Read Online The Miracles of Prato by Laurie Albanese - Free Book Online Page B

said softly as he pushed open the door. “I pray I’m not disturbing you.”
    Mother Bartolommea took in the artist at a glance. His jaw had a trace of graying stubble, his corded belt sat crooked above his waist. Although it was midmorning, he looked as if he’d just dressed, and in haste.
    â€œNo, Brother Filippo, of course you may enter.”
    Unlike the novitiates, the prioress made it a point to meet the gaze of the men who stepped onto the grounds of Santa Margherita.
    â€œ Per piacere, do begin,” she said with a hint of impatience.
    â€œThank you, Madre.” Fra Filippo lowered himself slowly onto a narrow chair, his large frame overflowing the seat. “I’ve come to ask your concordance in a rather unusual request.”
    Prioress Bartolommea’s dark eyebrows lifted, her wimple moving slightly with the motion.
    â€œOf course I don’t ask this on my own behalf, but in the name of His Excellency, Cosimo de’ Medici, may the good Lord Jesus Christ bless and honor him.”
    The prioress nodded.
    â€œAs you are aware, the Medici have entrusted me with the commission for an altarpiece that is intended for King Alfonso of Naples.” Fra Filippo paused so that the significance of these names might be impressed upon the prioress. “The fashion of the day is to work directly from life. It’s said that soon all the best painters will require a model to sit for them. Only with the beauty of God’s children right before our eyes, can one truly capture life.”
    Guardedly, Fra Filippo watched the expression on the prioress’s features turn to surprise. He continued.
    â€œIn his own painting of the Blessed Virgin, Saint Luke shows her as a young woman with a sweet countenance. So I would have it be for my painting, Prioress. Clearly, if one is already fair of face, the task is that much easier, for the painter need not deviate much from the work of God.”
    Anticipating rejection, the painter quickened his speech.
    â€œI humbly ask your permission, therefore, to copy the face of the novitiate Sister Lucrezia. She is young and fair and would be a fitting model for the Madonna. You are aware, of course, that my work mustbe done in my bottega, where I have my paints and tools at my disposal. It’s the same for all the great masters who’ve paved the way before me. I believe it would please Cosimo—”
    â€œWhat?” The prioress’s eyes widened.
    â€œI beg your indulgence, Mother. I wish only to create the most powerful work for the glory of Florence. With a model before me, my work would surely go quickly. My workshop—”
    â€œPer l’amore di Dio!” Prioress Bartolomeo sputtered. “Would you have me violate the sacred rules of the claustrum, the very rules of modesty and sanctity laid down by Saint Augustine himself?”
    The prioress’s voice grew louder. “Fra Filippo, here at Santa Margherita we do not answer to Cosimo de’ Medici, or to the King of Naples. We have only one master, Jesus Christ, Lord and King. I’ll not have love of earthly riches destroy the good name of this convent!”
    Fra Filippo pressed on. He’d seen her ire many times before, and the stout woman didn’t intimidate him.
    â€œI’ve clearly upset you, but in God’s name, please believe I hope only to bring a greater glory upon Prato and upon this convent, of which I am a humble servant,” he said. “I may be able to offer you a substantial repayment, and as with the prayers and words I recite here, my aim is to glorify God through my painting. Perhaps I have been misunderstood.”
    â€œIt seems you are often misunderstood, Fra Filippo.” The prioress spoke so quickly, she barely registered the monk’s mention of substantial payment. “As in the courts of Bishop Antonino.”
    At her stinging remark, Fra Filippo rose from the chair. Immediately, the prioress became