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Chapter VChapter V
Chapter V
Father Cristoforo stopped on the threshold, and quickly perceived, by a
glance at the women, that his presentiments had not been unfounded. While
raising his beard, by a slight movement of the head backwards, he said, in
that interrogative tone which anticipates a mournful reply, `Well?` Lucia
answered by a flood of tears. Her mother began to apologize for having dared
. . . but he advanced and seated himself on a three - legged stool, and cut
short all her excuses, by saying to Lucia, `Calm yourself, my poor daughter.
And you.` continued he, turning to Agnese, `tell me what has happened.` The
good woman related the melancholy story as well as she could, while the friar
changed colour a thousand times, at one moment raising his eyes to heaven, the
next, kicking his heels on the ground. At the conclusion of the recital, he
covered his face with his hands, and exclaimed, `Oh, blessed Lord! . . .` But,
without finishing the sentence, he turned again to the women. `Poor things!`
said he, `God has indeed visited you. Poor Lucia!`
You will not forsake us, Father?` sobbed Lucia.
`Forsake you! replied he. `Great God! with what face could I again make
request to Him, if I should forsake you? You in this state! You whom He
confides to me! Don`t despair: He will help you. He sees all: He can make use
even of such an unworthy instrument as I am to confound a . . . Let us see:
let me think what I can do for you.`
So saying, he leaned his left elbow on his knee, laid his forehead on his
hand, and with the right grasped his beard and chin, as if to concentrate and
hold fast all the powers of his mind.
But the most attentive consideration only served to show more distinctly
the urgency and intricacy of the case, and how few, how uncertain, and how
dangerous were the ways of meeting it. `Instil shame into Don Abbondio, and
make him sensible of how much he is failing in his duty? Shame and duty are
nothing to him, when overwhelmed with fear. Inspire him with fears? How can I
suggest one that would overbalance the dread he already has of a musket?
Inform the Cardinal - Archbishop of all, and invoke his authority? This
requires time, and in the mean while what might not happen? And afterwards,
supposing even this unhappy innocent were married, would that be a curb to
such a man? . . . Who knows to what length he might proceed? And resist him?
How? Ah! if I could,` thought the poor friar: `if I could but engage in this
cause my brethren here and at Milan! But it is not a common affair, and I
should be abandoned. Don Rodrigo pretends to be a friend to the convent, and
professes himself a favourer of the Capuchins; and his followers have more
than once taken refuge with us. I should find myself alone in the undertaking;
I should be opposed by meddling, quarrelsome persons; and, what is worse, I
should, perhaps, by an ill - timed endeavour, only render the condition of
this poor girl more hopeless.` Having considered every view of the question,
the best seemed to be to confront Don Rodrigo himself, and try, by entreaties,
the terrors of the life to come, and even if this world, if that were
possible, to dissuade him from his infamous purpose. At least, he could by
this means ascertain whether he continued obstinately bent on his wicked
design, discover something more of his intentions, and act accordingly. While
the friar was thus engaged, Renzo, who for reasons that every one can divine,
could not long absent himself, made his appearance at the door; but seeing the
Father absorbed in thought, and the women beckoning to him not to interrupt
him, he stood silent on the threshold. Raising his head to communicate his
design to the women, the friar perceived Renzo, and saluted him with his usual
affection, increase and rendered more intense by compassion.
`Have they told you . . . Father?` asked Renzo, in an agitated tone.
