The Bravo

by James Fenimore Cooper

  "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.

  Chapter XXX

  *

  "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.

  "Art thou equal to a great effort, in order that the innocent shall not die?" he suddenly asked, though with a solemnity that denoted the influence of a high and absorbing motive.

  "Father!"

  "I would know if thy love for the youth can sustain thee in a trying scene; for without this effort he will surely perish!"

  "I would die to save Jacopo a pang!"

  "Deceive not thyself, daughter! Canst thou forget thy habits; overstep the diffidence of thy years and condition; stand and speak fearlessly in the presence of the great and dreaded?"

  "Reverend Carmelite, I speak daily without fear, though not without awe, to one more to be dreaded than any in Venice."

  The monk looked in admiration at the gentle being, whose countenance was glowing with the mild resolution of innocence and affection, and he motioned for her to follow.

  "We will go, then, before the proudest and the most fearful of earth, should there be occasion," he resumed. "We will do our duty to both parties, to the oppressor and the oppressed, that the sin of omission lie not on our souls."

  Father Anselmo, without further explanation, led the obedient girl into that part of the palace which was known to be appropriated to the private uses of the titular head of the Republic.

  The jealousy of the Venetian patricians on the subject of their Doge is matter of history. He was, by situation, a puppet in the hands of the nobles, who only tolerated his existence, because the theory of their government required a seeming agent in the imposing ceremonies that formed part of their specious system, and in their intercourse with other states. He dwelt in his palace like the queen-bee in the hive, pampered and honored to the eye, but in truth devoted to the objects of those who alone possess the power to injure, and perhaps we might add, like the insect named, known for consuming more than a usual portion of the fruits of the common industry.

  Father Anselmo was indebted to his own decision, and to the confidence of his manner, for reaching the private apartments of a prince, thus secluded and watched. He was permitted to pass by various sentinels, who imagined, from his holy calling and calm step, that he was some friar employed in his usual and privileged office. By this easy, quiet method did the Carmelite and his companion penetrate to the very ante-chamber of the sovereign, a spot that thousands had been defeated in attempting to reach, by means more elaborate.

  There were merely two or three drowsy inferior officers of the household in waiting. One arose quickly at the unexpected appearance of these unknown visitors, expressing, by the surprise and the confusion of his eye, the wonder into which he was thrown by so unlooked-for guests.

  "His Highness waits for us, I fear?" simply observed Father Anselmo, who had known how to quiet his concern, in a look of passive courtesy.

  "Santa Maria! holy father, you should know best, but—"

  "We will not lose more time in idle words, son, when there has already been this delay—show us to the closet of his Highness."

  "It is forbidden to usher any, unannounced, into the presence—"

  "Thou seest this is not an ordinary visit. Go, inform the Doge that the Carmelite he expects, and the youthful maiden, in whom his princely bosom feels so parental an interest, await his pleasure."

  "His Highness has then commanded—"

  "Tell him, moreover, that time presses; for the hour is near when innocence is condemned to suffer."

  The usher was deceived by the gravity and assurance of the monk. He hesitated, and then throwing open a door, he showed the visitors into an inner room, where he requested them to await his return. After this, he went on the desired commission to the closet of his master.

  It has already been shown that the reigning Doge, if such a title can be used of a prince who was merely a tool of the aristocracy, was a man advanced in years. He had thrown aside the cares of the day, and, in the retirement of his privacy, was endeavoring to indulge those human sympathies that had so little play in the ordinary duties of his factitious condition, by holding intercourse with the mind of one of the classics of his country. His state was laid aside for lighter ease and personal freedom. The monk could not have chosen a happier moment for his object, since the man was undefended by the usual appliances of his rank, and he was softened by communion with one who had known how to mould and
temper the feelings of his readers at will. So entire was the abstraction of the Doge, at the moment, that the usher entered unheeded, and had stood in respectful attention to his sovereign's pleasure, near a minute before he was seen.

