This was the second year of the scarcity; in the preceding one, the
provisions, remaining from past years, had supplied in some measure the
deficiency, and we find the population neither altogether satisfied, nor
yet starved; but certainly unprovided for in the year 1628, the period
of our story. Now this harvest, so anxiously desired, was still more
deficient than that of the past year, partly from the character of the
season itself (and that not only in the Milanese but also in the
surrounding country), and partly from the instrumentality of men. The
havoc of the war, of which we have before made mention, had so
devastated the state, that a greater number of farms than ordinary
remained uncultivated and deserted by the peasants, who, instead of
providing, by their labour, bread for their families, were obliged to
beg it from door to door. We say a greater number of farms than
ordinary, because the insupportable taxes, levied with a cupidity and
folly unequalled; the habitual conduct, even in time of peace, of the
standing troops (conduct which the mournful documents of the age compare
to that of an invading army), and other causes which we cannot
enumerate, had for some time slowly operated to produce these sad
effects in all the Milanese,—the particular circumstances of which we
now speak were, therefore, like the unexpected exasperation of a chronic
disease. Hardly had this harvest been gathered, when the supplies for
the army, and the waste which always accompanies them, caused an
excessive scarcity, and with it its painful but profitable concomitant,
a high price upon provisions; but this, attaining a certain point,
always creates in the mind of the multitude a suspicion that scarcity is
not in reality the cause of it. They forget that they had both feared
and predicted it: they imagine all at once that there must be grain
sufficient, and that the evil lies in an unwillingness to sell it for
consumption. Preposterous as these suppositions were, they were
governed by them, so that the speculators in grain, real or imaginary,
the farmers, the bakers, became the object of their universal dislike.
They could tell certainly where there were magazines overflowing with
grain, and could even enumerate the number of sacks: they spoke with
assurance of the immense quantity of corn which had been despatched to
other places, where probably the people were deluded with a similar
story, and made to believe that the grain raised among _them_ had been
sent to Milan! They implored from the magistrate those precautions,
which always appear equitable and simple to the populace. The
magistrates complied, and fixed the price on each commodity, threatening
punishment to such as should refuse to sell; notwithstanding this, the
evil continued to increase. This the people attributed to the feebleness
of the remedies, and loudly called for some of a more decided character;
unhappily they found a man that was willing to grant them all they
should ask.
In the absence of the Governor Don Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova, who was
encamped beyond Casale, in Montferrat, the High Chancellor Antonio
Ferrer, also a Spaniard, supplied his place in Milan. He considered the
low price of bread to be in itself desirable, and vainly imagined that
an order from him would be sufficient to accomplish it. He fixed the
limit, therefore, at the price the bread would have had when corn was
thirty-three livres the bushel; whereas it was now as high as eighty.
Over the execution of these laws the people themselves watched, and were
determined to receive the benefit of them quickly. They assembled in
crowds before the bakers’ houses to demand bread at the price fixed;
there was no remedy; the bakers were employed night and day in supplying
their wants, inasmuch as the people, having a confused idea that the
privilege would be transient, ceased not to besiege their houses, in
order to enjoy to the utmost their temporary good fortune. The
magistrates threatened punishment—the multitude murmured at every delay
of the bakers in furnishing them. These remonstrated incessantly against
the iniquitous and insupportable weight of the burden imposed on them;
but Antonio Ferrer replied, that they had possessed great advantages in
times past, and now owed the public some reparation. Finally, the
council of ten (a municipal magistracy composed of nobles, which lasted
until the ninety-seventh year of the century just elapsed,) informed the
governor of the state in which things were, hoping that he would find
some remedy. Don Gonzalo, immersed in the business of war, named a
council, upon whom he conferred authority to fix a reasonable price upon
bread, so that both parties should be satisfied. The deputies assembled,
and after much deliberation felt themselves compelled to augment the
price of it: the bakers breathed, but the people became furious.
