Читать книгу Good as her Word: Selected Journalism - Lorna Sage, Lorna Sage - Страница 10

THIS BOOK IS A SET of variations on the theme of biography: its dubious credentials, its delights and pieties, and – Iris Origo would argue, hence her title – its necessity. The four portraits here, all of people involved in resisting Italian fascism, make space for the quiddities and peculiarities of their subjects (whom she knew), but serve at the same time as statements of faith in ‘character’. Her people may be merely particular, but they are also stubborn and courageous; they are loners who none the less feel for and with one another, and many others.

The first of her subjects, Lauro de Bosis, is the hardest for her to make real, partly because he seems to have lived out his brief life as mythology. He was aristocratic, half-American, brought up on Shelley and Whitman, a bard and a chemist who advocated a conservative (King and Church) take-over from Mussolini. At 26 he wrote a verse drama about Icarus, and at 30, in 1931, he flew over Rome in a small plane, scattering anti-fascist leaflets, and vanished west to crash into the sea.

His style, in every sense, was excessive – though he did, in one letter, locate the twist in history that would lend him substance. ‘If the American Revolution had failed, Washington and Jefferson would be considered as seditious Bolsheviks,’ he reflected. When, 12 years later, Mussolini fell in (roughly) the way he had planned, de Bosis’s story returned to earth.

It was never, anyway, as Marchesa Origo points out, just his story: three years before his terminal gesture he had fallen in love with a celebrated American actress, Ruth Draper, whose long life comes next, linked with his. Here the biographer’s brief is different, for Ruth Draper not only came from a densely sociable background (‘old New York,’ very Edith Wharton), but had monologued her way through a multitude of characters, and round the world, before she met de Bosis, in middle age. She was all life-wish and, though savaged by his death, went on adding to her repertoire and her friends for a quarter of a century.

Her practical belief in his cause outlived him too: among other things, she endowed a chair in Italian history at Harvard, which was occupied by a man unlike de Bosis in every way but one, Gaetano Salvemini, socialist, republican, sceptic – and anti-fascist. Salvemini is the anchor man of the book, ‘the man who would not conform’ though events battered him grotesquely. In 1908 his wife and their five children died in the Messina earthquake; in the years that followed his whole generation, it almost seemed, was dispersed and destroyed – murdered on fascist orders, murdered in Spain, driven (like himself) into exile. In 1946, as the world repaired itself, the stepson of his second marriage was tried and executed as a collaborator in France. He comes through it all, in this portrait, suffering, resilient and mocking, with just a hint of secular sainthood.

Here Iris Origo’s conviction that ‘Every individual life is also the story of Everyman’ occupies the foreground. Her last subject, Ignazio Silone, is allowed to characterise himself, in passages from Fontamara, Bread and Wine and Emergency Exit, but at the same time the book’s structure quietly manoeuvres him into an exemplary role, as the priest of a non-existent church. Silone’s defection from the Communist Party, his long exile and his even longer wait for recognition in his own country, even the form of his final illness, in 1978, when agraphia scrambled words for him with a last irony – all of this piles up as evidence of ‘the need to testify’.