LOVE.
E bevea da' suoi lumi
Un' estranea dolcezza,
Che lasciava nel fine
Un non so che di amaro.
Sospirava sovente, e non sapeva
La cagion dei sospiri.
Così fui prima amante, che intendessi
Che cosa fosse amore:
Ben me ne accorsi alfin....
TASSO.
And from his eyes I drank
A sweetness strange and new,
But in the end, alas! I found
That draught was bitter too.
I sighed, and knew not why;--
I loved, and knew it not:--
But ah! too soon that knowledge came
By sad experience brought....
Sir Anton Francesco Torelli was of one of the best families of the
territory of Fermo;--endowed with the gifts of fortune, honored by
his relations, respected by strangers, blessed with a lovely wife,
and a son, in whom centred all the hopes of his declining years.
Happy would he have been if he had believed what is only too true,
that the best instruction that children can receive, must be derived
from the good examples of their parents: happy, if he had never
sent from his home, his dear son Lelio! for his last steps towards
the tomb would not have been embittered by sorrow. But, complying
with the fashion of the times, he desired his son to be skilled in
chivalric exercises, and the father's heart exulted in the hope
that the noble ladies of Fermo might salute his son as the most
accomplished and courteous nobleman of the land. With this idea, Sir
Anton Francesco, having himself served a long time with the Cardinal
dei Medici in Rome, thought he might easily instal his son Lelio as
page in the court of the Grand Duke Cosimo. But Cosimo having died
prematurely, worn out by the excessive love of pleasure, Lelio,
a youth of elegant manners and fine figure, so pleased the Lady
Isabella, Duchess of Bracciano, and daughter of Cosimo, that she
obtained the handsome page for her own service.
In those times, noblemen serving at court, were required to learn the
skilful management of all knightly weapons, to fight with the sword
and dagger, and even to defend themselves unarmed from unexpected
attacks with the stiletto or poniard; and there were some excellent
books written about this art, which served also as a model to other
nations. Nor did they neglect the practice of fire-arms, although
that was not esteemed so noble an accomplishment; the management of
horses they deemed indispensable, either in racing, tilting, or (more
difficult still) curvetting before the ladies, then nice judges of
such arts. Next in importance came dexterity in field-sports, among
which stood foremost that of hawking, now fallen into disuse, or only
kept up in Holland. To tell the truth, the knights made a show of
admiring belles-lettres, but not the severer productions of the pen,
nor those which spring new and vivid from the imagination warmed by
the heart, but rather those arranged according to accepted formulas,
and mutilated _in usum Delphini_; which composed the delights of the
courtiers whom experience or fear had taught to touch carefully such
dangerous matters. Justice, however, forbids us to let pass unnoticed
some writer, who, kindled by the last panting breath of the Republic,
dared to write, if not powerfully, at least conscientiously; but
the last breath soon expires, the writer became silent, and bowed
his head to fate. There were others, who wrote the truth, but dared
not publish it, as if they had wished to constitute their remote
descendants the heirs of their revenge; and, as it seems, the
descendants opened the will, but reading what the inheritance was,
thought best to refuse the legacy. The arts and sciences, however,
were better received, particularly chemistry, for the purpose of
making poisons, of which the men of those times, and the Medicis in
particular, became very skilful manufacturers, and by what we read
about it, we see that modern researches fall far short of ancient
toxicology. Michael Angelo, immortal monument of human dignity, and
eternal witness to the truth, that man was created in the image of
God, when he no longer had a country, consecrated himself entirely to
Heaven, and was replaced by Benvenuto Cellini, a man of great genius,
but wholly without heart, who wasted his talents in working girdles,
jewels, vases, plates, and similar superfluities of luxury; so that
when he undertook the statue of Perseus, he was no longer able to
raise to lofty conceptions his mind so long accustomed to female
ornaments, whereupon Alfonzo dei Pazzi stung him with the bitter
epigram:--
"With the trunk of a giant, the limbs of a lady,
I rate your fair Perseus at one maravedi."[1]
[1]
Corpo gigante, e gambe di fanciulla
Ha il nuovo Perseo: sicchè tutto insieme
Ti può bello parer, ma non val nulla.