  "What would'st thou, Marco?" demanded the prince, when his eye rose from the page.

  "Signore," returned the officer, using the familiar manner in which those nearest to the persons of princes are permitted to indulge—"here are the reverend Carmelite, and the young girl, in waiting."

  "How sayest thou? a Carmelite, and a girl!"

  "Signore, the same. Those whom your Highness expects."

  "What bold pretence is this!"

  "Signore, I do but repeat the words of the monk. 'Tell his Highness,' said the father, 'that the Carmelite he wishes to see, and the young girl in whose happiness his princely bosom feels so parental an interest, await his pleasure.'"

  There passed a glow, in which indignation was brighter than shame, over the wasted cheek of the old prince, and his eye kindled.

  "And this to me—even in my palace!"

  "Pardon, Signore. This is no shameless priest, like so many that disgrace the tonsure. Both monk and girl have innocent and harmless looks, and I do suspect your Highness may have forgotten."

  The bright spots disappeared from the prince's cheeks and his eye regained its paternal expression. But age, and experience in his delicate duties, had taught the Doge of Venice caution. He well knew that memory had not failed him, and he at once saw that a hidden meaning lay concealed beneath an application so unusual. There might be a device of his enemies, who were numerous and active, or, in truth, there might be some justifiable motive to warrant the applicant in resorting to a measure so hardy.

  "Did the Carmelite say more, good Marco?" he asked, after deep reflection.

  "Signore, he said there was great urgency, as the hour was near when the innocent might suffer. I doubt not that he comes with a petition in behalf of some young indiscreet, for there are said to be several young nobles arrested for their follies in the carnival. The female may be a sister disguised."

  "Bid one of thy companions come hither; and when I touch my bell, do thou usher these visitors to my presence."

  The attendant withdrew, taking care to pass into the antechamber by doors that rendered it unnecessary to show himself too soon to those who expected his return. The second usher quickly made his appearance, and was immediately dispatched in quest of one of the Three, who was occupied with important papers in an adjoining closet. The senator was not slow to obey the summons, for he appeared there as a friend of the prince, having been admitted publicly, and with the customary honors.

  "Here are visitors of an unusual character, Signore," said the Doge, rising to receive him whom he had summoned in precaution to himself, "and I would have a witness of their requests."

  "Your Highness does well to make us of the Senate share your labors; though if any mistaken opinion of the necessity has led you to conceive it important to call a councillor each time a guest enters the palace—"

  "It is well, Signore," mildly interrupted the prince, touching the bell. "I hope my importunity has not deranged you. But here come those I expect."

  Father Anselmo and Gelsomina entered the closet together. The first glance convinced the Doge that he received strangers. He exchanged looks with the member of the secret council, and each saw in the other's eye that the surprise was mutual.

  When fairly in the presence, the Carmelite threw back his cowl, entirely exposing the whole of his ascetic features; while Gelsomina, awed by the rank of him who received them, shrank abashed, partly concealed by his robes.

  "What means this visit?" demanded the prince, whose finger pointed to the shrinking form of the girl, while his eye rested steadily on that of the monk, "and that unusual companion? Neither the hour, nor the mode, is customary."

  Father Anselmo stood before the Venetian sovereign for the first time. Accustomed, like all of that region, and more especially in that age, to calculate his chances of success warily, before venturing to disburden his mind, the monk fastened a penetrating look on his interrogator.

  "Illustrious prince," he said, "we come petitioners for justice. They who are thus commissioned had need be bold, lest they do their own character, and their righteous office, discredit."

  "Justice is the glory of St. Mark, and the happiness of his subjects. Thy course, father, is not according to established rules and wholesome restraints, but it may have its apology—name thy errand."

  "There is one in the cells, condemned of the public tribunals, and he must die with the return of day, unless your princely authority interfere to save him."

  "One condemned of the tribunals may merit his fate."

