The Manzoni Family (40 page)

Teresa remembered she had promised to look for Fauriel's letters, but the commission irritated her and she kept putting it off. To Stefano: ‘Today I hope to be able to get down to the search for things Mile Clarke was asking for, and if not today, tomorrow, for I'll have to search in Alessandro's table when there are no visitors. . .' Then a few days later: ‘I'm just going in search of the things Mile C., now Mme Mauhl I think, is (rightly) longing to have; but I don't know how I'll get on, that's as maybe!' She misspelt the surname as if it were French, whereas it was a German name. Luisa d'Azeglio came to Milan from the Arconatis at Pallanza, and she too urged this search; Teresa did not see her, but Nanny passed on a letter she had had from Mary Clarke. Teresa to Stefano: ‘She hopes I'll give her the letters of her dead friend. Till now I haven't been able to find time to go downstairs and spend a little while in Alessandro's study – either it was raining – or he had people – or he was writing – or I was writing – etc. etc. : today I'll see whether I'll have time, after seeing and talking to Patrizio about my business, to search in that table – I shall have to make up my mind to it, and as soon as possible if she's leaving in 5 days.' And again, days later, to Stefano: ‘See if you can find some way of letting Mme Mohl know that we're getting covered with dust, and looking through old stuff to find those old letters, unfortunately, between you and me, causing Alessandro a great waste of time and the greatest tedium and inconvenience.' And at last: ‘Yesterday poor Alessandro did a great sorting out of letters with me, and has found only two to give to Mme Mohl. She'll be very pleased with them, because they are very literary, and one of them mentions Mile Clark, who you know is the same person. Today or tomorrow I'll look in a little bundle, and in three or four satchels, now I know the handwriting; you'll understand that Alessandro is losing patience with such a tedious task.' In all, six letters from Fauriel were found.

On their return to Milan, Teresa and Alessandro had taken back all the servants dismissed when they left, together with one new manservant, and a cook; and Nanny was still with them as well. The cook was called Jegher. Teresa praised his cooking: ‘He does his job well,' she wrote to Stefano, ‘the soups he makes for me are always so good that I always eat them all up, and there's always a lot. But as for his own person,
l'è on strafojon, che no se cap is s coss'el se sia
[he's an untidy fellow and one doesn't know what to make of him].' It was not very clear to either of them why they kept so many servants when they were both convinced at the time that they were very poor; probably each was persuaded it was the other's wish.

In February 1851
tante
Louise had a miniature of Luisina painted by a Spanish painter, one Signora Leona Darro.
Tante
Louise wanted the little girl to pose dressed as a nun. She thought the habit suited the celestial sweetness of her face. But Matilde and Vittoria, when they saw the finished painting, were both seized with a sense of melancholy. ‘The artist,' Vittoria recorded in her memoirs, ‘had made a saint's halo around the head of the little nun. . .'

Cristina's husband, Cristoforo Baroggi, a banker, had gone bankrupt in January 1851, and shortly after was sent to prison. He had a passion for gambling and had run up enormous debts. His little girl, Enrichetta, was then eleven. She had grown up in the house of some relatives of her father, called Garavaglia, who had taken her in when her mother died. Matilde wrote to ask Massimo d'Azeglio if he could come to the help of Baroggi, who intended to go to Belgium and make a fresh start. He needed some letters of recommendation. D'Azeglio refused. He was then President of the Council in Piedmont. He wrote to Bista that he had no intention of using his name Tor that wretched creature. . . Women's hearts often screen the light from their brains.'

Manzoni to d'Azeglio:

‘State affairs may be scabrous and painful, but I don't think they have fundamentally the bitterness of private affairs, when, like this one, they are sad from every angle.'

He must have been thinking of the anguish Filippo was causing him.

In 1850 a son, Giulio, was born to Filippo. The next year, at Easter, Filippo had written asking to be reconciled to his father, imploring his pardon, and expressing his wish to send the ‘poor babe' to receive his blessing. Manzoni replied:

‘That you should remind me that, as Easter draws near,
men should be reconciled amongst themselves,
suggests you suppose me to be your enemy, since only among enemies can there be reconciliation. But for a father to be regarded in this way, and to need to be reconciled with his son, he must have done him some quite extraordinary wrong. Let your conscience tell you if I need to be reconciled with you.

