The coachman smiled also on the people with an affected politeness, as if he were some great personage; and, with ineffable grace, he waved the whip slowly from right to left, as if requesting his inconvenient neighbours to retire a little on either side. “Be so kind, gentlemen,” said he, “a little space, ever so little, just enough to let us pass.”
Meanwhile the most active and officious employed themselves in preparing the passage so politely requested. Some made the crowd retire from before the horses with good words, placing their hands on their breast, and pushing them gently, “There, there, a little space, gentlemen.” Others pursued the same plan at the sides of the carriage, so that it might pass on without damage to those who surrounded it; which would have subjected the popularity of Antonio Ferrer to great hazard. Renzo, after having been occupied for a few moments in admiring the respectable old man, a little disturbed by vexation, overwhelmed with fatigue, but animated by solicitude, embellished, so to speak, by the hope of wresting a fellow-creature from the pains of death,—Renzo, I say, threw away all idea of retreat. He resolved to assist Ferrer in every way that lay in his power, and not to abandon him until he had accomplished his designs. He united with the others to free the way, and he was certainly not one of the least active or industrious. A passage was opened. “Come on, come on,” said a number of them to the coachman, retiring in front of the crowd to maintain the passage clear. “Adelante, presto, con juicio[8],” said his master also to him, and the carriage moved forward. In the midst of the salutes which he lavished promiscuously on the public, Ferrer, with a smile of intelligence, bestowed particular thanks upon those whom he beheld busily employed for him; more than one of these smiles was directed to Renzo, who, in truth, deserved them richly, serving the high chancellor on this day with more devoted zeal than the most intrepid of his secretaries. The young mountaineer was delighted with his condescension, and proud of the honour of having, as he thought, formed a friendship with Antonio Ferrer.
The carriage, once in motion, continued its way with more or less slowness, and not without being frequently brought to a full stop. The space to be traversed was short, but, with respect to the time it occupied, it would have appeared interminable, even to one not governed by the holy motive of Ferrer. The people thronged around the carriage, to right and left, as dolphins around a vessel, hurried forward by a tempest. The noise was more piercing and discordant than that of a tempest itself. Ferrer continued to speak to the populace the whole length of the way. “Yes, gentlemen, bread in abundance. I will conduct him to prison; he shall be punished—si esta culpable.[9]Yes, yes, I will order it so; bread shall be cheap.Asi es.So it shall, I mean. The king our master does not wish his faithful subjects to suffer from hunger.Oh, oh! guardaos.[10]Take care that we do not hurt you, gentlemen,Pedro, adelante, con juicio.[11]Abundance! abundance! a little space, for the love of Heaven! Bread, bread! To prison! to prison! What do you want?” demanded he of a man who had thrust himself partly within the window to howl at him some advice, or petition, or applause, no matter what; but he, without having heard the question, had been drawn back by another, who saw him in danger of being crushed by the wheel. Amidst all this clamour, Ferrer at last gained the house, thanks to his kind auxiliaries.
Those who had stationed themselves there had equally laboured to procure the desired result, and had succeeded in dividing the crowd in two, and keeping them back, so that between the door and the carriage there should be an empty space, however small. Renzo, who in acting as a scout and a guide had arrived with the carriage, was able to find a place, whence he could, by making a rampart of his powerful shoulders, see distinctly all that passed.
Ferrer breathed again on seeing the place free, and the door still shut, or, to speak more correctly, not yet open. However, the hinges were nearly torn from their fastenings, and the panels shivered in many pieces; so that an opening was made, through which it could be seen that what held it together was the bolt, which, however, was almost twisted from its socket. Through this breach some one cried to those within to open the door, another ran to let down the steps of the carriage, and the old man descended from it, leaning on the arm of this benevolent person.
The crowd pressed forward to behold him: curiosity and general attention caused a moment’s silence. Ferrer stopped an instant on the steps, turned towards them, and putting his hand to his heart, said, “Bread and justice.” Clothed in his toga, with head erect, and step assured, he continued to descend, amid the loud applause that rent the skies.
In the mean while the people of the house had opened the door, so as to permit the entrance of so desired a guest; taking care, however, to contract the opening to the space his body would occupy. “Quick, quick!” said he, “open, so that I may enter; and you, brave men, keep back the people, do not let them come behind me—for the love of Heaven! Open a way for us, presently.—Eh! eh! gentlemen, one moment,” said he to the people of the house; “softly with this door; let me pass. Oh, my ribs, take care of my ribs. Shut now—no, my gown, my gown!” It would have remained caught within the door if Ferrer had not hastily withdrawn it.
The doors, closed in the best manner they could be, were nevertheless supported with bars from within. On the outside, those who had constituted themselves the bodyguard of Ferrer worked with their shoulders, their arms, and their voice to keep the place empty, praying from the bottom of their hearts that they would be expeditious.
“Quick, quick!” said Ferrer, as he reached the portico, to the servants who surrounded him, crying, “May your excellency be rewarded! What goodness! Great God, what goodness!”
“Quick, quick,” repeated Ferrer, “where is this poor man?”
The superintendent descended the stairs half led, half carried by his domestics, and pale as death. When he saw who had come to his assistance, he sighed deeply, his pulse returned, and a slight colour tinged his cheek. He hastened to meet Ferrer, saying, “I am in the hands of God and your excellency; but how go hence? we are surrounded on all sides by people who desire my death.”
“Venga con migo usted[12], and take courage. My carriage is at the door; quick, quick!” He took him by the hand, and, continuing to encourage him, led him towards the door, saying in his heart, however,Aqui esta el busilis! Dios nos valga![13]
The door, opened; Ferrer appeared first; the superintendent followed, shrinking with fear, and clinging to the protecting toga, as an infant to the gown of its mother. Those who had maintained the space free raised their hands and waved their hats; making in this manner a sort of cloud to conceal the superintendent from the view of the people, and to enable him to enter the carriage, and place himself out of sight. Ferrer followed, and the carriage was closed. The people drew their own conclusions as to what had taken place, and there arose, in consequence, a mingled sound of applauses and imprecations.
The return of the carriage might seem to be even more difficult and dangerous; but the willingness of the public to suffer the superintendent to be carried to prison was sufficiently manifest; and the friends of Ferrer had been busy in keeping the way open whilst he was at the house, so that he could return with a little more speed than he went. As it advanced, the crowd, ranged on either side, closed and united their ranks behind it.
