I love the opening paragraph of this chapter. Manzoni's description of the rain is a lovely metaphor for both the emotional renewal felt by Renzo and the others, and the plague coming to its end. The rain water seems like a baptism into a new life for Renzo. Manzoni's linguistic choreography of the actual rain as it falls is exact and evocative.
Renzo's line, when he says:"And plague or no plague, for a few hours at least I want us to be happy" is moving and true. Renzo knows the importance of snatching out of time the passionate transitory, to paraphrase the poet Patrick Kavanagh.
The passages about the rain were simply beautiful; I deeply felt the relief, the new beginning. Per your footnote about the Nun of Monza, Michael, I am perversely curious to know more about what "walled into a small cell" means--no window? And no human contact? For 14 years? I cannot imagine she did not go raving mad, but apparently she survived....
Wonderful chapter... Special delight in description of Renzo happily splashing about in the rain as he returns to his village: "He splashed about, enjoying the refreshment as the green grass and leaves swooshed and hummed, trembling, dripping, shiny, and newly green. He took deep breaths. And in this reprieve of nature, he felt more freely and vividly the positive turn his destiny had taken." Lovely images of renewal on this Easter Sunday.
And couldn't help but laugh (apologetically) at narrator's wrap-up of Don Ferrante, that "learned man" and plague denier until the end--"he took no precautions against the plague. He caught it and went to bed to die, like an operatic hero, blaming it on the stars."
In our penultimate chapter, Renzo, Lucia and Agnese; Don Rodrigo and Don Abbondio; and Padre Cristoforo; the Cardinal, and Don Ferrante; and even Gertrude, Donna Prassede and Bortolo. To top it off, Renzo finds himself by the banks of the Adda. I am reminded of Dorothy experiencing the comfort of home upon her return from Oz, as Renzo experiences “the positive turn his destiny had taken.“
I burst into tears at Renzo's care not to pass any lingering contagion to Agnese, with appreciation for his concern for her -- so resonant of our time with covid. Lots of little beauties to add, but my notes aren't near at the moment.
Mansoni writes beautifully about the weather and the natural world—the rain, the garden, River, trees. I’m interested in the role of silk production in the novel, and in Italy at this time: Renzo’s livelihood, also that of his cousin, of Bergamo, Agnese spinning silk, the silk that will go into Lucia’s trousseau.
Even in the seventeenth century they understood a lot about plagues. Renzo and Agnese decide to go outside and sit on a bench to social distance. They know that because Renzo has had the plague he has immunity. But he understands he can still be a carrier and infect others.
"I have found her! She has recovered! She is mine!"
On Renzo's hunger: "it would take much more than a meager soup from a Capuchin to nourish a joy like his."
"The rain would stop when it pleased God..."
"When in his later years he'd tell the story in great detail, and at great length..." was the first time I've felt without any doubt the promise of a happy-family happy ending and even felt the presence of grandchildren listening to him tell and retell this story. And echoed soon, after the tearful moments of the reunion with Agnese, his comical reiterations and variations of "I'll tell you all about it later."
This chapter contains the first mention I can recall of Renzo’s own mother. She gets short shrift, if you ask me. But so it goes with sons when they are given a warm welcome by their mother-in-laws!
I love the opening paragraph of this chapter. Manzoni's description of the rain is a lovely metaphor for both the emotional renewal felt by Renzo and the others, and the plague coming to its end. The rain water seems like a baptism into a new life for Renzo. Manzoni's linguistic choreography of the actual rain as it falls is exact and evocative.
Renzo's line, when he says:"And plague or no plague, for a few hours at least I want us to be happy" is moving and true. Renzo knows the importance of snatching out of time the passionate transitory, to paraphrase the poet Patrick Kavanagh.
The passages about the rain were simply beautiful; I deeply felt the relief, the new beginning. Per your footnote about the Nun of Monza, Michael, I am perversely curious to know more about what "walled into a small cell" means--no window? And no human contact? For 14 years? I cannot imagine she did not go raving mad, but apparently she survived....
Wonderful chapter... Special delight in description of Renzo happily splashing about in the rain as he returns to his village: "He splashed about, enjoying the refreshment as the green grass and leaves swooshed and hummed, trembling, dripping, shiny, and newly green. He took deep breaths. And in this reprieve of nature, he felt more freely and vividly the positive turn his destiny had taken." Lovely images of renewal on this Easter Sunday.
And couldn't help but laugh (apologetically) at narrator's wrap-up of Don Ferrante, that "learned man" and plague denier until the end--"he took no precautions against the plague. He caught it and went to bed to die, like an operatic hero, blaming it on the stars."
In our penultimate chapter, Renzo, Lucia and Agnese; Don Rodrigo and Don Abbondio; and Padre Cristoforo; the Cardinal, and Don Ferrante; and even Gertrude, Donna Prassede and Bortolo. To top it off, Renzo finds himself by the banks of the Adda. I am reminded of Dorothy experiencing the comfort of home upon her return from Oz, as Renzo experiences “the positive turn his destiny had taken.“
I burst into tears at Renzo's care not to pass any lingering contagion to Agnese, with appreciation for his concern for her -- so resonant of our time with covid. Lots of little beauties to add, but my notes aren't near at the moment.
Mansoni writes beautifully about the weather and the natural world—the rain, the garden, River, trees. I’m interested in the role of silk production in the novel, and in Italy at this time: Renzo’s livelihood, also that of his cousin, of Bergamo, Agnese spinning silk, the silk that will go into Lucia’s trousseau.
Even in the seventeenth century they understood a lot about plagues. Renzo and Agnese decide to go outside and sit on a bench to social distance. They know that because Renzo has had the plague he has immunity. But he understands he can still be a carrier and infect others.
Gems from this chapter --
"I have found her! She has recovered! She is mine!"
On Renzo's hunger: "it would take much more than a meager soup from a Capuchin to nourish a joy like his."
"The rain would stop when it pleased God..."
"When in his later years he'd tell the story in great detail, and at great length..." was the first time I've felt without any doubt the promise of a happy-family happy ending and even felt the presence of grandchildren listening to him tell and retell this story. And echoed soon, after the tearful moments of the reunion with Agnese, his comical reiterations and variations of "I'll tell you all about it later."
And now to finish.
This chapter contains the first mention I can recall of Renzo’s own mother. She gets short shrift, if you ask me. But so it goes with sons when they are given a warm welcome by their mother-in-laws!