Alessandro Manzoni, The Betrothed. Alessandro Manzoni - Betrothed - read free ebook online or download this book for free

Don Abbondio, priest of a small village situated in that part of Lake Como, where it turns south between two mountain ranges and is all cut up by ledges and bays, returns home at sunset on November 7, 1628, after a pleasant walk. He is about to turn onto the path leading to the village when two sinister figures block his path. Their attire, appearance, and gimmicks—both have a green net tied around their heads with a large tassel, long mustaches curled up, a pair of pistols attached to a leather belt, a huge dagger, and a broadsword with a brightly polished hilt—leave no doubt as to their occupation. These are the so-called bravos, dashing fellows who are hired for various, including very dubious, assignments. Poor Don Abbondio's soul immediately sinks into his heels, and he painfully tries to remember if he was guilty of anything against the powers that be. On behalf of his master, the young and unbridled feudal lord Don Rodrigo, the Bravi demands that Don Abbondio cancel the wedding of the local peasant boy Renzo Tramaglino and his bride Lucia Mondella scheduled for tomorrow. The unfortunate priest a kind person and does not wish harm to anyone, but does not have courage at all and therefore avoids any clashes, and since they have touched him, he always takes the side of the strongest, making it clear to the weak that in his soul he is not his enemy. Tormented by remorse and even more acute attacks of fear, he spends an agonizing night. The next morning, Renzo Tramaglino, dressed to the nines, comes to him - a twenty-year-old guy, with young years left without parents, he has a small piece of land and is engaged in silk spinning, which gives him a modest but steady income. He burns with impatience to be united with his beloved Lucia and wants to discuss with Don Abbondio the last details of the upcoming wedding ceremony. But the priest meets the radiant bridegroom without the usual friendliness and embarrassedly and confusedly explains to him that the wedding cannot take place - there are good reasons for that. The wedding is postponed for a week. The talkative servant of Don Abbondio Perpetua, whom the priest entrusted the day before terrible secret, places doubts in Renzo's heart. He interrogates Don Abbondio passionately, talks to his fiancee, and finally understands what the catch is: the insolent Don Rodrigo has tender feelings for pretty Lucia. After consulting, Renzo and the mother of the bride, Agnese, decide that the groom should take four capons with him, go to the large village of Lecco and find there a long, skinny, bald lawyer with a red nose and a raspberry mole on his cheek, whom everyone calls Hookworker - he knows everything laws and help find a way out of a difficult situation.

The lawyer readily agrees, but as soon as he hears the mention of the terrible Don Rodrigo, he hurries to get rid of the unlucky client and even returns the live "fee" tied up in the legs. Lucia comes up with the idea to seek help from the monk of the neighboring Capuchin monastery, Father Christopher, before whose authority even the most notorious tyrants bow. This already elderly monk is known not only for his piety, but also for the strict fulfillment of two duties that he voluntarily prescribed to himself: to reconcile those who quarrel and protect those offended. Father Christopher boldly goes to the lair of the beast, which he hopes to tame with prayers or a description of the torments that await him in the afterlife. A stormy conversation has absolutely no effect: Don Rodrigo, his equally impudent Milanese cousin Attilio and drunken guests ridicule the monk, and he leaves the luxurious villa, calling curses on the head of the wicked master. The last resort remains - to get married without the consent of Don Abbondio, but in his presence. To do this, you need to bring two witnesses. The groom says, "This is my wife," and the bride says, "This is my husband." Everyone heard everything, the holy sacrament is considered accomplished. The main thing is to take the priest by surprise and not let him escape. God-fearing Lucia barely agrees to her mother and Renzo's dubious offer. She finds shelter in a monastery with a high-ranking nun Gertrude.

Renzo goes to Milan, where he finds himself in the midst of a food riot, when desperate townspeople rob and sack bakeries and storm the house of the food master. Unexpectedly for himself, Renzo becomes a people's tribune and expresses sound peasant thoughts about the social structure. He stops at a tavern for the night, orders dinner and, after drinking one or two bottles of good wine, allows himself too bold judgments about the actions of the authorities. The owner of the tavern considers it his duty to warn the police about the dangerous rebel. The next morning, two policemen and a criminal officer get him out of bed and tell him to follow them. On the way, he is freed by an excited crowd. Fearing once again to get into an unpleasant mess, Renzo leaves Milan and goes to the province of Bergamo (at that time the Duchy of Milan was under Spanish rule, and Bergamo belongs to the Most Serene Republic of Venice - it is worth crossing the Addu River, and you are already abroad). Here in the village lives his cousin Bortolo, from whom Renzo meets with a warm welcome and who gets him a job in his spinning mill. On the same day, November 13, when Renzo comes to Bortolo, a messenger arrives in Lecco with an order to arrest the fugitive criminal Lorenzo Tramaglino and escort him in shackles to Milan, where he will face justice. Furious Don Rodrigo, from whom the coveted prey has slipped out of his hands, gloats and starts new intrigues. The thug Griso learns where Lucia is hiding, and Don Rodrigo plots to kidnap her from the convent.

Everything goes extremely smoothly: Gertrude submits to the will of the villain Egidio, who once helped her escape from the monastery and has an irresistible dark power over her. She sends Lucia on an errand to a nearby monastery, taking advantage of Agnese's temporary absence. The bravos seize the girl on a deserted road and take her to the gloomy castle of the Nameless One, where they entrust her to the care of an old shrew.

The next morning, the jubilant ringing of bells announces that in neighboring village Cardinal Federigo Borromeo, known for his wisdom, piety and learning, arrived. The nameless one asks for an audience with a high prelate, who never refuses mercy and consolation to anyone. Beneficial conversation brings to the repentant villain the desired cleansing. The miracle happened. The Nameless One becomes a different person and yearns for redemption. On behalf of the cardinal, Don Abbondio, overwhelmed by constant fears, together with the Nameless One, goes to the castle for the unfortunate captive. Agnese is reunited with her daughter, but not for long - they again have to part. Upon learning that the cardinal was looking for a safe haven for Lucia, one noble married couple- Don Ferrante and Donna Prassede - invites the girl to settle in a Milanese house. Before parting, Lucia confesses to her mother that in a moment of despair she made a vow to the Madonna never to marry if she manages to avoid the vile claims of Don Rodrigo. She asks her mother to find Renzo and give him half of the money from her dowry. It takes a long time before she manages to fulfill the request.

Meanwhile, clouds are gathering over the country: in addition to the famine that claimed thousands of lives, in the autumn of 1629, cruel German mercenaries, landsknechts, who participate in the redistribution of territories, invade the Duchy of Milan from the north. Rumor has it that cases of plague have been seen in their ranks. Frightened to death, civilians hurriedly gather their belongings, bury what they cannot carry, and flee. Agnese, Perpetua and Don Abbondio find a hospitable shelter in the castle of the Nameless, impregnable for enemies and open to all fugitives. Once the danger has passed, they return to the village and see that everything is looted and defiled. What Don Abbondio buried in the garden also disappeared. Pestilence enters Milan at the end of October 1629 and rages the following year, 1630.

The plague does not bypass Renzo either. Having barely recovered from his illness, he returns to native village to find out what happened to his loved ones. Don Abbondio is barely alive from the hardships he has endured and still trembles with fear. Perpetua was killed by the plague, Agnese lives with relatives in Pasturo, and Lucia lives in Milan with Don Ferrante. Renzo hurries to Milan and sees desolation, despair and fear everywhere. At his knock on the window of Don Ferrante's house, an alarmed woman appears and informs him that Lucia is in the infirmary. At this moment, an excited crowd surrounds him. There are cries about the mazun - the peddler of infection. Renzo runs in a panic and escapes his pursuers by jumping onto a wagon with corpses. The betrothed meet at last in the infirmary. Father Christopher is also there, who with great patience and courage fulfills his pastoral duty - comforts the suffering and gives the last communion to the dying. He frees Lucia from her vow of celibacy. Don Abbondio can now marry happy lovers with peace of mind. The young couple settle in a village near Bergamo, and less than a year later their daughter Maria is born. It will be followed by who knows how many babies of both sexes - all of them, at the request of Renzo, will learn to read and write. Renzo loves to talk about how he learned to avoid trouble. Faith in God gives strength to overcome them, and the experience teaches how to make your life better.

I decided to read The Betrothed only because of the words of G. Verdi. He said that the novel was simply not better written by a person. Likewise the Requiem of the illustrious Italian composer, written after the death of Manzoni, made me interested in the work of the latter. And, to be honest, I like historical novels, and I have the warmest feelings for Italy.

So, the main thread of the story tells about all-conquering love two peasants - Renzo and Lucia. This is a typical story of a kind and pure girl and a brave, open young man. There is no falsehood in their feelings, they love with their hearts and, overcoming adversity, remain together. But everything would be fine if not for some circumstances that put off the happiness of the heroes. As the title of the novel suggests, the young are engaged and are to be married, but this is where a don comes into play, named Rodrigo.

This is where Manzoni begins to unwind the secondary, but the most important threads. The life of the Italians in Lombardy, during the period of Spanish rule over it, is very lively and actual topic for the author. The same Habsburgs, only the Austrian ones, continued to dominate the Apennines, depriving the people of integrity, during the time of Manzoni. No wonder the novel was considered the ideological engine of the Risorgimento.

Further, the author skillfully weaves a thread that exposes the power and arbitrariness of the nobles. It should be noted that all attacks on power in the novel are a direct component of the narrative and look unusually concise. Let us recall the story of Gertrude and Don Rodrigo. The first is unhappy because of the arbitrariness of the father, the second is unhappy because of the debauchery of morals. They are really sorry.