Ferrer, as soon as he was seated, whispered the superintendent to keep himself concealed in the bottom of the carriage, and not to let himself be seen, for the love of Heaven; there was, however, no need of this advice. It was the policy of the high chancellor, on the contrary, to attract as much of the attention of the populace as possible, and during all this passage, as in the former, he harangued his changeable auditory with a great quantity of sound, and very little sense; interrupting himself continually to breathe into the ear of his invisible companion a few hurried words of Spanish. “Yes, gentlemen, bread and justice. To the castle, to prison under my care. Thanks, thanks, a thousand thanks! No, no, he shall not escape!Por ablanderlos.[14]It is too just, we will examine, we will see. I wish you well. A severe punishment.Esto lo digo por su bien.[15]A just and moderate price, and punishment to those who oppose it. Keep off a little, I pray you. Yes, yes; I am the friend of the people. He shall be punished; it is true; he is a villain, a rascal.Perdone usted.[16]He shall be punished, he shall be punished—si esta culpable.[17]Yes, yes; we will make the bakers do that which is just. Long live the king! long live the good Milanese, his faithful subjects!Animo estamos ya quasi afuera.”[18]
They had, in fact, passed through the thickest of the throng, and were rapidly advancing to a place of safety; and now Ferrer gave his lungs a little repose, and looking forward, beheld the succours from Pisa, those Spanish soldiers, who had at last rendered themselves of service, by persuading some of the people to retire to their homes, and by keeping the passage free for the final escape. Upon the arrival of the carriage, they made room, and presented arms to the high chancellor, who bowed to right and left; and to the officer who approached the nearest to salute him he said, accompanying his words with a wave of his hand, “Beso à usted las manos[19],” which the officer interpreted to signify, You have given me much assistance!
He might have appropriately added,Cedant arma togæ; but the imagination of Ferrer was not at this moment at liberty to occupy itself with quotations, and, moreover, they would have been addressed to the wind, as the officer did not understand Latin.
Pedro felt his accustomed courage revive at the sight of these files of muskets, so respectfully raised; and recovering entirely from his amazement, he urged on his horses, without deigning to take further notice of the few, who were now harmless from their numbers.
“Levantese, levantese, estamos afueras[20],” said Ferrer to the superintendent, who, re-assured by the cessation of the tumult, the rapid motion of the carriage, and these words of encouragement, drew himself from his corner, and overwhelmed his liberator with thanks. The latter, after having condoled with him on account of his peril, and rejoiced at his deliverance, exclaimed, “Ah! que dira de esto su excelencia[21], who is already weary of this cursed Casale, because it will not surrender?que dira el conde duque?[22]who trembles if a leaf makes more noise than usual?Que dira el rey nuestro señor[23]who must necessarily be informed of so great a tumult? And is it at an end?Dios lo sabe.”[24]—“Ah, as for me, I will have nothing more to do with it,” said the superintendent. “I wash my hands of it. I resign my office into the hands of your excellency, and I will go and live in a cavern on a mountain, as a hermit, far, very far from this savage people.”
“Usted[25]will do that which is bestpor el servicio de su majestad,” replied the high chancellor, gravely.
“His majesty does not desire my death,” replied the superintendent. “Yes, yes, in a cavern, in a cavern far from these cruel people.”
It is not known what became of this project, as, after conducting the poor man in safety to his castle, our author makes no farther mention of him.
The crowd began to disperse; some went home to take care of their families, some wandered off from the desire to breathe more freely, after such a squeeze, and others sought their acquaintances, to chat with them over the deeds of the day. The other end of the street was also thinning, so that the detachment of Spanish soldiers could without resistance advance near the superintendent’s house. In front of it there still remained, so to speak, the dregs of the commotion; a company of the seditious, who, discontented with “so lame and impotent a conclusion,” of that which promised so much, muttered curses at the disappointment, and united themselves in knots to consult with each other on the possibility of yet attempting something; and, to afford themselves proof that this was in their power, they attacked and pounded the poor door, which had been propped up anew from within. At the arrival of the troop, however, their valour diminished, and without further consultation they dispersed, leaving the place free to the soldiers, who took possession, in order to serve as a guard to the house and road. But the streets and small squares of the vicinity were full of little gatherings; where three or four individuals stopped, twenty were soon added to them; there was a confused and constant babbling; one narrated with emphasis the peculiar incidents of which he had been the witness, another related his own feats, another rejoiced that the affair had ended so happily, loaded Ferrer with praises, and predicted serious consequences to the superintendent; to which another still replied, that there was no danger of it, because wolves do not eat wolves; others, in anger, muttered that they had been duped, and that they were fools to allow themselves to be deceived in this manner.
Meanwhile the sun had set, and twilight threw the same indistinct hue over every object. Many, fatigued with the day, and wearied with conversing in the dark, returned to their houses. Our hero, after having assisted the carriage as far as was necessary, rejoiced when he beheld it in safety, and as soon as it was in his power left the crowd, so that he might, once more, breathe freely. Hardly had he taken a few steps in the open air, when he experienced a re-action after such excitement, and began to feel the need of food and repose; he therefore looked upward on either side, in search of a sign, which might hold out to him the prospect of satisfying his wants, as it was too late to think of going to the convent. Thus, walking with his eyes directed upward, he stumbled on one of these groups, and his attention was attracted by hearing them speak of designs and projects for the morrow; it appeared to him that he, who had been such a labourer in the field, had a right to give his opinion. Persuaded from all he had witnessed during the day, that, in order to secure the success of an enterprise, it was only necessary to gain the co-operation of the populace, “Gentlemen,” cried he, in a tone of exordium, “allow me to offer my humble opinion. My humble opinion is this; it is not only in the matter of bread that iniquity is practised: and since we have discovered to-day, that we have only to make ourselves heard, to obtain justice, we must go on, until we obtain redress for all their other knavish tricks—until we compel them to act like Christians. Is it not true, gentlemen, that there is a band of tyrants who reverse the tenth commandment; who commit injuries on the peaceful and the poor, and in the end make it out that they act justly? And even when they have committed a greater villany than usual, they carry their heads higher then ever. There are some such even in Milan.”
“Too many,” said a voice.
“I say it, I do,” resumed Renzo; “it has even reached our ears. And then the thing speaks for itself. By way of illustration, let us suppose one of those to whom I allude to have one foot in Milan, and the other elsewhere; if he is a devil there, will he be an angel here? Tell me, gentlemen, have you ever seen one of these people with a countenance like Ferrer’s? But what renders their practices more wicked, I assure you that there are printed proclamations against them, in which their evil deeds are clearly pointed out, and a punishment assigned to each, and it is written, ‘Whoever he be, ignoble and plebeian, &c. &c.’ But go now to the doctors, scribes, and pharisees, and demand justice according to the proclamation; they listen to you as the pope does to rogues: it is enough to make an honest man turn rascal! It is evident, that the king and those who govern would willingly punish the villains, but they can do nothing, because there is a league among them. We must break it up, then; we must go to-morrow to Ferrer, who is a good worthy man; it was plain how delighted he was to-day to find himself among the poor; how he tried to hear what was said to him, and how kindly he answered them. We must go, then, to Ferrer, and inform him how things are situated; and I, for my part, can tell him something that will astonish him; I, who have seen with my own eyes a proclamation, with ever so many coats of arms at the head of it, and which had been made by three of the rulers; their names were printed at the bottom, and one of these names was Ferrer; this I saw with my own eyes! Now this proclamation was exactly suited to my case; so that I demanded justice from the doctor, since it was the desire of these three lords, among whom was Ferrer; but in the eyes of this very doctor, who had himself shown me this fine proclamation, I appeared to be a madman. I am sure that when this dear old man shall hear these doings, especially in the country, he will not let the world go on in this manner, but will quickly find some remedy. And then, they themselves, if they issue proclamations, they should wish to see them obeyed; for it is an insult, an epitaph, with theirname, if counted for nothing. And if the nobility will not lower their pretensions, and cease their evil doings, we must compel them as we have done to-day. I do not say that he should go in his carriage to take all the rascals to gaol—it would need Noah’s ark for that; he must give orders to those whose business it is, not only at Milan but elsewhere, to put the proclamations in force, to enter an action against such as have been guilty of those iniquities, and where the edict says, ‘Prison,’ then prison; where it says, ‘The galleys,’ the galleys; and to say to the variouspodestàthat they must conduct themselves uprightly, or they shall be dismissed and others put in their place, and then, as I say, we will be there also to lend a helping hand, and to command the doctors to listen to the poor, and talk reasonably. Am I not right, gentlemen?”
