Part 4 (2/2)

Seven children he had by his first marriage, and at his wife's death he married Lucrezia Petroni, by whom he had no children. Francesco had no love for his sons and daughters, and treated them with such uniform cruelty that he soon drove from their hearts any filial affection they may have felt for him. His conduct grew so outrageous that finally, in desperation, his family appealed to the pope for relief, begging that Cenci be put to death, so that they might live in peace; but the pontiff, who had already profited by Cenci's wealth and saw further need for his gold, refused to comply with so unusual a request, and made matters so much the worse by allowing the father to find out what a desperate course the children had adopted. One of the two daughters was finally married, and Cenci was compelled by the pope to give her a suitable _dot_; but Beatrice still remained at home, and the father kept her in virtual imprisonment that she might not escape him and cause him expense as the other girl had done. The indignities heaped upon her and upon the wife and sons were such that they all revolted at last and plotted to take his life. Cardinal Guerra, a young prelate, who, it seems, was in the habit of visiting the house in Cenci's absence, and who may have been in love with Beatrice, was taken into the secret and all the details were arranged. Two old servants, who had no love for their harsh master, were prevailed upon to do the deed, and were secretly admitted by Beatrice to the castle known as the Rock of Petrella, where Cenci had taken his family for the summer months--all this was in the year 1598. The father's wine had been drugged so that he fell into a deep sleep, and again it was Beatrice who took the a.s.sa.s.sins into the room where he lay. At first they held back, saying that they could not kill a man in his slumber; but Beatrice would not allow them to abandon the task, so great was her power over them.

[Ill.u.s.tration 4: _BEATRICE CENCI After the painting by L. Valles The larger share of responsibility was put upon Beatrice; but she, it appeared, had been the one most sinned against, and certain unmentionable villainies in her father's conduct, which were darkly hinted at, aroused the pity of the Holy Father to such an extent that he gave them all comparative liberty, with the hope of ultimate acquittal.

At this juncture of affairs, a certain n.o.bleman, Paolo Santa Croce, killed his mother as the result of a family quarrel; and the pope, newly angered against the Cenci family because he considered it to have set the example for this parricidal mania, ordered them all to be executed according to the terms of the original judgment, with the exception of the youngest son, Bernardo, who was given a free pardon. The sentence was executed on the following day, Sat.u.r.day, May 11, 1599, on the bridge of Saint Angela._]

Beatrice has shown all along a surprising firmness of character, and a more detailed description of her appearance cannot fail to be of interest. Leigh Hunt gives the following pen portrait, which he ascribes to some Roman ma.n.u.script: ”Beatrice was of a make rather large than small. Her complexion was fair. She had two dimples in her cheeks, which added to the beauty of her countenance, especially when she smiled, and gave it a grace that enchanted all who saw her. Her hair was like threads of gold; and because it was very long, she used to fasten it up; but when she let it flow freely, the wavy splendor of it was astonis.h.i.+ng. She had pleasing blue eyes, of a sprightliness mixed with dignity, and, in addition to all these graces, her conversation had a spirit in it and a sparkling polish which made every one in love with her.”

Such was the girl who overcame the compa.s.sion of these hirelings by recounting to them again the story of their own wrongs and those of the family; and when they still refused, she said: ”If you are afraid to put to death a man in his sleep, I myself will kill my father; but your own lives shall not have long to run.” So, in they went, and the deed was done in a terrible manner: a long, pointed nail was thrust through one of the eyes and into the brain and then withdrawn, and the body was tossed from an upper balcony into the branches of an elder tree below, that it might seem that he had fallen while walking about in the night.

