were intercepted by the duke, though he must have been interested at
the almost contemptuous calm of his wife's attitude towards him
personally. Renée wondered why the answers from France were so few.
She had no suspicion that her lengthy correspondence lay locked up in
the care of her husband, and never journeyed across the Alps at any
time. Ercole, secretive by nature and by training, made no remarks
about these intercepted letters. With a house full of spies, he stood
in a position to know how flimsy the flirtation really was. When
Monsieur Pons returned, he allowed the same intimacy as previously.
Only very soon afterwards Renée was sent into the country and kept
there, away from her friend.
Then Ercole, considering the moment opportune, got rid of both wife
and husband. A story of an extremely mischievous nature was foisted
upon them. The charges were, in fact, dangerous for two foreigners in
the power of a man hating them both. Renée's household became shaken
to the depths with fear and excitement, and Monsieur and Madame Pons
fled almost immediately to Venice. The action was no more than wise.
Ercole had called Madame Pons "an infernal fury." Any possible
extremity would have been proceeded to, if even a fraction of the
charges stated could have been proved against them.
The months that followed were among the most dismal of Renée's life.
The flight of her friend chilled her to the marrow of her being.
Realization could not be avoided. She was over thirty, and the bitter
sense of being suddenly old and weary is unavoidable in any woman
brusquely abandoned by the man who has kept her young with kindnesses.
All the vaporous flimsiness of her hold upon Monsieur Pons lay
brutally exposed and patent. His wife had got into difficulties; his
business lay immediately with the welfare of his wife. No outside
woman existed in the intimate agitation of private affairs. Renée was
simply dropped like some acquaintance grown needless, and husband,
wife, and the baby, whose mouth Renée had described as so incredibly
small, practically withdrew from her existence.
The next crucial circumstance--perhaps the most crucial of Renée's
long and uncomfortable life--was her encounter with the Inquisition.
This supreme test of Renée's character came when Paul III. died and
Julius III. succeeded to the throne of Rome. Paul had been mild,
gentle, and favourable to some reformation in the ways of the Church.
Contarini, in a letter, spoke of him as "this our good old man." His
successor had no leanings towards change; mercy sent no gentle warmth
through his system. The heresy practised by the Duchess of Ferrara had
been notorious for a considerable period; her household constituted a
sanctuary for heretics; she permitted herself Protestant preachers and
Protestant services. Her attendance at mass had ceased, and she was
accused, though it seems unjustly, of eating meat on Fridays.
Ercole's position, consequently, at this time was far from easy, the
basis of his political security requiring that he should maintain
peace with the authorities of Rome. Renée's new religion endangered
his duchy. She either did not understand the political risks of what
she persisted in doing, or did not care. But Ercole, alarmed as well
as furious, wrote bluntly to the King of France, saying what he
thought of her. The unburdenment was no longer incautious. Francis I.
had been dead some time. Henry II. felt no obligation to be bothered
by an elderly woman whom he did not know, and whose claims upon him
were negligible. Himself an intolerant Roman Catholic, he wrote to her
upon receiving Ercole's letter, and explained unambiguously that
should she be relying upon the support of France, her confidence was
founded upon false anticipations. He did more--he sent the famous
Inquisitor Orriz, with orders to use "rigour and severity," sooner
than return to France without having reduced the elderly lady to a
proper religious disposition.
The letter in which Orriz received directions shows a curious method
of thinking. Renée was exhorted to return more easily to the Mother
Church, "by consideration of the great favours which God has granted
to her, and among others that of being the issue of the purest blood
of the most Christian house of France, where no monster has ever
existed." The sentence ended with the statement that should she
"choose to remain in stubbornness and pertinacity, it would displease
the king as much as anything in the world, and would cause him
entirely to forget the friendship, with all the observances and
demonstrations of a good nephew, he hating nothing with a greater
hatred than all those of the reprobate sects, whose mortal enemy he
was."
The following paragraph was still more plain spoken, and might well
have sent a shiver through the hard-pressed duchess. Henry wrote, "And
if, after such remonstrances and persuasions, together with those
which the said Doctor Orriz shall employ of his own way and
profession, to make her know the truth, and the difference there is
between light and darkness, it shall appear that he is unable by
gentle means to gain her and to reclaim her, he shall take counsel
with the said lord duke as to what can possibly be done in the way of
rigour and severity to bring her to reason."
