The Bravo

  "None pass the halberdiers masked by day, Carlo, but they who have the secret word."

  The Bravo appeared struck with this truth, and there was great embarrassment expressed in his manner. The terms of his admittance were so well understood to himself, that he distrusted the expediency of attempting to get upon the quays by the prison, the way he had entered, since he had little doubt that his retreat would be intercepted by those who kept the outer gate, and who were probably, by this time, in the secret of his true character. It now appeared that egress by the other route was equally hazardous. He had not been surprised so much by the substance of the proclamation, as by the publicity the Senate had seen fit to give to its policy, and he had heard himself denounced, with a severe pang, it is true, but without terror. Still he had so many means of disguise, and the practice of personal concealment was so general in Venice, that he had entertained no great distrust of the result until he now found himself in this awkward dilemma. Gelsomina read his indecision in his eye, and regretted that she should have caused him so much uneasiness.

  "It is not so bad as thou seemest to think, Carlo," she observed; "they have permitted thee to visit thy father at stated hours, and the permission is a proof that the Senate is not without pity. Now that I, to oblige thy wishes, have forgotten one of their injunctions, they will not be so hard of heart as to visit the fault as a crime."

  Jacopo gazed at her with pity, for well did he understand how little she knew of the real nature and wily policy of the state.

  "It is time that we should part," he said, "lest thy innocence should be made to pay the price of my mistake. I am now near the public corridor, and must trust to my fortune to gain the quay."

  Gelsomina hung upon his arm, unwilling to trust him to his own guidance in that fearful building.

  "It will not do, Carlo; thou wilt stumble on a soldier, and thy fault will be known; perhaps they will refuse to let thee come again; perhaps altogether shut the door of thy poor father's cell."

  Jacopo made a gesture for her to lead the way, and followed. With a beating, but still lightened heart, Gelsomina glided along the passages, carefully locking each door, as of wont, behind her, when she had passed through it. At length they reached the well known Bridge of Sighs. The anxious girl went on with a lighter step, when she found herself approaching her own abode, for she was busy in planning the means of concealing her companion in her father's rooms, should there be hazard in his passing out of the prison during the day.

  "But a single minute, Carlo," she whispered, applying the key to the door which opened into the latter building—the lock yielded, but the hinges refused to turn. Gelsomina paled as she added—"They have drawn the bolts within!"

  "No matter; I will go down by the court of the palace, and boldly pass the halberdier unmasked."

  Gelsomina, after all, saw but little risk of his being known by the mercenaries who served the Doge, and, anxious to relieve him from so awkward a position, she flew back to the other end of the gallery. Another key was applied to the door by which they had just entered, with the same result. Gelsomina staggered back, and sought support against the waft.

  "We can neither return nor proceed!" she exclaimed, frightened she knew not why.

  "I see it all," answered Jacopo, "we are prisoners on the fatal bridge."

  As he spoke, the Bravo calmly removed his mask, and showed the countenance of a man whose resolution was at its height.

  "Santa Madre di Dio! what can it mean?"

  "That we have passed here once too often, love. The council is tender of these visits."

  The bolts of both doors grated, and the hinges creaked at the same instant. An officer of the inquisition entered armed, and bearing manacles. Gelsomina shrieked, but Jacopo moved not limb or muscle, while he was fettered and chained.

  "I too!" cried his frantic companion. "I am the most guilty—bind me—cast me into a cell, but let poor Carlo go."

  "Carlo!" echoed an officer, laughing unfeelingly.

  "Is it such a crime to seek a father in his prison! They knew of his visits—they permitted them—he has only mistaken the hour."

  "Girl, dost thou know for whom thou pleadest?"

  "For the kindest heart—the most faithful son in Venice! Oh! if ye had seen him weep as I have done, over the sufferings of the old captive—if ye had seen his very form shivering in agony, ye would have pity on him!"

  "Listen," returned the officer, raising a finger for attention.

