THE LADIES OF PALLIANO
(BEING A RELATION BY THE CONDOTTIERE LUIGI RODOMONTE GONZAGA OF CERTAIN
OF HIS ADVENTURES DURING THE CAMPAIGNS OF 1525 TO 1528)
I
THE NEST OF THE PHOENIX
'Tis an incredible fable that of the phoenix, the crimson wonder-bird,
which springs in immortal youth from the flames which destroy its eyrie.
But it is not more strange than one which I could tell of how I found
Fenice, and snatched the joy and glory of my life from the conflagration
of her ancestral town and castle, in which, but for my efforts, her pure
soul would have vanished from the earth.
Fenice, flame-bird, radiant and peerless, I had named her at our first
meeting, long before the tragic burning of Palliano, for it seemed to me
that in her vivacity and brilliancy she resembled a little dancing
flame. I well remember also how at that time the longing came to me to
warm my numbed heart forever in her presence.
I am no poet, but a plain man of war, and this phantasy of the phoenix
came into my head in a very natural and simple way, for Fenice when
first I saw her was sending up little fire-balloons from the garden of
the Colonna palace. It was an unusual and a dangerous pastime for a
young girl, but the sudden flashing from the gloom of those flickering
lights, that illumined for an instant the beautiful face which the
darkness as quickly obliterated, gave an additional zest to my enjoyment
of the vision.
I strode to her side and affected great interest in her occupation. The
balloons were ingeniously constructed to represent birds with spread
wings, and it was the alchemist of the family who dwelt at Palliano who
had invented them. "It is his conceit," she explained, "that rising from
the flames they resemble the phoenix, a bird peerless in beauty and
song, which appears upon earth but twice in a thousand years."
"Then that shall be my name for you," I said, for we were alone for the
instant; "but will you as tranquilly soar away from me, leaving the
world the darker for your passing?"
Though she gave me not at that time the answer I coveted, I liked none
the less the modesty which made her winning difficult. There were also
other matters of importance to the world at large, which I must now
digress to explain, that at first hindered, but in the end abetted that
winning.
It was in the spring of the eventful year of 1525 that my cousin,
Federigo Gonzaga, Marquis of Mantua, requested me to escort his mother,
the worshipful Marchesa Isabella d'Este Gonzaga, upon her journey to
Rome. This demand was the more reasonable in that the Marchesa was a
most loving and munificent patroness of my sister Giulia, for whose
orphaned condition the great lady had shown the most tender sympathy,
removing her from our lonely ancestral castle, and bringing the girl up
in her own brilliant court. Giulia was now at the height of the
attractiveness which was soon to be so extravagantly sung, many still
maintaining her the most beautiful woman of our time.
From that estimate her brother must be allowed to differ. A superbly
regal creature she certainly was, but too grandly made for my ideals.
Let the question rest, for her heart was ever as great as her body, and
I deny her supremacy to but one other. At this time I loved her better
than any woman in the world, and as she was to accompany the Marchesa, I
was the more willing to lend my protection to the cortege.
It was an inauspicious season for ladies to choose for a pleasure jaunt,
for their Majesties the Emperor Charles V. and Francis I. had entered
upon their struggle for the possession of Italy. The French had already
entered Lombardy, and the Imperial forces under the Viceroy of Naples,
Pescara and Bourbon were marching to meet them, but the Marchesa was of
an adventurous and fearless disposition, and was moreover bent in her
present expedition upon something more than pleasure. Never have I known
man or woman of such marvellous finesse as well as courage, and she
desired above all things to obtain the cardinal's hat for Ercole, her
second son. Therefore it seemed good to her, while the actual fighting
was still confined to the north of Italy, to hasten to Rome, and obtain
this coveted prize, before the Emperor should succeed in deposing Pope
Clement and possibly set up another pontiff less friendly to the House
of Gonzaga.
[Illustration: Colonna Palace, Rome--The Grand Salon]
At the same time, that Charles V. might have no cause to complain of her
lack of loyalty, she sent her third son, Ferrante, to Spain to assure
the Emperor of her entire sympathy with his cause and to ask for a
command in the Imperial army. Rome at this time was a place where there
were wheels within wheels. While on the surface all was gay and
peaceful, and old enemies hobnobbed with one another, daggers lurked
under the olive branches, old feuds were not forgotten, plots were
hatched, and secrets were wormed from comrades over the wine-cup. While
I could not emulate the consummate ruse with which the Marchesa trimmed
her sails to every possible wind I had my own little surprise to spring
at the auspicious moment.
