Poet, dramatist, and novelist, Alessandro Francesco Tommaso
Manzoni was born at Milan on March 7, 1785. In early manhood
he became an ardent disciple of Voltairianism, but after
marriage embraced the faith of the Church of Rome; and it was
in reparation of his early lapse that he composed his first
important literary work, which took the form of a treatise on
Catholic morality, and a number of sacred lyrics. Although
Manzoni was perhaps surpassed as a poet by several of his own
countrymen, his supreme position as novelist of the romantic
school in Italy is indisputable. His famous work, "The
Betrothed" ("I Promessi Sposi"), completed in 1822 and
published at the rate of a volume a year during 1825-27, was
declared by Scott to be the finest novel ever written. Manzoni
died on May 22, 1873.
_I.--The Schemes of Don Rodrigo_
Don Abbondio, curé of a little town near Como, was no hero. It was,
therefore, the less difficult for two armed bravos whom he encountered
one evening in the year 1628 to convince him that the wedding of Renzo
Tramaglino and Lucia Mondella must not take place, as it did not suit
the designs of their master, Don Rodrigo. Renzo, however, was by no
means disposed to take this view of the matter, and was like to have
taken some desperate steps to express his disapproval. From this course
he was dissuaded by Fra Cristoforo, a Capuchin, renowned for his wisdom
and sanctity, who undertook to attempt to soften the heart of Don
Rodrigo.
The friar was held in affectionate esteem by all, even by Rodrigo's
bravos, and on his arrival at the castle he was at once shown into the
presence of its master.
"I come," said he, "to propose to you an act of justice. Some men of bad
character have made use of the name of your illustrious lordship to
alarm a poor curé, and dissuade him from performing his duty, and to
oppress two innocent persons--"
"In short, father," said Rodrigo, "I suppose there is some young girl
you are concerned about. Since you seem to think that I am so powerful,
advise her to come and put herself under my protection; she shall be
well looked after. Cowled rascal!" he shouted. "Vile upstart! Thank the
cassock that covers your cowardly shoulders for saving them from the
caresses that such scoundrels should receive. Depart, or--"
In the meantime, plans were being discussed in Lucia's cottage.
"Listen, my children," said Agnese, her mother; "if you were married,
that would be the great difficulty out of the way."
"Is there any doubt," said Renzo; "_if_ we were married--At Bergamo, not
far from here, a silk-weaver would be received with open arms. You know
my cousin Bartolo has wanted me to go there and make my fortune, as he
has done. Once married, we could all go thither together, and live in
blessed peace, out of this villain's reach."
"Listen, then," said Agnese. "There must be two witnesses; all four must
go to the priest and take him by surprise, that he mayn't have time to
escape. The man says, 'Signor Curé, this is my wife'; the woman says,
'Signor Curé, this is my husband.' It is necessary that the curé and the
witnesses hear it, and the marriage is then as valid and sacred as if
the Pope himself had blessed it."
"But why, then," said Lucia, "didn't this plan come into Fra
Cristoforo's mind?"
"Do you think it didn't?" replied she. "But--if you must know--the
friars disapprove of that sort of thing."
"If it isn't right, we ought not to do it."
"What! Would I give you advice contrary to the fear of God; if it were
against the will of your parents? But when I am satisfied, and he who
makes all this disturbance is a villain----Once it is done, what do you
think the father will say? 'Ah! daughter; it was a sad error, but it is
done.' In his heart he will be very well satisfied."
On the following night Don Abbondio was disturbed at a late hour by a
certain Tonio, who came with his cousin Gervase to pay a small debt.
While he was giving him a receipt for it, Renzo and Lucia slipped in
unperceived. The curé was startled on suddenly hearing the words,
"Signor Curé, in the presence of these witnesses, this is my wife."
Instantly grasping the situation, and before Lucia's lips could form a
reply, Don Abbondio seized the tablecloth, and at a bound wrapped her
head in it, so that she could not complete the formula. "Perpetua!" he
shouted to his housekeeper. "Help!"
Dashing to an inner room, he locked himself in, flung open the window,
and shouted for help. Hearing the uproar, the sexton, who lived next
door, shouted out, "What is it?"
"Help!" repeated the curé. Not being over desirous of thrusting himself
blindly in upon unknown dangers, the sexton hastened to the belfry and
vigorously rang the great bell. This ringing the bell had more
far-reaching consequences than he anticipated. Enraged by the friar's
visit, Rodrigo had determined to abduct Lucia, and sent his bravos to
effect his purpose that very night. At the very moment that the bell
began to ring they had just broken into Agnese's house, and were
searching for the occupants. Convinced that their action was the cause
of commotion, they beat a hasty retreat.