But to return to Lelio Torelli; he had succeeded wonderfully
in all the exercises that require strength and suppleness of
limb. As to that discipline which is requisite to enlighten
the intellect, either he had not given his mind to it, or
had not been able to attain it; nor did he take pleasure in
music, singing, or dancing; his glances rested upon a group of
pretty women with less interest than upon a bunch of roses, and
infinitely less than that with which he hunted the wild boar over
hill and dale. No one more ready than he to leap with one bound
into the saddle; no one more unerring in hurling a dart or firing
a shot; and not to describe too minutely, he not only easily
surpassed in prowess all his companions, but scarcely could there
be found among the elder knights one to excel him.
Therefore he was more eager for affrays and disputes than
was becoming in a noble youth, thus exhibiting a fierceness
of disposition; and whenever by superior force or adroitness
he overcame his opponent, deaf to the gentle tones of pity
or pardon, he was not easily restrained from striking, until
weariness or the interposition of bystanders arrested his hand.
Then rancor took possession of him; and woe if he should one day
have a chance to give vent to the vengeance treasured up in the
depths of his soul! His enemies would certainly have done well to
put, as the saying goes, the extreme unction in their pockets.
As to the rest of his character, he was as strong in love as in
hate, and always foremost in exposing himself to danger, even
desiring to meet it alone, so that his friends had to restrain
him. This he did neither to win praise nor to excite gratitude,
for he despised and even spurned both, but through a natural
generosity and even a certain feeling of superiority over his
companions, and this superiority it was easier for them to envy
than to counteract. Feared rather than loved, respected rather
than followed, he seemed most worthy of authority.
It one day happened that Lady Isabella having summoned him in
great haste, he had scarcely time to free himself from the hands
of his antagonist, and appeared before her stained with blood.
The noble lady seeing him in this condition, exclaimed in an
angry voice:
"Go from my sight, you make me shudder!"
From that day, Lelio seemed no longer the same; instead of
wreaking vengeance on any one who taunted him, as he would once
have done, he now bit his lips, colored to the very roots of his
hair, checked himself by violent effort, and met the sarcasm
with a pleasant smile. He was more orderly in his person than
before, and paid more attention to his luxuriant fair hair, and
the neatness of his dress; but his once florid complexion had
now become pale, his air pensive, his blue eyes sunken. And this
was not all. Lelio would often stand apart from his companions,
sad and silent, looking either at a flower, a falcon circling
through the air, or a little cloud that undulated through the
blue ether as if the loving zephyrs were contending for it; but
he was oftenest to be seen in the evening, upon the brow of a
hill, with both hands clasped upon his knees, gazing intently
at the setting sun, and the gold, purple, and rich colors of
mother-of-pearl, and the rainbow hues with which the glorious
Father of Life surrounds his temporary tomb. He scarcely heeded
his Spanish jennet, which strove in vain to rouse his inert
master with his neighs; vainly, too, did his greyhound run before
him, crouch for an instant, turn back to him, fly on again, bark,
gaze, lick his hands and leap upon him; Lelio by voice and signs
would gently endeavor to quiet him, so that the poor animal,
seeing all his attempts useless, with drooping ears and tail
would quietly crouch at his master's feet; nor did his weapons
meet with any better fate, although sometimes he would seize them
as if moved by a sudden impulse, and would exercise so violently
with them as to bathe himself in perspiration, and exhaust his
strength for several days.
Lady Isabella possessed a little volume of Petrarch's poems
which always accompanied her in her solitary walks; this book
disappeared, for Lelio had appropriated it to himself and was
never tired of reading in it.
