tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-61002379439879636002024-03-14T02:56:36.085-07:00InnominatoInnominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.comBlogger14125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-28750719598949157012011-01-26T05:28:00.000-08:002011-01-26T05:33:01.721-08:00Freebie<a href="http://www.oleanderpress.com/files/Innominato_DrO.pdf"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLrJJTYki3pNBsu83D7ky7SBCjOzCPZ7sUTmKn5R_G8p150BiQ2kChTdALwOkgctqxYvtRR0kdXClo_dWiCle0u4aMIFJB8w6CB5OVGZzWRQp7VwQdnCjIxV-FEnRzvwE9h1PWscozp_s/s400/Innominato+5+REVISED.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566486715772988546" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />Here's an exciting freebie - the introduction and first chapter, Dr Onofrio, here for you to download for free, gratis, niente.Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-89667252359104113132009-07-31T09:33:00.000-07:002009-10-05T23:47:05.925-07:00After 600 Years...The Innominato has arrived. The image below shows the softback regular edition - 424 pages of Gothic wizardry.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMH1WMPyqnc9j1m1yJL6ruUefbXxlZ0MyTqzgrybg90Lp8ay5qD9QMW9s6QakD75HYC6Jr4EF38mEUbWj3oiugYXXqHCcWflb7__Hq3x2oZmFW2VzF6L_V-LLg_tawZoGlNvzZgNExrWY/s1600-h/SBInnomWeb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMH1WMPyqnc9j1m1yJL6ruUefbXxlZ0MyTqzgrybg90Lp8ay5qD9QMW9s6QakD75HYC6Jr4EF38mEUbWj3oiugYXXqHCcWflb7__Hq3x2oZmFW2VzF6L_V-LLg_tawZoGlNvzZgNExrWY/s400/SBInnomWeb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364664834115258514" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The cover below is that of the Limited Edition hardback. Only 250 numbered copies are available, housed in a bespoke dustjacket and issued with four Ltd Ed prints depicting images from the upcoming graphic novel treatment and a similarly limited edition bookmark. It looks fantastic no? Both are available <a href="http://www.oleanderpress.com/">from Oleander</a> of course.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZFP5T_uEqxf_c7Guvz13hCJ81sQtJLgjHSs4OikBtk4JhFNdlnMa47kaAnlcxZrrAHSp8zmvEezbU3JorZlOAFUe5Bb2BiMJ__8d3ZIEvK1qiK54-PDe4M69BJb3p4UxG42WVXbkkWM/s1600-h/HBInnomWeb.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHZFP5T_uEqxf_c7Guvz13hCJ81sQtJLgjHSs4OikBtk4JhFNdlnMa47kaAnlcxZrrAHSp8zmvEezbU3JorZlOAFUe5Bb2BiMJ__8d3ZIEvK1qiK54-PDe4M69BJb3p4UxG42WVXbkkWM/s400/HBInnomWeb.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364665129843684210" border="0" /></a><br />Check out the detail of the design for the cover script. Designed by <a href="http://www.stephenraw.com/">Stephen Raw</a> - the artist who drew the <a href="http://www.tolkienmaps.com/">maps for the new editions of The Lord of the Rings books</a> - now bought by the British Museum for their permanent collection. I was delighted when he agreed to work with us and am similarly excited about the final design.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgXjCxcWvThnYIzgGdOmzJT3liCoOqK5hBtS68q1yqBVPrD0oNIvdZYfx5GP710kfR2EbR8wH97cXAvmINFlwbU5LG4ZPufIqs9kLol_coEh0-7fSMgJQg7YVvhCEuI32IVYS4PsTQ-R4/s1600-h/WebInnominato.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 110px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgXjCxcWvThnYIzgGdOmzJT3liCoOqK5hBtS68q1yqBVPrD0oNIvdZYfx5GP710kfR2EbR8wH97cXAvmINFlwbU5LG4ZPufIqs9kLol_coEh0-7fSMgJQg7YVvhCEuI32IVYS4PsTQ-R4/s400/WebInnominato.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364665280827631890" border="0" /></a>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-40341672450267571752009-05-04T03:31:00.000-07:002009-05-05T02:24:28.312-07:00Draft Page 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKC3v-FZTPIkhh7eK1SVJfINJ5tV8ph8X8wVezH9VRF5Fg_N1W4C0SORLYoYTckT9_1bS1WHxHRfRUu1EzPw4ioo-DIxFUpydtZUdkHkayatBXDkS3olEwNJQsLw7QrRHUfxHZD7iHgI/s1600-h/Dp1.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqKC3v-FZTPIkhh7eK1SVJfINJ5tV8ph8X8wVezH9VRF5Fg_N1W4C0SORLYoYTckT9_1bS1WHxHRfRUu1EzPw4ioo-DIxFUpydtZUdkHkayatBXDkS3olEwNJQsLw7QrRHUfxHZD7iHgI/s400/Dp1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331917189266764210" border="0" /></a><br />Draft of a possible page 1 of Doctor Onofrio.<br /><br />Pietro left the room, and the Innominato, as soon as he was alone, rose from his chair, and for some minutes paced up and down the room, smoothing his long snowy beard with his hand, on which a gem of great price sparkled brilliantly.<br /><br />“It is not difficult to divine what brings the Doctor Onofrio to me,” he murmured to himself. “He feels his age and infirmities weigh sore upon him, and he comes to ask me to prolong his life. And for what reason? He cannot hope to be reinstated in his judgeship, for he must be aware that his infamous reputation is too well known for that to be possible. Is it to ask for wealth? That is more probable; but, though he is far from being rich, he would hardly have taken so long a journey in this inclement weather on that account. Is it that he fears to die? Yes, it must be that which has brought him here, and that alone. He wishes to make his peace with Heaven, and he fears that, without my assistance, his life will end before he has succeeded. And he has good cause for his alarm. Few men carry on their shoulders a heavier weight of sins.”