I believed that the firm hand of the Emperor alone could give peace to
Italy. I had lost faith in the Medicean popes, and especially in this
weak and crafty cousin of Leo X. As a condottiere by profession I could
have sold my services to the French but I preferred to offer them to
Charles V., and I had a secret commission in my pocket from his
representative, the Marquis of Pescara, then near Pavia, authorising me
to raise and command the Italian contingent to the Imperial army. The
Marquis desired me to take counsel with his wife's kindred, the
Colonnas, who were always inimical to the Pope, as to the best means of
effecting a junction with their troops in case an attack upon Rome
should be decided upon the coming year. When I add that the head of the
house, Vespasian Colonna, had offered the hospitalities of his palace to
the Marchesa Isabella d'Este Gonzaga, it will be understood how
marvellously this lady's visit to Rome fell in with my schemes.
As we made our entry into that most beautiful room of all the world, the
_sala de gala_ of the Colonna palace, my sister clutched my arm tightly.
A glimpse of the glories of heaven could not in sooth have been more
transporting to the rapt gaze of an anchorite, for Giulia was
essentially of this world and a superb mundane life was her highest
ambition.
She had profited by her tutelage at the court of the Marchesa, the most
cultured in the north of Italy, but this dazzling room surpassed any in
the Mantuan palace as far as her own beauty outshone that of her
protectress. So as her foolish little heart cried out "Oh! that I might
reign here as Queen," she looked up into the admiring eyes of
Vespasian Colonna and heard the echo of her unuttered cry--"Reign here
as Queen."
[Illustration: Garden of the Colonna Palace, Rome
With permission of Mr. Charles A. Platt]
For Vespasian was a widower, and the snows of age had not cooled the
volcanic fires of his heart. He offered his arm to the Marchesa, and
together they made the rounds of the regal apartments. But ever as we
paused before a portrait and he explained that this was some fair
ancestress his backward glance at Giulia told that in his estimation she
surpassed them all.
The interior of the palace inspected we passed over a bridge, which
spanned a side street, to the terraced garden crowned by the ruins of
the old Roman Temple of the Sun. Here were also statues and fountains,
square-cut hedges, and sun-warmed, marble seats, and the air was heavy
with the perfume of roses and jasmine. But the glory of the garden, as
Colonna told us, was its outlook over Rome. This we could not now fully
appreciate for dusk was falling and the city was in a purple haze, which
deepened as we looked. Soon coloured lights glimmered forth in the dark
_allees_, and suddenly from the summit of the ruin there rose slowly a
fire balloon and twinkling far away into the blue seemed to seek its
companion stars.
"It is the conceit of my daughter Isabella," Vespasian explained, "a
fete of fire-works in honour of your coming."
I delayed to hear no more, but drawn by some mysterious attraction
sought and found the Signorina Colonna. The flame signals flashed in her
cheeks as her eyes met mine, for my glance seemed to her doubtless
overbold, though it held naught of disrespect God wot.
And then she explained the mechanism of her fire balloon which was
simple enough though it had been invented by a Moorish alchemist, who
still practised the black art in a tower of the family castle in the
Campagna. "If you ever come to Palliano we will greet you with a still
more brilliant illumination," she promised, little realising how well
she would keep that pledge.
It was then as I have already said that I bestowed upon her the name of
Fenice, making what improvement I could of my scant opportunities. These
were suddenly cut short, for Ippolito de' Medici, the Pope's handsome
and dissipated nephew, presently joined us and bore Fenice away with the
air of a proprietor. Such indeed he had a right to regard himself, as I
ascertained on the next day during a conference with Vespasian Colonna
and his nephew the Cardinal Pompeo.
[Illustration: Castle of Vittoria Colonna at Ischia.]
I had arrived at the understanding desired by their kinsman the Marquis
of Pescara, for they very willingly agreed that whenever desired all the
clansmen of the Colonna would be ready to combine with the Imperial
forces in the siege of Rome. Pompeo, the most truculent of the race in
spite of the fact that he was a churchman, would take command, but
Ascanio Colonna who was now in Naples with his sister Vittoria, the
Marchesa di Pescara, might be counted upon with his sturdy vassals from
the Abruzzi. We were jubilant, for news had just arrived that the
Emperor's troops had won the battle of Pavia and that Francis I. was a
prisoner. The Pope was reported nearly crazed with fear, and our plot of
taking Rome for Charles V. seemed perfectly feasible.
"In any event," said Vespasian, "our compact of friendship stands, and I
hold you and your family in such high esteem that I desire to make our
alliance not merely that of comrades-in-arms but a much closer
relationship. I wish to propose a marriage, which Pompeo here shall
celebrate, in our ancestral home before you leave us."
