The Manzoni Family (17 page)

Giulietta did not write to Fauriel, and he had news of her from Costanza Arconati who sent him a short letter from Brussels. In France the last of the Bourbons, Charles X, had been deposed in July, and Louis Philippe d'Orléans had succeeded him. It was a great event for European Liberals. Costanza wrote: ‘I feel I must tell you how happy we are and rejoice with you at the great happenings in your country. We have been living a new life for the last few days, we first heard the news on the way back from Germany when we were still a day's journey from Brussels. Peppino [her husband] would like to set off at once for Paris with Berchet. Tell me if this is wise. I am more than eager to return to France, in two months perhaps. You will have heard of Enrichetta's safe confinement, but you won't know that Giulia has gone to take the waters at Saint Moritz with Signorina Frapolli, or that Alessandro, Pietro and Grossi were to leave for Geneva at the end of July, I hope they are there to rejoice freely in the happenings in France.' Fauriel replied: ‘You know the facts as well as I do; I can only repeat what millions have already said everywhere. I need not tell you of my immense joy: that would be as unnecessary as to tell you all the rest. All that remains is to proceed to the consequences of this great and just event, and everything justifies the hope that they will be as happy as possible. I see not the slightest objection to Peppino and Berchet coming here when they like; they need take no particular precautions except to make sure their passports are in order. . . Everything is calm and peaceful here as if nothing had happened. . . Do come, as soon as possible! I heard Enrichetta's baby had arrived safely; as for Giulia's journey, I knew nothing of that, but I am pleased. I am also very pleased that Grossi and Alessandro are appearing, it will be a great pleasure for them to breathe on this side of the Alps; I only pity them the moment of return. . . Young Count Libri, whom I met recently when he brought me a letter from Giulia, bore himself admirably in our recent events. . . I wish Italy many men like him. Other Italians also gave an excellent account of themselves. Some Englishmen were magnificent. I think all the nations of Europe were represented in this victory, which is as much European as French. '

Manzoni, Grossi and Pietro did not go to Geneva. The Manzonis remained at Brusuglio. Enrico Blondel died in Milan on 4 September, and his wife,
tante Louise,
tried to poison herself. In October, Enrichetta became ill with bronchitis. She could not shake off the fever. ‘I wanted to write to you about the distressing news I have heard of dearest Enrichetta,' Bishop Tosi wrote to Manzoni ‘ The Marchese [Parravicini] was so kind as to give me more precise information, and to reassure me.' In December a friend of Manzoni, Abbé Giudici, wrote to Bishop Tosi: ‘Do you know that Enrichetta has had a recurrence of the bronchitis she had in October? They have bled her six times. But now there is reason to hope that the remaining slight fever will be passing over. But such a weakening illness could be fatal to a feeble constitution. It's lucky that Alessandro and Donna Giulia have the gift of seeing everything through rose-tinted spectacles.' Manzoni to Diodata Saluzzo in December: ‘When I received your very kind letter, my wife had succumbed to a tracheal, inflammation, which yielded only at the seventh bleeding. Now, thank Heaven, the illness is past, and there remains only the problem of a long and weary convalescence.'

In March 1831 Massimo d'Azeglio appeared in the Manzoni household. He was then thirty-three. He had recently lost his father. Manzoni had corresponded with the father years before on literary topics. He came with a letter from his brother Roberto, whom Manzoni had met for a few minutes in Genoa. Cesare Cantú wrote of the d'Azeglios in his
Reminiscences:
‘Alessandro had had a literary correspondence with Marchese Cesare Tapparelli d'Azeglio (1763-1830). . . Cultured, pious, a monarchist like most of the Piedmontese aristocracy, Cesare was editor of the newspaper
L'amico d' Italia.
. . Of the three sons, whom he brought up strictly in honour and piety, Luigi became a Jesuit, and distinguished himself in jurisprudence and philosophy; the first-born, Roberto, was an artist, and upheld the honour of the family in Turin; Massimo devoted himself to landscape painting and led a free, artistic life in the Romagna and in Tuscany. '

