The Bravo (54 page)

Jacopo received his visitor calmly, but with the deep respect of one who
reverenced his body office. He arose, crossed himself, and advanced as
far as the chains permitted, to do him honor.

"Thou art welcome, father," he said; "in cutting me off from earth, the
Council, I see, does not wish to cut me off from God."

"That would exceed their power, son. He who died for them, shed his
blood for thee, if thou wilt not reject his grace. But—Heaven knows I
say it with reluctance! thou art not to think that one of thy sins,
Jacopo, can have hope without deep and heartfelt repentance!"

"Father, have any?"

The Carmelite started, for the point of the question, and the tranquil
tones of the speaker, had a strange effect in such an interview.

"Thou art not what I had supposed thee, Jacopo!" he answered. "Thy mind
is not altogether obscured in darkness, and thy crimes have been
committed against the consciousness of their enormity."

"I fear this is true, reverend monk."

"Thou must feel their weight in the poignancy of grief—in the—" Father
Anselmo stopped, for a sob at that moment apprised them that they were
not alone. Moving aside, in a little alarm, the action discovered the
figure of the shrinking Gelsomina, who had entered the cell, favored by
the keepers, and concealed by the robes of the Carmelite. Jacopo groaned
when he beheld her form, and turning away, he leaned against the wall.

"Daughter, why art thou here—and who art thou?" demanded the monk.

"'Tis the child of the principal keeper," said Jacopo, perceiving that
she was unable to answer, "one known to me, in my frequent adventures in
this prison."

The eye of Father Anselmo wandered from one to the other. At first its
expression was severe, and then, as it saw each countenance in turn, it
became less unkind, until it softened at the exhibition of their mutual
agony.

"This comes of human passions!" he said, in a tone between consolation
and reproof. "Such are ever the fruits of crime."

"Father," said Jacopo, with earnestness, "I may deserve the word; but
the angels in Heaven are scarce purer than this weeping girl!"

"I rejoice to hear it. I will believe thee, unfortunate man, and glad am
I that thy soul is relieved from the sin of having corrupted one so
youthful."

The bosom of the prisoner heaved, while Gelsomina shuddered.

"Why hast thou yielded to the weakness of nature, and entered the cell?"
asked the good Carmelite, endeavoring to throw into his eye a reproof,
that the pathos and kindness of his tones contradicted. "Didst thou know
the character of the man thou loved?"

"Immaculate Maria!" exclaimed the girl—"no—no—no—no!"

"And now that thou hast learned the truth, surely thou art no longer the
victim of wayward fancies!"

The gaze of Gelsomina was bewildered, but anguish prevailed over all
other expression. She bowed her head, partly in shame, but more in
sorrow, without answering.

"I know not, children, what end this interview can answer," continued
the monk. "I am sent hither to receive the last confession of a Bravo,
and surely, one who has so much cause to condemn the deception he has
practised, would not wish to hear the details of such a life?"

"No—no—no—" murmured Gelsomina again, enforcing her words with a wild
gesture of the hand.

"It is better, father, that she should believe me all that her fancy can
imagine as monstrous," said Jacopo, in a thick voice: "she will then
learn to hate my memory."

Gelsomina did not speak, but the negative gesture was repeated
franticly.

"The heart of the poor child hath been sorely touched," said the
Carmelite, with concern. "We must not treat so tender a flower rudely.
Hearken to me, daughter, and consult thy reason, more than thy
weakness."

"Question her not, father; let her curse me, and depart."

"Carlo!" shrieked Gelsomina.

A long pause succeeded. The monk perceived that human passion was
superior to his art, and that the case must be left to time; while the
prisoner maintained within himself a struggle more fierce than any which
it had yet been his fate to endure. The lingering desires of the world
conquered, and he broke silence.

"Father," he said, advancing to the length of his chain, and speaking
both solemnly and with dignity, "I had hoped—I had prayed that this
unhappy but innocent creature might have turned from her own weakness
with loathing, when she came to know that the man she loved was a Bravo.
But I did injustice to the heart of woman! Tell me, Gelsomina, and as
thou valuest thy salvation deceive me not—canst thou look at me without
horror?"

