THE DUCHESS AND THE MARCHIONESS.
It was given out to the world that Ippolito had been carried off by
fever, caught on the marshes during his hot ride to and from Fondi; and
this filled the tender-hearted Duchess with grief, as she knew not but
that, had she been at home, he might yet be alive. She dwelt with
mournfulness on his long-cherished attachment, wept over his poems,
recalled his brightest points, and even questioned herself whether she
ought to have accepted him; but the answer always was no. And surely she
was right; for whatever Ippolito's society-attractions might have been,
and however his character might have been purified by household
association with a better nature, his worse qualities would undoubtedly
have cropped out as long as he remained an unconverted man. Might not
she have converted him? Why, Vittoria, who knew her best, would have
told you that, at this time, Giulia was not even converted herself. She
was very sweet, very amiable and charming; but she had not the faith
which saves. Vittoria, with her higher views and deeper nature, was
almost out of patience with her sometimes.
"What is it you want? What is it you need?" she would say to her; trying
to rouse her to a nobler life. "I can tell you: you want the Holy
Spirit; and He will come to you if you seek Him: but unsought, He is
unfound."
"O Vittoria! why _will_ you torment me so?" said Giulia, fretfully. "I
want rest; I want peace."
"Rest and peace? Why, you have a great deal too much of both to be good
for you; and as for your lawsuit, that is a mere mosquito-sting, that
draws neither blood nor tears. Fie on you, Giulia! with all your
advantages, you ought not to sit and wail about nothing. I think you
loved Ippolito more than you say you did, or you would not give way so."
"I did not love Ippolito at all," said Giulia, nettled. "I suppose one
may be sorry for a friend, without having been in love with him. You do
injustice to the memory of my dear Duke, to suppose I could ever forget
him."
"As to that," said Vittoria, "considering your good Duke's years and
infirmities, it is difficult for any one to see why you should be
inconsolable. I am sure I am quite ready to do justice to all his
qualities of head and heart; but, if I am to speak sincerely, I must own
that your deploring him in the way you have done has always seemed to me
a little exaggerated."
"I never asked you to speak sincerely," returned Giulia; "and people
generally make that a pretext for saying things that are disagreeable.
As for exaggeration, nobody possessed of any feeling could consistently
accuse me of having too much of it."
"I am the last person to make an inconsistent accusation," observed
Vittoria, "and my own irreparable and immense loss is too world-known
for any one to say I want feeling. I think, cousin, there is no one in
Italy, unless yourself, who has not compassionated me in having been
bereaved of my beloved, adored Pescara, a man of infinite virtues,
graces, and attractions; in war a hero, in wisdom a sage; in love and
constancy a perfect phoenix,--reft from me, me wretched! in the very
prime and flower of his life."
"Well, and I was very sorry for it," said Giulia, "as sorry as it was
possible to be for a man I had never seen, because I could feel for
_you_, cousin; and I went into the deepest mourning--"
"The outward garb has little to do with inward woe, Duchess," said
Vittoria, severely, "else I had worn weeds for ever"--and she plunged
into her pocket for her handkerchief.
"Well, and so should I have done, Marchioness," said Giulia. And then
they both burst into tears.
"Oh, Giulia," said Vittoria, in a stifled voice, after crying some time,
"why _will_ you try me so?"
"Why, you began," said Giulia. And then they embraced, like Brutus and
Cassius; and Vittoria's good and kindly nature recovering its
ascendancy, she said with her charming smile:
"I really thank you, Giulia, for upsetting me, for I have wanted the
relief of a good cry for some time."
"You dear thing," said Giulia, kissing her--"that was just my feeling
too."
So, after this little squall, there was bright sunshine. And as this
was only a day or two before the 17th of August, when the Emperor was
expected to land on his return from Africa, Vittoria proposed to Giulia
that they should witness the procession together from the balcony of a
friend's palace in the best situation.
Giulia said half reluctantly, "I don't affect such worldly scenes
much--"
"Nor do I, certainly," said Vittoria. "But yet I should like to show my
loyalty to the Emperor; and the scene will not be a mere show, but will
have a kind of historic interest; and will doubtless figure hereafter on
the historic page. So that, if I go, surely you may."
