“You must show my portrait to everyone,” Gabriele said to Willa.
Signora Farnese clasped her hands as if to pray. “We were just having lunch with our guests. Perhaps you could come back at a more convenient time.”
“But I said I would come today and now here I am.”
“I wasn’t aware of it,” said Signora Farnese.
“Now that I am here,” he continued, “with your permission, it would please me to stay.”
“No,” Willa said involuntarily. She wanted Gabriele to leave right away.
“Perhaps another time,” Signora Farnese said. “Today, as you can see, we have guests.”
“Please, I beg you to allow me to stay.”
Signora Farnese threw up her hands. “Let’s not have a scene.” She gestured toward the far end of the table. “Assuntina will set a place for you. Now, perhaps we can continue with our conversation.”
“We were just discussing whether technique promotes or inhibits the artist’s creativity,” Stefano Flavi said to Gabriele. “Perhaps you will tell us your views.” His tone was amiable.
Gabriele gazed at Willa. “Art grows out of the relationship between the artist and the subject,” he said.
“Then you reject the importance of both technique and creativity?” Stefano Flavi said.
“My picture is in her sketchbook unless she’s already had it framed,” Gabriele continued. “My face, my uniform, my broken arm. You can see they’re all there. They come from our relationship.”
“It seems that you have known each other for some time,” Pierluigi Flavi said.
“No,” Willa said. She did not want to give the wrong impression about her relationship with Gabriele. “Our paths crossed on the train, and he asked me to do a sketch of him. That’s all.”
“Yes! That’s where we became acquainted,” Gabriele said. “She comes from Ohio, Erhart, America. Here in Firenze she will study art at L’Accademia d’Arte. She has parents and a brother in America.” He reeled off fact after fact about Willa and her life, and Willa realized that while she had been concentrating on his portrait, she had revealed far more about herself than she had intended.
Stefano Flavi laughed. “Well, I can certainly see what you mean about the importance of the relationship between the artist and the subject.”
“So do I,” Pierluigi Flavi said, looking around the table. “I believe we must see this portrait.” Everyone nodded and turned toward Willa.
“It’s not finished,” she said, blushing. What will Pierluigi Flavi and the others think when they see the drawing? She didn’t want her work to be judged under such compromising circumstances.
“Everyone must see it,” Gabriele said. “I paid two thousand lire for it.” Once more a murmur spread through the group as people repeated the extraordinary sum paid for what the artist herself said was a casual sketch.
“But you gave it to me,” Willa said to Gabriele. Several people laughed. Willa blushed again.
“So that you would remember me,” Gabriele said. He stood up, excited. “Now, you pretend you don’t know me. You let these people think that I’m pazzo?” Embarrassed and feeling foolish herself, Willa decided to do whatever she must to persuade this intruder to leave.
“I threw it away,” she said. Gabriele bounced on his toes like a prize-fighter. Signora Farnese raised her eyes toward the frescoed ceiling.
“What kind of artist throws a commission away?” Gabriele asked. “I want to show my drawing to these people.” Willa got up from the table and went inside. Gabriele followed her.
“If Assuntina hasn’t taken the waste papers, perhaps I can find it,” she told him, “but then you must promise to leave.” Gabriele laughed. “Promise me you’ll go!” He laughed again. Willa went to her room and found the drawing folded in her sketchbook. She wadded it into a ball and returned to the salotto where Gabriele waited. “Here’s your drawing!” she said. “And here is your money and your medal. Now, please go! Assuntina will let you out.” She walked away from him and returned to the dining room. Instead of leaving, however, Gabriele followed her.
“My portrait!” he said to the other guests. He smoothed the ball of paper and pressed it onto the table. “See how talented she is!” The guests gathered around the portrait, comparing the wrinkled drawing to the actual model.
“An excellent likeness,” Bradshaw said.
“It has an unusual animation and a liveliness,” said Pierluigi Flavi. “If that is missing, there is no magic. Nothing.”
