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Chapter XVIIIChapter XVIII
Chapter XVIII
That same day, the 13th of November, an express arrived to the Signor
Podesta of Lecco, and presented him with a despatch from the Signor the high
sheriff, containing an order to make every possible strict investigation, to
ascertain whether a certain young man, bearing the name of Lorenzo Tramaglino,
silk - weaver, who had escaped from the hands praedicti egregii domini
capitanei, had returned, palam vel clam, to his own country, ignotum the exact
village, verum in territorio Leuci: quod si compertum fuerit sic esse, the
Signor Podesta must endeavour, quanta maxima diligentia fieri poterit, to get
him into his hands; and having sufficiently secured him, videlicet, with
strong handcuffs, (seeing that the insufficiency of smaller manacles for the
afore - mentioned person has been proved), must cause him to be conducted to
prison, and there detained under strong custody, until he be consigned to the
officer, who shall be sent to take him: and in case either of success, or non
- success, accedatis ad domum praedicti Laurentii Tramalini; et facta debita
diligentia, quid quid ad rem repertum fuerit auferatis; et informationes de
illius prava qualitate, vita, et complicibus, sumatis; and of all his sayings
and doings, what is found and not found, what is taken and not taken,
diligenter referatis. After humanely assuring himself that the object of
inquiry had not returned home, the Signor Podesta summoned the village
constable, and under his direction, proceeded, with a large retinue of
notaries and bailiffs, to the above - mentioned house. The door was locked,
and either no one had the key, or he was not to be found. They, therefore,
forced the locks with all due and praiseworthy zeal, which is equivalent to
saying that they proceeded as if taking a city by assault. The report of this
expedition immediately spread in the neighbourhood, and reached the ears of
Father Cristoforo, who, no less astonished than grieved, sought for some
information as to the cause of so unexpected an event from everybody he met
with; he could only, however, gather airy conjectures, and contradictory
reports: and, at last, therefore, wrote to Father Bonaventura, from whom he
imagined he should be able to acquire some more precise information. In the
mean while, Renzo`s relations and friends were summoned to depose all that
they knew about his depraved habits: to bear the name of Tramaglino became a
misfortune, a disgrace, a crime; and the village was quite in a commotion. By
degrees, it became known that Renzo had escaped from the hands of justice
during the disturbance at Milan, and had not since been seen. It was whispered
about that he had been guilty of some high crime and misdemeanour, but what it
was no one could tell, or they told it in a hundred different ways. The more
heinous the offence with which he was charged, the less was it believed in the
village, where Renzo was universally known as an honest, respectable youth;
and many conjectured and spread the report, that it was merely a machination
set on foot by the powerful Don Rodrigo, to bring about the ruin of his
unfortunate rival. So true is it that, judging only by induction, and without
the necessary knowledge of facts, even the greatest villains are sometimes
wrongfully accused.
But we, who have the facts in our possession, as the saying is, can
affirm that, if Don Rodrigo had had no share in Renzo`s misfortunes, yet that
he rejoiced in them as if they had been his own work, and triumphed over them
among his confidants, especially with Count Attilio. This friend, according to
his first intention, should have been, by this time, at Milan; but, on the
first announcement of the disturbances that had arisen there, and of the
rabble whom he might encounter in a far different mood than tamely to submit
to a beating, he thought it expedient to postpone his journey until he
received better accounts; and the more so, because having offended many, he
had good reason to fear that some who had remained passive only from
impotency, might now be encouraged by circumstances, and judge it a favourable
opportunity for taking their revenge. The journey, however, was not long
delayed; the order despatched from Milan for the execution against Renzo, had
already given some indication that things had returned to their ordinary
course, and the positive notices which followed quick upon it, confirmed the
truth of these appearances. Count Attilio set off immediately, enjoining his
cousin to persist in his undertaking, and bring it to an issue, and promising,
on his part, that he would use every means to rid him of the friar, to whom
the fortunate accident of his cousin`s beggarly rival would be a wonderful
blow. Scarcely had Attilio gone, when Griso arrived safe and sound from Monza,
and related to his master what he had been able to gather: - that Lucia had
found refuge in such a monastery, under the protection of the Signora So - and
- so; that she was concealed there as if she were a nun herself, never setting
foot outside the threshold, and assisting at the services of the church behind
a little grated window: an arrangement which was unsatisfactory to many who,
having heard some mention of her adventures, and great reports of her beauty,
were anxious, for once, to see what she was like.
