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Chapter XIXChapter XIX
Chapter XIX
If a weed be discovered in a badly cultivated field, a fine root of
sorrel, for example, and the spectator wish to ascertain with certainty
whether it has sprung up from seed, either ripened in the field itself, or
wafted thither by the wind, or dropped there by a bird in its flight, let him
think as he will about it, he will never come to a satisfactory conclusion.
For the same reason we are unable to decide whether the resolution formed by
the Count of making use of the Father provincial to cut in two, as the best
and easiest method, this intricate knot, arose from his own unassisted
imagination, or from the suggestions of Attilio. Certain it is, that Attilio
had not thrown out the hint unintentionally; and however naturally he might
expect that the jealous haughtiness of his noble relative would recoil at so
open an insinuation, he was determined at any rate to make the idea of such a
resource flash before his eyes, and let him know the course which he desired
he should pursue. On the other hand, the plan was so exactly consonant with
his uncle`s disposition, and so naturally marked out by circumstances, that
one might safely venture the assertion, that he had thought of, and embraced
it, without the suggestion of any one. It was a most essential point towards
the reputation of power which he had so much at heart, that one of his name, a
nephew of his, should not be worsted in a dispute of such notoriety. The
satisfaction that his nephew would take for himself, would have been a remedy
worse than the disease, a foundation for future troubles, which it was
necessary to overthrow at any cost, and without loss of time. Command him at
once to quit his palace, and he would not obey; and, even should he submit, it
would be a surrendering of the contest, a submission of their house to the
superiority of a convent. Commands, legal force, or any terrors of that
nature, were of no value against an adversary of such a character as Father
Cristoforo: the regular and secular clergy were entirely exempt, not only in
their persons, but in their places of abode, from all lay - jurisdiction (as
must have been observed even by one who has read no other story than the one
before him); otherwise they would often have fared very badly. All that could
be attempted against such a rival was his removal, and the only means for
obtaining this was the Father provincial, at whose pleasure Father Cristoforo
was either stationary, or on the move.
Between this Father provincial and the Count of the Privy - council there
existed an acquaintanceship of long standing: they seldom saw each other, but
whenever they met, it was with great demonstrations of friendship, and
reiterated offers of service. It is sometimes easier to transact business
advantageously with a person who presides over many individuals than with only
one of those same individuals, who sees but his own motives, feels but his own
passions, seeks only his own ends; while the former instantly perceives a
hundred relations, contingencies, and interests, a hundred objects to secure
or avoid, and can, therefore, be taken on a hundred different sides.
When all had been well arranged in his mind, the Count one day invited
the Father provincial to dinner, to meet a circle of guests selected with
superlative judgment: - an assemblage of men of the highest rank, whose family
alone bore a lofty title, and who by their carriage, by a certain native
boldness, by a lordly air of disdain, and by talking of great things in
familiar terms, succeeded, even without intending it, in impressing, and, on
every occasion, keeping up, the idea of their superiority and power; together
with a few clients bound to the house by an hereditary devotion, and to its
head by the servitude of a whole life; who, beginning with the soup to say
`yes`, with their lips, their eyes, their ears, their head, their whole body,
and their whole heart, had made a man, by dessert - time, almost forget how to
say `no.`
At table, the noble host quickly turned the conversation upon Madrid.
There are many ways and means of accomplishing one`s object, and he tried all.
He spoke of the court, the Count - duke, the ministers, and the governor`s
family; of the bull - baits, which he could accurately describe, having been a
spectator from a very advantageous post; and of the Escurial, of which he
could give a minute account, because of the Count - duke`s pages had conducted
him through every nook and corner of it. For some time the company continued
like an audience, attentive to him alone; but, by degrees, they divided into
small groups of talkers, and he then proceeded to relate further anecdotes of
the great things he had seen, as in confidence, to the Father provincial, who
was seated near him, and who suffered him to talk on without interruption. But
at a certain point he gave a turn to the conversation, and, leaving Madrid,
proceeded from court to court, and from dignitary to dignitary, till he had
brought upon the tapis Cardinal Barberini, a Capuchin, and brother to the then
reigning Pope, Urban VIII. The Count was at last obliged to cease talking for
a while, and be content to listen, and remember that, after all, there were
some people in the world who were not born to live and act only for him.
Shortly after leaving the table, he requested the Father provincial to step
with him into another apartment.