The evening preceding the day on which Renzo arrived at Milan, the
streets swarmed with people, who, governed by one common feeling,
strangers or friends, had intuitively united themselves in companies
throughout the city. Every observation tended to increase their rage and
their resentment; various opinions were given, and many exclamations
uttered; here, one declaimed aloud to a circle of bystanders, who
applauded vehemently; there, another more cautious, but not less
dangerous, was whispering in the ear of a neighbour or two, that
something must and would be done: in short, there was an incessant and
discordant din from the medley of men, women, and children, which
composed the various assemblages. There was now only required an impetus
to set the machine in motion, and reduce words to deeds; and an
opportunity soon presented itself. At the break of day little boys were
seen issuing from the bakers’ shops with baskets on their heads, loaded
with bread, which they were about to carry to their usual customers. The
appearance of one of these unlucky boys in an assembly of people was
like a squib thrown into a gunpowder mill. “Here is bread!” cried a
hundred voices at once. “Yes, for our tyrants, who swim in abundance,
and wish to make us die in hunger,” said one, who drew near the boy, and
seizing the basket, cried out, “Let us see.” The boy coloured, grew
pale, trembled, and would have entreated them to let him pass on, but
the words died on his lips; he then endeavoured to free himself from the
basket. “Down with the basket” was heard on all sides; it was seized by
many hands, and placed on the earth: they raised the napkin which
covered it, and a tepid fragrance diffused itself around. “We are
Christians also,” said one; “and have a right to eat bread as well as
other people:” so saying, he took a loaf and bit it; the rest followed
his example; and it is unnecessary to add, that in a few moments the
contents of the basket had disappeared. Those who had not been able to
secure any for themselves were irritated at the sight of their
neighbours’ gains, and animated by the facility of the enterprise, went
in search of other boys with baskets; as many, therefore, as they met
were stopped and plundered. Still the number who remained unsatisfied
was beyond comparison the greatest, and even the gainers were only
stimulated by their success to ampler enterprises; so that
simultaneously there was a shout from the crowd of “To the bake-house!
to the bake-house!”
In the street called the _Corsia de’ Servi_ there was, and is still, a
bakery of the same name,—a name that signifies in Tuscan the _Shop of
the Crutches_, and in Milanese is composed of such barbarous words, that
it is impossible to discover their sound from any rule of the
language.[4] To this place the throng approached: the shopkeepers were
listening to the sad relation of the boys, who had but just escaped with
their lives, when they heard a distant murmur, and beheld the crowd
advancing.
[4] El prestin di scansc.
“Shut, shut! quick, quick!” some ran to ask aid from the sheriff; others
in haste closed the shop, and barricadoed and secured the doors from
within. The throng thickened in front, and cries of “Bread, bread! open,
open!” were heard from every quarter. The sheriff arrived with a troop
of halberdiers. “Make way, make way, friends! home, home! make way for
the sheriff,” cried they. The people gave way a little, so that they
could draw themselves up in front of the door of the shop. “But,
friends,” cried the sheriff from this place, “what do you do here? Home,
home! have you no fear of God? What will our lord the king say? We do
not wish you harm; but go home. There is no good to be gained here for
soul or body. Home, home!” The crowd, regardless of his expostulations,
pressed forward, themselves being urged on by increasing multitudes
behind. “Make them draw back, that I may recover breath,” continued he
to the halberdiers, “but harm no one—we will endeavour to get into the
shop—make them keep back, and knock at the door.”—“Back, back,” cried
the halberdiers, presenting the but-ends of their arms; the throng
retreated a little; the sheriff knocked, crying to those within to open;
they obeyed, and he and his guard contrived to intrench themselves
within the house; then, appearing at a window above, “Friends,” cried
he, “go home. A general pardon to whoever shall return immediately to
their houses.”
“Bread, bread! open, open!” vociferated the crowd in reply.
“You shall have justice, friends; but return to your houses. You shall
have bread; but this is not the way to obtain it. Eh! what are you doing
below there? At the door of the house! hah! hah! Take care; it is a
criminal act. Eh! away with those tools! take down those hands! hah!
hah! You Milanese, who are famous throughout the world for your
benevolence, who have always been accounted good citi—— Ah! rascals!”
