Stone Virgin

by Barry Unsworth

  So she must by her female nature be passive but on the other hand the Holy Virgin was afraid at this moment, the visit of the shining angel took her by surprise. In the commentaries of the Fathers we are told that Mary was alarmed by the magnificence of Gabriel and she said to him, Oh thou fire-being how shall I believe thee? Also it has been said though I forget by whom non quemvis angelum mittit ad virginem, it was no ordinary angel that God sent but His fortem archangelum. So the position of the Virgin’s arms should show not only her humility but also the instinct to guard herself. I have seen a Madonna Annunciata by della Robbia which has the left arm extended also one by Matteo Raverti which he made for the Duomo of Milan but the arm is held higher and merely a gesture to express surprise. I wanted more than this. Then I thought again of how Adam and Eve after eating the forbidden fruit covered their genitals not their hands or mouths which had done the deed, this is a sign that they themselves knew their sin was the impulse of desire they had carnal desire for each other after eating the apple and this was all Eve’s doing. Then I saw my Madonna’s arm could serve as a figura for Eve’s arm to show the sin of the Fall redeemed. The wine Eve pressed for mankind poisoned them but the vine that grew in Mary nourishes and saves the world. And also the name Eva if reversed gives us Ave of the angel’s greeting and that is the reason it is written funda nos in pace, mutans nomen Evae. All this I saw only gradually. And there were changes in the angle of the face and the arrangement of the draperies.

  During this time we talked together as I have said. She gave me the gossip of the town and I spoke about my life how I ran from herding goats to apprentice myself to the Carthusians at Pavia where I learned some Latin along with the stone-carving and afterwards ran away again to join the forces of Andreolo Belcapuzo and fought in the Lombardy wars all this before I was twenty years of age, then I stayed behind at Bologna where I worked as an assistant to the Sienese master della Quercia and it was then I began to understand my talent. She asked me about the quarrel that night in the tavern concerning which Rodrigo Nofri has testified that I uttered treasonable speeches, all lies my lord Nofri has been bribed to perjure himself. I explained to Bianca that the Florentines began it by staring and then the Muranese who was with us said something about the hat of one of them because they were dressed in the trumpery French fashion with rainbow-coloured hose and feathers in their hats which no Venetian would dream of but it was their talk of Carmagnola that made me angry I was not drunk at all whatever the tavern keeper says. My lord Carmagnola was a poor village boy from Piedmont as I was, from the same region as your illustrious lady wife and so I was defending your family also, and he went on to become the greatest condottiere in Italy, victor of Como and Adda, Lodi he surprised and put its lord in an iron cage, in his twenty-fifth year he was created Count of Castelnuovo di Scrivia with lands and titles. He humbled Pandolfo Malatesta. He restored the domains of the Dukes of Milan then turned against them to fight for Venice at a salary of one thousand ducats a month, this was the man these fops were abusing and it is well known that though Florence is allied to Venice the Medici are treacherously seeking a separate peace and everyone in the room knew it and was against them but I said nothing even when they imitated my accent only asked them not to speak of Carmagnola, then one of them said he thinks this Carmagnola shits gold and pisses acqua nanfa and I said I do not say he pisses acqua nanfa he pisses acqua morta like everyone else, who says he pisses acqua nanfa? You are a pisspot, I said and whatever he pisses his piss is better than your spit (because he was spitting as he grew excited). Who are you calling a pisspot? he said and I saw his hand go across his body and I stood up. I was telling this to Bianca and growing angry as I remembered it but when I looked up from the lower draperies where I was cutting the folds I saw that she was laughing at all this talk of pissing and I laughed too, seeing it was not worth being knocked senseless for, he punched me with his sword hilt a French sword with a basket guard, having no room for a thrust, though I drew blood from him also catching him in the armpit with my stortella which I carry only for my defence not a deep stab but he did not go unscathed. And so we laughed together at this. Other times too we laughed together. She laughed often. Never again now.

