Sparrow (and other stories)

by Giovanni Verga

  If only I could throw my arms around you and weep! I wish you’d write! Write to me! That’s all I can say.

  10 November

  My dear Marianna, you say that you’re worried about me, about my state of mind. You ask lots of questions that make no sense to me, embarrassing questions that I don’t know how to answer. You want countless explanations for things I don’t understand myself. If you were here, if we could confide in each other, arm in arm, under the trees, in the deepest shade, perhaps you – being a young lady now, who won’t be going back to the convent again, and have some experience of the world – perhaps you might be able to answer my questions and resolve my doubts; you could comfort and reassure me. But what can I tell you?

  Even your questions worry and disturb me … Why do you ask the reason for my not having mentioned the Valentini in the letters that I’ve written recently, which have been so dejected, whereas I used to tell you so much about them in my earlier letters, which were so cheerful. Why have you pointed out that while Signor Nino’s name crops up repeatedly at first, it seems to have been carefully avoided latterly? How did you notice? I wasn’t aware of it myself … And, God knows, I couldn’t tell you why! But you’re right, and you’ve made me realize that even now it’s taken a great effort to write that name … And you’ve probably noticed that my hand was trembling … And if you could see my face!

  Now, I’ll tell everything … I’ll place my heart in your hands. You’ll be better than me at interrogating and analysing it, for I haven’t any idea … You can tell me what I must do to overcome this illness that’s afflicting me, and how to return to being light-hearted and carefree and happy. You’ll open your arms to me …

  I don’t know what’s troubling me, but it must be something bad, because I’ve been reluctant to confide in you, I feel almost guilty, and I’m overcome with shame, anxiety, an inexplicable fear, as if I had some secret to hide from everybody, and everyone were staring at me trying to discover it.

  What is that secret? My God, even I couldn’t say … I’ll tell you everything, everything! If you can detect it, you must tell me, and I promise to master it, if it’s a wickedness or temptation. I promise to be good, and pray to God to give me strength and enlightenment, to help me …

  I’ve analysed everything myself to see what this wickedness might be, where this trouble might stem from. I’ve examined all my feelings, and thoughts, and even the way I’ve been spending my time, the people I speak to, the things I see … I can’t find anything, except … But you’ll think I’m mad, and laugh at me.

  When I’ve written before I’ve told you that we’ve become very close friends with the Valentini. Annetta is like another Marianna to me … But you’ve made me think that her brother has a certain effect on me … It’s true: I’d almost say that he frightens me.

  No, I’m not being nasty, Marianna! Don’t blame me for it! It’s just some eccentricity, some foolishness, I’m sure. I realize that it’s wrong of me, and I try not to let it get the better of me … because he’s such a kind young man, and always so considerate towards me … But I can’t explain the feeling he produces in me … It’s not dislike or hostility … and yet I’m afraid of him … and every time I meet him I blush, and turn pale, I tremble, and wish I could escape.

  But then he talks to me, I listen, and stay with him … I don’t know why … I feel unable to separate myself from him … and I think of Father Anselmo, talking to us from the pulpit about the lure of the evil spirit, and I’m scared …

  My God! I’m not saying that they’re the same thing … It’s just a comparison. I wish I could explain to you the effect he has on me ….

  He’s very polite to everyone, though, including me … and I’m not rude to him, I swear! I’m grateful for his tact and kindness …

  When we happened to find ourselves alone the other day, after the famous dance, he said to me, ‘Thank you, signorina.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘For being good enough to dance with me. If you only knew how happy it made me!’

  And he said this in such a way that I felt completely disconcerted. My God, how men exaggerate their compliments! But I don’t know why he said this in a very low voice, and I thought he even blushed … and perhaps that’s why I blushed, too … and I didn’t know what to reply …

  You see how thoughtful he can be, to please me. Another time he said to me, ‘How well that tunic suits you!’ That’s what he said! My ugly black tunic! I couldn’t explain why, but I think I felt very pleased. I reddened and stammered and didn’t know where to put myself.

