Murder in the Garden of God (3 page)

As he faced the numerous challenges of his long Church career, Felice often referred to his glorious future as pope. Though noble cardinals and jealous monks might laugh at the aspirations of a vulgar nobody from the Marches, Felice was completely convinced of his destiny. The people of Rome, eagerly believing heavenly signs and divine prognostications, looked on him with an uneasy awe. Hadn’t his ascension to the papal throne been prophesied even before his conception?

Tarquinia knew that if Uncle Felice became pope, the family would become rich and powerful overnight. For centuries, nepotism – which comes from the Italian word
nipote
for
nephew –
had been an accepted part of the papacy. Most new popes made an unmarried nephew a cardinal, giving him the position of cardinal nephew, a kind of secretary of state and the number two job in the Church and nation. If Vittoria married Francesco, the pope’s only nephew would be ineligible to become a cardinal. The pope would, most likely, select one of Vittoria’s brothers who had already gone into the Church. And once a cardinal, there was always the possibility of becoming pope. The cardinal nephew of Calixtus III (reigned 1455-1458) became Pope Alexander VI in 1492, and the cardinal nephew of Pope Sixtus IV (reigned 1472-1484) became Pope Julius II in 1502.

Lay nephews, too, would be richly rewarded. If Cardinal Montalto became pope, he would no doubt make Francesco and Vittoria a prince and princess. Sometimes the popes purchased principalities for their nephews; sometimes they inherited them when a ruling dynasty died out, and sometimes they sent troops to wrest them in bloody battles from their rightful owners. This way, after the elderly pope died, the nephew would still be a prince, living in a palace, ruling over a territory.

The pope’s lay nephew was immediately made captain general of the Church and governor of the papal fortress, Castel Sant’Angelo, positions of great honor and even greater salaries. The pope arranged marriages for his family members, not only with the ducal houses of Italy but also the royal houses of Europe. Catherine de Medici, the niece of Clement VII (reigned 1523-1534), married the son of the king of France and eventually became queen. If Francesco’s uncle had a long pontificate, Vittoria’s teenaged children, too, would become cardinals or marry into royal families.

Looking at the lackluster offers for Vittoria’s hand, her parents gambled and selected Francesco Peretti. His uncle, however, was not entirely pleased that the offer had been accepted. Given the Perettis’ modest fortunes, the cardinal wanted his nephew to marry a rich, virtuous girl from the Marches, not the impoverished spoiled darling of Rome. Many wealthy families in his native area had watched the cardinal’s career with pride and would have been honored by such a connection. But Francesco had his heart set on the gorgeous Vittoria. He absolutely had to have her; no other bride would do. We can picture the young man, confessing his deepest feelings to the uncle who loved him, the uncle who, despite his better judgment, slowly yielded.

Cardinal Montalto himself was not unmoved by the prospective bride’s beauty and charm. And it was an honor for the pig farmers of Montalto to marry into an ancient and noble line. But the limitation of funds on both sides of the family was a severe handicap, given the bride’s worldly ambitions. A girl like Vittoria wouldn’t be happy with frumpy gowns and ramshackle furniture. Wise in the ways of human nature, perhaps the cardinal agreed to the wedding with a sigh, or a shudder of foreboding.

And so it came to pass that Francesco Peretti, son of a farmer and a laundress, married above himself for love, and Vittoria Accoramboni, a beautiful but poor noblewoman, married beneath herself for a chance at winning the papal lottery. The dowry documents were signed on June 20, 1573, stating that the bride would bring with her the sum of 5,000 scudi, payable in installments. At dawn on June 28, 1573, the wedding cortege walked from the Accoramboni palazzo to the Church of Santa Maria della Corte.

Sometimes it is fortunate that a young couple at the altar has no premonitions of their future together, nor do their rejoicing families and friends. They cannot see the day when indifference replaces love, when monotony replaces excitement, when sexual ardor is forgotten or only bitterly remembered. The possibility of adultery is incomprehensible, the idea of murder ridiculous. We can imagine that, lacking this bitter foresight, Francesco and Vittoria were truly happy on that day, and perhaps for many days thereafter.

