CHAPTER VIII.

Three hypotheses respecting the deaths of Francesco and Bianca—The official version of the story—The novelist's version of the story—A third possibility—Circumstances that followed the two deaths—Bianca's grave; and epitaphs for it by the Florentines—Ferdinand's final success.

As the record of all that can claim to be undoubted fact in the history of these strange events is startlingly brief, so would an account of all the suppositions, speculations, and conjectures, to which they have given rise, in perpetually succeeding crops from that time to this, be interminably long. Historians, apologists, antiquarians, archive–diggers, dramatists, novelists, have discussed and re–discussed the matter, settled it in different ways, according to their partialities or dispositions, and made up their minds to one or the other theory. But the only real result of their labours is the certainty, that the matter must rest in total uncertainty ever more, and that each reader must estimate for himself the probabilities of the case according to his own views and theories of human character, and its springs of action.

The different opinions that have been held respecting these mysterious deaths, may be reduced to the following three distinct hypotheses.

First. The Grand Duke died of a tertian fever, caught by exposing himself to great fatigue under the autumnal sun, and rendered fatal by his refusal to submit to proper medical treatment, and his adoption in its place of a most preposterous system of ice–cold drinks and other applications, all acting on a constitution already ruined by previous excesses. Bianca died of a similar complaint, rendered fatal in her case also by the permanent mischief her system had suffered from all the tricks she had played upon it.

Second hypothesis. Bianca, who was in the habit of preparing, with her own hands, a certain tart or pastry of which the Grand Duke was fond, introduced poison into this dish, and, at supper, presented it to the Cardinal. The Cardinal declined to eat of it, being warned of the danger, add some, by the changing colour of the stone in a ring he wore for this purpose. But while the attention of Bianca was occupied with the Cardinal, the Grand Duke helped himself to some of his favourite dish, and before his wife could interfere to prevent him, had eaten a sufficient quantity to prove fatal. Bianca, seeing and comprehending at a glance all the consequences of this fatal blunder, proceeded to eat also of the poisoned food, thus at once creating a strong presumption against her own guilt, and avoiding all the evils, which she knew but too well would overwhelm her, if she survived her husband, by sharing his fate.

Third hypothesis. Francesco and Bianca both died by poison. But the poisoner was the Cardinal; who, while his victims were dying, prevented all access to them, and who was the person chiefly and beneficially interested in their death.

[Sidenote: THE HISTORIAN GALLUZZI.]

The first version is of course that of the accredited and official historians.[215] Galluzzi, in mentioning the second supposition as that which had been popularly believed, says, that it was so only by those who were ignorant of the real facts of the case. But Galluzzi wrote his history by commission of the Grand Duke Peter Leopold, having been selected for the purpose, in consequence of the too great freedom, and too indiscreet disclosures of the history written by Martinetti,[216] and never published: because the Grand Duke being displeased with it on the above account, withdrew his patronage from the author, and transferred it to Galluzzi. And in histories written under these circumstances, sovereign princes commit no murders; or, if that is, as in the case of the Medici, unattainable by the most courtly writer, at all events, as few as possible.

Galluzzi, however, prints the following letter, which, _he says_, was written on the 16th of October to Rome. He does not tell us who was the writer:

"The Grand Duke has had two tertian fevers, one after the other; in fact, continual fever. He suffers from extreme thirst. Nevertheless, thus far the symptoms are favourable as regards ultimate recovery. The fourth and seventh days have been favourable, with a good perspiration; and we hope to go on improving. But he must not commit any imprudence; and, its being autumn, makes us fear that the recovery may be tedious. Therefore, cause prayers to be put up; and the more, because the Grand Duchess also has nearly the same malady, which increases the Grand Duke's sufferings, because she cannot attend him, and see to nursing him."

If this is a genuine letter, written on the 16th, it would be worth something towards deciding the question in favour of the first hypothesis. But it seems to be contradicted by a passage in that very curious document, previously cited, which Guerrazzi has printed at length in the notes to his "Isabella Orsini." This author himself, assuredly not prejudiced in favour of the Medici, speaking of this very important letter, which he states to be previously inedited, and generally unknown, and which is preserved in the Imperial Library at Paris, under the No. 10, O 74, says, "From this letter, evidently written by a person, satirical rather than otherwise, and but little favourable to the Medici, and especially to Francesco and to Bianca Capello, we learn how false is the notion that they were poisoned. The kind of life led by them needed no aid to insure their speedy death, since it is easy to perceive that they were in the habit of poisoning themselves daily."

[Sidenote: THE DUKE'S DEATH.]

I cannot, however, admit that the document in question proves any such thing. It proves certainly that its author, Giovanni Vettorio Soderini, writing apparently very shortly after the events, professes to accept, as it should seem, the statement officially put forth. Yet even this is hardly clear from the very strange manner and phraseology of the letter, which in its opening sentences appears intended to convey some meaning to the writer's correspondent, which is hidden from us. It runs thus: "When in these last days Death rode on his thin and ill–conditioned charger to invest himself with the title of Great.[217] Death obtained at Rome the title of Great, and having obtained this most indecent title, he rode in haste towards Poggio–a–Cajano, and there with irresistible force and equal valour, assaulted the Great Tuscan of Florence and Siena, and brought him down on the 19th of October, 1587, four and a half hours after sunset, and at forty–seven years of age deprived him of life, after strange and unusual writhings,[218] and much howling and groaning. He remained speechless from after dinner till the moment when he was seized with a most burning fever. Signor Pandolfo de' Bardi and Signor Troiano Boba have always asserted that he had caught a pleurisy from too great and unwonted fatigue,"[219] rendered fatal, the writer goes on to say, by the strange and pernicious habits of life indulged in by the Grand Duke, which the letter proceeds to describe at great length.

