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 undoubtedlyhave 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! whywillyou 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 makethat 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 phœnix,—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 foryou, 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, "whywillyou 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 brightsunshine. 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 distinguishedman 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 charmedwith 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 hispraises 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 theViceroy interdicted him from preaching and lecturing. But Pietro Martire appealed to Rome, and obtained the removal of the interdict.
Giulia was recruiting her health, meantime, at Vittoria's charming island-home of Ischia,
"Where nothing met the eye but sights of bliss."
—where a graceful simplicity, indeed, reigned, but under the regulation of the purest taste,—where duties, softened into pleasures, filled up every hour; and where leisure, never degenerating into laziness, was alternately dedicated to poetry, music, and painting, to the enjoyment of the most exquisite beauties of nature, to the cultivation of the mind, and to offices of charity and devotion. Among the poets and eminent men who here "invoked the muses and improved their vein," and whohelped to make this remote rock famous, were Musefilo, Filocalo, Giovio, Bernardo Tasso, and many others. Bernardo Tasso thus sang the praises of this charmed islet—
"Superbo scoglio, altero e bel ricettoDi tanti chiari eroi, d'imperadori,Onde raggi di gloria escono fuori,Ch' ogni altro lume fan scuro e negletto,Se per vera virtute al ben perfettoSalir si puote ed agli eterni onoriQueste più d'altre degne alme e miglioriV'andran che chiudi nel petroso petto.Il lume è in te dell' armi; in te s'ascondeCasta beltà, valore e cortesia,Quanta mai vide il tempo, o diede il cielo.Ti sian secondi i fati, e il vento e l'ondeRendanti onore, e l'aria tua natiaAbbia sempre temprato il caldo e il gelo!"
"Superbo scoglio, altero e bel ricettoDi tanti chiari eroi, d'imperadori,Onde raggi di gloria escono fuori,Ch' ogni altro lume fan scuro e negletto,Se per vera virtute al ben perfettoSalir si puote ed agli eterni onoriQueste più d'altre degne alme e miglioriV'andran che chiudi nel petroso petto.Il lume è in te dell' armi; in te s'ascondeCasta beltà, valore e cortesia,Quanta mai vide il tempo, o diede il cielo.Ti sian secondi i fati, e il vento e l'ondeRendanti onore, e l'aria tua natiaAbbia sempre temprato il caldo e il gelo!"
"Superbo scoglio, altero e bel ricettoDi tanti chiari eroi, d'imperadori,Onde raggi di gloria escono fuori,Ch' ogni altro lume fan scuro e negletto,Se per vera virtute al ben perfettoSalir si puote ed agli eterni onoriQueste più d'altre degne alme e miglioriV'andran che chiudi nel petroso petto.Il lume è in te dell' armi; in te s'ascondeCasta beltà, valore e cortesia,Quanta mai vide il tempo, o diede il cielo.Ti sian secondi i fati, e il vento e l'ondeRendanti onore, e l'aria tua natiaAbbia sempre temprato il caldo e il gelo!"
"Superbo scoglio, altero e bel ricetto
Di tanti chiari eroi, d'imperadori,
Onde raggi di gloria escono fuori,
Ch' ogni altro lume fan scuro e negletto,
Se per vera virtute al ben perfetto
Salir si puote ed agli eterni onori
Queste più d'altre degne alme e migliori
V'andran che chiudi nel petroso petto.
Il lume è in te dell' armi; in te s'asconde
Casta beltà, valore e cortesia,
Quanta mai vide il tempo, o diede il cielo.
Ti sian secondi i fati, e il vento e l'onde
Rendanti onore, e l'aria tua natia
Abbia sempre temprato il caldo e il gelo!"
Nor did younger and gayer poets want younger and gayer beauties to inspire them than the two noble widows; for Vittoria's household comprised six or eight nobly-born girls who were being trained under her eye, and whom her conscientiousness preventedfrom turning over to the sole superintendence of the Mother of the maids.
"You might take more interest than you do, Giulia," said she, "in the education of your damsels. It would do them good, and you, too."
"Ah, nothing could be more tiresome to me," said Giulia. "I am most happy to leave them to Donna Caterina!"
