The Creation Of Eve Read Online Free PDF Page B

made to bear his babies yearly Until at last I give him his all-important son, after which time my dear husband will move on to lying with a mistress, while you, Sofi, pursue your search for Beauty and Truth in art. My only chance to search for Beauty will be in choosing a gown for Mass, and for Truth, in picking apart my spouse 's lies about his mistress. Taking the veil shall be a relief in comparison."
    "Papa will not let this happen."
    "Which? Taking the veil or the husband?"
    An owl hooted outside. Why had Papa not stopped her? Papa, the one who had found me a painting instructor, against all odds. My quiet tower of strength.
    "Do you think he has a choice?" she whispered, parsing my thoughts. "What about our sisters? Should he settle all our money on my dowry so I might get a decent husband and leave the rest bereft? I would not have it."
    "I cannot bear to lose you."
    "Sofi, don't you know that you will lose me no matter what? All of Us women--we are just seeds to be scattered to the winds." She had smoothed the sheets Up to her neck. "At least I am choosing which wind."
    "Sofi?" Papa patted my hand, startling me from my memory, and once again I was in my makeshift sick chamber. "Sofi?"
    His gentle face was wrinkled with worry as he held out the goblet. "You must drink Up. You are definitely not yourself."
    He put the cup to my lips. I swallowed down a tingling mouthful. "Did anyone request a portrait while I was gone? Any new commissions?" If Tiberio were to come calling for me, I had to be ready with a dowry. I would not bankrupt my sisters.
    "Not yet."
    "Did the Duke of Alba send money for his portrait?"
    Papa shook his head. "I hear he has returned to Spain."
    "Why is it that the richest always pay last?" I said, wiping my mouth with my hand.
    "I believe, cara mia , it is harder for them to let go of their ducats. We part the slowest from that which we love most."
    A pain knotted in my chest. Tiberio had let me leave with Francesca after the Maestro discovered Us in the small studio. He had sent no word to our place of lodging before I left for Cremona the next morning. I had tried to linger, hoping for a letter, but Francesca forced me to the carriage, asking me what I was waiting for. I had no ready answer. Neither a message nor Tiberio came. Our carriage rumbled off to the crowing of roosters. No, Tiberio had not parted with me so very reluctantly.
    "Sofi, you look absolutely green." Papa kissed my hand. "Rest. But tomorrow, you must get back to your painting. That is your medicine."
    It is true, painting had been my elixir. The surprising success I'd had with it had been the headiest of brews. In my early twenties I had found, to my amazement, that important persons were interested in the little portraits I had done of my sisters and myself. A family friend had sent one of these portraits--of me, reading a book--to the Duchess of Mantua, who subsequently asked me to her court to paint portraits of her children. Soon after, I received an invitation to the court at Parma. Who cared that my subjects were wan-faced little heirs and their dogs, and I was but a novelty employed to entertain the court along with the dwarfs and buffoons--Sofonisba Virgo was in demand! But the excitement of these achievements paled after Michelangelo himself had asked for me that first time, about four years ago.
    The great Michelangelo Buonarroti, painter to popes and kings--Papa, that Unshakable believer in my abilities, had the nerve to send him a sketch I'd done of Lucia laughing as she taught Francesca to read, and shockingly, Il Divino wrote back. The Maestro said that my drawing was pleasant enough, but that even a journeyman sign-painter could capture a laughing girl. How was I at showing a child cry?
    I, the daughter of a Cremonese bookseller, had been challenged by the greatest artist on earth. I would not disappoint. Day after day, I watched the children on my street, searching for a unique subject. I became an expert on the