The Poet Prince (31 page)

Her tears came fast, hot and unbidden. She pulled her cape over her face and wept for a moment.

“Oh, Maestro, it is so hard. I want to be strong for Lorenzo, but the idea of him wed to another woman makes me want to leap from this bridge. We dream of being together, of escaping the responsibilities of his destiny, but we both know that we would never do such a thing. He will follow in the steps of Pater Patriae, as certain as he is Cosimo’s grandson and a January-born prince.”

“Both circumstances you mention are God-given, and therefore part of divine will and Lorenzo’s destiny. What does that dictate for his nature as a result?”

Lucrezia wiped her face as she composed herself, ever mindful of pleasing her teacher.

“He is ruled by Saturn, the planet of obedience and sacrifice, the planet of the father and fatherhood. His first priority is and will always be his family and related obligations. And as Cosimo’s heir, he has . . . all of that to carry on, in addition to the ruling of Florence. Lorenzo will always sacrifice his personal happiness to fulfill his responsibilities.
Semper.
Always.”

“Yes, my child. He will. God knew what he was doing when Lorenzo was born on that date and at that time. He gave Florence a prince who would certainly not fail his destiny. But I can see that he also gave us a princess who would be equally strong and brave in fulfilling her own.

“For you see, my sweet child, this is as much about your destiny as it is Lorenzo’s, and why you were born on the equinox, on the cusp of Pisces and Aries, the alpha-omega point of the zodiac, the beginning and the end. Pisces gives you the deep subconscious awareness to hear clearly and to feel at uncommon depths. Aries gives you the strength, determination, and fearlessness to move forward with your mission, even when it is very difficult to do so.”

Colombina nodded the acceptance of her own role in this grand drama that belonged to God. “I will not fail him. I will not fail Florence, and I will not fail . . . our beliefs.” She looked pointedly back in the direction of Santa Trinità, and the stone tower of the Gianfigliazza family that stood beside the monastery with its beautiful church, before finishing her thought. “The work of the Order means more to me than anything now. It must come first. But Maestro, there are days when all of this hurts very, very much.”

“I know, my dear. I know. And I came here to tell you what Cosimo’s final words were to me, regarding you.”

Colombina gasped. “Pater Patriae? Mentioned
me
when he was dying?”

“Oh yes, my dear. He said to tell you and Lorenzo that what God has put together, no man can separate. And so while you are unable to marry within the laws of man, you are free to do what you wish within the laws of God.”

Colombina was stunned. Surely he wasn’t suggesting . . .

Fra Francesco looked in the direction of Santa Trinità. “Ginevra Gianfigliazza has the key. I can deliver Lorenzo there to you tomorrow night. Secret marriages are something of a tradition in the Order, af-
ter all.”

Of course he referred to the most infamous of the secret weddings, that of Matilda of Tuscany to Pope Gregory VII. It was a legend in Tuscany, and one of the sacred stories of the Order.

Colombina sputtered, not knowing what to say. She threw her arms around him and began to cry, thanking him profusely.

“You are welcome, my dear. And for the future, on the days when it looks very dark, I want you to know that I will always be there for you. For both of you.
Semper.
And remember this most of all: when it is darkest, that is when you can see the stars most clearly.”

Santà Trinità, Florence
1467

T
HE CHURCH THAT
had served as a secret center of the Order since the days of Matilda glowed in the dim light of a dozen candles. They had chosen to perform the ceremony quietly in one of the small side chapels, the one with the glorious depiction of Jesus crowning his beloved, Mary Magdalene, as his wife and his queen. Lorenzo and Colombina stood together in the central space facing each other, joined together by outstretched hands, while the Master stood to one side, with the Libro Rosso open to a page from the Book of Love. He appeared to read from it, although he did not need to, as he knew these words by heart and had for more years than he could remember.

Having been instructed in the ceremony earlier by the Master in an impromptu rehearsal on the way into Florence from Careggi, Lorenzo recited to Colombina the poem of Maximinus with all of his love.

I have loved you before
I love you today
And I will love you again.
The time returns.