How had the youth become so changed? One day while absorbed
in this book, and straying at random through the woody paths
of Cerreto, some laughing country girls waited for him at the
extremity of one of the walks, hidden behind some oaks, and
threw handfuls of violets in his face, saying in jesting tones;
"Such eyes were not made to be dimmed by poring over books, but
to laugh and make love." And a gay old farmer, who passed by
carrying upon his head a basket of grapes, laughing still louder,
cried: "Ah, indeed! you do not know much about it; do you not see
how dead in love he is? The end of the world must be coming, if
our young girls do not know what love is."
And when, on calm evenings, the windows of the hall being open,
the Lady Isabella poured forth a flood of harmony through the
dark air, singing and playing songs and melodies, perhaps already
composed, or, abandoning herself to the inspiration that moved
her, improvising the verses and setting them to music; Lelio
would stand motionless, leaning against a tree or the pedestal of
a statue in the garden, inhaling a fatal enchantment, rendered
more intoxicating by the atmosphere, the hour, the odorous
emanations which the dewy herbs and flowers sent forth, and the
sweet light which fell from the starry heavens; and when the
windows were closed, the lamps lighted, and all animate creation
resigned itself to that repose to which nature invites it, this
solitary youth was still so absorbed in ecstasy, that he alone
remained forgetful of everything, standing in the same place,
until the first rays of the rising sun shining in his eyes
recalled him to the accustomed duties of life.
Before continuing the recital of this love, I must explain what I
have alluded to above. I wish to have it understood that I have
made use of no poet's license, but that it is an historical fact,
that Isabella, Duchess of Bracciano, was not only an authoress, a
poetess, and a composer, but also an _improvisatrice_. Nor was
this the only talent of this celebrated woman, for besides her
native tongue, she spoke and wrote fluently in Latin, French, and
Spanish; in the art of drawing she rivalled the most celebrated
masters, and in every accomplishment that belonged to her high
station, and in every lady-like elegance and refinement, she
was so perfect as to be rightly esteemed rather wonderful than
rare. All the chronicles which I have seen, which speak of this
unfortunate Princess, agree in using the following words: "It
is sufficient to say that she was esteemed by all, both far and
near, as a perfect ark of learning and science, and the people
loved her for those great qualities, and her father felt for her
a most passionate tenderness." Blessed might she have been, could
she have used such rich gifts of nature and high cultivation to
render her life happy and her memory immortal!
Lelio, whenever it was possible, would enter the room of the
Lady Isabella, and there, sure that he was unobserved, would
take the instrument over which the fingers of his mistress had
swiftly flown, and would kiss it madly, press it to his heart and
brow, and bathe it with tears; and if he could find some paper
upon which the Lady Isabella had been writing, he would read the
lines over and over again, and try to compose some himself; but
although his soul overflowed with poetry, the power adequately
to express such overwhelming emotion was wanting; nor, perhaps,
could even long study have enabled him to do justice to it. He
would then be enraged with himself, rave, and finally end by
blotting out with his tears what he had written with the ink. At
last even this comfort, if we may call it one, was denied him.
The Lady Isabella finding her spotless papers soiled, and being
unable to discover the culprit, from that time forward carefully
removed them.
But in truth, except for this waste of paper, Lady Isabella could
not wish for a more assiduous and diligent page than Lelio. By
the expression of her face, so much had he gazed upon it, he
had learned to read the inmost secrets of her soul, nor did
he need any further indication of her wishes to execute them.
This assiduity increased to such a degree as to be somewhat
troublesome, especially when Lady Isabella was conversing with
Sir Troilo--for then he would invent a thousand excuses to enter
unsummoned into her room, or not to leave it when there. As it
rarely happens that two beings who hate, or wish to injure each
other, however much they may endeavor to conceal their feelings,
do not by some means or other finally reveal them, so the glances
of Troilo and Lelio met, clashing like two enemies' swords, and
the more Troilo persisted in looking sternly at Lelio, to make
him, either through respect or fear, cast down his eyes, the more
steadily would Lelio fix them upon him with an indescribable
expression of rage. The few words which they exchanged always
contained some biting sarcasm; bitter were the tones of their
voices; bitter their actions, their bearing, their gestures.
