The Manzoni Family

by Natalia Ginzburg

  Enrichetta was bled twice on that unhappy journey, at Lyons and Turin; they hoped this would improve her health and cure the malaise she was suffering, but from then on she was never really well again. From Turin they went on to Brusuglio, where Enrichetta received a letter from her mother agreeing to see her; she went on her own. ‘Neither my mother nor I could go,’ Manzoni wrote to Degola, ‘as my mother was excluded quite rudely, and I was invited in a way that was more like a dismissal.’ At Brusuglio Enrichetta was bled for the third time. However, the air was healthy there, and in a few days the baby was rosy and blooming, Manzoni enjoyed the house and park, and wrote to Fauriel: ‘It seems centuries since I heard from you; write soon, tell me what you are working on at La Maisonnette, and when you are thinking of coming to Italy. Really the climate is much better here, the sun is inspiriting, and I have become a real farmer. I’ve seen the cotton grown from the seed I sent from Paris which Monsieur Dupont was good enough to give me; some plants are already a foot high. . . I asked what had become of the ones I sowed myself two years ago, and they showed me a basket full of bolls, some quite mature. . . I have planted medicinal herbs; clover grows naturally here among the ears of corn and between the hedges. . . You must come; we will grow things, you can botanize; oh, how happy I’d be!’

  When they left Paris, Abbé Degola gave them a letter for a Canon Luigi Tosi, parish priest of Sant’ Ambrogio, in which he commended the Manzoni family to him, and asked him to continue their religious instruction which he had begun.

  Canon Luigi Tosi was born at Busto Arsizio in 1763. Like Degola, he was a Jansenist. He was no genius, but a limited, modest man, with a high sense of the proper duties of a priest, and with great human warmth.

  It was Giulia who took the letter to him. She and the priest met in the street as he was going home from church. He read the letter and was profoundly disturbed by it. So the lady before him was Giulia Beccaria, who had been talked of so much in the town, friend of Imbonati, and mother of the Manzoni who had caused a scandal by marrying a Protestant. He felt unprepared and inadequate for the charge Degola was entrusting to him. But he could only accept it. He came to Brusuglio to meet Enrichetta, who was ill and feverish after a second visit to her family, during which her father had hardly spoken to her and her mother had renewed her bitter complaints.

  Tosi wrote to Degola: ‘My friend, at the beginning of July, when Madame Beccaria gave me your letter in the street as I was walking home, I was so stunned I could hardly find words to answer her. It was the greatest surprise to me, after such little as I had heard of this family; I was so afraid the matter was beyond my strength that I felt discouraged. Since I have been a priest, and especially in the last ten years, I have been so oppressed with every sort of care, that I can tell you truly I have not read a single book. . . Moreover, this anxious life, beset with constant worries, has greatly undermined my health, quite blunted the power of my spirit, destroyed my memory, and so confounded my mind that I must constantly blush for myself. . . In such a state, how could I not feel dismayed and discouraged before a task which demanded an enlightened mind, consummate wisdom, alert attention, as well as a certain practice in matters of which I have no experience? It was well for me, and for you who had erred so gravely in your choice, that the Lord has wrought all things in this family. He gave all three such simple docility as I have never seen in twenty years of ministry, not even in people of the lowest orders. Oh, what a miracle is this Divine Mercy! Not only Enrichetta, who is an angel of innocence and simplicity, but Madam, and even the proud Alessandro are lambs, who receive with the utmost eagerness the simplest instruction, foresee people’s wishes before they are spoken, by their encouragement help their interlocutor to speak freely, and turn all things to their sanctification. They live together in the wisest way; their hearts are wonderfully united, and they conspire to encourage and strengthen each other and to scorn all worldly considerations. Our town is rt r highly edified by this miracle of God’s right hand. ’

