Ignazio Silone: Beyond the Tragic Vision 9781442675988

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Acknowledgments
Abbreviations
Introduction
1. Ignazio Silone: A Biographical Profile
2. Autobiographical Writings and Essays: Emergency Exit
3. The Short Stories: "The Journey to Paris" / "Mr. Aristotle"
4. The Satire: The School for Dictators
5. The Novels of Exile
6. The Post-Exile Novels
7. The Plays
8. Silone's Literary Fortune:1933 to the PresentSilone's Literary Fortune:1933 to the Present
Appendix 1. Documents
Appendix 2. Der Christus Von Kazan
Notes
Selected Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

IGNAZIO SILONE: BEYOND THE TRAGIC VISION

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MARIA NICOLAI PAYNTER

IGNAZIO SILONE

Beyond the Tragic Vision

ATTTTTTT Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com © University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2000 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-0705-8

Printed on acid-free paper Toronto Italian Studies

Canadian Cataloguing in Publication Data Paynter, Maria Nicolai Ignazio Silone : beyond the tragic vision (Toronto Italian studies) Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8020-0705-8 (bound) ISBN 0-8020-7654-8 (pbk.) 1. Silone, Ignazio, 1900-1978 - Criticism and interpretation. 2. Symbolism in literature. 3. Irony in literature. I. Title. II. Series. PQ4841.I4Z73 2000 853'.912 099-931832-2

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP) for our publishing activities.

Canada

To Alessia Maria and to my parents, Emma D'Amore and Vittorio Nicolai

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Contents

PREFACE

IX

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ABBREVIATIONS

Introduction

xi

xiii

3

-L Ignazio Silone: A Biographical Profile 10 2 Autobiographical Writings and Essays: Emergency Exit

24

3 The Short Stories: "The Journey to Paris" / "Mr. Aristotle" 48 4 The Satire: The School for Dictators 5 The Novels of Exile 73 Fontamara 75 Bread and Wine 95 The Seed Beneath the Snow 107 6 The Post-Exile Novels 124 A Handful of Blackberries 125 The Secret of Luca 140 The Fox and the Camellias 155 Severina 162

64

viii Contents 7 The Plays 168 And He Hid Himself 169 The Story of a Humble Christian 175

8 Silone's Literary Fortune:1933 to the PresentSilone's Literary Fortune:1933 to the Present 183 The Early Years: 1933-44 183 The Defining Years: 1945-70 188 The Final Years: 1971 to the Present 202 Conclusion 211

APPENDIX i: DOCUMENTS

215

APPENDIX 2: DER CHRISTUS VON KAZAN NOTES

237

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY INDEX

28l

267

233

Preface

I return to Silone more than a decade after writing my doctoral dissertation — an analysis of the symbolism and irony in Silone's novels based on Northrop Frye's theories.1 The decision to write this new work stems from my conviction that much still needs to be said about Silone's work, particularly in English. It is necessary, for instance, to focus on his persistent stylistic research and on his willingness to explore the various genres; to refute the belief that he took the easy way out rather than face the challenges posed by the "enlightened" atheist stance; to draw the line between admitting autobiographical inspiration and perceiving the author as the idealized hero of his work; to grant his vision the space it deserves, even when it seems too romantic, absurd, or paradoxical; and, finally, to produce a work, in English, that would be informative and enjoyable for both academic and general readers. In the biographical profile, I seek to portray Silone the writer and the human being. To that end, I choose key moments and exemplary episodes, and, where appropriate, quote extensively from little-known but important documents and new sources. In the analysis of the works, I retrace the journey that the author traveled, from the initial, more experimental stages of his writing, to his last, unfinished work. While the central theme, and indeed the author's central vision, remain the same, I also underline the manner in which that vision expands in time. I note Silone's masterly orchestration of realism, symbolism, and irony to represent the actual situation, and, at the same time, to remove it from spatial and temporal limits in order to summon archetypal echoes that resonate with themes from universal history. I conclude the volume with a survey of the criticism of Silone's works, from 1933 to the present, which includes my translation of many key passages not previously

x

Preface

available in English. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. Finally, Appendixes i and 2 contain previously unpublished letters and other documents that will arguably stimulate future scholarship. This analysis of Silone's entire literary production focuses on the various stages of the aesthetic journey and on the development of the common central theme. The works should be appreciated not only for their individual value, but also as "chapters" of a macrotext containing so many probings into the dynamics of power and the struggle of the individual to thwart the dehumanizing forces of history. But even as this struggle occupies centre stage and carries the author's most important message, it should not monopolize the reader's attention to the point that the other merits of his works are obscured. The historical insight that these works offer, the penetrating rendering of the anthropological and sociocultural forces that shape the mentality of a people and their value system, the analysis of the political engagement and its corruptive power, the probing into the psychology of mass communication and conditioning, the stylistic experimentalism; the particular rendering of space and time, which I could only begin to discuss in this work - these are some of the aspects that open Silone's works to countless possibilities for new interdisciplinary studies. Comparative studies focusing, for instance, on Silone and Machiavelli, Silone and Carlo Levi, Silone and such pacifist thinkers as Simone Weil, Mahatma Gandhi,, and Martin Luther King would also contribute significantly to Silonian scholarship.

Acknowledgments

Many generous people have contributed to the realization of this work. They all have my gratitude, especially Darina Silone, for the freedom I had to consult her, and for her invaluable help; the late Northrop Frye, for his lessons in literary criticism; Maddalena Kuitunen for her encouragement and friendship; Mr Rumpel of Europa Verlag, for access to the Silonian archives; Allen Mandelbaum and Dorothy James for their expert help with translation, and Giuseppe Di Scipio for his interest and advice. Other collegues and friends have facilitated my work in countless ways. Among these are Liliana Biondi, Paolo Cucchiarelli, Bruno Falcetto, Paolo Fasoli, lole Fiorillo Magri, Patricia Godfrey, and Cristina Di Stefano. I also thank Ron Schoeffel and Anne Forte of the University of Toronto Press for sustaining my effort with their superb professionalism and kindness. Finally, my greatest debt is to Donald, Emma, and Joseph, who in different but essential ways assisted me, inspired me, and constantly uplifted my mind and my spirit. My extended family, colleagues, and friends have further enriched me with their care. Research for this work was made possible in part by a grant from the PSC-CUNY Research Foundation.

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Abbreviations

AC Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism BW, 1937 Bread and Wine BW, SC Bread and Wine, Signet Classics Fontamara MC Meridian Classic Fontamara NEI Nuove Edizioni Italiane Fontamara PB Penguin Books Fox The Fox and the Camellias GTF Richard Grossman, ed. The God That Failed ISCN Riminesi Riuniti, ed. Ignazio Silone clandestino nel Novecento ISM Centre di Ricerca Guido Dorso, L'Irpinia nella societa meridionale ISRS Bruno Falcetto, ed. Ignazio Silone: Romanzi e Saggi Memoriale Lamberto Mercuri, ed. Memoriale dal carcere svizzero OIS Luce d'Eramo, L'Opera di Ignazio Silone OVRA Opera Vigilanza Repressione Antifascista PCI Partito Communista Italiano PSI Partito Socialista Italiano RAI Radio Audizioni Italiane, now RAI-TV, Radio Televisione Italiana Seed Harvey Ferguson II, trans. The Seed Beneath the Snow (1965) Seme II seme sotto la neve (Mondadori 1979) School Gwenda David and Eric Mosbacher, trans. The School for Dictators Scuola La scuola dei dittatori (Mondadori 1962) STAEM Antonio Gasbarrini, et al., ed. Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo Uscita Uscita di sicurezza Viaggio Viaggio a Parigi

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IGNAZIO SILONE: BEYOND THE TRAGIC VISION

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Introduction

"Io ho posto nel cuore degli uomini / 1'ospizio di speranze cieche" [I have placed in the hearts of men / the hospice of blind hopes]. Ignazio Silone wrote these verses from Aeschylus' Prometheus Bound1 as an epigraph to his novel // seme sotto la neve (The Seed Beneath the Snow),2 in his own handwriting, on a typescript of the work apparently not previously found by the critics, and yet they do not appear in the published version. Given his inclination to use the epigraph to encapsulate the essence of his thought in striking syntheses, it is surprising that having chosen such an appropriate one for his favorite novel, he should have so readily discarded it. While he left no explanation for this variant, it is likely that the polysemantic nature of the Promethean myth compelled him to reconsider. Had he kept the epigraph, what meaning would he have wanted it to carry? My suggestion is that given the novel for which it was intended, and Silone's stance in his entire opus, he must not have perceived Prometheus as the symbol of religious and metaphysical rebellion, but rather as one who suffers for the sake of others (and rebels) because he sees no way to save humanity other than through his generous, if defiant, act of love. But since his rebellion is not selfserving, his expiatory suffering restores the possibility of a final reconciliation of human hopes with the divine order - etiam peccata} Silone chose this epigraph on the eve of World War II, when the wrath of the "pagan" gods had been clearly unleashed and Promethean defiance appeared not only warranted but also a moral imperative, particularly to save the human spirit from one of the darkest nights in history. In fact those who felt that Silone in proposing moral resistance was abandoning the political struggle failed to recognize the author's increasing concern - over and above any idea of social justice that

4 Introduction merely addressed material needs - about the erosion of the spiritual dimension of human life. On the sentiments that informed the novel he writes, "Le probleme que je posais ... etait le suivant: lorsque s'etablit un pouvoir absolu, qui paralise les forces d'opposition ... que les individus sont pris dans le sentiment apparent 'qu'il n'y a rien a faire/ il reste toujours a rhomme libre la ressource du refus d'obeissance, sans aucun egard quant aux risques et au manque d'efficacite." [The problem I posed ... was the following: when an absolute power so takes hold and paralyzes the forces of opposition ... that individuals are seized by the apparent feeling that 'nothing can be done/ a free man can always resort to disobedience without regard to risk or ineffectiveness.!4 To a greater or lesser extent this is what many of Silone's heroes opt for, from Benjamin, the poor Fontamaran of "The Journey to Paris," who refuses to burn the Fucino's wheat, to Severina, the nun who chooses conscience over the sacred vows of obedience. There can be, of course, a demonic quality to prideful defiance, and Silone must have considered it when he discarded the epigraph. Significantly, however, he addresses this very question in his last novel, when the mother superior accuses Severina of "diabolical infatuation" for her defiance of her superiors' orders, and Severina, without regard to the serious consequences she will face, decides to save an innocent with her truthful testimony, thus revealing how, for Silone, prideful defiance that is rooted in agape is one with righteousness. In this sense it can be said that the epigraph, when understood as I have suggested, contains an implicit declaration of Silone's poetics, his idea of a writer's responsibility, and his perception of what a literary work could accomplish. The individual's readiness to suffer for the sake of others - in substitution for others - embodies the author's tragic awareness that suffering is inherent in human existence, and summons to mind the following verses from Prometheus Bound: And of this pain do not expect an end until some God shall show himself successor to take your tortures for himself and willing go down to lightless Hades and the shadows of Tartarus' depths. Bear this in mind and so determine. This is no feigned boast but spoken with too much truth. The mouth of Zeus does not know how to lie, but every word brings to fulfillment. Look you, and reflect

Introduction 5 and never think that obstinacy is better than prudent counsel. (1026-35)

The irony contained in these verses is that Prometheus is being dissuaded from performing an act of love similar to the one that will be needed to put an end to his suffering. When the Titan refuses Hermes' advice that he spare himself, and decides to suffer "unjustly," he does not embark on an egocentric course, and thus his rebellion can be perceived as an act of righteousness rather than a sin of pride. The redemptive power of this choice is implicit in the Chorus's refusal to heed Hermes' warning, and to prefer death to betrayal: How dare you bid us practice baseness? We will bear along with him what he must bear. (1067-68)

But while Aeschylus' play deals with morality alone, Silone's works invariably remind the reader that between the ancients and ourselves there has been the event of Christ. This event, when it is incorporated into the tragic vision as it is in Silone's work, implicitly suggests that the final act - whenever it may come - will not carry with it final defeat. As the title of this volume indicates, its underlying thesis is that Silone, having fully apprehended the tragic vision, reaches beyond it to assert his faith in the dignity of the individual. Silone was too keenly aware of the impossibility of speaking of the transcendent, and often repeated that a "sacred respect" precluded such presumption. Hence, his vision, while not excluding faith, is mainly comforted by the virtues of hope and agape. To assert their importance for the future of human history he was not afraid to reject the prevailing intellectual theories, and he countered decadentism, the cult of the Ubermensch, and existentialism with his belief that "upon a set of theories it is possible to build a school of thought or a propaganda; but only upon a set of values it is possible to lay the foundations for a culture, a civilization, a new type of human consortium."5 This Silonian spirit is beautifully captured in Irving Howe's poignant words: "No writer of our times has rejected nihilism or embraced the theme of human renewal with a conviction equal to that of Ignazio Silone ... Silone's work is animated by a tension between the secular promise of socialist liberation and the Christian promise of spiritual transcendence ... In his fiction, which focuses on the moral aspect of the

6 Introduction political problems, Silone eschews programmatic prescriptions and strives instead to embody human dilemmas. Although the impossibility of a full reconciliation between socialism and Christianity gives rise to tragedy in his work, it also serves as an incitement to choice and freedom."6 Insofar as choice is not based on egocentric considerations, freedom is not achieved only on a material or personal level; herein Silone finds the possibility of transcending the tragic vision of human existence. While there seems to be a general tendency to acknowledge the impossibility of tragedy in our times, and to speak instead of the "tragic vision," there is no consensus about what this vision entails or which writers have given it voice. In The Tragic Vision in Twentieth-Century Literature, Glicksberg writes, "The authentic tragic vision is committed to no program of social optimism; it demonstrates the ineffectuality of all temporal and historical remedies. It recognizes that man is responsible to himself alone, but it also reveals the terrible burden of suffering he must bear that no secular reforms will remove. Life remains inexplicable and calamitous today as in the past, though for different reasons. The tragic protagonist knows that his suffering and shipwreck is not caused by the evils of society or the pressures of economics."7 He then goes on to contrast Krieger's view that literary naturalists have lacked the courage to assert the atheist's stance, and have eluded their responsibility when they failed to confront "nothingness" and all that it entails, hiding instead behind the naive tenet that morality and progress can have salvationary value. For Glicksberg, "The literary naturalists of our time who have given voice to the tragic vision suffer from no such cheerful illusion. They present no optimistic resolution of the conflict inherent in the human condition."8 These opposing viewpoints, to which I will return, are pertinent here in that in The Tragic Vision: Variations on a Theme in Literary Interpretation, Krieger specifically includes Silone among those writers who failed, in his view, to give voice to that vision. In an essay entitled "Satanism, Sainthood and Revolution" he laments that in Silone the ideologue does not allow the artist the necessary freedom to open to the tragic vision, and thus "the artist never has a chance."9 Krieger bases his observations on Silone's novel, Bread and Wine, and on his play, And He Hid Himself, arguing that Silone tries to reconcile the Christian and the revolutionary but fails because the latter "knows whom to hate as well as whom to love: he has his source in pride" (81). Focusing on the dialectical exchanges between Uliva and Pietro Spina present in both works, and on the fact that the latter is said to have made

Introduction 7 "a special law" for himself, Krieger points to the demonic aspect of the hero's pride, and argues that Silone could have developed this character into "a moving version of the demoniac," but since he did not explore this possibility, or perhaps did not notice it, he failed to open to the tragic vision and to art. Krieger does not address the fact that Silone distinguishes between self-serving pride, which is demonic, and that pride that is rooted in agape, and is, in his view, a sign of righteousness. This very impossibility of containing the "sin" of pride within a single dimension is also why the Promethean myth could not be contained within the boundaries of Satanism. Like Glicksberg, I cannot agree with Krieger's view that the naturalistic writers of our century failed to measure up to the atheist challenge. By the same token, when Glicksberg says that "the modern tragic vision affirms no principle of moral or spiritual transcendence" and that "[in] the drama of unjustified and unrelieved suffering ... the tragic visionary catches no glimpse of significance that would redeem his suffering" (xv), I must distinguish between Silone's tragic vision and that of contemporaries such as Malraux, Sartre, O'Neill, Camus, and others cited by Glicksberg. Silone's tragic visionary is not at all naive or afraid to acknowledge the existential truth, but rather, having fully apprehended the tragic situation, freely opts for sacrifice specifically because of its redemptive power. Unlike other literary heroes who sacrifice themselves to defend the dignity of the oppressed, Silone's heroes sacrifice to reveal the dignity that is in the human being who is capable of transcending the tragic egocentric vision. Thus for Silone the problem not only is considered in terms of cosmocentrism and anthropocentrism, but is also to be pondered in terms of egocentrism and altruism. And if his view appears to be naive or optimistic, the reader should remember the meaning that Silone attaches to "simplicity" throughout his work. As to Krieger's claim that ideology prevented Silone from opening to the tragic vision, or to the legitimacy of counting him among the feeble-hearted, it is my view that a reading of Emergency Exit alone reveals to what degree the author has instead accepted and dealt with the existential challenge. If he did not profess the atheist's credo it was out of courage - the courage to acknowledge, quite against intellectual trends and self-interest, those "Christian certainties" that he felt to be so embedded in human life that to deny them would be to disintegrate the human being.10 This freedom that he reclaimed for his thought was apparently incomprehensible to many, but even as he was not arrogant in the face of criticism, so he

8 Introduction could not alter his views. He opted to remain authentic at the cost of appearing to be an anachronism, convinced that time would prove him right. "Books can wait/' he was known to say, implying that when they carry timeless, universal messages their enduring value will be recognized. While some of his works may not possess the artistic qualities of literary classics, many others, namely Fontamam, Bread and Wine, The Secret of Luca, The School for Dictators, Emergency Exit, and The Story of a Humble Christian can measure up to the challenge. All of Silone's works, including the lesser ones, offer remarkable insight into a particular era, place, and human dilemma, and his major narrative and dramatic works elevate that reality to a symbol of the human condition that eludes temporal and spatial limits. That is why, on the first centenary of his birth, Silone remains among this century's most relevant European writers. Another reason for Silone's enduring value is his recognized ability to interpret the signs of history. As early as 1950, Richard Grossman defined Silone as the most probable prophet of our times, noting that if history one day proved him right, he would be acclaimed by everyone.11 History has in fact proved him right, as many of the political developments that he foresaw have come to pass, with the consequences that he predicted (see Chapters i and 2). Now Silone's political writings, which had previously been rather neglected, are receiving greater attention, and his literary works continue to be the object of serious scholarship both in and outside of Italy. But much remains to be done, particularly with regard to scholarship available in English. The present work is my own response to this need. The volume comprises a biographical profile encompassing the most essential aspects of the author's life, an analysis of all of Silone's literary works, and a survey of the criticism from 1933 to the present. My method of inquiry is informed by the most pertinent theories of literary criticism, and relies on Northrop Frye's Anatomy of Criticism as its primary "grammar." For greater clarity of exposition and ease of consultation I have grouped Silone's works by genre and analyzed them individually, in chronological order within each genre. While I have approached each work as a unique text, I have also placed each in relation to Silone's other works to reveal the macrotext that becomes apparent when the entire opus is read. What is particularly intriguing about Silone's work is his masterly orchestration of the realistic and symbolic registers, with the resulting

Introduction 9 impression that the events represented are, at one and the same time, near enough to appear real and immediate, and yet suspended enough to resound with ancestral echoes that seem to transcend both space and time. Perhaps Silone has managed this because he has successfully transfigured both his native region, in its most arcane and universal nature, and the historical realities apprehended during his incessant quest for social justice - a quest that has revealed how the engrenage of history can deprive human beings of their spiritual dimension, and has compelled him to write as a way of revealing and transcending the tragic vision. Like Machiavelli, Silone felt the need to inspire others to pursue the good that he could not achieve.12 Like Simone Weil he was an advocate for social justice because he was deeply aware of the tragic spiritual consequences of oppression. He, too, believed that "When harm is done to a man, real evil enters into him; not merely pain and suffering, but the actual horror of evil. Just as men have the power of transmitting good to one another, so they have the power to transmit evil ... most often men transmit evil to other men by doing them harm."13 These thoughts, which the French intellectual wrote in 194243, are also present in Silone's works, from Fontamara, written in 193031, to La speranza di suor Severina, published posthumously in 1981. The "simple truths" that Silone repeats in each of his works may give the impression that he always brings the reader back to the same departure point; but to this he would say, "One who returns having made the journey is no longer the same." He would also recall the legend of a Spanish navigator who always sang a very beautiful song on the high seas, but when he was asked to sing it at home, answered, "it's impossible; I sing my song only to those who come with me on the high seas."14 Guided by this lucid metaphor, let us then begin our journey.

1

Ignazio Silone: A Biographical Profile

It would be hard to imagine a more appropriate manner in which to introduce Silone than by remembering the verses that David Maria Turoldo wrote in his honor - verses that capture the essence of his life and his work. The two writers had much in common: an imperious need to defend the oppressed and denounce social injustice, an innate ecumenical spirit, and a literary vocation to search, beyond literary trends, for truth and authenticity as the only masters of the poetic word. Both were men of action and prophetic vision; both were ostracized, ridiculed, and victimized; both were eventually accorded greater recognition by the Italian literary establishment, but are still underestimated. Upon receiving the Silone International Prize, Turoldo celebrated the essence of their poetic and spiritual kinship with these verses: Abundant grace - my Friend now repays deep solitudes and dreams and struggles: you in search of truth that renders free I that truth be free: beyond every Fontamara1

Silone's life was indeed marked by an incessant pursuit of truth and justice. But however genuine his commitment to social justice and to his literary vocation, and however coherent his choices may have been in those respects, it would be a mistake to idealize the man to the point of believing that he was the unblemished moral giant that many - perhaps influenced by a romantic reading of his novels - have depicted. Even his

A Biographical Profile 11 widow, Darina Silone, with whom I have often consulted, confirms that while the author was profoundly dedicated to the cause of the oppressed and to his literary work, he also had a very complex personality that could not be contained within the pages of a book. A scrutiny of the affairs, actions, and motivations within the private or political spheres of Silone's life would reveal him to have been as imperfect as any other human being, but it would also add very little to the scholarly discourse. Therefore, I will only introduce the essential information that is needed to render a pertinent and objective profile. Ignazio Silone was born Secondino Tranquilli on i May 1900 in Pescina dei Marsi, a small town in Abruzzo, a region that was then, and still remains, rich in human values and ancient traditions. His father, Paolo, was a modest landowner; his mother, Marianna Delli Quadri, worked as a weaver. Through their teachings and direct example Silone's parents instilled in their son the moral values that he would always seek to uphold as a most precious legacy. Naturally bent on internalizing experience, the young Secondino was an avid listener and a critical observer. The stories and legends that he heard from his grandmother by the fireside during the cold winter months, the ones the elders told in the town square by moonlight during the better seasons, the precious words heard from his mother during the time he spent by her side while she worked at the loom - all these were his nourishment during the formative years. At the same time, he also encountered much tragedy: when he was only eight years old, an illiterate woman asked him to correspond, on her behalf, with her son, Francesco Zauri, an innocent man who was serving a life sentence.2 Having lost five of his six siblings through various misfortunes, he suffered his father's untimely death in 1911, and witnessed the tragic end of his beloved mother in the 1915 earthquake that almost destroyed his entire village. These experiences, and others, some of which the author recalls in Uscita di sicurezza, contributed a great deal to his becoming "difficult and rebellious." Between the ages of fifteen and seventeen, while living with his paternal grandmother and his younger brother, Romolo, he organized protests against the local authorities. He also wrote three articles denouncing the corruption that was preventing the rebuilding of the town after the earthquake, but only two of them eluded censorship and were published in the Socialist newspaper Avantil As he was an orphan, he was sent to Rome to continue his studies at a religious seminary. Once there, the hypocrisy of the headmaster and the hostility of the

12 Ignazio Silone other students compelled him to run away. As a result he was expelled, but that indirectly led to his providential encounter with Don Orione, a saintly priest who dedicated his life to helping the needy. The encounter marked an important moment in the spiritual growth of the young man. Years later he still recalled their train trip to San Remo, his awe at the sight of the luminous city, and the immediate contrast that struck him as he thought of his hometown, where "the poor ... lived in mud, caverns, and barracks and at night had to build fires to scare away the wolves." He would also recall how, at that thought, he began to feel "a greater sorrow ... an entirely new sorrow," in the inmost part of his soul.3 That "new sorrow" reinforced Silone's sense of personal responsibility and his commitment to the struggle for social justice. In that spirit he joined the Zimmerwaldian Socialist movement, and was soon elected regional secretary of the Youth Section. On 17 October 1918, when he was only eighteen, he was found guilty of organizing a popular revolt and was sentenced to pay a fine of one thousand liras.4 A year later he moved to Rome as secretary of the Unione Socialista Romana. Although he was classified as "subversive" by the central police, he could nevertheless continue his work as a reporter for the Socialist weekly publication L'Avanguardia and the Communist newspaper // Lavoratore. At a convention for Communist youth held in Fiume (Rijeka), Silone met Gabriella Seidenfeld Triedmann, a local Jew of Hungarian ancestry who would be his companion from 1921 to 1931. He was only twentyone, but his political maturity was such that he became, with Gramsci and Bordiga, one of the founders of the PCI, the Italian Communist Party. The event propelled him into the international political arena: he met such political personalities as Lenin and Zinoviev in Moscow and Bukharin and Radek in Berlin. As his political activity intensified, he was increasingly subject to surveillance. In December 1922, two months after Mussolini's march on the capital, Secondino was arrested; upon regaining his freedom, he escaped with Gabriella to Berlin. The impact that she had on his life is documented in a letter he wrote to her in 1924, which appears here for the first time in English translation: Two years ago I was completely parched and withered. Two years ago I would have found a letter like this one revolting. To resist during the horrible life that I had lived until then, I had burned within me all that was native, provincial, religious, familiar, etc. To better resist, I had become spiritually deaf and dumb. I

A Biographical Profile

13

did not care about anything. What had happened? My internal destruction had not been total, either physically or morally. Then ... you arrived [in my life]. What is certain is that I am no longer my former self. I feel physically reborn; that is, born anew. I have even recovered a desire to work. In fact, what is peculiar is that, coming back to life, I am becoming as I once was, that is, a guy from Pescina ... Deep down each person has a given temperament, and, I realize that all my present thoughts are those I already thought when I was fifteen years old. Thus you - a red Jew - have brought me back to the spiritual condition that I was in when I entered the seminary, or when I campaigned for Scellingo, the Deputy of the poor.5

Secondino and Gabriella participated in underground missions with the noms de guerre Serena and Sereno;6 the Fascist police relentlessly pursued the Italian dissident, and, catching up with him, repeatedly requested his extradition. In 1923, while in Madrid as a correspondent for L'Humanite, Secondino was arrested and imprisoned in Barcelona;7 there, when writing for La Batalla, he used for the first time the pseudonym Ignazio Silone.8 Expelled from Spain, he went to France as a member of the editorial staff of La Riscossa, but was once again arrested and expelled. In 1925 he returned to Italy as an official member of the Communist Party, which was then headed by Gramsci, and was appointed director of the Press Office. But the law that entitled him to continue his journalistic activity was soon to change. On 6 November 1926 Mussolini passed the Special Laws eliminating freedom of the press and prohibiting all opposition activities. Silone escaped to Genoa and joined Camilla Ravera, Alfonso Leonetti, Paolo Ravazzoli, and Pietro Tresso in the executive branch of the underground movement. In 1927 Silone and Gabriella were engaged in anti-Fascist propaganda near Vicenza, when they were discovered and had to escape. They crossed the Alps clandestinely and reached Basel, where they lived for some time with the help of other Communist comrades. Again discovered, they were expelled and returned to France, where they remained in hiding in Vaucresson, near Paris; but even there they were not safe. By the end of 1929 they were back in Switzerland, only this time Silone's ill health and a moral crisis made it impossible for him to go on. He entered a sanatorium in Davos while Gabriella remained in Zurich.9 Although they corresponded, and in the summer of 1930 Silone shared with Gabriella his enthusiasm over the novel he was writing,10 the romantic relationship, at least for him, had by then run its course.

14 Ignazio Silone Silone's crisis had begun in 1927, following a Comintern meeting in Moscow, where he realized that the ideals to which he had sacrificed his youth had been betrayed and that Russian Communism was nothing more than "red Fascism."11 Ironically, just as his faith in his political credo was shaken, his younger brother was beginning to follow in his footsteps as a Communist activist. Unjustly arrested in Milan, in connection with the 12 April 1928 attempted regicide of Victor Emmanuel III, Romolo was condemned to death. For Silone, to resign at that point would have meant revealing to his brother that the hopes for social justice for which they had joined the Communist movement had been betrayed. It would also have meant having to give up the official position from which he could best try to help Romolo. A letter Silone sent to his grandmother in September of that same year reveals the extent to which he felt responsible for "Romoletto."12 To save him from execution Silone solicited and obtained the intervention of the Comite de Defense des Victimes du Fascisme. Its petition, also signed by the Nobel laureate Romain Rolland, did in fact contribute to sparing Romolo from execution, but the reprieve was brief. Detained in the Procida jail for his membership in an illegal political party and for subversive activity, Silone's brother died at the age of twenty-eight, on 27 October 1932, of tuberculosis, aggravated by police brutality.13 Tuberculosis had by then reached epidemic dimensions; its fatal nature, and the suffering that it caused - so poignantly depicted in the verses of the Italian Crepuscolari poets - did not prevent Silone, who was also affected, from continuing his battle. But even as he remained faithful to the original ideals of Communism, his role within the party became ambivalent. The personal responsibility that he felt for his brother, and the anguish over his fate, evidently compelled him to agree to cooperate with the Fascist police. A letter he wrote on 13 April 1930 to Guido Bellone, who then headed the political branch of the Fascist police, reveals the nature of Silone's involvement and the moral crisis that it caused: I apologize for not writing you anymore; the information you are interested in is no longer a mystery (it's already in the press). I don't know what my friends and I will do. My health is awful, but the cause is moral. (You will understand if you remember what I wrote you last year). I am at a very pitiful point of my existence. The moral sense that has always been very strong within me now dominates me entirely; it does not allow me to sleep, it does not allow me to eat, it does not give me a minute of rest. I am at the resolution point of my crisis of conscience, which only admits one

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15

escape: the complete abandonment of militant politics. (I will try to find any kind of intellectual occupation.) Beyond this solution, there remained only death. To continue to live in duplicity was impossible for me. It is impossible for me. I was born to be an honest landowner in my native village. Life has forcefully thrown me on a treacherous slope from which I now want to rescue myself. I am aware that I have not caused much harm to my friends, nor to my country. Within the limits of possibility I was always careful not to cause any harm. I must say that you - considering your position - have always behaved with me as an honorable man. This is why I am writing you this my last letter. So that you will not hinder my plan, which will be carried out in two phases: first, [I plan] to eliminate from my life all that is falsity, duplicity, equivocation, mystery; second, [I plan] to start a new life on a new base, in order to amend the harm that I caused, redeem myself, do some good for the workers, the farmers (to whom I feel connected by all the fibers of my heart), AND FOR MY COUNTRY. Between the first and the second phase, I will need some physical, intellectual, and moral rest. No material consideration whatsoever has influenced my decision. I am not afraid to face hardship. What I want is TO LIVE MORALLY. The influence and popularity that I have gained in many centers of emigration compel me to conceive my future activity (as soon as I am well), in the form of completely independent literary and editorial activity. I must add that at this time some great changes are taking place in my ideology, and I again feel very much drawn toward religion (if not toward the Church) and that this evolution of my thought is facilitated by the idiotic and criminal direction that the Communist Party is pursuing. The only thing that makes me leave it WITH REGRET, is that it is a persecuted party in which, outside of its leaders, there are thousands of workers in good faith. In order to exert some influence on these, I am still hesitating to publicly announce my breaking with the Party, and I await a more propitious moment. This my letter to you is a token of my esteem. I wanted to seal for good a long period of fair relations with an act of fairness. If you are a believer, pray God to give me the strength to overcome my remorse, to begin a new life, to SPEND IT ALL for the sake of the working clas and of Italy. Your Silvestri14

Silone never found the "propitious moment" to announce his break with the PCI. Perhaps in a phase of denial, he attempted to reopen a dialogue with its leaders, still hoping to be able to continue his struggle for social justice from within its ranks, but his attempt was rejected.15 His already sanctioned expulsion became official in 1931. On the ideological level, the break simply formalized a situation that had existed de facto

16 Ignazio Silone since 1927. The crises that resulted from the Comintern meeting in 1927 and Romolo's arrest in 1928 were two tremendous, successive blows that Silone had to endure, and yet he was only then beginning to feel their full impact. Each crisis would last four years; each would culminate in an endless period of "mourning" and soul-searching, for which there could never be total acceptance and closure. The common wisdom that most of the world's great art is rooted in suffering holds true for Silone's work as well. As he began to distance himself from the official political role that he played within the PCI, he felt compelled to come to terms with the reasons for his struggle: to try "to understand and make others understand." It is not surprising, then, that his first novel, Fontamara, tells the story of the oppressed people for whom he had sought justice in the political struggle, and that its principal hero should die, like Romolo, in a Fascist jail. Thus Silone embarked on the new course that he had outlined in his letter to Bellone, and began to pursue his "completely independent literary and editorial activity." While he remained in touch with Gabriella, another woman now entered his life. She was Aline Valangin, a Swiss intellectual eleven years his senior, with whom he had an intense and beneficial relationship that lasted about two years.16 It was Aline who sent the manuscript of Fontamara to Gaetano Salvemini, and when he wrote her that he thought it would be hard to find a publisher for it, she did not relent. Assisted by her husband, who was unaware of her affair with the author, Aline apparently was able to collect enough signatures to guarantee the sale of the novel, thus offering the Swiss publishers Oprecht the financial incentive they needed to publish it.17 Furthermore, Aline's support, and the cooperation of a number of architects of the Bauhaus Dessau, enabled Silone, in 1932, to found the periodical information. Although only a few numbers appeared, they provided a forum in which he could present his findings on sociological, cultural, and literary studies as well as a podium from which to speak on the most compelling political issues. His contributions included "Der Christus von Kazan," an essay on the perception of Christ through the centuries and on Christianity;18 a number of articles denouncing the political choices of those who stayed in the Communist Party even after its true nature was revealed; and several interventions in defense of the victims of Communism, including Andre Gide, who had been wrongfully accused of working for the Gestapo. When Fontamara first appeared, in 1933 in German, Silone's talent was

A Biographical Profile 17 immediately recognized, and he soon became one of Europe's bestknown novelists. He now had no trouble finding publishers willing to translate and publish this and his subsequent novels in many other countries. Although his relationship with Aline ended when their very different mentalities clashed, by that time he had made the hoped-for transition from politics to literature that he had envisioned. In the following years his literary production continued at a steady pace, and his works were read throughout free Europe, in the Americas, in Asia, and in the Middle East, receiving wide critical acclaim. While he no longer worked for a political party, Silone did not abandon the political struggle, and powerfully denounced the totalitarian forces that oppressed the human spirit. Silone remained outside a political party until 1940. Then, when the centre of the Italian Socialist Party had to be transferred from Paris to Zurich as a result of the Nazis' hold on the French city, he agreed to became its new director. With a handful of friends he organized the Centre Estero, part of whose mission was providing assistance to anti-Fascist movements both inside and outside of Italy. The activities he undertook during that period are documented in Memoriale dal carcere svizzero, a detailed account that he wrote for the Swiss police on 17 December 1942, while under arrest following the discovery of the Centre's activities. The volume also contains other important documents, including the first appeal to the Italians by Centre Estero for a Terzo Fronte, or Third Front, and political writings inspired by Gandhi and Mazzini urging the Italians to reject Mussolini and his government. In these, Silone countered the Duce's dictum, "It's better to live one day as a lion than one hundred as a sheep," with his own motto: "It's better to live one day as a free man than one hundred as a slave." Whereas in the "Memoriale" Silone declares that from December 1930 to mid-1941 he refrained from all political involvement: "my detachment from any kind of political activity was total and absolute until midyear 1941,"19 his writings in the Almanacco Socialista an underground periodical that circulated under the seemingly innocent cover of // Canzoniere delle Alpi (which would lead one to believe that the publication contained songs from the Alps) - as well as some police reports, speak to the contrary.20 Evidently the Italian police did not believe that he had abandoned all political activities and continued to keep him under surveillance, particularly in 193536, the years of the Ethiopian campaign that Silone most certainly opposed.

i8 Ignazio Silone A report filed by a Fascist agent on 20 January 1935 states: ... according to further reliable information, the well-known Communist Secondino Tranquilli, alias Ignazio Silone, is about to leave Zurich to move to the Ticino, supposedly to be hospitalized, for health reasons, in a clinic near Ascona. The truth is that there is also another reason that obliges him to leave Zurich; it appears that he has been denied the permit to remain, on account of his Communist activities. While further reports will be forthcoming on Tranquilli's move from Zurich to the proximity of our borders, this office deems it opportune to call to the attention of your Honorable Division that, on the basis of all the reliable reports that we have on the subject, he appears such as to warrant continued and careful vigilance.21

As could be expected, Silone was aware of being under continued surveillance. In a letter to his Swiss publisher he wrote, "In Ascona I have had some Fascist difficulties and from today I am in the Massagno Alps above Lugano ..." Then, in the following one, dated July 1935, he used code language to communicate with Emmie Oprecht, stating within quotations, "At Lugano it rains," then adding, "The Migrospeople go for walks in straw hats although 'it rains.' What we are lacking is a Migrospress. Perhaps I'll write about it to Jakob Biihrer."22 While the precise meaning the message carried to the recipient remains unknown, it is clear that Silone was indicating the precarious situation of the "migrants" like himself who did not have appropriate cover under the "rain," or the bad political climate that prevailed in Lugano. Trouble, for Silone, did not come only from the Fascists; Paul Nizan, at whose suggestion he had written Der Faschismus - a work on the origins and development of Fascism - returned the manuscript without comment. Only later did Silone realize that the PCI had brought pressure on the French publishers to reject it.23 During the years in which Silone worked for the Centre Estero another woman entered his life. Having heard that the Opera Vigilanza Repressione Antifascista (OVRA) had placed a spy in Zurich to watch him and report on all of his activities, he set out to find out who it was, and thought he had found her when he saw a young woman at the Museumsgesellschaft. Intrigued by her youth and beauty, he sought to meet her. Upon learning that her name was Darina Elizabeth Laracy, on 5 December 1941, Silone had a letter delivered to her with an invitation for tea, which she accepted. She still recalls how awestruck she was at

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the sight of the art collection that she found at the house of the Jewish Maecenas Marcel Fleischmann, where Silone was then living. He kept her waiting a long time and offered no apologies, but proceeded to conduct a subtle interrogation. Thus he found out that she was not a Fascist spy but an Irish doctoral student at the Sorbonne who had been visiting Italy, and, having been expelled, had ended up in Zurich. She had accepted his invitation because she had heard of him, and had read his novels. After that first meeting, Silone's persistence, their shared ideological views, and the intellectual communion that she felt she could establish with him enveloped the young woman like a magnetic force she could not resist. She became his translator, his research assistant, and his companion. On 12 October 1944, when Silone returned to Italy, she was at his side. Upon landing at the Naples airport both Silone and Emanuele Modigliani, a brother of the famous painter, bent to kiss the Italian soil. After Silone and the rest of the group spent several days at the royal palace of Caserta, the Americans moved them to a nearby villa; but when the returnees met the villa's rightful owners, who had endured eviction and much tragedy, they asked and obtained permission to be moved elsewhere. Thus they moved to a room in a small hotel that lacked even heat and running water. But soon thereafter they were able to leave for Rome. There, on 20 December 1944, Silone and Darina were married in a civil ceremony. Silone's complex personality, the age difference, the couple's different cultural backgrounds, and many other factors rendered their marriage a difficult one. Nevertheless, Darina was still at his side when he died on 22 August 1978, and even now when she muses in solitude and wisdom upon the unfulfilled promises of her own intellectual and personal life, she asks that her memories of those difficult years be kept confidential, choosing to remain, until the very end, the loyal and combative guardian of Silone's name and legacy.24 After his return to Italy, Silone's political career could have been a brilliant one had he been more prone to compromise. One only needs to reread his writings to perceive the depth of his thought and his ability to forecast future developments. In Fontamara he anticipated by twenty years the time when the farmland would finally belong to the farmers; in his essay on Fascism he demonstrated how the failure of Socialism brought totalitarian regimes to power; in The School for Dictators he traced the Identikit of the modern statesman, and described all the

20 Ignazio Silone means that he uses to seize and hold power; in Emergency Exit he foretold that the end of Russian Communism would result from internal dissent, and offered a perceptive analysis of contemporary society; in "Terzo Fronte" he proposed - as early as 1941 - a third option to Fascism or Communism: a plan for a united Europe that was in many ways similar to the one that the European Community is gradually enacting; in 1942, inspired by Gandhi, he wrote the manifesto for "civil disobedience," urging the Italians to use nonviolent resistance to bring down Mussolini's regime; in the following year, he wrote to Washington and London to point out the need to separate the Italian people from the Fascist regime when assigning responsibility for siding with the Germans; and, finally, when the Allied army liberated Italy, he drafted a document hailing the event and auguring the end of all types of imperialism. And more important than all these is Silone's humanistic vision. As Ruberti pointedly notes, "the ideas of pacification, of solidarity amongst peoples, and of respect for human rights, which have been conquering greater space in the conscience of our times, are Silonian ideas."25 On their return to Italy, Silone and his wife established their residence in a modest apartment in the Via di Villa Ricotti, where Darina still lives.26 In the years that followed, thanks to his international renown, Silone was invited to join the Central Committee, which was to conduct a purge of the Order of Journalists, but he declined. He also resisted the attempts made by the PCI to reenlist him within its ranks. He agreed instead to become editor in chief of the Socialist newspaper Avantil and began to explore, together with Pertini, the possibility of detaching the Socialist Party from the other power blocs. In 1946, having resigned his editorial post, he ran as a member of the Socialist Party and was elected a deputy from Abruzzo to the Assemblea Costituente. But his political vision was never provincial or even nationalist; his dream was still that of a united Europe. In fact when he founded his own newspaper in 1947, he called it Europa Socialists*, and that same year, together with Einaudi, Parri, Salvemini, and Calamandrei, he presided over the Congress for European Unity and World Peace. At that same time, he began to engage in a bitter public dispute with Togliatti, first about the interpretation of Marxism and later about the facts behind Trotsky's condemnation at the 1927 Comintern meeting. In 1949, disenchanted with the political climate that surrounded him, he withdrew to private life. In this state of mind he joined ex-Communist writers Koestler, Gide, Fischer, Wright, and Spender in bearing witness

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to the personal price paid for the shattered ideal of Communism, in Richard Grossman's The God That Failed.27 Despite bitterness and disappointments, Silone could not become a spectator, and he remained engaged in the struggle for social justice. This was demonstrated, for instance, in 1957, when he founded the Committee for Hungarian Refugees, and even the Giornale Ungherese d'ltalia, to offer the politically oppressed a newspaper through which they could bring their case to the attention of the international community. In that same spirit, in 1950 he had joined the intellectuals who met in West Berlin for the Congress on Cultural Freedom, and had become one of the protagonists of anti-Stalinism, though opposing Koestler's views on the best approach. As Warner states, "Koestler favored the rhetorical frontal assault, and his attacks sometimes spared neither foe nor friend. Silone was subtler, urging the West to promote social and political reforms in order to co-opt Communism's still-influential moral appeal."28 Silone's view apparently prevailed. That same year he became the director of the newly founded Associazione Italiana per la Liberta della Cultura (Italian Association for Cultural Freedom). He did not know that, together with other intellectuals who adhered to the Berlin initiative, he was becoming part of what was later described as "one of CIA's more daring and effective Cold War covert operations" orchestrated by the Office of Policy Coordination.29 Did he suspect it later? Did he find out before the operation was exposed in 1967? That remains to be established.30 In a letter to Margherita Pieracci Harwell, dated Paris, 14 May 1967, Silone writes: I don't know if you read the newspapers, but lately they have returned to the topic of the secret meddling of the so-called American CIA with students' and writers' associations, also mentioning the Movement for the Freedom of Culture. In the past I have always rejected with indignation any such suspicion. Now it happened that the executive director of the Movement has confessed the truth to me: for several years the source of funds were self-styled foundations behind which there was precisely the notorious CIA.31

Luce d'Eramo, too, claims that Silone was not aware of the real situation, adding that in the period in question the United States denied him an entry visa because of his anti-McCarthyism, and neither his pleading with Adlai Stevenson nor the intervention on his behalf of Clare Boothe Luce, then U.S. ambassador to Italy, was to any avail.32 But even so, it

22 Ignazio Silone would not seem impossible that a man as alert as Silone to the mechanism of political strategy might have harbored some suspicion about the generosity of American institutions, particularly when the Ford Foundation began to sponsor Tempo Presente, the cultural journal Silone and Nicola Chiaromonte founded in 1956,33 or when he received his honorary degree at Yale University, which is reputed by historians of this period to have been the home base for the CIA.34 While this question remains an intriguing puzzle for the political historian, what really matters in the end are Silone's actions and his writings. These were never compromised. As d'Eramo points out, from the very pages of Tempo Presente Silone criticized the United States for its McCarthyism, for the Vietnam War, for racial discrimination, and for imperialism against Latin America.35 Also to be noted is the coherence Silone revealed in his choice to remain independent, repeatedly declining interesting offers, including one to become the president of RAI, despite the personal and political gains that he could have derived from that powerful position. His distance from the heated political climate and his international popularity made him appealing to opposing camps: on the one hand Socialists began to call him one of their own, on the other Christian Democrats began to stress the Christian nature of his message. In response to these conflicting and partisan views, in a January 1961 interview that appeared in L'Espresso, Silone adopted the famous self-definition of "Christian without a church and Socialist without a party." His position was better understood in 1965, when he published his autobiographical writings in Emergency Exit. The volume also contributed to creating a fairer climate within which Silone's entire literary production could be reconsidered. During the last two decades of his life, Silone finally enjoyed a period of serenity. He received many coveted literary prizes: Yale University (1966) and the University of Toulouse (1970) bestowed upon him doctorates honoris causa; the State of Israel (1969) awarded him the International Prize for Literature, which the previous year had gone to Bertrand Russell; in Paris (1971) he received the Del Duca International Prize for the "humanism" of his opus, and in that same year the Italian government conferred upon him the Penna d'oro, Italy's most prestigious literary prize. He was also a candidate for the Nobel Prize in 1976, and again in 1978 - the year in which he died, in Geneva, on 22 August at four o'clock in the morning.

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In his last will and testament, Silone requested that there not be a religious funeral, but that a cross be placed on his casket, and the "Lord's Prayer" be recited. If possible, his ashes should be buried in his native town of Pescina dei Marsi, on the hill overlooking the Fucino valley "at the foot of the bell-tower of the abandoned church of Saint Berardo. Without any epigraph; with only the name and surname on a mountain stone, and with a small cross on the adjacent wall." He named his wife, Darina, his erede universale and gave her discretion in disposing of his archives by donating part of the material to the city of Pescina and part to an American university library that would give adequate guarantees that it would be made available for scholarly research. Following some unfortunate circumstances, Darina Silone and the city of Pescina are pursuing the necessary legal means to carry out his will.36

2

Autobiographical Writings and Other Essays: Emergency Exit

The biographical profile I traced in the previous chapter offered a basic introduction to Silone's life. This chapter will endeavor to broaden that perspective through a reading of Emergency Exit.1 In no other work does the writer engage in a direct dialogue with the reader as he does here; from no other work do readers gain as great an understanding of Silone's human "adventure," his concerns, and his Promethean "blind hopes," as they do from this one. Each of the writings in this collection is like a beam of light that directs the reader's attention to apparently ordinary events and circumstances, and then penetrates them to the core, releasing their energy as powerful human messages. Each reading is both intellectually and aesthetically rewarding. Giuliana Rigobello finds that the volume is organized into four sections: the first three centering on Silone's experience with international Communism, as well as the "before" and "after"; the last one is a sort of appendix, in which the author discusses the problems of modern society and future perspectives.2 Such a division is more structural than semantic; in fact, the last part is not "a sort of appendix" but a writing that brings into a sharper focus lessons that could be derived from the previously narrated experience. The author's shift from the self to the other, from narrative to essay, and from the past to the present and to the future serves precisely this purpose. The common denominator of the various parts of the volume is the author's concern with the fate of the human being "caught in the engrenage of existence." As the reader will notice, even as the focal point moves from the individual to society, the main concerns and motivation remain the same.

Autobiographical Writings 25 "Visit to a Prisoner" In this autobiographical tale Silone paints a living picture of his native village, placing at its center scenes that eloquently depict two formative episodes. In the first he narrates how, as a young child, he witnesses the arrest of a "small, barefoot, ragged little man," who is being led away by two policemen. As the man proceeds "as if to the rhythm of a painful dance," his animal-like vitality, and the strange cicada noise that his backpack makes with each new step, make him seem pitiful and farcical. The boy, amused by the sight, begins to laugh. But his father, in a reaction that seems inspired by Pirandello's essay on humour,3 immediately reprimands him: "Never make fun of a man who's been arrested! Never!" Because, he explains, such a man may be innocent, and, at any rate, because he is a poor dejected man. Thus the boy learns to see the tragic human side of that apparently humorous sight. The other scene is of an episode that takes place a few years later - the day in which his father finally consents to take him along to the farm. The two begin the "journey" in good harmony, but at one point the father becomes cross because he has forgotten his cigars. The boy, fearing that the man will not utter another word for the entire day, tries to buy one from a passerby, but he will not sell it. Then, just as the boy is experiencing utter dismay, the stranger unexpectedly shares his only cigar with him and will not accept his money, but simply tells him, "Either you give half a cigar or you don't." The "lesson" leaves a profound impression in the youngster's mind. One day he sees the "cigar man" in handcuffs, having been arrested for stealing, and runs to tell his father. Together they go to vouch for the prisoner's character, but to no avail. When they visit him in prison, the youngster is glad to see that the prisoner has not forgotten him. The event, though it really may have happened, has undoubtedly been transfigured by the author. On a realistic level, it represents the simple virtues that constitute "the salt of the earth"; on an artistic level, it achieves the impact of a genuine poetic experience. The structure is that of the "journey" that ends in discovery. As the narrative unfolds, Silone, in a masterful manner, modulates the variations of the boy's inner mood: his grown-up feeling, his pride, his desire to prove himself worthy of his father's trust; and then also his anxiety when his father becomes silent, his need to break that silence and restore the former harmony, his dejection when his efforts appear fruitless, and his final satis-

26 Ignazio Silone faction. At the end of the "journey" the seemingly ordinary episode summons biblical and literary archetypes: the individual experience resounds with universal echoes; reality is transfigured by art. "Judith's Tresses" This tale captures another aspect of the same reality that inspired "Visit to a Prisoner." It tells the story of Judith, a young basket weaver whose physical appearance, like the surrounding landscape, betrays an atavistic condition of extreme poverty and neglect. Her only attractive feature is her "extraordinary head of thick, long hair," which acquires a legendary quality in her mind and in those of everyone else. Her husband, leaving for America a few months after their wedding, has her promise that she will never undo her hair before another man. In town, rumors have it that someone once secretly caught sight of her hair as she was washing it in the river. Nicola, the postman, is possessed by the desire to see Judith with her hair down, but his pleas go unheard, for the woman is firm in keeping the promise she made to her beloved. To punish her for her cruelty, he stops delivering her husband's letters. Judith, convinced that her husband has forgotten her, cuts her hair and tries to hang herself, but is saved when a beggar strangely appears at her door at that precise moment. Also by coincidence, the postman's illicit practices are discovered, and he is forced to flee. Judith thus learns that her husband never forgot her, but rather than experience relief, she lives in fear that he might return and see her without her tresses. As in "Visit to a Prisoner," in this case as well, it is Silone's father who places the story in its moral perspective. In fact, while initially he expresses contempt for the postman and would gladly punish him with his own hands, once Nicola becomes a fugitive he gives him asylum, and when young Secondino asks his father: "Will you beat him up?" the answer comes with an implicit, ancient lesson: "How can you think that? He is our guest now." By the same token, when the fugitive tries to justify himself and to elicit his host's understanding, the boy waits through a long, dramatic silence, and then hears his father say, "Nicola, you are here in my house, and you are going to be locked up in prison, where you'll probably spend many years. What can I say to you?"4 As the young man absorbs one more essential lesson, another phase of his initiation is completed. Silone uses this story to illustrate some important aspects of the ancestral culture of his native Abruzzo: its strong moral sense and its belief in

Autobiographical Writings 27 the sacredness of the guest, as well as the survival of certain primitive dispositions that perpetuate ignorance and alter one's perception of reality. The use of hyperbole effectively drives home the point that both Judith and Nicola sacrifice their happiness to a fetish. In his other works, and particularly in his novel, A Handful of Blackberries, Silone uses a similar technique to illustrate the psychological power of emblems and rituals and the dangers that derive from that power. "Encounter with a Strange Priest" In this poignant testimonial to Don Orione, Silone recalls his 1916 meeting with that "strange priest," a man who dedicated his entire life to the orphaned and the needy. The author was then an adolescent who had recently lost his beloved mother in the 1915 earthquake, had shared in the inhuman suffering of the survivors, and had developed a political conscience that compelled him to rebel against the status quo. Don Orione, rather than judge him as other adults did, was able to restore his sense of righteousness and self-worth by simply dealing with him as a human being. As he narrates these real events, Silone offers a penetrating sociological and psychological study that helps the reader understand the plight of a teenager at a crucial moment in his life, when only the sense of truly mattering to someone and the touch of authentic human concern can rescue him from the grip of despair, alienation, and even nihilism. Even as the author relates the actual event and pays homage to this uncommon man who left an indelible mark in his life, he effectively adds another precious literary gem to this collection. The juxtaposition of Don Orione with the Roman school's headmaster is an instance of the two different ways of perceiving Christianity that Silone will most poignantly dramatize in his play, The Story of a Humble Christian. His description of the landscapes conveys the entire range of his inner feelings: the desolate condition of his hometown after the 1915 earthquake; the alienation and despair he felt in that Roman school near the cemetery and the ill-famed inns; his sense of discovery during the long train trip with Don Orione, which is like a descent into his inner being; the morning sight of the sun-flooded Ligurian coast that unfolds before his eyes in all of its splendor; the contrast that he perceives between this reality and the one he left behind; the "new sorrow in the inmost part of his soul" that he feels as he realizes the full impact of social injustice - all these are poignant moments in the teenager's spiri-

28 Ignazio Silone tual itinerary. After an entire night spent in conversation with Don Orione, he reacquires the full sense of his own humanity. He is now aware that even the most tragic reality can be endured when individuals join in mutual solidarity; the sense of nihilism thus gives way to a new hope.5 "Polikushka" In the period following the earthquake, and preceding his departure for Rome, Silone had begun to attend the meetings of the Farmers' League, where he met Lazzaro, the man who would become one of the important characters in his work. Here he narrates the circumstances that led him to seek the companionship of the poor farmers, and tells of their uncommon endurance in the face of oppression. But once again, as the narrative unfolds, the realistic dimension recedes and the symbolic outline appears. A case in point is his depiction of the time when, during a meeting at the League, he notices how the room is dominated by a picture at the center of the wall representing Christ the Redeemer "wearing long red overalls with a banner above Him that reads: 'Blessed are they who hunger and thirst after righteousness/" Under the picture is the trumpet used to sound the alarm or gather the farmers at the appointed time. The place, and the spirit that unites the men, bring to mind the meeting at Emmaus and the promise of the Lord to be with His people whenever they would gather in His name. The blessing below the picture recalls the Sermon on the Mount.6 The trumpet summons the promise of the Apocalypse, and, finally, the name Lazzaro stands for the return to life.7 The author's use of archetypal imagery suggests that these farmers represent more than the immediate situation, and that their resistance is symbolic of the resilience of the human spirit - or, in religious terms, the spirit of the biblical remnant. Also deserving of critical attention is the author's retelling of Tolstoy's "Polikushka."8 When the illiterate farmers ask their young friend to read them something, his choice is the Russian master's story of the poor drunkard Polikushka, who is ridiculed and mistrusted by all. When the drunkard tries to prove himself worthy of confidence, he loses the money that has been entrusted to him, and, in utter despair, commits suicide. The merciful act of trust had in fact restored his human dignity; he had experienced hope and seen his redemption within reach. That same dignity made it impossible for him to return to his previous

Autobiographical Writings 29 condition. Suicide was both his last escape from inhuman suffering and his last affirmation of human dignity. Having read the story, the young man is deeply moved by Polikushka's tragic suicide. The farmers, however, fail to show any emotion; they are callous and lacking in compassion. What Silone is implicitly suggesting here is that their inability to comprehend all of the implications of the story, and to express themselves, is another tragic consequence of social injustice. How sad that these well-meaning men should not be able to follow the meaning of the story, despite their honest efforts! The author underscores their loss by juxtaposing their reaction with the following thoughts that the story brought to the young reader's mind: The writer who could portray a servant's suffering with such sincerity must have been a very good and brave man. The sad, slow pace of the story revealed a compassion beyond the usual pity of the man who is moved by his neighbor's troubles, and averts his glance so that he will not suffer, too. Divine compassion must be like this, I thought, the compassion which does not relieve the creature of his pain, yet on the other hand does not abandon him but helps him to the end, without ever revealing itself.9

These words, which Silone writes about the Russian master, could also be written about him, since he, too, like Tolstoy, experiences the suffering of the oppressed as his own. In fact, even as he recalls his reaction at the brutal arrest of a poor man in Moscow, he reveals that particular brand of sensitivity. As a result, just as Polikushka lives in the pages of Tolstoy, the "parasitic insect" that the Russian police arrested in his presence near Pushkin's monument lives in this writing; their suffering will always have a cathartic effect on the reader. "Emergency Exit" "Non vi si pensa quanto sangue costa" [They think not how great the cost of blood]. This epigraph, from Dante's Paradise (XXIX, 91), introduces the essay from which the entire collection takes its title.10 The choice is most appropriate in that Silone speaks of the tremendous sufferings that he endured while actively engaged in the political struggle, offering the lessons he learned for others to ponder. Only in 1949, when the memories could be summoned through the soothing filter of time, could Silone finally write about the circum-

3O Ignazio Silone stances that had compelled him to become a rebel at a very young age, the vortex that later engulfed him, and the suffering that he endured. The narrative unfolds through a series of flashbacks arranged in the order that the events acquired in the author's consciousness, and conveys the full range of sentiments that he experienced. The initial impetus is provided by the remembrance of a 1926 November night spent in Milan with other members of the anti-Fascist movement - a night during which none of them slept, and they all told their stories to try to give meaning to the sacrifices that a life of conspiracy exacted from each of them. In the immediate aftermath of the promulgation of Mussolini's Special Laws, the atmosphere was saturated with sorrow for those who were arrested or killed. Fear of impending danger, tension, anxiety over the immediate future, and a sense of solidarity unite people who are strangers to one another; in that atmosphere words acquire a portentous meaning. The night, the people, and their stories are crystallized in the author's mind as a synthesis of the historic situation and its meaning, as a night in the life of the rebel of all times and from all places. Silone writes: In the ensuing years, I have often thought back on the confidences we shared at that meeting - especially when the need to understand, to realize, to compare the meaning of the action in which I was involved with the initial motives for that involvement, took entire possession of me and left me no peace. And if my literary work has any meaning, in the last analysis it is this: at a certain moment writing meant for me the absolute necessity of bearing witness, the urgent need to free myself from an obsession, to affirm the meaning and define the limits of a difficult but permanent break, and of a more sincere faith. (45-6)

Writing is both the means of continuing the struggle and the therapy Silone needs to be able to move on. Having spoken of his role in the 1921 foundation of the Italian Communist Party, he begins to recall his childhood years, when upon reaching "the age of reason" he notices "the grating, incomprehensible, almost absurd contrast between private family life - which at least appeared decent and honest - and social relations, which were very often hostile and deceitful" (47). The compassionate recollection of several episodes of social injustice reveals as many moments in the youngster's maturing process; years later he recalls them with the same disdain he experienced at their first occurrence. His words, loaded with the power of righteousness, offer an enduring testimonial to the human dignity of the poor seamstress who

Autobiographical Writings 31 is viciously attacked by a dog for its rich owner's amusement, and cannot get a fair trial because the local people are afraid to get involved. But he also witnesses exceptional displays of courage. He recalls, for instance, the powerful Prince Torlonia's attempts to coerce the farmers into voting for him in the local elections, and his surprise when they quietly resist the pressure and so cause him to lose. The young man thus realizes the potential strength that can be found when people join together in a common cause, and laments that such courage appears only rarely. The hypocrisy of those who hold legal, religious, and other authority is the constant object of the youngster's critical observation. By contrast Silone evokes the noble paternal and maternal figures. The sorrow for their untimely deaths and the longing for their presence resound, even at that distance, in the lyrical tone of the author's words. After the 1915 earthquake, which most of the survivors accept with the usual forbearance, an even worse period follows - a period characterized by widespread corruption, which robs the victims of their right to assistance. To denounce that state of affairs the young man sees no other recourse than to appeal to public opinion in the pages of Avantil, but this time as well he learns the hard reality: not even the Socialist newspaper can be trusted. Is Silone, in recalling these key moments in his life, providing only a one-sided picture of the situation? The author, foreseeing the question, offers the following answer: "The journey I have been tracing is too summary not to seem forced. I can guarantee its sincerity, not its objectivity" (63). To understand this reality, to see it through the author's eyes, one must understand the nature of the land in which he grew up, and of its people: the lack of political history; the medieval form of its Christianity; the acceptance of the cross as a way of sharing in Christ's Passion; the enduring hope for the coming of the Kingdom; the religious legacy left by the Joachimites, the Spirituals, and the Celestines. It is necessary to understand the spirit of this land, whose only noteworthy monuments are its churches and monasteries; whose only illustrious sons, for centuries, "were either saints or stonecutters." This was Silone's "private little world within" until the earthquake came to shake it to its very foundations. Silone describes the impact of that tragedy as follows: In the privacy of one's conscience everything came up for discussion and every-

32 Ignazio Silone thing turned into a problem. It was at the moment of the break that I felt how tied to Christ I was in every fiber of my being. And for this reason I tolerated no mental reservations. The little devotional lamp I kept burning before the tabernacle of those institutions that had been most dear to me was extinguished by an icy wind. The terms "death/' "love," "good/' "evil" and "truth" changed their meaning or lost meaning entirely. However the dangers seemed easier to challenge since I was no longer acting alone. But who can describe the private dismay of an underfed, provincial youth living in a squalid bedroom in the city, when he has given up forever his belief in the individual immortality of the soul? It was too serious a thing to discuss with anyone; my friends in the party would probably have found it something to deride, and I had no other friends. And so, unknown to anyone, the world changed its whole appearance for me. (65) To find human solidarity and social justice, Silone joined the underground movement. He could not suspect how the party would engulf him to the point of becoming his "family, school, church and barracks" (66). He has to change his name, break ties with his past and live as a foreigner in his own country. He has to learn that outside the party nothing else can exist, that everything must be "completely destroyed." He nevertheless submits quite willingly to the indoctrination, thinking, like most neophytes, that personal sacrifice is the price that must be paid for the sake of the common cause. The psychological conditions are such that the ties that bind to the party are perceived as being stronger, not "in spite of the sacrifices" that they exact but "because of them." Under the circumstances it is impossible to realize that the bet one is making immensely exceeds the personal capacity to make it good. As Silone indicates in the epigraph that he chooses, he does not foresee "quanto sangue costa." Even though the truth begins to surface almost immediately, only the full awareness of the horrors of Stalinism will shed the necessary light and create the moral urgency that dictate the need to find an "emergency exit" - hence the crisis that began in 1927 and culminated with his expulsion from the PCI in 1931. In this regard, he states: My exit from the Communist Party was a very sad day for me, a day of mourning, of mourning for my youth. And where I come from, mourning is worn longer than elsewhere ... The initial mistake - of hoping to obtain from political action something it cannot give - was certainly mine. Even a revolt inspired by the desire for freedom can be a trap, yet it is better than supine acceptance of one's fate ... My faith in Socialism (I suppose my subsequent conduct bears wit-

Autobiographical Writings 33 ness to it) has remained more alive than ever ... With the passage of the years there has been added a reverence for that which incessantly drives mankind to surpass itself and which is at the root of his unallayable anxiety. (98-9) But it must be remembered that Socialism, for Silone, does not represent any particular theory, but rather a faith - a faith in the "insane truths" that predate all political theories; the truths that dictate a system of moral values upon which one can build a culture, a civilization, a new human consortium. "The Choice of Companions" This essay, dated May 1954, contains the author's thoughts on the condition of the individual in an age of existential anguish and despair. The argument is carefully developed through a series of reflections that reveal Silone's habit of translating experience into conscience, and his need to bear witness.11 The first observation is of the uncommonly frequent suicides among writers. Noting that their tragic choices invariably express "the same confession of anxiety and desperation over the difficult struggle to live, and, in the last analysis, its uselessness," Silone argues that the individual motives and circumstances of each case are serious, but are only incidental aspects of a problem whose common source is "what Nietzsche called the nihilism of the modern age" and which can be defined as follows: In its most common moral aspect, nihilism is the identification of the good, the just and the true with one's own interest. Nihilism is the deep conviction that there is no objective reality behind faiths and doctrines and that the only thing that counts is success. It is nihilistic to make sacrifices for a cause one doesn't actually believe in although one pretends to. It is nihilistic to exalt courage and heroism independently of the cause they serve - here nihilism equates the martyr with the mercenary. Even freedom can be nihilist, if it is not at the service of life but is turned into slavery, working for nothing except suicide and crime like some of the heroes of Dostoyevsky.12 Contrary to the common belief that nihilism originated as a result of World War I, Silone feels that the war merely unmasked the myths of progress upon which capitalistic societies were based; then, once the people lost faith in the traditional institutions, skepticism and corrup-

34 Ignazio Silone tion followed, traditional moral and religious values were shaken, and widespread nihilism resulted. The totalitarian regimes that prevailed not only did not bring about the much heralded restoration, but actually contributed to "the elevation of nihilism to power." Unfortunately, Silone notes, "Regimes come and go, but evil actions remain. The great difficulty is that nihilism is not an ideology, is not legislatable, is not something to be taken up in school... It is a condition of the spirit which is judged dangerous only by the people who are immune to it or who have been cured of it. But most people are not even aware of it, since they think it is an entirely natural way of existence" (113-14). In literature this spiritual condition resulted in a portrayal of existence devoid of any transcendental dimension - an existence no longer ontologically perceived, but reduced "to mere animal energy." Silone admits that this way of perceiving and representing the problem is both sincere and courageous, in that it reveals the complexities of the issue and highlights aspects that otherwise might not be sufficiently considered; on the other hand he points out that alongside the specter of nihilism there is also "some valid feeling for humanity," and he cites the examples of Ernst Junger and Albert Camus as cases in point. Both writers apprehended the full vision of nihilism; both found out that it is possible to move beyond it, since "even a revolt which is based on simple compassion can restore meaning to life" (116). Silone, however, cautions the reader that even as such examples speak to the legitimacy of hope, the "acid test" will not be found in books or their critiques, but in encounters with other human beings. His views are, in this respect, quite similar to the ones Emmanuel Levinas expounds when dealing with the same topic.13 In his encounters with others, even as a child, Silone found the lessons that progressively helped him to understand the complexities, the ironies, and the paradoxes of the human condition. As an adult, when he saw the myth of the proletariat's inexorable liberating march wane together with belief in the inevitability of progress, he realized that in the "choice of companions" there are two important considerations: the class, and conscience within the class. In fact the worker, whose cause the "rebel" struggles to defend, "can still be Christ, the poor Christ who takes on the sins of others and sacrifices himself for everyone; and he can also be Barabbas, an ignoble totalitarian Barabbas who tramples on everything in his fellow man that is most human." Hence the author cautions the reader: "To judge men, it is not enough to see whether they have calluses on their hands; you have to look them in the eye. There is no mistaking the look of Cain."14

