Oratory

SERPOTTA

ORATORY

CHAPTER 1

Palermo, Sicily. June 1684

Rosalia Valenti was sitting motionless on her raised platform in the oratory of Santa Cita. The noonday sun propelled rays through the tall windows. She could see in the shafts of light, like fog, the fine powder of sanded plaster floating and swirling with each movement of the air.

I wonder if he realizes how difficult it is to be here. Yes, I’m sure he knows; if only he was not so intense. When he works, all of his energy goes into the sculpture.

Sometimes, with the monotony of the pose, the aching muscles and the boredom, I could scream.

Does my little man feel the same way? She looked down at the cherub-like child patiently posed by her side.

Watch carefully my son, she thought. See how he forms the layers, how he applies the mixture, see him make the folds. Look now as he creates the breasts, his hands caressing and moving in an act of sensual pleasure while making the nipple. My nipple.

She thought about the days when he first held her firm young breasts in his large hands, dry and rough from working with the stucco. Rosalia could feel her nipples becoming hard beneath the bodice of her dress. She also thought with pleasure to the days when Giacomo Serpotta had first made love to her. There was an objective to his love making, a need to caress, feel and move his hands over her entire body. His touch probed—every inch of her skin felt the touch of Giacomo’s large, searching fingers.

The fingers of his hands became the anatomical dissecting tools of his mind. How could he create her image so perfectly, if not for his exploration of her body? These thoughts she could not share with her young son as they sat on the raised dais posing. Giacomo was creating the almost life-sized figure of Peace with a cherub to her right. My precious child. She smiled lovingly at the boy.

At five years old, Procopio was a bright, precocious and absolutely adorable child. His well-proportioned, chubby little body was the perfect model for the great numbers of putti Giacomo was creating in the oratory. The boy had a head crowned with a mass of golden curls. His face, with large eyes, pouty mouth and round cheeks, gave the angelic look to the playful little sculptured cherubs his father was fashioning in the child’s image.

When you were born, my darling, it was the happiest day of my life. It is with thanks to my cousin Procopio de Ferrari, whose name you bear, for introducing me to the man I love. Thinking back, how foolish and naive I was. No, not foolish, no fool could have produced you, and I knew exactly what I wanted. It was wonderful being so young when I met Giacomo. You should have seen him then, so shy and serious. Not that I have changed him much, or would I want to, but at least he now seems to enjoy life more.

I first met Giacomo when he came to Monreale to work in the Church of the Madonna dell’Itria. I knew from the instant we met, our lives were destined to be one. One evening Procopio brought him to our home for an early dinner; it was as if everything I had ever dreamed had been brought to light when he smiled at me.

Earlier in the week when Procopio had been invited for supper, my cousin asked papa if he could bring his friend and co-worker, Giacomo. After all, papa had contributed some money to the decoration of the church. Procopio convinced Papa that the man he would bring with him was a genius of rare talent.

The commission for the decoration of the church was awarded to two artists, with the stipulation that at least one of the major artists be from Monreale. Procopio had won the assignment along with Giacomo Serpotta of Palermo. The two artists would share the design and fabrication of the ornamentation in the church.

The supper I helped mamma prepare that evening was special. She had made a hearty soup of dried beans, the stock from beef bones and fresh green squash. Sea urchins and chunks of bread used to dunk into the shells that followed the soup. The main course was succulent golden-roasted rabbit with wild herbs. To accompany the rabbit, broad beans in a salad and caponata. For dessert there were peaches, grapes and figs from papa’s small farm in the country. Giacomo ate with a hearty appetite and praised mama for her extraordinary culinary ability, thus winning a place in her heart. Throughout the meal I could feel Giacomo’s eyes stealing glances at me. I knew this, since I was guilty of doing the same. I would often catch his look and hold his gaze, feeling brash and giddy for being so bold. Mamma noticed the subtle attention Giacomo was paying me and my reaction.

I am pleased you like my cooking, mamma said, I’m very lucky to have a daughter to whom I can pass on my recipes.

The man who marries her will certainly be fortunate, like her mother a beautiful woman, and she can cook as well. A good combination wouldn’t you say, Procopio?

Oh yes! Don Felipe Estevez is indeed going to be fortunate in having Rosalia for a wife. Giacomo looked disappointed, but quickly recovered with a smile.

Congratulations, Signorina Rosalia, you must be very excited about the prospect of marriage.

No, Signore, her face darkened, I am only doing my duty for my parents!

Hush, child, her mother said. I’m sure Signore Serpotta is not interested. She was pleased to have the fact of her daughter’s betrothal known.

The conversation during the rest of the meal consisted of the work which was planned for the church, more praise for mamma’s meal and the politics of the day.

"Tell me, young man, your father, is he a stuccatore also?" Papa asked Giacomo.

He is no longer alive, Signore Valenti, but he was a sculptor in stucco as well as marble. After his death, when I was twelve, my godfather, uncles and cousins taught me the craft of stucco work. They also provided me with Jesuit teachers for general and religious studies. I owe a great deal to my family and to the brothers, whose order I wish to join one day.

