The Betrothed. Alessandro Manzoni
Читать онлайн книгу.
paid the reckoning, and prepared to depart: they were obliged to pass the three men again, and encounter a repetition of their eager gaze. When a few steps distant from the inn, Renzo, looking back, perceived that he was followed by the two whom he had left seated in the kitchen. He stopped; observing this, they stopped also, and retraced their steps.
If he had been near enough, he would have heard a few words of strange import; “It would be a glorious thing,” said one of the scoundrels, “without reckoning the cash, if we could tell at the palace how we had flattened their ribs,—without the direction, too, of Signor Griso.”
“And spoil the whole work,” added the other; “but see! he stops to look at us! Oh! if it were only later! But let us turn back, not to create suspicion. People are coming on all sides; let us wait till they go to their rests.”
Then was heard in the village the busy hum of the evening, which precedes the solemn stillness of the night; then were seen women returning from their daily labour, with their infants on their backs, and leading by the hand the older children, to whom they were repeating the evening prayers; men with their spades, and other instruments of culture, thrown over their shoulders. At the opening of the cottage doors, was discerned the bright light of the fires, kindled in order to prepare their meagre suppers; in the street there were salutations given and returned, brief and mournful observations on the poverty of the harvest, and the scarcity of the year; and at intervals was heard the measured strokes of the bell which announced the departure of the day.
When Renzo saw that the two men no longer followed him, he continued his way, giving instructions, in a low voice, from time to time, to his two companions. It was dark night when they arrived at the cottage of Lucy.
“Between the acting of a dreadful thing And the first motion, all the interim is Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream.”
Lucy endured many hours the anguish of such a dream; and Agnes, even Agnes, the author of the plot, was thoughtful and silent. But, in the moment of action, new and various emotions pass swiftly through the mind: at one instant, that which had appeared difficult becomes perfectly easy; at another, obstacles present themselves which were never before thought of, the imagination is filled with alarm, the limbs refuse their office, and the heart fails at the promise it had given with such security. At the gentle knock of Renzo, Lucy was seized with such terror, that, at the moment, she resolved to suffer any thing, to endure a separation from him for ever, rather than execute her resolution; but when, with an assured and encouraging air, he said, “All is ready; let us begone,” she had neither heart nor time to suggest difficulties. Agnes and Renzo placed her between them, and the adventurous company set forward. Slowly and quietly they took the path that led around the village,—it would have been nearer to pass directly through it, to Don Abbondio’s house, but their object was to avoid observation. Upon reaching the house, the lovers remained concealed on one side of it, Agnes a little in advance, so as to be prepared to speak to Perpetua as soon as she should make her appearance. Tony, with Jervase, who did nothing, but without whom nothing could be done, courageously knocked at the door.
“Who is there, at this hour?” cried a voice from the window, which they recognised to be that of Perpetua. “No one is sick, that I know of. What is the matter?”
“It is I,” replied Tony, “with my brother; we want to speak with the curate.”
“Is this an hour for Christians?” replied Perpetua, briskly. “Come to-morrow.”
“Hear me; I will come, or not, as I choose; I have received I can’t tell how much money, and I have come to balance the small account that you know of. I have here twenty-five fine new pieces; but if he cannot see me,—well—I know how and where to spend them.”
“Wait, wait. I will speak to you in a moment. But why come at this hour?”
“If you can change the hour, I am willing; as for me, I am here, and, if you don’t want me to stay, I’ll go away.”
“No, no, wait a moment; I will give you an answer.” So saying, she closed the window. As soon as she disappeared, Agnes separated herself from the lovers, saying to Lucy, in a low voice, “Courage, it is but a moment.” She then entered into conversation with Tony at the door, that Perpetua, on opening it, might suppose she had been accidentally passing by, and that Tony had detained her.
Chapter VIII.
“Carneades! who was he?” said Don Abbondio to himself, seated in his large chair, with a book open before him. “Carneades! this name I have either heard or read of; he must have been a man of study, a scholar of antiquity; but who the devil was he?” Now, it should be known, that it was Don Abbondio’s custom to read a little every day, and that a curate, his neighbour, who had a small library, furnished him with books, one after the other, as they came to hand. That with which he was at this moment engaged, was a panegyric on St. Carlos, delivered many years before in the cathedral of Milan. The saint was there compared for his love of study to Archimedes; which comparison the poor curate well understood, inasmuch as this did not require, from the various anecdotes related of him, an erudition very extensive. But the author went on to liken him also to Carneades, and here the poor reader was at fault. At this moment, Perpetua announced the visit of Tony.
“At such an hour?” said Don Abbondio.
“What do you expect? They have no discretion. But if you do not shoot the bird flying—”
“Who knows if I shall ever be able to do it?” continued he. “Let him come in. But are you very sure that it is Tony?”
“The devil!” said Perpetua, as she descended, and, opening the door, demanded, “Where are you?”
Tony appeared, in company with Agnes, who accosted Perpetua by name.
“Good evening, Agnes,” said she; “whence come you at this hour?”
“I come from—,” naming a neighbouring village. “And do you know,” she continued, “that I have been delayed on your account?”
“On my account!” exclaimed she; and turning to the two brothers, said, “Go in, and I will follow you.”
“Because,” resumed Agnes, “a gossiping woman of the company said—would you believe it?—obstinately persisted in saying, that you were never engaged to Beppo Suolavecchia, nor to Anselmo Lunghigna, because they would not have you. I maintained that you had refused them both—”
“Certainly I did. Oh! what a liar! oh! what a great liar! Who was it?”
“Don’t ask me; I don’t wish to make mischief.”
“You must tell me; you must tell me. Oh! what a lie!”
“So it was; but you can’t believe how sorry I felt not to know all the story, that I might have confuted her.”
“It is an infamous lie,” said Perpetua. “As to Beppo, every one knows—”
In front of Don Abbondio’s house, there was a short and narrow lane, between two old cottages, which opened at the farther end into the fields. Agnes drew Perpetua thither, as if for the purpose of talking with her more freely. When they were at a spot, from which they could not see what passed before the curate’s house, Agnes coughed loudly.
This was the concerted signal, which, being heard by Renzo, he, with Lucy on his arm, crept quietly along the wall, approached the door, opened it softly, and entered the passage, where the two brothers were waiting their approach. They all ascended the stairs on tiptoe; the brothers advanced towards the door of the chamber; the lovers remained concealed on the landing.
“Deo gratias,” said Tony, in a clear voice.
“Tony, eh? come in,” replied the voice from within. Tony obeyed, opening the door just enough to admit himself and brother, one at a time. The rays of light, which shone unexpectedly through this opening on the darkness by which Renzo and Lucy were protected, made the latter tremble as if already discovered. The brothers entered, and Tony closed the door; the lovers