After the ceremony, the wedding party walked to the palazzo of Vittoria’s family for the traditional nuptial feast her father, Claudio, gave for all his acquaintances and their families. After the reception, the guests, along with fiddling fiddlers and dancing buffoons, would have escorted Vittoria and Francesco in a festive procession to the Peretti house on the nearby Via Leutari.

Brides, with long hair streaming down to indicate their virginity, were often led on a white horse. But unlike Lady Godiva, the bride wore clothing designed to dazzle and amaze. Given the stretched finances, Vittoria’s gown was, most likely, rented, though the family would not have admitted it. It could be rerented periodically for festive occasions to give the impression that she really did own it. While twenty-first century women are distressed when they arrive at a cocktail party to see another woman in the same dress, sixteenth-century brides had to worry about another woman literally wearing
the same dress
in the form of another bride on a white horse ambling down the street. Then the whole town would know it had been rented.

Vittoria’s wedding cortege would have carried her trousseau, those items designed to kick off married life in her new household. A trousseau consisted primarily of clothing – petticoats, corsets, ruffs, cuffs, stockings, nightgowns, dozens of embroidered linen shifts, and dresses – as well as household textiles such as bed curtains, sheets, towels, tablecloths, and napkins. To show off his wealth and generosity, perhaps the father-of-the-bride contributed more expensive items for the young couple, such as cupboards, silverware, or glazed blue and yellow majolica plates. Heavy objects would have been rolled on carts to her new home. But the traditional items that brought good luck – and that even the meanest bride brought to her new home – were a wedding chest containing her linens, a washbasin, a tankard, and a deep bowl from which she would drink fortifying broth after childbirth.

It was the responsibility of the groom to furnish a bedroom for his bride. The most important and expensive item was the bed, a four-poster with heavy curtains for privacy and warmth. The bed was the most symbolic piece of furniture in terms of a human life. Here the marriage was consummated; here the children tumbled from darkness into light and drew their first breaths, and here the soul fled its ailing shell to seek God. Bedrooms contained numerous chests, where clothing, linens, and even books were stored, obliging one to kneel to retrieve them. Chests also served as benches and tables.

Every bedroom contained a devotional image of the Virgin and Child to inspire pure thoughts and fertility, though the two usually didn’t go hand in hand. Many such images had a veil attached to the top, which could be pulled down to prevent the mother of God from seeing attempts at fertility going on in the bed. Women were advised not to permit the Virgin to see them wearing undergarments or engaging in vain pursuits, such as playing cards, applying make-up, or plucking their eyebrows.

The day after the wedding, Vittoria would have been served a special breakfast of eggs for fertility and candy to encourage sweet love between the new couple. Such a meal was also meant to balance her bodily humors after the conjugal shock they had received the night before. As a reward for her virginity, on this day, too, Francesco would have been expected to give his bride additional wedding finery – gowns, headdresses, and jewels, which she was to wear publicly to do honor to the Peretti family. These as well were, most likely, rented. After a few weeks, Vittoria’s in-laws would have plucked her fine raiment and jewels from her slender hands.

If Vittoria sighed at the financial restraint necessary in the wedding festivities, at least she knew that things would change as soon as old Pope Gregory XIII died and Uncle Felice became the new pontiff. Then she would skyrocket to fame and fortune, and buy all the rubies and silks she could dream of. For now, exploring the world of sex with a husband who adored her, and beloved by his entire family, she was, perhaps, satisfied.

Chapter 2

After the Honeymoon

I find more bitter than death the woman who is a snare, whose heart
is a trap and whose hands are chains. The man who pleases God will
escape her, but the sinner she will ensnare.

