the inmate of a court. Virtues and vices there are on a larger scale.
"Major rerum nascitur ordo." The interests and passions of despotic
princes are dangerous matters to meddle with, mostly leaving stains
and scars on the hands and hearts of those concerned in ministering to
them. Enough of both, one would think, must have fallen to Bianca's lot.
Let us see, then, if we can succeed in looking into her mind, as it
must at this period have contemplated her position, taking stock of the
gains and losses thus far realised.
"To exercise the most powerful influence in a splendid court; to
receive daily homage, and something more solid than homage, from all
who have favours to ask, justice to seek, or injustice to pay for; to
dispense promotions, reward friends and crush enemies; all this is
worth something. To be the courted patroness of the relatives who so
loudly complained of my having disgraced them, to dispense my bounty
to the father and brother who denounced me, and to be the means of
sustaining and advancing the grandeur of the family whose daughter
I am; all this is worth still more. To become, what, if fate do not
play me false, I will become, and make the Ten themselves bow before
the poor outlawed exile! Ay, that indeed would be more again. It
is something, too, by the blaze of my beauty and the glitter of my
magnificence, to thrust back that pale, proud Austrian woman into
cold obscurity. She, indeed, to think of being a wife to Francesco!
She to dream of taking in charge such a nature as his! She to attempt
the task of comprehending, sympathising with, soothing, managing, ay,
and mastering those surging passions, that wilful mind, and fitful
heart! She! It is a part cast, methinks, for an actress of other powers
than hers! But what if it should prove too difficult for my own? She,
indeed, is at least secure in the frozen dignity of her place. She is
the Grand Duchess, and needs to practise no such ruling of the storms
to hold her safe position. But for me! To rule them, or to perish in
them, is the only alternative. If I cease to rule but for a day, I
fall, and am crushed into the dust! That is the condition on which I
hold my place in Florence! And the Saints know how many waking nights
and anxious days the holding of it thus far has cost me! And the
task seems growing from day to day more arduous. The Duke's deepening
melancholy and discontent at his childlessness is dangerous—very
dangerous. May he not seek elsewhere for that which I have failed to
give him! Francesco loves me;—I think he loves me;—that is, he has need
of me. But should some more painfully felt need require that I should
be sacrificed, trampled into dust, burned at the stake, torn limb from
limb; my Francesco's love, methinks, would hardly save me. Had I but a
child, could I but be the mother of a son to stand between him and the
Cardinal, I should, I think, be safe!"
[Sidenote: A BOLD STEP.]
Somewhat to this tune, we may suppose, Bianca's ruminations must have
often run during the early months of that fatal summer of 1576; till
at length the urgency of the case, arising from the Duke's increasing
gloom and discontent, determined her to adopt the dangerous expedient
of counterfeiting the maternity which nature denied her.
From the earliest years of her connection with Francesco, it had been
her earnest wish to present him with a son. And when, as time ran on,
it began to appear unlikely that she should do so, she left none of the
means untried, to which the gross ignorance and superstition of the
time attributed the power of removing sterility. With this view, she
had constantly about her a number of the vilest vagabonds, impostors,
philtre–dealers, necromancers, poison–concoctors, spellmongers,
and quack–doctors in Europe. In all probability she practised with
love–philtres, to secure her ascendancy over the Duke. It may have
been, also, that she had occasion to dabble in the secrets of the
professors of the art of poisoning. But the grand object of her
medico–witchcraft was to become a mother. And it is exceedingly
likely, that some of the means used for this purpose may have actively
contributed to defeat the end in view, and have done much to injure
her health permanently, as we find hinted in the writings of the
historians.[171]
The people, whom these schemes and pursuits had brought her into
connection with, were well calculated to serve as agents in the fraud
now contemplated. The first necessary step was to find a mother,
who could be induced to agree to part with her infant, when it
should be born. But as the great object of Bianca's ambition was to
present the Duke with a son, it was necessary to provide, as far as
possible, against uncertainty on this point. For this purpose three
women were found, who expected their confinement, as nearly as could
be calculated, at the same time; and who all consented for money to
give up their child, in case it should prove to be a male. But it was
further very necessary to the safety of all concerned in the business,
that these women should be ignorant that a similar bargain had been
made with others. Care had therefore to be taken that they should be
located in different quarters of the city, and should have no means of
corresponding with any one.
All these arrangements must evidently have required the co–operation of
no inconsiderable number of agents. But it is probable that one or two
of these only were allowed to know on whose behalf they were acting.
At length all these preparations were made, and the 29th of August,
1576, was fixed on among the confederates for the consummation of the
plan. Bianca played her part accordingly to perfection. Of course her
fictitious labour would have to endure, till the genuine labour of
whichever of the three unfortunate mothers should first produce a son,
should have come to an end. One only of the three had a male child; and
this was immediately conveyed, in a mandoline, say the chronicles of
the time, to Bianca's residence.
[Sidenote: A TRAGI–COMEDY.]
But it was yet further necessary, before the innocent object of
all this roguery could be allowed to appear upon the scene, that
Bianca should find the means of clearing her chamber of inconvenient
witnesses. And this was not altogether easy. For the Grand Duke, whose
rejoicing at the coming event had been excessive, insisted on being
himself present at the birth; and it was impossible to get him out
of the chamber. The only possibility of success lay in the chance of
tiring him out. And Bianca did her best to render the witnessing of
her pangs as disagreeable as possible. But Francesco's sensibilities
were not to be worked on in this manner. Let Bianca play her part
to the life, as she would, Francesco patiently awaited the result.
The long hours of the night wore on. Morning was at hand. Bianca's
lamentable groaning, kept up with admirable constancy in spite of no
little fatigue from her night's performance, became tedious, if not
heartrending to the princely watcher. He was very sleepy; the women,
with grave shakings of the head, feared that the patient would have
to suffer some hours yet; and at last his Highness, as morning was
breaking, gave in, and went off to his bed; leaving however some
trusted minister in his stead to await the happy moment, and give him
the earliest intelligence thereof.
The game was now an easy one. Some message to the Duke, or other such
commission was readily found to send away the deputy–watcher; and then
in a few minutes all was in order for the reception of Francesco,
who hurried from his bed to delight himself with the sight of the son
he had so long and so earnestly wished for. All passed with the most
perfect success. No shadow of a suspicion seems to have arisen in the
Grand Ducal mind. He immediately recognised the child formally as his
own; ordered that he should be considered a member of the House of
Medici; and received the congratulations of the court and city, as
if an heir to the throne had been legitimately born. The child was
christened Antonio, because, according to the pious declaration of
Bianca, it was to the intercession of St. Anthony that the favour of so
great a blessing was due.[172]
But the ridiculous side of this ignoble farce lies in too close
proximity to its tragic developments, to suffer that a smile should for
more than a passing moment replace the horror and reprobation which are
the standing moods of mind for the study of Medicean annals. Bianca's
triumph was complete for the moment. But on how many chances might the
continuance of it hang? How many of the most worthless beings had it in
their power to hurl her, with a word, from the height of her success!
Was she then never again to be free from perpetual terrors? Never to
lose for an hour the consciousness, that a random word, if not an
intentional and purchased betrayal, the repentance of a confederate,
or a death–bed confession might at any time suffice to throw down the
whole fabric built up with so much care, pain, and cost of guilt;
nay, might bring on her the same swift and sudden vengeance which had
overtaken the unhappy Isabella and Eleonora! Was there _no_ mode of
escaping from so hideous a thraldom?
[Sidenote: ESCAPE.]
Then again it was to be remembered that eyes and brains of a quality
very difficult to be eluded or deceived would leave no means untried
to ascertain the truth respecting this timely maternity after so many
years of sterility. The Cardinal was hardly likely to attribute much
efficacy to the intercession of St. Anthony. And who in Florence could
at any time feel sure that they were not at that very moment under
his special surveillance? Then again Don Pietro, equally injured and
enraged with his brother Ferdinando at this suddenly produced Medici!
his haunts and habits were such as to make it anything but unlikely
that he might stumble on the traces of the deception that had been
practised.
The Duchess, most nearly and cruelly injured of all! Pshaw! if she were
all, there could be small cause for alarm.
Was there _no_ way of escaping once and for ever from these haunting
torments; escaping once for all from fears and from plots and
conspiracies, and all underhand dealings and living honestly and
uprightly thenceforward? The safety, the happiness of such a freedom,
the possibility of carrying out such virtuous aspirations must be found.
Is there _no_ way?
There is but one way, Bianca thinks, as she spends the hours of the
pretended convalescence in no pleasing meditations on her position;—but
_one_ way.
"She must—she must;—she will—she will,
Spill much more blood; and become worse
To make her title good!"
The thought once admitted, delay in the execution of it only risked
the possibility of doing the deed in vain. The greatest danger was to
be apprehended of course from the three mothers; inasmuch, as the mere
fact of the bargain made with them, joined to the exact date of their
confinement, would have been sufficient to raise a presumption which it
would have been easy to improve into certain proof of the real truth.
Two of these women therefore were put to death by disguised assassins;
the third, having obtained some warning of her danger, escaped out of
Tuscany.
But the chief manager of the whole plot had been a Bolognese woman, in
whom Bianca placed implicit confidence. Still she could not feel safe
as long as it was in any human being's power to betray her. This woman
was therefore sent back to Bologna; or rather, the doomed creature
was made to believe that such was her destination. But as she and her
escort were crossing the Apennine, winding in single file along the
deep–cut bridle paths that threaded the chesnut[typo for chestnut?]
woods, a shot from behind a tree brought her to the ground. The
assassins thought that their work was done more thoroughly than was the
case. The wound indeed was mortal; but the unfortunate woman lived long
enough to reach Bologna, and there, being juridically examined, she
confessed at length the whole of the plot by which Bianca had foisted
a supposititious child on the Grand Duke, together with all details of
the execution of the fraud.
This confession, duly attested by the authorities at Bologna, was
forwarded to the Cardinal Ferdinando at Rome, and his feelings on
receiving it may easily be imagined. He must have thought that he had
at last in his hand the means of crushing the hated Venetian woman,
whose arts and spells had so enthralled his brother as to disgrace him
throughout Europe, and by whose infamous practices it seemed but too
probable that some base–born brat might be placed on the throne of
Tuscany to his nefarious exclusion. What then was his indignation and
disgust, when on hastening to lay before his brother the irrecusable
proof, as he supposed, of his mistress's foul treason and falsehood,
he found him obstinately determined neither to hear, see, nor give
credence to anything on the subject! The power and credit of Bianca
were greater than ever. A magnificent appanage was settled upon the
child Antonio, whom the Duke persisted, in spite of all evidence upon
the subject, in considering and treating as his son. He was called Don
Antonio dei Medici; and Francesco appeared to lavish on the infant all
a father's affection.
[Sidenote: THE CARDINAL'S DISAPPOINTMENT.]
It must be admitted that there was wherewithal to embitter a
milder–minded man than the Cardinal. All the calculating policy which
had enabled his cautious nature to dissemble his disgusts for so many
years, so far as to avoid an open rupture with his brother, could not
prevent him now from speaking in a manner that for a time produced a
total estrangement between him and the Grand Duke. Such deplorable
blindness and imbecility as that manifested by Francesco, could only
have been produced, it was said, by the use of infernal arts, and drugs
of maleficent power. The belief in the efficacy of such agencies was
general. It is therefore extremely probable, that the Cardinal himself
may have supposed Francesco to have been bewitched in the literal sense
of the word. That Bianca was credited with extensive powers of the
kind by the popular opinion of Florence is certain. And it is equally
clear, that she herself, whatever may have been her private opinion of
her own proficiency in the art, believed in its existence and potency,
was continually dabbling in the secrets of its professors, and would
fain have been a witch, if she could have found out how to become one.
But the real witchery that Bianca had on this occasion practised on
her lover was not suspected by the Cardinal; though, as it would seem
from subsequent events, he must have become aware of it later. It was
the common witchery of a strong and unscrupulous mind over a weak one,
whose only force was the strength of the bad passions that stirred it.
But the spell used to evoke the demon that should give her the victory
in this perilous crisis of her fortunes was one of extraordinary
daring. And it was strikingly characteristic of the woman, and
curiously indicated how thoroughly she had studied the nature of the
man she had to practise on, and how securely she reckoned on the aid of
the evil spirit she had summoned from the dark depths of his own heart,
in the form of his jealous hatred of his brothers, and of the thought
that either of them should be his successor.
The bungling work of the bravo sent to make all safe by dispatching the
woman on the Apennines on her way to Bologna, which had allowed her
to reach that city alive, left small doubt on Bianca's mind, that the
whole story of Antonio's birth would soon become known to those from
whom it was most necessary that it should be kept secret.
The danger was a tremendous one. No philtres nor drug practice would
serve the turn now. But a bold stroke of a more truly black art might
do so. Now to raise a devil potent enough to make wrong triumphant
over all right and truth! Bianca knew that such a devil was within
call, and went bravely about the work.
[Sidenote: HER SPELL.]
