The Bravo (8 page)

"Had Providence cast my lot in an humbler class, this would not have
been. Methinks it ill comports with the happiness of woman to be the
especial care of the Council of Ten!"

"There is indiscretion, and I lament to say, impiety in thy words. Our
duty bids us submit to earthly laws, and more than duty, reverence
teaches us not to repine at the will of Providence. But I do not see the
weight of this grievance against which thou murmurest, daughter. Thou
art youthful, wealthy beyond the indulgence of all healthful desires, of
a lineage to excite an unwholesome worldly pride, and fair enough to
render thee the most dangerous of thine own enemies—and thou repinest
at a lot to which all of thy sex and station are, of necessity,
subject!"

"For the offence against Providence I am already a penitent," returned
the Donna Violetta. "But surely it would be less embarrassing to a girl
of sixteen, were the fathers of the state so much occupied with more
weighty affairs as to forget her birth and years, and haply her wealth?"

"There would be little merit in being content with a world fashioned
after our own caprices, though it may be questioned if we should be
happier by having all things as we desire than by being compelled to
submit to them as they are. The interest taken by the Republic in thy
particular welfare, daughter, is the price thou payest for the ease and
magnificence with which thou art encircled. One more obscure, and less
endowed by fortune, might have greater freedom of will, but it would be
accompanied by none of the pomp which adorns the dwelling of thy
fathers."

"I would there were less of luxury and more of liberty within its
walls."

"Time will enable thee to see differently. At thy age all is viewed in
colors of gold, or life is rendered bootless, because we are thwarted in
our ill-digested wishes. I deny not, however, that thy fortune is
tempered by some peculiar passages. Venice is ruled by a policy that is
often calculating, and haply some deem it remorseless." Though the voice
of the Carmelite had fallen, he paused and glanced an uneasy look from
beneath his cowl ere he continued. "The caution of the senate teaches it
to preclude, as far as in it lies, the union of interests that may not
only oppose each other, but which may endanger those of the state. Thus,
as I have said, none of senatorial rank may hold lands without the
limits of the Republic, nor may any of account connect themselves, by
the ties of marriage, with strangers of dangerous influence, without the
consent and supervision of the Republic. The latter is thy situation,
for of the several foreign lords who seek thy hand the council see none
to whom the favor may be extended without the apprehension of creating
an influence here, in the centre of the canals, which ought not to be
given to a stranger. Don Camillo Monforte, the cavalier to whom thou art
indebted for thy life, and of whom thou hast so lately spoken with
gratitude, has far more cause to complain of these hard decrees, than
thou mayest have, in any reason."

"'Twould make my griefs still heavier, did I know that one who has shown
so much courage in my behalf, has equal reason to feel their justice,"
returned Violetta, quickly. "What is the affair that, so fortunately for
me, hath brought the Lord of Sant' Agata to Venice, if a grateful girl
may, without indiscretion, inquire?"

"Thy interest in his behalf is both natural and commendable," answered
the Carmelite, with a simplicity which did more credit to his cowl than
to his observation. "He is young, and doubtless he is tempted by the
gifts of fortune and the passions of his years to divers acts of
weakness. Remember him, daughter, in thy prayers, that part of the debt
of gratitude may be repaid. His worldly interest here is one of general
notoriety, and I can ascribe thy ignorance of it only to a retired
manner of life."

"My charge hath other matters to occupy her thoughts than the concerns
of a young stranger, who cometh to Venice for affairs," mildly observed
Donna Florinda,

"But if I am to remember him in my prayers, Father, it might enlighten
my petition to know in what the young noble is most wanting."

"I would have thee remember his spiritual necessities only. He wanteth,
of a truth, little in temporalities that the world can offer, though the
desires of life often lead him who hath most in quest of more. It would
seem that an ancestor of Don Camillo was anciently a senator of Venice,
when the death of a relation brought many Calabrian signories into his
possession. The younger of his sons, by an especial decree, which
favored a family that had well served the state, took these estates,
while the elder transmitted the senatorial rank and the Venetian
fortunes to his posterity. Time hath extinguished the elder branch; and
Don Camillo hath for years besieged the council to be restored to those
rights which his predecessor renounced."

