Chapter 5.
An Invitation
Wednesday. Even in early morning, the
villa buzzed with people. Fratelli entered the parlor to find Lucca’s main
florist arranging lilies in a vase. Francine watched from a distance, frowning
whenever he put one flower in the wrong place. Finally, she interfered and
began arranging them to her “better” judgment. Sighing, the grey-haired florist
walked away and grabbed a bouquet of small, pink blossoms. He saw Fratelli and
greeted him:
“Your Eminence, I wanted to show you my
idea for Easter…”
He leaned over and produced a huge, pure
white lily, dripping with dew, bright green leaves arrayed like outstretched
arms.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” asked the florist.
“Very much so,” Fratelli answered taking
the lily and sniffing its delicate fragrance.
He closed his eyes feeling a moment of
peace.
“I grew these myself, gave them the best
water and nourishment,” the florist began, “I call her: “Candida Magnifica”.”
Fratelli nodded. He approached the vase
where Francine was tirelessly working and then inserted the large white lily at
its center.
“Angelo, you can’t just put that
anywhere…” his aunt remarked.
“Leave it alone Francine.”
When all activity seemed to die down,
Fratelli snuck into his private chapel. He methodically lit the six candles
sitting upon the altar, bowed before the golden tabernacle which contained the
holy body of Christ, and knelt down. Breathing cool air, he savored silence, hearing
no sound or bustling beyond the door. Slowly opening his lips, he spoke:
“Lord
God, you are almighty over the heavens and the earth. You watch us at our daily
lays, our work and worries. I have many worries, this you know… My thoughts,
you can count them and yes, they are like a bunch of coins that have fallen on
the floor. Please still my heart. St Joseph patron of workers and protector of
the Church, pray for me. In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost...”
He traced a delicate cross over himself.
Reluctantly, he stood and walked to the office where the day’s paperwork,
documents and mail awaited. Father Rodrigo sat at the desk and when Fratelli
took his seat, he handed a broad envelope to him.
“What is this?” the cardinal asked.
“Read it…just read it!” Rodrigo exclaimed.
The envelope was made of fine parchment.
It bore an ornate monogram and a red wax seal: the Seal of Tuscany.
Apprehensively, Fratelli opened this letter. Taken aback, he arched his brows,
held the paper high and read:
“To
His Eminence, the Most Reverend, Angelo Cardinal Fratelli…”
In a dramatic huff, Fratelli caught his
breath from having stuffed all those words in one sentence. Then he continued:
“My
sincere condolences upon hearing of the death of your Great Uncle. Know that my
prayers go out to you. I have also heard that your young cousin, the lady,
Philomena Leona Fratelli, is staying at your residence. I desire to meet her
and with your blessing, possibly seek her courtship. Therefore, for the Holy
Easter feast, I invite you and your kin to my father’s palace for celebrations.
Please come, minding my most-earnest intent, for I am deeply expecting you.
Signed, Lamberto D’Constanza II.”
Anxiously, Fratelli’s hands crinkled the
letter’s edges. Rodrigo snatched it from him and re-read it diligently. Setting
it down, he stared at the nerve-racked cardinal, saying:
“What is wrong, Your Eminence. A letter
from the duke’s son- this sounds like a very good thing.”
“I don’t like this,” Fratelli blurted out,
“I never cared much for the Lamberto II. He is dissolute and boorish, much into
drinking and revelry. I do not want him courting my dear cousin.”
“But will you reject the invitation?”
Putting a hand on his chin, pondering,
Fratelli replied, “I suppose I may not be able to. I’ve always had uneasy
relations with the duke and his family…ever since excommunicating his son,
Lambert II. Thank God he repented and came back into the Lord’s fold.
No, I don’t need to make matters worse.
They already perceive me as a pompous buffoon of sorts- which I am not! We
shall go to his celebration but perhaps, perhaps there is an easy way to get
his eyes off of Philomena.”
His voice sounded both hopeful and unsure.
Clasping his fingers, he played with his golden ring. Rodrigo stopped him.
“Quit being so tense. Everything will be
fine.”
“Who are you to tell me if I should be
tense or not? I’ll be tense as I please,” Fratelli retorted.
He stepped from the office and found Dina
carrying a glass of water.
“Your Eminence, I brought this for you…”
she said.
He took the glass and thirstily drank, quenching
his parched mouth.
“Thank you, you are so kind,” he responded
between sips.
Then, he paused, asking:
“Where is Philomena?”
“She’s getting some sun in the garden.”
Fratelli darted outside. He needed to
speak with her.
Philomena rested on a bench, holding a
parasol over her head as sun streamed down. Birds merrily sang of spring.
Paolo, the gardener, wearing dirty slacks and a thin shirt, stood next to her,
He had just handed Philomena a fresh-cut rose when Fratelli emerged. Seeing the
cardinal and his serious expression, Paolo withdrew then left.
“Merciful goodness! Is every man in Lucca
under your spell?” he pointedly asked.
She laughed at him.
