28 November, Turin. Today, which began with the best of omens, ended instead with very grave news: Valle and Duccio, surprised in a bakery that they were using as an address, have been arrested. It appears that they had damaging documents in their pockets. In addition to worrying about their personal position, I cannot help but think of the disarray that their arrest will cause the entire organization, just at a time when the situation is becoming more and more delicate and difficult, with winter approaching.
29 November. More bad news. They have also arrested Marelli, which means that the police action, which began with the arrest of Duccio and Valle, is not over yet.1
In the afternoon I went with young Edmondo into the furnished room that Duccio last occupied, under a false name of course; the police have not yet discovered it, but they could do so at any moment. It was a matter of convincing the concierge and the landlord to let us go in and remove the damaging things. Basically the task was not very difficult. The concierge was easily convinced by Edmondo’s generous tip that he bestowed munificently, while my respectable appearance served to satisfy the scruples of the owner of the house. “You wouldn’t happen to be police, would you?” he asked at first, suspicious. I could not help but think of the strange inversion of values that has occurred today, even in the simplest of souls. Once, in similar circumstances, a landlord would certainly have asked, “You wouldn’t happen to be crooks, would you?” Today the enemy is no longer the common delinquent, but the police.
As quickly as possible, we went on to carry out a careful search, which brought us to the discovery of a well-hidden suitcase, filled with letters, reports, and circulars from the Piedmontese Regional Military Command. Hurriedly, crammed into Edmondo’s topolino, we brought it to two old seamstresses who were completely unsuspecting.
1 December. Yesterday morning I went to Casalegno’s house for the meeting of the Committee of Coordination, but the meeting did not take place because Casalegno’s son was born that very night.2 Today, at the meeting of the Gruppi di difesa, the Communist Gennarino was absent because she had had a baby girl as well.3 This flowering of births should have been a good omen and should have brought us luck. (By now even Lisetta’s son or daughter should not wait too long to come into the world.) Instead, these days everything is going badly.
Valle and Duccio are still in prison, and it appears that their release will present many difficulties. Today Mumo, who after his release from prison in Milan has been living more or less in hiding with his sister, on hearing a banging at the door, insistent and with an unconventional rhythm, while he was alone in the house, convinced that it was the police, tried to flee by jumping down from the window. But he broke both of his legs and had to be transported to the hospital. Later Giorgio Diena, having gone to his house to look for news, ran the risk of being captured and, fleeing, had to get rid of a packet of documents it would be better not to have in circulation.
This morning General Alexander sent a message by radio to the Italian partisans, telling them unemotionally that from now until the good weather, the Allied forces would not continue their advance. Therefore, he advised them to retreat and stop and wait for the entire winter.4 As if, surrounded, harassed, and pursued as we are, we can wait without doing anything. I very well understand how, in the general and immense picture of the war, the battle of the Italian partisans might be but an episode, but for those like us who are involved, the message has been quite a hard blow. Moreover, we are now without that sense of support—perhaps more imagined than real—that the proximity of the Allies gave us. We know that they are still nearby, but as long as the winter lasts, they have completely lost interest in us, and we should not expect anything from them. Never mind! We will fend for ourselves. I am more and more convinced that we must not rely on foreign help, but on our own forces. Yet we feel a certain bitterness.
2 December. Cesare arrived early in the morning with not very cheerful news from the Susa Valley. In the area of Oulx, there was an unexpected and rather sweeping roundup. All the bases of the Autonomous forces were surrounded and ravaged. Taschier’s cabin (where their command was) was burned. Partisans were arrested. The Fascists also went to Beaulard, but they did not find the cabin.
Later Bianca, who arrived last night from Beaulard, confirmed the news for me. She had another strange adventure. When she arrived the other morning, she found herself in the middle of the roundup without knowing it. Since she was not able to find the cabin in the woods, at a certain point she began to shout: “Pillo! Alberto!” so that they would come to meet her. Meanwhile at the same time the Germans and Fascists, who miraculously passed near the cabin without seeing her, were coming up from the other side. Our boys in the cabin were not aware of the movement of those who were carrying out the roundup either. They only realized it later, when they were warned in the town and saw the visible tracks in the snow.
