by Seth Coleman
Peppino
Peppino
a Nineteenth Century Medici
A Novel
By
Seth Coleman
© 2020 Seth Coleman
Peppino
a Nineteenth Century Medici
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Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019919050
ISBN 978-1-400330195 (Paperback)
ISBN 978-1-400330201 (eBook)
Information about External Hyperlinks in this ebook
Please note that footnotes in this ebook may contain hyperlinks to external websites as part of bibliographic citations. These hyperlinks have not been activated by the publisher, who cannot verify the accuracy of these links beyond the date of publication.
This book is dedicated to the Italian branch of my family, who live in Brancaleone, Italy. They welcomed me with warm hearts into their homes, sharing many stories of my family’s history. There are far too many wonderful people to name, so I would like to add a tribute to the memory of those that are no longer with us:
Luce, Nella, Antonia, Anna, and Libero.
Contents
Note from the Author
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Note from the Author
This novel is inspired, very loosely, by events that shaped my grandfather. As a child, Peppino was raised by the baroness of Bologna in a small village called Brancaleone located under the big toe at the southernmost point of Italy. You will read about an invisible line in a small plaza that separated the upper and lower classes while they stood only inches apart from one another. This part of the story is true. There are many other segments that are historically inspired; however, the events were woven into a fiction novel to make it entertaining.
If you wish to read an historical accounting of Brancaleone and the family Bologna-DeAngelis, I recommend the book Mondo antico a Brancaleone (The Old Life in Brancaleone) by Vincenzo DeAngelis, published by Calabria Letteraria Editrice, available by contacting the author directly by writing Vincenzo DeAngelis, Brancaleone, Italy 89036. At this time the book is only available in Italian.
Prologue
-1883-
The sun rose silently above the horizon, its orb shining brightly over the edge of the serene Ionian Sea. Its first rays reached the coastline, silhouetting everything in its path. Its radiance traveled upward to the small village of Brancaleone nestled high atop a narrow crest of coastal foothills.
The fluttering of wings from a nest high atop the village in the tower of the church joined in concert with the soft hues and sounds of morning. Then ever so slowly the disregarded shadow of the cross perched atop the great steeple began its daily journey. From rooftop to rooftop, it declared the homes and those within their walls its own. Leisurely it caressed each one as it began its travels toward the end of the day, when once again it would bow to its throne of grace.
From his precarious vantage point in the nest, the baby pigeon surveyed the town. He was afraid to venture out on his flight, but his mother nudged and lovingly prodded him toward the edge with all the confidence in her baby and in nature that he soon would be soaring handsomely against the brilliant horizon. As the sun had risen today and would again tomorrow, she knew that her baby would soon be soaring through hills and onto the eaves of the great homes perched atop them.
One last peck with her beak, and her baby reluctantly started to flap its wings against the breeze. Falling, twisting, sliding, and wrestling against the wind until its small wings took hold and its chubby round form started to climb away from the death that moments before had beckoned him to the ground.
His mother observed with pride as she saw her youngest doing what nature had intended him to do. She watched the fear wane and the joy come to her child as he started darting back and forth across the sky. Then sadness, for an instant, as she realized that her job had been done. Soon he would have a nest and a family of his own, and she too would start the birthing process again, for that was her role.
With a newfound freedom, the fledgling raced against time itself, cascading down the swells of its invisible host, playing with all the vigor of youth. He searched the small village with curiosity, observing the walls that stood thick and ran along the side of the hill, encircling the village. The townspeople of long ago could have easily defended themselves from their enemies if it had been necessary. But Brancaleone had always remained out of harm’s way. From this vantage point, the townspeople could see for miles up and down the coast. Their enemies could be seen, so their enemies could see the town and know that they too could be seen. Quickly the raiders would realize their folly and give up the long trek across the two miles of flat land and up the vertical trail to the village. Had they made it, the booty would have been worth the trip to the small, majestic fortress and the home of the baroness of Bologna. Onward the bandits would sail or ride to plunder the more easily accessible villages of Bovalino or Melito.
The fledgling darted over the wall, stopping for a moment to catch the breeze under his wings, which brought him to stillness over the tiny town square. He could see the small dirt paths snaking between the poorer homes that clung to the western cliffs, one atop the other, or so it seemed. Clothes hung from window frames, and a small washbasin could be glimpsed in a tiny courtyard.
