\
 
 METROPOLITAN EDITION. 
 
 I ; , 
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI; , 
 
 OB, 
 
 THE. BETROTHED l^VERS. 
 
 t 
 
 A MILANESE STORY OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 ' 
 
 AS 
 TRANSLATED FOR THE METROPOLITAN, FROM THE ITALIAN OF ALESSANDRO.MANZONI, 
 
 BY G. W. FEATHERSTONHAUGH. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress of 1831, by Duff Green, in the Clerk's Office of the District 
 Court of the District of Columbia. 
 
 WASHINGTON: 
 STEREOTYPED AND PUBLISHED BY DUFF GREEN. 
 
 1834.
 
 i 
 
 I 

 
 THE METROPOLITAN; 
 
 A MISCELLANY OF LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Vol. IX. 
 
 "Washington, June 21, 1834. 
 
 No. 1. 
 
 PREFATORY NOTICE. 
 
 THE Translator of the powerful and beauti- 
 ful story now presented to the American pub- 
 lic, would remark, that whilst he has, in no 
 instance, felt himself at liberty to overlook any 
 of those passages of his author, which some 
 have thought were the blemishes of a work too 
 long for a modern romance, yet he feels that 
 an explanation is owing to his readers, for 
 omitting altogether a version of the " inlro- 
 duzione" which Manzoni has prefixed to his 
 Promessi Sposi. 
 
 Following that example of Sir Walter Scott, 
 which has not received the sanction of the 
 critical admirers of that great writer, the Ita- 
 lian novelist, believing that one fiction should 
 be introduced by another, has had recourse to 
 the cumbrous and fatiguing invention, of sup- 
 posing that his work was written by an anony- 
 mous cotemporary of the period of his story : 
 a sort of Italian Clutterbuck, of the 17th cen- 
 tury, a rhetorical Secentista, of whose turgid 
 and conceited style he gives an example in the 
 opening of his introduction, and of which the 
 following is a specimen. 
 
 " History may be truly defined to be an illus- 
 trious war waged against time, where the years 
 which had been made captive, and which had 
 even ceased to exist, are snatched from his 
 bands, recalled to life, and reviewed and array- 
 ed again in order of battle. But the famous 
 champions which in such lists gather harvests 
 of palms and laurels, bear away only the most 
 magnificent and brilliant spoils, embalming 
 with their pens the undertakings of princes, 
 potentates, and high personages, and drawing 
 with the exquisite needle of genius, those 
 threads of gold and silk which form a per- 
 petual embroidery of glorious actions." 
 
 This introduction falls so far short of the 
 work itself in both vigor and humor, and the 
 fiction is so superfluous and troublesome, that 
 persons of taste upon hastily running it over, 
 might easily conceive an unfavorable opinion 
 of the rich pages it precedes, and thus by a 
 very natural prejudice, deprive themselves of 
 the rare gratification, of reading a work, which 
 has raised its author to a level even with Cer- 
 vantes. This has been one reason why the 
 introduction has not been translated, which it 
 would have been, if it had been at all connect- 
 ed with the story, or had possessed any parti- 
 cular merit of its own. 
 
 No one can engage in the perusal of this 
 work, without feeling how profoundly Man- 
 zoni is acquainted with the springs of human 
 
 action, some of the most potent of which he 
 has touched with unrivaled skill, in the de- 
 velopment of a story singular for its simplicity. 
 A young maiden and her lover, of the moun- 
 tainous district of the lake Como, born and 
 reared in the humblest walks of life, are, as 
 the title implies, the personages, in the illus- 
 tration of wnose fate and adventures, so many 
 powerful incidents, and characters of such 
 marked originality, have been created. On 
 the eve of the celebration of their humble nup- 
 tials, at the very moment when there appeared 
 no delusion in their prospects of happiness, 
 their misfortunes begin. A nobleman, and 
 this was at a period when the nobles entertain- 
 ed a retinue of ruffians and Bravos, wretches, 
 who paid by shedding the blood of any who 
 were obnoxious to their patrons, for the pro- 
 tection and immunity they received from 
 them, cast his destroying eye upon this 
 maiden, and practising, through two of his 
 ruffians, upon the cowardly nature of the 
 parish priest, their marriage was interrupted, 
 and themselves separated and driven from 
 their homes. 
 
 The work opens with this part of their ad- 
 ventures, and certainly nothing was ever more 
 characteristically described, or managed with 
 more spirit. Don Abbondio, the parish priest, 
 is worthy of the pen of Cervantes ; but he is 
 not the only genuine original in the work, we 
 have two other priests, Friar Christopher, and 
 Cardinal Federigo Borromuo, two of the finest 
 creations of the human mind, if indeed we 
 may so speak of this last, whose rare virtues 
 when living, made him the object of universal 
 love and reverence. If Don Abbondio, by his 
 selfish conduct, seems to be an evidence, of 
 the little influence a long life passed in the ex- 
 ercise of religious duties may have over the 
 human heart, how skilfully has our author 
 erased the impression, by the affecting history 
 and devoted conduct of Friar Christopher, a 
 man in whom the strongest worldly affections 
 had been perfectly subdued by the power of 
 religion. In nothing is the talent of Manzoni 
 shown more conspicuously, than in the con- 
 trast between these two men, both of them 
 priests. Who can resist laughing, in the most 
 unrestrained way, at the comic and most na- 
 tural manner, in which the cowardly Don Ab- 
 bondio expresses his apprehensions ? It is the 
 chord of Sancho Panza which he strikes in us. 
 But who can accompany Friar Christopher to 
 the scene of his voluntary humiliation, see 
 him on his knees before the brother of the 
 proud man he had slain, and enter into the
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 touching scene that follows, without bein<* 
 overpowered by emotions of compassion and 
 admiration ? No one possessed of much sen- 
 sibility can read tlu's scene without thrilling 
 emotions. 
 
 But it is in that still more solemn scene be- 
 tween the Cardinal and the Un-named that we 
 are made conscious of the mighty power of re- 
 ligion over the human heart. If Manzoni had 
 written nothing more than this last scene, and 
 the subsequent one between the Cardinal and 
 Don Abbondio, where Christian virtue is so 
 resplendently set out, from the lips of a man 
 whose practice was in harmony with the 
 sanctity of his doctrine, this story might have 
 claimed to possess pages devoted to the most 
 sublime religions instruction, unrivaled in 
 any work belonging to modern literature. 
 
 And who could have anticipated, in the con- 
 duct of a story aiming to relate the humble ad- 
 ventures of two poor young people, the intro- 
 duction of such a character as the Un- named? 
 A conception of the most magnificent order. 
 Another Napoleon, not sending his mandates 
 to the kings and princes of the confederation 
 of the Rhine, but to the lawless nobles sur- 
 rounding him and their dependants. The Em- 
 peror of all the oppressors of the day, the 
 head of a devoted army of Bravos, who had 
 triumphed over all law so long, that his own 
 will was now his only law. And yet, at the 
 very moment we are expecting from this mo-n- 
 ster in the human shape, the consummation of 
 the worst of villanies, we find him so segre- 
 gated from other men by his bad pre-eminence, 
 that he was beginning to be oppressed by a 
 sense of his solitariness. How admirably lias 
 the author depicted his true condition, how 
 minutely has lie laid the operations of the 
 human heart open, and with what consum- 
 mate skill has he not availed himself of his 
 own creation, not only in the conduct and em- 
 bellishment of his story, but by throwing, in 
 the conversion of this inexorable sinner, a 
 moral splendor over it, which contains nothing 
 that is false or exaggerated. 
 
 In Gertrude, we nave another equally sur- 
 prising evidence of the power of this writer. 
 The episode devoted to her, stands in equally 
 bold relief. This victim of parental tyranny 
 and self- irresolution, is alike conspicuous, 
 where the darkest shades of human conduct, 
 and the most delicate touches of feminine 
 character, vie with each other. She forms a 
 picture where the deepest tones of Carra- 
 vaggio, and the most exquisite finishing of 
 Leonardo da Vinci, harmoniously meet : we 
 feel in the contemplation of it, as we do when 
 examining the St. Jerome of this last great 
 master, we know not which to admire most, 
 the solemn effect produced by the whole pic- 
 ture, or the almost superhuman fidelity with 
 which each particular hair of his beard is 
 finished. 
 
 But it is not upon individual character our 
 author exhausts his power, he hao the talent 
 aj well as the ambition of a Michael Angelo, 
 
 making what would be principal with most 
 artists, subordinate in his own creations ; thus 
 Manzoni, carried away by his own strength, 
 puts, towards the close of the work, his per- 
 sonages in the back ground, as it were, to 
 place great historical events before us. He 
 paints a whole people delivered over to fa- 
 mine, pestilence and death, and paints with an 
 effect so horrible as to remind us of the power 
 of Murillo. We see the emaciated and enfee- 
 bled crowds, perishing from starvation, dragg- 
 ing themselves by day through th streets of 
 Milan, and at night we hear them howling, 
 and wailing, in the last agonies of an attenuat- 
 ed existence. Scarce, however, has he pre- 
 sented this harrowing and raost moving spec- 
 tacle to us, than, as if yielding to the unre- 
 strained 1 force of his talent, he withdraws it, 
 and presents in its place, one still more horri- 
 ble, and which calls imperiously for all that is 
 left to us of human sympathy. He presents 
 to us the enfeebled survivors of the famine, 
 suddenly become victims of the worst possible 
 kind of desolation, and miserably perishing 
 under the rage of that pestilence, that ravaged 
 the fair plains of Italy, and almost depopulated 
 Milan in 1630, The grandeur of this picture is- 
 inimhable, and our author has availed himself 
 in a very happy manner of this remarkable 
 passage in history, as well to place in relief 
 some incidents both of a terrible and touching 
 nature, as to bring to a close, a plot as happily 
 conceived, as it is ably executed. 
 
 If there is a prominent blemish in this at- 
 tractive work, it is to be found in the tediously 
 minute descriptions, of those actions of its per- 
 sonages, which have little or nothing to do 
 with the conduct of the story : if one of them 
 comes into a room, we are told how he open- 
 ed the door, which foot he put in first, and 
 thea the door must be shut by the right hand 
 or the left, with a precise account of what the 
 other hand was doing, before the actor is al- 
 lowed to enter upon the business of the story. 
 This habit of minute description for it is evi- 
 dently a habit and an inveterate one, is some- 
 times turned to the greatest advantage, as in 
 the description of Lucia's wedding dress, than 
 which nothing can be more charming, but it 
 is often vexatkmsly tedious : it must be re- 
 membered, however, that the author has re- 
 served to himself the privilege of making his 
 supposed anonymous writer responsible for 
 every tiling that is obnoxious to modern re- 
 finement, as he very adroitly has stated in his 
 introduction. We warn our readers, never- 
 theless, that it is very unsafe to overlook pas- 
 sages of this kind, merely because they look 
 rather unpromising, for some of his most comic 
 thoughts, and finest touches of humor, are 
 very often enclosed in them, and are only to 
 be possessed by a little of that industry which 
 is the price of every thing worth having, as 
 gold and even diamonds are frequently obtain- 
 ed, by talcing the trouble to wash an unpromis- 
 ing looking cascalho, or gravel. 
 
 A work of such various merit, it is evident, 
 
 .
 
 I PROME8SI SPOSI. 
 
 must be exceedingly difficult to translate. If 
 the translator had supposed it as laborious 
 and exacting a task as he has found it, he cer- 
 tainly would never have undertaken it. Those 
 who are familiar with the Italian idiom, how- 
 ever justly they may remark, that in transfus- 
 ing from one language into another, much of 
 the refinement of the most poetic of modern 
 languages, has been permitted to evaporate, 
 will be just enough to say that the translator 
 has been faithful. Perhaps one of the most 
 difficult of all literary tasks to perform, is the 
 translation of a work of pre-eminent merit in 
 the Italian, into the English tongue, and that 
 in a too short period of time. A translator of 
 such a work is made constantly to feel, that it 
 is like attempting to paint the fragrance of 
 violets and roses. 
 
 Washington City, 1834. 
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI; 
 
 OR, 
 THE BETROTHED LOVERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THAT branch of the Lake of Como which 
 turns to the south between two uninterrupted 
 chains of mountains, and which presents nu- 
 merous bays and gulfs, wherever the eleva- 
 tions jut out or retract themselves, begins al- 
 most at once to contract itself, and to take the 
 direction and form of a river, between a pro- 
 montory on the right, and a spacious shore on 
 the opposite side ; and the bridge, which there 
 unites the two banks, appears to announce 
 more distinctly this change to the eye, by fix- 
 ing the point where the lake ceases to exist, 
 and where the Adda springs forth, again to 
 extend itself into lacustrine dimensions ; and 
 where the banks, retiring once more, permit 
 the waters to expand and repose themselves 
 in those new sinuosities which the country 
 presents. The shore, formed by the deposit 
 of three powerful torrents, follows the river, 
 supported by the base of two contiguous 
 mountains, one called San Martino, the other 
 Resegone a Lombard word given to it on 
 account of its numerous small peaks and inter- 
 vening notches, which present the appearance 
 of a saw ; so that no one, at first sight, pro- 
 vided it is seen in front as for example from 
 the ramparts of Milan, which look to the 
 north can fail to recognize it by that simple 
 natural character, amidst the other mountains, 
 with forms less marked, and with names more 
 obscure, of that distant and extensive ridge. 
 
 For a considerable distance the shore rises 
 with a gentle and continuous slope, then breaks 
 into hifls and small valleys, steeps and glades, 
 modified by the action of the waters, and the 
 bony spurs of the two mountains. The edge 
 
 of the shore, abraded by the mouths of the tor- 
 rents, is almost entirely covered with gravel 
 and pebbles, but the rest consists of fields and 
 vineyards, sprinkled with towns, villas, ham- 
 lets, and even woods, in some parts, which 
 stretch themselves back up the sides of ti.e 
 mountains. 
 
 Lecco, the principal place of the district, 
 arid which gives its name to the territory, is at 
 a short distance from the bridge on the bank 
 of the lake ; indeed when the lake is swollen 
 it lies partly in it; a considerable town in our 
 own times, and giving fair promise to become 
 a city. At the period when the circumstan- 
 ces took place which we have undertaken to 
 narrate, this place, even then considerable, 
 was a castle, or place of arms, and was honor- 
 ed by being the nead-quarters of a command- 
 ant, besides possessing the advantage of a per- 
 manent garrison of Spanish soldiers, who 
 taught modesty to the damsels and matrons of 
 the place, not forgetting to pay their court from 
 time to time, to the shoulders of their husbands 
 and fathers. It was their custom too at the 
 beginning of autumn, to spread themselves 
 about in the vineyards, with a view to thin out 
 the grapes, and thus lighten the toils of the 
 vintage to the rustic laborers. 
 
 From one of these small towns to the other, 
 from the heights to the shore, from one hill to 
 another, there were, as in our own day, roads 
 and lanes, some of them rough, some steep, 
 some level, and not unfrequently they were 
 depressed and buried between inuraj rocks, 
 from whence looking alol't, nothing was to be 
 seen but a portion of the sky, or the top of 
 some mountain; and occasionally the way led 
 over open terraces, from whence extensive 
 views were to be obtained of prospects more 
 or less remote, but always enriched by some 
 novelty, furnished by the various features of 
 the vast surrounding scene ; now bursting out, 
 now becoming obscured, now peeping forth, 
 and disappearing by turns. Here one point of 
 distance, there another ; then the long extent 
 of the vast and varied mirror of water ; on this 
 side a lake closed at its extremity, or rather 
 lost in the windings of a group of mountains, 
 and every now and then spreading itself 
 amongst other heights, that reveal themselves 
 one by one ; and which, with the landscapes 
 adjacent to its banks, are reflected by the wa- 
 ter, in a reversed position. There it is an arm 
 of the river, now it becomes a lake, and then 
 again a river, running to hide its bright ser- 
 pentine wanderings amongst the mountains 
 that accompany it, and which, diminishing in 
 their size, are themselves almost lost in the 
 distant horizon. The place from which these 
 diversified features may be contemplated, pre- 
 sents a spectacle on every side ; the mountain 
 on whose skirts he is treading, unfolds to the 
 traveler, above, and in every direction, its 
 peaks and cliffs, distinct, erect, and varying at 
 every step ; opening and spreading out into 
 ridges, what at first appeared to be a single 
 chain, resolving into one summit what before
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 appeared to be a continuous line ; and the 
 pleasing domestic amenity of the slopes, grate- 
 fully softening the more savage features of the 
 scene, invests that which is magnificent in the 
 other views, with still greater beauty. 
 
 By one of these by-roads, on the evening of 
 the 7th of November, 1628, Don Abbondio, 
 curate of one of the parishes alluded to, was 
 leisurely returning home from his walk. The 
 name of the parish, nor yet his own family 
 name, is not found in the manuscript, in this, 
 nor in any other part of it. He went on tran- 
 quilly repeating the evening office, and occa- 
 sionally between the psalms, closed the brevi- 
 ary, keeping the fore-finger of his right hand 
 in it to mark the place, and grasping it with 
 the other behind his back, pursued his path, 
 his eyes bent to the ground, and pushing with 
 his feet, towards the wall, the loose stones 
 which embarrassed the path ; then raising his 
 head, and indolently casting his eyes around, 
 he fixed them on the ridge of a mountain, 
 where the already diminished light of the sun, 
 escaping by the clefts of the opposite heights, 
 left their prominent spurs in relief, like so ma- 
 ny broad and unequal masses of purple. Hav- 
 ing opened the breviary again, and recited ano- 
 ther page, he reached a turn of the road where 
 it was always his custom to raise his eyes from 
 the book and to look before him, which he did 
 upon this occasion. From this turn the road 
 for about sixty paces kept a straight course, 
 and then divided into two paths in the form of 
 a Y ; that to the right led up to the mountain, 
 and was the road to the parsonage ; the left 
 path descended into the valley as far as a moun- 
 tain stream ; in this direction the wall did not 
 reach higher than the hips of the traveler. 
 The inner walls of these two paths, instead of 
 terminating in an angle, stopped at a small 
 chapel, upon which were painted certain long 
 figures, twisting about and ending in a point, 
 which according to the intention of the artist, 
 and in the eyes of the inhabitants of the neigh- 
 borhood, were to pass for flames ; alternating 
 with these flames, were certain other indiscri- 
 bable figures, intended for souls in purgatory ; 
 the souls and the flames were all of a red brick 
 color upon a grayish ground, with the mortar 
 here and there cracked and fallen from the 
 wall. 
 
 The curate having turned the corner, and 
 directed, as was his custom, his looks to the 
 chapel, saw what he had by no means expect- 
 ed to see, and what he would willingly not 
 have seen. At the confluence, if we may use 
 the term, of the two paths, there were two 
 men opposite to each other, one of them astride 
 of the low wall, with one foot dangling on the 
 outside, and the other planted on the ground 
 in the road ; his companion was standing, 
 leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed 
 upon his breast, Their garb, their deport- 
 ment, and what the curate could discern of 
 their aspect from the place where he stood, 
 left no doubt as to who they were. Each of 
 them had around his head a green net, which 
 
 I fell upon his left shoulder, terminating in a 
 j great tassel ; and from beneath this net, an 
 I enormous lock of hair fell upon the forehead, 
 i two longmustachois curled at the extremities, 
 the border of the doublet was covered by a 
 girdle of polished leather, to which a pair of 
 pistols was appended with hooks; a small 
 horn filled wiui powder, slung on the breast, 
 on the right side of the ample and swollen 
 out nether garments, a pocket from which 
 the handle 01 a knife projected, a large sword 
 hanging from the left side, with an enormous 
 open hilt, formed of plates of brass united into 
 a cypher, and well scoured and bright. It wan 
 evident at the first glance they were individu- 
 als of the class of men called Bravos. 
 
 This class, now entirely extinct, was then 
 in a very flourishing state in Lombardy, and 
 dated very far back. To form a more accu- 
 rate idea of it, some authentic passages are 
 here annexed, explanatory of the characteris- 
 tics of these people, of the great efforts made 
 to extinguish them, and of their obstinate and 
 audacious existence. 
 
 As far back as the 8th of April, 1583, the 
 most illustrious and excellent Don Charles of 
 Arragon,Prince of Castelvetrano, Duke of Ter- 
 ranuova, Marquis of Avola, Count of Burgeto, 
 grand admiral, and grand constable of Sicily, 
 
 governor of Milan and captain-general of His 
 atholic Majesty in Italy, " fully informed of 
 the intolerable misery which has been brought 
 upon, and which stills exists in this city of Mi- 
 lan, by reason of Bravos and vagabonds," pub- 
 lished a proclamation against them, " declaring 
 and describing all comprehended in the procla- 
 mation, to be esteemed as Bravos ana vaga- 
 bonds who, either being foreigners or natives, 
 have no vocation, or, who having one, do not 
 follow it ; but without recompense, or for it, 
 attach themselves to any cavalier or gentle- 
 man, officer or merchant, to give them aid or 
 succour, or, indeed, as it may be presumed, 
 with a view to practice machinations against 
 others." All these are ordered, in the space 
 of six days, to leave the country, with the pe- 
 nalty of being sent to the galleys in case of 
 resistance, granting to the officers of justice, 
 the most ample ana unrestrained power for the 
 execution ot the order. 
 
 But in the following year, on the 12th of 
 April, the same nobleman perceives," that this 
 city is generally full of the said Bravos, who 
 have returned to their former mode of life, not 
 in the least reformed in their manners, nor di- 
 minished in their numbers," published another 
 edict, still more rigorous and decided, in which, 
 amongst other directions, he prescribes, 
 
 "That whatsoever person, whether a stran- 
 ger or native of the city, who shall be proved 
 By two witnesses, to be commonly reputed to 
 be a Bravo, and to be so called although it 
 may not be in proof that he has committed a 
 crime shall upon the sole cause of its being im- 
 puted to him to be a Bravo, and without any 
 other process, save that of the information, be 
 by the said judges, or by any one of them, put
 
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 to the cord and rack ; and although he may 
 not confess the commission of any crime, shai 
 immediately afterwards be sent to the galleys 
 for the space of three years, solely on accoum 
 of his being reputed to be a Bravo, as before 
 declared ; his excellency being resolved to be 
 obeyed by every one." 
 
 Such confident and resolute language, from 
 so powerful a personage, and accompanied 
 with such orders, it might be believed, would 
 at once drive all the Bravos out of the country ; 
 but the testimony of a personage of no less 
 authority, nor less endowed with dignities, 
 obliges us to think differently. The most il- 
 lustrious and excellent Don John Fernandez 
 de Velasco, constable of Castile, grand cham- 
 berlain to tiie King, Duke of the city of Frias, 
 Count of Haro and Castlenuovo, Lord of the 
 house of Velasco.and of that of the seven infanti 
 of Lara, governor of the state of Milan, &c, 
 on the 5th of June, 1593, fully informed " of 
 the injury and ruinous mischief proceeding 
 from bravos and vagabonds, and 01 the detri- 
 ment that class of men are to the public wel- 
 fare, and of the delusions they practice on 
 public justice," orders them again, within the 
 space of six days, to be banished the coun- 
 try, reiterating nearly the same denunciations 
 and orders of his predecessor. On the 23d 
 of May, 1598, "informed, with no small dis- 
 pleasure, that the number of persons of this 
 class is daily increasing in this city and terri- 
 tory, and that night and day, nothing is heard 
 from them but of wounds purposely inflicted, 
 of homicides, of robberies and every sort of 
 crime committed by them ; with which they 
 become more familiar owing to the confidence 
 with which these Bravos rely upon the pro- 
 tection they receive from their chiefs and em- 
 ployers ;" the same remedy is applied, in- 
 creasing the dose, as in cases of all obstinate 
 maladies. "Every one, therefore," he con- 
 cludes, " must carefully look that he does not 
 disobey the present proclamation in any par- 
 ticular whatever, as in such case he need not 
 count upon the clemency of his excellency, 
 but will experience his rigor and indignation ; 
 being resolved and determined that mis shall 
 be his last and peremptory monition." 
 
 This was, however, not found to be the case 
 by the most illustrious and excellent Don Pe- 
 ter Henriqnez de Acevedo, Count of Fuentes, 
 captain and governor of the state of Milan, 
 and he had very good reasons for it. On the 
 5th of December, 1600, he issued a new warn- 
 ing, full of energetic provisions: "Fully in- 
 formed of the misery existing in this state and 
 territory on account of the great number of 
 Bravos existing in them, and resolved to extir- 
 pate totally such a pernicious race, with a firm 
 determination that his orders shall be com- 
 pletely executed, with every rigor, and so as to 
 leave no hope." 
 
 We must suppose, however, that he did not 
 enter into the practical execution of these 
 plans, with the zeal that he carried into the 
 contrivance of his plots, and the raising up of 
 
 opponents to his great enemy, Henry the 4th ; 
 since history attests how successful he was in 
 arming the Duke of Savoy against that sove- 
 reign, and causing him to lose more than one 
 city ; also, how he succeeded in entangling the 
 Duke of Biron in his plots, and causing him 
 to lose his head. But as to this desperate 
 race of Bravos, certain it is, that it continued 
 to flourish up to the 22d of September, 1612. 
 At that period the most illustrious and excel- 
 lent Don John di Mendoza, Marquis of Hy- 
 nojosa, gentleman, Etc. governor, &.c. seri- 
 ously thought of extirpating it. To this effect 
 he transmitted to Pandolfo and Marco Tullio 
 Malatesti, printers to the king, the usual pro- 
 clamation, corrected and enlarged, that it 
 might be promulgated to the extermination 
 of the Bravos. But these survived to receive, 
 the 24th December, 1816, the same and still 
 heavier blows from the most illustrious and 
 excellent Don Gomez Suavez di Figueroa, 
 Duke of Feria, governor, &c. Nevertheless, 
 not being entirely overcome by these shocks, 
 the most illustrious and excellent Don Gonza- 
 lo Fernandez di Cordova, under whose gov- 
 ernment the affair of Don Abbondio occurred, 
 found himself constrained to republish the an- 
 cient decree against the Bravos, on the 5th 
 October, 1627, one year, one month, and two 
 days previous to that memorable event. 
 
 Nor was this the last proclamation, although 
 we do not deem it relevant to mention any 
 that were published since the period of our 
 story. One, of the 13th of February, 1632, 
 however, we will notice, in which the most 
 illustrious and excellent Duke of Feria, &c. 
 the second time governor, informs us that the 
 most atrocious disorders existing in the city, 
 proceed from the class of men called Bravos. 
 
 This is sufficient to render it certain, that at 
 the period of our story Bravos existed. 
 
 That the two individuals of this class were 
 posted there in expectation of some one, was 
 i thing too evident; but what most ruffled 
 Don Abbondio, was a feeling assured by cer- 
 :ain movements they made, that he was the 
 person they were waiting for. For when he 
 came in sight, they looked at each other, 
 raising their heads in such a manner, that it. 
 was evident both had said, " this is the man." 
 The man who was astride of the wall, had 
 risen up and placed his foot on the ground, 
 :he other had removed from the wall, and 
 >oth were approaching him. Holding his 
 open breviary before him, as if he were read- 
 ng, he lifted his eye somewhat to discern 
 :heir motions, and perceiving that they be- 
 gan to advance just as he turned, a thousand 
 houghts rushed upon him. He hastily con- 
 sidered whether there was any path to the 
 right or the left, betwixt the bravos and him- 
 self, but as quickly remembered there was none . 
 Ie examined himself rapidly, whether he had 
 offended any person of importance, or any 
 vindictive individual; but even in that dis- 
 urbed state of mind, the soothing testimony 
 of his conscience somewhat trauquilized him.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 The Braves drawing near, looked him steadi- 
 ly in the lace. Putting the fore and middle 
 finger of his left hand into his collar, as if to 
 arrange it, and carrying his fingers round his 
 neck, he turned his face a little behind, and 
 from the corner of his eye endeavored to dis- 
 cover, if from any direction assistance might 
 be expected ; but no one was coming. He 
 threw a momentary glance over the low wall 
 into the fields, but no one was there : lastly, 
 he gave a quiet look upon the road before him 
 but no one was to be seen there but the Bra- 
 vos. What was to be done ? To turn back 
 it was too late. To fly, was only inviting 
 them to follow him, or do worse. Unable tc 
 avoid the danger, he hastened to meet it, for 
 those dubious moments were too painful to 
 him, not to desire to shorten them. Quicken 
 ing his pace, he recited a verse with a louder 
 voice, composed his features into as much 
 tranquillity and hilarity as he could, made 
 every effort to call up a smile, and when he 
 came close in front of these honest gentlemen, 
 " here I am," said he, mentally, and came to 
 a stand. 
 
 " Signer curate," said one of the two, look- 
 ing him fixedly in the face. 
 
 " What is your pleasure," immediately, re- 
 plied Don Abbondio, raising his eyes" from 
 the book, and holding it wide open with both 
 his hands. 
 
 " It is your intention," pursued the other, 
 with the angry and menacing look of one who 
 has detected his inferior about to perpetrate 
 some villany. " It is your intention to marry 
 Renzo Tramaglino and Lucia Mb*hdella, to- 
 morrow ! " 
 
 " That is," answered Don Abbondio with 
 a tremulous voice, " that is you two gen- 
 tlemen are men of the world, and know 
 very well how these things are done. The 
 poor curate has nothing to do with it they 
 make up their little matters amongst them- 
 selves, and then then, they come to us, just 
 as they would go to a bank to redeem their 
 pledges. We are the servants of the com- 
 mune." 
 
 " Well, well," said the Bravo, with a sub- 
 dued voice, but in a solemn tone of command, 
 " this marriage must not take place to-mor- 
 row, or ever. 
 
 " But, gentlemen," replied Don Abbondio, 
 with the affable and mila tone of a man who 
 seeks to persuade an impatient person, " but, 
 gentlemen, be so indulgent just as to put your- 
 selves in my place. If it depended upon me 
 you see clearly, I have no interest in " 
 
 " Come, come," said the Bravo, " if this 
 affair was to be decided by such idle talking, 
 you would give us the bag to hold. We know 
 nothing, and we don't want to know any thing 
 more. A man once warned you understand 
 me." 
 
 "But, gentlemen, you are too just, too 
 reasonable " 
 
 " But," interrupted the other man, who had 
 not yet spoken, " but the marriage shall 
 
 not take place, or ; and, by > , he 
 
 who celebrates shall never repent it, for he 
 
 shall have no time to do so, and ," here 
 
 another oath. 
 
 " Be quiet, now," replied the first speaker., 
 " the signer curate knows how the world wags, 
 and we are honest fellows, that don't intend to 
 hurt him, if he acts discreetly. Signer, the 
 most illustrious Don Rodrigo salutes you very 
 dearly." This name produced in Don Abbon- 
 dio the same effect that the lightning of a 
 fierce nocturnal tempest does ; confusedly re- 
 vealing, for an instant, objects before in dark- 
 ness, and increasing the terror. As if by in- 
 stinct, he made a profound bow, and replied, 
 " If, gentlemen, you could only suggest any 
 thing " 
 
 "Oh ! suggest to your worship, indeed, who 
 understands latin !'' interrupted the Bravo 
 again, with a laugh between vulgarity and fe- 
 rocity. " That's your business ! and above 
 all, be careful not to let a word escape about 
 the advice we have given you, for your own 
 good, otherwise hem it would be the same 
 thing as if you were to marry them. Well, 
 what shall we tell the most illustrious Don 
 Rodrigo on your part ?" 
 " My respect " 
 
 " Explain yourself, signor curate.' 
 " Disposed always disposed to obe- 
 dience ;" and, uttering these words, he was 
 not aware himself whether he had given a 
 promise, or had merely uttered an ordinary 
 compliment. The Bravos received them, or. 
 pretended to receive them, in the most serious 
 sense. 
 
 " It is all right, and good night, signor cu- 
 rate," said one of them, in the act of moving 
 away with his companion. Don Abbondio, 
 who, a few moments before, would have given 
 an eye out of his body to avoid them, was 
 desirous now to prolong the conversation and 
 the treaty. " Gentlemen," he began, shutting 
 the book with both his hands, but they, with- 
 out listening further to him, went off by the 
 road he had come, and pursued their way, 
 singing some ribaldry, altogether unworthy of 
 aeing noted down. Poor Don Abbondio re- 
 named a moment with his mouth open, as if 
 ic were enchanted, then took the path that 
 ed to his house, advancing one leg before the 
 other, with as much difficulty as if he had the 
 cramp, and in a state of mind which the reader 
 will be better able to comprehend, when he 
 las become better informed of the real cha- 
 racter of this personage, and of the temper of 
 he times in wnich it had been his lot to live. 
 Don Abbondio and the reader must have 
 >erceived it had not come into this world 
 with the heart of a lion. But from his earliest 
 years he could not but perceive that one of the 
 most embarrassing situations for such times, 
 was that of an animal without claws and with- 
 out fangs, and without the slightest inclination 
 in the world to be devoured. The power of 
 the law gave no protection, in any matter, to 
 the tranquil and inoffensive man, who was
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 destitute of every means to inspire others with 
 fear. Not that laws and penalties were want- 
 ing against private violence ; on the contrary, 
 the laws came down in showers. Crimes were 
 enumerated and particularized with minute 
 prolixity ; penalties were extravagantly exor- 
 bitant, and if apparently insufficient, were in- 
 creased for every case at the will of the legis- 
 lator himself, and a hundred executors of jus- 
 tice. Legal proceedings had no object but to 
 remove from the judge every impediment in 
 the way of condemnation, and the extracts we 
 have given from the proclamations respecting 
 the Bravos, form a small but a faithful picture 
 of this state of things. Notwithstanding all 
 this, and indeed in a great measure for this 
 reason, those decrees, thus republished, and 
 reinvigorated from one government to another, 
 were nothing but pompous evidences of the 
 impotence of their authors ; or, if they pro- 
 duced any immediate effect, it was chiefly that 
 of adding many vexations to those which dis- 
 orderly persons inflicted upon the peaceful and 
 the feeble, and of increasing their own violence 
 and craftiness. 
 
 Impunity was organized, and had roots 
 which the decrees could not reach, or could 
 not remove. Such were the asylums, such the 
 privileges of some classes, partly acknowledg- 
 ed by legal authority, partly tolerated by a 
 rancorous silence, or denied by vain protesta- 
 tions, but maintained in fact, and guarded by 
 those classes, and almost by every individual, 
 with the activity of self interest, and the jeal- 
 ousy of punctilio. This impunity, now mena- 
 ced and insulted, but not destroyed by the 
 proclamations, at every threat, and every at- 
 tack, would naturally adopt new schemes, and 
 make new efforts to preserve itself. And so it 
 turned out ; for when the decrees directed to 
 the repression of violence appeared, the distur- 
 bers of the peace sought in their strong holds, 
 new and more opportune means to keep up 
 that disorder, which these mandates prohibit- 
 ed. The innocent man who had not the pow- 
 er of defending himself, and who had no pro- 
 tector, was liable at every step to be molested 
 and deprived of his liberty ; for with a view to 
 bring every man within the power of the law, 
 for the prevention or punishment of crimes, 
 every movement of private individuals was 
 made subject to the arbitrary will of a thou- 
 sand magistrates and officers of justice.' But 
 he who before the commission of a crime, had 
 taken his measures to seek seasonable refuge 
 in a convent, or in a palace where the police 
 would never dare to set a foot ; or he who with- 
 out taking any measures, wore a livery which 
 engaged the vanity and interest of a powerful 
 family to defend him, was covered as witli a 
 shield ; that man was free to do what he pleas- 
 ed, and could laugh at the impotent blustering 
 of the proclamations. 
 
 Those even who were charged with the ex- 
 ecution of their provisions, were, some of 
 them, connected by blood with the privileged 
 party, whilst others depended on them for pa- 
 
 tronage : one and the other, by education, by 
 interest, by habit, by imitation, had embraced 
 these maxims, and were very careful not to 
 offer any violence to them, out of mere affec- 
 tion for a piece of paper posted on the corners 
 of the streets. Those, in fact, entrusted with 
 the immediate execution of these denuncia- 
 tions, had they been as enterprising as heroes, 
 obedient as monks, and devoted as martyrs, 
 would never have been able to accomplish the 
 work, inferior as they were in numbers to 
 those they had to commence hostilities with ; 
 and with the frequent probability of being 
 abandoned, and even sacrificed, by the power 
 which in theory, and in the abstract so to 
 speak instructed them to act. 
 
 But, besides, these men consisted generally 
 of the most abject and violent individuals of 
 the times ; their occupation too was consider- 
 ed a base one, by those it was intended to awe, 
 and the name they were designated by, a re- 
 proach. It was then very natural that these 
 men, instead of risking, and even throwing 
 away their lives in impossible undertakings, 
 should sell their inaction, and even their con- 
 nivance to the powerful ; and that they should 
 reserve the exercise of their execrated autho- 
 rity, and the force they possessed, for occa- 
 sions devoid of danger, and where they could 
 oppress and vex pacific men unable to defend 
 themselves. 
 
 The man who seeks to offend, or who fears 
 at every instant to be offended, naturally seeks 
 allies and companions. Hence the tendency 
 amongst individuals to congregate into class- 
 es, to form new ones, and for every one to en- 
 deavor to Impart the greatest power to that of 
 which he is a member, was in those times car- 
 ried to the greatest length. The clergy was 
 vigilant to defend and to extend their immuni- 
 ties ; the nobility, their privileges ; the milita- 
 ry, their exemptions. The merchants, the ar- 
 tisans were enrolled in companies and frater- 
 nities ; the lawyers formed a league, and even 
 the physicians became a corporation. Each 
 of these little oligarchies possessed its own 
 special and peculiar power ; in each the indi- 
 vidual found his advantage in employing for 
 his own account, and in proportion to his au- 
 thority and dexterity, the united strength of 
 the many. The more honest availed them- 
 selves of this advantage for their own defence ; 
 the cunning and the wicked profited by it to 
 forward those bad ends, for which their own 
 personal means were insufficient, and to se- 
 cure impunity. The power, however, of these 
 various associations was very unequal, and in 
 the country especially, the rich and powerful 
 nobleman, with a troop of Bravos, and sur- 
 rounded by peasants habituated by familiar 
 tradition, and interested or compelled to con- 
 sider himself almost as a soldier or subject of 
 his patron, exercised a power, against which 
 no other association could there have made 
 any effectual resistance. 
 
 Our Abbondio was not noble, was not rich, 
 he was not courageous ; from his infancy he
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 had been accustomed, in such a state of so- 
 ciety, to play the part of an earthen vase, tra- 
 veling in company with a great many vessels 
 made of cast iron, and had, with a hearty good 
 will, yielded to the desire of his parents, who 
 wished him to be a priest. To tell the truth, 
 he had not reflected much upon the obligations 
 and the noble ends of that ministry to which 
 he was dedicating himself: to be assured of 
 an existence that had both its comforts and 
 superfluities, and to be the member of a pow- 
 erful and revered class, appeared to him two 
 reasons more than sufficient for his choice. 
 But no class whatever provides for the indi- 
 vidual, or secures him beyond a certain point ; 
 there is not one which excuses him from the 
 necessity of adopting an individual system of 
 action. Don Abbondio, continually absorbed 
 in thoughts about his own safety, was not so- 
 licitous about those advantages, for the pos- 
 session of which it would have been necessary 
 to take a more active part, or to run some 
 risks. His system principally consisted in 
 getting out of the way of opposition, and of 
 yielding to that which he could not avoid. It 
 was an unarmed neutrality in all the contests 
 which broke out around him, arising from the 
 disputes, then very frequent, between the 
 clergy and the lay authorities ; those not less 
 frequent between the officers of justice and 
 the nobles, the magistracy and the nobility, 
 soldiers and bravos, even to the vulgar quar- 
 rels among the country people, beginning with 
 harsh words, and terminating with fists and 
 knives. If he was absolutely compelled to 
 take sides between two disputants, he always 
 took the side of the strongest, keeping how- 
 ever, somewhat aloof, and taking care to make 
 the other understand that he was not volunta- 
 rily his enemy : he seemed to say to him from 
 his position, " why have not you contrived to 
 be stronger than him ? I would have been on 
 your side in that case." Thus, keeping aloof 
 from the powerful, shutting his eyes upon 
 their capricious treacheries, agreeing in a sub- 
 missive manner with those who had more se- 
 rious and deliberate intentions, forcing by his 
 bows and cheerful respect, a smile, even from 
 the most sullen and contemptuous when he 
 fell in with them, the poor man had succeeded 
 in paddling his bark along for sixty years, 
 without encountering any great storms. 
 
 Not but that he too had a little gall in his 
 composition ; this practiced suffering, this con- 
 stantly admitting every body to be in the right, 
 o many bitter mouthfuls swallowed in silence, 
 had irritated him to such a degree, that if he 
 had not seized now and then upon occasions to 
 give vent to his feelings, his nealth certainly 
 would have suffered. But as there were a 
 few persons in the world around him, whom 
 he knew could do him no harm, so with them 
 he could now and then get rid of the bad 
 humor long pent up in him, and vent the incli- 
 nation that even be had to indulge in imagi- 
 nary evils, and to complain about trifles. Be- 
 sides this, he was a severe censor of those 
 
 : who did not act precisely as he did, provided 
 I he could be so without even the most remote 
 | danger. The man that had got a beating, was 
 ' at least, not a very very prudent man ; and 
 I he that got killed, had always been a very 
 i troublesome person. If any one, venturing to 
 ! maintain his own opinions against some one 
 i in power, got his head broke, Don Abbondio 
 : was sure to find him in the wrong a little, and 
 this was not very difficult to do, because right 
 and wrong can never be cut so neatly in two, 
 but that one of them has more than belongs to 
 it. Above all, he declaimed against thoae of 
 his brethren, who, at their own risk, espoused 
 the part of the weak and oppressed, against 
 the overbearing and strong. This, he said, 
 was like purchasing trouble with ready money, 
 or like stopping to straighten a dog's legs ; 
 and he averred,with some austerity, that it was 
 meddling with profane things, at the expense 
 of the dignity of the sacred profession. Against 
 these he inveighed, either in a very small cir- 
 cle, and where he knew his auditors, with the 
 greater vehemence, when sure that they were 
 not persons to resent what came personally 
 home to them. He had also a favorite sen- 
 tence with which he closed all his harangues 
 on this head that he that looks to himself, 
 and does not meddle with other people's af- 
 fairs, never gets into trouble. 
 
 My five and twenty readers may now sup- 
 pose what sort of impression the encounter, 
 which has been just related, must have made 
 upon the mind of this poor man. The awe 
 with which those two physiognomies, and 
 those terrible words inspired him ; the menace 
 of a nobleman never Known to threaten in 
 vain, a system of quiet existence which had 
 cost him so many years of study and patience, 
 disconcerted at once, a narrow path pointed 
 out to him, full of asperities and hard to pur- 
 sue a path to which he could perceive no 
 end all these thoughts were tumultuously 
 jostling each other in the inclined head of 
 Don Abbondio. "If Renzo could be dis- 
 missed in peace, with a polite no, it would be 
 well enough, but he will be asking for rea- 
 sons. And what reasons have I got to give 
 him, for the love of heaven ? And and 
 and he has a sort of head he is a kind of 
 lamb if he is left to himself, but if any one 
 
 contradicts him ay ay and thinking of 
 
 nothing on earth but that Lucia, over head and 
 ears in love with her, like A pack of 
 young fellows, that because they have got no- 
 thing to do, must fall in love, and then they 
 must be married, and wont think of any thing 
 else, least of all, of the trouble into which in- 
 offensive honest men are drawn by them. 
 Unfortunate that I am ! What had those two 
 villanoua faces to do, to come and stand right 
 in my road, and bring this upon my head ? 
 What have I to do with it ; is it I who wants 
 to be married ? Why did not they go first 
 
 and speak to there again, see how tilings 
 
 come into my head always when it is too late. 
 If I had but thought just now of hinting to
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 them to carry their embassy " But here it 
 
 flashed upon him that his regretting that he 
 had not been a counsellor and co-operator in 
 this infamous affair, was iniquity enough of 
 itself, and so he turned all his resentments 
 against the man who had thus interfered to de- 
 
 Erive him of his peace. He had no know- 
 ;dge of Don Roderigo but by sight and repu- 
 tation, and had never had any thing further to 
 do with him, than the bringing his chin to his 
 breast, and his hat to the ground, the few 
 times he had met him abroad. It had hap- 
 pened to him to defend, upon more than one 
 occasion, the reputation of that nobleman, 
 against those, who in a low voice, sighing and 
 raising their eyes to heaven, invoked maledic- 
 tions upon his actions : a hundred times he 
 had declared that he was a very respectable 
 cavalier. But at this juncture, he gave him 
 in his heart all those titles, that he had ne- 
 ver heard others apply to him, without has- 
 tily interrupting them by " Oh ! this is too 
 bad." 
 
 Arrived, amidst the tumult of such thoughts, 
 at the door of his house, which stood at the 
 highest part of the grounds, and hastily put- 
 ting the Key, which ne held in his hand, into 
 the lock, he opened it, entered, and carefully 
 closing it, gave vent to his desire to be in safe 
 company, by calling out, " Perpetua, Perpe- 
 tua!" and moving to the small room where 
 he was sure to find her spreading the table for 
 supper. Perpetua was, as every one must 
 see, the servant of Don Abbondio, at once 
 faithful and affectionate ; knowing how to 
 obey and how to command, upon proper oc- 
 casions, how to put up too with the grum- 
 blings and whims of her master, and make 
 him put up with her own, now becoming 
 more frequent from day to day ; for she had 
 passed the synodal age of forty, and was still 
 single, having, as she said, refused every of- 
 fer that had been made to her, or for a reason 
 alleged by her female friends, that no dog had 
 yet taken a fancy to her. 
 
 "Coming," replied Perpetua, placing on 
 the small table in the accustomed place, the 
 little flask of Don Abbondio's favorite wine, 
 and moving slowly ; but she had not yet reach- 
 ed the threshold of the room, when he came 
 in with such a disordered gait, such dark 
 looks, and with his countenance so distorted, 
 that it did not want even the experienced eyes 
 of Perpetua to discover at the first glance, that 
 something very extraordinary had happened 
 to him. 
 
 " mercy ! what is the matter, master?" 
 
 "Nothing, nothing," replied Don Abbon- 
 dio, and sinking out of breath into his great 
 chair. 
 
 "How, nothing? Will you tell me so? 
 looking so frightful as you do. Something 
 very terrible has happened." 
 
 " O for the love of heaven ! when I say 
 nothing, either it is nothing, or it is something 
 I can say nothing about." 
 
 "What can't you even tell me? Who is 
 
 there but me to take care of your health ? 
 Who is there to ad vise with ?" 
 
 "Alas, alas, be silent. Make no further 
 preparations, but give me a glass of my wine." 
 
 " And yet you will tell me that nothing is 
 the matter with you," said Perpetua, filling 
 the glass, and holding it in her hand, as if she 
 was only going to give it as a return for the 
 confidence she was waiting for. 
 
 "Here give it give it me," said Don Ab- 
 bondio, taking the glass with an unsteady hand, 
 and hastily emptying it as if it had been a dose 
 of medicine. 
 
 " Do you mean to force me to go asking 
 here and there, what it is that has happened 
 to my master ?" said Perpetua, standing erect 
 before him, with her arms akimbo, and her el- 
 bows sticking out, steadfastly looking at him, 
 as if she would draw the secret out of his 
 eyes. 
 
 " For the love of heaven ! Don't get up any 
 petulant, clamorous this is a matter a mat- 
 ter in which life " 
 
 " Life ?" 
 
 "Life!" 
 
 " My master knows well, that every time he 
 has seriously told me any thing in confidence, 
 I have never " 
 
 " Ay, indeed ! For instance when " 
 
 Perpetua perceived that she had struck the 
 wrong note, and suddenly changing her tone, 
 "Master," said she, with a touching voice, 
 and well calculated to soften him, " I have 
 ever been affectionate to you, and if now I 
 want to be told what has happened, it is from 
 my great solicitude for you, that I may be able 
 to assist, to give you good counsel, to raise 
 your spirits " 
 
 The fact is Don Abbondio had perhaps as 
 great an inclination to unbosom himself of his 
 painful secret, as Perpetua had to learn it ; so 
 that, after repelling more and more feebly the 
 fresh and more persevering attacks which she 
 made, after having made her more than once 
 swear that she would not breathe a syllable of 
 the matter, at last, with many hesitations, and 
 many an alas ! he acquainted her with his 
 wretched case. When he came to the terrible 
 name of the man whose commands were upon 
 him, he made Perpetua repeat a new and more 
 solemn obligation ; at length, having pronoun- 
 ced the name, he let himself fall into the back 
 of the chair, with a deep sigh, raising his 
 hands in an attitude at once of command and 
 supplication, saying, "For the love of hea- 
 ven !" 
 
 " Mercy !" ejaculated Perpetua. " what a 
 villain ! what a tyrant ! Oh, what a man 
 without the fear of God !" 
 
 "Will you be silent, or will you entirely 
 ruin me ?" 
 
 " ! we are here alone, and no one can 
 hear us. But my poor master, what will you 
 do?" 
 
 " See, there," said Don Abbondio, with a 
 spiteful tone," see, what excellent counsel this 
 woman is giving me ! She asks me what 1 

 
 10 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 shall do what I shall do, just as if the danger 
 was hanging over her head, and she looked to 
 me for aid." 
 
 " Yes, but I have got some little poor opin- 
 ion of my own to give, notwithstanding, but 
 then " 
 
 " But then, let us hear." 
 
 "My opinion would be, since every one 
 says our archbishop is a saint, and a man of 
 nerve, who is not afraid of villanous faces, I 
 would advise you to write him a handsome 
 letter to inform him how " 
 
 " Do be silent ; be silent ! Are these coun- 
 sels to give to a poor man ? If I should get the 
 load of a gun fired into my back God deliver 
 me from it ! Would the archbishop take it out 
 forme?" 
 
 " People don't throw such loads about like 
 comfits,* and it would be indeed bad if these 
 scoundrel dogs were to bite every time they 
 bark. I have always observed that the man 
 who dares show his teeth, and stand up for 
 himself, is sure to be respected, and it is ex- 
 actly because you never have any mind of 
 your own, that we are reduced to this point, 
 that every body falls upon us without leave or 
 license, to " 
 
 "Will you be silent?" 
 
 " I have done, but it is most certain that 
 when the world finds out, that any one, al- 
 ways, and upon every occasion, is ready to 
 submit, and " 
 
 " Will you be silent ? Is this a time for such 
 stuff and nonsense ?" 
 
 "Well, well; you will think upon it to 
 night ; but in the meantime don't make yourself 
 ill, and ruin your health, take a mouthful of 
 something." 
 
 " I'll think of it," grumbled out Don Ab- 
 bondio. " Certainly I shall think of it, how 
 can I do otherwise than think of it?" And he 
 got up, continuing " I'll take nothing, nothing ; 
 I've something else to do to be sure, I know 
 I must think of it. But that such a business 
 should fall upon my shoulders ; me, indeed, of 
 all the " 
 
 " Let this other drop go down," said Per- 
 petua, pouring it out, "you know that this al- 
 ways settles your stomach." 
 
 "It will take some other medicine now! 
 some other medicine now ! some other medi- 
 cine now!" 
 
 Thus exclaiming, he took the light, conti- 
 nuing to murmur, " quite a trifle to be sure ! 
 an honest man like myself! What is to be 
 done tomorrow ?" And uttering similar com- 
 plaints, he moved towards his oed-chamber. 
 Having reached the door, he stopped a mo- 
 ment, and turning round to Perpetua, he placed 
 his lips, and with a slow and so- 
 
 his finger on his lips, 
 lemn tone, breathed out, 
 ven !" and disappeared. 
 
 1 for the love of hea- 
 
 * During Uie festival of the Carnival they throw 
 sugar conifite at each other in the- street*. 
 
 TRANSL. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WE are told that the Prince of Conde slept 
 profoundly the night preceding the battle of 
 Rocroi ; but, first, he was extremely fatigued, 
 and, secondly, he had made all his necessary 
 arrangements, and directed what was to be 
 done in the morning. Don Abbondio instead, 
 knew nothing beyond the fact that the next 
 day was to be the day of battle, and hence a 
 great portion of the night was spent in consul- 
 tations with himself full of anguish. To pay 
 no attention to the intimation of these Bravos, 
 nor to their threats, and celebrate the marriage, 
 was a course he would not take the trouble to 
 reflect upon. To confide to Renzo what had 
 happened, and contrive some accommodation 
 with him God deliver us ! " Be careful not 
 to let a word escape, otherwise hem ." 
 These were the words of one of the Bravos, 
 and the recollection of that " hem," not only 
 disposed Don Abbondio not to transgress such 
 a law, but induced him to repent his conversa- 
 tion with Perpetua. To fly ! Where ? And 
 afterwards ? How many troubles, and how 
 many things to relate ! At every expedient 
 that he rejected, the poor man turned himself 
 over on the other side. The best method, as 
 it appeared to him, was to gain time by putting 
 Renzo off. It occurred opportunely, that but 
 a few days were wanting to the season when 
 all marriages were prohibited " And if I can 
 talk that young fellow over for those few days, 
 then I shall have two months to myself, and in 
 two months many things may happen." He 
 thought of various pretexts to bring forward, 
 and although they appeared rather slight, still 
 he encouraged himself in the thought that they 
 would derive some weight from his authority, 
 and that his great experience would give him 
 an advantage over an ignorant youth. Let us 
 see, said he to himself: his head is full of his 
 mistress, and I am thinking about my own 
 skin. I am most interested in the matter, set- 
 
 t, but they sha 
 Having composed his mind with a plan he de- 
 termined to adopt, he at last closed his eyes ; 
 but such sleep ! such dreams ! Bravos, Don 
 Rodrigo, Renzo, winding roads, flights, pur- 
 suits, screams, blunderbusses ! 
 
 The first awakening after distress and trou- 
 ble, is a bitter moment. The mind scarce re- 
 posed, recurs to the habitual idea of antece- 
 dent tranquillity ; but the thought of the new 
 state of things too soon rudely presents itself, 
 and the disappointment is the more keen at 
 that instantaneous trial. Sorrowfully tasting 
 this bitter cup, Don Abbondio recapitulated 
 the designs he had formed over night, confirm- 
 ed himself in them, arranged them in a practi- 
 cable form, arose, and remained waiting for 
 Renzo with apprehension, yet with impatience. 
 
 Lorenzo, or as every one called him, Renzo,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 11 
 
 did not oblige him to wait long. Scarce had 
 the hour arrived, when he thought he might 
 present himself to the curate without being in- 
 discreet, than he went there with the joyful 
 speed of a youth of twenty years old, who was 
 on that day to be married to the woman he 
 loved. He had been from his childhood lef 
 without parents, and followed the trade of 
 silk spinner, an hereditary occupation if the 
 expression may be used in his family ; a 
 trade in past years lucrative enough, but now 
 in a declining state ; though not so much so, 
 but that an expert workman might make a very 
 honest livelihood by it. This branch of indus- 
 try was becoming daily less profitable, but the 
 continual emigration of operatives into the 
 neighboring states, produced by promises, pri- 
 vileges, and great wages, was nevertheless not 
 so detrimental as to leave those who remained 
 without resources. Besides his trade, Renzo 
 possessed a small place which he caused to be 
 cultivated, and upon which he worked himself 
 when he was not engaged in the silk business, 
 so that his condition might be called comfort- 
 able. And although that year was less abun- 
 dant even than the preceding ones, and a scar- 
 city had already begun to exist, still he, who 
 from the moment he had fixed his eyes upon 
 Lucia, had become an economist, ibund him- 
 self very well provided for, and had not to 
 quarrel ibr his bread. He appeared before Don 
 Abbondio, in great gala, with a plume of vari- 
 ous colors in his hat, his dagger with its hand- 
 some handle in the pocket of his trowsers, and 
 with a festive air, and a free manner about 
 him, then common amongst the most quiet 
 men. The doubtful and mysterious reception 
 which Don Abbondio gave him, made a singu- 
 lar contrast to the joyous and resolute demean- 
 or of the youth. 
 
 " He is thinking about something or other," 
 said Renzo to himself, and then addressed him 
 thus : " I am come, signer, to learn at what 
 hour it will be convenient for us to come to 
 church." 
 
 " What day are you speaking of?" 
 " How ? what day ? does not your worship 
 remember that this is the day fixed on ?" 
 
 " To day !" replied Don Abbondio, as if it 
 had been mentioned for the first time. " To 
 day, to-day, have patience ; but to-day, I 
 cannot." 
 
 " You cannot, to-day? "Why, what has hap- 
 pened ?" 
 
 " First I am unwell, you see." 
 " I am sorry for it; but what you will have 
 to do, will take such a short time, and will fa- 
 tigue you so little " 
 
 " Besides besides besides " 
 " And what besides, signor curate ?" 
 " Besides there are some difficulties." 
 " Difficulties ? what difficulties can there 
 be?" 
 
 " You must be in my place to know the dif- 
 ficulties that are in these affairs how many 
 things to give an account of. I am too good 
 natured, I think of nothing but removing ob- 
 
 stacles, and of facilitating every thing, and of 
 doing things to gratify other people. I go be- 
 yond my own duty, and then reproaches are 
 thrown at me, and worse." 
 
 " But, in the name of heaven, don't kee"p 
 me in this suspense ; and tell me at once what 
 the reason is !" 
 
 " Do you know how many formalities are 
 necessary to constitute a regular marriage ?" 
 
 " I ought to know something of it, said 
 Renzo, beginning to get warm, " for you have 
 put me to trouble enough for some days past. 
 But now, has not your worship expedited 
 every thing is not every thing done that was 
 to be done ?" 
 
 "Every thing, every thing, as it appears to 
 you : have patience, therefore. I am an ass, 
 and go beyond my duty, that I may not give 
 pain to others. But now well, well enough 
 I know what I say. We poor curates are 
 between the anvil and the hammer. You are 
 impatient I pity you, poor young man, and 
 my superiors enough I must not tell every 
 thing. Aye, aye, we are thrust in between. ' 
 
 " But explain to me at once, what is this 
 
 tjr formality to be attended to, and it shall be 
 e directly." 
 
 " Do you know how many direct impedi- 
 ments there are ?" 
 
 " What should I know about impediments, 
 your worship?" 
 
 " Error, conditio, voium, cognatio, crimen, 
 
 " Caltus, disparitas, vis, ordo, 
 
 " Si sis affinis " 
 
 " Are you making game of me ? What can 
 I make of your worship's latinorum?" 
 
 "If you don't know these things then, have 
 patience, and be satisfied with those who do 
 know them." 
 
 " Oh, oh indeed." 
 
 " Come, dear Renzo, don't get angry, for I 
 am ready to do every thing that depends upon 
 me. I I want to see you happy. Eh ! when 
 I think how comfortably you was living, that 
 you wanted nothing, and then this whim about 
 matrimony to get into your head " 
 
 " Why, what strange language this is, sig- 
 nor," broke out Renzo, with an expression 
 of countenance betwixt astonishment and 
 anger. 
 
 " I am only telling you have patience I 
 am only telling you I wish you would be 
 content." 
 
 " In the end, then " 
 
 " In the end, then, dear son, I am not to 
 )lame ; the law was not made by me, and be- 
 bre concluding a marriage, we are expressly 
 )bliged to make many and many inquiries, to 
 >e sure that there are no impediments." 
 
 " Oh stuff tell me at once what impedi- 
 ment has sprung up ?" 
 
 " Have patience, these are not things to de- 
 :ypher thus, standing up on our feet. It will 
 >e nothing at all, so I hope ; but neither more 
 lor less, there are inquiries that must be made. 
 The text is clear and obvious, antequam ma- 
 trimmium dcnuntiet "
 
 12 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " I have told you I will have none of your 
 latin." 
 
 " But it is necessary that I should explain to 
 you " 
 
 " But have not you once made these in- 
 quiries ?" 
 
 " I have not made them all, as I ought to 
 have made them, I tell you." 
 
 " Why did not you make them in season ? 
 Why tefl me every thing was prepared ? Why 
 wait" 
 
 " There now J You reproach me for my too 
 exceeding goodness. I have facilitated every 
 thing to serve you more promptly ; but but 
 now things have enough, I know." 
 
 " And what does your worship expect me to 
 do?" 
 
 " Have patience for a day or two, dear son, 
 a day or two is not eternity have patience." 
 
 "For how long?" 
 
 We are in port now, said Don Abbondio 
 to himself, and putting on an affable air, 
 " Come," said he, " in a fortnight, I will try 
 and " 
 
 " Fifteen days, why this is something strange 
 indeed. Every thing that you wished tofe 
 done, has been done ; the day has been fixra, 
 and the day has arrived, and now I am told to 
 wait fifteen days. Fifteen !" said he, in a high 
 and angry tone, extending his arm, and flour- 
 ishing his fist in the air. There is no know- 
 ing with what act he would have followed the 
 expression of that number, if Don Abbondio, 
 taking him by the arm in an earnest, yet af- 
 fectionate and timid manner, had not stopped 
 him, saying, " Come, come, don't get warm, 
 for the love of heaven. I will try I will see 
 if in a week I can " 
 
 " And Lucia, what shall I say to her?" 
 
 " That it has been a mistake of my own." 
 
 " And the scandal there will be about it." 
 
 " Say that I have made a mistake, from too 
 much haste, too much inclination to serve you. 
 Throw all the blame on me. Can I say more ? 
 Come, in one week." 
 
 " And after that, will there be no impedi- 
 ment?" 
 
 " When I tell you " 
 
 " Well, I will keep quiet for a week, but re- 
 member when that is over, I will not be put 
 off with talking, and so good day." Having 
 said this, he leu the curate with a somewhat 
 atifl'er bow than he was accustomed to make, 
 and with a look that had not much reverence 
 in its expression. 
 
 Having got into the road, he directed his 
 steps with a disappointed heart, towards the 
 house of his betrothed ; amidst his vexation 
 the colloquy he had had with the curate was 
 revolved in his mind, and every time it ap- 
 peared still more extraordinary to him. The 
 cold and embarrassed reception of Don Abbon- 
 dio, his language at once restrained and impa- 
 tient, his two grey eyes, which.while he spoke, 
 were wandenng about here and there, as if 
 they were afraid to meet even the words that 
 were issuing from his lips, his affected igno- 
 
 rance of the appointment which had been ex- 
 pressly concerted, and above all, his alluding 
 to some great reason, about which he had 
 never expressed himself clearly : all these cir- 
 cumstances put together, induced Renzo to 
 think that there was some mystery in the af- 
 fair, that had nothing to do with the excuses 
 Don Abbondio had given him. The youth was 
 upon the very point of turning back again, to 
 question him more closely, and make him ex- 
 plain himself more clearly, but raising his 
 eyes, he saw Perpetua a little before him, who 
 was going into a small garden a few paces 
 from the house. Calling to her to open the 
 wicket, he quickened his pace, joined her. 
 and detained ner there, with a view to engage 
 her in conversation, that he might get out of 
 her something more satisfactory. 
 
 " Good day, Perpetua ; I had hoped that to- 
 day we should all have been very merry to- 
 gether." 
 
 "Ah, poor Renzo; but God's will must be 
 done." 
 
 " Do me a favor. The signor curate has 
 been making a fool of me with certain reasons 
 I have not been able to comprehend ; explain 
 to me better why he cannot or will not marry 
 us to day." 
 
 " Oh, do you think I know my master's se- 
 crets?" 
 
 There is some mystery in it, as I supposed, 
 thought Renzo, and to lead her on he said, 
 
 " Come Perpetua, let us be friends, tell me 
 what you know, help a poor young fellow." 
 
 " A bad thing to be born poor, my dear Ren- 
 zo!" 
 
 " It is true," he replied, his suspicions be- 
 coming stronger, and to get a little nearer to 
 the matter, added " It is true, but is it for 
 priests to act unfairly with poor people ?" 
 
 " Listen, Renzo, I can say nothing, because 
 
 1 I know nothing ; but I can assure you 
 
 this, that my master does not wish to do you or 
 any one else wrong, he is not to blame." 
 
 " Whose fault is it then ?" asked Renzo, 
 with a negligent manner, but with his heart 
 drawn up, and his ear all intent. 
 
 " When I tell you that I know nothing 
 
 Why, I may speak in defence of my master, it 
 distresses me when people make him do things 
 that are disobliging to others. Poor man ! if 
 he does wrong, it is from too much goodness. 
 There is plenty enough in this world of rogues, 
 and of rich and powerful people, of men with- 
 out the fear of God " 
 
 Rogues ! rich and powerful people, thought 
 Renzo, these are not his superiors he talked 
 of. 
 
 " Come," said he, concealing his agitation 
 with an effort, " come, tell me who it is." 
 
 " Ah, you want to make me tell, and I can 
 tell nothing because I know nothing ; when 
 one knows nothing, it's all the same as if one 
 had sworn to be silent. If you was to put me 
 to the rack, you would not get a word out of 
 me. Addio, it's time lost to both of us." Say- 
 ing this, she hastily entered the garden, and
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 13 
 
 shut the gate. Renzo, bidding her good bye, 
 turned back gently, lest at the noise of his 
 footsteps she might be aware of the direction 
 he was going in, but when he was out of her 
 hearing, he quickened his steps, reached the 
 door ot Don Abbondio in a moment, entered 
 the house, went straight to the room where he 
 had left him, found him there, and went up to 
 him with a bold air, and with fury in his eyes. 
 "Eh, what novelty is this?" said Don Ab- 
 bondio. 
 
 " Who is that rich and powerful person," 
 said Renzo with the voice of a man resolved 
 to obtain a precise answer, " who is that rich 
 and powerful person who will not permit me 
 to espouse Lucia ?" 
 
 " What ? what ? what ?" stammered out the 
 poor surprised man, with a countenance as 
 white and as flabby as a piece of linen from 
 the washtub. And continuing to stammer, he 
 made a spring from his seat to gain the door. 
 But Renzo who was prepared for such a move- 
 ment, was upon the alert, got to the door be- 
 fore him, locked it, and put the key in his 
 pocket. 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! Mr. curate, will you speak now ? 
 Every body knows my affairs, except myself, 
 and now I'll know them, per bacco, myself. 
 What is his name?" 
 
 "Renzo, Renzo, for charity's sake, think of 
 what you are doing! Don't endanger your 
 soul." 
 
 " I think that I am determined to know it 
 instantly, this very moment." And perhaps 
 without being aware of it, as he finished, he 
 laid his hand on the handle of the dagger, 
 that stood out of his pocket. 
 
 " Mercy !" cried out Don Abbondio with a 
 weak voice. 
 
 " I will know it." 
 
 " Who has told you :" 
 
 " No, no, no ; no more talking. Speak out 
 and quietly." 
 
 " Do you desire my death ?" 
 
 " I am determined to know what I have a 
 right to know." 
 
 " But if I tell, I am a dead man. Is my life 
 of no consequence to me ?" 
 
 " Then tell me." 
 
 These last words were uttered with so much 
 energy, the countenance of Renzo became so 
 menacing, that Don Abbondio could no longer 
 suppose it possible for him to disobey. 
 
 " You promise me you swear," said he, 
 " to speak to no one, never to tell ?" 
 
 " I promise you, I will do a very extravagant 
 thing, if you do not tell me this moment the 
 name of him " 
 
 At this new conjuration, Don Abbondio, 
 with a countenance as much in agony, as 
 if a dentist had his instrument in his mouth, 
 articulated " Don " 
 
 " Don," repeated Renzo, as if to aid his pa- 
 tient to get out the rest ; stooping down with 
 his ear near to the curate's mouth, his arms 
 stretched out, and his fists clenched behind 
 him. 
 
 "Don Rodrigo !" said he. with a compelled 
 haste, devouring the syllables, and grinding 
 the consonants, partly on account of nis agi- 
 tation, and partly because turning all the at- 
 tention he was free to give, to a transaction to 
 be consummated between two fears, he seem- 
 ed as if he was desirous of utterly extinguish- 
 ing the word, at the very moment he was 
 forced to utter it. 
 
 " Ah, dog !" screamed out Renzo. " And 
 what course has he taken what has he told 
 you to ?" 
 
 " How ? eh ! How ?" replied Don Abbondio, 
 with a somewhat reproachful tone ; for having 
 made so great a sacrifice, he felt that to a cer- 
 tain extent he was become creditor in the af- 
 fair. " How ? eh ! I wish it had been brought 
 to your door, as it has been brought to mine, 
 who have nothing at all to do with it: cer- 
 tainly you would not have had so many whims 
 in your head." And here, he began to paint 
 in terrible colors, the fearful meeting he had 
 had, and in relating it becoming more and 
 more aware of the great indignation which 
 was in him, and which until then had been 
 hidden and kept under by his fears ; and per- 
 ceiving at the same time, that Renzo between 
 vexation and confusion, remained immovable 
 with his head down, he continued gaily, " a 
 fine action you have committed, indeed, have 
 not you ? A fine service you have rendered 
 me ! A feat of this sort to your curate, in 
 his own house ! In a sacred place ! A pretty 
 transaction you have made of it ! To bring 
 my misfortune out of my own mouth ! Your 
 misfortune ! What I was concealing from 
 you, from prudence, for your good ! And now 
 that you. know all about it, I should like to 
 know what you will do for me ! For the love 
 of heaven ! This is no joke. This is no af- 
 fair of right and wrong, it is a matter of force. 
 And this morning when I gave you good 
 counsel eh ! all in a fury at once, I had pru- 
 dence both for you and for me, but what is 
 to be done ? Open the door at least, give me 
 my key." 
 
 " I may have erred," replied Renzo, with 
 a more appeased tone, but in which his fury 
 towards nis discovered enemy was obvious, 
 " I may have erred, but put your hand upon 
 your heart, and reflect if in my case " 
 
 Saying this, he drew the key from his 
 pocket, and was going to unlock the door. 
 Don Abbondio followed, and whilst Renzo 
 was turning the key in the lock, he came to 
 his side, and with a serious and anxious look, 
 lifting to his eyes the three first fingers of his 
 right nand, " Swear at least," said he. 
 
 ' I may have erred, and pray excuse me," 
 replied Renzo, opening the door and stepping 
 outwards. 
 
 " Swear " replied Don Abbondio, fasten- 
 ing on his arm with a trembling hand. 
 
 " I may have erred," repeated Renzo, free- 
 ing himself from his grasp, and going off in 
 fury ; thus cutting short the controversy, which, 
 like many others in literature philosophy, and
 
 14 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 the like, might have lasted a couple of ages, 
 since each of the parties did nothing but re- 
 assert his own proposition. 
 
 "Perpetual Perpetual" cried out Don 
 Abbondio, when he had in vain called after the 
 fugitive. Perpetua did not answer, and Don 
 Abbondio no longer knew where he was. 
 
 It has more than once happened to person- 
 ages of greater importance than Don Abbon- 
 dio, to find themselves in such painful embar- 
 rassments, in such incertitude aoout remedies, 
 that it has appeared to them an excellent re- 
 source to go to bed with a fever. This resource 
 Don Abbondio was not compelled to go and 
 seek, for it came to him of itself. The fright 
 of the preceding day, the sorrowful vigil of 
 the past night, the apprehensions he had just 
 gone through, and his dread of the future, 
 produced their effect. Worn out and unnerv- 
 ed, he sank into his large chair, and feeling a 
 cold creeping in his bones, he looked at his 
 nails, sighing, and calling out from time to 
 time, with a tremulous and fretful voice, 
 "Perpetua!" 
 
 She arrived at last, with a large cabbage 
 under her arm, and with an unconcerned face, 
 as if nothing was the matter. The reader will 
 be spared the lamentations, the condolences, 
 the accusations, the defences, the " you alone 
 could have told him, "and the " I have told him 
 nothing," and all the confusion of such a col- 
 loquy. Let it suffice to know, that Don Ab- 
 bondio directed Perpetua to make the door 
 as fast as she could, not to set her foot there 
 any more ; and if any one should knock, to 
 answer from the window, that the curate was 
 laid up with a fever. Slowly he went up 
 stairs, saying at every third step, " I've got it 
 now," and went really to bed, where we will 
 leave him. 
 
 Renzo, in the mean time, went with an agi- 
 tated step homewards, without having deter- 
 mined what he ought to do, but with a fren- 
 zied inclination to do something strange and 
 terrible. Evil doers and fraudulent men, all 
 who in any manner do an injury to others, 
 are responsible not only for the injustice they 
 themselves commit, but for the rash actions to 
 which they prdVokc those whom they offend. 
 Renzo was a pacific young man, averse to the 
 shedding of blood, a frank youth holding snares 
 of every kind in abhorrence ; but at that mo- 
 ment his heart was throbbing with the desire 
 to commit homicide, and his mind occupied 
 solely in contriving treachery. He would have 
 gone to the residence of Don Rodrigo, would 
 
 nave seized him by the throat, and but he 
 
 remembered that it was a kind of fortress, fill- 
 ed with Bravos within, and guarded without ; 
 that none but friends and servants well known 
 had free entrance, without being minutely 
 examined from head to foot : that an unknown 
 artizan could not put his foot there without a 
 strict investigation, -and that he above all he 
 perhaps would be too well known. He then 
 fancied himself taking his arquebuss, con- 
 cealing himself behind a hedge, watching 
 
 there, if he should ever come that way alone ; 
 and, exciting his imagination with lerocious 
 pleasure, he figured to himself an approach- 
 ing footstep, and the individual quietly raising 
 up his head : he recognizes the villanous 
 wretch, presents his piece, takes aim, fires, 
 sees him fall and give the last shudder, flings 
 him a malediction, and flies beyond the bor- 
 ders, to put himself in safety. 
 
 And Lucia ? Scarce did this word cross the 
 path of these dishonest fancies, when the purer 
 thoughts to which Renzo's mind was accus- 
 tomed, crowded in upon him. His last recol- 
 lections of his parents flashed upon him ; he 
 thought of God, of the Virgin, and the Saints ; 
 he thought of the consolations he had so often 
 experienced at feeling unconscious of crime, 
 at the horror he had so often experienced 
 at the news of a homicide ; and he awoke 
 from that dream of blood, with dread, with 
 remorse, together with a kind of joy that 
 it was nothing but imagination. But the 
 thought of Lucia ! How many thoughts did 
 not that bring with it ' So many hopes, so 
 many promises, such an enchanting future, 
 deemed too so certain, and the day so long 
 sighed for! And then how, with what lan- 
 guage to announce to her such information ? 
 And what course to adopt ? How to make her 
 his own, against the power of that wicked 
 man ? Together with all this, was mingled, 
 not suspicion that had taken any form, but a 
 tormenting cloud that passed across his mind 
 each instant. This villany of Don Rodrigo 
 could proceed from no other cause but a brutal 
 passion for Lucia. And Lucia? That she 
 should have held out any encouragement, or 
 have been wanting in the slightest propriety, 
 was a thought that his mind could not harbor 
 for an instant. But did she know any thing of 
 it? Could he have conceived his infamous 
 passion without her being aware of it ? Would 
 ne have carried things to such an extremity, 
 before he had approached her in any degree ? 
 Lucia had never said a word to him about it, 
 her betrothed husband. 
 
 Under the influence of these thoughts, he 
 passed through the village, in the centre of 
 which his own house stood, and went to Lu- 
 cia's, which was at the other extremity. The 
 cottage had a small court before it, which se- 
 parated it from the street, and was surrounded 
 by a low wall. Renzo walked into the court- 
 yard, and heard a mingled and continuous cla- 
 mor which proceeded from an upper chamber. 
 Supposing that some friends and gossips were 
 come to pay their court to Lucia, he thought 
 it best not to join them, with such intelligence 
 as he bore, both in his person and countenance. 
 A young girl, who was in the court, ran to- 
 wards him, crying out " the bridegroom ! the 
 arideeroom !" 
 
 ' Hush, Bettina, hush !" said Renzo, "come 
 here ; go up stairs to Lucia, take her aside, and 
 whisper in her ear so that no one may hear 
 you, or suspect any thing go, tell her I want 
 to speak to her, that I am waiting for her in
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 15 
 
 the lower room and that she must come di- 
 rectly. The little girl ran up stairs in great 
 haste, delighted and proud at having a secret 
 embassy to execute. 
 
 Lucia at that moment had come out of her 
 mother's hands, attired for the occasion. The 
 women were snatching the bride from each 
 other, and pulling her about that they might 
 look at her, whilst she was defending herself 
 with a sort of amazonian modesty from the 
 
 food rustics ; shielding her face with her el- 
 ow, hiding it in her bosom, and drawing into 
 a pretended frown her long and black eye- 
 brows, whilst a smile was resting on her 
 mouth. Her dark and youthful locks parted 
 in front by a white and narrow seam, were 
 gathered behind into multiplied circular tress- 
 es, fastened by long pins of silver, arranged 
 around into the form of the rays of an aureole 
 or glory, as they are yet worn by the country 
 maidens of the Milanese. Around her neck 
 she had a collar of garnets alternating with 
 buttons of gold filagree ; her waist was a bro- 
 cade embroidered with flowers, with the sleeves 
 divided and tied in knots of handsome ribbons ; 
 she wore a short petticoat of a worked silk, 
 with numerous and minute folds, a pair of ver- 
 milion stockings, and silk embroidered shoes. 
 Besides these, which were peculiar to nuptial 
 occasions, Lucia had a great share of modest 
 beauty, now enhanced and made more expres- 
 sive through the various feelings depicted on 
 her countenance : joy tempered by a slight 
 agitation, that placid sort of reluctance which 
 now and then appears on the countenance of a 
 bride, and which without discomposing beau- 
 ty, communicates a particular and interesting 
 character to it. 
 
 Little Bettina got into the crowd, drew near 
 to Lucia, and with great address making her 
 understand she had something to communicate 
 to her, whispered into her ear. 
 
 " I am going for a moment, and will return," 
 said Lucia to the women, and went down 
 stairs in haste. On perceiving the altered 
 countenance and demeanor of Renzo, " What 
 has happened ?" said she, not without a pre- 
 sentiment of terror. 
 
 " Lucia !." answered Renzo, " all our pre- 
 parations go for nothing, and God knows when 
 we can be husband and wife." 
 
 " What ?" said Lucia, quite dismayed. Ren- 
 zo related to her briefly the occurrences of the 
 morning ; she listened to him with anguish, 
 and when she heard the name of Don Rodri- 
 go, " Ah !" she exclaimed, blushing and trem- 
 bling, " has he gone to this length ?" 
 
 " Then you knew something ?" said Ren- 
 zo. 
 
 "Too much!" she answered, "but to go 
 this length !" 
 
 " What did you know ?" 
 
 "Don't make me tell now, don't make me 
 cry. I will run and call my mother, and send 
 all the women away ; we must be alone." 
 
 Whilst she was going, Renzo murmured, 
 " You never told me any thing ." 
 
 "Ah, Renzo !" replied Lucia, turning round, 
 but without stopping. Renzo perfectly un- 
 derstood that his name uttered at that moment, 
 with that tone, was as expressive as if she had 
 said can you doubt that my silence has pro- 
 ceeded from any but just and pure motives ? 
 In the moan time, the good Agnes the name 
 of Lucia's mother both suspicious and curi- 
 ous at the little girl's whispering to her, and 
 her disappearance, went down stairs to know 
 the cause. Her daughter left her with Renzo, 
 returned to the assembled women, and com- 
 posing her features and voice as well as she 
 could, said, " The curate is sick, and there 
 will be nothing done to day." Having said 
 this, she saluted them in haste, and went down 
 stairs again. 
 
 The women filed off, and scattered them- 
 selves to relate what had happened, and to as- 
 certain if Don Abbondio was in reality unwell. 
 The verification of the fact cut off all the con- 
 jectures that already began to work in their 
 heads, and to announce themselves in broken 
 and mysterious phrases. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LUCIA entered the room on the ground floor, 
 where Renzo in great distress was telling Ag- 
 nes what she was in great anguish listening to. 
 Both of them turned to one who knew more 
 than either of them, and from whom they 
 waited for an explanation which could not but 
 be painful ; and both of them amidst their un- 
 happiness, and with the different kind of af- 
 fection that they bore to Lucia, suffering a 
 different kind of displeasure to appear, De- 
 cause she had concealed any thing from them, 
 and especially a matter of this kind. Agnes, 
 although anxious to hear her daughter, could 
 not restrain herself from reproaching her " not 
 to tell your own mother such an affair as this ! " 
 
 "I'll tell you everything now," answered 
 Lucia, wiping her eyes with her apron. 
 
 " Speak out, speak out, speak, speak !" ex- 
 claimed at once both her mother and her 
 lover. 
 
 " Holy virgin! "exclaimed Lucia," who would 
 have believed that things could have been 
 carried so far as this." And then, with a voice 
 broken by sob?, she related how, a few days 
 before, returning from the filature, a little be- 
 hind her companions, Don Rodrigo in compa- 
 ny with another gentleman passed her on the 
 road ; that he tried to draw her into a conver- 
 sation, not over and above proper, she said, 
 but without giving him any encouragement, 
 she quickened her stefps and joined her com- 
 panions ; in the meantime she heard the other 
 cavalier laugh aloud, and Don Rodrigo say, 
 "Well, let us wager?" They next day they 
 were again in the road, but Lucia was in the 
 midst of her companions with her eyes bent to 

 
 16 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 the ground, and the gentleman giggled, and 
 Don Rodrigo said, " We'll see, We'll see !" 
 
 By the blessing of Providence, continued 
 Lucia, " that day was the last of the filature. I 
 immediately told " 
 
 " Who did you tell it to ?" asked Agnes, go- 
 ing close up to her, not without a little temper, 
 at finding there was a preferred confidant. 
 
 " To father Christopher, in confession, mam- 
 ma," answered Lucia, with a gentle excusing 
 voice, " I told him every thing the last time 
 we went together to the church of the convent, 
 and if you remember, that morning I first be- 
 gan with one thing, and then with another, to 
 delay until other country people should be 
 passing the same road, that we might have 
 company ; for after that meeting I was afraid 
 to be in the road " 
 
 At the revered name of father Christopher, 
 the anger of Agnes was appeased. " You did 
 right," said she, " but why not tell your own 
 mother also?" 
 
 Lucia had had two excellent reasons for her 
 silence ; one was, that she might neither 
 frighten the good lady, nor make her unhappy 
 about an affair she had no remedy for ; and the 
 other was, that she did not like to run the risk 
 of putting a story on its travels through so 
 many mouths, which ought to be most jeal- 
 ously buried in her own bosom ; besides, too, 
 she hoped that her marriage would at once 
 nave put an end to such a detestable persecu- 
 tion. Of these two reasons, she only gave her 
 mother the first. 
 
 "And to you," she then said, turning to 
 Renzo, with that tone which convinces a friend 
 he has been in the wrong, " and was it right 
 for me to tell you all this ? You know it too 
 well now to my sorrow." 
 
 " And what did the father tell you ?" asked 
 Agnes. 
 
 "He told me to hasten my marriage as 
 much as I could, and in the meantime to keep 
 close in the house. He told me too to pray 
 to God, and that he hoped that Don Rodrigo 
 not seeing me any more, would forget me. 
 And then it was that I did violence to myself," 
 pursued she, turning again to Renzo, without 
 however raising her eyes to his face, and 
 blushing all over, " then it was I put aside 
 shame, and asked you to have our marriage 
 celebrated as soon as possible, and before the 
 time we had fixed on. I don't know what you 
 may have thought of me ! But I did it for the 
 best, I was advised to it, and I thought certain- 
 ly and this morning I was far from think- 
 ing " Here Lucia's words were drowned 
 
 in a flood of tears. 
 
 " Ah villain, scoundrel, assassin !" exclaim - 
 ed Renzo, striding up and down the room, and 
 grasping from time to time the handle of his 
 dagger. 
 
 " Oh.what a perplexity, for the love of God ! " 
 said Agnes. The youth suddenly stopped be- 
 fore the weeping Lucia, looked at her with 
 tenderness, grief; and rage, and said, " this is 
 the last time that assassin " 
 
 "Ah, no, Renzo, for the love of heaven !" 
 cried out Lucia. " No, no, for the love of 
 heaven, there is a God also for the poor, and 
 how can we expect him to aid us, if we do 
 evil ?" 
 
 " No, no, for the love of heaven," repeated 
 Agnes. 
 
 " Renzo," said Lucia with a look of hope, 
 and an appearance of tranquil resolution, " you 
 have a trade, and I know how to work, let us 
 go so far off, that he may never hear us spoken 
 of again." 
 
 "Ah Lucia, and then ? We are not yet man 
 and wife ! Will the curate give us a certificate 
 of our being free from all other engagements? 
 That man ? If we were married, ay, then " 
 
 Lucia began to weep again, and all three re- 
 mained in silence, rendered mute by a con- 
 sternation, which presented a sorrowful con- 
 trast to the festive oravery of their garments. 
 
 " Listen, my children, give attention to me," 
 said Agnes after a moment or two, " I came 
 into the world before you, and I know it a lit- 
 tle. It is best not to alarm ourselves too 
 much, the devil himself is not as ugly as 
 they paint him. To us poor people, the skeins 
 always appear the more raveled, because we 
 don't know how to look for the end of the 
 thread; but sometimes an opinion, a word 
 from a man who has studied I know what I 
 mean to say. Follow my plan, Renzo, go to 
 Lecco, seek out Doctor Azzecca-garbugli,* 
 tell him but don't call him so for the love of 
 heaven, for it is a nick name you must call 
 him signer doctor how is it he calls himself? 
 Oh tut, tut, tut, what is his true name ? every 
 body calif him by his nick name. Never mind, 
 find that tall, dry, skinny doctor, with a red 
 nose, and a raspberry mark on his cheek " 
 
 " I know him by sight," said Renzo. 
 
 " Well," continued Agnes, that's the man 
 for your business ! I have seen more than one, 
 in as great trouble as a hen with one chicken, 
 and who did not know where to lay their heads, 
 and after remaining an hour playing at four 
 eyes with Doctor Azzecca-garDugli mind 
 you don't call him so I have seen them, I say, 
 laugh at their troubles. Take those four ca- 
 pons, poor things ! I intended to have wrung 
 their necks for the feast this evening and car- 
 ry them to him, for you must never go empty 
 handed to gentry of that kind ; tell him what 
 has happened, and you will see that he will 
 tell you on his two feet, things that would not 
 come into our heads if we were to think of it 
 for twelvemonths. 
 
 Renzo very willingly embraced this advice. 
 Lucia approved it, and Agnes proud of having 
 given it, dragged one by one trie poor animals 
 out, put their eight legs together as if she was 
 making a bunch of flowers, twisted and tied 
 them with a piece of string, and put them into 
 Renzo's hands ; who, having given and received 
 words of comfort, went out by a little garden 
 door, whence the boys could not see him, 
 
 Strike-trouble.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 17 
 
 and who would have run after him, crying 
 out, " the bridegroom, the bridegroom." Thus 
 crossing the fields, or as they say there, the 
 places,* he went by the paths, fretting, think- 
 ing of his misfortune, and ruminating over 
 what he should say to Doctor Azzecca-gar- 
 bugli. I leave the reader to imagine what 
 sort of a journey the poor capons must have 
 had, tied in a bunch, held by the heels, and 
 their heads dangling down, in the hand of a 
 man agitated by so many passions ; the thoughts 
 which tumultuously passed through his mind 
 he accompanied with gestures, and at certain 
 moments of anger, resolution, or despair, ex- 
 tending out his arm with great force, he gave 
 them such terrible jerks, and made their sus- 
 pended noddles dance about so, that they had 
 no comfort but what they found in pecking at 
 one another, a thing that often happens to 
 companions in misfortune. 
 
 Arrived at Lecco, he inquired for the resi- 
 dence of the doctor, and being informed, he 
 went there. At his entrance he felt himself 
 assailed by that timidity which poor illiterate 
 people experience, when about to approach 
 the gentry and the learned. He forgot all the 
 arguments he had prepared, but giving a look 
 at his capons, he ielt encouraged. Entering 
 the kitchen, he inquired of the kitchen wench 
 if he could speak with the doctor. At the 
 sight of the capons, the girl, like one accus- 
 tomed to see such presents brought, wanted 
 to take them, but Renzo kept drawing back, 
 for he wished the doctor to see and to know 
 that he had brought something with him. 
 The doctor himself happened to come in, just 
 as the wench was saying " Give them to me," 
 and passed on to the study. Renzo made the 
 doctor a bow, who received him graciously 
 with " Come, my son," aVid took him to the 
 study. This was a large room, with three of 
 its walls covered with pictures of the twelve 
 Cesars, and the fourth filled with shelves of 
 old and dusty books : in the centre, was a table 
 loaded with law papers, allegations, supplica- 
 tions, libels, and proclamations, with three or 
 four seats around it ; and on one of the sides 
 was a huge arm chair, with a high and square 
 back, terminated at the corners by two orna- 
 ments of wood, standing up something like 
 horns, with large bosses, and covered with 
 leather. Some of these from age were broken 
 and had fallen off, leaving the edges of their 
 covering, sticking and curling out here and 
 there. The doctor himself had his chamber 
 gown on, that is, he was covered with a black 
 and blue sort of Toga, which in old times had 
 served him to perorate in upon grand occa- 
 sions, when he went to Milan to conduct some 
 great cause. He shut the door, and encourged 
 the youth with these words " Well, my son, 
 what is your case ?" " I want to say something 
 to you in confidence." 
 
 " Here I am," replied the doctor, " speak ;" 
 and he seated himself in his arm chair. Ren- 
 
 I luogbi. 
 
 zo, standing straight up at the table, and 
 twirling round with his right hand, his hat 
 which was on his left, began, " I wish to 
 know from your worship, who has studied " 
 
 " Tell me the fact, just as it is," the doctor 
 interrupted. 
 
 " Your worship must excuse me, signor, 
 doctor ; we poor people don't understand how 
 to talk well. I want to know, then " 
 
 " What a blessed set ! You are all so in- 
 stead of telling your case, you begin by inter- 
 rogations, because you have got your own 
 plans already in your heads." 
 
 " Excuse me, signor doctor, I want to 
 know if when any one threatens a curate to 
 prevent his performing a marriage, whether 
 there is any penalty." Ho, ho ! I comprehend 
 (said the doctor to himself, though in truth 
 he had not yet comprehended) I comprehend, 
 and then assuming a serious air, but a serious- 
 ness blended with compassion and eagerness, 
 he compressed his lips together strongly, and 
 gave out inarticulate sounds expressive of his 
 Feelings, but which he more clearly explained 
 by soon saying " A serious case, my son, a 
 case already contemplated. You have done 
 well to come to me. It is a clear case, pro- 
 vided for in a hundred public decrees, and 
 see here, in a decree of last year, of our pre- 
 sent governor. I'll show it to you this mo- 
 ment, you shall see it and have it in your 
 hand." 
 
 Thus saying, he rose from his arm chair, 
 and thrusting his hand into the chaos of papers 
 before him, he tumbled and threw them about 
 from top to bottom, as if he was throwing corn 
 into a half bushel. 
 
 " Where the deuce Lets see here, let's 
 see here. Always so many, many things on 
 my hands ! but it must be here, certainly, a 
 decree of such importance. Ah ! here, here." 
 He took it, looked at the date, and putting on 
 a still more serious air, exclaimed the 15th of 
 October, 1627 ! Surely, it is last year, one 
 of the new decrees, people are more frighten- 
 ed at them than at the others. Can you read, 
 my son." 
 
 " A little, signor doctor." 
 
 " Well, then, follow me with your eye, and 
 you will see." And holding out the docu- 
 ment at its full length, he began to read, ra- 
 pidly muttering over some passages, and dis- 
 tinctly and with great expression enunciating 
 others, according to their importance. " ' As, 
 by the proclamation published by order of the 
 Duke of Feria the 14th December, 1620, and 
 confirmed by the most illustrious and most 
 excellent signor, the Siguor Gonzalo Fernan- 
 dez di Cordova,' et cetera, ' extraordinary 
 and rigorous remedies were provided against 
 the oppressions, exactions, and tyrannical acts 
 which by the audacity of some persons, are 
 committed against the devoted vassals of his 
 majesty ; in every manner the frequency and 
 the maliciousness of the excesses,' et cetera, 
 ' have increased to such a degree, that his ex- 
 cellency feels himself under the necessity,'
 
 IS 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 et cetera. ' For which reasons, with the con- 
 currence of the senate and of the council,' 
 et cetera, ' it has been resolved to publish the 
 present decree.' 
 
 ' And beginning by the tyrannical acts, ex- 
 perience having snown that many, as well in 
 the cities as in the country towns,' do you 
 hear ? ' of this state, exercise in a tyrannical 
 way, exactions, and oppress the weak in va- 
 rious modes, forcing them with violence, to 
 enter into various contracts for purchases, 
 leases,' et cetera. Why, where are you ? there, 
 there, listen ! forcing them to enter upon, or 
 to break off marriages, eh !" 
 
 "That is my case," said Renzo. 
 
 " Hear, hear, there is still more, and then 
 we will see the penalty. ' Shall give evidence, 
 
 the 
 s 
 
 may go to his mill.' All this has nothing to do 
 with our affair. Ah, here we are ' that priest 
 not doing what by his office he is obliged to 
 do, or doing things it is not his duty to do.' 
 Eh ?" 
 
 " It seems as if this decree was made ex- 
 
 pressly for my case." 
 "Eh? isitn 
 
 it not so ? Hear, hear, ' and other 
 similar violences, practiced by feudatories, 
 noblemen, persons of the middling classes, low 
 men, and plebeians.' None of mem are left 
 out, there they all are, as if it was the valley 
 of Jehoshaphat. Now listen to the penalty. 
 ' All these, and other similar evil actions, al- 
 though already prohibited, nevertheless, it be- 
 ing necessary to apply greater rigor, His Ex- 
 cellency, by the present, not derogating,' et 
 cetera ; ' orders and commands, that against all 
 offenders of every condition, in the above mat- 
 ters, or any similar matter, proceedings be in- 
 stituted by all the ordinary magistrates of the 
 state, and that they be punished by pecuniary 
 fines, corporal punishment, banishment to the 
 galleys, and even by death itself.' A trifle to 
 be sure ! ' At the pleasure of His Excellency, 
 or of the senate, according to the nature of 
 the case, the persons, and the circumstances. 
 And this ir-re-miss-ibly and with every rigor,' 
 et cetera. There is some stuff in this ; eh ? 
 See here the signatures, ' Gonzalo Fernandez 
 de Cordova,' and lower down, 'Platonus,' 
 and here again, ' Vidit Ferrer ;' there is nothing 
 wanting." 
 
 Whilst the doctor was reading, Renzo fol- 
 lowed him slowly with his eyes, endeavoring 
 to find out the true construction, and to see 
 those blessed words that were to be his aid and 
 refuge. The doctor perceiving his new client 
 was more attentive tnan frightened, was sur- 
 prised. Has this chap been matriculated ? said 
 he to himself. " Ah, ah, yntw've had your tuft 
 shaved off, have you ? You've done prudent- 
 ly, but there is no occasion for that when you 
 put yourself into my hands. The case is a se- 
 rious one, but you don't know what I am ca- 
 pable of doing upon an emergency." 
 
 To understand better this blunder of the doc- 
 
 tor's, it is necessary to know that in those 
 times the Bravos by trade, and the infamous 
 of every kind, used to wear a long tuft of hair, 
 which they could draw over their faces like a 
 visor, when they were assaulting any one, that 
 is, in enterprizes requiring caution as well as 
 strength, where some disguise was necessary. 
 The decrees are not silent upon this custom. 
 " His Excellency commands (the Marquis of 
 Hinojosa,) that whoever wears his hair of such 
 a length that it shall cover his forehead, in- 
 cluding his eye-brows, or shall wear it in locks 
 either oefore or behind his ears, shall incur a 
 fine of three hundred crowns; and if he is un- 
 able to pay the fine, shall be sent to the gal- 
 leys for three years, for the first offence, and 
 for the second, a still greater fine, both pecu- 
 niary and corporal, at the pleasure of His Ex- 
 cellency." 
 
 " It is permitted nevertheless, that those 
 who are bald, or who have any scars or marks 
 on their heads, or other reasonable cause, may 
 for appearance's sake, or on account of their 
 health, wear their hair of such a length, as may 
 be necessary to conceal such defects, and for 
 nothing more ; warning them, however, not to 
 exceed what the necessity of the case may ex- 
 act, lest they incur the punishment intended 
 for the specified offenders." 
 
 " And in like manner, all barbers, under the 
 penalty of a hundred crowns, or of three turns 
 of the rack, to be given to them in public, and 
 even greater corporal punishment, at pleasure, 
 as above ; are commanded not to leave upon 
 any whom they dress, shave or cut, locks, 
 tufts, crests, or hair longer than usual, as well 
 in front, as on the sides, and behind the ears ; 
 but that all be left even, as on the top, except 
 in cases of baldness, or defects alluded to." 
 The tuft then was almost a characteristic part 
 of the armor of the bullies and hang-gallows' 
 of the day, and from it they got, commonly to 
 be called ciuffi.* This term has remained, 
 and is still in use in the dialect, in a more 
 mitigated sense ; and perhaps there is not pne 
 of our Milanese readers who does not remem- 
 ber when he was a child, to have heard his fa- 
 ther, or his master, or a servant, or some friend 
 of the house, say, there goes a ciuffo, or tuft 
 boy, there goes a ciuffetto ! 
 
 " Truly, on the word of a poor young fel- 
 low," answered Renzo, " I have never worn a 
 tuft in the course of my life." 
 
 " We shall make nothing of it," replied the 
 doctor, shaking his head, with a smile of ma- 
 licious impatience, " if you don't trust me, we 
 shall make nothing of it. Look ye, my son, 
 he who tells lies to the doctor, is a fool that 
 will tell the truth to the judge. The lawyer 
 must be told things as clear as the day ; his 
 business is afterwards to muddle them as dark 
 as night. If you want me to aid you, you must 
 begin with A, and go on to Z, w'ith your heart 
 in your hand, as you would to your confessor. 
 You should tell me the name of the person who 
 
 * Tuft boys.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 employed you to threaten the curate, no doubt 
 he is a person of some consequence ; and in 
 that case I should go to see him as an act of 
 duty. I should not tell him, look you, that 7 
 know from you, that he sent you to the cu 
 rate, you may trust me. I shall tell him, that 
 I come to implore his protection for a poor ca- 
 lumniated youth. And with him I shall take 
 proper measures to finish the affair in a suita- 
 ble manner. Understand well, that in saving 
 himself, he would save you. And if the affair 
 is entirely your own, I shall not flinch I 
 have got others out of worse scrapes provid- 
 ed always you have not offended any person of 
 consequence let us understand each other I 
 engage to bring you out of this difficulty 
 with some little expense let us understand 
 each other. You should tell me who is the of- 
 fended person, as they say ; and next the con- 
 dition, the quality, and the temper of your 
 friend ; we shall then see whether it will be 
 better to try to keep him right as to the mat- 
 ter of protection, or to serve him with some 
 criminal process, and stick a flea in his ear : 
 for, d'ye see, when these decrees are rightly 
 managed, no one is guilty, no one is innocent. 
 As to the curate, if he is a man of judgment, 
 he will keep quiet, and if he is rash enough 
 not to do so, we have remedies for that too. 
 All sorts of difficulties have their doors to get 
 out of, but it requires a man to find them ! 
 Your case is a serious one, I tell you, a seri- 
 ous one, a serious one indeed ; the proclama- 
 tion does not mince matters, and if the matter 
 is to be decided between you and justice, with 
 nothing but four eyes, you are in for it. I talk 
 to you as a friend, all these pranks must be 
 paid for if you mean to get free of this in a 
 smooth way, money and sincerity, confidence 
 in those who wish you well, obedience, and 
 submitting to do every thing that may be sug- 
 gested to you." 
 
 Whilst the doctor was pouring; out all this 
 strange matter, Renzo stood looking at him 
 with that kind of estatic attention which a 
 clown, in the public square, gives to the jug- 
 
 fler, who, cramming his mouth with tow, 
 eeps drawing ribbons out, that never end. 
 When, however, he had well comprehended 
 what the doctor meant, and the mistake he 
 had fallen into, he cut the ribbon short, that 
 was coming out of his mouth, with these 
 words, " On, doctor ! why, how you have 
 mistaken it ? The case is just the other way. 
 I have threatened no one I dont't follow such 
 employments ; ask every one in my parish, 
 and they will tell you I nave never had any 
 thing to do with the law. The villany has 
 been done to me, and I am come to you to 
 know how I am to obtain justice ; right glad 
 I am to have seen that decree." 
 
 " The devil !" exclaimed the doctor, open- 
 ing his eyes quite wide. " Why, what a 
 hodge-podge you have made of it ! So it is ; 
 are you all alike ? is it possible you can't relate 
 things clearly?" 
 "But, signer doctor, excuse me you did 
 
 not give me time to do so ; now I'D tell you the 
 thing, how it really is. Know then, that I was 
 to have been married to-day," and here Ren- 
 zo's voice faltered " I was to have been mar- 
 ried to-day to a young woman, to whom I was 
 engaged ever since the summer ; and to-day, 
 as I tell you, was the day fixed with the curate, 
 and every thing was prepared. Well, then, 
 the curate begins to make I don't know what 
 excuses ; well, not to be tedious, I made him 
 confess, as was just; and he told me he was 
 prohibited, under pain of his life, from mar- 
 rying us. That powerful, overbearing Don 
 
 Rodrigo " 
 
 " Hoy, hoy!" interrupted the doctor imme- 
 diately, frowning with his eye-brows, drawing 
 his red nose up into wrinkles, and twisting hi* 
 mouth, " hoy, hoy, why do you come here to 
 trouble and plague me with these idle stories ? 
 Talk amongst yourselves about such things ; 
 you don't know how to deal out your words ; 
 and don't come here to spend them with an 
 honest man, who knows what his own are 
 worth to him. Be off, be off; you don't know 
 what you are talking about ; I've nothing to 
 do with boy's affairs ; I can listen to nothing 
 of the kind words in air, words in air." 
 
 " I swear " 
 
 " Go, go, I tell you, what have I to do with 
 your swearing ? I am not concerned in it ; I 
 wash my hands of it;" and he began to rub 
 them, and turn them one over the other, as if 
 lie were really washing them. " Learn how 
 to speak ; this is not the way to come and sur- 
 prise a respectable man." 
 
 " But hear me, hear me," in vain cried out 
 Renzo ; the doctor always bawling out, and 
 Dushing him with his hands towards the door. 
 Vo sooner had he got him out, than he opened 
 t again, and called out to the wench, " give 
 Jiat man back again, directly, what he brought ; 
 [ won't have any thingI won't have any 
 Wng." The woman, who during the whole 
 ime she had been in the house, had never ex- 
 ecuted an order of that kind, hearing it issued 
 in such a peremptory tone, did not hesitate to 
 obey. She took the four poor birds, and gave 
 them to Renzo, with a look of scornful com 
 passion, that seemed to say, " you must have 
 made a prodigious blunder, to be sure." Ren- 
 zo wanted to renew their understanding, but 
 the doctor was inflexible ; and astonished, and 
 but half awake, and more irritated than ever, 
 he was obliged to receive back the rejected 
 victims, and to depart, bending his steps to 
 the village, to communicate to the females the 
 result 01 his expedition. 
 
 These, after his departure, had sorrowfully 
 changed the nuptial dresses into their accus- 
 tomed daily and homely garments, and began 
 again to consult upon their affairs; Lucia 
 sobbing, and Agnes sighing. When this last 
 had expatiated upon the great effects which 
 might be expected from the counsels of the 
 doctor, Lucia said, that it would be well to 
 try and help themselves in every possible way" ; 
 that father Christopher was a man not only to
 
 20 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 give advice, but to lend his assistance, when 
 poor people were to be protected ; and that it 
 would be a famous good thing to make him 
 acquainted with what had happened. " You 
 are right," said Agnes, and they began to con- 
 sider now it could be done, for as to their go- 
 ing to the convent, which was at least two 
 nines off, that was not an undertaking for 
 them to risk that day, and certainly no discreet 
 person would have advised them to it. But 
 whilst they were hesitating about it, they 
 heard a knock at the door, and at the same 
 moment, a low but distinct Deogratias. Lu- 
 cia, wondering who it could be, ran to open 
 the door, and making his bow, in came a se- 
 cular perquisitor Capuchin friar, with his wal- 
 let depending from his left shoulder, and hold- j 
 ing the mouth tightly twisted in both his 
 hands on his breast. " Oh, Fra Galdino !" said 
 the two women. " The Lord be with you," 
 said the friar, " I am come for your part of 
 the perquisition of nuts." 
 
 " Go and get the nuts for the fathers," said 
 Agnes. Lucia rose, and went to another room, 
 but before she entered, she stood up behind 
 Fra Galdino's shoulders, who remained in the 
 same place, and putting her forefinger on her 
 mouth, she gave a sign to her mother to keep 
 the secret, in a tender, and supplicating, bat 
 also in an authoritative way. 
 
 The penjuisitor, leering at Agnes from a 
 distance, said, " and this marriage ? it was to 
 have taken place to-day. I have found a sort 
 of confusion in the village, as if there was some 
 novelty going on. What has happened ?" 
 " The curate is sick, and we are obliged to 
 
 Eut it off," she answered in haste. If Lucia 
 ad not warned her, the answer would proba- 
 bly have been different. " And how does the 
 ) erquisition go on ?" said she, to change the 
 conversation. 
 
 " Not very well, good woman, not very well. 
 They are all here ;" and saying this, he took 
 the wallet from his shoulders, and danced it 
 up between his hands " they are all here ; 
 and to collect this prodigious abundance, I 
 have had to knock at ten doors." 
 
 "Ay, it is a scarce year, Fra Galdino; and 
 when one has to contend for bread, all mea- 
 sures are small." 
 
 " And to bring good times back, what reme- 
 dy is there, good woman ? Alms ! Do you 
 know about that miracle of the walnuts, that 
 took place a great many years ago, in that 
 convent of oure in Romagna ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ; tell it to me directly." 
 
 " Oh ! you must know then, that in that 
 convent, there was a father of our order, who 
 was a saint, and his name was father Macario. 
 One winter's day, walking in a path in a field 
 of a benefactor of ours, a very excellent man 
 also, father Macario saw our benefactor stand- 
 ing near a great walnut tree belonging to him, 
 and four countrymen, with their pickaxes 
 lifted up, and digging away, to uncover the 
 tree, and lay bare the roots. ' What are you 
 doing to that poor tree ? ' asked father Macario. 
 
 ' Why, father, for some years past it has borne 
 no walnuts, and I am going to make firewood 
 of it.' ' Don't do so ; leave it alone,' said the 
 father ; ' know that this year it shall bear more 
 nuts than leaves.' The benefactor, who knew 
 who the man was that said this, immediately 
 ordered the laboring men to cover up the roots 
 again with the earth ; and, calling to the fa- 
 ther, who continued his walk, 'father Ma- 
 cario,' said he, ' one half of the crop shall be 
 kept for the convent.' The report of the pre- 
 diction went abroad, and every body went to 
 look at the walnut tree. In fact, when spring 
 came, it blossomed prodigiously, and then 
 nuts, and nuts without end. The good bene- 
 factor had not the consolation to have the 
 shaking of them down, because, before the 
 harvest, he was taken away to receive the re- 
 ward of his charity. But the miracle was the 
 more astonishing for that very reason, as you 
 shall hear. That excellent man left behind 
 him a son of very different character. At har- 
 vest time then, the perquisitor went to receive 
 the half that belonged to the convent ; but he 
 pretended to know nothing about it, and had 
 the impudence to reply uiat he had never 
 heard the Capuchins knew how to make wal- 
 nuts. Now what do you think happened ? One 
 day, (listen to this) the hang-gallows had in- 
 vited some friends of the same kidney, and 
 whilst they were making merry, he told them 
 this story about the walnuts, and made game 
 of the friars ; and, as the young dogs wanted 
 to see such an interminable heap of nuts, he 
 took them to the granary. And what do you 
 think ? he opens the door, goes to the corner 
 where this monstrous heap was laid, and whilst 
 he was saying look there he looked him- 
 self, and saw what ? a fine heap of dry wal- 
 nut leaves ! What do you think of that for a 
 miracle, eh ? and the convent, instead of be- 
 ing a loser by this refused alms, was a gainer; 
 because, after such a surprising fact, the per- 
 quisition for nuts produced such prodigious 
 quantities, that a benefactor, moved with com- 
 passion for the poor perquisitor, had the cha- 
 rity to present the convent with an ass, to 
 assist him to carry the nuts home. And there 
 was so much oil made, that the poor came and 
 received as much as they wanted ; for we arc 
 like the sea, which receives water from all 
 quarters, and distributes it back again to all 
 the rivers. 
 
 Here Lucia came back with her apron so fill- 
 ed with walnuts, that she could scarce carry 
 them, holding the two ends up with her arms 
 quite stretched out. Whilst Fra Galdino, ta- 
 king his wallet from his neck, put it on the 
 ground and opened the mouth to introduce in- 
 to it this abundant alms, the mother gave an 
 astonished and severe look at .Lucia on ac- 
 count of her prodigality ; but Lucia gave her 
 another, which meant I'll explain to you 
 why. Fra Galdino broke out into eulogiums, 
 auguries, promises, and many thanks, and 
 having replaced his wallet, was going away. 
 But Lucia stayed him to say, " I want you to
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 21 
 
 do me a service, it is to tell father Christopher 
 that I desire to speak to him very much, and 
 that I entreat him to have the charity to come 
 to us poor people, immediately as soon as he 
 can, for it is impossible for me to come to the 
 church myself." 
 
 " Is that all ? An hour shan't pass over be- 
 fore father Christopher shall be made acquaint- 
 ed with your wishes." 
 
 "I rely upon youJ" 
 
 "Don't doubt it at all;" and having said 
 this, he took his departure, more crooked and 
 more content than when he came. 
 
 Now no one must think that because we 
 find a poor young girl sending for father Chris- 
 topher with so much confidence, and a per- 
 quisitor accepting the commission without 
 witnessing any surprise, or without any diffi- 
 culty, that the said Christopher was one of 
 those friars as they are by the dozen, a thing 
 to be despised. On the contrary, he was a man 
 of much authority amongst his brethren, and 
 in the neighborhood ; but such was the condi- 
 tion of the capuchins, that nothing to them ap- 
 peared too low, or too high. To be of service 
 to the vilest, and to be served by the most 
 powerful, to enter into palaces and into cabins 
 with the same air of humility and security, to 
 be at times in the same house, the subject of 
 pastime, and a personage without whom no- 
 thing could be decided, to seek alms every 
 where, and distribute them to every body who 
 cams to the convent, a capuchin was accus- 
 tomed to every thing. Whilst journeying, it 
 might occur to them to meet a prince who 
 reverently would kiss the end ot their cor- 
 don, or with a pack of noisy boys, who pre- 
 tending to be at variance with them, would 
 throw dirt upon their beards. The word friar, 
 in those times, was uttered with the most pro- 
 found respect, and with the bitterest contempt : 
 and the capuchins, perhaps more than any 
 other order, were objects of the two opposing 
 feelings, and experienced the two opposite 
 fortunes ; for possessing nothing, wearing a ha- 
 bit more singularly differing from the ordinary 
 one, making a more open profession of hu- 
 mility, they exposed themselves in a nearer 
 degree to the veneration and contempt, that 
 such faculties may inspire, from the different 
 humors, and the different ways of thinking of 
 men. 
 
 Fra GaMino being gone, "All those walnuts ! " 
 exclaimed Agnes, " in such a year as this." 
 
 " Pardon me, mamma," replied Lucia, "but 
 if we had given alms like the rest, Fra Galdi- 
 no would nave had to wander about heaven 
 knows how long, before he had got his wallet 
 full. God knows when he would have got 
 back to the convent, and what with gossiping 
 here, and listening to long stories there, it is a 
 chance if lie would have remembered a word 
 of " 
 
 " Right, it was well thought of, and then be- 
 sides it is all charity, and that always pro- 
 duces good fruit," said Agnes, who with her 
 defects was a good woman, and would have 
 
 ! enaured any thing, for this her only daughter, 
 in whom she had placed all her delight. 
 
 Meantime Renzo arrived, and entering with 
 his countenance full of anger and shame at the 
 same time, he threw the capons upon a table, 
 and this was the last of the turbulent adven- 
 tures of the poor creatures for that day. 
 
 " Fine counsel you gave me," said he to 
 Agnes. " You have sent me to a very respect- 
 able man indeed, to one who truly likes to as- 
 sist poor people." And immediately he nar- 
 rated to her his conference with the doctor. 
 Stupefied at such a miserable result, she want- 
 ed to make out nevertheless that the advice 
 was good, and that Renzo must have failed in 
 ! doing things the right way ; but Lucia inter- 
 | rupted the dispute, announcing to him that 
 j she hoped she had found better aid. Renzo 
 embraced this hope, as they always do who 
 are in misfortune and difficulty. " But if the 
 father," said he, " finds no remedy, I will find 
 one in some mode or another." The women 
 advised peace, patience and prudence. 
 
 " Tomorrow," said Lucia, " father Christo- 
 pher will certainly come ; and you will see that 
 he will find out some expedient, which we poor 
 people can't imagine to ourselves." 
 
 " I hope so," said Renzo, "but in any event, 
 I shall know how to right myself, and to cause 
 justice to be done to me. There is justice 
 finally for this world !" 
 
 With these sorrowful colloquies, and with 
 the goings and returnings we have noticed, 
 the day passed over, and was now sinking in- 
 to the shades of evening. 
 
 " Good night," said Lucia sorrowfully to 
 Renzo, who could not muster resolution 
 enough to depart. 
 
 " Good night !" he replied, still more affect- 
 ed. 
 
 " Some saint will assist us," she replied ; 
 "be prudent, and be resigned." 
 
 The mother added other advice of the same 
 kind, and the bridegroom left the house "with a 
 tempest in his heart, always repeating those 
 strange words, " there is justice finally for this 
 world !" So true it is, that a man overcome by 
 great grief, no longer knows what he says. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE sun had not yet appeared above the 
 horizon, when father Christopher left his con- 
 vent of Pescarenico, to go up to the cottage 
 where he was expected. Pescarenico is a 
 small place on the banks of the Adda, or rather 
 of the lake, a few paces below the bridge ; con- 
 sisting of a group of houses, inhabited chiefly 
 by fishermen, and adorned here and there with 
 all sorts of nets spread out to dry. The con- 
 vent was situated (and the building yet exists) 
 out of the village, and in front of the entrance 
 to it ; the road which leads from Lecco to Ber-
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 garao being between. The sky was serene. 
 As the sun gradually arose from behind the 
 mountain, his beams could be traced, rapidly 
 descending from the summits of the opposite 
 heights, and spreading themselves below, 
 amongst the declivities, and in the valley. 
 An autumnal breeze, detaching the withered 
 leaves from the boughs of the mulberry, waft- 
 ed them on to drop a few paces from the tree. 
 In the vineyards to the right and to the left, 
 the yet extended branches presented all the 
 brilhancy of a foliage, rich in diversified tints 
 and hues ; and the recently worked threshing 
 floors, appeared brown and distinct, amongst 
 the fields of pale-colored stubble glistening 
 with dew. It was a glad scene, and the human 
 figure alone, wherever it was seen moving, 
 tinctured both the aspect and the feeling, with 
 sadness. At every step, lean and ragged beg- 
 gars were met, grown old in their trade, or 
 compelled by necessity to extend their hands. 
 They passed by the side of father Christopher 
 in silence, looking him pitifully in the lace, 
 and although they had nothing to hope from 
 him since capuchins never possess money 
 they made him a reverence of gratitude for 
 the alms which they had received, and which 
 they were again going to seek at the convent. 
 The spectacle of the laborers dispersed in the 
 fields had something, I know not what, still 
 more painful about it. Some of them were 
 casting their seeds, thin, sparingly, and with 
 reluctance, like one who is hazarding some- 
 thing very valuable : others were unwillingly 
 handling their shovels, and carelessly throw- 
 ing about the clods with them. The famished 
 girl, holding the lean and dried up cow in the 
 pasture by a cord, looking anxiously round, 
 and stooping down in haste to snatch from her, 
 as food for her own family, some herb, which 
 hunger had taught her would aid to sustain 
 life. At every step such spectacles increased 
 the sadness of the friar, who pursued his road 
 with the melancholy presentiment at heart, 
 that he was going to be made acquainted with 
 some new disaster. 
 
 But why was he so solicitous about Lucia ? 
 And why at the first notice did he nut himself 
 so anxiously in motion, as if he had been sum- 
 moned by an order of the provincial father ? 
 And who was this father Christopher ? We 
 must satisfy all these inquiries. 
 
 Father Christopher was a man nearer to 
 sixty than fifty years old. His shaved head, 
 with the exception of a small band of hair, that 
 cinctured it midway in the form of a crown, 
 according to the custom of the capuchins, 
 was lifted up from time to time with a move- 
 ment that disclosed something of a lofty and 
 unquiet feeling, although soon sinking down 
 again from a sense of humility. The grey and 
 long beard which covered his cheeks and his 
 chin, threw into greater relief the prominent 
 features of the upper part of his face, to which 
 an abstinence of long habit, had communicat- 
 ed infinitely more gravity than it had robbed 
 of expression. Hia two sunken eyes were 
 
 usually cast to the ground, but at times they 
 lighted up with a sudden vivacity, like two 
 freakish horses, driven by a coachman they 
 well know is not to be mastered, but now and 
 then giving a few capers they are sure to pay 
 for by a strong pull at the bit. 
 
 Father Christopher had not always been thus, 
 and indeed he had not always been Christo- 
 pher, for his baptismal name was Ludovico. 
 
 He was the son of a tradesman of , who 
 
 towards the close of his life, finding himself 
 in possession of a good fortune, and having 
 only one son, had renounced all business, and 
 led the life of a gentleman. 
 
 In this new indolence, he became ashamed 
 of all that period of his life which he had pass- 
 ed in any of the occupations of the world, 
 and, governed by this feeling, he took great 
 pains to obliterate every resemblance that he 
 had been engaged in trade. He would fain even 
 have forgotten it himself, but the warehouse, 
 the bales, the ledger, the yardwand, rose before 
 him, like the ghost of Banquo to Macbeth, even 
 amidst the ostentation of the feast, and the 
 flattery of his parasites. Great were the pains 
 taken by those miserable creatures, to avoid 
 every allusion that could possibly have any 
 bearing upon the former condition of their 
 host. One day, just to relate a particular in- 
 stance, towards the end of the dinner, at a 
 moment of the most lively and free merri- 
 riment, when it would have been difficult to 
 decide who was the happiest, those who des- 
 patched the good things, or those who provid- 
 ed them ; the host was encouraging, with a 
 friendly sort of authority, one of the guests, 
 who was the fairest and most honest gourmand 
 imaginable. This person, without the least 
 malice in the world, and with the frankness of 
 a child, to help along the joke, answered " my 
 ears are as quick as a shopkeepers." He was 
 not slow at perceiving the force of the words 
 he had uttered, and looked doubtingly at his 
 host, whose face suddenly became dark ; both 
 of them tried to rally, but it was no longer in 
 their power. Each of the other guests began 
 to consider how he might mitigate this awk- 
 ward blunder, and divert attention from it, but 
 whilst they were considering they were silent, 
 and this silence made the scandal stiil more 
 manifest. Every one avoided the eyes of the 
 rest, and was sensible that all were occupied 
 with the thought they all were desirous of con- 
 cealing. The mirtn for that day was at an 
 end, and the poor imprudent, or to speak plain- 
 er, unfortunate fellow, received no more invi- 
 tations. Thus the father of Ludovico passed 
 his latter years in perpetual fidgets, always 
 dreading to be scoffed at, not reflecting that to 
 I sell is not a whit more ridiculous than to buy, 
 | and that the occupation he was now so ashamed 
 ! of, he had followed a great many years, in the 
 presence of the public, and without any re- 
 morse. He caused his son to be educated 
 nobly, after the manner of the times, and to 
 as great an extent as the laws and customs pre- 
 mitted him. He gave him masters in polite
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 tetters, and in equestrian exercises, and when 
 he died, left him rich and young. 
 
 Ludovico had contracted gentlemanly hab- 
 its, and the adulators amongst whom he had 
 been brought up, had accustomed him to be 
 treated with great respect. But when he at- 
 tempted to mingle with the first class in the 
 city, he met with manners very different from | 
 those he had been accustomed to. He saw 
 that to live in such society, as he wished to do, 
 it would be necessary to go through a new 
 school of patience and submission, to follow 
 upon all occasions, and to swallow disagreea- 
 ble things at every instant. This mode of 
 life neither suited the education nor the natu- 
 ral temper of Ludovico. He withdrew from 
 this class piqued, but he kept aloof against his 
 will, because it appeared to him that his pro- 
 per companions were to be found there, if 
 they only had been a little more tractable. 
 With this mixture of inclination and dislike, 
 not being able to enjoy their familiar society, 
 and desirous still of being something in com- 
 mon with them, he attempted to rival them in 
 expense and magnificence, thus purchasing 
 with ready money, hatred, envy, and ridicule. 
 His natural temper at once honest and violent, 
 had engaged him early in other difficulties of 
 a more serious kind. He felt a spontaneous 
 and sincere detestation to every kind of extor- 
 tion and injury ; a detestation rendered still 
 more keen in him, by the practices of the per- 
 sons who were notorious wrong doers at the 
 time, and who were exactly the persons he 
 had taken otfence at. To appease, or rather 
 to employ all these passions at once, he wil- 
 lingly took the part of the feeble oppressed, 
 and stood in the way of the oppressor : having 
 got into one quarrel, he soon brought ano- 
 ther upon his back, and so little by little he 
 became an avowed protector of the weak and 
 an avenger of their wrongs. The occupation 
 was a burdensome one, and it was not neces- 
 sary to ask if the poor Ludovico had enemies, 
 encounters, and matter for reflection. Besides 
 this external war, he was continually harras- 
 sed with internal contests ; for in getting up 
 an enterprise (without mentioning those where 
 he was not the principal) it was necessary 
 himself to concert many means by intrigue 
 and violence, which his conscience could not j 
 afterwards approve of. He was obliged to 
 keep about him a good number of the worst 
 kind of Bravos ; and as much for his own se- 
 curity, as to have efficient aid, it was neces- 
 sary to select the most desperate, that is the 
 greatest scoundrels, and thus live amongst vil- 
 lains for the sake of justice. So much so, 
 that more than once either discouraged from 
 bad success, or disturbed by some imminent 
 danger, annoyed by being continually on his 
 guard, sickened to death with his companions, 
 and thoughtful for the future, in relation to his 
 means, which were daily wasting away in 
 good works, and fine undertakings, it more 
 than once came into his head to become a friar, 
 a not uncommon mode in those days of getting 
 
 out of great scrapes. But this notion, which 
 would nave existed in his imagination, per- 
 haps, all his life, became a determination, by 
 the most serious and terrible accident which 
 had ever happened to him. 
 
 He was walking one day in a street of the 
 town where he lived, accompanied by an old 
 foreman of the shop, whom his father had 
 transformed into a major dome, and with two 
 Bravos in his train. The major domo, named 
 Christopher, was a man about fifty years old, 
 devoted from his youth to the master whose 
 birth he had witnessed, and through whose 
 liberality he lived and provided for a wife and 
 eight children. Ludovico saw a personage 
 appear at a distance, who was an arrogant op- 
 pressor by profession ; he had never spoken 
 with him in the course of his life, but the man 
 was his bitter enemy, and he detested him 
 just as cordially. It is a great advantage we 
 have in this world, to be able to hate and to be 
 hated, without being acquainted with each 
 other. 
 
 This personage, followed by four Bravos, 
 advanced erect, with a superb air, his head 
 aloft, and his lips expressive of arrogance and 
 contempt. Both of them were walking close 
 to the wall, but Ludovico had it upon his right 
 hand, and this, according (o a custom, gave 
 him the privilege (where no one ever attempts 
 to interfere with the right) to keep the wall, 
 and not to permit any one whatever to pass 
 between ; and upon this privilege a very great 
 value was set in those times. The person 
 who was now meeting him, insisted that the 
 right belonged to him as a nobleman, and that 
 it was the place of Ludovico to give the wall, 
 in conformity to another custom. Touching 
 this matter, there existed, as it occurs in ma- 
 ny other things, two opposing customs, with- 
 out its having been decided which was the 
 most proper, so that a fair opportunity for a 
 quarrel offered itself, every time that two hot- 
 heads clashed together in this way. These 
 two were now drawing close, each of them 
 getting as nigh as he could to the wall, and 
 looking like two walking figures in basso re- 
 lievo. When they were face to face, the 
 other, looking at Ludovico with a lofty air, 
 and an imperious frown, said to him, in a cor- 
 responding tone of voice, " Move away from 
 the wall!" 
 
 " Move away, yourself," replied Ludovico, 
 " the wall is mine." 
 
 " With men of your class the wall always be- 
 longs to me." 
 
 " Yes, if the arrogance of men like you was 
 a law for my equals." 
 
 The two trains remained still, each behind 
 their chief, scowiing at each other like angry 
 dogs, with their hands on their daggers, pre- 
 pared for battle. The people who were pass- 
 ing in the street, drew back to observe their 
 proceedings, and the presence of these specta- 
 tors sharpened still more the punctilious feel- 
 ing of the disputants. 
 
 " Make way, vile mechanic, or I'll teach
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 you at once what manners you ought to ob- 
 serve to gentlemen." 
 
 " You lie, when you call me vile." 
 
 " You are a liar for telling me I lie, and if 
 you were a cavalier as I am, added he, I 
 would show you with the sword and cape, 
 that you are the liar." 
 
 "An excellent pretext to excuse yourself 
 from sustaining by facts the insolence of your 
 words." 
 
 " Throw this scoundrel into the mud," said 
 the cavalier, turning round to his men. 
 
 " Let us see, first," said Ludovico, quickly 
 drawing back, and carrying his hand to his 
 sword. 
 
 " Insolent ! cried out the other, unsheathing 
 his own, " but I will break this, when it has 
 been stained with such blood as thine." 
 
 Thus they rushed upon each other, the ser- 
 rants on both sides coming to the defence of 
 their masters. The combat was unequal, both 
 in numbers, and because Ludovico sought ra- 
 ther to avoid the thrusts and to disarm his 
 enemy, than to slay him ; but nothing but 
 blood would satisfy the other. Ludovico had 
 already received on his left arm a stab from 
 one pi the Bravos, and a slight scratch on one 
 of his cheeks, and his principal antagonist, the 
 cavalier, was rushing to despatch him, when 
 Christopher, seeing his master in extreme 
 danger, drew his dagger to aid him. The 
 cavalier turning all his rage against Christo- 
 pher, ran him through with Ins sword. At 
 this sight, Ludovico, like one besides himself, 
 plunged his own into the body of his enemy, 
 who fell to the ground, dying almost at the 
 same moment with poor Christopher. The 
 Bravos of the dying man, seeing their leader 
 fall, took to flight, not with whole skins ; and 
 those of Ludovico too, pretty well mauled and 
 cut, not finding any thing more to do, took to 
 their heels, unwilling to get into further trou- 
 bles from the people who were running to 
 the place. Ludovico thus found himself alone, 
 with those two fatal companions at his feet, in 
 the midst of a crowd. 
 
 " What has happened ? There is one there 
 is two of them ! What a button hole he has 
 made in his paunch ! Who has been killed ? 
 That proud fellow, there ! Oh, holy Maria, 
 what destruction ! He who seeks is sure to 
 find once pays for all and so he is done for! 
 What a blow ! This is a serious piece of bu- 
 siness. And that other poor fellow ! Mercy ! 
 what a spectacle ! Save him, save him, he is 
 in for it too, See how they have used him, 
 how he is bleeding! Escape, poor follow, 
 escape, don't let yourself be taken." 
 
 These words, which rose above the tumul- 
 tuous din made by the crowd, expressed the 
 common voice, and with counsel aid came 
 hand in hand. The assault had happened 
 near a church of the capuchins, an asylum, 
 as every one knows, impenetrable then to the 
 police, and all that complexity of things and 
 persons which went under the name of justice. 
 The wounded homicide was conducted, or 
 
 rather carried there out of the crowd, almost 
 insensible, and the friars received him from 
 the hands of the people, who recommended 
 him to them, saying, " It is a very respectable 
 man, who has stittened one of these superb 
 rascals ; he did it in his own defence, and was 
 dragged into the business by the hair of his 
 head." 
 
 Ludovico had never before spilt blood, and 
 although homicides in those days were so 
 common, that the ears of every one were ac- 
 customed to hear of them, and their eyes to 
 witness them, still the impression which he 
 received from beholding the corpse of the man 
 who died for him, and that of the man who 
 had died by him, was new and inexpressible ; 
 it produced a revelation of feeling to him 
 hitherto unknown. The falling down of his 
 enemy, the change of those features, which 
 passed in a moment from threatening and fury, 
 to the submission and quiet solemnity of death, 
 was a spectacle which produced a complete 
 change in the mind of the slayer. Dragged, as 
 it were, to the convent, he scarcely knew where 
 he was, or what he was doing, and when mem- 
 ory returned, he found himself in one of the 
 beds of the convent infirmary, in the hands of 
 the surgeon friar, (the capuchins usually had 
 one in every convent) who was applying ban- 
 dages and lint to the wounds he had received 
 in the encounter. One of the fathers, whose 
 particular charge it was to attend the dying, 
 and who had frequently rendered services of 
 that character whilst in the streets, was soon 
 called to the place of combat. Returning a 
 few minutes afterwards, he entered the infir- 
 mary, and approaching the bed where Ludo- 
 vico laid, said to him, " At least he died well, 
 and desired me to ask your pardon, and to 
 carry you his own." These words brought 
 Ludovico completely to himself, and awakened 
 in him, in a still more distinct and lively man- 
 ner, the confused and troubled feelings of his 
 soul : grief for his friend, dread and remorse 
 for the fatal blow w hich had escaped him, and 
 at the same time, a compassionate anguish for 
 the man he had slain. "And the other?" he 
 anxiously inquired of the friar. 
 
 " The other had expired before I arrived." 
 
 In the mean time the streets leading to the 
 convent, and the neighborhood, swarmed with 
 curious people, but the police being arrived, 
 forced the crowd to retreat, so that they could 
 establish themselves near the gates, and iMvt too 
 far off to permit any one to leave the convent 
 unobserved. A brother of the deceased, two of 
 his cousins, and an ancient uncle, also came 
 armed from head to foot, with a great retinue 
 of Bravos, and began to go the rounds, watch- 
 ing with angry looks and menacing gestures 
 the idle crowd, who had written on their faces, 
 what they did not dare to say, " They deserve 
 what they have got." 
 
 Scarce had Ludovico recovered his thoughts, 
 than, having sent for a friar confessor, he en- 
 treated him to seek out the widow of Christo- 
 pher, and to ask her, in his name, to pardou
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 ve 
 ? 
 
 him for having been the cause, although most 
 certainly the involuntary one, of her desolate 
 situation, at the same time assuring her he 
 would take upon himself the care of her fami- 
 ly. Reflecting further upon his affairs, he felt 
 the revival within himself, in a still more lively 
 and serious manner, of that desire to become a 
 friar, which at other times had occupied his 
 mind ; it seemed to him, as if God had direct- 
 ed his steps, and given him a sign of his will, 
 by causing him to be brought to that convent, 
 at such a juncture, and his determination was 
 taken. He desired the guardian of the con- 
 vent to be called, and communicated to him 
 his design. He was answered, that hasty reso- 
 lutions were to be avoided, but that if he per- 
 sisted in his intention, he would not be re- 
 fused. Upon which, having sent for a notary 
 he dictated a donation of all the property that 
 he still had, (not a small patrimony,) to the 
 family of Christopher, a particular sum to the 
 widow, as if he was constituting a dowry for 
 her, and the remainder to her children. 
 
 The resolution of Ludovico came opportune- 
 ly for his hosts, who on his account had got 
 into no small difficulty. To drive him from 
 the convent, and expose him to justice, that is, 
 to the vengeance of his enemies, was not a 
 course .they could even deliberate upon. It 
 would have been equal to a renunciation of their 
 own privileges : to the discrediting of the con- 
 ventwith the people. It would have drawn the 
 
 imadversion of all the capuchins in the 
 world down upon them for having betrayed the 
 rights of all, and have roused against them all 
 the ecclesiastical authorities, which consider- 
 ed themselves the guardians of these rights. 
 On the other side, the family of the slain cava- 
 lier, extremely powerful and strong in adhe- 
 rents had adopted means to take vengeance,and 
 had declared every one fceir enemy, who should 
 oppose them in any manner. How far this 
 death was a {rue cause of grief to them, how 
 many tears were shed on his account by his 
 connexions, the story does not relate, it only 
 says that they were inflamed with the desire to 
 have the homicide in their power, dead or alive. 
 
 But this determination to put on the capu- 
 chin habit reconciled every thing. To a cer- 
 tain extent it made amends ; it imposed a peni- 
 tence upon himself; it acknowledged himself 
 to be implicitly in fault ; it was withdrawing 
 himself from all future quarrels ; it was in fact 
 assuming the position of an enemy who lays 
 down his arms. The relations of the defunct 
 might even, if they chose, believe and vaunt 
 that he had become a friar through despair and 
 terror of their resentment ; and, at any rate, to 
 bring a man to the point of alienating his pro- 
 perty, shaving his head, walking barefoot, 
 sleeping upon straw, and living upon alms, 
 would seem a sufficient punishment for of- 
 fences of the very worst character. The fa- 
 ther guardian presented himself with an unaf- 
 fected humility to the brother of the deceased, 
 and after many protestations of respect for his 
 illustrious house, and of a desire to propitiate 
 
 them in every practicable way, spoke of the 
 repentance of Ludovico, and of his determina- 
 tion : giving him to understand, in the most 
 courteous manner, that his house had reason 
 to be satisfied ; and insinuating in a very mild 
 and still more dexterous language, that whe- 
 ther they were satisfied or not, the matter 
 must rest here. The brother went into a fury, 
 which the capuchin permitted to evaporate, 
 saying from time to time, " Your griet is too 
 just." He gave him to understand that in any 
 case his family would not lack the means of 
 getting satisfaction, and the capuchin, what- 
 ever his opinion might be, took care not to 
 contradict him. Finally he required, and im- 
 posed as a condition, that the slayer of his bro- 
 ther should immediately leave the city. The 
 capuchin who had already determined upon 
 this, said that it should be so, leaving him to 
 believe, if he liked, that this was an act of obe- 
 dience, and so every thing was concluded. 
 The family was content, because they had got 
 rid of a disagreeble affair; the friars were 
 content, because they had saved a man, as well 
 as their privileges, without making an enemy ; 
 the cavaliers were content, because the af- 
 fair had been brought to a satisfactory termi- 
 nation ; the people were content, because a 
 man whom they liked, was extricated from a 
 difficulty, and because at the same time they 
 admired conversions ; finally, more content than 
 all the rest, in the midst of his grief, was Lu- 
 dovico, who was now to enter upon a life of 
 expiation, and of service, that might, if it did 
 not repair, at least atone for his deed, and 
 deaden the intolerable sting of remorse. The 
 suspicion that his determination might be at- 
 tributed to fear, afflicted him a moment, but he 
 soon consoled himself with the reflection that 
 even that unjust judgment would be a chas- 
 tisement for him, and a means of expiation. 
 Thus, at the age of thirty years, he wrapped 
 himself in the sackcloth of the capuchins, and 
 obliged, according to custom, to abandon his 
 own name, and to take another, he selected 
 one that at every moment should remind him 
 of the cause of his expiation, and called him- 
 self friar Christopher. 
 
 Scarcely was the ceremony of investiture 
 completed, when the father guardian intimated 
 
 to him, that his noviciate must be passed at 
 
 sixty miles off, and that he must depart the 
 next day. The noviciate bowed reverently, 
 and asked a favor. " Suffer me, father," said 
 he, " ere I leave this city, where I have shed 
 the blood of a man, where I leave a family 
 deeply offended, that I remove the affront, 
 that I show at least my remorse at not being 
 able to repair the injury I have done, by asking 
 pardon of the brother of the deceased, and of re- 
 moving, if it is God's pleasure, the rancor from 
 his soul." It seemed to the guardian, that such 
 an act, besides being good in itself, would as- 
 sist to reconcile the ramily still more to the 
 convent, and he immediately went to the bro- 
 ther, to communicate to him the request of fri- 
 ar Christopher. At so unexpected a proposi-
 
 26 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 taon, the brother experienced, with his aston 
 ishinent, a movement of anger, mixed how 
 ever with complacency. After having re 
 fleeted a moment, " Let him come tomorrow,' 
 said he, and named the hour. The guardiar 
 returned to communicate to the noviciate the 
 desired permission. 
 
 Tlie cavalier soon perceived that the mon 
 solemn and public this act of submission was 
 the more his credit with his connections anc 
 with the public would increase, and that i 
 would be (to clothe it in an elegant phrase o 
 modern times) aline page in the history of the 
 family. In great haste he sent advice to al 
 his relatives, that on the next day, at noon, they 
 should convene at his mansion, to receive 
 common satisfaction. At noon, the palace was 
 crowded with personages of every age and 
 every sex, with a circling about, a mixing up ol 
 immense capes, of lofty plumes, a cautious 
 movement of starched and crisped ruffs, and a 
 confused dragging about of arabesque symars.* 
 The antichambers, the court yard, and the 
 street swarmed with servants, pages, Bravos, 
 and idle people. Friar Christopher saw all 
 this preparation, and in divining the cause, 
 experienced a slight perturbation ; but an in- 
 stant after, he said to nimself " It is well I 
 slew him in public, in the presence of so many 
 of his enemies. That was a dishonor, and 
 this is a reparation." Thus, with his eyes on 
 the grouncl, with the father at his side for a 
 companion, he passed the gate of the mansion, 
 and crossed the court yard through a crowd 
 that stared at him with an unceremonious cu- 
 riosity. Ascending the stairs, through another 
 crowd of gentleiolks, who made room for 
 him to pass, followed by a hundred curious 
 eyes, he arrived in the presence of the master 
 of the house, who, surrounded by his nearest 
 relatives, stood erect in the midst of the hall, 
 his chin lifted up, his eves bent downwards, 
 with his left hand grasping the pummel of his 
 sword, and drawing, with his right, the cape 
 of his cloak upon his breast. 
 
 There is, at times, in the countenance, and 
 in the deportment of a man, an expression so 
 remarkable, that it may be said to be an eflu- 
 sion of the soul within ; so that there can, in a 
 crowd of spectators, be but one opinion con- 
 cerning it. The countenance and deportment 
 of friar Christopher, revealed at once to the 
 beholders that he had not become a friar, nor 
 offered himself to so much humiliation through 
 human fear, and all their minds began to be 
 conciliated to him. When he saw the injured 
 brother, he quickened his pace, knelt before 
 him, crossed his hands upon his breast, and 
 bowing down his shaven head, said these 
 words : " I am the homicide of your brother. 
 God knows I would restore him to you at 
 the cost of my own blood, but having nothing 
 but inefficacious and tardy excuses to make 
 to you, I beseech you to accept them for God's 
 sake." AH eyes were immoveably fixed upon 
 
 ' A long dress. 
 
 the noviciate, and to the person to whom he 
 addressed himself; every ear was intent. When 
 brother Christopher ceased to speak, a murmur 
 of compassion and respect ; arose in the hall. 
 The cavalier, who stood in an attitude ot 
 forced complacency, and of repressed anger, 
 was moved by these words, and stooping to- 
 wards the kneeling supplicant, he answered 
 with a disturbed voice, " The offence the act 
 truly but the habit you wear not this alone, 
 but also you, yourself rise, father my bro- 
 ther I cannot deny it was a cavalier a 
 man somewhat hasty somewhat quick. But 
 all things are ruled by God let no more be 
 said. But, father, you must not remain in this 
 posture ;" and, taking him by the arm, he 
 raised him up. Brother Christopher, stand- 
 ing up, but with his head drooping, answered, 
 " I may, then, hope that you have granted ine 
 your pardon ; and if I obtain it from you, from 
 whom may I not hope to obtain it ! Oh ! if I 
 could only hear from your lips these words, 
 'I pardon you!' " 
 
 " I pardon you ?" said the cayalier, < you 
 have no occasion for it. But, indeed, since 
 you desire it, I pardon you from my heart, 
 and all" 
 
 'All, all," cried out at once the assembled 
 company. The countenance of the friar once 
 more expanded itself with grateful joy ; be- 
 neath which still appeared a numble and pro- 
 bund compunction for a deed, to which the 
 remission of men was insufficient. The cava- 
 ier, overcome by his aspect, and by the gene- 
 ral agitation, threw his arms around the neck 
 of Christopher, and exchanged the kiss of 
 >eace with him. "Bravo, well done!" 
 >roke out from every part of the hall ; all were 
 n motion, and eager to approach the friar. In 
 he meantime, the servants brought great 
 quantities of refreshments. The cavalier, 
 again drawing near to Christopher, who was 
 ireparing to take his leave, said, " Father, be 
 'leased to take something or other, give me 
 his proof of your friendship." And he put 
 limself in the act of serving him before the 
 est ; but drawingback, with a kind of amia- 
 )le resistance, "These things," said he, "are 
 10 longer for me, but heaven forbid that I 
 hould refuse your gills. I am going a jour- 
 ney, be pleased then to cause a loaf to be 
 nven to me, that I may say I have enjoyed 
 r our charity, that I have eaten your bread, 
 nd received a sign of your pardon." The 
 avalier, touched, ordered this to be done ; and 
 major domo, dressed in great gala, immedi- 
 tely came, bringing a loaf in a silver salver, 
 nd presented it to the father, who having taken 
 , and given thanks, put it in his basket. He 
 icn asked permission to go, and having again 
 rnbraced the master 01 the house, and all 
 lose near enough to get hold of him, for a 
 noment, got away with difficulty. In the 
 ntichambers he had the same trouble to free 
 imself from the servants, and even from the 
 Iravos, who kissed the hem of his garment, 
 iis cordon, and hia cowl. Thus borne iuto
 
 I PROMESSl SPOSI. 
 
 27 
 
 the street in triumph, and accompanied by a 
 crowd of people, as far as one of the gates of 
 the city, he took his departure, beginning his 
 pedestrian journey towards the place of his 
 noviciate. 
 
 The brother of the deceased cavalier, and 
 his relatives, who had prepared themselves on 
 that day to taste the miserable pleasures of a 
 gratified pride, had their hearts filled with that 
 serene joy, which pardon and benevolence in- 
 spire. The company remained some time in 
 unusual cordiality and cheerfulness, indulging 
 in reasonings and feelings for which no one 
 had been prepared. Instead of satisfactions 
 rendered, an assault vindicated, and enterprizes 
 abandoned, the praises of the noviciate, recon- 
 ciliations, and benignity, were the themes of 
 their conversation. And such a one, who for 
 the fiftieth time would have related, how 
 Count Muzio, his father, knew, in a famous 
 juncture, how to put a stop to that Marquis 
 Stanislaus, who was a rodomont known to 
 every body; in the place of it, dwelt upon the 
 penitences and the wonderful patience of a 
 brother Simon, who died many years before. 
 The company being gone, the master of the 
 house, yet affected oy his emotions, again re- 
 volved in his mind, with surprise, what he had ' 
 heard, and what he himself had said, and mut- 
 tered between his teeth " The devil take 
 that friar ! (We must give his precise words.) 
 The devil take that fnar ! if he had remained 
 any longer on his knees, I should have been 
 almost tor begging him to excuse me, because 
 he had killed my brother." Our history ex- 
 pressly notes that from that day he became a 
 little less impetuous, and more manageable. 
 
 Father Christopher walked on with a conso- 
 lation at heart he had never experienced since 
 that terrible day, to expiate which his whole 
 life was to be consecrated. Silence was im- 
 posed on noviciates, and he observed the in- 
 junction without pain, entirely absorbed in the 
 thought of the fatigues, the privations, and the 
 humiliations that he must endure, in order to 
 atone for his fault. At the hour of repast, he 
 stopped at a benevolent person's, and ate with 
 a kind of voluptuousness of the bread of par- 
 don, but spared a crust of it, and placed it in 
 his basket, to preserve it as a perpetual re- 
 membrance. 
 
 It is not our design to enter upon the histo- 
 ry of his cloisteral life ; we shall only say, that 
 discharging always with good will and great 
 care the duties which were ordinarily assigned 
 to him, of preaching and of assisting the dying, 
 he never permitted an occasion to pass by of 
 discharging two other duties he had imposed 
 upon himself; of making up quarrels, and of 
 protecting the oppressed. In this way he in- 
 dulged, without being aware of it, in some 
 degree his ancient habits, and some little re- 
 mains of that belligerent spirit, which humili- 
 ations and mortifications had not been able en- 
 tirely to extinguish in him. His conversation 
 was habitually mild and humble, but when the 
 subject was oppugnancy to justice and truth, 
 
 he became at once animated with his old feel- 
 ings and warmth, which mixed up with, and 
 modified by, that solemn emphasis, which the 
 habit of preaching had given him, impressed 
 his discourse with a singular character. His 
 whole deportment, as well as his aspect, an- 
 nounced a long contest between a quick and 
 hasty nature, and an opposing will, habitually 
 victorious, always on the alert, and governed 
 by lofty motives and inspirations. One of his 
 brethren, and a friend of his, who knew him 
 well, once compared him to those words too 
 expressive in their natural form, which some 
 persons, however well bred, when passion 
 rules, pronounce in a suppressed manner, and 
 even changing a letter or two ; words which, 
 however disguised, remind one of their primi- 
 tive energy. 
 
 If a poor unknown girl, as in the melancho- 
 ly case of Lucia, had asked the assistance of 
 father Christopher, he would have given it to 
 her immediately. But, knowing it was Lucia, 
 he went to her aid with the greater solicitude, 
 because he knew and admired her innocence ; 
 had trembled at the danger she was exposed 
 to, and felt a lively indignation at the brutal 
 persecution of which she was the object. To 
 this also may be added, that having advised 
 her, as the best course, to say nothing for the 
 present, and to remain quiet, lie was afraid the 
 advice had produced a bad effect ; and to the 
 solicitude of true charity, which in him was, 
 as it were, innate, was added, in this case, that 
 scrupulous anxiety, which often torments the 
 good. 
 
 But whilst we are occupied in relating the 
 affairs of father Christopher, he is arrived, pre- 
 sents himself to the door, and the women, drop- 
 ping the handle of the revolving and screak- 
 ing wheel, jumped up, crying at the same 
 time, " Here's father Christopher ! God bless 
 him!" 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AND there stood the identical father Chris- 
 topher, erect upon the threshold, who, with a 
 single glance at the women, could not fail to 
 perceive that his presentiments had not de- 
 ceived him. Whence, with that tone of inter- 
 rogation which precedes a sorrowful answer, 
 and raising his beard, by throwing his 
 head back with a slight movement, he said, 
 " Well, then ?" Lucia answered by a burst of 
 tears. The mother began by making excuses 
 for having dared but advancing and seat- 
 ing himself upon a small bench with three 
 legs, he cut all excuses short, saying to Lucia, 
 " Tranquilize yourself, poor girl ! and you," 
 turning to Agnes, " tell me what has happen- 
 ed." ^Wliilst the good woman told her sad 
 story in the best way she could, the friar 
 turned a thousand colors, and sometimes raised
 
 28 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 his eyes to heaven, sometimes beat the floor 
 with his feet. The story being told, he covered 
 his face with both his hands, and exclaimed, 
 " Oh, blessed God, to what point ! " but with- 
 out finishing the phrase, turning again to 
 the women, " Poor creatures," he said ; " God 
 has visited you, poor Lucia ! ;> 
 
 "You will not abandon us, father?" said 
 Lucia, sobbing. 
 
 " Abandon you !" replied he, " Great God ! 
 with what face could I ask any thing for my- 
 self, if I were to abandon you ? You, in this 
 condition ! You, whom he has confided to me ! 
 Do not lose your courage ; he will assist you. 
 He sees every thing; he can even make use of 
 a man who is nothing like myself, to con- 
 found a let us see, let us think upon what can 
 be done." 
 
 Saying this, he leaned his left elbow upon 
 his knee, lowered his forehead into his palm, 
 and with his right hand grasped his beard and 
 his chin, as if to hold all the powers of his mind 
 firm and united. But the most attentive con- 
 sideration only served to convince him dis- 
 tinctly how pressing and intricate the case was, 
 and how few, how uncertain, and how dan- 
 gerous were the remedies. To penetrate Don 
 Abbondio with shame, and make him sensible 
 how he had failed in his duty ? But shame 
 and duty were nothing to a man like him, un- 
 der the influence of fear. To make him afraid ? 
 What means have I to create a greater appre- 
 hension in him, than that which he has of be- 
 ing fired at? To inform the cardinal arch- 
 bishop, and invoke his authority ? That will 
 be a long business, and in the meantime and 
 afterwards ? When even this unhappy inno- 
 cent should become a wife, would that bridle 
 this man ? Who knows how far he might 
 go ? And then to resist him ? How ? Ah ! 
 if I could get my brethren here, those of Milan, 
 
 to ! But this is not a common affair ; I 
 
 should be abandoned. He pretends to be a 
 friend to the convent, gives himself out for a 
 partisan of the capuchins, and his own villan- 
 ous dependents and tools, have they not more 
 than once taken refuge with us ? I should be 
 left alone, and should be called a disturber, an 
 cmbroiler, a quarrelsome man, and, what is 
 more, I might also, by an injudicious attempt, 
 make this poor girl's situation still worse. Ha- 
 ving compared all the reasons for and against 
 this and the other plan, it appeared to him best 
 to see Don Rodngo himself, to endeavor to 
 dissuade him from his infamous intention, by 
 supplications, and by terrors of another world, 
 if it were possible to inspire him with such. 
 At the worst, in this manner it might be dis- 
 covered more clearly how far he was deter- 
 mined to pursue his vile plan, to discover 
 something more of it, and take further coun- 
 sel. 
 
 Whilst the friar was thus meditating, Renzo, 
 who, for the various reasons which may be 
 divined, was unable to keep far from the 
 house, had appeared at the door ; but perceiv- 
 ing the fattier absorbed, and the women ma- 
 
 king signs not to disturb him, stood upon the 
 threshold in silence. Raising his face to com- 
 municate to the women his intention, the friar 
 perceived him, and saluted him in a way that 
 expressed an habitual affection, rendered more 
 intense by pity. 
 
 " Have tney told you, father ?" asked Ren- 
 zo with a troubled voice. 
 
 " Too much, and on that account I am 
 here." 
 
 " What does your worship say of that scoun- 
 drel ?" 
 
 " What would you that I should say of him ? 
 he is far off, and words will profit nothing. I 
 say to thee, Renzo, that thou must trust in 
 God, and that he will not abandon thee." 
 
 " Blessed are your words," exclaimed the 
 youth. " Your worship is not one of those who 
 are always against poor people. But the cu- 
 rate and that signer doctor " 
 
 " Don't talk of what can serve to no pur- 
 pose but to vex thyself uselessly. I am a poor 
 friar, but I repeat to thee what I have said to 
 these women, for the little that I am worth, I 
 will not abandon you." 
 
 "Oh, you are not like the friends of the 
 world. Useless creatures ! who would have 
 believed the protestations they made me at 
 one time ; yes, yes, they were ready to give 
 their blood for me, they would have maintain- 
 ed me against the devil ! If I had had an ene- 
 my ? I had only to speak a word, and he would 
 not have eaten much more bread. And now, 
 only to see how they draw back." At this 
 point, the speaker saw by the clouded counte- 
 nance of him who listened to him, that he had 
 said a very silly thing, and wanting to mend 
 it, went on embarrassing and embroiling him- 
 self, " I meant to say I did not at all intend 
 that is I meant " 
 
 " What did you mean to say ? How then ? 
 You wanted to destroy my work before I had 
 begun it ! It is well that you have been unde- 
 ceived in time. What ! you was looking for 
 friends what sort of friends ? Such as could 
 not have assisted you if they had wished it. 
 And you was going to lose the only one who 
 can and who will help you ! Dost thou not 
 know that God is the friend of all in tribula- 
 tion, who trust in him ? Dost thou not know 
 that it does the weak no good to show their 
 teeth ? And even when" at this point, he 
 clasped strongly the arm of Renzo ; his aspect, 
 without losing any authority, was lighted up 
 with a solemn compunction, his eyes drooped, 
 his voice became slow and as it were subterra- 
 nean " and even when they do it, it is a terri- 
 ble cast ! Renzo, wilt thou confide in me ? 
 What do I say in me, a poor miserable man, 
 an insignificant friar ? Wilt thou confide in 
 God?" 
 
 " Oh yes," answered Renzo," he is the lord 
 in truth:" 
 
 " Well, promise that thou wilt offend, wilt 
 provoke no one, that thou wilt be guided by 
 
 " I promise it.'
 
 I PROMESSISPOSI. 
 
 Lucia gave a great sigh, as if she had been 
 relieved from a heavy weight, and Agnes said 
 "Bravo, son!" 
 
 " Hear me, children," resumed brother 
 Christopher ; " I will go to day and speak with 
 that man. If God touches his heart, and gives 
 strength to my words, well ; and if not, he 
 will point out some other remedy to us. In the 
 meantime, be tranquil, keep retired, avoid all 
 talking, do not show yourselves. This even- 
 ing, or tomorrow at farthest, you will see me 
 again." Having said this he cut short all thanks 
 and blessings and departed. Taking the road 
 to the convent, he arrived in season to join the 
 chorus in the pscilms, dined, and immediately 
 began his expedition to the den of the wild 
 beast he had undertaken to tame. 
 
 The extensive palace of Don Rodrigo stood in 
 an isolated position, resembling a small town, 
 upon the summit of one of those promontories 
 which jut out numerously on that coast. It 
 was higher up than the village of the lovers, 
 distant perhaps three miles, and from the con- 
 vent, four. At the foot of the promontory, on 
 the part looking towards the lake, was a heap 
 of miserable cabins, inhabited by the country 
 people of Don Rodrigo, the little capital of his 
 small kingdom. It sufficed to pass there, to 
 comprehend the customs and state of the place. 
 A single glance at the rooms on the ground 
 floor, where a door was open, disclosed arque- 
 busses, hoes, rakes, straw hats, nets and pow- 
 der horns, hanging confusedly together from 
 the walls. The men you met were gross and 
 rude, with a great tuft thrown back on the 
 head, and enclosed in a net; the old ones w r ho 
 had lost their teeth, seemed always ready, and 
 without any one urging them, to grind their 
 jaws together; and the women had strange 
 masculine faces, and nervous arms, excellent 
 to come in aid of their tongues at the first oc- 
 casion ; in the countenances and gestures 
 even of the children who played in the street, 
 there was something at once daring and inso- 
 lent. 
 
 Brother Christopher traversed the hamlet, 
 ascending by a winding path, and came upon 
 a small terrace in front of the palace. The 
 gate was shut, a sign that the master was di- 
 ning, and did not wish to be disturbed. The 
 few and small windows which looked upon 
 the road, closed by shutters disconnected, and 
 decayed with age, were nevertheless defended 
 by thick iron bars, and those of the ground 
 floor were raised so high, that a man could 
 scarce reach to them if mounted on the shoul- 
 ders of another. A profound silence reigned, 
 and a passenger might have thought that it was 
 an abandoned house, if four creatures, two 
 alive and two dead, placed symmetrically 
 without, had not given indications of inha- 
 bitants. Two large vultures, their wings fully 
 stretched out, and their heads dangling down, 
 one of them without feathers, and haft wast- 
 ed away by time, the other yet sound and in 
 plumage, were each nailed upon a post of the 
 principal gate ; and two Bravos, each stretched 
 
 out upon one of the benches placed there 
 right and left, kept guard, waiting to be called 
 to partake of the leavings of their master's ta- 
 ble. The father stopped immediately, with 
 the act of a person disposing himself to wait , 
 but one of the Bravos rose, and said to him, 
 " Father, father, you can come forward, we 
 don't make capuchins wait here ; we are 
 friends of the convent, and I have been there 
 in certain moments, when the air out doors, was 
 not very wholesome for me, and if they had 
 not let me in, it would have gone hard with 
 me." Saying this, he struck two strokes with 
 the hammer on the bell. At that sound, the 
 howling and barking of mastiffs and dogs, soon 
 answered from within, and a few moments af- 
 ter an old servant came grumbling along, but 
 seeing the father, he made him a low bow, qui- 
 eted the animals with his hands and voice, 
 and introduced him into a narrow court yard 
 and shut the door. Escorting him then into a 
 small parlor, and looking at him with a certain 
 air of wonder and respect, he said, 
 
 " Is not this father Christopher of Pescare- 
 nico ?" 
 
 " Exactly so." 
 
 "He, here !" 
 
 " As you see, good man." 
 
 " It will be to do good ! good," continued 
 he, murmuring between his teeth, and walking 
 on, " good can be done every where." Hav- 
 ing passed through two or three small rooms 
 they reached the door of the banqueting hall. 
 From thence was heard a confused rumbling of 
 knives and forks, glasses, metal plates, and 
 above all of discordant voices seeking to over- 
 bear each other. The friar was desirous of 
 keeping back, and was urging the servant at 
 the door, to permit him to remain in some cor- 
 ner of the place, until the repast was over, 
 when the door opened. A certain Count At- 
 tilio who sat opposite to him, (he was cousin 
 to the master of the house, and we have al- 
 ready mentioned, without naming him,) see- 
 ing a tunic and a shaved head, and aware of 
 the modest intention of the good friar, " Ay, 
 ay," he called out, " don't run away, reverend 
 father, come forward, come forward." Don 
 Rodrigo, without guessing precisely the ob- 
 ject ot his visit, still, from a sort of confused 
 presentiment, would have excused it. But 
 since the thoughtless Attilio had already call- 
 ed him so distinctly, he could not appear back- 
 wards in the matter, and said, " Come in, fa- 
 ther, come in." He advanced, bowing to the 
 master, and returning the salutations of the 
 guests with both his hands. 
 
 When an honest man is with a scoundrel, 
 he is generally, (I do not say it of every one,) 
 pleased to imagine that he may carry a lofty 
 front, a confident look, a raised up breast, and 
 a free tongue. In fact, however, many circum- 
 stances must concur, such as are rarely com- 
 bined, to enable a man to take an attitude of 
 that kind. For this reason, it ought not to be 
 deemed surprising, if brother Christopher, 
 with the good testimony of his own conscience,
 
 30 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 with a firm opinion of the justice of the cause 
 he came to sustain, and a mingled sentiment 
 of horror and compassion towards Don Rodri- 
 
 o, should stand there with a certain air of 
 ashfulness and submission at the aspect ot 
 that same Don Rodrigo, seated there in his 
 chair, in his house, in his own territory, sur- 
 rounded by friends, homages, and indications 
 of power, with a physiognomy that forbade 
 the utterance of any request, to say nothing of 
 advice, correction, or reproach, On his right 
 sat Count Attilio his cousin, and if it is neces- 
 sary to say so, his colleague in libertinism and 
 excesses, who had come from Milan to rural- 
 ize a few days with him. On his left, and on 
 the other side of the table, sat, with great re- 
 spect, tempered however, with a sort of confi- 
 dence, ana something like presumption, the 
 signer podesta or magistrate, the identical per- 
 son, according to the proclamation, whose du- 
 ty it would have been to render justice to 
 Renzo Tramaglino, and to punish Don Rodri- 
 go. Opposite to the podesta, with a respect 
 the most pure, the most devoted, was seated 
 our Doctor Azzecca-garbugli, in a black cloak, 
 and with his nose redder than usual. Front- 
 ing the two cousins, were two obscure guests, 
 respecting whom our story only observes, that 
 they did nothing but eat, bow their heads, 
 smile and approve every thing that was said by 
 the other guests, provided it was not contra- 
 dicted. 
 
 f Give the father a seat," said Don Rodrigo. 
 A servant brought a chair, upon which la- 
 ther Christopher sat down, excusing himself 
 to the master of the house for having come at 
 so inopportune a moment. " I should wish to 
 speak to you quite alone, about an affair of 
 importance," added he, with a low voice ad- 
 dressed to Don Rodrigo. 
 
 " Well, well, we will talk," he answered 
 "but in the meantime, give the father some- 
 thing to drink." 
 
 The father wanted to excuse himself, but 
 Don Rodrigo raising his voice, in the midst of 
 the talking which had again begun, called out, 
 " No, by Bacchus, you shall not do me so much 
 wrong ; it never shall be that a capuchin shall 
 fro away from this house, without having 
 tasted my wine, nor an insolent creditor with- 
 out having felt what grows in my woods, on 
 his shoulders. This sally was followed by a 
 general laugh, and interrupted for a moment 
 the dispute warmly kept up by the guests. A 
 servant, bringing upon a salver a vase con- 
 taining wine, and a long glass in the shape ol 
 a cup, presented them to the father, who, not 
 judging it prudent to resist so pressing an in- 
 vitation from the man it was so important for 
 him to propitiate, did not hesitate to pour out 
 the wine, and began to sip it slowly. 
 
 " The authority of Tasso does not suit your 
 case, very revered signer podesta ;"." nay, it is 
 against you," began to bawl out Don At- 
 tilio, " for that erudite scholar, that great man 
 who knows most minutely all the laws of chi 
 valry, has arranged it so that the messenger o 
 
 A.rgante, before he carries the defiance to the 
 ihristian knights, asks permission of the pious 
 Jouillon." 
 
 " But this," replied the podesta in as bad a 
 'oice, " this is a redundancy, a mere redundan- 
 :y, a poetical ornament, since the messenger 
 s in his character inviolable by the law of na- 
 ions, jure gentium; and without going so 
 "ar to seek, the proverb also has it, ' an am- 
 >assador cannot be punished.' And proverbs, 
 ignor count, are the wisdom of the human 
 race. And the messenger having said nothing 
 n his own proper name, but having only pre- 
 ented the challenge in writing " 
 
 " But when will you comprehend, that that 
 messenger was a rash fool, knowing nothing 
 f the first " 
 
 " With your good leave, gentlemen," said 
 3on Rodrigo, interrupting them, and who did 
 not wish the dispute to proceed any further, 
 ' let us refer the matter to father Christopher, 
 and agree to his decision." 
 
 "Very well, excellently," said count At- 
 ilio, who thought it a capital stroke to get a 
 question about chivalry decided by a capu- 
 chin ; whilst the podesta, who had the dispute 
 more at heart, reluctantly acquiesced, and with 
 a slight grimace, that seemed to say, " boy's 
 ! " 
 
 But from what I seem to have heard," said 
 lie father, "these are not matters about 
 which I ought to have any knowledge." 
 
 " The common excuses of the modesty of 
 (Tour reverences," said Don Rodrigo, " but we 
 ivon't let you off. Ay ! ay, we know very 
 well that your worship did not come into the 
 world witn a cowl on your head, and that the 
 world has been acquainted with you. Come, 
 come, here is the question." 
 
 " The fact is as thus," count Attilio began 
 to cry out. 
 
 ' Let me, who am neutral, state it, cousin," 
 said Don Rodrigo. 
 
 " This is the story : a Spanish cavalier sends 
 a challenge to a Milanese cavalier ; the mes- 
 senger not finding the challenged party at 
 home, delivers the cartel to a brother of the 
 cavalier, who reads the challenge, and, by way 
 of answer, gives the messenger a thrashing 
 with a club. The question " 
 
 " Very well given, and excellently applied," 
 screamed out Don Attilio, " it was a perfect 
 inspiration." 
 
 " Of the devil," said the podesta. " Strike 
 an ambassador ! a sacred person ! Even you, 
 father, will tell me if that is an act becoming a 
 cavalier." 
 
 " Yes, sir, becoming a cavalier!" cried out 
 the count ; " and permit me to say so, who 
 understands what it becomes a cavalier to do. 
 If he had struck him with his fists, it would 
 have been another affair; but a gentleman 
 may use a club, without dirtying his hands. 
 But what I cannot understand is, why you 
 make so much to do about the shoulders of 
 such a low fellow." 
 
 " Who has said any thing about shoulders,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 31 
 
 Count ? You put extravagancies in my mouth 
 that never came into my head. I spoke of 
 character, and not of shoulders ; above all, I 
 am speaking of the laws of chivalry. Have 
 the goodness to tell me, if the heralds that the 
 ancient Romans sent to deliver defiances to 
 the other nations if they sought permission 
 first to deliver their embassy; and then be 
 kind enough to find me some writer who 
 makes mention of a herald ever having been 
 beaten." 
 
 " What have those officials of the ancient 
 Romans to do with our customs ? A people 
 that did whatever they pleased, and that in 
 these matters were far behind far behind. 
 But, according to the laws of modern chivalry, 
 which are the true laws, I say and maintain, 
 that a messenger who is audacious enough to 
 put a challenge into the hands of a cavalier, 
 without having first demanded permission, is 
 a rash fellow, that you may violate in all vio- 
 lable ways, and thrash in all tlirashable ways." 
 
 " Answer me this syllogism, now " 
 
 " No, no, no, no !" 
 
 " But hear, hear, hear. To strike an un- 
 armed man is a treacherous act. Jltque the 
 messenger de quo was without arms, Ergo " 
 " Gently, gently, signer podesta." 
 " How, gently . } " 
 
 " Gently, I tell you, what are you talking 
 about ? A treacherous act is to strike with a 
 sword behind, or to fire into a man's back ; 
 and even then there are certain cases but let 
 us hold to the question. I admit, that gene- 
 rally speaking, this may be called treacherous, 
 but to give a slight drubbing to a beggarly low 
 rascal ! It would be a fine thing if one had to 
 tell such a fellow look out, 1 am going to 
 thrash you as one would say to a gentleman, 
 draw your sword ! And you, most revered 
 signer doctor, instead of grinning as if you 
 were of my opinion, why don't you sustain 
 my reasons with your good clapper, and help 
 me to drive some sense into this gentleman's 
 head?" 
 
 " I ," answered the doctor, rather con- 
 fused, " I delight in this learned dispute, and 
 thank the happy accident which has given 
 birth to such a graceful conflict of wit. And 
 then it is not for me to decide ; a most illus- 
 trious person has already appointed a judge 
 
 the father here " 
 
 " It is true," said Don Rodrigo, " but how 
 is the judge to speak when the litigants won't 
 be silent?" 
 
 "I am mute," said Count Attilio. The 
 podesta also made signs that he would remain 
 silent. 
 
 "Ah, at length ! now you, father," said 
 Don Rodrigo, with a quizzing sort of gra- 
 vity. 
 
 " I have already made my excuse by saying, 
 I do not understand," replied father Christo- 
 pher, returning the glass to the servant. 
 
 " Poor excuses," cried out the two cousins ; 
 " let us have the decision." 
 " If it must be so," resumed the friar, " my 
 
 poor opinion would be, that there should 
 neither be challenges, nor messengers, nor 
 beatings." The guests stared at each other. 
 
 "On, that is too monstrous!" said Count 
 Attilio ; " pardon me, father, but that is too 
 bad. It is very clear that you don't understand 
 the world." 
 
 " He ?" said Don Rodrigo, " Ah, ah ! he 
 knows it as well as you do, cousin. Is it not 
 true, father ; say, have not you had your run 
 through it ?" 
 
 Instead of replying to this benevolent insinu- 
 ation, the friar exchanged a word in secret 
 with himself this comes home to thyself, but 
 remember, friar, that you are not here on your 
 own account and whatever hits you only, 
 must be disregarded. 
 
 " It will be " said Attilio, " but the fa- 
 ther what is the father's name ?" 
 
 " Father Christopher," replied one of them. 
 
 " But, father Christopher, my most respect- 
 able sir, with these maxims of yours, you 
 would turn the world upside down. Without 
 challenges ! Without beatings ! Adieu, point 
 of honor; impunity for all dirty rascals! Hap- 
 pily the supposition is impossible." 
 
 "Come, doctor," said Don Rodrigo, who 
 was seeking always to divert the dispute from 
 the two first disputants " Come, let's have 
 your opinion ; you are a man that can decide 
 any thing and every thing ; let us see how 
 you will set father Christopher right in this 
 affair." 
 
 " In truth," replied the doctor, brandishing 
 his fork in the air, and turning to the friar, 
 " in truth, I cannot comprehend how father 
 Christopher, who is at the same time a perfect 
 religious man, and a man of the world, has 
 not perceived that his sentence, good, excel- 
 lent, and of great weight in the pulpit, is 
 worth nothing at all ; I say it with all respect, 
 in a dispute about chivalry. But the father 
 knows better than I do, that every thing is 
 good in its place ; and I believe, that upon 
 this occasion, he has wanted to extricate him- 
 self with a little joke, from the perplexity he 
 felt at deciding the matter." 
 
 What answer could be given to reasonings 
 deduced from wisdom so very ancient, and still 
 always new ? None. And so the friar left the 
 matter. 
 
 But Don Rodrigo, to put an end to that 
 question, got up another. " A propos," said 
 he, " I hear there is some talk at Milan of 
 an accommodation." 
 
