CHAPTER XXXIV.
The reader may imagine the lazaretto, peopled with sixteen thousandpersons infected with the plague: the vast enclosure was encumbered withcabins, tents, cars, and human beings. Two long ranges of porticoes, tothe right and left, were crowded with the dying or the dead, extendedupon straw; and from the immense receptacle of woe, was heard a deepmurmur, similar to the distant voice of the waves, agitated by atempest.
Renzo went forward from hut to hut, carefully examining everycountenance he could discern within--whether broken down by suffering,distorted by spasm, or fixed in death. Hitherto he met none but men, andjudged, therefore, that the women were distributed in some other partof the inclosure. The state of the atmosphere seemed to add to thehorror of the scene: a dense and dark fog involved all things. The discof the sun, as if seen through a veil, shed a feeble light in its ownpart of the sky, but darted down a heavy deathlike blast of heat: aconfused murmuring of distant thunder might be heard. Not a leaf moved,not a bird was seen--save the swallow only, which descended to theplain, and, alarmed at the dismal sounds around, remounted the air, anddisappeared. Nature seemed at war with human existence--hundreds seemedto grow worse--the last struggle more afflictive--and no hour ofbitterness was comparable to that.
Renzo had, in his search, witnessed, as he thought, every variety ofhuman suffering. But a new sound caught his ear--a compound ofchildren's crying and goats' bleating: looking through an opening of theboards of a hut, he saw children, infants, lying upon sheets or quiltsupon the floor, and nurses attending them; but the most singular part ofthe spectacle, was a number of she-goats supplying the maternalfunctions, and with all the appearance of conscious sympathy hastening,at the cries of the helpless little ones, to afford them the requisitenutrition. The women were aiding these efficient coadjutors, inrendering their supplies available to the poor bereft babies. Whilstobserving this wretched scene, an old capuchin entered with two infants,just taken from their lifeless mother, to seek among the flock for oneto supply her place. Quitting this spot, and looking about on everyside, a sudden apparition struck his sight, and set his thoughts incommotion. He saw at some distance, among the tents, a capuchin, whom heinstantly recognised to be Father Christopher!
The history of the good friar, from the moment in which we lost sight ofhim until this meeting, may be related in few words. He had not stirredfrom Rimini, and he would not now have thought of doing so if the plaguebreaking out at Milan had not afforded him the opportunity, so longdesired, of sacrificing his life for the benefit of others. He demanded,as a favour, permission to go and assist those who were infected withthe disease. The count, he of the secret council, was dead; andmoreover, at this time, there was a greater want of guardians to thesick, than of politicians: his request was readily granted. He had nowbeen in the lazaretto nearly three months.
But the joy of Renzo at seeing the good father was not unalloyed. It washe indeed; but, alas! how changed! how wan! Exhausted nature appeared tobe sustained for a while by the mind, that had acquired new vigour fromthe perpetual demand on its sympathies and activity.
"Oh, Father Christopher!" said Renzo, when he was near enough to speakto him.
"You here!" said the friar, rising.
"How are you, my father, how are you?"
"Better than these unfortunate beings that you see," replied the friar.His voice was feeble--hollow and changed as his person. His eye alone"had not lost its original brightness"--benevolence and charity appearedto have imparted to it a lustre superior to that which bodily weaknesswas gradually extinguishing.
"But you," pursued he, "why are you here? Why do you thus come to bravethe pestilence?"
"I have had it, thank Heaven! I come----in search of----Lucy."
"Lucy! Is Lucy here?"
"Yes. At least I hope so."
"Is she thy wife?"
"My dear father! alas! no, she is not my wife. Do you know nothing,then, of what has happened?"
"No, my son. Since God removed me from you, I have heard nothing. Butnow that he sends you to me, I wish much to know. And your banishment?"
"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 that day at Milan, Ishould tell a falsehood; but I committed no bad action wilfully."
"I believe you; I have always thought so."
"Now then I will tell you all."
"Wait a moment."
He approached a cabin, and called "_Father Victor_."
In a few moments a young capuchin appeared. "Do me the favour, FatherVictor," said he, "to take my place in watching over our poor patientsfor a little while. If, however, any should particularly ask for me, beso good as to call me."
The young friar complied, and Father Christopher, turning to Renzo, "Letus enter here," said he. "But," added he, "you appear much exhausted,you have need of food."
"It is true. Now that you make me think of it, I have not tasted anything to-day."
"Wait, then, a moment." He soon brought Renzo a bowl of broth, from alarge kettle, the common property of the establishment, and making himsit down on his bed, the only seat his cabin afforded, and placing somewine on a little table by his side, he seated himself next him. "Nowtell me about my poor child," said he, "and be in haste, for time isprecious, and I have much to do, as you perceive."