My hopes rose high for I thought he had perceived my love for Fenice and
I sank upon one knee in a transport of gratitude.
"Nay, rise my brother," he continued, "I count myself honoured in your
acceptance of that relation. Your sister's beauty will confer undying
lustre upon our house. Believe me she runs no danger as my wife, for
even should the chances of war reverse the present position of King and
Emperor, I have assured myself with the Pope, since my daughter is
betrothed to his nephew Ippolito. He will not break with me for she will
be one of the richest heiresses in Italy, well able to aid her husband
in his ambition to become the Grand Duke of Tuscany."
My heart, which had been so hot, was like ice. So wretched was I that I
got no comfort from the thought of the brilliant future opening before
my sister. I terminated my interview with Vespasian in all haste, and
strode into the garden, pacing its walks like a madman.
Here, as my good fortune willed, I came upon Ippolito de' Medici, seated
with all the familiarity of an accepted lover by the side of Fenice. It
was true that the young couple were chaperoned by my sister, and that
Ippolito, who was holding a skein which she was winding, was leaning
forward in rapt attention listening to some merry story which Giulia was
relating; but, instead of congratulating myself that Fenice had now a
protectress who was devoted to my interest, I was filled with rage to
see Ippolito thus received into the intimacy of the family.
My sister by a light gesture indicated that there was room for me on the
marble bench near Fenice, and the girl, to give me room, moved a trifle
nearer to her betrothed. This angered me, and, instead of seating
myself, I glowered at a little distance until Giulia, having finished
her winding and her story, came toward me, leaving Ippolito free to
address himself to Fenice. To my surprise he did not avail himself of
the opportunity, but, springing up, begged my sister to walk with him to
another part of the garden. Delighted by this unexpected turn of
affairs, I seated myself by the side of Fenice and rallied her upon her
lover's neglect.
"He could not have pleased me more," she replied. "The Signorina Gonzaga
would be my good angel if she could rid me of him forever."
This admission was like the striking of a spark in the darkness. It was
not only illuminating as to Fenice's feeling toward her fiance, but it
fired the mine of passion stored in my heart. How I told her I know
not; the words exploded from me with such violence that I fear I
frightened her, and yet--and yet she was not displeased, for when Giulia
returned to us she found Fenice striving to cool my hot cheeks with her
small hands, but succeeding only in inflaming them the more by her
gentle caresses. My sister paused before us with her arms akimbo.
"Here is a coil," she said, "and I beg you to tell me how I am to
explain it to the Signor Ippolito de' Medici."
"Ah! dearest lady, can you think of no way of persuading the Signor
Ippolito to renounce his suit?" cried Fenice.
"Very easily," Giulia replied, "since he has just besought me to pray
you to release him from his engagement that he may be free to marry me;
but upon reflection I am not sure that this expedient would please your
honoured father."
With that we all fell a-laughing, though the situation was serious
enough. It grew rapidly more so, for my sister, apparently forgetting
her new vows, manifested the utmost pleasure in Ippolito's society, and
drove me wild with her coquetry. I remonstrated with her, telling her
plainly that I could not understand her behaviour.
"Have you no sense of decency," I cried, "to contract yourself to a
noble gentleman, who, though he is no longer young, is still
distinguished in appearance and possessed of many attractions--one whose
fortune and rank immeasurably surpass your own, and who, moreover, loves
you beyond your desert? Are you not ashamed, I insist, to accept all
this and then to treat your affianced husband with such indignity? If
you must take a lover, wait at least till your honeymoon is over, and
then choose one who will contrast less unfavourably with the man whom
you so dishonour."
She laughed at me when I began, but as I waxed more imprudent in my
chiding her cheek flamed and she retorted "Truly, since you
misunderstand me thus, I scorn to explain my conduct." Nor did she deign
to amend it, and so anxious was I, that (a temporary peace delaying any
warlike demonstration), I lingered on in Rome to protect her against
herself, and to see her safely married. The wedding took place in
midsummer, but the aged bridegroom was in no happy frame of mind, for
Giulia had led him a lively dance during their short engagement, and had
so practised upon Ippolito de' Medici by her wiles that the infatuated
young man had broken his compact with the Colonnas. Suspecting that my
sister had caused this defection Vespasian hastened his marriage and
retired with his bride and his daughter to Palliano the strongest of his
castles.
Nor was I invited to accompany the party for, having dared to ask her
father for the hand of Fenice, I met with an angry refusal and was
accused of having by my attentions given Ippolito an excuse for breaking
his word.
