Unveiled

By Carolyn Morgan

The Louvre has the Mona Lisa.

Canada has the Veiled Virgin.

In the twenty-first century, Rebecca Howell is transfixed by the beauty of Giovanni Strazza’s masterpiece the Veiled Virgin. The sculpture was created in Italy in the mid-1800s but is housed at the Presentation Convent in St. John’s, Newfoundland. Its existence is one of the best-kept secrets in North America. Rebecca can’t help but wonder why in 1856 the Italian artist allowed such a brilliant example of his work to come to this remote island.

She discovers that although the work is signed by Strazza, it is not listed with his other sculptures, and there are no existing documents for the sale of the work. Rebecca travels to Italy to solve the mystery. Her research on Strazza and the Veiled Virgin will be the subject for her doctoral degree in art history.

Rebecca’s search is a labour of love as it takes her across the majestic cities and countrysides of Italy—from Milan to Rome, from Florence to Vinci, and finally to Piedmont, where her answers await. Her journey becomes one of self-discovery as the Newfoundland-Italy connection deepens and the mystery about the model who posed for Giovanni Strazza unfolds . . . along with the legacy she left.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Flanker Press
• Release date: May 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781771177382

Carolyn Morgan

Carolyn Morgan was born in St. John’s and has lived in the city most of her life. While she was teaching English at a local high school, her story “The Collector” was published in Canadian Living magazine (October 2001). Carolyn is a visual artist as well as a writer and teacher. In 2014, she had a solo art show titled Art Is for Apple at the Five Island Art Gallery in Tors Cove, Newfoundland and Labrador. This was a multimedia exhibit exploring the mythology and history of the apple. Her interest in art and history inspires her writing. Unveiled is her second novel.

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John’s

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Title: Unveiled : a novel / Carolyn Morgan.

Names: Morgan, Carolyn, 1950- author.

Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20190064579 | Canadiana (ebook) 20190064609 | ISBN 9781771177375

(softcover) | ISBN 9781771177382 (EPUB) | ISBN 9781771177399 (Kindle) | ISBN 9781771177405 (PDF)

Classification: LCC PS8626.O74465 U58 2019 | DDC C813/.6—dc23

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© 2019 by Carolyn Morgan

All Rights Reserved. No part of the work covered by the copyright hereon may be reproduced or used in any form or by any means—graphic, electronic or mechanical—without the written permission of the publisher. Any request for photocopying, recording, taping, or information storage and retrieval systems of any part of this book shall be directed to Access Copyright, The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency, 1 Yonge Street, Suite 800, Toronto, ON M5E 1E5. This applies to classroom use as well.

Printed in Canada

Cover design by Graham Blair

Flanker Press Ltd.

PO Box 2522, Station C

St. John’s, NL

Canada

Telephone: [phone] Fax: [phone] Toll-free: 1-866-739-4420

www.flankerpress.com

9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

We acknowledge the [financial] support of the Government of Canada. Nous reconnaissons l’appui [financier] du gouvernement du Canada. We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts, which last year invested $153 million to bring the arts to Canadians throughout the country. Nous remercions le Conseil des arts du Canada de son soutien. L’an dernier, le Conseil a investi 153 millions de dollars pour mettre de l’art dans la vie des Canadiennes et des Canadiens de tout le pays. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Newfoundland and Labrador, Department of Tourism, Culture and Recreation for our publishing activities.

Dedicated with fond memories to John Samuel Canning and Mabel Kean Canning—Uncle Jack and Aunt Mab. Their home, in the country, was a magical place that nurtured my imagination.

Every block of stone has a statue inside it,

and it is the task of the sculptor to discover it.

— Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni

One

St. John’s — Presentation Convent, Cathedral Square

Rebecca’s mind knew that the veil was made from stone, but her eyes refused to believe it. She stood in front of the glass case that contained Giovanni Strazza’s sculptural masterpiece, the Veiled Virgin, and was transfixed. The Virgin’s facial features and every strand of her braided hair showed through the marble veil. It was a perfect illusion. None of the veiled sculptures Rebecca had studied compared to this. Her fingers longed to touch the marble, but the glass prevented such liberties.

Sister Mary Margaret told the story of the Veiled Virgin as Rebecca continued to study the work. She had heard the story before.

"It arrived in St. John’s from Rome on December 4, 1856, under the auspices of John Thomas Mullock, the Roman Catholic Bishop of Newfoundland. When the sculpture was first viewed by the townspeople, it caused quite a stir. Bishop Mullock, in his diary, called it a perfect gem of art, and a local newspaper called it a triumph of the chisel." Sister paused and looked closely at the sculpture. "I’ve often wondered why Strazza let such a superb example of his art come to the remote island of Newfoundland. He couldn’t have been a very egotistical man, and that, in itself, is unusual for an artist. The strange thing is there is no record of the sale of the bust to Bishop Mullock."