Renzo had spoken so vehemently, that he had attracted the attention of the assembly, and, dropping by degrees all other discourse, they had all become his listeners. A confused clamour of applause, a “bravo! certainly! assuredly! he is right, it is but too true,” followed his harangue. Critics, however, were not wanting. “It is a pretty thing, indeed,” said one, “to listen to a mountaineer! they are all lawyers!” and he turned on his heel.
“Now,” muttered another, “every barefooted fellow will give his opinion, and with this rage for meddling, we shall at last not have bread at a low price, and that is all that disturbs us.” Compliments, however, were all that reached the ears of Renzo; they seized his hands, and exclaimed,—
“We will see you again to-morrow.”
“Where?”
“On the square of the cathedral.”
“Yes, very well. And something shall be done, something shall be done.”
“Which of these good gentlemen will show me an inn, where I may obtain refreshment and repose for the night?” said Renzo.
“I am the one for your service, worthy youth,” said one, who had listened to the sermon very attentively, but had not yet opened his mouth; “I know an inn, that will suit you exactly; I will recommend you to the keeper, who is my friend, and moreover a very honest man.”
“Near by?”
“Not very far off.”
The assembly dissolved; and Renzo, after many shakes of the hand, from persons unknown, followed his guide, adding many thanks for his courtesy.
“It is nothing, it is nothing,” said he; “one hand washes the other, and both the face. We ought to oblige our neighbour.” As they walked along, he put many questions to Renzo, by way of discourse.
“It is not from curiosity, nor to meddle with your affairs, but you appear to be fatigued. From what country do you come?”
“All the way from Lecco, all the way from Lecco.”
“All the way from Lecco! Are you from Lecco?”
“From Lecco; that is to say, from the province.”
“Poor youth! From what I have understood of your discourse, it appears you have been hardly treated.”
“Ah! my dear and worthy man, I have been obliged to use much skill in speaking, not to make the public acquainted with my affairs; but—it is enough that they will one day be known, and then—— But I see here a sign, and, by my faith, I don’t wish to go farther.”
“No, no; come to the place I told you of, it is but a short distance off. You will not be well accommodated here.”
“Oh yes. I am not a gentleman accustomed to delicacies; any thing to satisfy my hunger; and a little straw will answer my purpose: that which I have most at heart is to find them both very soon, under Providence!” And he entered a large gate, from which hung a sign of theFull Moon.
“Well, I will conduct you here, since you desire it,” said the unknown; and Renzo followed him.
“There is no necessity for troubling you longer,” replied Renzo; “but,” he added, “do me the favour to go in, and take a glass with me.”
“I accept your obliging offer,” said he; and preceding Renzo as being more accustomed to the house, he entered a little court-yard, approached a glass door, and opening it, advanced into the kitchen with his companion.
It was lighted by two lamps suspended from the beam of the ceiling. Many people, all busy, were seated on benches which surrounded a narrow table, occupying almost all one side of the apartment; at intervals napkins were spread, and dishes of meat; cards played, and dice thrown; and bottles and wine-glasses amid them all.Berlinghe,reali, andparpagliole[26], were also scattered in profusion over the table, which, could they have spoken, would probably have said, “We were this morning in a baker’s counter, or in the pocket of some spectator of the tumult, who, occupied with public affairs, neglected the care of private affairs.” The confusion was great; a boy ran to and fro busily engaged in attending to the dinner and gaming tables; the host was seated on a low bench under the mantle-tree of the chimney, apparently occupied in tracing figures in the ashes with the tongs, but in reality deeply attentive to all that passed around him. He raised his head at the sound of the latch, and turned towards the new comers. When he saw the guide, “Curse the fellow,” said he to himself, “he must always be under my feet, when I wish him at the devil!” Casting a rapid glance towards Renzo, he continued, “I know you not; but if you come with such a hunter, you are either a dog or a hare. When you shall have spoken a few words, I shall know which of the two you are.”
Nothing of this mute soliloquy could be traced, however, in the countenance of the host, who was motionless as a statue: his eyes were small and without expression, his face fat and shining, and his short and thick beard of a reddish hue.
“What are your orders, gentlemen?” said he.
“First, a good flagon of wine,” said Renzo, “and then something to eat.” So saying, he threw himself on a bench at one end of the table, and uttered a loud and sonorousAh!as if to say, “It is a good thing to sit down after having been so long on one’s feet.” But recollecting the table at which he had been seated the evening before with Agnes and Lucy, he sighed deeply. The host brought the wine; his companion had seated himself opposite to him; Renzo filled a glass for him, saying, “To wet your lips,” and another for himself, which he swallowed at a draught.
“What can you give me to eat?” said he, addressing the host.
“A good piece of stewed meat,” replied he.
“Well, sir, a good piece of stewed meat.”
“You shall be served immediately,” said the host, and calling to the boy, “Serve this gentleman. But,” resumed he, turning again to Renzo, “I have no bread to-day.”
“As for bread,” said Renzo, in a loud voice, and laughing, “Providence has provided that.” And he drew forth the third and last loaf, picked up under the cross ofSt. Dionigi, and holding it up, cried, “Here is the bread of Providence!”
At this exclamation many of the company turned round, and seeing this trophy in the air, one of them cried, “Bread for ever at a low price!”
“At a low price!” said Renzo; “gratis et amore.”
“Better still, better still.”
“But,” added he, “I do not wish these gentlemen to think evil of me. I have not stolen it—I found it on the ground; and if I could find the owner, I am ready to pay him.”
“Bravo, bravo!” cried they, laughing louder still, not imagining that he was in earnest.