Renée's position had at last become dire and dangerous. She stood
with none to help her, pressed about by a crowd of enemies. From the
moment Orriz arrived in Ferrara her life became a nightmare. When he
chose to preach, she had to listen; when he questioned, she had to
answer; when he threatened, she had to preserve quiescence. Morning,
noon, and evening, the menacing presence of the French Inquisitor kept
her shaken, sickened, lacerated. His arguments could only have been
torture to her, for pitted against the subtlety of the trained
heretic-catcher, Renée's mentality would have been the incarnation of
incoherent feebleness. Her person, moreover, made no appeal to mercy;
ugly, drear, and wrinkled, she did not even possess dramatic
dignity--only tears and an obstreperous dismalness of manner.
Gradually, however, Orriz was to discover that dismalness did not
necessarily accompany weakness. He could make her cry, but that was
about all he could do with her. His own temper must have quickly
sharpened. The position left him ridiculous. Presently the Inquisitor
and the husband took counsel together. Renée's unexpected fortitude
proved equally serious for both. Ercole had given his word to the Pope
that the lady should return duly submissive to the fold she outraged.
Renée had got to be mastered somehow. Words left her tearfully
obstinate--there remained nothing but harsher measures. Ercole himself
wrote in a letter, "We kept her shut up for fifteen days, with only
people who had no sort of Lutheran tendencies to wait upon her. We
also threatened to confiscate all her property."
[Illustration: RENÉE, DUCHESS OF FERRARA
FROM A DRAWING IN THE BIBLIOTHÈQUE NATIONALE]
She held out, notwithstanding. Some decree of courage must have
stiffened resistance, but it also is probable that the little creature
relied upon a definite limit to persecution. A daughter of the royal
house of France stood too high for genuine martyrdom. She had, in
addition, a secret Bull previously given her by Paul III., which
exempted her from the jurisdiction of all local inquisitions.
Up to a certain point there is, beyond question, an underflow of
sweetness in being persecuted, especially when, besides the
persecutors, there are people who realize the persecution. To show
endurance is softly comforting to the soul. Character, exultant at
finding itself not wholly worthless, is joyous below its pain. There
are few people, indeed, who do not want to prove themselves morally
better than their ordinary conduct, and who are not exalted by a
sudden blaze of inner illumination when they have let the good rise
triumphant over an ardent and forceful temptation. At any rate,
whether Renée was, or was not, sustained by a sense of proving
something finer than she had hoped for, she certainly showed such
curious tranquillity that those who attended her remarked upon it. The
fact puzzled everybody--she was by nature distinctly flaccid. It has
since been put down to the possession of the Bull from Paul III., but
the explanation is unlikely. Nothing could be more simple than a fresh
Papal Bull annulling the first. Besides, what followed shows that she
either made no use of it, or was quickly undeceived as to its utility.
But the crisis of her life was stalking grimly nearer every hour.
Confinement leaving steadfastness intact, a rasped husband and
exasperated inquisitor flung themselves upon a last extremity, and
Renée, Duchess of Ferrara, was actually brought before the Ferrarese
Inquisition, and tried for heresy by that body. Her answers at the
trial are not given, but that she went through the ordeal at all
compels admiration. She was utterly alone--hemmed in by Roman
Catholics and Italians--and grievously subject to prostration and
headaches. Few people thought of her save as an unmitigated nuisance.
Still she continued firm. Her answers were probably stupid and
reiterated, but if flustered on the surface she was stolid at the
foundations. After an angry, blustering trial, during which nobody
could browbeat her into helplessness, defeat had to be admitted, and a
formal sentence passed against the duchess. She may have winced for a
moment when it came; the indignity alone would have stung her like a
blow upon the face. There was nothing in this world she felt more
pride in than the fact that she was a king's daughter; this sentence
put her on the level of any refractory woman that the Church and her
husband considered in need of punishment. She was to suffer perpetual
solitary imprisonment, and her children and the greater part of her
revenue were to be taken from her.
