Goliarda Sapienza - The Art of Joy

That silhouette, outlined on the window panes, was swelling at the waist, at the hips. ‘ You’re not playing tricks on me, are you, Mody? You must lose weight. Your peasant origins show when you’re puffy like that. Eat less, girl, if it’s a matter of eating too much! ’

‘No, wait, Inès. Now that you’ve woken me … There’s never a moment’s peace in this house!’

‘But Pietro—’

‘Turn on the light, girl. I have a thing or two to tell you, and I’d better do so right away, given the situation.’

In the glow of the electric light, I was finally able to observe her, though she kept her head lowered and I couldn’t see her eyes.

‘Come now, there’s no use standing there stiff and contrite like a demure goody-goody. Come over here and sit in that chair. On second thought: go over there and get me some water. I’m dying of thirst.’

I sat up in bed, leaning against the headboard the way Gaia used to do. A grand old woman she was! She sat paralysed in bed as if on a throne. With her eyes, I followed the girl’s movements. It was true, the heavier waist and hips had swept away her elegant, ladylike movements and revealed her peasant origins. I was overcome by a sympathy for the girl that I didn’t know I had, and I would have burst out laughing … when I met her bewildered, wide eyes, full of unshed tears. The tears made her look ugly. No, those weren’t the eyes I had once had. I had to be careful.

‘So, my girl, it appears that things between you and the Prince have gone beyond “falling in love”, as Pietro ingenuously told me.’

I hadn’t finished speaking when she fell to her knees in front of me (she certainly wasn’t me!), crying so hard — tears gushing all over the place — and uttering words so disjointed that I leapt out of bed, fearing she meant to throw herself at me. Not touching her — I felt sorry for her but I couldn’t afford to lose my authority — I tried to get to my desk, saying:

‘Come, come now, girl, don’t be so disconsolate! Compose yourself! Have a glass of water yourself, then sit down here so we can talk calmly. That’s it, good girl!’

With the desk between us — a shield that kept me from taking her in my arms and comforting her — I strove to attain an inner compromise between Modesta and Gaia so that those trembling lips and hands, not to mention the quivering curls, might stop shaking. I was still striving for that compromise when Signorina Inès, probably terrified by my silence, began crying and talking again, squirming and fidgeting like an amateur actress. I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She kept wiping her eyes with a lacy white handkerchief, which she then balled up in her hands or shoved into the neckline of her dress … There, she pulled it out again and, rolling her eyes, pressed it to her swollen, heart-shaped lips. It was a horrifying performance! Slumped in my chair, stunned, I merely waited for the dramatic scene to be over, just as I did at the theatre. Diderot’s actor! 44It was true, and not only on the stage. It was true there in that room as well. That bad actress was letting her emotion overtake her and losing her detachment, making that passion of hers unpleasant to watch and to listen to. Like at the theatre, I decided to wait patiently and try to understand the script at least, ignoring the performance.

‘I … I was going to come and confess! Today, this very day! Even if Pietro hadn’t come … I’m not blaming him. He’s only doing his duty, but I, I … was about to come today, tomorrow! What I’ve done to you, to your family, is horrible, horrible! I would have … I was going to come and confess everything and then disappear, go away.’

I began to understand: the script was awful as well.

‘Go where, girl?’

‘I don’t know! Anywhere I could, to hide my shame, my sin.’

‘Let’s try to talk it over, Signorina Inès. Calm down, I believe you. You would have come, you’re sorry, but please compose yourself, all right?’

Again the handkerchief disappeared into the neckline of her dress. Her hands, tightly gripped, were still nervous, but at least she was no longer crying, and she looked at me almost serenely.

‘Thank you, Princess. You’re very kind, I knew that, but I won’t take advantage of your generosity and magnanimity. I don’t deserve it. Tomorrow morning I will disappear!’

The idea of disappearing was an obsession, but I had to be careful, because if she disappeared, who would take my prince Ippolito?

‘Inès, we’ve known each other a long time now. I think highly of you. Why go on tormenting yourself this way? Let he who has not sinned cast the first stone, as they say. I’m not the one who must forgive you. God will forgive you! It’s not up to me to judge.’

The effect of those words was immediate in her and in me: she smiled humbly, almost radiantly, and I lost all sympathy for that bleating little curly head.

‘Ooh! Ooh! Princess, what a weight you’ve lifted from my conscience. Ooh! Ooh!’

I had been relieving other people’s minds all afternoon. I couldn’t take it anymore!

‘Of course, this does not lessen my guilt and I will pray to God endlessly for the forgiveness that you, in your goodness, have granted me.’

‘Fine, Inès, that’s good. Pray! Don’t do anything else, don’t get upset, don’t cry, don’t disappear, but pray! That’s all that counts!’

‘Then I can stay here?’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the past hour, Inès.’

‘Oh, Princess, thank you, thank you!’

I gripped the desk firmly to make sure it was there to protect me from the effusion of gratitude that she heaped on me.

‘All right, girl! Unfortunately now we must speak about your condition. There’s no time to lose. How many months along are you?’

‘Three, I think, Princess. Oh God! I’m so ashamed, so ashamed!’

‘Enough Inès, don’t start in again. It’s nothing terrible. With a good doctor it’s child’s play.’

‘A good doctor, Princess? Oh, no, you are too kind! A doctor is a luxury when you give birth, a midwife is good enough. At home the women…’

‘What were you thinking, Inès?’ Both Modesta and Gaia were losing patience. ‘You want to keep the child of…’

‘Yes, Princess, I know! It’s a child of sin, a bastard, I know!’

‘Never mind sin, Inès, come to your senses! It’s the child of a mongoloid, for heaven’s sake! You’re a nurse; you know what that means, don’t you?’

‘Of course, Princess, but it’s also a living creature throbbing inside me. And if God wants to punish me by making him be born like his father, it will be a sign that I have to atone, not only through prayer but also by having to look at him. This child will be my cross to bear, like our Redeemer did.’

‘ We must atone, Modesta. Pray .’ I hadn’t heard Mother Leonora’s voice for years. As the words slipped slowly out of those swollen heart-shaped lips, like the worn beads of a rosary gliding through damp, incense-scented fingers, an acrid, sour fluid made me clamp my mouth shut so I wouldn’t throw up on the desk. I lowered my head. The ink bottle was closed, the pens lined up, the letters and stamped paper waiting. I had to work; at least for an hour, I had to work. Firmly swallowing the saliva and the cloying rosary, I leapt to my feet.

‘That’s enough! First tears and apologies, then the most extraordinary arrogance. Stop right there! You can’t expect me to let you carry a child fathered by my husband, the Prince? I didn’t mean a doctor for the birth, I meant…’

I wasn’t able to finish the sentence because she, jumping to her feet with unexpected agility, began flitting around the room like a bat blinded by the light. The dramatic plot twist wasn’t bad. It managed to silence me and Gaia mainly because agitated and flying around like that, she was quite graceful and spirited. I leaned my elbows on the desk, chin in my hands, and watched her. I was actually curious to see how many times she would whirl around the room blabbering words and exclamations such as ‘Ooh God! A sin! Ooh! Killing a soul! Ooh, I’d rather kill myself … jump in the sea! I’ll throw myself into the sea rather than…’