 | CHAPTER IV. The bravo |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
And, when thou hast survey'd the sea, the land,
Visit the narrow cells that cluster there,
As in a place of tombs.
St. Mark's Place.
We shall not attempt to thread the vaulted galleries,
the gloomy corridors, and all the apartments,
through which the keeper's daughter led her companion.
Those, who have ever entered an extensive
prison, will require no description to revive the feeling
creaking hinges, grating bolts, and all those other
signs, which are alike the means and evidence of
incarceration. The building, unhappily like most
other edifices intended to repress the vices of society,
was vast, strong, and intricate within, although,
as has been already intimated, of a chaste and simple
beauty externally, that might seem to have been
adopted in mockery of its destination.
Gelsomina entered a low, narrow, and glazed gallery,
when she stopped.
“Thou soughtest me, as wont, beneath the water-gate,
Carlo,” she asked, “at the usual hour?”
“I should not have entered the prison had I found
thee there, for thou knowest I would be little seen.
But I bethought me of thy mother, and crossed the
canal.”
“Thou wast wrong. My mother rests much as she
has done, for many months—thou must have seen
that we are not taking the usual route to the cell?”
“I have; but as we are not accustomed to meet
in thy father's rooms, on this errand, I thought this
the necessary direction.”
“Hast thou much knowledge of the palace and
the prison, Carlo?”
“More than I could wish, good Gelsomina;—but
why am I thus questioned, at a moment when I
would be otherwise employed?”
The timid and conscious girl did not answer. Her
cheek was never bright, for like a flower reared in
the shade, it had the delicate hue of her secluded
life; but at this question it became pale. Accustomed
to the ingenuous habits of the sensitive being at
his side, the Bravo studied her speaking features intently.
He moved swiftly to a window, and looking
out, his eye fell upon a narrow and gloomy canal.
Crossing the gallery, he cast a glance beneath him,
and saw the same dark watery passage, leading between
and the port.
“Gelsomina!” he cried, recoiling from the sight,
“this is the Bridge of Sighs!”
“It is, Carlo; hast thou ever crossed it before?”
“Never: nor do I understand why I cross it now.
I have long thought that it might one day be my fortune
to walk this fatal passage, but I could not dream
of such a keeper!”
The eye of Gelsomina brightened, and her smile
was cheerful.
“Thou wilt never cross it, to thy harm, with me.”
“Of that I am certain, kind Gessina,” he answered,
taking her hand. “But this is a riddle that I
cannot explain. Art thou in the habit of entering
the palace by this gallery?”
“It is little used, except by the keepers and the
condemned, as doubtless thou hast often heard; but
yet they have given me the keys, and taught me the
windings of the place, in order that I might serve,
as usual, for thy guide.”
“Gelsomina, I fear I have been too happy in thy
company to note, as prudence would have told me,
the rare kindness of the council in permitting me to
enjoy it!”
“Dost thou repent, Carlo, that thou hast known
me?”
The reproachful melancholy of her voice touched
the Bravo, who kissed the hand he held, with
Italian fervor.
“I should then repent me of the only hours of
happiness I have known for years,” he said. “Thou
hast been to me, Gelsomina, like a flower in a desert—a
pure spring to a feverish man—a gleam of
hope to one suffering under malediction.—No, no;
not for a moment have I repented knowing thee, my
Gelsomina!”
“'Twould not have made my life more happy,
I am young, and ignorant of the world, but I know
we should cause joy, and not pain, to those we
esteem.”
“Thy nature would teach thee this gentle lesson.
But, is it not strange that one, like me, should be
suffered to visit the prison unattended by any other
keeper?”
I had not thought it so, Carlo; but, surely it is
not common!”
“We have found so much pleasure in each other,
dear Gessina, that we have overlooked what ought
to have caused alarm.”
Alarm, Carlo!”
“Or, at least, distrust; for these wily senators do
no act of mercy without a motive. But it is now
too late to recall the past, if we would; and in that
which relates to thee I would not lose the memory
of a moment. Let us proceed.”
The slight cloud vanished from the face of the mild
auditor of the Bravo; but still she did not move.