Reminding Francesco skilfully of all that he had suffered from being
childless, subtly painting the triumph and rejoicing of his brothers
at this his bitter misfortune, and picturing to him as subtly the
downfall of their hopes in consequence of the birth of Antonio, when
she had made the idea of relinquishing this vantage ground sufficiently
intolerable to his feelings, she audaciously[173] narrated to him the
whole truth of her fictitious confinement, and Antonio's real birth. To
have had recourse to such an expedient was too evidently the sole means
of remedying the evil. To have deceived him in the matter was to save
his dignity, his conscience, to take upon herself all the odium, the
risk, the burthen, the sin,—if sin there were in securing the peace of
mind and happiness of her sovereign and lord. What but devotion to him,
his wishes and his interests, could have stimulated her to adopt, at
her own peril, the only possible means of abating the insolent triumph
of the disloyal brothers, who were rejoicing in his misfortunes!
The incantation worked well. The devil was evoked. Francesco could not
endure the idea of returning to the state of jealous misery in which
he had lived before Antonio's birth; above all could not endure the
thought of admitting to his prudent preaching brother that he had been
ignominiously and ridiculously cheated; that his loud triumph had been
premature; that the Cardinal's warnings and denunciations of Bianca
had all been wise and just; and that now he—the Cardinal—must again
step back into the position of the childless brother's heir. No! all
this was not to be thought of. Bianca was—not pardoned—but blessed, as
his best friend and helpmate. And the Grand Duke was thenceforward an
accomplice in the fraud of substituting a false heir.
Ferdinando, with his triumphant proofs in his hand, was met, as has
been told, with well–assumed impenetrable incredulity. He found the
Grand Duke busy arranging the purchase of a principality in the kingdom
of Naples for two hundred thousand ducats, to be settled on his darling
child. And the dexterous, diplomatic, able Cardinal, had to return to
Rome baffled and checkmated by a woman.
CHAPTER IV.
The Duchess Giovanna and her sorrows.—An heir is born.—Bianca in the
shade.—The "Orti Oricellari."—Bianca entertains the Court there.—A
summer night's amusement in 1577.—The death of Giovanna.
The conduct of the Grand Duke in neglecting his wife, a daughter of the
proud house of Austria, while he abandoned himself to the seductions
of a comparatively low–born adventuress, had not failed to expose him
to urgent and very disagreeable remonstrances from the family of the
Duchess. At the death of her brother Maximilian, negotiations were
pending between the Imperial Court and that of Tuscany on two subjects.
The first had reference to the full execution of the Imperial diplomas
and decrees, which had conferred on the Grand Duke precedence over
the other princes of Italy. This had never been admitted by them,
especially by the house of Este. And Francesco ceased not to clamour
for the due recognition of his rank. The other matter concerned the
position of the Grand Duchess Giovanna. Rodolph, Maximilian's successor
in the Empire, was anxious to remain on good terms with Francesco. And
one of his first cares was to send an ambassador to Florence for the
purpose of arranging these matters amicably.
The grounds of complaint against the Grand Duke on the part of Giovanna
were sufficiently well founded. But she seems to have brought forward
one accusation, from which her husband was able to defend himself
satisfactorily. She complained that the pecuniary means allowed her
were most insufficient; and that the mortifications to which she was
thus exposed, were embittered by the lavish expenditure permitted to
the vile woman for whose sake her husband neglected her. Now the truth
was, that Giovanna was herself inordinately extravagant. It was easy
for her to show that she had been driven to pledge her jewels and other
valuables by need of money. But the Imperial lady did not seem to be
aware that any limits ought to be placed to her power of disbursing.
Living, as she did, wholly in a little court of her own Germans, her
principal pleasure seems to have consisted in enriching them. And
Francesco was able to show the Imperial ambassadors that if Giovanna
was in debt, it was because she had spent more than the abundant income
allowed her. As usual in all disputes, the Grand Duchess, by being
wrong in this one point, made it the more difficult for her friends
to insist upon right being done her in regard to those other matters,
concerning which her complaints were clearly just.
However, a certain amount of reconciliation was brought about between
her and Francesco; and what contributed far more than the exhortations
of the Imperial Court, to make it for the moment genuine, was the
birth of a son in 1577. This event was to the Grand Duke a subject of
infinite rejoicing, and to Bianca a proportionably great humiliation.
She found herself obliged to withdraw into perfect retirement, and even
to leave Florence for awhile. The immense difference in her position,
which was felt by herself and all Florence to result from the birth of
this legitimate heir to the Duchy, is a measure of the importance of
the fraudulent introduction of Don Antonio, and of the probability felt
by all parties that means would have been found to secure for him the
succession to the throne.
[Sidenote: UNDER A CLOUD.]
Philip II. of Spain graciously acceded to the Grand Duke's request that
he would be godfather to Giovanna's child; and it was accordingly named
after him.
During the first flush of the Grand Duke's triumph and rejoicing at the
birth of his son, Bianca remained prudently in perfect retirement; and
Giovanna flattered herself that she should at last hold the place in
her husband's affections and in his court which were her due. But the
hold that Bianca had established on Francesco's mind was too strong
for him to be able to free himself from it. The need of her had become
habitual to him, as is ever the case in associations between a weak
character and a strong one. The illusions of poor Giovanna lasted but
a very short time. Even the interest attaching to her boy, important
as he was to the fortunes of the house of Medici, could not avail to
prevent Bianca's re–appearance on the scene.
She returned to Florence, and soon found means of showing, by the
accumulated marks of the Grand Duke's munificence towards her and her
son, that the Florentines were mistaken if they had imagined that her
reign was over.
One of the most notable, and it may be said, one of the most
scandalous, manifestations of this renewed favour, was the gift of
a palace and gardens in Florence, which had already acquired an
historical celebrity of a widely different kind from that which was
now to be added to it as the scene of many of Bianca's more or less
disreputable orgies.
The property in question has since that time passed through several
hands, and the traveller who has visited Florence will be most likely
to remember it by the name of its last proprietor, as the Palazzo
Strozzi. He will probably not have forgotten the large gardens which
stretch behind it, and which through all changes have kept their
original name, being still known as the "Orti Oricellari." These
gardens, with the dwelling attached to them, were in the latter
years of the fifteenth century the property of Giorgio Rucellai, the
celebrated philosopher and historian. The house was then a "casino,"
belonging to the gardens, instead of being, as it now is, a palace,
to which they are an appendage. And the writers of the time, who have
frequently spoken of them, call them a "selva;" so that we must picture
the place to our imaginations as very different from the trim garden
which we now see.
[Sidenote: ORTI ORICELLARI.]
It was to this spot that Lorenzo the Magnificent's Platonic Academy
moved its sittings at his death in 1492. It was there that the
brothers Palla and Giovanni Rucellai, sons of Giorgio, received Leo
X.[174] when he came to Florence in 1515, and performed before him
Giovanni's tragedy of "Rosmunda," composed in imitation of the Hecuba
of Euripides,—one of the first, if not perhaps the first, tragic
representation in Italy. It was there, too, that as times grew worse in
Florence, and the minds of good citizens had to occupy themselves with
matters more grave than Platonic philosophy and tragedies in imitation
of Euripides, Macchiavelli read those discourses on the first Decade
of Livy, which were so well calculated to rouse a spirit of patriotism,
with which the author himself seems to have sympathised so imperfectly.
It was there, also, that these readings bore their fruit in that
unsuccessful conspiracy against the Cardinal Giulio, afterwards Clement
VII., for which Jacopo da Diaceto lost his head; and in consequence of
which the Academy was extinguished, and its members dispersed. In these
gardens, also, Macchiavelli laid the scene of his dialogue on the Art
of War. He describes the thickness and vast height of the trees,[175]
several of which were of kinds unknown to Fabrizio Colonna, who is one
of the interlocutors in the dialogue. He commemorates the extraordinary
freshness of the herbage, the retired tranquillity and sylvan beauty
of the spot, enclosed as it was within the buildings of a walled city;
and speaks of this style of culture, contrasted with that which we call
Italian gardening, as the ancient manner of cultivation.
And now this pleasant place, which was on so many accounts classical
ground to the Florentines, was made the harbour of the very different
sort of "Academy" which Bianca assembled around her, and the principal
scene of their fooleries—to use a charitable term.
The details of one such night's amusement have been preserved by the
contemporary novelist, Celio Malespini,[176] who is well known to
have drawn all his materials from real history, and whose book may be
accepted as a perfectly accurate and trustworthy picture of the manners
of the time. Bianca's brother, Vittorio Cappello, was expected to
arrive in Florence with other Venetian gentlemen, and the diversion in
question was prepared for their especial delectation. The Grand Duke,
however, appears to have taken his full share in the performances.
There was at that time, we are told, a necromancer at Florence, who was
one of the most powerful performers in his profession. The garden had
been placed by Bianca at his disposition, and the sovereign and court
were invited by her to disport themselves as follows.
"When the hour was come, the Grand Duke and his companions repaired to
the garden and walked in the shade, waiting till the necromancer should
have completed his preparations. At last he came forth clad in a most
extraordinary manner, but quite in keeping with his character. On his
head was a mitre covered with pentagons and all sorts of extravagant
figures, so that he appeared a veritable new Zoroaster. With slow and
stately steps he advanced to a spot prepared for the purpose, and there
drew a circle on the sward with a knife. This circle corresponded in
size with a cavity which had previously been prepared beneath the
surface of the soil; and around he drew with the knife a quantity of
mystic signs, which, however, nobody saw, inasmuch as the place was all
covered with herbage. But this was done," says the shrewd Malespini,
merely for appearance sake,—'_per dare colore all'arrosto_.' "This
done, he fenced the circle around with a piece of a ship's cable,
leaving a narrow entrance, at which was placed a moderate sized
bell. On the right hand were two large brasiers filled with burning
coals; and on the left a filbert wand, and a vase full of drugs for
fumigations. When all this was arranged, he brought the Grand Duke
and the rest within the circle, imposing on them silence with solemn
gestures; and then requested that one among them would stand forward
and assist him in doing what was needed, assuring them, very seriously,
that no harm should happen to him."
[Sidenote: A FLORENCE NIGHT.]
"At this Signor Sansonetto d'Avernia at once stepped forward and
offered himself. The necromancer made him take off his shoes, and
caused all the others to lay aside their arms. He then placed
Sansonetto between the two brasiers, with the knife in one hand, which
had been previously used for the formation of the circle, and in his
other the filbert rod, which he directed him to hold stretched forth
threateningly, while he stood erect and drawn up to his full height.
Now Sansonetto was a very tall man, and extremely corpulent withal,
with a very red face, like another Bacchus. So that the Grand Duke,
seeing him standing there barefoot, with the knife raised in the air,
and the brasiers on either side of him, could not forbear laughing, in
which the necromancer had much ado not to join."
"When due gravity had been restored, the Grand Duke was placed in
the centre, on a black velvet cushion, and all the others around the
circle. All having taken their seats, the necromancer turning to the
east, uttered a very loud whistle, and repeated the same towards the
north, the south, and the west. It was now an hour and a half after
sunset, and quite dark, so that the scene was visible only by the
lurid light of the brasiers, which much favoured the effect intended
to be produced. The wizard then took the bell, and ringing it loud
and long, cried, 'Come hither! come hither! all spirits who owe me
obedience!' And turning to the north he called 'Bardicul! Stuflogor!
Solsibec! Graffaril! Tarmidar! Zampir! and Borgamur!' And when he had
called these ridiculous names, which were the first (says Malespini,
who seems rather an _esprit fort_) that came into his mouth, he turned
to Sansonetto, and bade him throw the drugs on the braziers. These
drugs were compounded of assafœtida, pitch, sulphur, and other stinking
and abominable ingredients, and the wizard's intention was, that a
small portion only should be thrown on the coals. But poor Sansonetto,
in his zeal, threw such a quantity into the braziers, and raised so
dreadful and fœtid a smoke, that all had to hold their noses, and it
was almost impossible to endure it. The dreadful stench filled all the
garden, and reached the nostrils of the lady Bianca, who, with some
of her most intimate friends, was placed so that they could see all
the sport without being seen. The necromancer perceiving, therefore,
that Sansonetto had overdone the thing, and that the Grand Duke could
hardly bear the stench and the smoke, judged it best to hasten to the
catastrophe of his performance, instead of prolonging it by various
other ceremonies, as he had intended. So he gave a concerted sign by
thrice clapping his hands; whereupon the devils (concealed beneath the
apparently unmoved surface of the soil) began to make such noises and
thunderings, that one might have thought the end of the world was at
hand, and the infernal regions opening beneath their feet. Dreadful
cries and lamentations, strange howlings, gnashing of teeth, clanking
of chains, sighs and groans, were heard; and innumerable flames of fire
burst forth from holes made in the earth, so that the grass was burned
by them. In truth, to anybody not in the secret, the scene must have
been," thinks Malespini, "shocking and terrible in no small degree."
[Sidenote: A FLORENCE NIGHT.]
"And, indeed, when the party heard all this horrible tumult, many,
I promise you, were frightened enough, and thought no more of the
stinking smoke in their alarm. Then the necromancer thought it time
to bring about his catastrophe. Stamping with his foot therefore, he
gave the sign agreed on for the letting go the chains that supported
over the pit beneath the platform with the soil and grass on which they
were all sitting. The brasiers and the knife were dexterously removed
outside the circle by the necromancer. But the whole of the party were
precipitated pell–mell one over the other into the pit; much of the
earth and sods which had been ranged on the platform falling on the top
of them. If the previous circumstances had frightened them, let anybody
judge," says our chronicler, "how much more they were terrified now,
finding themselves all precipitated, with the Grand Duke in the midst,
into the bowels of the earth. In short there was not one of them, as
they afterwards confessed, who did not firmly believe that they had
looked their last on the light of the sun."
