casamorta

But any class does not protect an individual, does not ensure him, except to a certain extent: none absolves him from having to create his own particular system. Don Abbondio, continuously absorbed in thoughts of his own peace, did not care for those advantages that required much effort or a little risk. His system mainly consisted of avoiding all conflicts and yielding in those he could not avoid. A disarmed neutrality in all the wars that erupted around him, from the very frequent disputes between the clergy and the secular authorities, between the military and the civilian, between nobles and nobles, to the quarrels between two peasants, born from a word and settled by fists or knives. If he absolutely found himself forced to choose sides between two contenders, he would side with the stronger one, yet always from the background, trying to make it clear to the other that he was not willingly his enemy: it was as if he were saying, “Why couldn't you be the stronger one? I would have stood by your side.” Keeping a distance from the bullies, masking their occasional and capricious abuses, responding with submission to those that came from a more serious and thoughtful intention, compelling even the gruffest and most disdainful to smile at him when he encountered them on the road with a cascade of bows and jovial respect, the poor man had managed to pass sixty years without great storms.
However, it is not that he didn’t have his own bit of gall within him; that continuous exercise of patience, that so often conceding reason to others, those many bitter pills swallowed in silence had exacerbated it to such a degree that, had he not been able to vent his feelings from time to time, his health would certainly have suffered. But since there were finally some people in the world, close to him, whom he knew well as incapable of doing harm, he could sometimes let out his long-repressed ill moods with them, and also indulge a bit in being fanciful and shouting unjustly. He was, moreover, a strict censor of men who did not conduct themselves like him, provided that the censorship could take place without any, even distant, danger. The beaten one was at least imprudent; the killed one had always been a shady character. To those who, standing up for their arguments against a powerful individual, ended up with a broken head, Don Abbondio always found some fault, which was not difficult because reason and fault are never divided by such a clean cut that each side has only one or the other. Moreover, he declaimed against those of his fellow men who, at their own risk, took the side of an oppressed weakling against a powerful oppressor. He called this buying troubles for cash, wanting to straighten the legs of dogs; he also severely stated that it was meddling in secular matters, to the detriment of the dignity of the sacred ministry. And against these, he preached, always in a low voice or in a very small circle, with even more vehemence, the more they were known not to be sensitive to things that personally affected them. He had a favorite saying with which he always sealed discussions on these matters: that to a gentleman, who cares for himself and stays in his own clothes, ugly encounters never happen.

their execrable authority and the power that they had, on those occasions when there was no danger; that is, in oppressing and harassing peaceful and defenseless men.
The man who wants to offend, or who fears, at every moment, to be offended, naturally seeks allies and companions. Thus, in those times, the tendency of individuals to hold themselves together in classes, to form new ones, and to secure for themselves the greatest power of the one to which they belonged was brought to its peak. The clergy watched to sustain and extend its immunities, the nobility its privileges, the military its exemptions. Merchants and artisans were enrolled in guilds and confraternities, jurists formed a league, and even the doctors a corporation. Each of these small oligarchies had its own special strength; in each, the individual found the advantage of employing for himself, in proportion to his authority and skill, the combined strength of many. The most honest used this advantage solely for defense; the cunning and the rascals took advantage of it to carry out misdeeds that their personal means would not have sufficed for, and to ensure their impunity. However, the forces of these various leagues were very unequal; and, especially in the countryside, the wealthy and violent nobleman, surrounded by a host of thugs, and a population of peasants accustomed, by family tradition, and interested or coerced to regard themselves almost as subjects and soldiers of their lord, exercised a power to which hardly any other fraction of a league could have resisted.
Our non-noble, non-rich, and even less courageous Abbondio had thus realized, almost before reaching the age of discretion, that he was, in that society, like a clay pot forced to travel alongside many iron pots. He had therefore, quite willingly, obeyed the relatives who wanted him to become a priest. To be truthful, he had not given much thought to the obligations and noble ends of the ministry to which he dedicated himself: securing a comfortable means of living and placing himself in a respected and powerful class seemed to him more than sufficient reasons for such a choice.