Lelio, one day stealing, according to his custom, into Lady
Isabella's room, took her lute in his hand, and making a pretence
of playing it, began to sing a ballad that was a favorite of
his mistress. He did not attempt to pour forth the full power
of his clear voice, withheld by respect for the place, and
because, ignorant of music, he had learned the song by ear only,
repeating it who knows how many times; but growing excited by
degrees, he yielded to the impulse that prompted him, and rarely
or never had those halls resounded with the echoes of so rich
a melody. Lady Isabella drew near unobserved, and touched by
so much harmony, approached him gently, and when Lelio ceased
singing, she placed her hand upon his head, and patting it
playfully, said--
"Who taught you this, my fine boy?"
"Love--a very great love that I have for music."
"And you should follow the dictates of this love, since the
cultivation of the fine arts ennobles the intellect and softens
the heart."
And as the Duchess still kept her hand upon his head, Lelio, in
an imploring voice, said to her--
"My Lady, for heaven's sake I beseech you to take your hand from
my head."
"Should I not put it there?" asked the Duchess in tones slightly
resentful, and withdrawing it quickly.
"Oh! my Lady, pity me, it burns my brain."
"I do not see why my hand should perform the office of the tunic
of Nessus."
"I do not know, but I feel it." And the boy uttered these words
in so tremulous and mournful a voice, that the Duchess put her
hand to his forehead and exclaimed in a frightened tone--
"_Dio mio!_ how it burns! Poor Lelio! I fear you are ill. Ah! you
are fainting, and there is no one here to help him. Lelio! Lelio!
Ah! he will die in my arms. Holy Virgin, help him!"
Lelio, his face as white as a waxen image, bathed in a cold
perspiration, closed his eyes and leaned his head upon Lady
Isabella's bosom, while she supported him with both arms.
Recovering himself presently, he opened his eyes with a sigh,
perceived where he was, and remembering how it had happened, and
the reason of his fainting, he said sadly,
"I thought that I was dying. Oh, why did I not really die?"
The Duchess took some scented spirits and bathed his temples with
it, although the youth tried respectfully to prevent her.
"Let me, let me," said the Duchess. "I will be a mother to you.
I might already be so in age--almost--and in affection. You have
a claim upon my tenderness, for your own mother is far distant,
and cannot help you, poor child. But what follies are these?
Whence comes this despair? Speak to me; open your whole heart to
me. I have seen you change countenance, have seen your inward
struggles; and I have observed how your arm trembles when you
assist me to mount my horse. Are you in love? Thoughtless boy,
you should not hide it from me! For I too have known love's
trials, and know also how to pity them. You, so noble, cannot
have placed your affections on an unworthy object; and if upon
one above you, there is no inequality which love cannot level;
and you, by your high birth, your wealth, and more than all by
your goodness, are deserving of an illustrious connexion. If I
have any influence, I promise to exert it all to see you happy."
Meanwhile Lelio had regained his former composure; he even, all
sorrow laid aside, appeared smiling, and his cheeks were rosy
with the hue of youth, the springtime of life.
"Oh, indeed," he replied with feigned bashfulness, "do children
know anything about such things? Are such the thoughts of
eighteen years? What is love? Is it a fruit, a sword, or a
falcon? I have always heard it said that youths grow thin, but
that afterwards they become more vigorous than before. My lady,
I feel so happy, so joyful, that I can ask for nothing more; and
offering you passionately all the gratitude in my power for your
pity, I entreat you to continue the maternal kindness which you
have promised me, giving you my word of honor, that I, for my
part, will ever strive to deserve it."