This account inspired Don Rodrigo with every evil passion, or, to speak
more truly, rendered still more ungovernable those with which he was already
possessed. So many circumstances favourable to his design, had only further
inflamed that mixture of punctilio, rage, and infamous desire of which his
passion was composed. Renzo absent, banished, outlawed - so that any
proceedings against him became lawful; and even that his betrothed bride might
be considered, in a measure, as the property of a rebel: the only man in the
world who would and could interest himself for her, and make a stir that would
be noticed in head - quarters, and at a distance - the enraged friar - would
himself, probably, be soon incapable of acting for her. Yet here was a new
impediment, which not only outweighed all these advantages, but rendered them,
it might be said, unavailing. A monastery at Monza, even had there not been a
princess in the way, was a bone too hard even for the teeth of a Rodrigo; and
wander in his fancy round this retreat as he would, he could devise no way or
means of assaulting it, either by force or fraud. He was almost resolved to
give up the enterprise, to go to Milan by a circuitous route, so as to avoid
passing through Monza, and there to plunge himself into the society of his
friends, and their recreations, so as to drown, in thoughts of gaiety, the one
idea which had now become so tormenting. But, but, but, his friends! - softly
a little with these friends. Instead of diverting his mind, he might
reasonably expect to find in their company an incessant renewal and memento of
his vexation: for Attilio would certainly have published the affair, and put
them all in expectation. Everybody would make inquiries about the mountain
girl, and he must give some answer. He had wished, he had tried; and how had
he succeeded? He had engaged in an undertaking - rather an unworthy one,
certainly; but what of that? One cannot always regulate one`s caprices; the
point is to satisfy them; and how had he come off in the enterprise? How? Put
down by a peasant, and a friar! Uh! and when an unexpected turn of good
fortune had rid him of one, and a skillful friend of the other, without any
trouble on the part of the principal person concerned, he, like a fool, knew
not how to profit by the juncture, and basely withdrew from the undertaking!
It would be enough to make him never again dare to hold up his head among men
of spirit, or compel him always to keep his hand on his sword. And then,
again, how could he ever return to, how ever remain in, that village, and that
country, where, let alone the incessant and bitter remembrances of his
passion, he should always bear about with him the disgrace of its failure?
where public hatred would have increased, while his reputation for power and
superiority would have proportionably diminished? where he might read in the
face of every ragamuffin, even through the veil of profound reverences, a
galling `You`ve been gulled, and I`m glad of it!` The path of iniquity, as our
manuscript here remarks, is broad, but that does not mean that it is easy; it
has its stumbling - blocks, and its thorns, and its course is tedious and
wearisome, though it be a downward course.
In this perplexity, unwilling either to give up his purpose, to go back,
or to stop, and unable by himself to go forward, a plan occurred to Don
Rodrigo`s mind, by which he hoped to effect his design. This was to take as a
partner and assistant in his enterprise, one whose hands could often reach
beyond the views of others - a man at once, and devil, to whom the difficulty
of an undertaking was frequently an incentive to engage in it. But this course
also had its inconveniences and its dangers; the more pressing, the less they
could be calculated upon beforehand; since it was impossible to foresee where
one might be led, when once embarked in an affair with this man: a powerful
auxiliary, certainly, but a not less absolute and dangerous guide.
These thoughts kept Don Rodrigo for several days in a state of worse than
tedious perplexity. In the mean while, a letter arrived from his cousin,
informing him that the plot against the friar was going on very well.
