s of her famous visit to the Pope, and how he died a
few hours later; while it would be mere repetition of general knowledge
to enlarge on her sojourn with the Doge, and his subsequent demise. Let
us touch ever so lightly on her three children, Poco, Confuoco, and
Strepitoso. How could they help being beautiful with such a mother, poor
mites, branded from birth with the sense of their impending fate! After
a while Bianca became aware that tongues were a-wag in Venice, sullying
her name with foul calumnies. Her decision for their downfall was swift
and terrible. She persuaded her easy-going husband to ride to Naples;
then, free of his cumbersome authority, she set to work on the
preparations for her world-famous supper party. Picture it if you will:
five hundred and eighty-three guests[7] all seated laughingly in the
immense banqueting-hall--Bianca at the head of the table, superb,
incomparable, her corsage a glittering mass of gems, her breast chilled
by the countless diamonds on her camisole, her smile radiant and a
peach-like flush on the ivory pallor of her face. This was indeed her
hour--her triumph--her subtle revenge. Her heart thrilled with the
knowledge of that inward secret that was hers immutably, for every
morsel of food and drink upon that festive board was impregnated with
the deadliest poison--all except the two pieces of toast with which she
regaled herself, having dined earlier and alone.

Historians tell us that following close on that event some rather ugly
rumours were noised abroad--in fact, some of the relatives of the
poisoned guests even went so far as to complain to various people in
authority and stir up strife in every way possible. Bianca was naturally
furious. Some say that it was her sudden rage on hearing this that
caused her to burn her children to death; others say her act was merely
due to bad temper owing to a sick headache. Anyhow, as later events go
to show, she had chosen the very worst time to murder her children. More
ugly rumours were at once noised abroad by those who were jealous of
her. Upon her husband's return from Naples he was immediately arrested,
and a few days later hung. Too late the hapless Bianca sought to make
her escape; she was caught and taken prisoner while swimming across the
Grand Canal with her clothes and a few personal effects in a bundle in
her mouth. She was carried shrieking to Milan, where she endured a
mockery of a trial; on political grounds she was sen