Now here, in any case, the writer only repeats what the two courtiers Pandolfo de' Bardi, and Troiano Boba said, and does not pretend to any original knowledge on the subject. But may it not be possible that those strange opening sentences may be meant to convey a meaning which the writer dared not express clearly. If Ferdinando poisoned his brother, he rode from Rome to Poggio–a–Cajano to invest himself with the title of Great. If poison was prepared, or other arrangements for carrying out the crime were made at Rome, then he may be said to have obtained at Rome the title of Great, and it may be added that the title was "a most indecent one."

But further, this account of the death seems to contradict the statement of the letter published by Galluzzi, and cited above. The expressions seem to be incompatible with the supposition of an illness of several days. Finally, the mention of "strange and unusual contortions and much howling and groaning," seem to indicate that some other cause of death than the natural result of a pleurisy was in the writer's mind.

It is further stated, in support of the supposition, that the death was natural, that the bodies were opened and examined after death; that of Bianca in the presence of her daughter and son–in–law. To this it may be remarked in the first place, that the medical science of the time was wholly incompetent to ascertain the cause of death from a post–mortem examination, as will be remarkably exemplified in the following pages of the life of Elizabetta Sirani. In the next place the examiners were the court physicians, in the pay and in the power of the new sovereign. And as to the presence of Pellegrina and Bentivoglio, the fact that Ferdinando should have sought to draw an evidence of his innocence of any foul practice from a circumstance so utterly useless and inconclusive as the presence of two persons wholly ignorant of anatomy and the action of poisons on the body, is rather a presumption against him than otherwise. He must have known perfectly well that had Bianca died by any poison whatever, Pellegrina and Bentivoglio could have been none the wiser for seeing the body opened.

[Sidenote: "LA PESSIMA BIANCA."]

In favour of either the second or third hypothesis there is no direct evidence whatever. If Ferdinando de' Medici had to be tried for the murder, he must according to all the evidence we have, be most undoubtedly acquitted. But nobody at the time seems to have believed in the two deaths having happened from natural causes. Then the popular hypothesis was the second. Notwithstanding the certificates of court physicians, the statements of the progress of the malady, and the post–mortem examinations, people found it very difficult to believe that two such opportune deaths should occur all but simultaneously by natural causes, the assigned nature of which did not admit of any question of contagion. If anybody was so unlucky as to have conceived the idea, that this death might have "come riding" to Poggio–a–Cajano from Rome, of course he very carefully suppressed all utterance of it. But it was universally believed that Bianca was capable of any amount of treachery, craft, and crime. The story of the poisoned pastry, and the dramatic events it gave rise to, made exactly one of those narratives, rich in varied emotions and in retributive justice, which storytellers like to tell, and their audience like to hear. And it was perfectly safe to cast as much odium as any brain could imagine on the hated Bianca. To do so indeed was to fall in with the court humour, and to share the feelings of the new sovereign, who would never speak of her, or permit her to be spoken of as the late Grand Duchess, and who never himself named her otherwise, than as "the wretch Bianca,"—_la pessima Bianca_.[220]

The second hypothesis therefore was the popular one among those who could not accept the official account of the matter as credible, and has continued to be the received version with the numerous novelists and dramatists who have made increment of the tragedy.

In favour of the third, it has been already admitted that no tittle of _direct_ evidence can be produced. The value of the guess hazarded at the meaning conveyed in those enigmatical phrases at the commencement of Signor Soderini's letter will be different to different minds. Signor Guerrazzi, the discoverer and first editor of this extraordinary letter, has evidently not been struck by the idea that any such sense could be seen in the words. On the contrary, he considers the letter as conclusive against the poisoning, either by the Cardinal or by Bianca. But it may be stated on the other hand, that the interpretation above suggested has seemed probable to other Italians versed in the history of the time, and practised in extracting their secrets from the wrappages in which writers who lived under the survey of unscrupulous despots were commonly wont to conceal their meaning.

Further, in a subsequent part of this same letter, which is of great length, occupying no less than nineteen closely printed post octavo pages, there are statements which seem hardly compatible with the supposition that Francesco died of an illness, which gradually reached its conclusion at the end of several days.

"He—the Grand Duke—made no will either before, or at this time.[221] Only he signed an order for fifty thousand crowns to be distributed among the court servants. Father Maranto confessed him; and he tells me, that the Grand Duke did not specify the number of crowns to be distributed, but desired in general terms, that the servants should be remunerated, and that it grieved him that he could not live long enough to do it himself. The confessor _was not in time_ to remind him, by asking if he wished to make any further provision for his friends; for he shut his eyes, and could neither move his tongue, nor shake his head."

Surely all these evidences of haste, and deficiency of time for the arrangement of matters, which the dying man professes his wish to have settled, if a few more moments had been allowed him, are scarcely compatible with the supposition of an illness of several days.

