Murder in the Garden of God (4 page)

The poorly bred were known to cough and sneeze loudly, without so much as covering their mouths with their hands. “So there be some kinde of men, that in coffing or neesing [sneezing], make suche noise, that they make a man deafe to here them, and spray upon all those nearby. Besides these there be some, that in yauning, braye and crye out like Asses.”
¹⁰

Della Casa was disgusted by those who dine “like swine with their snouts in the washe, all begroined, and never lift up their heads nor looke up, muche lesse kepe their hands from the meate, and with both their cheeks blowne, as if they should sound a trumpet or blowe the fier, not eate but ravon: who, besmearing their hands almost up to their elbowes, so bedawbe the napkins, that the cloaths in the places of easement [toilet paper] be other while cleaner… Neither is it good maner, to rubbe your gresie fingers uppon the bread you must eat.”
¹¹

Understanding the vast gulf of breeding that yawned between themselves and this prodigy of beauty who had condescended to join their family, the Perettis bent over backwards to keep her happy. According to Cardinal Maffei, Vittoria “had youthful feminine inclinations, so that the cardinal, as well as Camilla, both known as frugal people, satisfied her with happy liberality, almost without being asked, and almost competed to spoil her and enrich her with much, and rich pearls, and jewels, and splendid things much superior to their state.”
¹²
Unfortunately, although the family stretched its budget to accommodate her expensive tastes, it was never enough.

Despite Vittoria’s improved wardrobe, she found to her grinding chagrin that when she attended banquets and balls, noblewomen far less attractive than she outshone her in gorgeous gowns and blazing jewels. It was a great injustice, this dimming of her God-given beauty, and Vittoria was determined to see justice done. And so, while Camilla was carefully saving used candle stubs to melt together into new candles, and scraping ashes from the hearth to be used for making soap, Vittoria went shopping.

She quickly ran up enormous debts. Most of the Italian Renaissance economy was based on debt. Hard cash was a rarity, so even a loaf of bread was often paid for with a promise. Most of the carriages of Rome’s great nobles had been bought on credit, as well as their velvet clothes bedecked with pearls and rubies. Butchers and bakers who provided sumptuous banquets at the palaces of the rich might remain unpaid for years. Debt was nothing to be ashamed of; indeed, many debtors prided themselves on their long lists of creditors – proof on paper that their honorable names alone guaranteed easy credit.

Small infusions of cash were enough to keep the creditors from bringing in the bailiff. These sums were easily obtained by pawning household goods. According to family account books in Italian archives, some valuable items were pawned twenty times or more over the life of their owners to meet pressing debts. As it was, most Italians who made wills furnished their heirs with a long list of creditors, some of them going back decades, who needed to be paid promptly so that the deceased would find no obstacles barring his path to heaven.

Bartering was also common, and a cash-deprived nobleman who brought in barrels of wine and olive oil from his country estate at harvest time might pay his butcher or baker with those. But not just items of value were bartered. We have difficulty today imagining going into a bar and paying for a glass of wine with a pair of dirty socks or a stained napkin, but such was Rome in the sixteenth century.

Sometimes creditors accepted favors in lieu of payments. If Vittoria could convince her cardinal uncle to obtain a Vatican position for her dressmaker’s son, it was likely the dressmaker’s invoice would magically disappear. Or her brother serving in the duke of Savoy’s army might welcome as his aide the promising younger brother of her jeweler. But in the end Vittoria’s retail desires were greater than any favors she could provide.

Chapter 3

Greed

He that is greedy of gain troubleth his own house,
but he who hateth gifts shall live.

–
Proverbs 15:27

E
asy as it was to rack up debt in such a freewheeling economy, Vittoria bought gowns, and jewels, and dainty pieces of furniture inlaid with mother-of-pearl for her bedroom, and heady perfumes, and ostrich-feather fans, and gauzy headdresses embroidered with pearls. And when the tangled web of debts became too much and she needed bits of cash to keep her creditors at bay, she thought of her dowry.