Still she maintained the same unaccountable self-possession. It seemed
almost as if some store of inner strength placed her beyond the reach
of personal sufferings. All who knew her were bewildered. For, the
very morning after condemnation, she was driven from the Castello to
an old building next door, to be imprisoned under guards chosen
carefully by Ercole. Two servants, also picked out by him, were the
only people allowed in her presence.
She held out for a week. It was too little; mere sulkiness could have
endured that period. Six months would have made her sympathetic and
dignified, a week rendered her previous fortitude useless. Still, it
should be borne in mind that imprisonment for life with two foreigners
of a different class is very cold to the heart after the first glow of
resistance has faded. Renée had known her triumph. The famous
Inquisitor, so proud of his infallible method, had exhausted cunning
for nothing. They were obliged to shut her up for the humiliating
reason that not one of them had been able to move her by a hair's
breadth. She had that victory to kindle satisfaction with for the rest
of existence.
During a day or two she probably lived supported by the joy of
steadfast conduct. Then gradually the meaning of a lifetime's solitude
pressed upon imagination. At any rate, by the end of seven days,
everybody knew in Ferrara that the duchess had surrendered. The news
reduced her to an absurdity; she had possessed sufficient courage to
be maddening, and no more. Capitulation, however, was complete. She
not only expressed her desire openly to attend mass, but her
willingness to return to confession. By her own choice, a Jesuit
confessor was sent for, and in a "flood of tears" the necessary
recantation was given.
Instantly the guards were withdrawn, and her ordinary household
allowed to recommence attendance. The struggle was over. Ercole could
feel at last that he had tamed her, and in a few days the surface
showed no signs of the immense upheaval it had suffered. Only the
Protestants stood aghast. Calvin wrote bitterly when he heard of it:
"What shall I say, except that constancy is a very rare virtue among
the great of this world?" Olympia Morata, who had a sore place in her
thoughts made by Renée, declared that she was not surprised, and that
she had always said it was _une tête légère_.
Upon one point, notwithstanding, the duchess remained unexpectedly
firm. She had surrendered a good deal. But she drew the line for the
future at playing love-scenes with the man who had caused her to be
tried and imprisoned like a common criminal.
From the time of her trial, Renée occupied a separate establishment,
though Ercole, to whom she could do no right, made even this a
grievance, and complained that "the duchess refused to return to the
chamber they had shared for fifteen years, and in which they had made
such beautiful children."
With this brief, tense, and futile drama, the interest of Renée's
life evaporates. The remainder,--long and untranquil though it
was,--reads like an anti-climax. She never knew a year's serenity to
the end of her lengthy and eventful existence. And yet all that
followed has a certain sameness and monotony. The unhappinesses were
constantly repeated; also the piteous efforts to remain firm in
Protestantism only to be driven back again to the old faith of her
people.
In 1559 Ercole died, and from that day Renée passed entirely out of
the sphere of the Renaissance into that of the Reformation. She
returned to France, and went to live at the town of Montargis, which
belonged to her. Comfort she never knew again. Her castle was so
constantly overcrowded that it became impossible to move in it for
people. Brantome, who visited her there, says he saw "three hundred
Protestant refugees," on the occasion of his visit. Horrors,
bloodshed, and persecutions became her daily preoccupations. Blood, at
that period in France, made the world look red. During the massacre of
St. Bartholomew, she was in Paris, and remained for nine days shut up
in her rooms, before the gates of Paris were opened once more, and she
was able to fly back to Montargis.
But the latter part of her existence nobly atoned for the dispirited
uselessness of the beginning. She took mass, and professed to be a
humble and obedient daughter of the Pope when there was no alternative
between that and being driven out of Montargis. But continuously,
hourly, and unhesitatingly, she helped all those who came to her.
At the time of her death she was sixty-four, though long before that
time she had looked a hundred. All her friends died before she did.
Even Calvin, who from the day she left Ferrara, had been the real prop
of her existence, passed out of life twelve years earlier.
Though almost all that was best of the Renaissance seemed gathered
into the stretch of Renée's existence, it is difficult to remember her
association with it. Tintoretto, Titian, Correggio, and Raphael were
the joy of Italy during her lifetime. Ariosto, Tasso, Montaigne, all
belong to this period--Ariosto dying when she was twenty-three, while
Tasso outlived her by many years. She passed the whole of her married
life in a court of impassioned connoisseurs, and never rose above a
taste for cheap majolica. Her niche was in a convent, a hospital, or a
training school for orphans, not in a centre of artistic and literary
efflorescence.
