“Fly, fly, honest man! Here is a convent, there is a church; this way!
this way!” was shouted to Renzo from every side. The advice was not
necessary; from the moment that he conceived the hope of extricating
himself from the talons of the police, he had determined, if he
succeeded, to depart immediately, not only from the city, but the
dukedom. “Because,” thought he, “however they may have procured it, they
have my name on their books; and with name and surname, they will take
me again if they choose to do so.” As to an asylum, he was determined
not to have recourse to it, but in the last extremity. “Because,”
thought he, “if I can be a bird of the woods, I will not be a bird of
the cage.” He then determined to seek his cousin Bartolo in the
territory of Bergamo, who had often urged him to establish himself
there; but to find the road was the difficulty! In a part of the city
entirely unknown to him, he did not know which gate led to Bergamo; nor
if he had known it, would he have been able to find it. He thought a
moment of asking directions from his liberators, but he had for some
time had strange suspicions with regard to the obliging sword-cutler,
father of four children; so that he did not dare openly declare his
design, lest, amidst the crowd, there might be another of the same
stamp. He determined therefore to hasten from this spot, and ask the way
when he should arrive at a place where there would be nothing to fear
from the curiosity or the character of others. He said to his
liberators, “Thanks, a thousand thanks! friends! may Heaven reward you!”
and quitting the crowd through a passage made for him, he ran down lanes
and narrow streets, without knowing whither.
When he thought himself sufficiently removed from the scene of peril, he
slackened his steps, and began to look around for some countenance which
might inspire him with confidence enough to make his enquiries. But the
enquiry would of itself be suspicious; time pressed; the police,
recovering from their fright, would, without doubt, pursue their
fugitive; the noise of his escape might have reached even there; and in
so great a multitude Renzo might pass many judgments in physiognomy
before he should find one which seemed favourable. After suffering many
to pass whose appearance was unpropitious, he at last summoned courage
to address a man, who seemed in such haste, that Renzo deemed he would
not hesitate to answer his questions, in order to get rid of him. “Will
you be so good, sir, as to tell me through which gate to go to Bergamo?”
“To Bergamo? through the eastern gate. Take this street to the left; you
will come to the square of the cathedral; then——”
“That is enough, sir; I know the way after that; God reward you!” And he
went on hastily by the way pointed out to him, and arrived at the square
of the cathedral. He crossed it, passed by the remains of the
extinguished bonfire, at which he had assisted the day before; the
bake-house of the Crutches half demolished, and still guarded by
soldiers; and finally, reaching the convent of the capuchins, and
looking at the door of the church, he said to himself, sighing, “The
friar gave me good advice yesterday, when he told me it would be best
for me to wait patiently in the church.” He stopped a moment, and seeing
that many persons guarded the gate through which he had to pass, he felt
a repugnance to confront them; and hesitated whether it would not be his
wisest plan to seek this asylum and deliver his letter. But he soon
resumed courage, saying, “A bird of the woods as long as I can be. Who
knows me? Certainly the police cannot be waiting for me at all the
gates.” He looked around, therefore, and perceiving that no one appeared
to notice him, and, whistling as he went, as if from carelessness, he
approached the gate. A company of custom-house officers, with a
reinforcement of Spanish soldiers, were stationed precisely at its
entrance, to keep out persons from abroad, who might be attracted, by
the noise of the tumult, to rush into the city; their attention was
therefore directed beyond the gate, and Renzo, taking advantage of this,
contrived, with a quiet and demure look, to pass through, as if he were
some peaceful traveller; but his heart beat violently. He pursued a path
on the right, to avoid the high road, and for some distance did not dare
to look behind him.
On! on! he passed hamlets and villages, without asking the name of them;
hoping that, whilst he was removing from Milan, he was approaching
Bergamo. He looked behind him from time to time, while pressing onwards,
and rubbing first one wrist, then the other, which bore the red marks
from the painful pressure of the manacles. His thoughts were a confused
medley of repentance, anxiety, and resentment; and he wearily retraced
the circumstances of the preceding night, to ascertain what had plunged
him into these difficulties, and above all, how they came to know his
name. His suspicions rested on the cutler, whose curiosity he well
remembered, and he had also a confused recollection that after his
departure he had continued to talk, but with whom, his memory did not
serve to inform him. The poor fellow was lost in these speculations; the
past was a chaos.