The discomfited betrothed--still only betrothed--hastily rejoined
Agnese, who was waiting for them in the street. As they hurriedly turned
their steps homeward a child threw himself into their way.
"Back! Back!" he breathlessly exclaimed. "This way to the monastery!"
"What is it?" asked Renzo.
"There are devils in your house," said the boy, panting. "I saw them;
Fra Cristoforo said so; he sent me to warn you. He had news from someone
at the castle; you must go to him at the monastery at once."
"My children," said Fra Cristoforo on their arrival, "the village is no
longer safe for you; for a time, at least, you must take refuge
elsewhere. I will arrange for you, Lucia, to be taken care of in a
convent at Monza. You, Renzo, must put yourself in safety from the anger
of others, and your own. Carry this letter to Father Bonaventura, in our
monastery at Milan. He will find you work."
_II.--The Riot of the Hungry_
Fra Bonaventura was out when Renzo arrived to present his letter.
"Go and wait in the church, where you may employ yourself profitably,"
was the porter's advice, which Renzo was about to follow, when a
tumultuous crowd came in sight. Here, apparently, was matter of greater
interest, so he turned aside to see the cause of the uproar.
The cause, though Renzo did not at the time discover it, was the
shortage of the bread supply. Owing to the ravages of war and the
disturbed state of the country, much land lay uncultivated and deserted;
insupportable taxes were levied; and no sooner had the deficient harvest
been gathered in than the provisions for the army, and the waste which
always accompanies them, made a fearful void in it. What had attracted
Renzo's attention was but the sudden exacerbation of a chronic disease.
Mingling with the hurrying mob, Renzo soon discovered that they had been
engaged in sacking a bakery, and were filled with fury to find large
quantities of flour, the existence of which the authorities had denied.
"The superintendent! The tyrant! We'll have him, dead or alive!"
Renzo found himself borne along in the thickest of the throng to the
house of the superintendent, where a tremendous crowd was endeavouring
to break in the doors. The tumult being allayed by the arrival of
Ferrer, the chancellor, a popular favourite, Renzo became involved in
conversation with some of the rioters. He asked to be directed to an inn
where he could pass the night.
"I know an inn that will suit you," said one who had listened to all the
speeches without himself saying a word. "The landlord is a friend of
mine, a very worthy man."
So saying, he took Renzo off to an inn at some little distance, taking
pains to ascertain who he was and whence he came. Arrived at the inn,
the new companions shared a bottle of wine which, in Renzo's excited
condition, soon mounted to his head. Another bottle was called for; and
the landlord, being asked if he had a bed, produced pen, ink, and paper,
and demanded his name, surname and country.
"What has all this to do with my bed?"
"I do my duty. We are obliged to report everyone that sleeps in the
house."
"Oh, so I'm to tell my business, am I? This is something new. Supposing
I had come to Milan to confess, I should go to a Capuchin father, not to
an innkeeper."
"Well, if you won't, you won't!" said the landlord, with a glance at
Renzo's companion. "I've done my duty."
So saying, he withdrew, and shortly afterwards the new-found friend
insisted on taking his departure. At daybreak Renzo was awakened by a
shake and a voice calling, "Lorenzo Tramaglino."
"Eh, what does this mean? What do you want? Who told you my name?" said
Renzo, starting up, amazed to find three men, two of them fully armed,
standing at his bedside.
"You must come with us. The high sheriff wants to have some words with
you."
Renzo now found himself being led through the streets, that were still
filled with a considerable number of last night's rioters, by no means
yet pacified. When they had gone a little way some of the crowd,
noticing them, began to form around the party.
"If I don't help myself now," thought Renzo, "it's my own fault. My
friends," he shouted, "they're carrying me off because yesterday I
shouted 'Bread and Justice!' Don't abandon me, my friends!"
The crowd at once began to press forward, and the bailiffs, fearing
danger, let go of his hands and tried to disappear into the crowd. Renzo
was carried off safely.
His only hope of safety now lay in getting entirely clear of Milan and
hiding himself in some other town out of the jurisdiction of the duchy.
He decided to go to Bergamo, which was under Venetian government, where
he could live safely with his cousin until such time as Milan had
forgotten him.
_III.--The Unnamed's Penitence_
Don Rodrigo was now more determined than ever to accomplish his
praiseworthy undertaking, and to this end he sought the help of a very
formidable character, a powerful noble, whose bravos had long been the
terror of the countryside, and who was always referred to as "The
Unnamed."