Two men of authority, age, and consummate experience, now found
themselves standing opposite to each other. The noble lord requested the
reverend Father to take a seat, and, placing himself at his side, began as
follows: `Considering the friendship that exists between us, I thought I might
venture to speak a word to your Reverence on a matter of mutual interest,
which it would be better to settle between ourselves, without taking any other
courses, which might . . . But, without further preface, I will candidly tell
you to what I allude, and I doubt not you will immediately agree with me. Tell
me: in your convent of Pescarenico there is a certain Father Cristoforo
of * * *?`
The Provincial bowed assent.
`Your Paternity will be good enough then, frankly, like a friend, to tell
me . . . this person . . . this Father . . . I don`t know him personally; I am
acquainted with several Capuchin fathers, zealous, prudent, humble men, who
are worth their weight in gold: I have been a friend to the order from my
boyhood . . . But in every rather numerous family . . . there is always some
individual, some wild . . . And this Father Cristoforo, I know by several
occurrences that he is a person . . . rather inclined to disputes . . . who
has not all the prudence, all the circumspection . . . I dare say he has more
than once given your Paternity some anxiety.`
- I understand; this is a specimen, - thought the Provincial in the
meantime. - It is my fault; I knew that blessed Cristoforo was fitter to go
about from pulpit to pulpit, than to be set down for six months in one place,
specially in a country convent. -
`Oh!` said he aloud, `I am really very sorry to hear that your Highness
entertains such an opinion of Father Cristoforo; for, as far as I know, he is
a most exemplary monk in the convent, and is held in much esteem also in the
neighbourhood.`
`I understand perfectly; your Reverence ought . . . However, as a sincere
friend, I wish to inform you of a thing which it is important for you to know;
and even if you are already acquainted with it, I think, without exceeding my
duty, I should caution you against the (I only say) possible consequences. Do
you know that this Father Cristoforo has taken under his protection a man of
that country, a man . . . of whom your Paternity has doubtless heard mention;
him who escaped in such disgrace from the hands of justice, after having done
things on that terrible day of St. Martin . . . things . . . Lorenzo
Tramaglino?`
- Alas! - thought the Provincial, as he replied: `This particular is
quite new to me, but your Highness is sufficiently aware that it is a part of
our office to seek those who have gone astray, to recall them . . .`
`Yes, yes; but intercourse with offenders of a certain kind! . . . is
rather a dangerous thing - a very delicate affair . . .` And here, instead of
puffing out his cheeks and panting, he compressed his lips, and drew in as
much air as he was accustomed to send forth with such profound importance. He
then resumed: `I thought it as well to give you this hint, because if ever his
Excellency . . . He may have had some business at Rome . . . I don`t know,
though . . . and there might come to you from Rome . . .`
`I am much obliged to your Lordship for this information, but I feel
confident, that if they would make inquiries on this subject, they would find
that Father Cristoforo has had no intercourse with the person you mention,
unless it be to try and set him right again. I know Father Cristoforo well.`
`You know, probably, already, better than I do, what kind of a man he was
as a layman, and the life he led in his youth.`
`It is one of the glories of our habit, Signor Count, that a man who has
given ever so much occasion in the world for men to talk about him, becomes a
different person when he has assumed this dress. And ever since Father
Cristoforo has worn the habit . . .`
`I would gladly believe it, I assure you - I would gladly believe it; but
sometimes . . . as the proverb says . . . "It is not the cowl that makes the
friar."`
The proverb was not exactly to the purpose, but the Count had cited it
instead of another, which had crossed his mind: `The wolf changes its skin,
but not its nature.`
`I have facts,` continued he; `I have positive proofs . . .`
`If you know for certain,` interrupted the Provincial, `that this friar
has been guilty of any fault, (and we are all liable to err), you will do me a
favour to inform me of it. I am his superior, though unworthily; but it is,
therefore, my duty to correct and reprove.`
`I will tell you; together with the unpleasing circumstance of the favour
this Father displays towards the person I have mentioned, there is another
grievous thing, which may . . . But we will settle all this between ourselves
at once. This same Father Cristoforo has begun a quarrel with my nephew, Don
Rodrigo * * *`
`Indeed! I am very sorry to hear it! - very sorry indeed!`
`My nephew is young, and hot - tempered; he feels what he is, and is not
accustomed to be provoked . . .`
`It shall be my business to make every inquiry on the subject. As I have
often told your Lordship, and as you must know, with your great experience in
the world, and your noble judgment, far better than I, we are all human, and
liable to err . . . some one way, some another; and if our Father Cristoforo
has failed . . .`
`Your Reverence must perceive that these are matters, as I said, which
had better be settled between ourselves, and remain buried with us - things
which, if much meddled with, will only be made worse. You know how it often
happens; these strifes and disputes frequently originate from a mere
bagatelle, and become more and more serious as they are suffered to proceed.