"I will do so, Lelio," said the Lady Isabella, adding, almost in
spite of herself, "for I need, more than you can believe, people
to love me truly. I, you see, Lelio, am miserable, miserable
enough, for no one on this earth loves me. My father loved me
dearly, but he has left me. O my father, why did you leave me
alone--without a guide--abandoned by all?" While she was thus
speaking, Lelio knelt on the ground, and kissing the hem of her
dress, uttered these words:
"I make a sacred vow to be yours till death."
The Duchess, who through necessity and custom had learned to
control her emotions, perceiving that she had gone further than
she had intended, said, in order to distract her own thoughts and
Lelio's from these events.
"Rise, Lelio, I do not wish the gift of voice which I have
discovered in you to be lost: I do not want you to sing by ear,
and am ready to teach you music. If you continue to improve as
rapidly as you have begun, it will not be long before you will
have no equal in the court of my illustrious brother Francesco.
Let us take the music of the song that you were singing just
now; I will show you the notes, and the places where the voice
must be elevated and lowered. Signor Giulio Caccini, a Roman
musician, composed it expressly for me. The melody is soft and
sweet."
"If I had known before, honored lady, whose composition it was,
I should have taken care not to learn it by heart, much less to
sing it."
"Why so, Lelio? Have you unfriendly feelings towards Signor
Giulio?"
"I have never exchanged a word with him; but his face has such a
bad expression; he looks to me as if he had the whole sect of the
Pharisees in his heart."
"It seems just the contrary to me. He is gracious and kind to
all, speaks gently, and smiles sweetly. I could confess----"
"And I regard him as the most consummate traitor that has ever
been since Judas. Mark but his smile; it does not seem to be his
own; I believe he begged it from some second-hand dealer. In his
small velvety hands, do you not see the cat's paw in which the
claws are sheathed? He preaches charity and neighborly love to
all, it is true, but he does it for his own sake; for he does not
find it for his interest to encourage people to scrutinize too
closely, and to discover by rigid examination the characters of
others."
Lady Isabella said, smilingly, "Beware, Lelio; judge not, that
you be not judged."
"Those are holy words, that must be understood literally, since
otherwise it would be necessary to renounce both experience and
life. And, therefore, I may judge, since I do not fear to be
judged."
Lelio was right, and a deed of blood is proof of it.
The chronicles relate that Captain degli Antinori having to carry
to Eleonora di Toledo, wife of Piero dei Medici, a love-letter
from the knight Antonio, his brother, then imprisoned on account
of that very love at Porto Ferrai, took advantage of the
opportunity of Don Piero's going out with his retinue, entered
quickly the Palazzo Vecchio, went up to the apartments of the
Lady Eleonora, who then occupied the frescoed rooms that look
out upon the Piazza del Grano, and immediately asked an audience
of the porter; but he had absolute orders not to let a single
person pass, for his lady was dressing. In vain did the Captain
insist that his business was most urgent--that those orders were
not to be regarded--that he should let him pass, or at least
apprise the lady of his presence. The porter, born and educated
at Innspruck, would not listen to his arguments; his lady had
given orders that for an hour he should give ingress to no one,
and until the sixty minutes were expired, no one should pass.
There was no remedy; the Captain began to walk up and down the
antechamber in a passion, but soon becoming weary of oscillating
backwards and forwards like the pendulum of a clock, he saw that
the amiable Caccini was also waiting for an audience. Exchanging
a few words of courtesy with him, and finding him apparently all
kindness, particularly towards the Lady Eleonora, whom, with an
air of tenderness, and with eyes full of tears, he called his
adored and virtuous patron, he incautiously intrusted him with
the letter, begging him, for the love of Heaven, to take care
and let no one see it, and to give it with his own hands to the
Lady Eleonora. Scarcely had the Captain turned his back, when
the musician concealed himself in the embrasure of a window, and
treacherously opening the letter, learned from it the truth of
what was generally suspected--that is to say, the intrigue of
the knight with the Princess; wherefore, in the hope of a great
reward, he went directly to the Grand Duke, and first, humbly
craving pardon for having opened the letter, excusing himself by
affirming that he had done so out of the great love he bore to
the dignity of his gracious and noble lord and master, he placed
it in his hands. The Grand Duke changed countenance while reading
it, but having finished, with apparent tranquillity, he refolded
it leisurely, and putting it into his bosom, said, in a serious
voice, as was his custom--for rumor says he spoke briefly:
"Musician, I see here four guilty persons--the knight Antinori,
who wrote this letter, Captain Antinori, who brought it,
Eleonora, who was to receive it, and you, who opened it; go--each
one shall be rewarded according to his deserts."