According to custom, a bride’s dowry was legally hers and would be returned to her if her husband died or if he beat her to a pulp and she separated from him. But the groom’s family had the right to invest the dowry as they saw fit, as long as the bride was given a monthly allowance from the investment.

When Vittoria’s father paid out the last quarterly installment of her dowry on May 24, 1576, Cardinal Montalto used the 1,250 scudi to buy land near his favorite church, Saint Mary Major, which he put in Camilla’s name. This was the breeziest, highest point in Rome, some 250 feet above sea level, adorned with the towering stone ruins of the fourth-century B.C. Servian Walls. Here, 1,500 years earlier, the beautiful noblewoman Lollia Paolina had walked in her gardens as she contemplated snatching Emperor Claudius from the snares of her competitor, Agrippina. But Agrippina won the battle and as empress forced Lollia Paolina to commit suicide.

Fortunately, Cardinal Montalto’s contemplations on the same hill were far more edifying. He was studying the life of Saint Ambrose, whose biography he was writing. But he was also busy creating a garden and vineyard – digging holes, spreading manure, and carrying buckets of precious water to help the green things grow. Becoming a prince of the Catholic Church had not changed Montalto’s love of hard physical labor, and within a year he had personally turned the overgrown hill into a fragrant, blooming slice of Paradise.

Perhaps it was a mistake for him to proudly show Vittoria the fruits of his efforts. The moment she saw the beautiful spot she wanted it for herself. Hadn’t her dowry gone to pay for it? Why shouldn’t she have it, and use the sale of olive oil and wine for her maintenance? Though Cardinal Montalto adored his garden, he signed it over to Francesco and Vittoria on October 2, 1577.

Vittoria’s expenses were increasingly competing with the cardinal’s good works. Montalto’s income was only 8,000 scudi a year – tiny for a cardinal. Out of this he maintained his own household and that of Camilla. He provided houses for poor families in his impoverished hometown of Montalto, where on October 15, 1578, he built a grammar school and hired a teacher on the interest of a 1,370-scudi annuity. On February 19, 1579, he invested in a 2,000-scudi annuity to pay the salary of a doctor to provide free medical care to the community.

In June 1579, the cardinal provided Valeria, daughter of his dead sister Flora, a dowry of 3,000 scudi, the same amount he had paid for Camilla’s daughter Maria back in 1570 when she had married a Roman gentleman of moderate means. He had also squirreled away another 3,000 scudi for the future marriage of Maria’s daughter, little Flavia. He even gave Camilla’s maidservant, Franceschina, a dowry of 200 scudi. In addition, one of his duties as a cardinal, even a poor one, was to embellish churches; Montalto erected a beautiful marble chapel in Saint Mary Major.

But Vittoria kept angling for more luxuries. She found it shameful that she didn’t have a coach and peppered the cardinal with requests to buy her one. Roman streets were clogged with several inches of filth – manure from horses, donkeys, and oxen, as well as rotten food and the contents of chamber pots cavalierly tossed out of windows. When forced to walk in the street, Roman noblewomen were careful to avoid soiling the gold-trimmed hems of their velvet gowns. They wore high platform clogs over their velvet slippers. These clogs would squelch down a couple inches into the stinking muck and still leave the skirts unscathed, and the dainty slippers inside as good as new. But it was better not to walk at all, and any woman worth her salt had to have her own coach.

Coaches had only recently come into fashion. Before that, Romans were carried in sedan chairs in town; for longer voyages they rode on horses or mules. During his visit to Italy, Thomas Coryat was surprised to see riders carrying umbrellas, which would not be used in England until the mid-eighteenth century. These umbrellas, he wrote, “minister shadowe to them for shelter against the scorching heate of the sunne. These are made of leather… They are used especially by horsemen, who carry them in their hands when they ride, fastening the end of the handle upon one of their thighs, and they impart so large a shadow unto them, that it keepeth the heate of the sunne from the upper parts of their bodies.”
¹

It is hard to imagine anyone galloping across a field holding a heavy leather umbrella, but particularly a woman, riding sidesaddle, swathed in long skirts. Perhaps for this reason, on long journeys noblewomen usually traveled in litters – long boxlike structures swinging between the wheels, in which passengers lay down on pillows. But in the early sixteenth century, Hungarians invented a rudimentary spring suspension system for carriages. As long as the roads were good and the trip was short, the new carriages provided a faster and smoother ride. Ideal for city traveling, by the 1570s they had become all the vogue in Rome.

