 | CHAPTER III. The bravo |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
What well-appointed leader fronts us here?
King Henry VI.
The presence of Annina was a grave embarrassment
to Gino. He had his secret wishes and limited
ambition, like other men, and among the strongest
of the former, was the desire to stand well in the
favor of the wine-seller's daughter. But the artful
girl, in catering to his palate with a liquor that was
scarcely less celebrated among people of his class
for its strength than its flavor, had caused a momentary
confusion in the brain of Gino, that required
time to disperse. The boat was in the grand
canal, and far on its way to the place of its destina
of the gondolier had been sufficiently effected. By
that time, however, the exercise of rowing, the fresh
air of the evening, and the sight of so many accustomed
objects, restored his faculties to the necessary
degree of coolness and forethought. As the
boat approached the end of the canal, he began to
cast his eyes about him in quest of the well-known
felucca of the Calabrian.
Though the glory of Venice had departed, the
trade of the city was not then at its present low ebb.
The port was still crowded with vessels from many
distant havens, and the flags of most of the maritime
states of Europe were seen, at intervals, within
the barrier of the Lido. The moon was now
sufficiently high to cast its soft light on the whole
of the glittering basin, and a forest, composed of
lattin yards, of the slender masts of polaccas, and
of the more massive and heavy hamper of regularly
rigged ships, was to be seen rising above the tranquil
element.
“Thou art no judge of a vessel's beauty, Annina,”
said the gondolier, who was deeply housed in the
pavilion of the boat, “else should I tell thee to look
at this stranger from Candia. 'Tis said that a fairer
model has never entered within the Lido than that
same Greek!”
“Our errand is not with the Candian trader,
Gino; therefore, ply thy oar, for time presses.”
“There's plenty of rough Greek wine in his hold;
but, as thou sayest, we have naught with him. Yon
tall ship, which is moored without the smaller craft
of our seas, is the vessel of a Lutheran, from the
islands of Inghilterra. 'Twas a sad day for the republic,
girl, when it first permitted the stranger to
come into the waters of the Adriatic!”
“Is it certain, Gino, that the arm of St. Mark
was strong enough to keep him out?”
“Body of Diana! I would rather thou didst not
ask that question in a place where so many gondolas
are in motion! Here are Ragusan, Maltese, Sicilians,
and Tuscans, without number; and a little
fleet of French lie near each other, there, at the entrance
of the Giudecca. They are a people who
get together, afloat or ashore, for the benefit of the
tongue. Here we are, at the end of our journey.”
The oar of Gino gave a backward sweep, and
the gondola was at rest, by the side of a felucca.
“A happy night to the Bella Sorrentina and her
worthy padrone!” was the greeting of the gondolier,
as he put his foot on the deck of the vessel.
“Is the honest Stefano Milano on board the swift
felucca?”
The Calabrian was not slow to answer; and in a
few moments the padrone and his two visitors were
in close and secret conference.
“I have brought one, here, who will be likely to
put good Venetian sequins into thy pocket, caro,”
observed the gondolier, when the preliminaries of
discourse had been properly observed. “She is the
daughter of a most conscientious wine-dealer, who
is quite as ready at transplanting your Sicilian
grapes into the islands, as he is willing and able to
pay for them.”
“And one, no doubt, as handsome as she is
ready,” said the mariner, with blunt gallantry,
“were the black cloud but fairly driven from before
her face.”
“A mask is of little consequence in a bargain,
provided the money be forthcoming. We are always
in the Carnival at Venice; and he who
would buy, or he who would sell, has the same
right to hide his face as to hide his thoughts. What
hast thou in the way of forbidden liquors, Stefano,
that my companion may not lose the night in idle
words?”
“Per Diana! Master Gino, thou puttest thy questions
with little ceremony. The hold of the felucca
is empty, as thou mayest see by stepping to the
hatches; and as for any liquor, we are perishing for
a drop to warm the blood.”
“And so far from coming to seek it here,” said
Annina, “we should have done better to have gone
into the cathedral, and said an Ave, for thy safe
voyage home. And now that our wit is spent, we
will quit thee, friend Stefano, for some other less
skilful in answers.”
“Cospetto! thou knowest not what thou sayest,”
whispered Gino, when he found that the wary Annina
was not disposed to remain. “The man never
enters the meanest creek in Italy, without having
something useful secreted in the felucca, on his own
account. One purchase of him would settle the
question between the quality of thy father's wines
and those of Battista. There is not a gondolier in
Venice but will resort to thy shop, if the intercourse
with this fellow can be fairly settled.”