He then endeavoured to form some plan for the future; but all other
considerations were soon swallowed up in the necessity which he was
under of ascertaining the road; and to do this, he was obliged to
address himself to some one. He was reluctant to name Bergamo, lest it
might excite suspicion: why it should, he knew not; but his mind was a
prey to vague apprehensions of evil. However, he could not do otherwise;
and, as at Milan, he accosted the first passenger whose appearance
promised favourably.
“You are out of the road,” replied the traveller; and directed him to a
path by which he might regain the high road. Renzo thanked him, and
followed the direction, with the intention, however, of keeping the high
road in sight, without exposing himself to hazard by travelling on it.
The project was more easily conceived than executed; in pursuing a
zigzag course, from right to left, and left to right, and endeavouring
still to keep the general direction of the way, he had probably
traversed twelve miles, when he was only six miles from Milan; and as to
Bergamo, it was a chance if he was not farther from it, than when he
began his journey. He reflected that this would never do, and he must
seek some other expedient; that which occurred to him, was to inform
himself of the name of some village near the frontier, which he would
reach by crossroads, and asking the way to that, be enabled to avoid the
mention of this dreaded Bergamo, which seemed to him so likely to cause
distrust and suspicion.
Whilst he was reflecting on the best method of pursuing this plan
without awakening conjectures, he saw a green branch hanging from the
door of a lonely cottage, some distance beyond a village; and as he had
for some time felt the need of refreshment, he thought he could now kill
two birds with one stone, and therefore entered the humble dwelling.
There was no one within, but an old woman, with her distaff by her
side, and spindle in her hand. He asked for a mouthful to eat; she
offered him some _stracchino_[27], and some wine. He accepted the food,
but refused the wine; of which he felt an intuitive horror since the
events of the preceding night. The old woman then began to assail her
guest with enquiries of his trade, his journey, and of the news from
Milan, of the disturbances of which she had heard some rumours. To her
question, “Where are you going?” he replied, “I am obliged to go to many
places, but if I find a moment of time, I should like to stop awhile at
the village on the road to Bergamo, near the frontier, but in the
territory of Milan—what do they call it?—There must be some village
there,” thought he.
[27] A kind of soft cheese.
“Gorgonzola, you mean,” replied the old woman.
“Gorgonzola,” repeated Renzo, as if to fix it in his memory, “is it far
from here?”
“I don’t know for certain; perhaps ten or twelve miles. If one of my
children were here, they could tell you.”
“And do you think I could reach there by keeping on these pleasant
paths, without taking the high road, where there is so much dust? such a
quantity of dust! It is so long since we have had any rain!”
“I think you can. You can ask at the first village to the
right,”—naming it.
“Thank you,” said Renzo, carrying off the remains of his bread, which
was much coarser than what he had lately eaten from the foot of the
Cross of St. Dionysius; and paying the bill, departed. He took the road
to the right, and with the name of Gorgonzola in his mouth, from village
to village, he succeeded in reaching it an hour before sunset.
He had on his way intended to halt here for some more substantial
refreshment; he felt also the need of sleep; but rather than indulge
himself in this, he would have dropped dead on the road. His design was
to inform himself, at the inn, of the distance from the Adda, to
contrive to obtain some direction to the cross paths which led to it,
and after having eaten, to go on his way. Born at the second source of
this river, he had often heard that at a certain point, and for some
distance, its waters marked the confines of the Milanese and Venetian
states. He had no precise idea of the spot where this boundary
commenced, but, at this time, the principal matter was to reach the
river. Provided he could not accomplish it by daylight, he decided to
travel as long as the darkness and his strength would permit, and then
to wait the approach of day in a field, among brambles, or any where,
where it should please God, an inn excepted. After advancing a few steps
in Gorgonzola, he saw a sign, and entering the house, asked the host for
a mouthful to eat, and a half-pint of wine, his horror of which had been
subdued by his excessive fatigue. “I pray you to be in haste,” added he,
“for I must continue my journey immediately.” And he said this, not only
because it was the truth, but from fear that the host, imagining he was
going to lodge there, might ask him his _name_, _surname_, and _whence
he came_, and _what was his business_!
The host replied that he should have what he requested, and Renzo seated
himself at the end of a bench near the door.
