Chiara – Revenge and Triumph

by Gian Bordin

  "She’s afraid that she might die alone," remarked Alda.

  Chiara also worried that they had not received any reply from Alda’s daughter in Prato or her family. It was now half a year since she had written that letter on that fateful night in Assisi. She hoped that this was not a bad sign, but only reflected the difficulties of any letter addressed to I Magnifici to reach them.

  * * *

  The law lectures finally covered the legal obligations of lawyers and notaries. By law they were required to keep dated summary ledgers of all legal transactions conducted by them, as well as copies of all legal documents they signed or attested. So both her marriage contract as well as the compensation settlement with Sanguanero were recorded with a notary, Sanguanero’s notary she presumed.

  During these weeks, she had not been idle about learning more on business affairs, particularly trade with the East, where the spices came from, and how merchant bankers operated. There were several sons of such houses in the law class and most felt flattered to be asked questions. As she suspected, the merchant bankers regularly sent messengers to their agencies in other cities. She remembered seeing such messengers on the road, usually accompanied by armed guards. She also learned the name of one of the major merchants running ships out of Naples, a Signor Cosimo Adelphi dei Guantani, making sure to memorize it carefully. Hinting that she had a sister soon entering the age of marriage, she discreetly milked them about the reputation of the three marriage brokers, whose names she had obtained from the Podestà’s offices. Only one turned out to be considered reputable enough to be consulted by important families.

  At the last philosophy lecture she attended, Professor Gomez discussed man’s quest to discover the ultimate truth, to know what really existed in contrast to what was only appearance. He cited that one test of the truth was that all men of intelligence and fully knowledgeable on the subject agreed.

  "Take the world. Assume that the high parts, the mountains and hills, are used to fill the low parts, the valleys and plains, until all surfaces are at the same level everywhere. All reasonable men could then verify and would agree that the world is flat."

  Has the man never been at the sea? went through Chiara’s mind, and before she caught herself, she was standing, holding up her hand, and asked: "With your permission, esteemed Professor."

  "Yes. What is your name?"

  "Anselmo Cavolta, esteemed Professor. I am confused. Your example, is it intended to demonstrate the truth or only the appearance of truth?"

  "It should be obvious that it is an example of establishing the truth."

  "But Aristotle proved that the world is a sphere." She was shaken by her own audacity.

  "It is the truth as accepted by the Holy Church and as shown by the map of the world drawn by the celebrated Constantine of Antioch. Aristotle was mistaken. You may sit again."

  He turned away from her. She remained standing. She was not going to be dismissed like this.

  "With your indulgence, Professor."

  "Yes, what is it again?" He sounded annoyed.

  "Professor, I would be obliged if you would explain to me the following observation I made two years ago. I was on the Island of Elba, in a small port on its northern shores. To the north, I could see Isola di Capraia which is about twelve leagues away. The silhouette I saw was a cone with steep sides, a bit steeper on the west than on the east. That same day I climbed to Volterraio, the highest peak on the eastern part of Elba. From there, the shape of Isola di Capraia I saw was still steep on its western side, but the other side was now elongated by low hills extending to the east, thereby doubling the width of the island. If the world is flat, how can this observation of mine be explained?"

  His face did not hide his displeasure. "The answer is simple. You were the victim of a false appearance. At such a great distance, things become unclear. Maybe the strenuous climb up the mountain affected your vision. The class is dismissed for today."

  He cast another disdainful glance at her, as he marched out of the hall.

  "That was not very clever of you, Brother Anselmo," she heard Stefano, as she walked out. "It is not a good idea to contradict a professor who, by definition, must know better than his students. It will cause you untold troubles, I am certain. But it is now too late, you should have thought more carefully before you opened your mouth."

  His paternalistic lecture got her hackles up, but she suppressed the sharp reply on her tongue. "Salve, Brother Stefano. But he is wrong, professor or not."

  "Psst, do not aggravate your error even further."

