None heard the words of the officer with more feeling than Gelsomina. She bent her body far from the window, in order that not a syllable should escape her.
"Did'st thou hear, Carlo?" demanded the eager girl, as she drew back her head; "they proclaim, at last, money for the monster who has committed so many murders!"
Jacopo laughed; but to the ears of his startled companion the sounds were unnatural.
"The patricians are just, and what they do is right," he said. "They are of illustrious birth, and cannot err! They will do their duty."
"But here is no other duty than that they owe to God, and to the people."
"I have heard of the duty of the people, but little is said of the Senate's."
"Nay, Carlo, we will not refuse them credit when in truth they seek to keep the citizens from harm. This Jacopo is a monster, detested by all, and his bloody deeds have too long been a reproach to Venice. Thou hearest that the patricians are not niggard of their gold, when there is hope of his being taken. Listen! they proclaim again!"
The trumpet sounded, and the proclamation was repeated between the granite columns of the Piazzetta, and quite near to the window occupied by Gelsomina and her unmoved companion.
"Why dost thou mask, Carlo?" she asked, when the officer had done; "it is not usual to be disguised in the palace at this hour."
"They will believe it the Doge, blushing to be an auditor of his own liberal justice, or they may mistake me for one of the Three itself."
"They go by the quay to the arsenal; thence they will take boat, as is customary, for the Rialto."
"Thereby giving this redoubtable Jacopo timely notice to secrete himself! Your judges up above are mysterious when they should be open; and open when they should be secret. I must quit thee, Gelsomina; go, then, back to the room of thy father, and leave me to pass out by the court of the palace."
"It may not be, Carlo—thou knowest the permission of the authorities—I have exceeded—why should I wish to conceal it from thee—but it was not permitted to thee to enter at this hour."
"And thou hast had the courage to transgress the leave for my sake, Gelsomina?"
The abashed girl hung her head, and the color which glowed about her temples was like the rosy light of her own Italy.
"Thou would'st have it so," she said.
"A thousand thanks, dearest, kindest, truest Gelsomina; but doubt not my being able to leave the palace unseen. The danger was in entering. They who go forth do it with the air of having authority."
"None pass the halberdiers masked by day, Carlo, but they who have the secret word."
The Bravo appeared struck with this truth, and there was great embarrassment expressed in his manner. The terms of his admittance were so well understood to himself, that he distrusted the expediency of attempting to get upon the quays by the prison, the way he had entered, since he had little doubt that his retreat would be intercepted by those who kept the outer gate, and who were probably, by this time, in the secret of his true character. It now appeared that egress by the other route was equally hazardous. He had not been surprised so much by the substance of the proclamation, as by the publicity the Senate had seen fit to give to its policy, and he had heard himself denounced, with a severe pang, it is true, but without terror. Still he had so many means of disguise, and the practice of personal concealment was so general in Venice, that he had entertained no great distrust of the result until he now found himself in this awkward dilemma. Gelsomina read his indecision in his eye, and regretted that she should have caused him so much uneasiness.
"It is not so bad as thou seemest to think, Carlo," she observed; "they have permitted thee to visit thy father at stated hours, and the permission is a proof that the Senate is not without pity. Now that I, to oblige thy wishes, have forgotten one of their injunctions, they will not be so hard of heart as to visit the fault as a crime."
Jacopo gazed at her with pity, for well did he understand how little she knew of the real nature and wily policy of the state.
"It is time that we should part," he said, "lest thy innocence should be made to pay the price of my mistake. I am now near the public corridor, and must trust to my fortune to gain the quay."
Gelsomina hung upon his arm, unwilling to trust him to his own guidance in that fearful building.
"It will not do, Carlo; thou wilt stumble on a soldier, and thy fault will be known; perhaps they will refuse to let thee come again; perhaps altogether shut the door of thy poor father's cell."
Jacopo made a gesture for her to lead the way, and followed. With a beating, but still lightened heart, Gelsomina glided along the passages, carefully locking each door, as of wont, behind her, when she had passed through it. At length they reached the well known Bridge of Sighs. The anxious girl went on with a lighter step, when she found herself approaching her own abode, for she was busy in planning the means of concealing her companion in her father's rooms, should there be hazard in his passing out of the prison during the day.
"But a single minute, Carlo," she whispered, applying the key to the door which opened into the latter building—the lock yielded, but the hinges refused to turn. Gelsomina paled as she added—"They have drawn the bolts within!"
"No matter; I will go down by the court of the palace, and boldly pass the halberdier unmasked."
Gelsomina, after all, saw but little risk of his being known by the mercenaries who served the Doge, and, anxious to relieve him from so awkward a position, she flew back to the other end of the gallery. Another key was applied to the door by which they had just entered, with the same result. Gelsomina staggered back, and sought support against the waft.
"We can neither return nor proceed!" she exclaimed, frightened she knew not why.
"I see it all," answered Jacopo, "we are prisoners on the fatal bridge."
As he spoke, the Bravo calmly removed his mask, and showed the countenance of a man whose resolution was at its height.
"Santa Madre di Dio! what can it mean?"
"That we have passed here once too often, love. The council is tender of these visits."
The bolts of both doors grated, and the hinges creaked at the same instant. An officer of the inquisition entered armed, and bearing manacles. Gelsomina shrieked, but Jacopo moved not limb or muscle, while he was fettered and chained.
"I too!" cried his frantic companion. "I am the most guilty—bind me—cast me into a cell, but let poor Carlo go."
"Carlo!" echoed an officer, laughing unfeelingly.
"Is it such a crime to seek a father in his prison! They knew of his visits—they permitted them—he has only mistaken the hour."
"Girl, dost thou know for whom thou pleadest?"
"For the kindest heart—the most faithful son in Venice! Oh! if ye had seen him weep as I have done, over the sufferings of the old captive—if ye had seen his very form shivering in agony, ye would have pity on him!"
"Listen," returned the officer, raising a finger for attention.
The trumpeter sounded on the bridge of St. Mark, immediately beneath them, and proclamation was again made, offering gold for the arrest of the Bravo.
