The Betrothed / From the Italian of Alessandro Manzoni

by Alessandro Manzoni

In the mean time many attributed this story of the poisoned ointment to the revenge of Gonsalvo Fernandez de Cordova; others to Cardinal Richelieu, in order the more easily to get possession of Milan; others again affixed the crime to various Milanese gentlemen.

There were still many who were not persuaded that it was the plague, because if it were, every one infected would die of it; whereas a few recovered. To dissipate every doubt, the Tribunal of Health made use of an expedient conformable to the necessity of the occasion; they made an address to the eyes, such as the spirit of the times suggested. On one of the days of the feast of Pentecost, the inhabitants of the city were accustomed to go to the burying ground of San Gregorio, beyond the eastern gate, in order to pray for the dead in the last plague. Turning the season of devotion into one of amusement, every one was attired in his best; on that day a whole family, among others, had died of the plague. At the hour in which the concourse was most numerous, the dead bodies of this family were, by order of the Tribunal of Health, drawn naked on a carriage towards this same burying ground; so that the crowd might behold for themselves the manifest traces, the hideous impress of the disease. A cry of alarm and horror arose wherever the car passed; their incredulity was at least shaken, but it is probable that the great concourse tended to spread the infection.

Still it was not absolutely the plague; the use of the word was prohibited, it was a pestilential fever, the adjective was preferred to the substantive,—then, not the true plague,—that is to say, the plague, but only in a certain sense,—and further, combined with poison and witchcraft. Such is the absurd trifling with which men seek to blind themselves, wilfully abstaining from a sound exercise of judgment to arrive at the truth.

Meanwhile, as it became from day to day more difficult to raise funds to meet the painful exigencies of circumstances, the council of ten resolved to have recourse to government. They represented, by two deputies, the state of misery and distress of the city, the enormity of the expense, the revenues anticipated, and the taxes withheld in consequence of the general poverty which had been produced by so many causes, and especially by the pillaging of the soldiery. That according to various laws, and a special decree of Charles V., the expense of the plague ought by right to devolve upon government. Finally, they proceeded to make four demands: that the taxes should be suspended; that the chamber should advance funds; that the governor should make known to the king the calamitous state of the city and province; and that the duchy, already exhausted, should be excused from providing quarters for the soldiery. Spinola replied with new regrets and exhortations; declaring himself grieved not to be able to visit Milan in person, in order to employ himself for the preservation of the city, but hoping that the zeal of the magistrates would supply his place: in short, he made evasive answers to all their requests. Afterwards, when the plague was at its height, he transferred, by letters patent, his authority to the high chancellor Ferrer, being, as he said, obliged to devote himself entirely to the cares of the war.

The council of ten then requested the cardinal to order a solemn procession, for the purpose of carrying through the streets the body of San Carlos. The good prelate refused; this confidence in a doubtful means disturbed him, and he feared that, if the effect should not be obtained, confidence would be converted into infidelity, and rebellion against God. He also feared that if there really were poisoners, this procession would be a favourable occasion for their machinations; and if there were not, so great a collection would have a tendency to spread the contagion.

The doors of public edifices and private houses had been again anointed as at first. The news flew from mouth to mouth; the people, influenced by present suffering, and by the imminence of the supposed danger, readily embraced the belief. The idea of subtle instantaneous poison seemed sufficient to explain the violence, and the almost incomprehensible circumstances, of the disease. Add to this the idea of enchantment, and any effect was possible, every objection was rendered feeble, every difficulty was explained. If the effects did not immediately succeed the first attempt, the cause was easy to assign: it had been done by those to whom the art was new; and now that it was brought to perfection, the perpetrators were more confirmed in their infernal resolution. If any one had dared to suggest its having been done in jest, or denied the existence of a dark plot, he would have passed for an obstinate fool, if he did not incur the suspicion of being himself engaged in it. With such persuasions on their minds, all were on the alert to discover the guilty; the most indifferent action excited suspicion, suspicion was changed to certainty, and certainty to rage.

As illustrations of this, Ripamonti cites two examples which fell under his own observation, and such were of daily occurrence.

In the church of St. Antonio, on a day of some great solemnity, an old man, after having prayed for some time on his knees, rose to seat himself, and before doing so, wiped the dust from the bench with his handkerchief. “The old man is poisoning the bench,” cried some women, who beheld the action. The crowd in the church threw themselves upon him, tore his white hair, and after beating him, drew him out half dead, to carry him to prison and to torture. “I saw the unfortunate man,” says Ripamonti; “I never knew the end of his painful story, but at the time I thought he had but a few moments to live.”

The other event occurred the next day; it was as remarkable, but not as fatal. Three young Frenchmen having come to visit Italy, and study its antiquities, had approached the cathedral, and were contemplating it very attentively. Some persons, who were passing by, stopped; a circle was formed around them; they were not lost sight of for a moment, having been recognised as strangers, and especially Frenchmen. As if to assure themselves that the wall was marble, the young artists extended their hands to touch it. This was enough. In a moment they were surrounded, and, with imprecations and blows, dragged to prison. Happily, however, they were proved to be innocent, and released.

These things were not confined to the city; the frenzy was propagated equally with the contagion. The traveller encountered off the high road, the stranger whose habits or appearance were in any respect singular, were judged to be poisoners. At the first intelligence of a new comer, at the cry even of a child, the alarm bell was rung; and the unfortunate persons were assailed with showers of stones, or seized and conducted to prison. And thus the prison itself was, during a certain period, a place of safety.