–
Ecclesiastes 7:26

“V
ittoria entered into the Peretti house with such superiority that was fatally conceded to her,” wrote Cardinal Maffei, “that wherever she turned, she was not only specially received, but universally loved. And not only by Francesco, who above all behavior of a husband almost adored her to the point of craziness he was so infatuated, but also by Mother Camilla. The uncle, Cardinal Montalto, was seen to have such a tenderness of affection, that he didn’t study anything else but her satisfaction, … treating also her brothers as if they were his own nephews.”
¹

Tarquinia’s hopes that Cardinal Montalto would boost the careers of her sons were quickly realized. “Ottavio was a youth of singular integrity and vivacity of spirit,” Maffei continued, “who at the age of thirty received the cardinal’s intercession with the nomination of the duke of Urbino, and was created by Gregory XIII bishop of Fossombrone… Scipione, by the offices of the same cardinal, was accepted into the service of Cardinal Sforza, one of the principal lords of the Roman court, who shortly thereafter with extraordinary favor put him in charge of all his affairs.”
²
And Mario became a monsignor and abbot.

But if her marriage brought good fortune to her brothers, it failed to boost Vittoria’s own. She found herself living in a respectable house at the corner of Via Leutari in a bustling area of booksellers, copyists, and map makers. But the house was crammed with her in-laws and their servants. In addition to Francesco’s mother, Camilla, his sister Maria lived there with her husband, Fabio Damasceni, and her increasing brood of children. At the time of Vittoria’s marriage, Maria had a boy, Alessandro, born in 1571, and would that year give birth to a girl, Flavia. Another girl, Felice, would be born in 1575, and a son, Michele, in 1577.

The house, which still stands, was entered through an arched tunnel which opened up into a small courtyard. The space was probably not large enough for horses and carriages to turn around in, and its main purpose was to give light to the surrounding rooms. We can assume that in the sixteenth century the courtyard was home to chickens and perhaps a pig. At the far end was a covered circular staircase that rose four stories; on each landing were two doors with thick rectangular stone lintels. Here, in these modest rooms, lived the cardinal’s family.

The cardinal did not live in the same house. He owned several contiguous buildings on the short Via Leutari, and as a cardinal required a home with less din and greater dignity. His abode would have had a waiting-room, where ambassadors and Church dignitaries were entertained by his butler until the cardinal could see them. When he was ready, they would be led into his audience chamber where his cardinal’s throne stood proudly on a dais. While the richest cardinals – Alessandro Farnese and Ferdinando de Medici – had huge palaces with audience chambers the size of ball rooms, poor cardinals such as Montalto had rooms of modest dimensions, furnished as honorably as possible.

When the Venetian ambassador visited Camilla in 1585, he was struck by the poverty of her house. It was almost bereft of furniture, and her family wore threadbare clothing. He was particularly appalled at the garments of Maria’s fourteen-year-old son Alessandro, “who went around in front of everybody with worn-out ragged clothes.”
³

Though the hoity-toity might look down on her humble state, Camilla felt that her Roman household offered absolute luxury. As a child, she had begged for food, but now she had plenty to eat. Then, she had sat on a dirt floor with rain pouring in through holes in the roof. Now she had a chair to sit in, and a good roof. In the past, she had worn tattered rags. Now she had several decent dresses, hardly patched at all.

It is likely that Camilla had lost children to illness. Country girls married young, at around sixteen, and started shooting out the babies immediately. But when Camilla arrived in Rome in 1570 at about the age of fifty-one, she brought only two children that she had borne in her thirties.

Before her brother’s summons, Camilla had been a laundress in Montalto, earning pennies for the most grueling job imaginable. She had heated enormous cauldrons over raging fires, pushed disgusting soiled linens around with a paddle for hours, hung them in the sun to bleach and dry, and ironed them slowly with a heavy iron heated repeatedly in the fireplace. Laundresses were known for their raw, chapped hands and red, puffy faces. But now Camilla didn’t have to do the laundry of others all day long; she would only do it for her own household and that of the cardinal.