Separately, I would like to mention the priest Abondio. The author has an unusually bright and funny image. It was a verified, correct and unforgettable character to the last letter. His character, attitude to life and philosophy, although it shows the reader what else to look for a coward, is somewhat true. In a word, it was a 100% hit and a find by Manzoni.

Description of plague and rebellion. Oh that's great! No, in themselves these phenomena are terrible and terrible, but the way the author managed to tell about them is admirable. Nowhere else have I found such horror, fear, the power of the crowd, that feeling of powerlessness before the epidemic, as on the pages of the novel. Undoubtedly, these scenes are the highlight of the novel.

Many more allusions to contemporary author reality. But it is better to consider what the novel is valuable to us. Yes, it is a classic of Italian literature, but that does not give the novel the right to be valuable to us. Summing up, I will say that the novel is primarily an attempt by the author to show the immutability of human nature. And in danger there are people who are steadfast and devoted, as well as those who are opposite to them. There is the inconsistency and stupidity of the authorities and human superstitions. There is commotion, struggle, death and love. And all this, written in such a colorful and delicate language, is a magnificent work that will not be forgotten. Because everything the author said is true.

Score: 10

It is naive to believe that historical novels early XIX century are continuous sentimental melodramas. Of course, there is enough sentimentality in them, because readers demanded it simpler and more naive, but for reasonable and enlightened the largest representatives genres like Manzoni squeezed into a story about peasants from Lombardy in love during the Spanish rule in Milan an abyss of philosophical observations and caustic social satire ...

Whoever wants to, let him rejoice at how the honest and brave Renzo strives for happiness with the pious Lucia, and for those who like to think, there are phenomenally talented descriptions of the hunger riot and the plague of 1630. Manzoni there shot disguised arrows at contemporary politicians, but we can see a lot of interesting parallels with the images of our powerful people of this world ...

Score: 10

Fairytale-folklore plot - that's what catches the eye first. In childhood, we all listened with bated breath to stories about how the evil Koschey kidnaps Vasilisa, and Ivan Tsarevich is looking for a bride to distant lands. Renzo and Lucia, peasants from the mountains of Lombardy, fall into such a story. Lucia is one of those angelic beings without which it is hard to imagine a 19th century novel. Renzo is more real, he can get drunk in the wrong company, and inappropriately get involved in a hungry riot, but he is not devoid of ingenuity and charm. But ingenuity and honesty are so few when the noble and influential Don Rodrigo intervenes. Before him, Renzo and Lucia are completely defenseless.

Simplicity, even some lubok of the plot is not a bug, but a feature. Actually, the author needs the plot only as a bait to dilute long discussions about the history of Milan. This is especially evident in the second half of the book. Stuffing the poor betrothed different angles and completely forgetting about the villain Don Rodrigo, Manzoni plunges headlong into the vicissitudes of the Italian XVII century.

So for those who are hungry for romance or adventure, I would not recommend Manzoni's novel.

But here you can find a detailed narrative of a ossified, hopelessly corrupt society, told in a tone of slight irony. Here is how, for example, Renzo's conversation with the lawyer Hookworker goes. At first, the lawyer believes that the peasant came to him on behalf of some nobleman: “You must name the person who gave you the order - of course, this is a noble person, and in this case I myself go to him, this is so necessary. Of course, I won't tell him that I learned from you about the commission given to him - you can rely on me for that. I'll tell him I've come to beg him to stand up for the poor slandered boy. Together with him, I will take the necessary steps to finish the job in a good way. You understand - saving himself, he will save you too. But suddenly he finds out that everything is the other way around, and Renzo stood up to a noble nobleman across the road: “What are you doing! the doctor quickly interrupted, knitting his brows, wrinkling his red nose and twisting his mouth. - What do you! And why do you come to fill my head with such nonsense? Carry on such conversations among yourselves, since you do not know how to weigh your words; and don't go for it noble man who knows the value of words. Go, go: you yourself do not understand what you are saying!” Manzoni succeeds in a serious tone much worse: when irony fails the author, the novel soars to the heights of commonplace morality.

And the paintings are impressive. All four horsemen of the Apocalypse ride through Lombardy. Crop failure and famine, the attempts of the people to achieve justice and the attempts of the authorities to pacify the rebellious people are replaced by a new gloomy picture. Landsknechts pass through Lombardy: the region was touched by the Thirty Years' War - robberies, violence, torture. And finally, as if all this is not enough, the plague comes to Milan...

And Renzo and Lucia? Do not worry, they will still be remembered - under the very curtain.

Score: 7

I first learned about this book from Umberto Eco's Notes on the Name of the Rose. famous writer recommends The Betrothed as an exemplary historical novel, and this could not fail to attract my attention.

The novel is dedicated to the fate of two lovers. On the eve of the wedding, misfortune happens, and the young man and the girl are separated, only to be reunited towards the end of the book. The action develops slowly with numerous author's digressions and appeals to the reader. Like: “You can’t wait to find out what will happen to the main character? Read a whole chapter about a minor character instead! Fans of historical adventure novels may be disappointed - swords leave their scabbards only once in the novel.

There are relatively few heroes in The Betrothed. In the center are young lovers Renzo and Lucia. Standard lovers from the 19th century novel. He is brave, impetuous, selfless, she is quiet, shy, kind. The characters of the secondary characters are more remarkable: the peasantly cunning and practical mother of Lucia Agnese, the abbess who sympathized with Lucia, but, alas, under blackmail was forced to play a negative role in her fate, the cowardly priest Don Abondio. But the most powerful image in the book is Cardinal Federigo. The most successful that I have come across is the image in literature of a real deeply religious and righteous person, not just a believer, but always acting according to the laws of his faith.

The Betrothed might just be a romantic love story, but it's also historical. The book shows what a historical novel can be. The action begins in 1628, but the great and not so great historical events take place somewhere behind the scenes - the Spanish governor Gonzala de Cordova besieges Casale, French and Spanish armies march across Northern Italy. In the novel, we will be shown the image of the life of the Bravi thugs, who make up the retinues of the nobles, the life of the city, full of refugees and then engulfed by the plague. Measures to combat hunger and the epidemic. Through the heroes we are shown a reading circle educated people XVII century. In general, great battles and great historical figures are "behind the scenes", but the author is trying to show us the life of Italy in the 17th century with many details. Sometimes it amazed me that such a novel was written two centuries ago. It remains to be regretted that not so much historical novels, similar to "Betrothed".

In the end, I want to note a very beautiful, unhurried style of the novel. With a lot of descriptions that turn out to be very organic in the book. The Betrothed is just a well-written novel, a love story with a happy ending, and an unusual historical romance.

ALESSANDRO MANZONI

Engaged

annotation

"The Betrothed" is the story of a protracted for a long time connection of two loving friend friend of young people from the people, the peasants of a small Lombard village - Renzo Tramaglino and Lucia Mondella. They are the main characters of the novel.

