Struggle for Identity - being a young woman during the times of the Renaissance

SISTERS AROUND THE WORLD, June 2007, by Rose


Struggle for Identity
Being a young woman during the
times of the Renaissance


It is always loud here. Up through the windows I hear the noises of the early morning markets and the hawkers crying their wares out into the streets. Life for me seems very trivial, full of parties and nonsensical chatter. For my sister, it is different. She loves the thrill of sweeping across a ballroom floor and taking part in idle conversation. She is content in the role of an obedient woman. Flinging the numerous quilts off of me, I rise and go to the window. Looking out from my father’s townhouse I can see over the tiled rooftops to the city duomo (dome) Santa Maria del Fiore opposite the Baptistery where the cathedral and our city’s center lies. The people are saying that the renowned painters; Vasari and Zuccari have been commissioned to paint the frescoes (a technique of painting on plaster) of the cathedral there. My heart beats faster.

In the period between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries, an age of prosperity, advancement, and learning, took place in Europe. It was called the Renaissance or “rebirth”. This Renaissance originated and branched outward from a city in Italy called Florence, or as the locals called it ‘Firenze’. This was a time where wealth was abundant and the focus of society was on having an environment of beautiful things. Painters, sculptors, musicians and all kinds of artsy career-followers were commissioned to do many works and performances. It was a time of art. The women of the Renaissance had a tad more freedom than before, like being allowed to have a career or own a shop, but they were still very much the subordinates of men. Because of their newfound freedoms, women began to challenge men on the reasons that they were inferior and why they had to continue domestic tasks.

My maid, Lucrezia, enters the room. I dread the mornings. This is when I spend at least an hour just getting into the rich fabrics of the cumbersome gowns I must wear to be “socially acceptable”. Lucrezia tightens the ties in the back of my dress as I cling to a bedpost.

My father is a rich man, a guild member and cloth merchant. My mother died when I was young, as some women do these days during childbirth. Soon, I will become married to a prominent gentleman, my father always tells me. Since I have a generous dowry and I am not entirely unpleasant to look at, he says that I may fetch a younger man, rather than one aging and ailing. Tonight there is another ball being hosted. I will not go although my father may wish that I would. I am not a submissive subject. I rebel.

I leave the presence of Lucrezia and my room with its rich tapestries, to float, as I had been taught, down the stairwell, my back as straight and stiff as a board. I snatch an apple and a piece of foccacia (an Italian flat bread) and run through the dining room, parlor, and kitchen, and then out the backdoor. Our manservant Alexander is waiting to escort me outside. He is a kind man, but I resent his ever-following presence. My father says it is dangerous to run out into the city with no one to tend to me. My father does not want to see me turn into a vagabond, he says, he wants me to stay in my place, aloof and obedient, but that is not who I am.

Through the streets, I pull my cloak closer around me. The city is alive on this early morning. No one takes much notice of me. Young children swarm in little packs through the streets. Occasionally, a carriage or procession will come through, carrying a lady of my station past. What a dreary way to travel. Why can’t women take part in the awakening this time is seeing? I wish to act, sing, and paint, but society will not allow it. Highborn ladies are trained in the written word, music, and the arts, yet they are not permitted to use that knowledge to their advantage, as the men are. I wish to have the mind and courage of a man, but how am I to do so if I am not allowed to use my entire mind and all of my power. They teach us that our husbands are our kings, and that we must obey them at all costs, and bear them many children to keep their blood strong. I do not anticipate marriage, but I am glad that I possess a dowry, or I would be sent to the convent to become a nun in order to survive.

I am approaching the duomo. Inside I hear the clamor of the painters and their apprentices. Oh how I wish I was one of those youths learning from the masters as they complete great works of art. Across from the cathedral is the Baptistery. On the front doors are scenes of God engraved into a shining yellow stone. This is the work of an artist called Lorenzo Ghiberti. The scenes are so striking that the famous Michelangelo himself christened them the “Gate of Paradise”. It takes my breath away. I peek into the Santa Maria and see the back of a broad man up upon a ladder brandishing a paintbrush. He moves and I see it is Vasari, the fresco painter. He seems to sense my eyes and turns, looking me straight in the face, and I stare back, bold, until he turns away again. This is my triumph.

I will follow my passions despite what the men say. Whoever enters a bond of marriage with me will have to accept all of that I am. I reconsider and resolve to go to the ball tonight, with this newfound confidence.

Think about what it would be like to know in your heart what you truly wanted to do in your life, and not being allowed to do it. That would just eat me up on the inside. And those dresses; I bet they’d be fun to wear for a day, but definitely not for your whole life! We are so fortunate to have the freedoms that we have today, being able to grasp and pursue pretty much anything imaginable. The world is your apple, girls. Eat it! Remember to explore the possibilities and gifts you have around you and connect with your other Sisters Around the World.

~ Rose


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