But Fenice promised with many tears to be true to me, and with her
pledge to await my coming I was forced to be content.
Rome having now no further attraction for me I returned to Lombardy,
leaving the Marchesa, who still awaited her son's cardinalate, in the
security of a peace which at that time promised to be lasting.
No sooner, however, was Francis I. released from his Spanish captivity
than the Pope began again to intrigue with him, and the Emperor,
learning that Clement had broken faith, ordered the attack upon Rome.
Then, at last, the Pope, realising how much he needed the friendship of
the Gonzagas, sent the Marchesa Ercole's red hat.
That triumph achieved she would gladly have returned to Mantua but it
was now too late, for Bourbon had arrived before the city. The siege
had begun, and neither man nor woman might leave Rome.
At the Pope's own villa upon Mount Mario (the Villa Madama), without the
walls, I met Cardinal Pompeo Colonna and heard the news that his uncle
Vespasian had died, and that Giulia and Fenice were still at Palliano,
where I vowed soon to join them.
Of the sack of Rome which intervened I shall say nothing. Would God that
I could as easily dismiss its memory from my mind. I entered the city
with the youngest son of the Marchesa Isabella d'Este, Ferrante Gonzaga,
who commanded a division of Spaniards, and we made our way at once to
the Colonna palace which refuge the Marchesa had packed with her
friends. Their lives we saved and the palace from burning and
plundering. Cardinal Pompeo himself paid the ransoms of many of its
guests, and rescued from the Spanish soldiery upwards of five hundred
nuns. Far be it from me to extenuate the life of that profligate
prelate, but his brave and generous acts at this fearful time must be
counted to his credit.
After that horror of cruelty and wanton destruction abated I counted on
being free to seek Fenice and my sister, but greatly to my disgust, I
was constituted the warden of the Pope, who was confined a close
prisoner in the castle of St. Angelo.
Though this seemed to me at the time a great hardship it proved in the
end the best that could have happened, for so I came to know Clement
most intimately and even to feel a pity for one so beset. I well
remember his dismay when Ippolito de' Medici came to him with the
alarming news that the Orsini, who, under cover of their devotion to the
Pope embraced every opportunity to fight the Colonnas, had refused to
recognise that the war was ended and were now burning and pillaging the
castles of their rivals throughout the Campagna.
Ippolito reported that Fenice and my sister were for the present safe,
having fortified themselves in Palliano, but he desired the Pope to send
him with orders to Napoleone Orsini to restrain his wild clansmen, and
also to grant him a far greater favour. This was no less than absolution
from clerical vows, which he had taken at the time of my sister's
marriage, and permission, since she was now a widow, to ask for her
hand.
But Clement knew that Ippolito's next move would be to use my sister's
wealth to secure the government of Florence, which his Holiness desired
for his more favoured nephew Alessandro. He therefore refused to release
Ippolito from his vows as a churchman, salving the wound by creating him
a cardinal and promising that he should one day succeed to the tiara.
Then, imagining that he had thus disposed forever of so slight a thing
as a young man's passion, he bade him make all speed to the pacifying of
the truculent Orsini, for he well knew that unless this were instantly
done the Emperor would call him in question for their unruliness.
I had been present during this interview, as was my duty, and the Pope
now turned to me and bade me assist Ippolito by all means in my power,
and we went forth together to prepare for the expedition.
But Ippolito's face was all aflame, and he could at first speak of
nothing but his disappointment.
"By the Blood!" he cried, "his Holiness shall rue his interference in my
love affairs, for I will balk him yet."
"Have you forgotten," I asked, "that you have just been made a
cardinal?"
"And what of that? Is not Pompeo Colonna a cardinal? He can find no
fault with me if I follow his example. I tell you that I love your
sister and that she loves me. Is there any power that can divide us?"
"Yea," I answered "that of God, and there is also my power with which it
seems you have forgotten to reckon."
He looked at me and laughed. "That for _your_ power," he scoffed,
snapping his fingers.
We had planned to ride to Nemi to find Napoleone Orsini but at Frascati
we were met by a messenger who gave Ippolito a letter. On reading it he
told me excitedly that Pompeo Colonna was besieged in his monastery of
Subiaco by a rabble of the Orsini.
"Go, and hold them in play," he commanded, "and I will hasten on to Nemi
and fetch Napoleone with me, to command his clansmen to raise the
siege."
