The Master of Verona

Still, there was one class of boys who did not have those active pursuits, who read as much as she. Those second and third sons of the nobility who entered into the church had no need to learn arms. Antonia imagined their lives filled with only study and prayer. It was the life for which Pietro had been intended, before Giovanni's death. Now it seemed a warrior's life was in store for him, something no one had ever foreseen. Antonia was alone in thinking it was his loss.

Of course, Jacopo should have taken Pietro's place in studying for the Church, but no one was foolish enough to suggest it. He wasn't suited to such a life.

No

, thought Antonia, it's up to me to heed God's call.

It was not unusual that at the tender age of thirteen she thought idyllically of a religious life. Fearing the marriage act, it was the perfect alternative. In the cloister she foresaw no chores, no duties save to love God and read. She longed for such a life. Antonia's hope was that, left to his own devices, her father would leave her unwed. But her mother — stern, rigid, unforgiving Gemma — wanted her betrothed. For the good of the family, of course. Gemma imagined an alliance with a rich count or even one of Dante's noble patrons. As the poet's star rose, Antonia grew in attractiveness. Time was running out.

The only salvation was the long-dreamed-of summons. Her father might send for her. But it will have to be soon, father, soon! Else mother will have me married off to some idiot who doesn't read!

It was the worst insult Antonia could conjure. Not reading meant a man lacked imagination, culture, intellectual curiosity. There was no nobler pursuit in this world than the written word. After all, it was her father's chosen profession.

She almost missed the cue to rise and follow her mother to the altar for Communion. Christmas always made wine sweeter and bread less dry. Then, with final words from Bishop Venturino thanking their visiting cardinal deacon for officiating, the crowd dispersed.

Aunt Gaetana patted Antonia on the head and softly said to Gemma, "Sister, will I see you at Francescino's for dinner?"

"No, sister," said Gemma. "I regret to say we have plans. Tell your brother we wish him a happy Christmas."

Gaetana shook her head. Antonia's mother never associated with her husband's family. The shock of the exile and the ensuing poverty had made her overly vigilant in regards to her social perception. Her birth family had been on one side of the political debate, her husband on the other. Her family had won, so while she did not repudiate Dante's half brother and sister, she was never seen with them outside of church.

"Antonia," whispered Gemma, "there are some friends we must greet. Behave yourself."

The or else

was implicit. Wishing Aunt Gaetana well, Antonia emerged into the piazza outside just as a gust of wind dislodged some snowmelt, peppering the lingering parishioners with wet. Some cursed, some laughed. Unsure of her mother's mood, Antonia wrapped herself tighter in her wool shawl and followed Gemma into the crowd. Antonia was not tall by any standard save one — her mother. Gemma was a tiny woman, birdlike, with hair dyed black and teased into curls. Her short legs never covered much ground, and on this of all mornings Antonia had to take care not to outpace her.

"Buon giorno, Signora Scrovegni! I hope you are feeling better? Splendid. Signora Boundelmonte! Are you on your feet so soon?" Gemma was wearing her public face. In these busy public streets she was the long-suffering wife of that foolish poet Dante. So patient, so loyal. Impoverished by his exile, forced to live off her relations, only recently returned to her proper sphere. "Monna Giandonati! You look like a ray of sunshine-!"

Antonia was swept into embrace after embrace as the entire Donati clan descended upon them, kissing cheeks and exclaiming. Gemma was the daughter of Manetto and Maria Donati, a name that carried great clout in Florence. Antonia never quite understood her mother's great affection for the Donati family. It was Gemma's late cousin Corso who had been responsible for Dante's exile. But family was complicated. Corso's brother Forese had been Dante's close friend and the namesake for Gemma's own brother. Indeed, Corso's father-in-law was the poet's most recent patron, the Pisan ruler Uguccione della Faggiuola.

Both mother and daughter kissed their relations, who had sat nearer the front of the church and thus been allowed to exit earlier. Some cousin exclaimed, "We saw you two tucked away like thieves at the back. That will never do! You must come up and sit by us! Why, just yesterday Nanna Compagni was quoting poetry at me and I was able to wipe her eye by saying 'That's nothing! I'm related to Dante Alighieri!' What do you think she said? She gasped and began asking me all about your husband."