Skip to main content

Full text of "The betrothed;"

See other formats


Google 



This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project 

to make the world's books discoverable online. 

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject 

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books 

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover. 

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the 

publisher to a library and finally to you. 

Usage guidelines 

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the 
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to 
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying. 
We also ask that you: 

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for 
personal, non-commercial purposes. 

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do noi send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine 
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the 
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help. 

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find 
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it. 

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just 
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other 
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of 
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner 
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe. 

About Google Book Search 

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers 
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web 

at |http: //books .google .com/I 









Tke gi|t of 

MRS. ELLEN HAVEN ROSS 




«HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY3S?! 







VTHE 



BETROTHED. 



/ 



FROM THE ITALIAN 



OP 



ALESSANDRO MANZONI, 



LONDON: 

HARD BENTLEY, 8. NEW BURLINGTON STREET 

(SUCCESSOR TO HENRY COLBURN): 

BELL AND BRADFUTE, EDINBURGH j 
AND CUMMING, DUBLIN. 

1834. 



t'-f 



J^ib«J ìi^ll. i/. i-'T 



HARVARD COLLEGE liBRAtY 

FHOM THE LIERftRY Of 

MirS, ELIE>4 HAVEN ROSS 

JUNE 2S, 1938 



CRITICAL REMARKS 



I M 



MANZONl'S betrothed! 



THE COUNT OMAHONY.' 



To publish a novel, to analyse, to culogùe it, and re- 
commend its perusal to the good and pious, will appear 
no doubt vury extraordinary, and oifend the prejudices of 
many who hare agreed among themselves Co consider a 
novel, whoever may be its author, and whatever may be 
its Gubjeet, fortn, and design, as a pestilent production. 
If you aàt them why? " Because," they will reply — 
" because it is a novel ! " The answer is as wise as it is 
peremptory and decisive, and we will spare ourselves ihe 
usflesa trouble of replying to arguments so profound and 
powerful. We wiU, however, submit a few serious reflec- 
tions to minds of a less elevated order, were it only to 
prove that we can talk reoaonabiy, even on the subject of 
novels. 

Certainly, if we are understood lo designate by the ap- 
pellation of Novei, the written dreams and extravagant 
imaginations of a corrupt mind and depraved heart, where 
illusions are substituted for reahties, vice transformed into 
virtue, crime justified by the passions that lead to its per- 
petration, and fallacious pictures presented of an ideal 



world, or criminal apologies for a world too real ; if, 
we say, such are the novels to be condemned and pro- 
scribed, none more than ouTselvea will be disposed to con- 
firm the sentence. The unhappy influence which pro- 
doctiona like these hare exerted over the minds of youth, 
and above all, the ravages which their multiplication has 
within a few years produced, is a fact acknowledged by 
all, by those who have escaped the contagion of their pe- 
ruial, as well as by those whom that poruaal has injured. 
With respect to this, (he wise and the good are unanimous 
in their testimony and their anathemas ; it is one of those 
self-evident truths, about which an Englishman or a Ger- 
man might still elaborate many a learned dissertation, but 
of which we shall take no further notice, certain that we 
should only repeat much less forcibly and eloquently, that 
which a tJiousand writers or orators have said before us. 

But there is another point of view under which we must 
consider novels, or rather the works so called, but which 
bear, to those which murals and good taste reprobate, no 
other resemblance than the name. These are, it is true, 
unhappily few in number, and therefore have not been 
classed by themselves, but have been comprehended in 
the common appellation, and included in the general pro- 
scription; like an honest man, who, bearing the same 
name as a rogue, partakes with him the odium of bis re- 
putation. But this is an ii^ustice for which we are dis- 
posed to claim reparation. ^i 

Every work of imagination, in which the author causes 
ideal personages to speak, think, and act, according to his 
pleasure, has been stigmatised as a Novi. But, if we 
allow this rigorous definition, the apologue, so dear to the 
moralist, is a JVbi^i, and deserving of proscription. We 
will go further ; the parable, which also creates its charac- 
ters and invents their words and actions, is a nm;d! But 
who would dare to call them so ? Who would dare pro- 
fane by this name, those profound allegories, those holy 
fables, BO excellent in truth, and so replete with instruc- 
tion, which God himself has related to man ? Finally, if 
we peruse (he works of tile most austere philosophers, and 
the moat severe moralists, withoat exce^ùti^ e^;à!sàas^il^ 



bIibII find among ihem all, pictures of faitc^-fll 
Hai hbcories of imaginary peraon», flcUon «erring aa ■ Tei), 
or TBther (we mnat acknowtnlge it) as an «pology for truth. 

Now, we ask, by what unjust caprice would wc conilemn 
in the novelist that which we admire and apjilBud in ihe 
moralist and pbiloeopher; or rather, by what title do we 
interdict to the former the right of bring equally philoso- 
phical and moral with the Jalter? If man were without 
weakncBsea and society without imperfection», truth would 
pierail of itself, and in order Co be loved and obeyed, it 
nonid need only to be shown in its unadorned purity and 
undisguisetl nakedness. But, from the beginning of the 
wofld, pride has precipitated man into darkness. Corrupt 
•nd blind, a jealous susceptibility is developed in his cha- 
racter, which continually increasea in proportion to hii 
Uindaess and corruptions, — that is to say, the deeper he 
is plunged in darkness, the more he dreads the light, and 
it is but by degrees, and under various disguises, that we 
tui hope ultimately to make hini endure its full blaze. 

Besides, fiction, under divers forma, such as fables, 
ipotogues, Dovels, allegories, and tales, constitutes a large 
portion of the literature of every nation ; to this we may 
add the utility, nay, even the necessity of disguising truth, 
in order to make it acceptable to our imperfection; and 
more than all, the good frequently resulting from these 
modest productions ought to stimulate those on whom 
Heaven has bestowed th" same kind of talent, to employ it 
in exposing vice and reforming the conuptions of society. 

fint if the imperfection and weakness of our hearts ren- 
der fiction necessary to va, a similar necessity results from 
the languor and inaction of our minds : for in proportion 
to the extent of public corruption, individual application of 
the mind to severe and serious study diminishes. Insen- 
Bibiy all continued esercise of the powers of his under- 
standing becomes irksome to man, and he finally considers 
thought and ennui to be synonymous terras. This is, 
without doubt, a deplorable and alarming symptom of the 
decline of society ; but we are obliged to confess it 
enee, and, not possessing the power of changitvg, * 
aibmit to its caprices and satisfy its neceBsitieft. 



viU 

Now, whether from instinct or obsetratjon, writere ap- 
pear for Kotnt years past to have generally understood ^ 
demands of the age; and throughout Europe, men of di»> 
tinguished talents have employed themselves in answering 
them. It might be said that Germany, England, Switser- 
land, and Italy, have formed as it were a literary allian»^ 
which will probably endure longer than their political 
allianne. As to France, her attention has for fifteen years 
been attracted to literature as weil as to politics ; but she 
has thought it Eufii{:ient fur her glory to translate foraga 
books, and for her prosperity to translate foreign c 
tutions.* 

However this may be, the new taste for foreign litera- 
ture is remarkable. Numerous works of imagination have 
appeared simultaneously of an elevated style and luicom- 
mon erudition. The choice, and we may add the gravity, 
of the subjects, the importance of the action, the extent of 
tìie developements, and the fidelity of the descriptions, 
stamp them with a peculiar character, and oblige us to 
assign to their authors a distinct rank among novel writers. 
Although unequal in merit, they may be arranged into two 
dssses. The one, beholding how history was neglected, 
has endeavoured to restore its influence by reviving our 
ancient chronicles, and presenting to us in an elegant u 
dress, the same characters from whom we avert our eyw, 
in the roagiiilicenC and stiff accompaniments of their his- 
torical costume. The other, less numerous, but, in our ■ 
opinion, much more happUy inspired, afflicted by the cold 
indi&renoe with which the most excellent works on morals 
and politics are received, or by the insulting contempt 
which discarda them altogether, has undertaken to allure 
and amuse the prejudices of the age, in order to correct 
them. In an imaginary picture, they have specially de- 
voted themselves to describe the great springs of human 




CRITICAL BEMAHSS. 



1 

ch 

Za 



I, and to faring protninently fonrard tlio«e t 
character, those inflexible criticisma on sociecj', nhich 
miler euch a. form «ill attract attention, when every direct 
erioUB admonition would be rejecied. Now, 
:lasa of novel writers that Alessandro Munxotii 
ially belong». 

And here, a great difficulty presents iteeif ; a work tf 
nbich the action is so simple, tliat an analysis of it ii * 
be given in half a page, and yet so rich in beauCieB, that ft 
volume might he written in ila praise; between these two 
extremes, the middle path is not eaey to find. For, if we 
abuuld content ourEelves with slating tiiat two villagers, 
who were betrothed, and about to he united, had been 
separated by the menaces of a rich and titled robber, 
calumniated, betrayed by a seeming friend, and aided by 
the unlooked-for benevolence of an enemy; again per- 
aecuted by the tyranny of the great, and then almost im- 
molated by the tyranny of the people, and finally delivered 
by the pestilence itself; if, we repeat, we confine ourselves 
to this exposition, we shall have presented to our readen 
the abstract of the work ; but shall we have given them 
a single idea of its beauties p 

If, on the contrary, we would enter on an examination 
of the characters, and follow them in (heir developeraent, 
what a task we impose on ourselves ! For here, what 
beauty ! what trulli ! what originahty ! The character of 
Don Abbondio alone would furnish matter for extenun 
remark, as it is assuredly one of the most profoundly comic 
creations of the genius of romance. A coward by nature, 
and selfish from habit, entering the ecclesiastical order only 
to find in it powerful protection ag^nst iiiture enemies, 
and a refuge against present terrors, during his whole Hfe 
he pursues, without a single deviation, the tyrannical to- 
catton of fear. Ever disturbed by the apprehension of 
being disturbed, and giving himself prodigious trouble in 
order to secure his tranquillity, the care of his repose tabes 
£rora him all repose. " A friend to all," is his device, and 
" Be ^iet," his habitual reply. For him, the evil com- 
mitted in secret is preferable to the good '«tóiih toi^X. 
tadie ilangerous rcmiak. However, at the \>o\,y)"Ki oi. \vra 



heart, he still esteems the good and virtuous ; as to the 
wicked, lie caresses, and where there is necessity, flatters 
them ; iu every controversy, he deems the strongest party 
to be in the right, but his fear of mistake often preventa 
him from deciding which is the strongest. In discussions 
where he is personally involved, he acts not less prudently ; 
he does not grant concessions, he does more, he freely ofieis 
them, ag by so doing l)e saves the honour of his authority. 
Indeed, he does not drop a word nor risk a gesture, of 
which lie has not previously weighed the consequences. 
So that by calculation and foresight, he ia prepared for all, 
except the performance of duty under circumstances of 
peril and difHculty ; to this he closes his ears and his eyes, 
and thus compromises with the world and his conscience. 
And here, let us add, that if any of our readers discover, 
in this character, the intention, or even the possibility, of 
an application injurious to reUgion, they understand bat 
little the mind of the author, which is constantly animated 
by the most ardent faith, and imbued, we may say, with 
its highest inspirations. The curate Abbondio appears be* 
fore us chiefly to give greater relief to ihe subUme figura 
of the friar Christopher, aud the holy archbishop of Milan, 
and to furnish ma.lerials for scenes between these three 
characters, where the weakness, the cowardice, and the 
seldahness of the one serves to brighten, by contrast, the 
courage, devotion, and heroism of the others. It is an 
eminently ])hìlosophical conception to portray three men 
entering the priesthood from such different motives, iu the 
course of their long lives, disclosing faithfully in their 
actions, the sources of their primitive choice. A lesson 
indeed ! from which we may learn what religion can do 
with men, when they obey its laws and devote themselvea 
to its service, and what men c;in do with religion, when 
they Eubject it to their caprices, or prostitute it to thejt 



But it is in the conversion of the formidable Unknown, 

that religion appears in all its power, and its pontiff' in all 

àie jn^'esty of his benevolence. The interview between 

AWe two persons, the one the terror, the other the 

fliofhiB country; the proud crim\i;vi\ \ivito\iììq^' " 



' the bed 



«fore the most humble of the juit ; the former preieinttg 

L his profound buroiliation the traces of hie habitual 
riekedness and pride, and the latter, with humility equally 
irofound, the majestic auihorily of unEullìed virtue. Thia 

le, conceived and executed with equal genius, combines 
pithin ilaelf the deepest interest, and the hi{;hest beauty. 

an illustration of the ingenuity and difc^rtimeat of 
he author, we will offer one remark further ; he has placed 
i>efore us two wicked men ; the one a subaltern robber, 
1 libertine of the second rank, a swaggerer in debauch, 
vainer of hÌ9 vices than jealous of his pleasures. The 
other a superior genius, who has measured how far man 
could descend in crime, and himself reached its depths, 
nhere he governs human corruption as its sovereign, com- 
mittÌDg DO act of violence without leaving the impression 
of his unlimited power and inexorable will. One of 
these is to be converted ; whicli will it be ? The least 
gnilty ? No ; coward in vice, where would he find cou- 
rage to repent ? He will die liardened and impenitent. It 
is tile grand criminal who will be drawn from the abyss, 
for he has descended into it wilh all his power, and it will 
need a repentance proportioned to the measure of Ids ini- 
quities to restore him to the favour of his (.ìo<l. There ta 
evinced in this developement, great knowledge of the human 
heart, and a very striking revelation of the mysterioui 
dealings of a just and compassionate God. 

We find the same aagacity of observation in other parta 
of die work ; it appears under an altogether original form 
in the episode of Gertrude ; irresistibly conducted to the 
doialer, notwithstanding her insurraoun table repugnance, 
when she could by a single word free herself froiii such 
1 condemnation, dooming her own self to a sacrifice she 
detesta ; yielding without having been conquered ; the 
(lave of her very liberty, and the victim to a voluntary 
fatality I It is not in a rapid sketch that we can give an 
idea of this singular and altogether novel character. To 
appreciate its excellence, we must give an attentive perusal. 

But Alessandro Manzoni is not only a skilful painter of 
in^vldual portraits, be excels also in grand \tÌ!>\Ar\ca!l le- 
^eieatations. In ibat of the plague at MiVaw, ani Ù\e 



I 



fiunìne preceding it, hia manner becomes bolder. Ilia t 
more free and in^estic, without, however, losing any c 
exqiiisile delicacy, When he represents an entire pi 
tbeUing against hunger, or Taaquished by disease 
dealh, we deeply feel the horror of the picture, at the 
time that an occasional smile is elicited by the comit 
of the artist, which exercises itself even aniidsl 
ponies of famine and peetìleoce, so that, through 
grand dedga of the exhibition, the delicate touche 
àie pencil are still visible, and individual character pei 
tibie through the very depths of bold and general desi 
tjon ; it is Van Dyck painting on the reverse of on 
Michael Angelo'a pictures. 

We will not take leave of this interesting produi 
without indulging ourselves in one more observation, n 
is, that in this succession of adventures, where appeaj 
turns or simultaneously, two robber chiefs and their 
lowers, an unbridled soldiery, a people in rebellion, fan 
and pestilence, all the evil specially resulting to the vi 
ous, is the consequence of the cowardice of a single n 
What a lesson may we derive from such a Novel/ i 







THE BETROTHED. 



CHAPTER I. 



tAT brftnch of the Lake of Como, which turns toward 
south between two unbroken chaius of mountains, pre- 
ing to the eye a sui^cession of bays and gulfs, formed 
iheir jutting and retiring ridges, suddenly (^ontracIa i1- 

between a headland to the right and an extended 
nng bank on the left, and assumee the flow and appear- 
B of a river. The bridge by which the two shores are 
! miited, appears to render the transform ition more op- 
mt, and marks the point at which the lake ceases, and 
Adda recommences, to resume, however, the name of 
ie where the again receding banks allow the water to 
and itaelf anew into bays and gidfs. The bank, 
ned by the deposit of three large mountain streams, 
liendB f^om the bases of two contiguous mountains, the 

called St Martin, the other by a Lombard name, 
tgone, from its long line of summits, nhich in truth 
; it the appearance of a saw ; bo fliat there is no one 
] would not at first sight, especially liewing it in front, 
n the ramparts of Milan that face the north, at once 
inguish it in ali that extensive range from othvt moun- 
1» of less name and more ordinary form. The bank, for 
muderable distance, rises with a gentle and continual 
mt, then breaks into hills and hollows, rugged or level 
d, according to the formation of the mountain rocka, 
I the action of the floods. Its extreme border, in(er- 

C mountain torrents, is compoied almoit en» 
._ ■ 



tìrely of Band and pebbles ; (he other parts of fields and 
vinefBrds, scattered farms, country sealB, and viUagei, 
with here and there a wood which extends up the mountain 
Bide. Lecco, the largest of these villages, and which gives its 
name to the district, is situated at no great distance from 
the bridge, upon the margin of the lake ; nay, often, M 
the rising of the waters, is partly embosomed within the 
lake itself; a large town at the present day, and likely 
soon to become a city. At the period of our story, ihit 
village was also fortified, and consequently had the honour 
to furnish quarters to a governor, and the advantage of 
possessing a permanent garrison of Spanish soldiers, who 
gave lessons in modesty to the wives and daughters of the 
neighbourhood, and towardthecloseof summer never failed 
to scatter themselves through the vineyards, in order to thin 
the grapes, and Ughten for the rustics the labours of the 
vintage. From village to village, from (he heights down 
to the mar^n of the lake, tbt^re are innumerable roads and 
paths : these vary in their character ; at times precipitons, 
at others level ; now sunk and buried between two ivy-dad : 
walla, from whose depth you can behold nothing but (he | 
lome lofty mountain peak ; then crossing high and j 
cts, around the edges of which they Eometimet 
_ id, occasionally projecting beyond the face of the moun- 
I4ain, supported by prominent maases resembling tiastioiu, I 
whence the eye wanders over the most varied and deUcioua 
landscape. On the one side you behold the blue lake, witb I 
its boundaries broken by various promontories and necks . 
of land, and reflecting the inverted images of the objects 
on its banks ; on the other, the Adda, which, flowing be- 
neath the arches of the bridge, expands into a small lab^ ' 
then contracts again, and holds on its dear serpentining | 
course to the distant horizon : above, are the pondeioui I 
masses of the shapeless rocks ; beneath, the richly cultì<i 
valed acclivity, the fair landscape, tlie bridge ; in fron^ J 
the opposite shore of the lake, and beyond this, the maun. ' 
tain, which bounds the view. 

Towards evening, on the 7th day of November, li 
Don Abbondio, curale of one of the villages before alluded 
to (but of the name of wliicb, nor of the house and " 



1 



HHf its curate, we are not informed), teas 
Anvly towards his home, by one of ihete path' 
WSE repeating qaiet!; hie office ; in the pauses of which he 
beld his dosed breviary in his hand behind hia back ; anil 
Is he went] wilh his foot he cast listlessly ugiiln»t ihe wall 
the elones that happened to impede bis patii ; at the same 
time girÌDg atlmillance to the idle thoughu that tempted 
the spirit, while the lipa of the worthy man were mechani. 
rally peribrming tlieir function ; then raising his head nnd 
gazing idly sroand him, he tised hia eyes upon a mountain 
summit, where the rays of the selling sun, breaking through 
the openings of an opposite ridge, illumined its projecting 
masseB, which appeared Uke large and variously shaped 
spots of purple light. He then opened anew hia breviary, 
ind recited another portion at an angle of the lane, after 
which angle the road continued straight for perhaps seientT^ 
paces, and theti branched like the letter V into two namnc 
paths ; the right-hand one ascended upwards the tnounlaiiy 
and led to the parsonage {Cura); that on the left descended 
the valley towards a torrent, and on this side the i ~' 
rose out (o the height of about two feet. The inner w 
of the two narrow paths, instead of meeling at (he an 
ended in a little chapel, upon which were depicted ceri 
bng, sinuous, pointed shapes, which, in the intention al 
the artist, and to the eyes of the neighbouring inhabitanti, 
represented flames, and amidst these Sames certain otbet 
forms, not to be described, that were meant for 
purgatory ; souls and flames of a brick colour, 
ground of blackish grey, wilh here and there a bare spot O 
plaster. Tbe curate, having turned the corner, directeT 
as was his wont, a look tonard the little chapel, and tliei 
beheld what he little expected, and wotdd not have desire^ 
to see. At ihe confluence, if we may so call it, of the I 
narrow lanes, there were two men : one of thera sitt 
astride ihe low wall ; liis companion leaning against i^ 
with his arms folded on hia breast. The dress, the bear^ 
ing, and what the curate could distinguish of tile counte- 
nanceof these men, left no doubt as to their profession. 

Kiate \tpon their heads a green network, which, tailing 
left shoulder, ended in a large tasael, from undec ■ 



4 THE BK:TI10T&ED' 

which appeared upon the forehead an enormous lock of 
hair. Their tnuBtachioa were Jong, and curled at the ex- 
tremitiea; the majgia of tlieir doublets confined by a belt 
of polished leather, from which were suspended, by hooks, 
two pistols ; a little powder-horn hung like a locket on the 
breast ; oli the right-haud side of the wide and ample 
breeches was a pocket, out of which projected the handle of 
a knife, and on the other side they bore a long sword, of 
which the great hollow hilt was formed of bright plates of 
brass, combined into a cypher : by these charaoteristicB they 
were, at a glance, recognised as individuals of the class of 
hravoes. 

This species, now entirely extinct, flourished greatly at 
that lime in Lombardy. For those who have no know, 
ledge of it, the following are a few authentic records, that 
may suilice to impart an idea of ila principal characteristic», 
of the rigorous efforts made to extirpate it, and of its ob- 
stinate and rank vitality. 

As early as the Sth of April, 1583, the most illustrious 
and most excellent lord Don Charles of Arragonj Prince of 
Castelvetrano, Duke of Terranova, Marquis of Avola, 
Count of Bnrgeto, High Admiral and High Constable of 
Sicily, Governor of Milan, and Captain General of His 
CathoUc Majesty in Italy, " fully informed of the intoler- 
able misery which the city of Milan has endured, and stiU 
endures, by reason of bravoes and vagabonds," publishes his 
decree against them, " declares and designates all those 
comprehended in this proclamation to be regarded as bravoes 

and vagabonds, who, whether foreigners or natives, 

have no calling, or, having one, do not follow it, but, 

either with or without wages, attach themselves to any 

knight, gentleman, officer, or merchant, to uphold or 

favour him, or in any manner to molest others." All such ' 
he commands, within the space of six days, to leave the 
country ; threatens the refractory with the galleys, and 
grants to sjl officers of justice the most ample and unlimited 
powers for the execution of his commands. But, in the 
following year, on tlie ISth of April, the said lord, having 
perceived " that this city still continues to be filled with 
braroea, who have again resumed their former mode uf lifej^ 



tbdrmanneiR unchanged, and their nnmber uniliinini 
puU forth another edict «till more enei^tic t 
markable, in which, nmong other regulations, be 
"that any pereon whatsoever, whether of this cit^r <^ 
abroad, who shall, by lie testimony of two witnea 
shown to be regarded and commonly reputed as a bra< 
even though no crimioal act shall have been proved agi ' 
hitn, may, nevertheless, upon the sole ground of his repni. 
tation, be condemned by the said judges to the rack for 
examination ; and although he make no confession of guilij 
he shail, notwithstanding, be sentenced to the galleys foi 
the Baid term of three years, solely for that tie ih regarded 
as, and called a bravo, as above-mentioned ;" and this 
cause Hii Excellency is resolved to enforce obedieni'e tkj 
his commands." 

One would suppose that at the sound of such denunci- 
ttioni Arom so powerful a source, all (he bravocs must have 
disappeared for ever. But testimony, of no less authority, 
obliges us to believe directly the reverse. This testimony 
is the most iUuEtrious and most excellen lord Juan Fer- 
nandez de Velasoo, Constable of Castile, High Chamberlain 
of His Majesty, Duke of the city of Frees, Count of Haro 
and Caslelnuovo, Lord of tlie bouse of Velasco, and of that 
of die Seven Infanti of Lara, Governor of the Stale of Mi- 
lan, &c. On the 5th of June, 1 5^3, he also, fully informed 
"Low great an injury to the common weal, and how in- 
(nlting to juslice, is the existence of such a class of men," 
requires them anew to quit the country within six days, 
repeating very nearly the same threats and injunctions aa 
his predecessor. On the 23d of May, then, 1508, "hav- 
ing learnt, with no little displeasure, that the number of 
bravoes and Tagabonde is increasing daily in this state and 
city, aud that nothing is heard of them but wounds, mur- 
deia, robberies, and every other crime, to the commission 
of which these bravocs are encouraged by the confidence that 
they will be sustained by their chiefs and abettors," he pre- 
scribes again tlie same remedies, increasing the dose, as is 
mual in obstinate disorders. " Let every one, then," he 
concludes, " carefiiUy beware that he do not, in any wise, 
e this edict; sitice, in plate of espencwtKit '^ 



mercy of His Excellency, he shall prove his rigour and hie 
wrath— he being reaolved and determined that this shall 
be a final and peremptory warning." 

But this again did not suffice; and the iUustrioiis and 
moat excellent lord, the Signor Don Pietro Enriquez de 
Acevedo, Count of Fuentes, Captain and Governor of the 
State of Milan, " fully informed of the wretched condition 
of this city and state, in consequence of the great number 
of bravoes that abound therein, and resolved wholly to 
extirpate them," publishes, on the 5th of December, I6OO, 
a new decree, full of the most rigoroua provisionB, and 
" with firm purpose that in all rigour, and without hope of 
remission, they shall be wholly carrieil into execution." 

We are obliged, however, to conclude that he did not, 
in this matter, exhibit the same zeal which he knew how 
to employ in contriving plots and exciting enemies agùnst 
his powerful foe, Henry IV., against whom history attests 
tbat he succeeded in arming the Duke of Savoy, whom he 
caused to lose more towns than one ; and in engaging in a 
conspiracy the Duke of Biron, whom he caused to lose fail 
head. But as regards the pestUent race of hravoes, it ìb 
very certain they continued to increase until the 22d àa,f 
of September, l€l2 ; on which day the most illustrioua 
and most excellent lord Don Giovanni de Mendoza, Mat' 
cheae de la Hynojosa, gentleman, &c,. Governor, &c., 
thought ieriously of their extirpation. He addreased to 
Pandolfo and Marco Tullio Malatesti, printers of the 
Royal Chamber, the customary edict, corrected and en- 
larged, that they might print it, to accomplish that end. 
But the bravoes still survived, to experience, on the Sj'th 
December, I6I8, atìll more terrific denunciations from the 
most illustrious and most excellent lord, Don Gomel 
Suarei <!e Figueroa, Duke of Feria, Governor, &c. ; yet, 
as they did not fall even under these blows, the most illu&. 
trious and most excellent lord Gonzalo Fernandez de Cor- 
dova, under whose government we are made acquainted 
with Don Abbondio, found himself obliged to republish 
the usual proclamation against the bravocs, on tlie 5th day 
of October, 16S7, that is, a year, a month, and two days 
prerious to the commencement oi our story. 



Nor was this the lasl publication ; but of those that 
foIloH', as of matters not falling within (he perìod of our 
hislory, we do not think it proper to make meniion. The 
only one of them to which we shall refer, is that of the 
13lh day of Fehruary, lf)32, in which the most illustrious 
and most excellent lord, the Duke of Feria, for the second 
time governor, informs us, " that the greatest and mo^t , 
heinous crimes are perpetrated by those styled bravoes." 
This will Buflice to prove thai, at the time of which we 
treat, the bravoes still existed. 

It appeared evidejit to Don Abbondio that the two men 
above mentioned were waiting for some one, and he was 
alarmed at the conviction that it was for himself; for 
on his appearance, they exchanged a look, as if to say, 
" 'tis he." Riaitig from the wall, they both advanced to 
meet him. He held his breviary open before him, as though 
he were employed in reading tt; but, nevertheless, cast a 
glance upward in order to espy their movements. Seeing 
that they came directly toward him, he was beset by a 
thousand different thoughts. He considered, in haste, 
whether between the bravoes and himself there were any 
outlet from the road, and he remembered there was none. 
He took 8 rapid survey of his conduct, to discover if he 
had given ofFence to any powerful or revengeful man ; 
but in this matter, he was somewhat reassured by the con- 
soling testimony of his conicienca. The bravoes draw near, 
and kept their eyes upon him. He raised his hand to his 
collar, as if adjusting it, and at the same time turned his 
head round, to see if any one were coming ; he could dis- 
cover no one. He cast a glance across the low stone wall 
upon the fields ; no one ! another on the road that lay be- 
fore him ; no one, except the bravoes! What is to be done? 
Flight was impossible. Unable to avoid the danger, he 
hastened to encounter It, and to put an end to the torments 
of uncertainty. He quickened his pace, recited a stanza in 
a louder tone, did his utmost to assume a composed and 
cheerful countenance, and finding himself in front of the 
gallants, stopped short. " Signor Curate," said one of 
fixing hii eyes upon him,— t-i^h 



^dttm^f 



" Your pleaEUre, sir," luddenly raising hit eyes from hi* 
book, nhich he continued to hold open before him. 

" You intend," pursued the other, with the threatening 
and angry mien of one who has itetecled an inferior in an 
attempt to commit Game villany, " you intend to-morrow 
to unite in marriage Renzo Tramaglino and Lacy Moa> 
della." 

" That ia," Esid Don Abbondio with a faltering voiee, 
" that IB to Bay — you gentlemen, being men of the world, 
are very well aware how these ihiogs are managed : the poor 
curate neither meddleH nor makes — they settle their afiUrt 
amongst themselves, and then — then, they come to us, ai 
if (o redeem a pledge; and we — we are the servanti of the 

" Mark now," said the bravo in a low voice, but in a 
tone of command, " this marriage is not to take jdte^ 
neither to-morrow, nor at any other time." 

" Bui, my good sirs," replied Don Abbondio, with the 
mild and gentle tone of one who would persuade an 
impatient listener, " but, my good sirs, deign to put 
yourselves in my situation. If the thing depended on 
myself — you see plainly, that it does not in the leaat con- 

" Hold there," said the bravo, interrupting him, " this 
matter is not to be settled by prating. We neither know 
nor care to know any more about it. A man once warned 
— you understand us." 

" But, fair sirs, you are too just, too reasonable " 

" But,'' interrupted tbe other comrade, who bad not 
before spoken, " but this marriage is not to be performed, 
or (with an oath) he who performs it will not repent of it, 
because he'L not have time" (with another oaih). 

" Hush, hush," resumed the first orator, " the Signor 
Curate knows the world, and we ate gentlemen who have 
no wish lo harm him if he conducts himself with judg- 
ment. Signor Curate, the most illustrioua Signor Don 
Roderick, our patron, offers you his kind regards." As in 
the height of a midnight storm a vivid flash casts a mo* 
mentary dazzling glare around and renders every otgeet 
' ' ' did this name incieaae the terror of Don 




iMAkriiIìo; uif b)' instinct, hf boneilliiibi 

tod said — 

" If it could but be suggested to me." 

" Oh! suggested to jrou, who understand Lat 
cUiiued the bravo, laughing; " it is for fou to menage t] 
matter. But, above all, be careful noi to say s word o 
eerr.iug the bint that his been given you for your goodfi 
far if yon do, ehem ! — you understand — the coniequenM 
would be ihe same as if you performed the marriage ce- 
remony. But BBy, what answer nre we to carry in your 
name to the most illustrious Signor Don Roderick ?" 

" My respects " 

" Speak more clearly. Signor Curale," 

" That I am dispoEed, ever disposed, to obedience." 
And as he spoke the word» he was not very certain him- 
self nbelher he gave a promise, or only uttered an ordinary 
compliment. The btavoes toolc, or appeared to take tliem, 
in the more serious sense. 

" 'Tis vary well ; good niglit, Sipnor Curate," said One 
af them as he retired, together with his companion. DoB j 
Abbondio, who a few minutes l>efore would have given uUM 
of his eyes to avoid the ruffians, was now desirous (o pr(u4 
bng the conversation. "^ 

"Gentlemen " he began, as he shut his book. 

Without again noticing him, however, they passed on, 
Dnging a loose song, of which we will not transcribe the 
words. Poor Don Abbondio remained for a moment, as if 
spell-bound, and then with heavy and tagging steps took 
the path which led towards his liome. The reader will 
better understand the stale of his mind, when he shall have 
learned something more of his disposition, and of the ci 
dilion of the times in which it was his lot to live. 

Don Abbondio was not (as the reader may have per>V 
ceived) endowed with the courage of a lion. But from h" 
earliest years he had been sei^sible that the most embar- ' 
rassing situation in those limes was that of an animal, fur- 
nished with neither tusks nor talons, at the same lime 
having no wish to be devoured. The arm of the law af- 
forded no protection to a man of quiet, inoffensive habits, 
who had no means of making himself feared, 



per^fl 

nhuM 
ibar. V 

fur- 
ar af- 



10 1 

IsvB Mid penaltiee were nanting for the prevention of pri- 
Tate violence: the laws were most express; the offencee 
enumemled, and minutely partieularised ; the penalties suf- 
iiciently extravagant ; and if that were not enough, the 
legislator himself, and, a hundred others to whom was 
committed (he execution of the laws, had power to increase 
them. The proceedings were studioualy contrived to free 
the judge from every thing that might prevent his psssing 
sentence of condemnation ; the passages we have cited from 
proclamations against the bravoes, may be taken as a faithful 
specimen of these decrees. Notwithstanding this, or, it 
may be, in consequence of this, these proclamations, reit- 
erated and reinforced from time to time, served only to 
proclaim in pompous language the impotence of those who 
issued them ; or, if they produced any immediate effect, it 
was that of adding to the vexations which the peaceful and 
feeble suffered from the lUsturbers of society. Impunity 
was organised and effected in so many ways as to render 
the proclamatioUB powerless. Such was the consequence of 
I}ie sanctuaries and asylums ; and of the privileges of cer- 
tain classes, partly acknowledged by the legal power, partly 
tolerated in ailenee, or feebly opposed ; but which, in fact, 
were suetained and guarded by almost every individual with 
interested activity and punctihous jealousy. Now this im- 
punity, threatened and assailed, but not destroyed, by these 
proclamations, would naturally, at every new attack, em- 
ploy fresh efforts and devices to maintain itself. The pro. 
clamationa were efficient, it is true, in fettering and embu- 
tasaing the honest man, who had neither power in himself 
nor protection from others ; inasmuch as, in order to reach 
every person, they subjected the movements of each private 
individual to the arbitrary will of a iliousand magistrates 
and esecutive officers. But he, who before the commission 
of his crime had prepared himself a refuge in some convenl 
or palace where bailiffs never dared to enter ; or who simply 
wore a livery, which engaged in his defence the vanity or the 
interest of a powerful family ; such a one was free in hii 
actions, and could laugh to scorn every proclamation. Of 
■ those very persons whose part it was to ensure the exa> 
cation of these decrees, some belonged by birth to tìBH 



'piTÌleged clasa, others were ila clients and Jcpemlants; 
uid HG the Utter as well as the fortnei had, from education, 
from habit, from imitatiou, embraced its mavima, thej 
would be very careful not to violate them. Had they 
however, been bald at heroea, obedient aa monks, and 
devoted aa martyre, tbej could never have accomplished 
the execution of the lans, inferior as they were in number 
to Ihose with whom they must engage, and with the frequent 
probability of being abandoned, oi even sacrificed, by him 
who, in a moment of theoretical abstraetion, might require 
them to act. But, in addition to this, their oSicc would be 
regarded as a base one in public opinion, and their name 
stamped with reproach. It was therefore very natural 
that, instead of risking, nay, throwing away, their lives in 
a fruitless attempt, they should sell their inaction, or, rather, 
their connivance, to the powerful ; or, at least, exercise 
their suthority only on those occtxions when it might be 
done with safety to themselves ; that is, in oppressing the 
peaceable and the defenceless. 

The man who acts with violence, or who i» constantly 
in fear of violence from others, seeks companions and allies. 
Hence it happened that, during these times, individuals 
displayed so strong a tendency to combine themselves into 
classes, and to advance, as far as each one was able, the 
power of that lo which he belonged. The clct^y was 
vigilant in the defence and extension of its immuniciet; 
thenobility,of ilaprivilegesj the military, of its exemptions; 
the merchants and artisans were enrolled in companies and 
fraternities; the lawyers were united in leagues, and even 
the physicians formed a corporation. Each of thetie little 
oligarchies had its own appropriate power, — in each of 
them the individual fonnd the advantage of employing for 
himself, in proportion to his influence and dexterity, the 
united force of numbers. The more honest availed them- 
sdves of this advantage merely for their defence ; the crafty 
and tlie wicked profited by it to assure themselves of success 
in tlieir rogueries, and impunity from their resulta. The 
^strength, however, of these various combinations was far 
^^fimi being equal; and, especially in the country, tlie wealthy 
^^^Kpverbearing nobleman, with a band of bravoes, and sui- 



nninded. hy pessanto aucuntomed to regaid ihemBelTn •■ 
suljeets snd soldiers of their lord, exercised an irreBÌsCible 
power, and set all line at deflnnw. 

Don Abbondio, neiiher noble, rich, nor valiantj had &om 
early youth found himself alone and unaided in such a elate 
irf society, like wi earthen vessel thrown amidst iron jars; 
be therefore readily obeyed liis parenia, wlto wished him to 
become a priest. He did, to say the truth, not regard the 
obligations and the noble ends of the ministry to which he 
dedicated himself, but was only desirous to secure the means 
of living, and to connect himself with a powerfiil and re- 
epected class. But no class provided for the individual, or 
secured his safety, farther than to a certain point ; none 
rendered it unnecessary for him to adopt for himself a sys- 
tem of his own. The system of Don Abtmndio consisted 
chiefly in shunning all disputes; he maintained an nn- 
armed neutrality in all tbe contests that broke out around 
him; — between the clergy and the civil power, between 
persons in office and no)>leE and magistrates, bravoes and 
soldiers, down to the squabbles of the peasantry themselves, 
terminated by the fist or the knife. By keeping aloof from 
the overbearing, by affecting not to notice their acts of 
violence, by bowing low and with the most profound 
respect to all whom he met, the poor man had succeeded 
in passing over sixty years without encountidring any vio. 
lent storms ; not but that he also had some small portion 
of gall in his composition ; and this continual exercise of 
patience exacerbated it to such a degree, that, if he had not 
had it in iis power occasionally lo give it vent, his health 
must have suliéred. But as there were a few persons in 
the world connected with himself whom he knew to be 
powerless, he could, from lime to time, discharge on them 
Ids long pent-up ill-humour. He was, moreover, a severe 
wnaor of those who did not regulate their conduct by his 
CUmple, provided he could censure without danger. Ac 
cording to his creed, tbe poor fellow who had been cud- 
gelled had been a little imprudent; the murdered man had 
always been turbulent ; the man who maintained his right 
a^nst the powerful, and met with a broken heed, must 
hmre been aomeviÌM wrong ; ^vhich is, perhaps, true enoiii^ 



13 

for in aQ disputeB the line can never be drawn m Rnely u 
not to leave a little wrong on both siJea. He especUUy 
declaimed agaìnet those of hia con fraternity, who, at their 
own risk, took part with the oppresned agninet a powerful 
oppressor. " This," he said, " w«» to purchase trouble 
with read; money, to kick at anarling dogs, and an in(«r- 
meddling in profane things th&t lowered the dignity of the 
sacred ministry." He had, in short, a favourite maxiiiij 
that an honest man, who looked to himaelf and minded his 
own afTiiirs, never met with any rough encounters. 

From all that has been said, we may imagine (he effect 
the meeting just described must bare had upon the mind of 
poor Don Abbondio. Those fierce countenances, the ihreala 
of a lord who was well known not to speak idly, his plan 
of quiet life and patient endurance disconcerted in an in. 
slant, a difficulty before him from which he saw no poe- 
Gibility of extrication ; all these thoughts rushed confUBetUy 
through his mind. " If Renzo could be quietly dismissed 
with a refusal, all would be well ; but he will require 
reasons — and what can I say to hiraP he loo has a head 
of bis own ; a latnb, if not meddled with — but once allcmpt 

to cross him Oh ! — and raving after that Lucy, as 

much enamoured as Young idiots ! who, for want 

of ijomelhing else to do, fall in love, and must be married, 
forsooth, thinking of nothing else, never concerning thent- 
aeives about the trouble they bring upon an honest man like 
me. Wretchlhat lam! WTiyshould those two scowling faces 
plant themselves exactly in my path, and pick a quarrel with 
me ? What have I to do in the matter ì Is it I that mean 

to wive ? Why did they not rather go and speak Ah ! 

truly, that which ia to the purpose always occurs to me after 
the right time ; if I had but thought of suggesting to them 

to go and bear their message " But here he was dig. 

turbed by the reflection, that to repent of not having been 
the counsellor and abettor of evil, was too iniquitous a 
thing ; and he therefore turned the rancour of bis thoughts 
against the individual who had thus robbed him of his tran- 
quillity. He did not know Don Roderick, except by sight 
and by report; his sole intercourse with him had been to 
h chin to breast, and the ground with the corner of hU 



l^ THE BETTIOTUED* 

hat, the few times he hsd met him on tlie roul. He had, 
on more than otie occasion, defended the reputation of that 
Signor against those who, in an under-tone, with sighs 
and looks raised to heaven, bad execrated some one of liia 
exploits. He had declared a hundred times that he was a 
respectable cavalier. But at this moment he, in his own 
heart, readily besiowed upon him all those titles to which 
he would never lend an ear fivm another. Having, amidst 
the tumult of these thoughts, reached the en trance of hia 
house, which stood at the end of the httle glehe, he un- 
loclted the door, entered, and carefully secured it within. 
Anxious to find himself in society that he could trust, he 
called aloud, " Perpetua, Perpetua," advancing towards 
the little parlour where she was, doubiless, employed in 
preparing the table for his supper. Perpetua was, as the 
reader must hs aware, the llousekeeper of Don Abbondio ; 
an affectionate and faithful domestic, who knew how to 
obey or command as occasion served ; to bear the grum- 
bling and whims of her master at times, and at others to 
make him bear with hers. These were becoming every 
day more frequent ; she had passed t!ie age of forty in a 
single state; the consequences, «Ae said, of having refused 
all the offers that had been made her ; her female friend» 
asserted that she bad never found any one willing to take her. 
- " Coming," said Perpetua, as she set in its usual place 
on the httle table the flask of Don Abbondio's favourite 
wine, and moved slowly toward the parlour door ; before 
she reached it he entered, with steps so disordered, looks 
so clouded, and a countenance so changed, that on eye leas 
practised than that of Perpetua could have discovered at 
a glance that something unusual had befallen him. 
" Mercy on me ! What is it ails my master ? " 
" Nothing, nothing," said Don Abbondio, as he sank 
upon his easy chair. 

" How, nothing I Would you have me believe that, 
looking as you do P Some dreadful accident has hap. 
ened." 
S Oh ! for the love of He&ven ! When I say nothing, 
Weither noihing, or Bomelhing I cannot tell." 



] 



^^■^ That you cannot tell, not even lo ine ? Wìio 
Wire care of your health? ^Vho will give you adrioe?" 

" Oh ! peace, peace ! Do not make matlcri worse. 
Give toe a glasa of toy wine." 

" And you will still pretend lo tne thai nothing ia ilie 
matter?" eaJil Perpetua, filling the glass, bnt retaining it in 
her hand, as if unwilling to present it except as the rewanl 
of confidence. 

" Give here, give here," saiil Don Abbondio, taking the 
gluss with en unsteady hand, and hastily swallowing iu 
con ten tG. 

" Would you oblige me then to go about, asking here 
and there what it is hna happened to m; masier?" said 
Perpetua, standing upright before him, with her hands on 
her sides, and looking him steadfastly in the li 
extract the secret from his eyes. 

" For ihe love of Heaven, do not worry me, 
kill me with your pother ; this is a matter that coni 
concerns my life." 

" Your life!" 

" My life." 

" You know well, that, when you have frankly 

" Yes, foTBOOth, as when " 

Perpetua was sensible she had touched a false string 
wherefore, changing suddenly her note, " My dear master," 
said she, in a moving tone of voice, " I have always had 
a dutiful regard for you, and if I now wish to know this 
affair, it is from zeal, anil a deaire to aasist you, to give 
you advice, to relieve your mind." 

The truth is, (hat Don Abbondio's desire to disburden 
himself of hia painful secret was as groat aa that of Per- 
petua to obtain a knowledge of it ; so that, after having 
repulsed, more and more feebly, her renewed assaulcs ; 
after having made her awear many times that she would 
not breathe a syllable of it, he, with frequent pauses and 
eselamations, related his miserable adventure. When it 
was necessary to pronounce the dread name of him from 
wboffi die prohilrition came, he required froni Perpetua 



e, aa It to 
le, do «^H 

y conB^^I 



16 1 

another imi more liulenin oath : having uttered it, he threw 
himself back on his Beat with a heavy sigli, and, in a une 
of command, as well aa supplication, exclaimed, — 

" For the love of Heaven !" — 

" Mercy upon me ! " cried Perpetua, " what a wretdl : 
what a tyrant ! Does he not fear God f " 

" Will you be Gilent f or do you want to ruin me com- 
pletely ? " 

" Oh ! we are here alone, no one can hear ua. But 
what will my poor master do?" 

" See there now," said Don Abbondio, in a peevish 
tone, " see the fine advice you give me. To ask of me, 
what I 'II do f what I '11 do ? as if you were the one in 
difficulty, and it was for me lo help you out !" 

" Nay, 1 could give you my own poor opinion ; but 

" But — but then, let us know il." 

" My opinion would be, that, as every one saya our 
archbishop ia a saint, a man of courage, and nut to be 
frightened by an ugly phis, and who will take pleasure in 
upholding a curate against one of these tyrants ; I should 
say, and do say, that you had better write him a handsome 
letter, to inform him as how " 

" Will you be silent ! will you be silent! Is tliis ad- 
vice to offer a poor man ? When 1 gel a |)ÌbIo1 bullet in 
my side — God preserve me ! — will the archbishop lake it 
out?" 

" Ah I pistol bullets are not given away like sugar- 
pluins ; and it were woful if those dags should bite every 
lime ihey bark . If a man knows how to «liow his teeth, and 
make himself feared, they hold him in respect : we shonld 
not have been l)rought Co such a pass, if you had stood 
l^on your rights. Now, all come to ua (by your good 
l»*e) to " 

" Will you be silent?" 

" Certainly { but it is true though, that when the 
'WDrid sees one is always ready, in every encounter, to 
lower ^—" 

" Will you be silent? la this a time for such idl« 



1 



Ppell, veìì, you'll think of it to-ntght ; 

time do not be the first to hsrm yourself ; 
your own be&lth : cat a mouthfu!," 

" I'll think of it," mumiureil Don Abboni 
tainly I Tl think of it. I inwt think of it ;" and he 
coiitinning — "No! 1 'II take nothing, nothing ; I'vesom^ 
thing else to do. But, that this should have fallen ujion 

" Swallow It least ihia other little drop," said Perpetua, 
ss the poured the wine. " You know it always restores 
your stomach." 

" Oh i there wmtH other medicine than that, other 
medicine than that, other medicine than that " 

So saying, he took the light, and muttering, " A pretty 
biidnesa this ! To an honest man like me J And to- 
morrow, what is to be done i' " with other like exclamations, 
he went towards liÌB bedchamber. Having reached the 
door, he stopped a moment, and before he quitted ibe 
room, exclaimed, turning towards Perpetua, with Iiìb finger 
' qi^ b'ps — "'' For the love of Heaven, be silent ! " 

^^Tj- related that the Prince of Condé slept Goundly In^* 
night preceding the battle of llocroi ; but then, he was 
greatly fatigued, and moreover had made every arrange- 
ment for the morrow. It was not thus with Don Ab- 
bondio ; he only knew the morrow would be a day of 
trouble,and consequently passed the night in anxious antici- 
pation. He could not for a moment think of disregarding 
the menaces of the bravoes, and solemnising the marriage. 
To confide to Iten/o the occurrence, and consult with him 
as to the means — God forbid! — He remembered the warn - 
i£of the bravo, "not toaay one word" — otherwise, nhcmf 



I BBTROTBBDi 



^ of Don Abbondio ; so that he already repented of his c 
munication to Perpetua, To fly was impossihle — 
-where could he fly ? At the thought, a thousand obsti 
presented themselves. — After long and painful deliberai 
he resolved to endeavour to gain time, by giving R< 
some fanciful reasons for the postjionement of the i 
riage. He recollected that in a few days more the i 
would arrive, during which marriages were prohìh: 
" And if I can keep this youngster at hay for a few d 
I shall then have two months before me ; and in 
months who can tell what may happen ?" He ihougV 
various pretexts for his purpose ; and tiiough they ^ 
rather flimsy, he persuaded himself that his autlu 
would give them weight, and that his experience Wi 
prevail over the mind of an ignorant youth. " We 
see," said he lo himself: " he thinks of hia love, bi 
thinkof myself ; I am, therefore, the party most interes 
I must call in all my cunning to assist me. I cai 
help it, young man, if you sufTcr ; 1 must not be 
victim." Having somewhat composeil his mind with 
determination, he at length fell asleep. But his drei 
alas ! how horrible — bravoes, Dan Roderick, Re 
roads, rocks, cries, bullets. 

The arousing from sleep, after a recent misforti 
is a bitter moment ; the min<l at first habitually reciu 
its previous tranquillity, but is soon depressed by 
thought of the contrast that awaits it. When alive 
sense of his situation, Don Abbondio recapitulated 
plans of the night, made a better disposal of them, 
after having risen, awaited with dread and impatience 
moment of Renzo's arrival. 

Lorenzo, or as he was called, Renzo, did not make 
wait long ; at an early hour he presented himself he 
the curate with the joyful readiness of one who wat 
this day to espouse her whom lie loved. He had 1 
deprived of his parents in his youth, and now practised 
trade of a weaver of silk, which was, it might be » 
hereditary in his family. This trade had once been ' 
Joentivej and althougli now on the dedinej a ek 



19 

workman might obtain irom it a mpeelahle livelihood. 
The continual emigration of the tradcsmi-n, attracted to the 
neighbouring states by promibes and privilegen, kft eaffl. 
dent employment for those who remained behind. Btwidei, 
Renso possessed a small farm, which he had cultivated him- 
self wfaen othemiee unoccupied ; bo that, for one of his 
condition, he might be called wealCliy ; and although the 
last harvest had been more deficient than the preceding 
ones, and the evils of famine were beginning to be fell ; 
yet, from the moment he had given his heart to Lucy, he 
had been so economical as to preserve a sufficiency of all 
necessaries, and to be in no danger of wanting bread. He 
appeared before Don Abbondio gully dressed, and with n 
joyful countenance. The myslerious and perplexed man- 
ner of the curate farmed a singular contrast to that of tlie 
baudsome young man. 

" Wliat is the matter now? " thought Renzo; hut without 
nraiting to answer his own question, " Signor Curate," 
taid be, " 1 am come to know at what hour of the day it 
will be convenient for you that we should he at the 
church P " 

" Of what day do you speak ? " 

" Uow ! of what day ? do you not remember thai this 
i> [he day appointed ? " 

" To-day ? " replied Don Abbondio, as if he heard it for 
dK first time, " to-day ? to-day f be patient, I cannot to- 
4, 

" You cannot to-day ? why not?' 

" In the first place I am not well " 

" I am Eorry for it ; hut we shall not detain you long, 
and you will not be much fatigued." 

" But then — but then " 

" But then, what, sir?" 

" Tliere are difficulties." 

" Difficulties ! How can that be ? " 

" People should be in our situation, to know how many 
obstacles there are tu these matters ; I am too yieliling, I 
think only of removing impediments, of rendering all 
tilings easy, and promoting the liappiness of othett. Tu 



ilo this I neglect my duty, and am covered with reproaciiei 
for it." 

" In the name of Heaven, lieep me not ihtis in suspenK, 
Init tell me at once mbat Is the matter ? " 

" Do you know how many formalities are required befon 
the marriage can be celebrated ? " 

" I must, indeed, know Eoroethingof them," said KenEO. 
beginning to grow angry, " since you have racked raj 
brains with them abundantly these few days back. Boi 
are not all things now ready ? have you not done all then 

" All, all, you expect ; but be patient, I tell yon. I 
hare been a blockhead to neglect my duty, that I might 
not cause pain to others ; — we poor curates — we are, ai 
may be said, ever between a hawk and a buzzard. I pitj 
you, poor yoimg man ! I perceive your impatience, bn! 

my superiors Enough, I have reasons for what I 

say, but I cannot tell all — we, however, are sure M 
Buffer." 

" But tell me what this other formality is, and 1 will 
perform it immediately ." 

" Do you know how many obstacles stand in the way?" 

" How can 1 know any thing of obstacles ? " 

" Error, conditio, votum, cognatis, crimen, cnltua dii^ 
paritas, vis, ordo .... Si sit afflnia . . . ." 

" Oh ! for Heaven's sake — how should I uaderslancl 
all this Latin ? " 

" Be patient, dear Renao; I am ready to do ali 

that depends on rae. I — I wish to see you satisfied — 

I wish you well And when 1 tliink that you were 

so happy, that you wanted nothing when the whim entered 
your head to be married " 

" What words are these. Signor.'" interrupted Renio, 
with a look of astonishment and anger. 

" I say, do be patient — 1 say, 1 wish to see you happy. 
In short — in abort, my dear child, I have not been in 
fault ; I did not make the laws. Before concluding a 
marriage, we are required to eearch closely that there be 



icdl^^ 



1 



^^^ Now, I beseech you, tell me at once whal diffii 
llaa occurred?" 

" Be patient — these are noi points to be cleared up in an 
instant. There villi be nothing, I hope ; but wherher or 
not, we must search into the matter. The passage ia cli'ir 
and explicit, — " antiquam niatrimonluni denuDciet- " 

" I Tl not hear your Latin." 

" But it is necessary to explain to you " 

" Bat why not do this before ? Why tell me all was 
prepared ? Why wait " 

" See there now ! to reproach me with my kindni 
have hastened every thing to serve you; but — bu; 
hag occurred. well, weM, I know " 

" And what do you wish that I should do?" 

" Be patient for > few days. My dear child, a fe 
ue not eternity ; lie patient." 

" For how long a time then ? " 

We are coming to a good conclusion," thought Don Ab- 
bondio. " Come," said be, gently, " in fifteen daya 1 will 
endesTouT " 

'* Fifteen days ! Oh ! this ia something new. To tell 
me now, on the very day you yourself appointed for my 
marriage, that I must wait fifteen days ! Fil^een," re- 
nnned he, with a low and angry voice. 

Don Abbondio interrupted him, earnestly seizing his 
hand, and with an imploring lone beseediing him lo be 
quiet. " Come, come, don't be angry ; for the love of 
Heaven! I'll see, I'll see if in a weelt " '^ 

" And what shall I say to Lucy ?" said Ren; 
ing. 

" That it has been a mistake of mine." 

" .\nd to the world ?" 

" Say also it is my fault ; that through too great haste 
I have made some great blunder : throw all the blame on 
me. Can I do more than this ? Come in a week." 

" And llien there will be no fm'ther difficultiea ? " 

" When I say a thing " 

" Well, well, I will be quiet for a week ; 
sured, I will be put off with no further excuses 
present, I take my leave." So saying, he departed, making 



love of 
at haste 
-forl!^^ 



23 THE SETBOTHBn. 

a bow to Don Abbonilio lesa profound than usual, and 
giving him a look more expceBsiTe than respectful. 

With a heavy heart he approached the house of his 
betrothed, his mind dwelling on the strange conversatior 
which had just taken place. The cold and embarraGsed 
reception of Don Abbondio, his constrained and iinpatieni 
air, his mynterioiis hints, all combined to convince him 
there was still soraething he bad not been willing to coni- 
EQunicate. He stopped for a moment, debating with faiin. 
self whether he should not return and compel him to ix 
more frank ; raising his eyes, however^ he beheld Perpetui 
entering a little garden a iew steps distant from the house 
He called to her, quickened his pace, and detaining her al 
the gate, endeavoured to enter into discourse with her. 

" Good day. Perpetua ; I expected to hare received youi 
congratulations lo-day." 

" But it must be as God pleases, my poor Renzo," 

" I want to ask a favour of you : the Signor Curate hat 
offered reasons I cannot comprehend; will you explain tt 
me the true cause why he is unable or unwilling to manj 
usto-daV" 

" Oh I you think then that I know the secrets of my 

" I was right in aupposing there was a mystery," thonghl 
Renzo. " Come, come. Perpetua," continued he, " we ars 
friends; tell me what you know, — help a poor young man.'' 

" It is a bad thing to be born poor, my dear Renzo." 

" That is true," replied he, still more confirmed in hil 
suspicions — " that is true; but it is not becoming in the 
clergy to behave unjustly to the poor." 

" Hear me, Renzo ; I can teil you nothing, because — 
I know nolliing. But I can assure you my master would 
not wrong you or any one ; and he is not l« blame." 

" Who then is to blame?" asked Renzo, carelessly, bui 
listening intently for a reply. 

" I have told you already I know nothing. But I may 
be allowed to speak in defence nf my master ; poor man I 
i/ he has erred, it has been through loo great kindness. 
Th ere are in this world men who are overpow erii^ 
'i, and wlio fear not God." ^M 



^mrùh,. 



p ,...„... — 1 

^^Sverpowerful ! knaHeh ! " thought Renw) ; " tbeMr' 
csmnot be his superiors." — "Come," said he, with diffi- 
culty ccmcealing his increasing agitatioii, " come, t^U me 

" Afa ! you would persuade me to Bpesk, and I miM' 
not, because — I know nothing. 1 will keep silence as fail' ' 
fullj as if 1 had promised to do so. You might put 
to the torture, and you could not draw any thing from 
Adieu ! it is loEt time for bo^ of us." 

Thus Haying, she re-entered the garden hastily, and 
the gate. Renzo turned very softly, leat at the noij 
his footsteps she might discern the road he took : v 
fairly beyond her hearing, he quickened hia steps, and 
moment was at the door of Don Abbondio's house 
entered, rushed towards Che little parlour where he had left 
him, and finding him still there, approached him with a 
bold and furious manner. 

" Ell ! eh ! what has happened now ? " said Don Abbom 

" Who is this powerful personige ?" saiil Renzo, 
the air of one resolved to obtain an explicit answer; 
is he that forbids me to marry Lucy ?" 

"What! what! what!" stammered Don Abboni 
taming pale with surprise. He arose from his 
made an eSbrt to reach the door. But Renzo, who eXt- 
pected this movement, was upon his guard ; and locking 
the door, he put the key in hia pocket. 

" Ah ! will you speak now. Signor Curate ? Every one 
knows the affair hut myself; and, by heavens! I'll knowltj 
too. Who is it, I say ?" 

" Renzo, Renzo, for the love of charity, take 
you do ; think of your soul." 

" I must know it at once — this moraenL" So saying, 
he placed hts hand on his dagger, but perhaps without ' 
tetiding it. 

" Mercy !" exclaimed Don Abbondio, in a stifled voice. 

" I must know it." 

" IVlio has told you ? " 
' Come, no more excuses. Speak plainly and quid 

■" po you mean to kill me P " 
S mean to know that which 1 ha^e a t\^X \« Vw 






•ondl^H 
ho e«i" 

It in- 



34 1 

" But if I speak, I die. Mast I Dot preserve my life?" 

" Speak, then." 

Tile manner of Renzo was an threatening and decided, 
that Don Abbondio felt there was no possibility of dis- 
obeying hiro. " Promiee me — swear," said he, " never to 
teU ■' 

" Tell me, tell me quickly his name, or " 

A( this new adjuration, the poor curate, with the trem- 
bling look of a man irho feels the instrument of the dentist 
in bis mouth, feebly articulated, "Don " 

" Don ?" replied Renzo, inclining his ear towards him, 
eager to hear the rest. " Don ?" 

" Don Roderick !" muttered heliaatily, trembling at the 
sound that escaped his lips. 

" Ah ! dog !" shouted Renzo; " and how has he done 
it ? what has be said to you to " 

" Wliat? what?" said Don Abbondio, in an almost 
contemptuous tone, already gaining confidence by tile sa- 
crifice he had made. " I wish you were like myself, yoo 
wotdd then meddle with nothing, and certainly you would 
not have had so many whims in your head." He, however, 
related in terrible colours the ugly encounter ; his anger, 
which had hitherto been subdued by fear, displayed itself 
as he proceeded ; and perceiving that Renzo, between rage 
and aBtonisbment, remained motionless, with his bead boil 
down, he continued in a lively manner, " You have made 
a pretty business of it, indeed! You have rendered roe > 
notable service. Thus to attack an honest man, joax 
curate, in his own house ! in a sacred place ! You have 
done a fine thing, truly. To wrest from my mouth, that 
which I concealed, from prudence, for your own pood. And 
now that you know it, what will you do ? When I gave 
you good advice this morning, 1 had judgment for you 
and me ; but believe me, this h no jesting matter, no 
question of right or wrong, but superior power. At all 
eventa, open the door ; give me the key." 

" 1 may have been to blame," replied Renxo witli a soft- 
ened voice, but in which might be perceived smoth^ed 
aager towards his concealed enemy, " I may have been 
i but if you had been in nv^ svWtóoW' 



1 



rew the key from his poctel, and ailvaaced towardE tl 

" Swear to me," said Don Abbondio wìi 
nxìous face. 

" 1 may have been to blame — foi^ve me," rq 
UnEo, moving to depart. 

" Swear first," said Don Abbondio, holding him ti 
lingly by the arm. 

" I may have been to blame," said Renzo, freeing 1 
elf fiom his grasp, and immediately springing out of the 

" Perpetua ! Perpetua!" cried Don Abbondio, after 
laving in vain called back the fugitive. Perpetua did cot 
nswer. The poor man waa eo ovemhelmcd by his innn- 
nerable difficulties, his increasing perplexitiea, and bo ap- 
irehensive of some fresh attack, that he couceived the idea 
f Eecuring to himself a safe retreat from them all, by going . 
a bed and giving out ttiat he had a fever. His maladj^ 
□deed, was not altogether imaginary ; the terror of C 
last day, the anxious watching of the night, the dread ot 
he future, bad combined to produce really the t ~ 
Peary and stupified, he slumlwred in his large chair, 
Bring occasionally* in a feeble but passionate voice, " 
letua." — Perpetua arrived at last with a great cabba 
iider her arm, and with as unconcerned a countenance as 
r nothing had happened. We will spare the reader the 
eproachee, the accusations, and denials that passed be- 
ween them ; it is sufficient that Don Abbondio ordered 
'erpecua to bolt the door, not to put her foot outside, 
F any one knocked, to reply from the window that t 
urate was gone to bed with a fever. He then slowly ai 
ended the stairs and put himself really in bed, where ii 
rill leave him. 

Kenso, meanwhile, with hurried steps, and with a 
maettled and distracted as to the course he should pursa 
pprnacbed bla home. Those who injure others are guilM 
lot only of the evils they commit, but also of the efi^~ 
irodnced by these eviU on tlic characters of the injuEq 
MMOns. Renxo was a quiet and peaceful youth, but n 
AtaMcre appeared changed, and his llioug\ils ii.vje\\. Q 



on deeds of violence. He would have run to ihe house of 
Don Roderick to assauJt him there ; but he remembered 
that it was a fortresa, furnished with bravoes within, and 
well guarded without ; that only those known to be friends 
and servants could enter without the minutest scrutiny ; 
and that not even a tradesman could be seen there with- 
out being examined from head to foot ; and he, above 
all, would be, alas ! but too well known. He then imagined 
himself placed behind a hedge, with his arquebuGS in his 
hand, waiting till Roderick should pass by alone ; rejoicing 
internally at the thought, he pictured to himself an ap- 
proaching footstep ; the villain appears, he takes aim, lires, 
and he falls ; he exults a moment over his dying etrug^es, 
and then escapes for his life beyond the confines I And 
Lucy? This namerecaUed his wiser and better thoughts; 
be remembered the last instructions of hie porenta ; he 
thought of God, the Holy Virgin, and the Saints; and he 
trerabhngly rejoiced that he had been guilty of the deed 
only in imagination. But how many hopes, promises, and 
anticipations did the idea of Lncy suggest ? And this 
day ao ardently desired ! How announce to her the 
dreadful news ? And then, what plan to pursue ? How 
make her his own in spite of the power of this wicked 
lord f An<l now a tormenting suspicion passed through 
his mind. Don Roderick must have been instigated to 
this injury by a brutal passion for Lucy ! And she 1 
He could not for a moment endure the maddening thought 
that she had given him the shghtest encouragement. Bat 
was she not informed of his designs ? Couid he have con- 
ceived his infamous purpose, and have advanced so far to- 
wards its completion, without her knowledge ? And Lucy, 
his own beloved, had never uttered a syllable to him con- 
cerning it ! 

These reflections prevaihng in his mind, he passed by 
his own house, which was situated in the centre of the 
village, and arrived at Oiat of Lucy, which was at the 
opposite extremity. It had a small court-yard in fron^ 
which separated it from the road, and which was encircled 
by a low wall. Entering the yard, Renzo heard a con- 
"^ i murmur of voices in the \ipY«i t\iMQ\KX -, Ve Ti^d^ 



TH8 BtnOTBtiO. 97 

supposed it to be the wedding company, and he could noi 
resolve to appear before them with such a countenance. 
A little girl, who W3S standing at the door, ran towudii 
him, crying out, " The bridegroom I ifae bridegroom!*" 
" Husb, Betsy, hush," «aid Renzo, " come hither ; go to 
Lncy, and wh!B|ier in her ear — but let no one hear you — 
whisper in her ear, that I wish to speak with her in the 
lower chamber, and that she must come at once." The 
little girl hastily ascended the stairs, proud of having a 
secret coramission to execute. Lucy had Just corae forth, 
adorned from the handa of her mother, and surrounded by 
her admiring friends. These were playfully en'deavouring 
to steal a look at the blooming bride ; while she, with the 
timidity of rustic modesty, attempted to conceal her blush- 
JDg countenance with her bending arm, from beneath which 
1 smiling mouth nerertheless appeared. Her black tresses, 
larted on her while forehead, were folded up in multiplied 
circles on the back of her head, and fastened with pins of 
aQTer, projecting on every aide like the rays of the aun : 
this is still the custom of the Milanese peasantry. Around 
her throat the had a necklace of garnets, alternateli with 
beads of gold filagree; she wore a boddice embroidered 
in flowers, the sleeves tied with ribands ; a short petticoat 
of ulb, with numerous minute plaits ; crimson stockings, 
and embroidered silk sUppers. Sut beyond all these orna- 
ments was the modest and beautiful joy depicted on her 
countenance ; a joy, however, troubled by « shght shade of 
anxiety. The little Betsy intruded herself into the circle, 
managed to approach Lucy, and communicated her message. 
" I shall return in a moment," said Lucy to her friends, 
as she hastily quitted the room. On perceiving tlie altered 
and unquiet appearance of Renzo, " ^Vhat is the matter f" 
said she, not without a presentiment of evil. 

" Lucy," replied Renzo, " al! is at a stand, and God 
knows whether we shall ever be man and wife I" 

" How !" said Lucy, alarmed. Renzo related briefly 
the history of the morning ; she listened witli anguish : 
when he uttered tlie name of l>on Roderick, " Ah !" ex- 
claimed she, blushing and trembhng, " has it then come 



28 1 

• " Then you knew ! " said Renzo. '^^^| 

" Too well," rejilied Lucy. i 

" What did you know ? " 

" Do not malte me speak now, do not make me weep ! 
I'll call my mother and dismiss the company. We miu( 
be alone." 

As she departed, Renzo whispered, " And you h>Te 
never spoken of it to tne ! " 

" Ah, Renzo !" replied Lucy, turning for a moment to 
gaze at him. 

He understood well what this action meant ; it was as if 
she had said, " Can you doubt me ? " 

Meanwhile the good Agnes (so the mother of Lucy wu 
called) had descended the stairs, to aBceriaJii the cause of 
her daughter's disappearance. She remained with Ren», 
while Lucy returned to the company, and, assuming all the 
composure she coidd, said to them, " The Signor Curate it 
indisposed, and the weddiitg cannot take place to-day." 
The ladies departed, an<l lost no time in relating amongst 
the gossips of the neighbourhood all that had occurred, while 
they made particular enquiries respecting the reality of Don 
Abbondio'» sickness. The truth of this cut short the 
conjectures which they had already begun to intimate by 
toief and mysterious hints, '^ 

t CHAPTER III. ^H 

Y entered the lower room as Renzo was sorrowfnliyBB 
forming Agnes of that, to which she as sorrowfully lieleiK^ 
Both turned towards her from whom ihey expected an es- 
planation which could not but be painful ; the suspieiom 
of both were, however, excited in the midsl of their grief, 
and the displeasure they felt towards Lucy differed only 
according to tlieir relative situation. Agnes, although 
snjdoua to hear her daughter s\iea,k, could not avoid R^ 
'ler — "To BUy notlùng Wi Ùi^ Ttvo^iexV' ^^ 



2f) 

" Now, I will tei! you bU," aaiJ Lucy, wijiing her eyes' 
with lier BpTon. 

" Speak, speak !" cried at once her mother and lier loTer. 
" Holy Virgin I " exclaimed Lucy, " that it shoald come 
to thÌB!" — and with a voice interrupted hy tear?, she re- 
lated that a few days previously, as she returned from weav- 
ing, and was loiteilug hehind her companions, Don Roderick 
came up with her, in company with auather gentleman j 
that the former «ought to engage her in idle convereation ; 
thai; ehe quickened her pace, without lending htm an ear, 
and rejoined her companione ; in the mean while she heard 
tie other gentleman laugh, and Don Roderick say, " 111 
lay ft wager with you." The day following, on their re- 
turn, they met them again, but Lucy kept in the midst of 
ber companions, with her head down ; the other gentleman 
buTBt into laughter, and Don Roderick eaid, " We will lee, 
ire wiD see." " Happily for me," continued Lucy, " this 
day was the last of the weaving. I related the adventure 

inmediately ' ' 

" To whom didat thou relate it?" asked Agnea quickly, 
indignant at the idea of any one being preferred before her 
as a confidant. 

" To Father Christopher, in confession, mamma," re- 
plied Lucy, in a tone of apology, " 1 told him all, the last 
time yoii and I went to the church of the convent ; you 
may perhaps recollect my contrivances for delay on that 
morning, until there should pass some villagers in whose 
company we might go into the street ; because I was 

£0 afraid " 

The indignation of Agnes subsided at once, at the men. 
tìon of aname so revered as Father Christopher's. " Thou 
didat «ell, my child," said she ; " but why not tell it also 
to thy mother ?" 

For this, Lucy had had two very good reasons ; llie one, 
a desire not to disturb and frighten her mother with a cir- 
cumstance she could not buve prevented ; the other, the 
dKsd of placing a secret, which she wished to be buried 
in her own hosam in danger of becoming known to all 
lh# vilfage : ol iheae two leasoaa she onl^ alleged. ^Vie 



TBB BBTROTHBD. 

And could I," Eftid she, turning to Renzo, in a genii 
id reproachful vojoe, " could I speak to you of this ? - 
J tiiat you should know it now ! " 
And what did the Father say to you ? " asked Agnes. 
Me told ine to (endeavour 10 hasten my nuptials, an 
le mean while to keep myself witliin doors ; to pra 
much to God ; and he hoped that if Don Roderick shoul 
not see me, he would cease to think of mc. And it wt 
then," continued she, turning ag^n towards Renzo, will 
out, however, raising her eyes, and blushing deeply, "i 
waa (hen that 1 compelled myself, at the risk of appearin 
*ery forward, to request you lo conclude the marrixge he 
ore the appointed time. Who can tell what you mui 
have thought of me ? But 1 did it for the beet, and froi 

advice — and this morning I httle thouglil " She coul 

articulate no longer, and burst into a fiood of tears. 

"Ahi the scoundrel! the villain !" exclaimed Renzo 
pacing the room in a violent paroxysm of rage. He stop 
ped suddenly before Lucy, regarded her with a countenanc 
agitated by various passions, and said, " This is tile laa 
ripked deed this wretch will perform." 

no, Renzo, for the love of Heaven ! " cried Lucy 

for thu love of Heaven 1 There is a God wb 

Itches over the oppressed ; hut do you chink he will pro. 

do evil ? " 

" No, no, for the love of Heaven !" repeated Agnes. 

" Rt^nzo," said Lucy, with a more resolved and tranquil 

air, " you have a trade, and I know how to work : let Qi 

go away into some distant place, that he may hear of ua no 

" Ah, Lucy ! but we are not yet man and wife ! II 

we were marrieil, then, indeed " Lucy relapsed into 

tears, and all three remained silent; the deep despondency 
of tlieir countenances formed a mournful contrast to tbe 
festive character of tbeii dress. 

" Hear me, my children ; listen to me," said Agnea, 
after a few momentfi ; " I came into the world before you, 
and I know it a littb better than you do. 'J'he devil ii 
not so frightful as they paint him. To us poor people the 
skeins appear mote entangled, because we do not know 






8! 

where to look for the end; but sometimea ailvici; from a 

learaeil man I know what I mem to aay. — Do as 

I tell you, Kenxo ; go to Lecco ; find the Doctor Azstcea 

Garliagii • ; relate to him But you must not call him 

by this name — it is a nick-name. Say to the doctor 

what do they call him f Oh dear ! I can't think of bis 
real name, every one calls him Azzecca Garbuj/ii. Well, 
well, find this tall, stiff, bold doctor, with a ted Doae, and 
a face aa red " 

"■ I know the man by sight," eaid Renxo. 

" Well, very well," continued Agnes, " there's a man 
for you ! I have seen more than one troubled wretch who 
did Dot know which way to turn himself; I have known 
him remain an hour with the Doctor Azzecca Garbugli (be 
careful you don't call him so), and go away laughing at 
himself for his uneasiness. Take with you these fowl»; I 
expected to have wrung their necks, poor Uttle things ! for 
llle banquet of to-night ; however, carry them to him, be- 
amae one must never go empty-handed to these gentlemen. 
Relate to him all that has happened, and he will tell you at 
once that which would never enter our heads in a year." 

Renzo and Lucy approved of this advice ; Agnes, proud 
of having given it, with great complacency took the poor 
fowls one by one from the ccop, tied their lep together as 
if she were making a nosegay, and consigned them Co his 
hands. After having excbanged words of hope, he departed, 
avoiding t^e high road and croesing the fields, so as not to 
attract notice. As he went along, he had leisure to dwell 
on his misfortunes, and revolve in his mind his anticipated 
interview with the Doctor Azzecca Garbugli. I leave the 
reader to im^ne the condition of the unfortunate fowls 
swinging by the legs with their beads downwards in the 
hands of a man agitated by all the tumults of passion ; and 
whose arm moved more in accordance with the violence 
of Ills feelings, tban with sympathy for the unhappy animals 
whose heads became conscious of sundry terrific shocks, 
which they resented by pecking at one another, — a practice 
too frequent with coropaniDiis in misfortune. 



ss TRE BETROTIIBD. 

He arrived at the village, nskeil for the houBe of the 
doctor, which being pointed out to him, he pracceiled 
thither. On enlering, he experienced the timidity bo com- 
mon to the poor and illiterate at the near approach to the 
learned and nohle ; be forgot all the speeches be had pre. 
p&red, but giving a glance at the fowU, he took courage, 
He entered the kitchen, and demanded of the maid servant, 
" If he could speak with the Signor Doctor ? " As if ac- 
customed to similar gifts, she immediately took the fowls 
out of his hand, although Renzo drew them hack, wishing 
the doctor to know that it was he who brought them. The 
doctor entered as the maid was saying, " Give here, and 
pass into the study." Renzo bowed low to him ; he replied 
with a kind " Come in, mj son," and led the way into an 
aitjoinlng chamber. This was a large room, on the three 
walls of which were distributed portraits of the twelve Ck- 
sars, while the fourth was covered with a large bookcase 
of old and dusty books ; in the middle stood a table laden 
with memorials, libels, and proclamations, with three or 
four seals around ; on one side of it was a large arm-chair 
with a high and square back, terminateli at each corner by 
ornamenta of wood in the fashion of horns ; the nails which 
had fallen out liere and lliere from itx leathern covering, 
left the comers of it at liberty to roll themselves up in lA 
directions. The doctor was in his morning gown, that I^ 
enveloped in a faded toga, which had served him long since 
to appear in at Milan, on some great occasion. He clcned 
the door, and encouraged the young man wiih these wonts!- 
" My eon, tell me your case." 

" I wish to speak a word to you in confidence." 

" Well, say on," replied the doctor, as he sealed bimsdf 
in the arm-chair. Renzo stood before the table twirling hit 
hat in his hand, and began, " I wish to know from one u 
learned as yourself— " 

" Tell me the affair just as it is," interrupted the doctor, 
"in as few words as possible." 

" You most pardon me. Signor Doctor; we poor people 
know not how lo speak to such as you are. I wish then to 

" Bless the people ! they are til ^Icej intteadofn 



}fnM|S 



38 

facta, they ask questions ; anil that because ihdr owtt 
opinions are alread;? setile<l!" 

" Excuse me. Signor Doclor. I wish, tlien, lo know if 
there is a punishmenl for threnleiiing a curale, to prevent 
him from performing a marriage ceremony ? " 

" 1 understanil," teìd the doclor, who in truth hail not 
understood — " I understanil," Anil suilJenly assitiiiing an 
air of seriousness and importance, " A acrioua cise, my 
Eon — a case contemplaled. You have done ivell to come to 
me ; it is a clear cafe, noticed in a hundred pro clam aiions, 
iml in one, of the year jufll elapsed, by Ihe actual governor. 
you shall see, you shall see ! M'here can it be?" taìil he, 
plunging his hand amidst the chaos of papers ; " it mu«t 
surely be here, as it is a decree of great importance. Ah ! 
here it is, here it is .'" He unfolded it, looked at the date, 
and with a serious face exclaimed, " Fifteenth of Ocloher, 
l6'i7- Yes, yes, this is it; a new edict; these are those 
which cause terror— Do you know how to read, my son?" 

" A Utile, Signor Doctor." 

" Well now, come behind me, and you will see for 
yourself." 

Holding the proclamation extended before him, he began 
to re&d, stammering rapidly over some passages, and paiu> 
ing distinctly with great expression on others, according tl 
the necessity of the case. 

'* Atthoagh by the proclamation published by order 6 
Ike Signor Duke di Feria, on the lith of Decembei-, 1620," 
and ratified fcy the viott illustrious, and most ejeeellenl lord. 
Signor Gonaaless Fernandez de Cordova, &c. &c. — had by 
txtraordinary and rigorous remedies provided against Iht 
oppretiioHs, fxaetions, and other tyrannical acts eommitl "*" 
against the devoted vassals ef His Majesty ; thefrequmi 
of Ih» e-rcesses, homecer, &c. &c., has arrived at tuck j 
point tìtnt Hit Excellency is under the necessity, & 
— where/ore, aitk the concurrence of the Senate and Con* 
vention, &c &c. — has resolved to publish the present de- 
tree." " And from the tyrannical acts vihieh the skill <^ 
many in the villages, as well as in tlie cities." — "Do yoUj, 
bear" — timph — " exact and oppress the weak ii 
way», making violent contracts (^purchase, qf rent, &c.^ 



ICftlUl 

|)aut>i^H 

er ^H 
620,^^ 

lord, 

■t tha 

icon- 
■kiU (tf 

&c.-^H 



34 5 

" Where is it ? Ah ! here it isj IìbIcDi listen," — " vtho, 
tchelher tiialTimniiy foltom or not." 

"All! that's my case!" said Renzo. 

" LiEteD, hsten, here is mure ; now we will find the pu- 
nishment." Umph — "that they leave the place of their 
abode, &e. &c. — that if one pays a debt, he must not be 
molested." " All this has nothing to do with us. Ah ! here 
it is ! " " the priest refusing to do that io mhich he ii 
obliged by At* office," — "Eh ? " 

" It appears the proclamation was made parpoaelf foi 

"Ah! is it not so? hsten, hsten." " And other similar 
oppressions which Jlow from the vassals, nobilily, middle 
and lower classes." " None escape, they are all here — it ii 
like the valley of Jeha«haphat. Hear now the penalty." 
" For all these and other similar evil deeds, which hitviiig bem 
prohibited, it is nevertheless necessary la exact with rigour, 
&c. — His Excellency, not annulling, orders and com- 
mand», that whoever the Renders be, they »hall be Ht^ 
jeeted to pecuniary and corporal punishment — to baniskmmt, 
the galleys, or to death," " a mere trifle !" " at the wSl 
of His Eiteelteney, or of the Senate. And from this tìuTS 
istioescape, &o.&c." "And seehere the signature," "Gan- 
takz Fernandez de Cordovas" "and lower down," " Pto- 
tonas ;" " and here again" — " Videt Ferrar," " nothing il 
wanting." Whilst the doctor was reading, Renzo had 
kept his eyes on the paper, seeking to ascertain for hirottJf 
its real meaning. The doctor, perceiving his new client 
, more attentive than dismayed, marvelled greatly, " He 
must be enrolled as one of the bravoes," said he to himadf ; 
"Ah I ah!" exclaimed he, addressing Renzo, " you bitte 
shaved off the long lock ! Well, well, il was prudent ; hut 
placing yourself in my liands, you need nut have done to. 
The case is a seriaiis one — you can have no idea how 
much resolution is required to conduct these matten 

To understand this mistttf:e of the doctor's, it should 
he known, that the bravoes by profession used to weax s 
long lock of hair, which tliey pulled over the face u • 
' L enterprises tliat recruited prudence as wdfaM 



as 

■trength. The procUmntion hud not been silent with 

regard to this castoni. 

" HU Exceitencg command», that tehotoever ikall wear 
hair of midi a length as io cover the foreiieail to Ihn eye. 
brow», inill incur the penalty of a fine of three hundred 
crown» ; in ca»e of incapability of payment, three yeart in 
the galleys for the first offence ; and for the neemtd, t» 
addition to the aforesaid, greater jiKniihmenCs still, at the 
wilt of Sis Exeellency." The long lock had become a dis- 
tinctive mark of the loose and disorderly, 

" Indeed, indeed," replied Renzo, " I have never worn 
a long lock in my life." 

" [ ran do nothing," replied the doctor, shaking his 
head, with a knowing and rather impatient smile, " nolhìjig, 
if you do not trust me. He who utlers fabehooda to the 
doctor is a fool who will lell the tnilh to ihe judge. It is 
necesBBTy to relate things plainly to the lawyer, but it rests 
with UH to render them more intricate. If you wish me to 
help you, you muat tell all from beginning to end, as to 
your confessor: you must name the peraon who commia- 
sloned you to do the deed ; doubtless he is a person of con- 
sequence ; and, considering this, I will go to his house to 
perform an act of duty. I will not betray you at all, be 
assured ; 1 will tell him I come to implore his protection 
for a poor calumsiated youth ; and we will together use 
the necessary means to finish the aflkir in a satisfactory 
manner. You understand ; in securing himself, he will 
likewise senire you. If, however, the business has been 
all your own, I will not withdraw my protection : I have 
extricated others from worie difficulties ; provided you hare 
not offended a person o! consequence ; — you understand — 
I engage to free you from all embarrassment, with a Uttle 
expense — you understand. As to the ciunle, if he is a 
person of judgment, he will keep his own counsel ; if he 
is a fool, we will take care of him. One may escape dear 
out of every trouble ; but for this, a man, a man is ner 
ceasary. Your case is a very, very serious one — the edict 
■peaks plainly ; and if the tiling rested between you and 
the law, to be candid, it would go bard with you. If you 
wish to pass smoothly — money and obedience I " 



Whilst tile doctor poured forth this rhapsody, Renzo 
had been regarding him witti mule aetonìshment, 3s the 
countryman wstches the juggler, whom he sees cramming 
hÌE mouth with handful after handful of tow ; when, lo ! 
he beholds immediately drawn forth from the same month 
a never-ending line of riband. When at last he pero«yed 
his meaning, he int£rmpted him with, " Oh J Signor Doctor, 
how you have miaunderatood me ! the matter is directly the 
reverse; I have threatened no one— not I — 1 never do 
Euch things; ask my companions, all of them, and they 
will tell you 1 never had any thing to do with the law. 
The injury is mine, and I have come to you to know how 
I can obtain justice^ and am well satisfied to have seen this 
proclamation." 

" The devil!" exclaimed the doclor, opening wide his 
eyes; "what a cock and a bull storyyou have made! So it is; 
you are all alike ; is it possible you can't tell a plain fact?" 

" But, Signor Doctor, you must pardon me, you have 
not given me time ; now I will tell you all. Know, then, 
that I was to have been married to-day" — and here his 
voice trembled — " was to have been married to-day to a 
young person to whom I have been some lime betrothed; 
to-day was the day fixed upon by the Signor Curate, and 
every thing was in readiness. The Signor Curate began to 
makeeKCUECB — and — not to weary you — I compelled him 
to tell me the cause ; aijd he confessed that he had been 
forbidden, on pain of death, to perform the ceremony. 
This powerful Don Roderick " 

"Eh!" hastily interrupted ihe doctor, contracting hi» 
brow and wrinkling his red nose, " away with you ; what 
have I to do with these idle stories ? Tell thern to your 
companions, and not to one of my condition. Begone 
you think I have nothing to do but listen to tales of 



" I protest " 

" Begone, I say ; what have I to do with your prof 
ations? I wash my hands from them !" and pacing the room, 
he rubbed his hands together, as if really performing that 
&ct. " Hereafter learn wheti to speak; and do not take s 
gentleman by surprise." 



" Bat hear me, hear me," vainly repeated Renzo. 

The doctor, etili growling, pushed him towarda t)ie 
door, set it wide open, called the maid, and said to her, 
" Return this man iramedialely what he brought, I will 
have nothing to do with it." The woman had never 
before been required to execute a umilar order, but she did 
noi hesitate to olwy ; she took the fowU and gave them to 
Renzo with a compassionate look, as if the had said, " You 
certainly have made some very great blunder." Renna 
wished to make apologies; but tiie doctor was immovable. 
Confounded, ttierefore, and more enraged than ever, he 
took back the fowls and departed, to render an account of 
the ill success of hie expedition. 

At his departure, Agnes and Lucy liad exchant;ed their 
nuptial robes for their humble daily habits, and then, sor. 
rowful and d^ected, occupied themselves in ang^'esting 
fresh projeclB. Agnea expected great results from Renzo's 
visit to the doctor; Lucy thought that it would be well U> 
let Father Christopher know what bad happened, as he was 
a man who would not only advise, but assist whenever he 
could serve (he unfortunate ; Agnes assented, but how wai 
it to be accomplished.'' the convent was two miles distant, 
and at this time they certainly could neither of tliem hazard 
a walk thither. \Vhilst they were weighing the difficulties, 
some one knocked at the door, and they heard a low but 
distinct Dfo Graeias. Lucy, imagining who it was, hastened 
to open it; and, bowing low, there entered a capuchin col- 
lector of contributions, with his wallet swung over his left 
elioulder. " Oh ! brother Caldino !" said Agnea. " The 
Lord be with you," said the brother ; " I come for your 
contribution of nuts." 

" Go, get the nuts for the fathers," said Agnes. Lucy 
obeyed ; but before she quitted the room, abe gave her 
mother a kind and impressive look, as much as to say, " Be 

The capuchin, looking significantly at Agnes, said, 
" And the wedding f It was to have taken place to-day ; 
what ha s happened ? " 
^^^"^The curate is sick, and we are obliged to defer it," 
8 the dame, in haste ; " but what eucceas in the con- 



i^^9 



38 THE SBTKOTHES. 

tributions ?" continued she, anxious to chunge the Bobji 
which Ehe would -willingly have prolonged, but for Lucy' 
earnest look. 

" Very poor, good dame, very poor. This is all," Bwd 
he, Bwinging the wallet from his shoulder — " ihts is all ; 
and for this I hive been obliged to knock ni ten tloors." 

" But the year is a scarce one, brother Caldino, and 
when we have to struggle for bread, our alms are necessa- 
rily small." 

"■ If we wish abundance to return, my good dame, we 
must give alms. Do you not know the miracle of the 
nuts, which happened many years ago in our convent of 
Romagna ? " 

" No, in truth ; tell me." 

" Well, you must know, then, that in this convpnt there 
was one of our fathers who was a saint ; he was called 
Father Macario. One winter's day, passing by a field 
of one of our patrons, — a worthy roan he was, — he saw 
him standing near a large nut tree, and four peasants widi 
their axes raised to level it to the ground. ' What are 
you doing tn the poor tree ? ' demanded father Macario. 
' Why, father, it is unfruitful, and I am about to cut it 
down.' ' Do not do so, do not do so,* said the father ; ' I 
tell you (hat next year it will hear more nuts than leave».' 
The master ordered the workmen to throw at once the earth 
on the roots which had been already bared ; and, calling 
after the Father Macario, said, ' Father Macario, the half 
of the crop shall he for the convent.' The prediction was 
noised about, and every one went to look al the tree. In 
fact, when spring arrived, there were flowers in abundance, 
and afterwards nuts in abundance ! But there was a 
(treater miracle yet, as you shall hear. The owner, who, 
before the nut season, was called hence to enjoy the fruits 
of his charity, left a son of a very different character 
from himself. Now, at the time of harvest, the collector 
went to receive his appointed portion ; hut the son atTected 
entire ignorance, and presumptuously replied, he never htd 
understood that the capuchins knew how to make nub. 
Now guess what happened then. One day he had inrited 
^'" friends, and, making merry, he amused 



^^^V^inni 



39 

tliem with the etory of the nuts; they desired to visit bis 
granary, to behold his abundance; he led liie way, advanced 
towards the corner where they had been placed, looked — 
and what do you think he saw P — a heap of dry nut leaves! 
Was not this a miracle P And [he convent gained, instead 
of BuBeriHg losB ; the profusion of nuts bestowed upon it in 
consequence vaa so great, that one of out patroni, com- 
passionating the poor collector, gave him a mule (o lutsist 
in carrying them home. And no much oil was made, that 
it was freely given to the poor ; like the sea, wliìcli receives 
waters from every pari, and distributes abundantly to the 

Lucy now reappeared with her apron so Joadeil with 
nuts, that she could with difficulty support the burthen. 
Wliiist Friar Caldino uqtied his wallet to receive them, 
Agnes cast an astonished and dUpleat^ed glance at her for her 
prodigality ; she returned it wiih a look which seemed to 
eay, " I will satisfy you." The friar was liberal of thanks, 
and, replacing his wallet, was about to depart, when Lucy 
called, him back. " I wish you to do me a service," said 
abe; " I wish you to say to Father l^ristopher that 1 have 
a great desire to speak with him, and request liiin to have 
the goodness to come hither immediately, as it is impossible 
for me to go to the convent." 

" Willingly ; an hour shall not elapse before Father 
Christopher shall be informed of your wish." 

" I rely on you," 

" Trust me," said he, " I will be faithful," and moved 
off, beniliug under the increased weight of his wallet. 
We must not suppose, from the readiness with which Lucy 
sent this request to Father Christopher, and the equal 
readiness of Father Caldino to carry it, that the father 
was a person of no consequence ; on the contrary, he was 
a man of much authority amongst his compnniuna, and 
throughout all the neiglibourhood. To serve the feeble, 
and to be served by the powerful ; to enter the palace and 
the hut ; to be at one time a subject of pastime, and at 
another regarded witli profoimd respect; to seek alms, and 
to bestow them ; — to all these vicissitudes a capuchin wu 

1 •ccUBtDmed. The name of Friar, at this periudj l^^M 



uttered tvitli tbe greateat respect, and witii the most bitter 
contempt; of buth of irliicli sentiments, [lerbaps, the ca- 
puchins were, more thaii any other order, the olijects. 
They possessed no property, wore a coarser habit than 
others, and made s more open profession of humility ; they 
therefore exposed themselves, in a gtealec degree, to the 
veneration or the scorn which might result from the various 
characters among men. 

The Fri nr Caldino being gone, "Such a qunnlityof nuta!" 
eselaimed Agnes, " and in a year of scarcity !" — " 1 beg 
pardon," replied Lucy; '' but if we had been as penurious 
as others in our charity, who can teil how long the friar 
would have been in reaching home, or, amongst all the 
gossipings, whether he would have remembered " 

" True, true, it was a good thought ; and besides, cha- 
rity always produces good fruit," said Agnes, who, with all 
her defects, was a kind-hearted woman, and would have 
sacrificed every thing she had in the world for the saite of 
her child, in whom she had reposed all her happiness. 

Renzo entered at this moment, with an angry and morti- 
fied countenance. "Pretty advice you gave me!" said he to 
Agnes. " You sent me Io a line man, indeed ! to one 
truly who aids the dÌEtre3Eed j " And he briefly related hiB 
interview with the doctor. The dame, astonished at the 
issue, endeavoured to prove that the advice was good, and 
that the failure must have been owing to Renxo himself. 
Lucy interrupted the debate, by informing him of her 
message to Father Christopher ; he seized with avidity the 
new hopes inspired by the expectation of assistance from 
so holy a man. " But if the father," said he, " should 
not extricate us from our difficulties, I will do it myself by 
some means or other." Both mother and daughter implored 
him to be patient and prudent. 

" To-morrow," said Lucy, " Father Christopher will cer. 
tainly be here, and he will no doubt suggest to us some 
plan of action which we ourselves would not have thought 
of in a year." 

" I hope BO," said Berrò ; " but if not, I will obtùn 
«dress, or find another to do it for me; for swrely there « 
rdce to be had in the world." , 



^^^Aut 



ras BXTBOTHBO. 



^^^WRieir moiimful conversation might have continiicil much 
' 't&ttgpr, but approaching night warned him Io iltpart. 

" Good night!" said Lucy mourn fully, to Renzo, who 
could iiardly resolve to go. 

" Good night L" rejilied he, jet more sadly. 

" Some saint will watch over ua," said she. " Be patient 
and prudent." The mother added some advice of the 
lille nature. But the disappointed bridegroom, with it 
tempest in his heart, left ihem, repeating the sirange pro- 
posiiion — " Surely, there 'a justice in the world." So true 
is it that, under the influence of great mieforlu&e, men no 
longer know what they say. 

^ ^ I 

CHAPTER IV. ^H 

Tbb san had not yet risen above the horizon, when FalM^^ 
Christopher left the convent of Pescarenico, to go lo the 
cottage where he was so anxiously expected. Pescarenico 
is a amali hamlet on the left bank of the Adda, or, rather, 
of the Lake, a few steps below the bridge ; a group of 
houses, inhabited for the most part by fishermen, and 
adorned here and there with nets spread out to dry. The 
convent was situated (the building siili subsists) at a short 
distance from them, half way between Lecco and Bergamo. 
The sky was clear and serene. As the sun rose behind 
the mountain, ila rays brightened the opposite summits, 
and thence rapidly spread themselves over tlie declivities 
and valleys; a light autumn breeze played through the 
leaves of the mulberry trees, and brought ihem to the 
ground. The vineyards were still brilliant with leaves of 
vsiiouahues; and the newly made nets appeared brown 
and distinct amid the fields of stubble, which were white 
and fining with the dew. The scene was beautiful ; but 

y of the inhabitants formed a sad contrast to it. 

moiaeat you met pale and ragged beggar*, Mtt^_ 



grown old in the trade, others youthful, and induced to it 
from extreme necesaity. They passed quietly by Father 
Christopher, and although they had nothing to hope from 
him, since a capuchin never touches money, they bowed 
low in thanks for the ahus they liad received, or might 
hereafter receive at ilie convent. The spectacle of the la- 
bourers scattered in the fields was siili more mournful ; 
some were sowing thinly and sparingly tlieir seed, as if 
hazarding that which was too precious ; others put the 
spade into the earth with difficulty, and wearily turned up 
the cloda. The pale and sickly child was leading the 
meagre cattle to the pasture ground, and as he went along 
plucked carefully the herbs found itt his path, as food for 
his family. This melancholy ])icture of human niisery in- 
creased the sadnt-ss of Father Christopher, who, when he 
left the convent, had been filled with presentiments of 

But why did he feel so much for Lucy ? And why, at 
the first notice, did he hasten to her with as much solici- 
tude as if ho had been sent for by the Father Provincial. 
And who was this Father Christopher? We must en- 
deavour to satisfy all these enquiries, 

Father Christopher, of , was a man nearer sixty 

than fifty years of age. His head was shaven, with the 
exception of the band of liair allowed to grow round it like 
a crown, as was the custom of the capuchins ; the expret- 
aion of his countenance was habitually that of deep huraiUty, 
although occasionally there passed over it flashes of pride 
and inquietude, which were, however, succeeded by a deepn 
shade of self-reproach and lowliness. His long grey beard 
gave more character to the shape of the upper part of hit 
head, on which habitual abstinence had stamped a strong 
expression of gravity. His sunken eyes were for the moat 
part bent to the earth, but brightened at times with unex- 
pected vivacity, which he ever appeared to endeavour to 
repress. His name, before entering the convent, had beffl 

Ludovico; he was the son of a merchant of , who, 

having accumulated great wealth, had' renounced trade in 
the latter part of his life, and having resolved to live I^ 
^■gentleman, he studied every means t 



isfo^l 



Wof life to be forgotten by iJiote around liiit 
idd not, ho weTer, forget il himBelf ; theshop, ttie gnoila, 
e day-book, the yard ii:ieD.sure, rose lo his memory, like 
e shade of Baniguo to Macbeth, amidst the pomp of the 
ble and the stnilei of hia parasites ; whose continual eSbrt 
was to avoid any word which might appear to allude to 
e former condition of the host. Ludovico was hia only 
ild : he caused him to be nobly edncateil, as far as the 
na and customs permitted him to do so; and died, be- 
leathing him a splendid fortune. Ludovico haii contracted 
e habits and feelings of a gentleman, and the fiaiterera 
[lo bad surrounded him from infancy bad accustomed him 
the greatest deference and respect. But he found the 
ene changed when he attempted to mingle with the no- 
lity of the city; and that in order to live in their coni- 
iny he must school himself to patience and submission, 
id bear with contumely on every occasion. This agreed 
itber with his education nor his disposition. He retired 
3m them in disgust, but unwillingly, feeling that such 
.ould naturally have been his companions ; he then re- 
ived to outdo them in pomp and magnificence, thereby 
creasing the enmity with which they had already regarded 
m. His open and violent nature soon engaged him in 
ore serious contests ; he sincerely abhorred the extortions 
id injuries committed by those to whom he had opposed 
mself ; he therefore habitually took part with the weak 
;ainBt the powerFuj, so that by degrees be had constituted 
mself the defender of the oppressed, and ilie vindicator of 
eir wrongs. The office was onerous; and fruitful 

evil thoughts, quarrels, and enmities against himself. 
ut, besides this external warfare, he perhaps sufièred still 
ore from inward conflicts ; for often, in order to compass 
8 objects, he was obliged lo adopt measures of circumven- 
m and violence, which his conscience disapproved. He 
as under the painful necessity of keeping in pay a band 
' ruffians for hia own security, as well as to aid him in hia 
iterprises ; and for these purposes he was necessarily 
iliged to select the boldest, that is, the vilest, and lo live 
ith vagabonds from a love of justice ; so tliat, disgusted i 
ilh the world and its conflicts, he had many times «Oi^ 'm 



riously tb(ni8}it of enteripg Koiiie monaetery, and retiring 
from it for ever. Such intentions were more strongly en- 
tertained on the failure of Bome of his enterprisea, or the 
perception of hia own iJanger, or the annoyance of bla 
ticioua asaociatfs, and would probably have atiil continued 
intentions, but for one of the most serious and terrible erent) 
of his hazardous mode of life. 

He was walking one day through the streela of the city, 
accompanied by a former shopman, who hail been trans- 
formed by his father into a steward, fallowed by two 
hravoes. The name of the shopman was Christopher ; be 
vaa a man about tifty years of age, devoted to the maala 
whom he had tended in infancy, and upon whose liberality 
he supported himself, his wife, and a lai^ family of child- 
ren. Ludovico saw a gentleman approaching at a distance, 
with whom he had never spoken in his life, but whom he 
haled for his arrogance and pride, which hatred the other 
cordially returned. He hail in his train four bravoes ; he 
advanced with a haughty step, and on cxpreaaion of inso- 
lence and disdain on his coimtenance. It was Ludovico*! 
right, being on the left side, to pass nearest the wall, >&• 
cording to the custom of the day, nnil every one was ten». 
cious of this privilege. As they met they stopped face to 
face, hke two figures on a bass relief, neither of them beii^ 
disposed to yield to the other. The gentleman, eyeing Lu- 
dovico ])roudly and imperiously, said, with a corresponding 
tone of voice, " Pass on the outside." 

" Pass there yourself," rephed Ludovico, " tlie street it 
mine." 

" With persona of your condition the street is alwayi 

" Yes, if your arrogance were a law to otherK." 

The attendants of each stood still, with their hands on 
Adr daggers, prepared for battle. The passers-by retreated 
to a distance to watcli the evenL 

" Pass on, vile mechanic, or I will teach you the civility 
due to a gentleman." 

" You lie ; I am not vile." 

" H4 ! Do you give me the lie f If yoti were a geadi 
ftUD 1 would soon settle mitten iritli my iword." '' 



1 



" You are a coward alio, or yon would not hesitate to 
BUpport by deeds the insolence of your words." 

" Throw this rascal in the dirt," siati the gentleman, 
turning to his followers. 

" Let US flee who will dare to do so," said Ludovico, 
ilepping back and laying his band on his sword. 

" Rash man," cried tlie other, unaheaihitig his own, " I 
will break this in pieces when it shall have been stained 
vith your base blood." 

They rushed violently on each other ; the aervanla of 
both sprang to the defence of their masters. The combat 
was uneqaa] in numbers, and also unequal from Ludovico*! 
desire to defend himeelf rather than to wound his enemy; 
whilst the latter intended nothing le^s than murder. Lu- 
dovico was warding ofi* the dngger of one of the bravoea, 
after having received a slight scratch on the cheek, when 
his enemy thrust at him from behind ; Christopher, see- 
ing hie master's peril, went to his assistance ; upon this 
the anger of the enraged cavalier was turned against llie 
shopman, and he thrust him ilirough the heart with his 
swonl. Ludovico, as if beside himself at tlie «ight, buried 
his weapon in the breast of the murderer, who feil al- 
most at the same instant with the poor Christopher ! The 
attendants of the gentleman, beholding him on the 
ground, took to flight; and Ludovico found himself alone, 
in the midst of a crowd, with two bodies lying at his feel. 

" What has happened ? One — two — he has been thrust 
tlirougli tiie body. Wlio is killed ? A nobleman. — Holy 
Virgin! what destruction ! who seeks, finds. — A moment 
pays all. — What a wound ! — It must have been a serious 
affair! — And this unforlunale man!^ — Mercy! what a 
spectacle ! — Save, save him. — It will go hard with him 
also. — See how he is wounded — he is covered with blood) 
— Escape, poor man, escape ; do not let yourself be taken." 
These words expressed the common suffrage, and with ad- 
rice came also assiatance ; the afikir had taken place near a 
church of the capuchins, an asylum impenetrable to the 
officers of justice. The murderer, bleeding and stupilied, 
was carried thither by the crowd ; the brotherhood received 
bim from iheit hands with this recommendation, " Ue is an 



W^: 



ì BBTBOTHED. 



viha has made i proud rascal cold ; but he did 
n defunce." 

Ludovico had never before ahed blood, and although in 
these times murder was a thing eo common that all ceased 
to wonder at it, yet the impression which he received from 
the recollection of the dying (dying through his instrumenl- 
ality,) was new and indescribable ; a revelation of feeling! 
hitherto unknown. The fall of his enemy, the alteration 
of those features, passing in a moment fiora angry thretil- 
enings to the solemn stillness of death ; this was a spectacle 
which wrought an instantaneous change in the soul of the 
murderer. Whilst they were carrying him to the eonTent 
he had been insensible to what was passing ; returning to 
his senses, he found himself hi a bed of the infirmary, in 
the hands of a friar who was dressing his wounds. An- 
other, whose particular duty it was to administer comfort M 
the dyinp;, had been caEed to the scene of combat Bt 
returned in a short time, and approaching Ludovico's bed, 
said, " Console yourself; he has died in peace, has for- 
given you, and hoped for your forgiveness." At theie 
nords the soul of Ludovico was filled with remorse and 
iw. "And tile other?" asked he anxiously. 
The other bad expired before I arrived." 

In the mean time the avenues and environs of the con- 
vent swarmed with people ; the officers of justice arrived, 
dispersed the crowd, and placed themselves in ambush ati 
short distance from the gates, so that no one could pu9 
through them unobserved. A brother of the deceased rad 
some of his family appeared in full armour with a large 
attendance of bravoes, and surrounded the place, watchil^ 
with a threatening aspect the bystanders, who did not dan 
My, he is safe, but they had it written on their faces. 

Scarcely had Ludovico recalled bis scattered thoughts, 
when he asked for a father confessor, prayed him to seek 
out the widow of Christopher, to ask forgiveness in his 
name for having been (however involuntarily) the cause of 
her affliction, and to assure her that he would take the 
care of her family on himself. ReflectEng further on lot 
own situation. Ills determination was made to becoiatA- 



! BETBOTBED. 



him in a convent at sudi a conjuncture. Hi 
sent for the EU[>erior of the monasiery, and expresseil lo 
him hie intention. He replied to him, that be should be 
careful not to form a resolution precipitale!}', but that, if 
he persisted, he would be accepted. Ludotico then eent 
for a notary, and made a donation of all hia estate to the 
ividow and familj' of Clirislopher. 

The resolution of Ludovico happened opportunely for 
hia hosts, who felt themselves embarrassed concerning him. 
To send hiro from the monastery, and thus expose him to 
justice and the vengeance of hia enemies, was not to be 
thought of a moment ; it would be the same as a renun- 
ciation of their privileges, a discrediting of ihe convent 
amongBt the people ; and they would draw upon themaelrea 
the animadversion of all the capuchins of the universe for 
this relinquishment of the rights of the order, thii defiance 
of the ecclesiastical authorities, who then considered ihem- 
aelves the guardians of these lights. On the other hand, 
the family of the deceased, rich, and powerful in adherents, 
were determined on vengeance, and disposed to consider 
as enemies whoever should place obstacles to its accom- 
plishment. History declsjes, not that they grieved much 
for the dead, or that a single tear was shed for him amongst 
his whole race, but that they were urged on by scenting 
the blood of hia opponent, But Ludovico, by assuming 
the habit of a capuchin, removed all difficulties : to a cer- 
tain degree he made atonement ; imposed on himself pe- 
nitence ; confessed his fault; withdrew from the contest; 
he was, in short, an enemy who laid down his arms. The 
relations of the deceased could, if they pleased, believe and 
boa«t tliat he had became a friar through despair and dread 
of their revenge. And at all events, to reduce a man to 
dispossess himself of his wealth, lo shave his head, lo walk 
bare-footed, to sleep on straw, and to live on alms, might 
appear a punishment competent to the offence. 

The superior presented himself before the brother of the 
deceased with an air of humility ; after a thousand protest- 
ations of respect for his illustrious houae, and of desire to 
I 'fnapl; with its wishes as far as was practicable, he spoke 
■^brikft repentance and resolution of Ludovico, politdji 



1 



48 1 

hopiDg ilist the family wottlil grant their accordance; and 
then insinusting, mildly and dcKierouEly, that, agreeable or 
not agreeable, the thing would take place. After some little 
Tapoaring, he agreed to it on one condition ; tlial the mnr- 
derer of his brother should depart immediately from the 
city. To this the capuchin assented, as if in obedience to 
the wishes of the family, although it had been already to 
delerminetl. The affair was thus concluded to the utiE- 
faction of the illustrious house, of the capuchin brother- 
hood, of the popular feeling, and, above all, of our generou 
penitent himself. Thus, at thirty years of age, LndoviM 
bade farewell to the world ; and having, according to ellB< 
torn, to change his name, he took one which would cm* 
dnually recall to him his crime, — thus he became Friar 
Christopher .' 

Hardly was the ceremony of assuming the habit com. 
pleled, when the superior informed him he must depart on 

the morrow to perform his noviciate at- ,eixty miles' dù- 

tanee. The noviciate bowed submissively, " Permit me, 
father," said he, " before I leave the scene of my crime, 
to do all that rests with me now to rejiair tiie evil ; permit 
me to go to the house of the brother of him whom 1 have 
murdered, to acknowledge my fault, and ask forgivene»; 
perhaps God will take away his but too Just resentment." 

It appeared to the superior that such an act, besidei 
being praiseworthy in Itself, would serve still more to re. 
concile the family to tlie monastery. He therefore bore 
the request himself to the brother of the murdered man; 
a proposal so unexpected was received with a mixture ri 
scorn and complacency. " Let him come to-morrow," said 
he, and appointed the hour. The superior letumed to 
Father Christopher with the desired permission. 

The gentleman reilocled that the more solemn and pnMiC 
the apology was, the more it would enhance his credit 
with the family and the world ; he made known in baalB 
to the members of the family, that on the following day 
they shotdd assemble at his house to receive a common 
satisfaction. At mid.day the palace swarmed with nobili^ 
of either sex ; there was a blending of veils, feathers, 
; 4 beivr motion of atardiei a\il ctn^eà Nwo 






49 

eonfiued entangling of embroidered trains. The ante- 
ehambeis, the courts, and the street, were crowded with 
aeTTants, pagea, and bravoes. 

Father CbrisCoplier experienced a momentary agitation 

at beholding all this preparation, but recovering hiniaelf. 
Bud, " It is well ; the deed was committed in public, the 
reparation should be pablic." Then, witli hit eyes bent 
to the earth, and the father, his companion, at hii elbow, 
he crossed the court, amidst a crowd who eyed him with 
sremonioUB curiosity ; he entered, ascendeii the stairs, 
I passing through another crowd of lords, who made 
r tor him at his approach, he advanced lowsnU the 
•r of the mansion, who stood in (he nnddle of the room 
Jwiitìng to receive him, with downcast looks, grasping with 
one hand tlie hilt of his sword, and with the other pressing 
die cape of his Spanish cloak on his breast. The coun- 
; and deportment of Father Christopher made an 
iJ immediate impression on the company ; so that ell were 
(t convinced that he had not submitted to this humiliation 
H from fear of man. He threw himself on his knees before 
i him whom he had most injured, crossed his hands on his 
• breast, and bending his head, exclaimed, " I am the mur. 
derer of your brother ! God knows, (hat lo restore him to 
hfe I would sacrifice my own ; but aa this cannot be, I 
Ì supplicate you to accept my useless and tale apology, for 
[ the love of God !" 

I All eyes were lixed in breathless and mute attention on 

' ihe novice, and on the person to whom he aiidresscd him- 
self ; there was heard through the crowd a murmur of pity 
and respect ; the angry scorn of the nobleman relaxed at 
thia appeal, and bending towards tlie kneeling supplicant, 
" Rise," said he, with a troubled voice. " The offence — 
the deed truly — but the habit you wear — not only thia 
. — - bat on your own account — rise, father ! — my brother 
, — I cannot deny it — was a cavaher — of a hasty temper. 
I ^ Do not speak of it again. But, fatlier, you must not remain 
I , in this posture." And he took him by the arm to raise 
. him. Father (^ristopher, standing with his eyes still bent 
]_ tothe ground, condnued, " i may, thm, hope that youhave 
j^^jKBted roe your pardon. And if I obtain Iv tiota V^^ 

m^ ji 



from whom may I not expect It ? Oh ! if I could hear yoD 
utter the word ! " 

" Pardon ! " said the nobleman ; " I pardon you with all 

mj heart, and all " turning to the company 

" All ! all !" resounded at once through theroom. 

The countenance of the father expanded with joy, uniler 
which, however, was still visible an humble and profound 
compunction far the evil, which the remÌBsion of men could 
not repair. The nobleman, entirely vanquished, threw hia 
arms around his neolc, and the kiaa of peace was given and 
received. 

Loud exclamations of applause burst from the company; 
and all crowded eagerly around the father. In the mean- 
while the servantg entered, bearing refreshments; the master 
of the manEion, again addressing Father Chrisnopher, said, 
" Father, afford me a proof of your friendsliip by accepting 
some of these trifles." 

" Such things areno longer for me," replieil the father; 
" but if you will allow me a loaf of bread, as a memorili 
of your charity and your forgiveness, 1 shall be thankfuL" 
Tlie bread was brought, and with an air of humble gra- 
titude he put it in his basket. He then took leave of the 
company ; disentangled himself with difficulty from ihe 
crowd in the anlechambera, who would have ktesed ihe 
hem of his garment, and pursued his way to the gate of 
the city, whence he commenced his pedestrian journey to- 
wards the place of IllB noviciate. 