The plan commended itself to my reason and, suspecting no treachery, I
galloped off with my troop for the relief of Pompeo. Ippolito shouted to
me to await his coming at Subiaco, and I might have remained there until
this day had I obeyed him. But at the monastery to my surprise I found
all quiet nor had there been any fighting since the previous year, when
the papal troops had been beaten by the monks and left their banner
behind them. Both Cardinal Pompeo and I were puzzled by the false news
which had brought me in such haste, but, being where we were, we
accepted the hospitality of the monastery and rested and refreshed
ourselves for three hours and no more. For, at the expiration of that
time, came an aged man clad in Oriental garments, who had escaped from
Palliano that morning while Napoleone Orsini was sacking the town. The
castle on the summit of the cliff was unstormed when he left, but its
fall was inevitable unless help should speedily arrive. Then I knew how
Ippolito de' Medici had tricked me, for he desired not my company at
Palliano, where he wished to pose as the sole rescuer of its ladies.
The messenger whom my sister had sent to Subiaco was the Moorish
alchemist who had taught Fenice to make the fire balloons, and I was at
first encouraged by his assurance that the fortress was well munitioned,
and that he had manufactured great quantities of gunpowder which was
stored in its donjon. But I reflected that this circumstance was but an
added danger as the assailants were endeavouring to fire the castle.
With this news the Cardinal ordered his bravi to horse, and the monks
girded up their gowns for the march. As fighting men the latter
suffered no disparagement when matched with my soldiery save in their
weapons, for, as their vows forbade them to take the sword, they were
forced to content themselves with battle-axes.
Wearied as were our horses my troop took the lead, and all night by
toilsome ways over the mountains we rode toward Palliano, in the vain
hope of arriving there before Ippolito in spite of the long detour which
he had foisted upon us; and I felt no fatigue, for I rode for my
sister's honour and the life of her I loved.
But, in the grey dawn, at the little town of Genazzano, some six miles
from the Colonna stronghold, I met Ippolito and his escort returning
from Palliano, for he, too, had ridden hard. His face was drawn and
white, but he faced me unflinchingly.
"You need not have come," he said, "for I have given Napoleone Orsini
the mandate of his Holiness. He will draw off his men. They will leave
the castle of Palliano unattacked. I was too late to save the town."
"And my sister?" for Fenice's name stuck in my throat.
"Your sister is capable of taking care of herself," he answered
bitterly; "at least that was the reply she gave me when I offered to
remain for her defence. Nay, look not so black for I am not the villain
that my mad words of yesterday stamped me. Let me right myself in your
estimation. I offered her no insult, but honourable marriage, for I have
not yet been consecrated, and I would have repudiated the cardinalcy and
every other bribe of the devil, if she could have loved me. But she told
me plainly that she had never done so, that she had but coquetted with
me in the old days to prove me fickle and false to my betrothed, and
thus leave Fenice free to wed with you; and that this Vespasian Colonna
understood and left you his blessing ere he died."
"Say you so! Ippolito," I cried. "Then I have not made this journey in
vain, and you are a better man than I thought. I will plead your cause
with my sister. You shall win her yet."
But he shook his head though he wrung my hand for he knew her mind
better than I. So I rode on with my men, and it was well that I did so,
for Orsini after the departure of Ippolito had returned to the attack of
Palliano, and as we came in sight of the promontory on which it stands,
the sky was crimson, not with sunrise, but with the reflection of
burning houses.
The citadel towered gaunt and black above the ruined town like the
phoenix in its flaming nest, and I acknowledged that my darling had
kept her promise to greet my coming with a festival of fire.
I wondered if from one of those dark windows she were looking forth
anxiously for succour, and I called the alchemist to my side and bade
him send up a fire balloon as a signal that help was at hand.
"It will notify the enemy of our approach," he protested, but I replied
that I cared not, and from the silken guidon of my troop he fashioned
the balloon so that as it soared aloft the device of the Gonzagas was
displayed to all onlookers.
Then, with hardly an interval, there shot from the platform of the great
tower of the castle in quick succession a flight of answering flame
signals--one, two, three, a half-dozen; I counted them as they rose and
drifted away on the light morning breeze. There flashed forth lights
also below in the camp of the Orsini which ringed the town, for the
sentries had sounded the alarm, and when we came up with their outposts
the army had formed in battle array.
I was glad of this, for it has never been my practice to fall upon and
massacre sleeping men. My trumpeter sounded a parley and with a white
handkerchief on the staff from which I had stripped my ensign I rode out
to meet Napoleone.
I told him that I came as messenger from the Pope to bid him keep the
peace, for the war was over.
He replied that he had already received that news from Ippolito de'
Medici, who on the previous evening had come and gone; but that it was
not easy to pacify such men as the Orsini when their blood was up.
"Then I will pacify them," I cried, "for peace I will have, though I
fight for it."