Autobiographical Writings 35 Silone is not suggesting that people are inherently good or evil; in fact, just as positive circumstances can save, so negative ones can contribute to corrupting even the righteous. To make this point, Silone cites a letter that Simone Weil wrote to Bernanos denouncing the horrors of the Spanish Civil War and the manner in which even decent people had become bloodthirsty and had lost sight of the reasons for being in the war in the first place. Like the French intellectual, Silone finds it imperative to stress how essential it is to retain "conscience" even in the face of the most difficult trials, and how easy it is to become "intoxicated" by the prevailing psychological climate. The rebel, no longer able to believe in the possibility of class struggle, must remain on guard to unmask all mystifications, and, as a franc-tireur, he must "be ever ready to change sides like justice, 'that fugitive from the camp of conquerors.'"15 Silone acknowledges that "the man of today is in rather poor shape," and that, in fact, "An image of modern man not too far from the truth and not over-verbalized could hardly be other than deformed, fragmented, split - in a word, tragic." Nevertheless, he moves beyond this tragic vision, not by dwelling, as an intellectual, on the eternal questions about human life, but by focusing, as a moral being, on the questions of "immediate existence and of our responsibility." In the ultimate analysis, he says, it is clear that "Only within such limits can we satisfactorily define ourselves." (125). Having found the necessary humility to recognize this reality, the author realizes that his statements could be misread, and feels compelled to clarify his position: he abhors labels and generalizations, and cannot, therefore, speak as a believer, an atheist, or a skeptic. He can only explain his position, in this regard, as follows: A respect for the sanctity of the transcendent prevents us from invoking it for no purpose and using it as a drug. It would seem to me pure blasphemy to reduce God to a "problem." And if no pride can keep us silent about our moments of loneliness and anxiety when we recall with sharp nostalgia the paternal house, with its old order, peace and security, we must add that love of truth has always prevailed over love of comfort. In a situation in which metaphysical premises, or even merely historical ones, seem uncertain and unsure, the moral sense necessarily takes up an unusual amount of space, assuming the job of guiding the intelligence ... Yes, there are some unshakable certainties. These, in my belief, are Christian certainties. They seem to me to be so built into human reality that man disintegrates when he denies them. This is not enough to constitute a profession of

36 Ignazio Silone faith, but it will do as a declaration of confidence. It is a confidence which rests on something more stable than the simple compassion of which Albert Camus speaks. It is supported by the certainty that we men are free and responsible beings; it is supported by the certainty that man has an absolute need of an opening into the reality of others; and it is supported by the certainty that spiritual communication is possible. If this is so, is it not an irrefutable proof of the brotherhood of man? This certainly also contains a rule of life. From it is born a love of the oppressed which no historical failure can put in doubt, since no vested interest is involved. Its validity does not depend on success. With these certainties which are fundamental to existence how can one resign oneself to witnessing man's potentialities snuffed out in the most humble and unfortunate? How can one consider moral a life that is deaf to this fundamental commitment? (126-7)

But the poor, Silone warns, should never become a political tool that politicians use to achieve political success and then betray. To do this would be to commit "the most iniquitous of sacrileges, since they are the most defenseless of men" (127). Silone has no remedy to offer for social and spiritual ills; he rejects fatalism and nihilism, however, and embraces hope. There is a "little light," he says, that shines even beneath this dark ideological sky; it is the light that resides in human conscience and can help us "see where to put our feet" as we proceed toward the immediate goal - the individual participation in the human consortium on this earth, which "is like an encampment of refugees in no-man'sland, a camp exposed to the elements." Silone, echoing Pascoli's voice on the theme of human solidarity, suggests that even in such a precarious condition, the individual can find human "warmth" in contact with others and in sharing the common human experience. "The Lesson of Budapest" The power of art to communicate in its universal language is the topic of Silone's initial reflection in "The Lesson of Budapest," a writing dated December 1956, in which the author ponders the tragic clashes between the Hungarian workers and the Russian army. The gift packages that the Poles sent to the Hungarians, bearing a stamp with Picasso's dove weeping tears of blood, and the gigantic reproductions of Picasso's The Korean War displayed all over Warsaw, are for Silone most effective means by which another oppressed people could eloquently denounce totalitarian aggression and rise in solidarity

Autobiographical Writings 37 with their neighbors, the victims of the most recent crimes. The spirit of resistance, Silone implies, cannot be suppressed. In this regard he also recalls that Sartre, received as a dignitary in Moscow even as his philosophical writings were strictly forbidden there, found that those same works were nevertheless known to many. Thus, Silone notes, "when it is necessary, although an author remains silent, it is his work which acts in its stead" (128). Many intellectuals of the Western world, on the other hand, failed to show their unequivocal solidarity with the Hungarian people. Silone ponders the "lesson of Budapest" and finds that it offers an excellent case study of "the rapid evolution of the Communist intellectuals." As is the case in any authentic revolution, the movement of time and idea has taken place "at a dizzying pace": Budapest in two weeks has gone through the February, October and July revolutions. During these terrible weeks the world has watched stunned as all the revolutionary ideas from Blanqui to Sorel, even the most banal, were repeated ... The Winter Palace, Kronstadt and Barcelona have succeeded one another on the banks of the Danube with the speed of the extras put out by the mass-circulation newspapers. To the credit of the Hungarian Communist writers, one must recognize that they did not allow themselves to be surprised by the events. They had foreseen them; they had even announced them; and they greeted them as they would a tragic necessity. When the moment came, they did not hesitate for a minute in choosing between the party and the people, between ideology and truth. It is almost incredible. What a lesson for us all! (129)

Silone cites the specific case of the Communist playwright Julius Hay, whom he had known to be "a rather strict Stalinist," as exemplary of countless other writers who were able to adopt positions that evolved with the events. By contrast, he denounces those who remained ambivalent, or, like Sartre, failed to openly side with the Hungarian workers: I wonder precisely to whom Sartre feels committed since he poses as a master of engagement. With an attack on Khrushchev for having revealed some "truths at the wrong moment" in his famous secret report to the Twentieth Congress, Sartre has revealed an unsuspected talent, worthy of a Polonius. Would he have the truth fed to the people in an eyedropper? ... I no longer understand Sartre's antireformism when he says the people cannot tolerate the truth unless a certain standard of living has been reached ... How can Sartre persist in the false portrayal of a Hungarian proletariat as primitive, crude and selfish, and without

38 Ignazio Silone political education, after their splendid behavior in the last weeks, and especially after the general strikes which immediately followed the armed conflict? ... This shows beyond the shadow of a doubt that the workers in Budapest have moral and political qualities which make Sartre's portrayal of them grotesque and absurd. (131) Silone also denounces the widespread demagoguery that, when unmasked, reveals how far Communists have moved away from the original Communist ideals. In the prevalent atmosphere of deception and self-deception, the Hungarian people have shown that it is possible to remain Socialist while rejecting totalitarianism: "Socialism, yes; single-party, obligatory unanimity, no" (135). Their revolt is a historic lesson for the civilized world to ponder seriously. No mystifications can be used any longer to hide the fact than an armed intervention is equally condemnable whether it is carried out by a Communist or by a capitalist army, and no regime can speak of progress, peace, harmony, and truth while practicing war, dissolution, and obscurantism. "The Painful Return" In 1965 Silone wrote this poignant comment on the relationship between himself and his native town upon his return to Italy, the choices he made, and their painful consequences. The abrupt beginning, "At one time, I began to get 'petitions/ as he called them, from the parish priest" (143), suggests that the author is allowing the flux of his memories to spring forth uncensored, as one would during psychoanalytical therapy. His "confession" begins at the root of the problem: the corruption of human values that, in this particular case, is represented by the widespread custom of seeking a raccomandazione in order to obtain a job or some other benefit. According to the story, soon after Silone's return to Italy, at the end of World War II, the parish priest of "B" (perhaps Bisegna) began to send him "petitions" on behalf of local people who wanted to abandon the land and find comfortable city jobs. Out of contempt for the mentality that inspired them, the addressee discarded them, and stayed away from his region even when the local authorities organized a homecoming celebration in his honor. But one day he received a letter of another sort, a letter that he could not ignore: thus the author's "painful return" to the places he had left twenty-five years before finally began. The literary quality of the story clearly suggests that the autobio-

Autobiographical Writings 39 graphical memories are summoned to introduce wider themes, while also revealing aspects of the author's life and background that could not be fully appreciated through a factual account of the events, even if they did indeed take place. The narrative focus is on particular memories and details, but the broader picture begins to appear as the author implicitly comments on the sad moral conditions that prevail in the aftermath of tragic events. His townsmen, having just experienced the horrors of the war, do not come together to build a more humane society, but set out on an egocentric pursuit of materialistic goals. To them the value of human life is nil when compared to material considerations. A case in point is this reaction by a man whose town had been spared by the war: "This town has been persecuted by fate ... Even the earthquake passed us by ... And for that reason there was no reconstruction, no subsidy, no assistance from the government. The Germans smashed their way to there ... What would it have taken for them to come up here? Nothing!" (148). The tragic reality inherent in this altered perception of value emerges from the notes of Silone's irony. At the onset, the author's judgmental attitude toward those who have lost sight of the human dimension of their existence reveals selfrighteousness and even lack of tolerance, and his refusal to be honored by his native town conveys a sense of moral superiority marred by arrogance. But it must be remembered that the time evoked is that immediately following the war, when only the purest feelings seemed capable of redeeming nature from the violence it had suffered. These very feelings are experienced by the author from the moment he receives the last letter, and are condensed in these lyrical passages depicting the beginning of his "return": Through the glass I could see the countryside, preserved for many years like a creche in my memory, coming towards me: the stony little fields in the dark, bare, deserted mountain ... In front of me sat a woman with a baby on her knees, and every once in a while the baby would wake up and cry. Then the mother would open her blouse and offer her breast, and the baby would go right back to sleep. I tried to sleep too; I tried to feel like them, like that mother and child, like an ordinary person returning weary from a long trip. (144)

The letter that had compelled the author to return had brought the news that Lamina, Lazzaro's daughter, was dying. The two were among the few people who had dared to remain Silone's friends after he

4O Ignazio Silone became a political activist, and when he had had to flee as an outlaw, disregarding their own safety, they had insisted on seeing him off at the station. The old man, foreseeing that they would never meet again, had urged Silone to forget his town and its people and seek a better future for himself, but he had sworn that he would never forget, and that he would return. But that promise had been kept only in the author's heart. Upon his "painful return," he learned that Lazzaro had died the previous year, and that Laurina had already followed him. The author's remorse and despair will fortunately find their delta in the written page many years later. There Lazzaro and Laurina return to life in all their human dignity to bear testimony to the nobility and endurance of the human spirit even in the face of inhuman oppression and suffering. This human capacity, which alone can promote an upward movement beyond the tragic vision, will be expressed through Lazzaro again in some of the most beautiful pages of The Secret ofLuca. "Rethinking Progress" In this five-part essay, dated 1965 but actually written in 1964 and broadcast on Radio Free Europe from Munich/6 Silone reflects upon the human condition in contemporary society, and its prospects for the future. To guard against the risk of a reductive interpretation of his thought, he explains his motives as follows: Critics who see me primarily as some kind of sociological or political writer, with all the limitations that such an assessment implies, have never been to my liking. For the one thing that has always truly interested me is the fate of man, his involvement in the complex machinery of the modern world at whatever latitude or longitude. And naturally I feel myself to be everywhere on the side of man, not of the machinery.17

The initial segment of the essay, entitled "The Sphinx of Affluence," discusses the idea of progress and addresses the question whether greater collective prosperity produces a better society, or, on the contrary, results in new problems such as social conditioning, individual alienation, existential anguish, and spiritual decay. Silone does not approach the issue as an academic, and does not presume to offer answers. He simply responds to his own need to understand, and to share his understanding with others.

Autobiographical Writings 41 People who live in poverty, he says, are not likely to dwell on the problem of prosperity, and if they did, they would probably perceive it as an oxymoron. It is understandable, therefore, that Silone only became concerned with it at the beginning of his exile, when he noticed the striking contrast between the affluent and technologically advanced Swiss society and his poor native region, which still remained untouched by technological progress. At the same time, he realized that the passionate concern he felt for the future of his people was not unlike that of the Swiss intellectuals who worried about the spiritual decline of their society as a result of excessive materialism - the natural child of collective prosperity. Until then, Silone had looked at political action as a means to address the immediate problem of social justice; now he saw that its aim should be that of shaping the future. The unfulfilled promises of the "god that failed" and the adoption of some Socialist programs by the Nazi and Fascist regimes made him realize that it was time to draw the line between "what was essential in Socialism and what was merely accessory to it" (159). He saw that over and above ideology and programs, the fundamental values of Socialism must inform society; he realized that the future of humanity could not be based on a collective affluence that was separated from morality. The phenomenon of "massification" had brought new issues that needed to be addressed, inspiring such important works as Ortega y Gasset's The Revolt of the Masses and Guglielmo Ferrero's Between Two Worlds. Silone considers them, but finds that the Spanish philosopher's approach, from the outside and from above, and his aristocratic frame of mind, cannot produce a fair assessment of a problem that involves everyone equally, regardless of class. Ferrero, on the other hand, demonstrates a keen understanding of the problem, but fails to allow for any variables in predicting the outcome. Silone could not accept Ferrero's pessimistic determinism, but emphasized that the work - published in 1913 during a period of general euphoria over the inevitability of progress - contained the earliest Italian critique of mass civilization, a critique based on Ferrero's fundamental distinction between "qualitative" and "quantitative" civilizations. Silone also discusses some of the negative effects of industrialization and mass media, such as the greater and heavier degree of social conditioning, but accepts the results of scientific studies with some reservations, noting that "all too often the interpretation of statistical data will prove to have been highly colored by some ideological preference, and that any one fact can serve the pundits as a starting point from which to

42 Ignazio Silone proceed toward diametrically opposite conclusions" (164). This is why, as he sought to understand modern society, he never felt tempted to offer a simple and definitive view of a reality that is both contradictory and ever-changing. His findings, based on but transcending that part of reality that he knows best, inform all his works. Another problem of modern society that Silone finds extremely compelling is the manner of bringing public assistance to the needy. In "The Pitfalls of Welfare," the second of the five parts of "Rethinking Progress," he discusses the origins of the concept, the verbal ambiguities related to it, and its diverse forms, including the two prevailing ones: the welfare state and the social-aid state. The first, he explains, is found in highly developed societies where the government, through a fullemployment economic policy and a sound system of social insurance, provides for the needs of its citizens "from womb to tomb." The second is found in developing nations, and consists of some form of financial assistance that is primarily used by the government to free itself of the obligations that are connected to the power it holds. Silone notes that while there is a consensus on the need for some form of assistance, there is also dissatisfaction with the ways in which the various programs are carried out. Exorbitant costs are not nearly matched by results, and the impossibility of adequate controls lets political favoritism, bureaucratic paternalism, and rampant corruption flourish. The beneficiaries of the programs do not realize that there are duties attached to every privilege, and rather than improve their lives they become dependent and complacent. They are "unaware of, or indifferent to, the greatest possible right they could claim, the right to be respected as men [and women] and to conduct themselves as men [and women], the right to be citizens and not herded cattle" (176). Silone's overriding concern is that little thought is given to the ultimate harm that can come from poorly conceived programs: "No adequate study has yet been made on the role now played by government subsidies in the ideology of the social-aid State, or of their psychological effect on the beneficiaries. To me it seems a new form of madness" (172). Having illustrated this "madness" through several examples of the mental habits of those who become "professional victims" to exact benefits from government programs, the author cites an extreme case to drive home the point. During World War II there were horrible incidents of rape in the Roman countryside allegedly perpetrated by Moroccan soldiers attached to the French army. These incidents were widely reported by

Autobiographical Writings 43 the press, and even inspired an unforgettable episode of Moravia's novel Two Women.18 In narrating them, Silone not only denounces the crimes, but also the criminal participation of the French government, which he considers a result of their degrading colonialist legislation. The importance of the issue warrants this digression. Silone writes: It happened toward the end of the last war, in the spring of 1944, when detachments of Moroccan troops belonging to the French Army arrived in certain villages of the district known as Ciociaria, not very far south of Rome. All the women in these villages, with the exception of those who managed to get away in time and take refuge in the hills were - to use the phrase coined on that occasion - 'Moroccanized.' The Moroccan troops raped them all, without distinction of age, from little girls of ten to old women of seventy.

On that same page, a footnote explains: While speaking of North Africans, I would like to add a remark on the subject of colonialism. In those same days of 1944, General Juin, Commander in Chief of the French Expeditionary Force in Italy, had an audience with the Pope. The Holy Father had a number of complaints to make to the General, one of them being the fact that nothing was done to punish the troops guilty of having wreaked such havoc among these poor women. The General explained that North African soldiers could not be punished because the French military code allowed colored troops the right to rape and plunder when invading enemy territory.19

No comment is needed. Returning to the topic at hand, Silone notes how, after the war, at the news that there was compensation for those who were "Moroccanized," some Italian women falsely claimed to have been raped. And yet, their motives could not have been poverty or greed, since the amount awarded was minimal. Their behavior defies comprehension, and, in Silone's view, "deserves a place in the annals of government aid as an extreme example of a pathological phenomenon that would repay further study" (173-4). These same women, if singled out by others, would have gone to any length to defend their reputations. The only possible explanation is likely to be found in the relationship that exists between the social-aid state and its citizens. Silone published these observations in 1965, but his concerns are also those of today's society. The ultimate effect of welfare programs is a problem that is now widely studied and discussed, but still without suf-

44 Ignazio Silone ficient attention to the basic truths that human beings need love more than compassion, and that nothing can replace the loss of human dignity. In this essay, as in all of his work, Silone reaffirms the importance of these simple truths as an integral part of his own Promethean vision. In the segment entitled "Affluence and Morality"20 Silone discusses the concepts in their mutual relations in order to address the common expectation that collective prosperity would inevitably produce greater freedom and morality, and the reasons why that expectation failed. He finds that those who link affluence and moral decay are reacting against a historical, ill-placed trust that moral improvement would inevitably follow economic improvement. In Silone's view, it should have been obvious that morality cannot automatically result from economic change, and that neither the relations between affluence and morality, nor the factors that influence those relations, can be defined a priori, and once and for all. While it is undeniable that individuals react to their environment, it is unwise to predict the manner in which they will react. Hence the belief that change can be brought about from the outside, and that external change will bring about certain expected results, is an illusion. Citing Seneca, Silone argues that only life itself can teach one how to live and how to die. One should never, therefore, lose sight of the individual realities. Silone does not deny the effects of mechanization on modern society a society where human beings and machines have come closer together than ever before. But he points out that in this age of increasingly perfected mechanism, the breakdown occurred precisely inside the "mechanism" that was supposed to promote - by eliminating poverty greater freedom and morality. Just as collective prosperity does not automatically produce morality, so it does not produce the opposite. Nor does it produce greater apathy and boredom. These, in turn, are unlikely to be the cause - as is claimed in many studies - of the great number of suicides that occur in Scandinavian countries. For Silone, a more probable cause for such extreme acts is the extreme tension caused by excessive expectation of success. While continuing to stress the need to avoid generalizations, Silone identifies the prevalent dynamics as follows: greater prosperity constantly creates new needs; while the average person and the "wise" are content with what they can easily achieve, others constantly strive to prove themselves in every way - professionally, athletically, sexually,

Autobiographical Writings 45 and the like - and, never entirely satisfied, are continually at risk of becoming victims of their own anxieties. Speaking in particular of Italian society, Silone ironically comments on some paradoxical attitudes that are connected to the concepts of poverty and affluence. For instance, the same person who claims extreme poverty to obtain state aid or other benefits will fall heavily into debt to keep up the appearance of well-being. Similarly, in a country whose patron saint is Francis of Assisi - the poor by antonomasia - people take great offense when they are called morto difame, that is, poor to the point of starvation. These and similar comments render the essay both unassuming and enjoyable, without diminishing the importance of Silone's thought. The fourth segment of the essay is entitled "Controversie sui massmedia" [Controversies over the mass-media], but appears in the English translation as "The Two Faces of Mass Civilization." In it Silone takes up the prevailing deprecation of the mass media as the inexorable great equalizer. After the experience of World War II, the sight of ferocious masses supporting totalitarian leaders, and the complacent idleness brought about by affluence coupled with daily conditioning by the mass media, the masses, he argues, are beginning to react in totally unexpected ways. Though there is no doubt that the mass media have great conditioning power over public opinion, and are potentially more dangerous than one can imagine, the matter is not as simple as all that. In fact, even under the most severe totalitarian regimes there is a great difference between official public opinion and the private opinions of the citizens. Evidently all the channels of information and propaganda together are not powerful enough to counter independent thinking. As a case in point the author cites the jubilation of the Italian people on 25 July 1943 - the date that marked the end of Mussolini's regime. All the manipulation of the mass media and all their persuasive power had not yielded the expected results. Examining the prevailing theories on the subject as well as actual situations, Silone argues that in every instance reality reveals how difficult it is to predict individual reactions to the same stimulus. In his view what needs to be further studied is how "psychological self-defense" ensues even in the apparently docile and apathetic person. Again warning against any kind of generalization, the author sums up his own position as follows: "I have come to the conclusion that no matter which aspect of the phenomenon of mass-civilization one examines, it is diffi-

46 Ignazio Silone cult to arrive at a univocal conclusion ... It seems to me that polyvalent hypotheses are the only valid ones. This view also excludes all fatalistic attitudes and justifies our struggle and resistance even under apparently desperate conditions."21 In the final section of this essay entitled "What Are the Prospects?" Silone argues that the diverging viewpoints about affluent societies and mass civilization are due to the different conditions under which those viewpoints are formed, and that the most accurate perceptions are those that result from direct experience. For instance, while everyone realizes that alienation, bureaucratization, and passivity have increased, only those who previously lived in subhuman conditions are unlikely to be nostalgic about the past. Intellectuals who write about it from a position of aristocratic detachment often produce altered and even "hallucinating" views upon which future decisions cannot reasonably be based. The legitimate concern that alienation, bureaucratization, and passivity have increased as a result of industrialization, mass civilization, and social security must be a stimulus for responsible action. And though partial victories do count, they should not diminish the cause for alarm, nor exonerate anyone of individual responsibility for the future. Noting that in Africa, Asia, and South America many countries are still plagued with poverty, Silone writes: "The age we live in offers only one sane alternative to the catastrophic prospect of war: that of prosperity for all nations ... The hedonism of the idle rich can be repulsive, but we should not forget that people who are deprived of life's necessities can be reduced to a state of animal obsession in which they can think of nothing else."22 Beyond the concern for social justice, Silone's gaze remains focused on the higher spheres of human existence. Hence, in his concluding remarks, he reiterates his views as follows: It is true that prosperity eliminates some of the toughest problems that have for centuries tormented human beings and driven them forward; yet, at the same time, it creates and revives others, particularly the problems of culture and society. No one in his senses is likely to expect that even the most widespread prosperity will fulfil Marx's Utopian prophecy that mankind will eventually pass from "the kingdom of necessity to the realm of freedom" ... Nothing is more misleading than to reduce the image of man to his digestive or sexual functions. Reality is more dramatic, more complex, and more uncertain. Man is capable of revolt both under conditions of satiety and under conditions of want and

Autobiographical Writings 47 oppression. Whoever denies this human faculty denies the dignity of man and equates him with the beasts of burden ... in every age and in every kind of conflict, progress is to be found only in what promotes the freedom and responsibility of man individually and in his complex relationship with his fellow human beings. (203,207)

Thus Silone reaffirms the values of humanism and his confidence in human dignity, and rejects determinism, stoicism, and all that mortifies the human spirit. He suggests that societies, having recognized both the benefits and the drawbacks of affluence, continually need to evaluate their progress to be sure its final result is greater freedom and morality.

3

The Short Stories:

'The Journey to Paris" / "Mr. Aristotle"

A discussion of Silone's narratives would not be complete without a comment on the short stories contained in this volume - not because they are exemplary of the genre, but because they reveal new aspects of the creative process. Although Silone never admitted to having been mindful of literary canons, here he gives undeniable evidence that he consciously sets out to experiment with new narrative techniques. The fact that he did not follow the models of Poe and Maupassant or Turgenev and Chekhov - and that even as he let his German translator Nettie Sutro define him as a naturalistic writer, he did not reach out for the examples of Balzac or Verga - strongly suggests that for him the short story was not an end but a means. It was a means to earn some sorely needed money, while also experimenting with new narrative technique that were further exploited in the novels. This is why, though a novice in this genre, Silone did not yield to the easy temptation to master a given structure and then repeat it, but instead tried different approaches with each new work. For the first one, "The Journey to Paris," he relied on the central organizing theme of the "journey" to give himself the necessary latitude that would allow him to explore a host of new possibilities, including some complex aspects of time and space. He also experimented with psychological surrealism as a means of conveying symbolic meaning. With "Simplicio" he explored the possibilities of mystery, suspense, the psychology of fear, and the absurd. With "The Fox" he practised plot development and denouement. Finally, "Joy the Weeper" and "Mr. Aristotle" are stories of local color in which Silone explores the development of type and exploits regional peculiarities to generate the absurd, the grotesque, and comic relief. The volume was first published in 1934 in a German translation under

The Short Stories

49

the title Die Reise nach Paris.1 Besides the five short stories, one of which gives the title to the collection, it contains a long, intriguing essay by Sutro, which gives the impression that it was written a quattro mani. In fact, behind Sutro's voice one can often hear Silone's, even when she is not quoting him - which she does for entire pages. The joint effort results in an awkward balancing act in which the competent discussion of many of Silone's objective merits is prejudiced by the essay's obvious aim at glorifying him to the detriment of almost everyone else. Even as Sutro claims that Silone wishes to remain "ein Unbekannter" she draws a favorable comparison with Zola, and, ignoring Verga, defines the Marsican writer as "den ersten echten Veristen" Italiens [Italy's first authentic naturalistic writer]. Silone's comments about the status of Italian literature are not without merit, particularly if they are read in the context of the time in which they were written. Finally, and most enjoyable, are the etchings by Clement Moreaux, the same artist who so poignantly rendered the essential aspects of Silone's novel Fontamam. Judging from the careful manner in which the presentation of the short stories appears to have been planned, it would seem that Silone initially attributed significant importance to this new work; however, he later repudiated it. The reason, according to his widow, was that, in retrospect, he considered the short stories "folkloristic" and too influenced by "fake Socialist realism."2 But given Silone's notorious aversion to the use of sex in literature to appeal to certain audiences, it is obvious that he also regretted the license and coarseness he displayed in such instances as the whorehouse scene in "The Journey to Paris" and Americo's desecrating acts in "Joy the Weeper." An analysis of the cuts he made when revising "The Journey to Paris" for its 1941 publication in the British periodical New Writing reveals that he sought to eliminate redundancy, exaggeration, comments inspired by contingent situations, and, more specifically, every one of the passages dealing with sexual subject matter or innuendo.3 The author's decision to reject the volume and to prevent its further circulation is one of the main reasons why there is scant criticism of it. Even when it initially appeared in German, Danish, English, and Japanese, it never achieved a popularity nearly comparable to Fontamara's.4 In Italy it was finally published in 1993, nearly sixty years later, still unauthorized by Silone's widow and in a version based on the German translation by Nettie Sutro.5 But even then it failed to receive the attention it merits. To this date, Vittoriano Esposito's Silone novelliere tra ironia e angoscia, a work entirely dedicated to the five short stories,

5O Ignazio Silone remains a notable exception. The volume addresses the issue previously raised by Gisella Padovani concerning the chronology of Silone's early works, and provides summaries and analyses of the short stories, placing them in relation with Silone's novels.6 The following discussion, often looking at the work from a different perspective, will endeavor to advance the critical discourse while reintroducing this collection to English-speaking readers of Silone for the first time since 1934. My analysis is based on the 1993 Italian volume, in that it follows the order that Silone had chosen for the original Italian version on which Nettie Sutro based the original German publication. I refer to the work as The Journey to Paris, since I deem that this title best renders both Die Reise nach Paris and the essential meaning of the short story from which the volume derives its title.7 Unless otherwise indicated, all quotations are taken from the 1935 English translation, which appeared under the title Mr. Aristotle.8 "The Journey to Paris" This "novella," as Silone called it, is in my view the most important in the collection, both for its intrinsic value and as a critical instrument for scholars interested in the development of Silone's narrative style. Here, more than in his other writings, the author clearly explores new narrative techniques. Perhaps influenced by the writings of Freud and Jung, and psychoanalysis itself, he employs dream and hallucination to represent the stages of the hero's journey of discovery.9 A brief summary will serve as introduction to the analytical discussion. In a manner typical of the Silonian hero, Benjamin, a young Fontamaran, feels unsatisfied with the status quo and rebels against it. His rebellion is further justified by the extreme poverty in which he lives, his father's hatred toward him, and the popular belief that emigration is the only cure-all. To escape from this state of captivity he leaves Fontamara and heads for Rome, where he hopes to find a job with the help of Peppino Goriano, a Fontamaran who has been living there.10 Unfortunately, Peppino is nowhere to be found. This disappointment marks the beginning of Benjamin's initiation, the impact of which is already manifest by the end of the first day. Silone effectively conveys Benjamin's state of mind by a careful modulation of the rhythm and tone of his narrative. Upon his arrival in the great city the young man enthusiastically perceives everything to be as he had imagined. The narrative voice, alternating external and internal

The Short Stories 51 points of view, reveals how, in Benjamin's mind, myth and reality converge: It was his first time in a city. His hob-nailed boots clattered on the asphalt pavement, and everybody's attention was attracted, especially that of the women, by the appearance of the rustic giant. Pretty women they were too. Pretty show windows. Pretty buildings. Pretty restaurants - no cornmeal-mush in them; you could not buy it at any price. Benjamin strode on like a conqueror.11 In contrast, by the end of the day he has already absorbed the first disappointing blow. Now myth and reality diverge: At last Benjamin got to his feet and went out, and stood standing apathetically in the middle of the street, as if in a dream. Rome had taken on a different aspect; the appearance of the city was changed. There were many people in the street, but no one any longer paid any attention to Benjamin. A dog leaped upon him, and an automobile almost ran over him. A policeman took him by the shoulder and shoved him unceremoniously on to the sidewalk. This shove served to set him in motion, and he started off mechanically, not knowing where he was going, being guided only by his legs and the jostling of the passers-by; he did not know and he gave no thought to what he would do the next day; he did not even know what he would do this evening. (167) Benjamin, the "giant" who in the morning "strode on like a conqueror," by the end of the day stands "apathetically in the middle of the street, as if in a dream." In utter physical and emotional exhaustion, he sits on a park bench and falls asleep, but is soon awakened by someone who is attempting to pick his pocket. It is a prostitute, who propositions him, but he has no money to spare and cannot accept the offer. When he asks her where he can find a place to sleep, she sends him to a "strange hotel" where he collapses on a miserable bed in a state of semiconsciousness. Hearing noises from the room next door, he peeks through a slit in the partition and sees a sexual encounter between two males; soon thereafter a pregnant woman swiftly satisfies the sexual needs, first of a soldier and later a sailor. Finally the room is empty, but Benjamin, terrified and stunned, remains with his head glued to the wall and falls asleep in that position. In the following days Benjamin meets new hardships, and is arrested under false accusation of having committed a number of crimes. Obsessed with the idea of finding a job, he does not understand what is going on, but a fellow prisoner, a metalworker who

52 Ignazio Silone knows the methods of the Fascist police, explains to him: '"You are under arrest. The police can do whatever they feel like. They can keep you here for six months, a year, two years, and they don't have to give you any explanation. And after six months, or a year, or two years, they can set you free again, if they feel like it, and they don't even have to tell you why it was that you were arrested'" (171). This is indeed what happens to Benjamin. After a month of incarceration, during which the press describes him as a monster and hails the police for having swiftly restored law and order, he is released without apologies or explanations. Although the police "advise" him to return to Fontamara immediately, he does not give up; he came to Rome to find a job, and he will find one, at any cost. When his hopes are frustrated, he tries to leave for France with the help of a friend of the metalworker, who hides him in the dog crate of the train's baggage car. Thus his "journey to Paris" begins. Benjamin's enthusiasm at the possibility of finally emigrating from Italy and finding a job affords him only brief solace. His already weakened physical and psychological resistance, compounded by the need to remain motionless in a space that is too small for him, cause him to cross the threshold of human suffering, thus altering his sense of perception as well: He had to double himself up piecemeal into his little box. Many parts of his body and many of his bones were aching, but it was impossible for him to budge, impossible to stretch himself. On the wall above his head there must have been a jutting nail, for it kept scraping him and boring deeper into his head every minute. It was impossible to shift his head. His head was no longer on his neck; it was on his knees. And where, above all, was his neck? He couldn't find his neck. Very likely he had forgotten it. His head with his chin was down there between his knees. His head, between his knees, was in contact with his heels, and the heels enabled the head to form some idea of where his backside was. But where was the neck? No clue as to that. His heart was up under his knees. It kept ticking away like an alarm clock.12

This "alarm clock" is all that is left of his human condition, but is sufficient to determine Benjamin's reactions in ways that cast a great deal of light on the complex development of this fascinating character. As the journey progresses and Benjamin's dreams and hallucinations open the door into his subconscious, the reader perceives how, in his symbolic descent into hell, the young Fontamaran is saved by the sound of the

The Short Stories 53 "alarm clock" he carries within - by the voice of his conscience, which makes it impossible for him to obey the order to burn the Fucino's wheat. Obeying means finally getting a job; disobeying will cause the loss of that most coveted prize. But the wheat is the harvest of the Fontamaran farmers' hard work - the fruit of their labor, which enriches the landowners while leaving them to eat only cornmeal mush. Benjamin cannot possibly burn it! The same alarm rings when he is told to shoot at the striking workers, among whom he recognizes the man who tried to help him board the train for Paris. Again he cannot obey; again he suffers the consequences. When we compare Silone's narrative in this short story with the novel Fontamara, it is evident that here the author uses a variety of new techniques, the most striking of which are the surrealist rendering of the central episode and the broader range of spatial and temporal movements. Even where realism prevails and the discourse is less polyvalent, as in the portrayal of Fontamara and Rome, the narrative patterns reveal the conscious choice of specific techniques to achieve specific ends. Some examples are the repetition of such temporal markings as "When September comes to Fontamara" to create an unending circular motion that conveys the Fontamarans' sense of captivity, and the circular structure of Benjamin's first day in Rome, wherein a precise use of time and space effectively conveys every nuance of meaning and mood. The nucleus of the story - Benjamin's journey to Paris and back - is inspired by the Augustinian tradition of the introspective descent that is necessary to achieve awareness. But Benjamin's journey is not a spiritual one, even if the drama of the coexistence of good and evil is played out in his dreams and hallucinations. The serpent, which makes its first appearance in Fontamara, becomes an all-pervasive presence in the surreal experience of the "journey." Hiding under the corn, and suddenly appearing during the cornhusking, the serpent personifies the discord that reigns amidst the people gathered for what should be a convivial occasion, and the hateful feelings that Benjamin and his father harbor for one another. Its initial victory over Benjamin is symbolized by its appearance at the precise moment in which the young man, in willful defiance, completes a desperate act of transgression: Everybody waited for him to kiss Maria Grazia, for he not only was fond of her, but she was the prettiest girl there. Benjamin, however, got to his feet and went straight to Cannarozzo's daughter, a little thirteen-year-old snot-nose with red hair and a freckled face. Holding her head in his hands so that she could not get

54 Ignazio Silone away, he bit his teeth into her lips and held them there until the blood came. While he was doing this, 'Hop-Ears' suddenly began shrieking: 'A snake! A snake!' and between Cannarozzo's daughter and the corn-stack surely enough a snake was coiling. (161)

In Rome, and during the "journey to Paris," the serpent reappears, disguised in many forms, seeking to take over entirely. But the "alarm clock" that Benjamin carries within causes its defeat. The main movement of the story is articulated within a threefold circular structure as follows: Benjamin's first day in Rome - constituting the first emblematic round-trip - is the smaller circle, and contains the story's essential meaning in a nutshell. His trip to Paris and back traces a larger circle that broadens and deepens that meaning. The third circle, which begins and ends in Fontamara, encompasses the larger movement that contains the other two and the final message. Silone also builds on correspondences that foster the structural and semantic unity of the story: the most important of these is in the following description of Benjamin's departure, and then of his return: "I'd rather go to hell," was Benjamin's answer still, "than come back here." And so it was he fared forth, like a hungry wolf. He set out on foot for the railway station in the neighboring town. On the way, he ran into Maria Grazia. "What are you doing here?" asked Benjamin, his face red with anger. "I'm going to the mill," the girl answered him. But it was not the way to the mill. Maria Grazia had been crying ... Benjamin stooped over and kissed her; but her mouth tasted like corn. (162)

On the other hand, as he returns: "Back to Fontamara?" said Benjamin to himself. "And why not? seeing that all the world is made of cornmeal-mush? Halfway along the road between Fontamara and the neighboring town, Benjamin was surprised to see Maria Grazia come dancing towards him. "Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously. "To the mill!" she laughingly replied. But this was not the road to the mill. "What are you laughing at? You silly goose, you! I'd like to know what it is you're laughing at? Am I so funny as all that?" "Me laughing?" answered Maria Grazia, laughing some more. "Now why should I laugh - Have you been to hell?" she asked as an afterthought, and again she laughed.

The Short Stories 55 "Yes!" was Benjamin's response, and there was an earnestness in it that Maria Grazia had not looked for. (196-7) The precise correspondence of the meeting place, the repetition of the narrative patterns, the parallels and the contrasts, signal the need to analyze the second episode in the light of the first. The result yields the meaning of the story: Benjamin's journey - his descent into hell, from which he returns by virtue of his "alarm clock" - ends in his awareness that "He who leaves old ways for new, only finds what he has lost!"13 His return does not constitute defeat, for having realized that the human condition remains the same all over, he is now able to appreciate the simple things whose value he had formerly discounted: Fontamara's reassuring familiarity and the joy of loving and being loved. The positive atmosphere that surrounds Benjamin's return, his ability to turn Maria Grazia's tears into laughter and to enjoy her carefree spirit, do not support the theory of "psychological defeat" and surrender that Padovani suggests.14 The betterment of his condition that he has not achieved according to a materialistic viewpoint, he has certainly achieved in terms of human worth and values. "Simplicio" Silone's interest in exploring the possibilities of new narrative techniques, as documented by "The Journey to Paris," is also evident in this short story. There he used a combination of realism and psychological surrealism; here he adopts the mystery-novel technique to create the impetus and suspense that set the pace and underscore the pathos from beginning to end. The setting is still typically Fontamaran, even though the name of the village is this time omitted. The slender plot centers on Simplicio, a carpenter who, having been an anarchist in his youth, becomes the Fascist police's natural scapegoat, and the local people's legendary hero. Simplicio's town is divided into two hostile factions: the more affluent residents of the valley, or "New Town," on one side, and the peasants who inhabit the hillside, or "Purgatory," on the other. The action begins as someone sets the mayor's house and the town hall on fire; the peasants, convinced that it must have been Simplicio, urge him to go into hiding. The carpenter, who has spent the day working at his shop, is stunned by the frantic urging from everyone he meets, and initially wonders what possesses them; but when he sees the fire engulfing the

56 Ignazio Silone New Town, he suddenly understands and decides to take to the mountains. His flight at once confirms the farmers' perception of him as a sort of good brigante15 and a Christlike figure. As time goes by and Simplicio fails to return, his legend grows: he is reported to "appear" simultaneously in several places, always to bring about justice for the oppressed, and he can never be apprehended, despite massive police efforts. The common faith of the poor in Simplicio's return, when he will lead them in their final revolt, joins them in solidarity; expectation chases away despair, and there ensues an atmosphere of hope and righteous defiance that will remain Simplicio's legacy even after his death. As Esposito points out, Silone republished this short story, but only after removing its central part.16 He had adopted this drastic type of intervention only once before, when he deleted the entire episode of Peppino Goriano from Fontamara. In both cases he sought to achieve greater structural unity while eliminating those passages where irony, rather than create a dialectic movement, simply resulted in facile or tasteless humor. Since he retold this story, while refusing even to speak about some of the others contained in the original volume, Silone implicitly admitted its importance. Its analysis reveals that for both its subject matter and its narrative techniques it deserves to be included in the critical discourse. The hero's essential quality - simplicity - is of the kind that is also found in Pietro Spina and the hermit of Morrone;17 it is also the quality that Jesus possesses in Der Christus von Kazan, one of the least known of Silone's writings. Written after Fontamara, but published before it, in 1932, this essay deals with the origins and development of Christianity in a manner that comes to bear on the interpretation of "Simplicio." Silone's departure point is Robert Eisler's book based on Slavic fragments of The Jewish War by Flavius Josephus. Having considered the leading views on the origins of Christianity, he notes that despite the efforts of researchers, little can be established definitely about Christ himself. As for the fragment of the manuscript of Kazan, which, according to Eisler, contains a physical description of Jesus, he writes, Are the texts of Kazan authentic? Some affirm that they are; for others these texts are only Jewish interpolations and for others Christian interpolations. The Christ of Kazan would then be one of the numerous Christ figures which had been created at that very time by the first Christian communities and of which many legends still persist. It is likely that this critique is correct. But it still does not completely invalidate the texts of Kazan ... The fact that when Christianity was

The Short Stories 57 still developing in Russia, one could imagine Jesus as a little indignant carpenter, is a precious element for a sociological interpretation of Christianity. Doesn't the Christ of Kazan correspond to that unknown Christ that really lived? One can doubt this, but this doubt has only a limited meaning because that unknown Christ has lived, perhaps not in Palestine, but surely in Kazan. And he is very talkative. He enlightens us on the ideology of a certain Slavic community in the first Christian centuries. He is a historical witness. Just as much as the crucified donkey which had been discovered in a Roman catacomb or as the EmperorChrist of the Byzantines, the artisan Christ of medieval guilds, the judge-Christ of the year one thousand, the hangman-Christ of the Inquisition, the profane Christ of the Rococo, the citizen Christ of Voltaire, Christ the lover of Saint Teresa, the anarchistic Christ of Tolstoy and the soviet Christ of the active church are all historical witnesses. Does it not seem that all of these reflections of Christ are equivalent to the unknown Christ who really might have lived? But they all lived as well. They are Christianity.18

Silone's central point is that even in the face of the improbability that scholarship will ever be able to prove conclusively the physical existence of Christ, it will not be able to disprove the manifestation of His spirit throughout history, regardless of the forms it may have taken in given places and times. As the critics have recognized, in all of Silone's work the hero or heroine is a Christ-like innocent victim, whose tragic end paradoxically denies tragedy its final victory. Simplicio also is a hero in this tradition a hero whose legend may have been fabricated by the people, but whose existence is very real and represents the living spirit of Christ in history. Simplicio's story does not change in the revised version, but the elimination of the pages that do not deal directly with his case results in a remarkable stylistic improvement. It is not by mere coincidence that in his successive works Silone only repeats some of the most effective narrative techniques experimented with here. Among these are the mystery-novel structure in The Secret ofLuca, and the greater effectiveness i the modulation of time and space both here and in A Handful of Blackberries. In "Simplicio" the sense of mystery is imparted by means of a naturalistic approach whereby the farmers' comments rather than the narrator's voice are used to mark Simplicio's absence and evoke his presence, to create suspense and expectation, and to reveal the situational irony. Although the story is supposed to take place in a Fontamaran setting, Simplicio's hiding in the mountains, and his "appearances" at various places at the same time, provide the author with a host of pos-

58 Ignazio Silone sibilities for the structural layout of the spatial component. The most striking novelty, however, is his effective modulation of the temporal component, particularly in the passages leading to Simplicio's flight. The first isolated warning, finding an echo in several successive others, accelerates the tempo and leaves no time for Simplicio to think; then the hastening of the peasants and other workers toward their homes, underscored by the repetition that "it was no later than four o'clock," further contributes to both the quickening of the pace and the sense of fatality of outcome. Like the incredible swelling of a river that cannot be contained, the quick succession of events compels Simplicio to flee. In the economy of the story Simplicio symbolically represents the spirit of freedom and righteousness that, however much it may be persecuted, will always live on. In fact, when the police finally find him they cannot arrest him, because he is already dead. The narrator comments: "Four carabinieri were left on the spot, rifles on their shoulders, stationed about Simplicio's corpse. They seemed to be saying, 'If you try to get away, we'll shoot!' But Simplicio had made his get-away!"19

"The Fox" Silone wrote this rather long short story in or about 1934; he then revised it and enlarged it for serialized publication in // Mondo in 1958, and issued it in its final version in 1960 as a novel: The Fox and the Camellias.20 The original Italian title, "La Volpe," appears as "The Trap" in Mr. Aristotle. This change - perhaps made to rid the title of its Aesopian echo - is not adopted here, since it shifts the focus on the means and away from the subject as intended by the author. Silone's narrative techniques are, this time as well, unlike those adopted to write the other stories, again suggesting experimental aims. The story unfolds in two main registers: realism represents life as it should be, and as Daniel and his family try to live it; the allusive, metaphorical mode conveys the hidden presence of an insidious element that constantly endangers that peaceful existence. Daniel, a farmer from the Italian-speaking Swiss canton of Ticino, is only apparently a neutral spectator of the escalation of Fascism across the Italian borders. On his farm, and with his family, he lives an Arcadian existence based on mutual love and enjoyment of the miracles of nature. But the farmers' Edenic peace is broken by the periodic reappearance of a fox and the trail of blood it leaves behind. Their attention is thus forced away from the sacred communion with nature, and

The Short Stories 59 toward the need to trap the fox. In a similar manner, Daniel's peace is interrupted by the havoc periodically wrought by the Fascist police on their political enemies, and he joins the Italians in their subversive struggle against Mussolini, the most astute "fox" of all, to whom Silone alludes elsewhere when he writes, "Intrabit ut vulpis, regnabit ut leo, morietur ut canis."21 The plot of the story is similar in many ways to the plot of the novel,22 in that one day, Caterina, an elderly Italian seamstress, seeks Daniel's advice on a very troubling matter: a Fascist agent has approached her and asked her to become a spy. If she accepts she will be well rewarded; if she doesn't she will most likely regret it. Daniel discusses the matter with Agostino, an Italian political refugee whose brother was tortured and killed by the Fascists, in a manner similar to Silone's brother Romolo. Agostino, who thirsts for revenge, decides to set a "trap" with Caterina's help, and at the appointed time beats up the agent, leaving him for dead. But another "trap" is about to be set by the Fascists. Faking a car accident, they bring the agent to Daniel's house for help. His identity disguised by heavy bandages, he can remain long enough to earn the family's trust. While Daniel is away, his younger daughter shows him the house, and innocently provides him with an opportunity to discover her father's subversive activity. Having seized documents incriminating members of the underground movement, and apparently having recovered, the agent is about to leave when he is recognized by Caterina, who denounces him to Daniel and Agostino. That same night, the trap that Daniel had set to protect his chickens finally catches the fox. Daniel's fury - as he destroys it with his ax - implicitly suggests his and his friends' determination to rid their world of the insidious and insatiable animal. Silone's preference for the symbolic register to suggest the deeper meanings becomes more obvious as he writes his major works, but even here it is possible to note how he explores the possibilities of this new narrative technique - a technique that at this point he has not yet mastered, since the reader can too readily perceive his intent to "symbolize." The Edenic representation of farm life, the demonic qualities of the fox, the different "traps" that are scattered - all these techniques do not converge to yield the effect that is achieved in the novels and in his first play. This is perhaps the reason why Silone sought to improve the work in the longer versions that he later published and in which he achieved better results, though not ones comparable to those of his best novels.

6o Ignazio Silone "Joy the Weeper" When Silone rejected his short stories, considering them "folkloristic," he must have been thinking in particular of "Letizia" ("Joy the Weeper") and "Don Aristotile" ("Mr. Aristotle"), since these are the ones that more specifically draw on regional peculiarities to tell a "local color" type of story. Letizia, whose name means "Joy" in English, is a professional weeper who practises the ancient craft of honoring the dead with her wails, always accompanied, in this "performance," by the chorus of her assistant weepers. They are hired so that when God - who is "a poor devil with a lot on his hands"23 - judges the soul of the deceased, He will be impressed by the reaction of "public opinion," and, seeing so much sorrow, will send the soul straight to heaven. Silone uses the hyperbole to reveal how even as Mussolini is preparing to "bring civilization" to Ethiopia, in Italy there are people still lacking any formal education and depending for their guidance on popular beliefs and superstitions that have been handed down from generation to generation. The narrator understands their mentality because of his common origins and upbringing, but the narrative's distance and tone suggest that he does not partake of it. As Esposito points out, "the story begins and ends with an explicitly autobiographical note,"24 and Silone may have in fact known the old weeper, but he had little tolerance for her trade. His comment that in Switzerland "weeping is not a national institution," and Letitia's inability to understand it, are clear indications of the distance that separates them. Humor and irony both render the story enjoyable and underscore the absurd. The following passage concerning Letitia's "prophetic" warning of the end of the world, and the people's reaction to it, offers a good example in this regard: "Confess your sins!" Letitia kept exhorting all she met; "repair the wrongs that you have done!" Maddalena, the baker's wife, confessed to her husband that, for years, she had been making a cuckold of him with the druggist. Giustino Pellanera sent word to the mayor that it was he who had set fire to His Honor's haystack. Giovanni Strapazzo confessed to Giustino Pellanera that he had poisoned the latter's pig. And so it went. There were other public confessions which created a sensation; all of which only goes to show how uninhabitable the earth would become, if each of us set out to tell the truth to his neighbor.23

The Short Stories 61 On the other hand, in some of the passages that the author later regretted writing, the humorous intent does not achieve the same impact: During the recitation of the Second Mystery, the women knelt once more in the little footpath, faces to the earth. It was at this point that Americo caught up with them and, without saying a word, leaped on the hapless Angelina. The poor girl, as I have said, was not used to mountain-climbing and was very tired; and so she did not offer any resistance; the most she did was to let out a feeble moan. The Second Mystery was recited. They continued up the path, which was growing steeper all the time ... Letitia gave them the Third Mystery. "In the Third Sorrowful Mystery," she screeched, her voice growing shriller as the comet drew nearer, "consider how Jesus Christ was crowned with the sharpest of thorns - " As for Angelina, after the Mystery which had gone before, she thought that Americo surely must have returned to the village, and she could not help worrying about him ... But Americo was not the lad to be content with a single Mystery; and no sooner was Angelina face down with the others than she at once heard his step behind her, felt his breath on the back of the neck and his weight, which was something to be reckoned with, sprawled upon her. The Sorrowful Mysteries are five, no more! It was in vain, as he followed the procession at a discreet distance, that Americo waited for the Sixth. (74-7)

Although Silone has not yet mastered the symbolic mode of representation that he will effectively employ in the novels, particularly those written after Fontamara, he appears already to be foreshadowing a demonic inversion by having the desecrating act take place during a sacred ritual. The unnatural, loveless union of Americo with Angelina - whose name, ironically, means little angel - is an implicit parody of the loving act that should unite two people. The desecrating act could be placed in metaphorical relation to the way in which the women grasp the cross and do not let go, not out of a desire to be with Christ, but in order to use Him for their own purposes. It is important to note that Silone returns to the topic of the Sorrowful Mysteries and appropriates their symbolic charge to dramatize the Christ-like sacrifice of Luigi Murica both in the novel Bread and Wine and in the 1944 play And He Hid Himself. In addition to providing valuable insight into the author's creative process, this short story contains a wealth of anecdotes that are not merely folkloristic. Their anthropological value is evident if they are perceived from the same perspective that is required to understand the

62 Ignazio Silone primitive beliefs and superstitions that characterize the people of Lucania in Carlo Levi's Christ Stopped at Eboli. "Mr. Aristotle" One of the most fascinating aspects of Abruzzo - not only for those who, like me, partake of its cultural past as natives of the region - is the natural manner in which the modern and the ancient, intellectual rigor and acceptance of absurd rituals and ceremonials, still go hand in hand. The present generation may not have seen characters such as Joy the Weeper or Mr. Aristotle, but their elders have quite likely spoken of the piagnona, or town weeper, and the scrivano, or public scribe. They have also told many stories of matchmakers who used their verbal "art" as Mr. Aristotle uses his skills. While progress has changed many things, there are still conventions that prescribe the appropriate ceremonials in the matter of courtship, marriage, and death. These vestiges of our ancient past may make us smile, but it is a tender smile, for we now are drawn to them out of wisdom rather than ignorance. They represent a part of ourselves that we can cherish as we look back from our present vantage point. But Silone wrote this story in the early thirties, when ignorance and poverty and the corruption that they caused were still too prevalent for him to be detached. Like the story of Simplicio, this one as well is set in the author's hometown of Pescina,26 but beyond this common aspect the two writings are quite different. There, the plot and the way in which the author develops it give the story a certain epic quality; here typology and local color prevail. The main character, "Don" Aristotle,27 has the great advantage of being literate in a predominantly illiterate town. Initially he uses his skills as municipal scribe and part-time assistant to a lawyer, who hires him to procure legal cases and favorable witnesses. To help the lawyer succeed, he hires some local men as professional witnesses and trains them to testify for or against according to the individual circumstances. All is just fine until the day he sees the seamstress Faustina, whom he likes, being attacked by dogs for the Baron's amusement.28 To help Faustina, he instructs his witnesses to testify truthfully, but the long training backfires, and the woman loses the case and her suitor his job. Having disdained the poor and displeased the rich, the unfortunate man is not welcome to either group, and must live in a miserable hut halfway between the "New Town" and "Purgatory." There he works as

The Short Stories 63 a public scribe, and with his "art" can bring about the right outcomes for all his clients. As his surname "Caramella" (candy) suggests, he can sweeten everybody's mouth. But progress, unfortunately for him, begins to arrive even in Pescina. He is no longer able to understand the new mentality and does not know how to express the new ways in which men and women relate to one another. To add to his misfortune, the young are learning how to read and write, and they prefer to say what they mean rather than expressing themselves in his beautiful style. As he continues to swim against the tide, he becomes increasingly pathetic. He finally ends his brilliant career as the author of an anonymous hate letter on behalf of a nasty old woman. Thus Mr. Aristotle, the one who always felt that he knew the most, is the one who is left behind because of his inability to adapt to the new reality. When compared with the other short stories, this one is structurally much simpler. Except for the flashback to Mr. Aristotle's successful beginnings and the reason for his declined fortunes, the narrative proceeds in a normal chronological order. The narrator is keenly familiar with the reality that he represents, but looks at it from above. When he acts as Mr. Aristotle's interlocutor, it is obvious that the sole purpose is to further expose the man's fallacious reasoning. Irony often provides a counterpoint to the otherwise ordinary narrative passages and dialogical exchanges. The lessons that the story imparts are that knowledge that serves unworthy purposes is at best worthless; that sooner or later charlatans give themselves away; that the power of their rhetoric lasts only as long as ignorance sustains it; and finally, that the simplest authentic word is always more than sufficient to signify the truth.

4 The Satire: The School for Dictators

The epigraph "Quam parva sapientia regit mundum/'1 and Silone's choice of the dialogue form, alert the reader from the onset that despite its title, The School for Dictators does not simply deal with politics or political science.2 Perhaps influenced by Silone's ample discussion of Machiavelli in the original introductory chapters of the book, many have focused on the political aspect of the work, suggesting analogies with Machiavelli's The Prince.3 While both works are inspired by noble sentiments and offer remarkable insight into the science of politics, human nature, and contemporary society, one cannot ignore how profoundly different they also are. For instance, Machiavelli looks to the prince to counter the power of theocracy in his era; Silone, instead, places his faith in the individual and in sapientia to counter the totalitarian plague that has spread in Europe in his days. Silone, mocking the "prince," extols the virtues of men like Machiavelli; Machiavelli tries to educate the prince, even as he is being scorned. The differences in the formal aspect of the two works also deserve attention. While The Prince is generally defined as a political tract of notable literary value, The School for Dictators has been defined as a roman, a recit et traite, an essay, a fiction, and, somewhat more appropriately, as "dialogues in the classic tradition." When it was published in Italian in 1962, it appeared in Mondadori's narrative series, and only later was it moved to the Italian and Foreign Writers Series.4 I find this confusion typical of the manner in which opinion was often formed about the artistic merits of Silone's work. Neither the original version nor the revised one could ever have justified defining it as a novel, a narrative work, or an essay. Even calling it "dialogues" seems insufficient, because this definition does not account for the oblique reading

The Satire 65 that the text constantly requires, particularly in its final version. As the title of this chapter suggests, I read The School for Dictators as a satire. In my view, the author uses political subject matter and dialogue form to revisit the concept of sapientia to show, by means of his satire, how it has degenerated, and with what consequences. In the original version of The School for Dictators, Silone refers to a "charming satire" by Gustav Freytag in the Ratio status5 - a 1666 manual on the art of government - in a manner that merits critical attention, in that it also contains an implicit reference to Silone's own work. Silone writes: In Freytag's satire a young man considered eligible for the position of royal counsellor is admitted to the secret apartments where the arcana status are jealously preserved - the mantles of state, the masks of state, the powder for the eyes, and so on. The mantles of state surrounded those who wore them with an aura of due authority and reverence. The names of those mantles were salus populi, or the defence of the realm, bonum publicum, or public welfare, or [sic] conservatio religionis or the preservation of religion ... One mantle, completely worn out by everyday use, was called intentio, because it served to justify everything. With the spectacles of state entry was made into the realm of pure illusion, because they enabled one to see things that did not exist and not to see things that did exist, at the same time magnifying trifles out of all proportion and reducing the dimensions of grave events beyond all recognition. (26-7)

Like Freytag, Silone also writes a satire to unmask all types of mystifications. He distinguishes between the art of politics - that is "the practical actions" of such governments as the one which is the object of satire in the German work, and the science of politics, which consists of "the observations and conclusions of historians on the political events of the past" (22). The latter can form conscience, which is sapientia; the former is a parody of knowledge, and merely expedient. Silone's work is encyclopedic in its wealth of information and very modern in its use of psychological inquiry to illustrate how conditioning can take place and how it can be avoided. The most important and enduring lesson one learns from it is what knowledge is and is not, how to acquire and how to recognize it, and especially how to unmask fraudulent speech and actions. Since the book is not widely known, a brief introduction on its form and subject matter is in order. While my analysis is based on the final

66 Ignazio Silone Italian version, I quote from the original version, which remains the only one available in English. The incipit of The School for Dictators resembles the one the author used in Fontamara: the arrival of unexpected visitors sets in motion the dynamics that allow the narrator to introduce his argument naturally. He is an Ital ian writer living in Zurich as a political exile who recalls, as one of his "strangest experiences," his meeting with two Americans, Mr W, an aspiring dictator, and his ideological advisor, Professor Pickup.6 The two men, who are traveling incognito, are in Europe to gain firsthand knowledge of the makeup of successful dictatorships, and to learn how dictators seize and hold power; but although they have visited many countries and have consulted with many people, their quest, thus far, has been fruitless. As they speak, they reveal their very different personalities: while the professor maintains a composure befitting his "illustrious" status, even as he continues to spray the Italian with saliva as he talks, the uneducated Mr W mocks his constant show of erudition as he also reveals his own crass pragmatism. The following exchanges show how the author uses irony and sarcasm to characterize the speakers and to build his satire. Relating their visits to historic sites, the professor explains: "For example, we paid our respects to the Rubicon, where Caesar and his trusty legionaries started the March to Rome." Mr W sarcastically interjects: "That filthy little trickle?" The professor solemnly continues: "Caesar, before crossing the Rubicon, exclaimed: The die is cast!'" Mr W, with an ironic grimace, rebuts, "I should like to have seen your Caesar and his legionaries trying to wade the Mississippi." (12-13)

As the two Americans continue in their antagonistic posture, the Italian remains amused and detached, but when Mr W seeks to hire him as a mentor, he declares himself otherwise occupied and recommends that they speak with Thomas the Cynic. There follows a functional split between the narrator and Thomas, and a shift from narrative to dialogue. The author's viewpoint can now be heard in Thomas's remarks, while the others continue to play the roles illustrated above. The original version of the work was organized into five days, each comprising three dialogues. The narrator spends the first day with the

The Satire 67 Americans and actively participates in all three dialogues, intervening to rectify their stances. The final version, on the other hand, contains a first narrative chapter and thirteen dialogues in as many chapters introduced by explanatory titles. As a result of these and other changes, the book now achieves greater structural unity and semantic thrust. In the new version, too, the professor is the inventor of pantautologia rather than "neosociology." His "science" speaks such truths as are represented by its emblem, Columbus's egg. The professor explains that this "relic" was discovered and purchased during their visit to Genoa. In the original version a different "relic" had been purchased: the pair of pants wOrn by the king of Italy on the day of Mussolini's march on Rome. As in his other revisions of his work, here, too, Silone eliminates vulgarities in favor of a more sober language.7 The main topics that the three men discuss include the art of politics; the technique for seizing and holding power; the makeup of dictators; the conditions that favored the advent and rise of Fascist dictatorships in Europe; the power of myths; the techniques of mass conditioning; the need to hold firm in the "totalitarian spirit" in order to retain power; how Fascism can become a substitute for both Socialism and Democracy; how elected officials and the army can assist in the coup d'etat. Although all of the topics are political in nature, the underlying theme in each dialogue is the concept of sapientia. To understand the spirit that informed the book it will be well to remember that Silone wrote it in 1937 - the year after Mussolini and Hitler established the Rome-Berlin Axis, and at a time when totalitarian expansionism had spread in many parts of Europe. Mussolini had conquered Ethiopia, Hitler had reclaimed the Saar and occupied the Rhineland, and both Fascist regimes were supporting the Spanish Civil War. In Russia, the Great Purge was in full course. Many intellectuals who had been living in Zurich as refugees began to fear an invasion of Switzerland and left the country, often for the United States. The American Writers Association obtained a special visa for Silone from President Roosevelt and offered him a prepaid ticket, but he declined the invitation. He later explained: "I would have considered it a cowardly act, and myself like one who leaves his family in time of danger."8 Silone, no longer engaged in the Communist movement since his expulsion from the PCI in 1931, had dedicated himself almost entirely to his studies and his literary activity. He was aided in his endeavors by the generosity of Marcel Fleischmann, the friend whose human qualities

68 Ignazio Silone Silone recalls in these words he wrote him on 13 January 1941: "no obvious reason, no blood relation, no political solidarity, nothing we have in common, can adequately explain the reason for your hospitality; your goodness in my regard had the same character of "gratuity" that is normally attributed to saints and about which the highest praise was written by Paul the apostle."9 Fleischmann's Pauline spirit, Silone continues, is what gave him and many others the strength to "continue to live." During that period Zurich had become a magnet for intellectuals who had to flee their countries for political reasons. Writers such as Thomas Mann, Bertolt Brecht, Martin Buber, and Robert Musil crossed paths with Silone at one time or another. In that milieu Silone experienced both personal growth and spiritual rebirth. In his Memoriale dal carcere svizzero he writes, In Switzerland I became a writer, but, even more importantly, I became a man. Not only did my concept of society become clearer, and my political thought become detached from the nightmare of Bolshevism, but in the daily encounter with a free, democratic, and peace-loving people I rediscovered the possibility of a human existence that I had previously denied ... It was evident that the first and highest aspiration of man on earth must be to become good, honest, and sincere. My activity as a writer bears witness to this struggle and internal growth ... My most recent books, and especially Bread and Wine, The School for Dictators, and The Seed Beneath the Snow, are the sincere expression of a man who has remained radically opposed to Fascism and to any kind of dictatorship, but for human and ideal reasons that transcend those of political anti-Fascism.10

The specific mention of The School for Dictators among the books inspired by "human and ideal reasons" that transcend the political dimension to reflect loftier aspirations supports my thesis that this work addresses deeper concerns than those suggested by its title and by its surface appearance. Like Silone's other works, this one reveals its deeper meaning when the inquiry focuses on the implicit rather than the explicit, but whereas in the novels, in some of the short stories, and in the first play, this meaning is conveyed by a play and counterplay of symbolism and irony, here militant irony prevails and gives way to satire.11 As a literary genre, satire generally presupposes an author who intends to maintain a moral viewpoint. But this viewpoint only represents the

The Satire 69 initial impulse. In fact the prevailing use in satire of a bipolar pattern pitching, for instance, good versus evil, virtue versus vice - would soon render the work rather wearisome. "What we behold in satire is not the neatly articulated homiletic discourse but the drama of an inflamed sensibility, or a cool and detached mind playfully exploring a moral topic."12 Silone's work can be enjoyed on both these levels - as a drama of "an inflamed sensitivity" and as a rational exploration of a moral topic. Bakhtin's distinction between monologic satire, in which truth is known from the beginning, and dialogic satire, in which the search for truth is conducted through the interaction of the characters, does not apply to The School for Dictators, for here the author uses the dialogue to demonstrate the validity of a moral stance that he firmly holds. Silone's method includes the categories that Griffin defines as "rhetoric of inquiry, rhetoric of provocation, rhetoric of display, and rhetoric of play" (39). He employs direct questioning, the Socratic method, citation of facts or written sources, and paradoxical or controversial statements to probe, to provoke, to demonstrate, and to provide a ludic component. Each of the three interlocutors occupies center stage at one time or another; each represents a particular type of individual. Mr W, the aspiring dictator, is the typical mediocre politician: he is self-centered, insensitive, rough, superstitious, diffident, and not at all well-educated, and yet, because of his thirst for power and his pragmatism, he can conceivably succeed. In some of his characteristics and approaches he reminds the reader of Mussolini, but Darina Silone told me that Silone was thinking of Huey Long when he created this character.13 Like Mussolini, Long appealed to the populace because, at the beginning, he appeared to have a genuine concern for the workers' well-being; like Mussolini he became entangled in his own ambition and caused his own downfall. The choice of the name Mr W possibly alludes to the national work and welfare programs for which Long was known, but it may also have been inspired by the initial letter of Long's birthplace, Winnfield, and that of his killer's surname, Weiss, thus ironically embodying the notion of the birth, deeds, and death of a demagogue. Professor Pickup is the typical sophist who "picks up" theories and formulas and simply utters them at the right time, or transforms them into tautologies such as "The State is the State and can only be the State." Mr W speaks of his body of knowledge as follows: "'My friend Professor Pickup is very cultured indeed. He knows everything that is in all the books that have ever been written. Unfortunately he doesn't know anything else. In other words, he doesn't really know anything at all'" (15).

70 Ignazio Silone By contrast, Thomas the Cynic's remarkable knowledge is acquired through serious studies and by transforming experience into conscience. He hates euphemisms, and opposes totalitarian regimes. In recommending him to the two Americans, the narrator explains that he is the best man for the job because the truth must always be learned from the adversary. His name was also carefully chosen: Thomas, whose relics, according to tradition, are at Ortona in Abruzzo, is the apostle who was not afraid to doubt in order to achieve true knowledge.14 The epithet "the Cynic" refers to Thomas's practice of virtue, like the followers of Antisthenes, a friend of Socrates who admired the Socratic strength of will and capacity for self-denial, and maintained as supreme values the practice of virtue and the belief in universal brotherhood.15 Thomas the Cynic is writing a manual on the art of mystification, not for the mystifiers but for their victims, so that they may recognize it when they see it. Like Thomas's manual, The School for Dictators, rather than teach how one can seize and maintain power, teaches how freedom is or can be lost. Silone intended to write a sequel to this book, The School for Freedom, but he never did; instead he wrote The Living Thoughts of Mazzini, to show how the humanitarian and libertarian views of Mazzini were still quite inspiring and pertinent.16 For Silone, unexamined knowledge is at best a useless thing. This is why Thomas constantly ridicules the idea that one can learn from theories alone. Even Machiavelli, he says, when he tried to put his own theories into practice, did not succeed, and Giovanni delle Bande Nere, who had learned from experience, had to come to his rescue;17 in fact, Machiavelli's work never brought to power a single prince. When the Americans ask how one can discern the truth, Thomas answers with bitter irony that even Pontius Pilate had this same dilemma: while truth was staring right at him he could not see it, because his job description did not include that entry. He then explains how knowledge, or sapere, in government is savoir faire; and people do not think, they simply quote. The only difference in dictatorships is that everyone quotes from the same textbook. And one need not speak of Fascism, National Socialism, Communism, and the like. A government can be democratic in the ideal and antidemocratic in actuality if along the way the means replace the end. Having recognized the situation: "Those who want to at least oppose the moral and psychological conditioning that favors totalitarian enterprises, must, therefore, begin at home. They must educate others to understand and reason, they must

The Satire 71 respect their opinions when they are different from their own, they must keep the critical spirit alive, and create consciences: this is an activity than never leaves one disappointed, one which never causes regret, and it is also the most effective action against totalitarian hypnosis."18 The dialogue on the character of the dictator deals with the myths that are fabricated around the figure of the mediocre leader. At the basis of such myths are some features that totalitarian leaders have in common: a humble beginning; a rather solitary childhood; hardship, humiliation, and a spirit of revenge; some uncommon event foreshadowing the future; an unrequited passion for one of the muses; literary ambitions; and the most important quality of all - opportunism coupled with an uncanny sense of timing, so as to detect the changing winds and immediately make the necessary changes. (Thomas and his interlocutors cite many examples, including such dictators as Hitler, Mussolini, Kemal Atatiirk, Fulgencio Batista, Juan Vicente Gomez, and others.) All these leaders want power for power's sake; they seek to identify with the masses, and from the moment they succeed, their strength multiplies at a vertiginous speed. All of the arguments are based on actual examples; the speakers allow for variances and offer ample support for the arguments, so that the problem, explored from various perspectives, might reveal the truth that is at its core. The most compelling part of the book, and the most important for this information age, is the one in which Thomas addresses the issue of language and communications. He explains that leaders who want to conquer the masses do not speak of programs but repeat slogans and adopt symbols that are capable of creating a sacred bond with the homeland. As Hitler did by creating the myths of "blood" and "land," or Martin Van Buren did in 1828 when he helped Andrew Jackson win the presidential election with a slogan about the "sacri diritti del popolo" [sacred rights of the people]19 and then in turn was himself defeated when William Henry Harrison fashioned himself as "the log cabin man," and got himself elected the ninth president of the United States. But there are other types of symbolic communications: a case in point is the effective use of black shirts by the Italian Fascists to identify with the working class to which the leaders did not belong. Symbols, Thomas explains, come in many forms and all too often become fetishes, as revealed by Napoleon's pledge: "Give me a button and I will have the people live or die for it" (150). In this respect an interesting study of contemporary political mythology could explore the use of the metaphorical "bridge" to the twenty-first century during the 1996 American presidential elec-

72 Ignazio Silone tion, revealing the archetypal images that it summoned and to what extent they worked on the subconscious level to effectively sway the voters. Silone exposes the use of rhetoric to brainwash the masses by discussing the problem in all of its manifestations. Thomas explains, for instance, that "an aspiring dictator must not appeal to the critical spirit of his audience ... he must be able to carry away, to inflame, to exalt the audience inspiring disdain for those who like to discuss. 'Words do not fill an empty stomach' is here an effective slogan ... All ... will be stated as self-evident ... any invitation to discussion will be avoided. Such statements as 'Workers need jobs, not words' are safe enough, for they appeal to any number of followers."20 The volume is replete with historical data and pointed argumentation that show how to distinguish rhetoric from knowledge, theory from fact. The reader learns to recognize the truth from seeing its falsified image, and commiserates the falsifiers as well as those who believe in mystifications and myths and are incapable of authentic thought. As is generally the case in satire, The School for Dictators also draws a rather bleak picture of human interaction; an "emergency exit," however, is signaled by Thomas's determination to continue his struggle for freedom and truth because, quite obviously, "an honest person doesn't necessarily have to submit to history." The countless lessons that Silone imparts in this work encourage the reader to revisit the concept of sapientia in the light of those values that from Socrates's time have fostered the progress of human civilization, and to be vigilant against all forms of mystification and psychological persuasion.