It is not our design to write the history of his cloistral 
life ; we will only say, he executed faithfully the offices 
ordinarily assigned to him, of preaching, and of comforCiiq; 
the dying ; but beyond these, " the oppressor's wrongs, the 
proud man's contumely," aroused in him a spirit of reaiR- 
ance which humiliation and remorse had not been able 
entirely to extinguish. His countenance was habitually 
mUd and humble, but occasionally there passed over it i 
ahade uf former impetuosity, which was with difijcnltj 
restrained by the high and holy motives which now pie> 
dominated in his souL His tone of voice was gentle as liii 
countenance; but in the cause of justice and truth, . 
isge assumed a character oÌ eoiemmVj itlÌ. e 



SI 

singularly impressive. One who knew him well, and ad- 
tnired his vinues, could oflen perceive, by the smothered 
utterance or tlie change of a single word, tlie inward con- 
flict between the natural impetus and the resolved will, 
whieli latter never failed to gain the mastery. 

If one unknown to him Jn the situation of Lucy had 
implored his aiHÌBtftnc«, he would have granted it imme- 
diatcly ; with how much more solicitude, then, did he ditect 
his stq)B to the cottage, knowing and admiring her inno- 
cence, trembling for her danger, and experiencing s lively 
indignation at the persecution of which she had become 
^e oltject. Besides, he had advised her to remain quiet, 
and not make known the conduct of her persecutor, and Ite 
felt 01 feared that his advice might have been productive 
of bad consequences. His anxiety for her welfare, and his 
inadequate means to secure it, called up many painful 
feelings, whicli the good often experience. 

But while we have been relating hii history, he arrived 
U the dwelling ; Agnes and her daughter advanced eagerly 
towards him, exclaiming in one breath, " Oh J Father 
Christopher, you are welcome." 



CHAPTER V. 



I 



Fatbcb Christopher perceived immediately, from [he 
countenances of Lucy and her mother, that some evil had 
occurred. " Is all well with you?" said he. Lucy re- 
plied by a flood of tears, " Quiet yourself, poor child," 
continued he; " and do you," turning to Agnes, '' tell 
me what is the matter." Whilst the good dame proceeded 
with the melancholy relation, he experienced a variety of 
pùnful emotions. The story being done, he buried his face 
ÌB his hands, and exclaimed, " Ob, blessed God ! how 
'^I^?" — He then turned to Lucy; " Poor child! <iod - 
■.indeei), rìsìied you/' said he, -^h 



IDE BETHOTBED. 



i" 

■M^*' Vou will not abandon ns, fttther?" sud Lucy, sobbing. 

■ ?' * '' AbaoiloD you ! " replied he. " How should I dsre 

^ ask the protection of Almighty God for tnystlf, if I abui. 

doned ^ou ! You, bo defenceless ! — you, whom he his 

confided to me! Take courage ! He will aBsist you — 

HÌB eye beholds you — He on even make use of a feeble 

instrument like myself to eonfound a . Let os think 

what can be done." 

Thus saying, he grasped his beard and ehin with his 
hand, as if to concentrate more completely the powers of Me 
mind. But the more clearly he perceived the pressing 
nature of the esse, the more uncertain anil dangerous ap- 
peared every mode of meeting it. To endeavour to malie 
Don Abbondio sensible of a failure in duty ? This »[i- 
peared hopeless ; fear was more powerful with him Uwl 
either shame or duty. To inform the cardinal arcbbidiop, 
and invoke his aulhoritj ? That would require time ; and, 
in the meanwhile, what was to be done ? To resist Don 
Roderick f' How } Impossible ! 'I'be affUIr being one of 
a private nature, he would not be sustained by the brethren 
of his order : he would, perhaps, be raising a storm agatmt 
himself; and, what mas worse, by a useless attempt render 
the condition of Lucy more hopeless and deplorable. After 
many reflections he came to the conelusion to go to Don 
Roderick himself, and to endeavour by jirayers and repre- 
sentations of the punishments of the wicked in another 
state, (o win him from his infamous purpose. At least lie 
might at the interview discover something of hia intentionSf 
and determine his measures accordingly. At tliis mommt 
Renzo, who, as the reader will readily imagine, could not 
long be absent at so interestii^ a cri»s, appeared at the 
door of the room ; the father raised his head and bowvA 
to him aifectionately, and with a look of intense pity. 

"Have they told you, father.'" enquired he,™" 
troubled v 

" Yes, my son ; and on that account I am here." 

" Wliat do you say of the villain ? ' 

" WhflJl do I say of him ? 1 say to you, dear Reneo, 
that you must confide in God, and He will i: 



eased words ! " eiclaJraed the youlli : " you are not 
ime ot those who wrong the poor. But the curate and this 

" Do not torment yourself uselessly : I am but a poor 
friar ; but I repeat to you that which I have already Kaid 
to Lucy and her mother — poor as J am, I will Dever 
abandon you." 

" Oh ! you are not like die friends of the world — ra». 
cai» — when I was in prosperity, abundant in protestatìona ; 
ready to shed their blood for me, to sustain me agaiust the 
devil i Had I an enemy, they would soon put it out of 
his power to molest me ! And now, to see them withdraw 
themselves!" He was interrupted in his vituperations 
by the dark sluule which passed over the countenance of 
his auditor ; he perceived the blunder he ha<l made, 
and attempting to remedy it, became perplexed and con- 
fused. " I would say — I did not at all intend — that is. 



1 n 






' What did you mean to say ? Tou have already be- 
gun to mar my undertaking. It is well that thou art un- 
deceived in tjme. What ! thou didst seek friends ! and 
what friends ! they could not have aided thee, had (hey 
been willing. And thou didst not apply to the only friend 
who can and will protect thee ; — dost thou not know tliat 
God is the friend of all who trust in Him ? dost thou not 
know that to spread the talons does little good to the weak ? 

and even if " at these words he grasped forcibly 

Renzo's arm ; his countenance, without losing hie wonted 
authority, displayed an affecting remorse ; his eyes were 
fixed on the ground ; and his voice became slow and se- 
pulchral : " and even if that little should be gained, how 
terribly awful ! Renzo, will you confide in me? — that I 
«hould say in me ! a worm of the dust ! will you not con- 
fide in God?" 

" Oh ! yes ! " replied Renzo ; " He only is the Lord." 

'' Promise me, (hen, that you will not meet or provoke 

any one ; that you will aiffer yourself to be guided by 



54 1 

Lucy drew a long breath, as if relieveil from a weight, 
and Agnes was loud in applaUEes. 

" Listen, my children," resumed Father Christopher : 
" I will go myself to-day to spealc to this man : if God 
touches his heart through my words, well ; if not. He will 
provide some other remedy. In the mean time keep your- 
selves quiet and retired ; this evening, or to-morrow at the 
latest, you shall see me again." Having said this, he de- 
parted amidst thanks and blessings. 

He arrived at the convent in time to perform his daily 
duty in the choir, dined, and then pursued his way towards 
the den of the wild hesst he had undertaken tn tame. 

The palace of Don Roderick stood by itself, on the sum- 
mit of one of the promontories that skirt the coast ; it was 
three or four miles diiitaiit from the village; at the foot of 
the promontory nearett the lake, there was a cluster of de- 
cayed cottages inhabited by peasantry belonging to Don 
Roderick. This was the little capital of his tittle kiagdom. 
As you cast a glance within their walls, you beheld nift- 
(lended to them various kinds of arms, with spades, mat- I 
tocks, and pouches of powder, blended prcnniscuoualy. 
The persons within appeared robust and strong, with i 
daring and insulting expression of countenance, and wear- 
ing a long lock of hair on the head, which was covered 
with net-work. The aged, that had lost their teeth, seemed 
ready to show their gums at the slightest call : masculine 
women, with sinewy arms, seemed disposed to use them 
with as much indifference as their tongues ; the very child- 
ren exhibited the same daring recklessness as the parent 
stock. Friar Christopher passed through the hamlet, as- 
cending a winding path which conducted him to the little 
esplanade in the front of the castle. The door was ihllt, 
which was a sign that the chief was dining and did not 
wish to he disturbed. The few windows tìiat looked oa 
the road were small and decayed by time ; they were, 
however, secured by large iron bare ; and the lowest of 
them were more than ten feet from the ground. A pro- 
found silence reigned within, and a traveller might have 
believed the mansion deserted, but for the appearance if 
^Mar animals, two alive and two dead, in front of the (H^H 



Two large vultures, with their wings expanded, were 
nailed each at Ihe posts of the gate ; and two briivoet, ex. 
tended at full length on the benches on either «ide, were 
keeping guard until their master should have finished hii 
repast. The father stopped, as if willing also to wait. 
" Father, father, corae on," said one, " we do not malie 
the capuchins wait here ; we are the friends of the eon- 
vent ; I have been within its walla when the nìr on the 
outside of them was not very wholesome for me ; it was 
well the fathers did not refuse me admittanee." So say- 
ing, he gave two strokes with tlie knocker ; at the sound, 
the howls of mastica were heard from within ; and in a 
few moments there appeared an aged domestic. On seeitig 
the father, he bowed reverently, quieted the animals with 
his voice, introduced the guest into a narrow court, 
and closed the gate. Then escorting liim into a saloon, 
and regarding him with an astonished and rcspect fiil 
look, said, " Is not this — the Father Christopher of l^^H 



" The same." ^M 

" And here !" ^H 

" As you Bee, good man.'' 

" It roust be to do good," continued he, murmuring be- 
tween his teeth ; " good can be done every where." He 
then guided him through two or three dark halls, and led 
the way to the hanqtieting room : here was heard a con. 
fused noise of plates, and knives anil forks, and discordant 
voices. iVliilst Father Christopher was urging the ilotneatic 
to suffer him to remain in some other apartment until the 
dinner should be finished, the door opened. A certain 
Count Attilio, a cousin of the noble host, (of whom we 
have already spoken, without giving his name,) was seated 
opposite : when he saw the bald head and habit of the 
fadier, and perceived his motion to withdraw, " Ho ! 
fatber," cried he, " you sha'n't escape ns ; reverend father, 
forward, forward!" Don itoderick seconded somewhat 
unwillingly tliis boisterous command, as he felt some pre- 
Bcntiment of the object of itia visit. " Come, father, 
ceiQe ip," said he. Seeing there was no retreating. 



Father Christopher advanced, saluting the nobleman and 
bis guests. 

An lioneet man is generally fearless and undaunted in 
presence of the wicked ; nevertlielcss, [he father, nilh the 
leBtiraony of a good, conscience and a firm conTiction of 
the justice of his cause^ with a mixture of horror aud com. 
paesion for Don Koderick, felt a degree of embarrassment 
in approaching him. He was seated at table, surrounded 
b; guests ; on his right was Count Attilio, his colle^ue in 
libertinism, who had come from Milan to visit him. To 
the left was sealed, with respectful submissiveneaa, lem» 
pered, however, with coUEcious security, the podestà of the 
place, — he whose duty it wasj according to the prockni* 
ationj lo cause justice to be done to Renzo Tramaglino, and 
to inflict the allotted penalty on Don Roderick. Xearlf 
opposite to the podestà sat our learned Doctor Aaaeeea 
Garbagli, with his black cap and bis red nose ; and over 
against him two obscure guests, of whom our story sayi 
nothing beyond a general mention of their toad-eating 
qnabties. 

" Give a seal to the father," said Don Roderick. A ser- 
vant presented a chair, and the good father apologised for 
having come at so inopportune an hour. " I would speak 
with you alone on an affair of importance," added he, in > 
low tone, to Don Rjiderick. 

" Very well, father, it shall be so," rephed he; " but in 
the meanwhile bring the father sometliing to drink." 

Father Christopher would have refused, but Don Rode, 
rick, raising his voice above the tumult of the table, cried, 
" No, by liacchua, you shall not do me this wrong ; > 
c^uchin iball never leave this house without having tasUd 
my wine, nor an insolent creditor williout having tasted the 
wood of my forests." These words produced a nttiversal 
laugh, and inteirupled for a moment the question whidi 
was hotly agitated between the guests. A servant brought 
the wine, of which Father Christopher partook, feeling the 
necessity of propitiating the host. 

" The authority of Tasso is against you, respected Kg* 
BOI l'odeità," resumed aloud the Count Attilio : 
^■tfau) vaa well acquainted with l\ie\&'WB Qt^crò^iÌL< 



^4mi^^^ 



57 

uid he makes the messenger of Argaotes, before carrying 
the defiance of the ChriKtiaa knights, usk permigiion from 
ibe piouB Bouillon." 

" But that," replied vociierously iht podnlà, " that ig 
poetical licence merely: an ambassadur in in bis nature 
bviolable, by the law of nations, jure gujiHum ; and 
IDDreoTer, the ambassador, not having «poken in faia 
own name, but merely presented the chaUenge in writ' 
ing " 

" But when will you comprehend tliat this unbaasador 
Vii a daring fool, who did not know the first " 

" With the good leave of our guests," interrupted Don 
Roderick, who did not wish the argument to proceed far- 
dier, " we will refer it to the Father Christopher, and 
submit to bis decision." 

" Agreed," said Count Attilio, amused at submitting s 
quefltion of knighthood Io a capuchin ; whilst the podeitd 
muttered between his teeth, " Folly ! " 

" But, from what I have comprehended," said the fa- 
ther, " it ia a subject of which 1 have no knowledge." 

" As usual, modest excuses from the father," said Don 
Roderick ; " but we will not accept diem. Come, come, we 
know well that you came not into the world with a cowl 
on your head ; you know aometbing of its ways. Well, 
how stands the argument ? " 

" The facta are these," said the Count Attilio 

" Let me tell, who am neutral, couain," resumed Don 
Roderick. " This is the story : a Spanish knight sent a 
challenge to a Milanese knight ; the bearer, not finding 
him at home, presented it to his brother, who, having 
read it, struck the bearer many blows. The question 

" It was well done ; he was perfectly right," cried Count 
Attilio. 

" There was no right about it," exclaimed the podestà. 
•' To beat an ambassador — a man whose person is sacred ! 
Father, do you, think this was an action becoming a 
knight ? " 

" Yes, sir ; of n knight," cried the count, " 1 think I 
^^H>.w)iat belongs lo a knight. Oh '. if it h^ ^^^1^ Vta 



5S 1 

affair of fists, that would have been quite another thing, 
but a cudgel boìIg no one's hands.*' 

" I-'atn not speaking of this. Sir Count ; I am speaking 
of the law» of knighlhooii. But teli me, I pray you, if the 
nesBengers that the ancient Romans sent to bear defiance 
to other nations, nsked permii^sion tii deliver the message i 
find, if you can, a writer who relates that sneh messenger 
was ever cudgelled." 

" What have the ancient Romans to do with ue f a 
people well enough in some things, but in othere, far, far 
behind. But according to the laws of modern knighthood, 
I maintain that a messenger, who dared place in the handi 
of a knight a challenge without having previously aiked 
permission, is a rash fool who deserves to he cudgelled." 

" But answer me ihis question " 

" No, no, no." 

" But hear me. To strike an unarmed person is an act 
of treachery. Atqui the messenger de quo was wilbont 
arms. Ergo " 

" Gently, gently, Signor Fodeiln." 

" How ? gently." 

" Gently, I tell you ; I concede that under other cir- 
cumstances this might have been called an act of treachery, 
but to strike a low fellow! It would have been a line 
thing truly, to say to him, as you would to a gentleman, 
Be on your guard ! And you. Sir Doctor, insteacl of sitting 
there grinning your approbation of my opinion, why do you 
not aid tne to convince this gentleman }" 

" I," replied the doctor in confusion ; " I enjoy thit 
learned dispute, and am lliankful for the opportunity Of 
listening to a war of wit so agreeable. And moreoyer, 1 
am not competent to give an opinion ; his most illustnoui 
lordship has appointed a judge — the father." 

" True," said l>on Roderick ; " but how can the jui%e 
speak when the disputants will not keep silence ? " 

" I am dumb," said the Connt Attilio. The podeità 
made a sign that he would be quiet. 

"WeU! father! at last!" said Oon Roderick, wié 
fomic gravity. 
" ' ' already said, that \ do tiol com^ieVwA— ^1™ 



K-' 



"■ No excuses ! we roust have jour opinion." 
" If il muBl be so," replied ihe ftther, " I shoold 
hly think there wsb no necessity for chsllengei, nor " 



Id *"™ii 



The guests looked in wonder at esch other. 

" Oh ! how ridiculous ! " said (he Count Attilio, 
don nie, father ; hut this is exceedingly ridiculous, 
plain you know nothing of the world." 

" He?" said Don Roderick; " he know» as much of it 
BS you do, cousin, is it not so, father?" 

Father Christopher made no reply ; but to himiclf he 
sud, " submit thyaelf to every insult for the sake of those 
for whom thou art here." 

" It may be bo," said the count ; " but the father ' 
how is the father called ? " 

" Father Christopher," replied more than one. 

" But, Father Christopher, your reverend worship, with 
your maxims you would turn tlie world upside down — 
without challenges ! without blows ! Farewell, the point 
of honour ! Impunity to ruffians ! Happily, the thing is 
impossible." 

" Stop, doctor," cried Don Roderick, wishing to divert 
the dispute from the original antagonists. " You are a good 
man for an argument; what have you to say to the 
father ? " 

" Indeed," replied the doctor, hrandishing his fork in 
the air — " indeed I cannot understand how the Father 
Christopher should not remember that his judgment, 
though of just weiglit in the pulpit, is worth nothing — 
I speak with great submisaion — on a (jnestion of knight- 
hood. But perhaps he has been merely jesting, to relieve 
himself from embarrassment." 

The father not replying to this, Don Roderick made an 
eSbrt to change the subject. 

" Apropos," said he, " I understand there is a report 
at Milan of an accommodation." 

There was at this time a contest regariling the succes- 
■ion 10 the dukedom of Mantua, of which, at the death of 
yinceOKS GonzHBB, who died vrithout male issue, the Duke 
lation, had obtuneA ^q««) 



€0 THE BETBOTBeD. 

Louie XI II-, or rather the Cardinal de Richelieu, wished lo 
anatain hira there ; Philip IV., or rather the Count d'Oli- 
yares, cotniaunly called the CoDQt Dulie, opposed him. The 
dukedom was then a fief of the empire, and the two parties 
employed intrigue and importunity at the court of the 
Emperor Ferdinand II. The object of one naa to obtain 
the investiture of the new duke ; of the other, the denial of 
his claim, and also assistance to obUge him to relinquish it. 

" 1 rather think," said the Count AttiUo, " that the 
thing will he arranged satisfactorily. I have reasons " 

" Do not believe it, count, do not believe it," added the 
the podestà ; 1 have an opportunity of knowing, becauae 
the Spanish keeper of the castle, who is my friend, and 
who is the son of a dependant of the Count Duke, is iiu 
formed of every thing." 

" I tell you I have discoursed on the subject daily at 
Milan ; and I know from good authority that the pope, 
exceedingly interested as he is for peace, has made propo- 

" That may be, the thing is in order; liis Holiness does 
his duty ; a pope should always endeavour to make peace 
between Christian princes ; but the Count Duke has hil 
own policy, and " J 

" And, and, and, do you know. Signor Podestà, how ' 
much thought the emperor now gives to it ? Do you be- 
lieve there is no place but Mantua in the world ! There 
are many things to provide for, signor, mind. Do you know, 
for instance, how far the emperor can trust this I'rince of 
Valdistano, or di Vallistai, as they coll him; and if "■ 

" His name, in the German language," interrupted the 
magistrate, " is Wallenstein, be I have heard it uttered 
many times by the Spanish keeper of the castle. But be 
of good courage " 

" Do you dare teach me," replied the count. Here Don 
Roderick whispered to him to cease contradiction, as there 
would be no end to it. He obeyed; and ihepodeetà, like 
a vessel unimpeded by shoals, continued witli full sails tile 
course of his eloquence. " WalletiEtein gives me but little 
anxiety ; because the Count Duke has his eye every where^ 
and if fFaUenstein carries mallets wiftv a ti^ W'a&.'^M 



TBB mmoTHED. Sì 

«in MOD Kt him right. He has his eye ever; wb^e, I 
af, and unlimited power ; and if it is his policy that the 
Signor Duke of Never» ehonld not take root in Afantua, 
be will never flourish there, be assuied. It makes me 
laugh to see the Signor Cardinal de Richelieu contend with 
an OUvares, The Count Duke, gendemen," pursueil he, 
Hìlb the wind Btill in his favour, and much wondering at 
not meeting trith opposition, " the Count Duke is an old 
fox — epeaking with due respect — who would make any one 
lose his track: when he appears to go to the right, it 
would be safest to follow him to the left : no one can 
boast of knowing hia dwigns ; they who are to eriecutc 
them, they who write the despatches, know nothing of 
them. I speak from authority, for the keeper of the cattle 
ddgns to confide in me. The Count Duke knowa well 
enough how the pot hoiln in all the court» in Europe ; 
■nd these pohticians have hardly laid a plan, but he begins 
to irnstrate it. That poor man, tlie Cardinal Richelieu, 
attempts and dissembles, toils and strives ; and what does 
it all produce? When he has dug the mine, he finds a 
countermine already prepared by the Count Duke " 

None can tell when the magistrate would have cast an- 
chor, if Don Roderick had not Jnlerrupled him. " Signor 
FodtKtà," said he, " and you, gentlemen, a bumper to the 
Count Duke, and you shall then judge if the wine is 
worthy of the personage." The podestà bowed low in 
gratitude for an honour he considered as paid to himself 
in part for bis eloquent harangue. 

" May Don Gaspero Guzman, Count de Olivares, Duke 
of SL Lucar, live a thousand years !" said he, raising his 
glass. 

" May he live a thousand years ! " exclaimed all the com- 

" Help the father," said Don Roderick. 

" Excuse me," replied he, " I coidd not "' 

*' How !" said Don Roderick ; " will you not drink to 
the Count Duke ? Would you have us beheve that you 
hold to the Navarre party ? " 

This was the contempluous term applied Co the French 
the lime of Hcnrj IV. 



There was no reply to be made to this, and the fatlicr 
was obliged to taste tile wine. All the guests were loud 
ID its praise, except tbe doctor, who had kept sileace, 
" Eh ! doctor," asked Don RodericL, " wliat think you of 
it?" 

" 1 think," replied the doctor, wilhilrawlng hia ruddy 
and shining nose from the glass, " that this is the Olivaiet 
of winw ; there is not a liquor resembling it in all the 
twenty-two kingdoms of the king our master, whom God 
protect J I maintain that the dinners of the most illustrioos 
Signor Don Roderick exceed the suppers of Heliogabalus, 
and that scarcity is banished for ever from tiiis palace, 
where reigns a. perpetual and epkndid abundance." 

" Well said! bravo! bravo!" exclaimed with one vince 
the guests ; but the word scarcity, which the doctor had 
accidentally ullered, suggested a new and painful sul^ect. 
All spoke at once ; — " There is no famine," said one, " it 
is the specuktors who " 

" And the bakers, who conceal the grain. Hang tbem!" 

" That is tight; Imng them, without mercy." j 

" Upon fair trial," cried the magistrate. ' 

"What trial?" cried Attilio, more loudly; "aura- j 
mtry justice, I say. Take a few of [hem who are known 
to be the richest and most avaricious, and hang them." 

" Yes, hang them ! hang them ! and there will be grain 
scattered in abundance." 

Thus the party continued absorbing the wine, whose 
praises, mixed with sentences of economical jurisprudence, 
formed the burthen of the conversation ; ao that tbe loudeat 
and most frequent words were, Nictar, and liang 'em, 

Don Roderick had, from time to time, during this con- 
fusion, looked at the father : perceiving him calmly, bai 
Urmly, awaiting his leisure for the interview which had , 
been promised him, he relinquished the hope of wearying I 
him by its postponement. To send away a capuchio, j 
without giving him an audience, was not according to his ' 
policy ; and unce it could not be avoided, he resolved to , 
meet it at once: he rose from tlie table, excused b' 
to his guests, and saying proudly, " ^t your n 
it," led the way to anotliei a 




^^^^hat can I serve you P " said Don Roderick, ts Eoan^^^| 

ihey entered into tlie room. Such were liia words, but h^^H 
manner said plainly, " Remember before <rhora thi^^H 
staadeat, weigh well thy ivords, aad be expeditious." ^| 

There were no means more certain to impart courage to 
Father C bri elopher than arrogance or pride. He hail stood 
for a moment in some embairaaament, passing through 
his fingers the beads of the rosary tliat hung euspended 
from hb girdle ; but he soon " resumed new courage, and 
revived," at tlie haughty air of Don Roderick. He had, 
however, lufficient command over himaelf to reply with 
caution and humility. '■ I come to supplicate you to per- 
form an act of justice : some wicked persons have, in the 
name of your lordship, frightened a poor curate, and have 
endeavoured to prevent Uis fulfilling his duty towards an 
innocent and unoffending couple. Vou can by a word con- 
found their machinations, and impart consolation to the 
afflicted. You can — and having it in jour power — con- 
science, honour " 

" Speak to me of conscience, when I sak your advice on 
the subject j and as to my honour, know that I only am 
the guardian of it, and that whoever dares to meddle with 

Friar Christopher, warned by these words that the in- 
tention of Don Roderick was to turn the conversation into 
a dispute, sa as to win him from liis original purpose, 
delennined to bear whatever insult might be offered iiini, 
and meekly replied, '' It was certaijdy not my intention to 
aay any thing to displease you : correct me, reprove me ; 
hut deign tu listen to nie. By the love of Heaven, by that 
God before whom we must all appear, I charge thee, do not 
obstinately refuse to do justice to the imioccnt and op~ 
pressed ! Think that God watches over them, diat their 

io^Kcations are heard above, and " 

" interrupted Don Roderick, rudely. " The "'^^m 



6i THE BETttOTBED. 

Epect I bear lo your habit is great ; but if any thing could 
make me forget it, it would be to see it warn by one coming 
as a spy imo my house." 

ThuEc words spread an indignant glow over the face of 
the father ; but swallowing them as a bitter medicine, he 
resumed : " You do not believe that I am such ; you feel 
in your heart that I am here on no vile or contemptible 
errand. Listen to me. Signor Don Roderick ; and Heaven 
grant that the day may never arrive, when you shall repent 
of not having listened to me ! Listen to me, and perform 
this deed of justice and benevolence. Men will esteem 
you ! God will esteem you ! you have mudi in youi: 
power, but " 

" Do you know," again interrupted Don Roilcrick with 
warmth, but with something like remorse, " that when the 
whim takes me to hear a sermon, I can go to churdi ? 
But, perhaps," continued he, with a forced smile of 
rnockery, " you are putting regal dignity on me, and giving 
me a preacher in my own palace." 

" And Co God princes arc responsible for the reception 
of his messages ; to God you are responsible ; he now 
sends into your palace a message by one of his ministers, 
the most nnworthy " 

" In short, father," said Don Roderick, preparing logo, 
''' I do not comprehend you : 1 suppose you have some 
aSaii of your own on hand; make a confidant of whom 
you please ; but use not the freedom of troubling a gentle- 
man any farther." 

" Don Roderick, do not say No to me ; do not keep in 
anguish the heart of an innocent child t a word from yon 
would be sufficient." 

" Well," said Don Roderick, " since you think I haw I 
so much in my power, and since you are so much in- I 
terested " 

" Yes!" said Father Christopher, anxiously regarding 

" Well, advise her to come, and place herself under my j 
protection ; she will want for nothing, and no one shall 
disturb her-, as I am a gentleman," | 

^^^juch a pro;posal, the iodigna^^oiv at <ÙYetù*.i,^th&^_ 



! BETROTBED. 



1 

your 

hing 

You 
.Jone*™ 



had hitherto been reslraineil with difficulty, loudly bimt^ 
forth. All his pnidetice uiid patience forsook him ; " Your 
protection 1" cxdaimed he, stepping back, imd stretching 
forth both his hands tonarda Don Roderick, while he 
alemly fixed his eyes upon him, " your protection ! You 
hare filled the raeasure of your gi^t by tbÌB wicked p 
posai, &nd I fear you no longer." 
" Dare you speak thus lo me ? " 

" I dare; 1 fear you no longer; God has abandoned ' 
you, and you are no longer an object of fear ! Your pro- 
tection ! this innocent child is under the protection of 
God; you have, by your infamous offer, increased my 
OEEUrance of her safety. Lucy, I say ; see with what 

boldncBB I pronounce her name before you ; Lucy " 

" How ! in this house " 

" I compassionate this house ; the wrath of God ia upon 
it ! Yon hare acted in open defiance of the great God of 
hearen and earth ; you bave get at naught his counsel ; 
you have oppressed the innocent ; you haye trampled on 
the rights of those whom you should have been the drst to 
protect and defend. The wrath of God i» upon you ! A 
day will come ! " 

" Villain !" said Don Roderick, who at first was con- 
founded between rage and astoni slim en t ; but when he 
beard the father thundering forth this prediction, a mysle- 
rioui and unaccountable dread took possession of hie soul. 
Hastily seizing his outstretched arm, anil raising his voice 
in order to drown the maledictions of the monk, he cried 
aloud, " Depart from me, rash viUain, cowled spy !" 

These words instantly cooled the glowing enthusiasm of 
Father Christopher. The ideas of insult and injury in hia 
mind had long been habitually associated with those cf 
Buffering and silence. His usual habits resumed their 
sway, and he became calm ; he awaited what farther 
might be said, as, after the strength of the whirlwind has 
passed, an aged tree naturally recompoaes its branches, and 
receives the hail as TIcaven sends it. 

" Villain ! scoundrel ! talk to your equals," said Don 
Roderick ; " but thank the habit you bear for saving ^o>j 
from the chastisement which is your due. Begowe ÙBa 



inEtant, and with unscathed limbs, or we shall see." So 
saying, he pointed imperiously to sn opposite door. The 
fiiar bowed bis bettd, aud departed, leaving Don Roderick 
to measure with hasty and agitated stepE the field of batik. 

When he had doeed the door behind him, the father 
perceived a man stealing softly away through another, and 
he recognised bim as the aged domeatic who had been his 
guide to the presence of Don Roderick. Before the birth 
of that nobleman, he had been in the service of his father, 
who was a man of a very different character. At his 
death, the new master expelled all the domestics, with the 
exception of this one, whom he retained on account of two 
Taluable qualifications ; a high conception of the dignity of 
the house, and a minute knowledge of the ceremonial re< 
quired to support that dignity. The poor old man bad 
never dared even to hint disapprobation of the daily 
proceedings at the castle before the signor, but he would 
sometimes venture to allow an exclamation of grief and 
disapproval to escape him before his fellow servants, who 
were infinitely diverted by his simple honesty, and bis 
warm love of the good old times. Hia censures did not 
reach his master's ears unaccompanied by a relation of the 
raillery bestowed upon them, so that he became an object 
of general ridicule. On the days of formal entertainment, 
therefore, the old man was a person of great importance. 

Father Christopher bowed to him as he jiafised by him, 
and pursued his way ; hut the old man approached him 
with a mysterious air, and made a sign that he should 
follow him int« a dark passage, where, speaking JD tn 
under t«ne, he said, " Father ! I have heard all, and 1 
want to s|)eak to you." 

" Speak at onee, then, good man." J 

" Ilere ! oh no ! Woe be to us if the master suspect it ! 
But 1 shall be able to discover much, and 1 will endeavour 
to come to-morrow to the convent." 

" la there any baee plotf" 

" There is someihing hatching, certainly ; 1 liave long | 
(USpected it; hut now I shall be on the look out, «ud I j 
ndU come at the truth. Tbe«e «.re strange doings — I lun 
j^aiAouse where-~^But 1 V\s^i ui avciQ^ w^' ^g^ 



i DETttOTues. 



^^BFGoiI bless yoQ !" caid the Triar, placing liis hands' 
Ilia bead, as he bent reverenti]' towards bitn ; " God 
trard you ! Do not forget then Io come lo-morro 
" I will not," replied llie domestic ; " but go, 
the love of Heaven, and do not belray me." 

So saying, he looked cautioutty on all sides, and led the 
«ay throDgh tlie passage into a large halt, which fronted 
the court-yard, and pointing to the door, silently hade him 
" Farewell." 

When once in the street, and freed from lliit den of 
deptav ily, the father breathed more freely ; he hastened 
down the hill, pale in countenance, and agitutcd and dis- 
tressed by the scene he had witnessed, and ill which he 
had taken so leading a part. But the unlooked-for proffer 
of the serrant came like a cordial. It jwemed as if Heaven 
had sent a visible sign of its protection — a clue to guide 
him in his intricate undertaking — and in the very house 
where it was least likely to be found. Occupied with 
these dioa^ts, he raised his eyes towards tlie west, niul 
beheld the sun declining behind the mountain, and felt 
that he had but a few minutes in which to reach the 
monastery, without violating the absolute law of the capu- 
chins, Aat none of the brotherhood should remain beyond 
the walls after sunset. 

Meanwhile, in the cottage of Lucy there had been plans 
agitated of which it is necessary to inform the reader. 
After the departure of the fìitber, they had continued some 
time in silence ; Lucy, with a heavy heart, prepared the 
dinner; Renzo, wavering and unxioua, knew not how to 
depart; Agnes was apparently absorlied with her reel, but 
die was really maturing a tJiought, which she in a few 
momenui thus declared : — 

" Listen, my children. If you will have the necessary 
courage and dexterity ; if you will confide in your mother ; 
I pledge myself to free you from perplexity, sooner than 
Father Christopher could do, although he is the best man 
in the world." Lucy looked at her mother with an ex- 
premion of astMiishment rather than confidence, in a pro- 
nfaB Bo magnificent. "Courage! dexterity I" iineiftaMai 

^^Èfr^fi what can I do?" -V 



I 



68 1 

" Ib it not true," saiJ Agnes, " thit if you were mar- 
ried, your chief difficulty would be removed, and that for 
tlie rest we would easily find a remedy !" 

"Undoubtedly," said Rento, "if we were married — 
Tbe world is before us ; and at a short distance from this, 
in Bergamo, a silk weaver is received with open arms. 
You know how often my cousin Bartolo has solicited me 
to go there, and enter into business with him ; how many 
times he has told me that I should make a fortune, as he 
has done ; and if I never listened to his request, it was — 
because my heart was here. Once married, we would all 
go^ogethet, and live hapjiily far from the dutches of this 
villain, far from the temptation to do a rash deed. Is it 
not 80, Lucy ? " 

" Yes," said Lucy, " but how " 

" As I said," resumed Agnes, " courage and dexterity, 
and the thing is easy." 

" Easy !" exclaimed they, in wonder. 

" Easy," replied Agnes, " if you are prudent. Hear 
me patiently, and I will endeavour to make you compre- 
hend my project, I have heard it said by persons who 
knew, and moreover I have seen one instance of it myself, 
that a curate's cansf.iU is not necessary to render a marriage 
ceremony lawful, provided you have hia presence." 

" How so?" asked Renzo. 

" You shall hear. There must be two witnesses, nimble 
and cunning. You go to the curate; the point is to catch 
him unexpectedly, that he may have no lime to escape. 
You say, ' Signor Curate, this is my wife;' Lucy say», 
' Signor Curate, this is my husband ;' you must speak so 
distinctly that the curate and the witnesses hear you, and 
the marriage is as inviolable as if the pope himself bad 
celebrated it. \Yhen the words are once uttered, the cunte 
may fret, and fume, and scold; it will he of no uae, you 
are man and wife." 

" Is it possible ? " exclaimed Lucy. 

" Do jou think," said Agnes, " that the thirty yeori I 

was in the world before you, I learned nothing? The 

thing is as I tell you." -^ 

^B^he fact was truly such as Agnes represented it; Mfl^^ 



as 

rìages contracted in this maimer were at that timi- held 
valid. Such an expedient was, however, not recurred to, 
but in caces of great necessity, und the pri»ls made use of 
Gveiy precaudon to avoid this compulsive co-operalion. 

" If it be true, Luc; ! " said Renzo, regarding her atten- 
tively, with a supplicating expression. 

" If it be true ! " exclaimed Agnes. " Do you think I 
would say that which is not true ? Well, weU, get out of 
the difficulty aa you can, I wash my hands from it." 

" Ah, no ! do not abandon us ! " said Rvnto ; " I mean 
not to suggest a doubt of it. I place myself in your hands ; 
I look to you as to a mother." 

Tlie momentary anger of Agnea vanìshed. 

" But why, mamma," said Lucy, in her usual modest 
lone, " why did not Father Christopher think of this ? " 

" Think you that it did not come into his mind ? " re- 
plied Agnes ; " but he would not siicak of it." ^h 

" Why?" exclaimed they, both at once. j^H 

" Why? — because, if you must know it, the frtufl^^f 
not approve of it." jH 

" If it is not right," said Lucy, " we must not do it.' 

" What!" sud Agnes, " do you think I would advise 
you to do that which is not right.' If, against the ad- 
vice of your parents, you were going to marry a rogue — 
but, on the contrary, 1 am rejoiced at your choice, and he 
who causi» the disturbance is the only villain ; and the 

" It is as clear as tlie sun," said Renzo. 

" It is not necessary to speak of it to Father Chris- 
topher," continued Agnes. " Once over, what do you 
think be will say to you? ' Ah ! daughter, it was a great 
error; but it is done.' The friars must talk thus j but, 
believe me, in his heart he will be well content." 

Lucy made no reply to an argument which did not ap- 
pear to her very powerful ; but Renzo, qiute encouraged, 
said, " If it be thus, the thing is done." 

" Softly," said Agnes j " there is need of caution. 
We must procure the witnesses ; and find means to pre- 
taa ourselves to the curate unexpectedly. He has been 

^days concealed in his house; we must make 



1 



1 



70 ^ 

remain ibere. If he suspects joiir intention, he will 
canning as a cat, and flee as Satan from holy water." 

Lucy here gained courage to offer her doubts of tlie 
propriety of such a course. " Until now we have lived 
with candour and sincerity," Eaid she ; " let us continue 
to do so ; let us have faith in God, and God will aid us. 
Father Christopher said so ; let us listen to his advice." 

" Be guided by those who know better than you do," 
said Agnes gravely. " Wliat need of advice ? God tells 
us, ' Help thyself, and I wUI help thee.' We will tell the 
father all about it, when it is over." 

" Lucy," said Renzo, " will you fail me now ? Have 
we not done all that we could do, libc good Christians? 
Had not the curate himself fixed the day and the hour ? 
And whose is the blame if «e are now obliged to u^e a 
little management? No, you will not fail inc. I go at 
once to seek the witncsies, and will return to tell you my 
success." So saying, he hastily departed- 
Disappointment sharpens the wit; and Renzo, who, in 
the straightforward path he had hitherto travelled, had 
nut been requited to subtilise much, now conceived a plan 
which woidd have done Iionour to a lawyer. He went 
directly to the house of one Anthony, and found him io 
his kitchen, employed in stirring a polenta of wheat, which 
was on the lire, whilst his mother, brother, and his wife, 
with three or four small children, were seated at the table, 
eagerly intent on the earthen pan, and awaiting the mo- 
ment when it should be ready for tlieir attack. But, on 
this occaeion, the pleasure was wanting which tile sight of 
dinner usually produces in the aspect of the labourer wfac 
has earned it by his industry. The size of the po&ntd 
was proportioned to the scantiness of the times, and not to 
the number and appetite of the assailants; and in casting 
a dissatisfied look on the common meal, each seemed to be 
considering the extent of appetite likely to survive it 
Whilst Renzo was exchanging salutations with the family, 
Tony poured out the pudding on the pewter trencher pre* 
j>ared for its reception, and it appeared like a. little moon 
within a large circumference of vapour. Nevertheless, tlM 
^tA<a£ Tony eaid courteouslj to Benwi, " 'Nia. ^wi,^ 



helped to toroethingF" This was a compliment that dfl 
peasants of Lombard^, however poor, paid to those wMf 
nere, from any accident, present at th«r meala. 

" I. tliank you," replied Renzo ; " 1 only came to say 
a few words to Tony ; and, Tony, not to disturb your 
family, we can go and dine at the inn, and we shall then 
have an opportunity to conrerse." The proposal was as 
agreeable aa it was unexpected. Tony readily assented to 
it, and departed with Kenzo, leaving Co his family bis 
portion of the polenta. They arrived at the inn, seated 
themselvea at their ease in a perfect aolitude, since the 
penury of the times had driven away the daily frequenters 
of the place. After having eaten, and emptied a bottle of 
wine, Renzo, with an air of mystery, said to Tony, " If 
you will do me a small servica, I will do you B.ffreal one." 

" Speak, speak, command me," aaid Tony, filling bis 
glass ; " I will go through fire to serve you." 

" You are twenty-five livies in debt to the curate, for 
the rent of bia field, that you worked last year." 

" Ah ! Renzo, Renzo ! why do yon mention It i 
now? You've spoiled your kindness, and put to 
my good wishes." 

" If I Bpeak to you of your debt," aaid Renzo, ' 
because I intend to give you the means of paying it.' 

" Do you really ? " 

" Really ; would this content you ? " 

" Content me ! that it would, indeed ; if it were only 
to be freed from those infernal shakings of the bead the 
curate makes me every lime 1 meet him. And then 
always, ' Tony, remember; Ton'j, trhen shall ire gee each 
other for this bimnei»?' When he preaches, he fixes his 
eyes on me in such a manner, I am almost afraid he will 
speak l« me from the pulpit. 1 have wished the twenty- 
five livrea to the devil a thousand times : and 1 was obliged 
to pawn my wife's gold necklace, which might be turned 
into so much polenta. Bi 

" But, if you will do me a small favour, the twenty .fil 
liTtes are ready." 

" ASfeed." 



fii^^ 



78 1 

" Bat," said Renzo, " jaa must be silent and talk'NH 

" Need jroutell methat?" saidTon;; "you know me." 
" The curate has some foolish leason for putting off my 
marriage, and I wish to hasten i[, I am told that the 
parties going before him with two witnesses, and the one 
sayÌDg, Thi» U my ai/g, and the other, Thii is my kas- 
band, that the marriage is lawful. Do you understand 

" You wish me to go as a witness?" 

" Yes." 

" And you will pay the tWEnty-fiye liyres ? " 

" Yes." 

" Done ; I agree to it." 

" But we must find another witness." 

" I have found him already," said Tony. " My ùmple- 
ton of a brother, Jervaie, will do whatever I tell bim ; but 
you will pay him with something to drink }" 

" Anil to eat," replied Renzo. " But will he be able?" 

" 1 '11 teach him ; you know I was born with brains Jbr 
both." 

« To-mortow." 

" Well." 

" Towards evening." 

" Very well." 
I^k" But be silent," said Renzo. 
^H^< Fob ! " said Tony. 

^Pf But if thy wife should ask thee, as without doubt 4 
wiU?" 

" I am in debt to my wife for licE already ; and for m 
much, that I don't know if we shall ever balance tlie ac- 
count. I will tell her some idle story or other to set bet 
heart at rest." With this good resolution he departed^ 
leaving Renzo to pursue his way hack to the cottage. In 
the meanwhile Agnes hod in vain solicited Lucy's con- 
sent to the measure ; she could not resoife to act without 
the approbation of Father Christopher. Renzo arrived, 
and triumphantly related his success. Lucy shook her 
head, bat the two enthusiasts minded her not. They were 



aina Jbr 

I 

lUbtljQ 



r 



73 

determined to purEuc their plan, and by authoritj' and 
■ftties induce her finally to accede to it. 
" It is well," said Agnes, " it is well, but you have not 
thought of every thing." 

" What have I not thought of ? " replied Renvio, 
" Perpetua ! You have not thought of Perpetua. Do 
you believe that she would suffer Tony and his brollier lo 
enter ? How then is it probable she would admit you and 

" ^Vliat shall we do?" said Renzo, pausinj;. 

" I wiU tell you. I will go with you ; I have a secret 
to tell her, which will engage her go that she will nut see 
you. J will take her aside, and will touch such a cliord — 
you shall see." 

" Bless you !" exclaimetl Renzo, " I have always said 
you were our best support." 

" But all this will do no good," said Agnea, " if we 
cannot persuade Lucy, who ohatiu^teiy persists that it is 

Kenio made use of all his eloquence, hut Lucy was not 
to be moved. " I know not what lo say to your argu- 
ments," replied she. " I perceive that to do this, we shall 
degrade ourselves so far as lo lie and deceive. Ah I Kenzo, 
let ua not so abase ourselves! 1 wouhl be your wife" 
(and a blush diffused itself over her lovely countenance], 
" I would be your wife, but in the fear of God — at the 
altar. Let ua trust in Him who is able to provide. Uo 
you not tliitik He will find a way to help us, far better than 
all this deception ? And why make a myaleiy of it to 
Fatlier Christopher ?" 

The contest still continued, when a trampling of sandals 
announced Father Christopher. Agnes had baiely time 
to whisper in the ear of Lucy, " Be careful to tell him 
nothing," when the friar entered. 



CHAPTER VII. 



1 



" Feaob be with you!" said the friar as he entered. 
" There is nothing more to hope from man : so much the 
greater must be our confidence in God ; and I've alrcsdj 
had a pledge of his proteclioD." None of the three enter- 
tained much hope from the visit of Failier Christopher ; 
for it would have been not only an unusual, but an ahso- 
lutely unheard-of fact, for a nobleman to desist from hii 
criminal desigHB at the mere prayer of hia defencelesl 
victim. Stili, the sad certainty was a painful stroke. 

The women bent down their heads ; but in the mind of 
Renzo anger prevailed over disappointment. " I would 
know," cried he, gnashing hia teeth, and raising his voice 
as he had never done before in ihe presence of Father 
Christopher, " I would know what reasons this dog has 
given, that my wife should not It my wife?" 

" Poor Renzo.! " said the father, with an accent of pity, 
and with a look whicli greatly enforced moderation ; " poor 
Renzo ! if those who commit injustice were always obliged 
to give a reason for it, things would not be as they are !" ' 

" He has said, then, the dog ! that he will not, because 
he will not?" 

" He has not even said eo, poor Renzo ! There wonH 
be something gained, if he would make an open confecaian 
of hia iniquity." 

" But he has said something ; mhat has this firebrand 
of hell said ? " i 

" I could not repeat his words. He flew into a pasaioa 
at me for my Euspiciojis, and et the same time confirmed 
me in them : he insulted me, and then called hims^ I 
offended ; threatened, and complained. Ask no farther. 
He did not utter the name of Lucy, nor even pretend to 
know you : he affected to intend nothing. In short, 1 
heard enough to feel that he is inexorable. Rut confidrac(t 
" ' ' Poor children \ be ^bùenl, ^>e B\&nu£&.'s«l Ag^^ 



lou, Renzo! beliere thai I a<^mpathise with all thatpuM* 
1 th]t heart. — But patience ! li is a poor word, a bitter 
ord to tbote who want faith; but, Renzo, will jou not 
t God work ? Will you rot trust Him ? Let Him 
ork, It«Dzo ; and, for your conaaialion, know that 1 hold 
I my hand ■ due, by whit^h 1 hope lo extricate you from 
our (lÌBtreBE. 1 cannot say more now. To-marrow I 
lall not be here ; 1 Ehall be all day at the convent ein- 
loyed for you. Renzo, if thou canst, come diere to me; 
ut, if pieventad by any accident, send some trusty mes- 
niger, by wliom I can make known to you the eucccbg of 
iy endeavours. Night approaches ; I must return to the 
invent. Farewell! Faith and courage!" So saying, he 
eparted, and hastened by the moat abrupt but ahortest 
}ad, to reach the convent in time, and escape the usual 
^primand ; or, what waa worse, the imposition of some 
enance, which might disenable him, for the following 
ay, fi-om continuing his efforts in favour of bis protege. 

" Did you hear him speak of n due which he holds to 
id OB ?" said Lucy ; " it is best to trust in tiim ; he is B 
lan who does not make rash promises." 

" He ought to have spoken more deariy," said Agnea 

or 8t least have taken roe aaide, and told me what it,] 
ag." 

" I '11 put an end to the business ; 1 'U put an end tt' 
," said Renzo, padng furiously up and down the 

" Oh ! Renzo !" exclaimed Lucy. 

" What do you mean ?'' said Agnes. 

" What do I mean i* I mean to say that he may have 
hundred thousand devils in his soul, but he is flesh and 
iood notwithstanding." 

" No, no, for the love of Heaven ! " said Lucy, but 
loked her voice. 

" It is not a iheme for jesting," said Agnes. 

" For jesting ? " cried Renzo, stopping before her, with 
is countenance inflamed by anger ; " for jesting ' 
ill see if I am in jest." 

" Oh I Renzo ! " said Lucy, sobbing, " I have neve 
Ml thtiE before 1" 

lb, husli J " said Agnes, " speak not in \.\ùa « 



gWiuh^l 



1 

1 

ithfl 



76 

Do you not fear the law, which is always lo be had agaitisl 
the poor ? Anil, besides, bow many arms would be raised 

" I fear nothing," said Renzo ; " the villain is well pro. 
tecteil, dog that lie is ! but no matter. Patience and reso- 
lution ! and the time will come. Yes ! justice sliall be 
done ! I will free the country ! People will bless me ! Yes, 
yes." 

The horror which Lucy felt at this explicit declaration 
of his purpose inspired her with new resolution. With i 
tearful countenance, but determined voice, she said » 
Renzo, " It can no longer be of any mnsequence to yotl, 
that 1 should become yours ; 1 promised myself to a youih 
who had the fear of God in his heart ; but a man who had 

once were you safe from the law, were you secure from 

vengeance, were you the Eon of of a king- " 

" Well !" cried Renzo, in a voice of uncontrollable pi»- 
sion, '■ well ! I shall not have you, then ; but u^thei 
shall he ; of t/iat you may " 

" For pity's sake, do not talk thus ; do not talk m 
fiercely 1" said Lucy imploringly. 

" You to implore me !" said he, somewhat appeased. 
" You ! who will do nothing for me.' What proof do you 
give me of your affection ? Have 1 not suppUcated in vain Ì 
Have I been able to obtain " 

" Yes, yes," replied Lucy, hastily, " I will go to the 
curate's to-morrow ; now, if you widi it. Only be youi- 
Belf again ; I will go." 

■' Do you promiM lue?" said Renito, softening imme- 

tely. 

" I promise." 

" Well, I am satisfied." 

" God be praised !" said Agnea, much relieved. 

" I have promised you," said Lucy, with an accent of 
tiraid reproach, " but you have alfo promised me to retta 
it to Father Christopher." 

" Ha ! will you now draw back ? " aajd Renzo. 

" No, no," said Lucy, again alarmed, " no, no, I have 

pt^mÌBed, and will perform. But you have compelled^K 

^fiit by your own impetuoeity. Goi totìift. 'ivw.- -'' ■ 



Gml knotra ^^M 

ir the best." ^^M 

Ihe morrow^ .^| 
felt himsetf^H 

sMle of igl-H 
mrmrtqnt pll^ "^^^ 



THK BBrBOTDGI 

" Why will you prognosticate evil, Lucy ? Goil knotra 
ire wrong no person." 

" Well, well," said Lucy, *' I will liope for the best." 
Renzo would have wished to prolong the 
in Older to allot to each their several parts for the 
but the night drew on, anil be reluctantly felt hi 
compelled to depart. 

The night was passed, by all three, in that state of igl. 
tatioQ and trouble which always precedes an important efl'' 
terprise whose issue is uncertain. Renzo returned early in 
the morning, and Agnes and he busied themselves in con- 
certing the operatjona of the evening. Lucy was a mere 
spectator ; but although she disajipioved these measures in 
her heart, ehe still promised to do the best she could. 

" Will yon go to the convent, to speak to Father t!hris. 
lopher, as he desired you last night.'" said Agnes to 

" Oh ! no," replied he, " the father would soon read in 
niy countenance that there was something on foot ; and if 
he interrogated me, I should be ohiiged to tei! him. You 
had better send some one." 

" I will send Menico." 

" Yes, that will do," replied RenKO, as he hurried o1 
make farther arrangements. 

Agnes went to a neighbouring house to ohtain Menico, 
i smart lad of twelve years of age, who, by the way of 
cousins and sisters-iU'law, was a sort of nephew (o the 
dame. She asked and obtained periniBsion of his parents 
to keep him all day " for a particular service." She took 
him home, and after giving him breakfast, told him he 
must go to Pescarenico, and show himeelf to Father Chrii 
topher, who would Bend him hack with a message, 
" Father Christopher, you understand ; that i 
man, with a white beard ; him they call the Sunt. 
" I know him, I know him!" said Menico : "hi 
io kindly to the children, and often gives them pictures. 

" Yes ! that is he ; and if, Menico, if he tells you t 
WMt near the convent until he has an answer ready, don' 
stray away ; don't go lo the lake to throw atones in th 
water with the boya; dot to see them fiah, tiox ■" 



4 






i 



Poh I aunt, 1 am no longer a baby." 

WeW, behave well, and when you return with the an- 
swer, I wiil give you these new parpiigliok.* 

During the remainder of this long mominf;;, eeveral 
straDge things occurred, calculated to infuse suspicion into ( 
the already troubled minds of Lucy and her mother. A I' 
mendicant, but not in rags Uke others of bis kind, and L 
with a dark snd sinister countenance, narrowly obsemog \ 
every object around him, entered to aak alms. A piece rf 
bread was presented to him, wliich he received with ill- 
dissembled indifference. Then, with a mixture of inipi- 
dence and hesitation, he made many enquiries, to wbich 
Agnes endeavoured to return evasive replies. AV^en abml 
to depart, he pretended to mistake the door, and went 
through the one that led to the stairs. They called to him, 
" Stay, stay ! where are you going, good man ? this way." 
He returned, excusing himself with an affectation of 
humiUty, to wbich he felt it tlillicult to compose his hard 
and stem features. After him, they saw pass, from time 
to time, other strange people. One entered the hoaie, L 
under pretence of asking the road ; another stopped befers I 
the gate, and glanced furtively into the room, as if to avoid ' 
suspicion. Agnes went often to the door of the hooK 
diuing the remainder of the day, with an undefined dratd 
of seeing some one approach who might cause them alarm. 
These mysterious vi ai tallone, however, ceased toward» 
noon, but they had left an impression of impending evil , 
on their minds, which they felt it impossible altogetlier W f 
suppress. J I 

To explain to the reader the true character of these «n^ ] ' 
picious wanderers, we must recur to Don Roderick, whoni I i 
we left alone, in the hall of his palace, at tlie departtm of ' 
Father Christopher. The more he reflected on hia inter. I 
view with the Mar, the more was he entitled and ashamed, 
that be shonld have dared to come to him with the rebuke I 
of Nathan to David on his !ips. He paced with hurried j 
steps through the apartment, and as he gawd at the por. 1 
traits of his ancestors, warriors, senators, and abbots, which 
bung against its walk, be fell his indignation at the iamll . 



1 

Il of 
lling 
tther 

bdl, 1 
, aadS 

Mt ■ 



which had been offered him increase. A bue-born friar t( 
ipetk thus to one of noble birlh ! He formed plui 
vengeance, and diecanled ttiem, without hii being willing 
to acknowleilge it to himself. The prediction of the father 
«gain Bounded in his ears, and caused an unaccuitomed 
perplexity. Bestlesa and undelemiined, he rang the bdl, 
end ordered a servant to excuse him lo the company, and J 
to say to them, that urgent business prevented his seòi^ I 
them again. The servant returned with the intell^ena 
that the gueeta had departed. "And the Count Attilio P' 
uked Don Roderick. 

" He has gone with the gentlemen, my lord." 

" Well ; six followers lo accompany me ; quickly. My 
sword, cloak, and hat. De quick." 

Tlie servant left the room, and returned in a few mo 
raents with a rich Gword, which his master girded on ; he 
then threw the cloak around hia shoulders, and donned his 
bat with its waving plumes with an air of proud defiance. 
He then passed into the street, followed by six armed ruf. 
fians, taking the road to Lecco. The peasantry anil trades- 
nen shiunk from his approach ; their profound and timid 
salutations received no notice from him ; indeed, he ac- 
knowledged but by a slight inclination of the head those of 
Ihe neighbouring gentry, whose rank, however, was incoti- 
testably inferior to his own. Indeed, the only man whose 
salutations he condescended to return upon an equal foot- 
ing was the Spanish governor. In order to get riil of his 
ea»uf, and banish the idea of the monk am] his impre- 
cations, he entered the house of a gentleman, where a party 
was met together, and was received with that apparent cor. 
diality which it is a necessary pohcy to manifest towards 
the powerful who are lit^lil in fear. On his return at night 
lo Us palane, he found Count Attilio seated at supper. 
Dun Boderick, full of thought, took a chair, but said littlei 

Scarcely wbb the table cleared, and the servants departed, 

wlien the count, beginning to rally bis dull companion, 

said, " Cousin, when will you pay me my wager ? " 

" San Martin's day has not yet passed." 

■I Well, you will have to pay it ; for all the sainli iu 

■^HiriKidar may pass, before you " ^^^^^^h 



1 



^^^ " We will Bee about that ! " said Don Roderick. 
* " CoQsin, you would play the politician, but you C 
deceive me ; 1 am so certain that I hare won the wageTj 
that I stand ready for another." 

" Why !■■ 

" Why ? because the father — the father — in short, 
thia friar hai converted you," 

" One of your fine imaginations, truly!" 

" Converted, cousin, converted, I tell you ; I rejoice at 
it ; it wiU be a fine spectacle to see you penitent, with your 
eyes cast down ! And how flattering to the father ! he 
don't catch such fish every day. Be assured, he will bring 
you forward as an example to others; your actions will be 
trumpeted from the pulpit ! " 

" Enough, enough !" interrupted Don Roderick, half 
annoyed, and half ilispoGed to laugh. " 1 will double the 
wager with you, if you please." 

" The devil ! perhaps you have converted the fa- 
ther ! " 

" Do not speak of him ; but as to the wager, San 
Martin will decide." The curiaaity of the count was 
aroused ; he made many enquiries, whic^ Don Rodetiok 
evaded, referring him to the da; of decision. 

The following morning, when he awolte, Don Roderick 
waa " himself again." The varioua emotions tliat had 
agitated him after his interview with the father, had now 
resolved themselves into the simple desire of revenge. 
Hardly risen, he sent for Griso. — " Something seriou»," | 
muttered the servant to whom the order was given ; M ; 
this Grim was nothing less than the leader of the brawM 
to whom waa intrusted the most dangerous and daring en. 
terprises, who was the most trusted by the master, and the 
most devoted to him, from gratitude and intere«t. This 
man had been guiUy of murder ; be had fled from the 
pursuit of justice to die palace of Don Roderick, who took 
him under his protection, and thus sheltered liim from the 
pursuit of the law. He, therefore, stood pledged to the j 
jierTormance of any deed of villany that should be imposed ] 
on bim. 



ìMilliiilliìiì 






ekUl in this emergency. Before t 
must be in Hob palace." 

" It ahall never be said [hat Griso failed U 
command from his illiistrious protector." 

" Take as many men ss are neces«ary, and dispose^ 
them as appears to you best ; only let tlie tiling si 
But be careful that no harm be done to her." 

" Signor, a little fright — we cannot do lesa." 

" Fright — may be unavoidable- But toucli not a Lafef-' 
Df ber head ; and, above all, treat ber with the greatest 
respect. Do you hear ? " 

" Signor, 1 could not take a flower from the bush, 
cany it to your Highhess, without touching it j but I «rill 
do only what is ab8oIuU?ly necesBary." 

" Well ; I trust thee. And — how wi!t thou do ll 

**~I was thinking, signor. It is fortunate that ! 
cottage is at the extremity of the village ; wc bare need o 
some place of concealment; aud not fu' from her house 
there is that old uninhabited building in the middle of the 
fields, that one — hut, your Highness knows nothing of 
these matters — which was burnt a few years ago, and, 
not having been repaired, is now deserted, except by the 
witches, who keep all cowardly rascals away from it; so 
that we may take safe pOEscssion." 

" Well ; what then ? " 

Here Griso went on to propose, and Don Boderick to 
approve, until they had agreed upon the manner of con- 
ducting the enterprise to the desired concIusioD, without 
leaving a trace of the authors of it : and also upon the 
manner of imposing silence, not only upon poor Agnes, 
but also upon the more impatient and fiejy Ilenia, 

"■ If this raeh fellow fall in your way by chance," arliied 
Don Boderick, " you had best give him, on his shoulders, 
something lie will remember ; so that he will be more 
likely tjj obey the order to remain quiet, which he iviU 
receive lo-morrow. Do jou hear? " 

" Yea, yes, leave it to me,'' said Grist», as, with an air 
of importance, he took his leave. 

The morning waa spent in reconnoitring, — tì\e ■roento- 
^^^Ktwliom we have spoken was Griso ; ibe ovVieva ■wwft 



82 1 

the villaina wliom lit employed, to gwn a more perfect 
knowledge of the scBiie of action. They returned to the 
palace to arrange and mature the enterprise; — all these 
niysterinuB moveinentB were not effected without rouaing 
the suBpicions of the old domestic, nho, partly by listening, 
and partly by conjecture, came to the knowledge of the 
conretted attempt of the evening. This knowledge came 
a little too late, for already a body of rufflans were laying 
in wait in the old house. However, the poor old man, 
although well aware of the dangerous game he played, did 
not fail to perform his promiEe ; he left the palace on some 
slight pretence, and harried to the convent. Griso and hia 
band left shortly after, and met at the old building, — the 
former had previously left orders at the palace, that, at 
the approach of night, there should be a litter brought 
thither, — he then despatched three of the braroes to the 
village inn ; one to remain at its entrance to observe the 
movements on the road, and to give notice when the inha< 
bitants should have retired to rest ; the other two to 
occupy themselves within as idlers, gaming and drinlting. 
Griso, with the rest of the troop, continued in ambush, on 
the watch. 

All this was going forward, and the sun was about to 
set, when Renzo CLitcred the cottage, and said to Lucy and 
lier mother, "Tony and Jervase are ready; I am going 
with theni to sup at the inn ; at the sound of the ' Ave 
Maria,' we will come for you ; take courage, Lucy, all 
depends on a moment." 

" Oh, yes," said Lucy, " courage ;" willi a. voice that 
contradicted Iter words. ' 

When Renzo and bis companions arrived at tlie inn, tbey 
found the door blockaded by a sentinel, who, leaning on one 
side of it, with his arms folded on his breast, occupied 
half its widlb ; at the same time rolling his eagle eyes tint 
to the right and then to the left, displaying alternately 
their blacks and their whites. A flat cap of crimuiD 
velvet, plnccd sideways, covered the half of tlie long loek, 
wbiebj parted on a dark foreliead, was fastened behind 
triti a comb. He held in i\\3 taui a club ; " ' 
properly speaking, weie concea\(;t\ \le^^Ba^^i "Vàs t»* 



hiaw«_ 



1 



^Fhen Renzo evinced a derire to enter, lie looked at ìdaì 
fixedly without moving ; of this, the young man, wishing 
to decline all conversation, took no notice, but, beckoning 
to his companions to follow bis example, slid between the 
figure and Uie door-post. Having gained an entrance, he 
beheld the other two bravoes with a large mug between 
tliem, seated at play ; they stared at him with a look of 
enquiry, making signs to each other, and (hen to their 
comrade at the door. This was not unobserved by Rtdmm 
and his raind wa« filled witli a vague eentiment of suspii ' 
and alarm. The innkeeper came for bis orders 
were, " a private room, and supper for three." 

" Who are those strangers?" asked he of tlie landloi 
when he came in to set tlie table. 

" 1 do not know them," rephed he, 

" How ! neither of them ?" _ 

" The first rule of our trade," «aid he, spreading the 
cloth, " is, not to meddle with the aSairs of others ; and, 
what is wonderful, even our women are not curious. It is 
enough for us that customers pay well ; who they are, or 
who they are not, matters nothing. And now, I will 
you a dish of polpette, the like of which you have 

When he returned to the kitchen, and was employed 9 
talcing the poiiwtie from the fire, one of the bravo* 
proaclied, and eaid, in an under tone, " Who are 

"■ Good people of this village," rephed tlie host, pour 
the mince-meat into a dish. 

" Well ; but what are their names ? Who are they ?■■ 
insisted he, in a rough voice. 

" One is called Renzo," replied the host ; " esteemed ft" 
good youth, and an excellent weaver of silk. The otiier is 
a peasant, whose name is Tony ; a jovial fellow, — it is a 
pity he has no more money, for he would spend it all here. 
The other is a simpleton, who eats when they feed him. 

By your leave " So saying, he slipped past him, with 

the dish iu his hand, and carried it to the place of its 
Jey^ation. 
^^^^w do yoa ittow y said Renzo, cohiìiwjìbs *ve coyi- 

wL " ^ 



8* -i 

versation from the point at wliicli it had been iirop[«<l, 
" bow do you know that thej are honest men, when you 
are not acquainted with them ? " 

" From liieir actions, my good fellow ; men are known 
by tbdr actions. lie who drinka wine without criticiùng 
it ; he who flhowa the face of the king on the counter with- 
out prattling ; be who does not quarrel with other custAin- 
ers, and, if he has a blow or two to give, goes awaj from 
the inn, so that the poor host need not suSer from it; he 
it an honest man. But wbnt the devil makes you bo 
inquisitive, when you are engaged lo be married, und 
should have other tilings in your beail .^ And wid) this 
mince-meat before you, which would make tile dead re- 
Tive ?" 80 saying, he returned to the kitchen. 

The supper was not very agreefthle ; tbe two guests 
would have lingered over the unusual luxury ; but Renzo, 
preoccupied, and troubieil and uneasy at tile singular ap- 
pearance of the strangers, longed for the hour of departure. 
He conversed in brief sentences, and in an under tone, so 
that he might not he overheard by them. 

" What an odd thing it is," blundered Jervase, " that 

Renzo wishes to be married, and has needed " Itenao 

looked sternly at hira. " Keep silence, you beast ! " said 
Tony to him, accompanying ihe epithet with a cuff. Jer. 
vase obeyed, and the remainder of the repast was con- 
sumed in silence. Kenzo observed a strict sobriety, in 
order to keep his companions under some restraint. Supper 
Iwing over, he paid tlie reckoning, and prepared to depart: 
they were obliged to pass tlie three met) again, and en- 
counter a repetition of tbeir eager gaze. When a few 
steps distant from tbe inn, Renzo, looking back, perceived 
that he was foUowed by the two whom he had left sealed 
in the kitchen. He slopped ; observing this, they stopped 
also, and retraced their steps. 

If he had been near enough, he would have heard a few 
words of strange import ; " It would be a glorious thing," 
linid one of the scoundrels, " without reckoning the caab, 
//' we eould lell at the palace liow we bad flattened their 
r/iw, — iv/fhout the direction, too, ot 6»s^not Griso." « 
^^gAnd spoU tlie whole vcotV," added, vV <^n-;ìM|M 



Oh ! if it were only later t 
■reiiW suspidon. PeO|ile are 
coming on all Bides ; let us wait till they go lo iheir 

Then nOB heard tn the village (he busy huiti of the 
evening, which precedes the solemn stillneEF of the night ; 
then were seen women returning from their daily labour, 
with tlieii infanta on their hacks, and leading by the hand 
the older children, to whom they were repeating the even- 
ing prayers ; men with their spades, and other instruments 
of culture, thrown over their shoulders. At the opening of 
the cottage doors, wis discerned the bright light of the 
fires, kindled in order to prepare their meagre supper» ; 
in the street there were salutations given and returned, 
brief and mournful observations on the poverty of the 
harvest, and the scarcity of the year ; and at intervals was 
heard the measured strokes of the bell which announced 
the departure of the day. 

When Renzo saw that the two men no longer followed 
him, he continued his way, giving instructions, in a low 
voice, from time to time, to his two companions. It ^^H 
dark night when they arrived tl the cottage of Lucj. SH 



Lucy endured many hours the anguish of such a dream ; 
and Agnes, even Agnes, the author of the plot, was 
thoughtful and silent. But, in the moment of action, new 
and various emotions pass swiftly through the mind : at one 
instant, that which had appeared difficult becomes perfectly 
easy ; at another,' obstacles present themselves which were 
never before thought of, the ìmt^ination U filled with 
alarm, tiie limbs refuse their office, and the heart fails at 
the promise it had given with such security. At the gentle 
knock of Renzo, Lucy was seized with such terror, that, at 
the moment, she resolved to sutTer any thing, to endure a 
separation from him for ever, rather than execute lier reso- 
lution ; hut when, with an assured anil encouraging air, he 
Mid, " All is ready ; let us begone," she bai wvvViet Ws«\. 
^^^bime io suggest diffi cui ties. Agnea u.ni\ Wkklo i^Xw^^- 



her between tliem, and ihe adventurous company set 
forward. Slowly and quietly ihey took the path that led 
around the village, — it would hare been nearer to paw 
directiy through it, to Don Abbondio'» house, but their ob- 
ject vrss to avoid observation. Upon reaching the houee, 
the lovers remained concealed on one side of it, AgncB a 
little in advance, bo as to be prepared to speak lo Ferpetna 
as soon aa she should make her appearance. Tony, with 
Jervase, who did tiothing, but vitlwut whom nothing could 
be done, courageously knocked at the door. 

" Who is there, at this hour ? " cried a voice from the 
window, which they recognised to be that of Perpetua. 
" No one is sick, that I know of, What is the matter?" 

" It is I," replied Tony, " with my brother ; we want 
to speak witli tlie curate." 

" Is this an hour for Christians?" replied Perpetua, 
briskly. " Come to-morrow." 

" Hear me ; I will come, or not, as I choose ; 1 have 
received I can't tell how much money, and I have come to 
balance the small account that you know of. I have here 
twenty-five fine new pieces ; but if he cannot see me, — 
well — I know how and where to spend them." 

" Wait, wait. I will speak to you in a moment. But 
why come at this hour ? " 

" If you can change the hour, I am willing ; as for 
me, I am here, and, if you don't want me to stay, I'll go 

" No, no, wait a moment ; I will give you an answer." 
So saying, she closed the window. As soon as she disap- 
peared, Agnes separated herself from the lovers, saying to 
Lucy, in a low voice, '"' Courage, it is but a moment." She 
then entered into conversation with Tony at the door, lihat 
Perpetua, on opening it, might suppose she had been acd- 
deatally passing by, and that Tony had detained her. 




ETBE BETnOTUED. ll^H 

CHAPTER Vili. ^M 

EADKs! who WW he?" said Don Abbondio ta 
himself, seated Id his large cbaii, with a book open brfnte 
him. " CamesdfB ! ihis name I have eitlier heard or read 
of; he muBt have been a man of study, a schoUr iif 
antiquity ; but who the devU uw* lie ? " Now, it should 
be known, that it was Don Abbondio's custom to read a 
little every day, and that a curate, Iiìk neighbour, who had 
a small library, furnished him with books, one after the 
other, as Ibey came to hand. That with whi<^h he was nt 
this moment engaged, was a pane^^ric on St. Carlos, de- 
livered rnany years before in the cathedral of Slìiaii. The 
saint was there compared for bis love of study to Archi- 
medes ; which comparison the poor curate well understood, 
inasmuch as this did not require, from the various anecdote« 
related of blm, an erudition very extensive. But the au- 
thor went on to liken him also to Cameades, and here th*.H 
poor reader was at faulL At this moment. Perpetua SBf^l 
nounced the visit of Tony. ^H 

" At such an hour? " said Don Abbondio. .'^H 

" What do you expect ? They have no discretion. But 

if you do not shoot the bird flying " 

" Who knows if I shall ever be able to do it?" con- 
tinued he. " Let him come in. But are you very sure 
that it is Tony?" 

" The devil ! " said Perpetua, as she descended, and, 
opening the door, demanded, " ^Diere are you ? " 

Tony appeared, in company with Agnes, who accosted 
Perpetua by name. _J 

" Good evening, Agnes," said she; "whence come yol^H 
at this hour ?" ^H 

" I come from ," naming a neighbouring villa^. ^ 

" And do you know," she continued, " that 1 have been 
delayed on your account ? " 

" On my account ! " exclaimed she ; and turning to the 
' rotliers, said, "Go in, and I will foUow ^ 



K 



" Because," resumed Agnes, " a goBsiping woman of 
the company said — would jou believe it? — obatinalely 
persisted in saying, that you were never engaged to Beppo 
Sualavecchia, nor to Anselmo Lunghigna, because tbey 
would not have yon. 1 maintained that you had refused 
them both " 

" Certainly I did. Oh ! what a liai- ! oh ! nhat a great 
liar! Who was it?" 

" Don't ask me ; I don't wish to make miachief." 

" You must tell me ; you must tell me. Oh ! what a 
lie!" 

" So it was ; but yon can't lielieve how sorry 1 felt not 
to Itnow all the story, that I might have confuted her." 

" It is an infamous lie," said Perpetua. " As to Btppo, 
every one knows " 

In front of Don Abbondio's house, there was a short 
and narrow lane, between two old cottages, which opened 
at the farther end into tlie fields. Agnes drew Perpetua 
thither, as if for the purpose of talking with her more 
freely. When they were at a spot, from which ihey 
could not see what passed before the curate's house, Agnes 
coughed loudly. 

This was the concerted signal, which, being heard by 
Renzo, he, with Lucy on his arm, crept quietly along the 
wall, approached the door, opened it softly, end entered the 
passage, nhere the two brothers were waiting tbeir approavh- 
They all ascended the stairs on tiptoe ; the brothers ad- 
vanced towards the door of the chamber j the lovers 
remained concealed on the landing. 

" Deo gratia»," said Tony, in a clear voice. 

" Tony, eh ? come in," replied the voice from within. 
Tony obeyed, opening the door just enough to adniit him- 
self and brother, one at a time. The rays of light, which 
shone unexpectedly througli this opening on the darkness 
by which Renzo and Lucy were protected, made the latter 
tremble as if already discovered. The brothers entered, and 
Tony closed the door; the lovers remained motionleas 
without ; the beating of poor Lucy's heart might be heard 
ia the stillnesB. 

Abbonóio was, as we\iavc saii, mbXcìw 



m 



chair, wrapped in a morning- gown, with an olil cap on hit 
head, in the fashion of a tiara, which fanned a sort of 
cornice around his face, and shaded it from the dim light 
of a little lamp. Two thick curls which escaped from 
beneath the cap, two thick eyebrows, iwo thick mualachios, 
a dense tuft along his chici, aU quite grey, and studding 
his sun.burnt and wnnltled visage, might be compared lo 
«nowy bushes projecting from a rock by moonlight. 

" Ah I ah !" was his salutation, as he look off his 

md placed them on his book. 
' Does the curate tliink 1 have come at too late an 
hour?" said Tony, bowing : Jervase awkwardly followed 
bis example. 

" Certainly, it is late ; late on all accounts. Do yi 
know that I am illl'" 

"Oh ! 1 am sorry." 

" Did you not hear that I was sick, and could not 
seeti ? Bui why is this boy with you ?" 

" For company. Signor Curale," 

" WeU ; let ua see." 

" Here are twenty-five new pieces, wilh ihe image 
St. Ambrose on horseback," said Tony, drawing forth 
little bundle from hia pocket. 

" Give here," said Don Abbondio ; and taking the 
bundle, he opened it, counled the money, and found it 

" Now, sir, you will give me the necklace of my Teela." 
" Certainly," replied Don Abbondio ; and going 
old press, he drew forth the pledge, and carefully rei 



1 



•^ 



" Now, aaid Tony, " you will please to put it 
and white ?" 

" Eh ! " said Don Abbondio, " how suspicious ihe world 
liiiB become ! Do you not trast me ? " 

" How ! Sir. If I trust you ! you do me wrong. But 
since my name is on your book on the side of debtor " 

" Well, well," interrupted Don Abbondio ; and seating 
himself at the table, he began to write, repeating, with a 
lond voice, the words as ihey camy from his pen. In 
^l^^taii while, Tony, and, at a sign fiora Um, SeiNWA| 



90 TUB SJf'iKO'i'HidD- 

placed therasetvee before (he Uble, in such a mttniiei an to 
deprive (he writer of a view of the door ; and, as if from 

heedlenanesE, moved their feet about on the floor, as a sig- 
nal to those without, and also for the purpose of drowniog 
the noise of tlieir footsteps ; of this Don Abbondio, otcu. 
pied in writing, took no nolice. At the grating sounds of 
the feet Renzo drew Lucy trembling into the room, and 
stood with her behind tlie brothers. Don Abbondio, hiving 
Sniebed writing, read it over attentively, folded the paper, 
and reaching it to Tony, said, " Will you be satisfied 
now?" Tony, on receiving it, related on one aide, Jer- 
vase on the other, and, behold, in the midst, Renzo and 
Lucy ! Don Abbondio, a&Vighted^ astonished, and enraged, 
took an immediate resolution ; and while Renito was alter- 
ing the words, " Sir Curate, In the presence of these wit- 
nesses, this is ray wife," and the poor Lucy had begun, 

"And this is " lie had snatched from the table the 

cloth which covered it, throwing on the ground books, pen, 
ink, and paper, and in haste letting fall the light, he threw 
it over and held it wrapped around the face of Lucy, at the 
Earae time roaring out, " Perpetua ! Perpetua ! treachery ! 
help ! " The wick, dying in the socket, sent a feeble and 
fiickering light over the (igure of Lucy, who, entirely over- 
come, stood hke a statue, making no elTort to free herself. 
The light died away, and left them in darkness ; Don Ab- 
bondio quitted tile poor girl, and felt cautiously along the 
wall for a door that led to an inner chamber ; having fimnd 
it, hp entered, and locked himself in, crying out, " Per- 
petua ! treachery .' help I out of the house ! out of the 
house!" AU was confusion in the apartment he had 
quitted ; Renzo, groping in the dark to find the curate, 
had followed the sound of his voice, and was knocking at 
the door of the room, crying, " Open, open ; don't make 
such an outcry ;" Lucy caUing to Renzo, in a supplicating 
voice, " Let us go, let us go, for the love of God !" Tony, 
creeping on all fours, and feeling along the floor for his re- 
ceipt, which had been dropped in the tumult ; the poor Jer- 
vaee, crying and jumping, and endeavouring to find the 
door oa the £tairs, so as to escape %i(h whole bones. 

B $be midst of this turmoil^ -«e c&Tt<ao\ «xo-^ \o xiv%1^|^ 



THE BBTHOTHED. 91 

flections ; bat Renzo, causing disturbance at niglit in an- 
other person's house, and holding the master of it besieged 
in an inner room, baa all the appearence of an oppressor ; 
when in fact he was the oppressed. Don Abbonilio, asaaujted 
in his own house, while he was tranquilly allentling to his 
aSkirs, appeared the victim ; when, in fact, it was he who 
bad inflicted the injury. Thus goes the v^orld, or rather, 
thus it went in llie seventeenth century. 

The besieged, seeing that the enemy gave no signs of re- 
treat, opened a window which looked out upon ihe church- 
yard, and crieil, " Help, help!" The moon shone brightly 
— every object could be clearly difcerncd as in the day ; 
but a deep repose rested over all — there was no indication 
of a living soul. Contiguous to the church, and on that 
Bide of it which fronted the parsonage, was a small habit- 
ttion in which slept the sexton, Aroused by this strange 
ODtcry, he jumped from bis bed, opened the small window, 
with his eyelids glued together all the time, and cried, 
" What is the matter?" 

" Run, Ambrose, run ! help ! people in the house !" 
cried Don Abbondio, " I come in a moment," replied he, 
drawing in his head ; he closed his curtain, and half stupid, 
and half affrighted, thought of an expedient to bring more 
help than had been required of him, without risking his 
own life in the contest, whatever it might be. He liagtily 
took bis breeches from the bed, and putting ihem under his 
arm, like an opera hat, ran to the belfry and pulled away 

Ton, Ton, Ton; the peasant aroused, sat uji in his bed; 
tlie boy, sleeping in the hay-loft, listened eagerly, and 
sprang on his feet ; " What is the matter ? What is it P 
Fire! Robbers!" Each woman entreated her husband 
not to stir, but to leave it to others : such as were cowards 
obeyed, whilst tha inijuisiiive and courageous took their 
artni, anil ran towards the noise. 

Ijong before this, however, the alarm had been given to 
otherpersonages of our story ; the bravoes in one place ; and 
Agnea and Perpetua in another. It is necessary to relate 
htie&J how the former had been occupied, since we last 
f ibem ; (hoee at tlie old house, ani fewe. ita 



fìS TBB BETltOTHEn. 

the inn. The latter, when ihej ascertained that the inhi' 
bitanla of ihe vill^e bad retired t« rest, and that the road 
was clear, went to the cottage of Lucy, and found that a 
perfect siillncBa reigned within. Thej then returned to the 
old house to give in their report to Sgnor Griso. He im- . 
tnedialely put on a slouched hat, with spilgtim's habit, and 
EtafF, saying, " Let us act as becometh soldiers ; cautioug, 
quiet, and attentive to orders." Tlien leading the way, 
he, with his oompany, arrived at the cottage, by a route 
different from that taken by our poor cottagers. Griso 
kept the hand a few steps off, went forward alone to ex- 
plore, and seeing all deserted and quiet on the outside, he 
beckoned lo two of them, ordered tliem to mount veij 
carefully and quietly the wall which enclosed the court- 
yard, and to conceal themselves on the other side behind ■ 
thick fig-tree, which he had observed in the morning. 
That being done, he knocked gently at the door, with die 
intention to call himself a pilgtim, who had wandered tiam 
bis way, and request shelter until the morning. No an- 
swer ; he knocked again, louder ; not a sound ! He then 
called a third robber, made him also descend into the yard, 
with orders to unfasten the bolt on the inside, so that they 
might have free entrance. All was performed with the 
utmost caution, and the most complete success. Griso 
tlien called the rest, and made some of them conceal them- 
selves by the side of those behind the fig.tree ; he then 
Opened the door very softly, placed two centinda on the 
inside of it, and advanced lo the lower chamber. He 
knocked ; he waited ^ — and well might wait ; he rwaed the 
latch; no one from within said, " Who is there ? " No- 
thing could go on better. lie then called the robbers fnnn 
the fig-tree, and with them entered the room where he had 
in the morning so villanonsly received the loaf of bread. 
He drew out his flint, tinder-box, and matches, and strik- 
ing a light, proceeded to the inner chamber ; it was empty! 
He returned to the stairs, and listened ; solitude and silence! 
He left two to keep watch below, and with the others care- 
fully ascended the stairs, cursing in his heart tile creaking 
telile steps. He reached ihe Bummlt, pushed softly o 
^Èt-door of the first room, ani UaVeueà \S an-j w 



oftly OMB 



or moved : no one 1 He advanced, shading his face witlT 
tìie lamp, and perceived a bed ; it was made, and pcrfecdy 
sraooih, with the coTeriug arrai^ed in order on the bolsler ! 
He shrugged his sfaouldeis, and returning to the company, 
made a sign to them, that be was going into the otlivr loom, 
and that they should remain quietly behind, — he did so, 
and had the same Bucce«s ; all deserted and quiet. 

" What the devil's this ? " said be hIohJ ; " some trai- 
torous dog ha« played the spy !" They then searched with 
less ceremony the rest of the bouse, putting every thing 
out of its place. Meanwhile those at the doorway heard a 
light step approaching in the street, — they kept very quiet, 
thinking it would pass on ; but, behold ! it stopped exactly 
in front of the cottage I It was Menico, who had come in 
haste from the convent, to warn Agnes and her daughter 
to escape from the house, and take refuge there, because — 
llie hecauie is alrea'ly known. He was surprised to find 
the door unboiled, and entering with a vague sentiment of 
liarin, found himself seized by two ruffiann, who said in a 
menacing tone, " Hush ! be quiet, or you die !" He ut- 
Ured a cry, at which one struck him a blow on the mouth, 
the other placed his hand on bis sword to inspire liim with 
fear. The boy trembled Uke a leaf, and did not attempt to 
stir ; but all at once was heard the first sound of the bell, 
Btid immediately after, a thundering peel burst forth. " The 
wicked are always cowards," says a Milanese proverb ; 
alarmed at tile sound, the bravoes let f-o in haste the arms 
of Menico, and fled away hastily to the old house, to join 
tbe main body of their comrades. Menico, finding himself 
free, also fled, by the way of the fields, towards the belfry, 
naturally supposing he would find some one there. As to 
the other villains above stairs, tbe terrible sound made the 
game impression on them ; amazed and perplexed, they hit 
one against the other, in striving lo find the nearest way 
to the door. Nevertheless, they were brave, and accus- 
tomed to confront any known danger ; but here was some- 
llung unusual, an undetermined peri!, and they became 
panic-struck. It now required all the superiority of Griso 
to keep them together, bo that there Bbould V« & YeV.Ye>A., 
and not a Sight. He succeeded, however, m a«acmMùs.% 



94 , 

them in the middle of the court-yard. " Halt, halt," 
cried he, " pistols in hmid, knivea ready, all in order, and 
then we will march. Cowards ! for shame ! fall behiml 
me, and keep together." Iteduced to order, they followed 
bim in silence. 

We will leave them, in order lo give an account of 
Agnea and Perpetua, whom we left at the end of ihe littl* 
lane, engaged in conversation. Agnes had managed to 
draw the latter ofi' to some distance, by dint of appearing 
to give great iieed to her story, which she urged on by an 
occasional "Certainly; now J comprehend ; that is plain ; 
and then ? and he? and you?" In the nnidst of an impor- 
tant part of lier narrative, the deep silence of the ni^t 
was broken by the cry of Don Abbondio for "help!" 
" Mercy ! what is the mailer ? " cried Perpetua, and pre. 
pared to run. 

"What is the matter? what is the matter?" cried 
Agnes, holding her by the gown.' 

" Mercy ! did you not hear ? " replied she, strugf^g 
to get free. 

" What is the matter ? what is the matter ? " repeated 
Agnes, holding her Srmly by the arm. 

" Devil of a woman !" exclaimed Perpetua, still Blrttg- 
gling. Then was beard at a distance the light scream of 
Menico. 

" Mercy ! " cried Agnes also, and they both ran at foil 
speed ; tlie sound of Ihe bell, which now succeeded, spurred 
them on. Perpetua arrived first, and, behold, at the door, 
Tony, Jervase, Renio, and Lucy, who had found the 
etairi, and, at the terrible sound of the bell, were flying to ■ 
some place of safety. | 

">Vhat ia the matter? What is ihe matter?" de- , 
manded Perpetua, out of breath, of the brothers. They 
answered her with a violent push, and fled away. " And I 
you ! what are you here for?" said she then to Renzo and 
Lucy. They made no reply. She then ascended the 
stairs in haste, to seek her master. Tlie two lovers (still 
lovers) stood before Agnes, who, alarmed and grieved, 

" " All ! jou are here '. How liaa ' * ■■o»^-'- »*- 

ring?" 



K 




ran venunnsn. gs 

" Home, home !" sud tteuzoj " before the people 
gather." But Menico dow appeared Tunning to meet 
tbem. He was out of breaih, and hardly able to cry oat, 
" Back ! hack ! by the way of the couvent. There is tbe 
devil at the house," continued he, panting ; " I saw him, I 
did ; he was going (o kill me. The Father (.'hristopher 
Bays you must come quickly. — I saw him, I iliil. — I am 
glad I found you all here, — I will tell you all when we 
are aafe off." 

Renzo, who v 
tllought it beat t( 
lud he, to the females. They silently obeyed, and the 
Utile company moved oii. They haatily crosaedthe church- 
yard, passing tlirnugh a private street, into the fields. 
They were not many paces distant, before the people began 
to collect, each one asking of his neighbour what was the 
matter, and no one being able (o answer ihe question. 
The first that arrived ran to the door of the church : it 
was fastened. They then looked through a Utile window 
into the belfry, and demanded the cause of the alarm. 
When Ambrose heard a known voice, and knew, by the 
hum, that there was an assemblage of people without, he 
haadly «lipped on that pert of his dreea whirh he had 
carried under hia anu, and opened tlie church door. 

" What ia all this tumult ? IVliat is the matter ? 
Where U it?" 

"Where ia it? Do you rot know ? Why, in the 
curate's house. Run, run." They rushed in a crowd 
thither; looked, — listened. All was quiet. The street 
door was fastened j not a window open ^ nota sound 
within. 

" Who is within theie? Holla! holla! Signor Curali?, 
Signor Curate !" 

Don Abbondio, who, as sooii as he was relieved by the 
flight of ihe invaders, had retired from the window, and 
closed it, was now quarrelling with Perpetua for leaving 
him to bear the brunt of the battle alone. Wlieo he 
heard himself caLed by name, by the people outside, he 
4 M the ittbDQs» wJuch lud produced Ùaft visAesitù. 



" What has hajipeneil ? Who are they ? Where are 
they ? ^Vhat iiave they done to you ? " cried a hundred 

" There is no one here now ; 1 un mucli obliged to 

you. — Return to your houses," 

" But who 'lis been here? Where have tliey gone? 
What has happened ? " 

" Bad people, bad people, who wander about in the 
night ; but they have id! fled. — Return to your housea. 
I thank you for your kindneas." So Baying, he retired 
and shut the window. There was a general mnrniur of 
diaappointment through the crowd. Some laughed, some 
swore, some shrugged up their shoulders and went home ; 
but at this moment a person came running towards them, 
panting and breathless. He lived at ibe house opposite 
to the cottage of Lucy, and hid witnessed from the window 
the alarm of the bravoes, when Griso endeavoured to coL 
lect them in the court-yard. When he recovered brealli, 
he cried, " What do you do here, friends ? The devil ii 
not here, he is down at the house of Agnes Mondello. 
Armed people are in it. It seems they wish to murder i 
pilgrim ; but who knows what the devil it Ìe ? " 

" What ! what ! what ! " And then began a tumultuooi 
conversation. " Let us go. How many are there ? How 
many are we ? Who ore ihey ? — The constable ! [he 
constable ! " 

" I am here," replied the constable, from the midst of 
the crowd, " I am here, but you must assist me ; jon 
must obey. — Quick ; — where is the sexton ? To the 
bell, to ihe bell. Quick ; some one run to Lecco to Mk 
for succour. — Come this way." The tumult was great, 
and as they were about to depart for the cottage of Agnes, 
another messenger came flying, and exclaimed, " Run, 
friends ; — robbers who are carrying off a pilgrim. They 
are already out of the vdlage ! On ! on ! this way." 

In obedience to this command they moved in a masa, 
without wailing the orders of tlieir leader, towards the 
cottage of Lucy. ^I'hile the army advances, many of thoM 
^the head of the column, aVacVtefttWu f we, not uni "" 
MHEptn the post of honour \a ftitit n\oi<; bìnct 



I of thoM . 
inwimwj 



[ -™-.. J 

VBda in the rear. The confueeil multitude tit lenglB 
reach the scene of action. The traceE of recent inToeion 
weie manifest, — the door open, the bolw loosened, but 
the invaders, where were they ? They entered the court, 
«dvanceil into 'the house, and called loudly, " Agnes ! 
Lucy ! Pilgrim I Where ia the pilgrim ! Did Stephauo 
dream that he saw him? No, no, Carlandrea saw him 
also. Hallo ! Pilgrim ! Agnes i Lucj ! No reply 1 They 
have killed them ! they have killed them !" There v>ai 
then a proposition to follow the murderers, which would 
bave been acceded to, had not a voice from the crowd 
cried out, that Agnea and Lucy were in safety in aorae 
honae. Satisfied with this, they soon dispersed to their 
homes, to relate to their wives that which had happened. 
The next day, however, the constable being in hi» field, 
ukd, with his foot resting on his spade, meiUuting on the 
mysteriea of the past night, was accosted by two men, 
much resembling, in their appearance, those whom Don 
Abbondio had encountered a few days before. They very 
unceremoniously forbade him to make a deposition of the 
events of the night before the magistrate, and, if q^uestioned 
by any of the gossips of the villagers, to maintaio a perfect 
aUeucc on pain of death. 

Our fugitives for a while continued their flight, rapidly 
and sUentiy, utterly overwhelmed by the fatigue of their 
flight, by tlieir late anxiety, by vexation and disappoint- 
ment at their failure, and a confused apprehension of some 
future danger. As the sound of the bell died away on the 
ear, they slackened their pace. Agnes, gathering breath 
and courage, first broke the silence, by asking Renzo what 
had been done at the curate's? He related briefiy his 
melancholy story, " And who," said she to Menico, 
" was the devil in the house ? What did you mean by 
that?" The boy narrated that of which he had been an 
eye-witness, and which imparted a mingled feeling of 
alarm an<l gratitude to the minds of his auditors, — alarm 
at the obstinacy of Don Roderick in pursuing bis purpose, 
and gratitude that they had thus escaped his snares. They 
caressed affectionately the boy who had be<:n ^Uced in «i 
great liaoger on tbeii account : Renzo gave \ù.ta a v^e.%, 



1 



98 TBE BETBOTHEDl 

money in addition to the new coin already promised, and 
desired him lo say nothing of the message given him by 
Father Christopher. " Now, return Lome," said Agnes, 
" because thy family will be anslous about thee ; you have 
been a good boy ; go home, and pray the Lord that we 
may soon meet again." The boy obeyed, and onr travellers 
advanced in silence. Lucy kept close to her mother, 
dexterously but gently declining the arm of her lover. 
She felt abashed, even in the midat of all this confusion, at 
having been so long and so familiarly alone with him, 
while expecting that a few moment» longer would have 
seen her his wife : but this dream hail vanished, and she 
felt most sensitively the apparent indelicacy of their Ntu- 
ation. They at length reached the open space before the 
church of the convent. Renzo advanced towards the door, 
and pushed it gently. It opened, and they beheld, by the 
Lght of the moon, which then fell upon his pallid face and 
silvery beard, the form of Father Christopher, who was 
there in anxious expectation of their arrival. '* God be 
thanked ! " said he, aa they entered. By his side stood a 
capuchin, whose office was tliat of sexton to the church, 
whom he had persuaded to leave the door half open, and 
to watch with him. He had been very unwilling to sub- 
mit to this inconvenient and dangerous condescension, 
which it required all the authority of the holy father (0 
overcome ; but, perceiving who the company were, he conU 
endure no longer. Taking the father aside, he whispered 
to him, "But Father — Father — at night — in thechurdi 

— Willi women — shut — the rules — but Father ! " 

" Omnia munda mundis," replied he, turning meekly to 
Friar Fazio, and forgetting that he did not understand 
Latin. But this forgetfulness was exactly the most for- 
tunate thing in the world. If the father had produced 
arguments, Friar Fazio would not have failed to oppose 
them; but these mysterious words, he concluded, must 
contain a solution of all his doubts. He acquiesced, saying, 
" Very well ; you know more than I do." j 

Father Christopher then turned to our little company, 
wbo were standing iu suspettae, by the light of b Uiu ■ 



(P*s 



"di&nk the Lord, who hsa preserved you frotn grest 

póil. Perhapi at this mament " and he eiitcreil into 

an expUmtion of the reasons which had induced liini to 
send for them to the convent, little suspecting that they 
knew more, than he did, and supposing that Menico had 
found them tranquil at their home, before the arrival ol' 
the robbers. No one undeceived him, not even Lucy, 
although Eufiéring the keenest anguish at practising dis- 
simulation with such a man ; but it was a night of eon- 
fusion and duplicity. 

" Now," continued he, " you perceive, my cliildren, that 
this country is no longer safe for you. It is your country, 
I know ; you were born here ; you have wronged no one : 
but such is the will of God I It is a trial, cliildren, sup- 
port it with patience, with faith, without murmuring ; and 
be assured, there will come a day, in which you nil] see 
the wisdom of all that now befalls you. I have procured 
you a refuge for a season, and I hope you will soon be able 
lo return safely to your home ; at all events, God will 
provide, and I hia minister will faithfully exert myself to 
serve you, my poor persecuted children. You," continued 
he, turning to the females, " can remain at ' There 

you wiil be beyond danger, and yet not far frora home ; go 
to our convent in that place, ask for the superior, give him 
Uiis letter, he will be to you another Friar Chrislopber. 
And thou, my Renzo, thou must place thyself in safety 
from the impetuosity of others, and your own. Carry (his 
letter to Father Bonaventura, of Lodi, in our convent at 
the eastern gate of Milan ; he will be to you a father, will 
advise you, and find you work, until you can return to live 
here tranquilly. Now, go to the border of the lake, near 
the mouth of the Dinne" (a stream a short distance from 
the convent) ; " you will see there a small boat fastened ; 
you must say, ' A boat;' you will be asked for whom, answer, 
'Saint Francis." The boatman will receive you, will take 
you to the other side, where you will find a carriage, which 

will conduct you lo . If any one should ask how 

gl^lh'"' Christopher came to have at his disposal such means 
^isport by lintl and by water, he would sl«i"fl liyl^_ 



^^^^Usp 



'too 1 

knowledge of the power poBsessed by a eapuchin who held 
the repulstion of a Eaiiit." 

The charge of the houses remained to be thought of; 
the father received the keys of ihem ; Agnes, on consigning 
hers, thought with a sigh, that there wag no need of Iceji, 
the house wiiB open, the devil had been there^ and it wu 
doubtful if there remained any thing to be cared for. 

" Before you go," said the father, " lei us pray together 
to the Lord, that he may be with you in this journey, and 
Rlwsys, and shove all, that he may give you atrength Ifl 
submit cheerfully to that which he has ordained." Bo 
saying, he knelt down ; all did the sarne. Having prayed 
a few moment» in silence, he pronounced with a low bnt 
distinct voice the following words : " We pray thee also for 
the wretched man who has brought u» to this state. Wt 
should be unworthy of thy mercy if we did rot earnestly 
solicit it for him ; he has most need of it. We, in our 
sorrow, hare the consolation of trustiiig in thee ; we CMI 
still olfer thee our supplications, with thankfulness. BM 
he — he is an enemy to thee ! Oh wretched man ! Heduei 
to strive against thee : have pity on him, O Lord ! touA 
his heart, soften his rebellious will, and bestow on him il 
the good we would desire for ourselves." 

Rising hastily, he then said, " Away, my children, there 
is no time to lose ; God will go with you, his angel proKCt 
you : away." They kept silence tiom emotion, and as they 
departed, the father added, " My heart tells me we shat 
soon meet again." Wit out waiting for a reply, he retired; 
the traTcUers piirsued their way to the appointed spot, 
found the boat, gave and received the watchword, and 
entered into it. The boatmen made silently for the oppoale 
shore : there was not a breath of wind ; the lake lay poÈshed 
and smootli in the moonlight, agitated only by the dipping 
of the oars, which quivered ia its gleam. The waves | 
breaking on the sands of the shore, were heard deadly and ) 
slowly at a distance, mingled with the rippling of the «iten . 
between the pillars of the bridge. | 

The silent passengers cast a melancholy look behind it | 

tìie mountains and the landscape, illuintned by the inBa%< \ 

^g" vatied by m-altUudea oE BVis.<ÌDna. T^ie^ ^^umMhi 



101 

villages, houses, cottages ; the palace of Don Itoderick, 
raised above the huts that crowded the base of the promon- 
tory, like a savage prowUng in the dark over his slumber- 
ing prey. Lucy beheld it, and shuddered ; then cast a 
glance beyond the declivity, towards her own little home, 
and beheld the top of the fig-tree which towered in the 
court-yard ; tnovinl at the sight, she buried her face in her 
buds, and wept in silence. 

Farewell, ye mounlaina, source of waters ! farewell to 
your varied summits, famihar as ihe faces of friends ! ye 
torrents, whoee voices have been heard Irom infancy ! 
Farewell ! how melancholy the destiny of one, who, bred 
up amid your scenes, bids you farewell ! If voluntarily 
departing witli the hope of future gain at this moment, Ihe 
dream of wealth loses its attracaon, his resolution falters, 
and he would fain remain with you, were it not for the 
hope of benefiting you by his prosperity. The more he 
advances into the level country, the more bis view becomes 
wearied with its uniform extent ; the air appears heavy 
and lifeless: he proceeds sorrowfully and thoughtfully into 
the tumultuous city ; houses crowded against houses, street 
uniting with street, appears to deprive him of the power to 
breathe ; and in front of edifices admired by strangers, he 
stops to recall, with restless desire, the image of the field 
and tile cottage which had long been the object of his 
wishes, and which, on his return to his mounlainE, be will 
make his own, should he acquire the wealth of which he is 
in pursuit. 

But how much more sorrowful the moment of separation 
to him, who, having never sent a transient wish beyond the 
mountains, feela that they comprise the limit of his earthly 
hopes, and yet is driven from them by an adverse fate ; 
who is compelled to quit them to go into a foreign land, 
with scarcely a hope of return ! Then he breaks forth into 
mournful exclamations. " Farewell native cottage ! where, 
many s time and oft, I have listened with eager ear, to 
distinguish] amidst the rumour of footsteps, (he well-known 
sound of those long expected and anxiously desired. Fare- 
well, ye scenes, where I had hoped to pass, ttani\u.vl and 
I, tbe remnant o£ my days ! FateweU, 'iiwi «K&a- 



tuttry of God, where my aoul has been filled with admiring 
thoughts of him, and my voice has united with others to 
Hing his praise ! Farewell ! He, whom I worshipped 
within jour walls, is not confined to temples made with 
hands ; heaven is bis dwelling place, and the earth his foot- 
stool ; he watches over his children, and, if he chastises 
Aem, it is in love, to prepare them for liìgher and holier 
enjoy men tB." 

Of such a naturi.', if not predaely the same, were the 
leflectionB of Lucy and her companions, as the bark carried 
&em to the right bank of the Adda. 



^'^«fB a 



CHAPTER IX. 



s shock which the boat received, as it struck agaiikal 
the shore, aroused Lucy from her reverie; they quitted the 
bark, and Reneo turned to thank and reward the boatintn. 
"I will take nothing — nothing," said he: "we are placed on | 
earth toaid one another." The carriage was ready, the (Irim I 
Mated ; its expected occupants took their places, and the | 
hortes moved briskly on. Our travellers arrived then ■( 
Monza, which we believe to have been the name of tht 
place to which Father Christopher had directed Renio, ) 
little after sunrise. The driver turned to an inn, where 
he appeared to be well acquainted, and demanded for them 
a separate room. He, aa well as the boatman, refused the 
ofitred recompence of Renzo ; tike the boatman, he had in 
Tiew a reward, more distant indeed, but more abundant ; be 
withdrew h!a hand, and hastene<l to look after his beast. 

After an evening such as we have described, and a night 

passed in painful thoughts both in regard to recent eventi 

and future anticipations — disturbed, indeed, by the frequent 

JoIlingB of their incommodtmiB ^«htcte, — our travellers f<dt-t 

^iMifivstiii their retired ft^utmenlA^ l\te\nn\À^iwHg^ 



TBB aETnontET). 103 

irj. They partook of a small meal tO|^ther, not more in 
proportion to the prevailing want, than to tfaeir ami slender 
appetites ; and recurred with a «igh to the delightful fea- 
livities, wliich, two dAya before^ were to have accompanied 
their happy union. Renzo would willingly have reinaineii 
with lit» campaiiiouR ali tlie day, to secure their lodging and 
perform other littie ofiiceR, But tliey strongly alleged tlie 
injunctions of Father Christopher, together with the gossip- 
ing to which their continuing together wonld give rise, so 
that he at length acquiesced. Lucy could not conceal her 
tears ; Renxo with difficulty restrained bis ; and, warmly 
pressing thi; hand of Agnes, he pronounced widi a voice 
almost choked, " Till we meet again." 

The mother and daughter would have been in great 
perplexity, had it not been for the kind driver, who had 
orders to conduct them to the convent, which was at a 
little distance from the village. Upon their arrival there, 
the guiilc requested the porter to call the superior : he ap. 
peare<l, and the letter of Father Christopher was deUvered 
to him. "Oh, from Father Christopher !" said he, re- 
cognising the handwriting. His voice and manner told 
evidently that he uttered the name of one whom he re- 
garded as a particular friend. During the perusal of the 
letter, he manifested much surprise and indignation, and, 
fusing his eyes, fixed them on Lucy and her mother with 
an expression of pity and interest. When he had finished 
reading, he remained for a moment thoughtful, and then 
eatdaimed, " There is no one but the signora ; if tlie signora 
would take upon herself this obligation " and then ad- 
dressing them, " My friends," said he, " I will make the 
eSbrt, and 1 hope to find you a shelter, more than secure, 
iDore than honourable ; so that God has provided for you 
in the best manner. Will you come with me.^" 

The females bowed reverently in assent ; the friar con- 
tìnuetl, " Come with me, then, to the monastery of the si- 
gnora. But keep youraelvca a few steps distant, because 
there are people who ilelight to speak evil of others, and 
God knows bow many fine stories might be told, if the 
•operior of the convent was seen walking with a. beautiful 
^^■tr woman — with women, I mean," 



\0i 1 

So saying, tic went on before : Lucy blnshed ; the guide 
looked at Agnes, who could not conceal a momentary smile ; 
and they all three obeyed the command of the friar, and 
followed him at a distance. ". 'Who is the àgnora?" aaid 
Agnes, addressing tiieir conductor. 

" The aignora," replied he, " is not a nun ; that is, not 
B nun tike the others. She is not the abbess, nor tlie pri- 
oress ; for they say that she is one of the youngest of them ; 
but she is from Adam's rib, and her ancestors were great 
people, who came from S[>ftin ; and they cali her the ri- 
gnara, to signify that she is a great lady, — every one calk 
ber BO, because they say that in this monastery they have 
never had so noble a person ; and her relations down at 
Milan are very powerful, and in Monza still more so ; 
because her father is the first lord in the country; for which 
reason she can do as she pleases in the convent, — and 
moreover people abroad bear her a great respect, and if she 
undertakes a thing, she makes it succeed ; and if this good 
father induces her to take you under her protection, yon 
will be as safe as at the foot of the altar." 

When the superior arrived at the gate of the town, which 
was defended at that time by an old tower, and part of a 
dismantled castle, he stopped and looked back to see if they 
followed him — then advanced towards the monastery, and, 
remaininp; on the threshold, awaited their approach. The 
guide then took his leave, not without many thanks from 
Agnes and her daughter for biB kindness and faithfulness. 
The superior led them to the portress's chamber^ and went 
alone tii make the request of the signora. After a few 
moments he re-appeared, and with a joyful countenance 
told them that she would grant them an interview : on thdr 
way, he gave them much advice concerning their deporU 
ment in her presence. " She is well disposed towards you," 
said he, " and has the power to protect you. Be humble, 
and respectful ; reply with frankness to the questions she 
will ask you, and when not questioned, be silent." 

They passed through a lower chamber, and advanced 
towards the parlour. Lucy, who had never been in a mo- 
aastery before, looked around as she entered it for the aU 
^Mpij- but there was no one ibeie -, \a & t^'s xntnaMi^ 



105 

however, she observed the friar approach a Hin«U window 
or grating, behind which she beheld a nun stsndinf;. She 
appeared about twenty-five yearn of age ; her counrenance 
at first sight produced an impression of beauty, but of beauty 
prematurely faded. A black veil hung in folds on either 
aide of her face ; below the veil a band of while linen en- 
circled a forehead of different, but not inferior whiteness ; 
another plaited band encompassed the face, and terminated 
ander the chin in a neck handkerchief, or cape, which, ex- 
tending over the shoulders, covered to the wust the folds 
of her black robe. But her forehead was contracted front 
time to time, aa if by some painful emotion ; now, her large 
black eye was fixed steadfastly on your face with an ex- 
pression of haughty cariosity, then hastily bent down as if 
to discover some bidden thought ; in certain motnents an 
attentive observer would have deemed that they solicited 
■ffeetioD, sytnpatby, and pity ; at others, he would have 
received a transient revelation of hatred, matured by a cruel 
disposition ; when motionless and inattentive, some would 
have imagined them to express haughty aversion, others 
would have suspected the labouring of concealed thought, 
the efibrt to overcome some secret feding of her aonl, which 
had more power over it than all surrounding objects. Her 
cheeks were dehcately formed, but extremely pale and thin ; 
her lips, hardly Euffuscd with a feeble tinge of the rose, 
seemed to soften into the pallid hue of the cheeks ; ilieir 
movements, like those of her eyes, were sudden, animated, 
and full of expression and mystery. Her loftiness of stature 
was not apparent, owing to an habitual sloop ; as well as to 
her rapid and irregular movements, little becoming a nun, 
or even a lady. In her dresa itself there was an appearance 
of studied neglect, which announced a singular character ; 
and from the hand around her temples was suffered to 
escape, through forgetfulnees or contempt of the rules which 
prohibited it, a curl of glossy black hair. 

These things made no impression on tlie minds of 
Agnes and Lucy, unaccustomed as they were to the sight of 
a nun ; and to the superior it waa no novelty — he, as well 
as many others, had become familiarised to her liahit 8 



10€ t 

She w», ai we have said, standing near the grate, againgt 
whicli she leaned languidly, to observe tUoae who were ap- 
proacbing. " Reverend mother, and most illuBtrious lady," 
BÙd the superior, bending lovr, " this is the poor young 
woman for whom I have solicited your protection, and this 
is her mother." 

Both mother and daughter bowed reverently. " It is 
fortunale that I have it in niy power," said she, turning In the 
father, to <lo some Uttle service to our good friends the 
capuchin fathers. But tell me a little more particularly, 
the situation of this young woman, that I may be better 
prepared to act for her advantage." 

Lucy blushed, and held down her head. " You must 
know, reverend mother," said Agnes — but the father io- 
lerrupted her ; — " This young person, most illustrioue 
lady," continued he, " has been recommended to me, aa I 
have told you, by one of my brethren. She has been 
obliged to depart secretly from her native place, in order to 
escape heavy perils ; and she haa need for some time of an 
aaylum, where she can remain unknown, and where no one 
will dare to molest her." 

" What perils?" demanded the lady. " Pray, father, 
do not laik so enigmatically : you know, we nuns like to 
hear stories minutely." 

" 1'hey are perils," replied the father, " that should not 
be told to the pure ears of the reverend mother." — " Oh, 
certainly," said the lady, hastily, and slighlly bluehing. 
Was this the blush of modesty? He would have doubted 
it, who should have observed the rapid expression of dis. 
dain which accompanied it, or have compared it with that 
which from time to time diffused itself over the cheek of 

" It is sufficient to say," resumed the friar, " ihat a 
powerful lord — it is not all the rich and noble who make 
use of the gifts of God for the promotion of his glory, as 
you do, most illuElriouE lady — a powerful lord, after having 
pei^cuted for a long time this innocent creature with 
wicked allurements, linding them unavailing, has had re- 
e to open force, so thai «he has been obliged il»^ 



107 

^"Approacb.youngwoman/'BaidtheBignora, "Iknotrihit 
the father is truth itself ; but no one can be better informed 
ihftn you with regard to this affair. To you it belungs to 
tell us if tills lord was an odious persecutor." Luey 
obeyed the Srat command, and approached the foaling ; 
but the second, accompanied aa it was with a certain uia- 
licioiis air of doubt, brought a blush over her countenance, 
and a sense of painful embarrassment, which she found it 
impossible to overcome. " Lady. mother reve- 
rend " afamraered she. Agnes now felt herself au- 
thorised to come to her assistance. " Most illustrious 
laily," said she, " I can bear testimony that my daughter 
hates this lord as the devil hates holy water. I would 
call him the devil, were it not for your reverend presence. 
The case is this: this poor maiden was promised to a good 
and industrious youth ; and if the curate had done his 

" Vou are very ready to apeak without being interro- 
gated," interrupted the lady, with an expression of anger on 
her countenance, which changed it almost to deformity. 
" Silence; I have not to he informed that parents have 
always an answer prepared in the name of their children," 
Agnes drew back mortified, and the father guardian sig- 
nified to Lucy by a took, as well as by a movement of the 
head, that now was the time to rouse her courage, and not 
leave her poor mother in the dilemma. " Reverend lady," 
said she, " what my mother has told you is the truth. I 
willingly engaged myself to the poor youth (and here she 

became covered with blushes) Pardon me this hold- 

ness ; but I woul<i not have you think ill of my mother. 
And as to this lord (God forgive him !) I would rather 
die than fall into his hands. And if you do this deed of 
charity, be certain, signora, none will pray for you more 
heartily than those whom you have thus sheltered." 

" I beUeve you," taid the lady, with a softened voice ; 
" but we will see you alone. Not that I need farther ex- 
planation, Dor other motives to accede to the wishes of the 
litlher superior," added she, turning to him with studied 
^ijitenena. " Nay," continued she, " I have been thinking, 
^^■■bfs is what has occurred to me. TYve 'potWesa ol ■*«: 



lOS 1 

TDOnastery baa bestowed in mniriage, a few days since, her 
last daugbler ; these females can occup;^ her room, and 
supply her place in the little Bervices which it was her 
office to perform." 

The father would have expressed his chanks, but the lady 
interrupted him. " There is no need of ceremony ; in 
case of need, I would not hesitate to ask assistauce of the 
capuchin fathers. " In short/' continued she, with a smile, 
in which appeared a degree of bitter irony, " are we not 
brothers and sisters^" 

So saying, she called a nun, her attendant (by a singular 
distinction she had two assigned for her private service), 
and sent her to inform the abbess ; she then called the 
por tress, and made with her and Agnes the qecessaiy 
arrangements. Then tubing leave of the superior, she dig- 
missed Agnes to her room, but retained Lucy. The signwa, 
who, ill prL'sence of a capuchin, had studied her actions and 
her words, thought no longer of putting a restraint on them 
before an inexpetienced country girl. Her discourse be- 
came by degrees so strange, that, in order to account for it, 
we will relate the previous history of this unhappy and 
misguided person. 

