Fear. That was the emotion Lorena felt when she heard Savonarola preach from the pulpit. The brilliant past in which she had been so happy seemed to vanish into the haze, as if it had never existed. No more music or masked balls, celebrations or exchange of opinions, not the slightest concession to joyfulness. Any one of those manifestations was considered to be inspired by Satan.
She had even surprised herself sometimes by experiencing forgotten emotions she had felt as a child, when she listened now to the thundering voice of Savonarola. Feelings of not being good enough, that at any moment someone might discover her virtue was a sham and that she would receive some humiliating punishment for it. Where did such dark thoughts come from? Lorena had no idea, but a day like this was not meant for flagellating herself but to be enjoyed and for her that meant walking in the opposite direction of the Duomo.
The narrow street they were wandering down, normally so full of people, was deserted. No shops were open. Artisans, tanners, furriers, metalworkers, and tradesmen had all shut up shop to head for the cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore. There, the prophet of the Apocalypse would foretell the misfortune that awaited them while at the same time consoling them with the vision of a Florence called upon to become the new Jerusalem.
Coming around a street corner, Lorena saw ahead a gang of youths all dressed in white. They were the advance guard of heaven. Drilled by Savonarola, groups of boys between nine and sixteen years old roamed the streets, keeping an eye on dress decorum, closing down taverns, reporting the places where prostitutes gathered, stoning possible homosexuals, and demanding alms as a gift for the Virgin. Seen at close range, they hardly seemed angelic. Most of them wore stained tunics and none of them had the rosy-cheeked faces displayed by cherubs in the paintings that could be admired in the chapels of Florence.
“What do you think you are doing going in the opposite direction of the Duomo when Friar Girolamo Savonarola is about to start preaching?” asked the eldest in a reproving voice. There was no doubt he was the leader. He was hardly more than sixteen, if that, but his body was already that of a man. Looking at his uncouth face, Lorena noticed his front tooth was missing, probably lost in the heat of some fight.
“We know,” answered Lorena smoothly. “We do not wish to arrive late for the midday mass, as we are heading for the church of Santa Croce.”
A look of disgust crossed the boy’s face. Coming forward and before she could even react, he snatched the silver diadem she wore in her hair.
“How dare you?” cried Lorena indignantly.
For an answer, the ringleader of the group handed the diadem to a boy in the gang. Lorena was stunned when she realized that the lad who was now holding it was none other than Giovanni, her sister’s eldest son.
“Give me back my hair clasp,” demanded Lorena stretching out her hand.
The leader swaggered between her and Giovanni, arms akimbo.
“That ornament with which you so shamelessly keep your hair up is fit for harlots. We shall give it in today as alms during mass so that you sin no more.”
Lorena felt not only humiliated but defenseless. This ruffian was robbing and insulting her in front of her two daughters, who were watching the scene wide-eyed and without daring to move. Unfortunately, not a soul was around in the little street who could have helped her. Cateruccia seemed just as angry as Lorena, but there was very little she could do. That angelic little gang did inspire a certain amount of respect. Their white clothes were stained and their faces showed that mindless cruelty so characteristic in children. She would not have been in the least surprised were the discussion to turn more violent, if they would throw her to the ground. In fact, she could read in their smiling yet threatening faces that it was what they really wanted to do. However, she tried to impose her authority.
“Giovanni, give me back my diadem or I shall tell your mother. I do not think she will be very pleased to find out that her son is a thief.”
Giovanni looked at her defiantly and paused as he weighed up his answer.
“My mother says that only whores walk around the streets with their foreheads uncovered.”
Lorena was struck dumb. She was so shocked by the events that were taking place: this twelve-year-old whippersnapper was insulting her in public in front of her own daughters. She could also see that he was enjoying himself. The ringleader of the group slapped him on the back to congratulate him for coming up with such a rude remark, while the rest of the little ruffians cheered and clapped in approval. For a brief moment, Lorena thought she could see Luca in his son’s eyes. It was quite obvious that whatever she did would only make the situation worse, as those youths would use any excuse to humiliate her even more. The sound of footsteps accompanied by laughter indicated to Lorena that a group of men was coming toward them from the end of the street. She was saved! Things had changed a lot in Florence, but robbery was still forbidden.
