responded to it. But the quality that remains rousing to the present
day was her unremitting remembrance that one cannot be good without
being happy. Though due to a different source, the spirit of the
Renaissance seemed to emanate from her--the spirit that laboured so
hard, in a world rich in all manner of things, to be joyful every
minute. In Catherine's case, it was the result, not only of a
realization of life's inherent wondrousness, but of an unconscious
knowledge that heroism is never anything but smiling; that the
acceptance which is not absolute, composed, and tendered in fulness of
heart, is but a semi-acceptance after all.
In addition, Catherine had the one supreme characteristic that no age
can render less superb or less inspiring. She was a nature drenched in
loving-kindness. Consciously and unconsciously love streamed out of
her, penetrating and unifying every soul she came in contact with. At
all times there is nothing the world stands more in need of than
loving saints,--at all times there is nothing that brings more
creatures out of mistakenness, intractability, and mean-souled egoism
than a glowing greatness of heart. And finally, there is nothing so
vividly illuminating upon the intense and vital beauty of life and
human efforts than the persons who, like Catherine, have but to enter
a room, and,--satisfied, aflame, compassionate,--instantly transpose
its atmosphere into delicious, renewing goodness.
BEATRICE D'ESTE
1475-1497
Beatrice D'Este could never have been a beautiful woman, though most
contemporary writers affirmed that she was. Neither was she
particularly good; nevertheless, very few women of the Renaissance
make anything like the same intimacy of appeal. Nothing in her life
has become old-fashioned. She suggests no reflections peculiar merely
to the time in which she lived. The drama of her domestic existence is
so familiar and modern, that it might be the secret history of half
the charming women of one's acquaintance.
At the same time she was vividly typical of the Renaissance. Nobody
expressed more completely what the determined quest for beauty and joy
could do. And as far as she was concerned it could do everything--except
make a woman happy. Her life, in fact, is one of the most absorbing
instances of the tragedy that lies in wait for the majority of women
after the pleasantness of youth is over.
Born at Ferrara on June 24, 1475, Beatrice was the younger sister of
the great Isabella D'Este, who became one of the chief connoisseurs of
the Renaissance. There is always some pain entailed in being the
plainer sister of a beauty. Triumph also, in those days, was entirely
for the precocious. Isabella embodied precocity itself. Though only a
year older than Beatrice, she showed herself incomparably the more
graceful, the more receptive, the more premature of the two. At six
she had become the talk of the Ferrarese court circle. As a future
woman was desired to do, she already showed signs of culture, of tact,
of fascination. A pretty little prodigy, with hair like fine spun
silk, her hand was constantly being asked for in marriage; and no
visitor ever came to the court but Isabella was sent for to show off
her premature accomplishments.
There is little said about Beatrice. A second girl had been so frankly
unneeded that at her birth all public rejoicings were omitted. She
passed her babyhood with her grandfather, the King of Naples, and when
she came back, a round contented child, with a chubby face and black
hair, she served chiefly as a foil to Isabella, who was like some fine
and dainty flower, with her pale soft hair and finished elegancies of
behaviour. At Ferrara education had become a hobby. A son of the great
Guarino, who with Vittorino da Feltre practically laid the foundations
of modern schooling, had the chief control of their education. It was
not a bad one, perhaps, save for its excess. These two mites were at
lessons of some kind from the time they got up to the time they went
to bed. Happily, the Renaissance was all for the open air, and a good
deal of their education took place in the garden of a country villa
belonging to the D'Estes. Petrarch's sonnets were among the lighter
literature allowed them, and a good many of the sonnets were set to
music especially for their thin incongruous voices. Guarino was their
master for Cicero, Virgil, Roman and Greek history; other teachers
took them in dancing, deportment, music, composition, and the
rudiments of French. Isabella, indeed, is said to have spoken Latin as
easily as her native tongue.
Though a little severe, Leonora was a capable and conscientious woman.