She was the youngest daughter of the Prince ■ • •, » 
great Mdanese nobleman, who was among the wealthiest 
of the city. The magnificent ideas he entertained of hii 
rank, made him suppose his wealth hardly sufficient to 
support it properly ; he therefore determined to preserve 
his riches with the greatest care. How many children he 
had does not clearly appear ; it is only known that he had 
destined to the cloister all the youngest of both sexes, in 
order to preierve his fortune for the eldest son. The con- 
dition of the unhappy signora bad been setded even before 
her birth ; it remained only to he decided whether she were 
to be a monk or a nun. At lier birth, the prince her father, 
wishing to give her a name which could recall at every 
moment the idea of a cloister, and which had been borne 
by a saint of a noble family, called her Gertrude. Dolltt 
clothed like nuns, were the first toys that were put into 
berhaads; then pictures of nuns ; and these gif is were kj^_ 
mied with many injucclio'aa to '^ cwdvi. «1 ^i^S 



TS^neym 



109 

ÌEèy were precìous things. When the prince or princess, 
or the young prince, who n»a the only one of (be children 
brought up at home, wished to praise tlie beauty of the 
infant, they found no nty of expressing their ideas, except 
in exclamiitiona of this sorl, " What a mother abbess!" 
But no one ever said directly Io her, " Thou muet be a 
nun;" Buch an intention, however, was understood, and 
included in every conversation regarding her future destiny. 
If, sometinies, the little Gertrude betrayed perversity and 
impetuosity of temper, they would say to her, " Thou art 
but B child, and these manners arc not becoming : wait till 
diou art the mother abbess, and then thou shalt command 
wTEb a rod ; tliou shalt do whatever pleases thee." At 
other times, reprehending her for the freedom and fami- 
liarity of her manners, the prince would say, " Such should 
not he the deportment of one hke you ; if you wish at some 
future day to have the respect of all around you, learn now 
to have more gravity ; remember that you will be the first 
in the monastery, because noble blood bears sway every 

By such conversations as tlicse the implicit idea was 
produced in the mind of the cliild, that she was to he 
a nun. The manners of the prince were habitually austere 
and repulsive; and, with respect to the destination of the 
child, his resolution appeared fixed as fate. At six years 
of age she was placed for her education in the monastery 
where we find her : her father, being the most powerful 
noble in Monza, enjoyed there great authority ; and Ms 
daughter, consequently, would receive those distinctions, 
with those allurements, which might lead her to select it 
for her perpetual abode. The abbess and nuns, rejoicing 
at the acquisition of euch powerful friendship, received 
with great gratitude the honour conferred in preference on 
them, and entered with avidity into the views of the prince ; 
Gertrude experienced all sorts of favours and indulgences, 
and, child as she was, the respectful attention of the nuns 
towards her was exercised with the same deference as if she 
had been the abbeas bersdf ! Not that they were all pledged 
to draw the poor child into the anate ; iiiMi'j sjAai ■«Wa. 
tinplicjty, and through tenderness, merò'j ioìio-wnit ■&« 



110 1 

example of those around them ; if the suspicious of othen 
were Exoiteil, they kept silence, so ob not Io cause usdcGS 
disturbance ; Eome, indeed, more dìaciiminating and com- 
passionate, pitied the poor chiid as being the object of arti- 
fices, to the like of which they themselves bed been the 
victims. 

Things would hate proceeded agreeably to the wishes 
of all concerned, had Gertrude been the only child in 
the monastery ; but this was not the case ; and there were 
some among her school companions who were destinHl 
for the matrimonial state. The little Gertrude, filled vrith 
the idea of her superiority, spoke proudly of her future 
destiny, expecting thereby to excite their envy at her pe< 
culiar honours: with scorn and wonder she perceived that 
their estimation of them was very dìflerent. To the ma- 
jestic but circumscribed and cold images of the power of 
an abbess, they opposed the varied and bright pictures of 
husband, guests, cities, tournaments, courts, dress, and 
equipage. New and strange emotions arose in the mind of 
Gertrude : her vanity bad been cultivated in order to RialiE 
the cloister desirable to her; and now, easily assimilatine 
itself with the ideas thus presented, she entered into them 
with all the ardour of her soul. She replied, that no one 
could oblige her to take (he veil, vrithout her own consent! 
that she could also marry, inhabit a palace, and enjoy the 
world; that she could if she wished it; that site muU 
wish it, and did wish it. The necessity of her own con- 
sent, hitherto little considered, became henceforth the 
nding thought of her mind ; «he called it to her aid, at ^ 
times, when she desired tu luxuriate in the pleasing im^a 
of future felicity. 

But her fancied enjoyment was impaired by the re- 
flection, which at such moments intruded itself, that her 
father had irrevocably decided her destiny ; and she shud- 
dered at the recollection of bis austere manners, which 
impressed upon all around him tlic sentiments of a fatal 
necessity as being necessarily conjoined with whatever 
he aboulil command. Then would ahe compare ber c 
dition to thit of her more fortunate companions ; and ens 
sooa grew into Jiatred, T\i\a wooXi To»viiav\. V 
display o£ piesent superiorit>(, anA s 



: and ens i 






TUB BeTBOTIlED. 



, and Epite; al oUier times her mom amiable aa^^ 
gentle qualities would obtain a transitory ascendency. Thiu 
Bhe passed the period allotled for her education, in ilreaina 
of future bliss, mingled with the dread of future misery. 
That which she anticipated moet distinctly, was exlemal 
pomp and splendour ; and her fancy would often luxurialc 
in ima^nary scenes of grandeur, constructed out of such 
materials as ber memory could faintly and confusedly 
fumisb forth, and the descriptions of ber companiona 
supply. There were moments when these brilliant ima- 
ginings were disturbed by the idea of religion ; but the 
religion which had been inculcated to the poor girl did not 
proscribe pride, but, on die contrary, sHDCtified it, and pro- 
posed it as a means of obtaining terrestrial felicity. Tbui 
deEpoiled of its essence, it was no longer religion, but a 
phantom, which, aEsuming at times a power over her mind, 
the unhappy girl was tormented with suj>erstitiou» dreadj 
and, filled with a confused idea of duties, itnagined her re- 
pugnance to the cloister to be a crime, which could only be 
expiated by her voluntary dedication. 

There was a kw, that no young person could be accepted 
for the monastic hfe, without being examined by an ecclesi- 
astic, called the vicar of the nuns, so that it should be made 
manifest that^iC was the result of her free election ; and this 
examination could not take place until a year after she had 
presented her petition for admission, in writing, to the vicar. 
Tbe nuns, therefore, who were aware of the projects of her 
father, undertootc to draw from her such a petition ; en- 
countering her in one of those moments, when she was 
asswled by her superstitious fears, they suggested to her the 
propriety of such a course, and assured her, nevertheless, 
that it was a mere formality (which was true), and would 
be without efficacy, unless sanctioned by some after-act of 
her own. The petition, however, had scarcely been sent 
to its destinadon, when Gertrude repente<l of having written 
it ; she then repented of this repentance, passing mondis in 
incessant vicissitude of feeling. There was another law, 
that, at this examination, a young person should not be 
received, without having remained at least a mouth at her 
paternal home. A year had nearly passeA 6mce'ftie'?«ò!àB& 
AW been sent, and Gertrude had been 'Nirtiei *»-^ 'ba 



113 TRE BBTBOTHED. 

would Boon be removed from the ttionftBtery, and conducted 
to her father's house, to Inlce the tinal steps towards the 
consummation of tLat which they held certain. Not ho the 
poor girl ; her mind was busied with plans of escape ; in 
her perplexity, she unbosomed herself to one of her com. 
panions, who counselled her to inform her father by letter 
of the change in her views. The letter was written and 
sent; Gertrude remained in great ansiety, expecting a 
reply, which never came. A few days afterj tlie ahbesB 
took her aside, and, with a mixed expression of contempt and 
compassion, hinted to her the anger of the prince, and the 
error she had committed ; but that, if she conducted herself 
well for the future, all would be forgotten. The poor girl 
heard, and dared not ask farther explanation. 

The day, bo ardently desired and so greatly feared, came 
at last. The anticipation of the trials that awaited her wu 
forgotten in her tumultuous joy at the sight of tile open , 
country, the city, and the houses. She might well feel 
thus, afier having been for eight years enclosed wilhia Ibe I 
walls of the monastery ! She had previously arranged with i 
her new confidant the part she was to act. Oh ! they will 
try to force me, thought she: but I will persist, humbly 
and respectfully ; the point is, not to say Yef ; and 1 wÉ 
Ttot say it. Or, perhaps they will endeavour to shake my 
purpose by kindness : but I will weep, I will implore, I 
will excite their compassion, I will beseech them not to 
sacrifice me. But none of her anticipations were verified: 
her parents and family, with the usual artful policy in such 
cases, maintained a perfect silence with regard to (he sub- 
ject of her meditations ; they regarded her with looks of 
contemptuous pity, and appeared to avoid all conversation 
with her, as if she had renderedheraelf unworthy of it. A 
mysterious anatliema appeared to hang over her, and to 
keep at a distance every member of the household. If, 
wearied with this proscription, she endeavoured to enter 
into conversation, they made her understand indirectly, 
that by obedience alone could she regain the afiecdon* 
of the family. But this was precisely the condition to wbicA 
abe could not assent : she therefore continued i) 

of exconi in uni cation, whicli uvAia.p^i\i if^iaTei to ^ 

JfiMt partiaUy, the conaeqiJCTiee oi W 0' 



mily. But this was precisely the condition to wbicii 
d not assent : she therefore continued in her «late 
oniunication, whicli uvAiip^iVi if^TOxeA. to b^j^^ 
ially, the conaeqiiCTiee oi W ova «satonA. .^^H 



w 



TBB betsotheh. 



Qcli B state of things (bnnecl a pad contrast to the n- 
diant Tisiona nhich had occupied lier imagination. Hci 
confinement was as strict at home as it had been in the mo- 
nastery ; and she, who had fancied she should enjoy, at 
least for (his brief period, the pleasures of the world, fouud 
benelf an exile from all society. At every announcement 
of a visiter, she was compelleJ to retire with the elderly 
persons of the family j and always dined apart whenever 
a gnest was present. Even the servants of the family 
appesred to concur with the designs of thdr master, 
and to treat her wiih carelessness, iU concealed by an awk- 
ward attempt at formahty. There was one among them, 
however, who seemed to feel towards her respect and com- 
passion. This was a handsome page, who equalled, in her 
imagination, the ideal images of lovehness slie had so often 
fondly cherished. There was soon apparent a change in 
her manner, a love of reverie and -abstraction, and she no 
longer appeared to covet the favour of her family ; some 
engrossing thought had talcen possession of her mind. To 
be brief, she was detected one day in folding a letCer^ which 
it had been better she had not written, and which she was 
obliged to rehnquish to her female attendant, who carried 
it to the prince, her father. He came immediately to her 
apartment with the letter in his hand, and in few but ter- 
rible words told her, that for the present she should be con- 
fined to her chamber, with the society only of the woman 
who had niiide the discovery; and intimated for the future 
still darker punlshmenls. The page was dismissed, with 
an imperative command of silence, and solemn threateninga 
of punishment should he presume to violate it. Gertrude 
was then left alone, with her shame, her remorse, and her 
terror; and the sole company of tliis woman, whom she 
liated, as the witness of her fault, and the cause of her dis- 
grace. The hatred was cordially returned, inasmuch as 
the attendant found herself reduced to the annoying duty 
of a jailer, and was made the guardian of a perilous secret 
for life. The first confused tumult of her feelings having 
in some measure subsided, she recalled to mind the dark 
intimations of hec father with regard to BometaWic\ivnftfti" 
meni: what could this he? It most probatt'j T(a»».ie. 



1 



114 T&B BBTBOTHED. 

turn to the monastery at Monza, not as the elgnorina, bnt 
as a guilty wretch, who, loaded with shame, was to be 
inclosed within its walls for ever ! Now, indeed, hei fancy 
no longer dwelt on the bright visions with which it had 
been so often busied ; they were too much opposed to ihe 
sad reality of her present condition. Such an act would 
repair all her errors, and change (could she doubt it) in bu 
instant lier condition. The only castle in which Gertrude 
could imagine a tranquil and honourable asylum, and which 
was not in the air, was the monastery, in which she now 
resolved to place herself for ever ! Opposed to this reso- 
lution rose up the contemplations of many years past: but 
times were changed, and to the depth in wliich Gertrude 
had fallen, the condition of a nun, revered, obeyed, and 
feared, formed a bright contrast. She was perpetually tor- 
mented also by her jailer, who, to revenge herself for ihe 
confinement imposed on her, failed not to taunt her for her 
misdemeanor, and to repeat the menaces of her father ; or 
whenever she seemed disposed to relent, and to show soni!- 
thing like pity, her tone of protection was still more inlolcr. 
able. The predominant desire of Gertrude was to esc^ i 
from her clutches, and to raise herself to a condition «bove 
her anger or her pity. At the end of four or five long j 
days, with her patience exhausted by the bitter rulings of 1 
her keeper, she sat herself down in a comer of the chamber, I 
and covering her face with her hands, wept in bitterness of I 
soul. She experienced an absolute craving for other tux» 
and other sounds than those of her tormentor ; and a sud- 
den joy imparled itself to her mind, from the reflection, I 
that it depended only on herself to be restored to Ate good- ' 
will and attentions of the family. Mingled with this joy, 
came repentance for her fault, and a desire to expiateit. 1 
She arose, went to a small table, and taking a pen. wrote to 
her fatlier, expressing her penitence and her hope, im^or- . 
inghis pardon, and promising to do all that might boiib 
■ d of her. 




CHAPTER X. 

! moments in which the mind, particuUtI]' of 
BO dispoaei], that a Uttle importunity suffice* 
& mim it any thing that has the appearance of vir- 
acrifice'; as a flower Bcarcety budiled abandons it- 
its fragile stem, leady to yield its sweet» to the Srst 
which plays arounil it. These moments, which 
D be regarded by others with timid respect, arc ex- 
lose of which interested cunning makes use, to Ìa~ 
le unguarded will. 

he perusal of this letter, the prince saw the way 
to the furtherance of his views. He sent for Ger- 
abe obeyed the command, and, inhis presence, threw 
at his feet, and had scarcely power to exclaim, 
m !" He made a sign to her to rise, and in a grave 
iswered, tliat it was not enough merely to confess 
ll^ and ask forgiveness, but that it was necessary to 
;. Gertrude asked submissivelj, " what he would 
r do ? " To this the prince did not reply directly. 
Ice at length of the fault of Gertrude; the poor girl 
ed as at the touch of a hand on a severe wound, 
tinued, that even if he had entertained the project 
ng her in the world, she had herself placed an in- 
le obstacle to it ; since he could never, as a gentle- 
honour, permit her to marry, after having given 
specimen of herself. The miserable listener was 
ely bumbled ! 

prince, then, by degrees softened his voice and man- 
ay, that for all faults there was a remedy, anil that 
edy for hers was dearly indicated ; that she might 
I, in this fatal accident, a. warning that tlie world 

filli of dangers for her 

^yes!" exclaimed Gertrude, overwhelmed with 

ttd. remorse, 

■ppu perceive it yourself 1" lesumeà. fcft \iTWiW. 



Il6 THE BETnOTBE». 

" Well, we win speak no more of the past ; all is forgotten. 
You liBTe taken the only honourable way that remains for 
you ; and because you have taken it voluntarily, it reata 
with me to make it turn to your advantage, and to make 
the merit of the sacrifice all your own." So saying, he 
rang the bell, and said to the servant who appeared, " The 
princess and the prince immediately." He continued to 
Gertrude, " I wish to make them the sharers of my joy ; I 
wish that they should begin at once to treat you as you de- 
serve. You have hitherto found me a severe judge ; you 
shall now prove that I am a loving father." 

At these words Gertrude remained atupifieU ; she thought 
of the "yes" she had so precipitately sufiered to esc^e 
from her lips, and would have recalled it ; hut she did not | 
dare ; the satisfaction of the prince appeared so entire, hii i 
condescension so conditional, that she could not presume to I 
Utter a word to disturb it. | 

The princess and prince came into the room. On sedng 
Gertrude there, they appeared full of doubt and surprise; 
but the prince, nith a joyful countenance, said to them, | 
" Behold here the lost sheep .' and let these be the laM i 
words that shall recall painful recolleetionB. Behold the 
consolation of the family ! Gertrude has no longer need 
of advice; she has voluntarily chosen her own good. 
She has resolved, she has signified to me that she has 

resolved " She raised to him a look of supplicatimi 

but he continued more plainly, " that she has resolved to 
take the vol." 

" Well done, well done," exclaimed they both, over- 
whelming her with embraces, which Gertrude received with 
tears, which they chose to interpret as tears of jay. Then 
the prince enlarged on the splendid destiny of his daughter, 
on the distinction she would enjoy in the monastery and in 
the country, as the representative of the family. Mer mo- 
ther and her brother renewed their congratulations and , 
praises. Gertrude stood as if possessed by a dream. 

It was then necessary to fix the day for the journey to i 

Monza, for the purpose of making the request of the ah- j 

baa. " How rejoiced s\\e wiftire'." said the prince; '"' 

^^Bnie all the nuns will ap^ieci&te àie Suaui-oi Q 



THE BBTROTHED. 117 

does them. But wby not go there ta-d»y ? Gertrude will 
willingly take the air." jH 

" Let us go, then," eaid the princess. J^È 

" I will order the i:arriage," said ihe young prince. ■'B 

" Bat " ssid Gertrude Bubmissively. ^ 

" Softly, softly," «aid the prince, " let her decide ; per 
baps she does not feel disposed to go Eo-day, and would 
rather wait until to-morrow. Say, do you wish to go lo- 

" To-morrow," said Gertrude, in a feeble voice, glad of 
a short reprieve. 

" To-morrow," eaid the prince, solemnly ; " she has de- 
cided to go to-morrow. Meanwhile 1 will see the vicar of 
iLe nuns, to have him to appoint a day for the examin- 
ation." He did BO, and the vicar named the day after the 
next. In the interval Gertrude was not left a moment to 
bereelf. She would have desired some repose for her mind 
after so many contending emotions j to have reflected on 
the step she had already taken, and what remained to be 
done — but the machine once in motion at her direction, it 
was no longer in her power to arrest its prc^ess ; occupa- 
tioliB succeeded each other without interruption. The prin- 
cess herself assisted at her toilette, wliich was completed hy 
her own maid. This effected, dinner was announced, and - 
poor Gertrude was made to pass through the crowd of ser- 
vants, who nodded their congratulations to each other. She 
foand at the table a few relations of the family, who had 
lieen invited in baste to participate in the general joy. The 
young bride — thus they called young persons about to 
enter the monastic life — the young bride had enough to do 
to reply to the compliments which were paid to her; she 
felt that each reply was a confirmation of her destiny ; but 
how act differently ? After dinner came the hour of riding, 
and Gertrude was placed in a carriage with her mother and 
two uncles, who had been among the gueets. They entered 
the street Marina, which then crossed the «pace now occu- 
pied by the public gardens, and was the pubhc promenade, 
where the nobility refreshed themselves after Ihe fatigues of 
tbe day. The uncles conversed much with Gertrude, and 
one of them in pardctiiar, who appeared lo tavo'w e^erj 



XI 8 jAb BemoTBED. 

body, every carriage, and eTery livery, had something to 
tell of lignor Euch an one, and signora sudi an one ; but 
checking himself, he said to his niece, "Ah! you little 
rogue ! you turn your hack upon all theee follies ; you are 
the righteous person ; you leave U8 worldlings far behind ; 
you are going to lead a happy life, and take yourself to pa- 
radise in a coaeh." 

They returned home in the dusk of the evening, and the 
servants, appearing with torches, announced to them that 
nnraerous visiters had arrived. The rejiort had spreail, 
and a multitucle of relations and iriends had come to offer 
their congratulations. The young hride was the idol, die 
amueement, the victim of the erening. Finally, Gertrude 
was left alone with the family. " AtJafit," said the prince, 
" J have had the consolation of seeing my daughter in so- 
ciety becoming her rank and station. She has conducted 
herself admirably, and has evinced that there will be no 
preventive to her obtaining the highest honours, and sup- 
porting the dignity of the family." They supped hastily, 
80 as to be ready early in the moming. 

At the request of Gertrude, her attendant, of whose in- 
solence she bitterly complained to her father, was removed, 
and another placed in her stead. This waa an old woman, 
who had been nurse to the young prince, in whom was 
centred all her hopes and her pri<le. She was overjoyed 
at the decision of Gertrude, who, as a climax to her trial», 
was obliged to listen to her congratulations and praises. 
She talked of her numerous aunts and relatives, who were 
so happy as nuns ; of the many visits she would doubtless 
receive. She further spoke of the young prince, and the 
lady who was to be his wife, and the viwt which they would 
doubtless pay to Gertrude at the monastery, until, wearied 
out with the confiicts of the day, the poor girl feU asleep. 
She was aroused in the morning by the harsh voice of the 
old woman, " Up, up, signora, young bride! it is day; 
the princess is up, and waiting for you. The young prince 
is impatient. He is as brisk as a hare, the young devil ; 
Jie was so from an infant. Bui when he is ready, yon must 
not make him wait ; he is the best temper in the worUf, 
list always makes him un^a^eu^ ui^ ttcns^. Bmi^ 



119 

fellow, we must pitjr him, it is the effect of temperament ; 
in euch matnents be has respect to no one but the head of 
ihe household ; however, one ilajr he will be the head ; 
may titat day be far off! Quieic, quick, signorina! Vou 
should h^ve been out of your nest before this." 

The idea of the young prince, risen and impatient, re- 
called the scattered thoughts of Gertrude, and hastily she 
suffered herself to he dressed, aud descended to the saloon, 
where her parents and brother were asaerabled. A cup of 
chocolate was brought her, and the carriage was announced. 
Before their departure, tlie prince took his daughter aside. 
and said to her, " Courage, Gertrude ; ye«lerday you din 
well, to-day you must excel yourself; the point ia now to 
mtke a suitable appearance in the country and in the mo- 
nastery, where you are destined to bold the first station. 
They expect you, and all eyes will be on you. Dignity 
and ease. The abbess will ask you what is your request ; 
it is a mere form, but you must reply that you wish to be 
admitted to take the veil in this monaslery, where you have 
been educated, and treated so kindly ; which is the trutli. 
Speak these words with a free unembarrassed air, so as 
not to give occasion for scandal. These good mothers 
know nothing of the unhappy occurrence ; that must re- 
main buried with the family. However, an anxious couu- 
tenance might esdte euspicion ; show whose is the blood 
in your veins ; be pohte and modest ; but remember also, 
that in this country, out of the family, there ia none your 
superior," 

During their ride, the troubles and the trials of the world, 
and the blessed life of the cloister, were the principal sub. 
jecta of conversation. As they approached the monastery, 
the crowd collected from all parts ; as the carriage stopped 
before the walls, the heart of Gertrude beat more rapidly : 
they alighted amidst the concourse ; sU eyes were fastened 
on her, and compelled her to study the movements of her 
countenance ; and, above all, tho^e of her father, upon 
whom she could not help fixing her regards, notwithstand- 
ing the fear he inspired. They crossed the first court, 
d the secondj and here appeared the interior cloial^^ 



VtO THE BETROTHED* 

wide open, and occBpied by nuns. In front wu the abbea» 
ButTounded by the most aged of the sisterhood ; behind 
these the others, raised promiEcuouHly on tiptoe, and farther 
bacie the lay sisters, standing od b^chea and overlooldDg 
die Bcene ; whilst here and there nere seen, peeping be- 
tween the cowls, some joutliful faces, which Gertrude re- 
cognised as those of her school companions. As she stood 
fronting the abbess, the latter demanded, with grave so- 
lemnity, " What she desired to have in this piace, where 
nothing could be denied her ?" 

" I am here," began Gertrude ; but, about to utter the 
words which were to decide her destiny irrevocably, she 
felt her heart fail, and hesitating, she fixed her eyes on die 
crowd before her. She beheld there the well-known face 
of one of her companions, who regarded her with looks of 
compassion and malice, as if to say, " They have caught 
tile brave one." This sight required all her courage, and 
she Wits about to give a reply very different from that which 
was expected from her, when, glancing at her father, she 
caught from his eye such an anxious and threatening ex- 
pression, that, overcome by terror, she proceeded, " I am 
here to ask admittance into this monastery, where i have 
been instructed so kindly." The abbess immediately oc- 
preased her regret, that the regulations were such as to 
prohibit an immediate answer, which must be given by the 
common suffrage of the sisterhood ; but that Gertrude knew 
well the sentiments they entertained towards her; and 
might judge what that answer would be. In the mean 
time nothing prevented them from maiufesting their joy at 
her request. There was then heard a confused murmur of 
congratulations and rejoicjng- 

Whilst die nuns were surrounding their new companion, 
and offering their congratulations to sU the party, the ab- 
bess expressed her wish to address a few words to the prince 
at the parlour grating. 

" Signor," said she, " in obedience to oiu- rules — to 
fulfil a necessary form — J must inform you — that when- 
ever a young person desires to assume — the superior, whidl 
I am, though unworthily, ia obliged to make known to tlu 
^^mata liiat if — they have force! xV Viil q1 t^^li daug^^^ 



I tìxj will incur the pains of excommunication. You will 

I exease " 

" Oh ! yes, yes, reverend mother. Your exactitude i* 

very praiseworthy, very just. But you cannot doubt " 

" Ob J imagine, prince, if — but I merely speak by 

order ; beside» " 

" True — true, reverend mother," 

After these few words, and a renewal of compliments 
and thanlLS, they departed. 

Gertrude was silent during their ride ; overcome and 
occupied by conflicting thoughts, ashamed of her own want 
of resolution, vexed with others as well as herself, she was 
Btill meditating tome way of escape, but every time she 
looked at her father, she felt her destiny to be irrevocable. 
Afta- the various engagements of the day were over, — the 
dinner, the visits, the drive, the canvergasione, the supper, — 
die prince brought another subject under discussion, whidi 
was the choice of a godmother (so they called the lady who 
is 'selected as chaperone to the young candidate in the in. 
terrai between the reijuesl for admission, and the putting 
on of the habit) ; the duty of this person was to visit, with 
her charge, the churches, public palaces, the conversaximii, 
in short, every thing of note in the city and ila environs ; 
M as to afford a peep at that world they were about to quit 
for ever. " We must think of a godmother," said the 
prince, " because to-morcow the vicar of the nuns will be 
here for the examination, and soon after that, Gertrude 

' will be finally accepted. Now the choice shal! come from 
Gertrude herself, ^though contrary to usage; but she de- 
serves to be made an exception, and we may confidently 
trust to her judgment in the selection." And then, turning 
to her, as if bestowing a singular favour, he continued, 
" Any one of the ladles who were at the convenanione 
this evening, possesses the necessary qualifications for a 
godmother ; any one of them will consider it an honour ; 
make your selection." Gertrude instantly felt that the 
choice would be a renewal of consent ; but the proposal was 
made with such an air of condescension, that a refusal 

^^wmid have appeared to spring from contempt or ingrati- 

^^^Bfe, Thus she look another step, and n&mei ^^u^'j ^'^^ 



1S3 THE BETROTBED. 

had been forward in uttentiona hi her duriog the whole 
evening. " A perfMtly wise choice," said the prince, who 
had expected no leet. The affair had all been previougly 
arranged; this lady bad been bo much with Gertrude at 
the eanversajsionii, and had displayed such kindness of 
manner, that it would have beea an effort for her to think 
of another. The attentions, however, of this lady were 
Dot without their object; she had ako for a long time con- 
templated making the young prince her gon ; she, therefore, 
naturally interested herself in all that coneemed the family, 
and felt the deepest interest in her dear Orertrude. 

On the morrow, the imagination of Gertrude was oc- 
cupied with the expected examinatiou, and with a vague 
hope of some opportunity to retract. At an early hour she 
was seat for by the prince, who addressed her in these 
words : — " Courage, my daughter ; you have as yet con- 
ducted yourself adrairahly ; to-day you must crown the 
work. All that has been done, has been done with your 
consent. If, in the meanwhile, you had any doubts, any 
misgivings, you should have expressed them ; hut at the 
point to which things have now arrived, it will no longer 
do lo play the ciiilil. The worthy man who is to come 
this momingj wiU put a hundred questions to you, con- 
cerning your vocation ; such be, whether you go voluntarily, 
and the why and the wherefore. If you falter in yonr 
replies, he will continue to urge you ; this will produce 
pain to yourself, but might become tile source of a more 
■erioas evil. After all the public demonstrations that we 
have made, the shghtest hesitation on your part might 
place my honour in danger, by conveying the idea that I 
had taken a mere youthful whim for a confirmed resolution, 
and that I had thus acted precipitately ; in this case, I 
should feel myself under the necessity, in order to preserve 

my character inviolate, to reveal the true motive -" 

But, seeing the countenance of Gertrude all on flame, and 
contracting itself like the leaves of a flower in the heat 
which precedes a tempest, he «topped a moment, and then 
»snmed, " Well, well, all depends on youreelf. I know 
yoa will not show yourself a child ; but recollect, you mmt; 
Jmlf with freedom, bo as not U ciisiit^ Ga.«^uÀaii iiv^ttB 



TUB BETBOTBED. 123 

d of this worthy nan." He tlien suggestt^I the un- 
swers tD be made to thu probable questions that would b« 
put, and concluded with vationa remarks upon the liap- 
piness that awaited Gertrude at the convent. At this mo- 
ment the servant announced the arrival of the vicar, and 
die prince was obliged to leave bis daughter alone to re- 
edre him. 

The good man had come with a preconceived opinion 
diat Gertrude went voluntarily to the cloister, because the 
prince had told him so. It was one of his maxima, how. 
eretj to preserve himself unprejudiced, and to depend only 
on the Bssertiona of the candidates themselves. "' Signo- 
rina," said he, " I come to play the part of the tempter ; 
I come to suggest doubts where you have affirmed cer- 
tainties ; I come to place before your eyes difficulties, and 
ascertain if you have well considered (hem, You will allow 
me to trouble you with aorae interrogatories?" 

" Say on," rephed Gertrude. 

The good priest then began to interrogate her in the 
form prescribed. " Do you feel in your heart a free spon- 
taneous resolution to become a nun ? Have menaces, or 
allurements, or authority been made use of ? Speak without 
reserve to one whose duty it is to ascertain the true state 
of your feelings, and to prevent violence being done to 
them." 

The true reply to such a question presented itself sud- 
denly to the mind of Gertrude, with terrible reality. But 
to come to an explanation, to say she was threatened, to 
relate the unfortunate story — from this her spirit shrank, 
and she brought herself to the resolution of saying, " 1 
become a nun, freely, from inchnation." 

" How long have you had this intention?" asked the 
good priest. 

" 1 have always had it," said Gertrude, finding it easier 
after the first step to proceed in falsehood. 

" But what is the principal motive which haa induced 

The interrogator was not aware of the chord he touched ; 
and Gertrude, making a great effort to preserve the tran- 
quilliij of bet- cDUDtenance, amid the tumiùì. il Vei ws^i 



1S4 ; 

replied, " The motive iij to serve God, and to Sy the 
perils of the world." 

" Has there never been any disguat ? any — excuse me 
— caprice ? Often trifling causes make impressionB whicli 
we deem will be perpetual, but the causes cease " 

" No, no," replied Gertrude, hastily ; " the cause is 
that which I have said." 

The vicar, in order to execute bis duty fully, perdsted 
in his enquiries, but Gertrude was determined to decdre 
him. She could not for a moment think of rendering the 
good man acquainted with her weakness ; she knew, indeed, 
that he could prevent her being a nun, but that this would 
be the extent of his authority and his protection. When 
he should he gone, she would still be left alone, to endure 
fresh triab from her father and the family. Finding, 
therefore, a uniform auEwer to all his questiona, he became 
somewhat wearied of putting them, and, concluding that 
all was aa it Ehould be, with many prayers for her welfare, 
he took his leave. As he crosaed the hall he met the prince, 
and congratulated him on the good dispositions of bis 
daughter. This put an end to a very painful state of sus- 
pense and anxiety on the part of the prince ; who, for- 
getting his usual gravity, ran to his daughter, and loaded 
her with praises, caresses, and promises, and with a ten- 
derness of affection in great measure sincere : such is ihe 
inconsistency of the human heart. 

Then ensued a round of spectacles and diversions, during 
which we cannot attempt to describe minutely or in order 
the emotions to which the heart of Gertrude was subjected. 
The perpetual change of objects, the freedom enjoyed by 
this change, rendered more odious to her the idea of her 
prison ; still more pungent were the impressions she re- 
ceived in the festivals and assemblies of the city. The 
pomp of the palaces, the splendour of their furniture, the 
buzzing and festal clamour of the amnersaisUine, commu- 
nicated to her such an intoxication, such an eager desire 
for happiness, that she tliought she could encounter all the 
consequences of a recantation, or even suffer death, rather 
tbaa retuin to the cold shades of the cloister. But all suA 



TBE BETROTnEn. ^^^| 

resolutions instantly fled as her eyes rested on the IoiUk 
countonance of the prince. 

Meanwhile, the vicar of the nuns had made the neces- 
sary deposilionj and liberty was given to hold a chapter 
for the acceptation of Gertrude. The chspler was held, 
and she was received ! Wearied out with her long con- 
flicts, she requested immediate admittance, which wm 
readily granted. After a noviciate of twelve days, full of 
resolves and eounter-resolves, the moment arrived when she 
finally pronounced the fatal " yes," which was to exclude 
her from the world for ever. But even in the depths of 
the monastery she found no repose ; she had not the wis- 
dom to make a virtue of necessity, but was continually and 
uselessly recurring to the past. She could not call religion 
to her aid, for religion had no share in the sacrifice she 
had made ; and heavily and bitterly she bore the yoke of 
bondage. She hated the nuns, because she remembered 
their artifices, and regarded them in some measure as the 
author* of her misfortune ; she tyrannised over (hem with 
impunity, because they dared not rebel against her au- 
thority, and incur the resentment of the powerful lord, her 
father. Those nuns who were really pious and harmless, 
she hated for their piety itself, as it seemed to cast a tacit 
reproach on her weakness ; and she suffered no occasion to 
escape without railing at them as bigots and hypocrites. 
It might, however, have mitigated her asperity towards 
them, had she known that the black balls to oppose her 
entrance had been cast into the urn by their sympathetic 
generosity. She found, however, one consolation, in the 
unlimited power she possessed, in being courted and flat- 
tered, and in hearing herself called tlie " signora." But 
what a consolation ! Her soul felt its insufficiency, but 
had not the courage nor the virtue to seek happiness from 
the only source where it could be found. Thus she lived 
many years, tyrannising over and feared by all around her, 
till an occasion presented itself for a further developement 
«f her habitual, but secret feelings. Among other privi- 
legea which had been accorded to her in the monastery, 
MM» that of having her apartments on a side oC tkc b " 



cbvul^i^H 



1S6 1 

little frequented by the other ddds. OppOBite to this quarter 
of the convent was a house, inhabited by a young man, a 
villaio by profetsioii, one of those who, at this period, by 
their mutual combinations trere enabled to set at Douglit 
the pubUc lawfl. His name nas Egidio. From his small 
window, irhich overlooked the court-yard, he had often 
seen Gertrude wandering there from lisilessness and me- 
lancholy. Allured rather than intimidated by the danger 
and iniquity of the act, he dared one day to speak to licr. 
The wretched girl replied ! 

Tlien was experienced a new but not unmixed satis- 
faction ; into the painful void of her aoul waa infused a 
powerful Etimulus, a fresh principle of vitality : but this 
enjoyment resembled the restoring beverage which the in- 
genious rruelty of the ancients presented to ttie cnminal, 
in order to strengthen him to Buatain his martyrdom. A 
change came also over her whole deportment ; she was re- 
gular, tranquil, endearing, and affable; in snch a degree, that 
the sisters congratulated themselvea upon the ci rcutn stance, 
little imagining the true motive, and that the alteration wu 
none other than hypocrisy added to her other defects. Thii 
outward improvement, however, did not last long ; she 
Hoon retuimcd to her customary caprices, and, moreover, 
was heard to utter bitter imprecations against the doiElral 
prison, in unusual and unbecoming language. The aiatss 
bore these vicissitudes as well as they could, and attributed 
them to the light and capricious nature of the signora. For 
GOme time it did not appear that the suspicions of any one 
of them were excited ; but one day the signora had been 
speaking with one of the sislers, her attendant, and reviling 
her beyond measure for some trifling matter : the aisler 
enfiered a while, and gnawed the bit in silence ■ but finally, 
becoming impatient, declared that slie was mistress of a 
secret, and could advise the signora in her turn. From 
this time forward her peace was lost. Not many days after, 
however, this very sister was missing from her accuGtomfd 
ofSces ; they sought her in her cell, and did not find her ; 
they called, and she answered not; they searched diligently 
ia every piace, but without aacccss. Mvd who knows irtut 
conjectures might have arisen, i£ Ùiei;e\iai"Mi\\«euft^^B 



^1 THE DKTBOTHEO. 127 

^gKBt opening in tlje wall of the orchard, through which 
she had probably maiie htr escape. They sent measengers 
in various directionB to purEiie, and restore her, but they 
neTer heard of her more ! Perhaps they would not have 
been so unfortunate in their searcb, if they bad dug near 
the garden wall ! Finally, the nuns concluded that she 
must have gone to a great distance, and because one of tbem 
happened to say, she has taken refuge in Holland, " O 
yes," said ihey, " she has, without doubt, taken refuge in 
Holland.'' The signora did not believe tbii, but she had 
certain reasons for encouraging the opinion, and this the 
did not fail to do. Thus the minds of the nuns became 
satisfied ; but who can tell the torments of the aignora's 
soul ? Who can tell how many times a day the image of 
this sister came unbidden into her mind, and fastened itself 
there with terrible tenacity ? ^Vho can tell bow many times 
she desired to behold the real and living person, for the 
company of this empty, impassible, terrible shade ? Who 
can tell with what delight she would have heard the very 
words of the threat repeated in her mental ear, rather 
than this continual and fantastic murmur of those very 
words, sotmding with a pertinacity of which do living voice 
could have been capable. 

It was about a year after this event, that we find Lucy 
at the monastery, and under the protection of the signora. 
The'reader may remember, that after Agnes and the portress 
had left the room, the signora and Lucy bad entered into 
conversation alone; the former continued her questions 
concerning Don Roderick, with a fearlessness which tilled 
the mind of Lucy with astonishment, little supposing that 
the curiosity of the nuns ever exercised itself upon such 
subjects. The opinions which were blended with these 
enqtùries, were not less strange ; she laughed at the dread 
which Lucy expressed herself to have of Don Rodericl^ 
asking her if he was not handsome ; and surmising that 
Lucy would have hked him very well, if it had not been for 
her preference of Renzo. When again with her mother, 
the poor girl expressed her astonishment at such observ- 
atio tiB from such a source, but Agnes, as vaote cx^mcM*!, 

^■hxl ibe mjateij. "Do not be ftULiignaeiS.," «ài. *>£"> 



13S THE SBTROTHUD. 

" when you have known the world as I have, you will 
cease (o wonder at any thing. The nobility, some mare, 
some less, same one way, some another, have all a Utde 
oddity. We must let them tslk, especially when we have 
need of them ; we must appear to listen to them serioudy, 
as if they were talking very wisely. Did you not heai how 
Ebe iniemipted me, hs if I had uttered some absurdity? I 
did not wonder at it ; they are all so. NotwithBtanding 
diat. Heaven be thanked, she seems to have taken a Wang 
to you, and is willing to protect us ; and if we would n- 
tain her favour, we must let her say that which it didl 
please her to say." 

A desire to oblige the superior, the complacency ex* 
perienced in protecting, the thought of the good opiniona 
which would be the result of a protection thus piously ex- 
tended, a certain inclination towards Lucy, and also a de- 
gree of self-satisfaction in doing good to an innocent crea- 
ture, in succouriiig and consoling the oppressed, had really 
disposed the signora to take to heart the fate of our poor 
fugitives. The mother and daughter congratulateti them- 
selves on their safe and honourable asylum. They would 
have wished to remain unknown to all ; but this, in a con- 
vent, was impossible ; and one there was, besides, too far 
interested in obtaining an account of one of the two, sli- 
mulated as his passion had been by the opposition he had 
encountered. We will leave them for the present in theit 
safe retreat, and return to the palace of Don Roderick, at 
the houi in which he was anxiously expecting the result of 
his wicked and villanous enterprise. 



^^* CHAPTER XL 

Aa a pack of blood-hounds, after having in vain tracked 
tbehare, letura deeponding towiida llieit roaster, with tbciir 
ears down, and tails hanging, so, in tì»iiÀ^tolw 



129 

reCumetl the bravo^a (o the palace of Don Roileri(?k, who 
was pacing, in the dark, the floor of an upp<?r uninhnbiled 
chamber. Foil of impatience and uncertainly ax Io ihe 
itsoe of the expedition, and not without anxiety for ilie 
po^ble congequences, his ear was nltenlive to every sound, 
and his eye to every movement on llii; esplanade, I'his 
was the itiOBt daring piece of viUany he had ever under- 
taken ; but he feh that the precautions he had used wouhl 
preserve him from suspicion. " And wl)o will dare to (rome 
her«, end ask if she is not in this palace f Should tliis 
joang fellow do so, he will be well received, 1 promise 
him. Let the friar come ! yea, let him come. If the old 
woman presume» eo far, she shu)! be Eent to Bergamo. As 
for the law, I do fear it not ; the potfcufa ts neither a boy 
nw a fool ! Pshaw! there's nothing to fear. How will 
Attilio be surprised to-morrow morning ; he will find I am 
not a mere boaster. But if any difficulty should arise, 
he'll assist — the honour of slimy relatives will be pledgett." 
But these anxious thoughts subsided as he reverted to 
Lncy. — " She will be frightened to find herself alone, 
BtuTOanded only by these rough visages : by Bacchus, the 
most human face here is my own, and she will be obliged 
to bave recimrse to me — to entreaty." In the midst of 
these calculations he heard a trampling of feet, approached 
the window, and looking out esclaitntil, " It is they ! But 
the Mtter! the devil! where is the litter? Three, five, 
eight, they are all there; but where is the litter? The 
devil ! Griso shall render me an account of this." He then 
advanced to the head of the stairs to meet Griso. " Well," 
cried he, " Signor Bully, Signor Captain, Signor ' Leave 



" It is hard. 


' said Griso, — " it 


shard to 


meet with re- 


proach, when 


ne has hazarded o 


ne's life 


perform his 


duty." 








" How has 1 


happened ? Let u 


hear, let 


us hear." said 


► he, as he advanced towards the r 


oom, followed bv Giiso, 


who related, as 


cleavly as he could 


the occu 


rcwiees of the 


night. 








" Thou basi 


done well," said Don UoiJeticV ■, " ■ftvwa. 


hast d<«e Mntbtt&mi eoaOMt - 

K 


-bm to 


X\»nV t\Ml. ■Cms 



130 1 

root harbours a spy ! If I discoTer him 1 will settle mat- 
ters for him ; and I (ell thee, Griso, I suspect tlie inform- 
ation was given the da^ of the dinner." 

" I have had the same suEpicion," eaìà Griso ; " end if 
my master discovers the scoundrel, he has only to trust him 
to me. He has made me pass a troublesome night, and I 
wish to pay htm for it. But there muat be, 1 think, some 
other cause, which we cannot at present fathom ; to.morrair, 
Signor, to-morrow we will see clear water." 

" Have you been recognised by any one?" 

Griso thought not ; and after having given him many 
orders for the morrow, and wishing to make amends for 
the impetuosity with which be had at first greeted him, Don 
Roderick said, " Go to rest, poor Griso ! you must indeed 
require it. Labouring all day, and half the night, and tbeo ! 
to be received in this manner ! Go lo rest now ; tbi we I 
may yet be obliged to put your friendship to a severer Iwl. I 
Good night." I 

The next morning Don Roderick sought the Couni I 
Attilio, who, receiving him wilh a laugh, said, " San Mir. ) 

" I will pay the wager," said Don Roderick. '" I \ 
thought indeed to have surprised you this morning, anil 
therefore have kept from you some circumstances. I <ciU 
now tell you all." 

" The friar's hand ia in this business," said his counn, 
after having heard him through : " tliis ftiar, with fats 
playing at bo-peep, and giving advice ; I know him fix- s J 
busybody and a rascal ! And you did not confide in me, i 
and tell me what brought him here the other day to tri&e [ 
with you. If 1 had been in your place he should not have I 
gone out as he came in, of that be assured." i. 

" What ! would you wish me to incur the Tesentmeiit o( I 
all the capuchins in Italy?" | 

" In such s moment," said the eojint, " i ahonld hate 
forgotten there woe any other capuchin in the world thin { 
this daring rascal ; but the means are not wanting, widiia , 
the pale of jirudence, to take satisfaction even of a cafn- 
ebin. It is well for him that he has escaped the ptaàA- I 

t best suited to him ; hnt I Wike\i\TnWDoAQ*" 



xloviu^^ 



131 

ray protection, and will te&ch him how to eprak to his &u- 
periorB." 

" Do not make matters worse." 

" Trust me for once ; I will serre yoii as it reklion and 

" What do you mean lo do ?" 

" I don't know yet ; bnt I will certainly pay the friar. 
Let me Bee — the count my uncle, who in one of the secret 
council, will do the service ; dear uncle '. How please<l I 
am when I can make hint work I'ur mc, a poiitician of hia 
stamp ! The day afler to-morrow 1 will be at Milan, and 
in eorae way or other Llie friar shall have his due." 

Meanwhile breakfast was hrought in, which however did 
not interrupt the important discussion. Count Attilio in- 
terested himself in the cause from hie friendship for his 
conaio, and the honour of the name, according to his no- 
tions of triendship and honour ; yet he could hardly help 
laughing every novr and then at the ritliculous issue of the 
adventure. But Don Roderick, who had calculated upon 
maldng a master-stroke, was vexed at his signal failure, 
and agitated by varioas passions. " Fine stories will be 
circulated," said he, " of last idght's aflMr, but no matter; 
as to Justice, 1 defy it : it does not exist ; and if it did, I 
should equally defy it. Apropos, I have sent word this 
morning to the constable, to make no deposition respecting 
the aSkir, and he will be sure to follow my advice ; but 
tattling always annoys me, — it is enough that gou have it 
in your power lo laugh at me." 

" It is well yon have given the constable his message," 
said tiie coont ; " this great empty-headed, obstinate pro- 
ser of a podestà is however a man who knows his duty, and 
we must be careful not to place him iu difficulty. If a 
Mlow of a constable makes a deposition, the podestà, how- 
erer well intentioned, is obliged to " 

" But yo«," interrupted Don Roderick, with a litde 
warmth, — " you spoil my affWrs, by contradicting him, and 
laughing at him on every occasion. Why the devil can't 
you EuffiT a magistrate to be an obstinate beast, while in 
' ia ITI bowo». 



K 2 



132 1 

" Do you know, cousin," Bttid the cottot, regarding him 
with an expression of afiePle<i surprise, " do you know that 
1 begin to think you capable of fear ? You take thepodeila 
and myself to be in earnest." 

" Well, well, hivu not you yourself said that we should 
be careful?" 

" Cerlainly ; and when the question is serious, I will 
show you I am not a bny. Shall I tell you what I will do 
for you f 1 wCI go in person to make the podestà a visit ; 
do you not think he will be pleased with the honour? 
And I will let him talk by the half hour of the count duke, 
and the Spanish keeper of the castle, and then I will 
throw in some remarks about the signor count of the secret 
council, my uncle ; you know what eflfect this will have. 
Finally, he has more need of our protection, than you have 
of his condeucension. He knows this well enough, and I 
shall leave him better disposed than 1 find him, that you 
may depend upon." So saying, he took his departure, 
leaving Don Roderick alone to wait the return of Griso, 
who had been, in obedience to Ills orders, reconnoitring 
the ground, and ascertaining the state of the pnblic mind 
with regard to the events of the preceding night. He 
came at last, at the hour of dinner, to give in his relation. 
The tumult of this night had been so loud, and the disap- 
pearance of three persons from the village so mysterious, 
that strict and indefatigable search would naturally be made 
for them ; and on the other hand, those who were possessed 
of partial information on the subject were too numeroua 
to preserve an entire silence. Perpelua was nssailcd e^ery 
where to tell what had caused her master such a fright, 
and she, perceiving how she had been deceived by Agnes, 
and feeling exasperated at her perfidy, had need of a little 
self-restraint ; not that she complained of the deception 
practised on herself, of that she did not breathe a syllable ; 
but the injury done to her poor master could not pass in 
silence, and that such an injury should have been attempted 
by such worthy people I Don Abbondio could command 
Ana entreat her to be silent, and she could reply that there 
WM DO necessity for inculcaUng a thinj^ so obvious aid 
, but certain it is that the seciel tctaw\eà ioidt^ 



ISS 

heart of the poor woman ob new wine in an old cask, 
which fennents and bubbles, and if it does not send 
the bung into the air, works out in foam between the 
Btavea, and drops here and tliere, so tiiat one can drink ic, 
and tell what sort uf wine it Is. Jervase, who could 
scarcely believe that for once he knew a little more tlian 
others, and who felt himaelf a man, since he had been an 
accomplice in a criminal afTuir, waa dying to communicate 
it. And Tony, however alarmed at the thoughts of further 
enquiries and investigation, was bursting;, in spite of all his 
prudence, till he had told the whole secret to his wife, who 
was not dumb. The one who spoke least was Menico, 
because his parents, alarmed at his coming into coUision 
with Don Roderick, had kept him in the house for several 
days ; they themselves, however, without wishing to ap- 
pear to know more than others, insinuated that the fugi- 
tives had taken refuge at Pescarenico. This report, then, 
became current among the villafners. But no one could 
account for the attack of the hravoea : all agreed in sus- 
pecling Don Roderick ; but the rest was total obscurity. 
The presence of the three bravoes at the inn was discueaed, 
and the landlord was interrogated ; but his memory was, on 
this point, as defective as ever. His inn, be concluded as 
usual, was just like a sea-port. Who was this pilgrim, 
seen by Stefano and Carlandrea, and whom the robbers 
wished to murder, and had carried off? For what pur- 
pose had he been at the cottage Ì Some said it was a good 
spirit, come lo the assiatance of the inmates ; others, that 
it was the spirit of a wicked pilgrim, who came at night 
to join such companions, and perform such deeds, as he 
had been accustomed to while living ; others, again, went 
HO far as to conjecture that it was one of these very robbers, 
clothed like a pilgrim ; so that Griso, with all his experi- 
ence, would have been at a loss to discover who it was, if 
he had expected to acquire this information from others. 
But, aa the reader knows, tliat which was perplexity to 
ibem, was perfect clearness to Griso. He was enabled, 
therefore, from these various sources, to obtain a sufficiently 
distinct account for the ear of Don Roderick. He related 

Kmpt upon Don Abbondio, wHoh 8.cwiu'(\\«i iw ** 



cloBcrLiuti of the cuttage, without the necessity of imaginbg 
B spy in the palace : he told of their flight, which might 
be accounted for by the fear of the discovery of their trick 
upon Don Abbondio, or by the intelligence that their cot- 
tage had bceu hroken into, and that they bad prohahly 
gone together to Pescarenico. " Fled together ! " cried 
Don Roderick, hoarse with rage : " together ! and thii 
rascal friar ! this friar ehall answer it ! Griso, this night 
I must know where they are. I ahall have no peace ; ii«- 
certain if they are at Peecarenico ; quick ; fly ; four 
crowns immediately, and my protection for ever! thii 
rascal ! this friar ! " 

Griso was once more in the field ; and on the ereoing 
of this very day reported to his worthy master the desired 
intelligence, and hy the following means, 'i'he good man 
by whom the Utile party had been conducted to Mama. 
returning with his carriage to Pescarenico at the hour of 
vespers, chanced to meet, before he reached his home, l 
particular friend, to whom he related, in great confidence, 
the good work he had accompUshed ; so that Griso could, 
two hours after, inform Don Roderick tliat Lucy and her 
mother had taken refuge in a convent of Monza, and that 
Renzo bad proceeded on his way to Milan. Don Rode. 
rick felt his hopes revive at this separation ; and having, 
during great part of the night, revolved in his mind the 
meastires for efiècting his wicked purpose, he aroused 
Griso early in the morning, and gave him the orders be 
had premeditated. 

" Signor ?" said Griso, hesitating. ^^H 

" Well, have 1 have not spoken clearly?" ^^^^ 

" If you would send some other " ^^H 

"How?" ^H 

" Most illustrious signor, I am ready to sacrifice tOf 
life for my master, and it is my duty to do so ; but you, 
you would not desire me to place it in peril ? " 
"Well?" 
" Your illustrious lordship knows well these few mui- 

ders that are laid to my account, and Here I am 

under the protection of your lordship, and in Milan the 
' of youT iordship is known, iiW \ft ÌAo^wl 'j^^ 



135 

known. Ami, your lordship knows. 1 Jo not say ii boiat- 
iils;ly, he nho Ehould deliver me up to justice would lie 
well rewarded, a hundred good crowns, and pennissioD to 
liberate two banditti." 

'- What, the devil !" said Don Roderick, ■■ you are like 
a vile ciir, who has scarce courage to rush at the legs 
of such us pasB by the door ; ami, not daring to leave 
the bouse, keeps himself within the protection of his 

'■' 1 tliinlc I have given proof, signor," saiil Griso. 

" Well?" 

" WeU," resumed Griso, boldly, thus put on his mettle, 
" your lordship must forget my hesitation ; heart of a lion, 
legs of a hare, I am ready to go," 

" But you shall not go alone ; take with you two of die 
beat ; Cu(-/nce and Aim-well, and go boldly, and show 
youwelf to be still Griso. The devil ! people will be well 
content to let such faces as yours pass without molestation ! 
And as In the bailiSs of Monaa, they must have become 
weary of hfe to place it in such danger, for the chance of a 
hundred crowns ! But I do not believe that I am so far 
unknown there, that the stamp of my service shoidd pass 
for nothing." 

Griso, having received ample and minute instiuctions, 
took his departure, accompanied by the two bravoes ; curs. 
ing in hiG heart the whims of his master. 

It now became the design of Don Roderick to contrive 
tome way, by which Renzo, separated a» he was from 
Lucy, should be prevented from attempting to return. He 
thought that the most certain means would be to have him 
sent out of the state, but tills required the sanction of the 
law ; he could, for example, give a colouring to the at- 
tempt at the curate's house, and represent it as a seditious 
act, and through Doctor Azzecca Garbugli give the podestà 
to understand that it was his duty to apprehend Renzo. 
But while he thought of the doctor as the man the most 
suitable for this service, Renzo himself put an end to 
much further deliberation on the subject by withdrawing 



136 T 

Like llie boy who drives hia little Indiui pigs to tìie 
folli, whose obetinacy impels tbem divers ways, aod thus 
obliges hitn first to apply to one and then to another till 
he can sucueeil in penning them all, kd ave we obliged to 
play the eanie game with the personagns of our story. 
Having secured Lucy, we ran to Don Roderick. Him we 
BOW quit to give au account of Renzo. 

After the mournful parting which we have related, he set 
out, discouraged and disheartened, on his way to Milan. 
To bid farewell to Ills home and his country, and what was 
more, to Lucy ! to find himself among Etrangers, not know- 
ing where to rest his head, and all on account of this villain ! 
When these thoughts presented themselves to the mind of 
Renzo, he was, for the moment, absorbed by rage and ibe 
desire of revenge ; but when he recollected the prayer thai 
he had uttered with the good friar in the convent of Pes- 
carenico, his better feelings prevailed, and he was enabled 
to BCijuire some degree of resignation to the chasiisemenls 
of which he stood so much in need. The road lay between 
two high banks ; it was muddy, stony, and furrowed by 
deep wheel tracks, which, after a rain, became rivuleH, 
ovetflowing the road, and rendering it nearly impassable. 
In such placets small raised footpaths indicated that others 
had found a way by the fields. Renzo ascended one of 
these paths to the high ground, whence he beheld, as if 
rising from a desert, and not in the midst of a city, the 
noble structure of the cathedral, and he forgot all his mis- 
fortunes in contemjdating, even at a distance, this eighth 
wonder of the world, of which he had heard kq mucli from 
his infancy. But looking hack, he saw in the horizon (he 
notched ridge of mountains, and distinctly perceiving, 
among tliem, his own Hesegone, he gazed at it mournfully 
a while, and llien with a beating heart went on his way ; 
steeples, towers, cupolaa, and roofs soon appeared : he 
descended into the road, and when he perceived that he 
was very near the city, he accosted a traveller, with the 
civility whicli was natural to him, " Will you be M 
good, air — — " 

" Whit do jou want, my good young man?" „ 

^^f Will yoa be so good as lo àiieci ■mi \j^. 



Bay lo the convent of the capuchins, where Father Bon». 
i'eDlurB resides ?" 

He replied, very aSkbly, " My good lad, there 
han one convent ; you must I<il me more clearly wl 
ind whom you >eek." 

Renzo then look from his bosom the letter of Fai 
Christopher, and presented il to the gentleman, who, 
laving read it, returned it, «aying, " The eastern gatej^ 
I'ou are fortunate, young man — the convent you seek I 
nit B short distatice from this. Take this path to the left 
t is a by-way, and in a little while you will find youi 
ly the ride of a long and low building ; that is the laaMi 
■etto ; keep along the ditch that encircles it, and you 
oon be at the eastern gate. Enter, and a few sleps 
her on you will see before you an open square with 
Im trees ; the convent is there — you cannot mistake l\ 
lod be with you!" And accompanying hie last wonfc- 
vith a kind wave of his hand, he proceeded on his way. 
ienzo was astonÌBhed at the good manners of the cilizeos 
o countrymen, not knowing that it waa an extraordinary 
lay, ■ day in which cloaks humbled iheinEelrea to dou^ 
ets. He followed the path which had been pointed 
o him, and arrived at the eastern entrance, which consi 
if two pilasters, with a rooflng above to secure the gates, 
ind on one side was a small house for the toll-gatherei 
The openings of the rampart descende<l irregularly, and 
heir surface was fìlled with rubbish. The street of the 
uburb which led from this gate was not unUke the one 
vhicb now opens from the Tosa gate. A small ditch ran 
a the midst of it, until within a few steps of the gate, and 
livided it into two small crooked streets, covered with dust 
ir mud, according to the season. At the place where was, 
ind is still, the collection of houses called the Sorghettff, 
he ditch empties itself into a common sewer, and thence 
Dto another ditch which runs along the walls. At this' 
lointwas a column with a cross on it, dedicated to San 
'>iunigi ; to the right and left were gardens enclosed by 
ledges, and at intervals, small houses inhabited for the mD«t 
«ft by washerwomen. Renzo passed through the gate, 
rilJHgt being' slopped hy the loU-gatlieTer, w\uc\v x^^axid^ 



<u^ H 
ontH 

tes. ■ 



I 

y 
It 



138 1 

tu him very remarkable, as he had heard thoEe few of hu 
townsmen, whu could boast of having been at MilaD,t«1ate 
wonderful atoriea of the strict search and close enquiries 
to whicli those were Eubjected who entered its gata. 
The itreeC was deserted, and if he had not heard the bunii- 
ming of a crowd at a dìiìtance, he mij^ht have thou^t be 
was entering a city which had been abandoned by its itii 
habitants. As he advanced, be «aw on the pavement 
something scattered here and there, which was as white u 
SHOW, but snow at this season it could not be ; he touched 
it, and found that it was fiour. " There must be a great 
plenty in Milan," said he, " if they thus throw away the 
gifts of God. They give out that famine is everyvrbat; 
this they do to keep poor people abroad quiet." But in ■ 
few moments he arrived in front of the column, and nw 
on the steps of the pedestal certain things scattered, wbitJi 
were not assuredly stones, and which, if they had been on 
a baker's counter, he would not have hesitated to call loaves I 
of bread, But Renzo dared not so easily trust his eyes, 
because truly this was not a place for bread. " Let ns 
see what this is," said he, and approaching the column, be 
look one in his hand ; it was, indeed, a very white loaf of 
bread, such as Renzo was accustomed to eat only on fes. 
"tival days. " It is really bread!" aidd he, in wonder, 
" Do they scalter it thus here ? And in a year like this ? j 
And do they suffer it to lie here, and not take the trouble 
to gather it ? This must be a Hne place to live in 1" { 
After ten miles of travel, in the fresh air of the moraing, J 
the sight of tiie bread awaked his appetite. " Shall I takf . 
it ? " said he again. " Poh J they have left it hi the j 
dogs ; surely, a Christian may take advantage of it; «ai 
if the owner should come, 1 can pay him at any rate." i 
So saying, be put in one pocket that which he had in his 
band, took a second, and put it in the other, aud a third, 
which he began to eat, and resumed his way, full of wonda 
at the strangeness of the incident. As he moved on be . 
sew people approaching from the interior of the city ; and 
his attention was drawn to those who appeared 6rst ; t 
a woman, and a boy, each with a load which seem^ 
d their streDgth, and cxbMlw^ «adi & ^q%gi^duD^ 



TBB SETROInED. 



^ Their clothes, or rather their rags, powdered 
eai, their facet tlie same, and excessively heated ; 
dked, not only aa if overcome by the weighi, but 
leir limbs had been beateo and bruiEcd. The man 
£d with dil£culty a great bag of flour, which having 
ere and there, scattered its contents at erery im- 
lovemenl. But the figure of the woman was still 
L'markfthle : she bad her pelticoat turned up, ftUed 
I much flour as it could hold, and a little more ; so 
am time to time it ilew over the pavement. She 
deed, a grotesque picture, with her arms «tretchetl 
encompass her burden, and staggering under its 
her bare legs were seen beneath it. The boy held 
)th hands a basket full of bread on his bead, but be 
'tained behind his parents to pick up the loaves 
were constantly falling from it. 

you let another fall, you ugly Ultlc dog " uid 

ther, iti a rt^e. 

don't let them fall ; they fall of themselves. How 

elp it ? " replied he. 

1 I it's well for thee that my hands are full," resumed 

irae, come,' said the man, " now that we have a 
ienty, let us enjoy it in peace." 

nwhile tliere had arrived a company of strangers, 
e of them addressed the woman, " Where are we to 
bread?" — " On, on," rephed she, and added, mut- 

" These rascal countrymen will sweep all the shops 

rehouses, and leave none for us." 

here is a «hare for every one, chatterer," said her 

d ; " plenty, plenty." 

a all that Renzo saw and heard, be gathered that 

ras an insurrection in the city, and that each one 

m1 for himself, in proportion to his will and strength. 

gh we would desire to make our poor mountaineer 

(0 the most advantage, historical truth obliges us 

that bis first sentiment was that of complacency. 
1 BÙ little to rejoice at, in the ordinary course of 

thai he congratulated himself on a change, of what- 
Ég^c it might be. And for the real, W,'ft\tfi'«a& 



1 superior to the age in which he lived, held the 
c opinion ihat the scarcity of bread had been caused 
by the Bpeculitors and bakers, and that any method woulil 
be justifiable, of wresting from them the aliment which the; 
cruelly di-nied to the people. However, he determioeii M 
keep away from the tumult, and congratulated himaelf m 
the (lood fortune of having for his friend, a capuchin, vbt 
would afToril him shelter and good advice. Occupied nilh 
such reflections, and noticin);; from time to time at more 
people came up loaded with plunder, he proceeded 10 the 

The church and convent of the capuchins was situalo) 
in the centre of a small square, shaded by elm trees; 
Benio placed in his bosom his remaining half loaf, and 
with his letter in his hand, approached the gate and nin| 
the bell. Al a amali grated window appeared the face of 
friar, porter to the convent, to ask " who was there?" 
" One from the country, who brings a letter to Father 
iventura, fro.n Father Christopher." 
Give here," said the friar, thrusting his hand thioi^ 




' said Renzo, " I must give it 



isSfF 



He is not in the convent." 

Suffer me to enter and wait for him," replied I 
" You bad best wait in Ibe church," said the fitìij 
perhaps that may be of service to you. Into tbe con- 

you do not enter at present." So saying, he hastil; 
dosed the window, leaving Renzo to receive the repnlK 
witii the best grace he could. He was about to follow 
the advice of the porter, when he was seized with the ile- 
sire to give a glance at the tumult. He crossed the equxre, 
and advanced towards the middle of the city, where «Ik 
disturbance was greatest. Whilst he is proceeding thither, 
we will relate, as briefly as possible, the causes of ibii 
commotion. 



r 



CHAPTER XII. 



was the second year of ihe EC»rcity ; hi the preceding 
bhe provisions, remaining from past years, had sup- 
in some measure the «leticiencj, and we find the 
Btion neither altogellier satisfied, nor yet starved ; 
riTaitily unprovided for in the year ifiSS, the period 
r story. Now (his harvest, so anxiously desired, was 
till more deficient than that erf the past year, partly 
the character of the season itself (and that not only 
le Milanese but also in the surrounding country), 
partly from the instrumentality of men. The havoc 
e war, of which we have before made mention, I 
Bvastated the state, that a greater number of farms ' 
ordinary remained uncultivated and deserted by the 
,nts, who, instead of providing, by their labour, bread 
heir families, were obliged to beg it from door to 
We Bay a greater number of farms than ordi- 
because the insupportable taxes, levied with a cupi- 
and folly unequalled ; the habitual conduct, even in 
of peace, of the standing troops {conduct which the 
rnful documents of the age compare to that of an ' 
ig army), and other causes which we cannot enun 
had for some time slowly operated to produce these 
effects in all the Milanese, — the particular eircum- 
:eB of which we now apeak were, therefore, like the ' 
:pected exasperation of a chronic disease. Hardly had • 
harvest been gathered, when the supplies for 
f, and the waste which always accompanies them, 
ed an excessive scarcity, and with it its painful but 
Itable concomitant, a high price upon provisions ; but 

attaining a pertain point, always creates in the n 
le multitude a suspicion that scarcity is not in reality 
cause of it. They forget that they had both feared • 
predicted it : they imagine all at once that there must 
ytin sufficient, and that the evil lies in an unwUlinft- 
■1» Btll it for consumption. PrepoaleiOM'J aa "iisaB" 



f Mippoaitiona were, they were governed by theni, bo rtial I 
■pecvdators in grain, real or imaginaiy, the farmers, 
bakers, became the object of their universal dislike. TI 
coitili lell certunly where there were magazines overflov 
with graittj ami could even enumerate the number of sad 
they spoke with asauiance of the intmeitse qaantity of e 
Trhich bad been despatched toother places, where proba 
the people were deluded with a similar story, and msdi 
believe that the grain raised among them had been seni 
Milan ! Tliey implored from the magistrate (hose preci 
tians, which always appear equitable and simple to 
populace. The magistrates complied, and fixed the pi 
on each commodity, threatening puniahmeiit to such 
should refuse to Bell ; notwithstanding this, tlie evil o 
tinned to increase. This the people attributed to 
feebleness of the remedies, and loudly called for Eome ( 
more decided eharacler ; unhgppily rtiey found s man I 
was wilUng to grant them all they should ask. 

In the absence of the Governor Don Gonzalo Fero 

dez de Cordova, who was encamped beyond Casale, 

Montferrat, the High Chancellor Antonio Ferrer, alM 

Spaniard, suppUed hia place in Milan. He contide 

the low price of bread to he in itself desirable, and vii 

imagined that an order from him would be sufficient 

accomplish it. He fixed the limit, therefore, at the pi 

the bread would have had when corn was thirty-th 

livres the bushel ; whereas it was now as high as eight] 

Over the execution of these laws the people iheraael 

watched, and were determined to receive the benefit 

Ldiem quickly. They assembled in crowds before 

■'iMkers' houses to demand bread at the price fixed ; th 

L- mu no temedy ; the bakers were employed night and i 

in supplying tbeir wants, inosmxich as the people, havin 

confused idea that the privilege would be transient, cea 

not to besiege their houses, in order to enjoy to the «tm 

their temporary good fortune. The magistrateB thn 

eued punishment — the multitude murmured at every de 

of the bakers in fiimishing them. These rem^nstra 

àicesMntly against the iniquitous and insupporisbU wd| 

Mf the burden imposed on t\\em % W\. X.iivnt\ci IEmmb 



us 

ied, tbat they hsil potEessed great advaniof^es in t 
let, and now otied ibe public Bomc reparation. Finally, 
le couDCii of ten (a municipal magistrac; composed of 
ibles, which lasted until the ninety- seventh year of the 
mtury juEt elapsed,} informed tlie governor of the «tate in 
bich things were, hoping that he would find some remedy. 
•on Gonzalo, immersed in the business of war, named a 
lancii, upon whom he conferred authority 
mable price upon bread, so that both parties should bs 
itiafied. The deputies assembled, and after much delU 
nation felt themselves compelled to augment the price nf 
: the bakers breathed, but the people became fiinous. 
The eveniug preceding the day on which Reni« arrived 
t Milan, the streets swarmed with ]ienple, who, governed 
y ime common feeling, strangers or friends, had intuitivelj 
nited themselves in companies throughout the city. Every 
bservation tended to increase their rage and their resent- 
lent ; various opinions were given, and many exclamaiiona 
Itered ; here, one declaimed aloud to a circle of by- 
landers, who applauded vehemently ; there, another more 
autious, but not less dangerous, was whispering in the ear 
f a neighbour or two, that something muat and would be 
one : in short, there was an incessant and discordant din 
rom the medley of men, women, and children, which com- 
losed the various assemblages. There was now only 
uired an impetus to set the machine in motion, and redua^l 
rords to deeda ; and an opportunity soon presented iti 
U the break of day little boys were seen issuing from 
Inkers' shops with baskets on their heads, loaded with 
iread, which they were about to carry to their usual cos- 
omers. The appearance of one of these unlucky boys ii 
,ix assembly of people was like a squib thrown into ! 
lowder mill. "Here Js bread!" cried a hundred 
It once. " Yes, for our tyrants, who swim in abimdi 
lod wish to make us die in hunger," said i 
lear the boy, and seizing the basket, cried out. 
The boy coloured, grew pale, trembled, and woidd hu 
■ntreated them to let him pass on, but the words died 
lis lips ; he then endeavoured to free himself from 
basket. " DoKn with the basket" Vfas Vieati 



1 



I 



rs- S 

:sel£fl 
L tbvfl 



1*4 T 

it wBB leixetl by many hinds, and placed on the earth: 
ihey raised the napkin which eoverefl it, and a tepid fra- 
grance dìEFused itself around. " We are ChriBtians alM," 
said one ; aad have a right to eat bread as well as Othet 
people:" so saying, he look a loaf and bit it; the icM 
fbllowed his example; and it if ^nne(^essary to add, thU 
in a few moments the contents of the basket had dinp. 
peared. Those who had not been able to secure an; for 
themselves were irritated at the sight of their neighboimi' 
gains, and animated by the facilily of the enterprise, went bl 
search of other boys with baskets ; as many, therefore, M 
ihey met were stopped and plundered. Still the number who 
remained unsatisfied was beyond comparison the greatest, 
and even the gainers were only aliraulaled by their suc- 
cess to ampler enterprises ; ho that simultaneously there 
was a shout from the crowd of " To the bake-house ! to 
the bake-house I" 

Jn the street called the Corxia da' Servi there was, and 
is still, a bakery of the same name, — a name that signiflea 
in Tuscan the Shop of the Crutvhea, and in Milanese i* 
compoEed of such barbarous words, that it is impossible to 
discover tbeir sound from any rule of the language.* To 
this place the throng approached : the shopkeepers were 
listening to the sad relation of the boys, who had but just 
escaped with their lives, when they heard a distant tnurmnr, 
and beheld the crowd advancing. 

" Shut, shut ! quick, quick I " some ran Co ask aid fnin 
the sheriff; others in haste closed the shop, and barricadoed 
and secured the doors from within. The throng Sickened 
in front, and cries of "Bread, bread! open, open!" 
were heard from every i|i>arler. The sheriff arrived with 
a troop of halberdiers. " Make way, make way, friendl ! 
home, home ! make way for the sheriff," cried they. The 
people gave way a Utile, so that they could draw them- 
selves up in front of (he lioor of the shop. " But, friends," 
cried tlie sheriff from this place, " what do yon do here? 
Home, home ! have you no fear of God ? What will our 
lord the king say ? We do not wish you harm ; but go 



145 

home. There is no good to be gained here for soul or 
body. Home, home ! " The crowd, regardless of hia ex- 
postoladons, pressed forward, themselves being urged on 
by increasing multitudeH behind. " JMake them draw back, 
[hat 1 may recover breath," continued he to the halberdiere, 
"but harm no one — we will endeavour to gel into the 
shop — make them keep back, and knock at the door." — 
" Back, back," cried the halberdiers, presenting the but- 
endB of their arms ; the throng retreated a little ; the 
sheriff knocked, crying Co those within to open ; they 
obeyed, and he and bis guard contrived to intrench ihem- 
selcea within the house ; then, appearing at a window 
above, " Friends," cried he, " go home. A general par- 
don to whoever shall return immediately to tltcir houses." 
" Bread, bread ! open, open !" vociferated the crowd in 

" You shall have justice, friends ; but return to your 
bouses. You shall have bread ; but this is not the way 
to obtain it. £]i ! what are you doing below there? At 
the door of the house ! hah 1 hah ! Take care ; it is a cri- 
minal act. Eh ! away with those tools ! take down those 
hands ! hah ! hah ! You Milanese, who are famous 
throughout the world for your benevolence, who have al- 
ways been accounted good citi Ah ! rascals !" 

This rapid change of style was occasioned by a stone 
thrown by one of ibese good citizens at the sheriff's head. 
" Kascals ! rascals ! " continued he, closing the window in 
a rage. The confusion below increased ; stones were 
thrown at the doors and windows, and they had nearly 
opened a way into the shop. Meanwhile the master and 
boys of the shop, who were at the windows of the stary 
above, with a supply of stones (obtained probably from the 
court-yard), threatened to throw ihem upon the crowd if 
they did not disperse. Perceiving their threats to be of no 
avail, they commenced putting them in execution. 

" Ah ! rillaina ! ah ! rogues ! Is this the bread you 
give to the poor ? " wis screamed from below Many were 
wounded, two were killed j the fury of the multitude in- 
creased ; the doors were broken open, and the torrent 
MHjhed through all the passages. At tbia, l^Ose'mVNùb.^aÉM 



146 1 

refuge uni3er the shop floor ; the Eheriff and the halberdierE 
hid themselves beneath the dies ; others escaped by ihe 
■kjlights, and wandered upon the roofs like cats. 

The sight of their prey made the conquerors forget their 
designs of sanguinary vengeance ; some rushed to the chests, 
and plundered thetn of bread ; other» liaetened to force the 
locks uf the counter, and took from thence handfulls of 
money', wliicli tliey pocketed, and then returned to lake 
more bread, if there shoidd remain any. Others, again, 
entered the interior magazines, and, throwing out part 
of the flour, reduced tlie bags to a portable eìec ; some 
attacked a kneading trough, and miide a booty of the dough; 
a few had made a prize of a bolting cloth, which they raised 
in the air as in tijumph,and, in addition to all, men, women, 
and children were covered with a cloud of whilf powder. 
While tliis shop was so ransacked, none of the others io 
the city remained quiet, or free from danger. But at none 
had the people assembled in such numbers aa to be very , 
daring; in some, the owners had provided auxiliaries, and 
were on the defensive ; in others, the owners less strong in | 
numbers, and more aSVighted, endeavoured to comprointM 
matters ; they distributed bread to those who crowded 
around their shops, and thus got rid of them. And tlteie 
did not depart so much because they were content with tbe 
acquisition, as from fear of the halberdiers and officen of 
justice, who were now scattered throughout the city, in 
companies suflicicnt to keep these little bands of tnutinccn 
in subjection. In the mean time the tumult and the crowd j 
increased in front of the unfortunate bakery, as the strengdi 
of the populace had here the advantage. Things were in i 
this situation, when Renzo, coming from the eastern gate, 
approached, without knowing it, the scene of tumult, 
Hurried along by the crowd, he endeavoured to estract 
from UIC confused shouting of the throng some more po- 
Mtive information of the real state of affUis. 

" Now the infamous imposition of these raacak h àìf. 

covered," said one ; " they said there was neither bread, 

flour, nor corn. Now we know things just as they are, «id 

tbey can no longer deceive us." 

^^ I tell joa diat all tbis aniveia tw ^VLt^ow" 



1 



ither; " it will do no good unless justice be done 
9read will be cheap enough, 't is true, but they will put 
)oison in it to mnke the poor die like flies. They have 
ilready suid we are too numerous, 1 know they huve ; I 
lesrd it from one of ray acquaintances, who ii a friend of 
I relation of a scullion of oae of the lords.'' 

" Make way, make way, gendemen, 1 beseecli you ; 
oake way for a poor father of a family who is carrying 
iread to five children !" This was said by on 
taggering undi;r the weight of a bag of flour. 

" I," Baid another, in an under tune, to one of his c 
(anions, " I am going away. I am a man of the wi 
nd I know how these things go. These clowns, who 
oake BO mudi noise, will prove themselves cowards 
noiTOW. I have already perceived some among the 
vho are taking note of those who are present, and when 
B over, they will make up the account, and the guilty 
iiy the penalty." 

'' He who protects the bakers," cried a sonorous vi 
rhich attracted the attention of Renzo, " is the superin- 
endent of ptovieionE." 

" They are all rogues," said a neighbour 

" Yes, but he ia the chief," replied the one who had fii 

The superintendent of provisions, elected every year by 
he governor from a list of seven nobles formed from the 
ouncil of ten, was the president of the court of provision, 
rliich, composed of twelve nobles, had, with other dutte^ 
hat of superintending the corn for the citizens. Ft 
a such a station would naturally, in times of atarvatioi 
foranee, he considered as the authors of all the evil, 

" Cheats!'' exclaimed another; " can they do W' 
They hare had the audacity to say that the high chancellor 
» a childish old man, and they wish to take the government 
nto their own hands. We ought to make a great coop, 
nd put them in, to feed upon dry peas and cockleweed, a». 
bey would fain have us do." 

While listening to such observations as the above. Rem 
ontÌBued to make his way through the crowd, and 
■ta^ in ùroai of ibe bakery. On viewing ite Siìa^ì! 

L 



in- 

4 

by 
the 

-EOB^H 

31 



its 1 

■nd ruinous slate, aFier the assault just sustained, " This 
cnnnot be a gooci dwd," thoughl he ; " if they treat all ihe 
bake-houses in this manner, where will they make bread?" 

From time to time, some were seen issuing from the 
house, loaded with pieces of chests, or troughs, or a bench, 
basket, or some other relic of llie poor building, and crying, 
"Make way, make way!" passed through the crowd. 
These were all carried in the same direetion, antl il ^■ 
peared to a piace agreed upon. Renzo's curio^ty being 
excited, he followed one who carried a bundle of pieces rf 
board end chips on his shoulder, and found that he tool; 
the direction of the cathedral. On passing it, the mounr- 
taineer could not avoid stopping a moment to gaze wiib 
admiring eyea on the magnificent structure. He tlin 
quickened his steps to rejoin him whom he had taken H 
B guide, and, keeping behind him, they drew near ibe 
middle of the square. The erowd was here more dense, 
but they opened a way for tlie carrier, and Renao, skilfuUj 
introducing himself in the void left by him, arrived with ' 
him in the very miiisl of the multitude. Here there ww 
an open space, Jn the centre of which was a bonfire, a heap 
of embers, the remains of the tuola mentioned above ; aur- 
rounding it was heard a clapping of hands and stamping of 
feet, the tumult of a thousand cries of triumph and im- 
precation. 

He of the boards threw them on the embers, and some, 
with pieces of half-burnt shovel, stirred them unlfl thf 
flame ascended, upon which their shouts were renewed f 
louder than before. The flame sank again, and the com* j 
pany, for want of more combustibles, b^;an to be wearf, ] 
when a report spread, that at the Cordusio (a square ■ 
cross-way not far from there) they were besieging a I 
bakery : then was heard on all sides, " Let us go, let vk 
go;" and the crowd moved on. Benso was drawn along 
with the current, but in the mean while held counsel with 
himself, whether he had not beat withdraw from the fray, 
and return to the convent in search of Father Bonaventura; 
but curiosity again prevailed, and he suffered himself to be 
earried /brward, with the determination, however, of tag 
spectator oV il\e acew. ^h^h 



1 

>the 

; the 
.,did 



The multitude passed through the ahorl Etiiil ns 
ttreet of l'escheria, and thence by the croaked arch t 
square de' Mercanti. Here there were very few, who, in 
ptssing before the niche thiLt divides towards l.he centre the 
lerrace of the edifice then called the CoUege of Doctors, did 
dot give a slight glance at the great statue con t^ned it 
Philip IL, who even from the machie imposed respect, ai 
who, with his arm extended, ajipearcd to be meuacing tl 
populace for their rebellion, 

ThiB niche is now empty, and from a singular circura- 
itance. About one hundred and sixty years after the 
events we are now relating, tlie head of the etatue was 
changed, the sceptre taken from its hand, and a dagger 
nibstituted in its place, and beneath it was written Marcus 
Brutui. Thas inserted it remained perhaps a couple of 
^ears, until one day, some persona, who had no sympathies 
■rith Marcus Brutus, but rather an aversion to him, threw > 
rope around (he statue, pulled il down, and, reducing it to 
I shapeless mass, draped it, witli many insulting gestures, 
beyond the walls of the city. Who wonid have foretold 
ibis to Andrea Biffi when he sculptured it? 

From the square de' Mercanti, the clamorous troop at 
length arrived at the Cordusio. Each one immediately 
looked towards the shop ; hut, instead of tlie crowd of 
Friends which tliey expected to find engaged on its demo. 
liiion, there were but a few, at a distaoce from the shop, 
which was shut, and defeuded from the windows by armed. 
people. They fell back, and there was a murmur through 
the crowd of unwillingness to risk the hazard of proceeding, 
when a voice was heard to cry aloud, " Near hy is the 
iiouseof thesuperint«ident of provisioD;Ietusdojastice,anJ 
plunder it." There was a universal acceptance of the pt»- m 
posai, and " To the superintendent's ! to the super 
tendcnt's ! " was the only sound that conili be heard. 
noviA moved with unanimous fury towards the 
where the house, named in such an < 
situated. 



The unfortunikte supenntendent was at thìa moroent p(b<< 
fully digesting his miserable dinner, whilst awaiting; au. 
iouslj the termination of this hurricane ; he was, however, 
far from Buspecling that its greatest furj nas to be spent 
on himaelf. Some benevolent persons hastened forward 10 
inform him of his urgent peril. The servants, drawn M 
the door by the uproar, beheld, in affright, the dense mm 
advancing. WTiile they listened to the friendly notice, the 
vanguard appeared ; one hastily informed hia master; ud 
while he, for a moment, deliberated upon flight, another 
came to say there was no longer time for it ; in hurry and 
confusion they cloiied and barricadoed the windows and the 
doors. The howling without increased ; each comer of òe 
house resounded with it ; and in the midst of the vast and 
mingled noise was heard, fearfully and distinctly, tbt 
blows of stones upon the door. " The tyrant ! the tyrant I 
the causer of famine J we must have him, living or dead t" 

The poor man wanJered Irom room to room in a Mie i 
of insupportable alarm, commending himself to God, and 
beseeching his servants to be firm, and to find for him some 
way of escape ! He ascended to the highest floor, and, 
from an opening between the garret and the roof, he looked 
anxiously out upon the street, and beheld k filled with the 
enraged populace ; more appalled than ever, he withdrew 
to seek the moat secure and secret hiding-place. Here, 
concealed, he listened intently to ascertain if at any time 
the importunate transport of passion should weaken, if the 
tumult should in any degree subside; hut his heart died 
within him to hear the uproar continue with n^ravaied 
and savage ferocity. 

Renno at this time found himself in the thickest of the 
confusion, not now carried there by the press, but by his 
own inclination. At the first proposal of blood -shedding, 
be felt bis own curdle in his veins ; as to the plundering, 

he was not quite cetlain wì\etì\eT U «a» «^x oi "«^wit; 

but the idea of murder caused Vam \H»ro.\sEA\MmQi. iuA 



ving, 

effort 



though he was grcftll; persuaded that tlie v, 
limary cause of the famine, the grand criminal, stiU, having, 
; the first movement of the crowd, heard, by chance, lome 
tpressions which iniljcaled a wtUingnew to make any effort 
I Fave him, he had suddenly determined to aid such s 
ork, and had therefore pressed near the door, which v 
{sailed in a thousand ways. Some were pounding i 
ick to break it in pieces ; others aBsisled with stakes, ( 
hisela, and hammers ; others, again, tore away llie plasJl 
ning, and beat in pieceE the wall, in order to effect a breach. 
The rest, 'who were unabie to get near the liouae. encou- 
aged by their shouts those who were at the work of ile- 
truction ; though, fortunately, throngh tiie eagerness will) _ 
Fhich they pressed forward, they impeded its piogreas. 

The magistrates, who were the first to have notice i 
be fray, despatched a messenger to ask military aid of a 
ommander of the castle, which was then ctdled, from t1 
[ate, Giovia; and he forthwith detached a troop, which 
irrived when the house was encompassed with the throng, 
md undergoing its tremendous assault ; and was therefore 
tbliged to halt at a distance from it, and at the extremity 
)f the crowd. The officer who commanded it did not 
enow what course to pursue ; at the order to ilisperse and 
nake way, the people replied by a deep and continued 
nurmuT, but no one moved. 'I'o fire on the crowd ap. 
wared not only savage, but perilous, inasmuch as the most 
larmless might be injured, and the most ferocious only 
rritated, and prepared for further miscbief ; and moreover 
lis instnicdons did not authorise it. To break the crowd, 
ind go forward with bis band to the house, would have 
)een the best, if success could have been certain ; but who 
;onld Cell if the soldiers could proceed united and in order? 
The irresolution of the commander seemed to proceed fron 
fear ; the populace were unmoved by the appearance of tt 
toldiers, and continued their attacks on the house. 
I little diatance there stood an ill-looking, half-starved a 
nan, who, contracting an angry countenance to a smile 
liabolical complacency, brandished above bis hoary lieadd 
Itaouner, with whicb he said he meant to nail the v' 

E of his door, alive as he was. 



159 THE BETBOTBED. 

" Oh, shame! ahame !" exclaimed Renzo. '■" Shame! 
would you take the hangman 'e buEiness out of hia hand? 
to asBaisinate a Chmtian? How can j'ou expect God will 
give us bread, if we commit such iniquity ? He will seoil 
ua his thunders, and nut bread !" 

" Ah ! dog ! ah ! traitor to the country !" cried one 
who had heard theae words, turning to Renzo with the 
countenance of a demon. " It is a servant of the vicar's 
dÌBgui«eJ like a countryman; it is a epy!" A hundred 
TOiees were heard exclaiming, " Who is it ? where ìm he ?"^ 
" A servant of the vicar's — a spy — the vicar himself, O* 
taping in the dù^uise of a peasant !" — " Where is he? 
where is be ? " 

Renzo would have shrunk into nothingness, — same of 
the more benevolent contrived to help him to disappeir 
tlirough tlie crowd ; but that which preserved him inocl 
eSeclually was a cry of " Make way, here cornea onr 
help, make way !" whicli attracted the attention of llie 
throng. 

This was a long scaling ladder, supported by a few per- 
sons who were endeavouring to penetrate the living tnaai, 
and by which they meant to gain entrance to the houie- 
But, happily, this was not easy of execution ; the length of 
the machine precluded the possibility of its being carried 
easily through such a multitude ; it came, however, just in 
time for Renxo, who profited by the confusion, and es- 
caped to a distance, with the intention of making bis way, 
as soon as he tould, to the convent, in search of Father 
Bonaventura. 

Suddenly a new movement began at one extremity, and 
diffused itself through the crowd: — "Ferrer, Ferrer!" 
resounded from every side. Some were surprised, some 
rejoice<l, some were exasperated, some applauded, some af- 
firmeil, some denied, some blessed, some ourKcd ! 

" Is he here ? It is not true ; it is not true. Ye», ya% 

long hve Ferrer, he who makes bread cheap No, 1 

He is here — here in a carriste ! Why does he com«' 

we don't want him. — Ferrer! long live Ferrer! 

Jriaid of (he poor ! he comes to take the vicar prisona 

^^k-Mo, we would revenge ourselves, vit >ko>^ %^^ 



Ye*, y«% 






NFluttlM ; hack, back. — Yes, yw, Ferrer 
«me ! to prison with the vicar I" 

At the extremity of the crowd, on the side opposite 
hat where the soldiers were, Anlonio Ferrer, the liiL 
hancellor, waa approaching in his carriage, who, probably 
ondenining himself a« ihe cause of this commotion, had 
ome to avert at least its most terrific and irreparable effects, 
spend worthily a popularity unworthily acquired. 

In popular tumults there arc always some who, from 
leated passion, or fanalicisni, or wicked design, do what 
liey can to push things to the worst ; proposing ^nd pro- 
loting the most barbsrouB counsels, and assisting to stir 
le fire whenever it appears to slacken. But, on tlie othet 
aad, there are always those wlio, perhaps with equul 
rdour, and equal perseverance, employ their efforts for the 
roduction of contrary eSi^cts ; some led bj friendship 
artiality for the persons in danger, others without ol' 
npulse than that of horror of bloodshed and atrocity. 
jass, then, is ever composed of a mixed asaem 
rbo, by indeliiiite gradations, hold Co one or the othc 
reme ; prompt to rage or compassion, to adoration or ex. 
cration, according as the occasion presents itself for the 
eveloperoent of either of these sentiments : li/i and death 
re the words involuntarily uttered, and with equal facility ; 
nd he who succeeds in persuading thetn that such an one 
oea not deserve to be quartered, has but little more to do, 
a convince them that he ought to be carried in triumph. 

While these various interests were contending for supe- 
iority in the niob, before the house of the vicar, the ap- 
earance of Antonio Ferrer gave instantly a great advantage 
3 the humane, who were manifestly yielding to the greater 
trength of the ferocious and blood-thirsty. The man him- 
elf was acceptable to the multitude, from his having pre- 
ioualy favoured their cause, and from his heroic resistance 
D any at^uments against it. Those already favourably in- 
lined towards htm were now much more affected by the 
onrageouB confidence of an old man, who, without guards 
r retinue, came thus to confront an angry and stormy 
lultitude. The announcement that his purpose was ta 
ifce tbe ricar prisoner^ produced at 



ae was «jm 



efibct ; and the fury against that unhappy person, irhich 
would have been aggravated by any attempt at defiance, or 
refosal of coneesdon, now, wiib the promiae of mtisfaction, 
and, lo speak in the Milanese fashion, with this bone in the 
mouth, became in a degree appeased, and gave place to 
other opposite Bentimenls, which began to prevail over iheit 

The partisans of peace, having recovered breath, aided 
Ferret in various ways ; those who were neat him, while 
endeavouring by iheir own to perpetuate the general ap- 
plause, sought at the same time to keep otf the crowd, ao 
as to open a passage for the carriage ; others applauded 
and repealed his words, or such as appeared appropriatelo 
his undertaking and his peril ; imposed silence on the ob- 
stinately furious, or contrived to turn against l/iem the 
anger of tbe fickle assembly. " Who is it that will not Mjr, 
Long Uve Ferrer ? You don't wish bread to be cheap, thet^ 
eh? They are rogues who are not willing to receive justiee it 
the hands of a Christian, and there are some among them 
who cry louder than the rest, to allow the vicar to escape. 
To prison with the superintendent! Long live Ferns! 
Make way for Ferrer !" The numbers of those who «pota 
in this manner increasing continually, the numbers of ibe 
opposite party diminished in proportion ; so thai the fornwr, 
from admonishing, bad recourse to blows, in order to al- 
ienee those who were still disposed to pursue the work of 
deBlruction. The menaces and threatening of the weaken 
party were of no longer avail ; the cause of blood had 
ceased to predominate, and in its place were heard only the 
cries of " Prison, justice, Ferrer!" The tebeUious spirits 
were finally silenced ; the remainder took possession of the 
door, in order to defend it from fresh attacks, and also to 
prepare a passage for Ferrer ; and some among them 
called to those within (openings were not wanting) that 
succour had arrived, and that the vicar must get ready " 
go quickly — to prison — hem ! do you hear ?" 

" Is this the Ferrer who helps in making the prodi 
ations P " asked our Renzo of one of his new neighbours, 
remembering the t'idit ferrerà that the doctor had shown 
pended to the taraoue ijiiotìwaaJion, wA -sftafi' 



^ Ì 

ibown 1 



155 

had reiterated in hh ears with so great a degree of per- 
tinacity. 

" The Haincj the high chancellor," replied he. 

" He is a worthy man, ia he not ? " 

" He is more than worthy ; it is he who hat; lowered the 
price of bread, against the wishes of others in power, and 
now lie comes to carry the vicar to prieon, because he h«s 
not acted justly." 

It is uonecessary to say, that Renzo's feelings were im- 
mediately enlisted on the side of Ferrer. He was desirous 
to approach near him, but the undertaking wits no easy one ; 
however, with the decision and Htrength of a nionntaineer, 
he continued to elbow himself through tlie crowd, and 
finally reached the side of the carriage. 

The carriage had already penetrated into the midst of the 
crowd, but was here suddenly stopped by one of those ob- 
structions, the unavoidable consequence of a journey like 
this. The Bged Ferrer presented, now at one window of 
his carriage, now at the other, a countenance foil of hu- 
mility, of sweetness, and benevolence ; a countenance which 
he had always kept in reserve for the day in which he 
should appear before Don Pliilip IV.; but he waa con- 
strained to make use of it on this occasion. He spoke ; 
buL the noise and buzzing of so many voices, and the 
shouts of applause which they bestowed on him, allowed 
but little of his discourse to be heard. He liad recourse 
also to gestures ; now placing his fingers on his lips, to 
take from thence a kiss, which his enclosed hands distributed 
to right and left, as if to render thanks for the favour with 
which the public regarded him ; then he extended Ihera, 
waving them slowly beyond the window as if to entreat a 
little space ; and now again lowering them politely, as if 
to requeet a little silence. WTien he had succeeded in ob- 
taining, in some measure, his last request, those who were 
nearest to him heard and repeated his words : — " Bread, 
abundance. I ooroe to do justice; a little space, if you 
please." Then, as if stifled and suffocated with the 
press, and the continual buzzing of so many voices, he 
diniw Mnarif ba<& in the camage, and mth éiffliMlfia 



ÌSfi 1 

drawing a long breath, said to himself, " l'or mi rida, que 
de gente."'' 

" Long live Ferrer ; there i« no occasion for fear ; joa 
«re a brave man. Bread 1 bread ! " 

" Yes, bread, bread," replied Ferrer, "in Bbon^nce! 
J promise you, 1 do," placing hit hand on his hnlt. 
" Clear a paseage for me," added he, then, in the lonilM 
voice lie could command ; " I come to carry Uim to prison, 
to inflict on him a just punishment ;" and tie added, in a 
very low tone, "Si està rulpabh"\ Then leaning far. 
ward to the coachman, he said hastily, " Adelante, ftuJr», 

The coachman smiled also on the people with an affitcted 
politeness, as if he were some great personage ; and, with 
ineffable grace, he waved the whip slowly from right to 
left, as if requesting his incoDvenient neighbours to retire 
a little on either side. " Be so iiind, gentlemen," said 
he, "a little space, ever bo little, just enough to let as 

Meanwhile the most active and oflicious employed them. 
selves in preparing tlie passage so politely requested. Some 
made the crowd retire from before [he horses with good 
words, placing their hands on their breast, and pushing 
them gently, " There, there, a little space, gentlemen." 
Others pursued the same plan at the sides of the carriage, 
so that it might pass on without damage to ihose who aur- 
rouoded it; which would have subjected the popularity of 
Antonio Ferrer to great hazard. Renio, after liavil^ 
been occupied for a few moments in admiring the respect- 
able old man, a little disturbed by vexation, overwhelmed 
with fatigue, but animated by sohcitudc, embellished, so to 
speak, by the hope of wresting a fellow-creature from the 
pains of death, — Itenzo, I say, threw away all idea of re- 
treat. He resolved to assist Ferrer in every way that lay 
in his power, and not to abandon him until he had accom- 
plished his designs. He united with the others to freed 
way, and fie was certohily not one of the least ai 

t If be k guil^. 



(tustrious. A passage was opened. " Come on, come oBJ^| 
said a number of them Co the coachnian, retiriiif; in front 
of the crovrd to maintBin the paeasge clear. " Addantf, 
ptvKfo, eon jiiieio'," said his master also lo him, and the 
carnage moved forward. In the midst of the salutes which 
he la.visbed promiscuously on the public, Ferrer, with a 
■mile of intelligence, beslowed particular thanks upon those 
wboni he beheld busily employed for him ; more than one 
of these «miles was directed to Renzo, nho, in truth, de- 
served ihera richly, serving the high chancellor on this day 
with more devoted zeal than the most intrepid of his secre. 
taries. The young mountaineer was delighted with hia 
condescension, and proud of the honour of having, as he 
thought, formed a friendship with Antonio Ferrer. 

The carriage, once in motion, continued its way with 
more or less slowness, and not without being frequently 
brought to n full Eiop. The space to be traversed was 
short, but, with respect to the time it occupied, it would 
have appeared interminable, even to one not governed by 
the holy motive of Ferrer. The people thronged around 
the carriage, to right and left, as dolphins around a vessel, 
hurried forward by a tcmpeGt. The noise was more pierc- 
ing and discordant than that of a tempest itself. Ferrer 
continued to speak to the populace the whole lenf;th of the 
way. " Yes, gcnllemcn, bread in abundance. I will con- 
duct him to prison; he shall be pnnishcd — si està cul- 
pable.'i Yea, yes, I will order it so ; bread shall be cheap. 
AH e». So it shall, I mean. The liing our master does 
not wish his faithful subjects to juffer from hunger. Oh, 
oh.' guardms.X Take care that we do not hurt you, gen- 
tlemen, Pedro, adelanCe, con juicio.^ Abundance ! abun- 
dance I a little space, for the love of Heaven ! Bread, 
bread ! To prison ! to prison Ì What do you want ? " 
demanded he of a man who had thrust himself partly within 
the window to howl at him some advice, or petition, or ap' 
plauae, no matter what ; but he, without having heard the 
question, had been drawn back by another, who saw him 
in danger of being crushed by the wheel. Amidst all this 



GÌamoui, Ferrer at last gained tliehouEe, thanks to his kind 

Those who had stationed tliemselvea there had equally 
laboured to procure the deEireil result, and had succeedeil 
in dividing the crowd in two, and keeping them back, so 
that hetween the door and the carriage there should be tu 
empty space, however suialL Renzo, who io acting u s 
scout and a guide had arrived with the carriage, wa« able 
to find a place, whence he could, by making; a ramptrt of 
Iiis powerful Ehoulilers, Bee distinctly all that passed. 

Ferrer breathed again on Bi«ing the place free, and th« 
door slUl shut, or, to upeak more correctly, not yet open. 
However, the hinges were nearly torn from their fasten- 
ings, and the panels shivered in many pieces ; so that as 
opening was made, through which it could be Keen ihlt 
what held it together was the holt, which, however, waa ■!• 
most twisted from ita socket. Through this breach loiM 
one cried to those within to open the door, another tia 
to let down the steps of the carriage, and the old man 
descended from it, leaning on the arm of this benevolent 
person. 

The crowd pressed forward to heliold him : curiosity and 
general attention caused a moment's silence. Ferrer stop- 
ped an instant on the sleps, turned towards them, and 
putting his hand to his heart, said, " Bread and justice," 
Clothed in his toga, with head erect, and step assured, he 
continued to descend, amid the loud applause that rent the 

In the mean while the people of the house had opened 
the door, so as to permit the entrance of so desired a guest i 
taking care, however, to contract the opening to the space 
his body would occupy. " Quick, qiuck !" said he, *' open, 
so that I may enter ; and you, brave men, keep back the 
people, do not let them come behind me — for the love 
of Heaven 1 Open a way for us, presently. — Eh I eh! 
gentlemen, one moment," said he to the people of the 
house ; " softly with this door ; let me pass. Oh, my 
libs, take care of my rihe. Shutnow — no, my gown, my 
gown !" It would have remained caught within the door 
^JAAcrer had not hastily wilbdrawti. U. ^^— 



Ha 



HH» daors, clceed in the best maniier the; coulil I 
were nevertheless supported with bars from y' ' 
the outside, those who had constituted themselvei the b 
guard of Ferrer worked will) their shoulders, t 
and their voice to keep the place empty, praying from i 
bottom of their hearts that they would be expeditioua, 

" Quick, quick !" said Ftrrer, as lie reached the p 
tico, to the servants who surrounded him, crying, 
your excellency be rewnrileii ! M'hat goodneas ! Great C 
what goodneas ! " 

" Quick, quick," repealed Ferrer, "where is this 

The superintendent descende<l the stairs half led, hall 
carried by his domestics, and pale b» death, Allien he 
saw who had come to his assistance, he sighed deeply, his 
pulse returnedj and a slight colour tinged his cheek, 
hastened to meet Ferrer, saying, " I am in the hands 
God and your excellency ; but hon go hence ? we are 
rounded on all sides by people who desiie tny death." 

" Fenga eoìi miga Jisifd', and take courage. Wy 
li^e is at the door ; quick, quick ! " He took him by the 
band, and, continuing to encourage him, led him towards 
the door, saying in his heart, however, Ai]ui etta ti butilia! 
Dio» nog valga ! f 

The door openeil; Ferrer appeared first; the superi n ten d> 
ent followed, shrinking with fear, and clinging to the pro- 
tecting toga, as an infant to the gown of its mother. Those 
who had maintained the space free raised their hands and 
waved their hats ; making in this manner a sort of cloud 
to conceal the superintendent from the view of llie people, 
and to enable him to enter tlie carriage, and place himself 
out of sight. Ferrer followed, and (lie carriage was closed. 
The people drew their own conclusions as to what had 
taken place, and there arose, in consequence, a mingled 
sound of applauiies and imprecations. 

The return of the carriage might seem to be even more 
difficult and dangerous ; but the willingness of the public 
to suffer the superintendent to be carried to prison was 

^^H • Come with mc. 

^^^L f XDir ftn tlio difficult i>oint : QoitViu^iiui\ 



160 THE ttETROTHED. I 

Eufflcienily manifest; and the friends of Ferrer liad ben 
busy in keeping llie way open whilst he was at the houw, 
so that he could return with a little more speed thiD he 
went. A» it advanced, the crowd, ranged on either ride, 
closed and united their ranks behind it. 

Ferrer, aa EOon as he was sealed, whispered the super- 
intendent to keep himself concealed in the bottom of the ' 
carriage, and not to let himself be seen, for the love of i 
Heaven ; there was, however, no need of this advice. It 
WB9 the policy of the high chancellor, on the contrary, to i 
attract as much of the attention of the populace as possibile 
and during all lliis passage, as in the former, he harangued 
his chan)|;eable auditory with a great quantity of sound, and 
TCry litUe sense; inlermpting himself continually to breathe 
into the ear of his invisible companion a few hurried words 
of Spanish. " Yea, gentlemen, bread and justice. To the 
castle, to prison under ray care. Thanks, thanks, a thou- 
sand thanks ! No, no, he shall not escape ! For ahlatidn- 
to».' It is too just, we will examine, we will see. I wish 
you well. A severe punishment. Eato lo diga por «u 
Bffji.t A just and moderate price, and punishment to 
those who oppose it. Keep off a little, I pray you. Yesr, 
yes; I am the friend of the people. He shall be punished; 
it is true ; he is a villain, a rascal. Perdane uiteit.'\. He 
ehall be punished, he shall be punished — »i eata culpabie.^ 
Yes, yes ; we will make the bakers do that which ia just 
Long live the king ! long live the good Milanese, his faith- 
ful subjects ! Animo eatamos ya quasi afuera." || 

They had, in fact, passed through the thickest of the 
throng, and were rapidly advancing to a place of safety ; 
and now Ferrer gave his lungs a little repose, and looking 
forward, beheld the succours from Pisa, those Spanish sol- 
diers, who had at last rendered themselves of service, by 
persuading some of the peo]i1e to retire to their homes, and 
by keeping the passage free for the final escape. Upon 
the arrivai of the carriage, they made room, and presented 
arms to the high chancellor, who bowed to right and left j 

•/(islofMilhcm. f luythoiroryouigt 



Iroti 



i5t' 

b the officer who approached the nearest to salute hinfL^ 
B s^d, HCcoRipanying hia words with s wave of his hanil, 

Beio n vnteit lai tnanos*," which the officer interpreleì 
I eignify. You have given me much assistance ! 

He might have appropriately added, Cedant arma toga:; 
at the imagination of Ferrer noa not at this moment at 
berty to occupy itself with quotations, and, moreover, tliey 
odld have been addressed to the wind, as Ilie officer did 
ot understand Latin. 

Pedro felt his accustomed courage revive at the sight of 
lese files of muskets, so respectfully raised ; and recover- 
)g entirely from his amazement, he urged on his horses, 
ithout deigning to take further notice of the few, wh» 
Fere nov harmless from their numbers. 'J 

" Z,eoantMe, kvanleie, eilamosafucriuf,'' said Ferrer toi 
le Buperinlendcnt, who, re-assured by the cessation of tìrf' 
unult, the rapid motion of the carriage, and these wordi 
f encouragement, drew himself from his comer, and over- 
rhdmed his liberator with thanks. The latter, after having 
andoled with him on account of his peril, and rejoiced at 
is deliverance, exclaimed, " Ah ! que dira de mio sii exce- 
•neiaX, who is already weary of this cursed Casale, be- 
ause it will not surrender ? que dira el eonde duque ? § who 
rembles if a leaf makes more noise tban usual ? Que dira 
I rey nuettro senor?\\ who must necessarily be informed 
f BO great a tumult ? And is it at an end ? Dioi losabe."^ 
—" Ah, as for me, I will have nothing more to do with 
:," said the superintendent. " I wash my hands of it. 

resign my office into the hands of your excellency, and {, 
nil go and live in a cavern on a mountain, as a hermj^, 
ir, very far from this savage people," 

" Uited" wi!I do that which is best por el servicio fy 
u majettad, ' replied the high chancellor, gravely. 

" Hia mt^esty does not desire my death," replied tha 
iiperintendent. " Yes, yea, ia a cavern, in a 
rem these cruel people." 






TBE BETBOTHe». 



It is not known what became of this project, aSj afler 
conducting the poor man in safety to his castle, our aulkir 
makes no farther mention of him. 



I 



CHAPTER XIV. 



The crowd began to disperse ; Eome went home to tak* 
care of their families, tome wandered off from the deare to 
breathe more freely, after such a squeeie, and others sought 
their acquaintances, to chat with ihera over the deìédi 
of the clay. The other end of the street was also thinning, 
so that the detachment of Spanish soldiers could without 
resistance advance near the superintendent's house. In 
front of it there still remained, so to speak, the dregs of the 
commotion ; a company of the seditious, who, iliscontented 
with " so lame and impotent a conclusion," of that which 
promised so much, muttered curses at the disappointment, 
and united themselves in knots to consult with each other 
on the possihilily of yet attempting something; and, to 
afford themselves proof that this was in their povfer, tìiey 
attacked and pounded the poor door, which had bwn 
propped up anew from within. At the arrival of the troop, 
however, Uieir valour diminished, and without further mn- 
Gullation they dispersed, leaving the place free to the sol- 
diers, who took possession, in order to serve as a guard to 
the liouse anil road. But the streets and small squarea of 
the viwnity were full of little gatherings ; where three or 
four individuals stopped, twenty were soon added to them ; 
there was a confused and constant babbling ; one narrated 
with emphasis the peculiar incidents of which he bad been 
tbc witness, another related his own feats, another r^oiced 
^at the affair had ended so Vtaiipil^, loaded Ferrer «Ml 
,' tuiil predicted Bcrioas cmiaeciaetvtc* \o ft» ^^^H 



^ 



THE BETROIBED. 



1 

that 
i this 

ed t^^ 



ìnCendeiit ; to which another still replied, that there wn* 
no danger of it, because wolves do not eal wolves ; others, 
in anger, muttered that they had been duped, and that 
thej were fools to allow themselves to be deceived in this 

Meanwhile the sun had set, and twilight threw the sat 
indistinct hue over every object. Many, fatigued with t 
day, and wearied with converging in the dark, returned 
their houeea. Our hero, after having assisted the carriage 
as far as was necessary, r^oiced when he beheld it in 
safety, and as soon as it was in his power lefi the crowd, 
so that he might, once more, breathe freely. Hardly had 
he taken a few steps in the open air, when he experienced a 
re-action after such eKcitement, and began to feel the need 
of food and repose ; he tlierefore looked upward on either 
side, in search of a rign, which might hold out to him the 
prospect of salififying his wants, as it was too late lo think 
of going to the convent. Thus, walking with his eyes di- 
rected upward, he stumbled on one of these groups, and his 
attention was attracted by hearing them speak of designs 
and projects for the morrow ; it appeared to him that he, 
who bad been such a labourer in the field, Irad a right to 
give his opinion. Persuaded from oU he had witnessed 
during the day, that, in order to secure the success of an 
enterprise, it was only necesstry to gain the co-operation of 
the populace, " Gentlemen," cried be, in a tone of 
exordium, " allow me lo offer my humble opinion. My 
humble opinion is this ; it is not only in the matter of 
bread that iniquity is practised : and since we have dis- 
covered to-day, that we have only to make ourselves heard, 
to obtain justice, we must go on, until we obtain redress 
for all their other Imavieb tricks — until we compel them 
to act like Christians. Is it not true, gentlemen, that there 
is a band of tyrants who reverse the tenth commandment , 
who commit injuries on the peaceful and the poor, and in. 
the end make it out that they act jusdy ? And 
they have commilled a greater rillany than usual, th< 
carry their heaJa higher then ever. There 

" Too nmny, " said a voJce. 
U 2 



It; 



l64> n 

" I say it, I do," resumed Kenzo; " it has even reaeheii | 
our ears. And then the thing tpeska for itself. By way of 
illuxtration, let us suppose one of those to whom 1 allude 
to b&ve one foot in Klilan, and the othor elsewhere; if he 
is s JeTil there, will he be an angel here ? Tell me, gen- ' 
tlemeo, have you ever seen one of these people with a coan. 
tenance like Ferrer's ? But what renders their practicea 
more wicked, I assure you that there are printed proclam- 
ations against them, iu which tliclr evil deeds are deail;; 
pointed out, and a punishment assigned to each, and it it , 
written, 'BTtoevcr he be, ignoble and plebeian, &c. &c. But 
go now to the doctors, scribes, and phariseea, and demuid 
justice according to the prodamatioii ; they listen to yon 
as (he pope does to rogues : it is enough to make an honeil 
man turn rascal ! It is evident, that the king and tlioie 
who govern would wiUingly punish the villains, but tbey 
can do nothing, because diere is a league among them. 
We must break it up, then ; we must go to-morrow to 
Ferrer, who is a good worthy man ; it was plain how de- 
lighted he was to-day to find himself among the poor ; how 
be tried to hear what was said to turn, and how kindly be 
answered them. We must go, then, to Ferrer, and inform 
him how things are situated ; and 1, for my part, can tell 
him aomething that will astonish him ; 1, who hare seen 
with my own eyes a proclamation, with ever so many coats 
of arms at the head of it, and which had been made by 
three of the rulers ; their names were printed at the bottoni, 
and one of these names was Ferrer ; this I saw with niy 
own eyes ! Now tliis proclamalioa was exactly suited to 
taf case ; so that I demanded justice from the doctor, since 
it was the desire of these three lords, among whom was 
Ferrer; but in the eyes of tlda very doctor, who had him- 
self shown me this fine proclamation, I appeared to be a 
madman. I am sure that when this dear old man shall 
hear these doinge, especially in the country, he will tiot let 
the world goon in this manner, hut will quickly &nd some 
remedy. And then, tliey themselves, if tbey issue pro- 
clamations, they should wish to see them obeyed; for it is 
an insult, an epitaph, with thttir name, if counted ft> 
And if the nobiliij -wili »i^ ^o^« ^^às -^ps^H 



TBS BETBOTDED. ^"^^1 

ions, and cease their evil doingE, we must compel them U'^l 
re have done to-day. 1 do not eay that he should go in 
is carriage to tale all the rascals to gaol — it would need 
foah's ark for tliat ; lie must give orders to tUoae whose 
osineas it is, not only at Milan but elsewhere, to put the 
roclamations in force, to enter an action against such s8 
ave been guilty of those iniquities, and where the edict 
lys, ' Prison,' then prison ; where it says, ' The gal- 
;y8,' the galleys ; and to say to the various podestà that 
dey must conduct themaelveE uprightly, or they shall he 
isnusGcd and others put in their place, and then, as I say, 
re will be there also to lend a helping hand, and to com- 
mand the doctors to listen to the poor, anil talk reasonably. 
Im I not right, gentlemen ?" 