Massimo had also lived in Rome for a long time, where he had had an affair with a lady, Contessa Morici, by whom he had a daughter, little Bice; then the Contessa had left him; this hurt him very much, and he had left Rome and lived in his father's house at Turin for some time; on the death of his father, he had decided to settle in Milan. ‘In Milan I found the Germans,' Massimo d'Azeglio recounted in
My Memories,
‘which was not appealing; but was Carlo Felice any more appealing,
felicissimo
as he was to rule on their behalf? I wanted to apply myself to the study and exercise of the arts, and I felt one might die of consumption in Turin, where the arts were tolerated about as much as Jews in a ghetto. In Milan, on the other hand, an artistic movement had arisen from a combination of many circumstances, and of many distinguished men who had come together there. '

Besides being a painter, Massimo d'Azeglio had been writing for some time. He had begun and got quite a long way with an historical novel, but he did not mention it to Manzoni at that time, as he had been intimidated by some of the ideas Manzoni had expressed to him on historical novels. He was tall, slim and strong, with well-marked features, a large nose, large moustache and large eyes. Cantú said in the
Reminiscences:
‘Manzoni admired in d'Azeglio that all-round ability he lacked: he played, sang, danced, rode, fenced, played billiards and cards.' Perhaps Manzoni did admire him at their first meetings, but with a vague uncertainty and reserve; but Grandmother Giulia liked this visitor enormously and at once, because ‘he played, sang, danced'; this worldly self-possession, boldness and ease of manner and bearing took her back to figures of men who had fascinated her in her youth.

Massimo d'Azeglio, in coming to call on the Manzonis, had two precise purposes: to talk about his historical novel, and to see what the eldest daughter was like, possibly with a view to matrimony. He did not dare talk of the novel, as has been said; but he did write asking for Giulia's hand in marriage; it was the 9th of April, not many weeks after his first call.

‘May I say I have come to Milan expressly to make the acquaintance of your family. I wanted to meet you and you cannot fail to understand my motive and all that it means to me. Then I wanted to know your daughter of whom my family had spoken highly, and this was confirmed by all I saw and heard on coming to Milan. Without more ado, may I say from the heart that I should consider myself only too happy to be your son-in-law.

‘My income is 21 thousand francs, which I do not yet enjoy in full, as I have to pay annuities to my mother, some uncles and other family pensioners, but I shall do so when I have the misfortune to lose the former, whose heir I am. . . I shall be disposed to spend the winter in Milan, and the summer at d'Azeglio or elsewhere. My work has borne fruit hitherto, and may bear more fruit in the future: and I do not think this is contrary to your way of thinking. Which means, this income may also be calculated among my possibilities. As for myself, in part you already know me, but you may easily make further enquiries in Turin.

‘For now I have little to add. . . The matter speaks for itself. I can not flatter myself that I deserve the most important consent, that of your daughter, but I cannot renounce all hope of obtaining it.

‘If she had reasons to reject my proposal, having placed such trust in her, I feel sure the whole matter will remain buried for ever. I would leave Milan, and I do not think my conduct would give rise to gossip. After being received into your house in such a friendly manner, it would be a great grief to me to cause you one moment of displeasure.

‘If you feel we can enter into discussion, please write me a line, suggesting a time when you are free, and I will call on you. Any time suits me, as I have no other business in Milan. '

Manzoni was certainly pleased with this letter. He talked about it to Enrichetta and his mother. He weighed up the advantages: he had known the father well; he knew the brother a little; he knew they were a family of sound principles. Giulietta was questioned; she seemed doubtful. She asked for a week to think it over.

Manzoni answered the letter, expressing his own consideration, and that of all his family, for d'Azeglio: ‘You cannot fail to have seen in us the high esteem which your character and talents must inspire in all who know you. I am only doing justice to my daughter's feelings in saying she is included in this “we”. But will it seem strange to you that she asks for a week to reflect? . . . My daughter has always felt a difficulty which has hitherto seemed insuperable to her, that of uniting herself to someone who is not from her own part of the world; as it seems equally painful to her to think of moving away, or to impose, in such an important matter, upon the delicacy at least of the person in whose will she must submerge her own.'