  They were quickly surrounded by a large group of students.

  "Brother Stefano, even professors may be wrong or else our knowledge would still be the same as it was at the time when the ancient Greeks had their first Lyceum."

  "Stefano, haven’t you yet learned not to pit your reasoning against the superior powers of Anselmo?" It was Gaetano. He was grinning from ear to ear. His remark was greeted by laughter except from those in clerical garb.

  Chiara turned back to the novice. "Brother Stefano, my eyesight was not affected. It was a clear day. I could even see the mountains on Corsica, and I made the same observation several times, and later confirmed the shape of Capraia when I sailed past it on a boat."

  "So you claim that your observation is an empirical proof that the world is a sphere," exclaimed another student.

  "Yes," replied Chiara, "but I really put more faith into the proofs of Aristotle and other great thinkers. My father told me of that Egyptian geographer whose name I forgot and who, I think, lived before Rome dominated the world. He calculated the circumference of the world as the length of 250,000 stadia in ancient Greece."

  "How much is this in leagues?"

  "I think, but mind you I am not that certain anymore, that about twenty-five or twenty-six stadia fit into one league. So that is about, what … ah, a bit less ten thousand leagues."

  "So if we traveled always west for that many leagues, we would get back to where we started."

  "Yes, at ten leagues a day, this would take almost three years."

  "Brother Anselmo, even if you were right," intervened Stefano again, "and mind you I am not conceding this, it was unwise of you to challenge your professor. It will do you no good."

  "So, in your opinion, we should accept uncritically whatever our professors tell us and not even shrug our shoulders if we disagree?"

  He nodded.

  "I think you will do well in the Church, whereas I would simply be too weak to fight my mind from rebelling. And now, I must leave and attend some other business. Addio."

  "I’ll accompany you to the Campo," said Gaetano, falling in step beside her. "You seem to have traveled far."

  "Not nearly as much as I would have liked. Obviously, I have visited cities on the other side of the Apennines, Bologna, Ferrara, Rimini. I have been to Assisi, Perugia, and most of the major cities in Tuscany, as well as on Elba. But I dearly would like to see Venice and Rome, Paris, and the Moorish cities of Seville and Cordova, which my father claimed are unsurpassed in their splendor."

  "Yes, I plan to see Venice in a year or two. I have been to Rome. I was rather disappointed. Much is in ruins or badly run down… You speak fondly of your father. Where does he live?"

  "He died last November. And yes, I only appreciate now fully what a great man he was."

  "I’m sorry about your father. I wish I could see more of mine, but he is always busy with his banking affairs. Even my mother sees him rarely."

  "How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

  "There are five still living. Two sisters died in the plague."

  "So over the years your mother must have seen your father at least eight times."

  He laughed. "Right. You know, Anselmo, you are the only novice I know who is a normal young man like the rest of us. I think it would be fun to have you as a friend. Are you really set on serving the Church?"

  Yes, I could think of an even more intimate relationship, she mu
sed to herself. A smile played on her face.

  "Why are you smiling?"

  "Oh, I would love to be your friend. I like you. You’re uncomplicated."

  "You mean, I’m not that bright."

  "Oh no, Gaetano. I meant that I can take you at face value. You say it straight, like I hope I do. There’s no need to search for hidden meanings, nor do you preach as some of our fellow students like to do. And I don’t know you well enough to make a judgement on your intelligence."

  "Thank you. How about sharing a cup of wine in the taverna over there? They have quite a decent selection."

  "Why not? I’ve nothing going that can’t wait."

  They took seats in a corner near the door. The tavern keeper approached, rubbing his hands.

  "Ah, Signor Salimbeni, what a great honor that you dignify my humble establishment again. May I offer you one of our excellent wines?"

  "Salve, Ser Tambo. Yes, we would like a cup of wine." Gaetano turned to Chiara. "What would you like, my friend?"

  "Since you’re paying, I wouldn’t say no to a cup of Lacrima Christi," she replied with a big grin.

