Free Duchessina - A Novel of Catherine de' Medici by Carolyn Meyer

be sent to the convent. They missed their fathers and brothers, although the boys’ lives were mostly separate from theirs. When I told them that I was happy to be at Le Murate, they stared at me, incredulous.
    â€œBut you’re
la duchessina!
” exclaimed Niccolà, a slender, rather bold girl. “Everybody knows Caterina de’ Medici is the richest girl in Florence, and the pope is your uncle. How can you like being
here?
”
    â€œBecause my mother and father are dead,” I explained. “I have my aunt Clarissa, who loves me, but I didn’t see her very often. My uncle the pope is far away in Rome and has no time to spend with me. Betta, my nurse, cares about me, but she has no say. Cardinal Passerini is supposed to be in charge of me, but I dislike him, and I’m sure he doesn’t care about me. Before I came here, I was at Santa Lucia,” I told the girls, “and they hated me. Here I feel safe, and the nuns are very kind.”
    â€œIt’s in the normal course of things for a young girl to leave her family,” Giulietta, the oldest of my new friends, said knowingly. “Once the choice has been made for a girl—marriage vows or monastic vows—she no longer belongs to her family of birth. She belongs to her husband or to God. That’s what my mother always told me.”
    â€œDo you really believe that, Giulietta?” asked serious-minded Tomassa.
    â€œâ€˜One must accept it. It isn’t easy, but it is life,’” Giulietta replied. “That’s what my mother said, and I guess I believe her.”

    E PIPHANY HAD ALWAYS been my favorite feast day, celebrating the arrival of the wise men at the manger in Bethlehem. This year it reminded me of the chapel at Palazzo Medici with the frescoes of the journey of the magi. I wondered if I’d ever see the palace and those vivid paintings again, and I suffered a bout of missing my old life. Even the trays of pastries from the convent kitchen didn’t cheer me. But then Giulietta sailed in with an announcement that excited us all.
    â€œBeginning tomorrow, we’re to be tutored in the virtues,” she said. “We must learn how to conduct ourselves at all times in order to be proper wives. The nuns will instruct us.”
    â€œBut how can the nuns teach us to behave like proper wives?” I asked. “What could they know about it?”
    My question wasn’t meant to be disrespectful, but my friends erupted in shy giggles.
    The four of us, all recent arrivals at Le Murate, were assigned to a class with several girls who had been there for some time and didn’t pay much attention to the awkward newcomers. Instruction was conducted by Suor Paolina, whose beauty couldn’t be hidden even by a nun’s long tunic and veil. Her skin was smooth as ivory, her eyes the color of violets. Her slender fingers gestured as gracefully as birds in flight.
    â€œYoung ladies, your attention,
per favore,
” she said in a voice as silvery as a flute. “It is important that you discipline your body to move in only the most refined manner. You must walk at a measured pace and with a bearing that bespeaks the dignity of your gender and your station in life. Like this.” Suor Paolina glided silkily across the room.
    â€œIt’s as if she has wheels instead of feet,” Niccolà whispered, not softly enough.
    A tiny frown creased the nun’s forehead. “Signorina Niccolà,
per favore,
let us see you walk from here to there.”
    Niccolà tried so hard to be dignified that she tripped over her own feet. The older, more experienced girls permitted themselves the hint of a smile, but I made the mistake of laughing out loud. The nun swiftly turned her attention to me.
    â€œSignorina Caterina, the first thing
you
must learn is not to laugh in such a barbaric manner. Now, all of you, notice that my steps are never hasty, that my hands are lightly but