"Can they refuse him?"

"His demand involves a departure from established laws. Were he to
renounce the Calabrian lordships, the Neapolitan might lose more than he
would gain; and to keep both is to infringe a law that is rarely
suffered to be dormant. I know little, daughter, of the interests of
life; but there are enemies of the Republic who say that its servitude
is not easy, and that it seldom bestows favors of this sort without
seeking an ample equivalent."

"Is this as it should be? If Don Camillo Monforte has claims in Venice,
whether it be to palaces on the canals, or to lands on the main; to
honors in the state, or voice in the senate; justice should be rendered
without delay, lest it be said the Republic vaunts more of the sacred
quality than it practises."

"Thou speakest as a guileless nature prompts. It is the frailty of man,
my daughter, to separate his public acts from the fearful responsibility
of his private deeds; as if God, in endowing his being with reason and
the glorious hopes of Christianity, had also endowed him with two souls,
of which only one was to be cared for."

"Are there not those, Father, who believe that, while the evil we commit
as individuals is visited on our own persons, that which is done by
states, falls on the nation?"

"The pride of human reason has invented diverse subtleties to satisfy
its own longings, but it can never feed itself on a delusion more fatal
than this! The crime which involves others in its guilt or consequences,
is doubly a crime, and though it be a property of sin to entail its own
punishment, even in our present life, he trusts to a vain hope who
thinks the magnitude of the offence will ever be its apology. The chief
security of our nature is to remove it beyond temptation, and he is
safest from the allurements of the world who is farthest removed from
its vices. Though I would wish justice done to the noble Neapolitan, it
may be for his everlasting peace that the additional wealth he seeks
should be withheld."

"I am unwilling to believe, Father, that a cavalier, who has shown
himself so ready to assist the distressed, will easily abuse the gifts
of fortune."

The Carmelite fastened an uneasy look on the bright features of the
young Venetian. Parental solicitude and prophetic foresight were in his
glance, but the expression was relieved by the charity of a chastened
spirit.

"Gratitude to the preserver of thy life becomes thy station and sex; it
is a duty. Cherish the feeling, for it is akin to the holy obligation of
man to his Creator."

"Is it enough to feel grateful!" demanded Violetta. "One of my name and
alliances might do more. We can move the patricians of my family in
behalf of the stranger, that his protracted suit may come to a more
speedy end."

"Daughter, beware; the intercession of one in whom St. Mark feels so
lively an interest, may raise up enemies to Don Camillo, instead of
friends."

Donna Violetta was silent, while the monk and Donna Florinda both
regarded her with affectionate concern. The former then adjusted his
cowl, and prepared to depart. The noble maiden approached the Carmelite,
and looking into his face with ingenuous confidence and habitual
reverence, she besought his blessing. When the solemn and customary
office was performed, the monk turned towards the companion of his
spiritual charge. Donna Florinda permitted the silk, on which her needle
had been busy, to fall into her lap, and she sat in meek silence, while
the Carmelite raised his open palms towards her bended head. His lips
moved, but the words of benediction were inaudible. Had the ardent being
intrusted to their joint care been less occupied with her own feelings,
or more practised in the interests of that world into which she was
about to enter, it is probable she would have detected some evidence of
that deep but smothered sympathy, which so often betrayed itself in the
silent intelligence of her ghostly father and her female Mentor.

"Thou wilt not forget us, Father?" said Violetta, with winning
earnestness. "An orphan girl, in whose fate the sages of the Republic so
seriously busy themselves, has need of every friend in whom she can
confide."

"Blessed be thy intercessor," said the monk, "and the peace of the
innocent be with thee."

Once more he waved his hand, and turning, he slowly quitted the room.
The eye of Donna Florinda followed the white robes of the Carmelite,
while they were visible; and when it fell again upon the silk, it was
for a moment closed, as if looking at the movements of the rebuked
spirit within. The young mistress of the palace summoned a menial, and
bade him do honor to her confessor, by seeing him to his gondola. She
then moved to the open balcony. A long pause succeeded; it was such a
silence, breathing, thoughtful, and luxurious with the repose of Italy,
as suited the city and the hour. Suddenly Violetta receded from the open
window, and withdrew a step, in alarm.