"That is the peace for me," he replied, and at it we went.
I banged them well, and the monks of Subiaco coming up in good time when
we were nearly spent, joined in the fray with their war-cry of "The Holy
Column!" and "Christ for Colonna!" My sister's vassals also made a sally
from the castle but were driven back, certain of Orsini's men following
them closely and throwing firebrands upon them as they dashed through
the postern gate. That was the great disaster and tragedy of the day,
for the tower in which the fugitives had sought shelter was the
powder-magazine and a spark from the fiery missile thrown, guided by the
evil one, found its way to a little trail of the devil's dust, which had
been scattered on the stairs, and so fired the mine in that pent-up
hell.
With a noise as of the rending of mountains the tower belched a volcano
of flame and the battle-field was as Sodom and Gomorrah when the heavens
rained brimstone.
By good fortune the occupants of the castle were chiefly in a tower upon
the other side of the court, at whose foot the main battle was now
raging, so that the loss of life was not so great as it might otherwise
have been. As it was we were all so terrified that we ceased from our
fighting, Orsini's men fleeing in hot haste, nor did our troops pursue,
but busied themselves in giving help to the wounded. At the same time
those within the castle, seeing that the battle was over, opened its
gates, and to my unutterable joy I beheld Fenice and my sister standing
unharmed within its portal.
So it was that we pacified the wild Orsini, and later a new castle was
born phoenix-like from the ashes of the old. But for a while it was
deserted, for Cardinal Pompeo would no longer risk the lives of his
relatives at Palliano, but leaving the wounded in the care of the
monks we escorted the ladies to the Colonna palace at Rome which was
thereafter my sister's residence.
[Illustration: Villa Madama--Interior]
By all the canons of romance-writing my story should end here at its
climax, but this is not the way of real life, which goes on spinning new
threads, and intertwining them so with the old that there is no coming
to the end until the shears of death cut the skein.
My duty as the Pope's body-guard kept me at his side, and my cousin
Ferrante Gonzaga having less to do, was constantly at the Colonna
palace, where he incontinently fell in love with Fenice. This had indeed
been planned out long before by his mother, for the Marchesa had lived
long enough in the Colonna palace to fall under its spell and she had
marked the Colonna heiress as a suitable parti for Ferrante.
Therefore at the great reconciliation between the Emperor and the Pope
which took place at Bologna, where Clement crowned Charles, and they
parcelled out to their favourites the dignities of Italy, Ferrante
Gonzaga besought the hand of Fenice in recognition of the services of
his house. To this request both the Emperor and the Pope agreed, but
when the parties to be contracted were called into their presence,
Cardinal Pompeo Colonna and I came with them and forbade the banns.
Being asked why we thus defied the will of the greatest powers of
Christendom, I confessed how in the crimson dawn of the peace of
Palliano, being determined that no power in heaven or earth or hell
should henceforth jeopardise our happiness, Fenice and I had been
secretly but soundly married by the Cardinal, deferring only the public
festivities of the wedding to a merrier morn.
With that the Emperor declared the jest a good one, and that one Gonzaga
was as good as another. "And better," whispered his Holiness in my ear,
as I knelt before him for his blessing.
II
OTHER BIRDS OF THE FLAMING NEST
Centuries ago--here the Colonna came,
Vittoria with them, Angelo himself
Gazing upon her as she gravely moved,
And sighing for her, while Fabrizio's sword
Clanged on the gravel--here the d'Este came
From Tivoli, where o'er dark cypresses
Their villa looks above the billowy land
Of the Campagna.
WILLIAM WETMORE STORY.
It was with the Villa Conti-Torlonia at Frascati that Story rightly
associated the men and women of the Colonna in the lines which I have
quoted.
[Illustration: The Haunted Pool
Villa Conti Torlonia, Frascati]
Hither certainly came the ladies of Palliano[8] from their castle in the
neighbouring hills, for the Conti were cousins of the Colonna, and fond
of entertaining their kindred on the terraces of their ancestral villa.
Here Giulia Gonzaga must have met another renowned woman of the family,
Giovanna of Aragon, the wife of Ascanio Colonna, with their little son
Marcantonio, from the Castle of Marino, hardly three miles away. This
boy was to become the most renowned man of his race, and was to form a
link between the lives of two women of Palliano, to whom brief reference
must be made, for the pity and horror of their fate are not surpassed in
all the annals of tragedy.