[Sidenote: PROBABILITIES.]

At a subsequent page of his letter, Signor Soderini drops a few words respecting the new Grand Duke's manner some hours after the death of Francesco, which are not without their significance. He makes the number of hours which elapsed between the two deaths eleven only. Francesco's death at "four hours and a half after sunset," would have taken place according to our mode of keeping time between nine and ten. And at three in the morning, says the letter, the Cardinal left Bianca still living, "and at half–past seven arrived at the Prato gate." (He was therefore four hours and a half travelling twelve miles);—"where meeting the first Captain of the Lancers, he said doubtingly,[222] with fear, and a trembling voice,—as I suppose by reason of the suddenness of the change,—'Henceforward, Captain, you must be as faithful to me, as you have hitherto been to my brother.'"

Signor Soderini may attribute, since he deemed it safest to do so, the new Duke's trepidation and fear–marked manner to an innocent cause. But it can hardly but be felt, that such a manner is a weight in the scale against a man, when the probabilities of his having come fresh from the perpetration of fratricide are being balanced.

Then the question of motives must be taken into consideration; and it must be seen at once that the reasons Ferdinando had for wishing Bianca removed were of the very strongest nature. For the last ten years and more, she had been a constant thorn in his side, the ever recurring difficulty in all his schemes for aggrandising the family, the wreck of all his strivings for the support of the decorum and respectability of the Medicean name, and the ground of discord and hatred between him and his brother. She had made the Grand Duke the laughing–stock of Italy, and odious as well as contemptible to his own subjects. Her blood–stained practising had succeeded in foisting one base–born plebeian of alien blood into the family. She was continually attempting still worse frauds to wrong him of his birthright; and though by the exertion of extreme vigilance her schemes had been hitherto foiled, what possible security, short of her death, could be had against the success of future attempts of the same sort. A De Medici, and a sixteenth century Cardinal may well have persuaded himself that he was justified under the circumstances, in adopting the only possible means of providing against such treason, pregnant with such results.

But his brother? Can it be shown that Ferdinando had sufficient motive to wish his brother's death, as to favour the probability that he was his murderer? It can only be said, that there was old hate between them, constantly stimulated and embittered by fresh provocations of the most galling sort on the part of the elder brother; hate, made more dangerous by the necessity for carefully suppressing all manifestation of it for long years of self–restraining dissimulation; that from the manner in which Francesco had received the proposals of a second marriage after the death of his first wife, there was very little room to hope that Bianca's death would be followed by any marriage, which might put the prospects of the family on a satisfactory footing; that to have taken off Bianca and left her husband alive would have been an exceedingly dangerous step, for _then_ the inquiries, the suspicions, the post–mortem examinations, and the investigations, would, of course, have been of a very different sort, and, under the circumstances, very difficult to deal with; that, finally, last, though far from least, Ferdinando was a De Medici.

[Sidenote: HER BURIAL.]

That shrewd and sagacious old man, Pope Sixtus V., saw at once,[223] on hearing of what had happened, that suspicion of the double murder would fall on the Cardinal; and it may perhaps be said, without much chance of inaccuracy, that the balance of opinion among those most qualified to judge, has, in modern times, inclined in that direction.

But to return from the region of conjecture to that of historical certainty, a few words will suffice to tell all that remains of Bianca's story. As soon as the breath had left her body, the Bishop Abbioso, who had been left at Poggio–a–Cajano by Ferdinando, wrote to him:

"This instant, at eight o'clock—'quindici ore'—her Most Serene Highness the Grand Duchess passed to another life. The present messenger is sent in haste to receive the orders of your Highness as to the disposition of her body."

Orders were sent back that the body should "_be kept intact till the evening_," and then opened, as has been said. The same night it was buried, "so that no memorial of her should remain;" the new sovereign's reply to the application for orders on this head being, "We will have none of her among our dead!"

The hatred of the Florentines for both Francesco and Bianca was intense. If anything, the latter was yet more detested than her husband. In addition to all the grounds of hatred common to both of them, she was a foreigner, and "a witch," a practiser of black art. And this accusation, more than aught else, made the burden of the abuse that was heaped upon her. Of course, it was not safe to say much of the deceased sovereign. But satirists, libellers, pasquinade–writers, and epigraph–mongers, had full licence to exercise their wit at the expense of the "pessima Bianca."

Here are specimens of their expressions of the popular estimate of her, which were current in the city immediately after her death. They are taken from the same letter of Signor Soderini, so often quoted:

"Qui giace in un avel pien di malie E pien di vizi la Bianca Cappella, Bagasica, strega, maliarda e fella, Che sempre favorì furfanti e spie."

In English:

"Here in a grave, brimful of vices foul And evil sorceries, Bianca lies, A huzzy, witch, and mistress of fell spells; In life the dearest friend of rogues and spies."

Another runs as follows:

"In questa tomba, in questa oscura buca Ch'è fossa a quei che non hanno sepoltura, Opra d'incanti, e di malie fattura Giace la Bianca, moglie del Granduca."

Which may stand, if the absence of the rhyme be excused, in English thus:

"Within this tomb, this undistinguished hole, The grave of those who sepulture have none, That worker of black arts and evil charms, Bianca lies, the wife of our Grand Duke."

[Sidenote: FERDINANDO SUCCEEDS.]

