CHAPTER VI.
"In what can I serve you?" said Don Roderick, as soon as they enteredinto the room. Such were his words, but his manner said plainly,"Remember before whom thou standest, weigh well thy words, and beexpeditious."
There were no means more certain to impart courage to Father Christopherthan arrogance or pride. He had stood for a moment in someembarrassment, passing through his fingers the beads of the rosary thathung suspended from his girdle; but he soon "resumed new courage, andrevived," at the haughty air of Don Roderick. He had, however,sufficient command over himself to reply with caution and humility. "Icome to supplicate you to perform an act of justice: some wicked personshave, in the name of your lordship, frightened a poor curate, and haveendeavoured to prevent his fulfilling his duty towards an innocent andunoffending couple. You can by a word confound their machinations, andimpart consolation to the afflicted. You can--and having it in yourpower--conscience, honour----"
"Speak to me of conscience, when I ask your advice on the subject; andas to my honour, know that I only am the guardian of it, and thatwhoever dares to meddle with it is a rash man."
Friar Christopher, warned by these words that the intention of DonRoderick was to turn the conversation into a dispute, so as to win himfrom his original purpose, determined to bear whatever insult might beoffered him, and meekly replied, "It was certainly not my intention tosay any thing to displease you: correct me, reprove me; but deign tolisten to me. By the love of Heaven, by that God before whom we must allappear, I charge thee, do not obstinately refuse to do justice to theinnocent and oppressed! Think that God watches over them, that theirimprecations are heard above, and----"
"Stop," interrupted Don Roderick, rudely. "The respect I bear to yourhabit is great; but if any thing could make me forget it, it would be tosee it worn by one coming as a spy into my house."
These words spread an indignant glow over the face of the father; butswallowing them as a bitter medicine, he resumed: "You do not believethat I am such; you feel in your heart that I am here on no vile orcontemptible errand. Listen to me, Signor Don Roderick; and Heaven grantthat the day may never arrive, when you shall repent of not havinglistened to me! Listen to me, and perform this deed of justice andbenevolence. Men will esteem you! God will esteem you! you have much inyour power, but----"
"Do you know," again interrupted Don Roderick with warmth, but withsomething like remorse, "that when the whim takes me to hear a sermon, Ican go to church? But, perhaps," continued he, with a forced smile ofmockery, "you are putting regal dignity on me, and giving me a preacherin my own palace."
"And to God princes are responsible for the reception of his messages;to God you are responsible; he now sends into your palace a message byone of his ministers, the most unworthy----"
"In short, father," said Don Roderick, preparing to go, "I do notcomprehend you: I suppose you have some affair of your own on hand; makea confidant of whom you please; but use not the freedom of troubling agentleman any farther."
"Don Roderick, do not say _No_ to me; do not keep in anguish the heartof an innocent child! a word from you would be sufficient."
"Well," said Don Roderick, "since you think I have so much in my power,and since you are so much interested----"
"Yes!" said Father Christopher, anxiously regarding him.
"Well, advise her to come, and place herself under my protection; shewill want for nothing, and no one shall disturb her, as I am agentleman."
At such a proposal, the indignation of the friar, which had hithertobeen restrained with difficulty, loudly burst forth. All his prudenceand patience forsook him: "Your protection!" exclaimed he, steppingback, and stretching forth both his hands towards Don Roderick, while hesternly fixed his eyes upon him, "your protection! You have filled themeasure of your guilt by this wicked proposal, and I fear you nolonger."
"Dare you speak thus to me?"
"I dare; I fear you no longer; God has abandoned you, and you are nolonger an object of fear! Your protection! this innocent child is underthe protection of God; you have, by your infamous offer, increased myassurance of her safety. Lucy, I say; see with what boldness I pronounceher name before you; Lucy----"
"How! in this house----"
"I compassionate this house; the wrath of God is upon it! You have actedin open defiance of the great God of heaven and earth; you have set atnaught his counsel; you have oppressed the innocent; you have trampledon the rights of those whom you should have been the first to protectand defend. The wrath of God is upon you! A day will come!"
"Villain!" said Don Roderick, who at first was confounded between rageand astonishment; but when he heard the father thundering forth thisprediction, a mysterious and unaccountable dread took possession of hissoul. Hastily seizing his outstretched arm, and raising his voice inorder to drown the maledictions of the monk, he cried aloud, "Departfrom me, rash villain, cowled spy!"
