by C. De Melo
“Look at our daughter, Vittorio. She’s perfect, is she not?”
“Yes,” he replied, gently stroking the downy hair on the infant’s head. “Her hair is the color of burnished gold.”
“I was told my mother had light hair.” She paused, her expression serious. “I know you would have preferred a son.”
“Hush,” he chided, already smitten with the child. “I’m overjoyed to have a fine, healthy daughter.”
Stefania and Vittorio reveled in their new roles as first-time parents—it didn’t matter that she was twenty-eight years old or that he was thirty-two. As the days passed, the love they bore for their child grew, but so did their anxiety. What if something happened to them? Who would care for their precious little girl in their absence?
Stefania arranged a private audience with Cosimo soon after recuperating from the birth. A liveried page led her into one of the public rooms of the Palazzo Ducale where the Duke of Florence sat behind a desk.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Your Grace,” she said once the servant had departed. “Regrettably, Vittorio could not accompany me today, but he sends his warmest greetings.”
“I’ve told you before, Stefania, there’s no need for such formalities when we’re alone.” He smiled broadly. “You look exceedingly well. I hear congratulations are in order.”
“We’re so happy, Cosimo. She’s a healthy baby, thank God.”
Cosimo crossed himself. “Thank Him, indeed. My wife and I prayed frequently and fervently for the safe delivery of your child. She would have liked to congratulate you personally, but she and her ladies are at Santa Maria Novella with the Spanish ambassador.” He paused. “Have you chosen a name?”
“She’ll be christened Allegra.”
“How fitting. I look forward to meeting her.”
“Allegra is the very reason why I’ve asked to see you. As you know, I have no family and Vittorio is estranged from his brothers. If something were to happen to us, our daughter would be completely alone in the world.”
“Are you asking me to be her godfather?”
“You’re the only person I trust.”
“Rest assured, Stefania. Should anything happen to you or Vittorio, I’ll take Allegra into my household and protect her as my own daughter.”
“My husband and I are forever in your debt.”
An impish grin stretched across his face, instantly transporting her back in time to their youth. He stood. “Come.”
“Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise.”
She followed Cosimo into an antechamber where he summoned his valet and whispered something into the man’s ear. After casting a glance at Stefania, the valet nodded and left the room.
Feeling giddy, she inquired, “What mischief is afoot?”
“You’ll see.”
They talked of idle things as they waited, but Stefania’s curiosity was making it hard to concentrate. At length, the valet returned carrying a tray containing two painted ceramic cups.
“This was gifted to my wife by the Spanish ambassador,” Cosimo explained. “I want to share some with you in celebration of your daughter’s birth.”
She accepted a cup from the valet with a grateful nod. The mysterious brown beverage gave off a strange but pleasant odor.
Cosimo held up his cup. “To Allegra’s health.”
Stefania took a small sip. The cold, bitter beverage was flavored with vanilla and spices. “What is this?”
“The best-kept secret in the Spanish kingdom. The Dominican monks who accompanied the Spanish ambassador to Tuscany call it xocolatl, and they claim it’s good for your health, particularly the stomach.”
“What is it made from?”
“Cocoa beans from the Viceroyalty of New Spain.”
“From the New World,” she whispered, intrigued.
“The beans are finely ground into a powder and serve as a base for this drink. You and I are the first Tuscans to taste it. What do you think?”
“It’s very good,” she said before indulging in another sip. “Adding a bit of honey or sugar may improve the flavor.”
“You always did have a penchant for sweets.”
***
Vittorio, who could barely tear himself away from his daughter’s side, was obliged to visit clients in Venice during the last week of May. Stefania instructed Gianna to summon the astrologer the moment her husband left Florence.
Messer Mancini arrived at the Palazzo Castagno arrayed in red brocade and sporting a massive garnet on his forefinger. A black satchel with strange markings hung from his shoulder. “Felicitations, Signora Stefania.”
“A healthy girl, exactly as you predicted,” Stefania said, indicating the wooden cradle in the corner.
The astrologer gazed down at the pink-faced infant, then at Stefania. Her first and last child. He hastily lowered his eyes before she caught his impertinent stare. A servant entered with a tray containing two glass vessels and a bowl of dried apple slices.
Accepting a goblet from his hostess’s hand, he said, “A toast to your daughter’s continued good health.” He took a sip. “When was she born?”
“On the seventh of April.”
“And the time of day?”
“Noon. I heard the church bells ringing.”
Messer Mancini sat down and opened his satchel. Inside were scrolls depicting the horoscope and astronomy charts, a journal, a few pieces of graphite for jotting notes, and a deck of tarot cards. At the very bottom was a heavy book bound in black leather.
Opening one of the journals, he wrote: Allegra Castagno, 7 April 1548, noon. “I need to consult with the almanac to make a few calculations.”
Stefania watched in fascination as he flipped through the book and wrote down several numbers. “I know a bit about astrology…”
He continued writing without looking up. “Oh?”
“Allegra is in the House of Aries—the ram.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“From what I hear, it’s a good sign. A strong sign.”
