The Manzoni Family

by Natalia Ginzburg

  Giuseppe Romanelli had introduced Bista Giorgini to tante Louise and Vittoria. Romanelli, a professor of civil and business law at the University of Pisa, was conducting a law-suit taken out by Manzoni against the publishers Le Monnier of Florence, who had published a pirated edition of I promessi sposi (‘on me fait une avanie dans cette Toscane que j’aime tant’ – they have insulted me in my beloved Tuscany, Manzoni had written to tante Louise, begging her to find someone to come to his aid, and she had put him in touch with Romanelli). Bista Giorgini was a colleague of Romanelli at the university. He taught canon law. He was born in Lucca in 1818. He was thin, with a black ‘imperial’. In June, Vittoria wrote about him to Pietro:

  ‘There is a person here of outstanding merit, who is highly regarded in Tuscany, and who carries his adoration for Papa to the point of idolatry. This is Prof. Giorgini, who has begged me to get Papa’s autograph for him. I couldn’t possibly refuse, especially as it is he who makes the time pass so pleasantly for us, reading I promessi sposi wonderfully well, and speaking of Papa, to tell the truth, as I have never heard anyone do. . .’

  In the summer Vittoria and la tante were to meet up with Pietro, Lodovico and the children at La Spezia. Vittoria was longing for the summer. She was eager to see Sofia’s children again; they would play in the shade of the trees by the bay, ‘breathing the balmy sea air’. She wrote a great deal to Pietro, fondly imagining this imminent meeting, and gradually became cheerful, and more curious about the things that were going on about her.

  ‘Tuesday morning there was a solemn mass at the Cathedral, attended by the Court with all the ladies dressed in their ballgowns. . . such folly! There was such a crowd I risked being suffocated in going there; I returned safely, but I wouldn’t go again. In any case, we’re better off at our windows than anywhere, because we are at the best point of the Lung’ Arno, and we see a continual flow of people. The Grand Duke often passes under our windows, on foot, in the midst of the crowd, and he has more the bearing of a fine gentleman than of a sovereign. Mossotti told me he met him one day with his little girl in his arms, like a nanny. Poor Grand Duke, he is perhaps the only digestible sovereign there is. . . !’

  The summer came and they met at last at La Spezia as they had planned. Vittoria had a letter from her father. She had sent him a little portrait of herself.

  ‘I cannot and will not delay telling you how much the thought, the thing and your words touched my heart. The portrait is already in position, that is, in the only little place left in my den: between the two windows, under the Madonna, so that I can look at you from my nook. . . it will not move from there; your coming might cause it to lose the extra value it has in your absence, but not drive it away!’

  Manzoni was writing from Milan. He and Teresa had stayed there, because she was too unwell to contemplate the slightest move. ‘Why can I not give you absolutely and consistently better news of Teresa?’ wrote Manzoni to Vittoria. ‘There is now no trace of blood and the cough has more or less gone: but she suffers a great deal, chiefly from the erysipelatic inflammation of the skin. God grant you find her at least fully convalescent, as I am sure you pray. . .

  ‘I am with you in thought; but since I cannot be there as I should like, at least make sure you return from this absence fortified in body and spirits. Give my love to Pietro, Lodovico, Tonino, Sandrone, the little scamp Giulio – give him a biscuit from grandpapa every day at table. . .’

  Less than a month later, however, he was urgently calling Pietro back to Milan because Teresa’s condition was worrying. So Pietro had to leave La Spezia before the others. Lodovico and the three children stayed on; Lodovico had not brought the fourth, Margherita, who was scarcely a year old.

  When Pietro had gone, Giorgini and Giusti arrived. A letter from la tante inviting them to La Spezia had been delayed. It was now September, and Vittoria had to return to Milan with la tante; this had been settled.

  Vittoria to Pietro, from Genoa:

  ‘God willing, this time I won’t arrive empty-handed. I am bringing a present worthy of you – something that will give you a lot of pleasure, and will certainly be unexpected: I'm bringing Giusti! – Monday morning, at La Spezia, we suddenly took a great decision. In spite of a host of things that might have prevented him accompanying us, above all (unfortunately!) his health, poor Giusti could not resist our pleas, and the mania he’s always had to spend some time with Papa; so he decided to set off with us. You can imagine how delighted we are! We’ve travelled together, and now we’re here, he and I using the same inkstand. . .’