Annina hesitated; long practised in the small, but
secret, and exceedingly hazardous commerce,
which her father, notwithstanding the vigilance and
severity of the Venetian police, had thus far successively
driven, she neither liked to risk an exposure
of her views to an utter stranger, nor to abandon
a bargain that promised to be lucrative. That
Gino trifled with her, as to his true errand, needed
no confirmation, since a servant of the Duke of
Sant' Agata was not likely to need a disguise
to search a priest; but she knew his zeal for her
personal welfare too well, to distrust his faith in a
matter that concerned her own safety.
“If thou distrust that any here are the spies of
the authorities,” she observed to the padrone, with a
manner that readily betrayed her wishes, “it will be
in Gino's power to undeceive thee.—Thou wilt testify,
in an affair like this.”
“Leave me to put a word into the private ear of
the Calabrian,” said the gondolier, significantly.—
“Stefano Milano, if thou love me,” he continued,
when they were a little apart, “keep the girl in
parley, and treat with her, fairly, for thy adventure.”
“Shall I sell the vintage of Don Camillo, or that
of the Viceroy of Sicily, caro? There is as much
wine of each on board the Bella Sorrentina, as
would float the fleet of the republic.”
“If, in truth, thou art dry, then feign that thou
hast it, and differ in thy prices. Entertain her, but
a minute, with fair words, while I can get, unseen,
into my gondola; and then, for the sake of an old
and tried friend, put her tenderly on the quay, in the
best manner thou art able.”
“I begin to see into the nature of the trade,” returned
the pliant padrone, placing a finger on the
side of his nose. “I will discourse the woman by
the hour, about the flavor of the liquor, or if thou
wilt, of her own beauty; but to squeeze a drop of
anything better than the water of the Lagunes out
of the ribs of the felucca, would be a miracle worthy
of San Teodoro.”
“There is but little need to touch on aught but
the quality of thy wine. The girl is not like most of
her sex, and she takes sudden offence when there is
question of her appearance. Indeed, the mask she
wears is as much to hide a face that has little to
tempt the eye, as from any wish at concealment.”
“Since Gino has entered frankly into the matter,”
resumed the quick-witted Calabrian, cheerfully, and
with an air of sudden confidence, to the expectant
Annina, “I begin to see more probability of our understanding
each other's meaning. Deign, bella
donna, to go into my poor cabin, where we will
mutual profit, and mutual security.”
Annina was not without secret doubts, but she
suffered the padrone to lead her to the stairs of the
cabin, as if she were disposed to descend. Her
back was no sooner turned, than Gino slid into the
gondola, which one shove of his vigorous arm sent
far beyond the leap of man. The action was sudden,
rapid, and noiseless; but the jealous eve of
Annina detected the escape of the gondolier, though
not in time to prevent it. Without betraying uneasiness,
she submitted to be led below, as if the whole
were done by previous concert.
“Gino has said that you have a boat which will
do the friendly office to put me on the quay, when
our conference is over,” she remarked, with a presence
of mind that luckily met the expedient of her
late companion.
“The felucca itself should do that much, were
there want of other means,” gallantly returned the
mariner when they disappeared in the cabin.
Free to discharge his duty, Gino now plied his
task with redoubled zeal. The light boat glided
among the vessels, inclining, by the skilful management
of his single oar, in a manner to avoid all collision,
until it entered the narrow canal which separates
the palace of the Doge from the more beautiful
and classic structure that contains the prisons of
the republic. The bridge, which continues the communication
of the quays, was first passed, and then
he was stealing beneath that far-famed arch which
supports a covered gallery leading from the upper
story of the palace into that of the prisons, and
which, from its being appropriated to the passage
of the accused from their cells to the presence of
their judges, has been so poetically, and, it may be
added, so pathetically called the Bridge of Sighs.
The oar of Gino now relaxed its efforts, and the
as usual, the water cast its little waves. Stepping
on the lowest flag, he thrust a small iron spike, to
which a cord was attached, into a crevice between
two of the stones, and left his boat to the security
of this characteristic fastening. When this little
precaution was observed, the gondolier passed up
lightly beneath the massive arch of the water-gate
of the palace, and entered its large but gloomy
court.
At that hour, and with the temptation of the gay
scene which offered in the adjoining square, the
place was nearly deserted. A single female water-carrier
was at the well, waiting for the element to
filter into its basin, in order to fill her buckets, while
her ear listened in dull attention to the hum of the
moving crowd without. A halberdier paced the
open gallery at the head of the Giant's Stairs, and,
here and there, the footfall of other sentinels might
be heard among the hollow and ponderous arches
of the long corridors. No light was shed from the
windows; but the entire building presented a fit emblem
of that mysterious power which was known
to preside over the fortunes of Venice and her citizens.
