The Bravo

by James Fenimore Cooper

  The first who came out of the crowd of boats which environed the vacant place that had been left for the competitors, was a gondolier of the public landing, well known for his skill with the oar, and his song on the canal.

  "How art thou called, and in whose name dost thou put thy chance?" demanded the herald of this aquatic course.

  "All know me for Bartolomeo, one who lives between the Piazzetta and the Lido, and, like a loyal Venetian, I trust in San Teodoro."

  "Thou art well protected; take thy place and await thy fortune."

  The conscious waterman swept the water with a back stroke of his blade, and the light gondola whirled away into the centre of the vacant spot, like a swan giving a sudden glance aside.

  "And who art thou?" demanded the official of the next that came.

  "Enrico, a gondolier of Fusina. I come to try my oar with the braggarts of the canals."

  "In whom is thy trust?"

  "Sant' Antonio di Padua?"

  "Thou wilt need his aid, though we commend thy spirit. Enter, and take place."—"And who art thou?" he continued, to another, when the second had imitated the easy skill of the first.

  "I am called Gino of Calabria, a gondolier in private service."

  "What noble retaineth thee?"

  "The illustrious and most excellent Don Camillo Monforte, Duca and Lord of Sant' Agata in Napoli, and of right a senator in Venice."

  "Thou should'st have come of Padua, friend, by thy knowledge of the laws! Dost thou trust in him thou servest for the victory?"

  There was a movement among the senators at the answer of Gino; and the half-terrified varlet thought he perceived frowns gathering on more than one brow. He looked around in quest of him whose greatness he had vaunted, as if he sought succor.

  "Wilt thou name thy support in this great trial of force?" resumed the herald.

  "My master," uttered the terrified Gino, "St. Januarius, and St. Mark."

  "Thou art well defended. Should the two latter fail thee, thou mayest surely count on the first!"

  "Signor Monforte has an illustrious name, and he is welcome to our Venetian sports," observed the Doge, slightly bending his head towards the young Calabrian noble, who stood at no great distance in a gondola of state, regarding the scene with a deeply-interested countenance. This cautious interruption of the pleasantries of the official was acknowledged by a low reverence, and the matter proceeded.

  "Take thy station, Gino of Calabria, and a happy fortune be thine," said the latter; then turning to another, he asked in surprise—"Why art thou here?"

  "I come to try my gondola's swiftness."

  "Thou art old, and unequal to this struggle; husband thy strength for daily toil. An ill-advised ambition hath put thee on this useless trial."

  The new aspirant had forced a common fisherman's gondola, of no bad shape, and of sufficient lightness, but which bore about it all the vulgar signs of its daily uses, beneath the gallery of the Bucentaur. He received the reproof meekly, and was about to turn his boat aside, though with a sorrowing and mortified eye, when a sign from the Doge arrested his arm.

  "Question him, as of wont," said the prince.

  "How art thou named?" continued the reluctant official, who, like all of subordinate condition, had far more jealousy of the dignity of the sports he directed, than his superior.

  "I am known as Antonio, a fisherman of the Lagunes."

  "Thou art old!"

  "Signore, none know it better than I. It is sixty summers since I first threw net or line into the water."

  "Nor art thou clad as befitteth one who cometh before the state of Venice in a regatta."

  "I am here in the best that I have. Let them who would do the nobles greater honor, come in better."

  "Thy limbs are uncovered—thy bosom bare—thy sinews feeble—go to; thou art ill advised to interrupt the pleasures of the nobles by this levity."

  Again Antonio would have shrunk from the ten thousand eyes that shone upon him, when the calm voice of the Doge once more came to his aid.

  "The struggle is open to all," said the sovereign; "still I would advise the poor and aged man to take counsel; give him silver, for want urges him to this hopeless trial."

  "Thou hearest; alms are offered thee; but give place to those who are stronger and more seemly for the sport."

  "I will obey, as is the duty of one born and accustomed to poverty. They said the race was open to all, and I crave the pardon of the nobles, since I meant to do them no dishonor."

  "Justice in the palace, and justice on the canals," hastily observed the prince. "If he will continue, it is his right. It is the pride of St. Mark that his balances are held with an even hand."

  A murmur of applause succeeded the specious sentiment, for the powerful rarely affect the noble attribute of justice, however limited may be its exercise, without their words finding an echo in the tongues of the selfish.

  "Thou hearest—His Highness, who is the voice of a mighty state, says thou mayest remain;—though thou art still advised to withdraw."

  "I will then see what virtue is left in this naked arm," returned Antonio, casting a mournful glance, and one that was not entirely free from the latent vanity of man, at his meagre and threadbare attire. "The limb hath its scars, but the infidels may have spared enough, for the little I ask."

  "In whom is thy faith?"

  "Blessed St. Anthony, of the Miraculous Draught."

  "Take thy place.—Ha! here cometh one unwilling to be known! How now! who appears with so false a face?"

  "Call me, Mask."

