Tag: Dickens

The Betrothed

This paragraph from https://viewfromtheback.com/2023/01/20/fridays-tall-tales-3/ by Sheree:

“Manzoni’s masterpiece, I promessi sposi, 3 vol. (1825–27), is a novel set in early 17th century Lombardy during the period of the Milanese insurrection, the Thirty Years’ War, and the plague. It is a sympathetic portrayal of the struggle of two peasant lovers whose wish to marry is thwarted by a vicious local tyrant and the cowardice of their parish priest. A courageous friar takes up the lovers’ cause and helps them through many adventures to safety and marriage. Manzoni’s resigned tolerance of the evils of life and his concept of religion as the ultimate comfort and inspiration of humanity give the novel its moral dimension.The novel brought Manzoni immediate fame and praise from all quarters, in Italy and elsewhere.”

took me back to my copy of this work, last read in 1969.

Enough time had passed for me to have entirely forgotten the book’s story, so I am grateful to have been prompted to revisit this work which is so much more than the echoes it bears of Scott, Thackeray and Dickens. The text contains by quotation an acknowledgement of his debt to Shakespeare whom he judges to be a master of feelings and the human heart.

Just as we, often too early, are expected to read and learn quotations from the Swan of Avon, so Italian children do the same with this novel. Just as gems from Shakespeare have entered our language and are often quoted without knowing the source, so it is with what we have translated as “The Betrothed”.

Considered as a linguistic influence on the Risorgimento, Manzoni died just before the reunification of the various states of the Italian peninsular.

As he set out on this project which was to occupy the central years of his life, the author expressed his aims and his reason for choosing the Counter Reformation period as his major focus, in a letter to a friend: “The memoirs we have from that period show a very extraordinary state of society; the most arbitrary government combined with feudal and popular anarchy; legislation that is amazing in the way it exposes a profound, ferocious, pretentious ignorance; classes with opposed interests and maxims; some little-known anecdotes, preserved in trustworthy documents; finally a plague which gave full rein to the most consummate and shameful excesses, to the most absurd prejudices, and to the most touching virtues.” This gives an example of his flowing prose, reflecting his passion, reason, and humanity.

He certainly resembles Shakespeare in his mastery of characterisation; his understanding of a wide range of human nature, its conflicts, its strengths, its weaknesses, and its capacity for tenderness, loyalty, and overcoming obstacles. His insight into the minds and emotional life of his persona is more complex than that of Dickens, whose grasp of history he matches.

In fact his research into the events of the period are so thorough as to make this central section somewhat tedious. He explains his purpose for its inclusion as offering essential insight into the life situations of his protagonists.

His subtle humour pervades the book. Either Manzoni himself or our translator favours simile over metaphor, as evidenced by plentiful examples in much excellent, at times poetic, detailed description of urban and rural life and contrasting environments; in particular the distressing effects of living and dying through famine, war, strikes, and plague. We are given insight into mob psychology, which the author gained from personal experience. This was a time of social disruption, violence, and turmoil.

The resilience of the betrothed pair is admirable in their circumstances, affected as they are by the conflict between church and state, and by blind faith, as well as staunch belief in each other.

Manzoni’s own struggle with Catholicism, to which he returned in later life, perhaps influenced the sudden change of heart and behaviour of the Unnamed, who forges a beneficial relationship with a revered Cardinal.

I hope I have not given away too much of the story to spoil it for any readers who may wish to follow my recommendation and pick up the book for themselves.

My 1969 edition is that of The Folio Society. The translator, who has provided a valuable and informative preface, is Archibald Colquhoun. I would be unable to read the original but this does seem to be a faithful rendition.

Here is the frontispiece and Title Page.

The sharply lined and detailed drawings by Eric Fraser have the incised quality of such as scraper board.

Latin Gave Me Up

Although not having got round its baffle, the crow is back trampling the petunias on the chimney pot. The squirrel, on the other hand, earned a meal this morning. It made a successful launch from the eucalyptus, crash landed on top of the corvine baffle, slipped underneath it, and scoffed away. Given that the rodent has now rivalled Eddie the Eagle, Jackie moved the feeder further from the tree. The next lift-off point will doubtless be the new arch. Google can supply further information both on our aforementioned Olympic skier and yesterday’s Greg Rutherford reference.
We returned, briefly, to Castle Malwood Lodge this morning to retrieve two garden recliners we had left behind; and for a chat with Mo. Jackie then drove us to Ringwood where I deposited two pairs of shoes for repair; back home for lunch; then on to New Milton for me to catch the London train to visit Carol.
The corner around our old flat is well stocked with self-seeded blooms from Jackie’s temporary garden; and

the little meadow alongside New Milton station has an abundance of wild flowers.


Today I finished reading Cicero’s ‘Pro Roscio Amerino’ (For Roscius of Ameria). This is an eloquent and subtle defence of a man facing a trumped-up charge of parricide, and is significant for its being the young advocate’s first speech in a criminal court, and for his courage in taking on powerful political elements. No doubt aided by D.H.Berry’s able translation, the writing flows, and is very readable and entertaining.
It is to be inferred from my last sentence that I did not read this in the original, which would have been far beyond me. I am no Latin scholar, as was proven by my first three years at Wimbledon College. My Grammar school was then notable for its emphasis on the classics. Keen to obtain as many OxBridge university places as possible, Latin and Greek were the school’s most valued subjects, for in those 1950s days, a Latin qualification was a requirement for entry into our two leading centres of learning.
I was never subjected to Greek, and my Latin was so abysmal that, long before the O level stage, I was transferred to Geography, not then considered of prime importance.
Being top of the class in French, it was always a mystery to me that I could not grasp Latin. At school, I thought maybe it was because it seemed to be all about wars that didn’t particularly interest me. Not very many years ago, I twigged the reason for the imbalance. It was partially about word order, but more significantly about ignorance of grammatical terms. Without understanding these, I could manage the modern language, not that dissimilar in construction to our own. Meeting concepts like ‘subjunctive’ which were not considered needing explanation for passers of the eleven plus exam, I didn’t just swim, I sank.
Latin gave me up. And Geography teaching was hit and miss, so I failed that too.
So. In English. I went on to read ‘In Verrem 1’ (Against Verres). This was a necessarily short piece used as a device to circumvent the delaying tactics of the defence of a patently guilty man. It was so successful that Verres withdrew and further prepared speeches were not required.
Each of the Orations in my Folio Society edition is preceded by a helpful introduction by the translator. I began Berry’s piece on ‘The Catilinarian Conspiracy’.

From Waterloo I walked across Westminster Bridge to Carol’s in Rochester Row. I have seen this route even more crowded than today, but it was still a struggle to reach and walk across the bridge and past the Houses of Parliament and Westminster Abbey.

At the junction of Great Smith Street and Victoria Street a woman struggled with a chain of keys that would have done credit to Dickens’s Jacob Marley from ‘A Christmas Carol’, to free her bicycle from its fixture on a set of railings. Having succeeded, she dropped the cluster on the pavement and loaded her steed. Given her apparel and the content of her baskets, I wondered how she would manage to ride off. She didn’t. She donned her furry hat over the straw one, pushed the bike across the road, and continued down the street.
I took the 507 bus from Carol’s back to Waterloo and boarded the train to New Milton where my chauffeuse was waiting to drive me home; show me her planting and tidying of the garden; and feed me on fresh vegetables with beef casserole, the method of cooking of which is given in yesterday’s post. She drank Hoegaarden, and I abstained.