Following close upon the lightning bursts forth the thunderclap; one fine
morning, Don Rodrigo heard that Father Cristoforo had left the convent at
Pescarenico. This success, so prompt, and so complete, together with Attilio`s
letter, encouraging him onward, and threatening him with intolerable ridicule
if he withdrew, inclined Don Rodrigo still more to hazard every thing rather
than give up; but that which finally decided him, was the unexpected news that
Agnese had returned home, thus removing one obstacle from around Lucia. We
will relate how these two circumstances were brought about, beginning with the
last.
The two unfortunate women were scarcely settled in their retreat, when
the report of the disturbances in Milan spread rapidly over Monza, and,
consequently, through the monastery; and following the grand news, came an
infinite succession of particulars, which multiplied and varied every moment.
The portress, situated just between the street and the monastery, was the
channel of information both from within and from without, and, eagerly
receiving these reports, retailed them at will to her guests. `Two, six,
eight, four, seven, had been imprisoned: they would hang them, some before the
bakehouse of the Crutches, some at the end of the street where the
Superintendent of provisions lived . . . Ay, ay, just listen, now! - one of
them escaped - a man somewhere from Lecco, or thereabouts. I don`t know the
name; but some one will be passing who will be able to tell me, to see if you
know him.`
This announcement, together with the circumstance that Renzo would just
have arrived at Milan on the fatal day, occasioned a good deal of disquietude
to the women, and especially to Lucia; but what must it have been, when the
portress came to tell them - `It is a man from your very village who has
escaped being hung - a silk - weaver, of the name of Tramaglino; do you know
him?`
Lucia, who was sitting hemming some needlework, immediately let it fall
from her hands; she became extremely pale, and changed countenance so much,
that the portress would certainly have observed it, had she been nearer to
her. Fortunately, however, she was standing at the door with Agnese, who,
though much disturbed, yet not to such a degree as her daughter, preserved a
calm countenance, and forced herself to reply, that in a little village,
everybody knew everybody; that she was acquainted with him, and could scarcely
bring herself to believe that anything of the kind had happened to him, he was
so peaceable a youth. She then asked if it was known for certain that he had
escaped, and whither.
`Every one says he has escaped, where to, they cannot say; it may be they
will catch him again, or it may be he is in safety; but if they do get hold of
him, your peaceable youth . . .`
Fortunately, at this juncture, the portress was called away, and left
them - the reader may imagine in what state of mind. For more than a day were
the poor woman and her afflicted daughter obliged to remain in this painful
suspense, imagining the causes, ways, and consequences, of this unhappy event,
and commenting, in their own minds, or in a low voice with each other, on the
terrible words their informer had left unfinished.
At length, one Thursday, a man arrived at the monastery in search of
Agnese. It was a fishmonger, of Pescarenico, going to Milan, as usual, to
dispose of his fish; and the good Father Cristoforo had requested him, in
passing through Monza, to call in at the monastery, to greet the women in his
name, to tell them all he knew about this sad affair of Renzo`s, to beseech
them to have patience, and put their trust in God; and to assure them that he
would certainly not forget them, but would watch his opportunity for rendering
them assistance; and, in the mean time, would not fail to send them all the
news he could collect every week, either by this means, or a similar one. The
messenger could tell nothing new or certain about Renzo, except of the
execution put into his house, and the search that was being made for him; but
at the same time, that this had been hitherto in vain, and that it was known
for certain that he had reached the territory of Bergamo. Such a certainty, it
is unnecessary to say, was a balm to poor Lucia`s wounded heart: from that
time her tears flowed more freely and calmly; she felt more comforted in her
secret bursts of feeling with her mother; and expressions of thankfulness
began to be mingled with her prayers.
