The night fell and was passed without sleep or rest. The citizens were
gathered together on the walls, talking anxiously, trying to pierce the
darkness to see the rescuing army from Rome. Now and then someone
thought he heard the tramp of cavalry or saw a gleam of armour, and then
they stood still, holding their breaths, listening. But they heard
nothing, saw nothing.... Others were assembled in the piazza, and with
them a crowd of women and children; the churches were full of women
praying and weeping. The night seemed endless. At last a greater
chilliness of the air told them that the dawn was at hand; gradually the
darkness seemed to thin away into a cold pallor, and above a bank of
cloud in the east appeared a sickly light. More anxiously than ever our
eyes turned towards Rome; the mist hid the country from us, but some of
the watchers thought they saw a black mass, far away. They pointed it
out to the others, and all watched eagerly; but the black mass grew
neither larger nor clearer nor nearer; and as great yellow rays shot up
above the clouds, and the sun rose slowly, we saw the road stretched out
before us, and it was empty, empty, empty.
It was almost a sob that burst from them, and moaningly they asked when
help was coming. At that moment a man ascended the ramparts and told us
that the protonotary had received a letter from the Pope, in which he
informed him that relief was on the way. A cheer broke from us. At last!
The siege began in earnest with a simultaneous attack on the four gates
of the town, but they were well defended, and the enemy easily beaten
off. But all at once we heard a great sound of firing, and shouts, and
shrieks, and we saw flames burst from the roof of a house. In our
thought of Lodovico we had forgotten the enemy in our midst, and a
terrible panic broke out when it was found that the citadel had opened
fire. The Castellan had turned his cannon on the houses surrounding the
fortress, and the damage was terrible. The inhabitants hurried out for
their lives, taking with them their chattels and fled to safer parts of
the town. One house had been set on fire and for a while we feared that
others would catch and a general conflagration be added to our woes.
People said it was a visitation of God; they talked of Divine vengeance
for the murder of the Count, and when Checco hurried to the scene of the
fire they did not care to restrain themselves any longer, but broke out
into yells and hisses. Afterwards, when the flames had been extinguished
and Checco was passing through the piazza, they surrounded him, hooting,
and would not let him pass.
'Curs!' he hissed, looking at them furiously, with clenched fists. Then,
as if unable to contain himself he drew his sword, shouting,--
'Let me pass!'
They shrank back and he went his way. But immediately he had gone the
storm redoubled, and the place rang with their cries.
'By God,' said Checco, 'how willingly I would turn the cannon on them
and mow them down like grass!'
They were the first words he had said of the change of feeling....
It was the same with us, when we walked through the streets--Matteo and
I and the Moratini--they hissed and groaned at us. And a week before
they would have licked our boots and kissed the ground we trod on!
The bombardment continued, outside and in, and it was reported through
the town that Lodovico had vowed to sack the place and hang every third
citizen. They knew he was the man to keep his word. The murmurs began to
grow even louder, and voices were heard suggesting a surrender.... It
had occurred to all of them, and when the most timid, driven to boldness
by their fear, spoke the word, they looked at one another guiltily. They
gathered together in little knots, talking in undertones, suspicious,
stopping suddenly if they saw near anyone who was known to be in favour
of the party of Liberty. They discussed how to make terms for
themselves; some suggested giving up the town unconditionally, others
proposed an agreement. At last they spoke of appeasing the Duke by
handing over to him the seventeen conspirators who had planned the
murder of Girolamo. The thought frightened them at first, but they soon
became used to it. They said the Orsi had really had no thought of the
common good, but it was for their private ends that they had killed the
Count and brought this evil on the town. They railed against Checco for
making them suffer for his own ambition; they had lauded him to the
skies for refusing the sovereignty, but now they said he had only
feigned, and that he intended to seize the city at the first good
opportunity. And as to the others, they had helped for greed and petty
malice. As they talked they grew more excited, and soon they said it
would only be justice to hand over to the Duke the authors of their
troubles.
The day passed, and the second night, but there were no signs of the
help from Rome.
Another night passed by and still nothing came; the dawn, and the road
was as empty as before.
And the fourth night came and went and still there was nothing. Then a
great discouragement fell upon the people; the army was on the way, but
why did it not arrive? Suddenly here and there people were heard asking
about the letter from the Pope. No one had seen the messenger. How had
it come? And a horrible suspicion seized the people, so that they rushed
to the Palazzo Orsi, asking for Savello. As soon as he appeared they
broke out clamorously.
'Show us the letter!'
Savello refused! They insisted; they asked for the messenger who had
brought it. Savello said he had been sent back. None of us had seen
letter or messenger; the suspicion seized us too, and Checco asked,--
'Is there a letter?'