Authors: James Fenimore Cooper
"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."