 The reader knows, that in that year there 
 was a disputed succession about the Dukedom 
 of Mantua, into the possession of which, on 
 the death of Vincent Gonzaga, who had left no 
 male heir, the Duke of Nevers, his nearest 
 relation, had entered. Louis XIII, or the 
 Cardinal of Richelieu, wished to support him, 
 on account of his affection to him as a native 
 Frenchman. Philip IV, or the Count of 
 Olivares, commonly called the Count Duke, 
 was opposed to him for the same reasons, and 
 made war upon him. But as that duchy was
 
 32 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 feudatory of the empire, the two parties were 
 operating by manoeuvres, pressing instances, 
 and even threats, with the Emperor Ferdi- 
 nand II ; the first, to induce him to grant the 
 investiture to the new duke ; the second, to 
 prevail upon him, not only to refuse it, but to 
 
 five his assistance to drive him from the 
 uchy. 
 
 " I am not far from believing," said Count 
 Attilio, " that matters may be adjusted. I 
 have certain reasons " 
 
 "Don't you believe it, count, don't you be- 
 lieve it," interrupted the podesta. " I, in this 
 little corner of the world, may know some- 
 thing too about the affair. The Spanish Cas- 
 tellan, a gentleman who does me the honor to 
 entertain some kindness for me, and who, by 
 reason of his being the son of a servant of the 
 Count Dukes, is informed of every thing " 
 
 " And I say that it occurs to me to speak 
 with high personages every day in Milan, and 
 I know, from a very good quarter, that the 
 pope, who is exceedingly interested in pre- 
 serving peace, has made propositions " 
 
 " That is all right nothing can be more 
 proper. His Holiness does his duty, a pope 
 ought always to be engaged in good acts be- 
 tween Christian princes ; but the Count Duke 
 has a policy to observe, and " 
 
 "And, and, and, do you know my good sir, 
 what the emperor is thinking of at this mo- 
 ment ? Do you suppose there is no place but 
 Mantua in this worm ? There are many things 
 to be looked after, my good sir. Do you know, 
 for example, how far the emperor may trust 
 himself at this time to that prince of his of 
 Valdistano, or Vallistai, or how does he call 
 himself? And if" 
 
 " The legitimate name in the German lan- 
 guage," once more interrupted the podesta, 
 "is Wallenstein, as I have more than once 
 heard it pronounced by the Spanish Signor 
 Castellan. But do you be assured, that " 
 
 "Will you teach me?" broke in the count, 
 but Don Rodrigo, with his knee, begged him, 
 as it were, for nis sake, to give over contra- 
 dicting the podesta ; he therefore stopped, but 
 his adversary, like a shin that had floated off 
 the shoals, continued under full sail, the course 
 of his eloquence. " Wallenstein gives me very 
 little trouble, for the Count Duke has his eye 
 every where, and upon every thing, and if 
 Wallenstein indulges in any humors of his 
 own, the count knows how to keep him in or- 
 der, by gentle means and by others too. He 
 has his eye every way, I say, and long hands, 
 and if he has made up his mind, as he has 
 made it up, and justly, like a great politician 
 as he is, that the Duke of Nevers shall not 
 plant his roots in Mantua, the Duke of Nevers 
 shall not plant them there, and Cardinal Riche- 
 lieu is boring a hole in the water. It makes 
 me laugh, the very idea of that dear good car- 
 dinal wanting to try his horns, and butt with a 
 Count Duke, with an Olivares. I say I should 
 like mightily to come back here two hundred 
 years hence, to see what posterity will say at i drink. All the guests broke out in praise of 
 
 a pretension of this kind. There must be 
 something more than envy, there must be a 
 little brains at work, and as to heads like that 
 of the Count Duke, there is but one in this 
 world. The Count Duke, gentlemen," went 
 on the podesta, always with a fair wind, and a 
 little astonished himself that he had found no 
 rocks in the way, " the Count Duke is an old 
 fox, speaking with all respect, who would 
 throw any body out, let him be whom he may, 
 and when he feigns to tike the right, if you 
 want to find him you must take the left; 
 whence it is that no one can ever boast of 
 knowing his designs, and even those who are 
 to execute them, those even who write his des- 
 patches, don't comprehend them. I can speak 
 with some information ; for that excellent per- 
 son the Signor Castellan has the complaisance 
 to admit me into his confidence. The Count 
 Duke, on the other hand, knows to a point, 
 what is boiling in the pot at all the other 
 courts, and all those long-headed politicians, 
 and it cannot be denied there are a good many 
 of them, have scarce formed some scheme, than 
 he has immediately got to the bottom of it 
 with that head of his, by his covered ways 
 and the wires that he has fixed in every di- 
 rection. That poor man, Cardinal Richelieu, 
 tries here, smells there, sweats, puts his brains 
 to the stretch, and what then ? Why, when 
 he has got his mine dug out, he finds the coun- 
 termine of the Count Duke already pre- 
 pared." 
 
 Heaven knows when the podesta would 
 have descended to the earth again, but Don 
 Rodrigo, himself a little moved oy the grima- 
 ces his cousin was making, made signs to a 
 servant to bring a certain flask. 
 
 " Signor podesta," said Don Rodrigo, "and 
 gentlemen, a bumper if you please, to the 
 Count Duke, and afterwards you will tell me, 
 if the wine is worthy of the personage." The 
 podesta bowed, and in that bow endeavored to 
 convey a sentiment of particular gratitude : for 
 every thing which was done or said in honor 
 of the Count Duke, was, in'part, appropriated 
 to his own account. 
 
 " Viva, a thousand years, Don Caspar Guz- 
 man, Count of Olivares, Duke of San Lu- 
 car, the confident and favorite of the King Don 
 Philip the great, our master!" exclaimed he, 
 raising his glass. 
 
 ' Viva, a thousand years !" answered all. 
 ' Help the father," said Don Rodrigo. 
 
 1 Pardon me," answered he, " I have alrea- 
 dy committed an irregularity, and I could 
 
 not " 
 
 How!" said Don Rodrigo, "It is the 
 health of the Count Duke we are drinking. 
 Will you have us think that you incline to the 
 Navarese ?" The partisans of the French were 
 thus denominated, and the term probably took 
 its rise when Henry IV, of Navarre, was 
 contending for the throne of France, and was, 
 by his adversaries, called the Navarese. 
 
 At such an adjuration it was necessary to
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 33 
 
 the wine, except the doctor, who, with the 
 lifting up of his head, the stretching of his ears, 
 and the compressing of his lips, said, without 
 speaking, more than any other. 
 
 " What do you think of it, eh, doctor ?" ask- 
 d Don Rodrigo. 
 
 Drawing a nose out of the glass, more ruddy 
 and shining than the glass itself, the doctor re- 
 plied, emphasizing every syllable, " I say, I 
 declare, and I give sentence, that this is the 
 Olivares of wines ; censui, -et in earn wi senten- 
 tiam, that a wine like it is not to be found in 
 the twenty -two kingdoms of the king our mas- 
 ter, whom God preserve. I pronounce and de- 
 fine, that the dinners of the illustrious Signor 
 Don Rodrigo surpass the suppers of Helioga- 
 balus, and that famine is banished and driven 
 for ever from this palace, the seat and reign of 
 splendor." 
 
 "Well said, well decided!" cried out the 
 whole chorus of guests, but the word " famine," 
 which he had accidentally let slip, turned at 
 once all their minds to that sorrowful topic, 
 and all began to talk of famine. Here they 
 were all of one opinion, but the noise was 
 greater than if they had differed, all spoke at 
 once, " There is no scarcity," said one, " it is 
 
 the monopolizers who " 
 
 " And the bakers," said another, " who con- 
 ceal the grain ; they should be hanged." 
 
 " That's right ; they should be hanged with 
 out mercy." 
 
 " After a few good trials," cried out the po- 
 desta. 
 
 " What trials ?" bawled out, still louder, 
 Count Attilio. " Summary jastice. Take 
 three or four, or five or six, who are known 
 to be the wealthiest, and the greatest extor- 
 tioners, and hang them." 
 
 " Examples, Examples, ' without exam- 
 ples you can do nothing.' Hang them, hang 
 them, and grain will come in from every quar- 
 ter," 
 
 Whoever, passing through a country fair, 
 has enjoyed the harmony of a crew of itine- 
 rant musicians, wh$ between their perfor- 
 mances, when each tunes his instrument, 
 making it scream as loud as he can, the bet- 
 ter to hear it amidst the clamor of the others, 
 may figure to himself what sort of accord 
 these men produced by such, if so it can be 
 called, conversation. In the mean time the 
 wine kept circulating, and its praises, as was 
 just and right, alternated with sentences of 
 economical jurisprudence, so that the most 
 sonorous and frequent words were, "ambro- 
 sia" and " hang them." 
 
 Don Rodrigo cast a look from time to time 
 at the friar, and observed that he preserved 
 the same firm position, without giving the 
 least sign of impatience or haste, or without 
 doing the least act that tended to remind the 
 others, that he was there waiting for any 
 thine, but evidently meaning to be heard be- 
 fore ne went away. He would willingly have 
 dismissed him, and that without ceremony, 
 but to turn away a capuchin without giving 
 
 him audience was not a part of his policy. 
 Since it was not practicable to get out of the 
 way of this annoyance, he determined to face 
 it, and to free hiimelf from it : he therefore 
 rose from table, and with him the whole ruby- 
 faced troop, whilst the clamor was still 
 flourishing. Having apologized to his guests, 
 he drew near to the friar, who had also risen 
 with the rest, with a somewhat proud and 
 reserved air, and said to him, " I am at your 
 orders, father," and conducted him into ano- 
 ther room. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "In what can I be of service to you?" 
 " said Don Rodrigo, stopping in the centre of 
 the room. The friar heard these words, but 
 he felt, from the tone in which they were ut- 
 tered, that they unequivocally meant, remem- 
 ber in whose presence you are : weigh your 
 words well and make haste. 
 
 There was not a surer or more speedy 
 method of raising up the courage of our 
 father Christopher, than by addressing him in 
 an arrogant way. He who was standing in 
 suspense, seeking for words, and running be- 
 tween his fingers the beads of the rosary at 
 his waist, as if he should find his exordium in 
 one of them, at that haughty look and tone, 
 felt the words rushing to his lips faster than 
 he had occasion for them. But immediately 
 reflecting how important it was not to injure 
 his affairs, and wnat was of greater conse- 
 quence, those of others, by precipitancy, he 
 chastened and tempered the expressions which 
 presented themselves to his mind, and answer- 
 ed with a circumspect humility, " I come here 
 to propose to you an act of justice, and to 
 supplicate chanty at your hand. Some per- 
 sons of indifferent respect with the world, 
 have made use of your illustrious name, to 
 intimidate a poor curate, to prevent him 
 from fulfilling his duty, that they may trample 
 upon two innocent young people. With one 
 word you can confound these men, replace eve- 
 ry thing in its former state, and protect those to 
 whom so great an injury has been done. This 
 is in your power, and that being so, con- 
 science, honor " 
 
 " You can talk to me about my conscience, 
 when I shall think proper to ask for your opi- 
 nion. As to my honor, it seems you have to 
 learn that I am its guardian, I alone; and 
 whoever dares to busy himself with dividing 
 that charge with me, I regard him as a rash 
 man who insults me." 
 
 Brother Christopher, aware by these words 
 that Don Rodrigo would purposely put the 
 worst construction on his words, in order to 
 turn the conversation into a dispute, and thus 
 prevent him from coming to the point, deter- 
 mined still more to be on his guard, and to 
 submit quietly to any thing that might be said
 
 31 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 to him ; he therefore with a subdued tone re- 
 plied, " If I have said any thing that is dis- 
 pleasing to you, certainly it has been contrary 
 to all ray intentions. Correct me, reprehend 
 me, if I do not know how to speak as becomes 
 me to do, but deign to listen to me. For the 
 love of Heaven, for his sake before whom we 
 must all appear." Saying this, he lifted 
 before the eyes of his frowning auditor the 
 small wooden skull pending from his rosary, 
 " Do not persist in refusing a justice so easy, 
 and so much due to the poor creatures. Re- 
 flect that God has his eyes always upon them, 
 and that their imprecations are listened to by 
 him above. Innocence is powerful in his 
 
 " Father," rudely interrupted Don Rodrigo, 
 " the respect I bear to your nabit is great, but 
 if any thing could induce me to forget it, it 
 would be the sight of it on one who should be 
 bold enough to act the spy in my own house." 
 
 These words brought the color into the 
 cheeks of the friar, but with the air of a man 
 who swallows the bitterest medicine, he an- 
 answered. " You do not believe that such a 
 term belongs to me. You feel in you heart 
 that the act in which I am now engaged, is 
 not vile nor to be despised. Hear me, Don 
 Rodrigo, and may Heaven grant that the day 
 may not come when you repent that you 
 have not listened to me. I will not set up 
 your glory. What glory, Don Rodrigo ! what 
 glory oefore men and before God ! You are 
 powerful in this world, but " 
 
 " Do you know," said Don Rodrigo, inter- 
 rupting him with anger, not altogether unmix- 
 ed with apprehension. " Do you know that 
 when the whim seizes me to hear a sermon, 
 I know how to go to church as well as others ? 
 But in my own house ! oh !" and with a forced 
 contemptuous smile he added, " you are tak- 
 ing me for a greater personage than I am. A 
 preacher in my establishment! None but 
 princes have them." 
 
 " And that God who asks of princes an ac- 
 count of that word which he makes them 
 hear in their palaces, that God who does an 
 act of mercy to you in sending one of his 
 ministers unworthy and miserable, but yet 
 his minister to pray for an innocent " 
 
 " In short, father," said Don Rodrigo, mak- 
 ing a motion to leave the room, " I do not 
 comprehend what you mean ; all I can make 
 out is, that there is some young girl you take 
 an interest in. Go and tell your secrets to 
 whom you like, but do not have the assurance 
 to annoy further a gentleman with them." 
 
 At the movement of Don Rodrigo, the friar 
 also moved, and placing hiinselt reverently 
 before him, and raising his hands as if to sup- 
 plicate and detain him, he replied, " that I 
 take an interest in her, it is true, but not a 
 greater than I take in yourself; your two 
 souls are more precious to me than my own 
 blood. Don Rodrigo ! for you I can do no 
 more than offer up my prayers, but this I 
 will do from my heart. Do not say no to 
 me ; let not that poor innocent girl be kept in 
 
 terror and anguish. One word from you will 
 be sufficient." 
 
 "Well," said Don Rodrigo, "since you 
 think I can do so much for mis person, since 
 you have her so much at heart " 
 
 " Well ! " anxiously exclaimed the friar, to 
 whom the action and manner of Don Rodrigo, 
 did not permit him to abandon himself alto- 
 gether to the hope that these words seemed to 
 inspire." 
 
 " Well, advise her to come and put herself 
 under my protection. She shafl want for 
 nothing, and no one shall dare to give her any 
 trouble, or I am not a cavalier." 
 
 At such a proposition, the repressed indig- 
 nation of the triai-, which had struggled within 
 him, broke loose. All his fine resolutions 
 about prudence and patience, vanished : the 
 old man was perfectly in accord with the new 
 one, and upon such emergencies brother Chris- 
 topher was really worth two. " Your protec- 
 tion !" he exclaimed, retreating two paces, 
 fixing himself fiercely upon his right foot, his 
 right hand resting upon his hip, raising his left 
 with the forefinger extended towards Don 
 Rodrigo, and fixing in his face two eyes of 
 fire, " Your protection ! It is well you have 
 spoken thus, that you have made such a propo- 
 sition to me. You have filled the measure, and 
 I fear you no more." 
 
 " What language is this, friar ?" 
 
 " It is the language of a man which he ad- 
 dresses to one who is abandoned by God, and 
 can inspire fear no longer. Your protection ! 
 I knew well that the innocent creature lived 
 under the protection of God ; but you, you 
 make me feel it with so much certainty, that 
 I no longer need measure, by deference to you r 
 what I nave to say. Lucia, I say ; see with 
 what a lofty front I pronounce that name, and 
 with what immoveable eyes " 
 
 " How ! in this house i" 
 
 " I have compassion upon this house ; a 
 curse is suspended over it. You expect that the 
 justice of God will respect its four walls, and 
 they contain bandits ! You have believed that 
 God has made a creature after his own image,to 
 give you the pleasure of tormenting her ! You 
 have believea that God would not know how to 
 defend her ! You have despised his counsel 1 
 You have pronounced judgment on yourself. 
 The heart of Pharoah was Hardened as much 
 as yours, and yet God has known how to break 
 it in pieces. Lucia is secure from you ; I tell 
 you so! I, a poor friar; and as to yourself, 
 near distinctly what I promise to you. A day 
 will come " 
 
 Don Rodrigo up to this moment had remain- 
 ed in a state of astonishment and rage, not 
 being able to utter a word, but when he heard 
 the intonation of a prediction, a remote and 
 mysterious dread was associated with his an- 
 ger. He grasped suddenly the menacing hand 
 that was in the air, and raising his voice to 
 overpower that of the fatal prophet, cried out, 
 " Begone from my presence, audacious rustic, 
 idle cowl bearing "
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 35 
 
 These words, so very precise, tamed father 
 Christopher in a moment. To the idea of in- 
 sult and abuse, that of suffering and of silence 
 had been so thoroughly and for so long a pe- 
 riod associated in his mind, that at the very 
 hearing of these compliments, every spark of 
 anger and enthusiasm vanished, and no other 
 resolution remained, save that of tranquilly 
 listening to every thing Don Rodrigo might 
 please to add. Wherefore, having quietly 
 withdrawn his hand from the grasp of the 
 cavalier, he drooped his head, and remained 
 immovable ; just as an ancient tree, at the 
 sinking of the wind, after the fury of the hurri- 
 cane, recomposes naturally its leaves, and re- 
 ceives the hail as it pleases Heaven to send it. 
 
 "Thou doubly coarse peasant!" pursued 
 Don Rodrigo, "thou actest like one of thy kind. 
 But give thanks to the stuff that covers thy 
 beggar's shoulders, and which protects thee 
 from the caresses which are given to thy 
 equals, to teach them how to behave. Let thy 
 limbs take thee away for this time, and let me 
 see thee depart." 
 
 Thus saying, he pointed with imperious 
 contempt, to a door opposite to that by which 
 they entered ; father Christopher lowered his 
 head, and went out, leaving Don Rodrigo to 
 measure, with agitated steps, the field of bat- 
 tle. 
 
 When the friar had closed the door behind 
 him, be saw in the room where he now was, a 
 man gliding gently along the wall, so as not 
 to be seen from the room where this colloquy 
 was held, and recognized in him the old ser- 
 vant who had received him on his arrival at 
 the house. He had lived here forty years, that 
 is from the year of Don Rodrigo 's birth, being 
 then in the service of his father, a man of 
 very different habits and character. At his 
 death, the new master, dismissing all the old 
 establishment, and getting a new set together, 
 had nevertheless retained this man, who, al- 
 though old, and brought up in habits and tastes 
 very different from his own, compensated for 
 their deficiency by two qualities : a prodigious 
 conceit of the dignity of the house, and ex- 
 tensive practical knowledge of ceremonial 
 etiquette, a branch, the most ancient tradi- 
 tions, and the most minute particulars of 
 which, he was better acquainted with than any 
 other. To his master's face, the poor old man 
 would not have dared to risk any sign, much 
 less to express, his disapprobation of what he 
 saw taking place every day : scarce did he 
 hazard an observation, or mutter out a reproof 
 to his fellow-servants, than they turned it into 
 a joke, and drawing him into a dispute, pro- 
 voked him into long sermons, and eulogiums 
 upon the ancient manner of living under that 
 roof. His censures when they came to the 
 ears of his master were always accompanied 
 with a relation of the laughs raised against 
 the old man, so that the mockery they excited 
 was without resentment. On days of invita- 
 tion and reception, the ancient servant was a 
 personage of serious and great importance. 
 
 Father Christopher gave him a look in pas- 
 sing, saluted him, and went on ; but the old 
 man drew to his side mysteriously, placed his 
 finger on his mouth, and beckoned him to ac- 
 company him into an obscure passage. When 
 they were there, he said to him, in an under 
 voice, " Father, I have heard it all, and I 
 must speak with you." 
 
 "Good man, speak at once." 
 
 " Not here. Wo, if the master should per- 
 ceive. But I shall find many things out, and 
 I will endeavor tomorrow to come to the con- 
 vent." 
 
 " Is there any plan on foot ?" 
 
 " There is something or other going on cer- 
 tainly, I have already perceived that. But 
 now I will be on the alert, and will find it all 
 out. Leave me to act. I can see and hear 
 
 things things of fire ! I am in a house ! 
 
 But I would save my soul," 
 
 " May God bless you ! " and gently uttering 
 these words, the friar placed his hand upon 
 the head of the servant, who although older 
 than himself, stood bent before him in the atti- 
 tude of a son. " God will reward you," pur- 
 sued the friar, " do not fail to come tomor- 
 row." 
 
 " I will come," replied he, " but depart im- 
 mediately, and, for the love of Heaven, do 
 not betray me." Saying this, and looking 
 around, he went out by the other end of the 
 passage, into a little hafl that led to the court 
 yard, and seeing the way free, he called the 
 good friar out, whose countenance gave to his 
 last words, a better assurance of fidelity than 
 protestations could have done. The old man 
 pointed out the gate to him, and the friar took 
 his departure. 
 
 That servant had been listening at the door 
 of his master. Was that well done ? And did 
 father Christopher act right in praising him ? 
 According to universally received maxims, the 
 act was a very dishonest one ; but ought not 
 this case to be considered as an exception. 
 And next, are there any exceptions to be made 
 to these maxims ? 
 
 These are questions the reader must decide 
 for himself if he likes. We do not intend to 
 give any decision, it suffices us to have facts 
 to relate. 
 
 Once more on the road, and his back turn- 
 ed upon that den, brother Christopher breathed 
 more freely, and he hastened down the de- 
 scent, his face flushed, agitated, and disturbed, 
 as may well be imagined, by what he had 
 heard, and by what he had himself said. But 
 this unexpected offer on the part of the ser- 
 vant, was a great cordial to him ; it seemed 
 as if Heaven held out a visible sign of protec- 
 tion. Here is a thread, thought he a thread, 
 which Providence puts into my hand. And in 
 that very house itself! and without my even 
 dreaming to look for it ! Thus ruminating, 
 he raised his eyes to the west as the declining 
 sun was hovering upon the summit of the 
 mountain, and reflected that the day was al- 
 most spent. Although his limba began to be
 
 36 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 wearied and dull, with the unusual fatigues of 
 the day, he quickened his pace, that he might 
 give such information as he possessed to those 
 under his protection, and reach the convent 
 before night. This was one of their most ab- 
 solute laws, and rigorously insisted upon in 
 the capuchin code. 
 
 In the mean time in the cottage of Lucia 
 some plans had been brought forward and ex- 
 amined, of which we must give the reader in- 
 formation. After the departure of the friar, the 
 three persons he had left behind, had preser- 
 ved silence for some time. Lucia sorrowfully 
 preparing the dinner ; Renzo, between them 
 both, moving himself away every instant to 
 avoid contemplating her in her distress ; Agnes 
 to all appearance intent upon the reel she was 
 turning, though in reality she was maturing a 
 thought, and when it was ready she broke 
 silence in these terms : 
 
 " Listen, children ! If you will be courage- 
 ous and dexterous at the proper time, if you 
 confide in your mother," that word your, made 
 Lucia jump, " I engage to get you out of this 
 difficulty, better perhaps and quicker than fa- 
 ther Christopher, although he is the man that 
 he is." Lucia stopped, and looked at her 
 with a countenance expressive of more sur- 
 prise than faith at such a magnificent promise, 
 and Renzo hastily said, " Courage ? dexteri- 
 ty ? speak, what can be done ?" 
 
 " Is'nt it true, that if you were married it 
 would be one great point gained ? And that 
 for the rest a remedy could be more easily 
 found?" 
 
 "Can there be any doubt?" said Renzo, 
 " once married all the world is a country, and 
 two steps from here, there at Bergamo, any 
 one who can work at silk is received with 
 open arms. You know how often my cousin 
 Bartolo has asked me to go and live with him, 
 that I should make my fortune, as he has done, 
 and if I have never listened to him, it is what 
 signifies ? It is because my heart was here. 
 Once married, we could all go together, have 
 a house there, live in blessed peace, out of the 
 claws of this monster, far from the temptation 
 to act foolishly. Is it not true, Lucia ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lucia, " but how ?" 
 
 " As I have said," continued Agnes, " cour- 
 age and address, and the thing is easy." 
 
 " Easy," both exclaimed at the same time, 
 to whom the affair had become so strangely 
 and so painfully difficult. 
 
 " Easy, knowing how to do it," replied Ag- 
 nes. " Hear me, and I will try to make you un- 
 derstand. I have heard said by those who 
 know, and indeed one case I have seen, that 
 where there is a marriage there must be a cu- 
 rate, but it is not necessary he should consent 
 to it, it is only necessary he should be pre- 
 sent." 
 
 " How is this matter?" asked Renzo. 
 
 " Listen, and you will find out. There must 
 be two witnesses, both of them sharp and 
 agreeing together. Away you go to the pa- 
 riah priest, the thing is to catch him unexpect- 
 
 edly, before he has time to escape. The man 
 says, 'signer curate, this is my wife ;' the wo- 
 man says, ' signer curate, this is my husband.' 
 But the curate must hear this, and the witness- 
 es must hear it, and then the marriage is as 
 good and as conclusive, and as holy as if the 
 pope had blessed it. When the words are 
 said, the curate may storm, and scold, and go 
 on like the devil it amounts to nothing ; you 
 are then husband and wife." 
 
 " Is it possible ?" exclaimed Lucia. 
 
 " How !" said Agnes, " do you think that in 
 the thirty years I have been in this world be- 
 fore you both, I have learnt nothing at all ? 
 The matter is just as I have said it, and so 
 true it is, that a friend of mine that wanted to 
 marry a man against the will of her parents, 
 making use of this method, obtained her wish- 
 es. The curate, who had some suspicion, was 
 on the alert, but the two devils did it so neatly, 
 that they came upon him in the very nick of 
 time, said the words, and were husband and 
 wife ; although the poor thing repented of it 
 three days after." 
 
 The affair, in fact, was as Agnes had repre- 
 sented it ; marriages contracted in that man- 
 ner, were at that period, and even down to 
 our own days, held to be valid. But as no one 
 had recurrence to such an expedient, but who 
 had met with a refusal to have the ceremony 
 performed in the ordinary way, the parish 
 priests were very careful to get out of the way 
 of these involuntary sanctions, and when any 
 of them was surprised by a couple accompa- 
 nied with witnesses, they tried every expe- 
 dient to get away from them, as Proteus did 
 from the hands of those who wanted to make 
 him prophecy by force. 
 
 " If it was true, Lucia!" said Renzo, look- 
 ing at her with a face of supplicating expecta- 
 tion. 
 
 "How! if it was true !" returned Agnes, 
 " do you think I am telling idle stories. Here 
 I am, in a peck of troubles on your account, 
 and you won't believe me. Well, well, get 
 out of your own difficulties after your own 
 method ; I wash my hands of them. 
 
 " Ah, no ! do not abandon us," said Renzo. 
 " I say so because the thing appears to me too 
 good. I am in your hands, I look upon you 
 as if you was my own mother in truth." 
 
 These words dissipated the vexation of 
 Agnes, and made her forget an exclamation, 
 which, in truth, meant nothing at all. 
 
 " But why, then, mamma," said Lucia, with 
 her submissive manner, " why did not this 
 plan come into the head of father Christo- 
 pher?" 
 
 "Into his head?" answered Agnes; "just 
 think if it did not come into his head ! But he 
 would not mention it." 
 
 " Why ?" exclaimed the young people, both 
 at once. 
 
 " Why ? why, since you will know it, re- 
 ligious men say, that truly, it is not right of 
 itself." 
 
 " How can it be that it ia not right, and yet
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 37 
 
 be good and conclusive, when it is done ?" 
 said Renzo. 
 
 " What is it you want me to say to you ?" 
 replied Agnes. " Others have made the law 
 just as they pleased, and we poor people can't 
 understand every thing. And then how many 
 things see ! it's like giving a blow to a Chris- 
 tian ; that is not right, but when once he has 
 got it, the pope himself can't take it away 
 again." 
 
 " If it is a tiling that is not right in itself," 
 said Lucia, " it ought not to be done." 
 
 "What! "said Agnes, "ami the person, 
 perhaps, to give you an opinion against the 
 tear of God ? If it was against the will of thy 
 parents, to take up with some dissolute fellow ; 
 but content me, it is to be united with this 
 good lad ; and he who makes the disturbance 
 is a scoundrel, and the curate " 
 
 " It is as clear as the sun," said Renzo. 
 
 " You must not tell father Christopher, be- 
 fore you do it," pursued Agnes, " but when 
 it is done, and has succeeded, what do you 
 think the good father will say to you ? 'Ah, 
 daughter ! this is a strange prank you have 
 played off.' The religious men always talk 
 so. But, in his heart, you may be quite sure 
 he will be content." 
 
 Lucia, without finding any thing to answer 
 to this reasoning, did not appear, however, 
 much convinced by it; but Renzo, quite re- 
 novated, said, " This being the case, the thing 
 is concluded upon." 
 
 " Softly," said Agnes, " and the witnesses ? 
 and the means to surprise the curate, who for 
 these last two days is hid away in his house ? 
 And how to keep him there ? For although he 
 is clumsy by nature, I can tell you when he 
 sees you coming in that fashion, you will find 
 him as nimble as a cat ; and he will run off 
 as fast as the devil would from holy water." 
 
 " I have found the means I have found it," 
 said Renzo, thumping his fist on the table, and 
 making the little dishes dance again, that were 
 to serve for the dinner ; and then went on ex- 
 plaining his idea, which Agnes approved in 
 every particular. 
 
 " These are wild notions," said Lucia, " and 
 things are not at all clear. We have acted 
 until now with sincerity ; let us go on in good 
 faith, and God will help us : father Christopher 
 has said so. Let us hear his opinion." 
 
 " Be governed by those who know," said 
 Agnes, with a grave countenance. " What 
 occasion is there to ask opinions ? God says, 
 ' help yourself, and I will help you.' We 
 can tell the father every thing, when it is all 
 over." 
 
 " Lucia," said Renzo, " will you fail me 
 now? Have not we done every thing, like 
 good Christians ? Ought not we to have been 
 husband and wife ? Did not the curate, him- 
 self, fix the day, and the hour ? And whose 
 fault is it if we are now obliged to use a little 
 management ? No. you will not fail me. I 
 am going, and I will return with the answer." 
 And, saluting Lucia in a supplicating manner, 
 
 and Agnes with a look of intelligence, he de- 
 parted in haste. 
 
 Trouble, it is said, gives a spur to inven- 
 tion ; and Renzo, who in the straight and 
 smooth path of life trod by him until now, had 
 never found himself obliged much to sharpen 
 his own, upon this occasion had conceived 
 something worthy of a juris consult. He went 
 immediately, in furtherance of his plan, to 
 the cottage, nigh at hand, of one Tonio. Him 
 he found in the kitchen, his knee resting upon 
 a little bench on the hearth, his right hand 
 upon the brim of a pot placed on the hot 
 ashes, and the other mixing up, with a crooked 
 pestle, a small gray mess of buckwheat pud- 
 ding. Tonic's mother, brother, and wife were 
 seated at the table, and three or four children 
 standing round it, watching, with their eyes 
 fixed upon the pot, the moment when the pud- 
 ding was to be turned out. But all that cheer- 
 fulness which the near prospect of dinner gives 
 to those who have earned it by labor was 
 wanting. The aggregate of the dish was pro- 
 portioned to the scarcity which prevailed, and 
 not to the number and Keen inclinations of the 
 guests ; for each of them giving a side look of 
 disappointed welcome to the common re- 
 source, seemed to be occupied with the amount 
 of appetite that would survive it. Whilst 
 Renzo was exchanging salutes with the fami- 
 ly, Tonio turned out the mess upon a beachen. 
 platter, placed on the table to receive it, and 
 which looked like a small moon in the centre 
 of a great circle of vapor. Nevertheless, the 
 women very courteously said to Renzo, " Will 
 you be helped ?" a compliment that the pea- 
 sant of Lombardy never omits to offer to who- 
 ever finds him at his repast, even if this last 
 should be some rich glutton just risen from 
 table, and he himself occupied with his last 
 mouthful. 
 
 " Thank you," answered Renzo, " I only 
 came to say a word to Tonio ; and if you like, 
 Tonio, so that your women may not be dis- 
 turbed, we will go and dine at the inn, and 
 talk there." The proposition was the more 
 grateful to Tonio, because unexpected ; and 
 the women were by no means sorry to see one 
 of the competitors for the pudding, and he the 
 most formidable of all, withdrawn. Tonio 
 waited for no further invitation, and went 
 away with Renzo. 
 
 Arrived at the village inn, and both seated 
 at their ease in perfect solitude, for misery 
 had weaned all the frequenters of that place 
 of delights from it, and having had what little 
 matters that were to be obtained, and emptied 
 a Sask of wine, Renzo, with an air of mys- 
 tery, said to Tonio, " If you will do me a 
 small service, I will render you a great one." 
 
 " Speak, speak, command me freely," an- 
 swered Tonio, pouring out some wine, "I 
 would go through fire for you to day." 
 
 "You are indebted to the curate twenty- 
 five livres for the rent of the field you tilled 
 last year." 
 
 " Ah ! Renzo, Renzo, you have spoiled all
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 your kindness. What a subject to talk to m 
 about ! You have put down all my desire to 
 serve you." 
 
 " If I said any thing about thy debt," saic 
 Renzo, " it was because, if you wish it, I intenc 
 to furnish thee the means of paying it." 
 " Dost thou speak in earnest ?" 
 " Yes, I do. Eh ! would you like that ? 
 " Like it, by Diana ! I should like it in- 
 deed, if it was only that I might see no more 
 of those queer faces and shakings of the head, 
 that the curate puts on every time I meet 
 him. And then always, ' Tonio remember 
 Tonio ! when shall we see each other about 
 that little affair. ' And when he is preaching, 
 and happens to cast his eye at me, he always 
 makes me frightened lest he should call out 
 ' I say, Tonio, about them twenty-five livres ?' 
 Curses on the twenty-five livres, I say ! And 
 then he would have to give me back the gold 
 necklace belonging to my wife, which I would 
 turn into so much polenta.* But " 
 
 " But, but, if you will render me a small 
 service the twenty-five livres are ready for 
 you." 
 
 'Say what it is." 
 
 " But," said Renzo, putting his fore finger 
 on his lip, so as to make the form of a cross. 
 
 " What need is there of that ? You know 
 me." 
 
 " The curate pretends to give certain rea- 
 sons, without sense in them, to delay my mar- 
 riage, and I want to hasten it. They tell me, 
 for a certain, that when a couple goes before 
 him with two witnesses, and I saying, this is 
 my wife, and Lucia saying, this is my hus- 
 band, the matrimony is done and concluded. 
 Do you understand me ?" 
 
 " You want me to be one of your wit- 
 nesses?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " And you will pay the twenty-five livres 
 forme?" 
 
 " That is what I mean." 
 
 " Call me a rogue if I don't" 
 
 " But we must find another witness." 
 
 " I have got one. That poor devil of a bro- 
 ther of mine, Gervaso, will do whatever I tell 
 him. You will pay for something to drink 
 for him?" 
 
 " And to eat too," said Renzo. " We'll 
 brine him here to make merry with us ; but 
 will ne know how t ?" 
 
 "I'll teach him.' You know I have got his 
 share of brains." 
 
 "Tomorrow!" 
 
 " Well." 
 
 " Towards evening." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 " But !" said Renzo, putting his fore finger 
 on his lip again. 
 
 "Poh!" answered Tonio, jerking his head 
 over his left shoulder, and bringing up his left 
 hand with a grimace that seemed to say, you 
 do me wrong. * 
 
 A meM made of Indian com meal or any other. 
 
 " But if thy wife asks thee any thing, as she 
 no doubt will?" 
 
 " I am in my wife's debt so many lies, aye, 
 and so many of them, that I don't know if 
 ever I shall get the account settled with her. 
 I'll find some fine story or other to put her 
 heart at ease." 
 
 "Tomorrow," said Renzo, "we'll arrange 
 the affair better, so that it may be well done." 
 
 They now left the village inn, Tonio taking 
 his way home, and contriving on the road 
 some story or other to amuse his women with, 
 and Renzo retracing his steps to give an ac- 
 count of what he had done. 
 
 In the mean time Agnes had in vain endea- 
 vored to persuade her daughter, who, at every 
 reason given her, opposed first one, then ano- 
 ther part of her dilemma. Either the thing is 
 not right, and then ought not to be done ; or it 
 is right, and then why not tell it to father 
 Christopher ? 
 
 Renzo arrived full of satisfaction, made his 
 report, and finished it with an ahn, a Milanese 
 interjection, which signifies, am I or am I not 
 a man ? Could a cleverer be found ? Would 
 that have come into any body else's head? and 
 a hundred similar things. 
 
 Lucia shook her head gently, but the two 
 enthusiasts paid little attention to her, as peo- 
 ple do with children whom they do not expect 
 to make understand the whole reason of any 
 thing, but that may be induced afterwards by 
 entreaties and by authority, to do what is 
 wished of them. 
 
 " So far, so good," said Agnes, " so far so 
 b 'ood. But you have not thought of every 
 thing." 
 
 "What is wanting," answered Renzo. 
 
 " And Perpetua ? you have not thought of 
 Perpetua. She would let Tonio and his bro- 
 ther enter, but you ! you two ! think of that f 
 she will have orders to keep you as far away 
 as boys from a tree with ripe pears on it." 
 
 " What shall we do ?" said Renzo, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Let me see a moment, whilst I think 
 about that. I will go with you, and I have a 
 secret to draw her off, and to keep her in such 
 a state of wonderment that she will not think 
 of you, and so you can get in. I'll call her, 
 and I'll touch such a chord ; you shall see." 
 
 " A blessing on you," said Renzo, " I have 
 always said that you are our help in every 
 thing." 
 
 "But all this serves to nothing," said Ag- 
 nes, "if you can't persuade her there, who is 
 obstinate in persisting that it is a sin." 
 
 Renzo now brought into the field more of 
 lis eloquence, but Lucia could not be per- 
 suaded. 
 
 ' I don't know what to say to your reasons," 
 said she, " but I see, to proceed as you want 
 to do, we can't get on without underhand con- 
 trivances, and lies, and fictions. Ah, Renzo ! 
 we did not begin so. I wish to be your 
 wife, " and she could not get out the word, 
 or express her honest wish, without her coun-
 
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 89 
 
 tenance being suffused, " I wish to be your 
 wife, but in a straight forward way, with the 
 fear of God, at the altar. Let us be guided by 
 the friar. Does not he know better how to ex- 
 tricate us, than we can possibly do with all 
 these crooked contrivances ? Why should we 
 use any mystery with father Christopher ?" 
 
 The dispute still continued, and was not in 
 a way to terminate, when a hurried noise of 
 sandals, and the flapping of a tunic, like that 
 which the pufls of wind make in a slackened 
 sail, announced father Christopher. They be- 
 came silent, and Agnes had scarce time to 
 whisper into the ear of Lucia," Be careful you 
 don't tell him." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FATHER CHRISTOPHER arrived in the atti- 
 tude of a good captain, who without any fault 
 of his own, has lost an important battle, afflict- 
 ed but not discouraged, full of thought but not 
 astounded, under sail but not in flight, direct- 
 ing his course where necessity requires, to 
 caution places which are threatened, to arrange 
 his troops, and to give new orders. 
 
 " Peace be with you," said he, entering. 
 " There is nothing to hope from the man ; so 
 much the more it behoves us to confide in God, 
 and already I have some pledge of his protec- 
 tion." 
 
 Although not one of the three hoped much 
 from the attempt of father Christopher, since 
 to see a powerful man recede from a fraud, 
 without being compelled to do so by a superi- 
 or power, and through pure condescension to 
 unarmed entreaties, was a thing rather unheard 
 of than rare, nevertheless the certainty of the 
 disappointment was a blow to them afl. The 
 women hung down their heads, but in Renzo, 
 anger was predominant over his abasement. 
 This information found him already embitter- 
 ed and irritated, by a suite of painful surpris- 
 es, of disappointed attempts, of deluded hopes, 
 and above aH, soured at that moment by the 
 dissatisfaction of Lucia. 
 
 " I should like to know," he cried out, grind- 
 ing his teeth and raising his voice more than 
 he had ever yet ventured to do before father 
 Christopher, " I should like to know what 
 reasons that hound has given, to sustain to 
 sustain that my bride is not to be my bride." 
 
 " Poor Renzo ! " replied the friar, with an 
 accent of pity, and with a look that benevo- 
 lently commanded peaceableness," If the pow- 
 erful man who wants to commit injustice, was 
 always obliged to give his reasons, things 
 would not go as they do." 
 
 "The dog then has said, that he won't. 
 Why will he not?" 
 
 " He has not even said so much, poor Ren- 
 zo ! It would be an advantage, if to commit 
 iniquity, it was necessary to confess it openly ." 
 
 " But something he must have said ; what 
 did he say, that firebrand of hell ?" 
 
 " His words I have heard, yet cannot repeat 
 them to thee. The words of the wicked man, 
 when he is powerful, penetrate, yet disappear. 
 He can become angry if you appear to suspect 
 him, and at the same time make you feel that 
 \vhich you suspect him of is true ; he can in- 
 sult, and say that he is offended, laugh at you 
 and ask an apology ; alarm you and com- 
 plain of you, be audacious and yet be without 
 blame. Ask no further. That man never 
 uttered the name of this innocent nor thine 
 own, he did not let it appear that he even knew 
 you, he did not say that he pretended to any 
 thing ; but but, I saw too well that he was 
 immoveable. Nevertheless,confidence in God ! 
 You, poor things, be not cast down ; and thou, 
 Renzo oh, believe me, I can place myself in 
 thy situation, and can feel what is passing in 
 thy heart. But patience! it is a meagre 
 word, a bitter word, to him who believes not ; 
 but thou ! wilt thou not grant to God one 
 day, two days, the time that he requires to 
 bring down from above what is right again ? 
 Time is his, and he has promised us so much ! 
 Leave it to him, Renzo, and know know all of 
 ye, that I have hold of a thread to aid you. At 
 present I can tell you no more. Tomorrow,! 
 cannot return here, I must remain in the con- 
 vent all day on your account. Do thou, Renzo, 
 endeavor to come, and if by some unforeseen 
 circumstance, thou art not able, send a faithful 
 man, a youth of some judgment, by whom- 1 
 can make you acquainted with what has oc- 
 curred. Night is approaching, and I must 
 hasten to the convent. Faith and courage ! 
 and a good evening," 
 
 Having said this, he hastily took his leave, 
 and went away, hastening down the crooked 
 and stoney path that he might not arrive late 
 at the convent, at the risk of getting a good 
 scolding, or what would have troubled him 
 more, or'having a penitence imposed upon him, 
 which would have prevented him the next day 
 from being ready for whatever might occur 
 for the service of his young friends. 
 
 " Did you hear what he said of a I do not 
 know what a thread that he has hold of to 
 aid us ?" said Lucia. " We must trust in him, 
 he is a man who when he promises ten " 
 
 "ff that's all," interrupted Agnes, "he 
 should have spoken plainer, or at least should 
 have taken me on one side, and told me what 
 it is he " 
 
 " This is all nothing but talk ! I'll put an 
 end to it! I'll put an end to it!" exclaimed 
 Renzo in his turn, passing furiously up and 
 down the room, and with a voice, and with a 
 countenance to leave little room to doubt in 
 what sense he intended these words. 
 
 " Oh, Renzo!" cried out Lucia. 
 
 " What is it you mean ?" said Agnes. 
 
 " What is the use of telling ? I'll put an end 
 to it. If he has a hundred a thousand devils 
 in his soul, at best he is but flesh and bone 
 himself."
 
 40 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " No, no, for the love of Heaven !" Lucia 
 began, but tears choked her voice. 
 
 " You should not talk so, even when you are 
 in jest," said Agnes. 
 
 " Jest !" screamed out Renzo, stopping im- 
 mediately in front of Agnes who was seated, 
 and fixing a pair of rolling eyes in her face ; 
 "Jest ! you shall see if its a jest." 
 
 "Oh, Renzo!" said Lucia, with difficulty 
 amidst her sobs, " I have never seen you so." 
 
 " Dont repeat these things for the love of 
 Heaven," said Agnes hurriedly, and lowering 
 her voice. " Dont you remember how many 
 we are ready to assist you ? And besides 
 God deliver us ! there is always justice for 
 the poor." 
 
 "I'll do justice, myself; I ! its full time I 
 think ! The thing is not easy, I know that my- 
 self. The murderous dog goes about well pro- 
 tected ; he knows what he ought to expect, but 
 that is nothing. Patience and resolution and 
 the moment will come. Yes, I'll do justice my- 
 self, I'll free the country ! How many will Wess 
 me ! And then in four jumps, I'll " 
 
 The horror which Lucia experienced at this 
 very plain declaration, stopped her weeping, 
 and gave her courage to speak ; removing her 
 hands from her tearful countenance, she said 
 to Renzo, with a sorrowful voice, yet still reso- 
 lute ; 
 
 " You don't care then, about having me for 
 your wife ? I had betrothed myself to a youth 
 who lived in the fear of God but a man 
 who had even if he was safe, and out of the 
 reach of justice and vengeance, if he was the 
 son of a king " 
 
 " Well !" cried out Renzo, with his counte- 
 nance still more disordered , " You will not be 
 mine, but neither shall you be his. I shall 
 live here without you, and he will be in a place 
 
 " Ah, no, for mercy's sake, don't talk so, 
 don't roll your eyes so ; no, I cannot see you 
 thus," she exclaimed, weeping, imploring and 
 clasping her hands. Agnes in the meanwhile, 
 repeatedly called the youth by his name, pat- 
 ted his shoulders, his armsf and his hands, to 
 ncify him. He stood immoveable, thought- 
 , and at one instant almost moved by the 
 supplicating countenance of Lucia ; then sud- 
 denly giving her a terrible look, he drew back, 
 extended his arm and finger towards her, and 
 broke out, " She ! yes, it is her he wants. 
 He shall die !" 
 
 " And 1, what evil have I done to you, that 
 you should cause me to die too ?" said Lucia, 
 casting herself at his knees. 
 
 " You !" said he, with a voice that express- 
 ed a different sort of resentment, but still an 
 irritated feeling, " You ! what good do you 
 wish me ? What proof of it have you given 
 me ? Have I not entreated you, and entreated 
 you, and entreated you ? Have I been able to 
 obtain ?" " Yes, yes," answered Lucia, with 
 precipitation, " I will go to the curate's tomor- 
 row ; now, if you wish, I will go. Only take 
 that first thing back, I will go/' 
 
 "Do you promise me ?" said Renzo, with a 
 tone and countenance at once become more 
 humane. 
 
 " I promise you." 
 
 " You have promised me." 
 
 "Oh, Lord, I thank thee!" exclaimed Ag- 
 nes, doubly content. In the midst of his choler, 
 had Renzo perceived the advantage he could 
 draw from the dread of Lucia? And had he 
 not put in operation a little artifice to increase 
 it, that he might draw some benefit from it ? 
 Our author protests to know nothing on this 
 head, and I am of opinion that neither did 
 Renzo himself know very well. The truth is, 
 that he was enraged with Don Rodrigo, and 
 was full of ardor to obtain the consent of Lu- 
 cia ; now when two strong passions are stri- 
 ving together in the heart of a man, no one, 
 not even a patient one, can always distinguish 
 clearly the voice of one from the voice of the 
 other, and determine with certainty which of 
 them predominates. 
 
 " I nave promised you," said Lucia with an 
 accent of reproach, at once timid and affec- 
 tionate, " but you too have promised not to 
 cause any scandal, and to be governed by the 
 friar " 
 
 ' Oh come ! For the love of whom do I get 
 into a rage ? Do you want to retract ? and make 
 me do some rash " 
 
 " No, no," said Lucia, ready to resume her 
 apprehensions, " I have promised, and do not 
 retract. But see what you have made me pro- 
 mise. God will not " 
 
 " Why will you make such evil auguries, 
 Lucia ? God knows we are injuring no one." 
 
 " Promise me at least, that this shall be the 
 last," 
 
 " I do promise you on the word of a poor 
 lad." 
 
 " But mind you keep your word this time," 
 said Agnes. 
 
 Here the author confesses his ignorance of 
 another matter; whether Lucia was abso- 
 lutely and quite entirely dissatisfied that she 
 had been thus obliged to give her consent. 
 Like him, we leave the thing in doubt. 
 
 Renzo might have prolonged the conversa- 
 tion, and arranged minutely what was to be 
 done the following day ; but it was already 
 dark, and the women wished him good night, 
 it not appearing to them proper that he should 
 remain there any later. 
 
 The night however, passed in as goodly a 
 manner to all three, as a night can which suc- 
 ceeds to a day full of agitation and distress, 
 and which precedes another destined to an 
 important enterprise of uncertain termination. 
 Renzo made his appearance at an early hour, 
 and concerted with the women, or rather with 
 Agnes the great operation of the evening, con- 
 juring up and conquering difficulties by turns, 
 foreseeing obstacles, ana beginning, first one 
 and then the other, to describe the underta- 
 king, just as they would have narrated a thing 
 already executed. Lucia listened, and with- 
 out openly approving that which in her heart
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 41 
 
 she could not approve, promised to do the best 
 that she could. 
 
 " Will you go down to the convent, to speak 
 to father Christopher, as he told you to do 
 yesterday evening?" Agnes asked of Renzo. 
 
 " Speak to him, indeed !*' answered he, 
 " you know what prying eyes the father has 
 cot; he would read in my face just as he does 
 in a book, that there's something going on ; 
 and if he should begin to ask me questions, 
 I should not come off well. Besides I must 
 remain here to keep things right. It will be 
 better for you to send some one." 
 
 " I'll send Menico." 
 
 " Very well," answered Renzo, and went to 
 look after matters as he had said. 
 
 Agnes went to a neighboring house to seek 
 for Menico, a boy of about twelve years old, 
 sharp enough, aud by way of cousins and 
 other relationship, a sort of nephew of hers. 
 She asked him of his parents as a sort of loan 
 for the whole day, for a certain service she 
 said. And having obtained him, conducted 
 him to her kitchen, gave him some refresh- 
 ment, and told him to go to Pescarenico, and 
 present himself to fattier Christopher, who 
 would send him back with an answer, at the 
 proper time. " Father Christopher, that hand- 
 some old man, thou knowest, with the white 
 beard, that they call the saint " 
 
 "I know," said Menico, "he that takes 
 notice of the boys and caresses them, and 
 gives them sometimes an image." 
 
 " The very same, Menico. And if he tells 
 thee to wait awhile near the convent, don't go 
 away. Mind and don't go with the other 
 boys to the lake to play at ducks and drakes 
 with stones, nor to see them fish, nor to play 
 with the nets hung to the wall to dry, nor " 
 
 " Oh ! aunt, I am not such a child." 
 
 " Well, be prudent, and when you come 
 
 back with an answer see, I will give you 
 
 these two nice new parpagliole.* 
 
 " Give them to me now " 
 
 " No, no, you would be playing them. Go 
 and behave thyself and I will give thee still 
 more." 
 
 The remainder of that long morning, cer- 
 tain novelties occurred which infused a good 
 deal of suspicion into the already disturbed 
 minds of the women. A beggar, not a com- 
 plete and ragged one, as they usually were, 
 but with something dark and sinister in his 
 countenance, entered the house, asked for 
 alms in God's name, and cast his eyes about 
 as if he was spying. A piece of bread 
 was brought to him which he received and 
 put away with an ill concealed indifference. 
 He kept remaining too, with a sort of impu- 
 dence, and at the same time with hesitation, 
 making a great many inquiries, to which Ag- 
 nes always hastily gave him answers the very 
 reverse of the fact. Moving, as if he were 
 going to depart, he pretendedto miss the door, 
 and went through another which led to the 
 
 > A small coin with a butterfly impressed on it. 
 6 
 
 staircase, and examined the premises in haste, 
 as well as he could. They called to him, 
 " Where are you going, honest man ? Eh ! 
 this is the way." Upon which he returned, 
 and went out at the door that was pointed out 
 to him, excusing himself with a submission 
 and pretended humility, that he made an effort 
 to call up in his hard and fierce countenance. 
 After him, several other strange figures ap- 
 peared, from time to time. What kind of 
 men they were, it would have been difficult 
 to find out, but it was not possible to believe 
 they were the honest travelers they wished 
 to appear. One entered under the pretext 
 of asking the road ; others slackened their 
 pace when they were opposite the door, and 
 cast glances across the court yard into the 
 room, as if they wanted to see without ex- 
 citing suspicion. Finally, towards midday, 
 the troublesome procession of them was o^r. 
 Agnes rose now and then, crossed the court 
 yard, went to the street, and returned saying, 
 " There is no more of them," words that she 
 uttered, and that Lucia heard, with pleasure, 
 without either the one or the other Knowing 
 very clearly why. But there remained with 
 both of them an unaccountable perturbation, 
 which overcame, in a great measure, and 
 principally with the daughter, the courage 
 they had kept in reserve for the evening. 
 
 The reader, however, ought to have some 
 more precise information respecting those 
 mysterious ramblers, and that he may have it 
 in some order, we must turn back a step and 
 find Don Rodrigo, whom we left yesterday 
 after dinner, alone in a hall of his palace, at 
 the departure of father Christopher. 
 
 Don Rodrigo, as we have said, was measur- 
 ing backwards and forwards with long strides, 
 the hall, on the walls of which were hanging 
 family portraits, of various generations. 
 When he came with his face up to the wall, 
 and was about to turn, he saw himself fronted 
 by one of his warlike ancestors, the terror of 
 his enemies, and of his soldiers, fierce in his 
 looks, his short hair shaggy upon the front, 
 his mustachios drawn out in points and stand- 
 ing out from his cheeks, his chin oblique. 
 The hero was at full length, his legs, his 
 thighs, his body, his arms, his hands, all cased 
 in iron, his right hand placed upon his flank, 
 and his left resting upon the pommel of his 
 sword. Don Rodrigo looked at the figure, 
 and when he turned, beheld in front another 
 ancestor, a magistrate, the terror of litigants, 
 seated upon a lofty chair of red velvet, .wrap- 
 ped in a dark toga, quite black, except a 
 broad white collar, and a lining of ermine. 
 (The distinct costume of a Senator, only worn 
 in the winter ; and this is the reason why por- 
 traits of men having the senatorial dignity are 
 never seen in their summer dress.) The coun- 
 tenance was pale, the brows frowning : in his 
 hand he held a memorial, and appeared to say 
 "We shall see." Here was a matron, the 
 terror of her damsels, here an abbot, the dread 
 of his mouka all of them, finally, individuals
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 who had inspired terror, and whose pictures 
 still excited that feeling. In the presence of 
 so many mementos, Don Rodrigo became still 
 more enraged ; he felt humiliated, and knew 
 no peace, because a friar had had the inso- 
 lence to throw in his teeth the old saying of 
 Nathan. He formed plans of vengeance, then 
 abandoned them ; considered at the same mo- 
 ment how he could gratify his passion, and 
 vindicate what he called his honor ; and some- 
 times (mark this!) he felt a shudder come 
 over him, with the beginning of that prophe- 
 cy in his ears, that almost induced him to 
 abandon altogether either of the feelings that 
 agitated him. At length, to do something, 
 he called a servant and ordered him to make 
 bis apologies to his guests, and say that he 
 was detained by urgent affairs. When the 
 servant returned to say the gentlemen were 
 gone leaving their adieus. "And Count Atti- 
 fio ?" asked Don Rodrigo, still pacing up and 
 down. 
 
 " He went out with the gentlemen, illus- 
 'trious sir." 
 
 " Well. Six persons of my suite for a walk. 
 My sword, my cloak, and hat, immediately," 
 
 The servant left the room, bowing, and 
 soon returned with a rich sword that his mas- 
 ter put on, a cloak that he threw on his 
 shoulders, and with a hat with tall plumes, that 
 he carried fiercely to his head, the sign of a 
 swelling sea. Having reached the door, he 
 found his six bullies there, all armed, who, 
 bowing, and making room for him, fell into 
 his rear.* More sullen, more haughty, more 
 frowning than usual, he left the house and fol- 
 lowed the road to Lecco. The rustics, the 
 artisans, who saw him approach, drew near to 
 the wall, and began taking off their hats, and 
 making profound bows, which by him were 
 altogether unnoticed. Those who were es- 
 teemed of the better class also bowed to him 
 as his inferiors, for in the whole neighborhood 
 there was not one, who could compete with 
 him in name, in riches, in adherents, and in 
 the disposition to avail himself of all these ad- 
 vantages, to maintain his superiority over them. 
 Men of this class he saluted with a reserved 
 condescension. That day it did not so fall out, 
 but when it did happen to him to meet the 
 Spanish Castellan, the bowing was equally pro- 
 found on both sides : like two potentates, 
 who, having no matter of contention between 
 them, as a matter of expediency, do honor to 
 each other's rank. To get rid of his bad hu- 
 mor, and to drive from his fancy the image of 
 the friar, which still tormented him, by ob- 
 serving faces and actions the reverse of his, 
 he entered that day a house where a party had 
 assembled, and where he was received with 
 that busy and respectful cordiality, reserved 
 for men who are either very much beloved, or 
 very much feared, and when night came on, 
 he returned to his palace. Count Attilio had 
 got back at the same moment; supper was 
 then served, to which Don Rodrigo sat 
 thoughtfully down, and spoke very little. 
 
 " Cousin, when will you pay me this wa- 
 ger ?" said Count Attilio, with a malicious and 
 jocular air, as soon as the servants had left the 
 
 " Saint Martin's day is not gone by yet." 
 " You may as well pay it now, for all the 
 saints' days in the calendar will pass by, be- 
 
 " That's what we have to see yet." 
 
 " Cousin, you want to play the politician, 
 but I understand you ; and I am so certain I 
 have won the wager, thai I am ready to bet 
 another." 
 
 " What ?" 
 
 " That the friar the friar how do I know ? 
 that friar then has converted you." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! that is quite one of you* 
 bright thoughts." 
 
 " Converted, cousin converted, I say. I 
 rejoice at it. Do you know that it will be a 
 very moving spectacle to see you all com- 
 punction, and with your eyes cast down. And 
 what glory for that old friar ! How big he 
 must have felt when he went home. Such 
 fish are not to be caught every day, nor with 
 such a net. Be assured that he will quote 
 you as an example, and when he goes upon 
 some of his missions to a distance, he'll talk 
 of your actions no doubt. I can almost seem 
 to hear him." And here, speaking through 
 his nose, and accompanying his words with a 
 caricatured action, he continued, in a sermon- 
 izing tone, " In a part of this world, which 
 out of respect I do not name, there lived, my 
 beloved brethren, and there still lives, a de- 
 bauched cavalier, more a friend to women 
 than to honest men ; and who, being in the 
 habit of doing whatever he liked, had cast his 
 eyes upon " 
 
 " Enough, enough," interrupted Don Rod- 
 rigo, half smiling and half annoyed, " If you 
 wish to double the bet, I will indulge you." 
 
 " The devil ! why have you converted the 
 friar ?" 
 
 " Do not talk to me of him ; and as to the 
 bet, Saint Martin will decide." The curiosity 
 of the Count was piqued ; he did not spare his 
 inquiries; but Don Kodrigo evaded them all, 
 referring every thing to the day of decision, 
 and being unwilling on his part to communi- 
 cate designs which were not in progress, nor 
 even positively determined upon. 
 
 The following morning when Don Rodrigo 
 awoke, that small portion of compunction 
 which " A day will come," had brought upon 
 him, had vanished with the dreams of the 
 night, and his anger alone remained, exacer- 
 bated by the remorse of that passing weak- 
 ness. The more recent images of his trium- 
 phant walk, of the bows, of the reception he 
 nad met, even the jokes of his cousin, had 
 contributed not a little to re-establish his an- 
 cient resolution. Scarce was he up, when he 
 caused Griso to be called. " Some famous af- 
 fair," said the servant to himself, to whom this 
 order was given, for the man who bore that 
 name was nothing less than the chief of the
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 Bravos he to whom was entrusted the exe- 
 cution of the most daring and most insolent 
 actions, the confident of the master ; a man 
 devoted to him in the strongest way, by grati- 
 tude and interest. Guilty of a public Homi- 
 cide, to get out of the reach of justice he had 
 come to implore the protection of Don Rod- 
 rigo ; and he, receiving him into his service, 
 had shielded him from all persecution. Thus, 
 by engaging to commit every crime that was 
 imposed upon him, he had secured to himself 
 impunity for the other. For Don Rodrigo the 
 acquisition was of no small importance, be- 
 cause Griso, besides being the most valiant, 
 without comparison, of the family, was also a 
 specimen or what his master had been able 
 successfully to achieve against the power of 
 law ; so that the strength of his influence be- 
 came stronger both in fact and in opinion. 
 
 "Griso," said Don Rodrigo, "in this conjunc- 
 ture, I shall see what you are worth. Before 
 tomorrow, that Lucia must be in this palace." 
 
 " It shall never be said that Griso draws 
 back from executing any of the commands of 
 his illustrious master." 
 
 " Take as many men as you may want, or- 
 der and dispose as it seems best to you, so 
 that the thing succeeds. But above all things, 
 see that she is not hurt." 
 
 " Signor, a little fear so that she does not 
 make too much noise we can't do other- 
 wise." 
 
 " Fear ? I understand that is inevitable. 
 But do not touch a hair of her head ; and es- 
 pecially have a care to observ,e every respect 
 to her. Have you understood ?" 
 
 " Signor, we cannot by any means whatever 
 take a flower away from its stalk, and bring 
 it to your Excellency, without disturbing it a 
 little ; but nothing but what is quite necessary 
 shall be done." 
 
 " Under your responsibility. And how 
 will you proceed ? " 
 
 "I was thinking Sir. It is lucky that the 
 cottage is at the head of the village. We want 
 a place to go and keep hid at, and just in the 
 nick there is that ruined building, not far 
 off, in the midst of the fields ; that house 
 (your Excellency does not know any thing 
 about such things) is a house that was burnt 
 some years ago, and they have not the means to 
 repair it ; they have abandoned it, and now 
 the witches live in it, but it's not Saturday, 
 and I laugh at that. These country people 
 are full of omens, and would not pass any 
 night in the week there for a treasure ; so that 
 we can go there and keep snug in safety, since 
 no one will come to spoil our affairs." 
 
 " Very well ; and men ?" 
 
 Here Griso began to propose, and Don Rod- 
 rigo to discuss, until they had mutually con- 
 certed the manner of conducting their enter- 
 prize, so that no trace might remain of its au- 
 thors ; the manner too of diverting suspicion by 
 fallacious indications, in an opposite direction ; 
 of imposing silence upon poor Agnes ; of rilling 
 Renzo witn such terror, that it might predomi- 
 
 nate over his grief, and even the idea of hav- 
 ing recourse to justice, and of making any 
 complaints ; every sort of villany, in short, ne- 
 cessary to the success of the principal villany. 
 We shall leave such matters aside, because, as 
 the reader will see, they are not necessary to 
 understand the story, and we are loth to dwell 
 longer, or to detain him any further by the re- 
 lation of what took place between such a 
 couple of scoundrels. Let it suffice, that whilst 
 Griso was departing to begin the undertaking, 
 Don Rodrigo called him back, and said, 
 " Listen, if by chance that rash clown should 
 fall into your clutches this evening, it would 
 not be amiss to give him by anticipation a 
 good memorial upon his shoulders. So that 
 the order that will be intimated to him tomor- 
 row to keep quiet, will more certainly pro- 
 duce its effect. But don't go and look for him, 
 that you may not hinder what is of more con- 
 sequence : do you understand me ?" 
 
 "Leave it to me," answered Griso, with 
 an obsequious and confident bow, and went 
 away. 
 
 Trie morning was spent in reconnoitering 
 the country. The false beggar who had in- 
 truded himself into the cottage was Griso, 
 who came to view the premises : the pretend- 
 ed travelers were his own hounds, to whom, 
 for the execution of his plans, the slightest 
 knowledge of the place was sufficient. And 
 having made their observations, they with- 
 drew themselves, that they might not occasion 
 suspicion. 
 
 As soon as they were returned to the palace, 
 Griso rendered an account, settled definitive- 
 ly the plan of the enterprize assigned the 
 parts, and delivered his instructions. All this 
 could not be done without the old servant, 
 who had both his eyes and ears wide open, 
 being aware that there was some great affair 
 machinating. By waiting and asking, catch- 
 ing a hint nere and there, expounding some 
 obscure word to himself, and interpreting mis- 
 terious movements, he at last found out what 
 was going to be done that night. But when 
 he had found it out, night was not far off, and 
 a small vanguard of the bullies had already 
 left the house, to conceal themselves in the 
 dilapidated building. The poor old man, al- 
 though he felt he was engaged in a dangerous 
 game, still would not fail in his promise. He 
 went out, under the excuse of getting a little 
 air, and in great haste took the road to the con- 
 vent, to give father Christopher the promised 
 information. 
 
 A short time afterwards the other Bravos 
 got in motion, descending the hill separately, 
 by one and two at a time, that they might not 
 seem like one company. Next Griso follow- 
 ed, and nothing remained behind but a litter, 
 which was to be carried, and which was car- 
 ried to the ruin, after the evening had set in. 
 As soon as they were all assembled, Griso de- 
 spatched three of them to the village inn ; one 
 was to remain at the door to observe the 
 movements in the street, and to watch the mo*
 
 44 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 ment when all the inhabitants should be re- 
 tired : the other two were to remain within 
 playing and drinking, as if to pass the time, 
 and were to keep a good watch too, if any 
 thing was to be found out. Griso with the main 
 body, remained in the ambuscade waiting. 
 
 The poor old man was still trotting on, the 
 three explorers arrived at their post, and the 
 sun set, when Renzo came to the women and 
 said to them " Tonio and Gervaso are in the 
 street, I am going to sup with them at the inn, 
 and exactly at ave-maria we will come foryou. 
 Be of good courage, Lucia ! every thing de- 
 pends upon a moment." Lucia signed and an- 
 swered, " Oh yes, courage," with a voice that 
 contradicted the word. 
 
 When Renzo and his two companions ar- 
 rived at the inn, they found the Bravo already 
 planted as a sentinel, occupying half the door- 
 stead, his back leaning against the door-post, 
 and carefully looking about to the right and to 
 the left, and showing now the white now the 
 black of two ferocious eyes. A flat cap of crim- 
 son velvet, placed on one side, covered the half 
 of his tuft, which dividing on his dark brow, 
 terminated in locks fastened behind with a 
 comb in the nape of the neck. In his hand he 
 held a stout cudgel : arms, properly speaking, 
 he did not exhibit, but bylooking in his face 
 only, a child even might have guessed he had 
 as many concealed under his clothes as he 
 could carry. 
 
 Renzo being the foremost of the three, 
 when he was near this fellow, showed his in- 
 tention to enter, but without incommoding 
 himself he looked Renzo steadily in the face ; 
 the youth, however, intending to avoid all con- 
 versation, as every one would with a critical 
 enterprize to conduct, did not even say, " Will 
 you move a little ?" but keeping close to the 
 other door-post, passed in obliquely, side fore- 
 most, through the space left by that Cariatide. 
 His two companions found it necessary to 
 perform the same evolution if they meant to 
 enter. As soon as they got in, they saw the 
 other two scoundrelly Bravos, whose voices 
 they had heard, seated at a small table, play- 
 ing at Mora,* screaming out both together at 
 once, and pouring out first to one and then to 
 the other, from a large flask standing between 
 them. These also examined the new comers, 
 and one of the two particularly, holding out in 
 the air his right hand, with three monstrous 
 fingers spread out, and his mouth gaping to let 
 out a nix that was just on its journey, observed 
 Renzo keenly, then winked to his companion, 
 and afterwards to the fellow at the door, who 
 answered him with a sign of the head. Renzo 
 somewhat suspicious and uncertain, looked at 
 his two guests, as if he would seek in their 
 faces an interpretation of these grimaces, but 
 their countenances indicated nothing but good 
 appetites. The host looked at him as if to 
 
 * Mora u played by two persona ; each throws out 
 one or more fingers, and he who calls out the exact 
 number both throw out, wins. 
 
 wait his orders, and drawing him into another 
 room nigh at hand, he ordered supper. 
 
 " Who are these strangers ?" asked Renzo, 
 in a low voice, when he returned to the room, 
 with a coarse napkin under his arm, and a 
 flask in his hand. 
 
 " I don't know them," answered the inn- 
 keeper, spreading the cloth. 
 
 "How, not one of them?" 
 
 " You know well," answered he, spreading 
 hastily the cloth on the table, " that the first 
 rule of our trade is never to ask about other 
 people's affairs, so much so, that even our wo- 
 men are not curious. We should be in a pretty 
 box with so many people going and coming. 
 This is always a free port, that is, when the 
 years are tolerable, and we keep ourselves 
 cheerful with the hope that good times will 
 return. It is enough for us that our custom- 
 ers are honest men ; who they are, or who they 
 are not, is of no consequence. And now I'll 
 bring you a dish of forced meat, such as you 
 never ate before." 
 
 " How can you tell ?" said Renzo, but the 
 host went straight forwards on to his kitchen. 
 There whilst he was attending to the pot con- 
 taining the forced meat we have spoken of, he 
 was quietly accosted by the ruffian looking fel- 
 low who had eyed our youth, and who said, in 
 a low tone, " Who are these good men, here ?" 
 
 " Some honest folks of the place," replied 
 the innkeeper, turning the meat into a dish. 
 
 " That is all right, but what are their names ? 
 Who are they ?" ne inquired in a rather rough 
 tone. 
 
 " One of them is named Renzo," answered 
 the host in an under tone, " a good young fel- 
 low, a silk thrower, who understands his busi- 
 ness. The other is a countryman, called Tonio, 
 a merry, good sort of chap ; it is a pity he is 
 but poorly off, if he was not he would spend it 
 all here. The other is a blockhead that is very 
 fond of eating any thing you will give to him. 
 With permission." 
 
 Saying this he brushed off between the fire 
 place and the interrogator, and carried the 
 dish where it was expected. " How can you 
 tell," began Renzo again, when he saw him 
 coming, "that they are honest men, when 
 you don't know them ?" 
 
 " By actions, my dear fellow ; man is known 
 by his actions. Those who drink wine with- 
 out finding any fault with it, who show the 
 King's picture on the table without talking 
 about it, who do not enter into disputes with 
 other customers, and who if they have the 
 thrust of a dirk to spare to any body, go and 
 wait for him out of doors, at a distance from 
 the inn, so that the poor host is not called in 
 question, those are honest men. But you can 
 tell well bred people, just as well as we four 
 know one anotLer, and better. But what the 
 devil are you so curious about, a bridegroom 
 like you ought to have other things running in 
 his head. Come try the mince meat, it would 
 bring a dead man to life again." Having said 
 this, ne returned into the kitchen.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 45 
 
 Our author, speaking of the different lan- 
 guage the host held to the parties who interro- 
 gated him, observes, that he was a man so 
 constituted, that in his conversation he always 
 professed to be a great admirer of honest men 
 in general, but that in practice he had a great 
 deal more complaisance for those who had 
 either the reputation or the external appear- 
 ance of rascals. He was, as may be perceiv- 
 ed, a man of a singular character. 
 
 The supper was not a very merry one. The 
 two guests would have preferred to have en- 
 joyed it more at leisure, but the inviter, pre- 
 occupied with what the reader is apprized 
 of, and disturbed, even made unquiet by the 
 strange deportment of these unknown persons, 
 was longing for the hour of departure. On 
 account of these men, they spoke in an under 
 tone, in a broken and restrained manner. 
 
 " What a wonderful thing it is," escaped 
 from Gervaso all at once," that Renzo wants to 
 be married, and must have " Renzo looked 
 at him sternly, " Will you hold your tongue, 
 beast !" said Tonio to him, accompanying the 
 title with a thrust from his elbow. The con- 
 versation went on languishing until it stopped. 
 Renzo observing a strict sobriety, pouring out 
 the wine to his witnesses with discretion, so 
 as to make them a little bold, without getting 
 too much in their beads. All being finished, 
 and the account paid by the man that had 
 consumed the least, they had all three to pass 
 again before the bravos, who turned to IOOK at 
 Renzo, as at the first time. 
 
 As soon as he had got a few paces from the 
 inn he looked behind, and saw that the two 
 he had left seated in the kitchen, were follow- 
 ing him. But they, perceiving themselves ob- 
 served, also stopped, spoke in an under tone, 
 and turned back. If Renzo had been nigh 
 enough to hear what they said, it would have 
 appeared strange enough to hear as follows : 
 
 " It would be quite an honor, without count- 
 ing the reward," said one of the villains, " on 
 returning to the palace, to have had to tell that 
 we had flattened his ribs in a hurry, done by 
 ourselves too, without Griso giving us any in- 
 structions." 
 
 " And so ruin the main part of the affair," 
 replied the other. " See, he is aware of some- 
 thing, he stops to look at us. If it was only a 
 little later ! But let us go back, that they may 
 not suspect us. You see people are coming 
 from every quarter, let us let them all go to 
 roost." 
 
 There was, in fact, that sort of busy hum- 
 ming noise that is made in villages towards 
 evening, and which after a short time gives 
 place to the solemn tranquillity of night. The 
 women came from the field carrying their 
 young ones on their backs, and leading the 
 older ones, whom they were teaching to repeat 
 the ave-maria, by the hand. The men went 
 trudging along with their spades and hoes on 
 their shoulders. At the opening of their doors, 
 flickering lights were observed from the fires 
 lighted for their meagre suppers. Salutations 
 
 were exchanged in the street, and short and 
 sorrowful colloquies on the scarcity of the har- 
 vest, and the misery of the times ; and louder 
 than their voices were heard, the measured 
 and sonorous twangs of the bell that an- 
 nounced the dying day. When Renzo saw 
 that the two prying fellows had retired, he 
 kept on amidst the increasing darkness, re- 
 minding, in a low voice, the two brothers, first 
 of one thing, then of another. It was night when 
 they arrived at the cottage of Lucia. 
 
 Betwixt the first conception of a terrible un- 
 dertaking, and its execution, (it has been said 
 by a barbarian not without genius,) the inter- 
 val is a dream full of phantasms and apprehen- 
 sion. Lucia had been for several hours in the 
 anguish of such a dream ; and Agnes, Agnes 
 herself, the contriver of the plan, was thought- 
 ful, and found arguments with difficulty to en- 
 courage her daughter. But at the moment of 
 waking up, at the instant when action must 
 begin, the mind has undergone a metamor- 
 phosis. To the terror and to the courage 
 which were in conflict, succeed a terror and 
 a courage of another kind ; the underta- 
 king presents itself as a new apparition ; that 
 which at first appeared most to be dreaded, 
 seems all at once to become practicable; at 
 times a difficulty is magnified, which before 
 was scarce adverted to ; the imagination, full 
 of dread, recoils, the limbs refuse their office, 
 and the heart is wanting to those promises it 
 had encouraged with the greatest confidence. 
 At the low knocking of Renzo, Lucia was 
 seized with such terror that she resolved at 
 that moment, to suffer every thing, to remain 
 for ever separated from him, rather than exe- 
 cute the proposed plan ; but when he showed 
 himself, and had said, " Here I am, let us go ;" 
 when all appeared ready to commence the un- 
 dertaking without hesitation, as a thing irre- 
 vocably fixed, Lucia had neither time nor 
 heart to make any objections ; and as if she 
 was dragged, she trembling took an arm of her 
 mother, and an arm of her lover, and went 
 with the adventurous party. 
 
 Softly, softly, in the dark, with measured 
 steps, they went out of the door, and took the 
 road that led out of the village. The shortest 
 way would have been to go through it, to reach 
 the other end, where the house of Don Abbon- 
 dio stood, but they chose this to avoid being 
 seen. By paths among the orchards and fields, 
 they arrived near the house, and here they 
 divided themselves. The betrothed pair re- 
 mained behind one of the corners, Agnes with 
 them, but a little in advance, to run in time to 
 meet Perpetua and to get hold of her. Tonio 
 with that useless numskull, Gervaso, who 
 was good for nothing by himself, yet without 
 whom nothing could be done, bravely fronted 
 the door, andlifted the knocker. 
 
 " Who's there, at this time o'night ?" cried 
 out at a voice at the window, which was in- 
 stantly thrown up ; it was Perpetua " There's 
 nobody sick that I know of. Has any misfor- 
 tune happened ?"
 
 46 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 "It's me," answered Tonio, " with my bro- 
 ther, we want to speak with his worship the 
 curate." 
 
 " Is this an hour for Christians ?" rudely an- 
 swered Perpetua. " Why, you have got no dis- 
 cretion, return tomorrow." 
 
 " Hear I shall either return or I shall not 
 return. I have got a little money together, and 
 I thought I'd come and pay that old matter you 
 know of. Here's twenty five new pieces, how- 
 ever if I can't pay them, why patience ; I know 
 how to get rid of them, and I can come back 
 again when I have got some more together." 
 
 " Stop, stop, I'll go and come back again. 
 But why do you come at such an hour ?" 
 " If you can change it for one you like better, 
 why, with all my heart ; as for me, here I am, 
 and if you don't want me, well I can go." 
 
 " No, no, stop a moment ; I'll come back 
 with the answer." 
 
 Saying this, she shut the window. Agnes 
 now left the lovers, saying softly to Lucia, 
 " Courage, its only an instant, its like getting a 
 tooth drawn," and joined the two brothers be- 
 fore the door, holding conversation with Tonio 
 in such a way, that when Perpetua should re- 
 turn and see her there, she might think she 
 was passing by only, and that Tonio was 
 merely holding a little talk with her. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CARN-EADES ! Who was he ? Don Abbondio 
 was ruminating with himself in his great arm 
 chair, in a chamber in the upper story, with a 
 small book op'en before him, when Perpetua 
 entered with the embassy. Carneades! I 
 think I have heard or read of this name ; he 
 must have been a man of study, some learned 
 man of the old days ; its one of their names ; 
 but who the devil was he ? So far was the poor 
 man from foreseeing what sort of a storm was 
 going to burst over nis head ! 
 
 The reader must know that Don Abbondio 
 was fond of reading a few lines every day, and 
 a neighboring curate.who had a sort of library, 
 lent him one book after another, the first that 
 came to his hand. The book upon which Don 
 Abbondio was meditating at that moment 
 being now convalescent of his terror fever, in- 
 deed, as far as fever was .concerned, more com- 
 pletely cured than he was willing to acknow- 
 ledge was a panegyric in honor of Saint 
 Charles, delivered with great emphasis, and 
 heard with much admiration in the Dome of 
 Milan, two years before. The saint was com- 
 pared, on account of his love of study, to Ar- 
 chimedes, and thus far Don Abbondio, had not 
 been puzzled, because Archimedes has done 
 such great things, and has caused himself to 
 be so much talked of, that without possessing 
 vast erudition, a man may know some little 
 
 matter about him. But having done with Ar- 
 chimedes, the orator institutes a comparison 
 with Carneades, and here Don Abbondio was 
 completely run ashore. Just at this time, Per- 
 petua announced the visit of Tonio. 
 
 " At this hour ?" cried he, likewise, as was 
 very natural. 
 
 " What will you do ? They have no dis- 
 cretion, but if you don't take them when they 
 are flying " 
 
 " If I don't catch him, who knows when I 
 shall catch him ? Let him come Eh ! eh ! 
 are you quite sure it's him, Tonio ?" 
 
 "Why, the dickens ! " answered Perpetua, 
 and going down stairs, opened the door, say- 
 ing "where are you ?" Tonio came forward, 
 and then Agnes appeared and saluted Per- 
 petua by name. 
 
 "Good evening, Agnes," safid Perpetua, 
 " where do you come from at this hour ?" 
 
 " I came from " naming a small place 
 
 in the neighborhood, " and if you only knew," 
 she continued, " I staid rather too long only 
 on your own account." 
 
 "Ay, wherefore," inquired Perpetua; and 
 turning to the two brothers, " enter," she said, 
 " I'll go with you." 
 
 " Why," resumed Agnes, " it was because 
 one of those women that know nothing, and 
 still will talk would you believe it ? insist- 
 ed that you was not married to Beppo Suola- 
 vecchia, nor to Anselmo Lunghigna, because 
 they would'nt have you. I insisted upon it 
 that you had refused them, both one and 
 t'other " 
 
 "Certainly. Oh the lying slut! the lying 
 minx ! Who is she !" 
 
 "Don't ask me. I don't like to brew 
 ill " 
 
 " You shall tell me ; I will know it; the im- 
 pudent lying slut." 
 
 "Enough but you cannot believe how 
 vexed I was not to know the whole story just 
 to confound her." 
 
 " She is a good for nothing, infamous lying 
 devil !" said Perpetua. " As to Beppo, every 
 body knew and could see eh ! Tonio, shut 
 the door gently and go up stairs, I'll follow 
 you." Tonio answered from within that he 
 would do so, and Perpetua went on with her 
 story in the most impassioned manner. 
 Fronting the door of Don Abbondio, there 
 was a lane that separated two small houses, 
 and when it had reached their extreme length, 
 turned short round into the fields. Agnes 
 went there, as though she wanted to get to a 
 by place to talk more freely, and Perpetua 
 followed her. As soon as they had turned 
 the corner, and were in a place whence no- 
 thing could be seen which was passing at 
 Don Abbondio's door, Agnes coughed loudly. 
 This was the signal, Renzo understood it, 
 pressed the arm of Lucia to encourage her, 
 and both of them on the tips of their toes, 
 turned also their corner, creeping closely to 
 the wall, reached the door, and opened it 
 gently ; first one, and then the other silently
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 47 
 
 stooping down, glided into the hall, where 
 the two brothers were waiting for them. 
 Renzo replaced, without making the slight- 
 est noise, the latch of the door, and all 
 four went up the stairs, making not more 
 noise than would be made by two. Being 
 arrived upon the landing, the two brothers 
 went to the door of the room which was on 
 the side of the staircase, and the lovers kept 
 close to the wall. 
 
 " Deo gratias," said Tonio, with a clear 
 voice. 
 
 " Tonio, eh ! enter," answered a voice from 
 within. 
 
 Tonio opened the door just enough to let 
 himself and his brother in, one at a time. 
 The ray of light that burst at once through 
 the opening, and fell upon the dark floor of 
 the landing, made Lucia tremble as if she was 
 discovered. The brothers having entered, 
 Tonio closed the door behind him, the lovers 
 remaining immoveable in the dark, their ears 
 stretched out, and holding their breath : the 
 loudest noise that was heard was the continual 
 beating of the poor heart of Lucia. 
 
 Don Abbondio, as we have said, was seated 
 in an old arm chair, by the faint light of a small 
 lamp, wrapped up in a worn symar or gown, 
 with the upper part of his head buried in an 
 old cap, in which his face was set as in a 
 frame. Two of his grizzly locks had escaped 
 from his cap, and his thick eyebrows, musta- 
 chios, and a grey tuft on his chin, were hparily 
 stuck in his embrowned and wrinkled visage, 
 and somewhat resembled those snowy look- 
 ing tufts of bushes, which are seen growing 
 on the side of a steep by the pale light of the 
 moon. 
 
 " Ah, ah, " was his salutation, whilst he took 
 off his spectacles and placed them in the 
 leaves of the book. 
 
 " Your worship will say I am come late," 
 said Tonio, bowing, as did also Gervaso in a 
 clumsy way. 
 
 " Certainly, it is late : late in every sense. 
 Do you know that I am sick ?" 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it." 
 
 " You must have heard that I am sick, and 
 I don't know when I shall be able to go out. 
 But why have you brought that that young 
 fellow with you ?" 
 
 " Only for company, your worship." 
 
 " Well, well, let us see." 
 
 "Here are five and twenty new pieces, 
 those with Saint Ambrose on horseback," 
 said Tonio, taking a purse tied in a knot from 
 his pocket. 
 
 "Let us see," replied Don Abbondio, and 
 taking the purse, he put his spectacles on, 
 untied it, took out the money, turned it, re- 
 turned it, counted it, and found it all right." 
 
 " Now, your worship will please to give me 
 the necklace of myTecla." 
 
 " That is correct," replied Don Abbondio, 
 and going to a closet took out a key, and 
 looking round as if to see no lookers on were 
 near him, opened another closet, filling the 
 
 entrance of it with his person, putting his 
 head in to look, and reaching with his arm to 
 take out the pledge. Having got it, he lock- 
 ed the door, opened the paper, and saying, 
 " It is all right," folded it up again, and de- 
 livered it to Tonio. 
 
 "Now," said Tonio, "have the goodness 
 to put a little black upon the white." 
 
 " This, too," said Don Abbondio, " they 
 understand every thing. Eh, how suspicious 
 the world has got to be ! Don't you trust 
 me ?" 
 
 " How your worship ? Don't I trust you ? 
 You do me injustice. But as my name is in 
 the book, on the debtor's side as your wor- 
 ship has had the trouble to write once, so life 
 and death are " 
 
 " Very well, very well," interrupted Don 
 Abbondio, and grumbling, he drew towards 
 him a small case that was on the table, took 
 some paper, pen and ink, and began to write, 
 repeating over all the words, as they came 
 from his pen. In the meantime, Tonio made 
 a sign to Gervaso, and both of them placed 
 themselves before the table, so as to hide the 
 door from the curate whilst he was writing. 
 And as if from pure idleness, they began to 
 scrape and rub tne floor with their feet, as a 
 sign to the lovers to enter, and to conceal the 
 noise of their feet when they should enter. 
 Don Abbondio was so taken up with his wri- 
 ting that he paid no attention to any thing else. 
 At the scraping of their feet, Renzo took the 
 arm of Lucia, pressed it to give her courage, 
 and moved, drawing her, all trembling, behind 
 him, and incapable of moving alone. 
 
 Softly they entered the room, on the tips of 
 their feet, keeping in their breath, and placed 
 themselves benind the two brothers. In the 
 meantime, Don Abbondio, having finished the 
 receipt, read it over again attentively, without 
 raising his eyes from the paper, and folding it 
 up, said, " Will you be satisfied now ?" And 
 taking his spectacles from his nose with one 
 hand, and reaching out the paper with the 
 other, he lifted up his face. Tonio, extending 
 his right hand to take it, drew on one side, 
 and Gervaso at a sign from him drew to ano- 
 ther, so that, like the scenes which sometimes 
 occur on the theatre, Renzo and Lucia ap- 
 peared in the centre. 
 
 Don Abbondio looked, and was astounded ; 
 he became aware of the trap he had fallen into, 
 was enraged, but in a moment came to a reso- 
 lution All this took place whilst Renzo was 
 saying, " Signer curate, this is my wife in the 
 presence of these witnesses." 
 
 His lips were not yet closed, ere Don Ab- 
 bondio let fall the receipt, laid hold of the 
 lamp with his left hand, lifted it up, seized 
 with his right the cloth that covered the table, 
 and drew it off in a ferocious manner, throw- 
 ing to the ground, book, paper, inkstand, sand- 
 box and every thing else, and rushing from his 
 chair and the table, got near to Lucia. The 
 poor young creature, all trepidation, had scarce 
 with her gentle voice, got out, " And this "
 
 48 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 when Don Abbondio most uncourteously flung 
 the cloth over her head and face, to preven 
 her from pronouncing the whole formula 
 then letting the lamp fall from his left hand, he 
 used that also to wrap the cloth so tightly over 
 her face that he almost suffocated her ; scream- 
 ing out in the meantime, like a wounded bull, 
 " Perpetua, Perpetua, treason, help !" 
 
 The dying lamp sent from the floor a faim 
 and flickering glare upon Lucia, who altogether 
 terrified, did not even attempt to disengage 
 herself, and who might be thought to resemble 
 a statue modelled from chalk, over which the 
 sculptor had thrown a wet cloth. The lighl 
 having expired, Don Abbondio left the poor 
 girl, and groping about for a door that led to 
 another room, found it and fastened himself 
 in, screaming all the time, " Perpetua, treason, 
 help ; out of this house, out of this house." 
 In the first room every thing was confusion. 
 Renzo, groping about with nis hands to get 
 hold of the curate, as if he was playing at 
 blindman's buffi reached the door, and thumped 
 at it, calling out, " Open, open, don't make 
 such a screaming." Lucia called Renzo with 
 a faint voice, and said in a supplicating man- 
 ner to him, " Let us go, let us go, for the love 
 of God," Tonio, on the fleor, all fours, was 
 scraping about, hoping to lay his paws on the 
 receipt, whilst Gervaso, terrified, was jumping 
 about and screaming, seeking for the door that 
 opened upon the landing in order to save him- 
 self. 
 
 In the midst of this confusion, we cannot 
 forbear stopping an instant to make a reflect- 
 ion. Renzo, whom we find kicking up a pro- 
 digious noise, in the night time, in another 
 man's house, into which he had introduced 
 himself in an underhanded way, and who kept 
 the master of the house besieged in a room, 
 has all the appearance of an oppressor ; yet at 
 the end of the story he turns out to be the op- 
 pressed. Don Abbondio, surprised, put in 
 night, terrified, whilst he was occupied with 
 his own affairs, would seem to be a persecuted 
 man, yet in reajity it was he who inflicted the 
 injury. That is the way things often go in 
 the world I mean to say, it is the way they 
 used to go in the seventeenth century. 
 
 The besieged, perceiving that the enemy 
 
 ve no signs of decamping, opened a window 
 it looked towards the sacristy or vestry 
 room, and began to scream out, " assistance, 
 help, help." The moon shone in the most beau- 
 tiful manner, the shadow of the church, and at 
 a greater distance the long and acute figure of 
 the steeple, was extended, dark, immoveable 
 and distinct, upon the grassy and shining 
 lawn of the sacristy, every object . could be 
 discerned as clear as by daylight. But as far 
 as the sight could extend, there was no indi- 
 cation of a living soul. Contiguous, however, 
 to the side wall of the church, and exactly on 
 that side which looked towards the parsonage, 
 was a small habitation, a hole of a place where 
 the sacristan slept. This man being awakened 
 by this unusual alarm, started in nis bed, got 
 
 up, opened a sort of glazed paper window, put 
 his head out, and with his eye-lids yet glued 
 together, called out, " What's the matter ?" 
 
 " Run, Ambrosio, help, people in the house," 
 Don Abbondio, kept screaming towards him. 
 "I'll come directly," replied he, drawing in 
 his head and closing the window; and although 
 half asleep, and more than half frightened, he 
 hit upon an expedient, at once to give more 
 help than he was asked for, without running 
 his own head into Don Abbondio's troubles, of 
 whatever nature they might be. Seizing his 
 breeches which were upon the bed, and sho- 
 ving them under his arm like a dress hat, he 
 scrambled quickly down his wooden ladder, 
 ran to the steeple, seized hold of the rope of 
 the largest of two bells hung there, and be- 
 gan to pull away. 
 
 Tong, tong, tong, tong, in an instant all the 
 country people were sitting upright in bed, 
 and all the lads that were stretched out on the 
 hay, hung out their ears and sprung out upon 
 their feet. " What's the matter, what's the 
 matter ? The steeple bell ? Fire ? Thieves ? 
 Banditti ?" Then some of the women began to 
 pray their husbands not to stir, to let the 
 others go ; some get up, and go to the window ; 
 the poltroons, as if they had yielded to the en- 
 treaties of their wives, crept under the blankets 
 again. The bold and the more curious ran for 
 their pitchforks and harquebusses, to go to the 
 parsonage, whilst others merely looked on. 
 
 But before these people had got together, 
 indeed before they were well awake, the noise 
 had reached the ears of others who were 
 watching, not far off, on foot, and in their 
 clothes. The Bravos in one place, Agnes 
 and Perpetua in another. We will tell, first, 
 what was done by those from the moment we 
 left them, partly in the ruined house, and 
 partly at the inn. The three, when they per- 
 ceived all the cottages were closed, and the 
 streets deserted, left the inn, as if they were 
 sjoing a considerable distance, making without 
 iny noise, a reconnoissance through the village, 
 to ascertain if every body was retired ; and in 
 fact, they did not meet a living soul, or hear 
 the slightest noise. They also passed, and 
 still more softly, before our poor cottage, the 
 most noiseless of them all, because there was 
 nobody within. From thence they went 
 straight to the ruin, to make their report to 
 GJriso. Immediately he placed on his head a 
 arge old hat, and upon his shoulders a pil- 
 grim's cloak of waxed cloth, sprinkled over 
 with cockle shells, took in his hand a pilgrim's 
 staff, and saying, " Now let us go like orave 
 ellows, silence, and attention to orders," he 
 moved, and the rest followed him. 
 
 In a short time they reached the cottage, 
 >y a road opposite to that by which our nup- 
 ial party went on their expedition. Griso 
 cept his troop a little in the rear, preceding 
 hem himself, with a view to explore, and 
 inding the street deserted, and every thing 
 till out of doors, he made two of his ruffians 
 come forward, ordered them to get over the
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 49 
 
 wall quietly which enclosed the court yard, 
 and when within, to conceal themselves in a 
 corner behind a thick fig tree, which he had 
 remarked in the morning. Having done this, 
 he tapped gently at the door, intending to say 
 that a pilgrim who had lost his way desired 
 lodgings until morning. No one answering, he 
 knocked a little louder, but all was still. He 
 then called a third rogue, made him get into 
 the court yard like the others, with directions 
 to draw the nails from the chain that held the 
 bolt within, that they might have free ingress 
 and egress. Every thing was executed with 
 great caution, and in the best way. Having 
 gone to call the others, he made them enter 
 with him, sent them to post themselves with 
 the first, shut the door gently, placed two 
 sentinels within, and goes straight to the door 
 of the house. There, too, he knocked, waited 
 he might well wait ! Having opened this door 
 likewise, still no one within says, who's there ? 
 No one moves ; what a famous chance ! for- 
 wards, then. " St." having called the men 
 behind the fig tree, he walked with them into 
 the room on the ground floor, where in the 
 morning he had miquitously begged their 
 morsel of bread from them. He now took out 
 tinder, flint, steel and matches, and lit a small 
 lamp he had brought, entered another room in- 
 side, to> see if there was any one there, and 
 found no one. He now went to the foot of the 
 stairs, looked, listened ; all was solitude and 
 silence. 
 
 Leaving two other sentinels below, he told 
 Grignapoco to come with him ; a Bravo of the 
 Bergamasc country, who was to do all the 
 threatening, the coaxing, the commanding, in 
 fact who was to do all the talking of the party, 
 so that his dialect might induce Agnes to be- 
 lieve the expedition came from those parts. 
 With this fellow at his side, and the others be- 
 hind, Griso mounted the staircase, softly, softly, 
 cursing in his heart every step that made a 
 noise, every tread of the ruffians that broke the 
 silence. At length he reached the top. Here 
 the hare lies. Gently he pushed the door of 
 the first room he met, it opens a little, he looks 
 in, all is dark : he applies his ear to discover 
 if any one snores, breathes, or moves ; he hears 
 nothing. In he goes ; placing the lantern be- 
 fore his face, that he may see without being 
 seen; he opens the door wide, perceives a 
 bed : the bed is made and quite smooth, the 
 linen neatly turned down, and resting on the 
 bolster. Shrugging his shoulders, he turns to 
 his troop, and makes a sign to them that he is 
 going to examine the other room, and that 
 they Jceep behind him without making a noise : 
 he goes there, examines in the same way, and 
 finds exactly the same state of things. " What 
 the devil is all this?" said he, then openly^ 
 " has some rascally traitor been betraying' 
 us?" All now, with less caution, began to 
 examine, to fumble in every corner, and 
 ended by turning the house topsy turvy. 
 
 Whilst these matters were going on, the 
 two, who were on guard at the gate of the 
 7 
 
 court yard next the street, hear approaching, 
 from a direction beyond the street, a light foot 
 walking and drawing near ; supposing that, 
 whoever it was, they would pass straight on, 
 they remained silent, and kept themselves 
 diligently on the alert. The footstep ceased, 
 as soon as it reached the gate. It was Meni- 
 co, who came in haste, sent by father Christo- 
 pher, to warn the two women for the love of 
 Heaven to escape immediately from the cot- 
 tage, and take refuge at the convent, because 
 we know the because. Taking hold of the 
 handle of the bolt to knock, he found it loose 
 in his hand, broken, and the nails drawn. 
 What can this be ? thought he, and thrusts the 
 door quite frightened ; it opens, he puts a foot 
 cautiously within, and immediately feels him- 
 self seized by both arms, and hears two low 
 voices say to him, right and left, " be silent, 
 hold your tongue, or you die." He on the 
 contrary screaming out, one of the villains, 
 gave him a great slap on the mouth, whilst 
 the other put his hand to his knife to frighten 
 him. The boy trembled like a leaf, and gave 
 over Screaming; but all at once, in his stead, 
 and in a very different sort of tone, the first 
 twang of the church bell broke out, fol- 
 lowed up by that tempest of strokes that 
 pealed upon the night after it. He who is in 
 the wrong box always knows it, says a Mila- 
 nese proverb ; each of these scoundrels thought 
 he heard the bell repeat his name, his Chris- 
 tian name, and his family name ; they let go 
 the arms of Menico, draw back their own in 
 a rage, open their hands and mouths wide 
 open, look in each other's faces, and run to 
 the house, where the major part of the troop 
 was. Menico cleared out, and took to his 
 legs in the direction of the steeple, where he 
 had good reasons for supposing he should 
 meet with some body or other. 
 
 Upon the rest of the villains, who were 
 roving about the house from top to bottom, 
 the terrible sound of the church bell made the 
 same impression : they confounded, they em- 
 barrassed, they rushed against each other, 
 each one sought the shortest way to reach the 
 door. And yet they were all proved men, 
 and habituated to show their faces ; still they 
 could not hold up against an. undefined dan- 
 ger, and of which they had not had the slightest 
 glimpse before it had so suddenly come upon 
 them. All the superiority of Griso was ne- 
 cessary to keep them together, and prevent a 
 retreat being turned to a flight. 
 
 As a dog escorting a herd of swine, runs 
 now here, now there, after those that are 
 astray, bites one by the ear, and draws it back 
 into the herd, seizes another by the snout, and 
 barks at a third, that at the same moment is 
 leaving the ranks, so the pilgrim seizes one 
 of them by the tuft, just as he was reaching 
 the door, and drags him back; drives back 
 with his staff first one and then another, that 
 were near him, cries out to the rest that 
 are running they know not where, so that at 
 last he assembled them all in the centre of the
 
 50 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 court yard. " Halt ! halt ! pistols in hand, 
 knives ready, all together, and then we go, 
 that's the way. Who do you think will touch 
 us, if we all keep together, you wicked devils, 
 you ? But if we let ourselves be caught one 
 by one, why even these country bumpkins 
 will give it to us. For shame ! keep behind 
 me, and keep close." After this short ha- 
 rangue, he placed himself in front, and went 
 out first. The cottage, as we have stated, 
 was at the end of the village, Griso took the 
 road that led away from it, and all kept behind 
 in good order. 
 
 Let us let them go, whilst we turn back a 
 step or two to take up Agnes and Perpetua, 
 whom we have placed there behind a certain 
 corner. Agnes had contrived to get her friend 
 as far away from Don Abbondio's as it was 
 possible, and up to a certain point the matter 
 went on pretty well ; but all at once, Perpetua 
 recollected that the door was left open, and 
 wanted to go back. There was no remedy ; and 
 Agnes, that she might create no suspicion, had 
 been obliged to turn about also, and go behind 
 her, endeavoring, nevertheless, to engage her 
 attention, every time her imagination appeared 
 warmed up with the story ot the matrimonies 
 of by-gone days. She pretended to give her 
 the greatest attention, and from time to time to 
 show her how much interest she felt in the 
 affair, and to encourage this gossiping, said, 
 " Certainly, now I understand, that is quite 
 right, nothing can be clearer, and then ? and 
 he? and you?" During this she held another 
 colloquy with herself. Have they got off by 
 this time ? or are they yet in the house ? What 
 boobies we were all three, not to have con- 
 certed some signal for me when the affair had 
 succeeded ! What a stupid mistake ! But it is 
 over ; now it will be better to keep amusing 
 her as well as I can, at the worst it will be a 
 little time lost. Thus, sometimes stopping, 
 sometimes going on, they at last got back not 
 far from Don Al>bondio s house, which, how- 
 ever, was not to be seen on account of the 
 corner; and Perpetua, finding herself in a 
 very important part of her narration, permitted 
 herself to be detained without resistance, in- 
 deed, without being aware of it ; when, sud- 
 denly, was heard echoing from above, in the 
 immoveable void of the air, through the vast 
 silence of night, that first enraged scream of 
 Don Abbondio, " help ! help !" 
 
 " Mercy ! what has happened ?" cried out 
 Perpetua, and wanted to run. 
 
 " What is it, what is it ?" said Agnes, pulling 
 her back by her gown. 
 
 " Misery ! hav'nt you heard ?" answered 
 she, getting away from her. 
 
 " What is it, what is it," repeated Agnes, 
 grasping her by the arm. 
 
 "Devil of a woman !" exclaimed Perpetua, 
 flinging her off to get at liberty, and to be able 
 to run. Just then, further off, in a finer key, 
 and more instantaneous, the screaming of 
 Menico was heard. 
 
 "Mercy!" cried Agnes also now, and 
 
 went full gallop after Perpetua. Scarce had 
 they lifted their heels, when the church bell 
 began, one, two, three, and kept pealing 
 away : if they had wanted any spurs, these 
 would have been sufficient. Perpetua arrived 
 first by two paces ; whilst she was reaching 
 out her hand to the door to throw it open, it 
 suddenly opened from within, and behold upon 
 the threshold, Tonio, Gervaso, Renzo and Lu- 
 cia, who, having found the stairs, had got 
 down them by jumps, and hearing those 
 strokes on the bell, were running off in a fright 
 to put themselves in safety. 
 
 " What is it ? what is if?" asked Perpetua, 
 out of breath, of the brothers who answered 
 her by running against her, and pushing off 
 " And you ! how ! what are you doing here ?" 
 she asked of the other couple as soon as she 
 knew them ; but they, too, went on without 
 answering her. Perpetua, hastening where 
 she was most wanted, asked no further ; she 
 pushed eagerly into the house, and groped her 
 way to the staircase. 
 
 The two lovers, who remained yet be- 
 trothed, found Agnes before them in an agony 
 of vexation. "An, here you are!" said she, 
 bringing the words out with an effort. "How 
 did the affair go ? what is that bell about ? I 
 think I heard " 
 
 " Let us go home, let us go home," said 
 Renzo, "before the people come." And on 
 they went, when, lo ! Menico, on the full run, 
 comes up, recognizes them, stands before 
 them, and yet trembling, with a voice half 
 spent, cries out, "Where are you going? 
 back, back this way, to the convent." 
 
 " What is it thou that " began Agnes. 
 
 " WKat's the matter ?" asked Renzo ; Lucia, 
 terrified, stood Trembling and silent. 
 
 " Why, the devil's got into your house," 
 answered Menico, out of breath ; " I have 
 seen him myself they wanted to kill me 
 father Christopher said so and you, too, Ren- 
 zo, he said you must come directly. I saw 
 them myself it's a providence that I find you 
 all here. I'll tell you when we get out of 
 town." 
 
 Renzo, who had his wits about him more 
 than any of them, thought either this way or 
 that they must go immediately, before the 
 people came up, and that the best way was to 
 do what Menico advised; nay, commanded 
 them to do, with the voice of one frightened 
 out of his senses. On the road, then, and out 
 of the confusion anil danger, they could ask 
 the little boy for a clearer explanation. "Walk 
 before," said he ; " let us go with him," said 
 he to the women. They turned, rapidly drew 
 near to the church, passed the sacristy, where 
 by the favor of Heaven there was not a living 
 soul, entered a narrow street that separated 
 the church and the house of Don Abbondio, 
 and getting into the first lane they met with, 
 took to the fields. 
 
 They had perhaps not got fifty paces, when 
 the people began to draw nigh to the sacristy, 
 and were increasing in numoer. They looked
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 51 
 
 in each other's faces, every one had something 
 to ask about, no one an answer to give. The 
 first who arrived ran to the church door it 
 was shut. They ran to the belfrey, and one 
 of them clapping his mouth to a sort of loop- 
 hole there was in the wall, bawled out, " What 
 the devil is the matter?" Ambrosio, as soon as 
 he heard a voice he knew, let go the rope, and 
 hearing from the rumor that mere was a con- 
 course of people without, answered, "I'll 
 come and open the door." In haste he slip- 
 ped on the garment he had carried away un- 
 der his arm, came through to the church door 
 and opened it. 
 
 " What is all this uproar about ? What's the 
 matter ? Where who is it ? " 
 
 " How, who is it?" said Ambrosio holding 
 the door with one hand, and with the other 
 hitching up the article of dress he had put on 
 in such a hurry, " What don't you know ? 
 There's some people in the curate's house, 
 help, help." All run to the house, examine it, 
 crowd near to it, look above, listen, every 
 thing was quiet. Others go to the street door, 
 find it shut and fastened, they look up, and 
 don't find a window open, not the least move- 
 ment is heard within. 
 
 " Who is within ? Hollo, hollo ! Signer cu- 
 rate ! signer curate!" Don Abbondio, who, 
 as soon as he was aware of the flight of the 
 invaders, had closed the window and retired 
 from it, and who at that moment was wran- 
 gling in an under tone with Perpetua, who had 
 left him all alone in his state of trouble, was 
 obliged, when he heard himself called by the 
 people, to go again to the window, and behold- 
 ing such powerful succor repented the having 
 invoked it. 
 
 " What has happened ? What have they 
 done to you ? Who are they ? Where are they ? " 
 fifty voices cried out to him all at once. 
 
 " Here's nobody here now. I thank you, 
 return home again, therefore." 
 
 " But who has been here ? Where are they 
 gone ? What has happened ?" 
 
 " Bad people, people that go about by night, 
 but they are fled ; go home again, it is no- 
 thing at all another time my children I 
 thank you for your kind heartedness." Hav- 
 ing said this he shut the window and retired. 
 Now some began to grumble, others to joke, 
 and some to curse ; some again shrugged up 
 their shoulders and went away, when a man 
 arrived breathless, and endeavored to force 
 out a few words. This man lived opposite 
 almost to our women, and having, dunng the 
 rumor, gone to the window, perceived in the 
 court yard of their cottage, the disordered 
 troop of Bravos, when Griso was worrying 
 himself to bring them to order. As soon as 
 he had recovered his voice, he exclaimed, 
 
 " What are you doing here, my sons ? The 
 devil is not here, he is at the other end of the 
 village, at the cottage of Agnes Mondella; 
 armed men have got into it, and it seems they 
 are going to murder a pilgrim who knows 
 what the devil they are going to do !" 
 
 " What ? what ? what ?" And then began a 
 tumultuous consultation. 
 
 " We must go there ! We must go and see ? 
 How many of them are they ? How many are 
 we ? W T ho are they ? The consul !* The con- 
 sul!" 
 
 "Here I am," answered the consul from 
 the midst of the crowd, " Here I am, but you 
 must give me assistance, and you must obey. 
 Quick, where is the sacristan ? Ring the bell, 
 ring the bell. Let one of you immediately go 
 to Lecco to seek assistance ; come here all of 
 you " 
 
 Now some dart off through the crowd to the 
 belfry, and pull away ; great was the tumult, 
 when another man arrives who had seen the 
 enemy in full retreat, and screamed out in his 
 turn, "Run, my sons, thieves or banditti are 
 carrying oft' a pilgrim they have already left 
 the village after them after them!" Upon 
 this information, without awaiting the orders 
 of their leader, off they start in a mass, all 
 mixed together, through the village. As the 
 army proceeded, some of the vanguard slack- 
 ened their pace, suffered themselves to be 
 overtaken, and so fell into the centre of the 
 body. Those in the rear pushed on before, 
 and thus the confused swarm reached the in- 
 dicated cottage. 
 
 Traces of the invasion were recent and 
 manifest ; the gate open, the bolt wrenched 
 off, but the invaders gone. They entered the 
 court yard, and approach the house door, that 
 too is open and the fastening broken ; they 
 call out, " Agnes, Lucia ! The pilgrim ! 
 Where is the pilgrim ? Stephano must have 
 been dreaming about a pilgrim no, no, Carl 
 Andrea saw him too. Hollo,pilgrim ! Agnes ! 
 Lucia !" no one answers. " They have carried 
 them off! They have carried them off !" Some 
 now raising their voices, proposed to follow 
 the ravishers, it was a nefarious act, and 
 would be the reproach of the whole country 
 if every villain was to be suffered with impu- 
 nity to carry off women, just as a kite does 
 chickens from a deserted habitation. A new 
 and a more tumultuous consultation now be- 
 gan, but one (and it never was known exactly 
 who it was) spread a report that Agnes and 
 Lucia had taken refuge in one of the houses. 
 This soon got into circulation, and was be- 
 lieved ; a pursuit of the fugitives was no longer 
 spoken of, and the multitude broke up, each 
 one going to his own home. Then came whis- 
 perings, noises, knocking and opening of 
 doors, the appearance and disappearance of 
 lamps, questions asked by women from the 
 windows, and answers given from the street. 
 
 This having become once more deserted and 
 silent, the conversations were revived in the 
 houses, until they expired amidst a general 
 gaping, to be resuscitated again the next day. 
 No new facts, however, occurred, except that 
 on the succeeding morning, the consul standing 
 in his field, with his chin resting upon his hands, 
 
 * A village magistrate.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 his hands upon the end of the handle of his 
 spade, half buried in the ground, with his foot 
 yet upon it, and musing within himself upon 
 the mysteries of the past night, and of what 
 might be expected of him, and of what it was his 
 duty to do, saw two men approaching of a very 
 lively presence, their hair combed out like 
 two kings of France of the first race, and, in 
 every thing else extremely resembling the two 
 men, who five days before had stopped Don 
 Abbondio, if they were not the very same per- 
 sons. With still less ceremony they intimated 
 to the consul, that he had better be careful 
 how he made any depositions before the po- 
 desta of what had happened, of telling what 
 had taken place, even if he should be interro- 
 gated ; of gossiping about it, or encouraging 
 any gossipings amongst the country people, 
 if he entertained the slightest hope of regularly 
 dying in afit of sickness. 
 
 Our wanderers went on for some time at a 
 good pace, in silence, first one and then ano- 
 ther turning about to look if any body was 
 following them, troubled what with the fa- 
 tigue they endured, the struggle and suspense 
 they had gone through, the vexation of their 
 ill success, and the confused apprehension of 
 this new inconceivable danger. Their dis- 
 tress too was increased by the tolling of the 
 bell, as if in continual pursuit of them, and 
 which, although, as the distance increased, it 
 became weaker and more obtuse, seemed to 
 assume a more lugubrious and ill-omened 
 tone. At length it ceased. Finding them- 
 selves in an unfrequented plain, and perfectly 
 alone, they slackened their pace, and Agnes 
 was the first who, havin^ recovered her breath, 
 broke silence, asking Renzo how the affair 
 had gone, and desinng Menico to tell her 
 what devil he had seen at the cottage. Ren- 
 zo briefly related his sorrowful story, and all 
 three turned to the boy, who detailed to them 
 more exactly the advice of the father, and 
 narrated what he himself had seen, and the 
 risk he had run, and which was too well con- 
 firmed by the friar's message. The listeners 
 comprehended more than Menico knew how 
 to tell them; at this discovery they were 
 again seized with a shivering ; all three atood 
 for a moment in the middle of the road, and 
 exchanged with each other a look of terror, 
 and with an unanimous movement, all placed 
 their hands on the boy, one on his head, ano- 
 ther on his shoulders, as if to caress him, and 
 tacitly thank him for having been a tutelar 
 angel to them, to show him how they sympa- 
 flii/.i'il with him, and almost to ask him to 
 forgive them for the anguish he had suffer- 
 ed on their account, and the danger he had 
 incurred to save them. 
 
 " Now, go home, that Ihy friends may not 
 be distressed any longer on thy account," said 
 Agnes to him ; and remembering the two par- 
 pagliole she had promised him, she produced 
 four and gave them to him, adding, " enough, 
 pray to God that we may meet soon, and 
 then " Renzo gave him a new livre, and 
 
 entreated him not to say any thing about the 
 commission he had received from the friar. 
 Lucia caressed him again, bid him good bye 
 with a trembling voice, and the boy quite sof- 
 tened, saluted them and turned back. On- 
 wards they went, quite thoughtful, the women 
 before and Renzo in the rear, as if to guard 
 them. Lucia held closely to the arm of her 
 mother, and gently and dextrously declined 
 his proffered assistance in the awkward places 
 they came to, in a journey so out of the com- 
 mon road. She was ashamed, even in her 
 distress, at having been so often alone with 
 him, and so familiarly, when she expected in 
 but a few moments to be his wife; now 
 that vision having so sorrowfully passed away, 
 she repented even this ; and amongst so many 
 causes of trepidation, she even trembled for 
 that modesty which is not the result of the 
 sad acquaintance with evil, but that delicate 
 modesty which does not even know itself: 
 like the fear of the child who trembles in 
 darkness without knowing why. 
 
 " And the cottage ?" said Agnes, on a sud- 
 den. But although the care which produced 
 that exclamation from her was an important 
 one, no one replied, because no one could give 
 her a satisfactory answer. They therefore 
 continued their walk in silence, and soon 
 after finally came out in a small square before 
 the church of the convent. 
 
 Renzo went to the door of the church and 
 pushed it very hard. The door immediately 
 opened, and the moonlight entering through 
 the space, illuminated the pallid countenance 
 and the silver beard of lather Christopher, 
 who was standing there waiting. As soon as- 
 he saw that no one was wanting, " God be 
 blessed," said he, and made them a sign to 
 enter. By his side was another capuchin, 
 the lay sacristan, whom with entreaties and 
 arguments he had pursuaded to watch with 
 him, to leave the door ajar, and to remain 
 there unguarded to receive those poor me- 
 naced people : and nothing less than the au- 
 thority of the father, and his reputation as a 
 saint, would have sufficed to determine the 
 lay brother to a condescension, both inconve- 
 nient, dangerous, and irregular. As soon as 
 they were within, father Christopher gently 
 shut the door. Then the sacristan could no 
 longer contain himself, and taking the father 
 aside, he whispered in his ear, " but, father, 
 father ! at night in the church with women 
 shut up the rules but father!" and he 
 shook his head. Whilst he was articulating 
 with effort these words now just see ! thought 
 father Christopher, if it was some ruffian pur- 
 sued, friar Fazio would not oppose the least 
 difficulty, and a poor innocent that is escaping 
 from the claws of the wolf "omnia munda 
 mundis," he then said, suddenly turning to 
 brother Fazio, and forgetting that he did not 
 understand latin. But this lorgetfulness was 
 exactly what produced the enect. If the 
 father had entered upon a course of argument, 
 brother Fazio would not have been wanting
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 53 
 
 in reasons to answer him, and Heaven knows 
 when the dispute would have been termi- 
 nated. But hearing these grave words, bear- 
 ing so mysterious a sense, and uttered so re- 
 solutely, it appeared to him that they must 
 contain the solution of all his doubts. He 
 was satisfied, and said " Very well, you know 
 better than me, father," 
 
 " Confide in me," answered father Christo- 
 pher ; and by the faint light of the lamp which 
 was burning before the altar, he drew near to 
 the refugees, who were standing there wait- 
 ing, and said to them, " My children ! thank 
 the Lord that he has delivered you from so 
 
 great a danger. Perhaps at this moment !" 
 
 And here he began to relate to them the cause 
 why he had despatched the little messenger, 
 sever suspecting that they knew more about 
 it than he did himself, and supposing that 
 Menico had found them quiet at home, before 
 the Bravos had arrived. No one undeceived 
 him, not even Lucia, although she had some 
 secret remorse for dissimulating with a man 
 of his character ; but this was a night full of 
 entanglement and duplicity. "After this," 
 continued he, "you see my children, that this 
 part of the country is not safe for you. It is 
 yours, you are born here, you nave done 
 wrong to no one, but God wills it so. It is a 
 trial, my children ; bear it with patience, with 
 constancy, without rancor, and rest assured 
 that the time will come when you will say that 
 you are contented with what has happened. I 
 have thought of a refuge for you in these first 
 moments. Soon, I hope, you will be able to 
 return in safety to your own homes ; in every 
 way God will provide for you for the best, and 
 most certainly I will endeavor not to be found 
 wanting for the favor I have found with him, 
 choosing me, as he has done, as his minister, 
 in the service of you his afflicted ones. You," 
 continued he, addressing himself to the wo- 
 men, " can stop at ." There you will 
 
 be sufficiently out of danger, and at the same 
 time, not too distant from your home. In- 
 quire for our convent : ask for the father guar- 
 dian, give him this letter, he will be to you 
 another father Christopher. And thee, my 
 poor Renzo, thou also must save thyself from 
 the fury of another, as well as from thy own. 
 Carry this letter to father Buenaventura du Lo- 
 di at our convent, at the eastern gate in Milan. 
 He will be a father to thee, will give thee di- 
 rections, will find thee work, until the mo- 
 ment when thou canst return here to live 
 tranquilly. Go to the bank of the lake, near 
 the mouth of the Bione," a mountain stream 
 not far from the convent, " there thou 'It find 
 a boat; call out boat thou wilt be asked 
 for whom ; answer Saint-Francis. The boat 
 will then take thee, transport thee to the 
 other bank, where thou wilt find a wagon 
 that will conduct thee straight on as far 
 as " 
 
 Whoever asks how father Christopher could 
 so soon have at his disposition those means of 
 transportation by water and by land, shows 
 
 that he knows nothing of the influence a ca- 
 puchin could acquire, who was reputed to be 
 a saint. 
 
 The next thing to think of was the custody 
 of the cottages. The father received the keys, 
 taking upon himself the charge of delivering 
 them to those whom Renzo and Agnes indi- 
 cated to him. Agnes, when she gave up her 
 own, brought out a great sigh, thinking, that 
 at that very moment, the cottage was open, 
 that the devil had been inside of it, and that 
 there was no guessing what might be left in 
 it to take care of. 
 
 " Before you go," said the father, " let us 
 all put up supplications to the Lord, that he 
 may be with you in your journey, and always, 
 and above all, that he may fill you with 
 strength, and with grace, to wish that his will 
 may be done." Saying this, he knelt down in 
 the middle of the church, and all did the same. 
 As soon as they had prayed a few moments in 
 silence, he, with a low, but distinct voice, ar- 
 ticulated these words : " We pray thee, also, 
 for that wretched being who has" brought us 
 to this pass. We should be unworthy of thy 
 mercy, if we did not ask it for him from our 
 hearts, for he has great need of it. For us, 
 in our tribulation, we have this comfort, 
 Lord that we tread the path in which thou 
 hast placed us. Our woes we can offer up to 
 thee, and turn them into gain. But he ! he is 
 thy enemy. Unhappy man ! he strives against 
 his God ! Have mercy upon him, Oh Lord ! 
 touch his heart, make him love thee, and 
 grant to him all that happiness we would ask 
 tor ourselves." 
 
 Then quickly rising up, he said, " Away, 
 my children ; there is no time to lose. God 
 protect you ; may his angel accompany you ! 
 go!" As they departed, filled with emotions 
 that 'cannot express themselves by words, and 
 that manifest themselves without them, the 
 father added, in a low tone, full of feeling, 
 " My heart tells me we shall soon see each 
 other again." 
 
 Certainly, the heart, when one attends to 
 it, has always something to say about the fu- 
 ture. But what does the heart know ? Scarce 
 the least thing of the past. 
 
 Without awaiting an answer, brother Chris- 
 topher withdrew with a hurried step ; the tra- 
 velers left the church, and brother Fazio 
 closed the door, saying adieu to them in a tone 
 likewise of some feeling. Slowly they took 
 the road to the bank that had been named to 
 them, saw the boat there, and having inter- 
 changed the countersign, entered it. The boat- 
 man thrust his oar against the bank, and shoved 
 the boat off; then, taking the other, used both 
 his arms to row them to the opposite shore. 
 Not a breath of wind was stirring. The lake 
 was reposing quietly and smoothly, and would 
 have appeared immovable, but for the tremu- 
 lous and slight waving motion of the light of 
 a fine moon, that was admiring herself in the 
 lake from the midst of the heavens. No sounds 
 were heard save the dead and gentle flow of
 
 54 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 the water, breaking in ripples on the gravelly 
 shore ; its more distant murmuring, as it broke 
 amidst the piles of the bridge, and the measured 
 dashing of the two oars, which cutting the 
 azure surface of the lake reappeared together, 
 dropping with the fluid, again to be simulta- 
 neously buried beneath. The wave occasioned 
 by the advancing boat reunited itself behind 
 the stern, and formed a crested line, which 
 prolonged itself as they receded from the 
 shore. The passengers, mute, with their faces 
 turned back, looked at the mountains and the 
 country bathed in moonlight, and chequered 
 here and there by strong shades. Villages, 
 houses, cabins, were seen. The ample palace 
 of Don Rodrigo, with its flat tower, elevated 
 above the miserable and crowded cottages 
 on the skirt of the promontory, seemed like 
 some ferocious being standing in the darkness 
 over a company recumbent and asleep, watch- 
 ing and meditating a crime. Lucia saw it 
 and shuddered; she followed the slope of the 
 country down with her eye as far as her own 
 village ; caught the extreme end of it ; per- 
 ceived her cottage, the thick foilage of the fig 
 tree which almost shadowed the circuit of the 
 court -yard, even the window of her own room ; 
 and thus seated in the bottom of the boat, 
 leaning her elbow on the gunnel, she lowered 
 her face as if to slumber, and wept in secret. 
 
 Adieu, ye mountains, rearing yourselves 
 from the waters erect unto heaven ! Unequal 
 summits, known to him who has been brought 
 up amidst you, and impressed on his mind as 
 vividly as the features of a familiar friend. Ye 
 torrents, whose brawling sounds come upon 
 his ear like well known domestic voices : ye 
 scattered villages, blanching the steeps, like 
 flocks of browsing sheep, adieu ! How sorrow- 
 ful is the tread of him, who, reared among 
 you, must leave you behind. Even in the 
 fancy of him who voluntarily goes, led on by 
 the hopes of future prosperity, at that moment 
 all the dreams of riches lose their influence ; 
 he wonders how he could have resolved, and 
 would retrace his steps, were it not for the 
 thought that another day shall see him return 
 in opulence. The further he advances upon the 
 plain, the more his eye becomes wearied and 
 annoyed by the unvarying space : the air seems 
 heavy and without elasticity ; sad and inat- 
 tentive he enters the tumultuous city ; houses 
 joined to houses streets terminating in 
 streets, appear to impede his respiration ; and 
 standing before those edifices which are the 
 admiration of the stranger, he recalls to his 
 mind, with restless partiality, the little field of 
 his native place, ana that cottage he has had 
 in his eye so long, the future acquisition 
 when he returns enriched to his native moun- 
 tains. 
 
 But she who had never cast beyond her na- 
 tive mountains even a fugitive desire, who had 
 formed all her plans for the future amongst 
 them, and who is driven far away by a perverse 
 fortune ! torn away at once from the most en- 
 dearing habits, disturbed in her sweetest hopes, 
 
 leaving her own hills to tread those paths of 
 the stranger, which she has never desired to 
 know, and who cannot even in imagination fix 
 upon a moment appointed for her return ! 
 Adieu, native cottage, where, seated, amidst 
 her secret thoughts, she learnt to distinguish 
 from the common tread, the footsteps of the one 
 she awaited with a mysterious apprehension. 
 Adieu, that yet unfrequented roof, where, pas- 
 sing, she had so often cast a fugitive look, and 
 not without a blush : where her mind indul- 
 ged in soft anticipations of a life spent in the 
 tranquil and steady duties of a wife. Adieu, 
 church, to which her serene soul had so often 
 returned, to sing the praises of the Lord, 
 where a holy rite had been promised and pre- 
 pared ; where the secret wish of the heart was 
 to have been solemnly blessed, where she was 
 to have been commanded to love, and where 
 her love was to have been pronounced holy. 
 Farewell ! Yet know that he who placed you 
 in this sweet existence, is every where ; and 
 that he never disturbs the contentment of his 
 children, but to prepare a happiness for them 
 that is purer, ana less uncertain. 
 
 Such was the nature, if not exactly thus, of 
 the thoughts of Lucia, and not very dissimilar 
 the reflections of the two other pilgrims, whilst 
 the boat was drawing nigh to the right bank of 
 the Adda. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE shock of the boat against the bank 
 shook Lucia, who after secretly wiping away 
 her tears, rose up as if from sleeping. Renzo 
 got out first, gave his hand to Agnes, who 
 jumping ashore, he then assisted Lucia, and 
 all three of them returned, in a dejected man- 
 ner, their thanks to the boatman. " Not at all, 
 not at all, we are here in this world to help 
 one another," he answered, and withdrew his 
 hand in a sort of fright as if it had been pro- 
 posed to him to rob, when Renzo wanted to 
 put in it some of the money he had about him, 
 and which he had put in his pocket that even- 
 ing, with the intention of generously gratify- 
 ing Don Abbondio, as soon as he had rendered 
 him a service, in despite of himself. The 
 wagon was there ready, the guide saluted the 
 three expected passengers, they entered it, he 
 spoke to his horse, gave him a crack, and off 
 tney went. 
 
 Our author does not describe that nocturnal 
 journey, suppresses the name of the village 
 where father Christopher had sent the two 
 women, and even expressly protests against 
 disclosing it. In the progress of the story 
 however we find the reason for this conceal- 
 ment. The adventures of Lucia in that resi- 
 dence are wrapped up in a dark intrigue of a 
 person connected with a family, as it appears, 
 rather powerful at the time the author wrote
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 55 
 
 To give an account of the strange conduct of 
 that person in this particular case, he has been 
 obliged to relate in a succinct manner, her pre- 
 vious life, and the family cuts that figure, 
 which any one may see who chooses to read. 
 But that which the circumspection of our au- 
 thor has induced him to keep back, our dili- 
 gence has enabled us to supply from another 
 quarter. A Milanese historian* who had to 
 speak of the same person, does not name her, 
 it is true, nor her residence : but of this last, 
 he says, that it was an ancient and noble 
 burgh, to which no attribute of a city was 
 wanting but the name of one ; in one place 
 he says the Lambro flows through it, in ano- 
 ther that there is an arch priest. From the 
 meeting of these two extremes we draw the 
 conclusion that it was beyond all doubt Monza. 
 In the vast treasure of learned deductions 
 more refined ones may possibly be found, but 
 it may be doubted whether they are more cer- 
 tain. Well founded conjectures too may be 
 founded upon the name of the family, but al- 
 though the conjecture on our part has ceased 
 to be such for a long time, we think it better 
 to suppress it, rather than run the risk of doing 
 wrong even to the dead, and also to leave to 
 the curious something to seek after. 
 
 Our travelers reached Monza a short time 
 after sunrise ; when the guide turned into an 
 inn, and there, like a person acquainted both 
 with the place and the innkeeper, had a room 
 assigned to them, and accompanied them to it. 
 With his thanks, Renzo wished him to receive 
 a reward, but he, like the boatman, looked for 
 one further off and richer ; he also drew back 
 his hand, and escaping from their kindness, 
 went to look after his horse. 
 
 After such an evening as we have described, 
 and such a night as every one may imagine, 
 accompanied by such thoughts, in constant 
 expectation of some disagreeable encounter, 
 with more than autumnal sharpness in the air, 
 and with sufficient jolting from the old vehi- 
 cle, they thought they would sit down upon a 
 bench fastened tq the ground, in a room fur- 
 nished as well as circumstances admitted of. 
 Making a frugal meal together, consistent 
 with the penury of the times, each of the three 
 thought of the feast that two days before they 
 expected to partake of, and they could nor 1 
 but sigh. Renzo would willingly have re- 
 mained there the whole day, to have seen the 
 women in safety, and to have rendered them 
 the first services ; but the father had recom- 
 mended to them to send him immediately on 
 his way. These directions, and a hundred 
 other reasons, they repeated to him ; that peo- 
 ple would be censorious, that a prolonged 
 separation would be more painful, that he 
 could return soon to give and to receive 
 news, and they said so much that the youth 
 determined to depart. They concerted minute- 
 ly what was to be done. Lucia did not conceal 
 
 * Joseph! Repamontii, liistoria Patriaj, decadis v. 
 lib. 6. cap 3. page 358. 
 
 her tears, Renzo restrained his with difficulty, 
 and pressing fervently the hand of Agnes, said 
 with a half stifled voice, " may our next meet- 
 ingbe happy," and departed. 
 
 The women would nave been greatly em- 
 barrassed, but for their kind guide, who had 
 orders to conduct them to the convent, and 
 to aid them with such directions and advice, 
 as they might need. With him for an escort 
 they took their way to it, which, as every one 
 knows, was distant a short walk from Monza. 
 Arrived at the gate, the guide rang the bell, 
 and asked for the father guardian, who ap- 
 peared and took the letter. 
 
 "Oh! brother Christopher!" said he, re- 
 cognising the writing. The tone of his voice 
 and the movement of his features manifestly 
 indicated that he was pronouncing the name 
 of an esteemed friend. Our good Christopher, 
 we must say, in that letter, had recommended 
 the women with much zeal, and described 
 their case with much feeling, so that the guar- 
 dian every now and then showed emotions of 
 surprise and indignation, and raising his eyes 
 from the paper, he fixed them upon the females 
 with an expression of compassion and interest. 
 Having read it through, he remained some- 
 what thoughtful, and then said to himself, 
 "There is no one but the Signora ; if the Signora 
 would only take this charge on herself " 
 Drawing Agnes apart on the little square be- 
 fore the convent, he made some inquiries of 
 her, which she satisfied, and turning towards 
 Lucia, said to them both, " My good women, 
 I will try, and I hope to be able to find you an 
 asylum, more than safe, more than honored, 
 until God shall provide for you in a better way. 
 Will you come with me ?" 
 
 The women reverently assented, and the 
 friar continued, " Come with me to the mon- 
 astery of the Signora. Keep however a little 
 distant from me, for people take a pleasure in 
 saying idle things, and god knows how many 
 they would get up, if they saw the father 
 
 guardian walking with a handsome young- 
 
 with females I should say." 
 
 Saying this, on he went. Lucia blushed ; 
 the guide, looking at Agnes, smiled, from 
 whom also a momentary giggle escaped, and 
 as soon as the friar had got a short distance 
 from them, all three followed his steps. The 
 women now asked of the guide, wnat they 
 had not ventured to do of the father guardian, 
 who this lady was. 
 
 " The Signora," he replied, " is a nun, but 
 not a nun like the rest of them. Not that she 
 is an Abbess, or the prioress either, being, as 
 they say, one of the youngest of them : but 
 she comes from the rib of Adam, and from 
 great people in olden times, that came from 
 Spain, where the nation is that commands 
 here. Wherefore they call her the Signora, by 
 way of saying that she is a very great one ; 
 and all the country calls her by that name, for 
 they say that in that monastery there has 
 never been any person like her; and her 
 friends, down at Milan there, are great
 
 
 56 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 people too, of that sort that's never in the 
 wrong; and in Monza still more, for her 
 father, although he does not live there, is the 
 greatest man of the whole country, for which 
 reason she can play top and bottom in the 
 monastery, whenever she pleases. She is 
 very much respected too by those out of it, 
 and when she undertakes any thing, she is 
 sure to make it succeed : and if that good de- 
 vout man has leave to place you in her hands, 
 and she receives you, I can tell you you will 
 be as safe as if you was upon the altar. 
 
 Arrived at the gate of the town, flanked at 
 that time by an old ruined tower, and by part 
 of an old dilapidated castle, that perhaps ten 
 of my readers may remember to have seen 
 standing, the father guardian stopped, and 
 turned to see if he was followed. He then 
 passed it, and went on to the monastery, 
 which, when he had reached, he stopped on 
 the threshold waiting for the small party. He 
 requested the guide to call at his convent for 
 an answer to father Christopher, who, promis- 
 ing he would do so, took leave of the women, 
 and was charged by them with many thanks 
 and some commissions for father Christopher. 
 The guardian now introduced the mother and 
 daughter into the first court yard of the mon- 
 astery, took them to the apartment of the nun 
 who acted as fattora or steward, to whom he 
 recommended them, and went alone to solicit 
 protection for them. After a few moments 
 he returned, quite cheerful, to tell them to ac- 
 company him to the Signora and he arrived in 
 good season, for both mother and daughter 
 had great difficulty in eluding the urgent and 
 prying questions of the steward. Crossing a 
 second court, he gave the women a few hints 
 how to conduct themselves with the Signora." 
 She is very well disposed towards 3'ou, and 
 can do you a great deal of good. Be humble 
 and respectful, answer with sincerity the ques- 
 tions she will be pleased to put to you, and 
 when you are not interrogated, leave every 
 thine to me." 
 
 They entered a room on the ground floor, 
 from which they passed to the parlor. Be- 
 fore they entered it, the guardian, pointing to 
 the door, said in a low voice to them, " she is 
 here," as if to remind them of all the advice 
 he had given them. Lucia, who had never 
 seen a monastery, having entered the parlor, 
 looked round for the Signora, that she might 
 courtesy to her, and not perceiving any one be- 
 came confused ; but seeing the father advance 
 towards the corner with Agnes behind him, 
 looked there and perceived a break in the 
 wall almost square, resembling a half win- 
 dow, closed up by two thick and well secured 
 iron grates, distant about a span from each 
 other, and a nun standing behind them. Her 
 aspect, which showed her to be about twenty- 
 five years of age, produced, at the first Idou, 
 an impression ot beauty, but beauty that had 
 lost its bloom, and was both faded and dis- 
 composed. A black veil hanging down, and 
 bound horizontally round her head, fell to the 
 
 right and left, a little removed from her face ; 
 beneath the veil a very white linen band 
 covered the half of a brow of a different, but 
 not inferior purity : another band in plaits 
 surrounded the face, and terminated under 
 the chin in a neck-kerchief, which extended 
 itself far enough down the breast to overlap 
 the hem of a black serge. But that brow 
 every now and then was gathered up into 
 wrinkles, by a kind of sorrowful contraction, 
 and then two very black eye-brows approach- 
 ed each other with a rapid movement. Two 
 of the darkest eyes also would sometimes read 
 the face of another, with a sort of superb in- 
 vestigation, and sometimes would hastily be 
 cast to the ground as if to hide themselves. 
 At certain moments an attentive observer 
 would have said that they asked for affection, 
 for mutual correspondence, lor compassion ; 
 at others they would seem to express the 
 instantaneous revelation of a restrained but in- 
 veterate hatred, of I know not what sort of 
 ferocious detestation. When they were im- 
 movable and fixed without attention, some 
 might suppose they could read in them a 
 proud disgust, others would suspect the 
 workings of some hidden thought, the too 
 habitual indulgence of a care familiar to the 
 mind, and occupying it more than surround- 
 ing objects did. Her pale, pale cheeks had a 
 most delicate contour, out excessively attenu- 
 ated, and changed by a slow decay. Her lips, 
 though scarcely tinged with the palest rose, still 
 were conspicuous by that paleness; their mo- 
 tion, like that of her eyes, was sudden, lively, 
 full of expression and mystery. The well-pro- 
 portioned height of her figure was obscured 
 by the habitual stooping of her carriage, or 
 reappeared in a wasted thinness, at certain 
 sudden movements she was subject to, irre 
 gular, and too determined for a female, much 
 more for a nun. Even in her garb there was 
 something here and there that was studied 
 or was neglected, which announced a nun of 
 singular habits. Her mode of life was uni- 
 form, with certain habits of secular industry, 
 and from the bands on her temples there 
 peeped out a little curl of black hair, which 
 either showed a forgetfulness or a contempt 
 of the rule, which prescribed that those locks, 
 hich had been shorn at the solemn ceremo- 
 ny of profession, should always be kept cut. 
 
 These things did not occupy the minds of 
 the two women, who were not accustomed to 
 distinguish one nun from another; and the 
 father guardian, who did not see her now for 
 the first time, was already accustomed, like 
 many others, to the eccentricity which ap- 
 peared in her dress and manners. 
 
 She was standing, at that moment, as we have 
 said, near the grate, leaning upon it languidly, 
 passing her white finger through the holes of 
 the grate, and curving her face a little, as if to 
 observe those who were advancing to it. 
 " Reverend mother, and most illustrious lady," 
 said the guardian, stooping his face, and with 
 his right hand extended on his breast, " this is
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 57 
 
 the poor young damsel, in whose favor you 
 have made me hope for your powerful protec- 
 tion, and this is her mother." 
 
 Both of them courtesied very low, till the 
 Signora made a motion to them to cease, and 
 said, turning to the father, " I am fortunate in 
 being able to do what is agreeable to our good 
 friends, the capuchin fathers. But," she con- 
 tinued, " relate to me, a little more in detail, 
 the case of this young maiden, that I may un- 
 derstand what it is best to do for her." 
 
 Lucia blushed, and hid her face in her bo- 
 som. 
 
 " You must know, reverend mother," Ag- 
 nes began, but the guardian, with a look, took 
 the words out of her mouth, and answered, 
 "This young maiden, most illustrious lady, 
 comes recommended to me, as I have said, by 
 one of our brotherhood. She has been forced 
 to leave her home secretly, to avoid great dan- 
 gers, and is in want, for some time, of an asy- 
 lum, in which she can remain unknown, and 
 where none may dare to come to disturb her, 
 even when " 
 
 "What dangers?" interrupted the lady; 
 " Do me the favor, father guardian, not to re- 
 late the case to me so enigmatically. You 
 know that we nuns love stories to be told to 
 us quite minutely." 
 
 "They are dangers," answered the guar- 
 dian, " that to your pure ears, reverend mo- 
 ther, must be alluded to very slightly." 
 
 " Oh, certainly," she said, in a quick man- 
 ner, and blushed a little. Was it modesty ? 
 Any one who had observed the rapid expres- 
 sion of vexation which accompanied the blush, 
 might have doubted it ; and still more, if they 
 had compared it to that which now and then 
 diffused itself over the cheeks of Lucia. 
 
 " It is enough to say," resumed the guar- 
 dian, "that a powerful cavalier it is not 
 all the great personages of the world who use 
 the gifts of God to his glory, and to the benefit 
 of his neighbor, as you do, illustrious lady 
 a powerful cavalier, after having persecuted 
 this young creature for a long time with un- 
 worthy propositions, seeing that they were 
 useless, had the heart to persecute her openly 
 by force, so that the poor girl has been reduced 
 to the necessity of flying from her own home." 
 " Draw near young woman," said the Signora 
 to Lucia, beckoning her with her finger, " I 
 know that the father guardian is the very mouth 
 of truth, but no one can be better informed than 
 yourself of this affair. It is from you I must 
 learn whether this cavalier was an unwelcome 
 persecutor." 
 
 As far as drawing near went, Lucia obeyed 
 her, but to answer her was an undertaking of 
 a different kind. An inquiry into that matter, 
 even if it had come from one of her equals, 
 would have thrown her into confusion ; but 
 being made by the Signora with a certain arch 
 touch of incredulity, she was deprived of all 
 courage to answer. " Lady mother rever- 
 end" she stammered out, and seemed not to 
 be able to say any thing else. Here Agnes, 
 8 
 
 as one who, next to her daughter, was cer- 
 tainly the best informed on the matter, thought 
 herself authorised to come to her succor,". 
 "Illustrious lady," said she," "I can be a 
 good witness, that this daughter of mine, hated 
 that cavalier, as much as the devil hates holy 
 water. I mean to say, that he was the devil 
 himself: but the lady will pardon me if I talk 
 foolishly, for we are people, just as it pleases 
 God to have us. The fact is, that this young 
 girl was betrothed to a young man, her equal, 
 one who fears God, and well to do, and if the 
 signer curate had been a little more of a man, 
 as I will say I know I am talking of a reli- 
 gious man ; but father Christopher, a friend of 
 the father guardian here, and a devout man like 
 him, and a man full of charity, too if he was 
 here, he would bear witness " 
 
 " You are very ready at talking, without 
 being asked," interrupted the lady, with a 
 haughty gesture, and an angry countenance, 
 which almost deformed her. " Be silent ; I 
 know already that parents have always an 
 answer prepared in the name of their chil- 
 dren." 
 
 Agnes, mortified, gave Lucia a look that 
 said, you see what I have got because you 
 can't talk. The guardian, with his eye and 
 the motion of his head, made signs to Lucia 
 that she must rouse herself, and not keep the 
 Signora in suspense. " Reverend lady," said 
 Lucia, " what my mother has told you is the 
 simple truth. The youth who addressed me" 
 and here she became quite purple, " I ac- 
 cepted willingly. Pardon me if I talk boldly, 
 but I do it that you may not think ill of my 
 mother. And, as for the cavalier, (God for- 
 give him,) I would rather die than fall into 
 his hands. And, if, by your charity, we are 
 placed in safety, since we are reduced to be 
 so bold as to ask an asylum, and to incommode 
 persons of worth, but the will of God be 
 done, be certain, lady, that none can pray 
 for you with a truer heart than we poor wo- 
 men." 
 
 " I believe you," said the Signora, with a 
 softened voice. " But, I' shall take pleasure 
 in hearing you when we are alone. Not that 
 any other proofs, or other inducements are 
 wanting to me, to aid the zeal of the father 
 guardian," she added, turning towards him 
 with a studied politeness. "Indeed," she 
 continued, " I have already thought, and this 
 is what it occurs to me is the best that can be 
 be done at present. The fattora of the mo- 
 nastery has placed, a few days ago, her last 
 daughter out. These females can occupy the 
 room she has left, and supply her place in the 
 few services she rendered in the monastery. 
 Truly" and here beckoning to the guardian 
 to draw nigh to the grate, she continued in a 
 low voice, "truly, in consequence of the 
 general scarcity, there was no intention of 
 substituting any body for that young person ; 
 but I will speak to the mother abbess, and a 
 
 word from me the desire, too, of the father 
 
 guardian In fine, the thing shall be done."
 
 68 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN 
 
 The guardian began to give thanks, but the 
 Signora interruptedmm. " No ceremonies, if 
 you please ; even I, in an emergency, an ur- 
 gent necessity, should count upon the assist- 
 ance of the capuchin fathers. For, indeed," 
 she went on with a smile, in which there was 
 something both jocular and bitter, " for, in- 
 deed, are not we brothers and sisters ?" 
 
 Having said this, she called a lay sister, 
 (two of these by a singular distinction were 
 assigned to her private service,) and directed 
 her to inform the abbess, and afterwards to 
 bring the fattora to the door of the cloister, 
 in order to make the necessary arrangements 
 with her and Agnes. Having dismissed her, 
 she took leave of the father guardian, and de- 
 tained Lucia. The guardian accompanied 
 Agnes to the door, giving her new instructions 
 on the way, and then went to prepare the ac- 
 count he had to send to Father Christopher. 
 She has got a great head, this lady, thought 
 he on the way most curious person to be 
 sure ! But whoever knows how to take her 
 in the right humor, can do whatever he 
 pleases with her. My good friend Christo- 
 pher will be far from thinking, certainly, that 
 I have served him so quickly and so well. 
 What an excellent man ! It can't be helped ; 
 he is always cutting out some work or another 
 for himself; but always for the sake of doing 
 good. It is well for him that he has found a 
 friend this time, who, without any noise, any 
 bustle, and without so many contrivances has 
 conducted the affair into a good port in the 
 twinkling of an eye. That good man Chris- 
 topher, how contented he will be ; he will see, 
 too, that even we are good for something. 
 
 The Signora, who in the presence of an old 
 capuchin had studied her gestures and her 
 words, being now alone with an inexperienced 
 rustic maiden, did not put so much restraint 
 upon herself; and her conversation became, 
 in a short time so strange, that, instead of re- 
 lating it, we think it wm be better to narrate 
 the previous history of this unhappy person ; 
 as much, at least, as will explain what we 
 have seen in her, which is unusual and mys- 
 terious, and the motives for her conduct in the 
 facts we shall have to relate. 
 
 She was the youngest daughter of the prince 
 
 of , a powerful Mflanese nobleman, 
 
 who passed for one of the richest individuals 
 of the city. But the unlimited importance 
 he attributed to his rank and title, induced 
 him to look upon his substance as insufficient, 
 and not equal to maintain the dignity due to 
 his rank ; all his cares, therefore, were turned 
 to the preservation of his riches, such as they 
 were, and to keep them together as much as 
 depended on himself. How many children 
 he had, does not appear very clearly from the 
 story ; we find, only, that the cadets of both 
 aexes were destined to the cloister, that all 
 the wealth might belong to the first born, he 
 who was to perpetuate the family, that is to 
 say, he who was to procreate children for the 
 sake of tormenting himself and them in the 
 
 same manner. Our unhappy Signora was not 
 yet born, ere her fate was irrevocably fixed. 
 It only remained to be decided whether she 
 was to be a monk or a nun : a decision that 
 awaited not her consent, but her presence. 
 When she appeared, the prince, her father, 
 desirous of giving her a name, that at once 
 would awaken the idea of a cloister, and 
 which had been borne by a saint of high li- 
 neage, called her Gertrude. Dolls dressed like 
 nuns, were the first playthings put into her 
 hands; then images in nun's dresses, accom- 
 panying the gift with admonitions to take great 
 care of them, as of things very precious, with 
 the affirmative interrogation of "Is it not 
 pretty ?" 
 
 When the prince or the princess, or the 
 young prince, (for males alone were brought 
 up in the house) wished to commend the good 
 looks of the child, it seemed as if they could 
 find no other words to express their idea, but 
 with "What a fine mother abbess she will 
 make !" No one, however, told her in direct 
 terms You are to be a nun. This, however, 
 was understood, and only touched upon inci- 
 dentally in every conversation respecting her 
 future destinies. If at any time the little 
 Gertrude acted in a bold and imperious 
 manner, to which she was rather prone from 
 her natural temper, she was told, " You are a 
 little girl, and must not do so ; when you shall 
 be a mother abbess, you shall command with 
 the rod, and rule every body." Another time 
 the prince, reproving her for indulging in 
 manners rather too free and familiar, and 
 which her natural disposition led her to, said, 
 " These plays are not suitable to one of your 
 rank ; if you wish people, to pay you that re- 
 spect which is due to you, learn from this 
 time to impose some restraint on yourself: re- 
 member that in every thing you are to be the 
 first in the monastery, for we carry our blood 
 with us wherever we go." 
 
 All expressions of this kind, established in 
 the mind of the little girl the implicit idea 
 that she was to be a nun, but those which 
 came from her father, produced a greater ef- 
 fect than all the rest. The manners of the 
 prince were habitually those of an austere 
 master; but when the subject of the future 
 fate of his children was under consideration, 
 from his countenance and from every word, 
 an obscure jealousy of command, an immo- 
 bility of resolution, were apparent, that im- 
 pressed a feeling of fatal necessity. 
 
 At the age of six years. Gertrude was 
 placed, for her education, and still more as the 
 first step of her settled vocation, in the mon- 
 astery, where we have seen her. The guide 
 of the two women has said that her father was 
 the first person in Monza, and putting his tes- 
 timony to other facts picked up here and 
 there, we have no difficulty in asserting that 
 he was the feudatory of that country. How- 
 ever that may be, he possessed great authority 
 there, and he thought that there, more than in 
 any other place, his daughter would be treated
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 69 
 
 those distinctions and attentions which might 
 tempt her to choose that monastery for her 
 perpetual residence. Nor did he deceive 
 himself; the abbess of that day, and a few 
 other intriguing nuns, who had got, as the 
 saying is, the ladle in their own hands, find- 
 ing themselves engaged in a quarrel with 
 another monastery, and with some families of 
 the country, were glad to acquire such sup- 
 port, and accepted with much gratitude, the 
 nonor which was conferred on them, corres- 
 ponding fully to- the wishes the prince had ex- 
 pressed for the permanent establishment of his 
 daughter i wishes, by the by, which accorded 
 very well with their own interests. Gertrude, 
 scarcely an inhabitant of the monastery, was 
 distinguished by Antonomasia, by the name of 
 the Signorina, or The Young Lady ; a distinct 
 place was assigned to her at the table, and in 
 the dormitory ; her conduct was proposed to the 
 rest as an example : favors and caresses with- 
 out end, sweetened, too, with a little reveren- 
 tial familiarity, which is so alluring to chil- 
 dren, when it proceeds from those who they 
 observe treat other children with habitual de- 
 monstrations of superiority. Not that all the 
 nuns had conspired to entice the poor child 
 into the trap; many there were of simple 
 characters, and far 1'rom practising intrigues, 
 to whom the very thought of sacrificing a 
 daughter to interested views would have in- 
 spired disgust ; but all these attentive to their 
 particular occupations, partly did not see 
 through this management, partly did not re- 
 flect how detestable it was, partly abstained 
 from looking too curiously into it, and partly 
 were silent to avoid creating useless scandal. 
 Some of them, too, remembering well how 
 they had been brought by similar arts to do 
 what they had subsequently repented of, felt 
 compassion for the poor innocent little thing, 
 and thought to console her by tender and 
 melancholy caresses, beneath which she was 
 far from suspecting there was any mystery. 
 And so things went on, and perhaps would 
 have gone to the end, if Gertrude had been 
 the only young girl in the monastery. But 
 amongst her young companions who were 
 there for their education, there were some 
 who knew they were destined to be married. 
 Young Gertrude, brought up in ideas of her 
 own superiority, talked magnificently of her 
 future destiny as an Abbess, as the princess of 
 the monastery, she was determined, at any 
 rate, to be an object of envy, and saw with as- 
 tonishment and vexation, that some of them 
 would not look upon her in that light. To the 
 majestic, but circumscribed and cold attrac- 
 tions, which the privacy of a nunnery sug- 
 fested to them, they opposed the varied and 
 rilliant visions, of husband, feasts, parties, 
 villas, tourneys, gallantries, dress, equipages. 
 These images produced in the brain of young 
 Gertrude a movement and a buzzing, such as 
 would be collected before a large bunch of 
 newly gathered flowers, placed before a hive. 
 Her parents and instructors had nourished and 
 
 increased her natural vanity, to make the part 
 she was destined for in the cloister more 
 agreeable to her, but when this passion was 
 still more excited by ideas she had a greater 
 affinity for, she delivered herself up to them 
 with an ardor and vivacity, infinitely more 
 spontaneous. That she might not seem to be 
 less fortunate than her companions, and to act 
 in conformity to her new inclinations, she an- 
 swered, that when the time should arrive, no 
 one could make her take the veil without her 
 own consent, that she too might have a hus- 
 band, inhabit a palace, enjoy the world, and 
 more even than any of them : that she could 
 always have done it, if she bad wished it ; that 
 she did wish it, and was determined to do so- 
 and in fact she spoke the truth. 
 
 The idea that her consent was necessary, 
 an idea that up to that moment had remained 
 dormant in a corner of her mind, now de- 
 veloped itself, in all its importance. She called 
 it up on every occasion to aid her in the more 
 tranquil enjoyment of a grateful futurity. Be- 
 hind this idea, however, there invariably ap- 
 peared another, that her consent would have 
 to be refused to the prince her father, who 
 had it already, or who conducted himself as if 
 it had been obtained ; and at this last idea, the 
 mind of the daughter was far from feeling all 
 that security which appeared in her words. 
 She then compared herself with her compan- 
 ions, who were much more secure about their 
 destiny, and experienced painfully in relation 
 to them, the envy, which at first she sought to 
 inspire them with. Envying them, she nated 
 them ; sometimes her dislike manifested itself 
 in spite in ill-behavior in offensive expres- 
 sions ; and sometimes, the conformity of their 
 inclinations and their hopes appeased her, and 
 gave birth to an apparent and transitory friend- 
 ship. Sometimes, desirous of the present en- 
 joyment of something real, she seemed to be 
 pleased with the prefer 
 
 :erence that was given to 
 ner, and made the others feel her superiority ; 
 and at times, not being able to endure the soli- 
 tude of her fears and her wishes, she humbled 
 herself to them, almost to the point of implor- 
 ing their benevolence, their advice and sup- 
 port. Amidst these distressing contests with 
 herself and with others, she had passed through 
 her childhood, and had entered upon that criti- 
 cal age, in which a mysterious sort of power 
 seems to be awakened in the soul, which raises 
 up, adorns, and reinvigorates all the inclina- 
 tions, all the ideas, and sometime^transforms 
 them, or imparts to them an unforeseen direc- 
 tion. 
 
 That which Gertrude had up to this time 
 most cherished in her dreams of the future, 
 was external splendor and pomp; but now, 
 that sort of soft and affectionate sentiment, 
 which at first diffused itself through her like a 
 gentle mist, began to unfold itself, and to pre- 
 dominate in her fancy. She had formed in 
 the inmost recesses of her mind a sort of splen- 
 did retreat; there she retired from present 
 objects ; there she received certain personages 
 
 | 
 
 -
 
 60 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 strangely formed out of confused remembran 
 ces of her girlish days ; of that glimpse whic 
 she had been able to catch of the externa 
 world, of what she had learnt from the con 
 versations of her companions ; she communi 
 cated with them, she talked to them, and an 
 swered for them ; there she gave her command 
 and received homage of every kind. From 
 time to time, thoughts of religion came to dis 
 turb those brilliant and fatiguing visions. Bu 
 religion, such as it had been taught to her, am 
 such as she had received it, poor tMng, did no 
 proscribe pride, but rather sanctified it, am 
 proposed it as a means to obtain earthly fe- 
 licity. Despoiled then of its essence, it no 
 longer was religion, but a phantom like her 
 other dreams. During the interval between 
 the time when these fancies first budded, anc 
 that when they took root in the mind of Ger- 
 trude, the unhappy girl, overcome by confused 
 terrors, and urged by an ill defined idea of her 
 duties, imagined that this repugnance to the 
 cloister, and her resistance to the intimations 
 of her parents as to the choice of her state, 
 were sinful ; and she promised in her heart to 
 expiate her fault, by voluntarily shutting her- 
 self up in the cloister. It was the law that a 
 young maid could not be received as a nun, 
 without being first examined by an ecclesias- 
 tic, called the Vicar of the Nuns, or by some 
 other person deputed by him, so that it might 
 appear she was led to that state by her own 
 free election ; and this examination could not 
 take place, but at an interval of twelve months 
 after she had explained her desire to the vicar 
 in a written petition. Those nuns who had 
 taken upon themselves the wretched task to 
 persuade Gertrude to come under an obligation 
 for life, with the least possible knowledge of 
 what she was doing, chose one of those mo- 
 ments we have alluded to, to get her to sign a 
 petition of that nature. And to induce her 
 more easily to do it, they did not fail to repeat 
 to her, what indeed was true, that at best it 
 was a mere formality, which could be only 
 obligatory and efficacious, through other acts 
 which would entirely depend upon her own 
 will. Nevertheless, the petition, perhaps, 
 had not reached its destination, when Ger- 
 trude repented she had signed it. After- 
 wards, she regretted she had repented it, pas- 
 sing, in this way, days and months in an in- 
 cessant transition of inclination on this sub- 
 ject. For a long time she kept it a secret from 
 ner companions that she had sent this petition, 
 sometimes from the fear to expose a good reso- 
 lution to their disapprobation, and at other 
 times from shame at having committed so 
 great a blunder. At length, she became de- 
 sirous of relieving her mind, and of acquiring 
 advice and resolution. There was another 
 law, that no maiden should come to that ex- 
 amination of her inclinations, but after a resi- 
 dence at least of a month, out of the monastery 
 where she had been educated. The year since 
 the petition was sent, was now almost ex- 
 pired, and Gertrude had been informed that in 
 
 a short time she would be removed to her pa- 
 ternal home to stay a month, and take the ne- 
 cessary steps to the fulfilment of the work 
 which she had in fact begun. 
 
 The prince, and the rest of the family, 
 looked upon the affair quite as certain as if it 
 had already taken place, but she did not con- 
 sider the matter to be settled in that way. In- 
 stead of taking the steps which still remained, 
 she was occupied with thinking how she 
 could retract the first. In this strait, she 
 resolved to open her mind to one of her com- 
 panions, who was always frank and ready in 
 giving vigorous counsels. She suggested to 
 Gertrude to inform the vicar, by letter, that 
 she had changed her mind, for she had not 
 the courage to tell him at the time, to his 
 face, I wifl not take the veil. And, because 
 gratuitous counsel is very rare in this world, 
 her adviser made Gertrude pay for her advice, 
 by laughing at her for her extreme folly. The 
 letter was concerted by three or four confi- 
 dants, was written in secret, and conveyed to 
 its destination by a little well contrived man- 
 agement. Gertrude waited with great anxie- 
 ty for an answer that never came. But a few 
 days afterwards, the abbess, taking her aside, 
 with a countenance indicating concealment, 
 disgust, and compassion, let a few obscure 
 words escape of a great rage that the prince 
 was in, and of some very extravagant things 
 she must have done ; giving her, however, to 
 understand that if she conducted herself pro- 
 perly, every thing would be forgotten. Ger- 
 trude understood her, and made no more ap- 
 peals in that quarter. 
 
 At length the day so much wished, so much 
 feared, arrived. Although Gertrude knew 
 :hat she was going to a contest, still, the leav- 
 ng of the monastery, the very passing of the 
 Jireshold of the walls where she had been irn- 
 nured eight years, the rolling over the open 
 country in a carriage, the seeing of the city 
 once more, and of her home, produced in her 
 sensations of tumultuous joy. As to the con- 
 ention, she, with the advice of her confidants, 
 lad already taken her measures, and arranged, 
 is will be by and by shown, her plan. Either 
 hey will use violence, thought she, when I 
 will be firm, but humble and respectful, yet 
 efusing ; or they will adopt gentle measures, 
 and then 1 will be more gentle with them ; I 
 will weep, I will entreat, I will move them to 
 Compassion ; finally, I ask for nothing except 
 lot to be sacrificed. But, as it frequently 
 lappens to similar pre-suppositions, neither 
 one or the other of them was realized. The 
 ays passed away, without her father or any 
 ither person speaking to her on the subject of 
 ier petition, or of her subsequent communi- 
 ation to the vicar, or without any proposition 
 >eing made to her, either in kindness or in 
 nger. Her parents were serious, sad, sullen, 
 o her, without ever telling her why. She 
 nly comprehended that they looked upon her 
 s both wicked and unworthy ; a mysterious 
 nathema appeared to hang over her, and to 

 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 61 
 
 separate her from her family, leaving her in 
 connexion with it only just enough to show 
 how completely they considered her estranged 
 from it. Seldom, and only at certain fixed 
 hours, was she admitted to the company of 
 her parents and her brother. In the conversa- 
 tions of these three there appeared to reign 
 an entire confidence, that rendered the pro- 
 scription of Gertrude more sensible, and more 
 painful. No one spoke to her; the words 
 which she timidly offered, when she was not 
 compelled by necessity to speak, either fell 
 unobserved, or they were met by a look, either 
 absent, contemptuous, or severe. And when 
 she, not being able to resist a distinction so 
 humiliating and bitter, persevered, and at- 
 tempted to become familiar, and implored a 
 little affection for herself, she was sure to 
 hear something, indirectly, but clearly said, 
 about the choice of her future state, giving 
 her to understand that there was a way to re- 
 acquire the affection of her family. Then 
 she, who could not resolve to accept it on 
 such conditions, was constrained to draw back, 
 to refuse almost the first marks of kindness 
 that she was so desirous of receiving, and to 
 put herself back to her old position of an ex- 
 communicated person, with the additional dis- 
 tress of having the appearance of being in the 
 wrong. 
 
 Such sensations springing from objects be- 
 fore her, conflicted painfully with the gay 
 visions that had so much occupied, and that 
 still occupied Gertrude in that secret corner 
 of her mind. She had hoped that in the 
 splendid and much frequented paternal house, 
 she would have been able at least to convert 
 into reality, a part of what had existed in her 
 imagination ; but she was entirely deceived. 
 Her confinement was as complete and as strict 
 at home, as it had been in the monastery ; of 
 amusement to be sought out of it, not a word 
 was said ; and a gallery which led from the 
 house to a neighboring church, took away the 
 only pretext that could have existed for even 
 going into the street. Her company at home, 
 was more melancholy, less numerous, and 
 less varied, than in the nunnery. If any one 
 was announced, Gertrude was obliged to re- 
 tire, and to shut herself up with some old fe- 
 male servants, with whom she also dined 
 when her father had any guests. The ser- 
 vants, in their manner and language, conform- 
 ed to the example and designs of their supe- 
 riors, and Gertrude, who, by inclination, 
 would have treated them with a lady-like and 
 reserved familiarity, and who in her unplea- 
 sant situation, would have been grateful to 
 them for kindnesses which she even stooped 
 to ask for, was humbled, and made still more 
 unhappy, by witnessing their complete indif- 
 ference, although it was accompanied by a 
 sort of formal respect. 
 
 Nevertheless, she could not but observe 
 that a page, very different from the rest, ob- 
 served great respect to her, and felt a compas- 
 sion for her of a marked character. The de- 
 
 portment of this youth corresponded more 
 than any thing she had yet seen, with the na- 
 ture of those imaginary existences she had 
 cherished, and his countenance came nearer 
 to that of her ideal beings. By degrees a 
 change was produced in the manners of the 
 maiden, a tranquillity, and, at the same time, 
 an uneasiness at variance with her usual ha- 
 bits ; she acted as if she had found something 
 she set a great value upon something she 
 wanted to look at every moment, and that she 
 wished no one else to see. Being now ob- 
 served more vigilantly than ever, a chamber- 
 maid, who was watching her, surprised her 
 one morning secretly folding up a sheet of 
 paper, on which it would have been better if 
 she had not written any thing. After a short 
 struggle, the woman tore the letter from her, 
 and gave it to the prince. The terror of Ger- 
 trude at the storming of his approach, is not 
 to be described or imagined : it was her father, 
 he was violently irritated, and she was guilty. 
 But when she saw him, with such a brow, 
 with the letter in his hand, she would fain 
 have wished herself a hundred yards under 
 ground, to say nothing of a cloister. His 
 words were few, but terrible ones : the pun- 
 ishment intimated at the moment, was, mere- 
 ly being locked up in the room with the same 
 woman who had exposed her ; but this was 
 only an essay, an expedient for the moment, 
 she was darkly menaced with a chastisement 
 of a different character, undetermined in its 
 nature, and, for that reason, more dreadful. 
 
 The page was instantly driven out of the 
 house, as a matter of course ; and was also 
 threatened with something terrible, if, at any 
 time, he should dare to breathe a word of 
 what had happened. The prince accompanied 
 this intimation with two vigorous boxes on 
 the ear, by way of associating with the adven- 
 ture a remembrance, that might take away 
 from the youth every disposition to boast of 
 it. A good pretext for the expulsion of the 
 page was not wanting, and as to the daughter, 
 it was alleged she was indisposed. 
 
 She remained, then, with the discovery, the 
 shame, the remorse, the terror of the future, 
 and with no other society but the woman 
 whom she hated, as the witness of her fault, 
 and the cause of her disgrace. In turn, she 
 hated Gertrude, on whose account she found 
 herself reduced, without knowing for how 
 long, to the tedious occupation of a jailer, and 
 compelled to be for ever the depositary of a 
 dangerous secret. 
 
 The first confused tumults of 1hese thoughts, 
 gradually subsided, but each of them return- 
 ing to her mind by turns, grew into import- 
 ance, and established itself there to torment 
 her at leisure. What could that dark menace 
 mean ? Many, and various, and strange pun- 
 ishments occurred to the ardent and inexpe- 
 rienced fancy of Gertrude. That which ap- 
 peared most probable to her, was being re- 
 conducted to the monastery of Monza. Not 
 as the Signorina but as a guilty person, and 

 
 62 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 to be shut up there, how long she had no 
 means of judging. And then what treatment 
 would she experience ! The most distressing 
 part of such a contingency, so full of pain, 
 was,- perhaps, the apprehension of shame. 
 The phrases, the words, the stops, of that un- 
 fortunate paper, passed and repassed in her 
 memory ; she imagined them examined and 
 weighed, by a reader so unexpected, and so dif- 
 ferent from him to whom they were addressed 
 in answer; she fancied that perhaps they had 
 been shown to her mother, to ner brother, even 
 to others, and every fear was obscured by the 
 shame of this. The image of the youth who 
 was the cause of all this scandal, often came, 
 too, to trouble the poor prisoner, and the con- 
 trast is inexpressible which this phantom made 
 to those serious, cold, and threatening ones 
 which occupied her mind : but exactly because 
 she could not separate him from them, nor re- 
 turn for a moment to those complacent feelings 
 he had inspired her with, without bringing up 
 at once the present sorrows they had occasion- 
 ed her, she began, by degrees, to indulge her- 
 self less in thoughts about him, to reject recol- 
 lections of that nature, and to wean herself from 
 them. Nor did she cherish any more those glad 
 and splendid visions she once encouraged : tney 
 were too much contrasted with her actual sit- 
 uation, and were opposed to every probability 
 of the future. The only castle where Ger- 
 trude could think of finding a tranquil and 
 honorable refuge, and which did not exist in 
 the air, was the monastery, whenever she 
 could determine to enter it again, and for ever. 
 Such a revolution, she could not doubt, would 
 heal every thing, pay every debt, and change 
 in an instaat her situation. 
 
 Against this proposition, all her past hopes 
 arrayed themselves ; but times were changed, 
 and considering the abyss where she had fallen, 
 and in comparison with what she had to fear 
 at certain moments, the condition of a nun, 
 caressed, respected, and obeyed, appeared de- 
 lightful to her. Two feelings also, of a very 
 different kind, contributed at intervals to di- 
 minish her old aversion to the monastery; 
 sometimes a remorse for her fault, and a sort 
 of feeling allied to devotion ; sometimes an 
 embittered pride, irritated by the ways of the 
 woman who guarded her, and who, although 
 often provoked to it, revenged herself by 
 alarming her with the menaced punishment, 
 and sometimes by reproaching her with her 
 conduct. When at other times she wished to 
 appear more kind, she would assume atone of 
 protection still more odious than even her in- 
 sults. In these different trials, the desire that 
 Gertrude experienced to get out of her clutch- 
 es, and to assume a condition beyond the reach 
 of either her anger or her compassion, became 
 at length so strong and lively, that all the 
 means by which she could accomplish this, 
 began to appear amiable to her. 
 
 At the end of four or five tedious days of 
 imprisonment, one morning Gertrude, enraged 
 and embittered beyond measure by the con- 
 
 duct of her keeper, took refuge in the corner 
 of the room, and there with her face hid in her 
 hands, remained some time, devouring her 
 vexation. She felt, at that moment an irre- 
 sistible desire to see other faces, to hear other 
 voices, to be treated differently. She thought 
 of her father, of her family ; the thought re- 
 coiled upon her with disgust, but she recol- 
 lected that it depended upon her to find friends 
 in them, and she experienced a sudden joy. 
 Then came a confusion and an extraordinary 
 penitence for her fault, and a strong desire to 
 expiate it. Not that her will had been then 
 subdued to the point of forming that resolution, 
 but it had never been bent down so near to it. 
 She arose, went to a table, took up the fatal 
 pen, and wrote her father a subdued letter, full 
 of enthusiasm, expressive of much sorrow and 
 hope, and finishing by imploring his pardon, 
 and declaring herself indefinitely ready to do 
 every thing that could please him from whom 
 she expected forgiveness. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THERE are moments in which the human 
 mind, particularly with young people, is so 
 disposed, that the least instance suffices to 
 obtain from them whatever has the appear- 
 ance of a sacrifice, or of being honorable to 
 them, like a flower scarce yet unfolded, which 
 gently abandons itself upon the fragile stem, 
 ready to give its fragrance to the first slight 
 zephyrs that breathe from around. These 
 moments, which by others should be held in 
 inviolable respect, are just those which inter- 
 ested cunning espies, and seizes at once, to 
 subdue the unsuspecting will. 
 
 On reading the letter, the prince im- 
 mediately saw the road open -to his former 
 steady wishes. He sent to Gertrude to come 
 to him, and whilst waiting for her, concerted 
 how he should strike the iron whilst it was 
 hot. Gertrude appeared, and without raising 
 her eyes to the countenance of her father, 
 threw herself at his feet, and had scarce voice 
 to say, " pardon ! " He made signs to her to 
 rise ; but with a voice little calculated to en- 
 courage her, he told her that to ask and to 
 wish tor pardon was not enough ; that it was 
 very natural and easy for those to do so, who 
 had committed a fault, that it was necessary to 
 deserve it. Gertrude asked, submissively, 
 and with trembling, what she must do to 
 deserve it ? To this, the prince we have not 
 the heart at this moment to call him by the 
 name of father did not give a direct answer, 
 but began to talk at length of Gertrude's fault, 
 and his words produced the same effect on the 
 mind of the poor girl, that a rude hand does 
 when passed over a recent wound. He con- 
 tinued, saying, " that if even," (an impossible 
 tiling,) "he should have entertained from the 

 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 63 
 
 first an intention of establishing her in the 
 world, she herself had now interposed an in- 
 superable obstacle ; since a man of honor like 
 himself, could never possibly give in marriage 
 to a gentleman, a young person who had so far 
 committed herself." The wretched listener 
 was annihilated : then the prince, softening 
 gradually his voice and tone, went on to say, 
 " that nevertheless for every fault there was 
 both a remedy and mercy ; that hers was of that 
 class for which the remedy was most clearly 
 indicated ; that she must consider this dreadful 
 accident as a warning that a secular life was 
 too full of dangers for her " 
 
 " Oh, yes !" exclaimed Gertrude, shook by 
 fear, prepared by shame, and moved at that 
 moment by an instantaneous tenderness. 
 
