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· Social Spirit of Women ·
· Accomplished Princesses · Their Executive Ability ·
· Caterina Sforza · Patrons of Letters ·
· Court of Urbino ·
· Duchess Elisabetta · Count Castiglione ·
· Record of Conversations · Qualities of a Lady ·
· A Medici Champion of Women ·
· Platonic Love · Court of Ferrara ·
· Boiardo · Ariosto · Duchess Leonora ·
· Lucrezia Borgia · Renée · Tasso’s Leonora ·
· Court of Mantua · Isabella d’Este ·
· Court of Milan · Beatrice d’Este ·
· Moral and Intellectual Value of Women of the Renaissance ·
· From Court to Literary Salon ·
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I
We have heard of a man who, after writing two hundred volumes or so
on various learned subjects, added a “Eulogy of Silence.” Among other
curious things, he said that he was “never more with those he loved
than when alone.” Men have sometimes been known to prefer society in
this form, but women rarely; they like things in the concrete, and they
like to talk about them. They may turn to a life of the spirit, but
even this they do not care to live in solitude. There are few anchorets
among them. In their exaltation, as in their pursuit of knowledge, they
seek companionship.
Just how much women had to do with awakening the world from its long
sleep we do not know, but they were very active in keeping it awake
after it began to open its eyes. They mastered old languages, studied
old manuscripts, held public discussions on classic themes, wrote
verses, and entered with enthusiasm into the search for records that
had been lying in the dust for a thousand years. But they did more than
this: they revived the art of conversation and created society anew.
Possibly this was the most distinct heritage they left to the coming
ages.
If conversation did not reach its maturity in Italy, it had its
brilliant youth there. Later it was taken up in France, spiced with
Gallic wit, and raised to the dignity of a fine art; but it lost a
little of its first seriousness. The accomplished princesses of the
Renaissance, who raved over a new-found line of Plato or Socrates,
and expatiated on the merits of a long-buried statue they had helped
to unearth, recalled the famous circle of Aspasia and made social
centers of their own. But they added a fresh and original flavor. One
does not copy accurately after fifteen or twenty centuries, nor even
after two or three; but we are safe in thinking that these groups
of poets, statesmen, prelates, artists, wits, and litterateurs, who
discussed the new life and thought, were not far behind their model
in brilliancy. If the men were not so great, the world was older, the
field of knowledge was wider, and there was more to talk about. Then,
there was but one Aspasia. If there were lesser stars of her own
sex, we do not know who they were. It was a brave woman, whatever her
abilities may have been, if she had a reputation to lose, that would
show her face in the society of those grand old Greeks who claimed the
universe for themselves and made of her an insignificant vassal. But
there was a multitude of women, both clever and learned, who added life
and piquancy to the coteries of the Renaissance. Men were proud of the
versatile wives and daughters who made their courts centers of light
and learning; if they were without lettered tastes themselves, they
were glad of the reflected glory. So, naturally, it was the ambition
of every well-born girl to fit herself to shine in these brilliant
circles, and every father who had a daughter of talent was conscious of
possessing a treasure of great value upon which too much care could not
be lavished.
It must not be thought, however, that the women who made their courts
so famous were simply devotees of fashion, or the pretty toys of men’s
caprices, any more than they were colorless saints of the household or
cloister. They were not without high domestic and womanly virtues, but
they had also intelligence, a grasp of affairs, masterly character, and
the tact to make all these qualities available for the good of their
families and society. They were versed not only in classic lore, but in
the art of living. It was not weakness that constituted their charm;
it was their symmetry and the fullness of their strength.
As we have already seen, it was an age of educated women. A lady was
expected to understand Latin, at least, besides her own language, and
Greek was a common acquirement. The earliest Greek grammar was written
by the celebrated Lascaris for Ippolita Sforza, the wife of Alfonso
and a ruling spirit at the lettered court of Naples. In her precocious
childhood this brilliant princess made a collection of Latin apothegms,
and a translation of Cicero’s “De Senectute,” which is said to be still
preserved in a convent at Rome. Plato, Seneca, and other philosophers
supplied the great ladies of four centuries ago with moral nutriment,
and Cicero was studied as a model of style. With the exception of
Vergil and parts of Horace, the Latin poets were too coarse, and
Boccaccio was forbidden; but Dante was a favorite companion of leisure
hours, and Petrarch, the high priest of Platonism, an idol. The “Lives
of the Fathers” and the chronicles of the saints were antidotes to the
worldliness of poets and historians. It was understood, however, that
literary tastes must not interfere with prayers and an intelligent
oversight of the household.
