Why was that sermon so frightening? Why is the word of God so terrible?
O Lord, have mercy even on this wretched sinner, have mercy even on this lost soul!
17 August
Thank you, Lord, thank you! I feel reborn. I feel purified by your forgiveness. I cried and prayed so hard that my wretchedness aroused your compassion. Now I’m calm and resigned. I don’t want to think any more, I don’t want to be alone. Thinking is our downfall, our temptation. I shan’t write to you again, Marianna, because writing to you means remembering, and I don’t want to remember you, or my father, or anybody! Forgive me, my loved ones … The heart is a great danger: if we could rip out our hearts, we’d be nearer to God!
O, the Lord will give me strength …
If I were to die right now, I think the angels would smile on me … but, no, Marianna, even this desire is a sin: we must remain here in this world for as long as God wills. My soul, which is craven and weak, has so little desire to remain here that it sees with a wrongful sense of joy how rapidly my illness progresses from day to day.
My poor Marianna, you should see me now! I’ve become a skeleton. You should see my hands, face and eyes! My poor chest is entirely consumed with a burning fever. You should hear me cough. If only you could be with me when the pain of my illness exceeds my courage.
It’s better that you don’t see me again, Marianna, that no one should ever see me again! I have what I might call the shame of the sick. In his providential blindness, my papa always finds countless reasons for deluding himself and not noticing the state that I’m in.
O God, I belong to you, just as I am, with my failings and weaknesses, with my faults and my guilt, and with my immense love for you. Have pity on me, God, have pity on me! Let me not think! That’s my only prayer, that I might live and die in acceptance of no other thought but of You.
26 August
O my God, why have you forsaken me?
There’s no word for what I feel! To have such a sense of guilt, to be so fearful of your own sin, and unable to break away from it …
That sermon! Still, that terrible voice is in my ears! The horror of it! I see hell gaping before me. I feel lost, like Satan, in the abyss of God’s abandonment … and I love Nino just the same! I’m afraid of demons, and I think of him! I dare to raise my supplicant eyes to the altar, and I think of him! My mind is full of spectres and flames and dreadful faces … and I smile and yearn for him – the embodiment of sin, temptation and the devil!
Let me tell you what happened, Marianna! I was on the terrace, sitting by that little chapel that we used to decorate with garlands of flowers. It was just after sunrise. You could hear the many sounds of the streets, and the birds singing. The sky was blue, and the sea sparkling bright, and a fragrant breeze filled my poor ailing lungs … And I mused and mused …
You see how the tempting devil, called thought, treacherously sneaks inside us through every pore and mercilessly penetrates our minds! I contemplated the little flower with its trembling dew-drops, the smoke rising from the chimneys, the sails of a ship disappearing into the brightness of the sea, the singing that floated up from the street. Was I dreaming? I don’t know. Two butterflies followed each other from flower to flower – one had wings of gold, the other’s were all white. With a touch of mischievousness, the one with snow-white wings hid inside a pretty flower, even whiter than itself, and its poor companion searched for it, fluttering its little golden wings in distress. How timidly those butterflies approached the petals of that lovely bloom! Then the other one peered into the heart of the flower, and may have smiled, and then hid in there as well. What did they say to each other? What were they fighting over? What was going on inside their tiny minds? How much happiness was enclosed within that little flowerhead? A small bird cheeped on the ridge of the chapel roof, and beat its wings so rapidly that in the dawn sunlight its feathers looked as if they were made of golden straw ‘Come, come!’ it said, and it seemed to be crying. Who can tell? Perhaps it really was crying. Who was it waiting for? Who was it calling? Then it took off, swift and straight and sure in its flight. Where was it hurrying? It was free, and away it flew! By a large crack in the wall, a lizard basked in the sun. You should have seen how happy that little creature was! How its little sides panted, and its tiny head moved, and its eyelets shone! Perhaps it was blessing that ray of sunshine, which it, too, was enjoying, and that dew-drop which the petal let fall. Who has ever considered all the joys around us? The happiness that exists in the worm that crawls on the ground, and within the invisible atom? Then came the sound of a carriage: the horses had harness-bells – you know how cheerful harness-bells sound, how reminiscent they are of the countryside, of green meadows and dusty roads, of flowering hedgerows and larks that dart in front of the horses … Then the screech of a pulley could be heard, and the bright, fresh voice of a woman singing one of those nonsensical, popular songs that are deeply moving – it was a serving-girl, drawing water from a well. Why was she so happy? What was she thinking of? Her native village? Sunday mass? The small square in front of the church, crowded with young people dressed in their best clothes? The familiar voice that used to come and sing that old song outside her door?
