Engaged couple

Author: Manzoni (Manzoni, A.)
Translator: Lu Tongliu / Country: Italy/Italy
Publisher:
Publishing Date: 2001-04-01
Features: Lucrezia entered the downstairs room, Renzo was telling Anisetta the story with a troubled heart, Anisetta listened, and a sense of sorrow rose in her heart. They turned around, looking at the person who knew more about the matter than they did, hoping she could unravel their doubts, although they knew her explanation would surely be a bitter pill for them. They had different feelings for Lucrezia, but in their grief, they couldn’t help but express varying degrees of resentment, because she had kept her mouth shut and concealed such a thing from them. Although Anisetta eagerly wanted to hear what her daughter had to say, she couldn’t help but blame her: "You didn’t even tell your mother such an important thing!"
"Now, I will tell you everything," Lucrezia replied, wiping the tears streaming down her face as she lifted her skirt. "Then, you say it, quickly!" Her mother and fiancé urged her.
"Ah, holy Virgin!" Lucrezia exclaimed excitedly, "Who could have imagined things would turn out this way!" She spoke tearfully, her voice almost breaking. A few days ago, she returned home from the spinning mill and lagged behind the other women. By chance, Don Rodrigo and another lord passed in front of her, and he tried to strike up a conversation with her and shamelessly spoke vulgar words. But Lucrezia ignored him and quickened her pace to catch up with her companions. However, she heard the laughter of another lord and Don Rodrigo saying, "Well, let’s make a bet!" The next day, these two men waited for her on the road. Fortunately, Lucrezia had friends with her, and she quickly lowered her head. The other lord let out a cruel laugh, and Don Rodrigo said repeatedly, "Wait and see! Wait and see!"
"Thank goodness it was the last working day at the spinning mill. I immediately told someone about it," Lucrezia continued her story.
"Who did you tell?" Anisetta was quite annoyed and eager to know the name of the person her daughter trusted.
"I told Father Christopher during confession, Mom," Lucrezia said in a particularly soft voice, as if asking for forgiveness. "You must remember, the last time we went to church together in the morning, I deliberately dawdled and wasted a lot of time, wanting to wait until more people from the village had gathered so I could join them. Because ever since meeting those two men, I’ve always been on edge when I go out."
Hearing the name of the respected Father Christopher, Anisetta’s anger vanished instantly. She said gently, "You did the right thing, but why didn’t you tell your mother?"
Lucrezia had two reasons. First, she thought her kind mother would be helpless in the face of such a thing, and telling her would only cause her distress and sorrow. Second, she really didn’t want to risk revealing the matter, fearing it would spread like wildfire, and she would rather keep it locked away in her heart. Additionally, Lucrezia hoped that after her marriage, Don Rodrigo’s hateful behavior would cease at its very beginning. However, she only mentioned the first reason.
"As for you," Lucrezia turned to Renzo, her tone as if reminding a friend that his reproach was unjust, "shouldn’t I have kept this from you? Well, now you know everything."
"What did the priest tell you?" Anisetta asked.
"He advised me to get married as soon as possible, stay indoors during the day, and pray earnestly to God. He thought that if Don Rodrigo couldn’t see me, he wouldn’t bother me anymore. So, at that time," she turned to Renzo again but couldn’t bring herself to look at him, her face flushed with embarrassment, and continued, "At that time, I had no choice but to forget my shyness and urge you to make preparations quickly and have the wedding sooner. I really don’t know what you thought of me at the time! But I did it all out of the sincerest good intentions. Someone gave me advice, and I was sure that by today morning, I had completely forgotten..."
By this point, her tears flowed freely, and she choked up with sobs.
"Ah, you vile scoundrel! You accursed devil! You murderer!" Renzo cursed loudly, pacing back and forth in the room, his hand gripping the hilt of a knife from time to time.
"Alas, what a misfortune! May God protect us," Anisetta cried out.
Renzo suddenly stopped in front of the still-tearful Lucrezia, looking at her with a mixture of tenderness and resentment in his eyes. He said firmly, "This is the last thing that demon can do."
"No! Renzo, for God’s sake!" Lucrezia cried out in despair, "No, please don’t! For God’s sake! God is also merciful to the poor. If we commit any evil deeds, how can He protect us?"
"No, please don’t! For God’s sake!" Anisetta quickly agreed.
"Renzo," Lucrezia’s voice was filled with strong longing, yet she appeared calm and resolute, "You are skilled in a craft, and I can work too. We can leave here and run to a very faraway place where that person will never hear from us again."