Such unbelievable good fortune seems due to several factors: in the first place, to good luck and a benign Providence; then to the safe, camouflaged location of the cabin; in the third place, to the wisdom of our boys in wanting to remain independent from the local Autonomous forces; and finally to the aid of the townspeople, including the notorious girl who was taken away as a spy and then fled. She had only to go to the head of the squad to have them all caught red-handed.
Nevertheless, we must not exaggerate. It went well today, but it could also go badly tomorrow. Therefore it would be good if the relocation of the cabin happened as soon as possible. As for the Autonomous forces who were arrested, their situation does not seem serious. It appears that they offered to have them work for the Germans on a civilian basis.
Tomorrow I will go and see.
3 December. Having arrived at Beaulard around 10:00 a.m., I set out through the woods, toward the mountain stream. But at a certain point I stopped, my heart pounding. I had seen the cap of an Alpino through the trees. Could it be the Monte Rosa? Instead it was only Pillo who, having anticipated my coming, had come down to meet me, dressed and armed from head to toe. After a while Alberto joined us, with the Sten over his shoulder and a long and shapeless sheepskin jacket. Together we climbed back up the river to the new cabin, which is much larger and brighter that the previous one, and to which they are transporting the furniture and household goods a little at a time.
On the whole the situation is quite peculiar. Evidently well-informed regarding Alexander’s announcement, the Germans have launched a proclamation in the valley, promising impunity and work of a civilian nature to all partisans who present themselves by 8 December. They think that this way they will protect themselves from the nuisance and danger that guerrilla warfare represents for them, at least during the winter, taking advantage of the difficulty and discouraged state of mind the formations inevitably must be experiencing, after being deserted by the Allies. The maneuver might even partially succeed, especially where organizational ties are not solid and political training is lacking. In our group from Beaulard, not even one thought of presenting himself. In the group from Savoulx, on the other hand—more detached and dominated by the suspicious Codega—almost all of them wanted to present themselves, except of course for the very steadfast and irreproachable Corallo brothers.5 As for the Autonomous forces, in addition to those who have already been captured, a strong movement well disposed toward the order appears to exist among them. Someone, more or less in good faith, must have passed the rumor among them that even the Turin Command approved of the order—as a contingent and temporary expedient. It is obvious that we have to do something quickly with very specific rallying cries. The boys will do their part locally, while I will try to trigger the most influential persons of rank of the Autonomous forces in Turin.
In the meantime, while we were talking, we cooked the rice. We sent it up with many good wishes, although it was really not very appetizing, since it lacked salt entirely. We agreed that tomorrow I would make the final arrangements in Turin. Then I would pass by Laghi’s house in Susa with Paolo, and I would go back up with him to decide about the next trip to France. Meanwhile, during these two or three days, the situation could stabilize and we would be able to evaluate the consequences of the proclamation.
When I returned to Turin, I had unpleasant news. Salvatorelli’s house, where Lisetta had settled a few days before, had been “burned.”6 Luckily she was not home, but she lost the entire layette for the baby that her companions from San Vittore had prepared for her, and the few provisions she was counting on for the next few months.
4 December. This morning, I went with Paolo to the home of Tonino, who, as we predicted, proved to be absolutely against the idea of the order. In his capacity as commander of the Autonomous forces, he gave us a precise message for the partisans in the Susa Valley, who belonged to Marcellin’s ex-formations.
We will have to go to look for Patria, who seems to me to be the most intelligent and active among those who are left, and consult him as to how he might explain the excessively accommodating propaganda of the enemy to his men.
Later, at Giorgio’s, I had news. They had managed to get Valle out, whether with an exchange or by paying a certain amount, I do not know. For Duccio, on the other hand, the situation was more complicated. Giorgio fears the Fascists from Cuneo might be able to make the Germans hand him over, and this would be terribly dangerous.
5 December, Meana. At 6:00 a.m. we left Turin, whose atmosphere was cold, icy, and foggy, and we reached Susa at 10:00 a.m. under a sky that was flooded with golden sunlight, swept violently by the wind from Provence. At Micoletto, Laghi was overjoyed when he saw Paolo, he too having thought that Paolo was lost for sure. Seated outside in the sun, we chatted for a long time about the trips into France, as well as about the local situation. He too knew about the proclamation, but did not even consider it. “What kind of partisans are we,” he said with a nobility that was not just symbolic, “if we make pacts with the enemy, even if only temporarily?” We could reduce our activities somewhat, and in given cases let the local partisans spend the winter at their own homes in order to simplify the problem of provisions, but the formations absolutely must not be dissolved, and the partisans must be ready to act at any moment, as soon as the occasion arises. An agreement of such a nature with the occupying forces would be to betray the most cherished meaning of the partisan battle.
