CHAPTER V

FRANCESCO--"_Il Virtuoso_"

BIANCA CAPPELLO--"_La Figlia di Venezia_"

PELLEGRINA--"_La Bella Bianchina_"

_True Lovers--and False_

"We'll have none of her among our dead!"

These were the brutal words of Cardinal Ferdinando de' Medici, at the villa of Poggio a Caiano on the morning of 21st October 1587. They formed the curt reply his Eminence vouchsafed to Bishop Abbioso of Ravenna, "her" confessor.

The bishop, looking to favours from Ferdinando, who succeeded Francesco as third Grand Duke of Tuscany, sent overnight, the following message to his new Sovereign:

"This moment at 8 p.m. Her Most Serene Highness the Grand d.u.c.h.ess pa.s.sed to another life. The present messenger awaits your Highness' orders as to the disposal of the body."

"The body!"

Yes, it was "the body" of as loving a woman as ever lived in Florence.

She had been the most faithful of wives, the most attractive of consorts, and one of the most generous of benefactresses. It was "the body" of as unselfish a sister-in-law as any man, high or low, ever had, who strove her utmost to propitiate, screen, and honour the self-seeking brother of her husband. It was "the body" of Bianca Cappello!

Ferdinando had, for years, plotted her death, and now he had accomplished his dastardly design--a design which also made him the murderer of his brother, Francesco de' Medici.

To be sure, the double tragedy was adjudged no tragedy by such as waited for favours from the coming ruler, and the mysteriously sudden deaths of Francesco de' Medici and his wife Bianca were a.s.signed to natural causes by well-paid dependants upon Ferdinando's bounty and favour. The bloodguiltiness of fratricidal Ferdinando was well whitewashed by his courtiers, and historians have painted him in colours that ill befit his character. So is history written ofttimes and again.

Pope Sixtus VI. had all the gruesome circ.u.mstances placed before him, and whilst he was too weak or too cunning--it matters not which--to charge the princely murderer with his deeds, he tacitly accepted the finding of his commission of inquiry:--"Ferdinando de' Medici, Cardinal-Priest of San Giorgio, Grand Duke of Tuscany, poisoned his brother and his sister at Poggio a Caiano."

Now must the story be told, gathered out of records, more or less reliable--more or less bia.s.sed. It is a story which brings a blush to the cheek and a lump in the throat, and calls forth feelings of detestation for the murderer. At the same time it is a thrilling story of a love stronger than death.

Late one dark night, in November 1563, a gondola shot out from the deep shadow of the church of Sant' Appolinare, upon the Rio della Canonica, in Venice, dipped under the Ponte del Storto, and sped its way, swiftly propelled by two stalwart boatmen.

There was little use to cry out "_Le_" or "_Stali_," for no other craft was afloat at that hour, and the gondola was unimpeded in its course.

Crossing the Grand Ca.n.a.l the helmsman made for the Guidecca, and on past the Punta di Santa Maria, and on still, away across the wide and silent lagune, right on to Fusina, on the mainland.

In the herse were two persons--a boy and a girl--fast clasped in each other's arms: she sobbing upon his breast, he comforting her with hot kisses upon her lips. They were Pietro de' Buonaventuri and Bianca de'

Cappelli. The elopement was complete, and all Pietro's manhood rose as he held his sweetheart in a strong embrace: he would guard her with his life, come what might. He knew they were safe from present pursuit, for to none had he revealed his plans; but he also knew that a price would be set upon their heads, and daggers dodge their course. Stepping lightly ash.o.r.e with his sweetheart, the young man paid his boatmen and bade them not hurry back to Venice. Then the young couple took the road to Bologna, on their way to Florence. They had very little money between them, but Bianca had stuffed into her pocket her jewellery and Pietro had just received his quarter's salary.

At the Cappello mansion, on the morrow, was a scene of wild confusion.

Messer Bartolommeo Cappello was like a madman; he demanded his daughter at the hand of her faithful maid, Maria del Longhi, and laid the matter at once before the Supreme Council. On enquiry, Pietro Buonaventuri, who had been for long Bianca's most favoured admirer, was neither at the Salviati bank, where he was occupied as a clerk, nor at his lodgings.

The daughter of a Venetian patrician gone off with a banker's clerk! The idea maddened the old man--he would trace them, and punish them, and all who had a.s.sisted their flight. Messer Giovanni Battista Buonaventuri, Pietro's uncle, the manager of the bank; Bianca's maid and her parents; the two _gondolieri_ and their wives; and ever so many others were cast into prison.

No news came of the erring couple, and now they were well ahead of pursuit. Two thousand ducats was the blood-money offered for Pietro, dead or alive. a.s.sa.s.sins bought for gold followed on the road to Florence, but never caught up their quarry. Messer Bartolommeo's vengeance knew no bounds, and his new wife, Madonna Lucrezia de'

Grimani-Contarini fanned the flames. She hated Bianca.

The winter sun had long ago set beyond the stone-pines of Monte Oliveto, and the deep blue Tuscan sky had turned to sober slate, purpled with the fading glow of northern crimson. It was a night near Christmas, and Ser Zen.o.bio Buonaventuri sat at his table, in his modest little one-storied house on the Piazza San Marco, putting the finishing touches to his _precis_ of the day's notarial work, in the Corte della Mercanzia. His worthy spouse, Madonna Costanza's weary fingers had just completed the st.i.tching of the last of twelve pairs of kid gloves, for her employers, of the Guild of the Fur and Skin Merchants--the Salvetti, who were her relatives.