In 1575, one irate bishop wrote a memorandum recommending that coaches be forbidden on account of the spirit of luxury and extravagance which the new fashion had introduced. He complained that the total number of such vehicles in Rome now amounted to more than 2,000 and routinely clogged the narrow twisting streets that had been built for foot and horse traffic. If all the coaches could be piled up in one enormous bonfire and burnt, it would be a good riddance, the bishop stated, as well as a most acceptable sacrifice to God. But Vittoria just had to have one. Importuned incessantly by his niece, Cardinal Montalto several times said he would buy her a coach, though somehow it failed to materialize.

Only two months after obtaining her vineyard, Vittoria wanted to sell it back to the cardinal uncle for 750 scudi more than he had paid for it. Evidently the fall harvest had been insubstantial as the trees and vines were too young to produce much fruit. Vittoria would invest the cash from the sale in annuities, which would bring greater income.

The fact that Vittoria was not alone in her importunities but was aided and abetted by her ambitious family is proven by a fascinating document which she, Francesco, her parents, and four brothers delivered to the cardinal. They had, evidently, held a family meeting on how to squeeze more money from him.

December 12, 1577

Memorandum of that which is requested by the grace of the most Illustrious Monsignor Padrone.

First, that the 2,000 scudi of the dowry that is called “of the vineyard” be put into annuities. In addition, we accept the offer of his most illustrious and reverend Holiness that assigns to Vittoria all the interest of the dowry for her food, clothing, salaries of her servants and other needs, and it is asked that as much be given to Signor Francesco for his food and needs.

But the Accorambonis were not content with simply reinvesting the dowry. Francesco had borrowed a great deal of money to satisfy his wife’s creditors, and they wanted the old cardinal to loosen his purse strings and pay the bills.

And we must remember that Signor Francesco owes 600 scudi to the company of offices [evidently a lending institution], on which he has to pay interest. And there remain many scudi of old debts that he will be forced to satisfy if he stays in Rome and lives among men.

They then reminded the cardinal of his oft-repeated promise of buying Vittoria a coach and made a subtle threat if he did not comply:

And if his most Illustrious Sanctity cannot at the moment pay these, he is contented to assign him [Francesco] the interest only on the dowry, and to give him permission to go and stay a few years at Montalto, where it costs less to live than staying in Rome, where it is particularly necessary to have a coach. And his Holiness will deign to remember having promised this many times.

It would have reflected poorly on the cardinal if the coachless, indebted couple moved to Montalto because they could not pay their bills in Rome. People would murmur that he had been generous to his hometown, but was evidently parsimonious with his closest relatives.

This is what is desired and humbly requested of your Holiness from all who have signed below:

Signor Claudio           Signor Francesco

Signora Tarquinia        Signora Vittoria

Mario

Marcello

Flaminio

To his credit, Vittoria’s brother Ottavio, whom Montalto had made a bishop, drew up the document but refused to sign it.

I, Ottavio, by their decree, holding myself as a man too interested in the affairs of your illustrious Holiness, abstain from voting.”
²

Montalto, taking a shrewd look at the situation, agreed to the request to reinvest the dowry on one condition: Vittoria would have to budget her personal expenses based on the investment income and not bounce back begging him for more. He even agreed to give Francesco the same amount of monthly income for his food, clothing, and servants.

The cardinal bought back the vineyard at the full appraisal price of 2,000 scudi, which Vittoria invested in bonds. Additionally, in February 1578, he gave her two annuities, one in the amount of 1,650 scudi and the other for 1,350 scudi, which yielded about eight percent interest a year. And so Vittoria was now in complete control of her 5,000-scudi dowry and could do with it what she wanted. But if she were to live on the 400-scudi annual interest alone, she would have to reign in her shopping sprees.

