The Bravo: A Tale

stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs, A palace and a prison on each

hand; I saw from out the wave her structures rise, As from the stroke of

the enchanter's wand; A thousand years their cloudy wings expand Around

me, and a dying glory smiles O'er the far times, when many a subject land

Looked to the winged lions' marble piles, Where Venice sat in state, throned

on her hundred isles." BYRON.

The sun had disappeared behind the summits of the Tyrolean Alps, and the

moon was already risen above the low barrier of the Lido. Hundreds of

pedestrians were pouring out of the narrow streets of Venice into the square

of St. Mark, like water gushing through some strait aqueduct, into a broad

and bubbling basin. Gallant cavalieri and grave cittadini; soldiers of Dal-

matia, and seamen of the galleys; dames of the city, and females of lighter

manners; jewellers of the Rialto, and traders from the Levant; Jew, Turk,

and Christian; traveller, adventurer, podest? valet, avvocato, and gondo-

lier, held their way alike to the common centre of amusement. The hur-

ried air and careless eye; the measured step and jealous glance; the jest and

laugh; the song of the cantatrice, and the melody of the flute; the grimace

of the buffoon, and the tragic frown of the improvisatore; the pyramid of

3 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER

the grotesque, the compelled and melancholy smile of the harpist, cries of

water-sellers, cowls of monks, plumage of warriors, hum of voices, and the

universal movement and bustle, added to the more permanent objects of the

place, rendered the scene the most remarkable of Christendom.

On the very confines of that line which separates western from eastern Eu-

rope, and in constant communication with the latter, Venice possessed a

greater admixture of character and costume, than any other of the numer-

ous ports of that region. A portion of this peculiarity is still to be observed,

under the fallen fortunes of the place; but at the period of our tale, the city

of the isles, though no longer mistress of the Mediterranean, nor even of the

Adriatic, was still rich and powerful. Her influence was felt in the councils of

the civilized world, and her commerce, though waning, was yet sufficient to

uphold the vast possessions of those families, whose ancestors had become

rich in the day of her prosperity. Men lived among her islands in that state of

incipient lethargy, which marks the progress of a downward course, whether

the decline be of a moral or of a physical decay.

At the hour we have named, the vast parallelogram of the piazza was filling

fast, the caf廥 and casinos within the porticoes, which surround three of its

sides, being already thronged with company. While all beneath the arches

was gay and brilliant with the flare of torch and lamp, the noble range of

edifices called the Procuratories, the massive pile of the Ducal Palace, the

most ancient Christian church, the granite columns of the piazzetta, the tri-

umphal masts of the great square, and the giddy tower of the campanile,

were slumbering in the more mellow glow of the moon.

Facing thewide area of the great square stood the quaint and venerable cathe-

dral of San Marco. A temple of trophies, and one equally proclaiming the

prowess and the piety of its founders, this remarkable structure presided