Introduction

“History can truly be defined as a glorious war with Time, for, taking from its hands the years taken prisoner and even managed to become corpses, it brings them back to life, makes them review and rebuilds for battle. But the glorious Fighters, reaping in this Field the plentiful harvest of Palms and Laurels, steal only the most luxurious and brilliant prey, extolling with the fragrance of their ink the Feats of Sovereigns and Rulers, as well as outstanding Persons, and winding golden and silk threads with the thinnest needle of their mind, from which an endless pattern of glorious Acts is formed. However, it is not fitting for my insignificance to rise to such objects and to such dangerous heights, as well as to indulge in the Labyrinths of Political machinations and listen to the militant rumble of Copper; on the contrary, having familiarized myself with memorable incidents, although they happened to people of inferior and insignificant nature, I am going to leave the memory of them to the Descendants, having made a frank and reliable Narration about everything, or rather, a Message. In it, in a cramped Theater, woeful Tragedies of horrors and Scenes of unheard-of villainy will appear, interspersed with valiant Acts and angelic kindness, which resist diabolical tricks. And indeed, considering that these countries of ours are under the dominion of our Signor, the Catholic King, who is the Sun that never sets, but over him reflected Light, like the Moon, never waning, shines the Hero of the noble Seed, temporarily ruling in his place, as well as the Most Brilliant Senators, the unchanging Luminaries, - and other Respected Magistrates, - wandering planets, shed their light everywhere, thereby forming the most noble Sky, it is impossible, - at the sight of its transformation into hell of pitch deeds, deceit and ferocity, in a multitude of perpetrated by daring people - to see any other reason for this, except for the tricks and intrigues of the devil, since one human cunning not enough to resist so many Heroes who, with the eyes of Argus and the hands of Briareus, give their lives for the common good. And therefore, speaking about the events that took place during the time of my flourishing age, and although most of the persons acting in them have already disappeared from the Arena of life and become tributaries of the Paroks, nevertheless, due to respectful respect for them, I will not name their names. , that is, generic names; I will do the same with the place of action, the name of which I will not designate. And no one will consider this the imperfection of the Narrative and the disorder of my unpretentious Creation, unless the Critic turns out to be a person who is completely inexperienced in philosophy, while people who are versed in it will perfectly understand that the essence of the said Tale has not suffered from this at all. After all, it is quite obvious and cannot be denied by anyone that names are nothing more than the purest accidents ... "
“But when I have overcome the heroic labor of rewriting this story from a faded and blotted out manuscript, and when I, as they say, have published it, will there be a willing person to overcome the labor of reading it?
This doubtful reflection, which arose while working on the analysis of the scrawl that followed the accidents, made me stop copying and think more thoroughly about what I should do.
“Quite right,” I said to myself, leafing through the manuscript, “quite right that such a stream of verbal tinsel and rhetorical figures does not occur throughout this work. Like a real sectarian, the author at first wanted to flaunt his learning; but then, in the course of the story, sometimes for a long time, the style becomes more natural and more even. Yes - but how ordinary he is! How clumsy! How rough! .. Lombard idioms - without number, phrases - inopportunely used, grammar - arbitrary, periods - uncoordinated. And then - refined Hispanisms, scattered here and there; then, what is much worse, in the most terrifying and touching places, at every opportunity to cause amazement or lead the reader to reflection, in a word, in all those places where a certain amount of rhetoric is required, but modest, subtle, elegant rhetoric, the author never misses chance to stuff the presentation with the very rhetoric that we already know from the introduction. Mixing with amazing dexterity the most opposite properties, he manages on the same page, in the same period, in the same expression to be both rude and cutesy at the same time. Would you like it: bombastic declamation, riddled with gross grammatical errors, everywhere pretentious heaviness, which gives a special character to the writings of this century in this country. Truly, this is not such a thing that it is worth bringing it to the attention of today's readers: they are too picky, they are too unaccustomed to this kind of whims. It's good that the right thought occurred to me at the very beginning of this ill-fated work - in this way I simply wash my hands of it.
However, when I was about to fold this shabby notebook in order to hide it, I suddenly felt sorry that such a beautiful story would forever remain unknown, because as a story (the reader may not share my opinion) it seemed to me, I repeat, beautiful, and even very beautiful. "Why," I thought, "do not take the whole chain of events from this manuscript, only reworking its style?" Since there was no reasonable objection to this, the decision was made immediately. This is the origin of this book, presented with a candor worthy of the story itself.
However, some of these events, some of the customs described by our author, seemed to us so new, so strange - to say the least - that we, before believing them, wished to interrogate other witnesses and began to rummage through the then memoirs, in order to find out whether it was true that at that time it was so lived in the world. Such searches dispelled all our doubts: at every step we came across the same and even more amazing cases, and (which seemed to us especially convincing) we even got to some personalities about whom there was no information, except in our manuscript, and therefore we doubted the reality of their existence. On occasion, we will cite some of these testimonies to confirm the reliability of circumstances that, because of their extraordinary nature, the reader would be inclined to disbelieve.
But, rejecting our author's style as unacceptable, what style shall we replace it with? This is the whole question.
Anyone who, unbidden by anyone, undertakes to remake the work of others, thereby confronts himself with the need to account for his own work and, to a certain extent, assumes the obligation to do so. These are the rules of life and jurisprudence, and we are not going to deviate from them at all. On the contrary, willingly adapting to them, we were going to give here detailed explanation manner of presentation which we have adopted, and to this end, throughout our work, we have invariably tried to foresee possible and occasional criticisms, in order to refute all of them in advance and completely. And this would not be the difficulty - for (we must say this, paying tribute to the truth) not a single critical remark presented itself to our mind without a victorious objection immediately appearing, from among those that, I will not say - decide questions, but change their very formulation. Often we even pushed two critics against each other, forced one to beat the other; or else, by examining them to their foundations and carefully comparing them, we were able to discover and show that, for all their apparent difference, they are nevertheless almost homogeneous and both were born from an insufficient attention to the facts and principles on which the judgment was to be based; so combining them, to their great amazement, we let both of them walk around the world in a friendly manner. It is unlikely that there would be an author who would prove the good quality of his work in such an obvious way. But what? When we came to be able to cover all the objections and answers mentioned above and arrange them in a certain order, - alas, they were accumulated for a whole book. Seeing this, we abandoned the original idea for two reasons, which the reader will no doubt consider fundamental: one of them is that a book intended to justify another, and even in essence the style of another book, might seem ridiculous; the other is that for the first time even one book will suffice, if only the book itself is not superfluous.

That branch of Lake Como, which stretches to the south between two continuous chains of mountains, forming, now advancing, now receding, many bays and bays, suddenly somehow narrows at once, takes the form of a river and carries its waters between a high cape with right side and a vast low-lying coast on the left; and the bridge connecting the two shores in this place makes this transformation even more palpable to the eye, as if marking the place where the lake ends and where Adda begins again, in order to turn again into a lake where the shores, again parting, give water freely and slowly spread, forming new bays and new bays. The coast, formed by the sediments of three powerful streams, gradually rises, adjoining two adjacent mountains: one is called San Martino, the other in the Lombard dialect - Resegon (Big Saw), according to numerous and elongated teeth in a row, which give it a resemblance to a saw, so that anyone, at the first glance at it (but certainly from the front - for example, from the walls of Milan facing north), quickly recognizes it by this sign in a long and extensive chain of mountains with less known names and a less peculiar appearance.
The coast rises for a fair distance with a slight and continuous slope; further on it is crossed by hills and valleys, steeps and level ground, depending on the structure of both mountains and the work of the waters. The lower edge of the coast, cut through by the mouths of streams, is almost continuous gravel and cobblestone; and then there are fields and vineyards with estates, villages, villages scattered among them; in some places - forests climbing high up the mountains.
Lecco, the chief among these villages and giving the name of the whole area, lies not far from the bridge, on the shore of the lake; he happened to find himself partially in the lake itself, when the water in the latter was rising. Today it is a large place that is going to become a city. At the time when the events we are about to relate took place, this place, already quite significant, also served as a fortress and therefore had the honor of being the seat of the commandant and enjoyed the privilege of maintaining within its walls a permanent garrison of Spanish soldiers who taught local girls and women of modest behavior, from time to time stroked the back of some of the husbands and fathers, and towards the end of the summer they never missed an opportunity to scatter around the vineyards in order to pinch the grapes a little and thereby ease the burden of harvesting for the peasants.
From one village to another, from mountain heights to the shore, from hill to hill, then, and still wind, roads and paths, more or less steep, and sometimes gentle; then they disappear and deepen, squeezed by overhanging rocks, from where, raising your eyes, you can see only a strip of sky and some top of a mountain; sometimes they lie on high open plains, and from here the gaze covers more or less distant spaces, always diverse and always something new, depending on the more or less wide coverage of the surrounding area from different points, and also on how one or another the picture expands or closes, comes forward or disappears altogether. Sometimes one or another piece is shown, and sometimes the vast expanse of this huge and diverse water mirror: here is a lake, closed on the horizon, or, rather, lost in a heap of mountains, and then gradually expanding between other mountains, which one after another open to the eye, reflected in the water upside down with all the coastal villages; there - a branch of the river, then a lake, then again a river, disappearing in sparkling bends in the mountains that follow it, gradually lowering and also, as it were, disappearing on the horizon. And the place from where you contemplate these various pictures, in itself, wherever you look, is a picture: the mountain, along the slopes of which you make your way, unfolds above you, around you, its peaks and cliffs, clear, embossed, changing almost at every step, and what at first seemed to you a continuous mountain range suddenly breaks up and separate chains of mountains protrude, and what you imagined just on the slope suddenly turns out to be on top. The friendly, hospitable appearance of these slopes pleasantly softens the wildness and sets off the magnificence of the rest of the views even more.
Along one of these paths on November 7, 1628, in the evening, returning home from a walk, Don Abondio, a priest of one of the above-mentioned villages, walked leisurely: neither its name nor the name of this person is mentioned either here or elsewhere in the manuscript. The priest serenely recited prayers to himself; at times - between two psalms - he closed the prayer book, laid the page with the index finger of his right hand, then, clasping his hands behind his back, he walked on, looking at the ground and throwing pebbles that fell under his feet to the fence; then he raised his head and, calmly looking around, fixed his gaze on that part of the mountain where the light of the already setting sun, breaking through into the crevices of the opposite mountain, fell in wide and uneven red patches on the protruding rocks. Opening the prayer book again and reading another passage, he came to a turn in the road, where he usually raised his eyes from the book and looked into the distance, - so he did this time. Around the bend, the road went straight for about sixty paces, and then divided into two paths by a yzhitsa: one, going uphill, led to his estate; the other descended into the valley to the stream, on this side the stone fence was only waist-deep. The inner fences of both paths, instead of closing at an angle, ended with a chapel, on which some long, snake-like figures were drawn, pointed upwards. According to the artist's intention and according to the ideas of the surrounding inhabitants, they meant flames; alternated with these tongues were other, no longer describable figures that represented souls in purgatory, souls and flames brown against a greyish background of peeling plaster here and there.

Lucia woke up only a few minutes ago. For some time she struggled painfully to shake off the remnants of sleep, to separate the vague visions from the memories and pictures of reality that were too similar to the gloomy visions of hell. The old woman immediately came up to her and said in a mockingly gentle voice:

Well, how did you sleep? We could sleep in bed, because I asked you so many times last night. - Having received no answer, she continued in the same irritated and pleading tone: - Yes, finally, eat a piece, be smart. Wow, how angry you are! You need to eat... Yes, and I will fly from him when he returns...

No no! I want to leave here, I want to go to my mother. The owner promised me this, he said: tomorrow morning. Where is the owner?

Came out. He told me that he would be back soon and would do whatever you want.

Did he say so? Did he say? So listen: I want to go to my mother, now, now!

Then footsteps were heard in the next room, then there was a knock on the door. The old woman ran and asked:

Who's there?

The old woman pushed back the bolt. The Nameless One opened the door slightly. Ordering the old woman to leave, he immediately let Don Abondio into the room, along with a kind woman. Then he closed the door again and stood outside, and sent the old woman to the farthest part of the castle, where he had already sent the woman who guarded the room.

