When the book was published in 1981, a watercolour by Stinga was printed on the deck. In that image, then, I found all the soft, feminine, disturbing sensitivity of Prisco's prose. On the washed pink facade of a house, a window with green shutters opened, surrounded by a purplish climbing wisteria. Beyond the window was a room, with an embroidered chandelier, a vase of flowers, a chair and a desk ready to welcome the writing of the most hidden secrets of the soul.
The novel (or rather, its atmosphere) had been synthesized in a painting. Probably, also on this occasion Manzoni would have used the definition he had given of Francesco Gonin's drawings in the 1940 edition of I promessi sposa: it was a translation, rather than an illustration.