`Only too much: and for that reason I am here.`
`What do you say to the rascal?`
What do you wish me to say of him? He is far away, and my words would be
of no use. But I say to you, my Renzo, trust in God, and He will not forsake
you.`
`What blessed words!` exclaimed the youth. `You are not one of those who
always wrong the poor. But the Signor Curate, and that Signor Doctor . . .`
`Don`t recall those scenes, Renzo, which only serve to irritate you
uselessly. I am a poor friar; but I repeat what I have said to these poor
women: poor as I am, I will not forsake you.`
`Ah! you are not like the world`s friends! Good - for - nothing creatures
that they are! You would not believe the protestations they made me in
prosperity. Ha! ha! They were ready to give their lives for me; they would
have defended me against the devil. If I had had an enemy . . . I had only to
let them know it, and I should have been quickly rid of him! And now, if you
were to see how they draw back . . .` At this moment Renzo perceived, on
raising his eyes to those of his auditor, that the good friar`s face was
clouded, and he felt that he had uttered something wrong. He only added to his
perplexities, however, and made matters worse, by trying to remedy them: `I
meant to say . . . I don`t at all mean . . . that is, I meant to say . . .`
`What did you mean to say? Have you, then, begun to spoil my work before
I have undertaken it? It is well for you that you have been undeceived in
time. What! you went in search of friends . . . and such friends! . . . who
could not have helped you, had they been willing; and you forgot to seek the
only One who can and will assist you! Do you not know that God is the friend
of the afflicted who put their trust in Him? Do you not know that threatening
and contention gain nothing for the weak? And even if . . .` Here he forcibly
grasped Renzo`s arm: his countenance, without losing if its authority,
expressed the ground, and his voice became slow and almost sepulchral: `Even
if they did, it is a terrible gain! Renzo! will you trust to me? To me, did I
say - a feeble mortal, a poor friar? No; but will you trust in God?
`Oh yes!` replied Renzo; `He is in truth the Lord.`
`Very well; promise me that you will not attack - that you will not
provoke - any one; that you will be guided by me.`
`I promise you.`
Lucia drew a long breath, as if she were relieved from a great weight;
and Agnese exclaimed, `Bravo, my son!`
`Listen, my children,` continued Friar Cristoforo; `I will go to-day
and speak to this man. If it please God to touch his heart, and give force to
my words, well; but, if not, He will show us some other remedy. You, in the
mean while, be quiet and retired; avoid gossip, and don`t show yourselves. To
- night, or to - morrow morning, at the latest, you shall see me again.` So
saying, he cut short all their thanks and benedictions, and departed. He
returned first to the convent, where he arrived in time to join the chorus in
chanting, dined, and then set off on his way towards the den of the wild beast
he had undertaken to tame.
The small but elegant palace of Don Rodrigo stood by itself, rising like
a castle from the summit of one of the abrupt cliffs by which the shore of the
lake was broken and diversified. Our anonymous author only adds to this
indication, that the site (it would have been better to have given the name in
full) was rather on the side adjoining the country of the Betrothed, about
three miles distant from them, and four from the convent. At the base of the
cliff, on the side looking towards the lake, lay a group of cottages,
inhabited by the peasantry in the service of Don Rodrigo, the diminutive
capital of his little kingdom. It was quite sufficient to pass through it to
be assured of the character and customs of the country. Casting a glance into
the lower rooms, should a door happen to be open, one saw hanging on the wall,
fowling - pieces, spades, rakes, straw hats, nets, and powder - flasks, in
admired confusion. Everywhere might be seen powerful, fierce - looking men,
wearing a large lock, turned back upon their head, and enclosed in a net; old
men, who, having lost their teeth, appeared ready, at the slightest
provocation, to show their gums; women, of masculine appearance, with strong,
sinewy arms, prepared to come in to the aid of their tongues on every
occasion. Even the very children, playing in the road, displayed in their
countenances and behaviour a certain air of provocation and defiance.