All this fuss, the minute of waiting, the first appearance of unfamiliar faces again excited Lucia, and although her present situation was unbearable, yet every change aroused in her only suspicions and a new fright. Looking around, she saw a priest and a woman. This cheered up the girl a little. She peered more closely: is it him? And suddenly she recognized Don Abondio and stared at him without taking her eyes off her, as if spellbound. The woman, going up to Lucia, leaned over and, looking at her with compassion, taking her hands, as if caressing and at the same time helping her to rise, said to her:

My poor dear, come, come with us.

Who you are? Lucia asked her, and without waiting for an answer, she turned once more to Don Abondio, who was standing two paces away from her with a completely moved face. She looked fixedly at him again and exclaimed: “Is that you? You? Signor curato? Where are we? Poor me... I'm losing my mind!

No no! said Don Abondio. It's really me, don't be afraid. See? We are here to get you out of here. I really am your curato, I came here on purpose, and on horseback too ...

It seemed that all her strength returned to Lucia at once, she jumped up impetuously, then once again fixed her eyes on the faces of those who had come and said:

So the Madonna sent you here.

I think so, she said kind woman.

So we can leave? Is it really possible to leave? said Lucia, lowering her voice, looking around timidly and timidly. - And all these people? she went on, lips quivering with disgust and horror. - And this gentleman? This man... After all, he promised me...

He, too, is here, in his own person, on purpose to come with us,” said Don Abondio, “he is waiting here, outside the door. Let's go quickly, let's not make such an important signor wait!

Then the one in question pushed open the door and appeared on the threshold. Lucia, who so recently wanted to see him, and even, having no other hope, wanted to see only him alone, now, noticing friendly faces around and hearing friendly voices, she could not suppress her sudden disgust. She shuddered, holding her breath, and clung to the kind woman, hiding her face in her chest. At the sight of this face, which he had not been able to look at openly the previous evening, this face, even more pale, frightened, with traces of long suffering and hunger, the Nameless One froze motionless almost at the very threshold. Reading an expression of horror in these features, he immediately lowered his eyes and stood silent and motionless for several more minutes; then, as if answering Lucia's silent question, he exclaimed:

Everything is true; forgive me!

He has come to set you free; he is no longer the same; he has become good, you hear, he asks your forgiveness, - the kind woman whispered in Lucia's ear.

Well, what else can be said? Raise your head, don't be a child. We'd better get out of here, don Abondio said to her.

Lucia lifted her head, looked at the Nameless One, and seeing his low bowed face, this embarrassed and bewildered look, all overwhelmed by a mixed feeling of peace, gratitude and pity, said:

O my lord! May God bless you for your mercy!

And to you a hundredfold for the consolation that your kind words bring me.

So saying, he turned, walked to the door, and went out first. Lucia, all transfigured, took the woman by the arm and followed him; Don Abondio brought up the rear. They descended the stairs and came to the door that led to the courtyard. Having thrown it open, the Nameless went to the stretcher, opened the door and, not without some, almost timid, courtesy (two completely new qualities for him!) Taking Lucia by the arm, helped her enter, and then her companion. Untying the mule, he helped Don Abondio to climb into the saddle.

Don't you worry! said Don Abondio, and jumped on the mule much faster than the first time. The procession started when the Nameless One also mounted. He raised his head, and his eyes were still commanding. The bravies they met along the way clearly saw on his face the seal of deep thought, some kind of extraordinary concern, but they did not understand and could not understand anything more. The castle did not yet know about the enormous change that had taken place in this man, and, of course, it never occurred to anyone to guess about it.

The kind woman immediately closed the curtains of the stretcher, affectionately took Lucia by the hands and began to console her gently and affably. Noticing that, in addition to being tired from the shocks she had experienced, the very confusion and uncertainty of events prevented the poor girl from fully experiencing the joy of liberation, she told her everything that she considered most appropriate in order to clarify and, so to speak, direct the girl’s thoughts on the right path. She told her the village where they were on their way.

A! said Lucia, who knew that it was close to their village. Thank you, Holy Madonna! My mother, dear mother!

We will send for her right away,” the kind woman said, not yet knowing that this had already been done.

Yes Yes! The Lord will reward you for this... But who are you? How did you get...

Our curato sent me, - she answered, - because this signor - the Lord touched his heart! (glory to God!) - he came to our village to talk with the signor cardinal-bishop (and he is our guest, this holy man), well, he repented of his sins and wants to change his life. Here he is, take it and tell the cardinal that he ordered the kidnapping of a poor innocent girl - that means you - by agreement with another who is not afraid of God; only our curato did not tell me what kind of person he was.

Lucia raised her eyes to the sky.

Perhaps you know him," the woman went on, "well, all right; so, the signor cardinal decided that since, they say, there is a case about a young girl, therefore, a woman is needed for the company, and ordered our curato to find someone, and the curato, out of his kindness, turned to me ...

May the Lord reward you for your kindness!

Yes, it was by a miracle ... by the intercession of the mother of God ...

Therefore, you should not lose heart and forgive the one who harmed you; one should rejoice that God showed mercy to him, and even pray for him; after all, this will be credited to you, and besides, lighten your soul.

Lucia answered her with a look that said more eloquently than any words that she agreed with everything, and with such meekness that it is difficult to express it in words.

Nice girl you are! the woman continued. - Well, as your curato also ended up in our village (there were already a bunch of them from all sides! Perhaps it would be enough for four festive masses), then the signor cardinal came up with the idea of ​​​​sending him for company, but it didn’t work out none. I had already heard that he was a useless person, and then I myself saw that he was completely stupid, no better than a chicken in tow.

And this one…” Lucia asked, “this one who became good… and who is he?

How? You do not know? - said the woman and called his name.

O merciful God! Lucia exclaimed. How many times had she heard the horror with which this name was mentioned in countless stories in which this man invariably appeared like a monster from scary tale. And now, at the thought that she was in his terrible power, and now is under his gracious protection; at the thought of such terrible danger and such unexpected salvation; thinking about whose face it was, which she saw at first sullen, then agitated, and finally resigned, she was completely shocked and only occasionally exclaimed:

O mercy of God!

Yes, this is truly a great mercy, - said her companion, - half the world will breathe a sigh of relief. Just think how many people he kept in eternal fear, but now, as our curato told me ... but what's there, it's worth looking at him - a saint and nothing more! Well, his work speaks for itself...

To say that this kind woman did not burn with curiosity to know a little more about the adventure in which she happened to take part, would be to hide the truth. However, it must be added to her credit that, imbued with respectful compassion for Lucia, feeling to some extent the importance and significance of the task entrusted to her, it never occurred to her to ask Lucia some immodest or idle question. All the words that she uttered on the way were words of affection and consolation.

You haven't eaten for God knows how long!

Yes, I don’t remember ... decent time! ..

Poor thing! You would need to refresh yourself.

At my house, thank God, we'll find something right away. Be patient, it's not far now.

Lucia, exhausted, leaned back into the very depths of the stretcher and seemed to doze off. Then the kind woman left her alone.

For Don Abondio this return, of course, was not as alarming as the previous trip; however, this too could not be called a pleasure walk.

When his groundless fear had passed, he at first felt complete relief, but then hundreds of other unpleasant thoughts began to torment him, just as it happens when someone is uprooted. a big tree: for some time the soil remains empty, but then the whole will be overgrown with weeds. He became more receptive to the world around him. Both in the present and in thoughts of the future, he unfortunately had too many reasons to worry. He now felt much stronger than the first time the inconvenience of this method of transportation, to which he was not very accustomed, especially at the beginning, when descending from the castle into the valley. The driver, encouraged by the signs of the Nameless One, diligently urged on his mules; both saddled mules, not lagging behind, followed behind in the same gait. Hence it happened that in some of the steepest places poor Don Abondio swayed and fell forward, as if he were being lifted from behind by a lever, and in order to maintain his balance, he grabbed his saddle pommel with his hand. However, he did not dare to ask for a quieter ride, and, on the other hand, he himself wanted to get out of these places as soon as possible. In addition, where the road ran along a steeper ridge, the mule, true to its nature, as if in spite of itself, always tried to keep to the edge and stepped along the very slope, so that Don Abondio saw under him an almost sheer slope or, as it seemed to him, - an abyss.

“And you, too,” he said to himself, turning to the animal, “by your accursed inclination, you climb where it is dangerous, when there are so many paths!” - and he pulled the reins in the other direction, but in vain. The matter ended with the fact that, furious and frightened, he gave himself entirely to the mercy of the mule.

The bravies hadn't instilled such fear in him since he knew their master's mind better. “However,” he reasoned, “if the news of this great conversion spreads throughout the valley before we have passed it, who knows how they will interpret it! Who knows what will come of it! And how will they imagine that I came to them in the role of a missionary! Woe is me! After all, they torture me!” The gloomy look of the Nameless One did not inspire him with anxiety. “To keep these faces in obedience,” he reflected, “you need at least such a face; I understand that too; But why exactly did I end up in this company!

But then, finally, the descent stopped and they finally got out of the valley. The frowning brow of the Nameless One gradually cleared up. Don Abondio, too, took on a more befitting air, he ceased to pull his head into his shoulders, straightened his arms and legs, cheered up a little and made a completely different impression; he began to breathe more freely and, calming his soul, gave himself up to reflections on all possible future dangers.