Renzo related the history of Lucy; that she had been sheltered in theconvent of Monza, and carried off from her asylum. At the idea of suchtreatment and peril, and at the thought, too, that it was he who hadunwittingly exposed her to it, the good friar was breathless withattention; but he recovered his tranquillity when he heard of hermiraculous deliverance, her restoration to her mother, and her havingbeen placed under the protection of Donna Prassede.
Renzo then briefly related his journey to Milan, his flight, and hisreturn home; that he had not found Agnes there; and at Milan had learnedthat Lucy was in the lazaretto. "And I am here," concluded he, "I amhere in search of her; to see if she yet lives, and if----she stillthinks of me----because----sometimes----"
"But what direction did they give you? Did they tell you where she wasplaced when she came here?"
"I know nothing, dear father, nothing; only that she is here, if shestill lives, which may God grant!"
"Oh, poor child! But what have you done here until now?"
"I have searched, and searched, but have seen hardly any but men. Ithink the females must be in another part by themselves; you can tell meif this is the case?"
"Know you not that it is forbidden to men to enter there unless theirduty calls them?"
"Oh, well! what can happen to me if I should attempt?"
"The law is a good one, my dear son; and if our weight of afflictiondoes not permit us to enforce it, is that a reason why an honest manshould infringe it?"
"But, Father Christopher, Lucy should have been my wife; you know how wehave been separated; it is twenty months since I have suffered, andtaken my misfortunes patiently; I have come here, risking every thing tobehold her, and now----"
"I know not what to say," resumed the friar; "you are, no doubt, guidedby a praiseworthy motive; would to God that all those who have freeaccess to these places conducted themselves as well as I am sure youwill. God, who certainly blesses thy perseverance of affection, thyfidelity in desiring and seeking her whom he has given thee, God, who ismore rigorous than man, but also more indulgent, will not regard whatmay be irregular in this enquiry for one so dear."
So saying, he arose, and Renzo followed him. While listening to him, hehad been confirmed in his resolution not to acquaint the father withLucy's vow. "If he learns that," thought he, "he will certainly raisenew difficulties. Either I shall find her, and we can then disclose,or----and then----what use would it be?"
After having conducted him to the opening of the cabin, towards thenorth, "From yonder little temple," said he, "rising above the miserabletents, Father Felix is about to lead in procession the sma
ll remnant whoare convalescent, to another station, to finish their quarantine. Avoidnotice, but watch them as they pass. If she is not of the number, thisside," added he, pointing to the edifice before them, "this side of thebuilding and a part of the field before it are assigned to the women.You will perceive a railing which divides that quarter from this, but sobroken, in many places, that you can easily pass through. Once there, ifyou do nothing to offend, probably no one will speak to you. If,however, there is any difficulty, say that Father Christopher knows you,and will answer for you. Seek her, then, seek her with confidence--andwith resignation; for remember, it is an unusual expectation, a personalive within the walls of the lazaretto! Go, then, and be prepared forwhatever result----"
"Yes, I understand!" said Renzo, a dark cloud overshadowing hiscountenance; "I understand, I will seek in every place, from one end ofthe lazaretto to the other----And if I do not find her!"
"If you do not find her?" repeated the father, in a serious andadmonitory tone.
But Renzo, giving vent to the wrath which had been for some time pent upin his bosom, pursued, "If I do not find her, I will find _another_person. Either at Milan, or in his abominable palace, or at the end ofthe world, or in the house of the devil, I will find the villain whoseparated us; but for whom Lucy would have been mine twenty months ago;and if we had been destined to die, at least we should have diedtogether. If he still lives, I will find him----"
"Renzo!" said the friar, seizing him by the arm, and looking at himseverely.
"And if I find him," continued Renzo, entirely blinded by rage, "if thepestilence has not already done justice--the time is past when apoltroon, surrounded by bravoes, can reduce men to despair, and laugh atthem! the time is come when men meet face to face, and I will do myselfjustice."
"Unhappy youth!" cried Father Christopher, with a voice which hadsuddenly become strong and sonorous, his head raised, and eyes dartingforth more than their wonted fire; "unhappy youth! look around you!Behold who punishes and who judges; who punishes and pardons! But you,feeble worm, you would do yourself justice! Do you know what justice is?Unhappy youth! begone! I hoped----yes, I hoped that before I died, Godwould afford me the consolation to learn that my poor Lucy still lived;to see her, perhaps, and to hear her promise that she would send aprayer to yonder grave where I shall rest. Begone, you have taken awaymy hope. God has not left her on the earth for thee, and you certainlyhave not the audacity to believe yourself worthy that God should thinkof consoling you. Go, I have no time to listen to you farther." And hedropped the arm of Renzo, which he had grasped, and moved towards acabin.
