THE CROWD that was left behind began to disperse, and to branch off to the right and left along the different streets. One went home to attend to his business; another departed that he might breathe the fresh air in a little liberty, after so many hours of crowded confinement; while a third set off in search of acquaintances, with whom he might have a little chat about the doings of the day. The same dispersion was going on at the other end of the street, where the crowd was sufficiently thinned to allow the troop of Spaniards to advance, and approach the superintendent’s house, without having to fight their way. Around this, the dregs, so to say, of the insurgents were still congregated — a handful of rascals who, discontented with so quiet and imperfect a termination to such great preparations, grumbled, cursed, and consulted, to encourage themselves in seeking if something further might not be undertaken; and, by way of experiment, began beating and pounding at the unfortunate door, which had been again barred and propped up within. On the arrival of the troop, these, without previous consultation, but with a unanimous resolution, moved off, and departed by the opposite side, leaving the post free to the soldiers, who took possession of it, and encamped as a guard to the house and street. But the neighbouring streets and squares were still full of scattered groups: where two or three were standing, three, four, twenty others would stop; some would depart, others arrive: it was like those little straggling clouds that sometimes remain scattered and shifting over the azure sky after a storm, and make one say, on looking upwards, The weather is not settled yet. There was heard a confused and varying sound of voices: one was relating with much energy the particular incidents he had witnessed; another recounted what he himself had done; another congratulated his neighbours on this peaceable termination, applauded Ferrer, and prognosticated dire evils about to fall on the superintendent; others laughed at the idea, and asserted that no harm would be done him, because a wolf does not prey upon a wolf; while others more angrily murmured because things had not been managed properly — said that it was all a hoax, and that they were fools to have made such a hubbub, only to allow themselves, after all, to be cozened in this manner.

Meanwhile, the sun had set, and twilight spread its uniform sombreness over all objects. Many, wearied with the exertions of the day, and tired of gossiping in the dark, returned to their respective homes. Our youth, after having assisted the progress of the carriage so long as there was need of assistance, and having followed it even between the two files of soldiers, as in triumph, was satisfied when he saw it rolling along, uninterruptedly, out of danger; and accompanying the crowd a little way, he soon deserted it by the first outlet, that he might breathe a little fresh air in quiet. After taking a few steps at large, in the midst of much agitation from so many new scenes, so many passions, and so many recent and confused remembrances, he began to feel his need both of food and rest; and kept looking up from side to side, in hopes of seeing a sign of some inn, since it was too late to go to the convent. As he thus proceeded, gazing upwards, he suddenly lit upon a group of gossips; and stopping to listen, he heard them, as they talked, making conjectures, proposals, and designs for the morrow. After listening a moment or two, he could not resist putting in his word, thinking that he who had done so much might, without presumption, join a little in the conversation. Persuaded, from what he had seen during the day, that to accomplish anything, it was only necessary to suggest it to the populace, ‘My good sirs,’ cried he, by way of exordium: ‘may I, too, give my poor opinion? My poor opinion is this: that there are other iniquities besides this of bread. Now we’ve seen plain enough to-day that we can get justice by making ourselves felt. Then let us proceed until all these grievances are cured, that the world may move forward in a little more Christian fashion. Isn’t it true, gentlemen, that there’s a set of tyrants who set at nought the Ten Commandments, and search out poor people, (who don’t trouble their heads about them), just to do them every mischief they can; and yet they’re always in the right? Nay, when they’ve been acting the rascal more than usual, then hold their heads higher than at other times? Yes, and even Milan has its share of them.’

‘Too many,’ said a voice.