‘As for the pardon you ask of me, I have already assured you I felt no rancour towards you, and wished and prayed for everything good for you. . . But your telling me that,
if your courage had not failed you,
you would have tried to impose on me by surprise something I have never given you the remotest right to do [send the baby to him], forces me to declare that any such attempt would be an act, not of courage, but of violence. To forgive does not mean becoming a slave to the wishes of the person you have forgiven. . .'

And a few days later, sending Nanny with some money for him (this time Filippo had proposed bringing his wife to see him):

‘The last words in your letter oblige me, against all my expectations and to my extreme repugnance, to declare again that I am, I wish to be and must be a total stranger to relationships you may have taken upon yourself but cannot impose upon me, and which I cannot allow you to impose on me. . . If, after attempting in vain to win your obedience, I am reduced to defending myself against you, I must make clear that, since, thank Heaven, I am moved to this by no passion, I shall and must be intransigent, conscious that I am doing nothing that does not conform to the duties of a Christian and a father.'

In the summer of 1851 Teresa and Alessandro stayed in Milan until half-way through August. Stefano was at Acqui for the mud-baths, and was waiting for them to go to Lesa with him. Manzoni was writing an appendix to a chapter of
La morale cattolica.
Teresa was making a list of all the furniture and objects that were her absolute and exclusive property. She wrote letters to Stefano with the usual lessons on the Italian language. ‘Please note, my son, that
piano terreno
is not said, but
a terreno,
and not
coltre
but
coperta.
You don't say
coperta greve,
or
calzoni grevi,
but
coperta grave, calzoni gravi.
' The summer was sultry and they were plagued by mosquitoes. A doctor Vandoni had been murdered as a spy for the Austrians, and for a few days there was a state of siege in Milan, and cannon on the Dazi: Teresa wrote to tell Stefano not to be afraid on his arrival. ‘Milan is peaceful and quiet, perfectly quiet, and as far as I know there's no shadow of trouble. . . ' Rossari was suffering from the heat and could not accompany Alessandro on his walks. Teresa had news of Torti, whom they had not seen for some time. ‘I've had news of the good Torti, but news that is “torete ritorte” [twisted and turned], as it came not from him but from someone who spoke with someone else who sees to his poor dear affairs in that tiny house of his. Poor, dear old man! and he is writing! and printing verses now, they say: I say
they say
because I haven't seen them. I imagine they will
be
few and of worth like the verses of
G.
Torti,
as a certain poet said in
I promessi sposi.
Then the certain poet was Manzoni: now he is my Alessandro, and he's well, quite cheerful, looking rather better, and sends you his warmest greetings. As for his other old companions, poets, and half poets [Grossi and Rossari], I never ever so much as catch a glimpse of them, because I never go down to the ground floor: they never come up where I am. . .'

They set off for Lesa half way through August, and stayed there till November. Alessandro saw Rosmini, but not as often as before, because Rosmini had got rid of his horses.

In September a letter came from Vittoria from Montignoso, another country property where the Giorginis had a house, with bad news: Matilde had been coughing blood. She had been bled.

Luisina had been alone in the room with Matilde when she had been taken ill, and running to fetch hot water for her, had scalded her arm.

Manzoni to Vittoria:

‘You can imagine how upset, and I should add frightened, I was to hear of my Matilde's health problems. But the sequel comforted me, more perhaps than you might think, since the weakness that ensued, and that still prevailed when you were writing to me, is for me the most comforting of symptoms. Thank Heaven the bleeding was done at once, perhaps as quickly as it would have been done in Milan! Delaying this unique remedy is the only danger. . . I expect a letter from you announcing a complete recovery, or rather a continuation of good health.

‘Oh poor Luigina! poor Vittoria! poor everybody! What a trial was set you! But what compensation in the affection, courage and patience displayed by your extraordinary little girl! . . . Thank God for it as for a most rare gift, love her still more if possible, and try not to tell her all that we feel about her merit.

‘But the postman is approaching, and this letter must go. Poor Vittoria, how could I delay so long in writing to you? If your letter had been cold (an impious supposition!) I would have replied by return.

