The Palace (26 page)

"Repent! Repent! O Fiorenza, look upon this woman! See how she is robbed of
everything, how she grovels before the might of God! Come! Come! Come up, woman,
and repent!"

Estasia had fallen again and as the tightly packed people around her tried to
make way for her, or to escape her terrifying presence, they kicked her, and her
shoulder began to bleed. She put her hand into the blood, then reached out.

Even Simone balked at that. He wanted desperately to leave the cathedral, but
he had a greater desire to remove Estasia as well. He tried once more, vainly,
to reach her, and found his way blocked by kneeling, praying, weeping Fiorenzeni.
"Estasia! Cousin!"

She did not hear him. She was crying out now, high, thin sounds like an
animal carried off by an eagle. There were bruises on her face and arms, and as
Simone watched, shocked, two young men reached out for her and grabbed
vindictively at her breasts, taking a strange pleasure from her revulsion and
pain.

Apparently Savonarola saw this as well, because his voice rose in fury. "Why
do you seek after such filth? If you indulge the joys of the senses, you condemn
your souls to everlasting torture."

Estasia had almost reached the altar and the Domenicani serving Mass glanced
at one another in distress. None of them wanted to deal with this demented
woman, and Savonarola was still in the oratory, addressing the congregation.

Their worry was removed when a small woman in the white habit of the
Celestiane Sisters pushed her way through the crowd and took hold of Estasia.

Twisting, wrenching, her face wet with tears and blood, Estasia screamed as
the nun held her. Then, in an entirely different voice she began to curse, to
call every form of obscenity and blasphemy on the little nun in white.

Nothing that the congregation had hoped for could have exceeded this. It was
shocking. It was horrible. They were scandalized and delighted. The Nativity had
threatened to be incredibly dull with no festivals and only religious
processions to mark the day, but now the artist Botticelli's cousin had given
them royal entertainment and they were anticipating a delirious season.

The nun pulled Estasia closer to her, shielding her from the eager, outraged
Fiorenzan citizens around her.

"Would every one of you want to emulate that pitiful creature?" Savonarola
raised his fists to the vault of the cathedral. "Forbid it, God! Rather strike
down this city, this world, than to let us be so degraded!"

Suor Ignata held Estasia closer to her and said, "Pray for tranquillity, my
sister. God will answer you if you ask for His Peace."

There was a great deal of excitement in the cathedral now. Some of the women
had fallen on the floor and were crying out to be saved. Men were weeping, their
hands clasped in prayer. Others had begun to sing hymns as the Domenicani moved
among them, blessing those who asked to be blessed, comforting those who wept.

"Think on your sins! This is the last hour God will grant you. After today,
there is no chance. Repent! Repent!" Savonarola's eyes were fever-bright and
there were some who looked on his affliction as another sign of his blessedness,
his uniqueness.

By now the shouting had become so loud that there was almost no way to hear
the prior speak, and a great many of the congregation abandoned themselves to
the excitement of repentance.

"My dear child," Suor Ignata said in her low, musical voice, "don't be
distressed. We will help you. My Sisters and I will take you into our community.
Be calm, my child, you will be cared for."

If Estasia understood, or heard, she gave no sign of it. Her head was thrown
back and her eyes were glazed, unseeing. She made garbled sounds that might have
been words, but no one heard them clearly enough to make them out.

Simone wrung his hands in distress, then fell to his knees and began to pray
rapidly, as if the speed of the prayers would hurry an answer. He deliberately
ignored his cousin so that her shame would not fall on him.

Suor Ignata pulled Estasia aside, and at last succeeded in leading her from
the cathedral. "There, my child," she said in the same voice she used for the
imbeciles who were cared for at Sacro Infante, "you need not be frightened. I am
Suor Ignata and I am taking you to my Superiora, Suor Merzede. We'll look after
you. Never fear. You will be cared for."

The convent's rough cart was drawn by two yoked oxen, and Suor Ignata drove
them with the exasperated ease of the farmgirl she had been. Three of the other
Celestian nuns were in the back of the cart, their practiced care at last
calming Estasia's outbursts.

"What will her family do?" Suor Stella asked in an urgent undervoice as the
nuns left the city through la Porta alia Lanza.

"I hope," Suor Ignata said with some asperity, "that since they have so
singularly failed her, they will let her stay with us until God heals her mind
again. But we must leave that to God and to the persuasive powers of Suor Phidia
and Signale. I hope that they find her family reasonable."