  Giulia received the eucharist at Brusuglio on 15 August. Two days before she was writing to tell Father Tosi that her engagements prevented her leaving Milan: ‘I commend myself to your prayers in the most important act of my life, which I cannot contemplate without the greatest anxiety; I cannot yet conceive how I dare approach the Sacred Table. . . In Gods love tell me if I really can approach the altar. In my heart of hearts I feel I am the lowest and most unworthy of creatures, I am truly convinced of this yet in saying it I feel a sense of pride is mingled in my confession, I am lost in this terrible contradiction and I realize that even good things become bad when they are in me or issue from me. I could not help this outburst; perhaps I have done wrong, and ought to act with greater simplicity? I wait for you to tell me, in charity, what I must do. I have done and am doing what you told me for my preparation, and after dinner I read some chapters of the fourth book of the Imitation of Christ, especially the second and ninth chapters in which I find the most sublime prayers. ‘ Enrichetta was unwell on the morning of the 15th and could not leave her room; she wrote to Tosi: ‘This morning as I stayed behind in bed while the others were at Mass, I did my best to follow the service; but the singing of the band of faithful caused me to burst into tears: at the same time I thanked God for the small trial He set me and asked Him for strength and resignation to bear it, and my heart cried louder still. . . Oh God, I see you find me unworthy to be among those faithful, since you keep me here: you find me too great a sinner and I have not yet sufficiently lamented my faults!’ She received the eucharist a month later. Manzoni went up to the altar the same day as his mother, with Rosa, the daughter of Somis, who was their guest at the time. Her father wrote to Rosa: ‘My beloved Rosa, Donna Giulia has written to tell me that after the confirmation you joined those God-fearing people, your hosts, in their devotions. ‘ The Somis family were not well-to-do and lived modestly, and the father was pleased that his daughter could enjoy a different way of life in those summer months: ‘I hear that, donna Enrichetta’s health permitting, they are thinking of moving on to Milan, and from there to Lecco. I feel these little journeys, and the chance to see new and beautiful places, should afford you delightful distraction; enjoy it in all innocence. . . I consider you should not deprive yourself of the innocent novelty of seeing the celebrated neighbourhood of Lake Como. Who knows when you might go again?’ There was indeed a plan to move on for a while from Brusuglio to II Caleotto, the property near Lecco which Manzoni had inherited from Don Pietro, but they had to give up the idea, because Enrichetta was unwell; they could not make out if she was pregnant or not; they called a surgeon; in the end she had a miscarriage.

  From Abbé Degola, Enrichetta had received a copy of the Regolamenti, indicating how to lead a truly religious life, written by Signora Geymúller. Enrichetta and Giulia read them again and again with dismay; perhaps they suited Signora Geymúller, who enjoyed better health and a less demanding domestic life, but to them they seemed severe and difficult to carry out. They seemed intended to impose an iron discipline upon existence, and Giulia was by temperament capricious and intolerant of discipline. Enrichetta suffered indifferent health, and one was supposed to get up in the cold night to pray. Nevertheless they submitted to it. As for Manzoni, he was causing the two ladies grave anxiety with his bouts of anguish and crises de nerfs; at times he felt as if a chasm was opening at his feet, and they had to run up with a chair to fill the void he felt before him. He was terrified of going out alone, and someone always had to accompany him on the walks he so much enjoyed in the park; one day when he was alone, feeling he was about to faint, he dashed a bottle of sparkling water called ‘acqua di Lecco’ into his face, and it caused an inflammation of the eyes which kept him in bed in a darkened room for several days.

  Father Tosi saw fit to make ‘a few small modifications’ to the Regolamenti, but they still remained severe. ‘1. God shall be your first thought on waking. . . 2. As soon as you are dressed, prostrate yourself at the feet of Christ.
. . 3. After a moment’s silence which is a confession of your nullity, a profound lamentation upon your wretchedness, and a filial yielding to Divine Mercy, you will recite the Morning Prayers. . . 4. After the prayer follows the reading of the Holy Gospel. . . 5. In the course of the day do not forget to offer to God your every action, working, eating and sleeping. . . 6. You will occupy yourself with your domestic tasks, for this too is a duty imposed on you by Providence. . . 7. Work must be considered part of the general penitence imposed by God upon the sons of Adam. Add to this consideration the duties of your estate, the providence required by a wise and well-regulated domestic economy, the dangers present in a single moment of idleness, the need to give a good example of a useful life. . . If time remains after you have accomplished the duties of your house, you will work for the poor. . . 8. But the work I particularly recommend in this respect is the religious, moral and civil instruction of the local children. Well-directed, their education will extend the Church, regenerate manners, and make for good family life. . . 9. In the course of your work, manual or educational, lifting your heart to God, seek to animate your thoughts by the divine presence. You may be helped to this end by some pious reading. 10. You will set aside a little quarter of an hour before meals for a moment of meditation, a brief examination of conscience. . . some reading of the Psalms in Monsieur De Sacy’s interpretation, or of some other pious and sound writings. . . 11. After meals, do not turn at once to work. Profit when you can from conversation, but in such a way as it may always be of some utility. . 12. Towards evening rest a little so that you may more easily resume your evening occupations. About ten, devote a little time to meditation and reading, as before dinner. In general, seek to sanctify every meal by some self-denial. Evening prayers and examination of conscience about eleven o’clock. Then choose some pious thought to fill your heart before sleep and in the wakeful hours of the night. Your rest may last from that time until five or six in the morning. 13. On Sundays and feast-days you will follow the offices of the Church. Each month set aside a day of retreat to examine your conduct, thank God for the good actions He has permitted you to perform, lament your faults, and seek effective means to correct them 14 I exhort you each year to make a pilgrimage to Port-Royal and a visit to the cemetery of Saint-Lambert, to thank God for all his gifts in which you have enjoyed the first fruits of His spirit to ask for grace to persevere in good by the intercession of the Saints who in solitude by their piety their penitence and their works have spread throughout the Church the good odour of Jesus Christ ‘