Most of the qualities that Beatrice could have inherited from her
mother would have been very good for temperament--presence of mind,
courage, intelligence, decision. The girl's light-heartedness she
probably got from her Uncle Borso, Ercole's brother and predecessor,
whose fat and smiling face Corsa's painting has made the very type of
cruel joviality. Ercole was not jovial, and the chief characteristics
he transmitted to his daughters were strong artistic and literary
passions, a gift for diplomacy, and, perhaps, a little elasticity in
the matter of conscience.
Culture pervaded the atmosphere at the court of Ferrara. And though
Leonora saw to it that the children were strictly trained in religious
observances, it was essentially life, and a full and engrossing life,
that they were being prepared for. At six Isabella was already engaged
to the future Duke of Mantua. Some time afterwards, Ludovico Sforza of
Milan, uncle and regent for the young Duke Giangaleazzo, wrote and
asked for her in marriage. He was not a person to refuse lightly. The
real duke everybody knew to be foolish almost to the point of mental
deficiency. Il Moro, as Ludovico was called, held the power of Milan,
and politically an alliance with Milan would be good for Ferrara.
Ercole answered the request by saying that his eldest daughter was
already promised to Mantua, but that he had another daughter a year
younger, and if the King of Naples, who had adopted her, gave his
consent, Ludovico could have her instead. The political value of the
marriage remained the same, and Ludovico accepted without demur the
little makeshift lady. Hence, at nine years old, Beatrice, as a
substitute for her more elegant sister, became engaged to a man of
twenty-nine. She was then still living with her grandfather at Naples.
But when, in the following year, she returned to Ferrara, to be
educated with Isabella, she was publicly recognized as Ludovico's
future wife, and known as the Duchess of Bari, the title to be hers
after marriage.
It was over this engagement that Beatrice was made acutely to realize
the difference of life's ways with the plain and the bewitching. The
young Marquis of Mantua soon became an ardent lover of his
golden-haired lady. He wrote to her, he sent her presents; a slight
but pretty love affair went on between the two during all the years of
their engagement. And when in due course they were married, it was
with every show of eagerness upon the side of the handsome bridegroom.
Ludovico, on the other hand, took no notice whatever of the childish
Beatrice; there was no interchange of winning courtesies, no
presents, no letters. Twice, when the marriage was definitely settled,
Ludovico put it off; and on the second occasion, at any rate, no girl
could avoid the sting of wounded vanity. Everybody had been eager to
marry Isabella. Beatrice also, according to the notions of her time,
was grown up, and far too clear-witted not to understand the gossip
following upon Ludovico's second withdrawal. Unmistakably she was not
wanted. Her future husband had his heart already filled. There was
another woman in the case, and a woman loved with such intensity that
Il Moro literally had not the courage to face marriage with a
different lady. On the arrival of the ambassadors asking for a second
delay, an agent of the court wrote that everybody was annoyed and the
Duke of Ferrara extremely angry.
This was in April, 1495, and for several months Beatrice lived on
quietly in the Castello at Ferrara. To deepen the dulness, not only
Isabella, but her half-sister Lucrezia, was now married. Among the
people of the court it was openly said that the marriage with Ludovico
would probably not take place at all. Beatrice went back to lessons,
music--she was all her life a great lover of music--and to needlework
in the garden. But she probably felt fiercely dispirited and without
hope. Thankfulness for life itself cannot exist in youth. At fifteen
it is not possible to thank God for just the length of time ahead.
Most likely, also, she hated Ludovico. No girl of any spirit could
have done otherwise, and Beatrice had more spirit than most.
Then, suddenly, in August, another ambassador arrived from Milan, and
even then hopes began to float again. The ambassador had come this
time with a present from the bridegroom to his betrothed. It was
exquisite--a necklace of pearls made into flowers, with a pear-shaped
pendant of rubies, pearls, and diamonds. The ambassador came also to
fix a day for the wedding. Ludovico had at last made up his mind to
the rupture with his mistress, Cecilia Gallerani, the rare and
beautifully mannered woman, who has been compared, with Isabella
D'Este and Vittoria Colonna, as among the most cultured women of the
Renaissance.