“Few pass this bridge, they say,” she added tremulously,
“and enter the world again; and yet thou
dost not even ask why we are here, Carlo!”
There was a transient gleam of distrust in the
hasty glance of the Bravo, as he shot a look at the
undisturbed eye of the innocent being who put this
question. But it scarcely remained long enough to
change the expression of manly interest she was
accustomed to meet in his look.
“Since thou wilt have me curious,” he said, “why
hast thou come hither, and more than all, being here,
why dost thou linger?”
“The season is advanced, Carlo,” she answered,
speaking scarcely above her breath, “and we should
look in vain among the cells.”
“I understand thee,” he said, “we will proceed.”
Gelsomina lingered to gaze wistfully into the face
agony he endured, she went on. Jacopo spoke
hoarsely, but he was too long accustomed to disguise,
to permit the weakness to escape, when he
knew how much it would pain the sensitive and
faithful being, who had yielded her affections to him,
with a singleness and devotion which arose nearly
as much from her manner of life, as from natural
ingenuousness.
In order that the reader may be enabled to understand
the allusions, which seem to be so plain
to our lovers, it may be necessary to explain another
odious feature in the policy of the republic of
Venice.
Whatever may be the pretension of a state, in its
acknowledged theories, an unerring clue to its true
character is ever to be found in the machinery of
its practice. In those governments which are created
for the good of the people, force is applied with
caution and reluctance, since the protection and not
the injury of the weak is their object; whereas the
more selfish and exclusive the system becomes, the
more severe and ruthless are the coercive means
employed by those in power. Thus, in Venice,
whose whole political fabric reposed on the narrow
foundation of an oligarchy, the jealousy of the senate
brought the engines of despotism in absolute
contact with even the pageantry of their titular
prince, and the palace of the doge himself was polluted
by the presence of the dungeons. The princely
edifice had its summer and winter cells. The
reader may be ready to believe that mercy had dictated
some slight solace for the miserable, in this
arrangement. But this would be ascribing pity to
a body, which, to its latest moment, had no tie to
subject it to the weakness of humanity. So far
from consulting the sufferings of the captive, his
winter cell was below the level of the canals, while
to the action of the burning sun of that climate.
As the reader has probably anticipated, already,
that Jacopo was in the prison on an errand
connected with some captive, this short explanation
will enable him to understand the secret allusion of
his companion. He they sought had, in truth, been
recently conveyed from the damp cells, where he had
passed the winter and spring, to the heated chambers
beneath the roof.
Gelsomina continued to lead the way, with a sadness
of eye and feature, that betrayed her strong sympathy
with the sufferings of her companion, but without
appearing to think further delay necessary. She
had communicated a circumstance, which weighed
heavily on her own mind, and, like most of her mild
temperament, who had dreaded such a duty, now
that it was discharged, she experienced a sensible
relief. They ascended many flights of steps, opened
and shut numberless doors, and threaded several
narrow corridors, in silence, before reaching
the place of destination. While Gelsomina sought
the key of the door, before which they stopped,
in the large bunch she carried, the Bravo breathed
the hot air of the attic, like one who was suffocating.
“They promised me that this should not be done
again!” he said.—“But they forget their pledges,
fiends, as they are!”
“Carlo!—thou forgettest that this is the palace of
the doge!” whispered the girl, while she threw a
timid glance behind her.
“I forget nothing that is connected with the republic!—It
is all here,” striking his flushed brow—“what
is not there, is in my heart!”
“Poor Carlo! this cannot last for ever—there will
be an end.”
“Thou art right;” answered the Bravo, hoarsely.
turn the key, that we may go in.”
The hand of Gelsomina lingered on the lock, but
admonished by his impatient eye, she complied, and
they entered the cell.
“Father!” exclaimed the Bravo, hastening to the
side of a pallet, that lay on the floor.
The attenuated and feeble form of an old man rose
at the word, and an eye which, while it spoke mental
feebleness, was at that moment even brighter than
that of his son, glared on the faces of Gelsomina and
her companion.