  Giusti obtained from Florence his passport to enter Lombardy, but Giorgini did not have a passport; besides it was forbidden for university teachers to leave Tuscany without a permit from the superintendent of studies, and the superintendent of studies at that time was Gaetano Giorgini, Bista’s father, who had no idea his son was at Genoa, nor of the journey he was intending to make to Milan. So Bista was reproved by the superintendent ‘as a son and a teacher’. However, in the end the permit and passport arrived.

  Still from Genoa, Vittoria to Pietro:

  ‘From your letter I’m delighted to hear you intend to put both our friends up at home. This was what aunt and I hoped, but we did not presume to ask. . .

  ‘Poor Giusti, if you could have seen his pleasure on reading your letter, and how pleased he is that he decided to come! Yesterday afternoon, while we were on a boat-trip out of the harbour, he was suddenly seized by such a rush of joy that he grasped our hands, exclaiming: “Oh, these blessed angels who are taking us to Milan!”’

  In the same letter, later (the question of Giorgini’s passport had just been sorted out: the Austrian consul had intervened) :

  ‘This is splendid! Both our friends are so happy to come and stay in our house, and I am sure they will be delighted with the cordial and affectionate welcome that is usually given in casa Manzoni (soit dit entre nous).

  ‘On the whole Giorgini, too, has been quite cheerful during the journey, but he has Giusti beside him playing the tutor: when he’s about to go into raptures, he gets a little shake and he has to steady up. . . It’s curious how these two are absolutely in charge of each other, while neither seems in charge of himself. . .’

  Giusti and Giorgini stayed in Milan a month as guests at via del Morone. They were given a very warm welcome. But Teresa was getting steadily worse; she was given extreme unction about this time. But she still wanted to meet Giusti. They took him to her room. Giusti stayed a while chatting beside her bed; he recited some of his poetry to her. As she said goodbye to him, Teresa said: ‘Now I look up at him from below [that is, from her bed] but soon I shall look down at him from above [that is, from heaven].’ Either Giusti misunderstood these words and saw them as an expression of disdain, or they were just not to his liking.

  Tommaseo and Cantú did not like Giusti at all. According to Tommaseo, Giusti spoke derisively of Manzoni. ‘That poor fellow thought he could mock “il Nostro” [Manzoni] and when he was staying with him in Milan thanks to Giorgini [this was not correct, it had not happened like that] he was careful to observe a cold, malign disrespect towards him. It’s a sad thing for a young man almost to lie in wait to discover the weaknesses of an old man, of a great man; especially if he is seeking to find in him the wretched traits he himself presents. Giusti would recount with a snigger how the wife of the worthy man meant to make fun of him and his faith by saying that she would die shortly and would be looking at him from up there: but it depends how she said it, and whether the poor fellow misunderstood. The wife is certainly a believer now; and certainly the desire of that great mind to learn from Giusti some words of his native Tuscan was a matter to inspire respect and gratitude, and to put to shame the Tuscan who, on returning home, said that he did not share the opinions of “il Nostro” about language. He told me how, when his wife happened to say she had had a bad night, Manzoni asked him like a schoolboy to his master: should it be ‘notte’ or ‘nottata’? It’s like when he says of
Renzo in his novel that with the tongs he traced stories in the ashes, Giusti suggested that he should correct it in the Tuscan manner to “made arabesques in the ashes “.’

  And Cantú wrote:

  ‘Manzoni spoke rather ungraciously of Giusti, saying his characters were all caricatures like Alfieri’s, and that he translated the latter’s phrase-book into the language of chattering sluts; that he knew very little, he held the politics of cafés and the religion of gazettes. In conversation Giusti was more amiable and less caustic. Thanks to Giorgini and the Marchesa d’Azeglio he was introduced to Manzoni in September 1845, and even planted himself in his house. Supposing that his coming would alarm the Austrian empire, he was astonished when he went, according to the rule, to announce his arrival to the police in Milan, to find he was quite unknown to them.’

  Looking back on his stay in Milan, Giusti wrote his famous poem, ‘Sant’ Ambrogio’. ‘M’era compagno il figlio giovinetto – D’un di quei capi un po’ pericolosi. . .’ (I had as a companion the young son – of one of those rather dangerous thinkers): he was referring to Filippo, who was then nineteen.