  "I see, you have a refined palate… Two cups of Lacrima Christi then."

  "Excellent choice, Signori. Subito." The tavern keeper shuffled away.

  "So, Anselmo, I found you out."

  "That I had other urgent business to attend? … Yes, I would do almost anything to get away from poor Stefano."

  "But it’s fun to heckle him a bit."

  "Even that gets boring after a while. He warned me about you the first time he saw me."

  "What did he say?"

  "Not to heed you, that you weren’t a serious student, and you see I took his advice much to heart."

  Gaetano laughed. "He isn’t wrong about not being a serious student."

  "So? A life without fun is hardly worth living."

  "Did I hear right? You dare say that? You, who are devoting your life to the Church? I’m curious. Have you ever been with a woman?"

  "You mean, experienced the pleasure of the flesh?"

  "Yes. Come, Anselmo, confess. I won’t tell anybody."

  "No, I haven’t, but I presume you have visited a whorehouse."

  "Not a whorehouse. There is this cute kitchen maid at our house."

  "Aren’t you afraid to get her pregnant?"

  He shrugged his shoulders. "If she does, we can always send her to one of our farms."

  "Would you have no fatherly feelings toward the child?"

  "I don’t know. I may if it’s a boy."

  "Isn’t there more made of coupling than it really deserves?"

  "Oh no, it’s much better than doing it by yourself. You should try it at least once. It may make you change your mind about serving the Church."

  Chiara chuckled. "Gaetano, how naughty of you to lead a novice into temptation!"

  "Anselmo, why don’t you shed that black frock. I will talk to my father. He might listen to me and offer you a job."

  "Thanks, but this could take a long time, since you see him so rarely. I might be long gone by then."

  "Are you really in Siena only on visit? I hoped you would study here."

  "As a matter of fact, I’ll be leaving in about ten days."

  "Oh … Where are you going?"

  "North. Florence initially."

  "You know, some of us will miss you and your clever questions."

  They talked and bantered for an hour before Chiara excused herself. He really is a nice young man, she mused, as she watched him stride out of the Campo. She could easily imagine herself as his wife.

  As she wandered home, her thought returned to his remarks about the pleasures of the flesh. Massimo Sanguanero had used that term, she remembered with a shudder. She had not thought of that for a long time. Was it the same for a woman, she wondered? She had heard Alda’s giggles and muted moans through the often thin walls between adjacent rooms in inns. And in Pisa, where she shared the room with Alda and Pepe, didn’t she wake up once to the suppressed noises coming from under the blanket that covered even their heads? It had only been fright, pain, and then anger and humiliation for her. Would it be the same with her blonde sailor? Would she submit to him if he wanted that from her? Oh, you silly girl! She chided herself. What’s the use dreaming of him?

  * * *

  When she entered their house, Veronica came running, visibly excited, and gave her two letters.

  "One is addressed to you, but Alda asked me to open the other one, the one for I Magnifici. Do you mind?" Her face took on a worried mien.

  "No, Veronica. You did right. What does it say?" Chiara asked, as she shed the priest’s cloak.

  "It’s a request to present Phormio."

  "Oh, good. I like to do that play. We’ll have to send a message to Ser Mario. I hope he’s available."

  "Alda already sent Jacomo. He should be back soon."

  She opened the letter and the name Salimbeni stared at her. We can’t do this. Gaetano will surely recognize me. Her face must have betrayed her thoughts.

  "Chiara, is something wrong?" Veronica queried anxiously.

  Alda joined them.

  "Yes, one of the students in the lectures I attend is a Salimbeni. He might recognize me and that could mean trouble."

  "We can’t turn down an invitation from one of the most important Sienese families," said Alda.

  "I know. It would be an affront. Oh, why does it have to them?"

  "Chiara, don’t worry. I’ll paint your face so cleverly that even Pepino won’t recognize you. Trust me."

  In spite of her worry, Chiara could not help smiling and embraced her.