"Is there a boat beneath?" demanded her companion, whose glance was
unavoidably attracted to the movement.

"The water was never more quiet. But thou hearest those strains of the
hautboys?"

"Are they so rare on the canals, that they drive thee from the balcony?"

"There are cavaliers beneath the windows of the Mentoni palace;
doubtless they compliment our friend Olivia."

"Even that gallantry is common. Thou knowest that Olivia is shortly to
be united to her kinsman, and he takes the usual means to show his
admiration."

"Dost thou not find this public announcement of a passion painful? Were
I to be wooed, I could wish it might only be to my own ear."

"That is an unhappy sentiment for one whose hand is in the gift of the
Senate! I fear that a maiden of thy rank must be content to hear her
beauty extolled and her merits sung, if not exaggerated, even by
hirelings beneath a balcony."

"I would that they were done!" exclaimed Violetta, stopping her ears.
"None know the excellence of our friend better than I; but this open
exposure of thoughts that ought to be so private, must wound her."

"Thou mayest go again into the balcony; the music ceases."

"There are gondoliers singing near the Rialto—these are sounds I love!
Sweet in themselves, they do no violence to our sacred feelings. Art
thou for the water to-night, my Florinda?"

"Whither would'st thou?"

"I know not; but the evening is brilliant, and I pine to mingle with the
splendor and pleasure without."

"While thousands on the canals pine to mingle with the splendor and
pleasure within! Thus is it ever with life: that which is possessed is
little valued, and that which we have not is without price."

"I owe my duty to my guardian," said Violetta; "we will row to his
palace."

Though Donna Florinda had uttered so grave a moral, she spoke without
severity. Casting aside her work, she prepared to gratify the desire of
her charge. It was the usual hour for the high in rank and the secluded
to go abroad; and neither Venice with its gay throng, nor Italy with its
soft climate, ever offered greater temptation to seek the open air.

The groom of the chambers was called, the gondoliers were summoned, and
the ladies, cloaking and taking their masks, were quickly in the boat.

"If your master
Would have a queen his beggar, you must tell him
That majesty, to keep decorum, must
No less beg than a kingdom."
ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

The silent movement of the hearse-like gondola soon brought the fair
Venetian and her female Mentor to the water-gate of the noble, who had
been intrusted by the Senate with the especial guardianship of the
person of the heiress. It was a residence of more than common gloom,
possessing all the solemn but stately magnificence which then
characterized the private dwellings of the patricians in that city of
riches and pride. Its magnitude and architecture, though rather less
imposing than those which distinguished the palace of the Donna
Violetta, placed it among the private edifices of the first order, and
all its external decorations showed it to be the habitation of one of
high importance. Within, the noiseless steps and the air of silent
distrust among the domestics, added to the gloomy grandeur of the
apartments, rendered the abode no bad type of the Republic itself.

As neither of his present visitors was a stranger beneath the roof of
the Signor Gradenigo—for so the proprietor of the palace was
called—they ascended its massive stairs, without pausing to consider
any of those novelties of construction that would attract the eye of one
unaccustomed to such a dwelling. The rank and the known consequence of
the Donna Violetta assured her of a ready reception; and while she was
ushered to the suite of rooms above, by a crowd of bowing menials, one
had gone, with becoming speed, to announce her approach to his master.
When in the ante-chamber, however, the ward stopped, declining to
proceed any further, in deference to the convenience and privacy of her
guardian. The delay was short; for no sooner was the old senator
apprised of her presence, than he hastened from his closet to do her
honor, with a zeal that did credit to his fitness for the trust he
filled. The countenance of the old patrician—a face in which thought
and care had drawn as many lines as time—lighted with unequivocal
satisfaction as he pressed forward to receive his beautiful ward. To her
half-uttered apologies for the intrusion, he would not listen; but as he
led her within, he gallantly professed his pleasure at being honored
with her visits even at moments that, to her scrupulous delicacy, might
appear the most ill-timed.