"A moment, I beseech you. She is no longer here! Where is she?"

"At the lazaretto."

"A moment, for the love of Heaven! With the pestilence?"

"Yes. It is something very uncommon, is it not? Begone then."

"Wait an instant. Was she very ill? Is it long since?"

But this time the window was closed entirely.

"Oh! signora, signora! one word, for charity! Alas! alas! one word!" But he might as well have talked to the wind.

Afflicted by this intelligence, and vexed with the rude treatment of the woman, Renzo seized the knocker again, and raised it for the purpose of striking. In his distress, he turned to look at the neighbouring houses, with the hope of seeing some one, who would give him more satisfactory information. But the only person he discovered, was a woman, about twenty paces off, who, with an appearance of terror, anger, and impatience, was making signs to some one to approach; and this she did, as if not wishing to attract Renzo's notice. Perceiving him looking at her, she shuddered with horror.

"What the devil!" said Renzo, threatening her with his fist, but she, having lost the hope of his being seized unexpectedly, cried aloud, "A poisoner! catch him! catch him! stop the poisoner!"

"Who? I! old sorceress! be silent," cried Renzo, as he approached her in order to compel her to be so. But he soon perceived that it was best to think of himself, as the cry of the woman had gathered people from every quarter; not in so great numbers as would have been seen three months before under similar circ.u.mstances, but still many more than one man could resist. At this moment, the window was again opened, and the same discourteous woman appeared at it, crying, "Seize him, seize him; he must be one of the rascals who wander about to poison the doors of people."

Renzo determined in an instant that it was better to fly than to stop to justify himself. Rapidly casting his eyes around to see on which side there were the fewest people, and fighting his way through those that opposed him, he soon freed himself from their clutches.

The street was deserted before him; but behind him the terrible cry still resounded, "Seize him! stop him! a poisoner!" It gained on him, steps were close at his heels. His anger became rage; his agony, despair; drawing his knife from his pocket, and brandishing it in the air, he turned, crying aloud, "Let him who dares come here, the rascal, and I will poison him indeed with this."

But he saw, with astonishment and pleasure, that his persecutors had already stopped, as if some obstacle opposed their path; and were making frantic gestures to persons beyond him. Turning again, he beheld a car approaching, and even a file of cars with their usual accompaniments.

Beyond them was another little band of people prepared to seize the poisoner, but prevented by the same obstacle. Seeing himself thus between two fires, it occurred to Renzo, that _that_ which was an object of terror to these people, might be to him a source of safety.

Reflecting that this was not a moment for fastidious scruples, he advanced towards the cars, pa.s.sed the first, and perceiving in the second a s.p.a.ce large enough to receive him, threw himself into it.

"Bravo! bravo!" cried the _monatti_ with one shout. Some of them were following the convoy on foot, others were seated on the cars, others on the dead bodies, drinking from an enormous flagon, which they pa.s.sed around. "Bravo! that was well done!"

"You have placed yourself under the protection of the _monatti_; you are as safe as if you were in a church," said one, who was seated on the car into which Renzo had thrown himself.

The enemy was obliged to retreat, crying, however, "Seize him! seize him! he is a poisoner!"

"Let me silence them!" said the _monatto_; and drawing from one of the dead bodies a dirty rag, he tied it up in a bundle, and made a gesture as if intending to throw it among them, crying, "Here, rascals!" At the sight, all fled away in horror!

A howl of triumph arose from the _monatti_.

"Ah! ah! you see we can protect honest people," said the _monatto_ to Renzo, "one of us is worth a hundred of those cowards."

"I owe my life to you," said Renzo, "and I thank you sincerely."

"'Tis a trifle, a trifle; you deserve it; 'tis plain to be seen you're a brave fellow; you do well to poison this rabble; extirpate the fools, who, as a reward for the life we lead, say, that the plague once over, they will hang us all. They must all be finished, before the plague ceases; the _monatti_ alone must remain to sing for victory, and to feast in Milan."

"Life to the pestilence, and death to the rabble!" cried another, putting the flagon to his mouth, from which he drank freely, and then offered it to Renzo, saying, "Drink to our health."

"I wish it to you all," said Renzo, "but I am not thirsty, and do not want to drink now."

"You have been terribly frightened, it seems," said the _monatto_; "you appear to be a harmless sort of a person; you should have another face than that for a poisoner."

"Give me a drop," said a _monatto_, who walked by the side of the cars; "I would drink to the health of the n.o.bleman, who is here in such good company--in yonder carriage!" And with a malignant laugh he pointed to the car in which poor Renzo was seated. Then brutally composing his features to an expression of gravity, he bowed profoundly, saying, "Will you permit, my dear master, a poor devil of a _monatto_ to taste a little wine from your cellar? Do now, because we lead rough lives, and moreover, we are doing you the favour to take you a ride into the country. And besides, you are not accustomed to wine, and it might harm your lordship; but the poor _monatti_ have good stomachs."

His companions laughed loudly; he took the flagon, and before he drank, turned again to Renzo, and with an air of insulting compa.s.sion said, "The devil with whom you have made a compact, must be very young; if we had not saved you, you would have been none the better for his a.s.sistance."

His companions laughed louder than before, and he applied the flagon to his lips.

"Leave some for us! some for us!" cried those from the forward car.