Don Abbondio (the reader has already noticed) was not born with a heart of a lion. But, from his early years, he had to understand that the worst condition, in those times, was that of an animal without claws and fangs, who nevertheless did not feel inclined to be devoured. Legal force did not protect, in any way, the quiet, inoffensive man, who had no other means to instill fear in others. It was not that there were no laws and penalties against private violence. On the contrary, laws abounded; crimes were enumerated and detailed with meticulous prolixity; penalties were absurdly exorbitant and, what’s more, could be increased, almost in every case, at the discretion of the legislator himself and of a hundred enforcers; the procedures were designed solely to free the judge from any obstacle that could prevent him from issuing a conviction: the snippets we have quoted from the proclamations against the thugs are a small but faithful example. With all that, and indeed largely because of it, those proclamations, republished and reinforced from government to government, served only to grandiloquently attest to the impotence of their authors; or, if they produced any immediate effect, it was primarily to add many oppressive measures to those that the peaceful and weak already suffered from the disruptors, and to increase the violence and cunning of the latter. Impunity was organized and had roots untouched by the proclamations, or that could not be moved. Such were the shelters, such the privileges of certain classes, partly recognized by legal force, partly tolerated with resentful silence, or challenged with vain protests, but actually upheld and defended by those classes, with active interest and scrupulous jealousy. Now, this threatened and insulted impunity, but not destroyed by the proclamations, had to naturally, with every threat and insult, employ new efforts and new inventions to preserve itself. This indeed was what happened; and, with the appearance of the proclamations aimed at repressing the violent, they sought in their real strength new and more suitable means to continue doing what the proclamations came to prohibit. They could certainly hinder at every turn and harass the amiable man, who was without personal strength and protection; because, with the aim of having every man under control, to prevent or punish any crime, they subjected every movement of the private citizen to the arbitrary will of enforcers of every kind. But whoever, before committing the crime, had taken measures to take refuge in time in a convent or in a palace where the officers would never have dared to set foot; whoever, without other precautions, wore livery that would engage the vanity and interest of a powerful family, of an entire class, was free in his actions and could laugh at all that clamor of the proclamations. Of those appointed to enforce them, some were by birth part of the privileged class, some depended on it for patronage; both, through upbringing, interest, custom, and imitation, had embraced its maxims, and would have been careful not to offend them for the sake of a piece of paper stuck at the corners. The men then in charge of immediate enforcement, when they might have been enterprising as heroes, obedient as monks, and ready to sacrifice themselves as martyrs, could not in the end have come out on top, as they were outnumbered by those they were to subdue, with a high likelihood of being abandoned by those who, in abstract terms and, so to speak, theoretically, imposed upon them to act. But beyond this, they were generally the most abject and villainous subjects of their time; their task was held in contempt even by those who could have feared them, and their title a curse. It was therefore quite natural that they, instead of risking, indeed throwing their lives into a desperate undertaking, sold their inaction, or even their complicity to the powerful, and reserved their execrable authority and the force they did hav

in the face. - What is your command? - Don Abbondio immediately replied, raising his eyes from the book, which remained wide open in his hands, as if on a lectern.
- You intend, - the other continued, with the threatening and furious demeanor of one who catches an inferior attempting an offense, - you intend to marry Renzo Tramaglino and Lucia Mondella tomorrow!
- That is... - Don Abbondio replied, with a trembling voice: - that is. You gentlemen are worldly men, and you know very well how these matters go. The poor curate has nothing to do with it: you make your messes among yourselves, and then... and then, you come to us, as one would go to a bank to collect; and we... we are the servants of the community.
- Well then, - the bravo said to him, in a commanding tone but whispered in his ear, - this marriage is not to be carried out, neither tomorrow, nor ever.
- But, my gentlemen, - Don Abbondio replied, with the gentle and mild voice of one who wishes to persuade an impatient person, - but, my gentlemen, be so kind as to put yourselves in my shoes. If it depended on me,... you see well that I don’t gain anything from it...
- Come now, - interrupted the bravo, - if the matter were to be decided by chatter, you would have us in the sack. We don't know about it, nor do we want to know more. A warned man... you understand us.
- But you gentlemen are too just, too reasonable...
- But, - this time interrupted the other companion, who had not spoken until then, - but the marriage will not take place, or... - and here a good blasphemy, - or whoever does it will not regret it, because they will not have time, and... - another blasphemy.
- Hush, hush, - resumed the first speaker: - the lord curate is a man who knows how to live in the world; and we are gentlemen who do not wish to harm him, provided he uses his judgment. Sir curate, the illustrious lord Don Rodrigo, our master, sends you his regards.
This name was, in the mind of Don Abbondio, like a flash that momentarily illuminates and confuses objects in the midst of a nighttime storm, and increases terror. He instinctively made a deep bow and said: - if you could suggest to me...
- Oh! Suggest to you who knows Latin! - the bravo interrupted again, with a laugh that was part raucous and part fierce. - It's up to you. And above all, don’t let a word slip about this warning we have given you for your own good; otherwise... ahem... it would be just like carrying out that marriage. Come, what do you want us to say in your name to the illustrious lord Don Rodrigo?
- My respect...
- Please be clearer!
- ... Always willing... always willing to obey. - And, as he uttered these words, he didn't even know himself if he was making a promise or a compliment. The bravos took it, or pretended to take it, in the most serious sense.
- Very well, and good night, sir, - one of them said, as he prepared to leave with his companion. Don Abbondio, who a few moments earlier would have given an eye to avoid them, now wished to prolong the conversation and negotiations. - Gentlemen... - he began, closing the book with both hands; but they, without giving him any more heed, took the path from which he had come and walked away, singing a little ditty that I do not wish to transcribe. Poor Don Abbondio remained momentarily speechless, as if enchanted; then he took one of the two paths leading to his home, laboriously putting one leg in front of the other, as if they were stiff. How he was feeling inside will be better understood when we say a few things about his nature and the times in which he had the misfortune to live.