When we returned to Susa, we met a new individual, namely a commissioner of police, a certain Cozzolino, who expressed sympathy and respect for us and warned us of a denunciation that had been made concerning us, which in fact later proved to be the by-now-very-outdated denunciation at the police office at Vercelli.7
Having climbed back up to Meana under a sky full of stars, we reached an understanding with the heads of two Meanese squads. Here no one is thinking of presenting himself, although basically they are not making a big deal of it, but during this waiting period we cannot demand too much.
6 December. This morning, it was snowing heavily, and we left here with the not-very-cheerful prospect of returning on foot from Salbertrand to Exilles (where there is no station), and then climbing toward the grange of Gran Prà in the problematic search for Patria. Instead circumstances were favorable to us. The train stopped for a minute at the crossing keeper’s cabin before Exilles (which was enough so that we could scurry to get off). We had begun the climb amidst the snow for only a short time when we saw a hooded, cloaked figure, who turned out to be Patria in person. We went down to his house together where, in front of a comfortable, lit fire, I conveyed to him the message from Tonino. He hastened to say I was right, and seemed to me to be convinced of the need to keep the formations on their feet at any cost, albeit at a reduced level, even if he could not give me very precise news about the stability of the Autonomous groups in the area of Exilles. Nevertheless he would get me an accurate report on the local situation as soon as possible.
8 December. Having gone down to Susa to go to Laghi’s, I saw the news of Duccio’s murder in the newspaper. The newspaper said that they shot him while he was trying to flee, near Cuneo. As Giorgio had feared, the Fascists were able to make the Germans hand him over.
The news struck me like a blow. I knew he was in danger, but I was almost certain that they would be able to get him out, as they did for Valle and Marelli. My despair is still tinged with disbelief.
I confess that at that moment I did not worry very much about the damage that his death would bring to the organization of the GL formations. If only Duccio were still alive, even if he were far away, even if he were in prison, it seems that everything would go well all the same. But I am thinking about him, a living creature, and about how it seems impossible to me that such strength and ardor can be extinguished forever. Of all of the qualities that make up Duccio’s power and appeal, I have always fundamentally admired his marvelous vitality, which manifested itself not only in political and organizational preparedness and ability but also in his rich and cordial humanity, in the tender and joyous love with which he knew how to make a woman in love happy, in his liking for all things (a beautiful poem as well as a beautiful mountain, a cheerful little story as well as a good meal), and in the free and easy humor with which he knew how to regard even the most serious things.
I remember when we went together to the Chisone Valley. If I am not mistaken, the attempt against Hitler had been the day before, and Duccio had composed a little song about the event to the tune of Vecchio organino.8 “Yes,” I had commented afterward, “and to think that if the attempt had been successful, now everything would be over, or almost over. How magnificent, no?” Suddenly under his strength, resistance, and almost legendary gaiety, I had felt a sense of fatigue and nostalgia for a life that was safe and serene, that nostalgia we all feel sometimes, but to which he almost always was able to appear immune. At that instant, through that moment of weakness, I had truly felt his heroic dimension.
I remembered the last time I saw him, about one month ago, at Giorgio’s house. Suddenly he had appeared on the threshold, bowing ridiculously: “Oh, here is Signor Ulysses! How are you, Signor Ulysses?” (“Ulysses” is the undercover name that Laghi had tried to saddle me with out of prudence and that, applied to me, naturally sounds a bit comical.) He laughed, and took off his hat, and I very nearly became irritated.
My God, but is it possible that Duccio is no more? And that we must continue the battle without him?
11 December, Turin. Here we are again, after three somewhat intense and complicated days.
On Saturday the 9th, we went to Beaulard and then, with Alberto and Pillo, who were waiting for us at the station, we continued as far as Bardonecchia.