That caught Rebecca’s attention. It was intriguing. Why was there no record of the sale? And why did Strazza send such a perfect example of his work to a sparsely populated country?

Sister Mary Margaret continued. "The Veiled Virgin was given into our care in 1862, when Bishop Mullock donated it to the Presentation Convent. His sister, Mary de Pazzi Mullock, was a member of the Presentation order, and she later became Mother Superior."

Would it be possible for me to touch the sculpture? Rebecca asked. I would be careful. I have a master’s degree in fine arts, she quickly added, noting the stern look on the Sister’s face. From the Accademia di Brera in Milan, where Strazza taught. I majored in sculpture and have studied the works of Italian masters, including Strazza.

I’m sorry, but that is out of the question, said Sister Mary Margaret. If we allowed everyone to touch her, she would be ruined. We are blessed to have such a work of art gifted to us, and we never take her for granted.

Do you ever make an exception to your rule?

Rarely, replied Sister Mary Margaret, smiling mysteriously. She handed Rebecca a card with a picture of the Veiled Virgin and a description of the artwork.

Thank you, Sister. How much do I owe for the card and the visit?

Nothing at all, my child. Perhaps a donation to our charities? We’re always in need of funds, so that we may help people in need.

I’ll stop by the office on the way out and make a donation.

God be with you, said Sister Mary Margaret.

And with you, said Rebecca.

She left the convent and walked across Cathedral Square to her car, which was parked in front of the Basilica—the beautiful Roman Catholic cathedral that had graced the city of St. John’s since its opening in 1855.

Every time Rebecca came home to Newfoundland, she felt like she had never left. Her attachment to the place had little to do with family and friends. It was the contours of the land that attracted her, especially the cliffs that guarded the opening into the harbour, appropriately called the Narrows. One year ago she had returned from Italy for her sister Laura’s wedding. All her family had been there, even cousins she hadn’t seen since she was a teenager. It was such a wonderful occasion, and a joy to see her sister and Jim so happy together. This visit felt as far from that as one could get.

Recently Rebecca had been in Toronto, being interviewed for a teaching position at Lakeshore College. The interview went well, but she was tired and went to bed early. It was three o’clock in the morning when her phone rang, and Rebecca knew it was bad news. No one, except maybe a boyfriend, calls you at that hour, and she hadn’t had a boyfriend since Guido Conti. That relationship had ended the night of her graduation celebration in Milan eight months ago.

When Laura told her that their aunt Helen had died, Rebecca couldn’t take it in. Helen was just sixty years old, and she could easily pass for fifty. The last time she had seen her aunt was at her graduation. Helen had flirted with Rebecca’s Italian professors, speaking in a combination of Italian, French, and English accompanied by energetic mime.

It was a family joke that Rebecca and Helen were identical twins born thirty-two years apart—they shared the same oval facial structure, wide-spaced eyes, and fine, glossy hair. Like Rebecca, Helen loved everything to do with the arts and had worked at the Provincial Art Gallery until her retirement five years ago.

They also shared a love of animals, and Rebecca spent much of her time as a child at Helen’s house playing with Barney and Blake, her two Irish setters. And when they died, Picasso and Degas, her retrievers. Rebecca’s mother was allergic to dogs, so she could never have them at home. When she was in high school, she often stayed at her aunt’s house looking after Pic and Deg when Helen went on one of her many trips. Her aunt had never married, and she joked that she could never find a man who would be as devoted to her as her dogs. She had many boyfriends over the years, but none had lasted more than a year or two. She often said she didn’t need a man or children of her own—she had her nieces and her dogs, and that was enough.

Rebecca always kept in touch with her aunt through emails and phone calls, and she had talked with her only two nights before she died. Laura told her that Helen had been volunteering at the animal hospital and had just collapsed. Dr. Singh said she had suffered a brain aneurysm and would have had no warning.

Now it was three weeks since the funeral, and this trip to the Presentation Convent was the first time Rebecca had left her parents’ house for a purpose other than buying groceries or fulfilling the legal tasks associated with death. Everyone in the family was feeling lost without Helen’s cheerful presence, and they tiptoed around each other trying not to talk about her when, in reality, she was never far from their thoughts.

Rebecca went straight to her computer and her sculpture textbooks when she arrived home. She wanted to find out as much information about the Veiled Virgin as possible.

the next morning her mother knocked on her bedroom door. You awake? I let you sleep in for a while, but Ms. Patterson just called—from Lakeshore College. The Human Resources Department.

