 | CHAPTER IX. The bravo |  |
9. CHAPTER IX.
I could be merry now: Hubert, I love thee;
Well, I'll not say what I intend for thee:
Remember.
King John.
Jacopo was deeply practised in the windings of
Venetian deceit. He knew how unceasingly the
eyes of the Councils, through their agents, were on
the movements of those in whom they took an interest,
and he was far from feeling all the advantage
circumstances had seemingly thrown in his way.
Annina was certainly in his power, and it was not
possible that she had yet communicated the intelligence,
derived from Gelsomina, to any of her employers.
But a gesture, a look in passing the prison-gates,
the appearance of duresse, or an exclamation,
might give the alarm to some one of the thousand
spies of the police. The disposal of Annina's person
in some place of safety, therefore, became the first
and the most material act. To return to the palace
of Don Camillo, would be to go into the midst of the
hirelings of the senate; and although the Neapolitan,
relying on his rank and influence, had preferred this
step, when little importance was attached to the detention
of the girl, and when all she knew had been
revealed, the case was altered, now that she might
become the connecting link in the information necessary
to enable the officers to find the fugitives.
The gondola moved on. Palace after palace was
passed, and the impatient Annina thrust her head
from a window to note its progress. They came
among the shipping of the port, and her uneasiness
sensibly increased. Making a pretext similar to that
of Gelsomina, the wine-seller's daughter quitted the
pavilion, to steal to the side of the gondolier.
“I would be landed quickly at the water-gate of
the doge's palace,” she said, slipping a piece of silver
into the hand of the boatman.
“You shall be served, Bella Donna. But—Diamine!
I marvel that a girl of thy wit should not
scent the treasures in yonder felucca!”
“Dost thou mean the Sorrentine?”
“What other padrone brings as well-flavored
liquors within the Lido! Quiet thy impatience to
land, daughter of honest old Maso, and traffic with
the padrone, for the comfort of us of the canals.”
“How! Thou knowest me then?”
“To be the pretty wine-seller of the Lido. Corpo
di Bacco! Thou art as well known as the sea-wall
itself, to us gondoliers.”
“Why art thou masked? thou canst not be
Luigi!”
“It is little matter whether I am called Luigi, or
Enrico, or Giorgio—I am thy customer, and honor
the shortest hair of thy eyebrows. Thou knowest,
Annina, that the young patricians have their frolics,
and they swear us gondoliers to keep secret till all
danger of detection is over; were any impertinent
eyes following me, I might be questioned as to the
manner of having passed the earlier hours.”
“Methinks it would be better to have given thee
gold, and to have sent thee at once to thy home.”
“To be followed like a denounced Hebrew to my
door. When I have confounded my boat with a
thousand others, it will be time to uncover. Wilt
thou to the Bella Sorrentina?”
“Nay, 'tis not necessary to ask, since thou takest
the direction of thine own will!”
The gondolier laughed and nodded his head, as
if he would give his companion to understand that
he was master of her secret wishes. Annina was
hesitating in what manner she should make him
felucca's side.
“We will go up and speak to the padrone,”
whispered Jacopo.
“It is of no avail; he is without liquors.”
“Trust him not—I know the man and his pretences.”
“Thou forgettest my cousin.”
“She is an innocent and unsuspecting child.”
Jacopo lifted Annina, as he spoke, on the deck
of the Bella Sorrentina, in a manner between gallantry
and force, and leaped after her. Without
pausing, or suffering her to rally her thoughts, he
led her to the cabin stairs, which she descended,
wondering at his conduct, but determined not to
betray her own secret wrongs on the customs to a
stranger.
Stefano Milano was asleep, in a sail, on deck. A
touch aroused him, and a sign gave him to understand
that the imaginary Roderigo stood before
him.
“A thousand pardons, Signore,” said the gaping
mariner; “is the freight come?
“In part only. I have brought thee a certain
Annina Torti, the daughter of old Tommaso Torti,
a wine-seller of the Lido.”
