second, to crown the Dauphin in the city of Rheims. This meant a march
through a part of France held by the enemy and the capture of many
cities. Joan and her army accomplished the work, however, and the day
came when Charles the Dauphin and the Maid of Orleans, as she was now
called, entered the great cathedral of Rheims, and Joan heard her
prince consecrated and proclaimed King of France. She had given her
country new hope and strength and a king to look to.
Joan had now completed the two tasks for which she had left Domremy;
her voices had spoken truly to her and she had done what they had
commanded. She wanted to go home, enter her father's house again, and
remain a peasant girl like her friends and share their simple life. But
she had become too wonderful in the eyes of France for the people to
let her do as she wished. They begged her to do more, and so she was
persuaded to keep with the royal army and wage battle after battle with
the English. For a time victory stayed with her, but finally one day at
Compiègne she was cut off from her men by the enemy, surrounded and
taken prisoner. The rest of her history is briefly told. She was put in
prison at Rouen, tried for witchcraft, condemned and burned at the
stake in 1431, when she was nineteen years old.
So it was that the peasant girl stirred France to hope by her wonderful
deeds, and gave her life at the end for her country's sake. France made
her a national heroine, the Catholic Church proclaimed her a Saint, and
in all history there is hardly to be found so marvelous a story as that
of the simple girl of Domremy, Joan of Arc, called the Maid of France.
III
Vittoria Colonna
The Girl of Ischia: 1490-1547
Vines had woven the walls of a little natural bower on a high cliff of
the wooded, sea-swept island of Ischia off the coast of Italy. Beyond
lay the bay of Naples, a deep blue glimmering with specks of gold, and
still farther off stretched the white and brown and yellow roofs and
walls of that sun-loved city. It was late afternoon, the hour of all
the four and twenty when the city and the sea were most alluring to the
eye. In the bower sat a woman and a golden-haired girl, and each was
watching the colors shift and deepen in the broad breeze-touched bay.
"Is there anything else as lovely, Isabella?" asked the girl in time.
"See yon handful of opals just tossed on the waves off Capua. How still
it is! The woods have gone to sleep."
The woman smiled. "Peace to their slumbers. Yonder poor town of Naples
has little time to rest! What with France and Spain, the Holy Father
and the rest of them, the poor folk of Naples can scarce call their
souls their own."
"Indeed 'tis like looking down from a nest upon a stormy plain," agreed
the girl. "Here at least are few plottings and struggles."
She settled more comfortably, her head resting in the palm of her hand.
Then, after a moment, she sat up again and, turning to her companion,
laid a finger to her lips. Close to them, the other side of the network
of wild vines, was the sound of footsteps and presently of voices.
"To the west, beyond this cliff, lies a beach," she heard a man's voice
say, "where the Marquis Ferdinand and his teacher come to swim each day
at this hour. We can hide in the bushes back of the shore and take them
unarmed. The Orsini have offered an hundred ducats for the boy."
There followed a chuckle, and then another voice added: "'Tis an easy
way to line my purse again."
"Softly then, softly," cautioned the first speaker, and crackling twigs
marked their stealthy descent towards the sheltered beach.
The girl, alarm in her eyes, sat up straight. As soon as the crackling
ceased she bent forward. "Didst hear, Isabella?" she whispered. "Didst
hear yon plot? They wait for Ferdinand and Messer Florio to bathe
beneath the cliff and then set on them. An hundred ducats the Orsini
pay. What can we do to warn them?"
But Isabella's wits seemed flown away. She sat silent, rocking from
side to side, her face suddenly quite white.
"Think, Isabella, think; what shall we do? We can't let them have
Ferdinand without a warning. 'Tis almost time that his boat came
alongshore. He bathes at sunset and the sun is nearly gone. Speak,
Isabella, speak."
The girl put her hand on the woman's arm and shook her. The only reply
was a moan and a whispered, "Oh, Vittoria, what will our dear lady the
Duchess say?"
"She will say we were cowards for one thing, and she will be right,"
said the girl. "Many a time have I heard my father say, 'There's
nothing the Orsini want but the Colonna will snatch away from them.'
They shan't have Ferdinand. Tell your beads here on the cliff an you
will; I'm going down over its edge to the beach."
She stood up, tall and slender in her white gown, her fair hair falling
to her shoulders, and looked out across the bay. "There, he is coming
now," she exclaimed, pointing eastward to where a white sail was
skimming the sparkling waves. "If they take Ferdinand they take
Vittoria Colonna too."