5

The Novels of Exile

During his literary career Silone wrote essays, short stories, satire, and dramatic works, but he achieved worldwide recognition primarily as a novelist, and as such he will arguably be known to future generations. The common notion that world literature owes much to the experience of exile holds true in Silone's case as well. One need only read Emergency Exit, and listen to the lyrical tone of some of its passages, to realize how deeply attached the author was to his native land and its poor farmers, and how he must have anguished during the fifteen years of his exile.1 That attachment, that anguish, and a political passion that he could not express in any other manner compelled him to write Fontamara. The novel marked the author's return to the beginning of his ideological journey in order to reaffirm the original meaning of his political struggle; the novels that followed - Bread and Wine and The Seed Beneath the Snow - revealed his need to assess the political action in which he had participated in the light of the original motives for which he had joined it, and to acknowledge both the failure of that action and his rediscovery of the ancient values of Christianity. In this regard he writes "... at a certain moment writing meant for me an absolute necessity of bearing witness, the urgent need to free myself from an obsession, to reaffirm the meaning and define the limits of a difficult but permanent break and of a more sincere faith."2 The nature and the source of that faith are revealed in these words Silone directed to the "exes" whose despair for the "god that failed" he also shared: ... the past, with the deep wounds it has left us, must not be an excuse for weakness ... From the moment our will is pure, a new strength can be drawn from the worst in us. "Etiam peccata."

74 Ignazio Silone This way of thinking may seem religious to some, and not wrongly so. The word does not make me blush since it does not express a sentiment but an awareness. I have already said on other occasions that I consider the rediscovery of the Christian heritage in the ferment of liberation taking place in contemporary society as our most important spiritual gain. I think this is very apparent in Bread and Wine and The Seed Beneath the Snow ... I have the impression that Pietro Spina [the hero of both novels] is not seeking God, but that he is being pursued by Him, as one can be by one's shadow or something within oneself.3

Silone had expressed similar feelings in his 1930 letter to OVRA'S Guido Bellone, when he bared his conscience and manifested his resolve to begin a new life. His literary work - the central part of that new life - is his response to the need to share his awareness that the Christian heritage "is a heritage weighted down with debts. A living, painful, almost absurd heritage." To receive it means to realize that "in the sacred history of man on earth it is still, alas, Good Friday. Men who 'hunger and thirst after righteousness' are still divided, persecuted, put to death. The spirit of man is still forced to save itself in hiding."4 Even as he invites the reader to apprehend this tragic vision, Silone points beyond it, both when he speaks of a "living" heritage and when he suggests that the human spirit saves itself and finally prevails. This is the vision the reader finds in his novels and his plays. The author acknowledges this common aspect of his work when he states: "If it were in my power to change the mercantile laws of literary society, I might well spend my life perpetually writing and rewriting the same story in the hope of at last understanding and making it understood, just as in the Middle Ages there were monks who spent their whole lives painting and repainting the Saviour's face, always the same face, yet always different."5 But this is in fact what he does, even as he changes the angle and widens the perspective with every new work. This is also why, when he revises his works, he proceeds like a painter who retouches the canvas to bring the central image into greater focus while ridding the background of distracting or unwanted details. In an interview with Kenneth Allsop, Silone further clarified his stance as follows: "I believe that an author's first book is an expression of his attitude to life. After that, each year he lives should give greater depth, subtler refractions to his understanding of life. Isn't it right that he should try to pass on to his book that same growth?"6 The extent to which he succeeds in achieving this goal becomes evident in my discussion of each work. Save for The School for Dictators, there is in Silone's opus an implicit unity of structural design. Within this macrotext, each novel encom-

The Novels of Exile 75 passes a new stage of the author's quest for understanding and traces a tragic itinerary; each ends in a redemptive self-sacrifice; each incorporates new concepts and suggests deeper meanings. The three novels of exile conclude the first part of the quest; the ones that follow expand both its scope and its reach. The two plays act as lucid syntheses. Fontamara In my review of the criticism related to Silone's work, I note how the initial tendency to stress the political aspect of Fontamara, and in some instances to present fiction as fact, was followed by a prevailing perception of Silone as a moral, nonpolitical writer. Several factors were responsible for such diverging views, but the main ones were the impact of the historical moment and the fact that the original version of the novel was indeed more political and more imbued with social realism. For instance, to illustrate the unjust practices of the powerful landowners the author tells the reader how many tons of wheat and other farm products are harvested, how much they are sold for, and to what profit for the rich, while the cafoni, who work the land, can hardly survive.7 Silone's militant stance, and the polemical tone in which it was conveyed, found both justification and consensus in the climate that prevailed in 1934, when the novel was initially read, but at some distance it began to appear excessive, as to some extent it was. Interestingly enough, Silone was planning to issue a final revision of the novel even as it was about to appear for the first time. In a letter, dated "Winter solstice, 1931" - which to my knowledge is published here for the first time - he states, "La vera e definitiva edizione di Fontamara avra luogo dopo la caduta del fascismo" [The final version of Fontamara will be published after the fall of Fascism].8 But even in its original version the novel contained nonrealistic aspects that were generally neglected. Those aspects, as they come into greater focus in the revised versions, reveal the need for a reading that explores their structural and semantic function.9 Similarly, as the ironic component lost its excessive thrust it revealed that its structural function in the economy of the novel was also greater than had previously been suspected. My analysis, informed by the theories of literary criticism I have earlier expounded, seeks to incorporate these important aspects into the extant critical discourse on Fontamara and on Silone's other novels. In the author's note that Silone adds to the final revision of Fontamara he explains that the changes resulted from the need to reflect the develop-

76 Ignazio Silone ments that the story had undergone within himself as he had continued "living in it."10 Then, in the foreword, he has the young Fontamaran exile describe the manner in which the story will be told, as follows: Even though we tell the story in a borrowed tongue, the way of telling it will, I think, be our own. That at least is one of the arts of Fontamarans. We learned it when we were children, sitting on the doorstep, or around the fireplace in the long nights of winter, or by the hand loom, listening to the old stories to the rhythm of the pedal. The art of storytelling - the art of putting one word after another, one line after another, one sentence after another, explaining one thing at a time, without allusions or reservations, calling bread bread and wine wine - is just like the ancient art of weaving, the ancient art of putting one thread after another, one color after another, cleanly, neatly, perseveringly, plainly for all to see. First you see the stem of the rose, then the calyx, then the petals. You can see from the beginning that it is going to be a rose, and for that reason townsfolk think our products coarse and crude. But have we ever gone to town and tried to sell them? Have we ever asked townspeople to tell their story in our way? No, we have not. Let everyone, then, have the right to tell his story in his own way. (20)

As early as 1949, Geno Pampaloni had noted that while Silone claims to write without allusions or hidden meaning, that is not in fact what he does.11 Given the symbolic charge that such words as "bread" and "wine" carry in Silone's work, it is would be hard to disagree with the Italian critic. Does the author, then, make a contrary-to-fact statement? The answer to this question is in the deeper meaning of his words. What I think he is saying is that truth is inherent in the word, and when the word is pure the meaning naturally springs forth. Just as the rose woven at the loom, having revealed its simple beauty, also summons to mind the calyx of the Eucharist, so the story woven by the author, having revealed the tragic image of the poor cafone, also summons to mind the image of the Christ. What is particularly noteworthy in Silone's work, is the manner in which he harnesses the power of simple language to convey at once the realistic and the archetypal dimensions of the story. The story of Fontamara, in its essence, recounts a process of gradual awakening of the conscience of a people to the rights and responsibilities inherent in their human condition. Under the realistic surface of the narrative, the symbolic and ironic components reveal a people

The Novels of Exile 77 immersed in the selva oscura of their existence, totally unaware of the spiritual dimension of life. The local notables and authorities display demonic qualities and use demonic tactics to keep the cafoni in check. The latter, perceiving that they are persecuted innocents, embark on an egocentric course that worsens their material situation and hinders the possibility of their moral redemption. A gradual awakening begins when the Fascists raid the town and violate the women; Berardo's sacrifice completes the process. The Fontamaran cafoni are first introduced as a diffident, fatalistic kind of people who ignore the most basic historical developments, are able to communicate effectively only amongst themselves, and are incapable of grasping anything that is not explained in concrete terms. Having been oppressed for as long as they can remember, they have come to expect new abuses - usually announced by the people arriving from the city. They consider themselves good Christians, although they neither harbor hope nor practice charity. Poverty, and an obsession with the ownership of the land, render them arid and selfish. As the story progresses, however, many changes begin to take place. Faced with the possibility of being deprived of the water that irrigates their fields, the women react; the common problem requires that they form a common front, but their initial revolt is unsuccessful, and does not change anyone's attitude. Only the Fascist police's raid on the village, the violation of the women, and Teofilo's suicide awaken the cafoni's slothful consciences. Ironically, Berardo, the only unselfish peasant who had first seen the need for uniting, is now the one who refuses to be drawn into the common cause, and embarks on an egocentric course. Having decided to marry Elvira, he now wants to mind his own business, and, indifferent to Scarpone's concern that trouble might start again during Teofilo's funeral, refuses to delay his departure for Rome, where he intends to find himself a job. In Rome, Berardo is arrested during a police raid and meets again the "Mystery Man," a young Communist from Avezzano whom he had seen before. A sense of brotherhood develops between the two, and when he is questioned by the authorities, Berardo declares that he is the political agitator, so that his new friend can be released and continue his subversive activities on behalf of the cafoni. Brutalized by the Fascist police, Berardo is tempted to retract to save his life, but when he finds out that Elvira has died wishing to see him return as he once was, he is unable to denounce the other man. Love is the redeeming force. Elvira had promised her life for Berardo's; now he "saves" himself by giving

78 Ignazio Silone his own for his people. At the end, although the town has been almost totally destroyed in reprisal for the publishing of a newspaper denouncing Berardo's death as a Fascist crime, some people, with the help of the "Mystery Man," are able to escape. The real facts of Fontamara can thus be made known to the world. The cafoni's and the book's final question, "What are we to do?", points to a newly found awareness. Having provided a general outline of the story, I will now analyze the novel, focusing in particular on its symbolic and ironic components as they appear in its final version. In the foreword of both the original and the final versions of the novel the narrator is described as a young exile, but whereas initially he is said to be from the vicinity of Fontamara, in the final version he is a Fontamaran. Originally, he is simply curious to find out what happened during the raid, and when his attempts at gathering information fail, he puts the matter our of his mind; in the final version, his attachment to Fontamara is such as to lend a lyrical note to his remembrances: Some attempts I made to get direct news failed. Yet not a single day passed on which I did not return in my imagination to that place that I knew so well, and did not think about it and long to know that had happened to it. And then a strange thing happened. One evening, when I was feeling particularly homesick, to my great surprise I found three cafoni, two men and a woman, sitting outside my front door leaning against it. I recognized them as once as coming from Fontamara ... The old man spoke first. Then his wife took up the tale, then the man again and then his wife, and while she was talking I fell asleep - and this was the most extraordinary phenomenon - without losing the thread of what she was saying: as if her voice came from the deepest depths of my being. When dawn broke and I awoke, the man was talking again. What they said is in this book.12

A comparison of this episode as it is told in the two versions shows how the shift toward the symbolic is taking place. The narrator's statement that he fell asleep, but could still hear - as if the voice were springing from the inmost part of his being - is a totally new addition. Here the witnesses are almost summoned by the young man's nostalgic anguish. The constant repetition of the verb "recognize" also suggests the need to consider the archetypal dimension of the place and the story. Fontamara - the word can mean "bitter fountain" or "bitter source" - is the actual name of a fountain located at the entrance to Pescina. It is

The Novels of Exile 79 also, by extension, the name given to the area of the village surrounding the fountain. This fact is noteworthy, since it points from the very beginning to Silone's mythopoeic inclination and to his ability to convey a symbolic dimension through ordinary language. From the beginning, what the novel appears to suggest is that the real existence of such places as Fontamara, and the reality of such events as are narrated, are the very reasons why the story transcends both time and place and evokes universal archetypes. The realistic and symbolic dimensions of the place are evident in this rendering of Fontamara as it is perceived by all who look at it from the Fucino plain: to these, "the village looks like a flock of dark sheep and the bell tower looks like the shepherd. In short it is a village like many others; but to those born and bred there, it is the universe, for it is the scene of universal history - births, deaths, loves, hates, envies, struggles and despair" (14). The young exile recalls Fontamara as being tragically engulfed in a captivity-like existence: For twenty years I knew the monotony of that sky, circumscribed by the amphitheater of mountains that surround the area like a barrier with no way out: for twenty years I knew the monotony of the earth, the rain, the wind, the snow, the saints' days, the worries, the troubles and the poverty - the everlasting poverty handed down by fathers who inherited it from grandfathers, and in the face of which honest toil had never been of any use. The hardest injustices were of such long standing that they had acquired the naturalness of the rain, the wind, and the snow. The life of men, of the beast of the field, and of the earth itself seemed enclosed in an immovable ring, held in the viselike grip of the mountains and the changes of the season, welded into an unchanging natural cycle as in a kind of never-ending imprisonment. (14)

This perception, also shared by the other Fontamarans, does not as yet open the tragic vision to the possibility of the apocalyptic dimension; the spiritual consequences of injustice are still not as yet considered, and they must be for this perceived constant rotation to be broken. What is required, the story will show, is not the mere act of rebellion, but rather the abandonment of the egocentric vision - the principal cause of the spiritual captivity of Fontamara. As Frye explains: There are two fundamental movements of narrative: a cyclical movement within the order of nature, and a dialectical movement from that order into the apocalyptic world above. (The movement to the demonic world below is

8o Ignazio Silone very rare, because a constant rotation within the order of nature is demonic in itself.) ... The top half of the natural cycle is the world of romance and the analogy of innocence; the lower half is the world of "realism" and the analogy of experience.13

Both these fundamental movements occur in Fontamara, as well as in Silone's other novels. The final movement is toward the apocalyptic.14 The "world of innocence" and the "world of experience" - respectively embodying the ideal and the actual - are therein represented. Elements of tragedy and comedy, realism and romance, place them in contrast.15 Archetypal imagery and irony - in many forms - are the means by which the author conveys the difference between the two "worlds." The human, animal, vegetable, and mineral components can belong, according to their function, to either of the two worlds. In the introduction to the final version of Bread and Wine the author explains that a writer with a strong sense of social responsibility is more exposed than anyone else to the temptation of over-emphasis, of the theatrical and the romantic, and of a purely external description of things and facts, while in every work of literature the only thing that matters is obviously the development of the interior life of the characters. Even the landscape and the other things by which they are surrounded are worthy of mention only to the extent that they are involved in the life of the spirit. And, since pathos cannot be eliminated from human life, I feel that a touch of irony is required to make it acceptable.36

The spiritual life of Fontamara, as the novel begins, is reflected by a landscape about to be engulfed by darkness. The play and counterplay of realism and symbolism is evident in this description, seen from the vantage point of those who returned to the village after a long day of toil: The women and children who were at home were the last to notice it. But we men on our way back from work did notice it. Some of us had been at the mill and were coming back by the main road; some had been up near the cemetery and were coming back down the mountainside; some had been at the sandpit and were coming back along the ditch; and others, who had been day-laboring, were coming back from all over the place. As darkness fell and lights went on in the neighboring villages and Fontamara remained in darkness, getting lost in the shadow and mist and becoming undistinguishable from the rocks and thickets

The Novels of Exile

81

and dunghills, we immediately realized what had happened. It was a surprise and yet it wasn't.17 The women and children were the last to notice because there was no electric light to begin with in the houses of the cafoni; but since the villagers had failed to pay the tax for the village lights, the authorities had the power cut off. This detail points to the material conditions of the poor; the nocturnal landscape suggests their spiritual condition. The chiaroscuro effect of the description, as well as the choice of verbs such as sbiadirsi, velarsi, annebbiarsi, and the final confondersi indicating the fading, dimming, clouding, and final blending of the village with its surroundings - in a very eloquent gradatio that is missing in the translation - conveys the contrast with the other villages, and Fontamara's return to chaos as it gradually becomes reabsorbed into the mineral and vegetal world and the dunghills. In the darkness, a group of children scatters the old shoemaker's tools and nails: A crowd of children had surrounded his table, upset his nails and knives and prizer, his wax and hemp and pieces of leather, and turned his bucket of filthy water over his feet. He was swearing at the top of his voice by all the saints of the neighborhood, and he wanted to know what he'd done at his age, half blind as he was, that he should be deprived of the light of the streetlamp; and what would Queen Margherita have thought of such an outrage? ... a lot of women were there, complaining bitterly ... and they were lamenting as if someone had died. [The men] all started talking about the electric light and the taxes, the new taxes, the old taxes, the communal taxes, and the state taxes, repeating the same old things because these things don't change. (MC, 23) This allusion to the constant rotation within the order of nature, as well as the cacophony created by the loud cursing, the innocent merrymaking of the children, the moaning of the women, and the chattering of men, completes the visual image of chaos. The reference to Queen Margherita as if she were still alive is an implicit comment on the ignorance and isolation that prevail among the poor.18 As Silone himself indicated, the dialectical tension in the novel rests on the gap that exists between the awareness of the cafoni and the "objective" development of the events.19 The irony of mode that prevails in the novel from beginning to end also resides in the contrast between the cafoni's perception of reality and the reader's "objective" perception.

82 Ignazio Silone The "world of experience" is dominant in Fontamam: The clergy, the city people, the local notables, and the Fascists are clearly rendered as belonging to this world. Language acts as a barrier between this world and the world of perceived innocence inhabited by the cafoni. It is highly significative that whereas downward communication is possible, and those who wield power can understand the peasants, upward-directed communication is hindered, not only by linguistic differences but also by the peasants' perception of city people as a different "race" of man. The following examples will illustrate the point. It is the evening of Fontamara's blackout; the local men are gathered in front of the local cantina when a stranger appears. The old Fontamaran who narrates this part of the story describes him as follows: "He had a delicate, shaved face and a little pink mouth, like a cat. The hand with which he held the handlebar of his bicycle was small and clammy, like the underside of a lizard. On one finger he had what looked like a big monsignore's ring. Also he wore spats. An extraordinary apparition at that time of day."20 The hyprid nature of the man, the unusual hour of his arrival, and the ironic tone of the description suggest that the peasants perceive him as very odd - one who belongs to a different "race." When he begins to speak with his "goat-like" voice, they are unable to understand him. The narrator explains, "We could tell at once he was a townsman. We picked up a few words here and there, but what the new tax was on eluded us completely. Could it be on moonlight, perhaps?" (24). The ironic use of understatement is obvious. When the city man asks the cafoni to sign a blank paper, they display utter indifference; as h insists that they must sign, the peasants ask him to reveal the nature of the new tax. There is no real communication between them. Now hyperbolic claims are used to stress the point: "... no one of us understood ... from his tone of voice we thought he must be insulting us ... He looked at me as if I had been talking Hebrew. 'We talk and we don't understand one another/ he said, discouraged. 'We talk the same language and we don't talk the same language'" (25). The wall of diffidence renders the world of the cafoni impenetrable. To communicate, people must belong to the same kind of humanity. In fact, the Fontamaran recalls: When I was young, I was in Argentina, on the pampas. I talked to cafoni of all nationalities, from Spaniards to Indians, and we understood one another as if we

The Novels of Exile 83 were at Fontamara. But there was an Italian townsman who came to see us on Sundays, sent by the consulate, and when we talked to him, we didn't understand one another; in fact, we often understood the opposite of what he was saying. On our hacienda there was actually a Portuguese deaf-mute; a peon, a cafone from that part of the world. Well, we understood each other without talking. (26)

This symbolic communion of all oppressed souls is juxtaposed to the equally symbolic impossibility of communication with those who do not share in the same "world." Once this point is made, the Fontamarans are able to understand that the townsman has not come to announce a new tax. If some communication is possible between the two different "races" of men, it is only on a strictly verbal plane. Having agreed to sign the blank petition, the cafoni are dictating the names of the other Fontamarans to the tax collector when another unusual event occurs: a louse appears on the table, and goes to rest amidst the names on the sheet. Its appearance, its destination, as well as the insistence with which the narrator repeats that the louse appeared "on the table,"21 suggest the need to isolate the episode for critical attention. At some distance from it, its symbolic outline and ironic meaning can be discerned. Unlike the lice that the Fontamarans have seen before, this one is of a new species, "Darker, longer and with a cross on its back." At its sight, Michele Zompa, one of the peasants, appears greatly shaken. Recalling how, having created the animals, the Lord had decided that thereafter a new species of lice should appear after each great revolution, Michele goes on to explain the reason for his great concern: on the night following the priest's announcement of the newly reached agreement between the State and the Church, Michele had a dream in which the pope was arguing with Christ: Jesus said, "In order to celebrate the conclusion of this peace it would be as well to distribute the land of the Fucino among the cafoni that cultivate it, as well as the landless cafoni of Fontamara on the mountain." The pope replied, "O Lord, Prince Torlonia would not agree to that. The prince is a good Christian too." Jesus said, "In order to celebrate the conclusion of this peace it would be well to exempt the cafoni from the payment of taxes." The pope replied, "O Lord, the government would not agree to that. The members of the government are good Christians too."22

84 Ignazio Silone Every new attempt Christ makes on behalf of the cafoni meets with a similar argument from the pope. Seeing that Jesus is upset that he could not do anything for the cafoni without displeasing other "good Christians," the pope proposes that they personally go to see what can be done. On the night of the Lateran Treaty,23 flying over the Marsican villages, Christ gives the pope the possibility to choose whatever he wants, to give to the poor; the pope, seeing their immense despair, chooses to shower them with lice so that at least they might be busy scratching and thus avoid the temptation of sin. The louse that has been found, then, Michele fears, is one of those. Guerriero interprets this episode as an allegory. Citing a passage of The Seed Beneath the Snow, in which a hermit explains that Christ is even poorer than the poorest of men, he argues that Zompa's dream signifies precisely that impotence of Jesus before injustice and poverty, for He himself is as poor as the cafoni, and the only thing He has to offer is His example.24 Insofar as interpreting this episode as an allegory would imply that its meaning is limited within "a specific relationship," rather than recognizing that it can suggest "an unspecified range of relationships," I would disagree with Guerriero's view. The louse, for instance, in its appearing after each great revolution, can suggest the new parasite that replaces the old one. In its being darker and longer than the previous kind, it could refer to the darker, longer period of totalitarianism in course, and also to Fascism and its Blackshirts. In its having a cross on its back, it brings to mind the Catholic Church. All of these elements together, given the context in which they appear, summon the thought of the new treaty between the State and the Church. Finally, in its appearing on the table, and resting on the names of the cafoni, the louse suggests a sacrificial rite in which the poor are offered to the earthly gods - the rulers of Church and State. This is especially plausible in view of the fact that the blank page that has been signed will later be used to rob the Fontamarans of their water "legally". The argument between Christ and the pope lends itself as well to a range of interpretations; Guerriero's is one possibility; another, as I suggest, is that the dialogue embodies a demonic parody of the relationship between Christ and the Church. In an ironic reversal of roles, it is the pope who leads Christ, and the "Crucifix" (as Christ is called in the Italian version throughout the episode, to suggest the place literally assigned to Him by the Church), under such guidance, acquires the meekness that should be displayed by the pope. This reversal of roles

The Novels of Exile 85 not only results in an infernal life on earth for the peasants, but even more tragically, it affects their spiritual life. As Michele Zompa continues to speak about his dream, the symbolic dimension recedes and the ironic component, taken to the ultimate limit, lends a farcical, transgressive quality to scene of the papal "blessing" over Fontamara: And the pope was afflicted in his heart at what he saw. So he took from the bag a whole cloud of a new kind of lice and released them over the houses of the poor saying, 'Take them, my beloved children, and scratch yourselves. Thus, in your moments of idleness you will have something to distract your thoughts from sin.' ... Marietta Sorcanera, who is a pious woman,... burst into tears and said, between her sobs, 'Oh, it's true, it's true. Who would there be to keep us from sin if there were no pope to pray for us? Who would be there to save us from damnation?'25

The formula of the pope's "offering" renders it a demonic parody of Jesus' offering in the Last Supper; Marietta's contrary-to-fact qualifications as "a pious woman," her reaction, and her words bring to mind a demonic parody of the Salvation. The entire episode is of fundamental importance in the economy of the novel because of its causal relationship with the events that follow. Having signed the blank piece of paper, the cafoni find out the very next morning that the course of the brook from which they irrigate their farms is being diverted. Since the men are already at work in the fields, the women decide to go to the city in search of justice. It is now the wife of the old Fontamaran who continues to narrate the story to the young exile. Her words evoke images of infernal suffering: "the sun was high and the heat was stifling ... When the roadmen saw us approaching, making a clamor and raising a cloud of dust, they were terrified and they fled to the vineyard ... On the road across the plain the heat was like a furnace. The air was almost black ... We were covered in white dust from the road and looked as if we had been to the mill. Our appearance in the town-hall square caused quite a panic."(36)

The burning heath, the black air, the cloud of dust that envelops the women and renders them ghostlike and frightening, all contribute to this infernal atmosphere. The mockery and contempt that they have to

86 Ignazio Silone endure from the townspeople add the pain of humiliation to their physical suffering. Seeking for someone to whom to appeal about the diversion of the brook, they are sent from place to place. They perceive their suffering as the suffering of Jesus during the via crucis - going from Pilate to Herod to Pilate. The situational irony is evident as the women, while thinking of their ordeal as a via crucis and of their suffering as Christ's, clearly display a total lack of charity toward each other. When they are about to leave Fontamara they pass judgment on Marietta Sorcanera for being a woman of ill repute; then at the fountain, they fight over the water: "As we were thirsty and everyone could not drink at once, a squabble broke out around the fountain about who should drink first. Marietta's claim to priority because she felt faint was not admitted. Eventually, after a great deal of pushing and shoving, a kind of order was established. Several of us drank, and then it was the turn of a girl with a sore on her lip. We wanted her to drink last, but she held on to the tap and wouldn't let go ... Then there was another outburst of squabbling and two girls seized each other by the hair." (38) Their intolerable thirst cannot be satisfied, since every time the women approach the fountain the water stops running. This strange behavior of the water is caused by the townspeople for their own amusement, but since the water disappears as the women quarrel with each other to be first at the fountain, its disappearance can also be symbolic of their own spiritual aridity. This condition is also manifest as they perceive their suffering as punishment for their sins, and wonder why they are punished so much more severely than the others: '"O Jesus/ we said, 'what sins greater than those of others have we committed that You should punish us like this?'" (40). How can the Lord allow people such as the Contractor (who is the very incarnation of the devil), Don Carlo Magna (who is notorious for his dissolute lifestyle), and Don Circostanza (who exploits the poor even after they are dead) to live so well, while allowing the poor to be deprived even of their water? Quite obviously, the women perceive material well-being as an unfair reward bestowed by God on sinners, while the thought of spiritual well-being is totally alien to the mentality of these self-styled good Christians. The ironic treatment is even more effective in episodes involving the local notables. At a banquet to celebrate the appointment of the Contractor as podesta the guests display their animalistic character and behavior. The description of the banquet suggests a demonic parody of the Eucha-

The Novels of Exile 87 ristic supper. At one point a violent argument ensues among the drunken fellow guests on the meaning of the Almighty; after many diverging viewpoints are voiced, Don Circostanza settles the argument by shouting that the Almighty "is an adjective." The irony suggested by the name "Don Circostanza" (Mr Circumstance) is perhaps never better illustrated than in this instance. In such a circumstance it is indeed appropriate that he define the Almighty as a simple adjective. In harmony with the spirit of the occasion, Don Abbacchio, a debauched priest whose name ("slaughtered lamb") ironically suggests that he is the demonic counterpart of the sacrificial lamb, closes the celebration "In the name of bread, salami, and good white wine. Amen" (48). The grotesque "procession" of guests that he leads into the garden, and their animalistic behavior, symbolically convey the infernal nature of the people and the event. The Fontamaran women, having learned that the Contractor, rather than Don Carlo Magna, has ordered the diversion of the stream, set out to find him. In the heat of the day they go from place to place; wherever they go, they are subjected to ridicule. When they can finally confront him, he shows them the sheet which the tax collector Innocenzo la Legge had compiled, and tells them: "Here is a petition bearing the names of all the peasants of Fontamara - in other words, your husbands, all of them, without a single exception. It calls on the government 'in the highest interests of production' to have the stream diverted from land inadequately cultivated by the people of Fontamara to land belonging to the local town 'whose landowners are able to devote more capital to it.' There may be some things you women are unable to understand." (54)

Once more Don Circostanza has to intervene "to bring peace." Pretending to take the side of the Fontamarans, he makes the following passionate appeal on their behalf to move the "philanthropic heart" of the newly appointed podesta: "These women claim that half the stream is not enough to irrigate the land. They want more than half; at all events, that is how I interpret their wishes. So there is only one possible answer. The podesta must be left three-quarters of the water of the stream, and the three-quarters of the remainder must be left to the people of Fontamara. Thus both parties will have three-quarters, that is, will have a little more than half. I appreciate," he went on, "that my proposal will inflict great

88 Ignazio Silone hardship on the podesta, but I appeal to his heart as a philanthropist and public benefactor."26 The ironic treatment of this entire episode achieves the dual purpose of illustrating the demonic possibilities of eloquence, and of producing, by means of hyperbole, a humorous effect through which Silone intended "to render more bearable life's inherent pathos." Don Circostanza's appeal is accepted by the podesta, and the women return to Fontamara in utter confusion, with the sole consolation that the agreement did not cost them any money. Neither they nor their men understand what is really going on, but the moment of solidarity is totally spent. Need and fear translate into even greater egocentrism. "'You worry about your own affairs and let others compromise themselves/ every woman at Fontamara told her husband. 'Don't get mixed up with the guards and bring ruin to your family.'" In the impossibility of fighting the powerful, each Fontamaran tries to get what water he can for his field at the expense of friends and relatives, as quarrels about the water become "more violent every day" and nobody is willing to sacrifice for anyone else (57, 60). Now the law of the jungle prevails at Fontamara. Silone, like Simone Weil, believes that "when harm is done to a man, real evil enters into him, not merely pain and suffering. Just as men have the power of transmitting good to one another, so they have the power to transmit evil." Nevertheless, as the story will prove, "eternal wisdom does not abandon the soul entirely to the mercy of chance and men's caprice. The harm inflicted on a man by a wound from outside sharpens his thirst for the good ... if the wound is deep, the thirst is for good in its purest form."27 This is the thirst that Berardo will experience in the final pages of the novel. At this point in the story, the cafoni still perceive human dignity in materialistic terms. Baldissera, the poorest of the poor, spends his Sundays away from Fontamara so that he can pretend to have been feasting and others may not realize just how hungry he really is. As Silone writes in Emergency Exit, it is ironic that in the country whose patron saint is Saint Francis of Assisi, poverty should be deemed a reason for shame. Christianity, then, is inherited but it is not truly accepted or felt. Convinced that they carry more than their fair share of the cross, the cafoni feel that they do not share in the joy of the Resurrection. Their perception of a picture representing the Eucharist speaks precisely to this point. The voice now acquires a choral effect:

The Novels of Exile 89 Jesus, with a piece of white bread in His hand, was saying, "This is My body, white bread is My body, white bread is the Son of God, white bread is truth and life." Jesus was not talking of the dark bread that cafoni eat, or of the tasteless substitute for bread that is the consecrated wafer of the priests. Jesus had in His hand a piece of real white bread and was saying: "This (white bread) is My body, which is truth and life." What He meant was that He who has white bread has Me (God). He who does not have white bread, who has only dark bread, is outside the grace of God, does not know the truth, has no life ... For those who have no white bread, who have only dark bread, it is as if Christ were still to come ... And the words of the Lord's prayer, "Give us this day our daily bread," certainly did not refer to dark bread, but to white bread; and the bread in the verse ... "O living bread of heaven," is not coarse dark bread, but white.28

The polysemantic quality of this passage is obvious. On the literal level it contains the point of view that the cafoni project into the picture as a result of suffering injustice and poverty. On the symbolic level it carries the social message that those who do not have justice have no life - not only because their material needs are unmet, but also because extreme suffering deprives human beings of the spiritual dimension of life. As the passage reveals, for the cafoni white bread is synonymous with justice, but only in material terms. The underlying irony in their understanding of the meaning of the Eucharist is in the total lack of spiritual considerations. Their literal interpretation of Don Abbacchio's sermon on Saint Joseph Cupertino also supports my point. At the end of his saintly life, Saint Joseph ascends into heaven, where God welcomes him and tells him: "T give the orders here. I can do whatever I like here ... Whatever you ask for will be granted/" Saint Joseph, after much hesitation for fear that his excessive wishes might anger the Lord, asks for "a big piece of white bread." The Lord, hearing his request with tears in His eyes, orders that he receive forever the best white bread existing in Paradise.29 Here again the cafoni display an uncanny inability to understand any sort of abstraction. In concrete terms, Saint Joseph wanted the white bread he could not eat while alive, and in concrete terms he got to eat plenty of it in Paradise. There is no appreciation at all of the spiritual meaning of the story. God's claim that in Heaven He is in fact Almighty connects this episode to Zompa's dream where Christ, literally a "Crucifix" for his church, cannot provide for the cafoni; and also to the banquet wherein the Almighty becomes an adjective, as the guests enact a demonic parody of the Eucharist.

90 Ignazio Silone As these episodes reveal, the cafoni's process of becoming has not yet begun; but when they suffer an even deeper wound, a new awareness finally causes them to transcend the egocentric vision. Following a new swindle he perpetrates against the Fontamarans by having them agree to surrender the water for "ten lusters" (using words they don't understand, in lieu of "fifty years") the Contractor now turned podesta is the victim of arson. In reprisal for such rebellion, he immediately dispatches the Blackshirts to Fontamara. They arrive while the men are still at work, and, in a scene reminiscent of the biblical slaughter of the innocents, they terrorize the town and rape the women; then, when the men return, they subject them to a "test" so as to keep them intimidated despite the outrage they will feel when they see their devastated homes and women. The description of the scene with the square transformed into a sheepfold is symbolic of the moral condition of the men; the procedure of the "examination" is a bitterly ironic comment on the Fascists' use of rhetoric to keep men in check like sheep. But not all consciences remain untouched, for the following night, Teofilo, the sacristan, hangs himself from the bell rope. His death has a cathartic effect on the cafoni, and breaks Fontamara's never-ending rotation within the world of experience. Ironically, Berardo, the isolated, landless hero who previously had been willing to fight for justice, is now set on his own egocentric course. I have stated that the revised version of Fontamara tends more toward the symbolic than does the original version. This is particularly evident in the manner in which the character of Berardo is now developed. In the original version, he sells his land in the hope of leaving for America, and when he can't leave he becomes embittered; in the final version he loses his land to help a friend in need, and when the latter betrays him, he cannot punish him because he still cares for him. There, he is described as resembling his grandfather - the famous brigand Viola: Berardo inherited his grandfather's body and spirit. He was almost a giant in size, as sturdy as the limb of an oak tree, with a solid, square head like an anvil, two enormous eyes like those of a man possessed, bold, reckless, impulsive, always ready for a fight, without fear of God or man, fond of wine, extravagant and generous to his friends, but obstinate too. His physical powers gave him great influence over certain young people of Fontamara. This influence had one drawback. It often led to violence and destruction, leading to no practical advantage.30

The Novels of Exile 91 In the revised version, Berardo does inherit his grandfather's physical strength and sturdy look, but has instead "the eyes and the smile of a child." He is a father figure for the young Fontamarans, and would pawn his shirt to help a friend in need. Also, whereas before he had an inconsequential grandmother, he now has a concerned mother who knows that '"If he's really going to end up like his grandfather,... if he's really going to die on the gallows, it won't be because of money, but because of friendship.'"31 These variants provide clear examples of the manner in which the author proceeds throughout the novel to develop the character according to the more emblematic role assigned to him in the final version. Although in both versions Berardo fights for social justice, and tries to show the cafoni how to resist oppression, in the revised text he is much less radical and persistent. As a result he appears as a sort of good giant. His exploits are no longer only temerarious ones; in fact he is capable of enduring great suffering. When his sense of honor, dictated by the local traditions, makes him feel unworthy of Elvira so long as he remains landless, he works around the clock, including Sundays and holidays, to till a piece of wild land in the Serpari district. '"Either the mountain will kill me or I'll kill the mountain'" he tells his friends, without heeding their warning not to dare the mountain. But just as he thinks that he has "tamed the old mountain," just as the new seeds have began to sprout, his disregard for the "laws" and his hubris are punished. The narrator recalls that tragic moment as follows: Well, then, it rained for three days in succession ... the top of the mountain above Fontamara was wrapped in a big black impenetrable cloud; and at dawn on the third day a huge flood of water came down from the mountain in the Serpari direction with a roar like that of an earthquake, as if the mountain were collapsing, carrying away Berardo's field like a starving man emptying a plate of soup. The soil was carried away down to the rock and the little green corn plants were scattered all over the valley. Where the cultivated field had been there was an enormous pit, a kind of crater ... The worst of it - and it's a point that must not be overlooked - was that... everyone was terrified but no one seemed surprised. Berardo least of all... His mother was by his side, clinging to him like Mary at the cross; and he looked at the mountain and kept saying, "Well, that's it. That's it. Of course, of course." (64-5)

Again the cafoni perceive their suffering as inevitable, and as stations of the via crucis; again they are unable to see that Christ did not suffer

92 Ignazio Silone for His own sake. The description evokes biblical images, but interestingly enough, the three days precede the "earthquake" rather than follow it, and no "resurrection" is implied. Instead, the name of the place Serpari, which in the local language means snake pits - suggests that evil has prevailed. That land was to replace the paternal field that had been lost; it was to fill a loss experienced as a "pit," a "crater" that "grew bigger and bigger and deeper and deeper, smoldered like a volcano in Berardo's breast" (62). This episode can be better understood if it is "read" in the light of Silone's other works - especially The Journey to Paris, The Seed Beneath the Snow, and The Fox and the Camellias - where the serpent represents evil, the seed is a symbol of life, and working the field is seen as a sacramental act. The contrast between the manner in which Daniele and Infante work in the field and that in which Berardo does is quite telling. Theirs is an act of love, Berardo's is one of violence eloquently symbolized by the crater and the image of the "little corn plants scattered all over the valley" like sperm after a rape. The new loss of land is instrumental in the development of the final part of the novel, for it provides the motive for Berardo's departure, and the occasion for his role to expand more naturally. Also instrumental is the atmosphere created by the Fascist raid on Fontamara. As Matalena (the woman who narrates part of the story) recalls, during the raid she and Elvira had sought refuge in the bell tower, remaining there quite petrified until Berardo finally found them. Having witnessed the rape of Maria Grazia, Elvira had fainted; Berardo carried her home and spent the night with her. That meant that he was now, more than ever, committed to marrying the girl. But first he needed to own a piece of land. Now his only thought is that he must get wise and look after his own interests. Even as the other Fontamarans have begun to transcend the egocentric vision, Berardo begins to think as they formerly did. When his friend Scarpone plans to retaliate against the Contractor, Berardo not only refuses to join in but actually tries to dissuade him. Finally he says, "'All these things are no concern of mine ... our situation is bad enough in all conscience. Every man must look to his own affairs. In the past I troubled myself too much about things that didn't concern me. The result is that at the age of thirty I own nothing but the straw bed on which I sleep. Now I'm not a boy any longer and I've got my own affairs to think about. So leave me in peace'" (133). Berardo even ignores Elvira's feelings when she tells him: "Tf it is on

The Novels of Exile 93 my account that you're behaving like this, you might remember that what first attracted me to you was my being told that you used exactly the opposite arguments'" (133). No one can understand why, as soon as the whole town has begun to think as he did, he changed his ways. Least of all when he refuses to postpone his departure for Rome for even one day, in order to be present at Teofilo's funeral. Berardo leaves for Rome, where he seeks employment without success; one day, he and Matalena's son, the young Fontamaran who relates this part of the story, again meet a young man who had helped them in Avezzano. Arrested by the police on account of some propagandist material, the three end up in jail. There, the man from Avezzano talks to Berardo about the necessity of peasants' and city people's uniting against the Fascists. Berardo is initially very skeptical, but eventually understands that his is a stereotyped view. When the young man tells him about himself, Berardo realizes that he is talking with the "Mystery Man," and they become friends. That new friendship worries the young Fontamaran: I realized that Berardo had struck a friendship with the stranger, and since I knew what friendship could mean to him, I immediately had a strange feeling that he was lost. Then, speaking softly, he said something to me that I shall never forget. What he said was, "I thought that life no longer had any meaning for me, but perhaps it may yet have a meaning." (152)

In the social context the "Mystery Man" is the symbol of the unsuppressible spirit of freedom and justice. In contact with him Berardo's conscience is restored. Having decided to accuse himself to save his new friend, Berardo suffers torture and temptation. On the realistic plane he returns to being the rebel he once was, and, "incapable of receiving a blow without returning it," he fights for his life. On the symbolic level, the account of his suffering summons to mind the Passion of Christ: "He was in a worse state after each interrogation. After the first one there was only a dark blue bruise under his right eye, but later he was almost unrecognizable ... eventually they dragged him back to the cell by his leg and shoulders like Christ when He was taken down from the cross" (154-5)Berardo experiences a moment of weakness: he thinks of reasons to recant so he can spare himself the tragic consequences of his generous

94 Ignazio Silone act: "'Now he is out there and I'm here/ Berardo said to me the next day. 'After all, at the bottom he's a townsman too. Now he's out there having a good time while I'm letting myself be killed for his sake. Why shouldn't I tell everything?'" (155-6). Berardo is about to denounce the "Mystery Man" when the inspector shows him a newspaper carrying a story about Fontamara and the news of Elvira's death, next to his own name. He can no longer go through with his plan. After one more night of struggle between his instinct for self-preservation and his conscience, he reaches his final decision: he will not betray his friend. Berardo's struggle encompasses the dialectical movement between the realm of experience, in which the egocentric vision prevails, and the world of innocence, in which the tendency is toward the apocalyptic. Because of his decision the final movement is upward: Berardo ... decided to confess, changed his mind, again decided to confess, and then changed his mind again ... Why should he stay in prison? Why should he die in prison at the age of thirty? For the sake of honor? For the sake of an idea? "What is the point of living now that Elvira is dead? If I turn traitor, everything will be lost. If I betray," he said, "Fontamara will be damned forever. If I betray, centuries will pass before another such opportunity arises. And if I die? It will be the first time that a cafone dies, not for himself, but for others." (157)

These words bring to mind Silone's essay on the Christ of Kazan, and the importance of the historical witness for Christianity, as well as his comment that "in the sacred history of man on earth it is still, alas, Good Friday." Berardo's sacrifice reasserts the enduring meaning of the cross. As his story is told, he also becomes a historical witness. The final question that is posed by the cafoni's newspaper - after so much injustice and suffering, "What are we to do?" - has been generally interpreted in the sense of Lenin's tract What Is to Be Done? However, as Judy Rawson convincingly argues, there are many other antecedents to also bear in mind.32 For instance, given that the novel often conveys its semantic depth by means of biblical imagery, it is opportune also to consider the biblical antecedent. I refer to the question put by the people to John the Baptist as he preaches repentance: "What then shall we do?" to which he answers: "He who has two coats, let him share with him who has none; and he who has food, let him do likewise."33

The Novels of Exile 95 The question as used by both Lenin and Tolstoy is, "What is to be done?" whereas Silone's was from the beginning, "What are we to do?" The personal subject is found both in the novel and in the Gospel; the impersonal form in Lenin and Tolstoy.34 In the light of Silone's letters that I have quoted in my earlier chapters, it is fair to say that when writing Fontamara he was more inclined to look for answers in the teachings of the Gospels than in those of Lenin or Tolstoy. Lenin wrote about a political problem and Tolstoy about a social one, whereas, as my analysis revealed, Silone's main concern is the spiritual dimension of human life; it is the leap that must be taken to restore it and to save it. In this light, Berardo's death contains both the source of the question, and its answer. When the cafoni ask what must they do, they reveal a newly found awareness and a willingness to abandon their egocentric course. When Berardo offers his life to prevent the "eternal damnation" of Fontamara he offers an implicit answer: he becomes a figura Christi to which they can look for example and inspiration. Bread and Wine Bread and Wine is the fundamental unit of a trilogy that also includes And He Hid Himself, a play inspired by the novel, and The Seed Beneath the Snow, which can be read as a sequel to both. Each of the three works embodies the author's tragic vision; each culminates in a redemptive sacrifice that denies tragedy its final word. Silone wrote Bread and Wine in 1935, soon after the Italian invasion of Ethiopia and four years after his expulsion from the Communist Party.35 At some distance from the ideological climate that had engulfed him while he engaged in political action, he experienced "horror and disgust" at the idea of having given the best years of his life to the struggle for an ideal that had revealed itself to be nothing more than "red Fascism." The Stalinist purge that was then in full course; the exalted atmosphere created in Italy by the imperialist propaganda of the Fascist regime, coupled with the thought of the injustice and suffering inflicted on the Ethiopians by the Italian invasion; the sense of shame he felt for the passive reaction of the general population; and the impossibility of effective anti-Fascist action - all these sentiments informed the writing of the novel.36 The vision that it conveys is rooted in the new awareness that the author had gained only after many years, at great personal cost. Pietro Spina, the central character of the trilogy, has the same revolutionary role as the "Mystery Man" in Fontamara. But whereas there the

96 Ignazio Silone individual remains "unknown," and only his systematic subversive activities suggest that he represents a spirit of freedom that cannot be suppressed, Pietro Spina is a fully developed character who engages in both introspection and dialectical discussions to reveal the many aspects of the problem that the "Mystery Man" merely expressed in terms of the political struggle for social justice. In fact, it could be argued that he conveys some aspects of the Silonian perspective, while several others are revealed through the words of Cristina, Romeo, Uliva, Murica, Annina, Don Benedetto, and Celestino. The impetus for the initial action is provided by the celebration of Don Benedetto's seventy-fifth birthday. Some of his former pupils, now grown men, visit him in the village of Rocca, where he lives with his sister Marta in a forced sick leave for his failing to adapt to the Church's new pragmatism. The exchanges that follow draw an initial picture of the extent to which the Fascist regime has affected the lives of many promising young men, in both material and spiritual terms. Don Benedetto's comments to his sister, his questions to Nunzio Sacca and Concettino Ragu, his ironic and sad remarks, and the interlocutors' responses draw a stark contrast between the present situation and the promise of the past. Only Pietro Spina apparently remains as he once was. Don Benedetto recalls how, in an essay written during his seminarian years, Pietro had expressed his aspirations in these revealing words: "But for the fact that it would be very boring to be exhibited on altars after one's death, to be prayed to and worshipped by a lot of unknown people, mostly ugly old women, I would like to be a saint. I don't want to live in accordance with circumstances, conventions and material expediency; but I want to live and struggle for what seems to me to be just and right without regard to the consequences" (20). To live according to these principles he had joined the Socialist Youth Movement and then the Communist Party. Like Silone he was forced to continue his struggle, first in the underground movement and later in exile. Finally he could not remain away any longer. On the eve of the Ethiopian war, at a time when all hopes for social reforms have vanished, Spina secretly returns to his native Abruzzo. His cause, as always, is to fight for social justice; his specific aim is to compel the people to react rather than remain bound by Fascist oppression and expansionist rhetoric.37 Upon his return, he finds himself immersed in a reality that is far more complex than he had anticipated. Like Carlo Levi in Christ Stopped at Eboli, but a decade before him, Silone

The Novels of Exile 97 shows how an intellectual who has already acquired a certain knowledge comes to realize the inadequacy of that knowledge when it has to address the needs of the human spirit. That is why this novel can be perceived as a discovery process that begins with Spina's return, develops through his dialogue with the others, and culminates in his rediscovery of the true essence of human dignity. Even as he helps others recover a sense of personal responsibility, he gradually sheds the residues of party ideology that still inform his thoughts. The genuine goodness of simple people like Cardile Mulazzi, who very naturally offers him asylum; the very human suffering he witnesses, when, disguised as Don Paolo Spada, he comes to hear stories like Bianchina's; his relationship with Cristina; the spiritual guidance of Don Benedetto - all these contribute to Spina's reassessment of his own position. It is not by mere coincidence that the novel culminates in his participation in Murica's funeral, no longer in disguise, but as himself, regardless of the risks. Through the words of those involved in the anti-Fascist struggle who at one time or another become Pietro's interlocutors, the author offers insight into the manner in which party ideology absorbs the individual and conditions both thought and action, even as it proclaims that it wants justice and freedom for all. In Pietro's dialogues with Cristina he instead expounds his views on the importance of both contemplation and action in human life. In fact, just as Cristina's life becomes more complete when she reveals her readiness to act to save Pietro, so the entries in Pietro's diary, and the emphasis on the spiritual dimension of his life in The Seed Beneath the Snow, reveal that she also helped him reacquire the sense of what he had lost while immersed in political action. More so than Fontamara, this novel relies on symbolism and irony for its structural development and its semantic charge. As the title suggests, fundamental to the meaning of the novel are the symbols of the bread and the wine of the Eucharist, and they function both as a central organizing principle and as a recurring motif that fosters the unity of action. Although the novel's symbolic dimension was noted in criticism from the beginning, Franz Schneider is to be credited with conducting the first actual analysis of the manner in which Silone uses scriptural symbolism in the novel.38 The thesis he develops, still basically valid at a distance of more than three decades, is as follows: "In Bread and Wine, Silone deliberately structures the novel on the gospels. For over-all form he relies on St Matthew with his sermons and messianic promises. When he tries to exemplify many types of womanhood and the theme of

98 Ignazio Silone guilt and forgiveness, he refers to Luke's parables ... Mark furnishes Silone with miracles and commentaries which make it possible to see the major character through the eyes of others. And John provides the background for the eucharistic passages and the moments of betrayal, as well as the speculations about the human and the divine, the ephemeral and the lasting ... the Son's relation to the Father in connection with the eucharist."39 My analysis also focuses on the symbolic dimension of the novel, but unlike Schneider's it is based on the final version and draws from Frye's theories on ethical and archetypal criticism for its development.40 A brief comment on the author's manner of revising the work precedes my discussion. Whereas in revising Fontamara Silone shifted from the realistic to the symbolic, in this case it could be argued that having explicitly used scriptural sources in the first version of Bread and Wine, he then sought to render the references less obvious and the language more allusive. The many obvious correspondences and analogies present in the first version of the novel rendered the reading experience less rewarding. Perhaps an awareness of this compelled the author to better address the requirements of mimesis and to further refine his use of the symbolic and ironic narrative registers. An example of the changes he made will help clarify the point. At the beginning of the novel, when Don Benedetto meets his former students, he asks Concettino Ragu - now an officer of the Fascist militia - about Pietro Spina. In both versions Concettino answers, "Perche dovrei saperlo? Sono forse il suo guardiano?" [Why should I know? Am I perhaps his keeper?],41 and Don Benedetto replies, "My poor fellow, is this what you have come to? You don't know what a terrible thing you have just said" (BW, SC, 19) But only in the original version does he add ... "the most terrible words in Genesis, and Genesis is a terrible book." Then, when Concettino fails to understand, he goes on to recite the biblical passage: "And it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel, thy brother? And he said, I know not. Am I my brother's keeper?"42 This is only one of many variants that clearly document how the author, wanting to achieve greater plasticity, opted to eliminate overt associations. There now is also a greater tendency to spiritualize the characters: in the original version Bianchina was a prostitute and Pietro Spina "had the reputation of having a passionate temperament and of being a violent and tenacious lover" (BW, 1937, 28); in the final version, however,

The Novels of Exile 99 the author adds an entirely new episode in which Pietro meets a young woman at a fountain, and in a manner that summons to mind the scriptural source, introduces the theme of the water of life, or acqua viva - a theme that reappears, more poignantly, in The Seed Beneath the Snow. As always Silone weaves in elements that connect the works together to form a macrotext. Realism and symbolism join to convey both the immediate sense of the episode and its higher meaning. The allusive language renders more natural Margherita's willingness to "give lodging" to the pilgrim as well as Spina's suggestion, which, mortifying the flesh, affirms the primacy of spiritual kinship. On the other hand, Silone deletes those details that detracted from the harmonious development of his narrative. One instance of this is the elimination of the melodramatic episode of Don Benedetto's death by poisoning, with regard to which he explains: In the new Bread and Wine I cut out the poisoning of the priest. Why? Because just at the time that I was writing the book, in the middle of the nineteen thirties, an anti-Fascist priest had been poisoned ... Later, therefore, I decided to eliminate from that novel what was merely reportage ... Where I made revisions and I consider them of a secondary nature - I have done so only for the sake of greater artistic unity ... When I wrote the novels originally, I was more inclined to melodramatic methods than to calm narration. I therefore undertook to change the books, to deepen them.43

As to the reason for changing the title of the Italian revised version to Vino e pane he says, "I have the impression that in the new version wine plays a larger role than bread ... I believe that wine is more important than bread in our lives" (48). The net result of these and many other changes is a better novel which reveals the author's new mastery of the possibilities of symbolic language. In his essay "Archetypal Criticism," Frye illustrates the structure of archetypal imagery in the apocalyptic world, which presents "the categories of reality in the forms of human desire" along the following general lines: the "vegetable" world takes the form of the garden, the farm, the grove, or the park; the "animal" world is represented by domesticated animals, the sheep playing a prominent role in both classical and Christian metaphor; the "mineral" world takes the form of the city. All three categories, when extended, account for a host of related imagery. As an example, "the conventional honors accorded the sheep in the ani-

ioo Ignazio Silone mal world provide us with the central archetype of pastoral imagery, as well as with such metaphors as 'pastor' and 'flock' in religion" (AC, 143). In using such imagery, a poet speaks to his audience's particular consciousness. "At the opening of the Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, for instance, the sacrificial horse, whose body contains the whole universe, is treated in the same way that a Christian poet would treat the Lamb of God." Vegetable images also possess such flexibility; "in the Bible the leaves or fruit of the tree of life are used as communion symbols in place of bread and wine" (143-4). Demonic imagery, representing the world that human desire "totally rejects," is also prevalent in archetypal symbolism. This is "the world of nightmare and the scapegoat, of bondage and pain and confusion ... just as the apocalyptic imagery in poetry is closely associated with religious heavens, so its dialectic opposite is closely linked with existential hell... One of the central themes of demonic imagery is parody, the mocking of the exuberant play of art by suggesting its imitation in terms of 'real life'" (147). At opposite poles are the tyrant and the pharmakos, the wolf and the sheep, of which it is the traditional enemy, the cross and the garden; cannibalism is the demonic counterpart of the Eucharist, and its "imagery ... usually includes, not only images of torture and mutilation, but of what is technically known as sparagmos, or the tearing apart of the sacrificial body" (148). The relevance of Frye's theories in the analysis of Silone's work will become evident in my discussion. In Bread and Wine, more so than in his first novel, Silone juxtaposes images and characters more typical of the "world of innocence" with apparently similar ones that are, however, typical of the "world of experience." The first are those who, despite the very trying times, have not forsaken the values of love and justice; the others are those who, in many and different ways, have become emblematic.of the corruption that prevails. The following are some important instances: the positive paternal figura of Don Benedetto, the "true shepherd," is juxtaposed to that of his superior, who serves the rich rather than the Lord. Spina, in his role as Don Paolo Spada, though he wears an unconsecrated frock, stands in direct contrast with Don Piccirilli, whose Christian ministry is anything but Christian. The voice of the man who is acclaimed as a "Man of Providence," and whose bombastic speeches saturate the air while his "flock" repeats in "an anguished, religious rhythmical chorus "CHAY DOO! CHAY DOG! CRAY ooo!" (191), is juxtaposed to the silent, clandestine ways of the Lord and his followers. Interestingly enough,

The Novels of Exile 101 when the people utter the word Duce the order of the syllables is inverted, suggesting both demonic reversal and chaos. The fraternal figurae of Cardile Mulazzi and Pietro Spina, who are willing to take risks to protect others, are in clear contrast with those of Nunzio Sacca, who initially resists getting involved, and of Concettino Ragu, who is associated with Cain. The positive maternal figurae of don Benedetto's sister Marta, Pietro Spina's grandmother, and Murica's mother find their counterparts in grandmother Colamartini, Teresa Scaraffa, Matalena, and Cassarola. A demonic parody of the Church in its maternal role, and as the bride of Christ, is seen in the bitter irony of this Pieta: On the altar there was a picture of the body of Christ on the knees of his Mother, who was dressed in mourning. Christ looked like a cafone who had been killed in a quarrel and whose body was already decomposing; the wounds in the hands and feet and the deep rent in the breast looked as if they were in an advanced stage of gangrene, and the red hair was probably full of dust and vermin. But his Mother looked like the widow of a rich merchant who had been overwhelmed by misfortune. Two paraffin tears shone on her handsome pale cheeks, her black eyes looked upwards, as if to avoid seeing the son of whom she had such high hopes but who could not possibly have come to a worse end; her finely embroidered veil covered her waved hair and came down half-way over her brow; a smart lace handkerchief was tied to the little finger of her right hand, and on the pedestal at her feet the woeful words Videte si dolor vester est sicut dolor meus were carved in letters of gold. (B W, SC, 214-15)

Christ, symbol of the cafoni, is portrayed as a poor man, in a state of real suffering and decay. By contrast His mother is not at all a Mater Dolorosa. She displays wealth and mere tolerance toward her son, while pretending to care, in a behavior that is sadly reminiscent of the Church's attitude after the Lateran treaty. The irony contained in the inscription "See if your sorrow is like my sorrow" can be perceived as a comment on the different conditions experienced by the Church and the people under Fascism, and also as a moral warning against individual hypocrisy and indifference. In the original version of the novel the Latin inscription was as it appears in Jeremiah, "Videte si est dolor sicut dolor meus" [See if there is any sorrow like my sorrow] (Lam i:i2).44 Perhaps the author had intended to draw an analogy between Italy and the Jerusalem of the Lamentations, but later, realizing that the ironic description of the picture conflicted with the serious nature of the biblical lamentation, he opted

1O2 Ignazio Silone to change it. As it now stands, the inscription elicits an ironic reading better fitting to the scene. The corresponding image in the "world of innocence" is Cristina, who is both a bridal figura and a figura Christi. In the final episode of the novel, when she crosses the stream, she symbolically takes the leap that is necessary for her to reach the perfect harmony of action and contemplation; because of this new spiritual condition, when she climbs the hill to save Pietro's life, the symbolism of the way of the cross can be perceived: Cristina jumped the stream without hesitation and started climbing ... She used hands and feet, clinging to branches, bushes and boulders that protruded from the snow. Several times she stumbled and fell badly with her face in the snow and slipped back ... In a place where a big projecting rock formed a kind of dry cave she flung herself to the ground, exhausted and almost breathless. Mist was mounting from the valley. Trails of grey cotton wool filled the ravines, hid the houses, covered the fields, hedges and walls. The earth had a shapeless, empty look, as if it were uninhabited. Cristina rose and continued the ascent... Sweat poured from her, and her hands, torn by the thorns ... were bleeding. (BW, SC, 271)

The description of Cristina's suffering, the falls, the thorns, the hour of the day, the suspension created by the desolate landscape, and the imminent arrival of the tempest, all bring to mind the biblical archetype. Her death, described as a wolves' banquet, suggests a demonic parody of the Last Supper. The tearing of the sacrificial body, or spdragmos, causes her innocent blood to penetrate the snow and to sow symbolically the new seed of life, thus promoting the upward movement that carries the final moment beyond the tragic vision. It is quite revealing, in this regard, that the seed which Pietro finds sprouting from under the snow should constitute both the starting point of the sequel to this novel and its central symbol. As Schneider notes when writing about Bread and Wine, "The Eucharist becomes a norm by which all eating and drinking is judged. It is either a genuine communal act, or the exact opposite."45 This is evident in this novel, and in several of Silone's other works. A simple piece of bread or glass of wine, when shared in an authentic human spirit, evokes the meeting of Christ and His disciples at Emmaus, or can acquire demonic connotations when this spirit is missing. Some instances of this are

The Novels of Exile 103 Matalena's comments about the supper she should offer to Pietro Spina, and the gathering to celebrate the declaration of the Ethiopian war, at the end of which the men appear "embarked" on the wine barrel as on a ship bound for shipwreck.46 In the animal world the contrast between the apocalyptic and the demonic is rendered by juxtaposing, for instance, the sheep and the wolf, the dove and the crow, the donkey and the fox, the cow and the cow's skull. In the mineral world, the almost sacred atmosphere that reigns in Don Benedetto's house and garden, and in Cardile's stable, stands in clear contrast with this rendering of Pietro Spina's impression of the village of Orta: "When I passed through my native village at night I saw once more the haunts of selfishness and hypocrisy from which I fled. I felt like a dead man revisiting the scenes of his life. The only sound was the barking of dogs, which seemed to me to be a faithful transcription of the thoughts of most of the inhabitants of the village who were asleep at that moment" (87). This image of a brief descent into hell, with the mastiff at its entrance, evokes the third circle of Dante's Inferno (VI, 19), which is guarded by Cerberus and in which greed is punished. The pack of dogs suggests the avidity that forecloses the possibility of communion. On the other hand, the possibility of redemption is clearly implied by Murica's death and, in a less dramatic way, in the meeting of Pietro Spina and Nunzio Sacca. The latter, now a doctor, is initially irritated to be called to assist his former friend, and in order not to compromise his own safety intends to urge him to leave regardless of his feeble condition; then, when Pietro asks him if he remembers the fantastic plans of their youth, he answers: "To me you seem to be recalling prehistory ... we now belong to two different parties" (31-32). This compels Pietro to retort that they belong to different humanities: to two different races of men. And yet, when Nunzio seems most defeated and tries to explain to Pietro that "ordinary persons generally have no choice at all," his friend's contempt for his defeatism finally begins to shake him. To his final attempt at self-justification (on the grounds that one must adapt and weather the storm, because there is no freedom), Pietro replies: "Freedom is not a thing you can receive as a gift... One can be free even under a dictatorship on one simple condition, that is, if he struggles against it. A man who thinks with his own mind and remains uncorrupted is a free man. A man who struggles for what he believes to be right is a free man. You can live in the

104 Ignazio Silone most democratic country of the world, and if you are lazy, callous, servile, you are not free, in spite of the absence of violence and coercion, you are a slave. Freedom is not a thing that must be begged from others. You must take it for yourself, whatever share you can." (33)

Pietro has finally succeeded in reawakening the lost sense of human dignity in Nunzio. The men part as true friends, and Pietro remarks that if his return from exile will in the end only have served to hear his friend speak again the language of their youth, then nothing will have been lost. Pietro's encounters with Uliva, Murica, and Annina play an important role in the development of the internal dialectic in this novel; however, since they become the subject matter of the play And He Hid Himself, to avoid repetition they are discussed later in this volume.47 It is significant that Pietro Spina's return begins with this symbolic descent into hell, for he returns in April, a time of the year usually associated with the Passion and Easter, after many days of wandering in the rain through the desert-like mountains. The purifying rain, the physical gradual shedding of the "skin" under which he had been disguised, the manger scene, all point to symbols of rebirth.48 The fact that the action unfolds in a period of nine months completes the image of a new life of a change that is finally ready to bear fruit. The clearest proof of this is provided by the manner in which Pietro reacts to Murica's confession: rather than punish him with death as the party requires for those who betray it, he reveals his true identity to him, as a convivial gift to restore Murica's lost sense of human dignity. In this novel, and even more pervasively in the following one, the symbolism associated with the world of innocence reveals images that bring to mind the Franciscan spirit of total harmony between the individual and nature. One instance is this scene of Pietro in Cardile's stable, as Pietro perceives it: He was struck with the naturalness of the things about him, things in their proper place, not in the fictitious world, the fictitious countryside of the haunted imagination of an emigre. His own sick body was like a natural object among other natural objects, a thing just like other things, a pile of still bones. It was not a central or basic thing in relation to other things, but a concrete, limited thing, a product of the earth. His body lay on the straw between a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, which

The Novels of Exile 105 was the usual breakfast that Cardile brought him. The straw was yellow, the bread brown, the wine red. (36) Silone's masterful orchestration of realism and symbolism is quite effective as the reader's attention is directed to the real situation at hand, and to a given time and place, while at the same time the symbolic dimension suggests images of rebirth into real life, and Pauline love. Elsewhere this harmony of creation is rendered by a prose that, in the Italian version, has the lyrical qualities of verse: "Era un'ora propizia aH'umilta. L'uomo rientrava neH'animale, 1'animale nella pianta, la pianta nella terra. II ruscello in fondo alia valle si gremiva di stelle" (348) [It was a time favorable to humility. Man returned to the animal, the animal to the plant, the plant to the earth. The stream at the bottom of the valley was full of stars] (241). These passages contain the essence of the Silonian vision. A vision wherein, on the realistic plane, the true essence of humanity is rediscovered in the dialogue with the other and in the individual's harmony with the universe. On the symbolic plane, the passages embody the novel's deepest meaning for, as Frye explains, "The animal and vegetable worlds are identified with each other, and with the divine as well, in the Christian doctrine of transubstantiation, in which the essential human forms of the vegetable world, food and drink, the harvest and the vintage, the bread and the wine are the body and the blood of the Lamb who is also Man and God, and in whose body we exist as in a city or temple" (AC, 143). In my discussion I have offered examples of the manner in which Silone often uses demonic parody to create the dialectical tension between the world of human desire and that which it totally rejects. The use of parody implies an ironic writer whose vision encompasses paradox and chaos and also seeks to transcend them. In this sense, irony is not a rhetorical device but an integral part of the artistic expression of that particular view of human existence. The inevitable, the incongruous, and the tragic aspects of this existence have Christ, Adam, and Prometheus as their respective archetypes. The related irony is of the type that "begins in realism and dispassionate observation. But as it does so, it moves steadily towards myth ..." (AC, 42). The sacrificial rituals reenacted by Christina's and Murica's deaths are clear evidence of this type of irony. Silone also uses verbal irony as comic relief to modulate the tone of his narrative. One notices it, for instance, in the dialogue between

