A gorgeous morning, and a satisfactory day. The archive angel is still sitting on my shoulder, bless her. So today I only really found three documents worth having, but they are amazing, just amazing. Almost the first letter (or draft minuta, which is much more difficult to read) I looked at showed me that Margherita was seeking clarification from the Pope, as early as 1581, on the licenza allowing her to enter convents with her ladies. She wanted to get the dress code right. And, twenty years later, she clearly wanted her organ in Sant’Orsola to be equally appropriately attired, as she managed to get a painting for its lid back from Cesare d’Este.

But the reason I know that the AA is still with me is that when chasing a little more information on the gruesome murder of yesterday, I came across something I really, no REALLY, didn’t expect. While there were no letters from or to the dead girl’s immediate family, apart from a very entertaining narration of how her dad came to get married in Rome after being beaten to a pulp by his rival suitor, there was a document about yet another daughter of the family, who was a novice at San Vito in 1572. Quite a sad tale, really, as it is a record of questioning regarding her illicit lover, one Biagio Muradore, who got her up the duff. She begged not to be sent to prison, and really you do feel quite sorry for her, but I couldn’t suppress a snort when I got to the punch line. “And the Inquistor asked, ‘Where does Biagio live?’ ‘I think he’s from San Giovanni Battista, next to the suore convertite [the reformed prostitutes’ convent].’” I could hear somewhere faintly, “Grazie. Sto quì per la settimana.”

The exciting musicological thing about this document, though, is that it names another nun at the convent, who just happens to be cited as an excellent organist in another source, well known to those who have an interest in Ferrarese nuns. But she has been assumed (by some) to be a he, as her name is extremely close to that of male Ferrarese musician. Now I know she’s a she, and she’s real, so all those that assumed that the nuns at San Vito were taught by an imported bloke, think again.

So not even an uncharacteristically bobbins commute back to Parma, waiting on the platform for nearly an hour as the delays got longer and longer, could put paid to my good mood. And I had a good novel, too – my Christmas present from my brother-in-law, The Garden of the Finzi-Continis, by Giorgio Bassani. As it’s set in Ferrara, I suppose I should be reading it there, but whatever. It’s a beautiful book, noble and sad.

Clearly, the Italians have the right attitude to writers, though. As I turned to get off the train I saw this sign:

Give us your poetry!!

Can you imagine a British press doing this kind of thing? Advertising for poetry manuscripts on the train? Or an academic press, soliciting on the Underground? Shaking my head in wonderment, I strolled back down the Via Garibaldi, stopping to buy a huge hunk of cheese to take back to Son No 2. I’ve failed utterly to find him a Parma jersey, but hopefully will be able to pick one up when I come back next month. After all, what are these trips for?

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 25th, 2010 at 10:59 pm and is filed under Musica Secreta, Musicology, Sacred Hearts. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.