"'Tis the officer of the Republic, bidding for the head of one who carries a common stiletto," cried the half-breathless Gelsomina, who little heeded the ceremony at that instant; "he merits his fate."
"Then why resist it?"
"Ye speak without meaning!"
"Doting girl, this is Jacopo Frontoni!"
Gelsomina would have disbelieved her ears, but for the anguished expression of Jacopo's eye. The horrible truth burst upon her mind, and she fell lifeless. At that moment the Bravo was hurried from the bridge.
"Let us lift up the curtain, and observeWhat passes in that chamber."ROGERS
"Let us lift up the curtain, and observeWhat passes in that chamber."
ROGERS
There were many rumors uttered in the fearful and secret manner which characterized the manner of the town, in the streets of Venice that day. Hundreds passed near the granite columns, as if they expected to see the Bravo occupying his accustomed stand, in audacious defiance of the proclamation, for so long and so mysteriously had he been permitted to appear in public, that men had difficulty in persuading themselves he would quit his habits so easily. It is needless to say that the vague expectation was disappointed. Much was also said, vauntingly, in behalf of the Republic's justice, for the humbled are bold enough in praising their superiors; and he, who had been dumb for years on subjects of a public nature, now found his voice like a fearless freeman.
But the day passed away without any new occurrence to call the citizens from their pursuits. The prayers for the dead were continued with little intermission, and masses were said before the altars of half the churches for the repose of the fisherman's soul. His comrades, a little distrustful, but greatly gratified, watched the ceremonies with jealousy and exultation singularly blended. Ere the night set in again, they were among the most obedient of those the oligarchy habitually trod upon; for such is the effect of this species of domination, that it acquires a power to appease, by its flattery, the very discontents created by its injustice. Such is the human mind: a factitious but deeply-seated sentiment of respect is created by the habit of submission, which gives the subject of its influence a feeling of atonement, when he who has long played the superior comes down from his stilts, and confesses the community of human frailties!
The square of St. Mark filled at the usual hour, the patricians deserted the Broglio as of wont, and the gaieties of the place were again uppermost, before the clock had struck the second hour of the night. Gondolas, filled with noble dames, appeared on the canals; the blinds of the palaces were raised for the admission of the sea-breeze;—and music began to be heard in the port, on the bridges, and under the balconies of the fair. The course of society was not to be arrested, merely because the wronged were unavenged, or the innocent suffered.
There stood, then, on the grand canal, as there stand now, many palaces of scarcely less than royal magnificence. The reader has had occasion to become acquainted with one or two of these splendid edifices, and it is now our duty to convey him, in imagination, to another.
The peculiarity of construction, which is a consequence of the watery site of Venice, gives the same general character to all the superior dwellings of that remarkable town. The house to which the thread of the narrative now leads us, had its water-gate, its vestibule, its massive marble stairs, its inner court, its magnificent suites of rooms above, its pictures, its lustres, and its floors of precious stones embedded in composition, like all those which we have already found it necessary to describe.
The hour was ten, according to our own manner of computing time. A small but lovely family picture presented itself, deep within the walls of the patrician abode to which we have alluded. There was a father, a gentleman who had scarcely attained the middle age, with an eye in which spirit, intelligence, philanthropy, and, at that moment, paternal fondness were equally glowing. He tossed in his arms, with paternal pride, a laughing urchin of some three or four years, who rioted in the amusement which brought him, and the author of his being, for a time seemingly on a level. A fair Venetian dame, with golden locks and glowing cheeks, such as Titian loved to paint her sex, reclined on a couch nigh by, following the movements of both, with the joint feelings of mother and wife, and laughing in pure sympathy with the noisy merriment of her young hope. A girl, who was the youthful image of herself, with tresses that fell to her waist, romped with a crowing infant, whose age was so tender as scarcely to admit the uncertain evidence of its intelligence. Such was the scene as the clock of the piazza told the hour. Struck with the sound, the father set down the boy and consulted his watch.
"Dost thou use thy gondola to-night, love?" he demanded.
"With thee, Paolo?"
"Not with me, dearest; I have affairs which will employ me until twelve."
"Nay, thou art given to cast me off, when thy caprices are wayward."
"Say not so. I have named to-night for an interview with my agent, and I know thy maternal heart too well, to doubt thy being willing to spare me for that time, while I look to the interests of these dear ones."
The Donna Giulietta rang for her mantle and attendants. The crowing infant and the noisy boy were dismissed to their beds, while the lady and the eldest child descended to the gondola. Donna Giulietta was not permitted to go unattended to her boat, for this was a family in which the inclinations had fortunately seconded the ordinary calculations of interest when the nuptial knot was tied. Her husband kissed her hand fondly, as he assisted her into the gondola, and the boat had glided some distance from the palace ere he quitted the moist stones of the water-gate.
"Hast thou prepared the cabinet for my friends?" demanded the Signor Soranzo, for it was the same Senator who had been in company with the Doge when the latter went to meet the fishermen.
"Signore, si."
"And the quiet, and the lights—as ordered?"
"Eccellenza, all will be done."
"Thou hast placed seats for six—we shall be six."
"Signore, there are six arm-chairs."
"'Tis well: when the first of my friends arrive, I will join them."
"Eccellenza, there are already two cavaliers in masks within."
The Signor Soranzo started, again consulted his watch, and went hastily towards a distant and very silent part of the palace. He reached a small door unattended, and closing it, found himself at once in the presence of those who evidently awaited his appearance.
"A thousand pardons, Signori," cried the master of the house; "this is novel duty to me, at least—I know not what may be your honorable experience—and the time stole upon me unmarked. I pray for grace, Messires; future diligence shall repair the present neglect."
Both the visitors were older men than their host, and it was quite evident by their hardened visages they were of much longer practice in the world. His excuses were received with courtesy, and, for a little time, the discourse was entirely of usage and convention.
"We are in secret here, Signore?" asked one of the guests, after some little time had been wasted in this manner.
"As the tomb. None enter here unbidden but my wife, and she has this moment taken boat for better enjoyment of the evening."
"The world gives you credit, Signor Soranzo, for a happy ménage. I hope you have duly considered the necessity of shutting the door even against the Donna Giulietta to-night?"
