The Manzoni Family Page 15

  In August she wrote to Costanza Arconati, who had come to see her parents on their country estate at Bellagio but had not had time to see the Manzonis before returning to Belgium. Her sister Marietta, however, was still in Italy with their parents. ‘I am sorry about you, dear friend, but I can’t help feeling pleased at the idea of seeing her sometimes in Milan [Marietta]; Giulia will be delighted. I also heard from our dear son and daughter today [Giulietta and Massimo], letters that convey nothing but happiness and love for us. . . . We have heard nothing from Monsieur Fauriel, we read in the newspapers about his post [Fauriel had been given the chair of foreign literature at the Sorbonne], thank you for giving us news of him; and we shall be most grateful if you will give him our news, and assure him of our sincere and constant friendship.’

  In August Vittoria, who was then nine, was sent to Lodi to the College of the Madonna Delle Grazie, run by the The English Ladies; her mother was too tired and too poorly to take charge of her education. Signora Cosway, the painter who many years ago in Paris had painted the portrait of Grandmother Giulia as a young woman, had settled in Lodi some time ago, where she had founded The House of the English Ladies; Vittoria was recommended to her, and she gave regular news of the little girl.

  Enrichetta wrote to Vittoria, on the last day of August:

  ‘How many times since you left, my little darling, have I looked all round for you, how many times have I thought I heard your voice! . . . and when my motherly solicitude questions instinctively where you can be, my heart answers: “she is in a safe place, and in good hands. . ." And then the pain your absence causes is partly relieved. Yes, I think you will be better there than if you were still with your Mama, who is prevented by her poor health and the occupations inevitable in such a large family from taking such care of you as her duty and mother love would wish.

  ‘Your sisters Cristina and Sofia are with you in heart and mind, and I often hear them saying to each other: “Vittorina will be having breakfast now, now it’s her dinner time. . . now her playtime. . .”; or they wonder: “what is our Vittorina doing now?” and I say: “she will be good and happy. . . she promised me. . .

  ‘Your brother Pietro, your sisters, Enrico, and even little Filippo send their fondest love. Filippojust said: “Why hath Vittoria gone away, Mama? I wis’ she hadn’t gone; tell her lots and lots of kisses from Filippo.” Your little sister Matilde gets sweeter every day, and I pass on a little kiss from her. Your sister Giulia and her Massimo wanted to come and see you yesterday, but they were prevented. . . . Your Papa and Grandmother give you a big hug, and so does your Nanny, who is so sad not to have her Vittorina with her any more. ’

  Grandmother Giulia to Vittoria:

  ‘My dearest little girl! Your letter gave me so much pleasure, dear Vittorina! I thank you for the consolation it brings to my old age. It seems the Lord is blessing the sacrifice we made in sending you away like this to put you in that sanctuary where virtue and learning are drawn from the holy faith that ennobles all things and consoles for all things. Oh my dear Vittorinetta! you are with a friend I value so highly, Mme Cosway: a happy instinct made you love her as soon as you met her - so what must your affection and obedience be by now? One is so willing to obey those one loves! . . .

  ‘So you still remember my impatience, little espiègle [tease]? Unfortunately it occurs rather often, and I think a little patience may be better than a prayer. Our Divine example was so gentle, especially with little children! . . .

  ‘My little pet, I hope we shall soon be able to come and see you; but you know that when we are at Brusuglio there are always so many things that make it difficult for us to get away. Giulia is here with her husband, but today they’ve gone to Milan for the exhibition of Massimo’s paintings; people are mad about them. You will understand that I am bien charmée about it: an old grandmother has to be forgiven for a little vanity. . .

  ‘Papa, Mama, your sisters and brothers, your Nanny all send lots of love. Your Filippo sends you lots of kisses; he is such an engaging little pet, and loves you so much. ’

  Enrichetta to Vittoria some time between the autumn of that year 1831 and the winter of the following year 1832:

  ‘As Sunday was Massimo’s feast-day, your sisters sent him beautiful bunches of flowers, and I decided to send him one in your name, so that you should not be forgotten. . . ’

  ‘Yesterday your poor father came home quite upset, because he had seen a little girl who looked just like his Vittorina, and he couldn’t help embracing her. . . ’

  ‘The day before yesterday was Papa and Mama’s wedding anniversary, and Giulia and Massimo asked us all to dinner to celebrate it; oh, how we missed our Vittorina!’