 "Ah ! you think so too '"he immediately 
 replied. " Well, let the past be no more spo- 
 ken of ; everything is cancelled. You have 
 embraced the only honorable method, the only 
 convenient one which remained: but since 
 you have done it of your own will, and in a 
 becoming way, it is my business now to see 
 that every thing is accomplished in the most 
 agreeable manner ; it is for me now to give all 
 the advantage and all the merit of the affair to 
 yourself. 1 shall charge myself with that." 
 Saying this, he rung a bell which was on the 
 table, and said to the servaut who entered, 
 " The princess and the young prince immedi- 
 ately," and added to Gertrude, "they shall 
 both of them immediately partake of my con- 
 solation, all shall treat you now as you deserve 
 to be treated. You have experienced some- 
 thing of the severity of a father, but hence- 
 forwards you shall find in him every thing that 
 is affectionate." 
 
 At these words Gertrude remained like one 
 stupified, she began to think with herself, how 
 that simple " Yes" could possibly signify so 
 much : then she began to consider if there was 
 no mode of retracting it, of circumscribing 
 the meaning of it ; but the persuasion of the 
 prince appeared so complete, his satisfaction 
 was of so jealous a character, his kindness 
 was so conditional, that Gertrude did not dare 
 to utter a word which might disturb him in 
 the least degree. 
 
 The mother and brother now arrived, and 
 seeing Gertrude there, looked at her with doubt 
 and surprise. But the prince, with a cheerful 
 and affectionate countenance which they soon 
 put on likewise, said " here is the lost sheep, 
 and I mean that this shall be the last word 
 which shall recall painful recollections. This is 
 the consolation of the family. Gertrude stands 
 in no need of further counsel, what we desired 
 on account of her welfare, she has spontane- 
 ously preferred. She is resolved, she has given 
 
 me to understand she is resolved " here 
 
 she cast an affrighted and supplicating look at 
 her father, as if to ask him to suspend his 
 words, but he went boldly on " She is resolved 
 to take theyieil." "Brava, excellent!" ex- 
 claimed at once both mother and son, and each 
 of them embraced Gertrude, who received 
 
 their caresses with tears, that were interpre- 
 ted to be tears of consolation. Then the prince 
 went at large into explanations of what he 
 would do to render the condition of his daugh- 
 ter a glad and splendid one. He spoke of the 
 distinctions she would enioy in the monastery 
 and in the country, that she would be there as 
 a princess, the representative of the family, 
 that as soon as ever she reached the proper 
 age she should be raised to the greatest digni- 
 ty, and until then should only DC nominally 
 subject to others. The princess and the prince 
 renewed at every instant their congratulations 
 and applauses. Gertrude seemed like a per- 
 son under the influence of a dream. 
 
 " We must now fix the day to go to Monza 
 to ask the consent of the Abbess," said the 
 prince. " How delighted she will be ! I can 
 tell you that the whole monastery will know 
 how to place a proper value on the honor Ger- 
 trude does them. Indeed why cannot we go 
 this very day ? Gertrude will be glad to take 
 the air." "Let us go" said the princess. " I 
 will give orders" said the young prince. 
 " But," uttered submissively Gertrude. " Soft- 
 ly, softly," answered the prince, " let her de- 
 cide, perhaps to day she may not feel so well 
 disposed, and would prefer waiting until to- 
 morrow. Say, shall we go to day or tomor- 
 row?" 
 
 " Tomorrow," answered Gertrude, with a 
 faint voice, who seemed as if she thought it 
 was something to gain a little time. 
 
 "Tomorrow," said the prince solemnly, 
 " she has decided that we go tomorrow. In 
 the meantime I will go and ask the Vicar of 
 the Nuns to give me a day for the examina- 
 tion." As soon said as done. The prince left 
 the house, and went indeed (no small conde- 
 scension) to the Vicar, and got his promise for 
 the day after the next. During the remainder 
 of that day Gertrude had not two minutes of 
 tranquillity ; she would have wished to com- 
 pose her mind after so many commotions, to 
 clear up her thoughts, to give some account to 
 herself of what she had done, of what remain- 
 ed to be done, to find out what she herself 
 wished, and to stay for a moment the impulse 
 of a machine which though scarcely moved, 
 had begun to advance so precipitously, but it 
 was not possible. Occupations succeeded each 
 other without interruption, and became en- 
 chased, as it were, within each other. After 
 that solemn conversation, she was conducted 
 to the cabinet of the princess, to be there, un- 
 der her direction, dressed and arranged by the 
 hands of her own maid. Even this ceremony 
 was not terminated when dinner was an- 
 nounced. Gertrude passed between the bows 
 of the servants, who seemed to congratulate 
 themselves on her recovery, and found in the 
 hall some of her nearest relations, who had 
 been hastily invited to do her honor, and to 
 compliment her on the two pieces of good 
 news ; her recovery, and the declaration of her 
 intentions. 
 
 The young spouse, thus young novices 

 
 64 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 were called, and Gertrude on her appearance 
 was by all of them saluted with that name 
 had enough to do to answer to the compli- 
 ments she received. She felt that every an- 
 swer she gave was an acknowledgment and a 
 confirmation, but how could she answer differ- 
 ently ? Scarcely was the repast over, when 
 the hour for taking a drive arrived. Gertrude 
 entered a carriage with her mother, and two 
 of her uncles who had been invited. After 
 the accustomed turn, they arrived in the street 
 called Marina, which then passed through the 
 space now occupied by the public gardens, 
 and where people of distinction assembled with 
 their equipages, to recreate themselves after 
 the fatigues of the day. Her uncles talked a 
 great deal to her, as an attention due her on 
 the occasion, and one of them who appeared 
 to be better acquainted than the other with 
 every individual, every carriage, every livery, 
 and had something to say to her eveiy instant 
 about this one and that one, interrupted his re- 
 lation all at once, and turning to her, said " Ah 
 you young rogue ! you turn your back upon 
 all these follies, you are for going straight for- 
 ward, you are for a life of blessedness, you are 
 for going to Paradise in a coach and six, and 
 want toleave us worldly people stuck fast in 
 our perplexities." 
 
 Towards evening they returned home, and 
 the servants descending in haste with lights, 
 announced that many visitors were waiting. 
 The news were abroad, and relations and 
 friends had called to pay their respects. They 
 entered the saloon, and there the young spouse 
 was the idol, the delight of all, and the victim. 
 Every one wanted to engross her society, this 
 one exacted of her promises of confectionary, 
 the other engaged to visit her : one spoke to 
 her of mother such a one her relation, and 
 another of mother such a one her acquaint- 
 ance : this one praised the climate of Monza, 
 and that talked to her with great earnestness 
 of the primacy she would be raised to. Others 
 who had not been able to get nigh to Gertrude, 
 besieged as she was, were waiting an oppor- 
 tunity to speak to her, and somewhat vexed 
 they had not been able to do it. By degrees 
 the company went away, all of them without 
 regret, and Gertrude remained alone with the 
 family. 
 
 " At length," said the prince, " I have had 
 the consolation to see my daughter treated 
 with the distinction due to her. I must confess, 
 however, that she also has conducted herself 
 extremely well, and has shown that she will 
 have no difficulty in filling the highest station, 
 and in sustaining the consequence of the fami- 
 ly." 
 
 Supper was hastily despatched that they 
 might retire at an early hour, in order to be 
 ready to start in the morning. 
 
 Gertrude, afflicted, piqued, and a little in- 
 flated at the same time with the court that had 
 been paid to her during the day, now thought 
 of what she had endnred from {he woman who 
 had been her jailer, and seeing her father dis- 
 
 posed to oblige her in ah 1 things but one, 
 thought she would derive some advantage from 
 her position, and gratify at least one of the pas- 
 sions which tormented her. She evinced there- 
 fore a very powerful repugnance to have that 
 woman about her, and complained bitterly of 
 her disrespect. 
 
 "How!" said the prince, "Has she been 
 wanting in respect to you ? Tomorrow, to- 
 morrow, I will teach her her duty, in a man- 
 ner she will not forget. Leave it to me, you 
 shall have most complete satisfaction. Cer- 
 tainly a daughter with whom I am well satis- 
 fied ought not to have about her a person whom 
 she dislikes." Having said this, he ordered 
 another woman to be called, whom he direct- 
 ed to wait upon Gertrude, who, in the mean- 
 time, in the midst of the satisfaction which 
 had been accorded to her, was astonished to 
 find how little gratification she had received 
 in proportion to the desire she had felt of 
 revenging herself. What, however, in des- 
 
 Site of her, engrossed all her thoughts, was a 
 :eling of the prodigious progress she had 
 made in that day on her way to the cloistei ; 
 the thought that to retract now would require 
 infinitely more strength and resolution than 
 would have sufficed a few days before, and 
 which she did not feel she possessed. 
 
 The woman who came to accompany her to 
 her room, was an old family servant that had 
 been governante of the young prince, whom 
 she had received from the arms of his nurse, 
 and had had the care of until his adolescence, 
 on whom she had lavished all her kindness, 
 and who was her hope and her glory. She 
 was as happy at the decision made on that day, 
 as if it had established her own fortune, and 
 Gertrude, at the end of the day, had to listen 
 to all the congratulations, the praises, and the 
 counsels of the old woman. She talked to her 
 of certain of her aunts and great aunts, who 
 had been very happy when they became nuns, 
 because, belonging to that house, they had al- 
 ways enjoyed the first honors, had always been 
 able to keep one of their hands out of doors, 
 and from their parlor had come out victorious 
 from undertakings where ladies of the first 
 distinction had failed. She talked to her of 
 the visits she would receive ; that some day or 
 other, the young prince with his spouse, who 
 would certainly be a personage ot great dis- 
 tinction, would pay her a visit, and that not 
 only the monastery, but the whole country 
 would then be in motion. The old woman 
 went on talking whilst Gertrude was undress- 
 ing, whilst she laid down, and was still talking 
 when Gertrude was asleep. Youth and fa- 
 tigue had proved stronger than her cares. Her 
 sleep was distressing, troubled, full of painful 
 dreams, but was broken only by the sharp 
 voice of the old woman, who came at an early 
 hour to rouse her, in order to prepare for the 
 journey to Monza. 
 
 [ To be continued in No. 2. ]
 
 THE METROPOLITAN; 
 
 A MISCELLANY OF LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Vol. II. 
 
 Washington, June 28, 1834. 
 
 No. 2. 
 
 " Up, up, my young spouse ; the day has 
 broke, and before you are dressed and ready, 
 another hour must pass. The princess is get- 
 ting up ; she has been aweke four hours before 
 her usual time. The youRg prince has already 
 been to the stables, is returned, and is ready 
 to go wheoever the rest are. He is as lively 
 as a hare that young fellow but he was al- 
 ways so from a child, and I may well say it, 
 who have brought him up in my arms. But 
 when he is on the move he can't bear to wait, 
 for, notwithstanding his good nature, he gets 
 impatient and noisy. Poor young fellow, he 
 is to be pitied ; it's nothing but temper ; and 
 then he has some some right to be so just now, 
 for he really is incommoding himself on your 
 account When he is in these humors, it is 
 best to have but little to do with him, for he 
 minds nobody except it is the prince. But 
 one of these days he will be the prince at as 
 distant a day as possible, however. Come, 
 young lady, be quick, be quick. What are 
 you staring at me so for, like an enchanted 
 person ? You ought to be out of your nest at 
 this hour." 
 
 At the very image of the young prince in one 
 of those humors, the other thoughts that had 
 crowded together into the aroused mind of Ger- 
 trude, all took flight like a flock of birds at the 
 appearance of a scarecrow. She obeyed, dres- 
 sed in haste, permitted herself to be adjusted, 
 and appeared in the hall, where her parents 
 and her brother were assembled. She was 
 placed in an arm chair, and a cup of chocolate 
 was taken to her, a ceremony whkh in those 
 days was equivalent to that amongst the Ro- 
 mans of conferring the virile garment. 
 
 When the carriage was announced, the 
 prince drew his daughter aside, and said to 
 her, " Come, Gertrude, yesterday you did 
 yourself great honor today you must surpass 
 yourself. This is the day of your appearance 
 at the monastery, and in the country where 
 you are destined to play the first part. They 
 are expecting you. (It would be superfluous 
 to state that the prince had apprized the abbess 
 the preceding day.) They are expecting you, I 
 and all eyes will be upon you. Dignity- and 
 ease. The abbess will ask you what you de- 
 sire ; it is an affair of formality. You can 
 answer that you demand to be admitted to as- 
 sume the habit in that monastery where you 
 have been so affectionately brought up, where 
 you have received so many kindnesses, that it 
 is the pure truth. Deliver these few words 
 with an wKnbarrassed air, so that it may not 
 9 
 
 be said, they were put into your mouth, and 
 that you can't speak of your own accord. 
 Those good mothers know nothing of what has 
 passed ; that is a secret which must remain 
 buried with the family. But do not wear a 
 dubious and sorrowful face, that might occa- 
 sion suspicions. Show from what blood you 
 spring, be graceful, modest; but remember 
 that in that place, except the family, there is 
 no one superior to yourself." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, the prince 
 moved, and Gertrude, the princess, and the 
 young prince followed him, descended the 
 stairs, and got into the carriage. The anxieties 
 and troubles of the world, and the blessed life 
 of the cloister, chiefly for young people of no- 
 ble blood, formed the theme of conversation 
 during the ride. Towards the end, the prince 
 renewed his instructions to his daughter, and 
 repeated to her more than once the form of 
 her answer. On approaching the place, Ger- 
 trude felt her heart contract, but her attention 
 was immediately turned to some gentlemen, 
 who, having stopped the carriage, addressed 
 some compliments to her. They now pro- 
 ceeded slowly to the monastery, amidst the 
 gaze of the curious, who had assembled from 
 all quarters. When the carriage at length 
 drew near to the walls, and stopped before the 
 gate, her heart shrunk still more within her. 
 They got out between two lines of the people, 
 whom the servants caused to recede. All these 
 eyes fixed upon the poor girl, compelled her a 
 at every moment to study her deportment : 
 but more than all these, the eyes of her father 
 kept her under restraint : to them, great as 
 was the fear that governed her, she turned her 
 own at every instant. His eyes governed the 
 movements and the aspect of her own as if 
 by invisible threads. 
 
 Having crossed the first court-yard, they 
 entered the second, where they saw the door 
 of the inner cloister wide open and filled with 
 nuns. In front was the abbess, surrounded by 
 the oldest ; behind her, other sisters, mixed, 
 up togethsr, some raising themselves up on 
 tiptoe ; and further behind, the lay sisters 
 standing upon benches. Here and there, 
 might be observed eyes timidly sparkling, and 
 little faces peeping out of their cowls. The 
 most courageous and lively of the young 
 boarders were pushing themselves in between 
 the nuns, and getting a good situation, that 
 they might see something likewise. Accla- 
 mations came from the crowd, and arms were 
 in motion, waving signs of exultation and of 
 65 

 
 66 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 welcome. Having reached the door, Gertmde 
 found herself face to face with the abbess. 
 After the first compliments, the abbess inter- 
 rogated her in a solemn yet cheerful manner, 
 and demanded what she desired in that place 
 where none could deny her any thing. 
 
 " I am here," Gertrude began, but at the 
 instant she began to utter the words which 
 were almost irrevocably to decide her destiny, 
 she hesitated a moment, and remained with 
 her eyes fixed upon the crowd that was before 
 her. She perceived at that instant one of her 
 old companions, who looked at her with an 
 air of mixed compassion and mischief, as if 
 she was saying, Ah, my resolute miss, you 
 have let them catch you, then ! That sight 
 awoke once more in her mind her old feelings, 
 and restored to her a little of her ancient cour- 
 age ; she was even beginning to conceive an 
 answer very different from the one which had 
 been dictated to her, when raising her eyes to 
 those of her father, as if to try her strength, 
 she discerned there such a deep inquietude, 
 and threatening impatience, that, urged by 
 fear, she, as instantaneously as she would 
 have fled from some terrible object, went on 
 " I am here to ask to be admitted to assume 
 the habit, in the monastery where I have been 
 so affectionately brought up." The abbess 
 immediately answered, "that she regretted ex- 
 ceedingly in this case that the regulations of 
 the monastery prevented her giving an imme- 
 diate answer, which alone could be had from 
 the common suffrages of the sisters, and which 
 must be preceded by the permission of the 
 superiors. That Gertrude was sufficiently 
 acquainted with the sentiments that were en- 
 tertained towards her in that place, to antici- 
 pate what the answer would oe ; and that in 
 the mean time no regulation prevented the 
 abbess and the sisters expressing the satisfac- 
 tion they experienced at the request." 
 
 A confused noise of congratulations and 
 ^welcomes was now heard. Large salvers full 
 of confectionary were brought, were present- 
 ed first to the young spouse, and afterwards 
 to her parents. Whilst some of the nuns 
 were snatching them away, others were pay- 
 ing their compliments to the princess and to 
 the young prince, whilst the abbess requested 
 the prince to come to the grate of the parlor, 
 where she wished to see Him. She was ac- 
 companied by two elderly nuns, and as soon 
 as he appeared, she said, " Prince, it is in con- 
 formity with the rule it is in the observance 
 of an indispensable formality although to be 
 sure iu this case still I must say that every 
 time a daughter asks to be admitted to take 
 the habit, the superior, whom unworthily I 
 am, is under an obligation to apprize the 
 parents that if by chance they were do- 
 ing violence to the inclination of their child, 
 they would incur the penalty of excommuni- 
 cation. You will excupc me, if " 
 
 "Very right, vrry right, reverend mother, 
 I applaud your exactitude, it is just, certainly, 
 but you cannot doubt thht " 
 
 " Oh ! certainly, Prince, you cannot sup 
 pose I have said so much on account of 
 being precisely obliged to as for the rest you 
 know " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, mother abbess." 
 
 Having exchanged these few words, the- 
 parties mutually bowed and separated, as if 
 the conversation was not becoming more 
 agreeable, as it proceeded, and each rejoined 
 their friends, one without, the other within 
 the cloistered threshold. " Let us be gone," 
 said the prince, " Gertrude will soon have 
 every convenient opportunity to enjoy the 
 society of the mothers. For the present 
 we have incommoded them enough. And 
 having bowed as if about to depart, the family 
 moved ; compliments were interchanged again, 
 and they left the nunnery. 
 
 Gertrude on her return, had no great incli- 
 nation to talk. Frightened at the step she 
 had taken, ashamed of her want of resolution, 
 angry against others, and against herself, she 
 sorrowfully calculated the opportunities which 
 still remained for her to say no : and faintly 
 and obscurely she promised herself that she 
 would avail herself of one of them with dex- 
 terity and courage. Amidst these thoughts, 
 she did not forget the dread which the irowr* 
 of her father had inspired her with ; so much 
 so r that when she, by stealth, caught a view 
 of his face, and saw that, instead of anger, it 
 carried plain demonstrations of satisfaction to- 
 wards her, she felt it as a piece of good for- 
 tune, and was for the moment perfectly con- 
 tent. 
 
 When they reached home, a tedious dres- 
 sing, then dinner, then some visits, then the 
 afternoon's ride, then conversazione, then sup- 
 per, succeeded to each other. When this last 
 was over, the prince introduced another sub- 
 ject, the choice of the god-mother. This 
 was the term given to a lady, who, at the re- 
 quest of the parents, became the guardian 
 and escort of the young novice during the 
 period betwixt the request to be admitted, and 
 the assuming the habit, a period usually passed 
 in visiting churches, public palaces, conversazi 
 ones, villas, sanctuaries, every thing, in short, 
 that was celebrated in the city and in the vici- 
 nage, so that the young novices, ere the irrev- 
 ocable vow was pronounced, might see what 
 sort of things they were renouncing. " We * 
 must think upon a god-mother," said the 
 prince, " because the Vicar of the Nuns 
 will come tomorrow for the formality of 
 examination, and, immediately afterwards, 
 Gertrude will be proposed for reception to the 
 mothers in full chapter." Saying these words 
 he turned to the princess, and she supposing 
 this was an invitation to name some one, be- 
 gan there is " but the prince interrupted 
 her, " No, princess, the god-mother ought first 
 of all to be agreeable to the young spouse, 
 and although custom gives the^U|ce to the 
 parents, yet Gertrude has so ra^^Bldgiiient. 
 so much propriety, that she vvPllerves to 
 be excepted from the custom. "^Mw tumius;
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 67 
 
 to her, as if he would announce a very espe- 
 cial favor, he continued " each of the ladies 
 who were here at the conversazione this even- 
 ing, possesses the qualifications requisite for 
 a god-mother, to a daughter of our house ; 
 each of them, I must believe, would esteem 
 it an honor to be preferred. Choosefor your 
 self." 
 
 Gertrude felt that the act would be giving a 
 new consent, but the proposition was made in 
 so marked a manner, that a refusal might have 
 had the appearance of want of respect, and 
 the attempt to excuse herself, of ingratitude 
 and fastidiousness. She took, therefore, this 
 step as well as the others, and named the lady 
 who that evening had been most agreeable to 
 her, who had caressed her most, who had 
 praised her most, who had treated her with 
 those familiar and affectionate manners, which 
 in the first moments of an acquaintance look 
 so much like ancient friendship. 
 
 "An excellent choice" exclaimed the prince, 
 who desired and expected she would name 
 her. Whether it was art or chance, it had 
 happened exactly as when a conjurer rapidly 
 shuffles a pack of cards before your face, bids 
 you think of one, and he will divine it : but 
 he takes care so to shuffle them that you only 
 see one. That lady had been so much about 
 Gertrude the whole evening, had occupied 
 her attention so much, that a very great effort 
 of fancy would have been necessary to make 
 it possible for her to think of any other. These 
 attentions had not been paid without a mo- 
 tive : the lady for a long time past had cast 
 her eyes upon the young prince as a future 
 son-in-law: the temporalities, therefore, of 
 that house, she looked upon with very great 
 affection, and so it came very natural to her, to 
 interest herself for her dear Gertrude, quite as 
 much as for her nearest relatives. 
 
 In the morning Gertrude awoke with the 
 image of the examiner who was to come, 
 present to her mind ; and as she was reflecting 
 how she could use that opportunity so deci- 
 sive to draw back, the prince directed her to 
 be called. " Well, my daughter," said he, 
 " up to this moment you have conducted your- 
 self extremely well, today you must crown 
 the work. Every thing that has been hither- 
 to done, has been done with your consent. If 
 any kind of doubt, any lingering regret, any 
 girl's ideas, had occurred to you, it was your 
 Business to have explained yourself; but at 
 the point where matters are now carried, there 
 is no longer room for any foolish notions. The 
 good man who has to. come this morning, 
 will interrogate you a hundred times upon 
 your calling, and if you are doing it of your 
 own accord, and wherefore, and how it has 
 happened, and so on. If you are irresolute in 
 
 Jour answers, he'll keep you at work Heaven 
 nows how long. It would wear you out with 
 vexation, andjmight be productive of still 
 worse conseflKces. Afler all the public de- 
 monstrations which have been made, the least 
 hesitation observed in you, would bring my 
 
 honor in question ; it might induce some to 
 suppose I had mistaken some slight fancy on 
 your part for a firm resolution ; that I had 
 gone hastily to work, that I had I know not 
 what they might suppose. In such a case I 
 should be obliged to choose between two pain- 
 ful alternatives either to let the world con- 
 ceive a poor opinion of my conduct, a conclu- 
 sion altogether inconsistent with what I owe 
 to myself, or reveal the true motive of your 
 resolution, and " hut here perceiving that 
 Gertrude's face was suffused, that her eyes 
 were swelled, and^that her countenance con- 
 tracted like the leaves of a flower in the heat 
 that precedes the whirlwind, he changed his 
 tone, and with a serene voice, said " come, 
 come, every thing depends upon you, upon 
 your judgment. I know that you have a 
 great deal, and that you are not a girl to ruin 
 what has been well done, at the last moment, 
 but I must anticipate every thing. Let no 
 more be said about it, and let us be agreed 
 upon this, that your answers shall be frank, so 
 as to create no doubts in the mind of that good 
 man. In this way you will get through with 
 him much quicker." 
 
 And here, after suggesting some answers to 
 the contingent interrogatories, he began as 
 usual to talk about the pleasures and the en- 
 joyments that were prepared for Gertrude in 
 the monastery, and consumed the time on this 
 subject until a servant came to announce the 
 examiner. The prince, alter briefly recapi- 
 tulating the most important hints, lefl his 
 daughter alone with the vicar, as it was pre- 
 scribed. 
 
 The good man came with a bit of an opi- 
 nion of his own, already made up, that Ger- 
 trude felt a great vocation for the cloister, 
 because the prince had told him so when he 
 went to invite him. It is true, the good priest, 
 knowing mistrust to be one of the most neces- 
 sary virtues of his office, had for a maxim to 
 be slow in believing similar protestations, and 
 to be on his guard against prepossessions ; but 
 it very rarely occurs that affirmative and posi- 
 tive declarations, of whatever kind of persons 
 in authority, fail in tinging a little with their 
 own color the mind of the person who listens 
 to them. After the usual salutations, " Young 
 lady," said he, " I come here to act the part 
 of the tempter, to put in doubt what in your 
 petition you have rendered certain, and to 
 place before your eyes the difficulties which 
 stand in the way, in order to ascertain if you 
 have considered them well. Suffer me to 
 ask you some questions." 
 
 "Ask what you please," answered Ger- 
 trude. 
 
 The good priest then began to interrogate 
 her in the form prescribed by the regulations. 
 " Do you feel in your heart a free, spontaneous 
 determination to become a nun ? Have no 
 threats or inducements been held out to you ? 
 Has the authority of any one urged you to 
 take this step ? Speak without reserve, and 
 with sincerity to a man whose duty it is to
 
 68 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 learn your true inclination, in order to prevent 
 any kind of violence being done to you." 
 
 The true answer to these questions rose up 
 instantly in the mind of Gertrude with a ter- 
 rible force. To give such an answer, it was 
 necessary to come to an explanation, tell what 
 she was threatened with, relate her story. 
 The unhappy girl turned away, frightened 
 from this idea, and flew immediately to ano- 
 ther that would quicker and better spare her 
 such an effort. " I become a nun," said she, 
 concealing her perturbation, " I become a 
 nun, of my own accord, freely." 
 
 " How long is it since this thought occurred 
 to you ?" asked the good priest. 
 
 " I have always entertained it," answered 
 Gertrude, feeling, after this first step, more 
 at liberty to lie against herself. 
 
 " But what is the chief motive to induce 
 you to take the veil ?" 
 
 The priest did not know what a terrible 
 chord he had touched, and Gertrude made a 
 great effort to suppress in her face the effect 
 which these words produced in her mind. 
 
 "The motive," said she, " is to serve God, 
 and to fly the dangers of the world." 
 
 " Has it not been some disgust ? some ex- 
 cuse me caprice ? Sometimes a momentary 
 cause makes an impression which seems as 
 if it would be perpetual and then when the 
 cause ceases, the mind changes : then " 
 
 " No, no," hastily answered Gertrude, " the 
 cause is what I have told you." 
 
 The vicar, more with a view to the exact 
 fulfilment of his duty, than because he thought 
 there was any need of it, insisted on pursuing 
 the inquiry, but Gertrude had determined to 
 deceive him. Besides the repugnance she 
 felt to communicate her weakness to a grave 
 and good old priest, who appeared to be so 
 far from suspecting her of any thing, the poor 
 girl reflected, also, that even when he might 
 prevent her becoming a nun, his authority, as 
 well as the protection she could receive from 
 him, would end there. As soon as he was 
 gone, she would remain alone with the prince ; 
 and what she would have to suffer in that 
 house, he would know nothing at all about, 
 or if he should know, notwithstanding his 
 good intentions, he would be able to do no- 
 thing more than to pity her. The examiner 
 became tired of interrogating, before the un- 
 fortunate young creature was tired of equivo- 
 cating; and finding her answers always con- 
 sistent, and having no motive to doubt her 
 sincerity, changed nis course, and said what 
 he thought was proper to confirm her in her 
 
 food dispositions ; and having congratulate'! 
 er, took his leave. Crossing the hall to go 
 out, he met the prince, who appeared there as 
 if by chance, and offered him also his con- 
 gratulations at the good dispositions he had 
 found in his daughter. The prince to that 
 moment had been in a very annoying state of 
 suspense, but now he breathed again, and, 
 forgetting his usual reserve, went in haste to 
 Gertrude, overwhelmed her with praises, ca- 
 
 resses, and promises, with a cordial sort of 
 satisfaction, and with a tenderness in great 
 measure sincere ; so strangely is the human 
 heart made. 
 
 We will not follow Gertrude in the conti- 
 nued round of spectacles and amusements ; 
 neither will we minutely relate, and in their 
 order, the feelings of her mind during this 
 period; it would be a tale of distresses and 
 fluctuations, too monotonous, and too similar 
 to what has been already related. The ame- 
 nity of the situations, the change of objects, 
 the delight of driving about in the open air, 
 made the idea of the place where, at last, she 
 must descend, and that for ever, still more 
 odious to her. Still more pungent were the 
 impressions she received from the assem- 
 blages and festivities of the citizens. The 
 sight of those spouses, to whom this title is 
 given in the more obvious and accustomed 
 sense, occasioned an envy and an intolerable 
 anguish in her ; and, at times, when observing 
 the aspect of some great personage to whom 
 that term was addressed, she formed concep- 
 tions of them as being overwhelmed with 
 happiness. . 
 
 At times, the pomp of palaces, the splendor 
 of their furniture, tne buzzing and cheerful 
 clamor of the conversazioni, communicated 
 to her an hilarity, and so strong a desire to 
 lead a life of pleasure, that she promised to 
 herself to retract, to suffer every thing rather 
 than return to the cold and dead shade of the 
 cloister. But all these resolutions evaporated 
 on the leisure consideration of the difficulties 
 in her way, and at a single glance at the coun- 
 tenance of her father. At times, too, the 
 thought that she must abandon for ever those 
 enjoyments, rendered even the present taste 
 of them bitter and painful ; just as a feverish 
 invalid beholds with anger, and almost repels 
 with spite, the spoonful of water which the 
 physician reluctantly grants. 
 
 In the meantime the Vicar of the Nuns had 
 left the necessary attestation, and the licence 
 came to hold a chapter for the reception of 
 Gertrude. The chapter was held, and as might 
 be expected, two thirds of the ballots requir- 
 ed by the regulations were in the affirmative, 
 and Gertrude was accepted. She, herself, 
 worn out by the long struggle, then asked to 
 be received at an early day into the monastery. 
 No one of course was opposed to her desire, 
 which therefore was granted, and at length, 
 after being pompously conducted to the nune- 
 ry, she assumed the habit. After twelve months 
 of noviciate, full of regrets and repentance 
 of those regrets, the time of profession arrived, 
 a time when it was necessary for her to pro- 
 nounce a no more strange, more unexpected, 
 more scandalous than ever, or a yes so often- 
 times repeated. She repeated it this time also, 
 and became a nun for life. ^fe 
 
 It is one of the singular aij^Bommunica- 
 ble faculties of the Christia^TOBgion, that it 
 can lead and tranquilize any one, in whatso- 
 ever conjuncture, at whatever crisis, who has 

 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 69 
 
 recourse to it. If there is a remedy for the 
 past, our religion prescribes it, administers it 
 affords light and strength to put it in operation 
 at every cost ; and if the past cannot be re- 
 paired, it suggests a mode of doing truly and 
 effectually, what is said by man as a proverb, 
 the making a virtue of necessity. It teaches 
 us to pursue with wisdom what was begun 
 with ievity, disposes the mind to embrace with 
 desire, that which has been imposed upon us by 
 force, and invests, a choice which was rash, 
 but which is irrevocable, with all the sanctity, 
 all the resources, and, let us add frankly, all the 
 enjoyments of the vocation. It is a road so 
 constructed, that from whatsoever labyrinth, 
 whatsoever precipice a man reaches and stands 
 upon it, he can from that instant walk on it 
 with security and pleasure, and terminate a 
 cheerful journey in all happiness. 
 
 By such means Gertrude might have been a 
 holy and contented nun, notwithstanding the 
 manner in which she had become one : but 
 the unhappy woman still struggled under her 
 yoke, and thus felt still more bruised and 
 borne down by it. The incessant recurrence 
 of lost liberty, the abhorrence of her present 
 state, a tedious wandering after desires that 
 could never be satisfied, such were the princi- 
 pal occupations of her mind. She revolved 
 over again the bitter past, rearranged in her 
 memory all the circumstances which had 
 brought her to the pass where she was, and a 
 thousand times undid vainly in thought, that 
 which she had made real by her action. She 
 accused herself of cowardice, others of tyran- 
 ny and perfidy, and preyed upon herself inter- 
 nally. She wept, whilst she idolized it, over 
 her own beauty. She deplored that youth 
 which was to be passed in a tedious martyr- 
 dom ; and at certain moments envied every wo- 
 man, of whatever condition, who had any ex- 
 cuse for enjoying those gifts freely in the 
 world. 
 
 The sight of those nuns who had co-operat- 
 ed to bring her there, was odious to her. She 
 remembered the arts and the schemes they 
 had worked with, and paid them back with 
 ill-turns, caprices, and even with open re- 
 proaches. It was generally more convenient 
 for them to submit and to be silent, for though 
 the prince had been forward enough in tyran- 
 nizing over his daughter in order to drive her 
 into the cloister, yet having obtained his point, 
 he was not a man to permit any one to claim 
 to be in the right against his own blood ; and 
 the least resistance they might make might 
 be the cause of their losing his powerful pro- 
 tection, or perhaps of converting their protec- 
 tor into an enemy. It would seem as if she 
 might have felt a certain inclination for the 
 other sisters, who had not stained themselves 
 in the dirty intrigues of which she had been 
 the victim, and who without having wished 
 for her as a companion, loved her as such : 
 pious, industrious, and cheerful, they showed 
 her by their eiample, how even in such a place, 
 life could not only be endured but enjoyed. But 
 
 these were odious to her for other reasons. The 
 appearance of piety and content they wore, 
 seemed to reprove her inquietude, and her ca- 
 pricious deportment, and she let no opportu- 
 nity escape of ridiculing them behind their 
 backs as bigots, and of sneering at them as 
 hypocrites. Perhaps she would have been less 
 averse to them, if she had known or been 
 able to divine, that the few black balls, which 
 were found in the ballot box that decided upon 
 her reception, had been put there by those 
 very nuns. 
 
 Some consolation, however, she found at 
 times, in commanding, in the respect paid to 
 her within, and in the adulatory visits paid her 
 by some from without; in originating some 
 undertakings, in granting her protection, and 
 in being called the Signora. But what conso- 
 lation ! The mind that felt its insufficiency, 
 would have sought from time to time to add 
 to it and to enjoy with it the consolations 
 of religion : but these do not offer themselves 
 save to those who renounce the first ; as .the 
 shipwrecked mariner, who, to seize the plank 
 which will conduct him in safety to the shore, 
 must first loosen his hand from, and abandon 
 the sea weeds and stems that he had caught at, 
 in the excitement of instinct. 
 
 Soon after her profession, Gertrude was 
 appointed to superintend some of the pupils. 
 Imagine the state of these young persons un- 
 der such a discipline. Her old companions were 
 all gone, whilst she retained all the passions 
 of those days, and in one way or another the 
 scholars had to bear it all. When it crossed 
 her mind that many of them were destined to 
 that kind of life of which she had lost every 
 hope, she felt a desire of vengeance, and a spite 
 against the poor girls ; humiliating, irritating, 
 and making them pay in anticipation for those 
 pleasures they expected to enjoy. Any one, 
 at such moments, who had heard with how 
 much magisterial anger she scolded them for 
 every trilling mistake, would have supposed 
 her a woman embued with a savage and un- 
 profitable piety. At other times, the same 
 horror for the cloister, for the rules, for obe- 
 dience, broke out in excesses of humor of a 
 different land. Then she not only endured 
 the noisy recreations of her pupils, but encou- 
 raged them ; mingling in their games and ren- 
 dering them still more disorderly : she would 
 enter into their conversations, and carry them 
 on to things beyond the intention with which 
 they had begun them. If any one said a word 
 about the gossiping of the abbess, she would 
 go into an imitation of it, making a comedy of 
 the matter, mimicking the face of one nun, and 
 the deportment of another; then she would 
 laugh without any restraint, though it did not 
 come from the heart. Thus had she lived for 
 some xears, not having either the means or the 
 opportunity to do any thing more, when her 
 fortune so determined it, that an opportunity 
 should present itself. Amongst the other pri- 
 vileges and distinctions which had been ac- 
 corded to her, to compensate her for not being
 
 
 70 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 an abbess, was also that of being lodged in a 
 separate quarter. That side of the monastery 
 was contiguous to a house inhabited by a 
 young man, an avowed bad fellow, one of the 
 many who at that period, with their ruffians, 
 and with the alliance of other bad fellows, 
 could, to a certain extent, laugh at the public 
 force, and at the laws. We find his name in 
 the manuscript to have been Egidio, and no- 
 thing more. This man, from a small window 
 which looked upon the court-yard of that 
 quarter, having observed Gertrude occasion- 
 ally strolling there in idle moments, incited, 
 rather than deterred, by the danger and im- 
 piety of the undertaking, one day had the 
 audacity to address her, and the unfortunate 
 creature was rash enough to answer him. 
 
 At first she experienced a sort of satisfac- 
 tion, not very pure it is true, but lively. In 
 the slothful void of her mind, an earnest occu- 
 pation had infused itself, a continuous and 
 powerful new principle ; but it resembled 
 those restoratives which the ingenious cruelty 
 of the ancients poured out to the condemned, 
 to invigorate and sustain martyrdom. A great 
 novelty took place about this time in her be- 
 havior; she became at once more regular, 
 more tranquil, desisted from her mockeries 
 and complaints, and even became caressing 
 and agreeable in her manners, so that the 
 sisters congratulated each other by turns at the 
 happy change, being far from imagining the 
 true motive, and from comprehending that 
 this new virtue was nothing but hypocrisy 
 added to her other defects. This show, how- 
 ever, this external fairness, did not last a long 
 time, at least not with the same continuity 
 and equality : the old spites and the accus- 
 tomed caprices soon broke out again ; impre- 
 cations and ridicule against the cloisteral life 
 were soon heard again, and sometimes ex- 
 pressed in a language unknown in that place, 
 and strange to her mouth. Still at every ex- 
 cess repentance came behind ; and a great 
 solicitude to obliterate the remembrance of it 
 by gentle conduct. The sisters endured as 
 well as they could these changes, and attri- 
 buted them to the capricious and light nature 
 of the lady. 
 
 For some time it appeared no one paid any 
 further attention to it, but one day that the 
 Signora, having quarreled with a lay sister 
 about some nonsense or other, forgot herself 
 so far as to abuse her in a very extravagant 
 manner, and without desisting : the lay sister 
 having endured it a while and bit her lips, at 
 length lost her patience, and threw out a hint 
 that she knew something, and that at a proper 
 time she would speak out. From that instant 
 the Signora had no more peace. Not long alter 
 the lay sister was missing at the accustomed 
 offices ; they went to look for her in her cell, 
 and did not find her. She was called for 
 aloud, and did not answer : they sought here, 
 they sought there, they rummaged in every 
 quarter, above, below, from the cellar to the 
 garret, and she was to be found no where. 
 
 and who knows what conjectures would have 
 been formed, if, whilst searching, they had 
 not discovered a great hole in the wall of the 
 garden, which induced every one to suppose 
 she had eloped that way. Couriers were de- 
 spatched by various roads to pursue and over- 
 take her : inquiries were made at a distance, 
 but the slightest intelligence of her was never 
 obtained. Perhaps they would have been able 
 to find out more, if, instead of looking at a dis- 
 tance, they had examined closer by digging 
 nearer home. After much astonishment (for no 
 one had supposed her capable of such conduct) 
 and many arguments, it was concluded that 
 she must have gone off to a very great dis- 
 tance. And because one of the sisters had 
 said, " She has most certainly escaped into 
 Holland," it was said, and believed in the 
 monastery, that she had taken refuge in Hol- 
 land. The Signora, however, it seems, was not 
 of that opinion. Not that she appeared to dis- 
 credit it, or to oppose the general belief with 
 her own reasons ; if she had any, certainly 
 never were reasons more closely concealed ; 
 neither was there any thing from which she 
 so willingly abstained as the revival of that 
 story, or any thing about which she cared less 
 than seeking the bottom of that mystery. 
 But the less she spoke, the more she thought 
 of it. How often during the day did the 
 image of that female suddenly start up in her 
 imagination, there plant itself, and remain im- 
 movably there. How often would she have 
 preferred to see her stand before her alive, 
 and in her real existence, rather than have 
 her constantly fixed in her thoughts, rather 
 than be obliged to find herself day and night 
 in the company of that shadowy, terrible, and 
 insufferable image ? How often would she 
 have wished to hear distinctly her true voice, 
 her reproofs, whatever she could possibly 
 threaten, rather than have eternally in the in- 
 most part of her mental ear, the fantastic mur- 
 muring of that same voice ; and hear words to 
 which no answers were sufficient, repeated 
 with a pertinacity, with indefatigable perse- 
 verance, that no living person was ever capa- 
 ble of. 
 
 It was about a year after that event when 
 Lucia was presented to the lady, and had that 
 conversation with her where we left oft' with 
 the narrative. The lady multiplied her inqui- 
 ries respecting the persecution of Don Rodri- 
 go, and entered into certain particulars with 
 an intrepidity that was something worse than 
 surprizing to Lucia, who had never thought 
 that the curiosity of nuns could be awakened 
 respecting such matters. The reflections, too, 
 that she mingled with her inquiries, and that 
 she permitted to break out, were not less 
 strange. She appeared almost to laugh at the 
 great terror in which Lucia had always held 
 that cavalier, and asked if he was deformed, 
 that she was so much afraid of him; and seemed 
 to think, too, that Lucia's reserve would have 
 been both stupid and unreasonable, if she 
 had not entertained a preference for Renzo.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 71 
 
 on this score, too, she extended her inquiries in 
 a manner to surprize and cover Lucia with 
 confusion. Perceiving that she had permitted 
 her tongue to deal too freely with the extrava- 
 gant ideas of her brain, she endeavored to cor- 
 rect, and to put the best meaning upon her 
 words ; but she could not prevent Lucia from 
 being struck with a painful astonishment, and 
 a confused dread. Scarce was she alone with 
 her mother, when she opened her heart to her. 
 But Agnes, like a more experienced person, 
 cleared up with a few words, all her doubts, 
 and explained the mystery. " Don't be aston- 
 ished," said she, " when thou wilt have known 
 the world as much as I do, thou wilt find out 
 that these are not things to wonder about. 
 Gentlefolks, more or less, some for one cause, 
 some for another, are all a little cracked. It is 
 best to let them talk, especially when we want 
 their aid ; it is best to listen seriously to them, 
 as if they were saying wise things. Did you 
 hear how she gave it to me for talking, as if I 
 had come out with something monstrous ? I 
 was not frightened at her. They are all so. 
 And with all that, Heaven be praised that she 
 has taken a fancy to thee, and means to protect 
 thee in good earnest. As to the rest, if thou 
 continuest to live, and hast any more to do 
 with gentlefolks, thou'lt find out, thou'lt find 
 out, thou'lt find out. 1 ' 
 
 The desire to lay the father guardian under an 
 obligation, the complacency protection inspires, 
 the thought of the good opinion that would be 
 created by a protection so piously granted, a 
 certain inclination for Lucia, and also a feeling 
 of satisfaction at doing good to an innocent 
 creature, at giving succor and consolation to the 
 oppressed, had really disposed the lady to take 
 to heart the lot of the two poor fugitives. From 
 respect to the orders which she gave, and the 
 interest which she showed for them, they were 
 lodged in the quarter of the fattora, near to 
 the cloister, and treated as if they belonged to 
 the service of the monastery. The mother and 
 the daughter were delighted that they had so 
 ^oon found a secure and honorable asylum. 
 They would have been pleased too to have re- 
 mained there unknown to every one, but the 
 thing was not easy in a monastery, especially 
 when there was a man too deliberately deter- 
 mined to find out one of them, and in whose 
 soul, to passion and to the pique he first receiv- 
 ed, was now added rage at having been pre- 
 vented and deceived. Leaving the females in 
 their asylum, we will return to nis place, at the 
 very moment when he was waiting the result 
 of his villanous expedition. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 JUST as a pack of hounds, after in vain fol- 
 lowing a hare, return chop-fallen to their mas- 
 ter, their faces to the ground, and their tails 
 
 dangling down, so in that night of confusion 
 did the Bravos return to the palace of Don 
 llodrigo. He was walking backwards and for- 
 wards in the dark, in an old uninhabited room 
 of the upper story that fronted the lawn. From 
 time to time he stopped to listen, and to peep 
 through the chinks of the decayed shutters, full 
 of impatience and not free from inquietude ; 
 not only on account of the uncertainty of suc- 
 cess, but also ibr the possible consequences, 
 this being the most daring and gross piece of 
 violence this worthy gentleman had yet put 
 his hand to. He reassured himself, however, 
 by thinking of the precautions he had taken 
 that no traces might remain of his act, as to 
 suspicions, I laugh at them. I should like to 
 know who there is bold enough to come up 
 here to find out whether there is a young girl 
 or no. Let him come, let him come, the im- 
 pertinent fellow, he will be well received. Let 
 the friar come, yes let him come. The old 
 mother ? The old woman may go to Bergamo. 
 Justice ? pah, justice ! The podesta is not a 
 boy, nor has he lost his head. 
 
 And at Milan ? Who cares for them at Mi- 
 lan ? Who would stand up for them there ? 
 Who is there there that even knows they exist ? 
 They are like people lost upon the earth ; they 
 have not even got a master; people belonging 
 to no body. Go, go, there is nothing to tear. 
 What will Attilio say tomorrow ? He will see, 
 he will see whether I am a man who talks and 
 boasts or no. And then if even there should 
 be any trouble what do I know ? if some ene- 
 my should make an occasion out of this even 
 Attilio will be useful, the honor of all my kin 
 is -pledged to me. But the thought upon which 
 he most dwelt, because in it he Ibund both rest 
 from his doubts and food for his principal pas- 
 sion, was the thought of the flatteries, and the 
 promises with which he would sooth Lucia. She 
 will be so much afraid to find herself here alone, 
 in the midst of these fellows, these hard visag- 
 ed by bacchus, I am the only human look- 
 ing creature here that she must have recourse 
 to me, she will have to bend and entreat me, 
 
 and then . Whilst he was comingto these 
 
 fine conclusions with himself, he hears a noise, 
 goes to the window, opens it a little, puts his 
 head partly out it is them and the litter ? 
 The devil! Where can the litter be ? Three, 
 five, eight, they are all there, Griso is there 
 too, but the litter is not there. The devil ! the 
 devil ! Griso shall answer this to me. 
 
 As soon as they entered the house, Griso de- 
 posited in a corner of the room they came into, 
 nis pilgrim's staff', his hat and cloak, and as his 
 charge imposed upon him a charge that no 
 one envied him went up stairs to give an ac- 
 count to Don Rodrigo. He was waiting for him 
 on the landing place, and seeing him approach 
 with the stupid and awkward air the deluded 
 villain could not divest himself of, " Well," said 
 he, or rather screamed out to him, "signer 
 boaster, signer captain, signer leave it to me V 
 " It is hard" answered Griso, remaining with 
 a foot on the top stair, " it is hard to be paid
 
 72 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 with reproaches, after working faithfully, and 
 endeavoring to do exactly one's duty, and even 
 risking one s bones." 
 
 " How did the matter go ? Let us hear, let 
 us hear," said Don Rodrigo, and went to his 
 chamber, where Griso followed him, and soon 
 narrated all his arrangements, what he had 
 done, what he had seen, what he had not seen, 
 heard, feared, remedied, and did it in such a 
 manner, and with that confusion, and all that 
 uncertainty and stupid astonishment, that were 
 necessarily mingled together in his ideas. 
 
 " Thou art not in the wrong, and hast con- 
 ducted thyself well," said Don Rodrigo " thou 
 hast done all that could be done, but but, that 
 there should be a spy in this house ? If there 
 is, if I can discover him, and discover him we 
 will if there is one, I will arrange him for you ; 
 I can tell thee Griso, he shall have it in high 
 style." 
 
 " Signer," replied he, " I am not without 
 that suspicion either, and if it is true, if ever a 
 rascal of that sort is discovered, put him into 
 my hands, sir, that is all. Any one who chooses 
 to amuse himself by making me pass such a 
 night as this, he may be quite sure I would pay 
 him back again. But, taking it altogether, I 
 think I can see there must nave been some 
 other trouble in the village, which now I can't 
 understand. Tomorrow, sir, tomorrow the wa- 
 ter will be clear." 
 
 " You have not been recognized at least .'" 
 
 Griso replied that he hoped not, and the con- 
 versation terminated by Don Rodrigo giving 
 him orders to do three things on the next day, 
 which Griso might well have thought of him- 
 self. To send two men very early in the morn- 
 ing to give that intimation to the consul, which 
 we have been acquainted with before : two 
 others to the ruins to wander about in the 
 neighborhood, and keep off any idlers that 
 might arrive there : these men were to conceal 
 the litter until the next night, when it would 
 be sent for, it being for the present inconveni- 
 ent to make any further movements, in order 
 not to awaken suspicion. He himself was to 
 sally out to collect information, and send others 
 out also, of the clearest headed and most dex- 
 trous of their Bravos, to learn something of the 
 causes of the strange confusion of that night. 
 Having given these orders, Don Rodrigo retired 
 to bed, and left Griso to do the same, dismiss- 
 ing him with many praises, as evident indica- 
 tions of his being restored to his good graces, 
 and of a desire to excuse himself for the hasty 
 reproaches with which he had received him. 
 
 Go, sleep, poor Griso ! thou must stand in 
 need of it. Poor Griso ! hard at work all day, 
 hard at work half the night, without counting 
 the danger of falling into the clutches of the 
 country people, or of adding another procla- 
 mation against him, for the rapt of an honest 
 woman, in addition to those already out : and 
 then to be received in that manner ! But ! that 
 is the way men often pay for services. Thou 
 hast nevertheless perceived that sometimes 
 justice is done according to merit, and that ba- 
 
 | lances are settled even in this world. Go and 
 i sleep for the present: another day perhaps 
 ! thou wilt furnish us with othev proofs of this, 
 i and of a more remarkable character. 
 
 The succeeding morning, Griso was already 
 engaged in occupation when Don Rodrigo rose. 
 He sought for Count Attilio, who, as soon as 
 they met began to joke with him, and called out 
 " Saint Martin!" 
 
 " I don't know what to say," replied Don 
 Rodrigo, joining to him, I must pay the wager, 
 but it is not that which vexes me. I told you 
 nothing, I confess, I thought I would astonish 
 you this morning. But never mind, I will 
 tell you the whole." 
 
 " The friar has had a hand in that matter," 
 said his cousin, after listening with more atten- 
 tion, surprise, and seriousness than might have 
 been expected from such a hair brain. " That 
 friar" continued he, " that can put a face on like 
 a dead cat, and talk in such a ridiculous manner, 
 I take him for a starched intriguer. And you, 
 you would not trust me, you nave never told 
 me frankly what he came here to trifle so about 
 with you." Don Rodrigo related the conver- 
 sation between him and father Christopher. 
 "And did you endure so much?" exclaimed 
 Count Attilio, " and did you let him go away r 
 just as he came ?" 
 
 " What would you ? would you have me 
 bring on my back all the capuchins of Italy ?" 
 
 "I do not know," said Count Attilio, " if in 
 such a moment I should have remembered that 
 there were in the world any other capuchins, 
 than that rash scoundrel : but let it pass with- 
 in the rules of prudence ; is the way to take 
 satisfaction of a capuchin altogether wanting ? 
 The right moment must be hit for redoubling 
 our politeness to the whole body, and then you 
 may give a good substantial basting to one of 
 their members with impunity. Enough, he has 
 avoided the punishment that would have suit- 
 ed him best, but I take him under my protec- 
 tion, and I mean to have the consolation of 
 teaching him how to talk to men like us." 
 
 " Don't put me in a worse situation." 
 
 " Trust me for once, I'll serve you as a rela- 
 tion and friend ought to serve you." 
 
 " What do you think of doing ?" 
 
 '' I do not know yet, but I shall most cer- 
 tainly serve the friar. I will consider, and 
 and my uncle, the count, who belongs to the 
 secret council, is the man who shall do me 
 this good turn. Dear good count, uncle ! 
 How I divert myself every time that I can 
 get him to work for me ; a politician of his 
 calibre ! The day after tomorrow, I shall be 
 in Milan, and, in one way or another, the 
 friar shall be taken care of." 
 
 Breakfast was now ready, but did not in- 
 terrupt their conversation about an aflair of 
 such importance. Count Attilio expressed 
 his mind freely, and although he took such 
 a part as his friendship for his cousin, and the 
 honor of the common name required, accord- 
 ing to the idea he had of friendship and ho- 
 nor, still, now and then he could not help
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 laughing a little at the bad luck that his rela- 
 tion and friend had had. But Don Rodrigo, 
 whose own affair it was, and who thinking 
 to strike a great blow in a quiet way, had 
 missed his aim and made a great noise, was 
 agitated by more serious emotions, and dis 
 tracted by thoughts of the most troublesome 
 kind. " What fine stories they'll make out 
 of it, all these bumpkins about. But what 
 care I ? As to justice, I laugh at it ; there 
 are no proofs, and if there were any, I would 
 equally laugh at them. In the meantime, I 
 have apprised the consul this morning, to be 
 careful how he makes any deposition of what 
 has happened. It would have led to nothing, 
 but their gossipings, when they last so long, 
 tire me. It is quite enough to have been so 
 barbarously tricked as I have been." 
 
 " You have done exceedingly well," re- 
 plied Count Attilio. " That said podesta of 
 yours that great obstinate, empty headed, 
 tiresome bore of a podesta but he is a right 
 sort of man, one that knows his duty, and 
 when one has to do with persons of that 
 kind, one ought to be very careful to keep 
 them in good humor. If a beggarly consul 
 makes a deposition, the podesta, however 
 well intentioned he may be, nevertheless 
 must " 
 
 "But you," interrupted Don Rodrigo, a 
 little vexed, " you spoil all my work with your 
 constantly contradicting him, and quarreling 
 with him, and even making game of him 
 when you can. What the deuce ! can't the 
 podesta be a beast and an ass, and still be a 
 useful good sort of a fellow ?" 
 
 " Do you know, cousin," said Count Atti- 
 lio, looking at him with a comical sort of sur- 
 prise, " do you know that I begin to think 
 you are a little afraid ? Why you think I am 
 serious even about the podesta." 
 
 " Come, come, have you not yourself said 
 that he must nevertheless ?" 
 
 " I have said so, and when any thing serious 
 is under consideration, I will snow you I am 
 not a boy. Do you know how far I can re- 
 solve to go for you ? I am a man to go per- 
 sonally and pay a visit to the podesta. Ah ! 
 will he be pleased with that honor ? And I 
 am a man to let him talk for half an hour of 
 the count duke, and of our Signor Spanish 
 Castellan, and to agree that he is in the right, 
 even when he begins to tell his stupid ridicu- 
 lous absurd stories. I will only throw in a 
 word or two about the count-uncle of the se- 
 cret council, and you know what effect such 
 words produce upon the ears of the podesta. 
 At the end of the account, he stands in greater 
 need of our protection, than you do of his con- 
 descension. I will do things gently, I will go, 
 and leave him better disposed to you than ever." 
 
 After these, and similar words, Count Atti- 
 lio we.it out to the chase, and Don Rodrigo 
 remained anxiously expecting the return of 
 Griso. He at length made his appearance to- 
 wards the dinner hour, and gave an account 
 of his proceedings. 
 10 
 
 The uproar of that night had been so very 
 great, the disappearance of three persons from 
 a small village was so remarkable a fact, that 
 the searches made for them, whether dic- 
 tated by interest or curiosity, were natural- 
 ly many, zealous and pertinacious ; on the 
 other side, those who knew a little, were too 
 many to all agree to be entirely silent. Per- 
 petua could not put her head to the door with- 
 out being pestered with inquiries from this 
 one and that one, to know what it was that 
 had frightened her master so> much ; and Per- 
 petua re-examining and putting together all 
 the circumstances, and comprehending how 
 she had been made a fool ot by Agnes, was 
 in such a rage with her perfidy, that she was 
 really in want of an opportunity to break out. 
 Not that she went about complaining to every 
 body of the manner in which she had been 
 bamboozled, she did not whisper a word of 
 that ; but such a trick played upon her poor 
 master, that she could not pass entirely over 
 in silence ; and especially when the trick had 
 been contrived and attempted by that quiet 
 piece of life, that model of a young woman, 
 and that excellent widow. 
 
 Don Abbondio might resolutely command 
 her, and cordially intreat her to be silent, and 
 she could tell him again and again, that there 
 was no occasion to impress upon her a thing 
 so very natural and clear; yet certain it is 
 that such a secret as this, remained in the 
 breast of the poor woman, like new made 
 wine in an old and badly hooped cask, which 
 ferments and bubbles, and works at such a rate, 
 that if it does not force the bung into the air, 
 still it is in such trouble that the froth es- 
 capes from between the staves, and drops in so 
 many places that you can get enough of it to 
 tell what sort of wine it is. Gervaso, to 
 whom it did not appear possible, that for once 
 he could be better informed than other peo- 
 ple, to whom it appeared no small glory to 
 have been excessively frightened, and who, 
 for having lent a hand in an affair which he 
 knew to be criminal, seemed to have become 
 a man like the rest, was bursting with the 
 inclination to boast of it. And although To- 
 nio, who thought seriously about the possible 
 inquisitions and processes, and of the account 
 he might have to give, gave him precise or- 
 ders with his fist in his face, yet it was not 
 possible to stifle every word in his mouth. 
 And at length Tonio, after having been on 
 that night absent from home to an unusual 
 hour, returning with an unaccustomed look 
 and step, and with an agitation of mind that 
 disposed him to sincerity, could not conceal 
 the fact from his wife, who was not mute. 
 
 Who said the least was Menico, for scarce 
 had he told his parents the story and the ob- 
 ject of his expedition, it seemed to them such 
 a terrible thing, that their son should have 
 had any thing to do with spoiling one of Don 
 Rodrigo's undertakings, that they scarcely 
 permitted the boy to finish his narration. 
 They laid on him the strongest and most me-
 
 74 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 nacing commands to be careful not to give 
 the least hint of any thing; and the following 
 morning, it not appearing to them that they 
 were sufficiently safe, they resolved to keep 
 him shut up in the house for that day, and j 
 some others after it. But ! even they them- 
 selves talking over the affair with the vil- 
 lagers, yet without appearing to know more 
 than the others, when they came to that ob- 
 scure point of the flight of our three poor 
 friends, and of the how and the wherefore, 
 and the where, added, what was already al- 
 most known, that they had taken refuge at 
 Pescarenico. Thus even that circumstance 
 got to form a part of the common conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 With all these bits of information put to- 
 gether and united in the usual way, and with 
 the fringe naturally attached in the sewing, 
 there was enough to make up a story of a 
 certainty, and a clearness more than ordinary, 
 and with which even the most critical intellect 
 might be satisfied. But that invasion of the 
 Bravos, an incident too serious and too public 
 to be left out, and of which no one possessed in- 
 formation in any degree positive, that incident 
 it was which rendered the story obscure and 
 perplexing. The name of Don Rodrigo was 
 murmured, all were agreed in this; but for the 
 rest, all was darkness and dissention. Much 
 was said of the two Bravos who had been seen 
 in the street at the approach of night, and of 
 the other who was at the door of the village 
 inn ; but what light could be elicited from a 
 dry fact like this. The landlord was asked 
 who had been at his house the preceding eve- 
 ning, but he did not remember whether he 
 had seen any body at all that evening, and 
 always concluded that an inn was a seaport. 
 Above all, their heads were confounded, and 
 their conjectures baffled by the pilgrim that 
 Stephano and Carl Andrea had seen ; that pil- 
 grim that the ruffians wanted to kill, and who 
 Had gone away with them, or who had been 
 carried away by them. What did he come 
 there to do? It was a pious spirit that had 
 appeared to aid the women ; it was a wicked 
 spirit of some rogue and impostor pilgrim, 
 that always appeared at night to iom those 
 that were doing things that he did wnen alive ; 
 it was a living and true pilgrim that they 
 wanted to kill because he was going to alarm 
 the village ; it was (now only see what a con- 
 jecture ! ) one of the ruffians themselves, dis- 
 guised as a pilgrim ; it was this, it was that, 
 it was so many things, that all the sagacity 
 and the experience of Griso would not have 
 sufficed him to discover what it was, if Griso 
 had been obliged to depend upon their infor- 
 mation to find out this part of the story. 
 
 But, as the reader knows, that which em- 
 broiled this matter so much for others, was 
 exactly the clearest part of the whole to him- 
 self, using it as a key to interpret the other 
 matters collected by himself, anu by his subor- 
 dinate explorers, out of the whole ne was able 
 to compose a sufficiently distinct relation for 
 
 Don Rodrigo. Shutting himself up with him 
 he related the attempt made by the two be- 
 trothed lovers on Don Abbondio, which na- 
 turally explained why the house was found 
 empty, and why the bell was rung, without 
 its being necessary to suppose there were any 
 traitors (as these two honest persons called 
 them) in the house. He told him of their 
 flight, and even of this it was easy to find more 
 than one cause ; the fear of the lovers sur- 
 prised in doing what was wrong, or some in- 
 formation about the invasion of the Bravos, 
 given to them when it was discovered, and 
 the village roused. Finally, he stated that 
 they had taken refuge at Pascarenico, and 
 further than that his information did not go. 
 
 Don Rodrigo was pleased at being certain 
 no one had betrayed him, and at learning that 
 no traces of his act remained, but it was a 
 rapid and slight satisfaction. " Fled together !" 
 exclaimed he, " together ! and that villain of 
 a friar ! that friar ! " the word came hoarsely 
 from his throat, and muttered between his 
 teeth, which were biting his fingers ; his as- 
 pect was as brutal as his passions. " That 
 friar shall pay me for this. Griso ! they are 
 not what I am I want to know I want to 
 find this very evening, I must know where 
 they are. I have no peace. At Pescarenico, 
 haste to know to see to find. Four crowns 
 immediately, and my protection for ever. This 
 evening I must know. And that villain! 
 that friar !" 
 
 Griso took the field once more, and the 
 evening of the very same day he was enabled 
 to bring to his worthy patron the information 
 he wanted : and now see how this was done. 
 
 One of the greatest consolations of this life 
 is friendship, and one of the consolations of 
 friendship is having some one to confide a se- 
 cret to. Now friends don't go in pairs like 
 married people ; every one, generally speak- 
 ing, has more than one friend, so that a chain 
 is formed, the beginning of which no one can 
 discover. When, therefore, a friend procures 
 to himself the consolation to deposite a secret 
 in the breast of another, he gives to this one 
 the will to procure for himself the same con- 
 solation in turn. He entreats him, it is true, 
 to say nothing to any body ; and such a con- 
 dition, to any one who would accept it in the 
 rigorous sense of the word, would cut short at 
 once the whole course of consolations. But, 
 generally, practice has established, that the 
 obligation does not extend farther than not to 
 confide the secret except to a friend equally 
 trustworthy, imposing upon him the same 
 condition. Thus from trust worthy friend to 
 trust worthy friend, the secret travels on 
 through that immense chain, until at length it 
 reaches the ear of him or them whom the per- 
 son who first confided it, never intended it 
 should reach at all. It would, however, in 
 most cases have to be a long time on the road, 
 if every one had but two friends, him from 
 whom he receives the information, and him 
 to whom he communicates the matter to be
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 75 
 
 kept secret. But there are privileged per- 
 sons who confide in hundreds, and when the 
 secret has got to one of these, the directions 
 it takes are so rapid and multifarious, that it 
 is no longer possible to keep pace with it. 
 
 Our author has not been able to ascertain 
 through how many mouths the secret had is- 
 sued mat Griso had orders to get at ; the fact is 
 that the good man who had driven the women 
 to Monza, returning with his cart towards the 
 hour of vespers, to Pescarenico. before he got 
 home, stopped at a trustworthy friends, to 
 whom he related in great secrecy, the good 
 deed he had done, and what had followed ; 
 so that Griso was able, two hours after, to 
 give Don Rodrigo information that Lucia and 
 her mother had taken refuge at Monza in a 
 monastery, and that Renzo had pursued his 
 journey on to Milan. 
 
 Don Rodrigo experienced a wicked satis- 
 faction at their being separated, and felt dia- 
 bolical hopes reviving within him of attaining 
 his ends. He thought of the means of ac- 
 tiomplishing them a great part of the night, 
 and rose in the morning with two plans, one 
 determined upon, the other only sketched out. 
 The first, was immediately to despatch Griso 
 to Monza, to get clearer intelligence about 
 Lucia, and see if any thing could be attempt- 
 ed. Ordering his faithful bravo then to be 
 called, he put four crowns into his hand, and 
 passed great encomiums on the ability with 
 which he had gained them, whilst he deliver- 
 ed him his orders. 
 
 " Signor " said Griso, hesitating. 
 
 " What ? Have I not spoken clearly ?" 
 
 " If your excellency could send some one 
 else." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Illustrious sir, I am ready to give up my 
 skin for my master, and it is my duty to do 
 so ; but I know that your excellency does 
 not wish to risk the lives of your people too 
 much." 
 
 " Well ?" 
 
 " Your illustrious excellency knows very 
 well that I have a few bad affairs upon my 
 hands, and here, it is true, I am under the 
 protection of your excellency; there is a 
 troop of us the signor podesta is a friend of 
 the nouse the birri* treat me with respect 
 and even I it does me no honor to be sure, 
 but for the sake of a quiet life I, treat them 
 like friends. In Milan the livery of your 
 excellency is known, but in Monza I am 
 better known than it is known. And your 
 excellency knows, that I do not say it by way 
 of boasting, that whoever could consign me to 
 justice, or present my head, would make a 
 good job of it. A hundred crowns, one a top 
 of t'other, and the privilege of getting two 
 outlaws pardoned." 
 
 " What the devil ! " said Don Rodrigo, " you 
 turn out, then, to be one of those lazy dogs, 
 that has scarce spirit enough to snap at the 
 legs of any one that comes to the door, look- 
 
 r Police officers. 
 
 ing behind to see if there is any body to help 
 him, and that has'nt the courage to go four 
 paces from the house !" 
 
 "I believe, signor master, that I have given 
 proofs." 
 
 "Then!" 
 
 " Then," Griso resumed boldly, being thus 
 brought to the point, " then your excellency 
 will just suppose that I have said nothing at 
 all ; the heart of a lion, the limbs of a hare, 
 and I am ready to start. " 
 
 " I have not said that you are to go alone. 
 Take a pair of the best of them Sfregiato 
 and Tiradritto, and go in good spirits, and be 
 Griso. What the devil ! Three such look- 
 ing men as you are, and who pass on quietly, 
 who is there would want to stop you ? The 
 birri of Monza must be very tired of their 
 lives to stake them against a hundred crowns, 
 at such a dangerous game. And then beside, 
 I don't think I am so entirely unknown there, 
 that your being my servant should go for no- 
 thing." 
 
 Having made Griso this little reproof, he gave 
 him more ample and minute instructions. 
 Griso took his two companions and went away 
 with a cheerful and bold face, but secretly 
 cursing in his heart Monza, the rewards out 
 against him, the women and the fancies of his 
 patron. He went like the wolf exhaused with 
 fasting, his stomach drawn up, and his ribs 
 staring through the grey hair, when he de- 
 scends from-the mountain where all is snow, 
 and proceeding suspiciously to the plain, stops 
 from time to time with his paws lifted up, 
 wagging his ragged tail, 
 
 "Raises his snout, and snufls the faithless breeze."* 
 The which, whenever it brings him the odor 
 of man or of iron, he pricks up his ears at, and 
 rolls his sanguinary eyes, from both of which 
 are glaring, eagerness for his prey, and the ter- 
 ror of pursuit. 
 
 As for the rest, that beautiful line, if any 
 one wishes to know whence it is taken, I have 
 it from a strange unpublished thing about the 
 crusades and the lombards, which soon will be 
 no longer unpublished, and will make a famous 
 noise. I took the line because it suited my 
 purpose ; and I tell whence I got it because I do 
 not wish to shine at the expense of another ; 
 and I hope no one will think that this is an art- 
 ful way of mine, of insinuating that the author 
 and myself are like two brothers, and that I 
 rummage his manuscripts at my pleasure. 
 
 The other machination of Don Rodrigo, was 
 how to contrive that Renzo, being now sepa- 
 rated from Lucia, should never get nearer to 
 her, nor ever set foot in the country again. He 
 thought of spreading some reports of threats 
 and plots, that getting to his eais by means of 
 some friend, might take away even the incli- 
 nation to return. The most sure way, how- 
 ever, he thought would be to get him sent out 
 of the state, and to succeed in this he felt that 
 it would be much better to make use of jus- 
 
 Leva il muso, odorando U vento iufido.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 tir.e than to employ violence. For example, 
 some color could be given to the attempt that 
 was made at the parsonage, it could De de- 
 nounced as an aggression, a seditious act, and 
 by means of the doctor the podesta could be 
 made to understand that it was a proper occa- 
 sion to issue a warrant against Renzo. But he 
 soon was sensible that it would not do for Mm to 
 meddle with such a scandalous proceeding, and 
 so without tormenting his brains any more 
 about it, he determined to consult doctor Az- 
 zecca-garbugli, as far as it was necessary to 
 make him comprehend his wishes. 
 
 There are so many proclamations ! thought 
 Don Rodrigo, and the doctor is no ass ; he will 
 be able to nit upon something or other, some 
 perplexity to contrive for that wretched fel- 
 low, or otherwise his name shall be changed. 
 But (how the affairs of this world sometimes 
 go) whilst he was thinking of the doctor as 
 the most capable man to serve him in the af- 
 fair, another person, one whom no one would 
 have thought of, Renzo himself, was at work 
 most cordially, to serve him in a way infinite- 
 ly more certain and expeditious, than any that 
 the doctor could possibly have contrived. 
 
 I have seen more than once, a dear little boy, 
 as lively at least as there was any occasion for, 
 but with every promise of turning out a good 
 man, I have, I say, seen such a one, more than 
 once, busy towards night driving to their pen 
 his herd of little guinea pigs, that during the 
 day had been left to run about in the garden. 
 Fain would he drive them all together to their 
 bed, but vain the attempt. One pushes oft' to 
 the right, and whilst the little herdsman is 
 running to get it back into the flock, another, 
 two, three, go off to the left, and in every di- 
 rection. So that after getting rather impatient, 
 he follows their own plan, tirst drives them in 
 that are nearest to the door, and then brings 
 up the rest, one, two, three at a time, just as 
 it happens. This is the precise mode we are 
 obliged to adopt with our personages, having 
 shut up Lucia, we ran after Don Rodrigo, and 
 now we must leave him to look after Re.nzo, 
 who is appearing before us. 
 
 After the painful separation that we have 
 narrated, he pursued his road from Monza to 
 Milan, with such spirits as any one may easily 
 imagine. To go far from his home, and what 
 was more, from his country, and what was still 
 worse, from Lucia, and to be thrown on the 
 road without knowing where he should go to 
 rest his head, and all on account of that mon- 
 ster ! When this image presented itself to the 
 imagination of Renzo, ne was overpowered 
 with rage, and the desire of vengeance. But 
 then the prayer in which he had joined with 
 the good friar in the church at Pescarenico, 
 came to his mind, and he became calm : again 
 anger arose with him, but seeing an image 
 upon the wall, he took off his hat and stopped 
 a moment to pray once more, so that during the 
 journey he had killed Don Rodrigo in his heart, 
 and restored him to life again at least twenty 
 times. 
 
 The road was at that time sunk down be- 
 tween two high banks, was muddy, stony, cut 
 up with peep cart ruts that after a rain were 
 filled with little streams, and in places where 
 they were not ample enough to carry off the 
 water, it was inundated and became a com- 
 plete puddle, so that it was almost impractica- 
 ble. At such places, a steep path, something 
 like rough steps to the top of the bank, indica- 
 ted that other travelers had got into the fields. 
 Renzo having got up one of these to the high 
 land, looked before him, and seeing that huge 
 machine, the dome, by itself on the plain, as if 
 it did not spring from the midst of a city, but 
 of a desert, forgot for an instant all his trou- 
 bles, and looked from a distance upon that 
 eighth wonder, of which he had heard so much 
 from his infancy. But after some moments 
 turning round, he saw in the horizon that jag- 
 ged chain of mountains, where he could dis- 
 tinctly see his own Resegone ; the sight of it 
 made his blood stir, and sorrowfully he looked 
 upon it for some time, then turning, he pur- 
 sued his road. By degrees he began to disco- 
 ver steeples, and towers, and cupolas, and 
 roofs ; he now regained the road, went on for 
 some time, and when he perceived he was 
 drawing nigh to the city, he addressed him- 
 self to a traveler, and saluting him in the most 
 polite manner he knew, said " Will you have 
 the courtesy, signer ." 
 
 " What do you wish, my good young man ?" 
 
 " Could you direct me the shortest road to 
 the convent of the capuchins, where father 
 Buenaventura lives ?" 
 
 The man to whom Renzo addressed himself 
 was an easy inhabitant of the neighborhood, 
 who having gone that morning to Milan on 
 some business, was returning in haste, without 
 having done any thing at aU, was very impa- 
 tient to get home, and would willingly have 
 excused Renzo from stopping him. Neverthe- 
 less, without showing any impatience, he an- 
 swered with great gentleness, " My dear son, 
 there is more than one convent, it would be 
 necessary for you to explain to me more clearly 
 which of them it is you wish to find." 
 
 Renzo now drew from his breast the letter 
 of father Christopher, and showed it to the 
 gentleman, who having read the direction 
 "oriental gate," restored it to him, saying, 
 " You are fortunate, my good young man, the 
 convent you are in search of, is not far from 
 here. Take this path to your left, it shortens 
 the distance ; you will find yourself before long, 
 by the side of a long and low building, that is 
 the Lazaretto, follow the ditch that surrounds 
 it, and you will come to the oriental gate. En- 
 ter it, and after three or four hundred paces, 
 you will come to a little square with some fine 
 elm trees, there is a convent, you can make 
 no mistake. God guide you, my good young 
 fellow." And accompanying these last words', 
 with a very gracious gesture of his hand, he 
 went on. Renzo was both stupified and edi- 
 fied with the polite manner of citizens towards 
 country people, he was ignorant that this was
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 77 
 
 not an ordinary day, and that it was a day 
 when cloaks paid their court to doublets. Fol- 
 lowing the road pointed out to him, he reached 
 the oriental gate. 
 
 At these words the reader must not let his 
 fancy run upon the images now associated 
 with it. With that broad and straight avenue 
 flanked with poplars without, that spacious 
 opening between two edifices begun, at least, 
 with some pretension, to the glacis of the bas- 
 tions, at the entrance, those two lateral ascents 
 regularly sloping, leveled, ornamented with 
 trees ; that garden on one side, higher up, those 
 palaces to the right and to the left of the great 
 avenue of the suburb. When Renzo entered by 
 that gate, the road without went straight on the 
 whole length of the Lazaretto, which at that 
 time could not be otherwise, then ran crooked 
 and narrow in a lane between two hedges. 
 The gate consisted of two pilasters with a shed 
 at the top to protect the wood work, and on 
 one side a small house for the customs. The 
 approaches of the bastions descended in an ir- 
 regular slope, and the ground was a rough and 
 unequal surface, covered with fragments of 
 stone and pottery thrown there by chance. The 
 street of the suburb which opened upon any 
 one who entered by that gate, would not be 
 very dissimilar to that which presents itself 
 now to one entering by the tosa gate. A sort 
 of canal ran down the centre until within a few 
 paces of the gate, and thus divided it into two 
 tortuous passages, covered with dust or mud, 
 according to the season. At the point where 
 was, and where still is, the quarter called Bor- 
 ghetto, the canal emptied itself into a sewer, 
 and through that into another ditch that bathed 
 the walls. Here was a column with a cross 
 surmounted, called the cross of San Dionysius, 
 to the right and to the left were gardens fenced 
 in with hedges, and at intervals poor small 
 houses, inhabited for the most part by washer- 
 women. 
 
 Renzo enters, passes, not one of the toll-ga- 
 therer says a word to him, this appeared very 
 strange since from the few persons of his coun- 
 try who could boast of having been in Milan, 
 he had heard wonderful stories told of the in- 
 quiries and interrogatories which were made 
 there, especially of country people. The street 
 was deserted, so that if he had not heard a dis- 
 tant murmuring which indicated a great move- 
 ment, he might have thought himself in an 
 abandoned city. Advancing, without know- 
 ing what to think of it, he perceived upon the 
 ground certain white lines, like snow, but it 
 could not be snow, snow does not fall in lines, 
 and not usually at that season. He bent down 
 over one of them, observed it, touched it, and 
 found out that it was flour. Wonderful plenty, 
 said he to himself, there must be in Milan, if 
 the favors of God are scattered about the streets 
 in this manner. And they told us that the 
 scarcity prevailed equally all over, this is their 
 way of keeping the poor country people quiet. 
 After a few more steps, he arrived where the 
 column was, and perceived at the foot of it 
 
 something still more strange. He saw upon the 
 steps of the pedestal certain things scattered 
 about, which certainly were not stones, and 
 which if they had been placed upon a baker's 
 stall he would not have hesitated an instant to 
 have called loaves of bread. But Renzo did not 
 dare so soon to trust his eyes why, what the 
 deuce, that's not far from being bread at any 
 rate. Let us see what it can be, said he, and 
 going to the column, he stooped, and took one 
 of them up ; it was a real loaf, extremely 
 white, and such as he was accustomed to only 
 on solemn days. " It is bread in fact," said he 
 aloud, so great was his surprise. Do they sow 
 them in this fashion here, in such a year as 
 this, without taking the trouble to pick them 
 up when they fall ? This must be the land of 
 Cockaigne ? 
 
 After a ten miles walk in the fresh morning 
 air, the bread, as soon as his astonishment was 
 abated, began to excite his appetite. Shall 1 
 take it ? ne considered with himself; Poh 1 
 they have left it here at the discretion of the 
 dogs, and a Christian may as well make use of 
 it. And at any rate, if the owner should come, 
 I can pay him for it. With this idea, he put in 
 one of his pockets that which he had taken, 
 took up a second and put it in another, began 
 to eat a third, and pursued his way more uncer- 
 tain than ever, and curious to find out the 
 meaning of this. Scarce was he in motion, 
 when he saw people advancing from the 
 interior part of the city, and attentively ob- 
 served those who first appeared. They con- 
 sisted of a man, a woman, and a few paces be- 
 hind, a young boy, all three with a load that 
 appeared beyond their strength, and all three 
 in a very strange figure. Their clothes or rags 
 were ail covered with flour, their faces also 
 were covered with it, besides being in disorder 
 and heated. Their gait seemed not only pain- 
 ful to them on account of the weight they car- 
 ried, but distressing as if their limbs were 
 chafed and bruised. The man with great ef- 
 fort carried on his neck an immense sack of 
 flour, the which, through its various holes, per- 
 mitted some of the contents to escape at eve- 
 ry hitch, and at every motion. But still more 
 extravagant was the figure of the woman ; she 
 had an immense corporation, and two arms 
 curved out that appeared to support it with pain, 
 they had the appearance of two crooked nan- 
 dies extending from the neck to the body of a 
 great wine jar : beneath her bulky stomach two 
 legs, naked to the knees, were seen stagger- 
 ing along. Renzo looked steadily at her, and 
 perceived that her bulk was formed by her 
 petticoat which she held turned up, with as 
 much flour inside of it as she could possibly 
 cram, and a little more ; so that from time to 
 time some of it flew away. The young boy 
 held with both his hands, a basket upon his 
 head full of loaves, but his legs being shorter 
 than those of his parents he remained a little 
 behind, and urging his pace a little to overtake 
 them, the basket lost its position, and some of 
 the loaves fell out.
 
 78 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " What have you thrown some more down, 
 you little vagabond ?" said the mother, grin- 
 ning with her teeth at the boy. 
 
 " I don't throw them down, they fall. What 
 can I do ?" said he. 
 
 " Ah ! its well for thee, that I can't use my 
 hands," answered the woman, shaking her 
 fists as if she would give him a beating, and 
 away went another farinacious cloud, more 
 than would have made such loaves as the boy 
 had let fall. " Come, come," said the man, 
 " we'll turn back to get them, or some one else 
 will get them. We have been stinting ourselves 
 so long, now that we have got plenty again, 
 let us enjoy it in peace." 
 
 In the meantime some more people from 
 out of the city came up, and one of those ac- 
 costing the woman, asked her " Where do you 
 go to get bread ? " Forward, forward," replied 
 she, and when they were ten paces olf, added 
 grumbling, " These rascally country folks will 
 come and sweep out all the bake houses and 
 all the magazines, and there will be nothing 
 left for us." 
 
 " A little for all, chatterer," said the hus- 
 band. " Plenty, plenty." 
 
 From this and other similar things that he 
 witnessed, Renzo began to perceive that he 
 had got to a city in a state of insurrection, and 
 that this was a day of conquest, that is to say, 
 that every one helped himself in proportion to 
 his will and his strength, giving Knocks back 
 in payment. How muchsoever we may de- 
 sire to make our poor mountaineer cut a good 
 figure, historical sincerity obliges us to con- 
 fess that his first feeling was one of compla- 
 cency. He had so little to congratulate him- 
 self about in relation to the old order of 
 things, that he found himself disposed to ap- 
 prove of any change that might be brought 
 about. And as to trie rest, he, for he was not 
 a man superior to his own times, lived in the 
 common opinion, or rather the earnest belief, 
 that the scarcity of bread was caused by mo- 
 nopolists and bakers, and willingly lent him- 
 self to the opinion that all means were just, 
 which took from their hands the food which 
 they, in his estimation, cruelly denied to the 
 hunger of a whole people. Still he proposed 
 to himself to keep clear of the confusion, and 
 was glad that he was directed to a capuchin, 
 who would give him an asylum and good 
 counsel. Thinking in this way, and looking 
 awhile at the new conquerors who appeared 
 loaded with spoils, he proceeded on the short 
 distance which remained to bring him to the 
 convent. 
 
 Where now arises that beautiful palace with 
 its lofty terrace, there was then, as there still 
 was not many years ago, a small square, and 
 at the bottom of it the church and convent of 
 the capuchins, with four great elms standing 
 in front. We congratulate, and not without 
 some envy, those of our readers who never 
 saw things as they were then, it announces 
 that they were very young, and that they have 
 not had time to commit a great many follies. 
 
 Ren/o went immediately to the gate, put away 
 in his bosom that part of his loaf which re- 
 mained, took out his letter which he held pre- 
 pared, and rang the bell. A little wicket with 
 a grate was opened, and the face of the bro- 
 ther who was the convent porter, appeared at 
 it to inquire who was there. 
 
 " A countryman, who brings to father Buo- 
 naventura, a pressing letter from father Chris- 
 topher." 
 
 " Give it to me," said the porter, putting 
 his hand to the grate. 
 
 " No, no," said Renzo, " I am to give it into 
 his own hands." 
 
 " He is not in the convent." 
 
 " Let me in. and I will wait until he re- 
 turns," replied Renzo. 
 
 " Take my advice," answered the friar, " go 
 into the church 'and wait, you can be doing 
 yourself some good in the mean time. You 
 can't enter the convent at present, at least." 
 Having said this, he shut the wicket, and left 
 Renzo standing with the letter in his hand. 
 He advanced a few steps towards the church 
 door to follow the advice of the porter, but it 
 occurred to him he would take another peep 
 at the riot. Having crossed the square, he 
 reached the side of the street, and, with his 
 arms crossed on his breast, stood there look- 
 ing to his left towards the interior of the city, 
 where the mob was thickest and most clamor- 
 ous. The vortex attracted him : let us go and 
 take a look thought he, and taking his loaf 
 out and mumbling it, he moved in that direc- 
 tion. Whilst he is proceeding, we will briefly 
 relate the probable causes and principles of this 
 popular movement. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THIS was a second year of scarcity. The 
 preceding one had been to some extent sup- 
 plied by the surplus of former seasons, and the 
 population of the country, by no means enjoy- 
 ing plenty, yet not in a state of starvation, was 
 at the period of our story, the harvest time of 
 1628, entirely unprovided for. This harvest, 
 so anxiously looked forwards to, turned out still 
 poorer than the preceding one, partly occasion- 
 ed by the unfavorableness of the weather, (not 
 only in the Milanese, but extensively around,) 
 and partly by man himself. The waste and 
 ravage of war, the war we have already spo- 
 ken of, was such, that in part of the State near 
 where it raged, a greater number than usual of 
 farms remained uncultivated and deserted by 
 the country people; who instead of laboring to 
 provide their families with bread, were forced 
 to go about begging. We say, a greater num- 
 ber than usual, because the insupportable bur- 
 dens imposed by a cupidity and rashness 
 equally enormous ; the habitual conduct of th 
 permanent troops, even when all was pcac-.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 79 
 
 a conduct which the sad documents of that 
 day compare to that of an invading enemy ; 
 and other causes not necessary to introduce 
 here, were slowly producing that melancholy 
 state of things throughout the whole Milan- 
 ese territory : the particular circumstances of 
 which we are now speaking, resembled the 
 sudden irritation of a chronic complaint. 
 Scarcely was the harvest, such as it was, 
 taken care of, when the provisions for the 
 army, and the prodigal waste incident (hereto, 
 diminished the amount so much that the sup- 
 ply began to fail; and with want came the 
 distressing, yet salutary and inevitable effect, 
 a great rise in the price of provisions. 
 
 When the dearth reaches a certain point, an 
 opinion always springs up with the multitude, 
 that it is not caused by a real scarcity. They 
 forget that it had been apprehended, had been 
 predicted ; they suppose all at once that there 
 is an abundance of grain, and that the evil 
 arises from its not being sold in sufficient 
 Quantities for consumption ; suppositions en- 
 tirely unreasonable, but which flatter both 
 their anger and their hopes. The monopo- 
 lisers of grain, real or imaginary, the proprie- 
 tors of land who did not sell all their grain at 
 once, the bakers who bought it all, in fact, 
 who possessed either a large or a smaU quan- 
 tity, or who were reported to possess it, had 
 all the blame laid upon them ; they were the 
 objects of every one's complaint, and the 
 abomination of all men, whether well or ill- 
 dressed. Men talked of their storehouses, 
 their propped up granaries, heaped and choak- 
 ed with grain : the immense number of bags 
 was stated, and the precise and wonderful 
 quantity of corn secretly sent into other coun- 
 tries, in the which it was equally probable 
 they were crying out with the same correct- 
 ness and clamor, that all the grain they pro- 
 duced was sent to Milan. 
 
 Then the magistrates were implored to es- 
 tablish regulations, which always appear to 
 the multitude, or at least have always hitherto 
 appeared, so equitable, so simple, so effectual 
 towards bringing that grain out, which, as 
 they said, was now hid in the ground, wal- 
 led up, buried, and which would reproduce 
 abundance. The magistrates were not idle, 
 they limited the prices upon some commodi- 
 ties, and imposed penalties upon those who 
 refused to sell ; but as all human regulations 
 however clever they may be, certainly have 
 not the talent of keeping off hunger, nor of 
 making grain grow out of season ; and as 
 those in question had not the power of bring- 
 ing provisions from places where they mignl 
 be in abundance, the evil continued and kepi 
 increasing. This was attributed by the mul- 
 titude to the remedies being too few and too 
 inefficient, and they cried aloud for more lib- 
 eral and decisive ones. It was their misfor- 
 tune to find a man just such as suited them 
 for the occasion. 
 
 In the absence of the governor, Don Gonz.a 
 lo Fernandez de Cordova, who was iu camp 
 
 near the village of Montferrat, the great 
 chancellor Antonio Ferrer, also a Spaniard, 
 occupied his place in Milan. He knew (and 
 who could be ignorant of it ?) (hat a moderate 
 >rice for bread is a very desirable sort of thing, 
 ind that by an order from him, (here was his 
 >lunder,) he could establish it. He fixed the 
 meta* (the term applied to the tariff for food) 
 of bread, at the price it would have borne if 
 corn had generally been selling at thirty-three 
 ivres the moggio,f whilst in fact it was sell- 
 ng at eighty hvres. A measure as effectual 
 as that of a woman, no longer a chicken, would 
 >e, who would try to become young again by 
 altering the date of her baptismal register. 
 
 Orders less insane and less unjust nad more 
 han once remained unexecuted by the impos- 
 sibility of their execution, but the multitude 
 watched over this : what they wanted had now 
 >ecome law, and they were determined it 
 should not be evaded. They ran instantly to 
 he furnaces to demand bread at the taxed 
 )rice, and required it in a manner as resolute 
 and threatening, as passion, law, and physical 
 "orce united, enabled them to do. It may be 
 imagined how the bakers remonstrated. It 
 was with them nothing but exertion, putting 
 aread in the ovens and taking it out again 
 without resting ; for the people having a con- 
 fused notion that the order was a violent one, 
 besieged the bakehouses continually, that they 
 might have the benefit of this temporary 
 chance : it may be supposed, then, that this 
 incessant laboring and working in such a 
 losing business, was not very amusing to the 
 bakers. On one side the magistrates were 
 threatening penalties, on the other the people 
 were pressing and complaining at the least 
 hesitation to comply with their desires; and 
 even deafening them with threats of adminis- 
 tering justice with their own hands, certainly 
 the worst mode in which it is administered in 
 this world : there was no escaping, and so they 
 had to keep on baking and selling. But to 
 carry on work after this plan, something more 
 than severe orders and fearful apprehensions, 
 were necessary, the ability to do it was essen- 
 tial ; and if things had gone on in this way a 
 short time longer, that ability would have fail- 
 ed them. 
 
 Incessantly did they urge the iniquity and 
 the insupportableness of the task imposed up- 
 on them, declaring that they must throw their 
 tools in the ovens and relinquish the trade ; 
 still they got on as well as they could, hoping 
 that at some lucky moment or another the great 
 chancellor would come to his wits again. But 
 Antonio Ferrer, who was what now would be 
 called a firm man, answered that the bakers in 
 times past had done exceedingly well, that in 
 time to come they would do a great deal bet- 
 ter, and that perhaps it would be taken into 
 consideration to give them some indemnifica- 
 tion ; but in the mean time they must go on 
 baking. Whether, indeed, he entertained the 
 
 * Limit. f A Milanese bushel or measure.
 
 80 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 opinions he endeavored to inspire others with, 
 or knowing from what he perceived, that it 
 was impossible to sustain the regulation, and so 
 wanted to shift the odium of recalling it upon 
 another, no one can tell ; but the fact is he did 
 not modify at all the orders he had issued; 
 and the decurions (a municipal magistracy 
 composed of the nobility, that existed up to 
 the year 1796) gave the governor, by letter, in- 
 formation of the present state of things, that he 
 might devise some expedient to tranquilize all. 
 
 Don Gonzalo, who was over head and ears 
 in warlike affairs, did what may be easily ima- 
 gined : he named a commission upon which 
 he conferred authority to establish a price for 
 bread that would be satisfactory to all parties. 
 Having assembled or, (after the Spanish phra- 
 seology of that day,) formed themselves into 
 a junta, and after all sorts of compliments and 
 preambles, and doubts, and difficulties, and 
 concessions, finding that something must be 
 done, although it was a great game they were 
 playing at, they; concluded upon raising the 
 price of bread. The bakers now breathed, 
 but the people became enraged. 
 
 The evening preceding the day on which 
 Renzo reached Milan, the streets and the 
 squares swarmed with men, full of indigna- 
 tion, their minds filled with one common 
 thought : whether acquaintances or strangers 
 to each other, they got into groups without 
 any previous concert, almost without perceiv- 
 ing it, just as drops of water run down into 
 one another. Every speech served to inflame 
 more and more the auditory as well as the 
 speakers. Amidst so much excitement, how- 
 ever, there were some more cold blooded, who 
 looked on with singular satisfaction as they 
 saw the waters becoming more and more 
 troubled : these sought to increase the confu- 
 sion by their reasoning, and by the news 
 which such fellows know how to fabricate for 
 the excited minds of others ; and they pro- 
 posed not to let the waters abate until they 
 had fished in them. 
 
 Thousands of men laid down to sleep with 
 an unsettled feeling that it was necessary to 
 do something, and that something would be 
 done. They began to assemble oefore sun- 
 rise children, women, men, old people, work- 
 ing men, and beggars crowded together at a 
 venture : here whispers and loud voices were 
 mixed up together ; there whilst one was hold- 
 ing forth, the rest were applauding : this one 
 repeated to the one next to him the inqui- 
 ry which had been made of himself, whilst 
 another echoed the exclamation which had 
 reached his own ears : every where disputes, 
 threats, and expressions of wonder were heard, 
 though a very small number of words formed 
 the materials of all this discussion. 
 
 Nothing was wanting but some slight tiling, 
 by way of impulse, to turn all these words into 
 actions, and that was not long in coming. 
 Towards day the baker's boys issued from the 
 shop, each* of them with a pannier on his 
 back full of bread, on their way to serve their 
 
 usual consumers. The first appearance of one 
 of these unfortunate fellows near one of these 
 groups, produced the same effect as a lighted 
 cracker would do if it was to skip into a gun- 
 powder manufactory. " Here's bread at any 
 rate," cried out a hundred voices at once. 
 " Yes, for the tyrants that are glutted with 
 abundance and would let us die of hunger," 
 said one of them ; and approaching the boy, 
 he lifted his hand up to the mouth of the pan- 
 nier, and giving it a pull, said " Let us see." 
 The boy turned red, and then white, trembled, 
 wished to say "let me go on," but the words 
 died in his mouth, he slackened his arms, and 
 endeavored to extricate them from the girdle. 
 " Down with the pannier," was the cry. It 
 was seized and pulled to the ground, the cov- 
 ering torn off, and the grateful smell of bread 
 was perceived around. " We are Christians 
 too, and must have bread to eat," said the 
 first, and taking a loaf, and showing it to the 
 crowd, he began to eat. Then the rest seized 
 it also, and the contents of the pannier disap- 
 peared almost in an instant. Those who got 
 none, enraged at the good luck of the others, 
 and encouraged by the success of the undertak- 
 ing, went in crowds after other panniers, and 
 emptied every one that they met with. In some 
 instances those who carried them were ill- 
 treated, and those who had the bad luck to be 
 out, and who saw what wind was blowing, 
 laid down their load, and took to flight. Of 
 the mob, those who had not come in for a 
 share of the plunder were the most numerous, 
 neither were the others satisfied with what 
 they had got ; and mixed up with these, were 
 some, who had laid their plans to take still 
 greater advantage of the disorder, "To the 
 bakeries, to the bakeries !" became the gene- 
 ral cry. 
 
 In the street called Corsia de'Servi, there 
 was a bakery, and there is still one at this day 
 bearing the same name, a name which in the 
 Tuscan dialect means, II forno delle Grucce ;* 
 but which in the Milanese is expressed by 
 such whimsical and rude words, that the al- 
 phabet has no characters to express the man- 
 ner in which they are pronounced.! There 
 the crowd went. The people belonging to the 
 shop were interrogating the boy who had 
 come back without his pannier, and who, quite 
 pale and with his dress in disorder, was endea- 
 voring to explain what had befallen him, when 
 the rumor of a great crowd in motion was 
 heard, increasing and drawing nearer: soon 
 the leaders of the mob appeared. 
 
 "Quick, quick, shut up tne shop ! " One rail 
 to get help from the capitano di justizia,\ the 
 others closed up the premises, barricading and 
 propping up tne doors in the inside. The 
 multitude in front began to thicken, and to 
 cry out, " Bread, bread, open the shop, open 
 the shop!" 
 
 And now arrives the capitano in the midst 
 
 * The bakery of Crutches. 
 
 f El preatin di scansc. } Captain of justice.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 81 
 
 of a company of halberdiers. " Room, room, 
 my sons : go home, go home, make room for 
 the capitano," he and his men called out. 
 The mob, not yet firm in any purpose, gave 
 way a little, so that the soldiers reached the 
 shop and stood with their backs against the 
 door, in as good order as they were able to 
 do. " But, my sons," said the capitano from 
 thence, " what are you doing here ? go home, 
 go home. Have you not the fear of God be- 
 fore you ? What will the king our master, 
 say ? We don't mean to hurt you, but you 
 must go home. That's good fellows ! What 
 in the deuce's name do you want to do here, 
 as thick as peas in a bag? Nothing that's 
 good either for the soul or the body. Go home ! 
 
 fp home !" But those who stood opposite to 
 im, and heard his words, if even tney had 
 been disposed to obey him, could not possibly 
 have done it, urged and thrust on as they were 
 by those immediately behind them, who them- 
 selves were pushed by others, as waves are 
 by waves, to the very extremity of the crowd, 
 which was continually increasing. The capi- 
 tano was beginning to be tired of his situation. 
 " Force them back a little," said he to the hal- 
 berdiers, " that I may breathe, but hurt no 
 one. Let us try to get into the shop ; knock 
 at the door make them keep back." 
 
 " Keep back ! keep back ! " cried out the 
 halberdiers, closing up against the foremost, 
 and pushing them with the butt end of their 
 arms. These shouted, drew back as well as 
 they could, pushing the rest, driving their el- 
 bows into their stomachs, and treading on the 
 feet of those who were behind : there was 
 such a shoving and squeezing, and so much 
 trouble, that those in the middle would have 
 been willing even to have paid something to 
 get out. In the mean time, a little space 
 having been got near the door, the capitano 
 knocked and thumped, and called out to them 
 to open it, and th'ose within perceiving his 
 situation from the windows, ran down stairs, 
 let him in, and then his men, the rear keeping 
 the crowd off with their arms. When all had 
 got in, the fastenings were replaced, the capi- 
 tano ran up stairs, and rushed to one of the 
 windows. What a commotion ! 
 
 " My sons," he screamed out, and some of 
 them looked up, "my sons, go home. Every 
 one will be pardoned who goes immediately 
 home." 
 
 " Bread ! bread ! open the door ! open the 
 door !" were the words most distinctly heard, 
 that from the dreadful storm of vociferation the 
 crowd sent back. 
 
 " Have a care, my sons, be prudent, don't go 
 too far. Come, come, return to your homes. 
 You shall have bread, but not in this manner. 
 Hallo ! hallo ! what are you doing below 
 there ? at the door there ? I see you, be pru- 
 dent ! don't go too far, you are acting in a very 
 criminal way. I shall come down. Throw 
 that iron away, and take your hands off. 
 Hallo ! what ? Milanese too, men that are fa- 
 mous all over the world for being peaceable. 
 
 You have always been till now 
 * * * *. Cursed scoundrels that 
 
 Hear ! hear ! 
 the most * * * 
 you are !" 
 
 This very quick change in his style, was oc- 
 casioned by a stone sent by one of those men 
 famous for being peaceable, and which struck 
 the captain on the left side of his brow, where 
 the metaphysical organs are supposed to lie. 
 "Rascals, scoundrels!" he kept exclaiming, 
 shutting the window in a rage, and getting 
 away from it. But his imprecations, if ne had 
 favored them with as many as he could get 
 put of his throat, would all have been wasted 
 in the air, and driven back by the tumult that 
 raged below. He was able to relate, however, 
 that he had seen a quantity of stones and iron 
 in the possession of the people, the first things 
 they had been able to lay their hands on, and 
 which they were applying to the door and the 
 windows, to force them in, and indeed the 
 work was somewhat advanced. 
 
 In the mean time, the proprietors and the 
 people of the bakery, who had placed them- 
 selves at the windows of the upper story with 
 a parcel of stones that they had probably taken 
 up from the court-yard, vociferated back again, 
 and made signs to those below to desist, threat- 
 ening to fling their stones at them ; and see- 
 ing that it was all in vain, they began to 
 throw them in good earnest. Every one of 
 them took effect, for the crowd was stowed 
 so thick that a grain of millet could not have 
 reached the ground without hitting some one. 
 
 "Ah! you villains! you thieves ! Is this 
 the bread you give to poor people ? Oh dear ! 
 oh ! now, now ! all together !" they screamed 
 from below. Several were wounded, two boys 
 were killed. Rage increased the strength of 
 the mob, the doors were forced, the iron bars 
 broke, and the crowd rushed in at every open- 
 ing. Those within seeing how badly their 
 affairs were going on, sought refuge in the gar- 
 ret. The capitano, the halberdiers, and sowf 
 of the people of the house hid themselves in 
 a corner under the roof of the house : others, 
 again, crept out at the sky lights, and got on 
 the roof like cats. 
 
 The sight of their prey caused the conquer- 
 ors to forget their design of taking a sanguina- 
 ry revenge : flying to the shelves, they were 
 soon robbed of every thing they had. Some 
 of them, however, quickly forced the fasten- 
 ings of the till, thrust their hands into it, pock- 
 eted what they had pot, and then went to 
 plunder the loaves if they could find any. 
 The mob scattered themselves through the in- 
 terior of the bakery, Some dragged out the 
 bags of flour, others tumbled them over, un- 
 tied the mouths, and flung away pail of the 
 contents, in order to reduce the weight suffici- 
 ently to enable a man to carry one off; whilst 
 others, screaming " Stop, stop," after him, 
 caught in their clothes, or any thing at hand, 
 the flour that was wasting. Some of the mob 
 got on the kneading trough, snatched an arm- 
 ful of dough, and ran off with it whilst it wag 
 dropping all around. Another seized the bolt-
 
 92 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 ing cloth and went off with it, lifted in the air. 
 Men, women, children going, coming, order- 
 ing, pushing one another about, amidst a cloud 
 of flour, rising and settling all over, and cover- 
 ing and whitening every thing. Without, the 
 mob ws composed of two streams of people, 
 that wtre driving against and embarrassing 
 each other; those rushing out with their plun- 
 der, and those who were entering to get some. 
 
 Whilst this bakery was thus ransacked, the 
 others were far from being quiet and out of 
 danger. But at none of them had the people 
 collected in sufficient numbers to venture to 
 attack them. At some of them the proprietors 
 had got some assistance, and stood on the de- 
 fensive, whilst at others, where they were 
 weaker, and more apprehensive, they had 
 come to a sort of compromise, and distributed 
 a little bread to those who had begun to as- 
 semble round the shops, so as to induce them 
 to retire, not so ranch because they were con- 
 tent with what they had obtained, but because 
 the halberdiers and the police, who had kept 
 at a pretty good distance from the serious as- 
 pect of things at the Bakery of the Greece 
 had assembled in sufficient force to keep in 
 check the mutinous groups at the others. So 
 that the confusion and concourse of people 
 kept always increasing at that unfortunate 
 place, for all whose lingers were itching, and 
 who felt in themselves an incb'nation to be 
 enterprising, went there, where their friends 
 were in force, and where things could be done 
 with impunity. 
 
 This was the state of things when Renzo, 
 having finished eating his bread, went up the 
 suburb of the oriental gate, directing his cotirse 
 without being aware of it, exactly to the place 
 of tumult. He went on, sometimes delayed, 
 sometimes hurried on by the crowd, lookiTig 
 about and listening, and trying to discover out 
 of the uproar some precise information of the 
 state of things. And the amount that he ga- 
 thered out of the talking he heard, was as 
 follows : 
 
 " We have found out now," said one, " the 
 infamous imposture of those scoundrels, who 
 said that there was neither bread, nor flour, 
 nor grain. The matter is plain and clear now, 
 and they can't tell us so any more. Viva 
 'abbondanza !"* 
 
 " I tell you all this serves to no purpose," 
 said another, " it is a hole in the water, and 
 it won't even be that, if we don't take summa- 
 ry justice. Bread will be cheap, but they 
 will put poison into it, to kill the poor just as 
 they do flies. Don't they say that we are too 
 numerous ? Havn't they said so at the Giunta? 
 I know it is so. Havn't I heard it with my 
 own ears from an acquaintance of mine, who 
 is a friend to a relation of a scullion that lives 
 with one of those rich men ?" 
 
 Another foaming at the mouth said things 
 that won't bear repeating, holding a ragged 
 handkerchief on his head, his hair all dishe- 
 
 * Hurrah, for abundance '. 
 
 veiled and bloodv ; whilst one of his neighbors 
 applauded him, by way of consolation. 
 
 " Make room, make room, Signori, if you 
 please, in courtesy ; make way for a poor 
 lather who is carrying something to eat to his 
 five children," said another, who came stag- 
 gering under a great sack of flour ; and every- 
 one moved to let him pass. 
 
 " Me ?" said another, in a lower tone of 
 voice to his companion, " J shall not commit 
 myself. I am a man of the world, and I know 
 how things of this kfnd tarn out. These 
 thick heaaed fools that are blustering now, to- 
 morrow will stay at home frightened to death. 
 1 have already obserrecf certain honest phizzes 
 prowling about, observing who is here and 
 who is not here ; when it is all over, they'll 
 make their report, and it will be all the worse 
 for some of them." "He who protects the 
 bakers," screamed out one who attracted the 
 attention of Renzo, " is the Vicario di pro- 
 visione."* "They are all villains together," 
 said another nigh him. "Yes, but he is the 
 head of them, answered the first. 
 
 The vicario was chosen every year by the 
 governor, out of a hst of six noblemen formed 
 by the council of decurions ; he was the pre- 
 sident of this council, and of the tribunal 
 of provisions; the which, also composed of 
 twelve noblemen, was charged, along with 
 other duties, principally with that of seeing 
 the city supplied. A functionary of this kind, 
 was necessarily, at a period of so much igno- 
 rance and want, charged with being the cause 
 of the evil, unless indeeif he had followed the 
 example of Ferrer, a thing which did not fall 
 within his duty, if even he could have thought 
 of it. 
 
 ' "Cheating rascals!" exclaimed another, 
 " could any oody have behaved worse ? Why 
 they have gone so far as to say that the great 
 chancellor has got into his second childhood, 
 just to discredit him, and to get the command 
 themselves. We ought to get a great heir- 
 eoop and slnrt them up in it, and feed them on 
 retches and 1 cockle seeds, aa they want to feed 
 us." "Bread, indeed?" said one who WES 
 hurrying on, "Bread?" stone loaves flung at 
 one ! stones df that size, coming down like 
 hail ! oh, my poor ribs, I wish I was at home !" 
 
 Amidst expressions of this kind, from which 
 it is difficult to say whether he was most con- 
 fused or instructed, and the jostling he got, 
 Reirzo at last got to the bakery. The mob 
 had begun to thin off, so that he could have a 
 fair view of the recent destruction of the pre- 
 mises. The walls battered, and the plaster 
 knocked off by stones ami bricks, the windows 
 torn to pieces, and the door broken in. This 
 is a bad way of remedying things, thought 
 Renzo ; if they treat all the bakeries in this 
 way, where will any bread be made ? In the 
 wells? 
 
 Every now and then some one came out of 
 the house carrying part of a chest or a knead- 
 
 * Vicar of provisions.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 83 
 
 ing trough, or a cloth, or a basket, or some- 
 thing belonging to the unfortunate bakery, 
 and bawling out, " Make room, make room," 
 passed through the crowd. They all went in 
 the same direction, to a particular place, where 
 they stopped. Renzo wanted to see also the 
 reason of this, and followed one of them, who, 
 with a heap of broken plank and pieces of 
 wood on his shoulders, was going in the same 
 direction as the rest, along the street that pass- 
 es the north side of the cathedral, and takes 
 its name from the steps* that were there, even 
 a short time ago. Our young mountaineer, 
 being arrived before this great edifice, not- 
 withstanding his desire to see what was going 
 on, could not help stopping a moment to stare 
 at the dome with his mouth wide open. He 
 quickened, however, his steps, to get up with 
 the man he had followed, turned the corner, 
 gave a glance at the great front of the cathe- 
 dral, which was far from being finished even 
 then, and kept behind the man who was 
 drawing near to the centre of the square. The 
 mob thickened as he went on, but they made 
 way for the man, who making a track through 
 this ocean of people, and Renzo following in 
 his wake, they both reached the centre of 
 the crowd. Here was a ring round a bonfire, 
 with a heap of live coals, the remains of the 
 things plundered from the bakers. Around 
 the fire they were stamping, and shouting, and 
 sending forth cries of triumph and impreca- 
 tions. 
 
 The man threw his heap upon the fire, and 
 another, with a wooden stake half burnt, stir- 
 red it Avell up ; the smoke thickens, flames 
 burst forth again, and with them still louder 
 shouts of exultation. " Abundance, for ever ! 
 Death to the monopolizers ! no more famine ! 
 perish the bakeries ! perish the Giunta ! bread 
 for ever!" 
 
 To be frank, the destruction of bakeries and 
 the ruin of bakers, are not exactly the true 
 way to get "bread forever," but this is a 
 metaphysical subtlety that rarely gets into 
 the head of a mob. Without being a great 
 metaphysician, a man sometimes finds that 
 tmt at first, before he has thought much about 
 it, and it is only when he has talked a great 
 deal, or has heard a great deal said about it, 
 that at length he becomes unable to see it. In 
 fact, it occurred to Renzo at first, and occu- 
 pied his thoughts a good deal ; but he kept it 
 to himself: for amongst so many faces, there 
 was not one that seemed to say to him my 
 friend, if I am in the wrong, set me right, and 
 I shall be obliged to you. 
 
 The flame had subsided again, no one was 
 seen approaching with more fuel, and the mob 
 was beginning to be annoyed, when a rumor 
 was spread, that at theCordusio, (a small square 
 where four streets met not far from there) an- 
 other bakery was besieged. It often happens, 
 in similar circumstances, that the announce- 
 ment of a thing produces the thing itself. This 
 
 *ScaJini. 
 
 rumor produced in the multitude a desire to 
 go there. 
 
 " I'll go will you go ? Yes. Let us go 
 then !" was heard in every direction. The as- 
 sembly moved, and went in that direction, 
 llenzo remained behind, hardly stirring, ex- 
 cept when he was dragged along by the tor- 
 rent ; he was counseline"with himself, whether 
 he had better get out of this uproar and return 
 to the convent to seek for father Buenaventura, 
 or go and see what would happen next. Cu- 
 riosity again prevailed, but he determined not 
 to trust himself again in the middle of all this 
 confusion, and get his bones broke or some- 
 thing worse, but to keep at a distance and 
 look on. And having got a little way off, he 
 took another roll from nis pocket and began 
 to eat, following the rear of this tumultuous 
 army. 
 
 Issuing by a corner street, that led out of the 
 square into the short and narrow one of Pescke- 
 ria vecchia, the mob went from thence by that 
 crooked arch, into the Mercanti square. In 
 passing by the niche, that is cut near half way 
 up the lodge of the edifice then called the 
 college of physicians, there were but few of 
 them who did not give a look at the great 
 statue which was placed there, with its seri- 
 ous, sullen, angry face and I am not going 
 too far; of Don Philip the second, who, even 
 in the marble, imposed a sort of awe, and who, 
 with outstretched arm, seemed as if he was 
 about to say I am here, I. you knaves. 
 
 That niche, by a curious circumstance, is 
 now empty. About one hundred and sixty 
 years after the period of our story, one day the 
 head of the statue, then there, was changed 
 by some one, the sceptre taken frm the hand, 
 a dagger put there, and the name of Marcus 
 Brutus placed on the statue. In this manner 
 it remained perhaps a couple of years ; but one 
 morning, some persons who had no great lik- 
 ing for Marcus Brutus, but who had a secret 
 grudge against him, threw a rops round the 
 statue, pulled it down, and committed all sorts 
 of indignities upon it. Mutilated and reduced 
 to a shapeless trunk, they dragged it through 
 the streets, and when they got tired, threw it 
 no one knows where. Who would have pre- 
 dicted this to Andrea Biffi when he sculptur- 
 ed it ? 
 
 From the Mercanti square, the clamorous 
 crowd entered the small street of Fustagnai,* 
 from whence the people spread themselves 
 into the Cordusio. The moment they entered 
 it, all eyes were turned towards the bakery 
 that had been spoken of. But instead of the 
 numerous friends they expected to find there 
 at work, they only saw a few lingering and 
 hesitating about, at some distance from the 
 shop, which was shut up, and at the windows 
 of which were placed armed people, who made 
 demonstrations of a determination to defend 
 themselves if necessary. Stopping for a 
 while to inform those who were in the rear, and 
 
 * Fiwtian weavers.
 
 34 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 to see what the others would do, a general in- 
 terrogation began amongst them. During the 
 hesitation and confused noise of this proceed- 
 ing, an accursed voice was heard from the 
 midst of the crowd, saying, " The house of 
 the Vicario di provision! is close by, let us go 
 and do ourselves justice and sack it." This 
 was received more like a signal to execute a 
 thing already agreed upon, than the accepta- 
 tion of a new proposition. " To the vicar's ! 
 To the vicar's !" was the only cry that could 
 be distinguished. The mob moved on to the 
 street where the house was, which had been 
 unluckily named. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE unhappy vicar was at this moment 
 making an uncomfortable sort of meal, eating 
 without inclination, of a little stale bread, and 
 was waiting in suspense for the storm to sub- 
 side, far from suspecting it was about to fall so 
 tremendously upon his own head. Some kind 
 individual had in great haste got before it, and 
 reached the house in season to apprise them of 
 the urgent danger. The servants, drawn by the 
 noise to the gate, looked in dismay down the 
 street, in the direction of the approaching tu- 
 mult. Whilst they were listening to the infor- 
 mation just brought, the vanguard of the mob 
 came in sight, and in great haste information 
 was carried to their master. Just as he was de- 
 liberating about escaping, and how to get away, 
 another ar|ived to inform him that he had no 
 longer time to do it. Scarce had the servants 
 time to shut the gate, which having secured 
 by bars and props, they next closed the win- 
 dows, as people do when a black cloud is ap- 
 proaching, and the hail is expected every in- 
 stant. The increasing roar of the mob, de- 
 scending like thunder, filled the empty court 
 yard every vacant place of the house echoed 
 it back ; and amidst this immense and terrible 
 uproar, the noise made by the stones sent 
 against the door, came thicker and louder. 
 
 "The vicar! The tyrant! The man that 
 starves the people! We'll have him, dead or 
 alive!'' 
 
 The miserable man was wandering from 
 room to room, pale, overcome with anguish, 
 beating his hands, recommending himself to 
 God, and to his servants to be firm, and to find 
 out a way for him to escape. But how, and in 
 what way ? He mounted up to the garret, and 
 from a hole in the roof looked anxiously into 
 the street, and saw it wedged in with madmen ; 
 heard voices crying out for his death, and 
 more dismayed than ever, sought the most se- 
 cure and concealed place he could find. There 
 hiding himself, he listened if this horrible tu- 
 mult would subside and abate a little ; but per- 
 ceiving instead of that that the howling be- 
 came more ferocious and loud, and the thunder- 
 
 ings at the door more frequent, his heart failed 
 him altogether, and he stopped his ears as quick 
 as he could. Then as if besides himself, gnash- 
 ing his teeth, and grinning, he extended his 
 arms, and spread out his hands, as if he would 
 keep the door closed as to the rest, what he 
 did cannot be known very precisely, because 
 he was alone, and we have nothing left but to 
 guess at it. 
 
 Renzo just at this time was in the very 
 thickest of the confusion, not hurried there by 
 the mob, but intentionally there. The propo- 
 sition he had heard to shed blood, had stirred 
 up all his own : as to the premises being sack- 
 ed, it was not very clear to him whether it was 
 right or not, but the idea of putting the vicar 
 to death, occasioned in him a complete and 
 instantaneous horror. And although through 
 that fatal docility of a heated mind, increased 
 by the fervid assertion of the many, he was 
 entirely persuaded that the vicar was the im- 
 mediate cause of the dearth, that he was alto- 
 gether culpable, yet having, when the mob 
 first put itself in motion, by chance heard a 
 few words from some persons of an earnest in- 
 tention to endeavor to save the vicar, he im- 
 mediately conceived the idea of giving his 
 own aid to the same end, and with this inten- 
 tion he had struggled his way through, nigh to 
 the door, that they were battering in various 
 ways. Some with stones were breaking the 
 nails of the lock in order to destroy it ; others, 
 with levers, chisels, and hammers, were pro- 
 ceeding more systematically : many with sharp 
 stones, broken knives, nails, and with their 
 hands, were tearing the mortar out of the 
 walls, with a view to get the bricks out, so 
 that they might effect a breach. Those that 
 could not help to do the work, were encourag- 
 ing the others with their voices, and still press- 
 ing on, so as to embarrass the work, that was 
 already sufficiently retarded by the disorderly 
 efforts of the workmen : for God be thanked, 
 w r hat sometimes occurs to good deeds, also 
 happens to bad ones, that the most zealous 
 leaders are the very persons who most retard 
 the work. 
 
 The magistrates who were first informed of 
 the tumult, immediately sent for assistance to 
 the commandant of the castle, then called the 
 Castle of Porta Giovia, and he despatched a 
 company of troops. But, betwixt the notice 
 and the order, the collecting of the men, and 
 the marching them olf, the soldiers arrived 
 when the house was surrounded with its be- 
 siegers, and they were halted at a considera- 
 ble distance, at the extremity of the crowd. 
 The officer who commanded, did not know 
 what it was best to do. The assemblage was 
 composed of people of both sexes, ana of all 
 ages, unarmed and idle. To the intimation 
 which was given them to disperse, and make 
 way, they answered by a deep and continued 
 murmur, but no one movea. To fire upon 
 yuch a crowd, appeared to the officer not only 
 a cruel proceeding, but one full of danger, as 
 by injuring those least to be dreaded, he would
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 85 
 
 have still more irritated those who were vio- 
 lent, besides he had no instructions to do so. 
 To open his way into the mob, driving them 
 off to right and left, and pushing on and mak- 
 ing war upon those who offered any resistance, 
 would have been the most advisable, but how 
 was he to do it ? Who could tell if the soldiers 
 would have been able to move on united, and 
 in order ? If, instead of separating the multi- 
 tude, they themselves had got scattered, they 
 would have been placed at the mercy of the 
 very people they had irritated. This irreso- 
 lution of the commanding officer, and the im- 
 movability of the soldiers, looked, whether it 
 was so or not, like fear. The common popu- 
 lace that were near them, were content with 
 looking them in the face with a sort of " who 
 cares for you?" look; those who were a 
 little further off. did not restrain themselves 
 from making grimaces and sport of them : 
 further off still, few knew they were there, or 
 cared any thing about it. Those who were 
 attacking the house, continued to tear the 
 walls to pieces, without any thought beyond 
 their own enterprize, and those who were 
 looking on, kept encouraging them with their 
 shouts. 
 
 Of those conspicuous amongst the rest, was 
 an old man, who had led a disreputable sort of 
 life, staring with his hollow and inflamed eyes 
 wide open, contracting his wrinkles into a 
 diabolical smile of satisfaction, and with his 
 hands raised above the locks, whose hoary 
 whiteness he had dishonored, was waving in 
 the air a hammer, a cord, and four large nails, 
 with which he said he should like to transfix 
 the vicar to the door posts of his own house, 
 as soon as he was dead. 
 
 "Oh! shame!" exclaimed Renzo, struck 
 with horror at these words, before many of the 
 rest who seemed to applaud the intention, yet 
 encouraged by observing that some one near 
 him, though silent, showed marks of being 
 equally disgusted with himself : " Shame ! 
 what, shall we take the executioner's trade 
 away ! murder a Christian ! How do you ex- 
 pect God will give us bread, if we commit ini- 
 quities of this kind. He will send thunder 
 upon us, and not bread." 
 
 " ! you hound ! you traitor ! " screamed 
 out another of their,, who amidst the uproar 
 had heard these holy words, and who turned 
 to Renzo with the look of a demon. " Stop ! 
 stop ! here is one of the vicar's servants dis- 
 guised as a countryman, a spy, give it to him ! 
 give it to him!" Then a hundred voices 
 arose : " What is it ? where is he ? who is he ? 
 a servant of the vicar's a spy the vicar is 
 disguised like a countryman, and is escaping : 
 where is he ? where is he ? give it to him 
 give it to him !" 
 
 Renzo became silent, scooped down, and 
 wanted to elude their sight: some near him 
 assisted him to conceal himself, and with loud 
 and various cries endeavored to drown their 
 hostile and homicidal voices. But what more 
 effectually served him, was a cry of " room 
 
 there! room there!'' which was now heard. 
 " Make room there ! we have got help, room 
 there, hollo !" 
 
 What was it? It was a long ladder that some 
 of them were carrying, to set up against the 
 house, in order to enter it by some window. 
 By good luck, however, the means they had 
 adopted to render the matter easy, was not very 
 easy to carry into effect. The bearers, at each 
 end, pushed about from every part of the ma- 
 chine, and put out of order by the crowd, were 
 tossed about like waves : one of them with his 
 head between two of the spokes, and the sides 
 on his shoulders, was bellowing as if he had got 
 a yoke about his neck, the other got a violent 
 push, and lost his hold ; the ladder went on hit- 
 ting heads, shoulders, and arms ; imagine what 
 they must have said who got all these knocks. 
 Then others raised it up, got under it, and took 
 it on their backs, exclaiming, " come, let us go 
 on." On went the fatal machine, up and down, 
 to the right, aslant, and in eveiy direction. It 
 came just in season to disconcert and throw in- 
 to disorder the enemies of Renzo, who taking 
 advantage of the confusion, and creeping on all- 
 fours, got away from a place where he was not 
 likely to do very well, and with the intention 
 of getting out of the mob as soon as he could, 
 and going in good earnest to look after, or to 
 wait for, Father Buenaventura. 
 
 All at once, a movement commenced at the 
 other end of the crowd, was propagated along ; 
 a rumor began to spread itsell, and from 
 mouth to mouth, from chorus to chorus, was 
 heard, " Ferrer ! Ferrer!" surprize, pleasure, 
 vexation, joy, anger, broke out wherever his 
 name was heard. Some reproach him, some 
 would suffocate him with caresses, some say it- 
 is so, some say it is not so, some bless, others 
 curse him. 
 
 " Ferrer is here ! it is not true, it is not true ! 
 yes, yes, Ferrer for ever ! the man that gives us 
 bread cheap. No, no ! he is here, he is here 
 in his carriage. What does he want here ? 
 What has he to do with it ? We don't want any 
 one. Ferrer ! Ferrer for ever ! the friend of the 
 poor. He is come to make the vicar a prison- 
 er no, no, we will do justice for ourselves : 
 back, back ! yes, yes, Ferrer ! let Ferrer come! 
 put the vicar in prison !" 
 
 And all of them, stretching their necks out, 
 turned towards the quarter where the unex- 
 pected arrival was announced, but they saw 
 neither more nor less than they would have 
 seen if they had kept still. Nevertheless, there 
 they were all, standing on tiptoe. 
 
 In fact at the extreme end of the crowd, op- 
 posite to that where the soldiers were, Antonio 
 Ferrer, the great chancellor, had arrived in his 
 carriage, feeling probably some scruples of 
 conscience, that through his stupidity and ob- 
 stinacy, he had been the cause of this commo- 
 tion : he had therefore come to endeavor to ap- 
 pease it, to prevent what would have been both 
 terrible and irreparable, and to make a good 
 use of that popularity he had not acquired in 
 the very best manner.
 
 METROPOLITAN. 
 
 In popular tumults there is always a certain 
 number of men, who heated by passion, or 
 through fanatic opinions, wicked designs, or an 
 accursed inclination for disorder, do all they can 
 to make the worst of things. They propose or 
 promote the worst of all counsels, and fan the 
 name whenever it is going down ; nothing is 
 ever too much for them, who delight in disor- 
 der that has neither method nor end. But by 
 way of counterpoise, there is also another class, 
 perhaps equally ardent, and equally persever- 
 ing, who exert themselves to produce a con- 
 trary effect : some moved by friendship or in- 
 clination for the persons threatened, others 
 acting under no other impulse, than that of a 
 pious and natural horror of the shedding of 
 blood, and of the perpetration of atrocious ac- 
 tions. May heaven bless such men. In each 
 of these conflicting classes, even when nothing 
 has been previously concerted, the conformity 
 of inclination, produces an instantaneous agree- 
 ment in action. What constitutes the mass, 
 and the real material of a mob, is a mixed 
 heap of men, who by undefined gradations, 
 fall, mre or less, into one of the extreme par- 
 ties : some a little fanatic, some a little knavish, 
 ;?ome inclined to have justice administered ac- 
 cording to their own views ; some looking 
 anxiously to see some villany committed, 
 ready for any thing ferocious or merciful, to 
 adore or to execrate, as occasions may present 
 themselves, to experience fully the influence 
 of either one or the other feeling greedy every 
 moment to know, and to believe any thing 
 however extravagant, impatient to cry out, to 
 applaud, or to condemn. 
 
 To pronounce sentence upon, or to idolize a 
 man, are words they take the greatest delight 
 in uttering, and he who has succeeded in per- 
 suading them that a man does not deserve to 
 be quartered alive, is under no sort of necessi- 
 ty of wasting his breath to convince them 
 that the same person is worthy of being carried 
 in triumph : they are actors, spectators, tools, 
 impediments, just as the wind blows ; ready, 
 too, to be silent, when no one encourages 
 them to make a noise ; to desist, when no one 
 instigates them to go on ; to disband, when nu- 
 merous voices say " let us go," and none contra- 
 dict ; and then return home, asking each other, 
 what has been the matter ? But as this mass 
 constitutes the main strength, and is indeed the 
 whole strength, so each of the two active par- 
 ties endeavors by ingenuity to enlist it on its 
 side, as if twoadverse principles were contend- 
 ing for the possession of this vast body, in or- 
 der to move it ; applying to those who know 
 best how to spread reports that will excite the 
 passions of the rest, and to give a direction to 
 movements for this or the other purpose ; to 
 those who knew how to invent news that can 
 raise or abate indignation, hope or terror ; who 
 can set up the cry, that, continuously repeated, 
 expresses, declares, and creates at the same 
 time, the will of the majority in favor of one 
 side or the other. 
 
 We have indulged in this gossiping with a 
 
 view to get an opportunity of saying, that in 
 the contest between the two parties that were 
 trying to get the multitude, now crowded round 
 the vicar's house, on their side, the appear- 
 ance of Antonio Ferrer gave an almost in- 
 stantaneous advantage to the humane party, 
 which was evidently the weakest, and which, 
 if this succor had been much delayed, would 
 have had neither the means nor the opportuni- 
 ty of contending. Ferrer was a favorite with 
 the multitude, on account of the tariff he had 
 put on the price of bread, which was his own 
 invention, and which was so favorable to pur- 
 chasers, as well as for his so heroically hold- 
 ing out against all the arguments which the 
 sellers had addressed to him. Minds thus fa- 
 vorably disposed, were still more captivated 
 by the courageous confidence of the old man, 
 who, without guards, without parade, came 
 thus to find and to front an angry and stormy 
 multitude. The rumor also produced a won- 
 derful effect, that he had come to take the vicar 
 to rlrison, so that the general rage against him, 
 which would have greatly increased if any 
 one had come to brave them, and to make no 
 concessions, abated a little with this promise 
 of some satisfaction ; so that by putting this 
 bone in their mouths, as we say in Milanese, 
 time was given to strengthen those sentiments 
 of an opposite character, which were arising 
 in a great portion of their minds. 
 
 The friends of peace, who could now make 
 themselves heard, seconded Ferrer in a hun- 
 dred ways ; those who were near to him, ex- 
 citing and re-exciting by their own applause, 
 that of the crowd, and making a combined ef- 
 fort to keep the people back, and open a space 
 for the carriage : whilst others were applaud- 
 ing, repeating and circulating his sayings, or 
 such as they deemed advisable to invent for 
 him, blustering with those who were most ob- 
 stinate and furious, and turning against them 
 the new inclination of the fickle people. 
 " Who is there that won't cry, Ferrer for ever I 
 You did'nt want bread to be cheap, eh r Those 
 are bad men that don't like justice to be done 
 in a Christian way ! and some are making a 
 greater clamor than the rest, just to let the 
 vicar escape. To prison with the vicar ! 
 Ferrer for ever ! make room for Ferrer!" The 
 number of those who talked in this way, in 
 creased so much, and the audacity of the con- 
 trary party was giving way so fast, that those 
 who began with reasoning, now laid hold of 
 the men that were still trying to destroy the 
 walls, to force them to desist, and to take their 
 tools from them. These,' furious, threatened 
 also, and tried to get them back again, but the 
 cause of blood was now lost ; the cry that pre- 
 dominated was, to prison justice Ferrer ! 
 after some resistance, these men were forced 
 away ; the others then took possession of the 
 gate, and to protect it from fresh assaults, and 
 to clear the way for Ferrer, intelligence was 
 conveyed to those in the house, (chinks were 
 not wanting for that purpose) that aid had ar- 
 rived, and uiat the vicar must be kept in rea-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 8T 
 
 diness " to go immediately to prison hem 
 you comprehend !" 
 
 " Is he the Ferrer who signs the proclama- 
 tions ?" asked Renzo of one nigh to him, for 
 he remembered the Vidit Ferrer that the doc- 
 tor had not only pointed out to him at the foot 
 of the one he was reading, but had read it 
 aloud. 
 
 *' To be sure ; he is the great chancellor," 
 was the answer. 
 
 " He is a good man ; is he not ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, he is more than that ! He is 
 the man that put the price of bread so low, 
 and the others would'nt let it remain so, 
 and now he is goin^ to take the vicar to 
 
 Crison, who has not done what he ought to 
 ave done." 
 
 It is not necessary to say that Renzo was 
 immediately for Ferrer. He wanted directly 
 to go to him. It was not an easy thing to do, 
 but with the aid of a few alpine thrusts with 
 his elbows, he succeeded in forcing his way, 
 and getting amongst the forwardest, right 
 along side of the carriage. 
 
 This had advanced some distance into the 
 crowd, and at that precise moment had stop- 
 ped, owing to the frequent and inevitable hin- 
 derances it experienced in a progress of this 
 kind. The old man presented, first at one, then 
 at another side window, a face all humility, 
 complaisance, and benevolence, just such a 
 face as he reserved for those occasions when 
 he had to stand in the presence of Don Philip 
 the Fourth, but he was constrained to use it 
 also upon this occasion. He also spoke, but the 
 noise and confusion of so many voices, the v- 
 vivas that were put up for himself even, permit- 
 ted very little of what he said, to reach but few 
 of them. He therefore brought a few gestures 
 forwards, conveying kisses in his drawn up 
 fingers from his lips, and then opening his 
 hands, and distributing them right and left as 
 an acknowledgment of thanks for the public 
 kindness evinced towards him ; and moving 
 his hands gently out of the windows, to as 
 them to make room, and then lowering them 
 politely, as if to request silence for a moment. 
 When he had partially obtained it, those near- 
 est to him who heard what he said, repeated 
 his words to the rest. " Bread abundance 
 I come to administer justice a little room if 
 you please." Overcome and almost stunned 
 with the uproar of so many voices, by the 
 sight of so many faces crowded together, of 
 so many eyes fixed upon him, he threw him- 
 self back a moment, puffed out his cheeks, 
 gave a great blow, and said to himself, in 
 Spanish, POT mi vida, que de gente .'* 
 
 " Ferrer for ever ! Don't be afraid ! You are 
 an honest man ! Bread! bread!" 
 
 " Yes, bread, bread !" answered Ferrer, put- 
 ting his right hand to his heart, " abundance, 
 I promise it to you," then, with a loud voice. 
 'I am come to make a prisoner of him, and to 
 give him the punishment he deserves," add- 
 
 * By y life, what a number of people. 
 
 ing, " si csta culpable."* Then leaning to- 
 wards the coachman, he said rapidly, "adelan- 
 ', Pedro, si puedes."^ 
 
 The coachman also smiled upon the multi- 
 tude with an affected graciousness, as if he 
 bad been a great personage ; and with ineffa- 
 ble politeness, motioned with his whip to the 
 right and to the left, to ask his troublesome 
 neighbors to draw back a little, and keep out 
 of the way. " Do me the favor," said he also, 
 " gentlemen, a little room just a little just, 
 just enough to move on." 
 
 In the mean time the most active of the 
 friendly party were doing all they could to 
 make that room, which was asked in such 
 very gentle phrases : some who were before 
 the horses made the crowd draw back, by 
 using good words, and by pushing them gently 
 on the breast with their hands, " there ! there 
 a little space, gentlemen." Others were do- 
 ing the same thing at the sides of the carriage, 
 that it might proceed without going over their 
 feet, or discomposing their mustachios ; which, 
 besides hurting their persons, might have en- 
 dangered the high favor Fener now enjoyed. 
 
 Renzo, after looking for some .moments with 
 pleasure upon his dignified and venerable head, 
 somewhat disturbed by distress, and oppress- 
 ed with fatigue, but animated with solicitude, 
 and embellished, as it were, with the hope of 
 snatching a fellow-creature from mortal an- 
 guish, dismissed all thoughts of going away, 
 and resolved to assist Ferrer, and not to aban- 
 don him, but when he had fulfilled his inten- 
 tion. As soon said as done, he immediately 
 went to work with the rest to make room for 
 the carriage, and the aid he gave was certain- 
 ly not the least effectual : room was made 
 " Come on," said more than one of them to 
 the coachman, and opening the crowd still be- 
 fore them. "Jldelante, presto, conjuirio"^ said 
 his master to him, and the carriage moved. 
 Ferrer, amidst the salutations which he dis- 
 pensed at random upon the crowd, made a few 
 particular ones of thanks, with a smile of in- 
 telligence to those who were active in his be- 
 half; and more than one of these came to Ren- 
 zo's share, who in truth deserved them, for he 
 was of greater service on that day to the grand 
 chancellor, than the bravest of his secretaries 
 could have been. The young mountaineer, 
 charmed with so much graciousness, seemed 
 to himself almost to have formed a friendship 
 with Antonio Ferrer. 
 
 The carriage having once got in motion, 
 proceeded on with more or less velocity, and 
 not without occasional short stops. The dis- 
 tance, perhaps, was not greater than a stone's 
 throw ; but in proportion to the time employ- 
 ed, it might have appeared no inconsiderable 
 journey, to any one not governed by so high 
 and benevolent a motive as Ferrer was. The 
 people fluctuated before, behind, to the right 
 and to the left of the carriage, Uke the billows 
 
 * If he is guilty. f Drive on, Peter, if you can. 
 JGo on, quick, be careful. 

 
 83 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 around a vessel driven before the storm. The 
 uproar was still louder and discordant, and 
 more deafening than that of the tempest. Fer- 
 rer, looking first to one side, then to another, 
 motioning and gesticulating all the time, en- 
 deavored to hear something of what was said, 
 that he might return such answers as the oc- 
 casion required. He tried, as well as he could, 
 to keep up a little conversation with the party 
 friendly to him, but it was a difficult thing to 
 do ; he had, perhaps, not found any thing more 
 difficult during the many years he had been 
 grand chancellor. From time to time, how- 
 ever, a word or two, even a phrase, was heard 
 repeated from some of the groups on his way, 
 but they were like the sound that a squib 
 makes, in comparison with the discharge of 
 an entire piece of fire works. 
 
 Endeavoring to answer these expressions in 
 a satisfactory way, and bawling out as loud as 
 he could what he thought would please them 
 most, or such as the immediate necessity of the 
 case seemed to require, he had to talk the whole 
 way. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, bread, bread, abundance. 
 I'lltako. junto prison he shall be punished 
 si esta culpable. Yes, yes, I'll take the com- 
 mand cheap bread. J/si es, that is it, I mean 
 to say. The King our master won't permit 
 these his faithful vassals to suffer for want of 
 bread. Ox! ox! guardaos. Take care of 
 yourselves, gentlemen. Pedro, adelante con 
 juicio. Abundance ! abundance ! a little room, 
 for charity's sake. Bread ! bread ! to prison ! 
 to prison! What?" he exclaimed to one of 
 the mob who had thrust half of his person in 
 at the carriage door, to bawl out some advice, 
 or request, or applause or other. But this fel- 
 low ere the what reached him, was hauled out 
 of the door way by another who saw he was on 
 the point of the wheel going over him . Amidst 
 all these knocks and thumps, amidst these in- 
 cessant acclamations, amidst an occasional de- 
 monstration too of opposition, which broke out 
 here and there, but was soon put down, Fer- 
 rer at last reached the house, chiefly through 
 the means of his kind auxiliaries. 
 
 The others, who, as we have said, were there 
 with the same good intentions, had in the mean 
 time done all they could to make a little space 
 with prayers, exhortations, threats, treading, 
 kicking here and there, and with that determin- 
 ed intention, and that renewal of strength which 
 springs from seeing the accomplishment of our 
 wishes at hand, they had succeeded in divid- 
 ing the crowd into two halves, and in keeping 
 t!u:m back, so that a sort of space was formed 
 between the gate and the carriage. Renzo who 
 ha.l acted both as a guide and a runner, had 
 arrived with the carnage, and was enabled to 
 place himself in front of one of those friendly 
 ramparts, that served both as wings to protect 
 the carriage, and as banks to restrain (he im- 
 petuosity of the popular waves. And there 
 assisting to keep up the position with his pow- 
 erful shoulders, he was at the same time in a 
 situation to see every thing that was going on. 
 
 Ferrer drew a. deep sigh, when he saw a free 
 space and that the gate was shut. Shut here, 
 means not open ; as to the rest, the hinges were 
 dragged off the pillars, the door work made in- 
 to chips, all bruised, and forced in the centre, 
 so that through a broad fissure a part of the 
 bolt could be perceived twisted, bent, and al- 
 most pulled out, the only thing that held the 
 doors together almost. One of the friendly 
 party had placed himself at the fissure to tell 
 them to open the door, another went to open 
 the carriage door ; the old man put out his head, 
 arose, and laying his right hand on the arm of 
 the man, he put his foot upon the step. 
 
 The crowd on both sides stood up as much 
 as they could to see. A thousand faces, a 
 thousand beards were in the air : the general 
 curiosity and attention produced a moment's 
 silence. Ferrer, standing for an instant upon 
 the step, cast a look around, saluted the multi- 
 tude with a bow, as if it had been from a pul- 
 pit, and having put his left hand on his breast, 
 said aloud " bread and justice ?" " He is frank, 
 straight forward, and is quite magisterial," was 
 said amongst the acclamations, that were sent 
 up to heaven. 
 
 In the mean time those within had opened 
 the gate, or to speak more accurately, had got 
 the bolt oft', with the staples that were already 
 hanging down. The gate was opened ajar, to 
 let the desired guest in, taking especial care 
 however to measure the aperture to the precise 
 space necessary for his person. " Quick, 
 quick," said he, " open it more that I may get 
 in ; and you, my good fellows, keep the people 
 back ; don't let them crowd upon me, for the 
 love of Heaven ! keep a little space open for by 
 and by. A single moment, gentlemen," said 
 he to those inside, " gently with that gate, let 
 me get in oh my nbs take care of my ribs, 
 now close it ; no, no, stop, stop, my toga, my 
 toga ! " And there it would have remained 
 caught in the door, if Ferrer very adroitly had 
 not drawn the tail of it in, which disappeared 
 like the tail of a snake when it follows its mas- 
 ter into his den. 
 
 As soon as the gate was closed again in the 
 best manner they were able to do, they imme- 
 diately propped it up in the inside, with posts. 
 Those on the outside who acted as body-guard 
 to Ferrer, with their shoulders, their arms, and 
 with their cries endeavored to keep the space 
 free, praying to God in their hearts that the 
 affair might soon be over. 
 
 " Quick, quick," cried out the chancellor, 
 inside under the portico, to the servants who 
 got around him, all out of breath, and exclaim- 
 ing, "Blessings on you, ah, your excellency ! 
 oh, your excellency ! ah, your excellency !" 
 
 " Quick, quick," repeated Ferrer, " where is 
 this poor good man ?" The vicar was descend- 
 ing uie stairs, half pulled and half carried by 
 his people, as white as bleached linen. When 
 he saw the aid that had reached him, he drew 
 a great sigh, his pulse returned, life began to 
 stir again within nim, and the color to return 
 to his cheeks. He hurried on at the sight of
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 Ferrer, exclaiming, " I am in the hands of 
 God, and of your excellency, but how shall I 
 get frem hence ? Every where there are men 
 who seek to kill me." 
 
 " Venga conmigo, usted,* and he of good cour- 
 age ; my carriage is outside quick, quick." 
 Talcing him hy the hand he drew him towards 
 the gate, encouraging him by the way, saying 
 in his heart at the same time, Jlqui esta el bu- 
 sttlis .' Dios nos Valga! f 
 
 The gate being opened, Ferrer went out 
 first, the other followed him, crouching be- 
 hind, and holding him fast by his protecting 
 toga, as a child clings to the gown of its mo- 
 ther. Those who had kept the space free, 
 now held up their hands, and their hats, and 
 formed a sort of a cloud, as it were, to hide the 
 vicar from the dangerous vision of the multi- 
 tude, who having first got into the carriage, 
 squatted down in a corner of it. Ferrer en- 
 tered next, and the door was closed. The 
 mob saw, knew, and divined very well what 
 was going on, and sent out a confused roaring 
 of applauses and imprecations. 
 
 That part of the journey which remained to 
 be accomplished, might seem to be the most 
 difficult, and the most dangerous ; but the pub- 
 lic wish, that the vicar should be taken to pri- 
 son, had been sufficiently declared, and whilst 
 the carriage had stopped at the gate, many 
 of those who had assisted Ferrer to reach it, 
 had contrived to prepare and preserve a road 
 through the crowd, by which the carriage might 
 a second time proceed, a little more expediti- 
 ously, and without stopping any more. As it 
 proceeded on, the people, forming the lane, re- 
 united themselves into a mass again behind it. 
 
 The chancellor, scarcely seated, stooped 
 down to caution the vicar to keep himself 
 snug at the bottom, and, for the love of God 
 not to show himself in the least, but there was 
 no occasion for such advice. It was necessa- 
 ry for him, on the contrary, to show himself, 
 in order to draw the attention of the mob en- 
 tirely to his own person. And during the whole 
 way, as he did at first, he made to his fickle au- 
 ditors, an harangue, the most uninterrupted as 
 to time, as it was the most unconnected as to 
 sense, that was ever delivered ; interlarding it 
 every now and then, with a Spanish word or 
 two, that he hastily dropped into the ear of 
 his companion crouched down near him. 
 
 " Yes, gentlemen, bread and justice to the 
 castle to prison under my charge. Thank 
 you, thank you, a thousand thanks ! No, no, 
 he shall not escape ! Par ablandarlos \\ You 
 are quite right we will examine we will 
 see. And I return your kindness, gentlemen. 
 A severe punishment. Esto lo digo por su 
 bien. A reasonable regulation, an honest re- 
 gulation, and punishment for those that starve 
 the people, Stand on one side, if you will be 
 
 so kind. Yes, yes, I am an honest man, a 
 friend to the people. He shall be punished 
 it is true he is a scoundrel a villain. Per- 
 done usted.* He shall get it he shall get it 
 si esta culpable. Yes, yes, we'll make these 
 bakers mind what they are about. God bless 
 the king, and the good Milanese, his most 
 faithful vassals. We have him snug we have 
 him snug. Anima, estamos ya quasi a fue- 
 
 They had in fact got through the thickest 
 part of the mob, and were on the point of 
 getting entirely free of it, when the chancel- 
 lor, wno was beginning to give a little rest to 
 his lungs, perceived succors after the Pisan 
 fashion,! those Spanish soldiers, who how- 
 ever towards the last had not been entirely 
 useless; under the directions, and with the 
 help of some of the citizens, they had assisted 
 in keeping some of the mob quiet, and in clear- 
 ing the way for the chancellor's retreat. When 
 the carriage reached them, they drew up into 
 a double line, and presented arms to the grand 
 chancellor, who here also bowed right ana left, 
 and said to the officer who drew near to sa- 
 lute him, accompanying his words with a mo- 
 tion of his hand, " JBeso a usted las manos : 
 words that the officer understood in the sense 
 that was meant and which was a pretty sort 
 of assistance you have given me. The officer 
 saluted him again by way of answer, and 
 shrugged up his shoulders. It was a good op- 
 portunity for saying, Cedant arma toga, but 
 Ferrer's mind at that moment was not dispo- 
 sed to quotations, and indeed it would have 
 been so many words thrown to the winds, for 
 the officer did not understand Latin. 
 
 Pedro, whilst he was driving through the 
 two files of soldiers, with their muskets so re- 
 spectfully presented, came to himself again. 
 He shook off the confusion of mind he had 
 been in, remembered who he was, and who he 
 was driving, and without any more ceremoni- 
 ous grimaces to the mob, now at a sufficient 
 distance to be disregarded, he called out to his 
 horses, gave them a crack, and trotted them on 
 towards the castle. 
 
 "Levantese levantese, estamos fuera,"\\ said 
 Ferrer to the vicar, who feeling somewhat re- 
 assured by the cessation of the noise, and by 
 the rapid motion of the carriage, as well as by 
 these words, arose from his uncomfortable po- 
 sition, and having recovered himself a little, 
 began to return his repeated thanks to his deli- 
 verer. The chancellor, ai'ter condoling with 
 him respecting the danger he had run, and 
 congratulating him on his escape, pajsed his 
 hand over his own bald crown, and exclaimed, 
 " Que dira de esto su excellenzia ?"1T who has 
 trouble enough of his own, with that cursed 
 place that won't surrender ! Que dira el conde 
 
 * Come along with me. 
 f Now comes the pinch ! God help us ! 
 ; I am saying this to amuse them. 
 I only say this for your good. 
 12 
 
 * You must excuse me. 
 
 f Courage, we are almost out of danger. 
 
 i When the danger was past. 
 
 .'. I kiss your hands. 
 
 [I Get up, set up, we are out of the mob. 
 
 IT What will his excellency say of this ?
 
 90 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 Dwjue,* who starts if a leaf makes an unusual 
 noise ? Que dira el rey nue&tro Senor,} who 
 in some way or other is sure to hear some- 
 thing of such a tumult as this ? And is it go- 
 ing to end here ? Dios lo sabe."\ 
 
 " As for me, I will have no more trouble 
 about it," said the vicar, " I wash my hands 
 of it ; I resign my post into the hands of your 
 excellency ; I'll go and live in some grotto, 
 upon some mountain I'll become a hermit, 
 far, far from these abominable brutes ." 
 
 " You will do that which shall be most con- 
 venient par el servicio de su Tnagestad," an- 
 swered the grand chancellor gravely. 
 
 " His majesty does not want me to be mur- 
 dered," replied the vicar; "I'll go to some 
 grotto, to some grotto, far from them all." 
 
 What became of this resolution of the vi- 
 car, our author does not relate ; for, after ac- 
 companying the poor man to the castle, he 
 makes no further mention of his affairs. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE crowd that remained behind began to 
 disperse, and to move away by one or another 
 of the streets to the right and to the left. 
 Some went home to look after their family 
 affairs, others removed from the place from a 
 desire to roam about where there was more 
 room, after being squeezed up so many hours ; 
 some went to seek out their acquaintances, 
 that they might have a talk over the great 
 affairs of the day. The same movements were 
 going on at the other end of the street ; where 
 the people were not in sufficient numbers to 
 prevent the company of soldiers from advanc- 
 ing, without a contest, and getting near to the 
 vicar's house. Close to it, however, there stiH 
 remained the dregs of all this fermentation ; 
 a handful of vagabonds, who, dissatisfied that 
 such a prodigious hubbub had come to such a 
 tame and imperfect conclusion, were grumb- 
 ling, and cursing, and counselling with one 
 another, with a view to mutual encouragement 
 to commence some other undertaking ; and as 
 if to try, they still continued bruising and in- 
 juring the poor gate, which had been, once 
 more, fastened and barred as well they could. 
 At the arrival of the soldiers, the whole of 
 them with common consent, moved to the other 
 side of the way, leaving the post free to the 
 soldiers, who took possession and established 
 themselves there to guard the house and the 
 street. The streets and the small squares in 
 the neighborhood, had various groups scatter- 
 ed aloi.g them ; where two or three stopped, 
 others to the number of twenty collected ; 
 
 * What will thi! Count Duke say? 
 f What will the king our master, say ? 
 t God alone know*, 
 o For his majesty's service. 
 
 some went away, others came to them, like 
 those fleecy clouds which occasionally move 
 about and disseminate themselves in the azure 
 sky, after a storm, and which induce people 
 who look at them, to say that the weather is 
 not yet settled. The conversation carried on 
 there was various, confused, and changing; 
 some related with great earnestness the parti- 
 cular incidents they had observed, others what 
 they themselves had done : some expressed 
 their satisfaction that the affair had finished so 
 well, and praised the grand chancellor, pre- 
 dicting at the same time serious results to the 
 vicar ; whilst others, laughing at the idea, in- 
 sisted that nothing would be done to him, ob- 
 serving that wolves don't eat wolves flesh : a 
 few, in a more angry tone, murmured that 
 things had not been done as they ought to have 
 been, that they had been cheated, that it was 
 madness to have made such a noise, and then 
 let themselves be made such fools of. 
 
 Meantime the sun had gone down, and all 
 things were gradually becoming of the same 
 color; many of them tired with their day's 
 work, and annoyed at talking in the dark, re- 
 turned home. Our youth, having aided in the 
 progress of the carriage, as long as assistance 
 was necessary, and having followed it through 
 the files of soldiers, as if in triumph, was glad 
 when he saw it move off, out of all danger. 
 He went along with the crowd a short dis- 
 tance, and turned into the first opening, that 
 he also might feel more at ease. He had gone 
 but a short distance, when, agitated by so 
 many occurrences, so many recent and con- 
 fused recollections, he felt a great want of 
 food and repose, and began to look out on 
 each side of the street to discover the sign of 
 an inn, since it was now too late to go to the 
 convent of the capuchins. Walking along and 
 looking up as he went, he fell in with a knot 
 of people, and hearing them talk of plans and 
 propositions for the next day, he stopped. 
 Having listened for a moment, he could not 
 resist giving his own opinion, it appearing to 
 him that one who had done so much as him- 
 self, might without presumption say something 
 too. And having been led to believe from 
 what he had seen that day, that at present, to 
 carry any thing into execution, nothing more 
 was wanted than to make the people who 
 roamed about the streets, approve it; "My 
 good gentlemen," he began in a tone of ex- 
 ordium, "May I give my own poor opinion 
 too ? My poor opinion is this, that it is not 
 about bread alone they are guilty of iniquity, 
 and since to-day it has been cleanly seen, that 
 if you make yourselves felt, you will obtain 
 justice ; you ought to go on henceforward in 
 the same way, till a remedy has been obtained 
 for all your wrongs, that things may be regu- 
 lated in a Christian sort of way. Is'nt it true, 
 my good gentlemen, that there is a handful of 
 tyrants, that break the whole ten command- 
 ments, and who persecute quiet people that 
 don't think of them, to do them all sorts of 
 injuries, and then are not they always in the
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 91 
 
 right ? Nay, when they have done one thing 
 more wicked than the rest, don't they walk 
 with their heads up, as if they ought to be 
 praised for it? I warrant there are such in 
 Milan." 
 
 " Too many of them," said a voice. 
 
 " That's what I say," answered Renzo, "we 
 have heard of them in the country. Why the 
 thing speaks for itself. Let us now just sup- 
 pose, that one of these people I mean to speak 
 of, is partly in the country, and partly in Mi- 
 lan ; if he is a devil there, he can't be an angel 
 here, it seems to me. Now tell me, my good 
 gentleman, did you ever see one of these men 
 at the confessional.* And what is worse (and 
 this I can most certainly say) is, that there are 
 decrees out and printed, expressly to punish 
 them ; not decrees that mean nothing, but good 
 ones, and such as no better can be iound. All 
 their villanies are described plainly, just such 
 as they are, and for every one its punishment. 
 And they say be they whom they may, vile 
 and plebeian, and I don't know what. But if 
 you go to the doctors, and the scribes, and the 
 phansees, to have justice done you, as the de- 
 crees direct, they'll no more listen to you, than 
 the Pope will let a rogue talk to him. It is 
 enough to make an honest man go mad. 
 
 " ft is clear then that the king and those 
 who have the command, wish bad men to be 
 punished, but nothing is done, because they 
 all league together. The league ought to be 
 broke, and we ought to go to-morrow to Fer- 
 rer, who is an honest man, and a complete 
 gentleman : we saw to-day how contented he 
 was to be amongst poor people, and how he 
 tried to hear every thing that was said to him, 
 and how kindly he answered every body. We 
 must go to Ferrer and tell him how things are 
 jjoing on, arid for my share I can tell him some 
 famous affairs. I have seen with my own eyes 
 a decree with the king's arms at the top of it 
 as big as that, and it was made by three of 
 of them that have the command, and the name 
 of every one of them was at the bottom, fairly 
 printed, and one of them was Ferrer, I saw it 
 with my own eyes. That decree spoke of 
 things just as they had happened to me, and a 
 doctor whom I asKcd to have justice done to 
 me, as those three gentlemen had directed, 
 amongst whom Ferrer was there too, this Sig- 
 nor doctor, who had shown me the decree 
 himself, which is the best of it, ah ! ah ! he 
 listened as if I was a madman talking to him. 
 I am certain that when that dear good old man 
 will hear of such fine doings, and lie can't hear 
 of them all especially those that are done in 
 the country that he won't let things go on in 
 this way, and that he will find out a good re- 
 medy for us. And then, even they, if they 
 make the decrees, they must wish to see them 
 obeyed, for it is a kind of contempt, and no- 
 thing more than an epitaph, to put their names 
 to what goes for nothing. And these overbear- 
 ing fjreat men, if they won't lower their heads, 
 
 * Col muso alia ferrata. 
 
 and will still go on like mad, we are here to help 
 Ferrer, as we did to-day. I don't say neither 
 that he ought to go about in his carriage, to 
 haul down stairs all these villanous, overbear- 
 ing tyrants no, no he would want Noah's 
 ark to do that. He must order those whose bu- 
 siness it is, not only in Milan, but every where, 
 to have things done as the decrees say, and 
 commence proceedings against all those who 
 have committed any iniquities : and where the 
 decrees say they must go to prison to prison 
 let them go : and where they say to the gal- 
 leys let them go to the galleys. Then the 
 podesta's should be told to do things as they 
 ought to be done, and if they won't, send them 
 about their business, and get others that will ; 
 and as I said, we will lend them a hand. The 
 doctors too, should be ordered to listen to poor 
 people, and to speak up for the right. Have I 
 saia well, gentlemen? 
 
 Renzo had spoken with so much earnest- 
 ness, that from the beginning, a great portion 
 of his audience, suspending their conversation, 
 had turned to hear him, and at one moment the 
 whole of them had become listeners. Clamo- 
 rous applauses of " bravo, to be sure, he is in 
 the right, it is too true," followed his harangue. 
 Critics, however, were not wanted. " It is a 
 great matter to listen to these mountaineers," 
 said one, " they are all lawyers," and went off. 
 "Now," murmured another, "we shall have 
 every ragamuffin turn orator, and in our hurry 
 about putting meat on the fire, we shall forget 
 what we came here for, which was to get 
 cheap bread." Renzo, however, only heard 
 the compliments, first one shook hands with 
 him, and then another. " We shall see each 
 other to-morrow. Where ? At the cathedral 
 square. Very well very well and some- 
 thing will be done something will be done." 
 
 " Will any one of you kind gentlemen, tell 
 me where there is an inn, where a poor young 
 country fellow can get a mouthful to eat, and 
 lie down ?" said Renzo. 
 
 " I'll do that my good young man," answer- 
 ed one, who had listened attentively to him, 
 without yet saying a word, " I know an inn that 
 will suit you exactly, and I will recommend 
 you to the landlord, who is a friend of mine, 
 and an honest man." 
 
 " Is it here ?" asked Renzo. 
 
 "A little distance only," answered the other. 
 
 The assembly dispersed, and Renzo, after 
 many hearty snakes from unknown hands, 
 went off with his guide, thanking him for his 
 courtesy. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," said he, " one hand 
 can wash the other, and both together can 
 wash the face. Is it not our duty to serve 
 our neighbor ?" As they went on, by way of 
 conversation, he first asked one and then an- 
 other thing of Renzo, " not that I have any 
 curiosity about your affairs, but you seemed 
 tired. What part of the country do you come 
 from ?" 
 
 " I come," answered Renzo, " all the way 
 from Lecco."
 
 92 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " All the way from Lecco ! are you from 
 Lecco?' 
 
 " From Lecco that is from the district." 
 
 " Poor young man ! From what I have heard 
 you say, you have been served bad enough by 
 them." 
 
 " My dear good honest man ! it was neces- 
 sary for me to use a little caution when I was 
 talking, that I might not expose my own 
 matters in public ; but some day it will be 
 
 known, and then . But here is the sign 
 
 of an inn, and to tell the truth I don't want to 
 go any farther." 
 
 " No, no, let us go where I tolil you ; we 
 have not much farther to go," said his guide, 
 " you won't be so well off here." 
 
 " Why, as to that," said Renzo, " I am not 
 one of your youns* gentlemen accustomed to 
 delicacies, something substantial to fortify the 
 stomach a little, and a straw bed, will satisfy 
 me ; and what I am most in want of just now, is 
 to get them both as soon as I can. I'll take my 
 chance." And he entered a sort of door-way, 
 with the sign of the full moon hanging over it. 
 " Well, I'll introduce you here, since you wish 
 it," said the unknown, and followed him. 
 
 "Don't give yourself any further trouble," 
 answered Renzo. " But," he added, " do me 
 the favor to come in and take a glass with me." 
 
 " I will accept your kindness," answered 
 he, and like a man more accustomed to the 
 place, he preceded Renzo through a small court- 
 yard, came to a door with a glass window, lift- 
 ed the latch, opened it, and entered with his 
 companion into the kitchen. 
 
 It was lighted by two lamps, hanging from 
 two poles fastened to the beams of the ceiling. 
 Various persons, differently occupied, were 
 seated at their ease upon benches placed here 
 and there, round a narrow bad table, that ex- 
 tended almost from one end of the room to the 
 other ; in some parts of it were napkins and 
 victuals, in others cards with their faces turned 
 all ways, dice were scattered about, and flasks 
 and glasses were every where. Upon the 
 wet boards of the table Berlinghe, reali,* and 
 parpagliole,\vere circulating, the which, if they 
 had been able to speak, would probably have 
 said we were this morning in the bakers till, 
 or in the pocket of one of the lookers on in 
 the mob, too much occupied with looking after 
 the public concerns to mind his own. A great 
 clamor was going on. A boy was continually 
 running about, waiting on the table and the 
 men who were gaming. The landlord was 
 seated upon another bench, in the chimney 
 corner, occupied, in appearance.with some fig- 
 ures which he was malting in the ashes with 
 the tongs, but in reality, intent upon every 
 thing that was going on. At the lifting of the 
 latch, he arose, and met the new comers. As 
 soon as he perceived the guide curse on the 
 fellow ! said he to himself, whenever I don't 
 want him, he is sure to come. Casting a ra- 
 pid glance at Renzo I don't know who you 
 
 * Livrea, rials, and parpagliole, a small coin with the 
 figure of a butterfly. 
 
 are, but coming with such a hunter, you must 
 be either a hound or a hare ; I shall find out 
 as soon as you begin to talk. No part of this 
 mute soliloquy appeared on the face of the 
 landlord, which was as immovable as that of a 
 picture, and was plump and shining, with a 
 thick reddish beard, and a pair of fixed clear 
 eyes. 
 
 " What do you wish gentlemen ?" said he 
 
 " First of all a good hearty flask of wine,' 
 said Renzo, "and then a mouthful of some- 
 thing or other." Saying this he sat himself 
 down upon a bench towards the extremity of 
 the table, and sent out a sonorous ah ! that 
 seemed to say, now for a little comfort after 
 so much fatigue and standing so long. Soon 
 however that table and bench rushed into his 
 memory, where for the last tune he had beec 
 seated with Lucia and Agnes, and he sighed. 
 He however shook his head as if to drive the 
 thought away, and saw the landlord bringing 
 the wine His companion was seated oppo- 
 site to him. Renzo poured him out some 
 wine, saying " something to moisten the lips," 
 and having filled the other glass, swallowed it 
 down at a gulp 
 
 "What can you give me to eat?" he then 
 said to the landlord. 
 
 " Some very good stewed meat ?" said he. \ 
 
 " Well, let us have this good stew." 
 
 " You shall have it in a moment," said the 
 landlord. " Wait upon this stranger," he call- 
 ed out to the boy and went to the fireside 
 
 "But," said he, again coming to Renzo, 
 " we have no bread at this time." 
 
 " Providence has provided bread," said Ren- 
 zo aloud, and laughing, and drawing from his 
 pocket the last of the three small loaves he had 
 picked up at the cross of Saint Dionysius, he 
 lifted it up, calling out, " this is the bread of 
 Providence." 
 
 Many of the company turned about at this 
 exclamation, and seeing that trophy in the air, 
 one of them called out, " Cheap bread for 
 ever!" 
 
 " Cheap ?" said Renzo, "gratis ct amore .'" 
 
 " Better still ! better still!" 
 
 " But," added he, " I do not wish these 
 gentlemen to have any bad thoughts about it. 
 I didn't exactly get this bread dishonestly. I 
 found it on the ground, and if I could find the 
 owner, I should like to give him what he ought 
 to have without any delay." 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo !" they all cried out, laugh- 
 ing still louder, for there was not one who took 
 the words in the sense they were intended to 
 convey. 
 
 " Perhaps you think I am joking, but in- 
 deed I am not," said Renzo to his guide, and 
 turning the bread in his hand, he added, " See 
 how it has been knocked about, I don't know 
 what it looks like ; but there were more than 
 this, and if any of them were softer than this 
 is, they must cut a strange figure." Upon this 
 he tore several pieces from trie loaf, devoured 
 them, and sent after them a second glass of 
 the wine, adding, " It won't go down by itself,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 93 
 
 my throat never was so dry before. What a 
 shouting we have had!" 
 
 " Prepare a good bed for this fine young 
 fellow," said his guide, "he intends to sleep 
 here." 
 
 " To sleep here," said the landlord, drawing 
 near to the table. 
 
 " Certainly," answered Renzo, " a good 
 wholesome bed, let the sheets be clean at any 
 rate, for though I am but a poor man, I am ac- 
 customed to cleanliness." 
 
 " Oh ! as to that !" said the host, and went 
 to a desk in a corner of the kitchen, and re- 
 turned bringing in his hand an inkstand, with 
 a pen and some paper. 
 
 " What does this mean !" saic/ Renzo, swal- 
 lowing some of the dish which the boy had just 
 placed before him, and smiling, " Is this one 
 of the clean sheets we were talking of?" 
 
 Without replying, the landlord laid the pa- 
 per on the table, the inkstand near it, and pla- 
 cing his left arm on the table, and his right 
 elbow on it likewise, he looked Renzo in the 
 face, holding the pen in his hand, and said, 
 ** Do ine the favor to tell me your name, your 
 surname, and the place where you live ! " 
 
 " What ?" said Renzo, " why, what has this 
 to do with the bed I was talking about?" 
 
 " I do my duty," said the landlord, looking 
 the guide steadily in the face. " We are 
 obliged to give information of every one who 
 comes to lodge with us the name and sur- 
 name, the nation he belongs to, what his busi- 
 ness is, if he has any arms about him, how long 
 he is going to remain in this city these are 
 the very words of the decree." 
 
 Renzo before he answered, emptied another 
 glass, then a third I am afraid we shall not be 
 able to count the rest. " Ah ! ah !" he then 
 began," you have a decree ! and as I am a doc- 
 tor of laws, I know exactly what sort of esti- 
 mation decrees are held in." 
 
 "I am in earnest," said the host, always 
 watching the countenance of the guide, who 
 remained mute, and going again to the desk, 
 he came back with a Targe sheet, a true speci- 
 men of a decree, and spread it completely out 
 before the eyes of Renzo. 
 
 "Ah ! here it is !" he called out, holding up 
 the glass which he had once more filled, and 
 emptying it immediately ; then pointing with 
 the other hand to the decree. Here is that 
 holy leaf out of the missal. I am prodigiously 
 
 flau to see it. I know that coat of arms, I 
 now what that Arian looking sort of a face is, 
 with the collar about its neck." (At the top 
 of the decrees the arms of the Governor were 
 placed in those times ; and in those of Don 
 Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova, there was a 
 Moorish King with a chain about his neck.) 
 
 " That face says, let those command that can, 
 and let thpse obey that will. When that figure 
 can send Don 1 know who, to the galleys- 
 that's enough, I know. As another of these 
 pious concerns says, when it shall order, that 
 an honest young man may be married to an 
 honest young woman that is contented to be mar- 
 
 ried to him, then I'll tell that face my name, 
 I'll give it a kiss into the bargain. I may have 
 some good reasons for not telling it my name. 
 A pretty business indeed ? a scoundrel, because 
 he has got under him a pack of scoundrels as 
 bad as himself ! if he was alone to be sure " 
 and here his gesture supplied the rest of the 
 phrase. " If the scoundrel wanted to know- 
 where I was, just to do me some bad turn, I 
 want to know if that face would stir to help 
 me. And so I must tell what my business is ! 
 something new to be sure ! suppose now I am 
 come to Milan, to confess myself, and what 
 then ? I make my confessions to a capuchin fa- 
 ther, as we say, and not to a landlord." The 
 host said nothing but continued watching the 
 guide's face, who made no sort of demon- 
 stration. Renzo, sorry, are we to say it, kept 
 swallowing the wine, and went on. " I'll give 
 you a reason, my good landlord, that will 
 make you understand. If the decrees that 
 speak out in favor of good Christians are worth 
 nothing, those that are against them are worth 
 still less. Take all this trumpery away, and 
 bring us another flask instead, this one is gone 
 it is done for ;" saying this he rapped it 
 slightly with his knuckles, and added, " don't 
 you hear how it is cracked ?" 
 
 Renzo had again attracted the attention of 
 the whole company, and when he had done 
 speaking, a murmur of general approbation 
 arose. 
 
 " What must I do ?" said the host, still look- 
 ing at Renzo's unknown friend, not unknown 
 however to him. 
 
 " Come, come," a number of voices cried 
 out, " that young countryman is right, these 
 are tricks, and vexations, and plagues ! a pack 
 of new laws, new laws !" 
 
 Amidst these exclamations, the unknown, 
 looking reproachfully at the landlord tor the too 
 open appeal he had made to him, said " let him 
 go on a little his own way, don't raise any dis- 
 pute here." 
 
 " I have done my duty," said the landlord 
 aloud, and added to himself, I have got my 
 shoulders against the wall now at least, and 
 taking the decree, and the writing materials, he 
 gave the empty flask to the boy. 
 
 " Bring another of the same kind," said 
 Renzo, " he was a very honest fellow, and 
 we'll put him to sleep just as we did the other, 
 without asking him ms name or his surname, 
 or what his business is, or how long he is go- 
 ing to stay in this city." 
 
 " Bring the same kind," said the host to the 
 boy, giving him the flask, and resuming his 
 seat at the hearth. Something worse than a 
 hare ! thought he, poking about in the ashes 
 again. Pretty hands you have fallen into ! 
 Jack ass ! If you want to drown, drown ! but 
 the landlord of the full moon shall get into no 
 scrape on account of your follies. 
 
 Renzo returned his thanks to the guide, and 
 to all the others who had taken his part. " My 
 good friends !" said he, " 1 now clearly see that 
 honest men do stand by and a -pport one an-
 
 94 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 other." Then waving his open hand over the 
 table, and preparing to play the orator again. 
 " Is not it a wonderful thing," he began, " that 
 those who govern, are always bringing for- 
 ward, paper, pen, and ink. They keep the 
 pens always going, What a strange passion 
 they have for making use of pens !" 
 
 " I say, honest stranger, do you want to 
 know the reason of that?" said one of the 
 gamesters in a laughing way, who was winning. 
 
 " Let us hear," answered Renzo. 
 
 " The reason is," said he, " that as these 
 gentlemen live upon geese, they have so many 
 pens, that they must use them up some way 
 or other." 
 
 The rest, all but the man who was losing, 
 began to laugh at this sally. 
 
 "Tut!" said Renzo, "that man's a Poet. 
 You have got poets here to : they spring up 
 every where. I have a touch too, and some- 
 times I say capital things but that's when 
 all's going right." 
 
 To understand this silly saying of poor Ren- 
 zo, it must be stated, that amongst the com- 
 mon people of Milan, and still more amongst 
 those of the vicinity, the word poet does not 
 signify as it does with well bred men, a sacred 
 calling, an inhabitant of Pindus, a nursling of 
 the muses ; but means a crackbrained whim- 
 sical person, who deals more in droll and ori- 
 ginal sayings than in reasonable propositions ; 
 so far has the leveling disposition of the vul- 
 gar dared to debase words, and to give a 
 meaning to them so extravagantly far from 
 their original signification. For really I can- 
 not help asking what sort of relation there is 
 between poets and crackbrained whimsical 
 persons ? 
 