Ere Gino trusted himself without the shadow
of the passage by which he had entered, two or
three curious faces had appeared at the opposite
entrance of the court, where they paused a moment
to gaze at the melancholy and imposing air of the
dreaded palace, before they vanished in the throng
which trifled in the immediate proximity of that socret
and ruthless tribunal, as man riots in security
even on the verge of an endless and unforeseen
future.
Disappointed in his expectation of meeting him
he sought, on the instant, the gondolier advanced,
and taking courage by the possibility of his escaping
altogether from the interview, he ventured to furnish
At that instant a figure glided into the court from
the side of the quay, and walked swiftly towards its
centre. The heart of Gino beat violently, but he
mustered resolution to meet the stranger. As they
drew near each other, it became evident, by the light
of the moon, which penetrated even to that gloomy
spot, that the latter was also masked.
“San Teodoro and San Marco have you in
mind!” commenced the gondolier. “If I mistake
not, you are the man I am sent to meet.”
The stranger started, and first manifesting an intention
to pass on quickly, he suddenly arrested the
movement to reply.
“This may be so, or not. Unmask, that I may
judge by thy countenance if what thou sayest be
true.”
“By your good leave, most worthy and honorable
Signore, and if it be equally agreeable to you
and my master, I would choose to keep off the evening
air by this bit of pasteboard and silk.”
“Here are none to betray thee, wert thou naked
as at thy birth. Unless certain of thy character, in
what manner may I confide in thy honesty?”
“I have no distrust of the virtues of an undisguised
face, Signore, and therefore do I invite you,
yourself, to exhibit what nature has done for you in
the way of features, that I, who am to make the
confidence, be sure it be to the right person.”
“This is well, and gives assurance of thy prudence.
I may not unmask, however; and as there
seemeth little probability of our coming to an understanding,
I will go my way. A most happy night
to thee.”
“Cospetto!—Signore, you are far too quick in
your ideas and movements for one little used to negotiations
of this sort. Here is a ring whose signet
may help us to understand each other.”
The stranger took the jewel, and holding the
stone in a manner to receive the light of the moon,
he started in a manner to betray both surprise and
pleasure.
“This is the falcon crest of the Neapolitan—he
that is the lord of Sant' Agata!”
“And of many other fiefs, good Signore, to say
nothing of the honors he claims in Venice. Am I
right in supposing my errand with you?”
“Thou hast found one whose present business
has no other object than Don Camillo Monforte.
But thy errand was not solely to exhibit the signet?”
“So little so, that I have a packet here which
waits only for a certainty of the person with whom
I speak, to be placed into his hands.”
The stranger mused a moment; then glancing a
look about him, he answered hurriedly—
“This is no place to unmask, friend, even though
we only wear our disguises in pleasantry. Tarry
here, and at my return I will conduct thee to a more
fitting spot.”
The words were scarcely uttered when Gino
found himself standing in the middle of the court
alone. The masked stranger had passed swiftly on,
and was at the bottom of the Giant's Stairs, ere the
gondolier had time for reflection. He ascended
with a light and rapid step, and without regarding
the halberdier, he approached the first of three or
four orifices which opened into the wall of the palace,
and which, from the heads of the animal being
carved in relief around them, had become famous
as the receptacles of secret accusations, under the
name of the Lion's Mouths. Something he dropped
into the grinning aperture of the marble, though
what, the distance and the obscurity of the gallery
prevented Gino from perceiving; and then his form
was seen gliding like a phantom down the flight of
massive steps.
Gino had retired towards the arch of the water-gate,
in expectation that the stranger would rejoin
him within its shadows; but, to his great alarm, he
saw the form darting through the outer portal of the
palace into the square of St. Mark. It was not a
moment ere Gino, breathless with haste, was in
chase. On reaching the bright and gay scene of
the piazza, which contrasted with the gloomy court
he had just quitted, like morning with night, he saw
the utter fruitlessness of further pursuit. Frightened
at the loss of his master's signet, however, the
indiscreet but well-intentioned gondolier rushed into
the crowd, and tried in vain to select the delinquent
from among a thousand masks.
“Harkee, Signore,” uttered the half-distracted
gondolier to one, who, having first examined his
person with distrust, evidently betrayed a wish to
avoid him; “if thou hast sufficiently pleased thy
finger with my master's signet, the occasion offers
to return it.”
