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

a Bravo, and surely, one who has so much cause to condemn the deception he has practised, would not wish to hear the details of such a life?"

"No--no--no--" murmured Gelsomina again, enforcing her words with a wild gesture of the hand.

"It is better, father, that she should believe me all that her fancy can imagine as monstrous," said Jacopo, in a thick voice: "she will then learn to hate my memory."

Gelsomina did not speak, but the negative gesture was repeated franticly.

"The heart of the poor child hath been sorely touched," said the Carmelite, with concern. "We must not treat so tender a flower rudely. Hearken to me, daughter, and consult thy reason, more than thy weakness."

"Question her not, father; let her curse me, and depart."

"Carlo!" shrieked Gelsomina.

A long pause succeeded. The monk perceived that human passion was superior to his art, and that the case must be left to time; while the prisoner maintained within himself a struggle more fierce than any which it had yet been his fate to endure. The lingering desires of the world conquered, and he broke silence.

"Father," he said, advancing to the length of his chain, and speaking both solemnly and with dignity, "I had hoped--I had prayed that this unhappy but innocent creature might have turned from her own weakness with loathing, when she came to know that the man she loved was a Bravo. But I did injustice to the heart of woman! Tell me, Gelsomina, and as thou valuest thy salvation deceive me not--canst thou look at me without horror?"

Gelsomina trembled, but she raised her eyes, and smiled on him as the weeping infant returns the earnest and tender regard of its mother. The effect of that glance on Jacopo was so powerful that his sinewy frame shook, until the wondering Carmelite heard the clanking of his chains.

"'Tis enough," he said, struggling to command himself, "Gelsomina, thou shalt hear my confession. Thou hast long been mistress of one great secret, none other shall be hid from thee."

"Antonio!" gasped the girl. "Carlo! Carlo! what had that aged fisherman done that thy hand should seek his life?"

"Antonio!" echoed the monk; "dost thou stand charged with his death, my son?"

"It is the crime for which I am condemned to die."

The Carmelite sank upon the stool of the prisoner, and sat motionless, looking with an eye of horror from the countenance of the unmoved Jacopo to that of his trembling companion. The truth began to dawn upon him, though his mind was still enveloped in the web of Venetian mystery.

"Here is some horrible mistake!" he whispered. "I will hasten to thy judges and undeceive them."

The prisoner smiled calmly, as he reached out a hand to arrest the zealous movement of the simple Carmelite.

"'Twill be useless," he said; "it is the pleasure of the Three that I should suffer for old Antonio's death."

"Then wilt thou die unjustly! I am a witness that he fell by other hands."

"Father!" shrieked Gelsomina, "oh! repeat the words; say that Carlo could not do the cruel deed!"

"Of that murder, at least, he is innocent."

"Gelsomina!" said Jacopo, struggling to stretch forth his arms towards her, and yielding to a full heart, "and of every other!"

A cry of wild delight burst from the lips of the girl, who in the next instant lay senseless on his bosom.

We draw the veil before the scene that followed. Near an hour must pass before we can again remove it. The cell then exhibited a group in its centre, over which the lamp shed its feeble light, marking the countenances of the different personages with strong tints and deep shadows, in a manner to bring forth all the force of Italian expression. The Carmelite was seated on the stool, while Jacopo and Gelsomina knelt beside him. The former of the two last was speaking earnestly, while his auditors caught each syllable that issued from his lips, as if interest in his innocence were still stronger than curiosity.

"I have told you, father," he continued, "that a false accusation of having wronged the customs brought my unhappy parent under the Senate's displeasure, and that he was many years an innocent inhabitant of one of these accursed cells, while we believed him in exile among the islands. At length we succeeded in getting such proof before the Council, as ought to have satisfied the patricians of their own injustice. I am afraid that when men pretend that the chosen of the earth exercise authority, they are not ready to admit their errors, for it would be proof against the merit of their system. The Council delayed a weary time to do us justice--so long, that my poor mother sank under her sufferings. My sister, a girl of Gelsomina's years, followed her soon--for the only reason given by the state, when pressed for proof, was the suspicion that one who sought her love was guilty of the crime for which my unhappy father perished."

"And did they refuse to repair their injustice?" exclaimed the Carmelite.

"They could not do it, father, without publishing their fallibility. The credit of certain great patricians was concerned, and I fear there is a morality in these Councils which separates the deed of the man from those of the senators, putting policy before justice."

"This may be true, son; for when a community is grounded on false principles, its interests must, of necessity, be maintained by sophisms. God will view this act with a different eye!"

"Else would the world be hopeless, father! After years of prayers and interest, I was, under a solemn oath of secresy, admitted to my father's cell. There was happiness in being able to administer to his wants--in hearing his voice--in kneeling for his blessing. Gelsomina was then a child approaching womanhood. I knew not their motive, though after thoughts left it no secret, and I was permitted to see my father through her means. When they believed that I was sufficiently caught in their toils, I was led into that fatal error which has destroyed my hopes, and brought me to this condition."

"Thou hast affirmed thy innocence, my son!"

"Innocent of shedding blood, father, but not of lending myself to their artifices. I will not weary you, holy monk, with the history of the means by which they worked upon my nature. I was sworn to serve the state, as its secret agent, for a certain time. The reward was to be my father's freedom. Had they taken me in the world, and in my senses, their arts would not have triumphed; but a daily witness of the sufferings of him who had given me life, and who was now all that was left me in the world, they were too strong for my weakness, They whispered to me of racks and wheels, and I was shown paintings of dying martyrs, that I might understand the agony they could inflict. Assassinations were frequent, and called for the care of the police; in short, father"--Jacopo hid his face in the dress of Gelsomina--"I consented to let them circulate such tales as might draw the eye of the public on me. I need not add, that he who lends himself to his own infamy will soon attain his object."

"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