Gertrude frequently invited her into her private apartment, and sometimes
detained her there a long while, feeling a pleasure in the ingenuousness and
gentleness of the poor girl, and in hearing the thanks and blessings she
poured upon her benefactress. She even related to her, in confidence, a part
(the blameless part) of her history, and of what she had suffered, that she
might come there to suffer, till Lucia`s first suspicious astonishment
gradually changed to compassion. In that history she found reasons more than
enough to explain what she thought rather strange in the behaviour of her
patroness, especially when she brought in to her aid Agnese`s doctrine about
the characters of the nobility. Nevertheless, though some times induced to
return the confidence which Gertrude reposed in her, yet she carefully avoided
any mention of her fresh causes of alarm, of her new misfortune, and of the
ties which bound her to the escaped silk - weaver, lest she should run any
risk of spreading a report so full of her shame and sorrow. She also parried,
to the best of her ability, all Gertrude`s inquisitive questions about herself
previous to her betrothal, but this was not so much from prudential motives,
as because such an account appeared to the simple - minded girl more
perplexing, more difficult to relate,than all she had heard, or thought it
possible to hear, from the Signora. In the history of that lady there was
oppression, intrigue, suffering - sad and mournful things, but which,
nevertheless, could be named: in her own there was a pervading sentiment, a
word, which she did not feel it possible to pronounce, when speaking of
herself, and as a substitute for which she could never find a periphrasis that
did not seem to her mind indelicate: love!
Gertrude was sometimes tempted to be angry at these repulses; but there
always appeared behind them so much affection, so much respect, so much
gratitude, and even so much trustfulness! Sometimes, perhaps, that modesty, so
delicate, sensitive, and mysterious, displeased her still more on another
account; but all was quickly forgotten in the soothing thought that every
moment recurred to her mind when contemplating Lucia; - I am doing her good. -
And this was true; for, besides the asylum she had provided, these
conversations and her familiar treatment were some comfort to Lucia. The poor
girl also found another satisfaction in constant employment; she always
petitioned for something to do, and when she went into the Signora`s parlour,
generally took a little needlework with her, to keep her fingers employed: but
what melancholy thoughts crowded her mind, wherever she went! While plying her
needle, - an occupation to which hitherto she had given little attention, -
her reel constantly presented itself to her view; and with the reel, how many
other things!
The second Thursday, the same, or another messenger arrived, bringing
salutations and encouragement from Father Cristoforo, and an additional
confirmation of Renzo`s escape; but no more positive information about his
misfortunes. The reader may remember that the Capuchin had hoped for some
account from his brother - friar at Milan, to whom he had given Renzo a letter
of recommendation; he only replied, however, that he had seen neither letter
nor person: that a stranger from the country had certainly been to the convent
in search of him, but finding him out, had gone away, and had not again made
his appearance.
The third Thursday, no messenger came; which was not only depriving the
poor women of an anticipated and hoped - for source of consolation; but, as it
usually happens, on every trifling occasion, to those in sorrow and suspense,
was also a subject of much disquietude, and a hundred tormenting suspicions.
Agnese had, for some time, been contemplating a visit to her native village,
and this unexpected non - appearance of the promised messenger, determined her
upon taking such a step. Lucia felt very strange at the thought of being left
without the shelter of her mother`s wing; but the longing desire she felt to
know something, and her sense of security in that guarded and sacred asylum,
conquered her great unwillingness; and it was arranged between them that
Agnese should watch in the street the following day for the fishmonger, who
must, necessarily pass that way on his return from Milan, and that she would
ask him to be so good as to give a her seat in his cart, to take her to her
own mountains. She met with him, accordingly, and asked if Father Cristoforo
had given him no commission for her. The fishmonger said, that he had been out
fishing the whole day before his departure, and had received news nor message
from the Father. Agnese then made her request, which being granted without
hesitation, she took her leave of the Signora and her daughter, with many
tears; and promising to send them some news soon, and return as quickly as
possible, she set off.
The journey was performed without accident. They passed part of the night
in an inn on the road - side, as usual, and setting off on their way before
sun - rise, arrived early in the morning at Pescarenico. Agnese alighted on
the little square before the convent, dismissed her conductor with many
thanks; and, since she was at the place, determined, before going home, to see
her benefactor, the worthy friar. She rang the bell; the person who came to
open the door was fra Galdino, the nut - seeker.