  "So neat and just a leg and arm need not have hid their follow, the countenance. Is it your Highness's pleasure that one disguised should be entered for the sports?"

  "Doubt it not. A mask is sacred in Venice. It is the glory of our excellent and wise laws, that he who seeketh to dwell within the privacy of his own thoughts, and to keep aloof from curiosity by shadowing his features, rangeth our streets and canals as if he dwelt in the security of his own abode. Such are the high privileges of liberty, and such it is to be a citizen of a generous, a magnanimous, and a free state."

  A thousand bowed in approbation of the sentiment, and a rumor passed from mouth to mouth that a young noble was about to try his strength in the regatta, in compliment to some wayward beauty.

  "Such is justice!" exclaimed the herald, in a loud voice, admiration apparently overcoming respect, in the ardor of the moment. "Happy is he that is born in Venice, and envied are the people in whose councils wisdom and mercy preside, like lovely and benignant sisters! On whom dost thou rely?"

  "Mine own arm."

  "Ha! this is impious! None so presuming may enter into these privileged sports."

  The hurried exclamation of the herald was accompanied by a general stir, such as denotes sudden and strong emotion in a multitude.

  "The children of the Republic are protected by an even hand," observed the venerable prince. "It formeth our just pride, and blessed St. Mark forbid that aught resembling vain-glory should be uttered! but it is truly our boast that we know no difference between our subjects of the islands or those of the Dalmatian coast; between Padua or Candia; Corfu or St. Giorgio. Still it is not permitted for any to refuse the intervention of the saints."

  "Name thy patron, or quit the place," continued the observant herald, anew.

  The stranger paused, as if he looked into his mind, and then he answered—

  "San Giovanni of the Wilderness."

  "Thou namest one of blessed memory!"

  "I name him who may have pity on me, in this living desert."

  "The temper of thy soul is best known to thyself, but this reverend rank of patricians, yonder brilliant show of beauty, and that goodly multitude, may claim another name.—Take thy place."

  While the herald proceeded to take the names of three or four more applicants, all gondoliers in private service, a murmur ran through the spectators, which proved how much their interest and curiosity had been awakened by the re
plies and appearance of the two last competitors. In the meantime, the young nobles who entertained those who came last, began to move among the throng of boats, with the intention of making such manifestations of their gallant desires and personal devotion, as suited the customs and opinions of the age. The list was now proclaimed to be full, and the gondolas were towed off, as before, towards the starting point, leaving the place beneath the stern of the Bucentaur, vacant. The scene that followed, consequently passed directly before the eyes of those grave men, who charged themselves with most of the private interests, as well as with the public concerns of Venice.

  There were many unmasked and high-born dames, whirling about in their boats, attended by cavaliers in rich attire, and here and there appeared a pair of dark lustrous eyes, peeping through the silk of a visor, that concealed some countenance too youthful for exposure in so gay a scene. One gondola, in particular, was remarked for the singular grace and beauty of the form it held, qualities which made themselves apparent, even through the half-disguise of the simple habiliments she wore. The boat, the servants, and the ladies, for there were two, were alike distinguished for that air of severe but finished simplicity, which oftener denotes the presence of high quality and true taste, than a more lavish expenditure of vulgar ornament. A Carmelite, whose features were concealed by his cowl, testified that their condition was high, and lent a dignity to their presence by his reverend and grave protection. A hundred gondolas approached this party, and after as many fruitless efforts to penetrate the disguises, glided away, while whispers and interrogatories passed from one to another, to learn the name and station of the youthful beauty. At length, a gay bark, with watermen in gorgeous liveries, and in whose equipment there was a studied display of magnificence, came into the little circle that curiosity had drawn together. The single cavalier who occupied the seat, arose, for few gondolas appeared that day with their gloomy-looking and mysterious pavilions, and saluted the masked females with the ease of one accustomed to all presences, but with the reserve of deep respect.

  "I have a favorite follower in this race," he said gallantly, "and one in whose skill and force I put great trust. Until now I have uselessly sought a lady of a beauty and merit so rare, as to warrant that I should place his fortune on her smiles. But I seek no further."

  "You are gifted with a keen sight, Signore, that you discover all you seek beneath these masks," returned one of the two females, while their companion, the Carmelite, bowed graciously to the compliment, which seemed little more than was warranted by the usage of such scenes.

  "There are other means of recognition than the eyes, and other sources of admiration than the senses, lady. Conceal yourselves as you will, here do I know that I am near the fairest face, the warmest heart, and the purest mind of Venice!"

  "This is bold augury, Signore," returned she who was evidently the oldest of the two, glancing a look at her companion as if to note the effect of this gallant speech. "Venice has a name for the beauty of its dames, and the sun of Italy warms many a generous heart."

  "Better that such noble gifts should be directed to the worship of the Creator than of the creature," murmured the monk.

  "Some there are, holy father, who have admiration for both. Such I would fain hope is the happy lot of her who is favored with the spiritual counsel of one so virtuous and wise as yourself. Here I place my fortune, let what may follow; and here would I gladly place a heavier stake, were it permitted."