The murderers were given the reward agreed upon, and, in addition, Beatrice bestowed upon the one who had been least reluctant a mantle laced with gold, which had formerly belonged to her father. The next day, when Francesco Cenci's body was discovered, there was pretence of great grief in the household, and the dead man was given most elaborate burial. After a short time, the family went back to Rome and lived there in tranquillity, until they were startled one day by accusations which charged them with the death of the father. Indignant denials were made by all, and especially by Beatrice, but in vain; they were submitted to torture, and the shameful truth was finally confessed. The pope at first ordered them to be beheaded; but so great was the interest taken in the case by cardinals and members of the n.o.bility, that a respite of twenty-five days was granted in which to prepare a defence. The ablest advocates in Rome interested themselves in the matter, and, when the case was called, the pope listened to the arguments for four hours. The plan of defence was to compare the wrongs of the father with those of the children, and to see which had suffered the more. The larger share of responsibility was put upon Beatrice; but she, it appeared, had been the one most sinned against, and certain unmentionable villainies in her father's conduct, which were darkly hinted at, aroused the pity of the Holy Father to such an extent that he gave them all comparative liberty, with the hope of ultimate acquittal. At this juncture of affairs, a certain n.o.bleman, Paolo Santa Croce, killed his mother as the result of a family quarrel; and the pope, newly angered against the Cenci family because he considered it to have set the example for this parricidal mania, ordered them all to be executed according to the terms of the original judgment, with the exception of the youngest son, Bernardo, who was given a free pardon. The sentence was executed on the following day, Sat.u.r.day, May 11, 1599, on the bridge of Saint Angelo, the three victims being Lucrezia the wife, Beatrice, and the older brother, Giacomo, all the other sons excepting Bernardo being dead at this time. Part of the Cenci estates were conveyed to one of the pope's nephews, and became the Villa Borghese, wherein may still be seen portraits of Lucrezia Petroni and Beatrice Cenci, the latter by the well-known Guido Reni. It is generally believed that this portrait was painted while Beatrice was in prison, and Sh.e.l.ley has given the following appreciative description of it in the preface to his tragedy, _The Cenci_, which is based upon this story, and which he wrote in Rome in 1819:

”There is a fixed and pale composure upon the features, she seems sad and stricken down in spirit, yet the despair thus expressed is lightened by the patience of gentleness. Her head is bound with folds of white drapery, from which the yellow strings of her golden hair escape and fall about her neck. The moulding of her face is exquisitely delicate, the eyebrows are distinct and arched, the lips have that permanent meaning of imagination and sensibility which suffering has not repressed and which it seems as if death scarcely could extinguish. Her forehead is large and clear, her eyes, which we are told were remarkable for their vivacity, are swollen with weeping and l.u.s.treless, but beautifully tender and serene. In the whole mien there are simplicity and dignity which, united with her exquisite loveliness and deep sorrow, are inexpressibly pathetic. Beatrice Cenci appears to have been one of those rare persons in whom energy and gentleness dwell together without destroying one another; her nature was simple and profound. The crimes and miseries in which she was an actor and a sufferer are as the mask and the mantle in which circ.u.mstances clothed her for her impersonation in the scene of the world.”

To-day, the story is still an oft-told tale in Rome, the portrait of _la Cenci_ is known by all, and all feel pity for her sad fate. However great her crime may have been, it should be taken into account that it was only after ”long and vain attempts to escape from what she considered a perpetual contamination, both of mind and body,”--as Sh.e.l.ley puts it,--that she plotted the murder for which she was beheaded; so great was the provocation, that all can pity if pardon be withheld.

The corrupt condition of life in the convents throughout Italy at this time is not a matter of mere conjecture, for the facts are known in many cases and are of such a nature as almost to pa.s.s belief. One reason for this state of affairs is to be found in the character of the women who composed these conventual orders. It is natural to think of them as holy maidens of deep religious instincts, who had taken the veil to satisfy some spiritual necessity of their being; unfortunately, the picture is untrue. In many of these convents, and particularly in those where vice was known to flourish, the members.h.i.+p was largely recruited from the ranks of the n.o.bility, it being the custom to send unmarried, unmarriageable, and unmanageable daughters to the shelter of a cloister, simply to get them out of the way. Women who had transgressed, to their own disgrace, the commonly accepted social laws, whether married or unmarried, found ready protection here; a professed nun was under the care of the Church and had nothing to fear from the state, and this fact was not unknown. To show how clearly this condition was understood at the time, it is interesting to note that when the scandal concerning the convent of Santa Chiara was first made public, an easy-going priest, who had acted as a go-between in many of these intrigues of the cloister, said that he could not see why people in general should create so much confusion about it, as these were only ”affairs of the gentlefolk [_cosi di gentilhuomini_]”!