Tears streamed down Colombina’s porcelain face as she repeated these same words to Lorenzo, in a whisper. No matter what happened from this day forward, the two of them were united by God.

Once the vows were completed, Ginevra Gianfigliazza, an es-
teemed teacher of the Order who was known as the Mistress of the Hieros-Gamos, began to sing a French troubadour song about love that the legendary Matilda had included in her own secret wedding ceremony to Pope Gregory VII. Ginevra’s voice was sweet and clear as she sang:

I have loved thee a long time
I will never forget thee. . . .
God has made us one for the other.

When Ginevra finished the song, the Master invited the two to exchange the traditional nuptial gifts: small gilded mirrors, which had been found quickly by Ginevra in time for the ceremony. Fra Francesco recited one of the sacred teachings of union as they did so.

“In your reflection, you will find what you seek. As you two become One, you will find God reflected in the eyes of your beloved, and your beloved reflected in your own eyes.”

The Master concluded the ceremony with the beautiful words from the Book of Love, those that are also included in the gospel of Matthew: “For no longer are you two, but you are one in spirit and in flesh. And what God has put together, let no man separate.”

He turned to Lorenzo. “The bridegroom may now gift the bride with the
nashakh,
the sacred kiss that blends together the spirits in union.”

Lorenzo was weeping as he wrapped Colombina in his arms and pulled her tightly against him. What should have been their most joyous moment was one filled with deep sadness. For while he knew that no one but Colombina would ever be the bride of his heart, he also knew that the dawn would come too soon, and they would be separated by the cruel realities they had been born into. Their marriage would be valid only to them, in their hearts. It would not matter when they left this room. It was a secret for them alone, a little bit of rebellion wherein they could hold on to the truth of their love for each other: no matter what fate forced them into, they would know that they were secretly joined in a spiritual union that only God could undo.

But there was still some bliss awaiting the young couple. They would
spend the night in the Antica Torre, the home of the Gianfigliazza family, where the Mistress of the Hieros-Gamos would instruct them both, before closing the door and leaving them to their privacy. The Gianfigliazza were one of the wealthiest and most esteemed families in
Tuscany, therefore Colombina’s parents did not hesitate when Ginevra had requested that Lucrezia stay with her in their legendary family home for a night. It was a coveted social invitation that the savvy
Donati would never deny.

And so it was that Lorenzo and Colombina joined together that night, married in the eyes of God and each other, combining their spir
its through their flesh. Both wept with the joy and the ecstasy of their love, swearing through their tears that nothing would ever separate them.

The Libro Rosso was very clear on the teachings of Solomon and Sheba: “Once the hieros-gamos is consummated between predestined souls, the lovers are never apart in their spirits.”

The Uffizi Gallery, Florence
present day

M
AUREEN GASPED AS
she entered the enormous salon known as the Botticelli Room, the centerpiece of the Uffizi collection. It was overwhelming, filled as it was with the most exquisite and iconic paintings of the Renaissance. In the middle of the room was an island of ottomans, providing a place to sit in awed contemplation.

“Remember, today we are not tourists, and we will not try to take in and understand each and every painting in this room. That is a fool’s errand. Each of these paintings deserves many days all on its own, filled as they are with knowledge, intention, and emotion. So as much as you are tempted to wander and take it all in, I beg you not to do so. I promise that we will return every day that you are here and continue the lessons with new paintings each day. You will be better off for this approach. You must believe me.”

Tammy gulped and nudged Maureen. To be in this room and not see every work of art, even peripherally, would be a type of torture for all of them.

Maureen said, “In this room you get an awesome sense of how accomplished the man must have been, how committed. To create this much art in one lifetime is astonishing. It seems impossible.”

“And it is only a portion of what Sandro created,” Destino answered. “He was more prolific than most people know. A truly angelic being in a man’s body. In his life he created close to two hundred paintings.
In contrast, Leonardo da Vinci completed perhaps fifteen. And yet the average person will throw Leonardo’s name around as the greatest Renaissance artist! It is a crime.”