“I know thee not,” returned a voice, in which
Gino's ear could detect no familiar sound.
“It may not be well to trifle with the displeasure
of a noble as powerful as him you know;” he whispered
at the elbow of another, who had come under
his suspicions. “The signet, if thou pleasest,
and the affair need go no further.”
“He who would meddle in it, with or without
that gage, would do well to pause.”
The gondolier again turned away disappointed.
“The ring is not suited to thy masquerade, friend
of mine,” he essayed with a third; “and it would
be wise not to trouble the podesta about such a
rifle.”
“Then name it not, lest he hear thee.” The answer
proved, like all the others, unsatisfactory and
bootless.
Gino now ceased to question any; but he threaded
times was he tempted to speak, but as often did some
difference in stature or dress, some laugh, or trifle
uttered in levity, warn him of his mistake. He
penetrated to the very head of the piazza, and, returning
by the opposite side, he found his way
through the throng of the porticoes, looking into
every coffee-house, and examining each figure that
floated by, until he again issued into the piazzetta,
without success. A slight jerk at the elbow of his
jacket arrested his steps, and he turned to look at
the person who had detained him. A female attired
like a contadina addressed him in the feigned voice
common to all.
“Whither so fast, and what hast thou lost in this
merry crowd? If a heart, 'twill be wise to use diligence,
for many here may be willing to wear the
jewel!”
“Corpo di Bacco!” exclaimed the disappointed
gondolier; “any who find such a bauble of mine
under foot, are welcome to their luck! Hast thou
seen a domino of a size like that of any other man,
with a gait that might pass for the step of a senator,
padre, or Jew, and a mask that looks as much
like a thousand of these in the square as one side of
the campanile is like the other?”
“Thy picture is so well drawn, that one cannot
fail to know the original. He stands beside thee.”
Gino wheeled suddenly, and saw that a grinning
harlequin was playing his antics in the place where
he had expected to find the stranger.
“And thy eyes, bella contadina, are as dull as a
mole's.”
He ceased speaking, for, deceived in his person,
she who had saluted him was no longer visible. In
this manner did the disappointed gondolier thread
his way toward the water, now answering to the
boisterous salute of some clown, and now repelling
contadina, until he gained a space near the
quays, where there was more room for observation.
Here he paused, undetermined whether to return and
confess his indiscretion to his master, or whether he
should make still another effort to regain the ring
which had been so sillily lost. The vacant space
between the two granite columns was left to the
quiet possession of himself and one other, who stood
near the base of that which sustained the Lion of
St. Mark, as motionless as if he too were merely a
form of stone. Two or three stragglers, either led
by idle curiosity, or expecting to meet one appointed
to await their coming, drew near this immovable
man, but all glided away, as if there were repulsion
in his marble-like countenance. Gino had
witnessed several instances of this evident dislike to
remain near the unknown figure, ere he felt induced
to cross the space between them in order to inquire
into its cause. A slow movement, at the sound of
his footsteps, brought the rays of the moon full
upon the calm countenance and searching eye of
the very man he sought.
The first impulse of the gondolier, like that of all
the others he had seen approach the spot, was to
retreat; but the recollection of his errand and his
loss came in season to prevent such an exhibition
of his disgust and alarm. Still he did not speak;
but he met the riveted gaze of the Bravo with a
look that denoted, equally, confusion of intellect and
a half-settled purpose.
“Would'st thou aught with me?” demanded Jacopo,
when the gaze of each had continued beyond
the term of accidental glances.
“My master's signet?”
“I know thee not.”
“That image of San Teodoro could testify that
this is holy truth, if it would but speak! I have not
one may have affairs even with a stranger. If you
met a peaceable and innocent gondolier, in the
court of the palace, since the clock of the piazza
told the last quarter, and got from him a ring, which
can be of but little use to any but its rightful owner,
one so generous will not hesitate to return it.”
“Dost thou take me for a jeweller of the Rialto,
that thou speakest to me of rings?”
“I take you for one well known and much valued
by many of name and quality, here in Venice, as
witness my errand from my own master.”
“Remove thy mask. Men of fair dealing need
not hide the features which Nature has given them.”
“You speak nothing but truths, Signor Frontoni,
which is little remarkable, considering thy opportunities
of looking into the motives of men. There is
little in my face to pay you for the trouble of casting
a glance at it. I would as lief do as others
in this gay season, if it be equally agreeable to
you.”
“Do as thou wilt; but I pray thee to give me the
same permission.”
“There are few so bold as to dispute thy pleasure,
Signore,”
“It is, to be alone.”
