Pagina 987 di 1118

"I understand," said Don Abbondio, angrily, "I understand. You

would ruin yourself, and me with you. What you have suffered,

what I have suffered, is not sufficient. I understand, I

understand." And continuing to mutter between his teeth, he

proceeded on his way.

Renzo, afflicted and disappointed, reflected where he should seek

another asylum. In the catalogue of deaths given to him by Don

Abbondio, there was a family which had all been carried off by

the pestilence, with the exception of a young man nearly of his

own age, who had been his companion from infancy. The house was a

short distance off, a little beyond the village; he bent his

steps thither, to seek the hospitality which it might afford him.

On his way he passed his own vineyard. The vines were cut, the

wood carried off. Weeds of various kinds and most luxuriant

growth, principally of the parasitical order, covered the place,

displaying the most brilliant flowers above the loftiest branches

of the vines, and obstructing the progress of the miserable

owner. The garden beyond presented a similar scene of varied and

luxuriant wildness. The house, that had not escaped the

visitation of the lansquenets, was deformed with filth, dust, and

cobwebs.