by C. De Melo
Hoping to steer the conversation to happier shores, Allegra said, “I spotted a courtesan the last time I was here.”
Bianca’s face lit up. “Did you see her shoes?”
“They were the highest shoes I’ve ever seen in my life!”
“Was she walking funny?”
“Teetering precariously.”
The conversation soon became infused with humor as Bianca recounted the time she spotted a courtesan urinating beneath her window.
Cattina eventually came to the door to announce Vittorio’s departure.
Bianca reached for Allegra’s hands. “The time passes too quickly when we’re together. I’m happy that we’re friends.”
“Me too,” Allegra said sincerely.
“Promise me that you’ll write.”
“I promise.”
***
When Vittorio and Allegra arrived in Florence, Stefania greeted them with smiles and embraces. “Welcome home.”
“Everyone loved Allegra’s creations,” Vittorio proudly announced.
Noticing the lack of joy on her daughter’s face, Stefania inquired, “What’s wrong, dearest? Are you not feeling well?”
“I’m fine, Mother.”
“Have Gianna mix a curative,” Vittorio said. “Our daughter has been morose throughout the journey. I think she may be getting ill.”
“I’m not ill,” Allegra countered.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“Standing by quietly while someone else received praise for my work was one of the most unpleasant things I’ve ever experienced.”
Stefania sighed. “Your father has already explained…”
“I would shout your name from the rooftops if you were my son,” Vittorio offered. “I would praise your work from Venice to Sicily.”
Allegra fought back tears. “Am I to remain invisible and nameless my entire life merely because of my cursed sex?”
“Allegra!” Stefania exclaimed.
Vittorio’s brow creased. “Is it fame and fortune you desire?”
“No, Papa.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I want recognition and respect, same as any other artisan in the city.”
Stefania placed an arm around Allegra’s shoulder. “Your father and I admire your talent and dedication, so does Domenico.”
“Your mother is right,” Vittorio said. “Is it not enough to know that we’re proud of you and your fine work?”
Allegra nodded for the sake of argument. Later that night, as she stared at the moonlit ceiling from the comfort of her bed, an idea came to her. She slipped into a dressing gown, crept into the workshop, and lit several candles. Quietly, she labored through the night to create a tiny metal stamp. Her surname, Castagno, meant chestnut tree, so a castagna (chestnut) would serve as her signature. The back of each pendant, each necklace, and each ring—everything she created—would bear a chestnut stamp from now on. It would be her mark of excellence.
Allegra’s eyes grew heavy as the night wore on, and the hours of labor began to take their toll. She stifled a yawn as the gray light of dawn seeped through the crack beneath the door. Leaning forward on the workbench, she rested her head on her arms with the intention of closing her eyes for only a few minutes.
“Allegra?”
Allegra stirred at the sound of her father’s voice in the hallway. The bright rays of morning sun permeated the room and smoke rose from the candle stubs. Groggy and stiff from sleeping in the hard chair, she rubbed her eyes. The door opened a moment later.
Taking in the scene, Vittorio demanded, “What are you doing?”
Stefania joined her husband in the doorway, accompanied by Gianna. “It’s a bit early for you to be working, is it not?”
“You haven’t yet broken your fast,” added Gianna.
Allegra stretched. “I created a stamp for my jewelry.”
“You worked throughout the night?” Stefania inquired, dismayed. “Vittorio, this is too much. She’ll make herself sick.”
“I had every intention of returning to bed, Mother.”
Vittorio snatched the stamp from the workbench and smiled knowingly at his daughter. “It’s a brilliant solution.”
Stefania peeked over her husband’s shoulder. “Why did she make a chestnut stamp?”
“Because an artist has the right to sign his—or her—work,” he replied.