It is better to strike at the root before they grow to a head, or become the
causes of a hundred other contentions. Suppress it, and cut it short, most
reverend Father; suppress, and cut it short. My nephew is young; the monk,
from what I hear, has still all the spirit - all the . . . inclinations of a
young man; and it belongs to us who have some years on our shoulders - (too
many, are there not, most reverend Father?) it belongs to us, I say, to have
judgment for the young, and try to remedy their errors. Fortunately we are
still in good time: the matter has made no stir; it is still a case of a good
principiis obsta. Let us remove the straw from the flame. A man who has not
done well, or who may be a cause of some trouble in one place, sometimes gets
on surprisingly in another. Your Paternity, doubtless, knows where to find a
convenient post for this friar. This will also meet the other circumstance of
his having, perhaps, fallen under the suspicions of one . . . who would be
very glad that he should be removed; and thus, by placing him at a little
distance, we shall kill two birds with one stone; all will be quietly settled,
or rather, there will be no harm done.`
The Father provincial had expected this conclusion from the beginning of
the interview. - Ay, ay! - thought he to himself; - I see well enough what you
would bring me to. It`s the usual way; if a poor friar has an encounter with
you, or with any one of you, or gives you any offence, right or wrong, the
superior must make him march immediately. -
When the Count was at last silent, and had puffed forth a long - drawn
breath, which was equivalent to a full stop: `I understand very well,` said
the Provincial, `what your noble Lordship would say; but before taking a
step . . .`
`It is a step, and it is not a step, most reverend Father. It is a
natural thing enough - a very common occurrence; and if it does not come to
this, and quickly too, I foresee a mountain of disorders - an Iliad of woes. A
mistake . . . my nephew, I do not believe . . . I am here, for this . . . But,
at the point at which matters have now arrived, if we do not put a stop to it
between ourselves, without loss of time, by one decided blow, it is not
possible that it should remain a secret . . . and then, it is not only my
nephew . . . we raise a hornet`s nest, most reverend Father. You know, we are
a powerful family - we have adherents . . .`
`Plainly enough . . .`
`You understand me: they are all persons who have some blood in their
veins, and who . . . count as somebody in the world. Their honour will come
in; it will become a common affair; and then . . . even one who is a friend to
peace . . . It will be a great grief to me to be obliged . . . to find
myself . . . I, who have always had so much kind feeling towards the Capuchin
Fathers! You reverend Fathers, to continue to do good, as you have hitherto
done, with so much edification among the people, stand in need of peace,
should be free from strifes, and in harmony with those who . . . And, besides,
you have friends in the world . . . and these affairs of honour, if they go
any length, extend themselves, branch out on every side, and draw in . . .
half the world. I am in a situation which obliges me to maintain a certain
dignity . . . His Excellency . . . my noble colleagues . . . it becomes quite
a party matter . . . particularly with that other circumstance . . . You know
how these things go.`
`Certainly,` said the Father provincial, `Father Cristoforo is a
preacher; and I had already some thoughts . . . I have just been asked . . .
But at this juncture, and under the present circumstances, it might look like
a punishment; and a punishment before having fully ascertained . . .`
`Pshaw! punishment, pshaw! - merely a prudential arrangement - a
convenient resource for preventing evils which might ensue . . . I have
explained myself.`
`Between the Signor Count and me things stand in this light, I am aware;
but as your Lordship has related the circumstances, it is impossible, I should
say, but that something is known in the country around. There are everywhere
firebrands, mischief - makers, or, at least, malicious priers, who take a mad
delight in seeing the nobility and the religious orders at variance; they
observe it immediately, report it, and enlarge upon it . . . Everybody has his
dignity to maintain; and I also, as Superior, (though unworthily,) have an
express duty . . . The honour of the habit . . . is not my private
concern . . . it is a deposit of which . . . Your noble nephew, since he is so
high - spirited as your Lordship describes him, might take it as a
satisfaction offered to him, and . . . I do not say boast of it, and triumph
over him, but . . .?
`Is your Paternity joking with me? My nephew is a gentleman of some
consideration in the world . . . that is, according to his rank and the claims
he has; but in my presence he is a mere boy, and will do neither more nor less
than I bid him. I will go further, and tell you that my nephew shall know
nothing about it. Why need we give any account of what we do? It is all
transacted between ourselves, as old friends, and never need come to light.