  Giusti was delighted with his stay in Milan. This is how he recalled it in a page of his Ricordi:

  ‘On the 22nd August I set off for La Spezia, where I would have stayed for four, five or six days, as it suited Bista Giorgini, who took me there. The Marchesa d’Azeglio and Vittorina Manzoni were at the Baths at La Spezia: but unfortunately for us the season was far advanced, and these dear ladies had to return to Milan. They gave us so many good reasons for accompanying them to Genoa, and from there to Milan, that we could not refuse, and we stayed a good month in the house of Alessandro Manzoni, with that dear family. . .

  ‘What a sad return journey we had! We rushed away, at considerable risk to ourselves and the horse, with the impatience one feels to lose sight of places and things that remind us of a treasure we are obliged to leave behind. A month before we were following the road from Genoa to Milan in the company of two delightful ladies who were taking us to meet a good man; this time we were travelling it alone, moving away from all our friends: you can imagine how the road burned our feet!

  ‘In all honesty I never remember feeling such dismay, except in the days when I feared I must leave this world. . .’

  Manzoni, too, must have remembered their visit with pleasure. Perhaps he later judged Giusti in the way Cantú described. But at the time he must have made a pleasant impression on him: and he particularly liked Bista Giorgini.

  That autumn, after their departure, he wrote affectionate letters to Giusti: Geppmo mio . You must make haste to love me, because I am old, and there’s no time to be lost.’ It is true that Giusti wrote to him and he was slow to reply. ‘I must say that I enjoy chatting, especially with friends, and most especially with friends like you, but not on paper,’ Manzoni explained. ‘. . . you know me – don’t you know I am full of modesty? and that consequently I am only reluctant to write, not to read? I can’t wait to read anything of yours, verse or prose. . . When you have a moment to spare, write to your Sandro; and if he does not reply at once, think that it is out of modesty, not laziness.’ The words are affectionate, but it may be that, in stressing the modesty of writing very little, he intended a dig at the other man, who wrote a great deal.

  Vittoria had become ill in Milan. In December, as soon as she felt better, tante Louise carried her off to Tuscany again.

  Manzoni wrote to Giusti as they were setting off:

  ‘Where the inanimate letter is lacking, two living letters come to supply the need, and I am pleased indeed that they are going to Pisa, but not at all pleased that they are leaving here. The usual harmony of human desires.’

  From Pisa Vittoria wrote to Pietro:

  ‘So here we are at Pisa, but who knows if we will spend the winter here, or if we’ll go right down to Sicily, as Aunt would like. For myself, I have no wishes, and I live an jour le jour.’

  Vittoria certainly liked living from day to day, in a capricious and unpredictable way. Tante Louise was sometimes in a very bad mood, and either Vittoria or Rina had to put up with her nerves; but in general she found life with her aunt pleasant and cheerful. For the little girl, perhaps, it was less so; Rina, or Biroli as they called her at home, missed her father. Massimo was travelling around Italy, his visits were infrequent and brief; he made up for it by always writing most affectionately to the little girl: ‘Rina, my darling. I could see, perhaps more than usually, that you were sad to see me go; and though, on the one hand, this hurt me, it also comforted me, my pet. But, please God, we will not be apart for long this time. Meanwhile, remember what I told you when I held you on my lap in my study; I am sure I don’t need to tell you to love the person who loves you so much, and does so much for you – But I know your heart. God bless you, my little one.’