 " I'll tell you the true reason," added Renzo, 
 " it is because they hold the pen themselves, 
 and so their own words that they speak fly 
 away and disappear ; but the words that a poor 
 young fellow speaks, they are always watch- 
 ing, and they string them together in a crack 
 with the pen, and then they nail them down 
 on the paper, to make use of them just when 
 it suits them. They have another trick too, 
 when they want to bring a poor young fellow 
 into trouble, who does not understand^ letters, 
 but who has a little I know what " and to 
 convey his meaning, he began tapping his 
 forehead with his forefinger, " and when they 
 find out that he begins to find out what is go- 
 ing on, in a jiffy they begin talking Latin just 
 to make him lose the thread, and to bother him 
 and throw his wits into confusion. That's 
 enough. Some of these practices must be 
 stopped ! Every thing to day has been done in 
 the plain way, without paper, or pens, or ink- 
 stand ; and tomorrow, if the people know how 
 to manage, things will be done better still, 
 witKbut hurting a hair of any ones head how- 
 ever, every thing according to law." 
 
 Meantime some of the company had re- 
 sumed their gaming, some were eating, many 
 were talking aloud, some went away and 
 others arrived. The landlord waited upon 
 
 them all, but these are matters that have no- 
 thing to do with our storv. The unknown 
 Suide wanted also to go, it seemed as if he 
 ad nothing to do there, yet was anxious to 
 have a little more conversation with Renzo be- 
 fore he went. Turning towards him, he be- 
 gan talking about the price of bread again, 
 and after some very trite observations, he 
 brought forward a proposition of his own. " If 
 I had the command," said he, " I would find 
 a way out to make things go right." 
 
 " What would you do ?" asked Renzo, look- 
 ing at him with a pair of eyes rather more 
 lively than they ought to have been, and 
 screwing up his mouth, as if particularly at- 
 tentive. "What would I do?" said he, " I 
 would have plenty of bread for all, as well for 
 the poor as the rich." 
 
 " Ah ! that's just right," said Renzo. 
 
 "This is the true way. There should be 
 an honest regulation by which every one might 
 live. And then, the bread should be appor- 
 tioned according to the number of persons, 
 for there are greedy people that would have 
 every thing for themselves, getting all they 
 can, helping themselves in such a way that 
 there is nothing left for poor people. The 
 bread, therefore, should be apportioned. And 
 how is it to be done ? Why this way. An 
 order should be gives to every family, in pro- 
 portion to the mouths in it, to receive bread at 
 the bakery. For instance, I should have an 
 order in this form. Deliver to Ambrogio Fu- 
 sella, sword cutter, having a wife and four 
 children, all able to eat bread now observe 
 deliver him so much bread, at such and such 
 a rate. But to do things fairly, always in 
 proportion to the number of mouths. To 
 yourself now, by way of supposition, an order 
 sould be given thus what is your name ?" 
 
 " Lorenzo Tramaglino," said the youth, 
 who, pleased with the plan, did not reflect 
 that it was all to be earned on with pen, ink 
 and paper, and that to put it into operation, 
 the first step was to know persons names. 
 
 " Very well," said the unknown, " but have 
 you a wife and children ?" 
 
 " I ought to have had children, no too 
 soon for that but a wife to be sure if things 
 had gone as they ought to have gone " 
 
 " Ah ! you are single ! Well have patience. 
 You will then have a smaller portion. 
 
 " That's quite right ; but if soon, as I hope 
 and with uod's assistance well, well but 
 suppose I was to get a wife ?" 
 
 " Why then your order would be changed, 
 and the portion would be increased. As I 
 said before, always in proportion to the num- 
 ber of mouths," said the unknown, getting up 
 from the bench. 
 
 " I like the plan," cried out Renzo, thump- 
 ing his fist againt the table, " and why dont 
 they pass a law of this kind ?" 
 
 " How should I know why they dont ? 
 Meantime I wish you a good nigh*, for I must 
 go. My wife and chilfdren will have beeu 
 expecting me for sometime."
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 95 
 
 "A little drop more, another drop," cried 
 Renzo, filling in haste the glass, and getting 
 up, caught hold of the skirts of his doublet, to 
 force him to set down again. " Another drop, 
 don't use me so ill." 
 
 But his unknown friend, with a spring, got 
 out of hia hands, again said " good night," 
 and went off, leaving Renzo pouring out all 
 sorts of reproaches, which reached his ears 
 even when ne was in the street. Renzo now 
 fell heavily on his bench again, fixed his eyes 
 upon the glass he had filled, and seeing the 
 boy pass by, beckoned to him with his finger 
 to approach ; and as if he had something to 
 communicate to him, he pointed to the glass, 
 and in a slow and solemn tone, articulating his 
 words in a very peculiar way, said, " Do you 
 see that ? I filled that for that honest man, look 
 at it, it's full to the brim, you see how kind I 
 was, and he would'nt drink it. Sometimes ( 
 people have queer notions. I can do no more, i 
 I have shown what a good heart I have got. 
 And now that the thing is done, it sha'nt be 
 said that nobody shall drink it." Having said 
 this, he took the glass, and emptied it at once. 
 
 "I understand," said the boy going away. 
 
 " Oh, you understand, do you ?" replied 
 Renzo, " then I must be right ; when a man 
 talks as sensibly as I do " 
 
 We stand in need here of all our attach- 
 ment to truth, to enable us to go on and relate 
 with fidelity, what reflects so little honor upon 
 a personage, who may be esteemed, as it were, 
 the hero of our story. However, in the same 
 spirit of impartiality, we must also state, that 
 this was the very first time that such an occur- 
 rence ever happened to Renzo, and indeed it 
 was precisely because he was a stranger to 
 excesses of every kind, that he fell so iatally 
 into this. The few glasses which, contrary 
 to his custom, he had swallowed one after the 
 other at first, partly to quench his thirst, and 
 partly on account of the excitement he was 
 under, which did not permit him to do any 
 thing with moderation flew immediately to 
 his head, and produced an effect which an or- 
 dinary tippler would not have experienced. 
 Upon which our anonymous writer makes an 
 observation, which we will repeat, let it be 
 worth what it may. Temperate and credita- 
 ble habits, says he, produce this advantage, 
 that when they have taken root, and are well 
 established in a man, the more certainly, when 
 he commits any excess, is he sure to feel the 
 bad consequences which result from it, and 
 which are sure to last for sometime ; so that 
 even his errors are a lesson to him for the fu- 
 ture. 
 
 Be this as it may, when those first fumes had 
 got into Renzo's head, wine and words were 
 constantly kept going by him, one up and the 
 other down, without any rule or method, and 
 at the point where we left off with him, he was 
 getting on as well as he was able. He felt a 
 great inclination to talk, and as to listeners, or 
 persons present, whom he might choose to 
 consider as listeners, they were not wanting. 
 
 I For a while his words came out pretty fluently, 
 and with some tolerable method, but soon the 
 task of making phrases out of them became a 
 very difficult affair. The thought, that had 
 sprung up fresh and clear to his mind, became 
 ooscured and vanished all at once ; his words, 
 too, after waiting sometime for them, were 
 quite different from those he had intended 
 them to be. At such moments, led by one of 
 those false instincts which often produce the 
 ruin of men, he had recourse to that blessed 
 friend, the bottle. But how, under such cir- 
 cumstances, it could be of any assistance to 
 him, let any one who knows declare. 
 
 We will, however, mention a few of the sil- 
 ly things he said upon this most unfortunate 
 evening; what we shall omit, would be too 
 discreditable, being not only without sense, 
 but also without the least pretension to any 
 meaning, which at least is an essential condi- 
 tion of a printed book. 
 
 " Landlord ! landlord !" he resumed, follow- 
 ing him with his eyes from the table, to the 
 fireside, fixing them sometimes where he was 
 not, and continually talking amidst the noise in 
 the room, "you landlord! I can't swallow 
 that ; that matter of the name, surname, and 
 business : to a young fellow like me you have 
 not acted right. What sort of satisfaction 
 what good what pleasure now to put a poor 
 young fellow down on that paper. Do I say 
 right, gentlemen ? Landlords ought to be good 
 fellows. I say, landlord, listen, I want to 
 
 make a comparison on account oh ! they 
 
 laugh, do they? Well,-! have drank a little, 
 but I talk good sense. Tell me now. Who 
 is it puts money in your pocket ? Is it poor 
 young fellows am I right ? Do these great 
 men that make the decrees, ever come here to 
 wet their mouths?" 
 
 " They are all water drinkers," said one 
 near to Renzo. 
 
 "They keep sober," said a voice, "that 
 they may tell their lies straight." 
 
 "Ah !" said Renzo, "that's the poet that's 
 talking. Then even you understand what I 
 say. Now answer me, landlord Ferrer, and 
 he's the best of them, has he ever been here to 
 take a glass, or to spend a farthing ? And that 
 
 assassinating dog, Don ? I say nothing, 
 
 my head's too much up. Ferrer and father 
 
 Chrrr , I know, they are two honest men, 
 
 but honest men are very scarce. The old men 
 are worse than the young men, and the young 
 men are worse still than the old men. I am 
 glad, however, nobody was killed let the 
 hangman do that sort of business. Bread 
 oh ! to be sure. I got some thumps, but I 
 gave a few away too. Make room ! abundance 
 
 for ever ! That Ferrer though a few latin 
 
 words sies baraos irapolorum it's a cursed 
 trick ! Justice ! bread for ever these are the 
 right sort of words. We wanted those fel- 
 lows when that infernal ton, ton, ton, broke 
 out yes, ton, ton, ton. I would'nt have run 
 off if they had been with me. We would have 
 fixed the curate I know what I'm thinking
 
 96 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN 
 
 about." At these words he hung down his 
 head, and remained some time as if he was 
 absorbed in thought, then sent forth a deep 
 sigh, and raised up his countenance with two 
 eyes swimming in tears, and an expression of 
 fondness so ridiculous, and preposterous, that 
 it was well for her, who was the object of it, 
 that she did not see him. But the gross fellows 
 about him, who had began to make a mockery 
 of Renzo's eloquence, carried it still further 
 when they saw his sorrowful face. The near- 
 est said to one another, " look there;" upon 
 which they all turned round, and poor Renzo 
 became the laughing stock of the whole crew. 
 Not that they were all quite sober, but, to speak 
 the truth, no one was so far gone as him, be- 
 sides he was a countryman. They began^first 
 one, and then the other, to worry him with 
 Billy and coarse questions, and with making 
 game of him. Sometimes he seemed disposed 
 to resent it, sometimes he joined in the laugh, 
 again, without minding them, he would talk 
 of something else, sometimes answering, some- 
 times asking questions. Happily in his folly, 
 he had been instinctively cautious not to men- 
 tion names, so that that which was most promi- 
 nently fixed in his mind, was never uttered. 
 Even we should have been exceedingly griev- 
 ed, if a name, for which we feel some affection 
 and reverence, had been bandied about in their 
 vile mouths, and had become a sport for their 
 infamous tongues 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE landlord, seeing the game was carry- 
 ing on too far, and too long, drew near to Ren- 
 zo, and requesting the others in a gentle way, 
 to leave him alone, shook him by the arm, and 
 endeavored to make him understand, and to 
 persuade him to go to bed. But his tongue 
 was continually harping upon the name and 
 surname, and the decrees, and good young 
 fellows. But the words bed and sleep, repeat- 
 ed in his ear, at last made an impression upon 
 his mind, they awakened in it more distinctly 
 the necessity of that which they signified, and 
 produced a moment of lucid interval. The 
 small portion of understanding that returned to 
 him, was sufficient to make Turn comprehend 
 that the rest was wanting, just as the last lamp 
 that remains burning in an illumination serves 
 to show that all the others are gone out. He 
 came to a resolution, and spanning his open 
 hands upon the table, tried to get up once or 
 twice, sighed, and at the third trial, assisted 
 by the host, got on his feet. Having got him 
 out from between the table and the bench, and 
 taken up a lamp, the landlord, as well as he 
 could, partly led him, and partly dragged him 
 to the door of the stair case. There Ren/o, 
 hearing the salutations that the company were 
 tending after him, turned round in haste, and 
 
 if his supporter had not been on the alert and 
 held him by the arm, he would have got a se- 
 vere fall ; but turning round with the arm he 
 had at liberty, he began cutting and describing 
 in the air, some salutations by way of return, 
 very much after the fashion of Solomon's knot. 
 
 " Come, let us go to bed to bed," said the 
 landlord, pulling him along, and shutting the 
 door behind them, with great fatigue, he got 
 him up the narrow wooden stairs, and into the 
 bed chamber destined for him. Renzo was 
 glad when he saw his bed, he looked in a 
 stupid loving manner at the landlord with two 
 twinkling eyes that sometimes sparkled more 
 than ever, and sometimes were eclipsed like 
 fire flies : he tried to steady himself upon his 
 legs, and extended his arm towards his host's 
 face, as if he would caress him, as a sign of 
 friendship and gratitude, but was unable to do 
 it. "Bravo, landlord," he however got out, 
 " I see now you are an honest man, this is 
 a good action to give a poor young fellow a 
 bed, but that trick you wanted to put on me, 
 of the name and surname, that was not like an 
 honest man. It was lucky for me that I am 
 up to tricks too." 
 
 The landlord, who did not think he was able 
 to correct his ideas so far, and who from long 
 experience knew how men in that state were 
 apt to change their minds on a sudden, wanted 
 to take advantage of that lucid interval to 
 make another attempt. " My dear son," said 
 he, with a caressing voice and countenance, 
 "I did not do that to vex you, nor to know 
 your affairs. What would you have me do? 
 It is the law, and even we are obliged to obey 
 it, otherwise we are the first to be punished. 
 It is better to content them, and after all 
 what does it amount to ? A great matter to be 
 sure ! To say a couple of words. Not for 
 them, but to do me a favor. Here, betwixt us 
 two, we can manage our affairs with two pair 
 of eyes, no witnesses ; tell me your name, and 
 and then go to bed with your heart at ease." 
 
 " Ah ! you rogue you," exclaimed Renzo, 
 " you cheat you ! You are coming back upon 
 me again with that old infamous busines* 
 about names and surnames, and business !" 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you monkey, and go to 
 bed," said the host. But he went on louder 
 than ever. "I understand, I am up to you 
 now, you belong to that league too. Stop a 
 little, stop, I'll fix you." And placing ma 
 mouth in the direction of the door of the stair 
 case, he began to vociferate, " Hollo ! friends, 
 the landlord is one of the " 
 
 "I said so only in fun," said the host to 
 Renzo, trying to get him back to the bed, 
 " only in fun, did'nt you see that I was only in 
 joke ?" 
 
 " Ah ? in fun only, now you talk sense. 
 When you said it only in fun they are just 
 things to make a joke of." And down he fell 
 on the bed. 
 
 " Come undress yourself, quick," said the 
 landlord, and followed his advice by assiV.ine 
 him, of which there was great need. When
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 Renzo got his doublet off, the other took it, 
 and felt in the pockets, if his money was there, 
 and there he found it. Believing that bis guest 
 on the morrow would have something else to 
 lo than to pay him, and that the money would 
 probably fall into hands, whence a landlord 
 could not recover it, he thought he would risk 
 another attempt. 
 
 " You are a good young fellow, an honest 
 man, is'nt it true ?" said he. 
 
 " A good young fellow an honest man " 
 replied Renzo, fumbling with his fingers about 
 the buttons of his clothes that he could not get 
 off. 
 
 " Well then," said the landlord, " I wish you 
 would pay your little account, for tomorrow 
 morning; I must go out about some affairs of 
 mine " 
 
 " It's quite right," said Renzo," I am up to 
 a thing or two, but I am an honest man. Pay 
 the account ? But where shall I go to get the 
 money now?" 
 
 " Here it is," said the landlord, and putting 
 all his experience, all his patience, and all his 
 dexterity in play, he at last got his bill paid, 
 and replaced the rest of the money in the 
 pocket. 
 
 " Lend me a hand to undress myself, land- 
 lord," said Renzo, " I know too I do that I 
 am very sleepy." 
 
 The host lent him his aid, spread the cover- 
 lid over him, and bade him not in a kind tone, 
 " good night," for he had already begun to snore- 
 Then from that sort of attraction, which leads 
 us to look at an object of dislike, with the same 
 earnestness we do at an object of our love, and 
 which perhaps resolves itself into a desire to 
 know that wnich operates powerfully upon our 
 minds he stopped a moment to contemplate 
 the features of his troublesome guest, raising 
 the lamp over his face, and with the palm of 
 his hand making the light fall upon it, just as 
 Psyche is depicted to us, when she is furtively 
 examining the form of her unknown consort. 
 " Silly, crazy fellow !" said he in his mind, to 
 the sleeping youth, " he has really done his 
 best to get into difficulties. Tomorrow thou'lt 
 be able to tell me how thou likest it. A pack 
 of clowns, that want to go round the world, and 
 that don't know in what part of it the sun 
 rises, embroiling themselves and other people 
 too." 
 
 Having said or thought this, he lowered the 
 lamp, and left the room, locking the door on 
 the outside. Upon the landing of the stair- 
 case, he called to his wife, charging her to 
 leave the children to the care of a young girl 
 they had, and to go down to the kitchen to take 
 care of matters in his place. " I am obliged 
 to go out, about a stranger, whom my bad luck 
 has brought here," said he, and then told her 
 this disagreeable occurrence, adding, " keep 
 an eye every where, and above all things pru- 
 dence upon such a cursed day as this. There 
 is a pack of dissipated fellows down stairs, that 
 what with drinking, and what they have by 
 nature, are not very nice about the words they 
 13 
 
 use. But enough, if any one of them is rash 
 
 enough " " Oh ! I am not a child, and I 
 
 know too what is proper to do. I think till 
 now, no one can say " 
 
 " Well, well, and mind that they pay ; and 
 whatever they say about the vicar of provi- 
 sions, and the governor, and Ferrer, and the 
 decurions, and the cavaliers, and Spain and 
 France and all such nonsense, seem as if you 
 did not understand them, because if you con- 
 tradict them, you will have a row directly, and 
 if you say they are right, you'll have a worse 
 by and by ; and I need not tell thee that some- 
 times those that say the grossest things 
 enough ; when certain things are uttered, you 
 know its only just turning your head, and say- 
 ing coming as if some one was calling vou 
 in a different place. I'll endeavor to get back 
 as soon as I can." 
 
 Having said so much, he went down into the 
 kitchen with her, just gave a look to see if 
 there was any novelty going on, took his hat 
 and cloak down from a peg, a stick from a 
 corner, repeated some of the instructions he 
 had given to his wife, and went out. But 
 even whilst he was doing this, he took up 
 again the thread of the apostrophe he had be- 
 gun at the bed of poor Renzo, and went on 
 with it as he walked along the street. 
 
 That thick headed mountaineer of a fel- 
 low for though Renzo wanted to conceal who 
 he was, yet every thing about him, his phrase- 
 ology, his pronunciation, his aspect, his man- 
 ners, announced him to be from the mountains. 
 When, on such a day as this, by using poli- 
 cy and judgment, I had come off so cleverly, 
 that he must come at the end of it to spoil the 
 grapes in the paniers. Was there no other inn 
 in Milan, that thou must come precisely to 
 mine ? If thou had'st at least come alone, I 
 could have shut my eyes for this evening, and 
 tomorrow I could have told thee so. But no, in- 
 deed, thou must bring somebody else with thee, 
 and to complete the matter, that somebody must 
 be the bargello.* 
 
 At every step, the host met in his way 
 either persons alone, or in pairs or groups, go- 
 ing along whispering. At this point of 
 his mute soliloquy, he saw a patrole of sol- 
 diers coming, and standing aside, he looked at 
 them as they went from the corner of his eye, 
 and continued to himself; there the Sjcourgera 
 go ! and that Jack ass because he saw a few 
 people getting up a little uproar, must take it 
 into his head the world was going to be turn- 
 ed inside out. Thou hast laid a fine founda- 
 tion for thy own ruin, and was't about to ruin 
 me too, which is hardly fair. I did all I could 
 to save thee, and by way of return, thou want- 
 eds't but a little to make a row even at my 
 own house. Thou must now get out of thy 
 own scrape, I shall take care of myself: as 
 if I wanted to know thy name for my own cu- 
 riosity ! of what consequence is it to me 
 whether thy name is Taddeo, or Bartolommeo ? 
 
 ' The police officer.
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 A pretty idea that I am fond of using pens ! 
 but thou art not alone in the world in wanting 
 to have things thy own way. To be sure I 
 know there are decrees that are worth nothing ; 
 a fine piece of information for a mountaineer 
 to come and give us. But thou dost not know, 
 thou, that decrees against landlords are good 
 for something? and thou pretendest to go 
 about the world, and to lecture, and dost not 
 know that when a man will have his own way, 
 and does not care a fig about the decrees, the 
 first thing is not to say any ill of them in pub- 
 lic. And for a poor landlord who would be of 
 the same way of thinking, and who would'nt 
 ask the name of any man who would give him 
 his custom, dost thou know, thou dolt, what 
 fine things there are in reserve ? under a pen- 
 alty from any one soever of the said landlords, 
 tavern keepers and others, as before stated, of 
 three hundred crowns. There they are, all 
 together, three hundred crowns ; and now see 
 wnat a pretty way of spending them two- 
 thirds of them to be applied to the royal cham- 
 ber, and the other third to the informer vast- 
 ly obliging, indeed and in case of inability, 
 five years in the galleys, or a greater punish- 
 ment, pecuniary or corporal, at the pleasure of 
 his excellency. Prodigiously grateful for his 
 favors ! 
 
 At these words, the landlord put his foot 
 on the threshold of the palace of the capitano 
 di justizia. There, as at all the government 
 offices, there was a great stir ; in every direc- 
 tion they were issuing such orders as seem- 
 ed suited for the approaching day, to remove 
 all pretexts that might serve to encourage 
 those who were seeking to get up a new tu- 
 mult, and to preserve power in the hands of 
 those accustomed to use it. The number of 
 soldiers was increased about the vicar's house, 
 the entrances to the streets were blocked up 
 with beams, and entrenched with carts. The 
 bakers were ordered to continue making bread 
 without intermission, and expresses were des- 
 patched to the neighboring districts, with or- 
 ders to send grain into the city. At every ba- 
 kery a deputation of noblemen was directed to 
 go early in the morning, to superintend the dis- 
 tribution, and to restrain the unruly by the 
 authority of their presence, and by fair words. 
 But in order to give to use a common expres- 
 sion, one stroke at the hoop and another at the 
 butt, and to make gentle methods more effica- 
 cious by the aid of a little terror, means were 
 considered also how to lay hold of some of the 
 seditious, and this was the affair of the capi- 
 tano di justizia, who, with one of his organs 
 bathed with vulnerary water, was in such a 
 humor with insurgents and insurrections, as 
 may be well conjectured. His blood-hounds 
 were in the field from the beginning of the up- 
 roar, and the pretended Ambrogio Fusella, 
 was, as the landlord has said, a bargello in 
 disguise, sent amongst them to detect some one 
 in the tact, so as to know and keep him in mind, 
 with a view to pounce upon him at night when 
 every thing should be still, or the next day. 
 
 Having heard a few words of Renzo's ha- 
 rangue, he made his observations upon him, 
 believing that he was exactly such a person as 
 he was in search of. Finding, however, that 
 he was quite a stranger to the city, he had at- 
 tempted the master stroke of leading him 
 whilst he was yet excited to the prison, as the 
 best inn in the town, but he failed in this, as 
 we have seen. He was able, however, to carry 
 away a good account of his name, surname and 
 country, besides a thousand conjectural things, 
 so that when the landlord arrived to give in- 
 formation of what he knew about Renzo, they 
 already knew more than himself. He entered 
 the usual room, and made his deposition, how 
 a stranger had come to lodge at his house, who 
 had refused to tell his name. 
 
 " You have done your duty in giving us this 1 
 information," said a criminal notary laying 
 his pen down, " but we already knew it." 
 
 " This is a little mysterious," thought he, 
 " this is an extraordinary ability they have." 
 
 "We also are acquainted," continued the 
 notary, " with his precious name he is so chary 
 about." 
 
 " The devil ! his name too, how have they 
 learnt that ?" thought he. 
 
 " But you," resumed the other with a se- 
 rious aspect, " you do not inform us of every 
 thing you know." 
 
 "What else have I got to tell you ?" 
 
 " Ah ! ah ! we are very well acquainted with 
 the fact that this man took to your house a 
 quantity of bread he had stolen, plundered, 
 and acquired by theft and sedition." 
 
 " A man comes to my house with a small 
 loaf in his pocket, and I am bound to know 
 how he got it ! If I was saying now the very 
 last words before I die, I would swear I never 
 saw more than one small loaf." 
 
 " Yes, yes, always excusing, always defend- 
 ing ; one who listens to you, must believe they 
 are all honest men. How can you prove he 
 got that loaf honestly " 
 
 " What have I to do with proving any thine 
 of the kind ? I have nothing to do with it, I 
 am nothing but a landlord." 
 
 " You can't, however, deny that this adven- 
 turer of yours, had the temerity to utter inju- 
 rious things against the decrees, and to offer 
 indecent insults to the arms of his Excellen- 
 cy." 
 
 "Do me the favor, your worship, to say 
 how he comes to be my adventurer, when this 
 is the first time I have seen him ? It is the 
 devil himself, with all respect, that sent him 
 to iny house, and if I had known him, your 
 worship understands very well there would 
 have been no necessity of my asking him his 
 name." 
 
 "Notwithstanding, in your house, and in 
 your presence, words of fire have been utter- 
 ed : rash words, seditious propositions, mur- 
 murs, complaints, clamors." 
 
 " How can your worship suppose that I can 
 pay any attention to the extravagant things 
 that a pack of mad people say, that are ail
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSL 
 
 99 
 
 at once. I am a poor man, and am 
 . to take care of my own affairs. And 
 
 talkin, 
 
 oblige^ 
 
 your worship knows that those who are pretty 
 
 free with their tongues, are pretty free also 
 
 with their hands, especially when they are so 
 
 many together." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you are for letting them go on, 
 and talk and act} tomorrow, tomorrow we 
 shall see if the frolic has got out of their 
 heads. What do you suppose ?" 
 
 " I suppose nothing." 
 
 " That the rabble has got uppermost in Mi- 
 lan!" 
 
 " Oh ! that is precisely an idea " 
 
 " You will see, you will see." 
 
 " I comprehend perfectly well ; the king 
 will always be king ; he that shall have mu- 
 tinied, will have mutinied ; what should a poor 
 father of a family want to mutiny for ; you 
 gentlemen, have force on your side, and it be- 
 longs to you to settle the matter." 
 
 " Have you a great many people in your 
 house ?" 
 
 " A world of them," 
 
 " And that adventurer of yours, what is he 
 doing ? Is he still making an uproar, rousing 
 the people, contriving sedition ?" 
 
 "That stranger, your worship means, he is 
 gone to bed." 
 
 " So you have a great many people in the 
 house that's sufficient. Tak care you don't 
 let him leave you." 
 
 " So I have to play the constable, eh ?" 
 thought the landlord, without answering yes, 
 or no. 
 
 " Go home, and be prudent," resumed the 
 notary. 
 
 "I have always acted prudently. Your 
 worship can say whether I nave ever stood in 
 the way of justice." 
 
 " Well, well ! and don't you believe that 
 the law has iost its power." 
 
 " I ? for the love of Heaven ! I don't believe 
 any thing, I mind nothing but my business as 
 a landlord." 
 
 " The old song, you have always that in 
 your mouth." 
 
 " What else would your worship have me 
 say ? truth is but one and the same thing." 
 
 "' That's enough ! at present we will be con- 
 tent with what you have deposed : if it should 
 be necessary, you will give as more minute in- 
 formation of what it may be necessary to ask 
 you. 77 
 
 "What information have I got to give ? I 
 know nothing ; I have scarce nead enough to 
 attend to eay own affairs." 
 
 " Take care you don't let him go away." 
 
 " I hope the illustrious signer capitano will 
 be told that I came immediately to discharge 
 my duty. I kiss your worship's hands." 
 
 When day broke, Renzo was still snoring : 
 it was seven o'clock, and the poor fellow was 
 still in a deep sleep, when he was roused by 
 two rough snakes by his arms, and a voice 
 which from the foot of the bed, called out, 
 ' Lorenzo Tramaglino." He shook himself, 
 
 stretched out his arms, opened his eyes with 
 difficulty, and saw standing erect before him 
 at the foot of the bed, a man dressed in black, 
 and two others armed, one to the right and the 
 other to the left of the bolster. What with 
 surprize, his being but half awake, and the 
 headache he had from the wine, he remained 
 a moment as if he was under enchantment; 
 and believing he was a sleep, and not liking 
 his dream, he shook himself that he might get 
 completely awake. 
 
 " Have you heard, Lorenzo Tramaglino ?" 
 said the man with the black cloak, the notary 
 of the preceding evening " rouse yourself 
 get up and come with us." 
 
 " Lorenzo Tramaglino !" said Renzo, " What 
 does this mean ? What do you want of me ? 
 Who has told you my name .'" 
 
 *' None of your chattering, and get up di- 
 rectly," said one the birri*, who stood by him, 
 and who took him by the arm again. 
 
 " Hollo ! What overbearing ways are these ?" 
 cried out Renzo, drawing his arm away. 
 " Landlord ! landlord I" 
 
 " Shall we take him away in his shirt ?" 
 said one of them to the notary. 
 
 "Do you hear?" said he to Renzo, "You 
 will be served in this way, if you do not get 
 up directly, and come alongwith us." 
 
 " And what for ?" asked Renzo. 
 
 " You will learn what for, from the capita- 
 no di justizia." 
 
 " Me ! I am an honest man, I have done 
 nothing, and I am astonished " 
 
 "All the better for you all the better for 
 you ; every thing will be despatched in a couple 
 of words ; and you can go about your busi- 
 ness, 1 ' 
 
 " Let me go now," said Renzo, " I have no- 
 thing to do with jastice." 
 
 " Come, let us put an end to this !" said one 
 of the birri. 
 
 "Shall we carry him ?'" said the other, 
 
 "Lorenzo Tramaglino!" said the notary. 
 
 " How does your worship know my name ?" 
 
 " Do your duty," said the notary to the birri, 
 who immediately laid hold of Renzo to drag 
 him out of the bed. 
 
 "Hollo ! don't treat an honest man in Una 
 way, what ! I know how to dress myself." 
 
 " Then put your clothes on, and get up di- 
 rectly," said the notary. 
 
 " I am getting up," answered Renzo, and 
 began to collect nis clothes that were thrown 
 about upon the bed, like the fragments from a 
 shipwreck on the shore. And putting them 
 on, he continued saying, " but I won't go to 
 (he capitano di justizia ! I have nothing to do 
 with him ! If this affront is to be put so un- 
 justly upon me, I will be taken to Ferrer. 1 
 know him, I know he is an honest man, and 
 he is under obligations to me." 
 
 " Yes, yes, my son, you shall be taken to 
 Ferrer," answered the notary. Under other 
 circumstances he would have heartily laughed 
 
 * Police.
 
 100 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 at such a proposition, but this was not a mo- 
 ment to laugh. In coming to the inn, he had 
 perceived in the streets a movement, not easy 
 to define whether it was the remains of a tu- 
 mult not quite appeased, or the beginning of 
 a new one : a turning out of the burghers, an 
 assembling together, a getting together into 
 knots of the people. And now, without show- 
 ing it, or trying not to show it, he kept his 
 ears on the alert, and it seemed to him as if 
 the noise was increasing. He was anxious 
 therefore to use despatch, but was desirous 
 also of getting Renzo away by kindness and 
 without resistance ; since, if war was declared 
 against him, he was by no means certain that 
 his party when it got into the street, would 
 be three to one, as it was now. He therefore 
 made signs to the birri to be patient, and 
 not to exasperate the youth, whom he endea- 
 vored to pacify with kind words. Renzo in 
 the meantime, whilst he was getting on his 
 clothes, bringing to his mind as well as he 
 could, the contused remembrances of the 
 preceding day, came pretty nearly to the con- 
 clusion, that the decrees, and the name and 
 surname, must necessarily be the cause of all 
 this trouble, but how the deuce could that man 
 know his name ? And what the deuce, too, 
 had happened during that night, that justice 
 had become so confident again, that she dared 
 to lay her hands upon one of the good young 
 fellows, that the day before, had such a pow- 
 erful vote in the chapter, and who could not all 
 be yet fast a sleep, since he could himself per- 
 ceive that the rumor in the street kept increas- 
 ing. And upon looking into the notary's face, 
 he saw manifest signs of an agitation he in vain 
 endeavored to conceal. Therefore, to clear up 
 his conjectures, and to find something or other 
 out, to gain time, and also to execute a plan he 
 was forming, he said, " I comprehend very 
 well the cause of all this, its on account of the 
 name and surname ; last night it is true, I was 
 rather merry, these landlords have sometimes 
 wines that are a little treacherous, and every 
 body knows that when wine has gone to the 
 place where words come from, it always 
 wants to talk in its turn. But if it is nothing 
 but that, I am ready now to give you every 
 satisfaction about it. And then, you know 
 my name now; who the deuce told it to 
 you ? " 
 
 " Bravo, my son, bravo," answered the no- 
 tary in a friendly tone. " I see that you have 
 got some judgment, and believe me who be- 
 long to that trade, that you have more discern- 
 ment than the rest, h is the best way to get 
 the atfiiir settled. With the good dispositions 
 you have, in two words you will be despatch- 
 ed and set at liberty. But you must under- 
 stand, my son, that my hands are tied I can't 
 let you go now if I would. Come, make haste, 
 and keep up your spirits ; when they see who 
 you are and then 1 will tell them leave it 
 to me enough make haste, my son." 
 
 "Ah! your worship can't I understand," 
 aad Renzo, and went on dressing himself, 
 
 pushing away the birri when they wanted to 
 lay hands on him to hurry him. 
 
 " Shall we go by the cathedral square ? " he 
 asked of the notary. 
 
 " Any road you like, the best way is the 
 shortest, that you may the sooner be set at 
 liberty," answered he, vexed at heart that he 
 could not follow up the mysterious inquiry of 
 Renzo, that was such a fertile theme for inter- 
 rogatories. I was born unfortunate thought 
 he here is a man comes into my hands, who, 
 it is evident, wants nothing better than to tell 
 every thing; and if I now had but a moment, 
 I could extra fonnam, and quite academically, 
 in a sort of friendly dialogue, get every thing 
 out of him without giving him a taste of the 
 rack ; a man that I could take to prison com- 
 pletely examined, without his being aware of 
 it ; and that such a fellow should come at such 
 a critical conjuncture as this. It can't be help- 
 ed thought he raising up his ears, and bend- 
 ing his head a little backwards there is no 
 remedy it may turn out to be a worse day 
 than yesterday. What made him think so, 
 was an extraordinary noise that was heard 
 from the street, so that he could not restrain, 
 himself from opening the window and looking 
 out. He perceived it came from a crowd of 
 citizens, who, at the intimation from a patrole 
 of soldiers to disperse, had at first given inso- 
 lent answers, and finally had separated mur- 
 muring and discontented ; and what the nota- 
 ry considered as a very deadly sign, was, that 
 the soldiers used great gentleness. Shutting 
 the window, he reflected for a moment whether 
 he should finish his undertaking, or leaving 
 Renzo in the hands of the two birri, should 
 run to the capitano di justizia, to apprize him 
 of this emergency. But he soon thought I 
 shall be told that I am a poor weak fool, and 
 that I ought to have executed my orders. We 
 have got up a ball, and now we must dance. 
 Curse on this pressure, and the devil take the 
 trade! 
 
 Renzo was on his feet, and the two satel- 
 lites, one on one side of him, the other on the 
 other, whilst the notary made signs to them 
 not to be too rough, and said to nim, " Well 
 done, my son, come make haste." 
 
 Renzo too, heard, saw, and was thinking 
 he had now got all his clothes on, except his 
 doublet, which he had in one hand, whilst he 
 was feeling in the pocket with the other. 
 " Ay, ay ! " said he, looking significantly at 
 the notary, " there was some money here and 
 a letter, good sir!" 
 
 " Every thing shall be punctually given 
 back to you," said the notary, " as soon as the 
 formalities are gone througn let us begone, 
 let us go." 
 
 " No, no, no," said Renzo, shaking his head, 
 " this won't satisfy me I will have my things, 
 my good sir. I will give you an account of my 
 actions, but I will have my property." 
 
 " I will prove to you that I tnist you here, 
 and be quick," said the notary, taking from his 
 breast, and giving Renzo, with a sigh, the
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 101 
 
 things he had missed. Renzo placed them in 
 his pocket, and murmured to himself, " hands 
 off: you are so familiar it seems with thieves, 
 that you have learnt a little of their trade." 
 The birri, at this, were becoming more and 
 more impatient, but the notary winked at them 
 to keep still, saying at the same time to him- 
 self, " When once I get you (I know where,) 
 you shall pay for this with usury, you shall 
 pay well for this." 
 
 Whilst Renzo put his doublet on, and was 
 taking his hat, the notary made a sign to one 
 of the birri to precede them down stairs, the 
 other he placed behind the prisoner, and him- 
 self brought up the rear. When they got into 
 the kitchen, whilst Renzo was saying, "And 
 this blessed landlord, where has he hid him- 
 self?" the notary made a sign to the two birri, 
 who, one of them seizing one hand, and the 
 other the other, in great haste slipped over the 
 wrists of the young man, a couple of little 
 machines, which, by a hypocritical figure, are 
 called ruffles. These consisted (and sorry we 
 are to descend to particulars unworthy of his- 
 torical gravity, but perspicuity requires it) in 
 a small whipcord a little longer than the cir- 
 cumference of an ordinary man's wrist, at 
 each end of which was a short rounded piece 
 of stick. The whipcord went round the pri- 
 soner's wrist, and the sticks were drawn be- 
 tween the middle and annular fingers of the 
 man who had him in custody, so that this last, 
 when he shut his fist, and twisted the whip- 
 cord, could tighten or slack it at his pleasure : 
 in this way he could not only secure his pri- 
 soner, but give him, if he resisted, a taste of 
 martyrdom, the which that it might be more 
 exquisite, the whipcord had a great many knots 
 on it. 
 
 Renzo struggled and cried out, " What 
 
 treachery is this ? to an honest man !" But 
 
 the notary, who for all sort of bitter things had 
 words of honey, said, " Have patience, they 
 are doing their duty. What would you have ? 
 These are nothing but formalities, we can't 
 treat people exacuy as we should like to do. 
 If we did not do what we are ordered to do 
 we should be in a pretty situation, a great deal 
 worse than you; nave patience !" Whilst he 
 was speaking, the two operators gave the 
 ruffles a twist. Renzo became as quiet as a 
 young horse, when he feels the snaffle for the 
 first time, and called out " Patience !" 
 
 " Bravo, my sou !" said the notary, this is the 
 true way to get through this affair cleverly. 
 What's to be done ? This annoys you ; I can 
 comprehend that, but behave well, and in a 
 moment you will be out of this scrape. And, 
 since I see you so well disposed, and feeling 
 an inclination to help you, I will also give you 
 another piece of advice, quite for your good. 
 Trust me, who am accustomed to these things ; 
 walk straight forward, without looking round, 
 without making people look at you ; if no one 
 looks at you, nobody will know what has hap- 
 pened, and you will save your honor. In an 
 hour from this you will be at liberty, there is 
 
 so much to do that even they will make haste 
 to despatch you, and then I will put in a word. 
 You can then go about your affairs, and no- 
 body will know you have been in the hands 
 of justice. " And you," he continued, turning 
 to the two birri with a severe countenance, 
 "you, take care you do not hurt him, I take 
 him under my protection ; you must do your 
 duty it is true, but remember this is an honest 
 man, a civil youth, who in a short time will be 
 at liberty, and that his honor is of consequence 
 to him. Let nothing appear, but go along just 
 as if you were three honest men taking a 
 walk." And with an imperative tone, and a 
 frowning look, he concluded, " Do you under- 
 stand me .'" Then turning to Renzo with a face 
 all gentleness, and made up into smiles, as 
 much as to say, " We you know are friends ! " 
 He whispered to him again, " Be prudent, do 
 as I tell you,' don't look about you, trust to me 
 who wish you no harm. Let us go." And 
 the escort now got into motion. 
 
 Renzo, however, believed in none of these 
 fair words, nor that either the notary or the 
 birri had any friendly intentions to him; nor 
 had he the least confidence in the prodigious 
 interest that was shown about his reputation, 
 or in the intention that was expressed to aid 
 him ; he did not believe a word of all this. 
 But he comprehended exceedingly well, that 
 his pretended friend, fearing lest in the way 
 some good opportunity of slipping out of his 
 hands, might occur, Had invented those fine 
 things to prevent his being aware of it, and 
 from taking any advantage of it. So that all 
 these exhortations served to no purpose but to 
 determine Renzo to do what he had already pro- 
 posed to himself, which was quite the contrary. 
 
 No one must conclude, however, from this, 
 that the notary was an inexperienced' hand, or 
 a novice in these affairs. He was a regularly 
 trained knave, our historian asserts, who seems 
 to have been one of his friends ; but at this par- 
 ticular juncture his mind seems to have been 
 a little agitated. If he had been quite him- 
 self, I can tell you he would have made a joke 
 of any one, who to induce another to do what 
 looked suspicious, would have set about sug- 
 gesting and inculcating it zealously, with the 
 miserable pretence of giving him friendty and 
 disinterested advice. But there is a general 
 tendency in men when they are in straights 
 and are agitated, and perceive what others 
 could do to get them out of their difficulties, to 
 urge them to do it by the most pressing instan- 
 ces and with all sort of pretexts ; and rogues, 
 when they are in similar critical situations fall 
 also under the general law. Hence it is, that in 
 similar circumstances, for the greater part they 
 cut a very poor figure. Those masterly turns, 
 those refined contrivances, with which they are 
 accustomed to prevail, which to them are be- 
 come almost a second nature, which conduct- 
 ed with the necessary serenity and tranquillity 
 of mind, and put in operation in season, and 
 which, after they have succeeded, and become 
 known, meet with universal applause, are,
 
 102 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN, 
 
 when they are in straights, managed by the 
 poor devils in a hurried tumultuous way, and 
 without either address or neatness. So that a 
 third person who observes how wretchedly 
 they bring forward their contrivances at such 
 times, can't help pitying and laughing at them ; 
 and the very men whom they pretend to ma- 
 nage, although less adroit than themselves, per- 
 ceive the game they are playing, and receive 
 lessons from the very artifices used against 
 themselves. For this reason one can never 
 enough caution rogues by profession, to keep 
 themselves cool, or what is better, never to get 
 into difficult contingencies. 
 
 Renzo, therefore, when they were scarce in 
 the street, began to throw his eyes about here 
 and there, to make himself conspicuous, to 
 thrust his head forward, and listen to what was 
 going on. There was, however, no extraordi- 
 nary concourse, and although in the face of 
 more than one passenger, one might distinctly 
 read something seditious, still every one kept 
 his road straight on, and as to open sedition 
 there was none at all. 
 
 " Judgment ! discretion I" murmured the 
 notary behind him, " Your honor, your honor, 
 my son ." But when Renzo endeavoring to catch 
 the voices of three persons who were approach- 
 ing them, with their faces quite red, and heard 
 them speak of a bakery, of flour hidden away, 
 and of the law, he began also to make signs to 
 them with his features, and to cough in a way 
 rather different from one who has taken cold. 
 The men looked more attentively at the escort 
 and stopped ; others who were coming in the 
 same direction stopped also ; some even who 
 had passed them, having turned round at the 
 whispering, went back and joined them. 
 
 " Look to yourself, judgment my son, the 
 worse for you, do you see ; don't spoil your own 
 affairs, your honor, your reputation," whisper- 
 ed the notary. Renzo however made matters 
 worse. The birri, after looking at each other 
 a moment, thinking they were doing well, 
 (every one is subject to mistake) gave him a 
 twist with the ruffles. 
 
 " Oy, oy, oy," screamed out the young fel- 
 low. At this cry, the people gathered together, 
 coming from every part of the street. The 
 escoK now was completely stopped. " This is 
 a bad fellow," said the notary to those near 
 him," he is a thief taken in the fact ; draw back 
 and give way to the officers of justice." But 
 Renzo seeing how things were, and that the 
 birri had turned pale, and were at last dis- 
 mayed, thought if I don't help myself now, 
 it will all the worse for me. And immediately 
 he raised his voice, " My lads, they have ar- 
 rested me, because yesterday I cried out, 
 " Bread and justice. I have done nothing, I 
 am an honest man, help me, don't abandon me, 
 my lads." 
 
 A favorable murmur, and encouraging shouts 
 were raised in reply. At first the birri com- 
 manded, then requested, then prayed the men 
 nearest to them, to move away, and to let them 
 pass, but the crowd continued to increase, and 
 
 to press- upon them still mere. Seeing the 
 bad way they were in, they left hold of their 
 ruffles, and thought of nothing but mixing 
 themselves in the crowd, to get off unobserv- 
 ed. The notary was greatly desirous of doing; 
 the same thing, but the black cloak he had on, 
 brought him into difficulties. The poor man, 
 pallia in the face, and dismayed at neart, en- 
 deavored to make himself small, and twisted 
 himself, in order to slip out of the crowd, but 
 he could not raise his eyes without seeing 
 twenty of them upon him. He tried every 
 scheme to appear as if he was a stranger, who 
 passing that way by chance, had got enclosed 
 in the middle of the crowd, as a straw gets in- 
 to a block of ice, and meeting the looks of one 
 of them who stared at him with an expression 
 worse than the others, he, having drawn up- 
 his mouth into a smile, with a silly sort of ex- 
 pression, asked him, "what is all this mob 
 about?" 
 
 " An old crow ! " answered the man, * an 
 old crow ! an old crow !" was re-echoed by the 
 rest. To these shouts, pushes were added, so 
 that in a short time, partly with his own limbs, 
 and partly with the aid of their elbows, he ob- 
 tained what he was most anxious about just at 
 that moment, an opportunity of getting out of 
 this terrible squeeze. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI, 
 
 " Run, run, young man, there is a convent 
 there, yonder is a church, here, there," was 
 called out to Renzo on all sides. As to run- 
 ning off, he was in need of very little of that 
 kind of advice. From the first moment he had 
 encouraged any hope of getting out of their 
 claws, he had thought about this, and made up 
 his mind, if he could get clear of them, to be 
 off without stopping, not only until he was out 
 of the city, but out of the Dutchy. For he 
 had reflected, they have got my name on their 
 books, how the devil soever it got there ; and 
 with my name and surname they can come and 
 take me whenever they choose as to an asy- 
 lum, he did not wish to avail himself of it but 
 in an extreme case. For, he reflected, if it is 
 in my power to remain a bird of the forest, 
 I won't go and make a bird in a cage of my- 
 self. He thought, therefore, of taking refnge 
 in that town in the territory of Bergamo, where 
 his cousin Bartolo was established, whom, it 
 may be remembered, had often invited him to 
 go there. But how was he to find the road ? 
 Left in an unknown part of a city itself un- 
 known to him, Renzo did not even know by 
 what gate the road to Bergamo went, and even 
 if he had known that, he did not know where 
 the gate was. He hesitated a moment about 
 asking directions from the men to whom he 
 owed his liberty, but as in the iew moments 
 he had had to meditate about his own affair*
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 103 
 
 some strange thoughts were busy in his head 
 about the sword-cutter, the father of four chil- 
 dren, that was so prodigiously obliging, he 
 thought it best not to let out his intentions to 
 such a numerous assembly, where there might 
 be another of the same stamp, and immediate- 
 ly determined to get off to a distance from the 
 city, and to find out the road as he was going, 
 from somebody or other, who did not Know 
 who he was, or why he asked it. He therefore 
 said to his deliverers, " thank you, thank you, 
 my lads, God bless you," and pushing through 
 the space that was immediately made for him, 
 lifted up his heels, and was off. Away he went 
 through this lane, down that street, as hard as 
 he could for a while, without knowing what 
 direction he was going in. As soon as he 
 thought he had got to a reasonable distance, he 
 slackened his pace, that he might not excite 
 suspicion, and began to look round, for some 
 face or other that should inspire him with con- 
 fidence enough to make the inquiry he wish- 
 ed. But even here there was a difficulty. It 
 was a suspicious question to put, he was press- 
 ed by time ; the birri, as soon as they were 
 fairly extricated from the awkward position 
 they had got into, would without doubt put 
 themselves upon the track of the fugitive ; the 
 report of his rescue and flight might even have 
 got as far as this ; in this strait Kenzo had to 
 make up his judgment at least a dozen times, 
 before he met with a face that exactly suited 
 his notions. That jolly fat looking man there, 
 who was standing bolt up at his shop door, 
 with his stout legs, and nis arms behind his 
 back, his paunch sticking out, holding his 
 chin up with its monstrous dewlap hanging 
 from it, and who from sheer idleness was al- 
 ternately raising his quivering mass on the 
 points of his feet, and then letting it come 
 flown again upon his heels, had a sort of a cu- 
 rious gossiping look, that was more prone to 
 ask questions than to answer them. 
 
 This other man who was approaching him 
 with abstracted eyes, and his lip hanging down, 
 far from promising to be able to direct another 
 on his way, scarcely seemed to know how to 
 find his own. That boy there, who to tell the 
 truth, appeared to be alert enough, had still 
 something mischievous in his look, and pro- 
 bably would have indulged some mad humor, 
 and directed a poor countryman the very op- 
 posite way to that he wanted to travel. So 
 true it is that when a man is involved in a dif- 
 ficulty, every thing that occurs to him,.seems 
 to be a new one ! Having cast a glance at one 
 who was coming on in haste, he concluded, 
 that having probably some pressing business 
 on hand, he would give him an immediate and 
 direct answer in order to get rid of him, and 
 perceiving that he was talking to himself, he 
 conceived that he must be a good sort of 
 man. He went up to him, therefore, and said, 
 " Be so kind sir, as to tell me by what gate the 
 road to Bergamo goes ?" 
 
 " The road to Bergamo ? by the oriental 
 gate." 
 
 " Thank you sir ! and which is the way to 
 the oriental gate ?" 
 
 " Take that left hand street, it will bring 
 you to the cathedral square ; then " 
 
 " That's enough, sir ! I know the rest of 
 the way, and I hope God will return your 
 kindness." On he went by the street that 
 had been pointed out to him. The man look- 
 ed after him a moment, and turning in his 
 mind the question that had been put to him, 
 and that style of walking in a city, said to 
 himself either he has given it to somebody, 
 or somebody wants to give it to him. 
 
 Renzo reached the square, crossed it, passed 
 by a heap of ashes and dead embers, and re- 
 cognized the remains of the bonfire he had 
 seen the day before ; passing the cathedral 
 steps, he saw the bakery Delle-grucce half de- 
 molished, guarded by soldiers, and went on : 
 at last by the street that he had before come 
 through with the crowd, he came to the con- 
 vent of the capuchins ; he looked at the little 
 square and the door of the church, and said to 
 himself sighing, that friar, though, gave me 
 good advice yesterday, when he told me to go 
 into the church, and to do a little good for my- 
 self. 
 
 Here having stopped a moment to make 
 some observations about the gate he was to 
 pass through, and seeing, although at some 
 distance, a considerable guard about it, and 
 having his head full of fancies, (he is to pitied, 
 for he had cause enough for them,) he felt a 
 reluctance to attempt that passage. Here at 
 hand was a place of asylum to which he was 
 well recommended by letter, and was strongly 
 tempted to enter it. But regaining courage, 
 he thought a bird of the woods, as long as I 
 can be so. Who knows me ? Certainly the 
 birri can't be watching for me at all the gates. 
 He looked back to see if any one was coming 
 in that direction, and saw nobody, neither did 
 any body appear to take any notice of him. 
 He therefore, proceeded, and brought his legs 
 that were still in the inclination to run, to a 
 walk, and in a quiet sort of way, whistling as 
 he went, reached the gate. Just in the gate- 
 way, there was a heap of toll-gatherers, and by 
 way of reinforcement a company of Spanish 
 soldiers ; but they were all placed fronting the 
 suburbs, to prevent the entrace of all those who 
 at the report of the riot, should fly to it, as crows 
 do to a field where a battle has taken place ; 
 so that Renzo, trying to look as simple as he 
 could, with his eyes on the ground, and a quiet 
 sort of gait, passed the gate-way without any 
 one speaking to him, though his heart was 
 beating the whole time. Seeing a lane to the 
 right, he took that to avoid the main road, and 
 went on for a while without even looking be- 
 hind him. 
 
 Following the lane, he passed by farms and 
 villages, and advanced without asking the 
 names of any of them : he was certain he' 
 was leaving Milan behind, and was in hopes 
 he was drawing nigher to Bergamo, that was 
 quite enough for him at present. Sometimes
 
 104 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 he looked back, and occasionally rubbed his 
 wrists that still pained him, and had a red 
 mark round them, the remains of the whip 
 cord. His thoughts were, as any one may 
 imagine, a confused mass of repentances, re- 
 grets, vexations, and tenderness, it was a fa- 
 tiguing study to remember all he had done and 
 said the preceding evening to discover the 
 secret part of his sorrowful history, and to 
 imagine how they could possibly have learnt 
 his name. His suspicions naturally fell upon 
 the sword cutter, to whom, he well remember- 
 ed he had told it. And going over the man- 
 ner in which he had got it from him, the 
 whole of his conduct, and his propositions, 
 which always ended by wanting to know 
 something, his suspicions were turned into 
 certainty, although he had a glimmering sort 
 of recollection, that after the sword cutter 
 went away he had still kept on talking, but 
 who with, and what it was about, his memo- 
 ry, however he taxed it, could tell nothing at 
 all ; all it could tell him was, that at that par- 
 ticular time, it was not at home, The poor 
 young fellow got lost in these speculations, he 
 was like a man that had signed his name to a 
 great many blanks, and who trusting them to 
 another in whom he had confided, had discov- 
 ered that he was a complete bungler ; how is 
 lie to find out the state of his affairs, when the 
 whole is a chaos. Another painful study was 
 how to form for the future, some plan not 
 altogether visionary, or altogether unpleasant. 
 
 What soon become a harder matter than all 
 the rest, was how to find the road. Having 
 gone for a while at random, he felt the neces- 
 sity of making some inquiry. He was loath 
 to pronounce the word Bergamo, as if there 
 was something suspicious about it, but it was 
 necessary to do so. He determined, therefore, 
 as he had before done in Milan, to ask some 
 directions from the first traveler he met with, 
 whose physiognomy he liked and he did so. 
 
 " You are out of the road," answered the 
 man, and having thought a little, partly by 
 words and partly by gestures, he directed him 
 how to proceed until he had regained the 
 main road. Renzo thanked him, pretended to 
 follow his advice, and indeed tooK the direc- 
 tion he had received, with the intention of 
 getting near the main road, of not losing sight 
 of it, of going on a parallel course with it, as 
 well as he possibly could, but of having nothing 
 else to do with it. The plan was easier to de- 
 vise than to execute. The fact was, that going 
 from right to left, as a fish does through the 
 water, following the indications he obtained 
 on the road a little, correcting his course by 
 his own notions and wishes, and following the 
 direction of the various roads he had got into, 
 our fugitive had traveled perhaps twelve miles, 
 when he had left Milan only six behind, and 
 as to Bergamo, he was in luck if he was not 
 i'arthei on it than ever. He began to compre- 
 hend that at that rate he would never get to the 
 end of his journey, and must hit upon some 
 other expedient. One that presented itself to 
 
 him was to find out the name of some place 
 near the confines of the Dutchy, which might 
 be reached by some neighboring road, and 
 making inquiries about that, he could get 
 some directions without dropping any thing 
 on the way about Bergamo, a name which 
 seemed to him to smell of evasion, of running 
 away, and of every thing that was criminal. 
 
 Whilst he was thinking how he could fish 
 all this out without occasioning suspicion, he 
 saw a bough* hanging from a lone house at 
 the end of a small settlement : he had for 
 sometime felt as if he was desirous of restor- 
 ing his strength, and thinking this would be 
 a good place to accomplish both his ends, he 
 went in. He found nobody there but an old 
 woman with her distaff and spindle in her 
 hand, and asking her for something to eat, she 
 offered him some stracchino,f and some good 
 wine. The wine he declined, (the frolic of 
 the preceding evening had taken his relish 
 away for that) but the cheese he accepted, 
 and sat down requesting the old woman to 
 bring it directly. This she did, and immedi- 
 diately poured out a shower of questions on 
 him, who he was, and about the great doings 
 at Milan, the report of which had reached that 
 place. Renzo, not only had address to give 
 the go by to her questions, but taking advan- 
 tage even of the difficulty, made the old wo- 
 man's curiosity useful to him, when she ask- 
 ed him where he was going. 
 
 " I have to go to a great many places, he 
 answered, and if I can find a moment to spare, 
 I should like to go for a short time, to that 
 town there, a tolerably large one, upon the 
 road to Bergamo, near the confines, that is the 
 confines of Milan What is the name of it ?" 
 There must be some town or other therea- 
 bouts thought he to himself. 
 
 " You mean Gorgonzola," replied the old 
 woman. 
 
 " Gorgonzola !" repeated Renzo, as if to 
 impress the word better upon his memory. 
 " Is it far from here ?" he continued. 
 
 " I don't know exactly ; perhaps ten, per- 
 haps twelve miles, if one of my sous was here, 
 he could tell you." 
 
 " And do you think one could get there by 
 these comfortable by-roads, without taking the 
 highway, really there is so much dust there, it 
 is so long since it has rained." 
 
 " I suppose you can, you can ask at the first 
 village you fall in with on the right hand 
 road^" And she told him the name of the 
 place. 
 
 " It's all right," said Renzo, and getting up, 
 and taking in his hand a piece of bread left 
 from his meagre repast, of a quality veiy dif- 
 ferent from that which he had found the day 
 before at the foot of the cross of Saint Diony- 
 sius, he paid his bill, left the house, and took 
 
 * Little road tiiverns have a bough out for a sign, 
 tliis id a very ancient custom : " good wine needs no 
 bush," alludes to this practice. [Translator.] 
 
 | Country cheese.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. ', 
 
 105 
 
 the right hand road. With the name of Gor- 
 gonzola in his mouth, from place to place, he 
 made such good use of his time, that he reach- 
 ed it about an hour before sunset. 
 
 He had made up his mind on the road, to 
 make another stop there, and to make a some- 
 what more substantial meal. His legs too 
 would have liked to go to bed awhile, but be- 
 fore he would have consented to this, Renzo 
 would have let them drop off on the way. His 
 intention was to get information at the inn of 
 the distance from the Adda, to find out in a 
 dexterous way some cross road that led there, 
 and to start again as soon as he had refreshed 
 Himself. Born and brought up at the second 
 source, so to speak, of that river, he had often 
 heard say, that at a particular point, and for 
 some distance, it separated the Milanese and 
 Venetian territories : he had not a very pre- 
 cise idea of the situation of these points, but 
 the first thing in his mind just now was to get 
 beyond the river. If he could not succeed in 
 doing it this day, he had determined to walk 
 as long as there was sufficient light to get 
 along with, and sufficient strength left in his 
 limbs, and then to wait for the dawn of day, 
 in some field, or any solitary place, or wher- 
 ever it might please God, provided always 
 it was not an inn. 
 
 Having walked a few paces in Gorgonzola, 
 he saw a sign, entered, and told the landlord 
 who advanced to meet him, to get him a morsel 
 of something to eat and a small measure of 
 wine, for the additional miles, and the time 
 that had passed over had abated the disgust he 
 had felt at first for wine. " Let me have them 
 as quick as you can," added he, " for I want 
 to go on directly." This he said, not only be- 
 cause it was true, but also because he was un- 
 der apprehensions, lest the landlord, supposing 
 that he wanted to lodge there, might take into 
 his head to ask him about his name and sur- 
 name, whence he came, what his business was 
 he had had enough of that ! 
 
 The landlord told Renzo he should be served 
 directly, so he sat down at the lower end of 
 the table, near the door, the place where timid 
 people always go. 
 
 There were in the room, some idle country 
 people, who after having discussed, and dis- 
 puted, and commented upon the great news 
 from Milan of the preceding day, were wor- 
 rying themselves to find out how things had 
 tone on this day, so much the more, that the 
 rst intelligence had irritated their curiosity 
 more than satisfied it ; it was an insurrection 
 that had been neither subdued, nor had been 
 victorious, suspended rather than terminated, 
 by night, an imperfect sort of thing, the end of 
 an act rather than a drama. One of them left 
 the others, and drawing nigh to the new comer, 
 asked him if he came from Milan. 
 
 "Me?" said Renzo, seemingly surprized, 
 in order to gain time to answer. 
 
 " You, if its fair to ask." 
 
 Renzo, moving his head, drawing up his lips, 
 and letting some inarticulate sounds issue from 
 14 
 
 them, said, " Milan, from what I have heard 
 said here and there, is not a place to go to at 
 present, unless, indeed, a man's business is 
 very urgent." 
 
 " The row then is kept up still to day ?" the 
 man still more eagerly inquired. 
 
 " To know that one ought to be there," said 
 Renzo. 
 
 " But you come from Milan, don't you ?" 
 
 " I come from Liscate," answered the youth 
 immediately, for he had thought about what 
 answer he would give. In the strict sense of 
 the term he had come from there, for he had 
 passed through it, and had learnt the name of 
 the place at a part of the road, from a traveler 
 who had told him it was the first place he 
 would go through before he reached Gorgon- 
 zola. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the man, with a tone of voice 
 that seemed to say, I wish you had come from 
 Milan, but patience. " And at Liscate," he 
 added, " were there no news from Milan ?" 
 
 " It is very likely that somebody might know 
 something," replied our mountaineer, " but I 
 heard nothing whatever." These words he ut- 
 tered in that particular sort of way, that means, 
 I know nothing more about it. The man 
 went back to his company, and a moment after 
 the landlord came to set out the refreshment. 
 
 " How far is it from here to the Adda ?" 
 said Renzo to him in an under tone, with a 
 sleepy sort of yawn, and an indifferent air, 
 such as we have seen him put on before. 
 
 " To the Adda, to cross it .'" said the land- 
 lord. 
 
 " That is yes to the Adda ?" 
 
 " Do you want to pass by the bridge of Cas- 
 sano, or by the ferry of Canonica?" 
 
 " Any now I ask merely for curiosity." 
 
 " 1 mention them, because these are the 
 places where honest men pass those that can 
 give a good account of themselves." 
 
 " Yes, I understand ; and how far is it ?" 
 
 " Why you may say, as well for one, as for 
 the other, a little more or less, about six miles." 
 
 " Six miles ! I did not know," said Renzo. 
 And continuing with a careless indifference 
 that amounted quite to affectation, " I suppose, 
 for any one who wanted to take a shorter cut, 
 there are other places to pass." 
 
 " Certainly there are," replied the landlord, 
 fixing a pair of eyes on him full of mischievous 
 curiosity. This was enough to induce the youth 
 to suppress the other inquiries that he had 
 quite prepared. Drawing his plate towards 
 him, and looking at the wine which was on the 
 table, he said, " Is this wine quite genuine?" 
 
 " As true as gold," said the landlord, " ask 
 any man here an the country round, who un- 
 derstands it, and youwill hear." Having said 
 this, he joined the other people. 
 
 " Curse on these landlords," said Renzo in 
 his heart, " the more I know, the worse I find 
 them." He however began to eat with a good 
 appetite, listening, however, without appearing 
 to do so, to find out something of what was 
 thought there about the great event in which
 
 106 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 he had taken no small part, and especially to 
 observe if amongst the talkers there was not 
 some honest fellow, whom he might so far 
 trust as to ask the way, without apprehension 
 of being too closely questioned, and forced to 
 talk about his own ati'airs. 
 
 " But," said one of them, " this time it real- 
 ly seems as if the people of Milan were in 
 earnest. Well, tomorrow at farthest we shall 
 hear something." 
 
 "I am sorry I did not go to Milan this 
 morning," said another. 
 
 "If you go tomorrow, I'll go too," said se- 
 veral of them. 
 
 " What I want to know," answered the first, 
 is, whether these great folks in Milan will 
 think of poor people in the country, or no ; or 
 whether they will make good laws for them- 
 selves only. You know what sort of folks 
 they are, eh ? Proud citizens, all for them- 
 selves, as if country people were not Christ- 
 ians." 
 
 " We've got mouths as well as they have, 
 both to eat, and to stand up for our rights," 
 said another, in a somewhat modest tone, as 
 the proposition was rather in advance, " and 
 when the matter has got ahead, so " 
 
 " There is no grain hidden away, not even 
 in Milan," began another with a dark and mis- 
 chievous face, when the noise of a horse ap- 
 proaching was heard. All ran to the door, 
 and having got a sight of the person who was 
 coming, went to meet him. It was a Milanese 
 tradesman, who, being in the habit of going 
 more than once a year to Bergamo about his 
 business, was accustomed to pass the night at 
 that inn, and as he generally found the same 
 company there, he was known to them all. 
 They crowded round him, one took hold of 
 the bridle, another the stirrup. " Welcome !" 
 
 " I am glad to see you." 
 
 " Have you had a good journey ?" 
 
 " Excellent, and you, how are you all ?" 
 
 'All well. What are the news from Mi- 
 lan?" 
 
 " Ah ! you want some news," said the trades- 
 man, dismounting and giving his horse to a 
 boy. " But," continued he, entering the house 
 with the rest of the company, " at this hour 
 you perhaps know them better than myself." 
 
 "Indeed we know nothing at all," said 
 more than one, putting their hands on their 
 breasts. 
 
 " Is it possible ?" said the tradesman, " then 
 you will hear some famous ones, or some very 
 bad ones. Landlord, my old bed, is it unoc- 
 cupied ? Very well, a glass of wine, and my 
 usual mouthful directly, for I wish to go to 
 bed early, that I may get off soon in the 
 morning and reach Bergamo by dinner. And 
 you, all of you," he continued, seating himself 
 at the end of the table opposite to that where 
 Renzo sat, silent and attentive, " you, haven't 
 you heard all the strange things that took 
 place yesterday?" 
 
 " We have heard something about yester- 
 day's work." 
 
 "See now, whether you have heard the 
 news or no. I was going to say, that being 
 all day on the watch here, picking up some- 
 thing from every body that passes " 
 
 " But to-day, what took place to-day ?" 
 
 " Ah ! to-day, haven't you heard any thing 
 about to-day?" 
 
 " Nothing at all : no one has passed." 
 
 " Then let me moisten my lips, and I will 
 tell you what has taken place to-day, you 
 shall hear." He filled the glass, took it in his 
 right hand, then with the two first fingers of 
 the other hajid raised his mustachios, stroked 
 his beard, drank, and went on. " Today my 
 friends, little was wanting to make it as rough 
 as yesterday was, or worse. And I can hard- 
 ly believe I am here to tell you about it, for I 
 had given up all thoughts of the journey, in 
 order to stay at home aud protect my little 
 shop." 
 
 " What took place ?" asked one of the lis- 
 teners. 
 
 M What took place ? You shall hear. And 
 cutting the victuals that were on his plate, 
 and beginning to eat, he continued his narra- 
 tion. The company, standing round him at 
 each side of the table, listened to him with 
 their mouths wide open. Renzo, at the lower 
 end, without appearing as if he was interested 
 in the story, attended to what he was saying, 
 perhaps more than the others, finishing slowly 
 the remains of his meal. 
 
 " This morning, then, those rascals that cre- 
 ated such a horrid uproar yesterday, met at 
 the place they had agreed on intelligence was 
 obtained of this, and every thing prepared 
 and gathered together again, and set the old sto- 
 ry in circulation from street to street, scream- 
 ing out in order to get a mob together. You 
 know what takes place, when, with reverence 
 I say it, the house is swept ; the heap of dirt 
 keeps increasing as the work goes on. As 
 soon as they thought the crowd was great 
 enough, they rushed on to the house ot the 
 vicano di provisioni, as if their tyrannical 
 conduct of yesterday was not enough. A 
 man of such high character ! what scoundrels ! 
 and such things as they said against him ! all 
 of them inventions, an excellent, punctual gen- 
 tleman. I can say that, for I do business for 
 him, he gets all his livery clothes from inc. 
 On they went then towards his house if you 
 had only seen them such vagabonds such 
 faces. Only imagine to yourself, they passed 
 before my shop such a set of physiognomies 
 they beat the Jews of the Via Crucis all hol- 
 low. And the words that came out of their 
 mouths ! just words to stop one's ears against, 
 if it was'nt for fear of being observed. They 
 went there with the fine intention of sacking 
 the house, but " and here spreading out his 
 left hand in the air, he put the end of his thumb 
 on the point of his nose. 
 
 " But ?" cried out at once all the listeners. 
 
 " But ?" continued the tradesman, " they 
 found the streets blocked up with timbers and 
 carts, and behind this barricade a regular file
 
 1 PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 107 
 
 of soldiers, with their harquebusses leveled, 
 and the locks against their mustachio's. When 
 they saw this ceremony, what would you all 
 have done in such a case ?" 
 
 "Turned back." 
 
 " To be sure, and that's just what they did. 
 But just see now, if it wasn't the devil himself 
 that was in them. There they are in the Cor- 
 dusio square, in sight of the bakery, that yes- 
 terday they wanted to sack, and what were 
 they doing in the shop? Why they were 
 distributing bread to those that came. There 
 were several cavaliers there, and the very 
 flower of them, seeing that every thing was 
 done in good order, and this mob I tell you 
 they had the devil in them, and there was not 
 wanting somebody who was putting them up 
 to it, this mob rushes furiously into the 
 bakery, you take this, I'll take that in the 
 twinkling of an eye, cavaliers, bakers, the 
 counter, benches, bags, kneading troughs, 
 bran, flour, paste, all one a top o' t'other." 
 
 " And the soldiers ?" 
 
 " The soldiers had the vicar's house to take 
 care of, one can't sing and carry the cross at 
 the same time. In the twinkling of an eye, I 
 tell you, whatever was good for any thing was 
 whipped off: and then they must have their 
 farce of yesterday played over again, carrying 
 all the wrecks to the square, and making a 
 bonfire, and the villains were already begin- 
 ning to drag the things out, when one of them, 
 a greater scoundrel than the rest, now what 
 sort of a proposition d'ye think he made ?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " What ? why to pile up a heap in the shop 
 itself, and set fire to the heap and the house at 
 the same time. Said and done " 
 
 " Did they set fire to it ?" 
 
 " Stop a while, an excellent man of the 
 neighborhood had an inspiration from heaven. 
 He ran up stairs, looked for a crucifix, found 
 it, hung it out of the bow of a window, took 
 from the head of a bed two holy candles, lit 
 them, and fixed them to the right and left of 
 the cross, on the window sill. The people 
 looked up. In such a place as Milan, and it 
 is right to state it, there is yet a little fear of 
 God left. They came to themselves, the great- 
 est part of them ! There were, it is true, some 
 devils there, that for the sake of plunder would 
 have set fire to Paradise, but perceiving the 
 rest were not of their opinion, they had to 
 keep quiet. Then all the dignitaries of the 
 cathedral went into procession, with the cross 
 lifted up, in their choral dresses ; and Monsig- 
 nor the archpriest began to intreat on one side, 
 and Monsignor the Penitentiary on the other, 
 and others in other places but, my good peo- 
 ple, what would you do now ? is this an exam- 
 ple to set to your children ? go home, you shall 
 nave bread cheap ; just go and look, you will 
 see the price fixed at the corners of the streets." 
 
 " Was it so ?" 
 
 " How ! if it was so ? do you think the dig- 
 nitaries of the cathedral would come out in 
 their robes just to tell a pack of idle tales ?" 
 
 " And what did the people do ?" 
 
 " By degrees they dispersed, they went to 
 the corners, and those who knew how to read, 
 found it was exactly so. What do you think 
 of bread weighing eight ounces being fixed at 
 a soldo ?" 
 
 "What capital luck!" 
 
 "It looks well, if it only lasts. Do you 
 know how much flour they have wasted be- 
 tween yesterday and this morning ? As much 
 as would have lasted the Dutchy two 
 months." 
 
 " And in favor of us in the country, have 
 they made no regulations ?" 
 
 " What they have done in Milan, is at the 
 expense of the city. I don't know what to 
 say about that, you'll have such luck as it 
 pleases God to give you. Any how the riots 
 are over, but I nave not told you all, here is 
 the best of it." 
 
 " What, has any thing else happened ?" 
 
 " Last night or this morning, I don't know 
 which, they took up a great many leaders, and 
 we heard immediately afterwards that four of 
 them were to be hanged. As soon as this was 
 knowD, every man in the streets went right 
 home, lest they might get him for a fifth. Mi- 
 lan, when I left it, was as still as a convent of 
 friars." 
 
 " But will they really hang them ?" 
 
 "Without doubt, and that directly," an- 
 swered the man. 
 
 " And what will the people do ?" asked the 
 one who had questioned him before. 
 
 " The people will go and see them hung," 
 said the tradesman. 
 
 " They had such a strong desire to see a 
 Christian die in the open air, that the rascals 
 wanted to honor the vicar of provisions upon 
 such an occasion. But in exchange they will 
 have four gluttons waited upon with all sorts 
 of formality, accompanied by capuchins, and 
 by the brethren who attend on these occa- 
 sions ; these fellows have deserved it It is a 
 visitation of providence, do you see, a neces- 
 sary thing. They had already begun to take 
 a fancy to enter shops to help themselves, with- 
 out taking their purses out of their pockets ; 
 if they had been left alone, after they had done 
 with the bread, they would have begun with 
 the wine, and so from one thing to another. 
 You may suppose they would not be in a 
 hurry to discontinue such a convenient custom 
 of their own accord. And I can tell you, that 
 for an honest man who keeps an open shop, 
 there was no great fun in the thought of being 
 exposed to such treatment." 
 
 "To be sure," said one of his auditors; "to 
 be sure," said all the others in chorus. 
 
 " And," continued the Milanese, wiping hi 
 beard with the cloth, " all this has been plotted 
 a long time. There was a league, do you 
 know that ?" 
 
 " A league ?" 
 
 " There was a league. A cabal made by 
 the Navarese, by that cardinal there in France, 
 you know, who has a name half Turkish, and
 
 108 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 who every day, is contriving a new trick, to 
 cast a shame on the crown ot Spain. But es- 
 pecially he tries to bring them to bear on the 
 city of Milan, because the knave knows very 
 well that the principal strength of the King 
 lies there." 
 
 " To be sure." * 
 
 " Do you want proof of that ? Those who 
 made the greatest riot were foreigners, there 
 were certain faces seen in Milan, which had 
 never been seen there before. And indeed, I 
 had forgotten to tell you a thing that was told 
 to me Tor certain. The officers of justice 
 
 caught hold of one of them in an inn " 
 
 Renzo who did not lose a syllable of what 
 was saying, when that chord was touched, was 
 seized with a chill, and gave a twitch, before 
 he could restrain himself. No one, however, 
 perceived it, and the narrator, without inter- 
 rupting his story for an instant, went on. " A 
 fellow, where he came from they can't tell yet, 
 or who sent him, nor what class of men he be- 
 longs to, but certainly one of the leaders. Yes- 
 terday in the midst of the uproar, he played the 
 devil, and not content with that, he began to 
 make harangues and propositions a few tri- 
 fles such as putting to death all the cavaliers. 
 A villain! how would poor people live, if all 
 the gentle folks were put out of the way. The 
 police that had watched him, laid hands on 
 him, found a great bundle of letters upon him, 
 and carried him off to prison. But what do 
 you think ? His companions that were about 
 the inn, to protect him, came in great numbers, 
 and rescued him, the scoundrel. 
 
 "And what happened then ?" 
 
 " Nobody knows, either he escaped, or he 
 lies hid in Milan. There are people that have 
 neither house nor home, and find every where 
 some place to hide themselves away, as long 
 as the devil is disposed to help them, and does 
 help them. He leaves them nowever, at last, 
 ina they are caught when they are least look- 
 ed for ; pears will fall when they are ripe. It 
 is known, however, so far, that the letters re- 
 main in the hands of the police, and that the 
 whole cabal is described in them, and that a 
 great many persons are compromised. May 
 they get what they deserve, for they have 
 turned half Milan topsy turvy, and wanted to 
 do worse. They say the bakers are rogues. 
 I know that as well as they do, but punish 
 them at any rate according to law. There is 
 grain concealed ! Well, who does not know 
 that ? But it is the business of those who are at 
 the head of the government to keep a good 
 look out, and disinter it, and swing all the mo- 
 nopolizers and bakers together in the air. And 
 if those who command won't do any thing, 
 then the city ought to remonstrate, and if they 
 don't listen at first, they should remonstrate 
 again, keep remonstrating and you always get 
 justice, but don't permit such an infernal way 
 as this to be adopted in the city fellows to en- 
 ter in a fury into the shops and stores merely 
 for booty." 
 
 Renzo's short repast had become like poison 
 
 to him. It seemed to him a thousand years 
 before he should get out of the inn, and leave 
 it at a distance as well as the whole country , 
 more than ten times he had said to himself, 
 "Lets' be off lets' be off." But the fear of 
 exciting suspicion, which had increased be- 
 yond measure, and tyrannized over all his 
 thoughts, kept him fixed to his seat. In his 
 perplexity, however, he thought this talkative 
 person must certainly have soon done speak- 
 ing of him, and determined within himself, to 
 leave the house as soon as ever he began the 
 subject again. 
 
 " This is the reason," said one of the com- 
 pany, " that I, who know how these things are 
 done, and that honest men are always the worst 
 treated in riots, would not let my curiosity get 
 the better of me, and remained in my own 
 house." 
 
 " And I, did I go ?" said another. 
 
 " I !" added a third, " if I had been in Mi- 
 lan, would have left any business undone, and 
 would have come directly home. I have a 
 wife and children ; and besides, I tell the truth, 
 these riots don't please me." At this moment 
 the landlord, who had been one of the audi- 
 tors, went to the other end of the table to see 
 what the stranger was doing. Renzo took ad- 
 vantage of the opportunity, beckoned him to 
 him, asked what he had to pay, settled the ac- 
 count, though his funds were pretty short, and 
 with out uttering another word, went straight 
 to the street door, passed, the threshold, took 
 care not to take the road he had come by, but 
 taking the opposite one, committed himself to 
 Providence. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 IT frequently happens that when we en- 
 courage a particular inclination, it is the source 
 of much discomfort to us, imagine then how it 
 must be when two are struggling within us at 
 the same time, one at war wjlth the other. 
 Poor Renzo had been for several hours under 
 the influence of two such, an inclination to 
 run, and an inclination to lie hid ; and the un- 
 pleasant news of the Milanese had extremely 
 augmented them both. His adventure then 
 had made a noise, orders were out then to ar- 
 rest him ; how many birri might there not be 
 out in his pursuit! What orders might not 
 have been despatched to keep a look out in 
 the villages, at the inns, on the roads ! It is 
 true he reflected that there were only two of 
 the birri who knew him, and that he did not 
 carry his name written on his forehead, but a 
 hundred stories rushed to his mind about fugi- 
 tives being discovered and taken up in obscure 
 roads, of their being recognized by their gait, 
 by a suspicious appearance, and other marks 
 they did not think of; every thing alarmed him. 
 Although at the moment he left Gorgonzola,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 109 
 
 the Avemaria was just striking, and the dark- 
 ness, which was coming on, was continually 
 diminishing those dangers, still he took the 
 main road with reluctance, and proposed to 
 himself to get into the first by-lane that pro- 
 mised to bring him to the point he was aiming 
 at. At the begining he met with a few travel- 
 ers, but his imagination being filled with these 
 disagreeable apprehensions, he had not the 
 resolution to stop any one and speak to him. 
 He said six miles thought he ; if I go by the 
 lanes and by-ways, and they should even come 
 to be eight or ten, the limbs that have done the 
 rest, will be able to do these likewise. Certain- 
 ly I am not going towards Milan, then I must 
 be going towards the Adda ; if I keep going 
 on, sooner or later I shall certainly reach it. 
 The Adda has a good voice of its own, and 
 when I get near it, I sha'nt want any body to 
 tell me where it is. If there is a boat, I will 
 cross it directly, otherwise I will stop until 
 tomorrow in some field, upon some tree, like 
 the birds. It is better to be on a tree than in 
 a prison. 
 
 He soon came up with a lane to the left 
 hand, and took it. At that hour, if he had 
 fallen in with any body, he would not have 
 been afraid to speak to him, but there was no 
 sound of living footsteps ; he therefore follow- 
 ed the direction of the road, and amused him- 
 self with his own reflections. 
 
 I play the devil ! I put to death all the 
 cavaliers ! a bundle of letters in my possession ! 
 My companions that were about the inn to 
 protect me ! I would give a trifle to find my- 
 self face to face with that tradesman, on the 
 other side the Adda, (when shall I get across 
 that blessed Adda?) and to stop him, and ask 
 him at my ease where he fished up all that won- 
 derful news. Learn, my good sir, that the 
 affair was so and so; and that I played the 
 devil just no farther than to aid Ferrer, as if 
 he had been my brother. Learn also that those 
 rascals, that according to you were my friends, 
 wanted to play me a villanous trick, merely 
 because I said a few words like a good Chris- 
 tian ; learn that whilst you was taking care of 
 your shop, I was getting my ribs half broke to 
 save your signor vicar of provisions, whom I 
 never saw or knew in the course of my life. 
 Indeed, you may have to stop a while before 
 I go again to help your gentry. It is true one 
 ought to do it, they are our neighbors too. And 
 that great bundle of letters, where all the cabal 
 was described, and which is now in the hands 
 of justice, as you say you know with so much 
 certainty, what if I take it out and show it 
 to you here on the spot, without the aid of 
 the devil ! Would you like to see that bundle ? 
 Here it is what is it a single letter ? Yes, 
 sir, a single letter, and this letter if you have a 
 mind to know, was written by a religious per- 
 son that can teach you doctrine whenever you 
 ha^e a mind ; a religious person, that meaning 
 no wron< to you, lias more virtue in every 
 hair of his beard, than in all yours put toge- 
 ther ; and it is written, this letter as you see, I 
 
 would just teil you, to another religious per- 
 son, a man also who now just see what sort 
 of scoundrels my friends are. Pray mind 
 what you're talking about another time, espe- 
 cially when you are talking of your neigh- 
 bor. 
 
 After some time, however, these and other 
 thoughts like to them gave way altogether, 
 and present circumstances entirely occupied 
 the faculties of the poor pilgrim. The fear 
 of being followed or discovered, which had so 
 much embittered his journey during the day, 
 influenced him no more, but how many cir- 
 cumstances rendered his present situation still 
 more disagreeable. Darkness, solitude, in- 
 creased fatigue, which now was becoming 
 painful ; a sharp and subtile night air, too, not 
 comfortable to one who was piovided with no 
 other garments than those he had dressed him- 
 self with for his nuptials, in which he hoped 
 to return to his house, only a few paces oft, in 
 triumph : and what rendered every thing still 
 more annoying, was the traveling in this man- 
 ner, at random, looking, as the saying is, with 
 one's nose, for a place of rest and safety. 
 
 When it was necessary to pass through some 
 settlement, he proceeded in the most cautious 
 manner, looking, however, if any door was 
 open, but seeing no other sign of people being 
 up, save from an occasional fight that appeared 
 through some paper window. On the road, 
 he sometimes stopped an instant, and listened 
 in the hope to hear the blessed sound of the 
 Adda, but in vain. No other sounds were 
 heard but the howling of dogs, that came from 
 some lone farm, wandering through the air, 
 in an angry and querulous tone. When he 
 drew nigh to one of these farms, the howling 
 changed to a regular fierce barking, and in pass- 
 ing the door, he heard and almost saw the ani- 
 mal with his snout at the centre of the gate- 
 way, redoubling his barking, a circumstance 
 that removed every temptation to knock and 
 ask an asylum for the night ; perhaps, also, if" 
 there had been no dogs, he wfuld equally have 
 wanted the courage to do it. Who 's there ? 
 thought he. What do you want at this time 
 o' night ? How did you come here ? What's 
 your name ? Are there no inns to lodge at ? 
 These are the questions they'll ask, if I knock, 
 even if things take the best turn ; unless in- 
 deed some timid person should live there and 
 begin screaming out help! thieves ! one 
 must have something very satisfactory to an- 
 swer directly, and what answer have I to give ? 
 When people hear a noise in the night, they 
 think of nothing but thieves, house breakers, 
 and plots, they never think that an honest 
 man can be caught out in the night, unless, 
 indeed it should be some rich man in his car- 
 riage. He, therefore, put off that plan to the 
 last extremity, and pursued the road, in the 
 hope of discovering the Adda that night at 
 least, if not of passing it, and that he should 
 not be compelled to look for it by day light. 
 
 At length he came to where the cultivated 
 part of the country ceased, and where the
 
 110 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 land being uninclosed, ferns and broom grass 
 grew wildly about. This seemed to him, if 
 not a sign of the river, at least a reason for 
 supposing it not far off, and after going on 
 awhile, he stopped again to listen, but in vain. 
 The disagreeableness of the road became aug- 
 mented by the savageness of the place ; there 
 was neither mulberry, nor vine, nor any other 
 sign of human cultivation, the which at first 
 had been a sort of company to him. He went 
 on, however, and feeling that certain notions 
 were taking possession of his mind, some of 
 those apparitions and fancies planted there 
 by a hundred stories that he had heard, to 
 drive them away or keep them down, he be- 
 gan as he walked on, to recite prayers for the 
 dead. 
 
 Gradually, however, the plants became tall- 
 er, scrub oaks and other shrubs appeared, and 
 hastening on with more impatience than alacri- 
 ty, he began to distinguish a few trees, and 
 continuing in the same path, he perceived he 
 was entering a wood. He felt a repugnance 
 to enter it, but overcoming this, he reluctantly 
 went on. The farther he went, the more this 
 feeling increased, and the more every thing 
 added to it. The trees at some distance from 
 him, had a strange, deformed and singular 
 aspect; the shadow of their tops slightly agi- 
 tated, and which trembled in the moon light 
 that fell upon the path, was displeasing to 
 him ; the rattling even of the dry leaves, 
 moved about and crushed beneath his feet, 
 was hateful to him. His limbs experi- 
 enced a sort of dismay, an impulse of flight, 
 whilst at the same time, it was with difficulty 
 they could sustain his body. The night wind 
 came still more severely on his brow and 
 cheeks, he felt it beneath his garments, it 
 pinched him, and penetrated more acutely his 
 enfeebled joints, and almost extinguished the 
 last remains of his vigor. At one time, the 
 disgust, the undefined horror with which his 
 mind struggled for sometime, appeared to have 
 entirely prostrated him. He almost sunk be- 
 neath them, but Manned at the state of terror 
 in which he was, more than at any thing else, 
 he called up his ancient courage, and ordered 
 it to take the command. Thus reanimated 
 for a moment, he stopped to deliberate an in- 
 stant, and determined to return by the road 
 he had come, to gain as quick as possible the 
 last village he had passed, to return amongst 
 men, to seek an asylum with them, even if it 
 were at an inn. Whilst he was in this train 
 of mind, and the rustling of the dry leaves 
 had ceased, whilst all was silent around him, 
 a noise reached his ears, a sort of murmur, a 
 murmuring of running water. He looked, 
 satisfied himself, and exclaimed, " It is the 
 Adda !" He felt as if he had found a brother, 
 a friend, a savior. His weariness was almost 
 forgotten, his pulse beat again, he fell his 
 blood flow freely and warmly again in his 
 veins, he felt his confidence in himself return, 
 and the darkness and tearfulness of things to 
 lose their influence ; he no longer hesitated to 
 
 penetrate farther into the wood, guided by the 
 friendly sound. 
 
 At length he reached the extremity of the 
 plain, at the edge of a high bank, and peeping 
 through the bushes with which it was covered, 
 he saw the running water glistening at the foot 
 of it. Lifting his eyes, he saw the extensive 
 plain on the other side, scattered over with 
 villages, with the hills beyond them, upon one 
 of which was an extensive whitish spot, where 
 he thought he could discern a city that must 
 be Bergamo. He went a little upon the slope 
 of the Dank, and putting the bushes on one 
 side, with his arms and hands, he looked to 
 see if there was any little bark moving on 
 the river, and listened for the noise of oars, 
 but he neither saw nor heard any thing. If it 
 had been any stream of less importance than 
 the Adda, he would have gone to the bottom 
 of the bank with a view to ford it, but he 
 knew very well that that was not to be done 
 with the Adda. 
 
 He therefore began quietly to consult with 
 himself what was best to do. If he should 
 climb some tree and wait the day light there, 
 for at least six hours that had yet to pass over, 
 with such a keen biting air, in sucn a dress, 
 he could not escape being chilled. To walk 
 backwards and forwards, to keep himself dur- 
 ing the time in motion, would not only be in- 
 sufficient against the coolness of the night, 
 but was asking too much of his poor limbs 
 that had already done so much more than their 
 duty. He fortunately remembered having ob- 
 served in a field near to the uncultivated lands, 
 a cascinotto. The countrymen of the Milan- 
 ese plain have given this name to the cabins 
 they build covered with straw, made with 
 logs and branches of trees between them, and 
 the apertures stopped up with mud ; here dur- 
 ing the summer they deposit the harvest, 
 watching them in the night time, whilst at 
 other seasons of the year they are abandoned. 
 This he immediately fixed upon for his lodg- 
 ings, and regaining the path, he repassed the 
 wood, the bushes, and the uncultivated ground, 
 reached the field, saw the log house and went 
 to it. A sort of barn door it had, quite decayed, 
 was badly hung, and ajar, without any fasten- 
 ing to it. Renzo opened it, and saw suspended 
 in the air, and hanging by the crooks of some 
 branches, a sort of rack like a hammock, but 
 he had no curiosity to get up to it. He per- 
 ceived some straw also upon the floor, and it 
 struck him that he could get a very good nap 
 there. 
 
 Before, however, he stretched himself upon 
 the couch which Providence had there spread 
 for him, he knelt down to return thanks for it, 
 and for all the assistance which he had receiv- 
 ed in that terrible day. He then said his ac- 
 customed prayers, ana having ended them, he 
 asked pardon of God for having omitted them 
 the preceding evening ; nay, as he said, for 
 having gone to sleep like a dog, or worse. 
 And this was the reason, added he to himself, 
 putting his hands on the straw whilst still on
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 Ill 
 
 his knees, I had such a beautiful awakening of 
 it this morning. He then gathered the straw 
 together that was near him and put it against 
 his back, covering himself as well as he could 
 to keep the cold olf, which was severe enough 
 even there, and then he drew himself up be- 
 neath it, with the intention of getting a good 
 sleep, thinking that he had earned it that day 
 with more than usual pains. 
 
 But scarce were his eyes closed, when in his 
 memory or fancy, (in which it is not precise- 
 ly known,) there arose such a crowded and 
 incessant going and coming of forms, that eve- 
 ry thought of sleep was driven away. The 
 tradesman, the notary, the birri, the sword 
 cutter, the landlord, Ferrer, the vicar, the 
 company at the inn, the mob in the streets, 
 then Don Abbondio, Don Rodrigo, every one 
 ef which awakened some recollection of mis- 
 fortune or of hatred. 
 
 Three forms alone stood before him that 
 stirred up no bitter remembrance, divested of 
 all cause for apprehension, amiable in every 
 thing, and two of them chiefly, very dissimi- 
 lar to each other it is true, but both cherished 
 in the young man's heart one with black 
 tresses, the other with a white beard. But 
 the consolation he received in arresting his 
 thoughts upon them, was any thing but pure 
 and tranquil. When he thought of the good 
 friar, he lelt a more lively shame for his folly, 
 for his scandalous intemperance, of the man- 
 ner in which he had neglected his paternal 
 counsels; and whilst his soul was dwelling 
 upon the image of Lucia, we shall not endea- 
 vor to describe what he felt. The reader who 
 knows all the circumstances of his attachment, 
 must figure it to himself. And that poor Ag- 
 nes he did not forget Agnes, who had even 
 chosen him, who had even considered him as 
 one and the same with her only daughter, and 
 who, before she had received from him the 
 title of Mother, had taught both her lips and 
 her heart to acknowledge it, and had shown her 
 sincerity by the tenderest solicitude. But it 
 was an additional sorrow, and not the least 
 painful of them, the reflection, that precisely 
 because of her affectionate intentions, and of 
 her great benevolence towards him, the poor 
 woman had been driven from her home, was a 
 fugitive, uncertain about the future, and was 
 harassed and distressed, in consequence of the 
 very prospects she had relied upon for the re- 
 pose and cheerfulness of the decline of her 
 years. Poor Renzo, what a night ! The fifth 
 that had elapsed since his intended nuptials ! 
 What a chamber ! What a matrimonial bed ! 
 And after such a day ! And then the mor- 
 row and the series of days to succeed. It is 
 the will of God he answered to all these 
 thoughts that crowded upon each other God 
 must do what he pleases he knows what he 
 is doing he does not forget us. Let it all go 
 in penitence for my sins. Lucia is so good ! 
 God will not make her unhappy, not at all. 
 Amidst these thoughts, and despairing alto- 
 gether to court sleep, and the cold becoming 
 
 still more disagreeable, so much so as to make 
 him shiver, and his teeth to chatter every now 
 and then, in spite of himself, he sighed for the 
 approach of day, and measured with impa- 
 tience the slow progress of the hours. 1 say 
 measured, because every half hour, he heard 
 in that vast silence the strokes of a clock re- 
 sound, perhaps that of Trezzo : and the first 
 stroke that reached his ear, was so unexpect- 
 ed, it was so impossible to imagine whence it 
 came, that it filled his mind with a mysterious 
 solemnity, as if it were a warning from some 
 unseen person, in some unknown voice. 
 
 At length, when the clock had struck ele- 
 ven,* the hour which Renzo had determined 
 to rise at, he got up half benumbed, went on 
 his knees, recited with more than his usual 
 fervor, his morning orations, stood up, stretch- 
 ed himself, moved his legs and arms, his body 
 and shoulders, to bring all his members into 
 play together, for each of them seemed acting 
 separately, blew first into one hand and then 
 the other, rubbed them, open the door of the 
 cascinotto, and the first thing he did, was to 
 give a look round to see if any body waa 
 there. No one appearing, he sought the path 
 he had trod the preceding evening, soon found 
 it, in a plainer and more distinct manner than 
 he remembered it, and again began his jourr 
 ney on it. 
 
 The sky announced a beautiful day: the 
 moon stood in a corner of the heavens, pale 
 and without rays, diffusing nevertheless over 
 the immense space a grayish blue, which low- 
 er down in the east, was passing by a slight 
 gradation into a rosy yellow. Nearer to the 
 horizon, were a few clouds, in long and unequal 
 masses, rather blue than brown, their lower 
 edges tinged with a streak of fire, that every 
 instant became more lively and intense. To 
 the south, other nebulous masses had collected, 
 light and fleeting, and were beaming with a 
 thousand nameless colors, constituting the sky 
 of Lombardy, so beautiful when it is serene, 
 so splendid, and so tranquil. If Renzo had 
 been there for his amusement, he would cer- 
 tainly have looked up, and admired a break of 
 day, so different from the one he was accustom- 
 ed to observe in his own mountains, but he 
 saw nothing but the road, which he was rapid- 
 ly moving on, both to get warm and to hasten 
 his journey. He passed by the fields, the 
 ferns, the bushes, went through the wood, look- 
 ing around him, and reflecting with a sort of 
 compassion for himself on the dread it had in- 
 spired him with a few hours ago ; at length he 
 reached the brow of the bank, looked down, 
 and through the bushes saw a fisherman's 
 bark, advancing slowly against the current, 
 and skimming past the shore. Instantly he 
 rushed down the bank to the water side, called 
 out in a gentle voice to the fisherman, and as if 
 he wanted him to render a service of not much 
 importance, with a sort of indifferent half sup- 
 plicating gesture, he beckoned him to ap- 
 
 * An hour before day.
 
 112 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 proach. The fisherman cast a look along the 
 bank, then along the river, and turned his Dark 
 to the shore where Ilenzo was standing. As 
 soon as it reached him, where he was, with 
 his foot partly in the water, he laid hold of the 
 bow of the boat, and sprung into it. 
 
 " As a favor, but still paying for it," said he, 
 " I should like to pass for a moment on the 
 other side." The fisherman had supposed this 
 to be the case, and already began to turn the 
 boat in that direction, and Renzo seeing an- 
 other oar in the bottom of the boat, stooped 
 down and laid hold of it. 
 
 "Gently, gently," said the padrone,* but 
 observing the address with which Renzo was 
 preparing to use it, added, " ah, ah ! I see you 
 belong to the craft." 
 
 " A little," replied Renzo, and set to with 
 a vigor and skill beyond the art of a dilettante. 
 And pulling with all his might, gave a dark 
 look to the shore he was escaping from : then 
 anxiously turning his eyes to the one they 
 were making for, was vexed that they were 
 obliged to reach it in an oblique line, for the 
 current was too rapid there to permit them to 
 go in a straight one, and the bark partly cut- 
 ting and partly being carried by the stream, 
 was obliged to make a diagonal course. As 
 it happens in undertakings somewhat obscure 
 and confused, that the difficulties present them- 
 selves at first in a mass, and in the execution ap- 
 pear more in detail ; Renzo, now that the Adda 
 was almost crossed, felt some inquietude in 
 his uncertainty whether it was the frontier of 
 the Dutchy of Milan, or whether this obstacle 
 once surmounted, another was not to succeed 
 to it. Calling out therefore to the fisherman, 
 and indicating with a nod the white spot he 
 had observed the night before, and which now 
 appeared more distinctly, he said, " Is that 
 place Bergamo?" 
 
 " The city of Bergamo," answered the fish- 
 erman. 
 
 " And is this the Bergamasc shore ?" 
 " Saint Mark's land." 
 
 " Viva San Marco ! exclaimed Renzo. The 
 fisherman was silent. At length they reached 
 the shore, Renzo jumped out, thanked God in 
 his heart, and then returned thanks to the fish- 
 erman, took a berlinga from his pocket, which 
 all things considered, was depriving himself of 
 no small sum, and gave it to him. The man 
 looked at the Milanese shore, and then up and 
 down the river, extended his hand, took the 
 gift, put it into his pocket, compressed his lips, 
 finished by making a cross with his forefinger 
 on them, and then, pushing off again, said, 
 with a very significant face, " a good journey 
 to you." 
 
 That the reader may not be surprised a1 
 such speedy and discreet courtesy towards a 
 stranger, we must inform him, that being often 
 asked to render a similar service to rogues anc 
 bandits, he was in the habit of crossing them 
 
 * The name by which the owners of these smal 
 craft arc called. 
 
 iot so much on account of the paltry and un- 
 ertain reward he got, as from a desire not to 
 make himself enemies in that class. He al- 
 ways obliged them when he was quite sure of 
 iot being observed by the customhouse men, 
 he birri and men on the watch. Thus, with- 
 >ut any great affection, for either of the parties, 
 ie endeavored to satisfy all, with that kind of 
 mpartiality to which a man accommodates 
 limself, who is obliged to have dealings with 
 one set of men, and to render an account to 
 .nother. 
 Renzo stopped a few moments on the bank 
 
 look at the opposite shore, the ground that 
 
 1 short time before was too hot to keep his feet 
 still upon. " Ah ! I have got away from it at 
 ast ! was his first thought, remain there ac- 
 cursed land ! was his second adieu to it : but 
 
 he third brought to his recollection who he 
 lad left in it. Crossing his arms upon his 
 >reast, and sighing, he cast his eyes upon the 
 water which was running at his feet, and 
 bought, it has passed under the bridge ! 
 Thus, after the manner of his countrymen, he 
 spoke of that of Lecco. Ah ! infamous world 
 enough, it is God's will. 
 
 Turning his back upon these painful scenes, 
 le commenced his journey, keeping in view 
 he white spot on the slope of the mountain, 
 until he should be able to fall into a direct road 
 :o it. He accosted passengers now with an 
 easy air, without hesitation and without stu- 
 dying any more to conceal his movements, 
 mentioned the name of the place where his 
 cousin dwelt, with a view to find the way to it. 
 The first person from whom he got informa- 
 tion respecting it, said it was nine miles off. 
 
 The walk was not a cheerful one. Besides 
 his own cares, his eyes were every moment 
 shocked by painful objects, which convinced 
 him that he would find here the same penury 
 he had left behind in his own country. On 
 the road, at the farms, in the villages, beggars 
 abounded, not so by profession but become 
 mendicants by necessity; their misery, appear- 
 ing more in their countenances than in their 
 dress. Countrymen, mountaineers, artisans, 
 entire families, a mingled murmuring of sup- 
 plications, of quarreling and squalling of chil- 
 dren. The sight of so much misery, besides 
 the compassion it awakened in his heart, 
 brought him to reflect upon his own affairs. 
 
 Who knows he kept meditating what 
 my fortune will be ? Whether I shall find any 
 work to do, as there has been in past years ? 
 Well, Bartolo was attached to me, he is a good 
 fellow, he has got a little money together, he 
 has asked me to come so often, he will not 
 abandon me. And then, Providence has fa- 
 vored me until now, and will continue to help 
 me. 
 
 In the meantime his appetite, which had 
 been tolerably sharp for some time, kept in- 
 creasing as he went on, and although Renzo, 
 when he first began to think about it, thought 
 he could do very well to the end of his jour- 
 ney .which had only two miles to be completed,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 113 
 
 still he imagined it would not be quite so we! 
 to present himself to his cousin like a beggar 
 and his first salutation be give me something 
 to eat ; so he took all his wealth from hi: 
 pocket, and counted it in the palm of his hand 
 it needed no great arithmetic, but still then 
 was enough to make a little repast ; he, there 
 fore stepped into an inn, and naving paid fo: 
 what he had got, found he had a few sous stil 
 left. 
 
 Going out, he observed lying in the roac 
 near the door, and he was very near treading 
 upon them, two women, an elderly one, am 
 a younger one with an infant, which after 
 drawing in vain at her breasts, began to cry 
 all of taem were of the color of death, and a: 
 their feet laid a man, in whose face and limbs 
 the indications of former robustness were evi- 
 dent, although subdued and extinguished by 
 continued want. All stretched their hands to- 
 wards him as he stept out in a vigorous and 
 brisk manner, not one of them spoke ; whal 
 words could have been more expressive ? 
 
 " There, Providence sends you this ! " said 
 Renzo, putting his hand hastily into his pocket, 
 and clearing it of the few sous he had left, put 
 them into the hand nearest to him, and went 
 on. 
 
 The refreshment he had taken, and the good 
 he had done, (for we are composed both of soul 
 and body) had re-invigorated and given fresh 
 courage to his mind. Certainly, the act of 
 giving away his last penny, had inspired him 
 with more confidence for the future, than the 
 finding of ten times the amount would have 
 done ; for if Providence in order to sustain 
 during that day, those unfortunate creatures, 
 whom he had only just chanced to see, had 
 kept in reserve the last resources of a stranger, 
 a fugitive, far from his home, uncertain even 
 himself about his future existence ; how was it 
 possible to suppose it would abandon the in- 
 strument it had made use of, and whom it had 
 endowed with a feeling at once so lively, so 
 efficacious, and so free from selfish considera- 
 tions ? This was the predominating thought in 
 the youth's mind. During the remainder of 
 the road, revolving in his mind what had occur- 
 red, every thing appeared in a more favorable 
 aspect to him. This dearth and misery must 
 have an end, and harvests come round every 
 year; in the meantime he had his cousin Bar- 
 tplo and his own ability ; he had at home too a 
 little store of ready money, which he would 
 soon send for. With that at the worst, he could 
 live from day to day, in an economical way, 
 until times were better. Prosperous times be- 
 fore us once more pursued Renzo in his ima- 
 gination there will be a press of work again, 
 the employers will be struggling to get Milan- 
 ese workmen, because they are best acquaint- 
 ed with the business : then we shall hold up 
 our heads again ; they that want good work- 
 men, will have to give good wages, one may 
 livelhen, and put by a little too ; a little cot- 
 tage may be furnished, and the women writ- 
 ten to, to come on but why wait so long? 
 15 
 
 With that little store of money I should have 
 had to keep us this winter there, and why can't 
 we live with it here. There's no want of cu- 
 rates any where. When the two dear females 
 come, and we get into a house, what a plea- 
 sure to stroll about here all together ; to ride 
 as far as the Adda and make our repast upon 
 its bank, precisely on the bank, and point out 
 to them the place where I got into the bark, 
 the thorn bushes I had to g t through, and the 
 place I looked out to see if there was a boat. 
 
 At length he reached the place where his 
 cousin dwelt : before he entered it, he per- 
 ceived a lofty building with several rows of 
 windows one above the other, with a smaller 
 space between them than is usually appropri- 
 ated to the stories of a house ; this must be 
 the filature he enters, and amidst the noise of 
 the water and the wheels, asks in a loud voice, 
 if Bartolo Castagneri was there. 
 " Signor Bartolo ! There he is !" 
 Signor ! thought Renzo, that is a good 
 sign! and seeing his cousin, he ran to Him. 
 Bartolo turning round, recognized Renzo, who 
 exclaimed, " Here I am !" His cousin uttered 
 a cry of surprise, and raising their arms, they 
 mutually embraced. After the first welcomes, 
 Bartolo drew the youth away from the noise 
 of the machinery, and from the inquisitive eyes 
 of the rest, into a room, and said to him, " I 
 am glad to see thee, but tliou are a pretty sort 
 of young fellow. How many times I asked 
 thee to come, and thou hast always refused, 
 and now thou comest at a moment when things 
 are not quite as I should wish them." 
 
 " What shall I say to you ? The fact is, I 
 am not come now of my own will," said Ren- 
 zo, and in a brief manner, but not without emo- 
 tion, narrated his sorrowful history. 
 
 This will make another pair of sleeves," 
 said Bartolo. " Poor Renzo ! But thou hast 
 relied on me, and I will not abandon thee. It 
 is true, there is no demand for workmen, in- 
 deed every establishment has enough to do to 
 Iceep its own, barely to keep the work a going. 
 But the proprietor likes me, and is very well 
 off, and to tell the truth, without boasting, he 
 owes a good deal of what he has to me. He 
 5nds the capital, and I contribute my little 
 ability. I am the foreman, dost thou know ? 
 and in fact to tell thee the truth, I am the fac- 
 otum. Poor Lucia Mondella! I remember 
 ler, as if it was only yesterday ; a good lass .' 
 always the best behaved at church, and when 
 ' used to pass by her cottage I see it now, 
 hat cottage, at the end of the village, with 
 
 hat fine fig tree that hung over the wall " 
 
 " No, no, say no more about it." 
 " I was going to say that when one passed 
 y that cottage, one always heard that reel go- 
 ag, going, going. And that Don Rodrigo! 
 ven in my time he had begun his tricks, but 
 tie devil has got astride of him now, as far as 
 see, and he'll ride on as long as God leaves 
 tie bridle on his neck. And as I was telling 
 bee, we feel what want is, here too a little 
 and by the by how is your appetite .'"
 
 
 114 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " I ate a little on the road." 
 
 " And how art thou off for money ?" 
 
 Renzo opened one of his hands, put the end 
 of his palm near his mouth, and blew gently 
 along it. 
 
 "Never mind," said Bartolo, "I have some, 
 keep up thy spirits, things will change soon 
 if God pleases, and then thou can'st return 
 it to me, and have some to spare for thyself 
 too." 
 
 " I have some small savings at home, and I 
 will send for them." 
 
 "That's all right; in the meantime thou 
 mayst depend upon me. God has been good 
 to me, that I may do good with it, and if I do 
 not do it to relatives and friends, who shall I 
 do it to?" 
 
 ^This is what I said of Providence !" ex- 
 claimed Renzo, affectionately pressing the hand 
 of his good cousin. 
 
 " So then," said Bartolo, " there has been a 
 great uproar in Milan ; they seem to me to 
 be a little crazy ; we have heard some little 
 about it, but thou shall 't tell it to me more mi- 
 nutely. We have a good deal to talk about. 
 In these parts, you see, things go on more 
 quietly, and are managed with more judgment. 
 The city has purchased two thousands loads 
 of wheat from a merchant at Venice, wheat 
 that comes from Turkey to be sure, but when 
 eating's in the question, one does not look so 
 nicely as to where things come from. Now 
 just see what took place ; it so turned out 
 that the magistrates of Verona and Brescia 
 shut the passes, and said, No wheat shall pass 
 by this road. Well, what do the Bergamascs ? 
 They despatch a man to Venice that knows 
 how to talk. Away he goes in haste, presents 
 himself to the Doge, and tells him what a fine 
 
 Eiece of business this is. But such a speech 
 e made him, a speech they say, just such as 
 should be printed. What a thing it is to have 
 a man that knows how to talk ! Directly comes 
 an order out to let the wheat pass, and the ma- 
 gistrates are not only obliged to let it pass, but 
 are forced to furnish an escort, and it is coming 
 on. And care has been taken of the district 
 too. Another clever man has made the Senate 
 understand that the people here were starving, 
 and the Senate has granted them four thousand 
 bushels of millet. This will help to make 
 bread. And then, need I say it to thee ? If 
 there's no bread, we can eat meat and other 
 things. God has been good to me, as I have 
 told thee. Now I will take thee to my em- 
 ployer, I have spoken of thee, to him, often, 
 and he will receive thee well. A good Ber- 
 gamascon, after the old fashion, a man with 
 plenty of room in his heart. It is true he did 
 not expect thee now, but when he hears thy 
 story and then he knows how to set a value 
 on workmen, for the famine will pass away, 
 but business will go on. But first of all, I 
 must tell thee of one thing. Dost thou know 
 what name the people of this country give to 
 us, who come from the State of Milan ?" 
 " What do they call us ?" 
 
 "They call us numskulls !"* 
 
 " A pretty name to be sure." 
 
 " So it is, that whoever is born in the Mi- 
 lanese, and wants to live amongst the Berga- 
 mascs, will have to put up with it. These 
 people call a Milanese numskull, just as com- 
 monly as a cavalier is called illustrissimo." 
 
 " I suppose they call them so that consent 
 to be called so." 
 
 " My son, if thou art not disposed to be call- 
 ed numskull every minute, oont lay thy ac- 
 count with living here. Would'st thou always 
 be putting thy hand to thy knife ? And when, 
 for example, thou hadst killed two, three, four, 
 the rest would come and kill thee, and then, 
 what a fine thing to appear before God with 
 three or four homicides to account for !" 
 
 " But a Milanese who has a little " and 
 here he tapped his forehead with his finger, as 
 he had done at the inn, at the sign of the full 
 moon, " I mean to say, a man who knows 
 what he is about?" 
 
 " It's all the same, he is called numskull 
 too. Dost thou want to hear how my employ- 
 er speaks of me, when he is talking about me 
 to his friends ? ' That numskull has been a gift 
 from heaven in my business, if I had not that 
 numskull to help me, I should have trouble 
 enough.' It is the custom." 
 
 " It is a very ridiculous custom. Is it pos- 
 sible that seeing what we know how to do, 
 that we are the people who have brought this 
 art amongst them, and are the men who make 
 it prosper, that they won't correct them- 
 selves ? " 
 
 "They have'nt done it yet; time may cor- 
 rect it with the boys that are growing up, but 
 for the men there is no remedy, they nave got 
 the habit, and they will never put it off. And 
 what after all does it come to ? The pretty 
 tricks that they have been playing you were a 
 little worse than this, to say nothing of what 
 our dear fellow-countrymen have been want- 
 ing to do thee." 
 
 "That's very true, and if there's nothing 
 worse here " 
 
 "Now thou art persuaded of this, every 
 thing will go well. Come, to the proprietor, 
 and take courage." 
 
 Every thing, in fact, went very well, and 
 justified the promises of Bartolo so thorough- 
 ly, that we think it unnecessary to enter into 
 any details about it. Providence had really 
 interfered, for we shall see by and by what 
 foundation there was for placing any reliance 
 on the savings that Renzo had left behind him 
 in his house. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THAT same day, the 13th of November, an 
 express arrived to the podesta of Lecco, pre- 
 
 1 Baggiani.
 
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 115 
 
 renting a despatch from the capitano di justizia, 
 containing an order to use every possible and 
 opportune inquisition, to discover whether a 
 certain youth named Lorenzo Tramaglino, a 
 silk spinner, who had escaped from the custo- 
 dy preedicti egregii domini capitanei had return- 
 ed, pedant vel clam, to his home, ignotum verum 
 in territoria Leuci ; quod si compertumfuerit sic 
 esse, the podesta must use diligence quanta 
 maxima dUigentia fieri poterit, to ai-rest him ; 
 and securely binding him, videlicet, with good 
 fetters, in consequence of the insufficiency of 
 hand-cuffs for the aforesaid subject, should 
 cause him to be conducted to prison, and there 
 kept under good custody, to be delivered to 
 whomsoever should be sent to receive him ; 
 and whether the matter was so, or was not so, 
 accedatis ad domum prcRdidi Laurentii Trama- 
 Kini, et facto, debita diligentia, quidquid ad 
 rem repertumjuerit auferatis ; et informationes 
 de illius pava qualitate, vita, et complicibus 
 sumatis, and of all matters, said and done, 
 found or not found, taken or left behind, 
 diligenter referatis. The podesta, having got 
 it properly certified that the subject was not 
 returned to his village, caused the consul of 
 the village to come to him, and conducted by 
 him, and with a great train of notaries and 
 birri, went to the indicated house. It was 
 locked, and no one was to be found who had 
 the key, or who would acknowledge he had 
 it. The lock therefore was broke, and all due 
 diligence used, meaning thereby, that they 
 proceeded as when a city is taken by assault. 
 The fame of this expedition flew immediately 
 through the district, and reached the ears of 
 father Christopher, who, not less astonished 
 than afflicted, asked various persons for in- 
 formation about the cause of so unexpected an 
 incident, but he got nothing but conjectures 
 and contradictory reports, and immediately 
 wrote to father Buenaventura, certain of re- 
 ceiving from him more precise intelligence. In 
 the meantime the relations and friends of 
 Renzo were cited to depose what they knew 
 of his depraved qualities ; the name of Tra- 
 maglino became a misfortune, a scandal, a 
 crime. The village was all in confusion. 
 Little by little it was found out that Renzo 
 had escaped from the hands of justice, in the 
 midst of the city of Milan, and that he had 
 disappeared. It was whispered about that he 
 had done something very bad, what it was was 
 not stated, or rather it was told in a hundred 
 ways. The worse it became, the less it was 
 believed wherever Renzo was known to be a 
 good moral ycuth. The greater part of the 
 people, whispered into each others ears, that 
 all this was part of the machinery moved by 
 that overbearing Don Rodrigo, just to ruin his 
 poor rival. So true it is, that induction 
 sometimes, without a proper knowledge of 
 facts, makes us wrong even scoundrels. 
 
 But we, with the facts in our hand, can 
 safely affirm, that if he had no direct influ- 
 ence in bringing about Renzo's misfortune, it 
 was as agreeable to him as if it had been his 
 
 own doings, and he rejoiced at it, with his 
 confidants, and principally with Count Attilio. 
 This gentleman, according to his first inten- 
 tions, ought to have been at that time in Mi- 
 lan, but at the first news of the tumult that 
 had arisen, and of the mob that had got toge- 
 ther in any other attitude than that of stand- 
 ing to get a drubbing he had thought it best 
 to delay his return a little, until more favora- 
 ble news should arrive. And the more, because 
 having given offence to many, he had some 
 reason to fear that some of them who were 
 silent only on account of their want of power, 
 might feel encouraged in the present circum- 
 stances, to avail themselves of so favorable a 
 moment to revenge the wrongs of all. But 
 this did not last long ; the order received from 
 Milan for the execution of the proceeding 
 against Renzo, was an indication that matters 
 there were returned to their old state, and the 
 direct news which they got almost at the same 
 moment, made it certain. Count Attilio de- 
 parted immediately, encouraging his cousin 
 to persist in his enterprize, and promising that 
 on his part he would immediately exert him- 
 self to rid him of the friar, on whom the for- 
 tunate accident that had happened to his 
 clownish rival, would prove an admirable card 
 to play. Scarce was Attilio gone, when Griso 
 arrived from Monza, safe and sound, and com- 
 municated to his master what he had discover- 
 ed : that Lucia had taken refuge in a monaste- 
 ry under the protection of a certain signora, 
 and was shut up there, just as if she was a 
 nun herself, never stepping over the threshold, 
 and even assisting at the church service, 
 through a grated window : a circumstance 
 very displeasing to many, who having heard 
 something about her adventures, and extrava- 
 gant things said of her beauty, wanted to see 
 for once what sort of a person she was. 
 
 This relation made Don Rodrigo really feel 
 as if the devil had got astride of him, or to 
 come nearer to it, made the one he had inside 
 of him worse than ever. All the favorable cir- 
 cumstances hitherto, inflamed his passions still 
 more ; that mixture of punctilio, rage, and in- 
 famous desire, ot which his passion was com- 
 posed. Renzo was absent, driven away, out- 
 lawed, so that every thing became lawful 
 against him, and even his promised bride 
 might be considered as enemy's property : 
 then the only man in the world who was wil- 
 ling and able to make the affair his own, and 
 make a noise about it that would be heard 
 through the country, the enraged friar, would 
 probably in a short time be also removed from 
 the possibility of doing any harm. And now 
 a new impediment occurred, not to counter- 
 balance those facilities, but to render them 
 useless. A Monza Monastery, when even there 
 had been no princess in the case, was too hard 
 a bone for the teeth even of a Don Rodrigo ; in 
 vain he exercised his imagination about that 
 asylum, he could neither form a plan for vio- 
 lating it by force or by treachery. He was 
 almost ready to give up the enterprise, and
 
 116 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 to co to Milan, avoiding Monza on the way, 
 and to seek amongst his friends, and amidst 
 the amusements of the place, to dissipate the 
 feelings which now tormented him. But 
 his friends, gently about these friends ; in- 
 stead of dissipating those feelings, he might 
 find in their society new sources of vexation ; 
 those feelings might be roused still more, for 
 Attilio undoubtedly had sounded the trumpet, 
 and put them all in a state of expectation. 
 Every one would be asking him about the fair 
 mountaineer, and he must have an answer to 
 give. Had he determined, had he attempted, 
 what had he obtained? He had undertaken 
 an affair, rather an ignoble one it is true ; but, 
 then, one can't always regulate one's own ca- 
 prices the real business is to gratify them. 
 And then how had he succeeded? How? 
 Why shamed and disgraced by a country fel- 
 low and a friar ! That would never do ! And 
 when an unexpected piece of good luck had 
 removed one out of the way, and a clever 
 friend the other, without any trouble on his 
 part, he was so simple as not to know how to 
 profit by the conjuncture, and had cowardly 
 withdrawn from the enterprize. It was enough 
 to prevent his ever showing his face again 
 amongst gentlemen, or to oblige him to keep 
 his hand always on his hilt. And then, how 
 could he ever return to, or how could he remain 
 at, his villa, in a neighborhood where, to say 
 nothing of the incessant and irritating remem- 
 brances of his passion, he would have to bear 
 the dishonor of having failed in an enterprise ? 
 Where he should both have increased the pub- 
 lic hatred, and diminished the idea of his pow- 
 er? Where he could read in the face of every 
 low fellow, even whilst he was bowing, the 
 bitter you have had to swallow that, I am 
 glad of it. The path of iniquity, says the 
 manuscript here, is broad, but that is not the 
 same thing as being comfortable; it has its 
 own difficulties and troubles, and is wearisome 
 and fatiguing, although it is all down hill. 
 
 To Don Rodrigo, who would not leave it, 
 nor tread back his steps, nor stop, and who 
 could not advance by himself alone, a mode 
 occurred by which he might succeed, and it 
 was to select for his assistant, a man whose 
 hands frequently reached what others could 
 not even get a sight of. A man or a devil, for 
 whom the difficulty of undertakings was fre- 
 quently the stimulus which induced him to 
 enter upon them. But this plan had its incon- 
 veniences and its dangers, the more weighty, 
 because it was not easy to make an accurate 
 calculation how far the thing might be carried ; 
 for no one could venture to anticipate to what 
 lengths that man would go, when once he was 
 embarked in a project ; he was a most potent 
 auxiliary, but a most absolute and dangerous 
 leader. 
 
 These thoughts kept Don Rodrigo several 
 days, betwixt yes and no, each of them more 
 than distressing. In the mean time a letter 
 arrived from his cousin, informing him that the 
 plan had been started. Soon after the light- 
 
 ning, the thunder burst; that is to say, one 
 morning he received information that father 
 Christopher had left the convent of Pescareni- 
 co. This prompt and complete success, and 
 Attilio's letter, which was full of encourage- 
 ment, and threats of being laughed at if he aid 
 not pursue the matter, inclined Don Rodrigo 
 more than ever to risk every thing ; and what 
 gave the decisive blow was the unexpected 
 news that Agnes was returned home, an im- 
 pediment the less in relation to Lucia. We 
 must give an account of these two events, be- 
 ginning with the last. 
 
 The two poor women had scarce got settled in 
 their asylum, when the news of the great uproar 
 at Milan reached Monza, and ot course the 
 monastery ; accompanied with an infinite se- 
 ries of particulars, which kept increasing 
 and varying at every instant. The fattora, 
 who communicated with both the town and 
 the monastery, had news of course from both, 
 heard every thing that was said, and told it to 
 the guests. "Two, six, eight, four, seven, 
 they nave put in prison these will he hanged 
 part of them betore the bakery of the Grucce, 
 part of them at the head of the street where the 
 vicar of provisions lives. And hear this ! an- 
 other that belongs to Lecco or thereabouts has 
 escaped. I don't know his name, but I will 
 get some one who comes here, to tell me, to 
 see if you know it." 
 
 This news, with the circumstance of Renzo 
 going to Milan exactly on that fatal day, made 
 the women unquiet, and especially Lucia, but 
 how was h, when the fattora afterwards told 
 them, " he is from your place, the man that has 
 run off to avoid being hanged, a silk spinner, 
 who is called Tramaghno, do you know him ?" 
 
 Lucia was sitting hemming some work, it 
 dropped from her hand ; she turned pale, her 
 countenance fell, so that the fattora must have 
 perceived it, if she had been nigh to her. Ag- 
 nes was also disturbed, but not so much but 
 that she could keep her countenance, and with 
 some effort answered that in a small place 
 every body was known, that she knew him, and 
 could hardly believe that such a thing had hap- 
 pened to him, as he was a very quiet young 
 man. She then asked if he had certainly es- 
 caped, and where to. 
 
 " Every body says he has escaped, but 
 where to nobody knows, they may be able to 
 catch him yet, and he may get off, but if 
 they once get him, that quiet young man of 
 yours " 
 
 Fortunately the fattora was called away 
 here, leaving mother and daughter in great 
 distress. More than one clay the poor woman 
 and the desolate girl had to remain in this state 
 of doubt, imagining all sorts of causes and rea- 
 sons, and the consequences of a fact so painful ; 
 and in commenting, each to herself, or in an 
 under tone of voice together, whenever they 
 had an opportunity, upon those terrible words. 
 
 At length, one Thursday,* a man came to 
 
 * Friday is a day when no meat but fish is eaten.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 117 
 
 the monastery to ask for Agnes. He was a 
 fishmonger 01 Pescarenico, who was going to 
 Milan according to hi3 custom, to sell his fish ; 
 and the good friar Christopher had asked him 
 in passing by Monza, to call at the monastery, 
 and salute the women in his name ; requesting 
 him to inform them of all he knew about the 
 sad case of Renzo, to encourage them to have 
 patience and to confide in God, and that he, a 
 poor friar, would certainly not forget them, and 
 would vigilantly watch for every opportunity 
 to be useful to them ; in the meantime he 
 would not fail every week to send them some 
 information by the same means, or by a similar 
 opportunity. Respecting Renzo, the man 
 could give them no positive account, further 
 than the proceedings put in execution respect- 
 ing his house, and the search made after him ; 
 but all the trouble they had taken had been in 
 vain, for they had good intelligence that he had 
 got to Bergamo. The certainty of this, it need 
 not be said, was a great balm to the distress of 
 Lucia ; from that moment her tears ran more 
 easily and gently, she received more comfort 
 from her secret conversations with her mo- 
 ther, and henceforwards thaaks were mingled 
 with all her prayers. 
 
 Gertrude frequently made her come into a 
 private parlor, and occasionally detained her 
 a long time, taking pleasure in the ingenuous- 
 ness and gentleness of the poor girl, and in re- 
 ceiving at times her thanks and blessings. She 
 told her also, in confidence, a part (the fair 
 part) of her story, what she had suffered, in 
 order to come there to suffer, so that the first 
 wonder and doubt of Lucia were changed to 
 pity. She found in her story more than suffi- 
 cient to explain whatever had appeared strange 
 in the conduct of her benefactress, not forget- 
 ting either what Agnes had said about gentle- 
 folks being a little cracked. Nevertheless, 
 however she might feel disposed to return the 
 confidence Gertrude had reposed in her, she 
 was careful not to speak of her new apprehen- 
 sions, of her new misfortune, of what that silk 
 spinner was to her, that she might run no risk 
 of spreading a story so full of distress and 
 scandal. She avoided also, as much as possi- 
 ble, giving any reply to the curious ques- 
 tions that were put to her, respecting her story 
 before she had become betrothed, but her rea- 
 sons for this were not prudential ones. It was 
 because that part of her own story appeared to 
 the poor innocent girl more difficult to relate 
 than any thing she had yet heard, or that she 
 thought she ever should hear from the signora; 
 she nad heard of oppression, of plots, of suf- 
 ferings, all painful and disagreeable things, but 
 still they were things that could he spoken of. 
 In her own simple story, there prevailed 
 throughout a feeling, to be expressed only by 
 a word it did not appear possible for her to ut- 
 ter whilst speaking of herself, and for which 
 no paraphrase could be substituted which 
 would not wound her modesty it was love. 
 
 At such times Gertrude was tempted to be 
 displeased at these repulses, but she was so 
 
 affectionate, so respectful, so grateful, and 
 showed so much reliance on her! At times, 
 perhaps, that modesfy, so delicate, so tender, 
 so fearful, displeased her still more on another 
 account, but such feelings disappeared in the 
 suavity of the thought which recurred to ner 
 whenever she contemplated Lucia she is the 
 object of my benevolence. And it was true, be- 
 cause, besides the asylum, those conversations, 
 and those familiar caresses were a source 
 of much comfort to Lucia. She found also 
 another in constant occupation, and was always 
 asking them to give her something to do, even 
 in the parlor she always carried something or 
 other to keep her hands in exercise. But how 
 sorrowful thoughts will intrude themselves 
 every where ! even whilst she was engaged 
 in sewing, which before this she had never 
 paid much attention to, every now and then 
 her reel would come to her mind, and with 
 the reel how many other things. 
 
 The second Thursday they got another 
 message from father Christopher, confirming 
 the escape of Renzo, but no accurate informa- 
 tion respecting his misadventure, because as 
 has already been stated, the capuchin had ex- 
 pected it from his brother friar at Milan, to 
 whom he had recommended him, and he wrote 
 that he had neither seen him nor received 
 any letter by him ; that a country man had in- 
 deed come to the convent to ask for him, but 
 not having found him at home, had gone away, 
 and had riot returned. 
 
 The third Thursday, no message arrived, 
 which not only deprived the women of the 
 comfort they so much wished and looked for, 
 but as it happens in every little thing to those 
 who are afflicted and in trouble, was the cause 
 of much inquietude, and of a hundred dis 
 tressing doubts. Before this, Agnes had been 
 thinking of paying a visit to her cottage, and. 
 this novelty of receiving no message, de- 
 termined her to do so. It was something 
 strange for Lucia to remain behind, separated 
 from the mother in whom she had always con- 
 fided, but the extreme desire to learn some- 
 thing, and the security she enjoyed in an asy- 
 lum so sacred and so protected, conquered her 
 repugnance. It was therefore determined be- 
 tween them, that Agnes, or. the following day, 
 should await the fisherman in the road on hi? 
 return from Milan, and should ask of him the 
 favor of taking her in his cart as far as her na- 
 tive mountains. Having met him, and asked 
 if father Christopher had delivered him no 
 embassy for her, he stated that he had re- 
 mained fishing the whole of the day preceding 
 his departure, and that he had received no 
 message whatever from the friar. He consent- 
 ed to conduct her without entreaty, she there- 
 fore took leave of the Lady and of her daugh- 
 ter, not without tears, promising to send some 
 information immediately and to return soon, 
 and then departed. 
 
 No accident happened to them on the jour- 
 ney, they rested part of the night in an inn 
 I upon the road, according to custom, resumed
 
 113 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 their journey before day, and arrived early in 
 the morning at Pescarenico. Agnes alighted 
 at the convent, took leave of her conductor 
 with many thanks, and since she was there, 
 wished to see her benefactor, the good friar, 
 before she went to her house. She rang the 
 convent bell, and Friar Galdino, he who made 
 the perquisition of nuts, opened the door. 
 
 " Oh, my good woman, what wind has 
 brought you here ?" 
 
 "I want to see father Christopher!" 
 
 " Father Christopher ? he is not here." 
 
 " Will it be long before he comes ?" 
 
 " Why !" said the friar, shrugging up his 
 shoulders, and burying his bald head in his 
 cowl. 
 
 " Where is he gone ?" 
 
 "To Rimini." 
 
 To?" 
 
 " To Rimini." 
 
 " Where is that place ?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, ay," answered the friar, and cutting 
 the air vertically with his open hand, he sig- 
 nified the distance was great. 
 
 "Oh, me; oh, me! But what is he gone 
 away so suddenly for?" 
 
 "Because the provincial father wished him 
 to go." 
 
 " And what did they send him away for, 
 who did so much good here ? Oh, poor me !" 
 
 "If our superiors were obliged to give 
 reasons for all the orders they give, what 
 would become of obedience, my good wo- 
 man ?" 
 
 " Yes, but this will ruin me." 
 
 " I'll tell you what the reason is. They have 
 no doubt been in want at Rimini of a good 
 preacher (we have them every where, but 
 sometimes the man is wanted that seems made 
 on purpose). The father provincial there has 
 written no doubt to the father provincial here, 
 to know if he had such and such a man; 
 and our father provincial, will have said father 
 Christopher is precisely the man and so it 
 turns out to be in fact. 
 
 " Oh, wretched we ! when did he go?" 
 
 " The day before yesterday." 
 
 " See now, if I had only listened to my first 
 inspiration to come a few days before. And 
 can't you tell when he is going to return, with- 
 in a day or two, or so ?" 
 
 " My good woman ! the provincial father 
 knows, if indeed he does know. When one of 
 our father preachers has taken the wing, there 
 is no telling on wnat branch he may alight. 
 He is sought for here, he is sought for there, 
 and we have convents in all the four parts of 
 the world. You may be quite sure that father 
 Christopher is making a noise at Rimini, with 
 his quaresimal discourse ; for he does not al- 
 ways preach as he used to do here for the 
 country folks, any tiling that came uppermost, 
 but has his sermons all nicely written out, 
 beautiful things. Well, the fame of this great 
 
 E readier is rumored about, and then you 
 now, they can ask for him from . What 
 
 do I know where they can't ask him from ? 
 
 And then we must give him up, for as we live 
 upon the charity ot every body, so it is just 
 that we give every body a little of what we 
 have got." 
 
 "Oh, misery! misery!" exclaimed Agnes 
 again, " how can I get on without him ? He 
 was a father to us. This wiU prove our ruin." 
 
 " Listen, my good woman ! father Christo- 
 pher was truly a man ; but we have others be- 
 sides him, don't you know that ? full of charity 
 and of ability, and who know how to conduct 
 themselves both with the rich and the poor. 
 Do you want father Athanasius? Do you 
 want father Girolamo? Do you want father 
 Zaccaria ? That's a man of worth do you see, 
 father Zaccaria. And don't you now, like 
 some ignorant women, think little of him, be- 
 cause he is so thin, and has such a small voice, 
 and such a poor little beard. I don't say he is 
 a great preacher, every one has his gifts ; but 
 to take counsel from, he is a man, do you 
 know that ?" 
 
 " Ob, holy patience !" exclaimed Agnes, with 
 that mixture of gratitude and vexation which 
 words inspire that have nothing but their good 
 intention to recommend them. " What is it to 
 me what this man is, and what that man is 
 not, when that poor good man that is gone 
 away was the one that was acquainted with 
 our affairs, and had got things in a way to help 
 us." 
 
 "When it is necessary we must have pa- 
 tience." 
 
 " I know it," replied Agnes, " excuse the 
 trouble I have given you." 
 
 " Nothing at all, my good woman, I am sor- 
 ry on your account, and if you make up your 
 mind to consult any of our fathers, here the 
 convent is, that won't fly away at any rate. 
 I shall give you a call soon, about the perqui- 
 sition for oil." 
 
 "Health be with you," said Agnes, and 
 went on towards her village, deserted, con- 
 fused and disconcerted, like a poor blind per- 
 son that had lost his staff. 
 
 Being a little better informed than friar Gal- 
 dino, we can state how matters really had 
 gone. Attilio was scarcely arrived in Milan, 
 than he paid a visit as he had promised Don 
 Rodrigo, to their common uncle of the secret 
 council. (It was composed at that period, of 
 thirteen personages of the cloak and sword; 
 the advisers of me governor, and who, in the 
 case of his death or removal, temporarily as- 
 sumed the government.) This count uncle, 
 one of the ancients of the council, enjoyed a 
 certain influence there, but in the use of it, 
 and in making it felt out of doors, he had no 
 rival! an ambiguous language, a significant 
 silence, a middle course, an expression of the 
 eyes which said I may not speak, an encou- 
 ragement without promises, a ceremonious way 
 of threatening, all was directed to that end, and 
 all that he did, more or less, turned to account. 
 So much so, that even when he said I can 
 do nothing in this matter a thing some- 
 times said in all sincerity, it was said in a way
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 119 
 
 that he was not believed, it only served to in- 
 crease the conceit of, and consequently the 
 reality of his power ; like those boxes we see 
 in the apothecaries shops, with Arabic words 
 on them, and which have got nothing inside, 
 yet still are useful in keeping up the credit oi 
 the shop. 
 
 The credit of the count uncle, which for a 
 long time had been gradually increasing, lat- 
 terly had made, all at once, a gigantic stride, 
 upon the extraordinary occasion of a journey 
 to Madrid, with a mission to the court, where 
 to learn what sort of reception was accorded 
 to him, it was necessary to hear the relation 
 from himself. To say nothing more of it, the 
 Count Duke had treated him with a particular 
 condescension, and had admitted him into his 
 confidence, to such a point, that upon one oc- 
 casion he had asked him in the presence of 
 the court itself, if he was pleased with Mad- 
 rid and another time he went so far as to say 
 to him, when they were alone, standing at a 
 window, that the cathedral of Milan was 
 the greatest temple in all the King's domi- 
 nions. 
 
 After proper expressions of respect to the 
 count uncle, and presenting to him the salu- 
 tations of his cousin, Attilio, with a grave 
 countenance, which he well knew how to put 
 on, said, " I believe it is an affair of duty on 
 my part, without a breach of confidence to- 
 wards Don Rodrigo, to inform my uncle of an 
 affair, which, if he does not take it in hand, 
 may become serious, and produce conse- 
 quences " 
 
 " Some of his mad 1 suppose " 
 
 "In truth, I must state that Don Rodrigo is not 
 in the wrong in this case, but he is somewhat 
 warm and, and as I was saying, if my uncle 
 does not " 
 
 " What is it ? let us see !" 
 " There is a capuchin in those parts, who 
 keeps persecuting my cousin, and the matter 
 
 is brought to such a point, that " 
 
 " How often have I told you both, that you 
 should let the friars boil* in their own broth. 
 Its as much as one can bear to let them go on 
 as they do, with those it becomes them to do 
 with. But you who could keep out of their 
 
 way " 
 
 " Indeed, uncle, it is my duty to tell you that 
 Rodrigo would have avoided him, if it had 
 been possible : and the friar who is annoying 
 him, and who takes every possible way to 
 
 provoke him " 
 
 "What the deuce is the friar persecuting 
 my nephew for?" 
 
 . " Why first of all, he is a hot headed person, 
 known to be such indeed, and who professes to 
 dislike cavaliers. This friar, protects, directs, 
 what do I know about it ? a young country 
 girl of those parts, and has a sort of cnarity for 
 the creature a chanty, not an interested 
 charity, but a jealous, suspicious, ill-natured 
 kind of interest." 
 
 * Quarrel with one another. 
 
 " I understand," said the count uncle, and 
 with a fund of stupidity depicted by nature on 
 his countenance, concealed and covered up 
 however pretty well by his politic manoeuvres, 
 he let out a ray of malice, that was admirable 
 in its way. 
 
 "For sometime," continued Attilio, "this 
 friar has taken it into his head, that Rodrigo 
 had I do not know what sort of designs upon 
 
 " Taken it into his head taken it into his 
 head. I know Don Rodrigo myself pretty 
 well, and he will stand in need of some other 
 advocate besides yourself, to justify him in af- 
 fairs of this kind." 
 
 "That Rodrigo, uncle, may have joked 
 with the young girl, meeting her on the road, 
 is very likely to be true ; he is a young fellow, 
 and at any rate he is not a capuchin ; but these 
 are follies not fit to speak of before my uncle : 
 the truth of the matter is, that the friar has un- 
 dertaken to speak of Rodrigo as if he was no- 
 tliiug but a ruffian, and tries to excite the whole 
 country against him," 
 
 " And the other friars ?" 
 
 "They don't trouble themselves about it, 
 they know he is a hot headed man, and have a 
 great respect for Rodrigo, but on the other 
 side this friar has great influence with the 
 country people, for he plays the saint, and 
 
 " I suppose he does not know Rodrigo is 
 my nephew ?" 
 
 " Not know that ! It is that exactly which 
 makes him so audacious." 
 
 "How? how?" 
 
 " Because, and he says it himself, that it 
 2jives him greater pleasure to persecute Rodri- 
 50 in this way, just because ne has a natural 
 protector of such authority as your excellency : 
 and because he laughs at politicians and great 
 men, and says that the cordon of Saint Fran 
 cis has all the swords tied up, and that " 
 
 " Insolent friar, what is his name ?" 
 
 " Brother Christopher of " said Attilio, 
 
 and the Count Zio, taking down a writing case, 
 wrote down the friars humble name. In the 
 meantime Attilio went on, " He has always 
 been just such a man, his history is known. He 
 was a plebeian, and having a little money was 
 always entering into competition with the cav- 
 aliers of the town where he lived, and enraged 
 secause he could not succeed with all of them, 
 ic slew one, and to avoid punishment turned 
 *"ir." 
 
 ' Bravo ! capital ! we'll see, we'll see," said 
 he count uncle, puffing all the time. 
 
 1 Now," continued Attilio, " he is more en- 
 raged than ever, having failed in a scheme that 
 le took a great interest in, and from this my 
 uncle will comprehend what sort of a man he 
 is. He wanted to have that creature of his 
 married ; whether it was to save her from the 
 dangers of the world, your excellency under- 
 stands me or whatever was the reason, at any 
 rate he wanted to have her married, and so he 
 bund out a man, another creature of his, a fel- 

 
 120 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 low, that perhaps, and indeed without perhaps, 
 you will know by name, as I hold it certain 
 that the secret council has had to occupy itself 
 about such a worthy subject." 
 
 " Who is the man ?" 
 
 "A spinner of silk, Lorenzo Tramaglino, he 
 that " 
 
 " Lorenzo Tramaglino," exclaimed the count 
 uncle. " Capital ! Well done, friar ! To be 
 sure in fact he had a letter for a it's a pit)' 
 but never mind, it's all right. And why did 
 not Don Rodrigo tell'me something of all this, 
 and let things get so far ahead, without apply- 
 ing to one who can and who will advise and 
 sustain him ? 
 
 " I will tell the truth about that too ; on one 
 side, knowing how many perplexities, and 
 how many things your excellency has to think 
 about, (here the count swelling, put his hand 
 on his head, as if to signify what a task it was, 
 to have so many important matters there) felt 
 rather conscientious about giving you any 
 more trouble : and indeed, I will teff the whole. 
 As far as I have been able to understand, he 
 is so embittered, so unhinged, so annoyed by 
 the villanies of that friar, that he has a greater 
 inclination to do himself justice, in some sum- 
 mary way, than to obtain it in a regular me- 
 thod by the prudence and assistance of our 
 uncle. I have tried to throw watef on the fire, 
 but seeing things were getting worse, I have 
 thought it my duty to apprise you of it, since 
 your excellency is the pillar and the head of 
 
 our house ' 
 
 " You would have done better if you had 
 told it a little before." 
 
 " It is true, but I kept hoping the thing would 
 die of itself or that the friar would come to his 
 senses again, or that he would leave that con- 
 vent, as it often happens to these friars, who 
 are one day here ana another day there ; and 
 
 that then it would be all over. But " 
 
 " Well I must settle the affair now." 
 " That's what I have thought. I have said 
 to myself, my uncle with his penetration, 
 and with his authority, he will know how to 
 prevent any scandal, and save at the same time 
 the honor of Rodrigo, which in fact is his own. 
 This friar, said I, is always talking about the 
 cordon of Saint Francis, but to make a good 
 use of it, it is not necessary to have it always 
 around your own waist. My uncle has a hun- 
 dred ways that I know nothing of. I know 
 the provincial father, as is very proper, has the 
 greatest deference for him, and if my uncle 
 should think it an expedient plan to procure a 
 change of air for the friar, with two words 
 
 " Leave that thought to those it belongs to, 
 if you please, sir," said the count uncle rather 
 snappingly. 
 
 " True, sir," said Attilio, with a shake of 
 his head, and a smile of compassion for him- 
 self. " I am not a person to give counsel to 
 your excellency, but it is the extreme anxiety 
 I have for the reputation of our house that 
 makes me talk. I fear also I may have erred 
 
 in another particular," he continued with a 
 thoughtful look, " I am afraid I may have pre- 
 judiced Rodrigo in the opinion of my uncle. 
 I should not be at peace it I was the cause of 
 your thinking that Rodrigo does not entertain 
 that reliance, and that submission, which his 
 duty to you, sir and you may believe, that in 
 this particular case " 
 
 " Come, come, how can you do any thing 
 to prejadice one another ? You will always be 
 good friends, until one of you gets a little judg- 
 ment. You are always getting into some wild 
 scrape or other, and then you come to ine to 
 set them right ; you you will make me say 
 something extravagant you give me more to 
 
 think about, than " And here he swelled 
 
 out, " All these blessed affairs of state." 
 
 Attilio, with a few more excuses, promises, 
 and compliments, took his leave, accompanied 
 with a " have a little judgment," which was 
 the usual formula of dismission of the count 
 uncle to his nephews. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 ( 
 
 IF any one seeing a bad weed in an ill cul- 
 tivated field, wild sorrel, ibr instance, should 
 be anxious to discover whether it sprung from 
 seed ripened in the same field, or had been 
 brought there by the wind, or dropped there 
 by the birds, would never, however much he 
 might reflect upon it, come to a conclusion. 
 In like manner we are unable to tell, whether 
 the resolution of the count uncle to make use 
 of the provincial father to cut this knot in the 
 best way, sprung from the bottom of his own 
 brain, or from the hint Attilio gave him. Cer- 
 tain it is that Attilio did not let it drop by 
 chance, and although he might well expect 
 that the jealous vain glory of the count uncle, 
 
 light take umbrage, at a suggestion so palpa- 
 bly made, at any rate he determined to let out 
 
 little flash of lightning before the idea of his 
 scheme, that he might see the road to it, which 
 he wished him to travel upon On the other 
 hand the plan fell so completely in with the 
 notions of the count uncle, and was so appro- 
 priate to the circumstances of the case, that 
 without a suggestion from any one, it is very 
 likely he would have thought of it and adopted 
 it. Here was a war openly declared, and the 
 matter was whether his nephew was to have the 
 worst of it, a point most essential for that repu- 
 tation of power he had so much at heart The 
 satisfaction his nephew might take into his 
 own hands, would have proved a remedy worse 
 than the evil, a complete hot bed of difficulties ; 
 and this must be prevented at any cost, and 
 without losing time. If he should lay his com- 
 mands upon him to leave his villa immediately, 
 he would not have obeyed him : and if he had 
 done so, it would have been yielding the 
 ground, and an open retreat made bv his house
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 121 
 
 before a convent. Orders, legal force, scare- 
 crows of that kind, were of no value with such 
 an adversary as they had to contend with. The 
 regular as well as the secular clergy, enjoyed 
 a complete immunity from all laical jurisdic- 
 tion, not only in their persons, but also in their 
 habitations. All that could be done against 
 such an adversary was to try to remove him, 
 and the way to accomplish that was through 
 the provincial father, who had the power to 
 send their enemy away or let him remain. 
 
 Between the provincal father and the count 
 uncle there was an acquaintance of some stand- 
 ing ; they saw each other seldom, but when 
 they did meet it was with great demonstrations 
 of friendship, and extravagant offers of service. 
 It is sometimes easier to make a good bargain 
 with a person who is placed over a great many 
 individuals, than with any one of them, for he 
 can see nothing but his own cause, be moved 
 by nothing but nis own passions, and cares for 
 nothing but the point he is aiming at : whilst 
 the other has the scope of a hundred contin- 
 gencies and interests, sees a hundred difficul- 
 ties that must be avoided, a hundred things to 
 preserve, and is able thus to go a hundred ways 
 to work. 
 
 Having well considered every thing, the 
 count uncle one day invited the provincial fa- 
 ther to dinner, where he found a number of 
 distinguished guests brought together with 
 great refinement of selection. Men of rank, 
 the name of whose houses alone was a title of 
 distinction, and whose physiognomy bore a cer- 
 tain degree of native confidence, and lordly dis- 
 dain ; men who when talking of high matters 
 in familiar terms, succeeded, even when they 
 did not do it on purpose, with impressing upon 
 their auditors an idea of superiority and pow- 
 er. Some clients too attached to the house 
 from hereditary devotion, and to the master by 
 the servitude of a whole life, and who begin- 
 ning from the soup to say yes to every thing, 
 with their mouths, their eyes, their ears, their 
 heads, with their whole body, and with all 
 their souls, had, when the dessert came on the 
 table, brought themselves to the point of not 
 remembering how no was pronounced. 
 
 During the dinner, the count turned the 
 conversation upon the topic of Madrid. There 
 are divers roads that lead to Rome, but he 
 made every possible road lead to Madrid. He 
 spoke of the court, of the Count Duke, of the 
 ministers, of the family of the governor, of the 
 bull fights, which he could describe very well, 
 because he had been very advantageously 
 placed for seeing them : he spoke of the Es- 
 curial also of which he was able to give a 
 minute account, as a servant of the Count 
 Duke had taken him through every hole and 
 corner of it. For some time the company, 
 like an audience, was attentive to him alone, 
 but at length got into separate colloquies : he 
 than began to tell other fine stories, in confi- 
 dence, to the provincial father, who was seat- 
 ed by his side, and who let him talk on. But 
 at a certain point he gave a turn to the dis- 
 16 
 
 course, he dropped Madrid, and from court to 
 court, from dignity to dignity, got to talk 
 about cardinal Barberini, who was a capuchin, 
 and brother to the reigning Pope Urban the 
 eighth. The count uncle was now obliged to 
 let the other talk a while, and to listen, and 
 finally to remember that every body in this 
 world were not obliged to play the second fid- 
 dle to him. Having risen from table he request- 
 ed the provincial father to accompany him to 
 another room. Two important personages, 
 two gray beards, two consummate tacticians, 
 were now front to front. The magnifico made 
 the very reverend father seat himself, and hav- 
 ing also taken a seat, began : 
 
 " On account of the friendship between us, 
 I have thought of speaking to your paternity of 
 an affair that mutually concerns us, and that 
 it will be better to settle between us, without 
 letting it take another course, that might and 
 therefore, in perfect sincerity, I will say what 
 it is about, and I am quite sure that in two 
 words we can arrange it. Tell me, in your 
 convent of Pescarenico, is there not one father 
 Christopher ?" 
 
 The provincial father nodded assent. 
 
 " Will your paternity tell me frankly, like a 
 friend this subject this father I do not 
 know him personally, although I know a great 
 many of the capuchin fathers, men of worth, 
 zealous, prudent, humble I have been a friend 
 of the order ever since I was a boy but in 
 every family that, is rather numerous there is 
 always some one, that has got a head and 
 this father Christopher, I know from certain 
 circumstances that he is a man rather prone 
 to get into disputes that he has not all that 
 prudence, all that consideration I should 
 judge he must have given your paternity some 
 anxiety more than once." 
 
 I understand here is something or other 
 going on, thought the provincial to himself. 
 It is my fault I knew very well that bless- 
 ed father Christopher was just a subject to 
 travel about from pulpit to pulpit, and not a 
 man to leave six months in one place, espe- 
 cially in the country convents. 
 
 " Indeed," he began, " I am extremely sorry 
 to hear that your magnificence entertains such 
 an opinion of father Christopher, for, as far as 
 I know, he is a religious person exemplary 
 inside in the convent, and highly esteemed 
 out of it." 
 
 " I understand very well, your paternity ne- 
 cessarily but, truly as a sincere friend, I 
 wish to inform you of a matter you ought 
 to be acquainted with ; and if indeed it was 
 already known, I might without failing in re- 
 spect, allude to certain consequences possi- 
 ble that I say no more. This father Christo- 
 pher, we know to have protected a man who 
 belongs to those parts, a man your paternity 
 will have heard him spoken of, he that escaped 
 with so much scandal from the hands of jus- 
 tice, after having done things, that terrible 
 Saint Martin's day, things that Lorenzo 
 Tramaglino." 
 
 
 .
 
 122 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 Ha, ha ! thought the provincial, and then 
 said, " This is quite new to me, but your mag- 
 nificence knows very well that one part of our 
 office is precisely to go in search of those who 
 stray, to bring them back to the fold." 
 
 " That is right ; but there are certain ways ot 
 dealing with such people, that ; these are thorny 
 matters, delicate affairs " and here instead of 
 puffing and swelling his cheeks out, he drew in 
 his lips and as much air as he usually blew out, 
 and continued, " I have thought it right to give 
 your excellency this hint, because if ever it 
 might be that some complaint might be made at 
 Rome I know nothing and there might come 
 from Rome " 
 
 " Your magnificence is very kind in giving 
 me this counsel, but I feel certain that if in- 
 quires should be made into this affair, that it 
 will be found that father Christopher has had 
 nothing to do with this man, but in the way of 
 directing him how to conduct himself. I know 
 father Christopher." 
 
 " Certainly, your excellency must know 
 better than me what sort pf a person he was 
 in his day, and the affairs he was concerned in 
 when he was a young man." 
 
 " It is the glory of our habit, count, that a 
 man whom the world has had occasion to talk 
 about, should, notwithstanding this, become so 
 entirely changed : for since father Christopher 
 has belonged to our order " 
 
 " I wisn to believe it with all my heart, I 
 wish to believe it ; but sometimes as the pro- 
 verb says the dress does not make the monk." 
 
 The proverb did not exactly fit, but the 
 count had substituted it in the place of another 
 that crossed his mind, that the " wolf changes 
 his skin but not his viciousness." 
 
 "I have some information," he went on, 
 "some indications " 
 
 " Does your magnificence positively know," 
 said the provincial, " that this religious person 
 has committed any breach of duty we all 
 may err do me the favor to inform me if it is 
 so. I am a superior, unworthily, but I am 
 made so expressly to correct and remedy such 
 irregularities." 
 
 "I will tell you ; together with the unplea- 
 sant circumstance of the countenance which 
 this father has given to the person I mentioned, 
 there is another very disagreeable matter, and 
 which might but between us two, we can ar- 
 range every thing at once. This father Christo- 
 pher, as I was saying, has undertaken to cm- 
 broil himself with my nephew, Don Rodrigo." 
 
 " Indeed I am very sorry at this ! extreme- 
 ly sorry, indeed I am." 
 
 " My nephew is young and hot ; he feels his 
 consequence, and is not accustomed to be pro- 
 voked." 
 
 " It shall be my duty to inform myself cor- 
 rectly of this fact. As I have already said to 
 your magnificence, who with your great know- 
 ledge of tne world, and with your equity, knows 
 these things better than myself, we are all flesh, 
 all subject to err ; as mucn on one side as on the 
 other.and if ourfatherChristophcrhas erred." 
 
 " Your paternity will see that these are 
 things, as I was saying, to settle between our- 
 selves, to bury here, if they are too much 
 stirred up, all the worse. You know how 
 these things arise ; contests of this kind often 
 spring from some trifling matter, and keep 
 getting worse, getting worse. If we try to 
 
 Eet to the bottom of them, we either lose our 
 ibor or create a hundred other difficulties. 
 Calm them down, stop them at the beginning, 
 very reverend father, stop them, calm them. 
 My nephew is a young man, the friar, from 
 what I hear, has all the spirit, the inclina- 
 tions of youth, and it is our business who 
 have years on our shoulders too many of 
 them, very reverend father it is our business 
 to find common sense for these young men, 
 and to smooth over their irregularities. Luckily 
 we are in time to do it, the affair has made no 
 noise, it is still a good case of principiis obsta. 
 We must separate the fire from the straw. 
 Sometimes a man who does not succeed, or 
 who is the cause of inconvenience in one 
 place, succeeds to a charm in another place. 
 Your paternity knows very well how to find a 
 convenient niche for this friar. There is also 
 the other circumstance, that he may possibly 
 have some distrust of the person with whom 
 he may be very glad to be removed, and so by 
 placing him in some convent at some distance, 
 we undertake one journey and two good 
 offices, every thing accommodates itself, or to 
 express it better, nothing is wasted." 
 
 This conclusion, the provincial father was 
 looking for from the beginning of the inter- 
 view. Ah ! thought he to himself that is 
 what you are wanting to bring me to. It is 
 the old matter, when a poor Iriar is at vari- 
 ance with any of you, or with one of you, or 
 gives umbrage, immediately without inquiring 
 whether he is in the right or the wrong, the 
 superior has to set him on his travels. 
 
 When the count ceased to speak and sent 
 out a great puff with his breath, that was equal 
 to a full stop, " I comprehend exactly," said the 
 provincial, "what your magnificence means 
 to say, but before a step is taxen " 
 
 "It is a step and it is not a step, very reve- 
 rend father, it is a natural thing, a common 
 thing ; and if we don't come to this determina- 
 tion, and that directly, I foresee a mountain of 
 disorders, an iliad of woes. Any thing very 
 rash I should not think my nephew would 
 I am here and he would not but at the point 
 where the affair is, if we don't cut it short 
 without losing time by one neat blow, it will 
 not be possible to stop it, to keep it secret, 
 and then it will not be my nephew only we 
 shall rouse a wasp's nest our house as you 
 know has extensive " 
 
 " Very, indeed !" 
 
 " Your excellency understands me ; men 
 that have got blood in their veins, and who in 
 this world pass for something. Then puncti- 
 lio arises, it becomes a common affair, and 
 after that even those who are friends to 
 peace It would really go to my very heart, to
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 123 
 
 be obliged to find myself I, who have al- 
 ways had such a predilection for the capuchin 
 friars ! Those fathers, to do good as they 
 do with such edification of the public want 
 peace, they dont wan't quarrels, they want to 
 be in harmony with and then they have con- 
 nections too, and these bad punctilios, if they 
 are permitted to get ahead, extend, ramify, 
 penetrate the whole world gets divided. I 
 myself am in that blessed sort of position, that 
 obliges me to sustain a certain decorum, 
 His excellency my colleagues, every thing 
 becomes a party affair especially with that 
 other circumstance Your paternity knows 
 how such things work." 
 
 "Truly," said the provincial father, "father 
 Christopher is a preacher, and I had already 
 entertained some thoughts at this very mo- 
 ment I have been requested but again at this 
 precise moment it might look like a punish- 
 ment, and a punishment before any proof had 
 
 been exhibited " 
 
 " No punishment at all ! not at all, a pru- 
 dent foresight, an arrange of mutual conveni- 
 ence, merely to prevent the sinister conse- 
 quences I have done." 
 
 " Between you count and myself, the thing 
 is exactly so, I comprehend. But, the affair 
 being as it was related to your magnificence, 
 it is impossible I say, but that it must have 
 transpired somewhat in the country. In all 
 places, there are a set of mischief makers, and 
 curious malicious persons, who take a delight 
 in seeing the nobles and the religious orders 
 upon bad terms with each other, and they will 
 talk and make a noise about such things. 
 Every one has his own decorum to preserve ; 
 and as to myself, as superior unworthy I 
 have an express duty in charge the honor of 
 the habit it is not my affair it is a deposit 
 respecting which Your nephew, since he is 
 so warm in the affair, as your magnificence 
 says, might take the thing as a satisfaction 
 offered to himself, and I don't mean that he 
 would boast and make a triumph of it, but " 
 " Your paternity must be joking with me ? 
 My nephew is a cavalier of some considera- 
 tion in the world according to his rank and 
 right ; but with me he is only a boy, and will 
 do exactly what I shall prescribe him to do. I 
 will tell you more, my nephew shall know 
 nothing about it. What reason is there for us 
 to say any thing about it ? They are matters 
 between us two, as between good friends, and 
 every thing is to be kept quiet. Give your- 
 self no thought about it. I ought to be accus- 
 tomed to be discreet." Here ne gave a puff. 
 " As to the idle talkers," he continued, " what 
 have they got to say ? It is a very common 
 thing for a religious man to go from one place 
 to another to preach ! And then, we who are 
 on the look out we who foresee matters we 
 who ought must not we look after these 
 talkers too?" 
 
 " Still, with a view to prevent them, it 
 would be as well upon this occasion if your 
 nephew was to malce some demonstration, to 
 
 give some open mark of friendship, of defer- 
 ence, not on our account, but for the order." 
 
 " Surely, surely, that is right but there is 
 no occasion for it ; I know that the capuchins 
 are always treated in a respectful manner by 
 my nephew. He does it from inclination, it is 
 a family feeling, and then he will be glad to do 
 what is agreeable to myself. As to the rest 
 in this affair some thing still more marked 
 it is very just. Leave it to me, very reverend 
 father, I will order my nephew that is, it 
 will be proper to insinuate it in a prudent 
 way, so that he may not be aware of what 
 has passed between us. There is no occa- 
 sion you know to put a plaster on where 
 there is no wound. And as to what we have 
 concluded, the sooner it is done, the better. 
 And if the place was a good distance off, to 
 remove every possible chance." 
 
 " I have been solicited precisely to send a 
 person to Rimini, and perhaps, without any 
 other cause, I might have cast my eyes 
 
 " Very opportune, very opportune indeed 1 
 And when ?" 
 
 " Why, since the matter is to be done, it 
 will be done directly." 
 
 "Directly, directly, very reverend father, 
 better to day than tomorrow ;" and rising from 
 his seat, " and if I and my relations can be of 
 any service to our good fathers, the capu- 
 chins " 
 
 " We have had proofs of the kindness of 
 your house," said the provincial father, rising 
 also, and moving towards the door, behind his 
 conqueror. 
 
 " We have extinguished a spark," said the 
 latter, proceeding slowly " A spark, very re- 
 verend father, that might have been the cause 
 of a conflagration. Between good friends, a 
 few words settle great matters. 
 
 Having reached the room they had left, he 
 threw the folding doors wide open, and insist- 
 ing upon the provincial father's entering first, 
 they again rejoined the company. 
 
 In the management of an affair the count 
 uncle was accustomed to use much study, 
 much art, and many words, and they produced 
 corresponding effects. In fact the colloquy 
 we have described, procured friar Christopher 
 a journey on foot from Pescarenico to Rimini, 
 a walk of no small magnitude. 
 
 A capuchin arrived one evening at Pesca- 
 renico from Milan with a despatch for the fa- 
 ther guardian. In it was the order for father 
 Christopher to go to Rimini, to preach during 
 lent. The letter to the guardian instructed 
 lim to hint to the friar that he must abandon 
 all thoughts of any matter he might have en- 
 jaged himself in, in the country he was about 
 :o leave, and not maintain any correspondence 
 with it ; the friar who was the bearer of the des- 
 patch was to be his companion during the 
 journey. The guardian said nothing that 
 evening, but in the morning he called for bro- 
 ker Christopher, showed him the letter re- 
 quiring his obedience, told him to get his bask-
 
 124 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 et, his staff, his sudario,* and his girdle, ready 
 immediately to begin his journey with the fa- 
 ther companion who had presented himself. 
 
 What a stroke for our friar ? Renzo, Lucia, 
 Agnes, rushed to his mind, and he almost ex- 
 claimed to himself, " Oh, God, what will these 
 helpless creatures do, when I am no longer 
 here ? But soon raising his eyes to heaven, he 
 accused himself of want of faith, of believing 
 that he was necessary to accomplish anything. 
 He crossed his hands upon his breast in sign of 
 obedience, and bowed his head before the fa- 
 ther guardian, who taking him aside, commu- 
 nicated to him, with some advice from himself, 
 the other part of his instructions. Brother 
 Christopher went to his cell, took his basket, 
 placed within it his breviary, his quaresimal, 
 and his bread of pardon. He then girded his 
 loins with a scourge made of skin, took leave 
 of the monks who were in the convent, pre- 
 sented himself as a last act to receive the bene- 
 diction of the father guardian, and with his 
 companion took the road prescribed to him. 
 
 We have said that Don Rodrigo, more deter- 
 mined than ever to bring his enterprise to a 
 conclusion, had resolved to seek the assistance 
 of a terrible man. Of this personage we can 
 neither give the surname, the name, the title, 
 nor even a conjecture about them. What 
 makes this the more strange is, that we find a 
 great many notices of him in the printed books 
 of that time. That it is the same person, the 
 facts leave no sort of room to doubt ; but there 
 appears a studied effort to avoid mentioning 
 his name, as if it might burn the pen, and the 
 hand of the writer. Francesco Rivola, in his 
 life of the Cardinal Federigo Borromeo, having 
 to speak of this man, says, " A nobleman as 
 powerful by his riches, as he was noble by 
 birth," without adding more. Guiseppe Ripa- 
 monti, who in the fifth book of the fifth decade 
 of his Storia Patria, enters into more detail, 
 calls him, " one, this man, that man, that per- 
 sonage." " I will notice," says he, in his pure 
 latin, which we translate as well as we are able, 
 " the case of one who being amongst the very 
 first of the great men of the city, had fixed his 
 residence at a villa, and there making himself 
 secure through the crimes he committed, held 
 all sentences, the judges, the inagistrature, and 
 the sovereignty, in contempt. Living upon 
 the extreme confines of the State, he led an in- 
 dependent life; the receiver of banished men, 
 himself having been banished for a time, and 
 returned afterwards." From this writer we 
 shall take other passages by and by, which go 
 precisely to confirm and illustrate the narrative 
 of our anonymous author, with which we now 
 proceed. 
 
 To do that which was forbidden by the 
 public decrees, or opposed by any force what- 
 ever, to be the arbiter, the master in other peo- 
 ple's affairs, without any other motive but a 
 passion for controlling every thing ; to be feared 
 by all, and to be assisted by the very men, who 
 
 A winding sheet, possessed by every capuchin. 
 
 were accustomed to have their own behests 
 executed by others ; such had been at all 
 times, the principal passion of this man. From 
 his youth, at the exhibition and noise of so 
 many overbearing acts, so many agitations, so 
 many quarrels ; at the sight of so many ty- 
 rants, he experience a mixed sentiment of in- 
 dignation and impatient envy. Young, and 
 residing in the city, he let no occasion pass, 
 indeed sought for them, to oppose himself to 
 the leaders of this class, to humble them, to 
 force them to contend with him, or to seek his 
 friendship. Superior to the greater part of 
 them in riches and dependants, and perhaps to 
 all in boldness and fortitude, he forced many 
 to withdraw their pretensions of rivalry, many 
 he treated very roughly, and many became his 
 friends. Not friends upon an equality, but 
 only whilst they conformed in their conduct, 
 to his insolent and superb spirit ; subordinate 
 friends, who professea to be inferior to him- 
 self, and who were contented to be placed at 
 his left hand. 
 
 In fact, however, he became a sort of in- 
 strument of theirs, for they never failed in 
 their enterprises to ask for the aid of such an 
 auxiliary as he was, and if he had drawn 
 back, his reputation would have suffered, fall- 
 ing short of what he had assumed to be ; so 
 that, what on his own account, and what on 
 account of others, he committed so many 
 crimes, that neither his name, nor connex- 
 ions, nor his friends, nor his audacity being 
 sufficient to sustain him against the public 
 outlawries, and against so many powerful 
 hatreds, he was compelled to submit, and to 
 leave the state. I imagine it is to this circum- 
 stance that a remarkable passage in Ripa- 
 monti refers. " Once when he nad to leave 
 the country, the secrecy, the respect, and the 
 timidity he observed, were after this fashion. 
 He went through the city on horseback, with 
 a train of dogs, to the sound of trumpets ; and 
 passing by the palace where the count resided, 
 he left with the guards a message for the go- 
 vernor, replete with the vilest insolences." 
 
 During his absence his practices were rot 
 discontinued, nor his correspondence with the 
 friends we have spoken of, and who continued 
 their connection with him, interrupted. We 
 translate literally from Ripamonti, " In hidden 
 league of atrocious counsels, and the most 
 dreadful undertakings." It appears also that 
 besides these, he committed in other places, 
 some terrible deeds, respecting which the 
 same historian speaks with a misterious brevi- 
 ty, " some foreign princes too availed them- 
 selves often of his aid in some slaughter of 
 importance to them, to be perpetrated, and 
 frequently he had sent to him from a distance 
 a reinforcement of ruffians to serve under his 
 orders." 
 
 At length, (after how long it is not known) 
 cither the outlawry was removed, by som 
 powerful intercession, or audacity stood in the 
 
 Elace of every permission, ana he returned 
 orae, not however to Milan, but to a castle be-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 123 
 
 longing to him of which he had the fief, upon 
 the confines of the Bergamasc territory, which, 
 as every one knows, was at that time, under 
 the Venetian dominion, and there he fixed his 
 residence. "The place," I quote yet from 
 Ripamonti, " was an office of bloody man- 
 dates, his servants were all outlaws and mur- 
 derers, neither his cook nor scullion could be 
 dispensed from having committed homicide, 
 the hands of the boys were steeped in blood." 
 Besides this fine domestic family, he had, as 
 the same historian affirms, another composed 
 of similar subjects, dispersed about, and quar- 
 tered as it were in various parts of the two 
 states, upon the edge of which he lived, hold- 
 ing them always ready to his orders. 
 
 All the petty tyrants for a considerable circle 
 around him, had been compelled, some upon 
 one occasion, and others upon another, to 
 choose between the friendship and the hostili- 
 ty of this extraordinary ana master tyrant. 
 But those who at first had attempted to offer 
 any resistance to him, had succeeded so ill, 
 that no one was heard of disposed to try the 
 experiment again. Nor could any who at- 
 tended to nothing but their own affairs, and 
 who, as the saying is, kept themselves to 
 themselves, remain independent of him. A 
 messenger would arrive to intimate that such 
 an undertaken must be desisted from, that 
 such a debtor must not be molested, and to 
 communications of that nature, it was neces- 
 sary to answer yes or no. When a party, with 
 a sort of vassal homage, left to his arbitra- 
 ment any affair whatever, the other party had 
 the hard choice either to be satisfied with his 
 decision, or to declare him their enemy, a state 
 of things equivalent to the third stage of a 
 consumption. Many, who had been wronged, 
 had recourse to him to do them justice ; many 
 had recourse to him again who had not been 
 wronged, to secure his patronage, and to shut 
 up all approach to their adversary ; both these 
 classes became in a more especial manner his 
 dependents. Sometimes it fell out, that an 
 oppressed and feeble individual, trampled 
 upon, and embittered by some powerful per- 
 son, flew to him ; and then taking the part of 
 the oppressed, he would force him to desist, 
 to repair the wrong, and even descend to ex- 
 cuse himself ; or refusing, he would crush him 
 to nothing, and compel him to leave the place 
 where he nad tyrannized, or make him at length 
 
 ;ay a more expeditious and terrible penalty, 
 n such cases, that name so feared and so ab- 
 horred, had been blessed for a moment ; for I 
 will not call it justice, but such a remedy, or 
 reparation of any kind, in the circumstances 
 of the times, was not to be looked for from 
 any other authority or force, either private or 
 public. More frequently, and indeed general- 
 ly, his power was the minister of iniquitous 
 determinations, of atrocious vengeances, of out- 
 rageous capriciousness. But these very dif- 
 ferent uses of his power, produced but one 
 effect, that of impressing upon the minds of 
 others, a strong idea of how much he was 
 
 F, 
 
 capable both of conceiving and executing in 
 spite of equity and iniquity, those two consi- 
 derations which oppose so many impediments 
 to the will of man, and which so frequently in- 
 duce him to retrace his steps. The fame of 
 those ordinary tyrants was pretty much confi- 
 ned to the limited region of country, where 
 they usually or very frequently committee 
 their enormities ; every district had its own, 
 and they resembled each other so much, that 
 there was no inducement whatever for peo- 
 ple to trouble themselves about any, the 
 weight of whose villanies did not fall exactly 
 upon themselves. But this man's fame was 
 diffused through every corner of the Milanese, 
 every where his life was the subject of popu- 
 lar stories, and his name was significant of 
 something extravagantly powerful, dark and 
 fabulous. The suspicion that every where 
 was entertained of his colleagues and cut- 
 throats contributed to keep alive the recollec- 
 tion of him. It is true they were only sus- 
 pected, for who would openly profess a depend- 
 ance on such a man : But every tyrant could 
 be one of his colleagues, every villain one of 
 his instruments, and this very uncertainty 
 itself made the opinion of the thing still 
 more vast, and the terror of it still more deep. 
 And whenever any unknown ruffians were 
 observed more hideous than usual, whenever 
 any enormity was committed of which the 
 author could not be guessed at first, the name 
 of this man was murmured forth, who, thanks 
 to the blessed circumspection of our writers, 
 we are compelled to call the Un-named. 
 
