The Poet Prince Read Online Free PDF

major museums. That such an important work could exist in the Met—and that she had never heard of it—was fascinating.
    Maureen bent to read the title card. The picture was identified as “Spinello di Luca Spinelli—Processional Banner from the Confraternity of Saint Mary Magdalen.”
    The official Met description, displayed to the side of the work, read
    During the Middle Ages laymen often joined religious confraternities in which they met for devotions and performed charitable acts. Their hooded robes rendered such acts anonymous, in conformity with Christ’s injunction that good works should not be done for vain praise. This extremely rare work was commissioned in about 1395 by the Confraternity of Saint Mary Magdalen in Borgo San Sepolcro and would have been carried in religious processions. It shows the members of the confraternity kneeling before their patron saint, who is serenaded by a choir of angels. Mary’s ointment jar decorates the sleeves of their robes. The lightly drawn features of the face of Christ are modern. The original was removed and is now in the Vatican. The banner is otherwise remarkably well preserved.
    Something was wrong with that description; Maureen could feel it instinctively. It was very clean, very pat, for a painting that looked and felt so mysterious. The hooded men surrounding their saint’s feet weren’t merely anonymous, they were downright unsettling. The hoods they wore seemed a most emphatic statement, as if it were a life-or-death matter that their identities be concealed. When she looked very closely, she saw that some of the men had openings in the back of their robes. Pentitents. The openings were there so they could flog themselves and draw blood as part of their penance and to wash away their sins.
    Maureen had always found the penitential practices of the Middle Ages disturbing. She was relatively sure that God did not want us to flog ourselves for his—or her—greater glory. And given her extensivestudy of Mary Magdalene, the Queen of Compassion and great teacher of love and forgiveness, she was certain that she would never have condoned such practices.
    The composition of the painting made it all the more provocative, as it appeared to be an imitation of some of the more famous Holy Trinity images from the early Renaissance. These images depicted God the Father enthroned, holding the crucifix in his hands and on his lap to represent the son. The Holy Spirit was usually present as a dove above the other images. This icon of Mary was painted in an identical way, only in this case she was the enthroned figure holding Jesus, denoting a place of extraordinary authority. Thus the hooded figures appeared to be worshipping Mary Magdalene on her throne as the Queen of Heaven, which would be a heretical concept even today. In the Middle Ages, such worship would likely have been punishable by death.
    Then there was this curious phrase within the description: “The lightly drawn features of the face of Christ are modern. The original was removed and is now in the Vatican.” There was evidence of destruction to the banner: a patch covered the cut where the face of Christ had been on the crucifix, ostensibly the original piece that was surgically removed and taken to Rome in. But why? Why would anyone deface a rare and exquisitely beautiful painting by an Italian master?
    If there was one thing Maureen had learned in her search for the truth about the secret aspects of Christian history, it was to never take anything at face value—and never trust the first and most obvious explanation, particularly in the symbolic world of art history. Removing her cell phone from her bag, she switched it to camera mode and photographed the painting in segments, storing them for future reference.
    The digital readout on her phone was a harsh reminder that her time at the Met was coming to a close. Maureen slipped the phone back into her bag and stood before the painting in quiet appreciation.