Destino was rarely emphatic, so they all were stunned to hear him disparage Leonardo in this way. “It is our duty to right the wrongs of history, and the lack of appreciation of Botticelli’s true genius is one of them,” the ancient one responded to their incredulous expressions. “I will tell you—and show you—more on this. Come over here.”

He moved the group to stand before Botticelli’s
Annunciation
. Annunciation paintings were very popular in medieval and Renaissance Italy, capturing the moment in the gospel of Luke wherein the archangel Gabriel appears to tell the Holy Mother that she is going to give birth to the Son of God.

The Madonna in Botticelli’s masterpiece was graceful beyond reason—elegant and strong, yet clearly filled with humility at the moment of divine annunciation. The archangel Gabriel, exalted though he might have been in heaven, was on his knees before Mary in honor of her grace and position.

“Stand in front of this painting, just here.” Destino guided them all to the best place in which to feel the essence of the image. “Allow yourself to feel the power of this moment. Don’t admire this art with just your eyes. Admire it with your heart and your spirit. Let it whisper to your soul. It was created in such a way as to do all of those things, for those with ears to hear.”

They all stood before the
Annunciation,
experiencing it in this new way. Destino watched them all closely, noticing that Roland and Maureen immediately connected. Both of them had tears in their eyes as the enormity of the moment, captured perfectly by Botticelli, began to move through them. Tammy and Peter were not far behind. In a matter of two minutes, all of them were in different stages of weeping.

“Art is experience. When it is created by an angelic force, it transcends the visual and becomes entirely visceral. Yes?”

“Yes,” Maureen whispered, still caught up in the moment expressed in the art before her, the moment when a woman accepts the enormity
of her promise to bring forth the savior of the world and all that will mean to her—and to mankind.

“Now while you are in this state of bliss, follow me carefully into this next room. We shall perform a comparison.”

They moved across the Botticelli salon and into the adjacent Room 15. On the far wall was another annunciation painting. It was beautiful, undoubtedly, but of a very different nature than the Botticelli piece.

“Now stand here, before this painting, and tell me what you feel.”

They all admired the beautiful piece but were unable to reclaim the sense of bliss and connection they had felt from Botticelli’s art.

“I feel nothing,” Peter said. “Intellectually, I see that it is beautiful and I can admire it as an accomplishment, but it evokes no feeling
in me.”

The others nodded. Maureen added, “It lacks emotion. The Madonna here is beautiful, but she appears to be made out of marble. She is cold, disconnected. I don’t feel anything from her.”

In this version of the annunciation, Mary had a book before her in a stand, and her hand was resting on it as if to hold her place in the passage.

Tammy observed, “It looks as if she is more concerned about losing her place in the book, as if the angel interrupted her and she is just waiting for him to leave so she can finish her reading!”

“It is also missing the reverence for Our Lady,” Roland commented. “Here, Gabriel appears to be a stronger character, or at least her equal. There is no sense of Mary as the focus of grace here.”

Destino nodded. “One cannot communicate what one has never felt. This artist did not revere women and did not have any kind of emotional attachment to the idea of the annunciation. And so while it is executed perfectly in terms of technical merit, it does not teach you anything, it does not affect you emotionally or spiritually, nor does it move you.”

“Whereas with Botticelli,” Maureen interjected, “You feel his love for the subject and for the woman he is painting.”

“Sandro loved and revered women. He was passionately committed to celebrating the divinity of femininity. This is part of what you feel in his work, but why this other artist’s work leaves you cold.”

“Who is this artist?” Tammy and Maureen asked at the same time.

Destino delivered the point he had begun to make in the Botticelli room. “I have shown you the art of Sandro Botticelli and the work of Leonardo da Vinci. One was a technical genius, the other was an angelic master. Now you know the difference.”

Destino shepherded them all back into the Botticelli room and now took them around the perimeter, indicating a series of different Madonnas, all of which had the similar tilting of the head, porcelain skin, and light hazel eyes. A glass case in the center of the room contained two small paintings of the life of the Old Testament heroine Judith, after she had slain and decapitated the giant called Holofernes who terrorized her people. The same beautiful girl had clearly modeled for the fierce Judith in this work.