Realizing what was happening, the eldest of the group reacted quickly.
“Run, or we shall be late for Savonarola’s sermon.”
Even before Lorena had time to react, the boys had disappeared from sight, taking away with them not only her diadem but some of her dignity.
98
Mauricio instantly forgot his stomach pains as soon as he heard who was staying at Elias Levi’s house. Overcome with emotion, Mauricio lost no time in leaving his mansion and running to meet Jaume Coloma, his father’s younger brother, however not before entrusting little Roberto to the care of his brother Agostino.
As they made their way to his house, Elias explained how purely by chance and during his usual work helping Jewish refugees who were escaping from Spain, he had made the acquaintance of Mauricio’s uncle, Jaume Coloma, who had arrived in Florence with his family. He hardly had any money but was hoping to find some kind of work that would enable him to pay for a passage to Constantinople, the capital of the Turkish Empire and now renamed Istanbul by the Ottomans.
When Mauricio caught sight of his uncle, he nearly started crying. Although very different from his father, they nevertheless shared certain unmistakable features. The most distinctive were the transparent blue eyes, broad forehead, and receding hairline, which Mauricio was also starting to develop. However, Jaume’s lips were thinner and finer than his father’s, his chin was weaker, and his nose smaller. In any case, even without looking at the threadbare and dirty clothes he was wearing, his uncle’s appearance was much worse than he remembered. His body seemed to have shrunk, the wrinkled skin on his face showed abnormal red patches, and he seemed to have aged far more than twenty years. By contrast, Mauricio, clothed in a silk shirt, velvet breeches and cape, and cordovan leather shoes with silver decoration, was in the very prime of life.
All these differences seemed very unimportant the moment they fell into an emotional embrace. There were no reasons left to dissimulate or hide old family secrets. The masks had been removed and they could look into each other’s eyes without pretence. Both were in Florence due to a common past: Jaume Coloma for fear of being discovered as Spain was tightening its grip on the false converts and Mauricio thanks to an emerald that had belonged to his Jewish family for generations. Conversation was not easy for either of them. Communication with Jaume and the rest of his paternal uncles had always been characterized by a frostiness as cold as the winter wind. However, a hidden fire was burning under the snow, for the ice of the past seemed to have melted into the warm water that was streaming down their cheeks.
And so, with their paths crossing here, as unlikely as it was real, both bared their souls, asking destiny why it had inflicted so much suffering. Jaume explained that his paternal grandparents were still only children when an attack on the Call, the Jewish district of Barcelona, took the lives of the greater part of their families. The survivors pretended to convert to Catholicism following the advice of Rabbi Ishmael, who was of the opinion that, confronted by the dilemma of death or the idolatry of worship, the choice should fall on the latter, for the law is g
iven “to live within it, not to die for it.” His father had been brought up in the Jewish faith ever since he was a child, but because of his love for his mother, who was a Christian, he abandoned his original faith and converted to Catholicism. The remainder of his brothers and sisters, who continued to practice the Hebrew religion in the privacy of their homes, never accepted this decision. Social convention stopped them from not talking to him, as to all intents and purposes, they pretended to be devout Christians, but for them his father, Pedro Coloma, was spiritually dead.
Now, the eagerness of his maternal grandparents to instill Christian values in him suddenly made sense, as did the deep mistrust that had always characterized the relationship between Pedro and his brothers, who had always feared he might denounce them to the inquisition. As for his father, whether he had stayed loyal to his Jewish faith in his heart of hearts was something that not even his brother could elucidate with any certainty. What was completely unquestionable, in Jaume’s opinion, was that the motivation for having converted to Christianity was exclusively due to his blind passion for Marina, his first and only wife, to whom he promised to educate their children in the strict observance of the Catholic faith. Jaume was certain of this as well, as before getting married his father had communicated to his Hebrew family the conditions according to which his beautiful wife had agreed to marry him.