<br /><br />---Sneak peek of later interview---<br /><br />“Let us suppose,” said the Innominato, “that I have the power to extend your life for the period of a hundred years – that I can restore to you youth and strength, neither of which shall fade away, nor shall there be the slightest alteration in your personal appearance till your death – and that I have the power of giving you gold enough to satisfy the most avaricious; – what would you offer me in exchange?”<br /><br />A singular change came over the countenance of the Doctor as the Innominato spoke. The anxiously-imploring look which he had hitherto worn now vanished, and another of eager and intense anxiety, not unmixed with cunning, took its place.Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-21780119912078943932009-03-30T10:15:00.000-07:002009-03-30T10:27:55.559-07:00Taking Shape Now...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLonJ7duqGAGl1IPBeC_mvKcYOtd8-d2m4LUsk4W1CCiSIbpvYeZET4nsl7Alvu3259dQFg2-WHKlu7_2sXpcNFuBX64_vOZr4dUCMoXBTxr_n5bsq-8tOEVYcKHqqnOwU-lj-8BR5m0/s1600-h/FBCover.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 259px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdLonJ7duqGAGl1IPBeC_mvKcYOtd8-d2m4LUsk4W1CCiSIbpvYeZET4nsl7Alvu3259dQFg2-WHKlu7_2sXpcNFuBX64_vOZr4dUCMoXBTxr_n5bsq-8tOEVYcKHqqnOwU-lj-8BR5m0/s400/FBCover.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319031092621894674" border="0" /></a><br />So progress is being made! This is the first treatment for the cover of The Doctor Onofrio, the first instalment of the graphic novel version of Innominato. The guy pictured is called The Mask - and he was spooking folk around 600 years before Jim Carrey got into the business! Anyway, I suspect few of you will be surprised to hear that ol' Onofrio doesn't live happily ever after...<br /><br />And here's the cover of the standard book version. I think you'll agree that the complex multi-layered visual juxtaposition used lends itself neatly to the extra-dimensional array of levels the morality themes the book employs?<br /><br />Yeah, whatever; we just like black.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxhhS1slGOPahU55tHpIYhpkOQ4APInwtdMnVYTRj_xGvG3ZAP_dVztjLo9TU_pP8LEfyp4Z_yf0ua888V37NhgcKr0R7aJ-QubNEVCQGhJJed0ixcEVCBwNf0dwB2kxBomIsFTuJSN4/s1600-h/FBinnomBK.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFxhhS1slGOPahU55tHpIYhpkOQ4APInwtdMnVYTRj_xGvG3ZAP_dVztjLo9TU_pP8LEfyp4Z_yf0ua888V37NhgcKr0R7aJ-QubNEVCQGhJJed0ixcEVCBwNf0dwB2kxBomIsFTuJSN4/s400/FBinnomBK.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5319031160550881074" border="0" /></a>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-49672877250221078252009-03-10T10:32:00.000-07:002009-04-02T03:32:11.237-07:00It All Happens in Cambridge<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SXjnbfhahlr5cuy2jEzPbz_eOmE7gASMR7SeozfyhTwz-uSwGO-nOr4m_v5RnaM8PlVLqtm6aV2PXzfxM77B0bPuWHIJXzpSgor82KfAC1h8ayCKkbSLjuxFmktjRtnv3nyD_EuLoTo/s1600-h/BlogAccept+2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 283px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_SXjnbfhahlr5cuy2jEzPbz_eOmE7gASMR7SeozfyhTwz-uSwGO-nOr4m_v5RnaM8PlVLqtm6aV2PXzfxM77B0bPuWHIJXzpSgor82KfAC1h8ayCKkbSLjuxFmktjRtnv3nyD_EuLoTo/s400/BlogAccept+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311615101560670450" border="0" /></a><br />Yeah, so the University is 800 years old this year and there's <a href="http://www.800.cam.ac.uk/">all kinds of shindigs</a> going on to celebrate that. Then, of course, we're doing our bit to celebrate <a href="http://www.darwin2009.cam.ac.uk/">Darwin's birthday</a> and the publication of a certain book of his. But almost more important, almost as old, and almost as revolutionary, is the Innominato of course. That's who everyone's really talking about. A legend silenced by the Church in the 14th Century. Rediscovered 150 years ago and recorded for posterity but - alas - destroyed by agents sinister and unknown and thought lost to history with scant reference remaining. Until now. A serendipitous discovery - in a dusty, forgotten corner of a dusty, forgotten building - of a private manuscript has given us the chance to reveal the truth to the world once more - or at least as much of the truth as can be known. Sorcery, vampires, alchemy, murder?!<br /><br /><a href="http://www.innominato.co.uk/">Check out the movie trailer!</a><br /><br />Don't forget the dates - the original book, gorgeously recreated - 25th July, and then the Graphic Novel, for which we have a new poster above, is out 31st October.Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-19988935974657625242009-03-05T12:47:00.000-08:002009-03-05T12:53:31.277-08:00EarlyPreparation for the publication continues apace. The original is being reproduced and each line has to be checked and corrected etc. The design of the cover is coming along too. It all takes time and patience - neither of which I have in abundance... Still, here I thought I'd show you the first poster for the graphic novel version (also coming along well).<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvmxU1NHCo4kXGwkc1GLPHcpFj9JlICyu_CEV-22OFlzqqS0_EoJeHLsAwHpdTaQ4G9AP7R0uEY5_GNqu5Oi-nIOLt4_61Br73rCxB0_Of3nTlEDaNZDMQdBE6rmBO6G8Xtz5fkLzWgE/s1600-h/InnominatoMid.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKvmxU1NHCo4kXGwkc1GLPHcpFj9JlICyu_CEV-22OFlzqqS0_EoJeHLsAwHpdTaQ4G9AP7R0uEY5_GNqu5Oi-nIOLt4_61Br73rCxB0_Of3nTlEDaNZDMQdBE6rmBO6G8Xtz5fkLzWgE/s400/InnominatoMid.