  Coming away from Milan, Giusti and Giorgini had quarrelled, and the quarrel went on for a while at Pisa, provoking a great deal of talk; ‘I’m sick and tired, to put it bluntly,’ wrote Vittoria to Pietro, ‘of all the gossip I’ve had to listen to! – right from Milan Giusti began saying Giorgini had grown cold towards him. Giorgini said it was a fixation and that he had not changed. They stopped for four days at La Spezia on the way back from Milan, and Giorgini spent the four days at the house of the Marchesa Olduini, who, as you know, is a famous beauty, and it seems he was very happy there. To Giusti it seemed impossible that Giorgini, after enjoying himself in our house, could enjoy himself equally well in the Olduini house. For his part Giorgini maintained that they had been obliged to stop at La Spezia because the Magra was in full spate and they couldn’t cross, and that anyway there’s no law that says just because someone enjoys the conversation of a man of genius like Papa, he may not take pleasure in the company of a beautiful lady. . . Foolish talk, as you see, but when our friends got to Tuscany there was already bad feeling between them. It seems that Giorgini, who is sometimes too silent, and sometimes talks more than he ought, has talked a great deal about their stay in Milan in more than one drawing-room in Florence, Lucca, and here. People were all ears to hear him, and tongues ready to repeat what he had said, often misrepresenting it, as will happen. Giusti kept hearing this one and that repeating remarks made by Papa, and it infuriated him. He said not everyone was capable of understanding what Manzoni said, and that in any case you don’t repeat things you’ve heard a man say in his own home, and he sent word to Giorgini that he begged him to shut up. Giorgini took it very badly, said that Manzoni need not be afraid of making his opinions known to the whole world; then he let his tongue run away, saying not very nice things about Giusti. . . for example, that when Papa was talking seriously to him, he fell asleep, that Papa preferred to talk to him than to Giusti, etc. etc. – Aunt has always been on Giorgini’s side, and the other evening I was present at a squabble between her and Giusti. She said if there came a day when he wanted to speak ill of her, he should do it openly, and be so good as to spare her those reticences, which are always worse than accusations. As I said, Aunt was defending Giorgini, whilst I must confess I inclined to Giusti, because I had allowed myself to be influenced by some gossip I’d heard about Giorgini. Then when I realized it was without foundation, given my character, I couldn’t help confessing to him that I had at times thought badly of him, but he told me with a smile that J was forgiven. Well, thank Heaven, they’ve made their peace. – Giusti has good impulses for which you really have to like him; now, for example, as soon as they were reconciled, he wrote Giorgini a lovely letter, saying: “Let’s forget these days of misunderstanding. . .”’

  Manzoni wrote jointly to Giusti and Giorgini, when he heard they were friends again:

  ‘My dear friends. It had to end this way! I simply could not believe that two people I had seen united so naturally, and who were so dearly united in my affection, could be parted.

  ‘Thank you for not making me wait too long for this consolation, which I always hoped for, but with real distress that I should be r
educed to hoping. I say no more, for what is the use of dwelling on a bad dream?’

  During the quarrel relations between Bista and Vittoria had been clouded, too. Then peace and quiet returned. Tante Louise and Vittoria, and the little girl, did not go to Sicily and remained in Pisa.

  It was said that tante Louise and Giusti were lovers. Vittoria had not noticed, and later refused to believe it. Writing her memoirs, she resolutely affirmed it was an idle tale. ‘Enough to make a cat laugh!’

  According to Vittoria, la tante never thought of anyone but her husband. But she oppressed him with her jealousy. He used to call her ‘the Spanish Inquisition’, and ‘avoided’ her.

  Occasionally he turned up in Pisa, but stayed only a few days and left again.

  Vittoria to Pietro:

  ‘Massimo arrived here Tuesday evening, and will be leaving for Florence tomorrow. The day before yesterday we dined with him and Giorgini at casa Arconati; last night he dined here with Giusti, Montanelli and Giacomelli, who made a tremendous impression on Massimo. He went so far as to say that as far as he was concerned you could keep Giusti and all the great men, even Manzoni, as long as he could enjoy a few hours with Giacomelli. Indeed, I must admit he’s priceless: he has a really phenomenal talent for imitation, his facility is astonishing. . . After dinner we went to casa Parra, where there’s usually plenty of good company, music and singing, and Giacomelli keeps everyone amused. Last night he suddenly took it into his head to mimic two porters from Leghorn squabbling over the suitcase of the daughter of I promessi sposi, which had been lost. . .’

  Vittoria was enjoying herself, the days flew by; she and la tante received and paid many calls; they went for long walks and drives; Vittoria was transformed, unrecognisable, they told her: rosy, animated and pretty. From her sad period she still kept a hair-style that was aging, two smooth bandeaux covering her cheeks; la tante and Costanza Arconati recommended a different style, with her hair gathered on top; she was not at all convinced it suited her, she thought she looked impudent and like a witch; ‘I thought my bandeaux were more suited to my face and my nature,’ she wrote to Pietro, ‘but patience! . . . Poor Aunt! she really is a loving mother and invaluable friend to me. . .’