She was unfortunate all her life, and even after death it remained
her tragic fate to be a nuisance. Her son, Alphonso III., found
difficulty in coming to a decision as to what behaviour to observe
about the circumstance. She had been his mother, but she had also been
a heretic. In the end he compromised, ordering mourning for a brief
period, but omitting any mourning services. They buried her at
Montargis, and on her tomb made no mention of Italy, or of her
discomforted connection with the House of Ferrara. The inscription
merely bore the words--
"Renée de France, Duchesse de Chartres, Comtesse de Gisors et
Madame de Montargis.
May many daughters of France yet rise to emulate the example of
her faith, patience, and charity."
At a brief glance only the last virtue appears appropriate. But the
grace of Renée's life lies in the fact that she used it for
development. The self-engrossed, unfriendly girl who fought with
Ercole, slowly but momentously learned from experience. Handicapped
both by nature and circumstances, she yet issued from the tempestuous
stumblings of youth into an old age, still clumsy enough to an eye
seeing only in a dull moment, but exquisite to a consciousness aware
how the soul had continuously developed through every untoward
incident of existence. As a girl Renée had been too querulous to
circumvent her own ugliness. But as an old woman she rendered it of no
account. Surely--though probably unconsciously--she learnt at last
that it is what a nature gives from within that is the ultimate test
of value, and that to a great heart there are no denials, and cannot
be--in the world's colossal and unceasing need of sympathy--anything
but welcome and appreciation.
INDEX
A
Adrienne, Madonna, 154, 157, 162, 163
Albret, Comte d', 109, 110
Albret, Henri d', 230, 238
Albret, Jeanne d', 230, 236
Alençon, 213, 216-220
Alençon, Duc d', 212, 225
Alençon, Françoise d', 133, 135
Alexander VI., Pope, 154, 155, 161, 164-172, 178, 185, 186
Alphonso I., Duke of Ferrara, 64, 157, 177-190, 198-201, 254, 269
Alphonso II., Duke of Ferrara, 302
Alphonso, Don, of Naples, 168-173
Amboise, Castle of, 210
Amboise, Cardinal d', 140
Amily, Ser, 38
Angoulême, Charles d', 203, 204
Angoulême, Margaret d', 133, 134, 150, 202-250, 251, 276, 278, 279
Anna (wife of Alphonso I.), 64
Anne of Brittany, 104-149, 205, 212, 222, 251, 252, 265
Anthony, Brother, 44, 45
Aragon, Charlotte of, 168
Aragon, Ferdinand of, 131
Aretino, Donati, 167
Argentre, d', 147
Ariosto, 190, 301
Asti, 88, 93
Avignon, 24, 30, 32, 33, 38-40
B
Bari, Duchess of. _See_ Beatrice D'Este
Barone, 92
Bartholomew, Saint, 300
Bartolomeo, Fra, 10, 14
Bayard, 155
Bayaret, 224
Beatrice D'Este. _See_ Este
Beaujeu, Anne of, 117, 203
Bellay, de, 225
Bellay, Cardinal de, 243
Bembo, Cardinal, 186-191
Benincasa, Giacomo, 2, 7
Berger, Peter, 234
Berguin, 231
Beuve, Sainte, 222
Bianca (illegitimate daughter of Ludovico), 67, 98, 99
Bianca (sister of Giangaleazzo), 87