The public disgrace of Santa Chiara was due to the evil ways of one of its members, Sister Umilia, a woman who had had some experience in worldly things before she turned her back upon them. Her name was Lucrezia Malpigli, and, as a young girl, she had loved and desired to marry Ma.s.similiano Arnolfini; but her parents objected, and she was affianced to the three Buonvisi brothers in consecutive order before she finally found a husband, the two older brothers dying each time before the wedding ceremony. After her marriage, to her misfortune, she met, at Lucca, Arnolfini, the man whom she had loved as a girl at Ferrara, and it soon appeared that the old love was not dead. Within a short time her husband was stabbed, by Arnolfini's bravo, as he was returning with her from the church, and rumors were at once afloat implicating her in the murder. Guilty or not, she was frightened, and before four days had pa.s.sed she had taken refuge in the convent of Santa Chiara. Safe from all pursuit, she endowed the convent most liberally, cut her hair, and became the Sister Umilia, who was described as a ”young woman, tall and pale, dressed in a nun's habit, with a crown upon her head.” For thirteen years little was heard of her, and then a telltale rope ladder hanging from the convent wall led to disclosures of a most revolting nature. It was discovered that the supposedly pious nuns were profligates, the convent was a veritable den of iniquity, and Sister Umilia was found to have several lovers who were disputing her favors.

Poisons had been sent to her by a young n.o.bleman, Tommaso Samminiati, that she might dispose of a certain Sister Calidonia, who had become repentant and was threatening to reveal the secrets of their life; and the poisons were so deadly, so the letter ran, that when once Calidonia had swallowed a certain white powder, ”if the devil does not help her, she will pa.s.s from this life in half a night's time, and without the slightest sign of violence.” Penalties were inflicted upon all of these offending nuns, and Umilia was imprisoned for nine years before she was restored to liberty and allowed to wear again the convent dress.

However black this picture may appear, it is pa.s.sing fair when compared with the career of the notorious Lady of Monza. Virginia Maria de Leyva was a lady of n.o.ble birth who had entered the convent of Santa Margherita, at Monza, where she had taken the veil, being induced to take this step because her cousin had in some way deprived her of her inheritance, and without a dowry she had not found marriage easy. In the convent, because she was well born and well connected, she became a person of much influence and received many callers. Adjoining the convent was the residence of young Gianpaolo Osio, a reckless, amorous dare-devil, who was _beau comme le jour_, as the French fairy tales say.

So much of the story having been told, it is not difficult to guess what is to come. It was a case of love at first sight, and Osio was aided in his conquest by a number of the older and more corrupt nuns and several other people about the convent, not excepting the father confessor, who wrote some of Osio's love letters and seemed to smile upon the affair and wish it all success. Virginia yielded, as might have been expected under such circ.u.mstances; and the amour ran along smoothly for several years, until Virginia and Osio, with the help of four obliging nuns, felt constrained to take the life of a disgruntled serving-maid who was threatening to reveal all to Monsignor Barca, the inspector of the convent, at the time of his approaching visit. When once the deed was done, the corpse was dismembered for purposes of better concealment; but suspicion was aroused by this sudden disappearance of the maid, and Osio took Virginia from the place, to s.h.i.+eld her as much as possible. Next, he offered to help her two most active accomplices, Ottavia and Benedetta, to escape and seek refuge in a Bergamasque convent, where they would be safe; but on the way thither he treacherously a.s.saulted them and left them both for dead. One crime rarely covers up another, however; the facts soon came to light, and all concerned were fitly punished. Virginia was sentenced to perpetual imprisonment in the convent of Santa Valeria, at Milan; and there she remained for many years, in a dark cell, until she was finally given better quarters through the interposition of Cardinal Borromeo, who had been impressed by her growing reputation for sanct.i.ty. How old she grew to be, deponent saith not, but she must have lived for many years, as the following description will attest: ”a bent old woman, tall of stature, dried and fleshless, but venerable in her aspect, whom no one could believe to have been once a charming and immodest beauty.”

What an awful century it was! Vice and corruption in all quarters, the pope an acknowledged sinner, the n.o.bility tainted, and even the holy daughters of the Church virgins in name only! And this was the century in which the most beautiful Madonnas were painted!

CHAPTER IX

THE BRIGHTER SIDE OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY

The tales of crime and sensuality which fill the annals of the sixteenth century are so repulsive that it is with a feeling of relief that we turn our attention to other pictures of the same time which are altogether pleasing in their outlines. The court of the Duke of Urbino is the most conspicuous example of this better side of life, and his talented and accomplished wife, Elizabetta Gonzaga, a daughter of the reigning house of Mantua, presided over a literary salon which was thronged with all the wit and wisdom of the land. Urbino was but a rocky, desolate bit of mountainous country, not more than forty miles square, in the Marches of Ancona, on a spur of the Tuscan Apennines, about twenty miles from the Adriatic and not far from historic Rimini, but here was a most splendid princ.i.p.ality with a glittering court.

