The Bravo, James Fenimore Cooper [best book reader .txt] 📗

friend a successful adventurer with the heiress."

Jacopo made an impatient gesture, for at that moment he saw a gondolier pulling rapidly towards a private part of the Lido. The Hebrew joined his companion, and the boat of the Bravo darted ahead. It was not long ere it lay on the strand of the Lido. The steps of Jacopo were rapid, as he moved towards those proscribed graves among which he had made his confession to the very man he was now sent to slay.

"Art thou sent to meet me?" demanded one who started from behind a rising in the sands, but who took the precaution to bare his rapier as he appeared.

"Signor Duca, I am," returned the Bravo, unmasking.

"Jacopo! This is even better than I had hoped. Hast thou tidings from my bride?"

"Follow, Don Camillo, and you shall quickly meet her."

Words were unnecessary to persuade, when there was such a promise. They were both in the gondola of Jacopo, and on their way to one of the passages through the Lido which conducts to the gulf, before the Bravo commenced his explanation. This, however, was quickly made, not forgetting the design of Giacomo Gradenigo on the life of his auditor.

The felucca, which had been previously provided with the necessary pass by the agents of the police itself, had quitted the port under easy sail by the very inlet through which the gondola made its way into the Adriatic. The water was smooth, the breeze fresh from the land, and in short all things were favorable to the fugitives. Donna Violetta and her governess were leaning against a mast, watching with impatient eyes the distant domes and the midnight beauty of Venice. Occasionally strains of music came to their ears from the canals, and then a touch of natural melancholy crossed the feelings of the former as she feared they might be the last sounds of that nature she should ever hear from her native town. But unalloyed pleasure drove every regret from her mind when Don Camillo leaped from the gondola and folded her in triumph to his heart.

There was little difficulty in persuading Stefano Milano to abandon for ever the service of the Senate for that of his feudal lord. The promises and commands of the latter were sufficient of themselves to reconcile him to the change, and all were convinced there was no time to lose. The felucca soon spread her canvas to the wind and slid away from the beach. Jacopo permitted his gondola to be towed a league to sea before he prepared to re-enter it.

"You will steer for Ancona, Signor Don Camillo," said the Bravo, leaning on the felucca's side, still unwilling to depart, "and throw yourself at once under the protection of the Cardinal Secretary. If Stefano keep the sea he may chance to meet the galleys of the Senate."

"Distrust us not--but thou, my excellent Jacopo--what wilt thou become in their hands?"

"Fear not for me, Signore. God disposes of all as he sees fit. I have told your eccellenza that I cannot yet quit Venice. If fortune favor me, I may still see your stout castle of Sant' Agata."

"And none will be more welcome within its secure walls; I have much fear for thee, Jacopo!"

"Signore, think not of it. I am used to danger--and to misery--and to hopelessness. I have known a pleasure this night, in witnessing the happiness of two young hearts, that God, in his anger, has long denied me. Lady, the Saints keep you, and God, who is above all, shield you from harm!"

He kissed the hand of Donna Violetta, who, half ignorant still of his services, listened to his words in wonder.

"Don Camillo Monforte," he continued, "distrust Venice to your dying day. Let no promises--no hopes--no desire of increasing your honors or your riches, ever tempt you to put yourself in her power. None know the falsehood of the state better than I, and with my parting words I warn you to be wary!"

"Thou speakest as if we were to meet no more, worthy Jacopo!"

The Bravo turned, and the action brought his features to the moon. There was a melancholy smile, in which deep satisfaction at the success of the lovers was mingled with serious forebodings for himself.

"We are certain only of the past," he said in a low voice.

Touching the hand of Don Camillo, he kissed his own and leaped hastily into his gondola. The fast was thrown loose, and the felucca glided away, leaving this extraordinary being alone on the waters. The Neapolitan ran to the taffrail, and the last he saw of Jacopo, the Bravo, was rowing leisurely back towards that scene of violence and deception from which he himself was so glad to have escaped.


CHAPTER XXVI.

"My limbs are bowed, though not with toil,
But rusted with a vile repose,
For they have been a dungeon's spoil,
And mine hath been the fate of those
To whom the goodly earth and air
Are banned, and barred--forbidden fare."
PRISONER OF CHILLON.


When the day dawned on the following morning the square of St. Mark was empty. The priests still chanted their prayers for the dead near the body of old Antonio, and a few fishermen still lingered in and near the cathedral, but half persuaded of the manner in which their companion had come to his end. But as was usual at that hour of the day the city appeared tranquil, for though a slight alarm had passed through the canals at the movement of the rioters, it had subsided in that specious and distrustful quiet, which is more or less the unavoidable consequence of a system that is not substantially based on the willing support of the mass.