 From the horrid castle of this man, to the 
 palace of Don Rodrigo, it was not more than 
 seven miles ; and this last, scarcely become a 
 master and a tyrant, could not but perceive 
 that living at so short a distance from this per- 
 sonage, it was not possible to follow that pro- 
 fession, without either coming to a contest 
 with him, or acting in concert. He had there- 
 fore offered himself, and had become his friend, 
 as all the others had done. He had rendered 
 him more than one service, (the manuscript 
 adds no more) and every time had received 
 promises of reciprocal aid, whenever a con- 
 juncture should arrive. He was very careful 
 however to conceal this friendship, or at least 
 not to let it appear of how close a nature it was. 
 Don Rodrigo certainly wanted to play the ty- 
 rant himself, but not the savage tyrant : the 
 trade was to him a means, not an end. He 
 was desirous of living freely in the city, of en- 
 joying his comforts, his promenades, the ho- 
 nors of civil life ; and for this reason it was ne- 
 cessary for him to have some consideration for 
 his connections, to cultivate friendships with 
 respectable persons, to have a hand in the 
 balance of justice, so that he might when it 
 was necessary weigh it down in his own fa- 
 vor, or put it out of the way, or upon occasion 
 let it fall upon the head of some one, and thus 
 more easily settle an affair than by private 
 violence. An open intimacy then, indeed we 
 may call it a league, with so notorious a per-
 
 126 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 son, an open enemy of the public authority, 
 certainly would not have consisted with the 
 standing he wished to maintain with others, 
 and especially with the count uncle. If the 
 intimacy could not be altogether concealed, it 
 might pass off as an indispensable thing to a 
 man wnose enmity was too dangerous, and 
 thus be excused bv necessity: for those 
 whose duly it is to have the laws observed, 
 when they have not the inclination or the 
 means to discharge that duty, consent at length 
 that others, up to a certain point, may take 
 care of themselves as they can, and if they do 
 not expressly consent to it, at least they shut 
 one eye upon the fact. 
 
 One morning Don Rodrigo went out on 
 horseback, with his hunting train, with a small 
 escort of ruffians on foot, Griso at the stirrup, 
 and four others behind, and took his way to the 
 castle of the Un-named. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE castle of the Un-named was advanta- 
 geously placed over a dark and narrow valley, 
 at the top of a hill that jutted from a sharp 
 ridge of mountains , it is difficult to say whe- 
 ther it was joined to or separated from them 
 by a heap of mounds and steeps, and by a 
 labyrinth of caves and precipices, as well in 
 the rear, as on the flanks : on the side fronting 
 the valley was the only practicable approach, 
 a slope somewhat sharp, but level and contin- 
 uous, with some pasturage on the top ; at the 
 skirts below it was cultivated and had a few 
 habitations. The bottom of the valley was a 
 bed of rocks, over which, as the season was 
 dry or wet a sort of torrent ran, which was the 
 boundary of the two States. The opposite 
 hills, which formed the other side of the val- 
 ley, had also a slope gently inclined and culti- 
 vated, but it was not extensive ; the remainder 
 was constituted of rude rocks and crags, ab- 
 rupt declivities, naked and without any paths, 
 save where a few bushes were growing in the 
 fissures, and on the ridges which separated 
 them. 
 
 From the top of this infamous strong place, 
 its savage master, like an eagle from his bloody 
 nest, could command the whole space around, 
 wherever human footsteps could attain ; above 
 him, the tread of no one could be heard. At 
 the turn of his eye, he could look into every 
 part of his abode, the declivities, the bottom 
 and the roads which were opened in it. That 
 with its angles and windings which ascended to 
 his terrible domicile, in its whole serpentine 
 course, could be seen by any one looking down 
 from the windows ; from the loop-holes, the 
 master could at his ease count the steps of any 
 one who was approaching, and observe him a 
 
 hundred times. And if the most powerful 
 troop should venture to assault it, with the 
 garrison of Bravo's he kept there, he could fell 
 numbers of them to the ground, or tumble them 
 to the bottom of the valley, ere one could reach 
 the top. As to the rest, no one was daring 
 enough to say nothing of the height to ven- 
 ture into the valley, not even when on a jour- 
 ney, without he was on friendly terms with 
 the master of the castle. Any birri who dared 
 to show himself, would have been treated ex- 
 actly as spies are when caught in camp. Tra- 
 gical stories were told of the last who had 
 made attempts of that kind, but they were al- 
 ready old stories ; not one of the young peo- 
 ple of the valley remembered having seen one 
 of that race there, either alive or dead. 
 
 Such is the description our anonymous gives 
 us of the place, saying nothing of its name ; 
 and, indeed, to leave no traces by which we 
 may discover it, he says nothing of the jour- 
 ney of Don Rodrigo, but launches him at once 
 in the midst of the valley, at the foot of the hill, 
 just where the tortuous and difficult ascent to 
 the castle began. There was an inn at this 
 place 7 , which might as well have been called a 
 guard house. An old sign which was hanging 
 above the door, had a sun full of rays painted 
 on both sides : but the public voice, which 
 sometimes repeats names as it is taught, 
 sometimes shapes them after its own fancy, 
 called this inn by no other name but Malanotte.* 
 
 At the trampling of ahorse which drew near, 
 a sort of wretch of a lad appeared at the door, 
 well armed with daggers and pistols, and giv- 
 ing a glance, ran in to inform three ruffians, 
 who were seated at a table playing with some 
 dirty and curled up cards. The man who ap- 
 peared to be their nead, rose, went to the door, 
 and recognizing one of his master's friends, 
 bowed. Don Rodrigo, returning the salute 
 very politely, asked him if his master was at 
 the castle, and this corporal of scoundrels hav- 
 ing answered that he believed he was, he dis- 
 mounted from his horse, and threw the reins 
 to Tiradritto,t one of his train. He then took 
 his fowling piece from his shoulder, and gave 
 it to Montanarolo.t as if to lighten himself of 
 a useless load in going up the hill, but in fact, 
 because he knew very well no one was per- 
 mitted to carry arms to the castle. He then 
 took from his pocket, a few livres, and gave 
 them to Tanabuso, saying to him, " The rest 
 of you will wait here for me, and make your- 
 selves merry in the meantime with these fine 
 fellows." He next gave the corporal a few 
 crowns of gold, telling him to keep one half 
 for himself, and to divide the rest amongst his 
 companions; this being done he began the 
 ascent, taking Griso along with him, who had 
 also deposited his gun at the inn. In the 
 meantime the three abovementioned Bravo's 
 and Squinternotto,|| who was the fourth,(pret- 
 ty names these, to preserve with such care) 
 
 * Bad night. f Good aim. } Highlander. 
 V Hollow den. || Disconcerted.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 127 
 
 remained with the three belonging to the Un- 
 named, and with the wretched boy that had 
 been brought up to the gallows, to game, to 
 drink, and to relate stories about their own 
 prowess. 
 
 Another rascally bravo of the Un-named, 
 who was going up, soon after joined Don Rod- 
 rigo, looKed at him, knew him, and went on 
 in company, and thus spared him the annoy- 
 ance of telling his name, and of giving account 
 of himself to others whom they might meet on 
 the road, and to whom he was unknown. Hav- 
 ing reached the castle, and entered it, leaving 
 Griso however at the gate, he was conducted 
 through a labyrinth of obscure corridors, and 
 through halls, with their walls covered with 
 muskets, sabres, and halberts, and in every 
 one of which, there was a bravo on guard ; 
 and after being made to wait some time, he 
 was admitted into the room where the Un- 
 named was. 
 
 Returning the salutation of Don Rodrigo, he 
 rose to meet him, and looked at him from top 
 to bottom, especially examining his hands and 
 face, a custom so habitual with him, that he 
 observed it almost involuntarily with all who 
 came, even if they were his oldest and most 
 proved friends. His person was tall, he look- 
 ed dried up, and was bald. At first sight that 
 baldness, the few gray hairs that he had left, 
 and the furrows onnis countenance, made him 
 look as if he had advanced far beyond the 
 three score years he had scarcely reached : his 
 deportment and his movements, the poignant 
 austerity of his lineaments, and a deep fire that 
 sparkled from his eyes, indicated a liveliness 
 of body and mind that would have been extra- 
 ordinary even in a young man. 
 
 Don Rodrigo told him that he came for ad- 
 vice and aid, that he was engaged in a difficult 
 undertaking, from which his honor did not 
 permit him to withdraw, that the promises of 
 the man who never pledged himself too far 
 nor in vain, were remembered by him, and 
 then proceeded to explain to him the infamous 
 nerplexity in which he was, how to act. The 
 tin-named, who already had heard something 
 of the affair, but in a confused way, listened 
 attentively, such stories being to his taste, and 
 because a name was implicated in this, well 
 known, and most odious to him, that of brother 
 Christopher, the open enemy of tyrants, both 
 in word and deed, wherever he could be. The 
 narrator then began to magnify the difficulties 
 of the undertaking, the distance of the place, 
 a monastery, the Signora. At this, the un- 
 named, as if a demon concealed within him, 
 had commanded him to do so, immediately in- 
 terrupted him, saying that he took the enter- 
 prize into his own hands. He took down the 
 name of our poor Lucia, and dismissed Don 
 Rodrigo, saying, " in a short time you will re- 
 ceive from me information of what you ought 
 to do." 
 
 If the reader remembers that wretch Egi- 
 dio, who dwelt near the monastery where Lu- 
 cia had sought an asylum, he must now learn 
 
 that he was one of the most confidential ac- 
 complices in villany, that the Un-named had, 
 and this was the reason why he had so imme- 
 diately and resolutely pledged his word. Still, 
 almost the instant he was alone again, he felt, 
 1 will not say penitent, but angry at having 
 given a pledge. For some time past he had 
 begun to experience, if not remorse, a sense of 
 weariness at his own villanies. They had ac- 
 cumulated to so frightful a number, that his 
 memory at least, if not his conscience, took 
 the alarm at every new crime he committed, 
 for it brought them before his mind with a feel- 
 ing that they were both painful and too many ; 
 it was like adding to the weight of a load 
 that was already almost intolerable. That 
 kind of repugnance which accompanied his 
 first crimes, but which he had conquered, and 
 which was almost entirely subdued, was again 
 beginning to make him feel its influence. At 
 that early period the image of that long and 
 boundless future before him, that conscious- 
 ness of a vigorous vitality, filled his mind with 
 a thoughtless sort of confidence : but now, his 
 thoughts of the future, were precisely what 
 made the past ungrateful to him. To grow 
 old! -to die! and then? It is a remarkable 
 thing, that the thoughts of death, which in any 
 danger at hand, in front of the enemy, had once 
 roused his spirits, and infused in them an 
 anger that was full of courage ; now, when 
 they came to him, in the silence of night, and 
 amidst the security of his castle, filled him 
 with immediate dread. It was not that death, 
 which an enemy could threaten, himself being 
 mortal ; it was not a danger to be repelled 
 with more powerful weapons, or a more ready 
 arm ; it came alone, it sprung up from within, 
 
 Eerhaps it was yet distant, but every moment 
 rought it nearer; and whilst his soul was 
 painfully struggling to drive away the thought, 
 death was approaching ! In his early days, 
 the frequent recurrence of his misdeeds, the 
 perpetual exhibition of violence, vengeance, 
 and homicide, inspiring him with a ferocious 
 emulation, had also served him as a sort of 
 authority to oppose to his conscience : now 
 there gradually re-appeared in his mind, the 
 confused, but terrible idea, of individual judg- 
 ment, of a reason independent of habit : now, 
 his pre-eminence above the vulgar crowd of 
 murderers, a distinction so infamous, awoke in 
 him at times the feeling of a horrible solitari- 
 ness. That God of whom he had heard speak, 
 but whom for a long time he had not cared 
 either to deny or to acknowledge, occupied 
 only in living as if there were no such being ; 
 now, in certain moments of consternation, pro- 
 duced by no immediate cause, of terror with- 
 out present danger, he appeared to hear call 
 out within him, " I exist notwithstanding." 
 In the first fervor of his passions, the law that 
 he had heard announced in his name, had ap- 
 peared odious to him ; now, when his mind 
 unexpectedly reverted to it, in despite of him- 
 self, nis reason told him it was a thing that 
 must be fulfilled.
 
 128 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 Still he never permitted these emotions to 
 appear, either in words nor deeds, he buried 
 them deeply, and masked them over with the 
 semblance of a more intense ferocity ; in this 
 way he sought too to hide them from himself, 
 to stifle them, envying (since he could not an- 
 nihilate nor forget) those days in which he 
 could perpetrate crimes without feeling re- 
 morse, navin no solicitude but for their suc- 
 cess : he made every effort to revive them, to 
 lay his grasp once more upon his ancient en- 
 tire, bold, imperturbable wiD, to convince him- 
 self that he was still the same man. 
 
 Thus upon this occasion, he had instantly 
 pledged his word to Don Rodrigo, to close the 
 entrance to every kind of hesitation. But 
 scarce had he taken his leave, feeling that re- 
 soluteness which he had called up to promise, 
 becoming weak again, and that thoughts were 
 gradually springing up in his mind, which 
 tempted him to break his word, and which 
 would have led him to sink himself in the es- 
 timation of his friend, of one who was but a 
 secondary accomplice to cut short the painful 
 struggle, he called for Nibbio, one of the most 
 expert and desperate instruments of his enor- 
 mities, and the man whom he made use of in 
 his correspondence with Egidio. With a re- 
 solute look he ordered him immediately to take 
 to horse, to proceed instantly to Monza, and 
 inform Egidio of tb* engagement he had con- 
 tracted, and that he relied upon him for direc- 
 tions and aid to accomplish it. 
 
 The fellow returned sooner than he was ex- 
 pected, with the answer of Egidio, that the 
 undertaking was easy and secure : that the Un- 
 named should immediately send a carriage that 
 was unknown, with two or three Bravo's dis- 
 guised, and that he, Egidio, would take charge 
 of the rest, and direct the affair. On receiving 
 this information, the Un-named, whatever 
 might be passing in his mind, gave orders in 
 haste to Nibbio himself, that every thing should 
 be arranged accordingly, and that he nimself, 
 with two others whom he designated, should 
 constitute the expedition. 
 
 If the execution of the horrible service 
 which had been required of him, had depend- 
 ed upon Egidio's personal means, certainly he 
 would not have given such an unequivocal 
 promise. But in that asylum, where every 
 thing appeared to present an obstacle, the 
 atrocious youth possessed a means known only 
 to himself, and that which would have proved 
 the greatest obstacle to any other, was the 
 very instrument he intended to make use of. 
 We have stated that the wretched signora once 
 permitted herself to speak to him, and the 
 reader may have comprehended that this was 
 not the only time, it was only the first step in 
 a life of abomination and blood. The voice of 
 this man, now become imperious, and indeed 
 almost authoritative where crime was concern- 
 ed, now imposed upon her the sacrifice of the 
 innocent creature who had been placed under 
 her protection. 
 
 The proposition was a dreadful one to Ger- 
 
 trude. To lose Lucia by any unforeseen acci- 
 dent, without any fault of hers, would have 
 been felt by her as a misfortune, and a bitter 
 punishment ; and now she was enjoined to de- 
 prive herself of her by a perfidious piece of 
 treachery, and to convert into a new remorse, 
 the very means she had of expiation. The 
 wretched nun attempted every way to exempt 
 herself from the horrible command, every one 
 except the one which would have been infal- 
 lible, and which she had in her own power. 
 
 Crime is a master both rigid and inflexible, 
 against whom no one can resist, who does not 
 rebel in his heart. Gertrude could not resolve 
 to do this, and she obeyed. 
 
 The day was fixed upon, the hour drew 
 near ; retired with Lucia in her private parlor, 
 Gertrude caressed her more than usual, and 
 Lucia received her caresses and returned them 
 with increasing attachment; like the lamb, 
 which trembling without fear under the hand 
 of the shepherd whilst feeling its flesh, and 
 gently stroking it down, turns to lick his 
 hands, unsuspecting that the butcher is wait- 
 ing out of the fold, te whom its shepherd has 
 sold it a moment before. 
 
 " I stand in need of a particular service, 
 and you only can render it to me. Many are 
 ready to obey me, bu1J[ have no one in whom 
 I can confine. For a very important matter 
 of my own, which I will communicate to 
 you afterwards, I wish to speak instantly, 
 without the loss of a moment, with that father 
 guardian of the capuchins, who conducted 
 you here to me, my poor Lucia ; but no one 
 must know that I have sent to seek him. I 
 have no one but you to do this embassy secret- 
 ly" 
 
 Lucia was frightened at such a request and 
 with her peculiar bashfulness, but not without 
 a strong expression of surprise, urged, in or- 
 der to excuse herself, such reasons as the 
 signora could understand, and which she ought 
 to have forseen. Without her mother, without 
 an escort, by a solitary road, in an unknown 
 country. But Gertrude, instructed in an in- 
 fernal school, showed so much surprise her- 
 self, and so much displeasure to discover a 
 reluctance in one whom she had been so be- 
 nevolent to, and found all these excuses so in- 
 sufficient. In full day, a few steps, a road that 
 Lucia had come a few days before ; and which, 
 by description, could not be mistaken by any 
 one who had even never seen it ! She said so 
 much that the poor girl, touched with grati- 
 tude and shame at the same time, permitted 
 the words to escape from her mouth, " Well, 
 what do you wish me to do ?" 
 
 " Go to the convent of the capuchins," and 
 here she described the road again, " Have the 
 father guardian called, tell him to come im- 
 mediately to me, but that he must let no one 
 know I have sent for him." 
 
 "But what shall I say to the fattora, who 
 has never seen me go out, and will ask me 
 where I am going?" 
 
 [ Continued m No. 3. ]
 
 THE METROPOLITAN; 
 
 A. MISCELLANY OP LITERATURE AND SCIENCE* 
 
 Vol* II. 
 
 Washington, July 5, 1834. 
 
 TSo. 3. 
 
 "Try to get out without being seen, and 
 if you don't succeed, say that you are going 
 to such a church, where you have promised to 
 say an orison." 
 
 To tell a lie was a new difficulty to poor Lu- 
 cia, but the signora seemed again so distressed 
 at the repulse, and made her so ashamed of 
 preferring a vain scruple to gratitude, that the 
 poor girl, astounded more than convinced, and 
 above all moved by her words, answered, 
 " Well, I will go, God protect me," and she 
 went. 
 
 Gertrude watched her with a teady and 
 troubled eye from the grate, but when she saw 
 her put her foot on the threshhold, as if over- 
 come by an irresistible feeling, she moved her 
 lips, and said, " Hear, Lucia !" 
 
 Lucia returned to the grate, but already an- 
 other thought, one that was accustomed to ty- 
 rannize in her breast, had got the ascendency in 
 Gertrude's wretched mind. Affecting not to 
 be satisfied with the instructions she had given 
 her, she repeated the directions for the road 
 Lucia was to take, and dismissed her, saying, 
 " Do every thing as I told you, and return di- 
 rectly." 
 
 Lucia got out of the cloisters unobserved, 
 followed the street with her eyes on the ground, 
 kept close to the wall, and with the aid of the 
 directions she had received, and her own re- 
 collections, found the gate of the suburb, and 
 passed it. On she went, shrinking within her- 
 self, and somewhat trembling, to gain the 
 main road, and soon reached, and recognized it. 
 
 The road was then, and is still, somewhat 
 sunk down, like the bed of a river, between 
 two high banks with trees on each side, that 
 extended themselves over it like a bower. 
 Seeing it so solitary, her fear increased, and 
 she quickened her pace, but after a short time 
 she got a little courage again, perceiving a 
 traveling carriage standing still in the road, 
 and near it, before the open door, two travel- 
 ers who were looking about as if they were 
 uncertain of the road. Being come nearer to 
 it, she heard one of them say, " Here is a 
 good woman who will tell us the road." In fact, 
 when she had got to the carriage, with a man- 
 ner having more courtesy in it than his coun- 
 tenance warranted, he said to her, "Young 
 woman, could you direct us the road to Mon- 
 za?" 
 
 " Your carriage is turned the wrong way," 
 answered the poor girl, " Monza lies in this di- 
 rection," and she turned round to point with 
 her finger, when the other fellow (it was Nib- 
 
 bio) seizing her unawares by the waist, lifted 
 her from the ground. Lucia frightened, turn- 
 ed her head round and screamed out. The 
 ruffian put her into the carriage, another who 
 was inside took her, and whilst she was in 
 vain struggling and screaming, placed her on 
 the seat opposite to himself, whilst a third 
 putting a handkerchief over her mouth, pre- 
 Vented her cries. In the meantime Nibbio in 
 haste got also into the carriage, the door was 
 shut, and it set off full drive. The other fellow 
 who had made the perfidious inquiry about 
 Monza, remained in fee road, looked carefully 
 around, and perceiving no one, sprung up the 
 bank, and seizing a branch of one of the trees 
 planted on the top, reached it, and entered a 
 copse of oaks, growing along the road for 
 some distance, and concealed himself there, 
 that he might not be seen by the people who 
 might be brought there by the screams. This 
 man was one of the scoundrels in the employ- 
 ment of Egidio : he had watched the gate of 
 the monastery, had seen Lucia come out, had 
 remarked her dress and figure, and had run by 
 a short road to the place where the other fel- 
 lows were with the carriage. 
 
 Who can describe her terror and anguish, or 
 paint what was passing on her mind? She 
 opened her terror-struck eyes, from anxiety 
 to be apprized of her horrible situation, and 
 closed them immediately in dismay at their ruf- 
 fian like visages. She struggled, but she was 
 held fast, she gathered all ner strength, and 
 made an endeavor to get to the door, but two 
 nervous arms held her fast in the back of the 
 carriage, whilst the others kept her still. Every 
 time she was preparing to scream, the handker- 
 chief was applied to her mouth. In the mean- 
 time three nellish voices, kept repeating, in as 
 humane a way as they were able to do, " Si- 
 lence, silence, don't be afraid, we won't hurt 
 you." After some moments, after a struggle 
 of so much anguish, she appeared more tran- 
 quil, let fall her arms, her head dropped back- 
 wards, her eye-lids scarcely moved, and her 
 eye-balls became fixed. The dreadful visages 
 before her, appeared to be giddily waving 
 about, and to confound themselves into one 
 monstrous horror; the color fled from her 
 cheeks, a cold sweat came over her, and she 
 fainted away. " Come, come, courage," said 
 Nibbio, "Courage, courage," repeated Ihe 
 other villains, but the suspension of every 
 sense prevented Lucia at that moment, from 
 hearing the comfort that issued from their 
 atrocious voices. 
 
 129
 
 ISO 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " The devil ! she seems dead," said one of 
 them, " what if she really is dead ?" 
 
 " Stuff!" said the other, " it's one of those 
 faintings that women have. I know when 
 I have had to send some one to the other 
 world, whether man or woman, something 
 else had to be done besides this." 
 
 "Mind your duty," said Nibbio, " and dont 
 trouble yourself with any thing else. Take 
 the trombones out of the carriage seat, and put 
 them in order, there are always some thieves 
 harboring in the wood we are approaching. 
 Dont keep them in your hand so, the devil! 
 place them behind there, lay them down there, 
 dont you see, she is like a chick in the rain, 
 she can't stand any thing ; if she sees real 
 arms, she may die in good earnest. And when 
 she comes to herself again, mind and don't 
 frighten her. Don't touch her unless I motion 
 you to do it, I can hold her without you. And 
 silence, leave it to me to speak." 
 
 In the meantime, the carriage, going on at 
 the same pace, entered the wood. 
 
 After sometime the poor girl began to come 
 to herself, as from a deep and troubled sleep, 
 and opened her eyes. It was difficult for her 
 at first to distinguish the lurid objects which 
 surrounded her, and to collect her thoughts, at 
 length she remembered her dreadful situation. 
 The first use she made of the return of her 
 feeble strength, was to throw herself towards 
 the door to rush out, but she was prevented, 
 aad could only get a momentary glimpse of the 
 savage wildness of the place 'they were pas- 
 sing through ; again she screamed, but Nibbio 
 raising the handkerchief with his rude hand, 
 " Come," said he to her, as softly as he could, 
 " be quiet, it will be better for you, we are not 
 going to hurt you, but if you won't be silent, 
 we must force you to be so." 
 
 " Let me go ! Who are you ? Where are you 
 taking me ? Why have you taken me ? Let 
 me go ! let me go !" 
 
 "Dont be afraid, I tell you, you are not a 
 baby, and ought to comprehend that we don't 
 want to hurt you. Don't you see that we 
 could have killed you a hundred times, if we 
 had any bad intentions ? Be quiet then." 
 
 1 ' No, no, let me go on my way ; I don't 
 knowyou." 
 
 " We know you very well." 
 ^ " Oh, most holy virgin ! let me go, for cha- 
 rity's sake. Who are you ? Why have you 
 taken me ?" 
 
 " Because we were ordered to do it." 
 
 " Who, who, ordered you ? 
 
 " Silence !" said Nibbio with a severe look, 
 you must not ask us questions of this kind." 
 
 Lucia tried once more to spring suddenly to 
 the door, but seeing it was in vain, she again 
 had recourse to intreaties, and with her face 
 drooping, with the tears running down her 
 cheeks, with her voice interrupted by sobs, 
 with her hands joined before her lips, said, 
 " Oh ! for the love of God and the holy virgin, 
 let me go ! What harm have I done to you ? I 
 am a poor creature that has done you no hurt. 
 
 What you have done to me, I forgive with all 
 my heart, and I shall pray to God for you. If 
 you also have a daughter, a wife, or a mother, 
 think of what she would suffer in my situation. 
 Remember that we must all die, and that some 
 day you will have to ask God to be merciful to 
 you. Let me go, leave me here ; the Lord will 
 teach me how to find the road. 
 
 "We can't doit." 
 
 " You can't, Oh, sir, why can't you do it ? 
 Where are you going to take me ? Why >'" 
 
 " We can't, it is useless ; don't be afraid, 
 we won't hurt you, be quiet, and no one will 
 touch you." 
 
 Grieved, agonized, frightened, more than 
 ever, from seeing that she could make no im- 
 pression on them, Lucia turned her thoughts 
 to him who holds the hearts of men in his 
 hands, and who is able, when he pleases, to 
 soften the hardest of them. She snrunk into 
 the corner where she had got, crossed her 
 arms over her breast, and prayed fervently in 
 her heart, and taking her rosary from her 
 pocket, began to tell her beads with more de- 
 votion than she had ever done in her life. From 
 time to time, hoping to have obtained the mer- 
 cy she was seeking for, she again began to 
 entreat them, but it was in vain. Her senses 
 again forsook her, and again she revived to 
 new anguish. But of a truth we have not 
 spirits to describe all that she suffered, our 
 compassion is of too feeling a nature to permit 
 us to do ought but hasten to the conclusion of 
 the journey, which lasted more than four hours, 
 and was succeeded by other hours of anguish, 
 which we shall have to relate. Let us trans- 
 port ourselves to the castle where the unhappy 
 girl is expected. 
 
 The Un-named was expecting her, with 
 solicitude, and an unusual hesitation of mind. 
 A strange thing ! He, who with an unperturbed 
 heart had disposed of so many lives, who in so 
 many deeds done by him, had counted as no- 
 thing the agonies he had inflicted, except to 
 augment his savage voluptuousness of ven- 
 geance, now, respecting the power he exercis- 
 ed over this Lucia, an unknown, insignificant 
 country girl, felt an apprehension, a reluctance, 
 I would almost say a terror. From an eleva- 
 ted window of his castle he had been for some 
 time looking out towards the end of the valley, 
 and at length saw the carriage appear, but 
 with a slow pace, the velocity with which they 
 had traveled, having somewnat abated the ac- 
 tivity of the horses ; and although, from the 
 distance at which it appeared, it did not look 
 larger than one of those toys that children 
 amuse themselves with, still he knew it at once, 
 and felt his heart beat still stronger. Is she in 
 it? thought he what trouble she gives me 
 I must get rid of her. 
 
 And Tie was about to despatch one of his 
 fellows to meet the carriage and order Nibbio 
 to turn and conduct her to the palace of Don 
 Rodrigo. But an imperious no that spoke to 
 him from the recesses of his mind, prevented 
 him ; tormented however with an inclination
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 131 
 
 to give orders of some kind, and the suspense 
 of waiting for the carriage which was coming 
 on pace by pace, like some piece of treachery, 
 becoming intolerable to him, he ordered an old 
 female of the castle to be called. 
 
 This old woman, the daughter of an ancient 
 keeper of the castle, was born in it, and had 
 lived there all her life. What she had seen 
 and heard there from her infancy, had impress- 
 ed upon her mind, a magnificent and terrible 
 idea of the power of her masters, and the prin- 
 cipal maxim she had learnt both from precept 
 and example, was, that obedience was neces- 
 sary upon all occasions, for they were able both 
 to punish and reward in the highest degree. 
 The idea of duty, deposited like a germ in the 
 hearts of all, and developing itself in hers with 
 sentiments of respect, terror, and servile cupi- 
 <lity, kad associated and identified itself with 
 these. When the Un-named, once become 
 master, had begun to make such dreadful use 
 of his power, she experienced at first a kind of 
 shivering repugnance, but also a deeper feel- 
 ing of submission. In time she got accustom- 
 ed to what she saw, and what she heard spok- 
 en of every day : the potent and unbridled will 
 of such a master was to her a kind of fatal 
 justice. When she grew up, she had married 
 one of his servants, who soon after, being gone 
 on an adventurous expedition, had left his 
 bones on the road, and had left her a widow in 
 the castle. The vengeance which her master 
 soon took for his death, gave her a ferocious 
 sort of consolation, and increased her proud 
 feeling at being under such protection. From 
 that time she seldom stirred out of the castle, 
 and by degrees scarce any ideas of the usages 
 of humaaity remained with her, save those she 
 had received there. She had uo particular 
 duty to perform, but amongst such a crew of 
 scoundrels, first one and then the other, 
 was employing her, a thing which she detest- 
 ed. Sometimes she had their rags to mend, 
 then to prepare food for those returning from 
 an expedition, oftentimes she had their wounds 
 to dress ; their commands too, their reproach- 
 es, and their thanks were accompanied with 
 rude jokes and vulgarities ; old dame was the 
 usual appellative they gave her, the additions 
 to this, which were never wanting, varied ac- 
 cording to circumstances, and the humor of 
 the individual. Disturbed in her sloth, and 
 provoked when angry, two dominant passions 
 with her, she sometimes exchanged compli- 
 ments of this kind with them, in which satau 
 would have recognized more of his own inven- 
 tions, than in those of her antagonists. 
 
 "Dost thou see that carriage below?'" said 
 her master to her. 
 
 " I see it," answered she, stretching out her 
 meagre chin, and starting her eyes from their 
 sunken cavities, as if she would force them to 
 the edge of their sockets. 
 
 " Have a litter got ready instantly, get into 
 it, and have thyselt carried down to Malanotte, 
 instantly, without loss of a moment, that thou 
 mayst get there before the carriage, it is com- 
 
 ing on there with the pace of death. In that 
 carriage there is there ought to be a young 
 girl. If there is, tell Nibbio it is my orders 
 that she be placed in the litter, and that he 
 comes here immediately to me. Thou wilt 
 get into the litter with her, and when you have 
 reached the castle, take her to thy chamber. 
 If she asks thee where they are taking her, 
 or whose castle this is, be careful not to" 
 
 " Oh !" said the old woman. 
 
 " But," continued the Un-named, " keep up 
 her spirits." 
 
 " What shall I say to her ?" 
 
 " What shalt thou say to her ? keep up her 
 spirits, I tell thee. Hast thou got to this age 
 without knowing how to encourage others 
 when thou wantest to do so ? Hast thou ever 
 felt anguish at heart ? Dost thou not know what 
 words give consolation at such moments ? Say 
 some of these things to her, find them in the 
 memory of thy own sorrows. Quick, be gone." 
 
 As soon as she had left the room he stopped 
 a while at the window with his eyes fixed up- 
 on the carriage, which now appeared more 
 distinctly, then looked at the sun which at that 
 very instant was sinking behind the moun- 
 tains, and cast a glance at the clouds above, 
 which changed from brown to livid fire. He 
 now closed the window, and began to pace the 
 room backwards and forwards with the hurried 
 step of a traveler. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE old woman ran to obey, and to issue 
 commands with the authority of that name, 
 which, by whoever it was pronounced, gave a 
 spur to every one in the castle, for it never 
 entered into the thoughts of any one that 
 others would dare to utter it without being au- 
 thorised to do so. In fact she got to Malauotte 
 a little before the carriage, and seeing it ap- 
 approach she got out of the litter, made signs 
 to the coachman to stop, drew near to the door, 
 and whispered to Nibbio who put his head 
 out the will of their master. 
 
 Lucia, when the carriage stopped, roused 
 herself and came out of a kind of lethargy. She 
 experienced a new assault of terror, opened 
 her eyes and mouth, and stared. Nibbio now 
 drew back, and the old woman, with her chin 
 on the door, looking at Lucia, said " Come, .. 
 my young maid, come, my poor young thing, 
 come with me, I have orders to beat you well, 
 and to cheer you up.'* 
 
 At the sound of a female voice, the poor girl 
 experienced some comfort, and a momentary 
 courage, but soon a deeper dread overcame 
 her. " Who are you ?" said she, with a tremb- 
 ling voice, looking with astonishment upon 
 the countenance of the old woman. 
 
 " Come, come, poor thing," she kept re- 
 peating. Nibbio and the other two, supposing 
 from the words and the extraordinary gentle
 
 132 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 tone of the old woman, what the intentions of 
 their master were, endeavored, in a kind man- 
 ner, to persuade the oppressed girl to obey. 
 But she looked out, and although the wild and 
 unknown nature of the place, and the perfect 
 security in which her keepers were, left her 
 no room to hope for succor, still she opened 
 her mouth to scream ; but perceiving Nibbio 
 threatening her with his eyes to apply the 
 handkerchief again, she remained silent trem- 
 bled, resisted, was taken and put in the litter. 
 The old woman got into it alter her, Nibbio 
 left the other two fellows to follow it as an es- 
 cort, and immediatly began the ascent, to obey 
 the call of his master. 
 
 " Who are you ?" anxiously asked Lucia of 
 the deformed and unknown old hag, " Why 
 am I here with you ? Where am I ? Where are 
 you taking me ?" 
 
 " To one who will be kind to you," replied 
 the old woman, " to a great happy are they 
 to whom he is kind ! it is a happy thing for 
 you, a happy thing for you. Dont be afraid, 
 be cheerful, he has commanded me to keep up 
 your spirits. Won't you tell him, eh? that I 
 nave fried to give you courage ?" 
 
 " Who is he ? Why, what does he want of 
 me ? I don't belong to him. Tell me where I 
 am ; let me go ; tell these men to let me go, 
 tell them to take me to some church. Oil ! 
 you who are a woman, in the name of the vir- 
 gin Mary !" 
 
 That holy and sweet name, repeated with 
 so much veneration in her early years, and 
 now for so long a period never invoked, per- 
 haps never heard, produced in the mind ol the 
 wretched creature who now heard it, a con- 
 fused, strange, slumbering impression, like the 
 remembrance of light and forms, in the mind 
 of some old person mind from infancy. 
 
 In the mean-time, the Un-named, standing 
 at the gate of his castle, looked below, and 
 saw the litter coming up, as he at first saw the 
 carriage, step by step, and before it, at a dis- 
 tance, which he every instant increased, Nib- 
 bio hurrying on. As soon as he had reached 
 the top " Come here," said his master, and 
 going Wore him entered one of the rooms of 
 tie castle. 
 
 " Well ?" said he, stopping there. 
 
 " Every thing happened right." answered 
 Nibbio bowing, " We got our instructions in 
 season, the young woman came at the nick of 
 time, no one upon the place, a single scream 
 which brought no one, the coachman ready, 
 the horses in good order, and no one on the 
 road: but ' ? 
 
 " But what ?" 
 
 " But I must tell the truth, I should have 
 liked much better if my orders had been to 
 fire a blunderbuss into her back, without hear- 
 ing her say a word, or without looking her in 
 the face." 
 
 " How ? what ? what dost thou mean ?" 
 
 " I mean to say, that the whole time, every 
 minute of the time she made me feel too 
 much compassion." 
 
 " Compassion ! What dost thou know of 
 compasiion? What is compassion?" 
 
 " I never knew what it was so well as this 
 time ; compassion is a thing very much like 
 fear, if a man lets it take possession of him, he 
 is no longer a man." 
 
 " Let me hear how she acted to move thee 
 to compassion." 
 
 " Most illustrious sir ! for so long a time ! 
 such weeping, such praying, such looks, and 
 then pale, pale as death, and such sobbing, 
 and then praying again, and such words as 
 she used " 
 
 She shan't stay in this house thought the 
 Un-named. It was in an unlucky moment I 
 engaged in this affair ; but I have promised 
 have promised. When she is afar oft and 
 lifting his head with an imperious air, he said 
 to Nibbio, "Put thy compassion aside now, 
 mount, take a companion, two if thou likest, 
 and go till thou reachest the residence of that 
 Don Rodrigo, thou knowest whom I mean. 
 Tell him to send immediately, instant!}', other- 
 wise " 
 
 But another no from the voice within, still 
 more imperious than the last, did not permit 
 him to finish. " No," he exclaimed with a 
 determined voice, as if he were delivering to 
 himself the command of the secret monitor, 
 " no, go repose thyself, and tomorrow thou 
 shalt execute what I have told thee ! " 
 She has a demon who serves her he thought, 
 when he was left alone, standing with his 
 arms crossed over his breast, and with his 
 eyes immovably fixed upon a spot on the 
 floor, where the rays of the moon, entering by 
 a high window, depicted a square of pale 
 light checquered by the shade of the thick 
 iron bars, and cut into diamond forms by the 
 small panes of window glass. Some demon 
 or some angel who protects her . Inspire 
 Nibbio with compassion ! Tomorrow, tomor- 
 row betimes she shall leave this, she shall go to 
 her destiny, she shall be no more spoken of; 
 and he continued to himself, with that sort 
 of resolution that a command is given to an in- 
 tractable boy, knowing he will not obey and 
 she shall be no more thought of. That ani- 
 mal Don Rodrigo shall not come to trouble me 
 with his thanks I will not hear her spoken of 
 any more. I have served him because be- 
 cause I have promised to do so ; because it 
 was destiny in me. But he shall pay me well 
 for this service. Let me see a little 
 
 He was beginning to contrive in his mind 
 some difficult undertaking to impose upon 
 Don Rodrigo as a return, and indeed as a pun- 
 ishment, but again those words began to cross 
 his mind, compassion in Nibbio ! How has 
 she effected this ? he continued, led on by 
 the thought. I will see her. No, no. Yes, I 
 will see her. 
 
 And leaving the room, he went to a small 
 stair case, and softly mounting, he reached 
 the door of the old woman's room, and struck 
 with his foot against the door. 
 
 "Who is there?"
 
 I PROMESSI SPOS1. 
 
 133 
 
 "Open," 
 
 The old woman made but three jumps at 
 the sound of that voice, and instantly the noise 
 of removing the fastening was heard, and the 
 door was thrown wide open. The Un-named 
 cast a look into the room, and by the light of 
 a lamp which was burning upon a stand, he 
 perceived Lucia on the floor, drawn up into 
 the farthest corner from the door. 
 
 " Who told thee, thou base creature, to fline 
 her on the floor like a bundle of rags ?" said 
 he to the old woman, with an angry look. 
 
 "She has placed herself just where she 
 liked," answered the old woman, humbly. 
 " I have done all I could to comfort her, she 
 can tell you so, but it is impossible." 
 
 " Rise," said he to Lucia, approaching her. 
 But she, into whose alarmed mind, the knock 
 at the door, the opening of it, the sound of his 
 foot-step, and his voice, had carried a still 
 darker and deeper dread, drew herself up still 
 closer into the corner, with her face hid in the 
 palms of her hands, aid there remained with- 
 out motion, save in the trembling that over- 
 came her. 
 
 " Rise, I do not mean to hurt you and I 
 can do you good," he repeated. " Rise," he 
 thundered forth, incensed at having commanded 
 twice in vain. Re-invigorated now by her 
 own terror, the wretched maid threw herself 
 on her knees, and joining her hands together, 
 as if she were before some sacred image, she 
 lifted her eyes up to the face of the Un-named, 
 and dropping them again, said " I am here, 
 kiH me." 
 
 "I have told you that I do not mean to 
 harm you," replied the Un-named with a gen- 
 tle voice, examining her features, disturbed by 
 grief and terror. 
 
 " Courage, courage," said the old woman, 
 " When he tells you bimself he does not mean 
 to harm yon." 
 
 " And why," said Lucia with a voice, where 
 the tremor of terror was mingled with the con- 
 fidence given by the despair of indignation, 
 " Why do you make me suffer the pains of 
 hell ? What have I done ?" 
 " Have they behaved ill to you ? Speak." 
 "Ill to me! have they not seized me by 
 treachery, by force. Why, why have they 
 seized me ? What am I here for ? what have I 
 done ? In the name of God " 
 
 "God, God," interrupted the Un-named, 
 "always God, those that can't help them- j 
 selves, who have no strength of their own, are 
 always appealing to this God, as if they knew 
 such a being. What do you pretend by using 
 this word ? To make me ?" and he left the 
 phrase unfinished, 
 
 " Oh, sir ! pretend ! What can I, poor crea- 
 ture, pretend to, but that you may be merciful 
 to me. God pardons so many sins for one act 
 of mercy ! let me go, for chanty let me go ! It 
 is not good for any one who has to die, to make 
 a poor creature suffer in this way. You who 
 can command here, tell them to let me go ! 
 Thy have carried me off by force. Put "me 
 
 ! in that thing again with this woman, and let 
 j me be carried to *** where my mother is ! 
 ; Oh, most holy virgin ' my mother ! my mother ! 
 ! for charity, my mother ! perhaps she is not far 
 I from here I saw my mountains as we came ! 
 I why do you make me suffer ? Let them take 
 me to some church, I will pray for you, as 
 long as I live. What will it cost you to say 
 one word ? See, see ! you are touched with 
 compassion, say one word, say it. God par- 
 dons so many things for one act of mercy !" 
 
 Why is not mis the daughter of one of 
 those stupid fools that banished me ! thought 
 the Un-nained one of those vile wretches 
 that wished me dead ! how I should enjoy her 
 
 lamentations, and instead of 
 
 "Do not drive away a good inspiration!" 
 she fervidly pursued, reanimated by perceiv- 
 ing some hesitation in the countenance and 
 manner of her tyrant. " If you do not grant 
 me this mercy, the Lord will be merciful to 
 me ; he will cause me to die, and there will 
 be an end of my life : but you, perhaps one day 
 even you but no, no, I will always pray to 
 God to preserve you from all evils. What will 
 it cost you to say one word ? If ever you 
 should suffer such distress as I feel " 
 
 " Come, take courage," interrupted the Un- 
 | named, with a gentleness that astonished the 
 old woman. " Have I done you any harm ? 
 Have I threatened you ?" 
 
 " Oh, no ? I see that you have a good heart, 
 and that you have compassion for this poor 
 creature. If you wished to do it, you might 
 frighten me more than all the others, you 
 might make me die, and ins .ead of that, you 
 have eased my heart a little, may God remem- 
 ber it to you. Complete your work of mercy, 
 set me free, set me free." 
 
 " Tomorrow " 
 
 " Oh, set me free now, now " 
 " Tomorrow I shall see you again. Come, 
 keep up your courage. Go to rest, you must 
 want refreshment. You shall have some 
 brought to you." 
 
 " No, no, I shall die if any one comes in here, 
 I shall die. Take me to some church God 
 will reward you for it." 
 
 " A woman shall brins* you something to 
 eat," said the Un-named, and he had scarce 
 uttered the words when he was astonished how 
 such an idea should have come into his head, 
 and how he had been placed in a situation to 
 contrive such a plan merely to comfort a poor 
 little female. 
 
 " Aad thou," he instantly added, " encourage 
 her to eat, put her to rest in thine own bed, 
 and if she wishes thee to sleep with her, do so ; 
 otherwise, thoa canst sleep for one night on 
 the floor. Cheer her up, I tell thee, keep up 
 her spirits, and give her no occasion to com- 
 plain of thee." 
 
 Having said this, he moved rapidly to the 
 door ; Lucia rose and ran to detain nim, to en- 
 treat him again, but he was gone. " Oh, poor 
 me! shut the door, shut it directly." And a* 
 soon as she had heard the door close, and the
 
 134 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN-. 
 
 fastening replaced, sne again crept into the 
 corner where she had been. " Oh, poor me !" 
 she again exclaimed, sobbing, "who shall I 
 entreat now ? Where am I ? Tell, tell me for 
 charity, who is that gentleman he who spoke 
 to me ?" 
 
 " Who he is, eh ? who he is ? You want me 
 to tell you that. Stop till I tell you indeed. 
 You are become proud, now that he protects 
 you, and you want to be satisfied about every 
 thing, and bring me into difficulties. Ask him 
 himself. If I was to tell you that, I should get 
 none of those kind words he gave you." I am 
 an old woman, an old woman she went on, 
 murmuring between her teeth. Hang those 
 young creatures, they always please whether 
 they are crying or laughing, and they are never 
 in the wrong. But hearing Lucia sob, and 
 the threatening nature of her master's com- 
 mands returning to her mind, she went to the 
 poor girl in the corner, and stooping down to 
 her, said, with a more composed and humane 
 voice ; " Come, I have said nothing bad to 
 you, be cheerful. Don't ask me things I cant 
 answer you, and as to the rest take courage. 
 If you knew only how many people would be 
 happy to hear him talk to them as he has talk- 
 ed to you. Keep up your spirits, by and by 
 we shall have something to eat, and I who un- 
 derstand things, know, from the way in which 
 he 'spoke that there will be something good, 
 and then you shall lie down, and you will 
 .eave a little corner for me," she added with a 
 repressed rancor. 
 
 " I don't want to eat, I don't want to sleep. 
 Leave me here don't go away, don't go from 
 here!" 
 
 " No, no, come," said the old woman, seat- 
 ing herself in an old chair, whence she cast 
 upon the poor girl looks of fear and spite, and 
 then looking at her bed, and worrying herself 
 at the idea of being excluded from it all night, 
 and muttering against the cold. But she com- 
 forted herself with the thoughts of supper, and 
 the hope that there would be sufficient for her 
 also. Lucia was not aware it was cold, she 
 was not hungry, she was astounded, and even 
 of her affliction and her terrors she had 
 but a confused sentiment, like the flitting 
 images that are formed in the slumbers of a fe- 
 yer. 
 
 She shook when she heard a knock at the 
 door, and raising her frightened countenance, 
 called crut, " Who is there ? who is there ? Let 
 no one come in!" 
 
 "Its nothing, nothing, only good news," 
 said the old woman, "It is Martha bringing 
 something to eat." 
 
 " Shut, shut, the door," cried Lucia. 
 
 " Directly, directly," replied the old woman, 
 and taking a basket from Martha, she dismiss- 
 ed her in haste, and having shut the door, 
 placed the basket upon a table in the middle of 
 the room. She then respectfully invited Lucia 
 to come and partake of the provisions, and 
 using such language as she thought would 
 servo to stimulate her appetite, she broke out 
 
 into exclamations of the exquisiteness of the 
 food. 
 
 " Here were tlu'ngs, that when common peo- 
 pl had once got a taste of them, they remem- 
 bered them fwr some time ! such wine as the 
 master drank with his friends when any of 
 those particular friends came ! and wanted to 
 be merry. Hem!" But seeing all these al- 
 lurements were vain, she said, " It is you that 
 won't have any thing, so don't you tell him to- 
 morrow that I did not encourage you. I shall 
 eat something, and there will be more than 
 enough left for you, when you have made up 
 your mind to be wiser, and to obey." Having 
 said this, she went to work in good earnest, and 
 having satisfied herself, she left the seat, and 
 again went to Lucia, and pressed her to eat and 
 to go to rest. 
 
 " No, no, I won't have any thing," she an- 
 swered with a weak and sleepy voice. And 
 then, with renewed vigor, added, " is the door 
 fastened? is it well fastened?" And after look- 
 ing about, she got up, and with her hands put 
 out before her, with a distrustful pace, she went 
 towards it 
 
 The old woman reached it before her, put 
 her hand to the fastening, pulled it, and show- 
 ed that it was secure, " See now ! listen ! it i 
 perfectly last. Are you satisfied now ? are you 
 content?" 
 
 " Me content ? content here!" said Lucia, 
 going to her corner again. " But the Lord 
 God Knows that I am here !" 
 
 " Come and sleep, what are you doing there 
 lying in a corner like a dog ? Was there ever 
 any body before that refused what was good 
 for them, when they could have it ?" 
 
 " No, no, leave me alone." 
 
 " It is you yourself that wiU have it so. See, 
 I shall leave you plenty of room here, I shall 
 lie down on the edge, I shall be uncomfortable 
 on your account. If you want to come to bed, 
 you know what you have to do. Remember 
 I have asked you a great many times." She 
 then laid herself down, dressed as she was, 
 under the cover lid, and all became silent. 
 
 Lucia remained motionless, crouched in the 
 corner, her knees bent up close to her body, 
 her hands on her knees, and her face hid in her 
 hands. She was neither asleep nor awake, it 
 was a rapid succession, a listless flitting of 
 thoughts, fancies, and agitations. Now more 
 herself again, and having a more distinct re- 
 collection of the horrors she had seen and suf- 
 fered in that day, she painfully reflected upon 
 the circumstances of that obscure and formi- 
 dable reality which now enveloped her: her 
 mind now, borne into a region still more ob- 
 scure, struggled with those phantasms arising 
 from uncertainty and terror. She remained in 
 this state of agony a long time, and which we 
 prefer to pass rapidly over. At length weak- 
 ened and exhausted, her cramped limbs relaxed 
 themselves, and she fell down stretched out, 
 remaining for some time in a state resembling 
 sleep. But, all at once, she felt an internal 
 call, and the necessity of being herself, of col-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 135 
 
 lecting all her thoughts, of knowing where she 
 was, and how, and why she was there. 
 
 A sound reached her ear, it was the slow 
 hoarse breathing of the old woman, she open- 
 ed her eyes and saw a flickering light appear and 
 disappear by turns, it was the wick of the lamp 
 almost burnt out, and which shot out a tremu- 
 lous light, and then sank back again ; like the 
 advance and retreat of the wave on the shore : 
 a light, which, flying from the objects before 
 it had brought them into relief and given them 
 a distinct color, presented a confused mixture 
 of things to the vision. Soon, however, recent 
 impressions re-appearing in her mind, assisted 
 her to distinguish what appeared confused to 
 her senses. The unhappy girl, roused once 
 more, recognized her prison ; all the remem- 
 brances of the past horrible day, all the terrors 
 of the future assaulted her at once, this new 
 tranquillity, even after so many agitations, this 
 resting, this being abandoned to herself, all 
 brought a new dread upon her, and she was so 
 overcome by anguish that she wished to die. 
 But at that very moment she remembered that 
 she could still pray ; and with the thought, a 
 sudden hope, a new ray of comfort sprung up 
 within her. She took her rosary out again and 
 began to tell her beads, and as the prayer es- 
 caped from her trembling lips, her heart felt 
 that her wavering faith was strengthening. All 
 at once another thought crossed her mind, that 
 her prayer would be more acceptable and more 
 certainly heard, if in her desolation she was to 
 make an offering to the Virgin. She thought 
 of what she held most dear, of what she had 
 always most valued, and since in her distress 
 her mind could entertain no feeling but that 
 of dread, nor conceive of any other desire but 
 that of deliverance, she remembered what that I 
 was, and resolved to make a sacrifice. Placing I 
 herself on her knees, and holding clasped to 
 her breast the hands which held her rosary, 
 she raised her face and eyes to heaven, and 
 said, " Oh, most holy Virgin, you to whom I 
 have recommended myself so many times, and 
 who so often have consoled me ! You who 
 have suffered so many griefs and are now so 
 glorious ! You who have done so many mira- 
 cles for the poor in tribulation, aid me ! take 
 me out of this danger, take me safe back to 
 my mother ; mother of Christ ! I make a vow 
 to remain a virgin, to renounce for ever my 
 poor Renzo, and to belong to no one but you." 
 
 Having uttered these words, she bowed her 
 head and placed the rosary round her neck ; as 
 a sign of consecration, and a safeguard at the 
 same time ; as an armor in the new service to 
 which she had now devoted herself. Having 
 seated herself again on the floor, she felt a 
 stronger faith and a more assured tranquillity 
 enter into her soul. That tomorrow which 
 the powerful unknown had repeated, came to 
 her mind, and in it she seemed to find a pro- 
 mise of safety. Her senses now fatigued by 
 these conflicting emotions, began to slumber 
 amidst these confiding thoughts, and at length, 
 almost at dawn of day, with the name of her 
 
 protectress half issuing from her lips, Lucia 
 fell into a sound and perfect sleep. 
 
 But there was another in that same castle 
 who would willingly have done the same thing, 
 and could not. Departed, or rather escaped 
 from Lucia, having given orders for her sup- 
 per, having ^pade his usual visits to certain 
 parts of the castle, always with her image liv- 
 ing in his mipd, and with her exclamations 
 sounding in his ears, he had hastened to his 
 chamber, shut himself impatiently up there as 
 if he was going to entrench himself against a 
 squadron of enemies, and undressing in haste, 
 he got into bed. But her image, now more 
 present to him than ever, seemed at this very 
 instant to say to him : Thou shalt not sleep 
 What a silly woman's curiosity has mine been 
 to see her, thought he. That beast Nibbio is 
 right, a man is no longer a man ; it is so, he is 
 no longer a man ! I ? I am no longer a 
 man. I? What has happened? What the 
 devil has got into me ? What novelty is this ? 
 Did not I know before that women break out 
 into lamentations. Men do the same thing 
 when they can do nothing else. What the 
 devil, did I never hear a a woman blubber be- 
 fore ? 
 
 And here, without its being necessary for 
 him to give himself much trouble in looking 
 into his memory, memory of itself presented 
 to him more than one case in which neither 
 prayers nor lamentations had moved him from 
 executing his firm determinations. But the 
 recollection of such enterprizes, instead of 
 giving him the boldness he wanted to execute 
 this, instead of extinguishing that compassion 
 which disturbed him, brought a kind of terror 
 there, and a sort of angry repentance. So 
 much so that it seemed to relieve him to return 
 to that first image of Lucia, against which he 
 had sought to strengthen his courage. " She 
 is still living," he said, " and here ; it is not 
 too late. I can still say to her, go, be happy. 
 I can see that face brighten up ; I can still say 
 to her, pardon me pardon me ? Me ask for 
 pardon ! to a woman ? I ? Ah ! still, if a 
 word, if such a word could comfort me, and 
 could relieve me from a little of this cursed 
 feeling, I would say it. I feel that I should 
 say it. To what am I reduced ! I am no 
 longer a man, I am no longer a man ! Begone ! " 
 said he, afterwards, furiously turning in the 
 bed, which felt so hard to him, beneath that 
 covering which appeared so heavy to him : 
 " begone, these are follies that have crossed 
 my mind at other times, and which have pass- 
 ed away ; these will pass away too." 
 
 And to drive them off, he began to search 
 in his mind, for some important affair, some 
 one of those matters which were wont to oc- 
 cupy him deeply, that he might turn all his 
 attention to it, but he could find none. Every 
 thing appeared changed to him ; what at 
 other times had more strongly stimulated his 
 desires, now had no longer any power over 
 him : passion, like a horse become suddenly 
 restive at a shadow, refused to take another
 
 136 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 step. Thinking of the undertakings he had 
 begun, and which were unfinished, instead of 
 being stirred up to complete them, instead of 
 being irritated by obstacles (for anger at this 
 moment would have been grateful to him) he 
 experienced a painful regret, and a dread of 
 the steps he had taken. Tiaae presented 
 itself in the vista before htm, devoid of all in- 
 terest, of all desire, of all action, full only of 
 intolerable remembrances, every hour like 
 the one dragging so slowly on, and so heavily 
 to him. He ranged in his imagination all the 
 desperate men that depended upon him, and 
 did not find a single thing that it was impor- 
 tant to him to command their sendees upon, 
 and even the idea of seeing them again, of 
 finding himself amongst them, was a new bur- 
 den, which appeared to him both disgusting 
 and troublesome. And if any feat was to be 
 thought of for the next day, some thing or 
 other that was feasible, it was the idea of 
 setting the poor girl at liberty. 
 
 I will set her free, yes ; as soon as the day 
 has dawned, I will run to her, and will tell 
 her, go, go. I will have her accompanied 
 And the promise ? and the pledge ? and Don 
 Rodrigo ? Who is Don Rodrigo ? 
 
 Like one taken unawares by an unexpected 
 and embarrassing interrogation from his supe- 
 rior, the Un-named immediately thought how 
 he was to answer this which he had put to 
 himself, or rather that now he had started 
 into existence so suddenly, and had come to 
 judgment against the old one. Thus he went 
 seeking for reasons, why, almost before he 
 had been asked, he had resolved to take upon 
 himself an engagement to create so much suf- 
 fering, without motives of hatred, or fear, in 
 a wretched unknown maiden, to serve him : 
 not that he succeeded in discovering reasons 
 which appeared to him now sufficient to ex- 
 cuse the fact, for he could not even compre- 
 hend how he had been induced to it. His will, 
 rather than his deliberate resolution, had been 
 the instantaneous movement of a mind obe- 
 dient to ancient habits, the consequence of a 
 thousand antecedent facts ; and the tormented 
 examiner of himself, to give an account of a 
 single fact, was plunging into an investigation 
 of his whole life. Far back, from year to 
 year, from enterprize to enterprize, from 
 blood to blood, from villanies to vallanies ; 
 each one re-appeared to his mind conscious 
 and new, separated from the feelings which 
 had made him will and commit them, and 
 with a monstrosity that his feelings at the 
 time had kept out of sight. They were all 
 his own, they were himself; the horror of 
 that thought flashing forth at each of these 
 images, and inseparable from all, increased 
 to desperation. He raised himself in a pa- 
 roxysm of fury, stretched his arm to the wall 
 at the side of the bed, seized a pistol, cocked 
 
 it, and at the moment when he was about 
 
 to finish an insupportable life, his mind, sur- 
 prized by a terroi^ and a solicitude that still 
 survived, plunged into that time which would 
 
 continue to roll on till time should be no 
 more. He figured to himself with dread his 
 deformed corse, motionless, in the power of 
 the vilest that should survive him; the sur- 
 prize, the confusion of the castle on the mor- 
 row, every tiling in disorder, himself without 
 power, without a voice, thrown no one knows 
 where. He thought of the rumors that 
 would be circulated, the conjectures that 
 would be made there, in the neighborhood, at 
 a distance, and of the joy of his enemies. The 
 darkness even, and silence made the idea of 
 death appear still more gloomy and dreadful 
 to him : it seemed to him that he should not 
 have hesitated, if it had been day, if he had 
 been out of his room, and in the face of his 
 people to have thrown himself into some deep 
 pool and have disappeared. Absorbed in these 
 tormenting contemplations, he kept cocking 
 and uncocking the pistol, with a convulsive 
 motion of his thumb, when another thought 
 took possession of him. 
 
 If this life to come of which they spoke to 
 me when I was a boy, and of which they still 
 talk, as if it was a certainty, if there is no 
 such thing, if it is only an invention of the 
 priests, what am I going to do ? wherefore 
 die ? of what consequence is it what deeds I 
 have done ? of what consequence ? It is mad- 
 ness in me And if there is a life to come ! 
 
 At this doubt, at so great a risk, a despair 
 still more black and insupportable came over 
 him, from which, even with the aid of death, 
 there wae no escape. The pistol dropped 
 from his hands, and he remained with his fin- 
 gers in his hair, his teeth chattering, and 
 trembling in all his members. All at once, 
 the words which he had heard a few hours be- 
 fore, rushed to his mind. God pardons so 
 many tilings for one work of mercy ! Still it 
 was not with those accents of humble entreaty 
 with which they were uttered, that they now 
 came back to him, but in a voice full of au- 
 thority, and which at the same time encourged 
 a distant hope. It was a moment of relief. 
 He raised his hands from his temples, and in a 
 more composed attitude, turned his mind's eye 
 towards her who had pronounce those words, 
 and considered her, not as his captive, not as a 
 suppliant, but as one in the act of dispensing 
 grace and consolation. Anxiously did he now 
 expect tlie day, that he might liberate her, 
 that he might hasten to hear from her mouth 
 more words of solace and of life ; he thought 
 he would take her himself to her mother 
 and then ? What shall I do tomorrow, (he 
 rest of the day ? What shall I do the next 
 day ? The day after that ? And the night ? 
 Night, that will return again in twelve hours ? 
 Oh ! the night ! no. no, the night ! And fall- 
 ing again into contemplation of the painful 
 void of the future, he thought in vain of some 
 employment for the time, some way of pass- 
 ing the days, and the nights. Now he pro- 
 posed to himself to abandon the castle, and to 
 go to distant lands, where his name had been 
 I never heard of, but he felt, that he, he himself,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 137 
 
 would always be there : again a faint hope 
 sprung up of a return of his ancient courage 
 and his former inclinations, and that this was 
 but the delirium of a moment. Now he 
 dreaded the day, that must exhibit him to his 
 people so miserably changed, now he sighed 
 for it, as if it would even shed a light upon his 
 thoughts. 
 
 And lo ! exactly at the dawn, but a few mo- 
 ments after Lucia had slept, whilst he was 
 sitting motionless in his bed, an indistinct un- 
 dulating sound reached his ear that had some- 
 thing of a festive character in it. He listened, 
 and perceived it was a distant festive chiming 
 of bells, and after a while he heard it echoed 
 from the hills, which, from time to time, lan- 
 guidly repeated the harmony, and mingled 
 itself with it. By and by he heard another 
 chiming still nearer, then another, all of a fes- 
 tive character. What rejoicing is this ? What 
 are they making merry about? What good 
 fortune has happened ? He leapt from his bed 
 of thorns, and throwing on some clothes in 
 haste, he opened one of the windows, and 
 looked out. The mountains were half covered 
 with mist, the sky, more than cloudy, was one 
 universal ash-colored cloud, but the dawn, 
 which kept increasing, showed people hastily 
 moving about in the road at the bottom of the 
 valley ; others leaving their houses, all going in 
 the same direction, towards the entrance of 
 the valley, to the right of the castle. The 
 dress also, and the festive manner of the peo- 
 ple, could be distinguished. 
 
 What the deuce have they got in them? 
 What cause for mirth is there in this wretched 
 country ? Where is all that mob going ? And 
 having called a Bravo who slept in a contigu- 
 ous room, he inquired of him the cause of all 
 this movement. This fellow, who knew no 
 more than his master, answered that he would 
 go immediately and get information. The Un- 
 named remained in the mean time leaning 
 against the window, intent upon the moving 
 spectacle. There were men, women, children, 
 in groups, in pairs, alone ; others coming up 
 with those who had got on before, joined them : 
 another one leaving his house, would make a 
 companion of the first he fell in with on the 
 road, and they would go on together, like 
 friends on an appointed journey. Their ac- 
 tions manifestly indicated they were in a hur- 
 ry, and that the joy was common : and the si- 
 multaneous, though not concerted sound of 
 the various peals, some more, some less nigh, 
 and distinct, seemed to represent the general 
 voice of these movements, and the words 
 which could not rise as high as the castle. He 
 looked, and looked, and this more than curi- 
 osity increased in his heart to know what 
 could impart so much gladness, and the same 
 inclination to such a variety of people. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 IN a short time the Bravo returned to say, 
 that the preceding day, Cardinal Federigo 
 18 
 
 Borromeo, archbishop of Milan, had arrived 
 at * * *, and would remain there all that day, 
 which was now beginning ; and that the news 
 of this arrival having spread all around during 
 the preceding evening, had inspired the pec - 
 pie with a desire to go and see this man : they 
 had set the bells a ringing, as well for the plea- 
 sure his arrival had given them, as to spread 
 the news. The Un-named, left once more 
 alone, continued to look down into the valley 
 still more thoughtfully. For a man! all in 
 such haste, all so happy, to go and see a man ! 
 and still every one of them has got his devil 
 that torments him. But no one, no, not one, 
 has got a devil like mine : no one has passed 
 such a night as I have ! What has he about 
 him that he can make so many people happy ? 
 A little money to distribute at a venture ? 
 But they are not going there for charity. Some 
 motions and crossings in the air, a few words 
 he will say to them. Oh ! if but that he had 
 any words to console me with ! If but ! 
 Why should not I go too ? Why not ? I will 
 go. What else can I do ? I will go, and I will 
 speak to him. I will speak to him alone. 
 What shall I say to him ? Well, whatever 
 whatever I will hear what he has to say, this 
 man ! 
 
 Having made this confused determination, 
 he hastened to dress himself, and threw on his 
 shoulders a casaque that had something of a 
 military air, took up the pistol that was laid 
 on the bed, and stuck it into his girdle, on one 
 side, took another down from a nail in the wall, 
 and stuck it in the other side : then placed his 
 dagger in it, and taking down a carabine almost 
 as famous as himself, he slung it round his 
 neck. Having put on his hat, he left the room, 
 but first went to that where he had left Lucia. 
 Depositing his carabine in a corner near the 
 door, he knocked and spoke. The old woman, 
 jumping from the bed, and throwing something 
 over her, ran to open the door. He entered, 
 and casting a glance into the room, he per- 
 ceived Lucia all gathered up in her corner, 
 and quiet. "Does she sleep?" he asked of 
 the old woman in a low tone, " does she sleep 
 in thatplace ? Were these my orders, wretch?" 
 
 "I nave done all I could," she answerd, 
 "but she refused to eat any thing, neither 
 would she come ." 
 
 "Let her sleep in peace, be careful thou 
 dost not disturb her, and when she awakes 
 Martha will come to the next room, and thou 
 canst send for any thing she may want. When 
 she awakes tell her that I that the master 
 is gone for a short time, that he will return, 
 and that he will do every thing that she 
 wishes." 
 
 The old crone remained perfectly astound- 
 ed, thinking within herself. Is this some 
 princess ? 
 
 Leaving the room, and retaking his cara- 
 bine, the Un-named sent Martha to wait in 
 the anti-chamber, and ordered the first Bravo 
 he found, to be on guard and see that no one 
 but her entered the room ; he then left the
 
 138 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 castle, and with a rapid step began the descent. 
 The manuscript does not notice the distance 
 from the castle to the village where the cardi- 
 nal was ; it would not, however, be more than 
 a good walk. We do not suppose this proxi- 
 mity merely because the country people were 
 going there on foot, since in the memorials of 
 those times, we find, that the people went 
 twenty miles and more to see the Cardinal 
 Federigo ; but from all we shall have to nar- 
 rate, that happened on this day, we infer the 
 distance was short. The Bravo's that he met 
 with on the way, respectfully stopped to let 
 their master pass, that he might either give 
 them his orders for the day, or take them 
 with him on any expedition" he might be on, 
 and much astonished they were at the change 
 in his countenance, and at the looks he cast at 
 them when they bowed to him. 
 
 When he got to the bottom, into the public 
 road, it was quite another affair. The first 
 that saw him began to whisper to each other, 
 to look suspiciously, and to move away, one 
 here and another there. During the whole 
 distance he never made two steps in company 
 with any body else: every one, when they 
 saw him draw near, looked frightened, bowed 
 to him, and slackened their pace to let him 
 get before. When he arrived at the village 
 there was quite a crowd ; and no sooner was he 
 perceived, than his name passed from mouth 
 to mouth, and the crowd opened to let him 
 pass. Approaching one of these timid per- 
 sons, he inquired of him where the cardinal 
 was ? " At the curate's house," the man re- 
 spectfully answered, and pointed it out to him. 
 He went there, entered a small court where 
 there were many ecclesiastics, all of whom 
 stared at him with wonder and suspicion. In 
 front was a door wide open, which led to a 
 small room, where, also, many other priests 
 were assembled. He took his carabine from 
 his neck and set it up in a corner of the court, 
 then entered the room ; there, also, eyes were 
 set in motion, a name whispered, and then 
 
 Erofound silence. Turning to one of them, 
 e asked where the cardinal was, adding, that 
 be wished to speak to him. 
 
 " I am a stranger," replied the man, and 
 looking round, he called the chaplain, who 
 was crossbearer, and who was at the very in- 
 stant saying to another in a corner of the 
 room, "he? that famous person? what has he 
 to do here? keep away from him!" Still, at 
 the call, which resounded in the general si- 
 lence, he was obliged to come, and bowing to 
 the Un-natned, he heard his request, and rais- 
 ing, with an unquiet curiosity his eyes to his 
 countenance, and letting them fall again, he 
 remained some time before he stammered out, 
 " I do not know if the most illustrious mon- 
 signor at this very moment can if he be 
 if he is able enough, I will go and see." 
 And very reluctantly he went to the next 
 room, wnere the cardinal was, to carry his 
 message. 
 At this portion of our story, we cannot do 
 
 less than stop a short time ; like the traveler, 
 tired and wearied out with the length of his 
 journey through a barren and savage country, 
 who loses a little of his time in reposing be- 
 neath the shade of a noble tree, upon the grass, 
 near a spring of ripling water. We have now 
 got up with a personage, whose name and 
 whose memory, recur when they will, recre- 
 ate the mind with a placid feeling of reve- 
 rence, and with a delightful emotion of sym- 
 pathy, especially after so many painful images, 
 and after the contemplation of such complica- 
 ted and vexatious perversity. About this per- 
 sonage it is absolutely necessary that we say a 
 few words ; any one who does not care to read 
 them, and prefers getting on with the story, 
 may pass right on to the next chapter. 
 
 Federigo Borromeo, born in 1574, was one 
 of those rare persons, of whatever period, who 
 have employed a remarkable understanding, 
 the resources of great opulence, and all the 
 advantages of a privileged condition, in a con- 
 tinued effort to discover and to practice that 
 which is best. His life was like a stream, that 
 falling limpidly from the rock, without be- 
 coming stagnant or troubled in its extended 
 course over various soils, empties itself in all 
 its purity into the river it augments. Amidst 
 the most perfect ease, and with splendor at hid 
 command, from his boyhood he kept his eye 
 fixed upon those words of self-denial and hu- 
 mility, upon those maxims directed against the 
 vanity of all pleasure, the injustice ot all pride 
 upon true dignity, and true excellence, which, 
 whether felt or unfelt in the human heart, are 
 transmitted from one generation to another in 
 the first instructive elements of religion. To 
 those words, to those maxims, he looked ; he 
 thought of them seriously, he found them to 
 his taste, because he found them to be true. 
 It was evident to him that the words and max- 
 ims opposed to these, and which also are trans- 
 mitted from age to age, with the same perti- 
 nacity, and sometimes with the same lips, 
 could not be true ; and, therefore, he proposed 
 to himself, to adopt as the rule of his own ac- 
 tions and thoughts, that which was true. By 
 the aid of these he perceived that human life 
 is not destined to be a burthen to the many, 
 and a feast for the rest, but that it is an occu- 
 pation for all, and for which all are to render 
 an account : he, therefore, began when a boy 
 to consider how he could render his own life 
 useful and holy. 
 
 In 1580 he declared his resolution to dedi- 
 cate himself to the ecclesiastical profession, 
 and received the habit from the hands of his 
 cousin Charles, whom the universal voice had 
 before this period signalized as a saint. Soon 
 after, he entered the college founded by his re- 
 lative, in Pa via, and whicn still bares the name 
 of their house. There, attending assiduously 
 to the occupations which were prescribed, he 
 took upon himself two others also of his own 
 accord : these were, to teach the Christian doc- 
 trine to the vilest and most degraded of the 
 people, and to visit, keep, console, and sue-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 139 
 
 cor the sick. He availed himself of the influ- 
 ence that all conceded to him in that place, to 
 persuade his companions to second him in 
 these works of charity; and in all things that 
 were honest and profitable, he exercised, as il 
 it had been his duty, an authority, that con- 
 sidering his understanding and his disposition, 
 he would, perhaps, have in like manner ob- 
 tained, if he had sprung from a low origin. 
 Advantages of another kind, which the cir- 
 cumstances of fortune might procure for him, 
 he not only did not seek tor, but was anxious 
 to refuse. He preferred a table that was rather 
 poor than frugal, he wore a dress more homely 
 than distinctive, and in harmony with these cus- 
 toms, was the tenor of his whole life and con- 
 duct. Nor did he ever think about changing 
 his habits, although his connections made a 
 great noise and complaint, that it was an abase- 
 ment of the dignity of his house. He had 
 other contests to sustain with the institutors of 
 the college, who endeavored secretly and un- 
 expectedly to make him appear in, and have 
 about him, things of a somewhat showy na- 
 ture, to distinguish him from the rest, and give 
 him the appearance of the prince of the place : 
 either they thought to make themselves ac- 
 ceptable to him by it, in the long run, or they 
 were moved by that servile fawning which 
 delights to bask beneath the splendor of an- 
 other, or they were of the number of those 
 discreet persons, who live under the shadow 
 of the virtues as well as the vices, and who 
 always preach that perfection is to be found 
 midway, placing that point exactly where they 
 have arrived themselves, and where they are 
 at their ease. But far from yielding to these 
 officious persons, he repelled them ; and this 
 happened between the age of puberty and 
 manhood. 
 
 That, during the life time of his cousin 
 Charles, who was older than him by twenty- 
 six years, in the presence of a man who re- 
 ceived even solemn respect from all, and 
 encouraged by so much fame, and impressed 
 by such indications of sanctity, Federigo, both 
 when a boy and a young man, should have 
 endeavored to conform to the deportment and 
 desire of such a cousin, is certainly not extra- 
 ordinary ; but it is a remarkable thing, that 
 after his death, no one could perceive that 
 Federigo, then twenty years old, stood in need 
 either of a guide or a censor. The increasing 
 reputation of his understanding, of his doc- 
 trine and of his piety, his connections, and 
 the influence of more than one powerful car- 
 dinal; the credit of his family, the name 
 itself, to which Charles had annexed an idea 
 of sanctity, and of priestly dignity, all which 
 ought, and all whicn can lead men to ecclesi- 
 astical dignities, concurred to prognosticate 
 his attainment of them. But persuaded in- 
 wardly that no one who professes Christiani- 
 ty in his heart, can deny with his mouth, that 
 the superiority of man over other men, can 
 only be justifiable but when it is used in their 
 service, he feared dignities, and sought to 
 
 avoid them : not certainly because he was 
 unwilling to serve others, for few lives had 
 been spent in doing this, as his had been ; but 
 because he did not think himself worthy 
 enough, nor fit for such a high and dangerous 
 service. Wherefore, Pope Clement VIII.,hav- 
 ing proposed in 1595 to invest him with the 
 Archbishopric of Milan, he appeared much 
 disturbed, and refused the charge without 
 hesitation. And he only yielded to the ex- 
 press command of the pope. 
 
 Demonstrations of this kind and who is 
 ignorant of it .' are neither difficult nor un- 
 common, and it requires no greater effort 
 of talent in hypocrisy to make them, than it 
 requires buffoonery to ridicule them thorough- 
 ly in either case. But are they less the natu- 
 ral expression of a virtuous and wise feeling ? 
 Life is the touchstone of professions, and the 
 declarations which express that feeling, even 
 if they had passed through the lips of all the 
 impostors and mockers in the world, will be 
 always beautiful, when they have been pre- 
 ceded and followed by a life of disinterested 
 sacrifices. 
 
 In Federigo, the archbishop, there was a 
 careful and constant study not to appropriate 
 on his own account, either the possessions, the 
 time, or the attentions, of what belonged to 
 himself, in short, beyond what was strictly 
 necessary. He said, as all say, that ecclesias- 
 tical property is the patrimony of the poor ; 
 how that maxim was practically followed up 
 by him, may be seen in this. He was desi- 
 rous that an estimate should be made of what 
 his maintenance ought to amount to, and 
 the servants attached to him personally : and 
 being told six hundred crowns, (the gold 
 coin of that day was called scudo or crown, 
 and always remaining of the same weight and 
 purity, was afterwards called Zecchino,) he 
 gave orders that that sum should be annually 
 taken from his patrimonial income, for the use 
 of his table, not believing that it was lawful 
 for a man of his abundant means to live upon 
 the patrimony of the church. Of his own 
 property he was a very frugal and economi- 
 cal distributor for his own wants, never leav- 
 ing off a garment which was not entirely 
 worn out ; uniting however, as it has been re- 
 marked by contemporaneous writers, to a 
 taste for simplicity, a very exquisite neatness, 
 two remarkable habits in fact in a sumptuous 
 and dirty age. And also, that nothing might 
 3e wasted of the fragments of his frugal table, 
 ic ordered them to be given to an hospital for 
 'he poor ; and one of them, by his orders, en- 
 :ered every day into the dinner hall, to gather 
 whatever was left. A care, which might 
 produce an idea, that he was a man of a cov- 
 etous, needy, and narrow turn, with a mind 
 clogged up by minutia, and incapable of ele- 
 vated ideas, if we did not possess the ambro- 
 sian library, which Federigo conceived in 
 such a spirit of magnificence, and erected 
 rom its foundation at so great an expense ; 
 and to furnish which with books and rnanu-
 
 140 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 scripts, besides the gift of those already col- 
 lected with great care and expense by him, 
 he despatched eight men, the most cultivated 
 and skilled that he could find, to make pur- 
 chases, in Italy, France, Spain, Germany, 
 Flanders, Greece, Libanus and Jerusalem. 
 By these means he succeeded in collecting 
 about thirty thousand printed volumes, and 
 fourteen thousand manuscripts. 
 
 To the library he united a college of Doc- 
 tors, (they were nine in number, and support- 
 ed by him whilst he lived, when the ordinary 
 revenue not sufficing, they were reduced to 
 two) and their duty was to cultivate various 
 branches of study ; theology, history, letters, 
 ecclesiastical antiquities, and oriental lan- 
 guages, with the task imposed upon each of 
 mem to publish some work on the matter 
 assigned to them. He added to this a college 
 called by him, Trilingue,* for the study of 
 Greek, Latin, and Italian ; also a college of 
 alumni, to be instructed in these faculties 
 and languages, of which they were to be 
 professors in turn : there was also a printing 
 establishment for the oriental tongues, that is, 
 for the Hebrew, the Chaldean, the Arabic, the 
 Persian, and the Armenian ; also a gallery of 
 paintings, another of statues, and a school of 
 the three principal branches of drawing. For 
 these he could find professors already instruct- 
 ed ; as to the rest, we have seen what a labor 
 it cost him to collect the books and manu- 
 scripts, and certainly it was more difficult to 
 succeed with the types of those languages, 
 then much less cultivated in Europe than they 
 are at present, and with the printers, still more 
 than the types. It is enough to say, that of 
 nine doctors, he took eight from amongst the 
 young men educated at the seminary; from 
 which a conclusion may be drawn as to the 
 opinion he had formed of the studies pursued, 
 and the reputations made at that period, a 
 judgment in conformity with that which pos- 
 terity seems to have made, by permitting 
 both one and the other to go into oblivion. 
 
 In the directions that he left for the use and 
 government of the library, it is evident he had 
 in contemplation its perpetual utility, an idea 
 admirable in itself, and in many details provi- 
 dent and noble, far beyond me notions and 
 practices of that period. The librarian was 
 directed to correspond with the most learned 
 men of Europe, in order to collect information 
 of the state of the sciences, of the most useful 
 books in every branch of knowledge, and to 
 acquire them : he was instructed to give notice 
 to students of the works fitted for their parti- 
 cular branches, and directed that these, whe- 
 ther they were citizens or strangers, should 
 have every accommodation, in order that they 
 might take advantage of the books preserved 
 there. Intentions oT this kind, proposed at the 
 foundation of a library, appear nothing very 
 extraordinary in our days, but it was not so at 
 that period. And in a history of this ambro- 
 
 * Three languages. 
 
 sian library, (written with all the stile and ele- 
 gance common to that period,) by one Pierpaolo 
 Bosca, librarian, after the death of Federigo, it 
 is expressly stated, as a remarkable thing, that 
 in this library, formed by an individual, al- 
 most in every particular at his own expense, 
 the books were exposed to the sight of every 
 one, taken to whoever called for them, with 
 commodious seats for those who wished to 
 study ; and pens, ink, and paper to make notes ; 
 whilst in other celebratea public libraries of 
 Italy, the books were not only not exposed in 
 that way, but were hid away in closets, from 
 whence they were dragged out, as he says, 
 only by the humanity of those who presided, 
 when they felt in the humor to show them a 
 momeat : as to convenience and facilities for 
 the students who visited them, nothing of the 
 kind was thought of. So that the very act of 
 enriching such libraries was a substraction of 
 books from the common use, a sort of cultiva- 
 tion which existed both at that time and the 
 present, and which impoverished the soil. 
 
 It would be superiluous to inquire what 
 effects were produced by this institution of the 
 Cardinal Borromeo, upon the public improve- 
 ment ; it would be easy to demonstrate, accord- 
 ing as the subject might be treated, that they 
 were wonderful, or that they were nothing at 
 all: to endeavor to explain, up to a certain 
 point, what they really were, would be a very 
 fatiguing thing, of little utility, and out of 
 place. But conceive what a generous, judi- 
 cious, benevolent, persevering, lover of hu- 
 man improvement he must have been, who 
 conceived such a plan, and in such a manner, 
 and who executed it in the midst of so much 
 gross ignorance, indolence, and the general in- 
 difference to all studious application, and who 
 was consequently exposed to the most discou- 
 raging objections ; to such expressions as, of 
 what use can it be? there are other things to 
 think about. A pretty notion to be sure .' Now 
 he has put the climax to it ! and others similar, 
 certainly exceeding in number the crowns ex- 
 pended by him in the undertaking, which were 
 one hundred and five thousand, the greater 
 
 part belonging to himself. 
 To call such a man b 
 
 beneficent and liberal in 
 a high degree, it would not be necessary that 
 he should nave disbursed a great deal more, in 
 succoring the needy ; and there are many per- 
 sons in whose opinions expenses of this kind, 
 and I would say all expenditures of this na- 
 ture, constitute the best and most useful kind 
 of alms. But in the opinion of Federigo, alms, 
 properly so called, was a duty of the first order ; 
 and here, as in other matters, his actions were 
 in conformity to his opinions. His life was one 
 continued distribution to the poor. Upon the 
 occasion of this dearth even, of which our story 
 speaks, we shall have, by and by, to refer to 
 some things where the wisdom and the noble- 
 ness which marked his liberality will be seen. 
 Of the many singular examples which his bio- 
 graphers have noted of this great quality, we 
 will quote only one. Having been informed
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 141 
 
 that a nobleman used artifices and oppressions 
 to force his daughter to become a nun, who 
 was desirous of entering into the marriage 
 state, he sent for him : the father confessed that 
 the only motive he had for controling the in- 
 clinations of his daughter was, that he could 
 not give her four thousand crowns as a dower, 
 a sum which, according to his manner of think- 
 ing, was indispensable to her forming a con- 
 nexion consistent with his rank. Federigo 
 presented her with the four thousand crowns as 
 a portion. Perhaps some may think this was 
 an excessive piece of generosity, not well con- 
 sidered, and mat it was yielding too much to 
 the foolish caprices of a proud man, and that 
 four thousand crowns might have been better 
 employed in another way. We have no other 
 answer to make to this, except that it would 
 be very desirable to witness frequent excesses 
 of a virtue so free from prevailing opinions, 
 (every age has its own,) so separated trom the 
 general tendency, as in this case, was that 
 which moved a man to give four thousand 
 crowns, to prevent a young maiden from being 
 forced to become a nun. 
 
 The inexhaustible charity of this man, not 
 alone in giving, was conspicuous in all his 
 actions. Of easy access to every one, he be- 
 lieved it to be his duty to receive every one 
 belonging to what is called the lower class, 
 with a cheerful countenance, and a kind cour- 
 tesy, and the more so the lower their condi- 
 tion. And here too he had to dispute with 
 some honest people who belonged to the ne 
 quid nimis class, who also wanted to govern 
 his actions. One of these, once, when Fede- 
 rigo on a visit to an alpine and wild country 
 place, was giving instruction to some poor lit- 
 tle boys, and was caressing them whilst he was 
 questioning them, told him he ought to be 
 careful in touching those boys, as they were 
 too filthy and dirty; as if the worthy man 
 might not have supposed that Federigo had 
 sense enough to make the discovery himself, 
 and wit enough to do without such advice. 
 Such is, in certain conditions of the times and 
 of things, the misfortune of men of rank, who 
 whilst they so seldom find persons to warn 
 them against their faults, are never wanting in 
 courageous friends to prevent them from doing 
 good. But the good bishop, not without some 
 teeling of resentment, answered, " these are my 
 own souls ; perhaps they may never see my face 
 again, and wont you let me even caress them ?" 
 
 Resentment, however, was a very rare oc- 
 currence with him, who was admired for his 
 gentleness, and an imperturbable suavity of 
 manner, which might have been attributed to 
 an extraordinary happy temper, but which was 
 the effect of constant discipline over a hasty 
 and quick nature. If sometimes he appeared 
 severe, and even stern, it was with his subor- 
 dinate pastors, when he discovered them to be 
 avaricious, or negligent, or tainted with any 
 other defects especially opposed to the spirit 
 of their noble ministry. In all things that re- 
 lated to his personal interests, or his temporal 
 
 glory, he never showed any emotions of joy, 
 or of regret, of ardor, or of agitation, wonder- 
 ful if these motives were not awakened in his 
 mind, still more wonderful if they could act 
 there. Not only from the many conclaves 
 where he had assisted, he issued with the re- 
 putation of never having looked up to a post 
 so desirable in the eyes of ambition, and of 
 such terrible responsibility to a pious mind, 
 but upon one occasion, when one of his col- 
 leagues, a person of great influence, came to 
 offer him his vote, and that (it was language 
 that was used) of Ms faction. Federigo re- 
 fused the proposition in such a way, that the 
 matter was pursued no further, and he gave 
 his influence elsewhere. The same modesty, 
 the same disposition to avoid command, ap- 
 peared equally in the most ordinary occur- 
 rences of life. Indefatigable and attentive in 
 arranging and directing, where he deemed it 
 his duty to do so, he always declined inter- 
 fering with the affairs of others ; indeed, he 
 excused himself in every possible way from 
 it, even when he was pressed to do so : a dis- 
 cretion and restraint somewhat uncommon, as 
 every one knows, in men extremely zealous 
 of doing good, as Federigo was. 
 
 If we were to abandon ourselves to the 
 agreeable occupation of collecting the remark- 
 able traits of his character, there would cer- 
 tainly result a singular complication of merits 
 apparently opposed, and not easily united to- 
 gether. But we will not omit mentioning an- 
 other singularity of his rare life, that, full as 
 it was with the energies of action, of govern- 
 ment, of functions, of instruction, of audien- 
 ces, of diocesan visits, of journies, and of 
 opposition, he not only found time for study, 
 but so much time, that a professional man of 
 letters could not have done more. In fact, 
 amidst the other various titles conferred on 
 him by public admiration, his contemporaries 
 gave him, in a high degree, the praise of being 
 a learned man. 
 
 We will not, however, conceal, that he en- 
 tertained with a firm persuasion, and sustained 
 with great constancy, some opinions, which in 
 our day would seem to every one rather odd 
 than ill founded ; I mean even to those who 
 might have a strong desire to find them right. 
 Any one who would wish to defend him in 
 this, might use the current and accepted ex- 
 cuse, that they were the errors of his time, 
 rather than his own : an excuse, to speak the 
 truth, which, when it is suggested by a parti- 
 cular examination of facts, may be valid and 
 significant; but when generally, and thus 
 nakedly applied, as is commonly done, and as 
 we must do in this case, means nothing at all. 
 And still, not intending to resolve complicated 
 questions by simple assertions, we shall for- 
 bear to expound them, contenting ourselves 
 with observing, in a rapid way, and that we 
 may not appear to have intended to compose a 
 funeral oration, that in a man so admirably 
 composed in the whole, we do not pretend that 
 every thing was excellent alike.
 
 142 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 We certainly are not doing wrong to our 
 readers by supposing that some of them may 
 ask if a man of so much talent and applica- 
 tion has left no monument behind him. Left 
 any! Betwixt great and small, he has left 
 about one hundred, in Latin and Italian, in 
 print and in manuscript, which are preserved 
 in the library founded by him : treatises on 
 morals, orations, dissertations on history, sa- 
 cred and profane antiquity, literature, the arts, 
 and other branches. 
 
 And how is it, the reader will say, that so 
 many works are forgotten, or at least so little 
 known, so little inquired after? How is it, 
 that with so much talent, so much study, so 
 much practical knowledge of men and things, 
 so much meditation, so much ardor for all that 
 is excellent and beautiful, so much candor of 
 soul, and so many of those other qualities that 
 constitute a great writer, this man has not, in 
 a hundred works, left even one that might be 
 judged remarkable by those who could not al- 
 together approve of it, or be known by its 
 title, even by those who have not read it? 
 How is it that all of them put together have 
 not been sufficient, even by their number, to 
 procure for his name a literary reputation with 
 posterity ? The inquiry is a reasonable one 
 beyond all doubt, and the question is interest- 
 ing enough, because the reasons of a pheno- 
 menon of this kind, are to be found, or at least 
 it would be necessary to seek them, in many 
 general facts ; and when got at, they would 
 lead to the explanation of other similar pheno- 
 mena. But they would be numerous and pro- 
 lix, and then if you should not happen to be 
 satisfied with them ? if they should nappen to 
 put you out of temper ? Upon the whole, it 
 will be better to talce up the thread of our 
 story, and instead of gossipping any longer 
 about this man, let us take a look at him in 
 action, under the guidance of our author. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE Cardinal Federigo, as was his custom 
 at every leisure moment, was reading, until 
 the hour to go to church to perform divine 
 service had arrived, when the chaplain who 
 officiated as crossbearer entered, with an un- 
 quiet and troubled countenance. 
 
 " A strange visit, very strange indeed, most 
 illustrious monsignor!" 
 
 " Who is it?" asked the cardinal. 
 
 "Nothing less than the Signer /'an- 
 swered the chaplain, and articulating the syl- 
 lables in a very significant manner, uttered the 
 name which we cannot write down for our 
 readers. Then added, " he is here at the door 
 in person, and all he asks is to be presented to 
 your most illustrious excellency." 
 
 " He !" said the cardinal, with his counte- 
 nance lighted up, shutting the book, and rising 
 
 from his seat, " Let him come in ! Let him come 
 immediately!" * 
 
 " But " replied the chaplain without mov- 
 ing, your most illustrious excellency must 
 know who he is ; the outlaw, the famous" 
 " And is it not a rare piece of good fortune 
 for a bishop, that a desire to seek for him 
 should have got into the head of such a man ?" 
 "But " insisted the chaplain, "we can 
 never mention certain things, but Monsignor 
 always says they are nonsense ; still when the 
 case occurs, it appears to me to be a duty. 
 Zeal creates enemies Monsignor, and we know 
 positively that more than one scoundrel has 
 dared to threaten, that some day or other " 
 
 "Well, and what have they done?" inter- 
 rupted the Cardinal. 
 
 "I say that this man is a monopolizer of 
 villanies, a desperate person that is connected 
 with the most furious desperadoes, and he may 
 be sent here to " 
 
 "Oh! what sort of discipline is this? Fede- 
 rigo interrupted him smiling, "here are the 
 soldiers exhorting the general to be afraid." 
 Then become grave and thoughtful, he resum- 
 ed, " Saint Charles would not have been found 
 thus deliberating whether he should receive 
 a man like this, ne would have gone himself 
 to seek him. Let him come in directly, he 
 has waited too long already." 
 
 The chaplain moved, saying in his heart, 
 there is no remedy, what headstrong beings 
 all these saints are. 
 
 Having opened the door, and looked into 
 the room where the Un-named and the others 
 were, he saw these last on one side 'whispering 
 and peeping at him, who was standing alone in 
 a corner. He turned towards him, and exami- 
 ning him cautiously from his neck downwards, 
 he was imagining what sort of arms he had 
 about him hid under his casaque and about 
 which truly he ought to have asked him some 
 questions, before he introduced him, but this 
 he could not resolve to do. Having got to 
 his side, he said " Monsignor is waiting for 
 your excellency, please to come with me." 
 
 And going oeiore him in the small crowd 
 that immediately gave way, he threw out looks 
 to the right and left which were intended to 
 mean wnat can be done ? you know also that 
 he will always have his own way. 
 
 The chaplain opened the door, and ushered 
 in the Un-named. Federigo met him with an 
 earnest and serene aspect and with his hands 
 open before him, as though he had been ex- 
 
 Eecting him : he made signs to the chaplain to 
 :ave tne room, who obeyed. 
 The two remained for some time silent, with 
 their thoughts, from various motives, suspend- 
 ed. The Un-named, who had been impelled 
 by an inexplicable agitation, involuntary on his 
 part, rather than led there by any determined 
 intention, remained also involuntarily torn by 
 two opposing passions; the desire and the 
 confused hope to find some relief to his inter- 
 nal torment, and on the other hand, a vexation 
 and shame to come there like a penitent, like
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 143 
 
 one who had submitted, as a wretch does to 
 confess his crimes, and to implore pardon from 
 a man : he could find nothing to say, nor in- 
 deed did he attempt to find any thing. Yet, 
 raising his eyes to the countenance of that 
 man, he felt himself more and more overpow- 
 ered with a sentiment of veneration for him, 
 at once imperious and gentle, which increas- 
 ing his confidence, softened his vexation, and 
 without wounding his pride, made him give 
 place and remain silent. 
 
 The presence of Federigo in fact was of 
 that class, which announced superiority, and 
 made it amiable at the same time. His de* 
 portment was naturally composed, and almost 
 involuntarily majestic, not in the least bowed 
 or affected by time. A steady yet lively eye, 
 a brow, frank and thoughtful : even in his whi- 
 tened locks, and in the paleness which absti- 
 nence, meditation, and fatigue had produced, 
 a kind of virgin freshness could be perceived : 
 every thing in his countenance indicated that 
 at a former period, it had possessed every 
 quality that constitutes beauty : the habit of 
 entertaining solemn and benevolent thoughts, 
 the internal peace of a long life, the love of 
 man, the continual joy of an ineffable hope, 
 had substituted in his noble features, I would 
 almost say, a senile beauty, still more remark- 
 able in the magnificent simplicity of the purple. 
 
 He also kept for an instant, fixed on the as- 
 pect of the Un-named,his penetrating look.long 
 exercised in gathering the thoughts of others 
 from the expression of their countenances, and 
 beneath the dark and troubled features of the 
 
 some- 
 concei- 
 ved, at the first announcement of such a visit ; 
 full of animation, he said " Oh ! what a wel- 
 come visit is this ! and how grateful I ought 
 to be to you for such a good resolution, al- 
 though I deserve some little reproach from 
 you !" 
 
 " Reproach !" exclaimed the unknown, as- 
 tonished, but softened by those words and the 
 manner in which they were spoken, pleased 
 too that the cardinal had broken the ice, and 
 begun the conversation. 
 
 " Certainly, it is a reproach to me," he went 
 on, " that I have permitted you to anticipate 
 me, when so long ago, so many times, I 
 might have, and I ought to have gone to see 
 you myself." 
 
 " See me, you ! Do you know who I am ? 
 Have they told you my name?" 
 
 "And the consolation which I feel, and 
 which certainly is manifested in my face, do 
 you think I could have felt it at the announce- 
 ment and sight of one unknown to me ? It is 
 you that have made me feel so ; you, I say, 
 whom I ought to have sought out ; you whom 
 at least I have so much loved and wept over, 
 for whom I have prayed so much ; you, of all 
 my children, and I love them all most cordial- 
 ly, whom I should have most desired to meet 
 and to embrace, if I could have encouraged the 
 hope of being permitted to do so. But God, he 
 
 person before him, appearing to discover sc 
 thing consistent with the hope he had cor 
 
 alone knows how to produce miracles, aud 
 makes up for the weakness and the tardiness of 
 his poor creatures." 
 
 The Un-namedwas astonished at an address 
 so full of zeal, and fired by animation, at words 
 which formed so perfect an answer to what 
 he had even not yet uttered, but had well de- 
 termined to say ; and moved, but astonished, 
 still remained silent. 
 
 "And how then?" said Federigo, still more 
 affectionately, " you have happy news to give 
 me, and you keep me sighing here for them." 
 
 " Happy news FIJI have hell in my heart, 
 and how can I be the bearer of happy news ? 
 Say, yourself, if you know it, what happy news 
 do you expect to hear from one like myself ?" 
 
 "That God has touched your heart, and 
 wishes to make you his own," replied the 
 cardinal quietly. 
 
 " God ! God ! God ! If I could see him ! If 
 I could feel him ! where is this God ?" 
 
 " Do you ask me that ? you ? and who is he 
 nearer to than yourself? Do not you feel him 
 in your heart ; is he not struggling within you, 
 agitating you? does he leave you alone for a 
 moment? and at the same time does not he 
 draw you gently to him ? does not he make 
 you feel a hope of peace, of consolation, of a 
 consolation that shall be full, immense, as soon 
 as you shall have acknowledged him, confessed 
 him, and implored his mercy?" 
 
 " Certainly ! I have something that strug- 
 gles within me, that devours me ! But God \ 
 if this is God, if it is be of whom they speak, 
 what would you have him make of me ?" 
 
 These words were uttered with an accent of 
 despair, but Federigo, with a solemn tone, as 
 of placid inspiration, answered, "What can 
 God make of you ? what can he do with you ? 
 A glorious mark of his power and his goodness, 
 he means to be glorified by you more than he 
 could be by others. If the world has cried out 
 so long against you, if a thousand and a thou- 
 sand voices have been raised in detestation of 
 your deeds, (the Un-named started, and was as- 
 tounded for a moment to hear such unaccus- 
 tomed language spoken to him, and still more 
 so to find that he was rather relieved than an- 
 gered at it,) what glory," pursued Federigo, 
 " does not God receive ? They have been 
 voices of terror, voices of interest, voices, per- 
 haps, of justice, but o-a justice so easy, so 
 natural ! Some, perhaps, have been tingecl with 
 envy of your deplorable power, and of your 
 hitherto bad inflexibility of mind. But when 
 you yourself stand up to condemn your own 
 life, to accuse yourself, then ! then, indeed, God 
 will be glorified ! and you ask what God can 
 make of you ? Who am I, poor creature, to be 
 able to tell you, at this time, what profit such 
 a master may draw out of you ? what direc- 
 tion he may give to your impetuous will, to 
 your imperturbable perseverance, when he 
 has animated it, inflamed it with love, with 
 hope, with repentance ? Who are you, poor 
 man, that think you have been able, by your- 
 self, to execute things more extraordinary in
 
 144 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 evil than God may cause you to imagine and 
 to make perfect in works of goodness ? What 
 can God make of you ? Cannot he pardon you ? 
 Cannot he bring you to salvation ? Cannot he 
 fulfil in you the work of redemption ? Are not 
 these magnificent things, and worthy of him ? 
 Oh, think only ! if I, who am nothing but a 
 man, a miserable creature, and still so full of 
 myself, if I, such as I am, feel so deeply inte- 
 rested in your salvation, that to secure it I 
 would lay down with joy (God is my witness) 
 the few days that remain to me ; think, then, 
 how great, and how inconceivable, is the love 
 of him, who has drawn me to you in this im- 
 perfect but lively manner ; how much he loves 
 you, how he attects you ; he who commands 
 and who inspires in my heart a love that de- 
 vours me ! " 
 
 As these words came from his lips, his coun- 
 tenance, his looks, every motion, expressed 
 their meaning. The face of his auditor, at 
 first turned aside and convulsed, soon became 
 full of astonishment and attention ; as he pro- 
 ceeded, his agitation became deeper, but less 
 full of anguish : his eyes that from infancy had 
 shed no tears, began to swell, and when the 
 cardinal had ceased, he covered his face with 
 his hands, and burst out into a loud sobbing, 
 the last and the most unequivocal answer. 
 
 "Almighty and kind God !" exclaimed Fe- 
 derigo, raising his eyes and his hands to hea- 
 ven, " what have I, useless servant, slumber- 
 ing pastor, ever done, that thou shouldest call 
 me to this feast of grace, that thou shouldesl 
 have made me worthy to assist at such a joyful 
 prodigy ?" Saying this, he put out his hand to 
 take that of the Un-named. 
 
 " No !" exclaimed he, " No ! keep yourself 
 far, far from me, do not defile that beneficent 
 and innocent hand. You do not know what 
 the hand has done that you seek to clasp." 
 
 " Let me," said Federigo, taking his hand 
 with an affectionate violence, " let me press 
 the hand that can repair so many wrongs, that 
 can dispense so much beneficence, that can 
 raise up so many who are afflicted, that will 
 now otter itself unarmed in peacefulness and 
 in humility, to so many enemies." 
 
 " This is too much," said the Un-named, sob- 
 bing, " leave me, Monsignor, good Federigo, 
 leave me. An assembled people awaits you ; 
 so many pure souls, so many innocents, so 
 many of them come from afar to look once 
 upon your face, to hear the sound of your 
 voice ; and you you are detaining yourself 
 with with whom !" 
 
 " Let us leave the ninety-nine sheep," re- 
 plied the cardinal ; " they are safe on the 
 mountain ; I wish now to stay with the one 
 that was lost. Those good souls are, perhaps, 
 now infinitely more content, than they could 
 be at seeing this poor bishop. Perhaps God, 
 who has worked in you this prodigy of mercy, 
 has spread in their hearts a joy, at this mo- 
 ment, the cause of which they yet know not. 
 The people, perhaps, are in their hearts united 
 to us without knowing it : perhaps the Holy 
 
 Spirit has breathed into them an indistinct ar- 
 dor of charity, a prayer for you that is favora- 
 bly received by him, a pouring out of thanks 
 of which you are the yet unknown object." 
 Saying this, he extended his arms towards the 
 neck of the Un-named, who, after endeavoring 
 to avoid it, and resisting for a moment, yielded^ 
 and altogether subdued by so much charity 
 and love, embraced the cardinal himself, and 
 let his trembling and now changed counte- 
 nance, fall upon his shoulders. His burning 
 tears fell upon the uncontaminated purple ot 
 Federigo, whose unstained hands affectionately 
 drew to him, and pressed to his bosom, the ca- 
 saque that had borne the arms of violence and 
 treachery. 
 
 The Un-nained loosening himself from the 
 embrace, again covered his eyes with one of 
 his hands, and raising his lace, exclaimed, 
 " God, truly great ! god, truly good ! I know 
 myself now, I comprehend who I am. My 
 iniquities are before me, I tremble at myself; 
 still still I experience a comfort, a joy, yes a 
 joy, such as I have never before experienced 
 during the whole of my horrible life !" 
 
 " It is a foretaste that god gives you to al- 
 lure to his service, to encourage you to enter 
 resolutely into the new life in which you have 
 so much to undo, so much to repair, so much 
 to lament over." 
 
 " Wretch that I am !" exclaimed he, "how 
 many, many things I can do nothing but la- 
 ment over ! But at least, there are still some 
 enterprises scarce begun, which if I can do 
 nothing else, I can stop, one there is that I can 
 immediately arrest, and entirely repair." 
 
 Federigo was all attention, whilst the Un- 
 named briefly related to him, but in terms per- 
 haps of greater execration than we have done, 
 his forcible abduction of Lucia, the sufferings, 
 the terrors of the poor girl, the manner in 
 which she had implored him, the agitation she 
 had created in him, and that she was still in 
 the castle 
 
 "Ah! let us lose no time.!" exclaimed 
 Federigo, breathless with compassion and so- 
 licitude. " Blessed are you ! this is an earn- 
 est of God's pardon ! to enable you to become 
 the instrument of saving one whom you was 
 seeking to destroy. God bless you ! God has 
 blessed you ! Do you know what part of the 
 country this poor distressed creature belongs 
 to?" 
 
 The Un-named told the cardinal whence 
 she came. 
 
 " It is not far from here," replied he, " God 
 be praised, and probably ." Saying this he 
 went to a table and rang a little bell. The 
 chaplain cross-bearer anxiously entered, and 
 the first thing he did was to look at the Un- 
 named; observing his changed countenance, 
 and his eyes red with weeping, he looked at 
 the cardinal, and amidst his unalterable com- 
 posure, perceiving in his countenance an in- 
 nate content, and an extraordinary solicitude, 
 he got into a sort of extasy, with his mouth 
 wide open, which the cardinal soon roused 

 
 I FROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 145 
 
 him from, by asking if amongst the parish 
 priests now assembled, the one belonging to 
 was there. 
 
 "He is, most illustrious Monsignor," an- 
 swered the chaplain. 
 
 " Let him come in immediately," said Fede- 
 rigo, "and with him the parish priest of this 
 place also." 
 
 The chaplain left the room, and went to that 
 where the priests were congregated together-; 
 all eyes were turned on him. With his mouth 
 still open, and his features still impressed with 
 astonishment, he raised his hands, and waving 
 them in the air, said " Gentlemen, gentlemen ! 
 fuse mutatia dextera Ezcelsi," and stopped 
 without adding any thing else. Then resum- 
 ing his accustomed tone and manner, he added, 
 " his most illustrious and most reverend excel- 
 lency desires to see the Signer curate of this 
 parish, and the Signer curate of ." 
 
 The first named came forward immediately, 
 and at the same time a voice exclaiming ine ? 
 came from the midst of the company, drawled 
 out, with an intonation of wonder. 
 
 " Are not you the Singor curate of ," 
 
 said the chaplain. 
 
 " Precisely, but 
 
 " His most illustriofts and most reverend ex- 
 cellency desires to see you." 
 
 "Me?" said the same voice, clearly signify- 
 ing by that monosyllable, how can I possibly 
 go in there ? But this time with the voice, there 
 came out the man likewise, Don Abbondio in 
 person, with an unwilling step, and a face half 
 annoyed, and half astonished. The chaplain 
 made him a sign with his hand, which meant, 
 come, let us go, what makes you so slow ? And 
 going before the two curates, he opened the 
 door, and introduced them. 
 
 The cardinal quitted the hand of the un- 
 known, with whom he had in the meantime 
 concerted what was to be done, removed a 
 short distance from him, and beckoned the 
 curate of the parish to him. Informing him 
 of what was going on, he asked if he could 
 find a good woman immediately, who would 
 go in a litter to the castle to receive Lucia ; a 
 stout hearted and fearless woman, who would 
 understand how to conduct herself in an expe- 
 dition of so new a character, who would adapt 
 her manners to the occasion, would use a lan- 
 guage best suited to cheer and tranquilize the 
 poor girl, to whom, after so much anguish and 
 trouble, this deliverance itself might occasion 
 new distress and confusion. Having thought 
 a moment, the curate said he knew a fit per- 
 son, and left the room. The cardinal then 
 beckoned the chaplain, and ordered him to 
 have the litter got ready with the bearers, and 
 to saddle the two mules for riding. The chap- 
 lain being gone, he turned to Don Abbondio. 
 
 He had already drawn rather nigh to the 
 cardinal in order to get at a comfortable dis- 
 tance from the Un-named, and was quietly 
 peeping first at one and then the other, con- 
 triving in his head what all this could possibly 
 be about, when coming forward a little, he 
 19 
 
 j bowed, and saidj " It has been signified to me 
 ' that your most illustrious excellency wished 
 to see me, but I suppose they have made u 
 mistake." 
 
 "It is no mistake," said Federigo, " I have 
 a glad piece of news to tell you, and a most 
 consoling and delightful charge to entrust you 
 with. One of your parishioners, that you have 
 lamented as lost, Lucia Mondella, has been 
 found ; she is in the neighborhood, in the 
 house of this dear friend of mine ; and you 
 shall now go with him, and with a woman 
 whom the curate of this place is gone for ; you 
 shall go, I say, to receive this poor creature of 
 yours, and shall accompany her here." 
 
 Don Abbondio did his very best to conceal 
 his vexation, what shall I say ? His distress 
 and the bitter annoyance this proposition or 
 command imposed upon him ; and not having 
 time to get rH of the ugly grimaces that it had 
 brought into his countenance, he endeavored 
 to conceal them, by bowing profoundly, as a 
 sign of obedience. And he only raised it to 
 make another profound bow to the Un-named, 
 
 with a piteous sort of look, that said I am 
 
 altogether in your hands, have mercy on me 
 parcere subjects. 
 
 The cardinal then inquired of him what re- 
 lations Lucia had ? 
 
 " She has no near relations with whom she 
 lives or could reside, except her mother," an- 
 swered Don Abbondio. 
 
 "Is she at home?" 
 
 " Yes, Monsignor." 
 
 " Since," said Federigo, " this poor maiden 
 cannot be so soon restored to her home, it will 
 be a great consolation to her to see her mother 
 as soon as possible ; but if the curate does not 
 get back before I go to church, I shall ask you 
 to tell him to get a wagon, or something to 
 ride on, and to send some discreet man to find 
 her mother and bring her here." " Perhaps if 
 I was to go ?" said Abbondio. 
 
 " No, no, not you ; I have asked you to do 
 something else," answered the cardinal. 
 
 " I meant," said Don Abbondio, " merely 
 to prepaie the poor mother ; she is a very sen- 
 sitive woman, and it will require one who is 
 acquainted with her, and who knows how to 
 talk to her, so that no harm may be done to 
 her, instead of good." 
 
 " And on this account I beseech you to tell 
 the curate to choose a man proper for that, 
 you will effect a better work in another place/' 
 replied the cardinal. And he would have 
 wished to add, that poor girl has-gfeat need of 
 seeing some known face that she can confide 
 in, in that castle, after so many hours of dread- 
 ful sufferings, and amidst such an uncertainty 
 of the future. But he restrained himself on 
 account of the presence of the Un-named. It 
 appeared strange, however, to the cardinal, 
 that Don Abbondio had not thought of it him- 
 self, and he WHS so struck with nis offer and 
 his persisting in it, so out of place, that he 
 began to think there was something under all 
 this. Looking in his face, he easily per-
 
 146 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 ceived the dread which was visible there of 
 traveling with that tremendous man, and of 
 being his guest, even for a few instants. De- 
 sirous of dissipating these cowardly apprehen- 
 sions, and not liking to draw the curate aside 
 and speak to him apart, whilst his new friend 
 was there, he thought it would be best to do 
 what he would even have done without this 
 particular motive, speak . to the Un-named 
 himself, and from his answer Don Abbondio 
 would finally comprehend that he was not a 
 man to be any longer afraid of. He, therefore, 
 approached the unknown, and with that ap- 
 pearance of spontaneous confidence which is 
 felt by a new and potent affection, as well as 
 by an ancient intimacy," do not imagine, he 
 said, " that I shall be satisfied with one visit for 
 today ! You will return, is it not so ? in com- 
 pany with this worthy ecclesiastic ?" 
 
 "If I shall return," replied the Un-named, 
 " if even you were to deny yourself to me, I 
 would obstinately remain at your door, like a 
 mendicant. I want to talk to you ! I want to 
 hear you, to see you ! I want you altogether !" 
 
 Federigo took his hand, pressed it, and said, 
 " You will then do the pastor of this parish 
 and myself the favor of dining with us. I 
 shall expect you. In the mean time I go to 
 pray, and to offer up thanks with the people, 
 whilst you will go and gather the first fruits 
 of mercy." 
 
 Don Abbondio, at such demonstrations, stood 
 like a frightened boy who sees a man caressing 
 a great ferocious looking hairy dog, with red 
 eyes, and a famous bad name for biting and 
 attacking people. " What a nice, quiet, good 
 do that is of yours," says a bystander to him, 
 and the boy looks at the man, who neither con- 
 tradicts nor assents : he looks at the dog, but 
 has not the courage to go near him, lest the 
 nice, quiet, good dog should show his teeth, if 
 only for the love of sport ; and he does not 
 like to push oS', lest he should seem a coward, 
 whilst he is saying in his heart, I wish I was 
 at home ! 
 
 The cardinal, who had moved to depart, hold- 
 ing the Un-named all the time by the hand, 
 and drawing him with him, looked again at 
 poor Don Abbondio, who remained behind, 
 stupid, mortified, and with a face as long as 
 his arm. And thinking, perhaps, that his cha- 
 grin might be caused by his appearing to be 
 neglected and left in a corner, and especially 
 whore so great a criminal seemed welcomed 
 and caressed in preference to himself, turned 
 towards him in passing, stopped a moment, 
 and with a courteous smile, said, " Signor cu- 
 rate, you are always with me in the house of 
 our good father, but this this one "perierat 
 tt inventv9 ett." 
 
 " Oh, how happy I am !" said Don Abbon- 
 dio, making a profound reverence to them both. 
 
 The archbishop went before, pushed the 
 doors, which were immediately thrown wide 
 open by two servants, who stood at the sides, 
 and the wonderful pair appeared before the 
 longing eyes of the clergymen assembled in 
 
 the room. They gazed upon their two coun- 
 tenances on which were depicted emotions of 
 a different kind, but equally deep : an acknow- 
 ledged tenderness, a humble joy played on the 
 venerable features of Federigo ; upon those of 
 the Un-named was perceived a disorder tem- 
 pered by comfort, a nascent diffidence, a com- 
 punction, through which still transpired the 
 vigor of that wild and awakened nature. And 
 it was afterwards known, that that passage in 
 Isaiah occurred to more than one of the spec- 
 tators, " the wolf also shall dwell with the lamb? 
 and the calf arid the young lion and the fallings 
 together." Don Abbondio came after him, but 
 no one looked at him. 
 
 When they were in the centre of the room, 
 one of the chamberlains of the cardinal en- 
 tered on the other side, and drew near to him 
 to say that the orders he had received from the 
 chaplain had been executed, that the litter and 
 the two mules were ready, and that they were 
 only waiting for the woman that the curate 
 was to find. The cardinal told him that when 
 he arrived, he must tell the curate to speak 
 with Don Abbondio, under whose direction, 
 and that of the Un-named, every thing was to 
 be placed. He again pressed the hand of this 
 last, in the act of taking leave, saying, " i 
 shall expect you," then turned to salute Don 
 Abbondio with an inclination of his head, and 
 moved in the direction of the church; the 
 clergy followed behind, in a sort of mixed pro- 
 cession, and the two traveling companions re- 
 mained alone in the room together. 
 
 The Un-named was wrapt up in himself, 
 thoughtful; and impatient for the moment to 
 arrive when he could go and deliver, from suf- 
 fering and imprisonment, his Lucia : his, in a 
 sense so different from that in which she had 
 been the preceding day. His countenance ex- 
 pressed a concentrated agitation, which, to the 
 jealous eye of Don Abbondio, might easily 
 forbode something worse. He took a glance 
 at him, and would fain have brought about a 
 friendly conversation, but what have I got to 
 say to him, thought he ; shall I repeat again, 
 oh, how happy I am ! Happy at what ? Why, 
 because, having been a perfect devil till 
 now, you have made up your mind to be an 
 honest man, like other people. A pretty sort 
 of compliment ! Ay, ay, turn the words as I 
 will, they will mean nothing but that at last 
 And whether it is true or not, that he has be- 
 come an honest man so all of a sudden ! Peo- 
 ple put on appearances so often in this world, 
 and for so many reasons ! How can I tell 
 whether they are always in earnest or not ? 
 And in the meantime, I am told to go with 
 him into that castle ! Oh, what a fine story this 
 is ! A pretty piece of business to be sure ! 
 Who would have thought of such a thing this 
 morning ? If I get safe and sound out oi this 
 scrape, the Signora Perpetua shall hear my 
 mind about it She must drive me away from 
 my parish when there was not the least neces- 
 sity for it ; and that all the parish priests were 
 coming from every quarter, from the greatest
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 147 
 
 distances, and that there must be no lagging be- 
 hind, and that this must be done, and that must 
 be done, and so get we embarked in a concern 
 of this kind. Oh ! unfortunate me ! still it is 
 absolutely necessary to say something to him. 
 And he had just made up his mind to say I 
 could never have supposed it would be my 
 good fortune to get into such respectable com- 
 pany and was just opening his mouth, when 
 the chamberlain entered with the village cu- 
 rate to say that the woman was ready in the 
 litter, and to ask Don Abbondio for the direc- 
 tions the cardinal had left with him. Don 
 Abbondio communicated them as well as his 
 confused state of mind admitted, and whis- 
 pered to the chamberlain, " Give me a quiet 
 beast, at least ; for, to tell the truth, I am no 
 great cavalier." 
 
 "Just figure to yourself," said the cham- 
 berlain, half grinning, "it's the secretary's 
 mule ; he's nothing but a man of letters you ! 
 know." 
 
 " That's sufficient," replied Don Abbondio, I 
 and continued thinking Heaven send me a j 
 good time of it. 
 
 The Un-named when he heard the litter an- 
 nounced, eagerly left the room, but when he 
 reached the door, and found Don Abbondio 
 was behind, he stopped a moment ; arriving 
 in haste, and being about to excuse himself, 
 the Un-named bowed to him, and made him ; 
 pass on before with a courteous and humble de- ! 
 meanor, that produced a favorable effect upon ' 
 the nerves of the poor man. But scarcely had j 
 they reached the court-yard, when another no- 
 velty occurred which broke up all his comfort ; | 
 he saw the Un-named go to a corner, lay hold | 
 of his carabine with one hand by the stock, 
 and by the strap with the other, and sling it | 
 over his neck, with a rapid motion, as if he j 
 was doing his exercise. 
 
 Ay' ay! ay! thought Don Abbondio 
 what is he going to do with that machine, eh ? 
 Pretty sort of hair cloth that ! Pretty discipline 
 for a new convert ! And if some mad notion 
 
 fts into his head ? Oh ! what an expedition 
 am going on ! Oh ! what an expedition ! 
 
 If the Un-named could possibly have imagi- 
 ned what sort of notions were at work in his 
 companion's head, there is no knowing what 
 he might have said to reassure him ; but he 
 was far from thinking about it at all, and Don 
 Abbondio was very careful not to betray 
 openly his doubts. Having reached the gate 
 of the street, they found the mules harnessed, 
 and the Un-named mounted the one which a 
 palfrenier presented to him. 
 
 " He is not vicious, eh ?" said Don Abbon- 
 dio, to the chamberlain, with one foot in the 
 stirrup, and another on the ground. 
 
 " You can mount him with confidence, he is 
 a perfect lamb," answered he. Don Abbon- 
 dio now laid hold of the saddle, the chamber- 
 lain gave him a lift, and at length he got fairly 
 astride. 
 
 The litter which was a few paces before, 
 with a pair of mules, now moved on at the 
 
 ! voice of the driver, and the whole convoy got 
 under way. 
 
 It was necessary to pass before the church 
 1 that was crowded with people, and through a 
 small square, in like manner filled with the 
 peasantry that had not been able to get in the 
 church. The great news were already spread, 
 and at the appearance of the party, of that 
 that man who but a few hours before had been 
 an object of terror and execration, but now of 
 a glad astonishment, a murmur of applause 
 arose in the multitude, and whilst they made 
 room for him to pass, they still disputed with 
 one another to get a good opportunity of look- 
 ing at him. The litter passed on, the Un-nam- 
 ed followed, and before the open doors of the 
 church he took off his hat, and bowed that 
 front, once the object of so much dread, down 
 to the very neck of his mule, whilst the peo- 
 ple whispered audibly out, " God bless him !" 
 Don Abbondio also took off his hat, bowed, 
 and recommended himself to Heaven ; but 
 hearing the solemn concert of his brethren in 
 the distant chant, he felt so much envy, such 
 a mournful sort of tenderness, and such a 
 compassion at heart for hiaiself, assault him, 
 that it was with difficulty he could restrain his 
 tears. 
 
 Having left the habitations, and reached the 
 open country, where the winding paths were 
 lor the most part a solitude, a darker veil be- 
 gan to extend itself over his thoughts. He had 
 no one to look to with confidence but the dri- 
 ver of the litter, who, since he belonged to the 
 cardinal's establishment, must certainly be a 
 man to be depended upon, and he had not a 
 cowardly look either. Every now and then 
 they met groups of passengers on the road, 
 going to see the cardinal, and this gave Don Ab- 
 bondio some passing comfort ; but they were 
 approaching that terrible valley, where there 
 was nobody but subjects of his friend at his 
 side ; and what subjects ! 
 
 He now wished more than ever to get into 
 conversation with him, as well to hnd out 
 something more, as to keep him in good humor, 
 but he appeared so deeply pre-occupied, that 
 he lost the inclination to do it. He found him- 
 self therefore reduced to the necessity of talk- 
 ing to himself, and here is a portion of his re- 
 flections during the ride, for if we were to put 
 down the whole of them, there would have 
 been enough to make a book. 
 
 "It's a famous saying, that great saints as well 
 great sinners have got quicksilver in them, and 
 that they are not satisfied with being always 
 in motion, and worrying themselves, but they 
 must make the whole human race hop and skip 
 about into the bargain ; and^ then the most 
 outrageous busy bodies amongst them, must 
 just take it into their heads to look me up, me, 
 who never trouble myself about any body; 
 lugging me by the hair of my head into their 
 affairs, me, that ask no favors of any body, but 
 to be let alone. 
 
 " That mad devil Don Rodrigo ! What does 
 he want in this world, to make him the hap-
 
 148 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 piest man it, if he had the least imaginable 
 degree of discretion. Rich, young, respected, 
 nay courted, nothing's the matter with him 
 but being too well oft; that's his complaint, and 
 so to cure himself, he must fain be worrying 
 himself and every body else. He might take 
 np the trade of a saint if he liked, but no, 
 Signor, he must take up the trade of running 
 after and plaguing the women, the most crazy, 
 villanous and outrageous calling in the whole 
 world. Might not he drive into paradise with 
 his own carriage if he chose ? And yet he 
 would rather go to the devil's den with a game 
 leg. And my friend here, and here he 
 looked at him, as if he was afraid of his 
 thoughts being heard. He, after turning the 
 whole country topsy turvy with his villanies, 
 has now set it all crazy with this affair of his 
 conversion if indeed there i3 any thing in 
 it And it has fallen to my share to discover 
 whether it is so or not ! xes, yes, so it is, 
 when people come into the world with all this 
 fury in their bodies, they must for ever after 
 be kicking up such confusion. Can't people 
 be contented with just playing the honest man 
 as I have been doing all my life ? No, Signor, 
 that's not enough, they must take to killing, 
 and murdering, and quartering, and playing 
 the devil Oh, unfortunate me ! And then 
 when the inclination has passed away, there 
 must be more confusion about their repent- 
 ance. When a man really wants to repent, it 
 can be done at home, quietly, without so much 
 parade, and without giving so much trouble to 
 his neighbors. And then his most illustrious 
 excellency he goes off all at once just like 
 a gun, open arms my dear friend ! my dear 
 friend ! and swallows down all this man tells 
 him, just as easily if he had seen him do mira- 
 cles ; and then right off he comes to a resolu- 
 tion, jumps into it hands and feet, presto here, 
 presto there at my house we call this pre- 
 cipitation ! But the worst of it is, that with- 
 out any sort of security, without taking a 
 pledge of any kind, he puts a poor curate into 
 his hands, just as if he was nothing at all. 
 This I call playing at odd and even for a man ! 
 A holy bishop, as he is, should hold his curates 
 as precious as he does the apples of his own 
 eyes. A little bit of moderation, a little bit 
 of prudence, and a little bit of charity, it does 
 *eein to me would become holiness very well 
 And if all this should be nothing but a bam ? 
 Who is there knows every thing that men 
 mean ? and especially such men as our friend 
 here ? To think only that I have to go with 
 him, all the way to his own house ! There 
 may be some devilry at the bottom of all this. 
 Oh ! Lord help us ! it's better not to think 
 about it ! What is all this imbroglio about 
 Lucia ? It's clear there has been some under- 
 standing with Don Rodrigo. What men ! or 
 it could not be just as it is : but how has this 
 man got her into his clutches ? Who can tell ? 
 It's Monsignor's secret, and me, that they send 
 trotting about in this way, they tell me no- 
 thing. What do I care about knowing other 
 
 people's alfairs ? Still when one's risking one's 
 own skin, one ought to know what k'a ullabout. 
 If it was simply to go and bring away that poor 
 creature, one might be patient ; although he 
 might as well have brought her along with 
 him at first. But I want to know if this man 
 is so completely converted, and has become 
 such a piece of sanctity, what occasion there 
 was to send me ? Oh, what a chaos ? Well ! 
 it is Heaven has ordered it to be so ; its a trou- 
 blesome business to be sure, but patience ! 1 
 shall be glad for that poor Lucia's sake, she 
 has got out of a great scrape no doubt. Heaven 
 knows how much she has suffered, I pity her, 
 but it's clear she was born for my ruin. If only 
 I could see into this man's heait, and know 
 what he is thinking about. Who can compre- 
 hend him? Look at him, sometimes he looks 
 like Saint Anthony in the Desert, and then 
 again he looks like Holofernes in propria per- 
 sona. Oh, poor me! poor me! Well, Heaven 
 at any rate is under some obligation to help 
 me, for this is a scrape I have got into not of 
 my own seeking." 
 
 In fact, upon the countenance of the Un- 
 named, thoughts could be observed, flitting 
 like clouds in a storm before the face of the 
 sun, where the fierceness of light and the 
 gloom of shade alternate with each other. 
 His soul still luxuriating in the sweet words 
 of Federigo, and born and become young 
 again in this new life, was lifted up to those 
 ideas of mercy, of pardon, and of love, and 
 then sank again beneath the weight of the 
 terrible past. Anxiously his mind ran over 
 the iniquities he could repair, the violences he 
 could arrest, the most certain and expedi- 
 tious remedies he had in his power ; how he 
 could unloose so many intricate knots ; what 
 he could do with so many accomplices ; it was 
 darkness itself to think all this. To this very 
 expedition, the easiest and the soonest accom- 
 plished, he went with a desire perturbed by 
 anguish ; by the thought, that whilst she was 
 suffering, heaven knew how much, it was 
 himself, who nevertheless was impatient to 
 deliver her, that was the cause of her misery. 
 At every fork of the road, the driver turned 
 to receive directions how to proceed, whilst 
 the Un-named motioned him with his hand, 
 and made signs to him to get on. 
 
 They entered the valley. How did poor 
 Don Abbondio feel then ? That famous valley ! 
 of which he had heard so many black and 
 horrible stories told. He was there in it! 
 Those famous men, the flower of the Bravos 
 of Italy, men without fear and without mercy, 
 he would see them in their flesh and blood, 
 he woutd meet one, two, three of them at 
 every turn in the road. All bowed submis- 
 sively to the Un-named. But their bronzed 
 muzzles, their shaggy mustachios, their fero- 
 cious eyes, spoke but one language to Don 
 Abbondio, and that was there's a priest 
 going to get it finely ! Such an effect did 
 they produce on him, that at one moment of 
 his consternation, he could not help saying
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 149 
 
 to himself, If I had even married them, 
 worse than this could not have happened to 
 me. 
 
 In the meantime they pursued a gravelly 
 path hy the side of the torrent : in front no- 
 thing was to be seen but savage and rugged 
 precipices ; behind them was apopulation, the 
 aspect of which made even a desert desirable. 
 Dante was not worse off, in the centre of his 
 Malebolge. 
 
 They passed by Malanotte. Some horrid 
 looking Bravos were standing at the door, 
 they bowed to the Un-named, and cast a sin- 
 ister look at Don Abbondio and the litter. 
 They did not know what to think of all this : 
 the departure of the Un-named in the morn- 
 ing, alone, was something extraordinary, his 
 return was not less so. Was it some victim he 
 was conducting home. How had he contriv- 
 ed to get possession of her unaided ? And a 
 strange litter too, how was that ? Who could 
 that livery belong to? They looked, and 
 looked, but no one moved, for they could read 
 from his eye and his countenance that they 
 were not to stir. 
 
 The ascent was gained, and they reached 
 the top. The Bravos on the lawn and around 
 the door, make room to let them pass : the 
 Un-named motions them to be still, rides on 
 before the litter, and beckons to Don Abbon- 
 dio and the driver to follow him. Having 
 entered the first court, and passed the second, 
 he rode up to a small door, directed a Bravo 
 who ran up to hold the stirrup, with a sign to 
 stand back, and said to him, " Remain nere, 
 and let no one come nearer. " Having dis- 
 mounted, he went to the litter with the reins 
 in his hand, and said to the woman in an 
 undertone, who had drawn the curtain aside, 
 " Console her immediately, make her compre- 
 nend that she is free, and that she is in the 
 hands of friends ; God will reward you for it." 
 He then ordered the driver to open the door of 
 the litter, and let the woman get out. Draw- 
 ing near to Don Abbondio, with a serene 
 countenance, such as he had never observed 
 in him before, nor thought him capable of as- 
 suming, with a joy beaming from it on ac- 
 count of the good work he was about to com- 
 plete, he assisted him to dismount, and said in 
 an under tone, " Signer curate, I do not ask 
 you to excuse me for the inconvenience you 
 have to bear on my account ; you are endur- 
 ing it for one who pays well, and for this poor 
 creature of his!" 
 
 These words and the expression of his 
 countenance had the effect of placing Don 
 Abbondio's heart in his bosom again. Draw- 
 ing a sigh that had been pent up there for 
 an hour, without being able to get out, he an- 
 swered, in a tone quite submissive, as it may- 
 be taken for granted "Your excellency is 
 amusing yourself with me, but, but, but, " 
 and accepting the hand which was so courte- 
 ously offered to him, he slid off the saddle as 
 well as he could. The Un-named took the 
 reins of Don Abbondio's mule also, and con- 
 
 signed both the animals to the driver, enjoin- 
 ing him to wait there without. Then taking 
 a Icey from his pocket he opened the small 
 door, made the curate and the woman enter, 
 and preceding them to the staircase, all three 
 ascended it in silence. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LUCIA had been but a short time awake, 
 she was endeavoring to rouse herself, and to 
 separate the troubled visions of sleep from the 
 remembrances and the images of that reality, 
 which had too close a resemblance to the 
 feverish wanderings of an invalid. The old 
 woman came immediately to her, and with a 
 forced humility in her manner, said, " Ah ! 
 have you been asleep ? You might have slept 
 in the bed, I told you so, so often last night. " 
 Receiving no answer, she continued in a tone 
 of spiteful entreaty, " Come, eat something, 
 be prudent. How ill you behave ' you ought 
 to eat something, or when he returns, he will 
 be quarreling with me. " 
 
 " No, no, I want to go away, I want to go to 
 my mother. The master has promised me I 
 shall, he said 'tomorrow.' Where is the 
 master ? " 
 
 " He is gone away, but said that he would 
 return soon, and that he would do all that you 
 wished." 
 
 " Did he say so ? did he say so ? Well, I 
 want to go to my mother, now, directly." 
 
 A noise of footsteps was now heard in the 
 adjoining room, then a knock at the door. The 
 old woman ran to it, and asked, "Who is 
 there ?" 
 
 "Open," softly replied the known voice. 
 She drew the fastening, and the Un-named 
 opening the door ajar, directed the old woman 
 to come out, and then let Don Abbondio and 
 the good woman go in. He closed the door 
 again, and taking his stand near it, sent the old 
 woman to a distant pail of the castle, where 
 he had already sent the other female that had 
 remained in the antechamber. 
 
 All this movement, this momentary delay, 
 and the first appearance of persons strange to 
 her, caused a new agitation to Lucia, to whom, 
 if her present state was intolerable, every 
 change was the cause of alarm. She looked, 
 and saw a priest, and a woman ; she took a 
 little courage, and looked more attentively it 
 is him, or it is not him ? She recognised Don 
 Abbondio, and remained with her eyes fixed as 
 if she was enchanted. The woman drawing 
 nigh to her, stooped down, and piteously re- 
 garding her, took both her hands, as if to ca- 
 ress her, and raise her up at the same time, 
 saying, " Poor dear girl, come, come with us." 
 
 " Who are you ?" asked Lucia, but without 
 hearing the answer, she turned to Don Abbon- 
 dio, who was standing near her, with compas- 
 sion even in his features ; again she looked at
 
 150 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 him, and exclaimed, " Him ! is this him ? the 
 signer curate ? Where are we ? oh poor me ! 
 I am afraid I am out of my wits !" 
 
 " No, no," replied Don Abbondio, " it is me 
 indeed ; take courage. Look here ! we are 
 come to take you away. I am your curate 
 himself, come here on purpose, on horse- 
 back " 
 
 Lucia, as if she had re-acquired at once all 
 her strength, jumped up on her feet, looked 
 steadily in both their faces again, and exclaim- 
 ed, " It is then, Madonna, the blessed Virgin 
 who has sent you." 
 
 "I believe, indeed, it is," said the good wo- 
 man. 
 
 " But can we go away from this place ? can 
 we go away indeed?" said Lucia, lowering 
 her voice, with a timid and doubtful look. 
 " And all those men " she continued, with 
 her lips trembling with dread and horror, " and 
 the master ! the man that ! he promised 
 me !" 
 
 " He is here in person, come on purpose 
 with us," said Don Abbondio ; " he is waiting 
 for us out of the room. Let us make haste ; 
 don't let us keep him waiting ; a man of his 
 quality." 
 
 He of whom they were speaking, now push- 
 ed open the door, showed himself, and carne 
 forward. Lucia, who but a short time before 
 was wishing to see him, nay, placing her 
 hope upon no other person in the world, de- 
 sirous to see him of all others, having now 
 seen others, and heard friendly voices, could 
 not restrain herself from trembling. He, at 
 the first glimpse of that countenance on which, 
 the preceding evening, he had not had the cou- 
 rage steadily to look, and which now was pale, 
 disheartened, and full of distress, by long suf- 
 fering and abstinence, stopped short at the im- 
 pulse of terror which she betrayed, he cast 
 down his eyes, and remained an instant immo- 
 vable and mute, and involuntarily giving an 
 answer to what the poor creature haa not said, 
 he exclaimed, " It is true ; pardon me !" 
 
 " He is come to set you free ; he is no longer 
 the same man, he is become good. Do you 
 not hear that he asks you to pardon him ?" said 
 the good woman, in Lucia's ear. 
 
 "What more can be said ? come, hold up 
 your head ; don't act like a baby ; let us be off 
 as soon as we can," said Don Abbondio to her. 
 Lucia raised her head, looked at the Un-named, 
 and observing his face directed to the ground, 
 and his countenance full of confusion, was 
 seized with a mingled feeling of comfort, gra- 
 titude, and compassion. " Oh, sir !" she said, 
 "may God return this mercy to you !" 
 
 " And may he reward you a thousand fold 
 for the consolation your words impart to me." 
 
 He turned now to the door, opened it, and 
 went out first. Lucia, quite revived, followed 
 him, leaning on the woman's arm, and Don 
 Abbondio came last. They descended the 
 staircase, and reached again the small door at 
 the court-yard. The Un-named opened it, 
 went to the litter, opened the door, and with a 
 
 gentleness that partook of timidity, (two new 
 inclinations in him,) lifting Lucia by the arm, 
 assisted her to get into it, and then her com- 
 panion. He then took the bridles of the two 
 mules from the driver, and assisted Don Ab- 
 bondio to mount. 
 
 "What great condescension!" exclaimed 
 the curate, and got on the mule's back in a 
 much more active manner than he had done 
 before. As soon as the Un-named was seated, 
 they proceeded on. His front was now raised 
 aloft, and his countenance had reassumed its 
 accustomed expression of command. The ruf- 
 fians whom they met on the road, perceived 
 clearly in his features the evidence of some 
 great thought, of -an extraordinary solicitude, 
 but they could not comprehend, and were una- 
 ble to penetrate any farther. Nothing was yet 
 known of the great change that had been ope- 
 rated in him, and it is most certain that not 
 one of them would have conjectured it. The 
 good woman had drawn the curtains of the lit- 
 tle windows of the litter, and taking Lucia's 
 hand in an affectionate manner, began to com- 
 fort her with words of compassion, congratula- 
 tion, and tenderness. And perceiving, as well 
 on account of the weariness she experienced 
 from her sufferings, as from the confusion and 
 strangeness of passing events, that the poor 
 girl could not properly estimate the joy of her 
 deliverance, she said every thing to her to im- 
 press it in a more lively manner upon her 
 mind, in order to disentangle and clear up her 
 confused thoughts. She told her the name of 
 the place they were at, and of the village they 
 were going to. 
 
 "Indeed," said Lucia, who knew it was but 
 a short distance from her native place, " Oh, 
 most holy Madonna Virgin, I thank thee ! my 
 mother ! my mother ! " 
 
 " We will send immediately for her," said 
 the good woman, who was not aware this had 
 already been done. 
 
 " Yes, yes, God will reward you for it and 
 you, who are you ? how did you come ?" 
 
 "Our curate sent me," replied she; "for 
 God has touched the heart of the owner of the 
 castle, (blessed be God!) and he came to our 
 village to speak to the cardinal archbishop, 
 who is on a visit there now, that dear man of 
 God ; and he has repented him of all his sins, 
 and wishes to change his life. He told the 
 cardinal that he had caused a young innocent 
 girl to be carried off that was you in con- 
 cert with another person who had not the fear 
 of God on him, but the curate did not tell me 
 who it was." 
 
 Lucia raised her eyes to heaven. 
 
 " Perhaps you know," continued the good 
 woman. "Well, the cardinal then thought, 
 that a voung girl being in the case, it was best 
 to send a female to keep her company, and he 
 lold the curate to find one ; so the curate came 
 to see me, and through his goodness " 
 
 " May the Lord recompense you for your 
 charity." 
 
 " Only think of all this, my poor young girl !
 
 1 PROMESS1 SPOSI. 
 
 151 
 
 And the curate told me I must try to keep up 
 your spirits, and encourage you, and make you 
 understand how the Lord has miraculously 
 saved you " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! miraculously, indeed, through 
 the intercession of the virgin." 
 
 " Be, then, of good courage, and pardon 
 him who did this wrong to you ; be thankful 
 for the mercy God has shown to him, and pray 
 for him. You will not only do what is pleasing 
 to God, but you will open your own heart by it" 
 
 Lucia answered by a look which expressed 
 her assent as clearly as words could have done, 
 and with a sweetness that words could not 
 have communicated. 
 
 ''That's an excellent girt!" continued the 
 woman, " and your curate also being at our 
 village, (there are so many of them, trom all 
 the neighborhood round, enough to make four 
 general assemblies,) his excellency, the cardi- 
 nal, thought of sending him too, in company, 
 although ne has been of very little service. I 
 had heard he was but a poor sort of creature, 
 but I could'nt help seeing upon this occasion, 
 that he was as helpless as a new hatched 
 chicken in a basket of tow." 
 
 " And he " asked Lucia, " he who is 
 
 become good who is he ?" 
 
 "How? don't you know?" said the good 
 woman, and named him. 
 
 "Oh, merciful Lord!" exclaimed Lucia. 
 That name, how often had she heard it re- 
 peated with horror in some story, where it 
 stood in the place that the hobgoblin occupies 
 in other stories ! And now, to think only that 
 she had been in the power of such a terrible 
 man, under his pious care ; the thought even of 
 such a dark danger, and of such an unforeseen 
 redemption, to think only who that face be- 
 longed to that seemed to her so terrible, it 
 moved, and humbled her so much in he/ heart, 
 that she was in a sort of ecstatic transport, 
 and kept exclaiming every now and then, " Oh, 
 mercy !" 
 
 "It is a great mercy to be sure !" said the 
 good woman. It will be a great blessing for 
 half the people, all round here. Only think 
 how many people were in such a dread of him ! 
 And now, as our curate has told me and then 
 just to look in his face, you see he is become 
 quite a saint ; how soon these works of grace 
 
 To say that this good woman did not feel a 
 good deal of curiosity to know a little more 
 distinctly something about the great adventure 
 in which she found nerself taking a part, would 
 not be the truth. But we must say to her cre- 
 dit, that restrained by a respectful compas- 
 sion for Lucia, and feeling to a certain extent 
 the gravity and dignity of the charge with 
 which she had been entrusted, she did hot even 
 think of putting an indiscreet or idle question 
 to her : every thing that she said during the 
 ride, was intended to comfort and encourage 
 the poor girl. 
 
 " God knows how long it is since you have 
 eaten anything!" 
 
 " I really don't remember when it is some 
 time." 
 
 " Poor thing ! Do you feel the want of some- 
 thing now ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Lucia, with a faint voice. 
 
 " When we get to my house, thanks be to 
 God, we shall find something directly. Cheer 
 up, we are not far off." 
 
 Lucia fell languidly back in the litter as if 
 she was drowsy, and the good woman let her 
 repose. 
 
 For Don Abbondio, certainly, this return 
 was not as distressing as the previous ride, but 
 neither was it by any means a journey of plea- 
 sure. As soon as his great fright had left 
 him, he began to feel quite light; but other 
 uneasinesses soon began to annoy him, as 
 when a huge tree has been blown np by the 
 roots, the ground remains naked for some time, 
 until other plants grow up. He had become 
 more sensitive about what was to come, and in 
 his thoughts both of the present and the future, 
 he found plenty of matter to torment himself 
 with. He experienced now, much more than 
 in going, the inconvenience of that manner of 
 traveling, to which he was very little accus- 
 tomed, especially in the descent from the cas- 
 tle to the bottom of the valley. The driver, 
 in obedience to a sign from the Un-natned, 
 kept his beasts at a good pace, and the mules 
 kept behind in single file at the same rate, so 
 that it happened at certain steep places, poor 
 Don Abbondio, as if a lever had been put un- 
 der him, was thrown upon the mule's neck, 
 and in order to keep his seat, was obliged to 
 catch hold of the saddle ; still he did not dare 
 to request them to go slower, and in fact was 
 wanting to get out of the neighborhood in the 
 shortest time possible. Besides, when the 
 path went on one of those elevated ridges, 
 near a ravine, the mule, like all his race, 
 seemed, out of spite, always to keep on the 
 dangerous side, and to have a pleasure in walk- 
 ing on the very margin of the precipice, so 
 that Don Abbondio had a succession of per- 
 pendicular peeps below him, every one of 
 which had a fatal appearance. Thou, too, he 
 said in his heart to the beast, thou hast that 
 cursed inclination to choose the most danger- 
 ous path, when there are so many safe ones ! 
 And then he drew the bridle on one side, but 
 it was all in vain. So that, according to cus- 
 tom, worrying himself with anger, and with 
 fear, he suffered himself to be led at the plea- 
 sure of another. The bandits now did not 
 alarm him as much as they did before, as he 
 was more satisfied about the intentions of their 
 master. But he reflected if the news of 
 this great conversion should get spread whilst 
 we are still here, who knows how these fel- 
 lows will receive it ! Who knows what may 
 grow out of it ! They might take it into their 
 heads that I was come here to play the part of 
 a missionary ! Heaven forbid such a thought ! 
 They would make a martyr of me ! The stern- 
 ness of the Un-nained did not annoy him any 
 more now. To keep those horrid looking
 
 
 152 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN* 
 
 physiognomies in order, thought lie, will take 
 nothing less than my friends here besides me. 
 I know that, to be sure ; but what have I 
 done that I must be here amongst such a set 
 of ruffians ? 
 
 Having descended the hill, they at length 
 got out of the valley. The front of the Un- 
 named became more clear ; Don Abbondio, too, 
 began to look more natural ; he drew out his 
 head that had got imprisoned betwixt his 
 shoulders, stretched out his arms and limbs, 
 erected himself somewhat more, and became 
 quite a difierent man ; he breathed more freely, 
 and now, with his mind a little quieted, began 
 to think upon more remote dangers. What 
 will that devil, Don Rodrigo, say ? Will he be 
 content to have his nose put out of joint in 
 this way ? Will he put up with all this, and 
 with the jokes that will come after ? I warrant 
 you this will be a bitter pill to swallow. Now 
 will be a fit occasion for him to play the devil 
 in reality. We shall see whether he has a 
 grudge against me or not, lor having been 
 obliged to take a part in this ceremony. A 
 man that could find it in his heart to send a 
 brace of his devils to make me cut such a 
 figure in the middle of the road, now, Heaven 
 Knows what he may take it into his head to do. 
 With his most .illustrious excellency, Monsig- 
 nor, he will hardly think of being revenged, 
 he is too great a concern to be managed, he 
 will have to bite the bridle there. But the 
 poison will be working in him, and somebody 
 will have to pay for it all. What is the end of 
 all such affairs ? Why, the blows always come 
 down, and the rags fly about in the air. Lucia, 
 his most illustrious excellency will, no doubt, 
 put in some safe place ; that other poor devil, 
 Kenzo, that got into such a scrape, has now 
 got out of it ; he has had his share of the mat- 
 ter, and here I am, the only rag left. What a 
 barbarous thing it would be, if after so much 
 trouble, and so much agitation, and without 
 getting any credit by it, I should be obliged to 
 bear all the consequences. What will his ex- 
 cellency, Monsignor, do to defend me, after 
 thrusting me into the matter in this way ? Will 
 he prevent that hang gallows serving me an- 
 other trick worse than the first ? He has so 
 many things in his head ! He takes hold of so 
 many things ! How can a man attend to every 
 thing at once ? The fact is, they often leave 
 things in a worse state than they find them ! 
 Those that go about doing good, they do it in 
 the gross, and when they think they have done 
 it, they are content, and never trouble them- 
 selves with thinking about what is to come 
 after. And those that have a taste for going 
 about to do evil, are more diligent ; they attend 
 to every thing till there is an end to the whole 
 matter ; they never can rest, because the can- 
 ker is always gnawing at them. Must I go 
 and tell that scape grace that I came here by 
 the express command of his most illustrious ex- 
 cellency, and not of my own accord ? Does not 
 tin's look like taking sides with iniquity ? Oh, 
 merciful heaven ! I ? take sides wita iniquity ! 
 
 I. that it is driving about the world at this rate ! 
 No, no, it will be better to tell Perpetua ex- 
 actly how the matter is, and let her consider 
 what is to be done. And how, if Monsignor 
 should take it into his head to make some 
 great to do about this affair, make it uselessly 
 public, and lug my name right into it. I must 
 look to this, and if, when we arrive, he has left 
 the church, I'll go and make my bow as quiet 
 as I can, and if not, I'll leave'iny apologies, 
 and get home as quick as I can. Lucia wants 
 no assistance, there is no need of my presence, 
 and after so much fatigue I may well pretend 
 to go and get some repose myself. And then 
 Monsignor might take it into his head to know 
 the whole story, and it might fall to my share 
 io tell the whole story of the marriage. That 
 would cap the concern. And if he should 
 pay a visit to my parish ? Oh, Ifet what will 
 happen, I'll not "be looking a head for sorrow, 
 I have enough on my own hands now. I'll 
 
 Sand shut myself up in my house. Whilst 
 onsignor is in these parts, Don Rodrigo won't 
 have the face to do any mad thing and after- 
 wards oh ! oh ! I see I shall nave trouble 
 enough in my latter days. 
 
 The party arrived before the functions of 
 the church were over, and passed again through 
 the crowd, which was not less excited than 
 before. It then divided. The two cavaliers 
 turned into a small square on one side, at the 
 bottom of which was the parsonage, and the 
 litter went towards the dwelling of the good 
 woman. 
 
 Don Abbondio kept his word ; scarce had 
 he dismounted when he paid the most extrava- 
 gant compliments to the Un- named, and in- 
 treated him to apologise to Monsignor, anil 
 state that urgent affairs required his return 
 home. He then went to look after what he 
 called his horse, which was his stick, that he 
 had left in a corner of the room, and took his 
 departure. The Un-named remained waiting 
 until the cardinal should return from church. 
 
 The good woman, having placed Lucia in 
 the best seat, in the best place of the kitchen, 
 was busied in preparing her some refreshment, 
 refusing, with a rustic and cordial kindness, 
 her reiterated thanks and excuses. 
 
 She quickly placed some dry branches be- 
 neath a pot which she had hung over the fire, 
 and where a fine capon was swimming ; she 
 soon made it boil, and filling a porringer con- 
 taining some pieces of bread, with the broth, 
 presented it to Lucia. When she saw the 
 poor girl taking comfort at every spoonful, she 
 congratulated herself cordially that this had not 
 happened on a day when the cat was not on 
 the hearth. " All are doing their best today," 
 she said, " to spread a table, except tliose poor 
 creatures who nave enough to do to get a little 
 bread made of beans, and a little buckwheat 
 pudding; but today they are all hoping to 
 have something from such a charitable person- 
 age. Thanks oe to God, we are in this case :, 
 we get along with my husband's trade, and ;i 
 little we have of last year ; so, in the mean-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 168 
 
 time, eat with a good heart, the capon soon 
 will be ready, and then you shall have some- 
 thing more substantial.'"' Taking the little 
 porringer up, she busied hersell in getting 
 things ready for the family dinner. 
 
 Lucia, somewhat reinvigorated, and in much 
 better spirits, began to put her dress in order, 
 an instinctive habit with her of cleanliness and 
 propriety. She arranged and reknotted her 
 tresses upon her head, which had been loose, 
 and in disorder ; she arranged her handkerchief 
 on her bosom, and around her neck. Whilst 
 doing this, her fingers came in contact with her 
 rosary, which she had hung round it, she gave 
 a glance at it, and an instantaneous tumult 
 arose in her mind. The remembrance of her 
 vowj till then kept down by so many agitating 
 sensations, suddenly arose, clearly and distinct- 
 ly beibre her. All the powers of her mind, 
 scarce recalled into action, were again at once 
 overpowered ; and if her mind had not been 
 prepared by a life of innocence, of resignation, 
 and of faith, the consternation she experienced 
 at that instant, would have produced despair 
 in her. After the tumult of such thoughts as 
 words cannot give utterance to, the first which 
 presented themselves to her mind were " Oh, 
 poor me, what is it I have done !" 
 
 Scarce had she thought the words, when she 
 felt a dread within her. All the circumstances 
 attending her vow came to her mind ; her into- 
 lerable anguish, her despair of all human suc- 
 cor, the fervor of her prayer, the fulness of the 
 feeling with which the vow had beenmade,and, 
 having obtained grace now,to repent of her pro- 
 mise, appeared to her a sacrilegeous ingrati- 
 tude, a perfidy towards God and the Virgin ; it 
 seemed to her as if such a faithlessness would 
 bring down upon her new and terrible misfor- 
 tunes, amidst which she would not be able to 
 hope, not even in her prayers ; she hastened, 
 therefore, to renounce that momentary reluc- 
 tance to her vow. Taking her rosary reve- 
 rently from her neck, and holding it in her 
 trembling hand, she confirmed and renewed 
 her vow, asking, at the same time with earnest 
 supplication, that strength might be granted to 
 her to keep it, and that she might be spared 
 those recollections, and those occasions, which, 
 if they did not move her mind, might at least 
 distract it. The absence of Renzo, without 
 any probability of his return, that absence 
 which hitherto she had esteemed such a bitter 
 misfortune, seemed to her a dispensation of 
 Providence, who had ordered the two events to 
 concur to one end ; she endeavored, therefore, 
 to find consolation in one of them against the 
 other. Besides, she imagined to herself that 
 the same Providence to complete his work, 
 would find means to console Renzo, to make' 
 him forget But scarce had she permitted 
 such a thought to take a place in her mind, 
 when it became all tumult again. The poor 
 girl, feeling that her heart was again going to 
 betray her, began again to pray, again to con- 
 firm herself, again to struggle, and rose from 
 the conflict, if the expression can be permitted, 
 20 
 
 as an exhausted and wounded conqueror does 
 from the enemy he has subdued. 
 
 In the meantime the trampling of feet, and 
 a joyous sort of cry, were heard. It was the 
 younger part of fr'ie family, returned from 
 church. Two little girls and a boy came 
 jumping into the room : their curious eyes 
 were turned upon Lucia, and then they rushed 
 to their mother, and got round her. One asks 
 who the unknown guest is, how did she come 
 there, what did she come there for ? Another 
 begins telling her mother all the wonders she 
 had seen ; to all and to every thing they said, 
 the good woman answered, "Be quiet, be 
 quiet." Then, at a more moderate pace, but 
 with a cordial sort of eagerness beaming from 
 his countenance, the father of the family makes 
 his appearance. He was, if we have not al- 
 ready stated it, the tailor of the village, and of 
 a great part of the surrounding country : a man 
 who knew how to read, and in fact who had 
 more than once read the Legendary of Saints, 
 and the Royal Knights of France, and who 
 passed amongst his neighbors for a man of 
 talents and science ; praises, however, that he 
 modestly declined, only saying that he had 
 missed his vocation, and that if he had attended 
 to study and learning instead of many others ! 
 with all this, the best creature in the world. 
 Having been present when the curate propo- 
 sed to his wife to undertake that work of cha- 
 rity, he had not only given his approbation, 
 but would have had added some persuasion, if 
 it had been necessary. And now that the 
 church service, the pomp of the rites, the con- 
 course of people, and above all, the sermon the 
 cardinal had delivered, had exalted his kinder 
 feelings, he had returned to his house with an 
 anxious desire to know how the affair had 
 succeeded, and whether the poor girl had been 
 saved. 
 
 " See there," said the good woman to him 
 on his entrance, pointing to Lucia, who blush- 
 ing, arose, and began to stammer out an ex- 
 cuse ; but going to her, with a welcome and 
 gay manner, he exclaimed, " Welcome ! wel- 
 come ! You are the blessing of God upon 
 this house. How happy I am to see you 
 here ! You was sure to come to good port, 
 for I never knew the Lord begin a miracle 
 without ending it well ; but I am happy to 
 see you. Poor girl ! But it is a great thing 
 to have had a miracle performed on one !" 
 
 Nor was he the only one who had given 
 that designation to the occurrence, because he 
 had read the legendary : throughout the coun- 
 try and all around, it was spoken of in no 
 other terms, as long as the memory of it en- 
 dured, and to tell the truth, with the accesso- 
 ries that got connected with it afterwards, it 
 was a designation that might well be given 
 to it. 
 
 Drawing near to his wife, who was taking 
 the pot from the hooks over the fire, he saia 
 softly to her, "Has every thing gone very 
 well ? " 
 
 " Capitally: I will tell thee afterwards."
 
 154 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " Ay, ay, when it is convenient." 
 The table being ready, the mistress of the 
 house now led Lucia to it, and made her sil 
 down, and having separated a wing from the 
 fowl, placed it before her ; then seating her- 
 self and her husband, both of them exhorted 
 their modest and abashed guest to take cour- 
 age and eat. The tailor began at the first 
 mouthful to talk with great emphasis, notwith- 
 standing the interruptions he met with from 
 the children, who ate their dinners standing 
 round the table, and who, it must be confessed, 
 had seen too many extraordinary things to 
 play the part of listeners all the time. Hav- 
 ing described the solemn ceremonies, he pro- 
 ceeded to talk of the miraculous conversion. 
 But what had made the greatest impression 
 upon him, and to which he most frequently 
 reverted, was the sermon of the cardinal. 
 
 "To see him there, before the altar," said 
 he, "a man of his quality, just like a curate. " 
 " And that gold thing he had on his head " 
 said a little gin. 
 
 " Hold your tongue. To think, I say, that 
 a man of his quality, and such a learned man, 
 who, as they say, has read every book there 
 is, a thing that no other man ever did, not 
 even in Milan ; to think that he should know 
 how to adapt himself to talk about such 
 things, so that every body should understand 
 him." 
 
 " I knew what it was," said the other little 
 chatterbox. 
 
 " Hold your tongue there : what didst thou 
 know, I should like to hear ?" 
 
 " I knew he was preaching instead of the 
 curate." 
 
 " Hold your tongue, I say. I am not talk- 
 ing of those who know something, such as 
 they are obliged to understand ; but the dull- 
 est, and the most ignorant felt the force of 
 what he was saying. To be sure you may go 
 and ask them to repeat his words, and they 
 would not be able to remember a syllable, but 
 the feelings, they have it all here. And then, 
 without mentioning the ijame of that person- 
 age, how well they comprehended that it was 
 him he was talking of; and then to understand 
 him, it was quite enough just to look at him 
 when the tears came into his eyes all the 
 people in the church began to cry." 
 
 " So they did father," said the little girl, 
 "but what were they all crying for just like 
 
 i * i ... * * O ** 
 
 children i 
 
 " Hold your tongue, I say. Ay, yes ! there's 
 some hard hearts in this country. And then 
 he proved clearly, that although there is a 
 dearth, it is our duty to be thankful to the 
 Lord, and to be content ; do all that we can, 
 be industrious, help ourselves, and then be 
 content ; because it is no disgrace to suffer, 
 and to be poor, its only a disgrace to commit 
 evil. Artd these are not mere words, every 
 body knows that he lives just as if he was 
 a poor man, and takes the bread out of his 
 own mouth to give it to the distressed, al- 
 though he might enjoy all the good things of 
 
 this world better than any body else. It's then 
 a man gives real satisfaction to hear him talk, 
 not like so many others, with their " do what 
 I tell you, and not what I do" and then he 
 proved that even those who are not amongst 
 the very greatest of all, if they have more 
 than they have occasion for, are bound to 
 relieve those who are in want." 
 
 Here he stopped, as if he was overcome by 
 a thought. He hesitated a moment, then 
 made up a plate of the victuals upon the table, 
 added a loaf to it, put the plate in a towel, 
 and taking it by the four corners, said to the 
 oldest girl, " Take this here ;" then putting 
 into her other hand a flask of wine, he added, 
 " go to the widow Maria, leave these things 
 there, and tell her it is to make merry with 
 her little ones. But mind and do it handsome- 
 ly, and not as if you was bestowing charity 
 on her. And say nothing if you meet any 
 body, and mind you don't break the things." 
 
 Lucia's eyes became swollen, she felt in 
 heart a reviving tenderness; from the first 
 this conversation had relieved her more than 
 any sermon expressly intended for consolation 
 could have done. Her mind attracted by 
 those descriptions, those pictures of pomp 
 those movements of compassion and wonder, 
 seized with the enthusiasm of the narrator, 
 forgot for a moment the painful reflections 
 about herself, and still returning to them, 
 became fortified against them. The thought 
 even of the great sacrifice she had made, not 
 that thf bitterness of it had passed away, was 
 still mingled with an austere and solemn 
 
 joy- 
 In a short time the curate of the place en- 
 tered, and said that he had been sent by the 
 cardinal to get some news of Lucia, and to 
 inform her that Monsignor would see her in 
 the course of the day ; ne then returned many 
 thanks from him to the worthy pair. All 
 these moved and touched them in the liveliest 
 manner, they could not find words to express 
 their feelings for such condescension from a 
 personage of his rank. 
 
 ' And your mother, she is not arrived yet ?" 
 said the curate to Lucia. 
 
 " My mother !" exclaimed she. And hear- 
 ng that he had sent for her by the orders and 
 brethought of the archbishop, she drew her 
 apron to her eyes, and shed a flood of tears, 
 which continued to flow for some time alter 
 Jie departure of the curate. When the tu- 
 multuous affections which that announcement 
 lad awakened, gave place to more composed 
 Jioughts, the poor girl remembered, that the 
 approaching happiness of again seeing her 
 mother, a happiness so unlocked for a few 
 lours before, she had expressly implored dur- 
 ng those very hours, and had almost made a 
 condition of her vow. Take me safe back to 
 my mother, she had said ; and those words now 
 listinctly reappeared in her memory. She 
 strengthened herself now more than ever in 
 ;he determination to preserve her vow, and 
 Bitterly reproved herself again for the regret,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 155 
 
 and the sorrow she had entertained on that ac- 
 count for an instant. 
 
 Agnes, whilst they were talking of her, was, 
 in fact, but a short distance off. It may be 
 easily supposed in what state of mind the poor 
 woman was at receiving such an unexpected 
 invitation, and at a message necessarily so in- 
 distinct and confused; of a danger, but a 
 dreadful one, that was now over, o? a gloomy 
 care which the messenger neither knew how 
 to explain, nor could give the details of, and 
 for which she had no sort of suggestion in her 
 antecedent ideas. After thrusting her hands 
 into her hair, and often exclaiming, "Oh, Lord ! 
 Oh, holy virgin !" After putting various ques- 
 tions to the man, none of which he could give 
 answers to, she hurriedly got into the wagon, 
 continuing to make the same vain inquiries 
 whilst they were on the road. At a particular 
 part of the road they met Don Abbondio, who 
 was coming on step by step, and at each step 
 planting his stick before him. After an ex- 
 clamation on both sides, they both stopped, and 
 she got out of the wagon, when they drew 
 apart to a small chestnut grove by the road 
 side. He there gave her information of every 
 thing he knew and had seen. The matter was 
 not very clear, but at least Agnes became as- 
 sured that Lucia was safe, and she breathed 
 again. 
 
 He then wanted to enter upon another sub- 
 ject, and to give her long instructions how she 
 should conduct herself with the archbishop, 
 if, as it was probable, he should desire to see 
 her and her daughter; and that above all 
 things she must not mention the marriage . 
 But Agnes perceiving that he had nothing but 
 his own interest in view, left him there, with- 
 out making him any promise at all, indeed 
 without making up her mind on the subject, 
 for she had other things to think of. She 
 therefore pursued her journey. 
 
 At length the wagon arrived, and stopped at 
 the tailor's house ; Lucia hastily rose, Agnes 
 jumped and ran in, they flew into each other's 
 arms. The good woman, who alone was pre- 
 sent, comforted and calmed them, and con- 
 gratulated them, and then, always discreet, 
 left them together, saying she was going to 
 prepare a bed for them ; that she had the 
 means of doing it, but that in any case, both 
 her husband and herself, would rather sleep on 
 the floor, than that they should seek lodgings 
 any where else that night. 
 
 Their first embraces and tears having now 
 somewhat subsided, Agnes desired to know 
 what had befallen Lucia, who sorrowfully re- 
 lated her story. But, as the reader knows, it 
 was a story which no one was perfectly ac- 
 quainted with, and to Lucia herself there were 
 parts, there were obscure passages, altogether 
 inexplicable. Especially that fatal combina- 
 tion of circumstances, of the terrible carriage 
 being there in the road, exactly at the mo- 
 ment when Lucia was passing by, upon a very 
 extraordinary occasion. Both the mother and 
 daughter were lost in conjectures about this, 
 
 without ever suspecting the truth, or approach 
 ing it in the least degree. 
 
 As to the principal author of the plot, nei 
 ther of them could do less than suppose it to 
 be Don Rodrigo. 
 
 " Ah ! that black monster ! firebrand of 
 hell!" exclaimed Agnes, "but his hour will 
 come. God will reward him according to his 
 works, and then he too will feel." 
 
 "No, no, mother, no!" said Lucia, "Do 
 not wish him any evil, do not wish it to any 
 body ! If you only knew what it is to be in 
 suffering! If you had only experienced it! 
 No, no ! let us rather pray to God and the vir- 
 gin for him ; that God may touch his heart, as 
 he has already done to this other poor gentle- 
 man, who was once worse than him, and who 
 is now a saint." 
 
 _ The dread that Lucia experienced in recur- 
 ring to such recent and cruel remembrances 
 made her stop short more than once , she said 
 she had not resolution enough to go on, and 
 after shedding many tears, with difficulty was 
 able to speak again. But a different feeling 
 made her hesitate at one part of her story, that 
 where she had made her vow. The appre- 
 hension that her mother might reprove her as 
 imprudent and rash, or that, as she had done 
 in the affair of the marriage, her mother might 
 bring forwards some liberal rule to govern 
 conscience by, and might endeavor to persuade 
 her to be influenced by it ; or that the poor 
 woman might tell it in confidence to some- 
 body, if only for advice, and thus give it 
 publicity; the very thought of this made 
 Xucia ashamed ; she felt a present intolerable 
 shame, an inexplicable repugnance to speak 
 on the subject, and all these considerations to- 
 gether were the cause that she preserved si- 
 lence on that important matter, proposing in 
 her heart first to consult with father Christo- 
 pher. But what were her feelings when mak- 
 ing inquiries respecting him, she learnt that he 
 was no longer at Pescarenico, that he had been 
 sent away to a very distant country, a place 
 that had a certain name. 
 
 " And Renzo," said Agnes. 
 
 "He is in safety, is he not?" said Lucia 
 hastily. 
 
 "That is certain, because everybody says 
 so ; every body is agreed that he is gone to 
 the Bergamasc country, the precise place we 
 don't know, and up to this time he has sent no 
 account of himself; perhaps he has found no 
 means of doing so." 
 
 "Ah, if only he is safe, God be praised!" 
 said Lucia, and turned the conversation. 
 They were now interrupted by another no- 
 velty, the appearance of the cardinal archbi- 
 shop. 
 
 He, being returned from church, and learn- 
 ing through the Un-named that Lucia had been 
 happily conducted there, sat down to dinner, 
 with the Un-named on his right, amidst a table 
 full of clergymen, who were unable to satiate 
 themselves with looking on that aspect, so 
 softened without weakness, so humbled with-
 
 156 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 out abasement, and with comparing it with 
 the idea they had so long formed of the physi- 
 ognomy of that personage. 
 
 When dinner was over, the two again re- 
 tired together, and after a conversation which 
 lasted much longer than the first, the Un-nam- 
 ed returned to his castle, upon the same mule 
 which he had rode in the morning. The car- 
 dinal then calling the parish curate, told him 
 he wished to be conducted to the house where 
 Lucia was staying. 
 
 " Oh ! Monsignor," the curate replied, " do 
 not think of it, I will send immediately to the 
 young girl and her mother, if she is arrived, to 
 come here ; the good people of the house like- 
 wise, if Monsignor wishes." 
 
 " I wish to go myself to see them," Fede- 
 rigo answered. 
 
 " There is no occasion for your excellency 
 to incommode yourself, I will send for them 
 directly, it's a thing done in a moment," in- 
 sisted the officious curate, (a good sort of per- 
 son nevertheless) not perceiving that the car- 
 dinal desired by that visit to do honor to 
 misfortune, to innocency, to hospitality, and to 
 his own ministry at the same time. Still ex- 
 pressing the same intention, the curate bowed 
 and proceeded. 
 
 As soon as they appeared in the street, every 
 one who saw them, went to them, and in a 
 short time people gathered from every quarter, 
 opening a long line for them to pass, and fol- 
 lowing them in a dense mass. The curate 
 kept saying, " Come, come, go back, keep out 
 of tne way, indeed! indeed!" but Federigo 
 said to him " Let them alone, let them alone," 
 and proceeded on, now raising his hand to bless 
 the people, now lowering it to caress the chil- 
 dren that were near him. Thus they reached 
 the house and entered it, whilst the crowd sur- 
 rounded it on every side. In this same crowd 
 was also the tailor, who had kept following on 
 with the rest, with his eyes and his mouth wide 
 open, not knowing where they were all bound. 
 But when he so unexpectedly saw it stop there, 
 it may be imagined he was not very backward 
 in pushing through, and in calling out, "Let 
 him pass through that has a right to pass," 
 and so got in. . i '.% 
 
 Agnes an^d Lucia heard an increasing tu- 
 mult in the street, and whilst they were think- 
 ing what it could be, the door was thrown 
 open, and the purpled dignitary with the cu- 
 rate appeared. 
 
 " Is that her ?" said the cardinal ; the curate 
 bowed assent, and he went to Lucia, who 
 stood with her mother, both of them immova- 
 ble and mute with surprize and bashfulness. 
 But the tone of his voice, his looks, his de- 
 portment, and above all his words, soon en- 
 couraged them, " Poor maiden," he began, 
 " God has permitted you to be exposed to a 
 great trial, out he has also clearly shown you, 
 that his eye was kept upon you, and that he 
 had not forgotten you. He has brought you 
 into safety, and has made you the instrument 
 of a great work, to show his great mercy to 
 
 one individual, and to send comfort and relief 
 to many others." 
 
 The mistress of the house now entered the 
 room, she, on hearing the noise, had looked 
 out of the window above, and perceiving who 
 was coming into her house, ran as hard as she 
 could down stairs, as soon as she had arranged 
 her dress a little ; just at the same moment the 
 tailor also came in. Perceiving that the con- 
 versation had commenced, they went into a 
 corner of the room together, where they re- 
 mained in the most respectful manner. The 
 cardinal, having courteously saluted them, con- 
 tinued to talk with the women, mingling with 
 his consolations some little inquiries, if he 
 perceived in the answers, that he could be at all 
 serviceable to those who had suffered so much. 
 