Blois, 205, 206, 207
Boccaccio, 2, 6, 245
Bonnivet, 209-216, 220, 221, 224
Bordeaux, 231
Borgia, Cæsar, 71, 126, 165-175, 177, 180, 185, 197, 198
Borgia, Giovanni, 165
Borgia, Jofre, 164
Borgia, Lucrezia, 5, 9, 150-201, 254, 258
Borso, Duke, 56
Bourbon, Connétable de, 206
Bourbon, Louis de, 119
Brantome, 205, 241-253, 300
Briconnet, 213, 217-220
Burgundy, 225
C
Cafferini, Thomas Antonio, 4, 9, 13
Cagnola, 72
Calcaquine, Contessa, 288
Callagnini, 190
Calmeta, 76
Calvin, 233, 234, 273-301
Canali, Carlo, 153
Cardillan, 275, 277
Carthusians, the order of, 47
Castiglione, 190-194
Cataneri, Vanozza, 153, 154
Catherine of Siena, 1-52
Cavelli, Mario, 248
Charles, Archduke, 254
Charles V., of Austria, 46, 224-230
Charles VIII., of France, 88, 89, 93, 94, 104, 111-114, 118
Claude, of France, 138, 142, 145, 224, 253
Claviere, R. de Maulde la, 221
Clement VII., Pope, 40, 42, 46
Cleves, Duke of, 236-239
Clouet, 242
Cognac, 204
Collenuccio, Pandolfo, 174
Colonna, the, 30
Colonna, Vittoria, 59, 252, 280-282
Commines, 70, 89, 113, 117, 119
Corio, 63, 83
Correggio, 301
Corsa, 56
Crivelli, Lucrezia, 96, 98, 101
Croce, Giorgio di, 153
Cussago, 67
D
Dante, 76, 175
Dodici, 18
Dodicini, 18
Dolet, Etienne, 232, 233
Domenico, St., 21
Duchatel, 249
E
Ercole I., Duke of Ferrara, 1, 56, 64, 178, 180, 184-186, 198
Ercole II., Duke of Ferrara, 254-257, 266, 271, 275, 278, 280, 288-290,
292-295
Este, Beatrice d', 53-103, 150
Este, Hippolyte d', 167
Este, Isabella d', 54-57, 59, 65, 74, 94, 181-184, 197, 252, 258
Este, Leonora d', 55, 56, 60, 64
Este, Palissena d', 65
F
Farnese, Julia, 154, 155, 158, 159, 162, 163, 165
Feltre, Vittorino da, 55
Ferrante, of Naples, 93
Ferrara, 54, 57, 64, 70, 191, 256, 257, 268, 269, 271, 272
Fleurange, 138
Foix, Gaston de, 206-211, 213
Forli, 171
Francis I., 137, 138, 203-208, 215-217, 224-226, 229-231, 236-238,
248, 249, 253-255, 265, 274, 292
Francis II., of Brittany, 106
G
Galeazzo, Maria, 60
Gallerani, Cecilia, 59, 68-70, 73, 78
"Gargantua," 243
Gasparo, Don, 156
Gelais, Jean de St., 204, 205
Ghibellines, 31, 34
Giangaleazzo, Duke of Milan, 56, 62, 75, 81-83, 89, 91
Gie, Marechale de, 143-145, 205
Grazie, St. Maria delle, 100-102
Gregorovius, 154, 166
Gregory XI., Pope, 30-34, 38, 39
Guarino, 55
Guelfs, 31, 34
Guicciardini, 90, 117, 177
H
"Heptameron," the, 209, 243, 245, 246
Henri II., 248, 292
Henry VII., 93, 207
Henry VIII., 206
I
Innocent VII., Pope, 156
Inquisition, the, 231, 232
Isabella D'Este. _See_ Este
Isabella of Naples, 60, 63, 64, 74-76, 79-83, 85, 87-89, 92, 120
J
Jacomino, 57, 58
Jacomo, Ser, 49, 50
Jeanne, wife of Louis XII., 106, 126-128
Joanna, Queen of Naples, 46
Julius II., Pope, 140
Julius III., Pope, 291
L
Laizon, Lanothe, 232
Lamb, Charles, 21
Landoccio, Neri di, 27, 28, 47, 49, 51
Lapa, mother of Catherine of Siena, 2, 5, 7
Laun, Van, 115
Lemale, 61
Leo X., Pope, 199
Leonora D'Este. _See_ Este
Lesleu, 287
Limousin, Leonard, 242
Loches, 135
