CHAPTER III.
Lucy entered the lower room as Renzo was sorrowfully informing Agnes ofthat, to which she as sorrowfully listened. Both turned towards her fromwhom they expected an explanation which could not but be painful; thesuspicions of both were, however, excited in the midst of their grief,and the displeasure they felt towards Lucy differed only according totheir relative situation. Agnes, although anxious to hear her daughterspeak, could not avoid reproaching her--"To say nothing to thy mother!"
"Now, I will tell you all," said Lucy, wiping her eyes with her apron.
"Speak, speak!" cried at once her mother and her lover.
"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed Lucy, "that it should come to this!"--and witha voice interrupted by tears, she related that a few days previously, asshe returned from weaving, and was loitering behind her companions, DonRoderick came up with her, in company with another gentleman; that theformer sought to engage her in idle conversation; that she quickened herpace, without lending him an ear, and rejoined her companions; in themean while she heard the other gentleman laugh, and Don Roderick say,"I'll lay a wager with you." The day following, on their return, theymet them again, but Lucy kept in the midst of her companions, with herhead down; the other gentleman burst into laughter, and Don Rodericksaid, "We will see, we will see." "Happily for me," continued Lucy,"this day was the last of the weaving. I related the adventureimmediately----"
"To whom didst thou relate it?" asked Agnes quickly, indignant at theidea of any one being preferred before her as a confidant.
"To Father Christopher, in confession, mamma," replied Lucy, in a toneof apology. "I told him all, the last time you and I went to the churchof the convent; you may perhaps recollect my contrivances for delay onthat morning, until there should pass some villagers in whose company wemight go into the street; because I was so afraid----"
The indignation of Agnes subsided at once, at the mention of a name sorevered as Father Christopher's. "Thou didst well, my child," said she;"but why not tell it also to thy mother?"
For this, Lucy had had two very good reasons; the one, a desire not todisturb and frighten her mother with a circumstance she could not haveprevented; the other, the dread of placing a secret, which she wished tobe buried in her own bosom in danger of becoming known to all thevillage: of these two reasons she only alleged the first.
"And could I," said she, turning to Renzo, in a gentle and reproachfulvoice, "could I speak to you of this?--Alas! that you should know itnow!"
"And what did the Father say to you?" asked Agnes.
"He told me to endeavour to hasten my nuptials, and in the mean while tokeep myself within doors; to pray much to God; and he hoped that if DonRoderick should not see me, he would cease to think of me. And it wasthen," continued she, turning again towards Renzo, without, however,raising her eyes, and blushing deeply, "it was then that I compelledmyself, at the risk of appearing very forward, to request you toconclude the marriage before the appointed time. Who can tell what youmust have thought of me? But I did it for the best, and from advice--andthis morning I little thought----" She could articulate no longer, andburst into a flood of tears.
"Ah! the scoundrel! the villain!" exclaimed Renzo, pacing the room in aviolent paroxysm of rage. He stopped suddenly before Lucy, regarded herwith a countenance agitated by various passions, and said, "This is thelast wicked deed this wretch will perform."
"Ah! no, Renzo, for the love of Heaven!" cried Lucy; "no, no, for thelove of Heaven! There is a God who watches over the oppressed; but doyou think he will protect us if we do evil?"
"No, no, for the love of Heaven!" repeated Agnes.
"Renzo," said Lucy, with a more resolved and tranquil air, "you have atrade, and I know how to work: let us go away into some distant place,that he may hear of us no more."
"Ah, Lucy! but we are not yet man and wife! If we were married, then,indeed----" Lucy relapsed into tears, and all three remained silent; thedeep despondency of their countenances formed a mournful contrast to thefestive character of their dress.
"Hear me, my children; listen to me," said Agnes, after a few moments;"I came into the world before you, and I know it a little better thanyou do. The devil is not so frightful as they paint him. To us poorpeople the skeins appear more entangled, because we do not know whereto look for the end; but sometimes advice from a learned man----I knowwhat I mean to say.--Do as I tell you, Renzo; go to Lecco; find theDoctor _Azzecca Garbugli_[2]; relate to him----But you must not call himby this name--it is a nick-name. Say to the doctor----what do they callhim? Oh dear! I can't think of his real name, every one calls him_Azzecca Garbugli_. Well, well, find this tall, stiff, bald doctor, witha red nose, and a face as red----"
[2] Seek quarrel.
"I know the man by sight," said Renzo.