D'Azeglio sent Enrichetta a small painting of his (he had already sent some of his lithographs) asking her to give it to her daughter. The note was in French, and was signed ‘Maxime de Zey'. In fact, it had been his mother and his brother Roberto who had jointly encouraged him in this marriage plan. Now his mother was anxious. She had asked for detailed information ‘about this girl and the family'. ‘I know it's a good name, the mother was not well-born, she has passed on, she was a lady of exceeding virtue and brought blessings upon that House, especially upon her husband, who abjured philosophism and turned to a godly life. To tell you the truth, I think some leaven of his old maxims remained in him, especially as he has been ensnared by Jansenists. If this is so, I do not know to what extent or how much it may have influenced the moral upbringing in the home. [Perhaps her information was incorrect or unclear, because she seemed to think Enrichetta was dead. ] I think of you a hundred times a day, my Massimo, of your affairs, of the important knot you are about to tie, and I pray, and urge other good souls to pray, that all will turn out for your eternal salvation, and for your peace here below if it please the Lord to grant you happy issue in this.' Then she heard that they must wait a week for a decision; she was pleased ‘at the importance the young lady accords to such a step, and if the answer is Yes, you will have good grounds to hope that Heaven has ratified this decision. '

D'Azeglio wrote to Manzoni: ‘Though the heart finds the delay long, reason must bid it be silent, and I am deeply grateful that your daughter did not deny me all hope, and that she fixed upon a term so reasonable. The feelings she cannot fail to inspire show me that her happiness is a necessity to me and always will be, and for this reason I want her to reflect upon the proposal, and not to delude herself in the slightest on my account; if I were to obtain my heart's desire by fomenting the smallest delusion, I should feel everlasting remorse. I think you all view me too indulgently; I have many faults that I know, and perhaps more than I know. To name one, despite my strongest efforts my temperament is not always equable, perhaps because my nerves are very sensitive. Then, as you see, I am not and never will be rich: for myself I am most happy and thank God for it, for I have found that the desire to possess more than a just and modest competence is a bottomless pit; but I cannot speak for others. And from now until the time when it shall please God to take from me the person who loves me most and whom I have loved most in this world, not only am I not rich, but our circumstances must be somewhat straitened: for the first time in my life I wish for riches, but I have none, and I must say so. The modesty of my present income would perhaps make it advisable to spend some months in the summer at Azeglio, to do as the ant does and enjoy more ease in the winter. The countryside at Azeglio is the loveliest in the world, but the castle has no real beauty, only good air and beautiful views, and local people who feel great affection for me and my family. Then, regarding the problem of my not being Milanese etc., I think I have solved that in advance. If I announced that I have just resolved to settle here, I should be claiming a false merit. But I tell you in all truth that this was my intention in any case. Having striven for many years to learn the principles of my art, I have perhaps reached the age when I may hope to produce some fruit: in all Italy Milan is the place most suited to my purpose, so that your daughter's delicacy, truly worthy of a noble soul, may be set entirely at rest. . . I therefore await the end of this week, during which I hope you will not forbid me to come and spend a few moments with you all in the evening. . .'

Manzoni: ‘I can give no better answer to your amiable request than to tell you it was my intention to assure you yesterday evening that you would do us a great favour by calling on us during this time. I was only prevented by the fear of forcing your kindness in some way. You will not be surprised to find a certain person a little embarrassed. '

In the course of that week, Giulietta tried to imagine her own future existence beside this being who was strange to her in every way. She must have compared him with the image of Cousin Giacomo, familiar to her from childhood. Cousin Giacomo was for her like the clear, still water of a lake that had always existed in the landscape of her thoughts, in which she could see her reflection, and whose shores and shades she had always known. With this calm, reflective temperament, Cousin Giacomo was an older, reassuring presence. Perhaps she had never seriously thought she might marry him. He had proved cold and distant towards her, at a certain point, and she had been hurt. But the suffering was more in the nature of idle melancholy than bitter pain. Anyway, it was a closed book. But she could not help knowing her heart needed quiet and abhorred adventure. This evening caller who was manifesting such a hasty desire to marry her, that nose, those whiskers, those eyes, that dazzling ease did nothing to reassure her. That figure would never assume, at her side, the lovable strength of a father figure. And this was what she needed. Perhaps because her father was too self-absorbed to listen to her. Perhaps because there were so many children, and her father and mother could not give her the attention, time and availability she secretly wanted. She wanted someone who understood her, as she had imagined Cousin Giacomo did when she was writing to him from Florence, or as she had imagined Fauriel understood her when she was writing to him. How many letters she had written to one and the other! Both Fauriel and Cousin Giacomo were familiar, friendly figures, and at the same time remote, because they wanted nothing specific from her. The newcomer, on the other hand, said he wanted to marry her.