Father Cristoforo passed through this hamlet, and ascended a winding foot
- path to a small level plot of ground, in front of the palace. The door was
shut - a sign that the master of the mansion was dining, and would not be
disturbed. The few small windows that looked into the road, the frameworks of
which were disjointed, and decayed with age, were defended by large iron bars;
and those of the ground - floor were so high, that a man could scarcely reach
them by standing on the shoulders of another. Perfect silence reigned around;
and a passer - by might have deemed it a deserted mansion, had not four
creatures, two animate, and two inanimate, disposed opposite each other,
outside, given some indication of inhabitants. Two great vultures, with
extended wings and pendent heads - one stripped of its feathers, and half
consumed by time; the other still feathered, and in a state of preservation,
were nailed, one on each post of the massive door - way; and two bravoes,
stretched at full length on the benches to the right and left, were on guard,
and expecting their call to partake of the remains of the Signor`s table. The
Father stood still, in the attitude of one who was prepared to wait; but one
of the bravoes rose, and called to him: `Father, Father, come forward, we
don`t make Capuchins wait here; we are friends of the convent; and I have
sometimes been within it when the air outside was not very good for me, and
when, if the door had been closed upon me, I should have fared badly.` So
saying, he gave two strokes of the knocker, which were answered immediately
from within, by the howling and yelling of mastiffs, and curs, and in a few
moments by an old grumbling servant; but seeing the Father, he made him a low
bow, quieted the animals with hand and voice, introduced the visitor into a
narrow passage, and closed the door again. He then conducted him into a small
apartment, and, regarding him with a surprised and respectful look, said, `Are
you not . . . Father Cristoforo of Pescarenico?
`I am.`
`You here?`
`As you see, my good man.`
`It must be to do good, then. Good,` continued he, muttering between his
teeth, as he still led the way; `good may be done anywhere.`
Having passed through two or three dark apartments, they at last reached
the door of the dining - room, where they were greeted with a loud and
confused noise of knives, forks, glasses, pewter dishes, and, above all, of
discordant voices alternately endeavouring to take the lead in conversation.
The friar wished to withdraw, and was debating at the door with the servant,
and begging permission to wait in some corner of the house till dinner was
over, when the door opened. A certain Count Attilio, who was sitting opposite,
(he was a cousin of Don Rodrigo, and we have already mentioned him without
giving his name,) seeing a shaved head and monk`s habit, and perceiving the
modest intentions of the good friar, exclaimed, `Aha! aha! You sha`n`t make
your escape, reverend Father; forward, forward!` Don Rodrigo, without
precisely divining the object of this visit, had a sort of presentiment of
what awaited him, and would have been glad to avoid it; but since Attilio had
thoughtlessly given this blunt invitation, he was obliged to second it, and
said, `Come in, Father, come in.` The friar advanced, making a low bow to the
host, and respectfully responded to the salutations of the guests.
It is usual (I do not say invariable) to represent the innocent in the
presence of the wicked with an open countenance, an air of security, an
undaunted heart, and a ready facility of expression. In reality, however, many
circumstances are required to produce this behaviour, which are rarely met
with in combination. It will not, therefore, be wondered at, that Friar
Cristoforo, with the testimony of a good conscience, and a firm persuasion of
the justice of the cause he had come to advocate, together with a mingled
feeling of horror and compassion for Don Rodrigo, stood, nevertheless, with a
certain air of timidity and submissiveness, in the presence of this same Don
Rodrigo, who was seated before him in an arm - chair, in his own house, on his
own estate, surrounded by his friends, and many indications of his power, with
every homage paid to him, and with an expression of countenance that would at
once prohibit the making of a request, much more the giving advice,
correction, or reproof. On his right, sat Count Attilio, his cousin, and, it
is needless to say, his companion in libertinism and oppression, who had come
from Milan to spend a few days with him. To his left, and on the other side of
the table, was seated, with a profound respect, tempered, however, with a
certain air of security, and even arrogance, the Signor Podesta;^1 the person
whose business it was, professedly, to administer justice to Renzo Tramaglino,
and inflict upon Don Rodrigo one of the appointed penalties. Opposite the
Podesta, in an attitude of the purest, most unbounded servility, sat our
Doctor, Azzecca - Garbugli, with his black cap, and more than usually red
nose; and facing the cousins were two obscure guests, of whom our story merely
records that they did nothing but eat, bow their heads, and smile approval at
everything uttered by a fellow - guest, provided another did not contradict
it.