"No sooner had they fallen thus into the pit, than the devils were upon
them, making noises more horrible than before, and looking fearfully
hideous in the lurid light of the flames that continually blazed forth.
So that in truth the poor fellows were beside themselves with terror,
and hardly knew if they were alive or dead."
"When they were thus in an agony of alarm and distress, there suddenly
appeared a number of beautiful girls, who in some degree mitigated the
stink of the smoke by delicious odours that they brought with them.
Taking the Grand Duke and the others by the hand, they led them out of
the horrible pit, comforting them," writes Malespini, "with amorous
gestures and pleasing manners, and conducted them to the arcades
that were in the garden. There they were restored by the exquisite
odour which proceeded from a large golden lamp, that cast a soft light
over all the arcade. And while they were admiring these beauties, who
were," as the author somewhat contradictorily writes, "all naked, with
gold brocaded mantles magnificently adorned with precious stones,
the music of various instruments was heard, and angelic and divine
voices carolled forth the words of certain hymns appropriate to the
matter in hand. So that it really appeared to all present, that the
whole hierarchy of paradise was there assembled. When the Grand Duke
and his companions looked about them and saw a magnificently arranged
banquet, with beautiful fruits of every kind, they could not but think
themselves in the Elysian fields. Then the nymphs with infinite grace
and charm of manner pressed them to rest and repose themselves; and
the Grand Duke pretended (observe), to recover himself and collect his
senses after so great an astonishment; and said to his companions,
the Count Santafiora, the two Strozzi, and Altoviti, 'Let the meaning
of all this be what it may, I think, for my part, that all these good
things are not to be despised, and still less so these charming and
amiable ladies.'"
"As for the others of the party, they had remained in the pit half
dead, lying there insensible, till they were carried to beds prepared
for the purpose, where they were properly attended by medical men
provided for that end."
"As soon as the Grand Duke had spoken as above, a voice was heard to
sing an ode," duly recorded by Malespini, but which the reader may
be spared, in which the flattery of his highness is piled as only
Italian hyperbole can pile it. "Meantime, the beautiful and elegant
girls," says the writer, "among whom was one of exceeding loveliness,
named Milla Capraia, did not cease to caress those noble knights; till
suddenly another strophe was heard beginning 'Depart, oh noble heroes!'
&c., and so the diversion came to a conclusion."
[Sidenote: THE DUKE'S HEROISM.]
Such, considerably abridged, is the account of Bianca's mode of
entertaining her guests among the classic shades where Lorenzo's
Platonists had speculated, and Macchiavelli had stirred the patriotism
of the last free sons of Florence.
It is perhaps worth remarking, that the words to which the readers
attention was called,—"the Grand Duke _pretended_ to recover
himself"—seem to show, that _he_ was in the secret of the performances
all the time; and that the zest of the joke consisted in frightening
the silly courtiers out of their wits, while their magnanimous
sovereign should enjoy their discomfiture, himself _seeming_ to be
superior to all such terrors; and should be worshipped as a hero on
the strength thereof by Miss Milla Capraia, who was to _seem_ to put
perfect faith in his heroism.
But while Bianca and the Grand Duke and the court were thus amusing
themselves, a very different scene was passing in that corner of the
huge pile of the Pitti palace, which contained the private apartments
of the Duchess. At first the birth of her son had been a matter of
immense rejoicing and triumph to the unhappy woman. The consequent
retirement of Bianca had been a precious balm to her long mortified
pride; and she had flattered herself that at last brighter days were
before her, and that the mother of the heir to his crown would at least
be held of some account in her husband's court, if not in his heart.
But gradually all these hopes failed her. Not only did the odious rival
return, as we have seen, and recover all her previous ascendancy, but
the arrival of her brother Vittorio, and the marked favour immediately
shown to him by the Grand Duke, who received him as he might have done
a visitor of princely rank, seemed to prove, that there was no hope of
her being able to struggle against Francesco's infatuated affection for
his mistress. The unhappy princess was expecting to be again confined
in the spring of 1578, when these sorrows threw her back into the
melancholy from which she had been for a brief space roused by the
short–lived reconciliation with her husband. And there is little doubt
that they contributed[177] to produce the fatal result which put an end
to her joyless life on the 11th of May, 1578.[178]
Giovanna was not endowed with the qualities calculated to make her
popular with the people of her adopted country. The cold Austrian
nature, the absence of all personal charm, the pride of a scion of
the house of Austria, so different in its kind from the lighter
boastful vaingloriousness of their own princes, the haughty reserve
and stiff ceremonial manners of the daughter of the line of Hapsburg,
were uncongenial and disagreeable to the Florentines. A breaking
heart, moreover, whose sorrows had to be hidden under a veil of
courtly etiquette, was not calculated to improve these deficiencies.
Notwithstanding all this, however, the too manifest unhappiness of her
life, her dignified bearing under her misfortunes, the propriety of her
conduct under strong temptation to act otherwise, all conciliated to
her the sympathy and respect, if not the love, of all classes of the
people.
[Sidenote: GIOVANNA'S DEATH.]
It was known that on her death–bed she had repeatedly[179] implored the
Grand Duke, for his honour and conscience' sake, to separate himself
from the woman who had rendered her life so miserable, declaring at the
same time that she freely pardoned her for all the ill she had suffered
at her hands. And these circumstances, combined with the intense hatred
which all Florence nourished for her unworthy rival, "the witch"
Bianca, caused her death to be sincerely mourned by the entire city.
And almost every writer of the period has a word of sympathy and pity
for this one among the many victims of Medicean cruelty and crime.
CHAPTER V.
What is Francesco to do now?—The Cardinal and Bianca try another
fall.—Cardinal down again.—Francesco's vengeance.—What does the Church
say?—Bianca at Bologna.—The marriage privately performed.—The Cardinal
learns the secret.—The daughtership of St. Mark.—Venetian doings
_versus_ Venetian sayings.—Embassy to Florence.—Suppose we could have
her crowned.—The marriage publicly solemnised.
What were Francesco's feelings on the death of his unloved wife? His
conduct towards her had more than once got him into serious trouble
with the Imperial Court. Little as he had heeded outraging her
feelings, and parading his neglect of her before the world of Florence,
still his intercourse with Bianca had been hampered by the necessity
of making some little show of decency in the eyes of foreign courts.
He had been obliged to have "riguardi," as the Italian phrase goes.
Then Giovanna had been an expensive wife; far more so than Francesco
liked. And now the cost of the magnificent obsequies, which were to lay
her dust under the gorgeous dome of San Lorenzo, would be the closing
article in that account.
Francesco was now free. Yet despite all these considerations, it may
be very much doubted whether the death of his wife was matter of
such unmixed contentment to him as it might at first sight seem to
be. Now became due that bill drawn on futurity, that fatal promise
to Bianca,—uttered "before an image," too, to make the matter
worse,—that, should the time ever come, when they were both free, she
should become his wife. It seems likely enough, that a feeling, which
he may have mistaken for repentance, came over him in these days, when
he thought on the slaughter of Bonaventuri.
[Sidenote: THE PROMISE.]
It was not that the Grand Duke felt any repugnance in his own heart to
perform his promise. His liking for his mistress seems to have been as
strong or stronger than ever, and he wished sincerely to be married to
her. But he hesitated to face the storm of disapprobation, which would
follow the perpetration of such a mesalliance throughout Europe—the
dismay of friends, the exultation of enemies, the discontent of his
subjects, the ridicule of all. As for his promise, image and all,
Francesco was not the man to be much troubled with any such bonds, if
it suited his convenience to break them. He would have been bold enough
to brave the resentment of any dead Saint in the calendar. But there
was a living sinner, of whom he stood in considerably greater awe. How
could he refuse to Bianca to keep the promise she had extorted, and the
performance of which she would assuredly not now be weaker in exacting.
When the personal wishes of such a man as Francesco, strong only in
wilfulness, and the determined will of such a woman as Bianca were on
one side, and on the other only the fear of consequences, which could
so far be kept at a distance, as never to be allowed to meet him face
to face, it was little doubtful what the upshot would be. The contumely
of Europe, and the reproaches of his family, might be effectually
prevented from reaching his ears. But how avoid the nearer annoyances
inseparable equally from living without Bianca, and from living with
her, yet not acceding to her just demands.
Still, for some time the disturbance of Francesco's mind seems to have
been extreme. Still, he let "I dare not wait upon I would;" and lived
the while in a condition of miserable uncertainty and agitation.[180]
His first step after the death of Giovanna was to leave Florence,
where the universal lamentation for his ill–fated wife disgusted him.
Perhaps, also, during this time of doubt and conflicting resolutions
he was glad to escape from the presence of Bianca. It seems probable,
indeed, from his conduct, that this was really his wish for the moment.
For instead of going to any one of the numerous residences belonging
to him in different parts of Tuscany, he kept continually moving from
place to place, wandering through the least frequented parts of his
dominions.
The Cardinal, to whom the death of the Grand Duchess had been a cause
of serious grief and disquietude, was much reassured by this apparent
desire on the part of Francesco to avoid the seductress at this
conjuncture. He went to Porto Ferraio in the island of Elba in the hope
of finding the Grand Duke there, and thus getting the opportunity of
conferring with him at a distance from the influences with which Bianca
in general contrived to surround him. Francesco, however, avoided
any such interview with his brother; and the Cardinal had to content
himself with sending a secretary, in whom he could confide, to urge
those considerations on the Grand Duke, which he would fain have set
before him in person. The messenger caught the Duke in Serravezza, a
little hill village high up among the Apennines, and then one of the
most remote spots in the Duchy, though now well–known as giving its
name to the neighbouring marble quarries, which rival those of Carrara
in the quality of their produce.
[Sidenote: FRANCESCO AT SERRAVEZZA.]
The instructions of Ferdinand's envoy were to move Francesco by every
possible consideration to marry again, choosing his wife from among
the princesses of those sovereign houses whose friendship might
be useful for the sustaining of the family greatness.[181] It is
clear, therefore, that whatever may have been the case at a later
period, Ferdinand had not yet conceived the desire that his brother's
inheritance might fall on him. Up to this time he was evidently
labouring sincerely in the cause of Francesco's credit and honour, and
all his schemes for the aggrandisement of the family were centred in
the Grand Duke, and in the hope of his leaving legitimately born heirs
male of sovereign lineage to succeed him.
But his messenger brought him back an account of his interview with
the Grand Duke, which seems to have very much changed the course
of his policy and conduct for the future. Francesco would not hear
of contracting any such new marriage as was proposed to him. He
professed indeed his determination not to marry again at all. But the
secretary was able to detail to his master, certain little indications
gleaned from the phrases or the actions of the Duke, which led the
acute Cardinal to the conviction that Francesco had already made up
his mind to marry Bianca. And from thenceforth the Cardinal very
manifestly changed his conduct. He no longer made any attempt to
preserve even that outward appearance of family union, which he had
hitherto, despite all difficulties and provocations, succeeding in
maintaining. He quarrelled with his brother openly and publicly; and
in all the political manœuvrings for the petty objects arising out of
the jealousies of the Italian princely houses, which made up the life
occupation of the cardinals living in the Roman court, he thenceforth
took a line of his own, wholly distinct from, and in some respects
opposed to that of his brother, and the general Medicean family
interest. He, for instance, began to cultivate a friendship with the
court of France, between which and Francis, who had always inclined to
that of Spain, there had ever been enmity.
Just about this time especially, he was on ill terms with France, which
had been guilty of injuring him in one of the tenderest points in which
the feelings of a despotic prince such as Francesco can be touched. She
had accorded protection to fugitives from his vengeance. Several of
those who had been implicated in the Pucci conspiracy, such as Antonio
and Piero Capponi, and Bernardo Girolami, as well as Troilo Orsini,
with whose guilt we have had occasion to become acquainted, had escaped
thither, and lived unmolested under the protection of France. This
was intolerable to Francesco. It was not so much the feeling of pique
and jealousy which might exist between two governments on the subject
of harbouring each other's outlaws, and which may well be a ground of
legitimate remonstrance and discontent between neighbouring nations;
for such a grievance can be remedied only by inducing the offending
government to give up the refugees to the legal tribunals of their own
country. What rankled in Francesco's heart was simply the frustration
of his personal vengeance. And the measures which he adopted were
accordingly directed wholly to the gratification of that feeling.
[Sidenote: THE DUKE'S VENGEANCE.]
One Curzio Picchena was at that time secretary to the Florentine
embassy at Paris, and to him was entrusted the execution of the Grand
Duke's hitherto baulked revenge. He was directed to hire assassins
to murder the above–named fugitives and others, at the price of four
thousand ducats per murder. And he was furnished from Florence with
poisons, the choice produce of the poison–laboratory established
by Cosmo in the Uffizi, as one of the necessary institutions of
statecraft, both for drugging the victims in case that should be found
the preferable mode of proceeding, and for poisoning the weapons of
the hired assassins if that course appeared more practicable![182]
So carefully provident was this Medicean proficient in the arcana of
kingcraft!
