Way back in Chapter 11, Don Rodrigo demeaned Griso, calling him a “straw dog … afraid to wander too far from the door”. Griso had cowered to his master and asserted that he was “Brave as a lion, swift as a hare, and … ready to go”. I was not convinced at the time of Griso’s inner strength, but it turns out that, when the opportunity presented itself, he was indeed “ready to go”. It’s good to see Griso stand up for himself and take revenge (opportunistically) on Don Rodrigo, and I’m sorry to see Griso succumb to his plague maladies while Don Rodrigo has not (yet) done so.
Michael, I'm very sorry for all your losses. It's been shockingly easy to forget the sufferings of he pandemic, the fallout. Remembering via Manzoni aI realized that how much I've repressed certain memories, the desperation, the ennui of the children, standing in the snow outside a hospice to shout my encouragements because I'm not allowed inside to hold the hand of my loved one. The relief of a return to the living is one of the reasons Renzo's return to his village is so moving. Thanks for reminding us.
Don Rodrigo’s brilliantly described nightmares remind me of how Jung, in Memories, Dreams, and Reflections recounted his own nightmares, likewise loaded with personal, historical, cultural, and archetypal imagery. Mansoni has done a great job here.
Love today's commentary. It does hurt, the plague chapters, we cannot read them as ancient history, but of a story that is also happening now, today as we struggle to cope with our changed world and great losses of the past years. Can we find a way of coping for all of us, in this Italian tale of thwarted love and human tragedy? We shall see, but for now there is comfort in shared humanity, shared grief and strife and watching people, governments who fail mightily, but others who manage to maintain their courage and humanity, and do great things, kind things.
I like the way Manzoni can express so much so concisely. For example, in the first paragraph: "Every time they met there were always a few new faces more, and a few old faces less" (e ogni volta ve n’era dei nuovi, e ne mancava dei vecchi).
"Well, who knows what determines the fame of a book?" A wonderful new motto.
"So are criminals the only ones who get a safe-conduct? ... If I miss a good opportunity like this [...Look at how our blessed inclination to refer and subordinate everything to ourselves influences the words we choose!] --I won't get another one like it!"
The narrator's comment "You can always hope, dear Renzo" bodes ill for him -- but is there also possibly a hint of a happy ending in Bortolo's: "Come back in good company, because, God willing, there'll be work for everyone, and we can do it side by side. So long as I'm still here, and this evil hour has passed!"
I don't find Bortolo's self-concern in his dealings with Renzo to diminish him or make him any less nice (at least so far) -- rather just another ordinary man with weaknesses and his own agenda, "simply the way he was."
As for Griso, it's no surprise that he turns on Don Rodrigo (from greed, fear, and revenge--a perfect complex of motives, and a perfect manifestation of their dog-eat-dog world?), or that as soon as he falls ill the same monatti who were his accomplices also turn on him -- so so far in this chapter, as elsewhere, we're seeing various expressions, harsh with the bad guys, gentle with the good guys, of the self-centering of the world (again, "our blessed inclination to refer and subordinate everything to ourselves" of Renzo, above).
Michael F. Moore, I’m sorry you are weighed down by post-pandemic grief.
And of course, Renzo “also caught the plague and recovered from it on his own. By doing nothing.” What an economy of words after the previous chapters. And like a knight-errant, now sets off to claim his Lucia. The romance is back on.
"They stripped him of everything valuable in his possession and threw him on a cart, where he died before reaching the same lazaretto that had just welcomed his master." And yet, no word of his master's fate. Manzoni is a master at building tension...such a master, I have to read ahead. I'll try to stop with tomorrow's reading, but no promises!
Don Rodrigo beseeching loyal Griso while in the grip of a fatal condition, and Griso instinctively alienating then betraying him, reminds me of the scene in Jack London's short story "To Build a Fire," where the trapper, at the brink of being fully debilitated by the extreme cold, begs his dog to come to him, while planning to slay the dog and plunge his frostbitten, paralyzed hands into the split abdomen, to warm them enough so he can build a fire, but the dog senses there's danger in approaching and backs off and deserts his master.
Don Rodrigo laughing & mocking then crying and despairing;
Griso - same.
Renzo - sick & plagued then endowed with renewed hope and purpose.
Reminds me of a Shakespearean comedy & tragedy combined. Guess I’ll wait until the end to see whether this tale is ultimately deemed a comedy or a tragedy.
What did it take to not be struck down by the plague? An iron clad immune system? Luck? Heartbreaking and sickening to see the parallels with AIDS and Covid. How personal and contemporaneous - and traumatic - the translation quickly becomes. How much did it pain Michael to see historical material reactivated by the unimaginable? I was ready to be back in scene with the characters from the novel and to see the evils of the plague playing out on stage. I wonder why Manzoni paused the narrative to write long historical sections, rather than let the story and the humans carry the weight?
Don Rodrigo's descent toward death is a scene I'll remember for a long time. It was rich in irony and vividly gruesome details. Griso's betrayal was the last, fitting twist of the knife. And then for Griso to also die because of his greed served as the perfect coda.
