CHAPTER VII.
"Peace be with you!" said the friar as he entered. "There is nothingmore to hope from man: so much the greater must be our confidence inGod; and I've already had a pledge of his protection." None of the threeentertained much hope from the visit of Father Christopher: for it wouldhave been not only an unusual, but an absolutely unheard-of fact, for anobleman to desist from his criminal designs at the mere prayer of hisdefenceless victim. Still, the sad certainty was a painful stroke.
The women bent down their heads; but in the mind of Renzo angerprevailed over disappointment. "I would know," cried he, gnashing histeeth, and raising his voice as he had never done before in the presenceof Father Christopher, "I would know what reasons this dog has given,that my wife should not _be_ my wife?"
"Poor Renzo!" said the father, with an accent of pity, and with a lookwhich greatly enforced moderation; "poor Renzo! if those who commitinjustice were always obliged to give a reason for it, things would notbe as they are!"
"He has said, then, the dog! that he will not, because he will not?"
"He has not even said _so_, poor Renzo! There would be something gained,if he would make an open confession of his iniquity."
"But he has said something; _what_ has this firebrand of hell said?"
"I could not repeat his words. He flew into a passion at me for mysuspicions, and at the same time confirmed me in them: he insulted me,and then called himself offended; threatened, and complained. Ask nofarther. He did not utter the name of Lucy, nor even pretend to knowyou: he affected to intend nothing. In short, I heard enough to feelthat he is inexorable. But confidence in God! Poor children! be patient,be submissive! And thou, Renzo! believe that I sympathise with all thatpasses in thy heart.--But _patience_! It is a poor word, a bitter wordto those who want faith; but, Renzo, will you not let God work? Will younot trust Him? Let Him work, Renzo; and, for your consolation, know thatI hold in my hand a clue, by which I hope to extricate you from yourdistress. I cannot say more now. To-morrow I shall not be here; I shallbe all day at the convent employed for you. Renzo, if thou canst, comethere to me; but, if prevented by any accident, send some trustymessenger, by whom I can make known to you the success of my endeavours.Night approaches; I must return to the convent. Farewell! Faith andcourage!" So saying, he departed, and hastened by the most abrupt butshortest road, to reach the convent in time, and escape the usualreprimand; or, what was worse, the imposition of some penance, whichmight disenable him, for the following day, from continuing his effortsin favour of his proteges.
"Did you hear him speak of a clue which he holds to aid us?" said Lucy;"it is best to trust in him; he is a man who does not make rashpromises."
"He ought to have spoken more clearly," said Agnes; "or at least havetaken me aside, and told me what it was."
"I'll put an end to the business; I'll put an end to it," said Renzo,pacing furiously up and down the room.
"Oh! Renzo!" exclaimed Lucy.
"What do you mean?" said Agnes.
"What do I mean? I mean to say that he may have a hundred thousanddevils in his soul, but he is flesh and blood notwithstanding."
"No, no, for the love of Heaven!" said Lucy, but tears choked her voice.
"It is not a theme for jesting," said Agnes.
"For jesting?" cried Renzo, stopping before her, with his countenanceinflamed by anger; "for jesting! you will see if I am in jest."
"Oh! Renzo!" said Lucy, sobbing, "I have never seen you thus before!"
"Hush, hush!" said Agnes, "speak not in this manner. Do you not fearthe law, which is always to be had against the poor? And, besides, howmany arms would be raised at a word!"
"I fear nothing," said Renzo; "the villain is well protected, dog thathe is! but no matter. Patience and resolution! and the time will come.Yes! justice shall be done! I will free the country! People will blessme! Yes, yes."
The horror which Lucy felt at this explicit declaration of his purposeinspired her with new resolution. With a tearful countenance, butdetermined voice, she said to Renzo, "It can no longer be of anyconsequence to you, that I should become yours; I promised myself to ayouth who had the fear of God in his heart; but a man who hadonce----were you safe from the law, were you secure from vengeance, wereyou the son of a king----"
"Well!" cried Renzo, in a voice of uncontrollable passion, "well! Ishall not have you, then; but neither shall he; of _that_ you may----"
"For pity's sake, do not talk thus; do not talk so fiercely!" said Lucyimploringly.
"You to implore me!" said he, somewhat appeased. "You! who will donothing for _me_! What proof do you give me of your affection? Have Inot supplicated in vain? Have I been able to obtain----"
"Yes, yes," replied Lucy, hastily, "I will go to the curate's to-morrow;now, if you wish it. Only be yourself again; I will go."
