For those terrible gales had driven away from the coast of Leghorn certain ships from Marseilles, freighted with soldiery and corn: and Florence was in the direst need, first of food, and secondly2 of fighting men. Pale Famine was in her streets, and her territory was threatened on all its borders.
For the French king, that new Charlemagne, who had entered Italy in anticipatory3 triumph, and had conquered Naples without the least trouble, had gone away again fifteen months ago, and was even, it was feared, in his grief for the loss of a new-born son, losing the languid intention of coming back again to redress4 grievances5 and set the Church in order. A league had been formed against him — a Holy League, with Pope Borgia at its head — to ‘drive out the barbarians,’ who still garrisoned6 the fortress7 of Naples. That had a patriotic8 sound; but, looked at more closely, the Holy League seemed very much like an agreement among certain wolves to drive away all other wolves, and then to see which among themselves could snatch the largest share of the prey9. And there was a general disposition10 to regard Florence not as a fellow-wolf, but rather as a desirable carcass. Florence, therefore, of all the chief Italian States, had alone declined to join the League, adhering still to the French alliance.
She had declined at her peril11. At this moment Pisa, still fighting savagely12 for liberty, was being encouraged not only by strong forces from Venice and Milan, but by the presence of the German Emperor Maximilian, who had been invited by the League, and was joining the Pisans with such troops as he had in the attempt to get possession of Leghorn, while the coast was invested by Venetian and Genoese ships. And if Leghorn should fall into the hands of the enemy, woe13 to Florence! For if that one outlet14 towards the sea were closed, hedged in as she was on the land by the bitter ill-will of the Pope and the jealousy15 of smaller States, how could succours reach her?
The government of Florence had shown a great heart in this urgent need, meeting losses and defeats with vigorous effort, raising fresh money, raising fresh soldiers, but not neglecting the good old method of Italian defence — conciliatory embassies. And while the scarcity16 of food was every day becoming greater, they had resolved, in opposition17 to old precedent18, not to shut out the starving country people, and the mendicants driven from the gates of other cities, who came flocking to Florence like birds from a land of snow.
These acts of a government in which the disciples19 of Savonarola made the strongest element were not allowed to pass without criticism. The disaffected20 were plentiful21, and they saw clearly that the government took the worst course for the public welfare. Florence ought to join the League and make common cause with the other great Italian States, instead of drawing down their hostility22 by a futile23 adherence24 to a foreign ally. Florence ought to take care of her own citizens, instead of opening her gates to famine and pestilence25 in the shape of starving contadini and alien mendicants.
Every day the distress26 became sharper: every day the murmurs27 became louder. And, to crown the difficulties of the government, for a month and more — in obedience28 to a mandate29 from Rome — Fra Girolamo had ceased to preach. But on the arrival of the terrible news that the ships from Marseilles had been driven back, and that no corn was coming, the need for the voice that could infuse faith and patience into the people became too imperative30 to be resisted. In defiance31 of the Papal mandate the Signoria requested Savonarola to preach. And two days ago he had mounted again the pulpit of the Duomo, and had told the people only to wait and be steadfast32 and the divine help would certainly come.
It was a bold sermon: he consented to have his frock stripped off him if, when Florence persevered33 in fulfilling the duties of piety34 and citizenship35, God did not come to her rescue.
Yet at present, on this morning of the thirtieth, there were no signs of rescue. Perhaps if the precious Tabernacle of the Madonna dell’ Impruneta were brought into Florence and carried in devout36 procession to the Duomo, that Mother, rich in sorrows and therefore in mercy, would plead for the suffering city? For a century and a half there were records how the Florentines, suffering from drought, or flood, or famine, or pestilence, or the threat of wars, had fetched the potent37 image within their walls, and had found deliverance. And grateful honour had been done to her and her ancient church of L’Impruneta; the high house of Buondelmonti, patrons of the church, had to guard her hidden image with bare sword; wealth had been poured out for prayers at her shrine38, for chantings, and chapels39, and everburning lights; and lands had been added, till there was much quarrelling for the privilege of serving her. The Florentines were deeply convinced of her graciousness to them, so that the sight of her tabernacle within their walls was like the parting of the cloud, and the proverb ran, that the Florentines had a Madonna who would do what they pleased.
When were they in more need of her pleading pity than now? And already, the evening before, the tabernacle containing the miraculous40 hidden image had been brought with high and reverend escort from L’Impruneta, the privileged spot six miles beyond the gate of San Piero that looks towards Rome, and had been deposited in the church of San Gaggio, outside the gate, whence it was to be fetched in solemn procession by all the fraternities, trades and authorities of Florence.
