The Bravo (43 page)

"But whither?" asked the bewildered woman, when she had read aloud the
scroll.

"Anywhere but here," rejoined Donna Violetta; "follow me."

Nature frequently more than supplies the advantages of training and
experience, by her own gifts. Had Donna Florinda been possessed of the
natural decision and firmness of her pupil, she would not now have been
existing in the isolated condition which is so little congenial to
female habits, nor would Father Anselmo have been a monk. Both had
sacrificed inclination to what they considered to be duty, and if the
ungenial life of the governess was owing to the tranquil course of her
ordinary feelings, it is probable that its impunity was to be ascribed
to the same respectable cause. Not so with Violetta. She was ever more
ready to act than to reflect, and though, in general, the advantage
might possibly be with those of a more regulated temperament, there are
occasions that form exceptions to the rule. The present moment was one
of those turns in the chances of life, when it is always better to do
anything than to do nothing.

Donna Violetta had scarcely spoken, before her person was shadowed
beneath the arches of the Broglio. Her governess clung to her side, more
in affection than in compliance with the warnings of the monk, or with
the dictates of her own reason. A vague and romantic intention of
throwing herself at the feet of the Doge, who was a collateral
descendant of her own ancient house, had flashed across the mind of the
youthful bride, when she first fled; but no sooner had they reached the
palace, than a cry from the court acquainted them with its situation,
and consequently with the impossibility of penetrating to the interior.

"Let us retire, by the streets, to thy dwelling, my child," said Donna
Florinda, drawing her mantle about her in womanly dignity. "None will
offend females of our condition; even the Senate must, in the end,
respect our sex."

"This from thee, Florinda! Thou, who hast so often trembled for their
anger! But go, if thou wilt—I am no longer the Senate's. Don Camillo
Monforte has my duty."

Donna Florinda had no intention of disputing this point, and as the
moment had now arrived when the most energetic was likely to lead, she
quietly submitted herself to the superior decision of her pupil. The
latter took the way along the portico, keeping always within its
shadows. In passing the gateway which opened towards the sea, the
fugitives had a glimpse of what was going on in the court. The sight
quickened their steps, and they now flew, rather than ran, along the
arched passage. In a minute they were on the bridge which crosses the
canal of St. Mark, still flying with all their force. A few mariners
were looking from their feluccas and gazing in curiosity, but the sight
of two terrified females, seeking refuge from a mob, had nothing in
itself likely to attract notice.

At this moment, a dark mass of human bodies appeared advancing along the
quay in the opposite direction. Arms glittered in the moon-beams, and
the measured tread of trained men became audible. The Dalmatians were
moving down from the arsenal in a body. Advance and retreat now seemed
equally impossible to the breathless fugitives. As decision and
self-possession are very different qualities, Donna Violetta did not
understand so readily as the circumstances required, that it was more
than probable the hirelings of the Republic would consider the flight
perfectly natural, as it had appeared to the curious gazers of the port.

Terror made them blind, and as shelter was now the sole object of the
fugitives, they would probably have sought it in the chamber of doom
itself, had there been an opportunity. As it was, they turned and
entered the first, and indeed the only gate which offered. They were met
by a girl, whose anxious face betrayed that singular compound of
self-devotion and terror, which probably has its rise in the instinct of
feminine sympathies.

"Here is safety, noble ladies," said the youthful Venetian, in the soft
accent of her native islands; "none will dare do you harm within these
walls."

"Into whose palace have I entered?" demanded the half-breathless
Violetta. "If its owner has a name in Venice, he will not refuse
hospitality to a daughter of Tiepolo."

"Signora, you are welcome," returned the gentle girl, curtsying low, and
still leading the way deeper within the vast edifice. "You bear the name
of an illustrious house!"

"There are few in the Republic of note, from whom I may not claim,
either the kindness of ancient and near services, or that of kindred.
Dost thou serve a noble master?"

"The first in Venice, lady."