"I doubt, however," said Vittoria, "whether we have even the right to keep fellow-creatures about us, of like affections and passions with ourselves, without providing some legitimate outlet for them, or supplying them with sufficient motives for their restraint."
"My girls seldom go into passions," said Giulia; "and I should think it impertinent to inquire into their affections."
"Why now, you incorrigible Giulia, did not you tell me of your fits of suppressed laughter while you were overhearing (actually eaves-dropping) that love dialogue between Tebaldo and Isaura? and of your laughing at her to her face, afterwards, in the presence of the other girls?"
"I gave her a pearl necklace," said the Duchess.
"Not till she married, months afterwards."
"Well, I own I let myself down on that occasion."
"As to letting yourself down, it is your keeping yourself up that I complain of—"
"O, what a beautiful butterfly!—"
"My dear Giulia,don'trun after it and put yourself in a fever. You are not quite a child now!"
"No, but I was a child once; and when I was a child-Duchess of thirteen, I thought that if I did not keep my maids at a distance, they would not respect me. And my mother's word had always been, 'Never associate, child, with servants.'"
"Servants and slaves, that may apply to very well," said Vittoria, who had not surmounted class-prejudices, "but your maids-of-honour are well-born, and though for a time they occupy subordinate positions, eventually they will marry respectably, it is to be hoped."
"And that hope is enough to enliven them, I suppose," said Giulia. "My dear Duke said to me, very soon after our marriage: 'Pargoletta!'—you know he loved to call me 'pargoletta,' or 'animetta,' or 'dolce alma mia,'—he said, 'Pargoletta, don't have much to say to your maids; they are light and frivolous, and will do you no good.' And I loved to obey him; and I love to obey him still, for he was a wise man."
"They might do you no good, but you might do them great good now," said Vittoria.
"O, my dear, that set have long married off, and had their portions—so many ducats, a bed, bedding, and ewer and basin."
"The new set, then—"
"Here's a strawberry, I declare," said Giulia, diving into the leaves on the bank upon which they were sitting. "Do have it!"
"No, thank you. The—"
"I could no more preach and pray with my maids as you do, Vittoria, than I could fly!"
"Why not?"
"I should die of shame."
"Nonsense," said the Marchioness, laughing.
"I really should. It would be so ridiculous."
"Quite otherwise, I think, if you undertook it in the right spirit."
"But I never could. It is not in me. They would all begin to laugh—"
"They must be under very poor control, then," said Vittoria.
"Besides, it would be so uncalled for—it would take their thoughts off their proper work."
"What is their proper work?"
"To do vast quantities of embroidery and fine needlework."
"Well, I thinkyourproper work is to care for their souls."
"That's Fra Silvano's office."
"Does he fulfil it?"
"Not very well, I'm afraid. He chatters and laughs with them too much."
"I should like to see him chatter and laugh withmymaids," said Vittoria, kindling. "He should not do so twice."
"Ah," said Giulia, after a pause—"I wish I were as good as you, Vittoria—"
"My dear soul, I am not good."
"You are a great deal better than I am. Such as I am, I am and ever shall be."
"Hush, we can none of us say that!"
"At any rate, there is no good thing in me, to impart to others. And the girls do very well as they are—they stick to their needles."
"What do they think of the while?"
"Of their needles, I suppose."
"If they do, they are better than I am," said Vittoria, almost with a groan. "Oh, Giulia, don't believe it!"
"Well, I suppose nonsense of some sort may pass through their heads," said Giulia, rather uneasily. "How am I to keep it out?"
"By putting something better in. Not merely by preaching and praying, but by supplying proper, innocent food for their imaginations and fancies. You know I read my girls pleasant tales and dialogues sometimes, and lend them books of poetry and history."
"Well, your girls are certainly better conducted than mine," said Giulia. "They giggle less."
"A canister with very little in it always rattles," said Vittoria. "I hate giggling."
"So do I; and, do you know, my dearVittoria, that is one reason why I have so little to say to my maids."
"It is the very reason why you should say the more. You should fill the canisters."
"I will try then," said the ingenuous Giulia, "when I return to Fondi."
