CHAPTER XXVI.
Don Abbondio uttered not a word. It must be confessed that we ourselves,who have nothing to fear but the criticisms of our readers, feel adegree of repugnance in thus urging the unfashionable precepts ofcharity, courage, indefatigable solicitude for others, and unlimitedsacrifice of self. But the reflection that these things were said by aman who practised what he preached, encourages us to proceed in ourrelation.
"You do not answer," resumed the cardinal. "Ah! if you had followed thedictates of charity and duty, whatever had been the result, you wouldnow have been at no loss for a reply. Behold, then, what you have done;you having obeyed iniquity, regardless of the requirements of duty; youhave obeyed her promptly; she had only to show herself to you, andsignify her desire, and she found you ready at her call. But she wouldhave had recourse to artifice with one who was on his guard against her,she would have avoided exciting his suspicion, she would have employedconcealment, that she might mature at leisure her projects of treacheryand violence; she has, on the contrary, boldly ordered you to infringeyour duty, and keep silence; you have obeyed, you have infringed it,and you have kept silence. I ask you now, if you have done nothing more.Tell me if it is true, that you have advanced false pretences for yourrefusal, so as not to reveal the true motive----"
"They have told this also, the tattlers!" thought Don Abbondio, but ashe gave no indication of addressing himself to speech, the cardinalpursued,--"Is it true, that you told these young people falsehoods tokeep them in ignorance and darkness?--I am compelled, then, to believeit; it only remains for me to blush for you, and to hope that you willweep with me. Behold where it has led you, (merciful God! and youadvanced it as a justification!) behold to what it has conducted you,this solicitude for your life! It has led you----(repel freely theassertion if it appear to you unjust: take it as a salutary humiliationif it is not) it has led you to deceive the feeble and unfortunate, tolie to your children!"
"This is the way of the world!" thought Don Abbondio again; "to thisdevil incarnate," (referring to the Unknown,) "his arms around his neck;and to me, for a half lie, reproaches without end! But you are oursuperiors; of course you are right. It is my star, that all the world isagainst me, not excepting the saints." He continued aloud,--"I have donewrong! I see that I have done wrong. But what could I do in soembarrassing a situation?"
"Do you still ask? Have I not told you? And must I repeat it? You shouldhave loved, my son, you should have loved and prayed; you would thenhave felt that iniquity might threaten, but not enforce obedience; youwould have united, according to the laws of God, those whom man desiredto separate; you would have exercised the ministry these children had aright to expect from you. God would have been answerable for theconsequences, as you were obeying His orders; now, since you have obeyedman, the responsibility falls on yourself. And what consequences, justHeaven! And why did you not remember that you had a superior? How wouldhe now dare to reprimand you for having failed in your duty, if he didnot at all times feel himself obliged to aid you in its performance? Whydid you not inform your bishop of the obstacles which infamous powerexerted to prevent the exercise of your ministry?"
"Just the advice of Perpetua," thought Don Abbondio vexed, to whosemind, even in the midst of these touching appeals, the images which mostfrequently presented themselves, were those of the bravoes and DonRoderick, alive and well, and returning at some future time, triumphant,and inflamed with rage. Although the presence, the aspect, and thelanguage of the cardinal embarrassed him, and impressed him with adegree of apprehension, it was, however, an embarrassment and anapprehension which did not subjugate his thoughts, nor prevent him fromreflecting that, after all, the cardinal employed neither arms norbravoes.
"Why did you not think," pursued Frederick, "that if no other asylum wasopen to these innocent victims, I could myself receive them, and placethem in safety, if you had sent them to me; sent them afflicted anddesolate to their bishop; as therefore belonging to him, as the mostprecious part, I say not of his charge, but of his wealth! And as foryou, I should have been anxious for you; I would not have slept untilcertain that not a hair of your head would be touched; and do you notsuppose that this man, however audacious he may be, would have lostsomething of his audacity, when convinced that his designs were known byme, that I watched over them, and that I was decided to employ for yourdefence all the means within my power! Know you not, that if manpromises too often more than he performs, he threatens also more than hedare execute? Know you not that iniquity does not depend solely on itsown strength, but on the credulity and cowardice of others?"
"Just the reasoning of Perpetua," thought Don Abbondio, withoutconsidering that this singular coincidence in judgment of FrederickBorromeo and his servant, was an additional argument against him.
"But you," pursued the cardinal, "you have only contemplated your owndanger. How is it possible that your personal safety can have appearedof importance enough to sacrifice every thing to it?"