Federigo, Count of Montefeltro, had been created Duke of Urbino by Pope Sixtus IV. in 1474, and he it was who laid the foundations for that prosperous state which at his death pa.s.sed into the hands of his son Guidobaldo, the husband of Elizabetta. Federigo's immense wealth was not gained by burdening his subjects with heavy taxes, but rather from the money which he was able to earn as a military leader, for he was a n.o.ble soldier of fortune. Vespasiano tells us, with regard to his military science, that he was excelled by no general of his time, and his good faith was never questioned. He was also a man of singularly religious nature, and no morning pa.s.sed without his hearing ma.s.s upon his knees.

In his lifetime he served no less than three pontiffs, two kings of Naples, and two dukes of Milan; the republic of Florence and several Italian leagues had appointed him their general in the field, and in this long life of warfare the sums of money paid him for his services were immense. Dennistoun relates that in the year 1453 ”his war-pay from Alfonso of Naples exceeded eight thousand ducats a month, and for many years he had from him and his son an annual peace-pension of six thousand ducats in the name of past services. At the close of his life, when general of the Italian league, he drew, in war, one hundred and sixty-five thousand ducats of annual stipend, forty-five thousand being his own share.” With this wealth he caused his desert-like domain to rejoice and blossom as the rose. His magnificent fortified palace was most elaborately decorated with rare marbles and priceless carvings, frescos, panel pictures, tapestries, tarsia work, stucco reliefs, and works of art of all kinds; here, according to his biographer Muzio, he maintained a suite so numerous and distinguished as to rival that of any royal household. So famed indeed did Urbino become, that all the chivalry of Italy crowded the palace to learn manners and the art of war from its courteous duke.

Further details are furnished by Vespasiano, who says that ”his household, which consisted of five hundred mouths entertained at his own cost, was governed less like a company of soldiers than a strict religious community. There was no gaming or swearing, but the men conversed with the utmost sobriety.” It is interesting to know that among his court officers were included forty-five counts of the duchy and of other states, seventeen gentlemen, five secretaries, four teachers of grammar, logic, and philosophy, fourteen clerks in public offices, five architects and engineers, five readers during meals, and four transcribers of ma.n.u.scripts. Federigo had ever shown himself a liberal and enlightened monarch, and he had early acquired a solid culture which enabled him, when he grew to manhood, to bestow his patronage in an intelligent manner. Scholars and artists were cl.u.s.tered about him in great numbers; Urbino was widely known as the Italian Athens, and as one of the foremost centres of art and literature in all Europe, when Elizabetta Gonzaga was wedded to Guidobaldo and became the chatelaine of the palace. The young duke and his wife began their life together under the most auspicious circ.u.mstances. From what his tutor, Odasio of Padua, says about his boyhood, it is evident that if he were alive to-day he could easily obtain one of the Cecil Rhodes Oxford fellows.h.i.+ps, for we are told that he cared only for study and for manly sports, and that he was of an upright character. His memory was so retentive that he could repeat whole books, word for word, after many years, and in more ways than one he had displayed a wonderful precocity.

Elizabetta, too, had been given a most liberal and careful education, and her ready intelligence was equalled only by her careful tact and her perfect _savoir faire_. Indeed, on account of her many attainments, personal charm, and her refining influence, which was far-reaching, she may be likened to that celebrated Frenchwoman Catherine de Vivonne, Madame de Rambouillet, whose hotel was, a century later, such a rendezvous for the gentler spirits of France in that hurly-burly period which followed the religious wars. Endowed as she was by nature, it was by most fortuitous circ.u.mstance that she was called to preside over the court of Urbino, for at that time there was no other woman in Italy who was so fitted for such a distinguished position. It was in the last decade of the _quattrocento_ that Elizabetta was married, and she found cl.u.s.tered about her from the very start ill.u.s.trious artists and men of letters. Melozzo da Forli and Giovanni Santi--Raphael's father--were there, and there the early youth of Raphael was spent; Jan van Eyck and Justus of Ghent, the great Flemish painters, were also there, and the palace was adorned with many monuments to their skill. Here it was that Piero della Francesca had written his celebrated work on the science of perspective, Francesco di Giorgio his _Trattato d'Architettura_, and Giovanni Santi his poetical account of the artists of his time; and here it was in the first days of the sixteenth century that Elizabetta was the centre of a group which was all sweetness and light when compared with the prevailing habits of life.