Moving around the table, Stefano Flavi examined the drawing from different angles, and, sighting with his table knife, checked its proportions. He smiled pleasantly. “There is much that we can teach you, signorina.”
7
“I’m going to Firenze today,” Willa told Assuntina on the Wednesday morning after Gabriele’s visit. She had decided to go to Pierluigi Flavi’s gallery herself. “Where do I take the bus?”
Assuntina’s eyes widened. Willa noticed that the maid’s hands were trembling. “Someone must go with you, Signorina.”
“I can go myself if you tell me where the bus is.”
“The Signora is just coming in from the garden. She will explain about the bus.”
Willa followed Assuntina into the kitchen. Signora Farnese had just set an immense bouquet of roses in the kitchen sink. A large khaki apron covered her skirt and sweater. “Assuntina, get the vases, please. Oh, there you are,” she said to Willa. “Did you sleep well, cara? I hope our work in the garden didn’t waken you.”
“No, I was ready to get up.” Willa plunged ahead. “I think I’ll go to Firenze today.” Assuntina returned to the kitchen with several vases; Antonio waited with a broom and a dustpan.
“Yes, the two blue ones, Assuntina, please. You can take the rest back.” Signora Farnese began to cut the stems of the flowers. “I won’t have time to go today, Willa. Antonio and I have more work to do outside. Come along with us. The view over Firenze is especially lovely. You can see the dome from here. Have you noticed?”
Willa saw Assuntina listening by the doorway. “I can go by myself.”
“I’m delighted that you want to see Firenze,” Signora Farnese replied, “but today I must work with Antonio in the garden. Do come see it.”
“I can go to Firenze if only someone will just tell me how to get there,” Willa said. Assuntina filled the vases with water.
“It’s simply not done, my dear. We’ll go next week, just as I said.” Signora Farnese continued trimming the roses one by one.
“And when I go to school, will I go out alone then?” Willa asked. Signora Farnese shook her head.
“Antonio or I will take you and pick you up.”
Even my parents allow me more freedom than this, Willa thought. Does Signora Farnese intend to confine me to Fiesole? It’s even smaller than Erhart. “I’ll just take a walk then.”
“You’ll find plenty of fresh air right here in the garden.” Signora Farnese paused in her work. “Perhaps I can persuade you to do a little painting for me. I need something to hang here in the kitchen.” She smiled. “A painting of the garden with the rooftops of Firenze in the distance would be quite lovely, don’t you think?” Willa didn’t respond. “Besides, I have some news that may interest you: Next week Pierluigi Flavi has promised to take us not only to the Boboli Gardens but also to the Duomo and the museums…”
“He invited me to meet some artists, too.”
“There are certain places women of good character don’t go…even with Pierluigi Flavi.”
“But I already said yes.”
“No, dear, he invited us.”
But Signora Farnese wasn’t even part of our conversation, Willa thought.
“In Italy, it’s expected that you consult me about your plans before you go out and, of course, someone must escort you,” Signora Farnese said. Clearly, having a chaperone involved more restrictions than Willa had imagined. Respectable women in Italy live like prisoners.
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nbsp; Later that afternoon Signora Farnese took Willa for a passeggiata around Fiesole. The day was clear and still. As they hiked along a dirt path, the only sounds were those of birds and insects and the scrunch of dirt and stones under their feet. Butterflies fluttered around them, and the fields smelled sweetly of earth and weeds. Signora Farnese pointed out what remained of the wall built by the Etruscans more than two thousand years earlier and the ruins of the Roman bath and theater.
A flock of birds circled above them. “The Romans sent a dozen young men here every year to study divination,” Signora Farnese explained. “They learned to forecast the future by observing the flights of birds.” During their walk, Signora Farnese also introduced Willa to neighbors and shopkeepers in the mercato; the macellaio, from whom they purchased salumi and pork shoulder; and the cameriere at the trattoria who served them coffee and biscotti. Everyone had questions for L’americana: Why did you come to Italy? How long will you stay? Which is better: Italy or America? Signora Farnese left the table.