They had been talking, as was their wont, about their dashing, handsome son Pietro, the pride of their hearts, who was away in Venice, a clerk under his uncle, Giovanni Battista. They were a lonesome couple, and they deplored their four years' parting from their only boy. To be sure, he had often, indeed regularly, written to them happy, contented letters. Moreover, Messer Giovanni Battista had sent them very satisfactory reports of his application to business, but he named one subject, which filled the hearts of the doting parents with apprehension--it was, of course, a story of romance. Pietro had a sweetheart--that in itself caused little uneasiness; what healthy-minded young fellow had not! But Pietro had an unusually amorous nature, and his love escapades had not been few in Florence. In Venice, "the Court of Venus," he revelled in the fair beauty and the freedom of maidens, so much more lovely and so much less reserved, than the Florentine girls he knew. But when Messer Giovanni Battista named as his _innamorata_ the young daughter of one of the proudest patricians of the Serene Republic, the worthy couple were in trepidation lest the lad's pa.s.sion should lead to regrettable embarra.s.sments.

No love was lost between the sister Republics, and the feeling of hostility in public matters was carried into private life. Pietro never named the romance, but Ser Zen.o.bio, by way of meeting--as was his wont--his troubles half way, penned anxious cautions to his son. The Buonaventuri, though by no means an obscure family, were not _Grandi_ like the Cappelli, Lords of Venice. Moreover, Bianca's father was a wealthy man and a member of the Supreme Council, whilst Ser Zen.o.bio was merely a modest notary of no great fame or fortune.

It was bedtime, but hark! at the door were shuffling steps and voices whispering; and presently there came a gentle tap--repeated once or twice. Ser Zen.o.bio rose to see what was pa.s.sing outside his house.

Peering into the gloom he saw two figures--one a girl's--and a voice he knew full well said:

"Father, we have come to crave shelter and protection."

"Who are you? My boy Pietro! And what are you doing here in Florence, and at this time of night?"

Madonna Costanza was peeping over his shoulder, and both of them were greatly agitated, and awaited with anxiety Pietro's reply.

"We have come from Venice and are very tired. See, father and mother, this is Bianca."

Sternly answered Ser Zen.o.bio. "What do you mean, Pietro? What shame is this you have done your parents? Who is Bianca, and what are you doing with her in Florence? You never said you were coming home. Explain yourself, or come not into your father's house."

Heavy rain was falling, and Bianca was weeping as Pietro led her into the light of the candle his mother held.

"Let them come in anyhow, Zen.o.bio, and we can hear what they have got to say, without the neighbours hearing us," put in the tender-hearted woman.

With that, Ser Zen.o.bio gave his hand to Bianca and drew her and Pietro within the door, and then, in sterner tones, he commanded his son to tell what he had done.

Briefly Pietro recounted the story of his love and how Bianca returned it. He spoke of Messer Bartolommeo's harshness and of the unkindness of Bianca's stepmother, Madonna Lucrezia de' Grimani-Contarini--the Patriarch's sister. He described their plight and the perils which threatened them. But, when he went on to hint at Bianca's condition, the loving heart of Madonna Costanza melted towards the beauteous, weeping girl, and she drew her to her bosom to embrace and comfort her.

Long and anxious vigil the four kept that winter's night. The outcome of their deliberations was the marriage of Pietro and Bianca, on 12th December, privately, at Ser Zen.o.bio's, with the priestly blessing at San Marco's across the way.

It was deemed expedient that the young people should conceal themselves as much as possible, in view of the extreme measures taken by the Serene Republic. If caught, Pietro was to be slain and Bianca enclosed in a convent. The abduction of a n.o.ble Venetian was a capital offence, and the girl's dowry was confiscated by the State.

Soon the news of the elopement ran through Florence and set everybody talking. The reward of two thousand gold ducats was a tempting bait for desperadoes and others in need of coin. Everybody wished to see the beauteous Venetian and have a chat with bold Pietro, for, of course, no Florentine blamed them! Who could?

Don Francesco, Duke Cosimo's eldest son, was in Bavaria making believe-courtship with the Archd.u.c.h.ess Joanne, the Emperor's daughter, when the gossip about Pietro and Bianca reached him. He, of course, knew nothing of the Buonaventuri, nor of the Cappelli, but romance is romance in every age and degree of human life! He determined on his return to Florence to find out the amorous young couple and judge for himself of the charms of the fair girl-bride.

Away back, in the grounds of the monastery of San Marco, was the garden-casino of Cosimo, "_Padre della Patria_," a delightful retreat.

Francesco received it as a gift from his father, and there he was accustomed to entertain his friends and familiars.

Pa.s.sing, on his way thither--as he often did, with a frolicsome party of young bloods--the humble dwelling of the Buonaventuri, he chanced, one day, to look up at a half-open window--the jalousies were thrown back, and there, sitting at her needlework, was the very girl he sought!

There could be no manner of doubt who she was, no Florentine maiden was so fair, and no eyes in Florence were so bright. Casually asking a member of his suite whose house they were pa.s.sing, Don Francesco tossed up his glove at the girl and pa.s.sed on.

Another person witnessed this love pa.s.sage, the Marchesa Anna Mondragone, wife of Francesco's old governor and his chamberlain--she was on the balcony of the house at the corner of the Piazza to make her usual curtsey to the Prince. When the Marchese came home that night, he told his wife that the Prince had seen Bianca Buonaventuri, and had enlisted his services to obtain an interview with the lovely Venetian.