Isabella, a woman of singular excellence of disposition,
rendered, by the unfortunate circumstances of her life, unhappy,
but not suspicious, added quickly:
"Any one who loves me, must dismiss such wrong and unreasonable
prejudices; in my opinion they are unworthy and unjust, and
generally give evidence of an ill-natured disposition. All have
the right of being judged according to their works. Be careful,
my dear Lelio, always to have a clear conscience, and life will
seem less burdensome to you than to the other children of Adam.
Come, now, and learn the song of this brave Roman. How can you
believe that a man capable of composing so sweet a melody, could
have a bad heart?"
Thus does man judge!
The Duchess, taking the sheet of music in her hand, commanded
Lelio, who obeyed not unwillingly, to sit by her side, and began
to teach him where the voice should rest, and how and where it
should glide at length, or quaver in melodious trills; in short,
all the tastes of an accomplished musician. But Lelio paid more
attention to the white hands than to the notes, and still more
to the lovely face that grew animated over the music; wrapt in a
kind of ecstasy, he not only ceased accompanying Lady Isabella,
but could hardly draw his breath. Lady Isabella said:--"But keep
on." And he, uttering with difficulty a faint note, was silent
the next moment. The Lady Isabella, again, "Why do you stop?" And
thus alternated reproofs and silence. Lelio, prompted by love,
drew nearer to the Duchess; hence, it so chanced that some of her
raven ringlets, stirred by the motion of her head, touched his
cheek; the boy trembled in every limb, his eyes, suffused with
tears, shone with a wild light, his dry lips burned; it seemed
joy, but it was really pain. The cheek touched by the hair became
red, as if burning metal had been applied to it, and the page
could scarcely bear the keen and tremulous passion that agitated
him; but recovering himself, he would again return to the trial,
as we see the moth, led by fatal instinct, flutter round the
flame that consumes him. Thus, not heeding the minutes that sped,
the personages of our history remained a long time, until the
Duchess, casually raising her eyes, saw standing before her Sir
Troilo Orsini.
Troilo of the pallid brow! His eyes sparkled beneath his black
and bushy eyebrows like the jackal's, eager for prey. He held
his right hand within his black velvet mantle; his left hand, on
his side, was holding his hat ornamented with black plumes; and
so motionless was he, that one might have believed him a statue.
Isabella encountered his malignant gaze without the slightest
embarrassment, and paying no attention to it, said frankly:
"Welcome, Sir Troilo, and share my happiness, for I have
discovered a new virtue in my page; he sings like an angel, and
I intend to cultivate his voice till he is perfect; then, when
he returns home, it will please his mother, and he will be the
favorite of the ladies of Fermo."
Sir Troilo replied:
"You would repeat the injustice of Americus Vespucius, since
I discovered before you did, that this youth, with proper
instruction, might become a wonderful musician."
Lelio felt the keen satire, and his face burned, but he was
silent.
"Your Ladyship," continued Sir Troilo, "I must now speak to you
of something more important; please to listen to me.--Page, take
these, and put them in my room, and be careful not to come back
again until you are called."
"Save your honor, Sir Troilo, I am here in the service of her
Ladyship the Duchess; and unless she be pleased to command
otherwise, I beg of you to take it in courtesy, if I do not go."
