Many of the highlights in my life happened in Italy: in Rome, in Capri, in Tuscany, in Venice, around the Neapolitan coast and in Milan. You will already know I lived there as a young woman, but Eric also had many past visits and experiences separate from mine. Two different Italian histories were already in place, but now it was going to be our Italy.
In November 1979, Eric and his historian friend Rosario Villari were both invited to the same conference in Venice. Eric was keen I should come, so I phoned Rosario’s wife Anna Rosa, whom I had met recently to ask if she was also coming; she agreed to travel provided that I did also. We were all put in the same hotel (a nice one). November weather, often foggy, turned itself into a week of warm sunny Riviera temperatures. Unfortunately the husbands were disappointed in their conference; aside from having to take a fifteen-minute boat ride every day to the island of San Giorgio where it was held, they had grumbles about the organisation and the papers not being up to scratch.
We ladies, on the other hand, had one of our best holidays. We seemed to have so much in common, and I don’t only mean that both our historians were paid-up members of the awkward squad. We were compatible –like sisters, and treated each other so. We picnicked on steps, bridges, in quiet, secluded areas away from the tourists. We once found ourselves near the famous orphanage where Vivaldi composed, gave violin lessons and also taught the girls to sing. The most talented ones would become members of the renowned Ospedale della Pietà orchestra and choir, which often toured around Italy and abroad. Not only Vivaldi, but Sammartini was also from Venice, and we probably had a picnic around his plaque too. Famous for being an oboist, he also played the flute and recorder (which was the norm at that time). He was a wonderful composer for the recorder and I have played and taught many of his lovely sonatas and trio sonatas.
Rosario, who was taking many years to write his main book, Un Sogna di Liberta, which covers the Neapolitan Revolution in 1647, really needed to get on with it and research in the British Library. We invited him to come to us whenever he wanted, and he did. That is when our deep friendship began. He was a marvellous guest and when joined by Anna Rosa it was even better. They were practical people, unlike the Hobsbawms. They knew how to fix things with tools – though Rosario always complained about Eric’s being blunt and rusty. We all laughed that it sometimes felt as though we had hired them as a working couple. They even entertained us, as Rosario played French and Neapolitan songs (by heart) on the piano and sometimes Anna Rosa sang them. In the kitchen she was a wizard. It seems that two husbands and two wives in a household together works like a dream (why is there not more of this, I wonder?).
When Eric and I travelled abroad it was very practical for them to be in the house alone, not least for feeding and caressing Ticlia, and again Rosario went off every morning to the library. It took a few more years, but he did eventually finish his book in 2001 and it was very well received and reviewed. But the Villaris were addicted to London and this arrangement continued. Their home was in Rome, but each year they spent their holidays in their Tuscan farmhouse Santa Fortunata, beautifully situated and furnished (even with a pool, so they could rent the place out to well-off Americans). It was near the small town of Cetona. Later, our Andy and Kate stayed there as part of their Italian honeymoon, and Julia and Alaric spent time there for peace and quiet, during Julia’s pregnancy with Roman.
We had many holidays there, just the four of us. We got on so well – the historians always had much to talk about, but it wasn’t all chat about the dreadful politics (we were there when Berlusconi was re-elected). The kitchen, with the patio door to the garden and pool, was the centre of the house. So much time was spent there, and we enjoyed watching a one-act opera buffa unfold. The two protagonists were Pia and Rolando. Pia (soprano) was the maid (who secretly was still in love with her ex-husband Nilo, who ran the main restaurant and gossip hub in the town piazza). She came to work every morning and also cooked our lunch. The gardener Rolando (tenor) was in charge of the grounds that circled the entire property. He looked after the olive trees surrounding the swimming pool and the expansive olive-tree orchard behind; the garden also had pear, plum and two big fig trees, and he was in charge of growing all the lovely produce – courgettes, aubergines, tomatoes and peppers – and also watering the plants, starting with blue agapanthus at the front. The Italian sun makes these flowers much taller and more imposing than they are in England. Hostas are giants there.