There were in the room some idle people of the neighbourhood, who, after
having discussed the great news from Milan of the preceding day,
wondered how affairs were going on; as the circumstances of the
rebellion had left their curiosity unsatisfied as to its termination; a
sedition neither suppressed nor successful; suspended rather than
terminated; an unfinished work; the end of an act rather than of a
drama. One of them detached himself from the company, and, approaching
the new-comer, asked him, “If he came from Milan?”
“I?” said Renzo, endeavouring to collect his thoughts for a reply.
“You; if the enquiry be lawful.”
Renzo, contracting his mouth, made a sort of inarticulate sound, “Milan,
from what I hear—from what they say—is not a place where one would go
now, unless necessity required it.”
“The tumult continues, then?” asked he, with eagerness.
“One must have been on the spot, to know if it were so,” said Renzo.
“But do you not come from Milan?”
“I come from Liscate,” replied the youth, who, in the mean while had
prepared his answer. He had, indeed, come from that place, as he had
passed through it. He had learned its name from a traveller who had
mentioned it, as the first village on his road to Gorgonzola.
“Oh!” said his interrogator, “I wish you had come from Milan. But
patience—and did you hear nothing from Milan at Liscate?”
“It is very possible that others knew something,” replied our
mountaineer; “but I have heard nothing.”
The inquisitive person rejoined his companions.
“How far is it from this to the Adda?” said Renzo to the host, in a low
careless tone, as he set before him something to eat.
“To the Adda? to cross the river?”
“That is—yes—to the Adda.”
“Would you cross the bridge of Cassano, or the ferry of Canonica?”
“Where are they?—I ask simply from curiosity.”
“Ah! I name them because they are the places chosen by honest people,
who are willing to give an account of themselves.”
“That is right. And how far are they?”
“It must be about six miles.”
“Six miles! I did not know that,” said he. “But,” resuming an air of
indifference, “if one wished to shorten the distance, are there not
other places, where one might cross?”
“Certainly,” replied the host, looking at him with an expression of
malignant curiosity, which restrained Renzo from any further enquiry. He
drew the dish towards him, and looking at the decanter the host had put
on the table, said, “Is this wine pure?”
“As gold. Ask all the inhabitants of the village, and hereabouts. But
you can judge yourself.” So saying, he joined the other customers.
“Curse the hosts!” said Renzo, in his heart. “The more I know of them,
the worse I find them.”
He began to eat, listening at the same time to the conversation, to
learn what was thought, in this place, of the events in which he had
acted so principal a part; and also to discover if there were not some
honest man among the company, of whom a poor youth might ask his way
without fear of being compelled in return to tell his business.
“But,” said one, “to-morrow, at the latest, we shall know something from
Milan.”
“I am sorry I did not go to Milan this morning,” said another.
“If you will go to-morrow, I will go with you,” said two or three.
“That which I wish to know,” replied the first speaker, “is, if these
gentlemen of Milan will think of poor people abroad, or if they will
only think of obtaining advantages for themselves. You know how they
are. The citizens are proud—they think only of themselves; the
villagers are treated as if they were not Christians.”
“We have mouths also, to eat, and to give our reasons,” said another in
a voice as timid as the remark was daring, “and since the thing has
begun——” But he did not think to finish his sentence.
“It is not only in Milan, that they conceal grain,” said another, with a
mysterious air—when suddenly they heard approaching the trampling of a
horse. They ran to the door, and recognising the person who arrived,
they went out to receive him. It was a merchant of Milan, who, going
frequently to Bergamo on business, was accustomed to pass the night at
this inn, and as he had almost always found there the same company, he
had formed an acquaintance with all of them. They crowded around
him—one held the bridle, another the stirrup. “You are welcome.”
“And I am glad to find you all here.”
“Have you made a good journey?”
“Very good. And you all, how do you do?”
“Well, well. What news from Milan?”
“Ah! there is great news truly,” said the merchant, dismounting, and
leaving his horse in the care of a boy. “But,” continued he, entering
the house with the company, “perhaps you know by this time better than I
do.”
“Truly, we know nothing.”