Renzo had spoken so vcliemently, that he had attracted 
be attention of the assembly, and, dropping by degrees all 
ther discourse, they had all become his listeners. A con- 
used clamour of applause, a " hruvo! certainly! assuredly! 
e il right, it is hut too true," followed his harangue. 
Mtics, however, were not wanting. " It is a pretty thing, 
ndeed," said one, " to haten to a raountaineer ! they are 
11 lawyers !" and he turned on his heel. 

" Now," muttered another, " every barefooted fellow 
rill give his opinion, and with this rage for meddling, we 
hall at last not have bread at a low price, and that is all 
llBt disturbs ua." Compliments, however, were all that 
eached the cars of Renzo ; they seized his bonds, and ex- 
Iftimed, — ^m 

" We will see you again to-morrow," "^^È 

"Where?" ^M 

" On the square of the cathedral." f^^ 

" Yes, very well. And something shall be done, some- 
hing shall he done." 

" Which of these good gentlemen will show me an inn, 
rhere I may obtain refreshment and repose for the night ? " 
aid Benxo. 

" I am the one for your service, worthy youth," said 
ncj who had listened to the sermon very nllenlively, but 

tyet opened his mouth ; " I know a,ii mv, ftviV '*'^i^_ 



l66 TBE OBTROTHED. 

^uit yoa exactly ; 1 will recommend yaa to the keeper, 
who is my friend, and moreover a Tcry Iionest man." 
' Near by ? " 

" Not very far off." 

The BEsembly disEolved; and Renzo, after many shakes 
of the hand, from persons unknowii, followed his guide, 
adding many thanks for his courtesy. 

" It ia nothing, it is nothing," sdU he; " one hand 
washes the other, and both the face. We ought to oblige 
our neighbour." As they walked along, he put many quea< 
tionE to Renzo, by way of discourse. 

" It is not from curiosity, nor to meddle with your 
affairs, but you appear to be fatigued. From what country 
do you come ? " 

" All the way from Lecco, all the way from Lecco." 

" All the way from Lecco ! Arc you from Lecco ? " 

" From Lecco ; that ia to say, from the province." 
' Poor youth ! From what I have understood of yoor 
discourse, it appears you have been hardly treated." 

" Ah ! my dear and worthy man, I have been obliged 
to use much skiU in sjicaking, not to make the public ac 
quainted with my affairs ; but — it is enough tJiat they 

will one day be known, and then ■ But I see here s 

sign, and, by my faith, I don't wish to go farther." 

" No, no ; come to the place I told you of, it is but a 
short distance off. You will not be well acconunodalM 

" Oh yes. I am not a gentleman accustomed to deli- 
cacies ; any thing to satisfy my hunger ; and a little straw 
will answer my purpose : that which I have most at hetit 
is to Snd them both very soon, under Providence ! " And 
Lc entered a large gate, Irom which hur^ a sign of ilie 
FuB Moon. 

" Well, I will conduct you here, since you desire it," 
sud the unknown ; and Renzo followed him. 

" There is no necessity for troubling you longer," re. 
plied Renzo ; " but," he added, " do me the favour to go 
in, and take a glass with me," 

" / accept your obliging offct," said he ; and preceding 
^^■W aa being more accuslomei xo v\\c\i.<toai:, \ift «n^Éta 



IBE BETBOTHED. l67 

a little court-yard, approached a glass door, and openiug it, 
advanced into the kitchen with his companion. 

It was lighted by two lamps suspended from the beam 
of the ceiling. Many people, oil busy, were seated on 
benches which surrounded a narrow table, occupying almost 
all one side of the apartment ; at intervale napkins were 
spread, and dishes of meat ; cards played, and dice thrown ; 
and bottles and wine-glasaes amid tliem all. Berlingiie, 
reali, and parpagliole *, were also scattered iu profusion 
over the table, which, could they have spoken, would pro- 
bably have said, " We were this morning in a baker's 
couuter, or in the pocket of some spectator of the tumult, 
who, occupied with public affairs, neglected tliu care of 
private affairs." The confusion was great ; a boy ran to 
and fro busily engaged in attending to the dinner and 
gaiuing tables J the host was seated on a low bench under 
the mantle-tree of the chimney, apparently occupied in 
tracing figures in the ashes with tUe tongs, but in reality 
deeply attentive to all that passed around him. He raised 
his bead at the sound of the latch, and turned towards the 
new comers. When he saw the guide, " Curse the fellow," 
S^d he to himself, " he must always be under my feet, 
vhen I wish him at the devil !" Casting a rapid glance 
towards Renzo, he continued, " I know you itot ; but if 

Ci come with such a hunter, you are either a dog or a 
e. When you shall have spoken a few words, I shall 
know which of the two you are." 

Nothing of this mute soliloquy could be traced, however, 
in the countenance of the host, who was motionless as a 
statue : his eyes were small and without expression, his 
face fat and shining, and his short and thick beard of a 
reddish hue. 

" What are your orders, gentlemen ? " said he. 

" First, a good flagon of wine," said Renzo, " and then 
EOmelhing to cat." So saying, he threw himself on a bench 
at one end of the table, and uttered a loud and sonorous 
Ah! aa if to say, " It is a good thing to sit down after 
having been so long on one's feet." But recollecting the 
table at which he had been seated the evening before with 

• Diatreiit cuins, J 

JU 1 V 



\S$ TBE BGTRO 

Agnes and Lucy, he aigheil deeply. The host brought the 
wise ; hia compntiion had seated himself opposite to him 
Renzo filled a glass for liiin, saying, " To wet your Up<j" 
and another for himself, which he swallowed at a draught 

" What can you give me to eat?" said he, addressing 
the host. 

" A good piece of stewed meat," replied he. 

" Well, sir, a good piece of slewed meat." 

" You shall be served immediately," said the host, and 
calling to the boy, "■ Serve tliis gentleman. But," resumed 
he, turning again to Keiuo, " I have no bread to-day." 

" As for bread," said Renzo, in a loud voict,and laugh- 
ing, " Providence has provided that." And he drew forth 
the third and last loaf, picked up under the cross of St.JH. 
onigi, and holding it up, cried, " Here is the bread of 
Pro vid enee !" 

At this exckmalion many of ihe company turned round, 
and seeing this trophy in the air, one of them eried, 
" Bresd foe ever at a low price !" 

" At a low price!" said Renzo; " gratis et umore." 

" Better still, betler still." 

" But," added he, " I do not wish these gentlemen to 
think evil of nie. I have not stolen it — I found it on the 
ground; and if I could find the owner, I am ready to p»y 

" Bravo, bravo !" cried they, laughing louder still, not 
imagining that he was in earnest. 

" They tliink that I jeet, but it is really so," said Renao 
to his guide, and turning the bread in his hand ; " sa 
how they have formed it — you would call it a cake, but 
they were so packed one on the other. If there were any 
widi the crust a little tender, one might know they were 
fresh," Then devouring three or four moulhfulls of the 
bread, he washed them down with another glass of wine, 
adding, " The bread will not go down alone — my throat 

" Prepare a good bed for this young man," said the 
guide ; " he is going to pass the night here." 
■''' I)o you wish to sleep here ? " said the host 
~ ' ■ g the table. 



1 



m 



Elainly ; I shall be content wiili any bed, provided 
ta are while ; for although poor, I am acenstomed 
to cleanlinesE." 

" Oh, as lo that " said the hosL So saying, he 

went to his counter, which was in a comer of the kitchen, 
and returned, brining in his hand paper, pen, and ink. 

" What does this mean?" swallowing a piece of the 
stew wliich had been placed before him, and smiling with 
an air of surprise ; *' is iliat the -white sheet ?" 

The host, without replying, placed the paper on the 
table, and himself in an attitude to write, and with the pea 
in his hand, leaning towards Renzo, he said, " Do me the 
favour to tell me your name and country," 

" What!" said Renzo, " what has thia to do with the 
btd?" 

" I do my dnty," said the host, looking at the guide. 
" We are obliged to gite an exact account of all who lodge 
tt our house. Name and turname, and from fnhal country 
they are; why they are here ; if they have arm»; and Aow 
fcnj they expect lo remain in the oily. These ate the very- 
words of the proclamation." 

Before answering, Renzo emptied another glass ; it was 
the third, but I fear for the future we shall not find it 
possible to count them. " Ah, ah !" exclaimed he, "you 
have the proclamation. Well, I pride myself on being a 
doctor of laws, and I know what impoitunce is attached to 
proclamations." 

" I speak in earnest," said the host, looking again at the 
mnte companion of Renzo; and returning to his desk, he 
drew from it a large sheet of paper, which he unfolded 
before Renzo, as an esnct copy of the proclamation. 

" Ah 1 there it is !" cried he, quickly emptying the con- 
tenta of the glass which he held in his hand. " Ah ! there 
it is! the fine sheet ! I rejoice to see it. I know these arms; 
I know what this pagan head means with a noose around 
its neck." (The proclamations of that time were headed by 
the arms of the goTemar, and in those of Don Gonzalo 
Fernandez de Cordova was seen a Moorish king, chained 
by Ùte throat.) " This face means, Command who can. 



i 



Rent to the galleys — well, well, Iknow what I woolJ 
I have seen another leaf just like this. When be 
bIibU hare so taken measures that an honest joung man can, 
without molestation, marry her to whom he is betrothed, 
and hy whom he is beloved, then 1 will tell my name to 
this face, and will give him a kiss in the bargain. I may 
have very good reasons for not telling my name j it'tt 
fine thing, truly ! And if a robber, who might have under 
tiis command a band of villaias, because if he were alone 
" He hesitated a moment, finishing the phrase with 
a gesture, and then proceeded, " If a robber wished to 
know who I was, in order to do me some evil turn, I ask 
you if that face would move from the paper to help me. 
Am I obhged to tell my business ì Truly, this is some- 
tiling new. Suppose, for instance, that I have come to 
Milan to confess — 1 would wish to do it to a capuchin 
father, and not to the landlord of an inn." 

The host kept silence, looking at the guide, who ap* 
pearcd not to notice any thing that passed. Renzo, it 
grieves us to say, swallowed another glass, and continued, 
" I will give you reasons enough to satisfy you, my dear 
host ; if those proclamations which speak favourably of good 
Christians are worth nothing, those which speai unfavour- 
ably are worth less than nothing. Take away, then, all 
these encumbrances, and bring in exchange another flagon, 
because this one is broken." So saying, he struck it 
lightly with his hand, adding, " Don't you hear how it is 
cracked ? " 

The discourse of Renzo had again attracted the general 
attention of the company, and when he concluded, there 
was a general murmur of applause. 

" What must I do ? " said the host, looking at the 
strange companion, who was, however, no stranger to him. 

" Yes, yes," cried many of tlie company, " this country- 
man is right ; tliey are vexatious impositions. New Uirs 
to-day ! new laws to-day ! " 

The stranger took advantage of tlie noise to say to the 
host, in a tone of reproach for his too abrupt demand, 
to his owa way a little ; do not raise & dÌAr 



TBE BETROTHES. 



Vitate done my duty," said the host aloud, " and Wl 
myself," conlinued he, lowering hia voice ; " and 
that is all I care for." He removed the pen, iok, and 
paper, and gave the empty flagon to the boy, 

" Bring the same kind of wine,"' said Renio, " for it 
suits my taste exactly ; and we will send it to sleep with 
the other, nithout asking its name, surname, nor what is 
its buisineBS, nor whether it is going to remain long in this 

" Of the same kind," said the host to the boy, giving 
him the flagon, and returning to liis scat by the chimney. 
" He ia no other than a bare," thought he, raking in the 
ashes. " And in nhat hands art thou fallen, poor silly 
youth ! If you will drown, drown ; but the host of the 
Full Moon will not go halves with thy folly." 

Renzo returned thanks to hia guide, and to all those 
who had taken his sidt, "Worthy friends," said he, 
" I know that honest people support each other." Then 
BtrikinB the table, and placing himself in the attitude of 
an orator, " Is it not an unheard of thing," cried he, 
" that those who govern must always introduce papi-r, 
pen, and ink ? Always the pen in hand ! Such a passion 
for the pen ! " 

" Eh ! young and worthy strange»- ! would you know 
the reason ?" said one of the gamesters, laughing. 

" Let us hear it," repUed Renzo. 

" The reason is, as these lord» eat geese, they bave 
many quills, they know not what to do with them." 

" Oh, oh !" said Renzo, " you are a poet ! You have 
poets here, then p I have also a vein for poetry, and I 
sometimeB make verses — but it is when things go on well." 

To comprehend this witticism of poor Renio, it ia ne- 
cessary to be informed, that in the eyes of the vulgar of 
Milan, and more particularly in its environs, the name of 
poet did 'not signify, as among cultivated people, a sub- 
Kmc genius, an inhabitant of Pindua, a pupil of tlie muses, 
but a whimaicality and eccenlrieity in discourse and con- 
duct, which had more of singularity than sense; and an 
absurd wresting of words from their legicimtite nguifl- 



)W 

4 



i 



E BETROTHED. 



But I will lell the true reason," added Renzo, " i' 
u iKcause they themselvea hold the pen, and, there- 
fore, they do not record their own words ; but let a poot 
man speak, they are very attentive, and in a raorarat, 
there it is, in black and while for some future oecaaion. 
They are cunning, also ; and when they want to perplex ■ 
poor youth, who does not know how to readj hut who has 

a little I know well " beating his forehead wilh 

his hrtnd, and pointing lo it wilh hia finger, to make him- 
self understood ; " and when they perceive that he begins 
to comprehend the difficulty, they throw into the convers- 
ation Bome Latin, to make him lose the thread of th«r 
argument, to put him at his wits' end, to confuse his 
brains. This custom must be broken up : to-day, every 
thing [has been (lone affer the people's fashion, without 
paper, pen, and ink. To-morrow, if they know how lo 
conduct themselves, we shall do still better, withoul 
hurting a liair of any one'shtftd ; all in the way of ju&- 

In the mean while some of the company had engaged 
again in play, and some in eating ; some went away, others 
came in their place. Tile unknown guide continued to 
remain ; and without appearing to have any busineiE to 
detain him, lingered to talk a little more witi) Renzo, nnd 
resumed the conversation about bread. 



OUringt^- 
br«M^^ 



" If I had the control, 1 would order things better," 
said he. 

" What would you do ? " said Renzo, endeavouting tfl 
exhibit every appearance of attention. 

" What would I do ? Every one should have btw 
the poor as well as the rich." 

" Ah ! tliat ia right," 

" See how I would do. I would fix a reasonable rate 
within the ahih'ty of every one ; then bread should be dis- 
tributed according to the number of mouths, because there 
are gluttons who eeize all they can get for themselves, 
and leave the poor Ktill in want. We must then divide it. 
And how shall we do this ? Why in this way. Give s 
tfOket to evejy family in propottìoti \a ihe mouths, to ao^ 
e them to get bread from Ae'tatMs. ?ot cuo^H 



S BBTROTBED. 



Pliie a ticket expressed in this manner ; Ambroid 
t)y trade a iword cutler, witti a nife and four 
, all old enough to eat bread (mind that) ; he must 
ihed with BO much bread at such a price. But 
• must be done in order, always with regard to the 
of mouths. For instance, thej should give you b 

enzo Tramaglino," said the young man, who, en- 
wilh the project, did not reflect that it ail depended 
ink, and paper ; and that the first point towards 
Bs waa to collect the names of the persons to be 

y well," said the unknown; " but have you a wife 

ight to have — children, no — not yet — but a 

f people had acted as their duty required " 

, yuu are single 1 then have patience ; they will 
a you a smaller portion," 

at is but just. But if soon, as I hope — by the 
jod — enough; suppose I have a wife." 
ea the ticket must be changed, and the portion in- 
as I have said, according to the mouths," replied 

at would be very good," cried Renzo, thumping 

rlh his ftst; " and why don't they make such a 
An I tell you ì meanwhile I wish you a good 
I my wife and cluldren must have been expecting 
long while." 

other drop, another drop," filling his ^ass, and 
luing to force him to sit down again ; " another 

lis friend contrived to disengage himself ; and leav' 
zo, pouring forth a torrent of entreaties and re- 
I, he departed. Renzo continued to talk until he 
the street, and then fell back on liis seat. He 
kt the glasis which he had filled to the brim ; and 
lie boy pass before the table, he beckoned to him, 
■ bad something particular to communicMi;, He 
& the gJass, and with a. tone tA ao\eai.-Kvi.-j ■«ài.. 



■( THE BBTBOTBED. 

" See there ! I prepared it for that worthy man ; you see 
it is fullj as it should be for a friend ; hut he would not 
hare it. Sometimes people have singular ideas ; howerer, 
I have shown my good will ; but now, since ^e thing ii 
done, it must not be lost." So saying, he emptied it it 
one draught. 

" I understand," said the boy, moving off. 

" You understand too, do you ? It is true, when the 
reasons are sufficient " 

Here we have need of all our love of truth to induce ns 
to pursue faithfully our hero's history ; at tbo same tinw 
this same impartiality leads us to inform the reader, ihu 
this was his first error of a similar character ; and pre» 
cisely because be was so unaccustometl to merry-making 
did tfais prove so fatal. The few glasses of wine which 
he swallowed so rapidly, contrary to his custom, partly ts 
cool his throat, and partly from an exaltation of spirits, 
which deprived him of the power of reflection, went im- 
mediately to his head. Upon an habitual drinker it would 
Lave produced no visible effect ; our author observes this, 
that " temperate and moderate habits have this advantage, 
that the more a man practises them, the more he finds s 
departure from them to be disagreeable and inconvenient; 
BO that his fault itself serves as a lesson to him for the 

However this may 1», when these firet fumes hail mount' 
ed to the brain of Renzo, wine and words continued to 
flow without rule or reason. He felt a great desire te 
speak, and for a while his words were arranged with some 
degree of order, but by little and little he found it dif- 
ficult to form a connected sentence. The thoughts which 
presented themselves to his mind were cloudy and indis- 
tinct, and his expressions, in consequence, unconnected and 
obscure: to relieve his perplexity, by one of those false 
instincts which, under similar circumstances, lead men. to 
the accomplishment of their own ruin, he had recourse to 
the flagon. 

We wUi relate only a few of the words which he con. 

Saaed to ^'acuiate, during t\ie remùuder of this miserrilto 

. " Ab ! host, host," rewvtiei W, Io'&q'>n\& 



TBB BETROTOED. 



efaK 

?. 

St 

th 

N 

ni ■ 



'ith his eye aronnd the table, or gazing at 
ras not, and taking no notice of tlie naiee of the company, 
host that thou art ! I cannot strallciw it — this recjuest 
F name, BUrnatne, and business. To a peaceable youth 
te me ! you have not behaved well ! what saliafaction, 
fhat advantage, what pleasure — to put a poor youth oi 
aper ? Am I not right — Epeak, gentlemen ? HosMjl 
hould stand by good fellows. Listen, listen, host, I^ 
riah to make a comparison for you — for the rcaaon ' 

They laugh, do they ? I am a little gay, I know ; 

luC the reasons, 1 ssy, are just. Tell me, if you please, 
dio is it that brings custom to your house ? Poor young 
oen, is it not ? Do these lords, they of the proclamation^^ 
■ver come here to wet their lips f" 
" They are all water-drinkers," aaid one who sat ntà 

" They wish to keep poeacBsion of their understandings, 
n as to tell lies skilfully," added another- 

" Ah 1" cried Renzo, " that is the poet who spoke. 
rhen hear my reasons. Answer me, host. Ferrer, who 
B the best of all of them, has he ever been here to drink 
lie health of any one, and to spemi so much as a farthing ? 

\iiil this dog of an assassin, this Don ? I must be 

lilent, because I am too much in the humour for habbhng. 

Ferrer, and Father Crr , I know, are two honest men. 

3ul there are few honest men. The olii arc worse than 
he yonng ; and the young — are much worse than the 
lid. I am glail there was no blood sbtd, these are things 
ive must leave to the hangman. Bread ! Oh yes, for 
that I have had many a thrust, but I have alao given some. 
Make way! Abundance! vivai! And Ferrer too — 
loine worda in Latin, — Si cs baraos trapolorvm. Cursed 
fault ! viral! justìce ! bread ! Ah, those are good words ! 
We had need of them. When we heard that cursed ton, 
ton, ton, and then again, ton, ton, ton, the question was 
not of flight ; but hold the signor curate to — 1,1 know 
what I am thinking of." 

At these words he himg down hia head, and remained 
For a time as if absorbed by some new ima^ywatìciTi ■, "CneiXj 
•Ughing deeply, he raised it again, ani \oote4 -m^ -wSci. 



I?6 , 

such a mournful and silly expreeuoD, as exciled the amuse- 
ment of all around. In short, he became the laughing- 
Btocfc of the whole company. Not that they were all 
perfectly Boher, hut, to say truth, ihey were so io eom- 
parisoD with poor Renzo. They provoked and angered 
him with ailly questions, and widt mock civilities ; some. 
tiroes he pretended to be offended, then, wtthoat noticing 
them at all, spoke of other things ; then replied, tlien io. 
tcrrogated, and always wide of the mark. By good for- 
tune, in his folly, he seemed from instinct to avoid pro- 
nouncing the names of persons ; so that the one mMt 
deeply graven in his memory was not uttered. We should 
have been sorry ourselves if this name, for which we feel 
Eo much love and respect, had passed from mouth to moulh, 
and been made a theme of jesting by these vulgar and dt- 
graded wretches. 



CHAPTER XV. 



The host, seeing that the game was about to be carried too 
far, approached Renzo, and entreating the others to be 
quiet, endeavoured to make him understand that be had 
best go to bed. But our mountaineer could think ot nothing 
but name, surname, and prociatiiutiow ; yet the words bed 
and «kep, repeated frequendy in his ear, made at last 
some impression, and producing a sort of lucid interval, 
made him feel that he really had need of both. The little 
sense that remained to him enabled him to perceive that 
the greater part of the company had departed ; and with 
his hands resting on the table before him, he endeavoured 
to stand on his feet; his e£Fbrts would have been, however, 
unavaiUng, without the assistance of the host, who led him 
from between tile table and the bench, and taking a lantern 
in one hand, managed partly to lead and partly to drag him 
to the stmrs, and theuce up ihe narrow staircase to Ar 
^Kp designed for him. M vbe 6\£\ii. ol ■()[«; \k*..ì|^^B 



1 



deavoured lo look kindly upon the host ; but his eyes 
one time sparkled, at another disappeared, like two (ire- 
flies : he endeHTOured lo Etand erect, and Etretched out his 
band to pat the slioulder of bis host in tescimntiy of his 
gratitude ; but in this he failed : however he did succeed 
in eajiu^, " Worthy hoet, I Eeenowtliat you are an honest 
man ; hat I don't like your rage for name and nurname. 
Happily I am also " 

The host, who did not expect to hear him utter one 
connected idea, and nho knew from experience how prone 
men in bis situation were to sudden changes of feehng, 
wishing to profit by tliis lucid interval, made another 
attempt. " My dear fellow," said he, iu a tone of per. 
suasion, " I have not intended to vex you, nor to pry into 
your affairs. What would you have had me do ? There is 
a law, and if we innkeepers do not obey it, we siiall he the 
first to Ik punished ; ihererore it is better to conform. And 
after all, as regards yourself, what is it ? A hard thing, 
indeed ! just to say two words. It is not for then, but to 
do me a favour. Now, here, between ourselves, tell me 
your name, and then you shall go to bed in peace." 

"Ah, rascal! knave!"cried Renzo, " do you dare to 
bring up this cursed nafne and turname and businean 
again?" 

" Hush ! you fool ! and go to bed," aaid the host. 

But Renzo continued to bellow, " I understand it, you 
belong to the league. Wait, wait, tiU I settle matters for 
you;" and turning to tile iloor, he bellowed down the 
stairs, " Friends ! the host is of the " 

" I spoke in jest," cried the host, pushing him towards 
the bed, '■' in jest ; did you not perceive I spoke in jest ? " 

" Ah, in jest; now you talk reasonably. Since you said 

it in jest— they are just the thing to make a jest of ." 

And he fell on the bed. " Undress yourself quickly," said 
tbe host; and adding his assistance to bis advice, the thought 
occurred to him, to ascertain if there were any money in 
RenKo's pockets, as on the morrow it would fall into hands 
from which an innkeeper would have but little chance of 
neovering it ; he therefore haiiarded another attempt, sa^- 
^^■K Renzo, " You are an honest joutV, ue ^ci^ 'w^'v.X" 



ti lioneBl youth," replied Renzo, still endeavour- 
ing to rill liimself of his clothes. 

" Well, settle this little account with me now, becsaw 
to-tnorrow I am obliged lo leave home on hiisineBs." 
" That's right," Esid Reiixo " 1 am honest. But the 

money — we must find the money !" 

" Here iti!"," Eiid the host; and calling up all bis patience 
and skill, he succeeded in obtaining the reckoning. 

" Lend me your hand to finish undresiiiig, host," laid 

Renzo ; " 1 begin to comprehend, do you see, that I 

■m very sleepy." 

The host rendered him the desired service, and covering 
him with the quilt, bade him " Good night." 

The words were scarcely uttered before poor Henio 
snored. The host stopped to contemplate him a moneiit 
by the light of his lantern ; " Mad blockhead I" said. be 
to the poor aleeper, " thou hast accomplished thy own 
ruin ! dunces, wlio want to travel over the world, without 
knowing where the sun rises, to entangle themselves with 
affairs tliey know nothing of, to their own injury and that 
of their neighbour!" [ 

So saying, he left the apartment, having locked the doer ' 
outside, and calling to his wife, told her to take his place I 
in the kitchen, " Deeause," said he, " 1 must go out for a 
while, thanks to a stranger who is here, unhappily for | 
me;" he then briefly related the annoying circumstance, 
adding, " And now keep an eye on all, and above aU be ' 
prudent. There is below a company of dissolute fellows, 
wlio, between drink and their natural disposition, ate very | 
very free of speech. Enough — if any of them sbouM 

"Oh ! I am not a cliild ! I Imow what I ought to do. ^ 

It cnuld never be said " I 

" Well, well Be careful to make tliem pay. If they | 
talk of the superintend ant of provision, the governor, | 
Ferrer, and the council of ten, and the gentry, and Spain 
and France, and other follies, pretend not to bear them, ,' 
fccMUse, if you contradict them, it way go ill with you now, i 
and if you argue mviVi Aem, U «la-j ??> "A -«Uh. you 
after; and take care, when ^tui'heiw WT i^vt^no-i»— 



«u hji^^^ 



w 



179 



ìfcay your heaiij and cull out ' Coming, sir.' I will 
entleavour to return as sunn as poEEible." 

So saying, he descended with her into (he kitchen, put 
on his hat and cloak, and taking a cudgel in his hand, de- 
parted. As he walked along the road, he resumed the thread 
of his apostrophe to poor Henzo. " Headstrong moun- 
taineer !" — for that Renzo was such, had been manifest from 
his pronunciation, countenance, and manners, although he 
vainly tried lo conceal it, — " on a day like this, whtn by 
dint of skill and prudence I hud kept my hands clean, you 
must come at the end of it to spoil all 1 have done ! Are 
there not inns enough in Milan, that you must come lo 
mine ! at least, if you had been alone, I would have winked 
St it for to-night, and made you understand maiters 
to-morrow. But no ; my gentleman must come in com- 
pany, and, to do the thing better, in company with an 
informer." 

At this moment he perceived a patrole of soldiers ap- 
proaching ; drawing on one side to let them pass, and 
eyeing them askance, he continued, " There go the fool- 
punishers. And thou, great booby, because thou saw'st a 
few people making a little noise, thou must think the world 
was turned upside down ; and on this fine foundation thou 
hast ruined thyself and would have ruined me ; I have 
done all I could to save thee, now thou must get thyself 
out of trouble. As if I wanted to know tby name from 
curiosity ! What was it lo me whether it were Thaddeus 
or Bartholomew i* I ha^ve truly great satUfaciion in taking 
a pen in my hand ! I know well enough that there are 
proclamations which are disregarded-; just as if we had 
need or a mountaineer to tdl us that 1 And dost thou not 
know, thou fool ! what would be done to a poor innkeeper, 
who should be of tby opinion (since upon them ihe pro- 
clamation bear hardest), and should not inform himself of 
the name of any one who did him the favouc to lodge at 
his house. Under penalty of whoever of the above-said 
holts, tavern keeper», and ùthers, of three hundred crownx, 
— behold three hundred crowns hatched ; vniL 'aq'k 'ua 
spend them weU, — two thirds tu be applied lo tl»c xo'goX 
cAamber, and the other third io (he octiwer or iTifoT'nwT. 



And in rage of inabililt/ififìe gear» in the i/aUege, and greater 
pecaniarg and corporal panithmeTiU, at the dieeretiùn qfhii 
EKetlleiu:y, Very much obliged for such favaurs, incieeil !" 
He ended his soliloquy, finding himself at his deEliued 
point, the palace of the Capitano di Giatliiia. 

There, as in alt the ofScea of the aecrelaries, tliere iraa i 
great deal of bueicesB going on ; on all aides, pergons wete 
employed in iasuing orders tu ensme the jieace of the fol- 
lowing day, to take from rebellion every pretext, to cool 
the audacity of those who were dtairous of fresh disorders, 
and to concentrate power in the hands of those accuGtomtd 
to exercise il. The number of the soldiers who protected 
the house of the superi n ten ilant was increased ; tlie endi 
of the sireeta were defended by large piece» of limber 
thronn across ihem ; the bakers were ordered to balie 
bread without intermission ; expresses were sent to all tlie 
surrounding villages, wiili orders to send corn into the 
city ; and at every baker's some of the nobility were sta- 
tioned, to watch over the distribution, and to restrain the 
discontented by fair words and the authority of their pre- 
sence. But to give, as they eald, a blow to the hoop, and | 
another to the cask, and increase the efficacy of tbór t 
caresses by a little awe, they took measures to seize some I 
of the seditious, and this was the principal duty of the 
Capitano di Giustizia. His blood-hounds had been in ibe I 
field since the commencement of Uic tumult ; and ibis self- 
styled Ambrose Fusella was a police officer in disgniee, I 
who, having listened to the famous sermon of Renzo, con- 
cluded him to be fair game. Finding that be had but | 
newly ariived from his village, he would have conducted 
him immediately to prison, as the safest inn in the dty; J 
but in this, as ve have seen, he did not succeed. He 
could, however, carry to the police certain information of i 
his name, turnume, and countri/, besides many other con- I 
jectures ; so that when the host arrived to tell nhat he 
knew of Renzo, their knowledge was already more precise i 
than his, He entered the accustomed hall, and gave in J 
hts deposition, that a stranger had come to lodge at hii ] 
•■ -'jse, who would not tell tia tiame, 

I have done joat ittH^ \b ^■ft^» 



ation," said a notary, laying down hie pen ; " but we know 
il already." 

"That IB very singular!" thought the host; " you 
must have a great deal of cunning." 

" And WB know also," continued the notary, " tlua 
famous name." 

" The devil ! the name iIbd. How do they know that?" 
thought the hOEt again. 

" But," resumed the notary, with a serious air, " you do 
not teli all." 

" What is there mm-e to tell ?" 

" Ah ! ah ! we know well that this man carried to yoor 
house a quantity of stolen bread — bread acquired by theft 
and sedition." 

I " A man comes with bread in his pocVet ; am I to know 
where he got it ? if it was on my death-bed, I can say, I 
only saw him have one loaf." 

" Thus it is ! you are always excusing and defending 
yourselves ! If we were to take your word for it, you are 
all honest people. How can you prove that this bread waa 
honestly acquired ?" 

" Wliy need I prove it ? it ie nothing to me. I am 
an innkeeper." 

" Yon cannot, however, deny, that this, your customer, 
had the audacity lo complain of the proclamations, and 
make Indecent jokes on the arms of bis Excellency." 

" Pardon me, signor ; how could lie be my customer, 
when 1 never saw him before ? It was the devil, saving 
your presence, who sent him to my house. If I had 
known him, there would have been no need of asking his 
name, as your honour knows. ' 

" However, in your inn, and in your presence, seditious 
and inflammatory conversation has been held ; your cus- 
tomers have been riotous, clamorous, and complaining." 

" How would your honour expect me lo pay attention 
to the absurdities uttered by a parcel of brawlers. I attend 
only lo my own affairs, for I am a poor man. And then 
your honour knows, that those who are lavish of their 
tongue, are often lavish of their fists, especially when 



*' Yes, yes, thej may have their way no 
— to-morrow, we will sec if the heal ia dislodged from 
their brains. What do you think ? " 

" I don't know."' 

" That the mnb will become roasters in Milan ? " 

" Certainly ! " 

" You shall see, you shall see." 

" J unilerstand — I know the king will be always tbe 
king; but he who has taken any thing will keep it. Ni<- 
turally a poor father of a family has no desire to give back; 
your honours have the power ; that belongs to you." 

" Have you still some people at your house ?" 

" A number." 

'* And this your customer, what is he about ? Is he stili 
labouring to excite the people to sedition t" 

" This Etranger, your honour means ; be is gone to 

" Then you have a number ? Well, be careful not lo let 
them go away." 

" Am I to play the constable?" thought the host, but 
said nothing. 

" Return to your bouse, and be prudent," resumed the 
notary. 

" I have always been prudent. Your honour can say 
that I have never made any ditturbance." 

" Well, well ; but do not think that justice has lost its 

" I ! Good heavens ! I think nothing. I am an inn- 

" The same old tune. Have you nothing more to «ay ?" 
" What else would your honour have ine say ? Truth 

" Well ; you have done enough for to-day : but to- 
morrow, we will see ; you must give more full information, 
and answer all questions that shall be put to you." 

" What information have I to give ? 1 know nothing; 
1 have hardly brains enough to attend to my own aSkirs." 

" Take care not to let him go away." 

" 1 hope your honour will remember that I^^avOy^QM 
R duty. Your honour's huiubk servant." ,^^^^^^^^k 



]S3 

On ihe foHowing raaming, HenEO wae still in a eound 
and deep sleep, when he was suddenly roused by ft shaking 
of the arms, and by a voice at the foot of ihe bed, cryiniii;, 
" Lorenzo Tramaglino I " He sat up, and nibbing his 
eyes, perceived a man clothed in black standing at the foot 
of his bed, and two others, one on each side of the bolster- 
Between surprise, sleep, and the fumes of the wine, he 
remained a moment stupefìed, believing himself lo be still 
dreatning. 

" Ah ! you have heard at last ! Lorenzo Tramaglino," 
Mid the man in black, the notary of the preceding evening. 
" Up, up ; get up, and come with ub." 

" Lorenzo Tramaglino ! " naid Renzo Tramaglino. 
" What does this mean ? What do you want with me ? 
Who has told you my name ?" 

" Few words, and get up quickly," said one of the men 
at his aide, seizing him by the arm. 

■• Oh ! oh ! what violence is this f " cried Renzo, drai 
ing away hia arm, " Host ! oli ! host !" 

" Shall we carry him off in his shirt ? " said one 
officers, turning to the notary. 

" Did yon hear what he said?" said he to Renzo 
will do GO. if you do not rise quickly, and cume will 

" Why?" demanded Renzo. 

*' You will hear that from the Capitano di Giusti 

"III am an honest man ; I have done nothing ; 1 am 
astonished — — " 

" So much the better for you ! so much the better for 
you ! In two words you will be diBmiased, and then go 
about your affairs." 

" Let me go now, then ; there is no reason why I should 
go before the capitano." 

" Come, let us finish the business," said an officer. 

" We shall be obliged to carry him off!" said the t 

" Lorenzo Tramaglino !" said the notary. 

" How does your honour know my name ? '' 

" Do your duty," said he to the men, who attempted 
draw Renzo from the bed. 

" Oh 1 don't touch me ! I can dress mi/self." 
" " s yourself, then, and gel up," sa\i rive 



r 



\ 



184 1 

" 1 win," Kaid Renzo, and he gathered hie clolhes, ' 
•cattered here and there on the bed, like the fragments o{ 
m shiptcrecli on tlie coast. Whilst engaged in the act of 
dressing, he continued, "but I will not go to the Capitano 
lit Giiietixia ; 1 have nottiing to do with him : since ;oa ' 
put this affront on me, 1 wish to Ije conducted to Fener; 
I am acquainted with him ; 1 know he is an honest man, 
and he ia mider obligations to me," 

" Yea, yes, my good feilow, you shall be conducted to 
Ferrer," replied the notary. 

In other eircuimtances he would have laughed beaidly 
at the absurdity of such a proposition, but he felt that thii 
was not a moment for merriment. On his way to the inn, 
he had perceived so many people abroad, such a stirring 
— some collecting in small quantities, others gathering in 
crowds — that he was not able to determine whether they 
were the remnants of the olà insurrection not entirely 
suppreaseii, or the beginnings of a new oue. And now, 
without appearing to ■!□ so, he listened, and thought the 
buvzing increased. lie felt haste to be of importance; 
but he did not dare to take Renzo against his will, les^ 
finding himself in the street, he might take advantage of 
public sympathy, and endeavour to escape from his bandi. 
He made a sign to liis officers to be pslient, and not ex- 
asperate the youth ; whilst he liimself sought to appease 
him with fair words. 

Renzo meanwhile began to have a confused recollection 
of the events of the preceding day, and to comprehend that 
the proclamalioa», name, and fumarne, were tlie cause of 
all this trouble ; but how the devil did this man know his 
name ? And what the devil had happened during the night, 
that they should come to lay hands on one, who, the day 
before, had such a voice in (he assembly, which could not 
be yet di)<per^e<I, because he also heard a growing luunnnr 
in the streeL He perceived also the agitation which the 
notary vainly endeavoured to conceal; therefore, to feel his 
pulse, and clear up his own conjectures, na well as to gain 
lime, he said, " I comprdiend tìie cause of all this, it is on 
«floo unt of the namt and «intame. Last night, 'tis tru e, I 
^^Ps little merry ; these hotts \\*Ne avitV ViWitVsuroa^^^H 



185 

and, you know, often 'when nine passes Uirougb the channel 
of speech, it will bave its say too. But if that is all the dif- 
ficulty, I am ready to give you every Mtisfaction. BeEidea, 
you know my name already. Who the devil told it to you?'' 

" Bravo ! my good iellowj bravo ! " replied the nolary in 
a tone of encoumgemenl. " I see you are in the right, 
and you must believe that I am also. I am only following 
my trade. You are more tractable than otliers. it ia tlie 
tìasiest way to get out of the difficulty quickly. With fluch 
an acco mm Delating spirit, you will soon be set at liberty ; 
but my hands are lied, and 1 cannot release you now, 
although I would wish to do so. Be of good courage, and 
come on boldly. When they see who you are — and 1 will 
tell — Leave it to me — quick, quick, tny good fellow ! " 

"Ah! you cannot! I understand/' said Renzo. "Shall 
we pass by the square of the cathedral?" 

" Where you choose. We will go the shortest road, 
that you may be the sooner at liberty," said he, inwardly 
cursing his stars at being unable to follow up this mysterious 
demand of Renzo's, which might have been made the sub- 
ject of a hundred interrogatories. " Miserahle that I am !" 
thought he, " here is a fellow fallen into my hands, who 
likes no better fun than to prate. Were there but a little 
time, he would confess all in the way of friendly dis' 
course, without the aid of rope. Ay ! and without per- 
ceiving it too. But that he should fall into my hands at 
such an unlucky moment. ^ — ^Well, it can't be helped," 
thought he, while turning his head anil listening to the 
noise without, " there is no remedy : this will be a bolter 
day than yesterday ! " 

That which gave rise to this last thought was an ex- 
traordinary uproar in the street, which templed him to open 
the window and reconnoitre. I'here was a concourse of 
citizens, who, at the order given tliem by the patrole to 
separate, had resisted for a while, and then moved off, on 
all sides, in evident discontent. It was a fatal sign to the 
eyes of llie notary, that the aohliers treated them with much 
poiitenesfl. He closed the window, and remained for a 
; undecided, whether he should conduct the enler- 
*a CDtl, or, ieaving Renzo in the ewe ol vWoìSàS*, 



186^ 1 

go him»eif to tlie Oi;iiffino di Giuàthiia, and relate d» 
whole 'difficuliy; " flii^" thonghi he, ■' he will teff me I' 
am a poltroon,'» cowftril, ilnil-.that'it wss'niy husineUtb 
execute orders. - We àreBfthE-balIj'fre must dance, it seems. 
Cursed crowd ! what adaintied business ' " He, howerer, 
addreased Renzo in a ion^ of kind entreaty, " Come, mj 
worthy fellow, do lel'iis be off, and make liaste." 

Renoso, however, was not without his thought*. He 
was almost dieesed, with the exception of his doublet, 
into the pockets of which he was fumbling. " Oh !" eaid 
he; regarding the notary signiflca.ntly, " Oh ! I had a 
letter, and some money here, once, sir I " 

" When these formalities are over, all sliall be faithfiiUj' 
restored to you. Come, come, let us be off." 

" No, no, no !" said Ben/o, shaking his head, " thit 
won't do : 1 must have what helonge to me, sir. I will 
render an account of my actions, but I must have what 
belongs to me." 

" i will show you that 1 have confidence in you ; here 
they are. And now make haste," said the notary, drawii^ 
from his bosom the sequestered goods, and consigning 
them, with something like a sigh, to Ren«o, who muttered 
between his teeth, as he put them in his pocket, " Yoa 
have so much to do with thieves, that you have [earned 
the trade ! " 

" If I get you once safe out of the house, you shall pay 
this with interest," thought the notary. 

Aa Renzo was putting on his bat, the notary made a 
sign to the officers, that one of them should go before, and 
the other follow the prisoner ; and as they passed through 
the kitchen, and whilst Renao was saying, " And this 
blessed boat, where has he fled?" they seized, one hii 
right hand, the other the left, and skilfully slipped over 
his wrists, hand-fettere, as they were called, which, accord- 
ing to the customs of the times, consisted of a cord, a little 
longer than the usual size of the fist, which had at the 
two end» two small pieces of wood. The cord encircled 
the wrist of the patient ; the captor held the pegs in his 
hand, so that he could, by twisting them, tighten the cord 
^^yn/I, and this enabled b\m noi on\^ \a secure the priu|^^ 



but also lo torment him, if re^.tlesa ; ond, to ens 
more effectually, àie cord was full of knof?. 

Renzo stru^led and exclaimed, " What treadiery 
this ? ID an honest man !" But ihe iiolary, who had fi 
words prepared for every occasion, said, " Be patient, 
they only lio their duly. What would you have " 
a mere ceremony. We cannot treat people as w ._ 

wish. If we did not obey orders, we should be worse oflr •] 
than you. Be patient." 

As he spoke, the two operators twisted the pegs; 
plunged hke a skitiish horse upon the bit, and 
" Patience, indeed !" 

" But, worthy young man," said the notary, " il 
only way to come off uell in tliese affairs. It is trouble' 
tome, I confeEG, but it will soon be over ; and since I see 
yon BO well disposed, I feel an inclination to serve you, 
tnd will give you another piece of advice for your good^ 
which is, to pass on quietly, looking neither to right non 
left, BO as to attract notice. If you do this, no one wtffl 
pay any attention to you, and you will preserve ytnu* 
honour. In one hour you will be at liberty. There are w 
many other things to be done, that your business will soon 

be despatched ; and then I will tell them Yoa 

shall have your liberty, and no one will know you have 
been in the hands of the la™. And you," pursued he, 
addressing his followers in a tone of severity, " do him t>a- 
harm, because I lake him under my protection 
must do your duty, I know ; but remember that t 
worthy and honest youth, who in a little while will be at 
liberty, and who has a regard for hia honour. Let nothing 
apjiear but that you are three peaceable men, walking to- 
gether. You understand me !" and smoothing bis brow, 
and twisting his face into a gracious smile, he said h) 
Benxn, '' A little prndence, — do as I tell you ; do not 
look about ; trust to one who has your interest at heart I 
And now let us begone." And the convoy moved forward. 
But of all these fine speeches Renzo believed not e word. 
He understood very well the fears that prevailed over the 
mind of the notary, and his exhortations only served to 

Khim in bis purpose (o escape ; anil to iVó» «^^^h^^ 
J 



188 IBE BETROTQBD. 

act directly contrary to the advice given Lim. No one 
muat conclude from tliìa that the notary was an inex' 
perienced knave. On the contrary, he was master of hi» 
trade, but at the present moment his spirits were agitated. 
At another time he wouhl have ridiculed any one for pur- 
suing llie measures lie had now himself employed, but hia 
agitation had deprived him of his accustomed cunning and 
self-possession. We would recommend, therefore, to all 
Jcnaves hy trade, to maintain' on all occasions their tang 
froid, tir, what is better, never to place themselTes in diffi- 
cult circumstances. 

Renzo, then, hardly found himself in the street, when 
he began to look around, and listen eagerly. There was 
not, however, an extraordinary concourse of people ; anii 
although on the countenance of more than one pasfer-by 
you could read an expression of discontent and sedition, 
yet each one pursued his way in quietness. 

" Prudence ! prudence !" murmured the notary behind 
him. " Vour honour, young man, your honour." 

But when Renzo heard three men, who were aproaching, 
talk of a bakery, of flour concealed, of jusiice, he began lo 
make signs lo them, and cough in such a manner, as indi- 
cated any thing but a cold. They looked attentively at 
the convoy, and stopped ; others who had passed by, 
turned back, and kept themselves a short distance off." 

" Take care ; be prudent, my good fellow ; do not 
spoil all ; your honour, your reputation," eaid the notary 
in a low voice, but unheeded by Renzo. The men agun 
twisted the pegs. 

" Ah ! ah ! ah !" cried the prisoner. At this cry the 
crowd thickened around j they gathered from all parts of 
ike street. The convoy was stopped ! " He is a wicked 
fellow," said the notary in a whisper to those nearest him ; 
" he is a thief taken in the fact. Draw hack, and let 
justice have its way." But Renzo perceived that the 
occasion was favourable : he saw the officers pale ftnd 
almost dead with fright. " If I do not help myself now," 
thought he, "bo much the worse for me;" and raising 
bis voice, he cried, " My friends ; they are carrying 
^JE because I cried, ' Bteadl awl jutóceN'^ -^e&terdk] 



ig me 1 

m 



hare ilone nothing ; I am an honest man ! Help me, do 
not abandon rae, my friende." 

He was answered by a light mummr, which sogn 
changed to an unanimous cry in his favour. The officers 
ordered, requested, and entreated those nearest them lo go 
off, and leave their pa&sage free ; but the crowd continued 
to press around. The officers, at (he sight of the danger, 
left their prisoner, and endeavoured to lose themselves in 
the throng, for the purpaee of escaping without being ob- 
Hcrved; and the notary desired heartiJy to do ihe same, 
but found it more difficult on account of his black cloak. 
Fale as death, he endeavoured, by twisting liia body to 
work his way through the crowd. He studied to appear a 
stranger, who, passing accidentally, had found himself in 
the crowd like a bit of straw in the ice ; and finding him- 
self face to face with a man who looked at him more 
intently and sternly than the rest, he composed his counte- 
nance to a smile, and asked, " What is this confusion?" 

"Oh! you ugly raven!" replied he. "A raven! a 
raven!" resounded from al! sides. To the cries ibey 
added threats, so that, finally, partly with hia own legs, 
partly with ihe elhows of others, he suci^eeded in obtaining 
a release from tlie squabble. 

IL CHAPTER XVI. ^H 

Fly, fly, honest man 1 Here is a convent, there ^^H 
uich ; this way ! this way ! " was sliouted to Renzo from 
every Hide. The advice was not necessary; from the moment 
that be conceived the hope of extricating himself from the 
talons of the police, he had determined, if he succeeded, to 
depart immediately, not only from the city, hut the duke- 
dom. " Because," thought he, " however they may ImvG 
procured it, they have my name on their books ; and with 
ne, they will take me again if they choose 
1 asylum, he was àe^^tmmci -cw. N.'i 



itj but in the last oxlremily, " Becius. 
though! he, " if I can be a bird of [he woods, 1 will i 
be K biril-or the cage." He th^n determined to seek 
cousin Bartolo in the territory of Bergamo, who had ofl 
urged liim to ettahlibh himself there ; but to find the n 
W&a the difficulty ! Ij) a part of the city entirely unkno 
to him, he did not know which gate led lo Bergamo j noi 
he had known it, would he have beeu able lo find it. 
thought a moment of asking directions from his liberate 
but he had for some time hai! strange suspiciona with 
garil to the obliging awnrd-{;uiler, father of four childn 
HO t1iat he did liot.jlartr openly declare his design, li 
amidst tiie crowd, (\te{e' mfght be another of (he sa 
'8l«mp._ _ He. deteriUinediherefore lo haslen from this g^ 
and asb ihe'way when-he should arrive at a place wh 
tMie wouM be pothiiy! to fe^'from the eurioeily or 
character of others. Ue.'e^d.tp'hls liberators, " Than 
■ thousand tiialiks .' friends !.in^y. Heaven reward you 
and quitting the crowd through a passage made for hi 
he ran down kfies -arid narfoiy atrefts, without know; 
whither. _-'.--, 

When he 'thought himself BUlficiently removed ft 
the scene of peril, he slackened his steps, and b^^ 
look around for some countenance which might insf 
him with confidence enough lo make hia enquiries, 1 
the enquiry would of itself be susfiicious ; time presii 
the police, recovering from their fright, would, with' 
doubt, pursue their fugitive ; the noise of hia escape mii 
have reached even there ; and in so great a Inulllli 
B«nzo might pass many judgments in physiognomy bef 
he should find one which seemed favourable, ^fter sufi 
ing many to pass whose appearance was unpropitious, 
at last summoned courage to addresses" 'man, wÌio seen 
In such haste, that Renzo deemed he woi^d not hesitate 
answer his questions, in order to get rid of him. " V 
you be so good, sir, as to tell me tlirough which gate to 
to Bergamo?" 

" To Bergamo ? through the eastern gate, 'fake t 

atreet to the left; you "siU covoe w " 

tbedral ; then " 



w 



191 

" That ia enough, sir ; 1 know ihe way after tliat ; God 
rewaid you !" . Aod he. went on hastily hy the way pointed 
out to him, and Airived at the square of ihe cathedral. He 
crossed it, passed by the reraaios of the extinguished bon- 
fire, at which he had assisted the <]ay before ; the bake- 
house of the Crutches half ilemolished, and still guarded by 
soldiem ; and finally, reaching the convent of the capu- 
chins, and looking at the door of the church, tie saiil ^ 
himself, sighing, " The friar gave me good, adviù yester- 
day, when he told me it would be besLfor me to "wait pa- 
tiently in the church." He stopped n moment, and seeing 
that many persona guarded the gate tlirougli which be had 
to pass, he felt a repugnance to confront them ; and hesi- 
tated whether it would not be his wisest plan to seek this 
asylum and deliver his letter. But he soon resumed cou- 
rage, saying, " A bird of the woods as long as I can be. 
Who knows me P Certainly the police cannot be waiting 
for me at all the gates." He looked around, therefore, 
and percDiving that no on<: ap]ieared to notice him, and, 
whistling as he went, aa if from carelessness, be upproathell 
the gate. A company of cuslom-house ofHecrs, with a re- 
ÌDfoTx:ement of Spanish soldiers, were stationed precisely at 
ila entrance, to keep out persons from abroad, who might 
be attracted, by the noise of the tumult, to rush into the 
city ; their attention was therefore directed beyond the 
gate, and Renzo, taking advantage of this, contrived, with 
a quiet and demure look, to pass through, as if be were 
some peaceful traveller ; but his heart beat viiJently. He 
pursued a path on the right, to avoid the high road, and for 
■ome distance did not dare to look behind him. 

Qn ! on ! he passed hamlets and villages, without ask- 
ing the name of them ; hoping that, whilst he was remov_ 
ing from Milan, he was approaching Bergamo. He looked 
behind him from time to time, while pressing onwards, 
oitd rubbing first one wrist, then the other, which bore the 
red marks from the painful pressure of the manaclcE. His 
thoughts were a confused medley of repentance, anxiety, 
i^nd resentment ; and he wearily retraced the circumstances 

^^aUib preceding night, to ascertdn what had 9la,n^d bkn. 

^^^^^tbeie ditUcalika, and above all, how ihe'j c&'mc voV'ao^ 



with her lìistaff by her siile, and spindle in her hand. lie 
asked for a mouthful to eat ; she offered him some utrae- 
ehiao* , and some vine. He accepted the food, but re. 
fdaed the wine ; of which he felt an intuitive horror siuce 
the events of the preceding night. The old woman then 
began to assail her guest with enquiries of his trade, his 
joamey, and of the news from Milan, of the dislurbances 
of which she had heard some rumours. To her question, 
" Where are you going ? " he replied, " I am obliged to go 
to many places, but if I find a moment of lime, I should 
like to stop awhile at the village on the road to Bergamo, 
near the frontier, but in the territory of Milan — what do 
they call it? — There must be some village there," thought 
he. 

" Gorgonzola, you mean," replied the old woman. 
" Gorgonzola," repeated Renzo, as if to fix it in his 
memory, " is it far from here ? " 

" I don't know for certain ; perhaps ten or twelve 
miles. If one of my children were here, they could tell 
you." 

" And do you think I could reach there by keeping on 
these pleasant paths, without taking the high road, where 
there is so much dust ? such a quantity of dust ! It is so 
long ùnce we have had any rain !" 

" I think you can. You can ask at the first village (o 
ihe right," — naming it. 

, " Thank you," said Renzo, carrying off the remains of 
his bread, which was much coarser than what he had lately 
ealen from the foot of the Cross of St. Dionysius ; and 
paying the bill, departed. He took the road to the right, 
and with the name of Gorgonzola in his mouth, tVom Til- 
lage to village, he succeeded in reaching it an hour before 
sunset. 

Re had on his way intended to halt here for some more 
substantial refreshment; he felt also the need of sleep; 
but rather than indulge himself in this, he would have 
dropped dead on the road. His ilesign was to inform 
himself, at the iun, of the distance from the Adda, to con- 
bive to obt^n some direction to the cross ^«.iba v^IOa ^xd. 



Ì9-Ì 1 

to it, anil aflcr having eaten, to go on hia way. Boni al 
ihe second source of this river, he had often heard that Bt 
ft certain point, and for some distance, ita waters marked 
the confines of the Milanese and Venetian states. He had 
no precise idea of tlie spot where this boundary commenced, 
but, at this time, the principal matter was to reach the 
river. Provided he could not accomplish it by dayli^t, 
he decided to travel as long as the darknes» and his strengtb 
would permit, and then to wait the approach of day in i 
field, among brambles, or any where, where it should pleiBt 
God, an inn excepted- Afl«t advancing a few steps in 
Gorgonzola, he «aw a sign, and entering the lioa^e, aeiei 
the host for a mouthful to eat, and a half-pint of nine, 
his horror of which had been subdued by his excessive fi- 
tigue. " 1 pray you to be in haate," added he, " for I 
must continue my journey immediately." And he «aid 
this, not only because it was the truth, but from fear ihu 
the host, imagining he was going to lodge there, might 
ask him his name, avrnanic, and whence he came, and tviol 



The host replied that he should liave what lie requested, 
and Renzo seated himself at the end of a bench near ibe 

There were in the room some idle people of the neigh- 
bourhood, who, after having discussed the great news from 
MUan of llie preceding day, wondered how affairs neie 
going on ; as the circumstances of the rebellion had left 
their curiosity unsatisfied as to its termination ; a sedition 
neither suppressed nor successful ; suspended rather than 
terminated ; an unfinished work ; the end of an act rather ' 
than of a drama. One of them detached himself from the J 
company, and, approaching the new-comer, asked him, 
" If he came from Milan ?" I 

" I?" said Renzo, endeavouring to collect his thoughls 
for a reply. 

" You ; if the enquiry be lawful." 

Renzo, contracting his mouth, made a sort of in. 
articulate sound, " Milan, from what I hear — from whtl 
tbfiy say — is not a place where one would goflJ^J^ 
--'"vity required it." 



r 



tamult continues, then ? " asked he, wilh ea- 

ne must have been on ihe spot, to know if it were 

id Renao. 

at do you not come from Milan ?" 

come from Liscute," replied the youth, who, in the 

while had prepared his answer. He had, indeed, 

Tom that place, 83 he bad passed through it He 

irned its name from a traveller who had mentioned 

be first village on his road to Gorgonzola. 

b ! " said his interrogator, " J wish you had come 

klilan. But patience — and did you hear nothing 

lilan at Liscate ^" 

is very possible that others knew something," re- 
ur mountaineer ; " but I have heard nothing." 

inquisitive person rejoined his companions, 
ow far is it from lliis to the Adda ? " said Renzo to 
t, in a low careless tone, as he set before him some- 

> the Adda.' to cross the river ?" 

lat is — yes — to the Adda." 

ould you cross the bridge of Cassano, or the ferry 

here are they ? — I ask simply from curiosity." 
1 ! I name them because they are the places chosen 
»t people, who are willing to give an account of 

lat is right. And how far are they ? " 

must be about six miles." 

( miles ! 1 did not know that," said he. " But," 

ig an air of indifference, " if one wished to shorten 

ance, are there not other jilaces, where one might 

itainly," replied the host, looking at him with an 
ion of malignant curiosity, which restrained Renzo 
ly further enquiry. He drew the dish towards him, 
Icing at the decanter the host had put on the table. 
Is this wine jiure ?" 

Ask all the inhabitants of the \IIU^, wti 



t 



196 1 

hereabouts. But you can judge yourself." So saying, he 
joined the olher cuBtomets. 

" CuTGo ihe hosts !" said Renzo, in his heart. " The 
more I know of them, the worse I fiuA them." 

He began to eat, listening at the same time to the con- 
veisation, lo learn what was thought, in this place, of the 
events in which he had acted so principal a part ; and alu 
to discover if there were not some honest man among (be 
company, of whom a poor youth might ask his way with- 
out fear of being compelled in return to tell his busiiKaa. 
" But," said one, " (o-morrow, at the latest, we ahiH 
know something from Milan." 

" 1 am sorry I did not go to Milan this morning," s»H 
another. 

" If you will go to-morrow, I will go with you," said 
two or three, 

" That which I wish to know," replied the first speafter, 
" is, if these gentlemen of Milan will think of poor people 
abraad, or if they will only think of obtaining advant^a 
for themselves. You know how they are. The c" ' 
are proud — they thinli only of themselves ; the »iIIagBts j 
ate treated as if they were not Christians." ' 

" We have mouths also, to eat, and to give our reasons," i 
said another in a voice as timid as the remark was darii% ' 
" and since the thing has begun — " But he did not 
think to finish his sentence. 

" It is not only in Milan, that tliey conceal grain," saiJ 
another, with a mysterious air — when suddenly they heanl 
approaching the trampling of a horse. They ran to the . 
door, and recognising the person who arrived, they went 
out to receive him. It was a merchant of Milan, who, going | 
frequently to Bergamo on business, was accustomed to pass - 
the night at this inn ; and as he had almost always found 
there the same company, he had formed an acquaintanct 
with all of thera. They crowded around him — one held [ 
the bridle, another the stirrup. " Vou aie welcome." 

" And I am glad to find you all here," [ 

" Have you made a good journey ? " r 

" Very good, And ^cm. atì, ìiow do ^ou daf^ * * j 
* WeU, well. What uewa footn i.\\\x&«^^^^^H 



THE BBTItOTHED. 197 

" All ! there Is great news truly," eaid the merchant, 
disiDoimting, and leaving hii^ horee in the caie of a boy. 
" But," continued he, entering the house with die 
company, " perhaps you know by this time heller than 
I do." 

" Truly, we know nothing." 

" Ib it possible ? — Well, you will liesr fine news, or 
tather hail news. Eh ! host I is my bed unoccupied ? It 
is well. A glass of wine, siiii my usual dish. Quick, 
quick ! because I must go to bed early, in order to rise 
early, as I must be ot Bergamo to dinner. And you," 
pursued he, seating himself at the table opposite to Renso, 
who continued silent and attentive, " you know nothing of 
of the mischief of jeslerday ! " 
" We heard about yesterday." 

" I knew that you must have heavd it, being here 
I always on guard to watch travellers." 
k» " But lo-day ? What has been done to-day ? " 
^HT" Ah ! to-day ! Then you know nothing of to-day P " 
^^^' Nothing at all. No one has passed." 

" Then Jet me wet my lips, and I will tell you what has 
happened to-day-" He filled the glass, swallowed its con- 
tents, and continued; " To-day, my dear friends, little was 
wanting to make the tumult worse than yesterday. And I 
can hardly believe that I am here to tell you, for 1 had 
nearly given iip all thoughts of coming, that I might stay 
to guard ray shop." 

" What was the matter, then ?" said one of his auditors. 
" What was the matter? I will tell you." And be- 
g^ning to eat, he at the same time pursued his relation ; 
the company standing on his right and left, listened with 
(^en mouths and ears. Kenzo, without appearing to hear 
hun, was, in fact, the most attentive of allj and ate his 
last mouthfid very, very slowly. " This morning, then, 
those vagabonds who made such a hurly-burly yesterday, 
met at the points agreed on, and began to run from street 
to street, sending forth cries in order to collect a crowd. 
You know it is with such people, as when one sweeps a 
IiDUse ; the more you sweep, the more dirt you have, 
^^Vhen ibey thought there were peop\c etwro^Ifi, '^«"J *^" 



199 1 

proafhcd che liouse of tile EUperintendant of provision, as 
if the atrocities they committed jesterday were DOt 
enough, to a gentleman of his character. Oh ! the rai- 
ciUa ! And die abuse they bestoned en him ! All inTentioD 
and falsehood : he ia a worthy punctual man ; I can uj 
it, for I know; and I funiiah him cloth for his liveries, 
Tbey hurried then towards his house — Euch a mob ! such 
faces I They passed before my shop. Such faces — the 
JewB of the Via Crucis are nothing to them. And the 
blasphemies they uttered j enough to make one stop eet't 
ears, had It not been for fear of observation. Their in- 
tention was to plunder, but " 

" But ? " said they all. 

" But they found the street barricadoed, and a compinj 
of musketeers on guard. When they saw this ceremony — 
what would you have done ?" 

" Turn back." 

" Certainly ; and that ia precisely what they did. Bui 
see if the devil did not carry them there. When thej 
came on the Cordusio, they saw the baker that they hii 
wanted to plunder the day before ; and what do you think 
they were doing at this baker's ? They ware distribnting 
bread to purchasers ; the first gentlemen of tlie land were 
there, watching over its distribution. The mob, instlgUttl 
by the devil, rushed upon them furiously, and, in the 
twitdding of an eye, gentlemen, bakers, purchasers, breail, 
counters, benches, loaves, bags, flour, ali topsy-turvy." ^ 

" And the musketeers ? " 

" The musketeers had the vicar's house to guard. 
One can't sing and carry the cross too. It waa done 
in the twinkling of an eye, I say. Plunder, plunder; 
every thing was carried oS. And then they proposed the 
amusement of yesterday, to burn what remained, in the 
square, and make a bonfire. And immediately they begin, 
the rascals ! to drag every tiling out of the house, when 
one among them Guess what fine proposal he made!" 

" What P" 

" What ! to gather every thing in the shop in a heap, 

and set fire lo it and the shoig M the same tim e. |j> 

Btoer said tlian done " ^^H 



" Did they stt fire to it ? " 

" Wait a bit. An honest nmn in the neighbourhood 
had an inspiralion from Heaven- He ran into the house, 
ascended the stairs^ took a cmciSx, and hung it in front of 
a window ; took from the head of the bed two wax 
candles which bad been bleased, lit them, and placed them 
right and left of the crucifix. The crowd looked up ; 
there is a little fear of God yet, in Milan, it must be con- 
fesaed ; the crowd retired — a few would have been aacri- 
kgiouB enough to Eet lire to paradise itself; but seeing the 
rest not of their opinion, they were obliged to be quiet. 
Guess what happened then ! All the lords of the cathedral 
in procession, with the cross elevated, and in pontifical 
robes ; and my lord the arch-priest began to preach on 
one side, and my lord the pejiiteyi^iere on the other, and 
then others here and there : ' But, honent people, akat 
«undd yov, do? Is fhi» the example you sei to your 
chUdreit ? Return to your homes; you shall have bread at 
ajhirprice; you can see, youraeive», tlie rale in affixed at 
every comer!' " 

" Wis it truef" 

"■ Can jou doubt it ? Do you tliink the lords of the 
cathedral would corno in their robes and declare false- 
hoods ? " 

" And what did the people do Ì " 

" By little and little they dispersed ; they ran to the 
comers of the streets ; the rate was there for those who 
knew how to reail. Eight ounces of bread for a penny ! " 

" What good fortune." 

*' The vine is fine, if ila fniitfulness continues. Do 
you know how much flour has been consumed since 
yesterday ? As much as would supply the dukedom two 
montha." 

" And have they made no good law for us country 

" What they have done at Milan is for the city alone. 
I know not what to tell you ; for you, it must be as God 
shall direct. The tumult has entirely ceased for the present; 

J have not told you all yet. Here is the best " 

^K- " Wh&ti ie there any thing more?" ^^H 



300 1 

" Yeaterduy evening, or this morningj Ihey have arrestai 
some of tile leaders, and they have been told that four «rill 
be hung. Hardly was tl)iii known, when every ooe betoot 
himself home by the shortest load, bo as not to be the 
fifth. Klilan, when 1 left it, resembled a convent of 
monks." 

" But will they really hang them ?" 

" Undoubtedly, and very aoon," rephed the merchant, 

" And what will the people do.''" 

" The people will go to see them," said the merchtoL 
" They desired w much to see a man hung, that the :*»• 
cala nere about to satisfy their curioBity on the sapa- 
intendent of provision. They will see instead, four rogsQi, 
accompanied by capuchins and friars of the buona marte*; 
well, they have richly deserved it. It is a providence, yon 
see ; it was a necessary tiling. They hail begun to eoKt 
the shops, and lako what they wanted, witliout putting 
their Land to their purse. If they had been suffered to go 
on their own way, after bread, it would have been wine, 
and then something else — and I assure you, as an honest 
man, keeping a shop, it was not a very agreeable idea." 

" Assuredly not," said ore of his auditors. 

" Assuredly not," repealed the others in chorus. 

" And," continued the merchant, " it had been in pre. 
paration a long while. There was aleague, you know?" 

" A league!" 

" A league. Cabals instigated by the Navarrese, b; 
that cardinal of France, you know, who has a half-barba- 
rous name, and who every day olFers some new affront to ihe 
(U'own of Spain. But he aims chiefly at Jlilan, because he 
knows, the knave, that the strength of the king lies there." 

"Indeed I" 

" Would you have a proof of it f Those who made the 
niOBt noise were strangers ; people who were never seen 
before in Milan. I Lave forgotten, after all, to tell you 
something I heard ; one of these had been caught in an 

When this chord was touched, poor Renxo felt a cold 



201 

shiver, and could with difficulty conceal his agitation. No 
one however perceived it, and the orator proceeded ; — 

" They do not jet know whence he came, by whom he 
w»8 sent, nor what kind of man be was ; but he was cer. 
tainly one of tbe leaders. Yesterday, in the height of the 
tuinult, he played the devil ; then, not content with that, 
he began to exhort, and propo&e a tine thing truly ! to 
murder all the lorda ! Rascal ! how would poor people 
live, if the lorda were killed .' He was taken, however, and 
they found on him an enormous packet of letters, after 
which ihey were taking him to prison. Bat what do you 
think ? his companions, who were keeping watch romid the 
inn, came in great force, and deUvered him. The rogue ! " 
" And what has become of liim ? " 

" It is not known. He has escaped, or is concealed in 
Milan, These people find loilgitig and concealment any 
where, although they have tieither house nor home of their 
own. The devil helps them ; but they are sometimes 
taken in the snare, when they least expect it. When the 
pear is ripe, it must fall. It is well known that tbeie 
letters are in the hands of government, that they contain 
an account of the whole plot, tliat many people are irapU- 
cated, that they have turned the city upside down, and 
would have done much worse. Some say the bakers are 
rogues, and eo say I ; but they ought to be hanged at leaat 
in a legal manner. There certainly ia com concealed ; 
and the government ought to have spies and find it out, 
and hang up all that keep it back In company with the 
baicers ; and if they don't, all the city ought lo remonstrate 
again and again, but never allow the villainous practice of 
entering shops and warehouses for plunder." 

The little that Renzo had eaten had become poison. 
It appeared libe an age before he dared rise to quit. He 
felt nailed to the spot. To have moved from the inn and 
the village, in the midst of the conversation, would have 
incurred suspicion. He determined to wait till the babbler 
should cease to speak of him and apply to some other 
subject. 

" And I," said one of the company, " who have some 
^Hterience, kjioK that a tumult like tiia is wo ij\ata i.tn ■»v 



houesi man ; therefore I have not suffered ray curiosity to 

conquer me, and h»ve remained qnietly &t home." 

" And did I move ?" said another. 

" And I," added a third, " if by any chance 1 had been 
at Milan, I would have left my business unfinished, and 
returned home." 

Ac this moment the host approachud the comer of the 
table, to see how the stranger came on. RenKo galhered 
courage to speak, asked for his bill, settled it, and rapidlj 
crOBSeJ the threshold, trusting himeelf to tht guardian esre 
of a kind Providence. 



1 



^^ CHAPTER XVII. 

TaB (UsGDurse of the merchant hitd plunged our po 
Remo into inexpressible agitation and alarm ; there m 
no doubt that his adventure was noised abroad — that peopif 
■were in search of him? Wlio could tell hovf many bai- 
lifia were in pursuit of him ? Who could tell what orden 
had been given to watob at the villages, inns, and along 
the roads ? True it was, that two only of the officers were 
acnuftinted with his person, and he didn't bear btx name 
stamped on his forehead. Yet he had heard strange storie* 
of fugitìvea being diacovered by their suspicions air, or 
some unexpected mark ; in short, he was alarmed at every 
shadow. 

Although at the moment he quitted Gorgonzola, the 
bells struck tlie Ave Maria, and the increasing darkness 
diminished his danger, he unwillingly took lite high road, 
with the intention, liowever, of entering the first path which 
should appear to him to lead in the right direction. He 
met some travellera, but, his imagination filled with appre- 
hensions, he dared not interrogate them. " The host called 
it six miles," said he; " if, in travelling through by- 
patba, I make il eight or ten, these good limbs will v0t 
fail me, I know. I am ceviaiiiVif xiav a,"'''^*^''*'**'^!^ 



203 

and must tberefare be approaching ihe AJda. If I keep 
OR, sooner or later 1 lauat arrive there ; the Ailda has a 
voice sufficiently loud to be heard at some distance, and 
when 1 hear it, iliere will be no longer any need of direc. 
tion. If there is a boat there, I shall croas immediately; 
if not, I will wait until morning in a field, upon the ground, 
like the sparrows, which will be far better than a prison." 

He saw a cross-road open to the left, and he pursued it : 
"/play the devil !" continued he, "/assassinate the lords! 
A packet of letters ! My companions keeping watch I I 
would give something to meet this merchant face to face, 
on the other side of the Adda ; (Oli ! when shall I reach the 
beautiful stream ?) I would ask him politely where he 
picked «p that fine story. Know, my good sir, that, devil 
M I am, it was I who aided Ferrer, and like a good Chria* 
tìan saved your superintendent of provisions from a rough 
joke that those ruffiane, my friends, were about to play on 
hJin. Ay, while you were keeping watch over your shop 

and that enormous packet of letters — in the hands of 

the government. See, sir, here it is ; a single letter, 
written by a worthy man, a monk ; a hair of whose beard 

Ì3 worth but in future learn to sjieak with more charity 

of your neighbours." However, after a while, these thoughts 
of the pour traveller gave way to more urgent consider- 
ations of his preeent difficulties ; he no longer feared pur- 
suit or discovery ; but darkness, solitude, and fatigue 
combined lo distress him and retard his progress, A chill 
north wind penetrated his light clothing, Ida wedding suit; 
and, uncomfortable and disheartened, he wandered on, in 
hopes of finding some place where he might obtain con- 
cealment and repose for the night. 

He passed through villages, but did not dare ask shel- 
ter ; the dogs howled ut his approach, and induced him to 
quicken his steps. At single houses near the road-side his 
fatigue tempted him to knock for shelter ; but tile appre- 
hension of being saluted with the cry of " Help, thieves ! 
robbers!" banished the idea from bis mind. Leaving the 
cultivated country, he found himself in a plain, covered 
with fern and broom ; and thinking this a favourable symp- 
tom of the near vicinity of the river, \ie toMo^eà ftie ^■s.'^ 
across il. When he bad advanced a fe^w sVe'^a.^ft^i^'w^^ft^i 




i tluoagb, even if U iboaU be n an iiu 
he tlopped for a inoiDeni, befan pwong fail design in eie. 
calion, the wind brougfal a new soond to hif exr — ibe 
munniir of nmning water. Inlratl; listening, to sscertain 
if Ili» lensei did not decdre him, he cried out, " It b llie 
Adda!" UÌB fatigue raniKhei), his pulse reComed, his Umd 
flowed freelj through hi* veins, his fears disappeared; and 
guided by the friendly sound, be Rent forward. He saoa 
reached Uie extremity of the plain, and found hìmtetf DB 
the edge of a sleep precipice, whence looking downward, 
lie discovered, through the biieheB, the loug-desired riser, 
and, on llie other side of it, villages scattered here and there, 
with hills in the distance ; and on the stunmit of one of 
these a whitish spot, nhicb in the dimness he took to be a 
city; Ilcrgamo certainly! lie descended the declivity, and 
throwing aiidc the bushes with his hands, looked beyond 
them, lo spy if some friendly hark were moving on the 
flood, or if ho conici not, by listening, hear |the^ «ound of 
oars cleaving ilit' water; but he saw, he heard nothing. If 
il had been uny stream less than the Adda, he would ban 
«((I'Hijiteil lo foni it, lull tìVvs\ic -weWVue-Ji Va'\K\iwM^H 



205 

n trhat plan to pursue ; lo lie down on 
the grass for the next six liours, and wait until moniiag, 
exposed to the north wind and the damps of the night ; or 
to continue walking lo and fro, to protect hin:Eelf from the 
cold, until the day should davin ; ntilher of these held out 
much proBpeet of comfort. He suEldenly recollected to 
hare seen, in a ueighhouring part of the uiicullivaled heath, 
a macinotto; — this was the name given by (he peasants of 
the Milanese to cabina covered with straw, constructed with 
the tliuks and branches of trees, and tile crevices filled with 
Kind, where they were in the habit of placing the crop, 
gathered during the day, untU a more convenient oppor. 
Qinity for removing it ; they were therefore abandoned ex- 
cept at such seasons. Renzo found his way thither, pushed 
open the door, and perceiving a bundle of straw on die 
ground, thought that sleep, even in such a place, would he 
very welcome. Before, however, throwing himself on the 
bed Providence had provided for him, he kneeled, and re- 
turned thanks for the blessing, and for all the assistance 
which had been this day aflbrded him, and then implored 
forgiveneas for the errors of the previous day ; then gather- 
ing the straw around him as some defence against the cold, 
he closed his eyes to sleep ; but sleep was not so soon 
to visit our poor traveller. Confused images began to 
throng his fancy ; the merchant, the notary, the bsiliftfe, 
the cutler, the host, Ferrer, the auperinlendant, the com- 
pany at the inn, the crowds in the streets, assailed his ima- 
gination by turns; then came the thought of Don Abbondio, 
Roderick, Lucy, Agnes, and the good friar. He remem- 
bered the paternal counsels of the latter, and reflected 
with shame and remorse on his neglect of them ; and what 
bitter retrospection did the image of Lucy produce ! and 
Agnes ! poor Agnes ! how ill had she been repaid for her 
motherly solicitude on his behalf! an outcast from her home, 
solitary, uncertaiu of the future, reaping misery from what 
eeemed to promise the happìneas of her declining years ! 
Poor Renzo ! what a night didst thou pass ! what an apart- 
ment ! what a bed for a matrimonial couch J tormented, 
too, witli apprehensions of the future ! " I submit to the 
wlB of God," mid he, speaking aloud, " «i ftve -w'ffi. -A 
Gcd ! He does only that which is right *, \ vx»^ Sv »&. «» 



206 1 

a juBt chastisement for tny sins. Lucy, however, is to 
good i the Lord wilt not long afflict her with iufiering." 

In tlie mean time he despaired of obtaining any repose; 
the cold was insupportable ; his teeth chattered ; he ar- 
dently wished for day, and measured with impatience tlie 
slow progress of the hours ; this he was enabled to do, as 
he heard, every half hour, in the deep silence, the heaiy 
sound of some distant clock, probably that of Treuo, 
When the time arrived which he had fixed on for his de- 
parture, half benumbed with exposure to (he night air, be 
stretched his stiffened limi», and opening the door of tbe 
catoinoUo, looked out, to ascertain if any one were near, 
and finding all ailent around, he resumed his journey along 
the path he had quitted. 

The eky announced a beautiful day ; the setting moon 
shone pale in an immense field of azure, which, toward) I 
the east, mingled itself lightly with the rosy dawn. Near 
the horizon were scattered clouds of various hues and I 
forms ; it was, in fact, the sky of Lombardy, beautiful, 
briUiant, and calm. Jf Renzo had had a mind at ease, he 
would no doubt have stopped to contemplate this splendid 
ufhering in of day, so difTerent from that which he htd 
been accustomed to witness amidst his mountains ; but hie 
thoughts were otherwise occupied. He reached the brow 
of the precipice where he had stood the preceding nigh^ 
and looking below, perceived, through the bushes, a fisha- 
man's hark, wliich was slowly stemming the current, near 
the shore. He descended the precipice, and standing on 
the bank, made a sign to the fisherman Io approach. He 
intended to do this with a careless air, as if it were of 
little importance, but in spite of himself, his manner wn 
half supphcatory. The fisberman, after having for a mo- 
ment purveyed the course of the waler, as if to ascertain 
the practicability of reaching the sbore, directed the boat 
towards it ; before it touched the bank, Renzo, who wis 
standing on the water's edge, awaiting its approach, seized 
the prow, and jumped into it. 

" Do me a service, and I will pay you for it," said be ; 
" / wish to cross to the olA\eT s^wre," 

e fisherman having iìfmei tós o\iie*L\,, Vai t^Mi^ 



207 

lameil his boat in timt ilirection. Renzo, perceiving an- 
other oar in the bottom of ths bark, stooped to take it. 

" Softly, softly," said the fisherman. But seeing with 
«bat skill the joung man managed the oar, " Ah ! ah !" 
added he, " you know the trade." 

" A very little," replied Renzo, and lie continued to row 
with & vigour and skill beyond that of a. mere amateur in the 
art. With all hia efforts, however, the bark moved slowly ; 
the current, setting strong against it, drove it continually 
from die line of its direction, and impeded the rapidity of 
ita course. New pcrplesitiea presented themselves to the 
mind of Renzo ; now that the Adda was almost passed, he 
began to fear that it might not, at this place, Berve for the 
boundary between the states, and that, this obstacle sur- 
mounled, there would yet be others remaining. He spoke 
to the fisherraan, and pointing to the white spot he had 
noticed the night before, and which was now mui ~ 
distinct, " Is that Bergamo ? " said he. 

" The city of Bergamo," replied the fisherman. 

" And the other shore, does it belong to BergamoP 

" It is the territory of St. Mark." 

" Long live St. Mark!" cried Renzo. The fisherman 
made no reply. 

The boat reached the shore, at last ; Ren^o thanked God 
in his heart, as be stepped upon it ; and turning to the 
fisherman took from his pocket a lierlingn and gave it to 
him. The man took it in silence, and with a significant 
look, placed his forefinger on his lip; and saying, "A 
good journey to you," returned to his employment. 

In order to account for the prompt and discreet civility 
of this man towards a perfect stranger, we must inform 
the reader, that he was was accustomed to render similar 
favours to smugglers and outlaws, not so much for the 
sake of the little gain which accrued to him thereby, aa 
not to create enemies among these classes of people. 
He rendered these services, therefore, when he was sure 
of not being seen by the custom-house officers, bailifis, or 
spies. Thus he endeavoured to act with an impartiality, 
which should give offence to neither party. 

ReD20 slopped a moment to contemTjlftte Vhe iSvaie ts, 
htd quiUedj and where he had Buffered so mutV ■, " ^ ^'^ 



1 



208 

at last safely beyond il," was his first thought ; then the 
lemembrance of ihoee he had left behind rushed over Lib 
mind, overwhelming it with regret and shame ; for, nilb 
the calm and virtuous image of Lucy, came the recollection 
of hiB extravagances in Milan. 

He shook off, however, these oppressive thoughts, and 
went on, taking the direction of the whitish mass on the 
declivity of the mountain, until he should meet some ita 
who could direct him on his way. And now with what i 
different and careless air he accosted travellers ! be ima.- , 
taied no more, he pronounced boldly the name of the I 
place where his covsiii lived, to ask the way to it ; &oni 
the information given him by the first traveller he me^ 
he found that he had still nine miles to travel. 

His journey was not agreeable. Without referring H 
his own causes of trouble, Renzo was affected every mk 
ment by the sight of painful and distressing objects; W 
tliat tie foresaw, that he should find in this country llu 
poverty he had left in his own. All along the way lie 
was assailed by mendicants, — mendicants of necessity, not 
of choice, — peasants, mountaineers, tradesmen, whole &• 
raUtes reduced to poverty, and to the necessity of begging 
their bread. This sight, besides the compassion it esciled, 
made him naturally recur to his own prospects. 

" Who Inows," thought he, mournfully, " if 1 shall 
find work to do? perhaps things are not as they were in 
preceding years. Bartolo wishes me well, I know ; he ii 
a good fellow ; he has made money ; he has invited me 
many times to come to him ; I am sure he will not aban- 
don me. And then Providence has aided me until now ; 
and will continue to do si 



Meanwhile, the walk had sharpened his appetite ; he 
could indeed have well waited to the end of his journey, 
which was only two miles farther, but he did not lite to 
make his first appearance before his cousin as a hungry 
heggar; he therefore drew all his wealth from his pocket, 
and counting it on the palm of las hand, found that he had 
more than sufScient to procure a slight repast ; after paying 
for whichj he would stiU have a few pence remaining. 
As he came out of ftie inn at "«Vìvàv >ib ^laii. \eiaed, to 
proceedon his jouTnej,he sa^.^-jTO^ Q«ai -Soa 4w«a-«« 



209 

women : the one waselderly, and the other more youlliful, 
with an infant in her arms, which was in vain seeking 
nistenance from its exhausted mother ; bolh were of the 
complexion of deatli ; by them stood a man, whose coun- 
tenance and limbs gave signs of former vigour ; now lost 
from long inanition. All three stretched forth their hands, 
but spoke not — what prayer could be bo moving aa their 
appearance. Itenzo sighed ; " There i» a Providence," 
stud he, as he placed in the nearest hand the last remnant 
of his wealth. 

The slight repast he had made, and the good deeii he 
had performed (for we are composed of body and soul), 
had equally tended to refresh and invigorate him. If, to 
sfibrd relief to these unhappy persons. Providence had 
kept in reserve the last farthing of a fugitive stranger, 
would he leave the wants of that stranger unsupplied ? 
He looked with renewed hope to the future ; he pictured 
to himself the return of abundant harvests, and in the 
mean time he had hia cousin Bartolo and his own industry 
to depend on, and moreover he had left at home a small 
mm of money, the fruit of his economy, which he could 
send for, if needed. " Then," said he, " plenty will 
eventually return, and trade will be profitable again ; the 
Milanese workmen will be in demand, and ran set a high 
price on their labour ; I shall have mote than enough to 
satisfy my wants, and can lay by money, and can fiunish 
my nice house, and then write to Agnes and Lucy to 
come — and then — But why wait for this ? We should 
have been obliged to live, had we remained at home ; we 
should have been obliged to live during this winter, upon 
my little «avings, and we can do the same here. There 
are curates every where, and they can come shordy. Oh ! 
what joy will it be to walk together on this same road ; to 
go 10 the borders of the Adda, where I will point out to 
them the place where 1 embarked, the woods through 
which I passed, the spot where I stood watching for a 

He reached at last the village of his cousin ; at il9 en- 
very high house, with numerous windows, 
vFcd ic to be a silk mamitaclofj ■, Ve eWt^ei, 



bn^x,be\ 



210 THE BETBOTHED. 

and aroidEt the noise of the water and machinery loudly 
demanded, " if Bartolo Ceetagneri trae within?" 
" Signor Bartolo ì lllere he ia." 

" Sigitor ! that's a good BÌgn," thought Renzo. IIe 
perceived hìa couEin, and lan towards hira, exclaiming, 
" I am come at last!" Bartolo made an exclamaliffii 
of Burprise, and embraced him ; he then took him into 
another chamber, apart from 'the noise of the machinery 
and the notice ol tlie inquisitive, and eaid, " I am gUd 
to see you, but you are a droll fellow. I have invitedyou 
many times to come hither ; you have always refused, auil 
now choose a most unfavourable moment." 

" What shall I say to you? 1 have not now come of my 
own freewill," Eaid Renzo; and he briefly, and witi 
much emotion, related the mgurnful story. 

" That's another affair truly," said Bartolo. " Poor 
Renzo ! you have relied on me, and I will not abnnddo 
you. To say truth, workmen are not in much demand ii 
present ; and it ia with difficulty that those already en- 
gaged are kept by their employers. But my master regards 
me, and he has money ; and besides, without boMting, we 
are equally dependent on eacli other — he has the capital, 
and I the skill, Euch as it is ! 1 am his first workman, hit 
factotum ! Poor Lucy Mondella ! I remember her u H 
it was but yesterday that 1 last Eaw her Ì An eKcellent 
girl ! always so modest at church ; and if you passed by 
her cottage — I see it now, the little cottage beyond the 
viilagfi, wilh a large fig-tree against the wall " 

" No, no," said Renzo, " do not speak of it." 

" I meant to say, that if you passed it, you alwiyi 
hesrd the noiEC of her reel. And Don Roderick ! even 
before I left, showed symptoms of his character; but now, 
it seems, he plays the devil outright, until God shall put 
a bridle on his neck. Well, as I said, we suffer here alM 
the consequences of scarce harvests. — But, apropos, an 
you not hungry ?" 

" It is not long since I have eaten," said Renio. 

" And how are you off for money?" Renzo CKtended 
jAepsImo/hÙ hmdanclihflolttÙKtiewL " NoDUtWr," 



^^ 211 

^BS Bartolo ; " I Lave plenty. Clieer up ; things will 
change for the better booHj and then you can repay me." 

" I have a Binali sum at home, and ! will send for it." 

" Well, in the mean while, depend on me. God has 
p»eii me wealth to spend for others, and above all, for 
jay relatioiiE and friends." 

" 1 knew that you «■onid befriend me," said Henzo, 
ftSectionately pressing his cousin's hand. 

" Well, what s fuBs they have made at Milan," con- 
tinued Bartolo; " the people seem to me to be macl. The 
report has reached us, but 1 shall be glad to know the 
particulars from you. I think we shall have enough to 
talk about, shall we not ? Here, however, things are con- 
dueted with more judgment. The ciiy purchased two 
thousand loads of corn from a merchant of Venice ; the 
com comes from Turkey. Now, what do you think hap- 
pened ? The govemors of Verona and Brescia forbade 
the transit of the corn. What did the people of Bergamo 
do [hen, do you think ? They sent to Venice a man that 
knew how to talk, I can tell you ; he went to the doge, 
and made a speech which they say deserves to be printed ! 
Immediately an order was sent to let the corn pass : the 
governors were obliged to obey. The country, too, has 
been thought of Another good man informed the senate 
ihat the people here were famishing, and the senate granted 
us four thousand bushels of millet, which makes very good 
bread. And then, if there is no bread, you and I can eat 
meal ; God has given me weaìih I tell you. Now I wilt 
conduct you to my patron. 1 have often spoken of yon lo 
him ; he will make you welcome. He is a native of Ber- 
gamo, a man of an excellent disposition. 'Tis true, he 
did not expect you at tìiis time, hut when he learns your 
story — And then he knows how to value skilfid workmen, 
because scarcity lasts but a little while, and business must 
finally go on. — But I must hint to you one thing ; do 
you know what name they give to us Milanese in this 
country?" 

" What name they give us ?" 

" They call us simpletona."" ^^ 



313 TB.E BBTROTBED. 

" That is certainly not a very agreeable name." 

" IVhal mallerB it ? U'hoever is bom in llie territory 

of Milan, and would gain his living in that of Scrgamo, 

must jiut up Rith it. As to the people here, they call a 

Milaneae a aimpleton a« freely as they call a gentlemui 

" They «ay so, 1 suppose, to those who will suffer it." 

" My good fellow, if you are not disposed to submit to 
be called simpleton, till it becomes familiar to your taste, 
you must not expect to live in Bergamo. You would 
always be obliged to carry your knire in band ; and when 
you had killed three or four, you might be killed youradf, 
.tnd have to appear before the bar of God with three at 
four murdera to answer for ? " 

" And a Milanese who understands his trade ?" 

" It is all the same; he would still be a simpleton. So 
you know how my master expresses himself when he talb 
of me to Ills friends } Heaven hat sent me this tinipkbM 
to carri/ on mi/ butiness. If it ii'ere not/or thU simpktm 
I should never get on. It is the custom." 

It is a silly custom, to say the least of it ; and especially 
as it is we who have brought the art hither, and who carry 
it on. Is it passible that there is no remedy ?" 

" None. Time may accomplish it. The next genera- 
tion may be different, but at present we must submil. 
And after all, what is it?" 

*' Why, if there is no other evil " 

" Ah ! now that you are convinced, all will be well, 
Let us go to iny master. Be of good courage." 

In fact, the promises of Bartolo were realised, and all 
viae well. It was truly a kind Providence ; for we shall 
see how little dependence Renzo couM place on the treasure 
he had left at home, — the saving! of his labour. 



m ? '■"^ ' "' 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

In this same clay, the 13t!i of November, there arriredJi 
ourier extraordinary to the sijrjior podestà of Lecco. ' 

ourìer brought an express from the head of the polio 
ontainitig an order to make every possible search for \ 
oung man of the name of Lorenzo Tramaglino, aiS" 
weaver, who, having escaped from the hands " of the illttt 
rious head above cited," had probably returned I 
erritory of Lecco. That, in case of his (lUcovery, 1 
ihould he committed to prisoHj and an account render 
o tfae police of his wicked practices, his OBlensible n 
it procuring subsistence, and his accomplices. And fìir- 
;hermore, that an execution should be put into the honee 
if the above-said Lorenzo TramagUno, and every thing 
^en from thence that might aid in throwing light on his 
lefarioue deeds. 

The signor podestà, after ascertaining as well as he 
:oulil, that Renzo had not returned to the village, took 
nith him the constable of the place, and obeyed these 
lyunctiong, accompanieil by a large escort of notary, 
yjnstabic, and officers. The key of the house was not to 
» found ; the door was accordingly forced. The report 
if this transaction spreail around, and soon reached the 
■ara of Father Christopher. The good man was surprised 
ind afflicted ; and not being able to gain satisfactory Ìn-< 
brmation with regard to Renzo, he wrote to the Father 
Bonaventura for intelligence concerning him. In the mean 
while the relations and friend» of Renzo were summoned 
o give in their testimony, with regard to his depravity of 
^ha^acter. To hear the name of TramagUno became 
liagrace ; the village was all in commotion. By litd 
ind little, it was understood that Renzo hail escaped froi 
he bands of justice, even in the heart of Milan, and hlj 
lisappeared : it was whispered that he had ( 

s crime, the nature oC vi\t\c\i t^yoùswA.'S 
p 3 




su t 

known. The more enormous, however, ihe less it reas 
believed, for Renzo was known by ererjr badj to be ( 
worthy youth ; Ihe greatest number thought, therefore, 
that it was a machination of Don Roderick to ruin his 
poor rival. Thus it is true, that judging from inference, 
and without die indispensable knowledge of facts, we often 
wrongfully suspect even the wicked. 

But we, who have the facts in our hands, can affirm, 
that if Don Roderick had no share in creating these mis- 
fortunes, he rejoiced in them as if they had been his own 
work ; and made them a subject of merriment with his 
friends, and above all with Count Attiho, who had been 
deterred from prosecuting his intended journey to Milan 
by the account received of (he disturbances there: but 
this order from (he police gave him to understand àitt 
things bail resumed their usual course. He then deter- 
mined to depart imtnediately, and, exhorting bis cousin to 
persist in his undertaking, and to surmount every obatide, 
he promised to use his efforts to rid him of the frivi 
Attilio had hardly taken his departure, when Griso airìteà, 
safe and sound, from Monza, and gave in his report to hii 
master of all he had been able to collect. He told him 
that Lucy had been taken into the convent under the pro- 
tection of the signora i that she lived there as secluded as 
if she were a nun, never putting her foot without the 
walls ; that she assisted at the ceremonies of the church 
behind a grated window ; and that it was impossible to 
obtain a view of her. 

This relation put the devil into Roderick, or rather 
rendered the one more uncontrollable that sojourned there 
already. &□ many favourable circumstances concurring to 
forward bis designs, inflamed the medley of spleen, rage, 
and infamous desire, which he dignified by the name of 
love. Renzo absent, expelled, banished, every measure 
against him became lawful ; his betrothed berself might 
he considered in some sort as the property of a rebel. The 
only man who could and would take her under his pro. 
tection, the friar, would soon he deprived of the power to 
(h so; but, amidst so many unlooked-for facilities, oneob- 
Btacle appeared to render tìietn aoOTaMAe. 



^«>i»M|||H 



215 

of Monza, even if there were no signora there, was an 
obstacle not lo be aurmountcii even by Dun Roderick. He 
in vain wandered, in bia imagination, around this asylum, 
not being able to devise any means of violating it, either 
by force or intrigae. He was upon the point of renouncing 
the enterprise, of going to Milan, of mixing in its plea- 
Eares, and thus drowning all remembrance of Lucy ; but, 
in place of relief, would he not find there fresh food for 
vexation ì Attilio had certainly told the slory, an<l every 
one would aek him about the mountain ^rl ! What reply 
would he be obliged to give ? He had been outwitted by 
& capuchin and a clown ; and, moreover, when a happy 
unexpected chance had rid him of the one, and a skilful 
friend removed the other, then he, like a. simpleton, 
abandoned the undertaking ! There was enough in this 
to prevent his ever lifting up his head in the society of his 
equals; or elst to compel him to go among tliem sword in 
hand! And on the other hand, how could he return and 
remain in this spot, where he would be tormented by the 
remembrance of his passion, and the disgrace of its failure. 
How resolve? What do? Shall he go forward? Shall 
he draw back? A means presented itself lo his mind, by 
which his enterprise might succeed. This was to call to 
hia aid the assistance of a man whose power could accom- 
plish whatever he thought lit to undertake, and for whom 
the difficulty of an enterprise would be only an additional 
raotive for engaging in it. But this jwoject bad never- 
theless its inconveniences and dangers, the consequences of 
which it was impossible to calculate. No one could foresee 
the termination of an affair, when they had once embarked 
in it with this man ; a powerful auxiliary, assuredly, but 
& guide not less absolute than dangerous. Such reflections 
kept Don Roderick many days in a slate of painful irreso- 
lution : he received, in the meanwhile, a letter from his 
couùn, informing him that the intrigue was prospering. 
After the lightning came the thunder. One line morning 
he heard that Father Christopher had left the convent of 
Pescarenico ! Such complete and prompt success, and the 
letter of Attilio, who encouraged him by hia advice and 

thim by his jokes, inclined htm to haiatd e 
p 4 



thing ; and what above all confirmed him io 
was the unexpecied intelligence that Agnes had returoeil 
to the village, and was at her own house ! We will relate 
these two evenCB for the information of the reader. 

Lucy and her mother had hardly entered their asylum, 
when the news of the terrible insurrection at Milan apre«d 
through Monza, and even penetrated the walls of the con- 
vent. The accounts were various and contradictory. 

The portrees, wJio from necessity went much abro&d, 
heard all the news, and related them to her guesLt. " They 
have put several in prison," said she ; " some were lakes 
before the bakers of the Clutches, others in front of the 

house inhabited by the BUiierintendant of provision 

But listen to this ; there was one who escaped, who wu 
from Lecco, or thereabouts. 1 don't know his name, bnt 
1 will ascertain it from some one ; perhaps you may knar 

This intelligence, joined to the circumstance that Renn 
must have arrived in Milan precisely on this fatal day, gave 
some uneasiness to Lucy and her mother j judge what 
must have been their feelings, when the portress came 
again to tell them, " He that fied to avoid hanging is irom 
your viQage, a silk weaver, one Tramaglino. Do you know 

Lucy was seated, busy at her work j it fell from her 
hands; she turned pale, and her emotion must certainly 
have attracted the attention of the portress, had she noi 
been too eagerly engaged in delivering her report to Agnes, 
who was standing by the door at some distance from the 
poor girl, Agnes, notwithstanding she was much agitated, 
avoided any exhibition of her feeUngs. She made an effort 
to reply, that in a small village every one was known, but 
she could hardly believe this to be true of Tramaglino, u 
he was a qluet worthy youth. She asked if it was true th>t 
he had escaped, and if it was known where he was ? 

" Escaped, he certainly has, for every one knows it; but 
where, no one knows. Perhaps they may take liim again, 
perhaps he is in safety ; but if your peaceful youth falls 

iato their hands '' 

every fortunaldy the totUeaB-waa csiiBdiwaYi-Mh 



ai7 

may imagine the feelingis of Agnes and her daughter ! The 
poor voman and che desolale Lucj remained more than a 
day in cruel uncertainty, imagining the details and the 
probable consequences of thi» unhappy event. Tormented 
with vain hopes and anxious fears, their only reUef was in 
each other'a sympathy. 

At length, a man arrived at the convent, and sliced to 
see Agnes ; he was a fishmonger of Pescarenico, who was 
going, according to custom, to Milan, to sell his fish ; die 
good ChriEtopiier liad desired him to stop at the convent, 
to relate what he knew of the unhappy affair of Renzo to 
Lacy and her mother, and exhort tliom, in his name, to 
have patience and Co confide in God. As for him, he should 
certainly not forget them, and would seize every possible 
opportunity to aid them ; in the meanwhile he would not 
faU to send them news every week, by this or some other 
means. All that the messenger could tell them further of 
Renzo was, that it wm considered certain that he had 
taken refuge in Bergamo. Such a certainly was a great 
lialm to the affliction of Lucy ; her tears flowed less bit' 
terly, and she experienced some comfort in discoursing 
upon it with her mother; and they united in heartfelt thanks 
to the Great Being who had saved them from so many 
dangers. 

Gertrude made Lucy often visit het in her private par- 
lour, and conversed much with her, finding a charm in the 
ingenuousness and sweetness of the poor girl, and delighted 
with listening to expressions of gratitude from her mouth. 
She changed insensibly the suspicions of Lucy with regard 
to her into a sentiment of the deepest compassion, by re- 
lating to her, in confidence, a part of her history, that part 
of it which she dared avow. Lucy found in the relation 
reasons more than sufKcient to explain what had appeared 
atrange in the manners of her benefactress. She tvaa very 
careful, however, not to return the confidence Gertrude 
placed in her, by «peaking of her new fears and misfor- 
tunes, lest she should thereby extend (he knowledge of 
Renzo's supposed crime and disgrace. She avoided aa 
much as possible replying to tlie repeated enquiries of the 
^^psra on that part of her history, w\\\c\v ^re':csis&: 4l^H 



promise of marriage ; to her modesty and 
peared an impoEaible thing lo converse fceelj on sach i 
nilgect. Gertrude was oflen tempted to quarrel with hei 
shyness, but how could the ì Lucy was nevertheless M 

lespcctrul, so grateful, so truEling! Sometimes her shiinking 
Bod susceptible nioilesty might displease licr, from other 
motives ; but all was lost in the sweetness of the ihoughl 
that to Lucy, if Co no otlier human being, she was doing 
good. And this was true ; for besides the asylum she if- 
forded her, her conversation and endearments encouraged 
the timid mind of the maiden ; whose only other resonrce 
was constant employment. The nuns, at her solicitatiiKi, 
furnished her with occupation ; and, as from morning till 
night she plied her needle, her reel, her beloved but now 
forsaken reel, recurred to her memory, bringing with it i 
throng of painful recollections. 

The following week another message was received from 
Father Christopher, confirming the flight of Renzo, bw 
with regard to the extent or nature of his misdemeanor, 
there was no further information. The friar bad hoped 
for satisfaction on this point from his brother at Milan, In 
whom he had recommended bim ; but had received for 
answer that he had neither seen the young man, nor re. 
ceived the letter ; that some one from abroad bad been ti 
the convent to ask for him, and not iiniiing him there, had 
gone away. 

The third week there was no mesEenger, which noi 
oidy deprived them of a desired and expected eonsoli- 
tion, hut also produced a thousand uneasy suspicions. 
Before this, Agnes had thought of taking a journey home, 
and this disappointment confirmed her resolution. Lucy 
was unwilling to be separated from her mother, but hei 
anxiety to gain more satisfactory intelligence of Renao, 
and the security she fell in her sacred asylum, reconciled 
her. It was therefore agreed between them, that Agnei 
should wait on the road the following day for the return 
of the fishmonger from Milan, and should ask the favour 
of a seat in bis cart, in order lo go to her mountains. 
ETpon seeing him approach, therefore, she asked him if 
~ ' ■ Christoplier bad. uol wnl kd-j TOE«ia^ 



"M 



THE BCTROTBED. 21H 

The fishmonger had been ocrupied the whole day before 
his depaftare in fishing, and hid received no meBeage 
from the friar ! She then preferred her request, and 
having obtained a compliance with it, bade farewell to her 
daughter and the signora, promiaing a speedy return. 

The journey was without accident; early in ths morn- 
ing they arrived at Pescarenico. Here Agnes took leave 
oF her condaclor, with many thanks for the obligation he 
had conferred on her ; and aa »he was before the convent 
gates, she determined to speak with the good friar before 
■he proceeded homeward. She pulleil tile bell — the friar 
Galdino, whom wc may remember as the nut collector, ap- 
peared to answer it. 

'• Oh ! good dame, what good wind brings you 

"■ I come to see Father Christopher!" 

" Father Christopher? He is not here !" 

" Ho? will !i be long before he returns? Wbere is he 

" To Rimini." 

•' To ?" 

" To Rimini." 
" Where is that?" 

" Eh I eh ! eh !" replied the friar, extending hia arms, 
as if to indicate a great distance. 

" Miserable that I am ! But why did he go ao sud- 

" Because the father provincial would have it so." 

" And why did they send away one who did so much 

good here ? Oh ! unhappy me ! " 

" If our superiors were obliged to give reasons for what 

lliey do, where would be our obedience, my good wo- 

" But this is such a loss ! " 
'" " Shall I tell yon how it has happened ? they have pro- 
bably wanted a good preacher at Rimini ; (we have them 
in every place to be sure, but sometimes a particular man 
is needed ;) the father provincial of that place has written 
to the father provincial of this, to know if there » 
^juib * person in this a 



no lOE BETBOTDED. 

turneJ for answer, that there was none but Failier Chris. 
lapher who corresponded lo ibe description." 

" Oh ! Dnfortunatf ! When did he go ? " 

*' The day before yesterday." 

" Oh ! if 1 had only come a few days sooner, as 1 
wished to do ! And do they not know when he will it- 

" Why ! my ilear woman I the faiher provincial kiicwi, 
if any one does ; hut when one of our preachers has talxD 
his flight, it is impossible to say on what branch henii 
re*t. They want him here; they want him there; fiff 
we have convents in the four quarters of the worU. 
Father Christopher wUI make a great noise at Riroìiù, 
with his Lent sermon ; the fame of this great preach» 
will resound every where, and it is our duty t _' 
up, because vre live on the charity of others, and it ia bui 
right we should serve all the world." 

" Oh ! misery ! misery!" cried Agnes, weeping; "irfW 
shall 1 do without this good man ? He was a father « 
us; what a loss! what a loss!" 

" Hear me, good woman — Father Christopher wm ' 
truly a good man, but we have others equally so; there ii 
Father Antanasio, Father Girolamo, Father Zaecadi! 
Father Zaccaria is a worthy man ! And you must ml 
wander, as some ignorant people do, at his shrill voice ind 
his little beard ; 1 do not say that he is a preacher, becaiue 
every one has his talent ; but to give advicej he i 

" Oh ! holy patience !" cried Agnes, with a mixture of I 
gratitude and vexation one feels at an offer contùning 
more good.will than suitableness ; " what is it to me what 
another man is, when he who is gone knew our affain, ' 
anrl had every thing prepared to help ub ! " ' 

" Then you must have patience." 

" I know that. Excuse the trouble I have given yoo." 

" That i» of no consequence, my good wom&n ; I pity 
you ; if you decide upon asking advice of one of tlie I 
fathers, you will find the convent still in its place ~ 
ht me iee you soon, when I collect the oiL" 
^^^iGod preserve you," Baii\ \^ea-, mvi iJne, ^oc 



le of the I 
kce. But I 

<ftQea^^A 



231 

iinewaril, confused and diEConcerted as a blind man who 
xl lost his staff. 

Having more information than Friar Caldino, we are 
labled to relate the truth of this atTair. Attilio, im- 
etUately on his arrival at Milan, performed his promiie 
. Don Roderick, and visited hie uncle of the secret 
itincil ; (this was a committee composed of thirteen 
lenibers, whose sanction was necessary to the proceeding! 
f government; in case of the absence or dealh of the 
DTcmor, the council assumed temporarily the control.) 
"be count, one of the oldest members of the coimcit, en- 
)yed in it some authority, which he did not fail to make 
nown on all occcasions. His language nas ambiguous j 
ia silence significant; he had the art of flattering, with- 
Ut absolutely promising ; of menacing, without perhaps 
he power to perform ; hut these flatteries and menace* 
traduced in the minds of others an impression of his un. 
imited power, which was the end and purpose of all hii 
ictjona. Towards this point he lately made a great stride 
in an extraordinary occasion. He had been sent on an 
onbasay to Madrid ! And to hear him describe his recep- 
ion there ! Among other honours, the counb-duke had 
reated him with particular attention, had admitted him to 
is confidence, so far as to ask him in the presence of the • 
rhole court, if he viere pleased Kith Madrid ? and to tei) J 
im OD another occasion, at a window, that the eathedr^jT 
*■ Milan leas the most magnificent chrirch in the ftin^'fì 

After having paid his duty to the count, and presented^ 
e coniplimentg of his cousin, Attilio, with a seriousneaM 
hich he knew well how to assume, said, " 1 believe it W-J 
e my duty to inform the signor, my uncle, of an affair iilfl 
hich Roderick is concerned, and which requires the in- 1 
irference of your lordship lo avert the serious t 

uences that " 

Ah I one of his pranks, 1 suppose." 
In truth, 1 must say that the injury ha» not 
ainmitted by Roderick, but he is exasperated, and 
nt my uncle can " 



man i< 



I ha nt^bo oi tood a c^paehin friar 

■a; cousÌR, who bate* Mm, 

** Bnr oArn brw I icU yau both to let the fmn 
MÉMgc Acir o«n a&in ? It is enongh tor those to wbin 
il Wonp — bu Jim, tou can avoid baviog an j thing U 
4o w^ ibtn " 

" SigBOf Bnde, it b Bj duty to inform you that Roderidi 
wvoU hare avcUed k, if it b*d been pOEiible. It ii tlie 
fnir who baa qoamBeil with ^him. and he has used ein; 

"Wbai the detii can the fror have in common withiD; 



" FirM of aB, he ia known to be a qnsrretEoine !A. 
lew ; be ptoCecta a peaaant giil of ihe fUlsge, and repudi 
her with a beoerolence, to sajr the least of it, very eat- 
p>«ious." 

" I compivhetid." «atil his uncle ; and a ray of malice 
pa>«ed over the depih of dulness which nature had BUmp«d 

" Fur some lime," conijnued Attilio, " the friar hu 
Bospecied Roderjct; of designs on this young E'rl " 

" Hf has EUEpecte<!, indeed ! I know ihe signor R«- 
derick too well myself, not lo need to be told [bat he it 
incorrigible in such malters ! " 

" That Roderick, signor uncle, may have had some 
trifling conversation with this girl, I can very well believe; 
he is young, and, moreover, not a capuchin, — but thrae ire 
idle lalei, not worth engaging your alteution. The serioiu 
part of the affair is, that the friar speaks of Roderick as if 
he were a villain, and instigftles all the country against 

" And the other friars ?" 

" They do not meddle with it, because they know him 
to be hot-headed, though they have great respect for 
Roderick ; but then, on the olJier hand, the friar passes for 
a saint with the villagers, and " 

" J imagine he does not know Rodetick is my lu^hew." 



THB BBTBOTHBD. 92S 

"Does he not know it? it is that, precisely, which 
animstea him to tbia course of conduci." 

" He takes pleasure, and he tells it Co every one, he 
takes the more pleasure in vexing Roderick, because he 
has a protector as powerful as your lordship ; he laughs at 
the nobility, and at diplomatists, and exults at the thought, 
that the girdle of Saint Francis can tie up all the swords, 

and that " 

" Oh ! the presumptuous man ! what is hie name }" 
" Friar Christopher, of " ' *," said Attilio. The count 
drew his portfolio towards him, and inscribed the name. 

Meanwhile, Attilio proceeded : " He hoa always had this 
character ; his life la well known ; he was a plebeian, and 
having some wealth, wished to associate with gentlemen, 
And not being able to succeed, killed one of them for rage; 
and to escape the gallows he assumed tlie habit of a friar." 
" Bravo ! well done ! we will see, we will see," said 
the count in a fume. 

" Now," continued Attilio, " he is more enraged than 
ever, because he has failed in a project he had much at 
bearL It is by this that your lordship can see what kind 
of a man he is. He wished to have this girl married, to 
remove her from the dangers of tlie world, you understand ; 
and he had found his man, a fellow whose name you have 
doubtless beard, because 1 have understood that the secret 
council has been obliged to take notice of the worthy 

" Who is he?' 

" A silk weaver, Lorenzo Tramaglino, he who " 

" Lorenzo Tramaglino ! " cried the count. " IVell done, 
friar ! Truly — now I remember- — he had a letter for a — 
jt is a pity that — but no matter. And pray, why did Don 
Roderick say nothing of all this ? why did be suffer things 
to go so far, before he acquainted one who has the power 
and the will to support him ? " 

" 1 will tell you also the truth wit!» respect to that : 
knowing the nmltitude of cases which you have to perplex 
you, be has not been willing to add to them ; and, besides. 



SS4 TSE BETROTHKD. 

since 1 muKt say it, he ia beside liimaelf on account of iht 
insults o&ereil him by the fiiitr, ami would wish to vireù 
sumniBr; justice on him himself, rather than obtain il frota 
prudence and the power of your lordship. 1 have tried to 
cool his ardour, but finding it impoeuble, I thought il mj 
duty to inform your lordaliip, wlio, after all, is the ptoj 
and chief column of the house." 

" You ought lo hove spoken sooner." 

" That i» true. But I hoped the affair would finish of 
itself, ur that the friar would regain his reasoD, or that lu 
would leave the convent, as often happens to these i'riai», 
who are sometimes here, sometitnra there ; and then all 
would have been settled. But " 

" The arrangement of the business now rests with me." 

" That is what I thought ; I said to myself, the Hgiw 
our uncle is the only one who can save the honour of Om 
Rodericlt ; he has a thousand means that 1 know not of: 
I know that the father provincial lias a great respect for 
him, and if our uncle should think that the best thÌDg 
for this friar would be a change of air, he can in ■ few 

" Will your lordship leave the care of the businesi to 
him to whom it np[)ert3Ìns }" said the count, sharply. 

" Ah ! that is true," cried Attilio ; "«ml the man w 
give advice to your lordship ? But the regard I have fiw 
the honour of the family made me speak. And 1 am afiwd 
I have committed another folly," added he, affecting » 
pcntive air: " I am afraid I have injured Don Rodenrk 
in your opinion ; I should have no rest if you doubted 
lloderick's confidence in you, and submission to your will 
1 hope the signor our uncle will believe, thai in this case, 

" Well, well, you two will be always friends, until one 
of you become prudent. Ever in fault, and relying oa me 
to repair it I You give me more trouble than all the 
aftairs of state !" continued he, with' an expression of grave 
importance. 

Attilio proffèreil a few more excuses, promises, 
aunpliraents, and took hU Wie, with a parting ittjunglllQ 

B bis uncle Io be prvdtnt ! "^^ 



II ine I 
grave j 



r 



CHAPTER XIX. 



Thb signor count forraeil (he reEolution to make use of 

the father provincial to cut the knot of tiieee perplexities ; 

^ whether he would have thought of this, had it not been 

~. sn^ested by Attilio, it is impossible to determine, inas- 

inach as he would never have acknowledged this to be the 

case. It was important that one of bis family, hia nephew, 

should not be obliged to yield in an open controversy ; it 

I was a point essentid to the reputation of biit power, which 

. he had ao much at heart. The satisfaction which hia 

nephew might himself take of his adversary would be a 

remedy worse than the disease. Should he order him to 

leave his castle, when obedience would seem like flying 

from the field of battle? Legal force could have no power 

over the capuchin ; the clei^ were entirely exempt from 

secular Jurisdiction. All that he could attempt against 

Buch an ailversary was to endeavour to have him removed 

and the power to do this rested with the father provincial. 