“Thou hast not suffered, as I had feared, by this
sudden change, father!” continued the latter, kneeling
by the side of the straw.—“Thine eye, and cheek,
and countenance are better, than in the damp caves
below!”
“I am happy here,” returned the prisoner;—
“there is light, and though they have given me too
much of it, thou canst never know, my boy, the joy
of looking at the day, after so long a night.”
“He is better, Gelsomina!—They have not yet destroyed
him. See!—his eye is bright even, and his
cheek has a glow!”
“They are ever so, after passing the winter in the
lower dungeons;” whispered the gentle girl.
“Hast thou news for me, boy?—What tidings from
thy mother?”
Jacopo bowed his head to conceal the anguish occasioned
by this question, which he now heard for
the hundredth time.
“She is happy, father—happy as one can be, who
so well loves thee, when away from thy side.”
“Does she speak of me often?”
“The last word that I heard from her lips, was
thy name.”
“Holy Maria, bless her! I trust she remembers
me in her prayers?”
“Doubt it not, father,—they are the prayers of an
angel!”
“And thy patient sister?—thou hast not named
her, son.”
“She, too, is well, father.”
“Has she ceased to blame herself for being the
innocent cause of my sufferings?”
“She has.”
“Then she pines no longer over a blow that cannot
be helped.”
The Bravo seemed to search for relief in the sympathizing
eye of the pale and speechless Gelsomina.
“She has ceased to pine, father;” he uttered with
compelled calmness.
“Thou hast ever loved thy sister, boy, with manly
tenderness. Thy heart is kind, as I have reason
to know. If God has given me grief, he has blessed
me, in my children!”
A long pause followed, during which the parent
seemed to muse on the past, while the child rejoiced
in the suspension of questions which harrowed his
soul, since those of whom the other spoke had long
been the victims of family misfortune. The old
man, for the prisoner was aged, as well as feeble,
turned his look on the still kneeling Bravo, thoughtfully,
and continued.
“There is little hope of thy sister marrying, for
none are fond of tying themselves to the proscribed.”
“She wishes it not—she wishes it not—she is
happy, with my mother!”
“It is a happiness the republic will not begrudge.
Is there no hope of our being able to meet soon?”
“Thou wilt meet my mother,—yes, that pleasure
will come at last!”
“It is a weary time since any of my blood, but
thee, have stood in my sight. Kneel, that I may
bless thee.”
Jacopo, who had arisen under his mental torture,
obeyed, and bowed his head in reverence to receive
the paternal benediction. The lips of the old man
moved, and his eyes were turned to Heaven, but
his language was of the heart, rather than that of
the tongue. Gelsomina bent her head to her bosom,
and seemed to unite her prayers to those of the
prisoner. When the silent but solemn ceremony
was ended, each made the customary sign of the
cross, and Jacopo kissed the wrinkled hand of the
captive.
“Hast thou hope for me?” the old man asked,
this pious and grateful duty done. “Do they still
promise to let me look upon the sun, again?”
“They do.—They promise fair.”
“Would that their words were true! I have
lived on hope, for a weary time—I have now been
within these walls, more than four years, methinks.”
Jacopo did not answer, for he knew that his
father named the period only that he himself had
been permitted to see him.
“I built upon the expectation, that the doge
would remember his ancient servant, and open my
prison-doors.”
Still Jacopo was silent, for the doge, of whom
the other spoke, had long been dead.
“And yet I should be grateful, for Maria and
the saints have not forgotten me. I am not without
my pleasures, in captivity.”
“God be praised!” returned the Bravo. “In
what manner dost thou ease thy sorrows, father?”
“Look hither, boy,” exclaimed the old man,
whose eye betrayed a mixture of feverish excitement,
caused by the recent change in his prison,
and the growing imbecility of a mind that was
gradually losing its powers for want of use; “dost
thou see the rent in that bit of wood? It opens with
the heat, from time to time, and since I have been
—I sometimes fancy, that when it reaches the knot,
the hearts of the senators will soften, and that my
doors will open. There is a satisfaction, in watching
its increase, as it lengthens, inch by inch, year
after year!”
“Is this all?”
