La Pietà

[Maid of Marvels]

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v516/Maid/bergamocity.jpg​

The hilltop fortress of Bergamo is situated at the southern foothills of the Alps. During four centuries of Venetian rule, this city enjoyed a long period of social, political and cultural wealth and all judicial business was conducted at the Venetian mayor's house, Palazzo di Podestà Veneto.

Protected by heavily reinforced walls, its heart is the Piazza Vecchia and all roads lead here. Facing the Piazza Vecchia is the medieval Palazzo della Ragione, whose portico dates back to the twelfth century and connects the Piazza Vecchia with the smaller Piazza del Duomo, domain of several religious edifices -- the Duomo, the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, the Colleoni Chapel and baptistery, and is not very distant from the orphanage for girls at the Conventino di Bergamo. The countryside itself is dotted with farms and fortified villas, among which is the Castello Gorle, built in the thirteenth century, and home to the Bishop of Bergamo, Pietro Priuli.

Nestled within these surroundings unfolds the tale of a man whose only transgression was to have been born an illegitimate grotesque and the zingari orphan who befriends him.

A thread for Graybread and myself -- comments and critiques are welcome by PM. Read along and enjoy...
~Gray and Maid

 

[Graybread]

The screams of pain could be heard through the solid wooden door of the servants’ room. They echoed off the stones walls and faded into darkness down the long corridor, only to be followed by yet an other scream of pain.

“You must push child,” said the attending midwife, “push or you will never have the baby.”

An other scream ripped through the night as the contraction tore through the small body. The midwifes attendant dabbed the sweat from the sweet young face, contorted with pain and fear.

“More linens,” the midwife said to her attendant, “quickly.”

As the attendant stepped beside the midwife with more linens she whispered quietly.

“Will the baby not come?”

“I fear she is too small and the child does not seem eager to come into this world,” she whispered back. “Push girl or we shall be here all night,” she demanded of the mother.

The labor had gone on since early afternoon, through vespers and now late into the night. The young mother was frail and exhausted with her efforts as she lay on the bed panting, gasping for breath.

“You must try again harder this time, as hard as you can............Put the biting stick in her mouth,” commanded the midwife.

“Take a deep breath and bear down hard,” the attendant said, “and bite down on this.”

“Yes....I see it!......Oh sweet Mother of God.....it is turned the wrong way! Come here and help,” the midwife said!

For twenty long and agonizing minutes the midwife and attendant tried to turn the baby, but the birthing was too far along to succeed. Finally the child was delivered feet first, limp and unmoving.

“It is as I feared might happen,” said the midwife as she laid the baby between the mother’s legs.

“Heavenly Father, take this child into your......”

“Time for prayer later, we must stop the bleeding or we will lose them both,” interrupted the midwife.

As they tried desperately to stop the hemorrhaging mother, the baby’s leg kicked against the attendants arm and he took his first breath of life.

“Oh Blessed Virgin, he is alive,” exclaimed the attendant.

“Quickly, tie the cord and take him.....wrap him in swaddling with I try to save her.”

The attendant took the baby and watched helplessly as the midwife tried to save the mother. But it was not too be, she was to young yet herself, to be bringing children into the world, and the complications of the breech birth were to much for her.

“Hail Mary full of grace,” she whispered quietly as she attended to the passed mother. Cleaning her and wiping the sweat from her face. She laid her arms down across her stomach so she looked like she was sleeping peacefully, then she turned to the baby. She pulled the cloth back covering him as he lay in the attendant’s arms, examining him closely.

“He is not right,” she whispered, looking into the attendant’s eyes, “I fear he is broken. Look at his arms and legs.........we must let him go with his mother.”

“Oh please no,” whimpered the attendant, her bottom lip quivering “she gave her life to bring him to us.......and.... and see how he struggles now to stay.”

“We would have to find a wet nurse and ultimately the decision rests with his Holiness.





Salvatore stood in the doorway of the kitchen of the Conventino di Bergamo, broom in hand, looking up at the clouds.

“Salvatore, are you sweeping or dreaming again,” called the cook from the oven.
“Pardon il mio laziness, io soltanto stava pensando.” He replied.
“I think you spend too much time thinking Salvatore, there is a dirty floor that needs you attention right now,” she answered although with no anger or meanness in her voice
“Si,” he answered as he pushed the broom across the floor with the permanently curled and gnarled fingers of his left hand, his stronger right hand holding the top of the shaft. He drug his limp left leg as he moved across the floor pushing the dirt along. He smiled to himself, but only the right side of his mouth moving to form the grin, knowing she would release him soon, and he could go to his books. He glanced up at her to see if she still watched him. His dark gray/green eyes landing on hers. His eyes were perhaps the only thing about Salvatore that had not been deformed during the first nine months of his life.

“Go bambino,” she laughed, taking the broom from him, “go read your books and dream.”
Salvatore slowly made his way down the main hall of the orphanage toward his room next to the servant’s quarters. His books waited patiently for him filling him with dreams and places he would never see.