Now, at last, Beatrice became brusquely a person of importance. The
subject of Cecilia Gallerani was dropped like a burning cinder, and
outwardly everything smoothed to a satin surface. There was more money
than in the Mantuan marriage, and no expense was consequently spared
in Beatrice's trousseaux. Only Leonora still worried a little.
Ludovico came of a bad stock--the only one among the family to show
fine qualities had been the famous Francesco Sforza, founder of the
dynasty.
As for the present duke's father, and Ludovico's brother, Galeazzo
Maria, he had been a fiend, whose very soundness of mind was
questionable. True, Ludovico's own ability was indubitable. The skill
with which he had steered himself from exile into the regency could
not be questioned. Moreover, though nominally only Regent, he had
already commenced to drive in the thin end of the wedge of usurpation.
The real duke was old enough to control his own state, and had
recently been married to Isabella, daughter of the King of Naples.
Notwithstanding this, the regency continued with a grasp tightened,
rather than loosened, upon the affairs of Northern Italy. Meanwhile
preparations for the marriage were rapid and luxurious, and as soon as
possible, though it was then in the depth of winter, Beatrice and her
suite started for the wedding. At Pavia Ludovico was waiting to
receive them, and as soon as Beatrice had been helped on to a horse,
wonderfully caparisoned for the occasion, the two rode slowly side by
side from the water's edge--she had come by boat up the Po--across
the bridge that spans the river Ticino, and through the gates of the
Castello of Pavia.
[Illustration: THE BRIDGE AT PAVIA
_Alinari_]
It would be interesting to know what lay in the minds of both. In the
case of Ludovico one surmise has as much likelihood as another. He was
a man much experienced in women, and to a person whose mistresses were
always beautiful and interesting, Beatrice, at first sight, could have
offered very small attractions. She had not the features to possess
beauty of the finest quality. At the same time she was compensated by
almost all the minor enticements. The smooth and delicate freshness of
youth was fragrant in her, and, like Isabella, she was extremely
graceful in body. But the chief attraction of her face sprang from its
oddity, and the inner rogue it suggested. According to rigid canons
she was plain, but her plainness was so near to prettiness that it was
as often as not over the border.
The first impression given by her portrait in the Altar-piece, said to
be Lemale's, is disappointing. From her personality the expectation is
of something different--a little more distinguished, a little more
wanton, and a little more incontestably seductive. But a mild
fascination comes with familiarity. Waywardness and intelligence are
both in the face; the gift of humour is clear as day. Her expression
radiates a mixture of sauciness and wisdom. In certain clothes and in
certain moods she must have looked adorable, more especially before
she was actually dressed, when her curls hung upon her shoulders.
What Beatrice thought of Ludovico is more easily hazarded. The man was
handsome, and bore every sign of a personal force of character. His
profile formed too straight a line, but in the general effect his
features were impressive and masterful. Beatrice was fifteen, and as
Isabella's plain sister had never yet been incensed with too much
flattery. Ludovico had in fact reached at her childlike heart with
unequal advantages; confronted by this suave and dignified person a
girl's imagination had everything to feed upon.
They were married next morning, and a few days later Beatrice made her
state entry into Milan--Ludovico, Giangaleazzo, the real duke, his
wife Isabella, and every Milanese person of importance, meeting her at
the gates. She and Ludovico then rode side by side in a procession
through the town, the horses being decorated and the streets lined
with people to cheer them as they passed.
But the really interesting incident of the day was the meeting of the
two girls, the reigning duchess and the duchess of the Regent. The
situation pushed them into antagonism, and into mean and agitated
rivalries. Isabella's was the position of easier righteousness,
Beatrice's the one of more colossal temptations. Everything moreover
in the future was to help them into unfairness. The wife of the futile
duke was cringed to by nobody. All Milan cossetted and flattered the
wife of the Regent who held the power, and suggested still greater
power in the future. To have been meek and secondary would have
required a temperament of great spiritual vitality. Beatrice came of a
worldly family, and the reasons for not tethering ambition grew to be
very specious. Giangaleazzo, as head of the State, was too clearly
incapable. Il Moro did all the work, bore all the responsibility, and
when necessary, all the execration. Why should an idle, dull-witted
boy, who did nothing, enjoy the benefit of public precedence? Why
should Beatrice and her husband walk humbly behind these two, whose
importance was as a balloon inflated for the occasion?