“Santa Madre! does the senate think it necessary
to send one like her from the city in secret?”
“It does—and it lays great stress on her detention.
I have come hither with her, without suspicion
of my object, and she has been prevailed on to
enter thy cabin, under a pretence of some secret
dealings in wines. According to our former understanding,
it will be thy business to make sure of her
presence.”
“That is easily done,” returned Stefano, stepping
forward and closing the cabin-door, which he secured
by a bolt. “She is alone, now, with the
her aves cannot offer.”
“This is well, if thou canst keep her so. It is
now time to lift thy anchors, and to go beyond the
tiers of the vessels with the felucca.”
“Signore, there wants but five minutes for that
duty, since we are ready.”
“Then perform it, in all speed, for much depends
on the management of this delicate duty. I will be
with thee, anon. Hearkee, Master Stefano; take
heed of thy prisoner, for the senate makes great
account of her security.”
The Calabrian made such a gesture, as one initiated
uses, when he would express a confidence in
his own shrewdness. While the pretended Roderigo
re-entered his gondola, Stefano began to awaken
his people. As the gondola entered the canal of
San Marco, the sails of the felucca fell, and the low
Calabrian vessel stole along the tiers towards the
clear water beyond.
The boat quickly touched the steps of the water-gate
of the palace. Gelsomina entered the arch,
and glided up the Giant's Stairway, the route by
which she had quitted the palace. The halberdier
was the same that watched as she went out. He
spoke to her, in gallantry, but offered no impediment
to her entrance.
“Haste, noble ladies, hasten for the love of the
Holy Virgin!” exclaimed Gelsomina, as she burst
into the room in which Donna Violetta and her
companion awaited her appearance. “I have endangered
your liberty by my weakness, and there
is not a moment to lose. Follow while you may,
nor stop to whisper even a prayer.”
“Thou art hurried and breathless,” returned
Donna Florinda; “hast thou seen the Duca di
Sant' Agata?”
“Nay, question me not, but follow, noble dames.”
Gelsomina seized the lamp, and casting a glance
that appealed strongly to her visitors for tacit compliance,
she led the way into the corridors. It is
scarcely necessary to say that she was followed.
The prison was left in safety, the Bridge of
Sighs was passed, for it will be remembered that
Gelsomina was still mistress of the keys, and the
party went swiftly by the great stairs of the palace
into the open gallery. No obstruction was offered to
their progress, and they all descended to the court,
with the quiet demeanor of females who went out
on their ordinary affairs.
Jacopo awaited at the water-gate. In less than a
minute he was driving his gondola across the port,
following the course of the felucca, whose white
sail was visible in the moonlight, now bellying in
the breeze, and now flapping as the mariners
checked her speed. Gelsomina watched their progress
for a moment in breathless interest, and then
she crossed the bridge of the quay, and entered the
prison by its public gate.
“Hast thou made sure of the old 'Maso's daughter?”
demanded Jacopo, on reaching the deck of
the Bella Sorrentina again.
“She is like shifting ballast, Master Roderigo;
first on one side of the cabin, and then on the
other; but you see the bolt is undrawn.”
“'Tis well: here is more of thy freight—thou
hast the proper passes for the galley of the guard?”
“All is in excellent order, Signore; when was
Stefano Milano out of rule in a matter of haste?
Diamine! let the breeze come, and though the
senate should wish us back again, it might send all
its spirri after us in vain.”
“Excellent Stefano! fill thy sails, then, for our
masters watch your movements, and set a value on
your diligence.”
While the Calabrian complied, Jacopo assisted
moment the heavy yards swung off, wing and wing,
and the bubbles that appeared to glance past the
sides of the Bella Sorrentina, denoted her speed.
“Thou hast noble ladies in thy passengers,” said
Jacopo to the padrone, when the latter was released
from the active duties of getting his vessel in motion;
“and though policy requires that they should
quit the city for a time, thou wilt gain favor by consulting
their pleasures.”
“Doubt me not, Master Roderigo; but thou forgettest
that I have not yet received my sailing instructions;
a felucca without a course, is as badly
off as an owl in the sun.”
