From this moment all interest in those who formed the vulgar mass was
lost. Every eye was turned towards the front, where the strife increased
at each stroke of the oar, and where the issue began to assume a new and
doubtful character. The exertions of the waterman of Fusina were
seemingly redoubled, though his boat went no faster. The gondola of
Bartolomeo shot past him; it was followed by those of Gino and the
masked gondolier, while not a cry betrayed the breathless interest of
the multitude. But when the boat of Antonio also swept ahead, there
arose such a hum of voices as escapes a throng when a sudden and violent
change of feeling is produced in their wayward sentiments. Enrico was
frantic with the disgrace. He urged every power of his frame to avert
the dishonor, with the desperate energy of an Italian, and then he cast
himself into the bottom of the gondola, tearing his hair and weeping in
agony. His example was followed by those in the rear, though with more
governed feelings, for they shot aside among the boats which lined the
canal, and were lost to view.
From this open and unexpected abandonment of the struggle, the
spectators got the surest evidence of its desperate character. But as a
man has little sympathy for the unfortunate when his feelings are
excited by competition, the defeated were quickly forgotten. The name of
Bartolomeo was borne high upon the winds by a thousand voices, and his
fellows of the Piazzetta and the Lido called upon him, aloud, to die for
the honor of their craft.
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