The Poet Prince

by Kathleen McGowan

  Lorenzo, Sandro, and Colombina had, in fact, become quite the trinity, and they often spent time together before and after lessons. Sandro adored Colombina—everybody did, it seemed—and he sketched her often as inspiration for the various madonnas he was working on in the studio. Ficino’s own earlier resistance to Colombina had long since melted in the warmth of her brilliance and interest in the classics. Most of all, she was a natural at language. And Colombina brought out the best in Lorenzo, who worked even harder at his studies to impress her. To his credit, Lorenzo never ceased to encourage the girl and show his pride in her achievements, which were many and growing more frequent.

  Ficino was fond of telling Colombina that if she had been born a man with such a quick mind and bold spirit, she would have ruled the world. Still, as one of Lorenzo’s unofficial guardians, he was careful not to encourage their commitment to each other beyond what was literally platonic. He referred to them as Apollo and Artemis, emphasizing their connection as brother and sister, as a duo who could bring light to Florence through the masculine sun and the feminine moon. He hoped that this continued emphasis would aid them in the future, when they would ultimately face the harsh realities of arranged marriages and political alliances that awaited wealthy Florentines. If they could find joy in their role as spiritual brother and sister, perhaps that energy could be channeled into their continued work together for their common cause in the Order, which he had no doubt that Colombina would embrace with extraordinary zeal once she was introduced

  to it.

  Sometimes Jacopo Bracciolini joined in the lessons. Lorenzo had known Jacopo since they were little boys, had jousted with him on ponies, wrestled in the mud while playing knights of the Crusades using broom handles as lances, and marched with him in parades. Jacopo had been the Master of the Cats in the Magi procession when the boys were both ten years of age; he had continued to develop his wicked sense of humor and insatiable need for attention through his teen years.

  Sometimes he was truly funny, and at other times he was simply annoying. Sandro barely tolerated Jacopo, but Lorenzo valued him as a brother in spirit and defended him against Sandro’s barbs. Not only was Jacopo one of his oldest friends, but the boy’s father, Poggio, was a high-ranking member of the Order, after Cosimo. This fact alone made him family, and Lorenzo was highly protective of all aspects of family.

  Colombina was kind to everyone, and despite the fact that Jacopo was forever the prankster and always up to some trick or joke at another’s expense, she had a soft spot for him. He craved attention, but he was also possessed of a brilliant mind and was capable of deep and insightful conversation. Jacopo once stuffed a tiny frog into the inkpot and exploded in laughter when the poor creature finally broke free, trailing little frog-shaped inkblots across Master Ficino’s important translations. But Jacopo could be entirely serious when discussing the glory of Florence and its importance in European history. The Bracciolinis were a storied and noble Florentine family, and Jacopo was proud of his heritage.

  His presence, however, changed the chemistry of their little trinity, which was one of the reasons Sandro was annoyed by it. It was particularly noticeable today during Ficino’s lesson on Virgil’s Eclogues.

  “Love conquers all things; let us too surrender to love.” Ficino quoted the most famous of Virgil’s lines and asked each student to provide an interpretation of the idea behind it. Colombina explained that love was the greatest source of power in the universe. Lorenzo, not surprisingly, agreed with her and further discussed the contrast between conquest and surrender. Jacopo, however, was having none of it and began twisting the words.

  “Love conquers all fools; let us too surrender to nothing,” Jacopo quipped.

  Young Bracciolini seemed particularly disruptive today, as if the lesson on love were a thorn in his side. Ficino grappled with him briefly but decided he was in no mood for the boy’s antics. There were stacks of translations waiting for him from Cosimo. Thus he dismissed his students early and took note as Jacopo dashed out past them all, without even looking back or saying good-bye.

  Lorenzo was not so easily dismissed, however. He had been hounding Ficino to bring Colombina to meet the Master of the Order of the Holy Sepulcher for approval. Ficino knew it was inevitable, but with Cosimo growing weaker by the day, he had little time for anything other than completing the outstanding translations of ancient manuscripts for his patron and teaching Lorenzo. Cosimo had opened the Medici library to the scholars of Florence, the first time any private library had been opened to the public. And he wanted to add more manuscripts, translations of some of the rare Greek documents that had been unearthed on the many Medici missions of discovery through the Near East. Ficino was under pressure to accomplish these translations for Cosimo. The unspoken sentence between them was that Cosimo wanted to see them and read them himself, before he left this life for the

  next.

  Lorenzo had had an astrology lesson before the Virgil debacle, and it led him to ask Ficino to look at the aspects of this birth chart together with Colombina’s. Ficino grumbled about it good-naturedly but retrieved a valuable ephemeris while doing so, a gift from Cosimo. He paged through the enormous book, an encyclopedia that detailed

  the placement of the planets, taking note of where the heavenly bodies were in the sky when both children were born. Scribbling the squiggles and analyzing the numbers for some time, he finally made his pronouncement.

  Ficino cleared his throat and grew very serious. Astrology was his passion, and his natural intensity increased when he discussed it in detail. A man of utter integrity, he also knew he must speak the truth of his findings despite his personal hesitation to do so.