Now the count and (he father provincial were old ac' 

quaintancee ; they saw each other rarely, but always with 

great demonstrations of friendship, and reiterated offers of 

When all was matured in his mind, the count invited 
the father provincial to a dinner, where he found a com. 
pony of choice guests ; noblemen, who, by their deportment, 
thar native boldness, and lordly disdain, impresiied those 
around them with the idea of their superiority and power. 
There were also present some clients, who, attached to the 
house by hereditary devotion, and the service of a life, sat 
at their lord's table, in a «pirit of implicit submission, 
" devouring his diecourse" and his dinner with unqualified 
and equal approbation. 

At table, the count led the conversation to Madrid ; lie 
spoke of the court, the count-duke, the ministers, the 

K J oS Ùte governor ; of the bulUtigHlBifiiivciiVe w«Ù^™ 



826 1 

well describe, baring seen them from a distinguished pUcc ; 
of the e$cuTÌal,of which he could speak ìd its roost minute 
details, because a page of the cmint-duke had conducted 
him into every nook of it. For suine time all the com- 
pany were attentive to him alone ; then Iliey divided into 
separate parties. He continued for a while to relate • 
number of anecdotes, as in confidence, to the father pro- 
vincial, who was seated near him. But suddenly he gave 
a turn to the conversation, and spoke of Cardinal Barberioi, 
who was a capuchin, and brother to the reigning pope, 
L'rhao \'lll. As they left the table, the count invited the 
father provincial to go with hitn into another apartment. 

The noble lord gave a seat Co the reverend father, «id 
taking one himself, said, " Considering the friendship ttuU 
esiats between us, I thought I was authorised to speak » 
jotir reverence of an affair equally interesting to u ' ' 
and which had best be concluded between us i 
going farther, which might — and 1 will tell you fraotlj 
what it is, as 1 am certain we shall have [he same opinion 
on the subject. Tell me, in your convent of Pescareniev, 
is there not a Father Christopher of* • • ?" 

The father provincial bowed assent. 

" I pray your reverence to tell me, frankly, as a frienJ, 

— this man — tliis father — I liave no personal ae. 
qnaintance with him, 'tis (rue; I know many fervent, 
prudent, humble capuchins, who are worth their weight in I 
gold; 1 have been the friend of the order from infancy; | 
but in a numerous family there is always some individud ' 

And I have reason to think that Friar Christopher is i 

a man — a Utile fond of quarrelling — who has not all 
the prudence he might have: 1 imagine he has csosed 
your reverence much anxiety." 

" I perceive tliere is Eume intrigue," thought the fatber 
provincial; " it ia my fault; I knew that this holy man 
abotild have been sent from pulpit to pulpit, and not have 
been suffered to remain six months in a convent in die 
country. — Oh," said he, aloud, "lam truly sorry that 
your excellency has conceived such an opinion of Father 
Christopher; for I know that his conduct in the convent 
wphry^ and that he ia es\cemei\i-j «fsx^ Vidi."^H 



57^ 

"I 



" I understand very well ; your reverence ought - 
however, I would as a friend inform you of a matter 
hich it is necessary you should know. This Father 
bristopher has taken under liis protection a young man 
' that country, one of whom your reverence must have 
;ard ; him who recently escaped from the hands of jUBa. J 
ce, on the terrible day of San Martin — Lorenzo Tri*'ff 
.gglino ! " I 

•' I had not heard of this," said the father provincial (,■ 
but your excellency knows that it is the duty of oorfl 
rder to seek those who have gone astray, for the purpowl 
' leading them back." 

" That is true ; hut I thought, it best to give you ihis " 
iformation, hecause, if ever his holiness — the intelligence 
F it may have been sent to Rome." 

" I am much obhged to your excellency for the inform- 
Uon. However, I am certain, that if tlie aSkir is enquired 
Ito, it will be found that Father Christopher has had no 
onnection with this man but for the purpose of doing him 
ood. I know the father well." 

" Your reverence knows, then, better than I, what hs 
;as in the world, and the pranks of his youth." 

" It is the glory of our habit, signor count, that what. 
ver a man may have been in the world, once clothed wi^ 
hat, he is quite another person ; and since the Fathec 
i^hristopher has belonged to our order " 

" I believe it from the bottom of my heart, I believe it; 
lUt sometimes — as the proverb says — The habit does ni 
aake the monk." 

The proverb was not much to the purpose, but the com 
Lad cited it, ill place of anotlier which occurred Co him,~- 
' The wolf may change his skin, but he does not becosif 
, dog." 

" I have certain information," pursued he. 

" If your excellency knows positively that the falbe) 
laa committed a fault (we are all liable to err), I with yol 
vould inform me of it. I am his superior — unworthily, 't* 
rue ; but it is my duty to watch over, and, if nocessarj; 

" Besides the circumstance of his graWmg ipcoleOAW 



S3 8 TSB BET nor BCD. 

The man I have mcDtioiied, this same Father Cliristophci 
lifts undertaken tu contend — but we can settle it toge> 
ther with mjr nephew, Don Roilerick." 

" Oh, I am sorry for that, I am sorry for tliat, truly," 

*' My nephew is young, rash, and not accustomed ID 
provocation," 

" It becomes my duty to obtain the beat informatioi] <m 
the subject. Your excellency, with your experience of the 
world, knows better than I, thst we are all frail, liable te 
error — some one way, some another; and if our Fadiet 
Christopher has failed " 

" But these are things which had belter be settled 
between ourselves ; to spread them abroad would only 
increase the evil. These trides are often the cause of 
numerous embarrassmenla and difficulties, which might 
have been prevented by some decisive act in the commentx- 
inent. That is now our business; my nephew is young; 
the monk, from what I hear, has stiU the spirit, the ÌDcIii]< 
ations of a young man ; but we, who are advanced in years, 
(too true, is it not, reverend father?) must have prudenn 
to act for the young, and apply a remedy to their follies. 
Happily there is yet time ; we must remove the fire from 
the straw. An individual who does not do well in one 
place may in anollier ; your reverence might see to bis 
being removed, might find a suitable station for the friarat 
a sufficient distance — all may bu easily arranged — u 
rather, there's no harm done." i 

The father provincial had expected this conclueion from 
the commencement of the conversation. " I percdre," 
thought he, " where you would lead me; when a po« 
friar gives one of you die least umbrage, the superior mtul 
make him march, right or wrong." 

When the count bod finished, tile provincial said aloud, 
" 1 understand what the signor count would say ; but 

befiire taking a step " 

" It is a step, and it is not a step, very reverend fitbet: 
it is only a natural event, such as might happen in the 
ordinary course of affairs; and if we do not do it quickly, 1 
foresee a deluge of ^sotders, & mountain of gtievaneot 
If ire do not put a atop w iVve a-ffifii \«tw«CQ. tn ' 



'"■ 



2S9 

is not possible it shimld remain a secret. And then it 
is not only my nephew — you raise a wasp's nesl, very 
reverend father. M'e are a powerfnl house — we have 
adherents." 

The father howed in assent. The count proceeded. 
" You understand me ; they are all people who have blood 
in their veins, and who in the world — count as some- 
thing. They are proud of their honour; the affair will 

become theirs, and then Even those who arc the 

friends of peace It would be a grief of heart to me 

to be obliged I, who hare always had sueh a friend- 
ship for the capuchins ! The fathers, for tlieir minis- 
try to be efficienti should be in harmony with all men — no 
misunderslandinga : besides, they have relations abroad^ 

■nd these affairs of punctilio extend, ramify I, too, 

have a certain dignity to maintain His excellency 

my noble colleagues It becomes a party mat- 

" It is true," said the provincial, " that Father Chris- 
topher is a preacher; I had already the intention — I have 
even been solicited to do it — hut under these circum- 
stances, and Just at this time, it miglit be considered as 
8 punishment ; and to punish without being well ac- 
quainted • ■ " 

" But it is not a punishment ; it is a prudent pre- 
caution, an honest means of preventing evils that might 

I have explained myself." 

" The signor count and myself understand each other 
•retj well ; but the facts being those which your excellency 
has adduced, it is impossible but that they should in part he 
known through (he country : there are every where fire- 
brands, or idle spirits, who find pleasure in the contests of 
the monks and the nobility, and love to make mahgnant 
observations. Each one has his own dignity to preserve; 
and I, in the character of n superior, have an express duty 

— the honour of the habit — it is not my own affair — it is 
a deposit which — and since the signor your nephew is so 
irritated, aa your excellency has said, he might take it as a 
satisfaction offered to him, and — 1 do not say boast of It, 
but " ^ 



330 Tae sethothbd, 

" Vou jest, reverend father, surely ; my nephew is i 
cavalier of consideration in Uie world, as he should be; 
but in his relations with me, he U bu[ a ehild, and will do 
neither more nor less than 1 pieEcnbe lo him. And, maM- 
over, he ehall never know it. The thing is done between 
ourselves ; there is no necessity for rendering an acconsi 
to him. Let not that give you any uneasiness ; I am ac- 
customed to keep silence on important subjects. Aa Id 
the idle talk of others, what can be said? It is a verj 
common thing to see a friar leave one place to go and 
prcacli at another." 

" However, in order to prevent maUdous observations, 
it would be necessary, on this occasion, that the nephew of 
your excellency should give some demonstration of friend- 
ship, of deference, — not for us, but for the order." 

" Certainly, certainly, that is but right ; it is not neCM- 
sary, however ; 1 know that the capuchins are highly 
esteemed by my uephew, as well as by our whole family. 
But, in this case, something more signal is very proper. 
Leave it to me, very reverend father: I will give Hueh 
orders to ray nephew — that is to say, it shall be prudently 
sug^sted to him, that he may not suspect what has passed 
between us, because we need not apply b plaster where 
there is no wound. As to that which we have ^reed on, 
the sooner it is done ihe better ; and if you had a place 
at some distance — to remove every occasion " 

" They want a preaciier at Rimini; and perhaps with- 
out this motive 1 should have thought " 

" That is very opportune, very opportune. And when? i 

" Since the thing is to be done, it shall be quickly." 

" Certainly, certainly ; better to-day than to-morrov. 
And," continued he, rising, " if I or my adherents «n 
render any service to the good father capuchins " 

" We have often experienced the kindness of the house," 
said the father provincial, also rising, and following bis 
vanquisher ti, the door of the apartment. 

" We have extinguished a spark," said the count, — "a 
spark, very reverend father, which might have excited a 
great conflagration. Be^weeti %ooA Mend», 
easily arranged." 



^^^frhc 



231 

ley then entered the nest apartmtiit, and mixed wiih 
of the company. 

The count obtained his end : Friar Christopher was 
made to travel on foot from PeBcareiiico to Rimini, as we 
shall see. 

One evening a capuchin from Milan arrived at Pesca- 
renico, with a packet for the superior : it was an order for 
Father Christopher to repair 1« Rimini for the purpose of 
preaching the Lent eemions. The letter contained in- 
■iTUCtiona to the superior, to insinuate to tile friar, that he 
ahould give up every attention to any business he might 
have on hand in the country he must leave, and that he 
diould not maintain any correspondence there. The friar, 
who was the bearer of the order, was to be the companion 
of hia journey. The superior said nothing that night, but 
in the morning he sent for Father Christopher, showed 
him the order, and told him to take Ills basket, staff, and 
girdle, and with the friar, whom be presented to him, 
commence his journey. 

Imagine what a blow this was for our good fatlier. 
Renzo, Lucy, j\gnes, passed rapidly over his mind, and he 
thought, " Great God ! what will these unfortunate people 
do, when I am no longer here?" but raising hia eyes to 
heaven, he placed his hope and confidence there. He 
crossed his hands on his breast, and bowed his head in 
token of obedience ; he tlien went to his cell, took his 
basket, his staff, and his breviary, and after having hid 
farewell to his brethren, and obtained the benediction of 
his superior, took, with his companion, the route pre. 
scribed. 

' We have said that Don Roderick, more than ever deter- 
mined on the accomphshment of his infamous enterprise, 
had resolved to seek the assistance of a powerful man. 
We cannot give his name, nor even hazard a conjecture 
with regard to it ; this is the more astonishing, inasmuch 
as we find notices of this personage in several histories of 
the time. The identity of the facts does no*! leave a doubt 
of the identity of the man ; but there is evidently an en- 
treme care to avoid the mention of his name. Francesco 
^bids, in his life of the Cardinal Yeienga "ad-nomsn. 



232 1 

BpeakÌRic of him, says, " He was a. lord as powerful fiom 
hÌK wealtli as illustnoua from his birth,"and nothing furthei, 
Giuseppe Ripamonti makes farther mention of him, as i 
man, this niuii, a pemon, this person. " I will relate," 
Bays he, " the case of a man, who, belonging to ihe tnint 
powerfid family in the city, chose the country for his nà- 
dence ; and there, assuring himself of impunity by the 
force of crime, he set at nought the law and the magis. 
tntes, the king and the nobles. Placed on the eslrema 
confines of the state, he led an independent hiè ; he nSend 
an asylum to the outlaw ; he nas outlawed himself, and 

then absolved from the sentence which had led " We 

will hereafter quote from this author other passages, which 
will confirm the history we are about to relate. 

To do that which was forbidden by the laws ; l« be the 
arbiter, the supreme judge in the affairs of others, without 
other interest than a thirst far power ; to be feared hj ill, 
efen by those who were the objects of Fear to all men; 
these had ever been the controlling principles which actu- 
ated the conduct of this man. From his youth he bad 
been filled with impatient enty at the power and authority 
of others ; superior to the greater number in riches and 
retinue, and to all perhaps in birth and audacity, he con. 
strained them to renounce all competition with him ; he 
took some into his friendship, but was far from admitting 
any equahty between himself and them ; liis proud and 
disdainful spirit could only be content with those who were 
willing to acknowledge their inferiority, and to yield to 
him on all occasiona. When, however, they found them- 
selves in any difficulty, they did not fail to solicit the aid 
of so powerful an ausihary ; and a refusal from him would 
have been the destruction of bis reputation, and of tlie high 
station which he had assumed. So that, far himself and 
others, he had performed such deeds that not all his own 
power and that of his family could prevent his banishment 
and outlawry ; and he was obliged to leave the state. 1 
believe that it is to this circumstance Ripamonti alludes : — 
" He was obliged to leave the country : but his audacity 
was UQEubdued ; he went through the city on horsekwdb. 
followed by a pack of hounda, aai 'jnùv 'So», wsanà. lA^H 



233 

trumpet ; paesing by the court of the pnlscp, he sent an 
abuEÌve message lo the governor b;^ one of tlie guards." 

Ill his absence he (Ud not desist from his evil prxctices ; 
he maintained a correspondence with his friends, " who 
were uuited to him," says Ripamonti, " In a secret league 
of atrocious deeds." 

It appears that he even contracted new habits, of which 
the same liistorian speaks with mysterious brevity. " Fo- 
reign princes had recourse to him for important murders, 
and (hey even sent him reinforcements of soldiers to act 
under his orders." 

At last, whether the prockn 
withdrawn from some powerful i 
audacity of the man outweighed all authority, he resolved 
to return home ; not exactly to Milan, but to a essile on 
the frontier of the Bergamascan territory, wliich then 
belonged lo the Venetian state, " This house," says Ri- 
pamonti, " was a focus of sanguinary mandates. The 
household was composed of such as had been guilty of 
great crimes ; the cooks, and the scullions even, were not 
free from the stain of murder." Besides this notable house- 
hold, he had men resembling them, atatioDed in different 
places of the two states, on the confines of which he lived. 

All, however tyrannical themselves, had been obliged to 
choose between the friendship or enmity of this tyrannical 
man, and it fared ill with those who dared resist him. It 
was in vain to bo]ie to preserve neutrality or independ. 
enee ; his orders to do such or such a thing, or to refrain, 
were arbitrary, and resistance was useless. Recourse was 
had to him on all occasions, and by all sorts of people, 
good as well as bad, for the arrangements of their diffi- 
euldes; so that he occasionally became the protector of 
the oppressed, who could not have obtained redress in any 
other way, puhhc or private. He was almost always the 
minister of wickedness, revenge, and caprice ; but the 
various ways in which he had employed his power im- 
pressed upon all minds a great idea of his capability to 
devise ami perform his acts in defiance of every obstruction, 
wh ether lawful or unlawful. The fame of ordinary tyrants 
^Hta.conflned to their own districts, awl evet^ S\Wi\t\, Va&. 



23+ 1 

ite lyrant ; but the fame of this extr^ordinaiy man wii 
spread throughout the Milanese ; his lite was the suhject rf 
po[iulBr tales, and his name carried nith it something poi>e> 
fui and mysterious. Every tyrant was suspected of alliuw 
with him, every aaaaaain of acting under his orders; il 
every extraordinary crime, of the author of which the} 
were ignorant, Ihe name of this man was uttered. whtHH, 
thanks to the circumspection of our historians, we are 
obliged to call the Unknown. 

The distance between his castle and that of Don Ro- 
derick was not more than six miles. The latter bad long 
felt the necessity of keeping on good terras with such a 
neighbour, and had proffered big services, and entitled 
himself to the same sort of friendship, as the rest; he was 
however, careful to conceal the nature and strictness of ibe 
union beCwen them. Don Roderick liked to play the 
tyrant, but not openly-; tyranny was with htm a mean^ 
not an end ; he wished to hve at ease in the raty, and 
enjoy the advantageE, pleasures, and honours of civiliied 
life. To insure this, lie was obliged to exhibit manige- 
ment, to testify a great esteem for his relations, to cultivate 
the friendship of persons in place, in order to sway the 
balance of justice for his own peculiar purposes. Now, in 
intimacy with such a man would not have advanced hii 
interests in such points, and especially witli his uncle ; bnt 
a slight acquaintance with him might be considered na- 
avoidahle under the circumstances, and therefore in 
degree excusable. One morning Don Roderick, equ^ 
for the ahase, with an escort of retainers, among 
was Griso, took the road to the castle of the Unknov 



CHAPTER XX. 






The castle of the Unknown was situated above a narrow 
and shady valley, on the summit of a chff, which, be- 
hnging to a rugged chain of mountains, was neverthelcM 
separated from them by banVa, caNema, anù.-?iwà^i« '■ 
was only accessible on the siie -flisvcli «wtotìMà. « 



235 

ley. This was a iferlivity rather steep, but equal, and con- 
tinue!] towards the" summit ; it was occupied as pasture 
ground, and its lower borders were cultivated, having 
babilations scattered here and there. The bottom waa ft 
bed of stones, through wliicb flowed, according to the 
fleaaon, a small brook, or a large torrent, which served for 
a boundary between the two lerritoriea. The opposite 
chain of mountains, which formed, as it were, the other wall 
of the valley, waa slightly cultivated towards its base ; the 
rest was composed of precipitous rocks without verdure, 
and thrown together irregularly and wildly. The scene 
altogether was one of savage grandeur. 

From this castle, as the eagle from his eyrie, its lawless 
owner overlooked his domain, and heard no human sound 
above him. He could embrace at a view all the environs, 
the declivities, the abyes, (he practicable approaches. To 
the eyes of one viewing it ftora above, the winding path 
which ascended towards the terrible habitation could be 
perceived throughout its whole course, and from the win- 
dows and loopholes, the signor could leisurely count the 
Bteps of the person ascending, and examine him with the 
closest scrutiny. IVith the garrison of bravoes which he 
kept at the castle he could defy an array, which he would 
have crushed in the valley beneath, before an individual 
could reach the summit. But none, exct^pt such as were 
fHends with the master of the castle, dared set foot even 
in the valley. Tragical stories were related of some who 
had attempted the dangerous enterprise, but these stories 
were already of times long past, and none of the young 
-vassals could remember to have encountered a human being 
in this place, except under his lord's authority. 

Don Roderick arrived in the middle of the valley, at 
the foot of the clifl', at the commencement of the rugged 
and winding path; at this point was a tavern, which might 
have been called a guard-house ; an old sign, with a rising 
sun painted on both si<les, was suspended before the door ; 
but the people gave the place the more appropriate name 
of Malatiolte. 

At the noise of the approaching cavalcade a young boy, 
well Rirnished with swords and pÌBloVa, a^ijiCMcft. «ft 'Ùia 
ttiresbold of the doorj and casting & ta^iOt ^«qm, ■a.V w 






party, informed tliree ruffianK, mho were playing 
within die house, of ils approacb. He whg appeared l«" 
be the chief among them aroee, and recognisinE a friend 
of hia msBter, saluted him reBpectfully ; Don Roderick re- 
turned the salutation with inucli politeness, and asked if 
the signor was at the castle. The man replied in l1>e aflinu. 
ative ; and lie, dismounting, threw his horse's fandle U 
Aimwell, one of his retinue. Then, taking his mmkn 
from his shoulder, he gare it to Montiinarolo, as if to re- 
lieve himself from an useless encumbrance, but in reality 
because he knew tliat on this cliff none were permitted W 
bear arma. Drawing from hia pocket aoTae berlinghe, )ie 
gave them to Taaabuto, aaying, " Wait here UU my re- 
turn ; and in the mean lime amuse yourselves with these 
honest people." Then presenting to the chief of the bwid 
some crowns of gold for himself and his companions, he 
ascended the path with Griso. 

Another bravo belonging to the Unknown, who was on 
his may to the rasile, bore him company ; thus sparing him 
the trouble of declaring his name to whomsoever he should 
meet. When he arrived at the castle (Griso was left at 
the gate) he was conducted through a long succession of 
dark galleries, and various halis hung witli muskets, sa- 
bres, and other weapons of warfare; each of tlieae halls wis 
guarded by a bravo. After having waiteil eome time, be 
was admitted to the presence of the Unknown, who ad- 
vanced to meet him, re|)lying to his salutation, and at the 
eame time, as was his custom, even with his oldest friends, 
eying him from liead to foot. He was tall in stature j 
and from the baldness of his head, and the deep furrows 
of his countenance, appeared to be much older than sixty, 
which was his real age ; his countenance and movements, 
the firmness of his features, and the fire which sparkled 
from his eyes, indicated a vigour of body as well as of 
mind which would have been remarkable even in a young 

Don Roderick told him lie had come for advice and as- 
sistance ; that, having embarked in a difficult enterprise, 
from which his honour did not suft'er him to wìthdrkW, 
be had remembered the ptoraisca o? c 
mieedia yain; 



abered the ptDimBt!& of one -«Vo xi^n fl^^l 
; aiidlielhenTeAa,te4taBriwnm.i«««\i«<^^H 



THE BBTHOTHED. 237 

The Unknown, who liad already heard Botnething of il, 
lialened with much attention to the recital, both because he 
naturally loved such relations, and because Friar Christo- 
pher, that «vowed enemy of lymnts, was concerned in it. 
Son Roderick spoke of the dJfliculty of tlie undertaking, 
the distance of the place, a monastery, the «ignora, — but 
the Unknown, as if prompted by the demon in his heart, 
interrupted him, Esying, that he took the charge of the 
afiàir onhimself. He wrote down the name of the poor Lucy, 
and dismissed Don Roderick, saying, " In a little while 
you will receive news from me." 

The reader may remember the villain Egidio, who lived 
Dear the walls of the monastery into which Lucy had been 
received ; now, he was one of the most intimate colleaguea 
in crime of the rnknown ; and this accounts for the 
promptnesB with which this lord assumed the charge of 
the undertaking. However, no sooner was he left alone 
than he repented of his precipitation. He had for some 
time experienced, not remorse, but a vague uneasiness on 
account of his crimei ; at every new addition to them, the 
remembrance of those he had previously committed 
pressed upon his memory, if not upon iiia conscience, and 
loaded it with an intolerable weight. An uniiefinahle re- 
pugnance to the commission of crime, such as he had ex- 
perienced and subdued at the outset of his career, relumed 
with all its force to overwhelm hia spirit. The thoughts 
of the future contributed to render the past more painful. 
" To grow old .' to die .' and then f " And the image of 
death, which he had so often met undaunted, in face of an 
enemy, and which seemed to inflame hia courage and 
double his energy — this same image now, in the midnight 
àlence of his castle, quelled his spirit, and impressed him 
with an awe which he in vain endeavoured to resist. For- 
merly, the frequent spectacle of violence and murder, in- 
spiring him with a ferocious emulation, had served as a 
kind of authority againat his conscience ; now the confused 
but terrible idea arose in his mind of individual responsi- 
bility at the bar of God. The idea of having risen above 
the CTDwd of vulgar criminals, and of having left them far 
behind, an idea which once flattered \na^vde,xiw\i&- 
j^tned him with a sentiment o£ leaiSaV B«\«aàe-, «&&. 



ass 1 

experiencing at certain mometitH of despondence ihe 
poner and presence of thai God whose existence he ìaA 
hitherto neitlier admitted nor denied, having been wholij 
immented in himself, his accumulated crimes rose uji, W 
justify the sentence nbich was about to condemn hiin (0 
eternal banishment from the divine presence. Bot thii 
uneasinesB was not suSered to appear, either in hia i*ord> 
or his actions ; he carefully concealed it under the appesi' 
ance of more profound and intense ferocity. Rt^rettJtig 
the time when he was accustomed to commit ÌDÌc|aily 
without remorse, RÌthout any other solicitude than for ils 
success, lie made every effort to recall these habits and 
feelings ; to lake pleasure in wickedness ,- and glory inliii 
shame, in order to convince himself that he was still the 

This accounts for the promptitude of his promise tfl 
Don Roderick ; he wished to deprive himself of the chance 
of hesitation ; but, scarcely alone, he felt liis reeolutiao 
fail, and thoughts arose in his mind which almost tempted 
liim to break his word, and expose his weakness to to 
inferior accomplice. But with a violent effort lie put ao , 
end to the painful conflict, He sent for Nibbio *, one of | 
the roost skilful and resolute ministers of his atrocitiei, 
and of whom he bad made use in his correspondence with 
£gicUo, and ordered him to mount his horse, to go to 
Monza, to inform Egidio of the afi'air he had undertaken, 
■nd to require hia assistance for its accorapliahment. 

The messenger returned sooner than his master ei- 
pected him with the reply of £gidio ; the enterprise was 
easy and safe ; the Unknown had only to send a earriage 
with two or three bravoes, well lUaguised; Egidio took 
charge of the rest. The Unknown, whatever passed in 
his mind, gave orders to Nibbio to arrange every thing, 
and to set out immediately on the expedition. 

If, to perform tlie horrible service which had been re- 
quired of hira, Egidio had depended only on lus ordinary 
means, he would not certaiidy have sent back so espUcit 
an answer. But in tbe asylum of the convent, where 
every thing appeared as an obstacle, the villain had « 
means ktiowa to hiniaeVI alotie ; wii ùia.\ ■«'aviti, md^ 



1 



bave been an insurmountable difficulcy to otber 
hitn an inaCrumenc of success. We have related how the 
unhappy signora once lent an ear to bis discounie, and the 
reader may have sutmiaed that this was not the last time ; 
itwas only the first step in the path of abomination and blood. 
The same voice which then addresEed her, become im- 
perious through crime, now imposed on her the sacrifice 
of the innocent girl who had been intrusted to her care. 

The proposition appeared frightful to Gertrude; to lose 
Lucy in any manner would have seemed to her a miafor- 
tirne, a puniehraent ; and to deprive herself of her with 
criminal perfidy, to add to her crimes by dealing treacher- 
ously with the confiding girl, was to take away the only 
gleam of virtuous enjoyment which haii shone upon her 
luysteriouB and wicked career. She tried every method to 
avoid obedience ; every method, except the only infallible 
one, that was in her power. Crime is a severe and inflex- 
ible master, against whom we are strong only when we 
entirely rebel. Gertrude could not resolve on that, and 
obeyed. 

The day agreed on came ; the hour approached ; Ger- 
trude, alone with Lucy, bestowed on her more caresses 
than ordinary, which the poor girl returned with increas- 
ing lendemesa, aa the Iamb licks the hand of tlie ehepherd 
who entices it without the fold into the murderous power 
of the butcher who there awaits it. 

" I want you to do me a great favour; many are ready 
to obey me, but there is none but yourself whom I can 
trust I must speak immediately on an affair of great im- 
portance, whicli I will relate to jou some other time, to 
the superior of the capuchins, who brought you hither 
my dear Lucy ; but no one must know that I have seat — 
for him. I rely on you to carry a secret message- 
Lucy was astonialieil at such a request, and alleg 
her reasons for declining to perform it ; without I 
mother ! without a companion ! in a solitary road ! ii 
strange country ! But Gertrude, instructed in an infernal 
school, showed great astonishment and displeasure at her 
refusal, after having been loaded with so many benefits ; 
she affected to treat her excuses as frivoVoua. " Va o-^wv 
ilay ! a short distance I a road that Lucj^OlUb.'^^^^*-^'^''* 



^eg«fl 
It hdPV 



840 THB BETBOniKD. 

days before!" She uid m much, that the poor girl, 
touched with graiiiude and Bhame, enquired, " Sviiat ww 
to be done Ì " 

" Go to the convent of the capuchins ; aak for llie 
■nperioT, lell him U) come here immedialely, but to let do 
one tuHpect that he comes at my request." 

" But what shall 1 say to the poru-ess, who has never 
Men me go out, and wUI ask me where I ain going?" 

" Endeavour to pass without being seen ; and if you 
cantiat, say you are going to some church to perfgrn your 
tmttmt." 

' A new difficulty for Lucy ! to tell a falsehood ! but the 
dgnora was bo olTended at her refuEsI, and bo ridiculed hec 
for preferring a vain scruple to her gratitude, that the n*- 
bappy girl, aiarmed rather than convinced, replied, " WdD, 
I wiU go ; may God be my guide and protector." 

Gertrude, from her grated window, folloved her wiA 
■nicious looks, and when she saw her about to cron ibe 
threshold, overcome by irresistible emotion, she càei, 
" Slop, Lucy," 

Lucy retutued to the window ; but another idea, the me 
accustomed to predominate, had resumed its sway ma 
tlie mind of the unhappy Gertrude. She affected dissaus. 
faction at the directions she had given ; described the nai 
•gain to Lucy, and dismissed her : " Do exactly as I baia 
told you, and return quickly." 

Lucy passed the door of the cloister unobserved, mi 
proceeding on her way with downcast eyes, fouitd, i 
the aid of the directions given, and her own recollecti 
the gate of the suburb j timid and trembling, she contii 
on the high road, until she arrived at that which hi tt 
the convent. This road was buried, like the bed a/ • 
river, between two high banka, bordered with tras^ 
whose branches united to form an arch above it. 0* 
finding it entirely deserted, ahe felt her fears revive; akc 
hnrned on, but gained courage from the sight of a Dsni> 
ling carriage which had stopped a short diuaace bcfis* 
ber ; before the door of it, which waa open, there Maad 
two trarcUrrs looking about, as tf nDcertaùi at their waf. 
As she approached, she bewA one ^ Vt)«%^ w^ , " Bern m 



241- 

good girl, wbo irill tell us the vkj." As she carni 
ne nith the carriage, this same man addressed her : " My 
ood girl, can you tell us the way to Monza ? " 

" You are going in the wrong direction," replied the 
-DOT girl ; " Monza lies there." As she turned to point 
t. out, his companion (it was Nibbio) seized her by the 
raiat, and lifted her from the ground. Lucy screamed 
rom surprise and terror ; the ruffian threw her into the 
arrlage ; a third, who was seated in the bottom of it, seized 
er, and compelled her to sit down before him ; another 
ut a handlterchief over her mouth, and stifled her cries. 
fìbbio then entered the carriage, the door was closed, and 
lie horses set off on a gallop. He who had asked her the 
erSdious question remained behind ; lie was an emiscary 
f Egidio, who had watched Lucy when ahe quitted the 
onvent, and had hastened by a shorter road to inform hià 
oUeagues, and wait for her at the place agreed on. 

But who can describe the terror and anguish of the un- 
}rtunate girl? Who can tell what passed in her heart? 
■ruelly anxious to ascertain her horrible situation, she 
'Udly opened her eyes, biit closed them again at the eigbt 
f those frightful faces. She struggled in vain. The msB' 
eld her down in the bottom of die carriage : if she at* 
!rapl«d to cry, they drew tlie handkerchief tightly over 
er mouth. In the mean while, three gruff Toices, en- 
eavouring to assume a tone of humanity, said to her, 

Be quiet, be quiet: do not be afraid; we do not wish 
> harm you." After a while her struggles ceased, she 
mguidly opened her eyes, and the horrible faces before 
er appeared to blend themselves into one monslroua image; 
er colour fled, and ahe fell lifeless into their arms. 

" Courage, courage," said Nibbio ; but Lucy was now 
e^nd the reach of his horrible voice. 

"The devili she appears to be dead," Kaid one of 
iem. " If she should really be dead J" 

" Poh I" said the other, " these fainting fits are com- 
i<m lo women ; they don't die in this way." 

" Hush," laid Nibbio, " be altantive to your duly, and 
t not meddle with other afliurs. Keep your muakeU 



I 



^ 



242 1 

ready, because this wood we are entering is a nest for 
robbers. Don't keep them in your hands — the deiil! 
put them behind you. Do you not see that this girl is * 
tender chicken, who faints at nothing } If she sees thii 
you have anna, she may die in reality. Wlien she comei 
to her senses, be careful not to frighten her. Touch her 
not, unless I tell you to do so. I can hold her. Keep 
quiet, and let me talk to her." 

Meanwhile the carriage entered the wood. Poor Lacy 
awoke as from a profound and pidnful slumber. She 
opened her eyes, and her horrible situation rushed wilh 
full force upon her mind. She struggled, again in vwn, 
she attempted to scream, but Nìbbio said to her, holding 
up the handkerchief, " Be tranquil ; it is the best thing 
yon can do. We do not wish to harm you ; but if yoa 
do not keep silence, we must make you." 

" Let rae go. Who are you ? Where are you taking 
me ? Why am I here ? Let me go, let me go," 

" 1 tell you, don't be frightened. You are not a child, 
and you ought to know that we will not harm you. Wt 
might liave murdered you before this. If such had been 
our intention. Be quiet, then." 

" No, no, let me go ; I know you not." 

" We know you well enough, however." 

" Oh, holy Virgin ! Let me go, for charity's sake, 
Who are you ? Why have you brought me here ?" 

" Because we have been ordered to do so." 

" Who ? who ? who ordered you to do it ? " 
' Hush !" said Nibbio, in a severe tone. " Such ques- 
tlons must not be answered." 

Lucy attempted to throw herself from the door of the 
carriage, but finding the effort vain, she had recourse sgaiQ 
to entreaties, and wilh her cheeks Irathed in tears, and her 
Toice broken by sobs, she continued, " Oh, for the love 
of heaven, and the holy Virgin, let rae go ! What harm 
have I done you ? I am a poor creature, who have never 
injured you ; I forgive you all that you have done, and 
will pray to God for you. If you have a daughter, a 
wife, or a mother, tbiuV vitat, they would suffer in mj 
Bemember thai we voroi. ^ K\e, »j\4. \)iat - - 



day you will hope tbat God wiM show mercy to you. 
me go, let me go ; tho Lord will guide me on my way." 

" We cannot." 

" You cannot ? Great God ! why can you n 
lire yoii taking me ?" _ 

" We cannot; your supplications arc useless. Do not 
be frightened ; we will not hami you. Be quiet ; no one 
sball harm you." 

More than ever alarmed to perceive that her words pro- 
duced no eSbct, Lucy turned to Him who holds in his 
powerful hand the hearts of men, and can, if be eeea fit, 
lOften the most ferocious. She crossed lier arms on her 
breast, and prayed from the depth of her heart, fervently ; 
then again vainly implored to be set free : but we have 
bot the heart to relate more at length this painful journey, 
wbich lasted four hours, and which was to be succeeded 
by many hour» of still deeper anguish. 

At the casile, the Unknown was waiting her arrival 
with extraordinary solicitude and agitation of mind. 
Strange, that he who liad coldly and calmly disposed of 
to many lives, and had regarded as nothing the torments he 
inflicted, should now feel an impression of remorse, almost 
of terror, at the tyranny he exercised over an unknown 
girl, an bumble peasant I From a high window of hit 
castle, he had for some time looked down upon the valley 
beneath ; at last he saw the carriage approaching slowly 
at a distance, as if the horses were wearied witli their rapid 
journey. He perceived it, and felt his heart beat violently. 

"Is she there?" thought he. "What trouble tbia 
girl gives me ! I must free myself from it." And ho 
prepared himself to send one of his rulGans to meet the 
carriage, and tell Nibbio to conduct the girl immediately to 
the castle of Don Roderick ; but an imperious Nò, wtiich 
made iteelf heard by his conscience, caused him to relitv< 
quiah his design. Tormented, however, by the necessity 
of ordering something to he done, and insupportahly weary 
of waiting the slow approach of the carriage, he sent for 
VI old woman who was attached to his service. 

This woman hail been bom in the csstle, and had passed 
her life in it. She had been impresBei Sioia vcAaac-j ■«\^ 



944 TBB BKTBOTHBIK 

an opinion of the unlimiied power of its maeten ; and M 
princiiul maxim was implicit obedience toirftrds tbeni. 
To the ideas of duty were united sentiments of regpecl, 
fcar, and seryile devotion. When the Unknown became 
lord of ihe castle, and began to make such liorrible use of 
tuB power, she experienced a degree of patn, snd at the 
sane time a more profound sentiment of eubjectìon. In 
time she betsmc habituated to what was daily acting be- 
fore her : the powerful and tmbrldled will of sueb a lord 
■he viewed as an exercise of fated justice. Wlien tome- 
what advanced in years, she had espoused a servant of the 
house, who being sent on a hazardous expedition, left hie 
body on the high road, and his wife a widow in the caelle. 
The revenge that ber lord took for bis death imparted to 
ber a savage consolation, and inerease<l her pride at being 
under his protection. From that day she rarely set fi»t 
beyond the castle walls, and by degrees there remained to 
ber no other idea of human beings, than that of those b; 
whom she was daily surrounded. She was not employed 
in any particular service, but each one gave her EomethiDg 
to do as it pleased him. She had sometimes clothes to 
mend, food to prepare, and wounds to dress. Commands, 
reproaches, and thanks were equally mingled with abusive 
raillery : she went hy the appellation of the oJd taotnan, 
and the tone with which the name was utteretl varied 
according to the circumstances and humour of the spcsker. 
Disturbed in her idleness and iiritated in her aelf-lore, 
which were her two ruling passions, she reltirned these 
compliments with language in which Satan might have 
recognised more of his own genius than in that of her 
persecutors. 

" You aee that carriage below there," said the Uuknown. 

" I do," said she. 

" Have a litter prepared immediately, and let it carry 
jou to Malanotte. Quick, quick ; you must arrive hefiwe 
the carriage ; it approaches with the slow step of death. 
In this carriage there is — there ought to be — a young girl. 
If she is there, tell Nibbio from me, that he must place her 
In the litter, and that he must come at once to me. 
yottwiU get into the litter witì\\w;f, mvìVchlu^om arrive 



2*» 

here, you riugC take ber Io your room. Ifslie asks you vhere 
you are leading her, whose is this caslle, be careful " 

" Oh, (io not doubt me," said the old woman. 

" But," pursued the Unknown, " comfort her, encou- 
rage her." 

" 'What can I say to her ? " 

" What can you say to her ? Comfort her, I tell you. 
Have you arrived at thia age, and know not how to admi- 
nister congolatian to the afflicted? Have you never had any 
Borrow ? Have you never been visited by fear ? Do you 
not know the language that consolea in such moments ? 
Speak this language to her then ; find it in the remem. 
brance of your own misfortunes. Go directly." 

When she was gone, he remained some time at the 
window, gazing et tlie approaching carriage ; he then 
looked at the setting sun, and the glorious display of 
clouds about (be horizon. He soon withdrew, closed the 
window, and kept pacing the apartment in a state of un* 



CHAPTER XXI. 

Thb old woman hastened to obey, and gave orders, under 
authority of that name which, by whomeoever pnmoiuiced, 
set the whole castle in motion, aa no one imagined that any 
one would dare to use it unauthorised. She reached JI/fi&iviCM 
a little before the carriage : when it was near at hand, she 
left the litter; and making a sign to the coachman to stop, 
approached the window, and whispered in the ear of Nibbio 
the will of her master. 

Lucy, sensible that the motion of the carriage had 

ceased, shook off the lethargy into which she had for some 

time been plunged, and in an agony of terror looked 

uonnd her. Nibbio had drawn himself back on the seat, 

^Hflthe old wotna», resting her chin on the -nuiAnv , vùà. 



946 THE BETIU>rHBl>. 

to Lucy, " Come, my child ; come, poor girl ; 
I liavc orders to treat yoQ kindly, and t( 
evcty consolation." 

At the sound of a female voice the unfortiiDst 
& momentary relief, which was, however, 
deeper terror as she looked at the peraon from w 
proceeded, " Who are you ? " said she, aiudouslj 
lier eyes upon Iter. 

y " Come, come, poor girl," repeated the old wotoi 
' Nìbbio and his two companions, inferring the des 
dieir master from the extraordinary deportment of 
woman, endeavoured to persuade the poor girl to 
but Lucy kept gazing at tlie wild and savage ! 
■round, which left her no ray of hope. However, 
tempted to cry out; but seeing Nibbio give a look 
handkerchief, she stopped, trembled, was seized, an 
placed in tile litter. The old woman was placed 
ber ; and Nibbio left the two villains for their escoi 
hastened forward at the call of his master, Lucy, t 
to momentary energy by the near approach of the de 
and withered features of her companion, cried, " 
»m I ? Where are you taking me ? " j 

' " To one who wishes you well ; to a great —J^ 
a lucky girl ; be happy, do not be afraid ; be happ) 
has told roe to encourage you ; you will tell him 
have done so, will you not ? " 

" Wlio is this man ? What is he ? What does h 
■with me ? ,1 do not belong to him. TeL n 
Let me go. Tell these men to let me go, 
some church. Oh, you, who are a womai 
of the holy Virgin, I entreat you." 

This holy and tender name, so often pronounra 
respect in her early years, and for so long a time ne 
«nd forgotten, produced on the mind of the wretch' 
man, who had not heard it for so long a time, a « 
impression, like the remembrance of'lights and d ~" 
tbe mind of one blind from infancy. 

Meanwhile the Unknown, standing at the 

;tle, looked below, and aavi the litter alowly i 
id Nibbio walking a lev &x\^ m B&ssQte oi \!' 



cl 



s 



THE BEIKOTBED, 947 

Bight of his master, he hurried forward. "■ Come here," 
said the signor to him, and led the way to an inner hall. 
f Well ?" said he, stopping " All has been done accord- 
ing lo your wishes," replied Nìbbio, bowing. " The order 
in time, the young girl in time, no one near the place, a 
single cry, no one alarmed, the coachman diligent, the 
horses swift ; but " 

" But what?" 

" But, to say truth, I would rather have received or- 
ders to plunge a dagger in her heart at once, than to have 
been obliged to look at her, and hear her entreaties." 

" What is this ? M'hat is this .' What do you mean ?" 

*' I would say that during the whole journey — yea, 
during the whole journey ^ — she has excited my compassion." 

" Compassion J What dost thou know of compassion ? 
What i» compassion?" 

" I have never understood what it is until to-day ; it ia 
lomething lik(> fear ; if it takes posaession of one, one ia 
no longer a man." 

" Let me hear, then, what ehe has done to excite your 
compaasion?" 

" Oh, most illustrious signor, she wept, implored, and 
looked so pitcously ; then turned pale, pale as death ; then 
wept, and prayed again, and said such words " 

" I will not have this girl in the castle," thought the 
Unknown. " I was wrong to embark in this business ; 
but I have promised, I have promised : when she ia far 

away " And looking imperiously at Nibbio, " Now," 

said he, " put an end to your compassion ; mount a horse, 
take with you two or three companions, if you wish ; go 
to the castle of Don Roderick, thou knowest it. Tell him 
to send immediately, immediately — or otherwise " 

But another No, more imperious than the first, whose 
sound waa heard in tlie depth of his soul, prevented his 
proceeding. " No," said he in a determined tone, as if 
expressing tìie command of this secret voice, — " no ,- go to 
bed ; and to-morrow morning you shall do what I shall 
then order." 

'' This girl must have some demon who protects her," 
)ght he, as he remained alone, viUVi b\» wrafe ciowsA. 



Mteight 



US ') 

on Ilia breast, regarding the fitful shadows cast by the rayi 
of the moon on the floor, which darted through the gralii^ 
of the lofty windows. " She muBt have some demon or 
»n angel who protects her. Compassion in Nibbio ! To- 
morrow rooming, to-morrow morning at the latest, she shall 
be sent away ; the must submit to her destiny, that is 
certain. And," continued he, with the tone of one who 
gives a command to a wayward child, unJer tlie convicdon 
that he wiil not obeir it, " we will think of it no more. 
This animal Don Rmlerick must not come to torment me 
with thanks, for^-I do not wish [o hear her spoken of, I 
have served him — because 1 promised to do so ; and I 
promised, because it was my destiny. But Don KodcHdc 
shall pay me with usury. Let us see •" 

And he endeavoured to imagine some difficult enterprise 
in which to engage Don Roderick as a punishment ; but 
his thoughts involuntarily recurred to another subject. 
" Compassion in Nìbbio ! What has she done f I mu« 
«e her. No ! Yes ! I must see her." 

He passed through several halls, and arriving at tlie apart- 
ment of the old woman, knocked with his foot at the door. 

" Who is there?" 

At the sound of this voice, the old woman quickly obeyed, 
■nd flung the door wide open. The Unknown threw a 
glance arountl the chamber, and by the light of the Ian* 
lem, which stomi on the table, saw Lucy on the floor in 
one comer of it. 

" Why did you place her there ? '' said he, with a frown- 
ing brow. 

" She placed herself there," replied she, timidly. '■ I 
have done all I could to encourage her ; but she will not 

" Rise," said he to Lucy, who, at the noise of his step, 
and at the sound of his voice, had been uized with new 
terror. She buried her face in her hands, and remained 
silent and trembling befor 

" Rise ; I will noi harm you ; I can befriend you," 
sad ibe signor. " Rìse ! " repeated he, in a voice of Uwo* 
" ritatied at having spoUeu ' 



THB BBTBOTBBD. 94<9 

As if alarm hsd restored her exhausted Btrength, the 
unfortunate girl fell on her knees, clasped her hands on 
her brelstj as if before a sacred image, [hen with her eyes 
fixed nn the earth, exclaimed, " Here 1 am, murder me if 
yon will." 

" I have already told yon (hat I will not harm you," 
replied the Unknown, in a mora gentle lone, gazing at her 
Agonised and altered features. 

" Courage, courage," said the old woman. " He tell» 
you himself that he will not harm you." 

" And why," resumed Lucy, in a voice in which indig- 
nation and despair were mingled with alarm and dismay, — ■ 
" why make me suffer the torments of hell ? What have 
I done to you?" 

" Perhaps they have not treated you kindly? Speak 1" 

" Oh, kindly treated ! They have brought me hither 
by treachery and force. Why, why did they bring me ? 
Why am I here ? Where am I ? I am a poor creature. 
Wliat liave I done to you ? in the name of God " 

" God! God! always God!" said the Unknown. " Those 
who are too weak to defend themselves, always make use 
of the name of God, as if they knew something concerning 

him ! What I do you mean by (his word to make me " 

and he left the Eenience unfinished. 

" Oh, signor, what could I mean, a poor girl like me, 
except that you should have pity on me ? God pardons 
so many deeda for one act of mercy ! Let me go ; for 
pity, fur charily, let me go. Do not make a poor creature 
sufibr thus ! Oh, you, who have it in your power, tell them 
to let me go. They brought me hither by force. Put me 
again in the carriage with this woman, and let it carry me 
to my mother. O holy Virgin ! My mother ! my mother 1 
Perhaps she is not far from here — 1 thought 1 saw my 
mountains ! Why do you make me suiFer ? Carry me 
to a church ; I will pray for you all my life. Does it 
coat you ho much to say one word ? Oh, I see that you 
are touched ! Say but the word, say it. God pardons so 
many deeds for one act of mercy." 

" Oh, nhj il ab» not the daiqifatei' of one of the cowuda 



«50 1 

wbo outlawed ine?" thought the Unknown. " I ghoulil 

tben enjoy her sufferings; but now " 

■' Do not stifle so good an inspiration," pursued Lney, 
on seeitig hesitation in the countenance of her persecntOE. 
" If you do not grant me mercy, the Lard wiXl; he will 
send Ueaih lo relieve me, and all will be over. But yon 
— one day, perhaps, you also — bat no, no — I will pray 
the Loril to preserve you from eviL What would it nut 
you to say one word ? If ever you experience these toi- 

" Well, well, take courage," said the Unknown, with a I 

gentleness that astonished the old woman. " Have I done Ì 

you any harm ? Have I menaced you ? " ! 

" Oh, no. J gee that you have a good heart, and (bit | 

you pity a poor creature. If you chose, you could alaro ' 

me more than any of them, you could make me die nitii I 

fear; and on the contrary, you have — you have given ine ' 
Bome consolation. God reward you ! Accomplisli the wort 

you have begun ; save me, save me." ' 

" To-morrow morning." 

" To-morrow morning 1 will see you again, I tell y«. 
Be of good courage. Rest yourself. You must need (bod; 
it shall be brought to you." 

" No, no, I ehall die if any one comes into this room, 
I shall die. Take me away, God will reward you." 

" A servant will bring you something to eat," said the 
Unknown ; " and you," continued he, turning to the old 
woman, " persuade her to eat, and to repose on the b«d- 
If she consents to have you sleep with her, well ; if noi, 
you can eleep very well on the floor. Be kind to her, I 
«ay ; and take care that she makes no complaint of you." 

He hastily quitted [he room, before Lucy could renew 

" Oh, miserable that I am ! Shut, shut the door !" 
said Lucy, returning to seat herself in her comer. " Oh, 
miserable that I am ! IVho shall I implore now ? Where 
am I ? Tell rae, tell me, for charity, who is this fiignorf 
Who has been talking to toe Ì who is he ? " 



f— = — 1 

^^pwlo is he ? Do you wish me to tell jou ? you niiu|( 
writ «while first. You ere proud, because he proiecta you; 
provided you itre satisfied, no matter what becomes of me. 
Ask him his name. If I should tell you, he would not 
Bpeak to me so gently as he did lo you. I ara an old 
woman, I ain an old woman," continized ahe, grumbling: 
but hearing the sobs of Lucy, she remembered the threat 
of her master; and addressing her in a lesa hitler tone, 
" Well ! I have said no harm. Be cheerful. Do not ask 
me what I cannot tell you, but have courage. How satis- 
fied most people would he, should he speak to them aa he 
has spoken to you ! Be cheerful ! Directly, you shall have 
something to eat ; and from what he said, 1 know it will 
be something good. And then, you must lie down, and you 
will leave a little room for me," added she, with an accent 
of suppressed rancour. 

" 1 cannot eat; I cannot sleep. Leave me, approach 
me not. You will not go away ? " 

" No, no," said the old woman, seating herself on a 
large arm-cbair, and regarding her with a mingled expres- 
sion of alarm and rage. She looked at the bed, and did 
not very well relish the idea of being banished from it for 
the night, as it was very cold ; but she hoped at least for 
a good supper, Lucy felt neither cold nor hunger ; she 
remained stupified with grief and terror ; her ideas became 
vague and confused as in the delirium of a fever. 
I She shuddered at hearing a knock at the door, " Who 
ÌE there ?" cried she, " who is there ? Don't let any 

" It is only Martha, bringing something to eat," 

" Shut, shut the door !" cried Lucy. 

" Certainly," replied the old woman. Taking a basket 
from the hands of Martha, she placed it on the table, and 
closed the door. She invited Lucy to taste the deUcious 
food, bestowing on it profuse praises, and on the wine too, 
■which was such as the signor himself drank widi his friends; 
but seeing that they were useless ahe said, " It is your 
own fault, you wiu*( not forget to tell him that I asked 
you. I will eat, however, and leave enough for you, if 
you should come to your senses." W\\cti \i« sM.-?^t '«wi 



i 



952 1 

finished she approached Lucy again, and renewed ha 
colici ta lions. 

" No, no, 1 wish nothing," replied she, in a faint ai 
, eshaUEled voice. '' Is the itoor shut ? " ahe esdaimed, wilfa 
momentary energy ; " is it well aecnroil ? " 

The old woman approached the door, and showed het 
thai it was firmly bolt«d. " Yod see," said sbe, " it iswdl 
ftstened. Are you aatiafied now ?" 

" Oh ! satisfied ! satisfied ! in this place!" said Lucy, 
anking into her corner. " But God knows that I un I 
here." I 

" Come to bed. What would you do there, lying Hkt | 
a dog ? How silly to refuse comforts when you can hsre 
them !" I 

" No, no, leave me lo myself." 

" Well, remember it is your own feult ; if you wish lo 
come to bed, you can — I have left room enough for you ; 
remember I have asked you very often." Thus saying, 
■he drew the clothes over her, and soon all was profound 
ailence. 

Lucy remained motionlese, with her face buried in btt 
hands, whicli rested on her knees ; she was neither awifa 
nor asleep, but in a dreamy state of the imagination, pain- 
All, vague, and changeM. At first, she recalled with 
Bomething of self-possession the minutest circurosiances of 
this horrible day ; then her reason for a moment forsook 
ita throne, vainly strui^ling against the phantoms conjured 
by uncertainty and terror ; at last, weary and exhausted, 
she sunk on the floor, in a state approaching to, and te« 
Hembling, sleep. But suddenly she awoke, as at an internal 
call, and strove to recall her scattered senses, to know where 
■he was, and why she had been brought thither. She heard 
a noise, and listened ; it was the heavy breathing of the old 
woman, in a deep slumber ; she opened her eyes on the 
objects around her, which the flickering of the lamp, now 
dying in its socket, rendered confused and indistinct. But 
Boon her recent impressions returned distinctly to her mind, 
and the unfortunate g^rl recognised her prison ; and with 
the knowledge came associated all the terrors of this bar- 
riìAe day; and, overcome anew 'o'j anniiA-j «a& x^ntn^'^^H 



253 

wished earnestly for death. She conld only pray, and as 
the vorda fell from her trembling lipG, tihe felt her con- 
fidence revive. Suddenly a thought preiented itself to her 

, tnind ; that her prayer would be more acceptable if united 
with an offering of eornething dear to her ; she remembered 

, the object to which she had clung for her happiness, and 
resolved to sacriiice it ; then clasping her hands over her 
chaplet, which hung upon her neck, and raising lier tearful 
eyea to heaven, she cried, " O most holy Vii^n ! thou lo 
whom 1 have so often prayed, and who hast so often con- 
Boled me — thou who hast suffered so much sorrow, and art 
now so glorious — Ihou who hast performed bo many mi- 
racles for the afflicted — holy Virgin ! succour me, take me 
from this peril, mother of God ! return tue safely to my 
mother, and I pledge myself to remain devoted to thy ser- 
vice ; I renounce for ever the unfortunate youth, and iiom 
this time devote myself to thee !" After this consecration 
of herself, she felt her confidence and faith increase ; she 
remembered the " ta-morrow morning'' uttered by the Un- 
known, and took it as a promise of safety. Her wearied 
senses yielded to this new sentiment, and she slept pro- 
foundly and peaceftdly with the name of her protectress on 
her lips. 

But in this same castle was one who could not sleep ; 
after having quitted Lucy^ and given orders for her supper, 
he had visited the posts of bis fortress ; but her image re- 
mained atamped on his mind, her words still resotmded in 
his ears. He retired to his chamber, and threw himself on 
his bed; but in the stillness around this same image of 
Lucy in her desolation and anguish took possession still 
more absolutely of his thoughts, and rendered sleep hope- 
less. " What new feelings are these ?" thought he. 
" Nibbio was right ; but what is there in a woman's teats 
to unman me thus f Did I never see a woman weep be- 
fore ? Ay, and how often have I beheld their deepest 

agonies unmoved? But now " 

And here he recalled, without much difficulty, many an 
Instance when neither prayers nor tears were able to make 
V from his atrocions purpose»; but ioitead of de. 



S51 TBE BETROTHED. 

riting BUgnieDted reftolution, aa he had hoped, from tlie 
lecollection, he experienced an emotion of alarm, of c 
■temation ; w> tbst even, be b relief from tbe torment 
retroapection, he thought of Lucy. " She lives still," ( 
he, " she is here ; there ia yet lime. I have it in m; power 
to say to her. Go in peace ! I can also ask her forgivenea. 
Forgiveness I I aak forgiveaess of a woman ! Ah, if in 
that word existed the power to drive this demon from nj 
soul, I would say it ; yes, I feel that 1 would say iL To 1 1 
what am 1 reduced? 1 am uo longer myself J W'e&, i> 
well ! many a time have such follies passed through uj I i 
head ; thiH will lake its flight also." I i 

And to procure the desired forgetfulness, he endeavooitd I ■ 
to busy himself with some new project ; but in rain : iB 
appeared changed ! that which at another time would bin i 
been a stimulus lo action, had now lost its charm; liia 
imagination was overwhelmed with the insupportable wei^ i 
of remembered crimes. Even the idea of continuing U I 
associate with those whom he had employed as the tnalni- I 
menta of hla daring and licentious will was revolting to bii 1 
Mul ; and, disgusted and weary, he found relief only in tbe 1 
thought that by the dawn of morning he would set at libei^ | 
the unfortunate Lucy. J 

" I will save her ; yes, I will save her. As soon as the 
day breaks, I will fly to her, and say. Go, go in peace. 
But my promise ! Ay, who is Uon Roderick that I should 
hold sacred a promise made to him?" With the perplexity 
of a man to whom a superior addresses unexpectedly an 
embarrassing question, the Unknown endeavoured to reply 
to this his own, or, rather, that whs whispered by this new 
principle, that had of a sudden sprung up so awfully in his 
Boul, to pass judgment upon him. He wondered how he 
could have resolved to engage himself to inflict suffering, 
witliout any motive of hatred or fear, on an unfortunate 
being whom he did not know, only to render a service U 
this man. He could not And any excuse for it ; he could | 
not even imagine how he had been led to <lo it. The hasty 
determination had been the impulse of a mind obedient to 
its ludiiUul feelingsj the consequence of a tliousand previou* | 



Edfi 



THE BE TROTH En. 25 5 

J) examination of ihe motives which had 
a single deed, he wits led to the reCro- 
of his whole life, 

oking back from year to year, from enterprice to 
;e, from crime to crime, from blood to blood, each 
lis actions appeared abstracted from tlie feelings 
ad induced their perpetration, and therefore exposed 
eir horrible deformity, hut which those feelings had 
veiled from his view. They irere all his own, 
reapondble for al] ; they comprised his hfe ; the 
f this thoDght filled hira with despair ; he grasped 
il, and raised it to his head — hut at the moment in 
le would have teirtinated his miserable existence, 
ghts rushed onwards to the time that must continue 
on after liis end. He thought of hia disfigured 
without sense or motion, in the power of the vilest 
ile astonishment and confusion which would take 
the castle, the conversation it would excite in the 
urhood and alar off, and, more than all, the rejoicing 
[lemies. The darkness and silence of the night in- 
im with other apprehensions still ; it a]ipeBrcd to 
t he would not have hesitated to perform the deed 
day, in the presence of others. "And, after all, 
IS it ? but a moment, and all would be over." And 
ither thought ruse to his mind : " If that other Ufe, 
Il they tell, h an invention of priests, is a mere fa- 
il why should I die? Of what consequence is all 
lave done ? It is a trifle — hut if there should be 
life!" 

ich a doubt, he was filled with deeper despair, a 
from which death appeared no refuge. The pistol 
. from his grasp — both hands were applied to his 
iiead — and he trembled in every hmb. Suddenly 
ds he had heard a few hours before came to his me- 
■ God pardons so many deeils for one act of mercy." 
id not come W him clothed in the humble tone of 
Ltion, with which he had heard them pronounced, 
ine of authority which offered some gleam of hope, 
A moment of relief: he brought to mind the figure 
brheuslie uliered thera ; and\\e Tej.a.ii*A'V«,^'>'^ 



J 



Ì56 TSE BCTROTHBD. 

ks a Bupplia^nt, but aa an angel of consolation. He wsitttl 
vith anxiety the approach of day, ibat he might hear fitini 
her moutli other words of hope and life- He imagined 
himself conducting her to Jier mother, " Aud then, whi( 
Bhall I do to-morrow ? what ihall I do for the rest of the 
day? what shall 1 do thu day after, and the next day? 
and the night Ì the night which will ao soon return ? Oli, 
the night ! let me not think of the night I " And, plui^ 
in the frightful void of the future, he sought in vain for 
«ome employment of time, some method of Uving throngi 
the days and nights. Now he thought of abandoning his 
castle, and flying to some distant country, where be bad 
never been heard of; hut, oould he fly from liimsdf? 
Then he felt a confused hope of recovering his former 
courage and habits ; and that he should regard tliese lerrnn 
of his soul but as a transient delirium : now, be dreadct 
the approach of day, which should exhibit liim bo miserably 
changed to his followere ; then he longed for its light, «> >f 
it would bring light also to bis troubled thoughts. Aslbe 
day broke, a caniiiged sound of merriment broke upon his 
ear. He listened ; it was a distant chiming of bdls, and 
he could hear the echo of the mountains repeat the har- 
mony, and mingle itself with it. From another quarti^, 
atill nearer, and then from another, similar sounds wot 
heard. " What means this ? " said he. " For what are 
these rejoicings ? What joyful event has taken place?'' 
He rose from his bed of thoma, and opened the window. 

The mountains were still half veiled in darkness, the hea- 
vens appeared enveloped in a heavy aiid vast doud ; but he 
distinguished, through the faint dawn of the mornitig, 
crowds passing towards the opening on the right of the 
castle, viDagers in their holyday garments. " What ue 
those people doing.' what has happened to canae all this 
joy ?" And calling a bravo, who slept in the a^iotning 
room, he asked liim the cause of the oommoiion. The 
man replied that he was ignorant of it, but would go Ìm< 
mediately and enquire. His master remained at the win- 
dow, contemplating the moving spectacle, wliich increasing 
day rt^ndered more distinct every moment. He saw uumit 
■iRiiiig in succession ;men,^QvaeQ, «D&i^^^«n,«ai^fe^ 



237 

P^^ one impulse, directing their steps in one direction. 
' *róej appeared animated by a common joy; and the bells, 
I' with, their uniteti sound of merriment, seemed to be an 
' echo of the general hilarity. The Unknown looked on in- 
' tently, and felt an eager curiosity (o know what ciiuld have 
eomiDunicated such happiness to such a multitude of 






CHAPTER XXII. 



hastened hack with the intelligence, that the 
Catdinal Frederick Borromeo, Archbishop of Milan, had 
arrived the evening before at " ■ ■, and was expected 10 
pass the day there. The report of his arrival being spread 
•broad, the people had been seined with a desire to see 
him ; and (he bella were rung in testimony of the happiness 
bia presence conferred, and also to give wider notice of his 
arrival. The Unknown, left alone, continued to look down 
into, the valley — " For a man ! all crowding, all eager to 
see a man ! And, nevertheless, each one of them has some 
demon that tonnents him ; but none, none, a demon like 
mine ; not one has passed such a night as I have. What 
is there in this man to excite such joy p Some silver which 
he will scatter among them. — But all arc not actuated by 
Bucb a motive. Well, a few words — Oh ! if he had n 
few words of consolation for me ! Yes — why should I 
cot go to him ? Why not.' I v.-itl go. What belter can [ 
do ? I will go and speak to him ; speak to him alone. 

What shall i say to him .i" Why, why, that which 1 

will hear wliat he will say to roe." 

Having come to this vague determination, he threw over 
his sltoulders a military cloak, put his pistol and dagger in 
his girdle, and took from the wall, where it hung, a cara- 
" " lie almost as famous as himself ; thus accoutred, Uc ijto- 
Lucy's dianiber, and leaving hk cai»^iwv= *-^'^* 



^\mi al 



doer, he knocked and demanded admittance. The old tm 
a hastened to open the door ; he entered, and lookinf 
wnd ihe room saw Lucy tranquil and xilent in Uiecomei 

''' Does she rieep ?" asked he in » low Toice. " Wb^ 
ll you luffer her to sleep there ? Were Ihesemy orde»?' 
'■ I did all I could; but she would neither eat Ml 

'■' Let her Kleq> then in peace ; he careful not lo trouHi 
ber, and irhen she wakes — Martha will be in the ne» 
chamber, and you must send her for whatever she wtj 
wanl-^when she wakes — tell her 1 that the signK 

I Imi gone out for a little while, that he will return, ml 
àttt — he will (to all that she wishei." 
^ The old woman was asronished ; ■' She mnat be WM 
Bueess." thought she. 
b 7he Unknown departed, took his carabine, gaveorden 
■ Martha to be in waiting, and to a bravo to gnard tbi 
ppmbrr. and not suffer any one to approatdi ; then leafJng 
pe castle, with rapid steps he descended into the valle]'. 
The faratoes whom he met ascending the hill, stopped re- 
spectfully at his approach, expecting and awaiting orden 
for some expe<lition, and were astonished at his wliole ap. 
Dearance, and the looks with which he returned theii 

Kate. 
M''ben he reached the public road, his presence made : 
cy different impression ; at bis approach every one gan 
.. jy, regarding liim with looks of suspicion and wonder : 
each individual whom he met, cast at bim a troubled iMk, 
bowed, and slackened his pace, in oxder to remain behind 
He arrived at the village in the midst of the throng; hii 
name i^nickty spread from mouth to mouth, and a possi^ 
was instantly made for him to pass. Ue enquired of one 
near him where the canlinal was, " In the house of thi 
curate," replied the person, respectfully pointing to it 
He went to it, entered a small court where there wen 
several priests, who looker) at him with astonishment and 
suspicion. He saw, opposite to him, a door open, wbid 
led to a small hall, in wHc^vwete s.\so a great cotleclklt'a 
^^Mnls. He left hia caraUnc in a cotaex lA itot w 



««^^H 



259 

entered the hall. He was received liere, likewise, with 
doubling lookSj and whispers ; and his name was repealed 
with infinite awe. He accoeted one of lliem, asking to he 
directed to the cardinal, as he wished lo speak with him. 

"I am a stranger," replied the priest; and looking around 
mpon the assembly, he called the cross-bearer, who at the 
tìme was saying to one near him, " He here ! — tile Tamous 

. What can have brought him here ? Makeroom!" At 

this call, which resounded in the general silence, he feit 
hiniBelf compelleil (o advance. He bowed before the Vn- 
knows, raised his eyes in uneasy cutiasity to his face, and 
understanding his request, he stammered out, " 1 do not 
Imowif his illustrious lordEhip — at this time — is — can — 
however, I will go and see." And be went, against h'ltf 
will, to carry the message to the carilinal. 

At this period of our hislory we cannot do otherwise 
than rest a while, as the traveller worn out and weary with 
ft long journey through a steiile and savage land, refreshes 
himself for a eeaEon under ll>e shade of a tree, near a 
foantaiD of living water. We are about to introduce a per- 
son whose name and memory cause an emotion of rcspoct 
and sympathy ; and this emotion is the more grateful from 
ow previous contemplation of wickedness and crime. We 
tract our readers will excuse our devoting a few moments 
lo this great and good man. 

Frederick Borromeo, bom in the year 1564, was one of 
those rare characters who have employed a fine genius, the 
reaOurcea of great wealth, the advantages of privileged rank, 
and unceasing industry, for the discovery and practice of 
that which was fi» the good of mankind. Uia lite was 
Uke ■ atreua, which, issuing limpid from its native rock, 
moves on unilefiled over various lands ; and, clear and 
lunpid atill, unites itself with the ocean. In die midst of 
the pompa and pleasures of the world, he applied himself 
from his eailiest youth to study and obey the precepts of 
region ; and this application produced in his heart its 
le^timate fruitE. He took truUt for the rule of his thoughts 
«nd acttons. He was taught by it not to look upon this 
^^e as a burlhen to the many, and a pleasure to t.h,e fe-« -, 
^■t M s scene of activity for all, and of in\ù.iì\i- lili ■wvos.X. 



rhirt 



«60 •> 

Tender their account; and the cliief a 
lid ever been to render his life useful anil holy. 

In 1580, he declaied his rcEolntion to devote hi 
the miiiÌBlry of l)ie chiircli, and he took the hai 
the liknih of bin couein Carlos, whom the pubt 
even to the present day, has wniforinly acknowled 
Baint." He etilered a short time after into the e 
Pavia, founded by tliat holy man, and which still 1 
name of the faoiiiy. There, whilst applying him; 
aaKÌduity to the occupations prescribed by its rules 
luntarily imposed on himself, in addition, the tss 
itruetiiig the poor and ignortnt in the principle 
Chriatian religion, and of viiiting, consoling, ant 
the sick. He made use of the authority which i 
ceded to him hy all, to induce his companions ti 
him in these deeds of benevolence ; he steadily rei 
worldly advantages, and led a life of self-denial 
Tolion to the cause of religion and virtue. The coi 
pf his kindred, who thought the dignity of the hi 
graded by hia plain and simple habits of life, -v 
availing. He had another conflict to suEtain v 
ecdesiaatical authorities, who wished to impel him 
to distinction, and make him appear as the princ 
place. From all this, however, he carefully b 
himself, although at the lime but a youth. 

It would not have been astonishing that, during 
of his cousin Carlos, Frederick should have imiti 
example and followed the counsel of so good ft m 
it was surprising, that after his death no one coi)ld 
that Frederick, although only twenty years of age, 
his guardian and guide. The increasing splendou 
talents, his piety, the support of many powerful c. 
the authority of hia family, the name itself, t 
Carlos had caused to he associated an idea of sani 
«acerdotal tuperiority, all concurred to point him 
proper suhject for ecclesiastical dignity. Bnt'^ 
suaded in the depili of his soul of that whid 
Christian can deny, that a 



• Saint ChaiV 



..^ 



1 



s6i 

Otliers, but in devotjon to tlieir good, dreaded distinc- 
tion, and sought to avoid it. He did not wish to escape 
from the obligation to serve his neighbour ; his life was 
but one scene of such Eervicea ; but he did not esteem him- 
self worthy of so high and responsible an office. Governed 
by such feelings, in Ì5Q5, when Clement VIII. oifered 
Lira the archbishopric of Milan, he refused it witliout he- 
sitation, but was finally obliged to yield to the express 
command of the pope. 

Such demon E tra li on 3 are neither dilBcult nor rare ; it is 
no greater effort for hypocrisy to assume them, than for 
raillery to deride them. But are they not also the natural 
«tpression of nise and virtuous feeling P The life is the 
lest of sincerity ; and though all the hypocrites in the 
■world had assumed the exprassion of virtuous sentiments, 
yet the sentiments themselves will always command our 
respect and veneration, when their genuineness is evinced 
by a life of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice. 

Frederick, as archbishop, was careful to reserve for him- 
self only that which was barely necessary, of liis time and 
his wealth : he said, as all the world says, that the eccle- 
■iasticol revenues are the patrimony of the poor ; and we 
Bhall see how he put this maxim in practice. He caused 
an estimate to be made of the stmi necessary for his ex- 
penses, and for those employed in his service : finding it 
(o be 600 sequins, he ordered that amount to be taken 
from his patrimonial revenues for the supply of his table. 
He exercised such minute economy with regard to himself, 
that he did not relinquish any article of drees until it was 
entirely worn out ; hut he joined to these habits of extreme 
simplicity, an esquisite neatness, which was remarkable 
in this age of luxury nml uncleanlinese. He did more : 
in order that nothing should be lost from the fragments of 
bis frugal table, he assigned them to a hospital for the 
poor, and a servant came every day to gather the remnants 
for that purpose. From the attention which he pdd to 
such minutiffi, we might form a contracted idea of bis mind, 
as being incapable of elevating itself tn more extensive 
^designs, were it not for the Ambrosian library, which re- 
^^ ' i( of his liberality ani TOagm-fttimcR. "ti 



ft62 1 

furnìsii it with books sud manu scripts, besides ihl 
had slreadf collected, he sent eight of tlie nii 
BDd learned meD to make purchases of them in 
Spain, Germany, Italy, Flanders, Greece, Lebai 
Jerusalem. He succeeded in collecting 30,00(] 
umes, and 14,000 manuscripts. He joined 
library s college of doctors : these doctors were 
number, and su]ipoTted by liim as long as he live 
his death, the ordinary revenues not being suffidei 
expense, they were reduced to two. Their dutf^ 
in the cultivation of the various branches of buroi 
ledge, theology, history, belles leltres, ecclesiulij 
quities, and Oriental languagea. Each one %tss id 
publish some work on the subject to which he ] 
ticularly applied himself. He added to this a^ 
which he csUed 'frilingus ', for the study of 4 
Latin, and Italian languages,- and a college of png 
'ere instructed in these languages to become j 
1 their tui'n. He imited to these also a prin^ 
Uishment for ihe Oriental languages, for Hebeei 
, Arabic, Persian, and Armenian; a gallery^ 
tores, and another of statues ; and a school for 4 
principal arts of design. For the latter, he m 
to find professors ; but this was not the « 
regard to the Eastern languages, which were at tl 
but httle cultivated in Europe. In the orders -n 
left for the government and regulations of the libi 
perceive a perpetual attention to utility, admirable 4 
and much in advance of the ordinary ideas of || 
He prescribed to the librarian the cultivation of • 
eorrespondence with the learned men of EuropM 
himself acquainted with ttie state of science, and tW 
every new and important work ; he also chai^eA 
point out to young students the books necessary fl| 
and, whether natives or foreigners, to afford dia 
iable facility in making use of those of th»*^ 
There is a history of the Ambroaian library by (p 
paolo BoacB, who was librarian after the dealhj 



263 

derick, in which all the excellent regulations ttre minutely 
detailed. Other libraries existed in lialf, but with little 
benefit to the studiona : the hooka were carefully concealed 
&oin view in their cases, and inaccesslhle to all, except on 
rare occasions, and with the utmoai difficulty. A book 
ought then be seen, but not studied. It is useless to en- 
quire what were the fruits of these establishments of Bor- 
romeo, but we ntust admire the generosity, judgment, and 
benevolence of the man who could undertake and execute 
such things, in the midst of the ignorance, ìnertncsB, and 
general indifference which surrounded him. And in at- 
tention to public, he was not unmindful of private bene- 
volence; indeed, his whole life was a perpetual almsgiving; 
on the occasion of the famine of which our history bas 
spoken, we may have to relate more than one instance of 
his wisdom and generosity. 

The inexhaustible charity of tlie man shone as much in 
his private charities, aa in his splendid and magnificent 
public establislunents already recorded. On one occasion 
be saved a young lady from being immured in a convent 
against her wish. Her selfisli father pretended he could 
not marry her suitably without a portion of 4000 crowns. 
The bishop advanced the money. 

£Bay of access, he made it a principle to receive the 
poor who applied to him, with kindness and afiection. And 
on this point he was obliged to dispute with the nolnlity, 
who willed to keep him to their standard of action. One 
flay, whilst visiting among the mountaineers, and instruct' 
ing some poor children, Frederick bestowed caresses on 
them. A nobleman who was present, warned him to be 
careful, as the children were dirty and disgusting. The good 
bishop, not without indignation, replied, " These souls arc 
committed to my care ; these cliildren may never see me 
again ; and are you not willing that I should embrace 

He, however, seldom felt indignation or anger : he was 
admired for a placability, a sweetness of manner nearly 
imperturhable|; which, however, was not natural to him, 
bat tht efiect of continual combat against a quick and hasty 
M^fntion. If ever he appeared h&is\i, if. '«&« M) '&«i»i 






104 TBE BBTBOTBEir. 

■Riordinate pagUirB. whom he found guflty of Ma 
Begligence, or any othpr vice opposej to the spini o 
U^ calling. Wilfa regard to hisown interests or te 
^ry, be e^tbibited no eniDtioii, either of joy or i 
admirable indeed, if his spirit was in reality not a 
by these emations ; but more admirable still, if vie 
Ae result of continued and unremitleil effon to i 
diem. And amidat all the important eares with wli 
Iras occupied, he did not neglect the eulliiattoi) 
nind ; he devoted hiniRelf to literature 1 
■rduur, that he became one of the roost k&med a 
time. 

We must not, however, eoneesi that lie ado[ 
Ann persuasion, and maintained with constancy, 
opinions, whicli at this day would appear sin^lnr a 
founded ; these, however, were the errors of his tira 
aet his own. 

Our readers may perhaps enqaire, if so 
studious a man has left no monument of his 
■tudies } His works, great and small, Latin audi 
^nted as well as manuscript, amout 
dred ; they are preserved with care in tbe libri 
he founded. They are composed of moral 
moiiB, historical tlissertations, sacred and profane, 
ties, literature, the fine arts, &c. 

And what is the reason that they are so little kno 
little sought for ? We cannot enter into the causes 
phenomeimn, as our explanation might not be aatisj 
10 our readers. So that we had better 
our history, is relating facts concerning thia extril 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



Tbe Cardinal Frederick was engaged in study, m 
eastonij preparatory to the ÌMwt oì Avsxyuì * 



he oroGB-bearer enteretl, with a disiurbeil and unqul 

" ABlrangBvÌBtt, — Btrangeindeed, most illustriouB signori'' 

" From whom f " asked (he oardiiial. 

" From the signor ," replied the chaplain ; pwW ' 

noancing the name which we are unable to repeat tu our 
leaders. " lie is without, in pcrsonj and asks admiitattce 
lo the presence of your lordship." 

" Indeetll" said the cardinal, dosing his book and 

rieing from his seat, his countenance brightening ; ' 

cone in, let him come in immediately." 

" But , " replied the chaplain, " does your lordsM 

know who this man is ? It is the famous outlaw — ~ 

" And is it not a happy circumstance for a bishop, I 
such a man should have come to seek him ? " 

" Bui ," inKisted the chaplain, " we ne 

speak of certain things, because my lord says they itS' 
idle tales. However, in this case it appears to be a duty 

. Zeal makes enemies, my lord, and we know 

that more than one ruffian has boasted that sooner or 
later " 

" And what have they done?" 

" Thia man ta an enterprising, desperate villain, who is 
in strict correspondence with other villaina, as desperate as 
himself, and who, perhaps, have sent him " 

" Oh! what discipline is this !" said the cardinal, smil- 
ing; "the soldiers exhort the general to cowardice!" 
Then, with a grave and pensive air, he resumed, " Saint 
Carlo would not have deliberated a moment, whether he 
should receive such a. man ; he would have gone to seek 
him. Let him enter immediately ; he has already waited 
too long." 

The chaplain moved towards the door, saying in hia 
heart, " There ia no remedy ; these saints are dways obsti- 

He opened (he door, and reacliing the hall, where he 
had left the ecclesiastics, he beheld them collected together 
in one corner of the room, and the Unknown standing 
alone in another. As he approached him, he eyed him 
keenly to ascerrain whether he had not arms Mcmiieiit^ 



266 , 

about his person. " Truly, before introducing him, ve | 

might at leBHt propose ," but his resolution failed him. | 

He spoke — " My lord SKpects your lordship. Be kind | 
enough to come with me." And he led (he way into the 
presence of Frederick, who came forward to meet ihe 
Unknown with a pleased and serene cnuntenaDce, making i 
aign to the chbplain to quit the room. 

The Unknown and the cardinal remained for son» 
moments silent and undecided ; the former experienced il 
the same tiiQe a Tague liope of finding some r ' 
internal torments, and also a d^ec of irritatioi 
at appearing in this place as a penitent, to confeM hii 
sins, aud implore pardon of a man. Fie could not spedi; 
indeed, he hardly wished to do so. However, as he raised 
bis eyes to the cinlinal's face, he was seized with an iiw- 
sistible sentimetit of respect, which increasing hie confidenK, 
and subduing his pride without ofiendlng it, nevcrlbelen 
kept him sileot. 

The person of Frederick was indeed fitted lo inspin 
respect and love. His figure was naturally migestic and | 
noble, and was neither bent nor wasted by years ; his eye i 
was grave and piercing, his brow serene and pensive; hii 1 
countenance still shone with the animation of youth, ii«t- 
withstanding the paleness of his face, and the visible tracN 
it presented of abslinence, meditation, and laborious exer. 
tion. All his features indicated that he had once been 
more than ordinarily handsome ; the habit of solemn ud 
benevolent thought, the internal peace of a long life. Ion 
for mankind, and tlte influ^ice of ao ineffable hope, had 
Bubstituted for the beauty of youth, the more dignified and 
superior beauty of an old age, to which the inagnifioent 
simplicity of iht; purple added an imposing and inexpre»- 
ibie charm. He kept his eyes for a few moroente fixed oi 
the Unknown, as if to read his Noughts ; and imagiaio) 
he perceived in hia dark and troubled features someduBg 
corresponding to the hope he had conceived, " Oh ! " cried 
he in an animated voice, " what a welcome visit is this! \ 
and hew I ought to thank you for il, although it élla me 
mitb self-teproach." I 



I the 

HI 

ch tmi^ 



he fdt re-asHUred by hia manner, and the gentlene 
WorilB, and he was glad that the cardinal had broken the 
ice, and cummeiiced the conversation. 

" Certainly, it is a subject of self-reproach thai 1 ahanld 
h«Te waited till you came to me I How many T 
might, and ought to have sought you!" 

" You ! seek me ! Do you know who I ara ? 
tb^ told you my name?" 

" Do you beUeve 1 could have felt this joy, which y 
may read in my countenance — do you believe I could have 
felt it, at the sight of one unknown to nic ? It is you who 
are the cause of it — you, whom it was my duty to seek — you, 
for whom I have so wept and prayed — you, who are tllat 
one of my children (and I love them all with (he whole 
strength of my affections) — that one, whom I would moat 
have desired to see and embrace, if 1 could have ever dared 
to indulge the hope of so doing. Uut God alone can woitea 
miracles, and he supplies the weakness and tardiness of UHH 
poor servauta." 9 

The Unknown was amazed at the kindness and warnil|t| 
of this reception ; agitated and bewildered by such un- 
looked-for benevolence, he kept silence. 

" And," resumed Frederick, more affectionately, " you 
have some good news for nic; why do you hesitate ti 

" Good news ! I ! I have hell in my soul, and how o 
I biing you goad news J Tell me, tell me, if you knoi 
what good news could you expect from such a 

" Thai God has touched your heart, and is drawing yoM 
to himself," replied the cardinal calmly. 

■■ God 1 God ! If 1 could see ! If I could hear hii« 
Where is God?" 

" Do you ask me.'' you ! And who more than yourin 
has felt his presence ? Do you not now feel biro 
heart, disturbing, agitating you, not leaving you a 
of repose, and at the same lime drawin){ you towards hlo^ 
and imparting a hope of EranquiUity and of consolali 
of consolation which shall be full and unlimited, aa 
as you acknowledge Him, confess your una, and implofl 
his mercy .' " 



" Oh I yes, yea ; something indeed oppresses, sontethii^ I 
But God — if it be God, if it be He.oi j 
whom you speak, what can he do with me?" I 

These words were uttered in a tone ot despair ; but 
Frederick calmly and solemnly replied, " What can &' 
do with you ? Tlirough you he can exhibit }iis power U 
goodnesB. He would draw from you a glory, which nont 
other could render him ; you, against whom, the i 
of the world have been for so toog a time raised— yDBi 

whose deeds are detested " (The Uoknown started U 

this uiiac customed language, hut was astonished to find 
that it excit«d no anger in liifi bosom, but rather commit, 
nicaled to it a degree of alleviation.) " What glorj,' 
pursued Frederick, " will accrue to God ? A genera! aj 
of supplication has risen against you before his tliroi» ; 
among your accusers, some no doubt have been stimulstad 
by jealousy of the power you have exercised; but more,*! 
the deplorable security of your own heart, which has 
dured until this day. But, when you yourself shall ri» > 
to condemn your life, and become your own accuser, then, 
oh ! then, God will be gloriSed I And you ask what Iw 
can do with you ? What am I, feeble mortal '. that I 
should presume to tell you what are bis designe respecting 
you ; what he will do with this impetuous will, and im- 
perturbable constancy, when he shall have animated and 
warmed it with love, hope, and repentance ? Al'ho are 
you, feeble mortal, that you should think yourself able tu 
execute and imagine greater things for tbe promotion of 
evil and vice, than God can make you accomplish for thai 
of good and virtue ? What can God do with you ? Fm- 
give you I save you 1 accomplish in you the work of re- 
demption I Are not these things worthy of him ? Oh ' 
speak. If I, sn humble creature — I, so miseraUe, and 
nevertheless so full of myself — 1, such as I am, — if I to 
rejoice at your salvation, that to assure it, 1 would joyfiil^ 
give (God is my witnees) the few years that remain to me 
in life. Oh ! think ! what must be the love of Him who I 
inspires me with the thought, and commands me to regald 
yoa with such devotion as tbis I" 

^Jie countenance ani loannei ol ^ì^ìsmvS*. V 



celestial purity and love, in accordance with the vowb 
%liich came from his mouth. 'I'he Unknown felt llie 
stormy emotions of his soul gradually calming under Gucb 
heavenly influence, anil giving place to sentiments of deep 
■nd profound interest. His eyes, which from infancy 
" bad been unused to tears, became swoln ;" and burying 
hie face in his hands, he wept the reply he could not utter. 
" Great and good God ! " cried Frederick, raising his 
hands and eyes to heaven, "what have I ever done — I, thy 
UUprofitahle servant — tliat ihou shouldat have invited me 
to this banquet of thy grace, — tliat thou ehouldst have 
thought me worthy of being thy instrument to the accom- 
pliahment of such a miracle ! " So saying, he extended his 
hand to take that of the Unknown. 

" No ! " cried he ; "no ! Approach me not ! Pollute 
not that innocent and beneficent hand ! You know not 
what deeds have been committed by the hand you nould 
plme within your own !" 

" Sutfer," said Frederick, taking it with gentle violence, 
— "suffer me to clasp this hand, which ia about to repair 
■o many wrongs, to scatter so many blessings ; which will 
comfort so many wl)o arc in affliction, which will offer iU 
self, peaceably and humbly, to bo many enemies." 

" It is too much," said the Unknown, sobbing aloud; 
*' leave me, my lord ! good Frederick ! leave me ! Crowds 
eagerly await your presence, among whom are pure and 
innocent souls, who have come from far to &ee and bear 

you, and you remain here to converse with whom ?" . 

" We will leave the ninety and nine Kbeep," replied the 
cardinal ; " they are in safety on ihe mountain. I must 
now ranain with the one which was lost. These peopk 
are perhaps now more satisfied than if they had the poor 
bishop with them ; perhaps God, who baa vÌHited you with 
the riches and wonders of bis grace, may even now be 
filling their hearts with a joy, of which they divine not the 
cause ; perhaps they are united to us without knowing it ; 
perhaps the Holy Spirit animalei their hearts with the 
fervour of charity and benevolence ; inspires them with s 
spirit of prayer ; with, on your account, a spirit of ihanka- 
f^yiag of wiiich you are the unknown objett." 



fr 



So aaying, he pBu«d hi* arm «round the necic of ih 
Unknown, wlio, after resisting » tnutnent, yielileil, quìi 
vanquiBbed by ihÌE jmpulie of kindncsa, and fell oti lb 
neck of the cardinal, in an agony of repentance. Hi 
burning tears dropped on the stainless purple of Frederldi 
and the pure hands of the bishop were clasped aSéDliaii. 
ately around bim, who had hitherto been only habituitrt 
to iteeila of violence and treachery. 

The Unktiown, after a long embrace, covering bii ha 
with his hands, raiEed lii» head, exclaiming, '■ Oh ! Godi 
Thou who art truly great and good ! I know myaelf OB»; 
1 comprehend what I am ; my iniquities are all bd» 
me; I abhor myeelf ; butstill — still 1 experience a eoiuiL 
ation, a joy — yes, a joy which I have never before knml 
in all my horrible life !" 

" God accords to you thi» grace," »id Frederick, "a 
attract you to his lervice, to strengthen you tc enter i«n> 
lutely the new way he has opened to you, where yon bat 
so much to ondo, to repair, to weep for ! " 

" Miserable that 1 am ! " cried be, " there is so much— 
so much — that I can only weep oier. But at least, tbm 
are some things but just undertaken, that J can arrest-- 
yes, there is at least one evil that I can repair." 

He then briefly relaleil, in the most energetic tenu 
of aelf-execration, the story of Lucy, with the sufFerilgi 
and terrors of àie unfortunate girl ; Iter entreaties, and lb 
tpecies of frensy that her supplications liad excited in hit 
soul ; adding, that she was stUI in the castle. 

" Ah ! let us lose no time!" cried Frederick, moTtd 
wilfa pity ami solicitude. " What happiness for yonl 
You may behold in this, the pledge of pardon ! Gad 
nakes you the instrument of safety to her, to whom JM 
«ere to bave been the instrument of ruin. God has ÌD> 
died blessed you ! — Uo yon know tlie native place of Ite 
mhappy girl?" 

The Unknown named the village. 

" It is not far from this," said die cardinal ; " God bl 

praised! And probably " so sayinp, he approached 

• table, and rang aìiltìeWa. Ttvc chaplain entered, wilh 
nnquieC look ; in wnaaemeftt ìvi Vftt^ià. >lc« tit^tei 



«n 

e of ihe Unknown, on which the aaeet of tern 
fere sdii visible ; and glancing at that of the oinlintl, he J 
«rceiTcil, through ita nonted calmnets, an exprea ' 
f great satisfaction, mingled irìth extraordinary soHdal 
sde. He was rmited from the astonishment which tk4l 
ontemplation excited, by a question of the cardinal, 
moag the curates in the hall, " there was one from * * *! 

" There is, most illustrious lord," replied the chaplaioj 

" Bring him hither immediately," said Frederick, " ano; 
rith him, the curate of this pariah." 

The chaplain obeyed, and w«nt to the hall whrre tbi! I 
iricaCs nere assembled. All eyes were turned toward n 
lim. He cried aloud, " His most illustrious and reverend 
ordship asks for the curate of this pariah and the c 
tf • • •-" 

The former advanced immediately, and at th 
ime was heard, amidst the crowd, a me? uttered ii 
if nupriBe. 

" Are you not the curate of ■ • • ?" said the cbaplid 

" Certainty; but " 

" His mast illustrious and reverend lordship asks foT'l 

" Me ?" replied he, and Don Abbondio advanced fi 
he crowd with an air of amaaement and anxiety. The I 
haplain led the way, and introduced them both t< 
rac« of the cardinal. 

The cardinal let go the hand of the Unknown as thi^ 
ntered, and taking the curate of the parish aside, related * 
a few words the factB of the story, asking him if he knew 
oRie kind female, who would be willing to go to the 
Mstle in a litter, to remove Lucy thence ; a devoted, 
^■ritable woman, capable of acting with judgment ii 
lovel an expedition, and of exerting the best t 
TUiquiliise the poor girl, to whom deliverance itself, i 
luch anguish and alarm, might produce new ii 
whelming apprehensions. After having reflected a 
^e curate look upon himself the affair, and departe^l 
The cardinal then ordered the chaplain to have a lìtH 
prepared, and two mules ready saddled. The chapU 
quitted the room to obey his order*, ani &e CM^wi.-il 



S7^ IBB BETOOTBED. 1 

left alone with Don Abbondio and the UnknowD. "Bm I 
former, who hail kept bimself sloof, regarding wilh ttgn I 
curiosity the faces of the Unknown and the cardinal, noi ' 
came forward, saying, " I vias told that your illustrio» l 
lordship wished to sn: ine ; but I suppose It was a nò- I 
UVc," I 

" There ia no mistake;" replied Frederick, *' I haretiolk 
a novel and agreeable coramiasion la give you. Ode | 
of your pariah ioners, whom you have regariled as loo, ; 
Lucy Mondella, is found ; she is near this, in the h«Bt 
of my good friend here, I wish you to go witli him, u^ 
a good woman whom the curate of tliis parish will pro- 
vide, and Lving the poor girl, who must be so dear (o ymi 
to this place." 

Don Abbondio did his beet to conceal the extreme aim 
which such a proposition caused him ; and bowed pro- 
foundly, in sign of obedience, first to tbe cardinal^ uà 
then to the Unknown, but with a piteous look, wtótà 
seemed to eay, " I am in your hands; be mercifal; 
pnreere gubjeclia." 

The cardinal asked him of Lucy's relations. 

" She has no near relation but her tnoiher, with when 
ehe lives," replied Don Abbondio. 

" Is she at home?" 

" Yes, my lord." 

" Since," rephed Frederick, " this poor child cannot Jrt 
go home, it would l>e a great consolation for her to seelxl 
mother ; if the curate of tliis village does not return befot 
I go to church, 1 beg you will deaire biro to aend «mu 
prudent person lo bring the good woman hillier." 

" Perhaps I had better go myself," said Don Abbondio. 

" No, no ; I have other employment for you." 

"Her mother," resumed Don Abbondio, "is a very seni- 
itive woman, and it will require a gnod deal of dtscretin 
to prepare her for the meeting." 

" That is the reason that I have named some prudent 

person. You, however, will he more useful elsewhere," 

replied tile cardinal, He could have added, had he Ml 

been deterred by a regaii \n Ae feeUngs of tUe, Vai 

^v-" This poor chiW neeua macV ^ ' ■^-■" - ■ 



27S 
whom she knows, after so many hours of alarm, and in 
such terrible uncertainty of tbe future." 

It appeared atnttge, however, that Don Abbondio ihould 
lot have inferred it from hia manner, or that he should not 
aave thought so himself; the reluctance he evinced to 
comply with the request of the cardinal appeared so out 
>f place, that the latter imagined there must be some 
secret caune for it. lie looked at tiie curate attentively, 
and quickly discovering the fears of the poor 
coming tbe companion of this formidaUe lord, or entering 
his abode, even for a few moments, he felt an at ' 
dissipale these terrors; and in order to ilo this, 
injure the feeUngs of hia new friend by talking privately 
Don Abbondio in his presence, he addressed bis con 
tion to the Unknown himself, so that Don Abbondio 
perceive by bis answers, that he was no longer a n 
be feared. 

" Do not believe," said he, " that I shall he satisfied wi^ 
3lia visit to-day. You will return, will you not, 
pany with this worthy ecclesiastic ? " 

" Will I return ! " replied the Unknown : " Oh ! if evtx 
jTou should refuse to see me, I would remain at your door 
u a beggar. 1 must talk to you, 1 must hear you, I muat 
see you, I cannot do without you !" 

Frederick took his hand, and pressing it aSbctionately, 
said, " Do us the favour, then, the curate of the village and 
myself, to dine with us ; I abull expect jou. In the mean 
time, whilst you are gathering the first fruits of repentance 
uid compassi on, 1 will go and offer supplii 
thanksgivings to God with the people." 

Don Abbondio, at this exhibltiou of confidence and ttf- 
fectlon, was like a timid child, who beholds 
ing fearlessly a rough -looking maaliff", renowned for hia 
ferocity and strength. It is in vain that tlie master assures 
him the dog is a good quiet beast : he looks at him, nei. 
ther contradicting nor assenting ; he looks at the dog, and 
ilares not approach him, leiit the good beast might show 
Ills teelh, if only from habit ; he dares not retreat, from 
!ew of the imputation of cowardice ; hut he hearliiy wishes 
lins^ safe " at home ! " , 



1 

I 

> 

t 

ring ■ 

r «»■ 
y toTfl 

it 

d 

I- m 



974 THB BETROTHED. 

The cardinal, as he was quitdng {he room, still holding 
the Unknown by the hand, perc^ved that the curale re- 
mained behind, erobairasseil and motionless, and ihinfcing 
that perhaps he was mortified at the little attention that 
was paid to him, compared with that which was bestowed 
on one eo criminal, he turned towards him, stopped a mo- 
ment, and with an amiable smile eaid, " Signor CuisK, I 
you bare always been witti me in the house of our Father ; 
but (Ilia man pcrwrat, et inventus e*l." 

'- Oh ! how I rejoice at it !" said the curate, bowing W 
them both very reverently. 

The archbishop passed on, and entering (he hall, ée 
admirable pair presented themEelres to the eager gale of 
the clergy who were there assembled. They r^ardrf 
with intense curiosity those two countenances, on which 
were depicted different, but equally profound emotioM. 
The venerable features of Frederick breathed a grateful 
and humble joy ; in those of the Unknown might he tracol 
an embarrassment blended with satisfaction, an unusual 
modesty, a keen remorse, through which, however, the 
lingerings of his severe and savage nature were apparent 
More than one of the spectators thought of d)at pasaige of 
Isaiah, " The wolf also shall dwell with the latnb, and the 
leopard shall lie down with the kid." Behind them eanw 
Don Abbondio, whom no one noticed. 

When they had reached the middle of the apartmenl, 
the servant of the cardinal entered, to inform him that be | 
had exBcnIed the orders of the chaplain, that the litl« I 
was ready, and that they only waited for the female whom 
the curate was to bring. The cardinal told him to inform 
Don Abbondio when the curate should have arrived, anil { 
that afterwards all would be sul^ect to his orders and those 
of the Unknown, to whom he bade an affectionate farewell, I 
saying, " I shall expect you." Bowing to Don Abboniiio, [ 
he directed his steps, followed by the clergy in procession, I 
to the clinrch. } 

Don Abbondio and the Unknown were left alone in tie j 
a^rtment ; the latter was absorbed i 
impalient for the moment to arrive when he si 
^Ù Laey from »onow aai -ptisoin -, tot &a -w»* im 



: should take I 



Qg ^ 

ed 
[in 

1?" _ 



n^^ bat ia a «ense very dificrent from the preceding ' 
light. Hia countenance expressed canccntmted Bgitution, 
Fhich to the suspicious eye of Don Abbondio appeared 
«mcthing worse : be looked at him with a desire to begin 
, friendly conversation. " But what can I say Co him ?" 
bought he. " Shall I repeat to him that I rejoice ? 
ejoice ! at what? That having been a demon, 
brmed the resolution to become an honest man ? A pretty™ 
alutation, indeeil ! Eh ! eh ! however I xbould arrange my 
vords, my / rejoiee would signify nothing else I And can 
>ne believe that he has become an honest man aU in a 
■noment! Asaertions prove nothing; it is ao easy to make 
:faem ! But, nevertheless, I must go with him to the castle] 
Jh ! who would have t»ld me this, this morning ! Oh ! if 
■ver 1 am so happy as to get home again. Perpetua shall 
inswer for having urged me to come here ! Oh ! miserable 
ihat I am ! I muat however say something to this man !" 
He had at least tiiought of something to say, — " I never 
sspected the plea-iure of being in such respectable com- 
pany," — and had opened his mouth lo speak, wiien the aer- 
Fant entered with the curate of the viLage, who informed 
Ihem that the good woman was in the liHer awaiting them. 
Don Abbondio, approaching the servant, said to him, " Give 
me a gentle beast, for, to say Iruth, I am not a skilfiil hors»., j 

" Be quite easy," replied tlie valet, witli a amile; ' 
;be mule of ihe secretary, a grave man of letters." 

" Well,'' replied Don Abbondio, and continued to 
jelf, " Heaven preserve me !" 

The Unknown had advanced towards the door, but loolbi 
ing back, and seeing Don Abbondio behind, he suddenH 
recollected himself, and bowing with a polite and humui 
ur, v^aited to let bini pass before. This circumstan 
assured the poor man a little ; but he had scarcely re 
the hltle court, when he saw tlie Unknown resume h _ 

bine, and fling it over his shoulder, as if performing the 
military exercise. 

"Oh! oh! oh!" thought Don Abbondio, " what does 

E with this tooi f Thai is a sttauge Dmamcni. lot 
ed jiersou / And if some wUim s\io\ùi civXti^às. 
T 2 



£76 1 

head ! what would become of me ! what would beconiE 

If the Unknown had had the least suGpicion of tk 
thoughts that were passing in the mind oF his coQipaaiuDi 
he would have done his utmost to inspire him with cm- 
fidenre ; but he was far from Bucli an imagination, as Dos 
Abbondio was very careful not to let Ms distrust appear. 

The}! found the mules ready at the iloor: the Unknown 
mounted one which was presented to him by a groom. 

" Is she not vicious in the least?" asked Dou Abbondio 
of the servant, with his foot in the stirrup. 

" Be quite easy, she is a Iamb," replied he, Don Ab- 
bondio climbed to the saddle, by the aid of the serrant, »oi 
was at last safely mounted. 

The litter, which was a few steps in advance, moved at 
a call from the driver, and the convoy departed. 

They had to pass before the church, wliicfa was crowded 
with people, and through a small square, which was fiUciI 
with villagers from abroad, who had not been able to find 
■ place within the walls of the churcli. The report liid 
already spread ; and when they saw the carriage appeir, 
and beheld tile man who a few hours before had been ik 
object of terror and execration, a confused murmur of ap- 
plause rose from the crowd. They made way to let liio 
pass ; at the same time each one endeavoured to obtum 
sight of him. When he arrived in front of the church, lie 
took off his hat, and bowed his head in reverence, amidst 
the tumultuous din of many voices, which exclaiming " God 
bless you 1" Don Abbondio took off lii^ hat .also, bent hii 
head, and commended himself to the protection of heaven; 
and, hearing the voices of his brethren in the choir, he conliJ 
not restrain his tears. 

But when they reached the open country, in the wind- 
ings of the almost deserted road, a darker veil came over 
his thoughts ; there was nothing that he could regard wiA 
confidence but the driver, who, belonging to the establifih- 
ment of the cardinal, must certainly be honest, and Toon- 
over did not look like a coward. From time to time the; 
paaaed travellers ciowtoi^ Va see the cardinaJ. The 
1 was a trftftBetit.'ViAtowTiQM W^oowSwi- 



277 

he approached this forniiiUble valley, where they would 
meet none but ifie vassala of the Unknown I And what 
Tassais J He desired more than ever to enter into con- 
Tersatlon with his companion, to keep him in good humoiir; 
but, seeing him preoccupied, he dared not attempt to inter- 
rupt his thoughla. He was then obliged to hold colloquy 
■with himself, of which we will transcribe a part for tlie 
benefit of the reader. 

" Is it not an astoniahinfi; thing that the saints, as well 

as the wicked, have always quicksilver in thdrveins; and. 

Dot contented with making i bustle themselves, they would 

make aU mankind, if they could, join the dance with them ! 

Is there not a fatality in It, that the most iroublesome come 

to me, — to me who never meddled with any body ; they 

take me almost by the hair, and thrust me into their con- 

' cems ! me I who desire nothing, but to live tranquilly, if 

they will let me da so. This mad knave Don Roderick. 

What was -there wanting to make htm the happiest man 

in the world, but a liitle prudence ? Re is rith, young, 

respected, courted ; hut happiness is a burthen to him, it 

seems ; so that he must seek trouble for himself and his 

neighbour. He must set up, forsooth, for a molester of 

women, — the most silly, the most vilianotis, the most insane 

conduce in the world. He might ride to paradise in a 

«each ; and he prefers to go halting to the devil's dwelling. 

And this man before me," continued he, regarding him 

as if he feared be could hear bis thoughts, " and this man, 

after having, by his vilianies, turned the world upside 

ilown, now turns it upside down by his conversion — if he 

is really converted ! Meanwhile, it is I who am to put it 

to the test ! Some people always want to make a noise ! 

Is it so difficult to act an honest part, all one's life, as I 

I have? Not at all! but they prefer to murder, kill, and 

I play tile devil. — Oil! unhappy man that I am! they must 

always be in a bustle, even in doing penance ! just as if 

one could not repent at home, in private, without so much 

[ noise, — without giving others so much (rouble. — And his 

' illiuttioua lordship ! to receive him all at once with open 

? ftrnis; to call him his dear friend, his worthy friend; to 

^ligQ to bii kul words as if he had seen^i^ia ^notV.'nóxftd», 



£78 TBE BEmOTBED. 

to give liim his public spprobadon to assist him in all his 
undertakings ; I should c^l this precipitation ! And with- 
out any pledge or security, to place a poor curate in Ui 
bands '. A holy bishop — and he U such assuredly — a bidy 
bishop should r^ard his curates as the apple of his eye. 
A littte prudence, a little coolness, a little charity, are ibiagt 
irhich, in my opinion, are not inconsistent with sanctity. 
Anil should this be all hypocrisy } Who can tell the de- 
signs of such a man ? To think that I must accomptn; 
him into the castle? There must be some deviltry in it [ 
Am I not unhappy enough ? Let me not thiuk of it. But 
how has Lucy fallen into the dutcbes of this man ? Il is 
a secret between him and my lord the cardinal, and ikj 
don't deign to inform me concerning it: 1 don't c 
meddle with the a&ira of others, hut when one's lift 
danger one has a right to know something. — But poor Lucy 
— I shall be satisfied if she escapes. Heaven knows whit 
she has suffered. I pity her, but she was bom to be mj 
ruin. And if this man is really converted, what need hu 
he of me ? Oh ! what a chaos ! But Heaven owes me iti 
protection, since I did not get myself into the difficolty. 
If I could only read in the countenance of this man wb(I 
passes in bis soul [ Look at him ; now he looks like Saint 
Anthony in the desert, and now like Holofemes himself." 

In truth, the thoughts which agitated the Unknoirn 
passed over his countenance, as in a stormy day the clouds 
fly over the face of the sun, producing a succession of light 
and shade. His soul, calmed by the gentle language of 
Frederick, felt elated at the hope of mercy, pardon, uiil i 
love ; but then he sank again under the weight of the ter- I 
rible past. Agitated and uneasy, he retraced in his memory I 
those iniquities which were reparable, and considered whU 
remedies would be the safest and quickest. And this un- 
fortunate girl ! how much she has suffered ! how much he 
had caused her to suffer ! At this thought his impatience 
to deliver her increased, and he made a sign to the coach- 
man 10 hasten. 

They entered at last into the valley. In what a aituatim 
was now our poor Don Ablxindio ! to find himself ij 
s valley, of vj\iic\tteiiai'^ 




279 

able tales. These famous men, the flower of the bravocs 
of Italy, these men without pity or fear, to see tbem in 

I flesh and blood, — to meet them at e»ery step ! They bowed, 
it is true, respectfully, in ibe presence of their lord, but 
who knows what passed id their hearts, and what wickeil 
design against the poor priest might, even then, be form- 
ing in their brains. 

They reached Malanotte; bravoes were at the door, 
ivho bowed to the. Unknown, glancing with eager curioEity 
at his companion, and the litter. If the depu-ture of their 
m^ter alone, at the break of day, had been regarded as 
extraordinary, his return was consider»! not less so. Is it 
a prize which he conducts ? And how has he taken pos- 

I session of it alone ? And what is this strange litter ? And 
vhose is this livery ? They did not stir, however ; know- 
ing, from the countenance of their master, that their silence 
was what he desired. 

They reached the caatle ; tile bravoes who were on the 
esplanade and at the door, retired on both sides to leave 
the passage free. The Unknown made a sign to them not 
to go farther off. Spurring his mule, he passed before the 
litter, and beckoning to Don Abbondio and the coachman 
to follow him, he entered a first court, and thence » 
second : approaching a small door, and with a gesture 
keeping back a bravo, who advanced to hold bis stirrup, 
he said, " Remain there yourself, and let none approach 
liearer," He dismounted, and with the reins in his hand, 
drew near the woman, who had witbdrawn the curtains of 
the litter, saying to her in a low voice, " Hasten to com- 
fort bet ; and make her understand at once that she ii 
free, and with friends. God will reward you !" He the» 
advanced to the curate, and helping him to dismount, said, 
" Signor Curate, I will not ask your forgiveness for the 
trouble you have taken on ray account ; you sufifer for one 
who will reward you well, and for this poor girl." 

His countenance not less than his wo[ds restored the 
courage of Don Abbondio; drawing a full breath, which 
had been long pent up in his breast, he replied, " Your 
lordship jests, surely.^ But — but — " and acceptiug the 
hand offered to him so couiteoudy, he slid (rota thfi 
T 4 



280 1 

Raddl-i. The UdIchowii took the bridle, and gave both 
animals to the care of the dri?er, ordering him to nail 
ihere untìJ their return. Taking a key from his pocket, be 
opened the little door, and followed by his two companions, 
the curate and the female, ascended the stairs. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



)ckel, be I 
ipanions, I 



V had jiiB 



She was endeavouring to collect het 
senses, to separate the turbid visions ot' sleep from the re. 
membranes of the sad reality, which appeared to her a (lu- 
mai dream, when the old woman, in a voice which she 
meant to be humble and gentle, said to her, '* Ah ! y« 
have slept I Vou would have done better to go to bed; 1 
told you so a hundred times." Receiving no answer, die 
continued, " Eal e, little ; you have need of something ; if 
;, he will complain of me when he returns." 
10, I wish to go to my mother. Your tnaoei 
, he said, to-moTTOw morning. Where it 



you do n 



promised i 
he?" 

" He has gone away ; but he left word that he would 
return soon, and do all that you should desire," 

" Did he say so ? did he say so i* Well j 1 wish to go 
to my mother, now, now." 

Suddenly they heard steps in the adjoiniug chambel, 
and a knock at the door. The old woman demanded, 
" Who is there ? *' 

" Open," replied the well-known voice. 

The old woman drew the boll, and holding the doot 
open, the Unknown let Don Abbondio and the good 
woman pass in ; then dosing tile door, and remaining 
outside himself, he sent away the old woman to a disunì 
part of the castle. The first appearance of other personi 
increased the agitation of Lucy, to whom any changt 
btoaght SD accesslon of alatm. She looked, and befac ~ 



H 



2S1 

& priest and a female, felt EOmewhat reassured ; she looked 
again I Can it be ? Reeognising Don Abbondio, her tyes 
remained fixed aa by the wand of an enchanter. The kind 
woman bent over her, and with an affectionate and anxious 
countenance, said, " Alas ! my poor child ! come, come with 

"Who are you?" said Lucy, — but, without waiting 
her reply, slie turned again to Don Abbondio, exclaiming, 
"* Is it you ? la it you indeed. Signor Curate ? Where 
ate we ? Oh ! unhappy girl ! 1 am no longer in my right 

" No, no, it is I, in truth ; take courage. We have 
come to take you away. I am indeed your curate, come 
for this purpose " 

As if restored to strength in an instant, Lucy stood up, 
and fixing her eyes again on their faces, she said, " The 
Virgin has sent you, then !" 

" I have no doubt of Jt," said the good lady. 

" But is it true, that we may go away ? Is it true 
indeed P " resumed Lucy, lowering her voice to a timid and 
fearful tone. " And all these people," continued she, with 
her Ups compressed, and trembling from alarm and horror ; 
" and this lord — this man — he promised me indeed." 

" He is here also in person with us," said Don Abbon- 
dio. " He is without, expecting us ; let us go at once ; we 
must not make such a man wait." 

At this moment the Unknown appeared at the door. 
Lucy, who, a few moments before, had desired earnestly 
to see him — nay, having no other hope in the world, had 
desired to see none but him — now that she was so unex- 
pectedly in the presence of friends, was, for a moment, 
overcome with terror. Shuddering with horror, she hid 
her face on the shoulder of the good dame. Beholding the 
innocent girl, on whom ihe evening before he had not had 
resolution to fix his eyes ; beholding her countenance, pale, 
and changed, from fasting and prolonged suffering, the 
Unknown hesitated ; but perceiving her impulse of terror, 
he cast down his eyes, and, after a moment's silence, ex- 



" He comes lo save you ; he is not the same man ; hi 
has become gooJ. Do jou hear him ask jour forgiye. 
aeas ? " whispered the dame in the ear of Lucy. 

" Could any one say more? Come, lift up your head; 
do not play the child. We can go away now, ÌiDiiiedi> 
ately," said Don Abbondio. 

Lucy i^aed her head, looked at the Unknown, «ud 
behohUng his humble and downcast expression, she ifu 
affected with a mingled feeling of gratitude and pit^; 
" Oh ! my lord ! may God reward you for your compte- 
sion to an unfortunate girl!" cried she; " B&d may he 
recompense you a hundred-fold for tlie consolation yua 
afford me by these words!" So saying, he advanced 
towards the door, and went out, followed by Lucy ; who, 
quite encour^ed, was supported by the arm of the good 
lady, Don Abbondio bringing up the rear. They de- 
scended the stairs, passed through the courts, and reached 
the litter ; into which, the Unknown with almost timid 
politeness (a new thing for him !) assisted Lucy and hei 
new companion to enter. He then aided Don Abbondio W 
reseat himself in the saddle. " Oh J what complaisance!" 
Baid the latter, moving much more lightly than he had 
done on first mounting. 

The convoy resumed their way ; as soon as the Unknown 
was mounted, his head was raised, and his countennnce 
resumed its accustomed expression of command and 
authority. The robbers whom they met on their road 
discovered in it marks of strong thought and extraordinw| 
solicitude; but they did not, they could not, comprehend 
the cause. They knew nothing as yet of the great change 
which had taken place in the soul of the roan, and cer- 
tainly such a conjecture would not have entered into their 

The good dame hastened to draw the curtains around 
the litter ; pressing the hands of Lucy affectionately, she 
endeavoured to encourage her by words of piety, con- 
gratulation, and tenderness. Seeing, however, that besides 
the exhaustion from so much suffering, the confusion and 
obscurity of all that had happened prevented the poor ffi, J 
1 being alive lo l\ie BSiflMÌactìow oIVct AKUverance j| 



283 

aai<l what sbe thouglit would be most likely to restore her 
thoughts to their ordinary course. She meotioDed the 
village to which she helouged, and towards which they were 
hastening. 