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5309809364082131698" border="0" /></a>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-59668757729220339092009-01-09T09:51:00.000-08:002009-01-09T09:52:02.590-08:00viii<span style="font-family: verdana;">"Are they really worth reading?" I enquired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Yes, in my opinion they are; but I am prejudiced in their favour by my friendship for the writer, and my respect for his ability."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Why do you not publish them?" I asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"I once had the wish," he replied; "but on reflection several objections presented themselves, and I gave up the idea. In the first place I hardly considered it consistent with the gravity of my profession to edit a series of fantastic tales of any kind, as they leave us in doubt whether the astrologer, who is supposed to inhabit the castle at the time the events took place, did not derive his power from objectionable sources, even from the powers of darkness themselves."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"But they are not of an immoral or irreligious tendency?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Certainly not," he answered; "on the contrary, they all profess to carry with them a moral, and the text, 'Therefore by their fruits shall ye know them,' might, to a certain degree, absolve them from the probability of their being of evil origin. Still it may be held that a priest would not be justified in publishing a book of the kind. Besides, in Italy, I might have some difficulty in finding a publisher; nor would tales of that description be relished by the Italians, and the attempt might end in such a loss as I could ill afford."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Why should you imagine that your countrymen would not admire them?" I enquired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"Because they are hardly suited to their tastes. They are of that wild, fantastic school, which might perhaps be liked in Germany or in your own country, but which, I fear, would hardly be adapted for us children of the south."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"If I were some day to return to the village do you think I could obtain permission to see them?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">"You can see and inspect them without taking that trouble," said the priest. "A few days ago I sent them with some other things to my own house, which is not a quarter of an hour's walk from Ponte. Call on me any day you please, and I will place the whole of my friend's manuscripts before you. Nay, more, as you appear interested in literature, they are all perfectly at your service, should you think you can make any use of them; and you can make any extracts from them you please."</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I warmly thanked my companion for his kind offer, and assured him that I would willingly profit by it; and then arranged that I should call on him the next morning for the purpose of examining the papers.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">We now continued on our road, chatting pleasantly on diverse subjects – principally connected with the localities we were at the moment passing through. It was nearly evening before we reached Ponte, where I found my friend in a state of great anxiety in consequence of my absence. I told him the cause, and also of the friendship I had formed with the priest. Mr. R----, it appeared, knew him intimately. “He is a very good fellow,” he said, “a true Christian, and a great benefactor to the poor around us, and is much liked by everyone acquainted with him. I do not think there is a person in the world who could say a bad word about him.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Did you know his friend the priest who has lately died?” I inquired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I knew him very slightly, and that only from seeing him with our friend Don Giorgio. He was evidently a man of considerable learning, and a great antiquary, but very eccentric. I have no doubt you will find some very curious documents among his papers.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Do you happen to know anything about the old castle?” I asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Nothing whatever, beyond having visited it once or twice. It appears to be one of those strongholds erected in the feudal times, and of which the origin is entirely lost. There are several of them about the Comasque and Bresciano districts, of which not the slightest reliable records remain. Nothing but the faintest traditions can be found respecting them. The one you saw is said to have been inhabited by a mysterious individual, known as the Innominato, who really, one would think, must have had some existence, from the fact that there is said to have been another castle inhabited by him somewhere in the mountains to the north of Bergamo. But even in this tradition a strong discrepancy exists, for the latter chief was a man much dreaded for his sanguinary propensities; while the other, who inhabited the castle near us, is said to have made himself much beloved.