第 十三 章 · Chapter XIII

.

The unfortunate superintendent was at this moment painfully digesting

his miserable dinner, whilst awaiting anxiously the termination of this

hurricane; he was, however, far from suspecting that its greatest fury

was to be spent on himself. Some benevolent persons hastened forward to

inform him of his urgent peril. The servants, drawn to the door by the

uproar, beheld, in affright, the dense mass advancing. While they

listened to the friendly notice, the vanguard appeared; one hastily

informed his master; and while he, for a moment, deliberated upon

flight, another came to say there was no longer time for it; in hurry

and confusion they closed and barricadoed the windows and the doors. The

howling without increased; each corner of the house resounded with it;

and in the midst of the vast and mingled noise was heard, fearfully and

distinctly, the blows of stones upon the door. “The tyrant! the tyrant!

the causer of famine! we must have him, living or dead!”

The poor man wandered from room to room in a state of insupportable

alarm, commending himself to God, and beseeching his servants to be

firm, and to find for him some way of escape! He ascended to the highest

floor, and, from an opening between the garret and the roof, he looked

anxiously out upon the street, and beheld it filled with the enraged

populace; more appalled than ever, he withdrew to seek the most secure

and secret hiding-place. Here, concealed, he listened intently to

ascertain if at any time the importunate transport of passion should

weaken, if the tumult should in any degree subside; but his heart died

within him to hear the uproar continue with aggravated and savage

ferocity.

Renzo at this time found himself in the thickest of the confusion, not

now carried there by the press, but by his own inclination. At the first

proposal of blood-shedding, he felt his own curdle in his veins; as to

the plundering, he was not quite certain whether it was right or wrong;

but the idea of murder caused him unmixed horror. And although he was

greatly persuaded that the vicar was the primary cause of the famine,

the grand criminal, still, having, at the first movement of the crowd,

heard, by chance, some expressions which indicated a willingness to make

any effort to save him, he had suddenly determined to aid such a work,

and had therefore pressed near the door, which was assailed in a

thousand ways. Some were pounding the lock to break it in pieces; others

assisted with stakes, and chisels, and hammers; others, again, tore away

the plastering, and beat in pieces the wall, in order to effect a

breach. The rest, who were unable to get near the house, encouraged by

their shouts those who were at the work of destruction; though,

fortunately, through the eagerness with which they pressed forward, they

impeded its progress.

The magistrates, who were the first to have notice of the fray,

despatched a messenger to ask military aid of the commander of the

castle, which was then called, from the gate, Giovia; and he forthwith

detached a troop, which arrived when the house was encompassed with the

throng, and undergoing its tremendous assault; and was therefore obliged

to halt at a distance from it, and at the extremity of the crowd. The

officer who commanded it did not know what course to pursue; at the

order to disperse and make way, the people replied by a deep and

continued murmur, but no one moved. To fire on the crowd appeared not

only savage, but perilous, inasmuch as the most harmless might be

injured, and the most ferocious only irritated, and prepared for further

mischief; and moreover his instructions did not authorise it. To break

the crowd, and go forward with his band to the house, would have been

the best, if success could have been certain; but who could tell if the

soldiers could proceed united and in order? The irresolution of the

commander seemed to proceed from fear: the populace were unmoved by the

appearance of the soldiers, and continued their attacks on the house. At

a little distance there stood an ill-looking, half-starved old man, who,

contracting an angry countenance to a smile of diabolical complacency,

brandished above his hoary head a hammer, with which he said he meant to

nail the vicar to the posts of his door, alive as he was.

“Oh, shame! shame!” exclaimed Renzo. “Shame! would you take the

hangman’s business out of his hand? to assassinate a Christian? How can

you expect God will give us bread, if we commit such iniquity? He will

send us his thunders, and not bread!”

“Ah! dog! ah! traitor to the country!” cried one who had heard these

words, turning to Renzo with the countenance of a demon. “It is a

servant of the vicar’s disguised like a countryman; it is a spy!” A

hundred voices were heard exclaiming, “Who is it? where is he?”—“A

servant of the vicar’s—a spy—the vicar himself, escaping in the

disguise of a peasant!”—“Where is he? where is he?”

