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52 pages 1 hour read

Marie-Henri Beyle

The Charterhouse of Parma

Fiction | Novel | Adult | Published in 1839

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Character Analysis

Fabrizio del Dongo

Fabrizio del Dongo represents the Italian nobility in a moment of political transition, as well as the larger struggle to forge a new way of life in and after Restoration. He is defined above all by his steady yet adaptable core. As internal or individual as Fabrizio’s solidity seems to be, it is also class-based. Whether officially a del Dongo or not, Fabrizio is a nobleman. This he knows from his youthful reading of the family chronicle, which also imparts to him a Renaissance spirit centuries removed from his time. The chronicle lifts him from 19th-century anxieties, which his aunt is left to negotiate, though she too is compelled by the passionate spontaneity that this spirit captures. Fabrizio is similar to Mosca in his adaptability but distinct in his spontaneous relationship to the present. He maintains a candor quite apart from Mosca’s irony, from his early youth until his death at the age of 27. As a character as immersed in the novel’s world as he is detached from it, Fabrizio is one of the most complex characters of 19th-century literature, embodying his beloved Renaissance heroes in his own unchanging nature, while also serving for others as a template for the revolutionized world that could have been.

Gina del Dongo (Countess Pietranera, Duchess Sanseverina)

Gina del Dongo reflects the adaptability and passionate nature of the nephew to whose life she attaches her own. As her changing titles suggest, she is at one time attached to Napoleon and later to the Restoration. A true companion of Mosca, Gina finds unique intimacy with the last remaining revolutionary of Parma’s restoration in the figure of the poet Ferrante. More than her attachments, Gina f is defined by her quest for what she cannot have nor possibly even want—a romance with her nephew. She seems at times to live vicariously through Fabrizio but at other times is the very heart and soul of the novel’s events. She is the bridge between Parmean court life and her nephew’s adventures in exile. Nothing happens without her, and yet the events she sets in motion are responses to or preparations for someone else. She is as politically cunning as Mosca and consistently returns to the tactic of making herself indispensable to the courts and the men who would otherwise rule her.

Count Mosca della Rovere Sorezna

Sometimes considered the most psychologically complex character of the novel, Mosca is divided between his reckless love for Gina and his calculating political mind. As a minister in a powdered wig, he becomes young again when the book first introduces him in Milan. He remains both world-weary and hopeful, impassioned and indifferent, throughout the course of the novel. The scene of his jealous rage over the provocative letter from the Prince in Chapter 7 is equal only to Gina’s similarly sleepless night in Chapter 14 for its insight into the torments of inner uncertainty. It reveals a character aware of his own flaws in his attachment to power. Mosca’s relationship to power is not blinding. On the contrary, his clear-sightedness and need to master the political game go hand-in-hand. His “courtier’s soul” makes him at times undesirable to Gina, which is the source of his jealously over a less politically involved and symbolically youthful Fabrizio. Mosca is not unlike his rival courtier, the Marchesa Raversi, in that he is “capable of anything.” At times he maintains the core of his character apart from such tasks as public executions and searches for Liberals under the Prince’s bed. However, Mosca is also incapable of being himself without his involvement in political games. He has thrived in the political waters and feels he cannot live outside of them.

Clélia Conti

The only romantic rival to Gina, Clélia Conti is defined by her reserve. She is introduced as a contrast to her father’s boastfulness and later to Gina’s socially glorified and politically useful beauty, but Clélia’s timidity comes from a sense of being out of place, a condition Gina shares. Clélia disdains the overtly theatrical displays of court life and the resentful rank-mongering of the bourgeoise. She is as unsure about the past in which her father stakes his claim as she is unconvinced of the revolutionary future which Fabrizio symbolizes during his escape. In a world dependent on images, Clélia vows not to look at the novel’s central image—that of Fabrizio—but she does so for the sake of another image, that of the Madonna. Her inability to keep the vow stems not from her own weakness but from the logical necessity of events. As a result, her symbolic attachment to the Virgin’s chastity exists in tension with what seems to be the unavoidable course of life. It is Clélia and not Fabrizio who issues a “heroic speech” in the first scene of their meeting. Her reserve comes to be the source of Fabrizio’s own heroic trait—namely, his final retreat into the Charterhouse of Parma. If Clélia seems less rounded of a character than Gina and Mosca, she is flat in the same way as Fabrizio. They share a singular heroism, expressed in the vow she makes to the Madonna with a conviction on par with Fabrizio’s belief in omens.

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