"Doubt me not, Signore; the affairs of St. Mark are paramount."
"I feel myself thrice happy, Signori, that in drawing a lot for the secret council, my good fortune hath given me so excellent colleagues. Believe me, I have discharged this awful trust, in my day, in less agreeable company."
This flattering speech, which the wily old senator had made regularly to all whom chance had associated with him in the inquisition, during a long life, was well received, and it was returned with equal compliments.
"It would appear that the worthy Signor Alessandro Gradenigo was one of our predecessors," he continued, looking at some papers; for though the actual three were unknown, at the time being, to all but a few secretaries and officers of the state, Venetian policy transmitted their names to their successors, as a matter of course,—"a noble gentleman, and one of great devotion to the state!"
The others assented, like men accustomed to speak with caution.
"We were about to have entered on our duties at a troublesome moment, Signori," observed another. "But it would seem that this tumult of the fishermen has already subsided. I understand the knaves had some reason for their distrust of the state."
"It is an affair happily settled," answered the senior of the three, who was long practised in the expediency of forgetting all that policy required should cease to be remembered after the object was attained. "The galleys must be manned, else would St. Mark quickly hang his head in shame."
The Signor Soranzo, who had received some previous instruction in his new duties, looked melancholy; but he, too, was merely the creature of a system.
"Is there matter of pressing import for our reflection?" he demanded.
"Signori, there is every reason to believe that the state has just sustained a grievous loss. Ye both well know the heiress of Tiepolo, by reputation at least, though her retired manner of life may have kept you from her company."
"Donna Giulietta is eloquent in praise of her beauty," said the young husband.
"We had not a better fortune in Venice," rejoined the third inquisitor.
"Excellent in qualities, and better in riches, as she is, I fear we have lost her, Signori! Don Camillo Monforte, whom God protect until we have no future use for his influence! had come near to prevail against us; but just as the state baffled his well laid schemes, the lady has been thrown by hazard into the hands of the rioters, since which time there is no account of her movements!"
Paolo Soranzo secretly hoped she was in the arms of the Neapolitan.
"A secretary has communicated to me the disappearance of the Duca di Sant' Agata also," observed the third; "nor is the felucca, usually employed in distant and delicate missions, any longer at her anchors."
The two old men regarded each other as if the truth was beginning to dawn upon their suspicions. They saw that the case was hopeless, and as theirs was altogether a practical duty, no time was lost in useless regrets.
"We have two affairs which press," observed the elder. "The body of the old fisherman must be laid quietly in the earth with as little risk of future tumult as may be; and we have this notorious Jacopo to dispose of."
"The latter must first be taken," said the Signor Soranzo.
"That has been done already. Would you think it, Sirs he was seized in the very palace of the Doge!"
"To the block with him without delay!"
The old men again looked at each other, and it was quite apparent that, as both of them had been in previous councils, they had a secret intelligence, to which their companion was yet a stranger. There was also visible in their glances something like a design to manage his feelings before they came more openly to the graver practices of their duties.
"For the sake of blessed St. Mark, Signori, let justice be done openly in this instance!" continued the unsuspecting member of the Three. "What pity can the bearer of a common stiletto claim? and what more lovely exercise of our authority than to make public an act of severe and much-required justice?"
The old senators bowed to this sentiment of their colleague, which was uttered with the fervor of young experience, and the frankness of an upright mind; for there is a conventional acquiescence in received morals which is permitted, in semblance at least, to adorn the most tortuous.
"It may be well, Signore Soranzo, to do this homage to the right," returned the elder. "Here have been sundry charges found in different lions' mouths against the Neapolitan, Signor Don Camillo Monforte. I leave it to your wisdom, my illustrious colleagues, to decide on their character."
"An excess of malice betrays its own origin," exclaimed the least practised member of the Inquisition. "My life on it, Signori, these accusations come of private spleen, and are unworthy of the state's attention. I have consorted much with the young lord of Sant' Agata, and a more worthy gentleman does not dwell among us."
"Still hath he designs on the hand of old Tiepolo's daughter!"
"Is it a crime in youth to seek beauty? He did great service to the lady in her need, and that youth should feel these sympathies is nothing strange."
"Venice hath her sympathies, as well as the youngest of us all, Signore."
"But Venice cannot wed the heiress!"
"True. St. Mark must be satisfied with playing the prudent father's part. You are yet young, Signore Soranzo, and the Donna Giulietta is of rare beauty! As life wears upon ye both, ye will see the fortunes of kingdoms, as well as of families, differently. But we waste our breath uselessly in this matter, since our agents have not yet reported their success in the pursuit. The most pressing affair, just now, is the disposition of the Bravo. Hath his Highness shown you the letter of the sovereign pontiff, in the question of the intercepted dispatches, Signore?"
"He hath. A fair answer was returned by our predecessors, and it must rest there."
"We will then look freely into the matter of Jacopo Frontoni. There will be necessity of our assembling in the chamber of the Inquisition, that we may have the prisoner confronted to his accusers. 'Tis a grave trial, Signori, and Venice would lose in men's estimation, were not the highest tribunal to take an interest in its decision."
"To the block with the villain!" again exclaimed the Signor Soranzo.
"He may haply meet with that fate, or even with the punishment of the wheel. A mature examination will enlighten us much on the course which policy may dictate."
"There can be but one policy when the protection of the lives of our citizens is in question. I have never before felt impatience to shorten the life of man, but in this trial I can scarce brook delay."
"Your honorable impatience shall be gratified, Signor Soranzo: for, foreseeing the urgency of the case, my colleague, the worthy senator who is joined with us in this high duty, and myself, have already issued the commands necessary to that object. The hour is near, and we will repair to the chamber of the Inquisition in time to our duty."
The discourse then turned on subjects of a more general concern. This secret and extraordinary tribunal, which was obliged to confine its meetings to no particular place, which could decide on its decrees equally in the Piazza or the palace, amidst the revelries of the masquerade or before the altar, in the assemblies of the gay or in their own closets, had of necessity much ordinary matter submitted to its inspection. As the chances of birth entered into its original composition, and God hath not made all alike fit for so heartless a duty, it sometimes happened, as in the present instance, that the more worldly of its members had to overcome the generous disposition of a colleague, before the action of the terrible machine could go on.