"Oh, Lucrezia, what then? We haven’t been formally married yet! Will Don Ambrogio issue a document to prove that we are engaged? Can we expect someone like him? Oh, if only we had been married already, how good that would be."
The castle of the unknown author stands on a steep and rugged mountain, rising majestically from a continuous range of peaks. It’s unclear whether it’s an extension of the mountain range or a break in it. On both sides of its ridge, the cliffs are jagged, with strange rocks and caves. The castle overlooks a narrow, dark valley, where there is only one path leading up the mountain. It’s a steep slope, but the terrain is relatively flat, winding upward. Above, there are patches of grassland, and around the fields, there are scattered farmhouses. At the bottom of the valley lies a pebble-strewn riverbed, sometimes forming a gentle stream and at other times a rushing river, all depending on the season. At that time, it was the boundary between the Duchy of Milan and the Republic of Venice.
The opposite range of mountains can be said to form the other side of the valley, with some arable land on the slopes. Beyond that, it’s all jagged rocks, high and treacherous, a desolate place rarely visited by humans. Occasionally, small trees can be seen growing from the gaps in the peaks and cliffs, like a great eagle perched on a bloodstained nest, the arrogant lord ruling his great castle from above, intimidating everyone who dares to come near. In his eyes, no one is as unkind as he is, and he looks down on everyone with disdain.
Looking around, all the valleys, slopes, riverbeds, and paths through the valley are clearly visible. That winding path leading to the sinister castle looks like a ribbon from the perspective of someone looking up. The lord can monitor every step of any uninvited guest coming up the mountain through the windows and loopholes of his castle, treating them as targets for shooting countless times. His castle is garrisoned by a team of tough men, enough to eliminate any invading army before they reach the summit or drive them all into the bottomless ravine. Moreover, no one dares to step out or enter the valley, climb the mountain, or even pass through without the lord’s permission. Once officials are spotted, they are immediately seen as spies of the enemy and captured on the spot.
There are many tragic stories about the misfortunes of those who took such risks in the past, but they are already old tales. Today, among the young people, few can remember having seen such people, whether alive or dead, in the valley.
The anonymous author’s manuscript describes this place as above, but makes no mention of its name. Moreover, to prevent us from tracking it down, he deliberately avoids describing Don Rodrigo’s journey and instead leads this group directly into the valley, to the entrance of the winding path at the foot of the mountains.
Here is a tavern, which can also be said to be a forward outpost. An old sign hangs at the entrance, depicting a radiant red sun on both sides. However, in the mouths of the people, the name is sometimes repeated correctly, and sometimes changed according to their own preferences, so they call this tavern "The Tavern of the Evil Night."
"You see, I’m doing fine," Don Rodrigo said, having already noticed the thought in the man’s eyes. "I feel quite well, though I may have had a bit too much wine. That white wine is quite strong! Nothing, just a good night’s sleep will pass it. I’m so tired this light is bothering me, it’s making me very uncomfortable. Move it further away!"
"This is just the mischief of that white wine," Griso said, still keeping a sufficient distance from his master. "You should go to sleep now. A good night’s sleep will make you feel better."
"You’re right. If I could just get a good night’s sleep. Actually, I feel quite well. You can place that bell a bit closer to me, maybe I’ll need something tonight. Be careful, you should listen for the bell. But I don’t need anything right now. Quickly, take that damn lamp away."
Don Rodrigo continued, and Griso strictly followed his instructions but stood as far away as possible.
"Damn it, this light is driving me crazy!" Griso bid his master good night and picked up the lamp, quickly leaving the room as Don Rodrigo climbed into bed. But he felt the thin blanket pressing down on him like a mountain. He was so tired that he simply ripped off the blanket, curled up, and tried to fall asleep as soon as possible. But as soon as he closed his eyes, he was jolted awake as if struck by a blow. He felt as if someone was deliberately tormenting him, shaking his body violently. He felt waves of hot wind scorching his body, and his mind grew increasingly agitated.
He couldn’t help but think of the scorching August, the white wine, and his reckless life, and he desperately wanted to blame them for everything. But these thoughts were increasingly replaced by one idea; at first, this idea was mixed with all his other thoughts, but now it stubbornly intruded into all his senses. It had once been an unavoidable topic at every drinking session, and it was far easier to use it as a topic for ridicule than to ignore it entirely. This idea was the plague.