"Do you promise me?" said Renzo, softening immediately.
"I promise."
"Well, I am satisfied."
"God be praised!" said Agnes, much relieved.
"I have promised you," said Lucy, with an accent of timid reproach, "butyou have also promised me to refer it to Father Christopher."
"Ha! will you now draw back?" said Renzo.
"No, no," said Lucy, again alarmed, "no, no, I have promised, and willperform. But you have compelled me to it by your own impetuosity. Godforbid that----"
"Why will you prognosticate evil, Lucy? God knows we wrong no person."
"Well, well," said Lucy, "I will hope for the best."
Renzo would have wished to prolong the conversation, in order to allotto each their several parts for the morrow, but the night drew on, andhe reluctantly felt himself compelled to depart.
The night was passed, by all three, in that state of agitation andtrouble which always precedes an important enterprise whose issue isuncertain. Renzo returned early in the morning, and Agnes and he busiedthemselves in concerting the operations of the evening. Lucy was a merespectator; but although she disapproved these measures in her heart, shestill promised to do the best she could.
"Will you go to the convent, to speak to Father Christopher, as hedesired you last night?" said Agnes to Renzo.
"Oh! no," replied he, "the father would soon read in my countenance thatthere was something on foot; and if he interrogated me, I should beobliged to tell him. You had better send some one."
"I will send Menico."
"Yes, that will do," replied Renzo, as he hurried off to make fartherarrangements.
Agnes went to a neighbouring house to obtain Menico, a smart lad oftwelve years of age, who, by the way of cousins and sisters-in-law, wasa sort of nephew to the dame. She asked and obtained permission of hisparents to keep him all day "for a particular service." She took himhome, and after giving him breakfast, told him he must go toPescarenico, and show himself to Father Christopher, who would send himback with a message.
"_Father Christopher_, you understand; that nice old man, with a whitebeard; him they call the Saint."
"I know him, I know him!" said Menico: "he speaks so kindly to thechildren, and often gives them pictures."
"Yes! that is he; and if, Menico, if he tells you to wait near theconvent until he has an answer ready, don't stray away; don't go to thelake to throw stones in the water with the boys; nor to see them fish,nor----"
"Poh! aunt, I am no longer a baby."
"Well, behave well, and when you return with the answer, I will give youthese new _parpagliole_."[3]
[3] A sort of coin.
During the remainder of this long morning, several strange thingsoccurred, calculated to infuse suspicion into the already troubled mindsof Lucy and her mother. A mendicant, but not in rags like others of hiskind, and with a dark and sinister countenance, narrowly observing everyobject around him, entered to ask alms. A piece of bread was presentedto him, which he received with ill-dissembled indifference. Then, with amixture of impudence and hesitation, he made many enquiries, to whichAgnes endeavoured to return evasive re
plies. When about to depart, hepretended to mistake the door, and went through the one that led to thestairs. They called to him, "Stay, stay! where are you going, good man?this way." He returned, excusing himself with an affectation ofhumility, to which he felt it difficult to compose his hard and sternfeatures. After him, they saw pass, from time to time, other strangepeople. One entered the house, under pretence of asking the road;another stopped before the gate, and glanced furtively into the room, asif to avoid suspicion. Agnes went often to the door of the house duringthe remainder of the day, with an undefined dread of seeing some oneapproach who might cause them alarm. These mysterious visitations,however, ceased towards noon, but they had left an impression ofimpending evil on their minds, which they felt it impossible altogetherto suppress.
To explain to the reader the true character of these suspiciouswanderers, we must recur to Don Roderick, whom we left alone, in thehall of his palace, at the departure of Father Christopher. The more hereflected on his interview with the friar, the more was he enraged andashamed, that he should have dared to come to him with the rebuke ofNathan to David on his lips. He paced with hurried steps through theapartment, and as he gazed at the portraits of his ancestors, warriors,senators, and abbots, which hung against its walls, he felt hisindignation at the insult which had been offered him increase. Abase-born friar to speak thus to one of noble birth! He formed plans ofvengeance, and discarded them, without his being willing to acknowledgeit to himself. The prediction of the father again sounded in his ears,and caused an unaccustomed perplexity. Restless and undetermined, herang the bell, and ordered a servant to excuse him to the company, andto say to them, that urgent business prevented his seeing them again.The servant returned with the intelligence that the guests had departed."And the Count Attilio?" asked Don Roderick.