“They think that I jest, but it is really so,” said Renzo to his guide, and turning the bread in his hand; “see how they have formed it—you would call it a cake, but they were so packed one on the other. If there were any with the crust a little tender, one might know they were fresh.” Then devouring three or four mouthfulls of the bread, he washed them down with another glass of wine, adding, “The bread will not go down alone—my throat was never so dry—a glorious uproar we made!”
“Prepare a good bed for this young man,” said the guide; “he is going to pass the night here.”
“Do you wish to sleep here?” said the host to Renzo, approaching the table.
“Certainly; I shall be content with any bed, provided the sheets are white; for although poor, I am accustomed to cleanliness.”
“Oh, as to that——” said the host. So saying, he went to his counter, which was in a corner of the kitchen, and returned, bringing in his hand paper, pen, and ink.
“What does this mean?” swallowing a piece of the stew which had been placed before him, and smiling with an air of surprise; “is that the white sheet?”
The host, without replying, placed the paper on the table, and himself in an attitude to write, and with the pen in his hand, leaning towards Renzo, he said, “Do me the favour to tell me your name and country.”
“What!” said Renzo, “what has this to do with the bed?”
“I do my duty,” said the host, looking at the guide. “We are obliged to give an exact account of all who lodge at our house.Name and surname, and from what country they are; why they are here; if they have arms; and how long they expect to remain in the city.These are the very words of the proclamation.”
Before answering, Renzo emptied another glass; it was the third, but I fear for the future we shall not find it possible to count them. “Ah, ah!” exclaimed he, “you have the proclamation. Well, I pride myself on being a doctor of laws, and I know what importance is attached to proclamations.”
“I speak in earnest,” said the host, looking again at the mute companion of Renzo; and returning to his desk, he drew from it a large sheet of paper, which he unfolded before Renzo, as an exact copy of the proclamation.
“Ah! there it is!” cried he, quickly emptying the contents of the glass which he held in his hand. “Ah! there it is! the fine sheet! I rejoice to see it. I know these arms; I know what this pagan head means with a noose around its neck.” (The proclamations of that time were headed by the arms of the governor, and in those of Don Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova was seen a Moorish king, chained by the throat.) “This face means, Command who can, and obey who will. When the Signor Don —— shall have been sent to the galleys—well, well, I know what I would say—I have seen another leaf just like this. When he shall have so taken measures that an honest young man can, without molestation, marry her to whom he is betrothed, and by whom he is beloved, then I will tell my name to this face, and will give him a kiss in the bargain. I may have very good reasons for not telling my name; it’s a fine thing, truly! And if a robber, who might have under his command a band of villains, because if he were alone——” He hesitated a moment, finishing the phrase with a gesture, and then proceeded, “If a robber wished to know who I was, in order to do me some evil turn, I ask you if that face would move from the paper to help me. Am I obliged to tell my business? Truly, this is something new. Suppose, for instance, that I have come to Milan to confess—I would wish to do it to a capuchin father, and not to the landlord of an inn.”
The host kept silence, looking at the guide, who appeared not to notice any thing that passed. Renzo, it grieves us to say, swallowed another glass, and continued, “I will give you reasons enough to satisfy you, my dear host; if those proclamations which speak favourably of good Christians are worth nothing, those which speak unfavourably are worth less than nothing. Take away, then, all these encumbrances, and bring in exchange another flagon, because this one is broken.” So saying, he struck it lightly with his hand, adding, “Don’t you hear how it is cracked?”
The discourse of Renzo had again attracted the general attention of the company, and when he concluded, there was a general murmur of applause.
“What must I do?” said the host, looking at the strange companion, who was, however, no stranger to him.
“Yes, yes,” cried many of the company, “this countryman is right; they are vexatious impositions. New laws to-day! new laws to-day!”
The stranger took advantage of the noise to say to the host, in a tone of reproach for his too abrupt demand, “Leave him to his own way a little; do not raise a disturbance.”
“I have done my duty,” said the host aloud, “and secured myself,” continued he, lowering his voice; “and that is all I care for.” He removed the pen, ink, and paper, and gave the empty flagon to the boy.
“Bring the same kind of wine,” said Renzo, “for it suits my taste exactly; and we will send it to sleep with the other, without asking its name, surname, nor what is its business, nor whether it is going to remain long in this city.”
“Of the same kind,” said the host to the boy, giving him the flagon, and returning to his seat by the chimney. “He is no other than a hare,” thought he, raking in the ashes. “And in what hands art thou fallen, poor silly youth! If you will drown, drown; but the host of theFull Moonwill not go halves with thy folly.”
Renzo returned thanks to his guide, and to all those who had taken his side. “Worthy friends,” said he, “I know that honest people support each other.” Then striking the table, and placing himself in the attitude of an orator, “Is it not an unheard of thing,” cried he, “that those who govern must always introduce paper, pen, and ink? Always the pen in hand! Such a passion for the pen!”
“Eh! young and worthy stranger! would you know the reason?” said one of the gamesters, laughing.
“Let us hear it,” replied Renzo.
“The reason is, as these lords eat geese, they have so many quills, they know not what to do with them.”
“Oh, oh!” said Renzo, “you are a poet! You have poets here, then? I have also a vein for poetry, and I sometimes make verses—but it is when things go on well.”
To comprehend this witticism of poor Renzo, it is necessary to be informed, that in the eyes of the vulgar of Milan, and more particularly in its environs, the name of poet did not signify, as among cultivated people, a sublime genius, an inhabitant of Pindus, a pupil of the muses, but a whimsicality and eccentricity in discourse and conduct, which had more of singularity than sense; and an absurd wresting of words from their legitimate signification.
“But I will tell the true reason,” added Renzo, “it is because they themselves hold the pen, and, therefore, they do not record their own words; but let a poor man speak, they are very attentive, and in a moment,thereit is, in black and white for some future occasion. They are cunning, also; and when they want to perplex a poor youth, who does not know how to read, but who has a little——I know well——” beating his forehead with his hand, and pointing to it with his finger, to make himself understood; “and when they perceive that he begins to comprehend the difficulty, they throw into the conversation some Latin, to make him lose the thread of their argument, to put him at his wits’ end, to confuse his brains. This custom must be broken up: to-day, every thing has been done after the people’s fashion, without paper, pen, and ink. To-morrow, if they know how to conduct themselves, we shall do still better, without hurting a hair of any one’s head; all in the way of justice.”
In the mean while some of the company had engaged again in play, and some in eating; some went away, others came in their place. The unknown guide continued to remain; and without appearing to have any business to detain him, lingered to talk a little more with Renzo, and resumed the conversation about bread.
“If I had the control, I would order things better,” said he.
“What would you do?” said Renzo, endeavouring to exhibit every appearance of attention.
“What would I do? Every one should have bread—the poor as well as the rich.”
“Ah! that is right.”