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Next day I called on my new acquaintance, the priest, who received me with great cordiality. After a little conversation on general subjects, he placed before me the memoranda of his deceased friend relating to the Innominato and his castle, and we were soon absorbed in their investigation. Although at first they appeared but a confused mass of papers, with little arrangement or connexion, I soon found that they comprised a series of legends connected with the castle, all exceedingly fantastic; and if some were not absolutely original, they were obviously founded on local traditions. Many of them were not only curious but highly interesting, notwithstanding their wildness and improbability. The most difficult portion of the whole to understand were a number of detached sheets of paper, evidently intended for the opening chapter. In spite of my earnest wish to make them out, and place them in some kind of order, I found the task impossible – so confused and illegible were they. I could, however, make out that the Innominato was an astrologer, who had obtained a wide celebrity for his skill in magic, and that he lived in great seclusion in the castle, his priniciple attendants being three or four old men-servants and a porter. Although it seemed many persons of all grades called on him for advice or assistance, very few were allowed to remain a night within the castle walls. At the same time he appeared to have been by no means insensible to the duties of hospitality, as he had built, for the reception of his visitors, a spacious lodge or hospice, about a third of a mile distant from the castle, at which all persons desirous to see him were obliged to remain till a messenger had taken up their names and the object of their visit to the Innominato; and after their reception they were again conducted back to the hospice, where they were usually entertained with great liberality. Of this lodge or hospice no portion now remains. It appears, however, to have been situated somewhere beside the present path, and in sight of the porter when he stood at the entrance gates of the castle. Of what country the Innominato was a native there is no record.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">I ought to have stated that the priest had evidently died before he had completed his work, for the last – and certainly one of the moost interesting – of his narratives was left half-finished. From the many legends before me I selected a few for publication, and now offer them to the notice of the reader...</span>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-87900392333458576012009-01-05T10:25:00.000-08:002009-01-05T10:26:17.540-08:00vii<span style="font-family: verdana;">“...There are various indistinct traditionary rumours respecting the old ruins being haunted by the ghost of a certain necromancer, who is said to have lived about the end of the fourteenth or the early part of the fifteenth century. At the same time I admit that I never met anyone who had seen the phantom; and I have frequently used this as an argument to convince the ignorant peasantry of the absurdity of the idea. One day as I was conversing with one of the most intelligent among them on the subject, I enquired if he, who had lived all his life in the neighbourhood, and was now an old man, had ever seen the ghost. 'Never,' he replied. 'Did your father, who inhabited the cottage before you, ever see him?' 'No; but he was certain the ghost haunted the ruins for all that.' 'Do you know anyone who ever saw him?' I enquired. 'No,' said he, 'and that is my great reason for believing that he haunts the ruins.' 'How so?' I asked. 'Because no-one will go near them after nightfall for fear they should see him; and that is, I think, proof enough for anyone who is not an infidel.' Of course it was of little use attempting to combat such a logician, and I gave up on the point, greatly to the self-glorification of my adversary”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“But is there really nothing known with certainty of the history of those ruins?” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Nothing,” replied the priest. “Whenever a tradition worthy of any credence is brought forward respecting them, it is always mixed up with so much that is false as to make it of little or no value. My poor friend, the late priest of the parish, took a great interest in the matter, but I am afraid that his attempts to throw light on the subject have only made obscurity doubly obscure.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“How so?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Well, I can hardly describe it satisfactorily. He was rather an eccentric character, and occasionally it was exceedingly difficult to know whether he was in jest or in earnest. He has left behind him many memoranda which he made respecting the ruins, and many traditions concerning them; but the latter are of so wild and fantastic a character, as not only to prove themselves utterly fictitious, but at the same time to throw great doubt upon other details which otherwise would have appeared purely historical. Some of his narratives are told, however, in such a matter-of-fact way as to give one the impression that he had derived them from some local traditions representing events which might formerly have happened, but which have become so distorted by being verbally handed down from father to son, that the original facts have been totally lost. Others of them, however, are very possibly the creation of his own brain. At any rate the safer plan is to consider them as such.