Gabriel's Rapture gi-2

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by Sylvain Reynard


  Gabriel had been seated on the sofa in the living room, making

  last minute changes to his lecture notes. When he saw her he took

  off his glasses and stood.

  “You’re stunning.” He kissed her cheek and twirled her so he

  could admire her dress. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it. Thank you, Gabriel. I know it cost a fortune.”

  His gaze drifted down to her shoes.

  She blinked. “Is something wrong?”

  He cleared his throat as his attention remained riveted to her feet.

  “Um…your shoes…they’re — ah — ”

  “Nice. Aren’t they?” She giggled.

  “They’re a good deal more than nice.” His voice grew thick.

  Gabriel’s Rapture

  “Well, Professor Emerson, if I like your lecture, perhaps I’ll continue wearing them after…”

  Gabriel straightened his tie a little and gave her a cocky grin.

  “Oh, I’ll see that you like my lecture, Miss Mitchell. Even if I have to deliver it to you personally, between the sheets. And it isn’t my bedroom, it’s our bedroom.”

  She blushed, and he pulled her into his arms.

  “We should go,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair.

  “Wait. I have a present for you.” She disappeared and returned

  with a small box that had Prada emblazoned across the top.

  He seemed surprised. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.”

  Gabriel smiled and carefully lifted the lid. He pulled back the

  tissue paper to find a lightly patterned Santorini-blue silk tie.

  “I like it. Thank you.” He kissed her cheek.

  “It matches my dress.”

  “Now everyone will know that we belong to each other.” He

  immediately removed his green tie, tossing it onto the coffee table, and began tying Julia’s gift around his neck.

  Gabriel’s new suit had been custom made by his favorite local

  tailor. It was black and single-breasted with side vents. Julia admired the suit a great deal, but even more so, she admired the attractive figure in it.

  There is nothing sexier than watching a man put on a tie, she thought.

  “May I?” she offered, as Gabriel struggled in the absence of a

  mirror.

  He nodded and bent forward, placing his hands around her waist.

  She adjusted his tie and fixed his collar, running her hands down his sleeves until they rested on the cufflinks at his wrists.

  He gazed at her curiously. “You straightened my tie when I took

  you to Antonio’s. We were sitting in the car.”

  “I remember.”

  “There’s nothing sexier than having the woman you love fix your

  tie.” He took her hands in his. “We’ve come a long way since that

  first night.”

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  Sylvain Reynard

  She reached up to kiss him, taking care not to sully his masculine mouth with her lipstick.

  He brought his lips to her ear. “I don’t know how I’m going to

  keep the Florentine men at bay this evening. You’ll have to stay very close to me.”

  Julia squealed as he put his arms around her, lifting her so he

  could kiss her properly, which required Julia to reapply her lipstick and both of them to check their appearance in the mirror before

  they left their room.

  Gabriel held her hand during the short walk to the Uffizi and

  even after they were whisked to the second floor by a rather pudgy gentleman wearing a paisley bow tie who introduced himself as Lorenzo, Dottore Vitali’s personal assistant.

  “Professore, I’m afraid we have need of you.” Lorenzo glanced between Gabriel and Julia, his eyes darting to their conjoined hands.

  Gabriel tightened his grip.

  “It’s for the — how you say — on the screen? PowerPoint?” Lo-

  renzo gestured to the room behind them where guests were already

  congregating.

  “Miss Mitchell has a reserved seat,” said Gabriel pointedly, ir-

  ritated that Lorenzo was ignoring her.

  “Yes, Professore. I shall accompany your fidanzata personally.” Lorenzo nodded respectfully in Julia’s direction.

  She opened her mouth to correct his characterization, but Gabriel

  pressed a kiss to the back of her hand, murmuring a promise against her skin. Then he was gone, and Julia was escorted to her place of honor in the front row.

  She took in her surroundings, noting the presence of what looked

  like members of Florence’s glitterati mingling with academics and local dignitaries. She smoothed the skirt of her dress, enjoying the whispering sound of the taffeta beneath her fingers. Given the appearance of the other guests, along with the presence of a bevy of photographers, she was glad that she was well-dressed. She didn’t

  want to embarrass Gabriel on this most important occasion.

  The lecture was being delivered in the Botticelli room, which was

  devoted to the finest of his works. In fact, the lectern was situated in between the Birth of Venus and the Madonna of the Pomegranate, while Primavera hung to the audience’s right. The artwork on the 20

  Gabriel’s Rapture

  wall to the audience’s left had been removed, and a large screen had been hung, on which Gabriel’s PowerPoint slides would be projected.

  She knew how unusual it was to have a lecture in such a special

  space and silently said a prayer of thanks for this incredible blessing.

  When she’d spent her junior year in Florence she’d visited the Botticelli room at least once a week and sometimes more often. She found his

  art both soothing and inspiring. As a shy American undergraduate,

  she never would have imagined that, two years later, she would be accompanying a world-renowned Dante specialist as he lectured in that very room. She felt as if she’d won the lottery a thousand times over.