Did she leave a message? Rebecca asked through a yawn.

Only that she understood your situation, but she needs to know by tomorrow whether you will be accepting their job offer. You want me to make you a good strong cup of tea? You can mull it over.

Thanks, Mom, but I’ll get it myself. You’ve got your own deadline to meet. Her mother wrote a cooking column for the local newspaper called Carrie’s Kitchen.

Call me if you need me. I’ll be in the tree house.

The tree house was what Carrie called her office, which was comprised of a desk and a chair at the end of the upstairs hallway. Typing at her desk, she looked out the window onto a mature maple tree, and she always said she felt like a bird in a tree.

Rebecca sat sipping tea from her favourite china mug, the one printed with Botticelli’s famous painting, the Birth of Venus. Ariana Como had given it to her their first year at the Accademia di Arno in Florence, Italy. They had been friends since their first life drawing class. Halfway through the class, Professor Delgado came to review Rebecca’s work. He spoke to her in rapid Italian, and Rebecca, knowing only a few words and phrases, was totally lost.

Ariana, whose easel was next to Rebecca’s, spoke in fluent English, He said that your painting was too rigid and lacked depth.

Delgado turned to Ariana with a surprised look and thanked her for her assistance. He switched to speaking in English and apologized to Rebecca, saying that he thought she was Italian. Rebecca realized that it was her dark hair and olive complexion that had confused him. Rebecca looked like the stereotypical Italian, while Ariana looked like the quintessential English girl with her light blonde hair, aqua-blue eyes, and the kind of pale skin that would sunburn easily.

After that incident, Rebecca and Ariana had become friends and, later, roommates. They laughed about the assumptions people made based on their looks. Ariana’s family was a mix of fair and olive skin tones, dark and light hair, and blue, green, and brown eyes. She figured that there were some Viking ancestors on both sides of her family tree. It was an interesting reference, considering Newfoundland had documented Viking settlements in the northern part of the island, in L’Anse aux Meadows. When Rebecca mentioned this to Ariana, she was interested enough to want to visit Newfoundland. It hadn’t happened so far because their work and study schedules were always conflicting.

In art school they both realized that they weren’t talented enough to become full-time artists, so after receiving their undergraduate degrees from the Accademia di Arno, they completed their masters’ degrees in art history. Rebecca studied sculpture at the Accademia di Brera in Milan, while Ariana continued her studies at the Accademia di Arno, majoring in costumes and textiles.

Rebecca poured another mug of tea and tried to picture what it would be like working at Lakeshore College, but the image wouldn’t materialize. Instead, her mind kept returning to the Veiled Virgin sculpture. She remembered seeing it for the first time when she was in grade nine, as part of the school history program. She hadn’t fully appreciated the artistry of the piece then, but she had liked it enough to tell her parents about it. Now, after all her art classes, she recognized the level of mastery represented in the sculpture. It made her even more curious as to why Strazza had allowed the work to come to the island of Newfoundland. He would never see it again—nor would most of the world. And there was another odd thing. She had looked through inventories of Strazza’s works, and the Veiled Virgin was not listed, even though it was signed by him.

Rebecca rested her mug on the table and reached for her phone. She knew with a sudden certainty that she wouldn’t be teaching in Toronto. She was going to Italy to research the work of Giovanni Strazza. His work would be the subject of her doctoral degree, and her dissertation would focus on the mystery surrounding the Veiled Virgin.

She called Ms. Patterson and politely refused the job offer at the college. Then she called Professor Moretti at the Accademia di Brera, in Milan, to discuss enrolling in the doctorate program there. Last year, when she had graduated from Brera with her master’s degree, Professor Moretti had tried to persuade her to continue her studies, so she felt sure that he would be supportive about her decision.

He was. They had a great talk, and it was decided that she would start her doctoral research in a few weeks. That would give Rebecca time to visit Ariana in Florence and get some much-needed rest.

When Rebecca called the next day, Ariana answered after the first ring.

"Ciao, Ari. I’m glad I caught you."

Reb! I was just about to call you. How are you? You must be so upset. I know how much you loved Helen.

Oh, Ari, I miss her already.

I’m going to miss her, too. She was such a wonderful person and so much fun. Did you get the flowers I sent?

Yes. Thank you. And for remembering how much she loved peonies. I’m sorry for not calling you sooner.

That’s okay. You’ve had too much on your mind.

Oh, I’ve been so out of sync with everything. None of this seems real to me. The whole world has shrunk without Helen in it.

I’m so sorry, Reb.

It’s okay. I’m starting to feel a little bit centred again. And Ari, I’ve decided not to take the Toronto job. I’m going to work on my doctorate in Milan at my old alma mater.

Seriously?