Gelsomina trembled, but she raised her eyes, and smiled on him as the
weeping infant returns the earnest and tender regard of its mother. The
effect of that glance on Jacopo was so powerful that his sinewy frame
shook, until the wondering Carmelite heard the clanking of his chains.

"'Tis enough," he said, struggling to command himself, "Gelsomina, thou
shalt hear my confession. Thou hast long been mistress of one great
secret, none other shall be hid from thee."

"Antonio!" gasped the girl. "Carlo! Carlo! what had that aged fisherman
done that thy hand should seek his life?"

"Antonio!" echoed the monk; "dost thou stand charged with his death, my
son?"

"It is the crime for which I am condemned to die."

The Carmelite sank upon the stool of the prisoner, and sat motionless,
looking with an eye of horror from the countenance of the unmoved Jacopo
to that of his trembling companion. The truth began to dawn upon him,
though his mind was still enveloped in the web of Venetian mystery.

"Here is some horrible mistake!" he whispered. "I will hasten to thy
judges and undeceive them."

The prisoner smiled calmly, as he reached out a hand to arrest the
zealous movement of the simple Carmelite.

"'Twill be useless," he said; "it is the pleasure of the Three that I
should suffer for old Antonio's death."

"Then wilt thou die unjustly! I am a witness that he fell by other
hands."

"Father!" shrieked Gelsomina, "oh! repeat the words; say that Carlo
could not do the cruel deed!"

"Of that murder, at least, he is innocent."

"Gelsomina!" said Jacopo, struggling to stretch forth his arms towards
her, and yielding to a full heart, "and of every other!"

A cry of wild delight burst from the lips of the girl, who in the next
instant lay senseless on his bosom.

We draw the veil before the scene that followed. Near an hour must pass
before we can again remove it. The cell then exhibited a group in its
centre, over which the lamp shed its feeble light, marking the
countenances of the different personages with strong tints and deep
shadows, in a manner to bring forth all the force of Italian expression.
The Carmelite was seated on the stool, while Jacopo and Gelsomina knelt
beside him. The former of the two last was speaking earnestly, while his
auditors caught each syllable that issued from his lips, as if interest
in his innocence were still stronger than curiosity.

"I have told you, father," he continued, "that a false accusation of
having wronged the customs brought my unhappy parent under the Senate's
displeasure, and that he was many years an innocent inhabitant of one of
these accursed cells, while we believed him in exile among the islands.
At length we succeeded in getting such proof before the Council, as
ought to have satisfied the patricians of their own injustice. I am
afraid that when men pretend that the chosen of the earth exercise
authority, they are not ready to admit their errors, for it would be
proof against the merit of their system. The Council delayed a weary
time to do us justice—so long, that my poor mother sank under her
sufferings. My sister, a girl of Gelsomina's years, followed her
soon—for the only reason given by the state, when pressed for proof,
was the suspicion that one who sought her love was guilty of the crime
for which my unhappy father perished."

"And did they refuse to repair their injustice?" exclaimed the
Carmelite.

"They could not do it, father, without publishing their fallibility. The
credit of certain great patricians was concerned, and I fear there is a
morality in these Councils which separates the deed of the man from
those of the senators, putting policy before justice."

"This may be true, son; for when a community is grounded on false
principles, its interests must, of necessity, be maintained by sophisms.
God will view this act with a different eye!"

"Else would the world be hopeless, father! After years of prayers and
interest, I was, under a solemn oath of secresy, admitted to my father's
cell. There was happiness in being able to administer to his wants—in
hearing his voice—in kneeling for his blessing. Gelsomina was then a
child approaching womanhood. I knew not their motive, though after
thoughts left it no secret, and I was permitted to see my father through
her means. When they believed that I was sufficiently caught in their
toils, I was led into that fatal error which has destroyed my hopes, and
brought me to this condition."

"Thou hast affirmed thy innocence, my son!"

