The Manzoni Family (13 page)

Manzoni to Fauriel from Brusuglio in the summer: ‘I don't know (but I flatter myself it is so) if you can read into the first word of this letter everything I mean to convey by it:
Brusuglio!
this place you have made so difficult for us to live in now, where your absence is felt on all sides, where we all miss you every hour of the day!'

From Coprena that autumn, Giulietta to Fauriel (they had rented a house in Coprena, where they had all gone for a change of air. The Beccaria relations were also there): ‘We are quite happy in this charming little house. . . We go for walks. We go to see all the fine country houses in the neighbourhood. . . I spend my time drawing, studying and reading: I am reading
Woodstock
in English. Have you read it? what do you think of it? It's Walter Scott, so we mustn't say a word. . . Vittorina is here beside me; I asked her what she wanted me to say to you, and she said:
Nuffing, ‘cos he said Enrico was a bad boy, so he a naughty man.
You see how she bears malice. She's really very sweet, but as wilful as can be. Enrico hasn't got any further with his reading and writing since you left. . . Last Monday 9th October, Papa, Grossi, Cattaneo, young Capretti and Pietro set off from here for Como; Gallina went too with a pony carrying their baggage. . . I don't know yet when they'll be back. . . you can imagine how empty it is here without them! I don't know how we would bear it anywhere else! . . . Can we hope to hear from you at long last? Don't you know it really is too bad of you to behave like that? . . . As my letter had not been posted, I am opening it to tell you Papa is back. It rained a lot yesterday, and it wasn't very pleasant travelling on foot; when they got to Merate, they took a carriage and came back. . . To give you some idea of their high spirits, the gentlemen were talking about their adventures this morning, they said they had denied themselves nothing, only that at Bellagio they had eaten some excellent fish and had been foolish enough not to ask for more. What a shame! Cattaneo said: It's worth going back to have some more. Quite right, said Grossi, such a foolish omission must be rectified. And Cattaneo: promise you'll keep me company if I go! So all four are setting off tomorrow at four, they will get to Como to cross the lake by steamer, they'll eat their fish at Bellagio, and return immediately. Sixty miles for a bit of fish! Pietro is delighted at this extension of the fun, but Papa won't go.'

Manzoni to Fauriel, from Milan in late autumn: Tor some time, more than two months I should think, I have been more than usually troubled by my real or imaginary ailments, but certainly real for me in either case; I confess that I am almost pleased to have the more obvious symptoms (especially the almost continual stomach aches), as they provide a reason for my low spirits and dejection which would be even more painful if I could not attribute them to some physical cause. My work proceeds pretty slowly, with long interruptions: I am enormously disillusioned, the only thing that keeps me going is the wish to be rid of it for once and for all, so you can imagine how cheerful that makes me. You must have had the first half of the 3rd volume from Signora di Belgioioso; since then I've only managed to put together about a third of the second half; and anyway, I hope to be rid of it before the winter is out. '

Gradually, as the novel progressed, Manzoni was sending it to Fauriel, sending groups of pages by people who were leaving for Paris; as soon as Fauriel received them, he passed them to his acquaintance, Auguste Trognon, who was to translate them into French. Trognon was a history teacher, and author of an historical novel in the style of Walter Scott, and he had translated, years ago in 1819,
Le
ultime
lettere di Jacopo Ortis.
He had long before expressed to Fauriel his wish to translate Manzoni's novel, and Manzoni had agreed. Mary Clarke had expressed the same wish, but perhaps Fauriel had thought Trognon more suited to the task.

Giulietta to Fauriel: ‘We don't see Ermes so often in the evening since his brother got married, he says it's so nice by the fire in your own house when there's someone to talk to. That's just like Visconti, isn't it? They've just brought me some violets from Brusú, so I'll put one in for you. Think of us sometimes at poor Brusú! But think of us to some purpose! We talk of you so often and remember the past in order to imagine the future. . . For three days Vittorina has been telling everyone she sees that Fauriel had written something about her, then she would run to me to get it right, but no sooner had I told her than she forgot it again. . . Enrico wants me to tell you he dreamt of you, I don't remember what the dream was. He has a master who teaches him various little things most patiently, and takes him out for walks. My sisters are making progress with their music; like Pietro, they have a teacher for French, History and Geography. Pietro has several others, and is progressing in every way, physically and morally. He still goes to the riding-school sometimes, and he skated while the ice lasted; he even hopes it will freeze again, but I'd be very surprised. We had a lot of snow which gave us a fortnight of slush and bad weather. Oh! I mustn't forget to mention Acerbi, he is still at Lake Como, and by now it is to be hoped he is quite out of danger. . .' (Enrico Acerbi was a friend of the family, a doctor, he had been very ill with an infection of the lungs; he used to give minute details of his health, especially to Grandmother Giulia, whom he called ‘my second little mother', and who used to write to him and send him baskets of sweetmeats). . . ‘Vittorina is in a corner of the room talking to herself; she says she's more sorry for Fauriel than Acerbi, because Fauriel is in Paris, poor man, and Acerbi isn't so far away. So far away all on his own! She wants me to tell you that if we send Giuseppe [the servant] all the way to Paris with letters for you, we just don't realize how tired he'll get!'