Bardonecchia was very crowded with Fascists, Germans, and soldiers of every kind. I wondered how much longer it would be wise to travel in their midst with three boys of draft age, sunburned, and with hair that was quite long and arranged bizarrely. (Pillo even had on a pair of gray-green soldier’s pants that were very visible underneath his greatcoat.) Notwithstanding this—or perhaps really out of respect for our recklessness—no one said anything to us. Calmly we set out on the road to Melezet, where Alberto and Pillo told us how things were.
The boys from Beaulard, who were very enthusiastic and excited about the expedition into France, had talked a bit too much about it—only with their family members, of course, with their fiancées, and with their friends, but practically the entire town was aware of the project and discussed it and commented on it. How could we be sure that the news had not also reached where it should not reach, by the most indirect ways? Even if the Germans in residence at Beaulard are surprisingly stolid and indifferent (at times I could say downright blind, deaf, and dumb), the Fascists, much more curious and alert, continue to circulate. Just the other day they had cut off the hair of a girl named Benedettina, the daughter of the owner of a hotel in Sauze, with whom Pillo had danced one night, accusing her of being in love with “the bandit Pirlo (!),” in whose direction they had later uttered the most terrible threats. Evidently they are very well acquainted with the existence of our group, even if up until now they have not been able to single out the members and discover the headquarters. But they can succeed at any moment, and at the worst moment.
If we organized the expedition under such conditions, we would run the risk of having everyone captured, with documents and belongings of every kind, at the moment of departure. I think that at some point even I must place a limit on optimism and irresponsibility. I proposed that the expedition be postponed for several days, telling the boys that it was suspended sine die, following orders received from France, so that the present excitement could fade.9 Ten days will suffice so that no one is talking about the matter any more. Then, without notifying anyone first, we will be able to embark on the trip, taking the most trustworthy and least loquacious individuals for now. Meanwhile we will do the preparatory work for the collection of news, and Paolo, Alberto, and Pillo will go to Turin for a few days to let the waters subside and suspicions rest. Then they will return to collect the information. Having studied the new situation, we will see how to organize the passage.
Having made this decision, we returned to Bardonecchia, where Alberto went to a certain dealer in wholesale timber, whom they call il Piccolo (the little one), although he is really very large, and who gave us precise news about the movement of troops, and about German means of transport of every kind. During the last few days they have planted a howitzer 380 in Bardonecchia, with which evidently they are thinking about shooting into France.10 Then we returned to Beaulard on foot. On the road we encountered several German patrols, who did not even look at us. But, farther ahead, we found Dr. Bricarello, who was very irritated because the Germans—probably the same ones who had passed by near us—had stopped him, notwithstanding the red cross that he wore in a manner that was as visible as can be on his white windbreaker. Before letting him go ahead, they had examined his documents carefully and meticulously, which luckily were perfect.
When we climbed back up to the cabin, we found a group of boys there. The cabin is now perfectly equipped and comfortable; there is a good stove, a good acetylene lamp, and even a phonograph. They prepared a bed for me with blankets, linens, and a down quilt right next to the stove. “We will even give you a pillow,” Pillo said candidly, putting the object in question on the bed in a case of an indefinable color. Although I rightly knew how to appreciate even the greasy and the dirty, I still preferred to wrap my head in a scarf. “Why are you wrapping your head?” protested Pillo. “It is not at all cold.” He did not understand—and was very careful to tell me so—that I preferred not to come directly into contact with his precious pillow. Nevertheless, I fell asleep immediately and slept magnificently, while the boys played morra and bounced and jumped on the bed until late, emitting the strangest cries.11
The next morning, the entire group arrived and we had a general briefing. I announced that we had to postpone the trip to France. I explained the expediency of giving the impression that we did not exist for a while, and of intensifying the collection of information. We resolved various questions that had remained undecided, among which was the one regarding the girl who had been arrested as a spy and then escaped. I read the memoranda of the interrogators accurately, and was convinced that she was not responsible for anything critical. On the other hand, if she had really wanted to, she could have had everyone captured after her escape. Therefore we decided to file away the experience. I restricted myself to recommending that we tell them, or have them told—perhaps by Don Riccardo—that it would be good if they continued to keep their mouths shut. Then I distributed the money sent by the Command, which will help them make ends meet during these days. They all belonged to poor families. (Here the land is barren and no one is rich.) Before the war, the boys helped by working in Bardonecchia or in Susa or directly in Turin. Now, being essentially outside the law and not able to move, they rely heavily on their already meager family resources.