Rosalia, upon hearing Giacomo’s desire to become part of a religious order, became sullen. She thought: Why do God and the brotherhood need so many men? Forgive me Lord, but this is the man I want! I’m forced to marry someone I don’t love or even like, and I probably will never be happy again.

Zio, Procopio said, In the Cathedral of Palermo, you can see the work of his father. He studied under Bernini in Rome. Can you imagine how wonderful to work for a master like him in that great city of art?

We have artists and sculptors who are just as good right here on our island, Papa said rather gruffly. He was tired of the constant comparison between the mainland North and the South, Rome to Sicily. As with everything, the Northerners want us to believe they are above us. If the Pope were not in Rome, where would those artists be working? Undoubtedly, there would be none of the fat princes of the church to sponsor the works for their pleasure palaces. I am sick of their attitude! You two, make sure you do something beautiful for Monreale and for Sicily. Papa said in a rankled tone.

Mamma was quick to quiet papa with the suggestion of a passagiata.

Come Antonio; let us go for a quiet walk in the piazza. She put her arm through his and led him into the courtyard. "You youngsters will join us. Andiamo."

We followed mamma and papa on their amble to the town center, I between the two men. The closeness of Giacomo on my right caused me to feel giddy. What a striking figure he cut in his long coat of dark green. The wide cuffs of the coat were turned back and buttoned, showing a lighter shade of green. His breeches were an amber color, while his shirt, stockings and cravat were off-white. The fabrics were simple, almost coarse, and he wore none of the adornments that are so popular now. No lace, no gadrooning or braids. The exception was his waist coat, which was embroidered in a simple design of leaves and berries in terra cotta, green and gold on the same fabric as his breeches. His hair, which was the color of chestnuts, was pulled back and tied with a simple ribbon at the base of his neck. He was not what would be called handsome, but he had fine features, though not all put together perfectly. His appearance was striking, his eyes dark and piercing, a straight nose and his mouth sensual, curving and appealing

Our stroll took us through the streets of town to the Piazza Guglielmo II Normanno. Along the way mamma and papa stopped often to speak with one friend or another. The night was bright with a full moon that bathed the town in a silvery glow. It was wonderful to be young. When we returned home from our walk, I sat with Giacomo and Procopio in the garden behind our house. We could hear the rustle of the leaves in the carob tree and smell the sweet scent of jasmine in the air. Giacomo led me to a place on a stone bench, plainly in view of mamma and papa watching from behind the shutters. Procopio was nodding off, sitting against the tree. He may have been feigning sleep to give us privacy. My dear cousin. It was perfect night. Giacomo and I spoke for a short while. He told me of his dream of becoming the best sculptor in all of Sicily.

Just Sicily, why not all of Italy? I asked with a note of playful sarcasm.

"Signorina Rosalia, if you were to be the model for all the work I intend to do, I probably would be the best sculptor in the world." His smile was open and sincere, and I was sure I loved him.

Will you come to the church to see our work in progress? he asked. I would really like to see you again.

You will definitely see me again. But now it is late and mamma and papa will be angry if I do not go in soon. Appearance is everything to them. Rosalia gently shook Procopio awake; the three went into the house so the men could say their farewells and give their thanks for the meal.

It would be several weeks before Rosalia would see Giacomo again. On a Sunday morning during Mass at the Cathedral, she had let her eyes wander about the walls, reading the scenes from the New and Old Testaments executed in brilliant and colorful gold mosaics. Since she was a child, these stories had held a fascination for her. Often bored by the Mass she would let her mind and eyes wander upward to the beautiful visual Bible.

Later, she searched the crowded church for a familiar face and spied Giacomo standing several meters ahead. His head was bent and his arms crossed over his chest, completely absorbed in the service. She tugged at her mother’s sleeve and nodded toward Giacomo, but her mother turned and scowled at her.

Pay attention.

Can we speak to him later, mamma?

Hush, child! Remember, you must not be so forward. You’re a betrothed woman.

At the conclusion of Mass, Rosalia waited with her mother until Giacomo turned and saw them. His face changed in an instant from serious to smiling.

Ah, Signora Maria, it’s a pleasure to see you again. As he bowed to kiss her hand he stole a glance at Rosalia, winked and smiled. With a courtly gesture he then bowed to Rosalia.

The Signorina grows more beautiful with every passing day. He turned back to her mother.

You know, Signora Valenti, I desperately need a model for the statue of the Madonna, would you consider letting your daughter pose for me?

It is highly unconventional for a betrothed girl, she smiled, It is possible, though, but only with the strictest supervision and a chaperone present, Signore.

But, mama, Procopio would be there.

I said chaperone, she said sharply. Not that rascal.

If you have the time, you can be there, Signora. It would be such a great help. I was just discussing the need for a model with Procopio, and he suggested that Rosalia would be perfect for the Virgin. I was going to ask you soon.