All the brothers coincided in interpreting Marina’s premature death as a divine punishment for having betrayed his true faith, swept away as he was by his lustfulness. However, they were quick to judge, because Pedro Coloma demonstrated with his life that the love he felt for his wife transcended all known boundaries: he had never wanted to marry again and stayed faithful to his word, despite this causing a rift from his own family.
His uncle Jaume concluded his reflections affirming that they had hardened their hearts toward his father and that Yahweh was punishing them for this. At least, Jaume consoled himself, the rest of his brothers and sisters must have safely arrived in Turkey by now. In his case, he had doubted until the last moment whether to emigrate or to continue practicing Judaism in secret. In the end, he had embarked on the wrong ship, for the captain had robbed him of all he carried of value.
Mauricio abstained from making any mention whatsoever of the emerald. Apparently his uncle knew nothing, as he never even mentioned it. Perhaps, Mauricio conjectured, the emerald was such an extraordinary gem that it was only passed on secretly hand to hand and given to one descendant, so as to avoid family disputes. This supposition made sense if one considered that his father had received far more of his share of inheritance than the rest of his brothers, being the eldest, and this had already caused quarrels even before his conversion to Christianity. Mauricio felt that helping his uncle was not only an opportunity offered to him by destiny, but also an act of justice.
He therefore offered to pay for his uncle and his family’s journey to Istanbul and opened his house to them until they were able to embark on the first available ship, not to mention providing them with a sum of money with which to survive their first months on Turkish territory. Lorena would probably have something to say about this, but it was an unavoidable family obligation.
99
It was only a short walk to her sister’s mansion but she might as well have saved herself the journey. Maria never openly defended her son Giovanni’s robbery, but argued that Lorena had acted immodestly by walking around the city with her head uncovered and her hair tied back. Furthermore, she actually went as far as giving her a sermon about the desirability of giving alms to the poor, so what better offering than that evil silver diadem that her son was going to give to those good priests of San Marcos? She should therefore gladden her heart, for although the way in which things had happened was not recommendable, the end justified the means in the eyes of God. Lorena was enraged by such a weak explanation, but the discussion quickly came to an end when Luca came into the room. Maria’s husband had the effrontery to say he had every intention of congratulating his son for his good deed. It was at that point that Lorena decided to emulate the words of Jesus Christ and leave the house without saying a word, after shaking the dust off her feet.
In the afternoon, clouds covered Florence, the atmosphere became leaden, and a gigantic thunderstorm unleashed its fury over the city. The rain reminded Lorena of the story of Noah’s Ark. Thunder resounded in her ears like the bells of Judgment Day and the lightning flashes were the only source of light during those dark hours in which the downpour was so dense that it was impenetrable to the human eye.
How could events change so fast? Lorena asked herself, aware that communication with her sister had broken down, possibly forever. She took her husband’s hand as she watched the crackling logs in the fireplace. Timber, just like feelings, is consumed by the heat of the fire, she thought. The glowing cinders that are left are also eventually extinguished. But the ashes? What happens to the ashes?
100
Mauricio gathered his thoughts together, remembering recent events as he held his wife’s hand and gazed into the fire. A woman called Sara had come into Elias Levi’s house that morning and reminded the rabbi that a rather unusual ceremony was about to take place. She had conceived twins, but one of them had died during the pregnancy. The birth had been extremely complicated and full of risk, both for the mother and for the child who was still alive. Fortunately, everything had turned out well, and in order to show gratitude a moving religious ceremony was going to take place in the synagogue.
Mauricio and his uncle Jaume followed this story with passionate interest. Little Roberto had been born on the same day as Sara’s son, so for Mauricio the story of the twins constituted a perfect example of the proximity between life and death. Touched, he congratulated her and recounted how his own mother had died in childbirth. Both conjectured that in cases like those, when it was God’s will that one should die and the other continue life on Earth, the chosen one had the responsibility of living for both.