"He has gone with the gentlemen, my lord."
"Well; six followers to accompany me; quickly. My sword, cloak, and hat.Be quick."
The servant left the room, and returned in a few moments with a richsword, which his master girded on; he then threw the cloak around hisshoulders, and donned his hat with its waving plumes with an air ofproud defiance. He then passed into the street, followed by six armedruffians, taking the road to Lecco. The peasantry and tradesmen shrunkfrom his approach; their profound and timid salutations received nonotice from him; indeed, he acknowledged but by a slight inclination ofthe head those of the neighbouring gentry, whose rank, however, wasincontestably inferior to his own. Indeed, the only man whosesalutations he condescended to return upon an equal footing was theSpanish governor. In order to get rid of his _ennui_, and banish theidea of the monk and his imprecations, he entered the house of agentleman, where a party was met together, and was received with thatapparent cordiality which it is a necessary policy to manifest towardsthe powerful who are held in fear. On his return at night to his palace,he found Count Attilio seated at supper. Don Roderick, full of thought,took a chair, but said little.
Scarcely was the table cleared, and the servants departed, when thecount, beginning to rally his dull companion, said, "Cousin, when willyou pay me my wager?"
"San Martin's day has not yet passed."
"Well, you will have to pay it; for all the saints in the calendar maypass, before you----"
"We will see about that!" said Don Roderick.
"Cousin, you would play the politician, but you cannot deceive me; I amso certain that I have won the wager, that I stand ready for another."
"Why!"
"Why? because the father--the father--in short, this friar has convertedyou."
"One of your fine imaginations, truly!"
"Converted, cousin, converted, I tell you; I rejoice at it; it will be afine spectacle to see you penitent, with your eyes cast down! And howflattering to the father! he don't catch such fish every day. Beassured, he will bring you forward as an example to others; your actionswill be trumpeted from the pulpit!"
"Enough, enough!" interrupted Don Roderick, half annoyed, and halfdisposed to laugh. "I will double the wager with you, if you please."
"The devil! perhaps _you_ have converted the father!"
"Do not speak of him; but as to the wager, San Martin will decide." Thecuriosity of the count was aroused; he made many enquiries, which DonRoderick evaded, referring him to the day of decision.
The following morning, when he awoke, Don Roderick was "himself again."The various emotions that had agitated him after his interview with thefather, had now resolved themselves into the simple desire of revenge.Hardly risen, he sent for Griso.--"Something serious," muttered theservant to whom the order was given; as this _Griso_ was nothing lessthan the leader of the _bravoes_ to whom was intrusted the mostdangerous and daring enterprises, who was the most trusted by themaster, and the most devoted to him, from gratitude and interest. Thisman had been guilty of murder; he had fled from the pursuit of justiceto the palace of Don Roderick, who took him under his protection, andthus sheltered him from the pursuit of the law. He, therefore, stoodpledged to the performance of any deed of villany that should be imposedon him.
"Griso," said Don Roderick, "you must show your skill in thisemergency. Before to-morrow, this Lucy must be in this palace."
"It shall never be said that Griso failed to execute a command from hisillustrious protector."
"Take as many men as are necessary, and dispose of them as appears toyou best; only let the thing succeed. But be careful that no harm bedone to her."
"Signor, a little fright--we cannot do less."
"Fright--may be unavoidable. But touch not a hair of her head; and,above all, treat her with the greatest respect. Do you hear?"
"Signor, I could not take a flower from the bush, and carry it to yourHighness, without touching it; but I will do only what is absolutelynecessary."
"Well; I trust thee. And--how wilt thou do it?"
"I was thinking, signor. It is fortunate that her cottage is at theextremity of the village; we have need of some place of concealment; andnot far from her house there is that old uninhabited building in themiddle of the fields, that one--but, your Highness knows nothing ofthese matters--which was burnt a few years ago, and, not having beenrepaired, is now deserted, except by the witches, who keep all cowardlyrascals away from it; so that we may take safe possession."
"Well; what then?"
Here Griso went on to propose, and Don Roderick to approve, until theyhad agreed upon the manner of conducting the enterprise to the desiredconclusion, without leaving a trace of the authors of it: and also uponthe manner of imposing silence, not only upon poor Agnes, but also uponthe more impatient and fiery Renzo.
