The great canal of Venice, following its windings, being more than a league in length, the distance in the present race was reduced nearly half, by causing the boats to start from the Rialto.  At this point, then, the gondolas were all assembled, attended by those who were to place them.  As the whole of the population which before had been extended along the entire course of the water, was now crowded between the bridge and the Bucentaur, the long and graceful avenue resembled a vista of human heads.  It was an imposing sight to look along that bright and living lane, and the hearts of each competitor beat high, as hope, or pride, or apprehension, became the feeling of the moment.

“Gino of Calabria,” cried the marshal who placed the gondolas, “thy station is on the right.  Take it, and St. Januarius speed thee!”

The servitor of Don Camillo assumed his oar, and the boat glided gracefully into its berth.

“Thou comest next, Enrico of Fusina.  Call stoutly on thy Paduan patron, and husband thy strength; for none of the main have ever yet borne away a prize in Venice.”

He then summoned, in succession, those whose names have not been mentioned, and placed them side by side, in the centre of the canal.

“Here is place for thee, Signore,” continued the officer, inclining his head to the unknown gondolier; for he had imbibed the general impression that the face of some young patrician was concealed beneath the mask, to humor the fancy of some capricious fair.—­“Chance hath given thee the extreme left.”

“Thou hast forgotten to call the fisherman,” observed the masker, as he drove his own gondola into its station.

“Does the hoary fool persist in exposing his vanity and his rags to the best of Venice?”

“I can take place in the rear,” meekly observed Antonio.  “There may be those in the line it doth not become one like me to crowd, and a few strokes of the oar, more or less, can differ but little in so long; a strife.”

“Thou hadst better push modesty to discretion, and remain.”

“If it be your pleasure, Signore, I would rather see what St. Anthony may do for an old fisherman, who has prayed to him, night and morning, these sixty years?”

“It is thy right; and, as thou seemest content with it, Keep the place thou hast in the rear.  It is only occupying it a little earlier than thou would’st otherwise.  Now, recall the rules of the games, hardy gondoliers, and make your last appeal to your patrons.  There is to be no crossing, or other foul expedients; naught except ready oars, and nimble wrists.  He who varies needlessly from his line until he leadeth, shall be recalled by name; and whoever is guilty of any act to spoil the sports, or otherwise to offend the patricians, shall be both checked and punished.  Be ready for the signal.”

The assistant, who was in a strongly manned boat, fell back a little, while runners, similarly equipped, went ahead to order the curious from the water.  These preparations were scarcely made, when a signal floated on the nearest dome.  It was repeated on the campanile, and a gun was fired at the arsenal.  A deep but suppressed murmur arose in the throng, which was as quickly succeeded by suspense.