sent privately for Buondelmonte and thus addressed him: “Unworthy knight! What! Hast thou accepted a wife through fear of the Fifanti and Uberti? Leave her that thou hast taken, choose this damsel in her place and be henceforth a brave and honoured gentleman.” In so saying she threw open the chamber door, and exposed her daughter to his view; the unexpected apparition of so much beauty, as it were soliciting his love, had its usual consequence; Buondelmonte’s better reason was overcome, yet he had resolution to answer, “Alas! it is now too late!” “No,” replied Aldruda; “thou canst even yet have her; dare but to take the step and let the consequences rest on my head.” “I do dare,” returned the fascinated youth, and stepping forward again plighted a faith no longer his to give.
Early on the 10th of February, the very day appointed for his original nuptials, Buondelmonte passed by the Porta Santa Maria amidst all the kinsfolk of his first betrothed, who had assembled near the dwellings of the Ameidei to assist at the expected marriage, yet not without certain misgivings of his faithlessness. With a haughty demeanour he rode forward through them all, bearing the marriage ring to the lady of his choice and leaving her of the Ameidei with the shame of an aggravated insult by choosing the same moment for the violation of one contract and the consummation of a second; for in those days, and for centuries after, the old Roman custom of presenting a ring long before the marriage ceremony took place was still in use.
Such insults were then impatiently borne; Oddo assembled his kindred in the no-longer existing church of Santa Maria sopra Porta to settle the mode of resenting this affront, and the moody aspect of each individual marked the character of the meeting and all the vindictive feeling of an injured family. There were, however, some of a more temperate spirit that suggested personal chastisement of at most the gashing of Buondelmonte’s face as the most reasonable and effectual retribution. The assembly paused, but Mosca de Lamberti starting suddenly forward exclaimed, “Beat or wound him as ye list but first prepare your own graves, for wounds bring equal consequences with death.” “No. Mete him out his deserts and let him pay the penalty; but no delay. Up and be doing.”
“This turned the scale and Buondelmonte was doomed. But according to the manners of that age, not in the field, which would have been hazardous, but by the sure though inglorious means of noonday murder; wherefore, at the very place where the insult was offered, beneath the battlements of the Ameidei, nay under the casement of the deserted maiden, and in his way to a happy expecting bride, vengeance was prepared by these fierce barons for the perjury.
On Easter morning, 1215, the murderers concealed themselves within the courts and towers of the Ameidei, which the young and heedless bridegroom was sure to pass, and he was soon after seen at a distance carelessly riding alone across the Ponte Vecchio on a milk-white palfrey, attired in a vest of fine woollen cloth, a white mantle thrown across his shoulders and the wedding garland on his head. The bridge was passed in thoughtless gaiety, but scarcely had he reached the time-worn image of the Roman Mars, the last relic of heathen worship then extant, when the mace of Schiatti degli Uberto felled him to the ground, and at the base of this grim idol the daggers of Oddo and his furious kinsmen finished the savage deed; they met him gay and adorned for the alter, and left him with the bridal wreath still dangling from his brow a bloody and ill-omened sacrifice. The tidings of this murder spread rapidly, and disordered the whole community of Florence; the people became more and more excited, because both law and custom had awarded due penalties for faithless men, and death was an unheard-of punishment. Buondelmonte’s corpse was placed on a bier, with its head resting in the lap of his affianced bride, the beautiful Donati, who hung like a lily over the pallid features of her husband; and thus united were they borne through the streets of Florence. It was the gloomy dawning of a tempestuous day, for in that bloody moment was unchained the demon of Florentine discord; the names of Guelf and Ghibelline were then for the first time assumed by noble and commoner as the cry of faction; and long after the original cause of enmity had ceased, they continued to steep all Italy in blood.”
Dramatis Personae
DUKE OF FLORENCE
VALENTIO DI’ BUONDELMONTE
UBERTO, friend of Valentio
ODDO D’AMEIDEI
LAMBERTUCCIO D’AMEIDEI, brother of Oddo
BEATRICE, daughter of Lambertuccio
RINIERI, LUCIO, SCHIATTO { . . . . . . . Friends of Lambertuccio
& Oddo
LORENZO, FRANCESCO, BERNARDO { . . . . . . . Relatives of
Lambertuccio & Oddo
ALDRUDA, widow of FORESE DI’ DONATI, friend of
Lambertuccio
LIVIA, daughter of Aldruda
TOMASSO, servant of Aldruda
STEFANO, servant of Livia
PILGRIM
Scene: Florence, 1215 AD
Part One
Act I
Scene: A Public Square in Florence
[Enter three citizens]
1st citizen [to 2nd citizen, who is silent]: Now, now, why are you so silent? What disturbing thoughts have robbed you of speech?
2nd citizen: Nay, fears that lie deeper than the sounding of words.
1st citizen: Come man; surely you mean not one of those petty fears which ever dye your cheeks with a sickly hue!
2nd citizen: I heartily wish it were so. But wait; has it not reached your ears what has sped a few days past? ‘tis now the general talk of Florence.
3rd citizen: Mean you the broil betwixt the Ameidei and Uberto and his friend Valentio?
2nd citizen: No other.
1st citizen: Well, well; broils, what else? This sound is new to my ears.
2nd citizen: Lend them to me, then, and I’ll repeat to you what imperfect knowledge has been carried to mine by the wind of rumour. For reasons not known (though some alleged it to be no more than the heat of the occasion) which methink must have been deeply rooted in his heart, nourished by passing time: a concealed hate that clad in words gave vent to itself, Oddo (a youth full fiery and bold) flung hot insults in Uberto’s furious face in the midst of a banquet gathering the Flower of the town, whilst in noisy merriment and lavish feasting where the gilded cups were never emptied of golden wine. . . . Uberto, impatient of the insult, restrained not his wounded pride from answering back in sharpest terms; whereupon Oddo, replying with his sword assailed the unexpecting youth, and would surely have slain him, had not Valentio, with friendly rage, and with eager arm forced Odd’s sword to miss its mark; nay, more, he carved a deep gash in Odd’s frame, and would have added more had he not deemed it answer enough to Oddo’s arrogance. Hereupon the banquet was drawn into two and a general fight might have concluded, and God wot what noble blood might have flowed that day, had not some more sober among them scattered the aroused parties. I know no more. But my scarce knowledge is a rich foreboding of a tempest drawing nigh which will hurl its thunderbolts on our reposing town and burn it with Hellish fire.
3rd citizen: Your fears are no baseless fancy-fabric. Foul rumours (more foul than their begetters) infest the startled air: Oddo’s kin, ‘tis claimed, declining bloodless terms, are banding
