CHAPTER IV.
The sun had not yet risen above the horizon, when Father Christopherleft the convent of Pescarenico, to go to the cottage where he was soanxiously expected. Pescarenico is a small hamlet on the left bank ofthe Adda, or, rather, of the Lake, a few steps below the bridge; a groupof houses, inhabited for the most part by fishermen, and adorned hereand there with nets spread out to dry. The convent was situated (thebuilding still subsists) at a short distance from them, half way betweenLecco and Bergamo.
The sky was clear and serene. As the sun rose behind the mountain, itsrays brightened the opposite summits, and thence rapidly spreadthemselves over the declivities and valleys; a light autumn breezeplayed through the leaves of the mulberry trees, and brought them to theground. The vineyards were still brilliant with leaves of various hues;and the newly made nets appeared brown and distinct amid the fields ofstubble, which were white and shining with the dew. The scene wasbeautiful; but the misery of the inhabitants formed a sad contrast toit. At every moment you met pale and ragged beggars, some grown old inthe trade, others youthful, and induced to it from extreme necessity.They passed quietly by Father Christopher, and although they had nothingto hope from him, since a capuchin never touches money, they bowed lowin thanks for the alms they had received, or might hereafter receive atthe convent. The spectacle of the labourers scattered in the fields wasstill more mournful; some were sowing thinly and sparingly their seed,as if hazarding that which was too precious; others put the spade intothe earth with difficulty, and wearily turned up the clods. The pale andsickly child was leading the meagre cattle to the pasture ground, and ashe went along plucked carefully the herbs found in his path, as food forhis family. This melancholy picture of human misery increased thesadness of Father Christopher, who, when he left the convent, had beenfilled with presentiments of evil.
But why did he feel so much for Lucy? And why, at the first notice, didhe hasten to her with as much solicitude as if he had been sent for bythe Father Provincial. And who was this Father Christopher? We mustendeavour to satisfy all these enquiries.
Father Christopher, of ----, was a man nearer sixty than fifty years ofage. His head was shaven, with the exception of the band of hair allowedto grow round it like a crown, as was the custom of the capuchins; theexpression of his countenance was habitually that of deep humility,although occasionally there passed over it flashes of pride andinquietude, which were, however, succeeded by a deeper shade ofself-reproach and lowliness. His long grey beard gave more character tothe shape of the upper part of his head, on which habitual abstinencehad stamped a strong expression of gravity. His sunken eyes were for themost part bent to the earth, but brightened at times with unexpectedvivacity, which he ever appeared to endeavour to repress. His name,before entering the convent, had been Ludovico; he was the son of amerchant of ----, who, having accumulated great wealth, had renouncedtrade in the latter part of his life, and having resolved to live like agentleman, he studied every means to cause his former mode of life tobe forgotten by those around him. He could not, however, forget ithimself; the shop, the goods, the day-book, the yard measure, rose tohis memory, like the shade of Banquo to Macbeth, amidst the pomp of thetable and the smiles of his parasites; whose continual effort it was toavoid any word which might appear to allude to the former condition ofthe host. Ludovico was his only child: he caused him to be noblyeducated, as far as the laws and customs permitted him to do so; anddied, bequeathing him a splendid fortune. Ludovico had contracted thehabits and feelings of a gentleman, and the flatterers who hadsurrounded him from infancy had accustomed him to the greatest deferenceand respect. But he found the scene changed when he attempted to minglewith the nobility of the city; and that in order to live in theircompany he must school himself to patience and submission, and bear withcontumely on every occasion. This agreed neither with his education norhis disposition. He retired from them in disgust, but unwillingly,feeling that such should naturally have been his companions; he thenresolved to outdo them in pomp and magnificence, thereby increasing theenmity with which they had already regarded him. His open and violentnature soon engaged him in more serious contests: he sincerely abhorredthe extortions and injuries committed by those to whom he had opposedhimself; he therefore habitually took part with the weak against thepowerful, so that by degrees he had constituted himself the defender ofthe oppressed, and the vindicator of their wrongs. The office wasonerous; and fruitful in evil thoughts, quarrels, and enmities againsthimself. But, besides this external warfare, he perhaps suffered stillmore from inward conflicts; for often, in order to compass his objects,he was obliged to adopt measures of circumvention and violence, whichhis conscience disapproved. He was under the painful necessity ofkeeping in pay a band of ruffians for his own security, as well as toaid him in his enterprises; and for these purposes he was necessarilyobliged to select the boldest, that is, the vilest, and to live withvagabonds from a love of justice; so that, disgusted with the world andits conflicts, he had many times seriously thought of entering somemonastery, and retiring from it for ever. Such intentions were morestrongly entertained on the failure of some of his enterprises, or theperception of his own danger, or the annoyance of his viciousassociates, and would probably have still continued _intentions_, butfor one of the most serious and terrible events of his hazardous mode oflife.