"But the Duchess----" began the frightened Isabella. "She bade me never
leave thee. If I go home alone----"
"Stop!" ordered the girl. "Thou knowest the safety of Ferdinand is of
more value than all the womenfolk in Ischia. The boat is almost here."
She stepped to the edge of the cliff where the vines were thickest and
tested them with her feet. Then, searching carefully for that ladder of
knotted branches which seemed to promise the securest hold she stepped
over the edge and slid her feet from one rung of the vine-ladder to
another while she clung to the roots with her hands. Far below the
waves murmured against the rocks and lapped at the silver half-moon of
the sandy beach.
Fortunately the cliff was shelving and in places a path was worn where
boys had hunted for sea-birds' nests. Vittoria was strong and she kept
her hold upon one vine until she had found another quite as safe.
Slowly she crept downward, stopping now and again to look out for the
sailboat which was steadily crossing towards the little beach. She
figured that it would pass beneath her just as she should reach a
certain jutting ledge of rock. The wind was rising and she had to
hasten. She twisted her fingers tightly about a vine and loosed her
footing. So she slipped down and stood, out of breath and with her hair
and dress disheveled, on the ledge. Putting her hands to her mouth she
sent a hailing cry across the water.
The man and boy on the skiff looked up and saw the white-clad figure of
the girl above them on the ledge. "It's Vittoria!" cried the boy. "She
has some message for us, Florio. Send the boat in beneath the cliff."
The man nodded and swung the tiller over so that the light cockle-shell
skiff danced over the water to Vittoria's ledge. As they neared it the
boy, a handsome, curly-haired, sunburned lad of fifteen, caught at the
matting of heavy vines which hung almost to the water's edge while the
man dropped the little sail.
"What is it, Vittoria?" asked the boy. "Messer Florio and I were going
for our swim."
"Not to-day, Ferdinand," she answered. "I have word for thee. Wilt
catch me if I climb down?"
"Aye, that I will."
Holding again by the vines and slipping her feet from rung to rung
Vittoria left her ledge and was soon near enough for Ferdinand to catch
her in his arms. Messer Florio steadied the boat against the rock while
the boy swung Vittoria across the gunwale.
"Now set your sail back towards home," she commanded.
"Why, Vittoria?"
"Isabella and I were on the cliff but now," she exclaimed, her eyes
sparkling, "when we heard two men plan how they should hide behind the
trees of the beach and seize upon you both when you were unarmed. One
said the Orsini would pay an hundred ducats for Ferdinand. They are
down there waiting now."
Messer Florio's swart face paled and the boy frowned. "So even in
Ischia there is danger from those wolves, is there?" said he. "Oh, wait
until I am a man, and can draw their fangs for them."
"Aye, wait, Ferdinand. Meantime let us be sailing towards home."
"Truly, the Lady Vittoria speaks wisely," said Messer Florio, glancing
up at the cliff as though fearful that their enemies might even yet be
in position to harm them from above. "Take my place, Ferdinand, while I
work the bow out to sea again."
The boy obeyed, and between them they soon had the skiff tacking out
from shore, her nose pointing over towards Capua.
"Poor Isabella," said Vittoria after a time. "I think she was too
fearful even to speak. We must send a guard to bring her in by dusk."
"'Tis well one of you had courage to give the warning," said Florio.
"'Twas a climb few girls would care to risk to my thinking."
"Needs must when the devil drives," answered Vittoria with a laugh. "I
could not see them steal my husband from before my very eyes. Moreover
when have the Orsini ever had the better of a true Colonna?"
So Ferdinand the boy Marquis of Pescara and Florio his tutor sang the
praises of the little Lady Vittoria Colonna until they had rounded the
rugged cliffs of Ischia and sailed into safe harbor. Above the
landing-place stood the great fortress-castle where lived Costanza d'
Avalos, Duchess of Francavilla, and châtelaine of this island rock of
Ischia. Florio gave a sigh of relief as he saw Ferdinand and Vittoria
step on shore. He knew the robbers would have made short shrift of him
if they could have placed their hands on the young Lord of Pescara.