“That in good time; there will come an officer
of the republic to settle this matter with thee. I
would not have these noble ladies know, that one
like Annina is to be their fellow-passenger, while
they are near the port; for they might complain of
disrespect. Thou understandest, Stefano?”
“Cospetto! am I a fool? a blunderer? if so, why
does the senate employ me? the girl is out of hearing,
and there let her stay. As long as the noble
dames are willing to breathe the night air, they
shall have none of her company.”
“No fear of them. The dwellers of the land
little relish the pent air of thy cabin. Thou wilt go
without the Lido, Stefano, and await my coming.
If thou should'st not see me before the hour of one,
bear away for the port of Ancona, where thou wilt
get further tidings.”
Stefano, who had often previously received his
instructions from the imaginary Roderigo, nodded
assent, and they parted. It is scarcely necessary
to add, that the fugitives had been fully instructed in
the conduct they were to maintain.
The gondola of Jacopo never flew faster, than
he now urged it towards the land. In the constant
not likely to be remarked; and he found, when he
reached the quay of the square, that his passing and
repassing had not been observed. He boldly unmasked
and landed. It was near the hour when
he had given Don Camillo a rendezvous in the
piazza, and he walked slowly up the smaller square,
towards the appointed place of meeting.
Jacopo, as has been seen in an earlier chapter,
had a practice of walking near the columns of
granite in the first hours of the night. It was the
vulgar impression that he waited there for custom
in his bloody calling, as men of more innocent lives
take their stands in places of mark. When seen on
his customary stand, he was avoided by all who
were chary of their character, or scrupulous of appearances.
The persecuted and yet singularly tolerated
Bravo, was slowly pacing the flags on his way to
the appointed place, unwilling to anticipate the moment,
when a laquais thrust a paper into his hand,
and disappeared as fast as legs would carry him.
It has been seen that Jacopo could not read, for
that was an age when men of his class were studiously
kept in ignorance. He turned to the first passenger
who had the appearance of being likely to
satisfy his wishes, and desired him to do the office
of interpreter.
He had addressed an honest shop-keeper of a
distant quarter. The man took the scroll, and good-naturedly
commenced reading its contents aloud.
“I am called away, and cannot meet thee, Jacopo!”
At the name of Jacopo, the tradesman dropped the
paper and fled.
The Bravo walked slowly back again, towards
the quay, ruminating on the awkward accident
which had crossed his plans; his elbow was touched,
and a masker confronted him when he turned.
“Thou art Jacopo Frontoni?” said the stranger.
“None else.”
“Thou hast a hand to serve an employer, faithfully?”
“I keep my faith.”
“'Tis well,—thou wilt find a hundred sequins in
this sack.”
“Whose life is set against this gold?” asked Jacopo,
in an under tone.
“Don Camillo Monforte.”
“Don Camillo Monforte!”
“The same: dost thou know the rich noble?”
“You have well described him, Signore. He
would pay his barber this for letting blood.
“Do thy job thoroughly, and the price shall be
doubled.”
“I want the security of a name. I know you not,
Signore.”
The stranger looked cautiously around him, and
raising his mask for an instant, he showed the countenance
of Giacomo Gradenigo.
“Is the pledge sufficient?”
“Signore, it is. When must this deed be done?”
“This night.—Nay, this hour, even.”
“Shall I strike a noble of his rank in his palace—
in his very pleasures?”
“Come hither, Jacopo, and thou shalt know more.
Hast thou a mask?”
The Bravo signified his assent.
“Then keep thy face behind a cloud, for it is
not in favor here, and seek thy boat. I will join
thee.”
The young patrician, whose form was effectually
concealed by his attire, quitted his companion, with
a view of rejoining him anew, where his person
should not be known. Jacopo forced his boat from
among the crowd at the quay, and having entered
the open space, between the tiers, he lay on his oar,
would soon be followed. His conjecture was right,
for in a few moments a gondola pulled swiftly to
the side of his own, and two men in masks passed
from the strange boat into that of the Bravo, without
speaking.