“Signorina, it is my dream to go to America to live with my cousin,” the cameriere whispered to Willa. “You can help me, yes?” Signora Farnese returned, and the cameriere withdrew.
“How are you enjoying your Italian adventure, now?” Signora Farnese asked.
“Very much,” Willa said. “I want to see as much of Firenze as I can. And Pierluigi Flavi again, too.”
“Pierluigi may not be certain whether you’re available now,” said Signora Farnese. “That’s why it’s so important that you not let just anyone call on you.”
Was Gabriele just anyone? Willa wondered. “But Gabriele Marcheschi is a landowner. Educated too.”
Signora Farnese stirred her coffee and took a bite of her biscotto. “So he says.”
“You don’t believe him?”
“We don’t know enough about him to believe him or not,” said Signora Farnese. “If you were to decide you wanted to pursue a relationship with him, then I could make some discreet inquiries.”
“Inquiries?”
Signora Farnese nodded. “Yes. Everyone has to do that these days, unfortunately. There are so many pretenders. They smell American money and think they’ve found a ticket to the States or a way to pay off the mortgage on some land their grandfather once owned. Or they need a bribe so they can get a position. Believe me, they will pursue you until you drop from exhaustion.”
Willa thought of the way Gabriele had insisted on staying for lunch. Does he smell American money? What about the money he gave me for his portrait? “Do you think Pierluigi Flavi wants to go to America?”
Signora Farnese laughed. “Certainly not.”
8
Although Willa had studied drawing and painting privately with Maestro Ottaviani for two years and before that in high school, when she began her classes at L’Accademia d’Arte the following week, she was assigned to a beginning drawing class where students drew cubes, spheres, and pyramids, examined the effects of light and shadow on their surfaces, and learned the principles of one- and two-point perspective. Beginning students were also required to do rigorous drawing exercises for one, perhaps two, years until their skills became automatic. These exercises tried Willa’s patience. Color theory proved mysterious. Beyond her comprehension, in fact. With time she hoped its principles would become familiar. Art history and composition were new to her as well. She felt confined and frustrated by these first experiences at L’Accademia. Perhaps Pierluigi Flavi had been right: by the time she finished her courses, she would no longer have any ideas of her own. She wished she could talk to him again.
On Saturday morning, Willa slept late. Signora Farnese left word with Assuntina that she had gone out to market with Antonio and then to visit her sister-in-law. Willa knew that she should not go out alone, especially not to visit Pierluigi Flavi. Instead, after breakfast, she went to the garden and strolled along all of the paths. She decided to draw something original, something from the garden, even though such work was reserved for more advanced students. She was returning to the house for her sketchbook when Assuntina came to tell her that Gabriele was in the foyer.
“Tell him I’m not available,” Willa said. She meant that she didn’t want to see him, that she wanted nothing to do with him. Better not to know him.
An hour later, Assuntina sought her out again. “Signor Marcheschi has returned for the fifth time. What shall I do?’
“I’ll speak to him myself.”
Gabriele smiled the moment he saw her. “Finally, you have come.”
“We can speak on two conditions,” Willa said. “First, we’ll speak now and for no more than five minutes and only right here in the front doorway.” That way, Willa reasoned, there could be no concern about her being unchaperoned.
“Very well.”
“And, second, we’ll speak only if you promise to leave and never come back.”
“I promise,” he said, “but I think of you constantly. I may seem a fool to you, but I am your true love if only you could see it.”
Willa noted the flock of birds circling above them.
“If you will only come with me right now, I’ll prove to you that I am your true love this very afternoon,” Gabriele said.
Accepting what she regarded as the sign written in the flight of birds, Willa said, “Very well, prove it!” Then, she went out into the piazza with him, where everyone could see them waiting together for a bus.
“You are going to change your view of me,” Gabriele told her. “Do you know Leopardi?”
“Yes,” Willa said. “My drawing teacher gave me a book of his poems.” Gabriele cleared his throat, and recited L’Infinito, The Infinite, from memory:
I’ve always loved this lonesome hill,
And this hedge that hides
The entire horizon, almost, from sight.
