we will take care of him. One may escape clear out of every trouble; but for this, a man, a man is necessary. Your case is a very, very serious one—the edict speaks plainly; and if the thing rested between you and the law, to be candid, it would go hard with you. If you wish to pass smoothly—money and obedience!”
Whilst the doctor poured forth this rhapsody, Renzo had been regarding him with mute astonishment, as the countryman watches the juggler, whom he sees cramming his mouth with handful after handful of tow; when, lo! he beholds immediately drawn forth from the same mouth a never-ending line of riband. When at last he perceived his meaning, he interrupted him with, “Oh! Signor Doctor, how you have misunderstood me! the matter is directly the reverse; I have threatened no one—not I—I never do such things; ask my companions, all of them, and they will tell you I never had any thing to do with the law. The injury is mine, and I have come to you to know how I can obtain justice, and am well satisfied to have seen this proclamation.”
“The devil!” exclaimed the doctor, opening wide his eyes; “what a cock and a bull story you have made! So it is; you are all alike: is it possible you can't tell a plain fact?”
“But, Signor Doctor, you must pardon me, you have not given me time; now I will tell you all. Know, then, that I was to have been married to-day”—and here his voice trembled—“was to have been married to-day to a young person to whom I have been some time betrothed; to-day was the day fixed upon by the Signor Curate, and every thing was in readiness. The Signor Curate began to make excuses—and—not to weary you—I compelled him to tell me the cause; and he confessed that he had been forbidden, on pain of death, to perform the ceremony. This powerful Don Roderick——”
“Eh!” hastily interrupted the doctor, contracting his brow and wrinkling his red nose, “away with you; what have I to do with these idle stories? Tell them to your companions, and not to one of my condition. Begone; do you think I have nothing to do but listen to tales of this sort——”
“I protest——”
“Begone, I say; what have I to do with your protestations? I wash my hands from them!” and pacing the room, he rubbed his hands together, as if really performing that act. “Hereafter learn when to speak; and do not take a gentleman by surprise.”
“But hear me, hear me,” vainly repeated Renzo.
The doctor, still growling, pushed him towards the door, set it wide open, called the maid, and said to her, “Return this man immediately what he brought, I will have nothing to do with it.” The woman had never before been required to execute a similar order, but she did not hesitate to obey; she took the fowls and gave them to Renzo with a compassionate look, as if she had said, “You certainly have made some very great blunder.” Renzo wished to make apologies; but the doctor was immovable. Confounded, therefore, and more enraged than ever, he took back the fowls and departed, to render an account of the ill success of his expedition.
At his departure, Agnes and Lucy had exchanged their nuptial robes for their humble daily habits, and then, sorrowful and dejected, occupied themselves in suggesting fresh projects. Agnes expected great results from Renzo's visit to the doctor; Lucy thought that it would be well to let Father Christopher know what had happened, as he was a man who would not only advise, but assist whenever he could serve the unfortunate; Agnes assented, but how was it to be accomplished? the convent was two miles distant, and at this time they certainly could neither of them hazard a walk thither. Whilst they were weighing the difficulties, some one knocked at the door, and they heard a low but distinct Deo Gracias. Lucy, imagining who it was, hastened to open it; and, bowing low, there entered a capuchin collector of contributions, with his wallet swung over his left shoulder. “Oh! brother Galdino!” said Agnes. “The Lord be with you,” said the brother; “I come for your contribution of nuts.”
“Go, get the nuts for the fathers,” said Agnes. Lucy obeyed; but before she quitted the room, she gave her mother a kind and impressive look, as much as to say, “Be secret.”
The capuchin, looking significantly at Agnes, said, “And the wedding? It was to have taken place to-day; what has happened?”
“The curate is sick, and we are obliged to defer it,” replied the dame, in haste; “but what success in the contributions?” continued she, anxious to change the subject, which she would willingly have prolonged, but for Lucy's earnest look.
“Very poor, good dame, very poor. This is all,” said he, swinging the wallet from his shoulder—“this is all; and for this I have been obliged to knock at ten doors.”
“But the year is a scarce one, brother Galdino, and when we have to struggle for bread, our alms are necessarily small.”
“If we wish abundance to return, my good dame, we must give alms. Do you not know the miracle of the nuts, which happened many years ago in our convent of Romagna?”
“No, in truth; tell me.”
“Well you must know, then, that in this convent there was one of our fathers who was a saint; he was called Father Macario. One winter's day, passing by a field of one of our patrons—a worthy man he was—he saw him standing near a large nut tree, and four peasants with their axes raised to level it to the ground. ‘What are you doing to the poor tree?’ demanded father Macario. ‘Why, father, it is unfruitful, and I am about to cut it down.’ ‘Do not do so, do not do so,’ said the father; ‘I tell you that next year it will bear more nuts than leaves.’ The master ordered the workmen to throw at once the earth on the roots which had been already bared; and, calling after the Father Macario, said, ‘Father Macario, the half of the crop shall be for the convent.’ The prediction was noised about, and every one went to look at the tree. In fact, when spring arrived, there were flowers in abundance, and afterwards nuts in abundance! But there was a greater miracle yet, as you shall hear. The owner, who, before the nut season, was called hence to enjoy the fruits of his charity, left a son of a very different character from himself. Now, at the time of harvest, the collector went to receive his appointed portion; but the son affected entire ignorance, and presumptuously replied, he never had understood that the capuchins knew how to make nuts. Now guess what happened then. One day he had invited to dinner some friends, and, making merry, he amused them with the story of the nuts; they desired to visit his granary, to behold his abundance; he led the way, advanced towards the corner where they had been placed, looked—and what do you think he saw?—a heap of dry nut leaves! Was not this a miracle? And the convent gained, instead of suffering loss; the profusion of nuts bestowed upon it in consequence was so great, that one of our patrons, compassionating the poor collector, gave him a mule to assist in carrying them home. And so much oil was made, that it was freely given to the poor; like the sea, which receives waters from every part, and distributes abundantly to the rivers.”
Lucy now reappeared with her apron so loaded with nuts, that she could with difficulty support the burthen. Whilst Friar Galdino untied his wallet to receive them, Agnes cast an astonished and displeased glance at her for her prodigality; she returned it with a look which seemed to say, “I will satisfy you.” The friar was liberal of thanks, and, replacing his wallet, was about to depart, when Lucy called him back. “I wish you to do me a service,” said she; “I wish you to say to Father Christopher that I have a great desire to speak with him, and request him to have the goodness to come hither immediately, as it is impossible for me to go to the convent.”
“Willingly; an hour shall not elapse before Father Christopher shall be informed of your wish.”
“I rely on you.”
“Trust me,” said he, “I will be faithful,” and moved off, bending under the increased weight of his wallet. We must not suppose, from the readiness with which Lucy sent this request to Father Christopher, and the equal readiness of Father Galdino to carry it, that the father was a person of no consequence; on the contrary, he was a man of much authority amongst his companions, and throughout all the neighbourhood. To serve the feeble, and to be served by the powerful; to enter the palace and the hut; to be at one time a subject of pastime, and at another regarded with profound respect; to seek alms, and to bestow them;—to