"Oh, my father!" said Renzo, following him with a supplicating look,"will you send me away thus?"
"How!" resumed the capuchin, but in a gentler tone, "would you dare askme to steal the time from these poor afflicted ones, who are expectingme to speak to them of the pardon of God, in order to listen to thyaccents of rage--thy projects of vengeance? I listened to you, when youasked consolation and advice, but now that you have revenge in yourheart, what do you want with me? Begone, I have listened to theforgiveness of the injured, and the repentance of the aggressor; I havewept with both; but what have I to do with thee?"
"Oh, I pardon him! I pardon him! I pardon him for ever!" said the youngman.
"Renzo," said the friar, in a calmer tone, "think of it, and tell me howoften you have pardoned him?"
He kept silence some time, and not receiving an answer, he bowed hishead, and, with a voice trembling from emotion, continued, "You know whyI wear this habit?"
Renzo hesitated.
"You know it?" repeated the old man.
"I know it."
"I likewise hated, I, who have reprimanded you for a thought, a word.The man I hated, I killed."
"Yes, but it was a noble, one of those----"
"Silence!" interrupted the friar. "If that were justification, believeyou I should not have found it in thirty years? Ah! if I could now makeyou experience the sentiment I have since had, and that I now have forthe man I hated! If _I_ could _I_!--but God can. May he do it! Hear me,Renzo. He is a better friend to you, than you are to yourself; you havethought of revenge, but He has power enough, pity enough, to prevent it;you know you have often said that he can arrest the arm of the powerful;but learn, also, that he can arrest that of the vindictive. And becauseyou are poor, because you are injured, can he not defend against you aman created in his image? Will he suffer you to do all you wish? No! buthe can cast you off for ever; he can, for this sentiment which animatesyou, embitter your whole life, since, whatever happens to you, hold forcertain, that all will be punishment until you have pardoned, pardonedfreely and for ever!"
"Yes, yes," said Renzo, with much emotion, "I feel that I have nevertruly pardoned him; I have spoken as a brute and not as a Christian; andnow, by the help of God, I pardon him from the bottom of my soul."
"And should you see him?"
"I would pray God to grant me patience, and to touch his heart."
"Do you remember that the Lord has not only told us to pardon ourenemies, but to love them? Do you remember that he loved them so as todie for them?"
"Yes, I do."
"Well, come and behold him. You have said you would find him; you shalldo so; come, and you will see against whom you preserve hatred, to whomyou desire evil, against what life you would arm yourself!"
He took the hand of Renzo, who followed him, without daring to ask aquestion. The friar led the way into one of the cabins. The first objectRenzo beheld was a sick person seated on a bed of straw, who appeared tobe convalescent. 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 curiosity around the cabin, beheld in thecorner of it a sick person lying on a feather bed, wrapped up in asheet, and covered with a cloak. Looking attentively, he recognised DonRoderick! The unfortunate man lay motionless; his eyes wide open, butwithout any cognisance of the objects around him; the stamp of death wason his face, which was covered with black spots; his lips were swollenand black: you would have thought it the face of the dead, if a violentcontraction about the mouth had not revealed a tenacity of life; hisrespiration was painful, and his livid hand, extending on the outside ofthe covering, was firmly grasping his cloak, and pressing it upon hisheart, as if conscious that _there_ was his deepest agony.
"Behold!" said the friar, in a low solemn voice; "the sentiment you holdtowards this man, who has offended you, such will God hold towards youon the great day. Bless him, and be blessed! For four days he has beenhere in this condition, without giving any sign of perception. Perhapsthe Lord is disposed to grant him an hour of repentance, but he wouldhave you pray for it; perhaps he desires that you should pray for himwith this innocent girl; perhaps he reserves this favour for thy prayeralone, for the prayer of an afflicted and resigned heart. Perhaps thesalvation of this man and thine own depend at this moment upon thyself,upon thy pity, upon thy love." He kept silence, and clasping his hands,bowed his head as in prayer, and Renzo, completely subdued, followed hisexample. Their supplications were interrupted in a short time by thestriking of a bell: they immediately arose and left the cabin.
"The procession is about to move," said the father; "go then, preparedto make a sacrifice, to praise God, whatever may be the issue of yoursearch; and whatever that may be, return to me, and we will praise himtogether."
Here they separated; the one to resume his painful duties, the other tothe little temple, which was close at hand.