The Silenced Woman
Contemplating sacred biblical art, domestic abuse, and the freedom of release
Inside the grand cathedral of Siena, Italy—just to the right of the magnificent altar—a large mural has been painted upon the upper wall. Completed in 1610 by Ventura Salimbeni, it shows a crowd of people engaged in all manner of worldly as well as biblical activities. In the center is a depiction of Esther and Ahasuerus from the Old Testament, with angels guarding the scene from above. Below and around these biblical characters, men are conducting business, haggling for prices, and in the far back we can see the hanging of Haman. Some of the people stare heavenward, as if appalled at the worldly scene around them.
Just slightly off-center and to the right, in the midst of all the other bustling characters, there’s one person who has always struck me, ever since my first visit to Siena nearly fifteen years ago:
“The Silenced Woman.”
At least that’s what I’ve always called her. I recently again visited my “home away from home” in Tuscany, and while there I made a deliberate pilgrimage to Santa Maria Assunta, the breathtaking black-and-white striped cathedral of Siena, so I could continue meditating upon this curious image.
While those around her are gawking at the execution, watching Esther stand before King Ahasuerus, or conducting worldly business, this woman is gazing at the heavenly host of angels above her head. Yet why has her mouth been erased? Is the blemish original to the mural, or did some later artist (or vandal) alter it?
I scoured all the Sienese and historical information I could find, as well as the internet, in hopes of learning more about this painting. Despite my efforts I was unable to come up with a reason for the silenced woman, a figure so prominent and so tragic.
The sad yet peacefully contemplative expression she carries—and the look of pain on the face of her boy-child—speaks volumes to my imagination. As a historical novelist I can come up with all manner of tales to explain this woman’s story, but let’s step back from the imagination for a bit. As a trauma-informed coach specializing in healing from domestic abuse, I imagine only one story—and it seems the most plausible.
As everyone else around her goes about their worldly business, only this woman has been muffled. She looks upward rather than at the people around her, as if imploring divine aid for her plight. Her voice has been taken from her, she has been stripped of the right to mingle with her fellow citizens, and her child also seems to be the victim of a smear campaign against her. Tucked behind him is what appears to be an angel, covering his eyes at the suffering of mankind.
Have you ever felt like the silenced woman? If you’re reading this article, chances are good you can relate. Domestic abuse does that—it robs us of our voice, strips away our very selves, and has an insidious way of impacting our children, no matter how hard we try to shield them.
Yet it doesn’t have to be that way. We can regain our voices and, gazing upward at the graces of God, acknowledge that nothing has been lost. Perhaps our lives have been rearranged, but God truly does make all things new (Rev. 21:5).
Silence the Negativity
The first step in regaining our lost voices is to hush the internal voice of negativity. Verbal and emotional abuse tends to cause us to embody the words that are thrown at us: “You’re unlovable,” “You’re worthless,” “You’re a useless spouse,” “Everything is your fault” and other similar accusations.
None of that is true. If those thoughts swirl through your mind in a tumult of doubt, remember that you’re hearing the voice of your accuser, not the voice of Truth. It’s a nasty side-effect of gaslighting, but one that can be reversed with perseverance and persistence. Speak the truth to yourself, know the truth, and begin living the truth: You are loveable, worthy, good and even brave.
Every time one of those nasty voices pops into your mind, forcefully rebuke it and replace it with the truth. For example, if you make a mistake and instantly think, “I can’t do anything right,” remind yourself that this is a lie, and reject it immediately. “In the name of Jesus, I renounce the lie that I’m incapable. In the name of Jesus, I take back the truth that I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” Rebuke and repeat as many times as needed—eventually you’ll create new, positive neuropathways in your brain.
When we actively take steps to silence our inner critic we begin to gain the strength and clarity needed for the next step in our healing journey.
“Blessed are you, God, with every pure blessing, because it hath not happened as we suspected. For thou hast shown they mercy to us, and hast shut out from us the enemy that persecuted us.”
(Tobit 8:17-18, Douay-Rheims)
Be Not Afraid: Let Your Voice Be Heard
There’s an obvious caveat to letting your voice be heard in situations of abuse and control—that of safety. Only you know when, how and if it’s appropriate to speak up, because most often engaging in a conversation with a self-focused individual creates more conflict. If you still have to be in regular communication with someone who is actively mistreating you, keeping your words to a minimum is often the best course of action—and that’s ok. Not only is it ok, but silence can be an act of positive power. When you’re still making the conscious choice to not respond to a provocation, you’re taking the power away from your accuser and keeping it for yourself.
The key to speaking up is learning to assess your situation, as well as trusting the deep inner voice of your intuition. The ability to trust ourselves is another thing that gets robbed from us as a consequence of continued covert abuse, so recognizing and admitting that can help rebuild self-trust.
Taking back what was stolen from us through abuse is hard work, because we’ve been so conditioned to think—and feel—otherwise. Yet it can be done.
Vasthi
Let’s get back to our intriguing Sienese mural. The erased mouth could be a fault of time and the natural disintegration of a seventeenth century painting, but I have my doubts. It’s too acutely placed, too deliberate, and it’s the only part of the mural that’s disfigured. Instead I find myself stepping back and taking in the picture as a whole. Esther and Ahasuerus … what part of that story can give us a clue?
Perhaps the silenced woman, dressed in the plain clothing of an ordinary citizen, represents the ousted queen Vasthi. At the beginning of the book of Esther, she refuses to let her husband, the pompous king Ahasuerus, use her as a pawn in his game of power and control. He demanded that she appear at his drunken party so he could show off her beauty to his friends and subjects, as if she was an object of lustful use rather than his beloved wife. According to Jewish tradition, Ahasuerus had commanded that Vasthi appear before him and his guests wearing her royal crown—and nothing else.
Deciding to travel the path of self-respect rather than shame, Vasthi “refused and would not come at the king’s commandment” (Est. 1:12).
As is so common in situations where power and control reign supreme, there were harsh consequences to Vasthi’s solid and steadfast boundary. The king became angry, “inflamed with a very great fury” (Est. 1:12). Yet just a few verses previous he’s described as being “merry” (Est. 1:10). How quickly those who desire power over others turn to rage when they don’t get their way!
Vasthi is unceremoniously dumped. “Vasthi can come in no more to the king, but another, that is better than her, will be made queen in her place … Whosoever among them all shall please the king’s eyes, let her be queen instead of Vasthi” (Est. 1:19, 2:4).
In our Sienese mural we see a dog, sitting just below Esther and Ahasuerus, who is ironically turned away from the scene. During the Middle Ages dogs were a symbol of marital fidelity. Therefore this small pup, set apart from both Esther and Vasthi, seems to tell a vivid story in his own right. Such is the nature of medieval art: theology in pictures. The dog tells us the entire tragic tale; this marital union has been broken in the most tragic and worldly of ways.
Vasthi has been silenced, slandered, deprived of her former life.
Yet in this mural, Vasthi isn’t weeping. Her eyes are contemplative, looking upward at the heavenly hosts above her head rather than troubling herself with the business of those around her. She’s not even paying attention to the situation happening between her beautiful replacement Esther and her former spouse.
Vasthi doesn’t seem to care. She has healed, and grown beyond all the worldly concerns of court life, including power and control. Perhaps her silence is now calculated, because she no longer needs to defend herself. She may not be a queen any longer, but she’s something even greater—she’s free. She has silenced the inner negativity and replaced it with calm reassurance. Gazing upward at the heavenly scene filled with God’s graces and providential care, she seems to have found her inner place of peace.
At last.
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Beautiful!!