Don`t give yourself a thought about this. I ought to be accustomed to be
silent.` And he heaved a deep sigh. `As to gossips,` resumed he, `what do you
suppose they can say? The departure of a monk to preach somewhere else, is
nothing so very uncommon! And then, we who see . . . we who foresee . . . we
who ought . . . we need not give ourselves any concern about gossipings.`
`At any rate, it would be well to try and prevent them on this occasion,
by your noble nephew`s making some demonstration, giving some open proof of
friendship and deference . . . not for our sakes, as individuals, but for the
sake of the habit . . .`
`Certainly, certainly, this is but fair . . . However, there is no need
of it; I know that the Capuchins are always received as they ought to be by my
nephew. He does so from inclination; it is quite the disposition of the
family; and besides, he knows it is gratifying to me. In this instance,
however . . . something more marked . . . is only right. Leave me to settle
it, most reverend Father; I will order my nephew . . . that is, I must
cautiously suggest it to him, lest he should suspect what has passed between
us. It would not do, you know, to lay a plaister where there is no wound. And
as to what we have determined upon, the quicker the better. If you can find
some post at a little distance . . . to obviate every occasion . . .`
`I have just been asked for a preacher at Rimini; and perhaps, even
without any other reason, I should have thought of . . .`
`Exactly apropos, exactly apropos. And when . . .?`
`Since the thing must be done, it had better be done at once.`
`Directly, directly, most reverend Father; better to-day than tomorrow.
And,` continued he, as he rose from his seat, `if I can do anything, I or my
friends, for our worthy Capuchin Fathers . . .`
`We know, by experience, the kindness of your house,` said the Father
provincial, also rising, and advancing towards the door, behind his
vanquisher.
`We have extinguished a spark,` said the Count, walking slowly forward;
`a spark, most reverend Father, which might have been fanned into a wide -
spreading and dangerous flame. Between friends, two or three words will often
settle great things.`
On reaching the other apartment, he threw open the door, and insisted
upon the Father`s first entering; then following him in, they mingled with the
rest of the company.
This nobleman employed a studied politeness, great dexterity, and fine
words, to accomplish his designs; and they produced corresponding effects. In
fact, he succeeded, by the conversation we have related, in making Father
Cristoforo go, on foot, from Pescarenico to Rimini, which is a very tolerable
distance.
One evening, a Capuchin arrived at Pescarenico, from Milan, with a
despatch to the Father - guardian. It contained an order for Father Cristoforo
to repair at once to Rimini, where he was appointed to preach the course of
Lent Sermons. The letter to the guardian contained instructions to insinuate
to the said friar, that he must give up all thoughts of any business he might
have in hand in the neighbourhood he was about to leave, and was not to keep
up any correspondence there: the bearer would be his companion by the way. The
guardian said nothing that evening; but next morning he summoned Father
Cristoforo, showed him the command, bade him take his wallet, staff, maniple,
and girdle, and, with the Father whom he presented to him as a companion,
immediately set off on his journey.
What a blow this would be to the poor friar, the reader must imagine.
Renzo, Lucia, Agnese, instantly rushed into his mind; and he exclaimed, so to
say, to himself: - Oh my God! what will these poor creatures do, when I am no
longer here! - But instantly raising his eyes to heaven, he reproached himself
for want of faith, and for having supposed that he was necessary in anything.
He crossed his hands on his breast, in token of obedience, and bowed his head
before the guardian, who, taking him aside, told him the rest of the message,
adding a few words of advice, and some sensible precepts. Father Cristoforo
then went into his cell, took his basket, and placed therein his breviary, his
sermons, and the bread of forgiveness, bound round his waist a leathern
girdle, took leave of his brethren whom he found in the convent, went to
request the guardian`s blessing, and then, with his companion, took the route
which had been prescribed for him.