This rapid change of style was occasioned by a stone thrown by one of
these good citizens at the sheriff’s head. “Rascals! rascals!” continued
he, closing the window in a rage. The confusion below increased; stones
were thrown at the doors and windows, and they had nearly opened a way
into the shop. Meanwhile the master and boys of the shop, who were at
the windows of the story above, with a supply of stones (obtained
probably from the court-yard), threatened to throw them upon the crowd
if they did not disperse. Perceiving their threats to be of no avail,
they commenced putting them in execution.
“Ah! villains! ah! rogues! Is this the bread you give to the poor?” was
screamed from below. Many were wounded, two were killed; the fury of the
multitude increased; the doors were broken open, and the torrent rushed
through all the passages. At this, those within took refuge under the
shop floor; the sheriff and the halberdiers hid themselves beneath the
tiles; others escaped by the skylights, and wandered upon the roofs like
cats.
The sight of their prey made the conquerors forget their designs of
sanguinary vengeance; some rushed to the chests, and plundered them of
bread; others hastened to force the locks of the counter, and took from
thence handfulls of money, which they pocketed, and then returned to
take more bread, if there should remain any. Others, again, entered the
interior magazines, and, throwing out part of the flour, reduced the
bags to a portable size; some attacked a kneading trough, and made a
booty of the dough; a few had made a prize of a bolting cloth, which
they raised in the air as in triumph, and, in addition to all, men,
women, and children were covered with a cloud of white powder.
While this shop was so ransacked, none of the others in the city
remained quiet, or free from danger. But at none had the people
assembled in such numbers as to be very daring; in some, the owners had
provided auxiliaries, and were on the defensive; in others, the owners
less strong in numbers, and more affrighted, endeavoured to compromise
matters; they distributed bread to those who crowded around their shops,
and thus got rid of them. And these did not depart so much because they
were content with the acquisition, as from fear of the halberdiers and
officers of justice, who were now scattered throughout the city, in
companies sufficient to keep these little bands of mutineers in
subjection. In the mean time the tumult and the crowd increased in front
of the unfortunate bakery, as the strength of the populace had here the
advantage. Things were in this situation, when Renzo, coming from the
eastern gate, approached, without knowing it, the scene of tumult.
Hurried along by the crowd, he endeavoured to extract from the confused
shouting of the throng some more positive information of the real state
of affairs.
“Now the infamous imposition of these rascals is discovered,” said one;
“they said there was neither bread, flour, nor corn. Now we know things
just as they are, and they can no longer deceive us.”
“I tell you that all this answers no purpose,” said another; “it will
do no good unless justice be done to us. Bread will be cheap enough,
’tis true, but they will put poison in it to make the poor die like
flies. They have already said we are too numerous, I know they have; I
heard it from one of my acquaintances, who is a friend of a relation of
a scullion of one of the lords.”
“Make way, make way, gentlemen, I beseech you; make way for a poor
father of a family who is carrying bread to five children!” This was
said by one who came staggering under the weight of a bag of flour.
“I,” said another, in an under tone, to one of his companions, “I am
going away. I am a man of the world, and I know how these things go.
These clowns, who now make so much noise, will prove themselves cowards
to-morrow. I have already perceived some among the crowd who are taking
note of those who are present, and when all is over, they will make up
the account, and the guilty will pay the penalty.”
“He who protects the bakers,” cried a sonorous voice, which attracted
the attention of Renzo, “is the superintendent of provisions.”
“They are all rogues,” said a neighbour.
“Yes, but he is the chief,” replied the one who had first spoken.
The superintendent of provisions, elected every year by the governor
from a list of seven nobles formed from the council of ten, was the
president of the court of provision, which, composed of twelve nobles,
had, with other duties, that of superintending the corn for the
citizens. Persons in such a station would naturally, in times of
starvation and ignorance, be considered as the authors of all the evil.