 " All the clergy ought to be like your excel- 
 lency, and take the part of the poor some- 
 times, and not put them into difficulties to get 
 out of danger themselves," said Agnes, em- 
 boldened by the familiar and kind manners of 
 Federigo, and vexed at the thought that Don 
 Abbondio, after having always sacrificed 
 others, should pretend to prevent their telling 
 their minds, and complaining to one who was so 
 far above him, when by so rare a chance, the 
 opportunity offered itself. 
 
 " Say whatever you think," said the car- 
 dinal, "speak freely." 
 
 " I mean to say, that if our curate had done 
 his duty, the thing would not have happened 
 as it did." 
 
 The cardinal now requesting her to explain 
 more fully what she meant, she began to find 
 herself in no small difficulty in the relation of 
 a story, where she had played a part she did 
 not care to acknowledge, especially to a man 
 like him. However, she found out a way of 
 getting round it, and related how the marriage 
 was agreed on, how Don Abbondio refused to 
 celebrate it ; she did not suppress his pretext 
 about his superiors that he had alleged, (ah, 
 Agnes ! ) and then went on to relate the at- 
 tempt of Roderigo, and how being warned of 
 it, they had succeeded in escaping. " But," 
 she concluded, " it was escaping into a new 
 difficulty. If, instead of acting as he did, the 
 curate had honestly told us how the affair 
 was, and had immediately married my two 
 young people, we should all have gone away 
 together, secretly, and afar off, where nobody 
 w r ould have known any thing of it. Thus 
 time has been lost, and things nave happened 
 just as they have." 
 
 " The Signor curate will render an account 
 to me of this act," said the cardinal. 
 
 " No, sir, no, sir," replied Agnes, " it was 
 not for this I told you, don't scold him, it will 
 help nothing, for what is done is done : it's the 
 nature of the man, and if the case was to hap- 
 pen again he would do just the same thing." 
 
 But Lucia, discontented with that manner 
 of telling the story, added, "we have done 
 wrong likewise, and it is plain that it was not 
 the pleasure of the Lord that the thing should 
 succeed." 
 
 *
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 157 
 
 " What wrong can you have done, poor girl?" 
 asked Federigo. 
 
 Lucia, in despite of the side looks her mo- 
 ther gave her, told the whole story of the at- 
 tempt they had made at the house of Don Ab- 
 bondio, and concluded, saying, " We have done 
 wrong, and God has chastised us." 
 
 " Receive at his hands the sufferings you have 
 experienced, and take courage, said Federigo, 
 " for who can be filled with hope and cheer- 
 fulness, if not they who suffer, and yet accuse 
 themselves ?" 
 
 He then asked where her affianced spouse 
 was, and hearing from Agnes (Lucia was si- 
 lent, hanging down her head, and her eyes on 
 the ground,) that he had left the country, both 
 felt and witnessed some surprise and displea- 
 sure, and asked why he was gone. Agnes 
 stammered out what little she knew of the 
 adventures of Renzo. 
 
 " I have heard that man spoken of," said the 
 cardinal, ** but how could a man, involved in 
 affairs of that kind, be engaged to be married 
 to this young maiden?" 
 
 " He was a worthy young man," said Lucia, 
 blushing, but with a firm voice. 
 
 " He was a young man even too quiet," 
 added Agnes, " and this every one knows, 
 even the curate himself. Who knows what 
 stories they may have trumped up down there 
 with their cabals ? It does not take much to 
 make a poor man pass for a rogue." 
 
 " It is too true," said the cardinal, I will 
 inform myself respecting him beyond a doubt." 
 And causing the name and surname of the 
 
 Suth to be given to him, he noted them down, 
 e added, that he should be at their village in 
 a few days, that Lucia could then return with- 
 out apprehension, and that in the meantime 
 be would think how to place her in some se- 
 cure asylum, until every thing could be ar- 
 ranged for the best. 
 
 Turning, then, to the proprietors of the 
 house, he renewed the thanks which he had 
 already sent them by the curate, and asked 
 them if they would be content to entertain for 
 those few days the guests whom God had sent 
 to them. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir !" replied the woman, with a 
 tone of voice, and a look that signified much 
 more than that dry assent, almost stifled by 
 diffidence. But the husband, warned by the 
 presence of such an interrogator, and by the 
 tlesire to do himself honor upon an occasion 
 of so much importance, was studying to find 
 out some fine turned answer. He gathered 
 his brows, thrust out his eyes, compressed his 
 mouth, put the bow of his understanding to 
 the full stretch, and braced it up as much as 
 he could. He felt a mass of imperfect ideas and 
 mutilated phrases within him, out the moment 
 pressed, the cardinal made a sign as if he com- 
 prehended the cause of their silence, when the 
 poor man, opening his mouth, said, "Imagine 
 only ! " Not anotner word could he get out. 
 He was not only humiliated for the moment, 
 but ever afterwards the importunate recollec- 
 
 tion of this unlucky failure, spoiled all the com- 
 plaisance with which he would have thought 
 of this great honor. And how many times, 
 looking Ijack to that moment, and recalling 
 the circumstance to his memory, did not words, 
 as if in spite, present themselves, that would 
 have been infinitely more to the purpose than 
 that silly " imagine now." But at that pre- 
 cious moment, the sense he exhibited was not 
 worth picking up out of the streets. 
 
 The cardinal left the house, saying, " The 
 blessing of God be upon this dwelling." 
 
 In the evening he asked the curate how he 
 could, in a satisfactory manner, compensate 
 that man, who was certainly not rich, for the 
 charge of his hospitality, which must be bur- 
 densome at that particular time. The curate 
 replied, that in truth neither the profits of his 
 trade, nor the rent of a few small fields he 
 possessed, admitted, that scarce year, of his 
 being very liberal to others ; but that, having 
 laid by something the preceding years, he was 
 in as easy circumstances as any of his neigh- 
 bors, and could therefore be kind without 
 hurting himself, and that he did it most cordial- 
 ly ; and that he thought he might take offence 
 if any money was offered to him as a compen- 
 sation. 
 
 " Probably," said the cardinal, " people may 
 owe him money which he cannot collect." 
 
 "Most illustrious! Monsignor, these poor 
 people pay their debts with the superabun- 
 dance of their crops ; the past year they had 
 none at all, only just enough to maintain them- 
 selves, and the present year they have not as 
 much as they want for themselves." 
 
 " Well, then," said Federigo, " I will take 
 upon myself to pay all those debts due to him, 
 and you will do me the favor to get from him 
 an account of them, and to discharge them." 
 
 " It will not be a very large sum." 
 
 " So much the better, for you must have 
 amongst you too many of those miserable, and 
 unprovided creatures, who have no debts be- 
 cause they have no credit." 
 
 " It is too true ! we do as well as we can, but 
 we cannot relieve eveiy body in such seasons 
 as this." 
 
 " Let him put them down to my account, 
 and pay him well. Truly every thing that 
 does not go to buy bread this year appears to 
 me to be a robbery, but this is a particular 
 case.'' 
 
 We will not close the story of this day, 
 without briefly relating how the Un-named 
 terminated it. 
 
 This time the fame of his conversion had 
 preceded him into the valley, had spread itself 
 around, and had occasioned every where, trou- 
 ble, anxiety, vexation, and murmuring. The first 
 Bravos, or servants (one and the same thing) 
 that he met, he made signs to follow him, 
 and so to all others. All obeyed, uncertain of 
 what was to happen, but with their accustom- 
 ed .submission, and thus, with an increasing 
 retinue, he reached the castle. Those whom 
 he found at the gates, he made signs to come
 
 158 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 on with the rest, and entering the court-yard, 
 and going to the centre of it, still seated on his 
 mule, he gave out one of his thundering calls, 
 the accustomed signal which all his people ran 
 to, whenever they heard it. In a moment all 
 those who were scattered about the castle, 
 obeyed his voice, joined the rest of his people, 
 the whole of whom looked at their master. 
 
 " Go and wait for me in the great hall," 
 said he, and kept his seat until they departed. 
 He then dismounted, led the mule himself to 
 the stable, and went to the hall. At his ap- 
 pearance, a great whispering that prevailed, 
 suddenly ceased, all drew to one side, leaving 
 a great space vacant for him : there was about 
 thirty of them. 
 
 The Un-named held out his hand, as if to 
 preserve the silence his presence had produced, 
 and raising his head, which was conspicuously 
 above the rest of them, he said, "Listen, all of 
 
 S, and let no one speak, unless I request him. 
 y sons, the path we have trod until this mo- 
 ment, leads to the bottom of hell. I am not 
 going to reproach you, I am the foremost 
 amongst you, I am the worst of ye all, but 
 listen to what I have to say to you. The most 
 merciful God has called me to change my life, 
 and I will change it, I have changed it ; may 
 he do the same with ye all. Know then, and 
 remain assured, that I have resolved rather to 
 die than to do any thing against his holy law. 
 I release every one of you from the wicked 
 orders you have received from me, you under- 
 stand me ; nay, I command you not to execute 
 anything whatever which you were ordered to 
 do. Be equally assured that no one hencefor- 
 wards can commit any sort of evil under my 
 protection, or in my service. Whoever 
 chooses to remain here under these conditions 
 shall be as a son to me, and I will be content, 
 at the end of that day when I shall have eaten 
 nothing, to have given to the last man amongst 
 you, the last loaf in the house. He who does 
 not choose to remain, his wages shall be paid 
 to him, and a donative besides ; he may depart, 
 but never let him set his foot here again, ex- 
 cept when he has determined to change his 
 life ; then he shall be received with open arms. 
 Think of it this night. Tomorrow I shall ask 
 each of you, one by one, for an answer, and 
 then I will give you new orders. You may 
 now withdraw, every one to his post, and may 
 God, who has shown this mercy to me, turn 
 your thoughts to what is good." 
 
 Here he was silent, and all remained so. Va- 
 rious and tumultuous as were the thoughts that 
 agitated them, no signs were to be perceived 
 of it. They were accustomed to receive the 
 voice of their master as the manifestation of a 
 will that was not to be disputed ; and that 
 voice, announcing that his will was changed, 
 did not denote, in any manner, that it was en- 
 feebled. It never even occurred to the mind 
 of any one of them, that because he was con- 
 verted, that they should offer any resistance to 
 his will, or reply to him as they would to an- 
 other man. They saw in him a saint, but one 
 
 of those saints who are painted with their front 
 erect, and a sword in their hands. Besides 
 the awe in which they stood of him, they also 
 entertained for him, (being principally born 
 upon his estate, ) the affection of liege men ; 
 and they all felt a generous kind of admiration, 
 and that kind of diffidence when in his pre- 
 sence, which the rudest and most petulant spi- 
 rits experience before a superiority which they 
 have once recognized. What he had now said 
 to them, although it was odious to their ears, 
 was not false, nor altogether strange to their 
 understandings ; a thousand times they had ri- 
 diculed these notions, not because they utterly 
 disbelieved them, but to drive away by ridi- 
 cule the apprehensions which a serious reflec- 
 tion upon them might have created. And now, 
 when they witnessed the effect those apprehen- 
 sions had produced in a mind like that of their 
 master's, there was not one of them who, more 
 or less, was not affected, at least for some time. 
 Those also, who had heard the great news out 
 of the valley, had witnessed, and had related 
 the joy and the boldness of the population, the 
 new favor the Un-named enjoyed, and the ve- 
 neration which had so suddenly succeeded to 
 their former terror and hatred ; so that the man 
 whom they had all looked up to when they 
 had constituted the greatest part of his power, 
 they now beheld the wonder, and the idol of a 
 whole multitude. They beheld him exalted 
 above all others in a manner different from be- 
 fore, but not less so, always the first, always 
 the head. 
 
 They remained then confounded, uncertain 
 one of the other, and every man about him- 
 self. This one worried himself, and laid 
 plans as to where he should go to find ser- 
 ivice and an asylum, the other examined him- 
 self as to the possibility of his taking up the 
 trade of an honest man ; others there where, 
 who moved by his words felt an inclination to 
 change their lives; some without coming to 
 any conclusion, proposed to make the most of 
 it, to remain and partake of the bread now so 
 cordially offered to them, and so scarce, and 
 so to gain time. No one spoke. And when 
 the Un-named, at the end of his address, held 
 up again that imperious hand to motion them 
 to retire, silently, like a flock of sheep, they 
 all moved to the door. He followed them, 
 and standing in the centre of the court-yard, 
 he watched them in the twilight as they dis- 
 persed, each to go to his own post. Taking a 
 lantern, he then revisited the court-yards, the 
 corridors, the halls, and all the entrances to 
 the castle ; and when he saw that every thing 
 was quiet, he went at length to rest. Yes, to 
 rest, because he was sleepy. 
 
 Such intricate, such urgent affairs, though 
 for such a length of time he had been engag- 
 ed in them, he had never, at any juncture of 
 time, had upon his hands as now, and still he 
 was sleepy. The order, the kind of govern- 
 ment established within by him for so many 
 years, with so much care, and with such sin- 
 gular skill and perseverance, he had now
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 159 
 
 brought into jeopardy with a few words ; that 
 Unlimited devotion of his people, their readi 
 ness to do every thing ; that brigand faith on 
 which he had so long reposed, he had now 
 himself shaken : the means he relied upon 
 he had now converted into a tissue of per- 
 plexities, he had introduced confusion and 
 uncertainty into his own house, and yet he 
 was sleepy. 
 
 He went therefore to his chamber, drew 
 iiigh to the bed where he had suffered so much 
 the preceding night, and knelt down at the 
 edge of it, with the intention of praying. 
 And in a remote and neglected corner of his 
 mind, he found the very prayers he had beer, 
 taught to say when he was a child ; and be- 
 gan to repeat them. The words which had 
 so long been buried and wound up there, 
 came issuing forth one after the other. 
 
 It was an undefinable feeling which he ex- 
 perienced ; a sweet return to the habits of in- 
 nocency, a piercing sorrow at the thought of 
 the abyss which he had created betwixt that 
 period and the present one ; an ardor to arrive, 
 by works of expiation, to a new conscience, to 
 a state, the nearest to that innocence, to which 
 he never could return ; a gratitude, a faith in 
 that mercy which was able to lead him there, 
 and which had given him so many tokens of 
 an intention to do so. Rising from his knees, 
 he laid down, and went to sleep immediately. 
 Thus terminated that day so celebrated 
 even when our anonymous author wrote, and 
 now, but for him, we should have been igno- 
 rant altogether of it, at least of its details : 
 for Ripamonti and Rivola, quoted by us, say 
 only, that that very remarkable tyrant, after 
 his interview with Federigo, changed his life 
 in a wonderful manner, and persevered in the 
 change. 
 
 How many persons are there who have 
 read those two authors ? Fewer even than 
 those who will read our book. And who knows 
 if even in the same valley if any one had the 
 inclination and the ability to look for and to 
 find it any trace or confused tradition of the 
 fact would be found ? So many things have 
 taken place since that time. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE following day, in Lucia's village, and 
 in the whole territory of Lecco, nothing was 
 talked of but her. The Un-named, the arch- 
 bishop, and one other individual, who although 
 Desirous enough of his name being in men's 
 mouths, upon this occasion would willingly 
 have had it less so ; we mean to speak of Don 
 Rodrigo. 
 
 Not that but before this time men were 
 wont to talk of his doings, yet it was always 
 cautiously and secretly done ; two persons 
 must be very well acquainted with each other, 
 
 before they would venture to converse on that 
 subject ; and even then, not with all the 
 feeling they were capable of : for men, gene- 
 rally speaking, when they cannot express 
 their indignation without much danger, not 
 only do not fully evince it, or even suppress it 
 within themselves, but absolutely do not feel 
 it to the same extent. Now, however, who 
 was there who could restrain himself from 
 talking and reasoning about sucn an astound- 
 ing fact, in which the hand of Heaven was 
 manifestly seen, and where two such remark- 
 able personages, appeared so conspicuously ? 
 One in whom such a resolute love of justice 
 was united to such great authority; the other, 
 where tyranny itself in person, appeared to be 
 humiliated, and the very head of the whole 
 host of Bravos had come as it were to lay 
 down his arms, and his occupation. Com- 
 pared with these, Don Rodrigo dwindled into 
 comparative insignificance. Then it was, 
 that all had time to comprehend what it was 
 to torment innocence in order to dishonor it, 
 to persecute it with such impudent persever- 
 ance, with such atrocious violence, and with 
 such abominable schemes. Upon this occa- 
 sion, they went into a review of many other 
 of this nobleman's exploits, and spoke of 
 them openly, just as they thought, every one 
 emboldened by finding all of the same opin- 
 ion. A universal murmur and indignation 
 was expressed, cautiously however, on ac- 
 count of the Bravos which he kept around 
 him. 
 
 A good portion of these public animadver- 
 sions/ fell upon his friends and courtiers. The 
 Signer Podesta came in for his full share, a 
 man who was always deaf, and blind, and 
 mute, where the deeds of that tyrant were 
 brought in question ; but they were careful not 
 to talk of him where it would readily reach 
 his ears, for he too had the birri at his com- 
 mand. With the Doctor Azzecca-garbugli, 
 who had nothing but caballing and talking to 
 help him, they were not so cautious, or with 
 the fry of small courtiers, like him ; they 
 were pointed and frowned at, so that for a 
 while they esteemed it best not to show them- 
 selves in the public square. 
 
 Don Rodrigo, thunderstruck by such unex- 
 pected news, so different from the intelli- 
 gence he expected to receive every day y 
 and every moment, kept close in his palace, 
 alone with his Bravos, for two whole days, 
 chewing his venom, the third he vrent to 
 Milan. If he had had nothing to appre- 
 hend but the discontent of the people, per- 
 haps, since things had gone so far, he would 
 have remained on purpose to brave them, and 
 even to seek an opportunity to make an ex- 
 ample of some of the boldest of them ; but 
 what drove him away, was the certain intelli- 
 gence he had received, that the cardinal was 
 coming into his neighborhood. The count 
 uncle, who knew nothing of the whole histo- 
 ry of the matter but what Attilio had told him, 
 would have certainly expected upon such an
 
 
 160 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 occasion, that Don Rodrigo should have wait- 
 ed first upon the cardinal, in order that a dis- 
 tinguished public reception should be given to 
 him ; it was too evident there was but a small 
 chance for that. He would not only have ex- 
 pected it, but he would have insisted upon 
 having a very minute account of it, as it was 
 a most important occasion to display the high 
 consideration in which the name of his house 
 was held by a dignitary of the first rank. To 
 avoid so odious an embarrassment, Don llod- 
 rigo, rising one morning before day, got into 
 his carriage with Griso, with other Bravos 
 outside, before and behind, and having left 
 orders that the rest of the family should fol- 
 low him, he went off like a fugitive, as (will 
 it be permitted us to elevate our personages a 
 little by some illustrious comparison) Cata- 
 line did from Rome, raging and swearing that 
 he would return in other guise to wreak his 
 vengeance. 
 
 In the meantime, the cardinal went on 
 visiting, one every day, the parishes situated 
 in the territory of Lecco. The day that he 
 was to arrive at Lucia's village, a great part 
 of the inhabitants went on the road to meet 
 him. At the entrance into the place, close to 
 the cottage of our two females, there was a 
 triumphal arch, constructed with stakes placed 
 transversely, covered with straw and moss, 
 and set off with green boughs of holly, full of 
 bright red berries : the front of the church 
 was covered with tapestry ; from every win- 
 dow coverlids and sheets were spread out ; 
 children's swaddling clothes, were arranged 
 like flags, every thing they had, that was fit 
 to make, well or ill, a figure of superfluity. 
 Towards vespers, (the hour at which Federigo 
 always arranged to arrive at the church 
 he was visiting) those who had remained at 
 home, old men, women, and children in still 
 greater numbers, went out also to meet him, 
 some* in files, some in a body, preceded by 
 Don Abbondio, uneasy amidst all this festivi- 
 ty, from the noise that stupified him, the buz- 
 zing of the people up anu down, who, as he 
 said, made him giddy to see them, and from 
 a secret fear, that the women might have been 
 gossiping, and letting something out about the 
 marriage. 
 
 And now the cardinal appeared, or to speak 
 more correctly, the crowd amidst which he 
 was, in his litter, with his suite near to him : for 
 of all this nothing could be discerned, save a 
 sign in the air, above all their heads, a portion 
 of the cross carried by the chaplain on his 
 mule. Those who accompanied Don Abbon- 
 dio, hastened on in great confusion to join the 
 others, and he, after calling out to them several 
 times, " gently, in files, wnat are you doing ?" 
 turned back vexed, and muttering all the 
 time, " a Babel, a perfect Babel," got into the 
 church which was empty, and remained there 
 waiting. 
 
 The cardinal advanced, giving benedictions 
 with his hand, and receiving them back from 
 the mouths of the people, whom his suite had 
 
 quite enough to do to keep a little back ; as 
 Lucia's countrymen, they were desirous of 
 making extraordinary demonstrations to the 
 archbishop, but the thing was not easily done, 
 since it was an old custom, wherever he went, 
 for all to do every thing in their power. In- 
 deed, at the very commencement of his episco- 
 pacy, at his first solemn entrance into the 
 cathedral, the press of the people behind him 
 was such, that he was in some danger of his 
 life, and some gentlemen near him, had drawn 
 their swords to frighten and keep the mob off. 
 So rude and violent were they in those days, 
 that e.ven in their demonstrations of good will 
 to a bishop in his church, and to make much 
 of him, it was necessary to do every thing 
 but kill him. And indeed the interference of 
 those gentlemen would have been insufficient, 
 if two courageous and stout priests, had not 
 raised him up in their arms, and carried him 
 all the way from the gates of the 'temple, to 
 the very foot of the great altar. '-From that 
 time to the present, in so many episcopal 
 visits that he made, his first entrance into the 
 cathedral, may, without speaking lightly, be 
 enumerated amongst his pastoral fatigues, and 
 indeed amongst the dangers he had escaped. 
 
 He got into this church also as well as he 
 could, went to the altar, and there, having 
 prayed a short time, addressed, according to 
 his custom, a few words to those around him, 
 expressive of his love for them, of his desire 
 for their salvation, and of the manner in which 
 they should prepare themselves for the func- 
 tions of the succeeding day. Having with- 
 drawn to the house of the parish priest, amongst 
 other things he had to confer with him, he 
 spoke of Renzo, asked what sort of man he 
 was, and what his conduct had been. Don 
 Abbondio said that he was a young man rather 
 quick tempered, a little self-willed, and some- 
 what passionate. But to the more precise and 
 special inquiries that were made, he was obli- 
 ged to answer that he was an honest man, and 
 that he himself could not comprehend how he 
 could have committed so many extravagances 
 in Milan, as were reported around. 
 
 "And the young girl," said the cardinal, 
 " does it appear to you that she might return 
 now to remain in safety in her own house ?" 
 
 " At present," replied Don Abbpndib, "she 
 can come and remain, just as she likes ; but," 
 he added with a sigh, " itwould be necessary 
 that your most illustrious excellency should be 
 always present, or at least in the neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 " The Lord is always present," said the car- 
 dinal ; " as to the rest, I will think about pla- 
 cing her in some secure asylum." He then 
 gave orders to send off the litter early in the 
 morning, with an escort, to bring the females. 
 
 Don Abbondio was delighted that the cardi- 
 nal should have spoken to him of the young 
 pair, without asking him why he had refused 
 to marry them. He knows nothing about it, 
 then, said he to himself. Agnes has not blab- 
 bedwhat a miracle ! They will have to see
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 161 
 
 him again, but I must give them some more 
 instructions. The poor man was not aware 
 that Federigo had not entered upon that sub- 
 ject, expressly because he intended to speak to 
 him of it at length upon a more convenient 
 occasion ; and before reproving him as he de- 
 served, he was desirous of knowing his rea- 
 sons. 
 
 But the good prelate's cares for the safety of 
 Lucia, were become superfluous ; since he left 
 them, circumstances had arisen, which we 
 shall now relate. 
 
 The two women, in the few days they had 
 to pass under the hospitable roof of the tailor, 
 had resumed, as much as things admitted of, 
 each her accustomed mode of life. Lucia had 
 immediately asked for some w r ork to do ; and 
 as she had done in the monastery, kept at. work 
 with her needle, in a back room, far from ob- 
 servation. Agnes went out a little, and some- 
 times also sat down and sewed by her daugh- 
 ter. Their . conversation, though somewhat 
 melancholy, was affectionate ; both were pre- 
 pared for a separation, for the lamb was not in 
 safety so near the wolf's den. and when was 
 this separation to terminate ? The future was 
 obscure, impenetrable, for one of them espe- 
 cially. Still, Agnes comforted herself with 
 indulging in conjectures about it. Renzo, if 
 nothing sinister had happened to him, would 
 soon contrive to send some news of himself, 
 and if he had found work, and a good situa- 
 tion, if (and how was that to be doubted ?) he 
 still preserved his faith to Lucia, why could 
 they not go and stay with him ? Frequently 
 she entertained her daughter with these hopes, 
 to whom, it w^uld be difficult to say, whether 
 it was more 'painful to listen, or to be obliged 
 to answer. She had always kept her great se- 
 cret to herself; and uneasy and displeased with 
 herself at having concealments from so good a 
 mother, yet invincibly restrained her modesty 
 and the various apprehensions we have alluded 
 to, she suffered the days to pass without speak- 
 ing of it. Her plans were very different from 
 those of her mother, or, more properly speak- 
 ing, she had no plans at all ; she had aban- 
 doned herself entirely to Providence. She 
 sought, therefore, to avoid conversations of 
 this kind, by making no answers, or by saying 
 in general terms, that she had no longer either 
 hope or desire for any thing in this world, save 
 to be united again to her mother, and often 
 tears opportunely came as a substitute for 
 words. f 
 
 " Dost thou know why it seems so to thee ':" 
 said Agnes. " It is because thou hast suffered 
 so much, and it seems to thee as if things would 
 never get right again ; but leave it to the Lord, 
 and if let only one ray of sunshine come, 
 only one, and then thou wilt tell me whether 
 thou hast any hope for any thing or not." Lu- 
 cia kissed her mother and wept. 
 
 Between them and their hosts, a great friend- 
 ship had sprung up ; and where should friend- 
 ship spring, if not between benefactors and 
 the objects of their kindness, when all of them j 
 21 
 
 are virtuous ? Agnes, especially, indulged in 
 long gossipings with the mistress of the 
 house. The tailor also amused them with his 
 stories, and some of his moral discourses, and 
 at dinner, especially, he always had some good 
 thing to tell of Buovo d'Antona, or of the fa- 
 thers of the desert. 
 
 A few miles from the village dwelt a singu- 
 lar kind of couple, Don Ferrante and Donna 
 Prasede; their family name, as usual, our 
 anonymous author has kept to himself. Don- 
 na Prasede was an old gentlewoman, much 
 disposed to do good, certainly one of the best 
 occupations one can be employed in, but 
 which, like all others, can be spoiled too. To 
 do good it is requisite to know what it is, and, 
 like all other things, we can only know it 
 through our passions, our judgment, and our 
 ideas ; all of which are too frequently no bet- 
 ter than they should be. Donna Prasede ob- 
 served that particular rule with her ideas, 
 which it is said we ought all to observe to our 
 friends ; she had but a few, and she was very 
 fond of them. Amongst those few, there 
 were, unfortunately, some very ungainly ones, 
 and they were not those she loved the least. 
 It fell out, therefore, that she would set up a 
 thing for a good thing, which was not so, or 
 'she would adopt means to produce good, which 
 had a stronger tendency the other way ; or 
 think those means lawful ones, which were 
 not at all so, through a supposition in the 
 clouds, that they who do more than their duty, 
 acquire a consequent right to go in that di- 
 rection. It frequently occurred to her not to 
 see in facts, what really was true, or to see 
 realities which had no existence ; and many 
 other things of a similar nature, such as may 
 and do happen to all, without excepting the 
 best of us : but to Donna Prasede they occur- 
 red not unfrequently, and not seldom all to- 
 gether. 
 
 When she heard of the great affair of Lucia, 
 and the extraordinary things said upon that 
 occasion of the young maiden, she conceived 
 a strong desire to see her, and sent her carriage 
 with an old usher to bring both mother and 
 daughter. Lucia was averse to going, and en- 
 treated the tailor who gave her the information, 
 to excuse her. He had willingly done thi? 
 upon previous occasions, when some of the 
 lower classes had sought to become acquainted 
 with the maiden of the miracle, but obstinacy 
 at this time, appeared to him a kind of rebel- 
 lion. He made so many grimaces, so many 
 exclamations, said so many things that people 
 did not act in that way, that it was an import- 
 ant thing, that no was not to be said to great 
 people, that it might be the making of their 
 fortune, and that Donna Prasede, besides other 
 considerations, was herself a saint. Finally, 
 he said so much, that Lucia was obliged to 
 yield, more especially since Agnes confirmed 
 all his reasonings by adding, " certainly, to be 
 sure." 
 
 Having reached Donna Prasede's, she re- 
 ceived them with many congratulations and
 
 I 
 
 162 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 much kindness, interrogated, advised them, all 
 with a sort of innate superiority, but tempered 
 by so many humble expressions, so much zeal, 
 and seasoned by so much piety, that Agnes 
 almost immediately, and Lucia very soon, be- 
 gan to feel themselves relieved from that op- 
 pressive sort of respect which her damely pre- 
 sence had struck them with, and began to feel 
 pleased with it. Donna Prasede, finding soon 
 after, that the cardinal had undertaken to place 
 Lucia in an asylum, became filled with the de- 
 sire to second, and, indeed, to anticipate such 
 a good intention, and to receive the young girl 
 in her house, where no service should be im- 
 
 gosed upon her but needle work, and occupa- 
 ons of that kind. She added, that she would 
 take it upon herself to give information to 
 Monsignor. 
 
 Besides the obvious and immediate good 
 'iere was in an act of this kind, Donna Prasede 
 erceived, and proposed to herself another, 
 erhaps of more importance in her eyes ; to 
 icct a head that wanted judgment, and to 
 put in the good way one who stood in much 
 need of it : for from the moment when she 
 had first heard Lucia spoken of, she immedi- 
 ately persuaded herself that there must be 
 something wrong, some peccant matter in the 
 composition of any girl, who could form an 
 engagement with a notorious rogue, and a 
 wicked hang gallows, like the man she was 
 attached to. Tell me what company you 
 keep, and I will tell you who you are. Lucia's 
 nsit had confirmed her in that opinion. Not 
 ;hat at the bottom, she did not appear to Don- 
 ha Prasede to be a good girl, but there were a 
 great many things to say. That little head 
 Rung down, with the chin buried in her throat, 
 that hesitation to answer, or slow mode of an- 
 swering, as if she was doing it by force, might 
 denote bashfulness, but looked very much like 
 stubbornness : it did not require much to di- 
 vine that that little head haa some notions of 
 its own. And that blushing every moment, 
 and then sighing : those two large eyes, too, 
 Donna Prasede did not like them at all. She 
 held it as firmly as if she knew it perfectly, 
 that all Lucia's misfortunes were a punishment 
 from Heaven, on account of her attachment to 
 that villain, and a warning to her to forget it ; 
 and having settled that in her mind, she pro- 
 poscil to co-operate with Heaven in producing 
 so desirable a result. For, as she often said 
 to others, and to herself, all her study was to 
 second the will of Heaven. Poor Donna Pra- 
 sede often fell into the sad mistake of suppos- 
 ing her own brains and the will of Heaven to 
 be one and the same thing. However, she 
 was careful not to let out the least hint of her 
 intention ; it was one of her maxims, that to 
 conduct a good design to a happy end, the first 
 thing to do, in most cases, was not to let peo- 
 ple know what you were aiming at. 
 
 The mother and the daughter looked at each 
 other : the painful necessity of their being se- 
 parated being evident, the otter appeared to 
 both of them most acceptable, if only on ac- 
 
 count of Donna Prasede living so near to their 
 own village ; so that, at the worst, they would 
 be nigh to each other, and could see each other 
 occasionally. Perceiving in each other's eyes 
 that the proposition was mutually agreeable, 
 they turned to Donna Prasede, and thanked 
 her in a tone that indicated their consent. She 
 renewed her courtesies and promises, and said 
 that she would have a letter prepared for them 
 to present to Monsignor. As soon as the wo- 
 men were gone, Don Ferrante prepared the 
 letter, for, being a literary man, as we shall 
 more particularly show, she made use of him 
 as a secretary, upon important occasions. 
 Upon an affair of this rare kind, Don Ferrante 
 put his wits to the stretch, and giving the 
 sketch to his consort to copy, he recommended 
 to her in the warmest terms to mind the or- 
 thography, for it was one of the many things 
 he had studied, and one of the very few which 
 he was master of in the whole establishment. 
 Donna Prasede copied it carefully, and sent it 
 to the tailor's. This was two or three days 
 before the cardinal sent the litter to reconduct 
 the women to their o,vvn home. 
 
 The cardinal was uot gone to church, when 
 they arrived and stopped at the parsonage. 
 Orders were given to introduce them immedi- 
 ately. The chaplain, who was the first to see 
 them, instantly went to the women, and de- 
 layed presenting them no longer than was ne- 
 cessary to give them a few hurried instruc- 
 tions upon the ceremonials they should observe 
 with Monsignor, and the titles they should give 
 him ; a thing he always was very careful in do- 
 ing, when he thought the cardinal would not 
 hear of it. It was one continued vexation for 
 the poor man, to observe the disorder that pre- 
 vailed in relation to that matter, about the 
 cardinal. " All owing," as he said, with the 
 rest of the family, " all owing to the too great 
 goodness of that blessed man ; all on account 
 of that familiarity which he permitted." And 
 then he would tell, how he had more than once 
 heard with his own ears people say to his ex- 
 cellency, "yes, sir; no, sir." 
 
 Just at that moment, the cardinal was con- 
 versing with Don Abbondio about the affairs of 
 the parish, so that he had not even a chance 
 to give his instructions to the women, as he 
 was desirous of doing. All that he could do, 
 was, in passing close to them as he went out 
 and they came in, to give them a look, that 
 signified as well as it could, how well satisfied 
 he was with them, and that they must perse- 
 vere, like clever women, in holding their 
 tongues. 
 
 Having made their reverences, Agnes drew 
 from her bosom the letter, and gave it to the 
 cardinal, saying, " it is from the lady Donna 
 Prasede, who says she is very well acquainted 
 with your most illustrious excellency, Mon- 
 signor, as naturally all you great people must 
 know each other. When you have read it, 
 you will sec what she wishes." 
 
 Federigo having read and extracted the es- 
 sence out of the flowers of Don Ferrante, re-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 163 
 
 plied "very well." He knew the people 
 sufficiently to be assured that Lucia was in- 
 vited there with good intentions, and that she 
 would be safe from the plots and violence of 
 her persecutor. What he thought of Donna 
 Prasede's head, we have no precise means of 
 judging. Probably she was not exactly the 
 person he would have chosen for such a pur- 
 pose, but as we have stated in another place, 
 it was not his custom to undo things which 
 had been done by those whom they concerned, 
 in order to do them better. 
 
 "Take this separation too, in peace, and 
 the state of uncertainty in which you are," 
 said he ; " encourage the hope that they will 
 end soon, and that God will direct every thing 
 to that end, to which it appears he has wished 
 to lead them, but always hold the firm belief, 
 that whatever is his pleasure, is the best that 
 can happen to you." Giving Lucia individually 
 other proofs of his benevolence, and consoling 
 them both, he blessed them, and let them go. 
 On coming out into the street, they found a 
 swarm of friends of both sexes, the whole com- 
 mune almost, waiting there to conduct them 
 in triumph to their own house. There was a 
 sort of emulation amongst the women, in con- 
 gratulating, crying, and asking questions, and 
 all expressed prodigious sorrow when they 
 heard Lucia was going away the next day. 
 The men disputed with one another whose 
 services should be accepted ; each one wanted 
 to sit up and guard the cottage that night. 
 Upon this fact our anonymous author thought 
 proper to invent a proverb If you want a 
 great many friends, contrive to be able to do 
 without them. 
 
 So much kindness confounded and stupified 
 Lucia, but substantially it was of service 
 to her, as it distracted her thoughts and her 
 recollections a little, which, eveu amidst all 
 this noise, struggled within her, at the sight of 
 her door, the little rooms, and every other well 
 known object. 
 
 At the sound of the bell, which announced 
 that the church services were soon to begin, 
 all moved towards the church, and this was 
 another walk of triumph for the restored pair. 
 
 The service being over, Don Abbondio, who 
 had stepped out to see if Perpetua had arranged 
 every thing well for dinner, was informed that 
 the cardinal desired to speak with him. He 
 immediately went to the chamber of his distin- 
 guished guest, who, permitting him to ap- 
 proach, began, 
 
 " Signer curate," and these words were ad- 
 dressed to him in such a tone and manner that 
 he saw clearly they were the beginning of a 
 long and serious matter, " signer curate, why 
 did you not join in wedlock this Lucia with 
 her betrothed husband ?" 
 
 They have emptied the bag, sure enough, this 
 morning thought Don Abbondio, and stutter- 
 ingly answered. "Monsignore illustrissimo, no 
 doubt has heard of the confusion that sprung out 
 of that affair ; it was so prodigious and so intri- 
 cate, that even now, no one has been able to 
 
 see clearly into it, as your most illustrious 
 excellency may judge by the fact that the 
 maiden is here, after so many accidents, as if 
 by some miracle ; and the young fellow, after 
 other accidents also, is gone nobody knows 
 where." 
 
 "I ask," tiie cardinal resumed, "if it is 
 true, that before all these accidents you speak 
 of, you refused to celebrate their marriage, 
 when you was required to do so, upon the day 
 that was agreed upon, and your reasons for 
 doing so." 
 
 " Truly if your illustrious excellency only 
 knew what intimations, what terrible injunc- 
 tions I have had imposed on me not to speak 
 of it " Here he stopped, without coining to 
 a conclusion, expressing by gesture that he 
 desired respectfully to hint that it would be an 
 indiscretion to wish to know any further. 
 
 " But," said the cardinal, with a voice and 
 countenance more than usually serious, " it is 
 your bishop, who from regard to his own duty, 
 and for your justification, wishes to know from 
 you why you have not done that which, in the 
 regular way, you was under an obligation to 
 do." 
 
 " Monsignor," said Don Abbondio, shrink- 
 ing into as small a compass as he could get, 
 " I did not mean to say but it did seem to 
 me, that matters being so perplexed, and so 
 old and remediless, it would be useless to stir 
 them up again nevertheless but I say, I 
 know that your most illustrious excellency 
 will not betray one of your poor curates. For 
 only see, Monsignor, your most illustrious ex- 
 cellency can't be every where at the same 
 time, whilst I remain here exposed still if 
 I am commanded, I shall speak, I shall tell 
 every thing." 
 
 " Speak. I desire nothing but to find you 
 blameless." 
 
 Don Abbondio then began to narrate his sad 
 story, but suppressed the principal name, and 
 substituted a powerful nobleman allotting 
 to prudence as much as he could possibly af- 
 ford to do in such a strait. 
 
 " And had you no other reason but this ?" 
 asked the cardinal, having heard what he had 
 to say. 
 
 " Perhaps I have not sufficiently explained 
 myself,'' replied Don Abbondio. " Under 
 pain of iny life, it was intimated to me not to 
 celebrate that marriage." 
 
 " And does this appear to you a sufficient 
 reason for the omission of a prescribed duty?" 
 
 " I have always endeavored to do my duty, 
 even when it has been very inconvenient to 
 do it ; but when a man's life is at stake " 
 
 " When you presented yourself to the 
 church," said Federigo, with a still more se- 
 rious countenance, "to receive your ministry, 
 did she tell you to be so cautious about your 
 life ? Did she tell you that the duties annexed 
 to the ministry were free from all difficulties, 
 or that they had an immunity from danger ? or 
 did she tell you, that duty ceased where dan- 
 ger began ? Did she not expressly tell you
 
 164 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 the contrary .' Did she not warn you that she 
 sent you into the world as a lamb amongst 
 wolves ? Did you not know that you would 
 find violent men there, to whom that which 
 you was commanded to do, might be displeas- 
 ing ? He from whom we have our doctrine and 
 example, and in imitation of whom, we are 
 named, and even call ourselves pastors, when 
 he came to this world to dispense his great 
 office, did he sanction that opinion, that we 
 were to be cautious about our lives, and to be 
 watchful over them, and preserve them for a 
 few days more upon earth, at the expense of 
 charity and duty ? Was holy unction, the im- 
 position of hands, the grace of the ministry, 
 were all these necessary ? Why, the world itself 
 is sufficient for a doctrine of this kind. What 
 do I say ? Oh shame ! The world itself denies 
 this to be true, even the world has its laws, 
 which prescribe good, and which put a limit 
 to evil. It has its own gospel, a gospel of 
 pride and hatred, and does not permit it to be 
 said that the love of life should be urged as a 
 sufficient reason for breaking the command- 
 ments. The world will not have it so, and is 
 obeyed. And we, the sons and the inessen- 
 
 fers of the promise ! What would the church 
 e, if this language of yours was held by all 
 your brethren ? Where would she be, if she 
 had come into the world with such opinions ?" 
 Don Abbondio held his head down ; his 
 spirit felt amidst these reasonings just as a 
 chicken would do in the claws of a hawk, lift- 
 ed up into an unknown region, into an atmos- 
 phere it had never breathed before. Perceiv- 
 ing that it was necessary to make some an- 
 swer, he said, with a sort of submissive 
 unconvinced manner. "Monsignor. I must 
 be in the wrong. If one's own life is to go 
 for nothing, why then there is nothing to be 
 said. But when one has to do with certain 
 people, with those that are powerful, and won't 
 listen to reason, and are ready to play the 
 Bravo too, I really don't know what is to be 
 gained by going right against them: this is 
 a nobleman that is neither to be conquered nor 
 to be compromised with." "And do you not 
 know, that with us, to conquer, means to suf- 
 fer for the sake of justice ? And if you do 
 not know this, what is it you preach ? What 
 are you master of? What are the good tidings 
 you announce to the poor ? Who pretends, 
 in your calling, that power is to be conquered 
 by power ? Certainly it will never upon any 
 day, be asked of you, if you have subdued 
 the powerful ; no mission and no means were 
 ever given to you, to that end. But it will 
 most certainly be asked of you, if you have 
 used the means that were entrusted to you, 
 that you might do what you were commanded 
 to do, even when men had the temerity to for- 
 bid you to do your duty." 
 
 What curious men these saints are thought 
 Don Abbondio the amount of all this is, that 
 the loves of two young people are of more 
 importance to him, than the life of a poor 
 priest. As far as he was concerned, he would 
 
 have been well satisfied if the conversation 
 had ended there ; but he perceived that the 
 cardinal at every pause, seemed to expect an 
 answer, a confession, an apology, something 
 or other. 
 
 "I repeat, Monsignor," replied he, then, 
 " that I must be in the wrong a man can't 
 give himself courage." 
 
 " Why then, I may say to you, have you 
 engaged in a ministry, which imposes upon 
 you the task of warring against the passions 
 of the age ? But how is it, I would rather 
 say, that you do not suppose, if in this minis- 
 try, whatever may have brought you into it, 
 you want courage to fulfil your obligations, 
 now is it you do not know there is one who 
 can infallibly give it to you, if you only ask it 
 of him ? Do you believe that all the mil- 
 lions of martyrs were endowed with their 
 courage naturally? that they esteemed their 
 lives as vile naturally ? so many in the flower 
 of their age, just beginning to enjoy life, so 
 many old people accustomed to regret that it 
 was drawing to a close, so many damsels, so 
 many mothers ? all have had courage, because 
 courage was necessary, and they had faith. 
 Knowing your own weakness, and your du- 
 ties, have you ever thought of preparing 
 yourself for those difficult scenes in which 
 you might be placed, and where in fact you 
 have found yourself ? Ah ! if in so many 
 years of pastoral office, you have (and could 
 it be otherwise ? ) loved your flock, you have 
 placed your whole heart in it, all your cares, 
 all your delight, courage could not be wanting 
 to you at a strait ; love is intrepid. If then 
 you loved those who were committed to your 
 spiritual care, those whom you call children ; 
 when you saw two of them threatened, as 
 well as yourself, certainly, as the weakness 
 of the flesh made you tremble on your own 
 account, so love and charity must have made 
 you tremble for them. You will have been 
 humbled by your first fear, because it was an 
 effect of your unhappiness, you will have 
 implored strength to drive it away, because it 
 was a temptation : but that holy, and noble 
 fear for another, for your children, that you 
 will not have driven away, that you will have 
 listened to, that will have given you no peace, 
 that will have incited you, constrained you to 
 think, and to do all that was in your power to 
 avert the danger that impended over them 
 What did all this fear and love inspire you to 
 do ? What have you done for them ? What 
 have you thought of for their safety ? 
 
 He stopped as if he expected an answer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 To a question of this kind Don Abbondio 
 who nevertheless had been considering how 
 he should answer some of a kss precise na-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 165 
 
 ture, had not a word to offer. And to tell 
 the truth, even we ourselves, with this manu- 
 script before us, and the pen in our hand, 
 having to contend with nothing but phrases, 
 and nothing to fear but the criticisms of our 
 readers, even we feel a certain repugnance to 
 go on : even we feel rather strange at bring- 
 ing forward, with so little fatigue, so many fine 
 precepts of fortitude and charity, of laborious 
 anxiety for others, and unlimited devotion of 
 one's self. But reflecting that these things 
 were said by a man who acted up to them, we 
 boldly pursue our course. " You do not an- 
 swer," resumed the cardinal, " Ah, if you had 
 done on your part, that which charity and duty 
 required, however the results might have been, 
 you might now have been able to answer. You 
 
 Serceive then yourself, now, what it is you have 
 one. In not caring to do that which duty pre- 
 scribed to you, you have obeyed iniquity : you 
 have given a punctual obedience : she showed 
 herself to you, to signify her wishes, but desired 
 to remain concealed from those, who might 
 have put themselves on their guard, and pro- 
 tected themselves against her; she did not 
 want to have recourse to violence, she only 
 wanted secrecy, that she might mature at her 
 ease her schemes of violence and fraud : she 
 commanded you to transgress and to be silent, 
 and you have transgressed and remained 
 silent. And now I ask if you have not done 
 more than this ; you will tell me if it is true 
 that you invented pretexts for your refusal, in 
 order to conceal your true reasons?" Again 
 he stopped awhile, waiting for an answer. 
 
 They have told him that likewise, these 
 gossiping women thought Don Abbondio, 
 who still gave no indications of an intention 
 to answer ; wherefore the cardinal continued, 
 " If it is true, then, that you have told those 
 poor friendless creatures that which was not, 
 in order to keep them in that ignorance and 
 darkness, in wnich iniquity wished them to 
 remain. Then I must believe it is so, then 
 nothing remains for me but to blush with you, 
 and to nope that you will weep with me. See 
 to what it has led you, (great God ! and but 
 now you urged it as a justification) that soli- 
 citude for temporal life ! It has led you and 
 freely refute what I say to you, if it appears 
 unjust, and if it is not so, receive it as a sa- 
 lutary humiliation it has led you to de- 
 ceive the weak, and to lie to your children," 
 only look at this now said Don Abbondio 
 to himself, that old Satan there he was 
 thinking of the Un-named must have peo- 
 ple's arms thrown about his neck, whilst I, 
 merely for a white lie, told to save my own 
 skin too, must have a storm raised about my 
 head. But they are my superiors, and are 
 never in the wrong. It is my destiny to have 
 all the world upon my back, and the saints 
 into the bargain. " I have been wanting," 
 said he ; then,aloud to the cardinal, " I acknow- 
 ledge that I have been remiss, but what was 
 there left for me to do in such an unexpected 
 affair as that ? " 
 
 " Do you still ask ? Have I not told you ? 
 Was it necessary for me to tell you ? To love, 
 my son, to love and pray. Then you would 
 have felt that iniquity, although she could 
 threaten and strike, had no commands to give ; 
 you would have joined, according to the laws 
 of God, those that man wanted to separate ; 
 you would have dispensed to those unhappy 
 innocents the ministry they had a right to ex- 
 pect from you : for the consequences, God 
 would have been the guarantee, because his 
 law would have been fulfilled; but obeying 
 another law, you have made yourself respon- 
 sible for the consequences, and what conse- 
 quences ! But, perhaps, all human remedies 
 were wanting to you; perhaps you thought 
 you had no way of escape open, when you 
 hardly thought, or reflected, or looked around 
 you. Now you can see that those poor young 
 people, if you had married them, would them- 
 selves have thought about their own safety, 
 that they were prepared to fly from the face 
 of their oppressor, and had already fixed upon 
 their place of refuge. But even setting this 
 on one side, did you not remember that you 
 had a superior? How is he possessed of au- 
 thority to reprehend you for having failed in 
 your duty, if the obligation to assist you to 
 discharge it, is not imperative upon him ? Why 
 did you not think of giving information to your 
 bishop of the impediment, which an infamous 
 violence was opposing to the exercise of your 
 ministry ? " 
 
 Just what Perpetua was saying! thought 
 Don Abbondio rather angrily, to whom, during 
 the whole of this address, the most lively im- 
 ages in his fancy, were the figures of those two 
 Bravos, and the thought that Don Rodrigo was 
 alive and sound, and one day or another, 
 would come back glorious and triumphant, and 
 like a roaring lion. And although the digni- 
 tary before whom he stood, his aspect and his 
 language, had an influence upon him, still, the 
 fear they produced in him, did not altogether 
 subdue him, nor prevent a little rebellion in 
 his thoughts, where a predominating idea was, 
 that the cardinal was not going to terminate 
 his reproofs with blunderbusses, swords, and 
 Bravos . 
 
 " How is it that you have not thought," pur- 
 sued Federigo, " that if there was no other re- 
 fuge open to these persecuted innocents, that 
 [ still remained to protect them, to place them 
 in safety, to whom you should nave sent 
 them, as derelicts abandoned to a bishop, as be- 
 longing properly to him, as a precious part, I do 
 not say of his charge, but of his riches. And 
 as to yourself, I should have been anxious on 
 your account ; I should not have been able to 
 sleep until I had felt assured that not a hair of 
 your head could be hurt. Had I not the sure 
 means to protect your life ? But the man who 
 was so daring, do you believe that he would 
 not have become less so, knowing that his 
 slots were no longer a secret, that they were 
 known to me, that I was watching, and was 
 determined to use all the means placed in my
 
 166 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 power to defend you ? Dou you not know that 
 when man promises too often more than can 
 be performed, that he also threatens, not sel- 
 dom, to do more than he intends ? Do you not 
 know that iniquity confides not altogether 
 upon her own strength, but also upon the cre- 
 dulity and the terror of others?" 
 
 Just what Perpetua was saying, precisely, 
 thought Don Abbondio, without reflecting that 
 that singular accordance in opinion of what he 
 might and ought to have done, between his 
 own servant and Federigo Borromeo, was a 
 very strong argument against him. 
 
 "But you," continued the cardinal, "have 
 seen nothing, nor have wished to see any thing, 
 but your own temporal danger ; no wonder that 
 it should have appeared so great to you, when 
 you have overlooked every thing else but it." 
 
 " It is because I saw their horrid faces my- 
 self," Don Abbondio involuntarily broke out, 
 " it is because I heard what they said myself. 
 Your most illustrious excellency talks well, 
 but, after all, a man should stand in the shoes 
 of a poor priest, and be brought to such a 
 pinch as that." 
 
 Scarce had he uttered these words, than he 
 bit his tongue ; he perceived that his vexation 
 had carried him too far, and said to himself, 
 now we shall have hail stones and raising 
 doubtfully his looks to the cardinal, he was as- 
 tonished at his countenance, which, indeed, he 
 had never been able to penetrate and divine, 
 at seeing it change from a chastising and au- 
 thoritative expression, to a serious and thought- 
 ful compunction. 
 
 "It is too true!" said Federigo, "such is 
 our wretched and terrible condition. It is our 
 duty to exact rigorously from others, that 
 which God alone knows whether we are pre- 
 pared to do ourselves. It is our duty to judge, 
 to correct, to reprehend, and God alone knows 
 what we should do in the same case, and, in- 
 deed, that which we have done in similar 
 cases ! But wo is me if I were to assume my 
 own weakness as the measure of another's 
 duty, for the rule of my teaching. Most cer- 
 tain it is, that to doctrine I must add my own 
 example, and not live like the Pharisee, im- 
 posing insupportable burthens on others, when 
 tie will not even touch them himself. There- 
 fore, my son and my brother, since the errors 
 of those who sit in command are often better 
 known to others than to themselves ; if it is 
 known to you, that through pusillanimity, or 
 from any other motive, I nave neglected any 
 part of my duty, tell it to me frankly, let me 
 look into it, so that, where I have been defi- 
 cient in example, confession may not be want- 
 ing. Point out to me freely my weaknesses, and 
 then words will come with more authority from 
 my mouth, since you will feel, in a more live- 
 ly manner, that they are not my own, but that 
 they come from the spirit of him, who knows 
 how to give both to you and to me, the strength 
 necessary to do that which they enjoin." 
 
 Oh, what a holy man ! But what a worrier 
 he is ! thought Don Abbondio ; even about I 
 
 himself, he must be groping, and meddling, and 
 criticising, and playing the inquisitor, even 
 about himself. " Oh, Monsignor!" said he, 
 " are you making game of me ? Who is there 
 who is not acquainted with the strong heart, 
 and the indomitable zeal of your most illustri- 
 ous excellency ?" Adding, in his heart, it is 
 too much the case. 
 
 " I did not seek of you a praise that makes 
 me tremble," said Federigo, " for God knows 
 my failings, and those which are known to 
 myself, are sufficient to confound me. But I 
 had desired, and I fain would, that we should 
 humble ourselves together before him, and 
 confide in him together. I should wish, for 
 the love of you, that you should feel sensible 
 what your conduct has been, and how your 
 speech has been opposed to the law which you 
 still teach, and according to which you must 
 be judged." 
 
 " Every thing is put upon my back," said 
 Don Abbondio ; " but those persons who have 
 been denouncing me, have said nothing about 
 their getting into my house by treachery, to 
 surprise me, and trump up a matrimony con- 
 trary to the rules." 
 
 " They have told me that too, my son : but 
 what afllicts and frightens me is, that you still 
 try to excuse yourself, that you think you can 
 excuse yourself by accusing others ; that you 
 bring as an accusation against others what 
 ought to be a part of your own confession . 
 Who led them, I will not say into the necessi- 
 ty, but into the temptation of doing what they 
 did do ? Would they have had recourse to that 
 illegitimate course, if the legitimate one had 
 not been closed against them ? Would they 
 have thought of deceiving their pastor if he 
 had received them with open arms, had aided 
 and advised them ? Would they have sought 
 for him if he had not concealed himself? And 
 you blame them, you are angry, because after 
 so many distresses, what do I say, in the 
 midst of their distress, they have uttered a 
 word of complaint to their, to your pastor. 
 That the appeal of the oppressed, the com- 
 plaint of the afflicted, are odious to the world, 
 is too true ; but we ! what would it have bene- 
 fited you, if they had remained silent ? Would 
 it have been an advantage to you, that their 
 whole cause should have gone up to the judg- 
 ment of God ? Is it not an additional motive 
 for you to love them, (and how many reasons 
 you have!) that they have afforded you an 
 opportunity of hearing the sincere voice of 
 your pastor, that they have given you the 
 means of ascertaining better, and of discharg- 
 ing, in part, the great debt you owe them ? 
 An, if even they had given you any provo- 
 cation, if they had offended, had tormented 
 you, I would tell you (and ought you to wait 
 to be told ?) to love them for that very reason. 
 Love them because they have suffered, be- 
 cause they still suffer, because they are yours, 
 because they are weak, because you stand in 
 need of a pardon, to obtain which, reflect how 
 efficacious their prayers may be."
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 167 
 
 Don Abbondio was silent, but it was no 
 longer the same spiteful, impersuasible si- 
 lence; he looked like one more disposed to 
 think than to talk. The words which he had 
 heard, contained unexpected consequences, 
 and new applications, but of a doctrine long 
 familiar to his mind, and which was not dis- 
 puted. The wrongs of another, from which 
 Fear for himself had always distracted him, 
 now made a new impression upon him ; and 
 if he did not feel all the remorse that he would 
 have liked to produce from the pulpit, (for the 
 same fear was even there with him, executing 
 the office of an advocate defending the wrong 
 side,) still he felt some : he felt a displeasure 
 at himself, and a compassion for others, a min- 
 gled sentiment of tenderness and confusion. 
 He was, if the comparison be permitted us, 
 like the moist wick of a candle, which, on be- 
 ing presented to the flame of a torch, cannot 
 be made to light, smoking, fizzing, snapping, 
 but at last is inflamed, and burns either well 
 or ill. He would have accused himself loudly, 
 and would have wept, if it had not been for 
 the thought of Don Rodrigo ; yet, nevertheless, 
 he gave sufficient indications of being moved, 
 to admit of the cardinal's perceiving that his 
 words had not been spoken in vain. 
 
 " Now," continued he, " one of them a fu- 
 gitive from his own house, the other on the 
 point of abandoning hers, both with too much 
 reason to remain at a distance, without any 
 probability of their being again reunited here, 
 if, indeed, God designs ever to reunite them ; j 
 now, too true it is, they have no need of I 
 you ; too true it is that you have no oppor- | 
 tunify of doing them any good, neither can our 
 short foresight conjecture any opportunity for 
 the future. But who knows mat God, ever \ 
 merciful, may not be preparing it ? Ah ! let 
 them not fly ! seek them, be on the watch, i 
 pray to him that he may find you one." 
 
 " I will not fail, Monsignor, I will not fail, 
 truly," replied Don Abbondio, with a tone of 
 voice that seemed to come from his heart. 
 
 " Yes, my son, yes," replied Federigo, and 
 with a dignity full of affection, he concluded, 
 " heaven knows how I should have preferred 
 to hold conversations of another kind with 
 you. We have bom of us lived a long time, 
 and God knows how hard it has been for me 
 to visit your grey hairs with reproof, how 
 much more pleased I should have been to con- 
 sole myself with you about our common cares, 
 and our sins, in talking of the blessed hope to 
 which we are already drawing so near. May 
 God grant that what I have said to you may 
 be both for your advantage and mine. Do you 
 not think that he will demand an account of 
 me, upon the great day, for having kept you 
 in an office to which you have so unfortunate- 
 ly been found wanting. Let us redeem the 
 time ; midnight draws nigh ; the bridegroom 
 is coming; let us keep our lamps burning. 
 Let us present our hearts to God, miserable 
 and empty, that he may be pleased to fill 
 them with that charity which corrects the 
 
 past, which assures the future, which fears and 
 trusts, weeps and is cheerful. Let us pray 
 that he will give us wisdom ; that it may be- 
 come, in every case, the wisdom of which we 
 stand in need." 
 
 Having said this, he moved, and Don Ab- 
 bondio followed him. 
 
 Here our anonymous author informs us 
 that this was not the only interview of this 
 kind which these two personages had, nor 
 Lucia the sole object of their conversation, but 
 that he has confined himself to this, that he 
 might not wander too much from the princi- 
 pal story. And for the same reason, he omits 
 to mention other notable matters, and acts, and 
 sayings of Federigo in the whole course of his 
 visitation ; his liberalities, quarrels reconciled, 
 ancient rancors composed between individuals, 
 families, and whole districts,that had either aba- 
 ted, or, as was most frequently the case, were 
 slumbering; nor of the petty tyrants and their 
 bullies that he had quieted for life, or at least 
 for some time : circumstances that occurred 
 more or less in every part of the diocese, 
 where that excellent man made any stay. 
 
 He goes on then to say, that the following 
 morning, Donna Prasede came, according to 
 agreement to receive Lucia, and to pay her com- 
 pliments to the cardinal, who praised her, and 
 recommended her warmly to her care. Lucia 
 tore herself from her mother, with m&ny tears, 
 and again left her cottage, bidding, for the se- 
 cond time, adieu to her village, with that sense 
 of double bitterness which is felt when one 
 leaves a place most cherished of all, and 
 where one can no longer be happy. But 
 this was not the last parting from her mother, 
 for Donna Prasede had announced that she 
 should remain a few days longer at her villa, 
 which was not far from there ; and Agnes pro- 
 mised her daughter to go once more, and ex- 
 change their more sad and final adieus. 
 
 The cardinal was also preparing to go to 
 another parish, when the curate of mat where 
 the casue of the Un-named was situated, 
 arrived, and requested to speak to him. Being 
 admitted, he oresented a purse and a letter 
 from that nobleman, intreating Federigo to 
 induce Lucia's mother to accept a hundred 
 gold crowns that were in the purse, as a dow- 
 er for the young maiden, or for any use that 
 might seen* proper to them both. He request 
 ed him also to tell them, that if at any tim*>, 
 they had reason to suppose he could render 
 them a service, the poor maid knew too well 
 where he resided, and that he should ardently 
 seize upon the opportunity to be useful to 
 them. The cardinal immediately caused 
 Agnes to be called, and told her the commis- 
 sion he was charged with, which she listened 
 to with equal surprise and satisfaction. He 
 presented her the purse, which she, without 
 much ceremony, permitted him to put into 
 her hand, saying, " May God reward him, 
 and please your most illustrious excellency to 
 thank him ever so much. And don't say any 
 thing to any body, for this is a kind of place
 
 163 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 Excuse me you see I know that one like 
 vou does not go gossiping about things of this 
 kind, but your excellency understands me." 
 
 Gently she went home, shut herself up in 
 her room, untied the purse, and although 
 somewhat prepared, beheld with admiration, 
 all in a heap, and in her own possession, all 
 those bright pieces, such as she had never 
 seen before more than one at a time, and that 
 being rarely. She counted them, took a great 
 deal of pains to put them together, and to 
 make the whole hundred stay one on the top 
 of the other, for every now and then the heap 
 burst and they would slip through her fingers. 
 At last having made a rouleau of them as well 
 as she could, she put them in a linen rag, and 
 having tied them well up with a piece of 
 string, she hid them away in a corner of her 
 straw bed. During the remainder of the day, 
 she did nothing out revolve in her mind 
 designs for the future, and sigh for the mor- 
 row. Having got into bed, she remained some 
 time awake, thinking of the hundred bedfel- 
 lows she haul beneath her; and when she got 
 a sleep, she saw them in her dreams. At the 
 dawning of day, she rose, and took the road 
 to the villa where Lucia was. 
 
 She, on her side, although her reluctance to 
 speak of her vow was not at all diminished, 
 still had resolved to overcome it, and to unbo- 
 som herself to her mother, in that conversa- 
 tion, which for a long time was to be the 
 last. 
 
 Scarce were they alone, when Agnes, with 
 an animated countenance, and an under tone 
 of voice, as if any one had been present 
 whom she did not wish to over hear her, be- 
 gan, " I have a great thing to tell thee of," 
 and went on communicating to her the unex- 
 pected adventure. 
 
 "May God bless him," said Lucia, "you 
 will now be able to be comfortable, and to do 
 some good to others." 
 
 "How!" answered Agnes, "dost thou not 
 perceive how many things we can do with all 
 this money ? Listen, I nave no one but thee, 
 but you two, I can say. for Renzo, since I am 
 talking of it, I have always looked upon as my 
 own son. The matter is, if some misfortune 
 has not befallen him, since he does not send 
 us word even that he is alive. But bless 
 me, every thing can't go wrong. Let us hope 
 not, let us hope not. For myself, I should 
 have been glad to have left my bones in my own 
 country, but since thou cans't not remain 
 there on account of that scoundrel, and even 
 the thought of his being so nigh, all make my 
 country a bitter residence to me, and with 
 you both I can be happy any where. I was 
 from that time disposed to go with you both, 
 even to the end of the world, and I have 
 always been ready to do it, but without mo- 
 ney, what is to be done ? Dost thou under- 
 stand now ? The little matter that poor young 
 fellow had laid away with so much pains and 
 economy, justice is come and has made free 
 "nth ; but to compensate, the Lord has sent 
 
 fortune to us. As soon, then, as he has 
 found out the way to let us know he is alive, 
 and what his intentions are, I will come for 
 thee to Milan, I will come and take thee. In 
 old times I should have thought twice about 
 that, but misfortune makes one dexterous, and 
 clever. I have been as far as Monza, and I 
 know what it is to travel. I will take with 
 me a proper man, a relation, such a one for 
 instance as Alessio di Maggianico, for to tell 
 the truth, there is not such a proper man in 
 the village. I will come with him the ex- 
 penses of course we shall pay, and dost 
 thou comprehend. " 
 
 But perceiving that, instead of being pleas- 
 ed, Lucia was becoming melancholy, and 
 gave evidence of a tender distress that admitt- 
 ed of no consolation, she interrupted her har- 
 rangue, and said " but what's the matter with 
 thee ? did any body ever see ?" 
 
 "Poor mamma!" exclaimed Lucia, throw- 
 ing one arm round her neck, and resting her 
 weeping head on her bosom. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" anxiously asked the 
 mother once more. 
 
 " I ought to have told you before," said 
 Lucia, raising and composing her features, 
 " but I had not the heart to do it Pity me !" 
 
 " But speak out then." 
 
 " I can no more be the wife of that poor 
 young man." 
 
 " How ? what ?" 
 
 Lucia, with her head hung down, her 
 breast heaving, and weeping without shedding 
 tears, like one communicating a thing, at 
 once a misfortune and immutable in its nature, 
 revealed her vow, joining her hands at the 
 same time and asking pardon of her mother, 
 for having concealed it until then. She be- 
 seeched her not to speak of the circumstance 
 to any living soul, and to aid her to facilitate 
 the fulfilment of what she had promised. 
 
 Agnes was stupified and full of consterna- 
 tion. She wished to cbmplain of the silence 
 observed towards her, but the grave thoughts 
 appertaining to the case, kept down her per- 
 sonal vexation. She wished to reprove her 
 for the act, but it seemed to her like flying in 
 the face of Heaven, and still more when Lucia 
 described to her again, in a more feeling man- 
 ner than ever, the night she had passed, the 
 dark desolation that hung over her, and the 
 unexpected safety into which she was brought ; 
 it was during these moments that her pro- 
 mise had been given, so expressly, and with 
 so much solemnity. Agnes, meanwhile, called 
 up to her own memory, various examples, 
 whih she had often heard related, and which 
 she had herself told to her daughter, of strange 
 and terrible punishments that had fallen upon 
 those who had violated their vows to the vir- 
 gin. After remaining some time in this kind 
 of astonishment, she said, " and now, what 
 dost thou mean to do ?" 
 
 " Now," answered Lucia, " it is the Lord 
 who must decide; the Lord and the virgin. 
 I have put myself into their hands, they have
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 169 
 
 not abandoned me up to this time, and they 
 will not abandon me now that The favor that 
 I ask for myself of the Lord, the only favor af- 
 ter my soul's happiness, is, that he suffer me 
 to return to you, -and he will grant it to tne, he 
 will grant it to me. That day in that car- 
 riage ah, most holy Virgin ! those men ! 
 who would have said that they were taking me 
 to him, who would conduct me to where I 
 should be with you the following day ?" 
 
 " But not to tell your own mother immedi- 
 ately!" said Agnes, still somewhat piqued, 
 but in a tone of tenderness and compassion. 
 
 " Pity me, I had not the heart of what use 
 was it to afflict you before hand ?" 
 
 "And Renzo?" said Agnes, shaking her 
 head. 
 
 "Ah!" exclaimed Lucia, jumping up im- 
 mediately, "I must think no more of that 
 poor youth. God, indeed, had not destined 
 us only see how it looks as if he intended to 
 keep us separated. And who knows ? but 
 no, no : the Lord will have preserved him 
 from dangers, and will make him still more 
 happy without me." 
 
 " But, nevertheless," replied Agnes, " if it 
 had not been that thou hast bounu thyself for 
 ever, as to that, if no misfortune had happened 
 to Renzo, now we have that money, I had 
 found a remedy." 
 
 "But that money," replied Lucia, "how 
 would it have come, if I had not passed that 
 night ? And the Lord, who has willed that every 
 thing should happen thus, may his will be 
 done." And her words died amidst her tears. 
 At this unexpected argument, Agnes re- 
 mained thoughtful. After some time, Lucia, 
 restraining her sobs, continued, " now that the 
 thing is done, we must adapt ourselves to it in 
 good heart, and you, poor mamma, you can 
 aid me, first, in praying the Lord for your 
 daughter, and then it is very necessary that 
 poor youth should be informed of it. Think 
 of it, have this kindness for me, for you may 
 think about him. When you have found out 
 where he is, let him be written to, find a man 
 your cousin Alessio, exactly, he is a prudent 
 and charitable person ; he has always wished 
 us well, and will not talk to every body about 
 it. Get him to write to him to tell the affair 
 just as it has happened ; how I have suffered, 
 and that God has willed it so, and that he must 
 let his heart be in peace, and that I can never, 
 never belong to any body. And make him 
 understand it in a kind way, explain to him 
 how I have promised, and that I have even 
 made a vow when he knows that I have 
 vowed to the virgin he has always been a 
 worthy youth and you, the first news you 
 have from him, write to me, let me know that 
 he is well and then never let me know any 
 thing more about him." 
 
 Agnes, moved with tenderness, assured her 
 daughter that every thing should be done as 
 she wished. 
 
 " I wanted, also, to say something more to 
 you," said Lucia ; " that poor youth, if he had 
 22 
 
 not had the misfortune to think of me, this 
 would never have happened to him. He is 
 wandering in the world, they have broke up 
 his occupation, they have taken his property 
 away, the savings that he had made, you know 
 why and we have so much money ' Oh, 
 mamma ! since the Lord has sent us so much 
 wealth, and that poor young man, for it is 
 quite true that you looked upon him as yours, 
 just as if he were your own son. Oh, let us 
 divide the money with him, for certainly God 
 will never let us want. Seek for an opportu- 
 nity by some trust-worthy man, and send it to 
 him, for Heaven knows how much he stands 
 in need of it." 
 
 "Well? Why, what do you think of me ?" 
 replied Agnes, " I will do so in truth. Poor 
 young fellow ! What didst thou think I was 
 so content for, because that money had come ? 
 But I really came here quite full of content, 
 I did. Well, I'll send it to him ; poor young 
 man ! But he, too I know what I am saying, 
 certainly money always gives people pleasure 
 when they are in want of it, but this is money 
 that won't make him happy, I am sure." 
 
 Lucia returned thanks to her mother for her 
 ready and liberal kindness, with a gratitude 
 and affection, that would have induced any 
 one who had observed her, to suppose that her 
 heart still felt some interest for Renzo ; more, 
 perhaps, than she herself suspected. 
 
 " And without thee, what shall I do, poor 
 wretched woman ?" said Agnes, weeping in 
 her turn. 
 
 "And me, without you, my poor mamma? 
 And in a house with strangers ? And down there 
 in that Milan ! But the Lord will remain with 
 us both, and will unite us again. In eight or 
 nine months we shall see each other here again, 
 and during that time, and even before it is 
 over, I hope he will have ordered every thing 
 for our consolation. Let us leave him to act. 
 I shall always ask the Madonna to grant me 
 this favor. If I had any thing else to offer 
 her, I would do it, but she is so merciful, that 
 she will grant it to me." 
 
 With these oft repeated words of grief, and 
 comfort, regret, and resignation ; with requests 
 and assurances of secrecy, and with many 
 tears, after long and renewed embraces, the 
 mother and daughter separated, mutually pro- 
 mising to meet again the succeeding autumn, 
 at the latest : as if it depended upon them to 
 do so, and as people usually do in similar 
 cases. 
 
 Meanwhile time kept rolling on, without 
 Agnes being able to get any intelligence of 
 Renzo. Neither letters, nor messages of any 
 kind came from him : of all the people of the 
 district and the neighboring country, of whom 
 she made inquiries, no one could give her the 
 least information. 
 
 Nor was she the only person that vainly 
 made these inquiries. The Cardinal Federigo, 
 who had not promised these poor women 
 merely for form's sake, that he would endeavor 
 to get intelligence of the youth, had, in fact,
 
 170 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 immediately written to that effect. Being re- 
 turned from his visitation to Milan, be had re- 
 ceived an answer, in which it was stated, that 
 no information could be obtained of the per- 
 son inquired for ; that he had, indeed, been a 
 short time in the country, where he had done 
 nothing to attract observation, but that one 
 morning he had suddenly disappeared. That 
 a relation, of his, who had entertained him 
 there, did not know what had become of him, 
 and could only state the various and contradic- 
 tory reports that were circulating about him ; 
 one that he had enlisted to go to the Levant, 
 another that he had gone to Germany,. and one 
 that he had perished in crossing a river : that 
 they would keep on the look out, and if any 
 thing more precise should transpire respecting 
 him, they would immediately apprise his most 
 illustrious and most reverend excellency. 
 
 Later still, these and other reports were 
 spread about in the territory of Lecco, and 
 consequently came to the ears of Agnes. The 
 poor woman did her best to get at the truth, 
 and to reach the bottom of all of them, but she 
 was not able to get a whit beyond that great 
 authority People say so which even in our 
 own days, is esteemed quite sufficient for so 
 many great matters. Sometimes, before one 
 story had been cleverly told to her, some other 
 person came and asserted that there was not a 
 word of truth in it, but by way of compensa- 
 tion began another equally strange and unwel- 
 come. All of them were pure gossiping. The 
 fact was thus. 
 
 The governor of Milan, and captain general 
 of Italy, Don Gonzalo Fernandez di Cordova, 
 had expressed a good deal of resentment to the 
 Venetian resident at Milan, because a brigand, 
 a public thief, an abettor in saccage and kill- 
 ing of people, the well known Lorenzo Tra- 
 maglino, wno, when even in the hands of jus- 
 tice, had excited an insurrection, in order to 
 escape through violence, had been harbored 
 and received in the Bergamasc territory. The 
 resident had replied that he knew nothing of 
 the fact, but that he would write to Venice, 
 that he might be able to communicate to his 
 Excellency such an explanation of the affair as 
 he might be possessed of. 
 
 At Venice, they had for a maxim to favor 
 and cultivate the inclination of the Milanese 
 operatives in silk, to transplant themselves 
 into the Begamasc territory, and there enable 
 them to find many advantages, especially that 
 one, without which all others are insufficient, 
 security. But as between two great litigants, 
 something, however small, will always fall to 
 the share of a third person, so Bortolo was con- 
 fidentially informed, by whom no one knows, 
 that Rcnzo was not safe where he was, and 
 that he would act wisely in going to some other 
 filature, and even in changing his name for 
 some time. Bortolo understood this kind of 
 latin, offered DO objections, but explained 
 the thing to his cousin, and taking him with 
 him in a calash, placed him in another new 
 filature, distant from the other about fifteen 
 
 miles, and presented him there to the proprie- 
 tor, who was also a native of the state of Milan, 
 and an old acquaintance of his, under the name 
 of Antonio Kivalto. Notwithstanding the 
 scarcity of the times, the proprietor did not 
 hesitate to receive a workman who was recom- 
 mended to him as both honest and intelligent, 
 from a man of worth. After trying him, he 
 was entirely satisfied with his acquisition, ex- 
 cept that at the beginning it seemed to him 
 that the young man must be very dull by na- 
 ture, for when they called out Antonio, half 
 the time he never answered. 
 
 A short time after, orders were received 
 from Venice by the captain of Bergamo, 
 couched in a calm tone, that he should collect 
 and transmit information, if in his jurisdiction, 
 and especially in such a parish, the person 
 named was to be found. The captain, having 
 made the official inquiries, in the manner he 
 comprehended it was wished for him to do, 
 sent back a reply in the negative, which was 
 transmitted to the resident in Milan, who com- 
 municated it to Don Gonzalo Fernandez di 
 Cordova. 
 
 There were some inquisitive people, how- 
 ever, who wanted to know from Bortolo, why 
 that young man was no longer in his employ- 
 ment, and where he was gone. To the first 
 inquiry he answered, " Oh ! he has disappear- 
 ed." And in order to appease those who 
 were most persevering, without awakening in 
 them any suspicion of the truth, he amused 
 them, first one and then the other, with the re- 
 ports we have alluded to, but as things quite 
 uncertain, which he had only heard himself, 
 without having any positive information about. 
 
 But when the inquiry was made of him 
 through a commission from the cardinal, with- 
 out naming him, and with a certain air of mys- 
 tery and importance, giving it to be under- 
 stood that it was made in the name of a great 
 personage, Bortolo became still more scrupu- 
 lous, and deemed it necessary to adhere to his 
 own method of answering such inquiries. In- 
 deed, considering it was for the information of 
 a great personage, he thought it best to com- 
 municate all together the various inventions- 
 that he had struck off one by one at different 
 periods. 
 
 It must not be thought, however, that Don 
 Gonzalo, a nobleman of such high character, 
 really had any personal spite against a poor 
 silk spinner of the mountains ; or that, perhaps, 
 having been informed of the irreverence ob- 
 served, and the disrespectful words said by 
 him, of his Moorish king chained by the 
 throat, he wanted to take revenge on that ac- 
 count ; or that he believed him so dangerous a 
 subject that he must be pursued even whilst 
 he was flying, and that he must not be per- 
 mitted to live even when he was at a dis- 
 tance, as the Roman senate acted in the case 
 of Hannibal. Don Gonzalo had too many 
 great things in his head to agitate himself 
 about Renzo's conduct, and if it has the ap- 
 pearance of being so, it arose from a singular
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 concurrence of circumstances, through the in- 
 fluence of which, the poor fellow, without 
 meaning it, or without knowing it, then or at 
 any other time, found himself, by a subtle and 
 invisible thread, involved in these too many 
 great things. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 MORE than once we have had occasion to 
 mention the war that was in agitation respect- 
 ing the succession to the states of the Duke 
 Vincenzo Gonzaga, the second of that name, 
 but it has always been done when we were in 
 a very great hurry, so that we have never been 
 able to give more than a flying hint about it. 
 Now, however, for the understanding of our 
 narrative, it is absolutely necessary to give a 
 more particular relation of it. These are mat- 
 ters that whoever has any pretension to histo- 
 ry, must be acquainted with : but as from a 
 sentiment of our true position in the scale of 
 importance, we cannot suppose this work will 
 be read by any but the ignorant, so there will 
 be no harm in just saying as much as will give 
 every one a sprinkling of information who may 
 stand in need of it. 
 
 We have said that at the death of that duke, 
 the first called in lineal succession, was Carlo 
 Gonzaga, head of a younger branch transplant- 
 ed into France, where he possessed the duch- 
 ies of Nevers and Rhetel. He entered into 
 possession of Mantua, and now we add of 
 Monferrato, which in our great hurry we had 
 omitted. The minister of Spain, who was 
 anxious at any cost whatever (we have stated 
 this too) to exclude the new prince from these 
 two feuds, and who to exclude him, found it 
 necessary to proceed upon the right of some 
 other, (for wars entered into without some 
 cause of this kind would be unjust) had de- 
 clared himself the supporter of the right, that 
 another Gonzaga, Fen-ante, the prince of 
 Guastalla, pretended to have upon Mantua; 
 and that wnich Charles Emanuel I, duke of 
 Savoy, and Margaret Gonzaga, the widow 
 duchess of Lorraine, had upon Montferrat. 
 Don Gonzalo, who belonged to the house of 
 the great captain,* and who bore his name, had 
 made war in Flanders, and being extremely 
 anxious to wage one in Italy, was perhaps the 
 man who most fomented this dispute, in order 
 that it might be undertaken. In the mean- 
 time, interpreting the intentions, and antici- 
 pating the orders of the minister, he had con- 
 cluded with the duke of Savoy a treaty of 
 invasion and partition of the Montferrato, and 
 had easily obtained the subsequent ratification 
 of it by the count duke, persuading him that 
 it would not be difficult to get possession of 
 Casale, the best defended point in the share 
 
 * Don Gonsalvo di Cordova. 
 
 allotted to the king of Spain. He protested, 
 however, in his name, that there was no inten- 
 tion to occupy the country but as a deposita- 
 ry, until the decision of the emperor, who, 
 moved by the instigations partly of others, 
 and partly for his own reasons, had, in the 
 meantime, denied the investiture to the new 
 duke, intimating to him his desire that the ter- 
 ritories in dispute should be left in his hands, 
 until the claims had been heard by him, when 
 they would be restored to whom they belong- 
 ed. To this the duke of Neveis would not 
 assent. 
 
 This prince had, also, some powerful friends : 
 the Cardinal Richelieu, Venice, and the Pope. 
 The first of these, engaged at that period in 
 carrying on the siege of Rochelle, and in a 
 war with England, thwarted also by the party 
 attached to Mary de Medicis, the queen mo- 
 ther, who, for some particular reasons, was 
 adverse to the Duke of Nevers, could give no- 
 thing but hopes. The Venetians would nei- 
 ther move nor declare themselves before a 
 French army had fallen upon Italy, and assist- 
 ing the Duke in an underhand way, as well as 
 they could, contented themselves with making 
 protests, propositions, and exhortations, friend- 
 ly or hostile, according to the occasion, to the 
 court of Madrid, and the governor of Milan. 
 Urban VIII, recommended the Duke of Ne- 
 vers to his friends, interceded in his favor 
 with his adversaries, and made propositions 
 for a reconciliation ; but he would listen to 
 none about taking the field. 
 
 The two allies were able, therefore, with 
 greater security, to commence their concerted 
 enterprise. Charles Emanuel, on his side, 
 had entered Montferrat; Don Gonzalo with 
 great alacrity, had laid seige to Casale, but 
 without finding matters as encouraging as he 
 had promised to himself, for there are things 
 besides roses to be gathered in war. The 
 court did not assist him for a long time, with 
 all the means that he asked for : his ally was 
 even too active, for having taken possession of 
 his own share, he went on taking also the part 
 that had been assigned to the king of Spain. 
 Don Gonzalo was as furious as can be con- 
 ceived ; but fearing, that if he made the least 
 noise, the duke of Savoy, as active in negoci- 
 ations and as inconstant in treaties, as he was 
 renowned in arms, would go over to the French 
 side, he therefore was obliged to shut his 
 eyes, to bite the curb, and keep up appear- 
 ances. The siege, too, went on badly, was 
 protracted too long, and made little progress, 
 owing to the bold and resolute face which the 
 besieged put on, as well as to his forces not 
 being sufficiently numerous ; and as some 
 chroniclers have said, to the great number of 
 mistakes he made. In relation to which we 
 leave the truth where it is, disposed, even if 
 the things were really so, to believe that his 
 conduct was so far admirable at least, if it was 
 the occasion of there being fewer persons 
 killed, mutilated, and lamed, and ceteris pari- 
 bus, even only if there were less damage done
 
 172 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 to the roofs of Casale. In the midst of these 
 troubles, news was brought to him of the in- 
 surrection at Milan, which induced him to go 
 there in person. 
 
 There, in the account which was given to 
 him, mention was also made of the night of 
 Renzo, which had created so much noise, and 
 of the true and supposed causes of his arrest ; 
 he was also informed that the rebel had taken 
 refuge in the territory of Bergamo. This cir- 
 cumstance arrested the attention of Don Gon- 
 zalo. He had been previously informed, that 
 the Venetians had appeared much animated 
 by the insurrection of Milan, that they con- 
 sidered he would be obliged to raise the siege 
 of Casale, and that it was generally supposed 
 he had become serious and desponding : and 
 the more, because soon after the news of the 
 insurrection, they had received the intelligence 
 so ardently desired by them, and so much 
 dreaded by him, of the surrender of Rochelle. 
 Feeling extremely displeased, as a man and a 
 politician, that the oligarchs of Venice should 
 conceive so unfavorable an opinion of his af- 
 fairs, he sought every opportunity to change 
 their opinions, and to persuade them, by in- 
 duction, that he had lost nothing of his ancient 
 resolution, since the saying explicitly I am 
 not afraid is just saying nothing at all. An 
 excellent way is, to appear to be disgusted, to 
 make complaints, and to expostulate : where- 
 fore the Venetian resident having called to 
 make his compliments, and to fish out, through 
 his countenance and deportment, what was 
 passing in him internally, (mark these poli- 
 tics of the old school ! ) Don Gonzalo spoke 
 of the tumult lightly, like a man who had al- 
 ready arranged every thing, and then entered 
 upon the affair of Renzo, the conclusion of 
 wjiich has been already spoken of. After 
 which, he gave himself no further trouble 
 about so minute an affair, which, as far 
 as he was concerned, was terminated ; and 
 when, some time after, the answer came to 
 the camp at Casale, where he had returned, 
 and where he had something else to think of, 
 he threw his head up and down as a silkworm 
 does when it is looking for the mulberry leaves, 
 and stopped a moment, to recall, in a more 
 lively manner to his memory, a fact of which 
 he retained but a very faint image : he, how- 
 ever, remembered (he affair, and even had a 
 fugitive and faint idea of the person concern- 
 ed, but he soon went to something else, and 
 thought no more of it. 
 
 But Renzo, who, from the peep he had 
 been permitted to take in the clouds, had rea- 
 son to expect any thing but such a benevolent 
 indifference about himself, remained for a 
 while without any other thought, or to speak 
 more plainly, any other study, than how to 
 conceal himself. He made great efforts to 
 send some information to the two females, and 
 to get some back again, but there were two 
 great difficulties in the way. One, that it 
 would have been necessary for him to confide 
 in a secretary, for the poor lad neither knew 
 
 how to read nor to write, in the extensive sense 
 of the word ; and if, when he was interrogated 
 as to that point, as it may be remembered, by 
 the Doctor Azzecca-garbugli, he had answered 
 yes, it really was not a boast, nor a piece of 
 romance, as we say, but was really true, for 
 give him but a little time, and he could read 
 what was printed ; as to writing, that is quite 
 another affair. He was then obliged to let a 
 third party into his interest, and into the parti- 
 cipation of such a jealous secret : now it was 
 a difficult thing for him to find a person who 
 knew how to write, and in whom he could at 
 the same time confide : in those times such a 
 person was not easily found, and it was the 
 less easy for him in a country where he was 
 without any old acquaintances. The next dif- 
 ficulty was to get a messenger, a man who was 
 going exactly into those parts, who would take 
 charge of the letter, and would really under- 
 take to deliver it : these, too, were necessary 
 contingencies not easily united in one and the 
 ame man. 
 
 Finally, by looking about and inquiring, he 
 found a person to write the letter, but, not 
 knowing whether they were still at Monza, 
 or where they were, he thought it best to en- 
 close the letter directed to Agnes, in an envel- 
 ope addressed to the care of Father Christo- 
 pher, with a couple of lines also to him. The 
 amanuensis charged himself also with for- 
 warding the packet, and delivered it to one 
 who had to pass not far from Pescarenico ; 
 this person left it with many careful recom- 
 mendations at an inn on the road, the nearest 
 to the convent, and in consideration of its 
 being directed to so holy a place, it at last got 
 there, but what afterwards became of it, was 
 never known. Renzo seeing no answer come 
 back, got another letter ready, pretty much 
 like the first, but enclosed it to an acquain- 
 tance or relation of his at Lecco. Another 
 messenger was looked for and found, >and this 
 time the letter reached the person it was di- 
 rected to. Away went Agnes to Maggianico, 
 and got her couzin Alessio to read it to 
 her, and having concerted an answer to it 
 with him, which he committed to writing, 
 means were found to send it to Antonio Rivolta 
 at the place of his domicile : all this, however, 
 was not done as quick as we are relating it. 
 Renzo got the answer, and in time replied to 
 it. To be brief, a correspondence was got up 
 between them, not very rapid nor very regular, 
 but kept up by intervals and starts. 
 
 But to form a just idea of that correspon- 
 dence, it is necessary to understand how such 
 things were managed, and indeed how they 
 still continue to be : for in this particular, per- 
 haps very little change has taken place. 
 
 The rustic who does not know how to 
 write, and who finds it necessary for him to 
 write, goes to one who understands that art, 
 choosing as well as he is able, amongst those of 
 his own condition, having no great opinion of, 
 and placing little confidence in any body else : 
 he tolls him, with more or less order and per-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 175 
 
 spicuity, what has happened antecedently, and 
 in like manner explains the thoughts he wishes 
 to be communicated. The literary charac- 
 ter, understands a part, and misunderstands a 
 part of what he is told, gives a little advice, 
 proposes some change ; says leave it to me 
 takes his pen, turns the spoken thought as 
 well as he is able into a written one, corrects 
 it after his own taste, improves it, embellishes 
 it, or sometimes mutilates it, even omits here 
 and there, where it appears to him proper to 
 do so. For, there is no remedy here, he who 
 knows more than the rest will not consent to 
 be a mere material instrument in their hands, 
 and when he engages in other people's affairs, 
 he will make them go as he thinks they ought 
 to go. With all this, the literary party does 
 not always succeed in saying what he wishes 
 to say, he sometimes even says the very re- 
 verse ; this also happens to us who write for 
 the press. When a fetter thus got up reaches 
 the person it was addressed to, who in like 
 manner is not acquainted with A, B, C and 
 company, he carries it to another person who 
 has some intimacy with them, and who reads 
 and explains it to him. Questions however 
 of construction arise, for the person most 
 interested, relying upon his knowledge of pre- 
 ceding facts, pretends that certain words 
 have a particular meaning ; whilst the reader 
 relying upon the practice he has in com- 
 position, insists that their meaning is quite 
 different. At last it becomes necessary for 
 the person who does not know, to put 
 himself into the hands of the person who 
 does know, and to entrust the answer to him, 
 the which, being got up in like manner, goes 
 to its destination, subject to a similar inter- 
 pretation. If, in addition, the subject of the 
 correspondence is somewhat jealous, if secret 
 affairs are to be treated of in it, which it is desi- 
 rable to conceal from a third party, in the event 
 of the letter's taking a wrong course : if, for 
 this reason, things are intentionally stated in 
 an obscure manner, then, however short a 
 time the correspondence may last, the parties 
 conclude by understanding one another, just as 
 formerly two scholastics would do after dis- 
 
 Suting for four hours upon entelechy. We 
 ecline choosing our simily from any thing of 
 modern date, wishing to avoid the disagreea- 
 ble occurrence of a box on the ear. 
 
 Now the case of our two correspondents 
 was exactly the one we have been describing. 
 The first letter written in the name of Renzo 
 contained a great deal of matter. There was 
 the history of his flight from Milan, a great 
 deal more concise, but not quite as well com- 
 posed as we flatter ourselves ours has been, 
 as well as an account of his present situation 
 and circumstances ; from which Agnes, as 
 well as her drogoman were very far from col- 
 lecting a lucid and perfect notion. Myste- 
 rious advice change of name perfect secu- 
 rity, but a necessity of remaining hid : things 
 by themselves not very familiar with their in- 
 tellects, aud in the letter communicated part- 
 
 ly in cypher. Then there were inquiries of 
 the most impassioned and distressing kind 
 about Lucia, with dark and sorrowful hints 
 concerning the reports that had reached 
 Renzo. Finally it contained uncertain and 
 distant hopes, plans cut out for the future, and 
 promises and entreaties meantime for the pre- 
 servation of mutual faith, not to lose patience 
 and courage, but to wait awhile. 
 
 This having passed over a time, Agnea 
 found a trusty means of sending an answer to 
 Renzo, with the fifty crowns Lucia had as- 
 signed him. At the sight of this gold he knew 
 not what to think, and with his mind agitated 
 with a wonder and astonishment, that admitted 
 of no complacent satisfaction, he ran in search 
 of the person who wrote for him, to get the 
 letter interpreted, that he might have the key 
 of such a strange mystery. 
 
 In the letter, the secretary of Agnes, after 
 some lamentations at the little perspicuity 
 contained in his letter, began to describe, at 
 least in quite as lamentable a manner, the 
 tremendous story of that person, (this was 
 the term used) and then explained the affair 
 of the fifty crowns. The next thing spoken 
 of was the vow, but this was done with some 
 paraphrase, finishing, in more direct and clear 
 terms, with advice to set his heart at peace, 
 and to think of her no more. 
 
 Renzo trembled, shook with rage, and was 
 furious at what was read to him, as well as 
 what he could not comprehend ; and could 
 hardly restrain himself from taking revenge 
 on his interpreter. Three or four times he 
 had the fatal epistle read to him, sometimes 
 comprehending it better, and sometimes that 
 which seemed clear to him at first, appearing 
 all at once obscure. In this feverish passion 
 he insisted upon the man's instantly talcing up 
 the pen, and answering it. After the strong- 
 est expressions that can be imagined of com- 
 passion and terror for the adventures of Lucia, 
 "write," exclaimed he, dictating, "write, that I 
 will not set my heart at peace, that I never will 
 do so, and that that is not advice to give to a 
 young fellow like me ; and that I never will 
 touch the money, that I will put it by, and 
 keep it for her dower ; that the maiden is 
 mine, and that I know nothing about pro- 
 mises ; and that I have always heard say, that 
 the virgin is applied to, to help those in tribula- 
 tion, and to obtain favors from, but never to 
 help others to break their words and to affront 
 people ; this I have never heard : and that this 
 can't be, and that with this money, we can live 
 here, and that if I am in some trouble now, it 
 is a storm that will soon pass over." Agnes 
 got the letter, and answered it, and the corre- 
 spondence was continued in the manner we 
 have described. 
 
 Lucia, as soon as her mother was enabled, 
 by some means or other, to send her word that 
 such a one was alive and in safety, and ac- 
 quainted with what had taken place, felt a 
 great relief, and desired nothing more than 
 mat he should forget her, or to speak more
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 precisely, that he should think about forgetting 
 her. On her side, a hundred times a day she 
 made a similar resolution in relation to himself, 
 and adopted all sorts of means too to carry it 
 into effect. She kept indefatigably at work, 
 and sought to occupy her whole mind with it : 
 when the image of Kenzo presented itself, she 
 would endeavor to say or sing mentally her 
 orisons. But that image, just as if it was ma- 
 liciously disposed, did not come boldly for- 
 wards, but insinuated itself, as it were, behind 
 all the others, so that the mind was not aware 
 of its being present, until it had been for some 
 time introduced. Lucia's thoughts were fre- 
 quently with her mother; how could it be 
 otherwise ? and then this ideal Renzo came 
 softly in to make a third, just as he himself in 
 his own person, had often done before. In the 
 same manner, with all persons, in all places, 
 in all past remembrances, he was sure to be 
 there. And when the poor girl sometimes 
 permitted herself to build castles in the dark- 
 ness of the future, he appeared also, if it was 
 to say nothing else but I shall form no part 
 of these plans. But if not to think at all of 
 him was a desperate undertaking, still she 
 could try to think less of him, and less intense- 
 ly than her heart would have desired. Up to 
 a certain point she succeeded in this, and 
 would have succeeded much better if she had 
 been left to herself. But there was Donna 
 Prasede, who being deeply engaged in an at- 
 tempt to root him out of her mind, had hit 
 upon the goodly expedient of talking constant- 
 ly to her about him " Well," said she to her, 
 " are we thinking any more about that young 
 fellow ?" 
 
 " I am thinking of no one," replied Lucia. 
 
 "Donna Prasede was not to be satisfied in 
 that way, and replied that facts were better 
 than words, and went into a long harangue 
 about the ways of young women. " When," 
 said she, " they give up their hearts to one of 
 these debauched young fellows, (and that is 
 their natural propensity,) they never will 
 give him up ; when a respectable party is in 
 the case, a reasonably honest, well settled 
 man, then if any difficulty arises, they become 
 immediately reconciled; but when they can't 
 have one of these dissolute fellows, they are 
 incurably wounded." Then she began a pane- 
 gyric upon the poor absent young fellow, the 
 villain that had gone to Milan to deliver it up 
 to pillage and slaughter ; and wanted too to 
 make Lucia confess all the villanies he had 
 committed in his own country. 
 
 Lucia, her voice trembling with shame, 
 with grief, and with as much indignation as 
 could exist in her gentle mind, and humble 
 fortune, asserted and declared, that in his own 
 country, the poor young fellow had never had 
 any thing said of him but what was good ; she 
 wished, she said, that some one was present 
 from that quarter, that Donna Prasede might 
 ask them on thatsubject. Even about his ad ven- 
 tures at Milan, respecting which she could not 
 enter into particulars, she defended him, sim- 
 
 ply from the perfect knowledge she had of him, 
 and of his conduct from his childhood. She de- 
 fended, or proposed to defend him, for the 
 pure sake of charity, for the love of truth, and 
 of Renzo, as her neighbor ; at least these were 
 the moving causes of her zeal, as she explain- 
 ed them to herself. But Donna Prasede drew 
 new arguments from these apologies, to con- 
 vince Lucia that she had thrown away her 
 heart entirely upon him. And, indeed, at 
 those moments we positively cannot tell how 
 the matter stood. The unworthy picture the 
 old woman had drawn of the poor young man, 
 awakened, through opposition, in the mind of 
 the maiden, in a more lively and distinct man- 
 ner than ever, the idea that had been so long 
 formed there by habit, and the remembrances 
 she had with difficulty stifled, unfolded them- 
 selves in crowds. The aversion and scorn she 
 now heard connected with his name, called up 
 so many ancient motives for esteem and sym- 
 pathy. This blind and violent hatred gave new 
 strength to her compassion ; and with these 
 feelings who knows how much there might be 
 or might not be, of that more powerful ieeling 
 which introduces itself so easily into the mind 
 along with them : what is it not capable of 
 doing, in bosoms, whence it is attempted to 
 be dragged by force. However that may be, 
 Lucia's share of the conversation was in no 
 danger of becoming long, for her words were 
 soon overpowered by her tears. 
 
 If Donna Prasede had been moved to treat 
 her in that way, out of some inveterate hatred 
 against her, perhaps those tears would have 
 subdued her and made her silent ; but, as she 
 was occupied in doing good, she kept on with 
 out being in the least moved ; just as groans 
 and supplicating cries may well arrest the arm 
 of an enemy, but not the Knife of the surgeon. 
 Having, however, done her duty upon this oc- 
 casion, from reproofs and scoldings she came 
 to exhortations and to advice, seasoned with a 
 little commendation, just to temper the sour 
 with the sweet, and to produce a oetter effect, 
 operating upon the mind in every way. These 
 disputes, however, (which were pretty near 
 of the same nature,) did not produce in Lucia 
 any permanent rancor against her cruel lec- 
 turer, who, in other matters, treated her very 
 humanely, and even in this was acting for the 
 best. To be sure they left some agitation be- 
 hind them, some disturbance in her thoughts 
 and affections, so that it required no small 
 effort, and some time, to return to those tran- 
 quil feelings she sometimes possessed. 
 
 It was, however, fortunate for her, that she 
 was not the only person to whom Donna Pra- 
 sede was anxious to do good, so that these dis- 
 putes were much less frequent than they might 
 have been. She had the rest of her family on 
 her hands, all of them heads that wanted more 
 or less to be directed in the right way ; and 
 besides all the other occasions that came in 
 her way, or that she found out, to extend the 
 same good offices to many to whom she was 
 under no sort of obligation, she had also five
 
 1 PROMESS1 SPOSI. 
 
 175 
 
 daughters, none of them at home, but who 
 eave her a great deal more to think about, 
 than if they Lad been there. Three of them 
 were nuns, and two of them were married ; 
 so that it very naturally fell to Donna Prasede 
 to charge herself with the superintendence of 
 three monasteries and two families. A vast 
 and complicated undertaking ; which became 
 more arduous on account of the obstinacy of 
 two husbands, encouraged by their fathers, 
 mothers, and brothers, and of three abbesses, 
 flanked by many other dignities and numerous 
 nuns, not one of whom would submit to her 
 superintendence. It was a war, nay, five civil 
 wars in disguise, but vigilantly and actively 
 carried on. In each of these citadels con- 
 tinued attention was kept up to decline her so- 
 licitudes, to close the door to all her counsels, 
 to elude her inquiries, and to keep her in the 
 dark as much as it was possible, about every 
 thing that was going on. We do not add to 
 these the contentions and difficulties she met 
 with in the management of concerns still far- 
 ther removed from her ; it is too often neces- 
 sary to do good to people by force Where 
 her zeal could fully exercise itself, and have 
 the freest scope, was at home : every one 
 there was subject all in all to her authority, 
 except Don Ferrante, with whom things went 
 on in a way altogether peculiar. 
 
 A studious man, he liked neither to com- 
 mand nor to obey. That the Signora, his wife, 
 should be mistress of every thing in the house, 
 was all perfectly right ; but that he should be 
 her servant, was not at all his intention. And 
 if, when he was asked, he occasionally assisted 
 her with his pen, it was because the occupa- 
 tion was not disagreeable to him, but he knew 
 how to say no, even upon these occasions, 
 when the matter she wanted him to write did 
 not suit him. " Try yourself," he would say, 
 "do it yourself, since the affair appears so 
 plain to you." Donna Prasede, when she had 
 vainly endeavored sometimes to get him out of 
 liis track, confined herself to grumbling against 
 him, to call him a man that could not bear to 
 think, a man with a peculiar kind of head, one 
 of your literary heads ; a title, which, notwith- 
 standing her spite, she gave him with some 
 complaisance too. 
 
 Don Ferrante passed many hours in his study, 
 where he had made a considerable collection 
 of books, a little less than three hundred vo- 
 lumes, all select matter, works of great repu- 
 tation, in various branches, and in all of them 
 he was more or less versed. In astrology he 
 was very properly esteemed more than a dilet- 
 tante, for he not only possessed those generic 
 notions, and that common vocabulary of in- 
 fluxes, of aspects, and of conjunctions, but he 
 knew how to talk systematically, and like a 
 professor, of the twelve heavenly houses, of 
 the great circles, of the lucid and dark degrees, 
 of exaltation and dejection, of transits and of 
 revolutions, and of all the most infallible and 
 recondite principles of the science. Twenty 
 years, perhaps, had elapsed, since, in frequent 
 
 and long disputes, he had maintained the domi- 
 fication of Cardano,* against another learned 
 person, most ferociously attached to that of 
 Alcabizio, as Don Ferrante said through pure 
 obstinacy. He willingly acknowledged the 
 superiority of the ancients, but could not en- 
 dure that they should always be preferred to 
 the moderns, even in cases where they were 
 evidently in the right. He knew, also, with 
 more than mediocrity, the history of the 
 science, and could cite, when it was necessary, 
 the most celebrated predictions which had 
 come to pass, and could reason in a subtle 
 manner, and with some erudition respecting 
 other celebrated predictions which had failed, 
 in order to show that the blame was not to be 
 laid on the science, but on those who had not 
 the skill to apply its principles properly. 
 
 Of ancient philosophy he had acquired as 
 much as he wanted, and continued making ad- 
 vances in it by the lecture of Diogenes Lser- 
 tius. But as those systems, attractive as they 
 are, cannot all be adhered to, and as a man 
 who wishes to be a philosopher, must choose 
 his school, so Don Ferrante chose that of Aris- 
 totle, who, as he used to say, was neither an 
 ancient nor a modern, but was a philosopher, 
 and nothing else. He possessed, also, various 
 works of the most learned and subtle of his 
 followers amongst the moderns : he could ne- 
 ver be brought to read those writers who were 
 opposed to him, because, as he said, it was 
 throwing away time ; neither, indeed, would 
 he buy them, because, as he said, that was 
 throwing away his money. Only by way of 
 exception, he gave a place in his library to 
 those celebrated twenty-two books, De Subti- 
 litate, and to another anti-peripatetic work of 
 Cardano, on account of his great value as an 
 astrologer ; saying, that he who could write 
 the treatise De restitutione temporum et motuum 
 ccslestium, and the book Duodecimgeniturarum, 
 | deserved to be listened to, even when he was 
 talking nonsense. His great defect, he said, 
 was, to have had too much genius, and that no 
 one could conjecture the progress he would 
 | have made, even in philosophy, if he had only 
 j kept in the right road. As to the rest, though 
 Don Ferrante, in the judgment of the learned, 
 passed for a consummate peripatetic, still it 
 appeared to him that he was not sufficiently 
 indoctrinated, and with great modesty, he said 
 more than once, that the essence, universals. 
 the soul of the world, and the nature of things, 
 were matters not quite so clear, as some were 
 disposed to think. 
 
 Of natural philosophy he had made rather a 
 pastime than a study ; the works of Aristotle, 
 on this branch of knowledge, he had rather read 
 than studied ; nevertheless, with the notices 
 
 * These rival systems of domification were sustained 
 with great spirit by their partisans. The arrangement 
 of the heavens was established by means of the hori- 
 zon of the meridian, and the Intersection of four cir- 
 cles of position. The point where the first house be- 
 gan, was at the horoscope, and this was the exact 
 point of the ecliptic in the horizon, at the moment of 
 nativity. Trans.
 
 176 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 he had incidentally got from the treatises on 
 general philosophy, with a peep he had taken 
 into the natural magic of Porta, the three His- 
 tories, Lapidum,jlnimalium, and Plantarum, of 
 Cardano ; into the Treatise on Herbs, Plants, 
 and Animals, of Alb. Magno, and some other 
 works of less account ; he could, upon oppor- 
 tune occasions, entertain persons of cultivated 
 minds, with a relation of the most wonderful 
 virtues, and of the most curious particularities 
 of many simple bodies ; describing exactly the 
 forms and the habits of sirens, and of the rare 
 and solitary phcenix, explaining how the sala- 
 mander can remain in the fire without burning ; 
 how the remora* has strength and power to 
 stop instantaneously upon the high seas, a 
 vessel of the largest size ; how drops of dew 
 become pearls in the interior of shells ; how 
 the cameleon lives upon air ; how ice slowly 
 indurated, in long periods becomes rock crystal, 
 and many other most wonderful secrets of na- 
 ture. 
 
 To those connected with magic and witch- 
 craft he had paid the most attention, as apper- 
 taining, according to our anonymous author, 
 to a science more general and necessary, in 
 which the facts are not only of great import- 
 ance, but more easily within our reach, so as 
 to admit of their verification. We have only 
 to add, that in the study of these matters, he 
 had never had any other object than to get in- 
 formation of, and be correctly acquainted 
 with, the most dangerous practices of wizards, 
 that he might protect and defend himself from 
 them. And principally under the guidance of 
 Martino Delno, (the great man of the science,) 
 lie became enabled to talk ex professo, of ama- 
 tory witchcraft, of somniferous witchcraft, of 
 hostile witchcraft, and of the infinite species 
 of it, which as our anonymous author says, 
 these three capital branches of sorcery, too 
 much in practice at this day, produce such 
 dreadful consequences. 
 
 Not less profound and extensive was his in- 
 formation in relation to history, especially uni- 
 versal history, of which his favorite authors 
 were Tarcagnota, Dolce, Bugatti, Campana, 
 Guazzo, names, in short, of the first reputation. 
 
 But what is history, frequently exclaimed 
 Don Ferranto, without politics ? A guide that 
 goes on and goes on, without any one follow- 
 ing to teach the road to, and consequently 
 throwing away all the labor ; just as politics 
 without history is like a person wandering 
 without a guide. He had, therefore, on his 
 shelves a compartment for statistics, where, 
 amongst many of small account, and of secon- 
 dary rank, were Bodino, Cavalcanti, Sansovi- 
 no, Paruta, and Boccalini. There were two 
 works, however, that Don Ferranle ranked 
 
 * Remora i a name attached by Pliny to a shell fish, 
 of which it is fabulously related, that I'eriander, the 
 tyrant of Corinth, trading a vnnacl to Corcyra, with 
 orders to mutilate three hundred noble children, the 
 vessel, on account of the great accumulation of these 
 "hells, (probably the baliiiius,) could make no pro- 
 grow, in gpite of a fair wind. Trans. 
 
 greatly before all the rest, in this branch ; two, 
 that up to a certain time, he was accustomed 
 to call the first, without being able to decide 
 with himself to which of these to give the pre- 
 ference. One of them was II Principe and 1 
 Discorsi of the celebrated Florentine secretary ; 
 somewhat of a rogue said Don Ferrante, but 
 very profound. The other was the Ragion di 
 Stato, of the no less eminent Giovanni Botero, 
 a man of some character said he, but cun- 
 ning enough. But just a little before the pe- 
 riod of our story, a work had come to light 
 which put an end to all question of pre-emi- 
 nence, taking precedence, as Don Ferrante 
 said, even over the works of those two mata- 
 dors ; a work where every vice was analysed 
 and distilled as it were, in order to be exposed, 
 as well as every virtue, that they might be 
 practised. That book, so insignificant in its 
 volume, but worth its weight in gold, in a 
 word, the Statista Regnante of Don V aleriano 
 Castiglione, a most celebrated author, of whom 
 it may be said, that the most distinguished 
 men of letters were emulous in his praise, and 
 that the most elevated personages were anx- 
 ious to get him from one another : of that man 
 whom Pope Urban VIII, honored, as it is 
 known, with magnificent encomiums; whom 
 Cardinal Borghese and the viceroy of Naples, 
 Don Pietro de Toledo, urged to illustrate the 
 first, the actions of Pope Paul the Fifth, the 
 other, the wars of the Catholic king in Italy, 
 but which they urged in vain : of that man 
 whom Louis XIII, of France, at the sug- 
 gestion of Cardinal Richelieu, named his his- 
 toriographer, and upon whom Charles Ema- 
 nuel, duke of Savoy, conferred the same 
 office ; the man, in praise of whom, suppress- 
 ing other glorious testimonials, the duchess 
 Christina, daughter of the most Christian King 
 Henry the IV, asserted amidst many other 
 encomiums, in a diploma, " the certainty of 
 the fame he enjoys in Italy, as the first writer 
 of our times." 
 
 But if, in all the above mentioned sciences, 
 Don Ferrante might call himself indoctrinated, 
 there was one in which he had deserved and 
 enjoyed the title of professor the science of 
 chivalry. He not only reasoned upon it like 
 a master, but being frequently called upon to 
 interfere in affairs of honor, he always gave 
 some decision. He had in his library, and it 
 may be added, in his head, the works of the 
 most celebrated writers on that subject ; Paris 
 del Pozzo, Fausto da Longiano, Urrea, Mu- 
 zio, Romei, Albergato, the Forno primo, and 
 Forno secondo, of Torquato Tasso, of whom 
 he had ready, and could, upon occasion, quote 
 from memory, all the passages from the Geru- 
 salemme liberata, as well as of the Conquistata, 
 that serve to illustrate matters of chivalry. The 
 author of authors, however, in his estimation, 
 was our celebrated Francesco Birago, concur- 
 rently with whom he had more than once to 
 give judgment in affairs of honor, and who, on 
 his side, spoke of Don Ferrante in terms of par- 
 ticular esteem. And from the moment the Dis-
 
 1 PROMESSI SPOSL 
 
 177 
 
 corsi Cavallereschi of that distinguished author 
 appeared, he prognosticated, without hesita- 
 tion, that it would entirely put down the au- 
 thority of Olevano, and would remain, toge- 
 ther with its other noble sisters, as a code of 
 the greatest authority to posterity : a prophesy, 
 .says our anonymous author, that every one 
 can see how it has been fulfilled. 
 
 From this he passed to polite letters. But 
 we begin to doubt, if truly the reader has any 
 great inclination to go on with him in this re- 
 view ; and if we have not been acquiring the 
 title of a servile copier for ourselves, as well 
 as the right to share with our anonymous au- 
 thor, that of a bore, for having followed him 
 so closely in a matter so foreign to our princi- 
 pal story, and into which he has probably en- 
 tered so largely only to let out some of his 
 learning, and to show that he was not behind 
 his age. However, leaving what we have 
 said where it is, we will, not to lose our trou- 
 ble, omit the remainder, in order to get back 
 to the high road of our story ; especially since 
 we have a considerable distance to travel on 
 it, without meeting with any of our personages, 
 and a still greater one, before we reach those 
 in whose welfare the reader is certainly most 
 interested, if he takes any interest in the con- 
 tents of this work. 
 
 Up to the autumn of the following year, 
 1629, all of them remained, some from inclina- 
 tion, others by force, pretty much in the situa- 
 tion where we left them, without any thing 
 happening to them, or being in a position to 
 do any thing worthy of being noted. The sea- 
 son arrived in which Agnes and Lucia had 
 promised to meet again, but a great public 
 event disappointed their wishes; and, indeed, 
 this was one of its most insignificant effects. 
 Other great incidents succeeded to that, with- 
 out, however, influencing in a remarkable de- 
 gree, the fate of our personages. At length, 
 new occurreHces, more general, stronger, and 
 more extreme in their nature, reached even 
 them, and the most obscure of them, like the 
 driving and wandering force of a mighty 
 whirlwind, which tears up trees by the roots, 
 unroofs houses, carries off the tops of high 
 towers, and bears on the fragments before it : 
 such a storm as lifts up the straws that were 
 hidden in the grass, searches into corners for 
 the withered and light leaves, which a lesser 
 wind had driven there, and drives them about, 
 involved in its force. 
 
 Now that the private actions which we have 
 yet to relate, may appear very clear, it is ne- 
 cessary first, to give an account of these public 
 matters, going feck a little for this purpose. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 AFTER the insurrection, upon the day of 
 Saint Martin, and the following one, it appears 
 23 
 
 that abundance returned in Milan, as if by en- 
 chantment. The bakers' shops were filled 
 with bread, the price was the same as in the 
 most plentiful years, and flour in proportion. 
 Those who during the two days had assisted to 
 get up the uproar, and to do worse, had now, 
 (except a few who were arrested,) only to ap- 
 plaud themselves; and they were not silent, 
 the moment the fear of being taken up had 
 passed away. In the squares, at the corner of 
 the streets, in the taverns, it was an open 
 tripudia,* and boasts and congratulations at 
 having found out the way to make bread 
 cheap. Amidst all this festivity, however, and 
 presumption, there was, (and how could it be 
 otherwise ?) an inquietude, a presentiment, 
 that things could not last long in that way. 
 The people besieged the bakers and the flour 
 sellers, as they had before done during that 
 factitious and momentary abundance procured 
 by the tariff of Antonio Ferrer. Those who 
 had a little money before band, laid it out in 
 bread and flour, storing them away in their 
 chests, in tubs, and in their pots and pans. 
 Thus struggling to enjoy the present advan- 
 tage, they made the continued duration of 
 plenty, I do not say impossible, since it was so 
 naturally, but even the momentary continua- 
 tion of it more and more difficult. 
 
 At length, on the loth November, A ntonio 
 Ferrer, tie orden de su Excelencia, issued a 
 proclamtion, in which all persons who had any 
 grain or flour in their houses, were prohibited 
 from purchasing of any body else, whether in 
 small or large quantities ; and all other persons 
 were ordered not to buy bread beyond the ab- 
 solute wants of two days, under pecuniary and 
 corporal punishment, at the discretion of his ex- 
 cellency ,- with intimations to the ancients, and 
 hints to all persons, to denounce transgressors : 
 the judges were ordered to make searches in 
 the houses that were indicated to them, and 
 the bakers at the same time commanded to 
 keep their shops well supplied with bread, un- 
 der pain, in case of their failure to do so, of 
 serving five years in the galleys, and even a lon- 
 ger period, at the pleasure of his excellency. He 
 who can conceive of a proclamation like this 
 being executed, must have a lively imagina- 
 tion ; and certainly, if all that were issued at 
 this period were obeyed with precision, it 
 must have been necessary for the dutchy of 
 Milan to have as many cruizers out as Great 
 Britain has at this day. 
 
 At any rate, whilst they were ordering the 
 bakers to make so much bread, they ought to 
 have established some regulations for supply- 
 ing them with the material of which bread is 
 made. It had been contrived (as in times of 
 scarcity people are always studying how to 
 mix up in bread, materials that are consumed 
 in other forms) to mix rice up with that kind 
 of bread called mistura. On the 23d of No- 
 vember, a proclamation appeared, sequestra- 
 ting to the orders of the vicar of provisions, 
 
 * A soisy round dance.
 
 ITS 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 and the council of twelve, one-half of the rice 
 with the husk on, which any one might pos- 
 sess. This kind of rice was then, and is still 
 called, risone. The penalty for whosoever 
 should dispose of any without the permission 
 of those officers, was the confiscation of the 
 commodity, and a fine of three crowns for eve- 
 ry moggio. A penalty much more humane 
 than the others. 
 
 But it was necessary to pay for this rice a 
 price too disproportioned to that of bread. 
 The charge of making good such an enormous 
 difference had been laid upon the city, but the 
 council of decurions, who had taken it upon 
 themselves, deliberated the same 23d Novem- 
 ber, to remonstrate with the governor, it be- 
 ing impossible to sustain the burthen any 
 longer. The governor, therefore, in a procla- 
 mation, dated the 7th December, fixed the price 
 of: the rice at twelve livres the moggio. Any 
 one who asked more, or refused to sell at that 
 price, was to incur the penalty of a seizure of 
 the article, and a fine of equal value, together 
 with a still greater pecuniary fine, and corporal 
 punishment, even as far as the galleys, at the 
 pleasure of his excellency, according to the na- 
 ture of the case, and thepersons it concerned. 
 
 The price of rice without the husk had 
 been fixed before the insurrection, as prboably 
 the tariff, or to make use of that most cele- 
 brated denomination in modern annals, the 
 maximum of corn ; and other grains, in common 
 use, had been fixed by other proclamations, 
 which we have not met with. 
 
 Bread and flour, therefore, being kept at so 
 low a price in Milan, whole processions of 
 people consequently came from the country, 
 to provide for themselves. Don Gonzalo, to 
 obviate, as he said, this inconvenience, prohi- 
 bited, by an ordinance of the 15th December, 
 any one to carry bread out of the city, beyond 
 the value of twenty soldi, under penalty of 
 the bread itself, and twenty-five crowns, and 
 in case of inability to pay, to have the cord twice 
 given on the public rack, and an increased pun- 
 ishment, as usual, at the pleasure of his excel- 
 lency. On the 22d of the same month, (we do 
 not perceive why it was published so much 
 later,) a like ordinance came out respecting 
 flour and grains. 
 
 The mob had tried to produce abundance 
 by pillaging and burning ; the legal authorities 
 endeavored to maintain it by the galleys and 
 the rack. However convenient their respec- 
 tive means were to them, the reader will per- 
 ceive how little they were suited to the end, 
 and how far they were from contributing to 
 advance it, will soon appear. It is easy to 
 perceive, and not useless to observe, the ne- 
 cessary connexion between these strange con- 
 trivances ; each of them was an inevitable 
 ; consequence of the antecedent one, and both 
 * of them of the first measure, that fixed the 
 price of bread so much below that which 
 would have resulted from the true state of 
 things. A measure of that kind has always 
 appeared, and must necessarily have appeared 
 
 equitable to the people, as in other respects 
 simple and easy to put in execution ; it is, 
 therefore, natural, that straightened and dis- 
 tressed by dearth, they must wish for it, must 
 implore it, and, if possible, compel the adop- 
 tion of it. In proportion, too, as the conse- 
 quences manifest themselves, it becomes neces- 
 sary for those whose duty it is to remedy them 
 by a law prohibiting men from doing what they 
 were led to do by preceding measures. We 
 shall be permitted here, incidentally, to men- 
 tion a singular fact. In a country, and at an 
 epoch not distant from our own, the most cla- 
 morous and remarkable period of modern his- 
 tory, similar events took place under like cir- 
 cumstances, (similar, it may be almost said, 
 in substance, and nearly in the same order, 
 with the sole difference of the scale uponr 
 which they prevailed,) to the disgrace of the 
 intelligence then prevailing in Europe, and in 
 that particular country, perhaps, more than 
 in any other : and all this, chiefly because the 
 reat popular mass, whom that intelligence 
 ad not reached, was permitted to have its 
 own way so long, and overawe those who- 
 made the laws. 
 
 Thus, returning- to our own affairs, two 
 principal results, to sum up all, had arisen 
 from the insurrection : the destruction and 
 complete loss of provisions during the insur- 
 rection, and a consumption, as long as the tariff 
 lasted, extreme and without bounds, of a gay 
 kind too, diminishing the miserable amount 
 of grain, the sole dependance until the next 
 harvest. To these general results may be ad- 
 ded the execution of four of the people who 
 were hung as leaders of the revolt, two before 
 the bakery of the grucce, and the others at the 
 head of the street where the vicar of provi- 
 sions lived. 
 
 As to the rest, the historical relations of 
 those times are made so much at random, that 
 no account whatever can be found of how and 
 when that extravagant tariff was abrogated. 
 If, in the absence of positive information, we 
 may offer a conjecture, we incline to think 
 that it was repealed a short time previous or 
 posterior to the 24th December, which was 
 the day of the execution alluded to. And as 
 to the proclamations, we do not find any re- 
 specting provisions, dated after the last we 
 have cited, of the 22d of the same month ; 
 whether they have been destroyed, or have 
 eluded our researches ; or whether the autho- 
 rities finally discouraged, if not overcome by 
 the fruitkssness of their remedies, and the ir- 
 resistible state of the public disorder, did not 
 abandon things to their course. We find, it is 
 true, in the narratives of more than one histo- 
 rian, (inclined as they were to describe great 
 events, more than to note their origin and 
 progress,) a picture of the country and of the 
 city especially, during the winter season and 
 in the spring, when the cause of the evil, the 
 disproportion between the stock of pro 
 visions and the consumption, not remov- 
 ed, but increased by remedies which only
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 179 
 
 gupended the effects temporarily; nor yet 
 removed by a sufficient importation of pro- 
 visions from without, which was opposed 
 by the want of public and private means ; the 
 penury of the neighboring countries, the ge- 
 neral scarcity, the slowness and the impedi- 
 ments of commerce, and the laws themselves 
 tending to produce and to keep up a forced 
 market : when the true cause of the dearth, at 
 the period they are describing, or to be more 
 accurate, the dearth was operating without 
 any restraint, and with all its energy. We 
 here offer a copy of that distressing picture. 
 
 At every step, shops shut up, the buildings 
 for the greatest part deserted : the streets pre- 
 senting an unutterable spectacle, an incessant 
 wretchedness, a perpetual abode of grief. 
 Beggars, old in the trade, now become the mi- 
 nority, confessedly mixed up and lost in a new 
 multitude, reduced to contend frequently for 
 alms, with those from whom, in former times, 
 they had been accustomed to receive them. 
 Boys and clerks dismissed from the shops and 
 counting-houses, whose masters receiving no 
 more daily profits, led a life of privation upon 
 their savings or upon their capital. Shop- 
 keepers and merchants even, to whom the 
 the stoppage of business had brought bank- 
 ruptcy and ruin ; operatives of every branch 
 of manufactures, and of every art, the most 
 common as well as the most refined, the most 
 essential as well as the most luxurious, wan- 
 dering from door to door, from street to street, 
 leaning against the corners, laid down on the 
 side-walks, under the walls of the houses and 
 churches, asking alms in a lamentable way, or 
 hesitating between want and the shame they 
 had not yet subdued, meagre, enervated, shiv- 
 ering from abstinence and from the rigor of 
 winter, in their ragged and insufficient cloth- 
 ing, which nevertheless, in many instances 
 betrayed their former opulence, and in whom 
 indications of active and frank habits still 
 appeared through their degradation and list- 
 lessness. Mingled in this wretched crowd, 
 and forming no small part of it, were servants 
 discharged by their masters now themselves 
 fallen from mediocrity into want, and many of 
 whom had served opulent and distinguished 
 personages, that were unable, in a year like 
 this, to keep up their accustomed retinue. 
 And to each of these indigent persons, was 
 added a number of others, dependant for their 
 existence upon their gains children, females, 
 aged parents, in groups around him who they 
 had depended upon, or dispersed about in 
 other quarters asking charity. There were also, 
 and could be distinguished by their dishevelled 
 ciuffi, the tatters or their ancient gaudy habits, 
 and something in their deportment and ges- 
 ture, by that mark which custom stamps 
 upon the countenance, with more distinctness 
 in proportion to its rarity, many of the race of 
 Bravos, who, in the common wretchedness, 
 having lost the chance of eating the bread of ini- 
 quity, went about asking it for inecrcy's sake. 
 Tamed by hunger, contending with the others 
 
 only in supplications, enfeebled in their bo- 
 dies, they dragged themselves about that citv 
 where they had so often strutted with insolent 
 daring, with frowning and ferocious aspects, 
 dressed in gaudy liveries, furnished with rich 
 arms, decked with plumes, and tricked out in 
 perfumed finery. Now they humbly stretched 
 out the hand, which they had so often raised 
 in insolent menace, or to give a traitors 's blow. 
 
 But the densest, the darkest, the most de- 
 formed spectacle was presented by the coun- 
 try people, single, in couples, whole families. 
 Husbands and wives, with children in their 
 arms, or carried on their shoulders, leading 
 boys in their hands, and followed by the aged. 
 Some of them, whose houses had been inva- 
 ded and plundered by the soldiers, either 
 quartered amongst them, or on the march, had 
 fled in despair; and amongst these were men, 
 who pointed, as a further incitement to com- 
 passion, and as a distinction in misery, the 
 livid scars of the injuries they had received, 
 in defending their last resources, or in escap- 
 ing from a blind and brutal violence. Others 
 who had escaped that particular scourge, but 
 driven away by those too, from which no cor- 
 ner was exempt, the sterility of the ground, 
 and the burdens, now become more exorbitant 
 than ever, to satisfy what is called the neces- 
 sities of war, were come, and kept coming to 
 the city, as the ancient seat of abundance and 
 munificence. The newest arrived could be 
 known, less by their hesitating gait and 
 strange manner, than by the angry astonish- 
 ment they bore in their countenances, at such 
 an accumulation, such an overflowing, such a 
 rivality in misery, where they had supposed 
 they themselves would have been esteemed 
 singular objects of compassion, and would 
 have drawn to themselves attention and suc- 
 cor. The others, who for more or less time 
 had been accustomed to inhabit and wander 
 about the streets of the city, keeping life 
 together with what they picked up almost by 
 chance, in so great a disparity between these 
 supplies and their wants bore with them, ex- 
 pressed in their countenances and their actions, 
 a deeper and a more torpid consternation. 
 Various in their dress or rather rags, as well 
 as in their aspect : the pale faces of the low 
 country ; the embrowned ones from the plains 
 lying nearer to the hills, the ruddier mountai- 
 neers, but all lean and' wasted away, their 
 eyes sunk in, their looks senseless yet some- 
 what haughty, their hair dishevelled, their 
 beards horribly long ; bodies inured to fatigue, 
 now exhausted by famine, the wrinkled skin 
 upon their dry arms, their limbs and their bony 
 breasts, which appeared bare beneath their 
 tattered rags. And differently, but not less 
 painful than this spectacle of broken down 
 vigor, was the aspect of a nature sooner sub- 
 dued, of a langor, and of a more resigned 
 attenuation, in a feebler sex and age. 
 
 Here and there were to be seen, in the streets 
 and lanes, near the walls, under the eaves, a 
 little straw, and stubble trodden and broke,
 
 180 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 mixed up with filthy rags ; even this filth was 
 the gift of charitable persons, to serve as beds 
 to some of those distressed creatures, to lay 
 their heads upon during the night ; now and 
 then might be seen, even by day light, an in- 
 dividual stretching himself out, his limbs fal- 
 tering, and breathing short, through extreme 
 fatigue and want : sometimes the couch bore a 
 corpse, and at times some wretched individual 
 would faint away, and remain dead upon the 
 pavement. 
 
 Near the prostrate individual, a passenger 
 or a neighbor would be observed, bent down 
 and attracted there by sudden compassion. In 
 some quarters help was administered which 
 was the fruit of a systematic providence, set in 
 motion by one who was rich in means, and 
 accustomed to do good upon a great scale. 
 This was the good Federigo. He had made 
 choice of six priests, in whom a willing and 
 persevering charity was accompanied and as- 
 sisted by a robust constitution : he had divided 
 them into pairs, and assigned to each pair one 
 third part of the whole city to go through, 
 with porters behind them loaded with various 
 food, with cordials, and other things and resto- 
 ratives, as well as clothes. Every morning, 
 these three couple went through the streets in 
 different directions, stopped at those whom 
 they fell in with, that were lying upon the 
 ground abandoned, and administered such aid 
 to them as they were susceptible of receiving. 
 
 Now and then, an individual in the last ago- 
 nies, and unable to receive nourishment, had 
 the last aid and consolations of religion adminis- 
 tered to him, ThDse to whom food might be 
 serviceable, had soup, eggs, bread, and wine, 
 given to them ; to others, greatly extenuated 
 by long fasting, they gave more nourishing 
 things, and more generous wines, bringing 
 them to, in cases of necessity, with cordials, 
 .and with strong vinegar ; giving, at the same 
 time, to those who were suffering most for the 
 want of them. 
 
 Nor did this benevolence cease here. The 
 good pastor was desirous, whenever it could 
 be done, that the relief should be efficacious, 
 and not momentary. The poor creatures, to 
 whom the first attentions had restored their 
 strength sufficiently to stand up and walk, had 
 a little money given to them by the priests, so 
 that from their coming wants, and in the ab- 
 sence of other succor, they might not relapse 
 into their former prostrate state : for the rest, 
 they sought an asylum and support in some 
 of the neighboring nouses. If there were any 
 of them well to do in the world, hospitality, at 
 the recommendation of the cardinal, was, in 
 most cases, granted. In other houses, where 
 the means were not equal to the good will, the 
 priests requested the sufferers to be admitted 
 to board ; the price was fixed, and money im- 
 mediately paid on account. Notice was given 
 to the parish priests of these persons, that they 
 might visit them, and the priests themselves 
 occasionally returned to see them. 
 
 It need not be said that Federigo did not 
 
 confine his attentions to these extreme cases 
 of suffering, nor had waited for so much dis- 
 tress before he had begun to act. His ardent 
 and universal charity felt for every thing, 
 adapted itself to every thing, penetrated where 
 it had never been before, and took as many 
 forms as the various cases of distress them- 
 selves. In fact.'collecting all his means, using 
 a still more rigid economy, taking those sav- 
 ings which he had destined to other liberali- 
 ties, now become of secondary importance, he 
 had sought out every method to collect mo- 
 ney, in order to employ it in alleviating this 
 penury. He had made extensive purchases of 
 grain, and had despatched a great part of them 
 to the most distressed portions of his diocese, 
 and as the succor he sent was far from being 
 equal to the general want, he sent abundance 
 of salt, " with which," says Ripamonti, relat- 
 ing the affair, " the herbs of the field, and even 
 the young barks of trees may be converted 
 into human food." Grain also and money, he 
 had supplied the parish priests of the city with, 
 through the different quarters of which he 
 went nimself, distributing alms. Many indi- 
 gent families were secretly assisted by him ; a 
 great quantity of rice was daily cooked in the 
 archiepiscopal palace, and we have the autho- 
 rity of a contemporaneous writer for saying 
 (the physician Alessandro Tadino, from whose 
 Ragguaglio we shall have frequent occasion to 
 quote hereafter) that two thousand separate 
 portions of it were distributed there every 
 morning. 
 
 But these effects of charity, which we may 
 certainly call munificent, when it is consider- 
 ed they came from one man, and from his own 
 means only, (for Federigo declined always 
 being the dispenser of the liberality of others,) 
 these, together with the liberality of other pri- 
 vate individuals, numerous, though not equal- 
 ly productive ; as well as the assistance which 
 the council of the decurions had assigned for 
 this moment of entire abandonment to misery, 
 committing its dispensation to the tribunal of 
 provisions, were, nevertheless, insufficient and 
 inadequate to the universal distress. 
 
 Whilst, through the bounty of the cardinal, a 
 few mountaineers and people from the neigh- 
 boring vallies had their lives prolonged, others 
 reached the extreme term of indigence : the 
 first having consumed the scanty succors they 
 had received, had returned home. In other 
 quarters, not forgotten, but postponed on ac- 
 count of a less degree of suffering, by a charity 
 compelled to discriminate, the misery became 
 mortal ; in every place men were dying ; and 
 from every place they were moving to the 
 city. Here, a couple of thousands ot starved 
 wretches, but better able to get on and to make 
 room for themselves, had received a portion of 
 soup, sufficient to keep life together for that 
 day; but other thousands remained behind, 
 envying those, fortunate shall we call them, 
 when amongst those left behind, were frequent- 
 ly their own wives, children, and parents ? 
 And whilst in three different points of the city
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 181 
 
 a few of those abandoned even of hope, and 
 drawing to an end, were raised from the 
 ground, reanimated, restored, and taken care 
 of for a while, yet in a hundred others, they 
 fell down, languished, and expired without 
 any assistance or relief. Throughout the day, 
 a confused humming of imploring lamenta- 
 tions was to be heard in the streets ; and at 
 night a murmur of general distress, interrupt- 
 ed from time to time by bowlings that sudden- 
 ly broke forth, by loud and long groanings, 
 complaints, by solemn accents of invocation, 
 and by sharp screams. 
 
 It is a remarkable thing, that amidst such 
 an excess of suffering, and such a variety of 
 complaints, not one single attempt to stir up an 
 insurrection transpired, at least not the slight- 
 est indication of it can be discovered. Yet 
 amongst those who were suffering and dying 
 in that way, there was a great number of men 
 brought up to any thing but to suffer quietly ; 
 hundreds of them, indeed, were of the number 
 of those who, on Saint Martin's day, had been 
 loud enough in their violence. Nor is it to be 
 supposed that the example of those four poor 
 unfortunate wretches who had paid the penalty 
 for all, imposed any restraint at present. 
 What influence could, not the presence, but 
 the remembrance of those executions, have 
 upon the minds of a wandering and consoli- 
 dated multitude, that perceived it was con- 
 demned to a slow punishment, and that was 
 already suffering under it ? But so, in gene- 
 ral, are we men made ; we revolt furiously and 
 indignantly at small evils, and prostrate our- 
 selves in silence before great ones ; and sup- 
 port, not resignedly, but stupidly, the worst 
 extent of that which, at the beginning, we 
 called quite insupportable. 
 
 The void which the mortality made every 
 day in that deplorable crowd, was replaced 
 every day from the country. It was an inces- 
 sant concourse, first from the neighboring 
 towns, then from the whole county of Milan, 
 then from the cities of the states, and at last 
 from those beyond it. In the meantime, every 
 day some of its most ancient inhabitants were 
 leaving Milan, some to get away from the 
 sight of so much misery ; others, driven off 
 the field by new reinforcements of mendicants, 
 left it in a last desperate attempt to seek relief 
 somewhere else, wherever it might be, and 
 where at least the crowd of persons struggling 
 for relief might not be so dense, and pressing. 
 These opposing columns of pilgrims met each 
 other, a spectacle of mutual dread, a sorrow- 
 ful proof, and a sinister omen, of the end to 
 which they were both hastening. But they 
 went onwards, if no longer with the hope of 
 changing their fortune, at least that they might 
 no longer look upon a sky that was odious to 
 them, and upon places wfiere they had felt so 
 much despair ; until some one, all his vital force 
 wasted by abstinence, would drop on the road, 
 and breathe his last sigh, an object of horror 
 to those in the same state with himself, and 
 perhaps of reproach to the other passengers. 
 
 " I saw," writes Ripamonti, " in the road near 
 the walls, the prostrate corpse of a female ; 
 the grass half masticated was dropping from 
 her mouth, and her contaminated lips still re- 
 tained some action of a desperate effort to re- 
 lieve herself. She had a small bundle upon 
 her shoulders, and an infant was tied to her 
 breast, which was crying for the breast. Some 
 compassionate persons who were drawn to her, 
 had taken (he babe from the ground, and were 
 dandling it, so far fulfilling the maternal office 
 for it." 
 
 That contrast of splendor and rags, of su- 
 perfluity and misery, the common spectacle 
 of ordinary times, was no longer to be seen. 
 Rags and misery had almost invaded every 
 thing, and nothing could be seen differing from 
 them, but an occasional appearance of frugal 
 mediocrity. The nobles appeared in plain and 
 modest clothes, if even they were not in rags ; 
 some of them, because the common causes of 
 the misery had so thoroughly changed their own 
 fortunes,or had entirely ruined what had already 
 been deranged ; others, either because they 
 feared to provoke by their luxury, the public de- 
 spair, or were ashamed to insult the public ca- 
 lamity. Those odious and dreaded overbearing 
 tyrants, that were wont to swagger about with 
 an insolent train of Bravos, now went about 
 with their faces to the ground, and with coun- 
 tenances that seemed to implore for peace. 
 Others, who even in prosperity, had been more 
 humane and civil in their deportment, appeared 
 full of confusion and consternation, appalled 
 by the continued spectacle of a calamity, which 
 exceeded not only the possibility of relief, but, 
 as may be almost said, the power of commis- 
 seration. Those who had the ability to give 
 relief, were obliged to make a sad discrimina- 
 tion betwixt those suffering the extremes of 
 hunger. Scarce was a compassionate hand 
 extended to some unfortunate wretch, than a 
 crowd of others equally wretched came up ; 
 those who had the most strength, pushed for- 
 wards to solicit charity with greater urgency. 
 Those who were worn down, with the aged 
 and the children, put out their meagre hands : 
 mothers from a distance lifted up their weep- 
 ing children, badly wrapped up in heaps of 
 rags, and sinking from extreme weakness in 
 their hands. 
 
 Thus passed the winter and the spring. In 
 the meantime the tribunal of health, had re- 
 monstrated with the council of provisons upon 
 the danger of contagion, now impending over 
 the city by a wretchedness so concentrated 
 and diffused in it : and had proposed that all 
 these wandering mendicants should be collect- 
 ed into different asylums. Whilst this was 
 under consideration, and they were devising 
 means and methods and places, to carry it into 
 effect, the dead bodies in the streets were in- 
 creasing every day, and commensurately with 
 this, all the other vexations, the common com- 
 passion, and common danger. In the tribjunal 
 of provisions another measure was brought 
 forward, apparently easy and expeditious,
 
 182 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 which was to collect all the mendicants well 
 and ill, into one place, and that the lazaretto, 
 to maintain them there, and to take care of 
 their health at the public expense. This mea- 
 sure was finally determined upon in opposition 
 to the tribunal of health, which objected, that 
 the collection of so great a crowd would in- 
 crease the danger it was intended to avoid. 
 
 The lazaretto of Milan, (if by chance this 
 story should fall into the hands of any one who 
 has neither seen it, nor heard it described,) is 
 almost a quadrangular building, out of the 
 city, to the left from the oriental gate, separat- 
 ed from the ramparts by the canal, a street of 
 circumvallation, and a ditch which surrounds 
 the lazaretto itself. The two longest sides of 
 the square are about five hundred paces long, 
 the other two about fifteen paces less : all of 
 them on the exterior side are divided into small 
 rooms upon one and the same story : in the 
 inside there is a portico supported with small 
 and thin columns, which runs continuously the 
 length of three of the sides. The rooms were 
 about two hundred and eighty-eight in num- 
 ber ; in our days, a great aperture made in the 
 centre, and a smaller one towards a corner of 
 that side which fronts the main road, have de- 
 stroyed a great number of them. At the pe- 
 riod of our story, it had only two entrances, 
 one on the side which fronts the walls of the 
 city, the other on the opposite side. In the 
 centre of the interior space, now quite despoil- 
 ed, there was and still is a small octagonal 
 temple. The first destination of this building, 
 which was begun in 1489, with the legacy of 
 an individual, and finished with means turnish- 
 ed by the public, and some private donations, 
 was, as its name indicates, to be an occasional 
 asylum for persons attacked with the plague ; 
 a fatal disorder, that long before that period, 
 had been wont, and continued long after, to 
 appear thrice, four, six, eight times in a cen- 
 tury, now in this, now in that part of Eu- 
 rope, infecting a great part of it, or even over- 
 running it, as it may be said, from one end to 
 another. At the time of which we speak, the 
 lazaretto was only used as a deposit for mer- 
 chandize seized in contraband. 
 
 To make it ready for its new destination, 
 greater exertions than usual were made, and 
 the purifications prescribed being effected in 
 a great hurry, the merchandise was immedi- 
 ately released. Straw was spread in all the 
 rooms, a stock of provisions, such as could be 
 collected, was laid in, and all mendicants were 
 invited to enter it, as an asylum, by a public 
 edict. 
 
 Many went there voluntarily, all that were 
 lying on the ground, in the streets, and the 
 squares, were carried there, and in a very few 
 days, what with one and another, they had col- 
 lected more than three thousand. But a still 
 greater number was left behind. Either every 
 one was waiting till the others should go, that 
 a small number might monopolize the charity 
 of the oty, or from a natural repugnance to 
 being shut up, or the distrust which poor peo- 
 
 entertain for every proposition that cc 
 n their superiors, (a distrust always 
 
 pie ente 
 
 from their superiors, ^a distrust always pro- 
 portioned to the common ignorance of those 
 who entertain it, to the quality of those who 
 inspire it, to the number of the poor and the 
 nature of the edict,) or from their being ac- 
 quainted with the real nature of the advantage 
 offered to them, or all these things puttogether, 
 or something else, the fact is that the greater 
 part of them paid no attention to the invita- 
 tion, and continued to beg and wander about 
 the streets of the city. The authorities per- 
 ceiving this, judged it best to proceed from in- 
 viting to use force. Birri were sent out to 
 drive all the beggars to the lazaretto, and tc 
 bind the contumacious. Ten soldi were 
 given to them as a premium, for every person 
 thus forced to the place ; so true it is, that even 
 in times of the greatest distress, the public 
 money, some how or other, is always wasted. 
 And although as was supposed, and as even 
 was intended by the measures taken, a certain 
 number of the beggars left the city to live or 
 die in some other place, in liberty, at least, 
 still, so vigorous were the proceedings, that in 
 a short time the number of persons in the 
 lazaretto, including guests and prisoners, was 
 very near ten thousand. 
 
 The women and the children, it must be 
 supposed, were lodged in separate quarters, 
 although the memorials of- the period do not 
 mention it. Rules and regulations to main- 
 tain order were certainly not wanting, but 
 what regulations could be enforced, especially 
 in such times, and under such circumstances, 
 in such a vast and various collection of people ; 
 where those who had come voluntarily, and 
 those who had been forced to come, were 
 mixed up together; where those to whom, 
 mendicity was an act of necessity, of pain, 
 and of shame, were obliged to associate with 
 those to whom begging was a trade and occu- 
 pation ; where many brought up in the labors 
 of their fields and their shops, were shut up 
 with men brought up in the stews, in taverns, 
 and amongst brigands, in idleness, kpavery, 
 mockery, and violence. 
 
 How they magaged altogether for lodgings 
 and food, might be sadly conjectured, if we 
 had no positive information, which we have. 
 They had to sleep stowed and crowded to- 
 gether, twenty or thirty of them in one of 
 those small cells, or stretched out under the 
 porticos, upon putrid and offensive straw, or 
 on the bare floor ; for, though it was directed 
 that the straw should be fresh and plentiful, 
 and frequently renewed, still it was very scarce, 
 very bad, and was not renewed. In like man- 
 ner the bread was ordered to be of a good 
 quality, for what administrator has ever di- 
 rected bad things to be made and distributed ? 
 But that which in ordinary circumstances 
 could not have been accomplished, even upon 
 a smaller scale, how could it be done amidst 
 so much confusion ? It was said at the rime, 
 as we find in the records, that the bread of the 
 lazaretto was adulterated with heavy sub-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 1S3 
 
 stances that were not nourishing, and it may 
 easily be believed that this was not an idle 
 story. Even of water there was a want, I mean 
 to say of good fresh water ; the place whence 
 they drew it from was the ditch that went 
 round the walls of the lazaretto, low, almost 
 stagnant, muddy, and become at length what 
 the use and contiguity of such a multitude 
 could not fail to make it. 
 
 To all these causes of mortality, which were 
 more active on account of their operating upon 
 diseased and enfeebled bodies, a great perversi- 
 ty in the season may be added, obstinate rains, 
 followed by a still more perverse drought, ac- 
 companied by intense heats. To actual evils 
 was added the strong sense of them, the tedi- 
 ousness and the hatefulness of imprisonment, 
 the desire to return to old habits, sorrow for dear 
 friends they had lost, uneasiness on account of 
 their separation from others, trouble of mind 
 and dread by turns, so many other feelings of 
 consternation and rage, carried along with 
 them or generated there : then the apprehen- 
 sion and the continuous spectacle of death ren- 
 dered common by so many causes, and become 
 itself a new and powerful cause of the destruc- 
 tion of life. It is not surprising, therefore, 
 that the mortality should have so increased and 
 prevailed in the lazaretto, as to assume in the 
 eyes of many the character of a pestilence ; 
 whether the union and augmentation of all 
 these causes tended to increase the activity of 
 an influence purely epidemic, or whether (as 
 seems to occur in dearths less prolonged and 
 fatal than this) there actually existed a true 
 contagion, which, in bodies prepared by po- 
 verty and unwholesome food, by disease, by 
 filth, by distress and dejection of mind, had 
 found the exact and proper season, the neces- 
 sary condition ef things in fine, to break out, 
 feed itself and increase, (if it may be permit- 
 ted to an ignorant person to use a language of 
 this kind, after the hypothesis proposed by 
 some medical men, and of late with many rea- 
 sons and much caution, by a very ingenious 
 and attentive observer.*) Whether, indeed, 
 the contagion broke out at first in the lazaretto 
 itself, as it appears in an obscure and inaccu- 
 rate account, the physicians of the board of 
 health thought ; or whether it existed and was 
 slumbering before that time, (which seems 
 most likely when we reflect of how long stand- 
 ing the general state of poverty had been, and 
 how frequent the mortality,) and being carried 
 there, had propagated itself with a new and 
 terrible rapidity by the concentration of bodies, 
 rendered more apt to receive it through the in- 
 creased efficacy of other causes. Which ever 
 of these conjectures may be the true one, the 
 number of deaths in the lazaretto in a short 
 time, exceeded one hundred. 
 
 Whilst every thing there was feebleness, 
 anguish, dread, lamentations, and despair, at 
 the tribunal of provisions all was shame, stu- 
 
 * Pel morbo petecchiale e degli altri eontjur! in <re- 
 nerale. Opera del Dott. F. Enrico Acerbi, cap. iii. 
 
 pidity, and uncertainty. Consultations were 
 held, the opinions of the tribunal of health were 
 asked, and the conclusion was at length adopted 
 to undo all that had been done with so much 
 preparation, so much expense, and so much 
 effort. The lazaretto was opened, and permis- 
 sion being given to ail the poor wretches who 
 survived and we're strong enough, to leave it, 
 they rushed out in a furious sort of joy. 
 
 The old clamor was now heard again in thq- 
 city, but more unfrequent and feeble ; the 
 crowd was again seen, but more seldom, and 
 looking more WTetched, from the conscious- 
 ness, as Ripamonti says, of its numbers being 
 so much reduced. The weakest were taken 
 to Santa Maria della Stella, then a hospital for 
 mendicants, where the greater part of them 
 perished. 
 
 Meantime the blessed fields began to turn 
 yellow ; the beggars belonging to the county 
 of Milan left the city, every one to his own 
 home, to the much wished for harvest. The 
 good Federigo gave them at parting further 
 assistance, and another proof of his charity : 
 to eveiy countryman wlio presented himself 
 at the archbishoprick, he gave a giulio,* and a 
 sickle to reap with. 
 
 The dearth finally ceased with the harvest : 
 the mortality, epidemic or contagious, decreas- 
 ing from day to day, protracted itself neverthe- 
 less into the autumn, and was just disappear- 
 ing, when a new scourge broke out. 
 
 Many important matters, such as are more 
 especially entitled to be called historical, had 
 happened meanwhile. Cardinal Richelieu, 
 having, as has been stated, taken Rochelle, and 
 patched up a peace as well as he could with 
 the king of England, had proposed and ob- 
 tained^ with his powerful influence, in the 
 councils of the king of France, substantial 
 succors for liie duke of Nevers, and even 
 persuaded the king himself to conduct an 
 expedition in person. Whilst preparations 
 were making, the count of Nassau, imperial 
 commissary, intimated to the new duke in 
 Mantua, that he must deliver up his states to 
 Ferdinand, or that an army would be sent to 
 occupy them. The duke, who in more despe- 
 rate circumstances, had refused to accept con- 
 ditions so hard, and of so distrustful a nature, 
 now encouraged by th.e promised succors of 
 France, still more obstinately refused, but in 
 terms where no was kept out of sight as much 
 as possible, and with proposals of submission 
 somewhat more apparent, but of less costly 
 nature. The commissary left Mantua, pro- 
 testing that force would be used. In March, 
 Cardinal Richelieu in fact fell down upon 
 Italy, with the king, at the head of an army : 
 a passage was required from the duke of Sa- 
 voy, and some negotiations entered upon, 
 which were broken off. After a skirmish, 
 where the French had the advantage, negotia- 
 tions were resumed, and an agreement entered 
 into, in which the duke, amongst other things, 
 
 * A Roman coin.
 
 134 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 stipulated that Cordova should raise the siege 
 of Casale, engaging, in the event of a refusal, to 
 join the French and invade the duchy of Mi- 
 lan. Don Gonzalo, thinking to extricate him- 
 self upon excellent terras, immediately broke 
 up his camp in the neighborhood of Casale, 
 which a body of French troops immediately 
 took possession of and garrisoned. 
 
 It was upon this occasion Achillini address- 
 ed to king Louis his famous sonnet, 
 
 " Sudate, o fochi, a preparar metalli." 
 And another, where he exhorted him instantly 
 to march to the liberation of the holy land. 
 But it is destiny that seems to have decided 
 that the advice of poets shall not be followed, 
 and wherever you find any thing in history 
 that has taken place in conformity with their 
 suggestions, you may fairly suppose it was de- 
 termined before hand. Cardinal Richelieu had, 
 just at that moment, resolved to return to 
 France, on account of affairs that appeared to 
 be very urgent. Girolamo Loranzo, the envoy 
 of the Venetians, used the most powerful ar- 
 guments to set aside that determination, but 
 the Icing and the cardinal paying no more at- 
 tention to his prose than they did to the poetry 
 of Achillini, returned home with the greater 
 part of the army, leaving only six thousand 
 men in Susa, to occupy the pass, and to main- 
 tain the treaty. 
 
 Whilst the French army was drawing off in 
 one direction, that of Ferdinand, led by the 
 Count of Collalto, was approaching from 
 another quarter, had invaded the Orisons and 
 the Valteline, and was preparing to descend 
 into the Milanese. Independent of the terrors 
 occasioned by the news of such a passage, 
 there came also the sad rumor, that the plague 
 wa-s in that army, of which at that time there 
 was always some vestige in the German troops, 
 according to Varchi, when speaking of that, 
 which a century before had been brought by 
 them to Florence. Alessaudro Tadino, one of 
 the conservators of health, (they were six in 
 number, besides the president, four of them 
 magistrates, and two of them physicians,) was 
 charged by the tribunal, as he himself relates 
 in the account already alluded to,* to remon- 
 strate to the governor upon the dreadful dan- 
 ger which impended over the country, if those 
 troops were permitted fo pass on their way to 
 Mantua, as report stated. From the whole con- 
 duct of Don Gonzalo it appears that he had 
 a prodigious desire to inaKe a place in history 
 for himself, which indeed could not but occu- 
 py herself with his actions, but (as it frequent- 
 ly happens) she did not take the precaution to 
 register an act of his, singularly worthy of at- 
 tention, and that was the answer he returned 
 to Doctor Tadino under these circumstances. 
 He answered that he knew not what to de- 
 termine ; that the reasons both of interest and 
 reputation which had put that army in motion, 
 
 <]'!!' oriL-ini' >! inornali successi dclla 
 pmn pr-ste contagios.i, vi>nrlic:i. it mali;fica, scguila 
 iiclla citta di Milano &c. MiJano, 1848, p. 16. 
 
 were of greater moment than the danger re- 
 presented to him ; but matters being as they 
 were, they must endeavor to do the best they 
 could, and must rely upon Providence. 
 
 To make the best of it therefore, the two 
 physicians of the tribunal of health, (the above 
 mentioned Tadino. and senator Settala, son of 
 the celebrated Ludovico,) proposed, in the tri- 
 bunal, that it should be prohibited under very- 
 severe penalties, to purchase any tiling what- 
 ever from the soldiers on their passage ; but it 
 was not possible to make the president com- 
 prehend the expediency of such an order. 
 "A man, "says Tadino, " of much goodness, 
 who could not bring himself to believe that 
 so many thousand persons could come to their 
 deaths by purchasing commodities of these 
 foreigners." We quote this trait as a singular 
 one of that period, for certainly since tribu- 
 nals of health have existed, it never occurred 
 to any president to use similar reasoning, if 
 reasoning it can be called. 
 
 As to Don Gonzalo, that answer was one of 
 his last acts here, for the untoward results of 
 the war, which had been promoted and con- 
 ducted in a great degree by himself, were the 
 cause that he was removed from that post the 
 same summer. At his departure from Milan, 
 a thing happened that is noticed by a cotem- 
 poraneous writer,as the first of the kind that had 
 occurred there to one of his equals. Coining 
 out of what is called the Palazzo della Citta, 
 in the midst of a great accompaniment of no- 
 bles, he met with a crowd of the populace, 
 part of whom stopped before him in the street, 
 whilst the others went behind him, and re- 
 proached him with bitter imprecations for the 
 famine they had endured, for the license he 
 had granted, as they said, to export grain and 
 lice out of the country. To his carriage which 
 followed in the rear, they sent worse things 
 than words, stones, bricks, cabbage stalks, with 
 every sort of filth, the ordinary ammunition of 
 frolics of that kind. Driven back by the 
 guards, they retired, but only, in augmented 
 numbers, to run and gain the Ticinese gate, 
 which he was soon to pass in his carriage. 
 When it appeared, with a suite of others, they 
 showered upon them all, with their hands and 
 with slings, a hail storm of stones. The mat- 
 ter went no further. 
 
 To supply his place, the Marquis Ambro- 
 gio Spinola was sent, whose name had already 
 acquired, in his wars in Flanders, that military 
 celebrity which it yet enjoys. 
 
 In the meantime the German troops had re- 
 ceived definitive orders to move on to the en- 
 terprise of Mantua, and in the month of Sep- 
 tember it reached the duchy of Milan. 
 
 Armies, at that period, were yet for the 
 greater part composed of adventurers, enlisted 
 by condottieri by profession, under commis- 
 sion from some prince or other, and sometimes 
 on their own account, with a view to sell 
 themselves and their troops. It was not so 
 much from a consideration of the pay they 
 were to receive, that men engaged in service
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 185 
 
 of this kind, as by the hope of plunder, and all 
 the attractions of licentiousness. There was 
 no exact and general discipline in an army, 
 that would not have harmonized easily with 
 the independent authority of the various lead- 
 ers. Individually these persons were great 
 disciplinarians ; but if even they had been de- 
 sirous of establishing a universal discipline, it 
 is evident they never could have succeeded, 
 for soldiers of that stamp would have revolted 
 against any innovating condottiero, who had 
 taken it into his head to abolish sackage and 
 plunder, or, at least, would have left him alone 
 to take care of the standard. Besides which, 
 as these prince?, in taking, so to say, a lease 
 of those military bands, were more solicitous 
 to have a sufficient number of troops to ensure 
 their undertakings, than to proportion their 
 number to their ability to pay them, which 
 they seldom possessed ; so the pay was gene- 
 rally very tardy, and partial, and the plunder 
 of the countries which were the seat of war, 
 or through which the troops passed, became a 
 supplementary settlement tacitly agreed upon. 
 That saying of Wallenstein is little less cele- 
 brated than his own name, that it was easier 
 to maintain an army of one hundred thousand 
 men, than an army of twelve thousand. And the 
 troops of which we are now speaking, were in 
 great measure composed of men, who under his 
 command had desolated Germany, in that war 
 famous amongst other wars, on its own account, 
 and from the effects it produced, from the thirty 
 years it lasted, of which number it had now 
 reached the eleventh. His own regiment, too, 
 was there, led by one of his lieutenants. Of the 
 other condottieri, the greater part of them had 
 served under him, and more than one of those 
 were there, who four years after were to aid 
 in bringing him to that deplorable end which 
 every one is informed of. 
 
 The army consisted of twenty-eight thou- 
 sand foot, and seven thousand cavalry. De- 
 scending from the Valteline to reach the 
 Mantuan territory, they had to follow, more 
 or less down, the whole route of the Adda, 
 where it twice assumes the lake form, and 
 again where it become j a river until it reaches 
 the Po, which again they had to follow for a 
 considerable distance ; they were eight days 
 in the duchy of Milan. 
 
 A great portion of the inhabitants fled to the 
 mountains, carrying with them their most va- 
 luable movables, and driving their cattle: 
 others remained, either to take care of the sick, 
 or to protect their houses from being burnt, or 
 to keep an eye on the precious things they had 
 buried under ground : others because they had 
 nothing to lose, and some unprincipled fellows 
 remained behind to steal. When the first 
 squadron arrived at the appointed station, the 
 men dispersed themselves, and pillaged the 
 place, and the whole neighborhood; whatever 
 could be consumed or carried away, disappear- 
 ed, to say nothing of the destruction they 
 brought upon other things; country houses 
 ransacked, hamlets bumt. blows, wounds, and 
 24 
 
 violations. All sorts of schemes and defences 
 to save their property were frequently useless, 
 and often brought about worse consequences. 
 The soldiers, well acquainted with all the stra- 
 tagems used in this war, ransacked the cor- 
 ners and holes of every house, and even pulled 
 down the walls ; they discovered easily in the 
 gardens where the earth had been newly mov- 
 ed ; they ascended the hills to seize the cattle, 
 penetrated the grottoes, guided by some scoun- 
 drel, in search of some wealthy person con- 
 cealed there, stript him, dragged him to his 
 house, and by torturing him with blows, and 
 with threats, forced him to disclose bis hidden 
 treasure. 
 
 At length they went away, and the sound of 
 trumpets and drums was heard in the distance : 
 a moment of fearful tranquillity now took 
 place, then another accursed beating of drums, 
 and another detestable squeaking of fifes, an- 
 nounced another brigade. These, finding 
 nothing more to plunder, with so much the 
 more fury destroyed and wasted what they 
 found ; burning the furniture, the door posts, 
 beams, tubs, casks, and in some places the 
 houses, and with still greater rage seized and 
 ill treated individuals : thus matters went on 
 from worse to worse, for twenty days ; the army 
 being divided into that number of squadrons. 
 
 Colico was the first place in the duchy these 
 demons invaded, they next threw themselves 
 upon Bellano, from thence they entered and 
 spread themselves in Valsassina, and so reach- 
 ed the territory of Lecco. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 HERE, amongst the poor terrified inhabitants, 
 we find some persons of our acquaintance. 
 
 Whoever did not see Don Abbondio the day 
 that the news of the descent of the army, of its 
 approach, and of its conduct, was spread all at 
 once, can have but a very poor idea of what 
 trouble and dread are. They are coming, they 
 are thirty, they are forty, they are fifty thou- 
 sand in number : they are devils, they are Ari- 
 ans, they are antichrists ; they have sacked 
 Cortenuova, they have set fire to Primaluna ; 
 they have laid waste Introbbio, Parturo, Bar- 
 sio ; they have been seen at Balabbio ; tomor- 
 row they will be here. Such were the reports 
 that flew from mouth to mouth : and then what 
 running about, what stopping one another, 
 what tumultuous consultations, what hesita- 
 tion between flying and staying, what assem- 
 blings of w'omen, and thrusting of fingers into 
 their hair. Don Abbondio having made up 
 his rnind before any body else, and more deter- 
 ininately than any body else, to fly, in every 
 possible way of flying, and to every possible 
 place of refuge, saw nothing but the most in- 
 superable obstacles, and the most frightful 
 dangers in the way. " What is to be done .'"
 
 1S6 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 he exclaimed, " Where shall I go ?" The 
 mountains, setting aside the difficulties of the 
 road, were not secure ; it was already known 
 that the landsknechts* could climb up them 
 like cats, in places where there was scarce 
 any indication of plunder. The lake was 
 broad, the wind was high, and more than that, 
 the greater part of the boatmen, afraid of being 
 compelled to conduct the soldiers or their bag- 
 gage, had fled with their boats, to the other 
 bank : a few who had remained were gone 
 overloaded with people, and straining with the 
 weight and the storm, were reported to be in 
 danger at every moment. To go to any dis- 
 tance, or to remove from the road which the 
 army was approaching by, it was not possible 
 to find either a calash or a horse, or any other 
 means : on foot, Don Abbondio could not get 
 any great distance, and might be easily over- 
 taken. The confines of the Bergamasc terri- 
 tory were not so distant but that his limbs 
 might carry him there at one stretch, but the 
 report had already got into circulation that a 
 squadron of cappelletti had been despatched in 
 haste from Bergamo, to watch the borders, 
 and hold the landsknechts in respect : these 
 cappelletti were devils incarnate, neither 
 more nor less than the others, and conducted 
 themselves as badly as it was possible for 
 them to do for their share. 
 
 The poor man ran about his house, rolling 
 bis eyes and half deranged, following Perpetua, 
 to concert some determination or other with 
 her; but Perpetua, entirely occupied with 
 getting together the best things they had, to 
 Hide them in the garret, in holes and corners, 
 hurried on, frightened and worried, with her 
 hands and arms full of things, and said, " by 
 and by,I will get these things put away in a sate 
 place, and then we will do as other people do." 
 Don Abbondio wanted to detain her, and dis- 
 pute with her on the various plans to adopt, 
 but she, what with her hurry, the terror that had 
 got possession of her, and the vexation which 
 that of her master gave her, was in a less 
 tractable humor than she had ever been. " The 
 others will contrive something, and we will 
 contrive something too; excuse me, you do 
 nothing but hinder one. Do you think other 
 people have not got a skin to take care of? 
 That the soldiers are coming here just to make 
 war upon your worship ? It would be better if 
 you would lend a hand and help a little, instead 
 of getting betwixt one's feet, and crying and 
 worrying so." With this and similar answers, 
 she got rid of him, having determined in her 
 own mind, as soon as she got through that 
 troublesome operation, that she would take 
 him by the arm, as if he were a boy, and drag 
 him up some mountain. Thus left alone, he 
 went to the window, looked out, listened, and 
 perceiving some one pass, called out in a 
 mourning and reproachful tone, " have so much 
 
 * In the middle ages, every lance that took the 
 field had six or more armed followers; hence tins 
 itnn, from whence the French have got lansquenet. 
 
 charity for your poor curate, as to look up a 
 horse for him, or a mule, or an ass. Is it pos- 
 sible that no one will assist me? Oh, what 
 people ! Stop lor me at least, that I may come 
 too, with you : stop, till some fifteen or twenty 
 of you have got together, to conduct me, that 
 I may not be abandoned. Will you leave me 
 to be devoured by dogs ? Don't you know 
 that the greater part of them are Lutherans, 
 and that they consider it a meritorious thing 
 to kill a priest? .Do you mean to leave me 
 here to receive martyrdom ? Oh, what people ! 
 Oh, what people!" 
 
 But to whom did he say these things ? To 
 men who were passing, bent under the weight 
 of their poor movables, and with their thougnts 
 occupied with what they had left behind ex- 
 posed to be plundered ; or to some one driving 
 his heifer before him, with his children behind 
 him, laden as much they could be, and the wo- 
 man bearing in her arms the infants that were 
 unable to walk. Some of them went on, 
 without either answering or looking up, whilst 
 others said, " master, you must make out as 
 well as you can. You are fortunate in having 
 no family to think for, help yourself, contrive 
 some way or other." 
 
 " Oh, poor me !" exclaimed Don Abbondio, 
 " oh, what people, what hearts ! There is no 
 charity, every one thinks of himself, no one 
 thinks of me." And then he turned to look 
 after Perpetua. 
 
 " Oh, precisely I" said she to him, " and the 
 money ?" 
 
 " What shall we do ?" 
 
 " Give it to me, and I will bury it in the 
 garden with the plates and knives and forks." 
 
 But " 
 
 "But, but, give it to me : keep a few sous 
 if you should happen to want them, and let 
 me manage with the rest." 
 
 Don Abbondio obeyed, he went to his strong 
 chest, took his little treasure out, and consign- 
 ed it to Perpetua, who said, " I will go and 
 bury it in tne garden, at the foot of the fig 
 tree," and went away. A short time aftershe 
 appeared with a basket containing provisions, 
 and a small empty panier, in the oottom of 
 which she hastily placed a little linen for her- 
 self and her master, saying, in the meantime, 
 " the breviary, at least, your worship means to 
 take yourself." 
 
 " But where are we going?" 
 
 "Why, where are alfthe rest going? First 
 of all we'll go into the street, and mere we 
 shall hear and see what it is necessary to do." 
 
 Just at this moment Agnes came in, with a 
 panier also on her shoulders, looking as though 
 she had an important proposal to make. 
 
 Agnes also determined not to wait for guests 
 of that kind, alone in the house as she was, 
 and with some of the gold left which she had 
 received from the Un-named, had been for 
 some time hesitating where she should look 
 for refuge. The remains of the gold crowns, 
 which during the months of famine had been 
 so serviceable to her, were the principal cause
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 187 
 
 of her fear and irresolution, having heard, that 
 in the countries where the troops had passed, 
 those who possessed money were reduced 1o a 
 more terrible condition than any of the others, 
 being exposed both to the violence of the 
 invaders, and to the treachery of tht country 
 people. It is true that the good fortune which 
 nad thus, as it were, fallen into her lap, was a 
 secret she had confided to no one, save Don 
 Abbondio, to whom she would go every time 
 it was necessary to change one of her crowns 
 into small money, leaving with him always 
 something to give in alms to any one poorer 
 than herself. But concealed money, especially 
 with those unaccustomed to have much to do 
 with it, keeps the possessor in continued ap- 
 prehension of the suspicions of others. At 
 this time, whilst she was hiding away, as well 
 as she could, what she could not carry along 
 with her, and was thinking of the crown she 
 had sewed up in her stays, she remembered 
 along with them, that the Un-named had sent 
 her the most unlimited offers of service, she 
 recollected what she had heard say of his cas- 
 tle placed in so secure a situation, where, 
 without the permission of its master, it was 
 impossible for any thing but the birds to get, 
 and she made up her mind to go there and seek 
 an asylum. She reflected how she could make 
 herself known to that nobleman, and Don Ab- 
 bondio immediately came to her mind. Since 
 his conversation with the archbishop, he had 
 made particular demonstrations of benevolence 
 to her, and the more cordially, since he was able 
 to do it without committing himself with any 
 body, for the young people being far off, it was 
 very improbable that any requirement should 
 be made of him, which should put his benevo- 
 lence to a difficult trial. Supposing that, amidst 
 so much trouble, the poor man must be more 
 embarrassed and' frightened than herself, and 
 that the plan would appear excellent to him, 
 she was come to propose it. Having found 
 him with Perpetua, she laid the matter before 
 them. 
 
 "What do you say, Perpetua?" asked Don 
 Abbondio. 
 
 " I say that it is an inspiration from Heaven, 
 and that we must lose no time, and set off di- 
 rectly." 
 
 " And afterwards " 
 
 "And afterwards afterwards; when we 
 shall be there,we shall be satisfied. That noble- 
 man, it is known, desires nothing better than to 
 do good to his neighbor, and will he very well 
 content to give us an asylum. There upon the 
 borders, in the air, as it were, soldiers won't 
 come certainly. And then we shall find some- 
 thing to eat too, for, up in the mountains, 
 when this small grace of God is finished," and 
 saying this, she placed it in the pannier upon 
 the linen, " we shall be badly off enough." 
 
 " Converted, is he really converted, eh ?" 
 
 " How ? do you doubt of it yet, after all that 
 \ve know, and all that we have seen ?" 
 
 " And if we should be going just to put our- 
 selves in a cage ?" 
 
 " What cage ? Why with all this nonsensi- 
 cal talking, excuse me, you will never come to 
 a conclusion. Well done Agnes, this is a capi- 
 tal thought that has come into your head " 
 And placing the pannier upon a table, she put 
 her arm through the straps, and slung it on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Could'nt we," said Don Abbondio, " find 
 some man who would go as an escort with his 
 curate ? If we should meet some had fellow 
 on the road, and there are too many of them 
 about, what sort of help can you two women 
 give me ?" " 
 
 " There you are going on again, just to lose 
 time!" exclaimed Perpetua. "To go and look 
 for a man at this time, when every one is busy 
 about their own affairs. Come, go and get your 
 breviary and your hat, and let us go." 
 
 Don Abbondio went, and soon returned with 
 his breviary under his arm, his hat on his head, 
 and his staff in his hand, and all three went 
 out by a small door that led to the sacristy. 
 Perpetua shut it, and not to omit any formali- 
 ty, rather than because she had much faith in 
 the lock and the door, locked it, and put the 
 key in her pocket. Don Abbondia gave a look 
 at the church as he passed it, and said between 
 his teeth, "it is the people's duty to look after 
 it, as it is for their service. If they have any 
 feeling for their church, they will think about 
 it, and if they have not, so may it be with 
 them." 
 
 They took their way by the fields, creeping 
 silently along, each of them thinking about 
 their own affairs, and loking round, especially 
 Don Abbondio, to see if there was any suspi- 
 cious person about, or any tiling to distrust. 
 But they met no one ; the people were either 
 at home taking care of their houses, making 
 up their bundles, hiding things away, or on the 
 road leading directly to the heights. 
 
