The Bravo (56 page)

"This is a hard fate, reverend friar, could it be but proved!"

"'Tis the evil of secresy and intrigue, great Doge, in managing the
common interests!—"

"Hast thou more of this Francesco, monk?"

"His history is short, Signore; for at the age when most men are active
in looking to their welfare, he was pining in a prison."

"I remember to have heard of some such accusation; but it occurred in
the reign of the last Doge, did it not, father?"

"And he has endured to near the close of the reign of this, Highness!"

"How? The Senate, when apprised of the error of its judgment, was not
slow to repair the wrong!"

The monk regarded the prince earnestly, as if he would make certain
whether the surprise he witnessed was not a piece of consummate acting.
He felt convinced that the affair was one of that class of acts, which,
however oppressive, unjust, and destructive of personal happiness, had
not sufficient importance to come before them, who govern under systems
which care more for their own preservation than for the good of the
ruled. "Signor Doge," he said, "the state is discreet in matters that
touch its own reputation. There are reasons that I shall not presume to
examine, why the cell of poor Francesco was kept closed, long after the
death and confession of his accuser left his innocence beyond dispute."

The prince mused, and then he bethought him to consult the countenance
of his companion. The marble of the pilaster, against which he leaned,
was not more cold and unmoved than the face of the inquisitor. The man
had learned to smother every natural impulse in the assumed and
factitious duties of his office.

"And what has this case of Francesco to do with the execution of the
Bravo?" demanded the Doge, after a pause, in which he had in vain
struggled to assume the indifference of his counsellor.

"That I shall leave this prison-keeper's daughter to explain. Stand
forth, child, and relate what you know, remembering, if you speak before
the Prince of Venice, that you also speak before the King of Heaven!"

Gelsomina trembled, for one of her habits, however supported by her
motives, could not overcome a nature so retiring without a struggle. But
faithful to her promise, and sustained by her affection for the
condemned, she advanced a step, and stood no longer concealed by the
robes of the Carmelite.

"Thou art the daughter of the prison-keeper?" asked the prince mildly,
though surprise was strongly painted in his eye.

"Highness, we are poor, and we are unfortunate: we serve the state for
bread."

"Ye serve a noble master, child. Dost thou know aught of this Bravo?"

"Dread sovereign, they that call him thus know not his heart! One more
true to his friends, more faithful to his word, or more suppliant with
the saints, than Jacopo Frontoni, is not in Venice!"

"This is a character which art might appropriate, even to a bravo. But
we waste the moments. What have these Frontoni in common?"

"Highness, they are father and son. When Jacopo came to be of an age to
understand the misfortunes of his family, he wearied the senators with
applications in his father's behalf, until they commanded the door of
the cell to be secretly opened to a child so pious. I well know, great
prince, that they who rule cannot have all-seeing eyes, else could this
wrong never have happened. But Francesco wasted years in cells, chill
and damp in winter, and scorching in summer, before the falsehood of the
accusation was known. Then, as some relief to sufferings so little
merited, Jacopo was admitted."

"With what object, girl?"

"Highness, was it not in pity? They promised too, that in good time the
service of the son should buy the father's liberty. The patricians were
slow to be convinced, and they made terms with poor Jacopo, who agreed
to undergo a hard service that his father might breathe free air before
he died."

"Thou dealest in enigmas."

"I am little used, great Doge, to speak in such a presence, or on such
subjects. But this I know, that for three weary years hath Jacopo been
admitted to his father's cell, and that those up above consented to the
visits, else would my father have denied them. I was his companion in
the holy act, and will call the blessed Maria and the saints——"

"Girl, didst thou know him for a bravo?"

"Oh! Highness, no. To me he seemed a dutiful child, fearing God and
honoring his parent. I hope never to feel another pang, like that which
chilled my heart when they said, he I had known as the kind Carlo was
hunted in Venice as the abhorred Jacopo! But it is passed, the Mother of
God be praised!"

"Thou art betrothed to this condemned man?"

The color did not deepen on the cheek of Gelsomina at this abrupt
question, for the tie between her and Jacopo had become too sacred for
the ordinary weaknesses of her sex.