After having taken as much as he wanted, he returned the flagon to his companions, who pa.s.sed it on; the last of the company having emptied it, threw it on the pavement, crying, "Long live the pestilence!" Then they commenced singing a lewd song, in which they were accompanied by all the voices of the horrible choir. This infernal music, blended with the tingling of the bells, the noise of the wheels, and of the horses' feet, resounded in the empty silence of the streets, echoed through the houses, wringing the hearts of the very few who still inhabited them!

But the danger of the preceding moment had rendered more than tolerable to Renzo, the company of these wretches and the dead they were about to inter; and even this music was almost agreeable to his ears, as it relieved him from the embarra.s.sment of such conversation. He returned thanks to Providence for having enabled him to escape from his peril, without receiving or doing an injury; and he prayed G.o.d to help him now to deliver himself from his liberators. He kept on the watch to seize the first opportunity of quietly quitting the car, without exciting the opposition of his protectors.

At last they reached the lazaretto. At the appearance of a commissary, one of the two _monatti_ who were on the car with Renzo jumped to the ground, in order to speak with him: Renzo hastily quitting the ear, said to the other, "I thank you for your kindness; G.o.d reward you."

"Go, go, poor poisoner," replied he, "it will not be you who will destroy Milan!"

Fortunately no one heard him. Renzo hastened onwards by the wall, crossed the bridge, pa.s.sed the convent of the capuchins, and then perceived the angle of the lazaretto. In front of the inclosure a horrible scene presented itself to his view. Arrived in front of the lazaretto, throngs of sick were pressing into the avenues which led to the building; some were seated or lying in the ditch, which bordered the road on either side, their strength not having sufficed to enable them to reach their asylum, or who, having quitted it in desperation, were too weak to go further; others wandered by themselves, stupified, and insensible to their condition; one was quite animated, relating his imaginations to a miserable companion, who was stretched on the ground, oppressed by suffering; another was furious from despair; a third, more horrible still! was singing, in a voice above all the rest, and with heart-rending hilarity, one of the popular songs of love, gay and playful, which the Milanese call _villanelle_.

Already weary, and confounded at the view of so much misery concentrated within so small a s.p.a.ce, our poor Renzo reached the gate of the lazaretto. He crossed the threshold, and stood for a moment motionless under the portico.

CHAPTER x.x.xIV.

The reader may imagine the lazaretto, peopled with sixteen thousand persons infected with the plague: the vast enclosure was enc.u.mbered with cabins, tents, cars, and human beings. Two long ranges of porticoes, to the right and left, were crowded with the dying or the dead, extended upon straw; and from the immense receptacle of woe, was heard a deep murmur, similar to the distant voice of the waves, agitated by a tempest.

Renzo went forward from hut to hut, carefully examining every countenance he could discern within--whether broken down by suffering, distorted by spasm, or fixed in death. Hitherto he met none but men, and judged, therefore, that the women were distributed in some other part of the inclosure. The state of the atmosphere seemed to add to the horror of the scene: a dense and dark fog involved all things. The disc of the sun, as if seen through a veil, shed a feeble light in its own part of the sky, but darted down a heavy deathlike blast of heat: a confused murmuring of distant thunder might be heard. Not a leaf moved, not a bird was seen--save the swallow only, which descended to the plain, and, alarmed at the dismal sounds around, remounted the air, and disappeared. Nature seemed at war with human existence--hundreds seemed to grow worse--the last struggle more afflictive--and no hour of bitterness was comparable to that.

Renzo had, in his search, witnessed, as he thought, every variety of human suffering. But a new sound caught his ear--a compound of children's crying and goats' bleating: looking through an opening of the boards of a hut, he saw children, infants, lying upon sheets or quilts upon the floor, and nurses attending them; but the most singular part of the spectacle, was a number of she-goats supplying the maternal functions, and with all the appearance of conscious sympathy hastening, at the cries of the helpless little ones, to afford them the requisite nutrition. The women were aiding these efficient coadjutors, in rendering their supplies available to the poor bereft babies. Whilst observing this wretched scene, an old capuchin entered with two infants, just taken from their lifeless mother, to seek among the flock for one to supply her place. Quitting this spot, and looking about on every side, a sudden apparition struck his sight, and set his thoughts in commotion. He saw at some distance, among the tents, a capuchin, whom he instantly recognised to be Father Christopher!

The history of the good friar, from the moment in which we lost sight of him until this meeting, may be related in few words. He had not stirred from Rimini, and he would not now have thought of doing so if the plague breaking out at Milan had not afforded him the opportunity, so long desired, of sacrificing his life for the benefit of others. He demanded, as a favour, permission to go and a.s.sist those who were infected with the disease. The count, he of the secret council, was dead; and moreover, at this time, there was a greater want of guardians to the sick, than of politicians: his request was readily granted. He had now been in the lazaretto nearly three months.

But the joy of Renzo at seeing the good father was not unalloyed. It was he indeed; but, alas! how changed! how wan! Exhausted nature appeared to be sustained for a while by the mind, that had acquired new vigour from the perpetual demand on its sympathies and activity.

"Oh, Father Christopher!" said Renzo, when he was near enough to speak to him.

"You here!" said the friar, rising.

"How are you, my father, how are you?"

"Better than these unfortunate beings that you see," replied the friar.

His voice was feeble--hollow and changed as his person. His eye alone "had not lost its original brightness"--benevolence and charity appeared to have imparted to it a l.u.s.tre superior to that which bodily weakness was gradually extinguishing.

"But you," pursued he, "why are you here? Why do you thus come to brave the pestilence?"

"I have had it, thank Heaven! I come----in search of----Lucy."

"Lucy! Is Lucy here?"