Louis XI., 106, 126, 236
Louis XII., 88, 93, 103, 104, 106, 107, 112, 121-123
Lucca, 31
Lucia, Sister, 1, 16
Lucrezia Borgia. _See_ Borgia
Ludovico Sforza. _See_ Sforza
Luny, Phillipine de, 234
Luther, Martin, 217
M
Machiavelli, 175-177
"Mantellate" sisters, 24, 35, 36
Mantua, Francesco, Duke of, 56, 57, 62
Manuce, Aldo, 190
Marconi, Stephen, 24-28, 32, 42, 45, 47
Maria Galeazzo. _See_ Galeazzo
Marot, Clement, 146, 222-224, 278, 279
Marot, Jean, 146
Marsac, Louis de, 234
Marthe, St., 231
Maximilian I., Emperor of Germany, 81, 93, 106, 110-112
Meaux, Bishop of, 213, 217-220. _See_ Briconnet
Medici, Giovanni de, 156
Mendoza, 249
Mezerai, 132, 145, 254
Milan, 63, 64-68, 71, 72, 76, 88
Michelangelo, 171
Michelletto, 173
Montaigne, 301
Montargis, 300-302
Montluc, St. Gelais de, 116
Montmorency, Anne of, 206, 224, 239
Montpensier, Charles de, 206
Morata, Olympia, 299
Moro, Il. _See_ Sforza, Ludovico
Muralto, 98
Muratori, 40, 66
N
Nantes, 111
Naples, King of, 54-57, 161, 168
Navarre, King of, 230
Navarre, Henri de. _See_ Albret
Nepi, 174
Nove, the, 18
Noveschi, the, 18
O
Olivet, Mount, 50
Orriz, 232, 233, 292-294, 298
Orsini, the, 30
Othagaray, 236
Ovid, 227
P
Palice, La, 224
Pantagruel, 68, 222
Pater, Walter, 76
Paul III., Pope, 291, 296
Paule, François de, 118
Pavia, 61, 71, 73, 89, 91, 224, 225
Perotto, 168
Pesaro, 162-164, 166, 174
Petrarch, 2, 30, 41, 55, 175
Pintorricchio, 151, 155, 160, 171
Pisa, 31
Poictiers, Diane de, 248
Polhain, Baron de, 110
Polignac, Jeanne de, 203
Pons, M. de, 268, 282-291
Pontanus, poet, 177
Portugal, Queen of, 226, 227, 229
Predis, Ambrogio da, 98
Pucci, 158
R
Rabelais, 68, 232, 243
Raphael, 301
Raymond, 15, 22, 23, 28, 29, 35, 36
Raynaldus, 33
Rémond, Florimond de, 231
Renée, of Ferrara, 146, 198, 223, 232, 251-303
Riformatori, the, 17, 18
Rodriguez, Cardinal, 153. _See_ Alexander VI.
S
Sancia, Madonna, 164, 165
Sanozzo, 177
Sanseverino, Galeazzo, 67, 98
San Sisto, convent of, 167
Savoie, Louise de, 137-139, 142, 146, 147, 203
Seyssel, De, 148
Sforza, Catherine, 174
Sforza, Francesco, 60
Sforza, Giovanni, 156, 161, 162-167
Sforza, Ludovico, 56, 57, 60-62, 64-70, 86, 87, 98, 101, 157, 161
Siena, Catherine of. _See_ Catherine
Sorbonne, the, 202, 222, 232, 248, 249
Soubise, Madame de, 263, 265, 267, 268, 270, 271
Spagnali, 183
Spoleto, 170
Strozzi, Callagnini, 190
Strozzi, Tebaldeo, 190
T
Tasso, 301
Tintoretto, 301
Titian, 301
Toledo, Nicholas di, 17-21
Toledo, town of, 228
Tolomei, Francesco, 12
Tolomei, Giacomo, 12-14
Tolomei, Madonna, 12-14
Torelli, Ippolyta, 194
Toulouse, town of, 243
Tours, Plessis Les, 236
Trotti, 65, 69, 74, 75
Tufi, Porta, 51
Turenne, Elys de Beaufort, 36
U
Urban VI., Pope, 39-44, 46
Urbino, Elizabeth, Duchess of, 183, 184
V
Valentinois, Countess of, 35
Vanni, Francesco, 21-24
Vasari, 76
Venice, 86
Vinci, Leonardo da, 71, 76-79, 96
W
William of England, 44, 45
Z
Zanetto, 272, 274, 277
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