The Bravo (26 page)

His two companions looked at the speaker with much obvious sympathy in
their manners. They then left the chamber of doom together. The menials
entered and extinguished the lights, leaving all behind them in an
obscurity that was no bad type of the gloomy mysteries of the place.

"Then methought,
A serenade broke silence, breathing hope
Through walls of stone."
ITALY.

Notwithstanding the lateness of the hour, the melody of music was rife
on the water. Gondolas continued to glide along the shadowed canals,
while the laugh or the song was echoed among the arches of the palaces.
The piazza and piazzetta were yet brilliant with lights, and gay with
their multitudes of unwearied revellers.

The habitation of Donna Violetta was far from the scene of general
amusement. Though so remote, the hum of the moving throng, and the
higher strains of the wind-instruments, came, from time to time, to the
ears of its inmates, mellowed and thrilling by distance.

The position of the moon cast the whole of the narrow passage which
flowed beneath the windows of her private apartments into shadow. In a
balcony which overhung the water, stood the youthful and ardent girl,
listening with a charmed ear and a tearful eye to one of those soft
strains, in which Venetian voices answered to each other from different
points on the canals, in the songs of the gondoliers. Her constant
companion and Mentor was near, while the ghostly father of them both
stood deeper in the room.

"There may be pleasanter towns on the main, and capitals of more
revelry," said the charmed Violetta, withdrawing her person from its
leaning attitude, as the voices ceased; "but in such a night and at this
witching hour, what city may compare with Venice?"

"Providence has been less partial in the distribution of its earthly
favors than is apparent to a vulgar eye," returned the attentive
Carmelite. "If we have our peculiar enjoyments and our moments of divine
contemplation, other towns have advantages of their own; Genoa and Pisa,
Firenze, Ancona, Roma, Palermo, and, chiefest of all, Napoli—"

"Napoli, father!"

"Daughter, Napoli. Of all the towns of sunny Italy, 'tis the fairest and
the most blessed in natural gifts. Of every region I have visited,
during a life of wandering and penitence, that is the country on which
the touch of the Creator hath been the most God-like!"

"Thou art imaginative to-night, good Father Anselmo. The land must be
fair indeed, that can thus warm the fancy of a Carmelite."

"The rebuke is just. I have spoken more under the influence of
recollections that came from days of idleness and levity, than with the
chastened spirit of one who should see the hand of the Maker in the most
simple and least lovely of all his wondrous works."

"You reproach yourself causelessly, holy father," observed the mild
Donna Florinda, raising her eyes towards the pale countenance of the
monk; "to admire the beauties of nature, is to worship Him who gave them
being."

At that moment a burst of music rose on the air, proceeding from the
water beneath the balcony. Donna Violetta started back, abashed; and as
she held her breath in wonder, and haply with that delight which open
admiration is apt to excite in a youthful female bosom, the color
mounted to her temples.

"There passeth a band," calmly observed the Donna Florinda.

"No, it is a cavalier! There are gondoliers, servitors in his colors."

"This is as hardy as it may be gallant," returned the monk, who
listened to the air with an evident and grave displeasure.

There was no longer any doubt but that a serenade was meant. Though the
custom was of much use, it was the first time that a similar honor had
been paid beneath the window of Donna Violetta. The studied privacy of
her life, her known destiny, and the jealousy of the despotic state, and
perhaps the deep respect which encircled a maiden of her tender years
and high condition, had, until that moment, kept the aspiring, the vain,
and the interested, equally in awe.

"It is for me!" whispered the trembling, the distressed, the delighted
Violetta.

"It is for one of us, indeed," answered the cautious friend.

"Be it for whom it may, it is bold," rejoined the monk.

Donna Violetta shrank from observation behind the drapery of the window,
but she raised a hand in pleasure as the rich strains rolled through the
wide apartments.

"What a taste rules the band!" she half-whispered, afraid to trust her
voice lest a sound should escape her ears. "They touch an air of
Petrarch's sonatas! How indiscreet, and yet how noble!"

"More noble than wise," said the Donna Florinda, who entered the balcony
and looked intently on the water beneath.

