Urban Venus

Urban Venus - By Sara Downing

chapter One

Bologna, 1541

The carriage rolls with a thief-like stealth through the sleeping streets as I take my leave of this beautiful city, my childhood home. The golden façades and porticoed passageways are illuminated by the final rays of moonlight before the cloud sweeps the nightlight from the sky; it serves to make an easier passage for the driver, but reveals to me the streets and alleyways that I will see no more. Now I prefer the darkness.

The rearing Torri loom before us, the huge towers that pierce the skyline and seem to point to heaven itself, outstretched like fingers pleading for the forgiveness I know cannot be bestowed upon me. Their towering greatness serves to make me feel small and unimportant, my crime simply to love a man who could not be mine. We reach an open space, away from the narrow streets, and the driver picks up speed, whipping the horses to go faster and spirit us from this place. I pull my dark cloak around my head as the breeze cuts through me, and shiver with fear and the knowledge of an uncertain future. In as much as I know I cannot stay here, it pains me to go, and my heart pounds fit to burst from my chest as I consider what I have forgone.

How can I leave this man who has loved and cherished me more than anyone in my short life? But I have to go; to stay would mean certain persecution. The man I love had no choice but to disown me, for his own sake and for the sake of his family. I so dearly wish that he could come with me, but it is not possible. He has his reputation to consider; it cannot be hindered by his love for a woman who is not his wife. He is long since gone from me.

A sleeping pigeon, startled by the carriage wheels, flies up like a black ghost, its wings flapping in the semi-darkness like the cloak of the devil himself. This beautiful city, once so welcoming to me, now appears menacing and evil; why should I want to stay?

We speed through the Piazza Maggiore and I permit myself one last glance up at the church of San Petronio, its huge campanile cutting the shadows of the square firmly in two. A sudden spear of moonlight illuminates a stained glass window, and the image of Our Lord is revealed to me. Am I worthy of looking upon his face? I feel I should deflect my gaze, lower my head in shame, but I am drawn to see his visage one final time. As I glance upwards, his enigmatic smile is sufficient to bestow upon me his blessing and forgiveness.

I am now resolved to do what I must, despite the sinfulness of such an act in the eyes of the Lord. As the carriage makes a sharp turn into the Via d’Azeglio I pull my cloak tightly around me and throw myself onto the street below.