(as the little lamp is when its oil runs dry). "Before the supreme
moment, I shall probably pass a month or two without speaking, after
which I shall be received into Our Father's Bosom; provided always that
He finds that I have performed my duty in the post in which He has
placed me as a sentinel.
"But you, you are worn out with exhaustion, your emotion makes you ready
for sleep. Since I began to expect you, I have hidden a loaf of bread
and a bottle of brandy for you in the great chest which holds my
instruments. Give yourself that sustenance, and try to collect enough
strength to listen to me for a few moments longer. It lies in my power
to tell you a number of things before night shall have given place
altogether to-day; at present I see them a great deal more distinctly
than perhaps I shall see them to-morrow. For, my child, we are at all
times frail vessels, and we must always take that frailty into account.
To-morrow, it may be, the old man, the earthly man in me will be
occupied with preparations for my death, and to-morrow evening at nine
o'clock, you will have to leave me."
Fabrizio having obeyed him in silence, as was his custom:
"Then, it is true," the old man went on, "that when you tried to see
Waterloo you found nothing at first but a prison?"
"Yes, Father," replied Fabrizio in amazement.
"Well, that was a rare piece of good fortune, for, warned by my voice,
your soul can prepare itself for another prison, far different in its
austerity, far more terrible! Probably you will escape from it only by a
crime; but, thanks be to heaven, that crime will not have been committed
by you. Never fall into crime, however violently you may be tempted; I
seem to see that it will be a question of killing an innocent man, who,
without knowing it, usurps your rights; if you resist the violent
temptation which will seem to be justified by the laws of honour, your
life will be most happy in the eyes of men . . . and reasonably happy in
the eyes of the sage," he added after a moment's reflexion; "you will
die like me, my son, sitting upon a wooden seat, far from all luxury and
having seen the hollowness of luxury, and like me not having to reproach
yourself with any grave sin.
"And now, the discussion of your future state is at an end between us, I
could add nothing of any importance. It is in vain that I have tried to
see how long this imprisonment is to last; is it to be for six months, a
year, ten years? I have been able to discover nothing; apparently I have
made some error, and heaven has wished to punish me by the distress of
this uncertainty. I have seen only that after your prison, but I do not
know whether it is to be at the actual moment of your leaving it, there
will be what I call a crime; but, fortunately, I believe I can be sure
that it will not be committed by you. If you are weak enough to involve
yourself in this crime, all the rest of my calculations becomes simply
one long error. Then you will not die with peace in your soul, on a
wooden seat and clad in white." As he said these words, Priore Blanès
attempted to rise; it was then that Fabrizio noticed the ravages of
time; it took him nearly a minute to get upon his feet and to turn
towards Fabrizio. Our hero allowed him to do this, standing motionless
and silent. The Priore flung himself into his arms again and again; he
embraced him with extreme affection. After which he went on, with all
the gaiety of the old days: "Try to make a place for yourself among all
my instruments where you can sleep with some comfort; take my furs; you
will find several of great value which the Duchessa Sanseverina sent me
four years ago. She asked me for a forecast of your fate, which I took
care not to give her, while keeping her furs and her fine quadrant.
Every announcement of the future is a breach of the rule, and contains
this danger, that it may alter the event, in which case the whole
science falls to the ground, like a child's card-castle; and besides,
there were things that it was hard to say to that Duchessa who is always
so charming. But let me warn you, do not be startled in your sleep by
the bells, which will make a terrible din in your ear when the men come
to ring for the seven o'clock mass; later on, in the stage below, they
will set the big _campanone_ going, which shakes all my instruments.
To-day is the feast of San Giovita, Martyr and Soldier. As you know, the
little village of Grianta has the same patron as the great city of
Brescia, which, by the way, led to a most amusing mistake on the part of
my illustrious master, Giacomo Marini of Ravenna. More than once he
announced to me that I should have quite a fine career in the church; he
believed that I was to be the curate of the magnificent church of San
Giovita, at Brescia; I have been the curate of a little village of seven
hundred and fifty chimneys! But all has been for the best. I have seen,
and not ten years ago, that if I had been curate at Brescia, my destiny
would have been to be cast into prison on a hill in Moravia, the
Spielberg. To-morrow I shall bring you all manner of delicacies pilfered
from the great dinner which I am giving to all the clergy of the
district who are coming to sing at my high mass. I shall leave them down
below, but do not make any attempt to see me, do not come down to take
possession of the good things until you have heard me go out again. You
must not see me again _by daylight_, and as the sun sets to-morrow at
twenty-seven minutes past seven, I shall not come up to embrace you
until about eight, and it is necessary that you depart while the hours
are still numbered by nine, that is to say before the clock has struck
ten. Take care that you are not seen in the windows of the _campanile_:
the police have your description, and they are to some extent under the
orders of your brother, who is a famous tyrant. The Marchese del Dongo
is growing feeble," added Blanès with a sorrowful air, "and if he were
to see you again, perhaps he would let something pass to you, from hand
to hand. But such benefits, tainted with deceit, do not become a man
like yourself, whose strength will lie one day in his conscience. The
Marchese abhors his son Ascanio, and it is on that son that the five or
six millions that he possesses will devolve. That is justice. You, at
his death, will have a pension of 4,000 francs, and fifty ells of black
cloth for your servants' mourning."