"Name him, that we may demand his hospitality as befits us."

"Saint Mark."

Donna Violetta and her governess stopped short.

"Have we unconsciously entered a portal of the palace?"

"That were impossible, lady, since the canal lies between you and the
residence of the Doge. Still is St. Mark master here. I hope you will
not esteem your safety less, because it has been obtained in the public
prison, and by the aid of its keeper's daughter."

The moment for headlong decision was passed, and that of reflection had
returned.

"How art thou called, child?" asked Donna Florinda, moving ahead of her
pupil and taking the discourse up, where in wonder the other had
permitted it to pause. "We are truly grateful for the readiness with
which thou threw open the gate for our admission, in a moment of such
alarm—How art thou called?"

"Gelsomina," answered the modest girl. "I am the keeper's only
child—and when I saw ladies of your honorable condition fleeing on the
quay, with the Dalmatians marching on one side, and a mob shouting on
the other, I bethought me that even a prison might be welcome."

"Thy goodness of heart did not mislead thee."

"Had I known it was a lady of the Tiepolo, I should have been even more
ready; for there are few of that great name now left to do us honor."

Violetta curtsied to the compliment, but she seemed uneasy that haste
and pride of rank had led her so indiscreetly to betray herself.

"Canst thou not lead us to some place less public?" she asked,
observing that her conductor had stopped in a public corridor to make
this explanation.

"Here you will be retired as in your own palaces, great ladies,"
answered Gelsomina, turning into a private passage, and leading the way
towards the rooms of her family, from a window of which she had first
witnessed the embarrassment of her guests. "None enter here, without
cause, but my father and myself; and my father is much occupied with his
charge."

"Hast thou no domestic?"

"None, lady. A prison-keeper's daughter should not be too proud to serve
herself."

"Thou sayest well. One of thy discretion, good Gelsomina, must know it
is not seemly for females of condition to be thrown within walls like
these, even by accident, and thou wilt do us much favor, by taking more
than common means to be certain that we are unseen. We give thee much
trouble, but it shall not go unrequited. Here is gold."

Gelsomina did not answer, but as she stood with her eyes cast to the
floor, the color stole to her cheeks, until her usually bloodless face
was in a soft glow.

"Nay, I have mistaken thy character!" said Donna Florinda, secreting the
sequins, and taking the unresisting hand of the silent girl. "If I have
pained thee by my indiscretion, attribute the offer to our dread of the
disgrace of being seen in this place."

The glow deepened, and the lips of the girl quivered.

"Is it then a disgrace to be innocently within these walls, lady?" she
asked, still with an averted eye. "I have long suspected this, but none
has ever before said it, in my hearing!"

"Holy Maria pardon me! If I have uttered a syllable to pain thee,
excellent girl, it has been unwittingly and without intention!"

"We are poor, lady, and the needy must submit to do that which their
wishes might lead them to avoid. I understand your feelings, and will
make sure of your being secret, and Blessed Maria will pardon a greater
sin than any you have committed here."

While the ladies were wondering, at witnessing such proofs of delicacy
and feeling in so singular a place, the girl withdrew.

"I had not expected this in a prison!" exclaimed Violetta.

"As all is not noble or just in a palace, neither is all to be condemned
unheard, that we find in a prison. But this is, in sooth, an
extraordinary girl for her condition, and we are indebted to blessed St.
Theodore (crossing herself) for putting her in our way."

"Can we do better than by making her a confidante and a friend?"

The governess was older, and less disposed than her pupil to confide in
appearances. But the more ardent mind and superior rank of the latter
had given her an influence that the former did not always successfully
resist. Gelsomina returned before there was time to discuss the prudence
of what Violetta had proposed.

"Thou hast a father, Gelsomina?" asked the Venetian heiress, taking the
hand of the gentle girl, as she put her question.

"Holy Maria be praised! I have still that happiness."

"It is a happiness—for surely a father would not have the heart to sell
his own child to ambition and mercenary hopes! And thy mother?"

