Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘Thank God she’s not actually one of those monsters who infest our convents! Thank God she looks human! And you, Cavallina, you could have told me, couldn’t you? that she was normal. If not beautiful, normal. You could have told me, couldn’t you?’

‘But I did tell you, Maman, and Argentovivo also told you. It’s just that you never trust anyone.’

‘Of course I don’t trust anyone! I’m surrounded by cafoni , boors! No one who inherited my good taste or that of your father, buonanima ! God rest his soul! Come here, child … What is your name? What’s that? Modesta? Dear God, what a hideous name! Don’t be offended, my girl. It’s just that to me, names … well, there isn’t one that seems fitting to me. Or rather, there’s not a name that resembles the person who bears it. The two always clash. Does it seem to you that I should be called Gaia? What’s cheerful about me? Bah! As for Modesta, how dreadful! Forgive me, I … Oh, Cavallina, she’s not only normal! Now that she’s worked up … are you offended because of your name? Well, now that this offence, or whatever it is, made you blush a little, I can really see that you are lovely. That’s enough now! Go away, the two of you! I’ve tired myself out. The sight of youth is tiring. Go ahead, off with you.’

The little hand tugged at me and I clung to it. We were already out of the room when the voice boomed behind us:

‘Just look at that! Now that she’s running I can see that she is also graceful! Listen, Cavallina, since she isn’t homely, let’s let her come with us, shall we! What do you think?’

‘Of course, Maman, it would make me very happy.’

‘Good! All right then! Agreed. But now, off you go. And you, girl, do you understand? Tomorrow, instead of making that drive to the village, you can come to Mass with us, at noon. Be sure to be on time! And put on a decent dress, for the love of God! A dress in a more cheerful colour, for Heaven’s sake. Because that blue is depressing, so dismal that the sadness of a winter evening has washed over me since you’ve been here. Go on, be off!’

We raced off, or rather the small hand pulled me, because, to tell the truth, I didn’t have the strength either to stand there or move. The little hand dragged me through corridors and stairways until I began to recognize the draperies of the corridor leading to my room. The thought of having to go back in there alone made me slow up and squeeze her fingers hard. I apologized, because she almost fell.

‘Oh, I’m sorry!’

‘It’s nothing! I didn’t hurt myself, see? I didn’t even fall.’

I looked at her: standing still like that, there was something lopsided about her slim little figure, as if one shoulder were lower than the other.

‘Did my mother scare you? Is that why you’re looking at me like that and gripping my hand so tight? She has this effect on everyone the first time, but then you get used to her.’

Something in that silky little face — even her eyelashes shone golden there in the dim sunlight — warmed me and made me forget prudence for a moment.

‘No, it’s my room that frightens me.’

‘Your room? What’s wrong with your room? If you want, I’ll come in with you and take a look. Maybe it’s gloomy … there are a lot of bleak rooms in this house … rooms with depressing stories. I hope they haven’t given you one of those. May I come in, or would you rather be alone to pray like you always do?’

I was about to say: pray? not on your life! In fact, I was afraid I had said it, but luckily the practice of prudence acted on its own and I heard my voice reply, ‘No, come in, it would please me. I’ll pray later. I’ve prayed so much and shed so many tears over Mother Leonora that I consider your kind concern for me a sign from God, Principessina . I was so cold before.’

‘Yes, I can see that. I also see that you speak like my aunt. You must have loved her very much to have her voice and her way of expressing herself. There’s a photograph of her when she was young in the rose-coloured parlour. I’ll show it to you; you look like her.’

‘You look like her too, Principessina .’

‘Naturally! But don’t call me Principessina . Call me Beatrice.’

‘Beatrice? But your mother…’

‘Cavallina, yes, she nicknamed me Filly … for various reasons. She says that Beatrice doesn’t suit me, that Papa was wrong to name me after Dante’s Beatrice. She was too perfect, she says. But the fact is that Dante was Papa’s favourite poet. But let’s go in, let’s see this room. Come on…’

Still tugging me by the hand that now burned in hers, she opened the door with assurance, and I happily followed her. Just like the poet, I too had my Beatrice, halo and all, to confront the inferno that room had been for me.

When I stepped in, Beatrice so illuminated it with her mass of golden hair that I felt almost ashamed of having found fault with it. But after standing in the centre of the room for a moment, staring at the floor, she said, ‘Of course, it’s not exactly a beautiful room, but I can assure you that no one died in here. None of these objects is associated with any misfortune. No, no one died here. On the contrary, a while ago there was an English girl who left us to get married. Unfortunately for us, because not only was she quite charming, but she was also a very good teacher. For a year now my mother has been looking for another one, but the only photographs that have come from London are those of ugly old hags. This month alone I rejected ten of them. Just imagine if Mama had seen them!’

My little filly laughed as she wandered around the room touching the walls, examining the drapes. Until she suddenly stopped, as if she had lost her balance; she was out of breath, yet she hadn’t been running. She looked at me and became serious, staring at the hem of her dress. So that was it. My Beatrice wasn’t perfect like the poet’s inspiration: she limped. Seeing her pallor, I tried to smile at her, but my damned lips wouldn’t move. I would have to come up with some exercises to learn how to smile.

‘Such a sad, sad smile…’

Yes, I must think up some exercises.

‘What is it … do you feel sorry for me?’

That do you feel sorry for me loosened the knots of prudence that bound me and I found myself so close to her that I was almost embracing her.

‘Feel sorry for you? Of course not, Beatrice. You’re so beautiful, and even though…’

‘Then you noticed? Thank goodness! That way with you at least I won’t have to force myself anymore.’

‘Force yourself to do what?’

‘You see, Modesta, when I’m with my mother I have to force myself to limp as little as possible; otherwise she starts yelling. You’ve heard what she’s like, haven’t you? I have to make sure I hide this flaw of mine from strangers. But since you’ve noticed it and won’t say anything to her, I don’t have to strain myself anymore. I can see that you’re sincere. What a relief! My leg hurts so much when I force it like that.’

And it must have been so, because Cavallina continued her inspection of the room hopping and skipping with joy.

The small dissonant note of her left foot somehow lent her slim waist a certain tenderness, making you want to hold it in your hands like a precious thing that might break at any moment. Summoning back the prudence that was abandoning me, I did not grasp her waist. But to justify my hands, which were too close to it, I said: ‘What a lovely belt! What a wonderful shade of red!’

‘But it’s not red, Modesta, it’s claret. Oh, forgive me, these things are all new to you and are of no interest to you … This is exactly the reason I couldn’t decide whether or not to tell you why this room isn’t as cheerful as mine. You’re always praying, and you’re so serious!’