Adriatic, as the ceremony was quaintly termed, has been too often described to need a repetition here. Our business is rather with incidents of a private and personal nature than with descriptions of public events, and we shall pass over all that has no immediate connexion with the interest of the tale.
When the Bucentaur became stationary, a space around her stern was cleared, and the Doge appeared in a rich gallery, so constructed as to exhibit the action to all in sight. He held a ring, glittering with precious stones, on high, and, pronouncing the words of betrothal, he dropped it upon the bosom of his fancied spouse. Shouts arose, trumpets blew their blasts, and each lady waved her handkerchief, in felicitation of the happy union. In the midst of the fracas—which was greatly heightened by the roar of cannon on board the cruisers in the channel, and from the guns in the arsenal—a boat glided into the open space beneath the gallery of the Bucentaur. The movement of the arm which directed the light gondola was dexterous and still strong, though the hairs of him who held the oar were thin and white. A suppliant eye was cast up at the happy faces that adorned the state of the prince, and then the look was changed intently to the water. A small fisherman's buoy fell from the boat, which glided away so soon, that, amid the animation and uproar of that moment, the action was scarce heeded by the excited throng.
The aquatic procession now returned towards the city, the multitude rending the air with shouts at the happy termination of a ceremony, to which time and the sanction of the sovereign pontiff had given a species of sanctity that was somewhat increased by superstition. It is true that a few among the Venetians themselves regarded these famous nuptials of the Adriatic with indifference; and that several of the ministers of the northern and more maritime states, who were witnesses on the occasion, had scarcely concealed, as they cast glances of intelligence and pride among themselves, their smiles. Still, such was the influence of habit—for so much does even arrogant assumption, when long and perseveringly maintained, count among men—that neither the increasing feebleness of the Republic, nor the known superiority of other powers on the very element which this pageant was intended to represent as the peculiar property of St. Mark, could yet cover the lofty pretension with the ridicule it merited. Time has since taught the world that Venice continued this idle deception for ages after both reason and modesty should have dictated its discontinuance; but, at the period of which we write, that ambitious, crapulous, and factitious state was rather beginning to feel the symptomatic evidence of its fading circumstances, than to be fully conscious of the swift progress of a downward course. In this manner do communities, like individuals, draw near their dissolution, inattentive to the symptoms of decay, until they are overtaken with that fate which finally overwhelms empires and their power in the common lot of man.