This time it was Troilo who colored; and already some cutting
reply quivered on his lip, when the Lady Isabella hastily
interposed, saying:
"Lelio, obey Sir Troilo."
Lelio took the sword, gloves, and hat, and bowing low, walked
slowly towards the door.
"Page!" cried Orsini after him, "carry my sword with both hands;
it is heavy, and you may drop it."
Lelio drew the gleaming sword like lightning from its scabbard,
and brandishing it swiftly around his head, replied with a bold
voice, and without stopping:
"Never fear, Sir Troilo, for my heart and hand are strong enough
to wield it as a gentleman against any honorable knight. You
understand; against any knight."
If he added any other words, they were not heard, as he was so
distant.
"See," said Sir Troilo, spitefully, closing the door of the hall,
"see how your indiscreet mildness raises around you a troop of
insolent fellows."
"I have not observed any insolent ones, although I have an
ungrateful one, Sir Troilo."
And, seated side by side, they began to converse in low, but
excited tones, and, to judge by their gestures and manner,
it could be neither pleasure, kindness, nor any other tender
feeling, that influenced this conversation, but reproofs,
suspicions, and fears; the Omnipotent having ordained, in
His eternal decrees, that man, for his sins, should never be
perfectly happy.
Now my readers, especially my lady readers, must understand
that three full years had elapsed since the day that Isabella
and Troilo had sworn the eternity of an affection that never
should have commenced; and three years is a long eternity in
love affairs. Eternity! Fancy a word so unsuitable to the lips
of man, still less to those of woman. Love engagements usually
begin on two sides and end on one. It is the best plan, though
one but rarely put into execution, to annul them at a fixed
time by mutual consent. Contracts of love have not the same
advantages as those of business. In the latter, before making
such a contract, the person interested wishes to understand
the exchanges, the purchases, the location, and the like, and
the advantages accruing to him in the value, the expenses, and
the accessories, like one accustomed to be mindful of his own
interests in such affairs; but in the former he bargains and
binds himself blindfold, awaiting the consummation before he
reckons and judges how much he has gained by it. And this sad day
of reckoning had come and passed for Isabella and Troilo, and by
this time who knows how often they had summed it up! The truth
of this history obliges us to confess that the lady had found
herself at a great disadvantage, which fact contributed in no
small degree to alienate the lovers. Indeed Isabella possessed
an ardent love for true art, and for the pleasures of science;
an apt and happy talent, and a very great enthusiasm; great
kindness of disposition, sympathetic feelings, noble manners,
lady-like elegance, and a courtesy truly regal. The sentiment of
love remains. I cannot say that the power of loving was wanting
in her, for it would not be true; but she was deceived, believing
that that was an unconquerable necessity of the heart, which was
merely an impulse of the imagination; and as there is nothing
more ethereal than the fancy, or more ready to evaporate, she
often not only wondered, but was terrified, to find herself cold
towards persons and things for whom and which she had shortly
before felt an ardent fondness. Happy would it have been for
her if nature or art had balanced more equally her heart and her
brain. Grave masters and solemn teachings had not been wanting;
but if, when obliged to choose between severe precepts and easy
ones, between strict teachings and mild ones, the second seem
the pleasanter to follow, it need not be asked why they obtain
the preference. In her father's house she was surrounded by the
worst examples, and alas! miserable girl! they punished in her,
the most innocent of them all, the crimes or consequences of
crimes, of which her brothers should more justly have borne the
penalties. Indeed, the various chronicles that I have examined
concur in the same judgment, expressed in the following manner
by one of them:--"Every one said that a remedy should have been
adopted before Prince Francesco and her other brothers had made
use of her to draw to their wishes other ladies of the city,
carrying her out with them every night dressed as a man, and then
pretending that she should remain a saint." Isabella, moreover,
possessed, or better to express it, was possessed by what is
called a poetic temperament--a warm heart in the power of an
ardent imagination--like a bold knight on an unbridled horse, a
situation replete with the saddest consequences.
