The House of Medici Page 23

  ‘Receiving bad news in good grace is a measure of a person.’ Maddalena said it with such vehemence that the abbess looked at her closely.

  ‘You propose to talk of that? Today?’

  Maddalena nodded. ‘In part, yes. If I may, I will continue to tell you of Lucrezia Tornabuoni.’

  The abbess prepared herself. ‘Ah! The marriage. And its hidden secrets. Of course.’

  ‘The Tornabuoni are an ancient family. As Tornaquinci they were nobili de torri, and Lucrezia had inherited all that their breeding entails. As the announcement of her wedding demonstrated, she, of all people could accept bad news with considerable resilience and learn to live with it with apparent grace.

  ***

  PALAZZO MEDICI

  12th July 1444

  She feels sick. Apprehensive. There is a familiarity about the day’s proceedings that makes Maddalena feel uncomfortable.

  Then, as Piero calls the room to order, she realises what it is. She’s been here before; in this same room, standing in this same place at the back, with almost the same people present. But the last time was three months ago, and it was Cosimo calling the room to order: Lucrezia, sitting demurely at the front, was about to receive the shock of her life. Lucrezia is still at the front. But this time, her fixed expression displays no doubt, mouth a straight line and jaw muscles pulsing as she grinds her teeth, that she already knows what her husband is about to announce. And by all accounts, she isn’t looking forward to it.

  Piero doesn’t make a very good fist of it; stuttering and stumbling over his words. ‘I have called the family together to make an announcement,’ he says. ‘I am the f-father of a child.’

  Of course everyone’s first reaction is to look at Lucrezia, who has been married to him for just over a month and is sitting right there. Surely she’s not . . .

  But Piero shakes his head. ‘No. Not with my wife. I mean another child, born to a woman in the city, who I shall not name.’

  As he says these words, which have obviously been rehearsed, the baby is carried into the room and presented to Lucrezia. She takes it and cradles it. ‘I shall bring this child up as my own,’ she says, somewhat woodenly. ‘I shall call her Maria.’

  Then she passes the baby, who is very young and quite beautiful, to the wet nurse, who carries her away again.

  The whole thing is like a play—scarcely real but dramatic nevertheless. And like a good play, it leaves them all guessing.

  Piero nods to Lucrezia as if to say ‘well done’ and then helps her to her feet and without any further comment; they walk out, holding hands.

  As soon as the door closes, a deep murmur, like a beehive, breaks out. Maddalena sits back and observes. Keep still and you can become invisible she thinks.

  Most of the people in the room seem preoccupied with the identity of the mother. There is much speculation, during which the names of almost all the beautiful and noble women of the city are mentioned.

  But to Maddalena, the biggest question remains: How did Lucrezia manage to play her part so coolly?

  ***

  ‘The child Maria grew into a beautiful girl, with huge brown eyes and curly nut-brown hair.’ Maddalena lifted her eyes to the abbess, who had been listening with her eyes closed but who now, hearing the pause, opened them.

  ‘Yes, a beautiful child; bright and charming. So outgoing that everybody took to her immediately.’

  She put a hand to her mouth and her voice dropped to a stage whisper. ‘It’s an unkind thing to say but more than one person expressed the thought: how on earth did Piero ever father her?’

  The abbess grinned. ‘I was just asking myself the same question. And what, pray, is the answer?’

  ‘They contented themselves with the thought that the mother must have been very beautiful, and of course this intensified the speculation about her identity even further.’ Maddalena looked steadily at the abbess, who seemed to sense there was a message in her gaze, but had not yet worked out what it was.

  ‘Who was the mother?’

  Maddalena shook her head. ‘We were never told. She must have been a true noblewoman; the child was so beautiful and intelligent. Names were mentioned later, but never confirmed and it would be speculative and inappropriate of me to refer to them now.’

  ‘Oh.’ The abbess seemed disappointed.

  ‘Later, I talked to Lucrezia and asked her why she had accepted the child and agreed to bring her up as her own. Her reply was simple. “You of all people should know, Maddalena. That is how things work round here, is it not? The family—especially the men, get their own way—every time.” I remembered the birth of my Carlo so many years earlier and I thought I understood. But even as I thanked her, I sensed there was another part to the story—something that wasn’t mentioned; a secret that Lucrezia was holding back.’