Somewhat later Sandro Filipepi was interrupted at his work by two Celestian
nuns who knocked timidly at his door. Ordinarily Simone, Estasia or his houseman
Valerio would have answered. But Valerio was gone to visit his invalid sister,
Simone had locked himself in his room to meditate and pray, and Estasia had not
yet returned from the cathedral. Sandro hated to be interrupted when he worked,
but there was no help for it. He wiped his brush and gave a last critical
scrutiny to the Orpheus, thinking again that he should have finished it for
Laurenzo. But it had been a minor commission, and Laurenzo had never rushed him.
Now Ragoczy had offered to buy the work and Sandro had accepted, knowing that
the foreigner would not mind that Orpheus had Laurenzo's face.

The knocking grew louder and Sandro hurried from his studio to the door. He
stared at the two white-habited women who faced him, and swallowed the congenial
curse he had been about to utter. "Good Celestiane. What may I do for you?" He
stood aside and motioned them into the wide hall.

"I am Suor Phidia, from Sacro Infante," the older of the two, a strong-faced
woman of forty, announced.

"Your presence honors my house," Sandro responded automatically, feeling
bewildered.

"I gather that you haven't yet spoken with your brother," Suor Phidia said as
she looked around.

"My brother returned from the cathedral more than an hour ago. He's still at
his devotions. If it is necessary, I will interrupt him, but his is a fervid
soul…"

Suor Phidia gave her younger companion a speaking look. "And your cousin,
Signore Filipepi?"

"She is still at the cathedral." He thought for a moment that Estasia had
done something foolish. If she were with child—for a woman her age might well
bear children, and it was true that Estasia had at least three lovers—she might
have gone to the Sisters in the hope that they would help her. But none of her
lovers would refuse to acknowledge a child of their getting. They were honorable
men, and Estasia was of good family, not some trull to be cast off after a night
of debauch. He stopped his wandering thoughts, and turned his attention to the
nuns again.

This time the younger nun spoke. "I am Suor Signale, Signore Filipepi. I am
afraid that your cousin has suffered a… misfortune."

Sandro closed his eyes. He had feared something might happen to Estasia. He
had seen that overly bright shine in her eyes and knew that her emotions sank
and soared erratically. "What happened?"

Suor Signale smiled compassionately and grasped the wooden rosary that hung
from her high, wide belt. "Your cousin, Donna Estasia della Cittadella, while at
the cathedral, suffered a kind of seizure. It occurred during the sermon, and
she was much moved by the words of Savonarola. Unfortunately, your brother was
unable or unwilling to come to her aid, and so our Sister in Christ, Suor Ignata,
approached her, and got her safely out of Santa Maria del Fiore."

"I see." They were from Sacro Infante, that hospital convent where the mad,
the incompetent and the childish were sent. He thought of Simone, and for the
first time in some years he found he was dangerously angry with his brother.
Simone annoyed him often, but this went beyond the bounds of religious severity.
If Simone had one spark of the faith he professed, he would not have shirked his
duty to his cousin.

"Signore Filipepi…" Suor Signale began.

"I am sorry, good Sister. My thoughts were wandering. I ask your forgiveness.
Tell me: what has become of Estasia?"

Once again Suor Phidia took over. "With your permission, good Signore, we are
taking her to Sacro Infante. We have some skill in nursing those in distress and
it would please us to have this opportunity to give charity as Our Lord
commanded us."

Sandro was dangerously near smiling. The nun had put it so neatly that any
denial would seem not only cruel but also unchristian as well. "She is a widow,
and her father is dead. If I have any authority over her, it is slight. But if
you think it wise, by all means keep her with you until she is calmer. I haven't
the time or the capability to deal with her properly, and I fear my brother
would find it difficult to give her the sort of care she must need."

"Where did her husband live?" Suor Phidia asked, concerned now that there
might be objections from Estasia's husband's family.

"In Parma. It's unlikely that they would interfere with your care. You must
understand, good Sisters, that my cousin was married to a merchant a good deal
older than she, and the object was to unite two commercial houses. It was the
marriage that mattered, not her widowhood. Her husband's nephew runs that
business now, and her half-brother. That was why she asked to come to me in the
first place. She has no children and her life was most restricted there. She
asked to come here only because there was no other way for her to break free of
the limitations which had been imposed on her, all to protect a business
partnership."

The nuns once again exchanged glances, and Sandro wondered if it was because
of what he had told them, or because it meant that Estasia might be willing to
part with some of her widow's settlement in appreciation of the nuns' work on
her behalf.

Suor Signale nodded. "I see. It is often so with women who have no children
and are possessed of strong appetites. We will do all that we can for her, and
with the help of God, she will be whole again."