‘So I say,’ rejoined Renzo: ‘the accounts of them have already reached our ears. And, besides, the thing speaks for itself. Let us suppose, for instance, that one of those I am talking about should have one foot outside and one in Milan: if he’s a devil there, he won’t be an angel here, I fancy. Yet just tell me, sirs, whether you’ve ever seen one of these men behind the grating! And the worst of it is (and this I can affirm with certainty), there are proclamations in plenty published, to punish them; and those not proclamations without meaning, but well drawn out; you can’t find anything better done: there are all sorts of villanies clearly mentioned, exactly as they happen, and to each one its proper punishment. It says: “Whoever it may be, ignoble or plebeians,” and what not besides. Now, just go and ask doctors, scribes, and pharisees, to see justice done to you, as the proclamation warrants, and they will give you as much ear as the Pope does to vagabonds: it’s enough to make any honest fellow turn desperate. It is plain enough, then, that the king, and those who command under him, are desirous that knaves should be duly punished; but nothing is done because there is some league between them. We, therefore, ought to break it; we should go to-morrow morning to Ferrer, who is a worthy man, and a tractable signor; we saw to-day how glad he was to be amongst the poor people, and how he tried to hear what was said to him, and answered with such condescension. We should go to Ferrer, and tell him how things stand; and I, for my part, can tell him some fine doings; for I saw with my own eyes a proclamation with ever so many arms at the top, which had been made by three of the rulers, for there was the name of each of them printed plain below, and one of these names was Ferrer, seen by me with my own eyes: now, this edict exactly suited my case; and a doctor, to whom I applied for justice, according to the intention of these three gentlemen, among whom was Ferrer himself, this signor doctor, who had himself shown me the proclamation, and a fine one it is, aha! thought that I was talking to him like a madman! I’m sure that when this worthy old fellow hears some of these fine doings, for he cannot know all, particularly those in the country, he won’t be willing to let the world go on this way, but will find some remedy for it. And besides, they who make the proclamations ought to wish that they should be obeyed; for it is an insult to count as nothing an edict with their name fixed to it. And if the powerful ones won’t lower their heads, and will still play the fool, we are ready to make them, as we’ve done to-day. I don’t say that he should go about in his carriage, to carry off every powerful and overbearing rascal: eh, eh! it would require Noah’s ark for that. But he ought to command all those whose business it is, not only in Milan, but everywhere, to do things as the proclamations require; and draw up an indictment against all those who have committed these iniquities; and where it says, prison — to prison; where it says, galleys — to the galleys; and bid the podestà do his duty; if he won’t, send him about his business, and put a better man in his place; and then besides, as I said, we should be ready to lend a hand. And he ought to order the lawyers to listen to the poor, and to talk reasonably. Don’t I say right, my good sirs?’

Renzo had talked so earnestly, that from the beginning a great part of the assemblage had stopped all other conversation, and had turned to listen to him; and, up to a certain point, all had continued his auditors. A confused clamour of applause, of ‘Bravo; certainly, he is right; it is too true!’ followed his harangue. Critics, however, were not wanting. ‘Oh, yes,’ said one, ‘listen to a mountaineer: they are all advocates;’ and he went away. ‘Now,’ muttered another, ‘every ragamuffin must put in his word; and what with having too many irons in the fire, we sha’n’t have bread sold cheap, which is what we’ve made this stir for.’ Renzo, however, heard nothing but compliments, one taking him by this hand, another by that. ‘I will see you to-morrow. — Where? — At the square of the Cathedral. — Very well. — Very well. — And something will be done. — And something will be done.’

‘Which of these good gentlemen will direct me to an inn, where I can get something to eat, and a lodging for the night, that will suit a poor youth’s pocket?’ said Renzo.

‘I am at your service, my brave fellow,’ said one who had listened attentively to his harangue, and had not yet said a word. ‘I know an inn that will just suit you; and I will introduce you to the landlord, who is my friend, and a very worthy man.’

‘Near at hand?’ asked Renzo.

‘Only a little way off,’ replied he.

The assembly dispersed; and Renzo, after several warm shakes of the hand from strangers, went off with his new acquaintance, thanking him heartily for his kindness.

‘Not a word, not a word,’ said he: one hand washes the other, and both the face. It is not one’s duty to serve one’s neighbour?’ And as he walked, he kept making of Renzo, in the course of conversation, first one and then another inquiry. ‘Not out of curiosity about your doings; but you seem tired: where do you come from?’

‘I come,’ replied Renzo, ‘as far as from Lecco.’

‘From Lecco! Are you a native of Lecco?’

‘Of Lecco . . . that is, of the territory.’

‘Poor fellow! from what I have gathered in your conversation, you seem to have been badly treated.’

‘Eh! my dear fellow, I was obliged to speak rather carefully, that I might not publish my affairs to the world; but . . . it’s enough; some day it will be known, and then . . . But I see a sign of an inn here; and, to say the truth, I am not inclined to go any further.’

‘No, no; come where I told you: it’s a very little way further,’ said the guide: ‘here you won’t be comfortable.’

‘Very well,’ replied the youth: ‘I’m not a gentleman, accustomed to down, though: something good to supply the garrison, and a straw mattress, are enough for me: and what I most want is to find both directly. Here we are, fortunately,’ And he entered a shabby-looking doorway, over which hung the sign of The Full Moon.

‘Well; I will lead you here, since you wish it,’ said the incognito; and he followed him in.

‘Don’t trouble yourself any further,’ replied Renzo. ‘However,’ added he, ‘you will do me the favour of taking a glass with me.’

‘I accept your kind offer,’ replied he: and he advanced, as being better acquainted with the place, before Renzo, through a little court, approached a glass door, lifted up the latch, and, opening it, entered with his companion into the kitchen.