[Footnote 1: The governor, or magistrate of the place - a dignitary
corresponding to the mayor of an English town; but less dignified in this
instance, because exercising power in a smaller territory.]
`Give the Father a seat,` said Don Rodrigo. A servant presented a chair,
and Father Cristoforo sat down, making some excuse to the Signor for coming at
so inopportune an hour.
`I wish to speak with you alone, on a matter of importance,` added the
friar, in a lower voice, in Don Rodrigo`s ear.
`Very well, I will attend you`, replied he; `but in the mean while, bring
the Father something to drink.`
The Father tried to excuse himself; but Don Rodrigo, raising his voice
above the re - commencing tumult, cried, `No, no, you shall not do me this
wrong; it shall never be said that a Capuchin left this house without tasting
my wine, nor an insolent creditor the wood of my forests.` These words were
followed by a general laugh, and, for a moment, interrupted the question that
was being warmly agitated among the guests. A servant then brought in a bottle
of wine, on a tray, and a tall glass, in the shape of a chalice, and presented
them to the Father, who, unwilling to refuse the pressing invitation of one he
so much wished to propitiate, did not hesitate to pour some out, and began
slowly to sip the wine.
`The authority of Tasso will not serve your purpose, respected Signor
Podesta; it even militates against you,` resumed Count Attilio, in a
thundering voice; `for that learned, that great man, who perfectly understood
all the rules of chivalry, has made the messenger of Argante ask leave of the
pious Buglione, before delivering the challenge to the Christian
knights . . .`
`But this,` replied the Podesta, vociferating no less vehemently, `this
is a liberty, a mere liberty, a poetical ornament; since an ambassador is, in
his nature, inviolable by the law of nations, jure gentium. But, without
seeking so far, the proverb says, Ambasciator non porta pena; and proverbs,
you know, contain the wisdom of the human race. Besides, the messenger having
uttered nothing in his own name, but only presented the challenge in
writing . . .`
`But when will you understand that this messenger was an inconsiderate
ass, who didn`t know the first? . . .`
`With your leave, gentlemen,` interrupted Don Rodrigo, who was afraid of
the question being carried too far, `we will refer it to Father Cristoforo,
and abide by his sentence.`
`Well - very well,` said Count Attilio, highly pleased at the idea of
referring a question of chivalry to a Capuchin: while the more eager Podesta
with difficulty restrained his excited feelings, and a shrug of contempt,
which seemed to say - Absurdity!
`But, from what I have heard,` said the Father, `these are matters I know
nothing of.`
`As usual, the modest excuses of the Fathers,` said Don Rodrigo; `but you
shall not get off so easily. Come, now, we know well enough you did not come
into the world with a cowl on your head, and that you are no stranger to its
ways. See here; this is the question . . .`
`The case is this,` began Count Attilio.
`Let me tell it, who am neutral, cousin,` replied Don Rodrigo. `This is
the story. A Spanish cavalier sent a challenge to a Milanese cavalier; the
bearer, not finding him at home, delivered the summons to his brother, who,
after reading it, gave the bearer in reply a good thrashing. The dispute
is . . .`
`One good turn deserves another,` cried Count Attilio. `It was really
inspiration . . .`
`Of the devil,` added the Podesta. `To beat an ambassador! - a man whose
person is sacred! Even you, Father, will say whether this was a knightly
deed.`
`Yes, Signor, knightly,` cried the Count, `and you will allow me to say
so, who ought to understand what relates to a cavalier. Oh, if they had been
blows, it would be another matter; but a cudgel defiles nobody`s hands. What
puzzles me is, why you think so much of the shoulders of a mean scoundrel.`
`Who said anything about his shoulders, Signor Count? You would make out
I had talked nonsense such as never entered my mind. I spoke of his office,
not of his shoulders; and am now considering the laws of chivalry. Be do good
as to tell me whether the heralds that the ancient Romans sent to bid defiance
to other nations asked leave to announce their message; and find me one writer
who mentions that a herald was ever beaten.`
`What have the officers of the ancient Romans to do with us - a simple
nation, and in these things far, far behind us? But, according to the laws of
modern chivalry, which are the only right ones, I affirm and maintain that a
messenger who dared to place a challenge in the hand of a knight without
having asked his permission, is an incautious fool, who may be beaten, and who
richly deserves it.`
`Answer me this syllogism . . .`
`No, no, nothing.`
`But listen, listen. To strike an unarmed person is a treacherous act.
