He reached Pescate; travelled along the Adda, giving a melancholy glance at Pescarenico; pa.s.sed the bridge, and crossed the fields, to the house of his friend, who, just risen, was at the door, looking out upon the weather. He beheld the strange figure, covered with mud, and wet to the skin, and yet, so joyous and animated! in his life he had never seen a man, so accoutred, appear so satisfied with himself.
"How!" said he, "already here! and in such weather! How have things gone with you?"
"She is there! she is there! she is there!"
"Well and safe?"
"Convalescent, which is better! I have wonderful things to tell you."
"But what a state you are in!"
"A pretty pickle indeed!"
"In truth you might squeeze water enough from your upper half to wash away the mud from the lower. But wait a moment; I will make a fire."
"I shall be glad to feel its warmth, I a.s.sure you. Do you know where the rain overtook me? Precisely at the door of the lazaretto; but no matter, the weather does its business, and I mine."
His friend soon kindled a bright blaze. "Now do me another favour," said Renzo, "bring me the bundle I left above; for before my clothes dry----"
Returning with the bundle, his friend said, "You must be hungry; you have had drink enough, no doubt, on the way, but as to eating----"
"I bought two loaves yesterday at dusk, but truly, I have not eaten them."
"Well, I will provide for you." He poured some water in a kettle which hung over the fire, adding, "I will go and milk the cow, and when I return with the milk, the water will be ready, and we will have a good _polenta_. You, in the mean while, change your clothes." After having allowed him time to perform the troublesome operation, his friend returned, and commenced making the _polenta_. "I have much to tell you,"
said Renzo. "If you were to see Milan! and the lazaretto! She is there!
you will soon see her here; she will be my wife; you shall be at the wedding, and, pestilence or not, we will be happy for a few hours."
On the following morning Renzo set out for Pasturo. On his arrival, he asked concerning Agnes, and learnt that she was in health and safety. He approached her residence, which had been pointed out to him, and called her by name from the street. At the sound of his voice, she rushed to the window, and Renzo, without allowing her time to speak, cried, "Lucy is well; I saw her the day before yesterday; she will be at home shortly; oh, I have so many things to tell you."
Overcome by various emotions, Agnes could only articulate, "I will open the door for you."
"Stop, stop," said Renzo. "You have not had the plague, I believe?"
"No. Have you?"
"Yes; but you ought to be prudent. I come from Milan; and have been for two days in the midst of it. It is true I have changed my clothes, but the contagion attaches itself to the flesh, like witchcraft; and since G.o.d has preserved you until now, you must take care of yourself until all danger is over; for you are our mother, and I trust we shall live long together as a compensation for the sufferings we have endured, _I_ at least."
"But----"
"There is no longer any _but_; I know what you would say. You will soon see there is no longer any _but_; come into the open air, where I may speak to you in safety, and I will tell you all about it."
Agnes pointed to a garden adjoining the house. Renzo entered it, and was immediately joined by the anxious and impatient Agnes. They seated themselves opposite each other on two benches. The events he described are already known to our reader, and we will leave to his imagination the numerous exclamations of grief, horror, surprise, and joy, that interrupted the progress of the narrative every moment. The result, however, was an agreement to settle all together at Bergamo, where Renzo had already an advantageous engagement; _when_ would depend on the pestilence and other circ.u.mstances; Agnes was to remain where she was, until it should be safe for her to return home; and in the interval she should have regular information of all their movements.
He departed, with the additional consolation of having found one so dear to him safe and well. He remained the rest of that day and the following night with his friend, and on the morrow set out for the country of his adoption.
He found Bortolo in good health, and in less apprehension of losing it, as within a few days things had rapidly changed for the better. The malignity of the distemper had subsided, and given place to fever indeed, accompanied with tumours, but much more easily cured. The country presented a new aspect; those who had survived the pestilence began to resume their business; masters were preparing for the employment of workmen in every trade; and, above all, in that of weaving silk. Renzo made some preparations for the accommodation of his family, by purchasing and furnishing a neat little cottage, from his. .h.i.therto untouched treasure, which the ravages of the plague enabled him to do at small cost.
After a few days" stay, he returned by the way of Pasturo, and conducted Agnes to her village home: we will not attempt to describe her feelings at beholding again those well remembered places. She found all things in her cottage as she had left them: it seemed as if angels had watched over the poor widow and her child. Her first care was to get ready with all speed an apartment in her humble abode for that kind friend who had been to her child a second mother. Renzo, on his side, was not idle. He laboured alternately at the widow"s garden, and in the service of his hospitable friend. As to his own cottage, it pained him to witness the scene of desolation it presented; and he resolved to dispose of it, and transfer its value to his new country. His re-appearance in the village was a cause of much congratulation to those who had survived the plague.
All were anxious to learn his adventures, which had given rise to so many reports among the neighbours. As to Don Abbondio, he exhibited the same apprehension of the marriage as before; the mention of which conjured up to his affrighted fancy the dreaded Don Roderick and his train on the one side, and the almost equally feared cardinal and his arguments on the other.
We will now transport the reader for a few moments to Milan. Some days after the visit of Renzo to the lazaretto, Lucy left it with the good widow. A general quarantine having been ordered, they pa.s.sed the period of it together in the house of the latter. The time was employed in preparing Lucy"s wedding clothes; and, the quarantine terminated, they set off on their journey. We could add, _they arrived_, but, notwithstanding our desire to yield to the impatience of the reader, there are three circ.u.mstances which we must not pa.s.s over in silence.
