Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘Don’t be silly, Beatrice. Tell me. I’d like to know.’

‘It’s because it’s missing a mirror. Here, you see? See that mark on the wallpaper? There was a mirror here. They’re beautiful, you know, their frames carved with gilded flowers. I have one in my room … I wonder why they took it down? That’s what’s making the room dismal. Oh, I know why! In the convent there were no mirrors in the rooms, right? And you certainly wouldn’t want one: it’s frivolous. Argentovivo told me that even when you comb your hair, you never even look at yourself in the mirror that’s in the toilette.’

‘No, we aren’t allowed to look at ourselves in a mirror.’

‘Of course. And that’s why the room is gloomy. If there were a mirror in here, even with the faint sunlight we have today, the room would absorb and reflect it … See how it was hung here purposely to catch even the smallest ray of light from the window? Naturally, without it all this wallpaper seems drab. If you’d like … maybe it wouldn’t do any harm. And maybe you could pray just the same, if you want…’

‘I’ll think about it.’

And I did. Instead of praying, I thought. Had I bungled things with them as I had with the dress? Should I perhaps abandon all that prudence? Or did they too, like Mother Leonora and Sister Costanza, perhaps say one thing and think another?

When I was with Beatrice in the garden, in the music room or in the peacock-blue drawing room for tea, everything seemed clear to me. Everything, including her faltering step, told me that I could trust her, that I could smile. But when I was alone, doubt crept up on me and set me back on the old path of prudence. A sad path that led only to the convent. But at least it was familiar, that path. ‘ Chi lassa la strata vecchia…’ , 13as my mother used to say, ‘Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t know’. And if that were to be my destiny … ‘Destiny’, another of my mother’s words. Was there such a thing as destiny?

‘ Destiny, what destiny! This land was destined to remain a desert of lava, yet in three generations we’ve made it as fertile as the valley below. Destiny! The idle prattle of silly women! ’

Mimmo was right. I would not be a silly woman. Like the Princess, that’s how I wanted to be. Now there was a woman who was as strong and wilful as a man. If only she had continued to yell! After the first outburst, she had fallen silent. Each day she had tea with us, followed us with her eyes, but remained silent. And that silence was more terrifying than her earlier shouting. I, too, should keep my mouth shut and listen. Listen to Beatrice. Maybe, by following her voice — just like the poet — I could discover a way out of that jungle of silks, marble, allure and riches. She looked just like Doré’s Beatrice 14when she pointed out a closed window on the top floor, raising her arms as if poised over an abyss because of the strain of standing up straight.

‘You must have noticed that it’s always closed, haven’t you? That’s where the “thing” is, as my mother calls him.’

Or, when she suddenly flew nimbly up the stairs and would disappear around the corner of a corridor for a moment, then reappear and, with her small, swift hand — the wing of a bird? — urge me to follow her.

‘Look: all these portraits are our ancestors. Mama stashed them away up here. She hates them. Down in the drawing room, as you saw, there are only landscapes, madonnas and crucifixions. Here it’s all family … I like them though! They’re all here, except Nonna. They didn’t want her here because she was a bourgeoise commoner, but I made such a fuss that I had her brought to my room. I’ll show her to you later. She’s portrayed on horseback … And now that I’ve introduced you to more or less all of them, come, and I’ll take you to Ildebrando.’

I entered a small, tidy room without much furniture, but full of toys, trains, boats. On a table was a large house built almost entirely with blocks. I looked around, but saw only a wheelchair. I wanted to hold my tongue, but I couldn’t help asking, ‘Is he out?’

‘No, he’s dead. It’s just that according to the Prince’s will — my father, that is — all the rooms must remain untouched so that, if they want to, those who are gone may come back. His room too, up there, is untouched. Sometimes I have the feeling I can smell the aroma of his tobacco. He smoked a pipe. Here, though, I can’t smell anything, maybe because I never met him. Who knows? He was Maman’s oldest brother, and he died before I was born, when he was ten or twelve. From what they’ve told me, he was stricken with rheumatoid arthritis and … then consumption, I’m not sure, his heart — I think — and he passed away … If you want to know him better, his photograph is over there. See, his face is beautiful. He looks like a woman, doesn’t he? But his body … Come on, let’s go and see Aunt Adelaide.’

By now I knew I wouldn’t find anyone behind the door that Beatrice was opening and privately I hoped I wouldn’t be surprised again. Surprise is the enemy of prudence. But the chirping of a hundred birds that struck me as I went in turned me to salt, as Tuzzu used to say.

‘Look, isn’t it marvellous! She had the cages brought here from Paris. They look like little cathedrals, don’t they? She wanted her birds to feel like they were free.’

‘But did she sleep in here? With all this racket?’

‘Yes, in that bed over there. Besides, birds sleep at night too. See these drapes around the cages? In the evening, Argentovivo closes them and they go to sleep. When Aunt Adelaide was alive, she did it herself. Her little creatures were all she lived for. There used to be a lot more of them, but since she died they too have been gradually passing away. And it wasn’t only birds she kept; she also had goslings, cats, and pigeons up in the dovecote. Now the gardener’s son takes care of them. I’ll take you there someday. When she was alive, I used to like to come and visit her, only she didn’t want anyone, not even me. Maybe because I reminded her of Aunt Leonora. It seems she didn’t want to see anyone anymore from the day Leonora entered the convent. She hated my father; she said it was his fault. She saw everyone as her enemy, and was only interested in looking after God’s little creatures, as she called them. I don’t know if it’s true, but they told me that whenever the mother of some little creature died, leaving the eggs, she herself would incubate them. They told me that she managed to hatch a chick more than once. Maybe it’s just someone’s fabrication … I don’t know; I’m just telling you what they told me. Now come on, enough about the family. I would so much like to play the piano with you. I know you’re more talented, but I like plodding along with you. Besides, as Maman said, since I’ve been playing with you, my touch has improved a lot.’

Soon her tiny hands would plod along behind mine, as she put it. Instead of annoying me, those tremulous, shaky notes filled my chest with a tenderness I had never felt. Besides, playing four-handed, I would have her close beside me for an hour or two at least.

‘This morning I’ll take you to the other side of the villa. Come on, let’s go. But what’s wrong? Have you been crying? You have dark shadows under your eyes. I’ll bet you were crying over Aunt Leonora. I don’t want you to cry! I won’t let you. Come on…’

The memory of that sonata and its sweetness had kept me from sleeping a wink: scales and scales played together, Clementi’s Sonatina s — my fingers as shaky and uncertain as hers! — her rolling step through the empty corridors, the golden mass of her hair that shimmered with light at every window … Cavallina was dangerous. That silent old woman, shut up in some room, was following us. Argentovivo was right: the Princess knew everything. Plus, she was Mother Leonora’s sister. I must never forget that.