  ‘Today is Papa’s birthday, and the d’Azeglios want us to celebrate it at their house. We will go, but in my heart I will be feeling all the time the absence of my Vittorina; but Filippo and Matilde won’t be there either, they will stay home and have leur petit diner with Nanny; Filippo thinks this is a real treat, as he’ll be master of the house. ’

  In the spring Enrichetta went to see Vittoria at Lodi. Then she wrote:

  ‘My dear Vittorinetta! I am still drowned in the joy of seeing you yesterday. You can imagine how eagerly the whole family surrounded me on my arrival here, to know how you were, and if I had found you happy and potelée [dimpled]. Your dear Papa, in particular, couldn’t stop asking me questions. . . In short, my good little girl, though we are obliged to send you away for your education, our hearts and our loving care are with you always.’

  And again, Enrichetta to Vittoria in May:

  ‘I know your heart is loving and good, you have always been so sensible and well-behaved, wishing for everything that can uplift the soul to God, that I can have no fears on that score: but I do fear that you may be less than whole-hearted at your studies, which is quite natural at your age, but which may easily be corrected by making an effort, tackling your work zealously, and making up for lost time.

  ‘Always try, my little one, to behave so that no one should ever have cause to reprove you, if you do not want your poor Mama to feel distressed at the thought that you might be upset. Oh, you don’t know what it does to a mother’s heart to think of her little girl shedding a tear far away! . . .’

  Towards the end of May, Matilde became seriously ill. For a few days they were afraid they were going to lose her. Then she began to recover. Enrichetta to Vittoria:

  ‘I won’t conceal the fact that our dear little babe has been very ill, but God deigned to answer our prayers and to allow the medicines to produce their salutary effect; and so our dear baby was preserved.

  ‘The poor little thing was suffering from severe inflammation of the chest: we had to apply leeches twice, and draw offa great deal of blood. Now little Matildina is breathing regularly in her sleep, and taking her medicines and broths like a good girl. She is very weak and does not move from the position we put her in, we take the greatest care to make no noise around her, now and then she opens her eyes, recognizes us, smiles and says our names in a tiny voice, and she often makes me put my face close to hers and gives me lots of little kisses. You can imagine the joy we all feel, after the fears and anguish of these last days.’

  Enrichetta to Vittoria, from Brusuglio, in the summer:

  ‘Matilde is recovering like a flower: the colour is coming back to her delicate cheeks, and her little legs are starting to carry her around again. ’

  The doctors told her it would do both her and Matilde good to go to the sea. So some of the family set off for Genoa. They stopped for a few hours at Pavia where they lunched with Bishop Tosi. From Genoa, Enrichetta to Vittoria: ‘We travelled all night. At 6 in the morning we stopped for a while at Ronco, to shake off the dust, and drink coffee, and at half past 11 we reached Genoa, stifled with the heat and dust. We are staying at the same hotel as last time, when you were with us - do you remember?’

  Enrichetta to Vittoria, from the Castello d’Azeglio, on her return from Genoa, in Aug
ust:

  ‘We reached Azeglio on the 18th, after a good journey. The dear inhabitants of the castle were not expecting us until nightfall, and we took them by surprise at 11 in the morning: you can imagine our mutual delight! We are enchanted with this beautiful situation. The castle, which is very old, overlooks lovely hills and a charming little lake. My days are very peaceful here. We share the happiness God has granted to our Giulia. Her Massimo is loved and venerated by everyone around, and he is considered Lord of the district. . . . My heart beats so fast at the thought that in a few days I shall see gathered together around me, at our dear Brusú all my dearest children, my riches and my happiness!’