Way back in Chapter 11, Don Rodrigo demeaned Griso, calling him a “straw dog … afraid to wander too far from the door”. Griso had cowered to his master and asserted that he was “Brave as a lion, swift as a hare, and … ready to go”. I was not convinced at the time of Griso’s inner strength, but it turns out that, when the opportunity presented itself, he was indeed “ready to go”. It’s good to see Griso stand up for himself and take revenge (opportunistically) on Don Rodrigo, and I’m sorry to see Griso succumb to his plague maladies while Don Rodrigo has not (yet) done so.
"create one your own"... may I ask why you didn't use a more literal "fabricate" or "manifacture"? The italian fabbricatevelo is hilarious.
Michael, I'm very sorry for all your losses. It's been shockingly easy to forget the sufferings of he pandemic, the fallout. Remembering via Manzoni aI realized that how much I've repressed certain memories, the desperation, the ennui of the children, standing in the snow outside a hospice to shout my encouragements because I'm not allowed inside to hold the hand of my loved one. The relief of a return to the living is one of the reasons Renzo's return to his village is so moving. Thanks for reminding us.
Don Rodrigo’s brilliantly described nightmares remind me of how Jung, in Memories, Dreams, and Reflections recounted his own nightmares, likewise loaded with personal, historical, cultural, and archetypal imagery. Mansoni has done a great job here.
Love today's commentary. It does hurt, the plague chapters, we cannot read them as ancient history, but of a story that is also happening now, today as we struggle to cope with our changed world and great losses of the past years. Can we find a way of coping for all of us, in this Italian tale of thwarted love and human tragedy? We shall see, but for now there is comfort in shared humanity, shared grief and strife and watching people, governments who fail mightily, but others who manage to maintain their courage and humanity, and do great things, kind things.
I like the way Manzoni can express so much so concisely. For example, in the first paragraph: "Every time they met there were always a few new faces more, and a few old faces less" (e ogni volta ve n’era dei nuovi, e ne mancava dei vecchi).
"Well, who knows what determines the fame of a book?" A wonderful new motto.
"So are criminals the only ones who get a safe-conduct? ... If I miss a good opportunity like this [...Look at how our blessed inclination to refer and subordinate everything to ourselves influences the words we choose!] --I won't get another one like it!"
The narrator's comment "You can always hope, dear Renzo" bodes ill for him -- but is there also possibly a hint of a happy ending in Bortolo's: "Come back in good company, because, God willing, there'll be work for everyone, and we can do it side by side. So long as I'm still here, and this evil hour has passed!"
I don't find Bortolo's self-concern in his dealings with Renzo to diminish him or make him any less nice (at least so far) -- rather just another ordinary man with weaknesses and his own agenda, "simply the way he was."
As for Griso, it's no surprise that he turns on Don Rodrigo (from greed, fear, and revenge--a perfect complex of motives, and a perfect manifestation of their dog-eat-dog world?), or that as soon as he falls ill the same monatti who were his accomplices also turn on him -- so so far in this chapter, as elsewhere, we're seeing various expressions, harsh with the bad guys, gentle with the good guys, of the self-centering of the world (again, "our blessed inclination to refer and subordinate everything to ourselves" of Renzo, above).
Michael F. Moore, I’m sorry you are weighed down by post-pandemic grief.
And of course, Renzo “also caught the plague and recovered from it on his own. By doing nothing.” What an economy of words after the previous chapters. And like a knight-errant, now sets off to claim his Lucia. The romance is back on.
I think Don Rodrigo ‘s rapid descent into the clutches of plague perfectly mingles dream and delerium, a great description of the disease state.
"They stripped him of everything valuable in his possession and threw him on a cart, where he died before reaching the same lazaretto that had just welcomed his master." And yet, no word of his master's fate. Manzoni is a master at building tension...such a master, I have to read ahead. I'll try to stop with tomorrow's reading, but no promises!
Don Rodrigo beseeching loyal Griso while in the grip of a fatal condition, and Griso instinctively alienating then betraying him, reminds me of the scene in Jack London's short story "To Build a Fire," where the trapper, at the brink of being fully debilitated by the extreme cold, begs his dog to come to him, while planning to slay the dog and plunge his frostbitten, paralyzed hands into the split abdomen, to warm them enough so he can build a fire, but the dog senses there's danger in approaching and backs off and deserts his master.
The tide can turn so quick -
Don Rodrigo laughing & mocking then crying and despairing;
Griso - same.
Renzo - sick & plagued then endowed with renewed hope and purpose.
Reminds me of a Shakespearean comedy & tragedy combined. Guess I’ll wait until the end to see whether this tale is ultimately deemed a comedy or a tragedy.
"Just the thing to place at the beginning of a treatise on political economy" Hilarious by itself ...but am I missing something?
What did it take to not be struck down by the plague? An iron clad immune system? Luck? Heartbreaking and sickening to see the parallels with AIDS and Covid. How personal and contemporaneous - and traumatic - the translation quickly becomes. How much did it pain Michael to see historical material reactivated by the unimaginable? I was ready to be back in scene with the characters from the novel and to see the evils of the plague playing out on stage. I wonder why Manzoni paused the narrative to write long historical sections, rather than let the story and the humans carry the weight?
Don Rodrigo's descent toward death is a scene I'll remember for a long time. It was rich in irony and vividly gruesome details. Griso's betrayal was the last, fitting twist of the knife. And then for Griso to also die because of his greed served as the perfect coda.