`Oh, my good woman, what wind has brought you here?`
`I want to see Father Cristoforo.`
`Father Cristoforo? He`s not here.`
`Oh! will he be long before he comes back?`
`Long!` said the friar, shrugging his shoulders, so as almost to bury his
shorn head in his hood.
`Where has he gone?`
`To Rimini.`
`To . . .?`
`To Rimini.`
`Where is that?`
`Eh! eh! eh!` replied the friar, vertically waving his extended hand in
the air, to signify a great distance.
`Alas me! But why has he gone away so suddenly?`
`Because the Father provincial ordered it.`
`And why have they sent him away at all, when he was doing so much good
here? Ah, poor me!`
`If superiors were obliged to render a reason for all the orders they
give, where would be our obedience, my good woman?`
`Yes; but this is my ruin.`
`This is the way it will be. They will have wanted a good preacher at
Rimini (there are some everywhere, to be sure, but sometimes they want a
particular man, on purpose); the Father provincial there will have written to
the Father provincial here, to know if he had such and such a person: and the
Father provincial will have said, "Father Cristoforo is the man for him;" as,
in fact, you see it is.`
`Oh, poor us! When did he go?`
`The day before yesterday.`
`See now; if I had only done as I first wished, and come a few days
sooner! And don`t you know when he may return? Can`t you guess at all?`
`Eh, my good woman! Nobody knows, except the Father provincial, if even
he does. When once one of our preaching friars has taken the wing, one can
never foresee on what branch he will finally alight. They are sought after
here, and there, and everywhere; and we have convents in all the four quarters
of the globe. Rest assured, Father Cristoforo will make a great noise with his
course of Lent sermons, at Rimini; for he doesn`t always preach extempore, as
he did here, that the poor people might understand him; for the city pulpits
he has his beautiful written sermons, and his best robes. The fame of this
great preacher will spread; and they may ask for him at . . . I don`t know
where. Besides, we ought to give him up, for we live on the charity of the
whole world, and it is but just that we should serve the whole world.`
`Oh dear, dear!` again cried Agnese, almost weeping: `What can I do
without him? He was like a father to us! It is the undoing of us.`
`Listen, my good woman; Father Cristoforo was certainly an admirable man;
but we have others, you know, full of charity and ability, and who know how to
deal with either rich or poor. Will you have Father Atanasio? or Father
Girolamo? or Father Zaccaria? Father Zaccaria, you know, is a man of great
worth. And don`t you wonder, as some ignorant people do, that he is so thin,
and has such a weak voice, and such a miserable beard: I don`t say that he is
a good preacher, because everybody has his particular gifts; but he is just
the man to give advice, you know.`
`Oh holy patience!` exclaimed Agnese, with that mixture of gratitude and
impatience that one feels at an offer in which there is more good nature than
suitableness: `What does it matter to me what a man is or is not, when that
good man, who`s no longer here, was he who knew all our affairs, and had made
preparations to help us?`
`Then you must have patience.`
`I know that,` replied Agnese: `forgive me for troubling you.`
`Oh don`t say a word, my good woman; I am very sorry for you. And if you
determine upon consulting any of the Fathers, the convent is here, and won`t
go away. I shall see you soon, when I collect the oil.`
`Good - bye,` said Agnese; and she turned towards her little village,
forlorn, perplexed, and disconcerted, like a blind man who has lost his staff.