Of their talent for administration these versatile princesses gave
ample evidence. They were constantly called upon to hold the reins
of government when their husbands were absent, and ruled with great
wisdom and skill. We do not hear that they talked much of their ability
to do various things not usually included among a woman’s duties, but
they did them at need as a matter of course. In affairs of delicate
diplomacy they were of special value, also in questions pertaining to
morals. It is interesting to know that this quarrelsome period had its
peace societies, as well as our own, and that the Pacieri, which was
organized to prevent litigation, was made up of men and women. Veronica
Gambara used her influence and her pen in the interest of peace, also
Vittoria Colonna, and many others.
Some of the women who ruled so ably, however, were of virile temper,
and threw themselves with passionate energy into the storm and stress
of affairs, though it was rarely, if ever, from choice. In an emergency
they could ride fearlessly to the field of battle, or address a foreign
council. It was to save her children’s heritage that Caterina Sforza
defended the rocky fortress of Forli after the violent death of her
husband. She was a picturesque figure, this imposing lady of fair face,
golden hair, indomitable spirit, and fiery temper, as accomplished as
she was beautiful and brave, who rode at the head of her troops, and
graciously smiled upon the people, who loved her and were ready to die
for her. As a lovely bride of fifteen she had made a triumphal entry
into Rome, where she lived like a queen, and literally controlled the
fate of every one who sought aid, promotion, or a place of her uncle,
the formidable Sixtus IV, but she was destined to come to the front
in many a stormy crisis. She was only twenty-two when the Pope died
suddenly, but she took prompt possession of the castle of St. Angelo in
the name of her absent husband, who was Commander of the Forces, and
found there an asylum for her children until she could make terms that
saved the family fortunes. No wonder the husband took her with him when
he went to Venice, that he might avail himself of her swift and clear
judgment in his delicate negotiations.
The history of this fifteenth-century heroine reads like the most
improbable romance. With the daring of a man, she had the flexibility
of a woman. If she could hold her own against an army and crush an
enemy with inexorable decision, she could care for the wounded like
a nurse. She danced as vigorously as she ruled, and did not disdain
the arts of a coquette or a diplomatist. One and the most obscure of
her three husbands she loved, but the others she served well. Of fear
she was incapable. “I am used to grief; I am not afraid of it,” she
wrote to her son from the solitary cell at Rome, where she was caged
for a time by the terrible Borgia Pope in the fortress over which she
had once ruled. But the careful, devoted mother, who was so full of
energy, so generous to her friends, so courageous in war, so subtle
in diplomacy, so dignified in misfortune, turned in her last years to
spiritual things with the same ardor she had given to mundane ones. She
had lived her life, and retired from its storms at thirty-nine. Then
she gave herself to the austerities of a convent at Florence, still
directing the education of her young children. If we do not approve of
all the methods of this irrepressible woman of clear head and strong
heart, we have to judge her by the standards of an age in which the
directors of the world’s conscience scoffed at morality and gave the
prizes of life to libertines and assassins. I quote her as one out of
many, to show the firm quality and abounding vitality as well as the
solid attainments of the women of this remarkable period.
But the special mission of these princesses, so valiant on occasion,
was to patronize learning and the arts, to aid men of letters, to
diffuse a taste for the beautiful, to put a curb on license, so
far as this was possible, and to foster discussions of things high
and serious. They vied with one another in making their courts
intellectually luminous. The more we study them, the more we are
convinced of the beneficent influence of thoroughly trained,
broad-minded women in molding the destinies of nations as well as of
individuals. We are fascinated by their variable charm, their mastery
of life in its larger as well as its smaller phases. The woman who
led all hearts captive with her beauty, her gaiety, her kindness, the
faithful wife, the tender mother, the sympathetic friend, was also the
woman of lucid intellect and strong soul, who sustained her husband in
his darkest hours and added laurels to his glory while winning some for
herself.