"Innocent of shedding blood, father, but not of lending myself to their
artifices. I will not weary you, holy monk, with the history of the
means by which they worked upon my nature. I was sworn to serve the
state, as its secret agent, for a certain time. The reward was to be my
father's freedom. Had they taken me in the world, and in my senses,
their arts would not have triumphed; but a daily witness of the
sufferings of him who had given me life, and who was now all that was
left me in the world, they were too strong for my weakness, They
whispered to me of racks and wheels, and I was shown paintings of dying
martyrs, that I might understand the agony they could inflict.
Assassinations were frequent, and called for the care of the police; in
short, father"—Jacopo hid his face in the dress of Gelsomina—"I
consented to let them circulate such tales as might draw the eye of the
public on me. I need not add, that he who lends himself to his own
infamy will soon attain his object."

"With what end was this miserable falsehood invented?"

"Father, I was applied to as a public Bravo, and my reports, in more
ways than one, answered their designs, That I saved some lives is at
least a consolation for the error or crime into which I fell!"

"I understand thee, Jacopo. I have heard that Venice did not hesitate to
use the ardent and brave in this manner. Holy St. Mark! can deceit like
this be practised under the sanction of thy blessed name!"

"Father, it is, and more. I had other duties connected with the
interests of the Republic, and of course I was practised in their
discharge. The citizens marvelled that one like me should go at large,
while the vindictive and revengeful took the circumstance as a proof of
address. When rumor grew too strong for appearances, the Three took
measures to direct it to other things; and when it grew too faint for
their wishes it was fanned. In short, for three long and bitter years
did I pass the life of the damned—sustained only by the hope of
liberating my father, and cheered by the love of this innocent!"

"Poor Jacopo, thou art to be pitied! I will remember thee in my
prayers."

"And thou, Gelsomina?"

The keeper's daughter did not answer. Her ears had drunk in each
syllable that fell from his lips, and now that the whole truth began to
dawn on her mind, there was a bright radiance in her eye that appeared
almost supernatural to those who witnessed it.

"If I have failed in convincing thee, Gelsomina," continued Jacopo,
"that I am not the wretch I seemed, would that I had been dumb!"

She stretched a hand towards him, and dropping her head on his bosom,
wept.

"I see all thy temptations, poor Carlo," she said, softly; "I know how
strong was thy love for thy father."

"Dost thou forgive me, dearest Gelsomina, for the deception on thy
innocence?"

"There was no deception; I believed thee a son ready to die for his
father, and I find thee what I thought thee."

The good Carmelite regarded this scene with eyes of interest and
indulgence; tears wetted his cheeks.

"Thy affection for each other, children," he said, "is such as angels
might indulge. Has thy intercourse been of long date?"

"It has lasted years, father."

"And thou, daughter, hast been with Jacopo in the cell of his parent?"

"I was his constant guide on these holy errands, father."

The monk mused deeply. After a silence of several minutes he proceeded
to the duties of his holy office. Receiving the spiritual confession of
the prisoner he gave the absolution with a fervor which proved how
deeply his sympathies were enlisted in behalf of the youthful pair. This
duty done, he gave Gelsomina his hand, and there was a mild confidence
in his countenance as he took leave of Jacopo.

"We quit thee," he said; "but be of heart, son. I cannot think that even
Venice will be deaf to a tale like thine! Trust first to thy God, and
believe that neither this faithful girl nor I will abandon thee without
an effort."

Jacopo received this assurance like one accustomed to exist in extreme
jeopardy. The smile which accompanied his own adieux had in it as much
of incredulity as of melancholy. It was, however, full of the joy of a
lightened heart.

"Your heart
is free, and quick with virtuous wrath to accuse
Appearances; and views a criminal
In innocence's shadow."
WERNER.

The Carmelite and Gelsomina found the keepers in waiting, and when they
quitted the cell its door was secured for the night. As they had no
further concerns with the jailors they passed on unquestioned. But when
the end of the corridor which led towards the apartments of the keeper
was reached, the monk stopped.