These words instantly cooled the glowing enthusiasm of FatherChristopher. The ideas of insult and injury in his mind had long beenhabitually associated with those of suffering and silence. His usualhabits resumed their sway, and he became calm; he awaited what farthermight be said, as, after the strength of the whirlwind has passed, anaged tree naturally recomposes its branches, and receives the hail asHeaven sends it.
"Villain! scoundrel! talk to your equals," said Don Roderick; "but thankthe habit you bear for saving you from the chastisement which is yourdue. Begone this instant, and with unscathed limbs, or we shall see."So saying, he pointed imperiously to an opposite door. The friar bowedhis head, and departed, leaving Don Roderick to measure with hasty andagitated steps the field of battle.
When he had closed the door behind him, the father perceived a manstealing softly away through another, and he recognised him as the ageddomestic who had been his guide to the presence of Don Roderick. Beforethe 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 newmaster expelled all the domestics, with the exception of this one, whomhe retained on account of two valuable qualifications; a high conceptionof the dignity of the house, and a minute knowledge of the ceremonialrequired to support that dignity. The poor old man had never dared evento hint disapprobation of the daily proceedings at the castle before thesignor, but he would sometimes venture to allow an exclamation of griefand disapproval to escape him before his fellow servants, who wereinfinitely diverted by his simple honesty, and his warm love of the goodold times. His censures did not reach his master's ears unaccompanied bya relation of the raillery bestowed upon them, so that he became anobject 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 passed by him, and pursued hisway; but the old man approached him with a mysterious air, and made asign that he should follow him into a dark passage, where, speaking inan under tone, he said, "Father! I have heard all, and I want to speakto you."
"Speak at once, then, good man."
"Here! oh no! Woe be to us if the master suspect it! But I shall be ableto discover much, and I will endeavour to come to-morrow to theconvent."
"Is there any base plot?"
"There is something hatching, certainly; I have long suspected it; butnow I shall be on the look out, and I will come at the truth. These arestrange doings--I live in a house where----But I wish to save my soul."
"God bless you!" said the friar, placing his hands on his head, as hebent reverently towards him; "God reward you! Do not forget then to cometo-morrow."
"I will not," replied the domestic; "but go, now, for the love ofHeaven, and do not betray me."
So saying, he looked cautiously on all sides, and led the way throughthe passage into a large hall, which fronted the court-yard, andpointing to the door, silently bade him "Farewell."
When once in the street, and freed from this den of depravity, thefather breathed more freely; he hastened down the hill, pale incountenance,
and agitated and distressed by the scene he had witnessed,and in which he had taken so leading a part. But the unlooked-forproffer of the servant came like a cordial. It seemed as if Heaven hadsent a visible sign of its protection--a clue to guide him in hisintricate undertaking--and in the very house where it was least likelyto be found. Occupied with these thoughts, he raised his eyes towardsthe west, and beheld the sun declining behind the mountain, and feltthat he had but a few minutes in which to reach the monastery, withoutviolating the absolute law of the capuchins, that none of thebrotherhood should remain beyond the walls after sunset.
Meanwhile, in the cottage of Lucy there had been plans agitated of whichit is necessary to inform the reader. After the departure of the father,they had continued some time in silence; Lucy, with a heavy heart,prepared the dinner; Renzo, wavering and anxious, knew not how todepart; Agnes was apparently absorbed with her reel, but she was reallymaturing a thought, which she in a few moments thus declared:--
"Listen, my children. If you will have the necessary courage anddexterity; if you will confide in your mother; I pledge myself to freeyou from perplexity, sooner than Father Christopher could do, althoughhe is the best man in the world." Lucy looked at her mother with anexpression of astonishment rather than confidence, in a promise somagnificent. "Courage! dexterity!" cried Renzo, "say, say, what can Ido?"
"Is it not true," said Agnes, "that if you were married, your chiefdifficulty would be removed, and that for the rest we would easily finda remedy!"
"Undoubtedly," said Renzo, "if we were married--The world is before us;and at a short distance from this, in Bergamo, a silk weaver is receivedwith open arms. You know how often my cousin Bartolo has solicited me togo there, and enter into business with him; how many times he has toldme that I should make a fortune, as he has done; and if I never listenedto his request, it was--because my heart was here. Once married, wewould all go together, and live happily far from the clutches of thisvillain, far from the temptation to do a rash deed. Is it not so, Lucy?"
"Yes," said Lucy, "but how----"
"As I said," resumed Agnes, "courage and dexterity, and the thing iseasy."