  The trumpeter sounded on the bridge of St. Mark, immediately beneath them, and proclamation was again made, offering gold for the arrest of the Bravo.

  "'Tis the officer of the Republic, bidding for the head of one who carries a common stiletto," cried the half-breathless Gelsomina, who little heeded the ceremony at that instant; "he merits his fate."

  "Then why resist it?"

  "Ye speak without meaning!"

  "Doting girl, this is Jacopo Frontoni!"

  Gelsomina would have disbelieved her ears, but for the anguished expression of Jacopo's eye. The horrible truth burst upon her mind, and she fell lifeless. At that moment the Bravo was hurried from the bridge.

  Chapter XXVII

  *

  "Let us lift up the curtain, and observe

  What passes in that chamber."

  ROGERS.

  There were many rumors uttered in the fearful and secret manner which characterized the manner of the town, in the streets of Venice that day. Hundreds passed near the granite columns, as if they expected to see the Bravo occupying his accustomed stand, in audacious defiance of the proclamation, for so long and so mysteriously had he been permitted to appear in public, that men had difficulty in persuading themselves he would quit his habits so easily. It is needless to say that the vague expectation was disappointed. Much was also said, vauntingly, in behalf of the Republic's justice, for the humbled are bold enough in praising their superiors; and he, who had been dumb for years on subjects of a public nature, now found his voice like a fearless freeman.

  But the day passed away without any new occurrence to call the citizens from their pursuits. The prayers for the dead were continued with little intermission, and masses were said before the altars of half the churches for the repose of the fisherman's soul. His comrades, a little distrustful, but greatly gratified, watched the ceremonies with jealousy and exultation singularly blended. Ere the night set in again, they were among the most obedient of those the oligarchy habitually trod upon; for such is the effect of this species of domination, that it acquires a power to appease, by its flattery, the very discontents created by its injustice. Such is the human mind: a factitious but deeply-seated sentiment of respect is created by the habit of submission, which gives the subject of its influence a feeling of atonement, when he who has long played the superior comes down from his stilts, and confesses the community of human frailties!

  The square of St. Mark filled at the usual hour, the patricians deserted the Broglio as of wont, and the gaieties of the place were again uppermost, before the clock had struck the second hour of the night. Gondolas, filled with noble dames, appeared on the canals; the blinds of the palaces were raised for the admission of the sea-breeze;—and music began to be heard in the port, on the bridges, and under the balconies of the fair. The course of society was not to be arrested, merely because the wronged were unavenged, or the innocent suffered.

  There stood, then, on the grand canal, as there stand now, many palaces of scarcely less than royal magnificence. The reader has had occasion to become acquainted with one or two of these splendid edifices, and it is now our duty to convey him, in imagination, to another.

  The peculiarity of construction, which is a consequence of the watery site of Venice, gives the same general character to all the superior dwellings of that remarkable town. The house to which the thread of the narrative now leads us, had its water-gate, its vestibule, its massive marble stairs, its inner court, its magnificent suites of rooms above, its pictures, its lu
stres, and its floors of precious stones embedded in composition, like all those which we have already found it necessary to describe.

  The hour was ten, according to our own manner of computing time. A small but lovely family picture presented itself, deep within the walls of the patrician abode to which we have alluded. There was a father, a gentleman who had scarcely attained the middle age, with an eye in which spirit, intelligence, philanthropy, and, at that moment, paternal fondness were equally glowing. He tossed in his arms, with paternal pride, a laughing urchin of some three or four years, who rioted in the amusement which brought him, and the author of his being, for a time seemingly on a level. A fair Venetian dame, with golden locks and glowing cheeks, such as Titian loved to paint her sex, reclined on a couch nigh by, following the movements of both, with the joint feelings of mother and wife, and laughing in pure sympathy with the noisy merriment of her young hope. A girl, who was the youthful image of herself, with tresses that fell to her waist, romped with a crowing infant, whose age was so tender as scarcely to admit the uncertain evidence of its intelligence. Such was the scene as the clock of the piazza told the hour. Struck with the sound, the father set down the boy and consulted his watch.

