The partisans of peace, having recovered breath, aided Ferrer in various ways; those who were near him, while endeavouring by their own to perpetuate the general applause, sought at the same time to keep off the crowd, so as to open a passage for the carriage; others applauded and repeated his words, or such as appeared appropriate to his undertaking and his peril; imposed silence on the obstinately furious, or contrived to turn against them the anger of the fickle assembly. “Who is it that will not say, Long live Ferrer? You don’t wish bread to be cheap, then, eh? They are rogues who are not willing to receive justice at the hands of a Christian, and there are some among them who cry louder than the rest, to allow the vicar to escape. To prison with the superintendent! Long live Ferrer! Make way for Ferrer!” The numbers of those who spoke in this manner increasing continually, the numbers of the opposite party diminished in proportion; so that the former, from admonishing, had recourse to blows, in order to silence those who were still disposed to pursue the work of destruction. The menaces and threatenings of the weaker party were of no longer avail; the cause of blood had ceased to predominate, and in its place were heard only the cries of “Prison, justice, Ferrer!” The rebellious spirits were finally silenced: the remainder took possession of the door, in order to defend it from fresh attacks, and also to prepare a passage for Ferrer; and some among them called to those within (openings were not wanting) that succour had arrived, and that the vicar must get ready “to go quickly—to prison—hem! do you hear?”
“Is this the Ferrer who helps in making the proclamations?” asked our Renzo of one of his new neighbours, remembering the vidit Ferrera that the doctor had shown him appended to the famous proclamation, and which he had reiterated in his ears with so great a degree of pertinacity.
“The same, the high chancellor,” replied he.
“He is a worthy man, is he not?”
“He is more than worthy; it is he who has lowered the price of bread, against the wishes of others in power, and now he comes to carry the vicar to prison, because he has not acted justly.”
It is unnecessary to say, that Renzo’s feelings were immediately enlisted on the side of Ferrer. He was desirous to approach near him, but the undertaking was no easy one; however, with the decision and strength of a mountaineer, he continued to elbow himself through the crowd, and finally reached the side of the carriage.
The carriage had already penetrated into the midst of the crowd, but was here suddenly stopped by one of those obstructions, the unavoidable consequence of a journey like this. The aged Ferrer presented, now at one window of his carriage, now at the other, a countenance full of humility, of sweetness, and benevolence; a countenance which he had always kept in reserve for the day in which he should appear before Don Philip IV.; but he was constrained to make use of it on this occasion. He spoke; but the noise and buzzing of so many voices, and the shouts of applause which they bestowed on him, allowed but little of his discourse to be heard. He had recourse also to gestures; now placing his fingers on his lips, to take from thence a kiss, which his enclosed hands distributed to right and left, as if to render thanks for the favour with which the public regarded him; then he extended them, waving them slowly beyond the window as if to entreat a little space; and now again lowering them politely, as if to request a little silence. When he had succeeded in obtaining, in some measure, his last request, those who were nearest to him heard and repeated his words:—“Bread, abundance. I come to do justice; a little space, if you please.” Then, as if stifled and suffocated with the press, and the continual buzzing of so many voices, he threw himself back in the carriage, and with difficulty drawing a long breath, said to himself, “Por mi vida, que de gente.”[5]
“Long live Ferrer; there is no occasion for fear; you are a brave man. Bread! bread!”
“Yes, bread, bread,” replied Ferrer, “in abundance! I promise you, I do,” placing his hand on his heart. “Clear a passage for me,” added he, then, in the loudest voice he could command; “I come to carry him to prison, to inflict on him a just punishment;” and he added, in a very low tone, “Si esta culpable.”[6] Then leaning forward to the coachman, he said hastily, “Adelante, Pedro, si puedes.”[7]
The coachman smiled also on the people with an affected politeness, as if he were some great personage; and, with ineffable grace, he waved the whip slowly from right to left, as if requesting his inconvenient neighbours to retire a little on either side. “Be so kind, gentlemen,” said he, “a little space, ever so little, just enough to let us pass.”