Given the circumstances, it is no wonder that Camilla was famous for her frugality. In a society that valued ostentatious display – mostly on borrowed money – Camilla well understood the value of a scudo. She ran her household to avoid waste at all costs, and tucked the extra coins safely away for a rainy day. On paper, at least, she was a wealthy woman because as her brother acquired property in Rome he put it all in Camilla’s name. This was done to continue receiving his annual 1,200-scudi subsidy as a “poor” cardinal. If the pope knew just how many little rental houses Montalto owned, he might yank the subsidy.

Camilla was a scrappy, gritty woman, all bone and sinew and tensed-up energy. No job was beneath her, no work too hard for her. She ran her own household and that of her brother like a drill sergeant. “The good housewife is one who looks to everything in the house,” wrote the author of a Renaissance treatise on housekeeping. “She takes care of the granary and keeps it clean, so that no filth can enter. She sees to the oil jars, bearing in mind, this is to be thrown away, and that kept … She sees to the salted meat … she cleans the meat … She causes the flax to be spun, and then the linen to be woven … She looks to the wine barrels, if any are broken or leaking.”
⁴

It is likely that Camilla pitched in to help her servants with the cooking and cleaning. Not only would this have saved her the cost of a servant, but she could have made sure the work was done properly, with no waste. She would have personally overseen the delivery of firewood, candles, and animal carcasses, making sure she was getting value for her money. She would have taken bread dough made in her kitchen to the corner baker’s and rented the use of his oven.

Camilla would have made sure that the cleanest water possible was delivered to the house, water being a perennial problem in the thirsty city, ever since the Goths had cut the imperial Roman aqueducts back in 410 A.D. Some fifteenth-century popes had patched up the ancient Acqua Vergine aqueduct enough to supply a couple of fountains, but the water wasn’t nearly sufficient to provide for the city’s needs. The main source of water was still the Tiber.

Unfortunately, the river was the town dump for dead animals, household garbage, and human waste. It was also a popular destination for murder victims. Earlier in the century, when police investigating a murder asked a fisherman why he had not come forward sooner to report that he had seen two men throw a body in the Tiber, he replied, “In my time I have probably seen a hundred corpses thrown into the river at night, and no one has ever troubled about them.”
⁵

Despite the dead bodies and everything else, Tiber water was usually all right to drink if you let it sit for five days to allow the particles to settle, scooped out the water on top, and then mixed it with wine to kill the germs. Those who wanted truly clean water bought it from enterprising businessmen, who every day trundled into the city on carts loaded with barrels of fresh water from country springs; their employees ran throughout the city selling buckets of it, but such water was very expensive.

The cardinal’s sister welcomed the elegant Vittoria into her family with open arms. Camilla’s beloved son had improved the family status by marrying a noblewoman, and the most beautiful girl in Rome, at that. And Camilla was delighted that her son was head-over-heels in love with his wife, a rarity among married couples of the time. Yet it is unlikely that Camilla’s new daughter-in-law pitched in much with the housework. We simply cannot imagine Vittoria joining Camilla in scrubbing floors, bleaching ruffs in urine, or trudging to market each morning with a basket over her arm to buy cabbages. And it is possible that Camilla, awed by her noble daughter-in-law, didn’t expect it.

One of the only honorable, noble, and ladylike contributions Vittoria could give to the family was sewing and embroidery. Needlework was considered highly ethical for members of the gentler sex, protecting them from the perils of an idle mind, which was particularly dangerous for a woman. According to contemporary beliefs, if a woman’s mind had nothing in it, the vacuum between her ears would suction up the “naughty vapors” from her private parts directly into her brain, causing “the unruly motions of tickling lust.”
⁶
If she did not start having orgies with strange men, she would break out in pimples and lose her wits.

Luckily, there was plenty of needlework to keep the vapors firmly where they belonged. In sixteenth-century Rome, even an artisan would have a score of white linen shirts. In addition, women of all classes had dozens of large handkerchiefs, a fashion accessory used as a headdress, a shawl tucked into the bodice, or hanging from a belt.

Those items not used for hard labor would have been embellished. Shirts were embroidered around the neck and cuffs with black, gold, or silver thread. Handkerchiefs, tablecloths, and sheets sported red hearts, blue birds, and long sinuous green vines. A large project, years in the making, would have been the embroidery of bed hangings, perhaps with the family coat-of-arms.

