How many days had I been there? If the next day was Sunday it must have only been a week or eight days. It seemed like months! Would they leave her by herself for ever? Of course she could read and study, the food was good, but … here she comes again with her “Princess”:
‘The Princess requested that I bring you these three dresses. She asks that you please wear one of these for tea this afternoon, though she is well aware of how important those smocks of yours are to you since they remind you of your vocation. I will come to pick you up since you are not familiar with that wing of the house. She also told me to be sure to tell you not to worry: you only have to wear the dress at five o’clock. After tea, you can go back to wearing your smocks.’
There were three dresses: one pink, one white with gorgeous lace, and a blue one, shiny and flashy, but at least it had the highest neckline. A pity! The pink dress and the white one with the lace appealed to her, but she had to be prudent. So she contented herself by not taking her eyes off them as she dressed and combed her hair — she didn’t have much time. She had never seen anything so beautiful; she felt like crying.
‘What is it? Are you crying, signorina? Come now, it’s not the end of the world if you wear a dress for one hour. The Princess had expected this. If you knew how intelligent she is, the Princess! She had actually predicted that you would cry if you had to take off that smock. Come, dry those tears. You don’t want to make the Princess sad, do you? She has already suffered so much these past few years: misfortunes one after the other, and then Mother Leonora’s … There, that’s it, go right in. And smile for once, signorina, smile, if only not to remind the Princess of her grief.’
Maybe she was right; I should smile. But prudence stopped me; my lips froze. Confused by Argentovivo’s chatter and surprised that, even if I had wanted to smile, my lips would barely move, I found myself in the middle of a room so spacious, so crammed with tables and sofas and armchairs and settees, that my confusion turned to dismay.
There was no one, only a desert of furniture: here, too, no one was waiting for me. Resigned, I decided to wait for Argentovivo to return, since I would never on my own have found my way back to my room down those corridors and rooms that all looked alike.
‘I assure you, Maman, she’s pretty. A bit solemn but pretty, I assure you!’
Appearing in front of me — where had she come from? — a small, pale face nearly hidden by a mass of fine, blond silky hair (silk here, too) was studying me from head to toe, circling around me just as I did the statues in the garden. Finally, taking me by the hand, she led me safely — how she managed not to overturn the maze of little tables loaded with figurines, boxes, lamps, God only knows! — toward the rear of a narrow, high-backed chair with padded armrests. Seated in the chair was the Princess who had sent me all those messages through Argentovivo’s voice. She was as I had imagined her. Except that when she spoke, had it not been for the little hand that held me, I would have run away.
‘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!’
22
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.’