***
Allegra and Bianca corresponded regularly throughout the summer. One of Bianca’s letters contained the account of a marvelous festival in Venice, describing in vivid detail a fleet of gondolas festooned with ribbons and flowers. She also wrote about Pietro and their forbidden affair, lamenting how her father was too old to understand the concept of true love. Allegra penned letters full of encouraging words in the hope that her friend might find some comfort in them.
When Bianca’s letters stopped arriving, Allegra grew concerned for her friend. Hopefully, she wasn’t locked up in the doge’s palazzo after being forced to marry him.
Chapter 11
Allegra continued to travel with her father under the false pretense of being his assistant. Together, they journeyed to Rome, Arezzo, Orvieto, Verona, and Bologna, obtaining a total of fourteen commissions from her wonderful sketches.
Throughout the fall and winter, Allegra created rings with clusters of multicolored stones, diamonds and rubies nestled within whimsical filigree pendants, strings of carved gems surrounded by granulation beads, and earrings with layers of tiny seed pearls. After completing her commissions, she sat back to take inventory of her handiwork and felt a deep sense of pride and satisfaction.
Father and daughter set out to deliver the finished products after Easter. The clients were extremely happy, and Vittorio collected a small fortune in payments.
Allegra’s patrons proudly flaunted her unique jewelry in noble households and royal courts, resulting in many more commissions. People referred to the unknown goldsmith as La Castagna due to the tiny chestnut stamped on the back of each piece. Nobles from Rome to Venice praised “his” talent and skill, yet no one had ever met the reclusive maestro. Some people concluded that La Castagna was seeking fame in Rome and others believed he currently resided in Venice. There were those who claimed to have met the talented goldsmith abroad, while a few maintained that he was a hideously deformed genius who never left the sanctuary of his workshop.
***
On March 11, 1564 the body of the great artist, Michelangelo Buonarroti arrived in Santa Croce. Despite long negotiations with the Roman authorities, the artist’s nephew was constricted to smuggle his uncle’s body in the middle of the night to Florence, preventing its burial at St. Peter’s Basilica. The artist, who had lived nearly eighty-nine years, would be mourned by many.
On the same day, a slovenly dressed messenger arrived with a note for Allegra written in Bianca’s flowery hand.
Dearest Allegra,
I hope this letter finds you and your family in excellent health. I’m currently living in Florence with my husband, and would be delighted if you paid me a visit. I would gladly go to you, but it’s unwise for me to venture out in my current condition. – Your Friend, Bianca Cappello
Stefania stood beside her daughter as she read the letter aloud, then asked, “Does she list an address?”
Allegra handed the sheet of parchment to her mother. “Yes, here.”
“This is by the Piazza San Marco.”
“Why didn’t Bianca write about her marriage sooner? How strange that she didn’t send me an invitation. May I go visit her?” When her mother hesitated, she added, “Please? I’m worried about my friend.”
“Very well.”
“You can come with me, Mother.”
Stefania shook her head. “I would accompany you, but the babies are sick again. Gianna and one of the male servants will go with you.”
Allegra left for the San Marco neighborhood the next morning with the two servants in tow. They were instantly accosted
by the pungent odor of questionable meat boiling in a vendor’s cauldron as they entered the piazza. The rancid smell, combined with the stench of steaming horse manure, compelled Allegra to place a rose-scented handkerchief to her nose. They eventually stopped before a dilapidated palazzo divided into various separate living quarters. Puzzled, Allegra checked the address twice.
“Allegra!”
She looked up to see Bianca waving from a window on the highest floor. The servants waited in the minuscule courtyard while Allegra ascended the stairs to her friend’s new home. A slovenly dressed servant led her to a sparsely furnished room. The threadbare rug and dusty old furniture made her cringe. A nearby wall sported a bad attempt at a pastoral scene, and there were chunks of plaster missing from the fresco.
Allegra did her best not to appear shocked by Bianca’s appearance as she entered the shabby salon. Accustomed to seeing the Venetian beauty attired in costly fabrics and dripping in precious jewels, she was unprepared for the cheap satin surcoat with signs of wear in the fabric.