Corio says that from the first days of her arrival in Milan, Beatrice
chafed at yielding place to Isabella. But Corio, who wrote many years
after the death of Beatrice and Ludovico, was bent upon making the
worst of them. And to contradict him there is a good deal of
correspondence which goes to show that at the beginning the girls were
glad enough to have each other for companionship. Some writers of the
struggle between Beatrice and Isabella also urge that it was Beatrice
who drove Ludovico to schemes of usurpation. This is one of the
statements that are introduced in the heat of advocacy. Ludovico had
made his mark as a dangerous personality years before he married
Ercole's second daughter. The Ferrarese ambassador had written of him
long before his marriage that he was a great man, who intended later
on to make himself universally recognized as such.
The day before her state entry into Milan, Beatrice's brother Alphonso
was married to the gentle Anna, who, after her death, was to be
succeeded by the enigmatic Lucrezia Borgia. A week of public rejoicing
followed, after which Leonora returned to Ferrara, and Beatrice
commenced the routine of her new existence. But the reports of
Ludovico, sent shortly afterwards, were pleasant reading for the
girl's father.
[Illustration: BEATRICE D'ESTE
BUST IN THE LOUVRE]
The Ferrarese representative at the court of Milan wrote that Ludovico
was incessantly singing his wife's praises, and a few days later
added that he was brimming over with admiration both for his wife and
his sister-in-law, and that he reiterated incessantly the extreme
delight their society gave him. Then, some time after the last of
Beatrice's people had left, Trotti once more repeated that Ludovico
appeared to have no thought but how to captivate and amuse his wife,
and that every day he repeated how much he loved her.
Not only Trotti, but Palissena D'Este, a cousin, and one of Beatrice's
elder ladies-in-waiting, wrote enthusiastic accounts of the Milanese
_ménage_ at the commencement. Palissena's letter was to Isabella, and
not to Beatrice's parents. She wrote that Beatrice was unceasingly
made much of by her husband, and that every possible tender attention
was paid to her by him. According to her accounts the two were
delightful to see together, the man being evidently as delighted to
spoil the pretty child, as the child was to be spoilt by him. And
since Beatrice had been the plain member of the family, with uncertain
prospects of future beauty, the writer mentions, with an evident sense
of conveying good news, that in the new climate the girl had grown not
only very much stronger, but very much better looking.
Beatrice was certainly very happy at this time--nothing in life
compares with the first days of the first love affair--and Ludovico as
a lover has already been insisted upon. Muratori, writing of her after
the shyness of her arrival had worn off--she is mentioned as being
timid at first--describes her as young and always occupied in dancing,
singing, or in some kind of amusement. Muratori also touches upon one
of Beatrice's weaknesses. Truly never was a woman more intelligently
fond of dress. She came to Milan a child, but within a year she knew
her woman's business like her alphabet, and of that, one of the
serious items is to understand that a woman is most frequently
rendered attractive by her clothes. In dress, Beatrice had one
peculiar predilection--she loved ribbons. She liked to have her
sleeves tied with them; she liked them, in fact, almost everywhere. In
the Altar-piece portrait her gown is extremely ugly, but little
superfluous-looking ribbons are tied all over it. She also grew
certainly to be extravagant. On one occasion, when her mother went
over her country house, she was shown the Duchess of Bari's wardrobe.
There were eighty-four gowns, pelisses, and mantles, besides many more
that had been left in Milan. There is no doubt that eighty-four gowns
and mantles were too many at one period. Beatrice grew over-rich for
the finer qualities of character to keep exercised. To desire a thing,
if only in passing, was to have it.