Atqui the messenger de quo was without arms. Ergo . . .`
`Gently, gently, Signor Podesta.`
`Why gently?`
`Gently, I say: what are you talking about? It is an act of treachery to
give a man a blow with a sword behind him, or to shoot him in the back; and to
this even there are certain exceptions . . . but we will keep to the point. I
allow that this may generally be called an act of treachery; but to bestow
four blows on a paltry fellow like him! It would have been a likely thing to
say: Take care I don`t beat you, as one says to a gentleman: Draw your sword.
And you, respected Signor Doctor, instead of smiling at me there, and giving
me to understand you are of my opinion, why don`t you support my position with
your capital powers of argument, and help me to drive some reason into the
head of this Signor?`
`I . . .` replied the Doctor, in confusion. `I enjoy this learned
dispute, and am glad of the accident that has given occasion to so agreeable a
war of genius. But it does not belong to me to give sentence: his illustrious
lordship has already delegated a judge . . . the Father here . . .`
`True,` said Don Rodrigo; `but how is the judge to speak when the
disputants will not be silent?`
`I am dumb,` said Count Attilio. The Podesta made a sign that he would
not speak.
`Ah, at last! What do you say, Father?` asked Don Rodrigo with half -
jesting gravity.
`I have already excused myself by saying I don`t understand the matter,`
replied Friar Cristoforo, returning the wine - glass to a servant.
`Poor excuses,` cried the two cousins. `We must have your sentence.`
`Since you wish it, my humble opinion is that there should be neither
challenges, bearers, nor blows.`
The guests interchanged looks of unfeigned astonishment.
`Oh, this is too bad!` exclaimed Count Attilio. `Pardon me, Father, but
this is too bad. It is easy to see you know nothing of the world.`
`He?` said Don Rodrigo. `Ha! ha! he knows it, cousin, as well as you do:
isn`t it true, Father?`
Instead of replying to this courteous interrogation, the Father said to
himself: - This is aimed at you; but remember, friar, that you are not here
for yourself; and that which affects you only is not to be taken into the
account.
`It may be,` said the cousin; `but the Father . . . what is his name?`
`Father Cristoforo, `replied more than one.
`But, Father Cristoforo, most reverend Father, with your principles you
would turn the world upside down. Without challenges! Without blows! Farewell
to the point of honour; impunity for all villains. Fortunately, however, the
supposition is impossible.`
`Up, Doctor, up,` broke in Don Rodrigo, who always tried to divert the
argument from the original disputants. `You are the man to argue on any
matter. Let us see what you will do in discussing this question with Father
Cristoforo.`
`Really,` replied the Doctor, brandishing his fork in the air, and
turning to the Father, `really I cannot understand how Father Cristoforo, who
is at once the perfect devotee and a man of the world, should not remember
that his sentence, good, excellent, and of just weight, as it is in the
pulpit, is of no value (with due respect be it spoken) in a question of
chivalry. But the Father knows, better than I, that everything is good in its
place; and I think that this time he has only endeavoured the escape by a jest
from the difficulty of giving sentence.`
What can one reply to reasonings deduced from a wisdom so ancient, yet so
new? Nothing; and so thought our friar.
But Don Rodrigo, wishing to cut short this dispute, proceeded to suggest
another. `Apropos,` said he; `I hear there are rumours of an accommodation at
Milan.`
The reader must know that, at this time, there was a contest for the
succession to the Duchy of Mantua, which, on the death of Vincenzo Gonzaga,
who left no male issue, had fallen into the possession of the Duke of Nevers,
Gonzaga`s nearest relation. Louis XIII., or rather Cardinal Richelieu, wished
to support him on account of his being well - disposed toward the French.