" Yes, indeed !" said Lucy, remembering that ihia vii. 

hge was but a short distance from her own. " Oh ! lioly 

Virgin! I render thee thanks. My mother! my mother 1" 

" We wiil send for her immediately," said her friend, 

not knowing that it had already been done. 

" Yes, yes ; God will reward jou. And you, — who are 
you ? How is it that you have come here ? " 

" Our curate sent roe, because this lord, whose heart 
God has touched, (blessed be his holy name !) came to our 
village to see the cardinal archbisliop, who is visiting 
among us, the dear man of God ! This lord has repented 
of his horrible sins, and wishes to change his life ; and he 
told the cardinal that he had carried off 
with the connivance of another, whose nai 



;di|H 

Fett. * 



Lucy raised her eyes to lieaven. 

" Yon know it, perhaps," continued the lady. " Weft, 
the lord cardinal thought, that a young girl being in the 
question, a female should be found to accompany her; he 
told the curate to look for one, and the curate kiniUy came 

, " Oh I may God reward yoa for your goodness ! " 

" And the curale desired me to encourage you, my poor 
child, to relieve you from uneasine.'is at once, and to make 
you understand, how the Lord has miraculously preserved 

" Oh ! miraculously indeed, through the intercession of 
the Virgin !" 

" He told me to comfort you, to advise you to pardon 
him who has done you this evil, to r^oice that God has 
shown compassion towards him, and even to pray for him ; 
for, besides its being a duty, you will derive comfort from , 
it to your own heart." 

Lucy replied with a look which expressed a 
cleaily as if she had made use of words, and w " 

kiibich words could not have expressed. 



for him ; 

fort from ^- 



384 1 

" Worthy young woman !" resumed the friend. " And 
u your curate wm «Ibo in our \H\a^e, the lord cardimi 
judged it best to send him with ub, thinking that he migbl 
be of some assÌEtaiice. 1 bari already heard that he nu i 
poor sort of a timid man ; snd on this occasion, he hM 
been wholly taken up with himself, like a hen with OW 

" And he he who is thus changed — 

he?" 

"How! do you not know?" said the good dame, re- 
pealing his name. 

" Oh ! merciful heaven ! "cried Lucy. For many tii 
had she heard this name repeated witli horror, in a 
than one story, in which he had appeared like the Ogn 
of the fairy tale. At the idea of having been in hi« \a- 
rible power, and of now being under hia protection, — « 
the thought of such peril, and such deliverance, in reflei^ 
iag who this man was tliat had appeared to her so ferociotu, 
and then so humble and go gentle, she was lost in asto- 
nishment, and couid only exclaim, from time^Io time, 
Oh ! merciful Heaven !" 

" Yes, it is indeed a great mercy ! it is a great happi- 
ness for half the world in this neighbourhood, and »fst 
off. When one thinks how many people he kept Ìi 

tinual alarm; and now, as our curate says But you 

have only to look in his face to know that he is irul) 
changed. And, besides, by ' their works' ye shall know 

We should not tell the truth, did we say that the good 
dame had no curiosity to learn more of an afiair in wl * ' 
she played so important a part ; but, to her praise it n 
be added, that, feeling a respectful pity for Lucy, 
eslimating tlie weight and dignity of the charge con£ 
to her, she did not for a moment think of asking her su 
indiscreet or idle question. All her discourse i 
abort journey waa composed of expressions of t 
and interest for the poor girl. 

" It must be long since you have eaten any ddnj^ 
" 1 do Dot remeiabet— • It must indeed ] 



" Poor cliild ! you must need something to restore your 
strength." 

" Yes," replied Lucy, in a faint voice. 

" At my house, thanks he to God, we shitll find some' 
thing presently. Be of good cheer, it is but a short dia- 

Lucy, wearied and exhausted hj her various emotions, 
fell languidly to the hotlom of the litter, overcome by 
drowsiness; and her kind companion left her to a short 

Ah to Don Abbondio, the descent from the castle did 
not cause him so much fright as the ascent thither ; hut it 
was nevertheless not agreeable. When liia alarm had first 
ceased, he felt relieved from an intolerable burthen; but 
he now began to torment himself in various ways, and 
found materials for such an operation in the present as 
-well as in the future. His manner of travelling, to which 
he was not accustomed, he found to be exceedingly un- 
pleasant, especially in the descent from the castle to the 
valley. JThe driver, obedient to a sign from the Unknown, 
made his beasls set off* at a quick pace ; the two mules kept 
up with the litter ; and thus poor Don Abbondio, subjected 
to the unusual bounding and rebounding, which was more 
perilous from the steepness of the declivity they were 
descending, was obliged to hold fast by the saddle in order 
to keep his seat, not daring to ask his companions to abate 
Bomewhat of their speed. Moreover, if (be road lay on a 
height, along a ridge, the mule, according to the custom 
of these animals, wouhi obstinately keep on the outside, 
and place his feet literally on the very edge of the pre- 
cipice. " Thou alsOj" said he in his heart to the heast, 
" thou also hath this cursed desire to seek danger, when 
there are so many other paths !" He tightened the rein 
on the other side, but in vain ; so that, although dying of 
vexation and fear, he suffered himself, as was his custom, 
to be led by the will of another. The bravoes no longer 
caused him much uneasiness now that he felt confidence in 
their master. " But," thought he, nevertheless, " if the 
news of this great conversion spreads, while we are yet 
who knows how these people majteìteUÌ 'Vf\m'aaw«'fc 



S66 TUE BCTROTRBD. 

what miglit be the result? Perhaps they might talee il in 
their heads to think 1 had come aa a missionarj' ! and then 
(heaven preserve me I) they woulil make me suffer martyr- 
dom '." But we have said enough of the terrors of Ddd 
Abbondio. 

The company at last arrived at the extremity of the 
valley ; the countenance of tlie Unknown became more 
serene, and Don Abbondio recovered in some d^ree bii 
usual composure; but atiU bis mind was occupied wilb 
more distant evils. " What will this fool Don Rodetid 
say ? To be exposed thus to scoSs and jests — how sorelf 
will he feel it! he'll certainly play the devil outright! 
Perhaps he will seek another quarrel with me becauM ! 
bave been engaged in this cursed business 1 Having had 
the heart to send those two demons to attack me in am 
road, what he will do now, heaven knows. He cannot 
moiest my lord the cardinal, because he is obviously beyotui 
his reach ; he will be obhged to champ the bit. Ilowevei, 
the poison will be in his veins, and he will need to discharge 
it somewhere. It is well known how these affitira end; 
the blows always fall on the weakest. The cardinal «lit 
busy himself with placing Lucy in safety ; this other poor 
devil is beyond his reach, but what is to become of me? 
And what will the cardinal do to defend me, after having en- 
gaged me in the business ? Can he hinder this atrodDOt 
being from serving me a worse turn than before ? And 
then he has so many things to think of! he cannot pij 
attention to every body I They who do good, do it in the 
gross, and enjoy their satisfaction without regarding mi. 
nute conseijuences : but your evil-doer is more diligent; 
he lingers behind till he sees the last result, because of the 
fear that torments him. Shall I say I have acted by my 
lord archbishop's command, and against my own will? 
But it will seem that 1 favour villatiy I I — for the plea- 
sure it gives me I Heaven forbid ! hut enough — J '11 tell 
Perpetua the whole story, and leave her to circulate it — if 
Indeed, bis reverend lordship should not take up the fancy 
to make the whole matter puhhc, and thrust me forward n 
a chief actor. However, 1 wa determined on 
X will take leave ot mj W4 <!« cati!iTi5i u 






987 

It the villogt^, and go to my home. Lucy hD9 no 
uiy need of me j she is under good protection ; and, 
' many fatigues, I may claim the right to lake aorae 
-~- But, should my lord he Eeized with tiie desire to 
U her atory, and 1 be compelled to relate the affair 
marrt^;e I there would then be nothing wanting to 
te my misery. And if he should visit my parish I 
t come nhat will, I will not torment myself before- 
I have cares enough. For (he present 1 shall shut 
up Bt home. But I foresee too well that my last 
uBt be passed in trouble and vexation." 
little troop arrived before the services of the church 
iver ; and passing, as (hey had previously done, 
1 the crowd, they proceeded lo the house of Lucy's 

lly had Don Abbondio alighted from his mule, 
making the most profuse compliments to the CJn- 
, he begged him to apologise for him to the cardi- 
he was obliged (o return directly to his parish on 
rgent business. He then went iu search of a staff 
had left in the hall, and which he was accustomed 
his horse, and proceeded homewards. The Un- 
reraained at the cardinal's houae, awaiting bis re- 
am the church. 

good dame hastened to procure Lucy some refresh- 
■o recruit her exhausted powers ; she jiut some 
inches under a kettle which she replaced over the 
d in which swam a good fowl ; after having suffer- 
I boil a moment, she tilled a plate with the soup, 
lered it to Lucy, congratulating herself that the 
lad happened on a day, when, as she said, " the cat 
It on the hearth." " It is a day of feasting for all 
fid," added she, " except for those unfortunate crea- 
who can hardly obtain bread of vetches, and a 
, of millet ; they hope, however, to receive something 
ur charitable cardinal, Aa for us, thank heaven, we 
in that situation ; between the trade of my husband 
small piece of land, we manage to live comfortably. 
an, poor child, with a good appetite; the fowl will 

Ceni)/, and you sUall liane some'iKm^ \(4\,\£t:' 
i J 



^^^1 



SS8 TSB BSTROTBBD. 

She tlien set «bout maVing prcpararious for dinner for lb 

As Lucy's spirits and Btrenfith returned, the necesiily 
of arrangitig her dress occurred to her mind ; she thetN 
fore tied up her long disordered tresses, and adjusitd du 
handkerchief about her iiet'k ; in doing this, ber fingett 
entwined themselves in the chaplet, which was there en*- 
pended: slie gazed at it with much emotian, and ibe 
recollection of the vow she had made, this recoUecào 
which had been suspended b; so many painful sensationi, 
now rose clearly and distinctly tu her mind. All die 
newly-awakened powers of her soul were again in a mo- 
ment subdued. And if she had not beeo prepared fur 
this by a life of innocence, resignation, and confidence, Ibt 
coil sterna li on she experienced would have terminated 'a 
despair. After the first tumult of her tlioughls had ia 
some measure subsided, she exclaimed, " Oh ! unliipi? 
girl! what have I done!" 

But hardly had she pronounced the words, when il» 
was terriiied at having done so ; she recalled all the m- 
cnmeiances of her vow, her intolemble anguish, without 
hope of human aid, the fervour of her petition, the fulnoi 
of resolution with which the promise had been made; 
and to repent of this promise, after having obtained tbi 
favour she had implored, appeared to her sacrilegious in- 
gratitude, perfidy towards God and the Virgin. It seenwd 
to her that such infidelity would certainly draw upon ha 
new and mure terrible evils, and if these should indeed iM 
its consequences she could no longer hope for an aoswtf 
to Iier prayers ; she therefore hastened to abjure her mo- 
mentary regret, and drawing the chaplet reverently turn 
her neck, and holding it in her trembling hand, she con. 
firmed her vow ; at the same time fervently praying to 
Goil that he would grant her strength to fulfil it, and « 
drive from her thoughts circumstances which might, if thq 
did not move her resolution, still increase but too mudi 
the severity of the sacrifice. The absence of Renzo, witt- 
out any probability of his return, which had at first beta 
so bitter, appeared now to her a design of Providence, tt 

'■£ the two evcQts CAU&uce to 'Aie^i.'nK.vail.uul ihejd 



ileavoured to And in one a conBolation for the other. She 
a!^ remembered that ProvideDce would, to finish the work, 
find means lo make Kenzo resigned, and cause iiim to for- 
get But scarcely had this idea entered her mind, 

tvheii a new terror overwhelmeil her. ConBciouB that her 
heart had etili need of repentance, the unfortunate girl 
■gain had recourse to prayer, and mental conflict ; and at 
length arose, if the espression may be allowed, like a victor 
Wearied and wounded, having tliearmed his enemy. 

Suddenly footsteps and joyous exdamations were heard; 
Ihey proceeded from the children of the family, who were 
returning from church. Two little girla and a little boy 
ran into the room ; stopping a moment to eye the stranger, 
ihey then came to their mother, one asking the name of 
Jieir unknown guest, another wanting to relate the wondera 
iiey had seen. The good dame replied to them all with 
' Be quiet; silence !" The master of the house then en- 
ured with a calmer slep ; but with joy diffused over his 
souutenance. He was tlie tailor of the village and its en- 
rirona ; a man who knew how to read, and who had even 
read, more than once, the Legend of the Saints and the 
Beali di Francia; he was regarded by the peasants as a 
man of knowledge, and when they lavished their praises on 
him, he repelled them with much modesty, only saying 
that he had indeed mistaken his vocation, and that, per- 
haps, if he had studied Notwithstanding this little 

vanity he was the best natured man in the world. He 
had been present when the curate requested his wife to un- 
dertake her benevolent journey, and had not only given 
bis approbation, but would liave added his own persuasions, 
if that had been necessary; and now that the ceremonies of 
tìie church, and above all, the sermon of the cardinal, had 
given an impetus to his amiable feelings, he returned home 
Hrith an ardent desire to know if the enterprise had 
leeded, and to see the poor innocent girl in safety. 

" See bere!" said his wife to him as he entered, point 
Dg to Lucy, who rofie from her seat blushing, and 
aering forth some apology. He advanced towards hi 
nd, with a friendly tone, cried, " You are welcome ' 
onte] Yoa bring the blessing o£ Heaven utv ùùaVw 



ìhtm 



S90 TBB BETHOTBED. 

How glad I am to Bee you here I 1 knew that yoi 
arrive safely to a haven, because I have never knonn the i 
Lord coramence a miracle without accomplisliing il 
1 am well content to ice you here. Poor child ! 
great thing however to have been the aubject of a mintele!" 

We must not believe he was the only one who chuu. 
terised the event by this lerm, and that because he bui J 
read the legeodary. Thoughout the village, and the nr- I 
rounding country, it was spoken of in no other terms, « I 
long as ita remembrance lasted ; and to say truth, if we f 
regard its attendant circumstances, it would be difficult lo 
find Htiotlier name for it. 

He then approached his wife, who was employed ii 
taking the kettle from off the fire, and said in a low voiK. 
" Has all gone well ? " 

" Very well. I will tell you another time," 

" Well, well, at your leisure," 

When the dinner was ready, the mistress of the bot/ 
made Lucy sit down with them at the table, and heljdiS 
her to a wing of the chicken, entreated her to ~ 

husband began to dilate with mufh animation o 
of the day ; not without many interruptions from the ehiJ- 
dren, who stood round the table eating their dinner, md 
who had seen too many extraordinary things to be satisGid 
with playing the part of mere hateners. He described Ik 
solemn ceremonies, and then recurred t 
conversion ; but that which had made tlie most impresàtt 
on his mind, and of which he spoke the oftenest, i ' ' 
sermon of tlie cardinal. 

" To see htm before the altar," said he, " a lord Bt 
him, to see him before the altar, as a simple curate 

" And that golden thing he had on bis head," said 
of the little girls. 

" Hush, be quiet. When one thinks, I say, that a 
like him, a man so learned, who, an they lay, has read ifl 
the books in the world, a tiling which no one else ia 
done, not even in Milan ; when one thinks that he 1* 
adapted himself so to the comprehension of others, lh« 

every one underatooA lùm " 

H " I undetatood, I i^i" ■ixA 'CBe o<!Bei\\>aji è 



ULueiB, ia> 



^HrHnsii, be quiet. What did you uiiderstand, you ?" fl 

" I understood that lie explained the Gospel, instead of 
the curate." 

" Be quiet. I do not say that he was underetood by 
those only who know something, but even those who were 
the moat stupid and ignorant, caught the sense perfectly. 
Tou might go now, and ask them to repeat his discourse ; 
perhaps they might not remember a single word, but they 
would have its whole meaning in their head. And how 
easy it was to perceive that he alluded to this signor, al- 
though he never pronounced his name 1 But one might 
have guessed it from the tears which flowed from his eyes. 
And all the people wept " 

" That is true," cried the little boy. " But why did 
they all cry like little chOdren ? " 

" Be quiet. And there are, neverthelesa, hard hearts in 
this conntry. He has made us fee! (hat although there is 
ft scarcity, we must return thanks to God, and be satisfied,- 
be industrious; do what we can, and then be content, be- 
cause unhappiness does not consist at all in suffering and 
poverty ; unhappiness is the result of wicked actions. 
These are not fine words merely ; it is well known that he 
lives like a poor man, that he takes the bread from his 
mouth to give to those that are in need, when he might 
Hve an easier life than any one. Oh, then, there is great 
Batitfaction in hearing him speak. He is not like many 
others, who say, ' Do as I say, and not as I do ;' and 
beiideg, he has made it rery apparent, that those even who 
■re not what they call gentlemen, but nlto have more than 
is necessary, are bound to impart to those who are in want." 

And here he stopped, as if pained by some recollection; 
after a moment's silence, he filled a plate wifh meat from 
the table, and adding a loaf of bread to it, tied up the 
whole in a napkin. " Take that," said he to the oldest of 
the children, and putting in her other hand a bottle of 
wine, " carry that to the widow Martha, and tell her to 
feast vrith her children. But be very careful what you say 
to her, don't seem to be doing a charity, an<l don't say a 
word of it, should you meet any one ; and take caie "not to 
break any thing." J 



292 1 

Lucy Viti (ouchei), even Io iean, and her soul vas fiUed 
with a teiukraess diBt williilrew her from the conteni' 
pUcion of ber own sorrows. The conversation of Urn 
worthy man had already imparted a relief, that a direct 
appeal to her feelings would have failed to procure. Het 
«pirit, yielding to the chariu of the description of the lo- 
gust pomp of the church, of the emotions of piety that 
«ceiled, and partaking of the enthusiasm of the oamlor, i 
forgot its woes, and, when obliged to recur to ihem, (ài. 
itself strengthened. The thought even of the great sicii- 
fice Khe had imposed on be^Eelf, without having lot! in 
bitterness, bad Nssumed the character of austere and w- 
lemn tranquillity. 

A few moments after, the curate of the village enterri 
saying that he was sent by the cardinal for intelligeic 
concerning Lncy, and also to inform her that he deared 
to see her tliat day ; then he thanked, in Itis lordahif't 
name, her kind hosts for their heuevotence and hospital^' 
All three, moved to tears, could not find words to replf W 
such a message from such a person. 

" HsB your mother not yet arrived ? " said the curate ID 

" My mother I" cried she. 

Learning that the good archbishop had sent for her w»- 
tier, that it was his own kind thought, her heart was ot 
powered, she raised her apron to her eyes, and her tt 
continued to flow long after the departure of the cunte. 
Ab these turaultuons emotions, called forth by such unei- 
pected benevolence, gradually subsided, the poor girl n 
membered that she had expressly solicited this very happ- 
ness of again beholding her mother, as a condition to bir 
vow, " Return me safely to mg mother" These wori 
recurred dislincdy to her memory. She was confinari 
more than ever in her purpose to keep her vow, and 1* 
pented again bitterly of the regret which she had fat ' 
moment experienced. 

Agnes, indeed, even wbikl they were speaking of \>Xi, 
was very near ; it it easy to imagine the feelings of th( 
poor woman at bo \mejL^t*ei an \aNvu.tì<m, at the iotti- 
ligence, necesaarily coniasei uni "TOtom'j\B.\iit, ta\ «, -^ | 






which was passed, but of r frightful peril, of an obacur*. 
adventure, of nhich the messenger knew no 
stances, and could give no explanation, and for wliich she 
could find no cine from previous facts. " Ah, great 
God I ah, holy Virgin 1" escaped from her lips, mingled 
with useless questions, during the journey. On the road 
she met Don Abbondio, who, by the aid of his statT, wa« 
travelling homewards. Uttering an exclamation of sur. 
prise, Agnes made the driver stop. She alighted, and itith 
the curate withdrew into a grove of cliestruts, which whb on 
the side of the road. Don Abbondio informed her of ull 
he had seen and known ; much obscurity still rested upon 
bis statement, but at least Agnes ascertained that Lucy was 
now in safety. 

Don Abbondio then introduced another subject of eon- 
vereation, and would have given her ample instruction on 
the manner of conducling herself with the archbishop, if 
he, as was probable, should wish to see her and her 
daughter. He said it would not answer for her to speak 
of the marriage ; but Agnes, perceiving that he spoke only 
&om his own interest, wan determined to promise nothing, 
because she said, " she had other thiuj^ to thiiik of," and 
bidding him farewell, she proceeded on her journey. 

The caniage at last reached the house of the tailor, and 
the mother and daughter were folded in each other's arms. 
The good wife, who was the only witness of the scene, 
endeavoured to soothe and calm their feelings ; and then 
prudently left them alone, saying that she would go and 
prepare a bed for them. 

Their first tumultuous joy having in some measure sub- 
sided, Agnes requested to hear the adventures of Lucy, 
who attempted to relate them ; but the reader knows that 
it was a history with which no one was entirely ac. 
qualnted, and to Lucy herself there was much that was 
inexplicable, particularly the fatal coincidence of the car- 
riage being at that place precisely at the moment that 
Lucy had gone there by an extraordinary chance. With 
regard to this, the mother and daughter lost themselves in 
conjecture, without even approaching the real cause. As 



S()4 TBB BETBOTHBD. 

to the principal author of thÌB plot, however, they neiifaer 
of them doubled that it was Don Roderick. 

" Ah, that firehrand!" cried Agnes ; " but his Ixrai 
will come. God will reward him according to his «orka, 
and then he will know " 

" No, no, mother, no !" cried Lucy. " Do not widi 
harm to him ! do not wish it to any one ! If you kne» 
what it is to suffer ! if you had experienced it ! No, 
no ! rather let ob pray to God and the Virgin for him, 
that God would tooch his heart as he has done that of ibe , 
other lord, who was worse than he, and who is no» ■ J 

The horror that Lucy felt in retracing events bo painhl 
and recent made her hesitale more than once. More ihu 
once she said she had not the heart lo proceed, and, choW 
by her tears, she with difficulty went on widi lier nam- 
tive. Bui she was embarrassed by a different senlimnt 
at a certain point of her recital, at the moment when >lw 
was about to speak of her vow. She feared her mother 
would accuse her of imprudence and precipitation ; ihc 
feared that she would, as she had done in the affUr of tht 
marri^e, bring forward her broad rules of conscience, i 
make tliem prevail ; she feared that the poor woman wo 
tell it to some one in confidence, if it were only to g 
light and advice, and ihns render it public. These rrfet- 
tions made Lucy experience insupportable shame, and to 
inexplicable repugnance to speak on tlie eubject. She 
therefore passed over in silence this important cimun- 
Btanee, determining in her heart to communicate it first M 
Father Christopher ; but how great was her sorrow it 
learning that he wag no longer at the convent, that he h»d 
been sent to a distant country, a country called 

" And Renilo ?" enquired Agnes. 

" He is in safety, is he not ?" said Lucy, hastily. 

" It must be so, since every one says so. They b»J 
that he has certainly gone to Bergamo, but no one knein 
the place exactly, and there has been no intelligeDOi 
from himself. He probably has not been able to 6nd du 
means of informing us." i . 

^m " Oh, if he ks in safety , Goi \ii: \!ev«.^&^\' vad-iteJ 



1 



commencing another Bulgect of conversation, nhioh wae^ 
however, interrupted by an unexpected event — tile arrivj 
of the cardinal archbishop. 

After having reCurnetl from the church, and having 
leamt from the Unknown the arrival of Lucy, he had 
seated himself at table, placing the Unkno 
band ; the company was composed of a number of prit 
who gazed earnestly at the countenance of thi ' 
midable companion, so softened without weakness, 
humbled without meanness, and compared it with t1 
horrible idea they had so long entertained of him, 

Sinner being over, the Unknown and the cardinal 
tired together. After a. long interview, the former 
P&rt«d for his caslle, and the latter sent for the curai 
the parish, and requested him to conduct him to the h 
■where Lucy had received an asylum. 

"Oh, my lord," replied the curate, " suffer 
suffer me. I will send for the young girl and her mother, 
if she has arrived, — the hosts themselves, if my lord de- 

" I wish to go lo them myself," replied Frederick. 

" There is no necessity that you should inconvenience 
yourself; I vrill send for them immediately," insisted the 
curate, who did not understand that, by this visit, the 
cardinal wished to do honour to misfortune, innocence, 
hospitahty, and to his own ministry. But the superior 
repeating hia desire, the inferior bowed, and they proceeded 
on their way. 

When they appeared in the street, a crowd immediately 
collected around them. The curate cried, " Come, come, 
back, keep off." — " But," said Frederick, " suffer them," 
and he advanced, now raising bis hands to bless the 
people, now lowering them to embrace the children, who 
obstructed bis progress. They reached the house, and 
entered it, whilst the crowd remained without. l^ut 
amidst the throng was the tailor, who had followed with 
others ; his eyes fixed, and his mouth open, wondering 
where the cardinal was going. When be beheld him en- 
tering hù own hooB^ he bustled bis way through the 



crowd, crying out, " MaVe room for those who haw* 
right to enter," and followed into the house. 

Agnes and Lucy heard an increasing murmur in ihc 
street ; anil whilst they were surmiaing the cause, the door 
Opened, and, behold, the cardinal and tlie curate I 

" 1b this she?" asked the former of (he curate, and it 
a sign in the affirmative he approached Lucy, who wili 
her mother was standing, motionleBB and mute with mr-' 
prise and extreme diffidence; hut the tones of tht' voir, 
the countenance, and above all, the words of Prederiii, 
aoon removed their embarrassment. " Poor young worn»," 
said he, " God has permitted you to be subjected 10 1 
great trial ; but he has also made you see that he watchet 
over you, and has never forgotten you. He has «avri 
you, and in atldjtion to that blessing, has made use of pn 
to accomplish a great work through ynu, to impart the 
wonders of bis grace and mercy to one man, and at llw 
Hame time to comfort the hearts of many." 

Here the mistress of the house entered the room wili 
her husband: perceiving their guests engaged in conveiv 
ation, they respectfully retired to a distant part of tbt 
apartment. The cardinal bowed to them courteously, swl 
continued the conversation with Lucy and her motlul. 
He mixed with the consolation he offered many enquiries 
hoping to find from their answers some way of rendering 
them still farther services after their sufTerings. 

" It is a pity all the clergy were not like your lordilup, 
and then they would take the part of the poor, and dM 
help to bring them into difficulty for the sake of drawing 
themselves out of it," said Agnes, encouraged by tìie 
familiar and affable manner of Frederick, and vexed ihtl 
Don Abbondio, after having sacrificed others to his own 
seliisbness, should dare to forbid her making the leisl 
complaint to one so much above him, when by so fort* 
nate a chance the occasion presented Itself. 

" Say all that you think," said the cardinal ; ■' speak 

" I would say, that if our curate had done his dotf,' 

ibingB would not have ^«otv m ihey 
The cardinal beggingliei 



^<^isuJ£ 



THI! BBTItOTHED. 297 

she found some embamusment in relating a bistory, in 
wliicli she bad at one time placed a part, which she felt 
very unwilling to communicate to such a man. However, 
she got over the difficulty ; she related (he projected mar- 
riage, the refuBal of Don Abbondio, and the pretext he had 
O&red with respect to his tapariors (oh, Agnes!); and 
passing U> the attempt of Don Iloderick, she told in what 
manner, being informed of it, they bad been able to escape. 
But, indeed," added she in conclusion, " it was escaping 
to fall into another snare. If the curate had told us sin- 
cerely the difficulty, and had married my poor children, 
we would have left the country immediately, and gone 
where no one would have known ub, not even the wind. 
Thus time was lost, end that which baa happened, has 
h^pened." 

" The turate shall render nie an account of this," said 
the cardinal. 

" No, my lord, no," resumed Agnes. " I did not 
■peak on that account, do not reprove him j because what 
is done, is done ; and it would answer no purpose. He is 
« man of such a character, that if the thing were Co do 
*Ter again, he would act precisely in the same way." 

Sut Lucy, dissatisGed with this manner of telling the 

ttory, added, " We have also been to blame ; it is plain 

Elhat it was the will of God the thing should not succeed." 

" How can you have been w blame, my poor child?" 

•aid Frederick. 

Lucy, notwithstanding the winks of her mother, related 
Bd her turn the history of the attempt made in the house of 
3>on Abbondio, saying, as she concluded, " We did wrong, 
Knd God has punished us." 

" Accept from his hand the chastisement you have en- 
dured, and take courage," said Frederick ; " for who has a 
right to rejoice and hope, if not Chose who have suffered, 
and who accuse themselves?" 

He then asked where was the betrothed ; and learning 
ftom Agnes (Lucy stood silent with downcast eyes) the 
^ftct of his flight, be expressed astonishment and disples- 
*tue, and asked the reason of it. Agnes told what sha 
■tiew of the Bbwj of Rmio. 






3! 



syTuB 



" I have heard of him before," said the tf 

how could a man, who was engaged in affairs o: 

be in treaty of marri^e with this young girl ? 

" He was & worthy young man/' said Lm 

but in a firm voice. 

" He was a peaceable youth, too peaceab] 
added Agnes ; " your lordship may ask any oi 
not, even the curate. Who knows what intrigu 
may have been going on at Milan f There n 
m^ poor people pass for rogues." 

" That is but too true," said the ci 
quire about him, without doubt." He took i^ 
_ of the name of the young man, adding that Ìl_ 

5 be at their village in a few days ; that during 

there, Lucy could return home without fear, 
mean while he would procure her an asylui 
arranged for the best. 

5' I Turning to the master and i 

' I I came forward ; he renewed the ibanks he haj 

I I them by the mouth of the cur 

I I would be willing to keep the guests God had £ 

I a few days. 

^ ' I "Oh yes, my lord," replied the dame, will 

ai| which said more than this timid reply; but b 

3J ' quite animated by the presence of such a n 

^j : desire to do himseti' honour on an occasion i 

.: ' I portancc, studied to make a fine answer. He i 

forehead, strained his eyes, and compressed his 
nevertheless felt a confusion of ideas, which pn 
from uttering a syllable. But time pressed ; 
appeared to have interpreted his silence. TI 

openeil his mouth, and said, " Imagine 

word more could he say. His failure not onl 
with shame on that day, hut ever after, the 
recollection intruded ilscjf to mar the pleasure 

I honour he had received. How many tiroes, in 
this circumsiance, did a crowd of words come 1 
erery one of which would have been better tl 
gine !" But tìie canities of our brains are fu] 
thoughts when it is loo U\c W em^\o-j Caeoi.j 



The cardinal departed, saying, " May the bletsing e 
eaven rest on this house!" 

That evening he askeil the curate in what way it n 
! best to indemnify the tailor, who could not he rich, 1 

a hospitality. The curate replied, that truly neither t! 

rofits of his trade, nor his income from some little fields 
lat ihe good tailor poBsesaed, would at this time hsTC 
lahled him to he Uberai lo others ; but from having saved 
itnething the few years previous, he wcs one of the most 
isy in circumstances in the districi ; that he could allow 
imaelf to exercise some hospitaUty without inconvenience, 
nd that he would do it with pleasure ; and that he was 
tnfldcnt he would he hurt if money was offered to him. 

" He has proliably," said the cardinal, " some demands 
a people who are unable to pay." 

" You may judge, my lord ; the poor people pay with 
ke overplus of the harvest ; 'this year there has been no 
rerplus; on the contrary, every one is behind in point 



" Well, 1 lake upon myself all these debts. Von will 
■> me the favour to obtain from him the memoranda, and 
■ncel them." 

' " It may be a very large aura." 

'■" So much the better. And perhaps you have hut txw 
•any who are more miserable, having no debts, because 
•ey have no ereiUt.'" 

' " Oh yes ! indeed too many ! they do what they can ; 
*t how can they supply their wants in these hard times ?" 

*' Have them clothed at my expense ; it is true that it 
BmB to be robbery to spend any thing this year, except 
P bread; but this is s particular case." 

We cannot finish our record of the history of this day 
l-thout briefly relating the conduct of the Unknown, 
^ore his second return to tlie castle, the rejwrt of hia 
aversion had [ircceded him ; it had spread through the 
Kiley, and excited surprise, anjuety, and numerous conjec- 
Ues. As he approached the castle he made a sign to all 
ae bravoe» he met to follow him; filled with unusual 
^prehension, but with their accustomed submission, they 
wyed J their number increased evet^ moiticW.. 'ìjwììxto^ 



SDO 1 

the culle, he entered the first court, and there, Kstìngon ! 
his sadille bow, in a voice of thunder he |;ave a lond eìU, 
the wonted signal which all habitually obeyed. 

moment those who were scattered about the castle hastened 
to join the troop collected around their leader. 

" Go and wait for me in the great hall," said he; i 
thej departed, he dismounted from his beast, and leading 
it himself to the stable, thence approached the hail. "" 
whispering which wai heard among them ceased a 
appearance; retiring to one corner they left a large spiw 
around him. 

The Unknown raised bis hand to enforce the silence llul 
his presence alone had already effected ; then raising lui 
head, which yet was above that of any of his followers, be 
said, " Listen to me, all of you ; and let no one spoi^ 
unless I ask him a question. My friends, the way whidi 
we have followed until to-day leads to hell. I do not 
wish to reproach you, I could not effect the importsirl 
change, inasmuch as 1 have been your leader in out 
abominable career; I have been the moat guilty of all; 
but listen to what I am about to say. 

" God in his mercy has called me to a change of life, 
and 1 have obeyed his call. May this same God do is 
much for you J Know, then, and hold for eertain, that^ 
would rather now die than undertake any thing against hÌ9 
holy law. I recall all the iniquitous orders which I mij 
have given any one of you ; you understand me. Ani 
farther, J order you to do nothing which I have hitberti) 
prescribed to you. Hold equally for certain, that no one 
can hereafter commit evil under my protection, and in lOJ 
service. Those who will remain with me on theae con- 
ditions, I shall regard as children. I should be happy, in 
the day of famii\e, to share with them the last mouthful 
that remained to me. To those who do not wish to coii< 
dnue here, shall be paid what is due of their salaries, and 
a further donative ; they have liberty to depart, but they 
must never return, unless they repent and intend to lead 
new life, and under such circumstances they shall be n 
eàved with open arms. Think of it this night ; 

nine I will receive ^oxm; ansyiet, wA '&isni.\-»,\H.jd 



i-mono* I I 

Jl 



301 

you your orders. Now, every one lo hia poEl. May God, 
who has shown compassion towsrils ine, incline your hearts 
to repentance and good dispositions." 

He ceased, and all kept silence. Although strange and 
tumultuous thoughts fermented in their minds, no indica- 
tion of them WBB Tieible. They had been hahilualed to 
listen to the voice of their lord, as to a raanifestalion of 
ftbBolule authority, to which it wits necessary to yield im- 
plicit ohedience. Hia will proclaimed itself changed, but 
not enfeebled : it did not therefore enter their minds, that 
because he was converted tliey miglit become bold In his 
presence, or reply to him as they would to another man. 
They regarded him as b saint, indeed, hut a saint sword 

In addition to tlie fear with which he inspired them, 
they felt for bini {especially those who were bom in his 
service, and these were the greater number] the affection 
of vassals. Their admiration partook of the nature of 
love, mingled with that respect which the most rebelUoua 
and turbulent spirits feel for a superior, whom they have 
voluntarily recognised as such. The sentiments he ex- 
pressed were certainly hateful to their ears, hut they knew 
they were not false, neitber were they entirely strange to 
them. If their custom had been to make tiieni subjects of 
pleasantry, it was not from dislieUef of their verity, but to 
alriveaway, by jesting, the apprehensions the contemplation 
of them might otherwise have excited. And now, there 
ITSS none among them wbo did not feel some compunction 
at beholding their power exerted over the Invincible courage 
of their master. Moreover, some of them had heard the 
extraordinary intelligence beyond the valley, and had wil- 
nessed and related the joy of the people, the new feeling 
■with which the Unknown was regarded by them, the vener- 
ation which had succeeded their former hatred — their 
former terror. They beheld the man whom they had 
never regarded without trembling, even when they them- 
selves constituted, to a great degree, Iiis strength ; they 
beheld him now, tlie wonder, the idol of the multitude, — ■ 
still elevated above all others, in a different manner, no 
doubtj but in one noi Jess imposinE, — aXwai* ii\«-4e fei 



Dfo^ 



502 1 

worlil, alKByK ihc first. They were confod 
was duubtful of the course he should pun 

fleeted haadly where he could find an aeylun 
ment ; another questioned with himself 
accommodate himself to the life of an hon 
other, moved by what he had said, felt soi 
for it ; and another still was willing to pror 
BO as to be entitled to the share of a loaf, wl 
so cordially proifered, and which was so it 
days. No one, however, broke the sileno 
known, at the conclusion of his speech, wa 
imperiously for them to retire : obedient 
sheep, they all quietly left the hall. He ^ 
and Slopping in the centre of the court^ 
branch off to their different stationB. Hifl 
the castle, visited the corridors, halls, and 
and, finding all quiet, he retired to sleep, --3 
for he was very sleepy. In spite of all S 
intricate affairs in which he was involved, ■! 
any former conjuncture, he was sleepy, j 
banished sleep the night before ; its voice, 
ibeing subdued, was still more absolute — v 
'^et he was sleepy. The order of his honst 
(Btablislied, the absolute devotion of his faith 
bia power and means of exercising it, its va 
cations, and the olqects on which it waa t 
tended to create uncertainty and cunfuuon in 
still he was sleepy. 

To his bed then he went, that bed whic 
before had been a bed of thorns ; but first 
pray. He sought, in the remotest cnrner of 
the words of prayer taught him in his days i 
They came one by one : an age of vice hai: 
them. And who shall define the sentiments t 
his soul at this return to the habits of happ; 
He slept soundly. 



ITBE BETROTHED, S03^^| 

CHAPTER XXV. ^M 



meaaj 
dnotV 



I^iti next monung, in the village of Lucy, and througfaont 
11 the territory of Lecco, nothing was talked of but her- 
elf, the Unknown, tile archbishop, and another person, 
rbo, although generally deEiroua to be talked of, would _ 
rillingly have been forgotten on this occasion, - 
>ou Roderick . 

Not that, previouE to this period, the village 
«nversed much of his actions, in secret, to those in whom 
hey had perfect confidence ; but now lliey could no longer 
»ntain themselves, nor surpress many enquiries on the 
nttrvellous events in whicli (wo persons so famous had 
played a part. In comparison of these two personages, 
3ignor Don Roderick appeared rather insignificant, and all 
^reed in rejoicing over the ill succesa of his iniquitous 
lesigns ; but these rejoicings were still, in some measure, 
noderated by feara of the bravoes by whom he was aur- 
^ODiided. 

A good portion of the pubhc censure was bestowed on 
lis friends and courtiers. It did not spare the Signor 
'Codesta, always deaf and dumb and blind to the deeds of 
bis tyrant, but these opinions were expressed in an under- 
»nc, because the Podestà had his ofScera. Such regard 
nras not paid to Doctor Ax^ecca Garbugli, who had only 
U> tricki and his verbiage to employ for his defence ; and 
IS to the whole tribe of sycophants, resembling him, they 
Kete so pointed at, and eyed askance, ttiat for some time 
diey thought it most prudent to keep themselves wìthÌB. ■ 

Don Roderick, struck, as by a thunderbolt, with the ui 
expected intelligence, so diiFcreat from that which he h 
been anticipating from day to day, kept himself shut up ii 
hia castle, alone with his bravoes, devouring hia rage for 
the space of two days, and on the third set oS for Milan. 
If there had only existed the murmurs of the people, not- 
withstanding things had gone so far, \\e \io\i\ii. ■^■i&a^ 



ri this. ■ 
e hu^f 



301 ì 

liave remainetl expressly to brave them ; but be felt hin- 
eelf compelltil to quit the field of contest, by tbe cerlais 
information that the cardinal naa coming to the viOtff. 
The count, his uncle, who knew nothing of the Etory but 
what Attilio had told him, Kould certainly require him to 
be one of the flrst to visit the cardinal, in order to obtain 
in public the most dìetinguìslied reception from bin?. 
The count would require it, because il was an importtnt 
opportunity for making known in what esteem the hooK 
was held by his powerful eminence. To escnpe sgch i 
dilemma, Don Roderick, having risen before the son, tluM 
himself into a carriage with Griso, and, followed by i&c 
rest of the bravof», retired like a fugitive, like (if « 
may be permitted to elevate him by such a comparisi)(i)j 
like Catiline from Rome, foaming with rage, and thread- 
ing a speedy return to accomplish his revenge. 

Meanwhile the cardinal approached, visiting every ixj 
one of the parishes «irnated in the territory of Lecco. On 
the day he was expected in the village, great prepnratiooi 
were made for his reception. At the entrance of the ril- 
Isge, near the cottage of Agnes, a triumphal arch «U 
erected, constructed of wood, covered with moss and attair, 
and ornamented with green boughs of birch and holly. 
The front of the church was adorned with tapestry ; fton 
every window of the houses were suspended quilts and 
sheets, intended for drapery ; every thing, in sbotti 
whether in good taste or bsd, was displayed in honour vi 
this extraordinary occasion. At the hour of vespen 
(which was the hour Frederick usually selected la 
at the churches which he visited), those who had n 
lo church, the old men, women, and the youngest of the II 
children, went forth, in procession, to meet their expected I, 
guest, headed by Don Abbondio. The poor curate wai I 
sad in the midst of the pubUc joy ; the tumult bewildered I 
him ; tbe movement of so many |>eople, before and behind, I 
disturbed him; and, moreover, he was tormented by ttu 1 
secret apprehension that the women had tattled, and thtl I 
he ahould be obliged to render an account of his conduct I 
to the cardinal. 

Frederick appeatei at Vast, or xatìsex fee ci'i'^i.-wyjMijsJ, i 



TBB BETROtnBD. 



in the midst of which was his litter, and the 
rounding it. The persona who followed Don Abbondio 
Bcattcred and mingled themselves with the crowd, not- 
withstanding all his remonstrances; and he, poor man, 
finding himself deserted by them, went to the church, 
there to await the cardinal's approach. 

The cardinal advanced, bestowing benedictions with his 
banda, and receiving them in return from (he mouths of 
the people, who were with dilficulty kept back by his Bt- 
tendants. Being of the same village as Lucy, these 
peasants were desirous of rendering to the archbishop 
peculiar demonstrations of respect, but this nas not prac- 
ticable, inasmuch aa, wherever he went, he was received 
■with every possible honour. In the very commencement 
of his pontificate, at his first solemn entrance into the 
cathedral, the concourse had been so great that his lifo 
■mas in peril. Some gentlemen, who were near him, drew 
their swords to keep back and alarm the crowd. Such 
was the rude violence of the times, that even in the 
general disposition to do honour to their archbishop, they 
were on the point of crashing him: and tliis defence 
would not have been sufficient, if two priests, of great 
vigour and presence of mind, had not raised him in their 
arms, and carried him froin the church door to the foot of 
the great altar. His very first entrance into tlie church, 
therefore, might he recorded amidst his pastoral labour» 
and the dangers he had run. 

Entering the church, the cardinal advanced to the altar, 
and after having prayed some time, he addressed, aa waa 
bis custom, some words to the people, on his love for 
them, on his desire for their salvation, and how they 
sbould dispose their minds for the duties of the morrow. 
He then withdrew to the house of the curate, and among 
other question» which he put Co him, he interrogated him 
with regard lo the character and conduct of Renzo. Don 
Abbondio replied that he was rather choleric and obsti- 
nate ; but as the cardinal made more special and precise 
enquiries, he was obliged to confess that he was an honest 
peaceable youth, and even he himself could not compie- 






hend how he had committed at Milan the conilaet wUcb 
bad bocn imputed to him. 

" Ab lo the young girl," continued the cardinal, " i 
jou think she can return now with Eafety to her houM?' 

" At preBent," replied Don Abbondio, " «lie can cwn 
and remain for a while. 1 say, at present, but," ml* 
he with a sigh, " your iUustrious lordship should in 
always near at hand." 

" God is always present," esi<l the cardinal. " Bat I 
will use ray efforts to «ecure a place of eafety for her." 

Before dismisaing Don Abbondio, he ordered hitD lo 
«end a litter, on the following day, for Lucy and Iter moibet. 

Don Abbondio went away quite pleaaed that the of 
dina! had talked to him of the young couple, without e«n 
alluding to hia refutal lo marry them. " He. kooiB 
nolliiiig of it," said he ; " Agnes has kept silence ! won- 
derful ! She wiU see him again, 'lis true, but she shd 
have furttier instructions from me, bo she shall." Be 
little thought, poor uian, that Frederick had only defemé 
the enquiry «mil he should have more leisure to learn ite 
reasons of hia conduct- 
But tlie solicitude of the good prelate for the dispwd. 
of Lucy had been rendered useless, by a circumstanv 
which we will relate. 

The two females hod as far as possible resumed, for it, 
few days they had to pass under the hospitable roof of thE 
tailor, their usual manner of life. As she had done at lie 
monastery, Lucy, in a small chamber apart, employed hefc 
self in sewing ; and Agnes, keeping much at home, t»- 
mained for the most pari with her daughter. That 
conversaliona were affectionate and sorrowful ; bolb we> 
prepared for a separation, since the sheep could not dwdl 
in the neighbourhood of ihe wolf. But how long was thil 
separation to continue? The future was dark and inei- 
plicable, but Agnes, notwithstanding, was full of agreeaUl 
anticipation. " After all," said «he, " if no irrepaiaUi 
misfortune boa befallen Renzo, we shall soon hear fhM 
him. if he has found employment, (and who can donU 
it?) and if he kee^s the faith he has sworn to you, wh] 
eanuot we go anù Wve -wiùiìùmì" ■&« dau^ter fdt il 



much sorrow in listening to her hopes, as difficulty 
plying to (hem. She still kept her secret in her heart 
and [titliough troubled at the idea of concealment with so 
good s. mother, she was nevertheless restrained by a 
thousand fears from communicating It. Her plans were, 
indeed, very difierent from those of her mother, or mther, 
àie. had none, having committed the future into the hands 
of Providence ; she therefore endeavoured to change the 
Babject, saying in general terms that her only hope n 
be permanently re-united to her mother. 

" Do you know why you feel thns ? " said Agnes ; ' 
have suffered so much, that it seems impossible to 
that things can turn out happily. But let God work 

if Let a ray of hope come — a single ray, and then we 

shall see that you will think diHerently." 

Lucy and her mother entertained a lively friendship for 
tlieir kind hosts, wliich was warmly reciprocated ; and be- 
tween whom can friendship exist more iu its purity, than 
between the benefactor and the recipients of the benefit, 
«hen both have kind hearts j Agnes, especially, had long 
gossips with the mistress of the house, and the tailor af- 
lorded them much amusement by his tales and moral dis- 
X>urEes ; at dinner particularly he had always something 
X> relate of the sword of Roland, or of the Fathers of the 
rhebaid. 

At some miles' distance from the village there dwelt 
L certain Don Ferrante, and Donna Prassede his wife ; 
(he latter was a woman of high birth, somewhat ad- 
ranced in age, and exceedingly inclined to do good ; which 
la surely the most praiseworthy employment one can be 
engaged on in tliis world ; hut which, indulged in without 
ludgment, may be rendered hurtful, like all other good 
QlingB. To do good, we must have correct ideas of good 
Is itself considered, and this can be acquired only by 
«cmtrol over our own hearts. Donna Prassede governed 
Iwrself with her ideas, as some do with their friends; -she 
had very few, but to these she was much attached. 
Among these few, were a number unfortunately a little 
9^TOW and unreasonable, and they were not those she 
LuTflie least. Thence it happened that she regarded. 



3 

art.-^" 



^SM 



308 THB BEnmaBD. 

ihtngi u gwxli «hich were not really ao, and ihat she used 
tnemt which were calculatrd to promote the very opposite 
of th«t which she intended ; to this perversion of her in- 
tellect may alto be attributed ihe fact, that «he eiUemed 
all meaiures lo be lawful to her who was bent on the pn. 
formsnre of duty. In short, with goc<d intentioM, bef 
moral perception! were in no email degree distoHed. 
Hearing the wonderful story of Lucy, she was aeiied wilh 
a deetre to know her, and immediately sent her caniip 
for the mother and daughter. Luey, having no desire B 
go, requested the tailor to find some excuse for her; if 
they had been common pmplp, who desired to make bn 
acquninlance, the tailor would willingly have rendeced bx 
the service, but, under such circumstances, refusal apparel 
to him a speeics of insult, fie uttered so many exdans- 
ations, such as, that it was not cuBtumary — that it wui 
high family — that it was out of the question to say Aii n 
such people — that it might make their fortune — andlbi^ 
in addition to all this. Donna Prassede was a sain^ — 
that Lucy was finally obliged to yield, especially as AgM 
aecnnded the remonstrances and arguments of the tailor. 

The high-born dame remved tliem with many congn- 
ttdations; she questioned and advised tliem with an airof 
conscious superiority, which was, however, tempered by U 
many soft and humble expressions, and mingled widi n 
much seal and devotion, that Agnas and Lucy soon fd 
themselves relieved from the paintiil restraint her men 
presence had at first imposed on them. In brief, Donu 
Prassede, learning that the cardinal wished to procure a. 
Mylum for Lucy, and impelled by the desire to second, 
and at the same time to anticipate, his good tiitenliolii 
offered to lake the young girl to her house, where thw 
would be no other service reqidred of her than to direct 
the laboursof tile needle or the spindle. She a<lded, thai ibf 
herself would inform the cardinal of the arrangement. 

Besides the obvious and ordinary benefit conferred bj 
her invitation. Donna Prassede proposed (o hetself anothen 
which she deemed to be peculiarly important ; this ml 
to school impatience, and to place in the right path f 
young creature who tai iinieSx viEwi oE eui^fce- "H* 



309 

first time abe heard Lucy spoken of, she naa immciiiately 
persuaded, that in one so young, who had betTOthed her- 
Bclf lo a robber, a criminal, a fugitive from justice, such as 
Benzo, there must be some corruption, some concealed 
vice. "■ Tell ms what campani/ you keep, and I icili tell 
yoa what you ore." The visit of Lucy had confirmed her 
opinion ; she appeared, indeed, to be an artless girl, but 
who could tell the cause of her ilowncast looks and timid 
replies? There was no great effort of mind necessary to 
perceive that the maiden had opinions of her own. Her 
blushes, sighs, and partìcularl; her large and beautiful 
eyes, did not please Donna Prassede at all. She regarded 
it as certain as if she had been told it by one having au- 
thority, that the misfortunes of Lucy were a punishment 
from Heaven for her connection with that villain, and a 
warning to withdraw herself from him entirely. That 
settled the determination to lend her co-operation to furtbor 
■o desirable a work ; for, as she freijuently said to herself 
Uid others, " Was it not her constant study to second the 
will of Heaven ? " But, alas ! she often fell into the ter- 
rible mistake of taking for the will of Heaven, the vain 
imaginings of her own brain. However, she was on the 
present occasion very careful not to exhibit any of her 
proposed intentions. It was one of her maxims, that the 
first rule to be observed in accomplishing a good design, 
ÌB to keep your motives to yourself. 

£xcepting the painful necessity of separation, the offer 
appeared to both mother and daughter very inviting, were 
it only on account of the short distance from the castle to 
their village. Reading in each other's countenance their 
mutual assent, they accepted with many thanks the kind- 
of Donna Prassede, who renewing her kind promises, said 
she would soon send them a letter to present to the cardi- 
nal. The two females having departed, she requested Don 
Ferrante to write a letter, who, being a literary and learned 
man, was employed as her secretary on occasions of im- 
portance. In an a&ir of this sort, Don Ferrante did his 
beat, and lie gave the original to his wife in order tliat 
she should copy it ; he warmly recommended to her an at- 
tention Io the ordjography, as orlhogta\i\i;j "«as ■imavi^^ia 



great namber of tlings he had studied, and ainonji tbe 
■mall number over which he hud control in his tamii;, 
The letter was forthwith copied and eeiit to the esilari 
house. These eventa occurred a few days before the csr- 
dinst had despatched a litter to bring the mother lod 
daughter to their abode. 

UpoD iheir arrival they went to the parsonage; orden 
having been left for their immeiliate admìttance to lit 
presence of the cardinal. The chaplain, wbo eondncied 
them thither, gave them many instruetions with regard u 
the ceremony to be used with him, and the titles tote 
given him ; it was a continual torment to the poor man to 
behold the little ceremony that reigned around the good 
arclihishop in this respect. " This results," he was » 
cuHlomed to say, " from the excessive goodness of llm 
blessed man — from his great familiarity." And he arldeJ 
dial he had " even heard people address him with Vfi, lif, 
and No, gir !" 

At this moment, the cardinal was conversing with Dm 
Abbonilio on the affairs of hla parish ; so that tlie lilla 
had no opportunity to repeat his instructions to the fc- 
males ; however, in passing by them ss they entered, Ik 
gave them a glance, to make them comprehend thtt k 
was well satisfied with them, and that they should con- 
tinue, hke honest and worthy womeUj to keep silence. 

After the first reception, Agnes tlrew from her boMO 
the letter of Donna Prassede, and gave it to the cardimi, 
Baying, " It is from the Signora Donna Prassede, who ap 
that she knows your illuatrious lordship well, my lord, V 
naturally is the case with great people. When you hui 
read, you will see." 

" It is well," said Frederick, after having read th 
letter, and extracted ita meaning from the trash of Dot 
Ferrante's flowers of rhetoric. He knew the family 
enough to be certain that Lucy had been invited in 
with good irstentions, and that she would be sheltered fnxl 
the snares and violence of her persecuti 
Opinion of Donna Prassede, we do not know it precisdj; 
probably she was not a petaon be would have chosen 
^^ncy'gprotectre&a ; btxt'U'nas 



311 

apparently ordered by Providence, in order to c!o them 
better. 

" Submit, without regret, to this separation also, and to 
the suspense id which you are left," said he. " Hope 
for the best, and confide in God ! and be persuaded, that 
all that He serda yoQ, whether of joy or sorrow, will be for 
your permanent good." Having received the benediction 
which he bestowed on them, they took tlieir leaye. 

Hardly had they reached the street, when they were 
surrounded by a swarm of friends, who were expecting 
them, and who conducted them in triumph to their house. 
Their female acquaintances congratulated tbem, sytnpa- 
thised with them, and overwhelmed them with enquiries. 
Learning that Lucy was to depart on the following morn- 
ing, tbey broke forth in exclamations of regret and dis- 
appointment. The men disputed with each other the pri- 
vilege of offering their Hervices ; each wished to remain for 
the night to guard their cottage, which reminds us of a 
proverb; " If you would have people teiiling to confer favours 
on yoa, be sure not to need Ikem." This warmth of reception 
served a little to withilraw Lucy from the painful recollec- 
tions whieh crowded upon her mind, at the sight of her 
loved home. 

At the sound of the bell which announced the com- 
mencement of the ceremonies, all moved towards the 
church. The ceremonies over, Don Abbondio, who had 
haatened home to see every thing arranged for breakfast, 
■was told that the cardinal wished to speak with him. He 
proceeded to the chamber of his illustrious guest, who 
accosted him as he entered, with " Signor Curate, why did 
you not unite in marriage, Lucy to her betrothed ? " 

" They have emptied the sack this morning," thought 
Don Abbondio, and be stammered forth, " Your iUustrions 
lordship has no doubt heard of all the difficulties of that 
bnainess. It has been such an intricate affair, that it 
cannot even now be seen into clearly. Your illustrious 
lordship knows that the young girl is here, only by a 
miracle; and that no one can tell where the young man 

ÌM." 

^^^ I ask if it is true, that, before l\ieae un\iB.\^T ctwiMi 



313 THK BSntOTBBD. 

jou refused Ut celebrile the nuuriage on llie day tgKcd 
upon ? and why you did so ?" 

" Tniljf — if your illuatrious lordship knew — vlultei- 
rible orders 1 received — " and he Etopped, indicating bj 
bis manner, though rcBpectfuily, that it would be impnitkiil 
in the cardinal to enquire farther. 

" But," said Frederick, in a tone of much more giafi^ 
than he was accustomed to employ, " it is your hidu^ 
who, from a sense of duty, and for your own justificttion, 
would learn from you, why you have not done that whicti, 
in the ordinary course of eveots, it was your strict isii 
to do?" 

" My lord," said Don Abbondio, " I do not meut U 
say, — but it appears to ine, that as these things are nw 
without remedy, it is uiieless to stir them up — Hok- 
ever, however, I say, that I am sure your Uluslrioua lonL 
ship would not betray a poor curate, because, you see, mj 
lord, your illustrious lordship cannot be every where pieieiUi 
and I — 1 remain here, exposed — However, if you «do 
me, 1 will tell aU." 

" Speak ; 1 ask for nothing hut to find you free (toin 

Don Abbondio then related hie melancholy story, sup- 
pressing the name of the principal personage, and luli- 
stiluting in ita place, " a great lord," — thus giving to pn- 
dence the little that was left him in such an extremity. 

" And you had no other motive?" asked the cardill4 
after having heard him through. 

" Perhaps I have not clearly explained myself. It wH 
under pain of deatli that thty ordered me not to perfotn 
the ceremony." 

" And this reason appeared sufficient to prevent the Cul- 
lilnient of a rigorous duty ?" 

" 1 know my oWigation is to do my duty, even to mj 
greatest detriment ; but when life is at stake " 

" And when you presented yourself to the church," uid 
Frederick, with increased severity of manner, '* to be sd* 
milted to the holy ministry, were there any such 
adODs made ì Were you told that the duties imposed 
^^u, ministry were free Itoia eiei'j atevade, «Kem^t 



1 



posed tu 



»BB BBTBOTBED. 313 

ercTj peril ? Were jou told that peraonal safelj was lo be 
the guide and limit of ^our duty ? Weie you not told ex- 
pressly the reverse of aH this? Were you not warned that 
yoa were sent as a larab umong wolvea ? Did you not 
even then know that there were violent men in the world, 
who would oppose you in the performance of your duty ? 
He, whose example should be our guide, in imitation of 
whom we call ourselves shepherds, when he came on earth 
to accomplish the designs of his benevolence, did he pay 
regard to liis own safety ? And if your object be to pre- 
serve your miserable eitisteuce, at the expense of charity 
and duty, there was no necessity for your recemng holy 
unction, and entering into the priesthood. The world 
imparts this virtue, teaches this doctrine. What do I say? 
O shame ! the world itself rejects it. It lias likewise its 
kws, which prescribe good, and prohibit evil ; it has also 
its gospel, a gospel of pride and hatred, which will not 
admit the love of life to be offered as a plea l'or the trans- 
gresBÌon of its laws. It commands, and is obeyed ; but we, 
we children and messengers of the promise J what would 
become of the church, if your language «as held by all 
your brethren ? Where would she now be, if she had 
originally come forth with such doctrines ?" 

Don Abbondio hung down bis head ; he felt under the 
weight of these arguments as a chicken under the talons of 
K hawk, who holds him suspended in an unknown regioD, 
in an atmosphere he had never before breathed. Seeing 
that a reply was necessary, he said, more alarmed than 
coDvinced, — 

" My lord, I have done wrong ; since we should pay no 
regard to life, I have nothing more to say. But when one 
has to do with certain powerful people, who will not listen 
to reason, I do not see what is to be gained by carrying 
things with a high hand." 

" And know you not that our gain is to stifier for the 
sake of justice? If you are ignorant of this, what is it 
you preach ? What do you teach ? What is the goad 
nems which you proclaim to the poor? Who has required 
thii at your hand, to overcome force by force ? Certainly 
^^nill not be tuiked at the day uf judgmeul, \i -^«jQlW'^^ì 



314 1 

Tanquishnl the powerful, for you have neither liad 
connnission nor the means to do ao. But, you vriH' 
askeil, if you have employed the means which have b» 
placed in your power, to do that which was prescribed 10 
you, even when man had the temerity to forbid it" 

" These saints are odd creatures," thought Don Ab- 
bondio ; " extract the essence of this discourse, am] ÌitÌI 
be found that he has more at heart the love of two yiiw| 
people, than the life of a priest." He would have M 
delighted to have had the conversation terminate hm, 
but he well perceived thai such was not the intention of d» 
cardinal, who a;>peared to be waiting a reply, or apolidi 
or «omething of the land. 

" I say, my lord," replied he, " that I have done «toii( 
— We cannot give ourselves courage." 
I " And why, then, I might say to you, have tW 
undertaken a ministry which imposes on you the tssk of 
warring with the paswona of the world ? But, 1 will rstha 
say, how ia it that you have forgotten, that where counp 
is necessary to fulfil the ohiigalions of this holy vociiiw, 
the Most High would assuredly impart it to you, were jol 
earnestly to implore it P Do you think the millinni *f 
martyrs had courage naturally? that they had naturallji 
contempt for life, young Christians who had just begna» 
taste its charms, children, mothers ! All had conmji 
simply because courage was necessary, and they cruEtedil 
Grod to impart it. Knowing your own weakness, have yoi 
ever thought of preparing yourself for the difficult Ò- 
tuations in which you might be placed ? Ah ! if, durilt 
so many years of pastoral care, you had loved your flodi 
(and how could you refrain from loving them ?) if you W 
reposed in them your affections, your dearest cares, JTiO 
greatest deligJilB, you would not have failed in coutip: 
love is intrepid ; if you had loved those who were co* 
milted to your spiritual guardi an shij), those whom you ci 
children — if you had really loved them, when you Yieiidi 
two of Ihem threatened at the same time with yoursdt 
Ah ! certainly, charity would have made you tremble b 
them, as the weakness o? tìie flesh made you tremble ' 
^^nnelf. Von wouU ^a.-je Vini^^uA -)0vmi£5 <c«taK>4 



1 

been f , 



315 

for the first rEsings of selfish terror ; you would have con. 
sidered it a temptation, and have implored strength to 
resist it. But, you would have eagerly listened to the holy 
and noble anxiety for the safety of others, for the safety of 
your children ; you would have been unable to find a mo- 
ment of repose ; you would have been impelled, constrained 
to do ali chat you could to avert the evil that threatened 
'them. With what then has this love, this anxiety, inspired 
•you ? What have you done for them ? How have you 
been engaged in their service?" 
And he paused for a reply. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 






Don Abbondio uttered not a word. It must he confessed 
that we ourselves, who have nothing to fear hut the criti- 
cisms of our readers, feel a degree of repugnance in thus 
ni^ng the unfashionable precepts of charity, courage, in- 
defatigable BoLcitude for others, and unlimited sacrifice of 
self. But the reflection that these things were said by a 
'man who practised what he preached, encourages us to 
proceed in our relation. 

" You do not answer,'' resumed the cardinal. " Ah 1 if 
you had followed the dictates of charity and duty, whatever 
bad been the result, you would now have been at no loss 
fora reply. Behold, then, whatyouhavedone; youhaving 
obeyed iniquity, regardless of the reqoiremenls of duty ; 
you have obeyed her promptly ; she had only to show 
berself to you, and signify her desire, and she found you 
ready at her call. Bat she would have had recourse to 
artifice with otie who was on his guard against her, she 
would have avoided exciting his suspicion, she would have 
employed concealment, that she might mature at leisure her 

K« of treachery and violence ; she has, on the con- 
boldlj' ordered jou to infringe ^qm iliiV-j , «nà.VB,'!?* 



Sl6 THB 

silence ; you bave obejed, you hare infringed i^ taij» 1 
have kepi tilence. I ^bL you now, if you have doaeiK^etg ì 
more. Tell me if it U true, that you have advanced fibc | 
pretences for your refusal, bo as not to reveal the Bvt , 
mutive " I 

" They have told tliis also, the tattlers !" thou^t Diu / 
Abbonilio, but as lie gave no indication of addressing him- { 
aelf to ipeech, the cardinal puraued, — " la it true, thtl jw , 
told these young people fakelioodB to keep them in igW- I 
ranee and darkness ? — I am compelled, then, (o belit« 
it; it only remans for me to blush for you, and to tu^ 
that you will weep with me. Behold where it has led yoi, 
(merciful God ! and you advanced it as a juslificarian!) 
behold to what it has conducted you, this solicitude fin 

your life! It has led you -(repel freely ilie BBBertiw 

if it appear to you unjust: take it as a salutary huraillition 
if it ia not) it has led you Ut deceive the feeble and niifn- 
lunate, to lie to your children!" 

" This is the way of the world ! " thought Don Abbon. 
dio f^ain ; " to this devil incarnate," (rt;ferring to the tin- 
known,) " bis arms around his neck ; and to me, for a bllf 
lie, reproaches without end I But you are our supenon; 
of course you are right. It is my star, that all the world 
is against me, not excepting the saints. He contiiiued 
aloud, — " 1 have done wrong ! 1 see that I have done 
wrong. But what could 1 do in so embarrassing a liin- 

" Do you still ask ? Have 1 not told you ? And mult 
I repeat Jt.' You should have loved, my sou, you should 
have loved and prayed ; you would then have felt thit 
iniquity might threaten, but not enforce obedience ; yac 
would have united, according to the laws of God, tin* 
whom man desired to separate; you would bave esercited 
the ministry these children had a right to expect from ynu. 
God would have been answerable for the consequences, u I 
you were obeying His orders ; now, since you have obeyed ' 
roan, the responsibility falls on yourself. And what 
Beqnences, just Heaven ! And why did you not reraembet 
thU you had a superior f How would he now 
lud TOU lor bating ialiei Va -^stm 



unces, u I 
ve obeyed ' 
vhat CUD- I 
reraembet L 

' ilue tD,^ 

if h^y 



317 

not at all lim^s feel hiniEelf obliged to aid ;ou in its 
performance? Why did you not inform your biEhop of 
the obstacles which infamous power exerted to prevent the 
exercise of your ministry ? " 

" Just ihe advice of Perpetua," thouglit Don Abbondio 
vexed, to whose mind, eyeii in the midst of these touching 
appeals, the images which meet frequently presented them- 
selves, were those of the bravoes and Don Roderick, alive 
Bnd well, and returning at some future time, triumphant, 
and inflamed with rage. Although the presenre, the aspect, 
«od the language of the cardinal embarrassed him, anii 
hnpressed him with a degree of apprehension, it was, how- 
ever, an embarrassment and an apprehension which did not 
■ubjugate his dioughts, nor prevent him from reflecting 
that, after all, the cardinal employed neither arms nor 
braToes. 

" Why did you not think," pursued Frederick, " that 
if no other asylum was open to these innocent victims, I 
Could myself receive them, and place them in safety, if yoD 
had sent them to me ; emt them afflicted and desolate to 
Qieir bishop ; as therefore belonging to him, as the most 
{>reciouE part, I say not of his charge, but of his wealth ! 
And as for you, 1 should have been anxious for you; I 
Would not have slept until certain that not a hair of your 
head would be touched ; and do you not suppose (hat this 
tnan, however audacious he may be, would have lost some- 
thing of his audacity, when convinced that his designs 
-were known by me, that I watched over them, and that I 
vras decided to employ for your defence all the means 
-within my power ! Know you not, that if man promises 
too often more than he performs, he threatens also more 
disn he dare execute? Know you not that iniquity does 
not depend solely o» its own strength, but on the credulity 
sad cowardice of others?" 

" Just the reasoning of Perpetua," thought Don Ab- 
bondio, without considering that this singular coincidence 
in judgment of Frederick Borromeo and his Eervant, was 
an additional argument against him. 
I " But you," pursued the cardinal, " you have only 
MMoUted your own danger. How is U ^adVic 'Oa'U. 



1 



J 



I 



SIS xaS AKTROTBED. 

peraonitl safety can have appeared of importance en 
ncriflce every thing to jl ? " 

" BeCBUw 1 saw them, 1 «aw tliose frightful 
MCBiicd from Don Abbondio. " I heard those I 
woriU. Vour illustriuua worship tslks woU. but you 
have been in the place of your poor priest, and hi 
the same thing happen Io you." 

No Hooner had he ultered iheae words than he 
tongue, perceiving that he had sufiered hiniEelf to 
come by vexation ; he muttered in a low voice, " 
the storm 1" and raising his eyes timidly, he was as 
to Bee the cardinal, whom he never could compreht 
from the severe air of authority and rebuke, lo tli 
soft and pcnsiv gravity. 

*' It is but loo true," eaiJ Frederick. •* Such 
terrible and miserable condition ! We exaci 
from olhers, that which it may be we would not I 
ing to render ourselves ; we judge, correct, and rept 
and God alone knows what we would do in tile san 
alion, what we have done in Eimilar situations, 
woe he to me, if 1 take my weakness for the mea 
uiolher's duty, for the rule of my instruction ! 
theless it is certain, that while imparting precepts, 1 
also afford an example to my neighbour, and not re 
the pharisee, who imposes on others enormoua bui 
which he himself would not bo much as touch wi 
tìnger. Hear me then, my son, my brother; the er 
those in authority, are oflener better known to other 
to themselves ; if you know tiiat 1 have, from coward 
respect to the opinions of men, neglected any part i 
duty, tell me of it frankly, so that where I have fai 
example, I may at least not be wanting in humble c 
aion. ghow me freely my weakness, and then word! 
my mouth will be more available, because you will b 
SCÌOUS that they do not proceed from me, hut that Ih 
the words of Him who can give to us both the nee 
strength to do what He prescribes." 

" Oh ! what a holy man, but what a troublesome i 
thought Bou Abbondio. " He ceniurcs himself 
irislies that L ahould ex.a.irà.tie, rà'àÙH:,«tvd control 



I 



siga 

» actions!" He continued aloud, — "Oh ! my lord jeBt>,ifl 
rely ! Wlio does not know the courage and indefatigable -* 
al of your illustriouH lordship P " " Y«b," added he i 
niself, " by far too indefaiiguUc» I" 

" 1 do not desire praise that makes me tremble, because .' 1 
od knows my imperfections, and what 1 know of them 
yself is sufficient to humble me. But 1 would deaire 
At we should humble ourselves together ; 1 would desire 
lAt you should feel what your conduct has l>een, and that . 
mr language is opposed to the law ^ou preach, and a 
trding to which you will be judged." 

" AU turns against me. But these persons who have. ' 
lid your lordship these things, have they not also told yon' ' 
lat they introduced themselves treacherously into my 
luse, for the purpose of compelling me to perform the 
arriage ceremony, in a manner unauthorised by the 

" They liave told me, my son ; but what afljicts and 
rpreases me, is to sec you still seeking excuses ; still 
Lcu&ing yourself by accusing others; still accusing otliera 
I that which should have formed a part of your own con- 
uion. Who placed these unfortunates, I do not say 
ider the necessity, but under the temptation, to do what 
ley have P Would lliey have sought this irregular method, 
' Ùte legitimate way had not been closed to them ? Would 
tey have thought of laying snares for their pastor, if they 
Kd been received, aided, and advised by him ? of sur- 
goung him, if he had not concealed himself P And you 
riah to make them bear the blame ; and you arc indignant 
hat, after so many misfortuoes, what do I say ? in the 
"ery midst of misfortune, they have suffered a word of com- 
riaint to escape before their pastor and yours P that the 
ipmplaiuts of the oppressed and the afflicted should be 
Uleful to the world, is not astonishing ; but to us I and 
that advantage would their silence have been to you? 
P'ould JOH have been the gainer from their cause having 
Ben committed entirely lo the judgment of God? Is it 
at an additional reason to love diem, that they have 
{iutled you the occasion lo hear the sincere voice of your 
^^£ j Uiat they have provided for you the iae^n& Vt <ii^>| 



320 

deratand more clearly, and quite as far as may be in jow 
power, ihe great debt you have contracted to them ? Ai! 
if they had even been the a^ressors, I would tell ym tt / 
love Ihem for that very reason. Love then, because ihey 
have Buffered, and do BuSbr ; love ihtfin, because they irei 
part of your flock, because you yourself have need if 
pardon and of their prayera," 

Don Abbondio kept silence, but no longer from vexatiin, 
and an unwillingneEs to be persuaded ; he kept silence fnnn 
having more things to think of than to say. The wmA 
which lie heard were unexpected conclusions, a nenspplù 
cation of familiar doctrine. The evil done to hia nHgb- 
bour, which apprehension on his own account had hitheiU 
prevented him from beholding in its true light, now nstAt 
a novel and Etriking impressioD on his tniud. If he did 
not feel all the remorse which the cardinal's reirionsCraiiM 
were calculated to produce, he experienced at least eccM 
fUssatisfaction with himself and pity for others ; a blending 
of tendernesa and shame ; ag, if we may be permitlMl to 
uae the comparison, a humid and cnished taper at fini 
hisses and smokea, but by degrees receives warmth, tui 
imparts light, from the flame of a great torch to which il 
is presented. Don Abbondio would have loudly accuBtd 
himself, and deplored hia conduct, had not the idea of D« 
Roderick still obtruded itself into his thoughts ; however, 
hia feeling was sufSciently apparent to convince the cardiod 
that his words had at last produced some effect. 

" Now," pursued Frederick, " one of these unfortUDiB 
beings is a fugitive afar off, the oUier on the point of de- 
parture ; both have but too much reason to keep asunda, 
without any present probability of being re-united. Now, 
alas ! (hey have no need of you ; now, alas I you have nt 
longer the opportunity to do them good, and our shon fon- 
sight can assure us of but little of the future. But ulu 
knows, if God in his compassion is not preparing the occi* 
sion for you ? Ah ! do not let it escape ; seek it^ watdl 
for it, implore it as a blessing." 

" 1 shall not fail, my lord — I shall not fail to do so, 1 
asEure you," replied Don AbbondiOj in a tone that 
1 the heart. 



^^HÌLfa ! yes, my san, yes I " crii^il Frederick witli afiec. 
jSnote dignity; " Heaven knows tbat I would have desired 
to hold other converse nith you. We have both had a 
long pilgrimage thruagh life. Heaven knnivii how painful 
it has been to me, to grieve your old age by rejiroachea ; 
how much more I should have loved to occupy the time ol' 
this interview in mutual consointion, and mutual antici- 
pation of the heavenly hope which is so near our grasp I 
God grant that the language I have been obliged lo hold 
maty be useFn] to bolh of us I Act in such a manner, that 
He will not call me to account on the great and terrible day, 
tar having retained you in a ministry of which you were 
anworlhy. Let us redeem the time ; the night is far spent ; 
the spouse will not linger ; let us keep our lamps trimmed 
Bnd burning. Let us oiFer to God our poor and miserable 
Iteartg, tliat he may fill them with his love !" So eeying 
be arose to depart ; Don Abbondio followed him. 

We must now return to Bonna Prassede, who c 
UKM>rding to agreement, on the following morning, 

[•ncy, and also to pay her duly to the cardinal. ~ 

Kstowed many praises on Lucy, and recommended ber 
rftrin]]i to the kindness of Donna Prassede ; Lucy sepa- 
«tted herself from her mother with many tears, and again 
lode farewell to her cottage and her villi^e. But she was 
lieered by the hope of seeing her mother once more before 
heir final departure, as Donna Prassede informed them 
h»t it was her intention to remain for a few days at her 
lilla, and Agnes promised to visit it again to take a last 
sarewell. 

The cardinal was on the point of setting out for another 
parish, when the curate of the village near which the castle 
if the Unknown was situated, demanded pennission to see 
bim. He presented a small packet, and a letter from that 
lord, in which Frederick was requested to present to Lucy's 
mother a hundred crowns of gold, to serve as a dowry for 
the maiden, or for any other purpose she might desire. 
The Unknown also requested him to tell them, that if ever 
tliej should be in need of his services, tlie poor girl knew 
l'Ut too well the place of his abode, and as for him, he 
>hould consider it a hi^h privilege to eLSor&\m -^\axes,'òRi^ 



oo saying 

vho cam^^l 
rning, E^^l 
Fn^derid^l 



THE SErBOTVSD. 



1 



and udstance. The c&rdinal sent iimnediRlely for 
and itifonneil her of the commÌBaion he had received, 
heard U with equal surprise and joj. 

" God reward this signor 1 " said ahe ; " yonr 
lordship will thank him in our name, bui do 
word of tlie matter to an; one, because we live i 
— you will excuse me, I know a tnan like your lanliUp 
does not tattle about such things, but — you underGtud 

Rcttiming to her house, she ehut herself up in her ehm- 
ber, and untied the packet ; although she wis prtpml 
for the aight, slie was filled with wouder at seeing in le 
own power and in one heap such a quantity of those «Ml 
which she had rarely ever seen before, and 
than one at a time. She counted them over and on 
again, and wrapping them carefully in a leather coveriif, 
concealed them under one corner of her be<]. ~" 
of the day was employed in reverie and projects fee ill' 
future, and desires for the arrival of the morrow; fc 
night was passed in restless dreams, and vain imagioiiifi 
of the blessings to be produced by this gold ; at \xfi 
of day, she arose, and departed for the villa of Don 
Prassede. 

The repugnance Lucy had felt to mention her vow, hi 
not all diminished, but ahe resolved to overcome it, *»|i 
disclose the circumstance to her mother in this conversili^ 
which would probably be the last they should havi 
long time. 

No sooner were they left alone, than Agnes, with * 
animated countenance, but in a low voice, said, *' 1 " 
great news to tell you," and she related her unesj 
good fortune. 

" God blesa this signor," said Lucy ; " you have M> 
enough to live comfortably yourself, and also to 
others." 

" Oh I yes, we can do a great deal with this i 
Listen, 1 have only you, that is, I liave only yon 
the world, for from the moment that Renzo tìrst addita 
you, I have conaiilcteA \mtt -m my i 
^^■t no misfotlune Wa\ieStìieii-^TO,ani'«QB.\-«' 



Ì wiU Iw p 



hear from him. As for myself, I would have wisheil to 
lay my bones in my own country, but now that you can- 
not stay here on account of this villain, (oh I even to 
think that he was near me, would make me dislike any 
place!) I am quite willing to go away. I would have 
gone with you to the end of the earth hefore this good 
fitttune, but how could we do it without money ? The 
poor youlh had indeed saved a few pence, of which the 
law deprived him, hut in recompence God has seat ns a 
'fbrtune. So then, when he has informed us that he is 
Hring, and where he is, and what are his intentions, I 
will go to Milan for you — yes, I will go for you. For- 
merly I would not have dreamt of such a thing, but mis- 
fiwtune gives courage and experience. 1 have been to 
Monza, and 1 know what il is to travel. 1 will take with 
Die a man of resolution ; for instance, Alessio di Ma^a- 
nico; 1 will pay the expense, and — do you understand?" 

But perceiving that Lucy, instead of cuhitatìng sym- 
pathy with her plans, could with difficulty conceal her agi- 
tation and disbess, she stopped in the midst of her ha- 
rangue, exclaiming, " Wliat is the matter ? are you not of 
my opinion ?" 

" My poor mother!" cried Lucy, throwing her arms 
around her neck, and eoncealÌDg en her bosom her face, 
bathed in tears. 
, " What is the matter ?" eaid Agnes, in alarm. 

" I ought to have told you sooner, but I had Dot the 
heart to do it. Have pity on me." 

" But speak, speak then." 

" 1 cannot be the wife of that unfortunate youth." 

•= Why.' how?" 

Lucy, with downcast looks and flowing tears, confessed 
at last the vow which she had made. She clasped her 
hands, and asked pardon of her mother for having concealed 
it from her, coi^juring her to speak of it to no 
lend her aid to enable her to fulfil it. 

Agnes was overwhelmed with consternation 
have been angry with her daughter for so long 
silence towards her, had not the grave thoughts that 
e itseif excited, stifled all fe\i.n%(ii 
Y 2 



4 



■W THE BBTBOTRBD. 

HpU would bave blaraed her for her tow, had it not if' 
peared to her to be contending against Heaven ; for Lncf 
descnbed to her again, in more lively colours than belbi^ 
that horrible night, her utter desolation, and otiexpecHd 
preservation 1 Agnes listened attentively ; and a handwi 
examples that she had often beard related, that she km^ 
even had related to her daughter, of strange and bonìbb 
punjiihinenls for violated vows, came to her memorf. "AttJ 
vbat wilt thou do now ?" said she. 

"It is with the Lord that care rests ; the Lord anil IÌK 
holy Virgin. I have placed myself in their bands ; ibtT 
have never yet abandoned me, they will not abandop me 

now that The favour 1 ssk of God, the only uvow, 

after the safety of my soul, is to be restored (o yon, mj 
beloved mother ! He will grani it, yes, he will graDtil. 

That fatal day in the carnage Oh! tnosi IkÌJ 

Virgin I Those men who would have thought I «h«iU 

be the next day with you ? ' 

" Bat why not tell your mother at once ?" 

" Forgive me, I had not the heart WTial useW 

there in afflicling you sooner?" 

" And Renzo?" said Agnes, Ghsking her head. 

" Ah !" cried Lucy, starting, " I must think no mBi 

of the poor youth, God has not intended Youfc(il 

appears to be his will that we should separate. And 1*1 

knows ? But no, no ; the Lord will preserve him ftM 

every danger, and render him, perhaps, happier withfflU 

" But, nevertheless, if you had not hound yourself &» 
ever, provided no misfortune has happened to Renzo, wili 
this money, I would have found u remedy for all our "' ' 

" But, my mother, would this money have been ( 
I had not passed that terrible night? It is God' 
that all shovild he thus ; his will be done 1 " And her vote 
became inarticulate through tears. 

At this unexpected argument, Agnes maintained I 
mournful silence. After some moments, Lucy, supere* 
ing her sobs, resvimei\, — " ■¥^o^^l vW^-the thing is dtm^w 
must Bubrait cheerfiiay-, ttni-joM. ieain^o*»,, ^^,|fl 









aid me, firBt in praying to the Lord for joar poor dai 
ter, and then it is necessary that Renzo should, ki 
When you ascertain where he is. Lave him wrillen to, 
find a man, — your cousin Alessio, for itistancEj who is 
prudent and kind, who has always wished us well, anu 
'who will not tattle. Make Alessio write to him, and in- 
form him of the circumstance as it occurretl, where I was, 
and how I suffered ; tell him that God has ordered it thus, 
and that he must set his heart at rest ; that, as for me, I 
can never be united to any one. Make him understand 
the matter clearly ; when he knows that I have promised 

the Virgin he always has been pious And you. 

Boon as you hear from him, get some one to write to 

let me know that he is safe and well and, noi 

more." 

" Agnes, with much emotion, assured her daughl 
Qiat all should be done as she desired. 

" I would say something more ; that which has befallen 
the poor youth, would never have occurred to him, if he 
llftd never thought of me. He is a wanderer, a fugitive; 
lie has lost all his hltle savings ; he haa been deprived of 
every thing he possessed, poor fellow I and you know why 
—and we, we have so much money I Oh I mother, since 

tìie Lord has sent us wealth, and since the unfortunate ■ 

yon regard him as your son, do you not ? Ah ! divide it, 
Bbare it with him I Kndeavour to find a safe man, and 
send him the half of it. God knows how much he may 
need iti" 

" That ia just what I was thinking of," replied Agnes, 
" Yea, I wiH do it certainly. Poor youth I And why 
did you think I was so pleased with the money, if it were 

not but — I came here well pleased, 'tis true; but, since 

matters are so, I will send it to him. Poor youth! he also 
■ ■ I know what I mean. Certainly money gives pleasure 
to those who have need of it ; but this money — Ah ! it is 
not this that will make him prosper." 

Lucy retiuiied thanks to her mother for her prompt and 
liberal accordance with her request, so fervently, tliat an 
«baerver would have imagined her heart to be still devoted 
^^^«zo, more than she herself was &%-B,te uf. 



386 THE BKTHOTHKD. 

" And without ihee, what shall I do — I, thy poor in 
thef ?" «id Apiea, weeping in her turn. 

" And I, without you, my dear mother? and in i hog 
of atrangeTB, at Milan ? But die Lord will be with i 
both, and will re-nnite us. In eight or nine monllii i 
shall see each other again ; let us leave it to him. 1 w 
incessantly implore this favour from the Virgin ; if 1 hi 
any thing more to offer her, I would not hesitate; l«U*e 
la so com passionale, she will surely grant my prayer. 

The mother and daughter parted with many tears, |m>- 
mising to see each other again, the coming autumn, at A» 
latest, as if it depended on themselves ! 

A long time elapsed before Agnes heard any thing d 
Renio ; neither message nor letter was received from liim; 
the people of the village were as ignorant concerning hJB 
as herself. 

She was not the only one whose enquiries hud b«l 
fniitleaa ; it was not a mere ceremony in the cardimi 
Frolcriclc, when he promised Lucy and Agnes, to iaiàn 
hintself of the history and fate of Renzo ; he fulfilled He 
promise, by writing immediately to Bergamo for the pur- 
pose. Wliile at Milan, on his return from vìhIìi^ tt 
iliocese, he received a reply, in which he was iniWiDi' 
that httle was known of ihe young roan ; that he b 
made, it was true, a short sojourn in such a place, h 
that one morning he had suddenly disappeared ; thai 
relation of his, with whom he had hved while there. Icon 
not what had become of him ; he thought that be hJ 
probably enlisted for the Levant, or had passed ii 
many, or, which was most likely, that he had peiidedio 
crossing the river. It was added, however, that ehontì 
any more definite inteUigence be received concemiug hia, 
his illustrious lordship should immediately be informed of 

These reports eventually travelled to Lecco, and rerà- 
ed the ears of Agnes. The poor woman did her best ta 
SEcertain the truth of them ; but she was kept in a stale of 
suspense and ansiety by the contradictory accounts whiA 
were given, and wWoh were, in fact, all without f 
Ation. 



tt iettidh I 



327 

The governor of MiJan, Jieulenant- general under Don 
Gonzalo Femnndez de Cordova, had complùned bitterly 
to the lord resident of Venice at Milan, that a robber, a 
villain, an instigator of pillage and massacre, the famous 
IiOrenzD Tramaglino, had been received in the Bergs- 
nasciin territory. The resident replied, that he knew 
nothing of the matter, hut that he would write to Venice 
fill information concerning it, in order to give some ex- 
planation to his Excellency. 

It was a maxim at Venice to encourage the tendency 
of the Milanese workmen in silk, to establish themaelvcK 
ÌD the Bergantascan territory, by making them find it to 
their advantage to do so. For this reason, Bortolo was 
tramed confidentially, tliat Renzo was not safe in liis pre- 
sent residence, and that Le would do wisely to place him 
in some other manufactory, and even cause him to change 
his name for a while. Bortolo, who was quick of appre- 
Iieiision, made no olgections, related the matter to his 
cousin, and taldng him to another place fifteen miles off, 
he presented him, under the name of Anlonio Sivolta, to 
ibe master of the manufactory, who was a native of Milan, 
■nd moreover bb old acquaintance. He, although the 
times were hard, did not require much entreaty to induce 
him to receive a workman so warmly recommended by an 
old friend. He saw reason afterwards to congratulate 
himself on the acquisition, although, at first, the young 
man appeared rather heedless, because, when they called 
Antonio, he scarcely ever answered. 

A short time after, an order arrived from Venice to the 
captain of Bergamo, to inform liimself, and send word to 
government, whether there was not within his jurisdiction, 
«nd particularly in such a village, such an individual. 
The captain having obeyed in the best manner he could, 
transmitted a reply in the negative, which was transmitted 
to the resident at Milan, in order that he should transmit 
it to Don Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova. 

There were not wanting inquisitive people, who en- 
quired of Bortolo why the young man had left liim. The 
fint time the question was put to him, he simply rephed, 
■tfb has disappeared." To relieve VvHi«e\S, \«r»"«>a. 



from (lie most pcrseTering, he framed the stories we biv! I 
already rekltnl, at the same time oSfering them u ratrc ' 
reports that he had heard ; without, however, placing mm* I 
reliance on them. : 

But when enquiry came to be made by order of the or- 1 
dinal, or mther, by order of some great person, u Hi 
n*ine was not mentioned, Bortolo became more nnfOJ. 
and judged it prudent to maintain his ordinary method of 
reply, with this addition, that he gare to the storiai he W 
fabricated an air of greater verity and plausibility. 

We must not conclude, however, that Don Gontik 
hod any personal <lisli]ce to our poor mountdneei 
must not conclude that, informed perhaps of his diarespcd 
uid ni-timed jeets upon his Moorish king enchained If 
tlie throat, be wished to wreak his vengeance on hiai, a* 
that he considered him a person dangerous enough to h 
pursued even in his flight, as was Hannibal by theBoinO 
senate. Don Gonzalo had too many things to thinliA 
to trouble himself with the actions of Aenzo, and if^ 
appeared to do so, it was the result of a singular o» 
currence of circumstances ; by which the poor fellow, wili- 
out wishing it, or even knowing why, found Mnuell 
attached, as by an invi^ble thread, to numerous and in- 
poTtont ftfiàirE. 



I 



CHAPTER XXVU. 



Wb have had occasion to mention more than 
which was then fermenting, for the 
states of the Duke Vincenzo Gonzaga, the second of tl» 
name ; we have said that, at the death of this duke, li 
nearest heir, Carlos Gonzaga, chief of a younger brand 
transplanted to France, where he possessed the duchil 
of Nevers and RheteV, had entered into possession 
^Catita and Moalferiat ; Wie ^^«.'m.^ '^Ssui.ijn, ■ 



■wìsheJ, at any price, to esclude from these two fiefs 
new prince, and wanted some pretence to advance for his 
delusion, Iiad declared liis intention to support the claims 
"npon Mantua of another Gonzaga, Ferrante, Prince of 
Ouasialla ; and ihoBe upon Montferrat of Carlos Emanuel 
tìie Firiit, I>uke of Savoy, and Mai^herita Gonzaga, Duchess 
dowager of Lorraine. Don Gonzalo, who was descended 
from the great captain whose name he bore, had already 
Biade war in Flanders ; and as he was desirous beyond 
measure to direct one in Italy, he made the greatest efforts 
to promote it. By interpreting the intentions, and by 
going beyond the orders of the minister, he had, in the 
mean time, concluded with the Duke of Savoy a treaty for 
the invasion and division of Montferrat; and easily ob- 
tained the ratification of it, by the count duke, by per- 
Busding him tlmt the acquisition of Casale, whicli was 
die point the best defended, of the portion granted to the 
King of Spain, was extremely easy. However, he ttill 
«onttnued to protest, in the name of his sovereign, that he 
deured to occupy the country only as a trust, until thede- 
'cinon of the emperor should be declared, But in the 
'Beantime the emperor, influenced by others as well as by 
motives of his own, had refused the investiture to the new 
'duke, and ordered him to leave in sequestration, the states 
which had been the subject of contention; promising, after 
lie should have heard both parties, to give it to the one 
whom he should deera justly entitled to it. The Duke of 
Kevers would not submit to these conditions. 

The duke had high and powerful friends, being sup- 
ported by the Cardinal Richelieu, the senate of Venice, 
Knd the pope. But the first of these, absorbed at the time 
by the siege of Rochelle^ embarrassed in a war with Eng. 
luid, thwarted by the party of the queen mother, Mary de' 
fekfedici, who, for particular reasons, was hostile to the house 
of Ncvers, could only hold out hopes and promises. The 
Venetians would not stir in the contest, until a French 
army arrived in Italy ; and while secretly aiding the duke, 
ibey confined themselves, in their negotiations with the 

K Madrid, and the government of Milan, to protests, 
r even threats, according to ciicMmaWciw». 



tli^ 



VIII. recommended the Duke of Nevera to his friends, 
inCerKdcd for him with hia adversaries, and made pro- 
positions of peace ; hut he never afforded him any mUiUiy 
aid. 

Tbe two powers. alUed for ofTensive operations, «old 
then securely begio their enterprise ; Carlos Smuiue! 
entered Moulferratj and Don Gonzalo gladly undertooktlie 
^ege of Casale ; but he did not meet with the aucceta be 
had anticipaleJ. The][court did not afford bim all tbesi^ 
plies he demanded ; his ally, on the contrary, was tM 
liberal in his aid to the cause ; for, after having takealu! 
own portion, he also took that which had been assigned U 
the King of Spain. Don Gonzalo, inexpressibly enraged, 
but fearing, if he made the least complaint, that Culn, 
as active in intrigue, and as brave in anns, as be m 
fickle in disposition, and false to his promises, would ihnt 
himself on the side of France; was constrained toshutU 
eyes, to champ the bit, and to maintain a satisfied ipgal- 
ance. VVTielher from the firm resistance of the besigiit 
or from the small number of troops employed a^t 
them, or, according to some statements, from the nnmei» 
mistakes of Don Gonzalo, the siege, although protracted, 
was finally unsuccessful. It was at this very period tliil 
the sedition of Milan obliged Don Gonzalo to go ibiibff 
in person. 

In the relation that was there made to him, the flight of 
Renzo was mentioned, and the facts, real or suppomL 
which had caused his arrest ; he was also informed Uul 
this man had taken refuge in tlie territory of Berganft 
This latter circumstance attracted the attention of DO 
Gonzalo ; he knew that the Venetians had taken a 
est in in the insurrection of, Milan, and that, in the I* 
ginning of it, they had imagined that, on that accooil 
alone, he would be obhged to raise the ai^e of Casale, mI 
thus incur a heavy disappointment to his hopes. In t^ 
didon to this, immediately after this event, the news W' 
received, so much desired by the senate, and so mw 
dreaded by Gonzalo, of the surrender of Rochelle. 
.to the quick, as a Tcan uiii a. votitician, and vexed ■ 
^■H of Testation, ^ <wu^X o^^. evtn^ tAi:a%\'nv fa 



:. Sam i 

'1 



vince the Venedana, that he had lost none of his foi 
boldnes» and determination ; he tlierefore ventured 
loud complaints of the conduct of the senate. The led- 
deat of Venice, having come to pay his respects to hiio, 
and endeavouring to read in his features and deportment 
what TCss passing in his mind, Don Gonzalo spoke lightly 
of the tumult, as a thing already quieted, making use, how- 
ever, of ihe reception of Renzo, in die Bergamascan terri- 
tory, as 3 pretext for complaini; against the Venetians. 
The result is known to our readers. When he had an- 
swered his own ])urpoBeB, with the affair, it was entirely 
forgotten by him. 

Sut Renzo, who was far from suspecting the httle im- 
portance that was in reality attached to him, had, for a 
long tine, no other thought but to keep himself concealed. 
It may well be supposed that he desired ardently to send 
intelligence lo Lucy and her mother, and to hear from 
them ill return. But to this, there were two very great 
ofaetaclcs. It was necessary to confide in an amanuensis, 
SB he himself was unable to write, — an accomphshmenC in 
those days not very usual in his class; and how could he 
y«iture to do this where all were strangers to him ? The 
Other difficulty was to find a trusty messenger, to take 
.charge of the letter. He finally succeeded in overcoming 
.these difficulties, and found one of his compauions who 
IGOuld write for him. But not knowing whether Lucy and 
'j^ea were still at Monza, he thought it best to enclose 
'fte letter under cover to Father Christopher, with a few 
lilocB in addition to him. The writer engaged to send i^ 
Hud gave it to a man who was to pass near Pescarenico, 
ftnd who left it in nn inn on the route, in a neighbouring 
Mace to the convent, and with many injunctions for its 
Iftfe delivery. As tlie cover was directed to a capuchin, it 
»as carried to Pescarenico, bui it was never known what 
?iftrther became of it, Renzo, not receiving an answer, 
SauBed another letter to be written, and endosed it to one 
3f bia relations at Lecco. This time the letter reached its 
destination. Agnes requested her cousin Alessio to read it 
lor her ; and to write an answer, which was sent to Antonio 
Bivolta, at the place of his abode ; all i.\i\b, \iww(ni«,'«' 



™.,v=^^ 



not done so quickly as ne tell it. Renxo received Un 
sniwer, and wrote a reply ; in short, there was a mire- 
gponiWce, however irregular , establiBhed between ihen, 
But the manner of urrying on such a correspomlciui, 
which ia the same, perhaps, at this day, we will cipliin. 
The absent party who can't write, selects one who possWMi 
the art, from amongst his own class, in which lie can moie 
Becurely trust. To him he explains with vaoie or Ua 
clearness his subject aiid his thoughts. The man otkvea 
comprebenils part, guesses the rest, gives an opinion, [w- 
poses an alteration, and finishes with " leave it lo nx." 
Then begins the translation of the spoken into the writta 
thoughts. — The writer corrects, improves, overchaigei, & 
minishes, or even omits, according to his opinion of dc 
graces of style. The finished letter is, accordingly, o&Bi 
wide of the mark aimed al. Bnt when, at length, i 
reaches the hands of a correspondent, ^equally deScienl it 
the art of reading running hand, he is under the lib 
necessity of finding a learned clerk of the same calibre » 
interpret the hieroglyphics. Hereupon arise questioS 
upon the various meanings. Towards their elucidadon, Ac 
one supplies philological. notices upon the t«xt ; the otheti 
commentaries upon the hidden matter ; eo that, >Ail 
mature discussion, they may come to the same undersuni* 
ing between themselves, however remote that may be &0H 
the intention of the originator of the perplexity, 

Ttiis was precisely the condition of our two coRt- 
spendente, i 

The first letter from Renzo contained many detukj 
he informed Agnes of the circumstance of his flight, tà 
subsequent adventures, and his actual situation. ThW 
events, however, were rather hinted at, than clearly a- 
plained, so that Agnes and her interpreter were fi» 
from drawing any deftnite conclusions from the relation ' 
them. He spoke of secret information, of a change' 
name ; that he was in safety, but that he was obliged > 
keep himself concealed ; further, the letter contained pr» 
ing and passionate enquiries with regard to Lucy, ini 
some obscure referenda to the reports which had re 



^ 



for tlic future, and affectionate exhortations to const 
and patience. 

Some lime after the receipt of this letter, Agnes sent 
Renzo an answer, with the fifty crowns that had been 
ssaigned him by Lucy. At the sight of so much gold, he 
did not know what to think; and, with his mind agitated 
by reflections by no means agreeable, he went in search of 
ioB amanuensis, requesting him to interpret the letter, and 
Kffbrd him a clue to the developement of the mystery. 

The amenuensis of Agnes, after some complaints on 
the want of clearness in Renzo's epietle, described the 
wonderful history of Ms person, (so he called the Un- 
known), and thus accounted for the tifty crowns ; then he 
mentioned the vow, but only periphrastically ; adding more 
eKpIicitly the advice, to set tus heart at rest, and not to 
Aink of Lucy any more. 

Ren«o was very near quarrelling with his interpreter ; 
be trembled; he was enraged with what he had understood, 
and with what he had not understood. He made him read 
three or four times this melancholy epistle, sometimes'un'- 
derstanding it better, sometimes finding obscure and inex- 
plicable that which at first had appeared clear. In the 
delirium of his passion, he desired his amanuensis to 
"write an answer immediately. After the strongest ex- 
pressions of pity and horror at the misfortunes of Lucy ; 
" Write/' pursued he, " that I do not wish to set my heart 
at rest, and that I never will ; that this is not advice to give 
me ; and that, moreover, I will never touch the money, but 
will keep it in trust, as the dowry of the young girl; that 
Lucy belongs to me, and that I will not abide by her vow ; 
that I have always heard that the Virgin interests herself 
in our affairs, for the purpose of ^ding the afflicted, and 
obtaining favour for them ; but that I have never heard 
that she will protect those who do evil, and fail to perform 
their promises ; say that, as such cannot he the case, her 
TOW is good for nothing ; that with this money we can 
establish ourselves here, and that, if our afl^irs are now a 
little perplexed, it is a storm which will soon pass away." 

ts received ihia letter, sent an answer, and the cor- 
ence continued for some tìroe, m "«e "iiwift 



1 



èJv^H 



334. TttB bethOtbj*. f 

•^rhen bet mother informed Lucy ihat ReiiKo WMWell and I 
in «afety, she derived great relief from the intelligencr, ' 
deiiiing but one tiling more, which was, that he alioBlii I 
forget, or rather, that he should endeavour to forget ber. 
On her part she made a similar resolution, with respecl U 1 
him, a hundred times a day; and employing every mwai 
of which she was mistress to aci^ompUah so desiiaUe u 
end, she applieil herself incessantly to labour, endcavonrit^ 
to give to it all the powers of her soul. When the inu^ 
of Renzo occurred to her mind, she tried to hanisb it b; 
prayer ; but, vihile thinking of her mother, {and bow 
could she avoid thinking of her mother ?) the image of 
Renzo intruded himself bb a third into the place so oRa 
occupied by the real Renzo. However, if she did n« 
succeed in forgetting, ahe contrived at least to think lea 
frequently of him ; and in this she would have been mm 
Buccesaful, had she heen left to prosecute the work iIoih; 
but, alas ! Donna Praesede, who, on her part, was ditti- 
mined to drive the poor youth from her mind, ihwi^ 
there was no better expedient for the purjmse than to uQ 
of him incessantly ; " Well," said she, " do you still thùi 
of him }" 

" I think of no one," said Lucy. 

l>onna Prassede, who was not a woman to be satitdd 
with such an answer, replied, " that she wanted acIitMA, 
not words." DiECUEsing at length, the tendencies of jounj 
girls, she said, " ÌVhen they have once given their heart V 
a libertine, it is impossible to withdraw their affeclioni 
If their love for an honest man is, by whatever means, un- 
fortunate, they are soon comforted, but love for a libeni« 
is an incurable wound." And then beginning the panegyric 
of poor Renzo, of this rascal, who wished to deluge MìIm 
in blood, and reduce it to ashes, she concluded, by inrastioi 
that Lucy should confess the crimes of which he bad bea 
guilty in his own country. 

Lucy, with a voice trembling from shame, grief, anil 

from as much indignation as her gentle disposition »ai} 

bumble station permitted her, declored and protested, tbil " 

is her village this poor -jcpiiii Wd always acted peni 

^g[^]lonourably, and \iaà. oWxtxieA. ». %mA 



TBE BErBOTtnsn. 335 

" She wished," she said, " ihat one of his countrymen weiB. 
present to bear testimony to the truth. Even respecting 
the events at Milan, of which, 'twfiB true, she knew not 
the details, she defended him, and 9olely on account of the 
acquaintance she had had with hia habits from infancy. 
She defended him (or rather, she meant to defend him) 
fiora the pure duty of charity, from love of truth, and aa 
being her neighbour. But Donna Prassede deduced, from 
this^ defence, new arguments to convince Lucy, that this 
man still held a place in her heart, of which he was not 
worthy. At the degrading portrait which the old lady 
drew of him, the habitual feelings of her heart, with regard 
to him, and her knowledge and estimate of hia character, 
revived with double force and distinctness. Her recoUec- 
tioiiB, which she had had so much difficulty in inibduing, 
returned vividly to her imagination ; in proportion to the 
aversion and contempt manifested by Donna Prassede to- 
wards the unfortunate youth, just in such proportion did 
she recall her former motives for citeem and sympathy ; 
this blind and violent hatred excited in her heart Etronger 
pity and tenderneag. Such conversations could not be 
much prolonged without resolving Lucy's words into tears. 
If Donna Prnasede bad been led to this course of con- 
(Juct by hatred towards Lucy, the tears of the latter, which 
flowed freely during these exaininations, might have sub- 
dued her to silence, but as she was moved lo speak by the 
desire of doing good, she never suff*ered herself to be 
softened by them ; for groans and supplications may arrest 
the arm of an enemy, but not the friendly lance of the 
surgeon. After having reproached her for her wickedness, 
she passed to exhortations and advice, mingling alEO a few 
praisea, to temper the hitter with the sweet, and obtain 
more certainly tlie eficct she desired. These disputes, 
which had nearly the same beginning, middle, and end, 
did not, however, leave any trace of resentment against 
her severe lecturer in the gentle bosom of Lucy ; she was, 
in other respects, treated with much kindneas by the lady, 
and she believed her, even in litis matter, to be guided by 
good, though mistaken intentions. There did follow them, 
■ever, such agitation, such uneasy awaVewfl^ ol ^■■"' 



SS6 TBB BETBOTQED. 

b«TÌng thoughts, that much time and efibrt were lequisiit 
to restore lier to any degree of tranquillity. 

It was a happiness for Lacy that Uonna Prassedi'i 

sphere of UEefulness was somewhat extensive ; consequendr 
these tiresome conTersations could not be so freqnaillj 
repeateti. Besides her immediate householi), coinpoied, 
according to lier opinion, of persons that had more orl(K 
need of eorrettion and regulation ; and besides all the olhn 
occasiona which presented tliemselves for her rendering lie 
same office from pure benevolence to persons who requirtd 
not the duty at her hands ; she had five daughters, neidin 
of whom lived at home, hut they gave her the more trmdlc 
from that very cause, Tliree were nuns; and two »en 
inarrìeil. Donna Prassede consequently had three man»- 
texies and two families to govern ; a vast and compliMWi 
machinery, and the more troublesome, as two husbandi, 
supported by a numerous kindred, three abbesses, defenW 
by other dignitaries, and a great number of nuns, waaU 
not accept her superintendence. There was a contisml 
warfare, polite indeed, but active and vigilant ; a perpWul 
attention to avoid her solicitude, to close up the avenues B 
ber advice, to elude her enquiries, and to iieep her in a 
much ignorance as possible of their affairs. In her own 
family, however, her zeal could display itself freely; ill 
were governed by her authority, and submissive to her, in 
every respect, with the exception of Don Ferrante ; wilt 
him things were conducted in a peculiar manner. 

A man of study, he neither loved to obey nor comman(l ; 
he was perfectly willing that his wife should be mistrc!! 
in all things pertaining to household affairs, but not (hit 
he should be her slave ; and if, at her request, he lent 
upon occasion the services of his pen, it was because b« 
had a particular taste for such employments. And, moR- 
over, be could refuse to do it, when not convinced of tbc 
propriety of her demand. " Well," he would say, " do il 
yourself, since the matter appears so plain to you." Donn 
Prassede, after vainly trying lo induce him to Bubinissim, 
took refuge in grumbling against him as an original, a loW 
wllO would ha^e hia o'wq way, a mere scholar j which 



1 



THE BETROTHED. 337'! 

ille, however, she never gave liim without a degree o 
iomplacency, minghng ilself with her displeasure. 

Don Ferraute passeii much time in his study, where btM 
lad a considerable collection of choice books ; he had sa»^ 
eeted the most famous works on many different suhjectaJ^ 
n each of which he was more or leas versed. In sstrologyJ 
le was justly considered more than an amateur, becao^ 
le cot only possessed the general notions, and the ci 
rocahulary of Jnfiuencea, aspects, and conjunctions, hu|a 
le could speak to the point, and, like a profeasoi 
nelve houses of heaven, of the great and leaser circles, c 
Legrees, lucid and obscure, of exaltations, passages, i 
evolutions ; in short, of the principles tile most certai^l 
od most recondite of the science. Far mure than twentf ■ 
■ears, in long and frequent disputes, he had sustained ti 
ire-eminence of Cardan against another learned man^ 
ttached to the system of Akalàzio, " from pure obsli- ' 
lacy," said Don Ferrante, who, in acknowledging volun- 
ftrily the superiority of the ancients, could not, however, 
mdure the prejudice which would never accord to the 
Dodems, eveo that which they evidently deserved. He 
lad also a more than ordinary acquaintance with the hia- 
oiy of the science; he could cite the moat celebrated pre- 
lictions which had been verified, and reason very skilfully 
tnd learnedly on other celebrated predictions which had 
%ot been verified, demonstrating that the failure was not 
jwing to any deficiency in the science, but to the igno- 
rance which could not apply its principles. 

He had acquired as much ancient philosophy as would 
liave contented a man of ordinary ambition, but he was 
unlinually adding to his stock from the study of Diogenes 
[«aerliuB ; however, as we cannot adhere to every system, 
ind as, &om among them all, a choice is necessary to him 
vbo desires the reputation of a philosopher, Don Ferrante 
nsde choice of Aristotle, who, as he was accustomed to 
«y, was neither ancient nor modern. He possessed many 
vorks of the wisest and most subtle disciples of the school 
if Aristotle among the moJerns ; as to those of his op- 
lOpentB, he would not read them, " because it would be a 
^H|pf time," he said, "nor buy them, betawBt 'w. -«QaiJi. 



S38 IME fiETbOrBBD. 

be 1 WMte of money." In the jadgment of the kinid, 
therefore, Don Ferrante passed for an accomplifihed peri. 
patetic, although this was not ihe judgment he passed on 
himself, for, more dian once, he was heard to declare, vidi 
«ngular moJescy, that the essence, the universals, the and 
of the world, and the nature of things, were not matleii H 
clear as people thought. 

As to natural pliiloEOph^, he had made it more a pu- 
lirne than a stud; : he had rather read than digested lie 
works of Arislotle himself on the subject. Neverthele», 
with a slight acquaintance with that author, and the taw- 
ledge he had incidentally gathered from other trealisei rf 
general philosophy, he could, when necessary, eulertaintt | 
assembly of learned persons in reasoning most aculei; M 
the wonderful virtues and angular cbaracieristics of nul] 
plants. He could describe exactly the forms and hilaB 
of the syrens, and the phcenix, the only one of its hni; 
he could explain how it was that tlie saJamsuder lived il 
Jìre, how drops of dew became pearls in the shell, kn 
the chameleon lived un air, and a thousand other secrett^f 

He was, however, mu h mo ddi fed to the sCuilf tl 
magic and sorcery, as thi more in vogWi 

and withal more servtceahl d h f ts of which «at 
of pre-eminent imporian I cessary tu »U 

that, in devotion to such ce h h d no other pB. 

pose than to obtain an a k 1 Ige of the WMA 

artifices of the sorcerers, d gu d himself i^ilM 

them. Guided by the great Martino Deirto, he was lUt 
to discourse, ex prnf«K»o, on the enchantment of love, 'an 
enchantment of sleep, the enchantment of hatred, and <> 
the innumerable species of these three chief enchantmenli. 
which, alas ! are witnessed every day in their destmclin 
and baneful efifects. 

His knowledge of history, especially universal historfF 
was not less vast and solid. " But," said he often, " wWl 
is history without politics? a guide who conducts witboil 
teaching any one the way ; as politics without history, 
man without a goiie to conduct him." Here was " 
small place otiViBBhdt «aa\5n.e4\a ^«q^'ok* -, there, 






TBE BETROTHED. SSg 

others of the tecond rank, were seen Bodin, Cavalcanti, 

Sansovino, Psratflj and Boccahni. There were, however, 

two books that Don Ferratile preferred to all olhers on 

tìie eulyect ; two, which he called, for a long time, the 

, Srst of the kind, without deciding to which of the two 

, this rank exclusively belonged. One was II Principe and 

Ihe Discorsi of the celebrated secretary of Florence. " A 

^ MBCftl, 'tis true," said he, "but profound;" the Other, 

g , La Ragion dì Slato, of the not less celebrated GioTanni 

I bolero. " An honest man, "t is true," said he, " but cun- 

V Bing." But, a short time before the period to which our 

I history belongs, a work appeared which had terminated 

f tìie question of pre-eminence ; a work in which was com- 

p prised and condensed a relation of every vice, in order to 

4AMible men to avoid it, and every virtue, in order to enable 

men to practise it, — a book of few leaves, indeed, but all 

àf gold ; in a word, the Statista Regnante of JDon Valeriana 

Cattiglione ; of the celebrated man upon whom the most 

, learned men emulated each other in bestowing praises, and 

for whose notice the greatest personages contended ; whom 

Pope Urban VIII. honoured wiih a magnificent eulogium ; 

ivhom Cardinal Borghese and the Viceroy of Naples, Don 

I Pietro de Toledo, solicited to wrile, the first, (he life of 

I Pope Paul v., the second, (he wars of the Catholic king 

^ in Italy, and both in vain ; whom LonU XIII., King of 

^ France, with the advice of Cardinal Richelieu, named his 

J tistoriographer ; upon whom the Duke Carlos Fraanuel, of 

, -Bavey, conferred (he same office ; and in praise of whom 

P^ "the Duchess Christina, daughter to his mo?t Christian 

^. totgesly, Henry IV,, added in a diploma, after many 

, Bther titles, " the renown he had obtained in Italy as the 

^ first writer of the age." 