In those days the great Roman families of Colonna and Orsini were
always at swords' points. Each had had many cardinals, statesmen, and
warriors, and each strove its hardest to despoil the other. Vittoria,
the youngest daughter of Fabrizio Colonna, had been born in 1490 in the
Castle of Marino, which guarded one of the passes in the Alban hills
near Rome. But such a castle was no place for children, for the lords
of Marino and the other mountain strongholds lived like robber barons,
swooping down on neighboring towns and cities, holding travelers to
ransom, and attacking and destroying one another's homes on any
favoring chance. The Lord Fabrizio Colonna and his wife Agnes were
anxious to place their daughter in safer hands, and at the same time it
happened that Ferdinand II, King of Sicily and Naples, was desirous of
uniting the powerful Colonna family to his cause by marrying a girl of
that house to a boy of his own race. So at five years of age Vittoria
was solemnly betrothed to Ferdinand, Marquis of Pescara, and went to
live in the sheltered island of Ischia in the Bay of Naples, under the
care of the Duchess of Francavilla, the older sister of the young
Marquis Ferdinand. Here the boy and girl were brought up together,
studying under the same teachers, playing the same games, while the
careful Duchess kept vigilant watch and ward over both, for nothing
would have pleased the lords of the house of Orsini better than to
prevent the marriage of a Colonna to a boy of such rank and wealth.
Even in Ischia, protected by nature as it was and guarded by the
Duchess' soldiers, spies sometimes appeared, and neither Vittoria nor
Ferdinand were strangers to perils at the hands of enemies of their
houses.
For the most part, however, Ischia was quiet and the boy and girl led
happy, peaceful lives. Ferdinand was trained to be a soldier, but also
learned something of letters and art. A taste for poetry was considered
fashionable among young noblemen of that period and he was brought up
in the fashion. Vittoria showed an unusual love of literature, and the
Duchess, finding her young ward eager to learn, trained her in Latin
and Greek and urged her to write verses of her own.
Ferdinand grew tall and strong, fit for the work of a soldier, gentle
at most times, but fiery when his anger was aroused. He was considered
remarkably handsome, with an auburn beard, an aquiline nose, and eyes
keen and commanding. Vittoria, while she was still a girl, was regarded
as one of the beauties of Italy, her face being of the calm oval Roman
type, with the broad brow, the thoughtful eyes, and the full red lips.
Poets sang the praises of her golden hair and artists loved to paint
it, and the fame of its beauty had spread to Rome and Naples through
the words of wandering troubadours who had been to Ischia.
When Vittoria Colonna and Ferdinand d'Avalos were nineteen years old
they were married, and it was a true love-match, for they had grown
more and more fond of each other during the years they had spent on the
island. The wedding was almost royal in its magnificence, and then
bride and groom went to Naples, where endless feasts were given in
their honor. They traveled a little and then went back to Ischia, where
for three years Ferdinand and Vittoria were very happy, and where she
began to write some of those sonnets which were to win her fame.
Then came the call to war, and Ferdinand left Vittoria at Ischia to
hasten to the aid of his king who was warring with Louis XII of France.
From that time the life of Vittoria's husband was spent in camps and
battles. He was unusually brave, a man beloved by his soldiers, and as
a general there were few men of the age his equal. Now he was winning,
now losing, at one time in prison at Milan writing letters in poetry to
his wife to which she replied with poems of her own. He was wounded at
the great battle of Pavia, and a little later, worn out by his hard
warring life, died in 1525.
Vittoria stayed at Ischia, and to ease her grief for her loved husband
wrote many sonnets dealing with their life together. Her poems were
considered very beautiful and her fame grew until she was accounted
among the greatest of Italian writers. After a time she traveled and
everywhere she was received with the highest honors as a poetess. At
last she settled in Rome, and there her house was the centre of
learning in the city. All men of talent claimed to be her friends, and
the letters of the day were filled with accounts of her genius, her
holiness, and her beauty. Chief among her friends was the great painter
Michael Angelo, and the friendship of each was a continual inspiration
to the genius of the other.
So it was that this girl who saved her betrothed husband from his
enemies that day at Ischia became in time one of the noblest figures in
Italian life, one of the finest flowers of what we call the Renaissance
in Europe.
IV
Catherine de' Medici
The Girl of Mediæval Italy: 1519-1589
A stone bench with arms carved to represent crouching lions stood under
an ilex tree in a corner of the Medici gardens in Florence. There, on a
certain autumn afternoon, sat two girls, talking languidly, for the day
was hot. Both were dark, but one looked much like a hundred other girls
to be met in the streets of Florence, the other was striking. Her long,
oval face was very pale, and seemed the more colorless in contrast with
the black hair which she wore low on her forehead and over the tips of
her ears. Her lips were thin and straight, and her eyelids made her
eyes look long and narrow, almost like two slits from which gleamed a
singularly bright or a dull light, depending on whether she were
interested or indifferent. Delicate black brows were penciled above
those eyes. She was handsome, but one might also judge that she was
crafty.
