The moon was big and bright, a soft yellow that illuminated the water below. A symphony of croaks and crickets wrung throughout the air. Giancarlo looked over the railing of the bridge, surprised that no one else was here. Surprised enough that every few seconds he would look around and hope he saw someone turning a corner. On any other night, he would have enjoyed the magic serenity. However, on this night his surprise turned into concern, his concern into despair, and despair into anger. Just as he was about to give up and return home, he saw her rushing over.
“Ah, meno male, you’re still here!” She said rushing over. Under the moonlight, Francesca was radiant. Her pale face and rosy cheeks sparkled as her golden curls gently blew in the breeze. There was no doubt in Giancarlo’s mind that she had not come from this earth; that she was sent from Paradiso above. She moved to embrace him but quickly remembered her manners and gave an awkward curtsey instead. “I apologize, I was unable to get away from my servant without drawing any suspicion.”
“You mean to tell me you snuck out?” Giancarlo asked.
She looked around and gave a dumbfounded look, “Si, do you think my father would willingly just let me come here at night to meet a boy?”
“Well… I guess you are right.”
“If my father knew even the slightest hint of what I do, he would lock me in my room for the remainder of my life. I would never smell fresh air again.”
The candidness of Francesca’s remarks threw Giancarlo off. She was supposed to be the Queen of the virtuous and the pure, uncorrupted by the worldly and carnal. “What is it that you do?” He asked.
She only stared at him with a sly grin. “Nothing that you need to be concerned of.”
Giancarlo could only blush. There was an awkward pause lingering in the air.
“So, I was promised a poem tonight, Maestro Giancarlo. Are you good to your word?”
“Si ma donna, I spent all day thinking about it in the bottega.”
“Would you be so kind as to grace me with it then? I am filled with anticipation.”
“Okay,” Giancarlo said. He paused to think for a moment and then he gently grabbed Francesca by the shoulders. “May I?” he asked, moving Francesca to a spot overlooking the moon above the Arno. He positioned her so the moon flooded the right side of her face with light. “Our holy father has blessed us tonight; do not forget to take in the beauty of the moon.”
“Never,” she said while gazing off towards the water.
“A pawn, a poet, a fool, that’s below it
A boy without meaning and
A Queen, an angel, forbidden fruits that dangle
Soft smiles dreaming, in hazel eyes unseeing.
She is belonging to this world in a beauty that is furled.
A simple heart full of fire,
Full of beauty
Full of desire.
In my dreams, we’re in Venezia
Or maybe Roma, even Brescia.
We would laugh and share pane
Or whatever you desire, my dear Francesca.”
There was a long moment of silence. Francesca continued to gaze out towards the moon, much to the discomfort of Giancarlo. “What is it like,” she asked quietly.
“Scuzi?”
“What is it like? To be an artist, to paint, to sculpt, to write poetry.” She turned and stared at Giancarlo with dreaming eyes. “My father thinks that all of it is a waste of time. ‘The only good daughter is a chaste and an obedient daughter’ he would tell me. In his eyes, I’m only here to be married off to a stranger who probably cares nothing for me. I am merely a tool to further the Ruscello name. If I can’t even do that, he would probably ship me off to a convent. He forbids me to read the works of the ancients, only Aristotle, and so I’m forced to spend much of my time stuck in the chapel learning scripture.”
Giancarlo noticed tears of frustration rolling down her cheek. “Ma donna,” Giancarlo said. “I can’t imagine what that treatment would be like. I feel nothing but pity for you.”
She quickly wiped away her tears. “I do not desire your pity,” she laughed. “It’s not as if I am trapped in a prison cell- I have ways to get around my father’s wishes. Besides, it is not all bad, I am here conversing with an artist, am I not?” She gently grabbed Giancarlo’s arm and smiled, causing him to blush.
“I guess you can call me an artist,” Giancarlo replied. “But, if we are telling each other the truth, I often do not feel like one. I like to write poems and sculpt, but above all, I like to feel like I’m a part of something greater. There’s something happening in the world; something is changing. When the Turks took over Constantinople, the Byzantines fled here, bringing with them ancient knowledge and ideas that have been lost to us for over a millennium. It’s as if we have been asleep for centuries, but just now we are starting to stir again. And would you like to know the most fascinating thing? It is starting here, in Firenze. This city is the epicenter of a great and joyous revival. In this wondrous new world, we get to choose who we want to be; and I want to be a part of this.”
In a sudden embrace, Francesca grabbed Giancarlo and kissed him deeply, making his heart flutter. Under the soft moonlight, the two lovers forgot about everything else in the world.
Header Image: Annunciation, Leonardo da Vinci. 1475.