"Well, very well," continued Agnes, "there's a man for you! I have seenmore than one troubled wretch who did not know which way to turnhimself; I have known him remain an hour with the Doctor _AzzeccaGarbugli_ (be careful you don't call him so), and go away laughing athimself for his uneasiness. Take with you these fowls; I expected tohave wrung their necks, poor little things! for the banquet of to-night;however, carry them to him, because one must never go empty-handed tothese gentlemen. Relate to him all that has happened, and he will tellyou 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 coop,tied their legs together as if she were making a nosegay, and consignedthem to his hands. After having exchanged words of hope, he departed,avoiding the high road and crossing the fields, so as not to attractnotice. 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 imagine the condition of theunfortunate fowls swinging by the legs with their heads downwards in thehands of a man agitated by all the tumults of passion; and whose armmoved more in accordance with the violence of his feelings, than withsympathy for the unhappy animals whose heads became conscious of sundryterrific shocks, which they resented by pecking at one another,--apractice too frequent with companions in misfortune.
He arrived at the village, asked for the house of the doctor, whichbeing pointed out to him, he proceeded thither. On entering, heexperienced the timidity so common to the poor and illiterate at thenear approach to the learned and noble; he forgot all the speeches hehad prepared, but giving a glance at the fowls, he took courage. Heentered the kitchen, and demanded of the maid servant, "If he couldspeak with the Signor Doctor?" As if accustomed to similar gifts, sheimmediately took the fowls out of his hand, although Renzo drew themback, wishing the doctor to know that it was he who brought them. Thedoctor entered as the maid was saying, "Give here, and pass into thestudy." Renzo bowed low to him; he replied with a kind "Come in, myson," and led the way into an adjoining chamber. This was a large room,on the three walls of which were distributed portraits of the twelveCaesars, while the fourth was covered with a large bookcase of old anddusty books; in the middle stood a table laden with memorials, libels,and proclamations, with three or four seats around; on one side of itwas a large arm-chair with a high and square back, terminated at eachcorner by ornaments of wood in the fashion of horns; the nails which hadfallen out here and there from its leathern covering, left the cornersof it at liberty to roll themselves up in all directions. The doctor wasin his morning gown, that is, enveloped in a faded toga, which hadserved him long since to appear in at Milan, on some great occasion. Heclosed the door, and encouraged the young man with these words: "My son,tell me your case."
"I wish to speak a word to you in confidence."
"Well, say on," replied the doctor, as he seated himself in thearm-chair. Renzo stood before the table twirling his hat in his hand,and began, "I wish to know from one as learned as yourself----"
"Tell me the affair just as it is," interrupted the doctor, "in as fewwords as possibl
e."
"You must pardon me, Signor Doctor; we poor people know not how to speakto such as you are. I wish then to know----"
"Bless the people! they are all alike; instead of relating facts, theyask questions; and that because their own opinions are already settled!"
"Excuse me, Signor Doctor. I wish, then, to know if there is apunishment for threatening a curate, to prevent him from performing amarriage ceremony?"
"I understand," said the doctor, who in truth had _not_ understood--"Iunderstand." And suddenly assuming an air of seriousness and importance,"A serious case, my son--a case contemplated. You have done well to cometo me; it is a clear case, noticed in a hundred proclamations, and inone, of the year just elapsed, by the actual governor. You shall see,you shall see! Where can it be?" said he, plunging his hand amidst thechaos of papers; "it must surely be here, as it is a decree of greatimportance. Ah! here it is, here it is!" He unfolded it, looked at thedate, and with a serious face exclaimed, "Fifteenth of October, 1627.Yes, yes, this is it; a new edict; these are those which causeterror--Do you know how to read, my son?"
"A little, Signor Doctor."
"Well now, come behind me, and you will see for yourself."
Holding the proclamation extended before him, he began to read,stammering rapidly over some passages, and pausing distinctly with greatexpression on others, according to the necessity of the case.
"_Although by the proclamation published by order of the Signor Duke diFeria, on the 14th of December, 1620, and ratified by the mostillustrious, and most excellent lord, Signor Gonsalez Fernandez deCordova,_ &c. &c.--_had by extraordinary and rigorous remedies providedagainst the oppressions, exactions, and other tyrannical acts committedagainst the devoted vassals of His Majesty; the frequency of theexcesses, however,_ &c. &c., _has arrived at such a point that HisExcellency is under the necessity,_ &c. &c._--wherefore, with theconcurrence of the Senate and Convention,_ &c. &c._--has resolved topublish the present decree." "And from the tyrannical acts which theskill of many in the villages, as well as in the cities._"--"Do youhear"--umph--"_exact and oppress the weak in various ways, makingviolent contracts of purchase, of rent,_ &c."--"Where is it? Ah! here itis, listen, listen,"--"_who, whether matrimony follow or not_."
