logo

52 pages 1 hour read

Marie-Henri Beyle

The Charterhouse of Parma

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1839

A modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.

Chapters 24-28Chapter Summaries & Analyses

Chapters 24-28 Summary

Rassi attempts to investigate the Prince’s poisoning, but Gina, who manipulates the court against Rassi and endears herself to the young Prince, little fears her arrest. She stages theater performances in which she facilitates the young Prince’s participation as a boon to his confidence and advises him on the case of “his father’s alleged murderers.” Ferrante, whose involvement in the murder Rassi had already determined, writes to Gina of his planned departure for America as a lover of republican, anti-monarchic revolution—which he characterizes as “the one rival you have in my heart” (500). It is not from anti-tyrannical sentiments that Gina advises the Prince to avoid executions but rather to avoid the gallows herself. He considers this advice, in the company of his mother the dowager Princess, who together constitute with Gina “three actors in this tedious scene” of a monarch’s long struggle to relinquish retributive power (504). Gina eventually convinces him to destroy Rassi’s investigations by reading a fable of La Fontaine’s “The Gardener and his Lord,” in which a gardener’s plot is ruined by his lord’s attempt to save it. She also invokes Rassi’s low birth, which assures the Prince of her respect for nobility above intelligence. As the Prince decides, Gina thinks to herself, “[H]e really has a stupid face” (509). Yet, money more than nobility motivates the Prince’s resistance as he bemoans his lost investment.

When the Prince agrees to destroy the evidence, Gina pilfers a handful of depositions. Mosca uses these as he schemes to secure a trial for Fabrizio that will clear his name. The details of this scheme are intricate and at times absurd. All the intrigues are nevertheless undone by Fabrizio’s willful return to the Farnese Tower, where he is in even greater danger of poisoning than before. Fabrizio and Clélia lock eyes across their windows before Clélia once more recalls her vow. When Conti’s brother resigns as prison chaplain on suspicion of poisoning Fabrizio, Clélia rushes to stop Fabrizio from eating his meal. Fabrizio takes advantage of Clélia’s anxiety by falsely claiming to have eaten, admitting to the lie only after a sexual encounter. Clélia is indignant but joyous that Fabrizio is not poisoned and, before she can respond, an aide-de-camp sent by Gina arrives to release Fabrizio on the orders of the Prince.

The Prince issues to Gina an ultimatum whereby she “gives herself to his disposal” for sex in return for Fabrizio’s safety (529). She agrees, adding into the bargain Fabrizio’s promotion to Archbishop. The Prince basks in his uncharacteristic boldness with Gina, by means of which “he achieved some character.” He dismisses Rassi but exiles Conti, whom Gina, despite her claim no longer to love Fabrizio, wants to avoid disgracing until Clélia’s marriage (533). Gina hopes that she can avoid fulfilling her promise of sexual favors to the Prince by making herself indispensable to him.

After his release, Fabrizio is tried, acquitted, and quickly promoted, but he remains miserable. During Fabrizio’s initial imprisonment, Mosca commissioned a translation of his family’s genealogy from Latin into Italian. Its completion, along with a portrait, fail to affect Fabrizio. The del Dongo genealogy is affixed with Fabrizio’s portrait and becomes a best-seller in Parma. Archbishop Landriani vents his jealousy, prompting Fabrizio to think, “That is what these common people are like […] even when they have some intelligence!” (546). Landriani changes his tack to profit from Fabrizio’s renown, but Fabrizio remains “perfectly indifferent […] to the things of this world.” Nearly the only character who is no longer jealous of Fabrizio, Mosca sees Fabrizio’s success in “that frayed little black soutane” (548).

Clélia is sent to her aunt’s when her father is exiled. Fabrizio rents a room across the street and the pair espy one another through their windows, but Clélia hastens her marriage when she learns that her father may return to Parma as a result. Before the wedding, Fabrizio steals into the aunt’s house to see Clélia, who rebuffs him. He retreats to a monastery.

Fabrizio is compelled to appear in court for the Prince’s birthday, where he suppresses an impulse, attributed to a 16th-century ancestor, to stab the Marchese Crescenzi when he enters with Clélia. Fabrizio nevertheless succumbs to melancholy, which Clélia notices with alarm. Clélia’s husband encourages her not to debase herself in court and speaks of their superior position in society as members of the middle-class, which stems from their invulnerability to a republican uprising. Fabrizio whispers to Clélia lines from a Petrarch sonnet: “Happiest was I when all believed me sad.” Clélia murmurs to herself another line—“No, never shall you see a change in me”—but responds with a plea to forget the past (556). The encounter nevertheless inspires Fabrizio to return to the city just as Gina and Mosca decide to take a leave of absence from court.