But the Pitying Mother had not yet entered within the walls, and the morning arose on unchanged misery41 and despondency. Pestilence was hovering42 in the track of famine. Not only the hospitals were full, but the courtyards of private houses had been turned into refuges and infirmaries; and still there was unsheltered want. And early this morning, as usual, members of the various fraternities who made it part of their duty to bury the unfriended dead, were bearing away the corpses43 that had sunk by the wayside. As usual, sweet womanly forms, with the refined air and carriage of the well-born, but in the plainest garb44, were moving about the streets on their daily errands of tending the sick and relieving the hungry.
One of these forms was easily distinguishable as Romola de’ Bardi. Clad in the simplest garment of black serge, with a plain piece of black drapery drawn45 over her head, so as to hide all her hair, except the bands of gold that rippled46 apart on her brow, she was advancing from the Ponte Vecchio towards the Por’ Santa Maria — the street in a direct line with the bridge — when she found her way obstructed47 by the pausing of a bier, which was being carried by members of the company of San Jacopo del Popolo, in search for the unburied dead. The brethren at the head of the bier were stooping to examine something, while a group of idle workmen, with features paled and sharpened by hunger, were clustering around and all talking at once.
‘He’s dead, I tell you! Messer Domeneddio has loved him well enough to take him.’
‘Ah, and it would be well for us all if we could have our legs stretched out and go with our heads two or three bracci foremost! It’s ill standing48 upright with hunger to prop49 you.’
‘Well, well, he’s an old fellow. Death has got a poor bargain. Life’s had the best of him.’
‘And no Florentine, ten to one! A beggar turned out of Siena. San Giovanni defend us! They’ve no need of soldiers to fight us. They send us an army of starving men.’
‘No, no! This man is one of the prisoners turned out of the Stinche. I know by the grey patch where the prison badge was.’
‘Keep quiet! Lend a hand! Don’t you see the brethren are going to lift him on the bier?’
‘It’s likely he’s alive enough if he could only look it. The soul may be inside him if it had only a drop of vernaccia to warm it.’
‘In truth, I think he is not dead,’ said one of the brethren when they had lifted him on the bier. ‘He has perhaps only sunk down for want of food.’
‘Let me try to give him some wine,’ said Romola, coming forward. She loosened the small flask50 which she carried at her belt, and, leaning towards the prostrate51 body, with a deft52 hand she applied53 a small ivory implement54 between the teeth, and poured into the mouth a few drops of wine. The stimulus55 acted: the wine was evidently swallowed. She poured more, till the head was moved a little towards her, and the eyes of the old man opened full upon her with the vague look of returning consciousness.
Then for the first time a sense of complete recognition came over Romola. Those wild dark eyes opening in the sallow deep-lined face, with the white beard, which was now long again, were like an unmistakable signature to a remembered hand-writing. The light of two summers had not made that image any fainter in Romola’s memory: the image of the escaped prisoner, whom she had seen in the Duomo the day when Tito first wore the armour56 — at whose grasp Tito was paled with terror in the strange sketch57 she had seen in Piero’s studio. A wretched tremor58 and palpitation seized her. Now at last, perhaps, she was going to know some secret which might be more bitter than all that had gone before. She felt an impulse to dart59 away as from a sight of horror; and again, a more imperious need to keep close by the side of this old man whom, the divination60 of keen feeling told her, her husband had injured. In the very instant of this conflict she still leaned towards him and kept her right hand ready to administer more wine, while her left was passed under his neck. Her hands trembled, but their habit of soothing61 helpfulness would have served to guide them without the direction of her thought.
Baldassarre was looking at her for the first time. The close seclusion62 in which Romola’s trouble had kept her in the weeks preceding her flight and his arrest, had denied him the opportunity he had sought of seeing the Wife who lived in the Via de’ Bardi: and at this moment the descriptions he had heard of the fair golden-haired woman were all gone, like yesterday’s waves.
‘Will it not be well to carry him to the steps of San Stefano?’ said Romola. ‘We shall cease then to stop up the street, and you can go on your way with your bier.’
They had only to move onward63 for about thirty yards before reaching the steps of San Stefano, and by this time Baldassarre was able himself to make some efforts towards getting off the bier, and propping64 himself on the steps against the church doorway65. The charitable brethren passed on, but the group of interested spectators, who had nothing to do and much to say, had considerably66 increased. The feeling towards the old man was not so entirely67 friendly now it was quite certain that he was alive, but the respect inspired by Romola’s presence caused the passing remarks to be made in a rather more subdued68 tone than before.