"Here are musicians in the color of a noble in one gondola," she
continued, "and a single cavalier in another."

"Hath he no servitor? Doth he ply the oar himself?"

"Truly that decency hath not been overlooked; one in a flowered jacket
guides the boat."

"Speak, then, dearest Florinda, I pray thee."

"Would it be seemly?"

"Indeed I think it. Speak them fair. Say that I am the Senate's—that it
is not discreet to urge a daughter of the state thus—say what thou
wilt—but speak them fair."

"Ha! it is Don Camillo Monforte! I know him by his noble stature and
the gallant wave of his hand."

"This temerity will undo him! His claim will be refused—himself
banished. Is it not near the hour when the gondola of the police passes?
Admonish him to depart, good Florinda—and yet can we use this rudeness
to a Signor of his rank!"

"Father, counsel us; you know the hazards of this rash gallantry in the
Neapolitan—aid us with thy wisdom, for there is not a moment to lose."

The Carmelite had been an attentive and an indulgent observer of the
emotion which sensations so novel had awakened in the ardent but
unpractised breast of the fair Venetian. Pity, sorrow, and sympathy,
were painted on his mortified face, as he witnessed the mastery of
feeling over a mind so guileless, and a heart so warm; but the look was
rather that of one who knew the dangers of the passions, than of one who
condemned them without thought of their origin or power. At the appeal
of the governess he turned away and silently quitted the room. Donna
Florinda left the balcony and drew near her charge. There was no
explanation, nor any audible or visible means of making their sentiments
known to each other. Violetta threw herself into the arms of her more
experienced friend, and struggled to conceal her face in her bosom. At
this moment the music suddenly ceased, and the plash of oars falling
into the water succeeded.

"He is gone!" exclaimed the young creature who had been the object of
the serenade, and whose faculties, spite of her confusion, had lost none
of their acuteness. "The gondolas are moving away, and we have not made
even the customary acknowledgments for their civility!"

"It is not needed—or rather it might increase a hazard that is already
too weighty. Remember thy high destiny, my child, and let them depart."

"And yet methinks one of my station should not fail in courtesy. The
compliment may mean no more than any other idle usage, and they should
not quit us unthanked."

"Rest you within. I will watch the movement of the boats, for it
surpasseth female endurance not to note their aspect."

"Thanks, dearest Florinda! hasten, lest they enter the other canal ere
thou seest them."

The governess was quickly in the balcony. Active as was her movement,
her eyes were scarcely cast upon the shadow beneath, before a hurried
question demanded what she beheld.

"Both gondolas are gone," was the answer; "that with the musicians is
already entering the great canal, but that of the cavalier hath
unaccountably disappeared!"

"Nay, look again; he cannot be in such haste to quit us."

"I had not sought him in the right direction. Here is his gondola, by
the bridge of our own canal."

"And the cavalier? He waits for some sign of courtesy; it is meet that
we should not withhold it."

"I see him not. His servitor is seated on the steps of the landing,
while the gondola appeareth to be empty. The man hath an air of waiting,
but I nowhere see the master!"

"Blessed Maria! can aught have befallen the gallant Duca di Sant'
Agata?"

"Naught but the happiness of casting himself here!" exclaimed a voice
near the person of the heiress. The Donna Violetta turned her gaze from
the balcony, and beheld him who filled all her thoughts at her feet.

The cry of the girl, the exclamation of her friend, and a rapid and
eager movement of the monk, brought the whole party into a group.

"This may not be," said the latter in a reproving voice. "Arise, Don
Camillo, lest I repent listening to your prayer; you exceed our
conditions."

"As much as this emotion exceedeth my hopes," answered the noble. "Holy
father, it is a sin to oppose Providence! Providence brought me to the
rescue of this lovely being when accident threw her into the Giudecca,
and once more Providence is my friend, by permitting me to be a witness
of this feeling. Speak, fair Violetta, thou wilt not be an instrument of
the Senate's selfishness—thou wilt not hearken to their wish of
disposing of thy hand on the mercenary who would trifle with the most
sacred of all vows to possess thy wealth?"

"For whom am I destined?" demanded Violetta.