  "Dost thou use thy gondola to-night, love?" he demanded.

  "With thee, Paolo?"

  "Not with me, dearest; I have affairs which will employ me until twelve."

  "Nay, thou art given to cast me off, when thy caprices are wayward."

  "Say not so. I have named to-night for an interview with my agent, and I know thy maternal heart too well, to doubt thy being willing to spare me for that time, while I look to the interests of these dear ones."

  The Donna Giulietta rang for her mantle and attendants. The crowing infant and the noisy boy were dismissed to their beds, while the lady and the eldest child descended to the gondola. Donna Giulietta was not permitted to go unattended to her boat, for this was a family in which the inclinations had fortunately seconded the ordinary calculations of interest when the nuptial knot was tied. Her husband kissed her hand fondly, as he assisted her into the gondola, and the boat had glided some distance from the palace ere he quitted the moist stones of the water-gate.

  "Hast thou prepared the cabinet for my friends?" demanded the Signor Soranzo, for it was the same Senator who had been in company with the Doge when the latter went to meet the fishermen.

  "Signore, si."

  "And the quiet, and the lights—as ordered?"

  "Eccellenza, all will be done."

  "Thou hast placed seats for six—we shall be six."

  "Signore, there are six arm-chairs."

  "'Tis well: when the first of my friends arrive, I will join them."

  "Eccellenza, there are already two cavaliers in masks within."

  The Signor Soranzo started, again consulted his watch, and went hastily towards a distant and very silent part of the palace. He reached a small door unattended, and closing it, found himself at once in the presence of those who evidently awaited his appearance.

  "A thousand pardons, Signori," cried the master of the house; "this is novel duty to me, at least—I know not what may be your honorable experience—and the time stole upon me unmarked. I pray for grace, Messires; future diligence shall repair the present neglect."

  Both the visitors were older men than their host, and it was quite evident by their hardened visages they were of much longer practice in the world. His excuses were received with courtesy, and, for a little time, the discourse was entirely of usage and convention.

  "We are in secret here, Signore?" asked one of the guests, after some little time had been wasted in this manner.

  "As the tomb. None enter here unbidden but my wife, and she has this moment taken boat for better enjoyment of the evening."

  "The world gives you credit, Signor Soranzo, for a happy ménage. I hope you have duly considered the necessity of shutting the door even against the Donna Giulietta to-night?"

  "Doubt me not, Signore; the affairs of St. Mark are paramount."

  "I feel myself thrice happy, Signori, that in drawing a lot for the secret council, my good fortune hath given me so excellent colleagues. Believe me, I have discharged this awful trust, in my day, in less agreeable company."

  This flattering speech, which the wily old senator had made regularly to all whom chance had associated with him in the inquisition, during a long life, was well received, and it was returned with equal compliments.

  "It would appear that the worthy Signor Alessandro Gradenigo was one of our predecessors," he continued, looking at some papers; for though the actual three were unknown, at the time being, to all but a few secretaries and officers of the state, Venetian policy transmitted their names to their successors, as a matter of course,—"a noble gentleman, and one of great devotion to the state!"

  The others assented, like men accustomed to speak with caution.

  "We were about to have entered on our duties at a troublesome moment, Signori," observed another. "But it would seem that this tumult of the fishermen has already subsided. I understand the knaves had some reason for their distrust of the state."

  "It is an affair happily settled," answered the senior of the three, who was long practised in the expediency of forgetting all that policy required should cease to be remembered after the object was attained. "The galleys must be manned, else would St. Mark quickly hang his head in shame."

  The Signor Soranzo, who had received some previous instruction in his new duties, looked melancholy; but he, too, was merely the creature of a system.