“See how I would do. I would fix a reasonable rate within the ability of every one; then bread should be distributed according to the number of mouths, because there are gluttons who seize all they can get for themselves, and leave the poor still in want. We must then divide it. And how shall we do this? Why in this way. Give a ticket to every family in proportion to the mouths, to authorise them to get bread from the bakers. For example: they give me a ticket expressed in this manner; Ambrose Fusella, by trade a sword cutler, with a wife and four children, all old enough to eat bread (mind that); he must be furnished with so much bread at such a price. But the thing must be done in order, always with regard to the number of mouths. For instance, they should give you a ticket for—your name?”
“Lorenzo Tramaglino,” said the young man, who, enchanted with the project, did not reflect that it all depended on pen, ink, and paper; and that the first point towards its success was to collect the names of the persons to be served.
“Very well,” said the unknown; “but have you a wife and children?”
“I ought to have—children, no—not yet—but a wife—if people had acted as their duty required——”
“Ah, you are single! then have patience; they will only give you a smaller portion.”
“That is but just. But if soon, as I hope—by the help of God—enough; suppose I have a wife.”
“Then the ticket must be changed, and the portion increased, as I have said, according to the mouths,” replied the unknown, rising.
“That would be very good,” cried Renzo, thumping the table with his fist; “and why don’t they make such a law?”
“How can I tell you? meanwhile I wish you a good night, as my wife and children must have been expecting me this long while.”
“Another drop, another drop,” filling his glass, and endeavouring to force him to sit down again; “another drop!”
But his friend contrived to disengage himself; and leaving Renzo, pouring forth a torrent of entreaties and reproaches, he departed. Renzo continued to talk until he was in the street, and then fell back on his seat. He looked at the glass which he had filled to the brim; and seeing the boy pass before the table, he beckoned to him, as if he had something particular to communicate. He pointed to the glass, and with a tone of solemnity said, “See there! I prepared it for that worthy man; you see it is full, as it should be for a friend; but he would not have it. Sometimes people have singular ideas; however, I have shown my good will; but now, since the thing is done, it must not be lost.” So saying, he emptied it at one draught.
“I understand,” said the boy, moving off.
“You understand too, do you? It is true, when the reasons are sufficient——”
Here we have need of all our love of truth to induce us to pursue faithfully our hero’s history; at the same time this same impartiality leads us to inform the reader, that this was his first error of a similar character; and precisely because he was so unaccustomed to merry-making did this prove so fatal. The few glasses of wine which he swallowed so rapidly, contrary to his custom, partly to cool his throat, and partly from an exaltation of spirits, which deprived him of the power of reflection, went immediately to his head. Upon an habitual drinker it would have produced no visible effect; our author observes this, that “temperate and moderate habits have this advantage, that the more a man practises them, the more he finds a departure from them to be disagreeable and inconvenient; so that his fault itself serves as a lesson to him for the future.”
However this may be, when these first fumes had mounted to the brain of Renzo, wine and words continued to flow without rule or reason. He felt a great desire to speak, and for a while his words were arranged with some degree of order, but by little and little he found it difficult to form a connected sentence. The thoughts which presented themselves to his mind were cloudy and indistinct, and his expressions, in consequence, unconnected and obscure: to relieve his perplexity, by one of those false instincts which, under similar circumstances, lead men to the accomplishment of their own ruin, he had recourse to the flagon.
We will relate only a few of the words which he continued to ejaculate, during the remainder of this miserable evening. “Ah! host, host,” resumed he, following him with his eye around the table, or gazing at him where he was not, and taking no notice of the noise of the company, “host that thou art! I cannot swallow it—this request of name, surname, and business. To a peaceable youth like me! you have not behaved well! what satisfaction, what advantage, what pleasure—to put a poor youth on paper? Am I not right—speak, gentlemen? Hosts should stand by good fellows. Listen, listen, host, I wish to make a comparison for you—for the reason——They laugh, do they? I am a little gay, I know; but the reasons, I say, are just. Tell me, if you please, who is it that brings custom to your house? Poor young men, is it not? Do these lords, they of the proclamations, ever come here to wet their lips?”
“They are all water-drinkers,” said one who sat near Renzo.
“They wish to keep possession of their understandings, so as to tell lies skilfully,” added another.
“Ah!” cried Renzo, “that is the poet who spoke. Then hear my reasons. Answer me, host. Ferrer, who is the best of all of them, has he ever been here to drink the health of any one, and to spend so much as a farthing? And this dog of an assassin, this Don ——? I must be silent, because I am too much in the humour for babbling. Ferrer, and Father Crr——, I know, are two honest men. But there are few honest men. The old are worse than the young; and the young—are much worse than the old. I am glad there was no blood shed, these are things we must leave to the hangman. Bread! Oh yes, for that I have had many a thrust, but I have also given some. Make way! Abundance!vivat!And Ferrer too—some words in Latin,—Si es baraos trapolorum.Cursed fault!vivat!justice! bread! Ah, those are good words! We had need of them. When we heard that cursed ton, ton, ton, and then again, ton, ton, ton, the question was not of flight; but hold the signor curate to—I, I know what I am thinking of.”
At these words he hung down his head, and remained for a time as if absorbed by some new imagination; then, sighing deeply, he raised it again, and looked up with such a mournful and silly expression, as excited the amusement of all around. In short, he became the laughingstock of the whole company. Not that they were all perfectly sober, but, to say truth, they were so in comparison with poor Renzo. They provoked and angered him with silly questions, and with mock civilities; sometimes he pretended to be offended, then, without noticing them at all, spoke of other things; then replied, then interrogated, and always wide of the mark. By good fortune, in his folly, he seemed from instinct to avoid pronouncing the names of persons; so that the one most deeply graven in his memory was not uttered. We should have been sorry ourselves if this name, for which we feel so much love and respect, had passed from mouth to mouth, and been made a theme of jesting by these vulgar and degraded wretches.
The host, seeing that the game was about to be carried too far, approached Renzo, and entreating the others to be quiet, endeavoured to make him understand that he had best go to bed. But our mountaineer could think of nothing butname,surname, andproclamations; yet the wordsbedandsleep, repeated frequently in his ear, made at last some impression, and producing a sort of lucid interval, made him feel that he really had need of both. The little sense that remained to him enabled him to perceive that the greater part of the company had departed; and with his hands resting on the table before him, he endeavoured to stand on his feet; his efforts would have been, however, unavailing, without the assistance of the host, who led him from between the table and the bench, and taking a lantern in one hand, managed partly to lead and partly to drag him to the stairs, and thence up the narrow staircase to the room designed for him. At the sight of the bed, he endeavoured to look kindly upon the host; but his eyes at one time sparkled, at another disappeared, like two fireflies: he endeavoured to stand erect, and stretched out his hand to pat the shoulder of his host in testimony of his gratitude; but in this he failed: however he did succeed in saying, “Worthy host, I see now that you are an honest man; but I don’t like your rage fornameandsurname. Happily I am also——”
The host, who did not expect to hear him utter one connected idea, and who knew from experience how prone men in his situation were to sudden changes of feeling, wishing to profit by this lucid interval, made another attempt. “My dear fellow,” said he, in a tone of persuasion, “I have not intended to vex you, nor to pry into your affairs. What would you have had me do? There is a law, and if we innkeepers do not obey it, we shall be the first to be punished; therefore it is better to conform. And after all, as regards yourself, what is it? A hard thing, indeed! just to say two words. It is not for them, but to do me a favour. Now, here, between ourselves, tell me yourname, and then you shall go to bed in peace.”