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“What makes you imagine it possible that any of them had an original foundation in fact?” I inquired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“That is a very difficult question to answer,” he replied. “I admit that the only data I can offer are the occasional descriptions he gives of different parts of the building, which are narrated so minutely as to throw some air of truth over the tale. I am somewhat inclined to believe that at the commencement he conscientiously determined to write an authentic sketch of the history of the whole castle; but finding it impossible, he merely amused himself by inventing the tales he has put together.”</span>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-61010508618766638012008-12-29T10:59:00.000-08:002008-12-29T11:00:56.434-08:00vi<span style="font-family: verdana;">I sincerely hoped he would remember the falsehood when he next went to confession, and would receive a severe penance for it, which he richly deserved. I thanked him, however, for the compliment, which I attributed to a kind wish on his part to encourage me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Have you been long in Italy?” he inquired.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“A very short time,” I replied; “and with the exception of the cities of Turin and Milan, and the neighbourhood of Lake Como, I have seen nothing of the country.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Do you not greatly admire the lake and the scenery around it?” he asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Immensely,” I replied. “I had no idea that so lovely a spot existed on the face of the globe.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I am delighted to hear you say so, though I am by no means surprised. I have lived here for more than twenty-five years, and of course am so well accustomed to the scenery; yet I can assure you it appears to me, at the present time, as beautiful as it was on the first day of my arrival. Turn which way you will, some fresh attraction seems to spring up before you.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“But lovely as it is by day,” I remarked, “it is occasionally equally lovely by night. I never saw anything more exquisite than the sunset yesterday evening, and the rising of the moon afterwards. I was completely enchanted by it, and quite forgot how late it was, and the distance I was from home.” </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“To watch the full moon rising over the Reségone is always a great treat to me,” said my companion. “Had you a good view of it yesterday evening?”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Admirable!” I replied. “I was standing at the time by an old castle, so there was nothing to interfere with my view.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“You could not have been in a better position. At the same time you showed yourself to be either a very bold man or a stranger to the locality,” said the priest, adopting a certain mock gravity in the concluding sentence. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“How so?” I asked.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Because that spot has a very bad reputation. I can assure you that you would have had great difficulty in persuading any of the peasantry in the vicinity to have kept you company.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I did not know there were robbers in these parts,” I remarked. “I have frequently heard my friend say, that the peasantry in the neighbourhood were remarkable for their integrity.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“Nor did he in any way exceed the truth when he said so,” my companion replied. “A more honest community than our peasantry it would be impossible to find in any part of Europe; but I did not allude to robbers when I spoke. There are various indistinct traditionary rumours respecting the old ruins being haunted by the ghost of a certain necromancer...</span>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-49747281908671968272008-12-28T09:31:00.000-08:002008-12-28T09:41:32.905-08:00v<span style="font-family: verdana;">I told the priest that I should accept with pleasure the courteous offer of his company on the road the next day, and requested him to bid the landlord prepare the bed for me at once, as I was too much fatigued that evening to think of supper. After a little more conversation – which I carried on with some difficulty, for though I understand Italian perfectly, I am but little in the habit of conversing in the language – I bade him goodnight, and, seeking my bed, was soon fast asleep.