The Cardinal Ferdinando succeeded to his brother's throne without disturbance or difficulty; slipped off his priesthood by dispensation, seeing that it was for the benefit of mankind that he should do so; manifested, as Sismondi says,[224] "as much talent for government as is compatible with the absence of all virtue, and as much pride, as can exist without nobility of mind;" merited the affection of his subjects by taking off, among sundry mint and cumin dues, the tax upon cat's meat;[225] married Cristina, daughter of Charles Duke of Lorraine, and succeeded in accomplishing the great and beneficent task of preserving the Medicean stock to Italy and mankind.

OLYMPIA PAMFILI.

(1594—1656.)

Pope Joan rediviva—Olympia's outlook on life—Her mode of "opening the oyster"—She succeeds in opening it—Olympia's son—Olympia at home in the Vatican—Her trade—A Cardinal's escape from the purple—Olympia under a cloud—Is once more at the head of the field—And in at the death—A conclave—Olympia's star wanes—Pœna pede claudo.

In the ninth century, the outlying Catholic world to the north of the Alps was horrified by reports, that a woman was occupying the chair of Peter, and the office of Heaven's vicegerent. A fact so scandalous and so extraordinary found ready credence among the monks and prelates of Germany. The reports of pious pilgrims who had returned from Rome, and testified that Christ's church was governed by a woman, were cited with every appearance of good faith and authenticity. And the story of Pope Joan, thus generated, rapidly acquired a worldwide acceptation, and was for ages believed, both within and without the pale of the Church, as a veritable historical fact. And a vast mass of learned, satirical, controversial, scandalous, and antiquarian letter–press has resulted from it.

[Sidenote: THE POPE JOAN STORY.]

But the huge fiction, which grew to be so large and so strong as to require the united efforts of several able literary men armed with many heavy volumes to kill it, was, like so many another dangerous mistake, a very small and innocent error at its birth. The pious pilgrim _had_ come back from Rome. He _had_ brought with him a whole budget of stories of the scandalous corruptions and wickedness he had witnessed in the metropolis of Christendom. He _had_ asserted, and probably frequently repeated, that a female ruled the Church. He _had_ asserted the astounding fact, that a woman was now Pope of Rome. And the scandalised reporter of the abominations he had witnessed in that far distant southern land across the mountains, spoke with all sincerity. He little dreamed of letting loose a falsehood, which as soon as ever it had escaped from "the enclosure of his teeth," as old Homer says, forthwith began to race with unovertakeable swiftness round the world, like the unbagged demon of a mediæval goblin–story. He simply spoke figuratively. And his simple–minded, untravelled, wonder–loving auditor or auditors received his words literally.

That was all! But with what a mass of infinitely more deadly error has that same little difference between the speaker and his hearers, filled the world!

The ninth century pilgrim merely intended to convey to his hearers, in the strongest manner he could, the fact that the Pontiff was so wholly influenced and governed by a woman, that she held all the power in her hands, and _might be said_, indeed, to be Pope herself, rather than the weak puppet who was her slave.

And if in the seventeenth century communications between one part of the world and another had been as rare and as difficult as in the ninth; if men had been then as ignorant, as simple, and greedy of the marvellous; if the press, which is to such error what a terrier is to a rat, had not been in existence, the historians of Europe might have chronicled a second she–pontiff, the "Pope Olympia," as having ascended the papal throne in the year 1644. For assuredly no John, Benedict, nor Boniface of the worst and darkest age of the Church ever lived more scandalously under petticoat government, or gave greater occasion to the assertion, that a woman was the real Pope in his stead, than did Giovanni Batista Pamfili, who was elected in that year.

Pope Olympia was born in 1594, at Viterbo. A daughter of the noble and ancient, but poor, family of the Maidalchini, she was, as the daughters of impoverished nobles generally were, destined for the Church from her infancy, and educated in a convent. But as this branch of the ecclesiastical profession could lead to nothing, at the best, more exalted than the station of a lady Abbess, Donna Olympia, who felt herself to have a soul above bead–counting, intimated, with a firmness and decision all her own, her intention of marrying. And an alliance was accordingly formed for her with a provincial gentleman, as noble and as poor as herself. As Giovanni Batista Pamfili, afterwards Pope by the name of Innocent X., was past eighty when he died in 1655, and must accordingly have been born in or before the year 1575; and as his brother, Donna Olympia's husband, must have been an elder brother, it follows that this poor noble, whom the ambitious and shrewd lady chose to wed, rather than accept the nullity of a cloister life, was more than nineteen years her senior. Nor does it appear that he had any requisite, either of station, function, or talent, which might have seemed capable of affording assistance to Olympia's views of rising in the world.

[Sidenote: SACERDOTAL CELIBACY.]

But the noble Roman maiden, who had already, we are told, given a specimen of her talent for governing, by exerting sway over her companions in the convent seminary, had looked out on the Roman world with a shrewd and observant eye, and knew well what she was about. What had the poor country noble to render him worthy of Olympia's hand and adapted to her views? He had a brother. Men who marry don't rise in the ecclesiastical states. And you can't marry a Cardinal, nor even a Bishop. Yet to hook yourself more or less indissolubly on to something of this sort, is the only possible means by which "excelsior" aspirations can be gratified in the world of Rome.