106 Ignazio Silone Matalena, the innkeeper, and Bianchina. When the latter asks for Don Paolo Spada and speaks of him as if he were Jesus Christ, Matalena, overcoming her initial skepticism, suddenly decides to take the necessary measures: "Matalena was suddenly seized with unspeakable excitement. She was not prepared for such a happening. Heavens, what was she to do? His evening meal was ready; it consisted of two eggs and a lettuce salad. She blushed at the sight of that meager repast. Two eggs and a salad for the Son of God? How disgraceful. One ought at least to kill a lamb. But supposing he was not He?" (77). Matalena's superstitious, opportunistic, and avaricious nature is ironically commented upon, as is the all-inclusive domain of the Fascists, who regrettably, not having foreseen the possibility of a visit by Jesus, had not established an appropriate law in that regard. In another episode, the description of the Fascist Signorina Petrignani and her reading of the news bulletin to the local audience is the source of humorous irony: The schoolmistress wore the emblem of the government party on her breast. She sighed deeply between one sentence and the next, and the tricolour emblem tossed about like a small boat on a stormy sea ... "We have a leader for whom all the nations of the earth envy us," she read. "Who knows what they would be prepared to pay to have him in their country..." Magascia interrupted. As he disliked generalities, he wanted to know exactly how much other nations would be willing to pay to acquire our leader. "It's a manner of speaking," said the schoolmistress. "There is no such thing as manners of speaking in commercial contracts," Magascia objected. "Are they willing to pay for him or not? If they are willing to pay, what are they offering?" ... "Would it be a cash or credit transaction?" (124-25)

The exchange continues along these lines, with the added intervention of Sciatap, another farmer, with similar types of questions. Impatient at the farmers' ignorance, the schoolmistress goes on to read an article that speaks about the "rural revolution." When one of the men asks who are the rurals and she answers that it is they, there is general hilarity; "we were the rural population and didn't know it" (125), they comment. Here also, under the light and humorous tone of the passage, the reader detects a bitter note typical of the Silonian irony. The fact that the people do not understand the national language brings to mind the con-

The Novels of Exile 107 ditions that prevailed in Fontamara as well. Enjoyable as these passages are, it is the irony which appears as less intended than emanating rather from the global vision of the artist that is most effective both as a structural element and as a semantic device. This irony is pervasive in The Seed Beneath the Snow as well. The Seed Beneath the Snow This novel, the author's favorite among the ones he wrote, has been subjected to more revisions than any of his other works. The variants and their importance are amply discussed in Tudini's Varianti sconosciute, which encompasses the four Italian versions and also refers to the English translation by Francis Frenaye published in 1942.49 An Italian typescript version that I found during my research, however, remains to be considered. Upon initial analysis, it appears to be predominantly, but not entirely, identical to the first Italian version published by Oprecht: the published work is longer, has a number of changes and deletions, and includes many additions often made to create smoother transitions, to improve the style, or for semantic reasons. For instance, in the typescript the final question of the book reads: "'Chi era quel cane che ha abbaiato tutta la notte?'" [Who was that dog that barked all night?], whereas in the Oprecht volume it reads: "'Che aveva, che voleva quel cane che ha abbaiato tutta la notte?'" [What was the matter with that dog that barked all night? What did it want?].50 Since the typescript contains passages that were censored by the Central Command of the Swiss Army before the book could be published in Italian,51 there is reason to believe it is an earlier version of the work, perhaps even the Italian original from which the very first publication, in German, was derived. A study of the variants is not within the scope of this work, but an awareness of the differences found in the various versions does come to bear on my discussion, which is based on the final Italian version. A sequel to Bread and Wine, the novel once again has Pietro Spina as its central character. The action begins in January, on the day of Saint Anthony the Abbot, unfolds during Lent, and ends after the arrival of spring, at the precise point where the previous novel began, thus completing the cycle, and suggesting a new beginning. According to Athanasius, Saint Anthony - an Egyptian hermit of the third century AD having abandoned wealth and family to live in poverty, was able to resist the many temptations to which he was subjected by the devil.52

io8 Ignazio Silone His example informs several aspects of The Seed Beneath the Snow: Spina now belongs to a wealthy family, and chooses to abandon it; he is repeatedly tempted, but is able to resist temptation and finally sacrifices himself to save a friend. At the end of both Bread and Wine and the play inspired by it, Pietro Spina, having revealed his true identity during Murica's funeral, has to go back into hiding. Trying to elude arrest, he hides in a stable owned by Sciatap, a former emigrant who also appeared in the earlier novel. Hardened and embittered by the humiliations he endured, both in Italy and abroad, the latter harbors no humanitarian feelings but welcomes the opportunity to exact a ransom from Pietro's grandmother, Donna Maria Vincenza. The woman, fearing for her grandson's safety, asks her son Bastiano to help the fugitive, only to find that greed and fear prevent him from getting involved. Having taken the necessary precautions to hide Pietro in her house, she sends for him. The time they spend together and the thoughts they share reveal the contrast between the kind of life Pietro could resume and the one he yearns for instead. When Donna Maria Vincenza seeks to obtain the king's pardon on his behalf, Pietro refuses it and leaves to return to the simple life he had known while he was hiding. He moves to an abandoned stall without doors or windows, sharing it with Simone-la-faina (Simon the Weasel), a free-spirited member of the prestigious Ortiga family, and Infante, a deaf-mute. Together they live day to day, in spiritual kinship. In the company of his two new friends, Infante, who had always been treated like an animal, begins to acquire a sense of his humanity. Pietro slowly succeeds in teaching him how to utter some words, and to understand their true meaning. After some time Sciatap resurfaces to blackmail Pietro's grandmother, and Pietro must hide again. He leaves for Acquaviva with Faustina, the woman with whom he has a relationship like the one he shared with Cristina. Simone and Infante will join them as soon as it is feasible. But a complication ensues as Infante's estranged father returns from America and, recurring to the laws of patria podesta, demands to take custody of his son as a possession to use in his old age. Infante tries to resist, to remain with his friends; when he is forced to leave them, unable to accept being treated like an animal again, he kills his father. Pietro arrives too late to prevent the tragedy, but not too late to save Infante. Finding him like a wounded animal, he urges him to run away, and hands himself in to the police as guilty of the murder. An important novel by any standard, and one that remains to be fully

The Novels of Exile 109 appreciated, despite the acclaim it received when it was first published, The Seed Beneath the Snow again relies on the author's ability to orchestrate realism, symbolism, and irony to vividly portray a certain moment in history and a certain society, while at the same time suggesting a dimension that transcends both time and place. As in the preceding novels, the dialectical tension arises from the contrast between the apocalyptic and the demonic. This contrast is especially evident in the juxtaposition of Pietro and his uncle Bastiano: both are of the Spina lineage, but they symbolically represent the opposite poles of the dialectical process. Here, as in Fontamara and Bread and Wine, Silone distinguishes between those who share the fundamental human values that protect and affirm human dignity and spiritual freedom, and those who do not. But even as the plot is based on the classic contrast between good and evil, the structural and thematic richness, and the author's sapient modulation of the narrative patterns, render this work worthy of inclusion among the most significant Italian novels of this century. Piero Aragno finds the following threefold division in the novel: the members of the lower bourgeoisie, who are puerile, crass, and materialistic; the cafoni, who after centuries of oppression and injustice, no longer react; and the friends who share Simone's hayloft. 53 In my view the difference is not of social status or wealth, but of individual temperament. This is why the author juxtaposes Pietro and Bastiano, and reveals their strikingly different temperaments from the perspective of Donna Maria Vincenza, who loves them both. When, ignoring by his mother's pleading that he help Pietro, Bastiano acts as if he were "deafdumb," to his mother's horror, his head looks "like a skull, not a clean bare skull but the horrible dirty skull of one of the damned."54 Pietro, by contrast, helps a real deaf-mute learn about the possibility of gratuitous love and human dignity. When his grandmother comments on his ability to endure suffering, her words draw an implicit contrast with her perception of Bastiano quoted above: "The soul is joined to the skeleton, not to the flesh. So if the bones are good, it's hard to separate the soul from the body ... You didn't give in to all the things you've been through because you weren't alone. Your ancestors were with you in your bones'" (50). This is only one example of the way in which Silone renders the nature of the subject by juxtaposition, using the same word or the same details to connect opposites and to stress differences. These analogies and contrasts can also be drawn across the various texts, and indeed episodes and characters quite often can be better appreciated when

no

Ignazio Silone

reading Silone's entire opus. For instance, in Bread and Wine, when Pietro needed help to hide from the police, he found a good Samaritan in Cardile Mulazzi. A long exposition of the sources of Cardile's Christian disposition serves to illustrate the importance of positive human interaction: Cardile, having himself been treated as a human being, finds it only natural to treat Pietro likewise. In a parallel but contrasting episode, when Sciatap finds the fugitive in his stable, he does not experience any compassion. His equally well-argued case illustrates Silone's point that when evil is done unto someone, it penetrates that person's very being. In fact, Sciatap explains to Simone that it was not money he sought, but the satisfaction of having others feel as he always had to feel: I have eaten bread spread with contempt. I haven't changed bosses often, because I understood early that it doesn't do any good. At Pietrasecca his name was Colamartini. And in New York he was Don Carlo Campanella; then he called himself Mr. Charles Littlebell. At Rosario he was Don Edmundo Esposito y Rodriguez y Alvarez. Esposito because of his noble but unknown parents,55 and Rodriguez because of his wife, Alvarez in memory of her first husband ... You know they call me Sciatap; you probably also known what that word means in American. Don't talk, it means; just that, don't talk. Mr. Charles Littlebell repeated it to me every time I opened my mouth ... And since they gave me the word as a nickname it's been with me for the rest of my life, so that before I open my mouth people are already telling me to sciatap. Don Edmundo would tell me Cdllate, hombre, which means the same thing in Argentinian. (293)

The humorous irony that lends the passage its lighter note does not lessen its moral impact. Here, as elsewhere in his work, Silone shows how the greatest tragedy of injustice is not that it deprives the victims of human rights or material well-being, but that such oppression results in the loss of human dignity, and in spiritual aridity. It is this conviction that compels the Silonian hero to act individually upon history; to choose self-sacrifice, and thus, interrupting the constant demonic rotation, promote the upward movement that transcends the tragic end. Frye explains that, like the Aeschylean trilogy that moves from tragedy to comedy, "Christianity too, sees tragedy as an episode of the divine comedy, the larger scheme of redemption and resurrection. The sense of tragedy, as a prelude to comedy seems almost inseparable from anything explicitly Christian. The serenity of the final double chorus in the Saint Matthew Passion would hardly be attainable if composer and audi-

The Novels of Exile 111 ence did not known that there was more to the story."56 Significantly, in an interview during which he discusses the importance of the Christian heritage and its influence on his work, Silone names Bach's Saint Matthew Passion as the work of art that touches him the most.57 On that same occasion, seeking to introduce the topic of Christian symbolism in his novels, he claims that Aline Valangin (whom he identifies as a Swiss writer) asked him in a letter, "Did you notice ... that the main situations in Bread and Wine and The Seed Beneath the Snow invariably reproduce liturgical situations? The nativity scene in the stable (Infante), the escape, the Last Supper, the betrayal, the sacrifice ..." And that somewhat surprised, and in part convinced, he thought, "Liturgy? Here is an antecedent a literary critic could not have thought about."58 Silone's comments, issued as an implicit declaration of his poetics, lend validity to my approach to his work. The central symbol in this novel is the seed, suggesting a new life: one which, in its inherent frailty, depends on individual choice for its survival or death. Pietro's joy of discovery, and the love with which he nourishes the "little sprout," are self-revealing. As Aragno suggests, now he "Non sente piu il bisogno di organizzare operai o cafoni, perche la sua nuova vita e priva di preoccupazioni ideologiche di partito ... non e piu in cerca della verita ma gia comincia a viverla." [No longer feels the need to organize workers, or cafoni, because his new path is free of party ideological preoccupations ... he is no longer searching for truth but already begins to live it.]59 "Inveni portum" he thinks, in fact, when he finds refuge in the barren stable with only a donkey for company. At his grandmother's house, he instead thinks, "What a strange world! Is this bizarre world mine?" and he wonders if there is still a world like this, or if he is dreaming (56). In the solitude of the stable, Pietro's spiritual quest finds its fulfillment. He relates the process that led to his newly found awareness as follows: In the extreme lucidity that filled my mind, all my past life finally made sense to me and seemed to lead naturally to that filthy cave. If I thought back to the lazy years of boarding school, to the earthquake, to my flight from home, or to the sterile lonely years abroad, life seemed a successive stripping away of the gross hypocrisies which make it so difficult... From the first moment I was there I lost all sense of time. We all know that time exists for the one who is looking for it, or the one who is bored. But I wasn't looking for anything; after all, I had arrived. (58-9)60

112 Ignazio Silone This passage, much more lyrical in the Italian version, reveals how Pietro, free of the political theories that had previously masked the truth, now realizes that the human dimension of life, like the seed beneath the snow, is very frail indeed, and that only love can save it from destruction. These images of rebirth bring to mind Frye's words on the symbolism of the birth of the hero: "Psychologically, this image is related to the embryo in the womb, the world of the unborn often being thought of as liquid; anthropologically it is related to the image of the seed of new life buried in a dead world of snow or swamp" (AC, 198). The symbolism of the seed is also connected with the scriptural analogy that "The Kingdom of Heaven is like a ... mustard seed ..."6l The love with which Pietro nourishes it, his breathing into it the warmth of his own life, and the fear that it might die, summon the image of the agonizing Christ which pervades all of Silone's works, and his plays in particular. The image of the agonizing Christ as found in Silone is in clear contrast with the Church's greater emphasis on the celebration of the Resurrection. One critic pointedly suggests that Silone's claim that it is still Good Friday and that Easter has not yet come is a response to the Christian sentimentalism that "leaps too quickly over Good Friday to Easter Sunday, that seeks victory without defeat, triumph without tragedy."62 Perhaps inspired by the Pascalian pensee that "Jesus will be in agony even to the end of the world,"63 Silone constantly stresses the importance of participating in that suffering. The description of Pietro's room is also revealing in this regard. In the dim light of the oil lamp, all that Pietro can see are the sacred images hanging from the walls; among these, facing his bed, is a small picture of the crucifixion bearing this comment by Saint Paul: "Judaeis quidem scandalum, gentibus autem stultitiam" [Unto the Jews a stumbling block, unto the gentiles foolishness].64 Saint Paul's comment suggests the reason for the endless agony; in Pietro's reaction is the extent of his own awareness: "In the long hours of insomnia, that picture, illuminated by the uncertain gleam of the oil lamp, greatly expanded in Pietro's mind and took up the whole room until he became a part of it" (48). Like Pietro, Faustina also understands the meaning of the cross. She recalls how, as a young girl participating in a spiritual retreat, when she meditated on the Passion of Christ and His painful death, she prayed that she might share in His suffering: "'I prayed on my knees for a whole night in my room; I wept and implored Jesus to give me some of His crown of thorns, to take it off every once in a while from His holy

The Novels of Exile 113 forehead and put it on mine ... I am sure my prayer was answered! That's how I explain the perfectly atrocious headaches I've been having ever since and which no medicine has ever cured. Sometimes I can distinctly feel the thorns piercing my head. But I shouldn't complain. That was what I wanted'" (390-91). Passages such as these appear rather contrived to modern sensibility, but an awareness of the circumstances in which they were written demands that they not be so easily dismissed. The Italian victory in Ethiopia and the resulting euphoria, the apparent likelihood of a German victory in the new war, and the Moscow trials are all mentioned by Silone in his recollection of that "terrifying" period.65 In the total awareness of the magnitude of the tragedy and of the impossibility of action, the spirit that is not inclined to yield to fatalism or nihilism can soar in spiritual defiance. Thus, for instance, Victor Frankl could find meaning even in the constant presence of evil in a concentration camp,66 young men condemned to death during the Resistance, could die with the image of a better society before their eyes,67 and a little nun called Mother Teresa could perform the Lord's work and plant the seed of hope in the desolate streets of Calcutta. In his portrayal of a reality that he knows intimately well, Silone creates a variety of characters, stories, and anecdotes that reflect his mastery of a wide range of narrative techniques, but its fundamental movement rests on the dialectic tension created by opposing forces within society: on the one hand, the political and religious institutions have so degenerated that their new role is often the exact opposite of the one they were meant to fulfill; on the other, there are the few who go against the current at their own risk. These are the ones through whom the presence of God on earth is manifested. Mueller recognizes them as the modern incarnation of the biblical "remnant."68 For Silone they are historical witnesses of the living spirit of Christ. In my analysis of the earlier novels and The School for Dictators, I discussed Silone's persistent concern about the corruptive power of rhetoric, and his own use of language to characterize the different types of humanity to which individuals belong. In this novel he reiterates his point by creating a stark contrast between the speechless Infante and the virtuoso performances of Don Marcantonio and Don Coriolano. The passages in which Pietro teaches Infante the true meaning of words, the episodes that show how Infante truly captured their essence, and those in which the political wizard compete in the art of rhetoric are cases

114 Ignazio Silone in point. Silone underscores the difference by adopting in the first instances almost sacred tone and gestures, while revealing the fraudulent nature of the Fascist orators by means of irony verging on satire. Through the mixed use of political jargon and religious terminology Silone denounces the prevailing corruption in a society where the sacred is all too often manipulated by the profane. For instance, Don Marcantonio, the top local rhetorician, after a speech on the theory of cycles and the inevitable return of the Roman Empire, tells Don Severino, an old friend of Pietro's grandmother, how the people must be brought to believe in Fascist ideology: How do you bring the soul of the people into unison with its destiny? ... Diese ist die Frage, this is the question. We can accept the challenge starting from the certainty that the symbols of Roman power survive in the Italian soul. (The very laws of the government oblige us to believe it, so it must be true.) But they survive there in a state of lethargy, under the later incrustation of Christianity. In other words, to come to the Roman symbols in the bottom layer where they are sleeping, and to awaken them together with the virtues of the ancients, we must pass through Christian emblems. (170)

Don Marcantonio's speech illustrates Silone's keen awareness of the means of mass conditioning used by Fascism, and of the theories on which they were based.69 His use of German is a subtly ironic comment on the Italian Fascist's reverence for Hitler's Germany. Don Marcantonio's excited tone and his elaborated strategy are juxtaposed to Severino's sober demeanor when he responds to the Fascist rhetorician's confession that he plans to write a book entitled The Lictor's Cross. Having patiently listened, Severino simply tells Don Marcantonio to heed his advice and beware of the cross for it is "a rather dangerous thing." Then, when others - totally missing the point - find that line of reasoning blasphemous and tell Severino to take the Holy Cross more seriously, he simply replies: "I think the real danger ... begins when the Crucifix is taken too seriously" (271). This comment connects the episode to the dream of Michele Zompa in Fontamara, and the manner in which Christ was literally "fixed" to the cross by the pope's materialistic pragmatism. Silone uses Don Marcantonio's and Don Coriolano's rivalry in the mastery of a special brand of rhetoric they call mistica statale (state mysticism) to further denounce the corruption that resulted from the union of Church and State. Don Coriolano asserts: "Catholicism is an allegory to which I often tip my hat, a stupendous allegory built on the most

The Novels of Exile 115 refined rules of art ... after the state signed a concordat with the Holy See, I have not failed on numerous occasions, even in public speeches, to pay obsequious homage to Jesus and His Mother. Sacred oratory and civil oratory are allies now" (149). Don Marcantonio's art is even more refined: it is of the kind Silone amply seeks to unmask in The School for Dictators as well as in A Handful of Blackberries: "Since words alone have unfortunately not been enough to transform the soul of our people, it is time for our ancient art of oratory to ally itself with liturgical rites and spectacular symbols. This, as you know, is my specialty, my hobby horse: mein Steckenpferd, meine Herren, daraufreite ich" (163). An ironic climax is reached when Don Marcantonio sets out to modify the cross. On the occasion of the erection of a new cross on Dead Donkey Mountain, he plans to transform the procession into a ceremony of "state mysticism." Accordingly, the cross will bear the Fascist emblems of the sheaf and the ax. To execute his project, he visits the carpenter, master Eutimio and illustrates his idea. The different viewpoints of the two men provide another occasion to stress the lasting nature of Christ's agony, while also pointing to the demonic forces responsible for the crucifixion.70 Even as irony provides comic relief, a bitter note underscores the words of those who, like Severino, Simone, and Eutimio, still remember the meaning of the cross. The supremacy of communion of soul over blood kinship is one of the main themes of the novel. Pietro, who perceives his life in his own house as provisional and fictitious, in Simone's hayloft feels at peace and in total harmony with all that surrounds him. His concept of brotherhood is illustrated by this passage, where he tells his grandmother about his relationship with Infante: "'Brotherhood' was the first new word which Infante learned from me. He could already say bread, which he pronounced brod; and I explained to him with gestures that, in a certain sense, two people who ate the same bread became brod-ers, brothers, or companions. So from brod for bread came brother."71 Later, he explains the special bond that he shares with Infante to Venanzio, his grandmother's coachman: "my attachment to that poor man is more than gratitude. It's a stronger tie, less interested, a little as if I were related to him. I tell you this just to give you an idea, Venanzio, and since you probably think there's nothing higher than blood relationships. So just pretend that I have a brother, and that for some silly reason he falls into the hands of the police for something he didn't do, and gets locked up. Now that's about how I feel about Infante" (182).

n6 Ignazio Silone By contrast, the kinship of blood fails to bond Bastiano to his family. His cowardice, his violence, his words, and especially his wife's tears, which have replaced her former cheerful disposition, as well as the dark and chilling atmosphere that reigns in his house - all these reveal that he pertains to "the world of experience." Whereas Pietro and his friends evoke the eucharistic meal and break bread even with the animals, at a gathering at Bastiano's house his "friends," who will readily betray him and one another, say that they "can drink without him." Other such demonic parodies of the Eucharist are the banquet at Lazzaro's house, and the celebration at Calabasce's house of Bastiano's defeat. Together, these and other similar episodes and characters fit Frye's definition of the "demonic human world ... a society held together by a kind of molecular tension of egos" (AC, 147). As in my discussion of the previous novel - where I first introduced Frye's "grammar" of archetypal symbolism - here as well the animal, vegetable, and mineral worlds can have positive or negative connotations. The lamb and the fox, the hare and the rabbit, the moth and the bedbug, the flea and the louse, the mouse and the cat, are associated with the innocent and the demonic respectively. The donkey is the sacred animal par excellence. In striking and very eloquent contrast are: the true cross and the lictor's cross, Mount Calvary, and Dead Donkey Mountain, The "Dead Donkey," and the agonizing Christ. The tightly woven narrative rests on a play and counterplay of countless polarities; the connection to Silone's other works is constant even if not always explicit. For instance, Infante - the symbol of life itself and of the oppressed who have no voice or awareness of the sacred value of their lives; the seed that can live or die - also brings to mind Fontamara, the initial ignorance and "deafness" of the cafoni and their gradual awakening to the rights and duties inherent in the human condition. The following passage describes Infante's initial moment of awareness: Next to the hard, hostile old universe of Pietrasecca, he had accidentally discovered another absurd, marvelous, friendly one, which was also natural, since it too existed, even though its nature was quite different. It was a strange way of living, and it was not founded as the other one was on money, profit, violence, fear; or services received or to be rendered, but as far as he could tell, on sympathy of a type he had never seen, entirely gratuitous, not at all interested; a new world, in its exterior form similar to the one he had known, but upside down.

The Novels of Exile 117 Since it existed, Infante was not surprised at it; and since he liked it, he contemplated it and enjoyed it. His mind was full of this enjoyment. (257-8)

It is this new awareness that Infante seems to want to share with others when he sets out to add question marks to the political slogans he can now understand. Like the demonic world he knew before, they can be "turned upside down." A question mark will suffice to place in doubt their dogmatic standing.72 When he was treated like an animal, Infante lived like one; now that Pietro cares for him with a trepidation similar to that with which he nurtured the seed - "as if he had a newborn babe in his custody" (258), he learns to love, and is transformed to the point that, in an episode modeled on a biblical parable, he "appears" to a woman in distress and tills her entire field, possessed solely by the joy of giving. His behavior is so unusual that it frightens the young woman; she runs home and sends her mother-in-law to handle the strange situation. But when the latter tells him that, as he has been warned no one could pay him, his words and his demeanor show how far he has come: "'Money?' he said and laughed. 'Money? No money!' he stammered in a strange voice, gesturing 'no' with his head and hands. Then he said good-bye with an awkward gesture and went in a direction away from the village, following the stream and the line of poplars. He carried his hoe on his shoulder and his jacket folded on his arm, and he walked erect, like a gentleman. Every trace of exhaustion or servility had vanished from him" (432). The "miracle" of gratuitous love is underlined by the woman's reaction: "Rejoice, my soul! ... Rejoice, because today you have seen the Lord" (432-3)Following that incredibly liberating experience, Infante disappears. Pietro sets out to find him. He looks for him from village to village, traveling through hills and valleys and along rivers, asking the people he meets if they have seen the man everyone is talking about. He endures all sorts of hardships, to the point of becoming "unrecognizable." Some take him to be "the Man that everyone is waiting for." A shepherd, falling on his knees, asks him, "Are you the one who is supposed to come?" Pietro answers, "Get up! ... I am not the one you're waiting for. I'm not worthy to loosen the laces of his shoes. But rest assured, He'll come!" The shepherd asks: "And what do we do in the meantime?" Pietro answers: "Do honor to poverty and friendship ... and be proud" (438). The parable of the good shepherd and the lost sheep, and the mission of

n8 Ignazio Silone the Baptist who prepares the way for the coming of the Messiah, are the archetypal sources of these passages.73 Pietro's final answer sustains my argument in favor of the scriptural origin of the final question posed by the farmers in Fontamara, and also my interpretation of the particular meaning of "pride" in Silone. At the source of the religious symbolism, there is invariably a spiritual tension arising from a temporal concern. Such is the case even in the episode of Donna Maria Vincenza's dream. One night she dreams that she is a donkey whose task is to bring Pietro back to his father, who lives in a shrine. With Pietro on her back, enduring extreme hardships, she travels from shrine to shrine, through hills and valleys, along rivers, and through dark forests; finally she arrives at the Holy House of Loreto. There she sees Pietro's father, pale and ill-humored. "As soon as he sees us," she thinks, "as soon as he recognizes us, he'll weep for joy, and it will be like the pious fable of the prodigal son." But when she turns to urge her grandson to run to his father, Pietro has disappeared (203-4). This dream can be interpreted on various levels. On the most immediate level it is connected with the actual attempt of Donna Maria Vincenza to bring Pietro back to the paternal house. On the symbolic level, the dream points to a biblical archetype - Christ's entry into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. On his way there, "Jesus found a young ass and sat upon it; as it is written."74 The Gospel narrative goes on to recall how Jesus spoke to the crowd about His death and His glorification, and then disappeared from sight: "The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. He who loves his life will lose it, and he who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life ... While you have the light, believe in the light, that you may become sons of light.' When Jesus had said this, he departed and hid himself from them."75 Pietro also will soon have to go back into hiding. He, too, must fear his arrest by the police following Sciatap's blackmail. A question from Maria Vincenza prompts him to offer the following explanation of the presence of the donkey in the shrine: "A donkey in church is like one in the house ... there is always a donkey in every creche scene, and in every Flight into Egypt" (204). The symbolism of the nativity and of the exodus is also suggested by the author's choice of the Shrine of Loreto, since Pietro's father waits at the same place where the angels, according to local belief, brought the room where Mary received the Annunciation.

The Novels of Exile 119 The demonic counterpart to the parable of the return of the prodigal son to the paternal home is found in Don Coriolano's explanation of the easily obtained royal pardon for someone like Pietro: "One should not be hard on the prodigal son who comes back in humility to the paternal roof after he gets tired of feeding on pigs. He can be beaten later, and hard" (no). The paleness and sadness of Pietro's real father is in direct contrast with the hypocritical welcome prepared by the negative paternal figure. Infante's return to his father's house is of this kind; but the demonic does not ultimately prevail, since the patricide is followed by Pietro's redemptive sacrifice. When Infante is again arrested for placing question marks after the Fascist slogans, the authorities decide that he will only be released to his real father. The complication ushers in the denouement while also reiterating the belief that kinship of spirit, rather than kinship of blood, matters. Infante, who has learned the difference between Pietro and pietra (stone), Simone and simonia (simony) - that is, between truth and its demonic reversal - calls his father pietra and simonia as he desperately tries to resist being returned to him and to Pietrasecca, but to no avail. Once there, a fight ensues, and he kills his father. Pietrasecca (dry stone) and Acquaviva (living water): the names of these two villages, like those of Pietro, Simone, and Infante, are typical of the way in which Silone carefully selects names that are at the same time easily found in the real world he represents, and yet are capable of summoning archetypal echoes.76 Acquaviva brings to mind the meeting of Jesus with the Samaritan woman (also evoked in Bread and Wine) when He told her: "If you knew the gift of God and who it is that is saying to you, 'Give me a drink,' you would have asked him and he would have given you living water."77 The village's physical shape also invites careful consideration, for as will be seen, it embodies the most essential symbolism of the novel: "Acquaviva is a large agricultural-bureaucratic community lined up on the edge of a watermelon-shaped hill, emerging like an island from the middle of the valley. The wind strikes it from the four cardinal points. Its layout is like the skeleton of a fish: the main street that runs along the entire hill, represents the vertebrae and the transverse alleys the ribs."78 Again Silone blends the real and the symbolic in a masterful way. At first glance, Acquaviva appears like any other Italian hill town, but the spherical shape of the hill on which it stands suggests that it is situated at the top of the world. In Jungian psychology, "The 'city on the mountain' is

120 Ignazio Silone also a well-known archetypal symbol that appears in the history of our culture in many variations. The city "represents that 'region of the soul' in the middle of which the Self (the psyche's innermost center and totality) has its abode."79 The reference to the four cardinal points summons to mind the archetype of the earthly paradise. But the most striking detail, apparently ignored by other studies on this novel, is the layout of the village, for the fish is the symbol adopted by the early Christians, and "it stands for Christ, also for the newly baptized and for the Eucharist."80 This symbol is clearly associated with Pietro, who bears the name of the apostle who was to be a fisher of men. In fact, as he registers at the inn situated just outside Acquaviva as Simone Ortiga (377), he becomes Simon Peter. As Infante learns, "Simone" and "Pietro" can easily become "simony" and "stone." Simon Peter, according to the scriptures, is the apostle capable of betrayal as well as of the ultimate sacrifice. Equally important is the choice of Pietro's surname. Insofar as "Spina" in Italian means both "thorn" and "fish-rib" it can suggest both Christ's Passion and membership in His mystical body. On the symbolic level, then, Pietro's surname, like his name, in Christian terms embodies both possibilities available to each individual: to be the thorn in the flesh, or to be "spina del pesce," an integral part of the mystical body of Christ. Bastiano Spina's choices associate him with the former, Pietro's with the latter. Pietro's entire journey seems a gradual process toward reaching the "acqua viva." When he leaves Orta, his coach rides along "the bank of a dwindling river, a vast torrent of yellow mud with little stones, long and porous like the bones of a dog" (351). On the opposite bank of the river he sees barren trees and black-clad women kneeling to wash clothes at a tiny stream; the women sing a sad song with long staccato cadences, like a litany. The land is sad and bereaved. In the village the men wait, motionless. Pietro wonders what they are waiting for, and how long they will have to wait. On a wooden cross, a cock seems to be about to crow; Pietro wonders how long the cock will have to wait. The landscape recalls to mind the scriptural valley of the dead and the crossing of the river.81 Again the Silonian almost-magic rendering of scenes that are real enough and yet appear suspended in space and time places in stark contrast the sacred and the profane. Whereas here the people and the landscape participate in the sacred atmosphere of Lent, Don Marcantonio's remark contains its demonic reversal: "I will wait until Lent is over ... And why shouldn't I wait? Lent is a time of fasting, sadness and prayers. It is truly worthy of a little transitory respect" (165).

The Novels of Exile 121 Under a sky that seems a heavy yellow curtain with red stripes, and summons to mind the image of the veil of the temple,82 the carriage begins to climb toward a deserted village destroyed by an earthquake. There, on a wooden cross planted on a granite rock, Pietro and Faustina see a dying Christ "all bloody and in an agony terrible to see." While the woman shivers, Pietro happily smiles; "He's not dead yet," he says. And when Faustina asks what place it is that they have come to, he answers: "This is our village, Faustina, the village of our souls ... Don't you recognize it?" (354). The image of the agonizing Christ, coupled with that of His cross securely planted on a rock, suggests Pietro's imminent sacrifice. That landscape already existed in the inmost depths of his soul: "This area, which he was crossing for the first time in his life, seemed to awaken a deep emotion in him and caused a lump in his throat. If he had been alone he certainly would have wept. He could hardly believe his eyes and looked around him as if he were afraid that it was all an illusion. 'My country,' he stammered. He looked at it, contemplated it, recognized every detail, his eyes veiled in tears" (354~55).83 When he finally enters Acquaviva, Pietro feels as if he had crossed a frontier: there, his uncle Bastiano awaits him, he has come to confess that on the night of the earthquake that killed Pietro's mother, he stole her wallet even as she lay dead under the ruins. Pietro already knew, having himself witnessed the scene: he simply exclaims, "Damned money," and embraces him. Bastiano's confession of a betrayal caused by greed evokes the betrayal of Judas and his repentance. The symbolic foreshadowing of Pietro's impending sacrifice is also perceivable when Pietro reaches his hotel room. The wallpaper repeats over and over a hunting scene: "a tree, a bird, a dog, and a hunter with his rifle, and the bird waiting to be shot... At the head of the bed hung a picture of the Madonna of Loreto, a little stoup of holy water, and a small olive branch" (363). The hunting scene contains both demonic and apocalyptic symbolism: the hunter and the dogs summon the first, the bird symbolizes the sacrificial victim and spiritual transcendence,84 and is associated with Pietro. The tree in its archetypal dimension can represent the tree of life or its demonic equivalent, and is associated with Faustina who embodies both temptation and virginal, life-giving love. The details of the Madonna of Loreto, of the holy water, and of the olive branch connect the episode to that of Donna Maria Vincenza's dream, in which Pietro was taken back to his father's house but disappeared. In this new light

122 Ignazio Silone his disappearance suggests that the time had not yet come for his "return," and also explains his father's paleness and apparent ill humor. At the gates of Acquaviva Pietro must overcome the final trials. Having to share the only room available at the inn with Faustina, while she sleeps he sees her as "an enchanting palm tree" whose fruits he desires: "Ah, if he could only climb up that trunk and gather the sweet fruit hidden there, sweeter than sweet, and taste it slowly, basking in the shade of the tree" (366). When Faustina asks what she should order him for breakfast, he answers, "Dates and some fresh coconut." These are the fruits of the palm tree, not found in the mountains of Abruzzo, where on Palm Sunday olive branches rather than palm leaves are blessed. Faustina appears surprised at the unusual request, but Pietro immediately apologizes: "I've had a small cannibalistic crisis," he says. "Please excuse me, it could happen to anyone" (367). As Frye explains, cannibalism is a demonic parody of the Eucharist (AC, 148). But since Pietro and Faustina spend the night together without yielding to temptation, the demonic does not prevail. Their choice suggests the apocalyptic symbolism of the paradisal garden, and of the hortus conclusus.85 Having resisted the temptation of the flesh, Pietro is tempted once more before the final hour. To Simone's question, whether he would still refuse the king's pardon now that he loves Faustina, he answers that he "probably" would. That doubt, that vacillation, "terrifies" his friend. This reaction suggests that Pietro's ultimate choice involves others as well, just as Berardo's did in Fontamara. When Pietro decides to forgo the egocentric course in order to look for and care for Infante, Simone asks him if he loves Faustina less than he loves his friend. Pietro answers with silence, and with "his eyes full of tears" (403)Before dying, Christ told His disciples: "Love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends."86 In this spirit, when Pietro finds Infante after the patricide, he says, "My poor friend! ... Go! Run! Get away!" (463). It is dawn when Pietro is arrested, it is time for the rooster to crow, but no denial precedes its voice. Pietro's sacrifice brings to mind the letters written on the main altar of the local church: "Oblatus est quia ipse voluit" (172). Like Jesus, he offers himself of his own free will. His example will make it possible for the seed not to be trampled upon and die, and for it to bear many fruits. For, "unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit."87

The Novels of Exile 123 With this implicit message Silone concludes the quest that began in the opening pages of Fontamara as a search for social justice, and gradually revealed the importance of the spiritual dimension of human life. In that most tragic and dehumanizing period of European history, he realized the need to bear witness so that it not be forgotten. But even as he completely absorbed the magnitude of the tragedy, he also perceived it in terms of universal history, and reaching beyond the tragic, he reaffirmed his faith that the human spirit can nevertheless prevail. In this regard, an important detail, only casually mentioned in the novel, should also be considered. While living in his grandmother's house Pietro Spina intended to write "A Letter to a Young European of the XXII Century, with Special Advice for the Youths of What Used to Be the Italian Nation." The title, already found in the typescript of the novel (202), expresses Silone's vision of a united Europe, and implies that even as governments and nations change, the individual remains and is responsible for the kind of human society that prevails.

6 The Post-Exile Novels

In my discussion of the novels of exile, I traced the evolution of a gradual process: from ignorance to initial awareness in Fontamara; from an attempt to convert others to being converted in Bread and Wine; from a rebirth into the Christian way of life to the imitation of Christ in The Seed Beneath the Snow. The novels of the postwar period, while reflecting the same fundamental vision, also expand the perspective to incorporate a new awareness. Upon his return to his homeland in 1944, and for many subsequent years, Silone experienced a sort of second exile. In a cultural milieu that was largely polarized between Communists and Catholics, Silone found himself in the unusual condition of being disliked by both. The Italian literary establishment was also largely hostile. I document the original situation and its evolution in time in the last chapter of this work, but the atmosphere that Silone had to endure is evident from this 1947 entry in Kazin's journal: Rome, Sept. 3 - Almost impossible to find a book of Silone's in the shops, but everyone goes at him constantly - as if he were not simply a legend brought from overseas who writes 'bad Italian' but a convenience to everyone's sense of superiority. It is very tiring to hear him knocked down with the same contemptuous phrases by every literary creature one meets.1

The effect of this environment on the author, and the sense of disillusionment that resulted from it, transpire from the pages of A Handful of Blackberries.2 A greater serenity is evident, however, in the later novels: The Secret of Luca, which appeared in 1956; The Fox and the Camellias,

The Post-Exile Novels 125 published in 1960; and Severina, the last work, which the author left incomplete and which was published after his death. A Handful of Blackberries Great disasters, Silone argues, are not as big a threat to humanity as their aftermath; hence the popular belief that "if humanity is bound to get thoroughly skinned some time or another, it will not be in time of earthquake or war, but in a postwar or post-earthquake period."3 At such critical times, the survival of the human spirit depends entirely on the individual's ability to rise from the ruins, both materially and spiritually. This novel, set against such an historical background, explores man's struggle for survival in this new perspective. When this work is compared to the previous novels, the aspect that immediately stands out is its more pervasive ecumenical spirit. The horrors of the concentration camps, followed by the Communist betrayal of the socialist ideal, most forcefully demanded that cultural and religious pluralism be understood and promoted. As a result, the feelings Silone harbored from the beginning, but expressed only indirectly in his other writings, now become the focal point, as the very title of the novel suggests. The main plot centers on the return of Rocco De Donatis to a remote mountain area of Abruzzo at the end of World War II, and his recovery of the real identity he had suffocated within himself when he embraced party ideology and regimentation. His encounter with Stella, a Jewish refugee who, with her father, has found hospitality at Zaccaria's house, provides the occasion to widen the scope of the novel, and to infuse it with an ecumenical message that precedes by more than a decade the great encyclical of Pope John XXIII, Pacem in Tern's.4 His meetings with Oscar - the man who is responsible of bringing him into line when he begins to show signs of insubordination - reveal the tactics that the Communist Party used to intimidate those who dared rebel. As in the other novels, although by different means, the author juxtaposes positive and negative characters to place in contrast the eternal nature of authentic moral values and the provisional nature of all that is based on expediency. In my analysis of the short stories, I spoke of Silone's experimental approach to narrative, and of his particular attention to the structural

126 Ignazio Silone possibilities afforded by the manipulation of the temporal element. The techniques he developed in that process come to bear in the development of this novel. A Handful of Blackberries is structurally more complex than the novels of exile, and the complexity is mainly found in the author's management of time. The narrative is in the past tense, but the order is not chronological. The historical situation is one in which the provisional prevails; the spiritual situation is like the one the author describes in "The Choice of Companions": it resembles "an encampment of refugees in no-man's-land, a camp exposed to the elements," where people simply tell their stories "more than anything else in an effort to understand."5 In his analysis of the novel, Aragno focuses on Silone's particular techniques, and suggests that the way in which he manages the temporal aspect "results in the creation of several shots upon which his lens rests creating the impression of a cinematographic montage, in which he has the characters move and speak, compelling the reader, at the end of the work, to reconstruct in the memory the various moments of the development of his central theme ... that of the quest for truth."6 This "quest for truth" is also rendered by the stylistic device of introducing the people first vaguely, as in controluce, and then tracing from the origins the events responsible for their present situation. At the beginning of the story, for instance, Rocco, Alfredo, and Martino are presented in this fashion, and only later, when their stories are told, do they acquire the full consistency of characters. The author's remarkable skills cause the reader to initially experience the confusion and uncertainty that the characters experience; then, step by step, as truth reveals itself, the sense of uneasiness dissipates from both the characters and the reader - the return from chaos to order is both thematically and stylistically rendered. Annoni perceives the book as a sort of liturgical drama, and suggests that the reader, keeping the leading plot in the background, should focus on the individual stories, and read them as a collection of modern legends.7 In my view, the "legends" alone do not reveal the full meaning of the novel, as it is precisely by following the main plot that one can see the struggle between opposing forces in Rocco's spiritual quest. As in the previous novels, here as well, the contrast between the world of innocence and that of experience supplies the matter that the author transforms into symbolic situations. An overall predominance of the latter is evident in pages loaded with cutting irony. The struggle between

The Post-Exile Novels 127 the two forces causes two fundamental movements - one cyclical and the other dialectical. Rocco's initial wanderings, for instance, suggest a constantly rotating movement typical of the demonic. He travels a very long journey only to end up at the starting point. Zaccaria asks him, "Why do you keep retracing your steps? Have you lost something?" (51); and Giuditta tells him, "You have the sadness of one who set out to go very far and ends up finding himself where he began. Didn't they teach you at school that the world is round?" (56). Beneath Rocco's selfassured attitude, one can sense the crisis. The dialectical movement from the order of nature to the apocalyptic world above ensues at the very moment in which, abandoning the Communist Party, Rocco decides to follow his conscience. The novel's underlying stance is that while some are born with a clear vocation for the absolute and others aren't, the ultimate choice rests with the individual, who can accordingly either remain entrapped or find an "emergency exit." Silone again reiterates his conviction that evil generates new evil, and he provides a most powerful example in the village of Sant'Andrea. One day the powerful Tarocchi family legally "stole" the selva (the woods that had formerly been common village property) from the people. Since then, those who could not accept that injustice have either lost their lives, or out of exasperation have become murderers themselves. One of the survivors recalls the horrible death of an ancestor of the Tarocchi as follows: The grandfather of the present Don Vincenzo ... was strangled on the threshold of his own home, by a peasant who wouldn't pay the fine for having allowed a young pig to browse illegally. The man waited till the master was leaving the house, pounced on him like a wild beast, threw him to the ground, and strangled him with his bare hands. Then he went on biting his nose, face and ears. People came running, but they could not drag him away from the corpse. To put an end to it the carabinieri shot him in the back. (59)

The man's cannibalism symbolizes the demonic hold on the entire village. In fact, to put an end to it another killing had to take place. And such incidents are not uncommon. Another man kills the carabiniere who tries to arrest him for cutting "his part of the wood" at the expropriated selva, and dies in a jail cell. To break the cycle of violence, his son Lazzaro and the other poor people begin to unite. As they are mostly illiterate, the conventional signal for the meetings is the blaring of Lazzaro's

128 Ignazio Silone trumpet. Such a seemingly ordinary instrument soon acquires the extraordinary power of unsettling the peace of the oppressors: "The trumpet used to be sounded to call together the landless peasants whenever there was cause. And every time the gentry, especially the Tarocchi, would be filled with terror and bewilderment... On certain evenings ... it seemed the Day of Judgment and the Last Trumpet" (59). One day, quite mysteriously, the selva burns to the ground. In a scene reminiscent of Dante's Inferno, the souls of the wicked appear amidst the flames: "The flames rose directly out of the earth/ Giuditta insisted. Tn their midst the population recognized the ancestors of the Tarocchi family ... They were all there. The fire was no mere flash. It lasted three days and three nights. At night especially, one couldn't be mistaken: the whole population had time to recognize the damned'" (59). Besides the members of the Tarocchi family, some of the poor are also recognizable among the dammed souls. With this detail Silone reminds the reader that in his preference for the poor as his companions he distinguishes between the poor person who is "like Christ, the poor Christ who takes on the sins of others and sacrifices Himself for everyone," and the poor person who is instead "an ignoble totalitarian Barabbas who tramples on everything in his fellow man that is most human."8 Evil, in Silone's work, is primarily rooted in greed or oppression, but it can also result from the seductive power of institutionalized ideals. The latter can lead astray even a man like Rocco De Donatis - this novel's main character - who was born with an obvious vocation for the religious life (75). Retracing his journey, one sees, for instance, how in the service of the party he had instead become "audacious and cruel," performing his job like a heartless judge. The description of his glacial posture, ghostlike appearance, and frightening power suggests demonic qualities: "there was nothing to which one could compare the look on Rocco's face, a look of cold contempt. His eyes were terrifying; they seemed to be made of glass. His complexion was ghastly, chalklike. This tension lasted for quite some time, long enough to take one's breath away. It was as though the air had suddenly become saturated with some kind of gas. If someone absentmindedly had lit a match, they would have all blown up" (38). Rocco's negative power tragically subjugates Stella; in only four days the loving, carefree girl becomes a radical neophyte. Her changed appearance is symbolic of the metamorphosis that has taken place. A comparison between the description of the scene in which Stella first

The Post-Exile Novels 129 leaves Casale, and that of her return, illustrates the point. In the first scene she appears as the very image of freedom: Her long black hair flying in the wind like a colt's tail, she set off on a bicycle, with food for one day, amid the gay good-byes of all the Roadhouse folks. (34)

Considering the short time she is away, the change carries important semantic implications. Here is her return: The girl had been gone four days when a heavy motorcycle, roaring like a road drill, bore a small thin creature into the Roadhouse. With its hair all shaved off, wearing a leather jacket and shorts, it had the appearance of a street urchin. The first person who came to meet it had difficulty recognizing Stella ... With her hair gone, her head seemed smaller and her eyes larger than ever. A new strange look shone in them. She appeared grave, preoccupied, restless. Something more important then her way of dressing had changed. (36)

The joyful, free-spirited Stella has not only changed in her appearance, but also in the way in which she communicates with Zaccaria and her friends. She acts like a complete stranger; when she leaves again, she goes without a word for those who love her, without looking back. The symbolism of the initiation is evident in Stella's physical change and in every detail of the description, but even more in her callous attitude. Stella's "conversion," prepared by the propaganda material that the bus driver systematically brought to Casale, has now taken place (37-8). In using religious terminology to describe these events, the author ironically alludes to their demonic nature; in the "religious" posture of the neophyte, one can see a demonic parody of the actual event. The same type of language, with added ironic charge, is also used in connection with Alfredo Esposito. His last name, by suggesting that his parents are unknown, also suggests that he belongs nowhere in particular. As one whose perception of history is limited by the sphere of the self, he sees the tragic cycle of life as endless and any escape as impossible. He changes allegiance with every change of regime, believing that life, like a never-ending game of musical chairs, favors those who are able to get hold of a seat. Under Fascism he held an important position: "It was the Head of the Government in person who had forced him, during a public ceremony, to accept the post there and then, so impressed was the illustrious personage by Alfredo's skill in

130 Ignazio Silone performing an innocent little experiment which he had devised without any ulterior motive and purely for the sake of entertainment. He had plucked a live hen, swiftly and completely, without provoking the slightest complaint on her part, and indeed to her visible satisfaction" (14). The symbolic nature of Alfredo's experiment is obvious, as is the underlying ironic comment. Alfredo's hen, like the people under Fascism - and by extension, under any subjugating power - is a happy prey in the hands of the "magician." With cutting irony, Silone continues to characterize the man as he settles into his new job: "Once his more urgent needs were satisfied there began what was undoubtedly the happiest period of his life. He threw himself heart and soul into works of charity" (15). Because of this Alfredo becomes known as "the good Samaritan," and to better display the meekness of his spirit, he even has a replica of the Shrine of Lourdes built in the center of his garden. After the war, as the political situation changes, so does Alfredo, and he immediately organizes the first meeting of the Provincial Liberation Committee: "To symbolize the (for the time being) 'irrevocable' nature of the political event taking place in the Villa Esposito, the drawingroom clock was stopped at the precise moment when the historic meeting began" (17). Thereafter, the villa becomes a popular "shrine." Hoards of "pilgrims" wearing red cockades revere the fateful clock at every official celebration. Within the Communist Party, this ex-Fascist who could easily have been the object of retaliation becomes instead the official dispenser of political indulgences, and the man in charge of ceremonies and rituals. In an ironic treatment that brings to mind Don Marcantonio's attempts to modify the cross in the previous novel, Silone uses a discussion of the easily modifiable emblems to show the despicable nature of people like Alfredo, and to reveal their unscrupulous manipulation of religion for political gains, with the resulting corruption. Speaking to Rocco in his new capacity, Alfredo says: There are ignorant persons who'd have you believe that nothing has changed recently. Are you blind? I ask them. Don't you see the new emblems? Do you know what it cost me to have part of the draperies died red? Ask the tinsmith here to tell you what he charged me for the hammer and sickle ... certain emblems will do for almost any occasion. The 'Star of Italy/ for instance, is still as good as ever now that I've renamed it 'Star of the East.' Not to mention the fact that at Christmas it comes in very handy as the 'Star of Bethlehem.' (294)

The Post-Exile Novels 131 The symbolism of the star is particularly interesting when connected to Stella's name, which was derived from her surname, Stern. While she is subjected to some changes, she ultimately returns as she once was - as her father, Mr Stern, wants her to remain even as he expresses his last wish before he dies. In the entire episode, irony conveys a tragic meaning to the words of the "Master of Ceremony." In his contrary-to-fact statements is the tragic truth: the situation has only symbolically changed. Black has been replaced by red, the songs have changed, but the music remains the same. The ironic is continually interwoven with the symbolic; since Communism is revealing itself to be as oppressive as Fascism, it is quite fitting that Alfredo's clock, the "symbol of the Liberation," should mysteriously begin to move backwards: That sacred clock, the goal of so many democratic pilgrimages, suddenly went mad. All at once it started going again, but in the opposite direction, backward ... Now Don Alfredo, terrified out of his wits, is swearing black and blue that neither he nor any of his family is in any way to blame for this mysterious phenomenon ... If it wasn't a human hand that stirred the works of the clock and made it go backward, then it must have been a supernatural force. So from having been the symbol of the Liberation, the clock has now become one of nostalgia for the past. (295-6)

The clock is now the "shrine" of those who feel nostalgic about Fascism. The party's posters assuring "THERE'S NO TURNING BACK" do not succeed in settling the matter, for certainly a clock that goes backward proves the contrary. As a result of the suspicion raised by the clock's backward movement, Alfredo falls into disgrace and returns to the starting point. The demonic cycle thus continues its endless rotation. Another episode that also ironically points to the chameleonic nature of the demonic is that involving Caterina, a humble Christian whose poverty is of the type Jesus blessed in the Sermon on the Mount. Caterina lives with her brother Cosimo in utter poverty; nevertheless, when she meets a hungry enemy soldier she feeds him, and for that she is accused of treason by a Fascist officer. Right after the war allegiances change, and the very same officer, now a Communist, returns to announce that for that very same deed she will now be awarded a hero's medal. When she and her brother Cosimo insist that it was simply a matter of feeding the hungry, the officer explains: "The ones who used to be our enemies are our allies now; and instead our allies have become our enemies. So

132 Ignazio Silone [for] what seemed a few months ago to have been a crime ... Caterina now has deserved well of her country. She helped an enemy who now, however, is an ally. For her act of bravery she now deserves to be honored" (273). As Caterina and Cosimo ask whether good or evil has changed, and what would happen if things changed again, the officer becomes impatient. At any rate, Caterina will not accept the medal because she already has one: "the medal of the Holy Year 1900," which she got when, still a girl, she went to Rome on a pilgrimage. She would be happy to show it to the officer, but she gave it to her son Bonifacio as a protection when he left for the war. The turncoat nature of the officer, and of all such men, and the provisional nature of the political "commandments" are ironically contrasted with the eternal nature of Caterina's Christian values: the continuous rotation of the demonic is contrasted with Caterina's linear exposition of her own creed. The use of a chiasmus in the officer's exposition stresses both the inversion of loyalty and the irony inherent in his words, especially when contrasted with Caterina's true words and ancient wisdom. The episode also symbolizes the contrast in the perception of reality between the innocent and the demonic. Ironically, the officer who has just changed allegiance is surprised when Cosimo suggests that it could happen again, and ridicules the couple's "ignorance" when they reaffirm their trust in the eternal values and in the immutable nature of good and evil. A more tragic irony is the fact that Bonifacio, spared during the war, dies when he is already on his way home, mistakenly executed by Communist partisans under Rocco's command.9 That the officer is evidently unaware of the absurdity of his visit, and unable to understand the truth contained in Caterina's simple words, reveals the effect of totalitarian rhetoric on those who are conditioned to obey without asking any questions. The demonic nature of political rhetoric is constantly denounced in the novel, and is especially evident in the dialogues between Rocco and Zaccaria, Rocco and Oscar, Stella and Ruggero, Stella and the party zealot referred to as the beghina. On his first visit to Casale, Rocco refutes Zaccaria's views on the possibility of fulfilling the social ideals of Communism independently of the party, asserting that the highest form of treason would be to realize the ideals of the party without the party. His tone is categorical and severe; the irony contained in his own words eludes him even as he

The Post-Exile Novels 133 says, "The more an action resembles something the party might conceivably do, the more treacherous and vile it is, if performed without the knowledge and against the will of the party" (39). Adding that it is treason to even think that the party might be wrong, Rocco intimidates everyone into submission. Tragically, the absurdity of his claims eludes him. This man, who joined the party for the sake of the oppressed, is totally unaware of having himself become an oppressor. But his "blindness" is only temporary. In fact in his confrontation with Oscar, he already appears somewhat changed. Oscar, nicknamed "Blindfolded Mule" for his strict sectarianism and stubbornness, is the party's inquisitor, in charge of finding and punishing the "heretics." When Rocco, having begun to "deviate," falls under suspicion, it is his duty to either bring him into line or have him expelled. Their meeting is held in an office whose library consists of hundreds of copies of the party's "Official Catechism," and whose description suggests a demonic reversal of a religious shrine: The little office was ... pervaded by a smell of indefinable origin ... In one corner of the room stood a glass-doored cupboard, with internal lighting. It was the shrine of two important relics: a little rubble from the city of Stalingrad and a handkerchief stained with the blood of a heroic partisan ... a red lamp burned in the cupboard day and night, even when the office was closed. Once a year, on the first of May, the Easter of Labor, the two relics were exhibited in a procession through the streets of the village. (117)

Questioned by Oscar, Rocco now claims for himself those same rights he had previously denied Zaccaria. Oscar in turn answers, "The party is history ... How can you limit its powers? History is always heartless ... It isn't friendship that makes the wheels of the revolution go round" (119). Now Rocco simply answers that perhaps only those who value friendship will be spared the next time a disaster strikes. The various aspects of the episode: the trial, the attempt to seduce Rocco into conforming, the demand that he disown his friends, his resistance - all summon the scriptural archetype; also noteworthy is that the use of scriptural language was one of the Satanic methods employed to tempt Jesus on the pinnacle of the temple. On many occasions throughout his work, Silone espouses Gandhi's idea of passive resistance as a means of remaining true to one's conscience. Here its influence transpires from Rocco's refusal to deliver political

134 Ignazio Silone speeches. When Oscar demands to know the reasons for such behavior Rocco explains: "The last time that I forced myself to speak in public ... I suffered from a peculiar ailment ... You see, while I was speaking, I could hear my own voice as though it belonged to someone else ... It never happens when I say what I think" (119-21). By contrast, blind submission to the party results in this demonic parody of the truth found in Stella's dialogue with Ruggero, another militant Communist: "Yes, the party is our true family," said the girl. "Father, mother, son, ancestor, unborn child. It's our tribe." "Our rule," said Oscar, "our sublimation, our supreme salvation from the individualistic frivolity of bourgeois life." "Yes, it's our guide, our polar star, our ship, our anchor, our harbor." "It's the hair shirt with which we discipline ourselves. Our communion with the martyrs of our cause and with peoples of distant lands." "It's our catacomb. Our conspiracy." "Our fortress." "It's our walled garden. Our task." "Our playground." "Egypt and the Promised Land." (209-10)

The tragic irony contained in this "profession of faith" is twofold. On one side, in a demonic parody of the mystical body in which all Christians are united, the party has totally absorbed in its "body" the very essence of the members' lives; on the other, the constant repetition of the possessive adjective "our" stresses the contrary-to-fact irony expressing how those who are totally possessed believe that they instead possess. The tears that appear in Stella's eyes even as she speaks, and her trepidation over Rocco's future, can be perceived as the seed of new life which begins to germinate in her conscience. Even worse than party members who are subjugated by ideology are those who become activists of the "faith" without ever pondering its meaning. In this novel the beghina is such a person. A cross-eyed, zealous neophyte, she distinguishes herself by being able to "serve" both the party and the Church with equal fervor. Claiming to have seen Christ in person, in a long red frock, and with the symbols of the hammer and sickle on His heart, the woman feels authorized to "save" and "con-

The Post-Exile Novels 135 vert" people like Stella, whom she perceives as needing "spiritual" guidance. Unlike the "traitor" Rocco, who would not deny his friends, she boasts that she would kill her best friend to show her devotion to the party (226-9). Hyperbole and contrary-to-fact statements are used to satirize fanaticism of all kinds. The beghina, a hybrid product of the symbiosis of opposites, in her grotesque figure embodies the incongruities existing between the party and the Church. Her crossed eyes, in view of Stella's inability to look at both of them simultaneously, reminds one of the scriptural warning that "no servant can serve two masters."10 The countless manifestations of evil are contrasted by as many instances in which the innocent prevail. For instance, just as Stella's "conversion" to Communism was taking place, another, of a different nature, was in the making. In fact, soon after the initial confrontation with Zaccaria, when Alfredo praises Rocco for his heroic action in Casale (he had become the feared leader when he arrived), Rocco shows the same detachment that Stella had displayed toward Zaccaria; then, just as her meeting with Rocco was the determinant for Stella, Martino's arrival is the pivotal point for Rocco's apostasy. On the very day of their meeting, Rocco tells him, "The moment I saw you today, I had an immediate feeling of natural complicity. And after all you've told me, how could I leave you?" (95). Rocco underlines the importance of that meeting when he tells Oscar: "No one chooses his path. Let Alfredo tell you how Martino happened to arrive, on a sleepy afternoon, at a commonplace bus stop" (119). The motifs of the kinship of the spirit and of the individual pursued by God, which are often found in Silone's work, inform this novel as well.11 When he meets Martino, Rocco feels compelled to help him with a readiness equal to Pietro's toward Infante. And just as Spina abandoned his house to join his friends, Rocco abandons the party to return to the cause of the oppressed, willingly paying the price of his choice.12 When Martino appears, Rocco already has a sense of having lost the way to his initial goal; their meeting is nevertheless providential in that Rocco passes from reflection to action.13 Even as Pietro and his friends had shared bread and wine, Martino shares with Rocco a handful of blackberries. In the ecumenical spirit of this novel, the Eucharistic meal need not consist of bread and wine. In fact, even when Don Nicola, Rocco's friend and a Catholic priest, goes to visit Rocco to share in his

136 Ignazio Silone suffering, he brings almonds and blackberries. The author's choice of this fruit is not a casual one; in fact, like the fruits of the Eucharistic meal, these also suggest the idea of suffering, coming as they do from a "thorn" bush, and that of unity, as the berries are gathered in a handful. While Martino, like a guardian angel, appears at the right moment in Rocco's life, it is Lazzaro who, with his trumpet, sees that the voice of justice resounds throughout the arid selva: the symbolic desert of the egocentric soul. Like the voice of the Baptist, the trumpet pleads for justice in order to prepare the way for the Kingdom. In this novel, as in the previous ones, the narrator's focus is on the process that transforms experience into conscience. A most compelling instance is in the way the character called Lazzaro, whom the reader meets both in "Polikushka" and in "The Painful Return," now acquires a totally new dimension. In the first case he is an old man Silone meets at the Farmers' League. A former head of a Franciscan priory, Lazzaro abandons the Church when he realizes that the local priests use the church bells to disturb the farmers' public assemblies. During the war, he gathers in solidarity with local farmers in an old shanty decorated with a picture of Christ in a red frock and inscribed, "Blessed are those who thirst after righteousness," and a trumpet formerly used to call the meetings of the cafoni. His relationship with young Silone is one of mutual respect and admiration. A paternal figure, he imparts lessons of Christian life and social justice. The rapport of the author as a young student with the Lazzaro of "The Painful Return" is quite similar, except that here the old man is a frog seller who shows great reverence toward the better-educated young man. When the latter leaves his native town, Lazzaro, ignoring the risk he runs, insists on seeing him off at the station. Out of mutual affection, the old man urges his friend to forget all that he leaves behind, and the young man pledges that he will never forget. Years later, upon his return, he finds that Lazzaro died after suffering derision, mockery, and beatings for years. The mere existence of two separate accounts of an old man called Lazzaro in a book such as Emergency Exit, which purports to be part of an ideal autobiography, reveals that even there reality is transfigured by art. In A Handful of Blackberries, Lazzaro is a good old man, in many ways similar to the two discussed above, but his character is much more suggestive: here he becomes the symbol of God's justice. Like Rocco and Martino, he is pursued by God and impelled to do His work so that the

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sacrifice on the cross will not be forgotten. When Alfredo tries to find out how Lazzaro could be tempted to place the trumpet at the service of the party, Massimiliano explains that unfortunately Lazzaro only believes in the Pater Noster/4 and is convinced that he received his mission directly from God when, as a carabiniere, he received upon himself the blood of an innocent victim: "Lazzaro picked up from the pavement a little girl streaming with blood, who had been trampled by the carabinieri in a cavalry charge ... The warm innocent blood bathed Lazzaro's arm and chest, and flowed all down his body ... The little girl died in his arms ... For a long time he could not bend his arms ... He could no longer hold a gun nor even salute his superiors ... When we saw him again he was a different man; we could hardly recognize him" (133). Lazzaro's father had killed a carabiniere who had provoked him by merely trying to discharge his duty. It is therefore no accident that his son becomes one. On the symbolic level, Lazzaro as a carabiniere replaces the one his father killed; the scriptural archetype already suggested by his name is further evoked.15 The moral lesson contained in the abovecited incident is that, whereas the first carabiniere simply obeyed orders without questioning their validity, Lazzaro transforms experience into conscience to the point that, after the tragic accident, he can no longer hold a rifle in his arms and can only obey the voice of his conscience. Having dared to challenge the established authorities, Lazzaro must go into hiding. The account of his return further emphasizes the importance of this character in the economy of the novel. After the fall of Fascism, Rocco, Martino, and several other friends are drinking together to celebrate the event, when Massimiliano proposes that they wait out the night in his wine cellar. Once they are there he disappears, and there ensues an atmosphere of suspense in which the men feel that something extraordinary is about to happen. Massimiliano returns bringing a special wine that he has been saving since the day Lazzaro was forced to flee. Thus Lazzaro's figure is evoked: some fear that he may be dead, but his old friend assures them that he will return. The entire episode builds up in a quasi-mystical atmosphere, to convey Lazzaro's extraordinary qualities; then, when he actually appears, nobody is surprised: Massimiliano simply tells him, "We were expecting you" (113). On the symbolic level the character of Lazzaro lends itself to several possible interpretations. His name, as discussed above, evokes the biblical Lazarus; his being the guardian of the trumpet associates him with

138 Ignazio Silone the Angel of the Apocalypse as well as with John the Baptist; his return in the middle of a "long night/' while his friends are "gathered in his name/' evokes the image of the Messiah and suggests that he is a historical witness. In fact, Massimiliano explains that even after Lazzaro's death, "when the worms think they've won, there'll come the angel. He'll take the trumpet from its hiding place and he'll sound it full blast, and he'll wake even the dead" (311). The way he affects the lives of others further demonstrates Lazzaro's exceptional nature. Massimiliano, a receiver of stolen sheep, after the night spent together with Rocco and the other friends in his wine cellar, announces that he intends to sell everything to follow Lazzaro, should he again have to leave. In that clear, cool night, the brook seems a tributary of the Milky Way; having finished the wine, the men walk home together. Filled with the spirit of communion with his friends, Rocco arrives at his alley and perceives it as a "ladder towards the starry sky." Lazzaro had told him not to despair, for he would find a way out of the dead end without having to turn back: "Some day or other, some kind of gap will appear in the wall ... Some kind of opening" he had said. (143). Now Rocco says to Martino, "Look, look ... the gap in the wall." His decision to leave the party is easy after that night. Like Rocco, Stella as well suffers a crisis that leads her to leave the party. Her father, before dying, had asked their Italian friends if she would be allowed to remain within her faith. The clear answer is that Don Nicola, a Catholic priest, contravening the rules of the Church, blesses the union of Stella and Rocco in the respect of both their faiths. Though the two had no moral qualms when they were in the party, now they decide to wait until they are married to sleep together. With this somewhat contrived turning toward the moral, Silone underlines the couple's return to the world of innocence. Besides the leading characters already discussed, many others populate the world of innocence and the world of experience respectively. Among the clergy, Don Costantino and Don Giustino obviously belong to the latter; Don Bonaventura and Don Nicola are their counterparts. The Tarocchi, Don Alfredo, and the party members stand in contrast to decent people such as Cosimo, Caterina, Martino's parents, Gaetana, and Giuditta. In the animal world the donkey symbolizes the suffering innocent victim; ants, bees, sheep, young birds, and spiders are also associated with the world of innocence as symbols of patience, perseverance, self-determination, and endurance. Rats, goats, wolves, mules,

The Post-Exile Novels 139 and crows carry negative connotations. More complex to decipher are the flies: they appear in a scene in which a dense cloud of flies surrounds an "altar" of watermelons (123), and also in one featuring Alfredo Esposito. Both times they are seen from Alfredo's viewpoint. On the occasion of Oscar's interrogation of Rocco, while Alfredo is rejoicing at the prospect of Rocco's falling from grace, something unexpected happens: An obnoxious fly, after having buzzed for a long time around his nose, had finally alighted on the Sea of Azov. She was now ascending the course of the Don, on foot. He tried to follow her without being noticed. How long would it take a fly to go 'on foot' from the Sea of Azov to Siberia? The fly passed from the Don to the Volga, stopped for a while at Kazan, just long enough to get an idea of the landscape, and was now facing the chain of the Urals. Wretched creature, was she really going to Siberia? Suddenly the fly took to her wings and settled down in Stockholm. Alfredo gave a sigh of relief. (121)

The long humming of the fly around Alfredo's nose is meant to get his attention; its flight to Russia, and Alfredo's fear that it is headed for Siberia, allude to a danger that Communists really face. The short pause to gain awareness in Kazan brings to mind Silone's article "Der Christus von Kazan," and also Tolstoy and Lenin, whose writings informed Silone's thought.16 The fly's sudden deviation to land in Stockholm suggests leaving behind Communism and its risks for the Socialist alternative represented by Sweden. Alfredo's reaction can be interpreted as fear of possibly becoming, like Rocco, the object of party discipline. A more cutting comment on the manner in which the Marxist ideal has degenerated is in the description of the mutilated army veteran whose voice has to supply the missing parts in the damaged record of the party's anthem: The record of the Hymn was completely worn out; it produced incomprehensible sounds, hoarse, strident, and stabbing like an electric saw. This considerably reinforced its intensity of expression. A young one-legged veteran had been assigned the duty of turning the handle every three minutes, without interrupting the movement of the record, and of changing the needle every hour. He was the Musical Attache of the local party headquarters. He performed his task seriously and gravely. Besides, he was forbidden to let his attention wander. Whenever the sound of the record was no longer intelligible, he was expected to supplement it with his own voice. Soon he too became hoarse, strident, sepul-

140 Ignazio Silone chral-toned, and the day came when it was no longer possible to distinguish his interpolations from the sound of the record itself. (114)