Lucia, having been sent one day with a note from the convent where she
had found refuge to a monastery at some little distance, found herself
suddenly seized from behind, and, regardless of her screams, bundled
into a carriage, which drove off at a great pace.
When the carriage stopped, after a long drive, Lucia was hurried into a
litter, which bore her up a steep hill to a castle, where she was shut
up in a room with an old crone. After a while a resounding knock was
heard on the door, and the Unnamed strode in.
Casting a glance around, he discovered Lucia crouched down on the floor
in a corner.
"Come, get up!" he said to her.
The unhappy girl raised herself on her knees, and raised her hands to
him.
"Oh, what have I done to you? Where am I? Why do you make me suffer the
agonies of hell? In the name of God--"
"God!" interrupted he; "always God! They who cannot defend themselves
must always bring forward this God. What do you expect by this word? To
make me--"
"Oh, signor, what can a poor girl like me expect, except that you should
have mercy upon me? God pardons so many sins for one deed of mercy. For
charity's sake, let me go! I will pray for you all my life. Oh, see, you
are moved to pity! Say one word; oh, say it! God pardons so many sins
for one deed of mercy!"
"Oh, why isn't she the daughter of one of the dogs who outlawed me?"
thought the Unnamed. "Then I should enjoy her sufferings; but instead--"
"Don't drive away a good inspiration!" continued Lucia earnestly, seeing
a certain hesitation in his face.
"Perhaps some day even you--But no--no, I will always pray the Lord to
keep you from every evil."
"Come, take courage," said the Unnamed, with unusual gentleness. "Have I
done you any harm? To-morrow morning--"
"Oh set me free now!"
"To-morrow I will see you again."
When he left her, the unhappy girl flung herself on her knees. "O most
holy Virgin," she prayed, "thou to whom I have so often recommended
myself, and who hast so often comforted me! Bring me out of this danger,
bring me safely to my mother, and I vow unto thee to continue a virgin!
I renounce for ever my unfortunate betrothed, that I may belong only to
thee!"
The Unnamed retired for the night, but not to sleep. "God pardons so
many sins for one deed of mercy!" kept ringing in his ears. Suppose
there was a God, after all? He had so many sins in need of pardon.
About daybreak a confused murmur reached his ear from the valley below;
a distant chiming of bells began to make itself heard; nearer bells took
up the peal, until the whole air rang with the sound. He demanded the
cause of all this rejoicing, and was informed that Cardinal Boromeo had
arrived, and that the festival was in his honour.
He went to Lucia's apartment, and found her still huddled up in a
corner, but sleeping. The hag explained that she could not be prevailed
upon to go to bed.
"Then let her sleep. When she wakes, tell her that I will do all she
wishes."
Leaving the castle with rapid steps, the Unnamed hastened to the village
where the cardinal had rested the previous night.
"Oh," cried Federigo Boromeo, "what a welcome visit is this. You have
good news for me, I am sure."
"Good news! What good news can you expect from such as I?"
"That God has touched your heart, and would make you His own."
"God! God! If I could but see Him! If He be such as they say, what do
you suppose that He can do with me?"
"The world has long cried out against you," replied Federigo in a solemn
voice. "He can acquire through you a glory such as others cannot give
Him. How must He love you, Who has bid and enabled me to regard you with
a charity that consumes me!" So saying, he extended his hand.
"No!" cried the penitent. "Defile not your hand! You know not all that
the one you would grasp has committed."
"Suffer me to press the hand which will repair so many wrongs, comfort
so many afflicted, be extended peacefully and humbly to so many
enemies."
"Unhappy man that I am," exclaimed the signor, "one thing, at least, I
can quickly arrest and repair."
Federigo listened attentively to the relation of Lucia's abduction. "Ah,
let us lose no time!" he exclaimed breathlessly. "This is an earnest of
God's forgiveness, to make you an instrument of safety to one whom you
would have ruined."
_IV.--In a Lazzeretto_
Thanks to his cousin, Renzo was enabled to earn very good wages, and
would have been quite content to remain had it not been for his desire
to rejoin Lucia. A terrible outbreak of plague in Milan spread to
Bergamo, and our friend was among the first to be stricken down, his
recovery being due more to his excellent constitution than to any
medical skill. Thereafter, he lost no more time, and after many
inquiries he succeeded in tracing Lucia to an address in Milan.