“What will this beast say, Don Rodrigo? In a sort of way to stay with long nose, suffer an affront, and even with such a mockery, one can imagine what a bitter pill it is for him. Now he's starting to get really angry. Perhaps now he will take over me, since I was involved in this trouble. If he then had the courage to send these two devils who played such a trick on me on the road, then who knows what he will do now! He cannot compete with the most illustrious signor, this nut is too tough for him; here you just have to gnaw at the bit.

And the bile is boiling in him, he wants to pour it out on someone. How do things like this end? Blows always fall below, and shreds scatter in all directions. The most illustrious signor will certainly take care to arrange Lucia in safety; that unlucky boy is now unavailable, and he already got his own; here from me one piece will fly. Isn't it cruel if, after all these misfortunes and worries, I live well, I will have to take the rap for everyone. What will the most illustrious signor do now for my protection, after he has embroiled me in this affair? Can he guarantee that this accursed one will not do something worse than the first with me? In addition, the monsignor has so many things in his head, so many worries - where can you keep track of everything! After all, sometimes it happens that things are left in an even more confused state than when they started. Those who do good do it in bulk: they get some satisfaction, and that's enough for them. They have no desire to bother themselves and follow the whole thing to the end. But those who love to do evil are simply exhausted in order to bring their intrigues to the end, they do not find peace for a moment, because this worm sharpens them like that.

Should I go, say that I came here on the urgent order of the most illustrious signor, and not of my own free will? Then, perhaps, it will seem that I wanted to take the side of lawlessness. Oh my God! It's me - on the side of lawlessness! I get a lot from this pleasure! Well, all right, I'll try to tell Perpetua about everything as it is, and then let her call everywhere. If only the monsignor did not come up with the whim to announce the matter, to play some unnecessary performance and involve me in it. Be that as it may, immediately upon arrival, if it turns out that he has already left the church, I will run to him to bow; and if he has not left yet, I will ask you to convey my apologies, and he himself - straight home. Lucia has reliable support, she no longer needs me, and after such a perturbation, I also have the right to count on rest. Well, how the monsignor, out of curiosity, suddenly wants to know the whole story and I will have to report on this mess with the wedding ... This was just lacking! And well, how he decides to visit my parish too! .. Oh, come what may! I won't get upset ahead of time. And without that, the mouth is full of worries. Just in case, I'll lock myself up at home. As long as the monsignor is in our area, Don Rodrigo will not dare to throw out any trick. And then - what then? Oh, I feel my last days will be unsweetened.

The company arrived at the place when the church service had not yet had time to depart; passing through the same crowd, which was no less agitated than the first time, the procession split up. Both horsemen turned aside, into a small square, in the depths of which was the house of the parish curator. The stretcher moved on, towards the good woman's house.

Don Abondio did as he intended. Barely dismounting, he professed pleasantries in front of the Nameless and asked him to apologize for him to the monsignor - he must immediately return to his parish on urgent business. He followed his horse, as he put it, that is, simply behind the stick, which he left in the corner of the waiting room, and set off. Nameless began to wait for the return of the cardinal from the church.

Having seated Lucia in the best seat in her kitchen, the good woman bustled about preparing some food for her, brushing aside, with coarse cordiality, all the thanks and apologies which Lucia now and then tried to express to her.

Quickly tossing firewood under the cauldron in which the fat capon was floating, the hostess, after waiting for the broth to boil, poured a full bowl, putting a few slices of bread in it beforehand, and finally placed it in front of Lucia. Seeing how strength was added to the poor thing with every spoon, the hostess aloud congratulated herself on the fact that all this happened on a day when, in her expression, the cat was not in the stove.

Now everyone is contrived to cook at least something, she added, except the very last beggars, who hardly manage to have vetch bread and corn polenta; nowadays, however, everyone strives to snatch something from such a generous signor. We, praise the sky, are not in such a position: with the craft of my husband and with what the earth gives us, we somehow make ends meet. Eat to your health, do not be shy, soon the capon will ripen, then you will eat more thoroughly!

With these words, she again began to fuss about dinner and cleaning the table.

Meanwhile, Lucia, barely feeling that her strength was returning to her and her soul was becoming calmer, began to put herself in order, both out of habit and from her inherent sense of neatness and modesty. She combed and plaited her tightly tangled and disheveled braids, adjusted her handkerchief over her chest. And suddenly, by chance, her fingers touched the rosary, which she had put on herself the previous night. Her gaze fell on them. Instant anxiety flashed through my mind; the recollection of this vow, until that moment suppressed and drowned out by so many experiences, immediately resurrected in her with all brightness and distinctness. And then all the strength of her soul, which had just returned to her, left the unfortunate woman again, and if her soul had not been tempered by all the purity of her young life, humility and faith, the horror that gripped Lucia at that moment could have turned into despair. In the midst of a whirlwind of thoughts that no words can express, the first thing that came to her mind was: "Unfortunate, what have I done!" But before she had time to think this, horror seized her.

She remembered under what circumstances she had taken the vow, that unbearable longing, the complete absence of hope for salvation, all the fervor of her prayer, all the depth of feeling with which she received him. And now, when she received deliverance, it seemed to her blasphemous ingratitude to repent of this promise - a betrayal of God and the Madonna. It seemed to her that such treachery would bring on her new and even more terrible troubles, when it would be impossible even to rely on prayer. And she hastened to recant her fleeting remorse.

With reverence, she removed the rosary from her neck and, holding them in a trembling hand, confirmed and renewed her vow, at the same time offering mournful prayers that the Lord would give her the strength to fulfill it and save her from thoughts and deeds, which, if not can shake her soul, they will confuse her too much. Renzo is far away, there is no hope of his return. And this distance, which had hitherto been so bitter for her, now seemed to her the finger of providence, directing both these events towards the same goal: Lucia tried to find in one justification for being pleased with the other. And after that, it began to seem to her that Providence, in order to complete its undertaking, would find a way to make Renzo also humble himself, no longer think about her. But at this thought, which had just entered her head, Lucia's feelings were in utter turmoil. Poor Lucia, feeling that her heart was ready to repent of her decision, turned again to prayer, to support, to the struggle, from which she emerged, so to speak, like a tired and wounded victor triumphing over a defeated - I will not say killed - enemy .

Suddenly there was a clatter of feet and the noise of cheerful voices. Then a small family of the hostess was returning home from the church. Jumping up, two girls and a boy ran into the room. They stopped for a moment, looking curiously at Lucia, then rushed to their mother, surrounding her from all sides. Whoever asked the name of an unfamiliar guest, but how, what, why, who was in a hurry to tell about the curiosities they had seen, the kind woman answered all this: “Be quiet, be quiet!”

Behind them, with a more calm step, with an expression of cordial solicitude on his face, the owner of the house entered. He was, we have not yet said about this, a tailor - one for the whole village and for the whole district - a literate man, who really re-read "Legends of the Saints", "Guerino the Slave" and "The French Queens" more than once. He was known in those places as a capable and learned man. However, he modestly rejected all praises, and he only used to say that he had made a mistake in his vocation and that, perhaps, if he had gone to study instead of many others, then ... At the same time, he was a good-natured man, of which there are few. When curato asked his wife in his presence to agree to go out of a feeling of mercy, he not only approved of this, but was even ready to persuade her. And now, when the divine service with all its splendor, this huge gathering of people and especially the sermon of the cardinal, as they say, stirred up all good feelings in him, he returned home impatiently, wanting to find out as soon as possible how things had turned out and to see the saved innocent poor thing. .

And here we are, - the kind woman told him when he entered, pointing to Lucia. She blushed, got up and began to babble some kind of apology. But he, going up to her, interrupted her with a cordial greeting:

Welcome, welcome! You are God's blessing in our home. How glad I am to see you here! Yes, I was sure that you would reach a safe harbor, for I do not yet know of a case when the Lord, starting to work a miracle, did not bring him to good ending; anyway I'm glad to see you here. You poor girl! And yet it is a great thing to experience a miracle.

Let no one think that he was the only one who called this event that way, because he read The Legends of the Saints. Throughout the village and throughout the district, as long as the memory of this incident was alive, it was the only way they talked about it. Yes, to tell the truth, remembering all the difficulties that accompanied the event, you can’t pick another word.

Approaching imperceptibly to his wife, who was removing the bowler hat from the chain, he quietly said to her:

Well, did everything go well?

Excellent ... I'll tell you everything later.

Okay, okay, have fun!

Quickly gathering dinner, the hostess took Lucia by the hand, seated her at the table and, cutting off the wing of a capon, laid it in front of the girl. The hostess and her husband also sat down and vied with each other to persuade their tired and embarrassed guest to eat. The tailor, having swallowed the first piece, began to rant with great excitement, interrupted by the children who were eating the bird, sitting around the table. They really saw too many amusing things that day to be satisfied with the role of mere listeners. The father described the solemn ceremony, then turned the conversation to the miraculous conversion. But the most great impression brought the cardinal's sermon to him, and he kept returning to it.

Such an important signor, - he said, - and suddenly - stands in front of the altar, like the simplest curato ...

And what is his golden thing on the head ... - one of the girls blurted out.

Shut up a little! Just think, I say, such an important gentleman, such a learned man; he is said to have read every book there is in the world—something that has never happened to anyone else, even in Milan. And now, wow, he knows how to adapt and so tell about everything that everyone understands ...

I got it too,” put in another little chatterer.

Shut up! Same way! What did you understand there?

I understood that he was explaining the gospel instead of Signor Curato.