"Highness, yes; we were to be married, should it have pleased God, and
those great senators who have so much influence over the happiness of
the poor, to permit it."

"And thou art still willing, knowing the man, to pledge thy vows to one
like Jacopo?"

"It is because I do know him to be as he is, that I most reverence him,
great Doge. He has sold his time and his good name to the state, in
order to save his imprisoned father, and in that I see nothing to
frighten one he loves."

"This affair needs explanation, Carmelite. The girl has a heated fancy,
and she renders that obscure she should explain."

"Illustrious prince, she would say that the Republic was content to
grant the son the indulgence of visiting the captive, with some
encouragement of his release, on condition that the youth might serve
the police by bearing a bravo's reputation."

"And for this incredible tale, father, you have the word of a condemned,
criminal!"

"With the near view of death before his eyes. There are means of
rendering truth evident, familiar to those who are often near the dying
penitents, that are unknown to those of the world. In any case, Signore,
the matter is worthy of investigation."

"In that thou art right. Is the hour named for the execution?"

"With the morning light, prince."

"And the father?"

"Is dead."

"A prisoner, Carmelite!"

"A prisoner, Prince of Venice."

There was a pause.

"Hast thou heard of the death of one named Antonio?"

"Signore, yes. By the sacred nature of my holy office, do I affirm that
of this crime is Jacopo innocent! I shrived the fisherman."

The Doge turned away, for the truth began to dawn upon him, and the
flush which glowed on his aged cheek contained a confession that might
not be observed by every eye. He sought the glance of his companion, but
his own expression of human feeling was met by the disciplined features
of the other, as light is coldly repelled from polished stone.

"Highness!" added a tremulous voice.

"What would'st thou, child?"

"There is a God for the Republic, as well as for the gondolier! Your
Highness will turn this great crime from Venice?"

"Thou art of plain speech, girl!"

"The danger of Carlo has made me bold. You are much beloved by the
people, and none speak of you, that they do not speak of your goodness,
and of your desire to serve the poor. You are the root of a rich and
happy family, and you will not—nay, you cannot if you would, think it a
crime for a son to devote all to a father. You are our father, and we
have a right to come to you, even for mercy—but, Highness, I ask only
for justice."

"Justice is the motto of Venice."

"They who live in the high favor of Providence do not always know what
the unhappy undergo. It has pleased God to afflict my own poor mother,
who has griefs that, but for her patience and Christian faith, would
have been hard to bear. The little care I had it in my power to show,
first caught Jacopo's eye, for his heart was then full of the duty of
the child. Would your Highness consent to see poor Carlo, or to command
him to be brought hither, his simple tale would give the lie to every
foul slander they have dared to say against him."

"It is unnecessary—it is unnecessary. Thy faith in his innocence, girl,
is more eloquent than any words of his can prove."

A gleam of joy irradiated the face of Gelsomina, who turned eagerly to
the listening monk, as she continued—

"His Highness listens," she said, "and we shall prevail! Father, they
menace in Venice, and alarm the timid, but they will never do the deed
we feared. Is not the God of Jacopo my God, and your God?—the God of
the senate and of the Doge?—of the Council and of the Republic? I would
the secret members of the Three could have seen poor Jacopo, as I have
seen him, coming from his toil, weary with labor and heart-broken with
delay, enter the winter or the summer cell—chilling or scorching as the
season might be—struggling to be cheerful, that the falsely accused
might not feel a greater weight of misery. Oh! venerable and kind
prince, you little know the burden that the feeble are often made to
carry, for to you life has been sunshine; but there are millions who are
condemned to do that they loathe, that they may not do that they dread."

"Child, thou tell'st me nothing new."

"Except in convincing you, Highness, that Jacopo is not the monster they
would have him. I do not know the secret reasons of the councils for
wishing the youth to lend himself to a deception that had nigh proved so
fatal; but all is explained, we have naught now to fear. Come, father;
we will leave the good and just Doge to go to rest, as suits his years,
and we will return to gladden the heart of Jacopo with our success, and
thank the blessed Maria for her favor."