At first glance it may seem strange that the Colonnas possessed no
suburban villa which could rival that of the Conti. Castles in plenty
were theirs, Marino, Palliano, Palestrina, and a score of others, but
though these sheltered comfortless, so-called palaces within their
strong walls, there was never an attempt made here to indulge in such a
feat of landscape-gardening as the Conti's
"fountain stairs,
Down which the sheeted water leaps alive."
The reason of this lack of the amenities of life is not far to seek. The
magnificent Colonna palace at Rome, with its beautiful garden, answered
every purpose of an elaborate villa. Here they flaunted in seasons of
prosperity, retiring to their mountain fastnesses in times of trouble.
For five hundred years succeeding generations have added to the
sumptuousness and charm of the Roman palace, and the portraits of the
fair ladies who once gave those regal rooms their chief attraction still
look down upon us from their walls. They hold us still with an
all-compelling fascination: the noble Vittoria Colonna, whom Michael
Angelo worshipped; that Duchessa Lucrezia, whom Van Dyck painted in her
velvet robe and jewelled ruff; Felice Orsini and her children; and the
bewitching Marie Mancini, as Mignard makes her known in her arch and
innocent girlhood, and again with world-weary disillusion betraying
itself through Netscher's pomp and opulence.
[Illustration: Vittoria Colonna
From a portrait in the Colonna Gallery]
[Illustration: Marie Mancini, Princess Colonna
From a portrait in later life by Netscher]
It is the women who interest us most, for the men of the race, masterful
and brave, heroic even in certain great crisis, have often shown
themselves brutally cruel.
The ceilings of the Colonna palace blaze with the victory of Lepanto
whose hero Marcantonio Colonna is the glory of his family; but you will
find no portrait of his murdered mistress Eufrosina, or of the most
famous of all the duchesses of Palliano, whose ghost might well haunt
that gloomy castle.
Violante de Cardona was, in the latter part of the sixteenth century,
the most charming woman in Naples. Her wonderful eyes alone rendered her
irresistible to most men, and she added to remarkable beauty the
fascinations of wit and culture. All of the young bloods of Naples were
captives at her chariot wheels, all but young Marcantonio Colonna, who
must have known her for he dwelt at this time at the Castle of Ischia
inherited from his aunt Vittoria Colonna.
Violante made choice among her adorers of Giovanni Caraffa, nephew of
Pope Paul IV. whom Marcantonio had cause to hate, for Paul had despoiled
him of Palliano, under pretext of his mother's heretical opinions, and
had given the fief to this very Giovanni.
Thus Violante to her great misfortune became the usurping Duchess of
Palliano, for her husband made her life a martyrdom and was ultimately
responsible for her death. He was not so utterly depraved as his brother
Cardinal Carlo Caraffa but his maniacal jealousy was more dangerous than
the Cardinal's vices, and he made himself rich by the maladministration
of the papal revenues.
The Pope though bigoted and fanatical was sternly upright, and
discovering the crimes of his nephews visited unsparing retribution upon
them. Cardinal Carlo's offences were most flagrant. He had quarrelled
openly with a young gallant, Marcello Capecce, for the favours of
Martuccia one of the most notorious courtesans of Rome, drawing his
sword upon Capecce at a banquet where he had denied the Cardinal's right
to appear as Martuccia's escort. Though the Pope had banished the
brothers from Rome they might have lived in peace and obscurity but for
Carlo's attempt to revenge himself upon Capecce.
It happened most opportunely for the Cardinal's purpose that Capecce had
long cherished a hopeless passion for the Duchess of Palliano.
The Cardinal fanned this flame and Marcello, believing himself
encouraged followed Violante to her villa. Here the Cardinal managed to
bring the Duke at the very moment of the compromising visit.
Why Carlo Caraffa should thus have endangered the life and reputation of
his sister-in-law as well as that of his enemy is not definitely stated.
Perhaps he counted on the Duke's love for his wife and intended simply
to enrage his brother against a presuming but unfavoured lover. Whatever
the accusation the jealous husband was not at first absolutely
convinced, and he placed the matter for investigation in the hands of
his wife's brother the Count Aliffe, who spied upon Capecce and reported
that he was undoubtedly in love with the Duchess of Palliano for his
desk was filled with poems in her honour.
De Stendhal tells us vividly how Capecce was arrested on the charge of
having attempted to poison the Duke, who, "to avoid public scandal
stabbed him to death in prison." He also murdered the Duchess's
lady-in-waiting, but seems not to have had the heart to kill his wife
with his own hands. Nevertheless he believed it incumbent upon him as a
wronged husband to exercise justice upon her, and he deputed the deed to
her brother, who was nothing loth to wipe out the stain upon his family
honour.