  “I see something here that is . . . unique. Your love for each other will only grow through time and last . . . an eternity. It is divine love. God-given. You were made, one for the other, by God. And no man—or woman—will ever be able to take that from the two of you.”

  Lorenzo grabbed for Colombina’s hand and brought it to his lips, kissing her beautiful, long fingers impulsively. “I could have told you all of that without the aid of the stars.”

  Colombina smiled at him but turned back to Ficino, suddenly serious. “You give us such beautiful news. Words about God, and about divine love that lasts forever. And yet you deliver it with sadness. Why, Maestro?”

  Ficino reached out his hand to place a finger under her chin, tilting her head, like a sculptor preparing to work, before answering in his thoughtful, halting way. “Because, dear child, your love will not be supported by the circumstances you have both been born into. It—and you—will face many challenges in your lives. Lorenzo’s destiny . . .” He stopped as he looked down at one of the squiggles on the paper, then smeared the ink across it with the tip of his finger. “There are others who would make such decisions for you.”

  Lorenzo’s earlier giddiness evaporated as he looked at his love with a new sadness.

  “My father,” Colombina said simply.

  “You are correct. And yet . . . I urge you to remember one thing, my children: what God has put together . . . no man can separate.”

  With a heavy heart, Marsilio Ficino watched his most beloved pupils leave. He knew so much more than what he had imparted to the young lovers. But even in all his wisdom, he understood that there was something happening here that was larger than his education and experience. There was only one man alive who could help them now, the only man who truly deserved to be called the Master.

  Ficino grabbed his lightweight cape and went in search of Fra Francesco.

  Marsilio Ficino did not have to search very far for Fra Francesco, as he was installed in his own little wing in Montevecchio and rarely ventured beyond the gardens, where he had installed an elegant labyrinth made of paving stones. Fra Francesco used the labyrinth as a walking prayer tool and also taught lessons within it. But today he was indoors in his study, as if he had been anticipating Ficino’s arrival.

  “How is it possible
that we did not know of this Donati girl?” Fra Francesco’s question to Ficino was not a reprimand, as that was not in his nature. It was a sincere, curious question.

  Still, it irked Ficino that he hadn’t seen it earlier. Why hadn’t he thought to look at her astrological chart before? The stars were very clear.

  “The Donati are traditionalists,” he replied. “They are not of our beliefs and would not welcome our teachings. They’re solid Catholics and would think that what we do is a serious aberration.”

  “More’s the pity, given that their daughter is likely an Expected One. Are we sure they can’t be swayed?”

  Ficino pulled himself up, surprised that Fra Francesco had made that pronouncement without even meeting the girl. The Master noticed and continued.

  “It stands to reason that she is, given Lorenzo’s obsession with her. She is of a noble Tuscan family, an ancient one, and one that Dante married into. All ancient Tuscan families are bloodline, Marsilio; never forget that. All three of the great holy blood dynasties settled in Tuscany and Umbria, and it is the only place in Europe where that ever occurred. That is why this place is more exalted than any

  other.”

  “It’s also why there are so many blood feuds and family rivalries,” Ficino observed.

  “Yes, yes, that is sadly true. But it is also what we are working to repair with all the intermarrying that we have sponsored. Whoever would have thought that the Albizzi and the Medici would ever unite into one family through marriage? And the Pazzi? But it is happening. Perhaps we can convince the Donati to give their daughter in marriage to Lorenzo.”

  Ficino shook his head sadly. “We can try, but I do not have much optimism for success. Not because it is a blood feud. The Donati and the Medici are peaceful enough as neighbors, though the Donati are untrustworthy, I think. But it is their status that is the problem. They are elitists as well as Catholics. That is a difficult combination. For all that the Medici are one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Europe—”

  “And the true royalty of this land,” Fra Francesco reminded him, making reference to the ancient and storied lineage of the family, as well as Lorenzo’s exalted birth.

  “Yes, but you would not get the aristocratic Donati to agree with you. From their perspective, the Medici are merchants and many layers beneath them on the hierarchy of mankind.”

  “This girl. You say she is intelligent as well?”

  Ficino nodded. “She is Lorenzo’s equal, Master. I would say that to no one but you, but she is. Aside from her horoscope, I can see that she is his own soul’s twin through the way that she learns and the subjects in which she excels. They are so similar sometimes that I find it disturbing. There is a symmetry there, a perfection in their togetherness. And yet . . . I can also see that it is not their destiny to be together. Such things make me ask questions of God and of faith.”

  Fra Francesco nodded. “Fair enough, my boy, fair enough. I have seen many things in my long life that would make me question the will of God, and most of them pertain to the course of love. Why are two souls made for each other but then kept apart? It is the strife of love, Marsilio. The strife of love in the dream we call life. But it all has purpose, and that purpose is to seek union. We are tested to see if we have the mettle to battle the illusion and find the love at the end of the dream. And when we do, the dream becomes a reality. Then nothing is more beautiful.”

  Ficino, who had never been in love in all his years, merely nodded, as he had nothing to add. He was a singular soul, happiest when immersed in his studies and his books, and not one to be distracted by longings of love. It was simply something he did not crave.