“Cospetto! There is not a man in Venice who
would more gladly consult it, if my master's errand
were fairly done!” muttered Gino, between his
teeth.—“I have, here, a packet which it is my duty
to put into your hands, Signore, and into those of
no other.”
“I know thee not—thou hast a name?”
“Not in the sense in which you speak, Signore.
As to that sort of reputation, I am as nameless as a
foundling.”
“If thy master is of no more note than thyself,
the packet may be returned.”
“There are few within the dominions of St. Mark
of better lineage, or of fairer hopes, than the Duke
of Sant' Agata.”
The cold expression of the Bravo's countenance
changed.
“If thou comest from Don Camillo Monforte,
why dost thou hesitate to proclaim it?—Where are
his requests?”
“I know not whether it is his pleasure, or that of
another, which this paper contains, but such as it
is, Signor Jacopo, my duty commands me to deliver
it to thee.”
The packet was received calmly, though the organ
which glanced at its seal and its superscription,
gleamed with an expression which the credulous
gondolier fancied to resemble that of the tiger at
the sight of blood.
“Thou said'st something of a ring. Dost thou
bear thy master's signet? I am much accustomed
to see pledges, ere I give faith.”
“Blessed San Teodoro grant that I did! Were
it as heavy as a skin of wine, I would willingly
bear the load; but one that I mistook for you, Master
Jacopo, has it on his own light finger, I fear.”
“This is an affair that thou wilt settle with thy
master,” returned the Bravo, coldly, again examining
the impression of the seal.
“If you are acquainted with the writing of my
master,” hurriedly remarked Gino, who trembled
for the fate of the packet, “you will see his skill in
the turn of those letters. There are few nobles in
Venice, or indeed in the Sicilies, who have a more
scholarly hand, with a quill, than Don Camillo Monforte;
I could not do the thing half so well myself.”
“I am no clerk,” observed the Bravo, without
betraying shame at the confession. “The art of
deciphering a scroll, like this, was never taught me.
me the name the packet bears.”
“'T would little become me to breathe a syllable
concerning any of my master's secrets,” returned
the gondolier, drawing himself up in sudden reserve.
“It is enough that he bid me deliver the letter; after
which I should think it presumption even to
whisper more.”
The dark eye of the Bravo was seen rolling over
the person of his companion, by the light of the
moon, in a manner that caused the blood of the
latter to steal towards his heart.
“I bid thee read to me aloud the name the paper
bears,” said Jacopo, sternly. “Here is none but the
lion and the saint above our heads to listen.”
“Just San Marco! who can tell what ear is open,
or what ear is shut in Venice? If you please, Signor
Frontoni, we will postpone the examination to
a more suitable occasion.”
“Friend, I do not play the fool! The name, or
show me some gage that thou art sent by him thou
hast named, else take back the packet; 'tis no affair
for my hand.”
“Reflect a single moment on the consequences,
Signor Jacopo, before you come to a determination
so hasty.”
“I know no consequences which can befall a man
who refuses to receive a message like this.”
“Per Diana! Signore; the Duca will not be
likely to leave me an ear to hear the good advice
of Father Battista.”
“Then will the Duca save the public executioner
some trouble.”
As he spoke, the Bravo cast the packet at the feet
of the gondolier, and began to walk calmly up the
piazzetta. Gino seized the letter, and, with his brain
in a whirl, with the effort to recall some one of his
master's acquaintances to whom he would be likely
“I wonder, Signor Jacopo, that a man of your
sagacity has not remembered that a packet to be
delivered to himself, should bear his own name.”
The Bravo took the paper, and held the superscription
again to the light.
“That is not so. Though unlearned, necessity
has taught me to know when I am meant.”
“Diamine! That is just my own case, Signore.
Were the letter for me, now, the old should not
know its young, quicker than I would come at the
truth.”
“Then thou canst not read?”
“I never pretended to the art. The little said
was merely about writing. Learning, as you well
understand, Master Jacopo, is divided into reading,
writing, and figures; and a man may well understand
one, without knowing a word of the others.
It is not absolutely necessary to be a bishop to have
a shaved head, or a Jew to wear a beard.”
“Thou would'st have done better to have said
this at once; go, I will think of the matter.”
Gino gladly turned away, but he had not left the
other many paces, before he saw a female form
gliding behind the pedestal of one of the granite
columns. Moving swiftly in a direction to uncover
this seeming spy, he saw at once that Annina had
been a witness of his interview with the Bravo.
| CHAPTER III. The bravo | |