The Bravo (27 page)

"A prison, sayest thou, father!"

"No less, daughter. Lighter offences are often expiated by heavier
judgments, when the pleasure of the Senate is thwarted."

"Thou must not be condemned to a prison, Camillo!"

"Fear it not. The years and peaceful calling of the father make him
timid. I have long been prepared for this happy moment, and I ask but a
single hour to put Venice and all her toils at defiance. Give me the
blessed assurance of thy truth, and confide in my means for the rest."

"Thou nearest, Florinda!"

"This bearing is suited to the sex of Don Camillo, dearest, but it ill
becometh thee. A maiden of high quality must await the decision of her
natural guardians."

"But should that choice be Giacomo Gradenigo?"

"The Senate will not hear of it. The arts of his father have long been
known to thee; and thou must have seen, by the secresy of his own
advances, that he distrusts their decision. The state will have a care
to dispose of thee as befitteth thy hopes. Thou art sought of many, and
those who guard thy fortune only await the proposals which best become
thy birth."

"Proposals that become my birth?"

"Suitable in years, condition, expectations, and character."

"Am I to regard Don Camillo Monforte as one beneath me?"

The monk again interposed.

"This interview must end," he said. "The eyes drawn upon us by your
indiscreet music, are now turned on other objects, Signore, and you must
break your faith, or depart."

"Alone, father?"

"Is the Donna Violetta to quit the roof of her father with as little
warning as an unfavored dependant?"

"Nay, Signor Monforte, you could not, in reason, have expected more, in
this interview, than the hope of some future termination to your suit—
some pledge—"

"And that pledge?"

The eye of Violetta turned from her governess to her lover, from her
lover to the monk, and from the latter to the floor.

"Is thine, Camillo."

A common cry escaped the Carmelite and the governess.

"Thy mercy, excellent friends," continued the blushing but decided
Violetta. "If I have encouraged Don Camillo, in a manner that thy
counsels and maiden modesty would reprove, reflect that had he hesitated
to cast himself into the Giudecca, I should have wanted the power to
confer this trifling grace. Why should I be less generous than my
preserver? No, Camillo, when the senate condemns me to wed another than
thee, it pronounces the doom of celibacy; I will hide my griefs in a
convent till I die!"

There was a solemn and fearful interruption to a discourse which was so
rapidly becoming explicit, by the sound of the bell, that the groom of
the chambers, a long-tried and confidential domestic, had been commanded
to ring before he entered. As this injunction had been accompanied by
another not to appear, unless summoned, or urged by some grave motive,
the signal caused a sudden pause, even at that interesting moment.

"How now!" exclaimed the Carmelite to the servant, who abruptly entered.
"What means this disregard of my injunctions?"

"Father, the Republic!"

"Is St. Mark in jeopardy, that females and priests are summoned to aid
him?"

"There are officials of the state below, who demand admission in the
name of the Republic?"

"This grows serious," said Don Camillo, who alone retained his
self-possession. "My visit is known, and the active jealousy of the
state anticipates its object. Summon your resolution, Donna Violetta,
and you, father, be of heart! I will assume the responsibility of the
offence, if offence it be, and exonerate all others from censure."

"Forbid it, Father Anselmo. Dearest Florinda, we will share his
punishment!" exclaimed the terrified Violetta, losing all self-command
in the fear of such a moment. "He has not been guilty of this
indiscretion without participation of mine; he has not presumed beyond
his encouragement."

The monk and Donna Florinda regarded each other in mute amazement, and
haply there was some admixture of feeling in the look that denoted the
uselessness of caution when the passions were intent to elude the
vigilance of those who were merely prompted by prudence. The former
simply motioned for silence, while he turned to the domestic.

"Of what character are these ministers of the state?" he demanded.

"Father, they are its known officers, and wear the badges of their
condition."

"And their request?"

"Is to be admitted to the presence of the Donna Violetta."

"There is still hope!" rejoined the monk, breathing more freely. Moving
across the room, he opened a door which communicated with the private
oratory of the palace. "Retire within this sacred chapel, Don Camillo,
while we await the explanation of so extraordinary a visit."