Renzo would have shrunk into nothingness,—some of the more benevolent

contrived to help him to disappear through the crowd; but that which

preserved him most effectually was a cry of “Make way, here comes our

help, make way!” which attracted the attention of the throng.

This was a long scaling ladder, supported by a few persons who were

endeavouring to penetrate the living mass, and by which they meant to

gain entrance to the house. But, happily, this was not easy of

execution; the length of the machine precluded the possibility of its

being carried easily through such a multitude; it came, however, just in

time for Renzo, who profited by the confusion, and escaped to a

distance, with the intention of making his way, as soon as he could, to

the convent, in search of Father Bonaventura.

Suddenly a new movement began at one extremity, and diffused itself

through the crowd:—“Ferrer, Ferrer!” resounded from every side. Some

were surprised, some rejoiced, some were exasperated, some applauded,

some affirmed, some denied, some blessed, some cursed!

“Is he here? It is not true; it is not true. Yes, yes, long live Ferrer,

he who makes bread cheap.—No, no! He is here—here in a carriage! Why

does he come?—we don’t want him.—Ferrer! long live Ferrer! the friend

of the poor! he comes to take the vicar prisoner.—No, no, we would

revenge _ourselves_, we would fight our own battles; back, back.—Yes,

yes, Ferrer! Let him come! to prison with the vicar!”

At the extremity of the crowd, on the side opposite to that where the

soldiers were, Antonio Ferrer, the high chancellor, was approaching in

his carriage, who, probably condemning himself as the cause of this

commotion, had come to avert at least its most terrific and irreparable

effects, to spend worthily a popularity unworthily acquired.

In popular tumults there are always some who, from heated passion, or

fanaticism, or wicked design, do what they can to push things to the

worst; proposing and promoting the most barbarous counsels, and

assisting to stir the fire whenever it appears to slacken. But, on the

other hand, there are always those who, perhaps with equal ardour, and

equal perseverance, employ their efforts for the production of contrary

effects; some led by friendship or partiality for the persons in danger,

others without other impulse than that of horror of bloodshed and

atrocity. The mass, then, is ever composed of a mixed assemblage, who,

by indefinite gradations, hold to one or the other extreme; prompt to

rage or compassion, to adoration or execration, according as the

occasion presents itself for the developement of either of these

sentiments: _life_ and _death_ are the words involuntarily uttered, and

with equal facility; and he who succeeds in persuading them that such an

one does not deserve to be quartered, has but little more to do, to

convince them that he ought to be carried in triumph.

While these various interests were contending for superiority in the

mob, before the house of the vicar, the appearance of Antonio Ferrer

gave instantly a great advantage to the humane, who were manifestly

yielding to the greater strength of the ferocious and blood-thirsty. The

man himself was acceptable to the multitude, from his having previously

favoured their cause, and from his heroic resistance to any arguments

against it. Those already favourably inclined towards him were now much

more affected by the courageous confidence of an old man, who, without

guards or retinue, came thus to confront an angry and stormy multitude.

The announcement that his purpose was to take the vicar prisoner,

produced at once a wonderful effect; and the fury against that unhappy

person, which would have been aggravated by any attempt at defiance, or

refusal of concession, now, with the promise of satisfaction, and, to

speak in the Milanese fashion, with this bone in the mouth, became in a

degree appeased, and gave place to other opposite sentiments, which

began to prevail over their minds.

The partisans of peace, having recovered breath, aided Ferrer in various

ways; those who were near him, while endeavouring by their own to

perpetuate the general applause, sought at the same time to keep off the

crowd, so as to open a passage for the carriage; others applauded and

repeated his words, or such as appeared appropriate to his undertaking

and his peril; imposed silence on the obstinately furious, or contrived

to turn against _them_ the anger of the fickle assembly. “Who is it that

will not say, Long live Ferrer? You don’t wish bread to be cheap, then,

eh? They are rogues who are not willing to receive justice at the hands

of a Christian, and there are some among them who cry louder than the

rest, to allow the vicar to escape. To prison with the superintendent!

