I’m convinced, Marianna, that all this worldly tumult, all these powerful sensations, and these pleasures are extremely bad for us poor, weak, faint-hearted souls. We’re humble little flowers accustomed to the gentle protection of the hothouse, and destroyed by fresh air.
Do you remember when I wrote to you two months ago and told you how bright and cheerful I felt? How avid for joy my heart was, and how it treasured every new emotion? How I thanked the good Lord and praised him for all these wonderful sensations that my heart was opening up to? It’s true, Marianna! Alas, it’s true what the nuns kept telling us, and what Father Anselmo said repeatedly from the pulpit: that the real, lasting joys are the calm, serene joys of the convent. I can’t explain why, but the joys of the world are not always the same. I know from experience … I feel so differently now! Everything makes me feel tired, oppresses me, and bothers me … I find everything a cause of unease, and anxiety … and even dismay. I’m scared by the very fact that I can’t account for the sudden fits of insane, almost delirious joy and for the unpredictable sadnesses that overwhelm me. I feel unhappy among all these gifts from the Creator for which I once used to glorify Him …
I wish I could return within those blessed convent walls. I wish I could kneel in the chancel and cling to the feet of Jesus on that Cross. I wish I could kiss you, and bury my face on your shoulder, and shed the tears gathered in my heart.
Don’t laugh at me, Marianna, pity me instead. Pity me, because I feel so sad, and I can’t understand my sadness, I don’t know the reason for it – maybe I’m wicked and ungrateful to the good Lord who has showered so many blessings on me; ungrateful to my dear papa who tries to dispel my sadness with countless endearments; ungrateful to my family and friends …
I can’t write any more. I feel like crying. I’ve spent nearly all night long at the window, staring into the intense darkness, which seemed to me full of ghosts, and listening to the distant sound of the dogs whining, and the drone of nocturnal insects … and I wasn’t afraid!
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.