With a gesture that might mean resignation and might mean encouragement,
Sandro inclined his head to the nuns. "I know that if anything can be done for
her, you and your Sisters will do it."

"It is a pity that she has no religious vocation," Suor Phidia murmured, and
waited for Sandro to respond to this obvious invitation.

"No, I am afraid that the religious life offers too little… stimulation to
Estasia. All the religious vocation has been used up by my brother, I fear." He
regretted his facetious remark as soon as he said it, and so he added, "Your
pardon, Sisters. I am still somewhat dazed by what you've told me. I didn't mean
what I said."

Suor Signale had bridled, but Suor Phidia had heard such remarks, and very
much worse, many times before. She smiled gently. "If you wish to see her, come
at the end of a week. We will be able to tell you more about her, and we can
discuss any arrangements that might be necessary then. If there is some man who
is devoted to her, pray ask him to come with you. The affection of those we care
for is a great solace to those afflicted as she is."

"As you wish, Sister. I will come to you in a week. But if there is any
change in her, either to the good or to the bad, I want to know of it. Send a
messenger to me and I will come to your convent as fast as my horse will bring
me."

At that show of concern, Suor Signale's reserve vanished. "Ah, you are good,
Signore Filipepi. I knew that a man who has shown the Virgin in all her purity
and love would not turn away from his cousin."

There was a pause, and all three realized that there was nothing more to say.
Sandro was the first to recover from the silence.

"Well, good Sisters, I am anxious to hear of my cousin. And I thank you with
all my soul for what you have done. Estasia will thank you, too, one day." It
was difficult to say the last.

"I will pray God for that," Suor Phidia said, then turned to Suor Signale.
"We must not stay. It will be dark in two more hours, and we must be at the
convent for our prayers." She looked once more at Sandro. "You may be certain
that all of us will care for her with all the skill at our hands, and the love
of God to guide us."

Sandro nodded, and said the necessary inane farewells. He was grateful when
he had closed the door behind the nuns, grateful to them for what they had done,
and grateful that they had kept him occupied until the worst of his anger had
passed. He turned away from the door and went down the hall, thinking as he went
that Simone had a great deal to explain.

Text of a letter from Lodovico Sforza, called Il Moro, acting Duca di Milano,
to Charles VIII, King of France:

To the Most Illustrious and Christian King, Charles VIII of France, the uncle
of il Duca di Milano, who has the honor to act for his nephew in all matters of
government, sends most respectful, obedient greetings.

It has come to the attention of il Duca that Your Majesty has long had claim
to the Kingdom of Napoli, Jerusalem and other parts of the world, which Your
Majesty has been reluctant to pursue. Certainly the weight of royalty is
formidable, and those who are burdened with it have much to bear. Yet my nephew
is uneasy in his mind, for if one ruler is lenient in his reign, all rulers must
carry the burden of that leniency.

Let me urge you, on behalf of my nephew, to regain your hold on Napoli and
other estates. It would bring order once more to il Re Ferrante's realm, for you
must know that Napoli falters under his weak rule. Think what Napoli would be,
once again under the stern, loving hand of France.

As one who has seen the chaos that is here in all of Italia, I am convinced
that you must act, if only for our benefit. Since such an expedition would
impose on you to benefit us, I have made certain inquiries so that the cost
would be borne in part by those who would reap the results of your concern.
There is a bank in Genova which would be willing to extend to you, through
myself, the amount of one hundred thousand francs to offset the cost incurred by
Your Majesty should you decide to assert your rightful claims in Italia. The
payment of the money to the bank would fall on Milano's shoulders, as would
payment of the interest, which has been guaranteed at fourteen percent.

Most sincerely I beseech Your Majesty to mount whatever expedition seems
prudent and to come to Milano so that you can more fully assess the situation in
Napoli.

I would also like to mention that the political situation in

Tuscana bears watching most closely. If, as it has been said, Fiorenza is the
compass of Tuscana, then there is a great deal of misfortune coming. Laurenzo
has been dead for almost a year, and despite all his protestations, his son
Piero has shown himself to be disinclined to take up the obligations left him by
his illustrious father. There is also a wave of religious excitement in that
city, and it has had some startling effects on la Repubblica. Your Majesty may
be needed there, to guide and supervise the course of that state.

With the profound wish that Your Majesty will consider most carefully all
that I have said in this letter, on behalf of my nephew, Gian Galeazzo, il Duca
di Milano, I pray heaven will bless Your Majesty and all your endeavors.

Lodovico Mauro Sforza

for Gian Galeazzo Sforza, il Duca di Milano

 

In Milano, February 18, 1493