Toward the west this morning, the mountains appeared as if painted onto the horizon. Layer after layer and row after row, the mountains seemed to become smaller as they blended with the morning mist until they altogether disappeared in the distance. But soon the hot, arid sun would melt away its cloak until the stark mountains would stand boldly with nothing to hide their beauty, chiseled only with breathtaking majesty and framed by clear blue skies.
What greatness had been bestowed upon the fledgling this morning! But was this not befitting to him, a child’s first venture into nature? One more pass over the canal, and then he must return to the nest for his morning meal. Toward the two-story home he glided, swooping lower to get a closer look at the grandeur of the villa that stood to be the jewel of the town. One side aimlessly cascaded down the hill facing the ocean, creating a section of the massive wall that engulfed the village, but in place of mortar and lead were many windows and terraces.
/> This iron balcony would make a nice resting place, he thought. Silently he glided down closer and closer until his tiny feet clasped the black metal railing. Small bits of corn scattered on the tile were noticed by the young innocent, too alluring to be passed. One more hop, and he was enjoying a breakfast that he should’ve eaten at home.
Suddenly he was covered by something foreign, a material with small holes. He panicked as he felt small hands grasping at his wings and gripping his neck. If only he had returned home to the nurturing care of his mother and family. If only he had not charted a course on his own. To live such a short time only to decorate this home’s fine dinner table. He had but only tasted his freedom, having just spread his wings. And now to find himself a prisoner of the small boy, whose own mother would be proud of him for providing such a succulent delicacy. Such is the way of nature, to be born and then to die, with no one but God knowing the time, the place, or the reason.
**********************
“Ah, Peppino, you good boy. You are very quick to catch that bird. The baroness will be very pleased with you. I shall prepare it for supper. Here now. Hand it to me.”
“Oh, Antonia. Please wait. I don’t want to kill it.”
“Then what did you catch it for? Don’t be silly, my little prince. It will make a delectable appetizer.”
“I don’t care. That’s not why I caught it, and I asked you to stop calling me a prince. I am not a prince, nor do I desire to be treated as one.”
“But, my young friend, you are Peppino, the first son of this family and of this village,” she said, caressing his head with her hand. “You must accept your fate, my lad. Not all children are blessed to be chosen and raised by a baroness, and especially one of the good breeding and stature of your mother.”
“She is not my mother!” he shrilled. “My mother is Gaetana, not the baroness. I am the only one in the village who lives in the same house as his parents and is a foreigner to them. My brothers and sisters hate me. My mother always does everything for them, but when it comes to me, she says I do not belong to her but to her sister.” Peppino lowered his head, holding the small bird in one hand while stroking it with his other. “Why would she give me to that wicked woman anyway, and why would she even live under the same roof as her? Why doesn’t the baroness move back to Bologna and take her title with her and leave me in peace,” he mumbled.
“Peppino, you are seven years old now. You must stop talking like that. You are loved by your whole family…and by me, too,” she added affectionately. “We only want the best for you. You are set apart by your birth. You were the first born to your mother, and with that comes your station in the family. Remember, without the baroness, your family would not be able to live so well. The gift of your mother’s firstborn to her sister assured all of you a secure future, and to you, my boy, will go power and riches when you grow up. You are part of the family of de Medici, one of the greatest families in Europe. Your ancestor was Lorenzo the Magnificent and was responsible for the Renaissance. He was a father figure to some of the greatest artists in the world,” Antonia said with great pride. “Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and many others.”
“I don’t care, Antonia. How good could a man be that calls himself Magnificent anyway?”
“Oh, Peppino, you are incorrigible. That was a title given to him by the people, similar to the title given to your mother. It is a sign of nobility. It is your heritage. One day you will be a rich and powerful man.”
“I do not care about money and land. Look at you, Antonia. You are happy, and you are not rich.”
“I am happy because I accept my fate,” she said while picking up a knife and starting to slice carrots. “I came to your family as a little girl just about your age. I have worked for the baroness for many years and have been treated as part of this family.” Stopping for a moment, she looked at him. “Peppino, you too must accept the station to which God has called you. Then you’ll be happy, too.”
“God has not called me. I was born into this family, and much like this little bird, I had no power to choose where I was born. He was born, and then by chance he flew into our kitchen.”
“You are right, but I think God even had a plan in that.”
“What plan, so that you could twist its neck and prepare it for dinner? I don’t think so. I’m going to give him back his freedom and let him go.”
“Then you will throw away God’s blessing, because He brought it to us as a gift to eat.”
“But isn’t the choice mine to make? I choose to free him. This little bird is like me. He has no choice, but I do and I’m going to let him go. To this little bird, I will be God.”
