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NEW AUTHORS SHOWCASE
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03-02-08 6M p3 |
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THE VENETIAN SECRET, A NUN’S TALE 1620 by Giulia Morosini |
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sample: Venice 1620 essential for her plans to leave bleak convent life behind, the hellfire of the Inquisition, her hateful mother and vile brother, and the convent Confessor, Orsolo Lupi. Rosalba's romance brings the passion back into Marietta's life.
MARIETTA MOROSINI AND THE VENETIAN PAINTING. A faint knock on the door to my cell wakes me up. The three girls beside me are still sound asleep. “Marietta!” Sister Agnese calls out in her crisp voice. “Agnese! The bells have not tolled dawn yet.” She must be the oldest nun there is, I think. I have lost count of Agnese’s age, but it must be 106 at least. She is still sound of mind, but so small and shrunken that she seems out of this world. Sister Agnese stands in the doorway, leaning on her stick, and holding the twins’ prayer books in one hand. “They left them in the school room. And it isn’t the first time.” Sister Agnese croaks. “My eyes are still as sharp as they ever were, thanks to the Almighty God,” she continues, placing the books on a chest. “The boarding girls leave everything lying about,” she complains, but stops short when she notices the painting. She gropes for her glasses in the pocket of her habit, puts them on, staring at Veronese’s work without saying another word. She pulls the footstool in front of the canvas, and sits down. “God be praised for all He does!” Agnese exclaims. “To think that I should see Rosalba Morosini again this side of the grave!” “You knew her?” “Of course, I knew her! How could I not? Agnese yelps.” She was a choir nun here for a short time, and my favourite too. A gentle soul and beautiful, like Madonna. I used to think that she was an angel sent by God to help us.” “When was that?” I get impatient. “What happened to her?” “Wait a moment, child. I have to go back a good many years, and unfortunately, my memory is not as sharp as my eyes. But I do remember that it was on the first of May 1572 that Rosalba came to this convent, because the Pope died on that very same day.” “Rosalba, your great aunt, don’t think I didn’t know.” Agnese nods her head slowly several times. “Yes, the sister of your father’s grandmother. I never mentioned her to you, Marietta, because it was a great scandal to your family, and to the convent too. Hushed up at the time. Can you imagine, an escaped nun! The disgrace. The Magistrates were here to question everyone. Even the Patriarch came. We sounded the alarm when Rosalba was missing, and the bells were chiming for hours. Everyone in Venice knows what that means.” Agnese pauses peering at me above the thick lenses. “Many have wanted to, but few have had the courage to go against Christ. In my time, only Rosalba and two others have disappeared from our convent.” Agnese stares very hard at me now. “Alas, my girl, where to go? And how to survive in the world which is quite unknown to us, I always wondered. Just think of the agony of soul! I have often asked myself what happened to Rosalba. I pray that she doesn’t suffer God’s punishment and is not tormented in the Abyss for her sins! I have prayed for her over the years. You remind me of her. Look at the painting, my dear. Can you see how much you resemble her? Only you haven’t got her angelic expression.” Agnese sighs. ”I thought that maybe you knew what had become of her?” I am disappointed. Agnese ignores my question and asks: “How did you come across the painting?” “It is a present from my father. Maria brought it here yesterday from Ca’Morosini.” “How very odd that he should give you that painting, Marietta.” “Please, Agnese do tell me everything you know!” “Rosalba was meant to be married,” Agnese continues making sure the girls are still asleep “Then it was discovered that she had a love affair with someone else. Or, at least, so the rumour said. I never spoke to her about it. And she never told me anything. You can’t imagine her beauty, my dear. Not even this painting does her justice. I have never seen anyone so beautiful for the hundred years I have been here, serving the Almighty God. He does indeed move in mysterious ways. “During the few months she lived here I often found her sitting under the orange flower tree in the orchard crying. I tried to comfort her and pray with her, but she became more and more remote and sad with the passing of time. Her father sent her here, because her betrothal was annulled, that much I do know. The Abbess, and most of the choir nuns, voted in favour of accepting Rosalba. Her father paid for the wooden chairs with the beautiful carvings in the choir and donated a substantial sum of money to the convent. ” “What happened on the day she disappeared, Agnese?” “I always kept a look out for her, and when I didn’t see her at Matins or in the refectory for breakfast, I told the Abbess. The Abbess went looking in her cell and found her white habit and veil lying on the floor, trampled on and torn to pieces. We searched the church and the convent but found not a trace of Rosalba.” “Is that really all you know?” “That was rich pickings for the gossips who claimed that the Medici family helped her escape. But you know the gossips.” Agnese says severely. “I never understood how Rosalba got away. The gates were locked and the gatekeepers there. They were questioned by the Magistrates and the Patriarch, and they swore that Rosalba never passed through the gates of San Zaccaria. You know, child, I sometimes fear that the Devil himself took possession of Rosalba’s soul and turned her into a witch. Perhaps that was how she escaped. Flying across our high brick wall, an agent of the Devil, to turn others against God! My poor angel!” Agnese hides her face in her hands and cries. “The memories, Marietta,” the old woman says between tears, “are more than I can bear.” When Agnese has closed the door behind her, I stay in bed studying the colours on the canvas. The dragon red of the dress glows, gold shines in the blond hair, and the deep blue of the sapphires in Rosalba’s bracelet sparkle. The colours seem vibrant against the shades of grey and white used to depict the six paintings hanging in the room behind the man in black. What DO they represent? One really does show the crypt beneath the church, where the relics used to be. Another shows the white stone altar with the angel. Looking carefully, I clearly distinguish the mosaics which form the circle of animals. One of the paintings shows a dark passage. But I can’t be sure. I tear myself loose from the picture. I wash quickly, splashing water from the bowl over my face. When I open the small window in my cell, I sense a mildness in the air, which seems to carry with it a smell of hope. Only a week from now and it is the 1st of April. The date predicted for Tommaso’s return to Venice. |