It is worthy of remark, that communities always establish a higher standard of justice and truth, than is exercised by their individual members. The reason is not to be sought for, since nature hath left to all a perception of that right, which is abandoned only under the stronger impulses of personal temptation. We commend the virtue we cannot imitate. Thus it is that those countries, in which public opinion has most influence, are always of the purest public practice. It follows as a corollary from this proposition, that a representation should be as real as possible, for its tendency will be inevitably to elevate national morals. Miserable, indeed, is the condition of that people, whose maxims and measures of public policy are below the standard of its private integrity, for the fact not only proves it is not the master of its own destinies, but the still more dangerous truth, that the collective power is employed in the fatal service of undermining those very qualities which are necessary to virtue, and which have enough to do, at all times, in resisting the attacks of immediate selfishness. A strict legal representation of all its interests is far more necessary to a worldly than to a simple people, since responsibility, which is the essence of a free government, is more likely to keep the agents of a nation near to its own standard of virtue than any other means. The common opinion that a Republic cannot exist without an extraordinary degree of virtue in its citizens, is so flattering to our own actual condition, that we seldom take the trouble to inquire into its truth; but, to us, it seems quite apparent that the effect is here mistaken for the cause. It is said, as the people are virtually masters in a Republic, that the people ought to be virtuous to rule well. So far as this proposition is confined to degrees, it is just as true of a Republic as of any other form of government. But kings do rule, and surely all have not been virtuous; and that aristocracies have ruled with the very minimum of that quality, the subject of our tale sufficiently shows. That, other things being equal, the citizens of a Republic will have a higher standard of private virtue than the subjects of any other form of government, is true as an effect, we can readily believe; for responsibility to public opinion existing in all the branches of its administration, that conventional morality which characterizes the common sentiment, will be left to act on the mass, and will not be perverted into a terrible engine of corruption, as is the case when factitious institutions give a false direction to its influence.
The case before us was in proof of the truth of what has here been said. The Signor Soranzo was a man of great natural excellence of character, and the charities of his domestic circle had assisted in confirming his original dispositions. Like others of his rank and expectations, he had, from time to time, made the history and polity of the self-styled Republic his study, and the power of collective interests and specious necessities had made him admit sundry theories, which, presented in another form, he would have repulsed with indignation. Still the Signor Soranzo was far from understanding the full effects of that system which he was born to uphold. Even Venice paid that homage to public opinion, of which there has just been question, and held forth to the world but a false picture of her true state maxims. Still, many of those which were too apparent to be concealed were difficult of acceptance, with one whose mind was yet untainted with practice; and the young senator rather shut his eyes on their tendency, or, as he felt their influence in every interest which environed him, but that of poor, neglected, abstract virtue, whose rewards were so remote, he was fain to seek out some palliative, or some specious and indirect good as the excuse for his acquiescence.
In this state of mind the Signor Soranzo was unexpectedly admitted a member of the Council of Three. Often, in the day-dreams of his youth, had he contemplated the possession of this very irresponsible power as the consummation of his wishes. A thousand pictures of the good he would perform had crossed his brain, and it was only as he advanced in life, and came to have a near view of the wiles which beset the best-intentioned, that he could bring himself to believe most of that which he meditated was impracticable. As it was, he entered into the council with doubts and misgivings. Had he lived in a later age, under his own system modified by the knowledge which has been a consequence of the art of printing, it is probable that the Signor Soranzo would have been a noble in opposition, now supporting with ardor some measure of public benevolence, and now yielding gracefully to the suggestions of a sterner policy, and always influenced by the positive advantages he was born to possess, though scarcely conscious himself he was not all he professed to be. The fault, however, was not so much that of the patrician as that of circumstances, which, by placing interest in opposition to duty, lures many a benevolent mind into still greater weaknesses.
The companions of the Signor Soranzo, however, had a more difficult task to prepare him for the duties of the statesman, which were so very different from those he was accustomed to perform as a man, than they had anticipated. They were like two trained elephants of the east, possessing themselves all the finer instincts and generous qualities of the noble animal, but disciplined by a force quite foreign to their natural condition into creatures of mere convention, placed one on each side of a younger brother, fresh from the plains, and whom it was their duty to teach new services for the trunk, new affections, and haply the manner in which to carry with dignity the howdah of a Rajah.
With many allusions to their policy, but with no direct intimation of their own intention, the seniors of the council continued the conversation until the hour for the meeting in the Doge's palace drew nigh. They then separated as privately as they had come together, in order that no vulgar eye might penetrate the mystery of their official character.
The most practised of the three appeared in an assembly of the patricians, which noble and beautiful dames graced with their presence, from which he disappeared in a manner to leave no clue to his motions. The other visited the death-bed of a friend, where he discoursed long and well with a friar, of the immortality of the soul and the hopes of a Christian: when he departed, the godly man bestowing his blessing, and the family he left being loud and eloquent in his praise.
The Signor Soranzo clung to the enjoyments of his own family circle until the last moment. The Donna Giulietta had returned, fresher and more lovely than ever, from the invigorating sea-breeze, and her soft voice, with the melodious laugh of his first-born, the blooming, ringlet-covered girl described, still rang in his ears, when his gondolier landed him beneath the bridge of the Rialto. Here he masked, and drawing his cloak about him, he moved with the current towards the square of St. Mark, by means of the narrow streets. Once in the crowd there was little danger of impertinent observation. Disguise was as often useful to the oligarchy of Venice as it was absolutely necessary to elude its despotism, and to render the town tolerable to the citizen. Paolo saw swarthy, bare-legged men of the Lagunes, entering occasionally into the cathedral. He followed, and found himself standing near the dimly lighted altar at which masses were still saying for the soul of Antonio.
"This is one of thy fellows?" he asked of a fisherman, whose dark eye glittered in that light, like the organ of a basilisk.
"Signore, he was—a more honest or a more just man did not cast his net in the gulf."