Man, even when tonsured and gowned, was not made to live alone. And although sacerdotal policy has with marvellous success contrived to cut off its priests from the great family of mankind, fence out their hearts from all the most sanctifying and ennobling sympathies of humanity, and make their interests, affections, prejudices, ambitions, always distinct from, and often hostile to those of their fellow–creatures;—though all this has with fatal skill been accomplished by the ordinance of celibacy; still in this, as in every other case of battle with the laws of nature, the measure of success accomplished does not attain to the reversal of these laws; but is limited to causing them to operate evilly instead of beneficially for mankind.

The priest–world of Rome accordingly, while deprived of the legitimate and beneficial influence of woman, has in most ages been more subjected than other social systems to her abnormal and mischievous power. And Donna Olympia was perfectly well aware, that the needful hooking–on process above mentioned might be accomplished with sufficient solidity for her purpose without any coupling gear of Hymen's forging.

But, as injury, done to any wheel or spring of a beautiful piece of mechanism, deranges the working of the whole, fatally in proportion to the perfection of the entire contrivance, so the celibacy law in its fight against nature turns other portions of human passion to evil issues, which otherwise and elsewhere work to good. The sacred family tie, which in other communities produces so much that is great and virtuous, becomes the abomination of nepotism at Rome, and affords the only other channel besides the one alluded to above, by which the grandeurs and pomps and wealth of sacerdotal success can be made available to the weaker sex.

To command, therefore, both these avenues to the temple of Fortuna Sacerdotalis—to hang on to the gown by both these ties of connection—to contrive by one step to obtain the means of action in both these ways—this was the master–stroke, which the high–looking Roman maiden accomplished by her marriage with the poor and no longer young noble to whom she gave her hand. The husband with his poverty–stricken coronet was in himself altogether useless to his aspiring wife's ambitious views. But of a brother–in–law with the tonsure, something might be made. A priest, noble, not without capacity, unburdened with scruples, already employed in some subaltern affairs, of malleable material—give her such an one for an ally, and the papal court for an arena, and Donna Olympia felt, that she could do the rest.

[Sidenote: ROMAN HISTORIANS.]

It is curious, and characteristic of Roman life and literature, that we are unable to ascertain what manner of man, as to outward appearance, was this "onestissimo vice–marito,"[226] to whom Olympia thus united herself. Hatreds run high at Rome. And though material daggers are not wanting there on occasion, the natural instinct of gowned nature is to _speak_ them. The Church, as we know, abhors blood, and her sons wear no swords. But bloodless calumny is a quiet, decorous weapon, always at hand, perfectly compatible with sacerdotal proprieties, and unsparingly used accordingly to gratify partisan rancour, in a state of society in which every man's hopes and fortunes depend on party successes or failures. The historical value of Roman contemporary writers, therefore, is often very doubtful. And even in a matter so unimportant, so matter–of–fact, and so easily ascertainable as to the stature of a Pope, we are left in uncertainty by the conflicting statements of his contemporaries. While those, who profited by and therefore approved of the election of Innocent X., represent him as a man of tall stature and majestic port, dignified in bearing, and of venerable aspect, the greater number who suffered by, and hated him, assure us that he was short, deformed, and hideously ugly in feature.

The discrepancy in testimony is more valuably instructive than certain information on the subject in dispute would have been.

No such doubt, however, obscures the fact, that his career abundantly justified the wisdom of Donna Olympia's speculation. Between them they accomplished what certainly neither of them would have been able to do asunder. The partnership was a highly "successful" one. Acting with wise docility, entirely by his able sister–in–law's advice, the rising churchman soon became a man of note; was employed in various affairs of state; charged with a diplomatic mission to Spain (which though directed, as far as letters could avail, by Olympia, yet led the diplomatist to complain, that things did not go so well with him without her at his side); and, finally, was made Cardinal in 1629, when he was about fifty–four, and she thirty–five years of age.

Olympia's foot had thus gained the first round of the ladder, which might lead her to the consummation of her highest hopes. But the climbing was arduous! Now was the time to put forth all her ability, her knowledge of the Roman world, and of priestly nature.

It was fifteen years from Pamfili's nomination to the purple, to his election to the papacy. And these years were to be spent, under his guardian angel's tutorship, in carefully studied appearances and unsleeping vigilance. His life was to be a continual canvassing, without permitting the smallest appearance of overt candidateship for the great prize to appear.

To be chosen the infallible head of Christ's church, to hold the power of the keys, and be Heaven's vicegerent on earth, he of all the Christians on it!—how was he to cause such a choice to fall on him?—how appear to be the best, the most devout, the wisest, the most learned, or even the ablest man for the purpose? Donna Olympia knew better than to suppose that it was necessary or even desirable to appear anything of all this. She knew that there would be candidates in the conclave relying on none of such good gifts, but solely on the backing of the great powers of Europe. She knew that her candidate would not be looked to by either of these pope–making monarchs. But she knew also, that their influence might neutralise the power of each other, and that in such a case some man, who was obnoxious to no party, feared by none, and deemed a safe compromise by all, might have a very promising chance of finding himself elected, as many a Pope has been on the _pis–aller_ principle.

[Sidenote: ELECTION OF INNOCENT X.]