"Because I saw them, I saw those frightful faces," escaped from DonAbbondio. "I heard those horrible words. Your illustrious worship talkswell, but you should have been in the place of your poor priest, andhave had the same thing happen to you."
No sooner had he uttered these words than he bit his tongue, perceivingthat he had suffered himself to be overcome by vexation; he muttered ina low voice, "Now for the storm!" and raising his eyes timidly, he wasastonished to see the cardinal, whom he never could comprehend, passfrom the severe air of authority and rebuke, to that of a soft andpensive gravity.
"It is but too true," said Frederick. "Such is our terrible andmiserable condition! We exact rigorously from others, that which it maybe we would not be willing to render ourselves; we judge, correct, andreprimand, and God alone knows what we would do in the same situation,what we _have_ done in similar situations. But, woe be to me, if I takemy weakness for the measure of another's duty, for the rule of myinstruction! Nevertheless it is certain, that while imparting precepts,I should also afford an example to my neighbour, and not resemble thepharisee, who imposes on others enormous burthens, which he himselfwould not so much as touch with his finger. Hear me then, my son, mybrother; the errors of those in authority, are oftener better known toothers than to themselves; if you know that I have, from cowardice, orrespect to the opinions of men, neglected any part of my duty, tell meof it frankly, so that where I have failed in example, I may at leastnot be wanting in humble confession. Show me freely my weakness, andthen words from my mouth will be more available, because you will beconscious that they do not proceed from me, but that they are the wordsof Him who can give to us both the necessary strength to do what Heprescribes."
"Oh! what a holy man, but what a troublesome one!" thought Don Abbondio."He censures himself, and wishes that I should examine, criticise, andcontrol even _his_ actions!" He continued aloud,--"Oh! my lord jests,surely! Who does not know the courage and indefatigable zeal of yourillustrious lordship?" "Yes," added he to himself, "by far tooindefatigable!"
"I do not desire praise that makes me tremble, because God knows myimperfections, and what I know of them myself is sufficient to humbleme. But I would desire that we should humble ourselves together; I woulddesire that you should feel what your conduct has been, and that yourlanguage is opposed to the law you preach, and according to which youwill be judged."
"All turns against me. But these persons who have told your lordshipthese things, have they not also told you that they introducedthemselves treacherously into my house, for the purpose of compelling meto perform the marriage ceremony, in a manner unauthorised by thechurch?"
"They _have_ told me, my son; but what afflicts and depresses me, is tosee you still seeking excuses; still excusing yourself by accusingothers; still accusing others of that which should have formed a part ofyour own confession. Who placed these unfortunates, I do not say underthe necessity, but under the temptation, to do what they have? Wouldthey have sought this irregular method, if the legitimate way had notbee
n closed to them? Would they have thought of laying snares for theirpastor, if they had been received, aided, and advised by him? ofsurprising him, if he had not concealed himself? And you wish to makethem bear the blame; and you are indignant that, after so manymisfortunes, what do I say? in the very midst of misfortune, they havesuffered a word of complaint to escape before their pastor and yours?that the complaints of the oppressed and the afflicted should be hatefulto the world, is not astonishing; but to us! and what advantage wouldtheir silence have been to you? Would you have been the gainer fromtheir cause having been committed entirely to the judgment of God? Is itnot an additional reason to love them, that they have afforded you theoccasion to hear the sincere voice of your pastor; that they haveprovided for you the means to understand more clearly, and quite as faras may be in your power, the great debt you have contracted to them? Ah!if they had even been the aggressors, I would tell you to love them forthat very reason. Love them, because they have suffered, and do suffer;love them, because they are a part of your flock, because you yourselfhave need of pardon and of their prayers."
Don Abbondio kept silence, but no longer from vexation, and anunwillingness to be persuaded; he kept silence from having more thingsto think of than to say. The words which he heard were unexpectedconclusions, a new application of familiar doctrine. The evil done tohis neighbour, which apprehension on his own account had hithertoprevented him from beholding in its true light, now made a novel andstriking impression on his mind. If he did not feel all the remorsewhich the cardinal's remonstrances were calculated to produce, heexperienced at least secret dissatisfaction with himself and pity forothers; a blending of tenderness and shame; as, if we may be permittedto use the comparison, a humid and crushed taper at first hisses andsmokes, but by degrees receives warmth, and imparts light, from theflame of a great torch to which it is presented. Don Abbondio would haveloudly accused himself, and deplored his conduct, had not the idea ofDon Roderick still obtruded itself into his thoughts; however, hisfeeling was sufficiently apparent to convince the cardinal that hiswords had at last produced some effect.