  You’ll say that I’m mad, and you’re right, because it certainly can’t be his good manners that so disturb me.

  So why am I embarrassed whenever I hear his voice? When I find him staring at me, why do I suddenly feel the blood rushing to my face, and a kind of shiver in my heart?

  Do you know, Marianna, I think I’ve found the explanation for all this. In the convent we’ve been taught to think of men in general and young men in particular in such a way that we can’t encounter one without being thrown into complete confusion. For why is it that my sister, Giuditta, who, after all, is younger than me, never feels in the least embarrassed talking to him? Why on the contrary can she laugh and joke and have long, frank talks with him, without blushing, whereas I think I’d die if I had to do the same? And yet … God forgive me … I think that because of this I sometimes have a feeling towards my sister that resembles jealousy …

  O God! Call me back to you, in the convent, where there is peace, silence and composure. Calm my spirit and illuminate my mind!

  16 November

  On Monday I met him in the chestnut grove. Fortunately, Gigi was with me. He had his shot-gun over his shoulder, and we heard him singing to himself long before he became aware of our presence. You don’t know what a sweet voice he has! I recognized it immediately: my heart felt as though it would burst from my breast, and I wanted to run away, to escape, because of that same old ridiculous fluster … His dog, Ali, saw us first, and came running up to us, barking joyfully. So, really and truly, we had to stay … although I’d turned scarlet and was trembling all over … He must have noticed my agitation. He came up and held out his hand. I had to give him mine, for it’s customary here to shake hands, even with men, which doesn’t seem right to me … he was bound to realize that my poor hand was trembling.

  To return home, we had to go through the densest part of the wood, and on the edge of it, which is very rocky, there were a lot of briars and brambles. He wanted to accompany me and lend me his arm. I was trembling so much that he said, ‘Lean on me properly, signorina, you’re stumbling at every step.’

  This was true. We went quite a long way in silence, and as we walked, I kicked the dry leaves lying on the ground, so that he couldn’t hear the beating of my heart. He must have taken pity on my embarrassment, because he tried to break the silence by saying, ‘What a lovely day! What a pleasant walk it’s been!’ And he sighed … Actually, Gigi complained that I was treading on his heels … Then we sat on a low wall by the vineyard, and he settled himself beside me. All I could see was the butt of his gun, casting bizarre shadows on the ground. Ali came and rested his big head on my lap, laughing at me with his beautiful, vivacious eyes. I stroked him, and he showed his thanks by wagging his tail. His master said to me, ‘You see how affectionate towards you Ali is? Don’t you love him?’

  I don’t know why this very innocent question completely flustered me, and I felt that I loved poor Ali immensely. And he, too, stroked his dog … and then our hands met, and I felt that mine was trembling. My own silence embarrassed me. I tried to think of a reply, and all I could stammer out was, ‘You have such a fine dog, signor!’

  He didn’t say anything else, and sighed. Why did he sigh? He must have felt unhappy, too, poor thing! In fact, I thought he’d been looking more dispirited in the last few days … and that moment when he sighed, I felt a great tenderness towards him, and no longer
my usual dismay, but such an amicable feeling that I wished I were a man like him, a friend of his, or a brother, so that I could throw my arms around his neck and ask him what was wrong, so that I could comfort him, or at least share his troubles with him.

  Oh, yes! these are terrible sins! And imagine how painful it will be to confess them! And I have an even greater sin on my conscience … a keen desire to know what was making him so sad … We women are so curious … But of course I dared not ask him.

  Since then I’ve seen him only in the evening, with his family. I don’t venture out on my own any more. I sew idly at my window, and every day that I hear his voice, or hear him whistling for his dog, up in the woods, or that I see a figure moving swiftly through the clumps of trees in the distance, my heart beats the way it did when we sat beside each other in silence, with our hands resting on that fine dog’s head.