  “Earthly love is not the mission for everyone, of course,” Fra Francesco continued. “There are a number of angels, like yourself, who have come here to work in singular purpose. You do not crave love because you were not incarnated with a mate. You do not search for anyone, because there is no one here for you.”

  “I am happy as I am, Master.”

  “Of course you are! Our mother and father in heaven do not make mistakes, and they are never cruel. They would not send you here without a mate and then give you the terrible longing to find one. Instead, they send you here alone so you can focus on your work, which is your one true love. And it makes you completely happy, as it was meant to.”

  The Master laughed now, the jagged scar beneath his beard bobbing up and down. “And this is why it is your mission to teach the classics and linguistics, while it is my job to teach about love. Which brings us back to the subject at hand. What shall we do about this delightful new Expected One who is Lorenzo’s one true love? Have you discussed her with Cosimo?”

  Ficino shook his head. “Cosimo’s health is a concern and I do not wish to burden him with this yet until you are certain that she is what we think she is.”

  “Well then, there is only one thing left to do. Bring her to me as soon as you can so that we may decide this, once and for all.”

  Colombina joined Lorenzo in Montevecchio the next day, where she was brought into the presence of the Master for the first time. She had heard many stories of him, of course, and Lorenzo worshipped him absolutely as the wisest and kindest man who ever lived. He had warned her of his ancient and rugged appearance, but such things did not affect her at all. Colombina was a pure spirit, and she saw others for what they were in their truest selves and not what they were on the surface.

  They spent the first hour together in the drawing room of Ficino’s house, the four of them. The Master watched Colombina interact with Lorenzo and Ficino, interested in observing her in her most natural way. He realized as he watched her that there was no other way to view her: she was entirely without artifice.

  The Master smiled at the little gathering but then announced that it was time for him to speak to Colombina on her own. Ficino excused himself and dragged Lorenzo with him. They had plenty of preparation to do for the Platonic Academy meeting later in the week.

  When Ficino and Lorenzo had gone, Fra Francesco asked, “Now, my dear. Lorenzo tells me that you have had dreams of the crucifixion and of Our Lady Magdalena. When did these begin?”

  Colombina nodded obediently and told him. “The first time was last year, the night before I met Lorenzo. And I remember because it was the eve of my birthday and I woke up crying. My mother was most vexed. ‘Why are you crying when it is your birthday and the beginning of spring?’ she asked me. I told her that I had a nightmare, but I did not tell her what it was. My mother is very religious, and I have no doubt that if I told her about the dream I had, she would send me off to a convent!”

  “Will you tell me of the dream?”

  “Oh yes. I do not think that you will send me to a convent!” She laughed.

  Fra Francesco laughed with her. “I can assure you that will never happen.”

  “Well, I see Our Lord upon the cross, and it is raining very hard. And I see Maria Magdalena at the foot of the cross, and she is weeping terribly, and I begin to cry with her. I see other women there as well: the Holy Mother and the other Marys. All of them are weeping, but none of them can I feel so much as Magdalena. I . . .” She paused for a moment, looking down at her hands in her lap, hesitating to discuss the part of the dream that could land her in a convent with no means of escape.

  “Go on, my dear. You have nothing to fear from me.”

  She smiled at him then, the dazzling dimpled smile that enchanted everyone who came in contact with her. “I know that, Master. I have known that since the moment I walked in the door. It is just that the next part of the dream is not so easy to explain. But . . . I feel what Magdalena is feeling in the dream, as if I am her, and yet I know that I am not really her. But it is as if she wants me to know her mind and her heart, and so she somehow shares them with me. It would be strange enough if I had the dream just once, but I have had it three times.”

  Fra Francesco nodded at her. “It is a remarkable dream, little dove. A blessed dream. Do y
ou see any of the Roman soldiers in the dream, by chance? See their faces?”

  She shook her head. “No, not very clearly. I am aware that they are there, but I do not see them. I am mostly aware of Magdalena.”

  The Master nodded, satisfied. Colombina was indeed having

  the identical dream of the crucifixion that all the Expected Ones who came before had experienced. And if she was unable to see the face of the centurions, so much the better: it kept him from having to explain why the face of Longinus Gaius was a younger version of his own face, with its terrible scar across the left cheek.

  There was no doubt that Colombina was authentic, a daughter of the holy prophecy. And like all the bloodline prophetesses, she wasn’t just seeing Magdalena, she was feeling her. But how would they get her away from her parents and into proper Order training? What role could this girl play if she was not able to marry Lorenzo, which was highly unlikely?

  Fra Francesco embraced the girl, then released her to spend the rest of the afternoon with her beloved Lorenzo. He smiled as they wandered off to the garden, hand in hand. To watch the two of them together was a blessed thing. It gave him hope and filled his ancient heart with love, in spite of Marsilio’s dire predictions.

  “Love conquers all, my children,” he whispered after them. “Love conquers all.”

  PART TWO

  The Miracle of the One Thing

  Truly, without Deceit, certainly and absolutely . . .

  That which is below corresponds to that which is above,

  and that which is above corresponds to that which is below,

  in the accomplishment of the Miracle of the One Thing . . .