“Thank you for coming,” Bianca said, self-consciously patting her improperly coiffed hair.
“How good to see you,” Allegra said while embracing her friend. “I’ve been so worried.”
“Forgive me for not writing sooner.”
Noticing the fleshiness around Bianca’s face and the mound beneath the fabric of her gown, Allegra inquired, “Are you with child?”
Bianca placed both hands on her protruding belly. “You knew the situation I faced in Venice…I had to do something. My father would never approve of our union, so Pietro and I were secretly married last December. I was too ashamed to tell you.”
“You eloped with Pietro?”
“Who else?” Bianca replied, chuckling without mirth. “This house belongs to the Bonaventuri family.”
Allegra looked around with renewed interest, her eye falling on a copper bowl in bad need of polishing. There was no possible way her noble friend could be happy in such a dismal place.
Bianca shook her head in disgust. “His mother and father still don’t know what to do with me. You should have seen the way they gawked at me when I arrived!”
They were no doubt shocked by Pietro’s arrogance and ambition to marry so far above his station. “What of your father and stepmother?” Allegra inquired. “Have you heard from either of them?”
“They refuse to speak with me and will not return my letters. Father is furious that I made him look bad in the doge’s eyes. As for Lucrezia, well, she was never my friend to begin with.”
“I’m sorry to hear it.”
Bianca’s eyes glistened. “Oh Allegra, what have I done?”
Allegra put her arm around Bianca’s shoulders in a gesture of comfort. “At least you and Pietro are finally together. Surely, he must bring you some measure of comfort.”
“There’s no comfort to be had by him.”
“Does his family treat you well, at least?”
“Well enough by peasant standards, I suppose.” Bianca wiped away a tear. “They’re so poor!”
“Oh, Bianca…”
“I was a stupid, silly girl. I should have known. Pietro is so far below my station.” Lowering her voice, she added, “My mother-in-law forces me do menial work—darn socks, pluck chickens—can you imagine?”
“Perhaps you could sell some of your jewels and—”
“I left my jewels behind in Venice.”
Allegra stared at her incredulously. “Why did you do that?”
“Guilt. Father bought them for me as gifts and I betrayed him by running away and disobeying him.” Bianca looked down at her wedding band. “This is the only gold I own now.” She paused, her lip trembling. “Pietro was so angry with me. He screamed and called me terrible names. Now, I must endure endless tirades on my selfishness and stupidity. I’m with child and we need the money. My jewels are worth a fortune and he could have sold them. Pietro isn’t the same man I fell in love with. Gone are the honeyed words, the terms of endearments, the promises…I’ve grown fat, according to him. I doubt he even loves me anymore.”
Pietro is a worthless charlatan, a scoundrel of the lowest character. “You’re carrying his child, my dear. How can he not love you?” Allegra countered with far more conviction than what she actually felt.
“I was once as naïve as you, my friend,” Bianca chided. “I’ve arrived at the conclusion that men are deceitful liars.”
Allegra had arrived at the same conclusion years ago. “I wish there was something I could do.”
“Actually, there is.” Bianca hesitated. “Would it be possible, I mean, could I please borrow some money? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
Allegra immediately emptied the contents of her coin purse and placed the money in Bianca’s hand. “Take this, and there’s no need to repay me.” Then, as an afterthought, she removed the pearl earrings from her earlobes and held them out to her friend. “Take these, too. Consider them a wedding gift. I know how much you like pearls.”
“I cannot possibly accept the earrings, Allegra.”
“I insist.”
Bianca took the earrings. Noticing the tiny chestnut imprint on the gold mounting, she inquired, “What is this?”
“That’s the symbol of the new goldsmith everyone is talking about,” Allegra replied. “Remember Domenico’s protégé, the one who made your pendant?”
“How could I forget? I miss wearing it!”
“His identity is still unknown, but people call him La Castagna.”