“Nay, I have other pleasures. There was a
spider the past year, that wove his web from yonder
beam, and he was a companion, too, that I
loved to see; wilt thou look, boy, if there is hope
of his coming back?”
“I see him not;” whispered the Bravo.
“Well, there is always the hope of its return.
The flies will enter soon, and then he will be looking
for his prey. They may shut me up on a false
charge, and keep me weary years from my wife
and daughter, but they cannot rob me of all my
happiness!”
The aged captive was mute and thoughtful. A
childish impatience glowed in his eye, and he gazed
from the rent, the companion of so many solitary
summers, to the face of his son, like one who began
to distrust his enjoyments.
“Well, let them take it away,” he said, burying
his head beneath the covering of his bed; “I will
not curse them!”
“Father!”
The prisoner made no reply.
“Father!”
“Jacopo!”
In his turn the Bravo was speechless. He did
not venture, even, to steal a glance towards the
breathless and attentive Gelsomina, though his bosom
heaved with longing to examine her guileless
features.
“Dost thou hear me, son?” continued the prisoner,
uncovering his head: “dost thou really think
my cell?”
“They will leave thee this pleasure, father, for it
touches neither their power, nor their fame. So
long as the senate can keep its foot on the neck of
the people, and so long as it can keep the seemliness
of a good name, it will not envy thee this.”
“Blessed Maria, make me thankful!—I had my
fears, child; for it is not pleasant to lose any friend
in a cell!”
Jacopo then proceeded to soothe the mind of the
prisoner, and he gradually led his thoughts to other
subjects. He laid by the bed-side a few articles of
food, that he was allowed to bring with him, and
again holding out the hope of eventual liberation,
he proposed to take his leave.
“I will try to believe thee, son,” said the old
man, who had good reason to distrust assurances
so often made. “I will do all I can to believe it.
Thou wilt tell thy mother, that I never cease to
think of her, and to pray for her; and thou wilt
bless thy sister, in the name of her poor imprisoned
parent.”
The Bravo bowed in acquiescence, glad of any
means to escape speech. At a sign from the old
man he again bent his knee, and received the parting
benediction. After busying himself in arranging
the scanty furniture of the cell, and in trying to
open one or two small fissures, with a view to admit
more light and air, he quitted the place.
Neither Gelsomina nor Jacopo spoke, as they returned
by the intricate passages through which they
had ascended to the attic, until they were again on
the Bridge of Sighs. It was seldom that human
foot trod this gallery, and the former, with female
quickness, selected it as a place suited to their further
conference.
“Dost thou find him changed?” she asked, lingering
on the arch.
“Much.”
“Thou speakest with a frightful meaning!”
“I have not taught my countenance to lie to thee,
Gelsomina.”
“But there is hope.—Thou told'st him there was
hope, thyself.”
“Blessed Maria forgive the fraud! I could not
rob the little life he has, of its only comfort.”
“Carlo!—Carlo!—Why art thou so calm? I
have never heard thee speak so calmly of thy
father's wrongs and imprisonment.”
“It is because his liberation is near.”
“But this moment he was without hope, and thou
speakest, now, of liberation!”
“The liberation of death. Even the anger of the
senate will respect the grave.”
“Dost thou think his end near? I had not seen
this change.”
“Thou art kind, good Gelsomina, and true to thy
friends, and without suspicion of those crimes of
which thou art so innocent; but to one, who has
seen as much evil as I, a jealous thought comes at
every new event. The sufferings of my poor father
are near their end, for nature is worn out; but were
it not, I can foresee that means would be found to
bring them to a close.”
“Thou canst not suspect that any here would do
him harm!”
“I suspect none that belong to thee. Both thy
father and thyself, Gelsomina, are placed here by
the interposition of the saints, that the fiends should
not have too much power on earth.”
“I do not understand thee, Carlo—but thou art
often so.—Thy father used a word to-day that I
could wish he had not, in speaking to thee.”
The eye of the Bravo threw a quick, uneasy, suspicious
its look with haste.
“He called thee, Jacopo!” continued the girl.
“Men often have glimpses of their fate, by the
kindness of their patrons.”
“Would'st thou say, Carlo, that thy father suspects
the senate will employ the monster he named?”
