The Manzoni Family (39 page)

On Easter Day, Giuseppe Giusti died in Florence. Vittoria wrote to tell her father. Giusti was staying with Gino Capponi at the time. He had had lung trouble for years, and had recently seemed very poorly. ‘They had brought his breakfast when at the first spoonful of soup he coughed blood more violently than usual; but he was not perturbed and even told the servant who was close by to pay no attention and not to tell anyone, but it happened again at the second spoonful, and in a few minutes his dear soul had left that poor body which had been so long tormented! He had told poor Gino Capponi, whose grievous misfortune it was that he should die in his house, that he intended to confess and take communion that week, and God who sees in our hearts will have taken note of this! The second day of Easter, an hour after the evening Ave Maria, a great number of friends of poor Giusti and Gino gathered in the latter's house, and they all accompanied the sad cortege!' Bista was one of the four bearers, and he returned home broken. ‘Now he does not feel at all good and he looks wretched too because, apart from the moral anguish which was obviously considerable, it can't have done him much good to be out in the streets of Florence on a cold, rainy evening. . . Poor
tante
Louise, too, is very, very upset, as you can imagine; yesterday morning she wanted to go to church for a while! . . . and of course she emerged sadder and more disturbed than ever. . . Ah, dear Papa, I can't tell you how much this unhappy letter has cost me! ... I am deeply sorry to have had to cause you such grief, poor dear Papa, I should like to find some words to soften the blow if possible, but you will find them in your heart! ‘

Giusti was buried at San Miniato al Monte.

Manzoni to Vittoria:

‘Poor Giusti! in the prime of life and talent, and when that lively and original talent was steadily maturing! I am so grateful to you for telling me he had expressed the intention of confessing that very week! ... I need hardly say that my second thoughts were for all of you, especially poor Bista, and our good Luisa, and Gino Capponi for whom the blow was so close. I see from the papers that there was general mourning in Tuscany; and such a loss is bound to be felt throughout Italy. But I think only the friends, not only of Giusti, but of Geppino, were able to appreciate fully the gentleness and goodwill concealed beneath that proud, sharp-edged intellect. . .'

‘I must come to another sad thing,' he wrote in the same letter, ‘because it is involved with so many sad things, that is, I must speak of my plans.' Teresa's poor health would not allow them to return to Milan, and they had had to renew their passports; the new passports ran out half-way through September. ‘And Matilde? this is the thought that keeps me in cruel suspense.' There could be no question of sending for her to come to Lesa, because Teresa was ill so Matilde would have no ‘company for walks' and would be bored; however, if she did not mind the boredom too much, he would send Nanny at once to fetch her. ‘If not, I'll have to rely on you again for another five months, after which, barring serious illness, which God forbid, we'll go to Milan. . . I await a letter from Matilde, and, since you say nothing more about her, I assume she is quite well now.'

Matilde had returned to Pisa from Florence. She seemed more melancholy than usual. In fact, this was what had happened: in Florence a frequent visitor to
tante
Louise's house was a young Florentine aristocrat, a widower with a little baby daughter. A romantic relationship seemed to develop between him and Matilde, and Matilde had grown very fond of the pretty little child. But suddenly he disappeared and no more was heard of him. Vittoria learned from friends that doubts had been raised about Matilde's health. His wife had died of consumption. He took fright and left. Matilde must have realized why he had vanished, but she never said a word about it. She was inclined to be withdrawn and reserved. Vittoria and Bista felt that
tante
Louise had been rash to encourage meetings between the young man and Matilde, and did not conceal some slight irritation. There was some bad feeling, especially between Bista and
la tante,
but this soon evaporated. Matilde resumed her usual life, between Massarosa and Pisa, Bista's Grandfather Niccolao and his father Gaetano, Giannina and the whole Giorgini family. She was deeply fond of Vittoria's little girl, Luisina; she spent a lot of time embroidering, sewing and reading, and she used to write down her thoughts in albums, which she begged her sister to destroy or burn, if she died.

In May Manzoni wrote to Filippo. He had heard that Filippo intended to raise a loan by mortgaging the income from the shares assigned to him in the wills of his grandmother and his mother.

