Snapshot Fiction: The Night Before

“Papá, please! Please just look at it and tell me if it is bad.” She felt like a child begging for a pat on the head but more than any other time in her life she needed his reassurance now.

“Vinca, my child, whether I look at it now or tomorrow with everyone else, it is too late to change it. If you do not have faith in your work, nobody else ever will. You must believe in its worth. Only you.” He cupped his hands on either side of her face and looked her in the eyes. She drew comfort from his, a mix of green and brown so much like her own. “Tomorrow they will come to see your first portrait. You will hold your head high when you remove the cloth and you will display it proudly. Your heart and your soul are in that paint and spread across the canvas for all to see. This is why you are scared. But give them the chance and they will see what I see; the beauty you have created with those two greatest of tools. Do not question. Do not doubt. Know your work is great and others will know it too.”

“But Papá, what if he hates it? It will cost you three paintings.”

“Pah! If he hates it, then he is a fool with no eye for beauty and for his three paintings cost I will throw dung at a canvas and have them framed! He will know not the difference!” He kissed her forehead as he had done all her life when she needed his comfort and she found that simple gesture more comforting than any of his words.

“Tomorrow you will present Signorina Luca’s portrait and it will be the greatest day of your life. Trust your Papá.”

“I trust you, Papá.” He smiled and patted her cheek before stepping away. “Now, you have spent too much time in this room. Off to sleep with you.” He waved his hand at her ushering her out of the studio. She glanced one last time to the painting carefully covered with cloth waiting its unveiling in the morning.

Her steps echoed in the sala as she crossed it, the light from oil lanterns casting living shadows across the terracotta floor. Rather than go up to her chamber, however, she found her way to the garden. Silver light gilded the trees and bushes and glowed on the water flowing in the fountain. She sat on the stone bench next to the fountain and trailed her fingers in the cool water.

Whenever her chaotic thoughts would not let her rest, she found herself in the garden. Often she found comfort and peace there when it would be found nowhere else. She realized that of all the things different between their home in Piombino and Siena it was the greenery she missed the most. Houses of stone and stucco crowded along narrow streets and flowed over the hills in Siena. Within the city walls there were few trees. Many of the palazzos, even the small ones like theirs, had walled in gardens. Islands of life and greenery where one could find peace away from the crowds and bustle of city life. In Piombino trees still lined the streets and flower boxes bursting with color hung from every window. Wherever one walked in Piombino the sounds and sights of the sea were to be found as well. In Siena, even if one were up high in the hill city, all that could be seen were roofs and streets.

She missed the ability to leave the city as well. Now one could walk all day and never pass out of the city wall, or so it seemed. And even after passing through the wall, there was more city beyond! She wanted to be able to walk in a field or to go riding again with the wind pulling at her braid. Surely there was grandeur to be found in the city, but she did miss the simplicity of the small seaside town.

She sat there in the garden for some time enjoying the scents of the lilacs drifting around her and the song of the water in the fountain. Much as she tried to find solace, her thoughts kept returning to the next day when her painting would be revealed. No others had seen it yet except her. When she had laid down the last brush stroke and stood staring at it for nearly an hour she felt confident she had created a painting worthy of presenting to the Vettori family. As the days passed and the unveiling drew near, however, doubts crept in and clawed at her confidence, wearing it to nothing until she could hardly sleep at night.

Her imagination conjured any number of humiliations for her when her inadequate painting was presented to Domenico. Part of her wanted the treacherous sun to remain hidden so she would not have to reveal her painting while another part of her wanted it to be over with at last. Her stomach felt so knotted and her throat so dry from nerves she felt sure she would never feel well again.

She closed her eyes forcing her thoughts away from the following day and letting it drift, carried by the sounds of the city outside the wall. So late there was little to be heard; the occasional cart as it rattled along with a late night burden, laughter from a home nearby echoing loudly as it escaped a suddenly opened door and muffled once more when the door closed. Strains of music drifted to her and she focused on that.

She smiled when she recognized the words sung so gently with the music. Some clever musician had set one of the poems of Il Canzoniere to music. She adored the poetry of Petrarch and Il Canzoniere was one of the few books she owned. A gift from her father long ago that was special beyond words. She found herself mouthing the words as they echoed in the street beyond the walled garden.

She opened her eyes again and stared at the wall, puzzled, when she realized the voice singing seemed familiar, and oddly close. She rose from her seat and crept out of the garden to the servant entrance just inside the palazzo. The door opened quietly letting her out to the servant gate in the back wall. She pushed it open as easily, grateful there were no creaks or squeals that might alert someone in the palazzo. When she peered around the corner she spied a familiar body standing in the street below her window, lute in hand.

She smiled and waited patiently for him to finish his song. He stared at the window a moment more then turned away, his every movement showing his disappointment and rejection.

“A lovely tune. How sad that no response came from the window,” she said just loud enough for Marin to hear.

He looked up and she saw him smile in the dim light. He hurried over to her, swinging his lute over his back. “Vinca! You did hear.”

“Shhh!” She hushed him and looked nervously over her shoulder. “You will wake someone. Please.”

He took her hands in his and kissed each of them causing her to blush. “I would wake the world for a moment with you.” Despite his vow, however, she noticed he kept his voice low.

“I see your words are as sweetened as the last time we met.”

“They speak true, though. Your beauty would capture even the stony heart of Atlas and cause him to drop the heavens from his shoulders.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I think the sweetening has been poured too thick.”

He smiled and pulled her hand to his chest and held it there. “Perhaps but since I so seldom get to speak them to you I must provide you only my best.”

“Marin, you must not be here. If Agneta were to find you there would be trouble.”

“Where else would I see you?” He caressed her cheek and she felt the rough calluses of his fingers. She knew she should send him away. Agneta would never approve of a shameful musician showing up under the windows of the palazzo. Why the woman was convinced that any music that was not singing the praises of God would poison the mind of the listener with sin.

She jumped and peered into the darkness beyond the servant’s gate when a door within the palazzo closed heavily.

“Marin-“

“Shh.” He laid a finger over her mouth and smiled. “If stolen moments are all I shall have then I will take them and keep them locked up tight. I will bring you another song tomorrow night. Meet me here. You must promise me.”

“Marin, no, I cannot.”

He smiled wider and leaned in close. She turned away and he kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Here,” he whispered. “Tomorrow night. Let me gift you with a song.” With that he let her go and hurried down the street, his steps echoing into the darkness.

She rested her hand on her cheek where he had kissed her and tried to puzzle out the myriad confusion of emotions. She found his attention flattering, there was no mistaking that. Surely someone as handsome as he with such a golden voice could charm many a woman. She found it surprising he had turned his attention to her.

She glanced down the street one last time then hurried back into the palazzo. She wanted to meet him tomorrow night. If she were caught surely Agneta would punish her. The thought of defying her even so small an amount was a thrill. Almost as exciting as the thought of seeing Marin again.

She laid her hand on her cheek once more still feeling the brush of his lips against her skin and smiled as she made her way silently to her room.