The Manzoni Family

by Natalia Ginzburg

  In the summer Bista Giorgini went to Milan with Lodovico Trotti to fix the time and place of the wedding. Vittoria, tante Louise and Rina were at Leghorn for the sea-bathing.

  Bista wrote to Vittoria from Milan:

  ‘Yesterday my whole day was so taken up with the pleasure of being in Milan, in your house, with your family, that I didn’t manage to find a moment to write to you; besides, absorbed in your family, seeking and finding in every corner, and every piece of furniture some memory of the time we spent here together, I felt so close to you, so much with you, that I really did not seem to be so many miles away. Papa’s face when he saw me was one of those flashes of light from the soul that can never be forgotten! such a limpid, spontaneous revelation of love that it arouses in the heart an abiding trust that can never weaken. Certainly, whenever I think of Papa, I shall always see his beloved and revered face as I saw it then, and all the love this memory inspires will pour forth upon my Vittorina. . .’

  One is a little surprised at the idea that, as he kissed Vittoria, Bista would kiss her more passionately, thinking of ‘Papa’.

  Vittoria to Bista:

  ‘Don’t forget to bring me a twig from the avenue at Brusuglio, where I spent such happy years in my childhood, and such sad ones after. And bring me a flower from Verano; and if they put you in the little room that used to be mine, go out on to the terrace where I stood so often watching the sunset, and give my love to the dear little valley of the Lambro, and the magnificent Resegone, which I used to think of as a real friend, because its majestic height so often inspired thoughts that instilled courage and comfort in my heart. . .

  ‘Give Lodovico’s little angels lots of hugs and kisses from me: I used to think I should be a mother to them. . . find the most affectionate things to say to my poor Nanny, who saw me born, and who has spent her life caring for us. . . And kiss Don Giovanni’s hand: think, my Bista, that his hand will give the blessing that will unite us for life, and thereafter: make him promise he’ll really come to Nervi – I should miss him so if he didn’t!’

  The Arconatis were insisting the marriage should take place at Nervi, in their villa, and this was, in fact, agreed. Vittoria wanted it to be conducted by Don Giovanni Ghianda, Filippo’s tutor, and friend of the family.

  In August Matilde left school and came to via del Morone. She was then sixteen. She was delicate, and often ill.

  Vittoria to Bista, who had meanwhile returned to Pisa:

  I’ve had a very sad letter from Matilde; and how could it be otherwise? I knew it would make a profound impression on her, when she came out of the convent to find the house empty. . . In what corner of the house could the poor girl take refuge without being assailed by such sweet and sad memories? . . . Our poor Nonna, who idolised the little creature, and was so grieved to let her go away, could never have imagined her return would be so sad. . . She was not there to witness all our miseries, to see our loved ones decline, then pass away as I did, so she did not anticipate the shock of returning home!’

  Then Bista had a generous idea. He wrote to ask Manzoni if he would allow Matilde to come and live in Tuscany: either at Pisa, when he and Vittoria were married, or at Lucca with his relatives. According to tante Louise it was out of the question; she thought it was extremely bad form to take advantage of the Giorgini family: but Bista was adamant, and his family accepted the plan as the most natural thing in the world. It was decided that, for now, Matilde would live at Lucca with the grandfather and Bista’s sister, Giannina.

  Manzoni was preparing to go to Lesa with Teresa when Bista’s letter about Matilde arrived. He also received news that he looked like winning his case against Le Monnier, that Montanelli was conducting.

  In fact, the case went on for years and years, and later a lawyer called Panattoni took over from Montanelli.

  Manzoni to Bista:

  ‘Bista mio,

  ‘However you arrange it, it cannot but be a great service and a great favour to me. Of course, it will be a dear joy for Vittoria to have Matilde with her for a few months: but it is not a question of sweetening her removal to a family where all is sweetness: nor of easing her arrival in a strange land, as this will pose no problem on entering such a family. To make a complete recovery, Matilde needed a change of climate for a time, and I, unfortunately, could not spend that time away from Milan; the fact is, the Giorgini family are welcoming my poor little maid with open arms, as if she were an old acquaintance. Please find the right words to express my heartfelt gratitude to your grandfather, who is as kind as he is distinguished, to your excellent sister, and to all your family: I can say no more than what I said to our dear, good Luisa: May God bless you all!