"Now," pursued Frederick, "one of these unfortunate beings is a fugitiveafar off, the other on the point of departure; both have but too muchreason to keep asunder, without any present probability of beingre-united. Now, alas! they have no need of you; now, alas! you have nolonger the opportunity to do them good, and our short foresight canassure us of but little of the future. But who knows, if God in hiscompassion is not preparing the occasion for you? Ah! do not let itescape; seek it, watch for it, implore it as a blessing."
"I shall not fail, my lord--I shall not fail to do so, I assure you,"replied Don Abbondio, in a tone that came from the heart.
"Ah! yes, my son, yes!" cried Frederick with affectionate dignity;"Heaven knows that I would have desired to hold other converse with you.We have both had a long pilgrimage through life. Heaven knows howpainful it has been to me, to grieve your old age by reproaches; howmuch more I should have loved to occupy the time of this interview inmutual consolation, and mutual anticipation of the heavenly hope whichis so near our grasp! God grant that the language I have been obliged tohold may be useful to both of us! Act in such a manner, that He will notcall me to account on the great and terrible day, for having retainedyou in a ministry of which you were unworthy. Let us redeem the time;the night is far spent; the spouse will not linger; let us keep ourlamps trimmed and burning. Let us offer to God our poor and miserablehearts, that he may fill them with his love!" So saying he arose todepart; Don Abbondio followed him.
We must now return to Donna Prassede, who came, according to agreement,on the following morning, for Lucy, and also to pay her duty to thecardinal. Frederick bestowed many praises on Lucy, and recommended herwarmly to the kindness of Donna Prassede; Lucy separated herself fromher mother with many tears, and again bade farewell to her cottage andher village. But she was cheered by the hope of seeing her mother oncemore before their final departure, as Donna Prassede informed them thatit was her intention to remain for a few days at her villa, and Agnespromised to visit it again to take a last farewell.
The cardinal was on the point of setting out for another parish, whenthe curate of the village near which the castle of the Unknown wassituated, demanded permission to see him. He presented a small packet,and a letter from that lord, in which Frederick was requested to presentto Lucy's mother a hundred crowns of gold, to serve as a dowry for themaiden, or for any other purpose she might desire. The Unknown alsorequested him to tell them, that if ever they should be in need of hisservices, the poor girl knew but too well the place of his abode, and asfor him, he should consider it a high privilege to afford herprotection and assistance. The cardinal sent immediately for Agnes, andinformed her of the commission he had received. She heard it with equalsurprise and joy.
"God reward this signor!" said she; "your illustrious lordship willthank him in our name, but do not say a word of the matter to any one,because we live in a world--you will excuse me, I know a man like yourlordship does not tattle about such things, but--you understand me."
Returning to her house, she shut herself up in her chamber, and untiedthe packet; although she was prepared for the sight, she was filled withwonder at seeing in her own power and in one heap such a quantity ofthose coins which she had rarely ever seen before, and never more thanone at a time. She counted them over and over again, and wrapping themcarefully in a leather covering, concealed them under one corner of herbed. The rest of the day was employed in reverie and projects for thefuture, and desires for the arrival of the morrow; the night was passedin restless dreams, and vain imaginings of the blessings to be producedby this gold; at break of day, she arose, and departed for the villa ofDonna Prassede.
The repugnance Lucy had felt to mention her vow, had not all diminished,but she resolved to overcome it, and to disclose the circumstance to hermother in this conversation, which would probably be the last theyshould have for a long time.
No sooner were they left alone, than Agnes, with an animatedcountenance, but in a low voice, said, "I have great news to tell you,"and she related her unexpected good fortune.
"God bless this signor," said Lucy; "you have now enough to livecomfortably yourself, and also to benefit others."
"Oh! yes, we can do a great deal with this money! Listen, I have onlyyou, that is, I have only you two in the world, for from the moment thatRenzo first addressed you, I have considered him as my son. We will hopethat no misfortune has befallen him, and that we shall soon hear fromhim. As for myself, I would have wished to lay my bones in my owncountry, but now that you cannot stay here on account of this villain,(oh! even to think that he was near me, would make me dislike anyplace!) I am quite willing to go away. I would have gone with you to theend of the earth before this good fortune, but how could we do itwithout money? The poor youth had indeed saved a few pence, of which thelaw deprived him, but in recompence God has sent us a fortune. So then,when he has informed us that he is living, and where he is, and what arehis intentions, I will go to Milan for you--yes, I will go for you.Formerly I would not have dreamt of such a thing, but misfortune givescourage and experience. I have been to Monza, and I know what it is totravel. I will take with me a man of resolution; for instance, Alessiodi Maggianico; I will pay the expense, and--do you understand?"