"Easy!" exclaimed they, in wonder.
"Easy," replied Agnes, "if you are prudent. Hear me patiently, and Iwill endeavour to make you comprehend my project. I have heard it saidby persons who knew, and moreover I have seen one instance of it myself,that a curate's _consent_ is not necessary to render a marriage ceremonylawful, provided you have his presence."
"How so?" asked Renzo.
"You shall hear. There must be two witnesses, nimble and cunning. You goto the curate; the point is to catch him unexpectedly, that he may haveno time to escape. You say, 'Signor Curate, this is my wife;' Lucy says,'Signor Curate, this is my husband;' you must speak so distinctly thatthe curate and the witnesses hear you, and the marriage is as inviolableas if the pope himself had celebrated it. When the words are onceuttered, the curate may fret, and fume, and scold; it will be of no use,you are man and wife."
"Is it possible?" exclaimed Lucy.
"Do you think," said Agnes, "that the thirty years I was in the worldbefore you, I learned nothing? The thing is as I tell you."
The fact was truly such as Agnes represented it; marriages contractedin this manner were at that time held valid. Such an expedient was,however, not recurred to, but in cases of great necessity, and thepriests made use of every precaution to avoid this compulsiveco-operation.
"If it be true, Lucy!" said Renzo, regarding her attentively, with asupplicating expression.
"_If_ it be true!" exclaimed Agnes. "Do you think I would say that whichis _not_ true? Well, well, get out of the difficulty as you can, I washmy hands from it."
"Ah, no! do not abandon us!" said Renzo; "I mean not to suggest a doubtof it. I place myself in your hands; I look to you as to a mother."
The momentary anger of Agnes vanished.
"But why, mamma," said Lucy, in her usual modest tone, "why did notFather Christopher think of this?"
"Think you that it did not come into his mind?" replied Agnes; "but hewould not speak of it."
"Why?" exclaimed they, both at once.
"Why?--because, if you must know it, the friars do not approve of it."
"If it is not right," said Lucy, "we must not do it."
"What!" said Agnes, "do you think I would advise you to do that which isnot right? If, against the advice of your parents, you were going tomarry a rogue--but, on the contrary, I am rejoiced at your choice, andhe who _causes_ the disturbance is the only villain; and the curate----"
"It is as clear as the sun," said Renzo.
"It is not necessary to speak of it to Father Christopher," continuedAgnes. "Once over, what do you think he will say to you? 'Ah! daughter,it was a great error; but it is done.' The friars must talk thus; but,believe me, in his heart he will be well content."
Lucy made no reply to an argument which did not appear to her verypowerful; but Renzo, quite encouraged, said, "If it be thus, the thingis done."
"Softly," said Agnes; "there is need of caution. We must procure thewitnesses; and find means to present ourselves to the curateunexpectedly. He has been two days concealed in his house; we must makehim remain there. If he suspects your intention, he will be as cunningas a cat, and flee as Satan from holy water."
Lucy here gained courage to offer her doubts of the propriety of such acourse. "Until now we have lived with candour and sincerity," said she;"let us continue to do so; let us have faith in God, and God will aidus. Father Christopher said so: let us listen to his advice."
"Be guided by those who know better than you do," said Agnes gravely."What need of advice? God tells us, 'Help thyself, and I will helpthee.' 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 wecould do, like good Christians? Had not the curate himself fixed the dayand the hour? And whose is the blame if we are now obliged to use alittle management? No, you will not fail me. I go at once to seek thewitnesses, and will return to tell you my success." So saying, hehastily departed.
Disappointment sharpens the wit; and Renzo, who, in the straightforwardpath he had hitherto travelled, had not been required to subtilise much,now conceived a plan which would have done honour to a lawyer. He wentdirectly to the house of one Anthony, and found him in his kitchen,employed in stirring a _polenta_ of wheat, which was on the fire, whilsthis mother, brother, and his wife, with three or four small children,were seated at the table, eagerly intent on the earthen pan, andawaiting the moment when it should be ready for their attack. But, onthis occasion, the pleasure was wanting which the sight of dinnerusually produces in the aspect of the labourer who has earned it by hisindustry. The size of the _polenta_ was proportioned to the scantinessof the times, and not to the number and appetite of the assailants: andin casting a dissatisfied look on the common meal, each seemed to beconsidering the extent of appetite likely to survive it. Whilst Renzowas exchanging salutations with the family, Tony poured out the puddingon the pewter trencher prepared for its reception, and it appeared likea little moon within a large circumference of vapour. Nevertheless, thewife of Tony said courteously to Renzo, "Will you be helped tosomething?" This was a compliment that the peasants of Lombardy, howeverpoor, paid to those who were, from any accident, present at their meals.
