‘Dear God! How did she kill herself? May God forgive her! This is definitely a sin.’
‘We never knew. It’s a mystery. Some say she starved herself to death, some say she poisoned herself, some say…’
‘What?’
‘It’s terrible, but some say — and it seems that this is really the truth — that she hanged herself in the bathroom with a rope. Yes, a rope.’
As she spoke, she clung to me and hid her face in my neck. Was it an embrace? Was it possible that she also felt those shivers? I, too, had done that with Mother Leonora. So then she hadn’t been a coward after all; it was just because I was a child that she behaved that way. Now I was Mother Leonora, and like her I had to be prudent. But how to stop the little hand that innocently grasped my breast, or rather the bands that bound my bosom?
‘What on earth are you wearing under your smock, Modesta? It feels like a cuirass! Let me see…’
‘No, no, Principessina, it’s not permitted. Those are the bands that all the novices wear.’
‘Oh! Why? Won’t you answer?… I see. I can feel that your breasts are bigger than mine. It’s so that they don’t show, for the sake of modesty.’
‘Exactly. No, don’t do that. Don’t loosen them, Beatrice. Besides, you’re tickling me.’
‘Strange; I’m not ticklish there. You don’t believe me? Put your hand here. You see? I’m not ticklish. It makes me feel warm. When I was little I would always put my hand on my tata’s breast to fall asleep … I’m sleepy! Will you let me put my hand there?’
It was hopeless to try and stop her. Her quick little hand had found an opening between one binding strip and the other, in part because I didn’t fasten them as tightly as in the convent, and now she was holding a breast in her palm. Supported by her hand that way, it looked like Saint Agatha’s severed breast. I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t see those fingers now playing with my nipple, plunging me into a prolonged shiver … Poor Mother Leonora, what she must have gone through! Motionless as she had been, I let myself come agonizingly. Don’t let the child notice, for God’s sake, don’t let her see!.. She fell asleep like that, clutching my breast. From the tall windows the moon peered in, suspicious: under her spiteful gaze Beatrice’s hair shone like silver. I didn’t know what to do. The effort to resist caressing her was so strong that I felt as tired as I did when I used to run through the reeds all day looking for Tuzzu. Beneath the moon’s gaze Tuzzu stared at me, the wounds of his eyes bleeding a blue sea …
‘D’accordo ca nenti pisi, picciridda, ma non poi stari cca’ tuttu ’u santu jornu, e poi t’haiu a purtari in vrazza menzu addurmintata … It’s true you don’t weigh a thing, little girl, but you can’t stay here the whole blessed day and then make me have to carry you in my arms, half asleep…’
Sleep tugged at my hair, my forehead … nenti pisa ’sta picciridda, weightless, this little girl is: a small kitten on my lap. Either I had grown taller or she was smaller than normal. How old could she be? I don’t know what’s happening anymore, Tuzzu, I’m sleepy and muddled, confused by Ignazio’s eyes winking sweetly and malevolently in the darkness, more malevolent than the moon. They weren’t the eyes of a boy, but those of a grown man. Her brother? How could it be? Should I wake her? I didn’t dare. Sleep there? She would catch cold.
‘Are you taking care of the Principessina? Be careful, you know! The Principessina must absolutely not catch cold. Her health is delicate, very delicate!’
‘Signorina, Signorina Modesta! Oh, thank goodness I found you! I was looking for you. It’s supper time. You know the Principessina is delicate, delicate and distracted, as the Princess says, and must be looked after. She even forgets to eat when she’s reading or roaming around the house … Oh, she’s sleeping! Oh dear God, Signorina Modesta, you have no idea, you can’t imagine the worry she causes us. Always having to look for her! Yes, yes, I’ll help you carry her. This always happens when she comes to this room! I even took the liberty of suggesting to the Princess that this room be kept locked. And you know what she told me? In this house, we don’t lock anything up. If Cavallina wants to break her neck running through the garden or wants to sleep with Ignazio, she’s welcome to! Here, everyone is his own master, free to live and die as he pleases. One of a kind, the Princess! But I firmly believe that this room should be locked. Listen, I’m not a superstitious ignoramus, as the Princess calls the village women, but this room is maleficent for the Principessina. Evil! When she comes in here, after hours and hours I find her crying or else asleep, all dishevelled like she is now. It’s not natural. Good thing we have you here now! Now the responsibility isn’t all mine, like it was before…’
I decided to answer her just to stop the flood of words.
‘Don’t worry, Argentovivo. I’ll see to Beatrice. There, that’s right, let’s carry her to her room.’
‘What about supper?’
‘Maybe it’s best if she sleeps.’
We carried her up to her room, but as soon as she was in bed Beatrice opened her eyes and said, ‘I’m hungry!’
‘You see how she acts, Signorina Modesta, you see?’
‘I’m hungry!’
‘Supper is served in the green drawing room.’
‘No, I want to eat here, with Modesta. Here, I said! Go on, go! And don’t say a word! One of these days I’m going to sew that mouth of yours shut. Shut up and go away. I want to eat here, with Modesta!’
I felt my blood run cold. I had never heard Cavallina utter harsh words, and her shouts thundered like those of the Princess.
‘Come here, Modesta. I purposely pretended to be asleep to make you come to my room. I was afraid you wouldn’t want to come. Do you like it?’
Saying that I did, very much, I moved closer and tried to guess how old she was. Up close like that, tiny wrinkles were beginning to line her pale forehead. Or was it those shouts that had aged her? I had never seen such transparent skin.
‘See, this is the mirror I told you about. See how bright and cheerful it is? Haven’t you made up your mind yet? And this is our grandmother. Look how beautiful she was! The Englishwoman, not an aristocrat but very wealthy, remember? None of us inherited her beauty, as Maman says. We only managed to inherit her money, or rather, steal it, she says. Grandfather was in sad straits, as is often the case with aristocrats. And so, again in Maman’s words, that ingenuous bourgeoise was providential in keeping the family afloat. She makes me laugh so when she says that all aristocrats are thieves! Beginning with the Savoia, who are aristocrats up to a certain point. How funny! She’s beautiful, isn’t she? She looks like Ignazio, doesn’t she?’
‘Yes, and Mother Leonora as well.’
‘You want to become a nun like her, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘When did your vocation come to you?’
‘In the convent.’
‘What exactly is a vocation? How does it feel? What do you hear?’
Not having any idea, I responded in the words of Mother Leonora: ‘It’s like the singing of birds.’
‘She too used to say that, Maman told me. I barely knew her. Maman also says that for Aunt Leonora it was a tragedy because she was rich and could have made a good match. But that for you it’s different. It’s good that you have this vocation because in the convent, with Mother Leonora’s modest stipend and trousseau, you’ll be better off than married to some servant or perhaps a lowly clerk. With your intelligence, she says, and with our support, you can even become Mother Superior.’
Argentovivo was right: her Princess had a keen eye.