 After letting many sighs and interjections 
 escape at different times, Don Abbondio began 
 to grumble in a more connected manner. He 
 had a great deal to say against the duke of 
 Nevers, who might have stayed in France and 
 enjoyed himselfTand lived like a prince, but 
 must come and be the duke of Mantua in de- 
 spite of the whole world. Then he quarreled 
 with the emperor, who ought to have had sense 
 enough to make allowances for the other's 
 folly, he should have let water run downwards, 
 and not be so full of punctilio, for at the end 
 of the account, he would always have been 
 emperor, whether Tizio or Sempronio was 
 duke. Above all he had to say against the 
 governor, whose duty it was to have done 
 every thing, to have kept this scourge out of 
 the country, and it was him who had brought 
 it there, all for the love of making war." 
 " They ought all of them to have been here," 
 said he, " to see what that sort of love brings 
 about. They have a fine account to render ! 
 In the meantime, those are suffering, who have 
 nothing at all to do with it." 
 
 " Let these great people alone, since they 
 are none of them coming here to nelp us," 

 
 138 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 said Perpetua, "These," excuse me, "are 
 some of your usual gossipings that come to no 
 conclusions. That which most vexes me 
 rather " 
 
 " Why what is the matter ?" 
 Perpetua, who, during the wWk, had been 
 passing over quietly in her mind, the hiding of 
 so many things in such haste, began to com- 
 plain that she had forgotten such a thing, had 
 not concealed another thing well, and had left 
 some traces in another place, that might guide 
 the thieves to them, and 
 
 " Brava ! said Don Abbondio, having by de- 
 grees comforted himself about his life, enough 
 to afford to be a little miserable about his pro- 
 perty, " brava ! that is the way you have done 
 things, eh ? Where was your head all this 
 time ?" 
 
 " How !" exclaimed Perpetua, stopping for 
 a moment, and putting her arms a kimbo, as 
 much as the pannier permitted her to do, 
 " How ! you must make me these reproaches 
 now, when it was you that made me lose my 
 head, instead of helping me, and giving me 
 courage ! I have thought more about the 
 things of the house perhaps, than of my own, 
 and have had nobody to lend me a hand : I 
 have had to be both Martha and Magdalen ; if 
 any thing goes wrong, I have nothing to do 
 with it ; I have done more than my duty." 
 
 Anges interrupted the dispute, and began to 
 talk about her own misfortunes : she did not 
 complain so much of her fatigue and of the 
 injury she would receive, as sne was grieved 
 at seeing the hope vanish away, which she had 
 entertained of soon embracing her Lucia, who, 
 it will be remembered, she had agreed to meet 
 precisely that autumn. It was not to be sup- 
 posed that Donna Prasede would come to pass 
 the season in the country under these circum- 
 stances, it was rather to be expected she had 
 left the country, if she had been there, as all 
 the other families had done. 
 
 The sight of the places they passed by, 
 made these reflections still more acute in the 
 mind of Agnes, and her inclination stronger 
 to see her. Having left the field paths, they 
 took the public road, the same by which the 
 poor woman had come, so short a time ago, 
 when she had reconducted her daughter home 
 after spending the few days with ner at the 
 tailors. Already the village was in sight. 
 
 " We will go and ask those good people how 
 they are," said Agnes. " And to rest a little, 
 for I begin to get tired of this pannier, and 
 should like to eat a mouthful," said Perpetua. 
 
 " Upon condition that we waste no time, for 
 this is not a journey of pleasure by any means," 
 said Don Abbondio. 
 
 They were received with open arms, and 
 seen with great pleasure, for they called up the 
 remembrance of a good action. Do good as 
 often as you can, says our author here, and it 
 will the more frequently happen to you to meet 
 cheerful countenances. 
 
 Agnes, embracing the good woman, broke 
 out into tears, which were a great relief to her, 
 
 and answered with sobs to the questions which 
 she and her husband put to her about Lucia. 
 
 " She is better off than we are," said Don 
 Abbondio, " she is at Milan, out of danger, 
 and far from all these troubles of the devil's 
 own making." 
 
 " You are running away, eh, the Signer cu- 
 rate and his company ? " said the tailor." 
 
 " To be sure," replied at once both master 
 and servant. 
 
 "I pity you." 
 
 " We are on our road," said Don Abbondio, 
 to the castle of " 
 
 " You have decided wisely, you will be as 
 safe there as in paradise." 
 
 " Are you not afraid here ?" asked Don Ab- 
 bondio. 
 
 " I will tell you. Signer curate. To get the 
 rights of hospitality, as your worship knows 
 we say in polite language, it is not their place 
 to come here ; we are too far out of their road, 
 thanks be to Heaven. At the most, a few strag- 
 glers, which God will protect us from ; but 
 any how we have always time, we shall always 
 get some news about them from the poor towns 
 where their regular quarters will be establish- 
 ed." 
 
 It was now determined to repose themselves 
 a little there, and as it was dinner time, the 
 tailor said, " You must honor my poor table, 
 and no ceremony, you will find a dish of wel- 
 come there." 
 
 Perpetua said she had something with her 
 to break their iasts, and after some mutual for- 
 malities, they agreed to put every tiling to- 
 gether and to dine in company. 
 
 The children got round their old friend Ag- 
 nes in great glee. The tailor immediately 
 f old one of the little girls, (she who carried 
 the kindness that God sent through them to 
 he widow Maria ; who knows whether you re- 
 member it or not ? ) to go and strip the husks 
 off a few early chestnuts, that were lying in 
 a corner, and roast them. 
 
 ' And you," said he to a boy, " go to the 
 warden, and give the peach tree a shake just 
 enough to bring three or four down, and brine 
 :hem here, all of them, do you here me ? Ana 
 jo you to the fig tree," said he to another, " and 
 rather a few of them, you know how to do 
 ftat better than you ought. He then went to 
 tap a small barrel he had, and his wife to get a 
 clean table cloth. Perpetua now took the pro- 
 visions from her pannier, and the table was set 
 A napkin and a plate of delf ware were put 
 at the place of honor before Don Abbondio, 
 with Don Abbondio's knife that Perpetua had 
 n the pannier. They now sat down and dined; 
 f not very merrily, at least with much more 
 cheerfulness than any of the guests expected 
 :o feel on that day. 
 
 " Signer curate, what does your worship say 
 of such a disperson as this ?" said the tailor 
 " It seems to me as if I was reading the stories 
 about the Moors in France." 
 
 ' What can I say ? This must fall upon my 
 shoulders too."
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 18? 
 
 " But you have chosen a good asylum," he 
 went on. " Who is there can get up to that 
 place by force ? You will find some company 
 (here too, we hear a great many have taken 
 refuge there, and that they are still flocking 
 there." 
 
 "I must hope," said Don Abbondio, "that 
 we shall be well received. I know the wor- 
 thy master of that castle, and when upon 
 another occasion I had the honor of being with 
 him, he was exceedingly kind." 
 
 " And to me," said Agnes, " he sent word 
 by Monsignorillustrissimo, that when I should 
 be in want of any thing, I had nothing to do 
 but to go to him." 
 
 "A most wonderful conversion !" said Don 
 Abbondio, " and he perseveres, is it not true ? 
 hejperseveres." 
 
 The tailor now gave a long account of the 
 holy life led by the Un-named, and how from 
 being the scourge of the neighborhood, he had 
 become the example and benefactor. 
 
 " And all those people that he had with 
 him his family " said Don Abbondio, who 
 had more than once heard something about 
 them, but had never felt sufficiently assured. 
 
 " They are dispersed for the greater part," 
 replied the tailor, " and those who remain, are 
 quite changed, and in what a way ! In fact the 
 castle has oecome a perfect Thebaid ; your 
 worship knows what that means." 
 
 Then he began to recall with Agnes the 
 visit of the cardinal. " A great man ! " said 
 he, " a great man ! it is a pity that he went 
 away in such a hurry, that I could'nt even pay 
 him a little honor. How much I should like 
 to talk to him again more at my ease !" 
 
 Having arisen from table, he pointed to a 
 printed figure of the cardinal, which was hang- 
 ing to one of the posts of the door, in venera- 
 tion of the personage, and also as it gave him 
 an opportunity of saying to every one who 
 came to see him, that the figure did not resem- 
 ble him, for he had been able to examine him 
 nearly and at his leisure, when the cardinal 
 was in that very room. 
 
 "Do they mean to say that this thing was 
 made for him 2" said Agnes, the dress to be 
 sure does look like, but " 
 
 " Is'nt it true that it is not like him ?" said 
 the tailor, " that is just what I always say, but 
 if there is nothing else, there is his name un- 
 der it, and it is a memorial." 
 
 Don Abbondio was getting impatient, and 
 the tailor engaged to find a cart that should 
 take them to the foot of the ascent : having 
 gone out to procure it, he soon returned to say 
 it was coming. " Signer curate," said he to 
 Don Abbondio, " if your worship wishes to 
 carry some book there to pass the time, I can 
 serve you in a poor sort of way, for I amuse 
 myself a little with reading too, common books 
 however, not suited to your worship, still " 
 " Thank you, thank you," replied Don Ab- 
 bondio, " there are circumstances where one 
 has scarcely head enough left to attend to what 
 one's duty requires." 
 
 Whilst they were changing civilities, condo- 
 lences and good auguries, invitations and pro- 
 mises to make a short stop on their return, the 
 cart came to the door. The panniers were now 
 put in it, they got in, and undertook, with a 
 little more tranquillity of mind, the remaining 
 portion of their journey. 
 
 The tailor had said the truth to Don Abbon- 
 dio about the Un-named. From the day that 
 we took leave of him, he had always continued 
 to do what he had proposed to himself, to com- 
 pensate injuries, seek for peace, succor the 
 poor, and do good wherever it occurred to 
 him. The courage he had at other times de- 
 monstrated in offending others and in defend- 
 ing himself, he now showed in abstaining from 
 doing either one or the other. He was no 
 longer armed, and went about always alone, 
 ready to meet all the possible consequences of 
 so much violence perpetrated, and convinced 
 that it would be committing a new one, to use 
 force in defence of a head, debtor in so much, 
 and in so many things. He was persuaded that 
 every injury done to himself, would be an of- 
 fence to God, but in respect to himself a just 
 retribution, and that he of all other men had 
 the least claim to be the avenger of injuries 
 done to himself. Notwithstanding this, he re- 
 mained not less inviolable than when he kept so 
 many persons armed for his own security, and 
 was armed himself. The recollection of his 
 ancient ferocity, and the contemplation of his 
 present gentleness, the former, which would 
 necessarily seem to have left so many desires 
 of vengeance, the latter which softened them 
 so much, conspired, instead, to create an admi- 
 ration of him, that became his principal safe- 
 guard. He was the man whom no one had 
 been able to humble, but who had humbled 
 himself. The rancor, which had been for- 
 merly irritated by his scorn, and by the fear in 
 which he was held, had now disappeared be- 
 fore this new humility which those he had 
 offended were the witnesses of, beyond all ex- 
 pectation, and without any danger to them- 
 selves, a satisfaction they never could have 
 promised themselves from the most successful 
 revenge, the satisfaction of seeing a man la- 
 menting for the wrongs he had done, and 
 sharing, as it were, their own indignation. 
 
 More than one, whose bitterest and most in- 
 ;ense vexation had been, for many years, to 
 see no probability of ever being more power- 
 : ul than himself, that they might be avenged, 
 now, when they met him alone, unarmed, and 
 with the deportment of one who would offer 
 no resistance, felt no other inclination in them- 
 selves but to offer him demonstrations of hon- 
 or. In this voluntary abasement, his presence 
 and countenance had acquired, without his 
 being aware of it, something that was lofty 
 and noble, for there appeared in him more 
 conspicuously than at any other time, the 
 absence of all fear. The most obstinate and 
 coarse hatreds were restrained too and kept in 
 respect, by the public veneration for a peni- 
 tent and beneficent man And so much was
 
 190 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 this the case, that he was frequently embar- 
 rassed to avoid the demonstrations that were 
 made to him, and was obliged to be careful 
 that his internal feeling of compunction, and 
 his abasement, should not be too strongly 
 marked in his countenance and in his actions, 
 that he might not be too much exalted. In the 
 church he nad selected for himself the lowest 
 place, and well it was that no one ever at- 
 tempted to occupy it, it would have been like 
 usurping a post of honor from him. To offend 
 such a man, or even treat him irreverently, 
 seemed to be not only a base thing or a crime, 
 but a piece of sacrilege ; and they themselves, 
 to whom this feeling on the part of others 
 served as a restraint, even partook of it more 
 or less. 
 
 These and other causes averted from him 
 also the more distant animadversion of the 
 public authority, and procured him, even from 
 this quarter, a security about which he gave 
 himself no trouble. His rank and connexions, 
 which had in all times been of advantage to 
 him, were now still more so, since to his name, 
 already illustrious and notorious, was added 
 personal recommendations, and the glory of 
 bis conversion. The magistrates and the chief 
 men had publicly rejoiced at this, as well as 
 the people ; and it would have appeared strange 
 to have persecuted a man who was the subject 
 of so many congratulations. Besides a magis- 
 tracy occupied in a perpetual contest, and too 
 often an unfortunate one, with existing: rebel- 
 ions, and others springing up, might oe well 
 satisfied with being freed from the most in- 
 domptable and troublesome of them all, and 
 need not go to look out for more ; especially 
 since that conversion produced reparations 
 which the authorities were not accustomed to 
 obtain, nor in the habit of requiring. To tor- 
 ment a saint, did not appear a proper method 
 of getting rid of the shame of not having been 
 able to subdue a sinner, and such an attempt 
 upon him, could have produced no other effect 
 than of deterring men like him from becom- 
 ing inoffensive. Probably, too, the part which 
 cardinal Federigo had had in his conversion, 
 and the association of his name with that of 
 the converted man, had served him as a bless- 
 ed shield. And in that state of things and 
 ideas, in that singular relation of the spiritual 
 authority and the civil power, which had such 
 frequent struggles without ever thinking of 
 destroying each other, nay, mingling always 
 wilh their hostilities, acts of kindness, and 
 protestations of deference, and which, very 
 frequently persevered together to a mutual 
 end without ever making peace ; it might 
 seem, in a certain manner, that the reconcilia- 
 tion of the first, carried with it the oblivion, 
 if not the absolution, of the second, when it 
 alone had operated to produce an end desired 
 by both. 
 
 Thus the man upon whom, if he had fallen, 
 great and small would have rushed to smite, 
 having voluntarily laid down, was spared by 
 all, and reverenced by many. 
 
 It is true there were still many, to whom 
 that wonderful change gave any thing but sat- 
 isfaction ; so many pensioned perpetrators of 
 crime, so many other companions in it, who 
 now lost a powerful auxiliary on whom they 
 had been accustomed to rely, and who now 
 found the thread of many plots broken, which 
 had been laid long ago, at the very moment 
 they were expecting news of their success. 
 But we have already seen what various feel- 
 ings this conversion had produced in the ban- 
 dits that Jived with their master, when they 
 heard it announced from his own mouth ; as- 
 tonishment, grief, consternation, vexation, a 
 little of every thing save contempt or hatred. 
 The same occurrea with those whom he kept 
 dispersed in different places, and those who 
 were his accomplices in greater affairs, as soon 
 as they heard tne terrible news, and all from 
 the same causes. The hatred they felt, as we 
 find from Ripamonti, fell rather upon cardinal 
 Federigo. Tney looked upon him as a man who 
 had interfered in their affairs as an enemy; 
 as to the Un-named he had merely wanted to 
 save his soul, and no one had any right to com- 
 plain of him. 
 
 One after another, the greater part of the do- 
 mestic Bravos, not being able to accommodate 
 themselves to the new discipline, and seeing no 
 probability of a change being effected, had left 
 the castle ; some seeking another master, per- 
 haps amongst the old friends of him they had 
 left; some enlisting among the Spanish or 
 Mantovan soldiers, or some other belligerent 
 party ; some perhaps had taken to the road, to 
 make war on a smaller scale, and on their own 
 account, whilst others were satisfied to carry 
 on their thieving independent of control ; and 
 in like manner those who were under his or- 
 ders in various places made their arrangments. 
 Of those who had been able to reconcile them- 
 selves to this new kind of life, or who had em- 
 braced it cordially, the greater part natives of 
 the valley, had returned to the cultivation of 
 the fields, or to the trades which they had learnt 
 before they became bandits. The foreigners 
 remained in the castle as domestic servants, 
 returning to the blessings of civilization along 
 with their master, and passing their time as he 
 did, without doing or receiving injuries, un- 
 armed and respected. 
 
 But when on the invasion of the German 
 troops, some of those who were flying before 
 them, came to the castle to seek an asylum, he 
 delighted that his walls should be sought as a 
 refuge by the oppressed, which they had so 
 long looked upon from afar with dread, receiv- 
 ed the wanderers, with expressions of grati- 
 tude rather than courtesy, and caused it to be 
 known, that his mansion would be open to 
 whoever chose to fly there, and immediately 
 set about not only putting it, but the whole 
 valley in a state of defence, lest any landsk- 
 nechts or cappelletti should come after them 
 to hurt them. He collected the servants who 
 had remained with him, few but excellent, like 
 the verses of Torti, and addressed them upon
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 191 
 
 the good opportunity which God had given to 
 them and him, to employ themselves in the 
 service of their neighbors, whom they had so 
 often oppressed and alarmed, and with that an- 
 cient tone of command, that -expressed the 
 certainty of obedience, announced to them 
 generally what he wished them to do, and 
 above all things prescribed to them to restrain 
 themselves, that the people who came there to 
 seek refuge, might see in them only friends 
 and defenders. He then caused fire arms, 
 swords, and spears, to be brought down from a 
 room near the roof, which for some time had 
 been heaped up there, and distributed them 
 amongst them : his country people and tenants 
 of the valley, who desired it, were told to 
 come with their arms to the castle, and those 
 who had none, were furnished by him. Some 
 were selected as officers, and had others placed 
 under them again ; posts were assigned to 
 them, at the entrance and at various parts of 
 the valley, upon the mountain side, and at the 
 gates of the castle : he arranged the times and 
 manner of relieving them as in camps, and as 
 the usage had been there before, when he led 
 o desperate a life. 
 
 In a corner of the room near the roof, there 
 were, separated from the heap, the arms which 
 he alone had worn, his famous carbine, mus- 
 kets, swords, broadswords, pistols, knives, dag- 
 gers, laid on the floor, or hung on the walls. 
 The servants touched none of them, but agreed 
 to ask their master which of them they should 
 bring him, " none of them," replied he, and 
 whether he made a vow, or because it was his 
 intention, he always went without arms, at the 
 head of such a garrison as we have described. 
 
 At the same time, he had set to work other 
 men and women of the family and who de- 
 pended upon him, to prepare lodgings in the 
 castle for as many persons as it was possible, 
 to set up beds, matresses, and bags of straw, 
 in all the rooms and halls, which were turned 
 into dormitories. He had given orders for an 
 abundant supply of provisions, to feed the 
 guests whom God should send him, and who 
 in fact kept constantly augmenting. He was 
 never still a moment, in and out ot the castle, 
 up and down the hill, and around the valley, to 
 establish, strengthen, and visit the posts, to 
 see, and to let himself be seen, to put and to 
 keep every thing in order with his words, his 
 eyes, and his presence. At home, on the road, 
 he received all comers that he met ; and all, 
 who had seen him before, or who saw him for 
 the first time, looked at him with ecstacy, for- 
 getting for a moment the woes and the fears 
 that had driven them there, and turned again 
 to look at him, as soon as he, having parted 
 with them, pursued his way. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ALTHOUGH the greatest concourse was not 
 in the direction that our three fugitives had 
 
 taken towards the valley, but at its opposite 
 end, still at this last stage, they began to fall 
 in with companions in their journey and in 
 misfortune, who from cross roads and paths 
 were getting into the high road. In circum- 
 stances like these, people who meet each other 
 form an acquaintance. Each time that the cart 
 came up with a person on foot, mutual inquir- 
 ies and answers were exchanged. Some, like 
 our travelers, had run away without waiting 
 the arrival of the soldiers, some had waited 
 until they had heard the drums and trumpets ; 
 some had heard the soldiers themselves, and 
 gave a description of them such as terrified 
 people usually do. 
 
 " We are very unfortunate," said the two- 
 women, " we thank God ; let the things go ; at 
 least we have got ourselves out of the way." 
 
 But Don Aobondia did not find so much 
 cause for congratulation ; nay, the concourse 
 of people, and the still greater one which he 
 heard approaching from the other side, began 
 to annoy him ! 
 
 " Oh," what a business is this he murmured 
 to the women, at a moment when there was no- 
 one near, " Oh, what a business !"dont you 
 comprehend, that to collect so many people in 
 one place, is Just the same thing as to bring the 
 soldiers there by force ? All are hiding, all are 
 carrying away, there is nothing left in the 
 houses, they will think there are treasures up 
 in the castle. They are sure to come there. 
 Oh, poor me ! What an affair have I embarked 
 in !" "Go up to the castle ?" said Perpetua, 
 " they will have to follow the road they have 
 taken : besides I have always heard, that in 
 danger, it is always better to be many." 
 
 " Many.be many !" replied Don Abbondio, 
 " silly woman ! Don't you know that every 
 landsknecht would eat a hundred such ? And 
 then, if they were to commit any extravagan- 
 ces, it would be a pretty piece of business, eh ? 
 to be in the midst of a battle. Oh, poor me ! it 
 would have been better to have gone to the 
 mountains. What do they all want to go to one 
 place for? Stupid creatures!" and then he 
 Crumbled in a lower tone, "every body is 
 here, see, see, see ; one behind the other like 
 animals without any sense." 
 
 "At that rate," said Agnes, "even they 
 might say the same thing of us." 
 
 " Hold your tongue," said Don Abbondio, 
 "all this prating serves no purpose at all. 
 What is done, is done ; here we are, and here 
 we must stay ! It must be as Providence 
 ^leases; God send we may have good luck." 
 
 But it was much worse, when at the en- 
 .ranee of the valley, he perceived a post of 
 armed men, some of them at the door of a 
 louse, and part of them in their quarters in 
 he lower rooms. He took a peep at them, and 
 perceived they were not the same faces he had 
 seen, at his former unhappy trip to the valley, 
 or if they were the same, they were very much, 
 changed, nevertheless it is difficult to describe 
 what trouble the sight of them gave him. Oh, 
 joorme ! thought he, see what foolish doings
 
 192 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 are going on. Indeed, how could it be other- 
 wise ; I ought to have expected such things 
 from such a man as he is. But what does he 
 want to do ? Does he want to make war ? 
 Does he want to be king, eh ? Oh, poor me ! 
 Just at a time when one would be glad to be 
 buried under ground, he is contriving all sorts 
 of ways for people to see him, just to invite 
 them to come here !" 
 
 " See now, master," said Perpetua to him, 
 " see what brave people there are, that will be 
 able to defend us. Let the soldiers come. The 
 folks here are not like our clowns, who can only 
 just move their limbs." 
 
 " Hold your tongue," answered Don Abbon- 
 dio, in an angry and low tone of voice, " be si- 
 lent. You don't know what you are talking 
 about. Pray to Heaven that the soldiers may'nt 
 stop any where to hear what is going on here, 
 and that they are putting things in order just 
 as if it was a fortress. Don't you know that 
 the business of a soldier is to take fortresses ? 
 That's all they want ; for them to go to an as- 
 sault, is like another person going to a wed- 
 ding, for all that they find there they make 
 free with, and they put every body to the 
 sword. Oh, poor me! Well, I'll see if there 
 is no way of making myself safe by getting on 
 the top of one of them peaks. They shall not 
 catch me in one of their battles : oh, they shall 
 not catch me in one of their battles." " Are 
 you afraid too of being defended and assisted ?" 
 Perpetua continued ; out Don Abbondio inter- 
 rupted her sharply, yet always in a low voice, 
 " hold your tongue, and mind you don't men- 
 tion what we have been saying ! Remember 
 that here you must always put on a cheerful 
 face, and appear to approve of every thing 
 that is going on." 
 
 At Malanotte they found another post of 
 armed men, whom Don Abbondio very hum- 
 bly saluted with his hat, saying in his heart, 
 alas, alas, here I have got into the midst of a 
 camp! Here the cart stopped, and they got 
 out. Don Abbondio paid the man who drove 
 them and dismissed him, and began the ascent 
 without uttering a word. The sight of those 
 
 E laces kept awakening in his mind, and ining- 
 ng with his present distress, the remembrance 
 of that he had suffered when he was here be- 
 fore. And Agnes, who had never been here, 
 and who had formed to herself a fantastic pic- 
 ture of the place, every time she thought pi the 
 things that nad taken place here, beholding it 
 now in reality, experienced a new and more 
 lively feeling of those painful recollections. 
 " Oh, signer curate!" she exclaimed, " to think 
 only that iny poor Lucia has passed over this 
 ground!" Will you hold your tongue? Wo- 
 man without discretion !" he cried into her ear, 
 "are these things to speak of here in the camp ? 
 Don't you know that we are here in his house ? 
 It is lucky that no one hears us, but if you 
 talk at this rate " 
 
 "Oh !" said Agnes, " but he is a saint." 
 "Hold your tongue, I say, "replied he," 
 do vou believe thai saints are to be told, with- 
 
 out restraint, every thing that comes into one's 
 head ? Think rather of thanking him for the 
 good he has done to you." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, I had thought about it al- 
 ready. Does your reverence tliink I have got 
 no breeding at all?" 
 
 " Good breeding consists in not saying things 
 that are disagreeable, especially to those that 
 are not accustomed to hear them. And un- 
 derstand well, both of you, that this is no place 
 to play the vixen, and to be saying every thing 
 that comes into your head. It is the house ot 
 a great nobleman, you know that. See what 
 sort of a family he has got about him, people 
 of all kinds here ; so use a little judgment, if 
 you have got any : weigh your words,and above 
 all, make use of very lew, and only when there 
 is a necessity for them, for silence makes no 
 mistakes." 
 
 " Your worship does a great deal worse with 
 all these" Perpetua was beginning to say.but, 
 " hush !" said Don Abbondio, into her ear, and 
 taking his hat off at the same instant, made a 
 profound bow, for looking up he had perceiv- 
 ed the Un-named coming down to meet them. 
 He also had perceived Don Abbondio, and re- 
 cognized him, and made haste to join him. 
 
 " Signor curate," he said, when he drew 
 near, " I should have wished to have offered 
 you my house upon a more happy occasion, 
 but in every way I am glad to be able to serve 
 you in something." 
 
 " I confide in the great goodness of Vossig- 
 noria illustrissima," answered Don Abbondio, 
 " I have been so bold in these sad circumstan- 
 ces as to trouble you, and as Vossignoria illus- 
 trissima sees, I have taken the liberty too of 
 bringing company with me. This is my house- 
 keeper. 
 
 " She is very welcome," said the Un-named. 
 
 "And this," continued Don Abbondio, is a 
 female, to whom Vossignoria has already been 
 kind, she is the mother of that of that of Lu- 
 cia," said Agnes. 
 
 " Of Lucia," exclaimed theUn-named, turn- 
 io Agnes, with his face to the ground. "I, kind ! 
 Immortal God ! you are kind in coming here, to 
 me, to this house. You are welcome. You 
 jring a blessing to us." 
 
 ' Oh, indeed!" said Agnes, " I am come to 
 xouble you, and " she went on drawing nigh 
 ;o his ear, " I have to thank you besides for " 
 
 The Un-named interrupted her,and anxious- 
 y inquired after Lucia, he then turned to ac- 
 company his new guests to the castle.in spite of 
 he ceremonious resistance which they made. 
 Agnes gave the curate a look which seemed 
 osay you can see now how little occasion 
 here is for you to interfere with your opin- 
 ous between us two. 
 
 "Are they arrived at your parish :" asked 
 he Un-named. 
 
 1 " No, signer, I would not wait for such de- 
 vils," answered he. " Heaven knows, whe- 
 her I should have got alive out of their hands, 
 and been able to come here to trouble Vossig- 
 noria illustrissima."
 
 THE METROPOLITAN; 
 
 A MISCELLAXY OF LITERATURE AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Vol. II. 
 
 Washington) July 
 
 1834. 
 
 No. 4. 
 
 " Well, well, be of good heart," said the Un- 
 named, "you are now in security. They will 
 not coine up here, and if they should try it, we 
 are ready to receive them." 
 
 "I hope they will not come," said Don Ab- 
 bondio, " I hear," he added, pointing to the 
 mountains that closed the valley on the other 
 side, " I hear, that on that side too there is an- 
 other troop coming, but but " 
 
 " It is true," answered the Un-named,but be 
 under no apprehension, we are ready for them 
 both." 
 
 Between two fires said Don Abbondio to 
 himself, precisely between two fires. Where 
 have I let them bring me ? and by a couple of 
 chattering silly women too. And he seems to be 
 quite glad that we have got into this trouble. 
 Oh, what people there are in this world ! 
 
 Having entered the castle, Agnes and Per- 
 petua were conducted to a room in that part of 
 it assigned to females, which occupied three 
 of the four sides of the second court, in the 
 back part of the building, upon a jutting and 
 isolated mass, overhanging a precipice. The 
 men were lodged in the sides of the other courr, 
 to the right and to the left, and in the side that 
 fronted the esplanade. The central part of the 
 building, which separated the two courts, and 
 through which there was a communication 
 from one to the other, by a broad passage op- 
 posite to the principal gate, was in part occu- 
 pied by provisions, and partly served as a place 
 of deposite for the things which the refugees 
 had brought with them. In the inens' quar- 
 ter there was a small apartment destined to the 
 ecclesiastics who might come. There the Un- 
 named accompanied Don Abbondio, who was 
 the first to take possession of it. 
 
 Twenty-three or twenty-four days our wan- 
 derers remained in the castle, amidst a conti- 
 nual movement, and a great company, which 
 at first kept continually increasing, but with- 
 out any adventures of importance . Not a day, 
 to be sure, passed, that the men were not call- 
 ed to arms. Landsknechts were seen here, 
 and cappelletti were seen there. At every 
 news, the Un-named sent men to explore ; and 
 if it appeared an urgent case, took some of his 
 people along with him, whom he always held 
 in readiness, and went with them out of the 
 valley, to the part where danger was appre- 
 hended. And it was a most singular specta- 
 cle, to see a troop of men armed to the throat, 
 and in military order, led by a chief himself 
 unarmed. In general, the enemy they went to 
 seek were foragers, or disbanded plunderers, 
 
 that fled before they came up with them. But 
 upon one occasion, driving some of these to 
 teach them not to approach in that quarter, the 
 Un-named received information that a small 
 neighboring town had been invaded and de- 
 livered to plunder. The men who had done 
 this, were landsknechts of various corps, who 
 had remained behind to forage, and who hav- 
 ing formed into a squadron, tried to surprise 
 the towns contiguous to where the army was 
 quartered, to plunder the inhabitants, and lay 
 them under contribution. The Un-named made 
 a short speech to his men, and led them on in the 
 direction of the small town they had invaded. 
 They arrived there quite unexpectedly ; 
 the enemy believing they had nothing to do 
 but plunder, seeing themselves attacked by 
 armed men, ready lor fight, left their business 
 half done, and without waiting for one another, 
 fled to the place they had come from. He pur- 
 sued them for a short distance, then having 
 halted, he waited a while to see if any thing 
 should occur, and returned. On his passage 
 through the place he had saved, shouts of ap- 
 plause and benedictions were poured out on 
 the friendly troop that had preserved them, and 
 on their leader. 
 
 In the castle, in such a chance multitude, 
 various in condition, in manners, in sex, and 
 age, no disorder of any consequence ever took 
 place. The Un-named had placed guards in 
 every quarter, who endeavored to remove eve- 
 ry inconvenience, with the zeal that each one 
 carried into the business that was intrusted to 
 him. 
 
 He had requested the ecclesiastics, and those 
 who had most authority amongst the refugees, 
 to give a vigilant eye to what was going on. 
 And as often as he could, he was going about 
 to show himself: but, even in his absence, the 
 recollection of whose house they were in, serv- 
 ed to restrain those who might have been dis- 
 posed to give trouble : besides, all were peo- 
 ple who had run away, and for that reason, 
 generally inclined to be quiet ; the thoughts of 
 home and of their property, of the relations and 
 friends they had left in danger, and the news 
 they received, all tended to depress their spi- 
 rits, and kept up and increased that disposi- 
 tion the more. There were also some heads 
 free from care, men of a more staid disposition, 
 and of a more lively courage, who endeavored 
 to pass their time cheerfully. They had aban- 
 doned their homes because they were not strong 
 enough to defend them ; but they took no plea- 
 
 in weeping and sighing after what could 
 193
 
 194 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN 
 
 not be remedied, and avoided dwelling in im- 
 agination upon the destruction, which unfor- 
 tunately, they would be visible witnesses of 
 some day. Families already acquainted had 
 fled in company, or had met at the castle ; new 
 friendships were formed, and the crowd had 
 divided itself into groups, according to their 
 customs and inclination. 
 
 Those who had money and discretion, went 
 down into the valley, where, for the occasion, 
 public houses and taverns had been hastily es- 
 tablished ; there, in some of them, lamentations 
 alternated with their mouthfuls, and nothing 
 but their distresses was permitted to be talked 
 of; in others, sorrow was never spoken of, but 
 only to say it was not to be talked about. 
 Those who could not, or would not, go to any 
 expense, had bread, soup, and wine, distribu- 
 ted to them at the castle ; there were besides, 
 gome tables daily served, for those whom the 
 master had expressly invited, and amongst 
 those were our acquaintances. 
 
 Agnes and Perpetua, that they might earn 
 their food, had requested to be employed in the 
 service that was required for such an extensive 
 asylum, and in this they passed a great part of 
 the day, and the remaining part of it in talking 
 with some female friends they had made, or 
 with poor Don Abbondio. He had nothing at 
 all to do, but still was not annoyed on that ac- 
 count, fear kept him company. The appre- 
 hensions of an assault, I believe had passed 
 away from him, or if he had any of them, they 
 did not give him the most trouble, for every 
 time he turned his thoughts for an instant that 
 way, he must have perceived how little foun- 
 dation there was for them. But the idea of 
 the neighboring country, inundated on every 
 side with ferocious soldiers, the arms and the 
 armed men he had constantly before him, a 
 castle, that particular castle, the thought of 
 the many things that might take place at eve- 
 ry moment in such a situation, kept him in an 
 indistinct, general, and continual dread, leav- 
 ing aside the inquietude that the thoughts of 
 his poor house gave him. During the whole 
 time he remained in this asylum, he never left 
 it a stone's throw, nor ever set his foot on the 
 descent : his only walk was to go out on the es- 
 planade, and wander from one side to the other 
 of the castle, looking down amongst the ra- 
 vines and bushes, to examine whether there 
 was a pass in the least degree practicable, or 
 any path, by which he might go to look for a 
 hiding place in case of an attack. To all his 
 fellow companions in the place he made pro- 
 found reverences, but avoided being familiar 
 with them ; his most frequent conversations 
 were with the two women, as we have said ; 
 with them he gave vent to his vexations, at 
 the risk of a quarrel with Perpetua, or being 
 shamed even by Agnes. At table too, where 
 he staid a very short time, and spoke very lit- 
 tle, he heard the news of the terrible passage, 
 which arrived every day, traveling on from 
 town to town, and from mouth to mouth, or 
 brought to the castle by some one, who at first 
 
 had thought of remaining at home, and at last 
 was obliged to fly without Ijeine able to save 
 any thing, and perhaps ill-treated. Every day 
 there was some new story of distress ; some 
 who were professional newsmongers careful- 
 ly collected all the reports, sifted all the ac- 
 counts, and gave the essence of them to others ; 
 others disputed which regiments were the most 
 ferocious, whether the infantry or the cavalry 
 were worse ; they repeated as well as they could 
 the names of the condottieri ; the past under- 
 takings of some of them were related, their sta- 
 tions and marches were specified : such a day 
 a particular regiment was in such and such 
 places, tomorrow it would visit others, whilst 
 111 the meantime it was playing the devil and 
 worse in such another. Above all, information 
 was sought for, and an account kept of the re- 
 giments that by turns passed the bridge of Lec- 
 co, because those might be considered as gone, 
 and completely out of the district. There was 
 the cavalry of Wallenstein, the infantry of Mar- 
 radas, the horse of Anlzalt, the Brandensburgh 
 foot, the cavalry of Montecuccoli, and that of 
 Ferrari. Altringer had passed, then Fursten- 
 berg, then Colloredo, then the Croats, then Tor- 
 quato Conti, then others and others, and at last 
 it pleased heaven that Galasso also should pass, 
 who was the last. 
 
 The flying squadron of Venetians at last al- 
 so drew off, and the whole country, to the right 
 and to the left, was perfectly free. The peo- 
 ple from the places which had been first enter- 
 ed and left, had begun to leave the castle ; eve- 
 ry day some were going away, as after an au- 
 tumnal storm, the birds are seen in every di- 
 rection issuing from the leafy branches of a 
 large tree where they had taken shelter. Our 
 three acquaintances were the last to go away, 
 and that on account of Don Abbondio, who 
 feared, if he returned home directly, to find 
 some stray landsknechts about at the tail of 
 the army. Perpetua might talk as she pleased, 
 and tell him the longer he delayed, the more 
 opportunities he gave to the rogues of the place 
 to enter the house.and take what was left, when- 
 ever his own skin was in question, he was sure 
 to conquer her, unless indeed the imminence 
 of the danger made him incapable of resistance. 
 
 The day fixed upon for the departure, the 
 Un-namedhad a carriage brought toMalanotte, 
 in which he had ordered an assortment of linen 
 to be put for Agnes. Taking her on one side, 
 be made her also accept a small purse of 
 crowns, to repair the destruction she would 
 find in her house, although putting her hand 
 on her bust, she assured him she had some of 
 the old ones left yet. 
 
 " When you snail see your poor good Lu- 
 cia," he said to her at the last, " I am sure she 
 will pray for me ; since I have done her so much 
 evil, teU her that I thank her, and that I trust 
 in God that her prayers wiH bring down also 
 benedictions upon herself." 
 
 He insisted on accompany ing all three of his 
 guests to the carriage; the humble and obsequi- 
 ous thanks of Don Abbondio, and the compli-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 195 
 
 mentary things said by Perpetua, may be ima- 
 gined. They drove olf, and made, as had been 
 agreed upon, a short stop at the tailor's house, 
 where a thousand things were told them about 
 the passage of the troops, the old story of plun- 
 dering, of assaults, of ruin, and of filth ; but by 
 good fortune no landsknechts had been there. 
 
 " Ah, signor curate," said the tailor, giving 
 him his arm to get into the carriage " there 
 will have to be some printed books, about such 
 a terrible affair as this has been." 
 
 As soon as they had made a little progress 
 our travelers began to perceive with their 
 own eyes a little of what they had so often 
 heard described. Vineyards destroyed and 
 stripped, not as after the vintage, but as if hail 
 and hurricane had been in company among 
 them ; the brandies lying on the ground, torn 
 and trampled under foot, the stakes pulled up, 
 the soil trodden down and covered with stones, 
 leaves, and shoots : the trees were lopped and 
 split, the hedges were full of gaps, and the di- 
 viding fences all carried away. In the towns, 
 the doors were broke, the paper windows all 
 torn, and straw, rags, fragments, in heaps, or 
 scattered in the streets : the air was heavy, 
 and bad smells came out of the houses. The 
 country people were either cleansing their 
 houses from the filth, repairing them as well as 
 they could, or in knots weeping and lamenting 
 together ; and as the carriage passed, hands 
 were stretched out to the doors to ask for alms. 
 
 With this spectacle, now before their eyes, 
 now in their imaginations, expecting to find 
 the same state of things at home ; they at last 
 arrived, and found things precisely as they ex- 
 pected. 
 
 Agnes placed her bundles in a corner of the 
 court-yard, which had remained the cleanest 
 part of the premises : she then began to put 
 things in order, and to collect the small affairs 
 that had been left undestroyed ; she got a car- 
 penter and a smith to repair her doors ; and 
 opening the present of linen she had received, 
 and secretly counting the new crowns which 
 had been given to her, she exclaimed to herself 
 I have fighted on my feet, God and the ma- 
 donna be thanked, and that good gentleman 
 I may truly say I have fallen on my feet ! 
 
 Don Abbondio and Perpetua got into their 
 house, without the aid of keys ; at every step 
 they advanced in the passage, they felt a moul- 
 dy, diseased, pestilential air, that drove them 
 back; with their hands to their noses, they 
 reached the kitchen door, and entered a-tiptoe, 
 carefully minding where they trod to avoid the 
 most disgusting and filthy parts of the litter 
 that was on the floor, and giving a look all 
 round. Nothing was left entire, but pieces 
 and fragments of what had been so, were seen 
 both here and every where, in every corner : 
 feathers and quills of Perpetua's fowls, strips 
 of linen, leaves from the calendars of Don 
 Abbondio, pieces of earthenware, altogether, 
 or scattered about. Upon the hearth only could 
 be traced the signs of a complete pillage, all 
 closely brought into a place together, Bke a 
 
 great many ideas not expressed but understood 
 in the speech of an eloquent man. Ends of 
 brands, and burnt pieces of wood, that convey- 
 ed the idea of the elbow of an arm chair, the 
 foot of a table, the door of a closet, the post of 
 a beadstead, the stave of the cask which once 
 contained the wine that fortified the stomach 
 Don Abbondio. The rest was all ashes and 
 charcoal, and with this very charcoal, the spoil- 
 ers, by way of compensation, had begrimed the 
 walls over with queer figures, ingeniously con- 
 triving with certain square caps and tonsures, 
 and broad faces, to imitate priests, taking great 
 pains to make them as horrible and ridiculous 
 as possible, an intention, that truly such artists 
 could not fail in. 
 
 " Hogs !" exclaimed Perpetua. " Rascals !" 
 exclaimed Don Abbondio; and as if they were 
 escaping, they ran out by another door that 
 opened into the garden. Here they drew breath, 
 and went to the fig tree, but ere they reached 
 it, they perceived the earth had been removed, 
 and both of them screamed out together : when 
 they got there, they found that the corpse 
 which had been buried there, had been taken 
 away. Here a little scandal took place. Don 
 Abbondio reproached Perpetua with having 
 awkwardly hid the things, and as may be sup- 
 posed, she returned it with interest : as soon 
 as they had both of them made a pretty good 
 noise, they returned to the house grumbling, 
 with their arms stretched out, and their fingers 
 pointed to the hole. All over the house they 
 found nearly the same state of things. They 
 had some difficulty in getting the house cleans- 
 ed and disinfested, it being not very practica- 
 ble at such a time to get any assistance, and 
 they had to live some time, almost as if they 
 were in camp, accommodating themselves as 
 well as they could, until they got the doors, the 
 movables, and the utensils replaced, with mo- 
 ney that was borrowed of Agnes. 
 
 This disaster proved to be in the end, the 
 germ of some very troublesome disputes ; for 
 Perpetua, by force of asking questions, of peep- 
 ing and putting her nose every where, Ibund 
 out that some goods, belonging to her master, 
 which were supposed to have been carried away 
 
 destroyed by the soldiers, were instead of 
 that, in very good order, in the possession of 
 some people of the place, and she kept plaguing 
 ier master to assert his rights, and get his pro- 
 perty again. This was a disagreeable chord 
 :o strike on with Don Abbondio, for his pro- 
 lerty was in the possession of rogues, a class 
 )f persons he had been always very solicitous 
 :o be at peace with. 
 
 " But I don't want to know any thing about 
 them !" said he. " How often have I not told 
 , that what is gone, is gone ? Am I to be 
 ormented now because other people have rob- 
 )ed my house ?" 
 
 " That's just what I say ! You would let 
 :hem tear one's eyes out of one's head. It's 
 a sin to steal from other people, but it's no sin 
 ;o rob you." 
 
 1 Only see how stupidly you can talk !"re-
 
 196 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 plied Don Abbondio. " Will you hold your 
 tongue, then?" 
 
 Perpetua stopped, but not immediately, and 
 this was only for a pretext to break out again ; 
 so that at last the poor man was reduced to the 
 point of not daring to utter a single regret be- 
 cause this or the other thing was not there, 
 when he stood in need of it, as she immediate- 
 ly broke out with, " go and look for it at such 
 a ones who has got it, and would not have 
 kept it until this time if he had not known it 
 belonged to a good natured man." 
 
 Another, and more lively uneasiness sprung 
 from his hearing of straggling soldiers passing 
 every day, as ne had too well conjectured, 
 which kept him in constant apprehension of 
 some of them, or even a troop coming to his 
 house : he had had the door repaired the first 
 thing, and kept it secured with great care, but 
 it pleased heaven to spare him that distress. 
 These terrors, however, had scarcely ceased, 
 when a new one broke out. 
 
 But we leave the poor curate aside now, as 
 we have to speak of something else besides 
 private apprehensions, or the distress of parti- 
 cular towns, or of a temporary disaster. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 THE plague, which the tribunal of health 
 had feared might enter with the German troops 
 into the Milanese territory, had really been 
 brought there, as is known ; and it is equally 
 known that it did not stop there, but invaded 
 and undid a great part of Italy. Led by the 
 thread of our story, we come now to recount 
 the principal events of that calamity, in the 
 Milanese we wish to be understood, and in- 
 deed in Milan exclusively : for it is of the city 
 alone all the memorials of the time speak, as 
 it usually happens every where, for good and 
 bad reasons. And in this relation, our intent 
 is not, to speak the truth, to describe the state 
 of things wliere our principal personages were, 
 but to make our readers acquainted, as far as 
 we can in a brief space, and indeed as well as 
 we can, a portion of our country's history more 
 famous than known. 
 
 Of the numerous contemporaneous accounts, 
 there is not one which of itself suffices to give 
 a condensed and well arranged idea, as there 
 is not one, which is not useful in acquiring 
 one. In each, without excepting that of Ri- 
 pamonti,* who is far before them all in the 
 abundance and choice of his facts, and still 
 more so in his mode of considering them ; in 
 each, essential facts are omitted which are re- 
 corded in others, in each there are material 
 errors which may be perceived and rectified 
 
 * Joseph! Ripamontii, canonici Scalensis, chronis- 
 tx urbia Mediolani,De peste qua; fuit anno 1630, Libri 
 v. Mediolani, 1640, apud Malatesta*. 
 
 by the aid of another, or those few acts of public 
 authority, edited or inedited, which have been 
 preserved. Frequently in one we find those 
 causes, of which in another we have seen, in 
 an isolated state, the effects. In all of them, 
 there prevails a strange confusion of times and 
 things, and a perpetual going backwards and 
 forwards, at random, without any general de- 
 sign, or regular plan even in particulars. A 
 character, as to the rest, very generally belong- 
 ing to the books of that period, those princi- 
 pally written in our language, at least those 
 which were written in Italy, which we doubt 
 whether the learned in other parts of Europe 
 are aware of. No writer of a later period has 
 proposed to examine and compare those ac- 
 counts, to draw a connected chain of events 
 from them, as history of that plague ; so that the 
 notion generally entertained of it is necessarily 
 uncertain and rather confused : an indetermi- 
 nate idea of great evils and great errors, (and in 
 truth both one and the other existed to a de- 
 gree far beyond what can be imagined,) an 
 idea formed more from opinion than from facts, 
 a few scattered facts, unaccompanied by their 
 most characteristic circumstances, and with- 
 out distinction of time, that is without any re- 
 lation to cause and effect, its course and pro- 
 gress. As to ourselves, we have examined and 
 compared, with great diligence at least, all the 
 printed accounts, more than one inedited one, 
 many (in respect to the few which remain) 
 documents which are called official : we have 
 endeavored to give such a relation of this pest, 
 not the most perfect that could be produced, 
 but such a one as has never been given yet. 
 
 We do not mean to refer to all the public 
 acts, nor to all the incidents deserving of being 
 preserved, much less do we pretend to render 
 the reading of the old accounts useless to those 
 who desire to have a more complete detail ; 
 we are too sensible what a lively, powerful, 
 and almost incommunicable character there is 
 in works of that kind, however conceived and 
 constructed. We have only endeavored to dis- 
 tinguish and ascertain the most remarkable 
 facts, to arrange them in their proper order of 
 succession, as far as their nature is suscepti- 
 ble of it, to observe then- mutual efficiency, and 
 thus to give for the present, and until others 
 furnish something better, a succinct, but true 
 and continuous relation of that disaster. 
 
 Alone the whole line of country through 
 which the army passed, a few dead bodies had 
 been found in the houses, and on the road. 
 Very soon after, individuals and whole fami- 
 lies began to sicken and to die, in various parts 
 of the country, of violent and extraordinary 
 complaints, the symptoms of which were un- 
 known to the greater part of the living. There 
 were only a few persons who had seen them 
 before, those who were old enough to remem- 
 ber the plague which, fifty three years before, 
 had desolated a great part of Italy, and espe- 
 cially the Milanese, wliere it was called, and 
 still is, the plague of San Carlo. So great is 
 the power 01 charity ! In the various and very
 
 I PROMESS1 SPOSI. 
 
 197 
 
 solemn memorials we have of such an univer- 
 sal misfortune, it has been able to bring out in 
 full relief, the great benevolence of one man ; 
 inspiring him with feelings and actions more 
 memoral than the misfortune itself, and stamp- 
 ing him in his men's minds as the symbol of all 
 these sad events ; in the whole of which it 
 urged him forwards to resist the evil ; himself 
 the guide, the succor, the example, and at 
 length the voluntary victim ; a power, that 
 could make what was a common calamity, ap- 
 pear to be an enterprise peculiarly his own, 
 and which could honor it with his name, as if 
 it was a conquest or a discovery. 
 
 The head physician, Ludovico Settala, who 
 had not only witnessed that plague, but who 
 had been one of the most active and intrepid ; 
 and, although very young, one of the most cele- 
 brated practitioners, and who now having 
 strong suspicions about this, was upon the 
 alert collecting information, communicated to 
 the tribunal of health, on the 20th October, 
 that in the town of Chuiso, the last of the ter- 
 ritory of Lecco, on the Bergamasc frontier, the 
 contagion had undoubtedly broke out : no steps 
 however were taken in consequence, at is sta- 
 ted by Tadino, page 24. 
 
 Similar accounts were now received from 
 Lecco and Bellano. The tribunal then came 
 to a determination, but contented itself with 
 despatching a commissary, who was to take 
 up a physician at Como, on the road, and ac- 
 companied by him, should visit the places 
 that had been mentioned. Both of them " ei- 
 ther from ignorance, or for some other reason, 
 suffered themselves to be persuaded by an old 
 ignorant barber at Bellano, that that kind of 
 disorder was not the plague," but in some pla- 
 ces was the usual effect produced by the con- 
 tinual exhalations from the marshes ; and eve- 
 ry where else, was the consequence of the 
 hardships and discomforts suffered during the 
 passage of the Germans. This assurance was 
 carried to the tribunal, which appears to have 
 been tranquilized by it. 
 
 But news continually arriving of increasing 
 mortality in different parts of the country, two 
 delegates were despatched to investigate and 
 examine themselves ; the aforesaid Tadino,and 
 an auditor of the tribunal. When they got in- 
 to the country, the proofs were so numerous 
 that it was not necessary to use any diligence 
 in looking for them. They traversed the ter- 
 ritory of Lecco, of Valsassina, the banks of the 
 lake of Como, the districts called Mount Bri- 
 anza and the Gera of Adda, and every where 
 found barriers about the towns, some almost 
 deserted, the inhabitants having abandoned 
 them, and having encamped in the country, or 
 being dispersed. 
 
 "They seemed to us," says Tadino, "like 
 so many wild creatures, carrying mint, and 
 me, and rosemary in their hands, and some of 
 them cruets of vinegar. They made inqui- 
 ries of the number of those who had died, and 
 it was dreadful. They examined both the sick 
 and the dead, and saw the lurid and terrible 
 
 marks of the pestilence every where. As soon 
 as possible, they communicated by letter the 
 fatal news to the tribunal of health, which on 
 their reception, as Tadino says, " set about" 
 regulating passports, and closing the gates of 
 the city against all persons coming from in- 
 fected districts " and whilst the proclamation 
 was preparing," some summary orders were 
 given by anticipation to the revenue officers 
 at the gates. 
 
 In the meantime, the delegates with as much 
 despatch as they could, made such precaution- 
 ary arrangements as they were able to do for 
 the best, and returned with the sad feeling that 
 they were altogether insufficient to remedy 
 or arrest an evil which had spread itself so 
 much, and had advanced so rapidly. 
 
 On the 14th November, both a verbal and 
 written report being delivered to the tribunal, 
 they were commissioned to present themselves 
 to the governor, and disclose the real state of 
 things to him. They presented themselves to 
 him, and reported, that he had appeared very 
 much troubled on receiving the information ; 
 and that he had evinced a good deal of feeling, 
 but that the affairs of the war were more press- 
 ing, sed belli graviores esse curas.* This is what 
 Ripamonti says, who had examined the regis- 
 ters of the tribunal, and had conferred with 
 Tadino, who was especially charged with the 
 mission. It was the second, if the reader re- 
 members, on the same errand. Two or three 
 days afterwards, on the 18th November, the 
 governor issued a decree, in which he ordered 
 public demonstrations for the birth of Prince 
 Charles, the first born of King Philip IV, with- 
 out suspecting or even caring about the danger 
 of bringing a concourse of people together un- 
 der such circumstances, as if it had been in 
 ordinary times, and pestilence had not even 
 been spoken of. 
 
 The governor, as we have before said, was 
 the celebrated Ambrogio Spinola, expressly 
 sent to re-establish the war, to remedy the 
 blunders of Don Gonzalo, and incidentally, as 
 it were, to govern the people. We can also 
 incidentally mention, that he died a few months 
 afterwards, in the same war he had so much at 
 heart, and died, not of w r ounds received in the 
 field, but in his bed, of sorrow and rankling at 
 the heart, on account of the reproaches, the 
 vexations, and disgusts of every kind, that he 
 had received from those he served. History 
 has deplored his fate, and has marked the in- 
 gratitude observed towards him ; it has descri- 
 bed with great care his military and political 
 conduct, praised his foresight, his activity, and 
 constancy. History might have inquired where 
 those qualities were, when the plague was 
 menacing and invading a population, confided 
 to his care and vigilance. 
 
 But what, leaving the blame entire, dimin- 
 ishes our surprise at his conduct, what creates 
 greater and more lively astonishment, is the 
 behavior of the population itself, of that part 
 
 * Ripamonti, p. 215
 
 198 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 of it I mean to say, which not yet seizec 
 by the contagion, had such just cause to dreai 
 it On the arrival of these news from the towns 
 thus desolated, and which form a circle abou 
 the city, in some points not more distant from 
 it than twenty miles, and others eighteen, who 
 would not have thought that a general com- 
 motion would have broke out, and an impati- 
 ent solicitude for some regulations, good or bad, 
 to be established, or at least a silent inquie- 
 tude. Yet, if in any one thing the memoirs of 
 the time agree, it is in the fact, that nothing of 
 the kind took place. The penury of the pre- 
 ceding year, the distresses- created by the sol- 
 diers,ihe afflictions of mind, seemed more than 
 sufficient to account for the mortality. At 
 the pot-houses, in the shops, in the houses, 
 whoever uttered a word about the danger, 
 whoever hinted at the plague, was met by in- 
 credulous mockery, or with contemptuous an- 
 ger. The same incredulity, the same, to give 
 it a more just name, blindness and obstinacy 
 prevailed in the senate, in the council of decu- 
 rions and in every magistrature. 
 
 I find that Cardinal Federigo, as soon as the 
 first cases of contagion became known.enjoined 
 the clergy by pastoral letters, amongst other 
 things, to inculcate to the people the impor- 
 tance and obligation of making known every 
 case that should occur, and to put away all in- 
 fected and suspicious things.* This also may 
 be enumerated amongst his singular and praise- 
 worthy actions. 
 
 The tribunal of health solicited help, and the 
 establishment of precautions, but it was almost 
 in vain. And in the tribunal itself, they were 
 far from meeting the urgency of the case. It 
 was, as Tadino frequently asserts, and as it ap- 
 pears most clearly from the whole of his nar- 
 rative, the two physicians, who persuaded 
 fully of the imminence and importance of the 
 danger, urged that body, which had afterwards 
 to stimulate all the others. 
 
 We have seen, on the first news of the plague 
 how tardily they went to work, even in pro- 
 curing information : here we have another fact 
 connected with their slow movements, not less 
 extraordinary, if it was not produced by obsta- 
 cles originating with the superior magistrates. 
 The proclamation concerning passports, which 
 was considered the 30th October, was not de- 
 termined upon until the 23d of the following 
 month, and was not published until the 29th. 
 The plague was already in Milan, 
 
 Tadino and Ilipamonti were desirous of re- 
 cording the names of the persons who carried it 
 there first, and other details concerning them ; 
 and in fact, when we turn our attention to the 
 beginning of such a vast mortality, in which 
 the victims, to say nothing of distinguishing 
 them by name, can scarce DC approximative^ 
 designated by the number of thousands who 
 die, we experience a particular interest to be 
 acquainted with those first and few names, 
 
 * Viladi Fcderijfo Borroinoo, 
 
 la cerjfo orroinoo, iMiiiinla 
 co Rivola. Mihuio, 1666, p. 584. 
 
 aio da Frances- 
 
 which might have been noted and preserved ; 
 that sort of distinction, which a precedence in 
 extermination gives, seems to be found in 
 them, and in the particulars connected with 
 them, even when they are trifling, something 
 singularly fatal and memorable. 
 
 Lach of these historians says, that it was an 
 Italian soldier in the Spanish service, upon 
 more than this they do not agree, not even up- 
 on his name. According to Tadino, it was one 
 Pietro Antonio Lovato who had been quarter- 
 ed in the territory of Lecco ; and according to 
 Ripamonti, one Pier Paolo Locati, who had 
 been quartered at Chiavenna. They differ also 
 as to the day that he entered Milan, Tadino 
 says it was the 22d October, the other refers it 
 to the same day of the following month, but 
 we cannot agree with either of them. Both 
 these periods are contradicted by other state- 
 ments, well ascertained. And yet Ripamonti, 
 who wrote by order of the general council of 
 decurions.must have had at his command many 
 means of acquiring the necessary information ; 
 and Tadino, by reason of his office, had it in 
 in his power, more than any other, to fix a fact 
 of this nature. As to the rest, from the agree- 
 ment of other dates, which, as we have said, 
 appear to us better ascertained, it results that it 
 was before the publication of the proclamation 
 concerning passports, and if the matter was of 
 any importance, we might also prove, or al- 
 most prove, that it must have been about the 
 first of that month, but the reader will dispense 
 with our pursuing the subject. 
 
 However this may be, this unfortunate fel- 
 low and messenger of misfortune, entered the 
 city with a large bundle of clothes purchased 
 or stolen from the Germans, went to lodge at 
 the house of one of his relations, at the street 
 at the oriental gate, near the capuchins. Scarce 
 had he got there when he became ill, was ta- 
 ken to the hospital, and there a bubo, which 
 appeared under his arm, induced the person 
 who had the charge of him to suspect his dis- 
 order : on the fourth day he died. 
 
 The tribunal of health ordered his family to 
 be interdicted from holding any intercourse 
 wtth others, and his clothes, and the bed on 
 which he had laid at the hospital, were burnt. 
 Two servants who had waited upon him, and 
 a good friar who had attended him, fell sick 
 also in a few days, and died of the plague. 
 The doubts that had been entertained from the 
 K-ginning of the nature of the complaint, and 
 :he precautions used in consequence, stopped 
 he contagion from being further propagated. 
 But the soldier had left behind him a seed 
 that was not long in germinating. The first 
 )erson in whom it broke out, was the master 
 >f the house where he had lodged, one Carlo 
 2olonna, a lute player. All the occupants of 
 hat house, were, by order of the tribunal of 
 icalth, taken to the lazaretto, where the great- 
 >r part of them took to their beds, and a few 
 >f them died very soon after of manifest con- 
 agion. 
 In the city, that which had been spread by
 
 1 PROMESS1 SPOS1. 
 
 199 
 
 these pepole, and by their clothes and other 
 things, that had been conveyed away by rela- 
 tions, lodgers, and servants, to prevent their 
 being burnt by order of the tribunal, as well 
 the additional contagion that had been intro- 
 duced by the defect in the orders of the autho- 
 rities, neglect in their execution, and dexteri- 
 ty in eluding them, was brooding and creep- 
 ing on slowly all the rest of the year, and the 
 first months of the following year, 1630. From 
 time to tine, now in this, now in that quarter, 
 some one was seized by it, and a death would 
 occasionally occur : the variety of these cases 
 kept down apprehensions about the plague, 
 and confirmed still more the generality in that 
 stupid and homicidal belief that it was not the 
 plague, nor ever had been so. Many physi- 
 cians too, echoing the voice of the people, 
 (was that voice, m this case, the voice of 
 God ? ) derided these sinister auguries, and the 
 threatening prognostications of a few : they had 
 names of diseases in readiness to give to eve- 
 ry case of plague they were called in to, what- 
 ever the symptoms or indications might be. 
 
 The information of these cases when it did 
 reach the tribunal, came tardily, and was usu- 
 ally very uncertain. The fear of being found 
 contumacious, and of being sent to the lazaret- 
 to, sharpened their wits : cases were suppress- 
 ed, the grave diggers and the magistrates were 
 corrupted ; even from the inferior officers of the 
 tribunal, that were deputed to examine the 
 dead bodies, false certificates were procured 
 with money. 
 
 But, as every time the tribunal succeeded in 
 ascertaining cases of contagion, it ordered the 
 clothes to be burnt, cut off all intercourse with 
 houses, and sent families to the lazaretto, it 
 may be easily imagined how strong the anger 
 and the murmurs of the population were, " both 
 of the nobles, the merchants, and the common 
 people,"* persuaded as they all were, that 
 these were vexations without cause or utility. 
 The chief odium fell upon the two physicians, 
 Tadino and the senator Settala, son of the head 
 physician, to such a point, thai they could not 
 even cross the market place, without being vio- 
 lently abused, and sometimes having stones 
 thrown at them. And certainly it deserves to 
 be recorded ; the singular position of these 
 men for several months, who saw a horrible 
 scourge approaching, who made the most re- 
 solute efforts to meet and arrest it, who found 
 besides the arduousness of their undertaking, 
 obstacles from every quarter in the will of the 
 people they sought to serve, who were the ob- 
 jects of public reproaches, and were called 
 enemies of their country. Pro patria hostibus, 
 says Ripamonti.t 
 
 The other physicians who were convinced, 
 like them, of the reality of the contagion, 
 who suggested precautions, and who endea- 
 vored to communicate to others the painful 
 certainty they were under, shared this hatred. 
 
 * Tardino, p. 73. 
 
 t Page 251. 
 
 The least violent taxed them with being dupes, 
 and with obstinacy, the others said it was evi- 
 dent imposture, and called them an organized 
 cabal, that wanted to grow rich out of the pub- 
 lic dread. 
 
 The head physician Ludovico Settala, al- 
 most an octogenarian, who had been a profes- 
 sor of medicine in the university of Pavia, 
 afterwards of moral philosophy at Milan, the 
 author of many works then enjoying a high 
 reputation, well known for having been called 
 to the chairs of the universities of Ingolstadt, 
 Pisa, Bologna, and Padua, and for having de- 
 clined them all, was a man of the greatest au- 
 thority in his time. To a reputation for science, 
 was added that of a well spent life ; and with 
 the public admiration, he enjoyed the public 
 esteem, on account of his great charity in pre- 
 scribing for and doing good to the poor. It is 
 a thing which somewhat disturbs and saddens 
 the great esteem inspired by these merits, but 
 which then must have increased the respect 
 entertained for him, that he partook of the 
 common and most fatal prejudices of his co- 
 temporaries : he was in advance of them, but 
 still formed a part of the great mass, a circum- 
 stance that sometimes is the cause of mis- 
 fortune, and which frequently causes men to 
 lose the authority they had otherwise acquired. 
 But the reputation which he enjoyed did not 
 suffice to subdue the common opinion in this 
 affair of the pestilence, it could not even pro- 
 tect him from the animosity and the insults of 
 that portion of the people that passes easily 
 from opinion to demonstration, and actual vio- 
 lence. 
 
 One day when he was going in his litter to 
 see his patients, some men began to gather 
 around him, saying he was the nead of those 
 who insisted upon it that it was the plague, that 
 it was him who terrified the whole city with 
 his severe aspect and grey beard, all to give 
 work to the doctors. The crowd and the riot 
 increased so much, that the bearers seeing the 
 matter becoming serious, sought an asylum for 
 their master in a friendly house, which fortu- 
 nately was near. This he got, for clearly per- 
 ceiving and stating the truth, and for trying to 
 save from the plague many thousands of per- 
 sons ; the same man who had co-operated at a 
 consultation, to torment as a witch, by pincers 
 and hot irons, a poor unfortunate woman, be- 
 cause her master had a pain in his stomach, 
 and a former master of hers had been enamor- 
 ed of her ;* an act which procured him an uni- 
 versal eulogium for his wisdom, and what is 
 intolerable to think upon, a new title to the 
 public gratitude. 
 
 Towards the end of March, first at the quar- 
 ter of the oriental gate, then in every other 
 part of the city, cases began to grow frequent, 
 deaths, with uncommon symptoms of spasms, 
 palpitations, lethargy and delirium, with dis- 
 coloration of the flesh and buboes. The deaths 
 
 * Storia di Milano del Conte Pletro Verri. Milano 
 1823, torn. iv. 155.
 
 200 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 were rapid, violent, and not unfrequently sud- 
 den, without any preceding indications of sick- 
 ness. The physicians opposed to the opinion 
 of contagion, and being unwilling to confess 
 what they had before derided, yet being oblig- 
 ed to give a distinct name to a new scourge, 
 now too general and too obvious, to be with- 
 out one, called it a malignant fever, a pestilent 
 fever. A wretched evasion, and mockery of 
 words, which produced great injury, for whilst 
 it appeared to acknowledge the truth, it dis- 
 credited what it was of the greatest importance 
 to believe, that the disorder was communica- 
 ted by actual contact. The magistrates, like 
 persons awoke from a deep sleep, began to pay 
 more attention to the urgencies and proposi- 
 tions of the tribunal of health, to give effect 
 to its edicts, to the sequestrations ordered, and 
 to the quarantines it directed. Funds were 
 continually demanded to supply the daily ex- 
 penses of the lazaretto, and various other ser- 
 vices, and they were required of the decuri- 
 ons, until it was decided (which I believe it 
 never was but when they were furnished) 
 whether these expenses should be borne by the 
 city or the royal treasury. 
 
 The great chancellor also pressed the decu- 
 rions, by order of the governor, who was again 
 gone to besiege that unfortunate place Casale, 
 the senate was likewise urgent with them, to 
 adopt some system for supplying the city with 
 provisions, lest the contagion unfortunately 
 spreading itself, all communication with the 
 neighboring country should be cut off; and that 
 means might be found to maintain a great por- 
 tion of the population, which could now find 
 no employment. The decurions endeavored 
 to procure money, by loans and taxes, and of 
 what they could collect they gave a part to 
 the tribunal of health, and a part to the poor : 
 they also purchased a little grain, and met the 
 wants of the people partially. But the distress 
 was not yet at its height. 
 
 At the lazaretto, where the population, al- 
 though decimated every day, was still daily 
 increasing, it was a most arduous undertaking 
 to secure assistance and subordination, to en- 
 force the separations which had been prescrib- 
 ed to be observed, to maintain finally, or to 
 speak more properly, to establish the regula- 
 tions ordained by the tribunal of health ; for, 
 from the first moment, every thing had been in 
 confusion on account of the insubordination 
 of the numbers shut up there, and the negli- 
 gence and connivance of the officers. The tri- 
 bunal and the decurions not knowing how to 
 establish order, had recourse to the capuchins, 
 and requested the father commissary, as they 
 called him, of the province, who acted at this 
 time for the provincial father, dead a short 
 time before, to furnish them with an able 
 person to govern this desolate kingdom. The 
 commissary proposed to them for this place 
 one father Felice Casati, a man of mature age, 
 who had a great reputation for benevolence, ac- 
 tivity, gentleness, as well as strength of mind, 
 and which, as was shown in the end, was well 
 
 merited ; and for a companion and assistant to 
 him, they gave one father Michele Pozzobo- 
 nelli, who was yet a young man, but grave and 
 severe in his thoughts as well as his counte- 
 nance. They were both most willingly ac- 
 cepted, and on the 30th of March they entered 
 the lazaretto. The president of the tribunal of 
 health took them through the place, as if to 
 give them possession of it, and naving called 
 together the servants and officials of every de- 
 scription, announced to them all that father Fe- 
 lice was constituted president of that, place, 
 with plenary authority. And as the wretched 
 assemblage became more numerous, other ca- 
 puchins came, acting as superintendants, con- 
 lessors, administrators, overseers of the sick, 
 cooks, washers, and whatever was wanting. 
 Father Felice, under continual fatigue and 
 anxiety, went the rounds day and night, into 
 the passages, the rooms, and every part, some- 
 times carrying a stick, but often armed with 
 nothing but his frowns : he encouraged and re- 
 gulated the servants in their duties, quieted the 
 tumults, adjusted their quarrels, threatened, 
 punished, reprehended, comforted, dried the 
 tears of others and shed his own. He caught 
 the plague at the beginning, but was cured, 
 and resumed with renewed alacrity the duties 
 he had undertaken. His brethren, for the great- 
 er part, closed, but joyfully, their mortal ca- 
 reer there. 
 
 Certainly a dictatorship of this kind was an 
 extraordinary remedy, as strange as the calam- 
 ity, and as the times ; and if this fact alone had 
 come down to us, it would have been a suffici- 
 ent proof of a singularly deranged state of so- 
 ciety. But the courage, the labor, the sacri- 
 fice of those friars, deserves to be mentioned 
 with respect and tenderness, with that kind of 
 gratitude which is felt sincerely, for great ser- 
 vices rendered by men to their fellow-men. 
 To die for the sake of doing good, has been es- 
 teemed a noble and beautiful act in all times, 
 and under any state of things. "For if these 
 fathers had not been there," says Tadino, 
 " certainly the city would have been entirely 
 desolated, and it was a miraculous tiling how 
 in so short a space of time they could have 
 done so much for the public good, and how 
 without any aid, or very little from the city, 
 by their industry and prudence they could sup-, 
 port so many tnousand poor people in the la- 
 zaretto." 
 
 But the obstinate denial by the public of their 
 being any plague, naturally yielded and dimin- 
 ished in proportion as the disease spread itself, 
 and before their eyes, evidently by contact and 
 communication, and the more, when having for 
 some time been confined to the poor, it began 
 to reach persons of greater consequence. And 
 amongst these, as he was then the most noted, 
 so even now he merits express notice, the head 
 physician Settala. They must have said, at 
 least, was the poor old man right ? who knows ? 
 Himself, his wife, two sons, and seven ser- 
 vants were taken ill of the plague. He and 
 one of his sons survived, the rest died. " These
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 201 
 
 cases," says Tadino, occurring in the city in 
 the first houses, disposed the nobility and the 
 common people to think ; and the incredulous 
 doctors, and the ignorant and rash mob began 
 to shut their lips, close their teeth, and curve 
 their eyebrows. 
 
 But the caprices, the waywardness, and the 
 the revenge, if the term may be used, of con- 
 vinced obstinacy, are at times such, that one 
 wishes it had remained unsubdued to the last 
 moment, against reason and evidence, and this 
 was exactly one of those times. Those who 
 had so resolutely denied, and for so long a pe- 
 riod, that there existed near them and amongst 
 them a pestilential germ, that was able through 
 natural means to propagate itself and destroy ; 
 now not being able to deny the fact, and not 
 being willing to attribute the mortality to the 
 contagion they had denied, (which would have 
 been confessing themselves to have been both 
 dupes and very much to blame at the same 
 time,) were now the more desirous of attribu- 
 ting it to some other cause, of any one what- 
 ever of those which were brought forward. 
 Unhappily there was one ready in the general 
 idea and in the common tradition of the times, 
 not in Italy alone, but in every part of Europe, 
 where by many it was believed, that diabolical 
 and poisonous contrivances were resorted to, 
 by the people who had conspired to diffuse 
 the plague, by means of contagious poisons, 
 and sorcery. Practices of this kind had ob- 
 tained credit during other pestilences, and es- 
 pecially that which raged in Italy half a cen- 
 tury before. It is added, that during the past 
 year, a despatch, signed by Philip IV, had 
 reached the governor, in which he was inform- 
 ed that four Frenchmen had escaped from 
 Madrid, who were suspected of diffusing pes- 
 tiferous and poisonous ointments ; directing 
 the governor to be on the alert if they should at 
 any time arrive at Milan. The governor had 
 communicated this despatch to the senate and 
 to the tribunal of health, but it does not appear 
 that any further steps were taken. But the 
 plague having broken out, and being recog- 
 nized, the recurrence of people's minds to the 
 fact, disposed them to attach importance to 
 any undefined suspicion of villanous fraud, 
 and might indeed be the immediate occasion 
 of giving birth to one. 
 
 But two facts, one a blind and undisciplined 
 fear, the other an undescribable sort of wick- 
 edness, were what turned the vague appre- 
 hension of some possible attempt, into strong 
 suspicion, and with many into certainty, of a 
 real plot of that kind. Some, who thought 
 they had seen on the evening of the 17th May, 
 some persons in the cathedral anointing some 
 boards which constituted a partition between 
 the two sexes, caused the boards together with 
 some benches attached to them, to be taken out 
 of the church during the night, although the 
 president of the tribunal had been with four 
 officials to visit the place, had examined the 
 boards, the benches, and the font containing 
 the holy water, and finding nothing that tend- 
 26 
 
 ed to confirm the ignorant suspicion of such 
 an attempt to poison the people, had, to calm 
 their imaginations, and from abundant caution 
 rather than from necessity, decided, that it was 
 sufficient to purify the boards by washing 
 them. The mass of those things heaped up 
 together produced a singular impression of 
 dread in the multitude, tor whom any object 
 becomes, upon such slight grounds, a topic to 
 talk upon. It was said, and believed gener- 
 erally, that all the benches, the walls, and even 
 the ropes to ring the bells, had been anointed. 
 Nor was it merely talked of at the time, all the 
 memoirs of contemporaneous writers (some 
 written several years after) which speak of the 
 fact, speak of it with like assurance, and it 
 would be necessary to guess atthe true history of 
 the affair, if it was not contained in a letter from 
 the president of the tribunal to the governor, 
 which is still preserved in the archieves of San 
 Fedele, from which we have obtained it, and 
 of which the words we give in italic are ex- 
 tracts. 
 
 The following morning, a new, a more 
 strange, and more striking spectacle, astound- 
 ed the eyes and minds of the citizens. In eve- 
 ry part of the city the doors and walls of the 
 houses were besmeared in large spots, and be- 
 daubed with some whitish yellow filth or other, 
 as if laid on with a sponge. Whether it was 
 a wicked joke to raise up a still more clamor- 
 ous apprehension, or a sinister design to in- 
 crease the public confusion, or whatever it 
 was, the affair is attested in such a way, that 
 it seems more unreasonable to attribute it alto- 
 gether to the imagination, than to that melan- 
 choly proneness to do what is wrong, by no 
 means new in the human mind, nor unwont to 
 exhibit itself in this manner, in anyplace, and 
 it may be said, in every age. Ripamonti, who 
 not unfrequently laughs at this affair of an- 
 nointing things, and still oftener deplores the 
 popular credulity, declares that he witnessed 
 this daubing, and describes it.* In the letter 
 we have before alluded to, the members of the 
 tribunal relate the affair in the same terms ; 
 they talk of examinations, of experiments 
 made with the stuff upon dogs, without pro- 
 ducing any bad effects, and add, that they 
 believe, the audacious act had rather proceeded 
 from insolence, than from any wicked intentions, 
 a thought that indicates in them, up to that pe- 
 riod, an easy state of mind, that prevented 
 their seeing what was notto be seen. The other 
 contemporaneous memoirs, without speaking 
 of their concurrence in the existence of the 
 fact, hint generally, that it had been from the 
 first the opinion of many, that that daubing of 
 the doors and walls had been done as a jote ; 
 not one of them says that this was denied, and 
 they certainly would have mentioned it, had it 
 
 *Et nos quoque invimus visere. Maculce erant 
 sparsim inrequaliterque manantes, veluti si quis haus- 
 tam spongia sanicm adspersisset, impressissetve pari- 
 cti ; et januas passin ostiaque iediura eadem adsper- 
 gine contaminata cemebantur. P. 75.
 
 202 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 been so, if it had been only to call those who 
 were of a different opinion extravagant people. 
 
 I have thought it not out of place to relate 
 and put together these particulars of such a 
 strange delusion, a part of which is very little 
 known, and another part altogether unknown ; 
 for in the errors, and especially in the errors of 
 the multitude, what is the most useful and in- 
 teresting to observe, appears to me, to be the 
 precise course they take, their character, and 
 the means by which they take possession of 
 the human mind, and acquire the ascendancy 
 over it. 
 
 The city was in a general commotion, the 
 masters of the houses had all the places that 
 were besmeared smoked with burnt straw. 
 Passengers in the streets stopped, looked at 
 them, and shivered with horror. Foreigners, 
 suspected merely because they were so, and 
 easily recognized by their dress, were arrested 
 in the streets by the people, and sent to prison. 
 Interrogatories were made, the arrested were 
 examined, as well as the accusers and the wit- 
 nesses ; no one was found guilty, men's minds 
 were still capable of doubting, of comparing, 
 and of understanding. The tribunal of health 
 published a proclamation, promising a reward 
 and impunity for the discovery of the perpe- 
 trators of the fact. Nevertheless, it not appear- 
 ing expedient to us, says the tribunal in the let- 
 ter we have cited, which bears date the 21st 
 May, but which was evidently written on the 
 19th, the printed proclamation having that date, 
 that this crime should altogether escape pu- 
 nishment, especially in such dangerous and suspi- 
 cious times, for the consolation and tranquillity 
 of this people, and urith a view to get at some indi- 
 cations of the fact, we have this day published a 
 proclamation, $c. In this document however, 
 we find no allusion,of a distinct character,to that 
 reasonable and tranquilizing conjecture which 
 had been forwarded to the governor, a fact, that 
 whilst it condemns the furious prejudice of the 
 people, makes their own condescension the 
 more blamable, as it might lead to pernicious 
 results. 
 
 Whilst the tribunal was endeavoring to dis- 
 cover the author of the disturbance, many of 
 those constituting the public, had, as it often 
 happens, made the discovery. Those who 
 believed he annointing matter to be infectious, 
 in part believed that it was a piece of ven- 
 geance of Don Gonzalo Fernandez di Cordova, 
 for the insults he received at his departure, 
 whilst others thought it was a device of Car- 
 dinal Richelieu, to desolate Milan and make 
 himself master of it without trouble : there 
 were some, but whose reasons we are not ac- 
 quainted with, attributed it to Count Callalto, 
 Wallenstein, to this, and to that Milanese gen- 
 tleman. There were not wanting, as we have 
 said, of those who saw in the act nothing but 
 a wanton piece of mischief, and laid it to the 
 account of the students, the gentry, and the 
 officers who were annoyed at the seige of Ca- 
 eale. It was probably owing to their not per- 
 ceiving, as it had been dreaded, that an uni- 
 
 versal infection and mortality had followed 
 the act, that their first apprehensions were 
 calmed, and they appeared to become indiffer- 
 ent to it. 
 
 There were, however, still a certain num- 
 ber of persons not yet persuaded that the 
 plague existed. And because, as well in the 
 lazaretto as in the city, a few recovered, " it 
 was said " (the last reasons for an opinion 
 which has been overthrown by evidence, are 
 always curious to know,) by the common peo- 
 ple, and by many partial physicians, that it 
 was not the true plague, for that would have 
 destroyed every body.* To remove all doubt, 
 the tribunal adopted an expedient fitted for the 
 urgency, a method of speaking to the eyes, 
 such as the state of things seemed to require, 
 or to suggest. On one of the festival days of 
 the Pentecost, the citizens were accustomed to 
 go to the cemetery of San Gregorio, out of the 
 oriental gate, to pray for the souls of those who 
 had died of the former contagion, and whose 
 bodies were buried there ; and making this 
 act of devotion an occasion for some spectacle 
 and amusement, every one went there dressed 
 in the best manner. 
 
 Amongst other persons, there had died that 
 day of the plague, an entire family. At the 
 moment of the greatest concourse, amidst the 
 carriages, those on horseback, and people on 
 foot, the dead bodies of that family, by order 
 of the tribunal, were brought to the cemetery, 
 naked, upon a car, so that the multitude might 
 see with their own eyes, the manifest marks, 
 and horrible seal of the pestilence. A shout 
 of horror and dread arose wherever the car 
 passed, a continued murmur reigned where it 
 had passed, and another fearful one preceded 
 it. The plague was less doubted, and every 
 day made itself new converts, a state of things 
 that served to increase the extension of it. 
 
 At first then it was not the plague, abso- 
 lutely not, in no manner whatever ; it was even 
 prohibited to use the word. Then it was ad- 
 mitted to be a pestilential fever, the idea of 
 the plague obliquely insinuating itself in the 
 adjective form. Next, it was not the true 
 plague, that is to say, it was a sort of plague, 
 out only in a certain sense ; not the plague com- 
 pletely and entirely, but a thing that no other 
 name but that could be found lor. At length 
 it got to be the plague without doubt and with- 
 out dispute ; but here another idea attaches it- 
 self, that of poisoning and sorcery, altering and 
 confounding the idea expressed by the simple 
 word, which, however, it is now too late to dis- 
 pense with. 
 
 I do not think it requires to be much versed 
 in the history of ideas and words, to see that 
 many of them have had a similar course. 
 Heaven be praised, there are not many of the 
 character and importance of this, and which 
 vindicate their identity at so great a cost, and 
 to which accessories can be attached of this 
 kind. We might however, in small and great 
 
 ' Tardino, p. 93,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 affairs, avoid in a great degree such a long and 
 tortuous direction, adopting the method which 
 has been so long since proposed, of observing, 
 listening, comparing, and thinking before talk- 
 ing. 
 
 But as to talking, it is such a simple mat- 
 ter, and so much more easy to do than all 
 those other faculties put together, that even 
 we, I speak of men in general, are not a little 
 to be pitied. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE difficulty continually increasing of sup- 
 plying the painful exigency of circumstances, 
 it was determined by the council of decurions 
 on the 4th of March, to have recourse for aid, 
 and as a favor, to the governor ; and, on the 
 22d, two of that body were despatched to the 
 camp, to represent to him the great distresses 
 of the city, the enormous expenses, the trea- 
 sury exhausted and indebted ; the future rents 
 pledged, the current taxes unpaid on account 
 of the general impoverishment produced by so 
 many causes, and the destruction of other re- 
 sources by the military : to lay before him for 
 his consideration, that by uninterrupted laws 
 and custom, and by a special decree of Charles 
 V, the expenses of the plague were borne by 
 the public revenue ; that during the pestilence 
 of 1576, the marquis of Ayamonte, then gover- 
 nor, had not only suspended the impositions of 
 the chamber of accounts, but had relieved the 
 city by advancing 40,000 crowns from the said 
 chamber : finally they were to ask four things, 
 that the impositions should be suspended, as 
 at that period ; that the chamber should ad- 
 vance money ; that the governor should inform 
 the king of the wretchedness of the city and 
 the province, and that the Dutchy should be 
 excused from quartering any more troops, as 
 it had been consumed and destroyed by those 
 who had passed. 
 
 Spinola returned for answer, condolences,and 
 new exhortations ; it grieved him that he could 
 not be in the city, that he might exert every 
 effort to relieve it, but trusted that his place 
 would be supplied by the zeal of the members 
 of the tribunal : it was a moment to expend 
 money without any regard to economy, and to 
 avail themselves of every ingenious resource. 
 As to the demands made'of him, he would at- 
 tend to them in the most efficacious way that 
 time and the present necessity admitted of. 
 But this was all that was done, new journies 
 were undertaken, and new demands and new 
 answers took place, but I do not discover that 
 they came to any closer conclusions. At a 
 later period, when the pestilence was at its 
 height, the governor thought proper to dele- 
 gate his authority by letters-patent, to the great 
 chancellor Ferrer, having, as he stated, to at- 
 tend to the affairs of the war. 
 
 Together with that determination of the tri- 
 bunal, the decurions adopted another, which 
 was, to request the cardinal archbishop to or- 
 der a solemn procession to be made of the body 
 of St. Charles through the city. 
 
 The good prelate refused for many reasons. 
 He was not pleased with the reliance they 
 appeared to place upon means that were so 
 purely arbitrary, and feared that if they did 
 not produce the expected effects, as he doubt- 
 ed might be the case, their faith might give 
 rise to some scandal.* He feared besides, that, 
 if there really were those anointers, the proces- 
 sion might prove loo commodious an opportu- 
 nity for the commission of crime ; and if there 
 were not, such an assemblage of itself could 
 not but spread the contagion, a much greater 
 danger.} 
 
 The suspicion of these anointers, which had 
 been lulled, had in the meantime broken out 
 again, more generally and more furious than 
 ever. 
 
 It had been again observed, or this time men 
 had seemed to nave observed, that the walls, 
 the doors of public and private buildings, and 
 the knockers to private doors had been anoint- 
 ed. The news of this discovery n"ew from 
 mouth to mouth, and as usually occurs where 
 prejudice is strong, the report of the fact pro- 
 duced the same ertect that ocular demonstra- 
 tion of it would have done. Their minds still 
 more embittered by the presence of evils, irri- 
 tated by the obstinacy of the danger, more 
 willingly lent themselves to the belief. Anger 
 is impatient to punish, and as a very worthy 
 writer^: acutely observes on this head, prefers 
 to attribute evil to human wickedness, against 
 which it can direct its tormenting activity, 
 rather than trace it to a cause, against which 
 there is nothing left but resignation. An ex- 
 quisite poison, instantaneous, and most penetra- 
 ting, were words more than sufficient to ex- 
 plain the violence, with all the most obscure 
 and irregular accidents of the disease. The 
 poison was said to be composed of toads, of 
 serpents, of the pus and foam of infected per- 
 sons, and of every thing that the most perverse 
 and wild imaginations could conceive that was 
 filthy and atrocious. To these sorcery was 
 added,through the efficacy of which every effect 
 became possible, every objection lost its force, 
 every difficulty was resolved. If the result 
 had not immediately followed that first unction, 
 the reason was obvious, it had been an abor- 
 tive attempt of poisoners yet novices ; now 
 they were perfect in the art, and their inclina- 
 
 * Memoria delle cose notabili successe in Milano in- 
 tonio al mal contagioso 1'aimo, 1630, etc. raccolte da 
 D. Pio la Croce di Milano, 1730. And evidently tak- 
 ing from an inedited M3S. of the author, who lived at 
 the period of the pestilence ; if, indeed, it is not a sim- 
 ple copy of it, rather than a new compilation. 
 
 t Si unguentascelerata et unctores in urbe essent... 
 Si non essent... certiusque adeo inaliuu. Ripamonti, 
 p. 188. 
 
 }P. Verri, Osservazioni sulla tortura Scrittori ita- 
 liani di 4conomia politica, pnrte moderna. torn. 17, 
 p. 203.
 
 204 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 tions more bent upon the infernal attempt. 
 Now any one who continued to maintain that 
 it had been a joke, and who ventured to deny 
 the existence of a conspiracy, passed for a 
 blind and obstinate person, if he did not fall 
 under the suspicion of being interested in di- 
 verting the public suspicion from the truth, of 
 being an accomplice, and an anointer. The 
 wora soon became common, and took a solemn 
 and tremendous signification. With the per- 
 suasion that there were such persons as anoin- 
 ters, it seemed as if they must be infallibly dis- 
 covered, all were on the watch, every act cre- 
 ated suspicion, and suspicion became on the 
 slightest grounds certainty, and this last made 
 men furious. 
 
 Ripamonti gives us two examples of this, 
 stating that he had selected them not as the 
 most remarkable that occurred at the period, 
 but that he could speak of them both as having 
 witnessed them. 
 
 In the church of St. Anthony, upon a day of 
 some particular solemnity, an old man, more 
 than eighty years old, after having prayed on 
 his knees, wished to seat himself, and before he 
 did so, dusted the bench with the end of his 
 cloak. " That old man is anointing the 
 benches," exclaimed all together, some wo- 
 men who saw him doing it. The people that 
 were in the church (in the church ?) fell up- 
 on the old man, they pulled out his grey hairs, 
 struck him, and kicked him, dragged him out 
 half alive, to take him to prison, before the 
 judges, and to the torture. " I saw him treat- 
 ed in that manner," says Ripamonti, " nor 
 could I learn what was the end of it, but be- 
 lieve he could not survive it more than a few 
 moments." 
 
 The other case, which occurred the follow- 
 ing day, was equally strange, though not equal- 
 ly fatal. Three young Frenchmen, compa- 
 nions, one a man of letters, another a painter, 
 and the third a mechanic, being come to see 
 Italy, to study its antiquities, or to seek an 
 opportunity of making money, were together 
 in some place at the outside of the cathedral, 
 and were examining it attentively. Twoorthree 
 
 Eassers-by stopped, formed a group, just to 
 ok on, and keep an eye on them, whose dress, 
 hair, and wallets, proclaimed them to be fo- 
 reigners, and what was worse, Frenchmen. 
 As if to ascertain whether the cathedral was 
 built of marble, they stretched out their hands 
 to touch it. That was enough ! They were 
 surrounded, seized, ill treated, and driven furi- 
 ously with blows to prison. By good luck, the 
 palace of justice is not far from the cathederal, 
 and what was still more fortunate, they were 
 pronounced innocent, and released. 
 
 Nor did such things occur only in the city 
 this kind of delusion had propagated itself as 
 well as the contagion. If a traveler was met 
 by any country people out of the high road, or 
 when he was in it if he appeared to be loiter- 
 ing, or was stretched out on the ground to rest 
 himself; if any unknown person was ^en that 
 had any thing strange about him, an unprepos- 
 
 sessing countenance, or an unusual dress, there 
 were anointers.* At the first information 
 given by any person whatever, even at the 
 screaming out of a boy, the bell was rung and 
 the people collected : the unhappy wretches 
 were pelted with showers of stones, or were 
 seized and furiously carried to prison. And 
 prison, up to a certain period, was a harbor of 
 safety.f 
 
 But the decurions, not discouraged by the 
 refusal of the sage prelate, repeated their in- 
 stances with him, loudly seconded by the pub- 
 lic voice. He persisted for some time, and 
 sought to dissuade them; so much and not 
 more was the wisdom of one man able effect 
 against the will of the times, and the obstinacy 
 of the many. In that state of opinions, with 
 such an idea of the danger, confused and con- 
 tested as it was at that period, and far from the 
 enlightened views we nave in our own days, 
 we can easily comprehend how his excellent 
 reasons, might, even in his own mind, be sub- 
 dued by the insufficient ones of others. Whe- 
 ther in yielding, a weakness of the will had or 
 had not a part, is a mystery of the human heart. 
 Certainly if in any case we may seem to 
 be able to attribute error altogether to intel- 
 lect, it is when we are judging the few, (and 
 he was one of the number) in whose whole 
 life there appears a determined obedience to 
 the voice of conscience, without relation to 
 temporal interests of any kind whatever. Their 
 instances then being repeated, he yielded, con- 
 sented to the procession, and to the general de- 
 sire and anxiety that the coffin where the relics 
 of St. Charles were deposited, should be ex- 
 posed for eight days, to the whole public, up- 
 on the principal altar of the cathedral. 
 
 I do not find, that the tribunal of health, or 
 any one else, made any opposition or remon- 
 strance of any kind, but only that the tribunal 
 directed some precautions to be taken, which 
 without obviating the danger, still conveyed a 
 feeling respecting it. Regulations of a stricter 
 kind were ordered respecting the admission of 
 persons into the city ; and to ensure the execu- 
 tion of them, the gates were ordered to be clos- 
 ed ; and that the assemblage of the people 
 might be excluded as far as it was possible, 
 from the infected, and those who were suspi- 
 cioned of being so, the doors of the houses that 
 were under sequestration were nailed up ; the 
 number of which, as far as the assertion of a 
 writer of that period may be relied on, was 
 about five hundred4 
 
 Three days were spent in preparations ; the 
 llth of June, which was the day fixed upon, 
 the procession, at the dawn, moved from the ca- 
 thedral. A long crowd of people preceded it, 
 women for the greater part, their faces covered 
 with ample veils, many of them barefooted and 
 dressed in sackcloth. 'Then followed the arts, 
 preceded by their standards, the coniraterni- 
 
 * Untori. t Hipam. p. 91, 93. 
 
 } Alleggiamento detlo stato dl Milnno, etc. diC. G. 
 Cavatio aella Somaglia. MUaiio, 1653, p. 4S2.
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 205 
 
 ties dressed in various devices and colors ; next 
 the friars, then the secular clergy, all with the 
 symbols of their rank, carrying a lighted wax 
 candle. In the centre, amidst the thickest 
 light of the torches, where the loudest chant 
 was heard, the coffin, under a rich canopy, was 
 oorne, supported by four canons dressed in 
 great pomp. Through the crystal sides of the 
 coffin the venerated body was seen, clothed in 
 splendid pontifical habits, with a mitre on the 
 head ; amidst the mutilated and deranged fea- 
 tures some vestiges might yet be perceived of 
 the former face, such as it is represented in 
 images, and as some remembered to have seen 
 and honored it during his life. Behind the 
 spoils of the deceased pastor, (says Ripamon- 
 b,*) from whom, principally, we take this de- 
 scription, and nearest to them, on account of 
 his blood and dignity, as well as his personal 
 claims, came the archbishop Federigo. The 
 remaining part of the clergy followed him, and 
 next to them were the magistrates who pre- 
 sided upon great occasions : then the nobles, 
 Borne of them splendidly adorned to honor this 
 solemn act of religion, others, as a mark of 
 penitence, humbly attired, or with their feet 
 naked, covered with sackcloth, their hoods 
 drawn over their heads, all of them with large 
 torches. Last of all came a mixed crowd of 
 the people. 
 
 The streets where the procession passed 
 were festively decorated ; the rich had exposed 
 all their most splendid furniture ; the fronts of 
 the houses of the poor were dressed by the 
 richer neighbors, or by the public : leafy boughs 
 were fixed about the decorations ; pictures,mot- 
 tos, and devices were hanging in every direc- 
 tion. Upon the window sills were numerous 
 vases, antiquities, and precious things, wi Al 
 flambeaux every where. At many of the win- 
 dows the sick, who where secluded, were wit- 
 nesses of the pomp, and mingled their prayers 
 with those of the procession. The other streets 
 were silent and deserted, except where some, 
 also from the windows were listening to catch 
 the wandering sound; others, and amongst 
 these were nuns, had got upon the roofs, to try 
 whether from that distance they could get a 
 sight of the coffin, the procession or any thing 
 else. 
 
 The procession passed through the different 
 quarters of the city; at each of the small squares, 
 where the principal streets enter into the Bor- 
 ghi or main ones, and which then preserved the 
 ancient name of Carrobii, now retained only 
 by one of them, it made a halt, and the coffin 
 was brought near to the cross, which in each 
 of them had been erected in the preceding pes- 
 tilence by St. Charles, and a few of which still 
 exist. It was past midday when it got back 
 to the cathedral. 
 
 On the succeeding day, amidst the presump- 
 tuous confidence which reigned, and the fana- 
 tical certainty which many enjoyed that the 
 procession would certainly put an end to the 
 
 * Pages 62, 66. 
 
 plague, lo,and behold, the deaths in every class, 
 increased to such a disproportioned height, in 
 every part of the city, by such a sudden leap, 
 that it was scarce possible for any one to doubt 
 that the procession itself was the true cause 
 But, oh strange and distressing force of gene- 
 ral prejudice ! not to the so much prolonged 
 and close pressure of persons, not to the infi- 
 nite multiplication of incidents of fortuitous 
 contact, was this result attributed ; but to the 
 facility which the anointers had enjoyed of per- 
 petrating upon a great scale their iniquitous 
 designs. It was said, that mixed up in the 
 crowd, they had infected with their unguents 
 as many persons as they had been able to do ; 
 but as this did not appear an appropriate and 
 sufficient way to account for a mortality so vast 
 and wide spread, in eveiy class of society, and, 
 as it appears, it had not been possible for any 
 eye, however attentive, and inquisitively sus- 
 picious to perceive any thing like ointments or 
 spot? or stains of any kind during the whole 
 procession, they had recourse, in order to ex- 
 plain the fact, to the old story that still main- 
 tained its place in the science of the day, such 
 as it was then in Europe, of poisonous and 
 magical powders : it was asserted that these 
 powders scattered along the streets and prin- 
 cipally at those places where the procession 
 stopped, attached themselves to the skirts of 
 of garments, and especially to the people's feet, 
 a great portion of whom had gone that day 
 barefooted. "The same day of the proces- 
 sion, witnessed," says a contemporaneous wri- 
 ter,* " a conflict between piety and impiety, 
 perfidy and sincerity, loss and gain." Whilst 
 instead of this, it was poor human weakness 
 struggling with the phantasms created by it- 
 self. 
 
 From that day, the fury of the contagion, 
 kept on increasing, and in a short time there 
 was scarce a house that was not infected. The 
 population of the lazaretto, according to Soma- 
 glia, whom we before quoted, soon rose from 
 two to twelve thousand persons, and in time, 
 as all agree, it amounted to sixteen thousand. 
 On the 4th of July, as I find in another letter 
 of the conservators of health to the governor, 
 the daily mortality exceeded five hundred. 
 Afterwards, and when it reached its height, it 
 went up to, and remained at according to the 
 most general computation, twelve hundred and 
 fifteen hundred : and if we are to believe Tar- 
 dino,t it more than once exceeded three thou- 
 sand five hundred in one day. 
 
 It may be imagined what distress the decu- 
 rions were in, upon whom was laid the re- 
 sponsibility of providing for the public necessi- 
 ties, and of repairing whatever was suscepti- 
 ble of remedy in a disaster of this kind. It 
 was necessary every day to make new arrange- 
 ments, and to increase the number of people in 
 the public service of every kind. The Monat- 
 
 * Agostino Lampugnano, La Pestllenza seguita in 
 Milano, 1'anno 1630. Milano, 1634, p. 44. 
 t Pages 115, 117.
 
 206 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 ti, a denomination very ancient, and of obscure 
 origin, was the name given to thos who offi- 
 ciated in the most painful and dangerous ser- 
 vices of the pestilence, who removed the dead 
 from their houses, from the streets, and the 
 lazaretto, and drove them to the pits to be bu- 
 ried ; whose business also it was to conduct the 
 sick to the lazaretto, to nurse them there, to 
 burn and purify every thing that was infected, 
 or was supposed to be so. The dpparitori 
 were persons whose especial office it was to 
 precede the cars, giving notice to passengers 
 with the sound of a bell, that they should keep 
 out of the way : then there were commissaries 
 who regulated both these classes, and they 
 were under the immediate orders of the tribu- 
 nal of health. It was necessary to keep the 
 lazaretto supplied with physicians, surgeons, 
 medicine, food, and every thing requisite for 
 such zn infirmary, and to find and prepare new 
 lodgings for the new cases that came. To this 
 end, they constructed in great haste cabins 
 made of wood and straw in the interior part of 
 the lazaretto. A new building was construct- 
 ed, entirely of cabins, and enclosed with boards, 
 capable ol containing four thousand persons : 
 and this not sufficing, two others were decreed 
 and commenced, but on account of the want of 
 materials of every kind, they were left incom- 
 plete. Means, persons, and courage, all di- 
 minished in proportion as the want of them 
 increased. 
 
 And not only was the execution always in 
 arrears of the plans conceived, and the orders 
 issued ; not only, many necessitous cases,which 
 were too well known, were poorly provided for, 
 even by words ; things reached that degree of 
 impotence and desperation, that many cases, 
 ana those of the most piteous kind, and of the 
 greatest urgency, were not attended to at all. 
 An immense number of children, for in- 
 stance, whose mothers had died of the plague, 
 perished in a state of entire abandonment : the 
 tribunal proposed to establish an asylum for 
 these, and for necessitous lying-in women, that 
 something might be done lor them, but nothing 
 could be effected. " The decurions of the city, 
 however, " says Tardino, " deserved to be pi- 
 tied ; afflicted, sorrowful, and harassed as they 
 were by the excesses of the soldiery, who were 
 perfectly lawless, and who had no respect for 
 any body, especially in the unhappy autchy ; 
 neither aid nor provisions could fee obtained 
 from the governor, nor any thing but a remark 
 " that it was war time, and the soldiers must be 
 well treated." Of such great importance was 
 it to take Casale ! so much attraction had the 
 praise of victory for him, without reference to 
 the cause, or end for which he was fighting ! 
 
 At length, the ample and only pit there was, 
 and which had been dug near the lazaretto, 
 being entirely filled with dead bodies, and in 
 every part ot the city, the new corpses which 
 every day produced, in increased numbers, ly- 
 ing unburied, the magistrates, after in vain 
 seeking for laborers to employ at this melan- 
 choly work, were brought to the necessity of 
 
 declaring mat they no longer knew what to do. 
 Nor do we see what the result would have 
 been, if extraordinary succor had not come to 
 their aid. The president of the tribunal, in 
 despair, and with tears in his eyes, asked those 
 worthy friars who managed the lazaretto, to aid 
 him, and father Michele engaged at the end of 
 four days to clear the city entirely of the dead, 
 and at the end of eight, to prepare pits suffici- 
 ent not only for the present necessity, bat for 
 the worst state of things that could possibly 
 occur for the future. With a friar, his com- 
 panion, and with some officers given to him by 
 the president as his assistants, he left the city 
 to seek for some country people, and partly by 
 the authority of the tribunal, partly by that of 
 his habit and his words, he collected two hun- 
 dred, and set three divisions of them at differ- 
 ent excavations : he then despatched Monatti 
 from the lazaretto to collect the dead, so that 
 at the day fixed, his promise was entirely ac- 
 complished. 
 
 Upon one occasion the lazaretto was left un- 
 provided with physicians, and with offers of 
 large stipends and honors, some were obtain- 
 ed, but with great trouble and not immediate- 
 ly, but far beneath the number actually re- 
 quired. Frequently provisions were wanting, 
 so as to create apprehensions that the popula- 
 tion would die of want ; and more than once, 
 when they were endeavoring by every means 
 to procure commodities or money, scarcely 
 hoping to get them, and then not to get them in 
 season, abundant subsidies came in time, the 
 unexpected tribute of private compassion ; for 
 amidst the general stupefaction, the indiffer- 
 ence for others, springing from the apprehen- 
 sions of men on their own account, there were 
 always minds awake to charity ; others there 
 were in whose breasts charity sprung up, when 
 earthly pleasures were all subdued, just as in 
 the destruction and flight of many, whose duty 
 it was to superintend and to provide, some 
 there were who stood to their posts, with sound 
 health and unsubdued courage : there were also 
 others who, impelled by piety, bravely took 
 upon themselves the duty of assisting the sick, 
 which they were not officially called to do. 
 
 But where the most general and voluntary 
 fidelity to the difficult duties of the moment, 
 shone forth, was amongst the ecclesiastics. 
 At the lazarettos, and in tha city, their assist- 
 ance never was wanting ; where suffering was, 
 they were sure to be found : they were always 
 seen mixed up, and scattered about amongst 
 the languishing and the dying, even when 
 they themselves were often languishing and 
 dying. Of spiritual succors they were prodi- 
 gal, and of temporal ones also, as much as they 
 were able, they lent themselves to every service 
 where they could be useful. More than sixty 
 parish priests, of the city alone, died of conta- 
 gion about eight out of nine of the whole num- 
 ber. 
 
 Federigo gave to all as incitement and ex- 
 ample was to be expected from him, almost all 
 his archiepiscopal family had perished around
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 207 
 
 him ; and his relations, magistrates of the high- 
 est rank, and the neighboring princes solicit- 
 ing him to withdraw from the danger to some 
 solitary villa, he rejected their counsel, and in- 
 stances, with the same courage that led him to 
 write to his parish priests, " may you be dis- 
 posed to abandon this mortal life, rather than 
 this family, these children of ours : go with 
 your hearts full of love to front the pestilence, 
 as you would go to a life, to a reward, as long 
 as there is a soul to gain to Christ."* Still he 
 neglected no precaution that might prevent him 
 from doing his duty, respecting which he also 
 gave instructions to his clergy, yet at the same 
 time he was indifferent to, nor seemed to shun 
 any danger, where it was possible to do good, 
 by encountering it. Without speaking of ec- 
 clesiastics, with whom he always was, to 
 praise and regulate their zeal, to excite those 
 who went coldly to work, to replace those at 
 the posts whom death had carried away, he 
 was desirous that access should be free to who- 
 ever wished to see him. He visited the laza- 
 rettos to give consolation to the sick, and to 
 encourage the assistants; and ran through the 
 city, carrying succors to the poor people who 
 were sequestered in their houses, stopping at 
 the doors, and beneath the windows, to listen to 
 their complaints, and give words of consolation 
 and encouragement in return. Thus did he 
 go about and live in the midst of the pestilence, 
 astonished himself at the end of it, that he 
 should come out of it harmless. 
 
 Thus in public misfortunes, and in continu- 
 ed perturbations, to whatever extent they may 
 be carried,of public tranquillity, we always wit- 
 ness an increase, nay a sublimation of virtue, 
 but unfortunately there is also never wanting 
 an increase, usually much more general, of pei- 
 versity. This, also, was the case at present. 
 The scoundrels that the plague spared and did 
 not strike down, found in the common confu- 
 sion, and the relaxation of the public authority, 
 a new occasion for activity, and a new securi- 
 ty for impunity at the same time. Indeed, the 
 practical part of that authority fell for the great- 
 er part into the hands of the worst of them. 
 In the occupation of monatti and apparitori, 
 those men only engaged in general, for whom 
 the attractions of rapine and licentiousness 
 were stronger than tne terrors of contagion, 
 and every natural antipathy. The strictest 
 rules were imposed upon them, the severest 
 penalties intimated, stations were assigned to 
 them, and commissaries, as we have said be- 
 fore, placed over them. Over both of them 
 noblemen and magistrates were appointed in 
 every quarter, with authority to provide sum- 
 marily upon every occasion where discipline 
 was required. Regulations of this kind pro- 
 duced an effect for a while, but as the deaths and 
 the general abandonment increased, with the 
 want of presence of mind of those who survived, 
 these men came at last to be independent of all 
 authority, and constituted themselves, especi- 
 
 * Bipamonti, p. 164. 
 
 ally the monatti, the arbiters of every thing. 
 They entered the houses as masters, and as 
 enemies, and without speaking of the plunder 
 they made, or of the manner in which they 
 treated the unhappy wretches reduced by the 
 plague, to submit to their indignities, they 
 laid their infected and villanous hands upon 
 those who were well, upon children, parents, 
 husbands, wives, threatening to drag them to 
 the lazaretto, if they did not ransom them- 
 selves, or did not cause themselves to be ran- 
 somed at their own price. At other times, they 
 fixed a price upon their services, refusing to 
 remove the dead, which were in a state of pu- 
 trefaction, if they were not paid so many 
 crowns. It was said, (and between the stu- 
 pidity of some, and the villany of others, it is 
 equally unsafe to believe or to disbelieve) and 
 Tadino affirms it to be so,* that both the mo- 
 natti and apparitori let infected things drop on 
 purpose from the cars, to propagate and in- 
 crease the pestilence, which had come for 
 them a revenue, a kingdom, a feast. Other 
 wretches, pretending to be monatti, carrying 
 bells attached to their feet, as was prescribed 
 to them, that notice might be thus given of 
 their approach, introduced themselves into the 
 houses, in order to act their own pleasure. la 
 some of those which were open and without 
 inhabitants, or inhabited only by some invalid, 
 or dying person, thieves entered without any 
 restraint to get booty ; others were surprized 
 and entered by the birri, who committed rob- 
 beries and excesses of every kind. 
 
 At an equal pace with the perversity, the 
 madness of the people increased. All the ru- 
 ling errors more or less, derived from the as- 
 tonishment and the agitation of the public 
 mind, acquired an extraordinary force, and a 
 more extensive and precipitous application. 
 Every thing served to strengthen and to in- 
 crease that especial madness about anointing ; 
 the which, in its effects and violent action, was 
 frequently, as we have seen, another perver- 
 sity. The idea of the supposed danger be- 
 sieged and harrassed their minds infinitely 
 more than the real and present danger. " And 
 whilst," says Ripamonti, " the carcasses lying 
 about, or the heaps of carcasses always before 
 the public eye, always betwixt the feet of the 
 living, turned the whole city into one great fu- 
 neral, there was something still more fatal, a 
 still greater public deformity in that reciprocal 
 irritation, that licenciousness, that monstrous 
 state of suspicion men did not doubt their 
 neighbors, their friends, their guests, alone ; 
 but those endearing names, those links of hu- 
 man charity, husband and wife, father and son, 
 brother and brother, were objects of mutual 
 terror, and a most horrible and unworthy thing 
 to say ! the domestic table, and the nuptial 
 bed, were feared as so many treacheries, where 
 poison was concealed. 
 
 The vastness and the strangeness of the sap- 
 posed conspiracy disturbed all minds, and un- 
 
 *P. 108.
 
 208 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 settled the entire basis of mutual confidence. 
 Besides ambition and cupidity, which at first 
 were imagined to be the leading motives of 
 the anointers, people fancied and believed there 
 existed a diabolical voluptuousness in the act, 
 and an attraction in it that entirely governed 
 the will. The deliriums of the sick who 
 accused themselves of that which they had 
 feared in others, seemed to be revelations, and 
 rendered every tiling, as it were, credible of 
 every one. And their acts produced even a 
 stronger effect than their words, when it occa- 
 sionally happened that infected persons when 
 delirious were seen going through motions, 
 which they conceived must be those which the 
 anointers used ; a circumstance extremely pro- 
 bable, and fitted to strengthen the general be- 
 lief, and the affirmations of many writers. In 
 like manner, during the long and sad period of 
 judicial inquisitions for witchcraft, the confes- 
 sions, not always extorted, of the persons of 
 whom it was imputed, served not a little to 
 promote and sustain the opinion that prevailed 
 of its existence : for when an opinion prevails 
 of this kind, it obtains an extensive dominion 
 over the human mind, expresses itself in every 
 possible form, tries every method of breaking 
 out, and runs through every degree of persua- 
 sion ; so that it is difficult for all or for many 
 to believe for a long time, that a thing however 
 strange can be accomplished, without some 
 one imagining he is capable of doing it him- 
 self. 
 
 Amongst the anecdotes which that delirium 
 of the anointers produced, one of them de- 
 serves to be mentioned, on account of the credit 
 it received, and the circulation it had. It was 
 stated, not by all in the same manner, (that 
 would be too singular a privilege of fables) but 
 nearly so, that a certain person on a particular 
 day, had seen a carriage drawn by six horses 
 stop in the square of the cathedral, containing 
 a great personage, having his suit along with 
 him, of a noble aspect, but dark and em- 
 browned, with fiery eyes, his hair standing on 
 end, and his lips moving with a menacing mo- 
 tion. The spectator was invited to enter the 
 carriage, and got in. After driving awhile, it 
 stopped at the door of a palace, where they 
 alighted, and he entered with the others, where 
 he found a strange contrast of amenity and 
 horror, deserts ana gardens, caverns and halls, 
 with phantasms seated there in council. At 
 last large chests full of money were shown to 
 him, and he was told he might take as much 
 as ever he pleased, if at the same time he 
 would accept a vessel of ointment, and go and 
 anoint in the city with it. The which having 
 refused to do, lie found himself instantly in 
 the same place from whence he had been 
 taken up. This story, believed generally here, 
 and according to Ripamonti, not sufficiently 
 derided by many learned persons, ran through 
 all Italy and beyond it : in Germany a drawing 
 was made of it and printed, and the elector 
 archbishop of Mentz, asked of cardinal Fede- 
 rigo in a Fetter, what was to be believed of the 
 
 portents that were spoken of in Milan, who 
 re turned for answer that they were all dreams. 
 
 Of like value, if they were not in every 
 thing of the same nature, were the dreams of 
 the learned, the consequences of which were 
 equally disastrous. The greater part of these 
 saw as the herald and reason of all these mis- 
 fortunes, the comet that appeared in the year 
 1628, and in a conjunction of Saturn with 
 Jove, "approaching," as Tadino says,* "in 
 the year 1630, so manifestly, that every one 
 could see it. Martales parat morbos, miranda 
 videnlur"] This prediction, fabricated I can- 
 not tell when or by whom, was, as Ripamonti 
 says, in every mouth, even those scarce able 
 to utter it Another comet that appeared in 
 June of the same year as the pestilence, was 
 held to be another announcement, and indeed 
 a manifest proof of the anointings. 
 
 They examined the books, and unfortunately 
 found too many instances of the plague being 
 thus produced, they quoted Livy, Tacitus, Dio, 
 Homer> Ovid, and many other ancient writers 
 who have treated of such matters ; of the 
 moderns they had still greater abundance. 
 They cited a hundred other authors who have 
 treated the subject doctrinally, or incidentally 
 spoken of poisons, witchcraft, ointments, and 
 powders. They quoted Cesalpino, Cardano, 
 Grevino, Salio, 'Pareo, Schenchio, Zachia, and 
 to end the list that fatal Delrio, who, if, the 
 fame of authors was in proportion to the good 
 or the evil produced by their works, ought to 
 be one of the most famous amongst them : that 
 Delrio, whose vigils cost more men their lives 
 than the enterpnzes of any conqueror: that 
 Delrio, whose magical disquisitions (the quin- 
 tescence of all the ravings that men had in- 
 dulged in on that subject, up to this time) had 
 become the most authoritative and irrefraga- 
 ble text book, and continued to be for a cen- 
 tury, the rule and most potent impulse of legal, 
 horrible and uninterrupted executions. 
 
 From the sayings of the illiterate Vulgar, 
 educated people adopted whatever was in con- 
 formity with their own notions ; and from the 
 sayings of the educated, the vulgar took what- 
 ever they could understand, after their own 
 fashion ; and of the whole of this there was 
 formed an indigested, pitiless heap of public 
 extravagance. 
 
 But what creates the greatest surprise, is to 
 see the physicians, meaning those who from 
 the first had believed in the plague, and espe- 
 cially Tadino who had foretold it, had observed 
 its first approach, and kept it in his eye during 
 its progress ; who had said and insisted that it 
 was the plague and was communicated by con- 
 tact, and that if a remedy was not applied, a 
 general infection would unsue ; to see nim af- 
 terwards from these circumstances draw posi- 
 tive conclusions in favor of poisonous and ma- 
 gical anointings ; he who in the case of Carlo 
 Colonna, the second who died of the plague in 
 Milan, had remarked the delirium, as a symp- 
 
 >P,66, 
 
 fP.273.
 
 1 PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 209 
 
 torn of the malady : to see him afterwards, as 
 a proof of anointings and diabolical doings, ad- 
 duce a fact of this kind, that two witnesses de- 
 posed to having heard a sick friend relate, how 
 in the night persons had entered his room to 
 offer him health and money, if he would anoint 
 the houses in his neighborhood, and that on his 
 answering that he would not, they went away, 
 and in their place a wolf remained under the 
 bed, and three large ugly cats on the top of it, 
 "which remained there until day." If such 
 nonsense had been peculiar to one man, it 
 might be attributed to his gross ignorance, or 
 to an idle way of treating the subject, peculiar 
 to himself, and would not have been worth 
 mentioning ; but as it was common to many, 
 it becomes a story of the human mind ; and it 
 is to be remarked, how a well arrainged and 
 reasonable series of ideas, can be thrown out of 
 order, by another series which crosses their 
 track. As to the rest, Tardino was one of the 
 most celebrated men of his day. 
 
 Two illustrious and deserving writers, have 
 affirmed that cardinal Federigo nimself enter- 
 tained doubts respecting the fact of these 
 anointings.* We should be desirous of paying 
 the tribute of unblemished praise to his illus- 
 trious and amiable memory, and to represent 
 the good prelate, in this, as in so many other 
 things, standing in relief from the crowd of his 
 contemporaries ; but instead of this, we find 
 ourselves constrained to observe in his persQn, 
 an example of the power which universal opin- 
 ion can exercise even in the noblest minds. 
 It has been seen, at least from the manner in 
 which Ripamonti relates his notions, how from 
 the beginning he reallyentertained some doubts; 
 he held always that the dupery, the ignorance, 
 the fear, and the desire to excuse the long neg- 
 ligence in protecting themselves from the con- 
 tagion, contributed much to cause the belief, 
 that there was a great deal of exaggeration, but 
 that taking it altogether there was something 
 real in it. 
 
 There is preserved in the ambrosian libra- 
 ry, a short work on the plague, written with 
 his own hand, of which this is one of the many 
 passages where he expresses his opinion. 
 " Of the method of compounding and spread- 
 ing ointments of this kind, many and various 
 things have been said ; some of which we hold 
 to be true, whilst others appear to be altogether 
 imaginary."t 
 
 There were, however, some who thought to 
 the end, and at all times after, that the whole 
 was a delusion : we know this, not from them 
 selves, for no one had the boldness to avow an 
 opinion so much opposed to the general one : 
 we know it from the writers who deride it, or 
 
 * Muratori, Del governo della peste. Modena 1714, 
 p. 117. P. Verri, opuscolo citato, 261. 
 
 f Unguenta vero haec aiebant componi conficique 
 multifariam, fraudisque vias esse complures : quorum 
 sane fraudum et artium. aliis quidem assentimur, 
 alias vero fictas toisse commentiti.isque arbitramur. 
 De peete quae Modielani, anno 1690, magiuun stragem 
 edidit. Cap. V, 
 27 
 
 reprehend it, or confute it, as the prejudice of a 
 few, an error which was not expected to be 
 openly disputed, but which existed ; we know 
 it also from one who had it from tradition. " I 
 lave found discreet people in Milan," says the 
 rood muratori, in the above quoted passage, 
 " who had correct accounts from their ances- 
 tors, and who were quite persuaded that there 
 was not any truth in these poisonous anoint- 
 ings." This we can see was a secret vent 
 given to the truth, a domestic confidence ; there 
 was good sense in it, but it was hid under ap- 
 prehensions entertained from what is called 
 common sense. 
 
 The magistrates, thinned off every day, be- 
 wildered and confused by every thing, directed 
 the small remains of vigilance and resolution 
 they were capable of to these anointers, and 
 unfortunately believed they had discovered 
 some of them. 
 
 The sentences that were consequently pass- 
 ed, were certainly not the first of this kind, nor 
 are they to be considered as phenomena in the 
 history of jurisprudence ; for to say nothing 
 about the ancients, and merely to point to what 
 took place in times nearer to those of which 
 we treat ; there was at Geneva in 1530, and 
 then in 1545, and again in 1574 ; at Casale in 
 Montferrat in 1536, at Padua in 1555, at Turin 
 in 1599, at Palermo in 1526, and at Turin again 
 in the same year 1630, trials of persons who 
 were condemned and punished in an atrocious 
 way ; sometimes an individual, sometimes nu- 
 merous unfortunate people, found guilty of 
 having propagated the plague, with powders, 
 ointment, and witchcraft, and sometimes alto- 
 gether. 
 
 But this matter, so called, of anointings, at 
 Milan, as it was that which made the greatest 
 noise abroad, and lasted the longest time, so 
 perhaps of them all it is most susceptible of 
 examination, or to speak more exactly, there 
 is a better field for observation, on account of 
 the documents connected with it, being more 
 ample and circumstantial. And although a 
 writer we have commended recently,* has oc- 
 cupied himself with it, nevertheless, he having 
 proposed, not so much to relate its history, 
 as to get information for a more worthy and 
 important undertaking, it has appeared to us 
 that its history might furnish the materials of a 
 new work. But it is not a thing to pass over 
 with a few words, and to go into it as extensive- 
 ly as it deserves, would lead us too far. Be 
 sides which, the reader, after being made ac 
 quainted with these incidents, will not be very 
 anxious to know those which we have left un- 
 told. Reserving, however, for another work 
 to narrate them, we shall now finally return to 
 our personages, that they may be no longer 
 left to the very last moment. 
 
 * P. Verri, in the little work we have cited.
 
 210 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 OKE night, towards the end of August, just 
 in the heart of the pestilence, Don Rodrigo re- 
 turned to his house in Milan, accompanied by 
 the faithful Griso, one of the three or lour, who, 
 of all his family, had remained alive. He had 
 left a party of friends who were in the habit of 
 meeting to carouse, and pass away the melan- 
 choly hours ; and each time that they met there 
 were some new individuals and some of the 
 old ones wanting. That day, he had been one 
 of the merriest of them, and amongst other 
 things, he had made the company laugh ex- 
 ceedingly at a kind of funeral eulogium he 
 pronounced on Count Attilio, who had been 
 carried off by the plague two days before. 
 
 On his way home, however, he felt himself 
 ill at ease, low spirited, a weakness in his 
 limbs, a difficulty of breathing, an internal 
 burning, that he would fain have attributed 
 to the wine, late sitting up, and the season. He 
 said not a word during the walk, and the first, 
 when they had reached the house, was to order 
 Griso to take a light to his chamber. When 
 they were there, Griso observed that his mas- 
 ter's face was changed somewhat, inflamed, 
 and his eyes protruding and glaring ; he there- 
 fore kept aloof, because upon such occasions, 
 every ruffian had got a doctor's eye,as they say. 
 " Nonsense, I am very well," said Don Rod- 
 rigo,who read in the action of Griso the thought 
 that was passing in his mind. "I am very 
 well, but I have been drinking, and perhaps 
 have taken a little too much. That white wine 
 that I drank ! But with a good sound sleep it 
 will pass off. I am exceedingly sleepy take 
 that light away, it annoys me." 
 
 " It's nothing but the white wine," said Gri- 
 so, keeping always at a distance, "but lie 
 down directly, sleep will do you good." 
 
 " Thou art in the right. If I can only sleep ; 
 as to the rest I am well. At any rate put the 
 bell here, lest I should want something during 
 the night; and be attentive, mind if you 
 should hear the bell. But I shall want nothing ; 
 take that cursed light away," he continu- 
 ed, whilst Griso was doing as he was ordered, 
 drawing nigh as little as he possibly could. 
 " The devil, how the light annoys me !" 
 
 Griso took the light, and having wished his 
 master a good night, loft the room in haste, 
 whilst he got under the clothes. 
 
 But they laid on him like a mountain. He 
 kicked them off, and drew himself up to sleep, 
 for in fact he was excessively sleepy; but 
 scarcely had he closed his eyes, when he awoke 
 again in a trepidation, as it some spiteful per- 
 son had shook him, the fever was rising upon 
 him, and his agitation was increasing. He 
 thought of the debauch he had been at, of the 
 white wine, and the uproar he had made, and 
 wished to lay the blame upon all these things ; 
 but this idea always gave way to another that 
 was associated with all things, which entered, 
 
 as one may say, by all the senses, which had 
 found its way into every thing that had been 
 spoken of at their carousal, it being a much 
 easier thing to banter about it, than to exclude 
 it ; and this was the plague. 
 
 After a lone struggle, he finally got asleep, 
 and began to dream the most obscure and con- 
 fused things imaginable. Wandering from one 
 thing to another, he at length seemed to be in 
 a great church, far inside of it, in the midst of 
 a crowd of people. He could not imagine how 
 he had got there, how the thought had got into 
 his head to go there, especially at such a time, 
 and he worried himself about it. He looked 
 at the persons around him, all their faces were 
 wan, as if they had been dug out of the 
 grave ; their eyes were dull and without ex- 
 pression, their lips were hanging down : their 
 clothes were all falling to rags, and through the 
 tatters spots and tumors were seen. "Make 
 room, fellows," he supposed himself to call 
 out, looking at the door which was at a great 
 distance from him, and accompanying his cry 
 with threatening looks, without moving how- 
 ever, indeed shnnking into as small a compass 
 as he could, that he might not touch the dis- 
 gusting objects, that already pressed him too 
 closely on every side. But none of these 
 senseless figures seemed to move, nor to hear 
 him ; on the contrary they kept still closer to 
 him. Especially it appeared to him, that some 
 one of them, with his elbow, or with something 
 else, pushed him in the left side, betwixt the 
 heart and the shoulder, where he felt a painful 
 puncture, and dreadfully oppressive. When he 
 twisted himself to get relief from the pain, in- 
 stantly something else not visible, inflicted a 
 new sensation in the same place. Furious at 
 this, he sought to lay his hand on his sword, 
 when suddenly it seemed to him, whilst in the 
 crowd, that it had risen alone his body, and 
 that it was the pummel which hurt him in that 
 place, putting his hand there, he found no 
 sword, but his own touch renewed the pain 
 more violent. He called out, panted, and tried 
 to cry still louder, when behold all the people's 
 faces were turned in a particular direction. 
 Looking there, likewise, he perceived a pulpit, 
 and, lo ! a convex mass, smooth and shining, 
 was seen rising up from within it, till it dis- 
 tinctly became a bald crown, then two eyes ap- 
 peared, a face, and a long and white beard ; a 
 complete friar, as far as to where his girdle 
 touched the edge of the pulpit Father Chris- 
 topher himself! 
 
 The figure, glancing a ouick look at all the 
 auditory, seemed, as Don Rodrigo thought, at 
 last to fix his countenance upon him, raising 
 at the same time his hand, exactly in the atti- 
 tude he assumed in the room on the ground 
 floor of his palace. Then he also raised his 
 hand in a rage, and made an effort as if he 
 would stretch himself out to pull down that 
 arm thus lifted in the air ; but a sound that was 
 roaring imperfectly in his throat, burst forth 
 into a violent scream, and he awoke. He let 
 fall the arm which he really had raised up, and
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 211 
 
 was for some time troubled in the attempt to 
 recover his consciousness, and to open his eyes 
 well, for the full light of day annoyed him no 
 less than that of the candle had done ; he re- 
 cognized his bed, his room, perceived that the 
 whole had been a dream : the church, the peo- 
 ple, the friar, all had vanished : all save one 
 thing, the pain in his left side. Along with this 
 he felt an accelerated and distressing motion 
 of the heart ; in his ears he heard a rumbling 
 noise, a fire was within him, and a weight upon 
 all his members, more intolerable than when 
 he went to bed. He hesitated awhile about ex- 
 amining the part that gave him pain, at last he 
 uncovered it, cast a terrified look at it, and be- 
 held a frightful tumor of a livid purple color. 
 
 The man perceived that he was lost. The 
 terror of death took possession of him, and 
 perhaps in a still stronger degree the terror of 
 becoming a prey to the monatti, and of being 
 taken and thrown into the lazaretto. Whilst 
 he was deliberating upon some mode of avoid- 
 ing this horrible fate, he perceived his ideas 
 were becoming obscure and confused, and that 
 the moment was drawing nigh, when he would 
 only have sufficient consciousness left to de- 
 spair. He seized the bell and rung it with 
 violence. Griso who was on the alert, imme- 
 diately appeared. He stopped at a certain dis- 
 tance from the bed, looked attentively at his 
 master, and became certain of what the even- 
 ing before he had only conjectured. 
 
 " Griso !" said Don Rodrigo, raising himself 
 up in the bed with difficulty " thou hast al- 
 ways been my confident." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "I have always been kind tothee." 
 
 "It is your goodness." 
 
 "I can trust thee !" 
 
 "Oh, the devil!" 
 
 " I am sick, Griso." 
 
 "I was aware of it." 
 
 " If I get well, I will be kinder to thee than 
 I have ever been." 
 
 Griso said not a word, but waited to see in 
 what all this preamble would end. 
 
 "I cannot trust any body but thee," Don 
 Rodrigo continued, " do me a favor, Griso." 
 
 " Command me," he replied, answered in 
 his usual manner, to this unwonted language. 
 
 "Dost thou know where the surgeon Chiodo 
 lives?" 
 
 "I know very well." 
 
 " He is a safe man, who, if he is well paid, 
 will keep his patients in secret. Go and seek 
 him ; tell him I will give him four, six crowns 
 for every visit, and more, if he asks more ; and 
 that he must come here immediately : and do 
 the message well, that no one may know of 
 it." 
 
 "Very well thought of," said Griso, " I will 
 go and return." 
 
 " Hear, Griso, give me a little water first, I 
 am parched, and cannot stand it." 
 
 "No, signer," said Griso, " nothing without 
 consulting the doctor. These are capricious 
 complaints, and there is no time to lose. Be 
 
 quiet, I will be here in the twinkling of an eye 
 with Chiodo." 
 
 Having said this, he went out, shutting the 
 door after him. 
 
 Don Rodrigo having laid down again, ac- 
 companied him in his imagination to the house 
 of Chiodo, counted his steps, and calculated, 
 the time. Every now and then he turned to 
 look at his left side, but turned away his face 
 j in dread. After some time, he raised his ears 
 on the alert, to discover whether the surgeon 
 was coming, and the effort suspended partly his 
 sense of the evil, and kept his thoughts in some 
 order. All at once he heard a distant noise, 
 which seemed to him not to proceed from the 
 street, but from the inside of me house. He lis- 
 tened more anxiously, it became more distinct, 
 more continuouSjtogether with the sound effect. 
 A horrible suspicion now crossed his mind. He 
 raised himself in the bed, and listened with 
 still more attention, and heard a dull noise in the 
 adjoining room, as of a weight that had been 
 carefully placed on the floor : he put his feet 
 out of the bed to raise himself, kept his eye on 
 the door, when it opened, and two dirty worn 
 out red dresses, with a couple of excommuni- 
 cated faces, two monatti in fact came forward 
 and presented themselves ; he perceived too in 
 part the visage of Griso, who, hid behind a 
 doorstead partly closed, was playing the spy. 
 
 "Ah, infamous traitor! away scoundrels! 
 Biondino ! Carlotto ! help, I am assassinated," 
 screamed out Don Rodrigo, and thrusting his 
 hand under the pillow to find a pistol, grasps 
 and brings it out : but at his first cry, the mo- 
 natti flew to the bed, the quickest threw him- 
 self upon him, ere he could do any thing, 
 snatched the pistol from his hand, thre'w it at a 
 distance, turned him on his side and kept him 
 down, crying, with a grin, between rage and 
 scorn, "Ah, you rogue! what! against the 
 monatti ! against the ministers of the tribu- 
 nal ! against the men who do the work of 
 mercy!" 
 
 "Hold him fast, till we take him away," 
 said his companion, going towards the strong 
 chest. Griso now entered, and began to help 
 him to force the lock. 
 
 "Scoundrel!" howled out Don Rodrigo, 
 looking at him from under the man who held 
 him down, and disentangling himself from his 
 nervous arms. " Let me kill that villain," said 
 he to the monatti, " and then do with me what- 
 ever you like." Then he began to call aloud 
 upon his other servants, but all in vain ; the 
 abominable Griso had sent them all to a dis- 
 tance, with feigned orders from his master, be- 
 fore he had gone to the monatti to propose this 
 undertaking, and to divide the spoils with 
 them. 
 
 " Be quiet, be quiet," said the man who held 
 him pinned down to the bed, to the wretched 
 Don Rodrigo ; and then turning his face to the 
 two who were plundering the chest, called out, 
 
 do it like honest fellows now !" 
 
 "Thou! thou!" groaned out Don Rodri- 
 go to Griso, whom he saw busy in breaking
 
 212 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 the chest, and taking out money and other 
 things to be divided. " Thou ! after ! Devil 
 from hell ! But I can recover ! I can recover ! " 
 Griso did not utter a syllable ; neither, as far 
 as he could help it, did he turn his head in the 
 direction whence the words came. 
 
 "Hold him fast!" said the other monatti, 
 " he is a madman." 
 
 The miserable wretch in fact became so. 
 After a last and more violent effort to struggle 
 and call out, he fell all at once, resistless and 
 stupified. He looked on however like one en- 
 chanted, and now and then gave a shake of the 
 head, and sent forth a groan. 
 
 The monatti took him, one by the feet the 
 other by the shoulders, and went and placed 
 him on a hand litter they had deposited in the 
 other room, then one of them returned for the 
 booty, and having lifted up their miserable 
 weight, they carried him off. 
 
 Griso remained behind to select in haste 
 whatever he thought would suit him, he made 
 a bundle of his spoils, and left the house. He 
 had been careful enough not to touch the mo- 
 natti, not to let himself be touched by them, 
 but in his hurry towards the last, in looking 
 what he could pick up, he had lifted up his 
 master's clothes near the bed, and shook them ; 
 without thinking of any thing else, to see if 
 there was any money in them. He was re- 
 minded of this the following day, for whilst he 
 was enjoying himself at a tavern, a sudden 
 chill seized him, a cloud came over his eyes, 
 his strength failed him and he fell. Abandoned 
 by his companions, he fell into the hands of 
 the monatti, who having pillaged him of what- 
 ever he had about him that was worth having, 
 threw him upon a car, upon which he expired 
 before he reached the lazaretto, where his mas- 
 ter had been carried. 
 
 Leaving him in this abode of woes, we must 
 now go in search of another, whose story 
 would never have been mixed up with his, if 
 he had not accomplished it by forced marches ; 
 indeed it may be asserted as most certain, that 
 without that there would have been no story 
 about either one or the other of them. I speak 
 now of Renzo, whom we left at the new fila- 
 ture, under the name of Antonio Rivolta. 
 
 He had been there five or six months, sa- 
 ving the truth ; after which, hostilities having 
 broke out between the Venetian republic and 
 the King of Spain, and all apprehension having 
 ceased of any interference by bad officers from 
 the Venetian government, Bartolo had made 
 some haste to go and take him away, and place 
 him about himself again, because he had an 
 affection for him, and because Renzo, being 
 naturally intelligent, and skillful in his voca- 
 tion, was, in a great manufactory useful to the 
 factotum ; without any fear of his ever aspir- 
 ing to become one himself, for he did not know 
 how to use a pen. As this reason also counted 
 for something in the affair, we have thought 
 best to mention it. Perhaps you would prefer 
 an ideal Bartolo, if so, create one for yourself. 
 So the fact was. 
 
 Renzo continued afterwards to work under 
 him. More than once, and especially after re- 
 ceiving some of those blessed letteriPfrom 
 Agnes, the inclination had got into his head to 
 enlist for a soldier, and finish all his troubles 
 that way, and opportunities were not wanting, 
 for precisely at that moment, the republic was 
 frequently under the necessity of increasing 
 its troops. The temptation had sometimes been 
 so much the stronger for Renzo, as the inva- 
 sion of Milan had been talked of, and it natu- 
 rally appeared to him to be a very fine thing, 
 to return home in the character of a conqueror, 
 see Lucia again, and have an explanation with 
 her. But Bartolo in a judicious way had al- 
 ways been able to divert him from that reso- 
 lution. 
 
 " If they have to go there," he would say, 
 " they can go without thee, and thou canst go 
 afterwards at thy own convenience : if they 
 come back with their heads broke, wont it be 
 better to be out of the scrape ? There will be 
 no want of desperate fellows to take that 
 course, and before they do take that road ! 
 For me I am a heretic in this affair, they 
 make a great noise about it, but the state of 
 Milan is not a mouthful to swallow so easily. 
 It's Spain they will have to do with, my dear 
 son ; and thou knowest what Spain is, dost ihou 
 not ? Saint Mark is strong enough at home, 
 but it will take something else for that. Have 
 patience : art thou not well off here ? I know 
 what thou wouldst tell me, but if it is des- 
 tined there above that the thing is to take 
 place, it will be more sure to do so, if thou 
 dost not commit any follies. Some saint will 
 help thee. Trust me it is no trade for thee. 
 Dost it seem to thee right to leave off winding 
 silk, just to go and kill people ? What wouldst 
 thou do amongst such a set ? It requires men 
 made on purpose." 
 
 At other times Renzo resolved to go secret- 
 ly, disguised, and under a false name. But 
 Bartolo also succeeded in dissuading him from 
 this with reasons easily imagined. 
 
 The plague having broke out in the Mila- 
 nese territoiy, and exactly, as we have said, 
 where it joins that of Bergamo, it was not long 
 before it was felt there, and don't be alarmed^ 
 I am not going to inflict the history of that 
 likewise upon you ; he who wants to know it, 
 can find it, written by public authority by one 
 Lorenzo Ghirardelli, a rare book but unknown, 
 although it contains perhaps more particulars 
 than all the other descriptions of pestilences; 
 upon so many things does the reputation of 
 books depend ! What I wished to say, was, 
 that Renzo also took the plague, and cured 
 himself; that is, he did nothing at all ; nor was 
 he brought to death's door, for his good consti- 
 tution got the better of the disease, and in a 
 few days he was out of danger. With the re- 
 turn of health, his mind awoke again, and more 
 keenly, to the cares and anxieties of life, hopes, 
 desires, remembrances, plans ; that is to say, he 
 thought more than ever of Lucia. What had 
 become of her, at such a time, when to live
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 213 
 
 was an exception from the common fate ? And 
 at such a short distance, to know nothing about 
 her and to remain in such uncertainty, hea- 
 ven knows how long ! Then again when this 
 doubt was dispelled, when all danger was over, 
 and he should find out she was alive, there 
 was always that other obstacle, that dark affair 
 of the vow she had made. I will go, I will go, 
 and have it all cleared up at once he said to 
 himself, and this he determined before he had 
 strength enough to walk about. If she only is 
 alive ! ah, if she but lives ! I will find her out, 
 and hear from her own lips what sort of an af- 
 fair this promise is, I'll snow her that it can't 
 hold, and I'll take her away ; her, and that poor 
 Agnes, if she is alive ! she always wished me 
 well, and I am sure she does so still. As to 
 arresting me, those who are alive have some- 
 thing else to think of now. They go about in 
 safety, even here, those who have committed 
 Is there security for nobody but scoundrels ? 
 And at Milan, all agree the confusion is much 
 greater, therefore if I let such a favorable op- 
 portunity escape. (The plague ! see what a 
 strange use we make of words some times, that 
 blessed instinct of referring and making every 
 thing subordinate to ourselves.) I shall never 
 have such another. 
 
 How delightful is hope, my dear Renzo ! 
 Scarce could he drag himself about, than he 
 went in search of Bartolo, who up to that time 
 had been fortunate enough to escape the 
 plague, and kept himself secluded. He did not 
 go into the house, but calling out to him, he 
 came to the window. 
 
 "Ah! ah!" said Bartolo, "Thou hast got 
 out of it, eh ! It's well for thee !" 
 
 " I am rather weak, as thou see'st, but as to 
 danger, I am out of that." 
 
 " Faith, I wish I was as well off as thou art. 
 Formerly when a man could say, ' I am very 
 well,' it seemed to comprehend every thing, 
 but now it is not worth much. Give me the 
 man that can say, ' I am better,' that to be sure 
 means a great deal." 
 
 Renzo having said a few encouraging words 
 to his cousin, communicated to him his reso- 
 lution. 
 
 " Well, go this time, and may heaven bless 
 thee," he answered. " Try to keep out of the 
 hands of justice, as I will try to keep out of 
 the way of the contagion, and if God pleases 
 to prosper us both, we shall see each other 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, I shall certainly come back, if I could 
 only come back with somebody else. Well, I 
 must hope." 
 
 " Come back accompanied, if God pleases, 
 
 we will all work together, and be good company 
 
 to each other. If only thou finclest me here 
 
 again, and this devilish pestilence was over ! " 
 
 " We shall see each other again ; we shall 
 
 meet again, we shall meet again !" 
 
 " Well, I repeat, God grant it so." 
 
 For some days, Renzo exercised himself to 
 
 get his strength back again ; and scarce did he 
 
 think he could bear the journey, than he pre- 
 
 pared Tor his departure. He fastened a girdle 
 beneath his clothes containing the fifty crowns, 
 which he had never touched, and which he had 
 never told any one about, not even Bartolo ; 
 took a little money that he had laid by from 
 day to day, as he lived very frugally ; put a 
 bundle of clothes under his arm ; and with the 
 recommendation of service his second master 
 had given him, under the name of Antonio Ri- 
 volta, in his pocket, and a knife in the girdle 
 of his waist, which was the least thing a decent 
 man could wear in those times,he started,about 
 the last of August, three days after Don Rod- 
 rigo had been carried to the lazaretto. He 
 took the road to Lecco, desirous, before he 
 ventured himself to Milan, to pass by his own 
 village, where he hoped to find Agnes, and to 
 begin by learning from her some of those mat- 
 ters he was in such distress about. 
 
 The few persons who had recovered from 
 the plague, were, in the midst of the popula- 
 tion, truly a privileged class. A great part of 
 the survivors were languishing and dying, and 
 those who had hitherto escaped the contagion 
 lived in continual apprehension ; they went 
 cautiously about, with great circumspection, 
 with measured steps, clouded aspects, and with 
 haste and hesitation at the same time, for every 
 thing they met might inflict a mortal wound 
 on them. Those on the other hand, who had 
 recovered, feeling almost quite secure, (since 
 it was rather a prodigious than a rare thing to 
 have had the plague twice,) went about amidst 
 the pestilence freely and boldly, as the knights 
 of a particular period of the middle ages, cased 
 in armor wherever iron could be put, and 
 riding upon palfreys secured in like manner, 
 as far as it was possible ; thus they went wan- 
 dering about, (hence the glorious denomina- 
 tion of knights errant,) wherever chance led 
 them, amongst a poor rabble on foot of burgh- 
 ers and peasants, who had nothing but rags on 
 their backs to turn and deaden their blows. 
 A beautiful, sage, and useful occupation, wor- 
 thy of cutting the first figure in a treatise of 
 political economy. 
 
 With such confidence, tempted however by 
 some solicitude, by the frequent sad specta- 
 cles he saw, and by the incessant thought of 
 the general calamity, Renzo went towards his 
 house, beneath a fine sky,and through a charm- 
 ing country, and meeting after distances of a 
 melancholy solitude, some wandering shade 
 rather than a living person, or dead bodies that 
 were carrying to the ditch, without funeral 
 honors or dirges. About midday he stopped 
 in a grove, to eat a little bread and a mouthful 
 of meat which he had brought with him. 
 Fruit he had abundantly at his disposition all 
 along the road, much more than he wanted ; 
 figs, peaches, plums, and apples in profusion. 
 He had nothing to do but to go into an orchard, 
 and gather them from the boughs, or pick up 
 the ripest which had fallen to the ground, for 
 the year had been extraordinarily abundant in 
 all kinds of apples, and scarce any one attend- 
 ed to gathering them ; the grapes were hid be-
 
 214 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 neath a covering of vine leaves, and were left 
 in the power of any one who chose to take 
 them. 
 
 Towards vespers he discovered his own vil- 
 lage. At the sight of it, however he might 
 have been prepared, he felt his heart begin to 
 beat. A multitude of sorrowful recollections, 
 and painful presentiments, rushed upon him ; 
 he seemed to have in his ears those ominous 
 strokes of the bell, which had pursued him, as 
 it were, when he fled the country ; whilst at 
 the same moment, the silence of death was ac- 
 tually reigning around. He experienced a still 
 greater agitation when he reached the sacristy, 
 and expected he should feel still more so at the 
 term of his walk ; for the place where he had 
 proposed to stop, was that house which he had 
 been accustomed to call Lucia's house. Now, 
 he could only call it Agnes' house, and the only 
 favor that he asked of Heaven, was to find her 
 there alive and in health. There he intended 
 to ask for lodgings, conjecturing too well, that 
 his own was no longer a fit residence for any 
 thing but rats and pole cats. 
 
 To reach it, then, without passing through 
 the village, he took a path that led behind, the 
 same which he had once trod in such excellent 
 company, that remarkable night when they 
 intended to surprise the curate. About midday, 
 Renzo's vineyard laid on one side of the road, 
 and his house on the other, so that in passing 
 he could enter both of them a moment to see 
 how his own affairs stood. 
 
 As he was walking, he looked before him, 
 anxious and even apprehensive about seeing 
 any one, and after a lew paces, he perceived a 
 man in his shirt, seated on the ground, leaning 
 with his back against a hedge of jessamines, 
 in the attitude of an idiot ; this circumstance, 
 added to some resemblance in the face,called up 
 to his recollection that poor stupid blockhead 
 Gervaso.who accompanied him as a second wit- 
 ness on that unlucky disposition. But on draw- 
 ing nigher, he perceived that instead of him it 
 was that sharp fellow Tonio, who had managed 
 the affair. The pestilence, which had taken 
 away from him both his vigor of mind and 
 body, had brought out in his features and in all 
 his movements, a slightly concealed resem- 
 blance that he bore to his silly brother. 
 
 " Oh, Tonio," said Renzo to him, stopping, 
 "is it thou?" 
 
 Tonio raised his eyes up to his face, with- 
 out moving his head. 
 
 " Tonio, dost thou not know me ?" 
 
 " Whose turn it is, it is their turn ! " answer- 
 ed Tonio, remaining with his mouth open. 
 
 " Oh, thou hast it then ? poor Tonio, and 
 thou dost not know me again ?" 
 
 ' Whose turn it is, it is their turn !" he re- 
 plied, with a silly smile. Renzo seeing no- 
 thing was to be learnt from him went on still 
 more sorrowful. When something black, turn- 
 ing a corner, advanced towards him, which he 
 recognized to be Don Abbondio. He was 
 walking slowly.and carrying his stick as though 
 he partly relied upon it to carry him : as he 
 
 drew near, it was evident by his squalid and 
 meagre visage, and emaciated figure, that he 
 had had to encounter the storm. He looked 
 at Renzo, it seemed to him as if it \vas so and 
 was not so ; he perceived something foreign in 
 his dress, but it was precisely the dress of a 
 Bergamascan. 
 
 It is him beyond a doubt ! said he to him- 
 self, and raised his hands to heaven with a 
 movement of discontented surprise, holding up, 
 in his right hand, his stick in the air, his poor 
 thin arms hardly appearing in the sleeves 
 which they once filled so well. Renzo has- 
 tened to meet him, and make him a bow, for 
 although they had parted in a way you have not 
 forgot, still he was his curate. 
 
 " Are you here ?" Don Abbondio exclaimed. 
 
 "I am here, as your worship sees. Does 
 your worship know any thing of Lucia?" 
 
 " What should I know about her ? nothing is 
 known of her. She is at Milan, that is if she 
 is yet in this world. But you " 
 
 " And Agnes, is she alive ?" 
 
 " For ought I know; but how should I know ? 
 she is not here. But " 
 
 " Where is she ?" 
 
 " She is gone to stay in Valsassina, with her 
 relations there, at Pasture, you know who very 
 well. They say the plague is not as bad there 
 as it is here. But you, 1 say " 
 
 "Well, I am quite sorry for that. And fa- 
 ther Christopher ?" 
 
 " He went away some time ago. But " 
 
 "I knew that, they wrote me word. I ask 
 if ever he came back to these parts." 
 
 " Pugh ! We've heard nothing more about 
 him. But you " 
 
 " I am very sorry for that too." 
 
 " But you, I say, what are you come here 
 for, in these parts, for the love of Heaven ? 
 Don't you know that such a trifle as that out- 
 lawry. 
 
 " I don't mind that. They have something 
 else to think about. I wanted to come here 
 once more to look after my affairs. So it is not 
 known exactly ?" 
 
 " What do you want to do or see here ? 
 there's nobody left, there's nothing at all left. 
 And I repeat, that with the trifling matter of 
 that outlawry hanging over you, to come here, 
 right into the village, into the wolf's mouth, 
 is there any sense in that? Do as an old 
 man tells you who has more than yourself, and 
 who gives you advice for the love he bears 
 you. Fasten your shoes well, and before any 
 one sees you, return to whence you came from ; 
 and if any one has seen you, make the greater 
 hurry in getting back. Is this an air ior you 
 to breathe, do you think, this ? Don't you 
 know that they have been here to look after 
 you, and that they have ferreted every where 
 and turned things topsy turvy ? 
 
 " I know it too well, the villains !" 
 
 " But then " 
 
 " But if I tell you that I don't think of stay- 
 ing. And he, is he alive yet ? is he here in the 
 neighborhood?"
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 213 
 
 " I tell you there is nobody here, I tell you, 
 you must not think of any tiling that is here, I 
 tell you that " 
 " I ask if he is here, he ?" 
 "Oh, blessed Heaven? Be prudent. Is it 
 possible that you have still got all that fire up, 
 after so many things have happened ?" 
 "Is he here, or is he not here ?'' 
 " He is not here, I tell you. But the plague 
 is here my son, the plague ! Who is there goes 
 about so, in such times as these ?" 
 
 " If there was nothing but the plague in this 
 world I speak for myself. I have had it, and 
 am free now." 
 
 "But then, but then, are not these warn- 
 ings ? When a man has escaped a danger of 
 this kind, it seems to me he ought to thank 
 Heaven, and " 
 
 "I do thank it sincerely." 
 
 " And should not run himself into others, I 
 say. Do as I do." 
 
 " Your worship has had it too, Signor cu- 
 rate, if I am not mistaken." 
 
 " If I have had it ! A most infamous and 
 perfidious disorder it has been to me. It's a 
 miracle that I am alive. I need say no more 
 than that it has left me in such horrible trim as 
 you see me. And now, I was just wanting a 
 little quiet, to put me in some tone : I was be- 
 ginning to get a little better and what in the 
 name of Heaven are you come here for ? Turn 
 back " 
 
 " Your reverence is so full of this turning 
 back. Why should I turn back when I have 
 so many reasons for staying ? What am I come 
 here for, what am I come here for ? I am come 
 home to my own house." 
 
 " Your house "" 
 
 "Tell me, are many of the people dead 
 here!" 
 
 " Ob, dear ; oh, dear !" exclaimed Don Ab- 
 bondio; and beginning with Perpetua, he enu- 
 merated a great many individuals, and entire 
 families. Renzo was too well prepared for news 
 of this kind, but when he heard the names of 
 so many acquaintances, friends, and connec- 
 tions, (fie had lost his parents some years be- 
 fore) he was very much touched, and hanging 
 down his head, he exclaimed every now and 
 then, poor fellow ! poor woman ! poor peo- 
 ple!" 
 
 " You see how it is !" continued Don Ab- 
 bondio, " and it is not over yet. If those who 
 are left are not prudent for once, and dont get 
 rid of all their notions, there is nothing but the 
 end of the world that will bring them to rea- 
 son." 
 
 Dont doubt it ; indeed I have no intention of 
 remaining here." 
 
 " Ah ! Heaven be praised, it only has brought 
 you to your senses. I enter into your idea, you 
 have made up your mind to go back." 
 
 " Your worship need not trouble yourself 
 about that." 
 
 " Why, you are certainly not going to pro- 
 pose any thing worse to me, are you ? 
 
 "Don't trouble yourself about it I say ; that's 
 
 my business : I am more than seven years old 
 at any rate. I hope your worship will not tell 
 any one that you have seen me. Your worship 
 is a pastor, I am one of your flock, and you 
 wont betray me." 
 
 " I understand," said Don Abbondio, sighing 
 in an angiy manner. 
 
 " I understand. You want to ruin yourself, 
 and to ruin me too. You are not satisfied with 
 what you have gone through yourself, and you 
 are not satisfied with what I have gone through. 
 I understand, I understand." And, continuing 
 to murmur in his teeth these last words, he 
 went on his way. 
 
 Renzo remained there sad and discontented, 
 thinking where he should go to lodge. In the 
 fatal list that Don Abbondio had given him of 
 those who had died, there was a family of 
 country people all carried off except a young 
 man, nearly of Renzo's age, and his compan- 
 ion from infancy : the house was out of the 
 village, a very short distance. There he de- 
 termined to go to ask for quarters. 
 
 He had approached near to his own vine- 
 yard, sufficiently to form some idea of the real 
 state in which it was. A young shoot, the 
 branch of a tree which he had left, did not ap- 
 pear above the wall, and if any thing did ap- 
 pear, it had all grown during his absence. He 
 went to the open edge of it, (for there was not 
 a vestige left of rails) and cast a look around. 
 Poor vineyard ! For two winters running the 
 country people hat! gone to provide themselves 
 with wood there, " at the poor young fellows 
 place," as they said. Vines, mulberry trees, 
 fruit trees of every kind, all had been violently 
 pulled up, or cut off by the roots. Some ap- 
 pearances however of the ancient cultivation 
 were to be seen ; young cuttings in interrupted 
 lines, but which marked the traces of the dis- 
 ordered rows : here and there were stocks and 
 shoots of mulberries, figs, peaches, cherries, 
 and plums, but all choked and suffocated in the 
 midst of a new, various and thick growth, 
 sprung up and growing without the aid of man. 
 An immense crowd of nettles, ferns, cockles, 
 dog-grass, docks, wild oats, sorrel, and all sort 
 of wild plants of that kind, which country peo- 
 ple in all parts of the world, have formed one 
 extensive class of, called bad weeds. It was a 
 confusion of stems, all trying to over-reach 
 one another, or to get the better of one another 
 creeping on the ground a set of things trying 
 to oust each other of their places in every pos- 
 sible way : a mixture of leaves, flowers, fruits, 
 of a hundred colors, a hundred forms, a hundred 
 sizes ; ears of grain, clusters of flowers, with 
 small heads, white, red, yellow, blue. Amidst 
 the maze some appeared more distinctly, and 
 with more attraction, yet not of more value, at 
 least the greater part of them. The Turkish 
 grape was above them all, with its spreading 
 ruddy branches and its splendid leaves or 
 a greenish brown, sometimes edged with pur- 
 ple at the end ; its curved branches too, formed 
 of berries open below, above them small pur- 
 ple flowers, then green ones, and at the top
 
 216 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 whitish ones. The bearded yew with its broad 
 woolly leaves on the ground and its stem in 
 the air, furnished with long scattered spikes, 
 stellated with bright yellow flowers : thistles 
 with their hairy stems and branches, with tufts 
 of white or purple flowers crowning them, ex- 
 cept when they burst open, and their light and 
 silvery down was borne away by the air. Here 
 a quantity of birdweed, creeping and inter- 
 lacing with the new shoots of a mulberry plant, 
 had covered them over with its pendulous 
 leaves, pointing to the ground, and suspending 
 from the top ot them its white and tender little 
 bells : there a briony with its vermilion ber- 
 ries, had twisted itself around the young shoots 
 of a vine, the which, in vain seeking for a 
 stronger support, had in turn clung to the 
 briony with its tendrils, and mixing their weak 
 stems and their leaves, so little dissimilar, mu- 
 tually drew themselves downwards, as it fre- 
 quently occurs to the weak to rely upon each 
 other for support. The bramble was every 
 where ; it went from one plant to another, crept 
 out and down again, curled its branches or ex- 
 tended them, as necessity required, and advan- 
 cing beyond the limit of the vineyard itself, 
 seemed to be there for the purpose of disput- 
 ing the entrance with the proprietor himself. 
 
 But he had no wish to enter into such a vine- 
 yard, and perhaps did not remain as long to 
 look at it, as we have taken to make this little 
 sketch. He moved away from it; at a short 
 distance was his house, he passed through the 
 garden, trampling on hundreds of the new com- 
 ers, with which it was peopled, and covered just 
 like the vineyard. He entered one of the two 
 small rooms on the ground floor ; at the noise 
 of his footsteps, at his presence, a confused 
 rushing and tumultuous hurrying away of rats, 
 a plunging into the rubbish and dirt with which 
 the floor was covered, and which had once 
 been the bed of the landzknechts, was heard. 
 He raised his eyes around to the crumbled, 
 dirty and smoked walls ; he looked at the ceil- 
 ing which was one mass of cobwebs. There 
 was nothing else to be seen. He moved away 
 from here also, putting his hands in his hair, 
 passed tlirough the garden, and regained the 
 path he had trod a few moments before. After a 
 tew paces, he took another path to the left, 
 which led to the fields, and without seeing or 
 hearing a living soul, he approached the house 
 where ne intended to seek hospitality. It was 
 now evening. His friend was seated at the 
 door, upon a wooden bench, with his arms 
 crossed on his breast, his eves directed to 
 Heaven, like a man stupified by his misfor- 
 tunes, and made half savage by solitude. Hear- 
 ing a footstep, he turned to see who was com- 
 ing, and mistaking him in the twilight, between 
 the boughs and the leaves, he cried aloud, 
 standing erect, and raising both his hands, " Is 
 there no one but myself? Have I not done 
 enough yesterday ? Leave me to myself a little, 
 even this will be an act of mercy." 
 
 Renzo, not knowing what this meant, an- 
 swered him, calling him by his name. 
 
 " Renzo ?" said he, at the very same mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " The very same," said Renzo, and they 
 hastened to meet each other. 
 
 " Is it indeed thyself?" said his friend when 
 they got together. 
 
 " Oh, how glad I am to see thee ! Who 
 would have thought of it? I thought thou 
 wert paolin of the dead, who is always com- 
 ing plaguing me to help to bury people. Dost 
 thou know that I am left alone ? quite alone ! 
 just like a hermit !" 
 
 "1 know it too well," said Renzo. And 
 thus exchanging and mingling together wel- 
 comes, questions, and answers, they entered 
 the house together. There, without interrupt- 
 ing their conversation, his friend stirring about, 
 to do some little honor to Renzo, unprovided 
 as he was at such a time. He put some water 
 on the fire, and began to make some polenta, 
 but gave the stick to Renzo, to stir it with, and 
 went away, saying " I am quite alone, I have 
 nobody to help me, but " 
 
 He returned with a little pail of milk, some 
 salt meat, a couple of cream cheeses, some figs 
 and peaches, and every thing being ready, he 
 turned the polenta out upon the dish, and they 
 sat down to the table, thanking each other by 
 turns, one for the visit, the other for the recep- 
 tion given him. And after an absence of near 
 two years, they soon found out they were more 
 attached to each other than they had ever been, 
 when they saw each other every day : for, as the 
 manuscript says, things of that nature had hap- 
 pened to both of them which made them sen- 
 sible what a balm to the mind benevolence is, 
 as well that which is felt, as that which is ex- 
 perienced in another. 
 
 Certainly, nobody could supply to Renzo 
 the place of Agnes, not only on account of that 
 old and especial affection he bore her, but also 
 because amongst the many things he wanted 
 information about, there was one of which she 
 alone possessed the key. He remained a mo- 
 ment hesitating between two plans, one to go 
 and seek her, since she was at so short a dis- 
 tance ; but considering that she would know 
 nothing of Lucia's health, he adhered to his 
 first intention to ascertain that point, to make 
 the great attempt, and then convey the news 
 to her mother. From his friend, however, he 
 learned a great many things he was ignorant of, 
 and got several matters cleared up of which 
 he had imperfect information, respecting Lu- 
 cia's affairs, and the persecutions he had under- 
 gone ; and how Don Rodrigo had left the coun- 
 try with his tail between his legs, and had been 
 no more seen in those parts, together with the 
 whole mistification of that affair. He learnt 
 also, (and it was a piece of information of no 
 small importance to him,) how to pronounce 
 correctly the name of Don Ferrante, which 
 Agnes had communicated to him by her amanu- 
 ensis, but heaven knows how it had been writ- 
 ten, and the Bergamasc interpreter had read it 
 to him in such a way, had made such a strange 
 word of it, that if he had gone to Milan to get
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 217 
 
 information of such a family, he would proba- 
 bly not have found any one able to guess who 
 he was talking about. And yet it was the only 
 thread he had to lead him in his search after 
 Lucia. As to justice, he felt sufficiently as- 
 sured that the danger was too remote to give 
 himself any trouble about. The Podesta was 
 dead of the plague, and no one could tell when 
 another would be sent in his place ; the birri 
 for the greater part, were gone too, and those 
 who were left nad something else to do than 
 to trouble themselves about old matters. 
 
 He related his own adventures to his friend, 
 who told him in return a hundred stories, of 
 the passage of the army, of the plague, of the 
 anointers, of the prodigies that had taken place. 
 '' These are all frightful things," said the young 
 man accompanying Renzo to a small chamber 
 which the contagion had emptied of its inhabi- 
 tants, " things one never could have thought 
 of seeing, things that would prevent one's ever 
 being cheerful again, yet it relieves one to tell 
 them to a friend." 
 
 By daylight both of them were down stairs, 
 Renzo ready for his journey, with his girdle 
 hid under his jacket, and his knife in his waist, 
 and as to the rest bright and active. He left 
 his bundle in the care of his friend. " If every 
 thing turns out well," he said, " if I find her 
 alive, if enough then I shall come back 
 here ; I will go to Pasture, to give the happy 
 news to the good Agnes, and then, and then. 
 But if, unfortunately unfortunately it is not 
 God's pleasure then, I know not what I shall 
 do, I know not where I shall go, certainly I 
 shall never return here." Saying this, he stood 
 erect on the path that led to the fields, and 
 raising his head, with a look of mingled ten- 
 derness and grief, he looked at the sunrise of 
 his native place, which he had not seen for so 
 long a period. His friend comforted him with 
 hopes, made him take some provisions with 
 him to last the day, accompanied him a part of 
 the way, and let him go with repeated augu- 
 ries of good luck. 
 
 Renzo began his walk moderately, desirous 
 only of getting near to Milan that day, that he 
 might enter it early the next morning, and be- 
 gin his search. He met with no accident, nor 
 did he meet with any thing that particularly 
 attracted his attention beyond the usual melan- 
 choly and wretched spectacle he was accustom- 
 ed to. As he had done the preceding day, he 
 stopped at the proper time, in a grove to refresh 
 himself, and to rest himself. Passing by Mon- 
 za, before an open shop where bread was ex- 
 posed for sale, he asked for a couple of loaves, 
 that in any event, he might not be unprovided. 
 The man who kept the shop, desiring him not 
 to come in, put out a stick with a small dish 
 at the end of it, containing water and vinegar, 
 telling him to let the price of the bread drop 
 into it, as was done : then with a pair of tongs, 
 he handed him one after the other, the two 
 loaves, one of which Renzo put in each pocket. 
 
 Towards evening he reached Greco, without 
 knowing the name of the place, but with some 
 28 
 
 recollection of the places that he had preserved 
 since his last journey, and some calculation of 
 the distance he had made from Monza,he judg- 
 ed that he had got nigh enough to the city : he 
 therefore left the high road, in order to find 
 some cascinotto in the fields where he could 
 pass the night, not being disposed to get him- 
 self into any trouble with inns at all. He found 
 something better than he looked for ; seeing a 
 gap in a nedge that went round a barn yard, 
 he entered it at once. No one was there. On 
 one side he saw an extensive loft with a quan- 
 tity of hay in it, and a wooden ladder leaning 
 against it. Again he looked around him, then 
 mounted the ladder at all hazards, prepared 
 himself for passing the night there, and soon 
 dropped asleep,to awaken only in the morning. 
 Having awoke, he crept gently to the edge of 
 his capacious bed, put his nead out, and seeing 
 no one, got down as he got up, went out as he 
 entered, took the byways, taking the dome of 
 the cathedral for his polar star, and, after a short 
 walk, came to the walls of Milan, betwixt the 
 oriental gate, and Porta Nuova, and very near 
 to this last. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IN regard to entering the city, Renzo had 
 heard in general that the order was very severe 
 to let no one in without a bill of health, but 
 that in reality it was very easy to get in, by 
 any one who knew how to manage a little, and 
 to take the proper time. So it was, and with- 
 out discussing the general causes, why, at such 
 a time, every order was indifferently execu- 
 ted, and the particular causes which rendered 
 their rigorous execution so difficult, Milan was 
 brought to such a situation as not to be able to 
 perceive the necessity of its safety being look- 
 ed after, or by whom ; so that whoever should 
 enter would seem more indifferent about his 
 own health, than dangerous to that of the citi- 
 zens. 
 
 With this information, Renzo's plan was to 
 try to enter at the first gate he should come to, 
 and if he found any difficulty, to go round un- 
 til he found another more easy of access. 
 Heaven knows how many gates he thought 
 Milan must necessarily have. 
 
 Having reached the walls, he stopped to look 
 about him, like a person, who not knowing 
 which is the best course to take, seems to be 
 expecting some indication or other from every 
 thing. But, to the right and to the left, he dis- 
 covered nothing but two pieces of road fork- 
 ing off in front of him, and the wall : no where 
 was there any sign of a li ving person, if it was 
 not, that from some places upon the terrace, a 
 dense column of dark and heavy cloud was 
 seen rising up, and spreading, and resolving 
 itself into globular bodies, which afterwards 
 dissipated themselves into the immovable and 
 grey atmosphere. It was the clothes, the beds,
 
 218 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 and other infected movables which they were 
 burning, and such dreadful bonfires they were 
 continually making, not there alone, but all 
 along the walls. 
 
 The weather was close, the air heavy, the 
 sky was covered by a thick cloud or universal 
 fog, quite inert, which seemed to hide the sun, 
 without promising rain; the country around was 
 partly uncultivated, and quite burnt up, the 
 verdure had all faded, and not a drop of dew re- 
 freshed the withered and drooping leaves. In 
 addition to these, the solitude and silence that 
 reigned amidst such a mass of habitations, 
 brought a new consternation upon the inquie- 
 tude of Renzo, and made his thoughts still 
 more sad. 
 
 Having reflected a moment, he took the right 
 hand road at hazard, going, without knowing 
 it, towards Porta Nuova, the which, although 
 near to it, he could not perceive, on account 
 of a bulwark behind which it was then hid. 
 After a few paces, the sound of small bells be- 
 gan to reach his ears, at repeated intervals, 
 and then the voice of a man. He went on, 
 turned the angle of the bastion, and the first 
 thing he saw, on the level before the gate, was 
 a wooden sentry box, at the door of which, 
 was a guard with a wearied and negligent 
 manner, leaning on his musket. Behind it 
 was a palisade, and further down the gate it- 
 self, that is to say, two wings of the wall, with 
 a shed over the space, to protect the wood- 
 work : the gate was wide open, as well as the 
 wicket of the pales. But right before this last, 
 was a melancholy sort of obstacle, a hand lit- 
 ter, placed on the ground, and two monatti 
 placing an unfortunate creature on it to take 
 him away. This was the head toll-gatherer, 
 in whom a short time before the plague had 
 broken out. Renzo stopped where he was, 
 waiting till they had done, and they having 
 
 fone, and no one appearing to close the wicket, 
 e thought his chance was now come, and has- 
 tened on; but the guard putting on a fierce look, 
 called out to him " hollo !" He stopped, and 
 winking at the fellow, took out half a ducat, 
 and showed it to him. Either he had had the 
 plague, or that fearing it less than he liked half 
 ducats, he made signs to Renzo to throw it to 
 him.and seeing that it was immediately thrown 
 at his feet, whispered, " push on quick." 
 Renzo did not wait for this to be repeated, he 
 passed through the wicket, and the gate, and 
 advanced without any one seeing him or look- 
 ing after him, except that when he had gone 
 about forty paces, he heard another " hollo !" 
 which a toll-gatherer sent after him. Instead 
 of turning about, he quickened his pace, and 
 pretended not to hear him. "Hollo!" cried 
 put the toll-gatherer again, but in a tone that 
 indicated more anger than determination to be 
 obeyed, and the man perceiving no attention 
 was paid to him, shrugged up his shoulders and 
 went in again, like a man who preferred keep- 
 ing himself at a distance from passengers, to 
 questioning them too closely about their af- 
 fairs. 
 
 The street that led from the gate, ran then, 
 I as at present, straight on to the canal called 
 Naviglio : on each side were hedges or garden 
 walls, churches and convents, and very few 
 houses : at the end of this street, and in the 
 midst of the next which continued on to the 
 canal, there was a cross standing up, called the 
 cross of St. Eusebio. As far as Renzo could 
 see before him, nothing was to be perceived 
 but that cross. Having reached a cross street 
 which divided the one he was in about the cen- 
 tre, and looking to the right and to the left, he 
 perceived to the right, in the one which is call- 
 ed Santa Teresa, a citizen coming towards 
 him. Here, at last, is a Christian ! said he to 
 himself, and immediately turned into the street, 
 proposing to speak to him. This man also 
 looked at him, and kept examining from a dis- 
 tance, with a suspicious eye, the stranger who 
 was approaching ; and more particularly when 
 he saw, that instead of going on his own way, 
 he was coming right up to him. Renzo,when he 
 was at a short distance, took off his hat, like a 
 respectful mountaineer, as he was, and holding 
 it with his left hand, he put his right into the 
 empty crown, and went directly towards the 
 unknown. But he, rolling his eyes, stept back 
 a pace, and lifting a knotty stick he had, with 
 a sharp iron at the end of it like a spike, and 
 thrusting it towards Renzo's face, cried out, 
 be off! be off! be off! 
 
 " Oh, oh !" cried out the youth likewise, put- 
 ting his hat on, and feeling disposed, as he said 
 afterwards, for any thing but a dispute at such 
 a moment, turned his back upon so uncourte- 
 ous a person, and went on his way, or to speak 
 more correctly, the street into which he had 
 now got. 
 
 The citizen likewise went on his, all in a 
 rage, and looking behind his shoulders every 
 now and then. As soon as he got home, he 
 related how an anointer had come up to him, 
 with a humble and gentle manner, and the 
 countenance of an infamous impostor, with his 
 box of ointment, or his paper containing pow- 
 der, (he was not quite certain which of the 
 two) in his hand, in the crown of his hat, to 
 throw it at him, if he had not contrived to pre- 
 vent him. " If he had come one step nearer 
 to me, I would have run him right through be- 
 fore he would have had time to do any thing 
 to me, the scoundrel. The misfortune was 
 that we were in such a lone place ; if we had 
 been in the heart of the city, I would have 
 called for some aid, and we would have given 
 it to him. Certainly we should have found 
 all that villanous filthy stuff in his hat. But, 
 there, all alone, I was obliged to be satisfied 
 with saving myself, without running the risk 
 of bringing some misfortune on me, for a little 
 powder is soon thrown, and these fellows are 
 very dexterous at doing it, and then they have 
 the devil to help them besides. He is now go- 
 ing all about Milan, and who knows what de- 
 struction he will create." As long as he lived, 
 which was a good many years, every time 
 that he talked of anointers, he repeated his own
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 219 
 
 case, and added, " those who maintain there 
 was no such thing, don't let them come and 
 tell me so, for it is necessary to have seen such 
 things." 
 
