The Bravo: A Tale

by James Fenimore Cooper

The swarthy, expressive faces of the fishermen gleamed with satisfaction, for, in the midst of the rude turmoil, they all retained a deep and rooted respect for the offices of the church in which they had been educated. Silence was quickly obtained, and the boats moved on with greater order than before.

The spectacle was now striking. In front rowed the gondola which contained the remains of the dead. The widening of the canal, as it approached the port, permitted the rays of the moon to fall upon the rigid features of old Antonio, which were set in such a look as might be supposed to characterize the dying thoughts of a man so suddenly and so fearfully destroyed. The Carmelite, bare-headed, with clasped hands, and a devout heart, bowed his head at the feet of the body, with his white robes flowing in the light of the moon. A single gondolier guided the boat, and no other noise was audible but the plash of the water, as the oars slowly fell and rose together. This silent procession lasted a few minutes, and then the tremulous voice of the monk was heard chanting the prayers for the dead. The practised fishermen, for few in that disciplined church, and that obedient age, were ignorant of those solemn rites, took up the responses in a manner that must be familiar to every ear that has ever listened to the sounds of Italy, the gentle washing of the element, on which they glided, forming a soft accompaniment. Casement after casement opened while they passed, and a thousand curious and anxious faces crowded the balconies as the funeral cortége swept slowly on.

The gondola of the Republic was towed in the centre of the moving mass by fifty lighter boats, for the fishermen still clung to their prize. In this manner the solemn procession entered the port, and touched the quay at the foot of the Piazzetta. While numberless eager hands were aiding in bringing the body of Antonio to land, there arose a shout from the centre of the ducal palace, which proclaimed the presence already of the other part of their body in its court.

The squares of St. Mark now presented a novel picture. The quaint and oriental church, the rows of massive and rich architecture, the giddy pile of the Campanile, the columns of granite, the masts of triumph, and all those peculiar and remarkable fixtures, which had witnessed so many scenes of violence, of rejoicing, of mourning, and of gaiety, were there, like landmarks of the earth, defying time; beautiful and venerable in despite of all those varying exhibitions of human passions that were daily acted around them.

"But the song, the laugh, and the jest, had ceased. The lights of the coffee-houses had disappeared, the revellers had fled to their homes, fearful of being confounded with those who braved the anger of the Senate, while the grotesque, the ballad-singers, and the buffoon, had abandoned their assumed gaiety for an appearance more in unison with the true feelings of their hearts.

"Giustizia!—" cried a thousand deep voices, as the body of Antonio was borne into the court—"Illustrious Doge! Giustizia. in palazzo, e pane in piazza! Give us justice! We are beggars for justice!"

The gloomy but vast court was paved with the swarthy faces and glittering eyes of the fishermen. The corpse was laid at the foot of the Giant's Stairs, while the trembling halberdier at the head of the flight, scarce commanded himself sufficiently to maintain that air of firmness which was exacted by discipline and professional pride. But there was no other show of military force, for the politic power which ruled in Venice, knew too well its momentary impotency, to irritate when it could not quell. The mob beneath was composed of nameless rioters, whose punishment could carry no other consequences than the suppression of immediate danger, and for that, those who ruled were not prepared.

The Council of Three had been apprised of the arrival of the excited fishermen. When the mob entered the court, it was consulting in secret conclave, on the probabilities of the tumult having a graver and more determined object, than was apparent in the visible symptoms. The routine of office had not yet dispossessed the men already presented to the reader, of their dangerous and despotic power.

"Are the Dalmatians apprised of this movement?" asked one of the secret tribunal, whose nerves were scarcely equal to the high functions he discharged. "We may have occasion for their volleys, ere this riot is appeased."

"Confide in the ordinary authorities for that, Signore," answered the Senator Gradenigo. "I have only concern, lest some conspiracy, which may touch the fidelity of the troops, lies concealed beneath the outcry."