Something about the classmate in the crowd, “So, you didn’t have the pluck to resist”. Causes a stir in my heart knowing she’s clueless to what Gertrude has faced. Then for G to feel that inflamed spark before looking back up at her father.. dark apprehension and menacing impatience. So much in few lines.
"Gertrude passed between servants bowing to express their congratulations on her recovery." These chapters are so upsetting, but nothing enraged me on her behalf more than this language, her desire for the page boy explained by her father as an illness, her repression of it a recovery.
Mar 6, 2023·edited Mar 6, 2023Liked by A Public Space, Michael Moore
The dominating father dominates my reading today -- starting with the wonderful parenthetical disclaimer quoted above. And just as the Prince certainly fits no one's notion of a good or ideal father, I'm sad to say his efforts at control and domination remind me greatly of my own father (who thankfully wasn't motivated by familial greed like this Prince, had no particular worldly authority, would not have gone so far as to lock me in a room, not even for an hour, let alone five days, and could not and did not succeed so thoroughly--yet had the same patriarchal expectation of the right to dominate, control, and judge). Gertrude's efforts to rebel, and her failures, both speak to me on this level as well as to me as a reader willing to go wherever the narrator wants to take me -- but I do find myself hoping that by the novel's end she will have found a way to escape. (I don't expect it, but I can hope.)
Gertrude is so completely overwhelmed by the whole family acting to control her, not just her father, all the servants, and extended family and friends ... This seems too much--exaggerated by the narrator. Yes, we know her father is powerful and manipulative, but, for example, the chain of events that swings into place so rapidly after her acquiescence --the crowds of guests coming to the house to greet and congratulate her with only a day's (I think!) notice, would take some unbelievably mastermind planning, even in today, in this day of instant messaging and super social media connections! I felt horrible for Gertrude, of course, but I feel if the description of her being completely blanketed in "support" had been slightly more moderated, it would have seemed more realistic and moved me more.
The social pressures to conform are very compact in Italy, both then and now. Having lived there in the pre-internet age, I could also see how quickly people can be mobilized through word of mouth. Not to mention the army of servants and pages at the Prince’s command.
It's always daunting to have to answer any "why" question, but particularly, "why are you here?" for a young person is, especially nerve-wracking. I admire how Gertrude holds up/holds her own in this chaotic scene of presumable, supposable, ostensible well-wishers. Although, whether she really holds any cards is debatable, at this point. I'm intrigued to learn more!
“The little bride was the idol, the plaything, the victim.” Gertrude manipulated every step of the way by everyone in this section; torn between her gut feelings, fear of her father, pleasure at perceived ‘kindness’ of mother and brother, guests, strangers in the street, nuns, she is anxious to please. And so young. But mostly “the eyes of her father...like invisible reins, controlled her movements and her expressions.” Gertrude is fighting a losing battle at the moment. Too many forces against her.
Everything depends on the Church's authority, imprimatur, recognition. It seems at every turn there's a procedural hitch or complication that is unwritten. I'd be interested to know if these are poetic invention, folklore, or official Catholic doctrine.
1840s Italy was still a conservative place, I assume, but this seems a very progressive novel. Lucia's misery stems from raw sexual harassment and reverberating effects. The Signora is treated as the inferior heir because of her gender and birth order. The narrator seems to approve of the laws abolishing primogeniture. The Prince's coercion of the Signora into a nunnery for life is oppressive not a spiritual calling.
I am still haunted by our first glimpse of Gertrude, standing behind the grated window “with one hand resting on it languidly, and her pale white fingers entwined in the empty spaces.” I thought of Julian of Norwich, locked in seclusion behind the walls of her cell until her death.
Something about the classmate in the crowd, “So, you didn’t have the pluck to resist”. Causes a stir in my heart knowing she’s clueless to what Gertrude has faced. Then for G to feel that inflamed spark before looking back up at her father.. dark apprehension and menacing impatience. So much in few lines.