"If this rash fellow fall in your way by chance," added Don Roderick,"you had best give him, on his shoulders, something he will remember; sothat he will be more likely to obey the order to remain quiet, which hewill receive to-morrow. Do you hear?"
"Yes, yes, leave it to me," said Griso, as, with an air of importance,he took his leave.
The morning was spent in reconnoitring,--the mendicant of whom we havespoken was Griso; the others were the villains whom he employed, togain a more perfect knowledge of the scene of action. They returned tothe palace to arrange and mature the enterprise;--all these mysteriousmovements were not effected without rousing the suspicions of the olddomestic, who, partly by listening, and partly by conjecture, came tothe knowledge of the concerted attempt of the evening. This knowledgecame a little too late, for already a body of ruffians were laying inwait in the old house. However, the poor old man, although well aware ofthe dangerous game he played, did not fail to perform his promise; heleft the palace on some slight pretence, and hurried to the convent.Griso and his band left shortly after, and met at the old building,--theformer had previously left orders at the palace, that, at the approachof night, there should be a litter brought thither,--he then despatchedthree of the bravoes to the village inn; one to remain at its entranceto observe the movements on the road, and to give notice when theinhabitants should have retired to rest; t
he other two to occupythemselves within as idlers, gaming and drinking. Griso, with the restof the troop, continued in ambush, on the watch.
All this was going forward, and the sun was about to set, when Renzoentered the cottage, and said to Lucy and her mother, "Tony and Jervaseare ready; I am going with them to sup at the inn; at the sound of the'Ave Maria,' we will come for you; take courage, Lucy, all depends on amoment."
"Oh, yes," said Lucy, "courage;" with a voice that contradicted herwords.
When Renzo and his companions arrived at the inn, they found the doorblockaded by a sentinel, who, leaning on one side of it, with his armsfolded on his breast, occupied half its width; at the same time rollinghis eagle eyes first to the right and then to the left, displayingalternately their blacks and their whites. A flat cap of crimson velvet,placed sideways, covered the half of the _long lock_, which, parted on adark forehead, was fastened behind with a comb. He held in his hand aclub; his arms, properly speaking, were concealed beneath his garments.When Renzo evinced a desire to enter, he looked at him fixedly withoutmoving; of this, the young man, wishing to decline all conversation,took no notice, but, beckoning to his companions to follow his example,slid between the figure and the door-post. Having gained an entrance, hebeheld the other two bravoes with a large mug between them, seated atplay; they stared at him with a look of enquiry, making signs to eachother, and then to their comrade at the door. This was not unobserved byRenzo, and his mind was filled with a vague sentiment of suspicion andalarm. The innkeeper came for his orders; which were, "a private room,and supper for three."
"Who are those strangers?" asked he of the landlord, when he came in toset the table.
"I do not know them," replied he.
"How! neither of them?"
"The first rule of our trade," said he, spreading the cloth, "is, not tomeddle with the affairs of others; and, what is wonderful, even ourwomen are not curious. It is enough for us that customers pay well; whothey are, or who they are not, matters nothing. And now, I will bringyou a dish of polpette, the like of which you have never eaten."
When he returned to the kitchen, and was employed in taking the polpettefrom the fire, one of the bravoes approached, and said, in an undertone, "Who are those men?"
"Good people of this village," replied the host, pouring the mince-meatinto a dish.
"Well; but what are their names? Who are they?" insisted he, in a roughvoice.
"One is called Renzo," replied the host; "esteemed a good youth, and anexcellent weaver of silk. The other is a peasant, whose name is Tony; ajovial fellow,--it is a pity he has no more money, for he would spend itall here. The other is a simpleton, who eats when they feed him. By yourleave----" So saying, he slipped past him, with the dish in his hand,and carried it to the place of its destination.
"How do you know?" said Renzo, continuing the conversation from thepoint at which it had been dropped, "how do you know that they arehonest men, when you are not acquainted with them?"
"From their actions, my good fellow; men are known by their actions. Hewho drinks wine without criticising it; he who shows the face of theking on the counter without prattling; he who does not quarrel withother customers, and, if he has a blow or two to give, goes away fromthe inn, so that the poor host need not suffer from it; _he_ is anhonest man. But what the devil makes you so inquisitive, when you areengaged to be married, and should have other things in your head? Andwith this mince-meat before you, which would make the dead revive?" Sosaying, he returned to the kitchen.