  This is only a very brief and superficial outline of the Regolamenti, but perhaps it gives some idea of the attitudes they imposed, and which might seem at first sight not too difficult to adopt; but it was arduous to maintain them constantly, day in, day out. The Regolamenti demanded absolute dedication; they barred the way to idleness, fantasy, free and various choices, they ruled out any possibility of shaping life hour by hour, according to one’s own inclinations and whims, or the thousand unpredictable chances that might arise. Observing them by the letter, one would hardly have time to breathe.

  Giulia sent Father Tosi a ‘questionnaire on how to pass the hours of the day’, which reveals how she was seeking to soften the impact of the Regolamenti. ‘I am almost always wakened by Fanni [her French maid] more or less late, but I hardly ever get up at her first call so that as soon as I am dressed I go out to church with her in order not to waste her time. If I were to get up the first time she comes into my room, I would have time to say my prayers before going out. . . I pray for my spiritual benefactors who have helped me and do help me to serve the Lord, for all those converted by the particular intercession of the Blessed Virgin, and finally for the unbelieving Hebrew heretics and for those I have had the misfortune to lead into trespass in some way. If Fanni is taking Holy Communion, I stay in church as long as she is there.’ The priest replied: ‘I have not much to add to the system you describe: promptness and fidelity are the essentials; so when it is time to rise, rise at once and expiate by this promptness all you have lost by such idleness especially in remaining so long in bed. If your state of health requires you to stay there a little longer, never let this be a time of idleness, but even in bed employ it at once in thanks, sad lamentations and offerings. . . Never neglect those prayers you mention for sinners etc. These are your special brothers.’ Giulia: ‘When I return home I go to the room of my son and daughter-in-law for breakfast and usually waste a great deal of time there. I must remark that except on the day when I also take coffee with them because it would seem odd if I did not do so, I could easily stay in my own room to take my chocolate on the other days. ‘ The priest: ‘Time spent with your family for breakfast should not be too long. It would be well if you were told when it is almost ready to be served, and then stayed no more than an hour. . . Neglect no opportunity to say some good word, or make some timely suggestion. Be on your guard at these and all times, against excessive love for little Giulietta. ‘ Giulia: ‘Most Reverend Sir, you suggested as a practice of Christian penitence that I should rise from my bed at night to pray at least for a few minutes; I have only ever found courage to do so a few times. . . May God illumine my heart, and inspire you in all charity to impose upon me a way of life that will lift me out of my lethargy and perhaps out of perdition. — I have put myself under the particular protection of the holy penitent Maria Egiziaca. ‘ The priest: ‘This practice of rising at night, if not essential, is none the less most opportune. Start doing it one or two nights a week, not getting out of your bed in the winter, but sitting up well covered, or at least adopting a position which allows you to take your crucifix in your hands. . . as for the table, I have nothing to suggest but simplicity, and not too much anxious regard for health. . . In conversation return constantly to the Lord with some secret prayer, and take the greatest care not to become too involved and heated in discourse. Always remember that silence becomes a sinner. ’

  Meanwhile Manzoni was writing to Fauriel: ‘As for me, I shall continue in the sweet habit of speaking to you of what is nearest my heart, at the risk of being tedious. And so I will tell you that above all I have been occupied with the most important thing in life according to the religious notions that God sent to me in Paris, and the more I advance, the more my heart finds contentment and my mind delight. Dear Fauriel, allow me to hope that you will do the same. It is true that I fear for you those terrible words: Abscondisti haec a sapientibus et prudentibus et revelasti ea parvulis [Thou hidest these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto babes]; but no, I do not fear them, for the goodness and humility of your heart is as great as your intellect and understanding. Forgive the sermon this parvulas takes the liberty of addressing to you. Apart from this, I am up to my eyes in agricultural plans. . . the cottons have been sent off for this year, apart from the nankin, from which I shall collect a little seed. . . And now the errands with which I mean to trouble you. I should like some trefoil, for myself and for a friend. . . Make haste then, and buy me nine pounds of trefoil and give it to Fayolle [a Parisian publisher], to whom I have written to send them on to us by a coachman. . . ’