 Renzo, far from imagining what a difficulty 
 he had escaped out of, and being more moved 
 by anger than fear, thought, as he was walking, 
 of the strange reception he had got, and at 
 length made some slight conjecture of the real 
 opinion the citizen had formed of him ; but 
 the thing appeared so extravagant, that he 
 came to the conclusion, the man must have 
 been half crazy. It's a bad beginning however 
 thought he, my evil stars are over me here 
 in Milan. I find no difficulty in getting into 
 the place, but as soon as I am in, I find all 
 sorts of vexations waiting for me. Well 
 with God's help if I find if I succeed in find- 
 ing all this will be nothing at all. 
 
 Having reached the foot of the bridge, he 
 turned to the left, without hesitation, into the 
 street called Strada San Marco, as being one 
 which seemed to lead into the interior of the 
 city. And proceeding on, he looked about to 
 see if he could perceive some human creature, 
 but nothing could he see save a disformed car- 
 cass in the ditch which runs between the few 
 houses there, (for then they were very few) 
 and the street, for some distance. Having 
 passed the ditch, he heard some one calling out, 
 as il to him, and turning to whence the sound 
 caiqe from, he perceived a short way off, at 
 the balcony of a small house standing by it- 
 self, a poor woman with a group of children 
 around her, who kept calling to him, and beck- 
 oning with her" hand for him to approach. He 
 went, and when he was near, " Oh, young 
 man," said the woman, " for the love of your 
 own dead, do me the charity to go and inform 
 the commissary that we have been forgotten 
 here. They have fastened up the house as a 
 suspected one, because my poor husband is 
 dead, they have nailed the door up, as you see, 
 and since yesterday morning no one has brought 
 us any thing to eat. For so many hours as I 
 have been nere, I have not been able to see 
 one Christian who would do this act of charity 
 for me, and these poor innocents are dying of 
 hunger." 
 
 " Of hunger !" exclaimed Renzo, and put- 
 ting his hands to his pockets; and taking the 
 two loaves out, said, "here, here, let some- 
 thing down from the window to take them." 
 
 "God reward you, stop a moment," said the 
 woman, and went to IOOK for a basket and a 
 cord to drop it down to him with, which she 
 did. Renzo remembered at this instant the two 
 loaves which he had formerly found at the 
 cross, at his entrance, and thought, this is a 
 restitution, and is better perhaps than if I had 
 found the owner of them himself, for this is 
 truly an act of mercy. 
 
 " As to the commissary you speak of, my 
 
 food woman, he said, putting the loaves into the 
 asket, I can't help you in that, for, to tell the 
 truth, I am a stranger, and I am not at all ac- 
 quainted with the town. But if I meet any hu- 
 
 mane person who can help you, and can get an 
 opportunity of speaking to him, I will tell him." 
 
 The woman entreated him to do so, and told 
 him the name of the street, that he might give 
 them directions. 
 
 " And you," replied Renzo, " I believe you 
 could do me a service, a real piece of charity, 
 without inconveniencing yourself. Can you 
 tell me how to find a gentleman's house, one 
 of the great people here of Milan, the family 
 
 "I know there is such a house," said the 
 woman, " but I do not know where it is. If 
 you go in this direction you will find some one 
 or other who will show you, and remember 
 also fo tell him of us." 
 
 "Dont doubt it," said Renzo, and went on. 
 
 At every step he heard a noise increase, and 
 approach, which he had first been aware of 
 when he stopped to talk to the woman ; a 
 noise of w r heels and horses, with a sound of 
 bells, and every now and then a cracking of 
 whips, and shouting. He looked before, but 
 saw nothing. Having reached the end of that 
 crooked street, and got in front of St. Mark's 
 Square, the thing that first arrested his atten- 
 tion was two posts set up, with a cord and 
 pulleys ; he saw directly, (for it was a fami- 
 liar sight in those days) the abominable ma- 
 chine of torture. It was erected in that place, 
 and not only in that, but in all the squares and 
 most spacious streets, so that the deputies of 
 every quarter, being furnished with arbitrary 
 authority, might apply this instrument to any 
 one who appeared deserving of punishment, 
 to sequestered people who hail left their houses, 
 or officials who refused to execute their orders, 
 or to any persons whatever ; it was one of those 
 immoderate and inefficacious remedies of the 
 times, and especially of that moment, which 
 were made such profuse use of. 
 
 Whilst Renzo was looking at it, conjectur- 
 ing why it was placed there, the noise drew 
 nigh, and round tne corner of the church a man 
 appeared who rang a small bell, he was an ap- 
 paritor ; behind him two horses stretching out 
 their necks, and straining their limbs, were ad- 
 vancing with difficulty, and dragging a car full 
 of dead bodies, after this came another, and 
 then another, and then another, with monatti 
 at the horses sides, urging them on with blows 
 and oaths. The bodies were naked for the 
 greater part, some badly wrapped up in dirty 
 rags, heaped up, and folded together like a 
 knot of serpents which slowly disengage them- 
 selves with the warmth of spring : for at every 
 stop, at every shock, those melancholy heaps 
 were observed to tremble and separate in a dis- 
 gusting manner , heads were protruded down- 
 wards, virgin tresses thrown the wrong way, 
 arms were liberated and knocking against the 
 wheels, revealing to the horror struck eye how 
 so sad a funeral spectacle could become still 
 more wretched and offensive. 
 
 The youth stopped at the corner of the 
 square, near the barrier of the canal, and prayed 
 meanwhile for the unknown dead. A dreadful
 
 220 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 thought shot through his mind ; perhaps there, 
 there with the rest, there beneath oh, Lord 
 God ! let it not be true ! suffer me not to think 
 of it! 
 
 The funeral train disappeared, and he too 
 moved, crossing the square, following the street 
 on the left along the canal, without any other 
 reason for doing so, except that the cars had 
 gone the opposite way. Having gone the short 
 distance betwixt the flank of the church and 
 the canal, he saw on his right the Marcellino 
 bridge, he crossed it, and so by that narrow 
 pass got into the Borgo Nuovo. Whilst he was 
 looking ahead, always with a view to discover 
 some one of whom he might make some in- 
 quiries, he saw at the other end of the street a 
 priest in his doublet, standing with a stick in 
 his hand near a door which was ajar, his head 
 inclining downwards, and his ear at the open 
 space ; soon afterwards he saw the priest raise 
 his hand in the act of giving a benediction. 
 He concluded, what was the fact, that he had 
 been confessing some one, and said to him- 
 self, this is my man. If a priest exercising 
 the functions of a priest has not got a little 
 charity, a little affability and kindness, I must 
 say there is none to be'found in the world. 
 
 In the meantime the priest, having left the 
 door, advanced towards Renzo, walking very 
 carefully, in the middle of the street. Renzo 
 when he was within four or five paces of him, 
 took his hat off, and intimated that he wished 
 to speak to him, stopping at the same time, in 
 such a way as to show him that he did not wish 
 to act indiscreetly by coming too near him. He 
 stopped likewise as though he was willing 
 to listen, putting his stick, however, to the 
 ground before him, as if it was to serve as a 
 bulwark for him. 
 
 Renzo made his inquiries, which the priest 
 answered, not only telling him the name of the 
 street where the house was situated, but giving 
 him also, as he saw the poor young fellow stood 
 in need of them, some directions, describing 
 to him by ever so many rights and lefts, crosses 
 and churches, the other six or eight streets he 
 had to pass before he got there. 
 
 " God keep you well, in these times, and al- 
 ways," said Renzo ; and as the priest was leav- 
 ing him, " there is another act of charity," he 
 added ; and then communicated to him the fact 
 of the poor woman who had been forgotten. 
 The worthy priest thanked him for having fur- 
 nished him with an occasion for sending such 
 necessary succors, and, saying he would inform 
 the proper authority, went on. 
 
 Ren/,o, having made his bow, went also on 
 his way, repeating to himself the directions 
 he had received, that he might be obliged as 
 little as possible to ask any more questions. It 
 would be difficult for any one to imagine what 
 a painful operation this was to him, not simply 
 on account of the intricacy of the aflair, but 
 of a new agitation that had sprung up in his 
 mind. The very name of the street, and the 
 course which had been described to him to get 
 there, threw bis whole mind into confusion. It 
 
 was the information he had wished and had 
 sought, without which he could do nothing ; 
 nor had he been told any thing which could 
 induce him to entertain any evil omens, or 
 even a suspicion of misfortune. But what was 
 the cause ? It was the more distant idea of a 
 period at hand, when a great doubt would be 
 resolved, when he might hear it said, she is 
 alive, or hear it said, she is dead. The feel- 
 ing had become so strong with him, that at that 
 very moment he would have preferred to have 
 remained altogether in the dark about every- 
 thing, and to be at the very beginning of his 
 journey, when he was just touching the very 
 term of it. He however rallied himself if 
 said he, I begin to act like a child now, what 
 will it all come to ? Thus somewhat reassured, 
 he pursued his way, advancing into the city. 
 
 What a city ! and what a moment to think 
 of its condition the preceding year, during the 
 famine ! 
 
 Renzo had precisely to pass by one of the 
 quarters of the city which had been most despoi- 
 led and desolated : the cross streets which were 
 called the Carrobbio of Porta Nuova, (there 
 was a cross then at the head of the Corso, and 
 in front of it, near the place where now San 
 Francisco di Paola stands, an old church called 
 St. Anastasia.) In that quarter such had been 
 the rage of the contagion, and the infection 
 from the dead bodies, that the few persons who 
 had survived, had been obliged to evacuate it : 
 so that while the eye of the passenger was 
 struck by the appearance of solitude and aban- 
 donment, more than one sense was too distres- 
 singly offended by the relics of the recent 
 habitations. Renzo quickened his steps, en- 
 couraging himself with the thought that the 
 house he was seeking could not be near this 
 quarter, and hoping, that ere he should arrive 
 taere, he should find the scene, at least in a 
 great measure changed : and in fact, at no 
 great distance he came to what might be called 
 a city of the living, but still what a city ! and 
 what living ! All the street doors, from suspi- 
 cion and terror, shut up, except those which 
 were wide open because they were uninhabited 
 or had been invaded : others nailed up and 
 sealed without, on account of persons dead or 
 sick within of the plague : some were marked 
 with the figure of a cross made with coal, as a 
 sign to the monatti, that some dead bodies were 
 there to be removed : things were trusted to 
 chance more than system, depending upon 
 whether a commissary of the tribunal of health 
 or any other official had gone to this or to that 
 place, whether he had executed his orders, or 
 wanted to extort something. Rags, purulent 
 bandages, infectious bed clothes, garments, or 
 sheets were lying every where, as they had 
 been thrown out of the windows, sometimes 
 dead bodies, or those of persons who had fallen 
 exhausted in the street, and left there till a car 
 should pass by and take them, or corpses which 
 had slipped from the cars themselves, or which 
 had been pitched from the windows : so much 
 had the duration and rage of the disorder ren-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 221 
 
 dered men savage,and weaned them from every 
 pious care, and social respect ! The bustle of 
 the shops, the noise of carriages, the cries of 
 sellers, the talking of passengers having every 
 where ceased, it was now an extremely rare 
 thing that that silence of death should be in- 
 terrupted by any thing but the rumbling of the 
 funeral cars, the waihngs of the sick, the com- 
 plaints of the infected, the bowlings of the 
 frantic, and the vociferations of the monatti. 
 At the dawn, at midday, and at evening, a bell 
 from the dome of the cathedral gave notice to 
 recite certain prayers that had been directed by 
 the archbishop : the bells of the other churches 
 responded to the stroke, and at that hour the 
 people drew to the windows of their houses 
 to pray together : there a whispering of voices 
 and of groans might be heard, uttering forth a 
 wretchedness mixed up, nevertheless, with 
 some comfort. 
 
 Two thirds of the citizens being at this time 
 perhaps dead, and a great portion of the re- 
 mainder being in a feeble and languishing state, 
 and the concourse of people to the city from 
 without the walls, being reduced almost to 
 nothing, it was difficult, in a long circuit, to 
 meet by chance, any one in whose person some- 
 thing extraordinary was not to be observed, 
 and sufficient of itself to announce a fatal change 
 in things. Men of the first distinction, were seen 
 without cloaks, a most essential part, at that 
 period, of polite dress ; priests without their 
 cassocks, friars without their cowls ; every sort 
 of dress in fact had been laid aside, the skirts 
 of which could come in contact with any thing, 
 or give (what was more dreaded than any 
 thing) facility to the anointers; and besides 
 going about girded up and as tight as possible, 
 every one was negligent and slovenly in his 
 person : those who wore beards permitted them 
 to grow inordinately long, and those who were 
 accustomed to shave permitted them to grow : 
 neither did they take any care of their hair, let- 
 ting it grow at random, not only on account of 
 the indifference which grows out of a long con- 
 tinued consternation, but because the barbers 
 had become suspected, from the moment that 
 one of them, Giangiacomo Mora, had been ar- 
 rested and condemned, as a great anointer. A 
 name that, for a long time afterwards, preserv- 
 ed an infamous celeority in the city, whilst in 
 truth it merited a more extensive and perpe- 
 tual praise for goodness. 
 
 The greater part held in one hand a club, 
 and some a pistol, as a menacing warning to 
 whoever wanted to approach too near, and in 
 the other an odorous pastil, or a metallic or 
 wooden ball pierced with holes, and containing 
 sponges dipped in medicated acids, putting 
 them constantly to their noses, or keeping them 
 there always. Some carried, suspended from 
 their necks, a vial containing quick silver, 
 persuaded that it possessed the virtue of ab- 
 sorbing pestilential effluvia, and taking care to 
 renew it from time to time. The gentlemen 
 not only went about without their usual attend- 
 ants, but were seen with a basket on their arms 
 
 going to provide themselves with the necessa- 
 ries of life. Friends, when indeed two living 
 ones met in the streets, saluted each other from 
 a distance, with silent and hasty motions. 
 Every one, in walking, had enough to do to 
 get out of the way of the disgusting and deadly 
 rubbish spread on the ground, which some- 
 times entirely encumbered it. All sought to 
 keep the middle of the street, afraid of some 
 filth, or something more fatally heavy that 
 might be thrown out of the window, afraid too 
 of the poisonous powders that were said to be 
 frequently thrown from them upon the passen- 
 gers, and of the walls, lest they might be anoint- 
 ed. Thus ignorance, secure and unprofitably 
 cautious, now added misery to misery, and sub- 
 stituted false terrors for the salutary and reason- 
 able precautions it had taken in the beginning. 
 
 Such was the least deformed, and least dis- 
 tressing spectacle that was exhibited by those 
 who were well and at ease ; for after so many 
 images of misery, and reflecting upon that still 
 more distressing picture we have yet to de- 
 scribe, we will not stop now to speak of the 
 miserable and loathsome objects who dragged 
 themselves about, or who were lying in the 
 streets, beggars children and women. They 
 were such, that the spectator might find a des- 
 perate comfort in what would appear to poste- 
 rity as the consummation of misfortune, in the 
 reflection of how small a number the living 
 were reduced to. 1 
 
 In the midst of this desolation Renzo had 
 finished a great part of his course, when at 
 some distance from a street into which he had 
 to turn, he heard a confused and various noise, 
 amidst which he distinguished the wonted hor- 
 rible ringing. 
 
 At the entrance of the street, which was 
 somewhat broad, he saw in the centre of it four 
 cars standing still ; and as in a corn market peo- 
 ple are seen going and coming, loading and 
 throwing off sacks, such was the press in this 
 place. Monatti running into the nouses, mo- 
 natti coming out of them, with a load on their 
 backs, and putting it on one or the other of 
 the cars : some with red dresses on, others 
 without that distinction, many with a still more 
 odious one, plumes and caps of various colors, 
 worn by those wretches, as tokens of festivity, 
 in the midst of so much public mourning. 
 Now and then a lugubrious voice was heard 
 from a window, " here, monatti !" and with a 
 still more horrible tone, a sharp voice would 
 be heard issuing from that fearful confusion, 
 " by and by." Or else complaints from those 
 near, urging them to make haste, to which the 
 monatti answered by imprecations. 
 
 Having entered the street, Renzo quickened 
 his pace, endeavoring not to look at these in- 
 cumbrances, more than was necessary to avoid 
 them, when his wandering eyes were arrest- 
 ed upon an object of singular interest, exciting 
 a compassion in him, which wrapt up his whole 
 mind in contemplation of the spectacle ; so that 
 he stopped almost without thinking of doing 

 
 222 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 A lady came from the threshhold of one of 
 the houses towards the convoy, whose aspect 
 announced advanced youth, but which had not 
 yet passed away ; the beauty which she pos- 
 sessed was obscured, but not obliterated, by 
 much distress and mortal langor ; that sort of 
 majestic, yet at the same time soft beauty, 
 which is so conspicuous in the Lombard blood. 
 She walked painfully but did not stagger, her 
 eyes did not shed tears, but bore marks of 
 having abundantly done so. There was in her 
 grief something inexpressibly quiet and deep, 
 which indicated a soul all imbued and filled 
 with it. But it was not only her own appear- 
 ance, which amongst so much misery, marked 
 her especially for commiseration, and awaken- 
 ed in ner favor, a feeling now deadened and 
 worn out in all hearts : she bore in her arms 
 a young girl of about nine years old, dead; but 
 dressed, and laid out, with her hair divided in 
 front, in a white frock of the greatest purity, 
 as if her own hands had adorned her for a feast 
 promised some time ago, as a reward for her 
 goodness. She held her erect, seated upon 
 one of her arms, with her breast upon the 
 lady's breast, and she might have thought to 
 have been alive, if it were not that her young 
 white hand hung inanimately and heavily on 
 one side, like wax work, and if her head had 
 not laid upon the shoulder of her mother in 
 an attitude of abandonment heavier than that 
 of sleep. Of her mother! for if the resem- 
 blance between those two countenances had 
 not proclaimed it, it could not but be announ- 
 ced oy the distress which filled one of them. 
 
 And now a coarse monatti drew near to the 
 lady, and made signs to relieve her from her 
 load ; but still with a kind of unusual respect, 
 and involuntarily hesitation. But she, draw- 
 ing back somewhat, in an attitude, however, 
 showing neither scorn nor disdain, " no !" said 
 she, " do not touch her now, I must lay her 
 upon that car myself: take this." Saying this, 
 she opened one of her hands, showed a purse 
 and let it fall into that which the monatti held 
 out. She then continued, " promise me not to 
 take a thread from her, nor to permit others to 
 attempt it, and to put her in the ground just 
 as she is." 
 
 The monatti carried his hand to his breast, 
 then with an obsequious kind of zeal, produ- 
 ced more by the new sentiment which had 
 subdued him, than the unexpected gift, he bu- 
 sied himself with making room on the car for 
 the little corpse. The lady, having kissed her 
 forehead, placed her there as upon a bed, laid 
 her straight, spread over her a white sheet, and 
 said these last words, " adieu, Cecilia! rest in 
 peace ! This evening we shall see each other 
 again, never to separate again. Meantime 
 pray for us, and I will pray for thee, and for 
 the others." Then turning again to the mo- 
 natti, "you," she said, "when you pass by 
 again at vespers, will come up and take me 
 too, and not me alone." 
 
 Having said this, she re-entered the house, 
 and an instant after appeared at the window, 
 
 holding in her arms a still younger darling, 
 alive, but with the marks of death on its face. 
 She staid a moment in contemplation as it were 
 of the unworthy obsequies of the first, until the 
 car moved, and whilst it remained in sight, and 
 then she disappeared. And what now re- 
 mained for her to do, but to lay the only one 
 which remained to her on the bed, place her- 
 self by her side, and die with her? just as the 
 stately blossom upon its stem, falls with its 
 floweret not yet escaped from the bud, when 
 the scythe passes which levels all the plants of 
 the meadow. 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" exclaimed Renzo, "receive 
 her prayers ! take her to thyself, her and her 
 little babe ; they have suffered enough ! they 
 have suffered enough !" 
 
 Recovered somewhat from his emotions, and 
 whilst he endeavored to recollect his course, 
 whether at the first turn he had to go to the 
 right or to the left, he heard another and a dif- 
 ferent kind of noise approaching, a confused 
 sound of imperious cries, of feeble lamenta- 
 tions, of continued wailings, of female sobs, 
 and children prattling. 
 
 He went on, with the accustomed sad and 
 gloomy expectation in his heart. Arrived at 
 the cross street, he perceived on one hand a 
 confused crowd approaching, and stopped till 
 it had passed. It was a tram of sick persons 
 going to the lazaretto ; some driven by force, 
 offering a vain resistance, vainly exclaiming 
 that they would prefer to die on their own beds, 
 and sending back impotent imprecations to the 
 oaths and commands of the monatti who were 
 conductingthem. Others went in silence, with- 
 out grief as it appeared, and without hope, as 
 if they were senseless : women with their in- 
 fants on their necks : children frightened by the 
 cries, by the orders, by the company, more 
 than by the confused idea of death, and loudly 
 imploring their mothers to take them in their 
 faithful arms, to their own homes. Ah ! and 
 perhaps the mother, whom they supposed they 
 had left asleep on the bed, had thrown herself 
 there.struck down by the disease.and senseless, 
 to be taken by a car to the lazaretto, or to the 
 ditch, if the car arrived later. Perhaps, oh 
 misery, worthy of still more bitter tears ! the 
 mother occupied altogether with her own suf- 
 ferings, was forgetful of every thing, even of 
 her children, and had but one thought left, to 
 die in peace. Still, amidst so much confusion, 
 there were yet some examples of constancy 
 and compassion : parents, brothers, sons, con- 
 sorts, who sustained those who were dear to 
 them, and who accompanied them with words 
 of comfort ; nor yet adults alone, young boys, 
 and even young girls, who escorted their 
 younger brothers, and with the wisdom and 
 discretion of a more mature age, encouraged 
 them to be obedient, and assured them that 
 they were going to a place where others would 
 take care of them ana cure them. 
 
 In the midst of all the sadness and the com- 
 passion which these spectacles touched him 
 with, a more powerful solicitude agitated more
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 225 
 
 nearly and kept in suspense our traveler. 
 The house could not be far off, and who could 
 tell if amongst all those people. But the crowd 
 having passed, and the doubt having ceased, 
 he turned to a inonatti who was coining be- 
 hind, and asked him about the street and the 
 house where Don Ferrante lived. " Find them 
 out yourself, bumpkin," was the answer that 
 he got. He made no reply, but seeing a few 
 paces off, a commissary who brought up the 
 rear of the convoy, and had somewhat of a 
 Christian look, he put the same question to him. 
 The man, pointing with a stick to the quarter 
 whence he came, said " the first street to the 
 right, the last gentleman's house on the left." 
 
 With a new and still stronger beating at his 
 heart, the youth dragged himself there. He 
 is in the street, he soon perceives the house 
 amongst the more humble and less commodi- 
 ous ones, he approaches the door which is shut, 
 puts his hand to the knocker, holds it suspend- 
 ed, as if his hand was about drawing a lot upon 
 which his life or death depended. At length 
 he raised it, and gave it a resolute knock. 
 
 After a short moment a window was care- 
 fully opened, and a woman put her head part- 
 ly out, and looked to the door with a dark face 
 that seemed to say, monatti, I suppose ? rob- 
 bers ? commissaries ? anointers ? devils ? 
 
 " Signora," said Renzo, looking up, with an 
 unsteady voice " is there a young country wo- 
 man here at service called Lucia?" 
 
 " She is no longer here, go your ways," an- 
 swered the woman, in the act of shutting the 
 window. 
 
 " A moment, for charity's sake ! She is no 
 longer here ? Where is she ? 
 
 " At the lazaretto," and again she began to 
 shut it. 
 
 " But one moment, for the love of Heaven ! 
 With the plague .'" 
 
 " To be sure. Is that a new thing, eh ? go 
 about your business." 
 
 " Stay, tell me ! Has she been sick a long 
 time ? How long is it ?" 
 
 The window now was shut in good earnest. 
 
 " Signora ! signora ! one word, for charity's 
 sake ! for the sake of your dead friends. I 
 don't want to ask you any thing about your 
 own affairs, Signora !" but it was like talking 
 to the wall. 
 
 Afflicted at the news, and irritated at the 
 treatment, Renzo seized the knocker again, 
 and leaning against the door, was pulling and 
 twisting it in his hand, then raised it in a des- 
 perate sort of way, and then hesitated awhile. 
 In this agitation he looked round to see if he 
 could espy some neighbor, from whom per- 
 haps he could get. some clear information, some 
 direction, some light or other. But the first, 
 the only person he perceived, was another wo- 
 man, perhaps about twenty paces off, who, 
 with a countenance expressive of terror,hatred, 
 impatience, and malice, eyes that seemed to 
 be fixed on him, and still looking at a greater 
 distance, her mouth open as if she was going 
 to scream, but still holding her breath, raising 
 
 two skinny arms, stretching out and drawing 
 back her wrinkled and hooked fingers, as if she 
 was pulling something to herself, she gave 
 manifest sfgns of wanting to call for help, and 
 of a design to prevent somebody from perceiv- 
 ing it. When her eyes met his, she started as 
 if surprised, and put on a still more furious 
 look. 
 
 "Why, what the deuce I" Renzo began, 
 raising his hands likewise to the woman, but 
 she having lost the opportunity of having him 
 caught without his being aware of it, let go the 
 cry that she had restrained until now, " an 
 anointer I give it to him ! give it to him ! an 
 anointer I" " Who ? I Lyou lying old witch,hold 
 your tongue," cried Renzo, and ran towards 
 the place where she was, to intimidate her. 
 But he soon perceived be had better attend to 
 his own affairs. At the woman's screams peo- 
 ple ran from all sides, not such a crowd to be 
 sure as in a similar case, would have got to- 
 gether three months before, but quite more 
 than was necessary to drive one man away. 
 At the same moment the window was opened 
 again, and the first woman who had acted so 
 uncourteously, showed herself at full length, 
 and screamed out also " catch him ! catch him ! 
 no doubt he is one of those wicked fellows, 
 that goes about anointing honest people's 
 doors." 
 
 Renzo determined instantly that it was bet- 
 ter to get clear of these people, rather than to 
 stop and justify himself; and casting his eye 
 round to see in what direction the fewest peo- 
 ple were, he took the road that seemed the best. 
 He pushed one of them out of the way that op- 
 posed him, and made another retire eight or 
 ten paces with a blow in his breast from his 
 fist, and away he ran, with his closed and 
 knotty fist in the air ready for any one who 
 should approach him. The street before him 
 was empty, but behind him he heard still 
 louder the bitter cries of " give it to him ! give 
 it to him ! the anointer !" and heard the feet of 
 the quickest of them drawing nigh. His anger 
 was now converted into fury, his anguish be- 
 came desperation : a veil rose before nis eyes, 
 he seized his knife, unsheathed it, stopped and 
 collected himself, and turning round with an 
 aspect more furious than he had ever put on in 
 his life, and flourishing the shining blade in the 
 air with his outstretched arm, cried out, " come 
 on, you rascals, if you dare ! I'll anoint you in 
 good earnest with this." 
 
 But he was very much surprized and com- 
 forted when he saw his persecutors had stop- 
 ped at some distance, as if they were hesita- 
 ting, and still screaming, were holding up their 
 hands and making sings as if they were alarm- 
 ed, at some people in the distance who were 
 behind him. Turning about, he saw before 
 him at no great distance (his great agitation not 
 having permitted him to see them before) a 
 car that was approaching, indeed a train of the 
 wonted funeral cars with their usual accom- 
 paniments, and beyond them another crowd 
 of people that were wanting also to get the
 
 224 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 anointer between the two parties, and so catch 
 him, but they were prevented by the same im- 
 pediment. Seeing himself between two fires, 
 it occurred to him that that which was a cause 
 of terror to them, might be the means of safely 
 to him : thinking it was no time to make diffi- 
 culties, he sheathed his knife, drew on one side 
 and advanced to meet the cars, and passing the 
 first, perceived there was sufficient space left 
 in the second. He measured the distance, and 
 sprang upon the car with his right foot, with 
 his left in the air, and his arms stretched out. 
 " Bravo ! bravo !" exclaimed the monatti 
 altogether, some of whom were following the 
 car on foot, some seated upon it, and others, to 
 relate the horrible circumstance as it was, 
 were seated upon the dead bodies, drinking 
 from a large flask they were handing round. 
 "Bravo! well done!" "Thou art come to 
 put thyself under the protection of the monat- 
 ti, thou art as safe as if thou wert in a church," 
 said one of two who were seated on the car 
 where he had leaped. 
 
 His enemies, as the train drew nigh, had for 
 the greater part turned their backs, and were 
 going away, still crying give it to him ! give it 
 to him ! the anointer ! A few of them retired 
 more slowly, stopping now and then, and turn- 
 ing to grind their teeth and use menacing ges- 
 tures at Renzo, who from the car answered 
 them waving his fist in the air. 
 
 " Let me manage them," said a monatti to 
 him, and tearing a dirty piece of rag from one 
 of the corpses, and making a bundle of it, took 
 hold of one of its ends, and made signs to throw 
 it at them, as if it were a sling, calling out, 
 "Stop, you rascals!" at that motion all of 
 them ran off horror struck, and Renzo saw 
 nothing more but the backs of his enemies, 
 and their heels going up and down as lively as 
 a fulling mill. 
 
 The monatti raised a cry of triumph, a loud 
 burst of laughter, and a lengthened shout by 
 way of accompaniment to their flight. 
 
 " Ah, ah ! thou seest now whether we know 
 how to protect honest men or not," said the 
 monatti to Renzo, " one of us can frighten a 
 hundred of those cowardly fellows." 
 
 " Certainly, I may say, that I owe you my 
 life," answered he, " and I thank you with all 
 my heart." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," replied the monatti, 
 thou deservest it, one can see thou art a good 
 young fellow. Thou art quite right in anoint- 
 ing these rascals : anoint them, extirpate them, 
 they are good for nothing at all except when 
 they are dead : they curse us on account of 
 the life we lead, and say, that as soon as the 
 plague is over they will have us all hanged. 
 But they will all die before the plague does, 
 and the monatti will be left alone to sing vic- 
 tory, and to enjoy themselves in Milan." 
 
 " Hurrah for the plague, and death to all 
 the rascally crowd of fellows !" exclaimed an- 
 other, and with this famous toast he put the 
 flask to his mouth, and holding it with both 
 his hands, amidst the jolting of the car, took a 
 
 long draught, then handed it to Renzo, saying, 
 " come drink to our success." 
 
 " I wish it with all my heart," said Renzo, 
 " but I am not thirsty, I dont want to drink 
 just at this moment." 
 
 "They made thee famously afraid, as it 
 would seem," said the monatti, " thou hast the 
 appearance of a poor man, the anointers have 
 another sort of a look than thine." 
 
 " Every one gets on as well as he can," said 
 the other. 
 
 " Give me the flask," said one of the monat- 
 ti that walked by the side of the car, " I want to 
 take another swig to the health of the owner, 
 who is here in this fine company there, there, 
 exactly, it seems to me, in that famous coach - 
 ful." 
 
 And with an atrocious grin, he pointed to 
 the car that went before that where Renzo 
 was. Then drawing up his face into a still 
 graver air of scoundrelly mockery, he made a 
 bow to the car, and said, " will you permit, 
 my good sir, a poor monatti to taste this can- 
 teen of yours ? See now, there must be some- 
 body to do every thing ; we are the men that 
 have put him into his carriage, to take him to 
 his country place and since wine does not 
 agree with your worship, why the poor mo- 
 natti have got good stomachs." 
 
 Amidst the laughter of the company, he 
 took the flask, and lifted it up, but before he 
 drank, he turned to Renzo, and looking him in 
 the face, said, with a sort of compassionate 
 scorn, " the devil that thou hast made thy bar- 
 gain with, is but a young hand, for if we had 
 not been there to save thee, a pretty sort of 
 help he was giving thee." And amidst a new 
 burst of laughter, he put the flask to his lips. 
 " And us ? hollo there ! and us ?" those of the 
 foremost car cried out. The ro^ue having 
 quaffed as long as he pleased, delivered the 
 large flask with both hands to some of his com- 
 panions, who passed it till it came to one who, 
 having finished the last drop, took it by the 
 neck, and whirling it in the air once or twice, 
 dashed it against the stones, calling out " long 
 life to the plague !" He then broke out into 
 one of their coarse songs, and immediately the 
 others joined him in the atrocious chorus. The 
 infernal strain being mingled with the sound 
 of bells, the cracking of whips, and the tramp- 
 ling of horses, resounded through the desert 
 silence of the streets, and filling the houses, 
 made the hearts of the few persons who were 
 still alive in them, shrink fearfully within 
 them. 
 
 But what is there that is utterly bad at all 
 times, and that may not be tolerated upon some 
 occasion ? The difficulty in which Renzo was 
 placed a moment before, had made the society 
 both of the dead and the living more than to- 
 lerable to him, and the noise which they made, 
 was grateful music to his ears, as it relieved 
 him From hearing the horrid conversation that 
 was going on around him. Agonized and con- 
 fused as he was, he thanked Providence in his 
 heart, that he had been extricated from such a
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 225 
 
 moment, without injuring any one or being hurt 
 himself, and prayed now that he might be de- 
 livered from his deliverers. He was on the 
 alert, keeping his eye upon them and upon 
 the street, to seize some moment to slip qui- 
 etly down, without giving occasion to them to 
 make any disturbance that might attract the 
 attention of the passengers. 
 
 When at the turning of the corner, he seem- 
 ed to recognize the place where he was pass- 
 ing ; he looked attentively and knew it by cer- 
 tain objects. Where was he ? Upon the corso 
 of the oriental gate, in the very street where 
 twenty months before he had entered so slowly 
 and returned in such a hurry. He remember- 
 ed directly that it was the road to the lazaret- 
 to, and the fact of being on the right road, 
 without any effort of his own, and without any 
 direction, he thought was an especial act of 
 Providence, and that it augured well for the 
 future. Just at that moment, a commissary 
 came in front of the cars, calling out to the 
 monatti to stop ; they halted, and the music 
 was changed into a clamorous conversation. 
 One of the monatti who was upon the car 
 with Renzo, had got down, and Renzo now said 
 to the other, " I thank you for your kindness, 
 God reward you for it," and got down on the 
 other side. 
 
 " Go, go, my poor anointer," answered he, 
 "thou art not the man that will depopulate 
 Milan." 
 
 Fortunately, there was no one to hear him ; 
 the convoy had stopped on the left of the cor- 
 so. Renzo hastily crossed over to the other 
 side, and keeping close to the wall, went on 
 towards the bridge, passed it, and following the 
 well known borgo, recognized the convent of 
 capuchins", and near the gate saw an angle of 
 the lazaretto appear ; he cleared the barrier, 
 and then saw the exterior spectacle of the en- 
 closure, which was scarcely a specimen of a 
 vast, various, and indescribable scene 
 
 Along the two sides which present them- 
 selves to any spectator from that point, was an 
 immense luabbub, a sort of afflux, an overflow- 
 ing, a choaking of people : of the sick who 
 were going in troops to the lazaretto, some sit- 
 ting or lying down on the edge of the ditch 
 that runs along the road, their strength having 
 proved insufficient to take them inside of the 
 asylum, or having left it in despair, they had 
 been equally unable to advance any further. 
 Others wandered about dispersed, like idiots, 
 and not a. few were quite deranged : here one 
 would be earnestly engaged in relating his fan- 
 cies to some poor creature that was laid pros- 
 trate, overcome with the disorder another 
 would be raging, and another laughing, as if 
 he was assisting at some merry spectacle. 
 But the most extraordinary and clamorous part 
 of this melancholy mirth, was a loud and con- 
 tinued singing which appeared to issue from 
 that sorrowful assembly, and to be louder than 
 all the other voices. It was a popular love 
 song, gay and playful, one of those which are 
 called country songs : and looking to discover 
 29 
 
 who it was that could be merry at such a mo- 
 ment, he saw a poor wretch quietly seated in 
 the bottom of the ditch that runs'round the 
 walls of the lazaretto, singing with all his 
 might, with his face lifted up and his mouth 
 wide open. 
 
 Renzo had scarce gone a few paces along 
 the southern side of the edifice, than he heard 
 an extraordinary rumor in the crowd, and a 
 distant warning cry to take care. He stood on 
 tiptoe to look before him, and saw a horse going 
 at full gallop, urged on by a death-like looking 
 rider : it was one of those frantic wretches, 
 who perceiving the animal loose near a car, 
 and no one guarding it, had jumped on its bare 
 back, and striking it on the neck with his fists, 
 and using his heels for spurs, was riding furi- 
 ously forward, whilst the monatti behind were 
 screaming out to him ; a cloud of dust, which 
 lengthened to a great distance, enveloped them 
 as they went. 
 
 Thus confounded and tired out with misery, 
 the youth reached the gate of the place, where 
 more persons perhaps were crowded together 
 than were to be found in all the space he had 
 passed over. He went to the gate, entered be- 
 neath the arch, and remained for a moment 
 immovable beneath the porch. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 LET the reader imagine to himself the laza- 
 retto peopled with sixteen thousand persons 
 infected with the plague. The whole area fill- 
 ed with cabins and barracks, cars and people : 
 those two interminable ranges of portico to the 
 right and left,covered completely with the sick, 
 and with carcasses prostrate on mattresses or 
 on straw. And in every part of that immense 
 den, a buzzing and an agitation like the break- 
 ing of the billows on the shore : inside of it, 
 was a constant going and coming, a stopping, 
 a running, a stooping down, a rising up, of 
 convalescents, of crazy people, and of assist- 
 ants. Such was the spectacle that at once 
 presented itself to Renzo 's eyes, and that kept 
 him there oppressed, and unable to move. 
 We do not propose to describe this spectacle 
 minutely, knowing that none of our readers 
 would thank us for doing so, only, following 
 our young friend in his painful examination, 
 we will stop where he stops, and of that which 
 lie happens to see we will relate as much as is 
 necessary to explain what he did, and what 
 occurred to him. 
 
 From the gate where he first stopped, as far 
 as the small temple in the centre, and from 
 thence to the other gate opposite, there was a 
 sort of empty lane without cabins or impedi- 
 ments of any kind, and at the second look, he 
 perceived them very busy in removing cars 
 and making it clear. He saw officers and 
 capuchins directing the operation, and sending
 
 226 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 those away who had nothing do to there. And 
 fearing also lest he should be sent away in the 
 same manner, he immediately got behind the 
 cabins to the right, on the side where he had 
 casually got. 
 
 He advanced, wherever there was sufficient 
 room to place his feet, from cabin to cabin, 
 putting his head in each of them, examining 
 every one who was lying down, looking at the 
 countenances of those who had sunk beneath 
 their sufferings, contracted by spasms, or im- 
 movable in death, to see whether he could suc- 
 ceed in finding the one he dreaded even to 
 discover. He went on for some distance and 
 repeated over again his painful investigations, 
 without having perceived one female, from 
 which circumstance he concluded that they 
 must be in some separate place. This was a 
 conjecture, but he had no indication, nor could 
 come to any conclusion where that place was. 
 He met from time to time with persons minister- 
 ing to the wants of the people, as different in 
 appearance, in manners, and in dress, as the 
 principles were opposed to each other, which 
 animated both one and the other to live in the 
 discharge of the duties they had to perform ; in 
 some of them there was an extinction of all 
 sense of piety, in others it shone forth almost 
 superhuman. But he put no questions to any 
 of them, that he might create no difficulties in 
 his way, and determined to go alone by him- 
 self, until he should meet with some females. 
 And as he went, he never omitted to look 
 around him, though every now and then he 
 was obliged to withdraw, subdued and unnerv- 
 ed by such singular distress ? But where could 
 he turn his eyes, without meeting with dis- 
 tress ? 
 
 The air and the sky increased, if any thing 
 could increase, the horror of the sight. The 
 fog had by degrees thickened and resolved it- 
 self into masses of clouds, which becoming 
 darker and darker, gave things the appearance 
 of a tempestuous and gloomy evening, if it 
 were not that towards the centre of that dark 
 and lowering sky, the disc of the sun appeared, 
 as through a thick veil, pale, and spreading 
 around it a feeble glimmering, and sent down 
 a dead and heavy heat. Every now and then, 
 amidst the vast surrounding hum, the rumbling 
 of deep thunder was heard, broken and unde- 
 termined, nor when listening with attention 
 was it possible to distinguish from what quar- 
 ter it came, so that it might have been mista- 
 ken for a distant noise made by some cars 
 which had stopped on a sudden. In the sur- 
 rounding country, not a branch of a tree was 
 seen to move, nor a bird to alight or to fly away ; 
 save the swallow, which darting rapidly from 
 the roof of the enclosure, went gliding along 
 with its wings spread out, as if to skim along 
 the ground, but frightened by the confusion of 
 the scene, shot up again quietly and disappear- 
 ed. It was one of those moments, when amidst 
 a whole company of travelers no one is heard 
 to break silence, when the hunter walks 
 thoughtfully on looking to the ground, and the 
 
 country maiden stops her song without being 
 aware of it, whilst at her labor in the field; 
 One of those moments which are forerunners 
 of the storm, in which, nature, immovable 
 without, and agitated by an inward commotion, 
 seems to oppress all animated things, and adds- 
 a weight to every thing: to idleness, and 
 even to existence. But in that place, destined 
 of itself to suffering and death, man already 
 struggling with misery, was seen subdued 
 by this new oppression ; hundreds were seen 
 to get worse rapidly, this last struggle was 
 the most dreadful, whether in relation to the 
 increase of suffering, or to the suffocating cries 
 of the afflicted : perhaps this place had never 
 known so bitter an hour before. 
 
 The youth had for some time wandered fruit- 
 lessly through this labyrinth of cabins, when, 
 amidst the variety of lamentations, and in the 
 confusion of the complainings, he began to dis- 
 tinguish a singular mixture of cries and bawl- 
 ings, till he came to a rudely constructed 
 partition, from within which this singular 
 noise proceeded. He looked through a crack 
 between two boards, and perceived it was an 
 enclosure with cabins here and there within it, 
 and in them, not such an infirmary as he had 
 seen in the small encampment he had passed 
 through, but infants laid upon small mattresses, 
 or pillows, or bed clothes spread out, and nur- 
 ses or other women occupied with them ; but 
 what arrested his attention more than anything 
 else, was the goats which were there as assist- 
 ants to the women it was a hospital for inno- 
 cents, such as the place and time afforded. It 
 was something new to see some of these ani- 
 mals standing still over this and that infant to 
 let them suck, and another running to the bleat- 
 ing of a little one, through maternal instinct, 
 and stop at the little thing, and try to get in a 
 good position, and cry out and fidget as if it 
 was calling some one to help them both. 
 
 Here and there nurses were seated with babes 
 at the breast, some of them so affectionately 
 engaged, as to raise doubts in the spectator, 
 whether they had been brought there by hopes 
 of reward.or by that spontaneous charity which 
 goes in search of suffering and misery. One 
 of these, with a distressed countenance, took 
 from her exhausted bosom a crying little crea- 
 ture, and went sadly to look for the animal that 
 might serve in her place. Another tenderly 
 regarding one who was asleep upon her breast, 
 kissed it gently, and went to lie it down on a 
 little bed in one of the cabins. But a third 
 abandoning her bosom to the hungry little stran- 
 ger, with an air, not of negligence but of ab- 
 straction, looked steadily up to Heaven. And 
 what was she thinking of in that attitude and 
 with that look, if not of her own darling, which 
 perhaps a short time before, had drawn from 
 that vital source, and which perhaps had ex- 
 pired upon it ? 
 
 Other females, of a more advanced age, at- 
 tended to other duties. This one ran to the 
 cries of a hungry child, took it, carried it to a 
 goat feeding upon a heap of fresh grass, and
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 227 
 
 presented it to its teats, coaxing and caressing 
 with her voice the inexperienced animal, to 
 lend itself to the act. Another ran to secure 
 a goat, that was trampling upon a poor little 
 thing, to go and suckle another. A third was 
 walking her baby about, dandling it in her 
 arms, trying to lull it to sleep with her song, or 
 to quiet it with endearing words, calling it by 
 some tender name she had given to it. At this 
 moment, a capuchin came with a white beard, 
 carrying two screaming little things, one in 
 each arm, just taken from their exanimated 
 mothers, and a woman ran to receive them, 
 and looked amongst the nurses and goats, to 
 see who should take the place of their mothers. 
 
 More than once the youth, pressed by his 
 own anxiety, had removed his eye from the 
 place to go away, and had put it back again, 
 to look on another moment. 
 
 Having at length gone, he proceeded along 
 the partition, till a parcel of cabins that were 
 joined to it, obliged him to change his course. 
 He followed the direction of the cabins, in- 
 tending to regain the partition, to turn the cor- 
 ner and make new discoveries. Whilst he was 
 looking before, to study the way, a sudden ap- 
 parition, quick and instantaneous, struck his 
 eyes, and threw him into disorder. At a dis- 
 tance of a hundred paces he saw a capuchin 
 pass and disappear directly amongst the tents, 
 a capuchin, that even at that distance, and pas- 
 sing so rapidly, had the complete walk, action, 
 and figure of Father Christopher. With all the 
 agitation that may be supposed, he ran to the 
 place, and there he wandered, and sought, be- 
 fore, behind, within and without, in every pos- 
 sible direction, until to his great joy he saw the 
 figure of the same friar again. He saw him at 
 a short distance, going away from a large pot, 
 with a porringer in his hand, towards one of 
 the cabins : he then seated himself at the door, 
 made the sign of the cross over the food that 
 was before him, and looking around like a per- 
 son always on the alert, began to eat. It was 
 father Christopher himself. 
 
 His story, from the moment we lost sight of 
 him, until this moment, may be told in two 
 Words. He had never removed from Rimini, nor 
 had thought of ever doing so, except when the 
 plague broke out at Milan, and furnished him 
 an occasion of ever doing what he had always 
 wished to do, sacrificing his life for his fellow 
 creatures. He entreated, with pressing instan- 
 ces, to be recalled, that he might serve and as- 
 sist the infected. The count uncle was dead, 
 and as to the rest, benevolent men like him 
 were more wanted than politicians, so that his 
 wish was granted without difficulty. He came 
 immediately to Milan, entered the lazaretto, 
 and had been there about three months. 
 
 But the consolation of Renzo at thus rinding 
 his good friar, was by no means perfect. At 
 the same time he was certain it was him, he 
 was painfully impressed with the great change 
 that had taken place in him. His body was 
 bent and he moved painfully, his face was mea- 
 gre and worn, nature appeared to be exhausted 
 
 in him, his flesh was wasted away, and it was 
 evident that he sustained himself at every in- 
 stant, by the force of his mind. 
 He too looked at the youth who was ap- 
 
 Sroaching him, and who by his gestures, not 
 aring to speak to him, sought to recall himself 
 to the recollection of the friar. " Oh, Father 
 Christopher!" said he at last, when be was 
 near enough to be heard without speaking 
 loud. 
 
 " Art thou here ?" said the friar, putting his 
 porringer on the ground, and standing up. 
 
 " How are you, father ? how are you ?" 
 
 " Better than a great many poor wretches 
 thou seest," replied the friar. His voice was 
 faint, hollow, and changed like every thing 
 else. His eye however was still the same, even 
 it had a still brighter look, as if charity, subli- 
 mated at the end of its work, and exulting at 
 the prospect of drawing near to its great source, 
 had restored a fire there more ardent and still 
 purer than that which infirmity was gradually 
 extinguishing. 
 
 " But thou," he continued, " why art thou in 
 this place ? Why art thou thus come to face 
 the plague ?" 
 
 "I have recovered from it, Heaven be 
 thanked. I am come to look for Lucia." 
 
 " Lucia, is Lucia here ?" 
 
 " She is here, at least I hope in God she is 
 here yet." 
 
 " Is she thy wife ? 
 
 " Oh, dear father ! no, she is not my wife 
 Dont you know what has happened ?" 
 
 " No, my son, since God sent me away from 
 you, I have heard nothing whatever of you ; 
 but since he has sent thee to me, I speak the 
 truth when I say I wish much to know what 
 has happened. But the proclamation against 
 thee ?" 
 
 " You know then what they have done to 
 me?" 
 
 " But what hadst thou done ?" 
 
 " Hear if I should say that I had acted dis- 
 creetly that day in Milan, I should tell a lie, 
 but bad actions I have never committed." 
 
 " I believe thee, and I believed it from the 
 first." 
 
 " Then, now I can tell you all." 
 
 " Stop," said the friar ; and going a few pa- 
 ces from the cabin, he called out, " Father Vit- 
 tore !" soon after, a young capuchin came, to 
 whom he said, "have the kindness, father Vit- 
 tore, to wait, for me, upon our creatures here, 
 whilst I retire a short time, but if any one 
 should want me, be good enough to cafl me. 
 Especially the one you know ! If ever he should 
 give the slightest sign of consciousness, let me 
 immediately be informed of it, for charity's 
 sake." 
 
 The young friar answered that he would do 
 so, and the old one turning to Renzo, said " let 
 us enter here. But " he added, " thou look- 
 est fatigued, and wantest something to eat." 
 
 " It is true," said Renzo, " now that you, 
 father, make me think of it, I remember I nave 
 not broken my fast."
 
 228 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 " Stop," said the friar, and taking another 
 porringer, he went to the large kettle to fill it, 
 and then presented it with a spoon to Renzo : 
 he then made him sit down upon a sack that 
 served him for his bed, and went to a little 
 cask that was in a comer, and brought a glass 
 of wine, and placed it on a small table near his 
 guest, he then took his own porringer, and sat 
 down by him. 
 
 " Oh, Father Christopher !" said Renzo, " it 
 does not belong to you to do these things, but 
 you are always the same. I thank you with all 
 my heart." 
 
 " Dont thank me," said the friar, it is the 
 food of the poor, but thou art also one of the 
 poor at this time. Now tell me what I am ig- 
 norant of, tell me about our poor girl, and try 
 to do it in a few words, for time is precious, 
 and there is enough to do, as thou seest." 
 
 Renzo, between the spoonsfull, went on with 
 the story of Lucia, how she took refuge in the 
 monastery of Monza, how she had been earned 
 off at the very idea of such sufferings and 
 dangers, at the thought that it was he who 
 had sent the poor innocent girl to that place, 
 the good friar was scarce able to breathe, but 
 he recovered himself when he heard how she 
 had been miraculously delivered, restored to 
 her mother, and placed by her under the care 
 of Donna Prasede. 
 
 " Now, father, I will tell you about myself," 
 pursued the narrator, and entered into a suc- 
 cinct relation of the famous day at Milan, his 
 flight, how he had never returned home, and 
 now, every thing being topsy turvy, he had 
 determined to go there : how he had not found 
 Agnes there, and that he had been told in Mi- 
 lan that Lucia was in the lazaretto. " And 
 here I am," he concluded, " here I am looking 
 for her, to see if she is alive, and if she will 
 still have me because sometimes " 
 
 "But how hast thou set about it?" asked 
 the friar, " hast thou any indication of the 
 quarter where she has been put, or of the time 
 when she came here ?" 
 
 " None at all, dear father, I know nothing but 
 that she is here ; if indeed she is here, wTiich 
 God grant may be the case !" 
 
 " My poor fad ! but what diligence hast thou 
 used until now?" 
 
 I have gone up and down, but amongst other 
 things, I have seen almost nothing but men. 
 I have thought that the women must be in 
 some place apart, but I have not been able to 
 find it : if it is so, you can tell me father where 
 it is." 
 
 " Dost thou not know my son, that men are 
 prohibited from going there who have not some 
 particular business there ?" 
 
 "Well, what can prevent me ?" 
 
 " The regulation is a proper and a holy one, 
 my dear son, and if the quantity and weight 
 of misfortune does not permit the rigorous ob- 
 servance of it, is that a reason for a respecta- 
 ble man to transgress it?" 
 
 " But, Father Christopher ! " said Renzo, 
 " Lucia was to have been my wife ; you know 
 
 how we have been separated, twenty months 
 I have suffered and have been patient : here 
 I am come at last through so many risks, one 
 worse than another, and now " 
 
 "I know not what to say," answered the 
 friar, answering his own thoughts rather than 
 the words of the youth : thy intentions are 
 good, and would to God that all who have free 
 access to that place, conducted themselves as 
 well as I can believe thou wouldst do. God, who 
 certainly blesses this persevering affection, this 
 fidelity in loving and in seeking for her whom 
 he gave to thee ^ God, however rigorous with 
 men, is still more indulgent, and will not look 
 at what may be irregular in thy mode of search- 
 ing for her : only remember, that of thy con- 
 duct in that place, we shall both of us have to 
 give an account, not perhaps to men, but to Him 
 beyond all doubt. Come here ;" saying this he 
 rose, and with him Renzo, who kept listening 
 to his words, and had determined with himself, 
 not to speak as he had at first proposed, of 
 Lucia's vow. If he hears of that too he 
 thought, he will be making some more diffi- 
 culties either I shall find her, and then we 
 can talk of it, or and then ! it will be of no 
 use. 
 
 Having taken him to the opening of the 
 cabin, which was to the north, the friar con- 
 tinued, " listen, our father Felice, who is the 
 president here in the lazaretto, has this day, to 
 conduct to another place, the few who have re- 
 covered, to pass their quarantine. Thou seest 
 that church there in the middle " and lifting 
 his emaciated and trembling hand, pointed, in 
 the turbid air, to the cupola on the left of the 
 small temple, which was towering above the 
 wretched tents, he continued, " they are now 
 assembling there, to go in procession by the 
 gate through which thou must have entered." 
 
 " Ah ! this then is what they were trying to 
 clear the way for?" 
 
 " Exactly, and thou must ave heard the bell 
 ring." 
 
 " Once I did." 
 
 " That was the second, at the third they will 
 all be assembled ; father Felice will say a few 
 words to them, and then will accompany them. 
 When it rings, go there, and contrive to get 
 behind the assembly upon the edge of the pas- 
 sage, where, without any trouble or without 
 being perceived, thou mayst see them pass, 
 and then look and see if she is there. If 
 it is God's pleasure that thou shouldst not see 
 her, that part," and raising his hand again, and 
 pointing to that side of the building wriich was 
 fronting them, " that part of the edifice, and a 
 part of the space whicn thou seest before thee, 
 is assigned to the women. Thou wilt see a 
 palisade which separates this from that quar- 
 ter, but broken and open, so that there is no 
 difficulty in entering. When thou art within, 
 if thou givest umbrage to no one, no one will 
 probably say any thing to thee ; if any one 
 however seeks to prevent thee, tell him that 
 
 Father Christopher of knows thee, and 
 
 will be answerable for thee. Seek her there,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 229 
 
 seek her with fidelity, and with resignation : 
 for, remember, it is a great thing thou art come 
 to the lazaretto to ask 'for, a living person! 
 Dost thou know how often I have seen this my 
 poor people renewed here? How many car- 
 ried away ! how few go out alive ! Go prepared 
 to make a sacrifice " 
 
 "I understand," said Renzo, interrupting him, 
 his aspect changing, and his countenance dark- 
 ening, " I understand. I will go, I will look, 
 I wifl search, in one place, then in another, 
 and then after all from the top to the bottom of 
 the lazaretto and, if I do not find her ! 
 
 " If Ihou dost not find her ?" said the friar 
 with a serious air, and with an admonishing 
 look. 
 
 But Renzo, whose heart was full of anger, 
 and whose feelings overcame his respect, re- 
 peated his words, and went on, " If I do not find 
 her, I will contrive to find somebody else. 
 Either in Milan or in his wicked palace, or at 
 the end of the world, or to the devils own 
 dwelling. I will find the scoundrel that has 
 separated us, the villain, who if it was not for 
 him, Lucia would have been mine, twenty 
 months ago : and if we had been destined to 
 die, at least we should have died together. If 
 he is alive yet, I will find him " 
 
 " Renzo," said the friar, seizing him by the 
 arm, and looking at him with great severity. 
 
 "And if I do find him," continued he, blind 
 with rage, " if the plague has not done him 
 justice these are no longer times when a 
 coward, with his bravos around him, can drive 
 people to despair, and then laugh at them : this 
 is a time when one man can look another in 
 the face, and I will do justice to him my- 
 self!" 
 
 "Desperate youth !" cried Father Christo- 
 pher, with his former full and sonorous voice, 
 " desperate youth !" and his head, pendant on 
 his breast, was raised up, his cheeks resumed 
 their former color, and the fire of his eyes had 
 something terrible in it; "see, rash young 
 man," and whilst with one hand he seized and 
 strongly shook the arm of Renzo, he waved the 
 other before him, pointing as much as he could 
 to the whole miserable scene around him, 
 " see, who it is that chastises ! He who judges, 
 and is not judged ! He, who scourges and for- 
 
 fives ! But thou, worm of the earth, thou wilt 
 o justice ! Thou, thou knowest what justice 
 is ! Go, rash boy, begone ! I had hoped yes, 
 I had hoped that before my death, God would 
 have given me the consolation to know that 
 my poor Lucia was alive, perhaps to see her, 
 and to hear her promise, that she would put up 
 a prayer towards the ditch where I shall be. 
 Go, thou hast taken that hope from me. God 
 has not left her upon the earth for thee, and 
 thou, surely, hast not the audacity to believe 
 thyself worthy that God should think of con- 
 soling thee. He will have thought of her, be- 
 cause she is of those souls for whom eternal 
 consolations are reserved. Go, I have no more 
 time to waste on thee." 
 Saying this, he flung the arm of Renzo from 
 
 him, and moved towards a cabin of the sick. 
 "Ah, father!" said Renzo, following him in 
 a supplicating manner, " will you send me 
 away in this manner?" 
 
 "How!" replied the capuchin with an 
 equally severe tone, "would'st thou dare to 
 pf etend that I should rob these afiiicted ones, 
 of the precious time, they are waiting for me 
 to speak of the pardon of God to them, to 
 listen to thy intemperate words, thy threats of 
 vengeance ? I listened to thee when thou 
 askedst for consolation and counsel, I left 
 charity on one side, for charity's sake, but now 
 that thou hast revenge at heart, what would'st 
 have from me. Go ! I have seen the injured 
 die here pardoning those who had offended 
 them ; offenders, who groaned because they 
 could not humiliate themselves before those 
 they had injured, I have wept with them all, 
 but what have I to do with thee ?" 
 
 " Ah, I pardon him ! I pardon him, truly ; I 
 pardon him for ever !" exclaimed the youth. 
 
 " Renzo ! said the friar in a severe but more 
 appeased manner ; " reflect, and say how many 
 times thou hast pardoned him ?" 
 
 And remaining sometime without receiving 
 any answer, all at once he drooped his head, 
 and with his voice once more humbled, con- 
 tinued, " thou knowest why I bear this habit !" 
 
 Renzo hesitated. 
 
 "Thou knowest why!" continued the old 
 man. 
 
 "I know," answered Renzo. 
 
 " I too have hated : I who have reproved 
 thee for a thought, for a word : the man whom 
 I hated, whom I hated cordially, whom I long 
 hated, I slew." 
 
 " Yes, but he was an overbearing person, 
 one of those who " 
 
 " Silence !" interrupted the friar "dost thou 
 believe, if there had been a good reason to give 
 for it, that I should not have found it in thirty 
 years ? Ah ! if I could only transfuse into thy 
 heart the feeling that I have always had, and 
 that I now have, for the man that I hated. If 
 I only could ! I ? But God can ; may he do it ! 
 Hear, Renzo, he intends thee a greater kindness 
 than thou seekest at his hands ; thou hast en- 
 couraged the thought of vengeance, but he has 
 power enough and mercy enough to prevent 
 thy executing it ; he does thee a favor of which 
 others have been unworthy. Thou knowest, 
 thou hast said it often, that he can stay the 
 hand of a tyrant, but know that he can also 
 stay that of a vindictive man. And because 
 thou art poor, and hast been injured, dost 
 thou think he cannot protect against the ven- 
 geance of a man whom he has created in his 
 own image ? Dost thou believe that he would 
 permit thee to do whatever thou wishest ? No ! 
 but dost thou know what thou art able to do ? 
 Thou canst hate, and ruin thyself; thou canst 
 with that feeling banish from thee every bles- 
 sing : for however things may go, however for- 
 tune may lead thee, hold it for certain that 
 every thing will be punishment, until thou hast 
 pardoned, and pardoned in such a manner, that
 
 230 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 it will never more be necessary for thee to say, 
 " I pardon him !" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Renzo with emotion, and 
 quite contused, " I see that I never have par- 
 doned him truly, I feel that I have spoken like 
 a brute, and not like a Christian, but now, with 
 God's grace, yes, I pardon him with all my 
 heart." 
 
 " And if thou couldest see him ?" 
 
 " I would pray to the Lord to give me pati- 
 ence, and to touch his heart." 
 
 " Wilt thou remember that the Lord has 
 not told us to pardon our enemies, but to love 
 them ? Wilt thou remember that he has loved 
 man so far as to die for him ?" 
 
 " Yes, with his aid ?" 
 
 " Well, come and see him. Thou hast said 
 " I will find him, thou shalt find him. Come 
 and thou shalt behold against whom thou hast 
 been able to preserve hatred, for whom thou 
 couldst wish evil, desire to do it to, whose life 
 thou wantedst to be master of." 
 
 And taking Renzo's hand, and holding it as 
 if he had been a strong youth, he moved. 
 Without daring to ask any questions, he went 
 with him. 
 
 After a short walk, the friar stopped at the 
 opening of a cabin, he looMed Renzo in the 
 face with a mixture of gravity and tenderness, 
 and drew him in. 
 
 The first thing that appeared on their en- 
 trance, was a sick person seated on the straw 
 on the bottom of the cabin ; sick but not ex- 
 cessively so, and who even appeared to be 
 near convalescence ; this man, on seeing the 
 father, moved his head, as if meaning to say, 
 no : the father stooped his own, in a sorrowful 
 and resigned manner. In the meantime Ren- 
 zo, directing his looks with an unquiet curiosi- 
 ty to other objects, saw three or four sick peo- 
 ple : he perceived on one side, a person lying 
 on a bed, covered with a sheet, and a noble- 
 man's cloak laid over it, in the manner of a 
 quilt ; he looked at him, and recognizing Don 
 Kodrigo, drew back ; but the friar making him 
 feel the strength of the hand which held him, 
 took him to the feet of the prostrate invalid, 
 and extending his other hand over him, pointed 
 with his finger to Don Rodrigo. The unhappy 
 man was motionless, his eyes were wide open, 
 but without life : his face was wan, and spread 
 over with black spots, his lips too were black 
 and swollen. One would have said it was a 
 corpse, if a violent contraction of the features 
 had not shown how tenacious life was. His 
 breast heaved now and then with a painful 
 breathing, his right hand was drawn out of the 
 cloak, he seemed to press his heart with it, 
 with his fingers all crooked, which were livid 
 and black at the extremities. 
 
 "Thou seest!"said the friar in a low and 
 solemn tone, " It may be punishment, it may 
 be mercy. The feeling thou now cherishest 
 for this man, who has injured thee, will be like 
 that which God, whom thou hast injured, will 
 have for thee at the last moment. Bless him, 
 and be blessed. He has been here four days, 
 
 as thou seest, without giving any indication of 
 feeling. Perhaps the Lord was about to grant 
 him an hourofconsci6usness,but waited for thee 
 to pray to Him for it ; perhaps he wishes that 
 thou and that innocent girl should pray to him ; 
 perhaps he reserves that act of grace for thy 
 prayer alone, the prayer of an afflicted and re- 
 signed heart. Perhaps the salvation of this 
 man and of thyself depends now upon thyself, 
 upon that feeling of pardon, of compassion of 
 love !" He ceased, and joining his hands, in- 
 clined his face over them, as if to pray. Renzo 
 did the same. 
 
 They were a few moments in that position, 
 when they heard the bell ring the third time. 
 They both moved as if in concert, and went 
 out. They spoke not a word ; their counte- 
 nances spoke. 
 
 " Go now," resumed the friar, " go prepared 
 to make a sacrifice, to praise Goo, whatever 
 may be the result of thy researches. And what- 
 ever it may be, come and give me an account 
 of it, that we may praise God together." 
 
 Here, without saying any tiling more, they 
 separated, one of them returned to whence 
 they came, and the other went on to the tem- 
 ple, which was not further off than a stone's 
 throw. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 WHO would ever, a few hours before, have 
 told Renzo, that in the ardor of his research, 
 at the beginning of the most doubtful moments, 
 and the most decisive ones, his heart would 
 have been divided between Lucia and Don 
 Rodrigo ? Still the thing was so. His figure 
 mingled itself with all the precious and terri- 
 ble images that hope and fear alternately 
 placed before him in his enterprise. The words 
 he heard at the foot of that bed, were balancing 
 between the yes and the no that were strug- 
 ling in his mind, and he could not conclude a 
 prayer for the happy termination of the great 
 trial, without uniting to it that which he had 
 begun there, when toe sound of the bell had 
 interrupted it. 
 
 The octangular temple which rises, elevated 
 from the soil by a few degrees, in the midst of 
 the lazaretto, was, in its first construction, 
 open on all sides, without any other support 
 than pilasters and columns, a perfectly open 
 building indeed. Every front presented an 
 arch between two columns ; inside there was a 
 circular portico, which went round what was 
 the church, composed only of eight arches, sus- 
 tained by pilasters, answering to those fronts, 
 and surmounted by a small cupola, so that the 
 altar erected in the centre, could be seen from 
 every window of the rooms of the enclosure, 
 and almost from every point of the place. Now, 
 the edifice being converted to an entirely dif-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 231 
 
 ferent use, the spaces in the fronts are walled 
 up, but the ancient architecture, having re- 
 mained entire, indicates plainly enough the old 
 state and intention of the building. 
 
 Renzo had scarce moved, when he saw fa- 
 ther Felice appear in the portico of the temple, 
 and so to the central arch, on the side fronting 
 the city, before which the assembly was placed 
 below, in the main passage, and immediately 
 from his countenance he perceived that he 
 had commenced his discourse. 
 
 He went round until he got behind the au- 
 ditors as was suggested to him ; and there re- 
 mained perfectly quiet, examining the whole 
 place,but perceived nothing but a great number 
 of heads, as if, so to speak, the place was paved 
 with them. In the centre, some of them were 
 covered with handkerchiefs, or veils ; there 
 he fixed his eyes with great attention, but not 
 succeeding in discovering any thing more, he 
 turned then to where all were looking. He 
 was touched and moved by the venerable figure 
 of the speaker, and with as much attention as 
 he could spare from the absorbing subject that 
 engrossed him, he heard this part of the solemn 
 discourse. 
 
 " Let us give a thought to the thousands 
 and thousands who have gone from hence in 
 that direction," and pointing with his finger 
 behind his back, he indicated the gate that 
 leads to the cemetery of San Gregono, which 
 at that time was one entire grave. " Let us 
 cast a look around upon the thousands and 
 thousands who remain here, too uncertain how 
 they are to go away ; let us look at ourselves, 
 so few, who have recovered. Blessed be the 
 Lord ! blessed in justice, blessed in mercy ! 
 blessed in death, blessed in health ! blessed in 
 the choice he has been pleased to make of us ! 
 Oh ! why has he chosen us, my children, if 
 not to preserve a small people corrected by 
 affliction and warmed by gratitude ? if not to 
 the end, that feeling now more lively that life 
 is a gift from him, we may value it as a thing 
 given to us by him, and that we may employ 
 it in works that can be offered up to him ? if 
 not to the end that the remembrance of our 
 sufferings may make us compassionate and 
 charitable to our neighbors.' May those, in 
 the meantime, in whose company we have 
 suffered, hoped, and feared so much, amongst 
 whom we leave friends and relations, and 
 who indeed are all our brethren, those 
 amongst them who shall see us pass through 
 the midst of them, whilst perhaps they 
 may receive some relief from the thought 
 that others go recovered from hence, may they 
 be edified by our conduct. God forbid that 
 they should perceive in us a clamorous joy, a 
 carnal satisfaction at having escaped that death 
 with which they are yet struggling. May they 
 see that we go hence thanking God for our- 
 selves, and praying to him for them, and be 
 able to say, even when they are away from 
 here, they will remember and continue to pray 
 for us poor creatures. Let us commence from 
 this journey, from the very first steps we are 
 
 about to take, a life all charity Let those who 
 are restored to their ancient vigor lend a pater- 
 nal arm to the weak let the young support 
 the aged ; you who are left without children, 
 look, see around ye, how many are left with- 
 out parents ! be such to them ! and your chari- 
 ty, covering your sins, will soften your sorrows 
 also." 
 
 Here a dull murmur of groans and sobs,which 
 was increasing in the assembly, was at once 
 suspended, when the preacher was seen to 
 place a cord around his neck, and fall on his 
 knees. In profound silence they listened to 
 what he had still to say. 
 
 "For me," said he, "and for all my bre- 
 thren, if, beyond any deserts of ours, we have 
 been selected for the high privilege of serving 
 Christ in you, humbly do I ask you pardon it 
 we have not worthily filled our ministry. If 
 sloth, if the indocility of the flesh, have made 
 us less attentive to your necessities, less ready 
 to your wants : if an unjust impatience, a cul- 
 pable weariness, have sometimes led us to put 
 on a severe or displeased countenance to you, 
 if at any time the miserable thought that you 
 stood in need of us, has led us to treat you 
 without the humility that it became us to ob- 
 serve ; if our weakness has drawn us into any 
 act that has been offensive to you, pardon us ! 
 and so may God remit to you your trespasses, 
 and bless you." Having made an ample sign 
 of the holy cross to his audience, he rose. 
 
 We have been able to give, if not the pre- 
 cise words, a sketch and the sense at least of 
 what he really did say; but the manner in which 
 he delivered them, is a thing not to be de- 
 scribed. It was the manner of a man, who 
 called it a privilege to serve those infected 
 with the plague, for he held it to be one, who 
 confessed that he had not worthily correspond- 
 ed to his duty, because he felt that he had not 
 done so, who asked for pardon, because he was 
 persuaded he stood in need of it. But they, 
 who had seen the capuchins occupied entirely 
 in their service, who had seen so many of them 
 die, and he who was now speaking in the 
 name of them all, always the first in fatigue, 
 as in authority, except when he too was in a 
 dying state, it may be supposed with what sobs 
 and tears such a proposition was received. 
 The admirable friar then lifted a large cross 
 which was against a pillar, raised it before him, 
 left liis sandals upon the exterior edge of the 
 portico, descended the steps of the temple, and 
 passed through the crowd, which reverently 
 made room for him, to put himself at their head. 
 Renzo, as much affected as if he had been 
 one of those of whom that singular pardon had 
 been asked, drew further back, and placed 
 himself on the side of one of the cabins, ana 
 there he remained waiting, half concealed, 
 with his person behind and his head forwards, 
 his eyes wide open and a strong palpitation at 
 his heart : but with a particular sort of confi- 
 dence, springing, I suppose, from the emotions 
 which had been excited in him by the discourse, 
 and the spectacle of such universal feeling.
 
 232 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 wan, inspiring compunction and courage toge- 
 ther. His steps were slow but firm, as ii' lie was 
 allowing for the weakness of others, and in all, 
 he was as a man to whom those cares and too 
 abundant troubles, lent the force to sustain 
 himself in those inseparable from his charge. 
 The oldest children came immediately after 
 him, the greater part of them barefooted 
 lew of them entirely clothed, some quite in 
 their under garments. Then came the wo- 
 men, nearly all of them leading in their hand 
 a little girl, and alternately singing the mise- 
 rere : and the feeble sound of their voices, the 
 paleness and langor of their countenances were 
 things to fill with compassion the mind of any 
 one who was there as a simple spectator. 
 But Renzo, looked, examined, from file to file, 
 from face to face, without omitting one ; for 
 the slow movement of the procession gave him 
 sufficient leisure to do so. They passed and 
 passed, and he looked and looked, but it was 
 all for nothing, he cast a look at those who 
 remained behind, now in diminished numbers, 
 there were but few files of them, the last caine, 
 all were passed, and he recognized none of 
 them. With his arms hung down, and with 
 his heiid leaning upon one of his shoulders, 
 his eye followed the procession of females, 
 whilst the line of men was passing before him, 
 A new hope sprung up within him when he 
 saw a few cars coming on in the rear, which 
 bore the convalescents not able to walk. Then 
 the women came last, and the train proceeded 
 so slowly that Renzo could with the same ease 
 look at these, without missing one of them. 
 But what ihen ? He examined the first car, 
 the second, the third, and the rest, with the 
 same result, to the very last, behind which 
 came no body but another capuchin, with a 
 serious aspect, and a staif in his hand as the 
 regulator of the convoy. It was that father 
 Michele whom we have said was appointed 
 coadjutor in the government of the la/aretto 
 with father Felice. 
 
 Thus fled all the sweet hope he had cherish- 
 ed, and not only carried away all the comfort 
 he had felt, but as it frequently occurs, left 
 him in a worse condition than at first. Now 
 the next most fortunate contingencies was to 
 find Lucia sick, and thus with increased ap- 
 prehension added to his hope, he clung with 
 all the power of his mind to that sad anu weak 
 thread, and directed his steps to the quarter 
 whence the procession had come. When he 
 reached the foot of the little temple, he knelt 
 upon the last step, and there put up a prayer 
 to God ; or to speak plainer, a crowd of con- 
 fused words, interrupted phrases, exclama- 
 tions, instances, complaints, and promises ; 
 one of those addresses that are never made 
 to men, who have not intelligence enough to 
 comprehend them, nor patience enough to 
 listen to them. Men are not great enough to 
 ieel compassion without its wearying them. 
 
 He rose, somewhat encouraged, went round 
 the temple, and found himself in the other pas- 
 sage which he had not yet seen, and which 
 led to the other gate : after going a short dis- 
 tance, he saw to the right and to the left the 
 palisade of which the friar had spoken to him, 
 but full of gaps and openings, exactly as he 
 had told him ; he entered one of them, and 
 found himself in the quarter of the women. 
 He had scarce set foot into it, when he saw 
 a little bell on the ground, one of those which 
 the monatti wore on their feet, with its straps 
 attached to it ; it came into his head that this 
 instrument might serve him as a sort of pass- 
 port there, he picked it up, observed if any 
 one was looking at him, and fixed it on his 
 foot. And immediately he began his research- 
 es, which, on account of the multiplicity alone 
 of objects, was extremely difficult, even if they 
 had been less painful : he began to run over 
 with his eye, and even to contemplate new 
 scenes of wo, in some places similar to those 
 he had seen, in others so dissimilar, that al- 
 though the calamity was the same, it was a 
 different kind of suffering, another kind of 
 languishing, complaints of a different kind, an 
 evil supported in a different way, another kind 
 of pitying and of being assisted alternately ; it 
 was, to an observer, another kind of distress, 
 and a different kind of apprehension. 
 
 He had proceeded, I know not how far, with- 
 out any thing occurring, when he heard some 
 one exclaim behind him, oh! apparently ad- 
 dressed to himself. He turned, and saw at a 
 distance, a commissary, who raised his hands, 
 making a sign to him, and calling out, " there 
 in the rooms they want help, here they have 
 scarce finished sweeping." 
 
 Renzo immediately perceived who he was 
 taken for, and that the bell was the cause of 
 the mistake : he called himself a fool for hav- 
 ing thought only of the difficulties that badge 
 might have enabled him to avoid, and not of 
 those it might draw him into, but thought in- 
 stantly of how he should disembarrass himself 
 of 'it. He nodded with his head hastily, as 
 much as to say he had heard and would obey, 
 and withdrew from his sight, amongst the 
 cabins. 
 
 Whett he conceived himself far enough off, 
 he thought about taking the bell from his foot, 
 and in order to do it without observation, he 
 entered a narrow place betwixt two poor ca- 
 bins,which stood with their backs to each other. 
 Stooping to loosen the latches, with his head 
 touching the straw back of one of the cabins, 
 a voice struck his ear, oh, heavens ! is it pos- 
 sible ? His whole soul went to his ear., his 
 breathing was suspended. Yes ! yes ! it is the 
 same voice! "Afraid of whom?" said that 
 sweet voice, " we have gone through some- 
 thing more than a storm. He who has protected 
 us until now, will continue to protect us." 
 
 If Renzo did not cry out, it was not from 
 fear of discovering himself, it was because his 
 voice was gone. His knees failed him, a cloud 
 came over his eyes ; but this was on the first
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 instant, at the second, he was erect, wide 
 awake, and more vigorous than ever : in three 
 skips he was round the cabin, at the door, saw 
 her who had spoken, and saw her bending over 
 a small bed. She turned round at the noise, 
 looked, thought it was a vision, that she was 
 dreaming, looked more attentively, and cried 
 out, " oh, blessed Lord !" 
 
 " Lucia ! I have found you ! I find you ! it is 
 you yourself! you are alive!" exclaimed 
 Renzo, advancing, trembling all over. 
 
 "Oh, blessed Lord!" replied Lucia, trem- 
 bling still more violently. " You ? What is 
 this ? in what way ? Why ? The plague !" 
 
 " I have had it. And you !" 
 
 " Ah, I have had it too. And my mother ?" 
 
 " I have not seen her, because she is at Pas- 
 turo, I believe however she is well. But you 
 how pale you are yet ! how weak you seem ! 
 Cured though, are you cured ?" 
 
 "The Lord has been pleased to leave me 
 here still. Ah, Renzo ! why are you here ?" 
 
 " Why ?" said Renzo. drawing still nearer 
 to her. " Do you ask me why ? What could I 
 come here for ? Is it necessary for me to tell 
 you ? Who have I to think of? Is not my name 
 Renzo, eh ? And is not yours Lucia ?" 
 
 "Ah, what do you say ? What are you talk- 
 ing of. But did not my mother get a letter 
 written to you ?" 
 
 "Yes, there was too much written to me. 
 Pretty things to write to a poor unfortunate 
 young man, full of tribulation, and wandering 
 about ; to a young man, at any rate that had 
 never displeased you." 
 
 " But Renzo ! Renzo ! since you know 
 why did you come ? Why ?" 
 
 " Why did I come ? Oh, Lucia, why did I 
 come, d"o you ask me ? After so many pro- 
 mises ! Are not we ourselves ? Dont you re- 
 member any more ? What was there wanting." 
 
 " Oh, Lord !" exclaimed Lucia sorrowfully, 
 clasping her hands, and raising her eyes to 
 Heaven, " Why didst thou not do me the favor 
 to take me to thyself ! Oh, Renzo ? what is 
 it you have done ? See now, I was beginning 
 to hope that in time thou wouldst have for- 
 gotten me " 
 
 "A pretty hope indeed! pretty things to 
 tell me to my face !" 
 
 " Ah, what have you done ! and in this 
 place ! amidst so much misery ! amidst so 
 many spectacles ! here, where people do no- 
 thing but die, you have been able !" 
 
 "Those who die, we must pray to God for, 
 and hope they will go to a good place ; but it 
 is not just, because that is so, that those who 
 live are to go into desperation " 
 
 " But Renzo ! Renzo ! you do not think of 
 what you are saying. A vow to the Madon- 
 na! A vow !" 
 
 " And I tell you such promises are good for 
 nothing." 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! what do you say ? Where have 
 you been, all this time ? Who have you kept 
 company with? How you talk?" 
 
 " I talk like a good Christian, and I think 
 30 
 
 better of the Madonna than you seem to do ; 
 for I dont think she wants any vows that are 
 to injure others. If the Madonna had spoken, 
 oh, then to be sure ! But how has the thing 
 been ? Just an idea of your own. Do you 
 know what you onght to have promised to the 
 Madonna ? You should have promised her that 
 the first daughter we should have, you would 
 call her Maria, this I am ready to promise her 
 too. Such things do much more honor to the 
 Madonna, that is a kind of devotion that is rea- 
 sonable and hurts nobody." 
 
 " No, no, dont talk so ; you dont know what 
 you are talking about. You dont know what 
 it is to make a vow, you have never been in 
 that necessity, you have never experienced it. 
 Leave me ! leave me ! for the love of Heaven." 
 
 And she turned away impetuously from him, 
 towards the bed. 
 
 "Lucia," said he, without moving, " tell me 
 at least, tell me, if it was not for this reason 
 would you be the same to me ?" 
 
 " Oh, man, without any compassion !" an- 
 swered Lucia, turning round, and restraining 
 her tears with difficulty, " if you could make 
 me say useless words, words that it would be 
 wrong for me to say, words that perhaps would 
 be sinful, would you be satisfied ? Go ; oh, go ! 
 forget me, we were not destined for each other ! 
 We shall meet in Heaven, we have not long: 
 to stay in this world. Go, have my mother in- 
 formed that I have been cured, that even here 
 God has aided me, that I have found a good 
 soul, this good lady, who has been a mother to 
 me : tell her that I hope she will be preserved 
 from this evil, and that we shall see each other 
 again, when God pleases, and as he pleases. 
 Go, for the love of Heaven, and think of me 
 no more, except when you pray to God." 
 
 And like one who has nothing to say, and 
 will hear nothing more, who seeks to avoid a 
 danger, she drew still nearer to the bed, on 
 which laid the lady of whom she had spoken. 
 
 " Listen, Lucia, listen !" said Renzo, with- 
 out however approaching her. 
 
 " No, no, go for charity's sake ! " 
 
 " Listen, Father Christopher !" 
 
 " How ?" 
 
 "Is here." 
 
 " Here ? Where ? How do you know it ?" 
 
 " I have spoken to him a short time ago. I 
 have been some time with him, and a holy man 
 of his quality, it seems to me " 
 
 " He is here ! to assist the poor sick cer- 
 tainly. But he ? has he had the plague ?" 
 
 " Ah, Lucia ! I am afraid, I fear too much " 
 and whilst Renzo was endeavoring to utter 
 what was so painful to him, and which would 
 be equally so to Lucia, she had again left the 
 bed, and had approached him, " I fear he has 
 it upon him now !" 
 
 " Oh, poor holy man, but what do I call him 
 poor man for ? Poor we ! How is he ? is he in 
 bed ? is he assisted ?" 
 
 " He goes about, and assists others ; but if 
 you was to see him, the face that he has, and 
 now he totters ! I have seen so many persons
 
 234 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 with it, that unfortunately one cannot mis- 
 take!" 
 
 "Oh! he is here!" 
 
 "Here, and a short way off, not farther than 
 from your house to mine if you remember ! " 
 
 " Oh, most holy virgin !" 
 
 " Well, a little farther. You may suppose if 
 we have talked of you ! He has told me 
 things and if you only knew what he has 
 shown me ! You shall near. But first I will 
 tell you what he said first to me, with his own 
 mouth. He said I was in the right to come 
 and seek for you here, and that the Lord is 
 pleased that a young man should conduct him- 
 self so, and that he would help me to find you, 
 as the fact has turned out to ne. But indeed 
 he is a saint ! so that, you see ! " 
 
 " But if he did talk so, it is because he does 
 not know " 
 
 " What would you have him know of the 
 things you have done just out of your own 
 head, without any rule, and without asking any 
 one's advice ? An excellent man, a man of 
 judgment, like him, never supposes any thing 
 of the kind. But what he showed to me !" 
 And here he related the visit to the cabin. 
 Lucia, although her senses and her mind had 
 during her residence there been accustomed to 
 the strongest impressions, was nevertheless 
 filled with horror and compassion. 
 
 " And even there," continued Renzo, " he 
 has spoken like a saint ; he said that the Lord 
 perhaps intended to be gracious to that poor 
 creature I cant give any other name now 
 that he waits until a favorable opportunity 
 arises, but wishes us both to pray together for 
 him together ! do you understand ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes. We will pray for him ; every 
 where where the Lord keeps us, he can unite 
 our prayers." 
 
 " But if I tell you his very words !" 
 
 " But, Renzo, he does not know " 
 
 "But dont you understand that when it 
 is a saint that speaks, it is the Lord that 
 makes him speak, and that he would not have 
 talked that way, if it had not been right for 
 him to do so ? And the soul of that poor crea- 
 ture ? I have prayed earnestly, and will pray 
 for him. I have prayed with all my heart, just 
 as if he had been my brother. But what do you 
 think will become of him, the poor creature, 
 if this matter is not settled here, if the evil he 
 has done is not repaired ? Now if you do what 
 is right, then all will be as it was at first. What 
 has been has been ; he has had his punishment 
 here !" 
 
 " No, Renzo, no ; God does not wish us to 
 do wrong, that he may do an act of mercy : 
 leave it to him this time. Our duty is to pray 
 to him. If I had died that night, would not 
 God have been able to pardon him afterwards ? 
 And as I did not die, and was delivered " 
 
 "And your mother, that poor Agnes that 
 always loved me so much, and was so anxious 
 to see us husband and wife, has not she too 
 told you it was a foolish notion ? she, that at 
 other times has set you right, for in certain 
 
 cases she has a much better head than vour- 
 self " 
 
 " My mother ! Do you think my mother 
 would advise me to break a vow ! But, Ren- 
 zo you are out of yourself." 
 
 " Oh, I'll show you how it is, the fact is you 
 women know nothing about such things. 
 Father Christopher told me to return and tell 
 him if I should find you. I shall go, let us 
 hear him, whatever he says " 
 
 " Yes, yes, go to that holy man, tell him 
 that I pray for him, and that he must pray for 
 me, that I am very, very much in want of his 
 prayers ! But for the love of Heaven, for your 
 soul's sake, for my soul's sake, dont come 
 back any more here to do me any ill, to- 
 tempt me. Father Christopher, he will know 
 how to explain things to you,and to bring you to 
 yourself again. He will bring peace into your 
 heart again." 
 
 " Peace into my heart ! Oh ! put that out 
 of your head ! You made them write me such 
 stuff as that, and I know how much I suffered 
 on that account, and now you have the heart 
 to tell it to me to my face. And I tell you now, 
 plainly and roundly, that I never will put peace 
 into my heart. You want to forget me, and 
 I dont want to forget you, and I tell you now, 
 only just see, that if you drive me out of my 
 senses I shall never get into them again. 
 My trade may go to the devil, and so may good 
 behavior. You want me to go mad all the 
 rest of my life, and I will go mad. And that 
 poor man ! God knows if I have not pardoned 
 him in my heart, but you do you want me 
 then to think as long as I live that but for 
 him ? Lucia you have told me to forget you, 
 have told me to forget you ! How am I to do 
 it ? Who do you suppose I was thinking about 
 all this time ? And after so many things, af- 
 ter so many promises ! What have I done to 
 you since we parted ? Do you treat me so, 
 because I have suffered so much ? because I 
 have been unfortunate ? because the people in 
 the world have persecuted me ? because I have 
 passed such a long time from home, sad, and 
 far 1'rom you ? Why, the first moment when 
 I could, am I come here to look for you ?" 
 
 Lucia, when her tears permitted her to speak, 
 exclaimed, whilst she clasped her hands, and 
 raised her eyes to Heaven swimming in tears, 
 " oh, most holy virgin, aid me ! You know 
 that since that night, I have never passed such 
 a moment as this. Then you brought me suc- 
 cor, now help me likewise." 
 
 " Yes, Lucia, you do well to invoke the 
 Madonna, but how can you think that she, 
 who is so good, who is the mother of mercy, 
 can have any pleasure in making us suffer 
 me at least for just a word that you let out 
 when you did not know what you was saying ? 
 Do you think she aided you then, just to cre- 
 ate all this trouble afterwards ? But if this 
 was an excuse, if indeed I am become hateful 
 to you, tell me so speak plainly." 
 
 " For charity's sake, Renzo, for charity, for 
 the love of your poor dead, have done, have
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 235 
 
 done, and dont kill me. It would not be do- 
 ing right. Go to father Christopher, recom- 
 mend me to him, and dont come back here, 
 dont come back." 
 
 " I'm going, but dont suppose I shall not 
 come back, I should turn back if it was to the 
 end of the world, to be sure I should turn 
 back." And he went away. 
 
 Lucia went to seat herself, or rather she let 
 herself sink on the ground near the bed, and 
 placing her head on it, continued weeping. 
 The female, who to that moment had kept her 
 eyes and ears open without uttering a word, 
 now asked who that apparition was, and what 
 all this debate and %-ying was about. But 
 perhaps the reader desires to know who she 
 was, and to satisfy him, we must say a few 
 words. 
 
 She was a merchant's wife, in easy circum- 
 stances, about thirty years old. In the space of a 
 few days she had witnessed in her own house 
 the death of her husband and all her children : 
 soon after, being seized with the disorder her- 
 self, she was taken to the lazaretto and placed 
 in the cabin, at the time when Lucia, after 
 having overcome without being aware of it, 
 the height of the complaint, and having chang- 
 ed, also without being aware of it, various 
 companions, was beginning to come to her- 
 self again, and to recover the consciousness she 
 had lost from the first attack of the plague, 
 whilst she was still at Don Ferrante's. The 
 cabin had only room for two, and betwixt 
 these two afflicted, abandoned, frightened fe- 
 males, left alone amidst such a multitude, an 
 intimacy and an affection soon arose, such as a 
 long ordinary acquaintance could scarcely have 
 produced. Lucia soon found herself well 
 enough to be serviceable to her companion, 
 who nad been excessively ill, and now that 
 she had passed the danger, they became com- 
 panions, and comforted and watched each 
 other by turns ; they had promised not to leave 
 the lazaretto, until both could do so, and had 
 indeed talked of never separating afterwards. 
 The merchant's widow having left her in the 
 custody of her brother, one ot the commissa- 
 ries of the tribunal of health, her house, to- 
 gether with the warehouse, and the money 
 chest, all well furnished, found herself the sole 
 and sorrowful mistress of more than she want- 
 ed to live comfortably with, and therefore was 
 desirous of having Lucia with her as a daugh- 
 ter or sister, to which, it may be supposed she 
 assented, grateful both to her and to Provi- 
 dence, but only until she could get intelli- 
 fence of her mother, and could learn, as she 
 oped to do, what her pleasure was. As to 
 the rest, with her usual reserve, she had never 
 said a word, neither of her matrimonial en- 
 gagement, nor of her other extraordinary ad- 
 ventures. But now, her affections having been 
 greatly moved, she had as strong an inclination 
 to give vent to her feelings, as the other had 
 to listen to her ; and pressing her right hand 
 betwixt her own, she entered into a full expla- 
 nation,without any interruption,save what arose 
 
 from the sobs that accompanied her sad story. 
 Renzo, in the meantime, proceeded in haste 
 to the quarters of the good friar. With a little 
 attention, and not without a few mistakes, he 
 finally got there. He found the cabin, but he 
 was not in it ; searching and peeping around, 
 however, he found him in a sort of tent, bent 
 down almost with his face to the ground, com- 
 forting one who was dying. He stopped, and 
 waited in silence. In a short time he saw him 
 close the eves of the sufferer, and place him- 
 self on his knees to pray a moment. He then 
 rose, came forwards, and went towards Renzo. 
 
 " Oh !" said the friar,perceiving him,"well !" 
 
 " She is here ! I have found ner ! " 
 
 " In what state ?" 
 
 " Cured, or at least out of bed." 
 
 "The Lord be praised!" 
 
 " But " said Renzo, when he was nigh 
 enough to him to speak in an under tone 
 ' there is another difficulty." 
 
 " What dost thou mean ? " 
 
 " I mean that your reverence knows very 
 well what a good young woman she is, but 
 sometimes she has got her own notions in her 
 head. After so many promises, after all that 
 you know, now she says that she cant be my 
 wife, for she says how can I tell ? that in that 
 night when she was so frightened, she got her 
 head somehow warmed, and somehow or other 
 devoted herself to the Madonna. A prepos- 
 terous thing, isnt it so ? All very well for 
 those who know how to do it, and who have 
 occasion to do it, but for us common people 
 who dont know how to do such things, isnt it 
 true that they are things that are not binding ?" 
 
 " Is she very far from here ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, a few steps beyond the church." 
 
 " Wait for me here a moment," said the friar, 
 "and then we will go there together." 
 
 " Your reverence means that you will make 
 her understand that " 
 
 " I know not, my son, I must first hear what 
 she has got to say." 
 
 " I comprehend," said Renzo, and stood with 
 his eyes fixed on the ground, and his arms 
 crossed on his breast, chewing the cud of the 
 doubt he was condemned to remain in. The 
 friar went again to look for father Vittore, re- 
 quested him again to supply his place, entered 
 his cabin, come out of it with his basket on 
 his arm, and turning to Renzo, said, " let us 
 go." Preceding the youth, he directed his 
 steps to the cabin, where, some time before, 
 they had entered together. This time, he left 
 Renzo without, but entered himself, and after 
 a moment appeared again, and said, " nothing ! 
 let us pray ; let us pray." 
 
 Then continued, " snow me the place." 
 
 Without further delay, they now proceeded. 
 
 The heavens were now beginning to grow 
 darker and darker, and announced a certain 
 and not far distant storm. Repeated lightnings 
 flashed through the increased darkness, and 
 gleamed with an instantaneous brightness upon 
 the long stretched roofs, and the arches of 
 the porticos, the cupola of the temple, and the
 
 236 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 low tops of the cabins, and the thunder burst- 
 ing forth with sudden explosions, went rolling 
 on from one region of the sky to another. The 
 young man went on before, marking the way, 
 his mind agitated by unquiet expectation, forc- 
 ing himself to slacken his pace, to accommodate 
 it to that of his aged follower, who, worn out 
 with fatigue, oppressed by his disorder, and by 
 the atmosphere, got on painfully, raising from 
 time to time his emaciated face to heaven, as 
 if he was seeking a freer respiration. 
 
 " Renzo, as soon as he came in sight of the 
 cabin, stopped, and turning, said with a trem- 
 bling voice, " there she is !" 
 
 They enter " Here they are !" exclaimed 
 the female on the bed. Lucia turned, rose has- 
 tily, went up to the old man, and cried out, 
 " Oh ! what do I see ? Oh ! Father Christo- 
 pher!" 
 
 " Well, Lucia ? From how many troubles the 
 Lord has delivered you ! You must be well sa- 
 tisfied that you have always placed your hope 
 in him." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! But you, father? Poor me, how 
 he is changed ! How do you do ? tell me, how 
 do you feel ? " 
 
 " As God pleases, and as through his grace, 
 I wish to feel," answered the friar with a se- 
 rene countenance. And taking her aside, he 
 added, " listen to me, I can only remain here 
 a few moments. Are you disposed to confide 
 in me as you have always done ?" 
 
 " Oh, are you not always my father?" 
 
 " What then, my daughter, is this vow that 
 Renzo tells me of?" 
 
 " It is a vow I have made to the Madonna 
 never to be married." 
 
 " Butt did you reflect at the time that you 
 were bound by a promise ?" 
 
 " I did not think of any promise, when the 
 Lord and the Madonna were in the case." 
 
 " The Lord, my daughter, accepts of sacri- 
 fices and offerings, when they belong to us. It 
 is the heart that he wishes, the free will ; but 
 you could not offer him the free will of another, 
 to whom you were already bound." 
 
 " Have I done wrong ?" 
 
 " No, my poor girl, do not think of that ; I 
 believe indeed that the holy virgin has been 
 pleased with the intention of your afflicted 
 heart, and has offered it up to God on your be- 
 half. But, tell me, have you never taken coun- 
 sel with any one on this matter ?" 
 
 " I did not think there was any harm in it, 
 and that I ought to confess it ; and the little good 
 one can dp, we know there is no occasion to 
 speak of it." 
 
 "Have you no other reason for refusing 
 to fullfil the promiae you gave to Renzo ? 
 
 "As to that I what reason ? I cant 
 say that any thing else," answered Lucia, 
 with a hesitation that evinced any thing but 
 uncertainty in her thoughts, whilst her face 
 become so pale with her illness, was flushed 
 all at once with a lively blush. 
 
 " Do you believe," answered the old man, 
 lowering his face, "that God has giveu to his 
 
 church, authority to remit and to confirm for 
 wise purposes the obligations and engagements 
 that men may have contracted with him ?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed I believe it." 
 
 " Know then that we, who are deputed to 
 the care of souls here, are endowed, in favor 
 of all those who may require it of us, with 
 ample faculties from the church ; and, that con- 
 sequently, I can, if you desire it of me, loosen 
 you from the obligation of whatever nature it 
 may be, that you may have contracted with 
 your vow." 
 
 " But is it not a sin to take back, and to re- 
 pent of a promise made to the Madonna ? I 
 made it then with all my heart " said Lucia, 
 violently agitated by the assault, of such an 
 unexpected, we must say it, hope, and of being 
 relieved from a terror, strengthened by all the 
 thoughts that had for so long been the princi- 
 pal occupation of her mind. 
 
 " A sin, my daughter ?" said the friar, " a 
 sin to have recourse to the church, and ask of 
 her minister to make use of the authority he 
 has received from her, and 'that she has re- 
 ceived from God ? I have observed how you 
 two have conducted yourselves with a view to 
 be united, and certainly if ever a pair appeared 
 to ine to have been intended for each otner by 
 God, you are the very pair, and now I cannot 
 see why God should separate you. And I bless 
 him, that he has given me, unworthy as I am, 
 the power to speak in his name, and to restore 
 you to your promise. And if you ask me to 
 declare you loosened from that vow, I shall not 
 hesitate to do it, I desire even that you ask it 
 of me." 
 
 "Then ! in that case ! I ask it," said 
 Lucia, with a countenance no longer disturbed 
 but by modesty. 
 
 The friar with a sign beckoned the youth, 
 who stood in the most distant corner of the 
 place, looking (since he could do nothing else) 
 with intense attention at a dialogue which in- 
 terested him so much, and Renzo being come 
 near, the friar said, with a distinct voice to Lu- 
 cia, " by the authority I hold from the church, 
 I declare you absolved from your vow of vir- 
 ginity, annulling whatever there was in it that 
 was inconsiderate, and liberating you from 
 every obligation you may have contracted by 
 it." 
 
 The reader may imagine what effect these 
 words produced upon the cars of Renzo. He 
 thanked him who had uttered them in the 
 warmest manner with his eyes, and immedi- 
 ately sought, but in vain, those of Lucia. 
 
 " Return with security and in peace to your 
 first thoughts," the capuchin went on to say, 
 " ask of the Lord again the grace you once 
 asked of him, that you may be a holy wife, and 
 confide in him, that he will grant it to you 
 abundantly, after so many woes. And thou," 
 said he, turning to Renzo, " remember, my 
 son, that if the church restores this thy com- 
 panion to thee, it is not to procure thee a tem- 
 poral and worldly consolation, the which, if it 
 could be complete and free from any mixture
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 237 
 
 of displeasure, would have to finish in sorrow, 
 when you shall have to separate ; but she does 
 it to place you both in the path of that conso- 
 lation which has no end. Love each other like 
 companions on a journey, with the thought 
 that you must one day separate, but with the 
 hope of being re-united again for ever. Give 
 thanks to Heaven that it has brought you to 
 this state, not through turbulent and temporary 
 rejoicing, but through pain and misery, that 
 you may be disposed to a tranquil and endur- 
 ing happiness. If God grants you children, see 
 that you bring them up for him, instil into 
 their hearts a love for him, and a love for men, 
 and then you will guide them well through 
 every thing. Lucia has he told you," pointing 
 to Renzo, "who he has seen here ?" 
 
 " Oh, father, he has told me." 
 
 "Pray for him. Be not tired of doing so. 
 Pray too for me ! My children, I wish you to 
 
 S-eserve a remembrance of the poor friar." 
 e now took from the basket a box of a com- 
 mon kind of wood, but turned and polished 
 with a capuchin kind of neatness, and con- 
 tinued, " here,within, is the rest of that bread 
 the first that I asked for charity's sake, that 
 bread of which you have heard speak ! I leave 
 it to you. Preserve it. Show it to your chil- 
 dren ! They will come into a sad world, in a 
 sorrowful age, in the midst of haughty and op- 
 pressive men : tell them always to pardon, 
 always ! every thing, every thing ! and tell 
 them to pray for the poor friar." 
 
 He now delivered the box to Lucia, who re- 
 ceived it reverently as if it had been a relic. 
 Then with a more composed voice, he said, 
 " now tell me, what friends have you here in 
 Milan? Where do you think of going when 
 you leave this place ? Who will conduct you to 
 your mother, whom may God have preserved 
 in health ?" 
 
 " This good lady will be meantime my 
 mother, we shall go from here together, and 
 then she will think of every thing." 
 
 " May God bless her," said the friar, coming 
 near to the bed. " I thank you too," said the 
 widow, "for the consolation you have given to 
 these poor young creatures, although I had 
 made up my mind never to separate from my 
 dear Lucia. But I will take care of her in the 
 meantime. I will go with her to her own coun- 
 try, and will deliver her to her mother, and 
 " she added in a low tone, " I will furnish her 
 with all her corredo.* I have too many things, 
 and of those who should have shared them 
 with me, I have not one left !" 
 
 " Thus," answered the friar, "you can make 
 a sacrifice to the Lord, and do good to your 
 neighbor. I need not recommend this maiden 
 to you, I see she has become yours : let us 
 praise God for it, who knows how to show he 
 is our Father, even amidst his chastisement, 
 and who, by bringing you together, has given 
 so clear a mark of love to you both. "Now !" 
 
 *A bride's apparel. 
 
 continued he, turning to Renzo, and taking 
 him by the hand, " we two have nothing fur- 
 ther to do here, we have indeed been too long 
 here. Let us go." 
 
 " Oh, father !" said Lucia, "shall I see you 
 again ?" I am cured, and I am doing no good 
 in this world, whilst you " 
 
 "For a long time" answered the old man, 
 in a serious and gentle tone, " I have asked a 
 very great favor of the Lord, to end my days 
 in the service of my fellow-creatures. If 
 he will grant it to me now, I stand in need 
 that all those who have any charity for me, 
 should help me to thank him. Come, give 
 Renzo your commissions to your mother." 
 
 " Tell her what you have seen," said Lucia 
 to her betrothed lover, " that I have found here 
 another mother, that I will come as soon as I 
 can, and that I hope, I hope to find her well " 
 
 " If you want money," said Renzo, " I have 
 here all that you sent to me, and " 
 
 " No, no," interrupted the widow, " I have 
 a great deal more than I want." 
 
 " Let us go," replied the friar. 
 
 " Good bye, Lucia, until ! and you too, 
 then, good lady," said Renzo, not finding words 
 to signify all that he felt at such a moment. 
 
 " Who knows whether the lord will be so 
 gracious as to let us all meet again !" ex- 
 claimed Lucia. 
 
 " May he always be with you, and bless you," 
 said the friar to the two females, and left the 
 cabin with Renzo." 
 
 " The evening was coining on, and the cri- 
 sis of the weather seemed still more imminent. 
 The capuchin once more offered the homeless 
 young man,, an asylum for the night in his poor 
 cabin. " Company I can ofter thee none," he 
 added " but thou wilt be under covering." 
 
 Renzo however had a prodigious inclina- 
 tion upon him to go, caring nothing about re- 
 maining any longer in such a place as that, 
 where he was not permitted to see Lucia any 
 more, nor indeed had he the least disposition 
 to stay with the good friar. As to the hour 
 and the weather, at may be said that night and 
 day, sun and rain, zephyr and storm, were all 
 one and the same things to him at that mo- 
 ment. He returned therefore his thanks, say- 
 ing that he wished to go back as soon as possi- 
 ble to look for Agnes. 
 
 When they were in the passage, the friar 
 pressed his hand, and said, " if thou findest her, 
 and may God grant it ! salute the good Agnes 
 in my name, and tell her, and all those who are 
 left, and who remember brother Christopher, to 
 pray for me. May God accompany thee ; and 
 bless thee for ever. 
 
 " Oh, dear father ! we shall see each other 
 again ? We shall see each other again ?" 
 
 " In Heaven, I hope." With these words . 
 he went away from Renzo, who following him 
 with his eyes until he disappeared, approached 
 the gate in haste, throwing to the right and to 
 the left, his last looks of compassion on the 
 melancholy abode. There was an extraordi- 
 nary movement going on, a driving of cars, mo- .
 
 238 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 natti running about, an adjustment of the tents, 
 and a hurrying of the feeble to them and to the 
 porticos, to shelter themselves from the cloud, 
 that was covering the place. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 IN fact, scarce had Renzo sot free of the 
 lazaretto, and on the road, (to the right, to get 
 into the lane he came out of in the morning 
 under the walls) when some heavy drops began 
 to fall like hail, which striking upon the 
 parched and whitened road, raised a minute 
 dust : these soon became a thick rain, which, 
 before he reached the lane, came down in 
 buckets full. Far from being annoyed with it, 
 it gave him great pleasure to be under it, en- 
 joying himself in the refreshing element, 
 amidst the pattering of the plants and leaves, 
 waving about, and made green and bright by 
 the precious shower. He drew a full and am- 
 ple breath, and in this great transition of na- 
 ture, felt, as it were, in a more free and lively 
 manner, that which had taken place in his des- 
 tiny. 
 
 But how much more pure and complete 
 would that feeling have been, if he had been 
 able to divine what was perceived a few days 
 afterwards, that that rain thoroughly washed 
 the contagion away, as it were ; that from that 
 moment the lazaretto, if it did not restore to 
 the living all the living it contained, at least 
 did not swallow up any more : that in a week 
 all the houses and shops would be seen open 
 again, and that people would have nothing left 
 almost to talk aoout but quarantine, and that 
 but few traces here and there would remain of 
 the pestilence, such as every one leaves for 
 some time. 
 
 Our traveler then pushed on with great 
 alacrity, without thinking where or how, or 
 when, or whether he should stop at all at night, 
 anxious only to get on, to get home soon, to 
 find some one to talk to, and above all things 
 to be able to resume his journey to Pasture, to 
 search for Agnes. He went on with his mind 
 quite busy with the incidents of the day ; but 
 amidst all the misery, the horrors, and the dan- 
 gers he had witnessed, one thought was al- 
 ways predominant, I have found tier she is 
 cured she is mine ! Then he would make a 
 spring, and the rain would fly from him, just 
 as the water does from a dog that has got out 
 of a river on the bank. Sometimes he con- 
 tented himself with rubbing his hands well to- 
 gether, and then would push on with greater 
 spirit than ever. Looking on the road, ne col- 
 lected, as it were, the thoughts he had left 
 there that morning, or the day before, when he 
 was going to Milan, and those especially with 
 which he nad then cheered his imagination, his 
 doubts and difficulties, to find her, to find her 
 alive, amongst so many dead or dying ! And I 
 
 have found her alive ! he concluded. He 
 would then recur back to the moments of his 
 severest trial, the most terrible and obscure 
 periods of the day ; he thought of the moment 
 when he held the knocker in his hand, I shall 
 learn that she is here, or that she is not here ! 
 and then to receive such a surly answer, and 
 not have even time to digest it, before a pack 
 of mad rascals to fall upon one ; and that lazaret- 
 to, that ocean of misery ! what a place to look for 
 her in ! And then to find her there ! He 
 thought of the moment when the procession 
 of convalescents had passed, what a moment ! 
 what a heart-breaking sensation when she did 
 not appear ! and now ne didnt care a fig about 
 it all. And that quarter where the women 
 were! And there behind that cabin, when 
 least he was expecting it that voice that 
 voice itself! And to see her, to see her stand- 
 ing right up before him ! But then there was 
 that knotty affair of the vow, and harder to 
 undo than ever. That, too, was untied. And 
 then his rage against Don Rodrigo, that cursed 
 rancor that exacerbated all his misery and 
 poisoned all his comfort, that was gone too. So 
 that it would be difficult to imagine a more 
 perfect state of satisfaction, if it was not for 
 his uncertainty about Agnes, his sorrow for 
 father Christopher, and his being still in the 
 midst of a pestilence. 
 
 He arrived at Sesto when night was falling, 
 and the rain gave no sign of stopping. But 
 feeling himself in a better humor tor walking 
 than ever, and so much trouble about getting 
 lodgings, and so completely soaked, he did not 
 even think of stopping. He had one urgent 
 feeling upon him, and that was a strong appe- 
 tite, such good luck as he had had made him 
 capable of digesting something better than the 
 simple soup of the capuchin. He looked about 
 for a baker's shop, and saw one ; a couple of 
 loaves were handed to him with the tongs and 
 the other ceremonies. These he put in his 
 pockets, and on he went. 
 
 When he passed through Monza, night had 
 set in, nevertheless he contrived to make out 
 his way and get into the right road,but from this 
 point and really it was an undertaking, it may 
 be supposed in what state the road Was, and 
 how it was becoming every instant. Sunk, 
 as they all were, (we have mentioned this in 
 another place) betwixt two banks, like the bed 
 of a river, it might have been called at that 
 time, if not a river, at least quite a stream, and 
 every now and then holes and puddles, not 
 easy to get shoes frqm, and sometimes even the 
 feet. But Renzo extricated himself as well 
 as he could, without impatience, without bad 
 words, without any regrets : reflecting that at 
 every step, whatever it might cost him, he was 
 getting on, that the rain would cease when- 
 ever it would please God, that day light would 
 appear at its own time, and that the road he 
 was now trampling through, would then be 
 left behind. 
 
 Indeed, we may say, that he never even 
 thought of these things but at the very worst
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 239 
 
 places. These were distractions. The great 
 labor of his mind was going over the story of 
 the melancholy months he had passed, so many 
 difficulties, so many misfortunes, so many mo- 
 ments in which he was about to resign even 
 hope, and give up every tiling for lost, and 
 then contrasting them in his imagination with 
 a future of so different a character : the arrival 
 of Lucia, his marriage, the establishment of 
 his house, the relating of old adventures, and 
 the rest of his life to come. 
 
 How he managed at the cross roads, for there 
 were some, if his little experience of the coun- 
 try, and the feeble assistance he had from the 
 light, were what enabled him always to keep 
 the straight road, or if it was chance directed 
 him, I am not able to say ; he himself, who 
 used to relate his story very minutely, not te- 
 diously, (and every thing induces us to believe 
 that our anonymous writer had heard him re- 
 late it more than once) he himself, at this part 
 of it, used to say, that he remembered the im- 
 pressions of that night, just as if they had been 
 created in a dream in bed. The fact is, that 
 towards the end of the night, he found himself 
 descending to the Adda. 
 
 It had never ceased raining, but at one pe- 
 riod, what had been a deluge had become rain, 
 and then a fine shower, equally and quietly 
 falling. The thin and lofty clouds formed a 
 continuous veil, but light and transparent, and 
 the twilight now permitted Renzo to see the 
 surrounding country. It was his native land, 
 and it would be difficult to express what he 
 felt at the sight of it. I can only say, that 
 those mountains, that Resegone, near the ter- 
 ritory of Lecco, had become, as it were, his 
 own property. He cast an eye too upon him- 
 self, and thought he cut an odd figure, such, to 
 tell the truth, judging from his own feelings, 
 as he imagined he must appear to others ; 
 every thing utterly spoiled that he had on him, 
 from the crown of his head to his girdle, a sort 
 of walking sponge, a traveling gutter, and 
 from his waist to the soles of his feet, a mass of 
 mud and mire : if there were any places free 
 of them, they were worthy of the less material 
 names of dirt and drabble. If he could have 
 seen himself in a glass, with the flaps of his 
 hat all soft and hanging down, and his hair 
 straightened out and pasted upon his face, he 
 would have thought himself still more remark- 
 able. As to fatigue, he might be fatigued, but 
 he did not know it, and the freshness of the 
 morning added to that of the night and the 
 gentle bath he had taken, only made him more 
 resolute.and increased his inclination to get on. 
 
 He reached Pescate, followed the last point 
 of the Adda, gave a melancholy look at Pes- 
 carenico, passed the bridge, and through the 
 lanes and fields reached the house of his pitia- 
 ble friend. He, scarcely up, was standing at 
 the door looking at the weather, and raised his 
 eyes at the sight of such a mass of mud and 
 dirt, looking so lively and happy ; in all his days 
 he had never seen a man look so battered and 
 yet so content. 
 
 ",What?" said he, "already here? and in 
 this weather ? What, have you discovered ?" 
 
 " She is there," said Renzo, " she is there, 
 she (is there." 
 
 "Is she well?" 
 
 " She is cured, and that is better. I have to 
 thank God and the Madonna that I am alive. 
 Great things, things of fire but I will tell 
 thee every thing." 
 
 " But what a figure thou art !" 
 
 " I look well, eh ?" 
 
 " To tell the truth, thou mightest use the 
 water in the upper part of thy oody, to wash 
 off the mud in the lower part. But stop, I 
 will make thee a good fire." 
 
 " I shall not object. Dost thou know where 
 the rain took me ? exactly at the gate of the 
 lazaretto. But that's nothing, the weather 
 knows its trade, and I know mine." 
 
 His friend went out and returned with some 
 sticks under his arm, laid one of them on 
 the ground, and the other on the hearth, then 
 with some coals that remained from the even- 
 ing before, he soon raised a good flame Ren- 
 zo, in the meantime, had taken his hat off, 
 shaken it a few times and thrown it on the 
 ground, and at last, but not with as much ease, 
 succeeded in getting his doublet off. He then 
 took his knife from the pocket of his trowsers, 
 with the sheath as soft as if it had been steep- 
 ed in water, put it on a small table, and said, 
 " that fellow's wet enough too, but it's water ! 
 water ! God be praised for it. I have been 
 within a hair's breadth but I'll tell thee after- 
 wards." And then he rubbed his hands. 
 " Now do me another favor," he added, " that 
 little bundle I left up stairs, go and get it, for 
 before those things are dry which I have on!" 
 His friend brought the bundle, and said, " I 
 think thou must be hungry, I can understand 
 there was plenty to drink for thee on the road, 
 but as to eating !" 
 
 " I contrived to buy a couple of loaves to- 
 wards night, but !" 
 
 " Leave it to me," said his friend, who hav- 
 ing filled a pot with some water and hung it 
 over the fire, added, "I am going to milk, 
 when I return the water will be ready, and 
 we shall have a good polenta. Get thyself 
 ready at thy leisure." 
 
 Renzo, left alone, got, and not without trou- 
 ble, the rest of his clothes off, which were 
 almost glued to his body, dried himself, and 
 dressed himself in fresh clothes from top to 
 bottom. His friend returned, went to work 
 upon the polenta, whilst Renzo took a seat 
 waiting for his breakfast. 
 
 " I feel now that I am tired," said he, " I've 
 had a pretty long walk ! But that is a small 
 matter. I have things to tell thee that will last 
 the whole day. What a pretty state Milan is 
 in ! One ought to be there to see it ! One ought 
 to be there to feel it ! Things to make one 
 afraid of one's self. There wanted nothing 
 short of the washing I've got ! And what those 
 fine fellows down there wanted to do to rue f 
 Thou shall hear. But if thou wert to see the
 
 240 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 lazaretto ! A man may get lost amidst so much 
 wretchedness. I'll tell thee all about it and 
 there she is, and she will come here, and she 
 will be my wife ; and thpu shalt be one of the 
 witnesses, and pestilence or no pestilence, we 
 will be merry at least for a few hours." 
 
 As to the rest, he did what he had promised 
 his friend, he kept narrating to him the whole 
 day, especially as the rain continued to fall ; 
 they remained in the house, Renzo sometimes 
 sitting near his friend, who occupied himself 
 repairing some casks, and in preparation for 
 the vintage, in which Renzo assisted him, for, 
 as he was wont to say, he was one of those 
 who get sooner tired of doing nothing, than of 
 working. He could not resist however taking 
 a run as far as Agnes's house, to take a look 
 at a certain window, and to give his hands a 
 nib there. He went and returned unobserved, 
 and laid himself down to rest at an early honr. 
 The following morning he was up betimes, and 
 the rain having ceased, and the weather being 
 fine again, he started for Pasture. 
 
 It was still early when he reached it, being 
 in quite as great a hurry as the reader can be. 
 He inquired for Agnes, heard that she was 
 well, and was in a small isolated house that 
 was pointed out to him. There he went, and 
 and called her by name from the street. On 
 hearing that voice, she came to the window in 
 a tremendous hurry, and whilst she stood there 
 with her mouth wide open ready to ejaculate 
 Heaven knows what, Renzo anticipated her by 
 saying, " Lucia is cured, I saw her the day 
 before yesterday : she salutes you, and will 
 soon come. And then I've got, on, what things 
 I've got to tell you!" 
 
 Betwixt surprise at his appearance, joy at 
 the news, and impatience to know more, Ag- 
 nes began first an exclamation, then a question, 
 without finishing any thing, and forgetting the 
 precautions she had accustomed herself to ob- 
 serve for some time, said " I'll come down and 
 open the door for you." 
 
 " Stop," said Renzo, " take care of the 
 plague, you have not had it I believe." 
 
 "I, no; and you?" 
 
 " I have had it, and you must be prudent 
 then. I am just come from Milan, and you 
 shall hear, I've been in the contagion quite up 
 to the eyes. Its true I've changed my clothes 
 from top to bottom, but its a filthy thing that 
 sometimes sticks like witchcraft. And since 
 the lord has been pleased to preserve you till 
 now, you must take care of yourself, until it 
 is quite over, for you are our mother, and I 
 want us to live together a while happily, on 
 account of the great sufferings we have gone 
 through, at least myself." 
 
 " But " Agnes began. 
 
 "Oh !" said Renzo, interrupting her, "there's 
 no more but* about it ; I know what you was 
 going to say ; but you shall hear, you shall hear, 
 there's no more butt in the business. Let us 
 go to some open place, where can talk at our 
 ease, without danger, and then you shall hear." 
 
 Agnes pointed to a garden there was behind 
 
 the house, told him to enter it, and to sit 
 down on one of two benches that were oppo- 
 site to each other, and that she would come 
 down stairs, and take a seat on the other. This 
 was done, and I am certain that if the reader, 
 informed as he is of what passed before, ruid 
 been able to make a third, and could have wit- 
 nessed such an animated conversation, could 
 have heard all they said, the questions, the ex- 
 planations, the exclamations, how they con- 
 doled each other, how they congratulated each 
 other, and about Don Rodrigo, and Father 
 Christopher, and all the rest, and those de- 
 scriptions of the future, clear and positive as 
 those of the past ; I am certain, I say, that 
 he would have been highly delighted, and 
 would have been the last to come away. But 
 to put it all upon paper, mute words made with 
 ink, and without one new fact, I am of opinion 
 he would not value it very much, and would 
 prefer that we leave him to guess at it. The 
 conclusion was that they were all to go and live 
 together at Bergamo, in the country where 
 Renzo had partly fixed himself. As to the pe- 
 riod nothing could be decided about it, as it 
 depended upon the contagion and other cir- 
 cumstances. As soon as the danger was over, 
 Agnes was to return home to wait for Lucia, 
 or Lucia was to wait for her : in the meantime 
 Renzo was to walk frequently over to Pasture 
 to see his mother, and to keep her informed of 
 every thing that was going on. 
 
 Before he went away, he offered her his 
 money, saying, " I have got them all here, see, 
 those crowns you sent, I had made a vow too 
 never to touch them, until the whole thing was 
 cleared up. Now, if you stand in need of 
 them, bring a dish of vinegar and water here, 
 and I'll throw the fifty crowns all handsome 
 and shining, right into it." 
 
 "No, no," said Agnes. "I have enough 
 left, more than I want for myself; keep your 
 own together for yourself, they will do to be- 
 gin to keep house with." 
 
 Renzo returned with the additional consola- 
 tion of having found a person so dear to him 
 quite well and in safety. The remainder of 
 that day and the night he staid with his friend, 
 and the next day he was on the road again.but in 
 another direction towards his adopted coun- 
 try. 
 
 There he found Bartolo, also in good health, 
 and less afraid of loosing it, for in those few 
 days, things even there nad rapidly assumed 
 another aspect. People were attacked much 
 seldomer, the disorder was no longer what it 
 used to be, it was without that mortal lividity, 
 and violence in the symptoms ; but slow fevers, 
 intermittent for the greater part, with at the 
 most some discolored spot, that was easily 
 cured. Already the whole face of the country 
 was changed, the survivors began to make 
 their appearance, to form part ot the popula- 
 tion, and to exchange condolences and con- 
 gratulations. They began to talk about going 
 to work again, the surviving proprietors al- 
 ready were thinking about engaging workmen,
 
 I PROMESSI 8POSI. 
 
 241 
 
 and in those branches principally where the 
 number had been scarce even before the con- 
 tagion, of which silk was one. Renzo, with- 
 out affecting to be an idler, promised (saving 
 however approbation from a proper quarter) 
 to go to work again, as soon as he could return 
 accompanied, to establish himself in the coun- 
 try. He gave directions meanwhile for the ne- 
 cessary preparations, provided himself with 
 more roomy lodgings, a thing now too easily 
 and cheaply procured, and furnished them 
 with movables, putting his hand for this time 
 to the treasure, but without making a great 
 hole in it, for every thing was abundant and 
 cheap. 
 
 After some days he returned to his native 
 place, which he saw was remarkably changed 
 for the better. Away he went to Pasturo, found 
 Agnes quite full of confidence, and disposed 
 to return home as soon as possible, so that 
 he reconducted her there himself. We shall 
 not relate what their feelings and expressions 
 were at returning together to those familiar 
 scenes. Agnes found every thing as she had 
 left it, so that this time, she could say, as far as 
 a poor widow and a poor young girl were in- 
 terested, angels themselves had been on guard. 
 
 And the last time, she added, "whoever 
 thought that the Lord was looking in another 
 direction, and was not thinking of us, since he 
 permitted our poor things to te taken away, 
 has been greatly mistaken, for the Lord has 
 sent me from another quarter some good crowns 
 with which I have been able to replace every 
 thing. I say every thing, and dont I say 
 right ? for there was Lucia's corredo that they 
 carried away, all quite complete, with the 
 rest of the things ; that was wanting yet, when 
 lo, and behold, even that is coining from another 
 quarter. Who would have ventured to say 
 to me, when I was so busy getting it ready, 
 thou thinkest thou art working for Lucia, eh ? 
 poor woman ! Thou art working for some one 
 thou knowest nothing about ; that linen, and 
 those clothes, Heaven knows what sort of a 
 creature's back they will get on ! Those things 
 for Lucia indeed ! The corredo that will have 
 to serve her, a good soul will think about, that 
 thou art not acquainted with, one that thou 
 dost not know even who she is." 
 
 The first care of Agnes was to prepare the 
 most decent accommodation her poor Cottage 
 was susceptible for that good soul ; she then 
 went to look up some silk to wind, and thus 
 with her reel she passed the tedious moments. 
 
 Renzo, on his part, did not pass the weari- 
 some days in idleness ; happily he had been 
 instructed in two callings, and he now took to 
 that of the countryman. He sometimes assisted 
 his friend, for whom it was a piece of good 
 luck to be aided at that season so efficiently ; 
 and sometimes he cultivated and restored to 
 its ancient state the small garden of Agnes that 
 had gone quite out of order during her absence. 
 As to his own possession, he paid no attention 
 whatever to it, saying that it was like a wig 
 that had got too much tangled, and that it woula 
 31 
 
 take more than two arms to put it in order. 
 He did not even enter into it, not even into the 
 house ; it gave him pain to look at so much 
 desolation ; and he had already determined to 
 part with it all, at any price, and to employ in 
 his new country, whatever he might get for it. 
 
 If those who remained alive were like re- 
 suscitated persons to each other,he,to his coun- 
 trymen, was in a manner doubly so. Every 
 one welcomed and congratulated him, every 
 one wanted to hear his story. Perhaps you 
 will ask how he got over the proclamation 
 against him. It went off very well, he scarce 
 ever thought of it, supposing that those whose 
 duty it would have been to attend to the exe- 
 cution of it, thought as little of it as himself, 
 which was the fact; and this was occasioned 
 not only by the plague, which had obliterated so 
 many things, but, as may be seen in more than, 
 one part of tyiis story, by the general course of 
 things in those days, when ordinances both 
 general and particular against individuals, if 
 some private and potent animosity did not ex- 
 ist to keep them alive and give effect to them, 
 frequently were inoperative, if nothing was 
 done after the first moment ; like musket balls, 
 which, when they dont hurt any body, remain 
 in the ground doing no injury to any one : a 
 necessary consequence of the great facility 
 with which ordinances of that kind were thrown 
 out to the right and to the left. The activity 
 of man is limited, and the superfluous energy 
 in the ordinance, was usually compensated by 
 an equal want of it in the execution. That 
 which is sowed into the sleeves, cant be kept 
 for patches. 
 
 Those who want to know how Renzo con- 
 ducted himself with Don Abbondio, during this 
 delay, are informed that they kept at a distance 
 from each other ; this last from apprehension 
 lest some proposition should be made about 
 matrimony, at the thought alone of which, 
 there arose in his imagination Don Rodrigo on 
 one side-with his bravos, and the cardinal on 
 the other with his arguments : the first because 
 he had determined to say nothing about it un- 
 til the moment had arrived, not disposed to 
 run the risk of alarming him before hand, to 
 create any new difficulty, and to embarrass the 
 affair with unnecessary talking. It was with 
 Agnes he used to converse about it. "Do 
 you think she will come soon?" one of them 
 asked, " I hope so, 7 ' would be answered by the 
 other ; and frequently the very one who had 
 given the answer, soon after put the same ques- 
 tion. And with these and similar triflings they 
 tried to pass the time, which appeared the 
 longer in proportion to that which had passed. 
 
 We will enable the reader to get over the 
 whole of it in a moment, briefly stating, that 
 some days after Renzo's visit to the lazaretto, 
 Lucia, with the good widow left it ; for a ge- 
 neral quarantine being ordered, they passed it 
 together shut up in the widow's house. A 
 portion of the time was spent in getting ready 
 Lucia's corredo, who after a few modest diffi- 
 culties, worked at it too herself: and the qua-
 
 242 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 rantine being passed, the widow consigned the 
 care of the magazine and the house to her 
 brother, the commissary,and preparations were 
 made for the journey. We can add also di- 
 rectly, that they left the city, arrived safe, as 
 well as what followed ; but with all the kind 
 disposition we have to accommodate the reader 
 in his impatience, there are three things be- 
 longing to that portion of time, we do not wish 
 to pass over in silence, and two of them at least 
 we believe the reader w r ould reproach us if we 
 were to do so. 
 
 The first, is, that when Lucia recounted her 
 adventures again to the widow, in a more par- 
 ticular and detailed way than she had done in 
 the agitation of her first confidence, and spoke 
 more at large of the Signora who had given 
 her an asylum in the monastery at Monza, she 
 learnt things from her, which furnished a key 
 to several mysterious matters, and filled her 
 soul with a sad and fearful wonder. She 
 learnt from the widow, that the wretched nun, 
 being suspected of committing several very 
 atrocious deeds, had been, by order of the car- 
 dinal, transported to a monastery at Milan, that 
 there, after a great deal of furious resistance, 
 she had become composed, and had accused 
 herself: that her present existence was a vo- 
 luntary penitence, of such a character, that 
 no one, unless depriving her of it, could inflict 
 any thing more severe upon her. Any one de- 
 sirous of being more minutely acquainted with 
 her story will find it in the work* we have 
 before quoted, respecting that person. 
 
 The other is, that Lucia, making inquiries 
 about father Christopher of all the capuchins 
 she saw in the lazaretto, heard with greater 
 grief than surprise, that he had died there of 
 the plague. 
 
 And before she left Milan, she would have 
 desired to know something of her old patrons, 
 and do, as she said, an act of duty, if either of 
 them remained. The widow accompanied her 
 to the house, they learnt that both of them 
 were gone where so many had preceded Don- 
 na Prasede ; when it is added, that she was 
 dead, nothing more requires to be said ; but 
 in relation to Don Ferrante, seeing that he 
 was a learned man, the anonymous author has 
 thought it right that the tribute should be paid 
 to him, of enlarging a little on his score, and 
 at our risk, we snail transcribe as near as may 
 be what he has written. 
 
 He says, then, that when the plague was first 
 begun to be talked about,Don Ferrante was one 
 of the most resolute and always one of the 
 most constant in denying its existence ; not in 
 a noisy and ignorant way like the people, but 
 with reasonings, to which no one at least can 
 say a concatenation was wanting. 
 
 " In rerum natura," said he, " there are but 
 two kinds of things, substances and accidents, 
 and if I can prove that contagion can be nei- 
 ther one nor the other, I shall have proved 
 that it does not exist, that it is a chimera. 
 
 * Kipajn. Hist. Pair. Dec. v. lib. vi. cup. iii. 
 
 And here is my point. Substances are either 
 spiritual or material. To say that contagion 
 is a spiritual substance, is an absurdity no one 
 will maintain, so that it is useless to talk about 
 it. Material substances are either simple or 
 compound. Now, a simple substance, conta- 
 gion is not, and this can be demonstrated in 
 four words. It is not an aerial substance, be- 
 cause, if it was, instead of passing from one 
 body to another, it would fly oflj in an instant 
 to its own sphere. It is not an aqueous sub- 
 stance, because it would be humid, and would 
 be dried up with the wind. It is not an igni- 
 ous substance, for then it would burn. It is 
 not an earthy substance, for then it would be 
 visible. Neither can it be a compound sub- 
 stance, for under every view of it, it would be 
 sensible to the eye or to the tact ; and who is 
 it has ever seen this contagion? Who has 
 ever laid his finger on it ? It remains to be 
 seen if it can be an accident. Worse, and 
 worse. These gentlemen, the doctors, tell us, 
 that it is communicated from one body to an- 
 other; this is their Achilles,their pretext for so 
 many precautions without common sense. 
 Now, supposing it an accident, then it must be 
 a transported accident, two words that are in 
 opposition to each other, there being in the 
 whole science of philosophy, no one thing 
 more clear, or more transparent than this, that 
 an accident cannot pass from one subject to 
 another. For if, in order to avoid this Scylla, 
 they are reduced to say, it is a produced ac- 
 cident, they fly from Scylla just to fall into 
 Charybdis ; for if it is produced, then it does 
 not communicate itself, it does not propagate, 
 as they go hauling about. These principles 
 being settled, of what use is it to discuss these 
 vibin, esantemi, carbuncles ? 
 
 " All stuff and nonsense !" said signer such 
 a one standing by. 
 
 " No, no," continued Don Ferrante, I dont 
 say so, science is science, only it is necessary 
 to know how to make use of it. All these 
 things, together with parodital tumors, buboni 
 violacei, f uroncoli nigricanti, these are all very 
 respectable terms which have their proper sig- 
 nification, but I say they have nothing to do 
 with the question. Who denies that such 
 things may be, or indeed that they actually 
 exist. The whole matter is, what is the cause 
 of them?" 
 
 And here began trouble for Don Ferrante 
 too. As long as he confined himself to attack- 
 ing the existence of contagion, he found none 
 but docile, respectful, and benevolent listeners, 
 for it is difficult to describe how great the au- 
 thority of a learned man by profession is, when 
 he only seeks to persuade others of the truth 
 of things they are already persuaded about. 
 But when he came to distinguish, and to at- 
 tempt to demonstrate that the errors of those 
 physicians did not consist so much in affirming 
 that there was a terrible and general disease 
 prevailing, as in assigning its causes, then, (I 
 speak of the first moments, when the notion 
 of disease was not listened to) then, instead of
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 243 
 
 listeners he met with contumacious and in- 
 tractable tongues, then there was no room for 
 reasoning, and he could only get his own doc- 
 trines out by morsels and pieces. 
 
 " There you have the true cause," said he, 
 " and they are compelled to admit it, even they 
 who maintain that other opinion in the clouds 
 Let them deny, if they can, that fatal conjunc- 
 tion of Saturn with Jupiter. And when was 
 it ever heard of that influences were propa- 
 gated .' And these gentlemen, will they deny 
 these influences to me ? Well they deny there 
 are any stars ? or are they going to tell you 
 that they are doing nothing at all there in the 
 sky, and are playing the part of so many pin- 
 "heads stuck in a cushion ? But what I cannot 
 comprehend of these gentlemen doctors, is 
 their admitting that we are under so malignant 
 a conjunction, and then coming and telling us 
 in such a bold way, dont touch this, and dont 
 touch that, and then you will be safe ! As if 
 by avoiding contact with terrestrial bodies, we 
 could disarm the virtual effect of celestial ones ! 
 And then such a fuss about burning a pack of 
 rags ! poor creatures ! You would burn Ju- 
 piter, would 'nt you ? Ay ! and Saturn too, if 
 you could !" 
 
 His fretus, that is to say, upon this founda- 
 tion, he made use of no precaution whatever 
 against the plague, was seized by it, and took 
 to his bed. Thus did he go to his death, like 
 one of Metastasio's heroes, laying it all to the 
 account of the stars. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ONE beautiful evening Agnes heard a car- 
 riage stop at the door it is her beyond a doubt ! 
 It was herself with the good widow. The rea- 
 der may imagine their mutual happiness. The 
 following morning, Renzo came very early un- 
 conscious of what had occurred, and with- 
 out any other motive but giving vent to his 
 feelings with Agnes about the protracted ab- 
 sence of Lucia. What he did, and what he said 
 when he so unexpectedly saw his mistress, the 
 reader must also be indebted to his own imagi- 
 nation for. The behavior of Lucia to him, 
 was such that it will not take many words to 
 describe it. " I salute you, how do you do ?" 
 said she, with her eyes on the ground, and 
 without discomposing herself. But Renzo did 
 not take this sort of reception ill. he took the 
 thing in its right sense, and as amongst edu- 
 cated people compliments pass for just so much 
 as they are worth, so he comprehended very 
 well what was to be understood by these words. 
 As to the rest, it was very easy to perceive 
 that she had two methods of making them un- 
 derstood, one for Renzo, and another for all 
 those who were merely her acquaintances. 
 
 " I do very well when I see you," replied 
 the youth, with a phrase worthy of being a 
 model, but which he invented at the moment. 
 
 " Our poor father Christopher !" said Lu- 
 cia, " pray for his soul, although we may be 
 quite sure he is now in Heaven praying for 
 us." 
 
 " I thought it would be so, I was afraid of 
 it," said Renzo. Nor was this the only chord 
 that vibrated sorrowfully which they touched 
 during this conversation. But, nevertheless, 
 whatever was said, the conversation was a de- 
 licious one : like those capricious horses, which 
 stamping their feet, first raising one and then 
 the other, putting them exactly in the same 
 place, and going through a thousand ceremo- 
 nies before they take a single step, and then 
 start off at once, as though they were borne by 
 the winds ; so had time become to him, at first 
 the minutes appeared to be hours, now the 
 hours appeared to be minutes. 
 
 The widow, not only was pleased with the 
 conversation, but took her share in it, Renzo 
 could never have supposed when he saw her 
 on the bed, that she was of such a social and 
 gay humor. But the lazaretto and the coun- 
 try, death and a marriage, are by no means one 
 and the same thing. She had already struck 
 up a little friendship with Agnes, and with 
 Lucia it was a pleasure to see her, at once ten- 
 der and playful, bringing her out gently and 
 without forcing her, just enough to give a little 
 life to her actions and words. 
 
 Renzo at length said he would go to Don 
 Abbondio to take measures for the celebration 
 of their marriage. Having found him, he said 
 with a respectful sort of jocular air " Signer 
 curate, has that headache of your reverences 
 past away, that you said prevented your 
 marrying us ? The right time has come now, 
 the bride has arrived, and I am come to knotv 
 when it will be convenient to you, but this 
 time I must entreat you to do it soon." 
 
 Don Abbondio by no means said he would 
 not do it, but he began to hesitate, to make 
 excuses and insinuations what was he going 
 to discover himself for, and have his name 
 talked of with that proclamation hanging over 
 his head? And couldn't the thing be done 
 somewhere else, and this thing and that thing. 
 
 " I understand," said Renzo, " your reve- 
 rence has got a little of that old headache yet. 
 But hear, hear." He then described to him in 
 what state he had seen poor Don Rodrigo, and 
 that there was no doubt he must be dead now. 
 "Let us hope," he concluded "that the Lord 
 has show'd mercy to him." 
 
 " What has this got to do with it ?' said Don 
 Abbondio, " have I told you I would not many 
 you ? I dont say no, not I ! I speak, merely for 
 good reasons. As to the rest, look you, as long 
 as a man has got breath in his body ! Look 
 at me : I am a broken vessel, I too have been 
 nearer to the other world than to this, still here 
 I an, and, if nothing else comes to disturb 
 me enough I too may hope to remain here 
 a little longer. Just consider now how men of 
 a certain temper but as I said what has this 
 got to do with it ?" 
 
 After some more conversation quite as in-
 
 244 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 conclusive, Renzo scraped him one of his best 
 bows, and returning to his friends, told them 
 what had passed, and ended by saying, " I 
 came away, for I was too full, and would not 
 run the risk of losing my patience, and saying 
 what was improper. At certain moments he 
 was just the man he was before, and talked just 
 in the same way ; I am sure if it had lasted a 
 little longer, he would have begun to talk latin 
 to me again. I see he wants to make it along 
 business again, and it is better to do at once 
 what he says, and go and be married where we 
 mean to live." 
 
 "Ill tell you what we will do!" said the 
 widow, " we women will go and make a trial, 
 we'll see if we cant get hold of the right end of 
 the skein. And then I shall have the pleasure 
 too of knowing this man, and seeing if he is 
 just as you say he is. We'll go after dinner, 
 so as not to come back upon him quite so soon. 
 Now, Signer Sposo, you must take us two a 
 walk whilst Agnes is occupied ; I will act as 
 mamma to Lucia, and really I want to take a 
 look at those mountains, and that lake of which 
 I have heard so much ; from the little I have 
 seen of it it appears to me to be a remarkably 
 beautiful thing." 
 
 Renzo conducted them at first to his friend's 
 house, where they were joyfully received, and 
 they made him promise, that not only that day, 
 but everyday, if he could, he would come and 
 dine with them. 
 
 Having taken their walk, Renzo went im- 
 mediately out, without saying where he was 
 going. The women remained a while to talk 
 a little, and concert the way to attack Don 
 Abbondio, and at length the assault was given. 
 
 Here they come said he to himself, but he 
 received them well, was full of congratulations 
 to Lucia, was civil to Agnes, and compliment- 
 ed the stranger. Having begged them to be 
 seated, he entered upon the great topicj the 
 plague, desired to know from Lucia how she 
 had got through it ; the mentioning of the la- 
 zaretto furnisned an opportunity to let the 
 widow who had been her companion, say a 
 few words : then, as was natural, he began 
 talking of his share of it, and then prodigious 
 congratulations with Agnes who had escaped 
 it. The visit was lasting rather long, and 
 from the first moment the two eldest were on 
 the look out, to put in a word at the very first 
 chance, as to the essential point : at last one of 
 them broke the ice ; but what was to be done ? 
 Don Abbondio was quite deaf at that ear : he 
 took care not to say no, but took to his tergi- 
 versations, and twistings, and talking nonsense 
 again. " It would be necessary," he said, " first 
 to get that horrid proclamation quashed ; you, 
 signora, who are from Milan, will be acquaint- 
 ed more or less with the thread of affairs, will 
 have some good friends, will be acquainted 
 with some cavalier of weight, that's the way 
 to heal all wounds. And if they want to take 
 the shortest way, without embarking them- 
 selves in so many things, since these young 
 people, and our Agnes here intend to aban- 
 
 don their home, (I dont know what to say, 
 home is where one is well off) it seems to me 
 they had better do every thing there, where 
 there is no proclamation to trouble themselves 
 about. I dont exactly see the time when this 
 connection may properly take place, but I 
 should like to see it done well and peacefully. 
 I speak the truth, with that proclamation still 
 out, to pronounce at the altar that name of 
 Lorenzo Tramaglino, I could not do with a 
 quiet heart, I love them too much, I should be 
 afraid to render them a bad service. Only 
 see, signora, see yourselves. 
 
 Here Agnes began, and the widow began, 
 to oppose his reasonings, and Don Abbondio 
 to reproduce them under another form, it was 
 a constant da capo. When in came Renzo, 
 with a resolute step, and news in his face, say- 
 ing, "The Signer Marquis *** is arrived." 
 
 " What does this mean ? arrived where ?" 
 asked Don Abbondio, rising from his chair. 
 
 " He has arrived in his palace, that once be- 
 longed to Don Rodrigo, for this Signor Mar- 
 quis is his heir, so that there is no doubt about 
 it. For me, I should be quite content if I 
 knew that poor man died well. I have said a 
 great many Paternosters for him, and now I 
 will say some De profundis. And this Signor 
 Marquis is a very good man." " Certainly," 
 said Don Abbondio, " I have heard him called 
 more than once a very excellent man, a man 
 of the old stamp. But is it really true?" 
 
 " Will you believe the sacristan ?" 
 
 " What for ?" 
 
 " Because he has seen him with his own 
 eyes. I have only been there in the neighbor- 
 hood, and to tell the truth, I went there on pur- 
 pose, thinking there was something to be heard 
 there. And more than one and two have told 
 me so. I afterwards met Ambrogio, who was 
 coming from the castle, and who has seen him, 
 as I say, acting as the master. Would your 
 reverence like to speak to Ambrogio ? I ask- 
 ed him to wait outside on purpose." 
 
 "Let us hear him," said Abbondio. Ren- 
 zo went to call the sacristan, who confirmed 
 the thing completely, added some other parti- 
 culars, resolved all lu's doubts, and then went 
 away. 
 
 "Ah! he is dead then! really gone!" ex- 
 claimed Don Abbondio. " You see, my chil- 
 dren, how Providence ferrets certain people 
 out at last. Do you know that this is a great 
 affair ! a great breathing for this poor countiy ! 
 for no body could live where he was. The 
 pestilence nas been a great scourge, and it has 
 been a broorn too ; it has swept away certain 
 subjects that we should never have freed our- 
 selves from green, fresh, full of life. One 
 would have said that the man that was to bury 
 them, was at school yet, getting his first latin 
 words off by heart. And in the twinkling of 
 an eye, they have disappeared, a hundred at a 
 time. We shall see him no more going about 
 with those cut-throats behind him, full of self- 
 conceit, turning his nose up, as stiff as if he 
 had a stake in his body, and looking at people,
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 245 
 
 as if they were all in the world just through 
 his condescension. In the meantime, he has 
 left it, and we remain behind. He will send 
 no more of those messages of his to respecta- 
 ble people. He has given us all a great deal 
 of vexation, do you see, that we can say at 
 least." 
 
 " I have pardoned him from my heart," said 
 Renzo. 
 
 "Thou hast done well, it was thy duty," 
 replied Don Abbondio, " but we may thank 
 God that we are delivered from him too. 
 Now, coming to our own affairs, I return to 
 say, do whatever you like best. If you wish 
 me to marry you, here I am ; if it is more con- 
 venient in another place, please yourselves. 
 As to the proclamation, I see too, that now, 
 there being no body to observe you and to do 
 you any evil, it is not a matter to take a great 
 deal of trouble about, especially since that 
 gracious decree has appeared on account of the 
 birth of the most serene infant. And then the 
 plague ! the plague ! it has blotted out a great 
 many things, that plague ! So that, if you 
 wish, to day, is Thursday Sunday, I will 
 ask you in church ; for what has been done 
 heretofore, goes for nothing after so long a 
 time has passed, and then I snail have the con- 
 solation to many you myself." 
 
 " Your reverence knows we came on pur- 
 pose for this," said Renzo. 
 
 " It is all right, and I will serve you, and I 
 will immediately send word to his eminence." 
 
 " Who is his eminence ?" asked Agnes. 
 
 " His eminence," answered Don Abbondio, 
 " is our signor cardinal archbishop, whom God 
 preserve.'" 
 
 " Oh, as to that, you must excuse me," re- 
 plied Agnes, " for although I am a poor ignor- 
 ant women, I can certify that that is not the way 
 to call him, for when we went the second time 
 to speak to him, as I am now talking to your 
 reverence, one of those gentlemen the priests 
 drew me on one side, and taught me how I 
 ought to address myself to him, and that I 
 should call him Vossignoria illustrissima and 
 Monsignore." 
 
 " And now, if he should ever instruct you 
 again, he will tell you that eminence is the 
 proper title given to him, do you comprehend ? 
 For the pope, whom God preserve too, has 
 prescribed, that since the month of June, this 
 title be given to the cardinals. And do you 
 know why he has come to this resolution ? 
 Why, because the title of illustrissimo which 
 belonged to them and to certain princes, you 
 can see yourselves what sort of a thing that 
 has become, and how many it is given to ; and 
 how willingly they all suck it down ! Well 
 now, what would you do ? Take it away from 
 all of them ? There would be nothing but ap- 
 peals, rancors, vexations, and spites, and the 
 thing would go on as before into the bargain. 
 The pope, therefore, has provided an excel- 
 lent remedy. By degrees the bishops will be- 
 gin to be called eminence, then the abbots 
 will want it, and then the priests, for men are 
 
 just made so, they always want to be pushing 
 onwards : then the canons will want it. " 
 
 "And the curates?" said the widow. 
 
 " No, no," answered Don Abbondio, " the 
 curates have to go in the cart sills, dont you 
 believe they will get any bad habits of that 
 kind, they will have to be content with reve- 
 rend to the end of the world. But I should not be 
 surprised if the cavaliers, who are accustomed 
 to hear themselves called illustrissimo, and to be 
 treated like cardinals, should some day or other 
 want to be eminences too. And if they do, you 
 will see, that they will find plenty of people 
 to call them so. And then, the pope, whoever 
 he may be at that day, will have to find out 
 something else for the cardinals. But. to get 
 back to our own affairs ; Sunday I will ask you 
 in church, and in the meantime, what do you 
 think I have imagined to render you service ? 
 In the meantime we will ask for a dispensa- 
 tion for the other two times. They have 
 enough to do in Curia there below to grant dis- 
 pensations, if they are required as much as 
 they are from this quarter. For Sunday I have 
 already one two three without counting 
 you, and there may be others yet. And then 
 afterwards, you will see, the fire has got into 
 them, there will not be a single bachelor left in 
 the country. It was a great piece of folly in 
 Perpetua to die now, she would have found a 
 purchaser in these times as well as the rest. 
 And at Milan, signora, I suppose it is pretty 
 much the same thing. 
 
 " Exactly : only imagine to yourself, in my 
 parish alone, last Sunday, there were fifty 
 marriages." 
 
 " Didnt I say so, the world is not going to 
 end yet. And you, signora, has no fly begun 
 to buz about you yet ? 
 
 " No, no, I am not thinking that way, and 
 do not mean to do so." 
 
 "Ay, ay, you want to be the only single 
 woman in the world. Agnes, too, see there, 
 Agnes too " 
 
 " Pugh, your reverence wants to laugh," an- 
 swered she. 
 
 " To be sure I want to laugh, and it seems 
 to me it is high time. We have gone through 
 some tough things, eh ? Some tough things, my 
 young people, we have gone through ! The 
 few days we have to remain here yet, it is to 
 be hoped may not be quite so sad. But ! hap- 
 py you, if no misfortune happens to you, you 
 nave yet a long time to talk of past troubles ! 
 The poor old man rascals may die, one may 
 be cured of the plague, but there is no remedy 
 for old age, and, as the saying is, Senectus ip$a 
 est morbus." 
 
 " Your reverence may talk latin now," said 
 Renzo, " as long as he likes, I care nothing 
 about it." 
 
 " Oh ! thou hast got a spite against latin yet, 
 eh ? Very well, very well, I'll suit thee. When 
 thou comest before me with this young crea- 
 ture, just to hear a few short words said in latin, 
 I'll say to thee, 'thou dost not like latin, so 
 go in peace. Eh?'",
 
 246 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 "Ah," said Renzo, "how do I know what 
 I am saying, it is not such latin as that that 
 frightens me : that is an honest, holy, latin, 
 like that of the mass, and even the clergy are 
 obliged there to read it out of the book. I 
 speak of that rascally latin out of church, that 
 does nothing but betray one in the middle of a 
 conversation. For example, now that we are 
 here, and all is settled, that latin that your 
 reverence was spinning out to me in that cor- 
 ner there, to make me believe you could not, 
 and that there were some other things to do 
 first, and what do I know, will your reverence 
 just turn it into the vulgar tongue for me ?" 
 
 " Hold your tongue, you monkey, hold your 
 tongue, dont stir these things up again ; for if 
 we were to make up our accounts, 1 dont know 
 who would have to receive all the excuses. 
 Let us say no more about it, but you played 
 off some pretty tricks on me. I am not aston- 
 ished at thee, thou art a sad dog enough, but I 
 speak of this quiet piece of water, this young 
 saint here, that it was a sort of sin to have any 
 doubt about. But I know I know, where 
 she got her schooling, I know, I know ;" say- 
 ing this he turned his finger that he was point- 
 ing to Lucia, to Agnes, and shook it. It would 
 be difficult to describe the good nature and the 
 pleasant manner in which he made them these 
 reproofs. The news of Don Rodrigo's death 
 had put him into a humor, and giving him such 
 a fit of talking, as he had been unaccustomed 
 to in a long time, and we should be still far 
 from the end, if we were to relate the remain- 
 der of the conversation, which he prolonged, 
 detaining the party when they were ready to 
 go, and stopping them a minute or two at the 
 doorway, always talking nonsense to them. 
 
 The succeeding day ne received a visit as 
 unexpected as it was pleasing. The Signer 
 Marquis of whom we have spoken, a mid- 
 dle aged man, whose countenance was a guar- 
 antee to his good name, open, benevolent, pla- 
 cid, humble, dignified, and something that in- 
 dicated a resigned sorrow. 
 
 " I come," said he, " to bring you the salu- 
 tations of the cardinal archbishop." 
 
 " Oh, what condescension on the part of 
 both!" 
 
 " When I took leave of that incomparable 
 man, who honors me with his friendship, he 
 spoke to me of two betrothed lovers of this 
 parish, who have gone through a good deal of 
 suffering on account of poor Don Rodrigo. 
 Monsignor wishes to have some information 
 about them. Are they alive ? And are their 
 affairs adjusted ?" 
 
 "Every thing is adjusted indeed, I was 
 going to write to his eminence ; but now that 
 I have the honor " 
 
 " Are they in this place ?" 
 
 " They are here, and as soon as it is possi- 
 ble, they are to be man and wife." 
 
 "I would request to be informed if I can do 
 them any good, and that you would tell me 
 how to do it. In this calamity I have lost my 
 two only sons, and their mother, and have in- 
 
 herited three considerable properties. I had 
 more than enough before, so that your reve- 
 rence perceives, that by giving me an op- 
 portunity to employ some of my means, and 
 especially upon this occasion, it will be truly 
 rendering me a service." 
 
 " May Heaven bless your excellency ! Why 
 are they not all like you, the ? But, never 
 mind, I thank you from my heart for these 
 children of mine. And since Vossignoria illus- 
 trissimo gives me such encouragement, I have 
 indeed an expedient to suggest, which perhaps 
 you will not dislike. Know, then, that these 
 good people are determined to go and establish 
 themselves in another place, and to sell the 
 little they possess here : the young man has 
 a small vineyard of some nine or ten perches, 
 more or less, but abandoned, and all grown up 
 into weeds : there is absolutely nothing but the 
 ground ; he has a small house too, and there 
 is another belonging to the bride, nothing but a 
 couple of rats' nests now. A nobleman like 
 your excellency can never know how it fares 
 with poor people, when they are obliged to sell 
 even their homes. The matter ends by the 
 property falling into the hands of some avari- 
 cious rogue, who has had an eye upon their 
 possessions for some time, and who, when he 
 finds out they must sell, keeps aloof, and pre- 
 tends indifference ; then they have to run after 
 him and give it away for a piece of bread, es- 
 pecially in such times as these. Your excel- 
 lency sees where my story is going to end. 
 The greatest piece of benevolence that Vossig- 
 nora illustrissimo can do to them, is to extri- 
 cate them from this difficulty, and purchase 
 their little property. I, to speak the truth, find 
 my own interest in the matter ; my gain is, to 
 have acquired in my parish such a patron as 
 the Signor Marquis. But your excellency will 
 decide as it may seem good to you, I have 
 spoken merely to obey." 
 
 The marquis approved the suggestion very 
 much, thanked Don Abbondio, and requested 
 him to fix the price, and to make it a large one : 
 he then completed the surprise of the curate, 
 by proposing that they should go together to 
 the house ot the bride, where probably they 
 would also find her lover. 
 
 On the way, Don Abbondio, quite delighted, 
 as it may be supposed, thought of another mat- 
 ter, and said, " since Vossignoria illustrissima 
 is so much disposed to be serviceable to this 
 pair, there is another service you can render 
 them. The young man has a rescript out 
 against him, a sort of outlawry, for some ex- 
 travagance he fell into in Milan, two years 
 ago, the day of <he great tumult, in which he 
 found himself, without any bad intentions, and 
 quite from ignorance, just like a mouse in a 
 trap : there is nothing serious in the matter, 
 your excellency ; boy's tricks, nothing else : he 
 is quite incapable of doing any thing bad, I 
 can give my word for that, for I baptized him, 
 and have seen him grow up : and then, if your 
 excellency wishes to amuse himself, as noble- 
 men sometimes do, by hearing these poor peo-
 
 I PROMESSI SPOSI. 
 
 247 
 
 pie talk in their careless way, he can tell the 
 story himself, and then your excellency can 
 judge. Now, these being old affairs, no one 
 troubles him, and as I have said, he talks of 
 leaving the dutchy, but the time may come, 
 when he may want to come back here, or 
 something may happen, it is better, as your 
 excellency knows, to be free of all such things. 
 The Signor Marquis, counts, in Milan, as ne 
 ought of right to do, for the cavalier, and the 
 great man that he is No, no, let me say it, 
 truth must find its place. A recommendation, 
 a word from a man like your excellency, 
 would be more than would be necessary to re- 
 lieve him from this affair." 
 
 "There are no important things against 
 him ?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; I believe nothing of the kind. 
 They let out upou him at the very first mo- 
 ment, but now I believe it is a mere matter of 
 formality." 
 
 " That being the case, it will be very easy, 
 and I take it willingly upon myself." 
 
 "And then your excellency won't let me 
 say you are a great man. I say it, and I will 
 say it, in spite of you I will say it. And if I 
 was to be silent, it would be of no use, for 
 everybody says so, and vox popvli vox dei." 
 
 They found the three women and Renzo 
 there together. It may be imagined what as- 
 tonishment they were in. I imagine even the 
 naked and ragged walls, the tables and the fur- 
 niture must have been astonished to find such 
 an extraordinary guest amongst them. He gave 
 animation to the conversation, talking ot the 
 cardinal and of other matters, with open cor- 
 diality, and with a just delicacy. In a short 
 time he introduced the proposition that had 
 been spoken of, and requested Don Abbondio 
 to fix the price ; who alter a good deal of pro- 
 logue and excuse, began saying it was not an 
 affair of his own, and all he could do was to 
 throw out a hint, he was only speaking in obe- 
 dience to the wishes of the Marquis, to which 
 every thing must be referred, and then, as he 
 said, proposed something, in his opinion, quite 
 preposterous. The purchaser said that on his 
 part he was perfectly content, and, as if there 
 had been an understanding about it, doubled the 
 price, and would listen to no sort of modifica- 
 tion, finishing the whole matter by inviting the 
 company to dine at the palace, the day after 
 the marriage, when the deeds should be signed. 
 
 Ah! said said Don Abbondio to himself, 
 when he got home if the plague managed 
 things always, and every where, in this way, it 
 would be quite a sin to say any harm of it ; we 
 should be almost wanting one for every gener- 
 ation, and one might make a bargain about 
 having a pestilence. 
 
 The dispensation came, and then the abso- 
 lutary, and at last the blessed day, itself came. 
 The betrothed lovers went with perfect trium- 
 phant security to church, where Don Abbon- 
 dio pronounced them man and wife. Another 
 triumph, and a still more singular one,was their 
 going to the palace the next day. It may be 
 
 imagined what their thoughts were as they 
 rose the ascent, and entered the gate, and 
 what reflections they made, each one after 
 their own fashion. It was remarked, in the 
 midst of their mirth, that all of them said more 
 than once, that to make the feast perfect, poor 
 father Christopher was wanting. " But as to 
 him," they added, " he is much better off than 
 we are." 
 
 The Marquis received them very cordially, 
 conducted them to a handsome dining room, 
 and seated the married pair at table with Agnes 
 and the widow, but before he retired with Don 
 Abbondio to dine elsewhere, he was pleased to 
 assist a little, and help his guests even at this 
 first table. I hope it will not enter into any 
 one's head, that it would have been better to 
 have had but one table. I have said he was a 
 very worthy man, but not that he was an origi- 
 nal, as he would then have been. I have said 
 that he was humble, but not that he was a pro- 
 digy of humility. He was sufficiently so to 
 place him beneath those good people by help- 
 ing them, but not enough to put himself on a 
 level with them. 
 
 After the two dinners, the contract was pro- 
 duced by a doctor, who was not Azzecca-gar- 
 bugli. He, I mean to say his remains, was and 
 still are at CantereUi, and for those who dont 
 come from that quarter, perhaps there will 
 want an explanation here. 
 
 Perhaps about half a mile above Lecco, and 
 almost on the flank of the country place called 
 Castello, is a place named CantereUi, where 
 two roads cross each other: on one side of 
 these four corners is an eminence, like an ar- 
 tificial hill, with a cross on the top, which is 
 nothing but a great heap of dead that perished 
 during the contagion. Tradition, it is true, 
 simply calls it, the dead of the contagion, but it 
 is that beyond a doubt which was the last and 
 the most deadly of which the remembrance is 
 preserved. And learn that traditions, if they 
 are not assisted a little, always leave something 
 unexplained. 
 
 They met with no trouble on their return, 
 if it was not that Renzo was somewhat incom- 
 moded by the weight of the money he had re- 
 ceived ; but, as you know well enough, he had 
 triumphed over greater difficulties than this. 
 I say nothing of the mental labor he had, which 
 was not trifling, to think of his best method of 
 employing them : to look at the projects that 
 passed through his head, the contests he had 
 with himself, the pros and cons, for and against 
 agriculture and the silk spinning business, you 
 would have thought that two academies of the 
 past age had met. And the matter was infi- 
 nitely more pressing and full of trouble to him, 
 for, being only one man, he could not say to 
 himself, " what occasion is there to choose ? 
 both one and the other, at the proper time, for 
 the means in substance are the same, and they 
 are two things, like the limbs, and two can go 
 better than one." 
 
 Now, nothing else was thought of but pack- 
 ing up, and traveling ; the Traiuaglino family
 
 248 
 
 THE METROPOLITAN. 
 
 for their new country, and the widow for Mi- 
 lan. Tears, thanks, promises to see each other 
 again, were abundant. Not less tender, ex- 
 cepting; the tears, was the parting of Renzo 
 and his family from his pitiable friend ; neither 
 did matters go off coldly with Don Abbondio. 
 The three poor people had always preserved a 
 respectful attachment to their curate, and, at 
 the bottom he had always been attached to 
 them. It's the blessed business affairs of the 
 world that set the affections wrong. 
 
 If any one should ask if there was no pain 
 felt at this separation from their native country, 
 from their mountains, the answer is, that there 
 was, for I may venture to say there is a little 
 pain belonging to every thing. It may be be- 
 lieved, however, that it was not very violent, 
 since they might have spared it to themselves 
 altogether, by remaining at home, now that the 
 two great obstacles, Don Rodrigo and the out- 
 lawry, were removed. But for some time they 
 had accustomed themselves to consider that 
 their country to which they were going. Ren- 
 zo had placed it in a favorable point of view to 
 the women, by relating the advantages which 
 operatives enjoyed, and a hundred things of 
 the comfortable way in which people lived 
 there. As to the rest, they all had passed some 
 bitter moments in that upon which they were 
 now going to turn their backs, and remembran- 
 ces of a sad character, always end in the mind 
 to the prejudice of the places they recall. 
 And when these are our native places, those 
 remembrances perhaps contain something harsh 
 and poignant. Even the infant, says the ma- 
 nuscript, reposes willingly upon the breast 
 of the nurse, and seeks with avidity and con- 
 fidence the source which has so sweetly ali- 
 mented it until then ; but if the nurse, to wean 
 it, tinges it with something bitter, the infant 
 draws back its lip, then tries again, but at 
 length abandons it, in tears it is true, but it 
 abandons it. 
 
 What will you say on hearing, that scarce 
 arrived, and settled in their new country, Ren- 
 zo found some new disgusts already prepared 
 for him ? Miseries to be sure, but a very small 
 matter can disturb a state of happiness. The 
 matter was briefly this : 
 
 The talking there had been about Lucia 
 some time before she arrived, the general 
 knowledge that Renzo had been very much 
 distressed about her, and had always remained 
 constant and faithful, perhaps too a word or 
 two dropped from a friend partial to him and 
 what was dear to him, had created some curi- 
 osity to see this young person, and a great ex- 
 pectation of her personal beauty. Now you 
 know very well what expectation is, imagina- 
 tive, deceptive, and confident ; and afterwards 
 when results appear, how difficult, and spite- 
 ful, never satisfied, because, in fact, it never 
 knew what it wanted, and punishing itself 
 without pity for the disappointment it had too 
 flatteringly been the cause of. When Lucia 
 appeared, many of those who had concluded 
 her locks were made of pure gold, her cheeks 
 
 of roses, and one of her eyes at least hand- 
 somer than the other, began to shrug up their 
 shoulders, and turn up their noses, " Is this 
 her ?" said they, " faith, after waiting so long, 
 and hearing so much said about her, one might 
 have looked for something better ! What is 
 she after all ? A country girl, just like all the 
 rest. Why, there's as good as her and better 
 all over the world. And then one began to 
 remark one defect, and another another, and 
 thera^were some who found her quite ugly. 
 
 BuT as no body told Renzo so to his face, 
 there was no great harm done so far. They 
 who did the evil, and widened the sore, were 
 some persons who told him of it ; and Renzo, 
 what was to be done ? was angry enough at 
 them. He began to ruminate about it, and 
 make a great stir, talking to some of them, and 
 a great deal to himself. And what is that to 
 
 Sju ? Who told you to expect so much ? 
 id I ever tell you so ? did I ever say she was 
 handsome ? And when you talked to me about 
 it, did I ever give you any other answer, than 
 that she was a good young girl.i She is a 
 country girl ! Did I ever tell you that I was 
 going to bring you a princess here ? You dont 
 like ner ? very well, dont look at her ! You 
 have handsome women here, look at them. 
 
 And just see how a trifling matter some- 
 times decides the whole life ot man. If Ren- 
 zo had passed his whole life there, according 
 to his first intention, he would have had very 
 little comfort. From disliking the people, he 
 at last came to be disliked himself. He be- 
 haved uncourteously to every body, because 
 every one might be one of Lucia's critics. 
 He had a sort of sardonic way of doing every 
 thing, finding something to criticise in every 
 direction, so that if even the weather was bad 
 two days running, he was sure to say, " what 
 can you expect in this country ?" He was now 
 disliked by a great many of those, who, when 
 he first came into the country, were his friends, 
 and in time, what with one thing and another, 
 he would have been almost in a state of hosti- 
 lity with the whole population, without per- 
 haps his being able to assign the original cause, 
 or find the root of so much bad feeling. 
 
 But it may be said the plague had taken up- 
 on itself to compensate all his vexations. It 
 had carried off the proprietor of another fila- 
 ture situated almost at the gates of Bergamo ; 
 and the heir, a wild young fellow, finding no- 
 thing in the whole building to amuse himself 
 with, had thought, and indeed was desirous of 
 selling at half price, but he wanted the cash 
 down, that he might immediately employ.it in 
 something not quite as productive. The mat- 
 ter having come to Bartolo's ears, he went to 
 look at the place, and entered into a negocia- 
 tion. More advantageous terms it was impos- 
 sible to hope for, but that condition of cash 
 down spoiled every thing, for his capital, being 
 made of small savings, was far from coming up 
 to the necessary sum. Without, therefore, let- 
 ting the bargain fall through, he returned has- 
 tily, communicated the aflair to his cousin, aud
 
 1 PROMESS1 SPOSI. 
 
 249 
 
 proposed they should purchase injpartnership. 
 Such a good chance,broughtall the economical 
 deliberations ofRenzo to a close, who instantly 
 resolved to employ his capital in silk spinning, 
 and assented. They now returned together, 
 and the bargain was concluded. When the 
 new proprietors took possession of their pro- 
 perty, Lucia, who had created no anticipations, 
 not only did not become exposed to criticisms, 
 but was not disliked, and it came to Renzo's 
 ears that several persons had said, " have you 
 seen that handsome baggiana that's cotne?" 
 The adjective here carried the substantive 
 through. 
 
 And even the disgust he had received in the 
 other place, was a useful lesson to him in the 
 mastering of his temper. Previous to that 
 time he had indulged in a rash habif of giving 
 his opinion about, and criticising other men's 
 wives, and indeed every thing. Now he com- 
 prehended that words produce one effect in the 
 mouth and another in the ears, and adopted 
 the practice of weighing in future the import 
 of his own, before he uttered them. 
 
 You must not imagine, however, that there 
 was not some small fastidious matter here. 
 Man, (says our anonymous author, and you' 
 already know by experience that he had a 
 rather strange taste in his similies, but you 
 must bear with him a little, for this is likely 
 to be the last) whilst he is in this world, is an 
 invalid lying upon a bed more or less easy, and 
 sees around him other beds, neatly and smooth- 
 ly arranged, and he thinks they would all be 
 very soft and easy. But if he succeeds in ef- 
 fecting a change, scarce has he got into the new 
 one, and begun to press it, than he has a fea- 
 ther pricking him here, and feels a hard place 
 there, in fact, it turns out to be pretty much 
 the same thing over again. And for this rea- 
 son, adds he, we ought to think more of doing 
 well, than of being well, and then we should 
 end by being better off. The figure has been 
 nauled up with the capstan a little, and is a 
 good specimen of the secentista style, but he 
 is right at bottom. As to the rest, he conti- 
 nues : sorrows and troubles of the force and 
 quality of those we have narrated, did not fall 
 to the lot of our good people any more ; from 
 that moment life passed placidly with them, 
 and was . of the happiest, and most enviable 
 kind, so much so, that if it was to be minutely 
 related, it would annoy you to death. 
 
 Business went on very well ; at the begin- 
 ning there was some difficulty, on account of 
 the scarcity of operatives, and the pretensions 
 of the few who were left. Regulations were 
 published limiting the price of manufactures, 
 but in spite of this, these began to do well again, 
 because in the end that must be the case. 
 Another order came from Venice somewhat 
 more discreet, an exemption for ten years, 
 from all taxes upon real and personal estate 
 32 
 
 belonging to foreigners who came to dwell 
 in the Venetian states. This was another 
 cockaigne for our friends. 
 
 Before the first year of their marriage was 
 completed, a beautiful little creature came into 
 the world, and as if it had been done on pur- 
 pose to give Renzo an opportunity to fullfil his 
 magnificent promise, it was a girl, and you may 
 suppose whether it was called Maria or not. 
 In the course of time, Heaven knows how 
 many more came, of both sexes, and there you 
 might see Agnes carrying them about, one af- 
 ter the other, calling them bad little things, 
 and giving them such smacks in their little 
 cheeks, that she made large white places in 
 them for some time afterwards. They were 
 all very well disposed to be good, and Renzo 
 was desirous they should all be taught to read 
 and write, for since such roguery existed, he 
 said, they might as well know how to take 
 advantage of it. 
 
 But it was pleasant to hear him relate his 
 adventures, for he always ended by speaking 
 of the great things he had learnt to govern him- 
 self better for the future. "I have learnt," 
 said he, " not to get into mobs, I have learnt not 
 to preach to the people in the streets, I have 
 learnt to drink no more than I want, I have 
 learnt not to hold people's knockers in my 
 hand, when there are hot-headed people about ; 
 I have learnt not to buckle little bells to my 
 feet, before I thought what might grow out of 
 it." And a hundred other things. 
 
 Lucia, though she did not find her husband's 
 doctrine false, was not quite satisfied with it, 
 it seemed to her, in a confused sort of way, 
 that something was wanting. Hearing the 
 old song repeated, and meditating about it, 
 " I," said she, one day to her moralist, " what 
 ought I to have learnt ? I did not go to seek 
 misfortune, it came of itself to seek me, unless 
 you should say, added she, sweetly smiling, 
 that my mistake that I made, was in liking 
 you, and promising to marry you." 
 
 Renzo, at first, was puzzled. After some 
 reflection and discussion together, they con- 
 cluded that troubles will come to us, whatever 
 may be the cause of them, and that the most 
 cautious and innocent conduct does not se- 
 cure us from them; but that when they do 
 come, by our fault or not, faith in God will 
 soften them and render them useful towards 
 attaining a better life. This conclusion, al- 
 though arrived at by poor people, has appear- 
 ed to us so just, that we have determined to 
 place it here, as the essence of the whole 
 story. 
 
 The which, if it has given you any pleasure, 
 you will feel kindly disposed to our anonymous 
 author, and in a small degree to his editor. 
 But if, instead of that, we have annoyed 
 you, be assured we have not done it on pur- 
 pose. 
 
 THE END.



 
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