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

firmly clasped and do not flap and wave about, that my eyes are lowered modestly, and that my mouth remains closed.” Suor Paolina gazed steadily in my direction. The older girls smiled as though their lips were stitched together.
    We new girls tried hard to do as we were instructed, but it didn’t come easily. “Mouths closed
gently,
young ladies!” Suor Paolina reminded us. “Do not grimace!”
    Tomassa seemed to possess effortless poise. Suor Paolina often used her as an example to the rest of us—especially me. I was short and still too thin, no matter how much I ate, and I was not naturally graceful. Giulietta, on the other hand, had trouble disciplining her eyes. Like me, she was always gazing about, and this brought constant reprimands from Suor Paolina.
    â€œDo not regard anyone with your eyes, young ladies,” Suor Paolina lectured us, although this was mostly aimed at Giulietta and me. “Keep them fixed and firm, lowered modestly. You must never,
ever
look at a man directly! Do you understand me?”
    â€œBut why not?” asked Niccolà, who already had made a reputation in the convent school for asking too many questions. They were often the questions I wanted to ask, but Niccolà saved me the trouble. “Why must we not look directly at a man?”
    â€œBecause your look is likely to inflame their carnal appetites, causing them to fall helplessly into sin. And surely, Signorina Niccolà, you would not want to be responsible for that!”
    Niccolà had to agree that, indeed, she would not want such a thing. Afterward, though, we discussed among ourselves what Suor Paolina could possibly have meant.
    â€œLust,” explained Giulietta, and we nodded knowingly, although we knew next to nothing about the subject.
    We had much more to learn besides the virtues.
    Suor Paolina accompanied us to our meals and turned her attention to our table manners. We had spoons for soup and knives to cut portions of bread and meat, which we ate using only the thumb and the first two fingers, then wiped our hands clean on a linen napkin. But now we were told that we must learn to use a fork, something new that had become accepted among the best families of Florence.
    â€œIt’s essential that you learn to use a fork instead of your fingers,” said Suor Paolina. “All it takes is practice.”
    â€œA
lot
of practice,” Niccolà lamented, as a forkful of pigeon pie dropped into her lap.
    The virtues were just one part of our training. Suor Rita was assigned to tutor us in arithmetic. “When you are mistresses of your own households, you’ll need to know how to keep records of expenditures.” I enjoyed arithmetic—there was something fascinating about numbers—and had already received some training from Fra Matteo at Palazzo Medici. But the others scowled through every lesson.
    Suor Assunta tried hard to instruct us in the arts of needlework: spinning and weaving, which I found tedious but Tomassa took to immediately—"You don’t have to think about it,” she said. Sewing and embroidery seemed to be a pleasant way to pass the time, although I had small talent for it.
    When the four of us were sent off to work on our stitchery, we found it an ideal time to discuss matters that we couldn’t very well speak about in front of the nuns.
    â€œDo you really think,” Niccolà whispered, “that we can make men fall into sin? That we can inflame their carnal appetites just by
looking
at them?”
    I hadn’t any idea. Not quite nine, I was the youngest in the group and hadn’t the advantage of growing up in a household with a mother and older sisters who might have imparted some basic knowledge of the ways of the world. But Giulietta had.
    â€œWomen are far more lustful than men,” she informed us. My needle hung in midair, and I leaned closer in order not to miss a single syllable. “Everyone knows