Jacopo was again in the attic of the Doge's palace, accompanied by the gentle Gelsomina. As they threaded the windings of the building, he recounted to the eager ear of his companion all the details connected with the escape of the lovers; omitting, as a matter of prudence, the attempt of Giacomo Gradenigo on the life of Don Camillo. The unpractised and single-hearted girl heard him in breathless attention, the color of her cheek and the changeful eye betraying the force of her sympathies at each turn in their hazardous adventure.

"And dost thou think they can yet escape from those up above?" murmured Gelsomina, for few in Venice would trust their voices, by putting such a question aloud. "Thou knowest the Republic hath at all times its galleys in the Adriatic!"

"We have had thought of that, and the Calabrian is advised to steer for the mole of Ancona. Once within the States of the Church the influence of Don Camillo and the rights of his noble wife will protect them. Is there a place here whence we can look out upon the sea?"

Gelsomina led the Bravo into an empty room of the attic which commanded a view of the port, the Lido, and the waste of water beyond. The breeze came in strong currents over the roofs of the town, and causing the masts of the port to rock, it lighted on the Lagunes, without the tiers of the shipping. From this point to the barrier of sand, it was apparent by the stooping sails and the struggles of the gondoliers who pulled towards the quay, that the air was swift. Without the Lido itself, the element was shadowed and fitful, while further in the distance the troubled waters, with their crests of foam, sufficiently proved its power.

"Santa Maria be praised!" exclaimed Jacopo, when his understanding eye had run over the near and distant view--"they are already far down the coast, and with a wind like this they cannot fail to reach their haven in a few hours. Let us go to the cell."

Gelsomina smiled when he assured her of the safety of the fugitives, but her look saddened when he changed the discourse. Without reply, however, she did as he desired, and in a very few moments they were standing by the side of the prisoner's pallet. The latter did not appear to observe their entrance, and Jacopo was obliged to announce himself.

"Father!" he said, with that melancholy pathos which always crept into his voice when he addressed the old man, "it is I."

The prisoner turned, and though, evidently much enfeebled since the last visit, a wan smile gleamed on his wasted features.

"And thy mother, boy?" he asked, so eagerly as to cause Gelsomina to turn hastily aside.

"Happy, father--happy."

"Happy without me?"

"She is ever with thee in spirit, father. She thinks of thee in her prayers. Thou hast a saint for an intercessor in my mother--father."

"And thy good sister?"

"Happy too--doubt it not, father. They are both patient and resigned."

"The Senate, boy?"

"Is the same: soulless, selfish, and pretending!" answered Jacopo sternly; then turning away his face, in bitterness of heart, though without permitting the words to be audible, he cursed them.

"The noble Signori were deceived in believing me concerned in the attempt to rob their revenues," returned the patient old man; "one day they will see and acknowledge their error."

Jacopo made no answer, for unlettered as he was, and curtailed of that knowledge which should be, and is bestowed on all by every paternal government, the natural strength of his mind had enabled him to understand that a system, which on its face professed to be founded on the superior acquirements of a privileged few, would be the least likely to admit the fallacy of its theories, by confessing it could err.

"Thou dost the nobles injustice, son; they are illustrious patricians, and have no motive in oppressing one like me."

"None, father, but the necessity of maintaining the severity of the laws, which make them senators and you a prisoner."

"Nay, boy, I have known worthy gentlemen of the Senate! There was the late Signor Tiepolo, who did me much favor in my youth. But for this false accusation, I might now have been one of the most thriving of my craft in Venice."

"Father, we will pray for the soul of the Tiepolo."

"Is the senator dead?"

"So says a gorgeous tomb in the church of the Redentore."

"We must all die at last," whispered the old man, crossing himself. "Doge as well as patrician--patrician as well as gondolier,--Jaco--"

"Father!" exclaimed the Bravo, so suddenly as to interrupt the coming word; then kneeling by the pallet of the prisoner, he whispered in his ear, "thou forgettest there is reason why thou should'st not call me by that name. I have told thee often if thus called my visits must stop."

The prisoner looked bewildered, for the failing of nature rendered that obscure which was once so evident to his mind. After gazing long at his son, his eye wandered between him and the wall, and he smiled childishly.

"Wilt thou look, good boy, if the spider is come back?"

Jacopo groaned, but he rose to comply.

"I do not see it, father; the season is not yet warm."

"Not warm! my veins feel heated to bursting. Thou forgettest this is the attic, and that these are the leads, and then the sun--oh! the sun! The illustrious senators do not bethink them