  More than one hundred people crowded into the room, some

  even spilling into the standing area at the back. Julia watched Gabriel as he was introduced to various important looking guests. He was

  a very attractive man, tall and ruggedly handsome. She especially

  admired his glasses and the way his sleek, dark suit fit perfectly.

  When he was blocked from her view by other people, she focused

  her attention on picking out his voice. He chatted amiably, switching seamlessly from Italian to French to German and back to Italian again.

  (Even his German was sexy.)

  She grew warm as she remembered what Gabriel looked like

  under his suit, his form naked and strained above her. She wondered if he was having similar thoughts whenever he looked at her, and in the midst of her private musings, he made eye contact and winked.

  His momentary display of playfulness put her in mind of their in-

  terlude on the terrace that morning, and a pleasant tremor traveled up and down her spine.

  Gabriel sat politely through Dottore Vitali’s introduction, which took no less than fifteen minutes as he painstakingly rehearsed the professor’s accomplishments. To the casual observer, Gabriel appeared relaxed, almost bored. His nervousness was telegraphed by the way

  he unconsciously shuffled his lecture notes, notes that were merely an outline to the remarks that would come from his heart. He’d

  made a few last minute changes to his lecture. He couldn’t speak

  of muses, love, and beauty without acknowledging the brown-eyed

  angel who’d bravely given herself to him the evening before. She was his inspiration, and she’d been so since she was seventeen. Her quiet beauty and generous goodness had touched his heart. He’d carried

  her image with him as a talisman against the dark demons of addic-

  tio
n. She was everything to him, and by God, he’d say so publicly.

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  Sylvain Reynard

  After much flattery and applause, he took his place behind the

  podium and addressed the crowd in fluid Italian. “My lecture this

  evening will be somewhat unusual. I am not an art historian, yet

  I will be speaking to you about Sandro Botticelli’s muse, La Bella Simonetta.” At this, his eyes sought Julia’s.

  She smiled, trying to suppress the blush that threatened her

  cheeks. She knew the story of Botticelli and Simonetta Vespucci.

  Simonetta was referred to as the Queen of Beauty in the court of Florence, prior to her death at the tender age of twenty-two. To be compared to Simonetta by Gabriel was very high praise, indeed.

  “I am tackling this controversial topic as a professor of literature, choosing Botticelli’s artwork as a representation of various female archetypes. Historically speaking, there have been many debates as to how close Simonetta was to Botticelli and to what degree she was the actual inspiration for his paintings. I hope to skirt some of those disagreements in order to focus your attention on a straightforward visual comparison of a few figures.

  “I shall begin with the first three slides. In them, you will recognize pen and ink illustrations of Dante and Beatrice in Paradise.”

  Gabriel couldn’t help but admire the images himself, transported

  as he was to the first time he’d welcomed Julianne into his home.

  That was the night he’d realized how much he wanted to please her, how beautiful she looked when she was happy.

  As he gazed at the quiescence of Beatrice’s expression, he com-

  pared her countenance with Julia’s. She sat with rapt attention, her lovely head turned in profile as she admired Botticelli’s handiwork.

  Gabriel wanted to make her look at him.

  “Notice Beatrice’s face.” His voice grew soft as his eyes met those of his sweetheart. “The most beautiful face…

  “We begin with Dante’s muse and the figure of Beatrice. Al-

  though I’m sure she needs no introduction, allow me to point out

  that Beatrice represents courtly love, poetic inspiration, faith, hope, and charity. She is the ideal of feminine perfection, at once intelligent and compassionate, and vibrant with the kind of selfless love that can only come from God. She inspires Dante to be a better man.”

  Gabriel paused a moment to touch his tie. It did not need

  straightening, but his fingers lingered against the blue silk. Julia blinked at the gesture, and Gabriel knew that he’d been understood.

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  Gabriel’s Rapture

  “Now consider the face of the goddess Venus.”

  All eyes in the room except Gabriel’s focused on the Birth of

  Venus. He looked over his notes eagerly as the audience admired one of Botticelli’s greatest and largest works.

  “It appears that Venus has Beatrice’s face. Once again, I’m not

  interested in a historical analysis of the models for the painting. I’m simply asking you to note the visible similarities between the figures.

  They represent two muses, two ideal types, one theological and one secular. Beatrice is the lover of the soul; Venus is the lover of the body. Botticelli’s La Bella has both faces — one of sacrificial love or agape, and one of sexual love or eros.”

  His voice deepened, and Julia found her skin warming at the

  sound.

  “In the portrait of Venus, the emphasis is on her physical beauty.

  Even though she represents sexual love, she maintains a venerable

  modesty, clutching part of her hair in order to cover herself. Notice the demure expression and the placement of her hand across her

  breast. Her shyness increases the eroticism of her portrayal — it doesn’t diminish it.” He removed his glasses for dramatic effect and fixed Julia with an unblinking eye. “Many people fail to see how modesty and sweetness of temper compound erotic appeal.”

  Julia fidgeted with the zipper on her purse, resisting the urge to squirm in her seat. Gabriel replaced his glasses.