Giulietta to Fauriel, in the spring of 1827: ‘Papa sends you his very best regards; he is working, and begs me to say he thinks he has at last almost reached the end of his endless work. But you know, a chapter often takes him weeks, because of his health which is always poor; so it's almost finished but when will it be really finished? . . . Thank you very much for enquiring about my health, I should say it is a bit better. . . even though I continue to lose weight. Pietro has my share of good health; the others are well except Filippino who has had teething troubles; he still takes only his nurse's milk although he is a year old. Mother has had a bit of toothache these last few days, she's also had spots on her face for two months which are very irritating.
Bonne
maman
[their grandmother] is still the one with the best health, I assure you it's a joy for us to see her so well.

By the way, I want to enclose a violet again, which I picked myself this time at Brusú yesterday; I'm astonished you didn't find the two I put in my last letter. A week ago we had a Signor Orlandi here, who has flown with a winged balloon. He claimed he could adopt a precise direction but the fact is that he did fly very well indeed, but straight ahead, and he had to come down where he could and not where he chose; the weather was splendid and he came down very near the Arena from which he set out. . . Please don't go on like this without writing to us. Oh, if only we could see you soon! Will your journey last long? What are your plans afterwards? And you won't see Milan again for a long time, I hear? Oh, it would be really cruel of you, after raising our hopes! The whole family beg me to say so, and it's the endless refrain of all our friends! If Mrs and Miss Clarke are in Paris, please tell them we still have a happy memory of the little time we spent together. '

Ermes Visconti to Fauriel: ‘I think I am right in assuming that the translation of that essay of mine on Beauty, - I sent you the manuscript approved by our censors years ago - has not come from the press yet? I think I am right, and I certainly hope so. I now wish with all my heart that the work should remain unpublished for ever, as I find it contains fundamental errors of the greatest importance. A great number of things are not considered from their more serious side, the only true side. Others present ideas which are incomplete and therefore false. Some other time I might perhaps recast the essay, remove the many, many faults I detect in it. . . Meanwhile, if we are still in time, I beg you, my excellent friend, to see that they give up all thought of a publication which has fortunately been so long delayed. . . I hope to hear from you soon to confirm all this. At your best convenience, and only at your convenience, I shall await Mr. Rémusat's clarification of the Chinese language. Alessandro is almost on the point of giving the last chapters of his Romance to the printers. I hope we shall have it in May. Excellent news of the Manzoni household, of Cattaneo and of Grossi. Addio.'

Giulietta to Fauriel, from Milan in June: ‘Here I am again writing to you in place of Papa! . . . But once again he insists he means to write to you soon. At the first opportunity he will send you the remaining pages — I think there will be about four; he is sending you eight this time, that's all that have been printed so far. . . Marchese Ermes is in the drawing-room and asks me to send you his best regards and to ask for a word in reply to his last letter. . . As for Papa, you will see that we can at last hope that everlasting novel will soon be published, it really is high time, for more reasons than one: because he's tired of working at it, and the others are tired of waiting for it. . . Papa has just come in to tell me to say he will have another opportunity on Monday, that he will certainly write to you and send you the rest, but you won't get it till the end of the month because it seems this person has to travel slowly. . . Mama's eye trouble has never been cured, in fact it has got worse in the last five months, it's a very long time, and though she is taking freshwater baths, she has only taken a few so far, so we can't judge if they are doing her good; the doctors say she won't really get well until she has a change of air! Perhaps Brusú is not far enough, so we are thinking of taking a house on Lake Corno, but nothing is settled yet and until Papa has really finished I think we won't leave Town. We have had dreadful weather and the heat is beginning to make itself felt. Papa says he must not, dares not, and cannot ask you to write, but for all that he wants, waits for and in short, asks for a letter; he says if you write to me it will be justice, if you write to him it will be mercy.'

