I love the last paragraph in this chapter, beginning, "At these words he lowered his head....*. So much is contained in the paragraph. Renzo's elation and confusion is rendered beautifully. He is doing his utmost to keep his wits about him. He still has enough awareness not to mention names, especially the name of Lucia. He is on the defensive against the mocking patrons of the tavern, as earlier during the riot he was helping in defence. The pathos of Renzo's plight is encapsulated in the ending of the chapter. The paragraph is a glorious evocation of a man in a drunken state, doing his best hold his own in a difficult situation. A fine balance of helplessness and hope in Manzoni's compassionate depiction of a man who finds himself in a desperate situation.
Winding down the details of the crowd's mood swings as it disperses and winding up Renzo's brashness, from intoxicated street corner rabble rouser to tavern drunk -- all so carefully observed, as usual -- at the same time the chapter continues to remind me that every one of Renzo's false turns is taking him further from his goal -- or at least I've been forewarned to expect this -- so much so that this "guide," presented relatively neutrally and without much authorial comment, seems pretty clearly to be one of Don R's spies. Still hanging on the cliff...
Renzo emerges as a complex and somewhat pitiful character. Not what I expected when I compared him to D'Artagnan. His drunken rant targets pen and paper, highlighting his illiteracy. Ironic that we are reading his tale because of pen and paper. By well into the Nineteenth Century, when The Betrothed was published, readers of The Betrothed would understand that literacy and the rule of law were keys to a successful and vastly improved present and future. Indeed, in a prior epoch, near Renzo's, the Renaissance was nothing if not reverence for Classical antiquity's pen snd paper.
prob france too. was just in paris in the former seedy parts of latin quarter and saw old remaining faded painted images above where stores were to show people what the store sold. no words!
A perfect definition, to my mind, of a poet — “It means a bizarre and somewhat eccentric soul whose speech and behavior are clever and odd, rather than sensible.” Instead of venerating lyric poets like Shakespeare and Dickinson, why not complicate their gifts? After all, they were human before they were writers, people before they found music, and they had to live along with having poetic sensibilities. As a librarian wrote to me recently, nobody is just one thing.
Missed one day of reading and so much happens! Wonderful description of crowd dispersing. Fanning out “some” here and there, some clustering and gathering “like a cloud-bank that occasionally breaks apart to travel across the clear blue sky after a storm...” Beautiful. And this, “I ask you, what’s the connection between being a poet and being an eccentric?”
It’s clear from the outset that the stranger prying into Renzo’s affairs who becomes Renzo’s “guide” is not a friend. We later learn that the guide (Ambroglio Fusella; who is he?) is known to the inn-keeper (the host of the Full Moon), and that the inn-keeper, who tried to elicit from Renzo his full name and place of origin, is complicit with the guide (up to a point).
“‘What shall I do?’ said the inn-keeper, looking towards the guide, who might be unknown to Renzo, but was certainly not known to him.”
“The guide gave the host a look of reproff, for having consulted him so openly …”
“‘I’ve done my duty’ said the host out loud”, once our Renzo’s full name (Lorenzo Tramaglino) and his Lecco origin have been established.
Renzo would definitely benefit from having a wise wife and mother-in-law by his side. He's not doing so hot on his own!
I love the last paragraph in this chapter, beginning, "At these words he lowered his head....*. So much is contained in the paragraph. Renzo's elation and confusion is rendered beautifully. He is doing his utmost to keep his wits about him. He still has enough awareness not to mention names, especially the name of Lucia. He is on the defensive against the mocking patrons of the tavern, as earlier during the riot he was helping in defence. The pathos of Renzo's plight is encapsulated in the ending of the chapter. The paragraph is a glorious evocation of a man in a drunken state, doing his best hold his own in a difficult situation. A fine balance of helplessness and hope in Manzoni's compassionate depiction of a man who finds himself in a desperate situation.
Winding down the details of the crowd's mood swings as it disperses and winding up Renzo's brashness, from intoxicated street corner rabble rouser to tavern drunk -- all so carefully observed, as usual -- at the same time the chapter continues to remind me that every one of Renzo's false turns is taking him further from his goal -- or at least I've been forewarned to expect this -- so much so that this "guide," presented relatively neutrally and without much authorial comment, seems pretty clearly to be one of Don R's spies. Still hanging on the cliff...
catching up, fallen way behind (reading wise!)
love the shifts from renzo's mental state and the mob's and the blurring of the two and how easily the individual becomes a group that moves en masse.
Renzo emerges as a complex and somewhat pitiful character. Not what I expected when I compared him to D'Artagnan. His drunken rant targets pen and paper, highlighting his illiteracy. Ironic that we are reading his tale because of pen and paper. By well into the Nineteenth Century, when The Betrothed was published, readers of The Betrothed would understand that literacy and the rule of law were keys to a successful and vastly improved present and future. Indeed, in a prior epoch, near Renzo's, the Renaissance was nothing if not reverence for Classical antiquity's pen snd paper.
More than 80% of the Italian population was illiterate at the time of the novel’s publication and well into the late 19th and early 20th centuries.
prob france too. was just in paris in the former seedy parts of latin quarter and saw old remaining faded painted images above where stores were to show people what the store sold. no words!
A perfect definition, to my mind, of a poet — “It means a bizarre and somewhat eccentric soul whose speech and behavior are clever and odd, rather than sensible.” Instead of venerating lyric poets like Shakespeare and Dickinson, why not complicate their gifts? After all, they were human before they were writers, people before they found music, and they had to live along with having poetic sensibilities. As a librarian wrote to me recently, nobody is just one thing.
I’m assuming this is the poet author’s self-portrait!
Missed one day of reading and so much happens! Wonderful description of crowd dispersing. Fanning out “some” here and there, some clustering and gathering “like a cloud-bank that occasionally breaks apart to travel across the clear blue sky after a storm...” Beautiful. And this, “I ask you, what’s the connection between being a poet and being an eccentric?”
i'm so behind but determined to catch up! up to ch. 16...
It’s clear from the outset that the stranger prying into Renzo’s affairs who becomes Renzo’s “guide” is not a friend. We later learn that the guide (Ambroglio Fusella; who is he?) is known to the inn-keeper (the host of the Full Moon), and that the inn-keeper, who tried to elicit from Renzo his full name and place of origin, is complicit with the guide (up to a point).
“‘What shall I do?’ said the inn-keeper, looking towards the guide, who might be unknown to Renzo, but was certainly not known to him.”
“The guide gave the host a look of reproff, for having consulted him so openly …”
“‘I’ve done my duty’ said the host out loud”, once our Renzo’s full name (Lorenzo Tramaglino) and his Lecco origin have been established.