But perceiving that Lucy, instead of exhibiting sympathy with her plans,could with difficulty conceal her agitation and distress, she stopped inthe midst of her harangue, exclaiming, "What is the matter? are you notof my opinion?"
"My poor mother!" cried Lucy, throwing her arms around her neck, andconcealing on her bosom her face, bathed in tears.
"What is the matter?" said Agnes, in alarm.
"I ought to have told you sooner, but I had not the heart to do it. Havepity on me."
"But speak, speak then."
"I cannot be the wife of that unfortunate youth."
"Why? how?"
Lucy, with downcast looks and flowing tears
, confessed at last the vowwhich she had made. She clasped her hands, and asked pardon of hermother for having concealed it from her, conjuring her to speak of it tono one, and to lend her aid to enable her to fulfil it.
Agnes was overwhelmed with consternation; she would have been angry withher daughter for so long maintaining silence towards her, had not thegrave thoughts that the circumstance itself excited, stifled all feelingof resentment. She would have blamed her for her vow, had it notappeared to her to be contending against Heaven; for Lucy described toher again, in more lively colours than before, that horrible night, herutter desolation, and unexpected preservation! Agnes listenedattentively; and a hundred examples that she had often heard related,that she _herself_ even had related to her daughter, of strange andhorrible punishments for violated vows, came to her memory. "And whatwilt thou do now?" said she.
"It is with the Lord that care rests; the Lord and the holy Virgin. Ihave placed myself in their hands; they have never yet abandoned me,they will not abandon me now that----The favour I ask of God, the onlyfavour, after the safety of my soul, is to be restored to you, mybeloved mother! He will grant it, yes, he will grant it. That fatalday----in the carriage----Oh! most holy Virgin! Those men----who wouldhave thought I should be the next day with you?"
"But why not tell your mother at once?"
"Forgive me, I had not the heart----What use was there in afflicting yousooner?"
"And Renzo?" said Agnes, shaking her head.
"Ah!" cried Lucy, starting, "I must think no more of the poor youth. Godhas not intended----You see it appears to be his will that we shouldseparate. And who knows?----But no, no; the Lord will preserve him fromevery danger, and render him, perhaps, happier without me."
"But, nevertheless, if you had not bound yourself for ever, provided nomisfortune has happened to Renzo, with this money, I would have found aremedy for all our other evils."
"But, my mother, would this money have been ours if I had not passedthat terrible night? It is God's will that all should be thus; his willbe done!" And her voice became inarticulate through tears.
At this unexpected argument, Agnes maintained a mournful silence. Aftersome moments, Lucy, suppressing her sobs, resumed,--"Now that the thingis done, we must submit cheerfully; and you, dear mother, you can aidme, first in praying to the Lord for your poor daughter, and then it isnecessary that Renzo should know it. When you ascertain where he is,have him written to, find a man,--your cousin Alessio, for instance, whois prudent and kind, who has always wished us well, and who will nottattle. Make Alessio write to him, and inform him of the circumstance asit occurred, where I was, and how I suffered; tell him that God hasordered it thus, and that he must set his heart at rest; that, as forme, I can never be united to any one. Make him understand the matterclearly; when he knows that I have promised the Virgin----he always hasbeen pious----And you, as soon as you hear from him, get some one towrite to me, let me know that he is safe and well----and, nothing more."
Agnes, with much emotion, assured her daughter that all should be doneas she desired.
"I would say something more; that which has befallen the poor youth,would never have occurred to him, if he had never thought of me. He is awanderer, a fugitive; he has lost all his little savings; he has beendeprived of every thing he possessed, poor fellow! and you know why--andwe, we have so much money! Oh! mother, since the Lord has sent uswealth, and since the unfortunate----you regard him as your son, do younot? Ah! divide it, share it with him! Endeavour to find a safe man, andsend him the half of it. God knows how much he may need it!"
"That is just what I was thinking of," replied Agnes. "Yes, I will do itcertainly. Poor youth! And why did you think I was so pleased with themoney, if it were not----but--I came here well pleased,'tis true; but,since matters are so, I will send it to him. Poor youth! he also----Iknow what I mean. Certainly money gives pleasure to those who have needof it; but this money--Ah! it is not this that will make him prosper."
Lucy returned thanks to her mother for her prompt and liberal accordancewith her request, so fervently, that an observer would have imagined herheart to be still devoted to Renzo, more than she herself was aware of.
