The Poet Prince by Kathleen McGowan

The Poet Prince by Kathleen McGowan

Author:Kathleen McGowan [McGowan, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780743299985
Google: o4tOHZLiYVsC
Amazon: 1223004511
Goodreads: 6730191
Publisher: Touchstone
Published: 2010-05-25T04:00:00+00:00


Genoa

1468

IN A FAMILY renowned for the beauty of its women, the young Simonetta Cattaneo was the crowning glory. There had never been a girl so lovely, so exquisite of both feature and coloring. Her hair was the one element of her appearance that everyone remarked upon: by the age of ten, it hung to her waist in thick, apricot waves, a stunning golden peach color, not quite red, yet not blond in any traditional sense. Like all else about the young woman who was known by the nickname of la Bella, “the Beauty,” her eyes also complied with God’s command that everything about Simonetta be unequaled by any woman alive. They were a nearly translucent blue with coppery flecks, and they sparkled with the sweetness of her good humor.

Simonetta’s skin was uncommon for an Italian woman, even one of such storied lineage. It was the color of rich cream, dotted gracefully with soft freckles in strategic places on her body and face. Her family referred to these as “angel kisses,” for they were like sweet punctuation marks that highlighted the beauty bestowed upon her by the divine. She was tall, even as a child, lithe of limb and slender, moving with the grace of a willow tree in the first breezes of spring.

And yet for all her physical perfection, Simonetta was equally flawless of character. She was a gentle girl, and deeply sensitive. For many years into the future, her mother would tell the story of hearing her daughter crying on a spring afternoon, then searching for her with rising desperation as she heard Simonetta’s sobs increase. She found her daughter weeping uncontrollably in the rose garden, as she sat amid a sea of colorful blooms. Roses in sunset shades of reds and oranges blossomed all around her, set against a sea of smaller white blossoms. There were butterflies in the garden this day, large yellow wings with black patterns flitting over Simonetta’s head. The scene was idyllic and beautiful, and the lovely young woman with the gleaming apricot hair had her face lifted to the sun. She wept uncontrollably.

“What is wrong, my child?”

Madonna Cattaneo ran to her daughter, wrapping her arms around her as the girl’s body shook against her own. The girl fought through her tears to speak.

“Is . . . isn’t it so beautiful?” Simonetta cried, pulling away from her mother to gesture around the garden. “The flowers, the butterflies. All that God has created for us. Could anything be more beautiful than this? How blessed we must be for God to love us so much!”

The child Simonetta wept with the joy of God’s creation, and for the beauty of the world. She remained pure in her appreciation of the precious nature of life on earth, every day of her existence. That loveliness from her inner being radiated, shining forth as a beacon of light that would one day touch the world, influencing millions for centuries into the future. But on that day in the garden, Simonetta’s role as the future muse who would represent the Renaissance was being decided for her.



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