  The abbess leaned forward, expectantly.

  ‘Whatever it was, Lucrezia seemed happier after the event, rather than upset, and fourteen months later, her own Bianca was born. Piero declared he was delighted to have a daughter and Lucrezia seemed to glow with contentment. Perhaps, everybody said, the child was what she needed, to make her happy. But I wondered.’

  ‘Mm.’ Across the room, Madonna Arcangelica seemed to be withholding her judgement.

  ‘Everything seemed to blow over and two years later, in early March 1447, another child, again a girl, this one called Lucrezia, but addressed by everyone as Nannina, was born. This time, Piero seemed openly disappointed. Of course, we said, he wanted a son. But by this time, I had decided there was quite a different story behind what we saw in public.

  ‘My suspicions were increased when Piero and Lucrezia decided to apply to the pope for a plenaria remissio—the forgiveness of their sins. Of course, the argument was that there must be some sin which was preventing them from having a son; but although I did not hear of any particularly serious sins being admitted by either of them, I remained convinced that there was still some problem that remained deep-seated within their marriage.

  ‘The pope was generous and replied almost immediately. As soon as they received his document, which reached them within a few days, both Piero and Lucrezia seemed uplifted; Lucrezia especially so. So much so that I decided my suspicions had been wrong and I prayed in private for thinking such unworthy thoughts. Thanks be to God that I had not said anything to anyone.’

  The abbess nodded, smiling. ‘Quite.’

  ‘Christmas 1448 was hard for Lucrezia. She was heavily pregnant once again, and very tired. But everything changed on the 1st of January, when at last she gave birth to a baby boy—and a strong one. They named him Lorenzo; and this time, Piero was ecstatic. I was not the only one to think that Lucrezia’s expression was just like the blessed Mary’s—beatific. I had never seen anyone look so happy in my life.

  ‘Lorenzo was an amazing child. Within weeks, everyone seemed to know he was special. He had none of his father’s withdrawn earnestness, but instead exhibited a confident and flamboyant love of life. In this respect, he was the very image of his uncle Giovanni, who clearly doted on the boy, and living in the same house, spent time with him and his mother frequently.

  ‘Lorenzo grew strong and healthy and four years later, his younger brother, Giuliano was born. Although not as forceful as Lorenzo, little Giuliano, too, was strong, outgoing and confident; and Cosimo, at last, began to relax. He was, by this time, sixty years of age. Under Giovanni Benci, the Bank had seen the most profitable period of trading it had ever known, and now the future of the family finally seemed secure. Somehow the whole family seemed to have become united by the birth of these two boys, and it was clear now to everyone, including Piero and Lucrezia, that the pope’s forgiveness of their sins had worked.’

  Across the room, the abbess nodded, as if she, herself, had been thanked. It was a small movement, but one that irritated Maddalena, seeming as it did to her, to be presumptuous. Her experience of bishops and cardinals had tempered her religious conviction with a strong cyni
cism and now, instantly, the abbess’ reaction seemed to bring out the worst in her. She pulled a sour face.

  ‘That or the money.’

  Immediately, the abbess’ satisfied nod turned into a frown. She stared at Maddalena as if she was about to admonish her.

  Realising that she had reacted too strongly, especially in a house of God, Maddalena saw the need to explain. ‘It may have been a condition of the pope’s pardon, or it may have been a genuine choice by Piero, who was, to give him his due, as religious as his wife. Whatever brought it about; Piero began to make generous donations in support of religious works.

  ‘San Miniato al Monte and Santissima Annunziata both benefitted. Both churches were redecorated and then Piero had marble tabernacles made; one to support the crucifix in San Miniato and the other to encase the Annunciation in Santissima Annunziata. The second was made immediately after Lorenzo’s birth and inscribed to thank God for the favour he had received, but being Piero, he could not resist adding that the marble alone cost 4,000 florins. He had a little footnote to this effect inscribed into the base.’