Well, shut up! I'm not talking about those who understand something, they, of course, will understand. But even the strongest, most dark people and they followed the thread of his speech. Go now and ask them if they can repeat what he said ... Where can it be! you will not extract a single word from them, but their meaning has sunk into their souls. He never even uttered the signor's name, and everyone understood that he meant it. Yes, finally, it was enough to see how tears welled up in his eyes. And then all the people - also in tears ...

That's right, - the boy could not resist, - why did they all dissolve the nurses, just like children?

Shut up for a little... Why do we have hard hearts here! And he intelligibly told us that even though there is hunger now, we must thank the Creator and not grumble: do what you can, somehow dodge, help each other, and most importantly - do not grumble. For the misfortune is not in suffering, not in poverty, the misfortune is that we do evil. And he has it - not only beautiful words: we all know that he himself lives like a poor man and takes away a piece of bread from himself to give it to the hungry, although he could live in luxury more than anyone else. And what pleasure do you derive from listening to such a man preach; he is not like the others: do what I say, don't do what I do. And then he so clearly said that even a simple person, not a sir, if he has more than what is necessary, is obliged to help someone who is in need.

Here he interrupted his speech, as if suddenly seized by some thought. After thinking a little, he put on a dish of all the food that was on the table, put a piece of bread in addition, put the dish on a napkin and, taking it by the four corners, said older girl: "Take it". In his other hand he thrust a bottle of wine into her and added:

Go to Mary, the widow, give it all and tell her that this is a little treat for her and the children. Yes, look, be kind so that she does not think that you are giving her alms. And if you meet someone dear, don’t talk in vain, but be more careful - don’t break it.

Tears appeared in Lucia's eyes, and she felt her heart fill with invigorating tenderness: these words, like all the previous ones, brought her some kind of spiritual relief, which no deliberately delivered speech could do. Her soul, captivated by these descriptions, these pictures of magnificent splendor, the upsurge of religious feelings and a miracle, captured by the ardor of the narrator himself, broke away from sorrowful reflections about herself and, returning to them again, already found in herself more strength for the struggle. Even the very thought of her great sacrifice had not lost its bitterness, but was now fraught with some kind of stern and sublime joy.

A little later, a local curato entered and said that the cardinal had instructed him to inquire about Lucia's condition and inform her that the monsignor de wished to see her that very day and asked him to convey gratitude on his behalf to the tailor and his wife. Touched and embarrassed, the couple did not know what to say in response to such attention from such a high-ranking person.

Hasn't your mother arrived yet? Curato turned to Lucia.

My mother! she exclaimed.

And when the curato announced that he had sent for her on the orders of the archbishop, Lucia, closing her eyes with the edge of her apron, sobbed loudly and for a long time after the curato had left she could not calm down. When, finally, the stormy excitement experienced at this news was replaced by calmer thoughts, the poor thing remembered that the consolation close at that moment to see her mother again, a consolation that she had not expected just a few hours ago, because she especially prayed for him in those terrible hours, she, as it were, put him among the conditions of her vow. “Let me be saved and return to my mother,” she said then, and these words now clearly stood up in her memory. She decided firmly, as never before, to keep her promise, and again, with even greater bitterness, she began to reproach herself for the exclamation "Poor me!"

Agnese, in fact, while talking about her, was already very close. It is not difficult to imagine what happened to the poor woman when she learned about the unexpected invitation and heard the news - of necessity short and inaccurate - about the danger, one might say, has already passed, but so terrible; about a terrible incident, which the messenger did not know how to properly tell or explain, and even more so she did not know from which end to approach in order to figure everything out. She tore her hair and exclaimed endlessly: “Oh my God! Oh Madonna! ”, Then, throwing the messenger different questions, to which he could not find an answer, in a hurry she got into the wagon and continued to groan and question all the way, to no avail, however. On the way, they suddenly met Don Abondio, who was walking slowly, throwing his staff forward at every step. Both gasped in surprise. He stopped, she also ordered the wagon to stop and got down; then they withdrew to the side in a chestnut grove that stretched along the road. Don Abondio told her everything he knew and saw. Not everything was clear, but at least Agnese was convinced that Lucia was completely safe, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Don Abondio then wanted to start another conversation and give Agnese a long instruction on how to get along with the archbishop, if he wished - which is very likely - to talk with her and with her daughter; most importantly, he wanted to inspire her not to say a word about the wedding ... But then Agnese, noticing that our brave shepherd spoke only about his own interests, simply took it and left him, without making any promises, without making any decision on this account - she already had a lot of trouble - and set off on her way.

Finally, the cart arrived at the place and stopped at the tailor's house. Lucia got up hastily, Agnese got down from the wagon and rushed headlong into the house; minute - and they are in each other's arms. The tailor's wife, the only witness to this meeting, tries to encourage both of them, calm them down, rejoices with them, and then, not wanting to be superfluous, leaves them alone, saying that she is going to prepare a bed for them, let them, they say, do not worry, this is not at all her not embarrassing, and that, in any case, she herself, as well as her husband, are better off sleeping on the floor than letting them go to look for an overnight stay somewhere else.

When the first impulse passed and the hugs and tears ended, Agnese wanted to know about the adventures of Lucia, and she excitedly began to tell her about everything. But, as the reader already knows, no one knew this story in full detail, and for Lucia herself, some moments remained dark and completely inexplicable, especially that fatal coincidence, due to which the terrible carriage was on the road just at the moment when Lucia I was passing by on a supposedly urgent matter. Both mother and daughter built hundreds of guesses on this score, but not only did not hit the mark in any way, but did not even remotely approach it.

As for the main instigator of intrigues, then they both agreed that it was Don Rodrigo.

Ah, black soul! Hell of a brat! exclaimed Agnese. - But wait, his hour will strike! The Lord God will reward him according to his deserts; then he will know...

Don't, don't, mom! No! Lucia interrupted her. - Do not call on him suffering - do not call on anyone! If you only knew what it means to suffer! If only you could experience! No, no, let's better pray to God and the Madonna for him, may God touch his heart, as he touched the heart of this poor signor, who, after all, was worse than him, and now a saint.

The horror that seized Lucia at the recollection of her recent and so painful experiences, more than once forced her to interrupt her story; more than once she said that she did not have the courage to continue, and, shedding bitter tears, the girl with difficulty began to tell further. But when she got to a certain point in her story, to her vow, a different feeling stopped her. She stuttered. Fear that her mother would call her careless and reckless, and that, just as she did with the wedding, she would, in her own way, interpret this question of conscience too freely and force Lucia against her will to consider her opinion fair, or, what’s good, in secret, she will tell everything to someone, simply out of a desire to find out something and consult, and thus make everything public - at this very thought, color flooded Lucia's face; finally, some shame in front of her mother, some inexplicable unwillingness to touch on this issue - all these reasons taken together made her hide this important circumstance. She decided in this matter, first of all, to trust Padre Cristoforo. But what happened to her when, asking where he was, she heard that he was no longer there, that he had been sent far, far away, to such lands, which I don’t know what they are called!

And Renzo? Agnese said.

He's safe, isn't he? Lucia asked anxiously.

It must be the way they say it everywhere. Everyone is sure that he took refuge with the Bergamazians. Where, however, no one knows. He himself has not yet given any news about himself. Apparently, he has not yet found an opportunity.

Ah, if he is safe, praise be to God! said Lucia, and tried to change the conversation; but it was immediately interrupted, and most in an unexpected way, the appearance of the cardinal-archbishop himself.

Returning from the church where we left him, and having learned from the Nameless about the arrival of Lucia, safe and sound, Federigo led him to the table, sat him down next to right hand, in the midst of a whole host of priests who, with greedy curiosity, looked at this man, now so meek, but not at all powerless, so humble, but not humiliated, and compared him with the idea that everyone has long had about this person.

At the end of the meal, the cardinal and his guest withdrew. After a conversation, much longer than the first, the Nameless went to his castle on the same mule as in the morning. And the cardinal ordered the curato to be called and announced to him that he wanted to be taken to the house where Lucia had found shelter.

Oh, don’t worry, monsignor, replied the curato, I will immediately send word to tell them to come here, and the girl and mother, if she has already arrived, and the owner, if the monsignor pleases, in a word, everyone your grace desires .

I want to visit them myself,” said Federigo.

Your Grace should not worry, I will immediately send for them, this is a matter of one minute, ”the quick-witted curato (however, a kind man) insisted, not realizing that the cardinal wanted to honor the unfortunate innocent girl, the hospitable hosts, and in the same time to his parish priest. But since the archbishop repeated his wish, the subordinate could only bow and leave.

When these two faces appeared on the street, all passers-by rushed to them, and after a few minutes people poured in from all sides: whoever could, walked next to them, others randomly followed behind. Curato was trying to persuade: “Yes, step back, let them through, yes, well, come on!” Federigo said: "Leave them," and walked forward, now raising his hand and blessing the people, then lowering it to caress the children who were spinning under their feet.

So they got to the house and entered there - the crowd, huddled together, remained outside. The tailor was also in the crowd, who was walking behind along with others, his eyes wide open and his mouth open, not understanding where, in fact, they were going. Seeing unexpectedly for himself - where, he began to make his way forward. You can imagine with what noise he did this, shouting every now and then: “Let the one who is supposed to pass through,” and finally entered the house.

Agnese and Lucia heard an ever-increasing rumble in the street. While they were pondering what this meant, the door was flung open, and a cardinal dressed in purple appeared, accompanied by the parish curato.

That's her? he asked his companion, and at his affirmative nod went to Lucia, who was standing with her mother. Both women froze in place and were silent from confusion and embarrassment. But the sound of that voice, the look, the address, and most of all, the words of Federigo immediately gave them courage.