That the two described above were waiting for someone there was all too evident; but what displeased Don Abbondio the most was realizing, through certain gestures, that the awaited one was him. For, at his appearance, they had looked at each other, raising their heads, with a movement that made it clear that both of them had suddenly said: it’s him; the one sitting astride had gotten up, pulling his leg off the road; the other had stepped away from the wall; and both of them were approaching him. He, keeping the breviary open in front of him as if he were reading, cast his eyes upward to spy on their movements; and, seeing them come directly towards him, he was suddenly assailed by a thousand thoughts. He immediately asked himself in a hurry whether there was any way out, to the right or to the left, between the ruffians and himself; and he quickly remembered there was none. He made a rapid examination of whether he had sinned against any powerful person, any vengeful one; but even in that turmoil, the comforting testimony of his conscience somewhat reassured him: however, the ruffians were getting closer, staring at him intently. He placed the index and middle fingers of his left hand in his collar as if to adjust it; and, turning the two fingers around his neck, he turned his face backward, twisting his mouth, and looking with the corner of his eye, as far as he could, to see if anyone was coming; but he saw no one. He glanced above the low wall, into the fields: no one; another more modest glance down the road ahead; no one, except for the ruffians. What to do? Turning back, it was too late: running away was the same as saying, come after me, or worse. Unable to avoid the danger, he rushed toward it, for the moments of that uncertainty were so painful for him that he desired nothing more than to shorten them. He quickened his pace, recited a verse in a louder voice, composed his face with all the calmness and cheerfulness he could muster, and made every effort to prepare a smile; when he found himself facing the two gentlemen, he said to himself: here we are; and he came to a halt. - Signor curato, - said one of the two, fixing his eyes on him.

However, the Most Illustrious and Excellent Lord, Mr. Don Pietro Enriquez de Acevedo, Count of Fuentes, Captain, and Governor of the State of Milan, did not share this opinion; and for good reasons. Fully informed of the misery in which this City and State live due to the great number of ruffians that abound within it... and determined to completely eradicate such a pernicious seed, he issued, on December 5, 1600, a new proclamation filled with severe penalties, with firm intention that, with all rigor, and without hope of remission, it be executed in its entirety.
It must be believed, however, that he did not apply himself with all the good will he was capable of in concocting cabals and stirring enemies against his great adversary Henry IV; for, in this regard, history attests that he succeeded in arming against that king the Duke of Savoy, who he made lose more than one city; how he managed to incite the Duke of Biron, who lost his head as a result; but, as for that pernicious seed of the ruffians, it is certain that it continued to sprout, on September 22, 1612. On that day, the Most Illustrious and Excellent Lord, Mr. Don Giovanni de Mendoza, Marquis of Hynojosa, Gentleman, etc., Governor, etc., seriously considered eradicating it. To this effect, he sent the usual proclamation, corrected and expanded, to Pandolfo and Marco Tullio Malatesti, the royal court printers, for them to print it for the extermination of the ruffians. But they still lived to receive, on December 24, 1618, the same and even stronger blows from the Most Illustrious and Excellent Lord, Mr. Don Gomez Suarez de Figueroa, Duke of Feria, etc., Governor, etc. However, since they were not dead even then, the Most Illustrious and Excellent Lord, Mr. Gonzalo Fernandez de Cordova, under whose governance the walk of Don Abbondio took place, found himself compelled to correct and republish the usual proclamation against the ruffians on October 5, 1627, that is, one year, one month, and two days before that memorable event.
Nor was this the last publication; but we do not believe we should mention the later ones, as they fall outside the period of our story. We will only briefly mention one from February 13, 1632, in which the Most Illustrious and Excellent Lord, the Duke of Feria, for the second time as governor, informs us that the greatest crimes proceed from those they call ruffians. This is enough to assure us that, during the time we are discussing, ruffians were still present.