Yes. And I won’t have to start my research for a few weeks, so I’m hoping that I can spend some time with you in Florence. Is my old room available?

"Always, for you. And Piero is on location in Africa. He’s doing a photo shoot for Animal Adventures, so we’ll have lots of time to catch up. But I thought you were tired of studying. Thought you were looking forward to teaching."

"I didn’t decide until yesterday. It was Strazza’s Veiled Virgin that changed my mind about everything."

The what?

"I’ll explain when I see you. I’ll text you my flight schedule, but I’d better go now. Ciao, Ari."

"Ciao, Reb."

Rebecca was smiling when she laid down her phone. Just hearing Ariana’s voice with her lovely accent cheered her up. It was the first time she had felt good since her aunt died. Helen would have approved of her decision to do her doctorate in art history, and she would be making it possible. She had made wise investments over the years and had bequeathed $100,000 each to Rebecca and Laura. That legacy was separate from her house and car, which she left to their father. Before that, Rebecca could not have imagined adding to her student debt, but now, if she was careful, she would be okay financially. Laura was putting her money toward a down payment on a house.

Helen was still looking after her family.

Two

Florence, Italy

Rebecca’s flight left from Toronto, so she had to fly west before she could fly east. She changed airlines in Frankfurt to continue to Florence. Rebecca was truly exhausted and couldn’t wait to get to Italy and relax. All the stress over the last few weeks, coupled with her decision to do her doctorate, had taken a toll on her mind and body. She wouldn’t have to register at the Accademia di Brera, in Milan, for a couple of weeks, and she intended to make an art of doing nothing.

The travel gods were with her, and she arrived in Florence on time. She picked up her luggage from the arrivals carousel and headed out the door to get a taxi. She was much too tired to deal with buses or trains. Then she heard her name.

Rebecca, Reb! Ariana rushed toward Rebecca and wrapped her in her arms.

I can’t believe you came to the airport, Ari! How did you get here?

Piero left me his car. C’mon, you look like you need to sleep for a week. Ariana grabbed one of Rebecca’s suitcases and guided her out to the parking lot.

Last I heard you didn’t know how to drive.

Piero says he wants me to be a modern woman, so he taught me how to drive. Really, I think he wants me to drive so he can look out the windows and take pictures. Either way, I’m grateful. Love never having to wait for a ride.

Well, you can thank Piero for me. I’m so tired I need someone to just push me around and tell me where to go. Rebecca realized they had been speaking in Italian, and it felt good. The lilting inflection of Ariana’s voice soothed her, and she allowed herself to close her eyes as they left the parking lot and headed for the city. She woke when the car stopped in front of Ariana’s apartment building.

Good to have you back on the planet, said Ariana. You slept like the log. I’ll let you out here and park the car in the garage.

Okay, Rebecca said, lifting her bags out of the car. She stretched and took a deep breath, feeling a wonderful sense of ease. The smell of Florence was different from any other place she had visited in Europe. It was a blend of air rising from the River Arno, motorcycle fumes, and ancient dust kicked up by tourists. The sun shining on the marble of the famous Cattedrale di Santa Maria del Fiore probably released a special ingredient into the air as well. Ariana’s apartment was a three-minute walk to the Duomo, as the cathedral was commonly called, and Rebecca remembered the first time she saw it. She couldn’t believe that the delicate white, pink, and green exterior was actually constructed of marble and not painted plaster. It looked somewhat like a wedding cake. The effect was enhanced by the fact that there was a large piazza surrounding the cathedral, making it appear as if it rested on a table.

What do you think? asked Ariana, walking toward Rebecca.

About what?

The flowers. Ariana pointed to the window boxes overflowing from every balcony. New management. Apparently the building wasn’t looking Italian enough. Anyway, the tourists like them. They’re forever taking pictures of the place on their way to the Duomo. I would have preferred a new elevator that worked on a regular basis. I’m afraid we’re going to have to walk up to my apartment.

That’s okay. I’ve just been walking the hills in St. John’s, so I’m not in too bad a shape.

Really? You’re skin and bones. A few days of pasta and wine will get you back on track.

They trudged up four flights of stairs and collapsed on Ariana’s well-used couch as soon as they entered her apartment.

I see you haven’t changed the furnishings. This couch seems to remember my bones.

I’ll make coffee, said Ariana, moving to the small kitchen at the back of the room.

Coffee sounds great. Mom doesn’t even own a coffee machine. You’d think they lived in China, the amount of tea everyone drinks in Newfoundland. Now tell me about Piero. Your emails and pictures weren’t detailed enough. When I met him at my graduation, I thought you two looked like a match.

"We’ve been together ever since. Well, when he’s not on location. He