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was late before I awoke the next day, and when I left my chamber I found my breakfast ready for me, spread on a little table under the verandah. My landlord obsequiously attended on me during the meal, and persisted in conversing with me, somewhat to my annoyance, as I did not understand one word in ten that he uttered. Possibly if I had asked him to desist it would have been useless, as I should have had great difficulty in explaining myself in his </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-family: verdana;">patois</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">, so I submitted to his chattering with the best grace I could.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">Breakfast over, I paid the reckoning, and after bidding the landlord adieu, strolled about in the immediate vicinity of the inn. I also visited the water-mill, from which I obtained a good view of the ruined castle. The longer I gazed at it, the greater became my curiosity to know something of its history; and I resolved, on our road to Ponte, to question the priest on the subject. I had hardly formed this resolution when someone touched me on the shoulder, and on turning round I found his reverence standing beside me; for so absorbed had I been in my meditations that I had not heard his approach. He was evidently prepared for his walk, for he had a staff in one hand and a bundle in the other.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“My successor has arrived,” he said, “and I have made over to him the duties of the cure; so when you are ready we will start for Ponte, unless there are any other spots in this neighbourhood you wish to visit, and in that case I shall have much pleasure in accompanying you, if you will allow me.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“ I am quite ready,” I said, turning from the spot. “Perhaps some other day I may again visit this locality, but at present I ought to return home, as I am afraid my friend will be getting anxious about me.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">We now started on our journey. I found my companion extremely intelligent and courteous; but I experienced considerable difficulty in conversing with him, for though I understood him perfectly, I could not from want of practice, explain my meaning very easily. At last I asked if he understood French, as I could speak more fluently in that language than in Italian.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">“I understand it, I admit,” he said. “By all means let us converse in French” (which he spoke well); “but why should we not talk in Italian? You speak the language admirably.”I sincerely hoped he...</span>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-13864998433350042282008-12-02T06:40:00.000-08:002008-12-28T09:39:09.858-08:00iv<span style="font-family:verdana;">I now had to pick my way with great caution, and my pace was in consequence much slower. At last the valley had so narrowed,that I was in almost impenetrable darkness, which continued for more than a mile, when suddenly my spirits were raised by the sight of a glimmering light in the windows of a cottage beside the water-mill I had passed in ascending the mountain. I now began to remember the locality with tolerable distinctness, and I knew that the village inn was only a short distance further on; so I resisted the temptation to ask for assistance at the cottage, and continued on my way. Very soon I was able to distinguish other houses, and amongst the them the inn, with strong lights shining through the doorway and windows on the ground-floor, proving that the inmates had not yet retired to bed. In a moment I forgot my fatigue, and hurrying onward entered the house, and found the host, his wife, and the same priest I had seen before, seated round a table engaged in conversation. My appearance seemed to cause them both surprise and pleasure.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“Welcome back,” said the priest to me, “welcome back. To tell the truth, we began to be uneasy about you, fearing you had lost your way, or had met with some accident.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I thanked them for the interest they had taken in my welfare, and then inquired if I could obtain a guide to Ponte, as I was not well acquainted with the road. The priest explained my request to the landlord, in the</span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:verdana;" > patois</span><span style="font-family:verdana;"> of the district, which had but little similarity in it to the Italian language. His answer I did not understand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“The landlord,” said the priest, “tells me that it would be impossible at this time of night to find a guide for you. Besides, you would not be able to arrive before daylight, even if you started at once, as it is fully ten miles distant, and you already appear much fatigued. Take my advice, and remain here for the night. I know my friend Giacomo, our landlord, has an excellent bed, and he is also a capital cook. You can start as early as you please to-morrow morning. I am sure your friend Signor R------, will not expect you to-night.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“Do you know me then?” I said, greatly surprised.