Maria Valtorta iniziò a scrivere il primo manoscritto, l’autobiografia, all’inizio del 1943 quando pensava ormai di essere alla fine della sua esistenza terrena.

L’aveva comunque ultimato quando, il 23 aprile 1943, Venerdì Santo, ebbe il primo “dettato” del Signore. Allora chiamò la fedele Marta, le confidò il fatto e la spedì dal Padre Migliorini, che non si fece attendere. Il religioso, suo direttore spirituale da meno di un anno, le disse di continuare a scrivere tutto quanto avrebbe ancora “ricevuto”. Capì che doveva procurarle altri quaderni.

E Maria Valtorta scrisse quasi ogni giorno fino al 1947, ad intermittenze negli anni successivi fino al 1951. I quaderni diventarono 122 (oltre ai 7 dell’Autobiografia) e le pagine manoscritte circa quindicimila.

She wrote while sitting in bed, holding a notebook on her lap, leaning against a folder made with her hands, and using a fountain pen. She did not prepare schemes, she did not even know what she would write day by day, at times she did not grasp the profound meaning of certain pages while she was writing them, she did not reread to correct. She did not need to concentrate or consult books, except the Bible and the Catechism of Pius X. She could be interrupted even for trivialities and resumed without losing the thread, nor it was stopping her the acute phases of her daily suffering or the urgent need to rest. She participated with her whole self in the writing that flowed spontaneously from her pen as a gifted writer.

It could happen that, having finished writing a good episode or an uplifting lesson, he would call Marta to make her listen to them, removing her from the chores of the house. She would then revise the typewritten copies of Father Migliorini, who took each autographed notebook to the convent and returned it after having faithfully transcribed it.

Her occupation as a full-time writer did not alienate her from the world. Maria Valtorta read the newspaper, listened to the radio, received a few visits, wrote letters, followed events and commented on them with insight. She even lent herself to those household chores that she could do without moving from the bed, such as cleaning vegetables or resetting the bird cage. Good at everything, she knew how to use needle, crochet and pillow lace with mastery. As long as she was able to do so, she took care of herself.

Above all, she prayed and suffered, trying not to show it. Her prayers and her ecstasies, documented in her writings, had no witnesses. Protected by a healthy appearance, she did not reveal the sufferings embraced with spiritual joy out of anxiety of redemption. She appeared normal in everything, even in eating: she did it very sparingly but with taste. Sometimes she sang: she had a beautiful voice.

L’esplosione letteraria di Maria Valtorta, successiva all’Autobiografia, può essere paragonata ad una pianta possente e rigogliosa, il cui seme, che ne racchiuse le peculiarità, è l’immagine del racconto autobiografico: seme già fecondato dal sole divino e nutrito dalla pioggia logorante, già marcito nella zolla del­l’u­manità e pronto a rivivere nella pianta.

È un dono l’opera che ne uscirà, ma è anche una conquista, perché Maria Valtorta l’avrà ottenuta attraverso la sua immedesimazione con il Cristo, che le è costata il sacrificio di sé, volontario e totale.

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“And do you think that could make Me unhappy? Oh! If all the world came to Me to listen to Me, to bewail its sins and sorrow on My heart, to be healed in its bodies and souls and I were worn out speaking, and forgiving and pouring forth My power, I would be so happy, Peter, that I would not even regret Heaven, where I was in the Father!”

Jesus, in response to Peter’s turning people away to give Him a rest