Philip IV., or rather the Count D`Olivares, commonly called the Count Duke,
opposed him for the same reason, and had declared war against him. As the
Duchy was a fief of the empire, the two parties made interest, by intrigue,
threats, and solicitations, at the court of the Emperor Ferdinand II.; the
former urging him to grant the investiture to the new Duke, the latter to
refuse it, and even assist in banishing him from the State.
`I am inclined to think,` said Count Attilio, `that matters may be
adjusted. I have certain reasons . . .`
`Don`t believe it, Signor Count, don`t believe it,` interrupted the
Podesta; `even in this corner of the world I have means of ascertaining the
state of things; for the Spanish governor of the castle, who condescends to
make me his friend, and who being the son of one of the Count Duke`s
dependents, is informed of everything . . . .`
`I tell you, I have opportunity every day at Milan of talking with great
men; and I know, on good authority, that the Pope is highly interested in the
restoration of peace, and has made propositions . . .`
`So it ought to be, the thing is according to rule, and his Holiness does
his duty; a Pope ought always to mediate between Christian Princes; but the
Court Duke has his own policy, and . . .`
`And, and, and - do you know, my good Signor, what the Emperor thinks of
it at this moment? Do you think there is no other place in the world besides
Mantua? There are many things to be looked after, my good Signor. Do you know,
for example, how far the Emperor can, at this moment, confide in that Prince
Valdistano, or Vallestai, or whatever they call him; and whether . . .`
`His right name in German,` again interrupted the Podesta, `is
Vagliensteino, as I have often heard it pronounced by our Spanish Signor, the
governor of the castle. But be of good courage, for . . .`
`Will you teach me?` exclaimed the Count, angrily; but Don Rodrigo
motioned to him with his knee, for his sake, to cease contradiction. He
therefore remained silent; and the Podesta, like a vessel disengaged from a
sand - bank, continued, with wide - spread sails, the course of his eloquence.
`Vagliensteino gives me little concern, because the Count Duke has his eyes on
everything, and in every place; and if Vagliensteino chooses to play any
tricks, he will set him right with fair words or foul. He has his eye
everywhere, I say, and long arms; and if he has resolved, as he justly has,
like a good politician, that the Signor Duke of Nevers shall not take root in
Mantua, the Signor Duke of Nevers will not take root there, and the Cardinal
Richelieu will sink in the water. It makes me smile to see this worthy Signor
Cardinal contending with a Count Duke - with an Olivares. I should like to
rise again, after a lapse of two hundred years, to hear what posterity will
say of these fine pretensions. It requires something more than envy: there
must be a head; and of heads like that of a Count Duke there is but one in the
world. The Count Duke, my good Signors,` continued the Podesta, sailing before
the wind, and a little surprised at not encountering one shoal, `the Count
Duke is an aged fox, (speaking with all respect,) who can make anybody lose
his track; when he aims at the right, we may be sure he will take the left; so
that no one can boast of knowing his intentions; and even they who execute
them, and they who write his despatches, understand nothing of them. I can
speak with some knowledge of the circumstances; for that worthy man, the
Governor of the Castle, deigns to place some confidence in me. The Count Duke,
on the other hand, knows exactly what is going forward in all the other
Courts, and their great politicians - many of whom, it cannot be denied, are
very upright men - have scarcely imagined a design before the Count Duke has
discovered it, with that clever head of his, his underhand ways, and his nets
everywhere spread. That poor man, the Cardinal Richelieu, makes an attempt
here, busies himself there; he toils, he strives; and what for? When he has
succeeded in digging a mine, he finds a countermine already completed by the
Count Duke . . .`
No one knows when the Podesta would have come ashore, had not Don
Rodrigo, urged by the suggestions of his cousin, ordered a servant to bring
him a certain bottle of wine.