He turned a page and ran his finger down a column of numbers. “Stubborn would be a better description.” He stopped writing and met Stefania’s insistent stare. “Are you aware of the direct relationships between the signs of the zodiac, the planets, the stars, and the parts of the human body?”
“No.”
“Your daughter is ruled by the planet Mars and her element is fire, which is powerful.”
“Detrimentally so?”
“Fire can destroy, but it can also melt something hard in order to make it soft and pliable. With fire, things can be reshaped, reborn. It can be positive if used correctly.” Leaning over his notes, he added, “I will draw up a chart indicating the most auspicious days for certain decisions or events.”
“What about the unlucky days?”
“I will include those, too.”
Pointing to the stack of tarot cards, she inquired, “Is it possible to see her future?”
“She’s rather young for a reading.”
“Do you know any other methods of divination?”
The desperation and fear in the woman’s eyes startled him. He had seen that look before. Miscarriages, stillborn infants, until—finally—a living, breathing baby…
Glancing at the closed door, he said, “Fetch the infant.”
Stefania gathered Allegra from the cradle and placed her in the astrologer’s arms. “Please, tell me anything you can.”
Awakened from sleep, the baby stared at the strange man with a frown.
“Hello, little one,” he said, caressing her plump cheek with his forefinger. “Aries rules the head and your daughter’s eyes are as lively as I expected them to be.” His gaze was drawn to the baby’s perfectly formed hands, her greatest asset, capable of creating incredible things; pity she wasn’t born male. “This child is strong and will live a long life.”
A grateful smile tugged at Stefania’s lips as she retrieved the baby.
He
started collecting his items and placing them back in the satchel. “I’ll have my servant deliver the completed chart to your home—”
“No!”
“If you prefer, you may dispatch one of your servants to collect it.”
“That would be better,” she said before placing Allegra in the cradle.
“Very well. It will be finished by the end of next week. As always, you can count on my discretion.”
When he picked up the deck of tarot cards, Stefania asked, “Would you do a reading for me?”
He hesitated. “Perhaps another time.”
“Please, I insist.”
Although he already knew the woman’s future, he reluctantly spread the cards face-down on the table. “Pick one.”
Stefania selected a card, which he took from her hand without revealing its face, then placed it at the bottom of the deck. It was the Major Arcana, a skeleton upon a pale horse with sickle in its hand. Death.
“Please select another card,” he instructed.
“What’s wrong with the one I chose?”
“Nothing,” he lied. “I have my own method.” At least that was true.
The second card she selected depicted a cloaked woman and child seated inside of a boat with six silver swords standing upright.
Stefania’s brow creased in worry. “What does it mean?”
“The Six of Swords represents a difficult past, which is now behind you,” he replied. “The problem you’ve been grappling with for a long time has finally been resolved with the birth of your child.”
Stefania breathed a sigh of relief before asking two predictable questions. The astrologer replied with two blatant lies.
Unhappy clients were not good for business.
Chapter 3
Stefania insisted on feeding Allegra herself rather than follow her husband’s suggestion of hiring a wet nurse. When the baby became colicky and her breasts failed to produce enough milk to satisfy the child’s growing hunger, she begrudgingly accepted defeat.
Fortunately, procuring high-quality breast milk for babies was an easy task in Florence. Lactating women often advertised their services, and parents were cautioned to be extremely selective since it was widely believed that diseases and humoral qualities could be passed onto infants via breast milk. Some families sent their children to the Casentino Valley because the women from that region were supposedly healthier, and the pestilence-free air of the countryside enabled babies to thrive. Wealthier families maintained a wet nurse in their household.
Before long, little Allegra had her very own live-in wet nurse; a bonny young woman with a cheerful disposition and excellent, abundant breast milk. In a matter of weeks, the baby’s weight doubled, much to the delight of her parents. In addition to this, Messer Mancini’s astrological chart delineated Allegra’s favorable alignment with the moon, which governed over the female sex.
The year 1548 may have brought good fortune to the Castagno household, but it left the opposite on the Medici doorstep. Eleonora gave birth to an unhealthy son in July. Little Antonio was hastily baptized and died shortly afterward. A year later, she gave birth to a healthy son and they christened him Ferdinando.
Eleonora birthed nine children so far, seven survivors. Many Florentines assumed she would stop bearing children, especially when her belly remained flat for the next three years. The duchess took advantage of this childbearing respite to improve their living conditions. After convincing Cosimo that their expanding family was too cramped in the Palazzo Ducale, she used her own funds to purchase the Palazzo Pitti in 1549.
Longtime rivals of the Medici, the Pitti family attempted to build the biggest palazzo in Florence with its very own piazza—a luxury normally reserved for civic or religious edifices. Their plan backfired when the grandiose project forced them into bankruptcy, thus allowing Eleonora to strike a bargain by negotiating a much lower price than the property’s actual worth. The Boboli Gardens, specifically created for the duchess’s pleasure, were conveniently located directly behind the palazzo, making it the ideal residence for the Medici family.