  "I am the ghostly adviser of the unhappy youth, and in the execution of my sacred office I have learned that he is innocent."

  "Didst thou say, condemned of the common judges-father?"

  "Sentenced to die, highness, by a decree of the criminal tribunals."

  The prince appeared relieved. So long as the affair had been public, there was at least reason to believe he might indulge his love of the species, by listening further, without offence to the tortuous policy of the state. Glancing his eye at the motionless inquisitor, as if to seek approbation, he advanced a step nearer to the Carmelite, with increasing interest in the application.

  "By what authority, reverend priest, dost thou impeach the decision of the judges?" he demanded.

  "Signore, as I have just said, in virtue of knowledge gained in the exercise of my holy office. He has laid bare his soul to me, as one whose feet were in the grave; and, though offending, like all born of woman, towards his God, he is guiltless as respects the state."

  "Thinkest thou, father, that the law would ever reach its victim, were we to listen only to self-accusations? I am old, monk, and have long worn that troublesome cap," pointing to the horned bonnet, which lay near his hand, the symbol of his state, "and in my day, I do not recall the criminal that has not fancied himself the victim of untoward circumstances."

  "That men apply this treacherous solace to their consciences, one of my vocation has not to learn. Our chief task is to show the delusion of those, who, while condemning their own sins by words of confession and self-abasement, make a merit of humility; but, Doge of Venice, there is still a virtue in the sacred rite I have this evening been required to perform, which can overcome the mounting of the most exalted spirit. Many attempt to deceive themselves at the confessional, while, by the power of God, few succeed."

  "Praised be the blessed mother and the incarnate son, that it is so!" returned the prince, struck by the mild faith of the monk, and crossing himself reverently. "Father, thou hast forgotten to name the condemned?"

  "It is a certain Jacopo Frontoni;—a reputed bravo," The start, the changing color, and the glance of the prince of Venice, were full of natural surprise.

  "Callest thou the bloodiest stiletto that ever disgraced the city, the weapon of a reputed bravo? The arts of the monster have prevailed over thy experience, monk!—the true confession of such a wretch would be but a history of bloody and revolting crimes."

  "I entered his cell with this opinion, but I left it convinced that the public sentiment has done him wrong. If your Highness will deign hear his tale, you will think him a fit subject for your pity, rather than for punishment."

  "Of all the criminals of my reign, this is the last in whose favor I could have imagined there was aught to be said!—Speak freely, Carmelite; for curiosity is as strong as wonder."

  So truly did the Doge give utterance to his feelings, that he momentarily forgot the presence of the inquisitor, whose countenance might have shown him that the subject was getting to be grave.

  The monk ejaculated a thanksgiving, for it was not always easy, in that city of mystery, to bring truth to the ears of the great. When men live under a system of duplicity, more or less of the quality gets interwoven with the habits of the most ingenuous,
although they may remain themselves unconscious of the taint. Thus Father Anselmo, as he proceeded with the desired explanation, touched more tenderly on the practices of the state, and used more of reserve in alluding to those usages and opinions, which one of his holy calling and honest nature, under other circumstances, would have fearlessly condemned.

  "It may not be known to one of your high condition, sovereign prince," resumed the Carmelite, "that an humble but laborious mechanic of this city, a certain Francesco Frontoni, was long since condemned for frauds against the Republic's revenue. This is a crime St. Mark never fails to visit with his heavy displeasure, for when men place the goods of the world before all other considerations, they mistake the objects which have brought them together in social union."

  "Father, thou wert speaking of a certain Francesco Frontoni?"

  "Highness, such was his name. The unhappy man had taken into his confidence and friendship, one who, pretending to his daughter's love, might appear to be the master of his secrets. When this false suitor stood on the verge of detection, for offences against the customs, he laid a snare of deception, which, while he was permitted to escape, drew the anger of the state on his too confiding friend. Francesco was condemned to the cells, until he might reveal facts which never had an existence."