"Ah! that's my case!" said Renzo.
"Listen, listen, here is more; now we will find the punishment."Umph--"_that they leave the place of their abode_, &c. &c.--_that if onepays a debt he must not be molested_." "All this has nothing to do withus. Ah! here it is!" "_the priest refusing to do that to which he isobliged by his office_,"--"Eh?"
"It appears the proclamation was made purposely for me."
"Ah! is it not so? listen, listen." "_And other similar oppressionswhich flow from the vassals, nobility, middle and lower classes._" "Noneescape, they are all here--it is like the valley of Jehoshaphat. Hearnow the penalty." "_For all these and other similar evil deeds, whichhaving been prohibited, it is nevertheless necessary to exact withrigour_, &c.--_His Excellency, not annulling, orders and commands, thatwhoever the offenders be, they shall be subjected to pecuniary andcorporal punishment--to banishment, the galleys, or to death_," "a meretrifle!" "_at the will of His Excellency, or of the Senate. And fromthis there is no escape_, &c. &c." "And see here the signature,""_Gonsalez Fernandez de Cordova_;" "and lower down," "_Platonas_;" "andhere again"--"_Videt Ferrar_," "nothing is wanting." Whilst the doctorwas reading, Renzo had kept his eyes on the paper, seeking to ascertainfor himself its real meaning. The doctor, perceiving his new client moreattentive than dismayed, marvelled greatly. "He must be enrolled as oneof the bravoes," said he to himself; "Ah! ah!" exclaimed he, addressingRenzo, "you have shaved off the long lock! Well, well, it was prudent;but placing yourself in my hands, you need not have done so. The case isa serious one--you can have no idea how much resolution is required toconduct these matters wisely."
To understand this mistake of the doctor's, it should be known, that thebravoes by profession used to wear a long lock of hair, which theypulled over the face as a mask in enterprises that required prudence aswell as strength. The proclamation had not been silent with regard tothis custom.
"_His Excellency commands, that whosoever shall wear hair of such alength as to cover the forehead to the eyebrows, will incur the penaltyof a fine of three hundred crowns; in case of incapability of payment,three years in the galleys for the first offence; and for the second, inaddition to the aforesaid, greater punishments still, at the will of HisExcellency._" The long lock had become a distinctive mark of the looseand disorderly.
"Indeed, indeed," replied Renzo, "I have never worn a long lock in mylife."
"I can do nothing," replied the doctor, shaking his head, with a knowingand rather impatient smile, "nothing, if you do not trust me. He whoutters falsehoods to the doctor is a fool who will tell the truth to thejudge. It is necessary to relate things plainly to the lawyer, but itrests with us to render them more intricate. If you wish me to help you,you must tell all from beginning to end, as to your confessor: you mustname the person who commissioned you to do the deed; doubtless he is aperson of consequence; and, considering this, I will go to his house toperform an act of duty. I will not betray you at all, be assured; I willtell him I come to implore his protection for a poor calumniated youth;and we will together use the necessary means to finish the affair in asatisfactory manner. You understand; in securing himself, he willlikewise secure you. If, however, the business has been all your own, Iwill not withdraw my protection: I have extricated others from worsedifficulties; provided you have not offended a person of_consequence_;--you understand--I engage to free you from allembarrassment, with a little expense--you understand. As to the curate,if he is a person of judgment, he will keep his own counsel; if he is afool, we will take care of him. One may escape clear out of everytrouble; but for this, a _man_, a _man_ is necessary. Your case is avery, very serious one--the edict speaks plainly; and if the thingrested between you and the law, to be candid, it would go hard with you.If you wish to pass smoothly--money and obedience!"
Whilst the doctor poured forth this rhapsody, Renzo had been regardinghim with mute astonishment, as the countryman watches the juggler, whomhe sees cramming his mouth with handful after handful of tow; when, lo!he beholds immediately drawn forth from the same mouth a never-endingline of riband. When at last he perceived his meaning, he interruptedhim with, "Oh! Signor Doctor, how you have misunderstood me! the matteris directly the reverse; I have threatened no one--not I--I never dosuch things; ask my companions, all of them, and they will tell you Inever had any thing to do with the law. The injury is mine, and I havecome to you to know how I can obtain justice, and am well satisfied tohave seen this proclamation."
