The Doge: A Recollection One morning in January 1971, I went without an appointment to the Piazza della Scala in Milan to have my very first meeting with the banker Raffaele Mattioli, “the greatest banker since Lorenzo de’ Medici,” Le Monde wrote upon his passing. After speaking about our mutual friends, the poets Eugenio Montale1 and Umberto Saba,2 I asked him if he knew an “incorruptible” attorney who could help me resolve certain questions concerning my family.3 Don Raffaele, as he was known to his intimate acquaintances, picked up the telephone and without hesitation called Professor Ariberto Mignoli. My meeting with him took place immediately, over lunch on that same day. Here I wish to evoke the singular figure of this gentleman, an aristocrat from another era, a distinguished jurist, courageous to the point of recklessness, discreet and reserved, a loyal friend, and, finally, a man. He passed away in 2004 and this was a great loss for me. That day, dressed in my motorcycle gear, I found myself in front of a kind of reincarnation of Francesco Guicciardini,4 which was an impression that was due to his nature, his character, his experience with men and his vast humanist culture. With perfection, he knew the dead languages and the principal living languages of Europe, as well as all the literature that these languages have produced. He was 50 years old then, and I was 22. He told me straight away: “I am not incorruptible, but I would be corruptible only if you found a way to elect me the Doge of Venice.”5 From the on, I informally referred to him as “the Doge.” We quickly became friends. I was certainly the least important of his clients, but surely the closest to him spiritually. He wasn’t a conformist, but 1 Translator: A resident of Milan, Montale (1896-1981) won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1975. 2 Translator: born Umberto Poli, “Saba” (1883-1957) was a lifelong resident of Trieste. Though he died when Sanguinetti was still quite young, he knew “Saba” because the poet had been a great friend of Gianfranco’s father, Bruno Sanguinetti. 3 Translator: it appears that these questions concerned quite complex matters involving inheritance. 4 Translator: an Italian historian and statesman (1483-1540). A friend of Niccolò Machiavelli, he is considered one of the major political writers of the Italian Renaissance. 5 Translator: in the Most Serene Republic of Venice (circa Eighth Century C.E. to 1797), the Doge was the elected chief magistrate and leader. Since this Republic has disappeared, Mignoli was saying that he was “condemned” to remain incorruptible. he certainly wasn’t a subversive. We understood each other perfectly. He was, in a certain way, my Montaigne and I was his Etienne de la Boétie.6 Shortly after meeting him, I had to escape to Switzerland because, one night in March 1971, there was a very strange break-in at my house in Milan. [Guy] Debord wrote to me in Switzerland and said that, at the same time, the cops were looking for me in Paris. Mignoli regarded all this with curiosity. He was what one called a “universal” man in the Renaissance: a great lord at his ease with all the subjects and in all the situations in which a man must be interested. Though his clients were the banks and the largest industrial firms, with which he maintained professional and formal relations, he sometimes loved, as Machiavelli would say, “to slum” all night with me in Milan’s osterie7 and working-class taverns, where, devested of the “curial” clothes of the day, we fraternized with the simple people and the scoundrels who frequented such places. He would hire a taxi for the night, and we made the rounds. In the early morning, we sang songs with the locals in Milanese dialect, which, naturally, he knew how to speak. He knew the Spanish anarchist songs of the Civil War better than I did. He was too aristocratic to not scorn politicians and all the public figures; thus, we agreed on this, as well. Thus, to his friend Professor Giampaolo de Ferra,8 Mignoli was “substantially an extremist.” During the Second World War, he was an officer in the Marines, which was an anti-fascist corps and the aristocracy of the Italian armed forces. In 1943, when the Nazis occupied Italy, the fleet deserted en masse and the Doge went to Switzerland, where he became part of Luigi Einaudi’s circle.9 He was a professor at the University and an indefatigable worker, a great jurist, and the best business attorney. But he was also many other things, as well. I do not have the pretention to make herein a complete portrait of him, which would require the addition of the brushstrokes of his friends, such as Guido Rossi10 and Giampaolo de Ferra. It is certain that Mignoli was the most refined bibliophile among all those whom I have met. He showed me, among other treasures, the copy of 6 Translator: these two men, Michel de Montaigne (a philosopher) and Etienne de la Boétie (an anarchist), lived during the 16th century and were close friends. 