Plans were drawn up to enlarge the existing structure. The furnishings and artwork procured by Eleonora reflected her refined taste. The Medici continued residing in the Palazzo Ducale and their many country villas during the ongoing construction phase. When they began spending more time at the Palazzo Pitti, entertaining guests and impressing dignitaries, people nicknamed the Palazzo Ducale the “Palazzo Vecchio.”
Members of the nobility followed the ruling family’s example by purchasing property in the Oltrarno, making it fashionable to own a home in the greener part of town, away from the foul-smelling streets of the city center.
While Eleonora fussed over her new home across the river, Vittorio and Stefania fussed over their daughter. Allegra grew too quickly for Stefania’s taste, and the initial joy she had experienced as a mother gradually faded as she became less needed by the child.
“She’s getting so big,” Vittorio said to his wife one day as they both watched Allegra play with Gianna in the sunny courtyard below.
Stefania sighed sadly and stepped away from the window. “I know. In a way it’s such a shame.”
Taken aback, he frowned at his wife. “You should be happy.”
“I am, but Allegra grows too fast. She rarely sits on my lap anymore, and she doesn’t allow me to coddle her.”
“She prefers to run and play, which is normal for a child her age. Our daughter is blessed with robust health,” he pointed out impatiently. “This is something to celebrate, not weep over.”
“I’m not weeping…I want another baby.”
“Not again,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance.
“Vittorio, please.”
“Are you mad, woman?”
“Don’t be angry, husband. It’s natural for women to want children.”
“After years of disappointment, we finally have a perfect daughter. Why can you not be grateful for the gift God has bestowed upon us?”
“I am grateful, but Allegra isn’t a baby anymore. She doesn’t need me.”
“Of course, she needs you!” Lowering his voice, he added, “Have you forgotten the difficulty of the birth?”
“I haven’t forgotten, but I’ve prayed to God on the matter many times. He can help me deliver another healthy baby if I put my faith in Him.” She paused, her eyes wild. “I need this, Vittorio. My heart is heavy and my mind is restless. Only a baby can cure me.”
The bouts of melancholia his wife often suffered throughout their marriage had temporarily subsided after Allegra’s birth, but they were gradually returning. As a result, their daughter spent many hours playing alone, usually under Gianna’s watchful eye.
He paced the room. “You’ve inherited your mother’s illness—”
“Stop!”
“It’s happening again with more frequency.”
She covered her ears. “Vittorio, I beg you.”
Grabbing hold of her hands, he gently pried them away from her head. “She, too, suffered from this malady and took her own life because of it.”
“Please, let’s not talk of her...”
“I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.” In a gentler tone, he suggested, “Maybe you should go to church daily instead of only twice a week. God’s Holy Spirit will ease the restlessness within your soul and guide you toward peace.”
“All the masses in Florence cannot help me.”
Vittorio stormed across the room to close the door. “It’s bad enough that I defy Holy Mother Church by wasting my seed in order to not impregnate you. Now you want me to commit the sin of murder?”
She recoiled. “Murder?”
“Lower your voice,” he snapped. “Yes, murder. If you carry another child to full term, there’s a good chance you’ll die during the delivery. That’s precisely what the physician told me.”
“My body is still strong,” she insisted. “We need to have faith.”
> “You should heed your own counsel, wife, and have faith in God’s wisdom. If He wanted you to have more children, then He would have provided them.”
“I know for a fact that I’m destined to be a mother many times over.”
“How could you possibly know such a thing?”
She hesitated, debating whether or not to reveal her secret. Finally, she confessed, “Messer Mancini informed me that I would bear more children and enjoy a long life.”
His eyes narrowed. “You consulted with him behind my back?”
“I invited him here shortly after our daughter’s birth.” Seeing her husband’s expression, she quickly added, “You were away on business.”
“You allowed that warlock into my home?”
“He is a respected astrologer.”
“The practice of divination is clearly forbidden in the Holy Scriptures.”
“I had him draw up Allegra’s astrological chart, nothing more. Besides, he’s been employed by various noble families, including the Medici.” Vittorio’s icy stare compelled her to add, “I refrained from telling you because I knew you wouldn’t approve.”
“You try my patience, Stefania.”
“He read my cards,” she pressed. “I asked him if I was destined for a long life and if I would bear more children.”
“Whatever that unholy man told you”
“He answered ‘yes’ to both of my questions.”
“I will not hear any more on this matter.”
“But, Vittorio…”
Vittorio left the room without a backward glance.
Meanwhile, Allegra had managed to escape Gianna’s watchful eye and wandered into her father’s workshop. Scattered upon the long workbench were several colorful gemstones sparkling in the sunlight. She climbed onto the chair, teetering precariously on its seat. The yellow gleam of a broken bracelet caught her eye.
“Gold,” she whispered, her blue gray eyes wide with wonder.
Taking hold of the shiny bracelet in her chubby hand, she examined it with a studious expression before reaching for a set of small pliers. She aligned the links accurately and tightened them, exactly as she had seen her father do on many occasions.
Vittorio entered the workshop. “Allegra, no!”
