Chapter VII.

"The moon went down; and nothing now was seen
Save where the lamp of a Madonna shone
Faintly."

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.

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