The Bravo | Page 2

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 Dalmatia, 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, podestà, valet,
avvocato, and gondolier, held their way alike to the common centre of
amusement. The hurried 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 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
Europe, and in constant communication with the latter, Venice
possessed a greater admixture of character and costume, than any other
of the numerous 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 cafés 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 triumphal masts of the great square, and
the giddy tower of the campanile, were slumbering in the more mellow
glow of the moon.
Facing the wide area of the great square stood the quaint and venerable
cathedral of San Marco. A temple of trophies, and one equally
proclaiming the prowess and the piety of its founders, this remarkable
structure presided over the other fixtures of the place, like a monument
of the republic's antiquity and greatness. Its Saracenic architecture, the
rows of precious but useless little columns that load its front, the low
Asiatic domes which rest upon its walls in the repose of a thousand
years, the rude and gaudy mosaics, and above all the captured horses of
Corinth which start from out the sombre mass in the glory of Grecian
art, received from the solemn and appropriate light, a character of
melancholy and mystery, that well comported with the thick
recollections which crowd the mind as the eye gazes at this rare relic of
the past.
As fit companions to this edifice, the other peculiar ornaments of the
place stood at hand. The base of the campanile lay in shadow, but a
hundred feet of its grey summit received the full rays of the moon
along its eastern face. The masts destined to bear the conquered ensigns
of Candia, Constantinople, and the Morea, cut the air by its side, in
dark and fairy lines; while at the extremity of the smaller square, and
near the margin of the sea, the forms of the winged lion and the patron
saint of the city, each on his column of African granite, were distinctly
traced against the back-ground of the azure sky.
It was near the base of the former of these massive blocks of stone, that
one stood who seemed to gaze at the animated and striking scene, with
the listlessness and indifference of satiety. A multitude, some in
masques and others careless of being