He was walking one day through the streets of the city, accompanied by aformer shopman, who had been transformed by his father into a steward,followed by two bravoes. The name of the shopman was Christopher; he wasa man about fifty years of age, devoted to the master whom he had tendedin infancy, and upon whose liberality he supported himself, his wife,and a large family of children. Ludovico saw a gentleman approaching ata distance, with whom he had never spoken in his life, but whom he hatedfor his arrogance and pride, which hatred the other cordially returned.He had in his train four bravoes; he advanced with a haughty step, andan expression of insolence and disdain on his countenance. It wasLudovico's right, being on the left side, to pass nearest the wall,according to the custom of the day, and every one was tenacious of thisprivilege. As they met they stopped face to face, like two figures on abass relief, neither of them being disposed to yield to the other. Thegentleman, eyeing Ludovico proudly and imperiously, said, with acorresponding tone of voice, "Pass on the outside."
"Pass there yourself," replied Ludovico, "the street is mine."
"With persons of your condition the street is always mine."
"Yes, if your arrogance were a law to others."
The attendants of each stood still, with their hands on their daggers,prepared for battle. The passers-by retreated to a distance to watch theevent.
"Pass on, vile mechanic, or I will teach you the civility due to agentleman."
"You lie; I am not vile."
"Ha! Do you give me the lie? If you were a gentleman I would soon settlematters with my sword."
"You are a coward also, or you would not hesitate to support by deedsthe insolence of your words."
"Throw this rascal in the dirt," said the gentleman, turning to hisfollowers.
"Let us see who will dare to do so," said Ludovico, stepping back andlaying his hand on his sword.
"Rash man," cried the other, unsheathing his own, "I will break this inpieces when it shall have been stained with your base blood."
They rushed violently on each other; the servants of both sprang to thedefence of their masters. The combat was unequal in numbers, and alsounequal from Ludovico's desire to defend himself rather than to woundhis enemy; whilst the latter intended nothing less than murder. Ludovicowas warding off the dagger of one of the bravoes, after having receiveda slight scratch on the cheek, when his enemy thrust at him from behind;Christopher, seeing his master's peril, went to his assistance; uponthis the anger of the enraged cavalier was turned against the shopman,and he thrust him through the heart with his sword. Ludovico, as ifbeside himself at the sight, buried his weapon in the breast of themurderer, who fell almost at
the same instant with the poor Christopher!The attendants of the gentleman, beholding him on the ground, took toflight; and Ludovico found himself alone, in the midst of a crowd, withtwo bodies lying at his feet.
"What has happened? One--two--he has been thrust through the body. Whois killed? A nobleman.--Holy Virgin! what destruction! who seeks,finds.--A moment pays all.--What a wound!--It must have been a seriousaffair!--And this unfortunate man!--Mercy! what a spectacle!--Save, savehim.--It will go hard with him also.--See how he is wounded--he iscovered with blood!--Escape, poor man, escape; do not let yourself betaken." These words expressed the common suffrage, and with advice camealso assistance; the affair had taken place near a church of thecapuchins, an asylum impenetrable to the officers of justice. Themurderer, bleeding and stupified, was carried thither by the crowd; thebrotherhood received him from their hands with this recommendation, "Heis an honest man who has made a proud rascal cold; but he did it in hisown defence."
Ludovico had never before shed blood, and although in these times murderwas a thing so common that all ceased to wonder at it, yet theimpression which he received from the recollection of the dying (dyingthrough his instrumentality,) was new and indescribable; a revelation offeelings hitherto unknown. The fall of his enemy, the alteration ofthose features, passing in a moment from angry threatenings to thesolemn stillness of death; this was a spectacle which wrought aninstantaneous change in the soul of the murderer. Whilst they werecarrying him to the convent he had been insensible to what was passing;returning to his senses, he found himself in a bed of the infirmary, inthe hands of a friar who was dressing his wounds. Another, whoseparticular duty it was to administer comfort to the dying, had beencalled to the scene of combat. He returned in a short time, andapproaching Ludovico's bed, said, "Console yourself; he has died inpeace, has forgiven you, and hoped for your forgiveness." At these wordsthe soul of Ludovico was filled with remorse and sorrow. "And theother?" asked he anxiously.