“Is it possible?—Well, you will hear fine news, or rather bad news. Eh!
host! is my bed unoccupied? It is well. A glass of wine, and my usual
dish. Quick, quick! because I must go to bed early, in order to rise
early, as I must be at Bergamo to dinner. And you,” pursued he, seating
himself at the table opposite to Renzo, who continued silent and
attentive, “you know nothing of the mischief of yesterday!”
“We heard about yesterday.”
“I knew that you must have heard it, being here always on guard to watch
travellers.”
“But to-day? What has been done to-day?”
“Ah! to-day! Then you know nothing of to-day?”
“Nothing at all. No one has passed.”
“Then let me wet my lips, and I will tell you what has happened to-day.”
He filled the glass, swallowed its contents, and continued: “To-day, my
dear friends, little was wanting to make the tumult worse than
yesterday. And I can hardly believe that I am here to tell you, for I
had nearly given up all thoughts of coming, that I might stay to guard
my shop.”
“What was the matter, then?” said one of his auditors.
“What was the matter? I will tell you.” And beginning to eat, he at the
same time pursued his relation; the company standing on his right and
left, listened with open mouths and ears. Renzo, without appearing to
hear him, was, in fact, the most attentive of all; and ate his last
mouthful very, very slowly. “This morning, then, those vagabonds who
made such a hurly-burly yesterday, met at the points agreed on, and
began to run from street to street, sending forth cries in order to
collect a crowd. You know it is with such people, as when one sweeps a
house; the more you sweep, the more dirt you have. When they thought
there were people enough, they approached the house of the
superintendant of provision, as if the atrocities they committed
yesterday were not enough, to a gentleman of his character. Oh! the
rascals! And the abuse they bestowed on him! All invention and
falsehood: he is a worthy punctual man; I can say it, for I know; and I
furnish him cloth for his liveries. They hurried then towards his
house—such a mob! such faces! They passed before my shop. Such
faces—the Jews of the _Via Crucis_ are nothing to them. And the
blasphemies they uttered! enough to make one stop one’s ears, had it not
been for fear of observation. Their intention was to plunder, but——”
“But?” said they all.
“But they found the street barricadoed, and a company of musketeers on
guard. When they saw this ceremony—what would you have done?”
“Turn back.”
“Certainly; and that is precisely what they did. But see if the devil
did not carry them there. When they came on the Cordusio, they saw the
baker that they had wanted to plunder the day before; and what do you
think they were doing at this baker’s? They were distributing bread to
purchasers; the first gentlemen of the land were there, watching over
its distribution. The mob, instigated by the devil, rushed upon them
furiously, and, in the twinkling of an eye, gentlemen, bakers,
purchasers, bread, counters, benches, loaves, bags, flour, all
topsy-turvy.”
“And the musketeers?”
“The musketeers had the vicar’s house to guard. One can’t sing and carry
the cross too. It was done in the twinkling of an eye, I say. Plunder,
plunder; every thing was carried off. And then they proposed the
amusement of yesterday, to burn what remained, in the square, and make a
bonfire. And immediately they began, the rascals! to drag every thing
out of the house, when one among them——Guess what fine proposal he
made!”
“What?”
“What! to gather every thing in the shop in a heap, and set fire to it
and the shop at the same time. No sooner said than done——”
“Did they set fire to it?”
“Wait a bit. An honest man in the neighbourhood had an inspiration from
Heaven. He ran into the house, ascended the stairs, took a crucifix, and
hung it in front of a window; took from the head of the bed two wax
candles which had been blessed, lit them, and placed them right and left
of the crucifix. The crowd looked up; there is a little fear of God yet,
in Milan, it must be confessed; the crowd retired—a few would have been
sacrilegious enough to set fire to paradise itself; but seeing the rest
not of their opinion, they were obliged to be quiet. Guess what happened
then! All the lords of the cathedral in procession, with the cross
elevated, and in pontifical robes; and my lord the arch-priest began to
preach on one side, and my lord the _penitenziere_ on the other, and
then others here and there: ‘_But, honest people, what would you do? Is
this the example you set to your children? Return to your homes; you
shall have bread at a fair price; you can see, yourselves, the rate is
affixed at every corner!_’”
“Was it true?”
“Can you doubt it? Do you think the lords of the cathedral would come in
their robes and declare falsehoods?”
“And what did the people do?”
“By little and little they dispersed; they ran to the corners of the
streets; the rate was there for those who knew how to read. Eight ounces
of bread for a penny!”