"He has fallen a victim to his craft?"
"Cospetto di Bacco! none know in what manner he came by his end. Some say St. Mark was impatient to see him in paradise, and some pretend he has fallen by the hand of a common Bravo, named Jacopo Frontoni."
"Why should a Bravo take the life of one like this?"
"By having the goodness to answer your own question, Signore, you will spare me some trouble. Why should he, sure enough? They say Jacopo is revengeful, and that shame and anger at his defeat in the late regatta, by one old as this, was the reason."
"Is he so jealous of his honor with the oar?"
"Diamine! I have seen the time when Jacopo would sooner die than lose a race; but that was before he carried a stiletto. Had he kept to his oar the thing might have happened, but once known for the hired blow, it seems unreasonable he should set his heart so strongly on the prizes of the canals."
"May not the man have fallen into the Lagunes by accident?"
"No doubt, Signore. This happens to some of us daily; but then we think it wiser to swim to the boat than to sink. Old Antonio had an arm in youth to carry him from the quay to the Lido."
"But he may have been struck in falling, and rendered unable to do himself this good office."
"There would be marks to show this, were it true, Signore!"
"Would not Jacopo have used the stiletto?"
"Perhaps not on one like Antonio. The gondola of the old man was found in the mouth of the Grand Canal, half a league from the body and against the wind! We note these things, Signore, for they are within our knowledge."
"A happy night to thee, fisherman."
"A most happy night, eccellenza," said the laborer of the Lagunes, gratified with having so long occupied the attention of one he rightly believed so much his superior. The disguised senator passed on. He had no difficulty in quitting the cathedral unobserved, and he had his private means of entering the palace, without attracting any impertinent eye to his movements. Here he quickly joined his colleagues of the fearful tribunal.
"Therethe prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor."JOB.
"Therethe prisoners rest together; they hear not the voice of the oppressor."
JOB.
The manner in which the Council of Three held its more public meetings, if aught connected with that mysterious body could be called public, has already been seen. On the present occasion there were the same robes, the same disguises, and the same officers of the inquisition, as in the scene related in a previous chapter. The only change was in the character of the judges, and in that of the accused. By a peculiar arrangement of the lamp, too, most of the light was thrown upon the spot it was intended the prisoner should occupy, while the side of the apartment on which the inquisitors sat, was left in a dimness that well accorded with their gloomy and secret duties. Previously to the opening of the door by which the person to be examined was to appear, there was audible the clanking of chains, the certain evidence that the affair in hand was considered serious. The hinges turned, and the Bravo stood in presence of those unknown men who were to decide on his fate.
As Jacopo had often been before the council, though not as a prisoner, he betrayed neither surprise nor alarm at the black aspect of all his eye beheld. His features were composed, though pale, his limbs immovable, and his mien decent. When the little bustle of his entrance had subsided, there reigned a stillness in the room.
"Thou art called Jacopo Frontoni?" said the secretary, who acted as the mouth-piece of the Three, on this occasion.
"I am."
"Thou art the son of a certain Ricardo Frontoni, a man well known as having been concerned in robbing the Republic's customs, and who is thought to have been banished to the distant islands, or to be otherwise punished?"
"Signore—or otherwise punished."
"Thou wert a gondolier in thy youth?"
"I was a gondolier."
"Thy mother is----"
"Dead," said Jacopo, perceiving the other paused to examine his notes.
The depth of the tone in which this word was uttered, caused a silence, that the secretary did not interrupt, until he had thrown a glance backwards at the judges.
"She was not accused of thy father's crime?"
"Had she been, Signore, she is long since beyond the power of the Republic."
"Shortly after thy father fell under the displeasure of the state, thou quittedst thy business of a gondolier?"
"Signore, I did."
"Thou art accused, Jacopo, of having laid aside the oar for the stiletto?"
"Signore, I am."
"For several years, the rumors of thy bloody deeds have been growing in Venice, until, of late, none have met with an untimely fate that the blow has not been attributed to thy hand?"
"This is too true, Signor Segretario—I would it were not!"
"The ears of his highness, and of the Councils, have not been closed to these reports, but they have long attended to the rumors with the earnestness which becomes a paternal and careful government. If they have suffered thee to go at large, it hath only been that there might be no hazard of sullying the ermine of justice, by a premature and not sufficiently supported judgment."
Jacopo bent his head, but without speaking. A smile so wild and meaning, however, gleamed on his face at this declaration, that the permanent officer of the secret tribunal, he who served as its organ of communication, bowed nearly to the paper he held, as it might be to look deeper into his documents. Let not the reader turn back to this page in surprise, when he shall have reached the explanation of the tale, for mysticisms quite as palpable, if not of so ruthless a character, have been publicly acted by political bodies in his own times.
"There is now a specific and a frightful charge brought against thee, Jacopo Frontoni," continued the secretary; "and, in tenderness of the citizen's life, the dreaded Council itself hath taken the matter in hand. Didst thou know a certain Antonio Vecchio, a fisherman here in our Lagunes?"
"Signore, I knew him well of late, and much regret that it was only of late."
"Thou knowest, too, that his body hath been found, drowned in the bay?"
Jacopo shuddered, signifying his assent merely by a sign. The effect of this tacit acknowledgment on the youngest of the three was apparent, for he turned to his companions, like one struck by the confession it implied. His colleagues made dignified inclinations in return, and the silent communication ceased.
"His death has excited discontent among his fellows, and its cause has become a serious subject of inquiry for the illustrious Council."
"The death of the meanest man in Venice should call forth the care of the patricians, Signore."
"Dost thou know, Jacopo, that thou art accused of being his murderer?"
"Signore, I do."
"It is said that thou earnest among the gondoliers in the late regatta, and that, but for this aged fisherman, thou would'st have been winner of the prize?"
"In that, rumor hath not lied, Signore."
"Thou dost not, then, deny the charge!" said the examiner, in evident surprise.
"It is certain that, but for the fisherman, I should have been the winner."
"And thou wished it, Jacopo?"
