Easter would be on April 16 in this year of 1634. The penitential routines of Lent were already upon them. The Golden Rose, the Rose of Virtue, had been blessed and dedicated, as always, on Laetare, the fourth Sunday in Lent.
Laetare. If you looked at it another way, it was the third Sunday before Easter: the Sunday during Lent when the penitential purple was replaced by rose-colored vestments, signaling hope and joy. The Sunday during Lent when the Mass opened with the command, "Rejoice." Laetare: rejoice that there is love after hate, joy after sorrow, and fullness after famine.
When the jeweler to the curia had delivered this year's rose, Cardinal Antonio Barberini the younger had looked at it, phrases from Isaiah floating through his mind There shall come forth a rod out of the root of Jesse. And: A flower shall rise up out of his root.
"Lo! How a rose e'er blooming." The hymn of Marian devotion had been sung in the Germanies for well over a century, at least. Some of the printed versions had more than twenty verses. In Antonio's view, Michael Praetorius's modern arrangement from his 1609 Musae Sionae was the most magnificent setting of the tune:
Das Roeslein, das ich meine,
Davon Jesias sagt,
Ist Maria, die reine,
Die uns das Bluemlein bracht;
Aus Gottes ew'gem Rat
Hat sie ein Kind geboren
Und blieb ein' reine Magd.
The rose that I am thinking of,
Of which Isaiah speaks.
Is Mary, the pure,
Who bore the little flower.
By God's eternal counsel,
She bore a child
And yet remained a virgin.
The rose was truly golden—an ornament of the purest gold that could be made to hold the shape the artisans gave it—a thorny branch with leaves and several flowers. The largest rose sprang from the top of the stem; the others clustered around it. There was also a ruby at the center of the rose, its color reminding the observer of Christ's blood. Depending upon the state of the Curia's exchequer, the rose blessed in any given year might be larger or smaller, more or less bejeweled with diamonds, but always beautifully made. If no one was deemed worthy to receive it, it was kept in Rome. The blessing ceremony occurred every year, but the same rose was re-used until it was given away. Then a new one was made.
Originally, the rose had been given to men and women, cities and monasteries, persons and institutions, without distinction. Since the beginning of the century, the rose had been sent only to queens and princesses. A militant church had started to bestow blessed swords on kings and princes. The duty of carrying the rose and giving it to recipients who were not in Rome at the time of the ceremony fell to cardinal legates, to nuncios, and to other high church officials.
Now, nearly a month later, Cardinal Francesco asked, "Who's getting it this year?"
"The Austrian archduchess, Maria Anna," Antonio the younger answered. "Uncle Maffeo recognizes quite clearly that marrying Maximilian of Bavaria represents a service to the church that is far beyond the ordinary call of duty."
Everybody else in the room stared at him.