"And without thee, what shall I do--I, thy poor mother?" said Agnes,weeping in her turn.
"And I, without you, my dear mother? and in a house of strangers, atMilan? But the Lord will be with us both, and will re-unite us. In eightor nine months we shall see each other again; let us leave it to him. Iwill incessantly implore this favour from the Virgin; if I had any thingmore to offer her, I would not hesitate; but she is so compassionate,she will surely grant my prayer."
The mother and daughter parted with many tears, promising to see eachother again, the coming autumn, at the latest, as if it depended onthemselves!
A long time elapsed before Agnes heard any thing of Renzo; neithermessage nor letter was received from him; the people of the village wereas ignorant concerning him as herself.
She was not the only one whose enquiries had been fruitless; it was nota mere ceremony in the cardinal Frederick, when he promised Lucy andAgnes, to inform himself of the history and fate of Renzo; he fulfilledthat promise, by writing immediately to Bergamo for the purpose. Whileat Milan, on his return from visiting his diocese, he received a reply,in which he was informed that little was known of the young man; that hehad made, it was true, a short sojourn in such a place, but that onemorning he had suddenly disappeared; that a relation of his, with whomhe had lived while there, knew not what had become of him; he thoughtthat he had probably enlisted for the Levant, or had passed intoGermany, or, which was most likely, that he had perished in crossing theriver. It was added, however, that should any more definite intelligencebe received concerning him, his illustrious lordship should immediatelybe informed of it.
These reports eventually travelled to Lecco, and reached the ears ofAgnes. The poor woman did her best to ascertain the truth of them; butshe was kept in a state of suspense and anxiety by the contradictoryaccounts which were given, and which were, in fact, all withoutfoundation.
The governor of Milan, lieutenant-general under Don Gonzalo Fernandez deCordova, had complained bitterly to the lord resident of Venice atMilan, that a robber, a villain, an instigator of pillage and massacre,the famous Lorenzo Tramaglino, had been received in the Bergamascanterritory. The resident replied, that he knew nothing of the matter, butthat he would write to Venice for information concerning it, in order togive some explanation to his Excellency.
It was a maxim at Venice to encourage the tendency of the Milaneseworkmen in silk, to establish themselves in the Bergamascan territory,by making them find it to their advantage to do so. For this reason,Bortolo was warned confidentially, that Renzo was not safe in hispresent residence, and that he would do wisely to place him in someother manufactory, and even cause him to change his name for a while.Bortolo, who was quick of apprehension, made no objections, related thematter to his cousin, and taking him to another place fifteen miles off,he presented him, under the name of _Antonio Rivolta_, to the master ofthe manufactory, who was a native of Milan, and moreover his oldacquaintance. He, although the times were hard, did not require muchentreaty to induce him to receive a workman so warmly recommended by anold friend. He saw reason afterwards to congratulate himself on theacquisition, although, at first, the young man appeared rather heedless,because, when they called _Antonio_, he scarcely ever answered.
A short time after, an order arrived from Venice to the captain ofBergamo, to inform himself, and send word to government, whether therewas not within his jurisdiction, and particularly in such a village,such an individual. The captain having obeyed in the best manner hecould, transmitted a reply in the negative, which was transmitted to theresident at Milan, in order that he should transmit it to Don GonzaloFernandez de Cordova.
There were not wanting inquisitive people, who enquired of Bortolo whythe young man had left him. The first time the question was put to him,he simply replied, "He has disappeared."
To relieve himself, however,from the most persevering, he framed the stories we have alreadyrelated, at the same time offering them as mere reports that he hadheard; without, however, placing much reliance on them.
But when enquiry came to be made by order of the cardinal, or rather, byorder of some great person, as his name was not mentioned, Bortolobecame more uneasy, and judged it prudent to maintain his ordinarymethod of reply, with this addition, that he gave to the stories he hadfabricated an air of greater verity and plausibility.
We must not conclude, however, that Don Gonzalo had any personal disliketo our poor mountaineer; we must not conclude that, informed perhaps ofhis disrespect and ill-timed jests upon his _Moorish king enchained bythe throat_, he wished to wreak his vengeance on him, nor that heconsidered him a person dangerous enough to be pursued even in hisflight, as was Hannibal by the Roman senate. Don Gonzalo had too manythings to think of, to trouble himself with the actions of Renzo, and ifhe appeared to do so, it was the result of a singular concurrence ofcircumstances; by which the poor fellow, without wishing it, or evenknowing why, found himself attached, as by an invisible thread, tonumerous and important affairs.
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