“Why not?—they have employed worse men. If
report says true, he is not unknown to them.”
“Can this be so!—Thou art bitter against the republic,
because it has done injury to thy family; but
thou canst not believe it has ever dealt with the
hired stiletto.”
“I said no more than is whispered daily on the
canals.”
“I would thy father had not called thee by this
terrible name, Carlo!”
“Thou art too wise to be moved by a word, Gelsomina.
But what thinkest thou of my unhappy
father?”
“This visit has not been like the others thou hast
made him in my company. I know not the reason,
but to me thou hast ever seemed to feel the hope
with which thou hast cheered the prisoner; while
now, thou seemest to have even a frightful pleasure
in despair.”
“Thy fears deceive thee;” returned the Bravo,
scarce speaking above his breath. “Thy fears deceive
thee, and we will say no more. The senate
mean to do us justice, at last. They are honorable
Signori, of illustrious birth, and renowned names!—
'Twould be madness to distrust the patricians! Dost
thou not know, girl, that he who is born of gentle
blood is above the weaknesses and temptations that
beset us of base origin? They are men placed by
birth above the weaknesses of mortals, and owing
their account to none, they will be sure to do justice.
This is reasonable, and who can doubt it!”
As he ended, the Bravo laughed bitterly.
“Nay, now thou triflest with me, Carlo; none
are above the danger of doing wrong, but those
whom the saints and kind Maria favor.”
“This comes of living in a prison, and of saying
thy prayers night and morning! No—no—silly girl,
there are men in the world born wise, from generation
to generation; born honest, virtuous, brave, incorruptible,
and fit in all things to shut up and imprison
those who are born base and ignoble. Where
hast thou passed thy days, foolish Gelsomina, not to
have felt this truth, in the very air thou breathest?
'Tis clear as the sun's light, and palpable—ay—palpable
as these prison walls!”
The timid girl recoiled from his side, and there
was a moment when she meditated flight; for never
before, during their numberless and confidential interviews,
had she ever heard so bitter a laugh, or
seen so wild a gleam in the eye of her companion.
“I could almost fancy, Carlo, that thy father was
right in using the name he did;” she said, as recovering
herself, she turned a reproachful look on his
still excited features.
“It is the business of parents to name their children;—but,
enough. I must leave thee, good Gelsomina,
and I leave thee with a heavy heart.”
The unsuspecting Gelsomina forgot her alarm.
She knew not why, but, though the imaginary Carlo
seldom quitted her that she was not sad, she felt a
weight heavier than common on her spirits at this
declaration.
“Thou hast thy affairs, and they must not be forgotten.
Art fortunate with the gondola, of late,
Carlo?”
“Gold and I are nearly strangers. The republic
throws the whole charge of the venerable prisoner
on my toil.”
“I have little, as thou knowest, Carlo,” said Gelsomina,
My father is not rich, as thou canst feel, or he would
not live on the sufferings of others, by holding the
keys of the prison.”
“He is better employed than those who set the
duty. Were the choice given me, girl, to wear the
horned bonnet, to feast in their halls, to rest in their
palaces, to be the gayest bauble in such a pageant
as that of yesterday, to plot in their secret councils,
and to be the heartless judge to condemn my fellows
to this misery—or to be merely the keeper of the
keys and turner of the bolts—I should seize on the
latter office, as not only the most innocent, but by
far the most honorable!”
“Thou dost not judge as the world judges, Carlo.
I had feared thou might'st feel shame at being the
husband of a jailer's daughter; nay, I will not hide
the secret longer, since thou speakest so calmly, I
have wept that it should be so.”
“Then thou hast neither understood the world
nor me. Were thy father of the senate, or of the
Council of Three, could the grievous fact be known,
thou would'st have cause to sorrow. But Gelsomina,
the canals are getting dusky, and I must
leave thee.”
The reluctant girl saw the truth of what he said,
and applying a key, she opened the door of the covered
bridge. A few turnings and a short descent
brought the Bravo and his companion to the level
of the quays. Here the former took a hurried leave
and quitted the prison.
| CHAPTER IV. The bravo | |