After the briefing, Alberto, Pillo, Paolo, and I went down and calmly took the train. I breathed a sigh of relief for the moment. I thought that in a few hours we would be in Turin, where we would split up, and where the presence of three boys in a close group would no longer have such a specific connotation. I did not know, (naïve!), what other complications awaited us.
At Salbertrand, the train stopped and remained stopped for a period of time. First I did not think anything of it. Then, after more than an hour had passed, someone began to get irritated and got off to inquire. There was no electricity. Would it return? “I do not know!” Again we waited for a long time. It was terribly cold in the train and I was completely frozen, and I thought with ever-increasing worry about the possibility of arriving in Turin after the curfew.
Finally—it was around 7:00 p.m.—we learned that the train would not leave that evening. Perhaps it would depart the next morning, around 9:00 a.m. We could not stay in the train, starving and fraught with cold. Therefore we set out toward the town in search of food and shelter. But finding it was not easy. We did not know anyone in Salbertrand. It was pitch dark, and we absolutely did not know where to go. Finally Paolo remembered a partisan who must have family in Salbertrand. With some difficulty, we were able to find his house. Naturally the boy was not there, and neither was his father or his mother. Fortunately one of his sisters, who recognized Paolo and agreed to put us up, was there. She brought us into a stable where a veillà was unfolding.12 There was an old woman who was spinning, a little man who was getting some stakes of wood ready, little boys and girls who were playing cards, and some girls who were knitting. The young men were absent, of course, and the arrival of my three musketeers made some impression. The girl introduced us generically and vaguely as “friends” and, making us sit around the stove, gave us potatoes with butter, which we devoured voraciously. The little man—probably an uncle—regarded us with some diffidence and made several strange remarks to us, from which we guessed that he had taken us for Fascists. We did not worry about enlightening him. We savored the good warmth of the stable delightfully, happy to have found shelter. When it was time to go to sleep, we stretched out on the straw, and the calm breathing of the animals provided a lullaby.
The next morning—which was this morning—we were at the station before 8:00 a.m. But the train had already left, how and why we truly did not understand, because the same railway official and the other railroad men arrived after us, cool and ignorant. We could not hope for other means of transport for the entire day. If we wanted to arrive in Susa, where perhaps we could take the evening train, we would have to set out on foot. The railroad men and some others were walking and we joined them, hoping in this way to be less conspicuous. Everything went smoothly.
In Susa, Teta comforted us in various ways and even had a trustworthy barber come to cut Alberto’s and Pillo’s conspicuous long, thick hair. At 4:00 p.m. we left, but the train for Turin was not in Bussoleno. What to do? Return to Susa on foot? Look for hospitality in Bussoleno? The prospect was not very encouraging.
But then, there was the sound of a train. They said it was a cargo train that was going to Turin. Of course we got on. I was so accustomed to bad luck that I waited for the train to stop at any moment, at the worst place, naturally. Instead it did not stop, not even once, until Quadrivio Zappata, where Alberto and Pillo chose to get off and leave on a tram. Paolo and I disembarked happily at Porta Nuova. It was 8:00 p.m. and therefore exactly twenty-six hours from when we left Beaulard. It would very nearly have been faster to come on foot.
Ettore was not at home, but he arrived a little later. He had been with Lisetta at the “burned” house to see if they could recover something. There must have been Fascists inside and around because Ettore, who had gone ahead, had hardly appeared at the window when the concierge, without letting him speak, made expressive gestures to him with a terrified air to bid him to leave, which naturally he did, picking up Lisetta, who had stayed at the front gate to wait. It had gone well, but they (especially Lisetta) had run a big risk. Certainly it had been rash, but I understand so well Lisetta’s desire to recover at least something of her belongings. I think that, in her position, I would have done exactly the same thing.
13 December. Today, a little by coincidence and a little because they had appointments, a large group of partisan leaders and members of the Cln of the Susa Valley were at my house. At a certain point—when there was not an empty room in the entire house, and there were even people who were chatting not only in the kitchen, under the inattentive eyes of Anna, who was cleaning spinach in the meantime, but also in the bathroom—Espedita arrived to warn us that two individuals with a suspicious appearance were walking in front of the main gate. Therefore I begged my guests to disperse discreetly, one at a time. Either it was a false alarm, or one of the persons present had been shadowed. Nevertheless nothing has happened so far. Certainly it would not be that bad to close the house for two or three days. I am leaving for Milan tonight, where I will stay for a week, and Ettore and Paolo will go into the valley to gather news.