“I don’t see any humor in this,” Fratelli
asserted.
“And that’s why it’s humorous,” she
answered, stifling more giggles.
He blushed somewhat, glanced away then
returned his amber eyes to her onyx-colored stare. Their gazes locked briefly,
engaged in some sort of contest of wills. Philomena won out. Her forthrightness
was too strong. Carefully, she explained:
“Now, you realize that I have a mind of my
own and that I intend to use it.”
Chapter 6.
The Foot-washing.
Afternoon slowly went by. Nervously,
Cardinal Fratelli paced in the parlor. Hot sun streaked through the windows. Wiping
a bead of sweat from his forehead, he smiled. This evening was the beginning of
the Sacred Triduum: the three days before Easter Sunday. Such an exciting and
busy time! Fratelli could hardly wait. In fact, he was growing so excited he
couldn’t eat.
“Your Eminence,” Dina said coming into the
room, “Please get something to eat.”
“Oh, yes, yes!” he replied.
Though his mind focused on other things
than food, he hastily went to lunch, sat down before a bowl of grapes and
picked at them. Rodrigo entered, Gianni trailed behind. The boy helped himself
to bread and a heaping knife-full of butter.
“Don’t take so much!” Rodrigo rebuked.
Sheepishly, Gianni scooped some butter
back as Philomena appeared. She sat across from the cardinal, her dainty
fingers choosing a grape and popping it into her mouth. Anxiously, Fratelli
realized he must tell her, sooner or later about Lamberto D’Costanza’s letter-
and his intentions. He fidgeted, put both hands under the table and toyed with
his ring. Rodrigo noticed but said nothing.
Very reluctant, Fratelli followed
Philomena back in the parlor after they’d finished eating. She turned around
immediately and asked:
“What is it?”
“You and I…need to talk.”
“If this is about me coming back to the
church and going to Mass…”
“No,” Fratelli replied, resting in a chair
by the window, “Though I would like to discuss that very much, I need to tell
you about Easter. Our plans have changed. Instead of dining at Francine’s
house, we have been invited to a rather large feast…at the palace of the duke.”
“Really?” she replied excitedly, putting
her hands together, “I have never been there before. Oh, it will be so wonderful
and luxurious!”
“Philomena.”
“Yes Angelo?”
Quietly, wearing a nervous expression, the
cardinal shut the door. Philomena eyed him strangely, dreading what he would
say next.
He forced the words out:
“Philomena, you don’t have to go along
with this but I must tell you that Lamberto II, the duke’s son…wishes to court
you.”
Then he glanced away, slowly, slightly returning
his gaze. Surprisingly, Philomena didn’t seemed shocked or upset. He shrugged.
Smiling, she responded, “I was getting tired of Carlo anyway. He’s too quiet
and it annoys me when you always have to guess what a man’s thinking- but
Lamberto II, I feel so honored! They say he is outgoing and dashingly handsome!”
Fratelli groaned. He had been expecting a
different reaction.
Evening shadows finally fell. Townspeople
bustled through the square and crowded into the cathedral. Bell loudly rang in
the air. The Mass of the Lord’s Last Supper had begun. Fratelli, donned in rich
white vestments and a plain miter, processed across the long aisle. The
beautiful, violet vestments were retired. Lent had ended anticipant of glorious
Eastertide. When time came for Fratelli to give his homily, he momentarily grew
silent, his thoughts dizzily circling. At once, he collected the thoughts and
stuffed them elsewhere in his mind. He preached smoothly, concluding in proud
voice:
“Seek
Christ in the bread of life. He says “Come unto me all who are weary and
heavy-laden and I shall give you rest.” In his offering to mankind, he gives
life, by his death, life. At the supper before his death, he verily did tell
the disciples: “This is my body- this is my life. I give myself to each of
you.”.”
Rather than displaying gladness over his
finished sermon, Fratelli expressed anxiety. Once a year came a ritual he didn’t
savor much: the one night when Lucca’s bishop would wash the feet of twelve
townsmen in imitation of Jesus Christ at the Last Supper. Of course, he
reminded himself, he was Lucca’s bishop. He ignored creeping dread as he
removed his beautiful vestments and walked, clad in a bare, white robe, towards
the altar where twelve men stood. They waited- and so did their dirty feet. Oh,
how ugly and calloused those feet were!
Rodrigo, standing to
the right, handed him a soaking wet rag. Gulping back pride, he knelt as the
first man lifted his foot, placing it in his hand. Fratelli washed methodically
one pair of feet after another, soon forgetting his humiliation and instead
pondering what it felt like for the Lord of all creation to be there in his
place. Jesus surely was far greater than he, a perfect being, and yet subjected
himself to most harrowing debasement. Sighing, standing back up, he whispered a
thanksgiving to God for putting up with him.
Did Fratelli truly
realize how much of his life
drew from God? Could he perceive just how God lowered himself? For them? For him? The thought of it made him tremble
throughout the solemn prayers, tremble before the sacred host as he lifted it
high. This was his body given up for all men- his life
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