But sitting here in a daydream, I picture…
Willa joined him and they continued reciting together. By day’s end, they had recited Dante, Foscolo, D’Annunzio, and even a bit of Virgil. Meanwhile, Gabriele took Willa to places that he claimed only he knew of—a fountain in a deserted piazza, a stone crypt underneath an ancient church, a niche in a private courtyard—describing what that had occurred in each:
“Here they burned an evil priest on a skewer.”
“Here they hid a pregnant girl before she gave birth to a bastardo.”
“Here they buried a bag of ducats that belonged to a duke.”
And then Willa told Gabriele how she would paint the priest, the girl, and the duke.
“No one has ever painted these places before. You are the first. The only one,” Gabriele told her. “I’m going to bring you to these places and recite poetry to you while you paint.”
When they returned to Signora Farnese’s villa, Gabriele took a black velvet bag from his pocket and held it out to her. “Open it.” Inside she found an antique ring of red gold set with diamonds.
She held it in her palm. “It’s a beautiful old ring, Gabriele. Where did you get it?”
“It belonged to my grandmother and to her mother before her,” Gabriele said. The diamonds sparkled in the sunlight. Was it another sign? Willa wondered. “Try it on,” he said.
Why is it that every time I see Gabriele something happens that draws me in deeper? She was both attracted by the unexpected way he courted her and repelled by the loss of control she felt. It would be best to get away from him.
She gave the ring back to him. “No. It’s quite improper.”
“You can keep it because we’re going to be married.” He pressed the ring into her palm. “You don’t believe me yet, but you will see very soon that I’m right.”
“You’re right. I don’t believe you,” Willa said. “Besides, I don’t want to keep this ring.”
“Wait and see. I’ll be back very soon.” He walked away leaving the ring in her hand. “If you haven’t changed your mind by the time you see me again, I’ll let you give it back to me.” With that he was gone.
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bsp; Willa went to her room and shut the door. Alone, where no one could observe her, she tried the ring on, admired it, and then put it away in a drawer underneath her underwear where it would be safe until Gabriele returned. I will never marry Gabriele Marcheschi, she told herself. Still, she liked the way they had recited poetry together and his promise that he would come with her while she painted. There was something alive and vital about him. He seemed more attractive than she had originally thought, more interesting, and he had never once mentioned anything about money or going to America.
When Signora Farnese returned that evening, Willa told her that she had gone for a walk with Gabriele Marcheschi and had found him to be someone she might want to know. Signora Farnese shook her head. “He is un uomo rozzo”—a boorish man, unrefined—“to take you out without a chaperone. Gabriele Marcheschi knows that you must have a chaperone and yet he ruins your reputation. I’m afraid he has turned you away from proper behavior. He’s unsuitable.”
“But we did nothing improper.”
“We say such people sometimes possess the power of incantesimo, enchantment,” Signora Farnese said. “They lead us to do things that are against our best interests. This is what has happened to you. You must be careful or you will squander your real opportunities. I must tell your parents that I cannot be responsible for what happens.”
Willa measured this warning against her experience of Gabriele Marcheschi and concluded such caution must be the result of superstition. Gabriele possessed the practical skills of a successful vintner, the business sense of the landowner, and the soul of a poet, all of which he was.
Within a week, Willa received a cable from her father: “As a guest, you must follow Signora Farnese’s instructions or come home. Your mother’s letter follows.” When Mrs. Carver’s letter arrived, it contained another admonition to be “a good guest,” mentioned the importance of “proper behavior” and “making a good impression,” and concluded with, “Chip asked for you the other day” and “I think Eddie might marry your cousin Polly if you don’t change your mind soon.” There was a postscript: “Signor Ottaviani has eloped with the Whitman girl and they moved to Dayton.” Willa threw the letter into the fireplace and watched as the message curled and turned to ash.
The Train to Orvieto Page 6