Many women chose patterns from embroidery books, which had recently become popular, and were sold on the Via Pasquino, around the corner from Vittoria’s home. Home-made fan kits were popular, and perhaps Vittoria, who couldn’t afford an exquisite mother-of-pearl jeweled fan, cut out her own and glued feathers and ribbons on it. And so we can imagine Camilla, cheerfully emptying chamber pots and plucking chickens, while her daughter-in-law sedately embroidered a pillowcase or fidgeted with a fan.

Cognizant of her beauty, Vittoria probably spent considerable time on grooming. To wash her thick black tresses, she would have knelt in front of a basin with a spigot on the bottom, set up on the edge of a table. In addition to beautifying the hair, the monthly wash with lye was considered useful for “strengthening the brain and the memory.”
⁷
She would have brushed her teeth with ground-up coral and pumice stone, and then rinsed with vinegar. Scraping the teeth with such an abrasive mixture had the immediate effect of whitening and removed plaque and tartar, but it also removed tooth enamel.

She may have removed body hair using a mixture of lye, quicklime, and arsenic sulfide – a yellow mineral used to make paint. After leaving this concoction on a limb for seven minutes, all the hair would easily wash off, though we might wonder if some of the skin did too.

While Vittoria nurtured her beauty and embroidered, it is not certain what kept Francesco busy. When he married Vittoria he had probably just completed his university education, as most young men received their degrees at the age of nineteen or twenty. Given his uncle’s work ethic, it is certain that the cardinal would have found him gainful employment. Cardinal Montalto didn’t want Francesco to live in indolence off his uncle’s position but wanted “to see sweat with honor to be able to live hand-to-mouth,” according to the chronicler.
⁸

Perhaps Francesco worked for the cardinal himself, writing his letters and keeping track of his appointments. Or maybe Montalto had obtained for him a job in the Vatican administration. Few details emerge about Francesco, though contemporary records leave us with the impression that he was a good-natured youth, if a bit thick-headed. He was certainly ill-equipped to deal with the increasing demands of his beautiful bride.

For as the years wore on – unbearably the same, unbearably impoverished – the sweet girl morphed into an angry, demanding woman. Her beauty was worth more than a wretched room in a cramped house. She was worthy of a grand palace boasting dozens of servants in gorgeous livery. Her courtyard should be stuffed with gilded carriages and matched teams of proud horses instead of chickens, pigs, and their dung. Her wardrobe should consist of a rainbow of bejeweled gowns of velvet and silk, trimmed with fur.

At the dining table, as she daubed her shapely mouth with a napkin gracefully embroidered by herself, Vittoria saw that she was surrounded by country bumpkins. The cardinal uncle, despite his two decades of hobnobbing with the most eminent men in Rome, retained his rural ways. Years later, when foreign ambassadors carefully observed his manners, they wrote of his digging into his food and gulping his wine with dishonorable gusto. He had the alarming habit of dribbling food on his chin and then wiping it off with the back of his hand. And he had made sure his nephew retained the humble habits of the countryside lest he succumb to the sin of pride.

Rome was full of up-and-coming country bumpkins hoping to win the patronage of a cardinal or powerful nobleman. Europe’s first etiquette book,
Il Galatheo,
written in 1559 by Giovanni della Casa, attempted to teach them good manners so they would not disgrace themselves when spending time with the better bred. Reading the instructions, perhaps we can understand some of Vittoria’s frustrations.

“And when thou hast blowne thy nose,” della Casa advises, “use not to open thy handkerchief, to glare uppon thy snot, as if thou hadst pearles and Rubies fallen from thy braynes.”
⁹

Though della Casa stated that it was impolite to urinate in front of others, many men stepped away from the dinner table to pee nonchalantly into the fireplace or in a bowl in the corner. The author considered it bad taste in company to fart, belch, pick one’s teeth, nose, or ears, or thrust a hand down one’s breeches to scratch at fleas devouring the private parts.