Rather better informed than fra Galdino, we will now relate how things
had really happened. Immediately on Attilio`s arrival at Milan, he went, as he
had promised Don Rodrigo, to pay a visit to their common uncle of the Privy -
council. (This was a committee, composed, at that time, of thirteen persons of
rank, with whom the governor usually consulted, and who, when he either died
or resigned his office, temporarily assumed the command.) Their uncle, the
Count, a robed member, and one of the oldest of the Council, enjoyed there a
certain authority; but in displaying this authority, and making it felt by
those around him, there was not his equal. Ambiguous language, significant
silence, abrupt pauses in speaking, a wink of the eye, that seemed to say, `I
may not speak,` flattery without promises, and formal threatenings - all were
directed to this end; and all, more or less, produced the desired effect; so
that even the positive declaration, `I can do nothing in this business,`
pronounced sometimes in absolute truth, but pronounced so that it was not
believed, only served to increase the idea, and, therefore the reality, of his
power: like the japanned boxes which may still be occasionally seen in an
apothecary`s shop, with sundry Arabic characters stamped upon them, actually
containing nothing, yet serving to keep up the credit of the shop. That of the
Count, which had been for a long time increasing, by very gradual steps, had,
at last, made a giant`s stride, as the saying is, on an extraordinary
occasion; namely, a journey to Madrid, on an embassy to the Court, where the
reception that he met with should be related by himself. To mention nothing
else the Count Duke had treated him with particular condescension, and
admitted him into his confidence so far as to have asked him, in the presence,
he might say, of half the Court, how he liked Madrid, and to have told him,
another time, when standing in the recess of a window, that the Cathedral of
Milan was the largest Christian temple in the king`s dominions.
After paying all due ceremony to his uncle, and delivering his cousin`s
compliments, Attilio addressed him with a look of seriousness, such as he knew
how and when to assume: `I think I am only doing my duty without betraying
Rodrigo`s confidence, when I acquaint my uncle with an affair, which, unless
you interfere, may become serious, and produce consequences . . .`
`One of his usual scrapes, I suppose?`
`I can assure you that the fault is not on Rodrigo`s side, but his spirit
is roused; and, as I said, no one but you can . . .`
`Well, let us hear, let us hear.`
`There is a Capuchin friar in that neighbourhood, who bears a grudge
against my cousin; and things have gone to such a pitch that . . .`
`How often have I told you both to let the monks fry their own fish? It
is quite sufficient for those to have to do with them who are obliged . . .
whose business it is . . .` and here he sighed. `But you can avoid them . . .`
`Signor uncle, I am bound to tell you that Rodrigo would have let them
alone, had it been possible. It is the friar who is determined to quarrel with
him, and has tried in every way to provoke him.`
`What the - has this friar to do with my nephew?`
`First of all, he is well known as a restless spirit, who prides himself
upon quarrelling with gentlemen. This fellow, too, has taken under his
protection and direction, and I don`t know what besides, a country girl of the
village, whom he regards with an affection . . . an affection . . . I don`t
say of what kind; but a very jealous, suspicious, and sullen affection.`
`I understand,` said the Count, and a ray of cunning intelligence shot
across the depth of dulness nature had stamped upon his countenance, now,
however, partially veiled under the mask of a politician.
`Now, for some time,` continued Attilio, `this friar has taken a fancy
that Rodrigo has, I don`t know what designs upon this . . .`
`Taken a fancy, eh, taken a fancy? I know the Signor Don Rodrigo too
well; and it needs another advocate besides your lordship to justify him in
these matters.`
`That Rodrigo, Signor uncle, may have had some idle jesting with this
girl, when he met her on the road, I can easily believe: he is young, and
besides, not a Capuchin: but these are mere nonsenses, not worth mentioning to
my noble uncle: the serious part of the business is, that the friar has begun
to talk of Rodrigo as he would of a common fellow, and has tried to instigate
all the country against him.`
`And the other friars?`
`They don`t meddle with it, because they know him to be a hot - headed
fool, and bear a great respect to Rodrigo; but, on the other side, this monk
has great reputation among the villagers as a saint, and . . .`
`I fancy he doesn`t know that Rodrigo is my nephew . . .`
`Doesn`t he, though? It is just this that urges him onward.`
`How? how?`
`Because - and he scruples not to publish it - he takes greater delight
in vexing Rodrigo, exactly because he has a natural protector of such
authority as your lordship; he laughs at great people and politicians, and
says that the cord of St Francis binds even swords and . . .`
`The rash villain! What is his name?`
`Fra Cristoforo, of * * *,` said Attilio; and his uncle, taking a tablet
from his desk, and considerably incensed, inscribed within it the unfortunate
name. In the mean while Attilio continued: `This fellow has always had such a
disposition: his former life is well known. He was a plebeian, who possessed a
little money, and would, therefore, compete with the noblemen of his country;
and out of rage at not being able to make them all yield to him, he killed
one, and then turned friar to escape the gallows.`
`Bravo! capital! we will see, we will see,` exclaimed the Count, panting
and puffing with an important air.
