Page:Manzoni - The Betrothed, 1834.djvu/51

 where to look for the end; but sometimes advice from a learned man I know what I mean to say.—Do as I tell you, Renzo; go to Lecco; find the Doctor Azzecca Garbugli ; relate to him But you must not call him by this name—it is a nick-name. Say to the doctorwhat do they call him? Oh dear! I can't think of his real name, every one calls him Azzecca Garbugli. Well, well, find this tall, stiff, bald doctor, with a red nose, and a face as red"

"I know the man by sight," said Renzo.

"Well, very well," continued Agnes, "there's a man for you! I have seen more than one troubled wretch who did not know which way to turn himself; I have known him remain an hour with the Doctor Azzecca Garbugli (be careful you don't call him so), and go away laughing at himself for his uneasiness. Take with you these fowls; I expected to have wrung their necks, poor little things! for the banquet of to-night; however, carry them to him, because one must never go empty-handed to these gentlemen. Relate to him all that has happened, and he will tell you at once that which would never enter our heads in a year."

Renzo and Lucy approved of this advice; Agnes, proud of having given it, with great complacency took the poor fowls one by one from the coop, tied their legs together as if she were making a nosegay, and consigned them to his hands. After having exchanged words of hope, he departed, avoiding the high road and crossing the fields, so as not to attract notice. As he went along, he had leisure to dwell on his misfortunes, and revolve in his mind his anticipated interview with the Doctor Azzecca Garbugli. I leave the reader to imagine the condition of the unfortunate fowls swinging by the legs with their heads downwards in the hands of a man agitated by all the tumults of passion; and whose arm moved more in accordance with the violence of his feelings, than with sympathy for the unhappy animals whose heads became conscious of sundry terrific shocks, which they resented by pecking at one another,—a practice too frequent with companions in misfortune.