  Grandmother Giulia gave a lively description to Uncle Beccaria’s wife of that same visit to the d’Azeglios:

  ‘When it was morning we set off for Azeglio, which we reached about midday. I need hardly tell you what an affectionate and demonstrative welcome we received from these dear people: Giulia is a bit thin; on the other hand she is getting bigger (three months), she is in good health, eating well and has a good colour etc. And her Massimo still the same charming fellow. The good Mama [Marchesa Cristina] looking younger, quick as a bird, cheerful and happy, she walks, plays bowls, and in the evening tombola, her favourite game. There are elegant ladies here, who call in the evening; I could give you so many details, but I’d never finish. ’

  From Brusuglio, in September, Enrichetta to Vittoria:

  ‘Everyone likes Massimo’s paintings very much — he has put four big ones and several small ones in the Exhibition in Milan: we are delighted to see how much this new style of painting is appreciated, and how our Massimo is esteemed for all his rare qualities. . . . You are still too small to understand these things properly, but I wanted you to know that this brother of yours is a joy to us, and that you can join us in thanking God for the happiness He has granted dear Giulia. .

  Vittoria spent October at Brusuglio; then went back to the college. Enrichetta to Vittoria:

  ‘My eyes followed the coach as it carried you out of the gateway until I could see it no more. . . My heart follows you all the time. Later I went to church with Enrico, and you can imagine with what a full heart I offered up to God the pain that oppressed me that day. . .

  ‘Everyone loves you dearly. Our chubby Filippo cannot be consoled for your departure, and sends you a thousand kisses, and Matilde often calls Vittodia Vittodia!’

  Enrichetta to Vittoria:

  ‘My dear Vittorina, continue to be loving, compassionate and gentle with your companions at all times. . . it is so sweet to be loved!’

  Enrichetta to Vittoria, the 26 December:

  ‘You gave me a treat on your feast-day on Sunday, as you managed to make your little letter reach me that very day. . . . I received it in the evening, and it answered a real need. It was the first time since your birth that I have spent Saint Victoria’s Day without hugging you in my arms. . . I hope you had a happy Christmas. . . We spent it quietly together. Giulia and Massimo dine here and spend the evenings with us, together with the usual friends who come to visit us, and who all ask after you. . .’

  Enrichetta to Vittoria, on New Year’s Day:

  ‘Our little Vittorina must have some of the New Year crescenza [a sort of’panettone’, or large Milanese cake]: it was made by Jean [the servant] who made one like it for us, and we want our Vittorina to share in all our little pleasures. — My dear Vittorina, I send the loving wishes of everyone in the family that the new year which is beginning today will be all happiness, holiness and gaiety. . . ’

  On the 10th January that year, 1833, Giulietta gave birth to a baby girl. Enrichetta to Vittoria:

  ‘I am writing in haste to tell you that you are an aunt. Last night, beween 3 and 4 o’clock, your sister had a lovely little baby girl. But God does not wish our happiness to be complete, for this poor little mite was born before her time; and she cries continually and is so extraordinarily small that we feel she may not live. I am writing to you from the sitting-room which is next to the bedroom, and I have the poor little mite with me, crying all the time so that it breaks my heart. Your Nanny is holding her on her lap, and trying to make her swallow some drops of sugared water. There are moments when we hope our cares may succeed in keeping her alive, but we must always say: “Gods will be done! . . . “ I was happy to be a grandmother as you to be an aunt; so let us go on hoping, dear Vittorina!’

  Enrichetta to Vittoria, ten days later:

  ‘Unhappily we are very much afraid this poor little mite may not live. I don’t want to hide our fears from you, so that your little heart may learn to be resigned to what God wills for us; meanwhile we pray, my good little daughter. . . ’

  And about the same time, his mother the Marchesa Cristina to Massimo d’Azeglio:

  ‘As for the little creature, I think like you, that if the Lord chooses to take it to Himself, it is a kindness; in the state it’s in it can hardly make a sturdy constitution, which is very worrying for parents. . . It was good of you, poor Massimo, to let me know so quickly, it would be even better if you would tell me if Giulia is feeding it, or if it has a nurse, which would be better in the circumstances. I heard that you felt the earth tremor and I feared the upset was the reason for Giulia’s premature confinement, but from your letter I see I was mistaken. ’