Long live Ferrer! Make way for Ferrer!” The numbers of those who spoke

in this manner increasing continually, the numbers of the opposite party

diminished in proportion; so that the former, from admonishing, had

recourse to blows, in order to silence those who were still disposed to

pursue the work of destruction. The menaces and threatenings of the

weaker party were of no longer avail; the cause of blood had ceased to

predominate, and in its place were heard only the cries of “Prison,

justice, Ferrer!” The rebellious spirits were finally silenced: the

remainder took possession of the door, in order to defend it from fresh

attacks, and also to prepare a passage for Ferrer; and some among them

called to those within (openings were not wanting) that succour had

arrived, and that the vicar must get ready “to go quickly—to

prison—hem! do you hear?”

“Is this the Ferrer who helps in making the proclamations?” asked our

Renzo of one of his new neighbours, remembering the _vidit Ferrera_ that

the doctor had shown him appended to the famous proclamation, and which

he had reiterated in his ears with so great a degree of pertinacity.

“The same, the high chancellor,” replied he.

“He is a worthy man, is he not?”

“He is more than worthy; it is he who has lowered the price of bread,

against the wishes of others in power, and now he comes to carry the

vicar to prison, because he has not acted justly.”

It is unnecessary to say, that Renzo’s feelings were immediately

enlisted on the side of Ferrer. He was desirous to approach near him,

but the undertaking was no easy one; however, with the decision and

strength of a mountaineer, he continued to elbow himself through the

crowd, and finally reached the side of the carriage.

The carriage had already penetrated into the midst of the crowd, but was

here suddenly stopped by one of those obstructions, the unavoidable

consequence of a journey like this. The aged Ferrer presented, now at

one window of his carriage, now at the other, a countenance full of

humility, of sweetness, and benevolence; a countenance which he had

always kept in reserve for the day in which he should appear before Don

Philip IV.; but he was constrained to make use of it on this occasion.

He spoke; but the noise and buzzing of so many voices, and the shouts of

applause which they bestowed on him, allowed but little of his discourse

to be heard. He had recourse also to gestures; now placing his fingers

on his lips, to take from thence a kiss, which his enclosed hands

distributed to right and left, as if to render thanks for the favour

with which the public regarded him; then he extended them, waving them

slowly beyond the window as if to entreat a little space; and now again

lowering them politely, as if to request a little silence. When he had

succeeded in obtaining, in some measure, his last request, those who

were nearest to him heard and repeated his words:—“Bread, abundance. I

come to do justice; a little space, if you please.” Then, as if stifled

and suffocated with the press, and the continual buzzing of so many

voices, he threw himself back in the carriage, and with difficulty

drawing a long breath, said to himself, “_Por mi vida, que de

gente_.”[5]

[5]: Upon my life, what a multitude.

“Long live Ferrer; there is no occasion for fear; you are a brave man.

Bread! bread!”

“Yes, bread, bread,” replied Ferrer, “in abundance! _I_ promise you, I

do,” placing his hand on his heart. “Clear a passage for me,” added he,

then, in the loudest voice he could command; “I come to carry him to

prison, to inflict on him a just punishment;” and he added, in a very

low tone, “_Si esta culpable_.”[6] Then leaning forward to the coachman,

he said hastily, “_Adelante, Pedro, si puedes_.”[7]

[6] If he is guilty.

[7] Go on, Pedro, if you can.

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.

[8] On, on, but be careful.

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.

[9] If he is guilty.

[10] Oh, oh! take care.

[11] On, Pedro, but be careful.

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]

[12] Come with me.

[13] Now for the difficult point! God help us!

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]

[14] It is to coax them.

[15] I say that for your good.

[16] Pardon me.

[17] If he is guilty.

[18] Courage, we are almost out of danger.

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!

[19] I kiss your hands.

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.”

[20] Rise, rise, we are beyond danger.

[21] What will his excellency say to this?

[22] What will the count duke say?

[23] What will the king our master say?

[24] God knows.

“_Usted_[25] will do that which is best _por el servicio de su

majestad_,” replied the high chancellor, gravely.

[25] You—for his majesty’s service.

“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.