Subverting the proprieties of his own court, the Prince visits Gina at her palazzo to demand the fulfillment of his promise. Gina offers instead her devotion as an advisor, to which the Prince responds with a marriage proposal and the offer to become Prime Minister: “Well then […] rule both me and my kingdom.” Gina refuses, thinking of her freedom with Mosca as compared to the Prince, who “would have ruled her, more or less” (560). She performs her rejection as delicately as ever, “little by little [bringing] the negotiations to her actual terms” (561). Her basic tactic remains threatening to leave the Prince’s court as its shining source of life. This time the tactic fails, and Gina concedes to receive the Prince at night. An inwardly disgraced Gina departs Parma forever for Naples after marrying Mosca, who receives a large pension and commendation from the Prince.

Still in Parma, Fabrizio dutifully keeps Mosca apprised of intrigues at Court, which had returned to the power of his enemies in Rassi and Conti. Fabrizio also pursues Clélia, who evades him for more than a year. His mournfulness continues to contribute to his pious image, which gains him enough favor to make him vulnerable. Gina advises that he begin preaching in order to speak of his faults and mollify those growing envious. Fabrizio agrees with the hope that he may as well be useful to Gina and Mosca, his benefactors, and begins preaching with “unparalleled success.” He nourishes the hope that Clélia might appear with the crowds flocking to his pulpit, while his preaching gives outlet to his ever-active imagination. His sermons are improvised with “impassioned inspiration,” but he writes a tender prayer in the event that Clélia appears. Impatient with her absence, Fabrizio attends an opera when Clélia is present and arranges a sermon for the same day, so that she might be compelled to attend in the future. This sermon “preaches on the pity a generous soul ought to have for someone in misfortune, even when he is guilty,” but Clélia is not in attendance, even as Fabrizio sends the public into raptures; they call for a statute of him to be built (569). A merchant’s daughter promised to Rassi’s son falls in love with him and commissions his portrait in simple clerical garb.

The narrator interrupts to describe membership in that Court as depending on mere protocols, including never reading Voltaire or Rousseau, indulging the Sovereign, and never missing a single day’s Mass. Such are the requirements for political power, emblematized in part by a new character, Gonzo (“fool”) who is a frequent attendee to the Crescenzi salon and, like Rassi, relishes those who demean him. Gonzo notices a change in Clélia whenever the merchant’s daughter is mentioned and tests his observations with a mention of Fabrizio’s new portrait. When Clélia withdraws, others assume she is angry on behalf of her father. Gonzo relishes the effects of his gossip, “exquisitely postponing all mention of the longed-for word,” and eventually shares with Clélia everything he has heard (580).

The gossip about the daughter’s infatuation impels Clélia to attend a sermon after more than a year of avoiding Fabrizio, while Gonzo considers the affair a profitable act: “…the seats would be worth two francs and cheap at the price!” (582). Clélia rests her decision on whether the next woman who enters her salon, Raversi, plans to see Fabrizio preach. Raversi’s enthusiasm for her long-hated rival’s nephew is unlikely, but she is moved by the fervor of his sublime speeches. Taking the response as an omen, Clélia attends a service where she sits, not without some embarrassment, in gilded armchair in the front row. Upon seeing Clélia, Fabrizio turns to his prepared prayer, which induces the whole crowd, Gonzo included, to cry. She sends him a note to arrange a meeting in her palazzo’s orange grove, where she agrees to meet only in the darkness so as not to break her vow. Fabrizio promises in return never to preach again: “I only preached in the hope of seeing you” (587).

Three years pass. Mosca returns to Parma as Prime Minister; Clélia gives birth to Fabrizio’s son, Sandrino; Fabrizio is made Archbishop. Fabrizio bemoans this condition not to look at Clélia and his separation from his son. Clélia agrees to allow Fabrizio to abduct Sandrino by feigning his death. Kept in bed, the child actually falls ill, so that Fabrizio appeals to Mosca to arrange for the absence of the Marchese. The child is stolen away and a false funeral staged, but Sandrino dies after several months living in secret, which Clélia takes as her own just punishment and subsequently dies. Fabrizio divides his fortune and finally enters the novel’s eponymous monastery, the Charterhouse of Parma. Gina does not return to Parma and lives with Mosca in a nearby village, where she holds court and where Fabrizio frequently visits until he dies, one year after he enters the monastery. Gina’s death follows.