Just now she was admiring the glitter of a ruby in a ring upon her
hand. "How much it looks like a drop of blood," she was saying. "Hast
thou ever seen one of those rings, Bianca, with a little hidden place
to carry poison? My uncle Filippo has one. The Duke's goldsmith made it
for him."
"I hate all such things," said Bianca. "If I had such a ring I'd throw
it into the Arno."
"Nevertheless they are useful sometimes. My uncle and the Duke are
playing at being friends now, but thou knowest that to-morrow they
might well be at each other's throats." She smoothed a fold of the
green gown on her knee. "I like my uncle, but the Duke----" she
shrugged her shoulders. "I trust him no more than I would the rabble of
Florence. He is kind to me now. In good faith I know there is some
reason for it. 'Tis not love of me or because I am a girl of his house
of the Medici."
"Softly," warned Bianca. "Here is he now coming through the garden."
There came towards them a singular group. One was a tall man, dressed
in doublet and hose, with a long heavy gold chain hanging almost to his
waist, and a gold girdle in which was stuck a short dagger, the handle
of which glittered with precious stones. A velvet cape hung from his
shoulders, and on his head perched a flat velvet cap, tilted at an
angle. He bore a certain resemblance to the girl in green; he had the
same cream-white skin, lustrous black hair, and narrow, searching eyes.
Beside him came a dwarf, dressed in parti-colored brown and gold. He
had to take two little hopping steps to every long stride of the man
with him. On the other side of the Duke stalked a big greyhound, a
certain stately grace in every movement. He stood so high that the Duke
could pat his head and pull his long ears without stooping.
The girls rose and courtesied as the others reached them. The Duke,
with a smile in his black eyes, waved his hand for them to be seated.
"'Tis pleasant here in thy little nook, Catherine," said he. "This work
over state affairs in my cabinet makes my head buzz as if 'twere a hive
of angry bees."
"What honeyed thoughts must be yours, my lord," observed the dwarf.
"Honeyed indeed, since they were of my fair Catherine," answered his
master. "Lie down in the shade, good lad, and rest thy overworked wits.
I would have a talk with my dear niece if she will give me room upon
her bench."
Catherine moved, and the Duke sat down. Bianca rose, but the Duke bade
her stay. "I have no secrets from Catherine's friends," said he.
"Thou knowest well, little lady," he began, "that we of the Medici have
had our ups and downs. Young as thou art thou hast not escaped them.
Recall those days when thou wert at the convent, and we were striving
to retake Florence from the barbarous chiefs of the Republic. Did not
Battista Cei--wretched man! propose that thou shouldst be set out
between two battlements where the artillery fire would sweep across
thee?"
"I remember well," said Catherine, her eyes gleaming as she spoke.
"And later, did not Castiglione advise that rather than hand thee over
to the care of our Holy Father the Pope thou shouldst be given to the
soft mercy of the mercenary soldiers?"
"That I remember also," said Catherine. "Though I was only nine I shall
never forget those days."
"I only recall them," continued the Duke, "that thou mayst consider how
uncertain is the life of a Medici, and may understand with what care I
have looked to thy welfare. Thou art dear to me as my own daughter, and
as a daughter have I planned for thee. Now for my news. I have arranged
to marry thee to a son of the French King!"
He looked for some surprise on Catherine's part, but she showed none.
She gazed straight ahead of her, her eyelids drooping a little over her
eyes.
"The French King has two sons, the Dauphin and Prince Henry. Which am I
to marry?" she asked quietly.
The Duke crossed one knee upon the other. "I cannot tell thee yet," he
answered. "The Dauphin for preference, but Henry if need be. The King
has raised objections to the first, but a house like ours, which has
given two Popes to Christendom, might well provide a Queen for the
throne of France. One or the other it will be."
Catherine bent her head. "I trust thou hast always found me dutiful,"
said she, "and wilt in this."
