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Betrothed (version 2 Dramatic Reading)

<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> 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 their name, 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 various podestà that 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 the Full 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, and parpagliole[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 sonorous Ah! 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 of St. 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 the Full Moon will 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, there it 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. <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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