“Cheats!” exclaimed another; “can they do worse? They have had the
audacity to say that the high chancellor is a childish old man, and they
wish to take the government into their own hands. We ought to make a
great coop, and put them in, to feed upon dry peas and cockleweed, as
they would fain have us do.”
While listening to such observations as the above, Renzo continued to
make his way through the crowd, and at last arrived in front of the
bakery. On viewing its dilapidated and ruinous state, after the assault
just sustained, “This cannot be a good deed,” thought he: “if they treat
all the bake-houses in this manner, where will they make bread?”
From time to time, some were seen issuing from the house, loaded with
pieces of chests, or troughs, or a bench, basket, or some other relic of
the poor building, and crying, “Make way, make way!” passed through the
crowd. These were all carried in the same direction, and it appeared to
a place agreed upon. Renzo’s curiosity being excited, he followed one
who carried a bundle of pieces of board and chips on his shoulder, and
found that he took the direction of the cathedral. On passing it, the
mountaineer could not avoid stopping a moment to gaze with admiring eyes
on the magnificent structure. He then quickened his steps to rejoin him
whom he had taken as a guide, and, keeping behind him, they drew near
the middle of the square. The crowd was here more dense, but they opened
a way for the carrier, and Renzo, skilfully introducing himself in the
void left by him, arrived with him in the very midst of the multitude.
Here there was an open space, in the centre of which was a bonfire, a
heap of embers, the remains of the tools mentioned above; surrounding it
was heard a clapping of hands and stamping of feet, the tumult of a
thousand cries of triumph and imprecation.
He of the boards threw them on the embers, and some, with pieces of
half-burnt shovel, stirred them until the flame ascended, upon which
their shouts were renewed louder than before. The flame sank again, and
the company, for want of more combustibles, began to be weary, when a
report spread, that at the Cordusio (a square or cross-way not far from
there) they were besieging a bakery: then was heard on all sides, “Let
us go, let us go;” and the crowd moved on. Renzo was drawn along with
the current, but in the mean while held counsel with himself, whether he
had not best withdraw from the fray, and return to the convent in search
of Father Bonaventura; but curiosity again prevailed, and he suffered
himself to be carried forward, with the determination, however, of
remaining a mere spectator of the scene.
The multitude passed through the short and narrow street of Pescheria,
and thence by the crooked arch to the square de’ Mercanti. Here there
were very few, who, in passing before the niche that divides towards the
centre the terrace of the edifice then called the College of Doctors,
did not give a slight glance at the great statue contained in it of
Philip II., who even from the marble imposed respect, and who, with his
arm extended, appeared to be menacing the populace for their rebellion.
This niche is now empty, and from a singular circumstance. About one
hundred and sixty years after the events we are now relating, the head
of the statue was changed, the sceptre taken from its hand, and a dagger
substituted in its place, and beneath it was written _Marcus Brutus_.
Thus inserted it remained perhaps a couple of years, until one day, some
persons, who had no sympathies with Marcus Brutus, but rather an
aversion to him, threw a rope around the statue, pulled it down, and,
reducing it to a shapeless mass, dragged it, with many insulting
gestures, beyond the walls of the city. Who would have foretold this to
Andrea Biffi when he sculptured it?
From the square de’ Mercanti, the clamorous troop at length arrived at
the Cordusio. Each one immediately looked towards the shop; but, instead
of the crowd of friends which they expected to find engaged on its
demolition, there were but a few, at a distance from the shop, which was
shut, and defended from the windows by armed people. They fell back, and
there was a murmur through the crowd of unwillingness to risk the hazard
of proceeding, when a voice was heard to cry aloud, “Near by is the
house of the superintendent of provision; let us do justice, and plunder
it.” There was a universal acceptance of the proposal, and “To the
superintendent’s! to the superintendent’s!” was the only sound that
could be heard. The crowd moved with unanimous fury towards the street
where the house, named in such an evil moment, was situated.