“Ah, because of the chestnut,” Bianca deduced. “How clever. The earrings are lovely, thank you, my best friend.”
“I’m pleased you like them.”
“I knew you would understand my plight and not judge me too harshly for my folly,” Bianca said sheepishly.
Allegra thought of her mother’s youthful romance with Cosimo de’ Medici. “I would never judge you, Bianca. Once the baby is born, Pietro will surely come around and be sweeter than ever toward you.”
Bianca seemed hopeful. “Do you truly believe that?”
“I do.” Allegra felt guilty for lying, but what else could she possibly say under the circumstances? A pregnant woman should be made to feel secure and content in order to deliver a healthy child.
“Pray for me, will you?”
“I’ll pray every day,” Allegra promised.
Bianca settled on the window seat and glanced down at the Piazza San Marco, which teemed with Florentine commoners. A child defecated in a corner, and a man piled hay into a cart while singing out of tune. “Do you remember the views from my father’s palazzo in Venice?”
Allegra was overwhelmed by pity. “I remember them well.”
Bianca picked up a scrap of fabric from a basket and started mending. “I’m relegated to the role of servant in this deplorable abode. Me, a Cappello, doing this.” She shook the shoddy fabric in disgust and added, “Please come see me again soon.”
“I will, you can rest assured.”
Allegra left the house, relieved to be out in the fresh air. She told her parents of Bianca’s dire predicament during supper that evening.
“I already knew the situation,” Vittorio admitted.
“Why didn’t you tell me, Papa?”
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
Stefania poured wine into his chalice. “What else are you not telling us, Vittorio? I have the feeling you’re hiding something.”
“There’s a warrant for Bianca’s arrest.”
Allegra’s hand flew to her chest in shock. “Whatever for?”
“She married without paternal consent. Her father is outraged, and rightfully so. Did Bianca not mention it to you?”
Allegra shook her head. “What will happen to her if she gets arrested?”
“Her father will most likely force her into a convent.”
“For how long?”
“For the rest of her life.”
Allegra couldn’t imagine Bianca visiting a
convent, let alone being imprisoned in one. “Mother, will you please speak with my godfather on Bianca’s behalf? He could offer sanctuary in Florence and prevent the magistrates from making an arrest.”
“Bianca Cappello is living in hiding,” Vittorio stated icily. “Not exactly the type of person deserving of Cosimo’s mercy.”
Stefania ignored her husband’s comment and studied her daughter. “Do you believe that Bianca deserves sanctuary after disobeying her parents and bringing dishonor to her family?”
“No, she does not,” Allegra conceded to the relief of her parents. “But she does deserve forgiveness for putting faith in a man’s lies.”
Vittorio frowned. “She had no right to go against her father’s will.”
“Bianca was only fifteen when Pietro convinced her to elope with him in December,” Allegra reasoned.
“That’s no excuse,” he snapped.
Allegra frowned. “Pietro has lied and broken several promises, yet I’m sure no one will force him into a monastery for the rest of his life. He’ll go on to marry another woman while Bianca’s life is ruined.”
“Sounds to me as if he tricked her,” Stefania commented. “That lowly young man aimed too high; his arrogance is appalling.”
“Pietro was angry and abusive toward Bianca when he discovered that she left her jewels behind in Venice,” Allegra said.
Vittorio and Stefania exchanged meaningful looks.
Stefania asked, “Why would she do that?”
“Bianca said she felt so guilty about betraying her father that she couldn’t bear to keep his expensive gifts. Surely, that says something about her character, does it not?”
Vittorio said, “It changes nothing, however.”
“No,” Allegra agreed. “But it’s not fair, is it?”
Stefania sighed. “Life is not fair.”
Vittorio regarded his daughter thoughtfully. “Do you truly feel strongly enough about this matter that you would have your mother trouble Cosimo de’ Medici over it?”
“I do,” Allegra asserted.
“Very well. Then you shall ask him yourself.”