Rolando was so attentive with the Villaris, but it was especially sweet and humorous to watch him be attentive to the provocatively dressed Pia, who he clearly had eyes for. Pia must have known, and she teased him by running outside when it suited her, complaining loudly, ‘Dove sono i pomodori?’ (Where are the tomatoes?). He would scurry off to bring them to the kitchen where he would then dawdle, always inventing something to fix. That was the comedy performed at Santa Fortunata every summer morning, except Sundays. Cetona was adorable; I think only the Italians can make piazzas like this. There were no cars, children played safely and there was a communal effort between mothers to watch over the others as well as their own if they stepped into a shop. Of course, we knew everything that was happening behind closed doors in Cetona (thanks to our Pia).
Anna Rosa and I continue to travel back and forth to visit each other, and our beautiful friendship continues today, but without Eric or Rosario, except in most conversation. Because of the the Villaris, we had masses of friends in Italy: theirs and ours – journalist Antonio Polito, historians Corrado Vivanti and his wife Anna, the Perrinis, the Procaccis, Beppe Vacca, the director of the Gramsci Institute, Toni and Giovanella Armellini, and too many more to name. We were also friends with Enzo Crea (a publisher of art books and poetry) as well as a professional photographer. He took the picture of me and Eric at La Foce on the back cover of this book. Benedetta Origo, was also a close friend who often invited us to her two beautiful homes, La Foce or Castel Guliano, in the midst of a glorious landscape of rolling hills and long distance panoramas.
From the beginning of the 1970s, Eric was very popular in Italy, but his peak was in the 1990s onwards. The Italians couldn’t get enough of his books, which were all translated into Italian. Eric was first published by Laterza (The Age of Capital) and later Giulio Einaudi, a son of Luigi Einaudi who used to be President of the Republic of Italy. Because of this, Giulio was a very grand person and ran a very grand publishing house. Eric was much involved in Giulio’s huge project La Storia del Marxismo, working as a principal editor (alongside Vivanti, Haupt, Ragionieri, Marek and Strada, among others) to find British scholars to be approached to write for it. His book on jazz (as well as Captain Swing) was published by Editori Riuniti, the Communist Party’s publishing house.
Eric’s next main publisher was Rizzoli (run by Paolo Zanino) and the publicist in charge Anna Drugman was the most competent and attentive lady, who made sure we were treated as VIPs every step of the way. In May 1995, they brought out The Age of Extremes, which was a huge success and presented at the big book fair, Il Salone del Libro in Turin, where he was also given an honorary degree at the University of Turin. I didn’t go with him to this but managed to go to the next one, a literary festival in Mantova. I remember the charm of Mantova, and the adorable Giorgio Armani shoes I bought there.
Eric also got prizes, including the Premio Bari. We were invited to the premiere of a new production of the opera Fidelio at La Scala in Milan. The audience was full of stars, luminaries and, unlike in Britain, politicians were there as well – in the royal box was the former President of Italy, who was booed, and his party immediately left the building. In front of us sat Jeremy Irons and his wife Sinéad Cusack. Riccardo Muti was the conductor, and he was marvellous, as was the entire evening. During the interval, I overheard gossip in the ladies’ room about Riccardo Muti’s current lovers, which made meeting him at the big dinner afterwards – let’s say … interesting. Eric was often approached at book fairs and other events by Italian politicians and friends, who would ask if he would write for this or that journal. He was enamoured with the way communism was actually developing in Italy, and how he was able to contribute to the political climate intellectually. Eurocommunism, as it was called, was appealing for Eric as it was softer and wanted more independence from the Soviet Union. This shift started in Prague and also became popular in Spain. Without delving into dialectical Marxism, Eurocommunism arrived rather lukewarm to the Communist Party in Britain, although it’s true they did actually publicly condemn the Soviet intervention in Czechoslovakia. Of course, the Communist Party was not important to most people in Britain, and I was always surprised at the lack of awareness at just how active the Communist Party actually was in Italy and other parts of the West. Even in India it was not uncommon to find people wearing small hammer-and-sickle brooches.
When we were back in London, Martin Jacques asked Eric to write for his magazine Marxism Today. The successful collaboration of many years led to a long-lasting close family friendship as well. Martin’s son Ravi and our grandson Roman continue their good friendship.