"The devil!" exclaimed the doctor, opening wide his eyes; "what a cockand a bull story you have made! So it is; you are all alike: is itpossible you can't tell a plain fact?"
"But, Signor Doctor, you must pardon me, you have not given me time; nowI will tell you all. Know, then, that I was to have been marriedto-day"--and here his voice trembled--"was to have been married to-dayto a young person to whom I have been some time betrothed; to-day wasthe day fixed upon by the Signor Curate, and every thing was inreadiness. The Signor Curate began to make excuses--and--not to wearyyou--I compelled him to tell me the cause; and he confessed that he hadbeen forbidden, on pain of death, to perform the ceremony. This powerfulDon Roderick----"
"Eh!" hastily interrupted the doctor, contracting his brow and wrinklinghis red nose, "away with you; what have I to do with these idle stories?Tell them to your companions, and not to one of my condition. Begone; doyou think I have nothing to do but listen to tales of this sort----"
"I protest----"
"Begone, I say; what have I to do with your protestations? I wash myhands from them!" and pacing the room, he rubbed his hands together, asif really performing that act. "Hereafter learn when to speak; and donot take a gentleman by surprise."
"But hear me, hear me," vainly repeated Renzo.
The doctor, still growling, pushed him towards the door, set it wideopen, called the maid, and said to her, "Return this man immediatelywhat he brought, I will have nothing to do with it." The woman had neverbefore been required to execute a similar order, but she did nothesitate to obey; she took the fowls and gave them to Renzo with acompassionate look, as if she had said, "You certainly have made somevery great blunder." Renzo wished to make apologies; but the doctor wasimmovable. Confounded, therefore, and more enraged than ever, he tookback the fowls and departed, to render an account of the ill success ofhis expedition.
At his departure, Agnes and Lucy had exchanged their nuptial robes fortheir humble daily habits, and then, sorrowful and dejected, occupiedthemselves in suggesting fresh projects. Agnes expected great resultsfrom Renzo's visit to the doctor; Lucy thought that it would be well tolet Father Christopher know what had happened, as he was a man who wouldnot only advise, but assist whenever he could serve the unfortunate;Agnes assented, but how was it to be accomplished? the convent was twomiles distant, and at this time _they_ certainly could neither of themhazard a walk thither. Whilst they were weighing the difficulties, someone knocked at the door, and they heard a low but distinct _DeoGracias_. Lucy, imagining who it was, hastened to open it; and, bowinglow, there entered a capuchin collector of contributions, with hiswallet swung over his left shoulder. "Oh! brother Galdino!" said Agnes."The Lord be with you," said the brother; "I come for your contributionof nuts."
"Go, get the nuts for the fathers," said Agnes. Lucy obeyed; but beforeshe quitted the room, she gave her mother a kind and impressive look, asmuch as to say, "Be secret."
The capuchin, looking significantly at Agnes, said, "And the wedding? Itwas to have taken place to-day; what has happened?"
"The curate is sick, and we are obliged to defer it," replied the dame,in haste; "but what success in the contributions?" continued she,anxious to change the subject, which she would willingly have prolonged,but for Lucy's earnest look.
"Very poor, good dame, very poor. This is all," said he, swinging thewallet from his shoulder--"this is all; and for this I have been obligedto knock at ten doors."
"But the year is a scarce one, brother Galdino, and when we have tostruggle for bread, our alms are necessarily small."
"If we wish abundance to return, my good dame, we must give alms. Do younot know the miracle of the nuts, which happened many years ago in ourconvent of Romagna?"
"No, in truth; tell me."