  In the winter Enrichetta was pregnant again. Her father had a paralytic attack. Relations with her mother and relatives were still rather cold. She wrote to Abbé Degola that winter: ‘Your prayers go straight to God: pray that, by His grace, I may by my behaviour and my words edify my parents and contribute in some way to their sanctification. ‘ And she wrote to Canon Tosi: ‘God bless you, my dear Father, and please give me your holy blessing in your turn, which I receive as coming from God Himself who has made you so good and so necessary to the souls He has entrusted to you. ‘ She signed the letter: ‘Enrichetta Manzoni, Catholic by Divine Mercy. ’

  Enrichetta Blondel II

  Enrichetta’s existence revolved around four main preoccupations: marriage, motherhood, illness, religion. She never had many distractions or friendships; she sometimes wrote to Rosa Somis in Turin, or to Carlotta
de Blasco, a cousin of Giulia’s maternal uncle; she recounted the small minutiae of domestic life, the illnesses of local ladies, her ailments in pregnancy, blood-letting, and the progress of her babies. When she wanted to confide in someone, she wrote to Abbé Degola. Canon Tosi was dear to her, but Degola always remained her real spiritual guide. But all three led an austere life without much in the way of amusements at Brusuglio, in the big house buried among the trees.

  ‘We await your arrival with eager confidence,’ Manzoni wrote to Fauriel. He had promised to come to Italy. But he did not come, and they heard nothing from him for many months. At last a letter arrived. ‘A letter from you, who are ever more dear to me,’ Manzoni wrote, ‘would always cause me great excitement, but it so happened that the excitement was increased in an extraordinary way; I was in my room and I heard shouts in the hall of “Fauriel, Fauriel”; I rushed out like a madman, and saw only my mother and my wife, whose faces showed me at once that I had made a ridiculous mistake; only then did I have time to reflect upon the absurdity of thinking I might see you here in this season, without hearing a word about your coming, etc. But if anything could console me in my disappointment, it was your letter. How it made up for your silence! Every line is precious to me. . . and what about your marvellous project on Dante?’ Fauriel was thinking of writing a book on Dante, and wanted to dedicate it to Manzoni (the book appeared posthumously many years later).

  In the winter of 1810 the Manzonis took a rented house in Milan, in via San Vito del Carrobbio. But they still spent a great part of the year at Brusuglio. In September 1811 a second baby girl was born at Brusuglio, called Vittoria Luigia Maria; she was born prematurely and lived for only one day. Manzoni wrote to Degola: ‘I am writing to tell you of the happy issue of Enrichetta’s troubles which happened yesterday when a millstone was removed from her. In the end her pains yesterday were quite atrocious but brief, and led happily to her delivery, with no need of intervention.’ These words sound strange and brutal in speaking of a baby girl who received a name and lived a day. Manzoni wrote an epitaph to be inscribed on her tomb: immature nata illieo praecepta - coelum assecuta [Untimely born, summoned at once, she sped to heaven]. It was the first of the many funeral epitaphs he would be called upon to write in his life. Sophie de Condorcet wrote to Giulia: ‘Dear friend, I feel the warmest sympathy for all that you have gone through with Enrichetta. Her good health at the birth is a great consolation for the loss of that poor little creature that was not aware of its existence. Delicate as Enrichetta is, it is a great thing if her confinements do not cause you too much anxiety. As she grows older and stronger, and with a little rest, it should be possible for her to give a brother to the delightful Giulia.’ This letter is melancholy, and full of affection for her distant friends; and she seems to have lost her proud, haughty ways; she had been very ill with une goutte á la tête, and Fauriel had been ill too with une fièvre pernicieuse; the friends in Italy heard about it only when it was all over. ‘I have difficulty in writing. I have suffered so much for five months! Goodbye, dear friends, I hug and love you all, each in a different way, but each with a true love which hates this absence. . . I assure you that, as I lay in my bed twenty days out of every month, it broke my heart to receive no news of you, and I would say to myself, I love them more than ever. . . and will always do so.’