My poor thing, - began the cardinal, - God was pleased to subject you to a severe test; but he showed that he did not turn his eyes away from you, did not forget you. He gave you salvation and through you did a great deed: he showed his great mercy to one, and at the same time brought relief to many others.

Then the hostess appeared in the room, who also looked out the window at the noise and, seeing who was entering her house, ran down the stairs, hastily dressed up. Almost simultaneously, a tailor appeared from another door. Seeing that the conversation had already begun, they retreated to a corner, where they remained in respectful expectation.

The cardinal bowed politely to them, continuing to talk to the women, alternating words of consolation with questions, trying to catch from the answers how best to help those who had suffered so much.

It would be nice if all the priests were like your grace, so that they would take the side of the poor a little, and would not help to deceive them, just to get rid of them, ”said Agnese, encouraged by Federigo’s simple and friendly address and angry at the thought that signor don Abondio, always sacrificing others, also sought to take away from them the only small consolation - the opportunity to complain to a person who stood above him when, by rare chance, such an opportunity came up.

Don't be shy, say whatever you think,' said the cardinal, 'speak!

I want to say that if our signor curato had done his duty, the whole thing would have turned out differently.

But when the cardinal began to insist that she explain herself more clearly, Agnese found herself in a difficult position: after all, she had to tell a story in which she played such a role that she did not really want to admit it, and even such a person. However, she found a way out of the difficulty with the help of a little trick, namely: she told about the arranged wedding, about the refusal of Don Abondio, did not forget to mention his reference to the “bosses”, which he launched (well, Agnese!), jumped to the assassination of Don Rodrigo, and how, having received a warning, they managed to escape.

Yes,” she added in conclusion, “to break free in order to fall into the trap again. If, instead, the Signor Curato had frankly told us how things were, and immediately married my poor young ones, we would immediately leave secretly and hide in such a place that even the wind would not know anything. And now so much time has been lost, and what came out came out.

Signor curato will answer me for this,” said the cardinal.

No, no, sir," Agnese spoke up suddenly. - That's not what I said. You don’t scold him, you won’t return what you have done anyway. Yes, and there will be no sense, he is such a person: if it happens another time, he will still do it his own way.

But Lucia was dissatisfied with the way the whole story was told, and added:

We, too, did badly; it was evident that it was not God's will that our cause should end happily.

But what could you do wrong, my dear girl? asked Federigo.

Although her mother gave her eloquent glances, Lucia told the whole story of the assassination attempt in Don Abondio's house, and ended with the words:

We did wrong, and God punished us for it.

Accept from his hands the suffering you endured, and do not lose heart, said Federigo. “For who can rejoice and hope, if not the one who has endured and yet is ready to blame himself?

Then he asked where the bridegroom was, and, hearing from Agnese (Lucia stood silently, bowing her head and lowering her eyes), that he had fled from his native country, he felt and let his surprise and displeasure be noticed; he expressed a desire to know the reason for his flight.

Agnese, as best she could, told what little she knew about Renzo.

I have heard of this young man,” said the cardinal. - But how could a person involved in such affairs be considered the bridegroom of such a girl?

He was an honest young man,” said Lucia, blushing deeply, but in a firm voice.

Quiet guy, even too much, - added Agnese, - you can ask anyone about this, even Signor Curato. Who knows what confusion, what intrigues they started there? How much does it take to slander a poor person?

Unfortunately, it's true, - said the cardinal, - in any case, I'll inquire about him. - And, having learned the name and surname of the young man, he wrote everything down in a memorable book. Then he added that he expected to visit their village in a few days, that then Lucia could safely come there, and in the meantime he would try to find a place where she could be completely safe until everything improved for the better.

After that, he turned to the owners of the house, who immediately stepped forward. He once again expressed his gratitude to them, which he had already conveyed through curato, and asked them if they would agree to host the guests whom God had sent them for a few days.

Oh, of course, sir, - answered the wife, and her voice and face were much more expressive than this dry answer, caused by her embarrassment.

But the husband, intoxicated by the presence of such a distinguished visitor, was burning with the desire to distinguish himself, since such an exceptional case turned out, and in excitement he prepared a suitable flowery answer. He wrinkled his forehead, desperately rolled his eyes, tightened his lips, strained all the powers of his mind, searched, rummaged through his memory and felt a whole swarm of disparate thoughts and unspoken words swirling in his head - but time did not wait: the cardinal had already made it clear by signs, that this silence is interpreted by him in in a certain sense. Then the poor fellow had to open his mouth and say: “Imagine!” And nothing more happened to him. This circumstance not only made him despise himself at the moment, but later, the painful memory of it spoiled his pleasure from the great honor that fell to his lot. And every time when, returning to this incident, he mentally transferred himself to that situation, as luck would have it, all sorts of words came into his head that would in any case be better than this absurd one: “Imagine!” But, as the old proverb says, "all pits are full of hindsight."

The cardinal departed with the words: "God's blessing be upon this house!"

Then, already in the evening, he asked curato whether it was possible to somehow reward this man, apparently not rich, in a decent form, for the hospitality he had received, which was worth a lot, especially at the present time. Curato replied that, indeed, neither the income from the craft, nor the income from the small plots of land belonging to him, this year, perhaps, would not be enough to allow him to be generous to others, but that he supposedly managed to save for the past years and he has turned out to be one of the wealthiest in the area and can safely afford some extra expenses, which he willingly does, in any case there is no way to make him accept any reward.

Perhaps, - said the cardinal, - people who are unable to pay the debt owe him.

Of course, Monsignor. After all, poor people in our country usually pay from the remnants of the harvest; well, last year there were no leftovers - everyone lacks even the most necessary things.

All right, said Federigo, I take on all these debts. And you, be so kind, take a list of these debts from him and pay them.

This will add up to a hefty sum.

All the better. And, unfortunately, there will still be those who are even more needy, who do not have debts, because no one believes in their debt.

Oh, more! You do what you can, but how to be in time everywhere at such times?

Let him sew them at my expense, and you will pay him more. In all honesty, this year, any expense seems to me theft, since it does not go to bread, but this case is exceptional.

We do not wish, however, to end the story of this day without giving a brief account of how the Nameless One ended it.

This time the news of his conversion preceded his appearance in the valley; it spread quickly and caused bewilderment, alarm, irritation, murmur everywhere. The first bravos, or servants (which is the same thing), he met, he signaled to follow him, and so on to everyone else. Everyone followed him with a kind of hesitation unusual for them, but with habitual obedience, until he, accompanied by an ever-growing retinue, finally arrived at his castle. He signaled to those at the gate to join the others. Having entered the first courtyard, he got out to the very middle of it, there, still sitting on horseback, he let out his thunderous cry: it was the usual signal, hearing which all his accomplices ran. In one minute, people scattered throughout the castle came to the call and joined the already assembled, looking at their master.

Go and wait for me in the great hall,” he said, looking after them from the height of his mule. Then he dismounted, took the mule to the stable, and went to where he was expected. When the Nameless One appeared, the general whispering immediately stopped, everyone crowded in one direction, leaving a large part of the hall free for him. There must have been thirty in all.

The Nameless One raised his hand, as if to maintain this sudden silence; lifted his head, which already towered above the heads of those assembled, and said:

Listen, everyone, and let only the one I ask speak. My sons! The path we have walked so far leads straight to hell. It is not for me to reproach you when I walked at the head of you all, was the worst of you; but hear what I have to say to you. The merciful Lord called me to change my life, and I will change it, I have already changed it, and may it be the same with all of you. Know, then, and firmly remember, that I would rather die than transgress his holy law. I release each of you from the execution of my criminal orders - I hope you understand me. Moreover, I demand that you do not carry out any of my previous orders. And remember once and for all that henceforth no one dares to commit atrocities under the guise of my name, in my service. Whoever wants to accept these conditions will be my own son, and I will be happy until the end of my days, when I deny myself the last piece of bread left in my house to feed the last of you. Whoever does not agree will receive all his salary and, in addition, a gift and - let him go with God; but here no more than a foot, except if someone wants to change his life: then I will accept him with open arms. Reflect on everything tonight; tomorrow I will call you, one by one, to find out the answer, and then you will receive new orders. Now go to your places. And God, who has shown me his mercy, may he inspire you with a good decision.

On this he finished. A deep silence reigned all around. No matter how varied and disordered were the thoughts that boiled in these violent heads, outwardly they did not express themselves in anything. The bravos were accustomed to perceive the voice of their signor as an expression of his firm will, to which it is useless to object - and this voice, now announcing a change in will, sounded just as authoritative to them. It never even occurred to any of them that after the conversion of the Nameless One, one could object to him, like to any other person. They saw him as a saint, one of those saints who are depicted with his head held high and with a sword in his hand. In addition to fear, they had affection for him (mainly those who were born in his castle, and such were the majority) affection as vassals; they all bowed before him and in his presence experienced, I will say frankly, some kind of awkwardness that even the most rude and insolent souls feel before a person whose superiority they recognize. And although the words that they heard from his lips were alien to their ears, they sounded true and resonated in their souls: if they scoffed a thousand times at what he said, it was not because they did not believe in it, but because that by this mockery they wanted to dispel the fear that would have seized them if they thought about it seriously. And now, when they saw the effect of this fear on the soul of a person like their master, all of them, some more, some less, were for some time in the grip of this feeling. In addition to all this, those who were not in the valley in the morning were the first to learn about the great news and saw everything with their own eyes, and then they themselves told others about the joy and jubilation of the population, about love and deep reverence for the Nameless, which replaced the former hatred, former horror in front of him. So that in that person whom they used to look at, so to speak, from the bottom up, even when they themselves, in the vast majority, were part of his strength, they now saw some kind of marvel, the idol of the crowd. They saw him elevated above the people, however, in a different way than before, but still just as high - as always going beyond the usual framework, as always in the first line.