All these things spoke, and what they said was, ‘Nino! Nino!’ I looked round in search of him, and I saw him! I saw him at the window of a nearby house. It was him, it really was – with a pipe in his mouth and his elbows resting on the window-sill. He was taking in all the joyfulness of a beautiful morning. Oh, my poor heart! I seemed to remember once being told that my sister had moved to a house near the convent, but God had spared me from thinking about it … Now there he was before me … Why? O God, why? What was he doing? What was he thinking? Could he see me? No, no! His eyes were distracted … yet he should have been able to see me, in my black habit and white veil, with my arms outstretched … What was in that man’s heart? Oh, the tears I shed! O Lord, let me see him on his own, and I shall be for ever grateful! O my God, let me not see my sister, let me not see her!
Nino! It’s me, over here! Can’t you see me? Don’t you remember? What’s the matter? What have I done wrong? Oh, my head! Nino! Look at me! See how pale I am! Hear how laboured my breathing is! O Nino, please, look at me!
He turned round. I saw a figure behind him … a dress … I fled because I was losing my mind! God, what agony! I went and retired to my cell, like some wounded beast going to earth … Oh, what burning pain! My head! My poor head!
It was such a dreadful day, with that figure continually before me, and my heart pierced with anguish the whole time.
I’m almost insane. I feel something clutching my flesh and dragging me back up to the terrace … to see that man, the mere thought of whom breaks my heart … I wish I could spend all my days there, and die of sorrow with my eyes fixed on that window. I tried to think of God, and God seemed cruel. I tried to think of that sermon, and it seemed to me unjust. All the furies of hell are tormenting my heart … Listen, Marianna, listen to this lost soul – because I want to be lost, I want to be damned! At night when everyone was asleep, I went up on to the terrace, in bare feet, squeezing my chest so that the nuns wouldn’t hear the beating of my scared and cowardly heart, and stealing through the shadows like a ghost. It took me half an hour to get there – half an hour of terror, and anxiety, and inward strife, taking fright at the slightest sound, holding my breath at every door, collapsing in exhaustion on every stair … If he could have seen me! Then when I got up there, and I saw the stars above my head, and that lighted window, not even I could tell you what happened inside me … Listen! I’ll tell you what I saw, and you’ll suffer as I did … I wish for all those I love to suffer … Eleven o’clock was striking. The chimes had a sharpness of vibration that stabbed like a knife. The streets were still crowded … there were people strolling and laughing – you could even hear what those that were closest were saying. You could see that lighted window in the darkness, staring at me with its wide-open eye. I had often
spent the evening lost in reverie, gazing at some distant light shining in some far-off room, trying to imagine all the care and affection, all the little troubles that to my poor mind seem another joy of family life, and the conversation, and the talk probably going on round that solitary light. But this window had a fiery reflection. I couldn’t look at it without feeling a heat rushing through all my veins. It was him! It was him! It was his house, occupying his life and his affections, in all peaceful serenity, with all the blessings of the family. The room was wall-papered in a pattern of big, blue flowers; by the window was an armchair, and further back, on a little table, were numerous objects that I couldn’t distinguish, but some of which gleamed in the candlelight. Imagine the tabernacle – I can think of no other way to describe it … Each of those objects had the imprint of his hand on it, and he had sat in that armchair a hundred times. Why was the room empty? It seemed to be afraid, and it also frightened me … Then a door opened and a woman came in. My sister! How beautiful she looked! She was able to touch every one of those objects and to sit in that chair. She came to the window, blocking out the light – cruel, cruel woman! – and she leaned on the window-sill. She seemed to be looking at me. I was scared of that face turned towards me that remained in shadow. I hid behind the chapel. How I trembled! How my heart pounded! After a while she suddenly drew back and went to open the door by which she’d entered. It was him! He took her hand and kissed it. God! O God, let me die! Even if I’m damned!