Chapters 24-28 Analysis

In the novel’s last chapters, the theater of politics has its final act in the coming-of-age of the young Prince, who is no real different from his vain yet hesitant father. In Chapter 24, the scene in the drawing room staged between Gina, the Dowager Princess, and the young Prince explores the internal struggle of an absolute monarch on the brink of his monarchy’s collapse. This young monarch is born into the monarchy’s slow dissolution, even as his youthful clumsiness, hesitancy, and timidity reflect the same torpor of an old regime that will not die. If the old Prince symbolized monarchic insecurity and repressed revolution, the new Prince symbolizes the torn allegiances between his legacy (vengeance) and his viability as a constitutional monarch of the future. In 1861, over two decades after the book’s publication, Italy’s would finally unite its various city-states under a single constitutional monarchy, dissolving Parma’s status as a sovereign state.

In Chapter 25, the account of Gina and Mosca’s scheming is so elaborate that readers are given to feel the power of Stendhal’s inexhaustible plotting. Even at this late stage in the novel, when events are clearly coming to a head in Fabrizio’s final exoneration and in the changes of Parmean politics, the story seems potentially endless. Yet, no sooner does the narrator painstakingly relay his great schemers’ plans than he sweeps them all away without a second thought when he has Fabrizio stroll back into jail. This novel’s narrator does not see his storytelling task as “an investment” of the likes of Rassi’s investigation. Unlike the Prince, the narrator happily throws his “work” into the fire with the knowledge of its endless supply. The narrator’s easy shifts in his intricate stories thus reflect the same detachment and brio that define the novel’s most enviable noble characters.

When Fabrizio returns to prison, he makes his sexual conquest of Clélia through the same kind of deceptions that are being forever plotted against him and on his behalf. The nature of honesty in the novel is such that readers may wonder more about its viability as a practical stance in the novel’s world than as a moral failing of any single character. In this way, the “true” nature of Fabrizio’s perceived piety is nearly its opposite in his love for a married woman. Fabrizio’s newfound spirituality is shaped as ever by environmental influences—this time the character of his beloved. It may be that Fabrizio’s spirituality at the end of the novel is love itself. But romantic themes compete in Stendhal with a far less sentimental and melancholic joie de vivre, which depends on not only perfect matches and perfect ideals but the movements of passion itself, in balance with the knowledge that life makes no promises.

Fabrizio and Clélia’s affair of looking—their romance of gazes exchanged across windows—continues outside prison. If the novel’s world trades in image and appearance, so too do its apparently secluded and spiritually profound protagonists. Image cannot, in the end, be separated from the truth of the ideal—be it love or political purpose. Even Clélia grants supreme power to image in her vow. Fabrizio’s own image finally takes on a life of its own in the portraits that are commissioned in the last chapters of the novel. He finally finds a place in his family’s genealogy, as he once hoped he might; moreover, he becomes its frontispiece. Mosca’s translation of the genealogy from Latin to Italian is a gesture to the common people—a democratization of literary form and simultaneously a dissemination of the nobility’s heroism. The nobility, too, must make its peace with the people, for if constitutional monarchy threatens the Prince, revolutionary republicanism threatens nobles. It is a profound insight of Stendhal’s that the way this peace is forged is through culture—the tales of the Renaissance that Fabrizio himself modeled his life upon. Nobility is based on mere image much like monarchy, and yet image has profound consequences.

In Chapter 27, it is not too late to meet a new character, Gonzo, whose half-witted insights into the link between Gina and Fabrizio facilitate the encounter in the church, reigniting an ongoing affair. Fabrizio’s preaching comes from a scheme of calculated self-debasement, the power of which both Gina and Mosca had been witnessing since Fabrizio’s rise to popularity as an apparently pious man of the cloth. Yet it is in preaching that the rational calculus of Gina and Mosca felicitously meet with the impassioned spontaneity of Fabrizio: Fabrizio preaches as a means to an end in political safety as well as access to Clélia, but also for its own sake. He finally has a pulpit for his impassioned flights of fancy, but these are no less genuinely religious than his declarations to the old Prince in Chapter 8 were genuinely monarchic. Fabrizio’s new form of speech makes him into something of a poet, quoting Plutarch, the ancient Greek philosopher whose work was influential during the Italian Renaissance. This designation brings him into parallel with Ferrante, Ludovic, and the novel itself.

Because Gina ends up delivering her promised sexual favors to the new Prince, she has her own reasons for retreating from Parma forever, this provincial center of the world and symbol for worldliness itself. Only Mosca can stay there. As for the rest, loves that had been built within divisions—between aunt and nephew, across tower windows, and across family allegiances—must remain divided. When union is attempted in the abduction of Clélia and Fabrizio’s son, it is broken by death, so that Fabrizio must retreat to where readers were promised he would begin—that is, in the solitary confinement of a spiritual tower, much like the Abbé ’s lookout of his childhood.

blurred text
blurred text
blurred text
blurred text