So they stood at a loss, unsure of each other and each of himself. Who was spiteful, who made plans, where would he go to seek refuge and service; who wondered if he could adapt and become a decent person; who is hurt for living words Nameless, felt some inclination to follow them; who, without making any decision, was going to promise everything just in case, but for now continue to eat the bread offered from a pure heart and so meager in those days, and thereby gain time. Everyone held their breath. And when the Nameless One, at the end of his speech, again raised his imperious hand, giving a sign that it was time to disperse, they left in a crowd, bowing their heads like a flock of sheep. He himself followed them, stopped first in the middle of the yard and, in the faint twilight light, watched them disperse, each heading towards his own place. Then he went upstairs for a lantern, again went around the courtyards, corridors, halls, checked all the entrances and, making sure that everything was in order, finally went to bed. Yes, precisely to sleep, because sleep overcame him.

Never, under no circumstances, had he had so many complicated and at the same time urgent matters as now (since he himself was always looking for them), and yet sleep overcame him. The pangs of conscience that had prevented him from closing his eyes the previous night not only did not subside, but, on the contrary, their voice became louder, more inexorable, more strict - and yet sleep overcame him. The whole way of life, the whole method of government, established by him over many years with such diligence, with such a peculiar combination of courage and perseverance - all this he himself called into question with a few words. The boundless devotion of his accomplices, their readiness to go to any lengths, this loyalty of the robbers, on which he had been accustomed to rely for so long, he himself now shook all this. A complete confusion reigned in his actions, confusion and uncertainty settled in his house, and yet sleep overcame him.

So he went into his room, approached his bed, which had been so thorny for him the night before, and immediately knelt down, about to pray. And indeed, in some hidden and secluded corner of his memory, he found the prayers that he was taught to repeat in childhood. He began to read them, and these words, which had been hidden for so long, came to his mind one after another, like a ball of thread that is gradually unwinding. An inexplicable, mixed feeling took possession of him: some kind of sweetness in this visible return to the habits of innocent childhood and unimaginable torment at the thought of the abyss that he himself created between that time and the present; a fiery impulse to atone for his deeds, to come to a new consciousness, to a new state of mind, approaching pure childhood, to which he can no longer return, and, finally, gratitude, hope for that mercy that could lead him to such a state and has already given him he has so many signs of this will of his. Getting up from his knees, he lay down on the bed and immediately fell asleep.

Thus ended the day, about which much was said even at the time when our anonymous writer wrote; and if it were not for him, now nothing would be known about this day, at least about its details; True, the aforementioned Ripamonti and Rivola repeat endlessly that such a famous villain, after his meeting with Federigo, miraculously and forever changed his life. But how many of those who read the books of both these authors? Perhaps there are even fewer of them than the future readers of our book. And who knows whether in the valley itself - even if someone were found who had the desire and ability to find her - at least some pale and vague legend about this incident? After all, so much has happened since then!

“History can truly be defined as a glorious war with Time, for, taking from its hands the years taken prisoner and even managed to become corpses, it brings them back to life, makes them review and rebuilds for battle. But the glorious Fighters, reaping in this Field the plentiful harvest of Palms and Laurels, steal only the most luxurious and brilliant prey, extolling with the fragrance of their ink the Feats of Sovereigns and Rulers, as well as outstanding Persons, and winding golden and silk threads with the thinnest needle of their mind, from which an endless pattern of glorious Acts is formed. However, it is not fitting for my insignificance to rise to such objects and to such dangerous heights, as well as to indulge in the Labyrinths of Political machinations and listen to the militant rumble of Copper; on the contrary, having familiarized myself with memorable incidents, although they happened to people of inferior and insignificant nature, I am going to leave the memory of them to the Descendants, having made a frank and reliable Narration about everything, or rather, a Message. In it, in a cramped Theater, woeful Tragedies of horrors and Scenes of unheard-of villainy will appear, interspersed with valiant Acts and angelic kindness, which resist diabolical tricks. And indeed, considering that these countries of ours are under the dominion of our Signor, the Catholic King, who is the Sun that never sets, and above him by reflected Light, like the Moon that never wanes, shines the Hero of the noble Seed, temporarily ruling in his place. , just as the Most Brilliant Senators, the unchanging Luminaries, - and other Respected Magistrates, - the wandering planets, shed their light everywhere, thereby forming the noblest Heaven, it is impossible - at the sight of its transformation into a hell of pitch deeds, deceit and ferocity, in a multitude of things done by daring people - to see any other reason for this, except for the tricks and intrigues of the devil, since one human deceit would not be enough to resist so many Heroes who, with the eyes of Argus and the hands of Briareus, give their lives for the common good. And therefore, speaking about the events that took place during the time of my flourishing age, and although most of the persons acting in them have already disappeared from the Arena of life and become tributaries of the Paroks, nevertheless, due to respectful respect for them, I will not name their names. , that is, generic names; I will do the same with the place of action, the name of which I will not designate. And no one will consider this the imperfection of the Narrative and the disorder of my unpretentious Creation, unless the Critic turns out to be a person who is completely inexperienced in philosophy, while people who are versed in it will perfectly understand that the essence of the said Tale has not suffered from this at all. After all, it is quite obvious and cannot be denied by anyone that names are nothing more than the purest accidents ... "

But when I have overcome the heroic labor of rewriting this story from a faded and blotted out manuscript, and when I, as they say, put it into the public eye, will there be a willing person to overcome the labor of reading it?

This is a thought that leads to doubt and originated while working on the analysis of the scrawl that followed accidents, made me stop rewriting and think more deeply about what I should do.

Quite right, - I said to myself, leafing through the manuscript, - quite right, that such a stream of verbal tinsel and rhetorical figures is not found throughout this work. Like a real sectarian, the author at first wanted to flaunt his learning; but then, in the course of the story, sometimes for a long time, the style becomes more natural and more even. Yes - but how ordinary he is! How clumsy! How rough! .. Lombard idioms - without number, phrases - inopportunely used, grammar - arbitrary, periods - uncoordinated. And then - refined Hispanisms, scattered here and there; then, what is much worse, in the most terrifying and touching places, at every opportunity to cause amazement or lead the reader to reflection, in a word, in all those places where a certain amount of rhetoric is required, but modest, subtle, elegant rhetoric, the author never misses chance to stuff the presentation with the very rhetoric that we already know from the introduction. Mixing with amazing dexterity the most opposite properties, he manages on the same page, in the same period, in the same expression to be both rude and cutesy at the same time. Would you like it: bombastic declamation, riddled with gross grammatical errors, everywhere pretentious heaviness, which gives a special character to the writings of this century in this country. Truly, this is not such a thing that it is worth bringing it to the attention of today's readers: they are too picky, they are too unaccustomed to this kind of whims. It's good that the right thought occurred to me at the very beginning of this ill-fated work - in this way I simply wash my hands of it.

However, when I was about to fold this shabby notebook in order to hide it, I suddenly felt sorry that such a beautiful story would forever remain unknown, because as a story (the reader may not share my opinion) it seemed to me, I repeat, beautiful, and even very beautiful. "Why," I thought, "do not take the whole chain of events from this manuscript, only reworking its style?" Since there was no reasonable objection to this, the decision was made immediately. This is the origin of this book, presented with a candor worthy of the story itself.

However, some of these events, some of the customs described by our author, seemed to us so new, so strange - to say the least - that we, before believing them, wished to interrogate other witnesses and began to rummage through the then memoirs, in order to find out whether it was true that at that time it was so lived in the world. Such searches dispelled all our doubts: at every step we came across the same and even more amazing cases, and (which seemed to us especially convincing) we even got to some personalities about whom there was no information, except in our manuscript, and therefore we doubted the reality of their existence. On occasion, we will cite some of these testimonies to confirm the reliability of circumstances that, because of their extraordinary nature, the reader would be inclined to disbelieve.

Anyone who, unbidden by anyone, undertakes to remake the work of others, thereby confronts himself with the need to account for his own work and, to a certain extent, assumes the obligation to do so. These are the rules of life and jurisprudence, and we are not going to deviate from them at all. On the contrary, willingly adapting to them, we were going to give here a most detailed explanation of the manner of presentation adopted by us, and for this purpose, throughout our work, we invariably tried to provide for possible and accidental criticisms in order to refute all of them in advance and completely. And this would not be the difficulty - for (we must say this, paying tribute to the truth) not a single critical remark presented itself to our mind without a victorious objection immediately appearing, from among those that, I will not say - decide questions, but change their very formulation. Often we even pushed two critics against each other, forced one to beat the other; or else, by examining them to their foundations and carefully comparing them, we were able to discover and show that, for all their apparent difference, they are nevertheless almost homogeneous and both were born from an insufficient attention to the facts and principles on which the judgment was to be based; so combining them, to their great amazement, we let both of them walk around the world in a friendly manner. It is unlikely that there would be an author who would prove the good quality of his work in such an obvious way. But what? When we came to be able to cover all the objections and answers mentioned above and arrange them in a certain order, - alas, they were accumulated for a whole book. Seeing this, we abandoned the original idea for two reasons, which the reader will no doubt consider fundamental: one of them is that a book intended to justify another, and even in essence the style of another book, might seem ridiculous; the other is that for the first time even one book will suffice, if only the book itself is not superfluous.