The first is, that while Lucy was relating her adventures more minutely to the good widow, she recurred to the signora, who had afforded her an asylum, in the convent of Monza, and in return learnt many things which afforded her the solution to numerous mysteries, and filled her with sorrow and astonishment. She learnt, too, that the unfortunate signora, falling afterwards under the most horrible suspicions, had been, by order of the cardinal, transferred to a convent at Milan; that there, after having given herself up for a time to rage and despair, she had at last made her confession and repented of her crimes; and that her present life was one of severe and voluntary penance. If any one desires to know the details of her sad history, it will be found in the author we have so often quoted.[36]
[36] Ripamonti.
The second is, that Lucy, making enquiries concerning Father Christopher, of every capuchin from the lazaretto, learnt with more grief than surprise that he had died of the pestilence.
And the third is, that before quitting Milan, Lucy had a desire to know something concerning her former patrons. The widow accompanied her to their house, where they were informed that both had died of the plague.
When we say of Donna Pra.s.sede she _died_, we have said all that is necessary; not so with Don Ferrante, he deserves a little more of our attention, considering his learning.
From the commencement of the pestilence, Don Ferrante was one of the most resolute in denying its existence, not indeed like the mult.i.tude, with cries of rage, but with arguments which none could accuse of want of concatenation. "In _rerum natura_," said he, "there are but two kinds of things, substances and accidents; and if I prove that the contagion can neither be one nor the other of these I shall have proved that it does not exist; that it is a chimera. Thus, then: substances are either material or spiritual; that the contagion is a spiritual substance, is so absurd an opinion, that no one would presume to advance it; it is, then, useless to speak of it. Material substances are either simple or compound. Now, the contagion is not a simple substance, and I will prove it in three words. It is not an aerial substance, because, if it were, instead of pa.s.sing from one body to another, it would fly off to its sphere; it is not a watery substance, because it would be dried up by the wind; it is not igneous, because it would burn; it is not earthy, because it would be visible. Moreover, it is not a compound substance, because it would be sensible to the eye, or to the touch; and who has seen it? or touched it? It remains to see if it be an accident.
This is still less probable. The doctors say it is communicated from body to body; this is their Achilles; the pretext for so many useless regulations. Now, supposing it an accident, it would be a transferable accident, which is an incongruity. There is not in all philosophy a more evident thing than this, that an accident cannot pa.s.s from one subject to another; so if, to avoid this Scylla, they are reduced to call it an accident produced, they avoid Scylla by falling into Charybdis, because if it be produced, it does not communicate itself, it does not propagate, as they declare. These principles allowed, what is the use of talking of botches and carbuncles?"
"It is folly," said one of his hearers.
"No, no," resumed Don Ferrante, "I do not say so. Science is science; we must only know how to employ it. Swellings, purple botches, and black carbuncles, are respectable terms, which have a good and proper signification; but I say they have nothing to do with the question. Who denies that there may be and are such things? We must only prove whence they come."
Here began the vexations of Don Ferrante. So long as he laughed at the contagion, he found respectful and attentive listeners; but when he came to distinguish and demonstrate that the error of the doctors was, not in affirming that there existed a general and terrible disease, but rather in a.s.signing its cause, then he found them intractable and rebellious, then he no longer dared expose his doctrine, but by shreds and patches.
"Here is the true reason," said he, "and those even who maintain other fancies are obliged to acknowledge it. Let them deny, if they can, that there is a fatal conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn. And when has it been said that influences propagate? And would these gentlemen deny the existence of influences? Will they say there are no planets? or will they say that they keep up above, doing nothing, as so many pins in a pincushion? But that which I cannot understand from these doctors is, that they confess we are under so malign a conjunction, and then they tell us, don"t touch this, don"t touch that, and you will be safe! as if, in avoiding the material contact of terrestrial bodies, we could prevent the virtual effect of celestial bodies. And such a work in burning rags! Poor people! will you burn Jupiter? will you burn Saturn?"
_His fretus_, that is to say, on these grounds, he took no precautions against the pestilence; he caught it, and died, like Metastasio"s hero, complaining of the stars.
CHAPTER x.x.xVII.
One fine evening Agnes heard a carriage drive up to the door of her cottage. It was Lucy and the good widow. We can easily imagine the joy of the meeting.
The following morning Renzo made his appearance, at an early hour, little expecting to find Lucy with her mother. "How are you, Renzo?"
said Lucy, with downcast eyes, and in a tone--oh how different from that with which she addressed all besides! Renzo was conscious that it was meant for him alone.
"I am always well when I see you," replied the young man.
"Our poor Father Christopher," said Lucy, "pray for his soul, although we may be almost sure he is now in heaven, praying for us."
"I expected no less," said Renzo mournfully, "I expected to hear that he was taken away from this world of sorrow and trouble."
Notwithstanding the sadness of their recollections, joy was the predominant feeling of their hearts. The good widow was an agreeable addition to the little company. When Renzo saw her in the miserable cabin at the lazaretto, he could not have believed her to be of so facile and gay a disposition; but the lazaretto and the country, death and a wedding, are not at all the same things. During the evening Renzo left them, for the purpose of visiting the curate. "Signor Curate," said he, with a respectful but jocular air, "the headache, which, you said, prevented you from marrying us, has it pa.s.sed off? The bride is here, and I am come to have you appoint an hour, but, I pray you, not to let it be far distant."
Don Abbondio did not say he would not; but he began to offer excuses and insinuations. "Why come forward into public view with this order for his apprehension hanging over him? and the thing could be easily done elsewhere, and then this, and then that."
"I understand," said Renzo, "you have still a little pain in your head, but listen to me." And he described the state in which he had seen Don Roderick.
"That has nothing to do with us," said Don Abbondio. "Did I say no to you? However, while there is life there is hope, you know. Look at me; I have also been nearer the other world than this, and here I am nevertheless; and if new troubles do not fall upon me, I hope to remain here a little longer."