This was the game which the shrewd Olympia played and won. When the great Barberini Pope, Urban VIII., died, after a long papacy of twenty–one years, neither of the great parties in Europe, as represented by their friends and creatures among the Cardinals, was strong enough to make its own Pope in spite of the determined opposition of its opponent. The Conclave was at a dead lock. And at last a compromise was found in the election of Innocent X., then seventy, or all but seventy years old. The real acting Pope, Olympia, was just fifty.

There were eleven years of harvest–time before her for the gathering in of the crop, which she had spent her life in assiduously preparing. The time might easily have been less, and she could scarcely have expected that it should be more; for the new Pope was already an infirm man, and Olympia lost no time in making her hay while the Roman sun shone.

Her husband had died some time previously, leaving her one son, the Prince Camillo, who was forthwith made a Cardinal. The step was a strange one, and quite in discord with the ordinary traditions of Roman family policy. For Camillo was the sole scion of the Pamfili race, at least of the descendants of the Pope's father; and, though the purple might lead to more immediate personal distinction, the continuation of the family name was cut off by this means, and the usual master passion of an ambitious Italian noble frustrated. The making Camillo a Cardinal, moreover, seemed still more unaccountable, when the personal qualities of the young man were considered. For he was so wholly uneducated, and incapable, that not even a Papal uncle could succeed in thrusting greatness upon him. His nomination thus took from him the capability of serving the family interests in the only way in which he was available, by continuing the race and the name; while it exposed him and his uncle and mother to a host of mortifications arising from his gross and even rustic incapacity. The total incompetence and stupidity manifested by him, when it was attempted to entrust to his hands any of the business that usually fell to the lot of a Cardinal nephew, was such as to cause constant trouble and humiliation to Innocent, who, we read, rarely met him without irritable chidings.

The motive of this ill–judged promotion is to be found probably in the peculiar nature of Olympia's ambition. Unlike other Italian ambitions, which almost always concentrated themselves on the building up or aggrandising a family name, that of Donna Olympia seems to have been wholly personal; the love of power, and still more strongly the love of wealth, for the sake of her own individual enjoyment of them.

[Sidenote: AT THE VATICAN.]

Fifteen centuries of Papal government had habituated mankind to see without surprise in Heaven's vicar on earth an amount of dereliction of duty, and an enormity of distance between profession and practice, such as has never been recorded in history, or exhibited to the world in any other department of its affairs. Yet Europe was startled at the novelty of the position assumed by Olympia immediately on Innocent's elevation. When, according to Roman custom, as soon as the election of the new Pope was known, the populace rushed to his palace to make permitted plunder of its contents, the lady Olympia received them, and flung open the doors to them—having, as we are told, first taken the precaution of removing all that was of much value, in anticipation of the event. She accompanied the new Pope to the Vatican, and established herself there as its mistress! No step of domestic government or foreign policy decided on, no grace, favour, or promotion accorded, no punishment inflicted, was the pontiff's own work. His invaluable sister–in–law did all. He was absolutely a puppet in her hands. The keys of St. Peter were strung to her girdle; and the only function in which she probably never interfered, was blessing the people!

The great object of her unceasing care and diplomacy was, to keep at a distance from Innocent every person and every influence which could either lessen her own, or go shares in the profits to be extracted from it. For this, after all, was the great and ultimate scope of her exertions. To secure the profits of the papacy in hard cash; this was the problem. No appointment to office of any kind was made, except in consideration of a proportionable sum paid down into her own coffers. This often amounted to three or four years revenue of the place to be granted. Bishoprics and benefices were sold as fast as they became vacant. One story is related of an unlucky disciple of Simon, who, on treating with the Popess for a very valuable see, just fallen vacant, and hearing from her a price, at which it might be his, far exceeding all that he could command, persuaded the members of his family to sell all they had for the purpose of making this profitable investment. The price was paid, and the bishopric was given him; but with a fearful resemblance to the case of Ananias, he died within the year; and his ruined family saw the see a second time sold by the insatiable and incorrigible Olympia. The incident only served her as a hint always to exact cash down; and not to content herself with a yearly payment from the accruing revenue. The criminal judges in Rome were directed to punish criminals of all degrees in purse instead of person; and the fines all were paid over with business–like exactitude to the all–powerful favourite.

As Innocent became older and rapidly more infirm, the incapability of his nephew became more and more a source of complaint and annoyance to him. And the young man himself seems to have been weary of a position, which exposed him to ceaseless objurgations, and to the contempt of all Rome. For the escape from it, which he effected, appears to have been of his own plotting. This was nothing less than the resignation of his Cardinal's hat, obtaining a release from holy orders, and marrying the recently widowed Princess Rosano, one of the largest fortunes, and most desirable matches in Rome. So anxious was Innocent, it would seem, to get rid of his nephew from the court, that he dared to conspire with him to effect this scheme without the knowledge of Donna Olympia. It was accomplished with all speed and secrecy. And Camillo had to tell his mother, that he was neither cardinal nor priest any longer, but the husband of the beautiful and wealthy Princess Rosano. Olympia's rage was extreme; the more so, because she feared that the Princess, who was known as a woman of much capacity, as well as of great beauty, might not impossibly supplant her at the Vatican. But Innocent had no thought of liberating himself from his servitude; and was only too glad to make amends for his share of what had been done, and obtain peace by banishing his nephew and new niece from Rome. As there was nothing in the marriage with the Princess that might not have naturally seemed to the pontiff extremely desirable for his nephew, the Roman gossips were not a little astonished at seeing the Pope's nephew, and the favourite's son, an exile.