Mauricio felt that this interpretation had filled him with strength. His mother had died to give him life. His father had confessed to a crime he had not committed in order to reveal the hiding place of the ring and to advise him with singular foresight of what he should do afterward. Mauricio made a promise to himself that both would feel proud of the opportunity that their sacrifice had given him.
The conversation had continued and the warmth of feeling it had generated prompted Sara to ask them to come to the synagogue with her in celebration of life. That was a privilege indeed, rarely offered to non-Jews. Mauricio hesitated; with Savonarola being at the very height of his power, it could be risky being seen entering a synagogue, especially if word got around that he had gone with an uncle of his who professed the same faith as Moses. Nevertheless, he ended up surrendering to the magic of the moment and accepted the invitation.
When the rabbi opened the two panels of a cabinet in which the scrolls of the Talmud were hidden, Mauricio observed the glow of the Hebrew characters picked out in gold shining on a dark background. Contemplating these letters led him to reflect on the religion of Moses.
Moses, the liberator of the Jews, was an Egyptian prince whose magic prevailed over the priests who were teaching him. Brought up as one of the Pharaoh’s sons, when he crossed the Red Sea he took with him thousand-year-old secrets from a country whose wisdom was starting to wane. According to Marsilio Ficino, the underlying principles of Egyptian religion were neither a fraud nor an abomination in the eyes of God, but rather the custodians of the most ancient mysteries of humanity.
Why then had the Jews recanted their faith time after time since the moment they rebelled against Moses in the desert? The destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, the captivity in Babylon, the diaspora over all four corners of the earth, the endless persecutions …? Had Yahweh punished them for not fulfilling the mission he had entrusted them?
Mauricio utterly identified with the thousands of deaths that men and women, young and old, had all suf
fered during the massacres perpetrated against the Jews in all the nations of the world. The previous century’s pogrom in the Jewish quarter of Barcelona was yet another tragic example of the curse that endlessly seemed to follow them. His grandparents were among the few who had survived. Mauricio felt ashamed to be alive. Why him and not the thousands of others? No sooner had he asked himself such a question, he realized that this urge toward death was the same he had felt when he dreamed about his mother dying in childbirth.
Mauricio surmised that it was perhaps his own love toward his family ancestors that was impelling his soul to sacrifice himself for them with a suicidal instinct. If that were the case, he needed sufficient mental clarity to focus that love for his ancestors toward another objective: living faultlessly until God decided that his hour had come.
101
In the days of Il Magnifico, the February carnival had been a celebration of life, an occasion for joyfulness and endless feasts that lasted until the arrival of Lent, by which time the exhausted bodies of the Florentines were ready to submit to the rigors of fasting and abstinence. But now, under the iron fist of Savonarola, Carnival was in itself penitence, Mauricio thought as he returned home. The friar had brought his troops out into the streets and the whole city found itself invaded by an army of children and adolescents whose ages ranged from five to sixteen. Thousands of them roamed the streets with olive branches, accompanied by drummers, bagpipe players, and servants of the Signoria, all shouting, “Viva Cristo e la Vergine Maria, nostra regina.” On every street corner, God’s Army demanded alms to contribute to their cause while attempting to ferret out gamblers, drinkers, fornicators, frivolously dressed women, or any other subversive element. At least Savonarola had managed to put an end to the custom of young people building barricades in the streets and had stopped their favorite sport at carnival time of throwing stones. Sadly, however, other less barbaric customs had also been lost: Savonarola had forbidden anyone to talk about the government, priests, or the king of France, and even the wearing of masks had been banned. It was certainly not easy to criticize if you were not allowed to talk and impossible to hide without wearing a mask. Anyway, neither the lack of criticism nor the militia of rosy-cheeked cherubs was going to give Florence back the cities of Pisa, Sarzana, or Pietrasanta.
The Florentine Emerald: The Secret of the Convert's Ring Page 34