As the time pressed, the suggestion was obeyed on the instant. The lover
entered the oratory, and when the door was closed upon his person, the
domestic, one known to be worthy of all confidence, was directed to
usher in those who waited without.

But a single individual appeared. He was known, at a glance, for a
public and responsible agent of the government, who was often charged
with the execution of secret and delicate duties. Donna Violetta
advanced to meet him, in respect to his employers, and with the return
of that self-possession which long practice interweaves with the habits
of the great.

"I am honored by this care of my dreaded and illustrious guardians," she
said, making an acknowledgment for the low reverence with which the
official saluted the richest ward of Venice. "To what circumstance do I
owe this visit?"

The officer gazed an instant about him, with an habitual and suspicious
caution, and then repeating his salutations, he answered.

"Lady," he said, "I am commanded to seek an interview with the daughter
of the state, the heiress of the illustrious house of Tiepolo, with the
Donna Florinda Mercato, her female companion, with the Father Anselmo,
her commissioned confessor, and with any other who enjoy the pleasure of
her society and the honor of her confidence."

"Those you seek are here; I am Violetta Tiepolo; to this lady am I
indebted for a mother's care, and this reverend Carmelite is my
spiritual counsellor. Shall I summon my household?"

"It is unnecessary. My errand is rather of private than of public
concern. At the decease of your late most honored and much lamented
parent, the illustrious senator Tiepolo, the care of your person, lady,
was committed by the Republic, your natural and careful protector, to
the especial guardianship and wisdom of Signore Alessandro Gradenigo, of
illustrious birth and estimable qualities."

"Signore, you say true."

"Though the parental love of the councils may have seemed to be dormant,
it has ever been wakeful and vigilant. Now that the years, instruction,
beauty, and other excellences of their daughter, have come to so rare
perfection, they wish to draw the ties that unite them nearer, by
assuming their own immediate duties about her person."

"By this I am to understand that I am no longer a ward of the Signor
Gradenigo?"

"Lady, a ready wit has helped you to the explanation. That illustrious
patrician is released from his cherished and well acquitted duties.
To-morrow new guardians will be charged with the care of your prized
person, and will continue their honorable trust, until the wisdom of the
Senate shall have formed for you such an alliance, as shall not
disparage a noble name and qualities that might adorn a throne."

"Am I to be separated from those I love?" demanded Violetta impetuously.

"Trust to the Senate's wisdom. I know not its determination concerning
those who have long dwelt with you, but there can be no reason to doubt
its tenderness or discretion. I have now only to add, that until those
charged anew with the honorable office of your protectors shall arrive,
it will be well to maintain the same modest reserve in the reception of
visitors as of wont, and that your door, lady, must in propriety be
closed against the Signor Gradenigo as against all others of his sex."

"Shall I not even thank him for his care?"

"He is tenfold rewarded in the Senate's gratitude."

"It would have been gracious to have expressed my feelings towards the
Signor Gradenigo in words; but that which is refused to the tongue will
be permitted to the pen."

"The reserve that becomes the state of one so favored is absolute. St.
Mark is jealous where he loves. And, now my commission is discharged, I
humbly take my leave, flattered in having been selected to stand in such
a presence, and to have been thought worthy of so honorable a duty."

As the officer ceased speaking and Violetta returned his bows, she fixed
her eyes, filled with apprehension, on the sorrowful features of her
companions. The ambiguous language of those employed in such missions
was too well known to leave much hope for the future. They all
anticipated their separation on the morrow, though neither could
penetrate the reason of this sudden change in the policy of the state.
Interrogation was useless, for the blow evidently came from the secret
council, whose motives could no more be fathomed than its decrees
foreseen. The monk raised his hands in silent benediction towards his
spiritual charge, and unable, even in the presence of the stranger, to
repress their grief, Donna Florinda and Violetta sank into each other's
arms, and wept.

In the mean time the minister of this cruel blow had delayed his
departure, like one who had a half-formed resolution. He regarded the
countenance of the unconscious Carmelite intently, and in a manner that
denoted the habit of thinking much before he decided.

"Reverend Father," he said, "may I crave a moment of your time, for an
affair that concerns the soul of a sinner?"