[Sidenote: "THE MARRIAGE OF THE POPE."]

Meantime, the discontent of Rome, the remonstrances of the Cardinals, and the contempt and indignation of foreign courts was beginning to render the position of Innocent and Olympia hardly tenable. One day a large medal was conveyed into the Pope's hands, on the obverse of which was represented Olympia, with the pontifical tiara on her head, and the keys in her hand: while the reverse showed Innocent in a coif, with a spindle and distaff in his hands. Another day a report was brought to him from England, that a play had been represented before Cromwell, called "The Marriage of the Pope;" in which, Donna Olympia is represented rejecting his addresses on account of his extreme ugliness, till, having in vain offered her one of the keys to induce her to consent, he attains his object at the cost of both of them. The Emperor again had said to the Papal Nuncio, "Your Pope, my lord, has an easy time of it, with Madame Olympia to put him to sleep."

Driven by these and many other such manifestations of public feeling, Innocent determined to make a great effort. He announced to Olympia with every expression of regret for the hard necessity, that she must quit the Vatican; and knowing well what he would have to endure, if he exposed himself to her reproaches and entreaties, he forbade her to come for the future into his presence.

But the weak and infirm old man had far over–calculated his moral strength. The prop, on which he had relied during the years of his best vigour, could not be voluntarily relinquished now in the time of his decrepitude. Very soon Olympia obtained permission to make secret visits to the Vatican. These were made generally every night; and this nightly secret coming and going at untimely hours, threatened to become more ridiculous, if not more seriously scandalous, in the eyes of the lampooning Roman world, than an acknowledged residence in the Vatican. Besides they did not adequately meet the necessities of the case. Olympia pointed out to the infirm old man that her constant care and superintendence was necessary to his personal comfort—perhaps to his safety. So Rome very shortly saw the "papessa" once again in her old home at the Vatican.

And, as from the nature of the circumstances must necessarily have been the case, her power and entire disposal of the functions and revenues of the papacy was more absolute than ever.

But the rapidly declining health of Innocent warned her that her time was short. And prudence might have counselled her to make some preparation for the storm, which she must have well known she would have to face after his death, by moderating, if not relinquishing the corrupt and oppressive practices of all sorts, which were daily added in the minds of the Romans to the long account against her. Her observation of the world had however suggested to her a different policy. If more danger had to be encountered, more money would be needed to meet it. Donna Olympia's faith in the omnipotence of money was unbounded. Only let her have money–power enough; and she doubted not that she should be able to ride out the storm.

[Sidenote: POPE UNDER LOCK AND KEY.]

So she applied herself with more energy and assiduity than ever to the two objects which shared her entire care—the collection of cash by the most unblushing and audacious rapine and venality; and the keeping the breath of life to the last possible instant within the sinking frame of the old pontiff. The latter task was so important, that both for the insuring of proper attention, and for providing against the danger of poison, she kept the Pope almost under lock and key, attending to his wants with her own hands, and allowing him to touch no food that had not been prepared under her own eyes. During the last year of his life, she literally hardly ever quitted him. Once a week, we read, she left the Vatican, secretly by night, accompanied by several porters carrying sacks of coin, the proceeds of the week's extortions and sales, to her own palace. And, during these short absences, she used to lock the Pope into his chamber, and carry the key with her!

It would be easy to collect from the many biographies that have been written of Donna Olympia, a great number of anecdotes of her frauds, simoniacal dealings, selling of pardons, and the like. But most of these writings have very little of the character of historical authority. Some of them are anonymous, and appear to be rather collections of the scandal and gossip of the time in Rome, than authenticated statements of facts. One there is by the well–known Gregorio Leti, writing under the name of "the Abate Gualdi," which has been translated into French. But the general outline of Olympia's career is sufficiently certain; and the various stories in question are all to the same purpose, and contribute no additional features to the picture.

At last the end was visibly at hand. During the last ten days of his life, the Pope's mind was wholly gone. And in these ten days, by rapidly selling off for what she could get for them nominations to vacant benefices and "Prelature," Olympia is said to have amassed half a million of crowns! Her last transaction, was with a Canon who had been some time previously in treaty with her for a "Prelatura." He had offered fifty, while she had stood out for eighty thousand crowns; and the bargain had gone off. In the last hours of Innocent's life, she sent for this man, and told him she would take his fifty thousand. He said he had dissipated twenty thousand of the sum since that time, and had only thirty thousand left. "Well!" said the unblushing dealer, "since you can do no better, hand them over, and you shall have the Prelatura." So the money was paid, and the nomination obtained from the dying Pope, _in extremis_.

Innocent died on the 7th of January, 1655. Olympia caused the proper notices to be given to the officials, and immediately left the Vatican, and retired to her own palace secretly. She had employed the two nights previous to his death in transporting valuables thither to a great amount.

[Sidenote: AT BAY!]

And now came for Olympia the great crisis of her fate. Her position was certainly a terrible one. The instant the Pope's death was known, a storm of long pent up hatred broke forth in execrations, accusations, and threats, on all sides. Olympia was under no delusion, as to her situation, and the general feeling of Rome towards her. She knew how much and how justly she was hated. She knew that she had been guilty of crimes abundantly sufficient to put not only her wealth, but her life in danger; and that a thousand tongues were ready to bear undeniable witness against her.