During the first months after her arrival in Milan, however, she was a
child, and too much cossetted to realize more than a very limited
responsibility. Her life for some time was little more than a perfect
example of the winning freshness belonging to the Renaissance
conception of happiness. Open-air pleasures were a large part of its
delight. Every man who was rich enough had a country residence with
shady places and pools of water. Beatrice constantly went picnics into
the country. A certain Messer Galeazzo Sanseverino, who later married
Ludovico's illegitimate daughter Beatrice, wrote a description of one
of them. He said--it was in a letter to Isabella--that they started
early in the morning, and as they drove--he, Beatrice, and another
lady--they sang part-songs arranged for three voices. Having arrived
at their destination--Ludovico's country house at Cussago--they
immediately commenced fishing in the river, and caught so many fish
that they were obliged to fling some back into the water. A portion of
the rest was cooked for their midday meal, and afterwards, the writer
says, for the sake of their digestions, they played a vigorous game of
ball. This finished, they made a tour over the beautiful palace, and
after that once more started fishing. This might well have been
occupation enough for one day, but when fishing had grown wearisome
horses were saddled, and they first flew falcons by the river-side,
and then started hunting the stags on the duke's estate. It was not
until an hour after dark that the indefatigable and cheerful party got
back to Milan.
When Rabelais wrote his description of a day in Pantagruel's life, he
might well have had this pleasure outing in remembrance.
Ludovico took no part in these outings; affairs of state, he said,
absorbed his time. To have instantly suspected these affairs of state
would have needed the sharpened wits of worldly knowledge. But
presently, since everybody but the bride knew or guessed from the
beginning how the duke really occupied himself, comments began to
circulate. In the end Beatrice realized the truth. There are no
letters showing how she first grasped the fact that Ludovico still
gave tenderness to another woman; but she knew at last that Cecilia
Gallerani was not only shortly expecting to be confined, but was also
still lodged in apartments at one end of the Castello. The last fact
in itself must have sufficed to be insufferable. Whether Beatrice made
a scene or not, she could only have felt burnt up with anger as well
as with sickness of heart. A crisis became inevitable. The particular
motives were trivial, but the triviality occurred when anything would
have been too much for her. Ludovico gave his wife a gown of woven
gold. The moment she wore it curious expressions flickered over the
faces of her household--Cecilia Gallerani was going about in its
counterpart. Only one inference presented itself. Beatrice soon knew,
and by this time had borne as much as the unseasoned endurance of her
years was able. What followed is summarized in a letter by Trotti to
the Duke of Ferrara--a letter which he begs the duke to burn
immediately. Trotti speaks of the garment as a vest, showing that it
was only part of a dress, and he says that Madonna Beatrice had
refused to wear hers again if Madonna Cecilia was allowed to appear in
another similar. The attitude was a bold one for a child of fifteen,
and Beatrice must have made it with the most unhindered courage. For
immediately afterwards Ludovico himself went to interview Trotti, and
so make sure that something more soothing than a mere statement of
Beatrice's grievance went to Ferrara. He gave an actual promise that
the liaison should come to a conclusion. He would either find a
husband for the lady or send her into a nunnery.
Beatrice won, and, indeed, won handsomely. Political expediency was on
her side, but the girl's own likeableness must be counted for
something in the matter. Ludovico was among the most cunning men of
Italy, yet upon this occasion he did exactly what he promised. As soon
as Cecilia had recovered from the birth of a son the two alternatives
were considered. Her tastes were not for convents, and she married a
Count Ludovico Bergamini. With this, as far as Il Moro was concerned,
the episode closed. Beatrice would probably have preferred the
convent, for, as things remained, Cecilia was not in any sense removed
out of society. She continued to receive all the notable men of that
part of the world at the beautiful palace a little way out of Milan
which Ludovico had given her as an inheritance for his son, and at all
court functions she appeared as usual.
Beatrice's triumph may have come to her a little through her courage.
It was a quality Ludovico admired above all things, though his own was
not to be relied upon. Commines says of him, "Ludovico was very wise,
but extremely timid, and very slippery when he was afraid. I speak as
one well acquainted with him, and who has arranged much diplomatic
business with him."