cried.
The place reluctantly quieted.
My mouth was dry cotton, but I rose to the occasion. “‘I have a vision of love . . . ,’” I recited, my voice echoing grandly in the cavernous chamber, “‘ . . . a miracle too rich and strange to behold.’”
“ ‘Here in my unbearable bliss . . . ,’” Romeo shouted in exultant reply, “ ‘ . . . all my thoughts are telling me of love!’ ”
Someone cried, “Go on, go on!”
“ ‘Whenever and wherever she appears,’ ” he spoke in a voice filled with wonder, “ ‘in anticipation of her marvelous greeting, I hold no man my enemy.’ ”
The place rumbled with agreement of that sentiment. Love did make a heart more peaceful.
All fear fled my soul and now in the midst of hundreds I spoke with Dante’s words, but only to Romeo. “ ‘Love’s power is insane’ !”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Brava! Bravo!” someone called. Then other voices of approbation joined them.
“Good people,” called the friar. “Good people, attend me!”
Everyone quieted.
“I can see that the topic of love makes many hearts race. But take pity on a poor old man who has prepared his lecture on a somewhat more grim note, but one most worthy of discussion. Perhaps next week we will take up the subject of Dante and Beatrice’s romance. But for now . . .”
We did return to Friar Bartolomo’s chosen theme, and for the rest of the afternoon Romeo and I remained silent and respectful. As the talk was of Vita Nuova , it was infinitely pleasurable, and I learned many things that I had not, in my solitary study of it, observed before.
So engrossed had I become that when the session ended, I had not noticed Romeo’s departure from his place at the choir rail. I looked all around for him as we made for the cathedral door, but found no one but my cousin Marco.
He fixed me with an impish grin. “You kept your love of Dante, and Dante’s love, very quiet, cousin. I never knew.”
I kissed him on both cheeks.
“But did you know your sparring partner was that interloper we chased from Don Cosimo’s ball? A Monticecco?”
“Was he?” I said, pretending ignorance. “You must not have caught him, for he seemed unscathed.”
“If he comes close to any of us again, I promise you he will be very scathed.” He eyed my high-necked gown. “Who is dressing you these days? The Sisters of Mercy? My aunt must believe you’re in danger of becoming a fallen woman.”
Marco was too close to the truth for comfort.
“I have to find Lucrezia,” I said, and left him. Making my way through the crush, I was suddenly, delightfully confronted by Romeo, his gaze warm and enveloping.
“You are magnificent,” he said, and without flourish slipped something into my hand. I briefly looked down, only to find, when I had lifted my eyes again, that he had disappeared into the crowd.
It was a rolled paper I now held in my hand, which I surreptitiously and quickly unfurled. Its written title was “Dante’s God of Love,” and the well-drawn sketch of colored chalks above it showed the virile, handsome God of Love holding in his arms a woman, naked except for a filmy red robe trailing to the ground.
I quickly rerolled it and tucked this most subversive drawing into my sleeve before hurrying after Lucrezia, all the while my heart threatening to burst the confines of my breast.
Romeo
I ndeed, Juliet had been magnificent. Like no other woman I had ever had chance to know. I stood, invisible at the cathedral door, rendered still and stunned by the memory of this great lady’s being.
She had proven bold at the Medici ball, conversing unabashedly and alone in the garden for far longer than was seemly, and then cleverly held off those ruffians at the door. As I’d ridden away, my pursuers shouting curses after me, the clatter of furious hooves on empty cobble streets, the cool wind stinging my flushed cheeks, the feel of racing blood and tensed sinews that had powered my dangerous
The place reluctantly quieted.
My mouth was dry cotton, but I rose to the occasion. “‘I have a vision of love . . . ,’” I recited, my voice echoing grandly in the cavernous chamber, “‘ . . . a miracle too rich and strange to behold.’”
“ ‘Here in my unbearable bliss . . . ,’” Romeo shouted in exultant reply, “ ‘ . . . all my thoughts are telling me of love!’ ”
Someone cried, “Go on, go on!”
“ ‘Whenever and wherever she appears,’ ” he spoke in a voice filled with wonder, “ ‘in anticipation of her marvelous greeting, I hold no man my enemy.’ ”
The place rumbled with agreement of that sentiment. Love did make a heart more peaceful.
All fear fled my soul and now in the midst of hundreds I spoke with Dante’s words, but only to Romeo. “ ‘Love’s power is insane’ !”
He threw back his head and laughed.
“Brava! Bravo!” someone called. Then other voices of approbation joined them.
“Good people,” called the friar. “Good people, attend me!”
Everyone quieted.
“I can see that the topic of love makes many hearts race. But take pity on a poor old man who has prepared his lecture on a somewhat more grim note, but one most worthy of discussion. Perhaps next week we will take up the subject of Dante and Beatrice’s romance. But for now . . .”
We did return to Friar Bartolomo’s chosen theme, and for the rest of the afternoon Romeo and I remained silent and respectful. As the talk was of Vita Nuova , it was infinitely pleasurable, and I learned many things that I had not, in my solitary study of it, observed before.
So engrossed had I become that when the session ended, I had not noticed Romeo’s departure from his place at the choir rail. I looked all around for him as we made for the cathedral door, but found no one but my cousin Marco.
He fixed me with an impish grin. “You kept your love of Dante, and Dante’s love, very quiet, cousin. I never knew.”
I kissed him on both cheeks.
“But did you know your sparring partner was that interloper we chased from Don Cosimo’s ball? A Monticecco?”
“Was he?” I said, pretending ignorance. “You must not have caught him, for he seemed unscathed.”
“If he comes close to any of us again, I promise you he will be very scathed.” He eyed my high-necked gown. “Who is dressing you these days? The Sisters of Mercy? My aunt must believe you’re in danger of becoming a fallen woman.”
Marco was too close to the truth for comfort.
“I have to find Lucrezia,” I said, and left him. Making my way through the crush, I was suddenly, delightfully confronted by Romeo, his gaze warm and enveloping.
“You are magnificent,” he said, and without flourish slipped something into my hand. I briefly looked down, only to find, when I had lifted my eyes again, that he had disappeared into the crowd.
It was a rolled paper I now held in my hand, which I surreptitiously and quickly unfurled. Its written title was “Dante’s God of Love,” and the well-drawn sketch of colored chalks above it showed the virile, handsome God of Love holding in his arms a woman, naked except for a filmy red robe trailing to the ground.
I quickly rerolled it and tucked this most subversive drawing into my sleeve before hurrying after Lucrezia, all the while my heart threatening to burst the confines of my breast.
Romeo
I ndeed, Juliet had been magnificent. Like no other woman I had ever had chance to know. I stood, invisible at the cathedral door, rendered still and stunned by the memory of this great lady’s being.
She had proven bold at the Medici ball, conversing unabashedly and alone in the garden for far longer than was seemly, and then cleverly held off those ruffians at the door. As I’d ridden away, my pursuers shouting curses after me, the clatter of furious hooves on empty cobble streets, the cool wind stinging my flushed cheeks, the feel of racing blood and tensed sinews that had powered my dangerous
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