The cardinal was delighted to possess once more his beloved vineyard. He bought a neighboring piece of land and brought in bushes, trees, and flowers, which he personally planted and tended. A rich man, it is said, is not he who has the most, but he who needs the least. And Cardinal Montalto, requiring only the love of his family, his collection of theological books, and a place to make green things grow, felt rich indeed.

Ironically, despite the almost shameful moderation of his lifestyle, he was far richer than many other cardinals and Roman noblemen who lived in opulent palazzos on credit. When many such men died, and their relatives eagerly had their rings, crucifixes, and bejeweled altars appraised, they were often disgusted to learn that over the years all the gems had been replaced by glass.

Instead of throwing lavish banquets to impress others, Montalto bought little houses to rent out. Instead of buying furniture and horses on credit, he paid cash up front. If the household account books of the “richest” men in Rome could have been examined, it would have been found that most of them were deeply in debt. Cardinal Montalto’s account books, however, showed a gratifying balance.

He had worked hard all his life, living in monastic poverty. He had saved, and invested, and even if he died soon without ever becoming pope, Camilla and Francesco would have enough income from the rental properties to live quite well. Now, as he approached his sixtieth birthday, he decided that it was time to own something truly lovely, paid, of course, with cash. He hired an architect named Domenico Fontana to design for him a princely palace on the hill overlooking his gardens. Villa Montalto, it would be called.

But if, after all the family financial maneuverings, the cardinal was content with his growing plants and rising villa, Vittoria remained dissatisfied with her life. The monthly income on her annuities was extremely limiting, and Cardinal Montalto had made clear she was not to ask him for any more. According to Cardinal Giulio Antonio Santorio, “Trusting in that beauty in which she had advanced all, she raised her ambition to great things. She made no account of her husband, as unequal to her. She took to ridiculing her mother-in-law, and with every manner of derision offended her. She started fights and reinforced the baseness of their birth to her husband and his family.”
³

It must have been terribly deflating for Camilla and Francesco to listen to the belle of Rome berating them for their lowly origins and squalid living conditions, mainly because everything she said was true. We can picture the family sitting at the wobbly dining table, as the gorgeous Vittoria gestured disparagingly to the moth-eaten curtains and barely furnished rooms. “If I’d known I would have lived like the meanest servant all these years,” we can hear her saying, “I’d never have married into this embarrassing family.”

Family squabbles over base birth and money were briefly distracted by a fascinating discovery. In 1578, some laborers digging in a field outside the city gates came upon the ancient Roman catacombs, which had been long forgotten and filled up with debris. The pope, the cardinals, and their families were the first ones allowed to tour the subterranean tunnels, torches in hand, viewing with awe the delicate paintings of shepherds with their flocks. All the bones tucked away in the bunk-like wall niches were viewed as those of holy early Christian martyrs, although most of them had died of natural causes. Many visitors stuck a bone in their pockets for good luck; there were so many down there surely no one would miss it.

Pope Gregory XIII declared the catacombs a very sacred place; one could shave off years in Purgatory by simply visiting them. Camilla and Cardinal Montalto were deeply devout and must have wandered through the cool dark corridors in ecstasy. Even Vittoria was reputed to be very religious, going often to confession and Mass. Perhaps, as she tiptoed silently through the narrow, dank corridors, Vittoria prayed to all the martyred saints for a child. She had, by then, been married five years without the least trace of a pregnancy.

Children would have cemented her marriage, and Francesco, even if he was an impoverished dolt, would have been worthy of some tenderness as the father of her children. Offspring would have made Vittoria a full member of the family, rather than an ornamental outsider siphoning off the patrimony to pay for her frivolities. Camilla would have forgiven her instantly for her bad temper and wasteful ways. The cardinal would have pried open his wallet, doling out money more generously to the mother of his great-nephew. Perhaps most importantly, children would have given Vittoria something useful to do.