‘Filippo! This is your father's voice calling to you; a voice which, whether gentle or severe, has only ever expressed concern for your well-being, as I call upon your conscience to testify. Filippo! turn back from a path which can only lead you to the precipice, and on which I am certain, thank God, that you are not proceeding with an easy heart. Think how you might feel one day when you remember turning a deaf ear to this plea.

‘Must I speak of the many distresses you cause me, or rather of the state of distress I exist in on your account? I must, to make you reflect upon the grievous harm you are doing to yourself. Just think that an old man stricken by so many misfortunes and tormented by continual anxieties, cannot seek distraction without being plunged back into affliction by the recurring thought of a misfortune greater than all the rest; think that this old man is your father, and you are that thought.

‘Remember how I have tried, as long as I could, to keep your first irregularities hidden, secretly making them good, and at the same time using all my authority over you, unfortunately in vain, to end them. And now what have you done, and what are you doing to your reputation? Are you not inflicting another severe punishment upon yourself by devouring your future means of existence? Disgrace and ruin! Pain for those who love you, encouragement for those who may be your enemies; oh, Filippo! is that your goal in life? . . .

‘I have not spoken of God, but all the things I have mentioned are signs of His justice, as well as intimations of His mercy. I appeal to you in His name, with living faith in His grace which can give strength to the words that come from my heart. Your father's house and your father's arms are still open to you, if you return now to be henceforth what you should always have been. You can spend the few remaining months of my absence from Milan at Brusuglio with Pietro, with whom you have spent other months you must surely remember with pleasure. I am sure it will be a real pleasure to him to live with you again for a while as brothers. Consider that this return to your family will in itself begin your rehabilitation, like the first step in a new life in which you will forget your transgressions. Ask yourself what your angelic mother would want you to do; can you hesitate to answer which would be more pleasing to that dear, saintly soul, who is surely praying for us all in heaven, which would do more honour to her blessed memory: to obey, or to harden your heart against this invitation. God forbid the latter! God grant that in the days He still wills me to remain here on earth I may call myself Your most affectionate father.'

Filippo did not go to Brusuglio. Where he was living, nobody knew. He turned up occasionally at via del Morone. His father wrote to him: ‘I must remind you of the order I gave the steward some time ago that you should not come to my house with people I do not know.'

Grossi and Pietro had discussed together whether it was opportune to start proceedings for an interdiction.

Filippo wrote to Pietro in June:

‘If you were not interfering in my affairs, why would you be plotting with the amiable Doctor Tommaso Grossi to dishonour me before society and the tribunals by seeking to impose an interdiction upon me? You cannot deny this, for word has come from the office of the same Doctor Tommaso Grossi, once so hated by you, but now, it seems, quite the reverse.'

In July, Filippo wrote to his father:

‘I am obliged in conscience and in the certainty of happiness and tranquillity to take a step which, as the most important step in life, can never be sufficiently pondered, and which, for that very reason, after mature consideration and experience, I have decided I must undertake as the decisive factor in my happiness and my life and conduct. My dear father, I am married. I beg you to forgive me for proceeding to such a decision without your consent, but I swear it was for the best.'

His wife was called Erminia Catena. His father refused to meet her.

In September the father wrote a letter to Pietro of which only a fragment remains (again he had asked Pietro to try to get to Lesa):

‘I pray the Lord to dispose me to receive all that may come to me from that side or any other as His gift, that is, as a means of appearing before Him with some suffering well borne. Why must such cruel reasons be added to all the natural and dear reasons I have to desire your coming? Because it is God's will. This answer is more joyful and beautiful than any other, if only the heart can find such satisfaction in it as the reason is forced to find.'