‘Ah, they gave him his morsel69 every day in the Stinche — that’s why he can’t do so well without it. You and I, Cecco, know better what it is to go to bed fasting.’
‘Gnaffe! that’s why the Magnificent Eight have turned out some of the prisoners, that they may shelter honest people instead. But if every thief is to be brought to life with good wine and wheaten bread, we Ciompi had better go and fill ourselves in Arno while the water’s plenty.’
Romola had seated herself on the steps by Baldassarre, and was saying, ‘Can you eat a little bread now? perhaps by-and-by you will be able, if I leave it with you. I must go on, because I have promised to be at the hospital. But I will come back if you will wait here, and then I will take you to some shelter. Do you understand? Will you wait? I will come back.’
He looked dreamily at her, and repeated her words, ‘come back.’ It was no wonder that his mind was enfeebled by his bodily exhaustion70, but she hoped that he apprehended71 her meaning. She opened her basket, which was filled with pieces of soft bread, and put one of the pieces into his hand.
‘Do you keep your bread for those that can’t swallow, madonna?’ said a rough-looking fellow, in a red night-cap, who had elbowed his way into the inmost circle of spectators — a circle that was pressing rather closely on Romola.
‘If anybody isn’t hungry,’ said another, ‘I say, let him alone. He’s better off than people who’ve got craving72 stomachs and no breakfast.’
‘Yes, indeed; if a man’s a mind to die, it’s a time to encourage him, instead of making him come back to life against his will. Dead men want no trencher.’
‘Oh, you don’t understand the Frate’s charity,’ said a young man in an excellent cloth tunic73, whose face showed no signs of want. ‘The Frate has been preaching to the birds, like Saint Anthony, and he’s been telling the hawks74 they were made to feed the sparrows, as every good Florentine citizen was made to feed six starving beggarmen from Arezzo or Bologna. Madonna, there, is a pious75 Piagnone: she’s not going to throw away her good bread on honest citizens who’ve got all the Frate’s prophecies to swallow.’
‘Come, madonna,’ said he of the red cap, ‘the old thief doesn’t eat the bread, you see: you’d better try us. We fast so much, we’re half saints already.’
The circle had narrowed till the coarse men — most of them gaunt from privation — had left hardly any margin76 round Romola. She had been taking from her basket a small horn-cup, into which she put the piece of bread and just moistened it with wine; and hitherto she had not appeared to heed77 them. But now she rose to her feet, and looked round at them. Instinctively78 the men who were nearest to her pushed backward a little, as if their rude nearness were the fault of those behind. Romola held out the basket of bread to the man in the night-cap, looking at him without any reproach in her glance, as she said —
‘Hunger is hard to bear, I know, and you have the power to take this bread if you will. It was saved for sick women and children. You are strong men; but if you do not choose to suffer because you are strong, you have the power to take everything from the weak. You can take the bread from this basket; but I shall watch by this old man; I shall resist your taking the bread from him.’
For a few moments there was perfect silence, while Romola looked at the faces before her, and held out the basket of bread. Her own pale face had the slightly pinched look and the deepening of the eye-socket which indicate unusual fasting in the habitually79 temperate80, and the large direct gaze of her hazel eyes was all the more impressive.
The man in the night-cap looked rather silly, and backed, thrusting his elbow into his neighbour’s ribs81 with an air of moral rebuke82. The backing was general, every one wishing to imply that he had been pushed forward against his will; and the young man in the fine cloth tunic had disappeared.
But at this moment the armed servitors of the Signoria, who had begun to patrol the line of streets through which the procession was to pass, came up to disperse83 the group which was obstructing84 the narrow street. The man addressed as Cecco retreated from a threatening mace85 up the church steps, and said to Romola, in a respectful tone —
‘Madonna, if you want to go on your errands, I’ll take care of the old man.’
Cecco was a wild-looking figure: a very ragged86 tunic, made shaggy and variegated87 by cloth-dust and clinging fragments of wool, gave relief to a pair of bare bony arms and a long sinewy88 neck; his square jaw89 shaded by a bristly black beard, his bridgeless nose and low forehead, made his face look as if it had been crushed down for purposes of packing, and a narrow piece of red rag tied over his ears seemed to assist in the compression. Romola looked at him with some hesitation90.