"Has long been bed-ridden, lady. I believe we should not have been here,
but we have no other place so suitable for her sufferings as this jail."

"Gelsomina, thou art happier than I, even in thy prison. I am
fatherless—motherless—I could almost say, friendless."

"And this from a lady of the Tiepolo!"

"All is not as it seems in this evil world, kind Gelsomina. We have had
many Doges, but we have had much suffering. Thou mayest have heard that
the house of which I come is reduced to a single, youthful girl like
thyself, who has been left in the Senate's charge?"

"They speak little of these matters, lady, in Venice; and, of all here,
none go so seldom into the square as I. Still have I heard of the beauty
and riches of Donna Violetta. The last I hope is true; the first I now
see is so."

The daughter of Tiepolo colored, in turn, but it was not in resentment.

"They have spoken in too much kindness for an orphan," she answered;
"though that fatal wealth is perhaps not over-estimated. Thou knowest
that the state charges itself with the care and establishment of all
noble females, whom Providence has left fatherless?"

"Lady, I did not. It is kind of St. Mark to do it!"

"Thou wilt think differently, anon. Thou art young, Gelsomina, and hast
passed thy time in privacy?"

"True, lady. It is seldom I go further than my mother's room, or the
cell of some suffering prisoner."

Violetta looked towards her governess, with an expression which seemed
to say, that she anticipated her appeal would be made in vain, to one so
little exposed to the feelings of the world.

"Thou wilt not understand, then, that a noble female may have little
inclination to comply with all the Senate's wishes, in disposing of her
duties and affections?"

Gelsomina gazed at the fair speaker, but it was evident that she did not
clearly comprehend the question. Again Violetta looked at the governess
as if asking aid.

"The duties of our sex are often painful," said Donna Florinda,
understanding the appeal with female instinct. "Our attachments may not
always follow the wishes of our friends. We may not choose, but we
cannot always obey."

"I have heard that noble ladies are not suffered to see those to whom
they are to be wedded, Signora, if that is what your eccellenza means,
and, to me, the custom has always seemed unjust, if not cruel."

"And are females of thy class permitted to make friends among those who
may become dearer at any other day?" asked Violetta.

"Lady, we have that much freedom even in the prisons."

"Then art thou happier than those of the palaces! I will trust thee,
generous girl, for thou canst not be unfaithful to the weakness and
wrongs of thy sex."

Gelsomina raised a hand, as if to stop the impetuous confidence of her
guest, and then she listened intently.

"Few enter here," she said; "but there are many ways of learning secrets
within these walls which are still unknown to me. Come deeper into the
rooms, noble ladies, for here is a place that I have reason to think is
safe, even from listeners."

The keeper's daughter led the way into the little room in which she was
accustomed to converse with Jacopo.

"You were saying, lady, that I had a feeling for the weakness and
helplessness of our sex, and surely you did me justice."

Violetta had leisure to reflect an instant, in passing from one room to
the other, and she began her communications with more reserve. But the
sensitive interest that a being of the gentle nature and secluded habits
of Gelsomina took in her narrative, won upon her own natural frankness,
and, in a manner nearly imperceptible to herself, she made the keeper's
daughter mistress of most of the circumstances under which she had
entered the prison.

The cheek of Gelsomina became colorless as she listened and when Donna
Violetta ceased, every limb of her slight frame trembled with interest.

"The Senate is a fearful power to resist!" she said, speaking so low as
hardly to be audible. "Have you reflected, lady, on the chances of what
you do?"

"If I have not, it is now too late to change my intentions, I am the
wife of the Duke of Sant' Agata, and can never wed another."

"Gesu! This is true. And yet, methinks, I would choose to die a nun
rather than offend the council!"

"Thou knowest not, good girl, to what courage the heart of even a young
wife is equal. Thou art still bound to thy father, in the instruction
and habits of childhood, but thou mayest live to know that all thy hopes
will centre in another."