Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

The dark grass parted under the weight of my dead body, dragging me off to slap against the convent’s outer wall, while the sun’s fiery globe succumbed and went smiling into the lava arms of La Certa . The sun was lying: he knew he would never die …

No, I would never have done it if the sign of God’s forgiveness had not come from Sister Costanza’s toothless mouth.

‘God has forgiven you. Here is a suitcase. Gather your things: sweaters, skirts, stockings, a change of sheets and pillowcases, a blanket and all your personal items, including the gold rosary with mother-of-pearl beads that Mother Leonora gave you. Prayer books too, of course, but not the others. You will not have the opportunity to study where you are going, but in return you will have the privilege of learning a skill. You will choose it yourself: seamstress, embroiderer, cook. You will choose among these humble skills that are the only suitable ones for a woman. Studying is a luxury that corrupts, as our Superior from Turin used to say. I have never opened a book that was not a prayer book. And when, God willing, I become the leader of this community, there will be an end to this waste of time and money. In two or three days, when the next coach comes by, you will go to the orphanage in Pietraperzia, which is well known for its strictness and discipline. 10Mother Leonora herself will assume the responsibility of paying the monthly fee. And so that you may be aware of her magnanimity and adopt it as a model, you should know that — provided your conduct improves over the years — you will not have to worry about your future when you come of age and find yourself back in the world. Because she has remembered you in her will. She is very ill.

‘I see that you are not rejoicing at the good news that I have brought you. And that tells me, contrary to what Mother Leonora insisted — she is always too good, much too good to keep a firm hold on the reins of this convent — that the isolation of these past months was not enough to take you down a peg or two and make you realize how many sins of pride you have committed during these years. Not to mention other sins I don’t know about and don’t want to know about. It was of no use at all. We, the older ones, have never been wrong: our decision was the right one. Where you are going you will learn humility and abnegation, the only disciplines that can lead to the soul’s salvation. We elders thought only of this: saving your soul.

‘Goodbye for now, Modesta. We will say our farewells properly before you leave this house. You have been granted permission to bid us all adieu in a formal ceremony. First, so that your departure may be impressed more deeply in your mind, and then to provide an example to the other young women, so that they may know what is lost by being sinfully arrogant. Have you nothing to say?’

‘Will Mother Leonora be there? Will I…’

‘No.’

And with that she vanished, the door closing behind her, burying the one faint hope that had appeared in that avalanche of words. If I could only see her! She couldn’t be so uncaring toward me if she had remembered me in her will. I had to see her! I had to die to see her again: there was no other way. Or had I been dreaming? No, the suitcase lying on the bed was real, and it was filling up with small dark creatures: bedbugs. I knew all about bedbugs. Soon they would infest the white walls and drive me out. Without realizing it, I found myself clinging to the bars of the window. Fortunately, the sun was still high.

If the sun was out, Mimmo had to be out there too. Rigid with apprehension, Mimmo would be in his place keeping watch … There he was, among the trees. He must have spotted me, because with a little leap he went and hid behind a bigger trunk. I ran, so I wouldn’t get cold feet, and tried not to think about the well’s gaping mouth. Sister Costanza’s voice spurred me on: ‘ No books where you’re going … they won’t be of any use where you’re going … you’ll learn a skill … humility…’

My sweaty hands slipped on the polished stone. Twice I fell to the ground and got back up, but eventually I was standing on the brink. So Mimmo could see me clearly … And maybe because I had run so hard, or because Sister Costanza’s voice echoing in my head made me lose my balance, or because the edge of the well was smooth and slippery, I slid down without even having to summon the courage I had so anxiously sought for so long.

I’d like to tell you how it felt to plunge into that dark bottomless pit but I can’t, because for the first and last time in my life I fainted — for real, not on purpose as I had always done. So neither you nor I will ever know anything about it. What I learned was that Mimmo saved me. And that while I wasn’t hurt, except for some scrapes and a few small cuts on my face and legs, Mimmo broke his arm. I was a bit remorseful, but since he went around telling anyone who pitied him, ‘It’s nothing! Nothing serious. A broken arm can be reset, but there’s no way to recall a soul once it leaves a body!’, if he’s happy, I’m happy.

As for me, lying between the lily-white sheets of my reclaimed bed, with my eyes closed so no one could see my joy, I was happier than God Himself in His paradise, as they say. 11I listened to Mother Leonora’s voice as she spoke, though it was not her earlier voice. Her voice had faded a little, as though worn out. Nevertheless, it was still her voice, at last. She said that everyone in the convent was moved — about time! — and that even though I had fallen into mortal sin by attempting to take my own life, there was no denying that it was also a sign: that I should remain there, with them, within those walls. Together we would pray to cleanse ourselves (what an ugly word, I thought) of this sin as well. If she kept me there and let me study like before, I would gladly pray. Night and day I would pray, and I would truly repent my naivety and imprudence.

I had grown up now. And though earlier I had been careful enough to measure every word, every gesture, now I was nothing but prudent: a cluster of nerves and veins firmly linked by fear of acting rashly. Even now, although she kept asking me to open my eyes, I didn’t dare look at her. That face had stirred too much emotion in me. The fear of seeing it again after so long, that something in its features might set off some odd notion in my brain, told me that it would be better to wait at least until the next visit.

‘Till tomorrow, Modesta. Our time is up. Rest quietly and pray. Pray like you’re doing now. I can tell, you know, by the way your lips are moving.’

Only when the swish of her skirt told me that she was about to go out the door, only then did I open my eyes a slit and get a glimpse of her: she had become very small, like a scrap of cloth that has shrunk after too many washings. It was a good thing I hadn’t opened my eyes before, because my heart leapt and I was shaken. Unable to help it, I started crying and sobbing. But for real, with real tears, as the Poet says. 12

My tears curdled, froze in astonishment, when I saw her the next day. She was no longer herself. Two harsh lines at the corners of her mouth drew her lips into a pinched grimace. Was this the reason her voice was now shrill and metallic and spoke of nothing but sin, hell, repentance and death? As soon as she left, I wished never to see her again, something I would have thought impossible at one time. I decided to get better quickly so I wouldn’t have to be subjected to that hour of fire-and-brimstone. Each day I had her find me dressed, my cheeks rosy and fresh thanks to pinching and a splash of cold water.

‘Excellent, Modesta. I see you have responded well, and haven’t let yourself be sinfully lulled by the languor of convalescence. I am quite pleased to see how you have grown these past months. In bed you looked very small, like you once were. But you’ve grown tall and strong. Don’t let it be a source of pride, however. Temptation may lurk even in bodily well-being. Pray! This healthiness of yours is all due to prayer, and to Saint Agatha who has watched over you. I’ve dreamt of her constantly in recent months and, at times, I saw her living and breathing as I see you now. She came to me, and with her eyes told me not to worry because she was watching over you. Now I must go. My visits would only be an indulgence now that I see you are back on your feet. I must go at once; other afflicted souls are awaiting me. Starting tomorrow, we will see each other only at prayer in the chapel, and during classes. Sister Angelica will be happy to see you back at the embroidery frame again. She says that since you’ve been absent, the tapestry has not progressed as before.’