“To the Lido,” said a voice, which Jacopo knew
to be that of his new employer.
He was obeyed, the boat of Giacomo Gradenigo
following at a little distance. When they were without
the tiers, and consequently beyond the danger
of being overheard, the two passengers came out of
the pavilion, and made a sign to the Bravo to cease
rowing.
“Thou wilt accept the service, Jacopo Frontoni?”
demanded the profligate heir of the old senator.
“Shall I strike the noble in his pleasures, Signore?”
“It is not necessary. We have found means to
lure him from his palace, and he is now in thy power,
with no other hope than that which may come
from his single arm and courage. Wilt thou take
the service?”
“Gladly, Signore—It is my humor to encounter
the brave.”
“Thou wilt be gratified. The Neapolitan has
thwarted me in my—shall I call it love, Hosea; or
hast thou a better name?”
“Just Daniel! Signor Giacomo, you have no respect
for reputations and surety! I see no necessity
for a home thrust, Master Jacopo; but a smart
wound, that may put matrimony out of the head of
the Duca for a time at least, and penitence into its
place, would be better—”
“Strike to the heart!” interrupted Giacomo. “It
is the certainty of thy blow which has caused me
to seek thee.”
“This is usurious vengeance, Signor Giacomo,”
sufficient for our purposes, if we cause the Neapolitan
to keep house for a month.”
“Send him to his grave. Harkee, Jacopo, a
hundred for thy blow—a second for insurance of
its depth—a third, if the body shall be buried in the
Orfano, so that the water will never give back the
secret.”
“If the two first must be performed, the last will
be prudent caution,” muttered the Jew, who was a
wary villain, and who greatly preferred such secondary
expedients, as might lighten the load on his
conscience. “You will not trust, young Signore, to
a smart wound?”
“Not a sequin. 'Twill be heating the fancy of
the girl with hopes and pity. Dost thou accept the
terms, Jacopo?”
“I do.”
“Then row to the Lido. Among the graves of
Hosea's people—why dost thou pull at my skirts,
Jew! would'st thou hope to deceive a man of this
character with a flimsy lie—among the graves of
Hosea's people thou wilt meet Don Camillo, within
the hour. He is deluded by a pretended letter from
the lady of our common pursuit, and will be alone,
in the hopes of flight; I trust to thee to hasten the
latter, so far as the Neapolitan is concerned. Dost
take my meaning?”
“Signore, it is plain.”
“'Tis enough. Thou knowest me, and can take
the steps necessary for thy reward, as thou shalt
serve me. Hosea, our affair is ended.”
Giacomo Gradenigo made a sign for his gondola
to approach, and dropping a sack which contained
the retainer in this bloody business, he passed into it,
with the indifference of one, who had been accustomed
to consider such means of attaining his object
lawful. Not so Hosea—he was a rogue, rather than
temptation of a large sum which had been promised
him, by both father and son, in the event of the
latter's success with Violetta, were irresistible temptations
to one who had lived contemned by those
around him, and he found his solace for the ruthless
attempt in the acquisition of those means of
enjoyment, which are sought equally by Christian
and Jew. Still his blood curdled, at the extremity
to which Giacomo would push the affair, and he
lingered to utter a parting word to the Bravo.
“Thou art said to carry a sure stiletto, honest
Jacopo,” he whispered. “A hand of thy practice
must know how to maim, as well as to slay.—Strike
the Neapolitan smartly, but spare his life. Even the
bearer of a public dagger like thine, may not fare
the worse, at the coming of Shilo, for having been
tender of his strength, on occasion.”
“Thou forgettest the gold, Hosea!”
“Father Abraham! what a memory am I getting,
in my years! Thou sayest truth, mindful Jacopo;
the gold shall be forthcoming, in any event—always
provided that the affair is so managed as to
leave my young friend, a successful adventurer with
the heiress.”