  And again to her son, some time later:

  ‘My dear Massimo, I must say (without meaning to give offence) that you are not much good yet at giving news of confinements, you leave out the most important part, which is whether the mother can feed it, and is doing so, and if the baby sucks and takes nourishment; in this case there is cause for hope, otherwise God’s will be done. . . However, I am inclined to think I shall see this little grandchild only in Paradise where it will be well and there will be no crying. ’

  The general forecasts were decidedly bleak for this baby girl, who had been named Alessandra, and everyone was already resigned to her death. They were wrong. Alessandra, or Alessandrina, or Rina as everyone called her in the end, survived. Giulietta was feeding her.

  Enrichetta to Vittoria, when the baby was twenty days old:

  ‘I have good news to give you of your little niece; we are really beginning to hope that God will let us keep her; she takes only her mother’s milk, and grows a little stronger every day. .

  Enrichetta could not often go to see Vittoria at Lodi. She wrote:

  ’You cannot be more impatient to see me than I am to come and hold you in my arms; but my dear, good little girl, I need not repeat that my love for you could never be diminished by distance, which would be slight in the miles that separate us, but which is unfortunately immense by force of circumstances, the most insurmountable being my poor health which imposes many privations upon me. . . So we must continue to have patience. . .

  And again the same winter:

  ‘Sofia sends you the Baby Jesus you asked for; Matilde is here beside me, scribbling with tremendous concentration with a pencil on a great piece of paper, to write to my deawest Vittodia; to tell you the truth, she won t let me put two words together, either she breaks her pencil, or no sooner has she settled herself than she wants to get down again, or she wants another piece of paper. . . and she keeps on saying she wants to write loth of fings to dear thithter in Lodi.

  ‘Our little Rina is very delicate, but they assure us that if she can reach three months, she will grow strong and healthy. God grant it, for the sake of our poor Giulia who is utterly absorbed in the care of her little babe! . . . ’

  And again: ‘Spring is coming, the season is growing milder, the distance separating us seems less great, and I hope I shall soon be able to come and hug you.

  ‘Everyone here is well, and they all send you lots of love, especially your Papa. Not an afternoon passes, when we are all sitting round the little fireplace in the drawing-room after dinner, without us saying: “What a pity our little Vittoria isn’t here!” I don’t say this to increase your regrets, but to persuade you that your
share in our love is undiminished. ’

  And again, in April: ‘Your sisters were waiting for your letter so impatiently that they jumped all the steps at once to see who would get there first and snatch it from the hands of the porteur. Enrico thanks you very much for what you said to him. He had the joy of taking his first communion.

  ‘There is nothing more solemn or more intensely religious than the service of First Communion in the church of San Fedele. It fell to me to assist my Enrico, and the memory will always be uplifting to me. The evening before we had a very happy surprise. The Rector came and told us to prepare our hall very quickly so that he could offer us some music. At half past seven he returned, accompanied by Maestro Neri and the twelve little boys who were to sing next morning the Hymns for the first Communion, composed by your Papa, and they wanted him to hear Maestro Neri’s beautiful music. We all enjoyed it very much and our joy was marred only by the regret that you had left that morning.’

  ‘Con che fidente affetto / vengo al tuo santo trono / m’atterro al tuo cospetto / mio Giudice, mio Re! / Con che ineffabil gaudio / tremo dinanzi a Te! / Cenere e colpa io sono: / ma vedi chi t’implora / chi vuole il tuo perdono / chi merita, chi adora / chi rende grazie in me. ’

  [‘With what trusting love / come I to Thy holy throne / prostrating myself before Thee / my Judge and King! / With what ineffable joy / I tremble before Thee! / Ashes and guilt am I: / but Thou seest the one who implores Thee / who seeks Thy pardon / who deserves and adores / and who in me renders thanks.’]