The sawing effect symbolizes more than physical mutilation; in fact, as the young man dutifully fulfills his assigned tasks, he actually becomes one with the worn-out record, thus suffering an even more tragic mutilation. The total loss of human dignity on the part of this diligent party member is an obvious comment on the local Communists' interpretation of Marx's ideal of a society that receives "from each according to his abilities" and gives "to each according to his needs"17; and it also shows that unlike Marx, the so-called Marxists are not concerned about the possibility of alienating the worker from his production.18 The bitter irony that accompanies the entire episode points to the demonic and underscores the absurd. As this analysis shows, though in each novel the author deals with the problem of good and evil, he also expands his vision to incorporate many new aspects. The spirit of this novel can be summarized in Rocco's words: "amo, ergo sum" [I love, therefore I am]. It is the spirit that allows the Silonian hero to transcend the tragic vision. But this time the point is more forcefully made that love must also embrace those who profess a different faith, in full respect for that faith. The final message of the novel is one of hope: hope projected toward the future, when the common ancestry of all people will bind humanity, and the apocalyptic promise will be fulfilled. The Secret of Luca A constant theme in Silone's novels is the quest for knowledge and understanding. In the previous novels this need manifests itself as a somewhat unconscious drive, and is often fulfilled in a providential manner: something unexpected causes the hero to internalize seemingly common experiences, and truth reveals itself little by little through the exchanges with his interlocutors. In The Secret of Luca, the need to understand why Luca Sabatini accepts serving a life sentence for a homicide he never committed is almost an obsession for Andrea Cipriani, and the truth does not reveal itself providentially but is retrieved by his obstinate digging. He proceeds in a centripetal manner, step by step, with clear determination. As a result, the novel's structure resembles the plan for an archaeological expedition. In the first three chapters Luca's return and the town's reaction set the background; then with Andrea's arrival the

The Post-Exile Novels 141 action begins. Each new chapter contains an episode that uncovers a new layer of ground, and they all culminate with Luca's own account, which, completing the picture, allows Andrea to finally reach the core. The narrative tone is less polemical than that of the preceding novels, and the irony is more situational than verbal. The symbolism is once again of a scriptural nature, pointing to Christ's Passion as the archetype.19 While its structure is different from those of the previous novels, the main theme, that of the power of love as the determinant in the eternal struggle of good and evil, is present in this novel as well, although here it acquires a new dimension. Like the heroes of the preceding novels, Luca Sabatini and Andrea Cipriani suffer the consequences of their moral intransigence. Luca is a simple man who falls in love with Ortensia, a married woman. Ennobled by that love, when he is not scorned, and seeing that his sentiment is met instead with a delicate spiritual response, he is capable of experiencing the sublime. Andrea is a former Communist schoolmaster who was exiled under Fascism, and now that the war is over and his party is popular he is welcomed back to Cisterna. As the story unfolds, its structure and its meaning reveal the scriptural source. In fact, the Christological symbolism is so pervasive that it has been discussed by several critics: Di Scipio's study, suggesting that Luca is symbolic of Christ and of all victims of injustice, and that Andrea can be perceived as representing "Christianity put into action," and Alfonsi's exposition of the analogies with the Gospels are still noteworthy after many years.20 My own analysis is different but complementary in that it focuses on the analogy between the blindness of Cisterna and that of the Jerusalem in which Jesus preached before He was put to death, and on the reasons why Silone's characters insist that in the history of man, it is always the same Friday.21 On the symbolic level, Luca's secret embodies the central thesis of the novel - that love is the only means to salvation, and that while Christ's sacrifice has not been in vain, His teachings have not penetrated the hearts of the multitudes. Luca's existence reveals that innocence is still persecuted now as in the time of Christ's Passion, because hypocrisy and greed still govern society; but it also shows that love is the power that can help humanity move beyond the tragic vision. In fact, while demonic forces threaten to erase the meaning of the crucifixion, stronger ones reassert its significance. In previous novels, the author's rendering of people and places tended to portray symbolically the prevailing spiritual condition. Fontamara

142 Ignazio Silone and Pietrasecca, for instance, stood in evident contrast with Acquaviva. Water symbolism plays a role in this novel as well. Cisterna, a town whose name brings to mind a reservoir of still water, is in many ways similar to Fontamara and La Fornace, for like these it is set at the foot of a burned-out selva among arid fields whose topsoil is "dried and barren." The road that leads to it is flanked on both sides by "burnt stubble, dotted with a few meager almond trees and blackberry bushes."22 In the center of town, a foul smell permeates the air. This detail, often found in Silone to indicate a place's demonic nature, suggests that the name of the village was not chosen by accident. The selva burned out on a Friday; "No one knows how it happened. Some say it was God's curse" (3). The population comprises "a few scoundrels, and a few honest but stupid people. And for the rest - the usual majority of sheep and goats" (37). The majority of them are egocentric, opportunistic, and greedy. Their "morality" consists of upholding a primitive code of behavior, and, above all, an exterior appearance of respectability. Their idea of law and order is the quiet preservation of the status quo. Historical developments only matter to the degree that individuals feel that they stand to gain personally from them. In this society, clearly modeled on the archetype of the biblical Jerusa lem, it is possible for an innocent man to be condemned to life imprisonment despite his well-known innocence, and it is possible, forty years later, for people to feel hostile and fearful at the prospect of his return. Ironically, when someone else confesses having committed the murder, Luca is not declared innocent; instead, for bureaucratic reasons, he is "pardoned." Furthermore, while Luca, who is the real victim, harbors no resentment, the people of Cisterna are resentful and feel victimized, as the following exchange between the mayor and the police sergeant illustrates: The latter is concerned about the danger that Luca's return poses for law and order; hence, when the mayor asks "Law and order? Would you mind explaining how law and order can possibly be endangered by the return of an innocent man? What do you want them to do leave him in the penitentiary?" the sergeant replies, "I was referring to the effect that the mere announcement of this man's return has already produced on the people of this village ... Didn't you see the way the old people reacted to the news? ... They're so scared they won't even talk" (10-11). Among the "old people" are two of Luca's friends, Ludovico and Don Serafino. They were aware of Luca's innocence, but acquiesced in his request that they remain silent, and now that he is about to return they

The Post-Exile Novels 143 too display hostility rather than friendship. As his ministry compels him to do, Don Serafino (the retired parish priest) asks Ludovico to help Luca, but the latter answers him, "Let me alone ... I don't know whom you are talking about; let go ... Don't make me blaspheme ... Let me go" (16-17). The denial, repeated three times, clearly echoes Peter's denial of Jesus.23 Although Don Serafino tries to convince Ludovico to help Luca, when his turn comes and the sergeant questions him about the circumstances surrounding Luca's conviction, he also denies him three times: "How should I remember? ... I was never concerned with anything except my parish duties. In this village people mind their own business ... I know nothing about it ... Why ask me?" (18-19). The uneasiness that he and the other elders feel, and his attempt to wash his hands of Luca's fate, also summon the biblical archetype. Obviously, this old priest, like Manzoni's Don Abbondio, has adapted his own morals to those of the corrupted society he was meant to guide. In fact, at the time of Luca's trial it was Don Serafino who helped to devise a cover-up for Ortensia and her family, and, later, when she wanted to testify to the truth, it was he who dissuaded her (148). Don Serafino eventually receives Luca in his home, but he feels embarrassed to be seen with him and with Andrea, and he remains chiefly concerned about public opinion. His spiritual condition is symbolically reflected in the description of his study: "Don Serafino's study was dark, sepulchral. On a table covered with a faded and wax-spattered green baize cloth, the principal object, standing between two wooden candlesticks and several black-bound prayerbooks, was a skull - a real human skull" (23). Elsewhere the skull is used as a paperweight, and the study is compared to a dimly lit "bat's cave" containing dusty books and a statue of the Good Shepherd on the mantelpiece under a glass dome (56). The darkness, the sepulchral atmosphere, and the wax tears suggest blindness, slothfulness, and hypocrisy. The particular relevance given to the skull brings to mind the place of Christ's crucifixion, where He was offered wine mixed with gall,24 and it implies that Don Serafino is no longer mindful of his true mission. The glass bell over the statue of the Good Shepherd further supports this point and implicitly alludes to Don Serafino's insulation from the real essence of his ministry. Finally, the smell of mildew that permeates the air is symptomatic of stagnation and rot. Don Serafino's physical appearance is also indicative of his ambiguous status. He is "tall, ascetically thin, with a long angular chin, narrow pointed nose and hollow cheeks" but his old arthritic hands

144 Ignazio Silone look "like the claws of an old rooster." Luca's return eventually has a redemptive effect on the old priest. This is symbolically represented by the ray of sunshine that penetrates Don Seafino's study the moment Luca enters it: "Just then a shaft of sunlight fell from one of the tiny windows, and a million particles of dust began to dance down the luminous ribbon that cleft the room in two" (23). The image summons the scriptural passage describing the moment when "the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom; and the earth shook, and the rocks were split; the tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised."25 Like the symbolism of water, light is also effectively used in the novel. Silone employs the chiaroscuro technique both as an aesthetic device and as a means of expressing the contrast between opposing spiritual conditions. As Di Scipio notes, "in the name Luca Sabatini, the author clearly intended 'Luca del Sabato,' that is of the resurrection."26 The effect his return has on Don Serafino is illustrated by the latter's confession to Andrea: "if you think you're talking to a man satisfied with the way he's faced the tremendous difficulties of his calling, then you're very much mistaken. Nobody knows better than myself my limitations and delinquencies and sins" (147). However contemptible they might have been, Don Serafino's shortcomings pale in comparison to those of Don Franco, his successor. Totally disregarding the spiritual and material needs of his "flock," and still influenced by the fallen regime's passion for monuments, he wants Cisterna to become the envy of nearby towns. To uphold the dignity of Cisterna and its good name, he proposes that a monument be erected to the memory of its fallen heroes. "Civilized people," he says, "can be identified by the degree of importance they attach to the cult of the dead." In this case, a fitting testimonial would be an allegorical monument representing "Glory embracing Sacrifice" (31-2). The episode is loaded with irony directed both at Don Franco's misconception of the people's needs and his own duties, and at the absurdity of all wars. Given the provisional nature of all political situations, he proposes an allegorical monument that does not have to identify which Fallen Soldiers it honors. Likewise, when the councilmen ask which Sacrifice will be kissed by Glory, Don Franco explains that his conception embraces all sacrifices. There ensues a petty discussion, which ends when the oldest councilman objects that Glory "should take no interest whatsoever in Sacrifice, and should even refuse to look him in the face, until Sacrifice was ready to devote himself to the poor people living in caves and shacks" (33). Don Franco's answer, that he plans to

The Post-Exile Novels 145 dedicate his second project to celebrate that idea, reveals his total blindness. His attitude, and his final comment, stand in dramatic contrast with the words of the scriptural Good Shepherd, "I am the good shepherd; I know my own and my own know me ... and I lay down my life for the sheep."27 In a demonic reversal, both Don Franco and his predecessor have become like those "teachers of the law" about whom Jesus said, "They do all their deeds to be seen by men."28 The members of the clergy are not the only negative paternal figures. The mayor, who is thoroughly corrupt, and the presiding judge at Luca's trial, are clearly modeled after the scriptural Pharisees. Gladly agreeing to receive Andrea Cipriani now that the fact poses no dangers for him, the retired judge says, "Times have changed, of course." The comment, and the ostentatious display of all the exterior signs of his past activity in the legal forum, show his hypocrisy. In Luca's trial, as a prosecutor, he sought life imprisonment for the defendant; now, before unequivocal evidence of Luca's innocence, he remains indifferent, and firm in his stance. When Andrea asks him, "Why are you so down on the poor man?" he answers, "He's a chapter in my autobiography ... And that particular chapter, I might as well tell you, I am ready to defend tooth and nail" (71). The judge bases his opinion on his own conviction that Luca was bluffing, because, as he tells Andrea, no circumstance can turn an ordinary clodhopper into a "feudal knight." Deeming the world unworthy of a man such as himself, the old judge lives in seclusion and isolation. Images of death and darkness render his moral portrait when he tells Andrea, "That's how I spend my days now remembering the past. Memory is my refuge. Thanks to it, today's world seems far away, which is all that makes it endurable. That's why I seldom go out and then only after dark" (65). His appearance is described as follows: "Behind the urbane manner and the brittle fragility, there seemed to lurk a rather ambiguous little person. With his yellow face and lack-luster eyes, he vaguely resembled an owl" (66). A few pages later, the owl changes into a hawk. The author's insistence on darkness, and the judge's appearance, bring to mind the Lord's words to Nicodemus: "Are you a teacher of Israel, and yet you do not understand this? Truly, truly, I say to you, we speak of what we know, and bear witness to what we have seen; but you do not receive our testimony ... Light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For every one who does evil hates the light.29 The description of the room

146 Ignazio Silone symbolically illustrates the manner in which such men perceive law and justice: "Faded though they were, the heavy purple curtains gave the room the shadowy half light of some questionable boudoir. A massive volume lay open on a tall lectern by one of the windows; above the lectern hung a wire cage with two canaries, both of them asleep. On the wall over the old judge's head King Umberto I and Queen Margherita looked down from an enormous framed photograph" (67). This seemingly ordinary description acquires a different meaning when it is read in the light of an episode in Luca's life. Having found out that Ortensia has taken refuge in a convent, he decides to cause an incident that will allow him to bring his case before the king. He apologizes to the warden for the move he is about to make, and punches him. Naturally his plan fails, and when he tries to explain his case, the crown prosecutor, who has in his hand "a book filled from cover to cover with articles and paragraphs of the law," rather than allow Luca to speak, only points out the laws that apply to the new crime. The prisoner, exasperated, strikes him. The incident will later be used to deprive Luca of the freedom he should have received after serving the first thirty years (181-2). Given the correspondence of details, it can be argued that the open volume represents the law, ready to be read as it was in Luca's case; the picture of the monarchs, the defunct monarchy that empowered the judge; and the cage with the sleeping canaries, the idea that law, under the circumstances, encages the citizens and deprives them of both physical and spiritual freedom. When the judge justifies his skepticism about Luca's innocence by his own belief that a member of the lower class cannot harbor noble sentiments, the Silonian irony victimizes the speaker. From his self-styled Ubermensch position, the judge deals with Luca not as a man but as a convenience for his own ego, symbolically phagocyting Luca's existence to regurgitate it as a chapter of his own biography. Human dignity is trampled on in other instances as well. Ortensia's family, for instance, capitalizes on her beauty as they would on "a gold mine or a lucky lottery number" (141), and Lauretta's parents claim their privilege of ownership by demanding a better price for the sale of their walnuts after her engagement to Luca (134). But while many people individually display some aspects of the demonic, the prevailing spiritual condition in the town of Cisterna is symbolized by the blind woman. On the day of Luca's return, the town appears deserted and immersed

The Post-Exile Novels 147 "in a deathlike ... torpor." Only the blind woman hears him, and "recognizes" his steps as if she had been keeping watch for them: The streets were deserted, the doors and windows closed and silent... Suddenly, in the silence, there was the clatter of shutters flung open on the first-floor balcony of an old house. A tall, gaunt, black-garbed woman groped blindly out to the railing and bent her face, with its empty eye sockets, toward the approaching steps. "Whose step is that?" She cried piercingly. "Man, I can hear you." The footsteps died away instantly. The man stopped dead in the middle of the lane to stare at the apparition. "Is it you?" Now the woman's tone was pleading, anxious. She called out several times. "Is it you?" (4-6)

Then, as a younger woman tries to reassure her by saying that it is only a "tramp," the blind woman warns, "Beware of false tramps."30 The woman's blindness is not of the ordinary kind, and brings to mind Jesus' words: "Your eye is the lamp of your body; when your eye is sound, your whole body is full of light; but when it is not sound, your body is full of darkness."31 Her cries and her calling out to Luca when she hears his steps suggest the reaction of the conscience to Christ's warning, "Watch therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour."32 Furthermore, as hers is the only voice that breaks the silence of Cisterna upon Luca's return, her shouts can be perceived as the conscience of the entire village. Luca Sabatini. This name, like that of Pietro Spina, embodies both the apostolic mission and membership in the Body of Christ; but the surname here is not ambivalent, and as Di Scipio points out, is symbolic of the resurrection. Like Pietro, Luca, too, is pursued by God. His claim in the courtroom that he is staring at the cross rather than the prosecutor because the Crucifix was also talking to him, in view of his sacrifice, suggests that he is ready to respond to the call. In A Handful of Blackberries, Rocco expressed his awareness of having rediscovered the authentic meaning of his existence when he declared, "amo, ergo sum." In this novel Luca discovers this same truth, although he never utters the words. Initially he is described as one whose moral values prevent him from pursuing and seducing Ortensia, as Cisterna's "tribal tradition" would suggest, but also as one not entirely alien to the hypocritical society that surrounds him.33 For instance, even though he

148 Ignazio Silone loves Ortensia, he is prepared to marry Lauretta. However, once he and Ortensia reveal their mutual love, he finds the courage to break his engagement to Lauretta, and Ortensia is unable to encourage him to carry out the marriage plan she herself had devised. Luca recalls his reaction to Ortensia's confession of her love for him as a sublime experience: At that moment I was flooded with an immense joy, such as I have never known. It was a kind of ecstasy. All feelings of uncertainty or fear were gone. Can you tell me what happens inside one's soul at such moments? All of a sudden, the whole world wears a different face. If I had seen horses flying through the air it wouldn't have surprised me in the least ... Good Lord, all creation looked different. There was heaven in my heart. Hundreds of stars exploded in my head. Happiness had entered into my being and kindled a light there I had never guessed at. The whole earth seemed to be revolving around us two, like a top." (173)

The description reveals the intensity of Luca's spiritual experience, which culminates in his passage from darkness to light. The ecstasy of the "revelation" is followed by the agony preceding the symbolic death of his former life. Now he perceives his appointment with Lauretta as a senseless commitment made "in another life." When he arrives at her house he feels totally overwhelmed. The scene he draws for Andrea includes the symbolism of the agony, the earthquake, and the feeling of imminent death (174). After telling Lauretta that he cannot marry her, Luca is tempted to take his own life to end his suffering. He wanders in the night until he finds himself near a chapel, on a hill abutting a ravine. He is about to carry out his plan, when he hears a lament from inside the chapel. A woman beggar appears, and he gives her all the money he has, as he won't need it anymore. But then he is unable to jump to his death before the woman's eyes. Just like the woman whose field was tilled by Infante, this one too spreads the report of a miracle, this time by Saint Gabriel, as the fresco in the chapel that commemorates the event still testifies. The description of Luca's anguish, his "sweating" despite the cold night, the temptation to end his suffering, and the sudden apparition of the woman as a guardian angel - all bring to mind the suffering of Christ on the Mount of Olives, when, while praying to the Father to spare Him, "There appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him." Likewise, before His crucifixion, Jesus suffered great anguish,

The Post-Exile Novels 149 and "His sweat became like great drops of blood falling down upon the ground."34 Luca's meeting with the beggar is a further example of the redemptive power of love. When he gives her money, she finds his act so unnatural that she believes she has received a miracle. Her presence is in turn providential for Luca, who can no longer carry out his suicidal plan. His anguish continues during the entire night. At three o'clock on Friday morning, Agnese, the wife of Ludovico, the miller, awakens terrified by a dream in which Luca, about to drown, is screaming for help. The "vision" materializes when Ludovico finds Luca standing in the night, almost out of his senses. Having offered him help to no avail, the miller returns to bed, but his wife continues to watch Luca from her window, and can thus witness that when the homicide is perpetrated, Luca is still where Ludovico left him. Since neither Agnese nor Ludovico reveals the truth to the police when Luca is arrested, the dream can be interpreted as a premonition of their forthcoming option either to save Luca from life imprisonment or allow him to "drown." The symbolic importance of that "infernal night" is suggested by the location, the time, the day, the unusual duration, the analogies that are used to recall it, and the reaction of Agnese to her dream. Ludovico tells Andrea, "It was the middle of winter, and a north wind was blowing that made the entire mill hiss like a nest of serpents" (98). The choice of the location is not accidental, for at the mill, the grain that will become bread is ground.35 Here, however, the hissing of the snakes symbolizes the presence of the demonic, a presence that is also evident in Agnese's acting as if she were possessed. While the normal sound of the mill and its present snakelike hissing produces the contrasting auditory effects of good and evil, the pitch-black sky and the snow on the ground create the visual image of those contrasting forces. The darkness evokes Christ's words at the moment of His arrest,36 and the little light produced by the clarity of the snow, is symbolic of the hope that the demonic will not ultimately prevail. It is Friday; the hour is three in the morning, "an hour only fit for wolves." As he evokes the scriptural archetype, Silone also connects this scene to the one of Cristina's death in Bread and Wine. Luca's standing by a tree that sustains him and prevents his fall completes the analogy by evoking the image of the cross and of the tree of life (88-104). Like Jesus, Luca is arrested at dawn after an agonizing night, and in his case also, nobody comes forward to bear witness to the truth. The description of the place where Luca is arrested also embodies the sym-

150 Ignazio Silone bolism of the struggle between good and evil. The place is called Hare's Bridge, because of a memorable event that once took place there during a religious rite: "suddenly, before the eyes of the assembled worshipers, a hare appeared, right on the bridge. The worshipers, in less time than it takes to tell, set candles and crucifix on the ground and were off in full cry after the luckless animal. They surrounded it, they closed in on it from all sides; but the hare eluded them; it disappeared into thin air" (89-90). The hare as a symbol of persecuted innocence is recurrent in Silone's work. Here, however, the symbolism is even more complex. The day and the occasion on which the event takes place, the location of the bridge, the reaction of the people, and the vanishing of the hare require a closer analysis, which suggests the following interpretation: the bridge, needed to cross the water embodies the idea of purification; the event, cast three days before the day of the Lord's Ascension, during the Rogation rite,37 evokes the symbolism of the seed, and of the harvest; the worshipers who put down the cross, and abandon the propitiatory rite for the blessing of the sowing and the harvest to chase the hare, reveal their hypocrisy and greed. Irony underscores the parodic nature of the event. Finally, when the hare hides itself from them and vanishes, the scene evokes the scriptural source that also inspired Silone's play And He Hid Himself. The image of the persecuted innocent victim connects this work to the body of Silone's work, where it also appears from "Simplicio" to the three novels of exile, and to A Handful of Blackberries. Luca also is persecuted, and, like the hare, eludes entrapment. As Don Serafino tells Andrea: "To him the whole of life was a matter of submitting to social violence. But by accepting it, he escaped violence himself and imposed it upon others" (163). Luca's decision not to reveal where he was at the time of the homicide in order not to compromise Ortensia, given its effect on the people of Cisterna, embodies the fundamental irony of the novel, the "incongruous irony of human life" wherein, as Frye explains, "all attempts to transfer guilt to a victim give that victim something of the dignity of innocence. The archetype of the incongruously ironic is Christ, the perfectly innocent victim excluded from human society" (AC, 42). Luca's trial is specifically structured on the scriptural model: the false testimony, his nonresistance, his refusal to defend himself and to acknowledge any authority other than Christ's, and even his detachment before his mother's anguish, are all aspects that are found in the

The Post-Exile Novels 151 trial of the Messiah. Again, like Jesus Luca asks God to forgive his persecutors. Having professed his innocence of the murder, he looks with total detachment at those who testify against him, as if their words were not connected with him in any manner. Then, turning to Don Serafino, he says, "You wanted me to go away, didn't you? Well, I'm going ... you won't see me for a long time" (162). Luca perceives his situation as God-willed so that he could have an "emergency exit" from an untenable situation, and also in order to become the living example of the spirit of love that Jesus left to His disciples as His new commandment. In fact, he tells Andrea: "being arrested had provided me with a way out, an alternative to suicide. What could I do against fate, except allow it to accomplish it ends?" (178). Teresa's acceptance of her son's decision, as well as the several instances in which she is portrayed as the Mater Dolorosa, also reveals the symbolic nature of the sacrifice. Luca's example has a redemptive effect on Ortensia's life. She tells Don Serafino, "Who can deliver me from the shame of appearing at the Judgment Seat having abandoned the man who has pledged me his soul?" (149). Her newly acquired spiritual awareness transpires from her changed appearance. The old priest tells Andrea: "The woman in front of me was no longer the vapid, inconsequential creature ... but one transformed by suffering. Life had mastered her, and she had become one with her fate. Have you ever seen a human being's naked soul?" Evidently, "Thanks to the violence Luca had practiced upon himself, Ortensia had recovered a liberty as precious and as total as that which he had lost" (149). Andrea's life also changes because of Luca when, as a child, he accepts Teresa's request to correspond with her encarcerated son on her behalf. Now he confides to Luca that he considers that experience one of the most important events in his life - perhaps "the crucial one," since it made him realize that he had been "chosen" to witness an extraordinary case. There is an autobiographical antecedent to this story. As I related in the first chapter of this work, at the age of seven, Silone actually corresponded with Francesco Zauri, a local man condemned to life imprisonment on behalf of Zauri's mother. Released in 1946, "he would never tell Silone his 'secret'... and took it to the grave with him."38 Transforming experience into conscience, Andrea begins to see the signs of Christ's Passion in the lives of the oppressed.39 The thought of Luca's suffering penetrates his soul to the point that one day, after a

152 Ignazio Silone restless night, he confides to his family that his wrists feel sore, as if he had been wearing handcuffs. The detail brings to mind Faustina's sharing of Christ's suffering in The Seed Beneath the Snow, and suggests a similar meaning. The fact that an innocent man could be condemned to life imprisonment becomes an obsession for Andrea. As a youngster, he feels compelled to speak out against the injustice of war, and is arrested by the Fascists; later, as a Communist, he carries out his duties according to his conscience, rather than blindly obeying party rules; finally, upon hearing of Luca's return, neglecting all else, he sets out to solve the mystery behind the unjust conviction. Andrea's behavior and some of the descriptions suggest that he, too, although in a different way, symbolizes the living the spirit of Christ. For instance, he is denounced to the Fascist police by the people of Cisterna, is prevented from teaching, and when he is arrested and handcuffed, the people stone him. The incident is modeled after Jesus' arrest, when upon His refusal to deny His teachings, he is mocked and struck. The ironic tone of the narrative underscores, in this instance as well, the hypocritical nature of the local "Pharisees" (28-30). The sacramental nature of Andrea's relationship with Luca is suggested by every detail and every act. Under the realistic surface, the symbolic meaning is constantly revealed. When they meet, and Luca drags over "a big rock" for Andrea to sit on, the reader is reminded of Peter and also of the rock upon which the cross was solidly planted in The Seed Beneath the Snow. The description that follows also suggests the symbolism of the Eucharist: "A lantern dangled from a beam by a piece of wire. Half a loaf, an onion and two tomatoes had been set out on the wooden crate that did duty for a table ... Luca fetched a bottle of wine and a cup from a recess in the wall and filled the cup for his guest. As he poured his hand trembled" (42). When Luca tells Andrea "I've been expecting you," the return of Pietro Spina to the house of his father (in his grandmother's dream) also comes to mind. However, as Luca adds, "I'd got it into my head that you were born branded, like me," and Andrea answers, "Branded? ... I wasn't born that way," Andrea goes on to explain that it was the awareness of Luca's existence that branded him. With this comment Silone reiterates the view he expresses elsewhere in his work that some are born with an obvious call and some aren't, but when spiritual awareness is present, the same road is open to all. Andrea's participation in Luca's suffering resulted in his need to arrive at the source of Luca's choice and also to understand how he could have

The Post-Exile Novels 153 been found guilty - to arrive, therefore, at the source of good and evil. But even as he is still engaged in a continuous process of understanding, he shares his awareness with others. For instance, he helps Don Serafino realize how far he has drifted from his original intent. By his unwillingness to visit his aunt Clarice, who will not accept an ex-convict in her house, he unveils the hypocrisy that is within these and other "whitewashed" walls of Cisterna's sepulchral abodes. In his visit to Lauretta's sister Gelsomina, he shows her that Christ's voice resounds in his conscience rather than Marx's. This is why ignoring how, as a party subordinate, the woman speaks to him with deference, Andrea demonstrates that he comes as a friend. In the room where she receives him, two colored prints hang from the wall, "one of Karl Marx, great head and tawny lion's mane; the other of our Saviour, red-robed, preaching the Sermon on the Mount," with this caption underneath: "Blessed are they that thirst for justice" (109). This picture, complete with the caption, is identical to the one found at the gathering place of the League of Farmers in A Handful of Blackberries. Guerriero interprets the juxtaposition of the two images as superficial syncretism between Christianity and Marxism.40 In my view, when Silone reproduces a previously created scene and then juxtaposes to it Marx's picture, he is implicitly stating that Christ's teachings no longer occupy the central place that they did in the beginning of the struggle for social justice. Gelsomina's fear that in voicing her sorrow over her sister's death she could break party rules, and the description of Marx with a "tawny lion's mane" (which brings to mind Mussolini's dictum, "It is better to live one day as a lion than a hundred days as a sheep,") suggest that Communism is now perceived as a sort of red Fascism. Whereas Communist rules deny the legitimacy of human suffering, the picture of Jesus alludes to its inherent sacrality. The description of Jesus with a scarlet robe should not be misleading. As the scriptures state, when the Roman soldiers brought Jesus into the Praetorium, they "stripped him and put a scarlet robe upon him, and plaiting a crown of thorns they put it on his head ..."41 Although he is a member of the party, Andrea's behavior reveals him to be a disciple of Christ. The contrast between "Communion" and "Communism" is implicitly suggested, to contrast the different ways of Jesus and Marx, in the manner Pietro used to teach Infante the difference between such words as "Simon" and "simony" in The Seed Beneath the Snow. The reference to the lion is also interesting because it is both the symbol of the second evangelist, Mark,42 and also the king of the jungle. The combination can be perceived as embodying both the prom-

154 Ignazio Silone ise of Marxism and its degeneration. There is, however, no such ambiguity in Andrea's figure. In fact, the symbolic allusion to Christ's suffering can be connected to the reason behind his return, and the blessing of the Sermon on the Mount seems specifically appropriate to him, as he is here not as a party member, but for the sake of justice. Andrea's similarity to Luca, and their saintly natures, are evident in this description of the two men as they take a last walk together before Andrea's departure: "The deep-seated harmony which had grown up between them was evident in every detail of the way they walked and talked together. To a stranger's eye they might have passed for father and son ... The evening air was mild and bright, shot through with a gold, autumnal haze ... From beneath a cloud emerged a sheaf of bright, golden rays, like those of a saint's halo" (166-70). At the end of his "expedition," reflecting on his findings, Andrea asks Luca one last question: Since many knew that he was innocent, how could it be that nobody spoke out? Luca's answer is the final reaffirmation of his role as historical witness of the spirit of Christ in his generation: "Everyone knew I wasn't a murderer ... except, of course, the police. How else can you explain the bitterness some of the old folk still feel toward me? When there were still brigands in these mountains (that is, when I was a boy), more than one man took to the woods, and committed highway robbery and murder. And the general run of the population had a kindly feeling for these outlaws. But my crime, in peasant eyes, was of a different and more reprehensible character" (182-3). The people of Cisterna, like the citizens of Jerusalem, prefer Barabbas to Luca. They resent the innocent man, because, like Jesus, he came to upset the status quo and their consciences. Both Luca and Andrea are accused of the same "sin." Don Serafino tells Andrea: "You're a pair of noble nuisances. No criminal has ever brought this neighborhood the trouble that must lie on Luca's conscience. If every generation produced a couple of innocents like Luca and yourself, there would be no more law and order" (135). Andrea answers that perhaps what he calls order and peace is that which the Lord called "a whitened sepulcher." Again the reader is taken to the biblical Jerusalem - again the echo of the Messiah's woes against the "hypocrites" permeates the air.43 As Luca and Andrea approach the center of town, Toni comes to meet them; Luca recommends him to Andrea, who promises to care for the boy's future. Andrea worries that Luca will remain alone in a hostile town, but Luca reassures him: he was never afraid, and, at any rate, he does not have much longer to live.44 Andrea and Toni will carry out

The Post-Exile Novels 155 Luca's legacy. They will continue to disturb "peace and order" so that consciences are unsettled, hypocrisy is unmasked, and the meaning of the crucifixion is not forgotten. Because of such men, light will prevail over darkness even in such desolate towns as Cisterna dei Marsi - the new Jerusalem of the soul. The Fox and the Camellias With this novel, based on the short story "The Fox," Silone returns to the topic of the anti-Fascist struggle, but this time as it is conducted outside of Italy. The choice of subject matter caused him to return to a historical period he had already explored, and readers had by now left behind;45 as a result, although he sought to complete the picture by incorporating an important aspect that he had not previously discussed, when the novel was first brought out, several critics felt that he had become "embalmed" in a certain historical period and frame of mind.46 In a conversation with Kenneth Allsop, Silone remarked that he believed that an author expresses his "attitude to life" in his first book. Then, as he grows in understanding with each year he lives, he tries to impart that growth to his subsequent books.47 The greater depth that the author passes on to this novel is a new awareness of the miracle of life, which embraces all of creation. Individuals are now understood not only in terms of their actions or temperament, but in the light of the human circumstances involving them. Nature, no longer a mere reflection of the spiritual situation, acquires a life of its own; the miracle of birth and the suffering associated with it are revealed in the common experience of everyday farm life, as is the insidious nature of parasites and predators. The subtler refractions can be seen in the identification of the reality of human life with the manifestations of nature. This constitutes the basis of the symbolism, and contributes to the novel's aesthetic effect. Furthermore, even as the novel reproposes the essential themes of love and justice contained in Silone's previous works from a similarly political, moral, and spiritual perspective, it also offers valuable insight into aspects of that historical era that still remain to be discussed. That is why the action unfolds in a "neutral" territory - the Swiss canton of Ticino - and it reveals both the conditions under which the anti-Fascist Italian refugees lived, and the ability of the Italian Fascist police to operate in Switzerland, undisturbed by the "neutral" Swiss authorities. Although the dialectical tension still rests on the struggle between

156 Ignazio Silone good and evil and the final sacrifice, as well as the essential role assigned to the power of love connects this novel to the previous ones, symbolism is not pervasive here. Irony as well is subtler than it was, for instance, in the novels of exile and in A Handful of Blackberries. The structure is much simpler than that of the previous novels. The suspense technique is used, but the events develop in an orderly pattern, save for an initial flashback into Daniele's past, describing his youth with his parents, his nature, and his older daughter's character as very similar to his own. Some of the situations, and at times the language as well, appear to be rather constrained, thus the value of the novel lies in the fact that it further expands both perspective and message. The story is set in the thirties, in a small farm community between Locarno and the Italian border. The main character is Daniele, a Swiss farmer whose concept of humanity resembles that of other Silonian heroes. Like these, early in life he reveals a natural preference for the oppressed, so that even in his boyhood he seeks the company of Italian refugees who arrive in Switzerland to escape the Fascist wrath against the "reds" and their economic and political revolt. Although he has a fulfilling family life, Daniele partakes in the underground struggle of the Italian political exiles against Fascism, together with Agostino - a young Italian from Bergamo who is somewhat more primitive than Daniele but equally committed to the cause - and by Franz, a brave and kindhearted man from the German canton who is nicknamed "Agnus Dei." A conscientious objector, Franz is "an admirable, conscientious, dependable man" who "has reconciled Karl Marx and Jesus Christ" (49). Daniele's older daughter Silvia is the heroine of the story, and, like Cristina, Faustina, and Stella, is an example of feminine courage and dignity. The story begins with an unexpected visit. Nunziatina, a gentle Florentine seamstress, comes to seek Daniele's advice on a matter that greatly alarms her. While she waits for him with his wife, Filomena, Daniele, assisted by Agostino, is tending a sow delivering her babies. The spirit with which the two men work together to help the animal portrays their friendship and their attitude toward life and nature: The delivery started well... Agostino laughed and jumped for joy; he praised the sow for the unusual beauty of her progeny, using the phrases always used at every birth ... The sow seemed exhausted. Lying on the straw, it was a huge

The Post-Exile Novels 157 mass of suffering flesh, a gray, warm, soft, quivering, complaining mass ... Daniele was in a cold sweat. Should they let the animal rest? Might not delay be dangerous? ... He plunged his bare arm into the torn womb and drew forth the obstinate little pig, clearing the way for the rest ... His movements were swift, calm and confident, almost affectionate." (26-8)

This communion of men with each other and with other creatures is interrupted when Nunziatina confides to Daniele that someone has approached her and asked her to spy on her countrymen. If she accepts, she will be salaried; if not, her passport will not be renewed and she will have to leave Switzerland. At the same time as this revelation begins to alert Daniele of the imminent danger, the fog that has enveloped the plain begins to lift: "The river mist that had lain stagnant over the plain all the morning was now slowly mounting the valleys, leaving still visible a pale, tepid sun and slowly revealing, like a rising curtain, the dark gray neighboring villages, the green-tinted hills, the amphitheater of mountains, their tops still covered with snow" (2). The "curtain" also rises on the renewed activity of the Fascist persecutors. In the lives of the political activists, periods of apparent calm are recurrently interrupted by such news as that presently brought by Nunziatina, just as the tranquility of the farm is periodically threatened by the reappearance of the fox. The oppressors, like the fox, are very clever in approaching the prey; trapping them is similarly difficult. As an old peasant reminds Daniele, "A fox is as cunning as the devil. Before touching the bait with his teeth he tests out the ground, and feels the meat with his paw, and draws it toward him ..." (40). The Fascist agent approaches Nunziatina in a similar fashion, under the pretext of bringing her news from her native Florence. But his cunning is obvious to the old woman from the moment she recognizes the patriotic rhetoric the Fascists used with the Italian school children. Nevertheless, the trap is set for her. Now she must help entrap her countrymen or she will remain caught. The real situation in which the political exiles find themselves entrapped, and their resolve in turn to set "traps" for the Fascists, provide the starting point for the main action. The underlying motifs of the dangers posed by the fox, and the resolve to put an end to the massacres, symbolically suggest the pervasive presence of the demonic and the need to eradicate it. The scriptural echo is in the episode in which

158 Ignazio Silone Jesus is warned that Herod wants to kill Him, and He answers, "Go and tell that fox, 'Behold, I cast out demons and perform cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I finish my course/"48 Daniele inquires why Nunziatina chose to tell him her story, why she did not seek help from her friends. She tells him that all of those who had always been friendly to her, upon hearing her account became circumspect and hostile, so that "in a flash she had seen smiling faces change expression, grow hard, assume a cold and suspicious look. In a few hours the whole tone of her life had changed" (34). In the Ticino, as in Abruzzo, egocentric people deny their friends in times of need. Even Daniele, when he returned to his town after his father's death, was met with hostility by his neighbors who had set their eyes on his farm. In this novel, as in the previous ones, people are initially represented as belonging to two different "races" of men. On the one side Daniele and his friends form a community where friendship, love, and a Franciscan spirit impart an aura of sacredness even to ordinary farm life; on the other are those who, under a superficial appearance of dignity, harbor only egocentric feelings and callousness. A comparison between the descriptions of Daniele's activities and those of his fellow townsmen illustrates the point. As he works in the field with Silvia, and they rid the vines of the pests that attacked them, joy, harmony, and a feeling of the sacrality of the bond between people and nature prevail. Daniele perceives Silvia as "a tame dove" about to take flight, and her smile as a light shining on the entire farm. Every gesture reveals that his is a work of love. While he does not hesitate to kill the parasites that endanger the trees, he rejoices that the camellias are late to bloom, so that they will not be harvested for the Festival of the Camellias. And when Daniele and Silvia speak about Agostino and Franz their words reveal the spiritual kinship that binds them to the men (33-44). The spirit that prevails in the rest of the town is quite different. Men abandoned to idleness spend hours in the local coffeehouses, and their political "color" rather than friendship causes them to favor one place over the other. Only tourists can afford to choose according to their fancy. In fact, if a resident should be seen several times in any particular locale, that would constitute a profession of political faith. The author comments: "In such a thoroughly democratic country a change of political allegiance obviously called for no particular heroism; but it did, however, involve a change of cafe, i.e., of an agreeable habit. Consequently it was not surprising that political changes of heart were rare" (63).

The Post-Exile Novels 159 This ironic remark reiterates Silone's view, expressed by Pietro Spina in Bread and Wine, that it is not enough to live in a free country to be free, as freedom is a condition of the spirit and is rooted in righteousness. The absurdity of the situation inspires contempt for those who, unlike Daniele, are capable of remaining idle and impassible before tragic events. The nature of such people is also implicitly rendered by this description of a family banquet: "The whole of one wall was taken up by a solid row of tables at which a family clan were seated, complete from great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers to greatgrandchildren, all seated composedly in hierarchical order in front of mighty platefuls of meat. It was impossible to say whether they were celebrating a wedding or a funeral" (121). Because of its "neutrality" many consider Switzerland "an ark of peace"; however, when the lawyer asks Daniele, "Do you know what Noah's ark was?" he answers, "Two specimens of every kind of filthy animal were put in it, to preserve the species." The lawyer specifies, "... Two specimens of every kind of species, a black and a red," but Daniele corrects him, "You mean a gray and a pink" (67). These remarks suggest that even within the absurd division of human beings between "reds" and "blacks" the local people belong to species that appear as "whitewashed" versions of those colors. Elsewhere, within the same political group, people divide into "smokers of cheap Brissago cigars" and "smokers of cigarettes." These two groups, united in their hostility to the conservatives, or uregiatt, engage in a dispute over the need to take out insurance on the upcoming Festival of the Camellias. When the members of the first group seek Daniele's opinion, they are surprised that he cannot understand why there should be disagreement about such a logical decision. Daniele, as a cigar smoker, is one of them; can't he see that they must oppose the conservatives even if they are right? Their logic is simple: "The uregiatt are in favor, so we've got to be against" (65). Irony underscores the absurd: these people, while harboring no convictions, derive satisfaction from being in the opposition. The callousness they display when they speak of the festival, not as a celebration of unity and beauty, but as a chance for disputes and a business enterprise, is in complete contrast with Daniele's outlook, expounded above. Initially, then, the division between the two "races" is clear and often underlined. The central action develops against this background. Having listened to Nunziatina's story, Daniele speaks to Agostino and

160 Ignazio Silone they decide to set a trap for the Fascist agent. The old lady will meet him in a public place, and Agostino will identify him. When the meeting takes place, the Fascist rudely asks Nunziatina whether she has heard any political comments from people to whom she has lent her services; although these are the same people who denied her when she sought advice, the woman answers each question negatively, and with such naivete that the Fascist, thoroughly irritated, decides to put an end to the fruitless meeting. Agostino follows him and beats him up severely. Thoroughly shaken at the sight of such violence, Agnus Dei intervenes to break up the fight. Franz, a man some like for his honesty and others consider "a bit cracked" because of his way of talking about Jesus "as if He were a personal acquaintance" (61), is a sort of apostle of nonviolence. The location of his shop was formerly known as the Snake Pit, on account of its previous owner, "a wealthy priest who had stored wheat there in the expectation of a shortage which would push the price up - and then, when he finally could have sold it at the price he expected, "the place was found to be full of snakes." This detail brings to mind Fontamara and Berardo's field in the Snake Pit's area of the town, as well as the snake that appears at the corn husking when Benjamin decides to leave Fontamara, in "The Journey to Paris." In all instances, it is symbolic of the moral conditions that prevailed in Jerusalem when Christ called the scribes and pharisees "You serpents" and "brood of vipers."49 The fact that Franz's carpenter shop has replaced the former Snake Pit alludes to "Agnus Dei's" Christian nature. As his reaction to the incident with the Fascist agent reveals, he believes in the "simple" truths that alone should govern human behavior. Speaking with Daniele, he expresses his disappointment with Agostino's "repulsive and degrading" violence, asking, "if we behave like brutes, like our enemies, how do we differ from them?" (61). When Daniele explains the human motivation behind their friend's reaction: - how could he forget that the Fascists had recently killed his brother? - His words summon to mind the death of Silone's brother in the hands of the Fascists. So that Agostino might escape the consequences of the incident, Daniele accompanies him to another canton. When he returns, only three days later, he finds a totally changed atmosphere. The Fascist agent suffered a car accident near Daniele's house, received assistance from Silvia, and the two have fallen in love. The young man has left for Varese, to bring the news to his family. When he returns he accidentally discovers

The Post-Exile Novels 161 Daniele's secret activity. Horrified, he runs away, but Nunziatina recognizes him and reveals his true identity to Daniele. It is the day before the Festival of the Camellias, when the trap that Daniele has set for the fox finally catches it. "At last!" he shouts, heading for the trap. The fury with which he massacres the animal reveals the symbolic nature of the act. In destroying the fox, Daniele symbolically destroys Fascism and the forces of evil that endanger peace and prey on human life. Despite Silvia's anguish, the situation seem to have calmed down when someone brings the news of the inexplicable suicide of a young man by drowning. As those who witnessed the tragic event have reported it, "When he got to the little patch of sand by the waterside he took off his coat, dropped it, made the sign of the cross and walked into the water. At that point it gets deep quickly after about fifty paces. Some little girls saw him, and they started calling out. Apparently he turned and waved to them before he went under" (132). The suicide victim is the Fascist agent Cefalu, who, having to choose between his duty to the party and his love for Silvia, chooses love, and, crossing himself, gives his life in its name. With this scene conveying both a Christian message and an act of transgression - the sign of the cross and the suicide - Silone asserts once again the supremacy of freedom - God's greatest gift to humanity - over obeyance to the teachings of the Church. This suicide, inasmuch as it is rooted in selfless, altruistic love, transcends the Christian view of suicide as mortal sin, adopted since early Christianity. The redemptive power of love is evident when comparing the description of Cefalu as a Fascist agent, and as a young man in love, and also in the changed attitudes of Daniele and his wife, Filomena. Having always lived in the shadow of her husband as a loyal servant, Filomena reasserts her human dignity, first when she confronts Daniele in order to defend Silvia, and later when she contemplates leaving him if he should be pleased at Cefalu's death. Daniele, on the other hand, reveals his moral dignity when, upon learning the identity of the victim, says, "I'm sorry about the young man." At the very same time as the story arrives at its tragic end, the local florist is decorating the allegoric cart for the following day's competition in the Festival of the Camellias. It represents "a fox holding a dove in its paws under a camellia bush" (133). On the symbolic level, the allegorical cart contains the epilogue of the story, and can be interpreted as follows: the Camellia tree as symbolic of the location, a place were beauty is displayed but not understood; the fox as a symbol of the Fascist

162 Ignazio Silone oppressor; the dove as innocence, associated both with Cefalu, who redeems himself through his act of love, and Silvia, whose resemblance to a turtle dove has been discussed earlier in this chapter. This allegory also contains the central irony of the novel: Cefalu, who was to have been the fox himself, because of love becomes the scapegoat, or the dove, that is symbolically sacrificed to the political fox he had come out to serve. The novel's ending expands the theme of the power of love that pervades all of Silone's work: to find nobility even in the enemy and thus move beyond the theory of the two human "races" representing good and evil. But unlike the previous novels, where symbolism naturally reveals the richer meaning and irony is used in counterpoint, here the dialectical tension is not realized, and in the goodness that infuses the various characters and episodes there is a discordant, melodramatic note that prevents the novel from achieving the artistic levels of the previous ones. The author's starting point - a short story loaded with facile symbolism - obviously conditioned the development of the novel. In fact, the fox and the trap, though not as extensively used as in the short story, are still overused. The new ending, with Cefalu's sacrificial death, is rather contrived. In fact, given the very short time that elapsed since their first encounter, their last dialogue is still conducted in the polite form, and the scant information about their mutual love, such a tragic conclusion, appears unlikely or at least premature. Finally, Cefalu's waving to the girls while he is drowning brings to mind Luca's nobility when he could not kill himself out of compassion for the beggar, and sounds a discordant note, which might have been avoided by a more thorough development of the conditions leading to this scene. To conclude, I find that the main value of the novel is its representation of a historical reality that has not often been dealt with in literature, and which reveals the author's implicit comment on the kind of "neutrality" that a part of Swiss society, as well as the Swiss authorities, practised during the Fascist era. As for its artistic merits, it fails to achieve the level of Silone's previous novels, and ranks - in my view - among his lesser works. Severina When he died, in 1978, Silone left an unfinished novelette; some time thereafter Darina Silone edited and completed it with remarkable skill and integrity. Originally the title was to have been La salvezza di suor Chiarina [The salvation of sister Chiarina], but after the first three chap-

The Post-Exile Novels 163 ters Silone, at his wife's suggestion, changed it to La spemnza di suor Severina [The Hope of Sister Severina]. Although the change was due to practical considerations (dislike of the name Chiarina and concern that foreign readers wouldn't know how to pronounce it),50 the variant merits attention, for, as I will argue, it bears on the reading of the work. As Darina Silone explains, the author left most of the chapters either entirely finished or substantially written. He also left notes, entire pages and paragraphs, and sketches that she used to reconstruct parts of the fourth chapter as well as the two final ones. Where there seemed to be a need to connect, complete, or expand, the editor used passages derived from Silone's other writings, and in particular from The Seed Beneath the Snow. Fortunately, she knew Silone's method, his thought, and all of his works so well that an impossible task became feasible, and the author's last message did not remain undelivered. In a review of Severina I wrote in 1983,1 discussed the effect of the editor's interventions on the work, and noted that because it lacked the author's final touches, it should not be read as his last novel, but rather as Darina Silone suggested, "come documento della lotta di uno scrittore con la morte [as a document of a writer's struggle with death]."51 The importance of that struggle is enough to justify the inclusion of Severina in this volume. Like Silone's novels and his other literary works, Severina embodies the author's insight that suffering and tragedy are inherent in human life and yet are not sufficient to subjugate the human spirit. Severina, who speaks from the author's point of view, as the male heroes previously did, expresses as much in these words: "There is a sorrow that is inevitable, that is inherent in the human condition, and one must know how to face it and befriend it. I think that one mustn't ever fear desperation; even Jesus at the beginning of His endless agony, of that agony that still lasts, believed that he had been abandoned and experienced a moment of despair. It is human, if the evangelist tells the truth, it is even divine, to despair, but sincerely, seriously and for fundamental things."53 According to Darina Silone, the author's rendering of the character of Severina was also influenced by his admiration of Simone Weil. Perhaps if he had been able to complete the novel before his death this might have been made more evident. In its present form it is hard to see how Severina's thought and life could possibly reflect, other than remotely, those of the French intellectual. Having set the previous novel in Ticino, in Severina the author returns to Abruzzo, but not to the suggestive landscapes capable of evoking scrip-

164 Ignazio Silone tural archetypes. Civitella is in fact an ordinary village where the San Camillo De Lellis Institute happens to be located. Severina, the author's first female protagonist, is a young nun who teaches at that institute. In the late sixties, during a period of student and worker unrest, Severina witnesses an incident of police brutality that results in the death of a young man; before she can recover from the horror, the Mother Superior instructs her to either refrain from appearing as a witness, or to stand by the official story fabricated by the authorities, lest the institute be denied accreditation. When she refuses to bear false witness the mother superior feels confident that she can be persuaded to remain silent; but Severina, having prayed and examined her own conscience, decides to tell the truth. The local press gives great coverage to the incident, but all efforts to interview her are fruitless, as she apparently vanishes. She reappears when Don Gabriele, the institute's spiritual director, pays her a visit at the infirmary, where she has spent two months recovering from pneumonia. The open-hearted exchange between these two people as they experience different but equally serious crises allows the author to engage in a disquisition on religion and faith, which further clarifies the positions already expressed in his other works, most particularly in The Story of a Humble Christian. Don Gabriele's confession that he is a priest because his mother destined him to the priesthood before he was born, that he does not believe in God, and that he finds the Copernican vision of the world contained in the Catholic creed unacceptable, is met with serenity by Severina. (Given the importance of her statements in understanding Silone's final message with regard to faith and religion, these are extensively cited and translated in my discussion.) To Don Gabriele's surprise Severina tells him that he is under no obligation to believe, and that to force oneself to believe is both destructive and against truth. She then goes on to confess: I too haven't believed in God for a long time any more. Perhaps I never did. I tried to, as you did. I must have deceived myself, otherwise I would not have entered the convent. I didn't deny the possibility of the existence of God, but I found no convincing evidence of it. I agree with you, there is no certainty. Finally I ceased to torment myself. I prefer to meditate on Christ's words: 'You will know the truth and the truth will set you free.' And on those of Paul the Apostle: 'Where there is the Spirit of the Lord, there is freedom.' If God exists, he will find us. Perhaps he will reveal himself to us some day, then we will have to accept him. For the time being I don't worry any more: it can't be a sin to follow one's conscience."53

The Post-Exile Novels 165 After these remarks, again solicited by Don Gabriele, Severina speaks about the Church, asserting that it no longer thirsts for righteousness, having chosen to become the advocate for the status quo. However, just as the oppression that it still exerts has ancient roots, so does the revolutionary spirit. In fact, even Christ abandoned the Temple. On two occasions Don Gabriele asks the same question that is found at the end of Fontamara, "What can we do?" and again, "What must we do?" Severina answers: "We mustn't lose our moral indignation before injustice. We mustn't abandon the quest for truth." And also: "I know that it isn't an answer, but surely we will both have to 'take the leap,' to quote Cardinal Newman, who also stated: 'The first Vicar of Christ on earth is one's conscience.'"54 To follow their consciences both the nun and the priest "take the leap" and leave the Church. Severina returns to her father's house and plans to begin a new life dedicated entirely to helping the poor. Her choice is rooted, not in pity nor in the belief that the poor represent a better humanity, but in her conviction that "la verita e nella loro esistenza" [Truth is in their existence! (83). However, as she tries to find a job to gain the financial independence that she needs to carry out her project, she realizes that the authorities she had disappointed have marked her for rejection from every position. At one of the locations, the Bellavista Institute for the elderly who are poor and blind, she discovers that it houses no blind at all, because no applicant ever fits the requirements for admission. As the irony contained in its name implies, this is simply a monument to the current particular brand of democracy. When she is rejected from yet another job, Severina persists in her efforts and decides to remain a few days in L'Aquila. There she meets two students; they become friends, and she joins them at a rally to protest unemployment, after having first made sure that it is a pacifist demonstration. When the police begin to shoot in the air to try to maintain order, she thinks that one of her new friends is in danger, and tries to protect her; but she is struck by a stray bullet that hits her in the back. At the hospital, realizing that she is in critical condition, she asks her father to help her donate her kidneys and her corneas. Like Silone, she asks to die without religious rites. At her bedside, Sister Gemma, a nun who loves Severina and is concerned about the salvation of her soul, asks Don Gabriele to administer the last rites, but he simply recites: "Qui perdiderit animam suam propter me inveniat earn" [He (or she) who will have lost his (or her) soul for me - may he (or she) find itl (126).

166 Ignazio Silone Interestingly, Don Gabriele says animam suam rather than vitam suam, as is found in the Gospel of Matthew.55 It could therefore be argued that he chose this form because he did not want to suggest that Severina's salvation was in her spontaneous, generous act toward the student she tried to protect during the rally. An accidental death, even when it is due to an act of love, does not carry the same redemptive meaning as a willful sacrifice - as knowingly giving one's life for the sake of others. Don Gabriele's use of the subjunctive inveniat, rather than the future inveniet found in the scriptures, is also not accidental. Don Gabriele, not being a believer, could not at this moment of crisis recite a verse that implies absolute faith. He therefore uses an optative subjunctive, which merely expresses fervent desire and hope. Silone's last message is clear: Severina's willingness to risk losing her life to uphold the truth as she sees it (in the light of pure will and pure conscience) is the hope for her salvation. This meaning, in my view, is also suggested by the original title Silone had chosen for the work: The Salvation of Sister Chiarina. In fact, even as Severina's last words are "Spero, suor Gemma, spero. Mi resta la speranza" [I hope, Sister Gemma, I hope. I still have hope] (127), Silone is suggesting that in that very hope is her salvation. The symbolism of vision and light present in the work, both in its demonic manifestation in the "Bellavista" [beautiful sight] institute for the blind - and in its redemptive nature in Severina's gift of her corneas,56 is also inherent in the name Chiarina, a name that embodies clarity and light. Furthermore, given the recurrence of the motifs of light and darkness in Silone's works, and the symbolic meaning that is attached to them, a similar message can be perceived here as well. The most appropriate epigraph for Severina, Pampaloni writes, would be this verse by Peguy: "La foi que j'aime le mieux, dit Dieu, c'est 1'esperance." Not in the sense meant by the French poet, but as "the extreme Christian residue in a world that has lost faith and has denied charity; it is not a virtue of joy, fresh and inventive, but a virtue of resistance; the last light or proof of not surrendering."57 As usual, the critic captures Silone's thought in a brilliant synthesis, but I do not believe, as he goes on to say, that this hope should be understood as "the Christian bequest to contemporary secularism" nor as "the religious moment of lay consciousness." In my view, this hope is rooted in extreme honesty and humility; it is born of the same sentiments that Silone expressed in Emergency Exit when he wrote:

The Post-Exile Novels 167 An unconquerable nausea at verbalization and facile consolation restrains us from abandoning ourselves to generalization. A respect for the sanctity of the transcendent prevents us from invoking it for no purpose and using it as a drug. It would seem to me pure blasphemy to reduce God to a 'problem.' And if no pride can keep us silent about our moments of loneliness and anxiety when we recall with sharp nostalgia the paternal home, with its old order, peace and security, we must add that love of truth has always prevailed over love of comfort.'^8

The allusion to the parable of the prodigal son is evident; for Silone the return must not, however, be motivated by nostalgia or convenience. It was the Lord's supreme gift of freedom that caused the son to leave and the father to let him go; it must be supreme love and truth that cause the return. In Severina - the last document of his struggle against death - Silone most unequivocally points to the quest for truth with pure will, and the courage to fully embrace it as the only possible "emergency exit." In the folder containing the manuscript, Darina Silone found a note containing the following thought about death in the words of Benedetto Croce: "Quando verra, che almeno ci sorprenda al lavoro" [When she comes, let her at least find us at work]. Silone was in fact at work when death arrived for him, and although he died before he could see the fruit of this last labor, he must have known that others would benefit from it, and thus died arboring hope that his final battle would not be met with defeat.

7

The Plays

In his penetrating study on modern theater, Nicola Chiaromonte writes that its novelty consists of its having brought back to the stage - for the first time since the Greeks, though in a different manner - the drama of the individual who confronts the problem of truth: "From Ibsen to Strindberg, to Shaw, to Chekhov, to Pirandello, theater does not deal any longer with one or another conflict, one or another human case, one or another passion, but rather with truth. Or, better yet, with the problem of truth."1 Silone, too, in his dramas and in his other works, confronts the problem of truth, understood as life's fundamental organizing principle rather than as a philosophical problem: truth as an absolute and as the way indicated to humanity by Christ, rather than as relative to individual perception. In fact, beyond the individual stories, conflicts, and human cases that he presents, the ultimate implications are invariably perceived. .His method of arguing the point from different perspectives reveals the complexities of the process required merely to arrive at a human perception of the truth. This, when it is rooted in pure will and spiritual freedom, in turn evokes the higher truth of which it partakes. Chiaromonte, who besides being a fine critic had worked with Silone in the direction of Tempo Presented and knew him very well, wrote about the rapport between reality and truth in Silone's works as follows: To be attached to the real life of his own people does not mean, for a writer, to use them as a subject for his work; it means first of all to start with them, and remain at their level of consciousness, bound to their traditions and able to understand them, to judge them, to sort them out... In a writer, the will for truth is first of all a moral labor carried out on himself, from which alone he derives

The Plays 169 the ability to discern and judge; it is a cultural labor that allows him to see, in the diversity and confusion of the present, the solid woof of tradition, which is, after all ... the only terrain upon which one can move towards the future ... It would be silly to say that he writes for the people; but he certainly writes for those who are capable of following him on the road of extreme simplicity: a simplicity ... of the kind that Boris Pasternak invokes in one of his poems as the modern writer's ideal... A literature that does not reach this simplicity, that is, one that does not deal with the serious and simple truths that are at the bottom of the surface actual event, is not a morally fecund literature.3

Chiaromonte's words find an echo in Silone's own comment about his poetics. In his "Note to the Reader" introducing his first play he writes: The author, whose starting point was the representation of a certain contemporary society, was drawn by painful degrees to search into its structure. The most notable thing about this society is its antiquity: customs, characters, castes, essential institutions have all remained those of classical comedy and tragedy. In modern drama a new element appears in the guise of a protagonist: the proletarian ... If the condition of this personage appears to us moderns the closest to human truth, it is because between the ancients and us there has come Jesus Christ. In these two thousand years the Christian revolution has not succeeded in destroying the classical human relationships of ancient comedy and tragedy, but has enabled us to judge them from a radically new standpoint. In the Middle Ages this judgment was personified by the saints and martyrs, but for some time past it would seem as if the men who "hunger and thirst after righteousness" had "gone out of the temple." Nonetheless it is they who carry within themselves the truth of Christ.4

These remarks are an essential guide to the appreciation of Silone's plays. They suggest that the reader or the spectator, having focused on the immediate reality that is represented, should step back from it enough to perceive it in the light of universal history, as an expression of a moment in the human spirit's quest for truth. And He Hid Himself Like all of Silone's works written in exile, this one too was first published in German.5 The author, having already written novels, short stories, an essay on Fascism, and a political satire, now explores the

170 Ignazio Silone possibilities of the drama. But even in this work he does not adhere to the literary trends of the time. In fact, this play does not lend itself to easy comparisons with other works of the Italian theater. The most that perhaps can be said is that in his choice of subject matter Silone reveals similar concerns to those of Ugo Betti and Diego Fabbri. In the importance he places on ethical and human values, which are upheld even to the ultimate sacrifice, he expresses the selfsame sentiments that prevail in Manzoni's tragedies. Also, although the play deals with the reality of common people, it does not have much in common with the kind of naturalistic theater that Zola envisioned; and though it does incorporate expressionistic techniques, the fact that it builds its main dramatic tension in its reenactment of the via crucis makes it possible to perceive it as a sort of passion play. As Silone himself indicates, the title comes from John 8:59. An analysis of the work reveals that there are considerable variances between its initial version - which is the only one translated into English - and the final one.6 In the first, the author places greater importance on stage directions; in the last his obvious aim is to free the work from restrictions and redundancies, and to enhance its structural effectiveness. To that end he also eliminates many characters while reassigning parts of their dialogues. The most obvious exclusion is don Zabaglione, the local demagogue who represents the voice of the Fascist regime. This change results in a structural and stylistic improvement, but at the same time deprives the play of its comic relief when the author eliminates the humorous and ironic remarks connected with that character. As a result, the entire weight of the very serious ideas that are presented can be felt. The elimination of the local notables and the beghine as well has a similar effect; while fostering greater effectiveness, it reduces variety and movement, particularly in the first part of the work. Finally the transformation of the friar from Gioacchino to Celestino connects this play with The Story of a Humble Christian, while it further clarifies its underlying theme: that there cannot be redemption without sacrifice. Celestino's continual reference to the agony of Christ functions as a leitmotif but, at the same time, has the effect of an obsessive refrain that is almost driven like a nail into the reader's - or spectator's - consciousness. Had Silone rendered the friar's voice more arcane and prophetic, he would have communicated the same message while also achieving better stylistic results. On the other hand, some structural changes yield positive results. Cases in point are the elimination of the three women, whose function was a poor substitute for the classical chorus, and the change from four acts to two

The Plays 171 parts or tempi, incorporating five main quadri, or tableaux. The first part encompasses Pietro Spina's return to Abruzzo from Paris, on the eve of the Ethiopian War, to restore the lost sense of brotherhood among his people and to organize a revolt against the Fascist regime, as well as his assuming the name of Paolo Spada to elude the Fascist police. The second part centers on Luigi Murica, a young Communist turned informant, who confesses his betrayal and redeems himself when he refuses to denounce Pietro Spina to the Fascist police, suffers torture, and dies in a manner re-enacting Christ's sacrifice. The autobiographical dimension of the Pietro Spina character, and the play's derivation from Bread and Wine,7 are the two aspects that critics have invariably underlined in their readings of the work. But apparently they have not focused much attention on the greater attention now allotted to the character of Murica and to his story. In my view, when the author structures the work in tempi, with the first mainly focusing on Pietro Spina and the second on Murica, he is establishing a new rapport that merits further critical attention. In fact, it is not by coincidence that the man who hides Pietro Spina upon his return is now called Agostino, for this play - even more than the novel - unfolds along the traces of an Augustinian itinerary. Already in the novel, the voices of Pietro Spina / Paolo Spada and Luigi Murica could be perceived as belonging to the same autobiographical character; now, however, Pietro Spina's attitude is different: he interrogates Murica with intransigence, and Murica's confession is more forthcoming and courageous. Their exchanges bring to mind the classical dialogue of the confessions, from Augustine to Petrarch's Secretum, and one seems to hear not two different people but the voices of one man and of his own conscience. In the light of the new revelations about Silone's cooperation with the Fascist police, presumably to save his brother, the dialogue can be interpreted as a therapeutic answer to an imperious need to tell the whole story - a need to reveal the imperfect face that hid behind the hero's mask, so that the two could come together in a real identity and the troubled self could achieve some wholeness. The only other moral alternative to this choice would have been suicide - an alternative that the author considered in real life and examines here through Uliva's rational defense of nihilism, which culminates in his self-destruction. Whereas it is impossible to ignore the fact that Silone draws from his own life experiences to create his works, a reading that is too anchored in the autobiographical aspect is at best reductive. Therefore, hav-

172 Ignazio Silone ing acknowledged the sources of his inspiration, the critical attention should remain focused on the textual reality. In this regard, two of the most stimulating critiques are Penelope Wacks's essay, "Conflict and Commitment in Ignazio Silone's Ed egli si nascose" and the comments made by Silvio Giordani on the occasion of his stage revival of the first version of the play (1989). In her analysis, the British scholar discusses both the autobiographical aspect and the author's anagogical use of the scriptures. Although her initial thesis is that in the play Silone re-enacts the spiritual journey that he and many others of his generation were forced to undertake because of political circumstances,8 her exposition reaches beyond this interpretation to reveal the broader implications of such a spiritual journey. Silvio Giordani - in the course of a long interview - rejects the commonplaces associated with the author and his work, and explains that he did not hesitate to produce the first version, twenty-four years after it had last been on the stage, because he found it still very relevant. He then defines the work as "a play of souls and conscience," that embodies "the drama of every human being" while also offering a "truly global portrayal of the crisis of our times." Recalling that at the very first encounter with the work he had experienced the unique sensation that the play had only one character, he suggests that Spina's revolt, Annina's anxieties, and Murica's very human duplicity are "several faces of the same geometric figure that could be defined as love." In an almost Pirandellian reading, Giordani goes on to argue that "Annina, Murica, Spina, Uliva, even Don Zabaglione, are aspects of ourselves, of our sensations and moments." These characters "seem real,' wellrendered and always perfectly credible but they also are, all without exceptions, within ourselves." It is the individual's choice to be the one or the other. For Giordani the play's temporal aspect is of marginal importance, since what remains in one's mind is not the time of the events, but the endurance of the human spirit. The Silonian hero is like Hector, who goes to meet Achilles, the predestined victor: "Achilles as a shiny warrior, perhaps even hired by rich merchants, who will once again tear Spina / Hector to pieces, dragging him through the dust with his fully loaded, brand-new chariot"9 And yet, Giordani implicitly suggests, neither the victory nor the defeat is final. Giordani's interpretation is of great value, for it enriches the reading of this play. What remains to be considered, however, is the reason for the structural changes the author made when he revised it, and whether they carry semantic importance. In a letter dated 5 May 1950, Silone

The Plays 173 writes to his Swiss publisher Oprecht that he has "radically" rewritten the play, obtaining "very satisfying results."10 The statement indicates that he sought to achieve more than stylistic goals. In my view, when Silone called the two parts of the new version Primo tempo and Secondo tempo, he was responding to the need to adopt a more modern approach, but he was also implicitly underlining the two different "times" in the life of Pietro Spina: the first, informed by political ideology, and pitting Pietro Spina and Luigi Murica on opposite sides as the "inquisitor" and the political "sinner"; and the second, in which the political dimension recedes, the imitatio Christi takes center stage, and the communion between the two men is restored. In addition, the importance of Pietro's dialogues with Uliva - which clearly expose and reject the nihilistic stance - and the effect the contact with human suffering has on Pietro Spina make it possible to perceive the first part of the play as posing the problem of human dignity and social justice and exploring the related arguments, and the second as suggesting the solution. One of Silone's most compelling speeches, entitled Habeas animaml, comes to mind in this regard, for it speaks to the same problem in different words, and it suggests that social justice must be rooted in spiritual values and freedom. On this same topic, addressing the 1950 Convention for the Freedom of Culture, Silone denounced the new, institutionalized methods of oppression as "the diabolic secret of the Russian technique for the disintegration of the soul," and suggested that those methods had to be unmasked and countered. Citing the incredible progress brought by the affirmation of habeas corpus in protecting the integrity of physical life, Silone passionately argued for the need to protect the integrity of spiritual life: "Given the nature of the threat we must face, our password must be the most universal, the simplest, and at the same time the most radical one: the vindication of the sacred and inalienable nature of the human soul. Habeas animam: that all human beings, whoever they may be, have a right to their souls."11 This right is implicitly reclaimed in all of Silone's works. This play dramatizes the process that is involved. As it stands in its final version, And He Hid Himself can also be "read" as a series of tableaux depicting the development of the story as in a progression of "triumphs." The opening one shows Agostino's stable, where Pietro hides upon his return. The comments of those who should be Pietro's comrades in the struggle against Fascism contain an implicit confession of their slothfulness. Having lost their human dignity, they

