Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

‘Yes, of course, but … he scares me a little. What’s his name?’

‘Orlando, Padroncina . I hope it’s only the animal who scares you and not its master.’

His voice and the wind made me sway left and right. From up there, the dancing immensity of gold began to make my head spin, so that without meaning to I grabbed hold of his arms.

‘Oh, no, Padroncina , you have to leave my arms free. Orlando is very jealous. And if he becomes too aware of you, he’s apt to change his mood and make us break our necks. Lean back on me. Naturally, with skirts it’s difficult. There, that’s it … can you feel how I do it? Thighs and knees lightly gripping the flanks. Brava! That’s the way. I bet in a month you’ll be as upright as Principessina Beatrice and even better. When you want, I’ll teach you.’

The horse’s flanks were steaming. By contrast, the arms and chest of that man gave off a dry heat, like when you’re in front of a fireplace. I didn’t open my eyes for fear the strange dizziness would return. I should have said something, but my mouth was pasty. If only he had gone on talking … But now not a word from him. In the silence, my dizziness increased with each slight tug he gave the reins, and I was mortified to feel the sweat seep from my back onto his shirt. Soon I could no longer distinguish my fabric from his. He did not speak again until the horse came to a stop and he climbed down, offering me his arm.

‘Here we are, Padroncina . If I may say so, you shouldn’t be so afraid of the animal. You gave me a bath, sweating like that. He’s a good animal if you treat him right. Come now, down you go.’

His hands around my waist, before I could open my eyes he swept me off; I was taken aback and to my shame heard myself say, ‘Oh, forgive me for sweating like that!’

‘No need to apologize for sweating: it’s fragrant! I swear to God, I would never have believed that sweat could smell like orange blossoms, not even if my mother had told me so! Baciamo le mani , my respects, Padroncina .’

Laughing, he mounted his horse without giving me another look. My legs were shaking so much that I was barely able to watch him ride away before sagging to the ground. Even seated, I was still shaking. And as the sweaty heat from the horse gradually dissipated, a bitter chill began to creep over my body. Yet the sun was still high … Look at him there, that white head of his racing along … Goddamned old man! Outside the villa he could laugh. He was master, there. Beatrice was right to hate her father.

The chill wouldn’t leave me. And neither would my loathing for those powerful arms, that confident laugh.

* * *

Angrily I tore off my clothes and washed myself, as if the water could erase the memory of that old man’s magnetism. I mustn’t think about him anymore.

What was it that had disturbed me so? His strength? The ease with which he had lifted me up as if I were a feather? If so, then what I was feeling was not a healthy hatred, as I had imagined. No, that hatred masked my fear of him. It was hard to acknowledge feeling weak and cowardly, but I had to face that reality. My foray from the villa had been a real test. Within its walls I felt strong and confident, but all it took was that hovel, that child at the water trough to make the past return. That’s how the past came back … not with the same characters, like in novels, but with new ones that trigger the memory of fears that haven’t been expunged. And that was very dangerous. I mustn’t try to forget the past, as I had thought while running from Carmela’s house; instead I should remember it all, so I could keep it under control and use it to strengthen myself against the new experiences that surely lay in wait. Carmela had reminded me of my mother. It was the old fear that had made me lose my kerchief. Carmine too scared me, but not like Mother Leonora had. And the Princess, what kind of fear did she arouse? There, I was on the right track: it was necessary to study the emotions that others awaken in us, just as we study grammar or music.

The feeling of warmth and release that filled me as a result of these thoughts confirmed to me that I had discovered something meaningful. I closed my eyes and saw myself running through the wheat, trembling like a seven- or eight-year-old child. That foray had helped me grow, provided I always keep in mind that that child, with her foolish fears, could be reawakened in me by a look, a wall, a certain light, a face. And that her fear could lead to the undoing of all my present plans and prosperity. In a few months I would turn eighteen. In three days, or rather two, I would be a princess, even if this meant … If only things might still be as Carmela had described!

* * *

Things were still as Carmela had said. And it wasn’t so terrible, because Pietro, instead of preparing the big bed, had brought in another smaller one, separated by a night stand. A bell on the headboard provided reassurance. It rang directly over Pietro’s head, as he kept watch in the room next door. The first couple of weeks were hard, but only because Ippolito, as soon as I took a step toward the door, would grab me gently by the skirt. Carmela was right; he was docile. And so I always had to be there with him, shut up in that room. But later on he began to settle down, and I was able to resume my life. Life was wonderful with a little security underfoot. Now I could run up and down through the bedrooms, the parlours, the gardens, without fearing — as I had before — that someone would pull the rug out from under me. I was part of the family. I could see it in the way the servants, the maids, the dance teacher, the tutor stepped aside for me when I ran into them. Even Don Antonio — something I would never have imagined — no longer addressed me directly as he used to, but circumspectly, bowing his head slightly. As I had planned beforehand, I became a kindly old monarch. I was very considerate with everyone, I bestowed gifts prudently and at times I let them show sympathy for my misfortune.

‘Such a beautiful, saintly girl, sacrificed to a monster for her entire life!’

On this point I held firmly, both with Father Antonio in the confessional, and with the others. They must not forget my trial. That was the only way I could gain their full consent and appease their potential jealousy. With Argentovivo, it was a real success. Whenever she saw me I made sure a slight sadness crept into my eyes. Once she actually threw herself at my feet, weeping.

‘My poor signorina , how good you are to be so cheerful and serene, given your great sacrifice!’

Sacrifice! I had slept for years with Tina.

And so, slowly but surely, my long familiarity with monsters, and Pietro’s care — he kept his dear Prince neat and clean — helped me overlook Ippolito’s ugliness. In fact, I felt a sort of tenderness when he sat there very quietly, watching me like a dog. Seeing his happiness when I let his big misshapen hands hold mine conveyed something sweet and indistinct that aroused forgotten shivers in me. But I did not add anything new to what Carmela had told me. I never undressed or appeared naked, and for bed I chose the most high-necked nightshirts I could find. But of course, at that time they were all quite high-necked. I nearly forgot …

That Monday the Princess surprised me with her acuity, as Argentovivo would have said. I always learned something new from her. Listen to this:

‘You tire yourself out too much, Mody! You’ve become skin and bones. Watch out! If you become ugly, I’ll have the “thing” disown you. Before, it was a joy to the eye to see you. You work too hard. You have the house on your back, that “thing” to look after, and you still study! Granted, this proves that you have intelligence. At first I used to think that your interest in books was due to your having to acquire a position, but now I see that it is truly a scholarly interest. But I don’t like to see you like this. Therefore, either find a way to gain some weight and get back a bit of colour, or I shall forbid you to take any more lessons. Is that clear? Then too, maybe the doctor is right: you should get out in the air more. Starting tomorrow you will take riding lessons. That way, when you catch up to Beatrice, who isn’t bad on a horse, you two can go riding a little. You must do it for Beatrice’s sake as well: with the excuse that you can’t ride a horse, she’s becoming fat and flabby on me. These blondes! As soon as they pass adolescence they blow up like balloons. I want her thinner, and you fatter. You too, Carmine, do you understand? We must give Mody lessons. Now, enough talking, get to work.’