Manzoni to Fauriel, a few days later:
“Respice finem,
dear friend; it's a real relief to think I can talk to you about something else now, instead of this tedious story, which is as boring to me as to its ten readers; I say I am bored; as for you, I hardly dare to think. Well then, to end all discussion, here are the last pages of the last volume, which you will be so good as to pass on to Monsieur Trognon. . . I am really put out that I can't reproach you for your silence; I want to, but I haven't the impudence. So I shall be content to beg you, from the heart, to write me a really long letter soon, to talk at length about yourself, since we are not to see you, and of the
Provenciales,
since we are not even to see them
[Les Lettres Provenciales
was the title of the work Fauriel had been engaged on for some time]. . . Giulia has told you that our Enrichetta is troubled with ringworm around her eyes; it is not serious, and can't possibly become so; but it is distressing to her, and to us for her sake, as you can imagine. They have recommended sea-bathing, and we have almost resolved to try this; we will probably go to Genoa for the purpose next month, and it is equally possible that from there we will go and spend some time in Tuscany. . . You are ever in my heart, and I do ask you to write to me. Until then, goodbye. '

In Tuscany, by listening to people talking, Manzoni would be able to give the style of his novel the liveliness, freshness, and purity of accent which he feared it lacked. The novel was already at the press, but he intended to revise and correct it for a new edition.

By the middle of June the novel had been printed in full, in three volumes. A first volume had been printed some years before in 1824, by the same publisher, Ferrano, with the title
Gli sposi promessi;
but the final title was J
promessi sposi.
Vincenzo Monti, who had been seriously ill for some time, received one of the first copies. Manzoni sent it to him at Monza where he was living, with a letter: ‘The story was to have been presented to you there without a word and with many blushes by my Giulietta, whom I may also call yours in her admiration and gratitude: and it was a joy to imagine her dear modesty confronted with a fame which is just as dear to us. But a most ill-timed inflammation of the throat has kept my poor girl in bed for two days, and, although there is some improvement, it threatens to keep her at home for several days more. So for now you have only the story: not that I mean to condemn you to read it; but you must accept it from me. And as soon as the illness and the doctor permit, we will come and thank you for accepting it.' Monti had heard from friends that Manzoni was preparing to leave, but thought he was going to Rome. He replied: ‘My dearest friend. . . fearing that your imminent move to Rome will rob me of the consolation of ever seeing you again, since each day I feel my end draw nearer, I have to say in writing that I go to await you in Heaven, where I am certain I shall see you in God's good time. Meanwhile, before my own Don Abbondio intones the
Proficiscere
for me, I want to thank you for the precious gift of your
Sposi promessi,
of which I will say what I said of your
Carmagnola;
“I wish I were the author. “ I have read your novel, and on finishing it felt my heart uplifted, and my admiration increased. Yes, my dear Manzoni, your talent is admirable, and your heart an inexhaustible fountain of the most tender feelings, which makes your writing so exceptional. . .'

Giulietta to Fauriel, 7 July: ‘Next week we set off for Genoa, Leghorn and Florence; seeing Mama is still in such poor health, and moreover that the freshwater bathing has brought her some relief, the doctors have urged my parents to go to Leghorn for her to try sea-bathing. I think Mama will take about fifteen baths, and immediately after we will go to Florence, where I think we will stay to the end of October, or thereabouts. . .' They were all going except Filippino; fearing the journey in the hot weather would make him ill, they had decided to leave him at Brusuglio with the servants. ‘He will be well cared for, the little darling; he's walking and saying a few words, and seems even more lovable these last few days as if to make us even sorrier, or perhaps it is we who are making more fuss of him! His nurse is leaving him tomorrow so that he can gradually get used to being without the people who are most dear to him. Mama had been a bit better just recently, but the day before yesterday she went out when she was hot, and as it's natural for the rheumatism to go to the weakest parts, one of her eyes is all swollen and redder than usual; she has put an ointment on it today. . .
Bonne
Maman
has not been very well for some time either, she feels very weak almost every morning, as if she were going to faint. . . The children are all very pleased that they are going to see somewhere new and be out of doors a bit. Pietro especially is as happy as a sandboy. So I am going to see another part of our beautiful Italy, more beautiful than the part I know, but it couldn't be more dear! not as dear, for sure! I won't tell you how much your stubborn silence hurts us. . . I have been quite ill, and for quite a long time. I've been able to get up for the last fortnight but I still don't feel very well; for more than ten days I had quite a high temperature and a very swollen cheek, for a week I could only drink because I couldn't open my mouth properly, I think it was partly because of a big tooth coming through. . . I've just been to Papa, who is there doing corrections in the midst of all those gentlemen [she probably meant the usual friends], he says he hasn't time to tell me even half the things he'd like me to write to you; that's how he always is! ... I must say that we have been delighted with the success of Papa's book, it really has surpassed not only our expectations but even our hopes; in less than twenty days six hundred copies have been sold, it's a real furore, everyone is talking about it; they queue up to be sure of buying a copy. Papa is besieged by men and letters of every kind and every class, there have also been very favourable articles, and more are expected.'