She returned there very soon: and Vittoria Colonna went to Lucca; "in an unostentatious manner," says the old chronicler, "attended by only six gentlewomen."
Why she went to Lucca, except that it was just then rife with the Reformed opinions, and ready to throw off the yoke of Rome, the chronicler sayeth not. From Lucca she proceeded by easy stages to Ferrara, mounted on her black and white jennet, with housings of crimson velvet fringed with gold, and attended by six grooms on foot, in cloaks and jerkins of blue and yellow satin. She herself wore a robe of brocaded crimson velvet, with a girdle of beaten gold; and on her head a travelling-cap of crimson satin, well becoming her "trecce d'oro," and large, mild blue eyes.
Arrived at Ferrara, she was delightedly welcomed by Duke Ercole and Duchess Renée. Here was a house divided against itself. The poor Duchess—highly intelligent and a little crooked—now in her twenty-ninth year, had been harshly dealt with by her husband, only a twelvemonth back, for harbouring and comforting those arch-heretics Calvin and Clement Marot; and was now kept very much in check by the terrors of the Church, though in heart as much a Reformer as ever.
To grace "the divine Vittoria," whose poetical fame was known all over Italy, and whose eulogist, Bernardo Tasso, was secretary to the Duchess of Ferrara, Duke Ercole invited the most distinguished literati of Venice and Lombardy to meet her. Oh, what a feast of reason and flow of soul! What reciprocations of compliments and couplets! What ransackingof heathen mythologies for metaphors and allusions! And then, in the retirement of the Duchess's closet, poor Renée could, with a full heart, ask Vittoria how things were going at Naples, whether Fra Bernardino were really as moving a preacher as was reported, and whether Juan di Valdés were sound on the doctrine of justification.
And perhaps they had a snatch of serious reading together, and Vittoria might recite to her a few of her sacred sonnets, copies of which were coveted even by cardinals; and if the Duke came in and constrained them to change the subject, there was the clever little Princess Anne to exhibit, who was being educated, for the sake of emulation, with Olympia Morata. Certes, Vittoria was made much of! But the air of Ferrara did not agree with her health, and she was soon obliged to move southwards. Among the dreams and schemes of the hour, which werenever to be realised, was a projected visit to the Holy Land. She would so like to see the holy places!
"The wildest scheme!" young Del Vasto pronounced it, when a rumour of it reached him at Rome. He lost no time in hastening to his beloved friend, to dissuade her from what she had perhaps never seriously contemplated, and to induce her to be content with the Eternal City. And when she reached it, she was received with almost public honours—so proud was Italy of its "divine Vittoria Colonna!"
Here she found a circle of the most eminent men in Italy, hopefully awaiting the issue of Cardinal Contarini's conciliatory mission to the German Reformers; and it was trusted that, by wise concessions on the part of Rome, a fearful schism might be avoided. But when did Rome ever make wise concessions?
It was at this time that the friendship commencedbetween Vittoria and Michael Angelo, which was equally honourable to both; and we have his own word for it, that through her he was made a devout Christian. It was the crowning beauty of her life.
Meanwhile Giulia was the prey of intense melancholy at Fondi. It expressed itself in joyless looks, in mournful tones, in neglected dress, in small austerities, in rising at out-of-the-way hours to tell her rosary, &c.
Her ladies united in declaring that she must be ill, and that the marsh miasma was answerable for it. So then Bar Hhasdai was sent for; and he advised change of air andquantum sufficitof generous red wine well spiced. She acquiesced in both prescriptions; and then indulged in a little doctors' gossip, that most healing balm. They talked over the Cardinal's death, and Bar Hhasdai said that, even if he had been sooner sent for, he did not believe he could have saved him.
"One cardinal the less, one saint the more," said Giulia.
Bar Hhasdai looked sceptical. "Was he of the stuff that saints are made of?" said he.
"He was very generally liked," said Giulia.
"And so long as thou doest good unto thyself, men will speak well of thee," said the Jew, equivocally.