`Signor Podesta,` said he, `and gentlemen; a toast to the Count Duke; and
you will then tell me whether the wine is worthy of the person.` The Podesta
replied by a bow, in which might be discerned an expression of particular
acknowledgment; for all that was said or done in honour of the Duke, he
received, in part, as done to himself.
`Long live Don Gasparo Guzman, Count of Olivares, Duke of San Lucar,
grand Private of the King, Don Philip the Great, our Sovereign!` exclaimed Don
Rodrigo, raising his glass.
Private (for the information of those who know it not) was the title used
in those days to signify the favourite of a prince.
`Long live the Count!` replied all.
`Help the Father,` said Don Rodrigo.
`Excuse me,` replied the Father; `but I have already been guilty of a
breach of discipline, and I cannot . . .`
`What!` said Don Rodrigo; `it is a toast to the Count Duke. Will you make
us believe that you hold with the Navarrines?`
Thus they contemptuously styled the French Princes of Navarre, who had
begun to reign over them in the time of Henry IV.
On such an adjuration, he was obliged to taste the wine. All the guests
broke out in exclamations and encomiums upon it, except the Doctor, who, by
the gesture of his head, the glance of his eyes, and the compression of his
lips, expressed much more than he could have done by words.
`What do you say of it, eh, Doctor?` asked Don Rodrigo.
Withdrawing from the wine - glass a nose more ruddy and bright than
itself, the Doctor replied, with marked emphasis upon every syllable: `I say,
pronounce, and affirm that this is the Olivares of wines; censui, et in eam
ivi sententiam, that its equal cannot be found in the twenty - two kingdoms of
the King, our Sovereign, whom God defend! I declare and determine that the
dinners of the most noble Signor Don Rodrigo excel the suppers of
Heliogabalus, and that famine is perpetually banished and excluded from this
place, where splendour reigns and has its abode.`
`Well said! well defined!` cried the guests, with one voice; but the word
famine, which he had uttered by chance, at once directed the minds of all to
this mournful subject, and every one spoke of the famine. In this matter they
were all agreed, at least on the main point; but the uproar was greater,
perhaps, than if there had been a diversity of opinion. All spoke at once.
`There is no famine,` said one; `it is the monopolists . . .`
`And the bakers,` said another, `who hide the grain. Hang them, say I.`
`Yes, yes, hang them without mercy.`
`Upon fair trial,` cried the Podesta.
`Trial?` cried Count Attilio, more loudly. `Summary justice, I say. Take
three or four, or five or six, of those who are acknowledged by the common
voice to be the richest and most avaricious, and hang them.`
`Examples! examples! - without examples, nothing can be done.`
`Hang them! hang them! and grain will flow out in abundance.`
Whoever, in passing through a fair, has had the pleasure of hearing the
harmony produced by a party of fiddlers, when, between one air and another,
each one tunes his instrument, making it sound as loud as possible, that he
may the more distinctly hear it in the midst of, and above, the surrounding
uproar, may imagine what would be the harmony of these (if one may so say)
discourses. The party continued pouring out and drinking the wine, while the
praises of it were mingled, as was but just, with sentences of economical
jurisprudence; so that the loudest, and most frequently heard, words were -
nectar, and hang them.
Don Rodrigo, in the mean while, glanced from time to time towards the
friar, and always saw him in the same station, giving no signs of impatience
or hurry, without a movement tending to remind him that he was waiting his
leisure, but with the air of one who was determined not to depart till he had
had a hearing. He would gladly have sent him away, and escaped the interview;
but to dismiss a Capuchin without having given him audience, was not according
to the rules of his policy. However, since the annoying duty could not be
avoided, he resolved to discharge it at once, and free himself from the
obligation. He therefore rose from the table, and with him all the excited
party, without ceasing their clamour. Having asked leave of his guests, he
advanced in a haughty manner towards the friar, who had immediately risen with
the rest; and saying to him, `At your command, Father,` conducted him into
another apartment.
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