“Ah, rascal! knave!” cried Renzo, “do you dare to bring up this cursednameandsurnameandbusinessagain?”
“Hush! you fool! and go to bed,” said the host.
But Renzo continued to bellow, “I understand it, you belong to the league. Wait, wait, till I settle matters for you;” and turning to the door, he bellowed down the stairs, “Friends! the host is of the——”
“I spoke in jest,” cried the host, pushing him towards the bed, “in jest; did you not perceive I spoke in jest?”
“Ah, in jest; now you talk reasonably. Since you said it in jest—they are just the thing to make a jest of——.” And he fell on the bed. “Undress yourself quickly,” said the host; and adding his assistance to his advice, the thought occurred to him, to ascertain if there were any money in Renzo’s pockets, as on the morrow it would fall into hands from which an innkeeper would have but little chance of recovering it; he therefore hazarded another attempt, saying to Renzo, “You are an honest youth, are you not?”
“Yes, an honest youth,” replied Renzo, still endeavouring to rid himself of his clothes.
“Well, settle this little account with me now, because to-morrow I am obliged to leave home on business.”
“That’s right,” said Renzo “I am honest. But the money—we must find the money——!”
“Here it is,” said the host; and calling up all his patience and skill, he succeeded in obtaining the reckoning.
“Lend me your hand to finish undressing, host,” said Renzo; “I begin to comprehend, do you see, that——I am very sleepy.”
The host rendered him the desired service, and covering him with the quilt, bade him “Good night.”
The words were scarcely uttered before poor Renzo snored. The host stopped to contemplate him a moment by the light of his lantern; “Mad blockhead!” said he to the poor sleeper, “thou hast accomplished thy own ruin! dunces, who want to travel over the world, without knowing where the sun rises, to entangle themselves with affairs they know nothing of, to their own injury and that of their neighbour!”
So saying, he left the apartment, having locked the door outside, and calling to his wife, told her to take his place in the kitchen, “Because,” said he, “I must go out for a while, thanks to a stranger who is here, unhappily for me;” he then briefly related the annoying circumstance, adding, “And now keep an eye on all, and above all be prudent. There is below a company of dissolute fellows, who, between drink and their natural disposition, are very very free of speech. Enough—if any of them should dare——”
“Oh! I am not a child! I know what I ought to do. It could never be said——”
“Well, well. Be careful to make them pay. If they talk of the superintendant of provision, the governor, Ferrer, and the council of ten, and the gentry, and Spain and France, and other follies, pretend not to hear them, because, if you contradict them, it may go ill with you now, and if you argue with them, it may go ill with you hereafter; and take care, when you hear any dangerous remarks, turn away your head, and call out ‘Coming, sir.’ I will endeavour to return as soon as possible.”
So saying, he descended with her into the kitchen, put on his hat and cloak, and taking a cudgel in his hand, departed. As he walked along the road, he resumed the thread of his apostrophe to poor Renzo. “Headstrong mountaineer!”—for that Renzo was such, had been manifest from his pronunciation, countenance, and manners, although he vainly tried to conceal it,—“on a day like this, when by dint of skill and prudence I had kept my hands clean, you must come at the end of it to spoil all I have done! Are there not inns enough in Milan, that you must come to mine! at least, if you had been alone, I would have winked at it for to-night, and made you understand matters to-morrow. But no; my gentleman must come in company, and, to do the thing better, in company with an informer.”
At this moment he perceived a patrole of soldiers approaching; drawing on one side to let them pass, and eyeing them askance, he continued, “There go the fool-punishers. And thou, great booby, because thou saw’st a few people making a little noise, thou must think the world was turned upside down; and on this fine foundation thou hast ruined thyself and would have ruined me; I have done all I could to save thee, now thou must get thyself out of trouble. As if I wanted to know thy name from curiosity! What was it to me whether it were Thaddeus or Bartholomew? I have truly great satisfaction in taking a pen in my hand! I know well enough that there are proclamations which are disregarded; just as if we had need of a mountaineer to tell us that! And dost thou not know, thou fool! what would be done to a poor innkeeper, who should be of thy opinion (since upon them the proclamation bear hardest), and should not inform himself of the name of any one who did him the favour to lodge at his house.Under penalty of whoever of the above-said hosts, tavern keepers, and others, of three hundred crowns,—behold three hundred crowns hatched; and now to spend them well,—two thirds to be applied to the royal chamber, and the other third to the accuser or informer. And in case of inability, five years in the galleys, and greater pecuniary and corporal punishments, at the discretion of his Excellency.Very much obliged for such favours, indeed!” He ended his soliloquy, finding himself at his destined point, the palace of theCapitano di Giustizia.
There, as in all the offices of the secretaries, there was a great deal of business going on; on all sides, persons were employed in issuing orders to ensure the peace of the following day, to take from rebellion every pretext, to cool the audacity of those who were desirous of fresh disorders, and to concentrate power in the hands of those accustomed to exercise it. The number of the soldiers who protected the house of the superintendant was increased; the ends of the streets were defended by large pieces of timber thrown across them; the bakers were ordered to bake bread without intermission; expresses were sent to all the surrounding villages, with orders to send corn into the city; and at every baker’s some of the nobility were stationed, to watch over the distribution, and to restrain the discontented by fair words and the authority of their presence. But to give, as they said, a blow to the hoop, and another to the cask, and increase the efficacy of their caresses by a little awe, they took measures to seize some of the seditious, and this was the principal duty of theCapitano di Giustizia. His blood-hounds had been in the field since the commencement of the tumult; and this self-styled Ambrose Fusella was a police officer in disguise, who, having listened to the famous sermon of Renzo, concluded him to be fair game. Finding that he had but newly arrived from his village, he would have conducted him immediately to prison, as the safest inn in the city; but in this, as we have seen, he did not succeed. He could, however, carry to the police certain information of hisname,surname, andcountry, besides many other conjectures; so that when the host arrived to tell what he knew of Renzo, their knowledge was already more precise than his. He entered the accustomed hall, and gave in his deposition, that a stranger had come to lodge at his house, who would not tell his name.
“You have done your duty in giving us the information,” said a notary, laying down his pen; “but we know it already.”
“That is very singular!” thought the host; “you must have a great deal of cunning.”
“And we know also,” continued the notary, “this famous name.”
“The devil! the name also. How do they know that?” thought the host again.
“But,” resumed the notary, with a serious air, “you do not tell all.”
“What is there more to tell?”
“Ah! ah! we know well that this man carried to your house a quantity of stolen bread—bread acquired by theft and sedition.”