You can have no idea what frenzy, what furious delight there is in inflicting atrocious torture on yourself … punishing yourself because you can’t punish others. I watched that man kiss that woman … the man, Nino, and she, my sister! I watched them sitting together, talking and holding hands, exchanging smiles and taking turns to steal kisses from each other. I knew all the sweet things they were saying to each other, and by a miracle of intuition I saw the smallest movement of his face, and the expression in his eyes. No one could have seen what I saw. My dry eyes opened wide; my heart stopped beating; and there was a whiff of the devil inside me … And this spectacle lasted nearly an hour! An hour out there, with bare feet, burning with fever, shuddering with horror, filling my lungs with anguish and fury. In order to see him, I inflicted that terrible joy on myself, a joy with the fiery edge of anguish … and I returned there every evening, despite the risk, the fever and delirium … I saw him! What does it matter how? I saw him! I spent days out on the terrace, with a blazing sun beating down on my bare head, my mind dazed, befuddled, and dizzy, my eyes smarting, and my body on fire with fever, for nothing more than to see him, just for a moment, passing from one room to another!
Ah, if sorrow could kill!
10 September
God, let me die! Let me die!
For pity’s sake! Have mercy! I can’t take any more.
18 September
I’m ill, Marianna. The fever’s in my brain, and my head’s burning. From my little cell I can hear the screams of poor Sister Agata. I feel like screaming, too, and scratching the plaster off the walls with my fingernails, as she does.
Why have they shut me up in here? What have I done? Why these grilles, veils, and bolts? Why these lugubrious prayers, dim lights, and pale, frightening faces? Why this darkness and silence? What have I done? My God, what have I done?
I want to leave, I want to get out of here! I don’t want to stay any more! I want to escape … Help me, Marianna, help me! I’m scared. I’m frantic. I want light. I want to run free!
Marianna, why are you abandoning me as well? Tell my father to come and fetch me out of this tomb. Tell him that I’m dying, that I’m being murdered. Tell him I shall smash my head against these walls. Tell him I’ll be good, that I’ll love everybody; I’ll be the servant of the house, I’ll be content with a kennel, as long as I get out of here. Tell him I haven’t done anything wrong. Why is he, too, being so ruthless? Will no one take pity on me? Will no one help? Will it not occur to any of the passers-by in the street, with the grace of happiness in their hearts, that there might be some miserable wretch locked up inside here, dying in despair? Shout! Yell with me! Cry for help! Tell all who can hear you that I’m kept in here by force, that I’ve done no wrong. I’m innocent … Tell them this is a place of death … there’s a smell of dead bodies here … and you can hear the screams of a madwoman …
18 September
The madwoman wants to escape, too, poor thing! They keep her locked up behind iron bars … She can’t sleep, she can’t die … She prowls that small space allowed to her, from morning to night, raging and howling … the poor wretch! It’s frightful!
What if they were to lock me up with Sister Agata? How ghastly! How horrible! What if I were to go mad?
O Marianna, I wish I could jump out of the highest window, but they’re all barred!
What torture! What agony! Even death, suicide and hell are denied to me! What have I done? What ever have I done? I swear, I’m innocent!
Listen, I shan’t love him any more! I’ll pluck him out of my heart … I’ll rock his children’s cradle … I’ll go far away … Let them do what they will with me – anything – as long as they take me away from here.
Tell them I didn’t know what they wanted of me when they made me a nun, that I didn’t know I’d have to be imprisoned for ever, that I was mad, that I’ll lose my soul here, that I haven’t long to live, not long at all … So why don’t they let me die in peace?