Girolami was accordingly assassinated. But his fate warned the
others of their danger; and some fled into the provinces, and some
to England. It was then judged, says the Italian historian, that
Italian cut–throats would be found more capable in their calling. Of
these masters in their art then, some were sent into France, and some
to England; and these, unlike the French bunglers, soon gave their
sovereign all the satisfaction he craved.
Such were the cares of State, which contributed to burthen the Grand
Ducal mind, already sorely oppressed by the necessity of deciding what
was to be done in the matter of Bianca and her claims. The agitation of
his mind manifested itself in bodily restlessness; and he continued to
ramble about his dominions, while Bianca, thus prevented from seeing
him, kept up an unceasing battery of letters. At length he hit upon
the common refuge of imbecility, and determined to throw upon other
shoulders the task of decision, which he found too arduous for his
own. So he summoned an able theologian, reputed—undeservedly, as the
result clearly indicates—to be a thorough master of his business; and,
confiding to him his difficulties, the promise he had made, and his own
private desire to fulfil it, demanded to be told what it was his duty
to do.
Now it would surely seem clear enough to any one conversant with
the duties of court chaplains, what was the course to take after
such an exposition of the case as this. And to a plain man, ignorant
of canonical statute law, and incapacitated by his low estate from
comprehending the difference between princely honour and vulgar
individuals' honour, it would surely seem that Francesco's moral and
religious duty was to keep his promise and marry his mistress. But not
so judged the able theologian. He pointed out, with all the eloquence
of perfect climax, that such a marriage would be uncanonical, void,
disreputable, and inexpedient. And, forgetting the broad hint given him
by the gracious sovereign as to his own wishes in the matter, he pushed
his zeal for canon law and blood–royal propriety so far as to convince
the Duke against his will, with the ordinary result of such convictions.
But Bianca, as usual, showed herself in this crisis also, perfectly
equal to the occasion. As soon as ever she learned that Francesco had
taken it into his head to look at the matter in a theological point of
view, she took immediate means of insuring a supply of theological
support from the most influential and effectual source. Francesco's
own confessor was a Franciscan friar, he at least being the right man
in the right place. To him Bianca found means of pointing out that the
bishopric of Chiusi happened to be just then vacant. And the result of
that communication was, that the Duke was very easily led to see all
the professional mistakes committed by his previous adviser, and to
arrive at the desired conclusion, that the Church and his duty required
him to do exactly that which his own wishes prompted.
[Sidenote: COSA DI FRANCESCO.]
While theology was thus at work in her favour, Bianca was not idle on
her own behalf. She was continually writing to the Grand Duke, and
sometimes contrived to have news to tell him, tending to show how
entirely their connection was recognised publicly, and respected. Thus
we find from a MS.[183] record of the time, that she was at Bologna
in the course of this spring with her daughter Pellegrina, and her
son–in–law Ulisse Bentivoglio; and that she was received there with
public honours, having been escorted into the city by a large company
of the principal nobility, both cavaliers _and ladies_, "out of respect
for the Grand Duke of Florence, seeing that the said Bianca was
property of his—_sua cosa_." Surely it would be difficult to conceive a
more striking mark of the degradation of a people, of their fitness to
be slaves and unfitness to be anything else, than this going forth of
the patricians of a great city to do honour to a prince's "cosa!" This,
however, was of course not Bianca's reading of the incident, and its
significance. Surely a "cosa" so received was worthy to become a wife!
In short, writing sometimes in one tone and sometimes in another, she
ceased not to pour in a well–sustained fire of letters,[184] till at
last, just when her ally the friar was convincing his penitent that
it was his duty to marry her, she threw in a final missive, full of
pathetic resignation to his will, and intimations of her own intention
not to survive her disappointment.
The game so well played was won. Francesco finally agreed to the
marriage. But as Bianca was very strongly of opinion that, "if it were
done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it were done quickly," and as it
was impossible to celebrate the marriage openly within a month or two
of the death of the Grand Duchess, it was determined that it should
take place privately, and be kept profoundly secret till the following
year.
Accordingly, the marriage was duly performed on the 5th of June, 1578,
in the _Palazzo Vecchio_, by the same convenient Franciscan friar who
had worked so well to bring it about. The date of this event has been
erroneously stated by various writers; but it is ascertained with
certainty from a copy of the original certificate signed by "Frater
Masseus Antonii de Bardis," which is preserved in a MS. of the Marciana
library, cited by Cigogna.[185] The witnesses were a brother Franciscan
monk, and Don Pandolfo de' Bardi, a relative of the Duke's confessor.
The same document states that the ceremony was performed "in majori
palatio," in the _Palazzo Vecchio_, as it is now called. And if it
should chance that the reader has seen the chapel of that venerable
pile, it will recur to his recollection as a most fitting spot for the
celebration of any rite intended to be concealed from all eyes. It is
inaccessible, except through other apartments of the palace; so small,
as barely to admit the parties whose presence was necessary to the
ceremony; and, though most richly decorated, so dark, that the features
of those standing within it can barely be recognised by each other.
[Sidenote: A VISIT FROM THE CARDINAL.]
In this secret spot the Franciscan friar performed the rite which,
in homely English phrase, made an honest woman of Bianca; a feat
which—to recur to the words already quoted—"if it were done when 'tis
done"—surely deserved the reward of the bishopric of Chiusi, or any
other whatsoever.
So secret was the marriage kept, that even the lynx–eyed spies of the
Cardinal had no suspicion of it. And he still continued,[186] despite
his open quarrel with his brother, to make overtures in various Courts,
in the hope of arranging some suitable marriage for him, for months
after Bianca had made good her hold on him,—labours of her capable and
crafty enemy which must, it may be supposed, have amused that lady not
a little to witness.
In the early part of 1579 the Duke fell ill, and was at one time
supposed to be in some danger; which furnished a pretext and
opportunity to the Cardinal to visit his brother, with a view of
getting at the truth respecting his position. For Francesco's steady
refusal of the proposals made to him, and some other circumstances, had
led him to conceive suspicions on the subject.
He found his brother ill in bed, exclusively attended by Bianca, to
his great annoyance and disgust. And seized the first opportunity of
reading the sick man a strong lecture on the impropriety, and even
risk, of allowing that infamous woman to have the charge of his sick
room. Whereupon Francesco felt himself obliged to let the secret out,
and acknowledge that "the infamous woman" was Grand Duchess of Tuscany.
Ferdinand dissembled the excess of his sorrow and indignation at this
confession, and remained with his brother till he was out of danger.
But it is recorded, that when he repeated the fact to his confidential
secretary, he could not refrain from tears of mortification; and
he returned to Rome with a fresh accumulation of anger against his
brother, and of the bitterest hatred for the woman, to whom he
attributed the disgrace of his family, and the ruin of his well–plotted
and laboriously prosecuted schemes for its aggrandisement.
The Grand Duke meanwhile, having recovered his health, continued to
keep his marriage secret till the middle of April, when the year of
mourning for his former wife was completed. Then his first care was
to communicate the fact to his friend and patron, Philip of Spain,
intimating that he awaited only his approval to publish it to all
the courts. Philip, thinking probably that it mattered little whom
a trading, plebeian–descended Medici married, gave his gracious
approbation. But still one more step remained to be taken before making
the public announcement to all Europe. Anxious to find some means of
gilding a little, if possible, the ignoble object of his choice, he
sent an embassy to Venice, informing the senate of his intention, in a
highly flattering letter, to the effect that he considered the lady a
daughter of the Republic, and that it is his hope in uniting himself to
her, to become a son of Venice, and ever to show himself such to the
republic.
[Sidenote: DAUGHTER OF ST. MARK.]
This embassy entrusted by Francesco to the Count Mario Strozzi of
Santafiora, was received with every possible demonstration of respect
and satisfaction by the Venetians. Santafiora was escorted into the
city with public honours. Forty senators were deputed to wait on him
in the name of the Republic. The Cappello palace was assigned to him
as a residence, and he was received at the door of it by the Patriarch
of Aquileia, the greatest man of the family connection. Bianca's
father and brother were made cavalieri, dubbed "illustrissimi," and
entitled to precedence over all other members of the order. In the gala
doings which accompanied these events the Queen of the Adriatic outdid
herself, we are told, in feasts and magnificence.[187] By a unanimous
vote of the Senate on the 16th of June, in consideration of "the Grand
Duke of Tuscany having chosen for his wife Bianca Cappello, of a most
noble family in this city, a lady adorned with all those most excellent
and singular qualities, which make her most worthy of any the highest
fortune, it is ordered that she be created a true and particular
daughter of the Republic."[188] The same decree orders a golden
chain of the value of a thousand dollars to be given to Francesco's
ambassador. Moreover, all unpleasant memorials of the time before the
lady's most excellent and signal qualities had been discovered, were
ordered, as we have seen, to be erased from the public registers.
It is difficult to understand all this excessive avidity of
toad–eating servility and flunkeyism in such a body as the Venetian
senate. But a few months previously they had manifested a very
different tone of feeling on the subject of Bianca's connection with
the Grand Duke, superior alike to any sentiments to be found among
the Florentine nobles, and to these their own subsequent acts. For
we read in a MS. chronicle of the time by Francesco Molino, cited by
Cigogna,[189] that Bartolommeo Cappello, her father, having purchased
the magnificent palace De' Trivigiani with money received from his
daughter, was so ill–looked on in Venice in consequence, that he was
solely on this account excluded from the senate; "inasmuch as it was
thought that the connection of that family with the Prince Francesco
arose from a base and disgraceful cause; and that though it might be
profitable, and might, perhaps, be deemed honourable for others, it was
not so for a Venetian gentleman."
That last touch of republican pride is magnificent; and it is a pity
that any reasons of policy, or other motive of any kind, should have
induced the senate to exhibit itself so lamentably false to all such
generous feeling so shortly afterwards.
Francesco was exceedingly delighted at the abundant success of his
embassy to Venice. Bianca now was—no, not _was_ exactly—but might be
supposed to seem to be, no longer a private individual, but a princess,
as being the daughter of a sovereign state. By metaphor, fiction,
parchment, and herald's trumpeting, Bianca was now a princess, of due
rank to mate with a sovereign duke; and Francesco accordingly announced
to the various courts on the 20th of June his forthcoming marriage
with a daughter of the republic of Venice. The ceremony was fixed
for the 12th of October, 1579; and immense preparations were made to
celebrate it with unusual pomp and splendour.
[Sidenote: VENETIAN EMBASSY TO FLORENCE.]
Meanwhile the Grand Duke sent his natural brother, Don Giovanni, a
boy of twelve years old, with a numerous train, to bear his thanks to
the Republic for the honours conferred on his bride. He was received
by eight–and–twenty Venetian gentlemen at the frontier, and by forty
senators outside the city, by whom he was processionally conducted to
the Casa Cappello, where Vittorio, Bianca's brother, was charged by
the senate to entertain him at the expense of the state, which granted
an unlimited credit for that purpose. Under these circumstances it may
be safely conjectured that the boy ambassador was received with such
holiday keeping, as left on his mind no mean impressions of Venetian
hospitality and magnificence.
On the 28th of September arrived in Florence the ambassadors sent by
Venice "to put," says Galluzzi,[190] "Bianca in possession of the
prerogatives which the daughtership of St. Mark produced to her." It is
rather difficult to understand what these prerogatives might have been;
but it is probable that if the baggage of the ambassadors had been
searched for them, they would have been found to consist in a certain
quantity of engrossed parchment and sealing–wax, cased in some more or
less splendidly adorned wrappage of velvet or cloth of gold.
The ambassadors, however, Antonio Tiepolo and Giovanni Michiel,
were assisted in bringing these "prerogatives" by a train of ninety
gentlemen of the noblest houses in Venice. It was apparently thought
necessary that the extrinsic pomp of this embassy should be in exact
proportion to the intrinsic meanness of the business it was engaged on.
For we are told that it outshone in taste and magnificence all former
doings of the kind, even in the most palmy days of Venice. And all the
ninety noble gentlemen who came to make _kotoo_ to Francesco's _cosa_,
vied with each other in efforts of ostentation for the manifestation of
their, own greatness.
Beside these ninety, there came also the bride's father and brother,
and the Patriarch of Aquileia, by no means behindhand, the holy man,
in availing himself of his scrap of relationship to the "cosa," for
the purpose of bringing his grey hairs into the sunshine of a princely
countenance. And with these came other eighty, all calling themselves
relations of the bride; and all were lodged in the Pitti palace, and
treated with all sorts of junkettings and diversions, banquets, balls,
tourneys, hunting–parties (with nets), bull–baiting, chariot races,
comedies, &c.
The task of thus entertaining his wife's relatives on this occasion is
computed to have cost Francesco three hundred thousand ducats,[191] a
sum which, allowing for the difference in the value of money, seems
almost incredible. It happened to be a year of great scarcity in
Tuscany. There was wide–spread and severe distress among the people,
who looked on at this lavish and useless expenditure; and the sight did
not contribute to conciliate the love of the Florentines to their new
liege lady.
[Sidenote: CORONATION.]