To consider rogues and vagabonds who, whether foreigners or locals, have no trade, or if they do, do not pursue it... but, without salary, or sometimes with it, lean on some knight or gentleman, official or merchant... to gain their support and favor, or truly, as one might presume, to set traps for others... To all these, it orders that, within the span of six days, they must clear the country, threatens the galleys to the recalcitrant, and grants to all officials of justice the most extraordinarily broad and indefinite powers for the execution of the order. But, in the following year, on April 12, seeing that this City is still full of said rogues... having returned to live as they did before, not at all changing their behavior, nor decreasing in number, he issues another decree, even more vigorous and notable, in which, among other provisions, he prescribes:
That any person, whether from this City or foreign, who is found by two witnesses to be held and commonly regarded as a rogue, and to have such a name, even though it cannot be verified that they have committed any crime... solely based on this reputation of being a rogue, without any other evidence, may be subjected to the gallows and torment by the said judges and by each one of them through an informative process... and even if they do not confess to any crime, they shall nonetheless be sent to the galley, for the said three-year term, solely on the basis of the opinion and name of rogue, as stated above. All this, and more that is omitted, is because His Excellency is resolute in wanting to be obeyed by everyone.
Upon hearing the words of such a lord, so bold and assured, and accompanied by such orders, there is a great desire to believe that, at the mere echo of them, all the rogues have vanished forever. But the testimony of a gentleman no less authoritative, nor less endowed with titles, compels us to believe the exact opposite. This is the Most Illustrious and Most Excellent Lord Juan Fernandez de Velasco, Constable of Castile, Major Domo of His Majesty, Duke of the City of Frias, Count of Haro and Castelnovo, Lord of the House of Velasco, and of that of the Seven Infants of Lara, Governor of the State of Milan, etc. On June 5, 1593, fully informed himself of the damage and ruin caused by... the rogues and vagabonds, and of the terrible effect that such a sort of people has against the public good, and in defiance of justice, he once again orders them that, within six days, they must clear the land, repeating almost exactly the prescriptions and threats of his predecessor. Then, on May 23, 1598, having learned, much to his distress, that... day by day the number of these types (rogues and vagabonds) is growing in this City and State, and that, night and day, all that is heard are ambushes, murders, and thefts and every other kind of crimes, to which they become more prone, confident that they are being aided by their leaders and supporters,... he prescribes again the same remedies, increasing the severity, as is customary in stubborn ailments. Therefore, he concludes, everyone must diligently guard against contravening any part of the present decree, because, instead of experiencing the mercy of His Excellency, they will experience his severity and wrath... being resolute and determined that this shall be the final and peremptory admonition.

On one of these little streets, returning leisurely from his walk home on the evening of November 7, 1628, Don Abbondio, the curate of one of the aforementioned lands, was making his way back. The name of this place, nor the family of the character, is found in the manuscript, neither here nor elsewhere. He was quietly performing his duties, and sometimes, between one psalm and another, he would close the breviary, keeping his right index finger inside it as a bookmark, then placing his hand behind his back, he continued on his way, looking down and kicking the pebbles that obstructed his path towards the wall with one foot. Then he would raise his gaze, leisurely turning his eyes around until they fixed on a part of a mountain, where the light of the sun, already set, escaping through the crevices of the opposite mountain, painted here and there on the protruding stones like broad and uneven patches of purple. He then opened the breviary again, recited another passage, and reached a bend in the little road where he was accustomed to lifting his eyes from the book and looking ahead: and so he did that day as well. After the bend, the road ran straight for perhaps sixty paces, then divided into two little paths shaped like a Y: the one to the right ascended towards the mountain and led to the curate's residence; the other descended into the valley down to a stream; and on this side, the wall reached no higher than the pedestrian's waist. The inner walls of the two paths, instead of meeting at an angle, ended at a tabernacle, upon which certain long, winding figures were painted, tapering to a point and which, in the artist's intention and in the eyes of the local inhabitants, were meant to signify flames; and, alternating with the flames, certain other indescribable figures that were meant to represent souls in purgatory: souls and flames in brick color, on a greyish background, with some wear here and there.
Upon turning into the path, and directing his usual gaze to the tabernacle, the curate saw something unexpected and that he would have preferred not to see. Two men stood facing each other at the confluence, so to speak, of the two paths: one of them straddled the low wall, one leg dangling off the side, while the other foot rested on the ground of the road; the companion stood upright, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Their clothing, demeanor, and what could be distinguished of their appearance from where the curate had arrived left no doubt about their condition. Both had a green net around their heads, which fell on the left shoulder, ending in a large tassel, and from which an enormous tuft protruded on their foreheads: two long mustaches curled at the tips: a shiny leather belt with two pistols attached to it: a small horn filled with powder hanging on the chest like a necklace: a knife handle sticking out of a pocket of their wide and bulging trousers: a rapier with a large crossguard pierced with brass plates, designed like ciphers, ornate and gleaming: at first glance, they were recognizable as individuals of the type known as “bravi.”
This type, now completely vanished, was then thriving in Lombardy and very ancient. For those unfamiliar with it, here are some authentic excerpts that can provide sufficient insights into its main characteristics, the efforts made to extinguish it, and its hard and flourishing vitality.
Since April 8, 1583, the Most Illustrious and Excellently Lady Don Carlo d'Aragon, Prince of Castelvetrano, Duke of Terranuova, Marquis of Avola, Count of Burgeto, Grand Admiral, and Grand Constable of Sicily, Governor of Milan and Captain General of His Catholic Majesty in Italy, fully informed of the intolerable misery in which this city of Milan has lived and lives because of the bravi and vagabonds, published a decree against them. He declares and defines all those included in this decree to be considered bravi and vagabonds if, being foreigners or local, they have no