“A man comes with bread in his pocket; am I to know where he got it? if it was on my death-bed, I can say, I only saw him have one loaf.”
“Thus it is! you are always excusing and defending yourselves! If we were to take your word for it, you are all honest people. How can you prove that this bread was honestly acquired?”
“Why need I prove it? it is nothing to me. I am an innkeeper.”
“You cannot, however, deny, that this, your customer, had the audacity to complain of the proclamations, and make indecent jokes on the arms of his Excellency.”
“Pardon me, signor; how could he be my customer, when I never saw him before? It was the devil, saving your presence, who sent him to my house. If I had known him, there would have been no need of asking his name, as your honour knows.”
“However, in your inn, and in your presence, seditious and inflammatory conversation has been held; your customers have been riotous, clamorous, and complaining.”
“How would your honour expect me to pay attention to the absurdities uttered by a parcel of brawlers. I attend only to my own affairs, for I am a poor man. And then your honour knows, that those who are lavish of their tongue, are often lavish of their fists, especially when there are many together.”
“Yes, yes, they may have their way now; to-morrow—to-morrow, we will see if the heat is dislodged from their brains. What do you think?”
“I don’t know.”
“That the mob will become masters in Milan?”
“Certainly!”
“You shall see, you shall see.”
“I understand—I know the king will be always the king; but he who has taken any thing will keep it. Naturally a poor father of a family has no desire to give back; your honours have the power; that belongs to you.”
“Have you still some people at your house?”
“A number.”
“And this your customer, what is he about? Is he still labouring to excite the people to sedition?”
“This stranger, your honour means; he is gone to sleep.”
“Then you have a number? Well, be careful not to let them go away.”
“Am I to play the constable?” thought the host, but said nothing.
“Return to your house, and be prudent,” resumed the notary.
“I have always been prudent. Your honour can say that I have never made any disturbance.”
“Well, well; but do not think that justice has lost its power.”
“I! Good heavens! I think nothing. I am an innkeeper.”
“The same old tune. Have you nothing more to say?”
“What else would your honour have me say? Truth is one.”
“Well; you have done enough for to-day: but to-morrow, we will see; you must give more full information, and answer all questions that shall be put to you.”
“What information have I to give? I know nothing; I have hardly brains enough to attend to my own affairs.”
“Take care not to let him go away.”
“I hope your honour will remember that I have done my duty. Your honour’s humble servant.”
On the following morning, Renzo was still in a sound and deep sleep, when he was suddenly roused by a shaking of the arms, and by a voice at the foot of the bed, crying, “Lorenzo Tramaglino!” He sat up, and rubbing his eyes, perceived a man clothed in black standing at the foot of his bed, and two others, one on each side of the bolster. Between surprise, sleep, and the fumes of the wine, he remained a moment stupified, believing himself to be still dreaming.
“Ah! you have heard at last! Lorenzo Tramaglino,” said the man in black, the notary of the preceding evening. “Up, up; get up, and come with us.”
“Lorenzo Tramaglino!” said Renzo Tramaglino. “What does this mean? What do you want with me? Who has told you my name?”
“Few words, and get up quickly,” said one of the men at his side, seizing him by the arm.
“Oh! oh! what violence is this?” cried Renzo, drawing away his arm. “Host! oh! host!”
“Shall we carry him off in his shirt?” said one of the officers; turning to the notary.
“Did you hear what he said?” said he to Renzo; “we will do so, if you do not rise quickly, and come with us!”
“Why?” demanded Renzo.
“You will hear that from theCapitano di Giustizia.”
“I! I am an honest man; I have done nothing; I am astonished——”
“So much the better for you! so much the better for you! In two words you will be dismissed, and then go about your affairs.”
“Let me go now, then; there is no reason why I should go before thecapitano.”
“Come, let us finish the business,” said an officer.
“We shall be obliged to carry him off!” said the other.
“Lorenzo Tramaglino!” said the notary.
“How does your honour know my name?”
“Do your duty,” said he to the men, who attempted to draw Renzo from the bed.
“Oh! don’t touch me! I can dressmyself.”
“Dress yourself, then, and get up,” said the notary.
“I will,” said Renzo, and he gathered his clothes, scattered here and there on the bed, like the fragments of a shipwreck on the coast. Whilst engaged in the act of dressing, he continued, “but I will not go to theCapitano di Giustizia; I have nothing to do with him: since you put this affront on me, I wish to be conducted to Ferrer; I am acquainted with him; I know he is an honest man, and he is under obligations to me.”
“Yes, yes, my good fellow, you shall be conducted to Ferrer,” replied the notary.
In other circumstances he would have laughed heartily at the absurdity of such a proposition, but he felt that this was not a moment for merriment. On his way to the inn, he had perceived so many people abroad, such a stirring—some collecting in small quantities, others gathering in crowds—that he was not able to determine whether they were the remnants of the old insurrection not entirely suppressed, or the beginnings of a new one. And now, without appearing to do so, he listened, and thought the buzzing increased. He felt haste to be of importance; but he did not dare to take Renzo against his will, lest, finding himself in the street, he might take advantage of public sympathy, and endeavour to escape from his hands. He made a sign to his officers to be patient, and not exasperate the youth; whilst he himself sought to appease him with fair words.
Renzo meanwhile began to have a confused recollection of the events of the preceding day, and to comprehend that theproclamations,name, andsurname, were the cause of all this trouble; but how the devil did this man know his name? And what the devil had happened during the night, that they should come to lay hands on one, who, the day before, had such a voice in the assembly, which could not be yet dispersed, because he also heard a growing murmur in the street. He perceived also the agitation which the notary vainly endeavoured to conceal; therefore, to feel his pulse, and clear up his own conjectures, as well as to gain time, he said, “I comprehend the cause of all this, it is on account of thenameandsurname. Last night, ’tis true, I was a little merry; these hosts have such treacherous wine and, you know, often when wine passes through the channel of speech, it will have its say too. But if that is all the difficulty, I am ready to give you every satisfaction. Besides, you know my name already. Who the devil told it to you?”
“Bravo! my good fellow, bravo!” replied the notary in a tone of encouragement. “I see you are in the right, and you must believe that I am also. I am only following my trade. You are more tractable than others. It is the easiest way to get out of the difficulty quickly. With such an accommodating spirit, you will soon be set at liberty; but my hands are tied, and I cannot release you now, although I would wish to do so. Be of good courage, and come on boldly. When they see who you are—and I will tell—Leave it to me—quick, quick, my good fellow!”
“Ah! you cannot! I understand,” said Renzo. “Shall we pass by the square of the cathedral?”
“Where you choose. We will go the shortest road, that you may be the sooner at liberty,” said he, inwardly cursing his stars at being unable to follow up this mysterious demand of Renzo’s, which might have been made the subject of a hundred interrogatories. “Miserable that I am!” thought he, “here is a fellow fallen into my hands, who likes no better fun than to prate. Were there but a little time, he would confess all in the way of friendly discourse, without the aid of rope. Ay! and without perceiving it too. But that he should fall into my hands at such an unlucky moment.—Well, it can’t be helped,” thought he, while turning his head and listening to the noise without, “there is no remedy: this will be a hotter day than yesterday!”
