Masterpieces of the masters of fiction

by William Dudley Foulke

Men may differ in their estimates of Ivanhoe as a picture of human life and character, but they can hardly differ in their estimate of it as a beautiful piece of poetic imagination.

THE BETROTHED
ALESSANDRO MANZONI

“The Betrothed,” by Manzoni, has not received at the hands of the English or American public that wide celebrity or high rank which it deserves. It is a very great novel. Excepting only “Don Quixote,” and some of the masterpieces of Thackeray, I know of nothing more excellent in the whole range of fiction. There is no artificiality, no sensationalism, no straining after effect; but the story proceeds naturally and even quietly through events of great historic as well as tragic interest, to its consummation.

The scene opens at a village on the shores of the lake of Como, on an occasion when Don Abbondio, the curate of the parish, is stopped on his way home by two “bravoes” of Don Rodrigo, a nobleman of the locality, and warned, upon pain of death, not to celebrate the marriage of Renzo Tramaglino and Lucia Mondella, which had been fixed for the following day. The scene is a very vivid one, and the terror of Don Abbondio is set forth in the liveliest manner. He is also warned not to disclose the warning; “It will be the same as marrying them,” says the bravo. But the poor priest is a leaky vessel, and when he grumbles and complains to his housekeeper Perpetua, he can not refrain from relating to her the awful threat. Dreadful are his dreams that night of “bravoes, Don Rodrigo, Renzo, cries, muskets”; and on the next day, when he makes blundering excuses to the bridegroom and tries to overwhelm him with Latin quotations which he can not understand, the truth all comes out, for Perpetua has talked with Renzo about “overbearing tyrants,” and Renzo at last worms the story, and even the name of the “tyrant,” out of the frightened priest.

But the wedding is stopped, and Renzo betakes himself to Dr. Azzecca Garbugli, learned in the law, who treats him encouragingly and confidentially, so long as he thinks he has only a malefactor to defend, quoting terrible edicts with the comforting assurance that he can get him off, until he learns that Renzo has come, not to defeat but to seek justice, and that too against the powerful Don Rodrigo. Then he sends the poor fellow away, and will hear nothing in justification of his suit.

But the unfortunate lovers have a friend in the person of Father Cristoforo, a monk, who in his early life had killed a man in a rage, and devoted the remainder of his days to the humility and repentance of the cloister. He takes it upon himself to visit Don Rodrigo, and in earnest and indignant words remonstrates with the abandoned nobleman, but he is ordered from the house.

And now Agnese, the gossiping mother of Lucia, proposes to accomplish the marriage by craft. The lovers are to make a declaration before the curate in the presence of witnesses. This, it seems, was a method recognized by law. Renzo undertakes his preparations for the scheme; gains access to Don Abbondio’s house through a friend, who comes under pretense of paying rent; but just as they are making the mutual declaration they are interrupted by a great outcry on the part of Don Abbondio, who throws the tablecloth over Lucia’s face and stops the proceedings.

That same night Don Rodrigo has sent his bravoes to abduct Lucia. They steal into the house, but find it empty, and are suddenly startled by the ringing of the bell, which has followed the outcry of Don Abbondio. “Each of the villains seems to hear in these peals his name, surname, and nickname,” and they flee in consternation, while the betrothed betake themselves to the convent of Father Cristoforo, at Pescarenico; and the tumult aroused in the village by these events, admirably pictured by the novelist, at length subsides.

Father Cristoforo sends Renzo to Milan, and the women to a convent at Monza, where Lucia is to find refuge with “the Signora,” a nun of high rank, who has been compelled by her father to assume the veil. The Signora is proud, passionate, unreconciled. Her history, and the schemes by which her consent to a monastic life had been extorted by alternate persecutions and flatteries, are skillfully delineated, as well as her intrigue with Egidio, an abandoned man, living in a house adjoining the convent, which intrigue is followed by the mysterious disappearance of a lay sister who has discovered the crime. But “the Signora” now rejoices at the opportunity of thus sheltering an innocent creature like Lucia, whom she takes under her protection.

Renzo reaches Milan at the time of the breaking out of the bread riots, due to the prevailing famine. The looting and destruction of one of the bake-houses is vividly described, and also the attack upon the superintendent of provisions. Renzo can not keep out of these exciting scenes, and becomes quite a hero, making a speech to the crowd, innocent enough in purpose, but easily construed into sedition by a secret agent of the government who hears it, attaches himself to Renzo, acts as his guide to an inn in the neighborhood, where the innocent young man unlawfully refuses to give his name to the innkeeper, but unwittingly reveals it to his guide; then goes to bed intoxicated, is arrested next morning, escapes from the officers of justice in the midst of the crowd, flees from the city, and does not stop until he has quit the duchy of Milan, crossed the Adda, and taken refuge with his cousin Bortolo in the Bergamascan territory—all of which is followed by proceedings declaring him a dangerous outlaw,—luckily, however, after he is well out of reach.