Jacopo made an impatient gesture, for at that moment
he saw a gondolier pulling rapidly towards a
private part of the Lido. The Hebrew joined his
companion, and the boat of the Bravo darted ahead.
It was not long ere it lay on the strand of the Lido.
The steps of Jacopo were rapid, as he moved towards
those proscribed graves, among which he had
made his confession to the very man he was now
sent to slay.
“Art thou sent to meet me?” demanded one, who
started from behind a rising in the sands, but who
took the precaution to bare his rapier as he appeared.
“Signor Duca, I am,” returned the Bravo, un-masking.
“Jacopo!—This is even better than I had hoped!
Hast thou tidings from my bride?”
“Follow, Don Camillo, and you shall quickly
meet her.”
Words were unnecessary to persuade, when there
was such a promise. They were both in the gondola
of Jacopo, and on their way to one of the passages
through the Lido, which conducts to the gulf,
before the Bravo commenced his explanation. This,
however, was quickly made, not forgetting the design
of Giacomo Gradenigo on the life of his auditor.
The felucca, which had been previously provided
with the necessary pass, by the agents of the police,
itself, had quitted the port under easy sail, by the
very inlet, through which the gondola made its way
into the Adriatic. The water was smooth, the
breeze fresh from the land, and in short all things
were favorable to the fugitives. Donna Violetta and
her governess were leaning against a mast, watching
with impatient eyes the distant domes, and the
midnight beauty of Venice. Occasionally, strains
of music came to their ears from the canals, and
then a touch of natural melancholy crossed the feelings
of the former, as she feared they might be the
last sounds of that nature, she should ever hear from
her native town. But unalloyed pleasure drove
every regret from her mind when Don Camillo
leaped from the gondola, and folded her in triumph
to his heart.
There was little difficulty in persuading Stefano
Milano to abandon, for ever, the service of the senate,
for that of his feudal lord. The promises and
commands of the latter were sufficient of themselves
to reconcile him to the change, and all were convinced
there was no time to lose. The felucca soon
spread her canvas to the wind, and slid away from
towed a league to sea, before he prepared to reenter
it.
“You will steer for Ancona, Signor Don Camillo,”
said the Bravo, leaning on the felucca's side, still
unwilling to depart, “and throw yourself, at once,
under the protection of the Cardinal Secretary. If
Stefano keep the sea, he may chance meet the galleys
of the senate.”
“Distrust us not—but thou, my excellent Jacopo—
what wilt thou become, in their hands?”
“Fear not for me, Signore. God disposes of all,
as he sees fit. I have told your eccellenza that I
cannot yet quit Venice. If fortune favor me, I may
still see your stout castle of Sant' Agata.”
“And none will be more welcome, within its secure
walls; I have much fear for thee, Jacopo!”
“Signore, think not of it. I am used to danger—
and to misery—and to hopelessness. I have known
a pleasure, this night, in witnessing the happiness of
two young hearts, that God, in his anger, has long
denied me. Lady, the Saints keep you, and God,
who is above all, shield you from harm!”
He kissed the hand of Donna Violetta, who, half
ignorant still of his services, listened to his words,
in wonder.
“Don Camillo Monforte,” he continued, “distrust
Venice to your dying day. Let no promises—no
hopes—no desire of increasing your honors, or your
riches, ever tempt you to put yourself in her power.
None know the falsehood of the state, better than I,
and with my parting words I warn you to be wary!”
“Thou speakest as if we were to meet no more,
worthy Jacopo!”
The Bravo turned, and the action brought his
features to the moon. There was a melancholy
smile, in which deep satisfaction at the success of
himself.
“We are certain only of the past,” he said, in a
low voice.
Touching the hand of Don Camillo, he kissed his
own and leaped hastily into his gondola. The fast
was thrown loose, and the felucca glided away, leaving
this extraordinary being, alone, in the waters.
The Neapolitan ran to the taffrail, and the last he
saw of Jacopo, the Bravo was rowing leisurely back
towards that scene of violence and deception, from
which he himself was so glad to have escaped.
| CHAPTER IX. The bravo | |