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">“I saw you the day of your arrival at Ponte,” he replied. “I am curate of an adjoining parish, but I left it the day after that to do duty here for a few weeks; the late priest died suddenly, and being an intimate friend of mine, he named me as his executor. In advising you to remain here the night,” he continued, “I am perhaps actuated by a selfish motive. To-morrow the priest who is appointed to this village will arrive, and I shall then return to my own cure; so if you remain, and will honour me, I may have the pleasure of your company on the road.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">I told the priest that...</span>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-50479877475780092008-11-30T04:36:00.000-08:002008-11-30T04:57:06.973-08:00iii<span style="font-family: georgia;">There was no longer any doubt as to the cause of the magnificent phenomenon I was witnessing, for the beams of the rising moon began distinctly to spread themselves over one-half of the heavens, the stars – with the exception of some few of the magnitude which still held their place, though with enfeebled light – disappearing as she came. And now she gradually rose from her mountain bed in indescribable purity and grandeur. The change her presence wrought over the whole scene was miraculous. All was now in a pure calm light, or intense black shadow. The lake itself seemed one large mirror of silver, encircled by a framework of mountains. There was an unearthly, or rather perhaps heavenly, quiet shed over the whole prospect, which for some time completely overcame me; and I remained for more than an hour on the spot, as if under some powerful enchantment.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">But the realities of life again came before my mind and once more I prepared to depart. My eye, however, was attracted by the ruin near me, and I resolved, if but for a moment, to enter within the walls. I had some difficulty in carrying out my purpose, for the castle gateway was in the shadow. At last, however, I succeeded; but my curiosity was but little gratified, for more than three parts of the interior were in a darkness too deep to distinguish one object from another with any certainty. With the exception that the ruins were extensive, and that a considerable portion of them was covered with wild shrubs, and that the place had been (for mediaeval architecture) of considerable military strength, I could ascertain nothing, and I left the spot determining, as before, to visit it again at a future time.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I now began to descend the mountain, and, thanks to the light of the moon, progressed for some time in my path without much difficulty, though I suffered dreadfully from fatigue. I began for the first time to calculate the distance between me and Ponte, and I confess I felt somewhat alarmed lest my strength should fail me before I could reach the house of my friend. Having no alternative, however, I walked boldly onwards. Presently I began to meet with difficulties I had not calculated on when I ascended the mountain. As I approached the valley, the space between the hills became narrower, and the shadows thrown across it made it profoundly dark. To the right of the narrow path ran a deep fissure, at the bottom of which rushed a stream of some magnitude; while, to the left, enormous rocks rose almost perpendicularly. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: georgia;">I had now to... </span>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-83442618060980916092008-11-29T01:45:00.001-08:002008-11-29T02:53:48.100-08:00ii<span style="font-family:georgia;">Presently I came upon a somewhat large village, and in it I particularly noticed a picturesque-looking inn, whose appearance seemed to promise a far greater amount of comfort to the traveller than is generally found in similar localities. Outside the door and under a veranda, over which was trained a vine, were placed some rough tables, at which several persons were seated. The appearance of a stranger seemed to excite in them no little surprise. They evidently regarded me with great curiosity, and a gentlemanly-looking priest, who was conversing with the landlord, whispered something in his ear which induced him to raise his cap as I passed, and the same courtesy was then repeated by almost all present, his reverse among the number.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I returned their salutation, and without further notice continued on my way. Presently the valley somewhat opened out, and to my great satisfaction I found that the pathway I had chosen rose towards the ruins, which now stood out plainly before me. The road, however, was longer than I had anticipated, for, owing to the clearness of the atmosphere, the ruins appeared to me less distant than they really were; and before I had reached them, evening had already begun to set in.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">A more glorious sunset than I watched that evening, I think, I never beheld. The sun, as he sank behind the mountains, seemed to cast over the whole of the western Alps one immense mantle of the richest purple, which, becoming darker and darker, would have subsided into the deepest black had it not been for the myriads of stars which gradually shone out as the light of day faded away. So completely was I absorbed in the scene before me that for some time I totally forgot the ruins which had tempted me to the spot, and at whose base I was seated.