And how did Troilo appear on the day of reckoning? Troilo of
the pallid brow, the heavy eyebrow, and the falcon eye. If we
consider his figure, few were the knights in Italy who could
sustain any comparison with him. He was well formed in person,
and of so handsome a face that artists of note had begged him to
sit to them as a model, and he had consequently grown very vain.
His hair was short and his face smooth, with the exception of
a dark imperial and moustache. Having heard that Alexander the
Great leaned his head upon his right shoulder, Troilo, not to be
inferior to him, imitated the habit. He always dressed in black
velvet; was usually sad and pensive, speaking rarely, not because
he imagined himself a poor conversationalist, for he ranked
himself on the contrary far above Cicero, but it was natural to
him. When he said but little, people were persuaded that he was a
man of remarkable talents and a keen observer of human affairs;
but if he conversed at greater length the vanity of his mind
was clearly manifested, as our ancestors aver the solidity of
the vase to be proved by sounding it. How the Fates had placed
such a head on such a body is a question not easily answered.
It is very certain that he would have driven to despair those
who undertake to discover by external signs the passions and
imaginations of the soul. He surpassed all the noblemen of that
age in prowess and courage. In the bloody quarrels of the barons,
for which the streets of Rome were then notorious, he was always
the first to commence and the last to retreat. Naturally strong,
he fought with strength, although treason was the height of his
ambition; and his favorite hero, the famous Alphonso Piccolomini,
a celebrated highwayman whom Ferdinand dei Medici, as Cardinal,
once saved from the gallows, but afterwards, as Grand Duke, hung.
But in the battles where skill rather than strength is requisite,
or where the one should be tempered by the other, he showed
himself so incompetent that he could not be trusted with the rank
even of a colonel of infantry; nor did he succeed any better in
business transactions, for sometimes by his obstinate silence
he inspired suspicion, and sometimes by his vain eloquence,
even more obstinate, contempt. Hence the Medicis abstained
from employing him, and kept him at home, like the Bucentaur,
the ornamented and useless galley which the Venetians used to
bring out on the occasion of the marriage of the Doge with the
Adriatic; so his commissions consisted of congratulations, as
his three embassies to France bear witness, where he was sent
the first time to congratulate the Duke d'Anjou upon the victory
which he had gained at Moncontour over the Admiral Coligny;
the second was when Charles IX. espoused Elizabeth, the second
daughter of the Emperor Maximilian; the third and last when the
Duke d'Anjou, afterwards Henry III., was chosen King of Poland.
And yet so vainglorious was he, that he never ceased reminding
Isabella of the many and great sacrifices which he had made for
her, in not fighting battles which he never would have fought,
and constantly longed for the victories which he never could
have achieved. His love for Isabella was idleness, the impulse
of youthful blood, pride in conquering a woman so handsome and
so deservedly celebrated. He soon grew weary of it, since forms,
however beautiful, please by their variety; and the lady's
talent, by humiliating him, was to him rather a cause of dislike
than of admiration. I will not affirm that he hated Isabella, but
he chafed impatiently under the tie, and even more impatiently
when he found that he could not free himself from it, and
strengthened it irrevocably by a fatal knot. His mind was closed
against the noble, the decorous, the right, and the beautiful.
If Isabella recited her own or another's poetry, he would fall
asleep--a terrible slight to a poet, but to a poetess culpable
beyond measure. Music gave him the headache. With all this he was
tormented by a cold and apathetic jealousy, not because he loved
Isabella, but because he wished Isabella to love him;--he wished
that all might read around her neck these words, which used to
be engraved upon the collars of slaves: "The property of Troilo
Orsini." In short, the time had arrived when the joyous rosy
garland woven by love was changed to a chain of remorse and hate,
forged by the hands of the infernal Furies.