The Duke, his white fingers playing with the chain about his neck, eyed
the girl closely. "Thou art a curious maiden, Catherine," he observed
slowly. "I tell thee that thou art to marry a Valois and go to Paris
and thou showest as much excitement as if I said the wind had veered a
quarter. Is it nothing to thee to marry and leave thy home?"
Catherine smiled, her eyes bent on the greyhound which lay crouched at
her feet. "Good my lord," she answered, "I have known ever since I was
old enough to think of such things that some day thou or some other of
my kinsmen would come to me and say, 'Catherine, thou art to marry such
and such a prince.' To me they are all alike, dressed of a piece. I
know not even if they be comely or no, but only that such a one is Heir
of France and such is Prince of Savoy. I am ready to live in Paris or
in Milan as it suits my kinsmen. As for leaving home thou hast said
thyself that my days here have been somewhat hazardous. I have no
reason to love these Florentine gentlemen overmuch."
"True," agreed the Duke. "Thou sayest wisely, surprising wisely for a
maid thy years. If I mistake not thou wilt play this game of statecraft
shrewdly, with an eye ever to the stakes and little concern for the
other players. It is well, the Medici have never played the fool. One
word more. Shortly thou and I and thy good uncle Filippo Strozzi must
leave for Leghorn, there to meet the Pope and the envoys of the King of
France, and sign the marriage papers. I am right glad that Filippo will
go. He will safeguard thee as carefully as I. Now must I take my leave.
May thy dreams be sweet, savored with the thought that some day thou
mayst be Queen in France." He rose and poked the dwarf with his toe.
"Come, good jester, much sleep maketh the wits dull."
"Then should mine be sharp," answered the dwarf, springing up. "He who
serves the Medici sleeps with one eye open."
"And so he must," agreed the Duke with a laugh. He called to the dog
and the three went back across the lawn as they had come.
Only when they were out of sight did Catherine speak. "He is a
smooth-tongued man in very truth, Bianca," said she. "He talks about
the care he takes of me, the thought he spends in planning for my
marriage. He would sell me to-morrow to the highest bidder. If I marry
one of the French princes 'tis so that he may count on France's aid to
help him here in Italy. And he is glad that Uncle Filippo will go to
Leghorn with me. He's glad forsooth because my uncle is the most
popular man in Florence, and could upset the Duke in a twinkling had he
the mind to do so. His head will rest the easier with me in Paris and
the Strozzi out of Florence. Oh, a very gentle kinsman is my lord
Duke."
"Thou mayst not do him justice, Catherine," urged Bianca.
"Justice?" Catherine's eyes narrowed and a gleam shot into them. "I may
be young, Bianca, but I am no fool. I cannot speak for other countries,
but here in Italy one should trust no one else. Each has some plan in
mind, and given the chance will stop at nothing to have his way with
things. Hark you now." The girl lowered her voice to a whisper. "Thou
knowest Messer Lorenzino de' Medici, Duke Alessandro's closest friend
and counselor? Were I the Duke, Lorenzino would leave Florence for his
health and never return. Twice have I come upon him when he thought he
was alone and each time there was a dark brooding look upon his face.
He has some purpose in his friendliness. What if some evening when the
Duke walks forth alone, let us say strolls on the other side this ilex
where the poplars are a screen, a man glides from the shadow? A glint
of steel, and Duke Alessandro is no more. The Florentines are glad, and
Lorenzino reaps rewards. He has done a public service. 'Tis so easy, so
very easy."
"Be still, Catherine. What thoughts thou hast! 'Tis enough to make one
shudder."
The gleam in Catherine's eyes disappeared, and she was the same quiet
indifferent girl she had been before. "I only said how easy. I only
thought the Duke should be more careful of his friends."
"But even to think such things is dangerous, Catherine," protested the
nervous Bianca.
"No, thoughts have killed no one," answered Catherine, with a shrewd
smile. "Else there had been no one left alive by now."
"I will not talk with thee when thou art so cruel-minded, Catherine,"
and Bianca rose from the stone seat.
"'Tis not I. 'Tis the great world about me, the men and women of all
the Christian courts. Howbeit 'tis time we went indoors. I must plan
preparation for this journey to Leghorn the Duke told me of."
She rose also, and moved across the lawn by the side of her friend with
a sinuous grace which was remarkable in a girl so young as she.
However, as those in the Medici Palace often observed, the Lady
Catherine, styled the Princess of Florence, was old for her age in more
ways than one.
[Illustration: CATHERINE DE' MEDICI
_From an old engraving_]