Though amazed, the monk could not hesitate about answering such an
appeal. Obedient to a gesture of the officer, he followed him from the
apartment, and continued at his side while the other threaded the
magnificent rooms and descended to his gondola.

"You must be much honored of the Senate, holy monk," observed the latter
while they proceeded, "to hold so near a trust about the person of one
in whom the state takes so great an interest?"

"I feel it as such, my son. A life of peace and prayer should have made
me friends."

"Men like you, father, merit the esteem they crave. Are you long of
Venice?"

"Since the last conclave. I came into the Republic as confessor to the
late minister from Florence."

"An honorable trust. You have been with us then long enough to know that
the Republic never forgets a servitor, nor forgives an affront."

"'Tis an ancient state, and one whose influence still reaches far and
near."

"Have a care of the step. These marbles are treacherous to an uncertain
foot."

"Mine is too practised in the descent to be unsteady. I hope I do not
now descend these stairs for the last time?"

The minister of the council affected not to understand the question,
but he answered as if replying only to the previous observation.

"'Tis truly a venerable state," he said, "but a little tottering with
its years. All who love liberty, father, must mourn to see so glorious a
sway on the decline.
Sic transit gloria mundi!
You bare-footed
Carmelites do well to mortify the flesh in youth, by which you escape
the pains of a decreasing power. One like you can have few wrongs of his
younger days to repair?"

"We are none of us without sin," returned the monk, crossing himself.
"He who would flatter his soul with being perfect lays the additional
weight of vanity on his life."

"Men of my occupation, holy Carmelite, have few opportunities of looking
into themselves, and I bless the hour that hath brought me into company
so godly. My gondola waits—will you enter?"

The monk regarded his companion in distrust, but knowing the uselessness
of resistance, he murmured a short prayer and complied. A strong dash of
the oars announced their departure from the steps of the palace.

O pescator! dell' onda
Fi da lin;
O pescator! dell' onda,
Fi da lin;
Vien pescar in qua;
Colla bella tua barca,
Colla bella se ne va,
Fi da lin, lin, la—
VENETIAN BOAT SONG.

The moon was at the height. Its rays fell in a flood on the swelling
domes and massive roofs of Venice, while the margin of the town was
brilliantly defined by the glittering bay. The natural and gorgeous
setting was more than worthy of that picture of human magnificence; for
at that moment, rich as was the Queen of the Adriatic in her works of
art, the grandeur of her public monuments, the number and splendor of
her palaces, and most else that the ingenuity and ambition of man could
attempt, she was but secondary in the glories of the hour.

Above was the firmament, gemmed with worlds, and sublime in immensity.
Beneath lay the broad expanse of the Adriatic, endless to the eye,
tranquil as the vault it reflected, and luminous with its borrowed
light. Here and there a low island, reclaimed from the sea by the
patient toil of a thousand years, dotted the Lagunes, burdened with the
group of some conventual dwellings, or picturesque with the modest roofs
of a hamlet of the fisherman. Neither oar, nor song, nor laugh, nor flap
of sail, nor jest of mariner, disturbed the stillness. All in the near
view was clothed in midnight loveliness, and all in the distance bespoke
the solemnity of nature at peace. The city and the Lagunes, the gulf
and the dreamy Alps, the interminable plain of Lombardy, and the blue
void of heaven, lay alike in a common and grand repose.

There suddenly appeared a gondola. It issued from among the watery
channels of the town, and glided upon the vast bosom of the bay,
noiseless as the fancied progress of a spirit. A practised and nervous
arm guided its movement, which was unceasing and rapid. So swift indeed
was the passage of the boat, as to denote pressing haste on the part of
the solitary individual it contained. It held the direction of the
Adriatic, steering between one of the more southern outlets of the bay
and the well known island of St. Giorgio. For half an hour the exertions
of the gondolier were unrelaxed, though his eye was often cast behind
him, as if he distrusted pursuit; and as often did he gaze ahead,
betraying an anxious desire to reach some object that was yet invisible.
When a wide reach of water lay between him and the town, however, he
permitted his oar to rest, and he lent all his faculties to a keen and
anxious search.