"No matter, since it be not for me. Some trafficker in happiness, some
worthless abuser of the gifts of fortune."

"Thou knowest, Camillo, our Venetian custom, and must see that I am
hopelessly in their hands."

"Arise, Duke of St. Agata," said the monk, with authority—"when I
suffered you to enter this palace, it was to remove a scandal from its
gates, and to save you from your own rash disregard of the state's
displeasure. It is idle to encourage hopes that the policy of the
Republic opposes. Arise then, and respect your pledges."

"That shall be as this lady may decide. Encourage me with but an
approving look, fairest Violetta, and not Venice, with its Doge and
inquisition, shall stir me an inch from thy feet!"

"Camillo!" answered the trembling girl, "thou, the preserver of my life,
hast little need to kneel to me!"

"Duke of St. Agata—daughter!"

"Nay, heed him not, generous Violetta. He utters words of convention—he
speaks as all speak in age, when men's tongues deny the feelings of
their youth. He is a Carmelite, and must feign this prudence. He never
knew the tyranny of the passions. The dampness of his cell has chilled
the ardor of the heart. Had he been human, he would have loved; had he
loved, he would never have worn a cowl."

Father Anselmo receded a pace, like one pricked in conscience, and the
paleness of his ascetic features took a deadly hue. His lips moved as if
he would have spoken, but the sounds were smothered by an oppression
that denied him utterance. The gentle Florinda saw his distress, and she
endeavored to interpose between the impetuous youth and her charge.

"It may be as you say, Signor Monforte," she said—"and that the Senate,
in its fatherly care, searches a partner worthy of an heiress of a house
so illustrious and so endowed as that of Tiepolo. But in this, what is
there more than of wont? Do not the nobles of all Italy seek their
equals in condition and in the gifts of fortune, in order that their
union may be fittingly assorted. How know we that the estates of my
young friend have not a value in the eye of the Duke of St. Agata as
well as in those of him that the Senate may elect for thy husband?"

"Can this be true?" exclaimed Violetta.

"Believe it not; my errand in Venice is no secret. I seek the
restitution of lands and houses long withheld from my family, with the
honors of the Senate that are justly mine. All these do I joyfully
abandon for the hope of thy favor."

"Thou nearest, Florinda: Don Camillo is not to be distrusted!"

"What are the Senate and the power of St. Mark that they should cross
our lives with misery? Be mine, lovely Violetta, and in the fastnesses
of my own good Calabrian castle we will defy their vengeance and policy.
Their disappointment shall furnish merriment for my vassals, and our
felicity shall make the happiness of thousands. I affect no disrespect
for the dignity of the councils, nor any indifference to that I lose,
but to me art thou far more precious than the horned bonnet itself, with
all its fancied influence and glory."

"Generous Camillo!"

"Be mine, and spare the cold calculators of the Senate another crime.
They think to dispose of thee, as if thou wert worthless merchandise, to
their own advantage. But thou wilt defeat their design. I read the
generous resolution in thine eye, Violetta; thou wilt manifest a will
superior to their arts and egotism."

"I would not be trafficked for, Don Camillo Monforte, but wooed and won
as befitteth a maiden of my condition. They may still leave me liberty
of choice. The Signor Gradenigo hath much encouraged me of late with
this hope, when speaking of the establishment suited to my years."

"Believe him not; a colder heart, a spirit more removed from charity,
exists not in Venice. He courts thy favor for his own prodigal son; a
cavalier without honor, the companion of profligates, and the victim of
the Hebrews. Believe him not, for he is stricken in deceit."

"He is the victim of his own designs, if this be true. Of all the youths
of Venice I esteem Giacomo Gradenigo least."

"This interview must have an end," said the monk, imposing effectually,
and compelling the lover to rise. "It would be easier to escape the
toils of sin than to elude the agents of the police. I tremble lest this
visit should be known, for we are encircled with the ministers of the
state, and not a palace in Venice is more narrowly watched than this.
Were thy presence here detected, indiscreet young man, thy youth might
pine in a prison, while thou would'st be the cause of persecution and
unmerited sorrow to this innocent and inexperienced maiden."