"Signore, greatly," returned the accused, with a show of emotion, that had not hitherto escaped him. "I was a man condemned of his fellows, and the oar had been my pride, from childhood to that hour."
Another movement of the third inquisitor betrayed equally his interest and his surprise.
"Dost thou confess the crime?"
Jacopo smiled, but more in derision than with any other feeling.
"If the illustrious senators here present will unmask, I may answer that question, haply, with greater confidence," he said.
"Thy request is bold and out of rule. None know the persons of the patricians who preside over the destinies of the state. Dost thou confess the crime?"
The entrance of an officer, in some haste, prevented a reply. The man placed a written report in the hands of the inquisitor in red, and withdrew. After a short pause, the guards were ordered to retire with their prisoner.
"Great senators!" said Jacopo, advancing earnestly towards the table, as if he would seize the moment to urge what he was about to say;—"Mercy! grant me your authority to visit one in the prisons, beneath the leads!—I have weighty reasons for the wish, and I pray you, as men and fathers, to grant it!"
The interest of the two, who were consulting apart on the new intelligence, prevented them from listening to what he urged. The other inquisitor, who was the Signer Soranzo, had drawn near the lamp, anxious to read the lineaments of one so notorious, and was gazing at his striking countenance. Touched by the pathos of his voice, and agreeably disappointed in the lineaments he studied, he took upon himself the power to grant the request.
"Humor his wish," he said to the halberdiers; "but have him in readiness to reappear."
Jacopo looked his gratitude, but fearful that the others might still interfere to prevent his wish, he hurried from the room.
The march of the little procession, which proceeded from the chamber of the inquisition to the summer cells of its victims, was sadly characteristic of the place and the government.
It went through gloomy and secret corridors, that were hid from the vulgar eye, while thin partitions only separated them from the apartments of the Doge, which, like the specious aspect of the state, concealed the nakedness and misery within, by their gorgeousness and splendor! On reaching the attic, Jacopo stopped, and turned to his conductors.
"If you are beings of God's forming," he said, "take off these clanking chains, though it be but for a moment."
The keepers regarded each other in surprise, neither offering to do the charitable office.
"I go to visit, probably for the last time," continued the prisoner, "a bed-ridden—I may say—a dying father, who knows nothing of my situation,—will ye that he should see me thus?"
The appeal which was made, more with the voice and manner, than in the words, had its effect. A keeper removed the chains, and bade him proceed. With a cautious tread, Jacopo advanced, and when the door was opened he entered the room alone, for none there had sufficient interest in an interview between a common Bravo and his father, to endure the glowing warmth of the place, the while. The door was closed after him, and the room became dark.
Notwithstanding his assumed firmness, Jacopo hesitated when he found himself so suddenly introduced to the silent misery of the forlorn captive. A hard breathing told him the situation of the pallet, but the walls, which were solid on the side of the corridor, effectually prevented the admission of light.
"Father!" said Jacopo with gentleness.
He got no answer.
"Father!" he repeated in a stronger voice.
The breathing became more audible, and then the captive spoke.
"Holy Maria hear my prayers!" he said feebly. "God hath sent thee, son, to close my eyes!"
"Doth thy strength fail thee, father?"
"Greatly—my time is come—I had hoped to see the light of the day again to bless thy dear mother and sister—God's will be done!"
"They pray for us both, father. They are beyond the power of the Senate."
"Jacopo, I do not understand thee!"
"My mother and sister are dead; they are saints in Heaven, father."
The old man groaned, for the tie of earth had not yet been entirely severed. Jacopo heard him murmuring a prayer, and he knelt by the side of his pallet.
"This is a sudden blow!" whispered the old man. "We depart together."
"They are long dead, father."
"Why hast thou not told me this before, Jacopo?"
"Hadst thou not sorrows enough without this? Now that thou art about to join them, it will be pleasant to know that they have so long been happy."
"And thou?—thou wilt be alone—give me thy hand—poor Jacopo!"
The Bravo reached forth and took the feeble member of his parent; it was clammy and cold.
"Jacopo," continued the captive, whose mind still sustained the body, "I have prayed thrice within the hour: once for my own soul—once for the peace of thy mother—lastly, for thee!"
"Bless thee, father!—bless thee! I have need of prayer!"
"I have asked of God favor in thy behalf. I have bethought me of all thy love and care—of all thy devotion to my age and sufferings. When thou wert a child, Jacopo, tenderness for thee tempted me to acts of weakness: I trembled lest thy manhood might bring upon me pain and repentance. Thou hast not known the yearnings of a parent for his offspring, but thou hast well requited them. Kneel, Jacopo, that I may ask of God, once more, to remember thee."
"I am at thy side, father."
The old man raised his feeble arms, and with a voice whose force appeared reviving, he pronounced a fervent and solemn benediction.
"The blessing of a dying parent will sweeten thy life, Jacopo," he added after a pause, "and give peace to thy last moments."
"It will do the latter, father."
A rude summons at the door interrupted them.
"Come forth, Jacopo," said a keeper, "the Council seeks thee!"
Jacopo felt the convulsive start of his father, but he did not answer.
"Will they not leave thee—a few minutes longer?" whispered the old man—"I shall not keep thee long!"
The door opened, and a gleam from the lamp fell on the group in the cell. The keeper had the humanity to shut it again, leaving all in obscurity. The glimpse which Jacopo obtained, by that passing light, was the last look he had of his father's countenance. Death was fearfully on it, but the eyes were turned in unutterable affection on his own.
"The man is merciful—he will not shut thee out!" murmured the parent.
"They cannot leave thee to die alone, father!"
"Son, I am with my God—yet I would gladly have thee by my side!—Didst thou say—thy mother and thy sister were dead!"
"Dead!"
"Thy young sister, too?"
"Father, both. They are saints in Heaven."
The old man breathed thick, and there was silence. Jacopo felt a hand moving in the darkness, as if in quest of him. He aided the effort, and laid the member in reverence on his own head.
"Maria undefiled, and her Son, who is God!—bless thee, Jacopo!" whispered a voice, that to the excited imagination of the kneeling Bravo appeared to hover in the air. The solemn words were followed by a quivering sigh. Jacopo hid his face in the blanket, and prayed. After which there was deep quiet.