174 Ignazio Silone only hope for survival, at any cost. Even Nunzio Sacca is reticent when he is called to help Pietro, as he is in a similar episode in Bread and Wine. These cowardly feelings, when compared to Pietro's "madness" reveal the prevailing moral condition. It is significant that Pietro now finds Agostino and other comrades rather than the "good Samaritan" Cardile Mulazzi, for presently the focus is on the redeeming power of "confession." When Pietro tells Agostino and the other men why he could not stay away, he reveals that his political struggle does not seek political ends, but rather seeks the will for freedom and brotherhood that has been lost as a result of Fascist oppression and propaganda. When Nunzio Sacca, moved by his words, returns to being the friend he once knew, Pietro achieves his first "triumph." The second scene, set in a local inn, features Pietro disguised as Don Paolo Spada, and depicts the atmosphere in which the Italian people are immersed on the eve of the Ethiopian war. Uliva and Pietro engage in an important dialogue from two opposing intellectual stances: one nihilistic, the other humanistic. As a symbol of the destructiveness inherent in the nihilistic stance, Uliva dies when a bomb he is building apparently explodes in his hands. The third scene is set in a different inn, in Pietrasecca. Pietro, still disguised as Don Paolo, having learned about Luigi Murica's betrayal and the arrest of many comrades, discusses the events with Romeo, another party operative. Their dialogue stands in dramatic contrast with the one between Pietro and Luigi's woman, Annina. When she confesses that she went so far as to offer herself to the Fascist persecutor to help Luigi escape, the human side of the political reality reveals itself in all of its horror. Nevertheless, when Murica arrives, bringing a letter from Don Benedetto, Pietro's beloved teacher, he finds Pietro hostile and ready to carry out the Party's discipline. Just as Uliva's words have revealed the lowest point that could be reached by someone who tries to rationally understand the impact of history on human existence, and Annina's words have revealed the spiritual and physical sacrifices that political struggle entails, Murica's words are used to retrace the entire journey of a young man who joins a political party for the sake of social justice and finds out that the price he has to pay along the way is enormously greater than could ever have been anticipated. His words echo the sentiments Silone expressed about his own situation in "Emergency Exit." Pietro, fittingly wearing the frock, having heard Murica confess that he cooperated with the Fascists out of fear, cannot carry out the punishment imposed by party rules, and rather than take the young man's life,

The Plays 175 reveals his real identity to him in an act of friendship that restores Murica's self-respect and his lost sense of human dignity. The last scene depicts Murica's home in Rocca dei Marsi, a town whose name stands in direct contrast with that of Pietrasecca. At a funeral conducted according to local tradition, the family honors the young man who has been killed by the Fascists for refusing to cooperate. From the words of Murica's parents and the other mourners, the truth is revealed. In this "Rocca" a young man gave his life, as Peter (or Pietro) did even after he had once betrayed Christ. The ritual summons to mind the flagellation and death of the Lord. The symbolism of the Eucharist unites everyone in spiritual communion. Pietro Spina joins the mourners, no longer disguised as Don Paolo Spada. The truth revealed in this detail is that he has reacquired his whole identity, and that he can put down the Spada (sword) and the disguise, and still continue his work. In fact, Agostino and his friends, who initially resented his return, now ask him to remain among them, and offer to help him return into hiding. The verse from the Gospel of John that the author uses as an epigraph to this play thus finds its echo in human history. The Story of a Humble Christian In the opening pages of the published text of this play,12 Silone claims that when he was conducting his research, he unexpectedly met an old friend who inquired about his work. That meeting - whether real or fictitious - offers him the occasion to make some important points about his poetics. For instance, when his friend asks him why a fascinating topic such as the life of Celestine V has not aroused interest among other writers, Silone explains that in Italy ethical and religious topics at a certain point became taboo for literary minds.13 Having implicitly lamented the situation, he then sets himself apart as a writer who is only interested in moral and philosophical conflicts, and in "the destiny of a certain type of person, a certain type of Christian who is caught in the engrenage of the world." Defining himself as "post-risorgimental and perhaps even post-Marxist" both in ideology and sensitivity, Silone seeks to underscore the timeless value of his message. In fact, he adds, the new book would be "a new version of And He Hid Himself."14 All of the main characters in Silone's work thus far analyzed suggest, in different ways, the idea of the living Spirit of Christ that manifests itself in history, reaffirms the possibility of a Christian Utopia, is banished again, but will never die. This work continues in that tradition, but

176 Ignazio Silone is also unique, in that here, the main dramatis persona - the "humble Christian" - is a historical character. He is Pietro Angelerio del Morrone, the medieval monk, a native of Isernia who was elected pope on 5 July 1294, was crowned Celestine V, and abdicated on 13 December of the same year. He died on 19 May 1296, at 81, a prisoner of his shrewd successor, Boniface VIII, and was elevated to sainthood by Pope Clement V on 5 May 1333, as Saint Peter Celestine.15 The short-lived papacy of Celestine V is still compelling after more than seven centuries for the insight it offers into the spiritual and political life of the time, but even more for the dramatic dilemma that is at its core. A dilemma the solution of which may be perceived from totally opposing positions, depending upon the particular sensitivity of the observer. Two great men - Dante, who was thirty during the Celestine papacy, and Petrarch, who was born in 1304 and therefore belonged to the subsequent generation - left two strikingly different opinions for posterity. It will never be possible to state with certainty that Dante alluded to Celestine V when he wrote these famous verses: "I saw and recognized the shadow of him / who made from cowardice the great refusal";16 many have nevertheless upheld this hypothesis from the very beginning, so that it is now generally accepted. Sapegno, having considered the leading interpretations, notes that it would be hard to imagine how Dante could express such fierce contempt for a man whose cult was already widespread among his contemporaries.17 But Dante's condemnation could have stemmed from his own heroic temperament, his ability to withstand adversity, his sentiments as an exile, and his disdain for Boniface VIII, whose papacy Celestine V had facilitated with his decision. Dante's ideal of the perfect Christian life combined contemplation and action - both Martha's and Mary's ways of serving the Lord. In his life and his work he was faithful to that ideal. Hence he might have perceived Celestine's longing for the contemplative life, his apparent lack of endurance in the face of conflict, and his abdication as the easy way out and as a sign of cowardice. Dante's decision not to return to Florence rather than display cordis humilitas (Epistle XII) was an immensely painful one, and yet he saw no other choice; he did not entertain any dilemmas. Couldn't he similarly have felt that Celestine's place was in the Holy See, at any cost? Silone does not express his views on the matter, but having given a brief account of Dante and Celestine, he follows it with another, on Petrarch and Celestine. The obvious intent is to offer the two different viewpoints so as to better contextualize his own. He shows, in fact, that whereas Dante might have condemned Celestine to

The Plays 177 hell for his decision, Petrarch deemed it both natural and laudable. As a more modern man than Dante, and one who was himself most inclined to a solitary and contemplative life, he could appreciate both Celestine's wisdom in acknowledging his shortcomings, and his yearning to return to contemplative life. In a comment that might have included Dante, Petrarch writes: "Let those who want to, attribute this abdication of the solitary and holy father to cowardice, since a diversity in temperament allows us to profess different and even contrasting views over the same topic; as for myself, I hold that decision, more than any other, good for himself and for the world."18 It is interesting that Petrarch spoke of "cowardice" - precisely the accusation that in those days some already attributed to Dante.19 Silone, having considered both ways of arguing the case, and having researched the historical and theological aspects of the matter, sides with Petrarch in his positive assessment of Celestine, but also goes on to write The Story of a Humble Christian as a summa of his own interpretation of Christianity. In the introduction to the work, the author defines his own research as a quest, in his native region, for traces of a Utopia that he always held dear. This Utopia, which also inspired his other literary works, is now more clearly defined, and the dramatic form offers him ample space for effective argumentation and exposition, especially when he illustrates the contrast that exists between the eschatological and prophetic Christianity of the origins and the concordatary and historicized Christianity of the Catholic Church. The action unfolds in the last decade of the thirteenth century, and in particular during the years of Celestine's real drama - the two years from May 1294 to May 1296. In Abruzzo the thirteenth century began in relative tranquillity, with the feudal lords of the region still loyal subjects of Frederick II of Swabia. In fact, when, on 8 March 1226, the imperial troops set out to fight the Lombard League, they gathered at Pescara and headed north. But the allegiance was already weakening. As the cities, inspired by the movement that had begun elsewhere in Italy, sought to gain autonomy, they met with great resistance and began to side with the Guelphs against the Ghibellines. The foundation of the city of L'Aquila, in that period, reflects the ambiguity of the moment: while it was Pope Gregory IX (1227-41) who in 1229 gave permission for the city to be built in the Acculi district, the merit is generally attributed to the Swabian emperor, or to his son, Conrad IV.20

178 Ignazio Silone Frederick II and Gregory IX were both men of great conviction and courage; because of this, the legacies they left are in great part positive ones. But the policies of the emperor and the influence of the Sicilian School, which flourished at his court, were not felt anywhere in Abruzzo as much as was the influence of the teachings of Saint Francis, whom Gregory IX both helped and protected. The concept of Christ as "human model," of which the saint of Assisi was both an advocate and a living example, found a very fertile soil in the native region of Celestine V and Ignazio Silone. And in fact it is not mere coincidence that in Abruzzo, as in Umbria, figurative art mainly dealt with the sacred, and that poetry - elsewhere inspired by "angelic" mortal women - was almost invariably inspired by authentic religious fervor. Likewise, in the controversy that arose between the Spiritual and Conventual followers of Saint Francis, the local monks, following the example of the hermit from Morrone, sided with the Spirituals. They had no more doubt concerning the true spirit of the Franciscan rule than they had concerning the teaching of Jesus Christ. The Franciscan nature of Celestine's Christian faith brings to mind Jaroslav Pelikan's writing on Christ, "the divine and human model," where he recalls a fresco attributed to Giotto that is found in the upper basilica of Saint Francis, in Assisi. It is part of the pictorial rendition of Saint Bonaventure's Legenda maior, and it represents the dream of Pope Innocent III as follows: The pope, attended by two watchmen, is asleep on a sumptuous canopied bed. He is, even in his sleep, wearing a miter, the symbol of his episcopal office, as well as an elegant cape. Francis, the subject of the pope's dream, is, by contrast, attired in the coarse habit that became his trademark, with a cord about his waist and with bare feet. His left arm is akimbo, but with his right he is holding up a building, the venerable basilica of Saint John Lateran ... the seat of authority for the pope as bishop of Rome. The church was tilted at a dangerous angle, and was, in Innocent's dream, in danger of falling over until this young man came to its rescue."21

After the dream - so the legend goes - Innocent granted Francis his request to establish his first Franciscan rule.22 The juxtaposition of the two men is especially intriguing, since each of them, in a different way, is a true man of God. Pelikan notes that "the painting and subsequent history join to compel the question, though not to answer it: Now which of the two was truly the 'Vicar of Christ'?" (144) But even as that question remains suspended, others arise that perhaps

The Plays 179 can be answered. For instance, why would the artist want to draw such a dramatic contrast between two men who were not so strikingly different? Historically, Innocent III and his papacy did not exhibit the characteristics implied in the fresco, and even the legend of the dream suggests that he was indeed sensitive to the spiritual needs of the Church. The chronology of events can perhaps add another metaphoric meaning to this important statement attributed to Giotto. Though Innocent III (Lotario de' Conti) died in 1216, and Francis in 1226, the fresco - probably completed in 1297 - was painted at the time of Celestine's death, which widespread rumors attributed to murder by one of Boniface's agents. Jacopone da Todi, like Giotto a contemporary of both Celestine V and Boniface VIII, in his famous epistles (LIV; LVI-LVIII) paints very different pictures of the two men. Now, if the fresco symbolically represents the two different ways of serving the Lord, considering the moment it could also speak of the very different Christianity of the hermit from Morrone and the power-hungry Boniface. In fact, the contrast that Pelikan noted in the fresco, and the question that he asks, are at the very core of the Story of a Humble Christian. The work follows the classical dramatic structure, and is organized in three "parts" rather than "acts," perhaps because the author wanted to suggest that, like a sacred representation, it deals with truth rather than mimesis naturae. The first part is introductory and expository; it supplies the antecedents, comments on the events that are taking place, and recreates the time, place, and atmosphere in which Celestine's "story" took place. The second part contains the rising action that begins when, as a result of outside forces, Celestine's drama is set in motion: it then encompasses the conflict, reaches the paradoxical climax wherein the pope is a captive of the papacy, and promotes the falling action that culminates in the abdication. The third part reveals the enemy forces at play, includes the possibility of escape and its denial, and culminates in a vision of tragic death followed by sainthood. Silone very effectively conveys the authentic Christian spirit harbored by ordinary people. Concetta, a young weaver, and her father, Matteo, are emblematic of the type of humanity that constitutes the extraordinary moral wealth of the region.23 When the play begins, it is Concetta who addresses the public, expressing her anguish, and that of every good Christian, over the current conflict "between men of the Church, who argue about different ways of interpreting the Gospels and the rule established by Saint Francis" (46). Even the local priest, Don Costantino,

i8o Ignazio Silone from whom she sought guidance, seems more concerned about pleasing the rich. By contrast, the friar of Morrone, Pietro Angelerio, sides with the Spirituals, and, like Angelo Clareno, Jacopone da Todi, and countless others, has remained faithful to the first rule of Saint Francis. The arrival of a group of Spiritual friars at Matteo's house only shortly precedes the appearance of the priest, as the Church's "inquisitor." The exchanges that follow illustrate the profound differences between the evangelical Christianity of the persecuted friars and the behavior of the official Church, which is best exemplified by the "scandal" of the conclave. The priest attempts to defend his institution, but appears burdened by that weight and is soon "converted" by the words of the friars, to the point that when a soldier arrives to enforce the law, he vouches for them, and before leaving, he warns Matteo of the imminent arrival of the ballivus. The doctrinal aspect of the drama is thus spontaneously developed; but the author's voice can at times be heard in the ironic notes that are typical of his style. The scene, which remains constant, gains in artistic quality from the counterpoint that the author creates by alternating the focus between the serious argumentation of the older men, and the refreshing demeanor of the youngest friar, who seems invaded by the very joy that inspired Francis to compose his famous "Canticle of Creatures." The character of Cerbicca, the local jester, also adds a ludic element to the drama. Silone, always careful to show that his "saints" are common mortals, first introduces Pietro Angelerio at a distance, as a saintly friar seen from the perspective of those gathered at Matteo's house. A mythic aura seems to envelop him until he appears; then, at a closer distance, under direct focus, he acquires very realistic qualities, particularly by virtue of such anecdotes as the "parable" of the cooked fava beans. Pietro Angelerio can thus be perceived both in concrete terms, as a wise but ordinary man, and in his extraordinary nature, as a source of spiritual strength for other Christians. At the news that the cardinals, for long deadlocked at the conclave, have elected him to the Holy See, the hermit is profoundly shaken; his conscience faces a cruel dilemma: to be a pope, and possibly commit a sin of pride (for a humble and common man should not presume to become the vicar of Christ); or to refuse, and possibly commit a sin of cowardice and insufficient faith in the help of the Holy Spirit. The anguishing experience culminates in Pietro's acceptance. He gravely tells his friends: "I will be Celestine V."

The Plays 181 The choice of the new pope resulted from a compromise among the powerful Orsini, Colonna, and Caetani cardinals who then held the reins of the Roman Curia. It was also favored, for self-serving reasons, by King Charles II, whose influence became manifest from the moment he escorted Celestine to L'Aquila for the investiture, and continued when the pope, delaying his move to Rome, took up temporary residence in Naples. Silone effectively renders the various aspects of the very complex situation: Celestine, armed only with his Christian faith, cannot meet the demands of his new mission; all his good intentions do not spare him from making enormous mistakes. Now his vocation for a pastoral and ascetic life is of little help, his spiritual needs are derided, and even his Morronese friars abandon poverty like the Conventuals. The papacy - as he soon finds out - does not entail spiritual leadership, but rather the practice of nepotism; the settling of pecuniary strife among religious institutions; the approval of erecting shrines to the Virgin with money raised by taxing the patrons of local brothels; and even seeing people organize fake pilgrimages in his name to bring innocent young girls to prostitution. Finally, the king demands that the pope agree to bless the war, and is utterly incapable of understanding his refusal. Celestine's distress does not impress Cardinal Caetani. The Church, he says, cannot be led with the same principles that the pope used when he was the spiritual guide of the Morronese monks; the Church is like a state, and "one does not govern it with the Pater Noster" (112). Nor, for that matter, does one govern it democratically, by decentralizing its power, and thus encouraging dissent. In fact, he concludes, had the cardinals known Celestine's views, they would not have elected him. The pope's reply is that the Holy Spirit can intervene again, even before he dies. The "humble Christian" must submit again to the test; he must decide if a true Christian can ever place the secular needs of the Church above the spiritual needs of his conscience. Silone, having carefully structured the dialogues to illustrate how the needs of the institution invariably corrupt the ideal that it is founded upon, seems to be somewhat anxious to bring the "story" to its conclusion. In the economy of the work, the dramatic moment culminating in Celestine's decision is, in fact, inadequately developed. The sudden remark that the Holy Spirit can intervene twice (128) seems to originate from a need to counter Cardinal Caetani's provocation rather than from genuine religious conviction. As a result, the reader or the spectator cannot feel the full impact of the inherent pathos.

182 Ignazio Silone Even the third part of the drama is less effective than the previous ones. Celestine returns to his mountains only to realize the impossibility of resuming his former contemplative life. Persecuted by Boniface VIII, who is afraid of losing the papacy,24 Celestine escapes, but is soon arrested and imprisoned. The mystery surrounding his time spent in hiding, and his offering himself freely to be incarcerated and perhaps killed, connect Celestine's "story" with Luigi Murica's and evoke the redemptive sacrifice that is also consummated at the end of each of Silone's novels. Both of Silone's plays appear to be intended for the reader more so than the spectator; hence they are more likely to be appreciated by those interested in the author's thought and in Italian literature than by scholars of Italian theatre and dramaturgy.

8

Silone's Literary Fortune: 1933 to the Present

The Early Years: 1933-1944 Silone wrote his first three novels in Switzerland, where he was a political refugee from 1930 to the the end of World War II. Emerging from the depth of the most severe crisis that he experienced in his life, he found an "emergency exit" in his literary vocation, and went on to become the first Italian writer to denounce the plight of the poor farmers, or cafoni. Unlike Verga, he felt that the cycle of oppression that historically held the poor in captivity could and should be broken. But his concern transcended Marxist influence and materialism; his focus was on the dehumanizing power of oppression - on the realization that it deprived the oppressed of the spiritual dimension of human life. Thus, in his work, he went beyond the tragic vision to reveal the liberating power that is within the self. Of the circumstances and sentiments that compelled him to write his first novel, he states: "I began to write Fontamara ... driven by homesickness, and by a passion for politics that could not find any other outlet."1 Having requested sick leave from the party, Silone could devote all of his energy to this new endeavor, and he composed the novel almost compulsively. Writing to Gabriella Seidenfeld, in July 1930, he speaks of his work in progress and describes his Fontamaran cafoni" as follows: "They are so alive that I speak with them. I believe that they are the first farmers that appear in flesh and blood in Italian literature"; and also, "Some nights I suddenly awake and I have to get up to jot down some notes; at other times I am in the garden and I run to my room to change a paragraph in one of the chapters."2 Although the end of the preface to the original Italian version bears the notation "Zurigo, estate 1930" above the signature

184 Ignazio Silone "Ignazio SILONE," there is convincing evidence that the novel itself was not entirely finished before 1931.3 Silone wrote the novel in Italian, but finding it impossible to have it published in that language, he had it translated into German by Nettie Sutro. In this form it reached its first readers in the spring of 1933. Its immediate popularity made it easier for the original Italian version to be published by the end of the same year. American and English editions followed in 1934, and the novel was subsequently translated into twenty-five other languages.4 While the readers of other countries read Fontamara, and learned about an Italian reality that was totally unlike the one heralded in the Fascist media,5 at home the book remained exiled along with its author. The historical circumstances that made it impossible for the novel to be released in Italy colored the views of many readers abroad. Some American reviewers tended to stress its political aspect to the point of presenting fiction as fact. Clifton Fadiman, for instance, wrote in The New Yorker: "Fontamara is a little epic of peasant resistance, based upon an actual event in recent Italian history - the little book exists only on a profoundly political level." A similar view was more forcefully expressed by another reviewer, who wrote: "The value of this book as a pamphlet depends on its truth, or partial truth ... if it is even fifty per cent true, Italy under Mussolini is worse off than Italy under the Austrians or the Lombards."6 For Mark Van Doren, who admired Mussolini, the success of Fontamara was unwarranted, and most likely due to a lamentable, widespread hatred of Mussolini and his government. In a biased review he wrote: "That such a novel as this should have become the best seller of fourteen countries of Europe, is powerfully suggestive of the high degree to which Mussolini and his government must be hated beyond the borders of the country which they bless. It is a poor novel by any test, even that of propaganda."7 At the other end of the spectrum, the work was well received by some of the most prominent intellectuals of the time. Trotsky's endorsement was among the first. On 19 July 1933, he wrote: "What a wonderful book! From the first to the last line it is directed against the Italian Fascist regime, against its lies, its violences, its infamies. Fontamara is a work of passionate political propaganda; but the revolutionary passion rises here to such a height as to create a true work of art"8 Graham Greene described Fontamara as "The most moving account of Fascist barbarity," and argued that "it should be read to its merciless end by all who believe that there are different brands of fascism, and that the Italian trademark is any better than the Swastika."9 Bernard von Brentano wrote from Zurich: "A hundred armed rich men

Silone's Literary Fortune 185 can beat up a poor, disarmed man, bring him to his knees, humiliate him, exploit him. The poor man appears to be defeated, but he is not. Read Fontamara's story, my dear reader, and see how freedom itself begins to write when everyone thinks that its defenders have been incarcerated for good."10 Thomas Bergin, as could be expected, offered a more balanced critique when he wrote: "One cannot overlook the thesis of the book for it is the intensity of the author's political belief that gives the work its power. The mentality of the Italian rustic - his patience, his flashes of wit, his fatalism - these are the real object of study ... the propaganda, if it is such, is in the facts. The presentation is objective, impersonal, restrained."11 Thanks to endorsements such as these, from America, England, and elsewhere in Europe,12 by 1935 Silone's name was well recognized, and readers looked forward to his next novel, which was already forthcoming. Silone wrote Bread and Wine in the year of the Ethiopian campaign, when Mussolini's expansionist aims were leaving little hope for social reform;13 and by the time the novel reached its first readers, the war had practically been won. The subsequent declaration of the Empire, the accord for the Rome-Berlin Axis, and the Spanish Civil War were the events that determined the political climate.14 As a result, one might expect that critics would perceive this novel as well as a work of political propaganda; instead, the majority of them - both in America and in Europe - spoke of its artistic merits. The sociopolitical conditions represented were also discussed, but a greater balance was maintained and the author often numbered among the best contemporary writers, his novels being compared with those of Ralph Bates, Andre Malraux, and Sinclair Lewis: "Ignazio Silone's Bread and Wine ... is less brilliant than Ralph Bates's The Olive Field, and less exciting than Man's Fate by Andre Malraux, but probably more impressive than either ... It establishes Silone, whose Fontamara appeared in 1934, as a writer of power and consequence."15 On the same page, an advertisement read as follows: THOMAS MANN cables: "a loving knowledge of the Italian people and a passionate love of freedom are here most happily united." DOROTHY CANFIELD: "Absorbing, exciting, exalting." ALBERT ALPER: "One of the fine postwar novels in any language." THE SPECTATOR, LONDON: "It is impossible to doubt that this is an author whom his country will one day be glad to claim." TAGES ANZEIGER, ZURICH: "A masterpiece!" MORNING POST, LONDON: "A wonderful book." BOOKOF-THE-MONTH CLUB CHOICE FOR APRIL.

i86 Ignazio Silone "Similar comments, by critics such as Rahv and Kazin and Grube, appeared in New York and Toronto during that same month. One review declared: "Bread and Wine is in itself a grand, resounding parable. Like all those who write knowingly of simple people, Silone captures their cosmic humor ... Here is the voice of Italy's Sinclair Lewis, repeating more subtly and more poetically - 'It happened here.'"16 Philip Rahv compared Silone's two novels to date, saying, "Although Fontamara, a story of peasant life in Fascist Italy, was unusual in its integration of a profound humanity with a materialistic reading of reality, its scope was hardly wide enough to serve as a complete test of its author's talent. This second novel reveals Silone's full stature; he must now be recognized as one of the most truly contemporary and significant writers of our times."17 Alfred Kazin, reviewing the book for the New York Herald Tribune, wrote: "Ignazio Silone has written this compassionate, sunny, wonderfully sensitive book in a spirit that is as rare in modern letters as it is in modern consciousness." And Grube wrote, "This is a great book and the finest novel I have read for years."18 But these views were not shared by the Catholic press. Evidently the concordat between Mussolini and the Vatican was bearing poisonous fruits even across the ocean. The degree of stress and the tone of the reviews, however, clearly betray a total lack of objectivity. As a result, their value is as evidence of the hostility directed to the author from certain pulpits, rather than in their critical judgment. The following is an example: "A true characterization of this work would be that it is a vulgar, pessimistic, bitter and extravagantly improbable campaign document aimed at Italian Fascism. Naturally the author is well acquainted with the background of his tale, but his characters are no more than the puppets in a propaganda show."19 Interestingly enough, while a Catholic journal labeled the novel vulgar anti-Fascist propaganda, elsewhere it was appreciated precisely because of its religious content, and critics spoke of the superbly transmitted sense of communion, of the author's respect for the sacred, and of a tendency toward mysticism.20 This sense of mysticism would be even more prevalent in Silone's following novel. Written when Italy and Germany, joined by Japan, appeared to be gaining considerable momentum in the war, The Seed Beneath the Snow immediately met with a great deal of approval when it first appeared, in 1942.21 In Switzerland, Oprecht sent copies to the reviewers at the leading newspapers with an abstract of the novel and a letter in which

Silone's Literary Fortune 187 he recommended that the book be reviewed before Christmas. The response was remarkable: the majority of the critics underlined the way that Silone now exalted the values of friendship and sacrifice instead of social struggle; the focus was on the human and spiritual dimension of life.22 On the other hand some pointed out that even though under the circumstances Silone could not have made another political statement openly, the underlining message was nevertheless political.23 In America, critics noted the allusive nature of the novel, but interpreted it as another political statement. The fact that Pietro Spina, the novel's hero, was much more interested in the Franciscan way of life than in politics was not considered, and even the biblical symbolism of the "seed" received a political explanation. John Cournos, in the New York Times Book Review, offered the following interpretation: "He tells us that Mussolini's days are numbered, even as are the days of the snow beneath which lives the seed of truth, ready to burst into flower at the appointed time. Hence the title ... The Seed Beneath the Snow."24 Another critic, still speaking in strictly political terms, missed the real spirit of the novel when he offered the following interpretation: "Silone is a writer of stature, who, given the right material, can stand any comparison with Hemingway and Steinbeck. But in the Seed Beneath the Snow he did not choose the right material. If he had planned to show us the inner rebellion of the Italian farmers against the new unnatural system that Mussolini had imposed on them ... he has fallen victim of his own realism ... even the end of the novel does not give us the feeling that beneath the cold snow of the new regime there is a seed of hope."25 When a reader projects a preconceived viewpoint on a literary work, rather than extract one from it, the interpretations that result are at best reductive and often enough entirely fallacious. In some of these critiques, the unwarranted projection onto the novel of the readers' political sentiments led them to opposite conclusions, though they started from the same point. What both reviewers failed to realize is that the Bible contained both the archetype of the Silonian "parable" and the grammar for a more objective interpretation of the novel's symbolism, and that by now Silone found greater inspiration in Saint Francis and Gandhi than he did in Marx. Criticism of the three novels, during this period, was in the form of reviews, and as such it could indicate at best the possibilities of the works. After the war, longer, more in-depth and objective studies would begin to appear. In Italy the novels could finally be read.

i88 Ignazio Silone The Defining Years: 1945-1970 Italian Criticism When Silone returned to Italy, in 1944, he was soon forced to realize that the literary circles had tacitly decided to consider him still "exiled." The Communists, having unsuccessfully attempted to reenlist him in their ranks, became clearly hostile. Brunello Vandano speaks of one particular event that triggered that hostility: "In 1945, Ruggero Grieco proposed to Silone a meeting for the 'alliance of democratic writers'; Silone declined ... It was the first step towards the regimentation of the intellectuals under the communist aegis. From that moment communist intellectuals and their flankers decided that Silone did not belong to literature."26 Luce d'Eramo writes that in the postwar years Communism could have been a positive force in changing Italian culture, but it wasn't, and instead conditioned it according to its own tenets. In the literary field, both the production of works and the recognition that writers could receive - by means of positive reviews and literary prizes - were highly orchestrated and partial. This is contrary to Emilio Cecchi's opinion that such conspiracies were the figments of the imagination of some reviewers.27 On their part, the Catholic critics avoided discussing Silone's work because his idea of Christianity did not align with the teachings of the Church. As d'Eramo states, "in the immediate postwar period, none of the critics expressed a truly free opinion; there was preconceived hostility or preconceived favor: in fact the positive comments came from the Socialists and were also, therefore, politically conditioned."28 As is often the case, here as well the truth lies somewhere in between the two diametrically opposed views. Curiously enough, d'Eramo contradicts herself on the next page, when she says that Guido Piovene, as early as 1945, wrote an objective critique of Silone's work. Another notable example of independent thinking is provided by Francesco Jovine, who, in an article dated November 1945, expresses surprise at the cold reception of Silone in Italy, and cites Svevo's case to denounce the Italian critics, who, with their usual provincialism, failed to accord due credit to Italian books written abroad. Jovine then points out the merits of the novels, and their author's ability to write pages of singular beauty in which one could find complete correspondence between image and expression, idea and representation. He also notes some negative aspects, such as the lack of correspondence between the humble condition of some characters and their erudite discourses. Even

Silone's Literary Fortune 189 in Fontamara, his favorite novel, he finds that the author is less effective precisely when, in the final page, he tries to achieve greater dramatic effect.29 The validity of Jovine's comments reveals the sensitivity that one would expect of a novelist of his stature. Among the critics, it is not until 1949 that a fairer, more intelligent reading of Silone's work can finally be found; its author is Geno Pampaloni. Recalling how he had first read Silone's Fontamara and Bread and Wine while he was still in the army, Pampaloni writes: "his books feverishly passed from hand to hand, with the secret anticipation of that freedom that seemed to be awaiting for us beyond the war ... as a first testimony of the 'new world' and the new poetry." He then goes on to discuss Silone and his work, noting that from Fontamara to The Seed Beneath the Snow one can perceive a weakening of the narrative force, which results from an increased preoccupation with the moral component. At the same time, the social realism recedes to the point where, although the author's fundamental motives remain unchanged, the same cannot be said of his forma mentis." Thus Silone's answer to the question "Che fare?" is increasingly less intelligible from a political standpoint, and exceedingly more ancient: it is an answer rooted in the human heart. Pampaloni further comments that though the farmers of the first novel represent a lyrical paradigm, in the following novels they tend to be a symbol - the tragic symbol of man in the world. Likewise, in Fontamara the future is realistically foreshadowed, but in the other novels, as well as in Silone's first play, the future is that of the infinite time of man and of the seasons on earth. Therefore, the critic concludes, Silone is much closer to Peguy than he was to Verga, and his claim, in the preface of Fontamara, that he writes without allusion or hidden meaning, is a contrary-to-fact assertion.30 Pampaloni's critique remains both important and relevant, even in the light of all the criticism that followed. But his positive voice was then still an isolated one. Claudio Varese, writing in that same year, points out the lack of recognition of Silone in Italy, and suggests that both the public and the critics find Silone's style wanting because the author does not support his moral research with a well-integrated linguistic structure. Thus, whereas in representing the world of his cafoni he is at his very best, when he opts for mystic, sentimental, and moralistic allusions he reveals his lack of literary experience. Varese, having briefly analyzed both Silone's novels and his first dramatic work, concludes that the author's wealth of observation, facts, and moments of a new type of reality, the moral component of his work, and the numerous tableaux that he creates have not as yet found artistic unity.31

190 Ignazio Silone The gap that existed between the popularity that Silone enjoyed abroad and the lack of recognition in Italy was used as an opportunity to circumvent the issue even when Mondadori published the first revised version of Fontamara.32 Italian critics, realizing that Silone could no longer be ignored, sought to find an appropriate label that would allow them to discuss his works in terms of the Italian literary tradition. Most of the reviews, however, rather than deal with the subject matter in a direct and analytical way, focused on the diverging critical viewpoints in Italy and abroad. Thus, the situation that Varese had denounced years before fully emerged as the so-called caso Silone. For some time, critiques would fall into two main categories: positive ones from those critics who, having ascertained the extent of the gap, attempted to bridge it by directing readers' attention to the moral content of the work, and negative ones, mainly based on its formal aspect of his works. The situation remained substantially the same even when, in 1952, Silone published his fourth novel, A Handful of Blackberries.33 Anyone who reads A Handful of Blackberries will not be surprised that it aroused some the strongest negative sentiments ever expressed by the left about Silone's writings. Carlo Salinari, a well-reputed literary critic and a Communist, wrote a long article in which he says that Silone, a loser in all he attempted to do in life, had created in Rocco De Donatis a character that was everything that he himself could not be, including all of his forbidden dreams, all of his unattained fancies. However, "this impotence of Silone as a writer" should not be attributed only to stylistic reasons, or to his "coarse, provincial taste," since in the writer is reflected "the impotence of all of his personality." Salinari recalls the distaste that came over him as he read some passages of Fontamara, and experienced the same distaste, and even worse, reading Silone's latest novel. Silone, in his view, is quite incapable of creating a feeling, a character, a place. He then illustrates the author's flaws, reaching unsightly levels of bitterness that ironically create a backlash: "There is always something false, calculated, insincere, that prevents him from abandoning himself to the flow of the story. His humor is unnatural, like that of a seminarian; his characters are rigid and awkward like marionettes; the inner moods are registered with the warmth and passion of a bookkeeper [...] his attitude is sour and viperine, like that of an aged old maid [...] he pours venom and slavers over everything that comes near him."34 Giuseppe Petronio displays similar sentiments. In an article that reads

Silone's Literary Fortune 191 much more like a politically motivated personal attack than a critique, he enumerates Silone's shortcomings, all the while commiserating with him. In his view A Handful of Blackberries only represents "an ugly political action and a useless artistic action."35 These comments are perhaps more vitriolic than some, but not unique for this period. They are noteworthy because they reveal both the lack of objectivity and the hostile posture even critics of this caliber would display when they were influenced by political passion. In this environment, it is not surprising that ten years after Silone's return to Italy, most volumes on the history of Italian literature either excluded his name or barely mentioned it. This is noticed by Enrico Falqui, who in an article entitled "Un po' di giustizia" [A Little Justice] writes: For Bargellini he is ... one of those novelists who "color their narrative with tendentious social motifs." For Sapegno he is one of those exiles whose experiences ... "today come back to us with all the strength of their human and political message, but also with the revealed weakness of a precise literary vocation" For Russo: "His fame as a writer has developed abroad for reasons that have nothing to do with art and literature" ... Raya ... "an exile in Switzerland to start with" [he did] indeed "as a novelist in 1930 portray Fontamara and his Marsican peasants" but "the political malice that guided him, along with literary inexperience, ... brought the writer closer than it should have to the latter" that is, to the cfl/om.36

Having stressed the point, Falqui adheres to Pampaloni's views of Silone's novels and adds that the symbolism which the critic noticed in the novels of exile is even more evident in the new novel.37 But an indication that things were beginning to change is the fact that Falqui's article appeared in an issue of La Fiera Letteraria, an important literary publication that dedicates a "Galleria" of four pages to Ignazio Silone. Among the most interesting articles published there, is one by Emilio Pesce which discusses A Handful of Blackberries, its primitive Christianity, the author's ability to unite symbolism and legend, and Silone's choice of a language that reflects his fight against falsehood in that "he bans from his language all possible mystification."38 In the same issue, Paolo Milano defines the socialism of Silone's novels as a modern version of Christianity, and explains that by intentionally avoiding experimentalism, the author remains true to the ancient modes in which human dialogue was rooted. "Hope, kept alive by the humiliated and oppressed ... stands upon a quasi-Tolstoyan pact among simple

192 Ignazio Silone friends ... politics becomes again evangelical and the seed matures in new catacombs."39 Unlike Pesce, Milano feels that A Handful of Blackberries is neither realist nor symbolic and not even a novel in the conventional sense of the word, but is, instead, an apologue - a book that should be read and enjoyed as a popular legend. Finally, Ajello's article focuses on the libertarianism of Silone's characters. He suggests that in Fontamara, the author shows how the ancient wisdom of the cafoni kept them outside official reality and the "greatness" sponsored by the regime; later, in Bread and Wine, "The libertarian impetus of the individual ... takes on the meaning of a supreme assertion of Human dignity ... it is a sort of 'civitas Dei/ to realize this theological Utopia means to restore a dialogue with God."40 Ajello finds that although the religious theme of Bread and Wine is carried on into The Seed Beneath the Snow, Silone does not elevate Pietro Spina's final sacrifice to the level of martyrdom, and the latter novel remains fragmentary and hard to read. Finally, A Handful of Blackberries represents man's eternal sacrifice for truth and justice. Giorgio Petrocchi draws some parallels between Silone and Alfieri and then explains that he found in Habeas animam! and in the essay "Emergency Exit," the nucleus of Silone's narrative invention and style, by simply following the ethical and symbolic threads of the narrative discourse.41 Finally, Alfonso Gatto refutes the biased reviews written by Carlo Salinari, Giuseppe Petronio, and Emilio Cecchi, and speaks of Silone's work as "real poetry, which is the very fervor of truth."42 This issue of La Fiera Letteraria remains of fundamental value in the assessment of the criticism of Silone's work, since it is the first sizable evidence of a disposition to change on the part of the Italian critics. Nevertheless, the numerous articles contained in it did not succeed in establishing the necessary climate of fairness for a more objective treatment of the author's work,43 and the situation was still basically the same when the partially revised edition of Bread and Wine came out in 1955. The following year, when Silone published The Secret of Luca, there finally was some positive change. The Italian critics saw in the novel a turning point in Silone's themes, and found it to be more in tune with their artistic ideals, for the author had achieved "an art that radiates without any longer 'burning.'" The formal and thematic aspects of the new work were in fact closer to the aesthetic canons of the Italian novel, and the author, no longer the social novelist of the past, had finally written a new and better type of novel, relying solely on his imaginative talent.44 Mario Mariani as well saw the novel as "a veritable turning point," but strangely he felt that Silone was no longer dominated by moral and

Silone's Literary Fortune 193 political passion and, had abandoned his emblematic language to reach the spontaneous modes of the tale.45 Some critics, such as Elena Raveri Croce and Geno Pampaloni, were touched by the delicate love story at the center of the novel, and underlined Silone's ability to transmit it as such. One of the best comments on the particular quality of this new work is Leone Piccioni's. Noting that Silone is a man of character and the author of "superb essays" on the most important topics of human interest, he sees the evolution of the writer's narrative art as follows: "His probed uneasiness with abrupt narrative has slowly mellowed into a habit that is internal to his art and to his nature, and which at the end imposed it as a genre that is absolutely congenial with his temperament: spontaneous, alive, not at all artificial, adhering to deep popular roots.46 The positive response to the novel, which culminated in the award of the Premio Salento 1957 to Silone, was soon offset by the critics' lukewarm reaction to the subsequent one, The Fox and the Camellias. The Fox and the Camellias, Silone's only novel set outside Abruzzo, was not counted among his best by the Italian critics; Valerio Volpini, Aldo Camerini, and Leone Piccioni were among the few who had words of praise.47 But their reviews, rather than contribute to the critical discourse, merely indicate their authors' attitude towards Silone. The general disappointment over this novel was soon to give way to enthusiasm when Silone published a revised version of The School for Dictators in 1962. In fact, its success was such that Silone began to be accepted as a writer of consequence in Italy as well. Those who for years had sought to find an appropriate label to define Silone could finally brand him a "political writer." Luce d'Eramo writes: "The School for Dictators allowed our reviewers to breathe a sight of relief over the puzzle of Silone's placement because, given the book's obviously political topic, they could now rest on the hypothesis - held for twenty years - that Silone was more of a political writer than a narrator, according to a separation of the genres wherein the one would seem to exclude the other ... Once they established this work's political nature, critics could read it without stylistic reservations, and recognized that as a political prose writer Silone did know his business."48 In view of the above, it is not surprising that when Silone published his next volume - a collection of prose writings - Italian critics received it even more favorably. While it took two decades for Silone to gain greater recognition at home, in that same period positive critiques of his works consistently appeared in the rest of Europe and elsewhere, with American critics taking the lead.

194 Ignazio Silone Foreign Criticism A clear evidence of the divergence in viewpoints between Italian and foreign critics in the postwar years may be found in a passage from Alfred Kazin's notes "From an Italian Journal," quoted in the introductory remarks to Chapter 6 of this book. Kazin is very perceptive in his judgment of the prevailing attitudes and the reasons behind them. In his view, Italian writers are obsessed with the canons of literary style; hence a writer like Silone - who spent his time in politics rather than polishing paragraphs - could not be accepted; nor could the foreign critics' unwarranted mention of his name alongside Dante's be palatable to Italian intellectuals.49 One example of this is Paul Potts's article entitled "Not Since Dante," in which he speaks of Silone's work as "the cantos of a modern Dante" and places the Marsican author at the summit of world literature together with the greatest artists of all times.50 As the first section of this chapter indicates, foreign reviews initially focused above all on the political aspect of Silone's works. Once the war was over, scholars began to pay greater attention to their intrinsic value; as a result, some valid interpretations emerged. Whereas in the previous years, criticism was mainly expressed in the form of book reviews or short articles, now longer and deeper analyses of the novels began to appear. As early as 1952, Nathan A. Scott, Jr., devoted a chapter of his book to Silone. In it he discards the commonly held view of "socialist realism" as misleading when applied to Silone, and offers these insightful comments: The spiritual dimension of human life is the very warp and woof of his books. At no point does he adhere, as a partisan bigot, to a Marxist dogma of the nature of man in history, though he writes of the social and political problems ... His writing is profoundly non political ... The modern political problem, to be sure, gives point to his dramatic situations, but Silone's world and the human beings with whom he peoples it are as old as the hills: broadly seen it is the world of Socrates and Christ and Augustine and all noble spirits - the perennial human world in which life and dream are at odds.51

He also notes that Silone uses Christian mythology to present a view of history wherein love can be a redeeming force: his revolutionary hero is an extension of the presence of Christ, whose action contain 'a sacramental quality which we must apprehend and lay hold of, if we are to be saved from the wreckage and disorder of contemporary history.'"52

Silone's Literary Fortune 195 The religious aspect of the novels was also discussed in an article by Jacques Sorel, writing under the pseudonym Boris Litvinoff, which appeared in Brussels in that same year. Silone, he says, "is among all the great contemporary writers, the one who has come closest to the sources of evangelical Christianity."53 This statement anticipates the views that Sorel would publish in 1951 in Les Beaux Arts, and which would focus in particular on the Pietro Spina trilogy. For him, Silone's works prefigure the return of modern man to evangelical Christianity, and the sacrifice of the hero assures not only his own salvation, but that of society as well; in this sense, he concludes, "Silone's literary work brings us its exalting message. A message that will inspire, beyond frontiers, all those who, to save their vexed souls, will throw them courageously in the tempest of this most tormented of all centuries."54 Nicola Chiaromonte offers a similar interpretation. In his view, Silone's "socialist realism" is profoundly religious, and Silone uses irony and symbols as means of expression. Without further elaborating this point, Chiaromonte goes on to note that the author is more interested in rediscovering the sense of ancient 'lieux communs' than he is in discovering novelties," since for him "very little has really changed since the advent of Christ."55 Although both Sorel and Chiaromonte were Silone's friends, their comments are not biased, but reflect the authors' appreciation of Silone's particular sensibility. In 1953, American criticism dealt mainly with A Handful of Blackberries, and though the novel was generally well-received, the interpretations varied, emphasizing at different times the author's simple yet artistic style, the folktale qualities, the satiric tone, and the anti-Communism. While these reviews are evidence of a continued interest in Silone's works, they added little to their interpretation. A major contribution came in 1956, when R.W.B. Lewis devoted an entire chapter of The Picaresque Saint to Ignazio Silone. In it, the noted scholar speaks of Silone's primitive Christianity, arguing that although it is profoundly felt, has not yet been fully articulated; and yet, "incomplete as the form is, never more than implicit... it comprises ... the most effective image of human experience that contemporary fiction has devised." For Lewis, Silone is a moral force which "emerges from a poetic appraisal of experience, and moves towards a poetic account of it: an account, that is, which discloses in experience, and with a certain measure of beauty, the characteristic movement of the soul." With great intuition, Lewis dwells on the importance of Pope Celestine V in

196 Ignazio Silone Silone's life, pointing out that "Silone's religious sense is, more than anything else, the product of his long meditation on the career of Pietro da Morrone. Its essence - its inner dialectic - is present in all Silone's novels, but almost the full substance can be detected in Bread and Wine."56 Then, allowing himself to engage in sentimental rhetoric, Lewis blends together the author's life and his art to argue that: "In the early nineteen thirties, Silone was engaged in a tremendous conversion from politics to love. But that conversion was finally effected only by a corollary transition from politics to art. This was the road of Silone's salvation; and along the road, like an Abruzzese Saul of Tarsus, Silone died into life." Lewis's conclusion, still relevant today, is that Silone's novels display a timeless journey into history and beyond it, and their theme is "charity in motion." Luca, the hero of the latest novel, and one whose name has biblical echoes, represents the point of arrival of that journey, and as such is "the best image of sacrificial human heroism that contemporary fiction can offer." Another important study that contributed to the fortune of Silone's work in America is found in Irving Howe's Politics and the Novel. Discussing Silone's first four novels, Howe compares the political theories behind Fontamara to the lines of latitude and longitude on a map which, while not being themselves the reality, they do lead the reader to the correct meaning and perspective. In his view, this novel "is the one important work of modern fiction that fully absorbs the Marxist outlook on a level of myth and legend." In the novels of Pietro Spina, instead, Silone first "envisages, and tries to realize a fraternity beyond sainthood and beyond good and evil." Finally, he perceives A Handful of Blackberries as a cultural and spiritual act aimed at redeeming a very troubled time. Noting that in the Italian intellectual world Silone is "seldom honored or admired," Howe argues that this is due to the author's politics and to the fact that the critics are tied either to their own party machine, or to the rules of aestheticism.57 The author of introductory essays to the Meridian edition of Fontamara and Signet's Bread and Wine, Irving Howe remains one of the strongest voices in Silonian scholarship in America. Besides the numerous reviews of The Secret of Luca that appeared upon its publication several noteworthy works of literary criticism published in this period comprise analyses of Silone's novels. William R. Mueller, for instance, discusses A Handful of Blackberries in his volume on the prophetic in modern literature. His focus is on the religious aspect. Silone's

Silone's Literary Fortune 197 thesis, he explains, is that power corrupts ideals; his world is made up of oppressors and oppressed. In that world Rocco and his friends typify the Christian community envisioned in the Bible as the "remnant" "those who are graced with the gift of membership in the Body of Christ" and are "called upon both to be oppressed and to relieve oppression on earth."58 Explaining the distinction made in Christian doctrine between the Church Visible and the Church Invisible, Mueller shows that, though the Christians differ about the destiny of those belonging to the Church Invisible - that is, those who follow in the steps of Christ but remain outside the Church Visible - Silone's view is unequivocal. Accordingly, Rocco, the main character of A Handful of Blackberries, is a true member of the community of saints, destined, together with his friends and the whole of mankind similarly bent, to be in the eternal presence of God. Lazzaro's trumpet is, according to Mueller, the symbol of their hope. In The Tragic Vision, another important work (which inspired the title of the present volume), Murray Krieger discusses Bread and Wine as well as And He Hid Himself. He finds that in those works, "Political idealism and moral-religious idealism join, as ways of sanctifying the individual in their abhorrence of institutions, religious or political." However, the Christian and the revolutionary fail to merge into one main role - that of the modern saint - because in Silone ideology overpowers art. In Krieger's view, had Silone opened himself to the tragic vision and to the consequent recognition of man's limits as well as his potential, had he explored the essence of "the metaphysical rebellion of prideful defiance," his novels and his play would have also opened to art.59 Harry Slochower includes Silone in his book on literature and philosophy. Analyzing the first three novels, he finds that Fontamara resembles a folk story, while in the novels of Pietro Spina, the desire to bridge politics and spirituality eventually reveals that every idea, to survive, has to become formalized, but in so doing it becomes corrupt. Out of the decay, like a phoenix, there arises a new man; he in turn collects followers, and in organizing them, the process of decay resumes. "It is the story of man forever seeking rejuvenation of spirit in the catacombs and forever requiring coordination and adjustment."60 The secular corrupts the spiritual, yet modern man cannot ignore the need for action; herein Frederick J. Hoffman finds the key to the literary dialectics which Silone expresses by "reviving and actively engaging the Christian symbol of the Incarnation."61 His "mortal no," which is at times man's only recourse, is the same "no" that the heroic characters in

198 Ignazio Silone Silone's novels say when the situation would otherwise force them to act against conscience. In addition to criticism discussing the fundamental meaning of Silone's works, there are many studies dealing with secondary aspects, such as the myth of America and the use of folk belief. On the first topic, Donald Heiney argues that Silone, who "never wrote effectively about anything else than his region and his people," would have been more sarcastic in his portrayal of America if it were not that royalties kept rolling in, thanks to America's "mysterious ways of turning thorns into gold."62 Lamentably, Heiney missed a good occasion to remain focused on the topic at hand, and rather than analyzing what Silone did in fact write about America, he speculated about what Silone might have done, unleashing unwarranted sarcasm against him. In his article on folk beliefs in Silone's work, Robert A. Georges touches upon a very important topic which remains to be further explored.63 His observations, the fruit of valid research, should serve as a stimulus for more comprehensive studies. The last work of this period, The Fox and the Camellias, was more popular in America than in Europe. Reviews were both numerous and generally favorable, particularly those of the Christian press. The following is one example: "The Fox and the Camellias reads like one of those novels of the past that we marvel at for being so fresh in essence even though its concerns are no longer ours. Only it is Silone himself who has done the work of time, winnowing out the universal from the ephemeral ... Human goodness survives no matter how bad systems become."64 Also, a review that appeared in Time magazine, while addressing the novel's shortcomings, went on to stress the distance Silone had traveled. "The Fox and the Camellias is a book beyond Fascism, Communism, socialism, or even humanism. It is a Christian statement, arguing essentially that all men are fallen creatures, but none is beneath the redemptive grace of God or above the pale of his conscience."65 But even as the disposition was favorable, objectivity often prevailed. In the 24 May 1961 issue of the New York Times, "Books of the Times," Orville Prescott introduced his sober review of the novel with the following: "Because of his reputation as Italy's most distinguished writer, Ignazio Silone can count on a respectful, international reception for everything he writes. Nevertheless, "The Fox and the Camellias" is not likely to enhance his reputation" (23:3). This position, supported by the

Silone's Literary Fortune 199 critic's discussion of the novel's flaws, was closer to the one held by Italian critics, who generally felt uneasiness before this novel - an uneasiness that in my view is justifiable, since here Silone does not achieve the effectiveness necessary to convey the pathos inherent in the events he narrates. At the end of this second part of the survey, it appears evident that the Italian critics, save for some notable exceptions, were initially very biased and hostile, with critics such as Salinari and Petronio leading the way. While it is fair to remember that their critiques were based on the original versions of Silone's novels of exile which were more verbose and melodramatic than the final revisions, bitter and personal attacks have no place in literary criticism. Even those who were not biased against Silone, all too often started from a comment about the work and went on to speak about the author. The tense political climate and the literary canons, still influenced by Croce's aestheticism, were two factors that greatly affected the situation. On the other hand it must also be noted that the foreign critics read the novels in translation, and hence remained unaffected by the strident notes in Silone's early prose - notes that did not please the native critics' aesthetic sensitivity. In time, the defused political climate, the stylistic changes that the author made in revising his early works, and the publication of his new ones contributed to moving the situation forward. The 11 April 1954 issue of La Fiera Letteraria, extensively cited above, can be considered a milestone in Silonian criticism. The numerous articles were constructive and to the point, and Silone was for the first time at the center of attention in a leading literary periodical in his native land. The "caso Silone" was not yet solved, but it was a good beginning. In the first two decades following his return to Italy, Silone was often the target of charges publicly brought against him by his former comrades, who branded him a "renegade" and a "traitor," with the obvious intention of demolishing him and thus invalidating his denunciation of "red Fascism." He answered those charges while also seeking to convey - in his writings and in all of his activities, - the true sense of his struggle and his values. Perhaps in no other manner could he have succeeded in capturing the attention of foes and fair-minded people alike than through the pages of his Uscita di sicurezza (Emergency Exit), for which he received the Premio Marzotto.66 The work allowed him to tell his story and to be finally heard and understood; and even though the Communist press remained silent, many intellectuals who had previously rushed to judgment now began to recant.

2OO Ignazio Silone Carlo Bo, recalling how Silone, having returned to Italy enveloped in "a light of world-wide glory," had met with reservations on the part of the Italian critics, explained the changed situation as follows: "There is a disproportion between the two moments ... undoubtedly in our reserve game there is a great part of the responsibility that is ours alone. Probably we are not ready for, or we are not yet entirely accustomed to, a type of literature that does not hide its moral roots, and are instead inclined to distinguish, to separate, two worlds that rather, for Silone, are profoundly united."67 Carlo Salinari, rereading Silone's last novel of exile, admits having been wrong in his judgment of Silone's work, and, with great insight, points out that Silone uses the filter of memory to place the story at a distance in time and space so as to create a real situation in an unreal world. Thus, the entire story "acquires the savor of legend and symbol," which, "eluding the dimensions of political ideology, seeks to measure itself against the standards of the great eternal truths."68 As these two examples demonstrate, Italian critics were now willing to read Silone's work with greater objectivity; as a result, for the first time Silone received more attention at home than abroad. The prevailing tendency was to review the entire Silonian production in order to arrive at a greater understanding of the author's poetic world, and the focus of the critics shifted from the political to other aspects: many stressed the need to bear witness, while others spoke of the morality and lay religiosity of the Silonian hero. Arnaldo Bocelli, for instance, in his review of Emergency Exit also makes some interesting observations on Silone's entire work. He points out that in Silone the desire to bear witness is connected with his humanitarianism, and that starting from a position of political struggle, he has moved increasingly toward ideal forms of action: from Socialism to social humanism rooted in evangelical Christianity. He then draws a distinction between the new work and the novels, in that, while they all draw from the same autobiographical experiences, only in the novels is reality transfigured into symbol. Silone's social realism appears to Bocelli as "surrounded by an allegoric aura, even when it reaches expressionistic congestions or deformations, especially by means of a certain 'humor/ which in Silone sometimes accompanies the most tense dramatic quality."69 Like Bocelli, Maria Letizia Cassata points to the desire to bear witness, and to the power of love, as central to Silone's poetic vision.70 Alessandro Scurani, on the other hand, deals with the question of the Christian faith in Silone's works. He finds that there is, in all of them, a religious

Silone's Literary Fortune 201 yearning, and that although Silone's main characters object to "pure religion" and to "historic religions/' there is also, in their lives, the acknowledgment of a divine presence that they do not reject.71 While the critical discourse was predominantly confined within the limits of an article or a chapter, most of the focus remained on the message. As this survey has shown, critics did notice the allusive nature of Silone's language, but there were hardly any studies dealing with the stylistic aspects of his work. Once monographs began to appear, the situation could be in part remedied. One of the first Italian critics to publish a book on Silone was Ferdinando Virdia. Analyzing Silone's works, he suggests that Fontamara should be read as a novel, a political pamphlet, an essay on custom, and a document of social reality and human conditions. Bread and Wine, on the other hand, explores the relationship between revolution and Christianity, and Pietro Spina, its emblematic hero, is a sort of moral conscience. In the sequel to that novel, The Seed Beneath the Snow, Virdia finds a complete detachment from active politics, and a Utopia that is based on humanistic and Christian principles. In his view, the political component reappears in A Handful of Blackberries, and is then altogether abandoned in The Secret of Luca, where the search for justice reflects an inclination toward human and civic redemption. Finally, in The Fox and the Camellias the novelty is that the author now engages in psychological analysis and introspection.72 Virdia's book offers a general overview rather than in-depth analyses of Silone's works; its importance is that it constituted a sort of watershed, and ushered in a different type of scholarship. When Silone published his second dramatic work, in 1969, his prestige in Italy was further enhanced. To many The Story of a Humble Christian appeared as a synthesis of all of his previous works. Falqui, for instance, made precisely this point when he stated that Silone, with his representation of the contrast between Celestine V and Boniface VIII, is simply debating the problem of opposition to oppressive authority, and that, in attributing to the rebel the merit of being closer to Christ's teachings, he is suggesting that the answers are to be found within the individual conscience. This, Falqui concludes, "is the fundamental theme that includes, develops, and condenses all of the other themes in Silone's entire production."73 Judging from the critical attention that it attracted, this new drama is among the most popular of Silone's works, but the reviewers this time did not offer many diverging views; hence trying to discuss them would

2O2 Ignazio Silone result in much repetition. Falqui was among the many scholars, Italian and foreign, who paid homage to Silone on his seventieth birthday. Those writings, as befitted the occasion, spoke of the importance of the writer, the reason for the delayed recognition at home, and his final success.74 The period I call the defining years culminated in Silone's recognition in Italy as well. The Final Years: 1971 to the Present Italian Criticism The most important contribution to Silonian scholarship, in the early seventies, is Luce d'Eramo's L'opera di Ignazio Silone, a bibliographical, biographical, and critical study that was first published in 1971. In writing it, the author had access to Silone and to the material he had in his possession, and could therefore retrace the entire life journey and document its stages both with wealth of detail and with relative ease. Because of this, even though the work was never updated, it still retains its value as a source of important data. In her analysis of Silone's literary work, d'Eramo discusses the novels of exile as well as And He Hid Himself through their various revisions. Having given examples of the variants, and discussed the author's motivations in that regard, she argues that the presence and relevance of the female characters are greater in the postwar versions. She also contends that whereas "In the novels of exile the women only determine the action in the narrow measure that they interest the male characters" and their position is subordinated to the point that they only indirectly contribute to the development of the narrative, "in the novels written ex novo after the author's return to Italy, the female characters will have a real dynamic function."75 This position is only in part defensible, since even in the first version of Fontamara it is the women who take the initiative and organize the revolt against the Impresario, while the men behave like sheep in a fold when the Fascist officer interrogates them in the square; and in the novels of Pietro Spina, as well as in the play, Cristina, Faustina, and Annina are not dependent but self-determined and strong in their convictions. In all of Silone's works it is not the men who determine the action, but the forces of oppression and love to which all of the characters react. Analyzing the linguistic aspect of the works, d'Eramo appositely points out that in Fontamara "the human effort to understand and to communicate is rendered with a striking insistence

Silone's Literary Fortune 203 and intensity ... the novel's key words are 'to understand' and 'to speak.'" On the other hand, her comments on the novels of Pietro Spina are not as convincing. In her view, their language is "ad hoc, clean-cut, without chiaroscuro," and there is a scanty use of similes, and even then, they are mainly used to abbreviate rather than to reiterate. In my discussion, I have offered a different reading. Finally, the en passant character of some of her observations renders them insufficient and even reductive. A case in point is her claim that in the presence of sacred images in the novels there is, initially, little participation in their meaning as religious symbols and it is only later that Pietro Spina displays a certain pity before the image of the Pieta. Another is her comment that the originality of A Handful of Blackberries is in the author's depiction of the indomitable spirit of a true revolutionary as well as the totalitarian exigence of the militant. While there is some validity in both comments, it is obvious that the broad scope of her work did not allow the critic to conduct a deeper analysis.76 During this decade, La Fiera Letteraria and Oggi e Domani were among the established journals that dedicated entire issues to Silone.77 At the same time, several new volumes followed those written by Virdia, Cassata, and d'Eramo. In 1973, Volfango Riddei published an interesting analysis of Fontamam;78 a year later Annoni's Invito alia lettura di Silone also appeared. Adhering to the requirements of the series in which it was published, this volume is introductory in nature. While its biographical chapter draws extensively from Uscita di sicurezza; the analysis of the works, from Fontamara to The Story of a Humble Christian, is instead more original. Annoni finds that Fontamara reveals an ideological structure of the Marxist type, but that on the other hand it also contains a biblical parable, a political satire, and a wealth of anthropological elements. He places Bread and Wine in the category of social narrative, lamenting its excessive moral preaching, and strangely concluding that it displays Silone's "historic pessimism" and his "mistrust in the possibility of change within man." Comments such as these detract from the quality of the work, and cause perplexity in the reader. But perhaps the book's main flaw is that its very short chapters do not allow Annoni to truly develop his viewpoint.79 Many of the works published in Italy during this period were written by Italian scholars living abroad.80 Ferdinando Alfonsi's essay on The Secret of Luca and Piero Aragno's book on Silone's novels are among these. Alfonsi lists the analogies that can be found between the novel

204 Ignazio Silone and the Gospels, and suggests that Silone uses them because he places the revolutionary hero on the same level as the historic Christ.81 Aragno shares a similar view of the figure of Christ in Silone's work. Tracing the novels' ethical and aesthetic itinerary, he discusses the narrative techniques and language, and Silone's aims, as well as his limits. Aragno finds that from Fontamara to The Fox and the Camellias the ethical itinerary of the Silonian hero develops to the point of reaching "Christian certainties," but that the author is inspired by the human example of Christ, rather than by Christ the Son of God. In his discussion of Silone's technical choices in the various novels, the scholar suggests that the author uses irony to achieve greater dramatic effect, and that from Fontamara onwards he displays a tendency toward allegorical and symbolic modes of expression. In Bread and Wine, for instance, "The allegorical element, which was just touched upon in the first novel, acquires ... such form and dimension as to become an important and revealing aspect of what Silone will achieve, transforming it in symbolism in the following novel." The last three novels, as well, reveal ironic and symbolic modes of expression. To illustrate his point, Aragno provides only isolated examples.82 In his volume on Fontamara, Aliberti shows how Silone's tendency to use symbolic and ironic modes of expression is already noticeable in his first novel, in which the author, through the story of Berardo, enacts a sort of autochthonal gospel of the peasants.83 The attention of the scholars now focuses increasingly away from the political and toward the ethical and evangelical spirit in Silone's work, and the antipolitical posture of the author is stressed, together with the fact that the author places literature at the service of the oppressed. Maddalena Kuitunen makes precisely this point when, writing about Silone's early novels, she shows that even a novel defined as "political," like Fontamara, is in fact antipolitical, since dealing as it does with the topic of human beings caught in the political engrenage, it sides only with them; and it does so because the author is committed to them and not to politics, nor even less to political parties.84 The same opinion is expressed in Camillo Bria's volume on Silone's life and his work. Defining the writer as "the least political of all writers," Bria sees him as some kind of Robert Frost from Abruzzo, and suggests that "The ultimate sense of his work should be found in the endless conflict between History and utopia. Between the Institutions that retreat within themselves and hope, which renews itself without limits within the infinite that is man."85

Silone's Literary Fortune 205 Among the most important volumes to appear in this decade are Giuliana Rigobello's Ignazio Silone and Elio Guerriero's L'inquietudine e I'utopia: II racconto umano e cristiano di Ignazio Silone. Rigobello's work, intended for high school students as well as the general public, adopts a historical and didactic approach. Her analysis covers all of the literary works, with the exception of The Journey to Paris and Severina. She finds that the most appropriate reading is one that focuses on the religious component, for "Christianity is the leaven of Silone's poetic art," and his socialism - made of "values" rather than "theories" - is itself "an expression of Christianity, a manner of being Christian." Rigobello's attention to the text, her aesthetic sensitivity, and the broad perspective that she presents in a clear, well-documented exposition, render her reading of Silone both enjoyable and rewarding.86 Guerriero's work also begins by placing the author and his thought in the appropriate sociocultural context. Like Rigobello he focuses on the importance of Christianity in Silone's work, but his views are informed by a greater interest in the importance of the Church. In fact, he laments that Silone remains too anchored to his initial pessimism toward institutions. Guerriero argues that the "entire evolution of Silone as a man and as a writer" is contained between the initial question "Che fare?" - What then shall we do? - asked by the Fontamarans, and the last one, regarding the fate of Celestine V: "What will they do with him? What do you think?" In the first question the scholar perceives a menacing tone, and no apparent answer; in the second the answer is the acceptance of life's mystery. In his conclusion Guerriero states that, as Silone reminded his readers, it is up to the Christians "to re-launch a new human solidarity, a new social order" under the aegis of "respect for the human being, the primacy of ethics over politics, and the rejection of all compromises that would sacrifice truth, loyalty, justice, and brotherhood."87 Another noteworthy contribution of the decade is Pietro Spezzani's analysis of Fontamara. Addressing the topic from the a linguistic viewpoint, the author argues against the stereotypes that have been used when describing Silone's prose, and proves that the Marsican writer transforms the modes and structures of his native region's popular speech, achieving valid and original results.88 Silonian scholarship in the last two decades has also benefited from the volume that the Abruzzo region published in 1978, in homage to the native son on his death. The work contains duplicated copies of over 150 entries, including articles that appeared in the international media, testimonials by Silone's friends, and important documents, including the

206 Ignazio Silone author's last will and testament. The collective tribute to the Marsican writer and to the man, signed with many of the most illustrious names of the intellectual world, provides a sense of the popularity that the author enjoyed. Of special importance to scholars of Silone are his last will, which contains particulars that also relate to his poetic statements, as well as numerous other articles in which domestic and foreign critics, such as Geno Pampaloni, Michel David, Herbert Mitgang, and many others who had appreciated Silone from the beginning, offer their testimonials. To say that it is not an elegant volume would be an understatement, but it would also be unfair not to emphasize its importance. In the eighties, interest in Silone continued, resulting in a great deal of new scholarship. Vittoriano Esposito alone produced four volumes and several essays. His first work, Ignazio Silone: la vita, le opere, il pensiero published in 1980, is a biographical and critical study. The scholar addresses the many points that have also interested other scholars; being himself a Marsican, however, he is better able to capture the cultural nuances that are at the source of Silone's poetic world. His second volume, Lettura di Ignazio Silone, follows a more didactic approach; After an introductory chapter on the man and the writer, the scholar deals with Silone's works individually, with brief summaries followed by his analyses and comments on the pertinent criticism. An anthology of selected passages from Silone's works and one of criticism complete this work. Esposito's contribution to Silonian scholarship also includes his collection of essays dealing with such debated issues as Silone's place in Italian literature, his poetics, his style, and many others, some of which I considered at the appropriate points of my analysis. Finally, among his most recent works is a collection of essays on The Journey to Paris and a critical introduction to the volume.89 In 1982, Gisella Padovani published Letteratura e socialismo: Saggi su Ignazio Silone, a work that may have contributed to stimulating Esposito's interest in his last two projects. Placing the composition of the short stories before Fontamam, she raised a critical question that must have puzzled the Marsican scholar, for he not only proceeded to see that the volume be translated, but in reading it he initially embraced Padovani's thesis on the chronological order of the two works. The most interesting aspect of Padovani's book is her discussion of the intertextuality of Silone's opus, particularly with regard to those characteristics which reveal that Silone, while certainly rooted in his native humus, had also absorbed the influence of European expressionism. Padovani's

Silone's Literary Fortune 207 analysis encompasses Silone's work from The Journey to Paris, through the rejection of naturalism, the Marxist stage, the Mazzinian inspiration, the agnostic laicism, the evangelical Utopia, and beyond. At the time of its publication, it was one of the few works that discussed the minor works at some length, and also included observations on Severina and a brief account of the negative reception of this novel in Italy. Silone's last novel, left "in progress," was completed and published in 1981 by his wife, Darina, with the full title La speranza di suor Severina. Even though, in allowing it to be published, she asked that it be read "as a document," reviewers did not do so, and, as a result, found it wanting. In my view, what truly matters is that, by virtue of the editor's fine labor, Silone's last message, and his final hours, remain documented for posterity. The negative reception of Severina did not diminish the interest in Silone. Other volumes by Italian critics published in the 19805 include Olga Lombardi's Ignazio Silone, a serious comprehensive work; Iris Origo's Bisogno di testimoniare, in which the author speaks of Silone from personal knowledge and can thus offer insights into the most important moments of his development; and an introductory volume published by Mondadori.90 While these do not advance original theses, they change the focus and the perspective and thus add to the critical discourse. What they also reveal is that Silone now enjoys such consideration that most publishers feel compelled to add volumes like the ones mentioned above to their collections. Critical works on Silone continued to appear in the 19905. They include Ferdinando Alfonsi's Ignazio Silone o della ricerca del permanente, a collection of seven essays on topics ranging from the perception of destiny in Silone, to his Jewish characters, the myth of America, and others.91 Two works that originated as doctoral dissertations and were then revised for publication are Vincenza Tudini's Varianti sconosciute nel "Seme sotto la neve" di Ignazio Silone and my own Simbolismo e ironia nella nanativa di Ignazio Silone. Tudini's structural analysis of the novel encompasses the four Italian versions, and uses Gerard Genette's method to discuss the variants and constants in "focalization," "distance," and "voice" as they are found in the four versions, as well as their implications for the development of Silone's narrative art. My work argues that symbolism and irony are key structural elements in Silone's novels, and analyzes these from this perspective, adhering to Frye's theories on archetypal criticism.