"The other had expired before I arrived."
In the mean time the avenues and environs of the convent swarmed withpeople; the officers of justice arrived, dispersed the crowd, and placedthemselves in ambush at a short distance from the gates, so that no onecould pass through them unobserved. A brother of the deceased and someof his family appeared in full armour with a large attendance ofbravoes, and surrounded the place, watching with a threatening aspectthe bystanders, who did not dare say, he is safe, but they had itwritten on their faces.
Scarcely had Ludovico recalled his scattered thoughts, when he asked fora father confessor, prayed him to seek out the widow of Christopher, toask forgiveness in his name for having been (however involuntarily) thecause of her affliction, and to assure her that he would take the careof her family on himself. Reflecting further on his own situation, hisdetermination was made to become a friar. It seemed as if God himselfhad willed it, by placing him in a convent at such a conjuncture. Heimmediately sent for the superior of the monastery, and expressed to himhis intention. He replied to him, that he should be careful not to forma resolution precipitately, but that, if he persisted, he would beaccepted. Ludovico then sent for a notary, and made a donation of allhis estate to the widow and family of Christopher.
The resolution of Ludovico happened opportunely for his hosts, who feltthemselves embarrassed concerning him. To send him from the monastery,and thus expose him to justice and the vengeance of his enemies, was notto be thought of a moment; it would be the same as a renunciation oftheir privileges, a discrediting of the convent amongst the people; andthey would draw upon themselves the animadversion of all the capuchinsof the universe for this relinquishment of the rights of the order, thisdefiance of the ecclesiastical authorities, who then consideredthemselves the guardians of these rights. On the other hand, the familyof the deceased, rich, and powerful in adherents, were determined onvengeance, and disposed to consider as enemies whoever should placeobstacles to its accomplishment. History declares, not that they grievedmuch for the dead, or that a single tear was shed for him amongst hiswhole race, but that they were urged on by scenting the blood of hisopponent. But Ludovico, by assuming the habit of a capuchin, removed alldifficulties: to a certain degree he made atonement; imposed on himselfpenitence; confessed his fault; withdrew from the contest; he was, inshort, an enemy who laid down his arms. The relations of the deceasedcould, if they pleased, believe and boast that he had become a friarthrough despair and dread of their revenge. And at all events, to reducea man to dispossess himself of his wealth, to shave his head, to walkbare-footed, to sleep on straw, and to live on alms, might appear apunishment competent to the offence.
The superior presented himself before the brother of the deceased withan air of humility; after a thousand protestations of respect for hisillustrious house, and of desire to comply with its wishes as far as waspracticable, he spoke of the repentance and resolution of Ludovico,politely hoping that the family would grant their accordance; and theninsinuating, mildly and dexterously, that, agreeable or not agreeable,the thing would take place. After some little vapouring, he agreed to iton one condition; that the murderer of his brother should departimmediately from the city. To this the capuchin assented, as if inobedience to the wishes of the family, although it had been already sodetermined. The affair was thus concluded to the satisfaction of theillustrious house, of the capuchin brotherhood, of the popular feeling,and, above all, of our generous penitent himself. Thus, at thirty yearsof age, Ludovico bade farewell to the world; and having, according tocustom, to change his name, he took one which would continually recallto him his crime,--thus he became _Friar Christopher_!
Hardly was the ceremony of assuming the habit completed, when thesuperior informed him he must depart on the morrow to perform hisnoviciate at ----, sixty miles' distance. The noviciate bowedsubmissively. "Permit me, father," said he, "before I leave the scene ofmy crime, to do all that rests with me now to repair the evil; permit meto go to the house of the brother of him whom I have murdered, toacknowledge my fault, and ask forgiveness; perhaps God will take awayhis but too just resentment."
It appeared to the superior that such an act, besides being praiseworthyin itself, would serve still more to reconcile the family to themonastery. He therefore bore the request himself to the brother of themurdered man; a proposal so unexpected was received with a mixture ofscorn and complacency. "Let him come to-morrow," said he, and appointedthe hour. The superior returned to Father Christopher with the desiredpermission.
The gentleman reflected that the more solemn and public the apology was,the more it would enhance his credit with the family and the world; hemade known in haste to the members of the family, that on the followingday they should assemble at his house to receive a common satisfaction.At mid-day the palace swarmed with nobility of either sex; there was ablending of veils, feathers, and jewels; a heavy motion of starched andcrisped bands; a confused entangling of embroidered trains. Theantechambers, the courts, and the street, were crowded with servants,pages, and bravoes.