  ‘Tut.’ Looking distinctly affronted, the abbess shook her head. ‘That was most inappropriate.’

  Rather than allowing herself to become sidetracked, Maddalena decided to plough on with her story. ‘Lorenzo’s christening was a great event; treated as an official public ceremony. We all set off from the Casa Vecchia accompanied by eight priors, nine Accopiatore, the archbishop of Florence and the prior of San Lorenzo, as well as a number of foreign dignitaries. Of course the direct route to the baptistery would have only taken about two minutes, so instead we perambulated round the whole city, visiting every quarter and even crossing the river to show the child to the citizens of Santo Spirito, before returning triumphantly to our own Gonfalone of Leon D’Oro in the quarter of Santa Maria Novella. And so, finally, we found our way to the baptistery, which of course we claimed as our own.’

  ‘A happy outcome.’ The abbess now looked delighted.

  Maddalena smiled her agreement. ‘It was, indeed. And recognised as such. When Lorenzo was a year old, Piero and Lucrezia made a pilgrimage to Rome, and were granted the privilege of owning a portable altar by the pope, then Nicholas V. It was a prized possession and they took it to Cafaggiolo, where it remains to this day. And so, slowly, through time, the married life of Piero and Lucrezia settled down; if not into domestic bliss, then at least into a settled contentment.’

  Pleased with the result, the abbess sat back with a satisfied smile.

  Maddalena gave her a couple of minutes, and then slipped in her final comment. ‘But still, I felt that beneath the surface of their apparent contentment lay a secret. One that, when it emerged, was sure to cause great unhappiness.’

  Chapter 21

  The Old Order Passes

  15th May 1458

  The footsteps on the stairs were faster than usual; almost hurried and for a moment, Maddalena wondered whether the abbess was about to call her down. But when the door opened, the abbess, though red in the face and wheezing somewhat, was beaming, her eyes bright.

  ‘I have been looking forward to this afternoon’s conversation. The last time we met privately together, two weeks ago, you were telling of the birth of healthy sons and how Cosimo felt able to relax, his life’s accomplishments achieved. Since then, I have been thinking. I am sure, now, that I know why Cosimo came here, and spoke to me of endowments to the convent.’

  She leaned against the back of the chair, her flurry of words having robbed her of breath. Maddalena felt her heart quicken. Was the abbess about to tell her how Cosimo had first visited her and what indications—promises even—he had made to her? She seemed to have something to talk about.

  ‘It is as before, isn’t it? When he was so generous to San Miniato al Monte and Santissima Annunziata. Cosimo wishes to give thanks to God for all his blessings. Doesn’t he?’

  Maddalena was perplexed. She remembered the abbess only weeks before, laughing at how easily the nuns had misinterpreted her letter from the bishop, assuming that it referred to those matters that dominated their own world. Now, it seemed, the abbess was falling into the same trap. But how to disabuse her without giving away the whole plan? It was a problem.

  Perhaps there was another problem? What must Cosimo have said to her? How could he have allowed the abbess to draw such conclusions? She could understand that he did not wish to tell her the detail of his plan for Lorenzo’s gold, but to dissemble to the point where she had such deeply held misconceptions?

  ‘Did Cosimo say that? Is that what he told you?’

  The abbess was still smiling confidently. ‘Good Lord, no. Not at all. I would not have expected him to tell me his secrets. But you, surely, said as much last time we met? At least, I took you to be saying so. You described a family which had triumphed over adversity and for whom God’s blessings were boundless.’

  Her confidence began to fade and as it did so, a small furrow crossed her brow. ‘Did you not?’

  Maddalena shook her head. ‘I described Cosimo feeling like that when his two grandsons had been born. Yes. But if you remember, I also made reference to what I thought was a secret, hidden beneath the surface of apparent happiness, like a maggot in a shiny red apple.’

  The abbess’ face fell. ‘But the endowments?’

  ‘It was Piero who financed the work at those two churches; not his father.’