Meanwhile, in the interval between the arrival of the ambassadors
in Florence, and the day appointed for the ceremony, it occurred to
Francesco,[192] that the daughtership of St. Mark might be turned to
better account yet. There had been two other daughters of St. Mark, one
the wife of a king of Hungary, and the other Caterina Cornaro, Queen of
Cyprus. Now, why should not Bianca also be crowned, as a daughter of
the Republic. It would have a very good effect as part of the ceremony
at all events, and might very likely pass with many persons for more
than it really was. Crowning is crowning; and whether the crown to be
placed on Bianca's head was that of St. Mark's daughter, or _that of
a Grand Duchess of Tuscany_, might very easily be little observed or
questioned.
The Venetian Senate on their part consented willingly to permit the
ambassadors at Francesco's request to perform this ceremony in their
name, but were quite awake to the same probability of error, and were
anxious that their crowning of their daughter should be known to be
their deed, and the dignity one of their bestowing. So the letter, by
which they authorise Tiepolo and Michiel to comply with Francesco's
wish enjoins, that in placing the crown on her head, "it shall be
proclaimed in a loud voice, that it is in sign of her being a true and
particular daughter of our Republic." And a second letter charges them
to take care, that those words are so said "as to be distinctly heard
by all around, and in such a manner that they be not drowned by any
noise of trumpets or otherwise."[193]
But there was also another person in Florence, who pricked up his
ears, and had a word to say in the matter, when he heard a talk of
crowning going on. This was the Pope's nuncio, who protested that all
crowning appertained to his master. And it was necessary to quiet him
by pointing out and declaring explicitly, that what was proposed was
no crowning of a Grand Duchess, but merely a token of the daughtership
of St. Mark. And he also was anxious that this fact should be clearly
avowed and understood.
Notwithstanding all this, however, many chroniclers contemporary
and other, have written that Bianca was crowned Grand Duchess of
Tuscany.[194] Perhaps the Florentine trumpets and shoutings contrived
to make the words of the Venetian functionary inaudible despite his
efforts to obey the senate and make himself heard.
The ceremony began on the appointed day in the great hall of the
_Palazzio Vecchio_—the same hall in which Capponi had persuaded the
Florentines to elect Jesus Christ for their king, and Savonarola had
instructed the great council of the nation to abstain from debating,
in order the more swiftly to act on his suggestion. In that famous old
hall, once the very cradle of Italian freedom, and the heart of the
popular life, a throne was built for the prince by right divine;—right
truly and absolutely divine of those eternal laws, which make such
princes the natural result of the lack of wisdom and worth, and excess
of evil and unruly passions which had been exhibited in the councils
of that council–chamber. The ungainly irregularity in the form of the
enormous hall may have in some measure marred the symmetry of the
upholstery magnificences. But Francesco and Bianca should have been
well content to pardon any such eyesore. For the fashion all awry of
that home of the old Republic, in which no wall makes a right angle
with its neighbour, commemorates literally, as well as typically, the
implacable internecine party hatreds of the Florentines.[195] And had
that stone embodiment of the spirit of the old Italian commonwealths
been able to be built straight, Florence would not have had that day to
stand abject, vicious, and degraded to bow before a despot and his ...
_cosa_.
[Sidenote: THE CEREMONY.]
When the prince was seated, and all his military, legal and clerical
flunkeys in their proper liveries, duly ranged around him, Bianca was
led in by the ambassadors of Venice; and floods of speechifying, easy
to be imagined, but intolerable to read, were uttered by the various
functionaries of either nation. Probably if might be difficult for
the strictest analysis to detect one particle of truth in all that
was said. To Grimani, the old patriarch of Aquileia, it fell to make
an oration "on the utility of this marriage and the value of the
daughtership of St. Mark." The two ambassadors did their crowning; but
in some way or other failed to do it to the satisfaction of the Senate.
For when they, in accordance with Venetian law, asked permission to
keep the present of a ring worth fifteen hundred dollars, given to each
of them by Francesco, it was refused.[196]
When the business had been got through thus far, Bianca was
carried,—chaired, it should seem like a newly elected M.P.,—with
the crown on her head to the cathedral; and there were done "sacred
sacrifices," "divine services," and other such unbounded lying of
an intensified, infinite, and yet more pernicious sort than that
previously perpetrated in the lay part of the business.
And so Bianca was made a Duchess—nay Grand Duchess; and stepped
triumphantly on her _excelsior_ path, rewarded by success for her long
efforts, patient endurance, sleepless astute vigilance, courageous
battling with danger and difficulty, and unscrupulous daring.
Honesty the best policy! Policy, for what object? Not for scaling the
throne of a Grand Duchess apparently!
CHAPTER VI.
Bianca's new policy.—New phase of the battle between the Woman and the
Priest.—Serene, or, not serene! that is the question.—Bianca protests
against sisters.—Death of the child Filippo.—Bianca's troubles and
struggles.—The villa of Pratolino.—Francesco's extraordinary mode of
life there.
The ninety embassy–followers, and the eighty kinsmen, were kind
enough to give Francesco the pleasure of their company for some time
after the marriage; but towards the end of October they returned to
Venice, carrying with them presents of collars of gold and jewels.
The Patriarch had his full share of gifts,[197] and all the swarm of
the relatives "proportionably." But father–in–law Bartolommeo carried
off not only very large sums of money, but a good pension for life.
Brother–in–law Vittorio declined to return to Venice any more at
all, purposing to devote himself wholly to the service of his august
kinsman. A large pension, not for life, but to him and his heirs for
ever (!), and a dower for his daughter, was the least that could reward
such zeal. Bianca's pin–money was fixed at an hundred thousand ducats,
to be invested in the mint of Venice.
What were the feelings being stored up the while in the breasts of the
Florentines in their dearth and famine time towards Bianca, may be
imagined. And when it is remembered, that one of Francesco's strongest
passions was avarice, the excess of all this munificence towards
Bianca, and her belongings, may help to give us the measure of the
influence that she had acquired over him. Yes! it must be admitted that
Bianca had decidedly succeeded!
Hitherto we have seen the Cardinal Ferdinando and his new sister–in–law
open and inveterate enemies; and the former at each critical point of
the war between them has been beaten. During the period of her struggle
to win her footing in the family, she judged it necessary to her
success, that Francesco and his brother should be at enmity. But now,
that her position as a member of the house of Medici was indefeasibly
won, and its interests were her interests, she was anxious to bring
about a reconciliation with her brother–in–law.
She opened her new campaign by inducing her husband to change his
manner towards his brother. Francesco had always manifested his
irritation under the politic Cardinal's sermons and remonstrances,
by treating him on all the occasions, when business matters made it
necessary for them to communicate, with the greatest rudeness and
discourtesy. Under Bianca's management, all this soon disappeared.
She was able also to bring about a change which affected Ferdinando
yet more sensibly. His magnificent and ostentatious habits caused him
always to be in difficulties; and he was very frequently desirous of
being allowed to anticipate a little his drafts on his Florentine
appanage. This Francesco, rejoicing in an opportunity of spiting his
respectable brother, had always, in the most disobliging manner,
refused. _Now_ it is intimated to our good brother, that if it should
be convenient to him to anticipate his revenues a little, the Grand
Duke will be delighted to accommodate him. Then the clever lady
finds the means of entering into an epistolary commerce with this
highly respectable churchman, who had so sedulously kept her and her
abominations from coming between the wind and his propriety. And it is
not without considerable elevation of the eyebrows that we find her
writing to him on the 24th of December,[198] 1580, in such terms as the
following:
[Sidenote: PATTE DE VELOURS.]
"I live," she assures him, "more for you than for myself. Indeed,
I live but in you, for I cannot live without you;"—which, as the
historian observes, are "very cordial expressions." We shall be
justified, however, in assuming that, despite their "cordiality," they
were not accurately expressive of the fact; even if we do not go the
length of supposing, as many narrators of Bianca's story do, that they
express the exact contrary of the fact, we may probably also safely
conclude further, that the Cardinal did not believe more of them than
we do. And, indeed, it seems difficult to suppose that Bianca should
have expected him to believe them. Nevertheless, the dexterous lady's
civilities, and _patte de velours_, did so far prevail, that to the
exceeding surprise of all Florence, and to the great dismay of the
anti–Medicean faction among the cardinals at Rome, Ferdinando made his
appearance in Florence to spend the "villeggiatura" with his brother
in the autumn of 1510. Francesco was all kindness and as generous as
his ungracious nature would permit him to be, and Bianca the perfection
of amiability and deferential affection. The Cardinal was perfectly
ready, and well pleased to sacrifice, if not the reality of his deep
resentment, at least the outward manifestation of it, to the political
objects which were interfered with by the open schism in the family;
and the reconciliation appeared to be complete.
But from this time forward, the vantage–ground in the long battle
between the woman and the churchman was no longer, as it had hitherto
been, on the side of the former. Whether it were, that the tactics
adapted to a state of open warfare were better suited to the violent
and daring, though by no means sincere nature of Bianca, while the
profound dissimulation of hatred, under the mask of friendship, was
more congenial to the habits of the politic and respectable churchman,
the fact is, that the Grand Duchess had gained her last victory, and
that at every subsequent turn of the game the Cardinal had the upper
hand, till her final discomfiture left him triumphant master of the
field.
For the present, however, it perfectly suited both parties to act in
concert with reference to the great object of Medicean state policy,
which was then occupying Francesco, and may be, indeed, said to have
been the leading aim and interest of his life.
His father, Duke Cosmo, by dint of assiduous obsequiousness to Pope
Pius V., and as the price of the blood of his subjects, delivered
over to the Inquisition on charges of heresy, had obtained from that
pontiff the title of Grand Duke of Tuscany.[199] But, as Sismondi well
observes,[200] inasmuch as Tuscany was not, and had never been a fief
of the Church, the Pope could have no sort of right to change the title
of its sovereign. Accordingly, both the Emperor, whose prerogatives
were thus infringed, and the other Italian Dukes, above whom Cosmo
sought to take rank by virtue of this new title, refused to admit its
validity. And Cosmo died while negotiations with the Emperor were yet
pending on the subject. But Francesco succeeded in inducing the Emperor
Maximilian II. to confer on him the much desired title by a new decree,
taking no notice of the previous concession by the Pope.[201]
[Sidenote: MOST SERENE.]
But even then, the other sovereigns of Italy would not admit the
precedence thus established in favour of the Medici. Especially the
haughty and ancient house of Este could not brook that the plebeian
upstarts, whose fathers had been haggling for percentages, while
_their_ ancestors had been defending their ancient fiefs in the saddle,
should now take rank in Europe above them. The Duke of Savoy was
equally determined to dispute this promotion over his head; and the
Duke of Mantua thought the Gonzagas were as good as the Medici any day.
The style and title attached to the grand–ducal dignity, it seems, was
"Most Serene Highness;" and it was very easy for Francesco so to call
and write himself, and be called in his own duchy. But the misery of
the case was, that all the others forthwith began to do the same. Not
a dukeling of them would any more be content to be a "Most Illustrious
Excellency." One after another all called themselves "Most Serene" in
the coolest manner; and it was even feared, say the historians,[202]
that the little Republics would begin to think themselves serene too.
Venice had, time out of mind, always been "most serene," and was by all
parties admitted to be so. But the Queen of the Adriatic insisted upon
being not only most, but sole serene, and would give the coveted title
to none of the disputing parties. Once indeed, we read, the Cardinal
d'Este being at Venice, did somehow manage to betray the Doge into
speaking of his brother, the reigning Duke of Ferrara, as "his Most
Serene Highness;" and great was the triumph of the House of Este. But
it was short; for the assembled senate were much displeased at what
their Doge had done; and solemnly decreed that it was only a slip of
the tongue.
Meantime poor Francesco was, if anything, rather worse off than all
the illegitimate serene highnesses. For those wicked and unprincipled
confounders of all distinctions agreed together to call each other
serene, while nobody would call him so. It was a cruel case; and the
Grand Duke, we read,[203] shook with rage, at the thought of all the
trouble he had taken, and all the money he had spent in procuring this
title, only to find himself after all no serener than his neighbours.
But the cruellest cut of all was to hear that some of these vile
pretenders had obtained recognition of their false serenity at the
court of France, at the hands of a Medici, and she the head of his
house! He sent an envoy to Paris, who under pretext of asking payment
of certain moneys lent by him to Charles IX., was to see if the
queen–mother could be got to favour his views in the title question.
But Catherine replied to his first hint of the matter, that "she did
not see how she could do anything for the Grand Duke in that business,
seeing that he could give the King of Spain a million of gold at a
time, while with her and her son, on the other hand, he looked after so
small a matter as that which they owed." The envoy humbly observed that
the King of Spain had not done his master the ill–turn in the title
business which the Queen had done. "And I did it on purpose," rejoined
Catherine, "in return for the small respect the Duke has paid me and my
son, in committing assassinations beneath our eyes. And you may write
to your master, that he do nothing of the sort again, and specially
that he lay hand on no man within this realm; for the King, my son,
will not endure it." So Francesco took nothing by that motion.
[Sidenote: AN ARGUMENTUM AB INFERIORI.]