  My lord that poxed-out hag of a Fiammetta (my landlady Maria Nevi) has testified that she saw me through my window drowning Bianca in effigy by submerging an image of her in liquid and that is why witchcraft has been added to the charges against me but this is based on ignorance as well as malevolence and the ignorance is not hers only but belongs also to my judges for accepting such an accusation. It is true that when I had finished the clay model I made a copy, rather rougher, and afterwards immersed it, but this was for the purpose of transferring the proportions to the block of stone. Anyone who knows anything of the matter knows that you must always study the block to be carved, you must see the form that is imprisoned there which is also the form that is imprisoned in your mind. Therefore it is important to decide, or to see, before attempting the first cut, where the form is, the depth from the surface at which the key points of the figure exist. Now one very good way of doing this – it is a method I learned from the Florentine Sebastiano Macchi when we worked together in Bologna – is to suspend your model in a glass-sided vessel similar in shape to the block with a hole at the bottom which you can plug, then you fill it up with liquid to cover the model, the liquid should be pale and opaque, a mixture of water and pulped mastica is what I find best and so by removing the plug you can reduce the level and the model is revealed and you see the exact section of the part to be carved. The levels correspond with predetermined measurements on the stone and a calibrated pointer for measuring distances towards the centre is also necessary.

  This then is how I drowned Bianca in effigy, this is my witchcraft. She herself saw the figure standing in the liquid and she laughed at it, such things amused her, like a child. I remember that she brought her face up close to the glass to look at the face of the model and she laughed. It is true Bianca was drowned, half-choked with a cord first then drowned, but it was a coincidence. Or perhaps it was done on purpose to incriminate me. I did not kill her. Why should I want to kill her? I used her for I hear his step outside more than one, somebody is with him. It is too early.

  I knew him as soon as I saw him enter with my ox of a gaoler taller even than him but slimmer his page boy behind and a secretary of the Consiglio in a blue cloth gown, saw that stiff face all the men of the family have and the long furrow between nostril and mouth and the faint twist of contempt on the lips. I knew him as I know his brothers, having seen them in ceremonial procession walking in rank among the notables dressed in the red damask of the Senate and in favoured position, close behind the Doge himself. This one had risen higher since then, he wore the black now, not the red, the long-sleeved gown and brimless cap of office. My death entered with him. No man could have a worse enemy than Federico Fornarini. And he was more than a Senator now, more than a Knight of Venice, he was one of the Ten.

  He sent the others to wait outside in the passage though within call if need be and he closed the door carefully he wanted no hearers for what he was going to say except only me and he had come so I could hear it from him. He was careful, always careful of himself, like all his cursed family, even with them outside there he kept the distance between us, standing with a hand on the dagger inside his robe. The other hand he clapped to his breast as he made me an exaggerated patrician bow. So, he said, you are Girolamo these are your quarters, better than the goat-pen in Piedmont you come from. Indeed yes I said but there have been better times between. Why do you honour me with a visit? I came to tell you in your stinkhole here he said, speaking quietly. I want you to know.

  Even across the room I could smell the fragrance of his person, he had bathed himself in civet to come here, risked the breath of infection for it. Then I knew my death had entered with him. It was you then? I said. You were the one she spoke of. I came to tell you he said again. When they take you and hang you
in the Piazzetta you will know whose hand made the noose. Yes, I will know I said. I am not a dog I looked him in the eye. I would ask you to sit I said but there is just the one stool and that is mine and the floor is dirty and there is rat shit about and rats too. Scum of a stone-cutter he said the rat shit is yours. You had her killed I said. Your people bribed the witnesses.

  His smile grew more pronounced at this. I also conduct the hearing, he said. I take the evidence and with my learned colleagues assess it. I have the advantage of them of course. It has been interesting, my friend, very entertaining, to read these daily effusions of yours. Alfredo is a faithful animal, he brought them straight to me. Your patron, I regret to say, saw nothing of them. He paused for a moment and his face changed, the smile left it and he looked at me with hatred. It was interesting, he said, to read of your frequent screwing of my whore.

  Give me a weapon, I said. Weak as I am. Then we would see the colour of your blood which no one has had a chance to do since your bravi do all your fighting. Thus I sought to provoke him but it was useless he was too cold, besides he wanted a felon’s death for me. The smile was back on his face now as he looked at me. So this is the justice of Venice I said. God will punish you. That may be he said but you will not see it, I on the other hand will see your hanging, I will see your feet kicking and your eyes bulging out. I will see that the executioner gets a bene andata to prolong the business as these fellows know well how. Did you forget my name?

  I never knew you were the one, I said. But why kill her, why have Bianca killed?

  She was my whore, he said. I had my times to visit her and she knew them. I went there on the day and at the time and she was not there. Figurati, I, Federico Fornarini, I arrive and the creature who keeps the door tells me Bianca is not here. Not here? Then where? She cannot say. Imagine it, I am compelled to ask where my whore is. Moreover the door-keeper knows, I see the knowledge on her face, even I see something of a smile there. I leave instantly of course but I set a man to watch the house. He reports to me. She arrives fifteen minutes late, hot with haste, carrying a bag. I do not question her, I have her followed. So I learn the truth.