We have said that Don Rodrigo, more than ever resolved to accomplish his
praiseworthy undertaking, had determined to seek the assistance of a very
formidable character. Of this personage we can give neither the name, surname,
nor title, nor can we even venture a conjecture on any one of them; which is
the more remarkable, as we find mention of him in more than one published book
of those times. That it is the same personage, the identity of facts leaves no
room for doubt; but everywhere a studious endeavour may be traced to conceal
his name, as if the mention of it would have ignited the pen, and scorched the
writer`s hand. Francesco Rivola, in his Life of the Cardinal Federigo
Borromeo, speaking of this person, says: `A nobleman, as powerful by wealth as
illustrious by birth,` and nothing more. Giuseppe Ripamonti, who, in the fifth
book of the fifth decade of his Storia Patria, makes more exclusive mention of
him, describes him as `one,` `this person,` `that person,` `this man,` `that
personage.` `I will relate,` says he, in his elegant Latin, which we translate
as follows, - `the case of one, who, being among the first of the great men of
the city, took up his residence in the country; where, securing himself by the
force of crime, he set at nought justice and judges, all magisterial, and even
all sovereign power. Situated on the very confines of the state, he led an
independent life; a harbourer of outlaws, an outlaw at one time himself, and
then safely returned . . .` We will extract, in the sequel, some other
passages from this writer, which will serve to confirm and elucidate the
account of our anonymous author, with whom we are travrlling onward.
To do what was forbidden by the public laws, or rendered difficult by an
opposing power; to be the arbiter, the judge in other people`s affairs,
without further interest in them than the love of command; to be feared by
all, and to have the upper hand among those who were accustomed to hold the
same station over others: such had ever been the principal objects and desires
of this man. From his youth he had always had a mingled feeling of contempt
and impatient envy at the sight or report of the power, rencounters, strifes,
or oppressive tyranny of others. Young, and living in a city, he omitted no
opportunity, nay, even sought for them, of setting himself up against the most
renowned of this profession, either entirely to subdue them, to struggle with
them, and keep them in awe, or to induce them to solicit his friendship.
Superior to most in riches and retinue, and, perhaps, to all in presumption
and intrepidity, he compelled many to retire from competition; some he treated
with haughtiness or contempt, some he took as friends; not, however, on an
equality with himself, but, as alone would satisfy his proud and arrogant
mind, as subordinate friends, who would be content to acknowledge their
inferiority, and use their hands in his service. In fact, however, he became
at length the grand actor, and the instrument of his companions, who never
failed to solicit the aid of so powerful an auxiliary in all their
undertakings, while for him to draw back, would be to forfeit his reputation,
and come short of what he had assumed. He went on thus, till, on his own
service and that of others, he had gone to such a length, that neither his
name, family, friends, nor even his own audacity, sufficed to secure him
against public proclamations and outlawry, and he was compelled to give way
and leave the state. I believe it is to this circumstance that a remarkable
incident, related by Ripamonti, refers. `On one occasion, when obliged to quit
the country, the secrecy he used, and the respect and timidity he displayed,
were such, that he rode through the city on horseback; followed by a pack of
hounds, and accompanied with the sound of the trumpet; and, in passing before
the palace of the court, left an insolent message with the guards, for the
governor.
During his absence he continued the same practices, not even intermitting
his correspondence with those of his friends who remained united to him (to
translate literally from Ripamonti), `in the secret alliance of atrocious
consultations and fatal deeds.` It even appears that he engaged the foreign
courts in other new and formidable undertakings, of which the above - cited
historian speaks with mysterious brevity. `Some foreign princes several times
availed themselves of his assistance in important murders, and frequently sent
him reinforcements of soldiers, from a considerable distance, to act under his
orders.`
At length (it is not exactly known how long afterwards) either the
sentence of banishment against him being withdrawn, by some powerful
intercession, or the audacity of the man serving him in place of any other
liberation, he resolved to return home, and, in fact, did return; not,
however, to Milan, but to a castle on his manor, situated on the confines of
the Bergamascan territory, at that time, as most of our readers know, under
Venetian government; and here he fixed his abode. `This dwelling,` we again
quote Ripamonti, `was as it were, a dispensary of sanguinary mandates: the
servants were outlaws and murderers; the very cooks and scullions were not
exempt from homicide; the hands of the children were stained with blood.`
Besides this amiable domestic circle, he had, as the same historian affirms,
another set of dependents of a similar character dispersed abroad, and
quartered, so to say, at different posts in the two states on the borders of
which he lived, who were always ready to execute his orders.