"Well you must know, then, that in this convent there was one of ourfathers who was a saint; he was called Father Macario. One winter's day,passing by a field of one of our patrons,--a worthy man he was,--he sawhim standing near a large nut tree, and four peasants with their axesraised to level it to the ground. 'What are you doing to the poor tree?'demanded father Macario. 'Why, father, it is unfruitful, and I am aboutto cut it down.' 'Do not do so, do not do so,' said the father; 'I tellyou that next year it will bear more nuts than leaves. The masterordered the workmen to throw at once the earth on the roots which hadbeen already bared; and, calling after the Father Macario, said, 'FatherMacario, the half of the crop shall be for the convent.' The predictionwas noised about, and every one went to look at the tree. In fact, whenspring arrived, there were flowers in abundance, and afterwards nuts inabundance! But there was a greater miracle yet, as you shall hear. Theowner, who, before the nut season, was called hence to enjoy the fruitsof his charity, left a son of a very different character from himself.Now, at the time of harvest, the collector went to receive his appointedportion; but the son affected entire ignorance, and presumptuouslyreplied, he never had understood that the capuchins knew how to makenuts. Now guess what happened then. One day he had invited to dinnersome friends, and, making merry, he amused them with the story of thenuts; they desired to visit his granary, to behold his abundance; he ledthe way, advanced towards the corner where they had been placed,looked--and what do you think he saw?--a heap of dry nut leaves! Was notthis a miracle? And the convent gained, instead of suffering loss; theprofusion of nuts bestowed upon it in consequence was so great, that oneof our patrons, compassionating the poor collector, gave him a mule toassist in carrying them home. And so much oil was made, that it wasfreely given to the poor; like the sea, which receives waters from everypart, and distributes abundantly to the rivers."
Lucy now reappeared with her apron so loaded with nuts, that she couldwith difficulty support the burthen. Whilst Friar Galdino untied hiswallet to receive them, Agnes cast an astonished and displeased glanceat her for her prodigality; she returned it with a look which seemed tosay, "I will satisfy you." The friar was liberal of thanks, and,replacing his wallet, was about to depart, when Lucy called him back. "Iwish you to do me a service," said she; "I wish you to say to FatherChristopher that I have a great desire to speak with him, and requesthim to have the goodness to come hither immediately, as it is impossiblefor me to go to the convent."
"Willingly; an hour shall not elapse before Father Christopher shall beinformed of your wish."
"I rely on you."
"Trust me," said he, "I will be faithful," and moved off, bending underthe increased weight of his wallet. We must not suppose, from thereadiness with which Lucy sent this request to Father Christopher, andthe equal readiness of Father Galdino to carry it, that the father was aperson of no consequence; on the contrary, he was a man of muchauthority amongst his companions, and throughout all the neighbourhood.To serve the feeble, and to be served by the powerful; to enter thepalace and the hut; to be at one time a subject of pastime, and atanother regarded with profound respect; to seek alms, and to bestowthem;--to all these vicissitudes a capuchin was well accustomed. Thename of _Friar_, at this period, was uttered with the greatest respect,and with the most bitter contempt; of both of which sentiments, perhaps,the capuchins were, more than any other order, the objects. Theypossessed no property, wore a coarser habit than others, and made a moreopen profession of humility; they therefore exposed themselves, in agreater degree, to the veneration or the scorn which might result fromthe various characters among men.
The Friar Galdino being gone, "Such a quantity of nuts!" exclaimedAgnes, "and in a year of scarcity!"--"I beg pardon," replied Lucy; "butif we had been as penurious as others in our charity, who can tell howlong the friar would have been in reaching home, or, amongst all thegossipings, whether he would have remembered----"
"True, true, it was a good thought; and besides, charity always producesgood fruit," said Agnes, who, with all her defects, was a kind-heartedwoman, and would have sacrificed every thing she had in the world forthe sake of her child, in whom she had reposed all her happiness.
Renzo entered at this moment, with an angry and mortified countenance."Pretty advice you gave me!" said he to Agnes. "You sent me to a fineman, indeed! to one truly who aids the distressed!" And he brieflyrelated his interview with the doctor. The dame, astonished at theissue, endeavoured to prove that the advice was good, and that thefailure must have been owing to Renzo himself. Lucy interrupted thedebate, by informing him of her message to Father Christopher: he seizedwith avidity the new hopes inspired by the expectation of assistancefrom so holy a man. "But if the father," said he, "should not extricateus 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 certainly be here, andhe will no doubt suggest to us some plan of action which we ourselveswould not have thought of in a year."
"I hope so," said Renzo; "but if not, I will obtain redress, or findanother to do it for me; for surely there must be justice to be had inthe world."
Their mournful conversation might have continued much longer, butapproaching night warned him to depart.
"Good night!" said Lucy mournfully, to Renzo, who could hardly resolveto go.
"Good night!" replied he, yet more sadly.
"Some saint will watch over us," said she. "Be patient and prudent." Themothe
r added some advice of the like nature. But the disappointedbridegroom, with a tempest in his heart, left them, repeating thestrange proposition--"Surely, there's justice in the world." So true isit that, under the influence of great misfortune, men no longer knowwhat they say.