The Arconatis had rented a villa at Pallanza. They invited Alessandro, and Teresa, to spend a few days with them. Teresa was not easily moved from home. Only occasionally had she gone, well wrapped up, for lunch with Abbé Rosmini, who had sent his carriage to fetch her. She was very frightened of the lake. But Stefano persuaded her to accept the Arconatis' invitation and to cross the lake to Pallanza. First he took her out in his boat on the lake a little way. He wrote to Rossari: ‘The last few mornings, as Mama got up earlier than usual, I succeeded in taking her out in my schooner, and, wonderful to relate, in giving her breakfast on my schooner! And I breakfasted with her while they were raising anchor and setting the sails to receive the last breath of the dying north wind. Indeed, we were obliged to wait motionless for about half and hour for the first breath of the south west wind. . . the time passed and the wind came. The result of this trip was that Mama thought my craft comfortable and handsome, gained a little more confidence in my ability to sail it, and quite enjoyed herself. . .' So Teresa took heart, and the next day confronted the formidable lake again, and went to the Arconatis at Pallanza, not, however, on Stefano's boat but on the steamer. She stayed at Pallanza four days.

At that time the Arconatis' guests included Berchet, Ruggero Bonghi, a young Neapolitan friend of Rosmini, and Mary Clarke, who had come to Italy for a little while. Three years after the death of Fauriel, Mary Clarke had married Jules Mohl. She asked Manzoni to find her all the letters he had from Fauriel. She asked Teresa to help him look for them. Teresa promised to see to it immediately on their return to Milan, which would soon take place. Their exile in Lesa was over.

Manzoni had no desire to return to Milan, and would happily have stayed at Lesa. From his meetings and discussions with Abbé Rosmini he had composed a dialogue,
Dell' invenzione.
He intended to write another:
Del piacere
[Of Pleasure]. What he wanted most at that stage in his life was to be with Rosmini.

Costanza Arconati to her brother:

‘Don Alessandro is constrained by his wife and stepson to return to Milan when his passport expires, that is, half way through September, Donna Teresa to be near her doctors, and don Stefano to pursue his painting: but poor don Alessandro is dejected like a schoolboy being taken back to school.'

However, it is possible Manzoni thought it necessary to return. He had to discuss with Pietro many complicated and delicate family problems.

Manzoni to Vittoria and Matilde:

‘Matilde mia, it is certainly a great joy to me that you are blooming, but the pleasure is spoilt a little by not seeing it with my own eyes.

‘We have spent four days with the Arconatis, where Teresa dragged herself with difficulty, as she lacks strength and finds it difficult to stay up for a few hours each day; but she came home a different woman after being in company and having no time to listen to herself. My dear, dear, dear daughters, I must close, because tomorrow we leave at five, and there are so many things to do.'

They went back to Milan on 26 September.

At the beginning of October there was a tremendous cloudburst at Brusuglio with a hailstorm that devastated the countryside.

Teresa, from Milan, to Stefano who had remained at Lesa:

‘The hailstones weren't stones, they were tiles, bricks, rocks, pebbles! It was dreadful! Don't tell your Francesco for the time being [Stefano's servant who came from one of the Brusuglio farm families] because the grain was already harvested and so far I've heard of no victims. . . Pietro got up at midnight, and they shut the children between doors for safety. The crockery in the cellar was swimming; water and hailstones were streaming from the damaged, almost collapsed roofs in the granary on to the grain etc. etc. There's not a leaf left in the garden, or a blade of grass in the meadows etc. It's the same at La Mojetta: the poor Mojettas came early this morning to tell us of their distress [La Mojetta was a farmhouse and the Mojettas the peasants who lived there]. Pietro has just gone to bed to make up for his sleepless night. In short, wherever poor Alessandro looks, he sees damage.' ‘. . . plants, roofs, everything smashed, broken, torn, ruined. .

Stefano wrote to tell her Rosmini felt
lost
without Manzoni at Lesa. Teresa to Stefano: ‘I read your letter out to Alessandro. . . Alessandro bowed his head on his clasped hands, and said
poor,
dear Rosmini!
Pietro comes to Milan for a few hours every day, and Enrico's here today too. Nanny's been going to and fro between Alessandro and Filippo on money matters. . .'

Stefano had stayed at Lesa. In fact, contrary to Costanza Arconati's statement, he had not the slightest desire to be in Milan. He liked to feel as free and independent as possible, and when his mother and stepfather were in Lesa, he found excuses to escape to Milan, and vice versa. There was a very strong bond between him and his mother, and he was fond of his stepfather; but he enjoyed those little trips from Milan to Lesa and Lesa to Milan, and he was always finding some excuse to go to and fro.