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Before I had fully recollected the object of my visit, I turned round, and glancing casually at the heavy masses of masonry which frowned in the dark above me, I resolved on visiting them another day, and, rising from my seat, prepared to retrace my steps homewards. Another attraction, however, chained me to the spot. Although, a short time before, the whole space of the heavens had been equally covered with stars, it now appeared to me that towards the east many of them had faded, or rather melted away, in a brighter hue of the sky, which was evidently spreading itself above the mountains on the Lecco side of the lake. Brighter and clearer became the heavens and a silver hue gradually developed itself, and lighted up the mountains on the eastern side of the lake, bringing into strong relief the rugged fantastic tops of the Reségone – that mountain so graphically described by Manzoni at the commencement of his admirable tale of the “Promessi Sposi.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">There was now no longer any doubt...</span>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6100237943987963600.post-83052593745835076122008-11-28T01:39:00.000-08:002008-12-02T06:42:26.422-08:00i<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">In the spring of 184--, I had occasion to visit an intimate friend, who had established some extensive silk mills at the village of Ponte, near Pian D'Erba, in the Brianza. As this beautiful portion of the garden of Europe is but little known to English travellers generally, -- who, with rare exceptions, on arriving in Italy, hurry southward, -- I may state that it is situated in the centre of the base of the triangle which is formed by the high road running from Como to Lecco in the south; while the sides stretching upwards, terminate at the apex formed at Bellagio in the north. It would be difficult to imagine scenery more lovely than is there to be found.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">It varies from the soft undulating hills covered with the mulberry plant and the vine, which form the southern slopes of the Alps, to the wildest mountain scenery. To see it in perfection the traveller should start on foot, and, passing through Ponte, follow the course of the impetuous river Lambro, till it dwindles into a little mountain rill. During the six weeks of my visit, I was never tired of strolling among the beautiful scenes which at every turn meet the eye.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Although to me, as a stranger to Italy, it might have possessed a charm greater than to others, still it would be difficult indeed for even the most experienced traveller, who had been familiarized with nature in all her loveliness, not to be charmed with the beautiful prospects which are to be found in such abundance in the Comasque districts. Frequently in my rambles I remained so late that my friend would become uneasy, and request me to return for the future before nightfall, as the evenings in those mountain districts shut in so rapidly that it was by no means safe for a stranger to lose himself in the dark; the pathways being frequently narrow, and the precipices very dangerous. Accidents of a serious nature, he assured me, had occurred; and he begged me on all occasions when I was likely to remain out after dark, to provide myself with a guide. Although his advice was sound, I confess I did not act upon it; the luxury of being alone in such a beautiful locality would have been considerably marred by the loquacity of an ignorant peasant, not one-tenth part of whose <span style="font-style: italic;">patois</span> I could have understood. Yet it was out of no disrespect to my friend's advice that I did not follow it, for I could not fail to see that it was most judicious; but sunset, above all other times of the day, had an especial attraction for me. It was my great delight to gain some elevated position, and watch the magnificent effects of light and shade which were produced by the struggle between the fading day and coming night.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">One evening when I had strolled much further than usual, I came to a spot which I had not yet visited. I can hardly describe its position better than by saying that it was in a deep valley at the base of a singular-looking mountain, to the eastward of Lecco, and that it overlooked the whole of the peninsula, bounded by the two arms of the lake. I do not remember its name, but it has two singular-looking protuberances on its summit, something in shape of two stunted horns, which form a remarkable feature of the landscape, and are seen at distance of many miles. On looking around me to determine which pathway I should take, I perceived at some distance, and at a considerable elevation on the mountain,what appeared to be some extensive castellated ruins; and a strong desire to inspect them came over me. Although already greatly fatigued by my ramble, I immediately set out with renewed vigour to reach them. As I proceeded, the valley narrowed, and I lost sight of the ruins; but as I knew I must be in the right path, I continued onwards.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Presently I came upon...</span><br /><br /></div>Innominatohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12249035820727108177noreply@blogger.com0