  ‘Oh!’ The abbess looked even more disappointed and began to wring her hands together. Maddalena thought it too strong a reaction simply to reflect disappointment at the family’s imperfect happiness. She began to wonder whether her contradiction had shattered some naïve expectation of further endowments from the Medici. If so, that had not been her intention and still wasn’t.

  Perhaps it was time to explain more fully.

  ‘To someone who, like me, knew every expression of the family’s faces, some of the idyllic events I have described were marred. There were responses that convinced me that something was amiss. Small things; a glance here, a hesitation in a reply there, a smile fading when the person thought no one was looking at them.

  ‘Who in particular?’

  ‘Lucrezia.’

  ‘But she had married the man who was to become head of the Medici family, and already she had provided him with two sons. What could be less than idyllic in that?’

  Maddalena thought for a moment, and then decided she had to be honest. ‘I sensed a falsity in the whole thing. Lucrezia was like a racehorse harnessed to a carthorse. She and Piero were as different as two people could be; a poet married to a mute.’

  ‘But I thought you said they had overcome her initial disappointment at marrying the wrong brother? Everything had settled down nicely and they had four children. That, surely, is proof enough?’

  Maddalena listened and reconsidered. Perhaps her thoughts had been unworthy.

  ‘They did, and up to and beyond the birth of Lorenzo, I would have agreed with you. But a few months before Giuliano was born, events took a turn that made me wonder.’

  The abbess made her way to her chair and sat, preparing herself, and Maddalena, still on her feet, continued. ‘Giovanni married Ginevra degli Alessandrini. She was a nice enough girl, from a good family and she would have made an admirable wife had she married Piero, but it was clear even at the wedding feast that Giovanni had little interest in her. She was of the old school; of masserizia, just like her mother-in-law, Contessina.’

  ‘Was that such a bad thing?’ Madonna Arcangelica looked perplexed; and not for the first time, Maddalena was reminded that, despite the abbess’ willingness to share her dislike of many of Contessina’s mannerisms, the quiet pursuit of good housekeeping lay close to her own philosophy for running the convent.

  ‘Perhaps not. But Giovanni had rejected that approach to life and instead believed in the pursuit of magnificentia. That’s why his nephews, Lorenzo and Giuliano, so adored him; he represented the new, modern world, not that of the old gener
ation. Their uncle, they used to say, understood them and was fun, whilst their father Piero, like their grandfather, Cosimo, was old-fashioned and boring.

  ‘The generations were changing. Piero was in many respects the last remnant of the old world, whilst his younger brother, Giovanni, represented the new. And, it must be said, represented it with enthusiasm.’

  ‘But I am sure I have heard stories of how Cosimo and his wife adored the grandchildren and indulged them at every opportunity? Even the patriarch told a story about having to wait while Cosimo made a whistle for his grandson?’

  Maddalena nodded, remembering. That story about the Lucchese ambassador and the reed whistle would probably finish up on Cosimo’s headstone. ‘Oh yes, they loved their grandsons well enough, and the boys were willing to accept every indulgence as their natural right, especially sweetmeats; but behind their backs, the boys had little true respect for them.

  ‘They called Cosimo Mulo because he had a long nose and big ears, and looked to them like the mule he always rode. Contessina was always referred to as Nonna Grassona; fat grandma. Not to her face, of course, and never in front of Cosimo, or Piero, or their mother, or me for that matter; but Giovanni knew. And it was Carlo who told me.’

  ‘Ungrateful little ruffians!’ Madonna Arcangelica’s face looked as if she was eating a raw lemon.

  Maddalena laughed. ‘Not at all. Just boys being boys. They are always pushing against the fences. That’s what makes them what they are.’

  ‘Was your Carlo the same?’

  ‘Carlo? Of course he was. In his time. He and Giovanni were little rascals for a few years. They loved nothing better than to play football with the rough crowd in the Piazza di Santa Croce. And tournaments. They loved to go down there and play tournaments and would come home filthy. But that’s boys for you.’

  Madonna Arcangelica shook her head. It was clear that such indiscipline did not find favour in her mind. As if to demonstrate her own self-control, she dragged the conversation back again. ‘How did Lucrezia respond to seeing Giovanni married?’