But Olympia was very far from giving up the game as lost. She had enormous command of money; she was well acquainted with the secret motives and wishes of parties in Rome; thoroughly skilled in the subtle underhand tactics of trading on every evil passion, which is what is meant by policy in that ecclesiastical world; and imbued with that profound faith in the thorough meanness and baseness of the highest as well as the lowest of mankind, which people of her stamp consider to be knowledge of the world. Though hated by the great majority of Cardinals as well as by the people of Rome, she was not without friends and creatures. Corrupt motives of interest had enabled her some time previously to Innocent's death, to make alliance with the powerful faction of the Barberini. And thus strong in these arms and means of defence, she sat in the privacy of her palace—(for to have appeared in the streets of Rome, especially during the lawless period of an interregnum, would have been extremely dangerous) and directed the intrigues, by means of which she counted on escaping the consequences of the universal indignation.

Three degrees of successful issue had to be striven for by her. The first, of which she still nourished sanguine hopes, was that she might again appear on the public stage influential and powerful. The second, that the past might be buried in oblivion, and she might be left in the quiet though obscure enjoyment of her immense wealth. The third, that even if she were compelled to disgorge a great part, or even the whole of it, she might yet be safe in person.

All these issues, of course, depended on the election of a new Pope. And when the disposition towards her of the great body of the Cardinals is remembered, it seems strange that she could have had any hope as to the result. She contrived, however, to form an independent party in the Conclave, which was known in Rome at the time as "the flying squadron"—_squadrone volante_, the avowed object of which was, to enable either of the other contending parties to elect any pope, who would secure Olympia's safety, and to impede the election of an enemy. And the clever management of this _squadron_ kept the Cardinals imprisoned for three months.

At length wearied out by this long confinement, and convinced of the impossibility of electing either of the favourite candidates of the leading parties, the Conclave was driven in despair to the _pis–aller_ of electing one recommended only by his good character and apparent fitness for the office. This was Fabio Chigi of Siena, who became Pope, as Alexander the Seventh, with the consent of the squadrone volante, who thought that, as he had been raised to the purple by Innocent, and was considered a moderate man, he would not be likely to molest the "relict" of his old patron.

[Sidenote: ALEXANDER VII.]

Olympia was well satisfied with the result of the election. It seems never to have occurred to her or her friends, that the new Pope might demand a strict account from her, merely from considerations of abstract right and justice. She sent among the first to compliment him on his accession; and shortly asked for an audience. The answer was not calculated to reassure her. Alexander sent her word that it was not his intention to receive ladies, except on urgent matters of business. Still determined not to give up the game, she repeated her application to be allowed to speak with his Holiness, with increased urgency; but she only obtained the still more alarming reply, that "Donna Olympia had had but too much conversation with Popes, and that she must understand, that things would henceforth be very different."

So much time elapsed, however, before any step was taken with regard to her, that Olympia, though convinced that all hope of further influence on public affairs was out of the question, yet imagined that she was to be let alone with her enormous hoards; but Alexander, unwilling to incur the blame of acting passionately or hastily on the subject, was listening to the innumerable proofs of her ill–doings, and quietly making up his mind on the matter. Meantime it was debated by Olympia and her friends, whether her most prudent course would be to quit Rome, to go, say, to Loreto, on pretext of a pilgrimage; but the heirs of the wretched woman, and especially her son Camillo, feeling that however such a course might secure her person, it would in all probability lead to the confiscation of her wealth, persuaded her that such a step was an unwise admission of guilt, and that her case was not so hopeless.

Suddenly an order reached her to quit Rome within three days, and to be at Orvieto within eight. It came upon her like a thunderbolt; for she felt that it was the beginning of the end.

A commissary was sent after her thither to require a strict account from her of all the state monies that had passed into her hands, immediate restitution of the jewels and other valuables carried off by her from the Vatican, and her answer to the innumerable charges against her of selling offices, benefices, and pardons.

She answered by general denials, and by asserting, that whatever money had passed through her hands had been paid over by her to Innocent.

The next step, it was expected, would have been her imprisonment. But at this stage of the business an unexpected and terrible ally stepped in to save—not the miserable woman herself—but at least her infamously gotten wealth to the Pamfili family. This ally was the pestilence, which invaded Italy, and especially Rome, with such violence, that it threw other matters into abeyance, by concentrating on itself all the care and attention of Alexander and his government.

But the pestilence, which thus saved her moneybags, did not spare her to the enjoyment of them; for on its appearance in Orvieto, Olympia was one of the first victims.

No further steps were taken by the government in the matter; and Camillo Pamfili, her son, inherited quietly the almost incredible sums she had amassed. It was said that, besides the vast estates which she had acquired, and an immense amount of precious stones, and gold uncoined, more than two millions of crowns in money were found in her coffers.

[Sidenote: POPESS THE SECOND—AND LAST.]

Such was the story of the second female Pope, who has grasped St. Peter's keys. And if a similar scandal has not reproduced itself in an equal degree of intensity, it is one to which the peculiar constitution of the Papal government and society, must be ever especially liable.

ELISABETTA SIRANI.

(1638–1665.)