^, But if Don Ferrante might be said to be well versed in 
aH the above sciences, there was one in which he de- 
^ aerved, and really obtained, the title of professor, the 
• science of chivalry. He not only spoke of it as a master, 
^ but wai often requested to interfere in nice points of 
ri honour, and give his decision. He had in his library, and, 
JL we may add, in his head also, the works of the mo 
I^Mtoemed writers oa this subject, ^laHicQle.TV'] t<KQj>t 



toja^^ 



3W 1 

Tuao, whom lie h»U always ready ; and he could, if re- I 
^uire<l, cite from memory all (he passages of the Jeimalem ' 
Delivered, which might be brought forward aa aulhorily t 
in these matters. We might spvak more at large of ih» ' 
learned roan, but we feel it to be time to resume the thioil | 
of our liislory. ' 

Nothing of ijnpoTtance occurred to any of the persaniga [ 
of our story before the following autumn, when Agues ad I 
Lucy expecb-'d to meet again ; but a great public efeU I 
disappointed this hope. Other events followed, which 1 
produced no material change in their destiny. Then oc- I 
curred Dew misfortunes, powerful and OTerwhelniiiig i 
coming upon them like a hurricane, which impetUDuii; ) 
tears up and scatters every ol^ect in its way, sweepijj l g 
the land, and bearing off, witli its irresistible and migb^ I' 
power, every vestige of peace and prosperity. Thatlh i ^ 
partictdar facts which remain to be related may not appor . 
obaeure, we must recur for awhik to the farther recilal «f I , 
general facts. ~ 



^^~ CHAPTER XXVIII. 

After the famous snlition on St. Martin's day, it ma; be 
said that abundance flawed into Milan, as if by encfaanl. 
ment. The shops were well stored with bread, the pria 
of which was no higher than in tjie most fruitful yean; 
those who, on that terrible day, had howled through ih( 
streets, and committed every excess in their power, hid 
now reason to congratulate themselves. But, with the CM- 
sation of their alarm, they had not resumed their acc» 
tomed quiet ; on the squares, and in the inns, there wvt 
congratulations and boastings (although in an under lorn] 
St having hit on a mode of reducing the price of breiJ. 
However, in the midst of these popular rejoicings, ihew 
j'eigDed a vague aiipiehension and presentiment that dui 
Jl^^^^Si would be ol Aunt Hui&'aim. T^e^ beaie( 



341 

Dakere and vendorE of flour witli tlie ssme pertinacity 
luring the period of the former factitious and transient 
ibundance, produced by tlie first tariff of Antony Ferrer. 
He who had some pence hy him converted them immedi- 
itely into bread and flour, which was piled in chests, in 
imaJl casks, and even in vessels of earthen ware. In thus 
Utempting to extend the advantages of the moment, their 
long duration was rendered, I do not say impossible, for it 
iTBS so already ; but even their momentary continuanea' 
Jros became still more difiieult. 

On the fifteenth of November, Antony Ferrer, 
lAe order of his excellency, " published a decree in which !1 
WW3 forbidden to any one, having any quantity of grain 
lour in hta house, to purchase more ; and to the rest of 
leople to buy bread beyond that which was necessary 
:wo days, " under pecuniary and corporal penalties at ift* 
Uw^etian of kis excellency." The decree ordered the a». 
viani (officers of Justice), and invited every body, as a 
luty, to denounce tlie offenders ; it coratnanded the judges 
O cause search to be made in every house which might be 
nentioned to them, issuing at the same time a new com- 
Hand to the lial^ers to keep their shops well furnished widi 
[>read, " u/irfcr penalty of five years in the galleys, and Hill 
jrealer puniekment at the ditcretion of hit excellency." A 
preat effort of imagination would be required to believe 
that such orders were easy of execution. 

In commanding the bakers to make such a quantity of 
bread, means ought Co have been afforded for the supply of 
Ihe material of which it was to be made. In seasons of 
icarcity, there is always an endeavour lo make into bread 
rarious Idnds of aliment, which, under ordinary circum. 
itances, are consumed under other forms. In this way rice 
W9S introduced into the composition of a bread which was 
»Ued mistura.* On the 23d of November, there was a 
lecree issued, which placed at the order of the vicar and 
twelve members of provisiott the half of the rice that each 
possessed ; under penalty fur selling it without the permis- 
lion of those lords of the loss of the entire commodity, and 
^^of three crowns the bushel. 
t^ÈL «HUtan. 

L " 



1 



1 

ut *e I 



SI* 

Bui this rice had to be pkid for at a price very 
pOTtàoned to that of bread. The burden of sappljing 
enormous difièrence was imposed on the city : but 
council of ten reaolvcnl t« send a rem on stran ce to the go- 
vernor, nn the impouubility of sustaining such a tax ; bÌ)J 
the governor fised, by a decree of the 1 3th of December, ibe 
price of rice at twelve litres the bushel. It is alsoprobaUi, 
though nowhere expressly stated, that the maximum price 
for other sorts of grain was fixed by other proclatnsliiffli. 
^Vhilst, by these various measures, bread and fluur vat 
kept at a low price in Milan, it consequently happened tbii 
crowds of people rushed into the city to supply Uieir waiu. 
Don Gonzalo, to remedy tliia inconvenience, fbrbsile, bj 
anotlier decree of the 15lh of December, the carrying obI 
of the oily bread to the value of more than twenty penoei 
the penalty was a fine of " tvienty-five croutns, and in am 
of inabUitii, n publu- flogging, and greater pvniihmcnti iliB, 
tìt Ihe dincrel'On of hi» exeeUeney." 

The populace wished to procure abundance by pilljge 
and conflagration, the legal power wished to maiuiaiu it 
by tlie gatleja and the rope. Every method was resorted 
to to accomplish their purpose, but the reader will som 
learn the total failure of them all. It is, besides, easy to 
see, and not useless to observe, that these strange meus 
bad an intimate and necessary connection with each other; 
each was the inevitable consequence of the ptccedlng, and 
all, in fact, flowed from the first error, that of fixing upon 
bread a price so disproportioned to that which ought to 
have resulted from the real state of things. Such an ex- 
pedient, however, has always appeared to the populace Ml 
only conformable to equity, but very simple and easy o( j 
execution j it ia then very natural that in the agonies soil 
misery which are the necessary effects of scarcity, thej 
shoidd, if it be in their power, adopt it. But aa the con- 
sequences begin to be felt, tlie government is obliged U 
repair the evil by new laws, forbidding men to do thil 
which previous laws had recently prescribed to them. 

The principal fruits of the insurrection were these ; th» 
destnictiun or loss oE inu,c\v Y'^ovisioti in 
^u^ «nd the rapid conaum^ ^a ol 'Cqk 



343 

1 hand, which should otherwise have lasted 
le next harvest. To theee general effects may be 
the punUhment of four of lite popul&cc, who were 
I leaders of the sedition, two before the baker's shop 
crutches, and two at the corner of the stieet in 
a situated the house of the superi n ten dent of pro- 
historical rdatians of tliU epoch are lianded down 
little cleameEtt, that it is difficult to ascertain 
Ilia arbitrary tariff ceased. But we have nuraerous 
s of the situatioti of the country, and especially the 
the winter of that year and the following spring, 
y quarter shops were closed ; and the manufactories 
òr the most part, deserted ; the streets affiirded a 
spectacle of sorrow and desolation ; mendicants by 
on, now the smallest number, were confounded with 
w multitude, diapuliag for alms with those from 
they had formerly been accustomed to receive them ; 
ind servants, dismissed by the merchants and shop- 
I, hardly e\isting upon some scanty savings ; mer- 
and shopkeepers themselves failing and ruined by 
ippage of trade ; artificers wandering from door to 
ring along the pavement, by the houses and churches, 
Dg cliarity, and hesitating between want and shame, 
ted and feeble, reduced by long fasting, and the ri- 
if the cold whicli penetrated their tattered clothing ; 
ts, dismissed by their masters, who were incapable o£ 
lining their accustomed numerous and sumptuous 
ihments ; and the numerous dependents upon the 
of these various classes, old men, women, and chil- 
[rouped around iheir former supporters, or wandered 
ch of support elsewhere. 

aag the wretched crowds also might be distinguished, 
ir long ioch, by the remnants of tlieir magnificent 
I, by their carriage and gestures, and by the traces 
habit impresses on the countenance, many bravoet, 
having lost in the common misery their criminal 
of support, were reduced to an equality of suffering, 
i(h difficulty dragged themselves along the city thai 
b 10 often traversed with a ptoui aai ta^ictfi*» 

L ^: 



^44 THE tìETHIi'ril RU.' 

bearing, niagnificendy armed snd attired ; ihej n 
tended with humility the hand which they had 
«luenlly raised to wcnaee with insolence, or to Etiike mft 
treachery. 

But the most dense, livid, and hideous swann hi 
of the villagers. These were Been in entire families 
bands with their wives, tlraggitig along their little on», 
and supporting in their arms their wretched babies, whiln 
their own aged and helpless parents followed behinJ, 
flocked into the city in hopes of obtaining bread. Sontt, 
whose houses had been invaded and despoiled by the sol- 
diery, had fled in despair ; some, to excite eorapasiiaii, 
and render their misery more striking, showed the wi 
and bruises ihey had received in defending their ho 
«id others, whom this scourge had not reached, had 
driven, by the two scourges from which no c 
country was exempt, sterility and the consequenC iiicnu 
on the price of provisions, lo the city, as to the abode tf 
abundance and pious munificence. The new comers roi^ 
be recognised by their air of angry astonishment and 
appointment at linding such an excess of misery where thef 
had hoped to be themselves the peculiar objects of c«n- 
passion and benevolence. Here, too, might be recognised, 
in all their varieties of ra^ed habiliments, in (lie midst of 
the general wretchedness, the pale dweller of the marA' 
the bronzed countenance of the plain or hiU countrymiDr 
and the sanguine complexion of the mount 
however, alike in the hollow eye, ferocious or insane CDUD- 
tenance, knotted hair, long and matted beard, atCenoateJ 
body, shrivelled skin and hony breast, — all alike reducedw 
the lowest condition of languor, of infantine debility. 

Heaps of straw and stubble were seen along the vt^ 
and by the gutters, nhich appeared to be a particular pn- 
vision of charity for these unfortunate creatures; there thdir 
limbs reposed «luring the night ; and in the day they watj 
occupied by those who, exhausted by fatigue and aulfe " 
could no longer bear the weight of their emaciated ~ 
somedmes, upon the damp straw a dead body lay extern 
sometimes, the miaemWc a^aiV. of life was rekindled " 
^^^k tenemenl by tìmtì^ «iccoii liooi i^iaai.-cvj^; 



iho^l 



TSK BETROTBEO. ^^^ 

neans and in the disposition to do good, the hand of tbs 
hious Frederick. 

He had made choice of six priests of ardent charity and 
«bust constitution; and, dividing them into three com- 
laniea, assigned to ea<^h the third of the city as iheir charge; 
bey U'cre accompanied by porters, laden with food, cor- 
ials, and clothing. Each morning these trorthy messen- 
ers of benevolence passed through the streets, approached 
iiose whom they beheld stretched on the pavement, and 
ave to each their kindly assistance. Those nho 
1 to be benefited by temporal succour received from tl 
tie last offices of religion. 

Their assistance was not limited to present relief; (he 
|ood bishop requested them, wherever it was possible, to 
Urnifh more efficacious and permanent comfort, by giving 

those who should be in some measure restored to strength 
Honey for their future necessities, lest returning want 
bould again plunge them into wretchedness and misery; 
nd to obtain shelter for others who lay exposed in the 
treet in the neighbouring houses, by requesting their in- 
Bbitants to receive the poor afflicted ones as hoarders, whose 
Kpenses would he paid by the cardinal himself. 

Frederick had not waited for the evil to attain its height, 

1 order to exercise his benevolence, and to devote all the 
Dwers of bis mind towards its amehoration. By uniting 
I his means, by practising strict economy, by drawing 
pon the sums destined to otiier liberalities, and which 
bA now become of secondary importance, he endeavoured 
t amass money, in order to employ it entirely for those 
'bo were suffering from hunger and its consequences, He 
ought a quantity of grain, and sent it to the most dee- 
.tute parts of his diocese ; hut as tlie succour was far from 
dequale to the necessity, he sent with it a great quantity 
f salt, "with which," says Ripamonti*, relating the fact, 
' the herbs of the field and the leaves of trees were made 
ood for men." He distributed grain and money to the 
Orates of the city ; and he himself travelled over it, ad- 
liniBlering alms, and secretly aiding many indigent fa- 
lilies. In the episcopal palace, rice was boiled every day, 
ad dealt out lo the necessities of the people, ( 

■ aiitarli Patri», decul *, Ub. ^i- p. 386. 



1 

sufit- T 



S4,6 1BX BBTBOTIIEO. 

of 2000 nieiisureg. Besides these splendid efforts 
single indivkluBl, many other excellent persoDs, thougli' 
legs powerful means, Etrove to mitigate the horrible 
ings of the people: of these sufièrers, thousands atruggted 
to grsep the broth or other food provided at diiiereal qoir- 
ters, Bod thuB prolong for a day, at least, their miserable 
lives ; but thousands were still left behind in the slroggie, 
and these generally the weakestj — the aged woni«n tua 
children; am! these might be seen, dead and dying &« 
inanition, in every pan. But in the taidat of these aitali- 
ties Dot the least disposition 1« insurrection appeared. 

The void that mortality created each day in the misisabit 
multitude was each day more than replenished ; there WH 
a perpetual concourse, at first from the neighbouring nl- 
[ages, then from the more distant territories, and, fitiill}i 
from the Milanese cities. 

The ordinary spectacle of ordinary times, the contrast U 
magnificent apparel with rags, and of luxury with pov«n;, 
bad entirely disappeared. The nobility even wore coanc 
clothing; some, because the general misery had a^cteUihai 
fortune ; others, because they would not insult the wretii- 
edness of the people, or because tbey feared to provoke iti 
general despair by the display of luxury at such a time. 

Thus passed the winter and the spring ; already had ifc* 
Tribunal of Health remonstrated with the Tribunal it 
Provision on the danger to which such mass of miselj 
exposed the city. To prevent contagious disease^ » 
proposal was made to confine the vagabond beggan n 
the various hospitals. WhtlBt this project was undtf 
discuBBion, some approving and others condemning, dell 
bodies incumbered the streets. The Tribunal of Proviei<a, 
however, proposed another expedient as more easy ad 
expeditious, which was, to shut up all the mendicant), 
healthy or diseased, in the lazaretto, and to maintain tLol 
there at the expenae of the city. This measure waa t«- 
aolved upon, not withglan ding the remonstrances of Ut 
Tribunal of Health, who objected that, in so numerous a 
BGsemblage, the evil to which they wished to applj I 
Xemedy would be greatV-j tms^mented. 
^hSJK little order l^iat itÀ^neA. ui ^« V-i.^-t; 



<iv>4dj 



34T*| 

[uality of the food, ami the Htaniling water which wat 
Itank plentifully, booii created numerous maladies. ~ 
hese causes of mortality, so much the more active from 
iperating on bodies already exhausted or enrecbled, wu 
.dded the unfavourableness of the season ; obstinate rainsj 
oUowed by more obstinate drought, and violent heat. To 
hese physical evils were added others of a moral nature, 
sspair and wearisomcDess in captivity, desire for accus- 
9med habits, regret for clierished beings of whom these 
jifortunate beings had been deprived ; painful apprehen- 
ion for those who were living, and the continual dread of 
eatbj which had itself become a new and powerful cause 
£ Ùie extension of disease. It is not to be wondered at 
bat mortality increased in this species of prison to such a 
legree as to assume the appearance and deserve the name 
£ pestikiioe. The number of deaths in the lazaretto soon 
iinounled to a hundred daily. 

Whilst within these wretched walls, grief, fear, anguish, 
LSd rage prevailed, in the Tribunal of Provision, shame, 
tatonishment, and irresolution were equally apparent. 
They consulted, and now listened to the advice of the Tri- 
3unal of Health : finding they could do no better than to 
indo what they had done, at so much expense and trouble, 
hey opened the doors of the lazaretto, and released all who 
lere well enough to leave it. The dty was thus again 
tiled with its former cries, but feebler, and more inter- 
aiited ; the sick were transported to Santa Maria dell» 
IteUa, which was then the hospital for the poor, and th^ 
Teater part perished there. 

However, the fields began to yield the harvest 
lesired, and the troops of peasants left the city for thi 
ong prayed for and accustomed labours. The ingenioi 
]>d inexhaustible charity of the good Frederick still e: 
Ttedilself; hemade a present of a giulio* and a sickle 
Each peasant, who sohciled it at the palace. 

With a plentiful harvest, scarcity ceased to be felt; t 
nortality, however, continued, in a greater or less degreu 
iBtil the middle of autumn. It was on the point of ceaai 
BheB a new scourge overwhelmed the city and country. 
'~~~ a of high historical impoilaate \wi 

* AtOSo worth iboul Sd. 



Ì 



348 TSÈ'TOTHOfBKD. 

in this interval of lime. The Cardinal Richelieu, »f>a I 
Jiaviag taken RocheUe, and made a treaty of peare wilh ) 
England, had proposed, effected by his powerful inBueiife I 
in the coundls of the French king, that eilicaciaus ùd ) 
should be sent to tlie Duke of Nevers ; he had also per. | 
BUaded the king to lead the expedition in person. Whilst i 
the preparations were in progress, the Count of Nssaii, [ 
imperial commissary, suggested to the new duke in . ' 
Maulua the exjiediency of replacing his states in the hinds I " 
of Ferdinand ; intimating that, in case of refusal, an «mj * 
would be immediately sent by the emperor to otasff , 
them. Tlie duke, who in the most desperate circaDk 'T 
stances had rqecled so hard a condition, encouraged no* V 
by the promised succours from France, was determiilrf „ 
still longer to defend himself. The commisaary depansli 
declaring tliat force would soon decide the matter. 

In the month of Marcii, the Cardinal Richelieu mii ^ 
the king, at the head of an army, demanded a free paIE^l " 
from the Duke of Savoy ; he entered into treaties for tU 
purpose, but nothing was concluded. After a rencoaoW] 
in which the French obtained the advantage, a new WalJ ^ 
was entered into, in which the duke stipulated that D« J" 
Gonzalo de Cordova should raise the siege of Casale, ai- . .' 
gaging, in case of his refusal, to unite with the French, iai ?'■ 
invade the duchy of Milan. Don Gonzalo raised the uegc ^ 
of Casale, and a body of French troops entered it, to ra*- , 
force the garrison. The Cardinal Richelieu decided M 7^ 
return to France, on iHisiness which he regarded as moB 
urgent; but Girolamo Soranzo, envoy from Venice, oflirri -^ 
the most powerful reasons to divert him from this reso!* 
tion. To these the king and the cardinal paid no attenliMI T^ 
they returned with the greatest part of the army, ieiWf 5^ 
only 6000 men at Suza to occupy the passes and mainmi 
the treaty. * 

Whilst this army departed on one side, that of Fet. . 
dinand, commanded by the Count of Collato, advanced at ,. 
the other. It had invaded the country of the GrisOD^ ■ 
and the Valleliine, and was preparing to come down <• 
the Milanese. Besi&eB \^ Msa«.\. terrors which such U 
M^Rtation was ca\cvj.\aleà. Vo evcX»*:, 'Cn& Tit^«W. ■« 



such* , 



ght- 



:1iat the plegue lurked in the imperial army. Alessand^tg 
Tadino, one of the conservators of the public health, ■ 
barged by the tribunal to slate to the governor the fright- 
fui danger which threatened llie country, if tliis army 
)bould obtain the pasa which opened on Mantua. It 
)ears from all the actions of Gonzalo, that he yraa [ 
leased by a desire to occupy a great place in history ; b 
IB often happens, history has failed to register one of I 
nost remarkable acts, the answer hf returned to tliis Doo-'" 
or Tadino ; which was, " that he knew not what could 
>e done ; that reasons of interest and honour, which had 
nduced the march of the army, were of greater weight 
han the danger represented ; thai he would, however, en- 
leavour to act for the best, and that they must trust to 
frovidence." 

In order, then, to act for the best, their two physiciana 
proposed to the tribunal to forbid, under the most severe 
Knalty, the purchase of any articles of clothing from the 
Wldiers who were about to pass. As to Don Gonzalo, his 
reply to Doctor Tadino was one of his last acts at Milan, 
n the ill success of the war, which had been instigated and 
lirected by him, caused him to'be displaced in the course 
>f the summer. He was succeeded by Marquis Ambrosio 
{pinola, who had already acquired the military celebrity in 
he wars of Flanders which still endures. 

Meanwhile the German troops had received definite oe^ 
lere to march upon Mantua> and in the month o" 
ember they entered the duchy of Milan. 

At this epoch armies were composed, for the greatO) 
lart, of adventurers, eidisled by condottieri, who held thei] 
ommisaion from some prince, and who sometimes pursue ' 
be occupation on their own account, so as to be able t^l 
eJl themselves and followers together. Men were drawttV 
o this vocation much less by the pay which was assigned 
o them, than by the hope of pillage, and the charms o 
icence. There was no fixed or general iliscipline ; and *tM 
heir pay was very uncertain, the spoils of the i 
ivliich they over-ran were tacitly accorded to them by thei^l 
HNn manderà. 

It was a saying of tlie celebrated WiUenalràii, *.ta!.ìj 



S50 THE weraoTBEB. 

was easier lo maintain an army of 100,000 
one of 12,000, And this army of which w 
speaking was part of th»t which in the thirty 
hail iImoUwU all Germany ; it was comtnanded hy oncof 
Wellenstein'Blieutt.'nant$, anil consisted of SS.OOOmfnbr, 
and 7000 horse. Id desceniling from the ValteUiDU 
warils Milan, they had to coast along the Adiifl, 
place where it empties into the Po ; eight days' marcii 
the iluchy of Milan. 

A great proportion of the inhabitants retired to lit 
mouDlaina, carrying with them their most precious p* 
MBiiona ; some remained lo natch the vick, or to present 
their dwellings from the flames, or to watch the raloA 
property which they had buried or concealed; and odKB 
remained because they had nothing to lose, Wììea tì« 
first detachraeul arrived at the place where tliey were » 
halt, the soldiers scattered ihemEelves through the eonnlij, 
and subjected it at once to pillile ; all that could be lata 
or carried off disap])eared ; fields were destroyed, and (» 
tages burnt to the ground; every hiding-place, every o» 
ihod to vrhich people hqd reaorled, in their despair, fa 
the defence of their property, became useless, nay, flitei 
resulled in the peculiar injury of the proprietor. Striti 
search was made throughout every house by the soldienj 
they easily delected in the gardens tìie earth which W 
been newly dug; they penetrated the caverns in seanAoff 
the opulent inhabitants, who had taken refuge there, tM 
drawing them to their houses, forced them to dediR i 
where they had concealed their treasures. 

At last they departed ; their drums and trumpets m 
heard receding In the distance, and a temporary calm m 
ceeded to these hours of tumult and afliright; but, ali 
the sound of dnims was again heard, announcing the t- 
rival of another detachment, the soldiers of which, furi* 
at not finding booty, destroyed what the first work of Ì> 
Bolfltion had spared ; burned the furniture and the hoofl. 
and manifested the moat cruel and savage disposition » *** 
wards the inhabitants. This continued for a period J 
twenty days, the vmcj containing that number of d' ' 



Colico was the first territory of tlie duchy that theifeV 
Tuona invaded; they then threw themselves on BellanOyJ 
3m which they entered and spread themselves 
ilsassinaj whence they marched into the territory of Lecco* J 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

ERU!, among those who were expecting the arrival of iIib 
my in alarm and consternation, we find persona of our 
quaiutance. He who did not behold Don Abbondio on 
e day when the report was spread of the descent of the 
my, of its near approach, and its exceases, can have nO 
ea of the power of fright upon a feeble mind. All sorta 

reports were afloat. They are coining — thirty, forty, 
ty thousand men. They have sacked Cortenova ; burnt 
rimaluna ; plundered Introbbio, Pasturo, Barbio. They 
ive been seen at Balohbio ; to-morrow they will be here, 
ich were the statements in circulation. The viUagers 
«embled in tumultuous crowds, heaitating whether to 
' or reiaain, while the women lamented aloud over their 
Iserable fate. 

I>on Abbondio, to whom flight had immediately 
Bted itself, saw in it, nevertheless, invincible obstacle^ 
d frightful dangers. "What shall I do?" cried he; 
where shall I go?" The mountains, without speaking 

die difficulty of ascending them, were not safe ; the foot 
[diera climbed them like cats, if ihey had the slightest 
[lication or hope of booty ; the waters of the lake were 
'oUen ; it was blowing violently ; in addition to which, 
e greater part of the watermen, fearing to he forced to 
«B soldiers or baggage, had taken refuge with their boats 
I the opposite shore ; the few barks that remained were 
ready filled with people, and endangered by the weatb^ 

was impossible to find a carriage or horse, or any modi 
' conveyance. Don Abbondio did not dare 



1 



Wt 

H^K incurring, u he would, the probability of bdng stopped 
' -■aTibe Toad. The confines of the Bergamascan ietntarj 
ivere not bo disunt, but that be could have valked iboe 
in a little while ; but a report had reached the village, ihil 
a squadron of cappelietri had been sent in haste frotn Ber- 
gamo, to guard the frontiers Hgainpt the Gerroan fM^ 
soldiers. These were not less devils incarnate than those 
they were commisrioned to oppose. The poor man "U 
beside himself with terror; he endeavoured to concert ndi 
Terpetua some plan of escape, but Perpetua was quilt oc- 
cupied in collecting and concealing bis valuables ; widi ba 
hands full, she replied, " Let me place this in safetj; « 
will then do as other people do." Don Abbondio doiirf 
eagerly to discusa with her tlie best means to be purauoi, 
but Perpetua, between hurry and fright, was less traete 
than usual: " Others will do the best they can," saidd^ 
" and so will we. Excuse me, but you only hinder «s 
Do you not think they have skins to save as well asm?' 
Relieving herself thus from his importunities, die wM 
on with her occupation ; the poor man, as a last Teaomti, 
went to a window, and cried, in a piteous tone, W lb 
people who were passing, " Do your poor curate the ftwo 
to bring him a horse or a mule ; is it possible no one ini 
come lo help me ? Wail for me at least ; wait till I m " 
go with you; abandon me not. Would you leave mei 
the power of these dogs ? Know you not that ihej m 
Lutherans, and thnt the murder of a priest will seem W 
them a meritorious deed F Would you leave me bew I^Jj 
be martyred?" 

But to whom did be address this appeal? t 
were themselves incumbered with the weight of their h 
ble movables, or, disturbed by the thoughts of rnbal it) 
had been obliged to leave behind, exposed to the nng 
of the destroyer. One drove his cow before him ; 
conducted his children, who nere also laden with burA 
his wife perhaps with an infant in her arms. Some w 
on their way without replying or looking a ' ' 
merely said, " Eh, sir, do as you can ; you 
in Ijavitig no family to think of j help yourself; 



"Oh, poor me!" cried Don Abbondio, " oh, whtt 
vages ! tiiej have no feeling ; they give not a thought 
I their poor curate !" And he went agsui in search of 
erpetua. 

" Oh, you are come just in time," said she, " where il 
lar money ?" 

" iVllat shall we do with it ? " 

" Give it to me ; I will bury it in the garden with lie 
eM." 

" But " 

" But, but, give it to me ; keep a few pence for nece». 
y, and let me manage the rest." 

Sun Abbondio obeyed, and drawing hie treasure from 
» strong box, gave it to Perpetua. " I will bury it lb 
e garden, at the foot of the lig-tree," «aid she, aa she 
Bappeared. She returned in a few moraents, with a largt 
Mket, full of provisions, and a small one, which wn 
oply ; into the latter she put a few ariiclee of clolhinj; 
X herself and master. 

" You must take your breviary with you," said she. 

" But where are we going f " 

" Where every one else goes. We will go into the 
tIEet, and then we shall hear and see what we must do." 

At this moment Agnes entered with a small busket in 
a: band, and with the air of one about to make an itn- 
srtant proposal. 

Bhe had decided not to wait the approach of the dan- 
lawu guests, alone aa she was, and with the gold of the 
nknown in her possession ; but had remained siime time 
I doubt where to seek an asylum. The residue of the 
vwna, which in time of famine would have been so great 
treasure, was now the principal cause of her anxiety and 
■Solution ; as, under the present circumstances, thoa# 
%B had money were worse off than others ; being ex- 
Med at tlie same time to the violence of strangers, and ' 
* treachery of their companions. It is true, none knew 
the wealth which had thus, as it were, fallen to her 
Ol»! heaven, except Don Abbondio, to whom she had 
WM applied to change a ci 



i: 



ipplied to change a crown, leaving him always si 
for those more unfortunate tbaw \teTuil. 



SSi t 

hidden property, above all, to thoae not accustomed to %aà 
a poweBsion, keeps tbe pOGSesaor in continual gnipiciw of 
otheiB. Now, whilst she reflected on the peculiar dmgeti 
to which «he was ekposed, by the very generosilj it«lf of 
the Uuknovm, the oSer of unlimited service, wtóch htJ 
accompanied the gift, suddenly occurred to her recoUectioiL 
She reineoiibered ihe deseriptiDaE she had heard o! hU 
castle, as situated in a high pisce, where, without the «iti- 
currence of the master, none dared venture but the trjidi 
of heaven. Resolving to go thither, and reflecting on ll« 
means of making herself known to this signor, her ibouglilt 
recurred lo Uon Abbondio, who, since the convenaliU 
with the archbishop, had been very particular in bÌ5 ti- 
preseion of p;oi}d feeling towards her, as he coukl al pit 
sent be, without compromising himself, there beiog ta 
litde probability, from the situation of affairs, thai I» 
benevolence would he put to Ihe test. Slie naturally a^ 
poaed, that in a time of such coostemation, the poor nB 
would be more alarmed than herself, and miglit ae^jfoM 
in her plan ; this was, therefore, the purpose of ha nik 
Finding him alone wilh Perpetua, she made known it 
intentions. 

" What do you say to it. Perpetua ? " asked Don Ab- 
bondio. , 

" 1 say that it is an inspiration from Heaven, ai 
we muBt lose no time, and set off immediately." 

" But then " 

" But then, but then ; when we have arrived 
there, we shall be very glad, that's all. It is well 
that this signor thinks of nothing now but doing 
others, and he will afford us an asylum wiili the i 
pleasure. There, on the frontiers, and almost in I 
the soldiers will not trouble us. But then — but then, 
shall have enough to eat, no doubl. On the top «I 
mountains, the provisions we have here with us wouM! 
serve us long," 

" la it true that he is really converted 

" Can you doubt it, after all you have 
- -".-intX tf, after all, we should be voluntarily 
■ oiisoui" 




355 

" Wliat 'prison ? ^Viih this trifling, excuse m 
laU never come to any conclusion. Worthy Agnes ! jour 
Iftn is an eKcellcnt one." So saying, she pkced the basket 
t the table, and having passed her arms through the straps, 
mug it over her shoulders. 

" Could we not procure," said Don Abbondio, " som» 
;»n to accompany us ? Should we encounter some ruK 
RI on the way, what assistance would you be to me?" 

*' Not done yet ! always losing time !" cried Perpetua. 
Go then, and look for a man, and you will find every 
le engaged in his own business, I warrant you. Come;- 
fee your breviary, and your hat, and let us be off." 

Don Abbondio was obliged to obey, and they departed: 
hey passed through a small door into the churchyardi 
trpetua closed it from custom ; not for the security it 
inld now give. Don Abbondio cast a took towards the 
hireli, — " It is for tlie people to guard it," thought he ; 
■H is their church : let them see to it, if they have thè 
Itrt." They took the by-paths through the fields, but 
tSK in continual apprehension of encountering some one^ 
pho might arrest iheir progress. They met no one, hoV- 
TCr; all were employed, either in guarding their houses, 
t packing their furniture, or travelling, with their move» 
ticE, towards the mountains. 

'Don Abbonilic), after many sighs and interjections, 
fgan to grumble aloud : he complained of the Duke of 
feversj who could have remained to enjoy himself in 
^ance, had he not been determined to be Duke of 
Fantua, in despite of all the world ; of the emperor, and 
»Ove all, of the governor, whose duty it was to keep ihii 
sourge from the country, and not invoke it by his taste 
►r war. 

" L«t these people l>e, they cannot help us now," said 
*T>eIua. " These are your usual chatterings, e 
%ich mean nothing. That which gives me the 
Mineas " 

" AVliBtisit?" 

I'erpetua, who had been leisurely recalling to mind tho ' 
'itigs which she had so hastily concealed, remembered 
'^t she had forgotten such an articLe, and Vii4 tvWt salA^ 



1 



1 

the w- T 
hU life 



356 THE BflTBOTaO). 

tlepositnl such anolher ; that she had left 
might impart uifaimition to the depredatore. 

" Well done !" etied Don Abbondio, in whom the 
curìty he was beginning to feel with regard to hit life 
allowed hie anxiety to appear for hia property j " *dl 
done ! la ihia what you have lieen doing ? Where woe 
your brains f" I 

" How!" replied Perpetua, stopping for a momeni, 
and attempting, as far as her load would permit. Id jhw 
her unna a-klmbo ; " do you find fault, when it nas f<■ll^ 
t;elf who teased tne out of ray wits, instead of helping oil 
as you ought to have done ? I have thought more of mj 
manter'a goods than my own ; and if there is any thing l«r 
I can't help it, I have done more than my duty." 

Agnes interrupted these dispuiea by introducing beron 
troublea : she was obliged to relinquish the hope of k«ó| 
her dear Lucy, for aorae time at least; for she could D* 
expect that Donna Prai^seile would come into this vifli^ 
under such circumstances. The sight of the well-retw* 
bered places through which they were passing inctalé 
the anguish of her feelings. Leaving the fields, they li' 
taken tbe high road, llie same which the poor iv(>nian id 
travelled, in re* con due ling, fur so short a time, her daugbW 
to her home, after having been with her at d 
As they approached the village, " Let us go and 
-worthy people," said Agnes. 

" And rest a little, and eat a mouthful," said PerpeW 
" for I begin to have enough of this Ijasket." J: 

" On condition that we lose no time, for this 
any means a journey ioi amusement," said Don .Abbtiuil 
They were received with open arms, and cordially *A 
corned ; Agnes, embracing the good hostess, wept bitlerif 
replying with sobs to the questions her husband and i 
asked concerning Lucy. 

" She is better off than we are," said Don Abl 
" she is at Milan, sheltered from danger, for from 
horrible scenes." 

" The signor curate and his companions are fugili' 
ue they Dot?" luti. the tuilor. 



kpi 



" Yea," replied, at Ihe sHme time. Perpetua and her 

" I Bympathise with your misror tunes." 

" We are going to the castle of " 

" That is well thought of; you will be as safe as in 
arati) se." 

" And are you not afraid here?" 

" We are too much off the road. If ilipy should turn 
It of tlieir way, we shall be warned in time." 

The three travellers decided to take a few hours' rest: m 
was the hour of dinner, " Do me the honour," said the 
llor, " to partake of my humble fare." 

Perpetua said she had provisions enough in her basket 
berevtith to break her fast; after a little ceremony, how~ 
■er, OR both sides, they agreed to seat themselves at the 
inner table. 

The children had joyfully surrounded their old friend 
J^nes ; the tailor ordereil one of them to roast some early 
leatnuts ; " and you," said he to another, " go to the 
Uden, and bring some peaches ; all that are ripe. And 
Im," to » third, " cUmb the fig-tree, and gather the best 
gl ; it is a business to which you are well accustomed." 
H for himself, he left the room to tap a small cask of 
'ine, while his wife went in search of a table.cloth. All 
ling prepared, they sealed themselves at the friendly 
tard, if not with unmingled joy, at least with much motV * 
tìrfiaction than they eould have anticipated from the eventé' 
' the morning. 

, " What does the signor curate say to the disasters of 
bee? I can fancy I'm reading the history of tlie Moorf 
) Prance," said the tailor. 

I " What do I say ? That even that misfortune mighÉ' 
tre befallen me," replied Don Abbondio. 
I ** You have chosen an excellent asylum, however ; 
bne can ascend those heights without the consent of thft 
Usler. You will find a numerous company there. Many' 
eople have already fled thither, and there are fresh arri 
•laj day," 

' 1 t^iav to hope we shall be well received. I know this' 






S5S VWi WtUOTBKT*. 

worthy BÌgnoT r vhen I htd tbe honour U> be in hi: cm 
pan; he was ftU politenesa." 

" Anil," Mill Agnes, " he sent me word by his Uluitrio 
lordship, Ihit if ever 1 ehould need aasistance, I badar 
apply to him." 

M'hat a wonderfid conversion !" resumed D«i A 

io, " And he perseveres? does he noi persewrei 

L The tailor spoke ar length of the holy life of ihe T 

anù said, that after having been llie Bcoiuge 

itry, he had become its best example snJ beo 

"And the people of his houEehold — that band,' 
asked Don Abbondio, who had heard some contradicM 
Mories concerning ihem, and did not feel, tliereforc, (jii 
■(ecure. 

The greater part have left him," replied the liUi 
'f' and those who have remained have changed their nu 
of Ufe ; in short, this castle has became like tbe Tb 
j^iil. The signor curate ittsdcrslands me." 

Then retracing with Agnes the visit of the Mnli» 
What a );reat man !" said he, " a great man, iodtn 
pity bt remained BO short a time with us! I wiih 
do him honour. Oh, if I had only been able to »ddB 

again, more at my leisure !" 
When they rose from table, he showed them an etigil 
of the cardinal, which he htul hung on the door, ÙI 
eration to his virtues, and also to enable him to aM 
'kvery body that it was no likeness ; he knew it waa H 
'ts he had regarde<l him closely at his leisure in this n 

" Did they mean that for bim ? " said Agnes. " 
habit is the same, but " ' 

" It is no bkeness, is it ? " said the tailor ; " (luti 
what I always say, but other things being wanting, ttll 
is at least his name under it, which tells who it is." ' 

Don Abbondio being impatient to be gone, the uHl 
went in search of a vehicle to carry the little companfl 
the foot of the ascent, and returned in a few momcnttt 
inform them it was tesdy, " Signor curate," said he, !Jj 

U wish a iew tooUa \» casrj ^VCsi -^oa,l ci 



Kwisa a lew naaM 



me; for I amuse my eelf sometimes with reading. Thef 1 
e not like yours, to be sine, being in the vulgar tongue. 



1 

h re^ni 



" A tiiDusand thanks, but under present c 
have scarcely brains enough to read my breviary." 

Altet an exchange of thanks, invitations, and proraise^ 1 
ley bade farewell, and pursued, with it little in< 
oillity of mind, the remainder of their journey. 

The tailor had told Dun Abbondio the truth, with r 
ard to the new life of the Unknown. From the day that 
■e took our leave of Idtn, he had continueil to put in prac- 
ce his good intentions, by repairing injuries, reconciling 
imself with his enemies, and succouring the distressed 
aà unfortunate. The courage he had formerly evinced 
a attack and defence lie now employed in avoiding all 
iCcseion both for the one and the other. He went un- 
Kmed and alone ; disposed to suffer the possible conss' 
[Dences of the violences he had committed ; persuaded 
llat it would be adiling to his crimes to employ any me- 
bods of defence for himself, as he was a debtor to all the 
(arid ; and persuaded also, that though the tv'il done t» i 
Un would be sin against God, it would be but a joata 
etribution against himself; and that he had left himsdIV 
o right to revenge an injury, however unprovoked it might'V 
e at the time. But he was not less inviolable than whartB 
le bore arms to insure tua safety ; the recollection of hfiM 
Etrmer ferocity, and the contrast of his present gentleneoqH 
he former exciting a desire of revenge, and the lattai 
etulering this revenge so easy, conspired to subdue hatre«I^H 
ad, in its place, to substitute an admiration which servqSH 
iim as a safeguard. The man whom no one coidd huRvS 
lie, but wbo liad humbled himself, was regarded with tl^9 
leepest veneration. Those whom he had wronged haqfl 
obtained, beyond their hopes, and without incurring anyfl 
Janger, a satisfaction which they could never have pr»4 
Bused tlremselves from the moat complete revenge, tflff^ 
latisfaction of seeing him repent of his wrongs, and parU-fV 
dpate, so to speak, in their indignation. In his voluniaijU 
ibsaemepl, his «ounieuanGe and nuumer had in|iiiriiiHJ 



THB BKTROTHES. 



I 



witboul bia own knowledge, eo&ieihuig elevated and 
his outwud demeanour vaa bb daunlJees a 
This change, also, in addition to other 
him from public Tetributioii at the instigatian of those 
authority. Hia rank and family, which bad always been 
a speciea of defence to him, still prevailed in his bama; 
and lo hii name, already famoua, waa joined the penonil 
esteem which was now due to him. The magistrati^ imi 
nobilit}' had rejoiced at his converaion, as well u ik 
I>eopte; a9 this converuon produced compensations thil 
they were neither accuEtomed to ask nor obtain. Probi- 
bly, also, the name of the Cardinal Frederick, whose it- 
terest in hia canver«ion, and subsequent friendsMp It 
him, were well known, served him as an impeneinUc 

Upon the arrival of the German troops, when fugitiia 
from the invaded countricE Sed to the caatle, delated 
that his walls, so long the object of dread and execniiai 
to the feeble, should now be regarded as a place of «MBiiljl 
and protection, the Unknown received ihem rather ini 
gratitude than polileneiiK. He caused it to be made 
that his doors would be open to all, and employed hi» 
self immediately in placing not only the castle but tbl 
valley beneath in a state of defence : assetnbling'the to- 
vants who had remained with him, he addressed iheniu 
the opportunity Gud had aSiirded them, aa well as himscIC 
(o serve thoee whom they bad so frequently oppressed 
terriiied. With his ohi accent of command, expt«Esùi| 
the certainty of being obeyed, be gave them general onltn. 
as to their deportment, so that those who should 1 
refuge with him mi^bt behold in them only defenders 
friends. He gave their arms to them again, of whi4 
they ha<l been deprived ; as also to the peasants of til 
Talley, who were willing to engage 
named officers, and appointed to them their duty and ÙuìI 
different stationa, as he had been accustomed to do in hi 
former criminal life. He himself, however, whetlier froa 
principle, or that he had made a vow to that effect, i» 
mwn^ UDfttmed at the head of his garrison. 



I lemporary dormitories. ITe ordered abundant 
irovisions to be brought to the castle fur the use of the 
^«stH God should send him ; and in tile mean while be 
. faimsdf never idle, visiting every [>ost, examining 
«cry defence, and maintaining the must perfect order by 
"■ autbority and hia presence, " 






CHAPTER XXX. 



Am out fugitives approached the valley, thej 
Wf many companions in misfortune, who i 
ftme errand to the caEtle with theniEelves ; under Rimilw 
Biicum stances of distreea and anguish, intimacies are soon 
Eutured, and they listened to the relation of each other's 
|K9Ì1 with mutual interest and sympathy ; some had fled, 
ike the curate and our females, without waiting the arrival 
t£ the troops ; others had actually seen them, and could 
lescribe, in lively colours, tlieir savage and horrible ap< 
war a nee. 

" We are fortunate, indeed," said AgncB ; *' let im thani 
leaven. We may lose our property, but at least out Uvea 
te tate." 

But Don Abbondio could not see so much reason for 
angratulation ; the groat concouree of people suggested 
lew causes of alarm. " Oh," murmured he to the 
bmales when no one was near enough to hear him ; " oh. 
Io you not perceive that by assemhling here in such crowds 
ne shall attract the notice of the soldiery ? As every one 
Siea and no one remains at home, they will believe that 
nir treasures aie up here, and this heUef will lead them 
hither. Oh, pour me! why was 1 so thoughtless as to 

, "What should they come here for? "said Perpetua, 
jUuir are obliged lu pursue their route ; and, at all 



tha^ 



evenU, where there is danger, il is best to have plen^ 
Gompany." 

" Company, company, aiily woman ! don't yon i 
that every langqnenei could devout a hundred of thi 
and iheD, if any of them should commit some foolisb vi 
lence, it would he a fine thing to find oiuselveB in ihi 
midst of a battle ! It would have been better l 
gone (o the mountains. I don't see why tbev have all brai 
aeJKedwith a mania to go to one place. Curse the peoplt! 
all here ; one after the other, Uke s frightened Sak of 

" A» to that," «aid Agnes, " they may Bay the >ue 

of us." 

" Hush, hush ! it is of no use to talk," said Son AK 
bondio; " that which is done, i* done: we are herf, wi 
here we must remain. May Heaven protect lut !" 

But his anxiety was much increased by the n|ipeiTliitc 
oF a number of armed men at the entrance of the t»Hej. 
It is impossible to describe bis vexation and alarm. ''Ok. 
poor me!" thought he; "I might bave expected ttt 
from a man of his character. What does be mean to do' 
Will he declare war ? Will he act the part of a sow- 
reign? Oh, poor me! poor me! In this terrible c#- 
juncture he ought to have concealed himself as much V 
possible; and, beholdj he seeks every method to imb 
himself known. It is easy to be seen he ivants to provoti 

" Do you not see, sir," said Perpetua, " that these » 
brave men who are able to defend us ? Let the soliiiffl 
come ; these men are not at ali like oor poor devils of p» 
Bants, who are good for nothing but to use their legs." 

" Be quiet," replied Don Abbondio, in a low but altpj 
tone, "be quiet; you know not what you say. Pf«! 
Heaven that the army may be in haste to proceed on i* 
march, so that they may not gain Information of this piMI 
t>eing iligposed like a garrison. They would ask for m- 
thing better ; an assault is mere play to thejn, and piitStf 
everyone to the sword like going to a wedding. Ob, 
poor me ! jierhaps I can secure a place of safety tai a 



ttlc I v^l 

— "return^H 
pted her- ^^M 



these precipices. 1 will never be taken in battle 
never be [alien in battle ! I never will !" 

" If you «re even afraid of being defended- 
Perpetua ; but Don Abbondio sharply interrupted her. 

"Be quiet, anil take care not lo relate this 
Remember you must always keep a pleasant countenance 
here, and appear Co approve all that you see." 

At Malanotte ihey found another company of armed 
men. Don Abbondio took off his hat and bowed pro- 
foundly, EBying Co himself, " Alas, alss ! I am really in 
S camp. ' They here quitted the carriage to ascend the 
pass on foot, tJie curate having in haste paid and dismissed 
the driver. The recollection of hia former terrors in this 
very place increased hia present forebodings of evil, by 
mingling themselves with his reflections, and enfeebling 
more and more his uuders lauding. Agnes, who had never 
before trod this path, but who had often pictured it to her 
ima^nation, was filled with different but keenly painful 
leinembrances. " Oh, signor curate," cried she, " when 
I think how my poor Lucy passed this very road." 

" Will you be quiet, foolish woman?" cried Don Ab- 
bondio in her ear. " Are these things to speak of in this 
place? Are you ignorant that we are on his lands? It 
is fortunate no one heard you. If you speak in this 
manner " 

" Oh," said Agnes, " now that he is a saint ■■ .. " 

" Be quiet," repealed Don Abbondio: '■ think you we 
can tell the saints ail that passes through our brains? 
Think rather of thanking him for the kindness he has 
done you." 

" Oh, as to that I have already thought of it; do you 
think 1 have no manners, no politeness >" 

" Pohteness, my good woman, does not consist in tell- 
ing people things they don't like to hear. Have a little 
discretion, I pray you. Weigh well your words, speak but 
little, and that only when it ia indispensabte. There is no 
danger in silence, " 

" You do much worse witii all your " bepan Per- 

But " Hush," said Don Abbondio, and, uliing off 
t, he bowed profoundly. The Unknovra"«at >k«mo% 



38l : 

to mecl iheni, h&Ting rea^inised die curate «pproaching. 
" I coul<l have wished," said he, " to oStr you my boun 
on II more ^reeable occbiìod ; but, under any drenili* 
sUnces, t e«teem rayself happy in serving you." 

" Confiding in the great kindness of ;our ilinstiiMU 
lordihlp, I have taken the liberty to trouble you *t iliii 
unhappy linie ; anil, an your illustrious lordship sect, 1 
have aJao taken the Uberty to bring company with me. 
ThiB ia my housekeeper " [ 

" She ia very wekome." i 

" And this is a female to whom your lordship hu if- 
ready remlered great benefits. The mother of — of——" J 

" Of Lucy," said Agnci. 

" Of Lucy ! ■' cried the Unknown, turning to Agna; | 
" rendered benefits ! I ! Just Go^l ■' It is you wlM 
render benefits lo me by coming hither; to nie — todii I 
dwelling. You are very welcome. You bring with JK I 
the blesBiiig of Heaven I" I 

" Oh, I come rather to give you trouble." Approadi. 3 
ing him nearer, slie said, in a low voice, " I have to think 1 
you ■■ 1 

The Unknown interrupted her, asking with much in- I 
terest concerning Lucy. He then conducted his newgue» 
to the castle. Agnes looked at the curate, as if to nj, i 
" See if there is any need of your interfering between nl I 
with your advice." I 

" Has the army arrived in your parish P " said the Vn. | 
known to Don Abbondio. 

" No, my lord, I would not wail for the demons, Hm- 
vcn knows if 1 should have escaped alive from their handE, 
and been able to trouble your iUusiriuus lord^p !" 

" Yon may be quite at ease; you are now in aafetj; 
they will not come here. If the whim should »eÌM ihent, 
we are ready to receive them." 

" Let us hope they will not come," said Don Abbondio 
" And on tliat aide," added he, pointing to the opposiU 
mountains, " oti that side, also, wanders anotlier bodytf 

troops; but — but " 

Uue. But, daubt not, we ate teady £» -tl 



re- I 
put ■ 



36ff1 

^^__ ) flres ! " thought Don Abbondio, " pre» ^ 

«■dy between two fiiea ! Where have I suffered rayedf 
to be led P And by two women ! And this lord appears to 
delight in Bucb business ! Oh, what people there are in 
the world ! " 

When they entered the castle, the Unknown order» 
Agnes and Perpetua to be conducted to a 
quarter assigned to the wotnen, which was three of tl 
four wings of the second court, in the most retired part < 
of the edifice. The men were accommodated in the wings 
of the other court to the right and left ; the body of the 
building was filled, partly with provisions, and pardy with 
the effects that the refugees brought widi them. In the 
quarter devoted to the men wna a small apartment 
destined to the ecclesiastics who miglit arrive. The Un^ 
known accompanied Don Abbondio thither, who was the 
first to talte possession of it. 

Our fugitives remained tliree or four and twenty days 
in the casde, in the midst of continual bustle and alarm. 
Not a day passed without some reports ; at each account, 
the Unknown, unarmed as he was, led his band beyond 
the precincts of the valley to ascertain the extent of the 
peril ; it was a singular thing, indeed, to behold bim, 
-without any personal defence, conducting a body of armed 
men. 

Not to encroach too far on the benevolence of the Un- 
known, Agnes and Perpetua employed themselves in per- 
forming services in the household. These occupations, 
with occasional conversations with the acquaintances they 
b&d formed at the castle, enabled tlietn to pass away the 
time with leas weariness. Poor Don Abbondio, who had 
nothing to do, was notwithstanding prevented from be- 
coming listless and inactive by bis fears : as to the dread 
of an attack, it was in some measure dissipated, but still 
the idea of the surrounding country, occupied on every 
side by soldiers, and of the numerous consequences which 
might at any moment result from such a state, kept him 
in perpetual alarm. 

AU the time he remained in tliis asylum he never 
'it of going beyond the defences ■, \iia ci\A'i -«^Sf^^s. 



^M)t' 



on the espUnade ; he surveyed every wde of ll 
obcerving attentively the bollows and precipiFcs, to axixt- 
tÙD if there were any practicable passage by which he 
might seek eacape in ease of imminent danger, Every 
day there were variaus reporte of the march of the wl- 
iliers ; come newsmongers by profeBsion gatheretl greedily 
all these reports, and sprexd them among their ci 
nions. Oil such a day, such a regiraent arriTed in i 
territory ; the next day they would ravage such another, ' 
where, in the mean liine, another detachment bsd lieei ' 
plundering before them. An account was kept of ihe 
regiments that passed ihe bridge of Lecco, as thej wit '■ 
then considered fairly out of the country. The ravibj 
of Wallenstein passed, then the infantry of Mamdoi, 
then the cavalry of Anzalt, then the infantry of Branileii- 
burgh, and, finally, that of GalaEso. The flying squt. 
dron of Venetians also removeJ, and the country was agni • 
free from invarlers. Already the ìnhabilants of the dif. * 
ferent villages had begun to quit tlie castle ; some depntij fa 
every day, as after an autumn storm ^le birds of beaiTS M 
leave the leafy branches of a great tree, under wh«tt I ^é 
shelter they had sought and obtained protection. Owl '^ 
three friends were the last to depart, as Don Abbandi«| ia.: 
feared, if he returned so soon to his house, to find thml '" 
some loitering soldiers. Perpetua in vain repeated, ibdl ^^ 
the longer they delayed, the greater opportunity thej' "■" 
afforded to the thieves of the countr)' to take possesEion of ^ 
all Chat might have been left by the spoilers. 

On the day fixed for their departure, the Unknown hit "'^ 
a carriage ready at Malanotte, and, taking Agnes aside. 111 >** 
made her accept a bag of crowns, to repair the damigt ^" 
she would find at home ; although she protested she «■ U< 
in no need of them, having still some of those he h*j "l* 
formerly sent her. 'ei 

" When you see your good Lucy," s^d he, " (I am 0B^ ""d 
tain that she prays for me, as I have done her much evili) ''">' 
tell her that I thank her, and that I trust in God that h« »" s 
prayer will return in blessings on herself." 

They finally ie^ftTtsi ■, y,t\e^ stopped tor a few i 
ja^i at the hoMc oi f 



1 



lelationE of this terrible marcii, — the usual story of 
lence and plundi^r. The tailor'x family, however, had re- 
maìned unmoleEted, as the army did not pass that nay. 

" Ah, Bignor curate !" said the tailor, as he was bid- 
ding him farewell, " here is a fine subject Co appear in 

After ]i&ving proceeded a short distance, our travellers 
beheld melanchuty traces uf the destruction they had 
beard related. Vineyards despoiled, not by the vintager, 
but as if by a tempest ; vines trampled under foot ; trees 
wounded and lopped of their branches ; hedges destroyed ; 
in the villages, doors broken open, window-frames dashed 
in, and streets fiUed with difftrent articles of furniture 
and clothing, broken and torn to pieces. In the midst of 
lamentatianB and tears, the peasants were occupied in 
repairing, as well as they could, the damage done ; while 
Others, overcome by iheir miseries, remained in a state of 
tilent despair. Having passed through these scenes of 
complicated woe, they at last succeeded in reaching their 
ovia dwellings, where they witnessed the same destruction. 
Agnes immediately occupied herself in reducing to oriler 
the little furniture that was left her, and in repairing the 
damage done to her doors and windows; but she did not 
forget to count over in secret her crowns, thanking God in 
her heart, and her generous benefactor, liat in the general 
overthrow of order and safety she at least had fallen on 
her feet. 

Don Abbondio and Perpetua entered their house with- 
out being obliged to have recourse to keys. In addition 
to the miserable destruction of all their furniture, whose 
TSiiooB fragments impeded their entrance, the most horri- 
ble odours for a lime drove them back ; and when these 
obstacles were at last surmounied, and the rooms were en- 
tered, they found iniUgnity added to mischief. Frightful 
and grotesque figures of priests, with tlieir square caps and 
I bands, were drawn with pieces of coal upon the walls in 
I all sorts of ridiculous attituileG. 

" Ab, the hogs !" cried I'erpetua. — " Ah, the thieves !" 

E ed Uon Abbondio. Hastening into the garden, 
proached the fig-tree, and beVieVi Ù\e e».tÙi-QC«Vi 



I 



I 



3 fig TBB BBntCrTHBn. 

turimi up> and, to their utter dìemay, the ti 
opciieil, unii the dead was gone. Don Abboni)! 
Periietua for her bad raanagement, who wss no 
repelling his («mpUints. Both pointing backwar 
unlucVy hiding place, at length returned to the iii 
Bet about endeavouring lo puriTy it of some of 
laulaied filih, as at such a Unie it was impossible t 
assUtance for the purpose. With money lent 
Agnes, they were in some measure enabled to repi 
articles of furniture. 

For some time this disaster wa 
tlisputca between l'er|ietUB and her master ; th 
having discovered that some of The property, wt 
supposed to lutve been taken by the soldi 
ill possesnion of certain people of the viUi^e, she ti 
him itiMSMiitly to claim it. There could not h 
touchi^d a chord more hateful to Don Abbondio, i 
property was in the hands of that clSiSe of pen 
whom he had it most at heart to live in peac«. 

" But 1 don't wish to know these thinge, 
■' How many times must 1 tell you that wluM 
pened has } Must 1 get myself into trouble t^jfl 
my house has been robbe<l?" ^H 

" You would Bufier your eyes to be ptill«^M 
head, I verily believe," said Perpetua ; " otheis 
be robbed, but you, you seem to like it," 

" This is pretty language to hold, indeed I WU 

PerpelUB kept silence, but continually found i 
texts for resuming the conversation ; so that the p 
was obliged to suppress every coroplai 
such or such a thing, as she would say, 
at such a person's house, who has it, ai 
have kept it until now if he bsd not kno 
man he had to deal with." 

But here we will leave poor Don Abbondio, 
imporlant things to speak of tlian his fears, or tìt 
of a few villagers from a transient disaster like tlii 



at the 

Go JBI 



r 



CHAPTEK XXXI. 



ÌE pestilence, a» ihe Tribunal of Healtli had feared, 
1 enter the Milknese nith tile German troops. It is alM 
«wn that ic was noi limiled to that territory, but thrt 
spread over and desolated a great part of Italy. Onl 
nj requires us, at present, to relate the principal circum— 
inces of this great calamity, .as far as it aSi:ated the 
ilanese, and princijiiilly the city of Milan itself, Cor (he 
roniclers of tlie period confine their relations chie6y to 
is place. At the same time we cannot avoid giving a 
Beral though brief sketch of an event in the history of 
ir cuuniry more talked of than understood. 

Many partial narratives written at the time are stìSt 
tant ; but these convey but an imperfect view of tbg' 
bject, historically speaking. It is true they serve ta 
astrate and confinn one aimther, and furnish materials 
r a history ; but the history is still wanting. Strange to 
y, no writer has hitherto attempted to reduce them to 
àei, and exhibit all the various events, public and private 
ts, causes and conjectures, relative to this calamity, in » 
Dcatenated series. Ripamonti's narrative, though far 
ore ample than any other, is still very defective. We 
all, therefore, attempt, in tlie following pages, to pre- 
nt the reader with a succinct, but accurate and conlinu- 
i, statement of this fatal scourge. 

In all the line of country which had been over-run by 
e army, dead bodies had been found in the houses, n 
(11 as on the roads. Soon after, throughout the whole 
untry, entire families were atlacke<l with virfent disor- 
irs, accompanied with unusual symptoms, which the aged 
ily remembered to have seen at the time of the plague, 
liich, fifty-three years before, had desolated a great part 
■ Italy, and principally the Milanese, where it was and 
ill is known by the name of the Plague of San Carlo. 

derives this appellation from the uobVe, \ieTvrficeW.,«*.^ 



« 



E 



THE BBTBOTHBD. 

^nteresteil conduct of that great man, wbo at lengt 

came its vicliin. 

Ludovico Settala, a physician distinguishcil go Ion 

ago as during the former plague, announced to the Tribooi 

of Health, by the 90th of October, that the conlagion hi 

indisputably appeared at Leeeo ; but no measuras wo 

taken upon this report. Further noticea of a like impoi 

induced them to despatch a commisBÌoner, with a jihys. 

dan of Como, who, most utisccouiiiabJy, upon the repw 

^"^ '-Ì old barber of Bellano, announoed that the prcTiil. 

[lisease arose merely from the autnmnal cxfaaliliw 

n llie marshes, uggravated by tbe sufferinga cauwd ftf 

t passage of the German troops. 

> Mcutiwhile, further intelligence of the new disease, uil 

f the number of deaths, arriving from all parts, in 

' nmisBionera were sent to examine the places where il 

d appeareil, and, if necessary, to use precautions to ftt- 

" '' ' The «courge had already spread lo 

to leave no doubt of its character. Tin 

■a passed through tbe tcrriioriea of Lecco, ibi 

rs of the lake of Como, the districts of Mon» 

ZB, and Gera-d'Adda, and found the villages ever; 

• in a state of barricade, or deserted, and the inhi. 

« flying, or encamped in the middle of the fields, « 

Kipersed abroad throughout the country ; " like so mio; 

|<Ud ereatiites," says Doctor Tadino, one of the enwjn 

f tfiey were carrying about them some imaginary sifegnd 

_ t the dreaded disease, such aa sprigs of mint, rue,» 

rosemary, and even vinegar." Informing themselves* 

ihe number of deaths, the commissioners became aUrmdlJ 

and visiting the sick and tbe dead, recognised the tenlUi 

infallible evidences of Ùie plague ! 

Upon this information, orders were given to close V^ 

^-s of Milan. 

'ribunal of Health, on the I4th of NovemtiMi| 

IWcled lite commissioners to wait on the governor, i«l 

order to represent to him tbe sittiation of affairs. ^^\ 

replied, that he was very Borry for it ; but tliat the cbM 

of war were mucV more greasing : jiis was the acM 

■ikfle he had made tbe bmhc !i™-Net toi4w ™\ilar 4!^^3 



371 

Btsncen. Two or three rlaya after, tie publialied a Jecree, 
preBcribing public rejoicings on the birlli of Prince 
Charles, the fìrst Eon nf Philip IV., without troubling him- 
tdf wiih the danger which would result from so great ■ 
M>Ticour6e of people at such a time ; just as if tliinf-s were 
p^ing on ill their ordinary course, and no dreadful evil 
wag hanging over them. 

This man was the celebrated Ambrose Spinola, who 
cUed a few months after, and during this very war which 
be hB<l so much at heart, — not in the Held, tnit in his 
bed, and through grief and vexation at the treatment be 
experienced from those whose interests he had served. 
History has loudly extolled his merits ; she has been silent 
npon his base inhumanity in risking the dissemination of 
titix worst of mortal calamities, plague, over a country 
committed to his trust. 

But that which diminishes our astonishment at his in- 
di^rence is the indifFtrence of the pea]de tliemselves, of 
diat part of tiie pojiulnlicn which the contagion had not 
yet reached, but who had so many inotivea to dread ÌL 
The scarcity of the preceding year, the exactions of the 
army, and the anxiety of mind which had been endured, 
appeared to thera more than sufficient to evplain tlie mor- 
tality of the surrounding country. They heard with ft 
mtile of incredulity and contempt any who hazarded a 
word on the ilanger, or who even mentioned the plague. 
The same incredulity, the same blindness, the same absti- 
MCy, prevailed in the senate, the council of ten, and inali 
ile judicial bodice. Cardinal Frederick alone enjoined 
lis curates to impress upon the people the impoitance of 
lecUring every case, and of sequestrsting all infected or nu- 
Decled goods. The Tribunal of Health, prompted by the 
Lwo phyiicians, who fully apprehended the danger, did 
lake some tardy measures ; but in vain. A proclamation 
U> prevent the entrance of strangers into the city was not 
published until the liiiJth of November. This was too late ; 
[be plague was already in Milan- 
It must be difficult, however intereitinp, to discover the 
drsl cause of a calamity which swept off so many thousands 
af the inhabitaoti of the city; but bothTn/^vno a.n^ '&\'{«.' 

B B 2 



«72 ' 

nuMiti »,gree ihu it was brought tliidier by an Iraliin 
ilier i" the servicp of SpBiii, whu had either bonghi 
stolen a quiDtity of eiotlies from ihe Gt^rman suldipn. 
v«s on B vUit to liis pareuu in MIIbd, wLen he fell 
ajiil, being carried to the hospital, died on tlie fourth dif. 
The Tribune of Hcftltlj coiidtrmiied the houee he bd 
lived in ; his clothes anil the bed he had occupied in ik 
bespital were consigned to ilie flames. Two sen'asls md 
• good friar, who had attended htm, fell »ick ■ few di^ 
»fteT ; but the suapirbns from the lirst CTitertained of liv 
nature of the malady, and the pi-ecauljons ased, prcTUttd 
ita eKtcìtBÌon fur thi- present. 

But it) the house from which the eoldicr had been tska 
there were seTeral allaeked by the disease ; upon wtìà 
•11 the inhabitants of it were condncted to the laiHretto.ti 
ordtr of the Tribunal of Health. 

The contagion made but little progress during dieral 
of this year and the beginning of the fallowing. Fn» 
time to time tliere were a few perions attacked, but di ì 
rarity of the occurrence diminidied the suspicion of lt( 
{^gue, and confirmed the multitude in thdr iliabeiief rf 
its existence. Added to this, most of the physicians joinri 
witii the people in laughing at the unhappy presages uà 
threatening opinions of the amaller numbtr of their 1» 
thren ; tlie cases that did occur they pretended to expUi 
upon other grounds ,- and the account of these casti if 
s^om presented to the Tribunal of Health. Fear of et 
lazaretto kept all on the alert : the »ck were conceay, 
uid faUe certificates were obtained from Mme subalun 
officers of health, who were depiiled to inspect the dnl 
bodies. Those physicians, who, convinced of the mhli 
of the coutdgioH, ]iroposed precautioDs against it, 
olgectB of general animadversion. But the principal o^ 
Jects of execration were Tadino «nd the senator Sett>li.> 
who were stigmatised as etiemieK of their conntry, ma 
nhose heat exertions had been directed towards mittgali^l 
the severity of the coming mischief. Even the iUustriml 
Settala, the aged father of the senator, whose talenti 
HMW «quailed by bis benevolence, was obliged to take 
^IM|. friend's house {naca àw ^o^vi^sc Iik^.Wils 



I 



1 



liad constantly urged the necesaity of precautionary 

Towarda the end of the month of March, at firat i 
mbarb of the eastern gate, then in the rest of the 
leattis, atteniled by B'ngular symptoms, ituch aa api 
ielirium, livid spots and bulwes, began to be more frequent. 
Bndden deaths, too, were frequent, without any previoua 
illneea, Thu phyEiicJans atiU perversely held out ; bat 
Uie magistracy were aroused. The Tribunal of HealU) 
called on them to enforce their directions ; to raise the re- 
(piinte funds for the growing expensei of the lazaretto, as 
weU as the helplesa poor. Tlie malady advanced rapidly. 
In the lazaretto all was confusion, bid arrangement, anil 
anarchy. In their difficulty on this point the Tribunal 
Ilad recourse to the eapucliina, and conjared the father 
provincial to give them a man capable of governing ti\i» 
re^on of desolation. He oiFored them Father Feliee t'aaati, 
who enjoyed a hish reputation for charity, activity, and 
Idiiclneas of diaposition, adilcd to great streqgth of mind, 
and as a companion to him, Father Michele I^)^Iobone11iJ 
who, although young, was of a grave and thoughtful chtt 
raeter. They were joyfully accepted, and on the 3 ~ ' 
Mar<:h they entered on their duties. As tlie crowd 
lazaretto increased, other capuchins joined them, willin^^ 
perf (Mining every office both of spiritual and of tem- 
pora! kindness, even the most menial ; the Fathar Feliee; 
indefatigable in his labours, waitched wioK unceasing and 
parental care over the multitude. He caaght tiie pia 
waa cured, and resumed his duties even with greater 
crtly. Most uf ills brethren j"yfully Bacrificed their 
in this cause of afflicted humanity. 

Nat being able longer to deny the terrible effects of tiM 
malady, which had now reached the family of the phy- 
ncian SetCala, and was spreading its ravages in many noble 
ftmilies, those medical men who ha<] been incrediiloua 
were still unwilling to acknowled^ its Crue cause, which 
would have been a tacit condemnation of riieinselves ; they 
therefore imagined one entirely confermable to the pr«- 

Eof the time. It was ut that jwriod a prevailing 
in all Europe, that enchanten «ù^^.qA,, ^\afao'^al BJ 
J 



nelKj 
ch<H 

ith^fl 

in^M 

»^ 

'ir li:*^^| 

nf flW" 



374. ! 

operators, «lio at this time conspired to spreul the pl<gM, 
by the ni'l of venomous poisonB and witchcraft, Smilu 
thinga had been affirmed and believed in other epiiiemia; 
particularly at Milan, in that of the preceding centai^i 
Moreover, towards tile end of the preceding year, i 
patch had anired from King Philip IV. giving in 
Blion that four Frenchmen, Eus[<ecle<l of spreading poiHW 
and pestilential substances, had escaped from Madrid, nd 
ordering that watch should be kept to ascertain if fay chuK 
they bad arrived at Milan. 

The governor communicated the despatch li 
and the Tribunal of Health. It tlien excited no atiratrm; 
but when the plugue broke out, and was nchnowleilged b] 
all, thifl intelligence wrs remembered, and it sctthI B 
confirm the vague suspicion of criminal agency : 
dents converte<l this vague suspicion into convi 
positive and real conspiracy. iSome persons who imapoet 
they saw, on the evening of the 17 th of May, individtuh 
rubbing a petition of the cathedral, carried the partiliai • 
out of the church in the night, together with a gre«l tflO- " 
tity of benches. The president of the senate, with foa |e 
persona of his tribunal, visited the partition, [he beneka "> 
and the basins of holy water, and found nothing wtajd b 
confirmed the ridiculous suspicion of poison. Honew, 4 
to satisfy the disturbed imaginations of the popular, t ^ 
was decided that the partition should be washed and pv '■ 
fied. But the incident became a text for conjecture lo tin ^ 
people; it was aflirme<l, that the poisoners had rubbeilii ^ 
the benches and walls of the cathedral, and even the btU- * 

The next morning a new and more strange and agni- 
ficunt spectacle struck the wondering eyes of the citiiem 
In all parts of the city the doors of the houses and th 
walls were plastered with long strealtE of whitish yello* 
dirt, which appeared to have been rubbed on with a spang» 
Whether it was a wicked pleasantry to excite more geiwnl 
and thrilling alarm, or lliat it had been done from tb 
guilty design of increasing the public disorder ; whate»H 
JfSS the motive, ihe fact is so well attested, that it ewOW ■ 
*' "*rihulet\ to imagXniifton. tiit w.'Vj , »la«ul^ alaa|^& 



TBE BBTBOTHBD. 375 

was thrown into the utmost confusion ; the owners of 
bouses purified all infected places ; strangers were Btopped 
in the streets on suspicion, and conducted to prison, where 
they underwent long interrogatories which naturally ended 
in proving none of these absurd and imaginary practices 
against them. The Tribunal of Health published a decree, 
offering a reward to whomsoever eliould discover the «u- 
tlior or authors of this attempt ; but ihey did this, as they 
'WTOle to tlie governor, only to satisfy the people and calm 
their feHrs, — a weak and dangerous expedient, and cai. 
«dated to conlirm the popular belief. 

* In the mean time many attributed this story of the 
■^ poisoned ointment to the revenge of Gonialvo Fernandez 
■* de Cordova ; others to Cardinal Richelieu, in order the 

' laore easily to get possession of Milan ; others again affixed 

^ the crime to various Milanese gentlemen. 

^ There were still many who were not persuaded that it 

"^ was the plague, because if it were, every one infected 

' : ' would die of it ; whereas a few recovered. To dissipate 

" every doubt, the Tribunal of Health made use of an ex- 

' pedient conformable (o the necessity of the occasion ; they 

made an address to the eyes, sach as the spirit of the timea 

BOggested. On one of the days of the feast of Pentecost, 

die inhabitants of the city were accustomed to go to the 

' liurying ground of San Gregorio, beyond the eastern gate, 

in order to pray for the dead in the last plague. Turning 

the season of devotion into one of amusement, every one 

' was attired in his best; on that day a whole family, among 

Others, had died of the plague. At the hour in which the 

CQncouree was most numerous, the dead bodies of this 

family were, by order of the 'I'ribunal of Healih, drawn 

naked on a carriage towards this same burying ground ; so 

that the crowd might behold fur themselves the manifeM 

traces, the hideous Impress of ihe disease. A cry of alarm 

and horror arose wherever the car passed ; their incredulity 

■ WM at least shaken, but it Is probable that the great coii- 

^ course tended to spread the infection. 

* Still it was not absolutely the plague; the use of the 

* mini was proliibiied, it was a pestilential fever, the ad- 
J^^^||,Te was preferred to the substantive, — then, not the b 



5 TBE BETttOtBRO. 

igue, — ihat is to say, the plague, but onljr ii 
me, — and fnither, combined iHlh poison and witch 
■h is tbe absurd tritlin|c wiU) which meD seek 1> 
rtitflelTea, wilfully abslainin); frani a sound eseri 
^nifiiC to orrire at the Irnth. 

Meanwhile, as it became from day to ilay mored 

TÙae funds Co meet the painAU exigencieE of d 

inces, the council of ten resolved to have recou 

temnient. Tbey represenled, by (wo deputies, the 

mlaery and distress of the city, the enormity of it 

DK, tile revenues anticipated, and the taxes wiihbi 

lEequence of tlie general poverty which bad beef 

■ by so many e«usts, and especially by the pill 

the toldiery. That according t« various laws, i 

_ ecial decree of Charles V., the expense of the p 

night by right to devolve upon §;i>v eminent. 

ftey proceeded lo make four demands: thattlie taxes»! 

suspended ; that the cham1«r should advance fn 

4at the governor should make known to the king tli 

feunitous state of the city and province ; and that the ài 

IJKaiiy exhansied, nhauld he excused from provi 

for the soldiery. Spinola replied with nei 

ffXfa and exhortations ; declaring himself grieved noi 

" ! to visit Milan in person, in order to employ k 

the preservation of ihe city, but hopinji; that^ 

the magintrates would supply his place : in * 

le evasive answers to all their requests. Afl 

when the plague was at its height, he iransferre<l, k 

palent, his authorily to llie lùgli chancellor Ferrea 

u he said, obliged to devote bimself entirely to the 

the war. 

The council of ten then requested the cardine > 
a solemn procession, fot the purpose of carrying i 
tlie streets che body of San (Carlos. The goodi 
refused ; this confidence in a doubtful means d 
him, and he feaied diat, if the effect should not bw 
ed, confidence would be converted ini» infldeH 
rebellion against 6od. He also feared that if tba| 
were poieoners, this procession would be a fati 
occasion for ibeVr maetM&WÀtnw -, wuk ii ^lum m 









» great a coUeclion would have a tendeiicj to epread 
>stagion. 

The doors of public edifices and private 
eeti again anointed aa at first. 'J'he news flew fi 
loutb » mouth ; the people, influenceil by present su^r. 
Ig, and by the imrainenee of the supposed danger, readily 
aibraced (he belief. The idea of subtle instantaQemis 
eisan seemed sufficient to explain the violence, and the 
buost iucotnprelienaibic circumetances, of the diseaae. 
lild to this the idea of enchantment, and any efiéctWR» 
Bsùbie, every objection wa« rendered feeble, eiery dif- 
Bulty waa explained. If the effects did not immediately 
tceeed the Rnc allempt, the cause was easy to assign : it. 
kd been ikine by thoie <o whom the art was new ; 
•W that it was brought to perfection, the perpetralors i 
amce confirmed in tLeir infernal resolution. If any 
Bi dared to surest its having been done in jest, or 
^(1 the existence of a dark plot, he would have passeft 
'3 an obstinate fool, if lie did not incur ihe suspicion of 
■ing himself engag«d in it. With such persnaGionn on 
Mir minds, all were on the alert lo discover the guilty; 
■* most Indìdèient action excited suspicion, suspicion was 
■*agei] lo certainty, and certainty to rage. 
As iilBaCrationa of this, Ripamonti cites two examples 
Hch fell under bis own observation, and such were of 

i day of some great 
^KnniCy, an olii tnan, after having prayed for some lime 
hii IcDeei, ruse to seal himself, and before doing so, 
^>«<1 the dust froni the beneh with his handkerchief. 
C*be aid man is poisoning the bench," cried some women, 
^ beheld the action. The crowd in the chu»oh threw 
*TMd.ve».upon him, tore hia white hair, and af»r beating 
^, drew him ont half dead, to carry him to prison and 
'i^Jtture. " I saw the unfortUTiftte man," says Ripamonti ; 
^ never knew rhe em! of hia painful story, but at Ihe 
' « I thought he had but a few moments to live." 
^lle other event occurred the next day ; it was as remark- 
Ill^ bQt not as fatal. Three young Trenchmen having 
^■U» visit Italy, and study its anlAt^m^ve», \i»& i^>*^ 



3TS tBB BBTBOTBBD. 

proachei) the ctlhedrd, and were cuntempladng it very it 
tendvely. Same persons, who were passing b;, Btoppel; 
■ circle was formed around tliem ; they were not lost sigh 
of for a moment, hftving been recognised a» strangCT», u ' 
especially Frenchmen. As if to assure theniselvMtlitliki 
wall was marble, the young artists extended their hands m 
touch it. This was enough. In a moment they were m- 
rounded, and, with imprecations and blows, draggnl tt 
prison. Happily, however, they were proved to be in- 
nocent, and released. 

These things were not confined to the city ; the frwij 
was propagated equally wiih the contagion. The ira»rllH 
encountered off the high road, the stranger who^e hibili 
or appearance were in any respect sin^Ur, were judged u 
be poisoners. At the first intelligence of a new comer, il 
the cry even of a child, the alarm bell was rung ; and die 
unfortunate persona were assailed wiih showers of stowi, 
or seized and conducted lo prison. And thus the pnMi 
itself wiu, during a certain period, « place of safety. 

Meanwhile, the council of ten, not silenced by ibe !*■ 
fuMi of the wise prelate, again urged their request for the 
procession, which the people seconded by their clamaun. 
The cardinal again resisted, hut finding resistance usete><, 
he finally yielded ; he did more, he consenteil that the cue 
which enclosed the relics of San Carlos should be ex- 
posed for eight days on the high altar of the cathedral. 

The Tribunal of Health and the other authoritie* did 
not oppose this proceeding ; they only ordained some pit- 
cautions, which, without obviating the danger, indtcatedCM i 
plainly their apprehensions. They issued severe order* » 
prevent people from abroad entering the city ; and, to iosun I 
their execution, commanded the gates to be closed. The^ I 
also nailed up the condemned houses ; " the numbcv of I i 
which," says a contemporary writer, "amounted to «bo* 
five hundred." I 

Three days were employed in preparation ; on the Utb ', 
of June the procesùon left the cathedral at daybtvak: • I 
long file of people, composed for the most part of women, \ 
Ibeir iacea covered with silk masks, and many of llwi i 
' "t 'bare icet,. U>iX i&«bft)i>'» u^Vào^.'a, %'^^earediJail 



3791: 

he tradesmen came next, precedeil by tlieir banners; ttw 
cieties, in habiu of various furma sml colours ; then the 
*otherhoa(le, then the secular clergy, each with the in. 
gnia of hia rank, and holding a lighted taper in his hand. 
J the midst, among the brilliant light of the lorchi 
le resounding echo of the canlicles, the case ad> 
^ered with a rich canopy, and carried alternately by ft 
^ons, sumptuously attired. 'I'hrough the cryetal wi 
•en the mortal remains of the saint, clothed in his poi 
ficai robes, and his head covered wilh a mitr 
kntilated features might still be distinguished some trai 
f hia former countenance, such as his portraits represc 
im, and such as some of the spectators remembered M- 
&ve beheld and honoured. Behind the remains of the 
oly prelate, and resembling him in merit, birth, and dig- 
ity, as well as in person, came the Archbishop Frederick. 
'he real of the clergy followed him, and with them the 
lagistraies in their robes, then the nobility, some mag- 
iflcently clothed, as if to do honour to the pomp of the 
iJebration, and others as penitenls, in sackcloth am! bare- 
Mted, each bearing a torch in his hand. A vast eol- 
ation of people terminated the procession. 

The streets were ornamented as on festival Jays : the 
ch sent out their roost precious furniture; and tlllls the 
'onts of the poorest houses were decorated by their more 
ealthy neighbours, or at the expense of the puhlit^. IlerBj 
I the place of hangings, and there, over the hangings 
lemselves, were suspended branches of trees ; on all eidea 
unjZ pictures, inscriptions, devices ; on the balconies were 
isplayed vases, rich antiquities, and valuable euriositiea; 
iih burning flambeaux at various stations. From manjr 
F the windows the sequestrated sick looked out upon the 
rocestion, and min};1ed their prayers with those of the 
BOple as they passed. The procession returned to the 
ithedral about the middle of ttie day. 

But the next day, whilst presumptuims and fanatical as- 
jrance had taken [wssessiou of every mind, the number 
f deaths augmented in all parts of the city in a pro- 
ression to frightful, and in a manner so sudilen, thst none 
ould avoid confessing the cauw to hvie \>een *m '^o- 



Ì 



380 TUB ■ETnarriEi), I 

cession itielf. However, (aBtonJshing and deplorable power 1 
of prejuilice !) ibis effect was not stlrìbute^ to the aam- | 
bl^e of so many fteople, and to the increase of fortaiWd 1 
contact, bat to the licUiij aff<irii«l to the poisoners (o a- 
ecute thdr iafetnal porpoaes. But as this opinion tooU 
Dot account for so vut a mort^itj, aniT as no tnrta d 
Btrangc substances bad hren discovered on the roail aF ih 
proceioioa, recourse was bail to another ttiventioii, admilW 
by general opinion in Europe — mancai and pofaori 
powders! It was asserted ibat these t>owdeis, swUtfrf 
profusely in the road, Mt«ched ihem^Ives to ihe fWrtl 
of the gowns, and to the teet of those who had be«« 
that day barefooted : thui the human mhiil delights iwB 
wiih contending agsinat phaiitoms at its own creating. 

The violenee of the contagion increaseii daily ; in eIwI 
there was hardly a house that was luit infected ; the tiii> 
ber of souls in the lazaretlo amounteil to m,(>00, ami som 
times to 16,000. The daily mtn-rality, which had hidun 
exceeded 300, soon increased to 1200 and I5tì(X 

We may imagine the agony of the council of (en, «1 
whom rested the weighty burden of providing for it 
public necesaities, and of repairiri); what was rcparsblei ! 
iuch a disaster : they had lo replace every day, and e«aj 
day to add to the number of individuals cbargeil with pal». 
Kc services of alt kinds. Of these indiviiitials there fH 
three remarkable classes ; the tirst was that of the Diottafli- 
thii appellation, of doubtful origin, was applied to tfii* 
men who were devoted to tAie most painful and dangenfl 
employment in timee of contagion ; the taking of the itd 
bodies from tfae houses, frora ths streets, and from dc 
lazaretto, cnirying ihem to their graves, and burying tl>en; 
also, bringing the sick to the lasnreito, and burning and 
liurifying auspeoied or infected objects ; the second rfM 
was that of the apparitori, wtWse special function waaH 
precede the funeral cars, ringing a bell to warn passengttl 
to retire ; and the third was that of the comrnisBartes, wl» 
presided over both the other classes, under tìie iniinedialt 
orders of the Tribunal of Health. 

IC was neceseat'] ui kee^ the lazaretto finnished via 
medicine^ surgeons, tood, ani tfi\ 'Oiwi xeofiwiSHi of an In- 



maty ; and it was also neceesary U find and prepare new 1 
bitalione for new cases. Cabine of wood and straw 
;re hastily cougCrucied in the interior eucloswe of the 
saretto ; then a second lazaretto, a little beyond, was 
ecleil, capable of cdncaiiilng 4000 persoris. Two otbera 
ere ordered, but means, men, and courage failed, and 
ey were never completed : despair and weakness had at- 
Ined such a point, that the most urgent and |iainfal 
ants were unprovided for ; each day, lor example, chil- 
■en, whose mothers had perished of tlie plague, died from 
Iglect. 1'he Tribunal of f lealih proposed to found an hos- 
tal for these innocent creatures, Init could obtain no ai- 
itance for the purpose , all Eupplies were for the army, , 
because," said the governor, " it is a time of war, and J 
; must treat Ibe soldiers well," I 

Meanwhile the immense diteli which had been dug near 4 
e lazaretto was filled with ilead bodies ; a number still ' 
Duaiued without sepulture, as haixls were wanting for the 
irk. Without extraordinary aid ibis calamity must 
.Ye remained unremedied. The president of the senate 
dressed hifnself in tears to the two intrepid friars who 
verned the lazaretto, and the Father Michele pledged 
priself to relieve in four days the city of the unburied 
ftd, and to dig, in the course of a week, another ditch 
ificient not only for present wants, but even for thoM 
tiich might be anticipated in fuuire. Followed hy an- 
ber friar, and public officers chosen by the president, he 
Biit into the country to procure peasants, and partly by 
iB authority of the tribunal, partly by that of his liabil, 
> gathered £00, whom he employed to dig the earth. 
'.e then despatched tuoitatti from the lazaretto to collect 
le dead. At the appointed time hts promise was fulfilled. 

At one time tlie lazaretto was left without physicians, 
nd it was otdy after much trouble Uid time, and great 
Bérs of money and honours, that others could be prevailed 
n to supply their place. Provisions were often so scarce, 
I to create appreliensiona of starvation, but more thaa 
nee illese necessities were uneKpecteilly supplied by the 
llarity of individuals. Jn the midst of the general stupor, 
r the indifference to the miberits of olUeia, nwasÀfii'wii.Xe 



383 1 

jicrsonal apprehension, loine were found whos 
hcmrts tiad ever been open to the wretched, ant 
whom the virtue of benevolence had commen 
Ices of all their terreilrial hapjiinees. So ala 
destruciion of tlie fliiiht of so raanj men c 
watching over and proviiiing for the public a 
were seen, who, well in body and firm in m: 
inained faithful at their post, and some even 
ailmirable aelf-devotion, sustained with hero 
c«res to which their duly did not call them. 

The most entire aelf-devotion was especistly 
among the clergy ; at the laaarettos, in the ci 
aislance was always at hand ; they were foun 
there was aufiering, always in attendance on 
tlie dying; very often languishing and dying 
with spiritual, they bestowed, as far as they 
poral succour. More than sixty clergymen 
alone die<l from the contagion, which was i 

Frederick, as night be expected, was an exa: 
after having seen all his household perish aroi 
was solicited by his family, by the first magi 
by the neighbouring princes, to fly the peiil, 
jected their advice and their aoliciiations wit 
lirmness whicli induced him to write to the c 
lilorese: — *' Be ilispoiied to abandon life rathe 
EUtlertrs, who are your children, and your fami 
the same joy into the midst of the pesiilence, 
tain reward, since you may, by these means, 
souls to Christ." He neglectetl no precaution 
with his duty : he even gave instructions to h 
liiis point ; but he betrayed no anxiety, nor i 
appear to perceive danger, where it was necessi 
il, in order to do pood. He was always with 
asiics, to praise and direct the «ealous, and I 
lukewarm ; lie vieiled the lazarettos to console t 
encourage those who aesisted them ; he travel 
city, carrying aid to the miserable who were 
in their houBes, stop^ttg at xheii door* ur| i 



windon's, to lìsten io lljeìr coinpIaintR, and to give them 
words of consolation snU encouragement. Having thus 
thrown bimself into the midst of the contsgion, it was 
' truly wonderftd that he never was attacked by it. 

In season» of public calamity, when confusion takes the 
place of or<!cr, ve often behold a display of the sublimest 
^ virtue, but more frequently, alas ! an increase of vice and 
crime. Instances of the latter were not nanting during 
" the present unhappy period. The profligate, spared by the 
^ plague, found in the common confueion, and in the slacken- 
~ ÌBg of the restrainie of law, new occasions for miachief, 
* snd new assurances of impunity. And further, power 
^'' itielf had passed into the hands of the boldest among them. 
'^ There were scarcely found for the functions of moiiatti and 
^' apparilori any, but those over nhom ihe attraction of 
** tapine and licence had more sway than dread of the con- 
^ lagion. Strict rules had been prescribed 10 them, and 
^^ ievere penalties threatened for infringing them, which had 
^' lome power for awliiie ; but ihe number of deaths, and the 
increasing desolation, and the universal alarm, soon relieved 
^^ ihem from all superintendence, and ihey constiluled them- 
""^ aelTCB (ilie munalli in particular) the arbiters of every 
^ diing. ' They entered houses as maslf rs and enemies ; and, 
not to mention their robberies, and the cruel treatment 
^ vrbich those unhappy persons experienced whom the plague 
condemned to their authority, they applied their infected 
and criminal hands to those in health, threatening to carry 
tbem to the lazaretto, unless they purchased their exemp- 
tion with money. At other times they refused lu carry 
off* the dead bodies already in a slate of putrefaction, with- 
out a high price being paid them; it is even said, tbat 
tbey designedly let fall from their carts infected clothing, 
ID order to propagale the infection frotn which tlidr wealth 
wa* derived. Many ruffians, too, aEsumio); the garb of 
these wretches, carried on extensive robberies in (he Louses 
of the sick, dying, and helpless. 

In the same proportion at vice increased, folly increased ; 
the foolish idea was again revived of poisoniiifl*; the dread 
«f this fantastic danger beset and tonnented th« iniiida of 



SS4 1 

tntn mor« than the re^ umì present danft^r. 
My> Kipamonti, " ihe heap» of dead bodies 1 
the i-jt's of Uie hvlnfi made the city a vast tonb 
someihinK more sSictiDg anil hideous still - 
distrust Olid extravaj);uit susjiicioti ; and this c 
tween ftiends, no^^bours, and fiesta ; but 
wives, and children, bi'CHine objects of terror 
other, and, horrible to tril 1 evea the domesljc 
the nuptial b«l were dreaded 
poison might be ooneealed." 

Besides ambition and cupjility, the motives 
attribulcd to tlie potEonerK, it was imagined that 
includi^d an indefinable, diabolical votuptuonsr 
joyroent, an aitraetiveness stronger than thi 
ravines of the ^ck, who accused themselves o 
they bad dreaded in others, were considered 
involuntary revelations, «hich rendered belief 

Among the stories recorded of this deli ri an 
one wliich deserves to lie related] o\ 
tensive credence it Dbtnined. 

It naa said ihil on a certain day, 
equipage with six horses stop in the 
dral. Within it was a person of a 
figure, dark eomplexion, eyes inflamed, 
and threatening. The spectaior being invited tl 
carriage, complied. After a diort drcuii, it m 
before the gate of a ntagniHcent palace. Ente 
beheld mingled scenes of delizht and horror, 
«erta and smiliiig gardens, dark caverns 
saloons. Pliantome were sealed in councij. 
him large boxes of money, telling him b 
many of them as he choie, provided he w» 
the same time a little vase of poison, and 
ploy it Dgainet the dljiene. He refused, and< 
found himself at the place from which he hi 
This story, generally believed by the peO] 
over Italy. An engraring of 
The Arclibiahop of Mayence wrote to Catdii 
" g biis what credence might be attach* 



385 

dìgies related of Milan. He received for answer, that they 
were all idle dreams. 

The dreams of the learnedj if tliey were not of the same 
nature as those of the vulgar, did not exceed them in 
T alue ; the greater part beheld the forerunner and the 
■ of these calamities, in a comet tvhich appeared in 
^8] and in the conjunction of Jupiter and Satam. 
lotlier comet that appeared in June in the same year 
ninced the poisonous anointings. All writings were 
■eked that contained any jiassagea respecting poisons; 
ngat the ancients, Livy was citeil, Tacitus^ Dionydus, 
r and Ovid were searched. Among the mo- 
li Cesalpino, Cardan, Grevino, Saho, Pareo Schenchio, 
' lEachia, and lastly the fatal Delrio, whose Dieqawitions on 
Magic hecame the text book on such subiecls, the future 
rule, and, in fact, the powerful impulse to horrible and 
' frequent legal murders. 

The physicians yielded to the popular belief, and attri- 
' bated to poison and diabolical conjurations the ordinary 
' symptoms of the malady. Even Tadino himself, one of 
the most celebrated physicians of his day, who had wit- 
nessed the entrance of the disorder, anticipated its ravages, 
studied its symptoms, and admitted it to be Ibe plague, 
even he, such is the strange perversity of human reasoa, 
drew from all these facta an argument in proof of the dis- 
semination of some subtle poison, by means of ointments. 
Nor was the eidightened Cardinal Frederick himself al- 
together uninfected by the general mania. In a small 
tract of his on tlie subject in the Ambrosian Library, he 
says, " Of the mode of compounding and dispensing these 
ointmeiita, various statements have been made, some of 
which we hold for true, while others appear imaginary." 
On the other hand. Muratori tells us, that he had met 



with well-informed persona in Milan, whose a 
decidedly convinced of the absurdity of this widely spread 
and extraordinary error, but whose safety rendered it im- 
perative on them to keep their sentiments on the subject 
to themselves. 

nagistrates employed the little vigilance and re. 

which remained to them in &catc>\wv5, oav ^H 






386 TU* BETBOniBD. 

poisonen, and unhappily lliou<;fat they had detecud 
A recilal of theae and similar cases woiJcl form a r«i 
able feature in the history of jurisprudence. But ilii 
Urne we ahould resume the thread of our story. 



1 



I 



CHAPTER XXXri, 



Orb night, towards the end of the month of AugiW, h 
the very height of the pestilence, Don Roderick returned • 
hie house at Milan, accompanied by liis faithful Uriaa.tM | 
of the small number of liia servants who siili suiriiri . 
He had just left a company of friends, who were «c«i- 
tomcd to asBemble together, to banish by debauchery At 
melancholy of the times ; at each meeting there were nw | 
guests added, and old ones missing. On that day Don I 
Roderick had been one of the gayest, and, among oiher I 
anb.jects of merriment which he introduced, he bad rowlr ! 
the company laugh at a mock funeral sermon on CounI 1 
Attilio, who had been carried off by ihe pesiilence i f«w I 
day» before. I 

After leaving the house wliere he hnd be)d his carounl, t 
he was conscious of an uneasineas, a faintness, a weaiines ' 
of his limbs, a difflmlty of breathing, and an internal heU, i 
which he was ready to attribute to the wine, the late hour, I 
and the influence of the eeasoo. He spoke not a Koid I 
during the whole route. Arriving at his house, he ordered ' 
Griso to light him to his chamber. Griso, perceiving Ut \ 
change in his master's countenance, kept at a distance, u, 
in these dangerous times, every one waa obliged to keqi 1 
for himself, as was said, a medical eye. J 

" I feel very well, do you see," said Don Rodendf, I 
reading in [he features of Griso tite thoughta whidt W 
pwsiiig through his mind, — " 1 feel very well; but 1^ 
^BBi » little 100 itittch. 'Elie Viiift-mAWi%»nt 



3S7 

ood sleep ail will be well again. I am overcome by sleep. 
Take away the light; I cannai bear it; it troubles me." 

" Itis the effect of the winejSignor," said Griso, still keep- 
Bg at a distance ; " but go to bed, sleep will do you good." 

" You are right; if I could sleep I am well, were 

t not for the want of sleep. Place the little bell near me, 
a case 1 should want somelliing ; and be altentive if I 
ing. But 1 shall need nothing. Carry away chat cursed 
ight," addeil he ; " it troubles me more than I can lell." 

Griso carried off the light ; and, wishing his master a 
;ood night, he quilted the apartment as Don Roderick 
Touched beneath the bed-cloihes. 

But the bed-clothes weighed upon him like a mountain; 
hrowing them off, he endeavoured to compose himself U> 
leep ;- hardly had he closed his eyes when he awoke with 
. start, as if he had been roused by a blow, and he felt 
hat the ]>ain and fever had increased. He endeavoured 
find the cause of his sufferings in the heat of the wea- 
lier, the wine, and the debauch in which he had just been 
Qgt^ed ; but one idea involuntarily mingled itself with all 
is reflections, an idea at which he had been laughing all 
le evening with his companions, as it was easier to make 
; a subject of raillery than to drive it away, — the idea of 
he plague. 

After Imving struggled a long time, he at last fell 
sleep, but was tormeiitcd by frightful dreams. It ap- 
eared (o him that he was in a vast church, in the midst 
f a crowd of people. How he came there he could not 
}U, nor how the thought to do so could have entered his 
lead, especially at such a time. Looking on those by^ 
fbotn he was surrounded, he perceived them to be lean, 
i»id figures, with wild and glaring eyes; the garraenlfc _ 
If these hideous creatures fell In slireds from their k 
[ies, and through them might be seen frightful blotche 
jnd swellings. He thought he cried, " Give way, yog 
ttscals !" as he looked towards the door, which wm 
ff, Bccompunying the cry with a menacing expression a 
Duntenance, and wrapping his arms around his body ti 
revent coming in contact witli them, fur they seeraed 
be touching him on every side. But vVie'j moiei a ' 



nor even seemed to hesr him: it appeared to bim, li^| 
ever, ttiat some one amongst them, nith his elb«w,pf^lP 
bis left side neu his heart, ntietc he felt a painful ptid* 
irg. Trying to wiihiltaw himself frena so irkaome t 
eitualion, he exjteiieDced a recurrence of tlie senudoit. 
Irritated beyond measure, he stretched out his ]i(nd f« 
]iÌB Eword, and, behold, it had glided the whole Ungili of 
his body, and tlie hilt of it wss pressing him in this itq 
place. Vainly did he enileavoor to rcmove it, every effiui 
only increased Iue agonies. Agitated and out of bieil):, 
he again cried aloud ; at the saund, all those vild ud 
hideouB phantoms mshed to one side of the church, letna^ 
the pulpit exposed to view, in which stood, with bi» ^^ 
nerable countenance, his bald heail and white beard, Falbir 
Christopher. It appeared to Don Roderick that the » 
puchin, after having looked over the asscrably, fiied ìài 
eyes upon hirn, with the same expression as on the vell- 
remembered interview in his castle, and, at the same time, 
raised his arm, and held it suspended above his held; 
raaliing an effort to arrest the blow, a cry which stniggW | 
in his throat escaped him, and he awoke. He opened hii 1 
eyes; the light of day, which was already advanced, | 
pressed upon his brain, and imparted as keen an anguiili , 
as tho torch of the preceding night. Looking aronnd « I 
his bed and his room, he comprehended that it «w i I 
dream ; the church, the crowd, the friar, all hail vaniabcd; i 
but not ao the pain in his left side. Hewassenatbleorui t 
agonising and rapid beating of his heart, a buzzing b bii • 
ears, an internal heat which consumed him, and a weighl i 
nnd Wk^ariness in his limbs greater than when he went 10 I 
1>ed. He could not resolve to look at the spot where lie | 
felt the pain ; but, finally gathering courage to do so, Ic • 
belicid with horror a bideons tumour of a livid purple. \ 

Don Roderick saw that he was lost. The fear of ilcslh 
took possession of him, and wilh it came the apprehension, 
stronger perhaps than the dread of death itself, of be- ! 
coming the prey of the monatti, and of being iJirown iiilo I 
the lanaretto. Endeavouring to think of some means of I 
aroiding this terrible fate, he experienced a confusion al " 
^^huurity in hia idesK -w^nO^ U^ \aBv that Ihe i 



, -mas fast approaching when he should hare no Feeling left 
, but of despair. Seizing the bell, he shook it violently, 
Griso, who was on the watch, appeared immediately ; 
- stopping at a distance from the bed, he looked attentively 
g at his master, and became certain of that which he had 
^ only conjectured the night before. 

, " Griso," said Don Roderick, with difficulty raising 
il hhnself in hia bed, " you have always been my favourite." 
^ " Yea, my lord." ^^_ 

^ " ] have always done well by you." -^^^ 

P " The consequence of your goodness." ^^M 

^ "I can trast you, I think. I am ill, Griso." ^^M 

, " I perceived that you were." ^^^ 

, " If I am cured, I will do still more for you than I have 

ever yet done." 

Griso marie no answer, wailing to see to what this pre- 
amble wo uhi lead. 

" I would not trust any one but you," resumed Don 
Roderick ; " do me a favour." 
" Command me." 

" Do you know where the sui^eon Chiodo lives?" 
" 1 do." 

" He is an honest man, who, if he be well paid, keepa 
secret the eick. Go to him ; tell him I will give him four 
or six crowns a visit, — more, if he wishes it. Tell him 
to come here immediately ; act with prudence ; let no one 
get knowledge of it." 

" Well thought of," said Griso ; " I vriU return im- 
mediately," 

'■ First, Griso, give me a little water; I bum with 
thirst." 

" No, my lord, nothing without the advice of a physi- 
cian. This is a rapili disease, and there is no time to lose. 
Be tranquil. In the twinkling of an eye, 1 will be here 
with the signor Chiodo." So saying, he left the room. 

Don Roderick followed him in imagination to the house 
of Chiodo, counted his steps, measured the time. He 
often looked at his side, but, horror-struck, could only re- 

Kit a moment. Continuing to listen intently for the 
■1 of the surgeon, this effort of aUewV\on s\w.^\Ar&. 



SiìO 1 

the tense oF sufiering, anil left him the free exercise of Eu ' 
diout;hts. Suddenly he heart! a noise of smill bA, 
which ftppenrcil to come from some of the apartnients, mi 
nut from llic street. Listening a^i^ain, he heard it loads-, 
and at the Baine time h sound of steps. A horrible n 
cion darted serosa his minrl. He sat up, listened uBl 
moro «ttenlively, and heard a sonnd in the next chanba, 
as of a chest carehiUv placed on the floor ; he threw U) 
liinba out of bed, bo RE to be ready to riae ; and kepi Ms 
eyes fasleneU on the door ; it openetl, and, behold, ti 
monatti with their diabolical countenances, and eunnl 
liveries, advancing lonards the bed, whilst from (he bilf- 
open door was seen the figure of Griso, awaiting (he sncna 
of his sordid treachery. 

" Ah, infanious traitor ! Begone, rascals ! BiondlR^ 
Carlolto, help ! murder !" cried Don Roderick, ex(e[ " 
his hand under his pillow for his pistol. 

At his very first cry the monatti had rushed tovirds 
the bed, and the most active of the two was upon bio 
before he coui<l make another movement ; jerking Ibe 
pistol from his hand, and throwing it on the floor, he 
forced him to lie down, crying in an accent of r 
niocliery, " Ah, scoundrel I against the monatti.' ogaiDii 
the ministers of the tribunal !" 

" Keep him down until we are ready to carry him out," 
said llie other, as he advanced to a strong box. Gri* 
entered the room, and with him commenced forcing iu 
lock. "Villain!" shouted Don Roderick, stmggling lo 
get free : " let me kill this infamous rascal," said he to I 
the monatti, and then you may do with me what you will.' I 
He then called again loudly on his other servants, but iu 1 
vain ; the abominable Griso had sent them far away wi^ < 
orders as if from his masler, before he himself went to \ 
propose this expedition, and a share of its spoils, to (he : 
monatti. I 

" Be quiet, be quiet," said the man, who held Iiim ex- J 
tended on the bed, to the unhappy Don Roderick ; then, I 
turning lo those who were taking the Iwoly, he said, " Be- I 
have like honest men." I 

" Yon ! you V mutnnneà Bon. ftjiiawclt to Grim}, J 



THE BBTHOTDED. 391 

"you! after Ah, demon of hell! I maj slìll be 

oared ! I mity siili be cured !" 

Griso spoke not a word, and was careful to avoid look- 
ing at his master. 

" Hold liim tight," said the other mùnatto, " be is 
fi'antic." 

The unfortunate msn, after many violent efforts, became 
•Qddenly exhausted ; but from time to time was seen to 
alniggle feebly and vainly, for a moment, against his per- 
«ecutors. 

The monatti deposited him on a hand-barrow which had 
been left in the outer room ; one of them returned for the 
booty, then raiaing their miserable burden, they carried 
him off. Griso remained awhile to make a selection of 
mich articles as were valuable and portable ; he had been 
very careful not to touch the monatti, nor be touched by 
them ; but, in his thirst for gain, his prudence forsook 
bim i taking the different articles of his master's dreea from 
off the bed, he shook them, for the purpose of ascertain- 
ing if there was money in them. 

He had, however, occasion to remember his want of 
caution the next day ; whilst carousing in a tavern, he was 
aeiaed with a shivering, hia eyes grew dim, his strength 
iàiled, and he fell lifeless. Abandoned by his compa- 
nions, he fell into the hands of the monatti, who, after 
having plundered him, threw him on a car, where be ex- 
pired, before arriving at the lazaretto Id wbich his master 
had l>een carried. 

We must leave Don Roderick in this abode of horror, 
and return to Renzo, whom our readers may remember we 
left in a manufactory under the name of Antony Rivolta. 
He remained there five or six months; after which, war 
being declared between the republic and the King of Spain, 
ftnd all fear on his account having ceased, Bortolo hastened 
to bring him back, bath because he was attached to liim, 
and because Ren/o was a great assistance to the factatum 
at a maiiufiictory, without the possibility of his ever as- 
piring to be one himself, on account of his inability to 
write. Bortolo was a good man, and in the main gener- 
ous, but, like other men, he had hLi failings ; and as thit 






motive leally had ■ place in his calculation», wet 
thought it our duty to stale it. From this time R 
continued to work with his cousin. More thsn once, «nd ' 
especially after having received a letter from Agnea.hefih 
a delire to turn soldier ; and opportunities were not irint- i 
ing, for at this epoch the repubhc was in want of recniiti 
The temptation wu the stronger, as there was a talk of I 
invading the Milanese, and it appeared to him that it would 
be a fine thing to return there as a conqueror, see Lncj 
■gain, and have an explanation with her ; but Buniii 
always diverted him from this resolution. "If tbtjp 
there,'' said he, " they can go without you, and you m 
go afternaida at your leisure. If they return with brolat 
heads, you wiU be glad to have licen out of the script 
The Milanese is not a mouthful to be easily swallowed; 
and then the question, my friend, turns on the power of i 
Spain. Have a little patience. Are you not well here? < 
I know what you will say ; but if it is written above ihu ( 
the afikir shall succeed, succeed it will, without your cc 
milting more follies. Some saint will come to your ass 
ance. Believe me, war ii not a trade for you. It oc 
men expressly trained to the business." 

At other times Rensto thought of returning hoRM il 
disguise, under a faliie name, bat Bortolo dissuaded tum 
from this project also. 

The plague afterwards spreading over all the IVtilantM, 

and advancing to the Bergamascan territory don't be 

alarmed, reader, our design is not to retate its liistory ; lU 
that we would say is, that Renzo was attacked with it, , 
and recovered. He was at death's door ; but his strong 
constitution repelling the disease, in a few days he wu 
out of danger. With life, the hopes and recollections and 
projects of life retumeil with greater vigour than evw; 
more than ever were bis tlioughta occupied with his Lucy; 
what had become of her in these disastrous times ? " To 
be at so short distance from her, and to know notlùlig 
concerning her, and to remain, God knows how long, it 
this uncertainty ! and then her vow ! I will go myself, I ' 
will go and relieve these terrible doubts," said he, "If chft— 
^^||^ I will find her ; \ will kenx lim^lf explMn thii-aMM 



mise ; I will show her that it is not binding ; and I 
bring her here, and poor Agnes also, ivho has alwa; 
wshed mc well, and 1 am sure does m stilt, — yes, I will 
go in search of them." 

As soon a£ he was able to walk, he went in search of 
Bortob, who had kept himself shut up in hia house, 
account of the pestilence. He called to him to i 
the window. 

" Ah, ah," said Bortolo, " you have recoTered. 
well for you." 

" 1 have still some weakness in my limbs, as y 
but 1 am out of danger.'' 

" Oh, I wish I was on your legs. Formerly, 
one said, I ani vieil, it expressed all that could be desireth 
but Qow-a-daya that is of little consequence. When 
can say / am belter, that's the word for you !" 
Ilenso informed his cousin of his determination. 
" Go now, and may Heaven bless you," replied he 
■' «void the law as I shall avoid the pestilence ; and if it i 
the will of God, we shall see each olher again." 

" Oh, I shall certainly return. If I were only 
of not returning alone ! I hope for the best." 

" Well, I join in your hopes; if God wills, we 
■work, and Uve together here. Hearen grant you 
find me here, and that this devilish disease may ha^ 
ceased." 

" We shall meet again, we shall meet again, I 
■ore." 

" I say again, God bless you." 

In a few days Renzo, finding his strength sufficiently 
restored, prepared for his departure ; he put on a girdle in 
-which he placed the fifty crowns sent him by Agnes, to. 
gether witli his own small savings ; he look under his 
a small bundle of clolhes, and secured in his pocket 
certiticace of good conduct from his second master; 
having armed himself with a good knife, a necessary ap^~ 
pendage lo an honest man in those days, he commenced 
bis journey Cowarils the end of August, three days after 
Don Roderick had been carried to the lazaretto. He took 
the toad to Lecco, before venturing into Milan, 



1 



'ardici 

after 
took 



hofeA IO find kjpies there, and leun from her some Itk 
of what he ilesired so mudi to know. ' 

The tmall number of ihote who had been cured of lb I 
plague formeil > piivil^eil class amidst the test of tbc \ 
population ; those who had not been attacked b; tbc d» ' 
esise lived in perpetual appreheneion of it ; thej wiBsd i 
■bout with precaution, witli an unquiet air, with a famriid I 
and hesitating step; (he former, on the contriuy, duHt 1 
certain of security (for to have the plague twin w» | 
rather a prodigy than a rarity), s<tvanced into ihe tetj 1 
midsl of the pestilence with boldness and unconccn. 1 
With such security, tempered, however, by his onn peta- t 
liar anxieties, and by the spectacle of the misery of i | 
nhole people, Renao travelled towards his village, nndo't i 
fine sky, and through a beautiful country ; meeting on * 
way, after long intervals of dismal solitude, men more Ulr 
shajovs and wandering phantoms than living beinp: * 
dead bodie» about to he consigned to the trench witlw 
funeral rites. Towards the middle of the day he sKi{if^ 
in a grove to eat his meat and bread ; he was bountifnUj 
suppUed with fruits from the gardens by the road, for >k 
year was remarkably fertile, the trees ^ong the roiif «k 
laden with figs, peaches, plums, apples, and other vtnon 
kinds, with hardly a living creature to gather them. 

Towards evening he discovered his village; altlioufl 
prcjiared for the sight, he felt his heart beat, and he ** 
assniled in a moment by a crowd of painful recollectia' 
and harrowing presentiments : a deathlike silence reigw' 
around. His agitation increased as he entered the cliiitÀ 
yard, and became hardly supportable at the end of lii 
lane — it was there, where stood tile house of Lucy — ou 
only of its inmates could now he there, and the Dclj 
favour he asked from Heaven wris to find Agnes still livinj 
he hoped to find an asylum ut her cottage, as he juJtp 
truly that hia own must be in ruins. 

As he went on he looked attentively before him, fcarint 
and at the same time hoping, to meet some one {n* i 
whom he might obtain information. He saw at IsM 
man sealed on the ground, leaning against a hedge of j' 

rinee, in Ùie UmWb aVnluae of an idiot. Be thouf [ 
\ 



395 

I it must be the poor simpleton Jervase, who had been em- 
ployed as a wilness in his uneuccessful expedilion to the 
^ curate's house. But approaching nearer, he recognised it 
to be Anthony. The disease had affected his mind, as 
well as hiE body, so that in every act a slight resembUnoe 
to liis weak brother might be traced. ^^M 

" Oh, Tony," said Renzo, stopping before him, " '^^l 
^ you?" Tony raised his eyes, but not his head. ^^È 

" Tony, do you not know me ? " ^H 

" Is it my turn ? Is it my turn ? " replied he. 
" Poor Tony ! do you indeed not know me ? " 
J " Is it my turn? Is it my turn?" replied he, with an 

, idiotic amUe, and then stood with his mouth open. 
I Renzo, seeing he could draw nothing from him, passed 

on still more afflicted than before. Suddenly, at a. turn of 
tìie path, he beheld advancing towards him a person whom 
lie recognised to be Don Abbondio. Hia pale counte- 
nance and general appearance showed that he also had not 
CBoiped the tempest. The curate, seeing a stranger, 
Mixiously examined his person, whose costume was that of 
Bergamo. At length he recognised Renzo with much sur- 

" Is it he, indeed?" thought he, and raised his hands with 
a movement of wonder and dismay. Hia wasted arma 
|. Beetned trembhng in his sleeves, which before could hardly 
I. contain them. 

J, Renzo, ha-'ptening towards him, bowed profoundly ; for, 

^ although be had quitted him in anger, he still felt respect 
,^ for him as his curate. 

I " You here! you !" cried Don Abbondio. 

^ " Yes, I am liere, as you see. Do you know any thing 
^ of Lucy?" 
I T " How should I know ? nothing is known of her. She 

, is at Milan, if she is still in this world. But you " 

" And Agnes, is she living?" 
^ " Perhaps she is; but who do you think can tell? she 

B is not here. But " 

I " Where is she f " 
'fif " She has gone to Valsassina, among her relatives at 
^^■Miro ; for ihey say that down there the (leGtileivce bA& 



But jou ^-^^H 
ig of bint. ^^M 

re? Forthefe^l 



S96 TBB WtTKATHBD. 

not made such ravages as it has here. But joa, I . 

aay " 

" I am glad of thaL Anil Father ChristoplM 
" He has been gone this long dine. But jou 
" 1 heard that, — hut lias he not returned ? " 
" Oh no, we have heard nothing of bint. 

" I am Borry for it." 

" But you, I say, what do you do here ? For the 
Heaven, have you forgotten tbi 
order for your apprehenainn ?" 

" What matters it ? people have other things to tte 
of now. 1 came here to see about my own s£bira." 

" There la nothing to see about; there is no one be 
now. It is tlie height of rashness in you to venture ha 
with this Utile difficulty impending. Listen to «B « 
man who has more prudente than yourself, and »! 
speaks to you from the love he bears you. Depul 
once, before any one sees you, return whence you came. 1 
vou think the air of this place good for you? Knon )'i 
^^Ut that they have been here on the search for you?" 
^^C" I know it too well, the rascals." 