  Every time I meet him, I feel the same confusion, and so I try to avoid any encounter. But there are times when I can’t escape, you see … and I have to hide my discomfort and stay. When he looks at me, my heart leaps, and I wish I could die to hide my blushes. I feel as though all eyes are fixed on me, wondering why I’m blushing … and I … O God! I couldn’t say … I don’t know! But I take the first chance I can to seek refuge in my little room and bury my burning face in my pillows, and cry … I don’t know why but crying seems to make me feel better and relieve me of a great burden.

  But the day before yesterday, as I was drying my eyes, I saw a figure at the window. It was him – with his elbows resting on the windowsill, with his face cupped in his hands. You can imagine how I felt! He was also very agitated. He tried to smile, and it was such a sad smile that I thought he was weeping. Then he stammered, ‘Why do you keep running away, signorina?’ I wished the ground would open up and swallow me. Fortunately my sister appeared. It cost me an extraordinary effort to calm myself, or rather to force my face to lie, and I went out and joined the rest of the party, who were enjoying themselves out on the lawn. Giuditta was with him, talking and laughing, at her ease – she wasn’t trembling!

  Oh, the convent, the convent! That’s what I need, that’s the place for me. Outside there’s nothing but confusion and dismay.

  You see … they’ll think I’m ill-mannered … he most of all! God, who can read my heart, knows I’m not like that, and that I’m not to blame if my shyness and the way of life I’m used to, which is very different from theirs, make me seem so! But who’s going to believe me? Yesterday, as everyone was coming back indoors, because the evening coolness had turned chilly, he came up to me, looking sad and pale, and took my hand. I was trembling so much that I couldn’t draw it back. I was in a daze … He said in his gentlest voice, ‘What have I ever done to you, signorina? Why do keep avoiding me?’

  My God! My God! I wanted to throw myself at his feet and ask his forgiveness, and to tell him that he was mistaken, that it wasn’t my fault … I don’t know what I said, or stammered. Annetta came up and I threw myself in her arms and burst into tears.

  My dear Marianna, try to be of comfort to me, and help me! Even you’re abandoning me! I’m alone, sad and unhappy. Pray God that I may soon return to my tranquil, modest existence, and that the world’s stormy blast, which has sown tumult in my dismayed soul, may be stilled in the silence of those corridors.

  I’ve been writing to you with tears clouding my eyes. I don’t even know what I’ve written. Forgive me, and love me, for I desperately need to be loved.

  17 November

  The other evening, when I came into the room where my family and the Valentini were gathered, I was so upset after what he’d said to me that everyone noticed. My stepmother made a scene: she told me off for being ill-mannered, and wilful, and for indulging in irrational fits of joy and bouts of gloom. My father tried to defend me, by saying that I was unwell.

  Everyone else remained silent. This torture went on for half an hour. When I was able to retreat to my room, I thanked the Lord and prayed ardently that He would call me to Him.

  I had a dreadful night, without so much as closing my eyes. I’ve searched my heart, and I’m scared.

  Marianna, if I weren’t afraid of committing a sin and causing grief to my father, Giuditta, my brother, and you … to everyone who loves me … I’d wish to die of cholera …

  Goodbye.

  20 November

  Marianna! Marianna! I love him! I love him! For pity’s sake, don’t regard me with contempt. I’m terribly unhappy. Forgive me!

  O God! Why so harsh a punishment? Now I’m blaspheming! O God, how I’ve cried! Is there any woman more wretched than I am?

  I love him! What a horrible thing to say – it’s a sin, a crime, but it’s no use my pretending otherwise. My sin is stronger than me. I’ve tried to escape, and it has clung to me, it has pinned me down, and trampled my face in the mire. My whole being is replete with that man – my head, my heart, my blood. I see him before my eyes as I write to you, in my dreams, and in my prayers. I can’t think of anything else. I feel as if his name is always on my lips, and that every word I utter turns into the name by which he’s called. When I hear him, I feel happy. When he looks at me, I tremble. I wish I could always be with him, and yet I avoid him. I wish I could die for him. Everything I feel for that man is new, unfamiliar and terrifying … more fervent than the love I bear my father, and more intense than my love for God. This is what, in the world, is called ‘love’. I’ve experienced it, I’ve seen it … it’s horrible! horrible! It’s God’s punishment, damnation, blasphemy! Marianna, I’m lost! Marianna, pray for me.