We will see. This is a very important decision, I will speak to my husband, and he will have the final word.

They walked together in the piazza, Giacomo enthusiastically telling them about the progress of the work in the church.

I will be grateful to you if you can influence your husband in my favor.

Come to supper Tuesday evening, hopefully we will have an answer for you.

They said their good-byes, and Giacomo watched as they walked away. He looked at the figure of Rosalia. The soft curves of her young, lithe body caused a stirring in his loins. Since he had first met Rosalia, he could not dispel her image from his mind. Never in his twenty-one years had he seen anyone more beautiful. He tried to etch into his memory the rounded softness of her cheeks, her bright expressive eyes and full lips. He crossed himself and thought he must keep his feelings in check. Rosalia was sheltered by her family, and they were people who lived by a strict code of honor and ethics. Besides she was engaged. The girl was excited and frightened, because he knew that beneath her calm and pure façade there was a sensual animal beginning to awaken to her own feelings of desire and power. He felt the same way.

On Tuesday evening Giacomo took special care with his appearance, telling himself it was to make a good impression on Rosalia’s parents, but he knew it was because of the girl. He arrived with Procopio about eight o’clock and they were warmly greeted by the family. The meal was exceptional and the conversation lively, but it was the answer to his question about Rosalia modeling for him that was foremost on his mind. Finally Signora Maria brought up the issue, and it was positive. There were stipulations, of course. Her daughter had to be chaperoned as she had suggested in their earlier conversation. Secretly, both Maria and her husband were proud of the fact that their only daughter would represent the Madonna. An arrangement was made with Maria’s widowed sister-in-law to be present when Rosalia was with the artists.

Rosalia was delighted with the choice. Zia Gabriella was more like a sister to her than an aunt. Zia Gabriella was a young, pleasant woman who could have remarried many times after her husband’s death eight years ago. Now, at thirty-two, she preferred to remain unwed. Like most widowed women, she dressed in black, but on her it was stylish and attractive. Her features were classic, though there was an indefinable hardness about her.

A week later, Rosalia and Zia Gabriella arrived at ten. Giacomo was delighted to finally have his model. Introductions were made between chaperone and artist. Giacomo, in his charming manner, used flattery to try and win over Gabriella.

Signora, I had no idea Rosalia’s aunt was so young and beautiful. Could we perhaps be so fortunate as to have you pose for us as well? What do you think, Procopio?

Procopio immediately knew Giacomo’s intentions and went along with him.

"I think it would be a splendid idea. I too need a model for one of my figures. You would be perfect. What do you think, Zia? Will you be the Maddalena?" asked Procopio. He had a strange look, which Giacomo could not understand.

Gabriella gave a sharp look to Procopio. I would be glad to help both you and the church, my dear nephew. The air was filled with tension for a few moments. Then Rosalia questioned Giacomo about the duties she was to perform. Her enthusiasm for the project was infectious and, before long, the two men were excitedly showing Rosalia and Gabriella the plans and sketches for the design of the altar. The day was spent drawing Rosalia’s hands, face and body, which Giacomo did with great skill. She enjoyed sitting motionless, drifting in her own world of dreams. She took instruction easily, moving into whatever pose she was asked to take. He found her to be a perfect model.

Later in the afternoon, when the ladies had left, Giacomo asked Procopio, Would you explain what happened this morning between you and Gabriella? It became uncomfortable for a while, and you both seemed about ready to do battle.

Something is going on in my aunt’s life. I am worried about her. For months now, she has been going off alone and no one knows where. She has caught me following her on a few occasions, and it has made her angry, but it is out of concern. I want to make sure she is all right.

You sound like a jealous lover, my friend. Perhaps you should have faith in your aunt. She seems to be a sensible woman who has a mind of her own, Giacomo said.

The following day Rosalia and Gabriella arrived in high spirits eager to pose.

I am afraid we will not be able to stay very late today, Gabriella announced to Giacomo. Earlier I had promised to visit a friend, and that was before I agreed to chaperone my niece.

Perhaps Rosalia can stay a little later? Giacomo smiled at the young woman, already knowing the answer, but testing her just the same.

If you wish to be without a model… she said with a raised eyebrow. They were simpatici and understood each other quite well.

Procopio made many sketches for his figures, drawing rapidly and skillfully, all the while chatting endlessly and finding enjoyment in his aunt’s company. He was surprised to find her so relaxed and different away from the family. It was like seeing a new person. When Gabriella announced it would be necessary for them to leave soon, Procopio quickly finished his study and thanked his aunt for a very productive session.

Giacomo had used his time to create models in terracotta, preferring to work in a more dimensional medium. Rosalia could not believe the quantity of small scaled sculptures he had fashioned in such a short period of time. She wished to remain longer, but it was out of the question. Standing next to Giacomo, she whispered that perhaps one day soon they would have the opportunity to be alone. Gabriella approached, bid the men good afternoon, took Rosalia’s arm and guided her toward the