On the night of the twenty-fifth of August, 1559, the Count Aliffe, with
his friend Leonardo del Cardine, a friar, and some soldiers, appeared at
the villa and told his sister his errand. She received her sentence with
the haughtiest disdain. Never had she been so thoroughly a duchess.
When urged to confess she protested her innocence, and assisted her
brother in bandaging her own eyes. He hesitated for a moment; perhaps if
she had appealed to his affection his heart might have given way; but
she raised the handkerchief and coolly asked: "Well, what are we about,
then?"
Thus taunted he turned the wand in the noose about her neck, and so
strangled her.
The Pope seems to have approved the act or to have been indifferent to
it; but it created a thrill of horror even at that time, for the
beautiful Duchess had been greatly loved and was believed to be
innocent.
Strange to say, the man who was to avenge her fate was he whose heritage
she had usurped. Marcantonio Colonna had used all his influence at the
Court of Spain until Philip declared war upon Pope Paul IV., and
deputed the Duke of Alva and the Spanish Army to wage the famous war of
the Campagna. Thus Marcantonio came to his own again, and the Pope, who
was near his end, in bitterness of soul signed the capitulation which
saved Rome from a second sack by the Spaniards.
News that the Pope was dying ran through Rome, and the populace
liberated the prisoners of the Inquisition and burned the building. They
howled for the Dominican monks, the guardians of the tribunal, that they
might burn them also, but at the entrance to the monastery they were
stopped by five mounted knights keeping guard over the doomed monks.
They were all of them nobles, and all had suffered from the Pope, and
they were led by Marcantonio Colonna, whose father and mother had been
persecuted by the Inquisition. They had ridden in haste to Rome when
they heard that Paul was dying to preserve order in the city.
"And at the sight of those calm knights," says Marion Crawford, "sitting
their horses without armour and with sheathed swords, the people drew
back while Colonna spoke; and because he also had suffered much at
Paul's hands they listened to him, and the great monastery was saved
from fire and the monks from death."
But though Revenge was restrained, Justice claimed the murderers of the
Duchess of Palliano. Their trial was deliberate, but in the end Cardinal
Carlo Caraffa met the same death which she had suffered, while her
husband, her brother, and their accomplice were beheaded in the Torre di
Nona.
The first use made by Colonna of his revenues was to equip the
battleship which he commanded at Lepanto, where he won the title of
Champion of Christendom.
The pitiful story of Eufrosina, who for a brief period was mistress of
Palliano, is a sad blot upon the Champion's otherwise honourable career.
Some authorities maintain that she was of good family, and that
Marcantonio had killed her husband for love of her; others that she was
a slave girl whom he had brought back from the Orient. All agree that
she was beautiful, but Colonna had not made her his duchess. Strangely
enough he offered the tiara of the murdered Violante to Felice Orsini,
daughter of the very man who had striven in vain to win Palliano by
force of arms. It was a tempting marriage, for it united the two great
rival houses of Rome, and Eufrosina was heartlessly cast aside. Her
after-history is a tragedy beside which the story just related pales to
an idyl.
[Illustration: Court of the Massimi Palace]
That she was a woman of extraordinary powers of fascination is proved by
the fact that, though it was notorious that she had been abandoned by
Marcantonio, Lelio Massimi, then the representative of one of the
proudest patrician families of Rome, did not hesitate to make her his
wife. Massimi was an old man and a widower, whose first wife, Gerolema
Savelli, had given him six sons, notable for their herculean strength
and arrogance and their father's remarriage to such a woman was an
insult to their mother's memory which they could not condone.
They entered Massimi's apartment upon his wedding night and shot his
bride to death in his arms. The old man cursed his sons excepting only
the youngest, Pompeo, who had taken no part in the assassination, and
shortly afterward died broken-hearted, foretelling that Pompeo alone
would continue the line as all of his brothers would die violent
deaths.[9]
The record of the hearts of flame which have burned themselves out in
the old nest of the phoenix might be indefinitely prolonged, for
though battered by many sieges Palliano was never totally destroyed, and
formed the background of many a sinister drama. Marie Mancini Colonna,
Principessa di Palliano, writes that fear of imprisonment in the dungeon
of her titular castle was the principal motive of her flight from her
husband in 1672. She had been threatened with such a fate and the threat
was not without precedent.
As a prison the Castle of Palliano exists at the present day. Has its
symbol of the phoenix attained a new meaning, and is it possible that
erring souls issue from its gates, their stains burned clean by
purgatorial flame?
[Illustration: Marie Mancini Colonna, Principessa di Palliano, by
Mignard
Photographische Gesellschaft, Berlin]
[Illustration]