Leonora by Elena Poniatowska

first saw Tadzio’s divine aspect, entering his being as the filthy water now invades Venice. Maurie goes crazy for the gondoliers; not so Leonora, to whom the gondolieri seem false and theatrical. She rejects a return to a Venetian past in these stagnant waters, in which to fall is to meet death by poisoning.
    â€˜Prince Umberto Corti wishes to invite us to his villa, which everyone says is magnificent.’
    â€˜I refuse to visit one more marbled apartment …’
    In Rome they cross the St Peter’s Square and enter the basilica, where Leonora refuses to kiss the foot of Michelangelo’s Pietà , crumbling to bits from so much kissing.
    â€˜I would prefer to kiss the wounds of Saint Francis. At least he loved animals.’
    An old man offers them a lift in his carriage, which is being pulled by two plumed horses.
    â€˜I can take you to visit the catacombs.’
    â€˜Mama, would you prefer to be cremated?’ asks Leonora, after the visit.
    â€˜I don’t like to think about death,’ replies Maurie.
    â€˜Yes, that’s best – I won’t be there beside you when you die.’

6

    THE DEBUTANTE
    T O LEONORA, NOW BACK AT HAZELWOOD , the account of the journey as delivered by Maurie to Harold seems as interminable as the Venetian canals.
    She attempts to persuade her mother to allow her to study art in London.
    â€˜A silly and pointless fancy. You should await your future at home.’
    â€˜Await?’
    â€˜There’s nothing wrong with painting,’ she tells her, ‘After all, I paint the boxes for my charity sales. Your own Aunt Edgeworth wrote novels and was a friend of Sir Walter Scott, but she would never have dreamed of calling herself an “artist”, it would have been poorly regarded. Artists are immoral, form illicit unions and are obliged to inhabit attics. You would never get used to living in servants’ quarters after leading the life that you have. Now you dance beneath chandeliers; are you really going to go and sweep floors? In any case, what’s to prevent you from painting here? Our garden has plenty of nooks where you can go and paint.’
    â€˜I want to paint nudes, and I don’t see any models here.’
    â€˜Why not?’ Maurie answers. ‘Anyone can take their clothes off and be a model.’
    Leonora chews her fingernails. Her only escape is to go riding.
    â€˜It is high time you were ready for Buckingham Palace and your presentation at the Court of George V,’ her father tells her.
    Maurie’s diamond tiara is set to grace the head of young Leonora for the occasion.
    â€˜I’m not going to wear that crown, it looks ridiculous.’
    â€˜Your dress is very beautiful and it will complement the gown perfectly, you need to display the family jewels.’
    â€˜It weighs too much and I don’t want to wear it. Why don’t you buy me a gorilla suit or a donkey hide? I’d go willingly dressed like that.’
    Maurie shows signs of irritation. Leonora quivers with rage.
    Her father attempts to soothe her: ‘You should learn a little gratitude, Leonora. If you were ugly and ungainly, we would not be thinking of presenting you at Court.’
    â€˜If only I were!’
    â€˜You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
    â€˜Put a paper bag on my head and I’ll go to the Palace like that. All I want to do is to paint.’
    â€˜Leonora, they’ll only regard you as a woman, not as the artist you purport to be. That really doesn’t count at all.’
    â€˜And what I want to be doesn’t count for anything, Papa?’ Leonora demands of her father. Harold Carrington exudes authority.
    â€˜If I were a hyena, would I have to go to the ball?’
    â€˜Even if you were, I would still present you at Court,’ says her father, closing the conversation.
    â€˜I wish I could turn into a hyena. Then I could growl, salivate, change sex and laugh