  ‘I’ve had good news from the worthy Montanelli, and in my reply I mentioned the arrangement I have made with you. It remains, then, for you to be so kind as to reimburse him for his expenses, until our meeting in Genoa, which will be the greatest of pleasures to me. And I leave it to you to find the most suitable way of recognizing his noble and successful work. You see ‘I’ve really got you embroiled in all this: that’s what you get for falling for my Vittorina!

  ‘You will know that Matilde is troubled with gastritis (a prevalent illness here), but it has never been serious and is now abating. But what have I said? I didn’t stop to think that Vittorina will read this letter, and will worry about the word serious, even in the negative. So I’ll say to her, and this must be taken as the truth, that it has always been quite superficial, and is now almost over. Matilde, too, does not know how to express her feelings at such extraordinary and spontaneous kindness.

  ‘For some days my wife and I have been caught between going and staying, because of a return of her rheumatic pains which we thought had gone for good. Today she is better so we hope to leave tomorrow. . . Again, thank Montanelli for me: if you see Geppino, give him my warmest regards. To you the love of a father, a name dear both to him to whom I give it, and to him with whom I share it.’

  Meanwhile Matilde was at Renate as the guest of Enrico, where she had been sent for a change of air. Manzoni to Matilde: ‘It is superfluous, but still a pleasure for us both to say how glad I was to hear you were better. Take care of yourself, and see that you come soon to spend some time with your Papa, whom you must leave again before long.

  ‘Teresa, too, is making progress, but very slowly. An abscess in her ear, and an ingrowing toe nail complicate, and partly slow down her convalescence.

  ‘Please thank Enrico and Emilia from me for taking care of you. . .’

  In fact, Matilde was by no means cured; this gastric fever lasted the whole year, and she could not go to her sister’s wedding, or to Lucca; and she stayed many more months in Lombardy.

  So the wedding took place at Nervi on 27 September, in the villa of the Arconatis, called Villa Gnecco. Vittoria’s sponsors were Giuseppe Arconati and Giacinto Collegno; Bista’s were Massimo d’Azeglio and Berchet. Teresa had not been invited. The Arconatis excused themselves on the grounds that they thought she was too ill to come; she was at Lesa, waiting for the invitation which never came. Manzoni wrote to her from Nervi three days before the wedding:

  ‘My Teresa,

  ‘We arrived quite safely and found Vittoria and Giorgini, who also arrived this morning. Arconati, whom we met in Genoa, asked after you with tremendous concern, as did the Marchesa, and Louise: I need not mention Vittoria. The reasons for the tremendous is that he had been told you were ill, and that I too would have been prevented from coming. You can imagine how pleased they were when I told them it had been a passing indisposition. You’d like to know who was the raven of the bad news, but you shall not know, madam, till my return.

  ‘Oh my Teresa! what a poor thing it is to write to you! but what a great thing when I can do nothing else.

  ‘Take care of yourself, keep cheerful. . . I can see the face you’re making, and I can even hear you saying: how typical! there are some emotions men simply don’t feel or understand. But you are unjust.

&
nbsp; ‘Goodbye, my Teresa; I commend Stefano to keep you cheerful: and he’ll do his best, I’m sure, because he too is a man, and without feelings or understanding. Poor Stefano! he has certainly given you proof of the contrary.’

  Vittoria wrote to her on her wedding day:

  ‘Dearest Mama,

  ‘Since I am denied the pleasure of having you here at this time when we are all gathered together, such a sacred and solemn moment for me, let me at least send you a few words of real affection. . . You can imagine what this moment means to me. . . the importance of the step I’ve taken! When I think of the state of profound and tranquil grace in being united for ever with my matchless Bista, the dear presence of my revered Father and the other members of a family that I am about to leave! . . . all this combines to agitate my spirits, and I feel quite ébran-lée. . . So forgive these few confused words – and accept them from the heart of your Vittoria, who will ever remember with affectionate gratitude the delicate attentions you have always paid me and the kind concern you have shown for my health and misfortunes. I pray the Lord will repay you for what you have done for me. . .’