‘I hug you all, and especially implore from the bottom of my heart the blessing of the great Father of all upon you.'

That autumn, while they were at Montignoso, Bista heard that he must leave Pisa and move to Siena, because a decree from the Grand Duke ruled that some faculties, including law, should be transferred from Pisa to Siena. Bista was enraged; it seemed that the Grand Duke was hostile to the university of Pisa, which in 1848 had been a nucleus for Liberals. Bista had to leave at once for Siena; Vittoria began sadly to arrange for the removal; they had so many friends at Pisa, and she was distressed to leave; she also feared the climate of Siena would not suit Matilde. They all left in January 1852; Bista had taken a small villa at Siena, and they moved in; they liked it there; the villa was outside the town, and they went for long walks in the surrounding countryside; Matilde seemed to blossom again. Their father wrote to say he would come to see them soon: ‘I am determined to come, either with Teresa or with Pietro, to rejoice with all you dearest people in the little Sienese villa.'

Matilde to her father:

‘I can't tell you what I feel when I think of your coming, and of the first moment I see you again! how could I explain such a feeling? ... I have not seen you for five years; who would have thought it when I left Milan! Nothing could have been further from my thoughts! . . . How I long for you to meet all the members of this dear Giorgini family! – I can't tell you what they mean to me. The Grandfather is at Massarosa now, he very often writes me such affectionate letters, and says he loves me like his own grandchildren. I assure you there could not be a more loving Grandfather. I always call him Nonno, and call Bista's father Babbo [Daddy]: how could I do otherwise? they treat me just like their child. If you saw the love and concern they show for me when I am ill. . . I think it would be very difficult for me to find another Giorgini family – no one could be more affectionate, warm-hearted, affable, straightforward and delicate than they. I don't mention Bista because really
I can't
find words to tell you what he has always been to
me
- He has never faltered for a moment, and has always shown me the affection of a brother and care of a Father. . .'

Manzoni to Vittoria, in January 1852:

‘I am writing in haste not to delay for one day sending the promissory note for Matilde of 353 Austrian lire 9 centimes for the half-year, and 68 lire for the interest on her holdings. And I fly from this topic of money which I so dislike, since I am so far from having available as much as I'd like: and not for myself, I assure you.

‘Your dear letter would increase, if that were possible, my hope that I shall be able to carry out the precious plan of coming to see you next spring. The wish cannot fail, and I keep hoping.'

The planned trip, which seemed imminent, was postponed. Manzoni was relying on Pietro to accompany him, and in the spring Pietro had to stay at Brusuglio to look after the silkworms. Manzoni did not write to Vittoria or Matilde for some time; meanwhile, in February, Filippo was arrested for debt. At first nothing was said to Manzoni; he heard it from the Nanny. Vittoria, having no news from home, wrote to don Ghianda. Filippo had been arrested for a debt of four hundred lire.

Manzoni to Vittoria in April:

‘Questioning Nanny in a general way, and receiving hesitant replies, I insisted, and discovered the disaster and shame they were trying to conceal from me, as they were sadly convinced that I hadn't the means to remedy the situation at once. . .'

There was only one way of remedying the harm already done, and preventing further occurrences, her father explained to Vittoria; this was by means of the interdiction. Grossi had already thought of it two years before, and had spoken about it to Pietro; but it was necessary to get Filippo's consent, and at that time Filippo had no intention of consenting. Now he promised to consent, if they helped him to get out of prison.

Acquaintances of don Ghianda arranged Filippo's release, which occurred on 15 April.

Filippo went to Enrico at Renate, with his wife and baby boy; they stayed in Enrico's villa for a few months; then he and Enrico quarrelled, Enrico sent him away, and he took rooms with his family, still in Renate, with an innkeeper called Radaelli. His wife was pregnant.

Enrico was now included, with Grossi and Pietro, among the people he hated most on earth. He considered him his persecutor and an impostor; the same went for don Ghianda. He saw Enrico and his wife going about the streets of Renate; he saw, or thought he saw, on their faces profound scorn for him and freezing pride. He decided to write to Teresa. He had insulted her years ago in a letter to Pietro, but now saw no possibility of help from any other direction.