Two lights illuminated the apartment, suspended from two hooks fixed in the beam of the ceiling. Many persons, all of whom were engaged, were lounging on benches which stretched along both sides of a narrow, dirty table, occupying almost the whole of one side of the room: here and there a cloth was spread, and a few dishes set out; at intervals, cards were played, and dice cast, and gathered up; and everywhere were bottles and glasses. On the wet table were to be seen berlinghe, reali, and parpagliole,1 which, could they have spoken, would probably have said: This morning we were in a baker’s till, or in the pockets of some of the spectators of the tumult; for every one, intent on watching how public matters went, forgot to look after their own private interests. The clamour was great. A boy was going backwards and forwards in haste and bustle, waiting upon this table and sundry chess-boards: the host was sitting upon a small bench under the chimney-piece, occupied, apparently, in making and un-making certain figures in the ashes with the tongs; but, in reality, intent on all that was going on around him. He rose at the sound of the latch, and advanced towards the new comers. When he saw the guide. — Cursed fellow! thought he:— you are always coming to plague me, when I least want you! — Then, hastily glancing at Renzo, he again said to himself:— I don’t know you; but, coming with such a hunter, you must be either a dog or a hare; when you have said two words, I shall know which. — However, nothing of this mute soliloquy appeared in the landlord’s countenance, which was as immovable as a picture: a round and shining face, with a thick reddish beard, and two bright and staring eyes.

‘What are your commands, gentlemen?’ said he.

‘First of all, a good flask of wine,’ said Renzo, ‘and then something to eat.’ So saying, he sat down on a bench towards the end of the table, and uttered a sonorous ‘Ah!’ which seemed to say: it does one good to sit down after having been so long standing and working so hard. But immediately the recollection of the bench and the table at which he had last sat with Lucia and Agnese, rushed to his mind, and forced from him a sigh. He shook his head to drive away the thought, and then saw the host coming with the wine. His companion had sat down opposite to Renzo, who poured him out a glass, and pushed it towards him, saying: ‘To moisten your lips.’ And filling the other glass, he emptied it at one draught.

‘What can you give me to eat?’ then demanded he of the landlord.

‘A good bit of stewed meat?’ asked he.

‘Yes, sir; a bit of stewed meat.’

‘You shall be served directly,’ said the host to Renzo; and turning to the boy: ‘Attend to this stranger.’

And he retreated to the fire-place. ‘But . . . ’ resumed he, turning again towards Renzo: ‘we have no bread to-day.’‘As to bread,’ said Renzo, in a loud voice and laughing, ‘Providence has provided that.’ And drawing from his pocket the third and last loaf which he had picked up under the Cross of San Dionigi, he raised it in the air, exclaiming: ‘Behold the bread of Providence!’ Many turned on hearing this exclamation; and, seeing such a trophy in the air, somebody called out: ‘Hurrah for bread at a low price!’

‘At a low price?’ said Renzo: ‘Gratis et amore.’

‘Better still, better still.’

‘But,’ added he, immediately, ‘I should not like these gentlemen to think ill of me. I have not, as they say, stolen it: I found it on the ground; and if I could find its owner, I am ready to pay him for it.’

‘Bravo! bravo!’ cried his companions, laughing more loudly, without its entering into one of their minds that these words seriously expressed a real fact and intention.

‘They think I’m joking; but it’s just so,’ said Renzo, to his guide, and, turning the loaf over in his hand, he added: ‘See how they’ve crushed it; it looks like a cake: but there were plenty close by it! if any of them had had very tender bones they’d have come badly off.’ Then, biting off and devouring three or four mouthfuls, he swallowed another glass of wine, and added, ‘This bread won’t go down alone. I never had so dry a throat. A great shouting there was!’

‘Prepare a good bed for this honest fellow,’ said the guide; ‘for he intends to sleep here.’

‘Do you wish a bed?’ asked the landlord of Renzo, advancing towards the table.

‘Certainly,’ replied he: ‘a bed, to be sure; only let the sheets be clean; for, though I’m but a poor lad, I’m accustomed to cleanliness.’

‘Oh! as to that,’ said the host: and going to a counter that stood in a corner of the kitchen, he returned with an inkstand and a little bit of writing-paper in one hand, and a pen in the other.

‘What does this mean?’ exclaimed Renzo, gulping down a mouthful of the stew that the boy had set before him, and then smiling in astonishment: ‘Is this the white sheet, eh?’

Without making any reply, the landlord laid the paper on the table, and put the inkstand by the paper: then stooping forward, he rested his left arm on the table and his right elbow, and holding the pen in the air, with his face raised towards Renzo, said to him: ‘Will you be good enough to tell me your name, surname, and country?’

‘What?’ said Renzo: ‘What has all this to do with my bed?’

‘I do my duty,’ said the host, looking towards the guide; ‘we are obliged to give an account and relation of every one that comes to sleep in our house: name and surname, and of what nation he is, on what business he comes, if he has any arms with him . . . how long he intends to stay in this city . . . They are the very words of the proclamation.’

Before replying, Renzo swallowed another glass; it was the third, and from this time forward, I fear ............