He carried his complaints next to the Emperor Rodolph II.; begging,
that in the Diet shortly to be held, some curb might be put on the
usurpations and abuses, which threatened, he said, to make all equal,
and leave no distinctions of rank at all. The Duke of Urbino now
asserted that he too was as serene as his neighbours; and there was
reason to fear that the viceroy of Naples, and even the governor of
Milan, would soon be putting forth the same pretensions. He urged on
the consideration of the Emperor, that "the distinction of ranks and
precedences was so necessary and profoundly based in the very nature
of things, that even in hell there were found to be such distinctions
among the devils and the damned."[204] And one cannot but feel the
force of the argument in the mouth of Francesco, that what was good for
devils must be good for dukes.
But the Duke of Savoy was also making remonstrances to the Emperor.
He boasted his descent from the ancient family of Saxony; and argued,
remarkably enough, that this fact of German extraction ought to assure
him the primacy among all Italian dukes. And it is worthy of note, that
the Diet considered such a claim well–founded, and in their report
to the Emperor begged him "to remember that the Duke of Savoy was of
German origin, and for that reason to decree, that he should have
precedence over all the dukes of _that province_."—meaning thereby
simply Italy from the Alps to Calabria. The Duke of Ferrara also
sent envoys to the Emperor, imploring him to think a little of the
difference between his family and that of the Medici, and to let him at
least be "most illustrious," if he could do nothing better for him.
Rodolph, however, whose only object was, if possible, to keep them all
quiet, would say nothing further than, that in a matter of so great
importance, more mature consideration and longer thought was necessary.
Any attempt to unravel and detail all the intrigues, negotiations,
schemes, and machinations, to which this question of precedency gave
rise, would almost involve writing the official and court history of
Italy for nearly half a century. The election of popes was struggled
for, cardinals were created, royal marriages made and plotted,
alliances and hostilities entered upon, all with a view to this matter.
And treaties between one state and another chiefly turned on the
condition that one party should admit the "serenity" of the other.
Surely "low ambition and the pride of kings," never stooped to busy
themselves about "meaner things" than these silly and ridiculously
vain–glorious puerilities. It is curious to mark, how the means adopted
by the despots of Italy to enervate and degrade their people, acted
equally on themselves; and ensured, that the ruler of a nation of
fribbles and slaves, should be an eminent "representative man" of their
own order.
[Sidenote: THE DAUGHTER OF ST. MARK.]
It is amusing to find, that Bianca had no sooner entered the magic
circle of the sacred brotherhood of sovereigns, than she too, as
though she had been "to the manner born," shaped herself to the ways
and thoughts of her new peers, and must needs have her troubles and
negotiations about her rank and style and dignity! If emperors could
smile at the ridicule of sovereign dukes, surely the commentary thus
supplied on Francesco's pathetic complaint, that even the devils in
hell have their proper rank and title, must have relaxed the grim
Hapsburg features a little! The case was this:—Don Cesare d'Este, it
was reported, was to marry the daughter of the Doge Niccolò da Ponte;
one of the conditions of the contract being that the bride was to be
crowned daughter of the Republic! Where was the use of giving Francesco
the title of "most serene," if every other was to be as serene as he?
And where was the compliment of making Bianca a daughter of St. Mark,
if the saint was going to have a whole family of daughters? Bianca sent
an envoy to Venice to remonstrate, and insist on her claim to be not
only the daughter, but the only daughter of St. Mark.
When Bianca's remonstrance was read by her envoy in the Senate,
those grave and reverend Seniors, Galluzzi[205] tells us, burst into
uncontrollable laughter. Reflecting, however, that the step taken
must be considered as a complaint of the sovereign of Tuscany against
their state, and that therefore some serious answer must be given to
it, they passed a censure on the secretary who had read this precious
document, for venturing to bring any such matter before them, declared
that they knew nothing of any such proposed marriage, and reminded
Bianca, that her quality of daughter of St. Mark did not confer upon
her any right whatsoever to interfere with the deliberations of the
Republic. The grand–ducal envoy strove to make the best of the matter
for his employers, by protesting that his mistress's jealousy on the
subject arose solely from the very high value she set on that honour,
and should be taken to indicate only the intensity of her affection and
respect for the Republic. But the Senate could not be restored to good
humour. The consciousness, perhaps, that a ridicule had been cast, even
by the laughter into which they had been surprised themselves, on the
daughtership of the Republic, helped to make them feel angry; and the
envoy was curtly answered, that his application was ill–considered,
untimely, and calculated to lead to unpleasant consequences. With which
almost menacing answer Bianca's messenger had to return to her.
On the 29th of March, in this same year, 1582, poor Giovanna's son
Filippo died in his fifth year. It was a severe blow to the Grand Duke.
But as, according to the etiquette of the Spanish court, Philip II. had
neither manifested nor permitted to be manifested any sign of grief
when _his_ first–born son died, Francesco thought that he would show
his royal breeding by imitating so bright an example. Bitter as the
loss was to him, therefore, he would not suffer a sigh to escape him,
and forbade all mourning whatsoever.[206] But the Tuscans, who had too
recently been made acquainted with a sovereign to have learnt the ways
and habits of the race, misunderstood their Duke's high–breeding; and
thinking simply that Francesco was not sorry for the infant's death,
proceeded to conclude, according to a course of things which _was_
familiar and intelligible to them, that Bianca had poisoned the child.
[Sidenote: A MOODY MATE.]
There is, however, not the slightest reason to suspect that anything of
the kind was the case. And it may even be doubted whether the death was
welcome to Bianca. It is true, that any hope she may have conceived of
being able to secure the succession for Don Antonio,—and she seems at
times to have formed schemes of the kind,—was rendered possible only by
this event. Barring any offspring which might afterwards be born either
to Ferdinando or Pietro, Antonio was now the only (reputed) descendant
of the house. But, on the other hand, the death of his son threw the
Grand Duke into a deeper gloom of melancholy and discontent than ever.
And Francesco was not an easy man to live with under such circumstances.
His repining often took the form of reproaches to Bianca for her
childlessness. And, assuredly, never were reproaches less deserved, if
an earnest desire for offspring, that would continue hoping against
hope, were any title to escape from them. Not a nostrum–monger was to
be heard of on either side of the Alps, that the unhappy woman did
not summon to her aid. With untiring perseverance and ever renascent
credulity, she essayed their prescriptions, whether mystical or
physical, with the result, it would seem, of very seriously impairing
her constitution. More than once she deceived her husband, and very
possibly was deceived herself, by false announcements of her pregnancy.
If, as it is stated,[207] she made Francesco believe that she had
suffered once or more from miscarriage during these years, she was of
course guilty of deceit, however much she may have been imposed upon by
the impostors who surrounded her. And the only intelligible motive of
such falsehood would seem to have been the notion, that by thus keeping
alive her husband's hope of having an heir by her, the danger that he
might perhaps seek to break his marriage with her, in order to unite
himself with some more fortunately circumstanced wife, might be avoided.
The principal residence of the unhappy couple at this period was
the solitary villa of Pratolino. The name will be familiar to most
travellers in Italy; for the pretty park on the slope of the Apennine,
with its magnificent view of the vale of Arno and distant Florence
far beneath it, has become a favourite haunt of Florentine pic–nic
parties. And the bright green glades, cool mountain air, and fine old
trees, make the scenery more like that of English pleasure grounds than
perhaps any other spot in Italy.
But the dwelling in which the moody Duke hid himself and his wife from
the hate–envenomed eyes of his subjects, exists no longer. Of the
pleasure villa, the title of which, like that of many another pleasure
scheme, turned out to be so mocking a satire on the designer of stone
and mortar happiness, not one block remains upon another. It was
situated about eight miles from Florence, in the direction of Bologna,
a distance sufficient to secure to Francesco perfect retirement, and
that total neglect of all state business and cares in which he indulged
during the latter years of his reign. The contemporary accounts[208]
which have come down to us of the manner of life he led, shut up
in his solitary villa with the unhappy Bianca, are so strange, as
to warrant us in concluding that some touch of insanity must have
mingled in the disastrously combined elements of his mental and
physical constitution. The extraordinary excesses recorded as having
been habitual to him are more like the freaks of a madman than the
indulgences of a voluptuary.
[Sidenote: DUCAL HABITS.]
We hear of his abuse of distilled waters and elixirs; his "immoderate
and pernicious familiarity[209] with oil of vitriol, and too frequent
use of distilled cinnamon water." His food was always compounded with
"hot spices, ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and pepper." He would take before
eating, during his meal, and after it, a quantity of raw eggs, filled
with the hot red pepper of Spain. He was fond of the most indigestible
kinds of food, and would eat to excess of raw garlic and capsicums,
raw onions, radishes, leeks, and roots of various sorts, with enormous
quantities of the strongest cheese. His wine was always of the most
fiery and heady sorts. And when he had heated himself beyond endurance
with inordinate quantities of such burning liquors and spices, and
loaded his stomach with such crudities, he would drink large quantities
of iced water, plunge his head and hands in snow, and go to bed in iced
sheets. This latter practice was his constant habit; and the writer of
the letter cited above says that he did so in imitation of Prospero
Colonna and other men of note of that time,—a not improbable trait
in the character of a man who refused to mourn his child's death in
imitation of another great man.
The characteristic manifestations of his mental condition the while,
were, if unhappily less extraordinary, yet quite as unhealthy as his
bodily habits. A dark heavy melancholy, ever and anon blazing out in
fits of savage ferocity, seemed to grow upon him from day to day. And,
upon the whole, he must at this period have been as dangerous and
intolerable an animal to live with as can well be imagined.
And if now, once again, we suppose Bianca to cast up her accounts and
"take stock" of her position, shut up in this lonely Apennine villa,
with a half–mad savage for her mate, conscious of having earned the
bitterest hatred and execrations of an entire people, and tormented
with unceasing repining for the one unattainable blessing, which should
have realised, or seemed to realise, some gain out of so much sin and
suffering,—perhaps she may have begun to have misgivings as to the
measure and value of her "success."
CHAPTER VII.
The family feeling in Italy.—Who shall be the heir?—Bianca at
Cerreto.—Camilla de' Martelli.—Don Pietro on the watch.—Bianca at her
tricks again.—The Cardinal comes to look after matters.—Was Francesco
dupe or accomplice?—Bianca's comedy becomes a very broad farce.—A
"Villegiatura" at Poggio–a–Cajano.—The Cardinal wins the game.
The death of the child Filippo was a not less important event to the
Cardinal Ferdinando, than to Bianca and Francesco. Ferdinando would
have been well content to see the succession of his family pass in due
course to a legitimate heir of his elder brother, born of a mother of
princely rank. Possibly he might even have been contented if there
could have been a legitimately born heir by Bianca. His ambition was
wholly for the family, the clan, the race whose name he bore. The
excess of this vice, or virtue, is very remarkably characteristic of
the Italian idiosyncrasy. It marks every page of the entire course of
Italian history, and indeed may be said to constitute a large portion
of it. Ferdinando lived for the advancement of the Medicean fortunes
and greatness. His feelings and his crimes were prompted by this his
master passion; and his virtues, such as they were, of decorousness,
moderation, and long–suffering forbearance under his brother's
provocations, were practised for the same sake.
Bianca manifested, as we have seen, a similar tendency. The first
fruits of the great rise in the world, which made her a prince's
"cosa," were dedicated to promote the greatness of the Cappello family.
The large sums, grasped in Florence, as the price of degradation, fraud
and venality, were despatched to the still dear Venice, which had
outlawed her, and to the father, who had first neglected her and then
put a price upon her husband's head, not assuredly from tender filial
affection, but that a new Cappello palace might be purchased, and the
Cappello name be made great in Venice.
This constantly recurring feeling, which at bottom is but the
expression of an intensified individuality, will be found to lie at the
root of Italian national disaster; and to be an operating cause, to a
greater degree probably than any other circumstance, of the secular
impossibility—or extreme difficulty, let us more hopefully say—of
constructing a nation out of the materials bequeathed by the Italian
middle ages to modern times. The intense and exclusive devotion to
family in the men who have ancestors, and the same feeling translated
into devotion equally intense and exclusive to a municipality, in
the men who have none, act as a mutually repellent force on the
constituent parts of society, are a dissolvent instead of a uniting and
constructive influence, and are deadly to all national patriotism.
Ferdinando then asked only, that the name and greatness of his family
should be perpetuated by a regular duly born heir to his eldest
brother. And the death of the little Filippo was to him a misfortune
of the most fatal kind. For now again the danger that the wretched
purchased base–born brat they called Antonio, might become the
successor to all the honours, wealth, and greatness of the extinct
Medici, became imminent. And the idea was utterly intolerable. Rather
than that ... anything, that might be necessary to prevent it!
[Sidenote: DON ANTONIO.]
The conduct of Francesco with reference to Don Antonio after Filippo's
death was such as to justify in the strongest manner the Cardinal's
misgivings and suspicions respecting his brother's, and more especially
Bianca's intentions concerning him. The estates settled on him were
increased to the value of sixty thousand scudi a year. A magnificent
villa, and grand palace in the city were prepared for his use. Worse
still, Francesco had obtained from the king of Spain that the estates
purchased for this fortunate youth in the kingdom of Naples should be
erected into a principality. And Don Antonio accordingly, now took the
style and title of a Prince, and assumed palpably the next place after
the sovereign in the eyes of the Florentines.
