The Passion of Artemisia by Susan Vreeland Read Free Book Online

Santa Trinità,” I told the driver.
    Under the cold wet breath of gray clouds, I waited at the convent door. A pair of mourning doves cooing softly went about their explorations together on the stairs. It was sweet how they pecked and explored but always stayed close to each other.
    Paola opened the door.
    â€œMay I see Sister Graziela?” I asked with some urgency.
    â€œShe’s in the church.”
    â€œPraying?”
    â€œNo. Cleaning. Come through here.”
    I entered the church through a side door near the altar. The air was cool, still, and waiting. I found Graziela scrubbing the stone floor behind the altar. “Your way of life certainly keeps you on your knees,” I said.
    â€œOh, Artemisia, you scared me. I thought I was alone.”
    â€œDo you have to do the whole church?”
    â€œOnly behind the balustrade. Agility and humility go hand in hand, you know.” She moved the bucket away from where she was working.
    â€œI came to tell you—my father has arranged a marriage for me.”
    â€œAs well he should. What do you know of the man?”
    â€œOnly that he’s a painter. From Florence.”
    â€œAnd you will go there?”
    â€œYes, today. They’re waiting at Santo Spirito right now.”
    â€œBetter soon than later.”
    â€œI thought I wanted this, but now I’m afraid. All desire I’d ever imagined has been sucked out of me.”
    â€œNot forever. It doesn’t go away forever.”
    â€œHow can I . . . I don’t even want to be touched.”
    â€œAs long as you hold on to your pain, you’ll live a mean, bitter life. Leave it in Rome.”
    I felt uncomfortable standing while she was kneeling so I crouched before the sacristy steps. “Can I ask you a question?”
    â€œYou know you can ask anything. Softly. Someone may come in.”
    â€œWhat did you mean, abandoned by God and man?”
    She dried the area with a rag and moved back to do more. “I was married once, but my husband died.”
    â€œI didn’t know. I’m sorry.”
    â€œAccording to the law of forty days, the house we lived in was seized by my husband’s brother forty days after my husband died, so I had to leave. When I went back to live at home, my father said he had no money to keep me.” She scrubbed more vigorously. “He tried to find an old widower for me, but couldn’t.” Her voice dropped. “Because I wasn’t a virgin.”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    â€œYou can guess, can’t you? I wasn’t good enough for any man, so I was given to God.”
    Still on her knees, she scrubbed some more, talking to the floor and her scrub brush. “Piece by piece, I sold all I had for my dowry which I gave to the convent. All my clothes, some fine dishes and glassware, silver spoons and knives, pots, bed linens, pewter goblets, jewelry, a painting I loved.” She stopped and leaned back on her heels. “It was of Venus andAdonis in a garden. Not by anyone important, but I miss it. I pleaded with my father to use the money for my keep. He protested that it wouldn’t last my lifetime. So, when there were no more things to sell, I entered the convent as a postulant.”
    â€œYou said once that you shouldn’t enter a convent unless you felt some calling.”
    â€œYes. True. But I didn’t say when I learned that.”
    â€œOh.” That changed everything I knew about her. “Did you have any children?”
    â€œNo. We were married only five hundred and twenty-six days.”
    â€œHow did he die so young?”
    â€œYou will have me tell all, won’t you? Let it be a lesson, then.”
    She carried her bucket and scrub brush and rags to the sacristy step and sat down. She motioned for me to do the same. I was surprised because it was a disrespectful thing to do. The coldness of the stone seeped through my skirt.
    Her eyes, every shade of