  Vittoria had a conciliatory character, and liked to live in peace and harmony with everyone. She did not love Teresa, but always strove to accept her as she was; and she was more successful than her brothers at avoiding bitter disputes with her. So Teresa thought that Vittoria was the best of all her step-children, the one it was easiest to get on with. With Matilde, on the other hand, Teresa never had any kind of dialogue at all. Perhaps there were no difficulties, for Matilde had a gentle nature and she was rarely at home. There were neither difficulties nor kind words on either side, in fact, nothing at all between Matilde and Teresa.

  After the wedding, Vittoria and Bista set off for Tuscany again; they were to stop at Ardenza for a few days and then continue to Florence; but they changed their plan, and went instead to Massarosa, a village on the hills of Viareggio where the Giorginis had a very charming villa, surrounded by lemon and olive groves and vineyards. Then they settled at Lucca.

  Costanza Arconati sent Teresa a letter of apology. Teresa took a month to reply, but her answer was civil and placid, and showed no resentment. She pretended she had really been unwell at the time of the wedding. She thanked them for suggesting a certain German doctor when she was seriously ill; she certainly owed her recovery to the Boario water, but that doctor, ‘sent by the hand of a benefactor and the heart of a friend’, had given her useful advice. Teresa wrote to Vittoria: ‘My Vittoria. . . I just want to tell you that the Marchesa Arconati has sent a very pleasant letter to say how sorry she was not to have sent me an invitation to Nervi, and other such kindly things that I felt my loss all the more keenly. However, when Alessandro set off for Genoa, I was recovering from a short but very severe indisposition. . . – So it was better that way. – And you, poor, dear, fortunate Vittoria, what have you been thinking of me all this time that I haven’t answered all the sweet things that you found it in your heart to say to me to make up for my deprivation, while you were worn out with love and anguish in such a strange new moment of sunshine and storm. . . ’ She and Alessandro were at Lesa, and they stayed there until half-way through November. ‘Alessandro is writing a lot, and every now and then sees his beloved and revered Rosmini; one comes or the other goes from Lesa to Stresa, and from Stresa to Lesa, alternating visits and objections, which – as it happens – if I hear them I mostly do not understand.’ There was better news of Matilde, but they had not sent for her to Lesa, and she was staying partly in Milan, partly at Brusuglio with Pietro, partly at Renate with Enrico: for some unknown reason, none of the brothers and sisters ever visited Lesa. ‘As you see, we have prolonged our stay at Lesa,’ wrote Manzoni to Vittoria, ‘because it really is beneficial to Teresa’s health; and apart from that, I am more enamoured each day with the lake, the mountains, and the quiet. Here is her letter to you – oh shame on me! longer than mine will be. But you already know that a pen in my hand is just a goose quill and makes only very rare and very short flights. . . Stefano, who has just arrived, sends his best regards to the two of you, or the one of you; and Rossari, who is here with us, urges me to do the same on his behalf. You ask me to renew my blessing on you: dear Vittoria! it is continuous in my heart: so may God confirm it!’

  Giusti had been unable to come to Nervi for the wedding; he wrote to Manzoni to apologize, and also to complain that Manzoni never wrote to him. Manzoni replied:

  ‘My dear Geppino,

  ‘If I thought my unworthy silence might continue to procure me such letters, I’m afraid I would go on in the same way. Which reminds me of a little story, which in itself is funny, but for me has an undercurrent of sadness, like so many of my tales, unfortunately. Many, many years ago, in the country, we had gone to pay a call with my poor Giulietta, who was about seven or eight. She had remained behind for a moment in one of the first rooms of the house, when she saw a big dog coming towards her, a good creature, really, who just wanted to be stroked, but the poor little maiden was terrified. Then she saw a servant coming, took heart, and begged him to send the animal away; but he stopped and seemed not to understand, while she went on saying: dear such-and-such, dear such-and-such, help me, send this dog away. They heard her entreaties, ran up, banished the dog, and asked the servant why he had not rescued the poor little girl. And hear what a splendid answer he gave: she’s so charming, I was so delighted to be called dear, dear that I couldn’t bring myself to stop it. But your servant is not such a simpleton that he can’t realize that in the end Geppino’s voice will grow weary, and that he will be put aside as he deserves, certainly not for his heart, but for his inexhaustible and incredible laziness. . . I think you must often see a certain Professor Giorgini: give him my regards; and as they assure me he has taken a wife, charge him to pay my respects to his lady, who will accept them graciously, if, as they likewise assure me, she is a good little woman.’