7 Translator: Italian for “pubs.” 8 Translator: Professor at the University of Trieste between 1972 and 1981 and a member of the General Council of the Bank of Italy. 9 Translator: an economist and politician (1874-1961) who served as the President of the Republic of Italy between 1948 and 1955. 10 Translator: a Milanese attorney and author (born 1931) who has also served in the Italian Senate. Spinoza’s Tractatus (a first edition) that its author dedicated, signed and offered to Leibniz, and a first-edition copy of Casanova’s Escape from the Prisons, which he found in Prague. One day I gave him a copy of an old edition of Werther: it was the only one that he lacked. He had, among many other things, an eminently singular collection of hand-written menus from 14th century European taverns. He was a friend of the greatest printer of the 20th century, Giovanni Mardersteig, about whom he wrote an admirable Recollection, published by his son in an edition of 200 copies. He gave me a series of polemical pamphlets concerning hereditary quarrels between my ancestors, Sanguinetti and Padoa, printed by Bodoni11 in the 18th century. Of course I caught my own bibliophilic illness from him. In 1971, in Lisbon, where he frequented the best restaurants and hidden places (the most elegant or the most popular, but always well- chosen), he introduced me to an old friend of his, the Galician anarchist José de la Viuva, who had fled after the Civil War and kept a small café (dirty and beautiful) where – after having closed the shutters as a precaution – they sang all the songs banned under Franco, Salazar and Caetano. The Doge scorned dictatorship as well as democracy, but he used to say that dictatorship arouses an intense desire for liberty, while democracy puts it to sleep. He knew works by Greek, Latin, Italian, French, German and English authors by heart, and he often quoted from them, either in the original language or in Italian. He had an astonishing memory: he said that it wasn’t an innate talent, but only a question of practice, and that everyone could have it, if they applied themselves to it. He was an Epicurean in the manner of Montaigne, and his motto was that of Epicure: “Live hidden.” He was a distinguished gourmet. At the end of dinner, he never ordered cognac, because he said that, if came from a bottle that had already been opened, it had lost its bouquet. Thus he preferred to uncork a bottle of the best Spanish brandy, the Gran Duque d’Alba, or Lepanto, and he said that it was best to finish it off slowly. Once, in Brazil in 1984, he had me meet him in a small village two hundred kilometers from Sao Paulo, where he’d gone to savor the best feijoada12 in the country. I seem to recall that it was there that, speaking of the then-recent war in the Falkland Islands, he, amused, quoted to me passages from Junius13 11 Translator: Giambattista Bodoni (1740-1813), the most important printer of the 18th century. 12 Translator: a stew of black beans, beef and pork. 13 Translator: the pseudonym of an anonymous writer who contributed a series of political letters to the Public Advertiser between 1769 and 1772. and Dr Johnson,14 recently republished, and this anecdote in particular: when Lord Sandwich threatened the ultra-democratic deputy Wilkes, who had ridiculed King George III and who was part of Junius’ band, by telling Wilkes that he would die on the gallows or of the pox [a shameful disease], Wilkes replied, “That would depend, my Lord, on whether I embrace your principles or your mistress.”15 Shortly after our first meeting, I began to be seriously bothered by the French authorities, which finally arrested and expelled me, without any charges being brought against me, without any right to habeas corpus, through a simple lettre de cachet16 from the Minister [of the Interior] Raymond Marcellin in July 1971. The Doge was outraged, as if this injustice had been done to him personally. He guided me to a business lawyer, Mr. Marty-Lavauzelle, who sent me to a young criminal-defense attorney. This attorney, working with the Minister of the Interior, prepared a trap for me, in order to compromise me.17 The Minister especially feared that a “Strasbourg Scandal”18 was going to be perpetrated in the factories of France, and that I was financing international subversion.