‘Don’t distrust me, madonna,’ said Cecco, who understood her look perfectly91; ‘I am not so pretty as you, but I’ve got an old mother who eats my porridge for me. What! there’s a heart inside me, and I’ve bought a candle for the most Holy Virgin92 before now. Besides, see there, the old fellow is eating his sop93. He’s hale enough: he’ll be on his legs as well as the best of us by-and-by.’
‘Thank you for offering to take care of him, friend,’ said Romola, rather penitent94 for her doubting glance. Then leaning to Baldassarre, she said, ‘Pray wait for me till I come again.’
He assented95 with a slight movement of the head and hand, and Romola went on her way towards the hospital of San Matteo, in the Piazza96 di San Marco.
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1
gales
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| 龙猫 | |
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2
secondly
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| adv.第二，其次 | |
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3
anticipatory
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| adj.预想的，预期的 | |
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4
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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5
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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6
garrisoned
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| 卫戍部队守备( garrison的过去式和过去分词 )； 派部队驻防 | |
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7
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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8
patriotic
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| adj.爱国的，有爱国心的 | |
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9
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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10
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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11
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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12
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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13
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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14
outlet
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| n.出口/路；销路；批发商店；通风口；发泄 | |
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15
jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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16
scarcity
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| n.缺乏，不足，萧条 | |
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17
opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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18
precedent
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| n.先例，前例；惯例；adj.在前的，在先的 | |
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19
disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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20
disaffected
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| adj.（政治上）不满的，叛离的 | |
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21
plentiful
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| adj.富裕的，丰富的 | |
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22
hostility
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| n.敌对，敌意；抵制［pl.］交战，战争 | |
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23
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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adherence
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| n.信奉，依附，坚持，固着 | |
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pestilence
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| n.瘟疫 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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27
murmurs
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| n.低沉、连续而不清的声音( murmur的名词复数 )；低语声；怨言；嘀咕 | |
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28
obedience
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| n.服从，顺从 | |
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29
mandate
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| n.托管地；命令，指示 | |
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imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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31
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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32
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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persevered
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| v.坚忍，坚持( persevere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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piety
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| n.虔诚，虔敬 | |
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citizenship
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| n.市民权，公民权，国民的义务(身份) | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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potent
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| adj.强有力的，有权势的；有效力的 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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chapels
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| n.小教堂， （医院、监狱等的）附属礼拜堂( chapel的名词复数 )；（在小教堂和附属礼拜堂举行的）礼拜仪式 | |
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40
miraculous
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| adj.像奇迹一样的，不可思议的 | |
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41
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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42
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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43
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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44
garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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45
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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46
rippled
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| 使泛起涟漪（ripple的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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47
obstructed
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| 阻塞( obstruct的过去式和过去分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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48
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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49
prop
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| vt.支撑；n.支柱，支撑物；支持者，靠山 | |
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50
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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51
prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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52
deft
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| adj.灵巧的，熟练的（a deft hand 能手） | |
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53
applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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54
implement
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| n.(pl.)工具，器具；vt.实行，实施，执行 | |
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55
stimulus
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| n.刺激，刺激物，促进因素，引起兴奋的事物 | |
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56
armour
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| （=armor）n.盔甲；装甲部队 | |
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57
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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58
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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59
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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60
divination
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| n.占卜，预测 | |
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61
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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62
seclusion
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| n.隐遁，隔离 | |
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63
onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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64
propping
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| 支撑 | |
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65
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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66
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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morsel
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| n.一口，一点点 | |
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70
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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apprehended
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| 逮捕，拘押( apprehend的过去式和过去分词 )； 理解 | |
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craving
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| n.渴望,热望 | |
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73
tunic
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| n.束腰外衣 | |
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74
hawks
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| 鹰( hawk的名词复数 )； 鹰派人物，主战派人物 | |
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pious
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| adj.虔诚的；道貌岸然的 | |
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margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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instinctively
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| adv.本能地 | |
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habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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disperse
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| vi.使分散；使消失；vt.分散；驱散 | |
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obstructing
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| 阻塞( obstruct的现在分词 )； 堵塞； 阻碍； 阻止 | |
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mace
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| n.狼牙棒，豆蔻干皮 | |
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86
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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variegated
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| adj.斑驳的，杂色的 | |
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sinewy
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| adj.多腱的，强壮有力的 | |
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jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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virgin
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| n.处女，未婚女子；adj.未经使用的；未经开发的 | |
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sop
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| n.湿透的东西，懦夫；v.浸，泡，浸湿 | |
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penitent
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| adj.后悔的；n.后悔者；忏悔者 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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piazza
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| n.广场；走廊 | |
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