As I had stood there in the church, singing along to a hymn I didn’t know, I thought of the crypt that was somewhere below us, and the golden statue that no one knew of but us. Maybe one day the crypt would be safe enough for visitors, and maybe Maestro Lippi would restore the statue and give it new eyes, but until then, it was our secret. And perhaps it ought to remain that way. The Virgin had allowed us to find her shrine, but everyone who had entered it with evil intent had died. Not exactly a great pitch for group tours.
As for the old cencio, it had been returned to the Virgin Mary just as Romeo Marescotti had vowed it would be. We had taken it to Florence to get it professionally cleaned and preserved, and now it hung in a glass casing in the small chapel at the Eagle Museum, looking surprisingly pristine considering its recent trials. Everyone in the contrada was, of course, euphoric that we had managed to track down this important piece of history, and no one seemed to find it the least bit odd that the subject of its recovery and fine condition always gave me rosy cheeks.
OVER DESSERT-A GRANDIOSE wedding cake personally designed by Eva Maria-Janice leaned over to put a yellowed roll of parchment on the table in front of me. I recognized it right away; it was the letter from Giannozza to Giulietta that Friar Lorenzo had shown me at Castello Salimbeni. The only change was that, by now, the seal had been broken.
“Here is a little present,” said Janice, handing me a folded-up sheet of paper. “This is the English version. I got the letter from Friar Lorenzo, and Eva Maria helped me translate it.”
I could see that she was eager for me to read it right away, and so I did. This is what it said:
My darling sister,
I cannot tell you how happy I was to receive a letter from you after this long silence. And I cannot tell you how I grieved when I read its news. Mother and Father dead, and Mino and Jacopo and little Benni-I do not know how to put words on my sorrow. It has taken me many days to be able to write you a reply.
If Friar Lorenzo was here, he would tell me that it is all part of the grand design of Heaven, and that I should not cry for dear souls that are now safely in Paradise. But he is not here, and nor are you. I am all alone in a barbarous land.
How I wish I could travel to see you, my dearest, or you to see me, that we might console each other in these dark times. But I am here as always, a prisoner in my husband’s home, and although he is mostly in bed, getting weaker every day, I fear he might live on forever. Occasionally I venture outside at night, to lie in the grass and look at the stars, but from tomorrow, meddlesome strangers from Rome will fill the house-trade connections from some obscure Gambacorta family-and my freedom will, once again, be cut off at the windowsill. But I am determined not to fatigue you with my sorrows. They are negligible compared to yours.
It grieves me to hear that our uncle keeps you imprisoned, and that you are consumed by thoughts of vengeance on that evil man, S--. My dearest sister, I know it is near impossible, but I beg you to rid yourself of these destructive thoughts. Put your faith in Heaven to punish that man in due course. As for me, I have spent many hours in the chapel, giving thanks for your own deliverance from the villains. Your description of that young man, Romeo, makes me certain he is the true knight you were so patiently waiting for.
Now I am once again glad that it was I who entered into this wretched marriage and not you-write me more often, my dearest, and spare me no detail so that, through you, I may live the love that was denied me.
I pray this letter finds you smiling, and in good health, freed from the demons that were haunting you. God willing I shall see you again soon, and we will lie together in the daisies and laugh away past sorrows as if they never were. In this bright future awaiting us, you shall be wed to your Romeo, and I shall be free of my bonds at last-pray with me, my love, that it may be so.
Yours in eternity-G
When I stopped reading, both Janice and I were crying. Only too aware that everyone at the table was mystified at this outbreak of emotion, I threw my arms around her and thanked her for the perfect present. It was doubtful how many of the other guests would have understood the significance of the letter; even those who knew the sad story of the original Giulietta and Giannozza could not possibly have understood what it meant to my sister and me.
IT WAS NEAR MIDNIGHT when I was finally able to tiptoe back into the garden, pulling along a rather unenthusiastic Alessandro. By now everyone had gone to bed, and it was time to carry out something I had been meaning to do for a while. Opening the squeaky gate to the Lorenzo sanctuary, I looked at my grudging companion and put a finger on my lips. “We’re not supposed to be here now.”
“I agree,” said Alessandro, trying to draw me into his arms. “Let me tell you where we’re supposed to be-”
“Shh!” I put a hand over his mouth. “I really have to do this.”
“What’s wrong with tomorrow?”
I removed my hand and kissed him quickly. “I wasn’t planning on getting out of bed tomorrow.”
Now at last, Alessandro let me pull him into the sanctuary and up to the marble rotunda that held the bronze statue of Friar Lorenzo. In the light of the rising moon, the statue looked almost like a real person, standing there with his arms open, waiting for us. Needless to say, the chances that his features resembled the original in any way were slim, but that did not matter. What mattered was that thoughtful people had recognized this man’s sacrifice, and had made it possible for us to find him again, and thank him.
Taking off the crucifix, which I had been wearing ever since Alessandro gave it back to me, I reached up to hang it around the statue’s neck where it belonged. “Monna Mina kept this as a token of their connection,” I said, mostly to myself. “I don’t need it to remember what he did for Romeo and Giulietta.” I paused. “Who knows, maybe there never was a curse. Maybe it was just us-all of us-thinking that we deserved one.”
Alessandro did not say anything. Instead, he reached out and touched my cheek the way he had done that day at Fontebranda and, this time, I knew exactly what he meant. Whether or not we had truly been cursed, and whether or not we had now paid our dues, he was my blessing, and I was his, and that was enough to disarm any missile that fate-or Shakespeare-might still be foolish enough to hurl our way.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
WHILE JULIET IS A WORK OF FICTION, it is steeped in historical fact. The earliest version of Romeo and Juliet was indeed set in Siena, and once you start digging into local history, you begin to understand why the story originated precisely where it did.
Perhaps more than any other Tuscan city, Siena was torn by fierce family feuds all through the Middle Ages, and the Tolomeis and the Salimbenis were famously pitted against each other in a manner that very much resembles the bloody rivalry between the Capulets and the Montagues in Shakespeare’s play.
That said, I have taken a few liberties in portraying Messer Salimbeni as an evil wife-beater, and I am not sure Dr. Antonio Tasso at Monte dei Paschi di Siena-who was kind enough to show my mother around Palazzo Salimbeni and tell her about its remarkable history-would appreciate the idea of a torture chamber in the basement of his venerable institution.