  As the cavalier spoke, he tendered to the silent fair a bouquet of the sweetest and most fragrant flowers; and among them were those to which poets and custom have ascribed the emblematic qualities of constancy and love. She, to whom this offering of gallantry was made, hesitated to accept it. It much exceeded the reserve imposed on one of her station and years to allow of such homage from the other sex, though the occasion was generally deemed one that admitted of more than usual gallantry; and she evidently shrank, with the sensitiveness of one whose feelings were unpractised, from a homage so public.

  "Receive the flowers, my love," mildly whispered her companion—"the cavalier who offers them simply intends to show the quality of his breeding."

  "That will be seen in the end," hastily returned Don Camillo—for it was he. "Signora, adieu; we have met on this water when there was less restraint between us."

  He bowed, and, signing to his gondolier, was quickly lost in the crowd of boats. Ere the barks, however, were separated, the mask of the silent fair was slightly moved as if she sought relief from the air; and the Neapolitan was rewarded for his gallantry by a momentary glance at the glowing countenance of Violetta.

  "Thy guardian hath a displeased eye," hurriedly observed Donna Florinda. "I wonder that we should be known!"

  "I should more wonder that we were not. I could recall the noble Neapolitan cavalier amid a million. Thou dost not remember all that I owe to him!"

  Donna Florinda did not answer; but in secret she offered up a fervent prayer that the obligation might be blessed to the future happiness of her who had received it. There was a furtive and uneasy glance between her and the Carmelite; but as neither spoke, a long and thoughtful silence succeeded the rencontre.

  From this musing the party, in common with all the gay and laughing multitude by which they were surrounded, were reminded of the business on which they were assembled by the signal-gun, the agitation on the great canal nearest the scene of strife, and a clear blast of the trumpets. But in order that the narrative may proceed regularly, it is fit that we should return a little in the order of time.

  Chapter IX

  *

  "Here art thou in appointment fresh and fair,

  Anticipating time with starting courage."

  SHAKESPEARE.

  It has been seen that the gondolas, which were to contend in the race, had been towed towards the place of starting, in order that the men might enter on the struggle with undiminished vigor. In this precaution, even the humble and half-clad fisherman had not been neglected, but his boat, like the others, was attached to the larger barges to which this duty had been assigned. Still, as he passed along the canal, before the crowded balconies and groaning vessels which lined its sides, there arose that scornful and deriding laugh, which seems ever to grow more strong and bold, as misfortune weighs most heavily on its subject.

  The old man was not unconscious of the remarks of which he was the subject; and, as it is rare indeed that our sensibilities do not survive our better fortunes, even he was so far conscious of a fall as not to be callous to contempt thus openly expressed. He looked wistfully on every side of him, and seemed to seek in every eye he encountered, some portion of the sympathy which his meek and humble feelings still craved. But even the men of his caste and profession threw jibes upon his ear; and though, of all the competitors, perhaps the one whose motive most hallowed his ambition, he was held to be the only proper subject of mirth. For the solution of this revolting trait of human character we are not to look to Venice and her institutions, since it is known that none are so arrogant, on occasions, as the ridden, and that the abject and insolent spirits are usually tenants of the same bosom.

  The movement of the boats brought those of the masked waterman, and the subjects of those taunts, side by side.

  "Thou art not the favorite in this strife," observed the former, when a fresh burst of jibes was showered on the head of his unresisting associate. "Thou hast not been sufficiently heedful of thy attire, for this is a town of luxury, and he who would meet applause must appear on the canals in the guise of one less borne upon by fortune."

  "I know them! I know them!" returned the fisherman; "they are led away by their pride, and they think ill of one who cannot share in their vanities. But, friend unknown, I have brought with me a face, which, old though it be, and wrinkled, and worn by the weather like the stones of the sea-shore, is uncovered to the eye, and without shame."

  "There may be reasons which thou knowest not, why I wear a mask. But if my face be hid the limbs
are bare, and thou seest there is no lack of sinews to make good that which I have undertaken. Thou should'st have thought better of the matter ere thou puttest thyself in the way of so much mortification. Defeat will not cause the people to treat thee more tenderly."

  "If my sinews are old and stiffened, Signor Mask, they are long used to toil. As to shame, if it is a shame to be below the rest of mankind in fortune, it will not now come for the first time. A heavy sorrow hath befallen me, and this race may lighten the burden of grief. I shall not pretend that I hear this laughter, and all these scornful speeches, as one listens to the evening breeze on the Lagunes—for a man is still a man, though he lives with the humblest, and eats of the coarsest. But let it pass, Sant' Antonio will give me heart to bear it."

  "Thou hast a stout mind, fisherman, and I would gladly pray my patron to grant thee a stronger arm, but that I have much need of this victory myself. Wilt thou be content with the second prize, if, by any manner of skill, I might aid thy efforts? for, I suppose, the metal of the third is as little to thy taste as it is to my own."