Father Christopher experienced a momentary agitation at beholding allthis preparation, but recovering himself, said, "It is well; the deedwas committed in public, the reparation should be public." Then, withhis eyes bent to the earth, and the father, his companion, at his elbow,he crossed the court, amidst a crowd who eyed him with unceremoniouscuriosity; he entered, ascended the stairs, and passing through anothercrowd of lords, who made way for him at his approach, he advancedtowards the master of the mansion, who stood in the middle of the roomwaiting to receive him, with downcast looks, grasping with one hand thehilt of his sword, and with the other pressing the cape of his Spanishcloak on his breast. The countenance and deportment of FatherChristopher made an immediate impression on the company; so that allwere convinced that he had not submitted to this humiliation from fearof man. He threw himself on his knees before him whom he had mostinjured, crossed his hands on his breast, and bending his head,exclaimed, "I am the murderer of your brother! God knows, that torestore him to
life I would sacrifice my own; but as this cannot be, Isupplicate you to accept my useless and late apology, for the love ofGod!"
All eyes were fixed in breathless and mute attention on the novice, andon the person to whom he addressed himself; there was heard through thecrowd a murmur of pity and respect; the angry scorn of the noblemanrelaxed at this appeal, and bending towards the kneeling supplicant,"Rise," said he, with a troubled voice. "The offence--the deedtruly--but the habit you wear--not only this--but on your ownaccount--rise, father!--my brother--I cannot deny it--was a cavalier--ofa hasty temper. Do not speak of it again. But, father, you must notremain in this posture." And he took him by the arm to raise him. FatherChristopher, standing with his eyes still bent to the ground, continued,"I may, then, hope that you have granted me your pardon. And if I obtainit from you, from whom may I not expect it? Oh! if I could hear youutter the word!"
"Pardon!" said the nobleman; "I pardon you with all my heart, andall----" turning to the company----"All! all!" resounded at once throughthe room.
The countenance of the father expanded with joy, under which, however,was still visible an humble and profound compunction for the evil, whichthe remission of men could not repair. The nobleman, entirelyvanquished, threw his arms around his neck, and the kiss of peace wasgiven and received.
Loud exclamations of applause burst from the company; and all crowdedeagerly around the father. In the meanwhile the servants entered,bearing refreshments; the master of the mansion, again addressing FatherChristopher, said, "Father, afford me a proof of your friendship byaccepting some of these trifles."
"Such things are no longer for me," replied the father; "but if you willallow me a loaf of bread, as a memorial of your charity and yourforgiveness, I shall be thankful." The bread was brought, and with anair of humble gratitude he put it in his basket. He then took leave ofthe company; disentangled himself with difficulty from the crowd in theantechambers, who would have kissed the hem of his garment, and pursuedhis way to the gate of the city, whence he commenced his pedestrianjourney towards the place of his noviciate.
It is not our design to write the history of his cloistral life; we willonly say, he executed faithfully the offices ordinarily assigned to him,of preaching, and of comforting the dying; but beyond these, "theoppressor's wrongs, the proud man's contumely," aroused in him a spiritof resistance which humiliation and remorse had not been able entirelyto extinguish. His countenance was habitually mild and humble, butoccasionally there passed over it a shade of former impetuosity, whichwas with difficulty restrained by the high and holy motives which nowpredominated in his soul. His tone of voice was gentle as hiscountenance; but in the cause of justice and truth, his language assumeda character of solemnity and emphasis singularly impressive. One whoknew him well, and admired his virtues, could often perceive, by thesmothered utterance or the change of a single word, the inward conflictbetween the natural impetus and the resolved will, which latter neverfailed to gain the mastery.
If one unknown to him in the situation of Lucy had implored hisassistance, he would have granted it immediately; with how much moresolicitude, then, did he direct his steps to the cottage, knowing andadmiring her innocence, trembling for her danger, and experiencing alively indignation at the persecution of which she had become theobject. Besides, he had advised her to remain quiet, and not make knownthe conduct of her persecutor, and he felt or feared that his advicemight have been productive of bad consequences. His anxiety for herwelfare, and his inadequate means to secure it, called up many painfulfeelings, which the good often experience.
But while we have been relating his history, he arrived at the dwelling;Agnes and her daughter advanced eagerly towards him, exclaiming in onebreath, "Oh! Father Christopher, you are welcome."