These circumstances induced the Cardinal in the course of the year
1585, to think seriously of obtaining a dispensation, to enable him
to quit the priesthood, give up his cardinal's hat, and marry. Before
taking this extreme step however, he determined on endeavouring, if
possible, to persuade his brother, Don Pietro, to marry. This was very
difficult to do. For though Pietro hated his eldest brother and Bianca
quite well enough to be ready to do his best to counteract their plans,
he cared nothing for the family name or greatness; and the extreme
profligacy of his life made marriage extremely distasteful to him. He
alleged in reply to the Cardinal's instances, that the vow he had made
to the Virgin, on the occasion of murdering his wife, stood in the
way. He had solemnly promised not to marry again, and could not charge
his conscience with the breach of so solemn a vow. He added, to save
trouble, that no theologian would succeed in persuading him,[210] that
the engagement so undertaken was not valid. Nevertheless, he at last
consented to do as the Cardinal would have him; and accordingly set
on foot negotiations for obtaining the hand of a lady of the Spanish
court. Having done this much however, he seemed to be in no hurry to
conclude the matter, and continued his usual dissolute life in Florence.
At length, about the middle of November, 1585, he so far yielded to the
urgent representations of the Cardinal, as to announce his intention
of starting for Spain, to conclude in person the arrangements for his
marriage. But about a month later, while he was still waiting for the
passage of the Spanish galleons, the news was suddenly spread over
Tuscany, that the Grand Duchess had had a miscarriage while staying at
Cerreto. Cerreto was a remote villa belonging to the Grand Duke, in the
hills, near Empoli, in the lower Valdarno. Some writers assert, that it
was in this lonely old castle, and not at Poggio Imperiale, that Paolo
Giordano Orsini murdered Isabella. At all events, the place was well
adapted for the perpetration of such a deed; and it would seem to have
no recommendation save its remoteness, which could have induced Bianca
to select it as the scene of her confinement.
This new attempt convinced both the younger brothers of the absolute
necessity of keeping the strictest possible watch on Bianca and
the Grand Duke. It was pretty clear indeed, that the Grand Duchess
only awaited a good opportunity for a repetition of the farce so
successfully played at the birth of Don Antonio. This time it had
for some reason failed. The mother of the child provided for the
contemplated fraud may have miscarried;—the child may have died; or
some other accident of the kind have made it necessary that Bianca
should terminate her comedy thus ineffectually. But there was every
reason to fear that the attempt would be repeated, and very possibly
with better success.
[Sidenote: CAMILLA DE' MARTELLI.]
Pietro therefore determined to defer his departure; and the Cardinal,
when he heard his reasons for doing so, fully approved of his remaining
in Florence, till they could have an opportunity of consulting together
on the subject.
This was furnished them early in the following year, 1586, on the
occasion of the marriage of Virginia de' Medici, the daughter of Cosmo
by his wife Camilla de' Martelli, with Don Cesare d'Este. Virginia was
thus half–sister to Francesco, Ferdinando, and Pietro, and the Cardinal
was to come to Florence to be present at the ceremony. The marriage was
accompanied by more than usual splendour. But the only circumstance
that excited[211] the interest of the Florentines in the matter, was
to see their old Grand Duchess, poor Camilla Martelli, still very
beautiful, appearing once again among them, as if risen from the grave.
Francesco had permitted her to come out from her nunnery prison, in
which he had kept her now twelve years, to be present at the marriage
of her daughter. And all Florence was disgusted and astonished, as far
as any fresh atrocity on the part of Francesco could astonish it, when
the unhappy lady was, at the conclusion of the ceremony, compelled to
return to her cell.
Ferdinando, who had frequently endeavoured in vain to induce his
brother to mitigate the rigour of her imprisonment, was much angered
by this new cruelty. His disgust was increased by the Duke's curt
refusal to lend him any money; and he returned to Rome with feelings
as hostile to his brother as they had ever been; but not before he had
arranged with Don Pietro that he should remain in Florence to watch
the proceedings of Bianca and the Grand Duke. The Cerreto event was
rendered much more important in their eyes, by the circumstance of the
Duke's having, by a formal circular, announced the pregnancy of the
Grand Duchess and its unfortunate termination to all the friends and
connections of the family. Of what use was it, they asked, to publish
the news of a misfortune of such a nature? Evidently it was intended
only to keep alive in the minds of those addressed, the expectation
that Bianca might have another confinement, and thus prepare the way
for a new fraud.
To guard against this was, as the Cardinal felt, paramount to all
other considerations. Anxious, therefore, as he had been that Don
Pietro should proceed to Spain, to conclude the arrangements for his
own marriage, he judged it yet more important that he should for the
present remain at Florence.
And it was not long before the suspicions, which had dictated this
surveillance, were justified by the event.
In the April of 1586, reports began to be spread that the Grand Duchess
was again pregnant. And on the 15th of that month Don Pietro wrote to
the Cardinal as follows:—[212]
[Sidenote: PIETRO'S LETTER.]
"I learned from a sure source that Pellegrina"—Bianca's daughter
by Bonaventuri, born, as the reader may remember, shortly after her
arrival in Florence,—"was with child; and that the fact was kept secret
with the greatest care. Some excuse has been found for sending abroad
the Count Ulisse,"—Pellegrina's husband, Ulisse Bentivoglio,—"in
order that his wife might naturally, and without giving any cause for
suspicion, be brought to stay in the palace during his absence. And
I have already found out, that in the rooms which it is intended to
assign to her, there are no end of hiding–places, and secret stairs
communicating with the chamber of the Grand Duchess. All which leaves
very little doubt as to this woman's intention. Now, having had ground
to fear that some knowledge of Pellegrina's being with child had got
abroad, they have told the public that she has miscarried. And this
circumstance leads me to feel the more sure of the game she is bent
on. And it strikes me, that they have so favourable a combination of
person, place, and good–will for the accomplishment of their end, that
my presence here can do little to prevent it. For, as to the place,
the numerous means of ingress and egress, render it the most adapted
for their purpose that could be imagined. As for the person, having
Pellegrina with child, ready there to their hand, they may accomplish
their object at any moment that is most convenient. And as for good
will, there can be no doubt that the Grand Duke would far rather be
succeeded on the throne by the grandchild of his wife, than by one in
whom he has no interest. It is for your Eminence to judge whether under
these circumstances my presence here can be of any use; and whether
indeed it may not be more harmful than otherwise; seeing that they will
assuredly bring their scheme to bear; and if I am compelled to be here
and to look on in silence, the world will consider that a ground for
believing the pregnancy of the Grand Duchess to be genuine."
The fact was that the Grand Duke and the Grand Duchess did everything
they could think of to make remaining at Florence intolerable to Don
Pietro. The courtiers were encouraged to treat him in every possible
way with disrespect and insolence. A Spanish mistress, who was living
with him at Florence, was continually insulted by Bianca. The Grand
Duke's own manner was so brutal to him, that Pietro avoided ever being
seen by him. All this torment kept Pietro, who was a passionate man,
and unused to the Cardinal's habits of self–command and dissimulation,
in such a state of irritation, that he was anxious only to escape
from Florence. "I remain here," he wrote to the Cardinal, "with such
loathing, that any other place however wretched would be a Paradise to
me in comparison." And he told him how his suspicions were confirmed,
and at the same time his presence rendered of small avail, by the
placing of new sentinels in various parts of the palace, the erection
of gates on the staircases, and the total inaccessibility of the Grand
Duke and Grand Duchess.
The Cardinal still urged him to arm himself with patience, and remain
at his post, till they should have an opportunity of consulting
together upon the subject in person. "The pregnancy of Pellegrina,"
he wrote, "gives me less suspicion than that of any other woman. For
her lying–in would be necessarily attended with so many circumstances
of publicity, with regard to time, place, number, and quality of
assistants, &c., that it would seem impossible to turn it to account
for the purpose in question. Nevertheless, it is well to keep a
watchful eye upon her; but not with such exclusive attention as to
prevent you from looking elsewhere. For those who are bent on similar
frauds have need rather of the aid of the lowest classes of society,
whose children come into the world at street corners."
[Sidenote: PIETRO AND BIANCA.]
At last, however, Don Pietro's letters urging the Cardinal to consent
to his leaving Florence became so pressing, concluding as they did
with a hint, that if he were kept there any longer, "something might
happen which his Eminence might be very sorry for, when it was too late
to help it," that Ferdinando thought it best to agree to his going to
Spain. It was determined, however, that before his departure he should
find some means of letting the Grand Duke and Duchess know that they
were watched, and thus warning them, that any attempt to tamper with
the succession of the Duchy would not pass unobserved or undisputed.
Accordingly, when it happened that Bianca, who was extremely anxious
to get rid of her brother–in–law, sent him notice that the Spanish
galleons were at Leghorn, and that, if he wished for a passage, it
behoved him to start, he took the opportunity of waiting upon her;
and in reply to her intimation, said that he should consider himself
failing in the duty he owed her Highness if he were not to wait until
her confinement were over, especially as the Cardinal had made a great
point of his paying her that attention. Bianca replied that she really
did not think for her part that she was with child; that the Grand
Duke indeed had got it into his head that she was so, and could not
be persuaded otherwise; that it was true enough that she was far from
well; but that, if she really were with child, she was certainly only
in the third month; and that whatever the event might be, she would
take care that he and the Cardinal should be made acquainted with it
instantly.
In the letter, in which Pietro gives the Cardinal an account of this
interview,[213] he writes: "I watched most closely her manner and the
changes of her countenance, which were exceedingly visible. She changed
colour in the most violent manner. It seems to me that I have done my
part of the business, and have left such a fly in her ear, that she
will either find herself forced to declare herself shortly, or that
she will have the greatest difficulty in bringing her scheme to a good
issue."
It was not long before the Cardinal came himself to Florence, to see
how matters were going on, much to the annoyance of the Grand Duke.
He brought with him his cousin, Don Luigi di Toledo; and, by his
means, took care to pour into Francesco's ear all the sinister rumours
which were, he said, afloat respecting Bianca's pregnancy. He made
Don Luigi tell him, as from himself, that unpleasant things had been
said at the court of Spain; and pointed out to him, that, under these
circumstances, his honour absolutely required that the birth of a
prince, if, indeed, one was about to be born, should be so managed as
to remove all possibility of suspicion and slander.
The Grand Duke became more and more irritated from day to day, as
these rumours and observations were forced upon him. He grew restless
and agitated; and conceived a more bitter hatred than ever against
Ferdinando, who was, as he believed, with a near approach to truth,
the principal, if not the only mover of it all. But it is remarkable,
as Galluzzi observes, that the more the Grand Duke became savage and
brutal in his manner to the Cardinal, the more profuse was Bianca in
graciousness and affability, and in the apparent openness with which
she spoke to him of her hopes or fears.
[Sidenote: REPORTS IN FLORENCE.]
Leaving matters in this train, the Cardinal returned to Rome; while,
according to Florentine court authorities, Bianca's pregnancy continued
to proceed towards its conclusion in the most satisfactory manner. The
Grand Duke's conduct during this time makes it very difficult to judge
whether he sincerely believed that the Grand Duchess was about to give
him an heir at last, or whether he was all the time contemplating a
second performance of the farce which took place at the birth of Don
Antonio, of which he had been at first the dupe, but in which he had
become afterwards the accomplice;—or, finally, whether both these
suppositions were true, so that, if his sincere hopes of a child by
Bianca should be disappointed, he was ready to supply the desideratum
by a fraud. He lived in a perpetual agitation of mind, and showed a
degree of irritation and annoyance at the notice which the Cardinal's
manœuvres had drawn upon the doings at the Pitti, that, joined to his
former conduct, is suspicious. On the other hand, he acted in many
respects as if he were sincere in the matter.
It is also to be observed that, possibly enough, Bianca may have been
sincere on this occasion; especially as we know she never abandoned her
hopes, and was always trying new means to bring about her desire. She
seems to have professed to be very doubtful on the subject to the last.
But some writers insinuate, that while she expressed doubts to the
Cardinal, she spoke in an entirely different manner to her husband.
Meantime, the daily reports in Florence were the amusement of
the citizens, and the bulletins made Francesco and his hopes the
laughing–stock of all Italy.
Francesco had ordered that all the chiefs of the different
magistracies, the Archbishop of Florence, and the Bishop Abbioso,
should be present at the birth. And this, it must be owned, looks very
much as if he were sincere in his expectations, either duped by Bianca,
as in the former case, or partaking in her error. He also wrote to the
Cardinal, though in very ungracious terms, to invite his presence at
Florence on the occasion. "Since the promotion (of Cardinals) is over,"
he wrote, "and there is nothing further to detain your Eminence in
Rome, I will not neglect to tell you that the Grand Duchess advances
in her pregnancy visibly from day to day, and with greater hope of a
fortunate issue than ever. You can therefore come, if it so please you,
and observe all that takes place. You have still the time to do so, and
cannot now say afterwards, that you were left in ignorance upon the
subject."[214]
But in answer to this hostilely worded invitation, and to a second
letter written in the same tone, the Cardinal replied by an angry
letter, absolutely refusing to come or to send any one to Florence on
his behalf, "as he had no wish to see or hear more in the matter than
the Grand Duke did himself, seeing that his Highness was the person
chiefly interested."