20 December. I was in Milan for a week, and I hope not in vain. I saw a bunch of people and I walked an infinite number of steps.
I had several interesting conversations with Lucia Corti regarding assistance work. She said—and quite truthfully, I think—that to get women involved, and not merely to excite them uselessly, it is necessary to interest them in social work, toward which they are instinctively inclined. She showed me the program for certain social service training courses held by the Cardinal Ferrari Institution. Evidently the Catholic Church, which has had a long and vast experience in this arena, has understood what tomorrow’s work among women must be. Why can’t we do something similar, in this way breaking up the by-now-century-old Catholic and Vatican monopoly on assistance? Certainly we lack training and experience, yet we must begin sometime! “Our women’s organizations should gain experience with this kind of work!” she repeated several times. I agree with her completely, but I fear that, as long as the battle is not over, we will not be able to lay the kind of foundation we would like to have for this type of work.
I also attended a meeting of the Executive Committee of the Action Party, where I had to report about the women’s movement, and I did it as best I could. Everyone agreed with me, even if I am not quite sure whether they had really listened to everything I said.
These are the serious things about my stay in Milan. As for the picturesque side, nothing in particular happened. I slept alternately at the houses of Adriana, Nanni Vasari, and Panta.13 I ate in the most mysterious places and with the strangest people. (One evening, since it had become late, I even went without supper, and at night I could not get to sleep because I was so hungry.) I traveled kilometers, from one end of Milan to the other, sometimes arriving on time, and sometimes missing appointments. I passed by Garzanti, Bompiani, and Bianchi-Giovini just to create alibis for my presence in Milan.14 I talked so much that I was worn out. At times I was calm and optimistic, at other times sad, worried, and anxious for the future.
Finally, last night I left again. At Vercelli, it half scared me to death when the soldiers began to search my neighbors’ luggage, and I was carrying documents and several newspapers. In reality they were simply looking for tobacco, whose trade, as I was able to learn, had its center in the Veneto and flourished on this line. At three in the morning, they made us get off and do the stretch between Chivasso and Brandizzo on foot. There was mud and slime. I was sleepy and I slipped, and every once in a while I lost something that I had a hard time finding in the dark. When I got back on the train, I slept up until Porta Susa. While I went to the house by Via Cernaia, for the first time I saw the enormous searchlights that illuminated the vicinity of the soldiers’ barracks, which were decorated with a gigantic black banner.
At home I found Paolo and Ettore, who had returned from the Susa Valley. In Bardonecchia, in addition to collecting information from Piccolo, they met individuals suitable for the formation of the Cln, among whom was a fellow who might be the future mayor. Then they had been to Cesana and Fénils to learn about the location of two 420 cannons, located between Cesana and Clavières, and about points where the road toward France is mined.
Then today we held a type of war council with Pillo, Alberto, and Bianca, to decide about the next trip. By now, with what they already collected, what they would still collect in the valley, and what I had received in Milan, there is a good bit of news to bring to our French friends. They decided to go there right after Christmas, bringing only the two Corallo brothers with them, after whom—if everything goes well—Pacchiodo and the others would follow, in stages. I think that I will be able to go with them too. By now, the work among women is well established and can move ahead very well without me for about eight or ten days. Besides, when we arrive in Grenoble, I will be able to contact the French women. (Paolo told me that he had seen the headquarters of l’Union des femmes françaises or Uff, nearly equivalent to our Gruppi di difesa.)15 Undoubtedly I will learn many things that will be useful to our work here, availing myself of their experiences during the period of the underground and liberation. Furthermore, our connections can be the basis of an effective collaboration in the future.