  You continue to visit her I said and you – Yes he said I fuck her just the same. That is what she was for. I do not show displeasure but she is marked for death. I fuck her and have her watched and when the time comes I have her whore’s life snuffed out.

  He took two steps back towards the door, hand still inside his gown. She brought it on herself, he said speaking more quietly. I was generous with her. I did not ask too closely how she spent her time. Then I call and she is not there. The fool was dressing up for you. I did what was necessary. There are people who look to me.

  God help them I said.

  You too he said. A convicted felon. And also, to sweeten your thoughts, your botch of a Madonna which is now in the possession of the Supplicanti, it will never be used on their church. I have spoken to their Prior. When I explained matters to him he began at once to see the statue’s imperfections. Whatever pious reasons they give out for rejecting it, the Supplicanti are too recently settled in Venice to disregard my wishes or risk the displeasure of my family. So you will die, Girolamo, you sodomizer of your mother, and the Madonna will die with you.

  He looked at me again a few moments without speaking more, the twist of a smile still there though his face was white and sick and I knew in that moment that he hated me also for my talent. Then he went out looking like a bat from behind with his long sleeves trailing.

  My lord there is little left to say. I know my words are not reaching you. I think I have known it from the beginning. All the time the gaoler was betraying me. He said yes you can trust me, you have my promise. He nodded his big head. Then he gathered up my papers and carried them to Fornarini, to laugh over and destroy. However, it has become habit with me. Death will come soon enough, I will not anticipate it by falling silent now. So I write to you a few words more at least though knowing it is hopeless. The light is failing but I have a lamp now, they have given me a candle lamp. Alfredo came back with it, yes he said I have orders to give you a lamp. I know whose orders. He wants me to plead for life but I will not, I do not address these words to him, shame of his race, with not courage enough even to do his own killing.

  All the time I was carving the stone Bianca came to see me. She came when there was no need. She dressed in the vesti di Madonna. She stayed when there was nothing to do. She cooked meals or she cleaned the room. The weather was hot. I worked on the statue and sometimes in the midst of my work sometimes afterwards we made love together. (She did things with me, Fornarini, that she never did with you. What they were I will not say. But believe it. Moreover she took no money.) I got water from the pump and we washed each other from the bucket. And she laughed and cried out at the cold water. Her body was beautiful.

  And all the time she must have been frightened. I did not take it seriously she was fanciful in any case and she liked to make mysteries. She had little sense, una cervellina, but she would have known what kind of man she had to deal with. She knew what could happen to girls of her trade, the broken bones, slashed face, the beating and gang rape of the trentuno, the dumping ground of the Lagoon.

  She knew the danger and still she came. I think it was because she had no existence of her own. That morning, when I went to announce I had chosen her out of all the women in Venice she was installed there with her doorkeeper and her goldfinch and the damask hangings and her book that she couldn’t read. Being the Madonna was a part for her to play, she lost herself in it. Yes that must be the reason. We never spoke about love. Now I am to die but what is my fault? Who can say I harmed her? I would not have hurt Bianca. Once only we quarrelled that was when she said she could not see my light and I was offended and told her to go away but then she said she could see it. She cried and said she could see it.

  I do not believe you. Would they hack her to pieces? Me they will kill but not the Madonna. And so not me. The star does not lose virtue by putting forth its ray or the mother by bearing a son nor can the creator of forms be eclipsed. There is natural light there is the light of God with which objects can at any time be imbued and there is the light that lives in creation. All things are in threes. The pagans believed that evil comes with the descent of spirit into material bodies but we believe that spirit comes as radiance from the face of God that first enlightens the angels then illumines the human soul and finally the world of corporeal matter. And this is again three and the reason is that God governs things by threes and these themselves are also governed by threes and so there is the saying that numero deus comparare gaudet. For the Supreme Maker first creates things, then seizes them and thirdly perfects them primo singula creat, secundo rapit, tertio perfecit. Fornarini, murderer, you do not understand this, but all who are makers know it.

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  Copyright © Barry Unsworth 1985

  This edition copyright © The Estate of Barry Unsworth 1985, 2012

  Barry Unsworth has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and
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  First published in Great Britain in 1985 by Hamish Hamilton

  First published in paperback in 1986 by Penguin Books

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  ISBN 9780099558545