At the period of our tale, Venice boasted much of her antiquity, and
dreaded, in an equal degree, her end. She was still strong in her
combinations, but they were combinations that had the vicious error of
being formed for the benefit of the minority, and which, like the mimic
fortresses and moats of a scenic representation, needed only a strong
light to destroy the illusion. The alarm with which the patricians heard
the shouts of the fishermen, as they swept by the different palaces, on
their way to the great square, can be readily imagined. Some feared that
the final consummation of their artificial condition, which had so long
been anticipated by a secret political instinct, was at length arrived,
and began to bethink them of the savest means of providing for their own
security. Some listened in admiration, for habit had so far mastered
dulness, as to have created a species of identity between the state and
far more durable things, and they believed that St. Mark had gained a
victory, in that decline, which was never exactly intelligible to their
apathetic capacities. But a few, and these were the spirits that
accumulated all the national good which was vulgarly and falsely
ascribed to the system itself, intuitively comprehended the danger,
with a just appreciation of its magnitude, as well as of the means to
avoid it.
But the rioters were unequal to any estimate of their own force, and had
little aptitude in measuring their accidental advantages.
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