"Gertrude passed between servants bowing to express their congratulations on her recovery." These chapters are so upsetting, but nothing enraged me on her behalf more than this language, her desire for the page boy explained by her father as an illness, her repression of it a recovery.
The dominating father dominates my reading today -- starting with the wonderful parenthetical disclaimer quoted above. And just as the Prince certainly fits no one's notion of a good or ideal father, I'm sad to say his efforts at control and domination remind me greatly of my own father (who thankfully wasn't motivated by familial greed like this Prince, had no particular worldly authority, would not have gone so far as to lock me in a room, not even for an hour, let alone five days, and could not and did not succeed so thoroughly--yet had the same patriarchal expectation of the right to dominate, control, and judge). Gertrude's efforts to rebel, and her failures, both speak to me on this level as well as to me as a reader willing to go wherever the narrator wants to take me -- but I do find myself hoping that by the novel's end she will have found a way to escape. (I don't expect it, but I can hope.)
Gertrude is so completely overwhelmed by the whole family acting to control her, not just her father, all the servants, and extended family and friends ... This seems too much--exaggerated by the narrator. Yes, we know her father is powerful and manipulative, but, for example, the chain of events that swings into place so rapidly after her acquiescence --the crowds of guests coming to the house to greet and congratulate her with only a day's (I think!) notice, would take some unbelievably mastermind planning, even in today, in this day of instant messaging and super social media connections! I felt horrible for Gertrude, of course, but I feel if the description of her being completely blanketed in "support" had been slightly more moderated, it would have seemed more realistic and moved me more.
The social pressures to conform are very compact in Italy, both then and now. Having lived there in the pre-internet age, I could also see how quickly people can be mobilized through word of mouth. Not to mention the army of servants and pages at the Prince’s command.
Oh, thanks for this, Michael. How long did you live there and did you find that a little ... stifling or is it reassuring in some ways? :)
Manzoni’s foreshadowing points to a perilous future for Gertrude (and perhaps for her father as well).
- The young prince had “no respect for anyone but the prince himself”
- “The good nuns don’t know anything about what’s happened; that’s a secret which must remain buried in the family”
- “No one will be above you, in the place where you are going, except your own family”
- “As they entered the town, Gertrude felt her heart sink; but then her thoughts were diverted for a moment by some gentlemen”
- “If by any chance they forced their daughter to take the veil . . .they would incur the penalty of excommunication”
It's always daunting to have to answer any "why" question, but particularly, "why are you here?" for a young person is, especially nerve-wracking. I admire how Gertrude holds up/holds her own in this chaotic scene of presumable, supposable, ostensible well-wishers. Although, whether she really holds any cards is debatable, at this point. I'm intrigued to learn more!
“The little bride was the idol, the plaything, the victim.” Gertrude manipulated every step of the way by everyone in this section; torn between her gut feelings, fear of her father, pleasure at perceived ‘kindness’ of mother and brother, guests, strangers in the street, nuns, she is anxious to please. And so young. But mostly “the eyes of her father...like invisible reins, controlled her movements and her expressions.” Gertrude is fighting a losing battle at the moment. Too many forces against her.
I really hope this isn’t foreshadowing for Lucia as well - because the backstories are starting to sound eerily similar.
Everything depends on the Church's authority, imprimatur, recognition. It seems at every turn there's a procedural hitch or complication that is unwritten. I'd be interested to know if these are poetic invention, folklore, or official Catholic doctrine.
1840s Italy was still a conservative place, I assume, but this seems a very progressive novel. Lucia's misery stems from raw sexual harassment and reverberating effects. The Signora is treated as the inferior heir because of her gender and birth order. The narrator seems to approve of the laws abolishing primogeniture. The Prince's coercion of the Signora into a nunnery for life is oppressive not a spiritual calling.
I am still haunted by our first glimpse of Gertrude, standing behind the grated window “with one hand resting on it languidly, and her pale white fingers entwined in the empty spaces.” I thought of Julian of Norwich, locked in seclusion behind the walls of her cell until her death.
catching up. their eyes 'like invisible reins...'