  “Eros is not lust. According to Dante, lust is one of the seven deadly sins. Erotic love can include sex but is not limited to it. Eros is the all-consuming fire of infatuation and affection that is expressed in the emotion of being in love. And believe me when I say that it far outstrips the rivals for its affections, in every respect.”

  Julia couldn’t help but notice the dismissive way with which he’d

  pronounced the word rivals, punctuating his expression with a wave of his hand. It was as if he were casting aside all previous lovers with a mere gesture, while his blazing blue eyes fixed on her.

  “Anyone who has ever been in love knows the difference between

  eros and lust. There’s no comparison. One is an empty, unfulfilling shadow of the other.

  “Of course, one might object that it is impossible for one person, one woman, to represent the ideal of both agape and eros. If you will allow my indulgence for a moment, I will suggest that such

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  Sylvain Reynard

  skepticism is a form of misogyny. For only a misogynist would argue that women are either saints or seductresses — virgins or whores. Of course, a woman, or a man for that matter, can be both — the muse

  can be lover to both soul and body.

  “Now consider the painting behind me, Madonna of the

  Pomegranate.”

  Again, the eyes of the audience shifted to one of Botticelli’s

  paintings. Gabriel noticed with satisfaction the way Julia intentionally fingered one of her diamond earrings, as if she understood his revelations and received them gladly. As if she knew he was revealing his love for her through art. His heart swelled.

  “Once again, we see the same face repeated in the figure of the

  Madonna. Beatrice, Venus, and Mary — a trinity of ideal women,

  each wearing the same face. Agape, eros, and chastity, a heady combination that would make even the strongest man fall to his knees, if he was fortunate enough to find one person who manifests all three.”

  A cough that sounded suspiciously as if it were covering a derisive remark echoed throughout the room. Angry at being interrupted,

  Gabriel scowled in the general direction of the second row, over Julia’s shoulder. The cough was repeated once more for dramatic effect and a testosterone fueled staring contest began between a clearly annoyed Italian and Gabriel.

  Conscious of the fact that he was speaking into a microphone,

  Gabriel resisted the urge to curse and, with a scathing look at his detractor, continued.

  “Some have argued that it was a pomegranate and not an apple

  that tempted Eve in the Garden of Eden. With respect to Botticelli’s painting, many have argued that the pomegranate symbolizes the

  blood of Christ in his suffering and his subsequent new life through the resurrection.

  “For my purposes, the pomegranate represents the Edenic fruit,

  the Madonna as the second Eve and Christ as the second Adam. With

  the Madonna, Botticelli hearkens back to the first Eve, the archetype of femininity, beauty, and female companionship.

  “I’ll go further, by asserting that Eve is also the ideal of female friendship, the friend of Adam, and thus she is the ideal of philia, the love that emerges out of friendship. The friendship between Mary

  and Joseph manifests this ideal, as well.”

  24

  Gabriel’s Rapture

  His voice caught, so he took a moment to sip some water before

  continuing. Something about the comparison between Julia and Eve

  made him feel vulnerable, naked, hearkening back to the night he’d given her an apple and held her in his arms under the stars.

  The audience began murmuring, wondering why a polite pause

  to take a d
rink had extended into a break. Gabriel’s color deepened as he raised his eyes to look at his beloved once again, desperate for her understanding.

  Her ruby lips parted into an encouraging smile. Instantly, Ga-

  briel exhaled.

  “Botticelli’s muse is a saint, a lover, and a friend, not a cardboard cut-out of a woman or an adolescent fantasy. She is real, she is

  complicated, and she is endlessly fascinating. A woman to worship.

  “As I’m sure you’re aware, the preciseness of the Greek language

  allows one to speak more perspicuously about the different kinds

  of love. A modern treatment of this discussion can be found in C.S.

  Lewis’s The Four Loves, if you’re interested.”

  He cleared his throat and smiled winningly at the room.

  “Finally, consider the painting to my left, Primavera. One might expect to see the face of Botticelli’s muse reflected in the central figure in the painting. But consider the face of Flora, on the right. Once again, she bears a similarity to Beatrice, Venus, and the Madonna.

  “Surprisingly, Flora appears twice in the painting. As we move

  from the center of the painting to the right, you see Flora pregnant, swollen with Zephyr’s child. Zephyr is on the far right, hovering

  amongst the orange trees with the second depiction of Flora, as

  a virgin nymph. Her expression is marked with fear. She’s fleeing

  the arms of her prospective lover and gazing back at him in panic.

  However, when she’s pregnant, her countenance is serene. Her fear

  is replaced by contentment.”

  Julia flushed as she remembered how kind Gabriel had been to

  her the night before. He’d been tender and gentle, and in his arms she’d felt worshipped. Remembering the myth of Flora and Zephyr

  she shuddered, wishing that all lovers would be as tender with their virgin partners as Gabriel had been.

  “Flora represents the consummation of physical love and moth-

  erhood. She is the ideal of storge, or familial love, the kind of love manifested from a mother to her child, and between lovers who

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  Sylvain Reynard

  share a commitment that is not based solely on sex or pleasure, but is between married partners.”

 

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