2o8 Ignazio Silone Another academic thesis on Silone was produced in Australia, where Emilio Leone conducted a comparative study of the author's revisions of Fontamam, Bread and Wine, and The Seed Beneath the Snow, and discussed the effect of these revisions on the author's narrative patterns and style.92 Among more recent books on Silone is Ignazio Silone clandestine nel Novecento (ISNC). Published in 1996, the volume contains the proceedings of a convention held in Rimini, as well as some important previously unpublished documents. In 1998 a biographical work entitled Silone: L'avventura di un uomo libero93 was published. But the most important contribution is Bruno Falcetto's work for the Meridiani edition of Silone's Collected works (ISRS). Falcetto's introductory essay, and his careful choice of minor texts to include in the collection, as well as his expert documentation of the genesis and publication history of the major works, are some of the reasons for the success of this latest, ambitious initiative by Silone's Italian publishers. International Criticism By discussing the criticism of Italian scholars living abroad together with the works written in Italy, I have been able to achieve a more comprehensive picture of the Silonian scholarship that was published for Italian consumption and for Italianists abroad. At the same time, however, I had to forgo the opportunity of grouping the criticism according to the intellectual milieu in which it originated. Fortunately, the very nature of the works being analyzed came to the rescue. In fact, save for differences in approaches and emphasis, the universal aspect of the message became the focus of the inquiry both in Italy and abroad. Like the Italian critics, foreign scholars have moved away from the political interpretation of Silone's work to stress instead the centrality of the Christian message. As early as the late sixties, some American critics began to analyze the Christian component in Silone's works. Franz Schneider's essay "Scriptural Symbolism in Silone's Bread and Wine," which I discussed in my analysis of the novel, is one of the best examples. His thesis - that Silone structures the novel on the Gospels, and that the central organizing symbol is that of the Eucharist - remains valid even at a distance of three decades. The use of Christian imagery by Silone is also the focus of an essay by McAfee Brown. The scholar, placing his analysis in historical perspec-

Silone's Literary Fortune 209 tive, notes that "Silone, deeply steeped in a Christian faith he has formally or at least institutionally rejected, finds it impossible to deal with that which has spoken most deeply to the human spirit without employing the imagery of Christian faith and Christian history."94 In a study that focuses on the development of Silone's central theme, Jean Whyte comes to a similar conclusion: Silone's concept of human nature is that of Christianity, and in his constant use of "Christian images and biblical phrases" he demonstrates that "Christianity, with its beliefs and traditions, is a living reality for him."95 Radcliff-Umstead also considers the Christian symbolism in Bread and Wine, and describes the author's narrative technique as follows: "Silone writes on a series of double-meaning levels, so that his narrative works might very well be defined as modern-day parables illustrating the vicissitudes in the life of a revolutionary saint like Pietro Spina."96 But he goes on to note that while the critics have studied the most obvious symbolic dimension of the novels - the Christian symbolism, they have not noticed that "animal imagery works as still another significant symbolist technique in the novel" and that "outward animal resemblances often reveal a person's inner being." Just as the Christian dimension of Silone's work is constantly noticed, so is his evident socialist idealism. Retracing the author's journey from Socialism to Christianity, Ernesto Caserta shows how these apparently conflicting terms end in symbiosis when applied to Silone, because of the ethical and religious nature with which he invests them. The same does not happen, however, with the two different ways of following Christ, which Silone represents in the persons of Boniface and Celestine; "The desire to harmonize these two paths has in effect been the drama of Silone and of every other true Christian."97 Similar research by another critic defines the journey as a "modern quest" that, beginning with Fontamara, finds its pivotal point in The Secret of Luca and ends in "primordial discovery" in The Story of a Humble Christian.98 The prophetic aspect of Silone's work is also the topic of studies by the Scottish scholar Ellen Anne Millar and by Myron Bloy, Jr. The latter argues that, like the prophets, the author uses an ironic tone in telling his stories. These, like the parables, are imbued with comic irony, and while they are "spare of descriptive detail and omniscient author interpretations," they nevertheless "manage to suggest portentous meaning, to sound mysterious depths."99 As the survey thus far reveals, the same concerns and similar conclusions are found both in Italian and foreign critics, at similar points in

2io Ignazio Silone time. But even though the basic interpretations are often repeated, it is undeniable that many essays, such as Pampaloni's, Howe's, Lewis's, Schneider's, and Rawson's, have had a lasting seminal effect. As demonstrated in this chapter, Silone was initially perceived to be a political writer, but later a growing tendency to reassess his work brought the critics to the opposite conclusion, and they began to write about the author's antipolitical stance and his strong tendency to seek to harmonize Socialism and Christianity in a Utopian vision rooted in evangelical Christianity. Whereas initial critiques mainly consisted of book reviews, from the immediate postwar period onwards Silone's works have been analyzed in greater depth both in Italy and abroad, and the author's journey has predominantly been perceived as encompassing "a modern quest" that ends in "primordial discovery." The author's motivation has generally been perceived as greatly influenced by a desire to "bear witness" and to be of service to others. As critics acknowledged the Christian component always present in Silone's works they sought to define the nature of Silone's particular view of Christianity. One very interesting hypothesis in this regard is in William R. Mueller's article, cited earlier in this chapter, where he argues that Silone distinguishes between the "Church Visible" and the "Church Invisible" and that his hero, like the biblical "remnant" is "graced with the gift of membership in the Body of Christ." While many studies have dealt with the thematic aspect of the works, much less can be found on the formal aspect. The need to define Silone's narrative style has produced a wealth of general observations, but only a few systematic studies. Many have noted that Silone uses symbolic and ironic modes of expression, but whereas the symbolic component has been the topic of the cited writings by Schneider, Di Scipio, Alfonsi, and Guerriero, irony and its relevance have not received other than passing attention until my book on symbolism and irony in Silone's novels was published in 1991. Also, since, to my knowledge, no attention has yet been given to the fact that Silone explored the possibilities of the various genres - from the short story to the novel, the play, the satire, and the essay - this volume seeks to answer, in part, this need. I began this work with Silone's epigraph from Aeschylus's Prometheus Bound. I conclude this chapter by reiterating my view that Silone also, like Prometheus, engaged in a struggle on behalf of humanity. He thoroughly apprehended the tragic vision, and, rejecting both nihilism and idolartry, mapped a geography of the human spirit that is rooted in

Silone's Literary Fortune 211 hope, as illustrated by the progression of exempla contained in his literary works, and in the message contained in Habeas animam! Conclusion The biographical profile of Silone traced in the first chapter of this volume does not encompass the ample debate that has recently ensued in the Italian press about Silone's alleged role as an informer of the Fascist police. The omission is intentional, since to my view there is still insufficient evidence in this regard, and even the few documents that have been found would require a great deal of conjecture for an unequivocal story to be built around them. This is perhaps why intellectuals such as Indro Montanelli, Enzo Siciliano, and Enzo Biagi have either entirely rejected the current revisionist stances or have expressed serious reservations about them. As for Silone's alleged involvement with the American Secret Service (the OSS) and later with the CIA, although it is plausible, it also remains to be proven. Quite possibly historians will have to write a new chapter about Silone's political activism once all the facts are known. At this point, and for the purpose of this work, the letters that Silone wrote to Gabriella Seidenfeld and to Guido Bellone provide valid insight into the nature of the two crises Silone suffered during his exile, while my letter to the CIA and their response are evidence that on this issue as well the only certain source of information is for the time still silent. Until the answers are found to settle these very complex issues, questions related to motivation, actual involvement, and real consequences come to mind. For instance, how and why would Silone have begun to cooperate with Bellone from 1917 (at the age of seventeen) after his momentous encounter with Don Orione, when he was trying to deal with the loss of his mother and the devastation of the 1915 earthquake? What activities could he have undertaken on behalf of Bellone prior to joining the founders of the PCI? Why would he have betrayed Gabriella, the woman he loved, "a red Jew" (as he called her), while they shared together risks and hardships in the underground movement? How could his alleged duplicity go undetected by so many, for such a long time? If his work as an informer was meaningful, why would he not have obtained freedom for his brother Romolo, who had been cleared of the charge of attempted regicide? Why would Silone have ended his relationship with Bellone while also detaching himself from the PCI in 1930 when that meant having to relinquish all possibilities to influence

212 Ignazio Silone the fate of his brother Romolo? Why, after the war, when Togliatti (who would have known) attacked him on many fronts, did he never accuse him of the duplicity that is now being alleged? How could his many Jewish friends not suspect anything? Would it be possible for the State of Israel to award him the country's most prestigious prize without a thorough investigation of his past? Could this have happened if only a shadow of a doubt could have been cast on Silone's anti-Fascism? As for Silone's alleged involvement with the CIA, if it is proven it will most likely reveal a need, on his part, to opt for the theory of the lesser evil by siding with the forces that actively opposed the new world order envisioned by the leaders of a degenerated Communism that he perceived as "red Fascism." Quite obviously the current controversy will only be settled once those who originated it are able to provide scientific data proving what Silone really did, when, where, for whom and against whom; what consequences resulted from his actions; and, most importantly, what he gained personally as a result of his alleged duplicity. Were new findings to reveal a negative image of Silone, how could such an image be reconciled with the heroic vision contained in his works? I suggest that even as it would be a mistake to think that the moral fabric of Silone's main characters was also his own, it would be absurd to suppose that the author did not harbor the vision contained in his works as a sincere aspiration for himself and humankind. As the first centenary of Silone's birth approaches (i May 2000) it is arguable that the attention scholars are giving to his alleged political activities will be matched by a similar commitment to recognizing the place he deserves as one of the foremost Italian writers of the twentieth century. The new publication of Silone's entire opus, in the prestigious Meridiani series by Mondadori, could provide the stimulus for such a rewarding endeavor. My contribution, in this regard, is the present volume, the first of its kind to be published in English. Moving beyond the sociopolitical and moral aspects of the works, I have discussed how the author's main concern was not of a political or material nature, but for the impact that poverty and oppression can have on the spiritual dimension of human life. As the title of the volume anticipated, I have argued that Silone, having thoroughly apprehended the tragic vision, does not fall prey to the fascinatio nugacitatis, and that rejecting nihilism places in the heart of his Promethean hero the "hospice of blind hopes." At the source of the spring which can bring forth the "acquaviva" Silone places simplicity, in

Silone's Literary Fortune 213 its highest form and authenticity; the program he proposes is rooted in individual responsibility - in the sense of righteousness, which, because it is not self-serving, eludes the risk of becoming demonic defiance, and instead generates redemptive energy. As I have shown, Silone not only engaged in what Turoldo called a "quest for truth that renders free," but also accompanied that quest with a desire to find the right form to give it voice; hence his practice of many genres, from the novel to the short story; to plays, essays, and satire. Even though all but two of Silone's works are set in Abruzzo, his manner of representation reveals that he is not at all a regional writer, as some have claimed. While Silone exploits the possibilities that he finds rooted in the most authentic humus of his Abruzzo subsoil, the vision that his works impart incorporates the lessons he derived from his political activism, his travels, and above all from the daily contact with the rich intellectual milieu that prevailed in Zurich during the years of his exile. As a result, Silone is perhaps one of the most European and indeed mitteleuropean writers of his time that Italy has to offer. This perception was amply confirmed during a symposium held at Hunter College in October 1998 entitled "Silone: Reader of the Signs of History" (the proceedings of which are forthcoming), when noted scholars of Silone spoke of the wide reach of his thought, of some unsuspected complexities of his art, and the uncommon depth of his understanding of history. To conclude, I recall the words of Antonio Ruberti quoted earlier in this work, when, as the Italian Minister for the University and Scientific Research, he spoke of the Silonian ideas of peace and solidarity among all peoples and of human rights in the widest sense, adding that, as a writer, "Ignazio Silone is without a doubt a 'classic' of the twentieth century, and as such he is to be considered now that the century is about to end."

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APPENDIX 1

Documents

All documents bearing Silone's signature are from the archives of the Zurich Central Library.

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Appendix i 217

218 Appendix i

Appendix i 219

22O Appendix i

Appendix i 221

Ignazio Silone.

222 Appendix i October 18, 1391

CIA - Information Department P.O. Box 1925 Washington, D.C., 20013 Dear Information Officer: I am a member of the Romance Languages of CUNY's Hunter College and a scholar of Ignazio Silone's literary work. My book entitled "Simbolismo e Ironia nella narrativa di Silone" has received the 1989 Ignazio Silone International Prize. I am now in the process of completing a volume in English on Silone's life and work. Having read contrastive accounts about his involvement with CIA starting in the early 1950's, I am writing to ask for some clarification. As an American educator and author/ I believe that under "The Freedom of Information Act" I should be entitled to gain access to his file. Could you please inform me how I should proceed? Awaiting for your reply, I remain, Respectfully vours, Maria Paynter Associate Professor

Appendix i 223 Ms. Maria Paynter Romance Languages Department Hunter College of The City University of New York 695 Park Avenue New York, New York 10021 Reference:

F-1997-02521

Dear Ms. Paynter: This acknowledges receipt of your letter dated 18 October 1997 requesting information under the provisions of the Freedom of Information Act (FOIA). Specifically, you are requesting the following: Access to Ignazio Silone's CIA file.

For administrative purposes we have assigned your request the number referenced above. I must advise you that in all requests such as yours, the CIA can neither confirm nor deny the existence or nonexistence of any CIA records responsive to your request. The fact of the existence or nonexistence of records containing such information--unless, of course, it has been officially acknowledged--would be classified for reasons of national security under Sections 1.5(c) [intelligence sources and methods] and 1.5(c) [foreign relations] of Executive Order 12958. Further, the Director of Central Intelligence has the responsibility and authority to protect such information from unauthorized disclosure in accordance with Subsection 103(c)(5) of the National Security Act of 1947 and Section 6 of the CIA Act of 1949. Accordingly, your request is denied on the basis of FOIA exemptions (b)(1) and (b)(3). By this action, we are neither confirming nor denying the existence or nonexistence of such records. An explanation of the FOIA exemptions cited above is enclosed. The CIA official responsible for this denial is Lee S. Strickland, Information and Privacy Coordinator. You may appeal this decision by addressing your appeal to the Agency Release Panel within 45 days from the date of this letter, in my care. Should you choose to do this, please explain the basis of your appeal. We regret we are unable to assist you. Sincerely,

Lee S./ Strickland

Information and Privacy Coordinator Enclosure

224 Appendix i EXPLANATION OF EXEMPTIONS FREEDOM OF INFORMATION ACT: (b)( 1)

applies to material which is properly classified pursuant to an Executive order in the interest of national defense or foreign policy;

(b)(2)

applies to information which pertains solely to the internal rules and practices of the Agency;

(b)(3)

applies to the Director's statutory obligations to protect From disclosure intelligence sources and methods, as well as the organiz tion, functions, names, official titles, salaries or numbers of personnel employee by the Agency, ia accord with the National Security Act of 1947 and the ClA Act of 1949. respectively:

(b)(4)

applies to information such as trade secrets and commcr ial or financial information obtained from a person on a privileged or a ifidential basis:

(b)(5)

applies to inter- and intra-agency memoranda which arc advisory in nature;

(b)(6)

applies to information release of which would constitute an unwarranted invasion of the personal privacy of other individuals; and

(b)(7)

applies to investigatory records, release of which could (C) constitute an unwarranted invasion of the personal privacy of others, (D) disclose the identity of a confidential source, (E) disclose investigative techniques and procedures, or (F) endanger the life or physical safety of law enforcement personnel.

PRIVACY ACT: (b)

applies to information concerning other individuals which may not be released without their written consent;

(j)0)

applies to polygraph records; documents or segregablc portions of documents, release of which would disclose intelligence sources and methods, including names of certain Agency employees and organizational components; and, documents or information provided by foreign governments;

(k)(l)

applies to information and material properly classified pursuant to an Executive order in the interest of national defense or foreign policy;

(k)(5)

applies to investigatory material compiled solely for the purpose of determining suitability, eligibility, or qualifications for Federal civilian employment, or access to classified information, release of which would disclose a confidential source; and

(k)(6)

testing or examination material used to determine individual qualifications for appointment or promotion in Federal Government service the release of which would compromise the testing or examination process.

Appendix i 225 Solfltizio d'inrerno, 1931 Q,uesta e una copia defiritira del romanzo "Pontamara*. »Fontamara"fu comlnclata nel 1929, ncl kurhaus Collinetta, presso Ascona; fu ripreea a Bares, nell'cstate del 1930j continuata a Zurigo nell'inrerno e estate del 1931. Delia prima parte del romanzo eslstono Tarle rerslonii toa quella dell'acolusa dattilografia e la rereione definitiTa, la. seconda parte del romanzo e stata ecritta direttaaente a macchina, in "base a note e appuntijc che mono andati distrutti. Delle quattro copie della Yersione dofinitira, tre sono andate agli editor! e una alia signora Aline RosenDaumDucommun. Ma le quattro copie non sono in tutto similis per ragioni editorial!, le copie offerte alia puVblicita contengono delle limitazioni, alle quali 1'autore non da un carattere volontario. IA Tera e definttira edizione di "Pontamara" avra luogo dopo la caduta del fasciemo.

226 Appendix i

Appendix i 227

228 Appendix i

Appendix i 229

230 Appendix i

APPENDIX 2

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Der Christus Von Kazan

Silone's article The Christ of Kazan' - his first treatment of Christ and Christianity - was published in December 1932, in German, in the Swiss journal information. The importance of this topic in Silone's work, and the time of publication the year before the first edition of Fontamara - suggest the need to incorporate the essay in the critical discourse, even if only as evidence of Silone's interest. This is the first English translation (by Michael Vargosko and Sibylle Frank, my students at Fordham University and Hunter College, respectively).

The Christ of Kazan The historical writings about the origins of Christianity are the monopoly of a small group of philologists and clergymen. The immense scientific apparatus over which they preside suffices to keep away all professional historians, in fear and admiration, even those who specialize in the height of the Christian revolution. They forget that one should be suspicious of clerics who write the history of their church, and politicians who write the history of their political party, and that the most fruitful and reliable works on the origins of Christianity are not those of philologists and clergymen, but of historians and sociologists. Despite the activity of certain researchers, from the standpoint of our present knowledge it seems unlikely that new texts will come to shake our opinion about the origins of Christianity and invalidate the bases established by criticism. For our present knowledge it is clear that Christianity as such can exist without Christ. The only absolutely sure reports on the origins of Christianity are a few lines by Tacitus and a few words of Suetonius, which refer to the activities of the first Christians, but pro-

234 Appendix 2 vide no certainty about Christ himself. All other sources, including the Gospels, are later productions or apocryphal. What was not proven to be apocryphal by the Christians was certainly so proven by the Jews; what the Protestants did not doubt, the Catholics did. For us, apocryphal does not stand for meaningless. Thus apocrypha can be of great value if they contribute to explaining how Christianity developed from Christ, how religious communities created their founder, or how communities and competing sects tried to disparage him - whether in reality he existed or not. We would like to mention a work by Robert Eisler as an example which gives precious information about this very kind of speculation.1 Eisler wanted to reconstruct the tradition of Christian origins, and relied above all on Slavic fragments of The Jewish War, by Josephus Flavius, that had been found in Kazan. These fragments are interpreted by Eisler in the sense of belief in a political Messiah. The manuscript of Kazan contains a fragment that refers to the arrest and sentencing of Christ by the Romans and a marginal note about the physical appearance of Jesus, which might interest not only the philologists but also the anthropologists and the painters [...] According to Eisler this description of Jesus was nothing less than the warrant for arrest of the accused, which was kept in his file in the imperial archives in Rome. It was there that Josephus could have copied it when he wanted to inform himself about the Christian rebellion that was suppressed by Pontius Pilate. Eisler believes that he succeeded in reconstructing the Slavic version of the physical description of Jesus, which is as follows: His nature and his appearance were manlike. He was a man of simple appearance; short and only three cubits tall; hunchbacked; with a long face, a long nose, eyebrows meeting above the nose, so that those who saw him could take fright; scanty hair parted in the middle in the fashion of the Nazarenes; and a little beard.

Eisler tries to explain the origin of the Messianic conscience of Jesus by means of his portrait. He pictures him suffering, sad, sickly, and bent, even hunchbacked, disfigured (in the characteristic way that carpenters' apprentices are from being forced to work from an early age), ridiculed by his peers, beaten by his parents, struggling to understand the oracles of the "Servant of Jahweh" in which he found a meaning and an explanation for his sufferings. This is at all times the face of the rebel. According to Eisler, this face explains the teachings of the Evangelist,

Appendix 2 235 Jesus' indifference toward his family, his contempt for earthly wealth, his hatred of the merchants. And it is supported by the biblical tradition. The prophet Isaiah had announced the Messiah as follows: 'He had neither features nor beauty; we saw him, but there was no figure which we could have liked.'2 Eisler recalls a passage in the Gospel of Luke which confirms that he was a small man: "And Jesus walked into and through Jericho. And look, there was a man called Zacchaeus who was the head of the tax collectors and he was wealthy; he wanted to see Jesus, to see who he was. But he could not see him for he [Jesus, according to Eisler] was a short man, and he ran ahead and climbed a mulberry tree."3 One could have expected that the defenders of the physical existence of Jesus would have welcomed those discoveries enthusiastically. But, on the contrary, this picture of the Messiah aroused their fury. We could participate in a last echo of the long-lasting disputes among the early Fathers about the physical appearance of Christ. A number of saints were convinced that Jesus had an ugly and repulsive appearance (Justin, Clement of Alexandria, Basil, Cyril of Alexandria, Tertullian), while others argued fiercely for the necessity of Jesus' being as beautiful as the bridegroom of the Song of Songs (Gregory of Nyssa, John Chrysostom, Theodore, Jerome, and of course the women). Are the texts of Kazan authentic? Some affirm that they are; for others these texts are only Jewish interpolations, and for others Christian interpolations. The Christ of Kazan would then be only a fantasy of the Slavic translator of Josephus Flavius, a fantasy of the second century after Christ. The Christ of Kazan would then be one of the numerous Christ figures that were created at that very time by the first Christian communities, and of which many legends still persist. It is likely that this critique is correct. But it still does not completely invalidate the texts of Kazan (...) The fact that, at a time when Christianity was still developing in Russia, one could imagine Jesus as a little indignant carpenter is a precious element for a sociological interpretation of Christianity. Doesn't the Christ of Kazan correspond to that unknown Christ that really lived? One can doubt this, but this doubt has only a limited meaning, because that unknown Christ has lived, perhaps not in Palestine, but surely in Kazan. And he is very talkative. He enlightens us on the ideology of a certain Slavic community in the first Christian centuries. He is a historical witness. Just as much as the crucified donkey that has been discovered in a Roman catacomb, or as the Emperor-Christ of the Byzantines, the artisan-Christ of the medieval guilds, the judge-Christ of the year one thousand, the hangman-Christ of the Inquisition, the profane-Christ

236 Appendix 2 of the Rococo, the citizen-Christ of Voltaire, Christ the lover of Saint Teresa, the anarchistic-Christ of Tolstoi, and the soviet-Christ of the active church - all are historical witnesses. Does it not seem that all of these reflections of Christ are equivalent to the unknown Christ who really might have lived? But they all lived as well. They are Christianity.

Notes

Preface

i Revised and updated parts of the dissertation are included in Chapters 5, 6, and 8 of this volume. Introduction

1 I have translated the verses from Silone's handwritten epigraph. Another English translation reads, "I caused mortals to cease foreseeing doom." Aeschylus, Prometheus Bound, 240. 2 I found this important copy of the entire novel (including handwritten corrections and additions) in 1996, during my research at the Zurich Central Library. Prior to that I had not found any mention of the typescript, even in such serious studies as Tudini's Variant! sconosciute di "II seme sotto la neve" di Ignazio Silone Flavio Marcolini's "// Seme sotto la neve di Ignazio Silone." 3 Although Western culture has widely considered Prometheus the symbol of metaphysical and religious rebellion, the Aeschylean hero has also been interpreted in terms of a search for harmony with the divine. See for instance Lynch, Christ and Prometheus, 62, where he writes: "In Aeschylus both the problem of secularity and the true task of the dramatic imagination come into their own together ... Aeschylus allows the movement toward understanding and solution to occur on every level, human and divine. For there was a sequel (Prometheus Unbound) and possibly a third play, in which both man and God have moved forward toward light, growth and reconciliation. They will have abandoned their original tragic and rigid statement of the case against each other." Also see Trousson, Theme de Promethee; Kerenyi, Prometheus; and Graf, Prometeo nella poesia.

238 Notes to pages 4-10 4 Zirardini, "Role de 1'intellectuel." 5 Silone, Uscita di sicurezza (Milan: Longanesi, 1979 ed., hereafter, Uscita), 118, 150. Here Silone explains: "In a situation in which metaphysical, or even simply historical premises seem uncertain and questionable, the moral sentiment acquires, of necessity, an unusual space, functioning as well as an effective intellectual guide." 6 Howe, "Socialism and Sensibility," 38-42. 7 Glicksberg, Tragic Vision, xiv. 8 Ibid. 9 Krieger, The Tragic Vision: Variations on a Theme in Literary Interpretation (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, Phoenix Books, 1966), 85. 10 Uscita, 148. 11 Grossman, The God That Failed (hereafter, GTF). 12 In "La scelta dei compagni," Silone refers to Machiavelli in this regard. Uscita, 152. 13 Simone Weil's essay on justice in the manuscript entitled "Collectivity. Person. Impersonal. Right. Justice," cited in Weil, Anthology, 50,74. 14 Simongini, "Una intervista televisiva," XLIV. Silone says: "Si racconta di un navigatore spagnolo che in alto mare era solito cantare una bellissima canzone. Ai suoi di famiglia che un giorno a fine tavola lo pregavano di ripeterla egli rispose: 'e impossibile, io canto la mia canzone solo a quelli che vengono con me in alto mare.'" i Ignazio Silone: A Biographical Profile i Turoldo, "A Silone," 15. The entire text is as follows: Grazia ad usura, Amico ora ripaga alte solitudini e sogni e battaglie: tu a cercare verita che libera io che verita sia libera: oltre ogni Fontamara ... "Inesistenti" ci dissero - e forse lo siamo - per le "Grandi Lettere" che pure abbiamo amato quali segni per 1'impervia strada. Non potevamo non essere

Notes to pages 11-13

239

se non come siamo, sempre dalla parte del "Povero cristiano," lungo il fiume carsico della storia a difendere i loro frutti avari. Ora dunque mi e dono ancora piu ambito che al tuo nome il mio si accosti almeno per un giorno: a "patire" insieme 1'ostinata speranza. Throughout this work, when the source appears in a language other then English, the translation is mine unless otherwise indicated. 2 The correspondence deeply influenced Silone. Answering my question, in a letter dated 17 February 1986, his widow explained to me that // segretodi Luca was "not merely inspired by, but directly based on the tragic story" of Francesco Zauri. 3 Uscita, 23-40. 4 Gasbarrini et al., Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo (hereafter, STAEM), 378. According to ISTAT's report on the Internet (http://www.ca.astro.it/poggio/tablira.html) "La lira daH'Unita d'ltalia al 1994," the value of one Italian lira in 1918 corresponded to 1,869.7 in !994- Hence the 1,000 lira fine would have been worth about 1,869.700 in 1994 liras, or approximately U.S.$1,200. Such a steep penalty indicates that Secondino Tranquilli's political activism was already taken very seriously by the authorities. 5 From the original Italian found in Cucchiarelli, "Ignazio Silone e il silenzio sul periodo svizzero," in Ignazio Silone clandestine nel Novecento (hereafter, 7SCN), 746 Some other names assumed by Silone were Romano Simone da Bari, Pasquini, Sillone Hippolito, Fritz Nikel, Willy Tranq, Sormani, and Silvestri. Gabriella was also known as Gabriella Maier, as a result of her marriage in 1933 (soon undone by divorce) to an elderly Swiss citizen for the sole purpose of securing her right to Swiss residency. 7 STAEM, 345. The document, no. 10650, dated Barcelona, 23 January 1924, states as reason for his arrest: "Expulsion: a disposicion Autoridades Italianas" [Expulsion: at the disposition of Italian Authorities]. 8 The choice of "Silone" reflects the author's admiration for Quintus Poppedius Silo, a Marsican leader whose army opposed the Romans in the Social

240 Notes to pages 13-15 War of 90 BC, partaking in the struggle that culminated in the Roman Lex Julia granting citizenship to Italian subjects. The name 'Ignazio' was chosen "to add a Christian name to the pagan surname." 9 For details on this part of Silone's life see Magnani, Una famiglia italiana. 10 See ISCN, 76. Silone's letter appears in my English translation on pp. 14-15 of this volume. 11 The meeting, ostensibly called to plan against the "imminent imperialistic war/' was in fact summoned to start proceedings against Trotsky and Zinoviev, and to carry them out regardless of truth or objections. See Uscita, 57-118, and Silone's account in Testimonianze sul Comunismo (Milan: Comunita, 1949). 12 See STAEM, 351, letter dated 30 April 1928 to Silone from his grandmother, and his letter to her sent from Berlin i September 1928. On 10 October 1932, a cell mate, writing on Romolo's behalf, documented the latter's prolonged suffering (252). Romolo could only add a few lines and his signature, thus revealing his already critical condition. He died on 27 October 1932. 13 Romolo's innocence of attempted regicide was recognized, but he was then sentenced to twelve years and three months of jail, plus three years of special surveillance for "belonging to the illegal Communist Party and for subversive activities." See STAEM, 343-55, where the case is documented. 14 My translation of the letter found by Aldo Ricci in the Archivio Centrale dello Stato (ISCN, 109-10). And the transcript of document no. 00006 of the Italian Interior Ministry that states: "Tranquilli Secondino ... diede a vedere di essersi pentito del suo atteggiamento antifascista e tento qualche riavvicinamento con le Autorita italiane, mandando, disinteressatamente, delle informazioni generiche circa le attivita dei fuorusciti. Cio fece nell'intento di giovare al fratello" [Tranquilli Secondino tried to show that he regretted his anti-Fascist past and attempted a certain rapprochement with the Italian Authorities, sending them, without compensation, generic information about the activities of the political exiles" (115). See also Bruno Gravagnuolo, "Ignazio Silone," 2, for an idea of the debate on this topic that was initiated by the historian Dario Biocca, and an article that appeared in the Corriere della Sera on 7 March 1996. For latest developments, see Reset (May-June 1999), 63-77. 15 See ISCN, 77, for details on a document found by Giulio Napoleone in the archives of the Istituto Gramsci, attesting to Silone's attempt in this regard. Also see Centre di Ricerca Guido Dorso, L'Irpinia nella societd meridionale (hereafter, 7SM), 632. On 15 January 1931, Barbara Seidenfeld Tresso (Gabriella's sister, nicknamed "Ghita") writes to Angelo Tasca: "vi mando la dichiarazione

Notes to pages 16-18 241

16

17

18 19

20

21 22

di P[asquini]. Come vedete di illusion! ne ha ancora un bel po' ed illusion! anche ingenue. Per illustrare cio vi allege un brano della lettera dimia sorella." [I'm sending you P(asquini's [i.e., Silone's]) declaration. As you can see he still harbors many illusions, and naive ones at that. To illustrate the point, I'm enclosing a passage from my sister's letter.] Barbara's tone and Gabriella's letter suggest that by then Silone had broken up with Gabriella. Silone remained fond of Gabriella throughout his life, helping her move to Rome after the war, and even remembering her in his testament. For Silone's relationship with Aline Valangin I relied on Darina Silone's recollection of the events. See Falcetto, ed. Ignazio Silone Romanzi e Saggi (hereafter ISRS), vol. i, LXXXIII for further details. For details on the composition and publication of Fontamara, see Paynter, "Precisazioni: Fontamara e 'Viaggio a Parigi'" (publisher's title for "Considerazioni in margine alia data di composizione di Fontamara e di 'Viaggio a Parigi' di Silone"), and ISRS, 1459-98 for a more exhaustive study. See Appendix 2 for the English translation of this important but little-known essay. Mercuri, Memoriale dal carcere svizzero (hereafter, Memorials), 15. "II mio allontanamento da.ogni specie di lavoro politico e stato complete e assoluto fino alia meta del 1941... e anche durante gli anni agitati della guerra d'Abissinia, della guerra civile in Spagna, dell'annessione dell'Austria, dello scoppio della seconda guerra mondiale, io ho taciuto, ho fatto vita ritirata, ho scritto i miei libri, mi sono astenuto da ogni movimento ed azione politica." Copies of // Canzoniere delle Alpi are in the Schweizerische Sozial Archiv, Zurich, and bear the notation "Illegal." The place of publication appears as Roma, Via del Seminario, 87, whereas the Almanacco Socialista is printed in Paris, by the Partito Socialista Italiano, Sezione della Internazionale Operaia Socialista. The issues offer valuable insight into the work of the underground movement and the methods used to disseminate anti-Fascist propaganda. Silone's poem entitled "Antiroma" appears on p. 105 of the 1935 edition, and in a longer version in Silone's "Simplicio," in Nettie Sutro's translation of "The Journey to Paris," Die Reise nach Paris, 91-2, Now in Viaggio a Parigi, ed. and with introduction by Vittoriano Esposito, trans, by Silvia Carusi and Karin Wiedemeyer Francesconi from the German ed. of 1934 (hereafter, Viaggio), 106-7. Divisione Polizia Politica, Protocollo no. 002297, dated 20 January 1935; STAEM, 354. Undated letter, sent from "Villa Salute," Lugano, and letter dated "Villa

242 Notes to pages 18-21 Salute" 14 July 1935, which presumably followed, as the author appears to have resumed his normal activities. References to weather conditions in this and other correspondence between Silone and the Oprechts should be further investigated by scholars of Silone's political activities, but they remain outside the scope of this work. See Appendix i. 23 According to Darina Silone the book was supposed to appear in the Carrefour Editions, but the project was aborted because the PCI intervened against it. 24 This account is derived from my conversations with Darina Silone as well as from her writings, "II mio primo incontro con Ignazio Silone," STAEM, 19-22, and "Le ultime ore di Ignazio Silone," in Darina Silone, ed., Severina, 165-82. 25 Antonio Ruberti, "L'umanesimo siloniano," Oggi e Domani, Special Supplement (March 1992), III. From the proceedings of the International Convention, Ignazio Silone Scrittore e Politico, Pescina, 15-16 October 1991. The Honorable Antonio Ruberti intervened in his role as Minister for Universities and Scientific Research. 26 Although Silone authored several best-sellers, he never achieved financial prosperity. In fact, when reading his correspondence with the Swiss publishers, one is struck by the subservient and guarded tone he uses with those who are obviously profiting from his work. To this day, even as his books are still selling all over the world, his widow receives only a minimal income from copyrights. 27 GTF. 28 Michael Warner, "Origins of the Congress of Cultural Freedom, 1949-50," Studies in Intelligence, vol. 38, no. 5 (unclassified 1995 ed.). Warner (ni) states, "This article is an excerpt from a larger classified draft study of CIA involvement with anti-Communist groups in the Cold War. The author retains a footnoted copy of the article in the CIA History Staff. This version of the article has been redacted for security considerations." Even in this abridged form, the article is a precious source of information in that it retraces step by step the events, beginning from the 1949 meeting in New York of "800 prominent literary and artistic figures" to stage a Stalinist peace conference, calling for "peace at any cost" and denouncing "US warmongering," and culminating with the reaction by the Americans for Intellectual Freedom, the Berlin Convention, the CIA plan, and covert operations, and their final exposure. 29 Ibid. 30 See my letter to the CIA and its response in Appendix i. 31 The letter appears in its Italian original in Harwell's Un cristiano senza chiesa e

Notes to pages 21-9 243

32 33

34

35 36

altri saggi. My translation is from "II segreto di Silone: 'Che tristezza ho scoperto che ci finanziava la Cia/" La Stampa (12 November 1991), 19. d'Eramo, L'opera di Ignazio Silone (hereafter, OIS), 539-40, nn68-7O. See Tommaso E. Frosini, ed. Tempo Presente: Antologia 1956-68, (Florence: Liberal Libri, 1998). This anthology contains important writings by Silone and other intellectuals. On the role of intellectuals during the Cold War, and the presence of the CIA on university campuses, see Winks, Cloak and Gown; Diamond, Compromised Campus; and Coleman, The Liberal Conspiracy. 0/S,53M,n67. For Silone's testament, see STAEM, 384. Italian law apparently prevented Mrs Silone from transferring part of the archives to an American university. The material was given to the Centre di Studi e Documentazione Socialista and is now at the Fondazione Turati, in Florence under seal following a legal controversy. Mrs Silone has lately donated copies of the material to the town of Pescina. It can be found at the Centre Studi Siloniani.

2 Autobiographical Writings and Essays: Emergency Exit 1 Emergency Exit, English trans. Harvey Ferguson II, except for the last essay, for which no indication is given; first published in Italian as Uscita di sicurezza (Florence: Vallecchi, 1965). For details concerning the date of composition, the revisions, and the initial publication of the individual writings, see OIS, 343-77. 2 Rigobello, Ignazio Silone, 138. 3 Pirandello, "L'umorismo," 15-160.1 refer in particular to the "avvertimento del contrario." 4 Emergency Exit, 13-14. 5 It is interesting to compare and contrast this story and this journey to Beniamino 's experience during his "journey" in "The Journey to Paris." 6 Ibid., 32. Lk 24:13; Mt 5:10, i Pt 3:14; unless otherwise stated, all quotations from the scriptures are from the Revised Standard Version (Toronto and London: Thomas Nelson, 1966). 7 Rv 9:14; Jn 11:38-44. 8 In The Works ofLyofN. Tolstoi, vol. 12 (New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1900). 9 Emergency Exit, 37. 10 The essay "Un'uscita di sicurezza" ["Emergency Exit"] first appeared in the September-October 1950 issue of Comunitd. Translated by Archibald Colquhoun, it first appeared in English in GTF.

244 Notes to pages 33-49 11 It is significant, in this regard, that Silone concludes this essay with the following comment: "Sembrava anche al Machiavelli: "Fosse offizio di uomo buono quel bene che per la malignita dei tempi e della fortuna tu non hai potuto operare, inseguarlo ad altri, acciocche sendone molti capaci, alcuno di quelli piu amato dal Cielo possa operarlo" (Discorso, 11, proemio). Uscita, 152. [Let one duty of the good man be to instruct others in that good which cannot be brought about because of the evil of the time, or bad luck, so that, among the many who are capable, some of those most beloved of Heaven can bring it to pass] (Emergency Exit, 127). As a result of a misreading of Silone's bibliographical note, the source indicated in this volume is the preface to The Second Book of Discourses on the First Decade of Titus Livius. Cf. Niccolo Machiavelli Discourses on Livy, trans. Harvey C. Mansfield and Nathan Tarcow (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1996), 5. For a more complete translation see the preface to the First Book. 12 Emergency Exit, 111-12. 13 See Marcoaldi, "Faccia a faccia." 14 Emergency Exit, 121,124. 15 Ibid., 124. Silone is quoting from Weil's La Pesanteur. 16 I owe this information to Darina Silone, who explained that Silone was invited by George Olban, an expatriate Hungarian, to write a piece for broadcast beyond the Iron Curtain. Both the writer and Mrs Silone went to Munich, and the piece was broadcast in Darina's English translation. Silone "received no compensation," and accepted strictly because he believed in the validity of his message. 17 Emergency Exit, 155. 18 Ibid., 172; also Moravia's La ciodara; English title: Two Women. 19 Emergency Exit, 172. 20 The translator renders "Agiatezza e costume" [Affluence and Custom] into "Morality and Welfare." This "license" and others, including omissions of entire passages, result in the need to consult the original version of the book for greater accuracy. 21 Uscita, 237. These concluding remarks are missing from the English version. 22 Emergency Exit, 200. 3 The Short Stories: "The Journey to Paris" / "Mr. Aristotle" 1 Sutro, trans. Die Reise nach Paris. 2 Darina Silone confirmed this to me on more than one occasion. Luce

Notes to pages 49-55 245 d'Eramo writes that the author rejected the short stories "for stylistic reasons" and because he considered them "too journalistic" (OIS, 115). 3 For a list of the variances between the 1934 German version and the 1941 English version see the translation note by Carusi in Viaggio, 83. 4 See OIS, 118-19, for details concerning the publication of this volume in English, Spanish, and Japanese. In her bibliographical note concerning the Danish version (118) d'Eramo mistakenly lists six short stories rather than five, including one with the same title as the volume. Many scholars have since repeated this mistake. The cited volume, Maria Garland's translation, Den tragiske Idyl, in reality contains an introduction by Ernst Harthern and the original five short stories, arranged as follows (in a different order from both the German and the English versions): "Simplicio" (13-59), "Reisen til Paris" (61-98), "Letizia" (99-117), "Don Aristotile" (119-33), and "Raeven" (135-65). 5 Viaggio. 6 Esposito, Silone novelliere. Citing Gisella Padovani's thesis that "The Journey to Paris" should be read as "preistoria di Fontamara" ("Alle origini di Fontamara: 'Un viaggio a Parigi,'" in Letteratura e Socialismo. Esposito argues that Silone probably began to draft this short story in 1929 and completed it in 1934, together with the other four. 7 This title was also used by John Lehman for the 1936 publication by Penguin of this short story. Both the definite article and the choice of "Journey" rather than "Trip" are essential to render the meaning that results from textual analysis. 8 "Mr. Aristotle," trans. Samuel Putnam (New York: Robert McBride 1935). 9 There is evidence that Silone had become interested in this new science, and that he had recourse to psychoanalysis to overcome the 1930 crisis. 10 In the initial version of Fontamara, Peppino Goriano is a Fontamaran who goes to Rome and becomes corrupted by the pervading climate to the point that there is no job he will not do, including becoming a procurer of young peasant girls for the local clergy. Eventually his "good luck" runs out and he returns to his native town having lost both his jobs and his honor. In the revised versions of the novel, Silone deletes the character and his story. 11 "Mr. Aristotle," 164-5. 12 Ibid., 182. In (La Sante prison in Paris) Silone apparently met a young man who had actually made a round trip similar to Benjamin's. That encounter later inspired this part of the story. See OIS, 117-18. 13 Ibid., 199. These lines are missing from the 1993 Italian edition of the volume. In the Danish version, which like the English here cited is based on the origi-

246 Notes to pages 55-62 nal Italian, the two verses can be found instead as follows: "Den, der forlader den gamle Vej for den nye, finder kun, hvad han forlod." See "Reisen til Paris," in Den tragiske Idyl, 98. 14 Padovani, 15, 26. The scholar draws a comparison between Benjamin and Berardo (the hero of Silone's first novel) and finds that unlike the latter, Benjamin, as a character, does not evolve. As a result, she concludes that Silone wrote "The Journey to Paris" before Fontamara. My findings do not support her interpretation or her conclusion. See Paynter, "Precisazioni," 12-14. 15 Until the early part of the twentieth century the brigands inhabited the mountains of Abruzzo. The "brigante" remains in the popular imagination as someone who brought the poor the only justice they ever knew. 16 Esposito, Silone novelliere, 28. The shorter version of "Simplicio" was published in Oggi e Domani (June 1974). 17 See Pietro Spina in The Seed Beneath the Snow, and Pietro Angelerio (Pope Celestine V) in The Story of a Humble Christian. 18 See Appendix 2. The validity of Eisler's findings was seriously questioned by several scholars, but their arguments have no bearing on Silone's essay. 19 Mr. Aristotle, 148. 20 See OIS, 323, for further details on the various publications. 21 Bread and Wine (New York and London: Harper & Brothers, 1937), 248 (hereafter, BW, 1937). 22 The important differences between the short story and the novel as well as their meaning are discussed in my analysis of the latter. 23 Mr. Aristotle, 82. 24 Esposito, Silone novelliere, 40. 25 Mr. Aristotle, 70 26 Pescina, as well as the "New Town" and "Purgatory" neighborhoods are mentioned here. "Fontamara" is the name of a fountain at the entrance of Pescina, from which the immediately surrounding area takes its name. 27 In the areas of Italy that were under Spanish rule, this title was initially given to noblemen and people who occupied powerful positions. It can imply high esteem or simply indicate expected deference, as it happens when it is used for a mafia boss. In the Catholic Church the title was formerly reserved for the pope, and was later transferred down the ranks to the clergy. It is now primarily used for Catholic priests. 28 This detail is inspired by a real episode, which Silone also narrates in Emergency Exit. The character of the seamstress and the name "Faustina" also

Notes to pages 64-8 247 appear in other works. The latter is the female protagonist in The Seed Beneath the Snow. 4 The Satire: The School for Dictators \ See Stevenson, Macmillan Book of Proverbs, 1016, for the various attributions of this phrase. 2 The book was first published in German, translated by Jacob Huber (pseudonym of Rudolf Jacob Humm), under the title Die Schule der Diktatoren. An English translation by Gwenda David and Eric Mosbacher, The School for Dictators (hereafter, School) was published that same year in New York by Harper and Brothers, and in London by Jonathan Cape in 1939. All references are to this British edition. The Italian version, La Scuola dei dittatori, (hereafter, Scuola) was published by Mondadori in 1962. See OIS, 171-96, for translations in other languages, author's revisions, and criticism. 3 See Fadiman's review, Fontamara, in The New Yorker; Martin, "The New Machiavelli"; Salvatorelli, "Ignazio Silone ha scritto"; and Foot, "One Man." 4 See Vittorio Libera's introduction to La scuola dei dittatori, Scrittori Italiani e Stranieri (Milan: Mondadori, 1978; reprint of the original 1962 Narratori Italiani edition), xiv. Also O7S, 171, ni72, for d'Eramo's definition of the work as "dialogues in the classic tradition." 5 This work was referred to as Idolum principum in the original version of The School for Dictators. 6 In the original version Professor Pickup is the "secret" advisor. 7 In Italian popular sayings "la scoperta di Colombo" [Columbus's discovery] alludes to the "discovery" of the utterly obvious. Columbus is said to have won a bet that he could make a boiled egg stand up, by chipping it at the base. The deleted "relic" documented the king's reaction to the momentous event. 8 Memoriale, 12. 9 This letter, found in the Mondadori archives, is quoted by Tudini, Varianti sconosciute, 169-70. The words Silone writes about Fleischmann find an echo in those he writes about Luca in The Secret of Luca; see my discussion in chapter 6. 10 Memoriale, 10-11,14. 11 In the sense of Frye's "second-phase satire"; cf. Northrop Frye, Anatomy of Criticism (hereafter, AC), 223: "The chief distinction between irony and satire is that satire is militant irony: its moral notions are relatively clear, and it assumes standards against which the grotesque and the absurd are mea-

248 Notes to pages 69-74 sured." And 233: "Second-phase satire shows literature assuming a special function of analysis, of breaking up the lumber of stereotypes, fossilized beliefs, superstitious terrors, crank theories, pedantic dogmatisms, oppressive fashions, and all other things that impede free movement (not necessarily, of course, the progress) of society. Such satire is the completion of the logical process known as reductio ad absurdum." This process is clearly present in The School for Dictators. 12 Griffin, Satire, 37-8. 13 Huey Pierce Long (1893-1935) was governor of Louisiana and a U.S. Senator. Widely known for his unbridled political ambition and his demagoguery, he was assassinated by the son of one of his victims. Silone refers to him in the original version of the book, p. 25, where Mr W tells the professor that Long was a political failure because he lacked bold political ideas. 14 Jn 20:24-8. Thomas is mentioned as "patron saint of the Enlightenment" in Jaroslav Pelikan's Jesus through the Centuries, 198. 15 Antisthenes, a friend of Socrates, died in 365 B.C. Debarred from the Athenian gymnasium because his mother was Thracian, he taught in a place called Cynosarges. From this came the name of his philosophy, Cynicism. 16 Silone, "Nuovo Incontro con Giuseppe Mazzini," // Ponte, vol. i (January 1949), 4-18. and The Living Thoughts of Mazzini (New York and London: Longmans, Green, 1939). 17 Giovanni de' Medici (1498-1526), the condottiere (leader of the mercenary army) known as Giovanni delle Bande Nere (for the black banners his warriors carried in mourning for the death of Pope Leo X) was the son of Giovanni il Popolano (a grandson of Lorenzo, Cosimo the Elder's brother) and Caterina Riario Sforza. He was mortally wounded in battle while fighting at the head of the Italian infantry in the army of the League of Cognac. 18 Interview with Silone by Mario Raimondo, published in La Giustizia (17 August 1962); quoted by Libera, Scuola, xvi. 19 This phrase does not appear in the original version, but can be found in the final Italian one (Scuola, 84). 20 Scuola, 79. 5 The Novels of Exile 1 Emergency Exit, 157. 2 Ibid., 46. 3 Ibid., 105-6. 4 Author's note "To the Reader," dated Baden, 15 August 1944, in And He Hid Himself, trans. Darina Tranquilli (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1945), v.

Notes to pages 74-80 249 5 Fontamara, trans. Eric Mosbacher, with an introduction by Irving Howe (New York and Scarborough, Ont: A Meridian Classic, New American Library, 1984; hereafter, Fontamara MC), 12. The passage, dated 1960, appears in a substantially similar version in the author's note to the final version of Bread and Wine (New York: Atheneum, 1962). Other editions of the novel referred to throughout this work include the first German version, translated by Nettie Sutro (1933); the original Italian version (Zurich and Paris: Nuove Edizioni Italiane, 1933; hereafter Fontamara NEI); the first revised and corrected Italian version (Milan: Mondadori, 1949); the third and final revised Italian version (Milan: Mondadori, 1953); the first American edition, trans. Michael Warf (Harrison, Smith and Robert Haas, 1934); and Fontamara, trans. Gwenda David and Eric Mosbacher (London: Methuen, 1934; reprint, Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1938; hereafter, Fontamara PB). 6 Allsop, "Ignazio Silone," 49-51. 7 Fontamara NEI: "In stridente contrasto con la miseria dei cafoni sono le enormi ricchezze che il Torlogne ricava annualmente dal Fucino: 800.000 quintali di bietole per zucchero, 300.000 quintali di grano, 10.000 quintali di legumi diversi" [There is a striking disparity between the wretchedness of the peasants and the enormous wealth Prince Torlonia draws yearly from the Fucino. The Fucino yields him annually 40,000 tons of sugar beet, 15,000 tons of corn, 2,000 tons of vegetables] (iv). These details and others are deleted from the 1947 Faro edition onward. 8 See Appendix i. 9 I documented the manner in which the author's revisions produced a shift from the realistic to the symbolic in the third chapter of Paynter, Simbolismo e ironia nella narrativa di Silone. 10 Fontamara MC, 11-12. 11 Pampaloni, "L'opera narrativa," 49-58, and La Fiera Letteraria (7 November 1965), 7, which reads: "Dice 1'autore che la sua arte del raccontare e ... senza allusioni;... mi pare che sia esattamente il contrario" [The author says that his narrative art is ... without allusion;... it seems to me that it is exactly the other way around.] 12 Fontamara MC, 18. 13 AC, 161-2. 14 Ibid., 125; Frye explains: "Apocalyptic means revelation, and when art becomes apocalyptic, it reveals. But it reveals only on its own terms, and in its own forms: it does not describe or represent a separate content or revelation." 15 Ibid., 136-7. Frye defines "romance" as follows: "Myth ... is one extreme of literary design; naturalism is the other, and in between lies the whole area of romance, using that term to mean ... the tendency ... to displace myth in a

250 Notes to pages 80-94 human direction, and yet, in contrast to realism, to conventionalize content in an idealized direction." 16 BW,SC, xv-xvi. 17 Fontamam MC, 22. 18 In the original version of the novel King Humbert is named rather than Queen Margherita. The change renders the statement more plausible both because it was the queen who enjoyed popularity with the people, and also because, while she died four or five years before the events of Fontamara, in 1926, the King was assassinated, three decades earlier, in 1900. 19 "La narrativa e il sottosuolo meridionale," Prospettive Meridional! (December !955 -January 1956); partially reproduced in "Silone: 'Al sud non servono i pacchi-dono per la befana/" STAEM, 213. 20 Fontamara MC, 23. 21 The word "table" is repeated eleven times. 22 Ibid., 29. In the original version of the novel the language is more explicit and the tone more polemical. The pope actually tells Jesus (later the Crucifix) that "Prince Torlonia makes a handsome contribution to St Peter's Purse," that "the Government is able to pay two thousand million lire to St Peter's Purse," that He should remember that "bishops and cardinals are all large landed proprietors," and other things of the same nature. Fontamara PB, 31. 23 On 11 February 1929 the Italian State and the Roman Catholic Church signed an accord at St Giovanni in Laterano, in Rome. The pope was recognized as temporal ruler of the Vatican; the state compensated the Church for confiscated land; made Catholicism the religion of Italy; granted tax exemption status to the Church; and gave it jurisdiction over the institution of marriage. Mussolini benefited politically from the agreement. 24 Guerriero, L'inquietndine]aca, 135. 25 Fontamara MC, 29. 26 Ibid., 56. In Fascist Italy, the office of the podestd replaced that of the elected mayor. Ironically, this change was implemented shortly after women were granted the right to vote in municipal elections, thus making that right worthless. 27 Sian Miles, ed. Simone Weil: An Anthology, 74. 28 Fontamara MC, 116. 29 Ibid., 16-17. In the original version, the same story was told about Saint Berardo rather than Saint Joseph; Fontamara PB, 173-4 30 Fontamara PB, 70. 31 Fontamara MC, 65. 32 Judy Rawson, "'Che fare?'", 556-65. 33 Lk 3:10-11.

Notes to pages 95-8 251 34 Tolstoy, What Is to Be Done? Vladimir Ilych Ulyanov (Lenin) composed What Is to Be Done in 1901-2 to refute the thesis of the so-called Economists, according to which, if the workers could be instigated to fight for their rights, socialism would inevitably follow. Lenin argued that results could be achieved only by a party of professional revolutionaries, completely subordinated to their central committee, and kept together by military discipline. 35 The novel was first published in German under the title Brot und Wein (Zurich: Oprecht, 1936). Translated into English by David and Mosbacher, Bread and Wine was published also in London by Methuen in 1936, and in New York by Harper and Brothers in 1937 (hereafter, BW, 1937). The original Italian version was published that same year in Lugano by Nuove Edizioni di Capolago, under the title Pane e vino. (See O7S, 512 and n5i2 for information on this publishing concern, established by Silone and others.) In Italy a totally revised version with the new title Vino e pane was published by Mondadori in 1955 (reprint, 1976; reprint, Mondadori, 1981). My analysis is based on this version, which in turn was translated by Mosbacher, but retained the original English title, Bread and Wine (New York: Atheneum, 1962; reprint, Signet Classics, 1986 (hereafter, BW, SC). Unless otherwise indicated all English quotes are from this edition. 36 See BW, SC, xiv-xv, for the author's comments in this regard. 37 Chabod, L'ltalia contemporanea, 93, describes the situation as follows: "Se mai era esistita prima qualche prospettiva di riforma sociale, ora ogni speranza scompare del tutto" [If ever a possibility of social reform had existed, now all hopes completely disappear]. 38 Schneider, "Scriptural Symbolism" 387-99; Lewis, "The Politics of Charity," 119. Both authors had written of Silone's "habit of localizing the New Testament ... by making his characters ... appear dimly to reenact episodes from the life of Christ." Schneider's is, however, the first systematic analysis of the scriptural symbolism. 39 Schneider, "Scriptural Symbolism," 388. 40 AC, second and third essays. I refer the reader to my volume Simbolismo e ironia nella narrativa di Silone, ch. 2 (55-83), for a detailed discussion of Frye's theories as well as Cassirer, Coleridge, Tindall, D.H. Lawrence, T.S. Eliot, and Fromm on symbolism, and Aristotle, McKee, Muecke, Furst, and others on irony. 41 Pane e vino (Capolago, 1937), 25, and Vino e pane (Mondadori, 1955), 48. In both the original English translation and the new Signet Classic translation (19), Concettino's reply reads: "Why should I know? Am I my brother's keeper?" As my literal translation shows, the scriptural source of the passage is not as evident in Italian as it is in English.

252 Notes to pages 98-110 42 B W, 1937,20. In Vino e pane, 25, Silone says that Don Benedetto "rievoca il primo fratricidio" [recalls the first fratricide]. This detail does not appear in either of the English versions. 43 Mitgang, "A Talk with Ignazio Silone/' 4. 44 BW, 1937,234. 45 Schneider, "Scriptural Symbolism," 389. 46 See BW,SC, 77,195-9. 47 See Chapter 7, And He Hid Himself. 48 Pietro employs a chemical agent to alter his facial appearance. He then gradually loses this old-man disguise. The manger scene is discussed later in this chapter. 49 Tudini's analysis is based on // seme sotto la neve (Lugano: Edizioni di Capolago, and Zurich: Verlag Oprecht, 1942), (Rome: Faro, 1945), (Milan: Mondadori [Medusa], 1950), (Milan: Mondadori [Narratori Italiani], 1961; reprint Mondadori [Oscar], 1979; hereafter, Seme), and also considers The Seed Beneath the Snow, translated Francis Frenaye (New York and London: Harper and Row, 1942). Other editions of the work referred to here include the first publication, in German, Der Samen unterm Schnee, translated W. J. Guggenheim (Zurich: Oprecht & Heilbling, 1941; hereafter, Samen); and The Seed Beneath the Snow, translated Harvey Ferguson II, after the 1950 Mondadori ed. (New York: Atheneum Publishers, 1965; hereafter, Seed). Unless otherwise indicated, all English quotations are from this edition. 50 Cf. typescript of Seme (emphasis mine), 486, and Oprecht, 1942, 584. This version contains numerous handwritten parts evidently added later by the author. 51 See, for instance, pages 27, 57, 76, and 80, which correspond to pages 28, 54, 76, and 81, mentioned in the Central Command's letter dated Bern, 11 April 1942. An Italian translation of this letter appears in Tudini, 32-7. 52 Saint Athanasius (0295-373), Vita Antonii, now in Ancient Christian Writers, no. 10 (1950). 53 Aragno, // romanzo, 71. 54 Seed, 20. 55 This surname was apparently given to foundlings. A baby was said to have been "esposto" [exposed] when he or she was left at a Catholic institution's ruota (the rotating surface or wheel upon which the adult would place the baby before literally turning her or him in). Silone uses it with negative connotations both here and in A Handful of Blackberries, where Alfredo Esposito, a pusillanimous and opportunistic turncoat, is the target of his cutting irony.

Notes to pages 111-17 253 56 AC, 215. 57 Cf. "Silone: 'Al sud non servono i pacchi-dono per la befana/" STAEM, 213. 58 Ibid.; Silone refers to Aline Valangin, the woman with whom he had a very intense romantic relationship, simply as a Swiss writer, and quotes her as addressing him in the polite form, thus giving the impression that she is merely one of his readers. Whether the letter was actually received and in what form has little bearing here. 59 Aragno, Romanzo, 58. 60 Cf. Seme, 53. 61 Mt 13:31. 62 Robert McAfee Brown, "Ignazio Silone and the Pseudonyms of God," in Harry J. Mooney, Jr., and Thomas F. Staley, eds. The Shapeless God (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1968): 35. 63 Pascal, "Mystery of Jesus," in Pensees, 552. 64 Cf. i Cor 1:23. 65 "Silone s'explique," L'Express (9 February 1967). 66 Frankl, Man's Search; and also Death Camp, 99, where Frankl rejects the idea of nihilism, arguing that even death can acquire a meaning if the individual freely accepts the challenges of the present. 67 For one of the most remarkable testimonials to the dignity of the human spirit in our times, see Spink, Miracle of Love; and Pintor, Lettere. 68 Mueller, "Theme," 161-86. 69 In The School for Dictators, Silone reveals his remarkable study of the subject in the light of Jungian and Freudian theories, sociological and anthropological studies, and other pertinent sources. His awareness of the power of symbols also plays an important role in A Handful of Blackberries. It is interesting to note that the theory expressed by Don Marcantonio actually corresponds to the manner in which the Libri unici, or grade readers, used under Fascism were devised. See // libra della terza classe elementare (Rome: La Libreria dello Stato, A. XV). Printed in 1936, the volume shows as its date the fifteenth year of the Fascist regime, or 1937. 70 The concern over the demonic forces that try to erase the meaning of Christ's sacrifice is such that the central chapters of the novel (IV-XV) are devoted to it. 71 Seed, 194. This is an excellent translation of the Italian version in which Pietro teaches Infante the meaning of the word "compagni," explaining "due persone che mangiano lo stesso pane, diventano cum-pane, compagni; e da cum-pane viene com-pania, compagnia." Cf. Seme, 176. 72 Infante's question marks bring to mind a reading in // libro della terza classe elementare, cit. 56-8, entitled "Obbedire" and bearing as subtitle Mussolini's

254 Notes to pages 118-24 words: "Obbedite perche dovete obbedire" [You Obey Because You Must Obey]. It is a masterpiece of psychological intimidation that compares a child who asks questions before obeying to a useless musket that does not shoot, or to a ridiculous tin bayonet: "A musket, a tin bayonet, and a child who does not obey are the same thing, or rather, are three useless things." According to the reading, those who ask why reveal their own weakness, and wear each question like a patch on the uniform. The patches suggest the image of Harlequin; the "lesson" implies that the child will stand out like a clown. 73 Jn 1:20-7; cf. also Lk 3:10-16. 74 Jn 12:14-15. 75 Jn 12:23-5, 36. 76 Pietrasecca, Fontamara, Rocca, and many other names of places Silone uses in his works are actually found in Abruzzo. Christian names such as Pietro and Simone and Roman names such as Marcantonio are also very common, though in Silone they are carefully given, to connote the authentic and its counterpart. 77 Jn 4:10. 78 My translation, based on Ferguson's but also reflecting the use of the present tense found in the final version of the novel (Seme, 337), as well as some details that do not appear in Seed, 373-4. 79 Jung, Man and His Symbols, 361. 80 Hubbs, "Fish," Encyclopaedia Britannica (Chicago: William Benton Publisher, 1972), 9: 319. 81 Ez. 37:1-14. See AC, 145-6, for the apocalyptic symbolism of the city and the water. 82 Mt 27:51. 83 The description brings to mind Silone's recollection of his own journey from Jerusalem to Jericho, when, in the landscape that unfolded before his eyes, he recognized his literary landscape. See Silone's observations in Luigi Marini, "Non chiamatemi provinciale," STAEM, 292. 84 Jung, Man and His Symbols, 154. 85 Ibid., 152, where this symbolism is discussed. 86 Jn 15:12-13. 87 Jn 12:24. 6 The Post-Exile Novels 1 Kazin, "Italian Journal," 160,176. 2 Una manciata di more (Milan: Mondadori, 1952); (hereafter, More) translated

Notes to pages 125-39 255 Darina Silone. A Handful of Blackberries (hereafter, HB) was published in London by Jonathan Cape, and in New York by Harper and Brothers, in 1953. Unless otherwise indicated I quote from the New York edition. 3 Emergency Exit, 60. 4 The encyclical, signed on 9 April 1963, bears the date 11 April 1963. 5 Emergency Exit, 127. 6 Aragno, // romanzo, 98: "La consequenza tecnica di tale impiego del tempo risulta nella creazione di diverse inquadrature su cui si posa il suo obiettivo creando 1'impressione di un montaggio cinematografico, in cui egli fa muovere e parlare i suoi personaggi, costringendo il lettore, a lavoro finite, a ricostruire nella sua memoria i diversi momenti dello sviluppo del suo tema centrale ... quello della ricerca della verita." 7 Annoni, Invito, 62. 8 Emergency Exit, 121. 9 170-81. To punish Rocco, the comrades later tell Bonifacio's mother that Rocco had shot her son for his own satisfaction. 10 Lk: 16:13; cf. Mt 6:24. 11 In "The Situation of the 'Ex,'" Silone amply discusses the theme, citing also the following verses, by Francis Thompson: "I hid from Him, and under running laughter. / Up vistaed hopes I sped; / And shot, precipitated, / Adown Titanic glooms of chasmed fears, / From those strong Feet that followed, followed after." See Emergency Exit, 106; and 100-10 for the entire essay. 12 Rocco is deeply moved by Martino's tale of the extreme poverty he and his family suffered and the abuses they endured, including the humiliation inflicted on him by his townsmen when they openly read and ridiculed Erminia's love letters to him. Darina Silone remembers Silone's comment to her that Martino's story was based on a real event whose protagonist was the publisher Cino del Duca. Letter to this writer dated Geneve, 15 Feb. 1986. 13 The crisis had begun when Rocco got firsthand evidence of Communist oppression from a Jewish woman who had spent many years in the various "camps." According to Mrs Silone, both this episode and the idea of a Jewish heroine for the novel were inspired by Elinor Lipper, a woman Silone had met in the party. Letter cited above. 14 Massimiliano is one of Lazzaro's friends whose words help define Lazzaro and his mission. The importance of the Pater Noster for Silone is reiterated even in his last will, when he asks that it be recited at his funeral, even as he requests that no religious service be held. STAEM, 368. 15 Jn 11:1-44. 16 See Appendix 2. Kazan, the capital of the Tatar Autonomous Socialist Republic of the former USSR, is situated 450 miles east of Moscow. Both Tolstoy

256 Notes to pages 140-7 and Lenin studied at the Kazan University, which later became the Kazan V.I. Ulyanov (Lenin) State University. 17 Marx, "Criticism," 7. Marx quotes the principle of the French politician Louis Blanc as follows: "When with the development of the individual in every sense, the production forces also increase and all the springs of collective wealth flow with abundance - only then can the limited horizon of bourgeois right be left behind entirely and society inscribe upon its banner, "From each according to his abilities, to each according to his needs.'" 18 Marx wrote that when the worker depends on "one-sided machine-like labor" he is "depressed spiritually and physically to the condition of a machine and from being a man becomes an abstract activity of a stomach." See Stockhammer, Wisdom of Karl Marx. The quotation, from the Communist Manifesto, is found under the alphabetical listing, "Robot, the Worker as" (n.p). 19 // segreto di Luca (hereafter, Segreto) was first published in Italian (Milan: Mondadori, Narratori Italiani Series, 1956); The Secret of Luca (hereafter, Secret), trans. Darina Silone, was published in London by Jonathan Cape, and in New York by Harper and Brothers, in 1958. Unless otherwise indicated, I quote from the New York edition. 20 Di Scipio, "Christological Symbolism," 51-61; Alfonsi, "II vangelo," 7-23. 21 This is repeated in this novel as well, p. 3. 22 The almond trees and blackberry bushes connect this novel to A Handful of Blackberries, and are a symbol of hope. See pp. 3, 88. 23 Mt 26:70, 72-4, on Peter's denial "I do not know what you mean ... I do not know the man ... Then he began to invoke a curse on himself and to swear/I do not know the man.'" 24 Mt 27:33-4: "when they came to a place called Golgotha (which means the place of a skull), they offered him wine to drink, mingled with gall." 25 Mt 27:51-2. 26 Di Scipio, "Christological Symbolism," 59. 27 Jn 10:15-16. 28 Mt23:5. 29 Jn 3:10-11,19-20. 30 The woman's warning echoes Christ's warning to beware of false prophets (Mt 24:11, 24), and implies that Luca may appear a tramp but is not. Her calling him "Man" also alerts the reader to the extraordinary nature of the character. 31 Lk 11:34. 32 Mt 25:12. 33 Don Serafino tells Andrea, "This isn't a village; as we've said before, it's a great tribe," and explains that Andrea's father, who was fond of Luca, urged

Notes to pages 149-55 257

34 35

36 37

38

39

40 41 42

43

44 45

him to go to bed with Ortensia to get her out of his mind. But Luca broke with him rather than listen to his advice (141-2). Lk 22:39-44. Significantly, when Silone was asked which would be his favorite second job, he answered that he would be a miller. "40 domande a Ignazio Silone," La Fiera Letteraria, 9, no. 15 (11 April 1954), i. In this important interview Silone also says the most important date in universal history is the day of the birth of Christ, and that his favorite painter is Roualt. For the importance of this preference, and the artistic affinities between Silone and the French painter, see my Simbolismo e ironia, 82-3. Lk 22: 52-3; when Jesus was being arrested, He said, "this is your hour, and the power of darkness." The Rogation rite is a penitential procession that formerly was held on 25 April and on the three days before the Ascension of the Lord, to invoke God's blessing on the sowing and harvest. See Zingarelli, Vocabolario, 1513. As evidence of Silone's spiritual kinship with Zauri, when I visited Pescina shortly after Silone's death, I found the urn containing his ashes in the Zauri chapel rather than the Tranquilli. Even as a boy, he had answered in a catechism class that the cross represents "the Passion of Our Lord," and "the way unfortunates sign their names" (50). Similarly, when the smell of vinegar helps Luca's mother overcome the fainting spells caused by her grief, Andrea thinks that it is the same vinegar that Pilate's legionaries used to soak the sponge they held to the lips of Christ crucified. Thus that smell, in his mind, comes to represent persecuted innocence (52). Guerriero, L'inquietudine, 144. Another important essay is Martinelli's "II segreto." Mt 27: 28-9. In Christian tradition, each of the "animals" mentioned in the vision of the throne of God in Ez 1:10 and Rv 4:6-8 is associated with one of the evangelists. The first animal, the lion, is allotted to Mark, according to Saint Jerome, because his gospel begins with John the Baptist "roaring in the Desert." Mt 23:27-8: "Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! ... you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within they are full of dead men's bones and all uncleanness." Jn 13:33-4; Jesus said, "My children, I will be with you only a little longer ... Love one another." The novel appeared during Italy's miracolo economico, or economic boom. In that milieu, a novel set in 1930-5 and focusing on the struggle against Fascism appeared as an anachronism. La volpe e le camelie (hereafter, Volpe) (Milan: Mondadori, 1960; reprint, 1979); The Fox and the Camellias, (hereafter,

258 Notes to pages 155-65 Fox) trans. Eric Mosbacher, was published in England by Jonathan Cape and in New York by Harper and Brothers in 1961. Unless otherwise indicated, I cite from the New York edition. 46 See Chapter 8, "The Defining Years." 47 Allsop, "Ignazio Silone." 48 Lk 13:31-2. 49 Mt 23:33. 50 Severina, ed. Darina Silone (Milan; Mondadori, 1981), 143. Mrs Silone shortened the title of the book to Severina when editing, though the novel itself appears under the full title within the volume, which also includes other relevant pieces. See her "Storia di un manoscritto," ibid., 129-44, f°r the genesis of the work, the time and circumstances under which Silone composed it, and the editor's personal knowledge of the author's endeavors and intentions; see also the philological note on the method adopted in editing the manuscript, and the documentation of the editor's interventions, 145-58. As the work never appeared in English, I cite from this edition, translating the cited passages. 51 Severina, 131; Paynter, review of Severina, by Ignazio Silone, 298-9. 52 The Italian source reads as follows: "Vi e un dolore inevitabile, inerente alia stessa condizione umana, e quello bisogna saperlo affrontare e diventare suo amico. Non bisogna temere, io penso, neppure la disperazione; perfino Gesu all'inizio della sua interminabile agonia, dell'agonia che ancora dura, si crede abbandonato ed ebbe un istante di scoraggiamento. E umano, se 1'Evangelista racconta il vero, e perfino divino disperare, purche sinceramente, seriamente e per cose fondamentali" (58). 53 The Italian reads as follows: "Anch'io da molto tempo non credo in Dio. Forse non ci ho mai creduto. Mi ci sforzavo, come lei. Mi sono illusa, se no non sarei entrata in convento. Non negavo la possibilita della sua esistenza, ma non ne trovavo alcuna prova convincente. Sono d'accordo con lei non c'e certezza. Finalmente in queste ultime settimane ho cessato di tormentarmi. Preferisco meditare le parole di Cristo: 'Conoscerete la verita e la verita vi rendera liberi.' E quelle dell'apostolo Paolo: 'Dov'e lo spirito del Signore, ivi e la liberta/ Se Dio esiste, ci ritrovera. Forse egli si rivelera a noi un giorno. Allora dovremo accettarlo. Per ora, non mi preoccupo piu: non puo essere peccato seguire la propria coscienza" (56). 54 Severina's answer to the first question is "Non perdere mai la nostra indignazione morale di fronte all'ingiustizia. Non abbandonare mai la ricerca della verita" (58). And to the second: "So che non e una risposta, ma certo che [sic] dovremo entrambi 'fare il salto,' per citare il Cardinale Newman, il quale affermo anche: Tl primo Vicario di Cristo in terra e la coscienza'" (59). I have

Notes to pages 166-75

55 56 57

58

2

59

omitted the part of Severina's answer that the editor had taken from earlier writings, to isolate the thought that Silone expressed in the latest part of his life, as his final message. Mt 10:39. To avoid anachronism, Silone has Severina donate only those organs that could actually be transplanted at that time and place. Geno Pampaloni, "Presentazione," Severina, 11, where he writes: "Per Silone ... La speranza e 1'estremo residuo cristiano in un mondo che ha perduto la fede e rinnegato la carita; non e una virtu di gioia, fresca e inventiva, ma una virtu di resistenza, 1'ultima luce o prova del non arrendersi." "Emergency Exit," 126.