^^K" But then •" 

^^Kk" But, I tetl you, they think no more about It. A: 
^Te, does he yet live ? is Ae here ? " 

" I tell you there is no one here ; I tell you to think 
more of the afikirs of this place ; I tell you that '" 

" I ask you if Ae is here j " 

" Oh, just Heaven ! Speak in another manner, li 
possible you stiU retain so much warmth, after all thai 1 
happened ? " 

" Is he here, or is he not?" 

" He is not. But the piagne, my son, the plague keep 
every one from travelling at preaenL" 

" If the pestilence was all that we need fekr — I tpnl 
for myself, I have had it, and I fear it not." 

" Vou had better render thanks toHeaveu, And -' 

" I do, from the bottom of my heart." 

" And not go in search of other evils., I ai^i- 
^Jua; advice." 



^M 



, " You have had it also, sir, if I am not mistalien. 

" That I have, truly 1 most terrible it was ! it is by à 

rj miracle I am here; you »ee how it has left me. I have 

, , need of repose to restore my strength ; I was beginning 

^ to feel a little better. In the name of Heaven, what da 

you do here? Go away, I beseech you." 

" You always return to your go away. If I ought to 

go away, I would not have come. You keep saying, 

^ Whal do you eomeforf what do you come for? Sir, Ì W^^ 

. oome home." ^^H 

I " Tell me, have there been many deaths here .' " ^^M 

"Many I" cried Don Abbondio; and beginning wS^H 
Perpetua, he gave a long list of individuals, and even 
~wbole famjliea. Renzo expected, it is true, a similar re- 
cital ; but hearing the names of so many acquaintances, 
dViends, and relations, he was absorbed by his affliction, 
said could enly exclaim, from lime lo time, " Misery ! 
misery ! misery !" 

•' And it is not yet over," pursued Don Abbondio. 

" If those who remain do not liilen to reason, and calm 

the heat of their brain!!, it will be the end of the world." 

" Do not concern yourself; I do not intend to remain 

" Heaven be praised ! you lalk reason at last. Go at 

_ " Do not trouble yourself about it ; the affair belonga 

to me. I think I have arrived at years of discretion. I 
hope you will tell no one that you have seen me. You 

r ^aie a priest, and I am one of your flock ; you will not 

" I understand," said Don Abbondio, angrily, " I un- 
^^derstand. You would noin yourself, and me with you. 
^^ WTiat you have suffered, whal I have suffered, is not 
J «afficient. 1 understand, I understand," And continu- 
ing to mutter between bis teeth, he proceeded on his way. 
f^. Kenzo, afflicted and disappointed, reflected where he 
cliouli) seek another asylum. In the catalogue of deaths 
t JS^Tf ^° ''■'" ^y D"" Abbondio, there was a family which 
^^■H all been carried off by the pestilence, vivU ihe «i,.?^'^- 



S()S TBS tnitunuKu. T 

tion of K young man nearly of hii own age, v'ho hid hva 
liis companion from infftoc}'. The house was a thett Ji- * 
tancc off", a little beyood the village ; he bent hì> iK^ I ' 
thither,tci seek the hospitality whichit might afford him. Oi 1 
hi» way he passed his own vineyard. The vines were en, f 1 
the wood curried oS. Weeds of various kinds and DM ' Ai 
luxuriant growth, principally of the paraMtical ordv f bd 
covered the place, displaying the moat hnth'ant floiwii iti 
above the loftiest branches of the vines, and obetnulifl fu 
the piogreea of the miserable owner. The garden bej"'! "l 
presented a similar scene of varied and luxuriant wÌJ<Ili«| ^j^ 
The house, that had not escaped the viailation of <tV liu/^' 
lansquenels, was deformed with tilth, dust, and robnUhy 
Poor Renzo turned away with imbittered feeliJigs, tw/^net 
moved slowly onwards to his friend's. It was evaB^ffcad 
He found him seated before the door, on a small bi 
his arms crossed on his breast, with the air of a mm 
pified by distress, and suffering from solitude, Al 
sound of steps he turned, and the twilight and the h 
not permitting him to distinguish objects distincllf, 
said, " Are there not other» besides me ? Did 1 1 
do enough yesterday ? Leave me in quiet ; i 
an act of charity." W^ n^ 

Renzo, not Jinowing whal this meant, called I: 

" Renio?" replied he. 

" It is indeed," said Remo, and they ran towards' 
other. 

" Is it you indeed p" said his friend: " oh, howh^ 'a 
1 am lo see you ! who would have thought it ? I to6k\ ^e: a 
for one of dioae persons who torment me daily to hi^ pois 
bury the dead. Know you tiat I am left alone ? th inion; 
alone as a hermit !" 

" I know it but too well," said Renzo. They ei 
the cottage togetlier, each making numerous en<|uiri« I to 
the other. His friend began to prepare the table fori 
per; he went out, and returned in a few moments 
jJitcher of milk, a httle salt meat, and some fruii, 
sealed themsdve^ e.1 table, at which the polenta wu 7 the 
mutaiiW^ ctin(^&U:i^!i,'a'a^ eui^ cittier on tlieji 




iew. An absence of two yewB, and the circumstancer I 
er which they met, revived and added new vigour tot ' 
f former friendship. 
■fa one, however, could supply the place of Agnes to 
:izo, not only on account of the particular affection 
l>ore hini] but she alone poseeEsed the key to the so- 
Lou of all Ills diflicullies. He hesitated awhile whether 
had not best go in search of her, as elle was not very 
! oS; but recollecting that he knew nothing of the fate 
I. Lucy, he adliered to his first intention of gaining all 
f information be could concerning her, and carrying the 
■alt to her mother. He learnt from his friend, however, 
Uiy things of which he was ignorant, others were ex- 
lined which he only knew by halves, with regard to 
t adventures of Lucy, and the persecutioDB she had un- 
tgone. He was also informed tliat Don Koderick bad 
t. the village, and had not returned. Renzo learnt, 
IKeover, to pronounce the name of Don Ferrante pro- 
[ily ; Agnes, it ia (me, had caused it lo be written to him, 
1^ Heaven knows how it was written ; and the Bergamas- 
h, interpreter had given it so strange a sound, that if he 
^ not received some instruction from his friend, pro- 
3dy no one in Militi would have guessed whom he 
Ipmt, although this was the only clue he had to gidde 
»i to Lucy. As far as the law was in queslion his mind 
iH set at rest. The signor Podestà was dead, and most. 
|i. the officers; the otiiers were removed, or had other a 
Mters too pressing to occupy tlieir attention. He related, i 
■ turn, his own adventures to his friend, receiving in es 
pi^ an account of the passage of the army, the peatilena 
t {MiBoners, and tile prodigies. " Dreadful as are our 
pctions," said he, as he led him for the night to a little 
tttiber which die epidemic had deprived of its inhabit. 
|l>, " there is a mournful consolation in speaking of 
■«*i to our friends." i 1 

^t the break of day ihey both arose, and Renzo prepared' 1 
!i«part. " If ail goes well," said he, " if I find hef J 
jto^— if— I wiU return. 1 will go to Pasturo and ' 
f^j the joyful news to poor Agnes, and then^ — but if, i 
I» misfortune, which may God avert — tl\en, I \ 



I 

nd ■ 



I 

I 
I 



400 TBB BKTBOTHBD. 

not what I Ehall do, nor vhere I shall go ; bat ] 
never see me here ^ain." 

Ab lie «tood on the threshold of the door, aboc 
«ume his journey, he content plated for a moroeni, 
niitture of tendemesg and anguish, his village, w 
had not beheld for so long a time. His friend 
pinied him a Bhort distance on his road, and bi 
farewell, prognosticating a happy return, and mi 
of prosperity and enjoyment. 

Ilenia travelled leisurely, because (here was am 
for liim ta arrive within ■ short distance of MDan. 
enter it on the morrow. Hi« journey was wiiht 
dent, exccjit a repelitìon of the same wretched see 
the roads at that time presented. As lie had done 
befuie, lie stopped in s grove to make a slight 
which the generosity of liis friend harl bestowed i 
Passing through Monza, he uw loaves of bread di 
in the window of a shop; he bought two of them, 
shopkeeper called to him not to enter ; stretchinf 
shovel, on which was a small bowl of vinegar anti 
he told him to throw the money into it ; then wilt 
of longs he reached the bread to him, which Rer 
in hia pocket. 

Towards evening he passed throogh Greco, and ( 
the high road, went into (he fields in search o 
small house where he might pass the night, as he > 
wish to stop at an inn. He found a better ehelter I 
anticipated ; perceiving an ojiening in a hedge 
surrounded the yard of a dairy, he entered it 
There was no one within : in one corner of it was 
ftiU of hay, and against the door of it a ladder 
Aftor looking aroun<l, Renzo ascended the ladder, 
himself fur the night, and slept profoundly until thi 
of day. When he awoke, he descended the laddi 
cautiously, and proceeded on his way, taking the d 
the cathedral for his polar star. He soon orrired 
the walls of Milan near the eitslcrn ■'ate 



I^B CHAPTElt XXXIII. ^H 

1- 

, Rehzo had heard vague mention made of severe orders, 

„i forbidding the entrance of strangers into Milan, without a 

certificate of health ; but these were easily evaded, for 

_,, Milan had reached a point when such prohibition was nte- 

,1 less, even if it could have been put into execution. Who- 

, ever ventured there, might rather appear careless of his 
^ own life, than dangerous to that of others. 
^ With this conviction, Reneo'a design was to attempt a 
.f passage at the first gate, and in case of difficulty to wander 

on the outside of the walls until he should find one easy of 
f access. It would be difficult to say how many gates he 

thought Milan had. 

When he arrived before the ramparts, he looked around 
him ; there was no indication of living being, except on a 
point of the platform, a thick clnud of dense smoke arising ; 
thia was occasioned by clothing, beds, and infected fur- 
niture, which were committed to the flames; every where 
along the ramparts appeareil the traces of these melancholy 
conflagrations. 

The weather was close, the air heavy, the sky covered 
by a thick cloud, or fog, which excluded the sun, without 
promising rain. The surrounding country was neglected 
and sterile ; all verdure extinct, and not a drop of dew on 
the dry and withering leaves. The depth, aohtude, and 
silence, so near a hirge city, increased the gloom of Renzo's 
thoughts ; he proceeded, without being aware of it, to the 
gate Nuova, which had been hid from bis view by a 
bastion, behind which it was then concealed. A noise of 

1 bells, BDuniiiTig at intervals, mingled with the voices of men, 
\ uluted his ear ; turning an angle of the bastion, he saw 

before the gate a sentry-box, and a sentinel leaning on his 
musket, with a wearied and careless air. Exactly before 

É opening was a sad obstacle, a hand-barrow, upon which 
monatti were extending an unfortTinB.le n "'^ 




/ 



409 tbb" dstbòtheo. 

him off; it was the chief of the toU-gRtiu 
jual been attacked bj the pestilence. Renzo 
departure of the convoy, and no one appearing to dose tfe 
g«te, he passed forwards quickly ; the sentinel cried 
" HolU!" Renzo slopping, showed him a htlf lim. , 
-which he drew from his packet ; whether he had 1ml tbt i 
pestilence, or that he feared it less than be loved ducW», ( 
he signed to Kenzo to throw it to him ; seeing it al his 
feet, he cried, " Go in, quickly," a pennission of which 
Renzo readily availed himself. He had hardly adiaocd 
forty paces when a loll- collector called to him to slop. Ht 
pretended not to hear, and passed on. The cftU was re- 
peated, but in a tone more of anger than of resolution lo If 
obeyed — and ibis beinR equally unheeded, die collecw 
shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his room. 

Renzo proceeded through the long street oppowle ll( 
gate which leads lo the canal Naviglio, and had adTsnoot 
some distance into the city without encountering a siu^ 
individual ; at last he saw a man coming tovrardx him, 
from whom be hoped be might gain some information ; i« 
moved towards bim, but the man showed signs of alirni il 
bia approach. Renzo, when be was at a little dlstawt. 
took off his hst, like a polite mountaineer as he was, bui 
the man drew back, and raising a knotty club, armed will 
a spike, he cried, "Off! off! off!" "Oh! ohTcrid 
Renzo ; he put on )iÌ9 hat, and having no desire for i 
greeting of this fashion, he turned his back on ihe ili^ 
courteous passenger and went on his way. 

The citizen retired in «n opposile direction, shuddering 
and looking back in alarm : when he reached home ht 
related how a poixoner had met him with humble and 
polite manners, but with the air of an infamous imposWr, 
and with a phial of poison or ihe box of powder (he diJ 
not know exactly which) in the litiing of his hat, to poiwn 
bim, if he had not kept him at a distance. " It was un. 
lucky," said he, " that we were in so private a atreet; i 
it had heeti in the midst of Milan, 1 would have called \t> 
people, and he would have been seized : but alone, ii m 
enough to have saved myself — but who knowjbwbst^ 
-■ — 'ion be maj wjl liieaA-j ViieeSccted ' " " " 



i03 

^ and years after, when the poiBoners were talked of, the 
I poor man maintained the tiuth of the fact, as " lie bad 
, had ocular proof." 

Renzo was far from suspecling the danger he had 
escaped ; and, reflecting on this reception, he was more 
angry tlian fearful. " This is a had beginning," thought 
he; "my star always seems unpropitiou8 when I enter 
Milan. To enter is easy enough, but, once here, mis- 
fortunes thicken. However — by the help of God — if 
I find — if I succeed in finding — all will be well." 

The streets were silent and deserted ; no human being 
eould he see ; a single disfigured corpse met his eye in the 
channel between the street and the houses. Suddenly he 
beard a cry, which appeared addressed to him ; and he 
peTceived, not far off, on the balcony of a liouse, a woman, 
Burrounded by a group of children, making a sign to him 
to approach. As be did so, " O good young man !" said 
ghe, " do me the kindness to go to the commissary, and 
tell him that we are forgotten here. They have nailed up 
the house as suspecled, because my poor liusband is dead ; 
and since yesterday morning no one has brought us any 
thing to eat, and these poor innocents are dying oi 
hunger." 

" Of hunger ! '' cried Renzo. " Here, here," said he, 
drawing the two loaves from his pocket. " Lower some- 
thing in which I may put them." 

" God reward you ! wait a moment," said the woman, 
n she went in search of a basket and cord to suepend it. 
" As (o the commissary, my good woman," said lie, 
,, putting the loaves in the basket, " 1 cannot serve you, be- 
^ cause, to teil truth, I am a stranger in Milan, and know 
i_ nothing of the place. However, if 1 meet any one a little 
^ humane and tractable, to whom 1 can speak, I will lell 
, him." 

^ The woman begged him to do so, and gave him the 
If name of the street in which she lived. 
n " You can also render me a service, without its costing 

f' you any thing," said Benzo. " Can you tell rae where there 

Sobleman's house in Milan, named • " • ?" 
[ know there is a house of that name, but I da vs». 



404 tBB SCTKOTHED. 

know where it is. Further on in ll*e city yon wiD pn^ ( 
bsbly find some one lo direct you. And remember » i 
■peak of us." I 

" Do not doubt me," said Retilo, as he passed on. j 

As he advanced, he heard increasing a sound thsl hsd I 
abcaily atrracled his attention, whilst stopping to conserte j 
with ihe poor woman ; a sound of wheels and horses' fc<«, I 
with the noise of little bells, and occasionally (he cnàja^ I 
of whips anil loud cries. I 

As he reached the square of San Marco, the fint ob. / 
jecta he saw were two beams erected, -with a cord lod 
pulleys. He recognised the horrible instrument of tor- 
ture ! These were placed on all the squares and wiibs 
streets, so that the deputies of each quarter of the dij, 
furnished with the most arbitrary power, could siihJKl ■ 
them whoever quitled a condemned house, or nt^kcui 
the ordinances, or by ony other act appeared to merit iht 
punishment ; it was one of those extreme and inelticadw 
remedies, which, at this epoch, were so absurdly authoristi 
Now, whilst Renzo was gazing at this machine, he hetrd 
the sounds increasing, and beheld a man appear, rJngini 
a little bell ; it was an apparitort, and behind him ciiM 
two horses, who advanced with difficulty, dragging t (■ 
loaded with dead ; after this car came another, and anolho, 
and another; monaHi walked hy the side of the hoTSM, 
uiging ihem on with their whips and with oaths. Thi 
bodies were for the most part naked ; some were half | 
covered with rags, and heaped one upon anotlier ; at eufa ' 
jolt of the wretched vehicles, heads were seen hanging over. | 
the long tresses of women were displayed, arms weit ' 
loosened and striking against the wheels, dirilling the smI | 
of the spectator with indescribable horror ! 

The youth stopped at a comer of the mjuare to prsy *K 1 
the unknown dead. A frighiful thought passed over tit ' 
mind. " There, perhaps, there, with them — O Godi | 
avert this misfortune ! let me not (hink of it 1 " I 

The fniieral cOnvoy having passed on, he crossed the I 
flquare, and Ceflohedthe Borgo Nuovo by the bridge Mar- .' 
celhuo. He perceived a priest standing bejlBw-*-Mtl 



405 

fessing some one. " Here," said he, " is my man. If 3 
priesr, and in the discharge of tiis duty, has do benevolence, 
there is none left in the world who has." When he was at » 
few paces distance from him, he took off his hat, and made 
ft s%n that lie wished to speak with him, keepin)^, however, 
' at a discreet distance, so lu not to alarm tile good man un- 
necessarily. Rengo having made his request, was directed 
to tlie hotel. " May God watch over you now and for 
BTer!" said Renzo, " anil," added he, " I would ask an> 
Qther favour." And he nientioried tl;e poor forgotten 
woman. The worthy man thanked him for affording him 
the opportunity to bestow help where it was so greatly 
needed, and bade him farewell. 

Renzo found it difficult enough to recollect the various 
turnings pointed out by the priest, disturbed as his mind 
was by apprehensions for the issue of his enquiries. An 
«Bd was about to be put to his doubts and hum ; he was 
to be told, " she is living," or, " she Is dead!" This 
idea took such powerful possesttion of his mind, that at this 
moment, he would rather have remained in his former igno* 
tance, and have been at the commencement of the journey, 
to the end of which be so nearly approached. He gathered 
courage, however. " Ah !" cried he, " if I play the child 
now, how will it end J " Plunging therefore into the heart 
of the city, he soon reacbeil one of its most desolated 
quarters, that which is called the Carrohio di Porta Nuova. 
The fury of the contagion here, and the infection from 
the scattered bodies, bad been so great, that those who had 
Burvived bad been obliged to dy : so that, whilst the 
passenger was struck with the aspect of sohtude ajid death, 
bis lensea were painfully affected by the traces of recent 
life. Renzo hastened on, ho|iÌng tu find an improvement 
la the scene, before he should arrive at the end of his 
journey. In fact, he soon reached what might siili be 
called the city of the living, but, alas! what living! 
Every door was closed from distrust aind terror, except such 
as had been left open by the flight of llie inhabitants, or 
by the laonalti ; some were nailed on the outside, because 
tfaere were witlùn people dead, or dying of the pestilence ; 
Others were marked willt a cross, for the piu'pose of inform- . 



406 TUE BETROTBK».' ^^t 

mg the tnonatli lliat their services were reqaiml, M 
much of this WM (lone more by chance than othenraejlT 
• connninaary of health happeneil lo be in one iput nlbd 
than in another, anil chose lo enforce the regulations. 0» 
every side were seen infected raga and bandages, elMJw 
and «heelB, vrhich had been thrown from the windon ; 
dead bodies which had been left in the streetB until i or 
should para to uke them up, or which had fallen ftomlSe 
can ibeinselves, or been thrown from tfae houses ; sontùà 
had (be long duration and the violence of the peEl farviul- 
iseA men's minds, and subdued every spark of bumtD 
feeling or Hyinpathy. The customary Eounds of hanitn 
occupation or pleasure had ceased ; and this silence of 
death was interrupted only by the funeral cars, thelioienl- 
atiouB of the sick, the shrieks of the frantic, i 
rations of the motuilti. 

At the break of day, at noon, and at night, a bell of at 
cathedral gave the signal for reciting certain pia^m 
which had been ordered by the archbishop, and this wu 
followed by the bells of the other cburchea. Then perni" 
were seen at the windows, and a confused blending ol 
voices and groans was heard, which inspired i 
not however unmixed with consolation. It ia probaUe ■ 
that at this time not less than two thirds of the inhabilinis I 
had died, and of the remainder many nere sick or h«ii I 
left the city. Every one you met exhibited signs of the I 
dreadful calamity. The usual dress was changed of every j 
order of persons. The cloak of the gentleman, the robe ol 1 
the priest, the cowl of the monk, in short, every loose «p- I 
pendage of dress that might occasion contact, was carefnUf ' 
dismissed ; every thing was as close on the person as poi- I 
sible. Men's beards and hair were ahke neglected, from 
fear of treachery on the part of the harhers. Every man I 
walked with a stick, or even a pistol, to prevent the ap- 
proach of otherir. Equal care was shown in keeping the | 
middle of the street to avoid what might be thrown from 
windows, and in avoiding the noxious matters in the road. 
But if the aspect of the uninfected was appalling, how 
sliall we describe the condition of the wretched aielc ji 
the street, totteriivg ot fiìltng va tw 
cbildren, women. 



Renzo had travelled far on his way, through the 
of ihis desolation, when he heard a confused no 
trhich was distioguishable the horrible and accustonu 
tinkling of bells. 

At the entrance of one of the most spacious streets, 
perceived four cars eCandin^ ; monatti were seen entering 
tlonaea, coming forth with burthens on their shonldere, 
md laying them on the cars ; some were clothed in their 
red dress, others without any distinctive mark, but the 
greater number <nith a mark, more revolting still than 
tbeir customary dress, — plumes of various colours, which 
[hey wore with an air of triumph in the midst of the pub- 
ic mourning, and whilst people from the different win- 
ioyis around were calling to them to remove the dead. 
EteuKo avoided, as much as possible, the view of the horrid 
ipectacle ; but his attention was Eoon attracted by an ob- 
ject of singular interest ; a female, whose aspect won the 
regards of every beholder, came out of one of the houses, 
lad approached the cars. Jn her features was seen beauty, 
r^ed and clouded, but not destroyed, by the mortal debt' 
lity which seemed to oppress her ; the soft and majestic 
beauty which sliines in the Lombard blood. Her step was 
feeble, but decided ; she wept not, although there were 
traces of tears on her counienance. There was a tran- 
quillity and profundity in her grief, which absorbed all 
her powers. But it was not her appearance alone which 
escited compassion in hearts nearly closed to every human 
feehiig ; she held in her arms a young girl about nine 
years of age, dead, but dressed with careful precision i 
her hair divided smoothly on her pale forehead, and 
clothed in a robe of the purest while. She was not lying, 
but was sealed, on the arm of the lady, her head leaning on 
tier shoulder ; you would have thought she breathed, if a 
little white hand had not hung down with inanimate 
weight, and her head reposed on the shoulder of her mo- 
ther, with an abandonment more decided than that of 
Bleep. Of her mother ! it was indeed her mother J If 
the resemblance of their features had not told it, you 
would have known it by the expression of that fair and 
JM||p countenance ! 

^E D D 4 



1 



438 THE SBTaOTHBD. ^ 

A hiileous monatto approtched the Udy, «nd wich'fl 
■ual respect offered lo relieve her of her burthen. " S 
Mtil site, with an appearance neither of anger nor ^ 
" do not touch her yet ; it is I who muat place her tm tha 
C4r. Take this," and she druppeil a purse into ihe buna 
of the mimalto ; " proiuUe me not In touch a hair of Iw 
head, nor to let others do it, aud bury her thus.'' 

The monatto placed hia hand on his lieart, and P . 
ftilly prepared a place on the car for the infant dead. Tta 
lady, after having kissed her forehead, placed her on it, 
as carefully as if it were a coach, spread over her a 
cloth, and took a last look ; " Farewell ! Cecilia ! i 
peace ! To-night we will come to you, and then wi 
be separated no more!" Turning again to theme 
" As you pass to-night," said she, " you will coi: 
me ; and not tor me only !" 

She returned into the house, and a moment after ip- 
peared ata window, holding in her arms another cheririid 
child, who was still living, but with the stamp of desdi « 
her countenance. She contemplated the unworthy oIm- 
quies of Cecilia, until the car disappeared from her ejis, 
and then left the window wiih her mournful burlbco. 
And what remained for them, but to die together, as tht 
flower which proudly lifts its head, falls with the W, 
under the desolating scythe which levels every herb of (he 
field. 

" O God !" cried Renzo, " save her ! protect h 
and this innocent creature ! they have suffered e 
they have suffered enough !" 

He then proceeded on his way, tilled with e 
distress and pity. Another convoy of wretched victitm | 
encountered him at a cross street on their way to the la- ' 
zarelto. Some were imploring to be allowed to die on | 
their own beds in peace; some moving on with Jmbecik ' 
apathy, women as usual with their little o 
some of these supported and encouraged with taanlj de?i)- I 
tion by (heir brothers a little older than themselves, and [ 
whom alone the plague had for a time spared for this if. 
feeling office. When the mlEerable crowd had nearly pa»»l 
' K addresBela GOTCHavsau^ vW^ ui^ect was a Itttle4l 



TOE BETROTIIE^I). 40^ 

savage than the rest ; and enquired of Lim the street and 
the house of Don Ferrante. He replied, " The first street 
to the right, Hie last hotel to the left." 

The young man hastened thither, with new and deeper 
trouble at his heart, Easily distinguishing the house, he 
«pproBched the door, raised his hand to the knocker, and 
[leld it suspended awhile, before he could summon reio- 
■atìoa to knock. 

At the sound, a window was half opened, and a female 
ippeared at it, looking towards the door with a counte- 
isnce which appeared to ask, " Is h monatti ? thieves? 
tr poisoners r'" 

" Signora," said R«nza, hut in a tremulous voice, " i» 
llere not here in service a young villager of the name o£ 
Lucy ? " 

" She is no longer here ; begone," replied the woman, 
ibout to close the window. 

" A moment, I beseech you. She is no longer here I 
WTiereiBÈhe?" 

*' At the lazaretto." 

" A moment, for the love of Heaven ! With the pesti- 

" Yes. It is something very oncoromon, ia il not? 
Bacone then." 

*• Wait an irstant. Waa she very ill ? Is it long 
But this time the window was clofe'l entirely- 
'■ Oh .' aignora, signora ! one word, for charity ! Alaa I 
das! one word!" But he might as welt have talked tB 
the wind. 

Afflicted by thia intelligence, and vexed with the rude 
breatroent of the woman, Renzo srized the knoeker again, 
ind raised it for the purpose of striking. In his distreaa, 
\te turned to look at the neighbouring houses, with the 
iiope of seeing some one, who uould give him more satia- 
factary information. But the only person he discovered, 
1 woman, about twenty paces off, who, widi an appear- 
of terror, anger, and impatience, was making sign» 
ime one to approach ; and this she did, as if not 
wishing to attract Etenzo's notice. Perceiving him looking 
tt her, she shuddered with horror. " 









410 THE BETHOTHED. 

" What the devil !" erìiI Renio, threaWning hEifl 
hu Sot, but the, having lost the hope of his being «^ 
unwpeoteiUy, cried aloud, "A poisooer ! cttdi him! 
catch him ! stop the poisoner !" 

" Who ? I ! old sorceress ! be silent," cried Rtnio, 
as he approached her in order to compel her to be «. 
But he Eoon perceived that it was host to think of himsdf, 
as ihe cry of the woman had gathered people from ewj 
quarter ; noi in so great numbers as wouhl have been (kd 
three months before under similar circumstances, but tiU 
many more than one man could resist. At thia momnV 
the window was again opened, and the same disCDHiieou 
woman appeared at it, crying, " Seize him, bcìm hiin;t< 
inuKt be one of the rucals who wander about tu poÌEon ilii 
doors of people." 

Renzo determined in an instant that it was better Wij 
than to Slop to justify himself. Rapidly casting hia ^ 
around to see on which side there were the fewest pM^ 
and 6ghting his way through those that opposed bim, ht 
soon freed himself from their dutches. 

The street was deserted before him ; hut behind liii> 
the terrible cry still resounded, " Seize him ! stop bin!' 
poisoner J" It gained on bim, steps were dose at bii • 
heels. His anger became rage; his agony, despiit; I 
drawing his knife from his pocket, and brandishing It 11 I 
the air, he turned, crying aloud, " Let him who dna J 
come here, the rascal, and I will poison him indeed viti j 
this." I 

But he saw, with astoni^hment and pleasure, thai fail I 
persecutors had already stopped, as if some obstacle op- I 
posed their path ; and were making frantic gesture* W ] 
persons beyond him. Turning again, he beheld a carap- 
preaching, and even a file of cars with tlieir usual W- | 
companiments. Beyond them was another little baot ' 
of people prepared to seize the poisoner, but prevenled I 
by the same obstacle. Seeing himself thus between tw» 
fires, it occurred Ui Renzo, that that which wag an obkei j 
of terror to these people, might be I ' ' 
Mfety. Reflecting that this was not a 
^^■HB scruples, W atlvaiice<). \nw«T^% ^ 






1 

irge enough tìM 

itVi nnn ihnnf-^ 



rst, and perceiving in the second a space large i 
sceive him, threw himself into it. 

" Bravo! bravo!" cried the monatti with one shout 
ovae of them were following the convoy on foot, others 
«re sealed on the cars, others on the dead bodies, drink- 
■^ from an enormous flagon, which they passed aiouod. 
Bravo ! that was well done ! " 

*' You have placed yourself under the protects 
tOTiatti ; you are as safe as if yuu were in a churchj 
lid one, who was Ecated on the car into which Renxob 
brown himself. 

" The enemy was obliged to retreat, crying, howevMJ 
' Seize him '. seize htm ! he is a poisoner 

" Let me silence them !" said the monatto; and drwq 
Qg from one of the dead bodies a dirty rag, he tied i 
n a hundle, and made a gesture as if intending to throwfl 



Waong them, crying, 
led away in horror ! 
A howl of triumph arose 

he monatto to Renzo, " oi 
hose cowards." 

" I owe my life lo you,' 
rou sincerely." 

" 'Tis a trifle, a trifle 



, rascals !" At the sight, i 

from the monatti. 

m protect honest people," 

e of us is worth a hundred 



" and I than 



you deserve it ; 'tis plail 
1 brave fellow ; you do well to poison this 
■nbhle ; extirpate the fools, who, as a reward for the life 
ve lead, say, that the plague once over, they will hang us 
ill. They must all be finished, before the plague ceases ; 
lie manalti alone must remain to sing for victory, and toj 
■east in MiUn." 

" Life to the pestilence, and death to the rabble !' 
mother, putting the flaf^on to his mouth, from which ll 
Irank freely, and then offered it to Renzo, saying, " ^' 
o our health." 

" I wish it to you all," said Renzo, " but I i 
hirsty, and do not want to drink now." 

" You have been terribly frightened, it seems," > 
tùnatto ; " you appear to be a harmless sort of a [ 
Mi «beuld iMTe uiMher face tluta libu £w & %inw!iBia.l! ^ 



" Give me «drop," t*ìil a mttnilta, who walked bj iki i 
«de of the cars; " I would drink to the health of ik J 
nobleman, who i« here in such gootl company — infonder 1 
oarrìage 1" And with b malignant laugh he poinlfd U the 1 
car in which poor Rrnio was seat^. Then binUH; I 
composing hia features W an expreseion of graiilj, !w ! 
bowed profoundlj, saying, " Will you penntt, «ij dwf ( , 
mas'er, a poor devil of a monatto to taste a " ' 
f>oiu ynuT cellar ? Do now, because we lead n 
and moreover, we are doing yuu the favour to tatejout 
ride into the country. And besides, you i 
temtnl to wine, and it might harm your lordship ; but ih 
' monnlli have good Etoinachs." 

[is companions laughed loudly ; he took the flagea 
before he drank, turned again to Renzo, and vidi d ji 
of iDsutting compassion said, " The devil with "Ihe 
bave made a compact, must be very young ; if w« W 
saved you, you would have been none the bellai At | 






Bis rompanions laughed loud» than before, and k 
applied the flagon to his Lps. 

" Leave some for us I Bome for us ! " cried those tm 
the forward car. After having taken as much as Ì* 
wanted, lie returned the flagon to his companions, i 
passed it on ; the last of the company having empti«l i^ 
threw it on the pavement, crying, ■' Long live the pesti- 
lence ! " Then they cammeneed singing a lewd song, h 
which they nere accompanied by all the voices of ll* 
horrible choir. This infernal music, blended with i1n 
tingling of tàte hells, the noise of the wheels, and of tbl 
horses' feet, resounded in the empty silence of tlie «roM 
echoed through the houses, wringing the hearts of ito 
very few who still inhabited them ! 

But the danger of the preceding moment had rendeicJ 
more than tolerable to Renzo, the company of these wretdM 
and the dead they were about to inter ; and even i' ' 
music was almost agreeable to his ears, as it relieved I 
from the embarrassment of such conversation. He it- 
turued thanks to Providence for having enabled hi» V. 
; from hia petii, 'wVàwMX i«i£Ùsva%ai doing ^uh 



413 

gijurj ; and he prayed God to help him now to deliver 
,illiniself from bis liberators. He kept an the natch to 
(iMze the first opportunity of quietly quitting the car, with- 
, ont exciting the opposition of his protectors. 

At last they reached the lazaretto. At the appfarance 
of a cnmtntssary, one of the two manatti who were on the 
Oar with Renzo jumped to the ground, in order to speak 
^rith him : ReciKo hastily quitting the ear, said to the other, 
■■' I thank you for your kindness; God reward you." 

" Go, go, poor poisoner," replied he, " it will not be 
Ijvou who will destroy Milan !" 

Portunalely no one heard him. Renzo hastened on- 
~wsrds by the wall, crossed the bridge, passed ihe convent 
«»f tlte capuchinE, and then perceived the angle of the 
^laaaretto. In front of the inclosure a horrible scene pre- 
sented itself to his view. Arrived in front of the lasa- 
■vetlo, throngs of sick were pressing into the avenues which 
'^led to the building ; some were sealed or lying in the 
ditch, which bordered the road on either side, tlieir strength 
not having salticed to enable them to reach their asylum, 
ar who, having quitted it in ilesperadon, were too weak to 
^ ftlrdier ; others wandered by themselves, stupitied, and 
insensible to their condition ; one was quite anhnated, re- 
i/kting his imaginations to a miserable companion, who 
, Was stretched on tlie ground, oppresseli by suffering ; an- 
^ iidier was furious from despair ; a third, more horrible 
. Uill ! was singing, in a voice above all the rest, and with 
èeart-rending hilarity, one of the popular songs of love, 
( ^y and playful, which the Milanese (^aU villanelle. 
I Already weary, and confounded at the view of so much 
, iMisery concentrated within so small a space, our poor 
■Renio reached the gaie of the lazaretto. He crossed the 
■^reshold, and stood for a moment motionless under the 
■fortioo. 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 

K reader may imagine tlie lazaretto, peqiled wià3 
Men thouasnd penons ìnfecleil with the pl^uer the n 
enclosure nus encumbered with cftbins, tents, care, inA 
human beintcs. Two long ranges of porticoes, to iheriglil 
and left, were crowded with [he dying or the dml, (!• 
temli^d upon itraw ; and from the immense recejiUde ri 
woe, WM heard a deep murmur, similar to the disMl 
Toire of die waves, agitated by a tempest. 

Renzo went forward from hut to hot, cai«fully exunV 
ing every countenance he could discern wiihin — wbetto 
broken down by suffering, distorted by spaam, or fiirfi' 
death. Hitherto he met none but men, and judged, ibe* 
fore, diat the women were distributed in some o^er plrtgf 
the inclosure. The slate of the atmosphere seemed Id i4i 
to the horror of the scene: a dense a.nd daik foginrdnl 
all things. The disc of the sun, as if eeen through t vd, 
shell a I'eeble Ught in its own part of the sky, but iuld 
down a heavy deathlike blast of heat : a confused mui- 
muring of distant thunder might be heard. Not a M 
moved, not a bird was seen — save the swallow only, wW* 
descended to the plain, and, alarmed at the disma] sotmJi 
around, remounted the air, and disappeared. Nilut 
seemed at war with human exisleni^ — hundreds seemed « 
grow worse — the last struggle more afflictive — and nohoO 
of bitlerness was comparable to that. 

Renzo had, in his search, witnessed, as he thooglil, | 
every variety of human suffering. But a new sound cau^! * 
his ear — a compound of children's crying and goats' hieil- 1 
ing : looking through an opening of the boards of a huk ' 
he saw children, infants , lying upon sheets or quilts upoo I 
the floor, and nurses attending them ; but the most angulnl 
part of the spectacle, was a number of she-goats supplyiii!| 
the maternal functions, and with all the appearance «iJ 
coDScious sympathy hastening, at the cries of the he' 
*' "» ones, to ftttoti ftiewv ^W if^^yi nutrition. 



a were aiding these efficient coadjutors, in rendnring 
their supplies available to the poor bereft babies. Whilst 
observing this wretched fcene, an old capuchin entered 
"with two infants, just taken from their lifeless mother, to 
«eek aTtiong the fiock for one to supply her place. Quitting 
ihis spot, and looking about on every EÌde, a sudden appa- 
rition struck his eight, xnd set his thoughts in commolion. 
Ee saw at some distance, among the tents, a capuchin, 
wliom he instantly recognised to be Father Christopher ! 

The history of the good friar, from the moment in 
which we lost sight of him until this meeting, may be 
related in few words. He had not stirred from Rimini, 
and he would not now have thought of doing so if the 
plague breaking out at MiJan had not afforded him the op- 
portunity, so long desired, of Eacrilicing his life for the 
benefit of others. He demanded, as a favour, permission to 
go and assist those who were infected with the disease. 
The count, he of the secret council, was dead ; and more- 
over, at this time, there was a greater want of guardians to 
die sick, than of pohticians: his request wag readily 
granted. He had now been in the lazaretto nearly three 
monihs. 

But the joy of Renzo at seeing the good father was not 
unalloyed. It was he indeed ; but, alas ! how changed ! 
^w wan ! Exhausted nature appeared to be sustained for 
S while by the mind, that liad aci^uired new vigour from the 
perpetual demand on its sympathies and activity. 

"Oh, Father Christopher!" said Renzo, when he wa* 
«ear enough to speak to him. 

" You here!" said the friar, rising. 
" How are you, my father, how are you ? " 
" Better than these unfortunate Iwings that you see," 
repUed the friar. His voice was feeble — hollow and 
changed as Ills person. His eye alone " had not lost its 
original brightness " — benevolence and charity appeareil to 
have imparted to it a lustre superior to tliat which bodily 
weakness was gradually extinguishing. 

" But you," pursued he, " why are you here f 
do you thus come to brave the pestilence ? " 



w^ 



I 
I 



4)6 TBB SETSOTHSD. 

" I h«ve had il, ihwk lUsven ! I come in i 

of Lucjr." 

" Lucy ! Is Lucy here ? " 

" Yea. At Iciat 1 hope w." 

" U she ihy wife ? " 

" My dear father ! alai ! no, she is not my wifi° 
yOQ know nothing, then, of what has luppeneii?" 

"No, my Bon. Since God removed me from jn 
have heard nothing. But now that he sends you lo 
wish much to know. And your banldinienl?" 

" You know, then, what they did to me?" 

" But you, what did you do ? " 

" My father, if I were to say I was prudent on th 
at Milan, 1 »hould l«ll a falsehood ; but I commii 
had aciion wilfully." 

" I believe you ; 1 have always thought ao." 

" Now tben I will tell you all." 

•' Wait a moment." 

He approached a cabin, and called " Father FiiM} 

In a few moments a young capuchin appeared, 
we the favour, Father Victor," said he, "' to take iny 
in watching over our poor patients for a iiitle while. 
however, any should particularly ask for me, be logw 
to call me." 

The young friar comphed, and Father Christo] 
turning to Renzo, " Let us enter here," said he. " J 
added he, " you appear much exhausted, you have ne 

" It is true. Now that you make rae think of it, I 
not taaied any thing to-day." 

" Wail, then, a moment." He eoon brought Ret 
bowl of brolh, from a large kelde, the common pni| 
of the esiablisliment, and making him sit down on bis 
the only seat his cabin afibrded, and placing same 
on a little table by his side, he seated himself nest 
"Now tell me about my poor child," said he, "an 
in haste, for lime is predous, and 1 have much to di 
you perceive." 

Reato lelated (be liiaM[y«£ Ihéo^; àmt «aa-lndv 



«7 

sheltered in the convent of Monza, and carried cifF from 
her asylum. At the idea of such treatment and peril, and at 
the thought, too, that it wog he who had unwittingly exposed 
her to It, the good friar was hre^tthless with attention ; but 
he recovered his traiiquiUity when ht; heard of her mira- 
enlons deliverance, her restoration to her mother, and her 
having been placed under tlie proleftion of Donna Pras- 
Bede. 

Renzo then briefly related his journey to Milan, his 
flight, and his return home ; that he had not found Agnes 
tìiere ; and at Milan had learned that Lucy waa in the 
lazaretto. " And I am here," concluded he, " I am 

here in search of her ; to see if she yet lives, and if 

die still thinks of me hecauae sometimes " 

" But what direction did they give you ? Did they tell 

} y<m where she was placed when she came here ? " 

" J know nothing, dear father, nothing ; only that she 
ia here, if she still hves, which may God grant ! " 

J " Oh, poor child ! But what have you done here until 

now?" 

^ "I have searched, and searched, hut have seen hardly 

^•ny but men. I think the females must be in another 

IWM by themselves ; you can tell me if this is the case ?" 

" Know you not that it is forbidden to men to enter 

^tìitere unless their duty calls them ? " 

" Oh, well! what can happen to me if I should at- 
^ Éempt ? " 

^^ " The law is a good one, my dear son ; and if our 
r ^»rdght of affliction does not ])ermit us to enforce it, is that 
' » reason why an honest man should infringe it ? " 

J " But, Father Christopher, Lucy should have been my 
^ ^nfe ; you know how we have been separated ; it is twenty 
J jbontìiB since I have suffijred, and taken my misfortunes 
patiently ; I have come here, risking every thing to he- 

^^Ckld her, and now '' 

■ « '* I know not what to say," resumed the friar; "you 
•J*^, no doubt, guided by a prùseworihy motive ; would 
*" God that all tliose who have free access to these place» 
leted themselves as well as I ara 
who certainly blesses thy peraevnante «A ^ 



tsB temotBaA. 



^^^^M flddity in desiring and seeking her whom he iiis giia 
^^^^■ee, God, nlio is more rigorous ihan man, bui also nun 
^^^Kdi^gent, will not regard what may be irregular in this 
^^^^Bqniry for ooe so dear." 

^^HF So saying, he arose, and Renzo followed him. While 
^^^Tstening to liiin, he had been confirmed in his resolutìaa 
not to acqnaint the fatber with Lucy's vow. '-'Ifb 
learns that," thought he, " he will certainly raise w» 
difScultieB. Either I shall find her, and we can then dis- 
close, or and then what use would it be?" 

After having conducted him to the opening of iheraMii, 
towards the north, " From yonder little temple," ^d k 
" rising above the miserable lents. Father Felix is «booi 
to lead in procession the small remnant who are conni* 
cent, to another station, to finish their quarantine. Awi 
notice, but watch them as they pass. If she Is not of dtt 
number, this side," added he, pointing to the e<iifiw beftn 
them, " this side of the building and a part of the iài 
before it are assigned to the women. You will percd*ei 
railiug which dividea that quarter from this, but so bnAes, 
in many places, that you can easily pass through. Ow 
there, if you do nothing to offend, probably no one " 
speak to you. If, however, there is any difficulty, saT i 
Father Christopher knows you, and will answer for jtk 
Seek her, then, seek her with confidence — and with nsf 
nation ; for remember, it is an unusual expectation, a 
son alive within the walls of the lazaretto • Go, then, 

be prepared for whatever result " 

" Yes, I understand!" said Renzo, a dark cloud ow 
shadowing his countenance ; " I understand, I will sedi 
everyplace, from one end of the lazaretto tolheotber' 
And if I do not find her!" 

" If you do not find her ? " repeated the father, in 
rious and admonitory tone. 

But Renzo, giving vent to the wrath which had ta 
for some time pent up in his hosom, pursued, " If 1 1 
not find her, I will find another person. Either at Hib t 
or in his abominable palace, or at the end of the wodii ^■ 
in the house of ^.te devil, I will find the villain 
^^^^^Uated us ; \n\. !oi '■nWiil 'Vu.i^'^ 



twenty mondiB agoj mil if we had been ilestined ti 

at least we should have died together, i! he still live^J 

■will find him " 

" Renzo ! " said the friar, seizing him by tlie a 
looking at him severely. 

" Aod if I find hira," continued Renao, entirely blinde 
hy rage, " if the pestilence has not already done justtoe — 
tlie time is past when a poltroon, surrounded Ly bravoeSj can 
reduce men to despair, and laugh at ihera! the time if 
come when men meet face to face; and I will do myself 
- Jn.tl«.- 

" Dnhappy youth !" cried Father Christopher, with a 

I voice which had suddenly become strong aud sonorous, 
biB head raised, and eyes darting fortli more than iheir 
I ^onted fire; " uidiappy youth ! look around you ! Behold 
mho punishes and who judges; who punishes and pardons! 
Bot you, feeble worm, you would do yourself justice ! Do 
► you know what justice is ? Unhappy youth ! begone 1 

I- , I hoped yea, I hoped that before I died, God would 

i aSbrd me the consolation to learn that my poor Lucy still 
F . lived; to see her, perhaps, and to hear her promise that she 
H would send a prayer to yonder grave where 1 sbeJl rest. 
^. Begone, you have taken away my hope. God has not left 
V her on the eartli for thee, and you certainly have not the 
J audacity to believe yourself worthy that God should thiidc 
' of consohng you. Go, I have no time to listen to you 
> £trther." And he dropped the arm of Renzo, which he 
tlsd grasped, and moved towards a cabin. 

"Oh, my father!" said Renzo, following him with a 
Wipplicflling look, " will you send me away thus ? " 

*'IIow !" resumed the capuchin, but in a gentler tone, 

*' woidd you dare ask me to steal the time from these poor 

^ «fflicted ones, who are expecting me to speak to them of 

■the pardon of God, in order to listen to thy accents of 

— thy projects of vengeance? I listened to you, 

a you asked consolation and advice, but now that you 

|e revenge in your heart, what do you want with me ? 

Kme, I have listened to the forgiveness of the ujured, 

1.^ repentance of the a^ressor ; I have wept with 

f but what have I to do with thee ?" ^H 



I 



Oh, I pardon hìin ! I pardon him ! I pardon him fur 
!" MÌd the young man. 

Rcn»o," saiii the friar, io a calmer tone, "thinlotifc j 
lell me how often jou have pardonetl him ? " 
He kepi sHence some lime, and noi receiving ao tasto, 
L bowed hi» heaJ, and, with a voice trembling from tat- ] 
tion, continued, " You Inow why I wear this li»bit f " 
Renxo hesitated. 
" You know it?" repealed the old mac 

1 know it." 
" 1 likewise hated, 1, who have reprimanded yoota" 
ght, a word. The man 1 hated, I killed.'* 
Yes, but it was a noble, one of those — ' — 
Silence !'* interrupled ihe friar. " If that werejiafi. 
lication, believe you 1 should not have found it in ilud) 
years ? Ah ! if I could now make you exjperience the so ' 
ment 1 have since had, and that 1 now have for them 
Ihated! If /could,/.' — but God can. Mayhedoj'l 
Hear mc, Renxo. He is a hetl«r friend to you, ihau j» 
arc to yourself; you have thought of revenge, bui Heta 
power enough, piiy enough, to prevent it ; you knon p 
have often said that he can arrest the arm of the powM» 
but learn, also, that he can arreat that of tJie vtnilidi 
And because you are poor, because you are injured, I 
he not defend against you a man created in his ioilg 
Will he suffer you to do all you wish ? No I but he i 
cast you off for ever ; he can, for this sentiment w" 
mates you, embitter your whole life, eince, whatever fc ^ 
pens lo you, hold for certain, that all will be punisbn ,, 
tmtil you have pardoned, pardoned freely and for everl r 

" Yes, yes," said Renzo, wiih much emotion, " 1 
that 1 have never truly pardoned him ; I have sjioken 
brute and not as a Christian; and now, by the lidp 
God, 1 jiardon him from the bottom of my 
" And should you see him ? " 
" I would pray God to grant me patience, and to W u 
his heart." ^ 

" Do you remember that the Lord has not only U 
to pardon our cnevnieB, but to love them ? Do you 2. 
■pirmbrr thai he loteù. Ùietc «a m \n ^ik, &t them ? " 



temi-i 
doll 

LDjd 



f— = — 1 

^m-Yes, I do." ^H 

" Well, come and beliold hira. You have Kaid you ' 
'would Und him ; you ehall do so ; come, and you will see 
■gainst whom you preserve hatred, to whom you desire 
evil, against what life you would arm yourself!" 

He took the hand of Renzo, who followed him, without 
daring to ask a question. The Iriar led the way into one 
of the cabins. The first object Itenzo beheld was a sick 
person seated on a bed of straw, who appeared to be con- 
valescent. On seeing the father, he shook his head, as 
if to say No. The father bowed his with an air of sorrow 
and resignation. Renzo, meanwhile, gazing with uneasy 
CurioBily around the cabin, beheld in the corner of it a sick 
t jMTGon lying on a feather bed, wrapped up in a. sheet, and 
i^woveieii with a cloak. Looking attentively, he recog- 
lailsed Don Roderick I The unfortunate man lay motion- 
'3eBs; his eyes wide open, but without any cognisance of 
'the objects around him ; the stamp of death was on his 
ij^bce, which was covered with black spots; his lips were 
IvwoUeu and black : you woidd hare thought it the face of 
IjiBie dead, if a violent contraction about the mouth had not 
bevealed a tenacity of life ; his respiration was painful, and 
Hbis livid band, extending on the outside of the covering, 
lAras firmly grasping his cloak, and pressing it upon his 

" Behold ! " said the friar, in a low solemn voice ; " the 
■^Bentiment you hold towards tills man, who has offended 
5'Ou, such will God hold towards you on tlie great day. 
Aless him, and be blessed I For four days he has been 
^k«re in this condition, without giving any sign of percep- 
Son. Perhaps the Lord is disposed to grant him an hour 
*^ repentance, but he would have you pray for it ; perhaps 
*« desires that you should pray for him with this innocent 
tiri ; perhaps he reserves this favour for thy prayer alone, 
*Ar tlie prayer of an afflicted and resigned heart. Perhaps 
4:te salvation of this man and thine own depend at this 
kaoroent upon thyself^ upon thy pity, upon thy love. He 
^^it silence, and clasping his hands, bowed his head as in 
^Tayer, and Renzo, completely subdued, followed his ex- 
»*ople. Their supplications wetc mXenwflKi wv ». 'à\'sti, 

EB 3 



THE BETIIOTHED. 



lime by tile giriking of a bell : they immediately 
left the cabin. 

" Thu [iroceBaion is kbout to move," said the htitn; 
" go then, prepared to make & sacrifice, to pTsite Goil, 
whatever may be the issue of your search ; and «hattm 
that may be, return lo me, and we will praise him logedier. 

Here lliey separated ; the one to resume his punAil 
diiiies, the other to the little temple, which was clow « 
hanil. 



Bid \ 



H^ CHAPTER XXXV. 

Who would bave told Renzo some moments before, tht 
at the very time of his greatest suspense and anKiEty, li 
heart should be divided between Lucy and Don Roderid? 
And iieTertheleaa it was so. The thought of him min^ 
itself with all the bright or painful images which hopca 
fear called up as he proceeded. The words the friar M 
uttered by that bed of pain, blended themselves with ik 
cruel uncertainty of his soul. He could not utter a pn^i 
for tlie happy issue of his present undertaking, wicho» 
adding Co it one for the miserable object of lu's former it- 
sen tment and revenge. 

He «aw the Father Felix on the portico of the chorfi 
and by his attitude comprehended that the holy insa w< 
addressing the assembled convalescents. He placed himsrif 
where he could overlook the audience. In the midst wn 
the women, covered with vetl« ; Renzo gaaet) at ihB 
intently, but iioding that, from the place where he stood,' 
would be a vain scrutiny, he directed his attention to i 
felher. He was touched by his venerable figure ; il 
listened with all the attention his own i!oHcÌtu<le wddU 
allow, to the reverend speaker, who thus proceeded in U 
~ iting addresa: — 

J,el UB tMnk Eoi a \oome>\\," nìjì\k, " tA ■&«, ■ 



^ 



*-s 



amis who have gone forth thithei," pointing to 
lehind him, leading to the burying ground of San GregorjJ 
rtaich teas then but one mighty grave. " Let us look am 
he thousandE who remain here, uncertain of their deetinyM 
et UE also look at ourselves ! May the Lord be praiseda 
tewaed in hÌ9 justice ! praised in his mercy I praised i~ 
Uath .' praised in life ! praised in the choice he has a 
'fE us ! Oh ! why has he done it, my children, if not t| 
Iraservc a people corrected by affliction, and animated b 

Eilude P That we may be deeply sensible that life is hi 
, thnC we may value it accordingly, and eniplo<f it id 
ks which he will approve ? That the remembrance a 
imr Bufferings may render «s compassionate, and actively 
xnevolent to others. May thotc with whom we have suf- 
ered, hoped, and feared, and among whom we leave 
Henda and kindred, may they as we pass amidst tbem 
lerive edification from 'our deportment 1 May God pre- 
erre UB from any exhibition of self- congratulati on, or 
smal joy, at escaping that death against which they are 
itili struggling ! May they see us depart, rendering thanks 
Id Heaven for ourselves, and praying for ihem ; that they 
bay say. Even beyond these wall» they «till remember iu, 
%es Kill continue to pray for tu .' Let us b^in from this 
noment, from the first step we shall take into the world, a 
jfe of charity ! Let those who have regained their former 
Itrength, lend a fraternal arm to the feeble; let the young 
nistain the old; let those who are left without children 
become parents to the orphan, and thus your sorrows will 
be softened, and your lives will he acceptable to God !" 

Here a deep murmur of sighs and sobs, which had 
been increasing in the assembly, was suddenly FUspeniled, 
on seeing the friar place a cord around his neck and fall 
on his knees. All was intense attention and profound 
■ilence. 

" For myself," said he, " and for all my companions, 
who have been chosen to the high privilege of serving 
Christ in you, I humbly ask your forgiveness if we have 
not worthily fulfilled so great a ministry. If indolence, or 
the waywardness of the flesh, has rendered us less attentive 
to your wants, less prompt lo ^ovo oJi ibaa ^aWj ^«^ 



«n 



4i* 1 

■lUvlnl ; \t uvjaA impatience, or culpable disgust, bin I 
cauMtl US HorDetimcs to appear eerere and weariedin todt \ 
liresenee ; if, indeed, the iniser»ble thought ihaijmiU 
need of us, has led ug to be deficient in humiliiy umidì 
jou ; if our fruity has maJe ua commit any action dloà 
may liave gi^en you pain, pardon us ! May God Tcnul 
also youi oèéaces, and bless you i " 

W'e have here related, If not tlie very words, at leuldu 
BcnE« of tliat which he uttered ; but we c&Diiol descrite 
the &cvetit which accompanted them. It was thai of t 
man who called it a privilege to serve the afflicted, bcmuc 
he really considered it such ; who confessed not lo hit 
worthily exercised ilua privilege, because he truly feltbii 
deficiency ; who ashed pardon, because he was persiuded 
he had need of It. But his hearers, who had behdl 
tliese capuchins only occupied in serriog them, wbo ili 
hehelil so many of them die in the eervice, and be who now 
spoke in the name of all, always the first io toil as be W 
the first in authority, bis hearers could only answer him 
with tears. The good friar then took a cross which ksbì'I 
against a,jiil1ar, and holding it up before him, took 09" b» 
sandals, passing through the crowd, which opened ruBpe* 
fully to give bim a passage, and placed liimgelf at that 
bead. 

Renzo, overcome with emotion, drew on one side, ««I 
placed himself near a cabin, where, half concealed, he 
awaited, with bis eyes open, bis lieart palpitating, bil 
with renewed confidence, the result of the emotion eitctted 
by the touching scene of which he bad been a witness. 

Father Felix proceeded barefooted at the head of (he 
procession, with the cord about bis neck, bearing that loBf 
and heavy cross ; he advanced slowly but resolutely, U 
one who would spare tile weakness of others, but whott 
ideas of duty enabled him to rise above his own. The 
largest children followed immediately behind bim, for the 
most part barefooted, and very few entirely clothed ; thai 
came the women, nearly all of them leading a child, 
and singing alternately the miserere. The feeble sound ofl 
the voices, the palewesB and languor of the c 
^HUd have excited eonmnaetB.'aiQam'i'w.^ienX^ «,d 



ii^^H 



spectator. But Renzo was occupied with hii 
anxieties ; the slow progress of tlie procession enabled 
to scan with ease every face as it passed. He looked and 
looked again, and always in vain .' His eye wandered 
ftom rank to ranfcj from face to face — they came, they 
passed — in vain, in vain — none but unknown features ! 
A Dew ray of hope dawned upon his mind as he beheld 
fome cars approaching, in wtiich were the convalescents 
^rho were still too feeble to support the fatigue of walking. 
They approached so slowly that Renzo had full leisure to 
examine each in turn. But he was again disappointed; 
tìle cara had all passed, and Father Michael, with his staff 
ia his hand, brought up the rear as regulator of the pro- 

Thus nearly vanished his hopes, and witli them his 
' TeBolution, His only ground of hope now was to find Lucy 
«till under the power of the disease ; to this sad and feeble 
Iwpe, he clung with all the ardour of his nature. He fell 
OD his knees at the last step of the temple, and breathed 
Cbrth an unconnected, but fervent prayer ; he arose, 
Bteengthened in hope ; and passing the railing poin ted out 
by the father, entered into the quarter allotted to the 
kramen. As lie entered it, he saw on the ground one of 
Uie little bells that tlie morialti carried on their feet, with 
its leather straps attached to it. Thinking it might serve 
Inin as a passport, be tied it to his foot, and then began 
lljs painful search. Here new scenes of sorrow met his 
eye, similar in part to those he had already witnessed, 

Krtly ilissimilar. Under the weight of the same calamity, 
discerneil a more patient endurance of pain, and a 
(greater sensibility to the afflictions of others ; they to whom 
ilwdily suffering is a lot and an inheritance, acquire from it 
fortitude to bear their own woes, and sympathy to bestow 
■m the woes of others. 

Renzo had proceeded some distance on his search, when 
3k heard behind him a " Ho !" which appeared to be ad" 
jdiesaed to him. Turning, he san at a distance a commia. 
%uy, who cried, " Co there into those rooms ; tliey want 
jou there ; they have not finished carrying all off." 
p Renzo perceived that he look Iraa tot a nwiuiWo, »sA. 



426 Tn» BETKOTBED. 

thai the little bcU had caused the mistake. He detennined 
to extricate hiineelf from it as soon as he couJiL Mikisg 
» «ign of obedience, he hid hiniBelf from the comnÓBHy, 
by psssing between Iwo cabins which were very new aài 

As he BtoDped to unloose the strap of the little bdl, he 
resleil his heart against the straw wall of one of the caliiw; 
a Toice reached his ear. O Heaven 1 is it possible? Eti 
wbob soul was in his ear, he scarcely breathed. Tm! 
ye»! it was that voice ! " Fearof what?" said that gentle 
voice ; " we have passed through worse dangers than i 
tempest. He who has watched over us until now, "il 
Btill contìnue to do so." 

Renzo scarcely hrealhed, his knees trembled, his aghi 
became dim ; with a great effort recovering his facoltia, 
be went to the door of the cabin, and beheld her whabd 
spoken ! She was standing, leaning over a 
turned at the sound of his steps, and gazed for 
bewildered ; at last she exclaimed, "Oh ! blessed Lord! 

" Lucy! 1 have found you again! I have found 
^;ain ! It is, indeed, you ! You live !" cried Renm, 
vancing with trembling steps. 

" Oil ! blessed Lord !" cried Lucy, greatly agitated 

it indeed you ? How ? Why ? the pestilence " 

^^^ " I have bad it. And you?" 

^^1 " Yes. I have had it also. And ray mother ?" i. 

^^^^ ' " I have not seen her yet; she is at_Pasturo. (I belies 

^^H iowever, that she is well. But you are still suffering 1 bt 

^^Bi feeble you appear ! you are cured, however ; yoti are, it 

^■.notso?" 

^V " The Lord bos seen fit to leave me a little limit 

here below," said Lucy, "But, Itenzo ! why are J J^^' 
here f" 

" ^VTiy?" said Renzo, approaching her, " do you I ^^ 
me why I am here? JWust I tell you? iVhom * , 
think of then ? Am I not Renzo ? Are you no loi^ 

" Oh ! why speak thus ! Did not my mother writ* 

^^HL» Yes! Bbewrotelome* Vmi. ■&«&%*, ^^*.■i,^ 



rf;il» 
maniiHl 
Lord,!*! 
:nd;ol| 



poor unfortunate man, an exile from his n: 
; least, who never injured you !" 
" But Renzo ! Renzo ! since you knew 

b,r 

" Why come ! Lucy ! why come, do you say 
( many promises ! Are we no longer llie same ! 
irgolten ? " 

" O God ! " cried Lucy, sorrowfully clasping her hani 
od raising her eyes to heaven ; " why didst thou 
le to thyself ! O Renzo ! what have you done ! 

[»ped that with time 1 should have driven fr 

ly memory " 

•• A kind hope indeed ! and to say so to 

" Oh ! what have you done ! in this place 1 in the midat 
F these sorrows ! Here, where there is nothing but deathj 
on have dared " 

" We must pray to God for those who die, and trust that 
ley will he happy ; but their calamity is no reason why 
aoae who live must live in despair " 

" But Renzo ! Renzo ! you know not what you say ; a 
xomiac to the Virgin ! a vow !" 

" I tell you, such promises are good for nothing." 

" Oh ! where have you been all this time ? with whom 
Uve you associated, that you speak thus ?" 

" I speak as a good Christian. I think better of the 
^I»^n than you do, because I do not believe vows to the 
yury of others are acceptable to her. If the Virgin had 

■>cken herself, oh ! then indeed but it is simply an 

tea of your own !" 

" No, noj you know not what you say ; you know not 
liat it is to make a vow ! Leave me, leave me, for the 
'■ve of Heaven ! " 

" Lucy!" said Renzo, "tell me at least, tell me, if 

lis reason did not exist would you feel the same to- 

■«rdsme?" 

" Unfeeling man ! " said Lucy, with difficulty restrain- 
ig her tears ; " would it satisfy you to hear me confess 
bat which might be sinful, and would certainly be UEeleas 1 
■eave me, oh I leave me ! forget me ! we were not dea- 
i««a *-«rf. flthiff. Wa AbB mprt ftPiSn AMwia^-wfc^aa» 



I^pt Ioni; to remain in the world. Go ! tell my mather ihn 

I I am cured , ihnt even Itere God has assisted me, (hit I 

liftve found t, good soul, dits worthy woman nhobuWn 

a mother to me ; tell her we shall meet tchen it is the iriU 

flf God, and a* it is his will. Go ! for the love of Rtaml 

and remember me no more except when jou pnyB 

God!" 

And BG if wishing to withdraw from the temptauonto 
prolong the conversation, she drew near tìie bed wha» 
the female was lying of whom she had spoken. 

" Hear me, Lucy, bear me ! " said tlenzo, without bmr. 
ever approaching her. 

^" No, no ; go away ! for charity ! " 
" Hear me. Father Christopher " 
«Howf 
" He iB here." 

" Here! where? how do you know? " ' 

" I have just spoken with him ; a man hke him it !?■ ' 
pears to me " ipe 

" He is here ! lo assist the afflicted, no doubt. Huh oai 
had the plague ? " Ar. 

" Ah ! Lucy ! I fear, I greadj fear " As Bffli *Ji 

hesitated to utter his fears, she had unconscioiislv «^ llfn 

approached him, with a look of anxious enquiry " iiiiu 

fear he has it now !" "S I 

" Oh ! poor man I But what do 1 say ? poor man ! I <inr 
is rich, rich in the favour of God I How is be ? Is he 01 ki p 
fined to his bed ? Has he assistance ? " '■ 

" He is, on the contrary, still assisting others 1) IM 

if you were to see him ! Alas ! tliere can be no mistakel ^te 

" Oh ! is he indeed within these walls f " said Lucy, f'lal 

" Here, and not far off; hardly farther than from yo And 
cottage lo mine if you remember " '"' 

" Oh ! most holy Virgin !" "o et 

" Shall I teU you wliat he said to me? He said 1 J lili i 
well to come in search of you, lliat God would approvci "' 

and that he would assist me to find you Thus, thi ti I 

you see " Dm 




?" 



^atton of your own ? 

: tliinks of thinps of that t 
Shall I tell you what 1 hive seen : 
the cabin. 

Lucy, although familiari seti in tliis abode of hor 
spectacles of wretchedness and despair, was shocked at tl 
recital. 

. " And at the side of that bed," said Renzo, " if you 
5atild bave heard the holy man ! He said, that God haa 
perhaps resolved to look in mercy on this unfortunate — 
[I can now give hira no other name) — that he designs to 
nbdue him to himself, but that he desires ihat we should 
Iray together for him — together .' do you undersiand?" 

" Yes, yes, we will pray each, there where the Loid 
hftll place us. He can imite our prayers." 

" But if 1 tell you his very words " 

" But, Renzo, he does not know " 

" But can you not comprehend, when such e 
^eaks, it is God who speaks in him, and that he would 
aot have spoken thus, if it ought not to be exactly so ? 
^nd the sold of this unfortunate ! 1 have prayed, and 
Mil pray for him ; I have prayed wilh all my heart, as if 
Be were my brother. But what, think you, will be his con- 
pition in the other world, if we du not repair some of the 
Bvil he has done ? If you return lo reason, all will be set 
b order. That which has been, has been — he has had 
«in punishment here below " 

" No, Renzo, no ! God would not have us do evil that 
food may come. Leave to him the care of this unfortu- 
^te man ; our duty is to pray for him. If I had died that 
Otal night, wDidd not God have been able to pardon him? 

Ik-nd if I am not dead, if I have been dtlivered " 

" And your mother, poor Agnes, who desired bo much 
ti see us man and wife, has she not lold you it was a fool- 
fch imagination ? " 

" My mother I think you ray mother would advise me 
■^ break a vow? Would you desire that she should? 
But, Itenzo, you are not in your right mindj" 

" Oh*! you women cannot he made to comprehend rea- 
fcapl Father CSirigtoplier WJA me to wftonii mi^'mlbw^ 



hitii whetlier 1 had found you — I will go, and i^l liisij' 1 

" Ves, yPB, go to the holy man I Tell hira 1 prij tor 
UiD, and that I desire his prayers ! But, for the Imetii 
Heaven ! for your soul's sake, and for mine, do not nwa 

lierc, lo trouble, to tempt me ! Father ChtisWplio 

will explain matters to you, and make you return to jooi- 
sclf ; lie will set your heart at rest." 

" My heart at rest I Oh ! don't encourage an ides d 
that sort ! You have, before now, caused such language to 
be written to me t and the suffering it caused me ! ind 
now you have the heart to teU it to me ! As for me, 1 de- 
clare to you plainly, that I will never set my heart at t«. 
Lucy ! you have told me to forget you ; forget you ' 
can 1 do it? After so many trials! so many 
Who have I thought of ever since we parted ? 
cause I have suffered, that you treat me thus ? 
have been unfortunate ? because the world has 
me ? because I have been bo long away from you ? 
the first moment 1 was able, I came to seek you?" 

"Oh! holy Virgin!" exclaimed Lucy, a» the 
flowed from her eyes, *' come to my help. You h»re 
aided me hitherto ; ùd me now. Since that night sacb i 
moment as this have 1 never passed.' 

" Yes, Lucy, you do well to invoke the Virgin.- Shf 
is the mother of compassion, and will lake no pleasure in 
our sufferings. But, jf this is an excuse — if I have In- 
come odious lo you — tell me, speak frankly " 

" For pity, Renzo, for pity, atop — stop. Do not mùi 
me die. Go to Father Christopher; commend me to hio. 
Do not return here — do not return here." 

" I go, but think not I will not return, 1 would re- 
turn from the end of the world; yes, I would return!" 
and he disappeared. 

Lucy threw herself on the floor near the bed, upon 
which slie rested her head, and wept bitterly. The gODd 
woman, who had been a silent spectator of the pahifiii 
scene, demanded the cause of her anguish and her tenni 
£Mfgah».g», the reader will wish to know something ol 




tbis benevolent person : ne tvìll satisfy t!ie desire 
■words. 

She was a rich tradeswoman, about tliirty years of 
she had beheld her husband and children die of thi 
Attacked by it herself, she had been brought to the li 
xetto, and placed in the cabin with Lucy, who was jl 
1)^nDing to recover her senses, which had forsaken hi 
from the commencement of her attack in the house of 
Don Ferrante. The humble roof could only accommodate 
\tvro guests, and there grew up, in their affliction, a strict 
Iviid intimate ffiendsliip between them. They derived 
(^re«t consolation from each other's society, and had 
fdedged themselves not to separa le, after quitting the 
'HwuTetto. The good woman, whose wealth was now far 
>Biore ample than n«ie her desires, wished to retain Lucy 
'With her as a daughter : the proposidon was received with 
'gratitude, and accepted, on conditioti of the permieaiou and 
^approval of Agnes. Lucy had, however, never made 
known to her the ci rcuni stances of her intended marriage, 
Bod her other extraordinary adventures ; but now she re- 
flated, as distinctly as tears permitted her to do so, her sad 
•«tory. 

k Meanwhile Renzo went in search of Father Christopher: 
llie found him with no small ditficulty, and engaged in ad- 
Blninistering consoladon lo a dying man. The scene waa 
rwon closed, 'i'he father remained a short time in silent 
fjrayer. lie then arose, and eeeing Ilenzo approach, es- 
■ claimed, " Well, my son 1 " 

" She is there ; I have found her I " 

" Convalescent, and out of danger." 

" God be praised ! " said the friar. 

" But -" said Renzo, " there is another diiEcultyl' 

" What do you mean?" 

" I mean lliat you know how good this poor girl 

is ; bat she is sometimea a little fanciful. After so many 
promises, she tells me now she cannot marry me, because 
on that night of fear she made a vow to the Virgin I 
These things signify nothing, do they ? Ib it not true 



I 



TllE BKTBOTUEP 

d they ate not binding, at least on people such i; 



I 

^^^HP* Is stie fur from this? 

^^^Hp Oh 110 ; a few siepe bejoncl the church." 
^^^^^ Wait a TDomenI," said [lie friar, " and we will ; 
together." 

" Will you give her to understand that——?" 
" I know not, mj son : 1 must hear what she will ss; 
And they proceeded to Lucy's cabin. 

The douds were gathering in the heavens, and a la 
peat coming on. Rapid lightning, cleaving iheincressi 
darkness, illumined at moments the long roofs and area 
of the building, and the crupola of the little church : loud 
claps of thunder resounded witti prolonged echoes throogt 
the heavens. Renzo suppressed his impatience, and m- 
comraodated his fitq»s to the strength of the father, Jih, 
exhausted by fatigue, oppressed by disease, and breadiii? 
in pain, could, with difficulty, drag his failing limbs lo itv I 
performance of this last act of benevolence. I 

As they reached the door of the cabin, Renzo stoppd, 
saying, in a trembling voice, " She is there ! " They to- 
tered. Lucy arose, and ran towards the old tnan, cryiij 
— " Oh, what 1 do see ! Oh, Father Christopher !" 

" Well, Lucy I through how much peril has God pre- 
served you ! you must be rejoiced that you have alwijs 
trusted in Him." 

" Ah .' yea. — But you, my father ! how you lit 
changed .' how do you feel ? say, how are you ? " 

" As God wills, and as, through his grace, I will also,' 
replied the friar, with a serene countenance. Drairiii{ 
her aside, he said, " Hear me, 1 have but a few momenli k 
to 8j>are. Are you disposed to confide i" — -- '- "^ — 
past ? " 

" Oh, are you not still my father ?" 
" "WeU, my child, what is this vow of which Ren» 
speaks ? " 

" It is a vow I made to the Virgin never to marry." 
" But did you forget that you were bound by a previoin h^, 
promise? Goil, m'j àa.\ift\vter, accepts of offerings fii"""^ 
^^^~" " " " ia QUI own. \t \a ft\E \iesn\. W Ajavtegj | 



jC 



will ; but you cannot offer the will of another lo whom 
you had pledged yourself," 

" I have done wrong." 

" No, poor child, think not so ; I believe the holy 
Virgin has accepted the inlenlion of your afflicted heart, 
maà has offered it to God for you. But tell me, did yuu 
«idt the advice of any one about this matter?'* 

" I did not deem it a sin, or I would have confessed 
ft, and the little good one does, one ought not lo roen- 

". Have you no other motive for preventing the fulfil- 
knent of your promise lo Renzo ?" 

" Ab io that for myself what motive ? — no 

otìier," replied Lucy, with a hesitation which implied 
fuiy thing rather than uncertainty ; and a blush passed 
over her pale and lovely countenance. 

" Do you believe," resumed ihe'oldman, "that God has 
given the church authority to remit the obligaiiuns that 
nun may have contracted to him ?" 

" Yes, I believe it." 

" Leam, then, that the care of souls in tliis pince, being 
coromitted to us, we have the most ample powers frotn the 
church ; and T can, if ynu ask ic, free you from the obli- 
gation you have contracted by this vow." 

" But is it not a sin to repent of a promise made 
the Virgin ?" said Lucy, violently agitated by unexpt 

Sin, my child," said the father, "ti 
the church, and to ask her minister lo use the authority 
Trhich he liaa received from her, and which she receives 
from God ! 1 bless him that he lias given me, unworthy 
that I am, the ]iower to speak in his name, and to restore 
to you your vow. If you ask me to absolve you f' 
■hidl not hesitate to do ao ; and I even hope you ' 

" Then — then — I ask it," said Lucy, with a 
conHdence. 

The friar becl(one<l to Renzo, who was watching 
progrcTO of the dialogue with the ileepest solicitude, 
proach, and Kiiid aloud to Lucy, "With the autfa 
hold from the cliurch, 1 dedue ^ou eL>iràNt&. iiwo. 



til 



idegt 

i 



^^Br, ■nil liberate 70U from oil the obligations jim msT \ 
bmve contracled by U." 1 

The reulcr m^j imagine the feelings of Benaa at the» I 
wurds. His eyes expre^ed the warmth of his gtaiitude » . 
him "ho had ntlered them ; bat they sought in tiin f« I 
Lucy's. I 

" (U-turn in peace and Eafecy to your formn Mudi. 
meni," sidd the father. " And do you remember, my son, 
that in giving you ilija companion, the church does it a* 
to insure simply your temporal happiness, but to prep«R 
you bath for happiness without end. Tbank Heave» é 
you have been brought to this state through misery iti 
affliction : your joy will be rhe more temperate and diiN 
able. If God should grant you children, bring them up 
in hi» fear, and in love to all men — for the rest ynu wi- 
not greatly err. And now, Lucy, has Renzo lolil you nhom 
he has beheld in this place ?" 

" Yes, father, he has told me." 

*' You will pray for him, and for me also, my childrtB. 
You will remember your poor friar ?" And drawing ftiwii 
hti basket a. small wooden box, " Within this box are the 
remains of the loaf — the first I asked for charily — 
loaf of which you have heard ; I leave it to yon ; dii 
to your children ; they will come into a wicked wotM; 
they will meet the ptoud and insolent. Tell them alwa)^ 
to forgive, always ! every thing, every tiling ! And I« 
them pray for the poor friar!" 

Lucy took the box from his hands with reverence, ' 
he ontinued, "Now tell me what you mean to do here it 
Milan ? and who will conduct you to your mother?" 

'* This good lotly has been a mother to me," h 
Lucy; '"we shall leave this place together, and she v 
provide for all." 

"Blay God bieas her !''aaid the friar, approaching the Iwd. Ì 

" May he bestow h's blesaing upon you I" said the I 
widow, " for the joy you have given to the afBictnl, J 
slthniigh it disappoiiila my hope of having Lucy a 
companion. But I will accompany her to her village, 

Bher toi\et mother, soil," added slie, in a low ti 
II give the (wtfit. \>M,'icw.iitìv«eA'&i,'wi^J 
-W base enjo^ei v^ Vvflo. ma T«n« ™ v-.-J 
_fc . ..^ 






" The service will be acceptable to God," Baiil tìxe 
father, " who has natcheil over you both in affliction. 
Now," added he, lurning to Renzo, " we must begone ; I 
have remained too long already." 

" Ohj my father," paid Lucy, "shall 1 see you again? 
I have recovered from ibis dreadful disease, I who am of 
no use in the world ; and you " 

" it is long since," rep'ied the old. man wiib a serious 
and gentle tone, " 1 asked a great favour from Heaven ; 
that of ending my days in the service of my fellow-men. 
If God grants it to me now, all lliose who love me should 
help me to return him thanks. And now give Renzo your 
commissiona for your mother." 

" Tell her all," said Lucy to lier bclrothed ; " lell her I 
have found here another mother, and that we will come to 
her aa soon as we possibly can." 

" If you have need of money," said Renzo, " I have 
here all that you sent " 

" No, no," said the widow, " I have more tha:i auf- 

" Farewell, Lucy, and you, too, good Eignora, till we 
meet again," said Renzo, not having words to express bis 
feelings at this moment. 

" Who knows whether we ihall all meet again?" cried 

" Jlay God ever watch over you and bless you!'" said 
the friar, as be quitted the cabin with Renzo. 

As night was not far ilisiant, the capuchin offered the 
young man a shelter in his humlile abode: " 1 cannot 
bear you company," said he, " but you can at least repose 
yourself, in order to be able to prosecute your journey." 

Renzo, however, felt impatient to be gone ; as to the 
hour or the weather it might be said that, night or day, 
rain or shine, heat or cold, were equally indifferent lo bim ; 
the friar pressed bis band as he departed, saying, " If you 
find, which may God grant ! the good Agnes, remember me 
to her ; lell her, as well as all ihuse who remember Fii^H 
ChristO[iher, to pray for me." ^H 

" Oh, dear father, shall we never meet again ?" .,^^| 
, " AboTC, 1 hope. Farewdl) tMCTc\!lV' ^H 



I 



CHAPTER XXX\^. 



As Renzo parsed without the waUs of the laiiretlo, itic 
rain began to fall in torrents. Instead of lamenting, hi 
rrjoicptl B[ it; he vras ileligbled with the refreshing ai 
wilh the sound of the falling drops from the plani 
foliage which seemed to have new life imparted to ihcoi 
«nd breathing more freely in ttiis change of nature, he là 
more fitldly the change that had occurred in hi 

But mucli would hi» enjoyment ha*e been innetiA 
could he have surmised what would be sten a few itjt 
after. Tliis water carried oS', washed away, so to ipat, 
the contagion. If the laureilo diil not restore to llr 
living all the living it still coniaiiied, at least from ih» 
day it received no more into its vast abyss. At the end^f 
■ week, shops were opened, people returned to their hou», 
quarantine was hardly spoken of, and there reutained of dit 
pestilence hut a few scaciered traces. 

Our traveller proceeded on full of joy, wiiltout having 
thouglit v>kerc or when he should slop for the i " ' 
■Dxious only to go forward to reach the village, and VI ! 
proceed immediaiely U» Pasturo in search of Agnes, la 
the midst of the reminiscence» of the horrors and ilw ' 
dangers of the day, there was always present the thougbit 
",I have found her ! she is well ! she is mine J " 

And then again he recalled his doubts, his diffieuldfs, 
his fears, his hopes, that liad agitated him that eveniful 
morning ! He fancied himself with his hand on (h( 
knocker of Don Ferrante's house ! And the unfavourable 
answer! And then those fools «ho were about to atwi 
him in tlieir tnadness I And the lazaretto, that M» 
sepulchre! To hare hurried thither to find her, and U 
have found her ! And the procession ! What a moment! 
lOW it appealed tiolhing to him I And the quatnt i 
U-l for ÙieT«OTOen\ A-ni t\iw:,\iiJtìHi*i»ÌMi<.<»liiir i 






437 ( 

when }ie least expcctEil it, that voice ! that voice itself j 
And to sec her there ! But then her vow ! It exists no 
longer. And. his violent hatred against Don Roderick, 
vrbich had augmented his grief, and shed its venom over 
his hopes ! That also was gone. Indeed, had it not been 
for his uncertainty concerning Agnes, his anxiety about 
Father Christopher, and the consciousness tliat the pesti- 
lence still existed, his happiness would have been without 

He arrived at Sesto in the evening ; the rain had bb yet 
ino appearance of ccaeing. But Renzo did not stop, his 
lonlf inconvenience was an extraordinary appetite, which 
Ithe vicinity of a baker's shop enabled him to mitigate the 
violence of. When he passed through Monza it was dark 
;iiight ; he succeeded, however, in leaving it b; the right 
roa^ ; but what a road ! buried between two banks, almost 
like the bed of a river, it might tlien, indeed, have been 
called a river, or rather, an aqueduct ; in numerous places 
were deep holes, from which Renzo could with difficultjr 
lextricate himself. But he did as well as he could, without 
impatience or regret. He reflected that every step brought 
ihim nearer to the end of his journey; that the rain would 
cease when God should please ; that day would come in 
its own time ; and that in the mean time the road he had 
ipasscd over he should not have to travel again. At tbe 
^break of day he found himself near the Adda. It had not 
ceased raining; there was still a drizzling shower; the 
llight of the dawn enabled Renzo to see around him. He 
'was in his own country ! Who can express his sensations? 
! Those mountains, the Re»egone, the territory of Lecco, ap- 
_ peared to belong to hira, to he his own ! But, looking at 
himself, he felt that his outward aspect was rather at 
variance with the exuberant joyousness of liis heart ; hia 
clothes were wet and clinging to his body, his hat bent oot 
of shape and full of water ; hia hair hauging straight about 
Ilis face ; while his lower man was encased in a deoiO' 
covering of mud. 

' He reached Pescate ; travelled along tl,« Ad'la, giving 
melancholy glance at Pescarenico ; passed the bridge, ai 
crossed the fields, to the house of his fiieud, who, if 



;at 

o^ I 

out ÉM 

I 



KTBB BETBÒTBKn.' T 

w«9 at the door, looking out upon the weather. Vi I 
il the Btrtngc figure, corered with tnuil, «id w« l> 
the skin, and yet, bo joyous and animated ! in Ins tifclie 
hul never seen a man, so accoutred, appear so satisfied wft 
hiraielf. 

" How ! " Eaid he, " already here ! and in such we»4a! 
How liavc tilings gone with you P " 

" She n there ! she ti there t ahe ie there ! " 
• Wdl and safe?" 
" Convaleaceni, which is better ! 1 have wundcrM 
ibingB to tell you." 

" But what a state you aie in ! " 
" A pretty pickle indeed !" 
" In truth you might squeexe water enough from jmr 
upper half to wasli away the muil from the Jowm. 
wait a moment ; J will make a fìre." 

" I «hall be glad to feel ila warmth, I assure you. 
you know where the rain overtook me ? Precisely « the 
door of the lazaretto ; but uo matter, the weather doei iB 
business, and I mine." 

His friend soon kindled a bright blaze. " Now So at 
another favour," said Renzo, " bring me the bundle 

above ; for beTore my elolhes dry " 

Returning with the bundle, his friend said, '' You 
be hungry ; you have had drink enough, no doubt, on Ù* 

way, but a« to eating " J 

" I bought two loaves yesterday at dusk, hut tml)', I I 
have not eaten them." I 

" Well, I wi!l provide for you." He poured son* 
water in a kettle wlircli hung over the fire, adding, •' 1 "iii 
go iiitd milk the cow, and when I return with the milk, da 
water will he ready, and we will have a good polenta. Yuo, 
in [lie mean while, change your clothes." After ha-riug 
allowed him time to perform the troublesome operation, bii 
friend returned, and commenced making the jiolenla. " ' 
have mnch to tell you," said RenKO. " If you were to 
Milan ! and the laiarelto ! Slie ia there .' you will i 
see her here ; she will be my wife ; you shall be at 
wedding, and, jjesiiknca or not, we will be happy for a 
hours." 

Oil the following mo-ttóos ^^^i» ™'^ °^^ ^^^ ^iki!^. 



439 

On his arrival, ha asked concerning Agnes, anil learnt that 
she was in heallh and safety. He approached her residence, 
which had been painted out to him, and called her bj 
name from the street. At the sound of his voice, she 
rushed to the window, and Renzo, without allowing her 
time to apeak, cried, " Lucy is well ; I saw her the day 
before yesterday ; she will be at home shortly ; oh, I 
Lave so many things to tell you." 

Overcome by various ernoliona, Agnes could only ar- 
ticulate, " I will open the door fur you." 

" Stop, Btop," said Renzo. " You have not had the 
plague, 1 beUeve?'' 

" No. Have you?" 

" Yes ; but you ought to be prudent. I come from 
Milan ; and have been for two days in the midat of it. It 
is true I have changed my clothes, but the contagion 
attache!! itself to the flesh, like witchcraft; and since God 
baa preserved you until now, you must take care of your- 
self until all danger is over ; for you are our mother, and 
I trust we shall live long together as a compenBalion for 
the sufferings we have endured, / at least." 

" But " 

" There is no longer any but ; I know what you would 
■ay. You will soon see there is no longer any bat ; come 
into the open air, where I may speak lo you in safety, and 
I will tell you all about it." 

Agnes pointed to a garden adjoining the house. Renzo 
entered it, and was immediately joined by the anKinus and 
impatient Agnes. They seated themselves opposilu each 
other on two benches. The events he described are already 
known to our reader, and we will leave to his imagination 
the numerous exclamaiions of grief, horror, surprise, and 
joy, that interrupted the progress of the narrative every 
moment. The result, however, was an agreement to settle 
all together at Bergamo, where Renzo had already an 
advantageous engagement ; <c/ien would depend on the 
pestilence and other circumstances ; Agnes was to remain 
where she was, until it should he safe for her to return 
heme ; and in the interval she should have regular inform- 
^Hi of all their movements. m 



1 

ìe friend, T 
idoptlo. \ 



410 THK BBTKOITbED. 

He ilepartei], nìlh the addìdoDal consolation of hi 
round one so dear lo liim safe and welL He remunrffl 
TCKt of that ilay and the folloning night ntlh hie fr 
■nd Oli the morrow set out for tlie country of his «Jopliin. 

}{e found Bortolo in good health, and in less ippnte- I 
aion of losing it, as within a few days things had npiiUj | 
changed for the better. The malignity of the disiemps | 
had subsided, and given place to ferer indeeii, at^coinpaiiW < 
with tumours, but much more easily cured. The coiuiln' 
presented a new aspect ; those who had survived the pes- 
tilence began to resume their business ; masters n 
paring for the employment of workmen in every trade; i!\i, 
above all, in that of weaving silk. Renao made some pn- 
paratiuns for the accoramodalion of his family, by yw- 
chasing and furninhing a neat little cottage, from hit 
hitherto untoQched treasure, which the ravages of ihc 
plague enabled him tu do at small cost. 

After a few days' stay, he returned by the way of Pastora, | 
and conducted Agnes to her village home : we will aX \ 
attempt to describe her feeUngs at beholding again those i 
well remembered places. She found all things in her coi- I 
tage as she had left them : it seemed as if angels bid | 
watched over the poor widow and her child. Her Gnl 
care was to get ready with all speed an apartraent in her ' 
humble abode for that kind friend who had been to ha ' 
child a second mother. Renzo, on his side, was not i^ 
He laboured alternately at the widow's garden, and in ll» 
service of his hospilabti; friendi As to his own oottage^ il 
pained him to witness the scene of desolation it presented; 
■nd he resolved to dispose of it, and tra,nBfer its value 10 
his new country. His re.appearance in the village was s 
cause of much congratulation to those who had survived the 
plague. All were anxious to learn his adventures, which 
had given rise to so many reports among the neighbours. 
As to Don Abbondio, he exhibited tlie same apprehension 
of the marriage as before; the mention of which conjured 
up to his affrighted fancy the dreaded Don Roderick and 
his train on the one side, and the almost equally feared 
cardinal and his arguments on the other. 

We will now tta.ns'pOTl tìve TeaiEi ioi *, fei; o 
■Miian, Some da^a aiwr tìve s^av " " 






44»! 

Lucy left it with the good widow. A g 

e having been ordered, they puesed the period 
F it together in the house of tlie Utter. Tiie time 
'as employed in preparing Luey's wedding clothes ; and, 
le quarantine terminated, they set off on their journey. 
Ve could add, they arrived, but, notwithstanding i 
eaire to yield to the impatience of the reader 
K three circumatances whicli we must not pasa 

The first is, that while Lucy was relating her adventure! 
lore minutely to the good widow, she recurred to the 
ignora, who had afforded her an asylum, in the convent of 
donza, and in return learnt many tilings which afforded 
er the solution to numerous mysteries, and Riled her with 
MTow and astonishment. She learnt, too, that the unfor- 
anate signora, failing afterwards under the most horrible 
uspicions, had been, by order of the cardinal, transferred 
a a convent at Milan ; that there, after having given her- 
éS up for a time to rage and despair, she had at last made 
iCr confession and repented of her crimes ; and that her 
iresent life was one of severe and voluntary penance. If 
ny one desires to know the details of her sad history, it 
rill be found in the author we have so often quoted.* 

The second is, that Lucy, making enquiries concerning 
■"ather Christopher, of every capucliin from the laz 
sarnt with more grief than surprise that he had died 01 
lie pestilence. 

And the third is, that before quitting Milan, Lucy h 

desire to know something concerning her former patroQBS^ 
The widow accompanied her to their house, where t' 
rere informed that both had died of the plague- WTiea"! 
re eay of Donna Prassede she died, we have said all that 
I necessary ; not so with Don Ferrante, he deserves a 
ittle more of our attention, considering his learning. 

From the commencement of the pestilence, Don Ferrante 
ras one of the most resolute in ilenying its existence, not 
ndeed like the multitude, with cries of rage, but with 
rgumentB which none could accuse of want of concatena- 
la. " In rerum natura," said he, " there are but twO 



4M TfiB BEmOTHEO. T 

kinds of things, subsiances «nd accidents ; uid if I ^m 1 
thit tlie conUgion can neither be one nor theolhcfcf dm ^ 
1 shall have proved that it does not exiit; thai it lit | 
chimera. Thus, then: substancee are either maieriilor 1 
«piritutl ; tliat the contagion is a spiritual GaIutsiiH,ÌG!< j 
abcurd an opinion, that no one would presume to «iliuw I 
it ; it is, then, uaelesi to speak of it. Material lubstanca [ 
are either simple or compound. Now, the contagimi ii I 
not a simple substance, and I will prove it in three wonk 
It is not an aeriid substance, because, if it nere, insteiiln! 
passing from one body to another, it woulU fly aS w li 
sphere ; it is not a watery substance, because il voM h 
dried up by ihc wind ; it ia not igneous, because it 
burn ; it is not earthy, because it would be visible. Una- 
over, it is not a coiniiound substance, because it w 
sensible to the eye, or to the touch ; and who has > 
or touched it? It remains to see if it be an acddmU 
This is still ii^a probable. The doctors say it is commi- { 
nicated from body to body; this is tlieir Achillea; lb* ' 
pretext for so many useless regulations. Now, supposing 
it an accident, it would be a transferable accident, which a 
an incongruity. There is not in all philosophy a mote 
evident thing than this, that an accident cannot pasE from 
one subject to another ; so if, to avoid this Scylla, they are 
reduced to call it an accident produced, they avoid Scyll» 
by falling into Charybdis, because if it be produced, it doM 
not communicate itself, it does not propagate, as they clc- 
clare. These principles allowed, what is the use of laUdPf; 
of botches and carbuncles .? " 

" It is folly," said one of his hearers. 

" No, no," resumed Don Ferrante, " I do not say ». 
iScienee is science ; ne must only know how to employ it. 
Swellings, purple botches, and black carbuncles, are re- 
spectable terms, which have a good and proper signifie»- 
tion ; but I say tliey have nothing to do with the questioB. 
Who denies that there may be and are such things ? We 
must only prove whence tliey come." 

Here began the vexations of Don Ferrante. So long u 
he laughed at the contagion, he found respectful b 
tiyo listeners ; ìjut ■v«\\en \\e ctme \n Kv ' 
monatrate that liie enoi oi ftw iottoi^-n 



:IiBt there existed a general ana terrible disease, but 
in sBsigning its cause, then he found them intraclable 
md rebellious, then he no longer dared expose his doc- 
trine, but by shreds and patches. 

" Here is the true reason," said he, " and those even 
who maintain other fancies are obliged to acknowledge it. 
Let them deny, if they cdn, that there is a fatal conjunc- 
tìon of Jupiter and Saturn. And when has it been said 
that influences propagate ? And would these gentlemen 
deny the existence of influences ? Will they say there are 
no planets ? or will they say that they keep up above, do- 
ing nothing, as so many pins in a pincushion ? But that 
which I cannot understand from these doctors is, that they 
confeEs we are under so malign a conjunction, and then 
they tell us, don't touch this, don't touch that, and you 
will be safe J as if, in avoiding the material contact of ter- 
restrial bodies, we could prevent the virtual efl'ect of celel 
tial bodies. And such a work in burning rags ' ~ 
people ! will you burn Jupiter ? will you bum Saturn ? 

His fretui, that is to say, on these grounds, he took 
precautions against the pestilence ; he caught it, and dil 
like Metastasio's hero, complaining of the Et 



tthetS 



^ CHAPTER XXXVII. 

One fine evening Agnes heard a carriage drive up t 
door of her cottage. It was Lucy and the good wido^ 
We can easily imagine the joy of the meeting. 

The following morning Renzo made his appearance, at 
an early hour, little expecting to find Lucy with her mo- 
dier. " How are you, Renzo?" said Lucy, with downcast 
eyes, and in a tone — oh how different from that with 
which she addressed all besides ! Renzo was conscious 
that it was meant for him alone. 

" I am always well when 1 see you," replied the young 

""Our poor Father Christopher," saWV-wt-j , "ijiv^M 



44^ *^* BErBOTDio). T 

Uis soul, although we may be almost &ure he ìe son ii I 
hMven. prajing for ua." 

" 1 eipecleii no leas," said Renao moumfulljr, "la- I 
pected to bear that he was taken away from thia nmlilof t 
MTtoy and trouble." t 

Notwithstanding the udncEs of their recoUeclLoni, j»j I 
was the predotninant feeling of tlieir hearts. The gwl I 
widow was an agreeable addition to the little rampali. 
When Renzo saw her in the miserable cabin at the lui- 
Tetto, he oould not have believed her to be of so facile ml 
gay a dIapoùtiuD ; but the luzarelto aad the conntiy, derà 
and a wedding, are not at all the same things. Thiriog At 
evening Renzo left them, for the purpose of «isitisg ik 
curate. " Signor Curate," said he, with a respectful kt 
jocular air, " the headache, which, you said, preienid 
you from marrying us, has it passed oS*.^ The bride b 
here, and 1 am rome to have you appoint an hour, bui, 1 
pray you, not to let it be far distant." 

Don Abbondio did not say he would not ; hut he b^ 
to offer excuses and insinuations. " Wliy come forward bU 
public view with thia order for his apprehension hanging 
over liim ? and the thing could be easily done elsewhuit, 
and then this, and then that." 

" J understand," said Renzo, " you have EtiU a litllt 
pain in your head, but listen to rae." And he described 
the stale in which he had seen Don Koderieb- 

" That has nothing to do witli us," said Don Abbondia, 
" Did I say no to you? However, while (here is life 
there is hope, you know. Look at me ; 1 have also been 
nearer the other world than thiSj and here I ano nevertbe- 
lesB ; and if new troubles do not fall upon me, I hope lo 
remain here a little longer." 

The conversation was prolonged some time, nidiout 
coming to any satisfactory conclusion, and Kenzo returned 
home lo relate it. " I came off," said he, " because I 
feared I glioidd lose all patience. At times he behaved 
exactly as he did before, and I verily believe if 1 liad re- 
mained a little longer, he woutil have spoken Latin again. 
I see that all this portends » tedious business. It would 
be better to do as \ie sa^s, anv\ ^o asii V ma.ttied wImM 
we intend to live." ^H 



" Let us go and see what ne can <1o," said the wido^g 
" perhajis he will be more tractable to the ladies." 

They followed this advice, and in the afternoon pro-* 
ceeded to the parsonage. The curate evinced much plea, 
sure on seeing Lucy and Agnes, and much politenesa 
towards the stranger. He eTideavoured to divert tile dis- 
course from that which he knew to he the purport of their 
viGit. He begged from Lucy a recital of all her woes, and 
availed himself of the account of the lazaretto to draw the 
Btranger into the conversation. He then expatiated on his 
own miseries, which he detailed at full length. The pause 
so long watched for came at last. One of the widowg 
broke the ice ; but Don Abbondio was no longer the sanie 
man ; he did not say iioy hut he returned to his doubts and 
hie difficulties, jumping like a bird from branch to branch. 
" It would be necessary," said he, " to get free from this 
unlucky order. You, signora, who live at Milan, you 
ought to know the course of these things ; if we had the 
protection of some powerful man, all wounds would be 
healed. After all, the shortest way would be to have the 
ceremony performed where these young people are going, 
and where this proscription cannot affect them. Here, 
with this order, which is known to every one, to utter from 
the altar the name of Lorenzo Tramaglino is a thing I 
•hould be very unwilling to do. I wish him too well ; it 
would be rendering him an ill service." 

While Agnes and the widow were endeavouring to reply 
to these reasons, which the subtle curate is often repro- 
duced under another form, Kenzo entered the room, with 
the air of one bringing important intelligence, " The Lot 
Marquis ■ • • has arrived ! " said he, 

" What do you mean? arrived! where?" aaid 1 
Abbondio, rising. 

" He has arrived at hia castle, which was Don tUiderick's: 
he is the heir by feoffment of trust, as they say. So that 
there is no longer a doubt on the subject. And as to the 
marquis, he is a most worthy man." 

" That he is," said Don Abbondio; " I have often h 
him spoken of as an excellent lord. But is it really || 



>L(in 

to the 



in 

gence. { 



446 TUB SETSLOTBHD 

" Will you believe your sexton ? " 

" Why ■■ 

" Because he aaw him with his o« 
hear Ambrose ? I made him wait without expressly."' 

ReiiEo called the seiiton, who confirmed the intelligenw, 

" Ah, he is dead then ! he is really gone !" uid Dm j 
Abbondio. " You see, mj children, the hand of Prori- ! 
dence. It is a happy thing for this poor country : ve axiU i 
not live with rhia man. The plague has been a pot I 
scourge, but It has al«o been, as it were, a servimbb | 
broom ; it has swept off certain people, of whom, tny cbil- I 
<lren, we could never have delivered ourselves. Inlhetwint- ' 
ling of an eye they have disappeared by the hundred. Wt | 
shall no longer see him wandering about with thathaughlj I 
air, followed by his cut throats, and looking at eveiy bodj ' 
aa if they were all placed on earth for his pleasure. Hea | 
gone, and we are still here ! He will send no more me*. ' 
aagea to honest people. He has made us all pass a sad life; I 
and now we are at liberty to say so." I 

" I pardon him," said Reiizo, " with all my heart." , 

" Aiul you do well ; it is your duty ; but we may «1» 
ibank Heaven fordeliveringuBfromliim. Now, ifyouitisb 
to be married, I am ready. As to the order far gmr 
fdxure, that is of lìtde importance ; the plague hits carried 
off that wo. If you choose — to-day is Thursday— m 
Sunday, I will publish the bauns, and then I shall have 
the happiness of uniting you." 

" You know we came for that purpose," said Renzo. 

" Very well; and 1 will eend word of it to his Eni.- 

" Who is his Eminence ? " asked Agnes. 

" His Eminence ? our lord cardinal archbishop, wLob 
may Gud preserve !" 

" Oh, as to that, you are ralslakeu ; 1 can tell you tlifj 
do not call him so, because tlie second time we weol U 
speak with him, one of the priests drew me «side, and idd 
me I must call him your illustrious lordship, and my lurd." 

" And now, if that same priest were to tdl you, he wonH i 
say you must call him Your Eminenae; the pope li 
ordered, that tVik l.u\c \ie ^new \b ijiw, tixdinalr ■-*' 
yoiX know whj > Tl«i:»JAe Moel IftUJsttwja 



, THB BBTBOTUEn. 447 

ity BO many people who had no right to it. By and hy, 
hey will call the bishops Your Eminence, then the abbota 

(dill claim it, then tlie cations " 

J " And the curates," said the widow. 
J " No, no, let the curates alone for that ; they will be 
BOij Your Reverence to the end of the world. But to re- 
.tarn to our affairs. On Sunday, I will publish the banDg 
M the church, and obtain, in tlie mean lime, a dispensation 
iil>r omitting the two other pubhcalions. There will be 
^enty of similar applications, if things go on elsewhere as 
Hiey do here ; the fire hita talcen ; no one will wish to 
Bre alone, I imagine ; I have already three marriages on 
lUUld besides yours; what a pity Perpetua is dead, she 
juight find a husband ! And at Milan, signora, I imagine 
it ie the same thing." 

" Yea, indeed, la ray parish alone there were fifty mar- 
jitges last Sunday." 

" Well, the world wo'n't end yet. And you, eignors, 
baa no butterfly begun to fly around you?" 

" No, no, I thiol; not of it ; I do not mean to think of 
it." 

" Oh, yes, yes ; would you he alone indeed ? Agnes also, 

Agnes also " 

" You have a raind to jest," said Agnea. 
" To be sure I have ; it is high time. We may hope 
that the few days that remain to ua will he less sad. As 
me, poor old man I there ia no remedy for yeats, as 
they say, Senectus ipsa e>t morbus." 

Oh, now," eaid Renzo, " you tnay apeak Latin as 
much as you like ; I don't care about it now." 

" You siili quarrel with Latin, do you P Well, I will 
lot forget you. When you come before me with Lucy, 
pronounce some little words in Latin, I will say to you, 
You do not like Latin, go in peace. Eh i" 

'• Ah, it is not that Latin 1 dislike, pure and lioly like 
that of the mass ; I speak of the Latin which falls on one 
SB a tiaitor, in the very midst of conversation. For ex- 
ample, now that we are here, and all is past, the Latin 
you spoke there, in tliat corner, to make me understand 

that you could not, and 1 know not what. Tell I^H 

■ ia language I caa untleietaiid, 1(111 "jtsMÌ" ^M 



rmC BBTAOTHED. 



w 

^^^P'^Xustii you miBchicTMis fellow, bush!" 
^^BbwiUo. " Do not stir up old grievance*; if mw 

settle our account», I do not know -which of dk wWJ V | 
in debl to die other. I have forgiven you, but yon 
jiUyetl me an iH turn. As for you, it did « 
me, because jou «re a good-for-nothing felio» ; 
•peak of ihif fiUent — ihig little eaint ; one would hi 
Choughi it B sin to disirust her. But I know < 
visL-d her ; 1 know I do," added he, pointing to Agno. ■ 

It is imjiosaible to describe the change which b»dM 
over him. Hie mind, so long the slave of conlÌDUnl ipptt- I 
hension, nu now emancipated from its fetters, and lU 1 
tongue, liberated from its honds, recurred to iU foiM } 
habit». He playfully prolonged the c 
following them to the door, with some parting jest. 

The Ibllowing morning, Don Abbondio recdved a 
as agreeable as it wis unexpected, from tile lord marqiiift ' 
whose appearance confirmed all that report had sud of J 
him. " I come," said he, " to bring you the salaUliw» 1 
of the cardinal archbighop." 

" Oh, what condescension in both of yot» !" i 

" When I took leave of that incomparable maa, irk ' 
honours me with his friendship, he spoke to roe of tn I 
young people of this parish who have aulfered much fron 
the unfortunate Don Roderick. My lord wishes to h«K 
of them. Are they living ? Are llieir affaini setlJeJ ?" 

•■ Their affairs are settled ; and I had thought o( | 
writing to his Eminence about it^ but now that 1 have tlu 

honour " 

" Are they here?" 

" Yes; am! as soon as possible, they will be man and 
wife." 

" I request you lo tell me what I can do for them, and 
the best manner of doing it. You will render me a service 
by enabling me to dispose of some of iny 
weaJili for their benefit." 

" May Heaven reward you ! I thank yon ij 
of my children," said Don Abbondio ; " and since 
tordeliip allows me. I have an expedient to suggest « 
ftbspa will not dlBp\eBae -jou.. TVreae ^ood people;; 
' (rived to eBtaUis'U l\icmBe\ies AwL-wVrae, »sA. >a iJ 



superfluous 



n tile name 



iUle that belongs to them here. The beat charity yoaj 
an render them, is to buy their property, 
rlU be sold for little or nothing;. But your lordship wil 
lecide; I have spoken in obedience to your commands." 

The marquis thanked Don Abbondio, telling hi 
bould leave it to htm to fix the price, and U) do so en- 
irely to their advantage, as it was an object with him to 
tiake the amount as large as possible. He then proposed 
hat they should go together to the cottage of Lacy. 

On their way, Don Abbondio, quite overjoyed, 
inued the conversation, — " Since your lordship is S[ 
weed to benefit this people, there is another service 
:an render them. The young man has an order for his 
^tprehension out against him, for some folly he committed 
:wo years ago at Milan, on the day of the great tumult. 
fi recommendation, a word, from & ma.D like yourself, 
'night hereafter be of service to him." 

" Are there not heavy charges against him ? 

" They made a great deal of noise about it ; but reali) 
there was nothing in it." 

" Well, well ; I will take it upon myself to free him 
From all embarrassment." 

We may imagine the surprise of our little company, 
I idsit from such a guest. He entered agreeably ii 
wnversation with them, and, after a while, made his pro- 
posal. Don Abbondio, being requested by him to fls the 
price, did so ; the purchaser said he was well satisfied, 
and, as if he had not understood him, in repeatiiig it, 
doubled the sum. lie would not hear of rectifying the 
mistake, and ended the conversation by inviting the com< 
pany to dinner the day after the wedding, when the a&ait 
could be settled with every necessary formality. 

" Ah ! thought Don Abbondio, as he returned 
" if the pestilence acted everywhere with so much di 
crimination, it would ha a pity to speak ill of it. 
should want one every generation." 

The happy day at length arrived. The betrothed wei 
to the church, where they were united by Don Abbondii 
The day after, the wedding party made their visit 
castle. We will leave the reader W vma^wvc 'fcevt 



44^ 

idiaaj 

ul 
t. 
f, 

i 

L'I 




tan THE BKTROTHED. 

HeclionE on entering those walls ! In the mìdEl of their 
joy, however, ihey felt that the presence of the good Falbn 
Christopher was wanting to complete it. "But," s " 
Lucy, " he is even happier than we are, asBUtedly." 

The contract was drawn up by a doctor, 1)UI ool 
Aenvca Garbugli.' He was gone to ConterrlH. f» 
those who are not of this country, an espIanatioD of ite 
expression may be necessary. 

About half a mile above Lecco, and nearly on tfetoi- 
den of the other territory, called Castello, is CanBw!"- 
This WHS a spot where two roads cross. Near ttepàcl 
of junction there is a small eminence, an artificial Mi 
■urmounleil hy a croES. This was a heap of bodies, éai 
of this epidemic. It is true, tradition simply uys, »> 
itead of the epidemie ; but it must have been this out, o 
it was the last, and most severe within the 106111017 rf 
man : and we know that tradition says very little of iucH' 
uuless we render it some REtsistance. 

On their return, no other inamvenience was fell, lln^ 
the weight of the money which Renzo had to SD^lain' ' 
However, he did not look upon this as one of the greiM i 
hardships he had bad to encounter. There was, howeto, 
one matter which perplexed him not a little. How dwil'l 
he employ it? Should it he in agriculture ? SbouH it 
be in business? Or why choose st all ? Were not boili 
in turn, like one's legs, better than either singly ? 

It will be asked, Uid they feel no regrets on quìltìng 
their native village — their native mountains? Don llode- 
rick and his wretched agents could no longer ilisturb then. 
Regrets they did feel; but the old recollections of happiness 
enjoyed amidst its scenes, had been greatly weakened bj 
recent distresses and apprehensions, and new hopes hi'l 
arisen connected with their new country; so that theycoiJd 
look to their change of abode without any feeliitge of gritf. 
The little company now thought only of preparing for 
their journey, — the Tramaglino family to their ne« 
country, and the widow to Milan. Many tears were sheJ, 
many thanks giver, and many promises to meet again. 
Tile separation of Remo and the friend who had treat^^ 
film so hoBpitahly, vibb QOX \i;^& UxAct. '^^^'{^U£I. '(«Lj^^| 



TH8 BBTROIBED, 451 

part coldly from Don Abbondio : they had always preserved 
a certain respuct for their curate, and he, in bis heart, had 
alnays wished them well. It is theee uniortunate a&kirs 
of the world which perplex our affections. But wbo 
would believe thai, in this new abode, where Remo had 
expected such happiness, he should find only vexation ! 
This was the reiult of trifles, doubtlesa ; but it requires bo 
little to disturb a state of happiness in this life ! 

The reports the Bergamascans had heard of Lucy, 
together with Renzo's extraordinary attachment to her — 
perhapa, too, the representations of sorau partial friend — 
had contributed to excite an extravagant idea of her beauty. 
When Lucy appeared, they bi^an to shrug their shoulders, 
and say, " Is this the woman ? VVe expected something 
rery different ! What is she, after all ? A peasant, like 
a thousand others ! Women like her, and fairer than she, 
are to be found every where !" 

Unfortunately, some kind friemis told Renzo these things, 
perhaps added to what tbey had heard, and roused hia in- 
dignation. " And what consequence is it to you?' said 
he. " ^VTio told you what to expect f Did I ever do so ? 
Did I tell you she was beautiful ? She is a peasant, for- 
sooth ! IMd I ever say I would bring a princess here ? 
She does not please you. Do not look at ber, then : you 
have beautiful women ; look at them." Thus did he make 
himself unhappy ; and believing that all were disposed to 
criticise his Lucy, he showed ill nature in return. It 
would have gone ill with him, if he had been condemned 
to remain in the place ; but fortune smiled on liim in this 
respect. 

The master of another manufactory, situated near the 
gates of Bergamo, being dead, the inheritor of it, a young 
libertine, was willing to sell it half price, for ready money, 
Bortolo proposed to his cousin that they should make the 
purchase together. They did so ; and when they entered 
nto possession, Lucy was mucli pleased, and Reneo also, 
and not the less so for having heard that more than one 
]ierson amongst his neighbours had said, " Have you seen 
this beautiful simpleton who is just come?" 

Their alftirs now went on i«ospMoo»l"j . fefeiWiMi. 



132 TDK SBTHOTBED. 

year waa corapleled, a beautiful little creature made bei 
appearance, as if to give them tile earliest opportunitj of 
fulfilling Lucy's vow. Be assured it was named Miria. 
In tbe course of lime, they were surrounded by others of 
both sexes, whom Agnes was delighted to carry alioui niie 
after the other, railing them little rogues, and loading [hen 
with kissea. They were all taught to read and Rrile; 
" for," said Renio, " as this notion is in the country, ne 
may as well take advantage of it." 

it waa highly pleasing to hear him relate his adventures: 
he always concluded by naming the great things he hail 
learnt, by which to govern his conduct for the future. 
" 1 have learnt," said he, " not t» mix in quarrels; not id 
preach in public; not to drink more than I want; not >ti 
keep my hand on the knocker of a door, when the inhi- 
bitanta of the place are all crazy ; noi to tie a little bell to 
my feet, before I think of the consequences." 

" And I !" said Lucy, who thought that the doctrine 
of her moralist, though sound, waa rather confuseti, sni 
certainly incomplete — " what have I learnt? "said she. " I 
have not «ought miafortunes, they have sought me. I'o- 
less you say," smiling affectionately, " that my error «as 
in loving you, and promiiing myself to you," 

They settled the question, by deciding that mieforcunes 
most commordy happen to us from our own misconduei or 
imprudence ; hut sometimes from causes independent of 
ourselves ; that the most innocent and prudent conduci 
cannot always preserve us from them ; and that, whether 
they arise from our own fault or not, trust in God softens 
them, and renders them useful in preparing us for a bette: 
life. Although this was said by poor peasants, it ijipears 
to us so just, that we offi;r it here as the moral of our 



^g^7 





THE BORROWER WILL BE CHARGED 

AN OVERDUE FEE IF THIS BOOK IS 
NOT RETURNED TO THE LIBRARY ON - 
OR BEFORE THE LAST DATE STAMPED 
BELOW. NON-RECEIPT OF OVERDUE 
NOTICES DOES NOT EXEMPT THE 
BORROWER FROM OVERDUE FEES. 

Harvard College Widener Library 
Cambridge, MA02138 (617)495-2413