"Father!" he added, trembling at his own smothered voice.
He was unanswered; stretching out a hand, it touched the features of a corpse. With a firmness that had the quality of desperation, he again bowed his head and uttered fervently a prayer for the dead.
When the door of the cell opened, Jacopo appeared to the keepers, with a dignity of air that belongs only to character, and which was heightened by the scene in which he had just been an actor. He raised his hands, and stood immovable while the manacles were replaced. This office done, they walked away together in the direction of the secret chamber. It was not long ere all were again in their places, before the Council of Three.
"Jacopo Frontoni," resumed the secretary, "thou art suspected of being privy to another dark deed that hath had place of late within our city. Hast thou any knowledge of a noble Calabrian, who hath high claim to the senate's honors, and who hath long had his abode in Venice?"
"Signore, I have."
"Hast thou had aught of concern with him?"
"Signore, yes."
A movement of common interest made itself apparent among the auditors.
"Dost thou know where the Don Camillo Monforte is at present."
Jacopo hesitated. He so well understood the means of intelligence possessed by the Council, that he doubted how far it might be prudent to deny his connexion with the flight of the lovers. Besides, at that moment, his mind was deeply impressed with a holy sentiment of truth.
"Canst thou say, why the young duca is not to be found in his palace?" repeated the secretary.
"Illustrissimo, he hath quitted Venice for ever."
"How canst thou know this?—Would he make a confidant of a common Bravo?"
The smile which crossed the features of Jacopo was full of superiority; it caused the conscious agent of the Secret Tribunal to look closely at his papers, like one who felt its power.
"Art thou his confidant—I ask again?"
"Signore, in this, I am—I have the assurance from the mouth of Don Camillo Monforte himself, that he will not return."
"This is impossible, since it would involve a loss of all his fair hopes and illustrious fortunes."
"He consoled himself, Signore, with the possession of the heiress of Tiepolo's love, and with her riches."
Again there was a movement among the Three, which all their practised restraint, and the conventional dignity of their mysterious functions, could not prevent.
"Let the keepers withdraw," said the inquisitor of the scarlet robe. So soon as the prisoner was alone with the Three, and their permanent officer, the examination continued; the Senators themselves, trusting to the effect produced by their masks, and some feints, speaking as occasion offered.
"This is important intelligence that thou hast communicated, Jacopo," continued he of the robe of flame. "It may yet redeem thy life, wert thou wise enough to turn it to account."
"What would your eccellenza at my hands? It is plain that the Council know of the flight of Don Camillo, nor will I believe that eyes, which so seldom are closed, have not yet missed the daughter of the Tiepolo."
"Both are true, Jacopo; but what hast thou to say of the means? Remember, that as thou findest favor with the council, thine own fate will be decided."
The prisoner suffered another of those freezing gleams to cross his face, which invariably caused his examiners to bend their looks aside.
"The means of escape cannot be wanting to a bold lover, Signore," he replied. "Don Camillo is rich, and might employ a thousand agents, had he need of them."
"Thou art equivocating; 'twill be the worse for thee, that thou triflest with the Council—who are these agents?"
"He had a generous household, Eccellenza;—many hardy gondoliers, and servitors of all conditions."
"Of these we have nothing to learn. He hath escaped by other means—or art thou sure he hath escaped at all?"
"Signore, is he in Venice?"
"Nay, that we ask of thee. Here is an accusation, found in the lion's mouth, which charges thee with his assassination."
"And the Donna Violetta's, too, eccellenza?"
"Of her, we have heard nothing. What answer dost make to the charge?"
"Signore, why should I betray my own secrets?"
"Ha! art thou equivocating and faithless? Remember that we have a prisoner beneath the leads, who can extract the truth from thee."
Jacopo raised his form to such an altitude as one might fancy to express the mounting of a liberated spirit. Still his eye was sad, and, spite of an effort to the contrary, his voice melancholy.
"Senators," he said, "your prisoner beneath the leads is free."
"How! thou art trifling, in thy despair!"
"I speak truth. The liberation, so long delayed, hath come at last."
"Thy father----"
"Is dead," interrupted Jacopo, solemnly.
The two elder members of the Council looked at each other in surprise, while their junior colleague listened with the interest of one who was just entering on a noviciate of secret and embarrassing duties. The former consulted together, and then they communicated as much of their opinions to the Signor Soranzo, as they deemed necessary to the occasion.
"Wilt thou consult thine own safety, Jacopo, and reveal all thou knowest of this affair of the Neapolitan?" continued the inquisitor, when this by-play was ended.
Jacopo betrayed no weakness at the menace implied by the words of the senator; but, after a moment's reflection, he answered writh as much frankness as he could have used at the confessional.
"It is known to you, illustrious senator," he said, "that the state had a desire to match the heiress of Tiepolo, to its own advantage; that she was beloved of the Neapolitan noble; and that, as is wont between young and virtuous hearts, she returned his love as became a maiden of her high condition and tender years. Is there anything extraordinary in the circumstance that two of so illustrious hopes should struggle to prevent their own misery? Signori, the night that old Antonio died, I was alone, among the graves of the Lido, with many melancholy and bitter thoughts, and life had become a burden to me. Had the evil spirit which was then uppermost, maintained its mastery, I might have died the death of a hopeless suicide. God sent Don Camillo Monforte to my succor. Praised be the immaculate Maria, and her blessed Son, for the mercy! It was there I learned the wishes of the Neapolitan, and enlisted myself in his service. I swore to him, senators of Venice, to be true—to die in his cause, should it be necessary, and to help him to his bride. This pledge have I redeemed. The happy lovers are now in the States of the Church, and under the puissant protection of the cardinal secretary, Don Camillo's mother's brother."
"Fool! why did'st thou this? Had'st thou no thought for thyself?"
"Eccellenza, but little. I thought more of finding a human bosom to pour out my sufferings to, than of your high displeasure. I have not known so sweet a moment in years, as that in which I saw the lord of Sant' Agata fold his beautiful and weeping bride to his heart!"