Secure in an _alias_, he set out to the plague-stricken city, which he
found in the most deplorable condition. Having found the house of which
he was in search, he knocked loudly at the door and inquired if Lucia
still lived there. To his horror, he found that she had been taken to
the Lazzeretto!
Let the reader imagine the enclosure of the Lazzeretto, peopled with
16,000 persons ill of the plague; the whole area encumbered, here with
tents and cabins, there with carts, and elsewhere with people; crowded
with dead or dying, stretched on mattresses, or on bare straw; and
throughout the whole a commotion like the swell of the sea.
"Lucia, I've found you! You're living!" exclaimed Renzo, all in a
tremble.
"Oh, blessed Lord!" cried she, trembling far more violently. "You?"
"How pale you are! You've recovered, though?"
"The Lord has pleased to leave me here a little longer. Ah, Renzo, why
are you here?"
"Why? Need I say why? Am I no longer Renzo? Are you no longer Lucia?"
"Ah, what are you saying? Didn't my mother write to you?"
"Ay, that indeed she did. Fine things to offer to an unfortunate,
afflicted, fugitive wretch who had never done you wrong."
"But, Renzo, Renzo, you don't think what you're saying! A promise to the
Madonna--a vow!"
"And I think better of the Madonna than you do, for I believe she
doesn't wish for promises that injure one's fellow-creatures. Promise
her that our first daughter shall be called Maria, for that I'm willing
to promise, too. That is a devotion that may have some use, and does no
harm to anyone."
"You don't know what it is to make a vow. Leave me, for heaven's sake,
and think no more about me--except in your prayers!"
"Listen, Lucia! Fra Cristoforo is here. I spoke with him but a short
while ago, while I was searching for you, and he told me that I did
right to come and look for you; and that the Lord would approve my
acting so, and would surely help me to find you, which has come to
pass."
"But if he said so, he didn't know------"
"How should he know of things you've done out of your own head, and
without the advice of a priest? A good man, as he is, would never think
of things of this kind. And he spoke, too, like a saint. He said that
perhaps God designed to show mercy to that poor fellow, for so I must
now call him, Don Rodrigo, who is now in this place, and waits to take
him at the right moment, but wishes that we should pray for him
together. Together! You hear? He told me to go back and tell him whether
I'd found you. I'm going. We'll hear what he says."
After a while, Renzo returned with Fra Cristoforo. "My daughter," said
the father, "did you recollect, when you made that vow, that you were
bound by another promise?"
"When it related to the Madonna?"
"My daughter, the Lord approves of offerings when we make them of our
own. It is the heart, the will that He desires. But you could not offer
Him the will of another, to Whom you had pledged yourself."
"Have I done wrong?"
"No, my poor child. But tell me, have you no other motive that hinders
you from fulfilling your promise to Renzo?"
Lucia blushed crimson. "Nothing else," she whispered.
"Then, my child, you know that the Church has power to absolve you from
your vow?"
"But, father, is it not a sin to turn back and repent of a promise made
to the Madonna? I made it at the time with my whole heart----" said
Lucia, violently agitated by so unexpected a hope.
"A sin? A sin to have recourse to the Church, and to ask her minister to
make use of the authority which he has received, through her, from God?
And if you request me to declare you absolved from this vow, I shall not
hesitate to do it; nay, I wish that you may request me."
"Then--then--I do request it!"
In an explicit voice the father then said, "By the authority I have
received from the Church, I declare you absolved from the vow of
virginity, and free you from every obligation you may thereby have
contracted. Beseech the Lord again for those graces you once besought to
make you a holy wife; and rely on it, He will bestow them upon you after
so many sorrows."
"Has Renzo told you," Fra Cristoforo continued, "whom he has seen here?"
"Oh, yes, father, he has!"
"You will pray for him. Don't be weary of doing so. And pray also for
me."
Some weeks later, Don Abbondio received a visit, as unexpected as it was
gratifying, from the marquis who, on Rodrigo's death from the plague,
succeeded to his estates.
"I come," said he, "to bring you the compliments of the cardinal
archbishop. He wishes to have news of the young betrothed persons of
this parish, who had to suffer on account of the unfortunate Don
Rodrigo."
"Everything is settled, and they will be man and wife as soon as
possible."
"And I request that you be good enough to tell me if I can be of any
service to them."
* * * * *
And here we may safely leave Renzo and Lucia. Their powerful protector
easily secured Renzo's pardon, and shortly afterwards they were happily
married and settled in Bergamo, where abundant prosperity came to them;
and, furthermore, they were blessed with a large family, of whom the
first, being a girl, was named Maria.
* * * * *