Then I saw a great many people, Valle among them, who, having gotten out of prison, was getting ready to go to live in Milan, since it would be difficult for him to work here. A certain man came from Genoa with disastrous news. Many have been arrested; Lanfranco has been deported to Germany; Zino and Marchisio were saved by a miracle.16
24 December. Lisetta’s child was born: a baby girl. Everything went very well, and it truly seemed to be a miracle. Thanks to her splendid false papers, she was able to be admitted to the Molinette hospital, where she is safe and well cared for. Vittorio, relieved and happy, came to give me the announcement.17
We chatted for a long time about many matters. Among other things, he told me that our friends from the Action Party leadership have arranged to have me nominated vice mayor after the liberation. I confess that I burst out laughing and thought Vittorio was joking. Instead he was most serious. My desire to laugh began to change into alarm.
“But I do not have a shadow of administrative experience!” I protested. “I am not made for this kind of work.”
“You will gain the experience,” he answered me steadily. “I assure you it is precisely the work that you need. Think about how many problems there are to solve, simple problems, almost domestic, in order to reorganize the lives of half a million people. I cannot think of anyone more qualified.”
I looked at him with my mouth open. He was really serious. What if he were right? Yes, certainly, once all of this is over, there will be a great deal to do, and it is true that I like to get busy, metter la pelle sul bastone (put my hide to the stick), as my father used to say expressively, to help people, and to make things go well, even one small thing. I had so dreamed of returning to the peaceful quiet of my studies! But I am more and more convinced that it will not be possible.
25 December. Christmas. Yesterday it snowed. Today it is sunny and the outdoor scenery is peacefully traditional. It is the second Christmas of occupation. Will it be the last? I do not dare make predictions any more. Certainly even this period will come to an end, as everything in this world has an end. At times I have the impression that, even when the liberation comes, we will no longer be able to be happy. We have lost too many friends along the way. The strain inflicted on our nerves and on our hearts, in order to dominate the pain and resist, has perhaps dried up our capacity for joy forever. Or perhaps it will not be like this, because life continues, inexorably, and it is stronger than everything. New babies will be born to replace those who have been lost, and they will affirm life’s immortality.
This afternoon Paolo and I went to meet Lisetta’s daughter. She is a beautiful, healthy baby girl to whom they have given the name Annalisa. Lisetta entertained me by telling me that her baby girl will be duly registered in the Registry of Births and Deaths under the name of Annalisa Rizzini by showing us her marriage certificate, on which her supposed husband was represented by the photograph of a nineteenth-century gentleman. (He is English, it appears, and a relative of Lucia Corti.)
When we left the hospital, a splendid moon illuminated the river and the hill that was covered with snow. Paolo said that the moonlight would help us in the crossing. I still have things to do for a few days to settle various affairs, and must spend time in Susa and Meana to see how things are going. Then we will leave. If everything goes well, we will be in France before the New Year.
1 Luigi Masciadri (Marelli), an industry executive, was an inspector of the Piedmontese Regional GL Command and later political commissar of the VIII zone.
2 Carlo Casalegno was a professor and inspector of the GL Piedmontese Regional Command.
3 Giuseppina Vittone (Gennarino) was an organizer of the Gruppi di difesa in Turin.
4 Harold Alexander, an English marshal, was commander in chief of the Allied forces in Italy.
5 Eraldo and Virgilio Corallo were partisans in the “Franco Dusi Column” of the IV Alpine Division of GL.
6 The home of antifascist historian and journalist Luigi Salvatorelli.
7 Dr. Pasquale Cozzolino, commissioner of public safety, was a collaborator of the partisans.
8 The assassination attempt of 20 July 1944 led by Colonel Claus Count von Stauffenberg. See http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbWxaDnrJ5Y for a rendition of Luigi Orlando’s Vecchio organino.
9 sine die is Latin for “without day,” meaning without assigning a specific day for an event.
10 A howitzer 380 mm artillery gun.
11 Morra is a game for two players where each shouts a number at the same time as showing a number of fingers. The one who shouts the correct total number of fingers wins.
12 The veillà was a long evening spent in a barn doing activities such as spinning wool, playing cards, or just chatting.
13 Nanni Vasari was a collaborator with the Action Party and an organizer of the Mfgl.
14 Garzanti, Bompiani, and Bianchi-Giovini were publishing houses. Ada frequently went to such publishing houses to conduct business regarding translations she was doing for them.
15 L’Union des femmes françaises (Union of French women) was created in the autumn of 1944 and was linked to the Communist Party.
16 Eros Lanfranco, a lawyer and representative of the Action Party in Genoa, was deported and died in Germany.
17 Molinette was the largest hospital in Turin.