That which gave rise to this last thought was an extraordinary uproar in the street, which tempted him to open the window and reconnoitre. There was a concourse of citizens, who, at the order given them by the patrole to separate, had resisted for a while, and then moved off, on all sides, in evident discontent. It was a fatal sign to the eyes of the notary, that the soldiers treated them with much politeness. He closed the window, and remained for a moment undecided, whether he should conduct the enterprise to an end, or, leaving Renzo in the care of the bailiffs, go himself to theCapitano di Giustizia, and relate the whole difficulty. “But,” thought he, “he will tell me I am a poltroon, a coward, and that it was my business to execute orders. We are at the ball; we must dance, it seems. Cursed crowd! what a damned business!” He, however addressed Renzo in a tone of kind entreaty, “Come, my worthy fellow, do let us be off, and make haste.”
Renzo, however, was not without his thoughts. He was almost dressed, with the exception of his doublet, into the pockets of which he was fumbling. “Oh!” said he, regarding the notary significantly, “Oh! I had a letter, and some money here, once, sir!”
“When these formalities are over, all shall be faithfully restored to you. Come, come, let us be off.”
“No, no, no!” said Renzo, shaking his head, “that won’t do: I must have what belongs to me, sir. I will render an account of my actions, but I must have what belongs to me.”
“I will show you that I have confidence in you; here they are. And now make haste,” said the notary, drawing from his bosom the sequestered goods, and consigning them, with something like a sigh, to Renzo, who muttered between his teeth, as he put them in his pocket, “You have so much to do with thieves, that you have learned the trade!”
“If I get you once safe out of the house, you shall pay this with interest,” thought the notary.
As Renzo was putting on his hat, the notary made a sign to the officers, that one of them should go before, and the other follow the prisoner; and as they passed through the kitchen, and whilst Renzo was saying, “And this blessed host, where has he fled?” they seized, one his right hand, the other the left, and skilfully slipped over his wrists, hand-fetters, as they were called, which, according to the customs of the times, consisted of a cord, a little longer than the usual size of the fist, which had at the two ends two small pieces of wood. The cord encircled the wrist of the patient; the captor held the pegs in his hand, so that he could, by twisting them, tighten the cord at will, and this enabled him, not only to secure the prisoner, but also to torment him, if restless; and, to ensure this more effectually, the cord was full of knots.
Renzo struggled and exclaimed, “What treachery is this? to an honest man!” But the notary, who had fair words prepared for every occasion, said, “Be patient, they only do their duty. What would you have? It is a mere ceremony. We cannot treat people as we would wish. If we did not obey orders, we should be worse off than you. Be patient.”
As he spoke, the two operators twisted the pegs; Renzo plunged like a skittish horse upon the bit, and cried, “Patience, indeed!”
“But, worthy young man,” said the notary, “it is the only way to come off well in these affairs. It is troublesome, I confess, but it will soon be over; and since I see you so well disposed, I feel an inclination to serve you, and will give you another piece of advice for your good, which is, to pass on quietly, looking neither to right nor left, so as to attract notice. If you do this, no one will pay any attention to you, and you will preserve your honour. In one hour you will be at liberty. There are so many other things to be done, that your business will soon be despatched; and then I will tell them——. You shall have your liberty, and no one will know you have been in the hands of the law. And you,” pursued he, addressing his followers in a tone of severity, “do him no harm, because I take him under my protection. You must do your duty, I know; but remember that this is a worthy and honest youth, who in a little while will be at liberty, and who has a regard for his honour. Let nothing appear but that you are three peaceable men, walking together. You understand me!” and smoothing his brow, and twisting his face into a gracious smile, he said to Renzo, “A little prudence,—do as I tell you; do not look about; trust to one who has your interest at heart! And now let us begone.” And the convoy moved forward.
But of all these fine speeches Renzo believed not a word. He understood very well the fears that prevailed over the mind of the notary, and his exhortations only served to confirm him in his purpose to escape; and to this end to act directly contrary to the advice given him. No one must conclude from this that the notary was an inexperienced knave. On the contrary, he was master of his trade, but at the present moment his spirits were agitated. At another time he would have ridiculed any one for pursuing the measures he had now himself employed, but his agitation had deprived him of his accustomed cunning and self-possession. We would recommend, therefore, to all knaves by trade, to maintain on all occasions theirsang froid, or, what is better, never to place themselves in difficult circumstances.
Renzo, then, hardly found himself in the street, when he began to look around, and listen eagerly. There was not, however, an extraordinary concourse of people; and although on the countenance of more than one passer-by you could read an expression of discontent and sedition, yet each one pursued his way in quietness.
“Prudence! prudence!” murmured the notary behind him. “Your honour, young man, your honour.”
But when Renzo heard three men, who were approaching, talk of a bakery, of flour concealed, of justice, he began to make signs to them, and cough in such a manner, as indicated any thing but a cold. They looked attentively at the convoy, and stopped; others who had passed by, turned back, and kept themselves a short distance off.
“Take care; be prudent, my good fellow; do not spoil all; your honour, your reputation,” said the notary in a low voice, but unheeded by Renzo. The men again twisted the pegs.
“Ah! ah! ah!” cried the prisoner. At this cry the crowd thickened around; they gathered from all parts of the street. The convoy was stopped! “He is a wicked fellow,” said the notary in a whisper to those nearest him; “he is a thief taken in the fact. Draw back, and let justice have its way.” But Renzo perceived that the occasion was favourable: he saw the officers pale and almost dead with fright. “If I do not help myself now,” thought he, “so much the worse for me;” and raising his voice, he cried, “My friends; they are carrying me off, because I cried, ‘Bread! and justice!’ yesterday. I have done nothing; I am an honest man! Help me, do not abandon me, my friends.”
He was answered by a light murmur, which soon changed to an unanimous cry in his favour. The officers ordered, requested, and entreated those nearest them to go off, and leave their passage free; but the crowd continued to press around. The officers, at the sight of the danger, left their prisoner, and endeavoured to lose themselves in the throng, for the purpose of escaping without being observed; and the notary desired heartily to do the same, but found it more difficult on account of his black cloak. Pale as death, he endeavoured, by twisting his body to work his way through the crowd. He studied to appear a stranger, who, passing accidentally, had found himself in the crowd like a bit of straw in the ice; and finding himself face to face with a man who looked at him more intently and sternly than the rest, he composed his countenance to a smile, and asked, “What is this confusion?”
“Oh! you ugly raven!” replied he. “A raven! a raven!” resounded from all sides. To the cries they added threats, so that, finally, partly with his own legs, partly with the elbows of others, he succeeded in obtaining a release from the squabble.