  "Is there matter of pressing import for our reflection?" he demanded.

  "Signori, there is every reason to believe that the state has just sustained a grievous loss. Ye both well know the heiress of Tiepolo, by reputation at least, though her retired manner of life may have kept you from her company."

  "Donna Giulietta is eloquent in praise of her beauty," said the young husband.

  "We had not a better fortune in Venice," rejoined the third inquisitor.

  "Excellent in qualities, and better in riches, as she is, I fear we have lost her, Signori! Don Camillo Monforte, whom God protect until we have no future use for his influence! had come near to prevail against us; but just as the state baffled his well laid schemes, the lady has been thrown by hazard into the hands of the rioters, since which time there is no account of her movements!"

  Paolo Soranzo secretly hoped she was in the arms of the Neapolitan.

  "A secretary has communicated to me the disappearance of the Duca di Sant' Agata also," observed the third; "nor is the felucca, usually employed in distant and delicate missions, any longer at her anchors."

  The two old men regarded each other as if the truth was beginning to dawn upon their suspicions. They saw that the case was hopeless, and as theirs was altogether a practical duty, no time was lost in useless regrets.

  "We have two affairs which press," observed the elder. "The body of the old fisherman must be laid quietly in the earth with as little risk of future tumult as may be; and we have this notorious Jacopo to dispose of."

  "The latter must first be taken," said the Signor Soranzo.

  "That has been done already. Would you think it, Sirs he was seized in the very palace of the Doge!"

  "To the block with him without delay!"

  The old men again looked at each other, and it was quite apparent that, as both of them had been in previous councils, they had a secret intelligence, to which their companion was yet a stranger. There was also visible in their glances something like a design to manage his feelings before they came more openly to the graver practices of their duties.

  "For the sake of blessed St. Mark, Signori, let justice be done openly in this instance!" continued the unsuspecting member of the Three. "What pity can the bearer of a common stiletto claim? and what more lovely exercise of our authority than to make public an act of severe and much-required justice?"

  The old senators bowed to this sentiment of their c
olleague, which was uttered with the fervor of young experience, and the frankness of an upright mind; for there is a conventional acquiescence in received morals which is permitted, in semblance at least, to adorn the most tortuous.

  "It may be well, Signore Soranzo, to do this homage to the right," returned the elder. "Here have been sundry charges found in different lions' mouths against the Neapolitan, Signor Don Camillo Monforte. I leave it to your wisdom, my illustrious colleagues, to decide on their character."

  "An excess of malice betrays its own origin," exclaimed the least practised member of the Inquisition. "My life on it, Signori, these accusations come of private spleen, and are unworthy of the state's attention. I have consorted much with the young lord of Sant' Agata, and a more worthy gentleman does not dwell among us."

  "Still hath he designs on the hand of old Tiepolo's daughter!"

  "Is it a crime in youth to seek beauty? He did great service to the lady in her need, and that youth should feel these sympathies is nothing strange."

  "Venice hath her sympathies, as well as the youngest of us all, Signore."

  "But Venice cannot wed the heiress!"

  "True. St. Mark must be satisfied with playing the prudent father's part. You are yet young, Signore Soranzo, and the Donna Giulietta is of rare beauty! As life wears upon ye both, ye will see the fortunes of kingdoms, as well as of families, differently. But we waste our breath uselessly in this matter, since our agents have not yet reported their success in the pursuit. The most pressing affair, just now, is the disposition of the Bravo. Hath his Highness shown you the letter of the sovereign pontiff, in the question of the intercepted dispatches, Signore?"

  "He hath. A fair answer was returned by our predecessors, and it must rest there."

  "We will then look freely into the matter of Jacopo Frontoni. There will be necessity of our assembling in the chamber of the Inquisition, that we may have the prisoner confronted to his accusers. 'Tis a grave trial, Signori, and Venice would lose in men's estimation, were not the highest tribunal to take an interest in its decision."