7 The Plays 1 Chiaromonte, La situazione drammatica 225-5. 2 Tempo Presente was founded by Chiaromonte and Silone in 1955, and ceased publication in 1968. 3 See "Un giudizio di Nicola Chiaromonte," STAEM, 215. 4 And He Hid Himself, trans. Darina Tranquilli (New York: Harper and Brothers, 1945), v. The London edition, published that same year by Jonathan Cape, bears the title And He Did Hide Himself, under the translator's maiden name, Darina Laracy. I cite from the New York edition. 5 The work, trans, by Lotte Thiessing, was first published in 1944 by Verlag Oprecht, Zurich, with the title Und er verbarg sich. The Italian original, Ed egli si nascose, was published that same year in Zurich and Lugano by the Ghilda del Libro, a publishing concern founded by Silone and others. 6 Ed egli si nascose, revised ed. (1966; reprint Milan: Cino del Duca, 1966). 7 See Rigobello, Ignazio Silone, 113-18, and Edmund Wilson's essay in The New Yorker (8 September 1945), as examples of the general tendency to compare the play to the novel, and to point out the artistic superiority of the latter. 8 Penelope Jaffe Wacks, "Conflict and Commitment in Ignazio Silone's Ed egli si nascose," A.T.I. Journal (July 1980), 26. 9 Giorgetti, "II dramma," 89. This special issue on Silone also contains a copy of the play. 10 Silone writes: "J'ai radicalement refait cette piece, avec un resultat tres satisfaisant." The entire text is in Appendix i. 11 Speech delivered at the Convention for the Freedom of Culture, Brussels, 3 November 1950.1 quote from the Italian text published by Esposito, in Attualita di Silone, 223-6. 12 L'avventura di un povero cristiano (hereafter, Avventura) (Milan: Mondadori,

260 Notes to pages 175-84

13

14 15

16 17

18 19

20 21 22 23

24

1968; repr. 1975); The Story of a Humble Christian (hereafter, Story), trans. William Weaver, was published in London by Gollancz, and in New York by Harper and Row, in 1971. See OIS, 415-17, for other translations. Silone's friend notes that the taboo is only Italian, since George Sand did not hesitate to write Spiridion, inspired by Joachim of Flora, and even Lessing showed interest in the topic. Avventura, Mondadori, 21-3 (my translation). The circumstances surrounding Celestine's death remain unclear. For Silone's biographical note on him see "Fra Pietro Angelerio (Celestino V, Pier Celestino)" in Avventura, 188-90. Inferno III, vv. 59-60. See La Divina Commedia, 1:34, n59 Sapegno does not consider Petrarch's comment that "others" (arguably Dante), unjustly accused Pope Celestine V of "cowardice." Silone quotes from Petrarch, De vita solitaria (my translation). Sapegno lists Bambaglioli, Jacopo della Lana, and - with some reservations Ottimo, Buti, the Anonymous Florentine, and even Boccaccio, who added, however, that "that was not very certain." Op. cit., 34, n59. Del Villano and Di Tillio, Abruzzo nel tempo, 82. Pelikan, Jesus through the Centuries, 143. Joseph Brusher, S.J., Popes through the Ages. In the introductory essays to Story (27-38), Silone stresses the importance of apprehending the nature of his people to an understanding of Celestine's drama, and cites as "a most serious and sincere" testimonial on this topic the real story narrated by the South African writer Uys Krige, in The Way Out. But he also points out that it is not a regional matter, since there is an ecumenism of the poor all over the world. Both the Colonnas and the king of France hated Boniface VIII and did not accept Celestine's abdication as valid under canon law. In the Manifesto of Longhezza (1297), also signed by Jacopone da Todi, Boniface's election was declared illegal. Boniface responded by excommunicating everyone involved, and the following year he overcame his enemies at Palestrina.

8 Silone's Literary Fortune: 1933 to the Present 1 "La sfinge del benessere," in Uscita, 187-8. 2 Cucchiarelli, "Ignazio Silone e il silenzio," in ISCN, 76. 3 See Preface, Fontamara NEI, viii. Evidence that the novel was only completed in 1931 is in Aline Valangin's comments (see Chapter i); in the fact

Notes to pages 184-6 261

4 5

6 7 8

9 10 11 12 13 14

15 16 17 18 19

that Salvemini's letter (the first document that mentions Fontamam as a completed work) is dated 2 October 1931 (OIS, 15); and in that part of Traldi's argument concerning Berardo's mention of the laws of internal migration, which were enacted only in 1931. (Traldi, "Realism," 21-2 and n2). See Chapter 5, part i, n5, and OIS, 20-4, for the various editions and translations of Fontamara, and Biondi, "Fontamara nelle due edizioni." Celebrations for the loth anniversary of the revolution, in 1932, ushered in a new phase of bombastic Fascist propaganda: rather than an economic crisis, Mussolini spoke of a crisis of capitalism, he boasted about the success of his battaglia del grano, progress in civil aviation, the Italian cinema, the great public works, the sports victories ... He even took credit for two articles against racism written by Ruggero Zangrandi, and had them published in the II Popolo d'Italia. For these and other details of the psychological climate that resulted, see Zangrandi, // lungo, 34-45, 362. Fadiman, "Fontamara," 101; "Peasants and Fascists," 125. Van Doren, "Just One Clique," 389. See STAEM, 359, for the entire text (in Russian and in Italian translation) of the letter written by Trotsky while sailing from Turkey to France on the ship Bulgaria. Graham Greene, "Fiction," 690. OIS, 63 and 59-65, for additional information on the early reception of this novel. Bergin, "An Italian Novel," 8. A similar view was expressed by H.E. Bates in The New Statesman and the Nation (10 November 1934), 674. Cf. OIS, 59-63, for further details on the fortunes of the novel. Chabod, in L'ltalia contemporanea, 93, states: "If ever some prospects of social reform had existed, now every hope vanished completely." The Ethiopian war ended on 5 May 1936, when the troops of General Badoglio occupied Addis Ababa; the following month, Mussolini pronounced the declaration of the Empire. The Rome-Berlin Axis was also agreed upon in that year, and participation of Italian and German soldiers in the Spanish Civil War continued. See Monelli, Mussolini Piccolo Borghese, 159-74Thompson, "Books of the Times," 21. Lewis, R.W.B., "The Book Forum," Forum and Century (January 1937), iv. Rahv, "Revolutionary Conscience," 144. Rahv, "Compassionate Parable," 7, and Grube, "An Oppressed People": Canadian Forum, May 1937, 65. Bishop, "Shorter Notices," 254.

262 Notes to pages 186-93 20 See OIS, 163-5, and 155-65, for additional information on prewar criticism. 21 This novel also, like the preceding ones, was first published in German. See Chapter 5 for the various editions and translations. 22 See Marcolini, "// seme" 5-44, for an excellent survey of the criticism of the novel. 23 Ibid., 9. 24 Cournos, "Seed," 6,8. 25 Plant, "Italian Farmers," 25. 26 Vandano, "La storia," 42. 27 O7S, 82, n4; Cecchi, "II caso Silone," 348. 28 O/S,85. 29 Jovine, "I/ultimo Silone," 7-8. In Jovine's view, the cold reception of Silone is also due to stereotyped opinions about the southern writers. In OIS (218) this article is misinterpreted, and both its title and the bibliographical reference are inaccurate. 30 Pampaloni, "I/opera narrativa." Partially reproduced in La Fiera Letteraria (7 November 1954), 7; the passages are from this source. 31 The comments were later published in Varese, Cultura letteraria contemporanea (Pisa: Nistri-Lischi, 1951): 165. 32 Fontamara, ist revised and corrected version (Milan: Mondadori, 1949). 33 See More, Chapter 6, part i, n2, and OIS, 274-6, for translations. 34 Salinari, "L'ultimo Silone." 35 Petronio, "Le acerbe more." 36 Falqui, "Un po' di giustizia," 3. It should be noted that the word cafoni is being used in its pejorative sense (rough, ignorant, rude) - the same offensive meaning that Silone wanted to eradicate when he called his Fontamarans cafoni rather than contadini. 37 Ibid. 38 Pesce, "Fra la politica," ibid. 39 Milano, "Analisi," ibid., 4. 40 Ajello, "Siamo," ibid. 41 Petrocchi, "L'antidoto," ibid., 5. 42 Gatto, "Le buone azioni," ibid., 3-4. 43 The issue contains other articles on Silone by Piovene, Petroni, Tecchi, Volpini, Assunto, Dessi, and Forcella, as well as an interview with the author, his "opinion on the novel," and his description of Abruzzo, "land of saints and masons." 44 0/5,264-7. 45 Mariani, "Ignazio Silone," 386-8. 46 Piccioni, "// segreto," 409. The article had appeared in 1957 in Prospettive Meridionali.

Notes to pages 193-203 263 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71

72 73 74 75 76

77

See "Qualche giudizio critico," Volpe, 16-17. OIS, 100. Kazin, The Inmost Leaf, 176. Potts, "Not Since Dante/' 69-81. Scott, Jr., "Ignazio Silone." Ibid., 97. Litvinoff, "Revolutionnaire," 44. Ibid., 97; Jacques Sorel, "Ignazio Silone ou le nouvel eloge de la folie," cited in OIS, 239. Chiaromonte, "Silone et 1'esperance," 48. Lewis, "Ignazio Silone," 110-12,121. In 1968, Silone published The Story of a Humble Christian, the drama based on the life of Celestine V. Howe, "Malraux," 219-20. Mueller, "Theme," 179. Lazzaro is one of the main characters in A Handful of Blackberries. Krieger, "Ignazio Silone," 75; originally published as The Tragic Vision: Variation on a Theme in Literature (Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1960). Slochower, "Absolute Doubt," 69; previously published under the title, No Voice Is Wholly Lost. Hoffman, The Mortal No, 94-104. Heiney, "Silone: Emigration," 117,125. Georges, "Folk Beliefs," 197-203. Maddocks, review in The Christian Science Monitor (25 May 1961), 7. "Left v. Right v. Wrong," Time (26 May 1961), 99. Silone's book was not nominated for the more coveted Premio Viareggio. This time, many Italian intellectuals vehemently denounced the injustice. Bo, "C'e qualche." Salinari, "Idee e simboli," 320. Bocelli, "Itinerario," 27. Cassata, Gli uomini di Silone, 83; idem, Paese deU'anima, 168. Scurani, "La religiosita," 485-501. For a more complete treatment of this topic see Scurani's Ignazio Silone: un amove religioso per la giustizia (Milan: Letture, 1969 and 1973). Virdia, Ignazio Silone. Falqui, "Ignazio Silone," 251. Vigorelli et al., "Per i settant' anni," 71-87. The writings of Vittore Branca, Leonida Repaci, and Mario Pomilio are especially noteworthy. OIS, 37. OIS, 47-8,145-53. The critiques are based on the final revised versions of Silone's works. La Fiera Letteraria (14 October 1973): articles by Chiusano, Cristini, d'Eramo,

264 Notes to pages 203-9 Cunningham, Porto, and others. Oggi e Domani (June 1974): articles by d'Eramo, Garosci, Miscia, Pampaloni, and Porto. 78 Riddei, Ignazio Silone e Fontamara. 79 Annoni, Invito, 48. Some of the other comments that perplex the reader are Annoni's claim that The Secret ofLuca is structured as a mystery novel and reads like a "stilnovistic manual" (66-7); his statement that the beauty of A Handful of Blackberries is in its being woven as a "liturgical drama" (62); and his suggestion that the aim of The Fox and the Camellias is to "reject a Manichean vision of life" (69). 80 My decision to include these studies in this section is based on language, place of publication, and author's origin. It is not a perfect solution - particularly since grants by American institutions often made the research possible - but simply a practical one. 81 Alfonsi, "II vangelo," 7-23. 82 Aragno, // romanzo, 53. Although symbolism and irony are not central to Aragno's thesis, they are discussed in several instances; these will be considered in the course of my analysis. 83 Aliberti, Come leggere. 84 Kuitunen, "Sviluppi tematici," 61. 85 Bria, Ignazio Silone, 71, 83. 86 Rigobello, Ignazio Silone, 199. 87 Guerriero, L'inquietudine, 227,240. Other works that center on Silone's Utopian vision during this period are Ermanno Circeo's Silone tra realta e Utopia (Avezzano: Polla, 1978), and Maria Grazia Masciarelli's L'utopia di Ignazio Silone (Chieti: Marchionne, 1978). 88 Spezzani, Fontamara di Silone. See also Cavallini, "Critica." 1981. See also Haller, "Cronostilistica." 89 Esposito, La vita; Lettura; Attualita di Silone; and Silone novelliere. 90 Lombardi, Ignazio Silone; Origo, Bisogno di testimoniare; Martelli and Di Pasqua, Guida alia lettura. 91 Alfonsi, Ignazio Silone. 92 Leone, "Strutture narrative." Another important essay is Gazzola-Stacchini's "II Seme." 93 Ottorino Gurgo and Francesco de Core, Silone: L'avventura di un uomo libero (Venice: Marsilio, 1998). 94 Brown, "Ignazio Silone and the Pseudonyms of God," in The Shapeless God, eds. Harry J. Mooney, Jr., and Thomas F. Staley, (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1968), 20. 95 Whyte, "Evolution," 53. 96 Radcliff-Umstead, "Animal Symbolism," 18.

Notes to page 209 265 97 Caserta, "Meaning of Christianity/' 36. 98 Bolognese, "Silone's Modern Quest/' 106-14. 99 Bloy, Jr., "Prophet of Liberation," 84, and Miller, "II segno del profeta."

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Selected Bibliography

Works by Silone AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL WRITINGS AND ESSAYS

Uscita di sicurezza. Florence: Vallecchi, 1965. Trans, into English by Harvey Ferguson II. Emergency Exit (except for the last essay, for which no indication is given). New York: Harper and Row, 1968. Uscita di sicurezza. Milan: Longanesi, 1979. THE SHORT STORIES: The Journey to Paris / Mr. Aristotle Trans, into German by Nettie Sutro. Die Reise nach Paris. Zurich: Verlag Oprecht und Helbling, 1934. Trans, into English by Samuel Putnam. Mr. Aristotle. New York: Robert McBride, 1935. Trans, into Danish by Maria Garland. Den tragiske Idyl. Copenhagen: Fremad's Forlag, 1935. Trans, into English by John Lehman "The Journey to Paris." London: Penguin, 1936. Trans, into Italian by Silvia Carusi and Karin Wiedemeyer Francesconi. Viaggio a Parigi. From German ed., 1934. Ed. and with introduction by Vittoriano Esposito. Pescina: Centre Studi Siloniani, 1993. THE SATIRE: The School for Dictators Trans, into German by Jacob Huber (pseudonym for Rudolf Jacob Humm). Die Schule der Diktatoren. (ist printing). Zurich: Europa Verlag, 1938.

268 Selected Bibliography Trans, into English by Gwenda David and Eric Mosbacher. The School for Dictators. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1938. London: Jonathan Cape, 1939. La scuola dei dittatori. Rev. ed. Milan: Mondadori (Narratori Italiani), 1962. Reprint, Milan: Mondadori (Scrittori Italiani e Stranieri), 1978. THE NOVELS OF EXILE

Fontamara Trans, into German by Nettie Sutro. (ist printing) Zurich: Verlag Oprecht und Helbling, 1933. Zurich and Paris: Nuove Edizioni Italiane (original Italian version), 1933. Trans, into English by Michael Warf, Harrison Smith, and Robert Haas (ist American ed.), 1934. Trans, into English by Gwenda David and Eric Mosbacher. London: Methuen, 1934. Reprint, Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1938. Milan: Mondadori, 1949 (ist rev. Italian version). Reprint (yth printing). Milan: Mondadori (Oscar), 1976. Milan: Mondadori, 1953 (3d and final rev. Italian version). Trans, into English by Eric Mosbacher, with an introduction by Irving Howe. Trans, of Mondadori, 1953. New York and Scarborough, Ontario: A Meridian Classic; New American Library, 1984. Bread and Wine Brot und Wein. Zurich: Oprecht, 1936 (ist printing). Trans, into English by Gwenda David and Eric Mosbacher. Bread and Wine. London: Methuen, 1936. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1937. Pane e vino. Original Italian version. Lugano: Nuove Edizioni di Capolago, 1937. Vino e pane. Milan: Mondadori, 1955 (rev. Italian version). Reprint, 1976 (nth printing). Milan: Mondadori (Oscar), 1981. Trans, into English by Eric Mosbacher. Bread and Wine. New York: Atheneum, 1962. Signet Classic, 1986. The Seed Beneath the Snow Trans, into German by W.J. Guggenheim. Der Samen unterm Schnee (ist printing). Zurich: Oprecht und Helbling, 1941.

Selected Bibliography 269 II seme sotto la neve, typescript, Zurich Central Library. // seme sotto la neve. Lugano: Edizioni di Capolago, and Zurich: Verlag Oprecht, 1942. Trans, into English by Francis Frenaye. The Seed Beneath the Snow. New York and London: Harper and Row, 1942. // seme sotto la neve. Rome: Faro, 1945. Milan: Mondadori (Medusa), 1950. Trans, into English by Harvey Ferguson II. The Seed Beneath the Snow. Trans, of Mondadori, 1950. New York: Atheneum Publishers, 1965. Milan: Mondadori (Narratori Italiani), 1961. Reprint, Mondadori (Oscar), 1979. THE POST-EXILE NOVELS

A Handful of Blackberries Una manciata di more. Milan: Mondadori, 1952. Reprint (4th printing). Milan: Mondadori (Oscar), 1980. Trans, into English by Darina Silone. A Handful of Blackberries. London: Jonathan Cape, and New York: Harper and Brothers, 1953. The Secret of Luca II segreto di Luca. Milan: Mondadori (Narratori Italiani), 1956. Reprint (i6th printing). Milan: Mondadori (Oscar), 1985. Trans, into English by Darina Silone. The Secret of Luca. London: Jonathan Cape, and New York: Harper and Brothers, 1958. The Fox and the Camellias La volpe e le camelie. Milan: Mondadori, 1960. Reprint (3d printing), Milan: Mondadori (Oscar) 1979. Trans, into English by Eric Mosbacher. The Fox and the Camellias. London: Jonathan Cape, and New York: Harper and Brothers, 1961.

Severina Severina. Darina Silone, ed. Milan; Mondadori, 1981. (This is the title of the book, which includes Silone's novel, under the title La speranza di suor Severina, along with other relevant pieces).

270

Selected Bibliography

THE PLAYS

And He Hid Himself Trans, into German by Lotte Thiessing (ist printing). Und er verbarg sich. Zurich: Verlag Oprecht, 1944. Ed egli si nascose. (Italian original). Zurich and Lugano: Ghilda del Libro, 1944. Trans, into English by Darina Tranquilli. And He Hid Himself. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1945. Trans, into English by Darina Laracy. And He Did Hide Himself. London: Jonathan Cape, 1945. Ed egli si nascose. Rev. ed. 1966. Reprint, Milan: Cino del Duca, 1966. The Story of a Humble Christian Trans, into English by William Weaver. The Story of a Humble Christian. London: Gollancz, and New York: Harper and Row, 1971. L'avventura di un povero cristiano. Milan: Mondadori, 1968. Reprint, 1975. OTHER WRITINGS

"La Grande Disgrazia" Almanacco Socialista (Paris, 1935), 106. Within the cover of II Canzoniere delle Alpi. Rome, n.d. The Living Thoughts of Mazzini. New York and London: Longmans, Green, 1939. Habeas animam! Speech delivered at the Convention for the Freedom of Culture. Brussels, 3 November 1950. In Vittoriano Esposito, Attualitd di Silone. Rome: Edizioni dell'Urbe, 1989. "La narrativa e il sottosuolo meridionale." Reproduced in "Silone: 'Al sud non servono i pacchi-dono per la befana.'" In Gasbarrini, Antonio et al., eds. Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo. L'Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979. Memorials dal carcere svizzero. Ed. Lamberto Mercuri. Milan: Lerici, 1979. Secondary Sources Aeschylus. Prometheus Bound. In Greek Tragedies, ed. David Grene and Richmond Lattimore. Vol. i. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1960. Reprint, 1962. Ajello, Nello. "Siamo ancora al Venerdi Santo." La Fiera Letteraria 9, no. 15 (11 April 1954), 4.

Selected Bibliography 271 Alfonsi, Ferdinando. "II vangelo secondo Silone: // segreto di Luca." Le Ragioni Critiche, no. 19-29 (1976): 7-23. - Ignazio Silone o della ricerca del permanente. Catanzaro: Carello Editore, 1991. Aliberti, Carmelo. Come leggere Fontamara di Ignazio Silone. Milan: Mursia, 1977. Alighieri, Dante. La Divina Commedia. Ed. Natalino Sapegno. Vol. i. Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1985. Allsop, Kenneth. "Ignazio Silone." Encounter 18, no. 3 (1962): 49-51. Annoni, Carlo. Invito alia lettura di Ignazio Silone. Milan: Mursia, 1974. Aragno, Piero. // romanzo di Silone. Ravenna: Longo, 1975. Athanasius, Saint. Vita Antonii. In Ancient Christian Writers, no. 10,1950. Bates, H.E. "Fontamara." New Statesman and the Nation (10 November 1934): 674. Berger, Morroe. "Political Power and Social Class in the Novel." In Real and Imagined Worlds: The Novel and Social Science. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1977. Bergin, Thomas. "An Italian Novel Against Fascism." Review of Fontamara, by Ignazio Silone. New York Times Book Review, 23 September 1934, 8. - "Silone's Novel of a Farm Family and a Fascist Spy." Review of The Fox and the Camellias, by Ignazio Silone. New York Herald Tribune, 28 May 1961. Bibbia, La sacra. Roma: Edizioni Paoline, 1958. Bible. RSV. Toronto and London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1966. Biondi, Liliana. "Fontamara nelle edizioni del '33 e del '47. Due romanzi?" In Fontamara, n-i issue of Letture Siloniane, Quaderni di «provinciaoggi», 8, L'Aguila, 1991, 45-83. Bishop, M. "Shorter Notices." The Catholic World (May 1937): 254. Bloy, Myron B., Jr. "Ignazio Silone: Prophet of Liberation." Commonweal (23 October 1973): 79-85. Bo, Carlo. "C'e qualche eccezione alia triste regola delle riviste." L'Europeo (4 April 1965). Bocelli, Arnaldo. "Itinerario di Silone." Nuova Antologia. Vol. 497 (May 1966): 25-33Bolognese, Giuseppe. "Silone's Modern Quest and Primordial Discovery." Perspectives on Contemporary Literature (1982): 106-114. Bondy, Frangois. "'L'engrenage de 1'existence' entretien avec Ignazio Silone." Preuves, no. 186-7 (1966): 39-44. Booth, Wayne C. A Rhetoric of Irony. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1975. Bria, Camillo. Ignazio Silone. Bresso, Milan: Edizioni Cetim, 1977. Brusher, Joseph. Popes through the Ages. Princeton: Van Nostrand, 1959. Camus, Albert. "LePain et le vin d'Ignazio Silone." In Essais. Paris: Gallimard, 1965.

272 Selected Bibliography Caserta, Ernesto. "The Meaning of Christianity in the Novels of Silone." Italian Quarterly 16, no. 62-3 (1973): 19-39. Cassata, Maria Letizia. Gli uomini di Silone. Gubbio: Oderici, 1967. - Ignazio Silone: Paese dell'anima. Milan: Mursia, 1968. Cassirer, Ernst. An Essay on Man. Matrix edition. New York and Toronto: Bantam Books, 1970. Cavallini, Annalisa. "Critica delle origini e varianti di Fontamara di Ignazio Silone." Diss. Milan: Universita Cattolica del Sacro Cuore, 1981. Cecchi, Emilio. "II caso Silone." In Di giorno in giorno. 1954. Reprint, Milan: Garzanti, 1971. Centre di Ricerca Guido Dorso. L'Irpinia nella societa meridionale. Annali 19851986. Vol. i. Avellino: Edizioni del Centre Dorso, 1987. Chabod, Federico. L'ltalia contemporanea (1918-1948). Turin: Einaudi, 1961. Chiaromonte, Nicola. "Silone et 1'esperance du 'cafone.'" Preuves, no. 23 (January 1953): 48. - La situazione drammatica. Milan: Bompiani, 1960. Coleman, Peter. The Liberal Conspiracy: The Congress for Cultural Freedom and the Struggle for the Mind of Postwar Europe. New York: Free Press, 1989. Cournos, John. "The Seed Beneath the Snow and Other New Fiction." New York Times Book Review, 23 August 1942. Grossman, Richard, ed. The God That Failed: Six Studies in Communism. New York: Harper and Brothers, 1949. Cucchiarelli, Paolo. "Ignazio Silone e 11 silenzio sul periodo svizzero." Proceedings of the convention Ignazio Silone clandestine nel Novecento. Materiali su un personaggio secondo anche dopo la caduta del muro. Rimini: Editori Riminesi Riuniti, 1996. Del Villano, Walfredo, and Di Tillio Zopito. Abruzzo nel tempo. Pescara: Didattica Costantini, 1979. d'Eramo, Luce. L'opera di Ignazio Silone. Milan: Mondador, 1976, - "Una lunga sera con Ignazion Silone." In Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo, eds. Antionio Gasbarrini et al. L'Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979. Diamond, Sigmund. Compromised Campus: The Collaboration of Universities with the Intelligence Community, 1945-1955. New York: Oxford University Press, 1992. Di Scipio, Giuseppe. "Christological Symbolism and Silone's // segreto di Luca." NEMLA Italian Studies 6 (1982): 51-61. Dobrin, Samuel. "Lenin." Encyclopaedia Britannica. Vol. 13. Chicago: William Benton, 1972. Eliot, T. S. "The Function of Criticism." In Selected Prose of T.S. Eliot, ed. Frank Kermode. London: Faber and Faber, 1975.

Selected Bibliography 273 Esposito, Vittoriano. Ignazio Silone. La vita, le opere, il pensiero. Rome: Edizioni dell'Urbe, 1985. - Lettura di Ignazio Silone. Rome: Edizioni dell'Urbe, 1985. - Attualitd di Silone. Rome: Edizioni dell'Urbe, 1989. - Silone novelliere tra ironia e angoscia. Avezzano: Centro Studi Marsicani, 1994. Fadiman, Clifton. "Fontamara." The New Yorker, 22 September 1934:101. - "Peasants and Fascists." Review of Fontamara, by Ignazio Silone. Saturday Review of Literature, 22 September 1934,125. Falcetto, Bruno, ed. Ignazio Silone. Romanzi Saggi. Vol. i (1927-1944). Milan: Mondadori (Meridiani), 1998. Falqui, Enrico. "Un po' di giustizia." La Fiera Letteraria 9, no. 15 (11 April 1954): 3. - "Ignazio Silone." In Novecento letterario (1954-1968). Series i. Florence: Vallecchi, 1969. Foot, Michael. "One Man Against All Tides." Evening Standard, 30 June 1964. Frankl, Victor E. From Death Camp to Existentialism. Trans. Use Lasch. Boston: The Beacon Press, 1959. - A Man's Search for Meaning: An Introduction to Logotherapy. Trans. Use Lasch. Boston: The Beacon Press, 1962. French, Richard Antony. "Kazan." Encyclopaedia Britannica. Vol. 13. Chicago: William Benton, 1972,260. Fromm, Eric. The Symbolic Language. New York and Toronto: Rinehart, 1973. Frye, Northrop. Anatomy of Criticism: Four Essays. 1957. Reprint, Princeton University Press, 1973. "Fucino." Enciclopedia italiana, 1953. Furst, Lilian R. Fiction of Romantic Irony. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1984. Gasbarrini, Antonio et al. Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo. L'Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979. Gatto, Alfonso. "Le buone azioni di Silone." La Fiera Letteraria 9, no. 15 (11 April 1954): 5Gazzola-Stacchini, Vanna. "// seme sotto la neve: stile e struttura." Proceeds of the Convention on Ignazio Silone scrittore e politico (Pescina 15-16 November 1991). Oggi e Domani (special supplement, March 1992): xxi-xxvi. Genette, Gerard. Narrative Discourse: An Essay in Method. Ithaca, N.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1980. Reprint, 1995. Georges, Robert A. "Silone's Use of Folk Beliefs." Midwestern Folklore 12, no. 4 (winter 1962): 197-203. Giorgetti, Mattia Sebastiano. "II dramma secondo il regista Giordani" [interview with Giodani]. Sipario (November-December 1989), 89. Glicksberg, Charles L. The Tragic Vision in Twentieth-Century Literature. Southern

274 Selected Bibliography Illinois University Press, 1963. First Delta printing. New York: Dell Publishing, 1970. Graf, Arturo. Prometeo nella poesia. Turin: Loescher, 1920. Gravagnuolo, Bruno. "Ignazio Silone e il ricatto del Fascismo." Unione Sarda (30 April 1996), 2. Greene, Graham. "Fiction by Graham Greene." Review of Fontamara, by Ignazio Silone. The Spectator, (2 November 1934), 690. Griffin, Dustin. Satire: A Critical Reintroduction. Lexington: University Press of Kentucky, 1994. Grube, G.M.A. "An Oppressed People." Review of Bread and Wine, by Ignazio Silone. Canadian Forum, May 1937,65. - trans. The Poetics by Aristotle. In Aristotle on Poetry and Style. Indianapolis and New York: Bobbs-Merrill, 1958. Guerriero, Elio. L'inquietudine e I'utopia. II racconto uma.no e cristiano di Ignazio Silone. Milan: Jaca Book, 1979. - Silone 1'inquieto. L'avventura umana e letteraria di Ignazio Silone. Cinisello Balsamo, Milan: Edizione paoline, 1990. Gurgo, Ottorino, and Francesco de Core. Silone. L'avventura di un uomo libero. Venice: Marsilio, 1998 Haller, Hermann. "Cronostilistica dei romanzi d'esilio di Ignazio Silone." Modern Language Studies (winter 1982): 20-35. Harwell, Margherita Pieracci. Un cristiano senza chiesa e altri saggi. Rome: Studium, 1991. Heiney, Donald. "Silone: Emigration as the Opiate of the People." In America in Modern Italian Literature. New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1964. Hoffman, Frederick J. The Mortal No: Death and the Modern Imagination. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1964. Howe, Irving. "Malraux, Silone, Koestler: The Twentieth Century." In Politics and the Novel. New York: Horizon Press, 1957. - "Ignazio Silone's Fontamara." The New Republic 15 August 1981,26-34. - "Socialism and Sensibility." The New Republic (26 October 1987): 38-42. Hubbs, Clark. "Fish in Symbolism and Myth." Encyclopaedia Britannica. Vol. 9. Chicago: William Benton, 1972, 319. Jovine, Francesco. "I/ultimo Silone." L'ltalia che scrive, Anno 28 (29 November 1945), 7-8Jowett, Benjamin, trans. The Republic of Plato. Vol. i. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1908. Jung, Carl Gustav et al., ed. Man and His Symbols. London: Aldus Books, 1964. Reprint, New York: Dell Publishing, 1973. Kazin, Alfred. "Ignazio Silone's Compassionate Parable." Review of Bread and Wine, by Ignazio Silone. New York Herald Tribune Books (11 April 1937), 7-

Selected Bibliography 275 - "From an Italian Journal." In The Inmost Leaf. New York: Noonday Press, 1959. Kerenyi, C. Prometheus: Archetypal Image of Human Existence. Trans. Ralph Manheim. Bollingen Series XLV. New York: Pantheon, 1963. Krieger, Murray. "Northrop Frye in Modern Criticism: Ariel and the Spirit of Gravity." In Northrop Frye in Modern Criticism: Selected papers from the English Institute. New York and London: Columbia University Press, 1966. - The Tragic Vision: Variations on a Theme in Literary Interpretation. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, Phoenix Books, 1966. - "Ignazio Silone: The Failure of the Secular Christ." In The Tragic Vision: Variations on a Theme in Literary Interpretation. Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1972. - ed. The Tragic Vision: The Confrontation of Extremity. Vision of Extremity in Modern Literature, vol. i. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1973. Kuitunen, Maddalena. "Sviluppi tematici nei primi romanzi di Silone." Esperienze Letterarie Anno II, no. i (January-March 1977): 72-81. Langer, Susanne K. Philosophy in a New Key. New York: New American Library, 1958. Lawrence, D. H. "The Dragon of the Apocalypse." In Selected Literary Criticism, ed. Anthony Beal. London: William Heinemann, 1955. Lenin, Vladimir Ilych (Ulianov). What Is to Be Done? New York: International Publishers, 1929. Reprint, 1943. Leone, Emilio. "Ignazio Silone: Strutture narrative e stile dei suoi primi tre romanzi con sguardo comparative fra redazioni originali successive rivedute dall'autore." Diss., University of Melbourne, 1980. Lewis, R.W.B. "The Book Forum." Review of Bread and Wine, by Ignazio Silone. Forum and Century (27 January 1937), iv. - "Ignazio Silone: The Politics of Charity." In The Picaresque Saint. Philadelphia and New York: J.P. Lippincott, 1959. // libra della terza classe elementare. Rome: Libreria dello Stato, 1936. "La lira dall'Unita d'ltalia al 1994." 1ST AT, Internet (http://www.ca.astro.it/ poggio / tablira,html). Litvinoff, Boris. "Un Revolutionnaire face au Christ." Syntheses, no. 79 (November 1952): 44. Lombardi, Olga. Ignazio Silone. Camposampiero, Padua: Edizioni del noce, 1982. Lynch, William F. Christ and Prometheus. Notre Dame, Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 1970. Macmillan Book of Proverbs, Maxims, and Familiar Phrases. Comp. Burton Stevenson. New York: Macmillan, 1965. Maddocks, Melvin. "Left v. Right v. Wrong." Review of The Fox and the Camellias, by Ignazio Silone. Christian Science Monitor (25 May 1961): 7. Magnani, Franca. Unafamiglia italiana. Milan: Feltrinelli, 1991.

276 Selected Bibliography Marcoaldi, F. "Faccia a faccia con 1'altro." Interview with Emmanuel Levinas. In La Repubblica, 4 October 1990. Marcolini, Flavio. "// seme sotto la neve di Ignazio Silone: lettura critica." Diss. Brescia: Universita del Sacro Cuore, 1989. Mariani, Mario. "Ignazio Silone." In / contemporaries. Vol. 3 of Letteratura italiana. Milan: Marzorati, 1969. Marini, Luigi. "Non chiamatemi provinciale." In Silone tra I'Abmzzo e il mondo, eds. Antonio Gasbarrini et al. L'Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979. Martelli, Sebastiano, and Salvatore Di Pasqua. Guida alia lettura di Silone. Milan: Mondadori, 1988. Martin, Kingsley. "The New Machiavelli." New Statesman and Nation (4 February 1939). Martinelli, Luciana. "// segreto di Luca." Proceedings of the convention on Ignazio Silone scrittore e politico (Pescina 15-16 November 1991). Oggi e Domani (special supplement, March 1992): xxvii-xxviii. Marx, Karl. "Criticism of the Gotha Program." In Capital: The Communist Manifesto and Other Writings. New York: Carlton House, 1932. Mauro, Walter. "Ignazio Silone e la critica marxista." Proceeds of the convention on Ignazio Silone scrittore e politico (Pescina 15-16 November 1991). Oggi e Domani (special supplement, March 1992): vii-ix. McAfee Brown, Robert. "Ignazio Silone and the Pseudonyms of God." In The Shapeless God, ed. Harry J. Mooney, Jr., and Thomas F. Staley. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1968. McKee, John B. Literary Irony and the Literary Audience: Studies in the Victimization of the Reader in Augustan Fiction. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 1974. Mercuri, Lamberto, ed. Memoriale dal carcere svizzero. Milan: Lerici, 1979. Milano, Paolo. "Analisi di una fedelta." La Fiera Letteraria Anno 9, no. 15 (11 April 1954): 4. Millar, Ellen Anne. "II segno del profeta." Proceeds of the convention on Ignazio Silone scrittore e politico (Pescina, 15-16 November 1991). Oggi e Domani (special supplement, March 1992): xxix-xxx. Mitgang, Herbert. "A Talk with Ignazio Silone about Bread and Wine." New York Times Book Review (21 October 1962): 4. Monelli, Paolo. Mussolini piccolo borghese. Milan: Garzanti, 1966. Moravia, Alberto. La ciociara. Milan: Bombiani, 1957. Muecke, C. D. The Compass of Irony. London: Chaucer Press, 1969. Mueller, William R. "The Theme of the Remnant." In The Prophetic Voice in Modern Fiction. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday [Anchor], 1959. Onions, C.T., ed. The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary on Historical Principles. Vol. i. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980.

Selected Bibliography 277 Origo, Iris. "Ignazio Silone: A Study in Integrity." Atlantic Monthly (March 1966): 86-93. - Bisogno di testimoniare. Milan: Longanesi, 1985. Padovani, Gisella. Letteratura e Socialismo. Saggi su Ignazio Silone. Catania: Aldo Marino Editore, 1982. Pampaloni, Geno. "L'opera narrativa di Ignazio Silone." // Ponte (January 1949): 49-58. La Fiera Letteraria (7 November 1965): 7. Pascal, Blaise. Pensees, transl. and with an introduction by AJ. Krailsheimer. Baltimore: Penguin Books, 1966. Paynter, Maria Nicolai. Review of Severina, by Ignazio Silone. Canadian Modern Language Review (January 1983), 298-9. - trans. Simbolismo e ironia nella narrativa di Silone. L'Aquila: Premio Internazionale Letterario Ignazio Silone, 1992. Originally, "Symbolism and Irony in Silone's Narrative Works." PhD diss. University of Toronto, 1989. - "Fontamara e 'Viaggio a Parigi.'" Publisher's title for "Considerazioni in margine alia data di composizione di Fontamara e di 'Viaggio a Parigi' di Silone." Oggi e Domani (September-October 1997), 12-14. Pelikan, Jaroslav. Jesus through the Centuries. New York: Harper and Row, 1987. Pesce, Emilio. "Fra la politica e la narrativa." La Fiera Letteraria 9, no. 15 (11 April, 1954): 3Petrocchi, Giorgio. "L'antidoto di Silone." La Fiera Letteraria 9, no. 15 (11 April 1954): 5- "II romanzo italiano di Ignazio Silone." In Poesia e tecnica narrativa. Milan: Mursia, 1965. Petronio, Giuseppe. "Le acerbe more di Ignazio Silone." Avanti! (14 August 1952). Piccioni, Leone. "II segreto di Luca di Ignazio Silone." In Almanacco della Terza Pagina, ed. Francesco Grisi, and Walter Mauro Rome: Canesi, 1963. Pintor, Giaime. Lettere di condannati a morte della Resistenza europea. Ed. P. Malvezzi and S. Pirolli. Turin: Einaudi, 1963. Pirandello, Luigi. "L'umorismo." In Saggi, poesie e scritti varii [sic]. Ed. Mario Lo Vecchio-Musti. Milan: Mondadori, 1960. Plant, Richard R. "Italian Farmers." Review of The Seed Beneath the Snow, by Ignazio Silone. The Saturday Review of Literature. 22 August 1942, section 6,8. Potts, Paul. "Not Since Dante." New Road 6 (1946): 69-81. Prescott, Orville. "Books of the Times." Review of The Fox and the Camellias, by Ignazio Silone. New York Times (24 May 1961). "40 domande a Ignazio Silone." La Fiera Letteraria 9, no. 15 (11 April 1954): i. Radcliff-Umstead, Douglas. "Animal Symbolism in Vino e pane." Italica, no. i (spring 1972): 18-29.

278 Selected Bibliography Rahv, Philip. "Ignazio Silone's Compassionate Parable." New York Herald Tribune Books (11 April 1937): 7. - "The Revolutionary Conscience." Review of Bread and Wine, by Ignazio Silone. The Nation 10 April 1937,144. Rasmussen, David. Symbolism and Interpretation. The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1976. Ravera, Camilla. "Quegli anni con Silone nel P.C.I." In Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo, eds. Antonio Gasbarrini et al. Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979. Rawson, Judy. "'Che fare?': Silone and the Russian 'Chto Delat'?' Tradition." Modern Language Review (July 1981): 556-65. Remak, Henry H.H. "Vinegar and Water: Allegory and Symbolism in the German 'Novelle' between Keller and Bergengruen." In Literary Symbolism: A Symposium, ed. Helmut Rehder. Austin and London: University of Texas Press, 1965. Reset (Milan) (May-June 1999), no. 54,63-77. Ricker, William Edwin. "Fish in Symbolism and Myth." Encyclopaedia Britannica. 1972 ed. Riddei, Volfango. Ignazio Silone e Fontamara. Rome: Ciranna, 1973. Rigobello, Giuliana. Ignazio Silone. ad ed., rev. 1975. Reprint, Florence: Le Monnier, 1981. "Rouault." Enciclopedia universale Seda dell'arte moderna. Vol. 8. Rousseaux, Andre. "Les Verites terriennes d'Ignazio Silone." Le Figaro Litteraire (17 May 1953): 277~8Ruberti, Antonio. "L'umanesimo Siloniano." Proceeds of the convention on Ignazio Silone scrittore e politico (Pescina 15-16 November 1991). Oggi e Domani (special supplement, March 1992): iii. Salinari, Carlo. "L'ultimo Silone." L'Unita (2 August 1952). - "Idee e simboli di Silone." In Preludio e fine del neorealismo in Italia. Naples: Morano, 1967. Salvatorelli, Luigi. "Ignazio Silone ha scritto un Principe per il XX secolo: La scuola del dittatori." La Stampa (12 September 1962). Schneider, Franz. "Scriptural Symbolism in Silone's Bread and Wine." Italica 44 (1967): 387-99Scott Jr., Nathan A. "Ignazio Silone: Novelist of the Revolutionary Sensibility." In Rehearsals of Discomposure. 1952. Reprint, New York: King's Crown Press, Columbia University, 1958. Scurani, Alessandro. "La religiosita di Silone." Letture (July 1966): 485-504. Silone, Darina. "II mio primo incontro con Ignazio Silone." In Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo, eds. Antonio Gasbarrini et al. L'Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979. Simongini, Franco. "Una intervista televisiva a Ignazio Silone." Oggi e Domani

Selected Bibliography 279 (Premio Internazionale Ignazio Silone supplement, 2d ed., January-February 1990): XLIV. Slochower, Harry. "Absolute Doubt: Andre Gide, Ignazio Silone, John Dos Passes." In Literature and Philosophy between Two World Wars. New York: Citadel Press, 1964. Spezzani, Pietro. Fontamara di Silone: Grammatica e retorica del discorso popolare. Pauda: Liviana, 1979. Spink, Kathryn. The Miracle of Love: Mother Teresa of Calcutta, Her Missionaries of Charity, and Her Co-Workers. San Francisco: Harper and Row, 1981. Stockhammer, Morris. The Wisdom of Karl Marx. New York: Philosophical Library, 1967. Strelka, Joseph. Perspectives in Literary Symbolism. Vol. i. University Park and London: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1969. Thompson, Ralph. "Books of the Times." Review of Bread and Wine, by Ignazio Silone. New York Times (2 April 1937), 21. Thomson, J.A.K., trans. The Ethics of Aristotle. Baltimore: Penguin, 1953. - Irony: An Historical Introduction. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1964. Tindall, William York. The Literary Symbol. New York: Columbia University Press, 1955. Tolstoy, Lyof N. "Polikushka." In The Works ofLyofN. Tolstoi. Vol. 12. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1900. - What Is to Be Done? Trans. Isabel F. Hapgood. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1925. "Torlonia." Enciclopedia italiana, 1935 ed. Traldi, Giuseppe Alberto. "Realism and Non-Realism in Ignazio Silone's Fontamara." Diss. Columbia University, 1973. Tranquilli, Romolo. "Perche Silone tacque." Interview by Mariangela Di Cagno. In Silone tra I'Abruzzo e il mondo, eds. Antonio Gasbarrini et al. Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979, 344. Trousson, Raymond. Le Theme de Promethee dans la litterature europeenne. 2 vols. Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1964. Tudini, Vincenza A. C Varianti sconosciute di "II seme sotto la neve" di Ignazio Silone. Ravenna: Longo, 1992. Turoldo, David Maria. "A Silone." Regione Abruzzo (12 December 1989): 15. Vandano, Brunello. "La storia di Silone." Epoca (19 September 1965): 38-42. Van Doren, Mark. "Just One Clique." Review of Fontamara, by Ignazio Silone. The Nation, 3 October 1934, 389. Varese, Claudio. Cultura letteraria contemporanea. Pisa: Nistri-Lischi, 1951. Vigorelli, Giancarlo, ed. "Per i settant'anni di Silone." // Dramma, no. 5 (May 1970): 71-87.

280 Selected Bibliography Virdia, Ferdinando. Ignazio Silone. Florence: La Nuova Italia, 1967. Wacks, Penelope Jaffe. "Conflict and Commitment in Ignazio Silone's Ed egli si nascose." A.T.I. Journal, no. 31 (July 1980): 26-34. Warner, Michael, "Origins of the Congress of Cultural Freedom, 1949-50." Studies in Intelligence. Vol. 38, no. 5 (unclassified 1955 ed.). Weil, Simone. La Pesanteur et la Grace. Paris: Plon, 1947. - "Collectivity, Person, Impersonal, Right, Justice." In Simone Weil: An Anthology, ed. Sian Miles. New York: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1986. Whyte, Jean. "The Evolution of Silone's Central Theme." Italian Studies 25 (1970): 49-62. Winks, Robin W. Cloak and Gown: Scholars in the Secret War, 1939-3961. New York: William Morrow, 1987. Zambarbieri, Giuseppe. "In preghiera tra gli orfanelli." In Silone tral iAbruzzo e il mondo, eds. Antonio Gasbarriri et al. Aquila: Regione Abruzzo, 1979. Zangrandi, Ruggero. // lungo viaggio attraverso ilfascismo. Milan: Feltrinelli, 1964. Zingarelli, Nicola. Vocabolario della lingua italiana. loth ed. Bologna: Zanichelli, 1970. Zirardini, Alessandro. "Le Role de 1'intellectuel-Silone s'explique." L'Express (9 February 1961).

Index

Abruzzo, as cultural subsoil, 26, 31, 62 Aeschylus, 3, 5, 211 affluence, 41 agony of Christ, 112, passim Ajello, Nello, 192 Alfieri, Vittorio, 192 Alfonsi, Ferdinando, 141,203,207,211 Aliberti, Carmelo, 204 Alper, Albert, 185 Angelerio, Pietro. See Celestine V Annoni, Carlo, 203 Anonymous Florentine, 26oni9 Anthony the Abbott, Saint, 107 Antistenes, 70 Aragno, Piero, 111,126, 203-4 Aristotle, 25in4O art, as universal language, 36 Assunto, Rosario, 262n43 Atatiirk, Kemal, 71 Athanasius, 107 Augustine of Hippo, 171,194 Bach, Johann Sebastian, 111 Bakhtin, Mikhail, 69 Balzac, Honore de, 48 Bates, Ralph, 185

Batista, Fulgencio, 71 Bauhaus Dessau, 16 Bellone, Guido, 14,16,74, 211 Berardo, Saint, 25on29 Bergin, Thomas, 185 Bernanos, Georges, 34 Betti, Ugo, 170 Biagi, Enzo, 211 Biocca, Dario, 24oni4 Biondi, Liliana, 26in4 Bishop, M., 26ini9 Blanc, Louis, 256ni7 Blanqui, Louis Auguste, 37 Bloy, Myron Jr., 209 Bo, Carlo, 200 Boccaccio, Giovanni, 26oni9 Bocelli, Arnaldo, 200 Bonaparte, Napoleon, 71 Bonaventure, Saint, 178 Boniface VIII, 176-82, 201,209 Bordiga, Amadeo, 12 Branca Vittore, 2&3n74 Brecht, Bertold, 68 Bria, Camillo, 204 Brusher, Joseph, 26on22 Buber, Martin, 68 Biihrer, Jakob, 18

282 Index Bukharin, Nicolai Ivanovic, 12 Buti, 26oni9 Caesar, Julius, 66 Calamandrei, Piero, 20 Camerini, Aldo, 193 Camus, Albert, 7, 34, 36 Canfield, Dorothy, 185 Carusi, Silvia, 2411120, 245113 Caserta, Ernesto, 209 Cassata, Maria Letizia, 200, 203 Cassirer, Ernst, 251^40 Cavallini, Annalisa, 264n88 Cecchi, Emilio, 188,192 Celestine V, 175-82,195-6, 201, 205, 209, 246ni7, passim Chabod, Federico, 251^7 Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich, 168 Chiaromonte, Nicola, 22,168,195 Chiusano, Italo Alighiero, 263*177 Christianity, 6, passim, interpretations of, 175-82 CIA, 21 Circeo, Ermanno, 264^7 Clement V, 176 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 25in4O colonialism, 43 Colquhoun, Archibald, 243nio Columbus, Christopher, 67 Comintern, 14, 20 Congress for European Unity and World Peace, 20 Conrad IV (king of Swabia), 177 Cournos, John, 187 Cristini, Giovanni, 263^7 Croce, Benedetto, 167 Croce, Elena Raveri, 193,199 Cross, demonic parody of, 114,116, passim

Grossman, Richard, 8, 21 Cucchiarelli, Paolo, 239^, 26on2 Cunningham, Lawrence, 263^7 Cupertino, Saint Joseph, 89 Dante Alighieri, 29,103,128,176-7,194 David, Gwenda, 247n2, 249n5, 251^5 David, Michel, 206 de Core, Francesco, 264^3 Del Villano, Walfredo, 26on2O Del Duca, Cino, 255ni2 Delli Quadri, Marianna (Maria Annina), 11 Di Scipio, Giuseppe, 141,144,147, 211 Di Pasqua, Salvatore, 264^0 Di Tillio, Zopito, 26on2O disobedience, 4; civil, 20 Dostoevsky, Fyodor, 33 d'Eramo, Luce, 21-2, 244n2, 247^4, 189,193, 202-3 ecumenism, 125, passim Einaudi, Luigi, 20 Eisler, Robert, 56 Eliot, T.S., 25in4O Esposito, Vittoriano, 49, 56, 60, 206, 24in2O, 259nn Ethiopia, campaign of, 17 evil, origin in harm, 9, 88, passim Ezekiel, 254n8i, 257^2 Fabbri, Diego, 170, Fadiman, Clifton, 247n3,184 Falcetto, Bruno, 24ini6, 208 Falqui, Enrico, 191,201-2 Fascism, 18, passim Ferguson, Harvey II, 243ni, 252^9 Ferrero, Guglielmo, 41 fetishes, 27,71, passim

Index 283 figura Christi, the hero as, 93-5, 148-55; passim Fischer, Louis, 20 Fleischmann, Marcel, 19,67-8 Foot, Michael, 247113 Forcella, Enzo, 2621143 Francesconi, Karin Wiedemeyer, 2411120 Francis of Assisi, 45,88,178-9,187 Frankl, Victor, 113 Frederick II, Emperor, 177-8 Frenaye, Francis, 107 Freytag, Gustav, 65 Fromm, Erich, 25in4O Frosini, Tommaso E., 243^3 Frost, Robert, 204 Frye, Northrop, 8,79,98-100, no, 112, 116,122,150,207,247nn, 249nni4, 15 Furst, Lilian R., 25in4O Gandhi, Mohandas, 17,20,133,187 Garland, Maria, 245^ Gasbarrini, Antonio, 239n4 Gatto, Alfonso, 192 Gazzola-Stacchini, Vanna, 264^2 Genette, Gerard, 207 Georges, Robert A., 198 Gide, Andre, 16,20 Giordano, Silvio, 172 Giorgetti, Mattia Sebastiano, 259^ Giotto, 178 Glicksberg, Charles L., 6,7 Gomez, Juan Vicente, 71 Graf, Arturo, 237^ Gramsci, Antonio, 12 Gravagnuolo, Bruno, 24oni4 Greene, Graham, 184 Gregory IX, 177-8 Grieco, Ruggero, 188

Griffin, Dustin, 69 Grube, G.M.A., 186 Guerriero, Elio, 84,153,205,211 Guggenheim, W.J., 252^9 Gurgo, Ottorino, 264^3 Habeas animam!, 173 habeas Corpus, 173 Haller, Hermann, 264n88 Harthern, Ernst, 245^ Harwell, Margherita Pieracci, 21, 242n3i Hay, Julius, 37 Heiney, Donald, 198 Hemingway, Ernest, 187 Hitler, Adolph, 67, 71,114 Hoffman, Frederick J., 197 Howe, Irving, 5,196,238n6,249^ Hubbs, Clark, 254n8o Huber, Jacob (pseud, of Rudolf Jacob Humm), 247n2 Humbert I, King, 146,25oni8 Ibsen, Henrik Johan, 168 imperialism, 20 industrialization, 41 Innocent III, 178-9 irony, 84, passim Italian Association for Cultural Freedom, 21 Jackson, Andrew, 71 Jacopo della Lana, 26oni9 Jacopone da Todi, 179 Jeremiah, 100 Jerome, Saint, 257n42 Jerusalem, as archetype, 142 Joachim of Flora, 26oni3 John the Baptist, 94,255ni5,257^2 John XXIII, 125

284 Index John, (the evangelist), 29,98,248ni4, 254nn86, 87; 256nn27 Josephus, Flavius, 56 Jovine, Francesco, 188-9 Juin, Alphonse Pierre, General, 43 Jung, Carl Gustav, 254^9,254^4, 254^5 Junger, Ernst, 34 Kazin, Alfred, 124,186,194 Khrushchev, Nikita, 37 Koestler, Arthur, 20,21 Krieger, Murray, 6-7,197 Krige, Uys, 26on23 Kuitunen, Maddalena, 204 language, demonic possibilities of, 88, passim Laracy, Darina, 259^. See also Silone, Darina Laracy Lateran Treaty, 84,101; ironic treatment of, 83-5 Lawrence, D.H., 251^40 Lehman, John, 245117 Lenin, Vladimir Ilych, 12, 94-5,139 Leone, Emilio, 208 Leonetti, Alfonso, 13 Levi, Carlo, 62, 96 Levinas, Emmanuel, 34 Lewis, R.W.B., 195 Lewis, Sinclair, 186 Libera, Vittorio, 247^, 248ni8 Lipper, Elinor, 255ni3 Litvinoff, Boris (pseud, of Jacques Sorel), 195 Lombardi, Olga, 207 Long, Huey, 69 Luce, Clare Boothe, 21 Luke, (the evangelist), 98,250^3, 256n3i, 257nn34, 36; 258^8

Machiavelli, Niccolo, 9, 64,70,2441111 Maddocks, Melvin, 263^4 Malraux, Andre, 7,185 Mann, Thomas, 68,185 Mansfield, Harvey C, 244nii Manzoni, Alessandro, 143,170 Marcolini, Flavio, 2.yjr\2,262nn22,23 Marguerite, Queen, 81,146 Mariani, Mario, 192 Marini, Luigi, 254^3 Mark, (the evangelist), 98,153 Martelli, Sebastiano, 264^0 Martin, Kingsley, 247^ Martinelli, Luciana, 257^0 Marx, Karl, 46,140,153,156,187 Marxism, as corrupted ideal, 139 Masciarelli, Maria Grazia, 264^7 mass media, 41, 45, passim massification, 41 Mater dolorosa, as parody of the Church, 101 Matthew, (the evangelist), 97,153, 166, 256nn23, 24; 256n25, 256nn3O, 32; 258n49 Maupassant, Guy de, 48 Mazzini, Giuseppe, 17,70 McAfee Brown, Robert, 208 McCarthyism, 21 McKee, John B., 251^40 Medici, Giovanni de' (Giovanni delle Bande Nere), 70 Mercuri, Lamberto, 24ini9 Milano, Paolo, 191-2 Miles, Sian, 25(^27 Millar, Ellen Anne, 209 Miscia, Eraldo, 263^7 Mitgang, Herbert, 206,252^3 Modigliani, Emanuele, 19 Monelli, Paolo, 26ini4 Montanelli, Indro, 211

Index 285 Mooney, Harry J. Jr., 2531x62 morality, 44 Moravia, Alberto, 43 Moreaux, Clement, 49 Mosbacher, Eric, 247112,249*15, 25in35,257n45 Mother Teresa of Calcutta (Agnes Gonxha Bojaxhiu), 113 Muecke, CD., 251^0 Mueller, William R., 113,196-7,210 Musil, Robert, 68 Mussolini, Benito, 12-13, *7/ 2O> 3°/ 45/ 59/ 67, 69,7i/153/ l8 4~7,25on23 mystifications, 38,64, 72 Napoleone, Giulio, 240ni5 neutrality, 155, passim Newman, John Henry, 165 Nietzche, Friedrich, 33 nihilism, 5, 28, Nietzsche's, 33, as spiritual condition, 34 Nizan, Paul, 18 O'Neill, Eugene, 7 oppression, 9,28, 40, passim Oprecht, Emil, 173 Oprecht, Emmie, 18 Origo, Iris, 207 Orione, Luigi, 12, 27-8,212 Ortega y Gasset, Jose, 41 Ottimo, 26oni9 OVRA, 18 Padovani, Gisella, 50,206 Pampaloni, Geno, 76,166,189,191, 193,206 Parri, Ferruccio, 20 Pascal, Blaise, 253^3 Pascoli, Giovanni, 36 Pasternak, Boris, 169

Paul, (the apostle), 68,112 Paynter, Maria Nicolai, 24ini7, 246ni4, 249ng PCI, 12,15 Peguy, Charles, 166,189 Pelikan, Jaroslav, 178-9,248ni4 Pertini, Sandro, 20 Pesce, Emilio, 191-2 Pescina dei Marsi, 11,23 Peter Celestine, Saint. See Celestine V Petrarch, 171,176-7 Petrocchi, Giorgio, 192 Petroni, Guglielmo, 262n43 Petronio, Giuseppe, 190,192,199 Picasso, Pablo, 36 Piccioni, Leone, 193 Pietro Angelerio del Morrone. See Celestine V Pilate, Pontius, 70 Pintor, Giaime, 253^7 Piovene, Guide, 188, 262n43 Pirandello, Luigi, 25,168 Pius XII, 43 Plant, Richard R., 262n25 Poe, Edgar Allan, 48 politics, art and science of, 64-72 Pomilio, Mario, 263^4 Porto, Giuseppe, 263^7 Potts, Paul, 194 Prescott, Orville, 198 pride, as righteousness or satanic defiance, 7, passim Prometheus, as righteous rebel, 3, 5; as archetype of the tragic, 105 Putnam, Samuel, 245n8 Radcliff-Umstead, Douglas, 209 Radek, Karl, 12 Rahv, Philip, 186 Raimondo, Mario, 248ni8

286 Index Ravazzoli, Paolo, 13 Ravera, Camilla, 13 Rawson, Judy, 94, 210 Repaci, Leonida, 2631174. Riario Sforza, Caterina, 2481117 Ricci, Aldo, 2401114 Riddei, Volfango, 203 Rigobello, Giuliana, 24, 205,259117 Rolland, Remain, 14 Rome-Berlin Axis, 67 Roosevelt, Theodore, 67 Roualt, Georges, 257^5 Ruberti, Antonio, 214, 2421125 Russell, Bertrand, 22 Salinari, Carlo, 190,192,199, 200 Salvatorelli, Luigi, 247^ Salvemini, Gaetano, 16, 20, 26on3 Sapegno, Natalino, 176,191 sapientia, 64-72, 97 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 7, 37-8 Scellingo, Mariano, 13 Schneider, Franz, 97-8,102, 208, 210 Scott, Nathan A. Jr., 194 Scurani, Alessandro, 200 Seidenfeld Triedmann, Gabriella, 12-13,16,183, 211, 24oni5 Seneca, 44 Shaw, George Bernard, 168 Siciliano, Enzo, 211 Silo, Quintus Poppedius, 239n8 Silone, Darina Laracy, 11,19-20, 23, 69,162-3, l67, 2°7/ 24ini6,18; 242n23, 243n36, 244n2, 2541^2., 255nni2,13; 256ni9. See also Laracy, Darina Simongini, Franco, 238ni4 simplicity, 7, 56 Slochower, Harry, 197 socialism, 6, passim

Socrates, 70,72,194 solidarity, 20,28, 30, 36 Sorel, Georges, 37 Sorel, Jacques, 195 Spender, Stephen, 20 Spezzani, Pietro, 264n88 Spink, Kathryn, 253^7 Staley, Thomas F., 253n62 Stalinism, 32 Steinbeck, John, 187 Stevenson, Adlay, 21 Stockhammer, Morris, 256ni8 Strindberg, (Johan) August, 169 Sutro, Nettie, 48-50,184,24in2O, 244ni, 249n5 Svevo, Italo, 188 symbolism, archetypal, 93-123, 140-55; duality of, in surname Spina, 120 Tarcow, Nathan, 244nii Tasca, Angelo, 24Oni5 Tecchi, Bonaventura, 262n43 Teresa of Avila, 57 Thiessing, Lotte, 259n5 Third Front, 17 Thompson, Francis, 255nn Thompson, Ralph, 261 ni 5 Tindall, William York, 251^0 Togliatti, Palmiro, 20, 212 Tolstoy, Lev Nikolaevich, 28-9, 57, 95,139 Torlonia, Guido, 25On22, 31 tragic vision, 6, passim tragic visionary, 7, passim Traldi, Giuseppe Alberto, 26on3 Tranquilli, Darina (Silone), 24804, 25904. See also Silone, Darina Laracy; Laracy, Darina Tranquilli, Paolo, 11

Index 287 Tranquilli, Romolo, 11,14,16, 59,212 transcendence, 121 Tresso, Barbara Seidenfeld, 24oni5 Tresso, Pietro, 13 Trotsky, Lev Davidovic, 20,184, 24onii Trousson, Raymond, 237n3 Tudini, Vincenza A.C., 107,207, 237n2,247n9 Turgenev, Ivan Sergeivich, 48 Turoldo, David Maria, 10,213 iibermensch, cult of, 5 Valangin, Aline, 16,111, 26on3 Van Buren, Martin, 71 Van Doren, Mark, 184 Vandano, Brunello, 188 Varese, Claudio, 189,190 Verga, Giovanni, 48-9,183,189 Victor Emmanuel III, King, 14 Vigorelli, Giancarlo, 263^4 Virdia, Ferdinando, 200, 203

Volpini, Valerio, 193,262n43 Voltaire, Frangois-Marie Arouet, 57 Von Brentano, Bernard, 184 Wacks, Penelope Jaffe, 172 Warf, Michael, 249n5 Warner, Michael, 21 Weaver, William, 259ni2 Weil, Simone, 9, 35,88,163 welfare, 42 Whyte, Jean, 209 Wilson, Edmund, 259n7 Winks, Robin W., 243^4 Wright, Richard, 20 Zangrandi, Ruggero, 26in5 Zaun, Francesco, 11,151 Zimmerwaldian Socialist Movement, 12 Zinoviev, Grigorij Evseevich, 12, 24Onii Zirardini, Alessandro, 238n4 Zola, Emile, 170