  "Yes, mamina. What would I do without you?"

  She noticed the longing in Veronica’s eyes and held out an arm. "Come, Veronica. She’s your mamina too."

  The girl smiled and let herself be hugged by the two women.

  "Are you going to open the other letter?" questioned Alda.

  It was addressed to Lady Chiara. She frowned. Nobody in Siena knew her by that name. She looked at the seal and recognized the d’Appiano arms. Lady Maria? she wondered, while she broke the seal.

  The countess wrote that she was on visit with Casa Salimbeni, while Lord d’Appiano had gone to Florence on business. She requested Chiara to see her on Wednesday afternoon of the coming week. The postscript added that she was looking forward to seeing her in the play this Saturday.

  "It’s from Lady Maria and, however I wished, we have no choice but to perform at Casa Salimbeni. She is their guest and will attend."

  Jacomo soon returned with the message that Ser Mario was available, but had insisted that they rehearsed the play the day prior to the performance.

  * * *

  The rehearsal went well. Ser Mario made some minor changes and seemed pleased with the results.

  "This is a fine play, Signorina. I wonder if you allowed me to make a copy of it," he said, as he was getting ready to leave.

  "Oh, by all means. We really owe this to you."

  "Where did you find this excellent translation?"

  "I did it myself."

  He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and tilted his head. "Really? … Congratulations." His mien contradicted his words.

  As in other palazzi, they assembled in Casa Salimbeni’s high-vaulted marble loggia prior to the arrival of the guests, hidden behind thick curtains. Alda had done a clever job of painting Chiara’s face for the knife-throwing act. She was more worried about the play where her features would be clearly seen. She was resigned that Gaetano might recognize her, but consoled herself that they would depart a few days later.

  While the guests arrived and took their seats for the first courses of the sumptuous meal, she stood again behind the curtain, catching glimpses and snippets of their conversation. Gaetano was one of the first to appear, accompanying his father. She noticed the similarity between father and son. It gave her a glimpse of what he would look like at the age of fifty. The older Salimbeni cut an impressive
figure. Tall, almost white already, strong, classical facial features. Sharp eyes that seemed to observe everything going on around him. A truly handsome man.

  Shortly afterward, Lady Maria came down the marble staircase, in the company of a small, plump woman, the very picture of an anxious mother. Gaetano’s mother? Chiara wondered. Heloïse followed behind in a demure white gown.

  Her question was soon answered.

  "Signora, I think that I finally will get to know your youngest son," she heard Lady Maria say. "It must be him, the fine young man standing next to Signor Salimbeni."

  "Yes, I must apologize that it took so long. He is very busy, you know, with his university studies."

  Chiara smiled. The illusions of mothers.

  Signora Salimbeni cried weakly ‘Gaetano’, waving her right arm at the same time. Gaetano came over to the two women.

  "Lady Maria, this is my son, Gaetano. Gaetano, please offer your compliments to Lady Maria d’Appiano."

  Gaetano bowed low, taking the countess’ right hand, touching it lightly with his lips. "It is my greatest privilege to meet such an illustrious lady whose charm and wit are extolled by all my betters."

  "What a flatterer you are, young man. I am sure you must be a great success with the ladies. Are you already betrothed? … No? Then I know just the right girl for you, charming, intelligent, witty, and of noble birth."

  Chiara pricked her ears.

  Lady Maria continued: "As a young man of learning, I am certain you will delight in her. Maybe, I shall be able to introduce her to you before I leave."

  "We would be honored to consider any marriage proposal your Ladyship recommends," replied Signora Salimbeni quickly.

  "I would be pleased to meet the young lady, but I fear that I am rather too young to consider such a serious commitment already."

  "Gaetano!" exclaimed his mother.

  "Oh, do not upset yourself, Signora. They all say that. I am almost tempted to bet ten florins that this young man will change his mind when he gets to know the girl I have in mind."

  Whom is she talking about? An uncanny suspicion was raising its head.