“Peppino, that is blasphemy. You must not talk that way!”
“Tell me, why not? A few moments ago you called me a prince and told me that I am the greatest of this town. Doesn’t that give me the right to save his life, and when I do, does that not make me his God?”
“Ah, Peppino, you are hopeless. Let the creature go if you wish, but do not call yourself a god, and do not let the baroness hear you talk of such things, or you will be in trouble again.”
Peppino rose sadly and walked to the open portico. Gently he stroked the feathery neck of his newfound friend, his thoughts not so much for the bird but for the power he possessed in controlling its future.
He set the little pigeon on the railing and removed his hands from their grasp. The creature hesitated for a moment to look at the boy, the gentle breeze lifting its young feathers. Then in a burst of energy, it darted away, riding upon a gust of wind that took him down the steep cliff.
Peppino watched as the bird spread its small wings and headed toward the sea until it disappeared into its vast blue background.
“Someday I will be like this bird,” he promised himself, “free to choose my own fate and chase the adventures that lie on the other side of the horizon.”
Chapter 1
-1890-
Age Fourteen
“Pssst, Peppino, wake up!” The small pebbles glanced off the half-open window and cascaded back toward the dirt road below. Several moments passed as Emilio watched the pale curtains rustle in the twilight’s breeze.
Peppino awoke massaging his forehead, trying to separate reality from dream. He rubbed his eyes hard.
“Peppino, wake up,” Emilio yelled again under his breath.
Shaking away his sleepiness, Peppino quickly made his way to the window and saw his friend standing below. “Are you crazy?” he said, whispering as loudly as he could. “Do you want to wake the baroness? It’s not even daylight yet.”
“Get down here quick. We’ve got to talk.”
“What’s up?”
“Come on down, and I’ll tell you. Hurry!”
“I’ll be down in a few minutes. Hide behind a tree until I get there, and be quiet, will you?”
Peppino quickly pulled on a pair of short pants and a shirt, and then felt around the floor in the darkness for his sandals. He opened his door slowly and stuck his head out into the hallway. The house was silent. With sandals in hand, he crept slowly down the corridor past the open door to his sisters’ bedroom. He could see all four of them sleeping in a row of single beds. Carolina, the oldest sister at ten, slept closest to the window; then Marianna, a very smart seven; next Antonia, a curious six; and then, Concettina, his favorite, who was only five. She slept closest to the door, with the corner of her blanket fastened against her mouth. He paused for a moment, a slight smile crossing his lips as he thought about slipping into the room to give her a kiss on the cheek. Then he decided it was too risky. Carolina would surely wake up and ask him what he was doing. Next he passed the closed door of his parents, then his brother Vincenzo’s room. He stirred but did not awaken. That’s all I need is for him to find out, Peppino thought.
Although he was only one year younger, Vincenzo was the one who had the approval of the family. Peppino hated the jealousy he harbored for his brother, because in Peppino’s own eyes he al
so thought Vincenzo to be the best in the family. Down the steps Peppino moved, undetected so far, but the worst was yet to come. The baroness’s room was on the first floor at the front of the house, which, by the most unfortunate coincidence, caused her bedroom window to be inches away from the entrance. Silently he opened the door and slid through, making sure that he stayed below the windowsill. Safe, he thought, pausing and listening intently. He couldn’t hear any movement from inside.
Moments later he was standing with Emilio, who was hiding behind an olive tree a good distance from the house. “What’s this all about? Do you know the trouble you could get me into? This had better be important!” Peppino said testily.
“I have news,” Emilio said excitedly. “The police caught Nicola in Bovalino yesterday.”
“No!” he said incredulously.
“Yes, the magistrate will hear him this morning. The word is that he will be hanged at noon.”
“Hanged? On what grounds?”
“You know the monsignor; he has it out for Nicola. Especially now with all the ruckus he is making with the poor people.”
“I know,” Peppino said with disgust. “The monsignor thinks that if he keeps the people uneducated and plays on their superstitions, he can take all their money.”
“Yeah, and anyone who is for helping the poor is an enemy of the church,” said Emilio.
“That’s for sure.” Peppino nodded.
“Can you think of a way to help Nicola, Peppino?”
“I don’t know, but come on. You were right to wake me. Let’s go see what we can do to help. If we leave now,” Peppino said, “we should be there by late morning. You know, Emilio, we’ll both be in trouble for this. Your father will punish you for missing a day in the field, and there is no telling what the baroness will do when she finds out.”
Emilio laughed, pleased for the both of them.