24 September
Yesterday the doctor came to see me. Why did they send for him? He kept looking at me in a strange way … He took my pulse. I’m all right, I feel nothing at all … He asked me lots of questions I didn’t understand. What does this mean? What do they want of me? They’re watching me. They’re keeping me at a distance … What’s happened? Are they trying to frighten me?
I told the doctor that I want to get out of here. I promised to be good, to work and do whatever was wanted of me, as long as they let me out. The kindly old man smiled and was unnervingly quick to promise me everything I asked of him.
What does this mean, Marianna, what does this mean? I’m alone. I look at myself, and I think I’m dreaming. I don’t know what’s happened, but it must be something dreadful … something really horrible!
It’s because I’m frightened by Sister Agata’s screams that are audible even from here, whenever the poor creature has one of her fits.
Today I spent the whole day staring at the door by which I came into this place … a solid black door with huge bolts, that only opens to let in victims, that you can never return through …
And I came in by that door! I was free outside, and I crossed that threshold on my own two feet! No one dragged me across, no one pushed me! My God, how did it happen? Was I mad? I must have been in a trance. What on earth lies on the other side of that door? What goes through the mind of any passer-by? How bright the sky must be! Nino’s on the other side! Isn’t he?
They wouldn’t let me stay there looking at it any longer. Why not? Is that wrong as well? They took me away. I do whatever they want … I’m meek … I’m scared … I’m scared they’ll lock me up with the madwoman …
No date
Nino! Nino! Where’s Nino? I want to see him! Why won’t they let me see him? He’s the only one I want to see. I don’t want to see my father, my brother, or my sister …
My sister! She stole him from me! Why did she steal him? Didn’t she know he was mine? Why can’t I see him? Tell him to come … Tell him to come and free me. We’ll go to Monte Ilice together … we’ll go and hide in the chestnut grove … alone … like the creatures of the wild. Tell him to come, to come armed with his gun … that way, he’ll frighten my goalers … they’re women … they’ll be scared … he’ll kill them if necessary … he’ll save me … he’ll find me here in my cell … and I’ll throw my arms round his neck! Yes, the nun!
The nun will escape … she’ll run away with him … with her sister’s husband … she’ll steal him back … The
y’ll go far away … they’ll walk and walk … they’ll go to the mountains, to the woods … they’ll be together and they won’t be afraid … they won’t hear Sister Agata screaming … There’ll be the stars, and the rain, and the sound of thunder, and he’ll knock on the window … She’ll cough … He’ll say, ‘Maria! Maria!’
Who’s Maria? I think I knew her … Maria’s dead, she’s run away … Where is she?
Oh, my poor head! Listen, Marianna … it’s night-time now … everyone’s asleep … no one will see me … I’ll creep downstairs … across the garden … it’s dark … the gravel on the paths won’t make any noise out of compassion for me … I’ll go up to the door … that nasty door will say no! And I’ll cry, and beg, and go down on my knees … I’ll say that Nino’s waiting for me, that I have to go to him … and not being a nun, the door will then take pity on me … and let me slip through the keyhole … then I’ll be outside … where there are sunshine and fresh air, streets, and people, and him! Where you can shout, and run, and cry, and hug the people you love … I’ll run away, I’ll run away … because Sister Agata clings to me if she sees me … and I’ll go and knock at his door and say, ‘Here I am!’ And he’ll hold out his arms to me … No, that’s wicked, that’s a sin! I’ll say to Giuditta, ‘I’m your sister … your poor sister who’s suffered so much … they wanted to kill your poor sister, they wanted to bury her alive … they wanted to lock her up with Sister Agata … let me stay here, I’ll be your servant, I shan’t love him any more … I’ll just look at him, through the keyhole, when you’re asleep and don’t need to look at him.’ O God! I’m so happy, Marianna, I’m so happy! Thank you, God, thank you!
Sparrow (and other stories) Page 10