All the tyrannical noblemen, for a considerable distance round, had been
obliged, on one occasion or another, to choose between the friendship or the
enmity of this super - eminent tyrant. Those, however, who at first attempted
to resist him, came off so badly in the contest, that no one was ever induced
to make a second trial. Neither was it possible, by maintaining a neutral
course, or standing, as the saying is, in their own shoes, to keep themselves
independent of him. If a message arrived, intimating that such a person must
desist from such an undertaking, or cease to molest such a debtor, or so
forth, it was necessary to give a decided answer one way or other. When one
party came, with the homage of a vassal, to refer any business to his
arbitration, the other party was reduced to the hard alternative of either
abiding by his sentence, or publicly declaring hostilities; which was
equivalent to being, as the saying is, in the last stage of consumption. Men
who were in the wrong had recourse to him that they might be right in effect;
many being in the right, yet resorted to him to pre - engage so powerful a
patronage, and close the way against their adversaries; thus both bad and good
came to be dependent upon him. It sometimes happened that the weak, oppressed,
harassed, and tyrannized over by some powerful lord, turned to him for
protection; he would then take the part of the oppressed, and force the
oppressor to abstain from further injuries, to repair the wrongs he had
committed, and even to stoop to apologies; or, in case of his proving stubborn
and unbending, he would completely crush his power, constrain him to quit the
place where he had exercised such unjust influence, or even make him pay a
more expeditious and more terrible penalty. In these cases, his name, usually
so dreaded and abhorred, became, for a time, an object of blessing: for (I
will not say, this justice, but) this remedy, this recompense of some sort,
could not have been expected, under the circumstances of the times, from any
other either public or private source. More frequently, and indeed ordinarily,
his power and authority ministered to iniquitous desires, atrocious revenge,
or outrageous caprice. But the very opposite uses he made of this power
produced in the end the self - same effect, that of impressing all minds with
a lofty idea of how much he could will and execute in spite of equity or
iniquity, those two things which interpose so many impediments to the
accomplishment of man`s desires, and so often force him to turn back. The fame
of ordinary oppressors was for the most part restricted to the limited tract
of country where they continually or frequently exercised their oppression:
each district had its own tyrant; and these so resembled each other, that
there was no reason that people should interfere with those from whom they
sustained neither injury nor molestation. But the fame of this man had long
been diffused throughout every corner of the Milanese: his life was everywhere
the subject of popular stories; and his very name carried with it the idea of
something formidable, dark, and fabulous. The suspicions that were everywhere
entertained of his confederates and tools of assassination, contributed to
keep alive a constant memento of him. They were nothing more than suspicions;
since who would have openly acknowledged such a dependence? but every tyrant
might be his associate, every robber one of his assassins; and the very
uncertainty of the fact rendered the opinion more general, and the terror more
profound. At every appearance of an unknown ruffian, more savage - looking
than usual; at every enormous crime, the author of which could not be at first
pointed out or conjectured, the name of this man was pronounced and whispered
about, whom, thanks to the unhappy circumspection, to give it no other
epithet, of our author`s, we shall be obliged to designate The Unnamed.
The distance between his castle and the palace of Don Rodrigo was not
more than seven miles: and no sooner had the latter become a lord and tyrant
than he could not help seeing that, at so short a distance from such a
personage, it would not be possible to carry on this profession without either
coming to blows, or walking hand in hand with him. He had, therefore, offered
himself and been accepted, for a friend, in the same way, that is, as the
rest: he had rendered him more than one service (the manuscript says nothing
further); and had each time been rewarded by promises of requital and
assistance in any cases of emergency. He took great pains, however, to conceal
such a friendship, or at least of what nature and how strict it was. Don
Rodrigo liked well enough to play the tyrant, but not the fierce and savage
tyrant: the profession was to him a means, not an end: he wished to live at
freedom in the city, to enjoy the conveniences, diversions, and honours of
social life; and for this end he was obliged to keep up a certain appearance,
make much of his family, cultivate the friendship of persons in place, and
keep one hand on the scales of justice, so as on any occasion to make them
preponderate in his favour, either removing them altogether from view, or
bringing them to bear with double force on the head of some individual, on
whom he could thus more easily accomplish his designs than by the arm of
private violence. Now, an intimacy, or it would be better to say an alliance,
with a person of such notoriety, an open enemy of the public power, would
certainly not have advanced his interests in these respects, and particularly
with his uncle. However, the slight acquaintance which he was unable to
conceal, might pass very well for an indispensable attention towards a man
whose enmity was much to be deprecated, and thus it might receive excuse from
necessity; since one who assumes the charge of providing for another without
the will or the means, in the long run consents that his protege shall provide
for himself up to a certain point in his own affairs; and if he does not
expressly give his consent, at least he winks at it.
One morning, Don Rodrigo set off on horseback, in the guise of a hunter,
with a small escort of bravoes on foot, Griso at his side, and four others
following behind him, and took the road to the castle of the Unnamed.
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