In this circle were to be found, among others, Bernardo Bibbiena, the patron of Berni, of whom Raphael has left us a portrait which is now in the Pitti Palace; Giuliano de' Medici, whose marble statue by Michael Angelo may still be seen in San Lorenzo at Florence; Cardinal Pietro Bembo, who had in his youth fallen a victim to the charms of Lucrezia Borgia when she first went to Ferrara; Emilia Pia, the wife of Antonio da Montefeltro, who is described as ”a lady of so lively wit and judgment, that she seems to govern the whole company”; and last, but far from least, Balda.s.sare Castiglione, that model courtier and fine wit, who has left a picture of Urbino in his celebrated book _Il Cortegiano_, which was long known in Italy as _Il Libro d'Oro_. This volume is an elaborate discussion of the question, What const.i.tutes a perfect courtier; and it was for a long time a most comprehensive and final compendium, handbook, and guide for all who wished to perfect themselves in courtly grace. What interests us most in the book, however, is the fact that Castiglione has put this discussion of polite manners into the form of a conversation which he supposes to have taken place in the drawing room of the Countess of Urbino, that being the most likely spot in all Europe for such a discussion at such a time, for Guidobaldo's court was ”confessedly the purest and most elevated in all Italy.” Castiglione was one of Elizabetta's most ardent admirers, and he says of her that no one ”approached but was immediately affected with secret pleasure, and it seemed as if her presence had some powerful majesty, for surely never were stricter ties of love and cordial friends.h.i.+p between brothers than with us.”

Count Guidobaldo early became a cripple and an invalid, too ardent devotion to books and to athletic pursuits at the same time having undermined a const.i.tution that was never strong; therefore, it was his custom to retire for the night at an early hour; but it was in the evening that the countess held court, and then were gathered together, for many years, all the brightest minds of Italy, who felt the charm of her presence and the value of her stimulating personality. Urbino was a school of good manners, as Naples had been in the days of Queen Joanna; it was the first great literary salon in modern history, and, presided over by a woman who was a veritable _grande dame de societe_, its influence was by no means confined to a narrow sphere. Even in far-away England, Urbino was known and appreciated; and Henry VII., to show his esteem for its ruler, conferred the Order of the Garter upon Guidobaldo.

In acknowledgment of this favor, Castiglione was sent to the English court to bear the thanks of his lord, and with him he took as a present Raphael's _Saint George and the Dragon_, which, by the way, was taken from England when Cromwell ordered the sale of the art treasures of Charles I., and may now be seen at the Louvre. The old Count Federigo had made all this refined magnificence possible, it is true, and Guidobaldo had been in every way a worthy successor to his father, though lacking his rugged strength; but to Guidobaldo's wife, the gracious and wise Elizabetta Gonzaga, belongs the credit for having kept Urbino up to a high standard--an achievement of which few, if any, other women of her time were capable. There was needed a person who combined worldly knowledge with education and a sane, decent philosophy of life, and Guidobaldo's wife was that person.

Veronica Gambara deserves a place among the good and ill.u.s.trious women of this time; and though she occupied a position far less conspicuous than that of the Countess of Urbino, she was still a person of reputation and importance. Born in the year 1485, her ”fortunate parents,” as Zamboni calls them, gave her a most careful and thorough education, and as a young woman she was noted for her poetic gifts, which were of a high order. At the age of twenty-five she married Ghiberto, Count of Correggio, and their union was one of true sympathy and deep attachment, such as was rarely seen then, when the _mariage de convenance_ was more in vogue, perhaps, than it is in these later days in Paris. Nine happy years they spent together, and two sons were born to them; then Ghiberto died, leaving Veronica in such grief that she fell ill and hovered a long time between life and death. In one of her poems she relates that it was the fear that she might not meet her beloved husband in Paradise which prevented her from dying with him. She had work to do, however, as her husband, in sign of his great confidence in her, had made her his sole executrix and given into her care the government of Correggio. Veronica had always possessed a lively imagination, and now in her grief her sorrow was shown to the world in a most extravagant way. She wore the heaviest and blackest mourning obtainable; her apartments, furnished henceforth with the bare necessities of life, were tapestried in black; and black was the hue of her livery, her carriages, and her horses. To further proclaim to all the world her love for the departed, she had painted over the door of her chamber the couplet which Virgil has ascribed to Dido:

”Ille meos, primus qui me sibi junxit, amores Abstulit: ille habeat sec.u.m servetque sepulchro!”

[He who first linked me to himself hath borne away my affection: may he possess it still and retain it in his grave!]

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