That branch of Lake Como, which turns towards the south, nestled between two unbroken chains of mountains, with its numerous coves and bays, depending on the protrusions and indentations of those, suddenly narrows and takes on the course and shape of a river, between a promontory on the right and a wide shore on the other side; and the bridge that connects the two banks there seems to make this transformation even more perceptible to the eye and marks the point where the lake ceases, and the Adda resumes, only to take back the name of lake where the banks, moving apart again, allow the water to stretch and slow down in new bays and new coves. The shore, formed by the deposits of three large torrents, descends leaning against two contiguous mountains, one called San Martino, the other, in Lombard dialect, the Resegone, with its many peaks in a row, which truly makes it resemble a saw: so that there is no one, at first sight, provided they are facing it, for example from the walls of Milan looking north, who does not immediately distinguish it, by such a distinguishing mark, in that long and wide ridge, from the other mountains of more obscure names and more common shapes. For a good stretch, the coast rises with a slow and continuous slope; then it breaks into hills and little valleys, into ascents and plateaus, according to the skeleton of the two mountains and the work of the waters. The extreme edge, cut by the mouths of the torrents, is almost all gravel and pebbles; the rest consists of fields and vineyards, scattered with plots of land, villas, and farmhouses; in some areas, woods extend up the mountain. Lecco, the main settlement of those lands, which gives its name to the territory, lies not far from the bridge, at the edge of the lake, indeed it partly finds itself in the lake itself when it swells: a large village today, and one that is heading towards becoming a city. At the time when the events we set out to recount took place, that village, already considerable, was also a castle, and thus had the honor of housing a commander, and the advantage of maintaining a stable garrison of Spanish soldiers, who taught modesty to the girls and women of the land, lightly caressing now and then the shoulders of some husband, some father; and, at the end of summer, they never failed to spread out in the vineyards to thin the grapes and lighten the peasants’ toil during harvest. From one of those lands to another, from the heights to the shore, from one hill to another, there ran, and still run, roads and paths, more or less steep, or flat; sometimes sunken, buried between two walls, from which, raising one’s gaze, you discover only a piece of sky and some mountain peak; sometimes elevated on open embankments: and from here the view extends to more or less extensive perspectives, but always rich and always something new, depending on which different points capture more or less of the vast surrounding scene, and as this or that part rises or recedes, emerges or disappears in turn. Here a portion, there another, where a long stretch of that vast and varied expanse of water; on this side lake, closed at the end or rather lost in a group, in a coming and going of mountains, and gradually wider among other mountains that unfold, one by one, to the eye, and which the water reflects upside down, with the little towns perched on the banks; on the other side, a river arm, then lake, then river again, which disappears in shiny meandering even among the mountains that accompany it, gradually descending, and almost losing themselves in the horizon. The very place from where you contemplate those varied spectacles offers a spectacle from every side: the mountain on whose slopes you stroll unfolds above you, around you, its peaks and ledges, distinct, elevated, almost changing with every step, opening and surrounding itself with ridges what had seemed to you before a single ridge, and appearing at the summit what had earlier represented itself

<Love always triumphs over envy and hatred>, but how the hell do you talk, like some flower children?!? You give me the chills... What love? But above all, what country do you live in? Don’t you see that we are on our knees on every front? Fuck it, I'm going to eat a child...