"I thank you," replied Renzo; "I 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 converse." The proposal was asagreeable as it was unexpected. Tony readily assented to it, anddeparted with Renzo, leaving to his family his portion of the _polenta_.They arrived at the inn, seated themselves at their ease in a perfectsolitude, since the penury of the times had driven away the dailyfrequenters of the place. After having eaten, and emptied a bottle ofwine, Renzo, with an air of mystery, said to Tony, "If you will do me asmall service, I will do you a _great_ one."
"Speak, speak,
command me," said Tony, filling his glass; "I will gothrough fire to serve you."
"You are twenty-five livres in debt to the curate, for the rent of hisfield, that you worked last year."
"Ah! Renzo, Renzo! why do you mention it to me now? You've spoiled yourkindness, and put to flight my good wishes."
"If I speak to you of your debt," said Renzo, "it is because I intend togive 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 fromthose infernal shakings of the head the curate makes me every time Imeet him. And then always, '_Tony, remember; Tony, when shall we seeeach other for this business?_' When he preaches, he fixes his eyes onme in such a manner, I am almost afraid he will speak to me from thepulpit. I have wished the twenty-five livres to the devil a thousandtimes: and I was obliged to pawn my wife's gold necklace, which might beturned into so much _polenta_. But----"
"But, if you will do me a small favour, the twenty-five livres areready."
"Agreed."
"But," said Renzo, "you must be silent and talk to no one about it."
"Need you tell me that?" said Tony; "you know me."
"The curate has some foolish reason for putting off my marriage, and Iwish to hasten it. I am told that the parties going before him with twowitnesses, and the one saying, _This is my wife_, and the other, _Thisis my husband_, that the marriage is lawful. Do you understand me?"
"You wish me to go as a witness?"
"Yes."
"And you will pay the twenty-five livres?"
"Yes."
"Done; I agree to it."
"But we must find another witness."
"I have found him already," said Tony. "My simpleton of a brother,Jervase, will do whatever I tell him; but you will pay him withsomething to drink?"
"And to eat," replied Renzo. "But will he be able?"
"I'll teach him; you know I was born with brains for both."
"To-morrow."
"Well."
"Towards evening."
"Very well."
"But be silent," said Renzo.
"Poh!" said Tony.
"But if thy wife should ask thee, as without doubt she will?"
"I am in debt to my wife for lies already; and for so much, that I don'tknow if we shall ever balance the account. I will tell her some idlestory or other to set her heart at rest." With this good resolution hedeparted, leaving Renzo to pursue his way back to the cottage. In themeanwhile Agnes had in vain solicited Lucy's consent to the measure; shecould not resolve to act without the approbation of Father Christopher.Renzo arrived, and triumphantly related his success. Lucy shook herhead, but the two enthusiasts minded her not. They were now determinedto pursue their plan, and by authority and entreaties induce her finallyto accede to it.
"It is well," said Agnes, "it is well, but you have not thought of everything."
"What have I not thought of?" replied Renzo.
"Perpetua! You have not thought of Perpetua. Do you believe that shewould suffer Tony and his brother to enter? How then is it probable shewould admit you and Lucy?"
"What shall we do?" said Renzo, pausing.
"I will tell you. I will go with you; I have a secret to tell her, whichwill engage her so that she will not see you. I will take her aside, andwill touch such a chord--you shall see."
"Bless you!" exclaimed Renzo, "I have always said you were our bestsupport."
"But all this will do no good," said Agnes, "if we cannot persuade Lucy,who obstinately persists that it is sinful."
Renzo made use of all his eloquence, but Lucy was not to be moved. "Iknow not what to say to your arguments," replied she. "I perceive thatto do this, we shall degrade ourselves so far as to lie and deceive. Ah!Renzo, let us not so abase ourselves! I would be your wife" (and a blushdiffused itself over her lovely countenance), "I would be your wife, butin the fear of God--at the altar. Let us trust in Him who is able toprovide. Do you not think He will find a way to help us, far better thanall this deception? And why make a mystery of it to Father Christopher?"
The contest still continued, when a trampling of sandals announcedFather Christopher. Agnes had barely time to whisper in the ear of Lucy,"Be careful to tell him nothing," when the friar entered.