The Betrothed. Alessandro Manzoni
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only child: he caused him to be nobly educated, as far as the laws and customs permitted him to do so; and died, bequeathing him a splendid fortune. Ludovico had contracted the habits and feelings of a gentleman, and the flatterers who had surrounded him from infancy had accustomed him to the greatest deference and respect. But he found the scene changed when he attempted to mingle with the nobility of the city; and that in order to live in their company he must school himself to patience and submission, and bear with contumely on every occasion. This agreed neither with his education nor his disposition. He retired from them in disgust, but unwillingly, feeling that such should naturally have been his companions; he then resolved to outdo them in pomp and magnificence, thereby increasing the enmity with which they had already regarded him. His open and violent nature soon engaged him in more serious contests: he sincerely abhorred the extortions and injuries committed by those to whom he had opposed himself; he therefore habitually took part with the weak against the powerful, so that by degrees he had constituted himself the defender of the oppressed, and the vindicator of their wrongs. The office was onerous; and fruitful in evil thoughts, quarrels, and enmities against himself. But, besides this external warfare, he perhaps suffered still more from inward conflicts; for often, in order to compass his objects, he was obliged to adopt measures of circumvention and violence, which his conscience disapproved. He was under the painful necessity of keeping in pay a band of ruffians for his own security, as well as to aid him in his enterprises; and for these purposes he was necessarily obliged to select the boldest, that is, the vilest, and to live with vagabonds from a love of justice; so that, disgusted with the world and its conflicts, he had many times seriously thought of entering some monastery, and retiring from it for ever. Such intentions were more strongly entertained on the failure of some of his enterprises, or the perception of his own danger, or the annoyance of his vicious associates, and would probably have still continued intentions, but for one of the most serious and terrible events of his hazardous mode of life.
He was walking one day through the streets of the city, accompanied by a former shopman, who had been transformed by his father into a steward, followed by two bravoes. The name of the shopman was Christopher; he was a man about fifty years of age, devoted to the master whom he had tended in infancy, and upon whose liberality he supported himself, his wife, and a large family of children. Ludovico saw a gentleman approaching at a distance, with whom he had never spoken in his life, but whom he hated for his arrogance and pride, which hatred the other cordially returned. He had in his train four bravoes; he advanced with a haughty step, and an expression of insolence and disdain on his countenance. It was Ludovico’s right, being on the left side, to pass nearest the wall, according to the custom of the day, and every one was tenacious of this privilege. As they met they stopped face to face, like two figures on a bass relief, neither of them being disposed to yield to the other. The gentleman, eyeing Ludovico proudly and imperiously, said, with a corresponding tone of voice, “Pass on the outside.”
“Pass there yourself,” replied Ludovico, “the street is mine.”
“With persons of your condition the street is always mine.”
“Yes, if your arrogance were a law to others.”
The attendants of each stood still, with their hands on their daggers, prepared for battle. The passers-by retreated to a distance to watch the event.
“Pass on, vile mechanic, or I will teach you the civility due to a gentleman.”
“You lie; I am not vile.”
“Ha! Do you give me the lie? If you were a gentleman I would soon settle matters with my sword.”
“You are a coward also, or you would not hesitate to support by deeds the insolence of your words.”
“Throw this rascal in the dirt,” said the gentleman, turning to his followers.
“Let us see who will dare to do so,” said Ludovico, stepping back and laying his hand on his sword.
“Rash man,” cried the other, unsheathing his own, “I will break this in pieces when it shall have been stained with your base blood.”
They rushed violently on each other; the servants of both sprang to the defence of their masters. The combat was unequal in numbers, and also unequal from Ludovico’s desire to defend himself rather than to wound his enemy; whilst the latter intended nothing less than murder. Ludovico was warding off the dagger of one of the bravoes, after having received a slight scratch on the cheek, when his enemy thrust at him from behind; Christopher, seeing his master’s peril, went to his assistance; upon this the anger of the enraged cavalier was turned against the shopman, and he thrust him through the heart with his sword. Ludovico, as if beside himself at the sight, buried his weapon in the breast of the murderer, who fell almost at the same instant with the poor Christopher! The attendants of the gentleman, beholding him on the ground, took to flight; and Ludovico found himself alone, in the midst of a crowd, with two bodies lying at his feet.
“What has happened? One—two—he has been thrust through the body. Who is killed? A nobleman.—Holy Virgin! what destruction! who seeks, finds.—A moment pays all.—What a wound!—It must have been a serious affair!—And this unfortunate man!—Mercy! what a spectacle!—Save, save him.—It will go hard with him also.—See how he is wounded—he is covered with blood!—Escape, poor man, escape; do not let yourself be taken.” These words expressed the common suffrage, and with advice came also assistance; the affair had taken place near a church of the capuchins, an asylum impenetrable to the officers of justice. The murderer, bleeding and stupified, was carried thither by the crowd; the brotherhood received him from their hands with this recommendation, “He is an honest man who has made a proud rascal cold; but he did it in his own defence.”
Ludovico had never before shed blood, and although in these times murder was a thing so common that all ceased to wonder at it, yet the impression which he received from the recollection of the dying (dying through his instrumentality,) was new and indescribable; a revelation of feelings hitherto unknown. The fall of his enemy, the alteration of those features, passing in a moment from angry threatenings to the solemn stillness of death; this was a spectacle which wrought an instantaneous change in the soul of the murderer. Whilst they were carrying him to the convent he had been insensible to what was passing; returning to his senses, he found himself in a bed of the infirmary, in the hands of a friar who was dressing his wounds. Another, whose particular duty it was to administer comfort to the dying, had been called to the scene of combat. He returned in a short time, and approaching Ludovico’s bed, said, “Console yourself; he has died in peace, has forgiven you, and hoped for your forgiveness.” At these words the soul of Ludovico was filled with remorse and sorrow. “And the other?” asked he anxiously.
“The other had expired before I arrived.”
In the mean time the avenues and environs of the convent swarmed with people; the officers of justice arrived, dispersed the crowd, and placed themselves in ambush at a short distance from the gates, so that no one could pass through them unobserved. A brother of the deceased and some of his family appeared in full armour with a large attendance of bravoes, and surrounded the place, watching with a threatening aspect the bystanders, who did not dare say, he is safe, but they had it written on their faces.
Scarcely had Ludovico recalled his scattered thoughts, when he asked for a father confessor, prayed him to seek out the widow of Christopher, to ask forgiveness in his name for having been (however involuntarily) the cause of her affliction, and to assure her that he would take the care of her family on himself. Reflecting further on his own situation, his determination was made to become a friar. It seemed as if God himself had willed it, by placing him in a convent at such a conjuncture. He immediately sent for the superior of the monastery, and expressed to him his intention. He replied to him, that he should be careful not to form a resolution precipitately, but that, if he persisted, he would be accepted. Ludovico then sent for a notary, and made a donation of all his estate to the widow and family of Christopher.
The resolution of Ludovico happened opportunely for his hosts, who felt themselves embarrassed concerning him. To send him from the monastery, and thus expose him to justice and the vengeance of his enemies, was not to be thought of a moment; it would be the same as a