  Yesterday, he’d gone to Catania on some family business. He was supposed to catch the coach back to Trecastagne and be home before nightfall, but at nine o’clock there was still no sign of him. You can imagine how upset his family and all the rest of us were! The reports we get these days are so bleak, there wasn’t a soul among us who didn’t imagine the worst. His mother and Annetta were crying. Signor Valentini was extremely restless and kept climbing up the bank that rises above the vineyard, from which you can see a good stretch of the lane leading to the village, for his son was supposed to have got off the coach at the usual stop and then walked up here. It was very dark, and you couldn’t see more than ten yards down the lane. Two messengers had been sent off to try and find out the reason for this delay, and to let us know if he was on his way. Every so often, his poor father called out his name, as if hoping that he would respond from a distance. You can imagine how anxiously we all strained our ears: one minute went by, then ten, and his voice died away, far off down the valley, and was followed by silence. The clock struck nine thirty, then ten! There was general weeping and wailing. Signor Valentini had gone out alone, in the dark, like a madman, to make inquiries of every passer-by, determined not to give up until he had found his son. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen. Not even the boldest traveller would have ventured out at that hour of the night, when the roads were under the suspicious watch of peasant-folk on their guard against cholera! Those tears broke my heart. That silence terrified me. That darkness seemed full of horrible visions. I’d shut myself in my bedroom, to kneel at the foot of the cross and weep, and to pray for him. Now and again, I’d interrupt my prayers, dry my tears, and stifle my sobs in order to strain my ears, to devote all my attention to listening. Outside all you could hear in the distance was the sound of a few gunshots that threw us all into crisis, and the lugubrious howling of the dogs. I became superstitious. I thought, ‘After I’ve said one hundred Hail Marys, I’ll hear his voice.’ I said fifty straight off, then I began to recite the rest more slowly, because I felt that I’d said the first ones in too much of a rush, that it was cheating on the time that I’d set, that God wouldn’t answer my prayers because I’d said my Hail Marys too distractedly. When I had recited the last ten, I went back and started all over again, deluding myself that I’d miscounted … I said the last two, one after the other, breaking off to listen … And I thought I heard distant voices … I
waited, and waited … nothing! silence! Then I said to myself, ‘If the first person to speak is Annetta, he’ll arrive in a quarter of an hour …’ Then, ‘By the time the wind has made the leaves on the trees rustle ten times, he’ll be here.’

  The branches tossed and stirred, and no one came! Then I felt as if I were suffocating, and losing my mind, and the blood were flowing so fast through all my veins that it was making me run about aimlessly like a madwoman. The room felt cramped and the roof seemed to be pressing down on me. I went out on to the lawn. It upset me to see his poor relatives weeping, listening anxiously to the slightest sounds of the countryside, and quietly voicing false hopes, to delude themselves more than anyone else. I went and sat on the wall, away from everybody, in the darkness. With burning eyes, I stared into the shadows, almost feeling that I could dispel them by the strength of my desire, listening to the howling of dogs in the distance and trying to tell whether they were barking at his approach.

  O God! what agony! All of a sudden my heart seemed to stop beating … I heard a distant bark, a bark I recognized. My heart began to pound furiously, making a noise when all I wanted was to listen … It was nothing, nothing! I was mistaken … Then came another bark, closer and more distinct. This time everyone heard it: it was Ali barking. He’s here! He’s coming! That’s Ali’s bark! Ah!

  Ali raced closer, barking joyfully, announcing the good news at the top of his voice. He knew that we were worried and frightened, and he came running … you could hear the vines suddenly shake as he raced past. He still hadn’t come into view, but I could have said exactly where he was. My heart felt as though it would burst from my breast. Everyone had come rushing up to the wall, beside me.