"Stay!" exclaimed the half-stifled old man. "Is this true that thou
tellest me, girl:—Father, can it be so!"

"Signore, I have said all that truth and my conscience have prompted."

The prince seemed bewildered, turning his look from the motionless girl
to the equally immovable member of the Three.

"Come hither, child," he said, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Come
hither, that I may bless thee." Gelsomina sprang forward, and knelt at
the feet of her sovereign. Father Anselmo never uttered a clearer or
more fervent benediction than that which fell from the lips of the
Prince of Venice. He raised the daughter of the prison-keeper, and
motioned for both his visitors to withdraw. Gelsomina willingly
complied, for her heart was already in the cell of Jacopo, in the
eagerness to communicate her success; but the Carmelite lingered to cast
a look behind, like one better acquainted with the effects of worldly
policy, when connected with the interests of those who pervert
governments to the advantage of the privileged. As he passed through the
door, however, he felt his hopes revive, for he saw the aged prince,
unable any longer to suppress his feelings, hastening towards his still
silent companion, with both hands extended, eyes moistening with tears,
and a look that betrayed the emotions of one anxious to find relief in
human sympathies.

"On—on—
It Is our knell, or that of Venice.—On."
MARINO FALIERO.

Another morning called the Venetians to their affairs. Agents of the
police had been active in preparing the public mind, and as the sun rose
above the narrow sea, the squares began to fill. There were present the
curious citizen in his, cloak and cap, bare-legged laborers in wondering
awe, the circumspect Hebrew in his gaberdine and beard, masked
gentlemen, and many an attentive stranger from among the thousands who
still frequented that declining mart. It was rumored that an act of
retributive justice was about to take place, for the peace of the town
and the protection of the citizen. In short, curiosity, idleness, and
revenge, with all the usual train of human feelings, had drawn together
a multitude eager to witness the agonies of a fellow-creature.

The Dalmatians were drawn up near the sea, in a manner to inclose the
two granite columns of the Piazzetta. Their grave and disciplined faces
fronted inwards towards the African pillars, those well known landmarks
of death. A few grim warriors of higher rank paced the flags before the
troops, while a dense crowd filled the exterior space. By special favor
more than a hundred fishermen were grouped within the armed men,
witnesses that their class had revenge. Between the lofty pedestals of
St. Theodore and the winged lion lay the block and the axe, the basket
and the saw-dust; the usual accompaniments of justice in that day. By
their side stood the executioner.

At length a movement in the living mass drew every eye towards the gate
of the palace. A murmur arose, the multitude wavered, and a small body
of the Sbirri came into view. Their steps were swift like the march of
destiny. The Dalmatians opened to receive these ministers of fate into
their bosom, and closing their ranks again, appeared to preclude the
world with its hopes from the condemned. On reaching the block between
the columns the Sbirri fell off in files, waiting at a little distance,
while Jacopo was left before the engines of death attended by his
ghostly counsellor, the Carmelite. The action left them open to the gaze
of the throng.

Father Anselmo was in the usual attire of a bare-footed friar of his
order. The cowl of the holy man was thrown back, exposing his mortified
lineaments and his self-examining eye to those around. The expression of
his countenance was that of bewildered uncertainty, relieved by frequent
but fitful glimmerings of hope. Though his lips were constant in prayer,
his looks wandered, by an irrepressible impulse, from one window of the
Doge's palace to another. He took his station near the condemned,
however, and thrice crossed himself fervently.

Jacopo had tranquilly placed his person before the block. His head was
bare, his cheek colorless, his throat and neck uncovered from the
shoulders, his body in its linen, and the rest of his form was clad in
the ordinary dress of a gondolier. He kneeled with his face bowed to the
block, repeated a prayer, and rising he faced the multitude with dignity
and composure. As his eye moved slowly over the array of human
countenances by which he was environed, a hectic glowed on his features,
for not one of them all betrayed sympathy in his sufferings. His breast
heaved, and those nearest to his person thought the self-command of the
miserable man was about to fail him. The result disappointed
expectation. There was a shudder, and the limbs settled into repose.