"Ah, well, we will go together," said Giulia, who really liked the idea.
So these two illustrious ladies were among the fairest of the fair whose
eyes "rained influence" on the gay pageant; and, the same evening, the
staid, sober Emperor left the banquet early, and sought out the widow
of his brave though not blameless general, Pescara; and he liked her so
well, that the following year, when he and she were in Rome, she was
almost the only lady whom he condescended to visit.
On the present occasion, Giulia was with her; and something happening to
be said by the Viceroy, Don Pedro di Toledo, who accompanied the
Emperor, about her roses having paled in consequence of her vexatious
lawsuit, Charles inquired into it, and in his dry, succinct way, desired
Don Pedro to see to it, and let the affair be adjusted. So, when the
Emperor was gone, the Viceroy undertook the investigation of the rival
ladies' claims; and the result was, that he advised the Duchess to be
satisfied with her ample dowry, and the addition made to it by her
husband.
This did not content Isabella, who laid claim to thirteen thousand
ducats for pin-money, and required that a judicial disposition she
herself had made should be declared void! She offered, as a set-off, to
give up five hundred ducats per annum to Giulia; but again changed her
mind. So that Giulia, nearly worried out of her life by this
unreasonable woman, again appealed to the Emperor, who deputed a
commission of three members of his council to give judgment as the case
required. This unpleasant affair extended through great part of another
year.
Nothing brings out the unromantic features of human nature so
unpleasantly as a lawsuit. Giulia was in a constant turmoil; and she
lacked those leadings to a better life, which Ochino might have afforded
her; for he had been summoned to Venice by Cardinal Bembo, who was
anxious to hear him.
This cardinal was not a good man, though I suppose there are good
cardinals now and then; however, he was at least a distinguished man
and a great scholar. And being an epicure in pulpit eloquence, he wrote
to Vittoria Colonna, begging her to use her known influence with Fra
Bernardino, to induce him to preach at Venice during the ensuing Lent.
Vittoria complied with his behest; and Ochino consequently went to
Venice, where the impression that he made may be judged-of from the
following passage in a letter from the Cardinal to the Marchioness:
"I send Vossignoria notes of Fra Bernardino's sermons, to which
I have listened with a pleasure I cannot express. Certainly, I never
heard so capital a preacher, and I cannot wonder at your estimation
of him. He discourses in quite another manner from any one I have
ever heard; and in a more Christian spirit; bringing forward truths
of the utmost weight, and enforcing them with loving earnestness.
Every one is charmed with him: he will carry away all our hearts."
And again:
"I write to you, Marchioness, as freely as I talk to Fra
Bernardino, to whom I this morning opened my whole heart. Never have
I had the pleasure of speaking to a holier man. I ought to be now at
Padua, on account of a business which has engaged me all the year,
and also to get out of the way of the constant applications with
which I am assailed on account of this blessed cardinalate; but I
could not bear to lose the opportunity of hearing some more of his
excellent sermons."
And again:
"Our Fra Bernardino, whom I must call mine as well as yours, is
at present adored in this city. There is not a man or woman who does
not cry him up to the skies. Oh, what pleasure! oh, what delight,
oh, what joy has he not given! But I will reserve his praises till
I see Vossignoria, and meantime pray God to prolong his life for the
glory of the Lord and the good of man."
What a pity that this enthusiasm was so short-lived! Ochino was soon
afterwards chosen Director of the Capuchins. His influence over his
brother friars was then great; and many of them, before they were well
aware of it, became imbued with the reformed opinions. Purgatory,
penance, and papal pardons crumbled and fell before his powerfully
wielded hammer, the doctrine of justification by faith.
Side by side with him laboured Pietro Martire Vermigli, who possessed
more scholarship, and who, while Ochino filled the pulpit, furthered the
same cause by delivering lectures on the Epistles of St. Paul. Many
monks, many students, many nobles attended these lectures. At length
their tone became so different from that of the Church, that the
Viceroy interdicted him from preaching and lecturing. But Pietro
Martire appealed to Rome, and obtained the removal of the interdict.