  In December 1846 Teresa made a will. During her long illness she must have thought a lot about death.

  I, Teresa Manzoni, widow Stampa, née Borri, by this holograph – will nominate as my sole heir (both in Milan and Piedmont, in case this should ever be questioned) my dear Stefano (that is, Giuseppe Stefano) Stampa, my only son.

  I wish everything I possess, either at Lesa, or in Milan, either at his house or here in Casa Manzoni, furniture, books, valuables, everything, to be for him: I repeat, for my aforesaid only son, Stefano Stampa.

  It is my intention, however, that my dear Stefano should not be empowered to ask my revered Alessandro, my adored husband Manzoni, during the life of this same, for the restitution of the dowry drawn up in the Instrument of the 31st day of December 1836 in the deeds of the then Doctor Ignazio Baroggi, and that it shall remain intact; except for the receipt of the annual interests at the rate of 4½% (that is, four and a half per cent), which Alessandro my revered husband will pay to Stefano my son, reserving to my beloved husband Alessandro the right to pay the capital also, either in one, or two, or three payments.

  It will not be necessary to state that the 20 thousand Milanese lire received one year and some months after the death of my poor mother Marianna Borri née Meda, shall be subject to the same conditions as I have imposed on the dowry which I established by the aforesaid Instrument of Dowry.

  In memory of me I leave my adored husband Alessandro Manzoni my gold repeater, which I have always held precious since it has been worn sometimes by him.

  In memory of me I leave my adored Stefano (G. Stefano Stampa) afore-mentioned, my church books and also my clothes; since my intention is not to give my things to the servants, of whom I intend to think myself before I die, if and when I can.

  I commend with all my heart and soul my dear Stefano to my dear husband Alessandro. I hope he will continue his good will towards my son, as well as some of the good will he has shown me, by his amiability and indulgence.

  Moreover (if I may be allowed to express myself in this way, and if my adored Ale
ssandro allow and grant it to me), I commend my dear Alessandro to my dear Stefano, so that wherever Alessandro might need him in any way whatsoever, his actions, whatever they be, would be and shall be those of a son, for by his actions and his love towards me Alessandro has always been the hand of Providence to me, bringing me comfort in my every need, and delight at all times, without ever causing me pain, except when he was ill.

  So my blessings fall upon these two, husband and son, Alessandro and Stefano, who have created for me a uniquely blessed life, by God’s extraordinary mercy towards me.

  This is my last will and testament.

  To Vittoria, to Matilde, she left nothing: not a memento, not one small jewel. She left nothing to any of her step-children.

  At the beginning of the next month, she was in good health and humour, so much so that she wrote to Doctor Bottelli at Lesa (the brother of the Abbé Bottelli she used to call ‘il Bottel-lone’, who had died several years before): ‘I am well, and putting on weight incredibly; and I fall asleep quickly and sleep all night long so that it seems to me short; I get up before nine, after having breakfast; and I’m really pleased with myself, I can tell you!’ But half way through January she had a severe throat inflammation, and Manzoni was very frightened; in February he wrote to Abbé Rosmini at Stresa: ‘With my usual freedom, and my usual trust in you, I am writing to ask you and your fortunate children to pray for my Teresa who has been ill for a fortnight with inflammation of the trachea, and has already been bled six times, with no noticeable, or at least lasting improvement. She and Stefano join with me in this request. . .’

  Rosmini and his ‘fortunate children’, that is, the beadsmen of the ‘Istituto della Carità’ which Rosmini had founded, said prayers. Teresa knew and was pleased. Slowly she recovered.