`Lately,` continued Attilio, `he is more enraged than ever, because he
has failed in a design which he was very eager about; and from this my noble
uncle will understand what sort of man he is. This fellow wanted to marry his
protegee; whether to remove her from the perils of the world, you understand,
or whatever it might be, at any rate he was determined to marry her; and he
had found the . . . the man, another of his proteges, a person whose name my
honoured uncle may not improbably have heard; for I dare say the Privy -
council have had some transactions with this worthy subject.`
`Who is he?`
`A silk - weaver, Lorenzo Tramaglino, he who . . .`
`Lorenzo Tramaglino!` exclaimed his uncle. `Well done, my brave friar!
Certainly! . . . indeed . . . he had a letter for a . . . A crime that . . .
But it matters not; very well. And why did Don Rodrigo tell me nothing of all
this; but let things go so far, without applying to one who is both able and
willing to direct and help him?`
`I will be candid with you. On the one hand, knowing how many intrigues
and affairs you had in your head . . .` (here his uncle drew a long breath,
and put his hand to his forehead, as if to intimate the fatigue he underwent
in the settlement of so many intricate undertakings), `he felt in a manner
bound,` continued Attilio, `not to give you any additional trouble. And
besides, I will tell you the whole: from what I can gather, he is so vexed, so
angry, so annoyed at the insults offered him by this friar, that he is more
desirous of getting justice for himself by some summary means, than of
obtaining it in the regular way of prudence by the assistance of your
Lordship. I have tried to extinguish the flame; but seeing things taking a
wrong course, I thought it my duty to inform your Lordship of everything, who,
after all, is the head and chief prop of the house . . .`
`You would have done better to have spoken a little sooner.`
`True; but I continued to hope that the thing would die off of itself, or
that the friar would, at last, come to his senses, or would, perhaps, leave
the convent, as is often the case among the monks, who are one day here and
another there; and then all would have been quietly ended. But . . .`
`Now it is my business to settle it.`
`So I have thought. I said to myself: The Signor, my uncle, with his
discretion and authority, will know well enough how to prevent a quarrel, and
at the same time secure Rodrigo`s honour, which is almost, as it were, his
own. This friar, thought I, is always boasting of the girdle of St Francis;
but to employ this girdle seasonably, it is not necessary to have it always
buckled around one`s waist. My noble uncle has many means that I know not of:
I only know that the Father provincial has, as is but right, a great respect
for him; and if my honoured uncle thought that the best course, in this
instance, would be to give the friar a change of air; two words . . .`
`Your Lordship will be pleased to leave the arrangement to the person it
belongs to,` said his uncle, rather abruptly.
`Oh, certainly!` exclaimed Attilio, with a toss of his head, and a
disguised smile of disdainful compassion. `I am not intending to give advice
to your Lordship! But the regard I have for the reputation of the family made
me speak. And I am afraid I have been guilty of another error,` added he, with
a thoughtful air; `I fear I have wronged Rodrigo in your Lordship`s opinion. I
should have no peace if I were the cause of making you think that Rodrigo had
not all the confidence in you, and all the submission to your will, that he
ought to have. Believe me, Signor uncle, that, in this instance, it is
merely . . .`
`Come, come; you two won`t wrong each other, if you can help it; you will
be always friends, till one of you becomes prudent. Ever getting into some
scrape or other, and expecting me to settle it: for . . . you will force me to
say so, you give me more to think about, you two, than . . .` here he heaved a
profound sigh - `all these blessed affairs of state.`
Attilio made a few more excuses, promises, and compliments, and then took
his leave, accompanied by a - `Be prudent,` - the Count`s usual form of
dismissal to his nephews.
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