That this was false we know with certainty from the Cardinal's
correspondence with his brother, Don Pietro. He had been extremely
anxious to obtain a better guarantee for the truth respecting the issue
of Bianca's pregnancy than the Grand Duke's testimony. What then
was the cause of this sudden change of tone? Are we to suppose that
he had already taken his measures for being informed of the truth so
satisfactorily as to feel that his own presence in Florence could be of
no further use? Or had he convinced himself that no fraud was on this
occasion intended?
[Sidenote: HOPE TELLS A FLATTERING TALE.]
And thus matters went on till December, in the year 1586, the time
when, according to Bianca's calculations, her confinement ought to be
near at hand. And all was still doubt and suspense. The four court
physicians held different opinions on the great question. The highest
obstetric authorities, summoned from all parts of Italy, were equally
far from being unanimous. The courtiers, however, daily perceived
increasing signs of the approach of the wished–for event. The Bishop
Abbioso certified to having felt the movement of the expected stranger.
His rivals in court favour strove to better his bidding for the
sovereign's good graces by boldly predicting twins. Francesco kept
horses ready saddled, and couriers booted, to carry the glad tidings in
different directions the instant his hopes should be fulfilled. And all
the Florence gossips the while were amusing themselves at the expense
of the much hated prince, and the still more detested "witch," his
wife, by unceasing volleys of satires, pasquinades, and unseemly jests.
Till one fine morning the horses were unsaddled, the couriers permitted
to retire, and the Florentines were informed that, after a fit of colic
which had been so severe as to endanger her life, the person of the
Grand Duchess had resumed its usual form.
It is impossible to arrive at any certainty of the truth respecting
this incident of Bianca's career. Bearing in mind, however, her
previous performances, and the very potent reasons she had to find in
some way an heir for the duchy,—remembering also Francesco's evident
annoyance at the attention drawn to the matter by his brothers, and
the arrangements made at the palace, the probability seems to be, that
it was intended to introduce a supposititious child, as on the former
occasion; that the vigilance and dexterity of the Cardinal compelled
the sovereign conspirators to abandon the scheme as too dangerous;
and that all Francesco's measures for security, publicity, and
authenticating the birth, were merely blinds, under cover of which the
tentative might be abandoned.
Soon after this event the Grand Duke and the Cardinal became once
more apparently reconciled by the good offices of the Archbishop of
Florence. Correspondence was resumed on a friendly footing; and now
that there was no further question of the Grand Duke's having an heir,
the two brothers could act together in schemes for the marriage of Don
Pietro, who was all this time at the court of Spain, getting deeper
every day into debt and into infamy by the outrageous profligacy of
his conduct, and pretending to be taking steps, but in reality doing
nothing, towards making some suitable marriage. Bianca, also, was,
as she had never ceased to be since her marriage, all amiability and
affability towards Ferdinando; and it was agreed that he should come to
Florence, to visit his brother and sister–in–law, at the time of the
"villeggiatura," the following September.
[Sidenote: VILLEGGIATURA.]
This "villeggiatura,"—the autumnal country–life portion of a
town–loving Italian's year, when landed proprietors leave the city
"palazzo," which is their family seat and residence, to spend a
month, or perhaps two, at their villa, and among their vineyards,
and invite their friends to pass the "villeggiatura" with them, as an
Englishman fills his house at Christmas,—this villeggiatura to which
Ferdinando was invited by Francesco and Bianca, was to take place at
Poggio–a–Cajano, one of the Grand Duke's numerous country residences.
Notwithstanding its name—"Poggio,"—a hill, it is a low–lying spot on
the banks of the Ombrone, at the foot of Monte Albano, about half
way between Florence and Pistoia. The pleasure–grounds around the
house are intersected by a great number of canals, many of which can
hardly be correctly called streams, and altogether there is a great
deal of water, more or less approaching to a stagnant condition in
the immediate neighbourhood. It is, in short, a place which would be
at once pronounced as very ineligible for an autumnal residence under
an Italian sun, by any one possessed of the smallest smattering of
sanitary science.
The Cardinal did not arrive in Florence till the beginning of October.
He was received with all demonstrations of the most affectionate
welcome; and the party proceeded at once, as had been planned, to
Poggio–a–Cajano. The Archbishop of Florence, who had on more than one
occasion acted as a mediator between the two brothers, accompanied
them. The days, we read, were passed in sport among the surrounding
hills and marshes, which abounded in game; and the evenings in
conversations, in which the Archbishop and Bianca, who strove,
apparently, in every way to render herself agreeable to her guest,
did all they could to conciliate and soothe the two evil, though so
different, natures of those brothers Medici.
The days that thus passed, however, could have been but very few. And
the remainder of the strange story, if restricted to such facts as are
certain, and universally admitted, may be told with a brevity that will
not appear more abrupt to the reader, than were the events sudden and
startling to those who witnessed them.
On the 19th of October, about nine o'clock in the evening, the Grand
Duke Francesco died. And on the following morning—(writers differ about
the hour)—Bianca followed him.
Ferdinando succeeded without disturbance to the throne. Francesco was
interred, by his orders, with all due pomp in the family mausoleum,
under the dome of San Lorenzo; and Bianca was, also by his orders,
thrown, wrapped in a sheet, into the common receptacle for the bodies
of the poor, under the nave of that church.
These are the entire ascertainable facts of the case. But it will be
interesting to examine the different opinions which have prevailed
respecting them among Florentine historians; and, after weighing their
conjectures, to judge for ourselves as to the balance of probabilities
for or against them.
CHAPTER VIII.
Three hypotheses respecting the deaths of Francesco and Bianca—The
official version of the story—The novelist's version of the story—A
third possibility—Circumstances that followed the two deaths—Bianca's
grave; and epitaphs for it by the Florentines—Ferdinand's final
success.
As the record of all that can claim to be undoubted fact in the
history of these strange events is startlingly brief, so would an
account of all the suppositions, speculations, and conjectures, to
which they have given rise, in perpetually succeeding crops from
that time to this, be interminably long. Historians, apologists,
antiquarians, archive–diggers, dramatists, novelists, have discussed
and re–discussed the matter, settled it in different ways, according
to their partialities or dispositions, and made up their minds to one
or the other theory. But the only real result of their labours is the
certainty, that the matter must rest in total uncertainty ever more,
and that each reader must estimate for himself the probabilities of the
case according to his own views and theories of human character, and
its springs of action.
The different opinions that have been held respecting these mysterious
deaths, may be reduced to the following three distinct hypotheses.
First. The Grand Duke died of a tertian fever, caught by exposing
himself to great fatigue under the autumnal sun, and rendered fatal by
his refusal to submit to proper medical treatment, and his adoption in
its place of a most preposterous system of ice–cold drinks and other
applications, all acting on a constitution already ruined by previous
excesses. Bianca died of a similar complaint, rendered fatal in her
case also by the permanent mischief her system had suffered from all
the tricks she had played upon it.
Second hypothesis. Bianca, who was in the habit of preparing, with her
own hands, a certain tart or pastry of which the Grand Duke was fond,
introduced poison into this dish, and, at supper, presented it to the
Cardinal. The Cardinal declined to eat of it, being warned of the
danger, add some, by the changing colour of the stone in a ring he wore
for this purpose. But while the attention of Bianca was occupied with
the Cardinal, the Grand Duke helped himself to some of his favourite
dish, and before his wife could interfere to prevent him, had eaten a
sufficient quantity to prove fatal. Bianca, seeing and comprehending at
a glance all the consequences of this fatal blunder, proceeded to eat
also of the poisoned food, thus at once creating a strong presumption
against her own guilt, and avoiding all the evils, which she knew but
too well would overwhelm her, if she survived her husband, by sharing
his fate.
Third hypothesis. Francesco and Bianca both died by poison. But the
poisoner was the Cardinal; who, while his victims were dying, prevented
all access to them, and who was the person chiefly and beneficially
interested in their death.
[Sidenote: THE HISTORIAN GALLUZZI.]
The first version is of course that of the accredited and official
historians.[215] Galluzzi, in mentioning the second supposition as
that which had been popularly believed, says, that it was so only by
those who were ignorant of the real facts of the case. But Galluzzi
wrote his history by commission of the Grand Duke Peter Leopold,
having been selected for the purpose, in consequence of the too great
freedom, and too indiscreet disclosures of the history written by
Martinetti,[216] and never published: because the Grand Duke being
displeased with it on the above account, withdrew his patronage from
the author, and transferred it to Galluzzi. And in histories written
under these circumstances, sovereign princes commit no murders; or, if
that is, as in the case of the Medici, unattainable by the most courtly
writer, at all events, as few as possible.
Galluzzi, however, prints the following letter, which, _he says_, was
written on the 16th of October to Rome. He does not tell us who was the
writer:
"The Grand Duke has had two tertian fevers, one after the other; in
fact, continual fever. He suffers from extreme thirst. Nevertheless,
thus far the symptoms are favourable as regards ultimate recovery. The
fourth and seventh days have been favourable, with a good perspiration;
and we hope to go on improving. But he must not commit any imprudence;
and, its being autumn, makes us fear that the recovery may be tedious.
Therefore, cause prayers to be put up; and the more, because the Grand
Duchess also has nearly the same malady, which increases the Grand
Duke's sufferings, because she cannot attend him, and see to nursing
him."
If this is a genuine letter, written on the 16th, it would be worth
something towards deciding the question in favour of the first
hypothesis. But it seems to be contradicted by a passage in that very
curious document, previously cited, which Guerrazzi has printed at
length in the notes to his "Isabella Orsini." This author himself,
assuredly not prejudiced in favour of the Medici, speaking of this
very important letter, which he states to be previously inedited, and
generally unknown, and which is preserved in the Imperial Library at
Paris, under the No. 10, O 74, says, "From this letter, evidently
written by a person, satirical rather than otherwise, and but little
favourable to the Medici, and especially to Francesco and to Bianca
Capello, we learn how false is the notion that they were poisoned. The
kind of life led by them needed no aid to insure their speedy death,
since it is easy to perceive that they were in the habit of poisoning
themselves daily."
[Sidenote: THE DUKE'S DEATH.]
I cannot, however, admit that the document in question proves any
such thing. It proves certainly that its author, Giovanni Vettorio
Soderini, writing apparently very shortly after the events, professes
to accept, as it should seem, the statement officially put forth.
Yet even this is hardly clear from the very strange manner and
phraseology of the letter, which in its opening sentences appears
intended to convey some meaning to the writer's correspondent, which
is hidden from us. It runs thus: "When in these last days Death rode
on his thin and ill–conditioned charger to invest himself with the
title of Great.[217] Death obtained at Rome the title of Great, and
having obtained this most indecent title, he rode in haste towards
Poggio–a–Cajano, and there with irresistible force and equal valour,
assaulted the Great Tuscan of Florence and Siena, and brought him down
on the 19th of October, 1587, four and a half hours after sunset, and
at forty–seven years of age deprived him of life, after strange and
unusual writhings,[218] and much howling and groaning. He remained
speechless from after dinner till the moment when he was seized with a
most burning fever. Signor Pandolfo de' Bardi and Signor Troiano Boba
have always asserted that he had caught a pleurisy from too great and
unwonted fatigue,"[219] rendered fatal, the writer goes on to say, by
the strange and pernicious habits of life indulged in by the Grand
Duke, which the letter proceeds to describe at great length.
Now here, in any case, the writer only repeats what the two courtiers
Pandolfo de' Bardi, and Troiano Boba said, and does not pretend to
any original knowledge on the subject. But may it not be possible
that those strange opening sentences may be meant to convey a meaning
which the writer dared not express clearly. If Ferdinando poisoned his
brother, he rode from Rome to Poggio–a–Cajano to invest himself with
the title of Great. If poison was prepared, or other arrangements for
carrying out the crime were made at Rome, then he may be said to have
obtained at Rome the title of Great, and it may be added that the title
was "a most indecent one."
But further, this account of the death seems to contradict the
statement of the letter published by Galluzzi, and cited above.
The expressions seem to be incompatible with the supposition of an
illness of several days. Finally, the mention of "strange and unusual
contortions and much howling and groaning," seem to indicate that some
other cause of death than the natural result of a pleurisy was in the
writer's mind.
It is further stated, in support of the supposition, that the death
was natural, that the bodies were opened and examined after death;
that of Bianca in the presence of her daughter and son–in–law. To this
it may be remarked in the first place, that the medical science of
the time was wholly incompetent to ascertain the cause of death from
a post–mortem examination, as will be remarkably exemplified in the
following pages of the life of Elizabetta Sirani. In the next place the
examiners were the court physicians, in the pay and in the power of the
new sovereign. And as to the presence of Pellegrina and Bentivoglio,
the fact that Ferdinando should have sought to draw an evidence of his
innocence of any foul practice from a circumstance so utterly useless
and inconclusive as the presence of two persons wholly ignorant of
anatomy and the action of poisons on the body, is rather a presumption
against him than otherwise. He must have known perfectly well that had
Bianca died by any poison whatever, Pellegrina and Bentivoglio could
have been none the wiser for seeing the body opened.
[Sidenote: "LA PESSIMA BIANCA."]