The supper was not very agreeable; the two guests would have lingeredover the unusual luxury; but Renzo, preoccupied, and troubled and uneasyat the singular appearance of the strangers, longed for the hour ofdeparture. He conversed in brief sentences, and in an under tone, sothat he might not be overheard by them.
"What an odd thing it is," blundered Jervase, "that Renzo wishes to bemarried, and has needed----" Renzo looked sternly at him. "Keep silence,you beast!" said Tony to him, accompanying the epithet with a cuff.Jervase obeyed, and the remainder of the repast was consumed in silence.Renzo observed a strict sobriety, in order to keep his companions undersome restraint. Supper being over, he paid the reckoning, and preparedto depart: they were obliged to pass the three men again, and encountera repetition of their eager gaze. When a few steps distant from the inn,Renzo, looking back, perceived that he was followed by the two whom hehad left seated in the kitchen. He stopped; observing this, they stoppedalso, and retraced their steps.
If he had been near enough, he would have heard a few words of strangeimport; "It would be a glorious thing," said one of the scoundrels,"without reckoning the cash, if we could tell at the palace how we hadflattened their ribs,--without the direction, too, of Signor Griso."
"And spoil the whole work," added the other; "but see! he stops to lookat us! Oh! if it were only later! But let us turn back, not to createsuspicion. People are coming on all sides; let us wait till they go totheir rests."
Then was heard in the village the busy hum of the evening, whichprecedes the solemn stillness of the night; then were seen womenreturning from their daily labour, with their infants on their backs,and leading by the hand the older children, to whom they were repeatingthe evening prayers; men with their spades, and other instruments ofculture, thrown over their shoulders. At the opening of the cottagedoors, was discerned the bright light of the fires, kindled in order toprepare their meagre suppers; in the street there were salutations givenand returned, brief and mournful observations on the poverty of theharvest, and the scarcity of the year; and at intervals was heard themeasured strokes of the bell which announced the departure of the day.
When Renzo saw that the two men no longer followed him, he continued hisway, giving instructions, in a low voice, from time to time, to his twocompanions. It was dark night when they arrived at the cottage of Lucy.
"Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream."
Lucy endured many hours the anguish of such a dream; and Agnes, evenAgnes, the author of the plot, was thoughtful and silent. But, in themoment of action, new and various emotions pass swiftly through themind: at one instant, that which had appeared difficult becomesperfectly easy; at another, obstacles present themselves which werenever before thought of, the imagination is filled with alarm, the limbsrefuse their office, and the heart fails at the promise it had givenwith such security. At the gentle knock of Renzo, Lucy was seized withsuch terror, that, at the moment, she resolved to suffer any thing, toendure a separation from him for ever, rather than execute herresolution; but when, with an assured and encouraging air, he said, "Allis ready; let us begone," she had neither heart nor time to suggestdifficulties. Agnes and Renzo placed her between them, and theadventurous company set forward. Slowly and quietly they took the paththat led around the village,--it would have been nearer to pass directlythrough it, to Don Abbondio's house, but their object was to avoidobservation. Upon reaching the house, the lovers remained concealed onone side of it, Agnes a little in advance, so as to be prepared to speakto Perpetua as soon as she should make her appearance. Tony, withJervase, who did nothing, but _without_ whom nothing could be done,courageously knocked at the door.
"Who is there, at this hour?" cried a voice from the window, which theyrecognised to be that of Perpetua. "No one is sick, that I know of. Whatis the matter?"
"It is I," replied Tony, "with my brother; we want to speak with thecurate."
"Is this an hour for Christians?" replied Perpetua, briskly. "Cometo-morrow."
"Hear me; I will come, or not, as I choose; I have received I can't tellhow much money, and I have come to balance the small account that youknow of. I have here twenty-five fine new pieces; but if he cannot seeme,--well--I know how and where to spend them."
"Wait, wait. I will speak to you in a moment. But why come at thishour?"
"If you can change the hour, I am willing; as for me, I am here, and, ifyou don't want m
e to stay, I'll go away."
"No, no, wait a moment; I will give you an answer." So saying, sheclosed the window. As soon as she disappeared, Agnes separated herselffrom the lovers, saying to Lucy, in a low voice, "Courage, it is but amoment." She then entered into conversation with Tony at the door, thatPerpetua, on opening it, might suppose she had been accidentally passingby, and that Tony had detained her.