The inquisitors were struck with the quiet enthusiasm of the Bravo, and surprise once more held them in suspense. At length the elder of the three resumed the examination.
"Wilt thou impart the manner of this escape, Jacopo?" he demanded. "Remember, thou hast still a life to redeem!"
"Signore, it is scarce worth the trouble. But to do your pleasure, nothing shall be concealed."
Jacopo then recounted in simple and undisguised terms, the entire means employed by Don Camillo in effecting his escape—his hopes, his disappointments, and his final success. In this narrative nothing was concealed but the place in which the ladies had temporarily taken refuge, and the name of Gelsomina. Even the attempt of Giacomo Gradenigo on the life of the Neapolitan, and the agency of the Hebrew, were fully exposed. None listened to this explanation so intently as the young husband. Notwithstanding his public duties, his pulses quickened as the prisoner dwelt on the different chances of the lovers, and when their final union was proclaimed, he felt his heart bound with delight. On the other hand, his more practised colleagues heard the detail of the Bravo with politic coolness. The effect of all factitious systems is to render the feelings subservient to expediency. Convention and fiction take place of passion and truth, and like the Mussulman with his doctrine of predestination, there is no one more acquiescent in defeat, than he who has obtained an advantage in the face of nature and justice; his resignation being, in common, as perfect as his previous arrogance was insupportable. The two old senators perceived at once that Don Camillo and his fair companion were completely beyond the reach of their power, and they instantly admitted the wisdom of making a merit of necessity. Having no farther occasion for Jacopo, they summoned the keepers, and dismissed him to his cell.
"It will be seemly to send letters of congratulation to the cardinal secretary, on the union of his nephew with so rich an heiress of our city," said the Inquisitor of the Ten, as the door closed on the retiring group. "So great an interest as that of the Neapolitan should be propitiated."
"But should he urge the state's resistance to his hopes?" returned the Signor Soranzo, in feeble objection to so bold a scheme.
"We will excuse it as the act of a former council. These misconceptions are the unavoidable consequences of the caprices of liberty, Signore. The steed that ranges the plains in the freedom of nature, cannot be held to perfect command, like the dull beast that draws the car. This is the first of your sittings in the Three; but experience will show you that excellent as we are in system, we are not quite perfect in practice. This is grave matter of the young Gradenigo, Signori!"
"I have long known his unworthiness," returned his more aged colleague. "It is a thousand pities that so honorable and so noble a patrician should have produced so ignoble a child. But neither the state nor the city can tolerate assassination."
"Would it were less, frequent!" exclaimed the Signore Soranzo, in perfect sincerity.
"Would it were, indeed! There are hints in our secret information, which tend to confirm the charge of Jacopo, though long experience has taught us to put full faith in his reports."
"How! Is Jacopo, then, an agent of the police!"
"Of that more at our leisure, Signor Soranzo. At present we must look to this attempt on the life of one protected by our laws."
The Three then entered into a serious discussion of the case of the two delinquents. Venice, like all despotic governments, had the merit of great efficiency in its criminal police, when it was disposed to exert it. Justice was sure enough in those instances in which the interests of the government itself were not involved, or in which bribery could not well be used. As to the latter, through the jealousy of the state, and the constant agency of those who were removed from temptation, by being already in possession of a monopoly of benefits, it was by no means as frequent as in some other communities in which the affluent were less interested. The Signor Soranzo had now a fair occasion for the exercise of his generous feelings. Though related to the house of Gradenigo, he was not backward in decrying the conduct of its heir. His first impulses were to make a terrible example of the accused, and to show the world that no station brought with it, in Venice, impunity for crime. From this view of the case, however, he was gradually enticed by his companions, who reminded him that the law commonly made a distinction between the intention and the execution of an offence. Driven from his first determination by the cooler heads of his colleagues, the young inquisitor next proposed that the case should be sent to the ordinary tribunals for judgment. Instances had not been wanting in which the aristocracy of Venice sacrificed one of its body to the seemliness of justice; for when such cases were managed with discretion, they rather strengthened than weakened their ascendency. But the present crime was known to be too common, to permit so lavish an expenditure of their immunities, and the old inquisitors opposed the wish of their younger colleague with great plausibility, and with some show of reason. It was finally resolved that they should themselves decide on the case.
The next question was the degree of punishment. The wily senior of the council began by proposing a banishment for a few months, for Giacomo Gradenigo was already obnoxious to the anger of the state on more accounts than one. But this punishment was resisted by the Signor Soranzo with the ardor of an uncorrupted and generous mind. The latter gradually prevailed, his companions taking care that their compliance should have the air of a concession to his arguments. The result of all this management was, that the heir of Gradenigo was condemned to ten years' retirement in the provinces, and Hosea to banishment for life. Should the reader be of opinion that strict justice was not meted out to the offenders, he should remember, that the Hebrew ought to be glad to have escaped as he did.
"We must not conceal this judgment, nor its motive," observed the Inquisitor of the Ten, when the affair was concluded. "The state is never a loser for letting its justice be known."
"Nor for its exercise, I should hope," returned the Signor Soranzo. "As our affairs are ended for the night, is it your pleasures, Signori, that we return to our palaces?"
"Nay, we have this matter of Jacopo."
"Him may we now, surely, turn over to the ordinary tribunals!"
"As you may decide, Signori; is this your pleasure?"
Both the others bowed assent, and the usual preparations were made for departure.
Ere the two seniors of the Council left the palace, however, they held a long and secret conference together. The result was a private order to the criminal judge, and then they returned, each to his own abode, like men who had the approbation of their own consciences.
On the other hand, the Signor Soranzo hastened to his own luxurious and happy dwelling. For the first time in his life he entered it with a distrust of himself. Without being conscious of the reason, he felt sad, for he had taken the first step in that tortuous and corrupting path, which eventually leads to the destruction of all those generous and noble sentiments, which can only flourish apart from the sophistry and fictions of selfishness. He would have rejoiced to have been as light of heart as at the moment he handed his fair-haired partner into the gondola that night; but his head had pressed the pillow for many hours, before sleep drew a veil over the solemn trifling with the most serious of your duties, in which he had been an actor.