“What good fortune.”
“The vine is fine, if its fruitfulness continues. Do you know how much
flour has been consumed since yesterday? As much as would supply the
dukedom two months.”
“And have they made no good law for us country people?”
“What they have done at Milan is for the city alone. I know not what to
tell you; for you, it must be as God shall direct. The tumult has
entirely ceased for the present; I have not told you all yet. Here is
the best——”
“What! is there any thing more?”
“Yesterday evening, or this morning, they have arrested some of the
leaders, and they have been told that four will be hung. Hardly was this
known, when every one betook himself home by the shortest road, so as
not to be the fifth. Milan, when I left it, resembled a convent of
monks.”
“But will they really hang them?”
“Undoubtedly, and very soon,” replied the merchant.
“And what will the people do?”
“The people will go to see them,” said the merchant. “They desired so
much to see a man hung, that the rascals were about to satisfy their
curiosity on the superintendent of provision. They will see instead,
four rogues, accompanied by capuchins and friars of the _buona
morte_[28]; well, they have richly deserved it. It is a providence, you
see; it was a necessary thing. They had begun to enter the shops, and
take what they wanted, without putting their hand to their purse. If
they had been suffered to go on their own way, after bread, it would
have been wine, and then something else—and I assure you, as an honest
man, keeping a shop, it was not a very agreeable idea.”
[28] Good death. A confraternity which exists under
the same name in the south of France.
“Assuredly not,” said one of his auditors.
“Assuredly not,” repeated the others in chorus.
“And,” continued the merchant, “it had been in preparation a long while.
There was a league, you know?”
“A league!”
“A league. Cabals instigated by the Navarrese, by that cardinal of
France, you know, who has a half-barbarous name, and who every day
offers some new affront to the crown of Spain. But he aims chiefly at
Milan, because he knows, the knave, that the strength of the king lies
there.”
“Indeed!”
“Would you have a proof of it? Those who made the most noise were
strangers; people who were never seen before in Milan. I have forgotten,
after all, to tell you something I heard; one of these had been caught
in an inn——”
When this chord was touched, poor Renzo felt a cold shiver, and could
with difficulty conceal his agitation. No one however perceived it, and
the orator proceeded:—
“They do not yet know whence he came, by whom he was sent, nor what kind
of man he was; but he was certainly one of the leaders. Yesterday, in
the height of the tumult, he played the devil; then, not content with
that, he began to exhort, and propose a fine thing truly! to murder all
the lords! Rascal! how would poor people live, if the lords were killed?
He was taken, however, and they found on him an enormous packet of
letters, after which they were taking him to prison. But what do you
think? his companions, who were keeping watch round the inn, came in
great force, and delivered him. The rogue!”
“And what has become of him?”
“It is not known. He has escaped, or is concealed in Milan. These people
find lodging and concealment any where, although they have neither house
nor home of their own. The devil helps them; but they are sometimes
taken in the snare, when they least expect it. When the pear is ripe, it
must fall. It is well known that these letters are in the hands of
government, that they contain an account of the whole plot, that many
people are implicated, that they have turned the city upside down, and
would have done much worse. Some say the bakers are rogues, and so say
I: but they ought to be hanged at least in a legal manner. There
certainly is corn concealed; and the government ought to have spies and
find it out, and hang up all that keep it back in company with the
bakers; and if they don’t, all the city ought to remonstrate again and
again, but never allow the villainous practice of entering shops and
warehouses for plunder.”
The little that Renzo had eaten had become poison. It appeared like an
age before he dared rise to quit. He felt nailed to the spot. To have
moved from the inn and the village, in the midst of the conversation,
would have incurred suspicion. He determined to wait till the babbler
should cease to speak of him and apply to some other subject.
“And I,” said one of the company, “who have some experience, know that a
tumult like this is no place for an honest man; therefore I have not
suffered my curiosity to conquer me, and have remained quietly at home.”
“And did I move?” said another.
“And I,” added a third, “if by any chance I had been at Milan, I would
have left my business unfinished, and returned home.”
At this moment the host approached the corner of the table, to see how
the stranger came on. Renzo gathered courage to speak, asked for his
bill, settled it, and rapidly crossed the threshold, trusting himself to
the guardian care of a kind Providence.