So she returned to her old quarters at Naples, where she had the satisfaction of hearing from Valdés, who immediately waited on her, that Ochino was again preaching with great acceptance. She had tried ascetic mortifications, on a small scale, without any beneficial result; and she now, with a heart aching for a better life, and sick of the world's pleasures, which, after all, she had never much indulged in, resolved to prove whether enduring comfort might not be derived from the cross of Christ.
You may have seen an old print of Titus's Arch, in the foreground of which is an Italian lady of quality, with hoop, lappets, and fan, sailing to church, attended by her gentleman-usher. A stately man-servant in advance clears the way, two ladies-in-waiting follow their mistress at a respectful distance, and two or three more menials close the procession.
Something in this style did Giulia go to the cathedral. As she was returning from it one evening, accompanied by Valdés, her heart was full, and, after one or two ineffectual beginnings she said—[15]
[15]Vide "Alfabeto Christiano."
[15]Vide "Alfabeto Christiano."
"I have so much confidence in our friendship,Signor Valdés, that I feel as if I could speak to you on some subjects even more freely than to a confessor. If you are not pre-engaged, therefore, I would gladly tell you what is on my mind. Do I importune you?"
"On the contrary, Signora," said Valdés, "I am honoured by your commands, and you well know there is no one I love better to serve."
"A truce, then, with compliments of every kind. I want to open to you my whole heart, for I am sure you will pity me. I am a prey to such constant dissatisfaction with myself and with everything around me, as cannot be described. I neither know what I wish, nor with what I should be contented. Hence, I cannot conceive anything that could be offered me capable of appeasing this inquietude and removing my confusion of mind. Many years have I felt thus: and of late you have given me reason to hopethat if I would give ear to the preaching of Ochino I should be tranquillised. Alas, I find it quite otherwise! And though I admit that the fault may be mine rather than his, yet the disappointment is so bitter, that tears frequently come into my eyes through not knowing what to do with myself, nor what to lean upon."
Saying which, her tone was so sad, and she looked so troubled, that the humane Valdés was filled with compassion.
"Say freely, Signora," said he, "whatever you wish to ask of me; and be assured that I will always expend in your service all that I know and am able to do."
"Tell me, then," said Giulia, "from what cause you believe this state of mind to spring, and how, if possible, it can be remedied, or whether it must be borne."
"You must first make me one promise," said Valdés.
"What can that be?" inquired the Duchess.
"If I show you the way by which you may be relieved from your disquietude, you must promise to walk in it."
"Of course. Gladly!"
"Be very attentive, then, Signora, to what I am about to say. You know it is written that man is made 'in the image and likeness of God.' And you will also remember that St. Paul counsels the Corinthians to put off the old man with his deeds, that is, the sinful nature we have all inherited since the fall, and be clothed with the new man, who is created 'in the image and likeness of God.' From this it appears, that in such a degree as man retains in himself the image and likeness of God, in the same degree he apprehends and appreciates spiritual things in a spiritual life and conversation. Recognise this, and you will all at once perceive whence your disorder and disquietude of mind arise; because you willsee that your soul is striving for restitution to the image of God, of which at present it is deprived. The remedy is in your own hands."
"In my hands?"
"Yes! Because as soon as you determine to renew and restore within yourself the image and likeness of God, you will find peace, quiet, and repose."
Giulia drew a deep breath, and then said—
"How must I do this?"
"By withdrawing your affections from vain and transitory things, and fixing them on those which are spiritual and eternal. Your spirit thus finding its proper aliment, will always be content and cheerful, and here in this present life will begin to taste of that felicity which it expects to enjoy for ever in the life eternal. To this happiness only the real Christian can attain."
"As for that," said the Duchess, "I know many persons who have as much, and perhapsmore, cancelled the image of God than I have, who are yet perfectly content and happy."
"Such persons," returned Valdés, "have low and vulgar minds, and can therefore suffice themselves with mean and frivolous objects that could never satisfy a refined and generous nature like yours.... I am not at all sorry that you should be troubled in the way you have described, because it shows that the preaching of the Gospel is producing its first effect on you.... There is nothing in this world that could give me so much pleasure as to see you walking in the path of life, for I hold it for certain that, once in complete union with God, you would outstrip many who are now saints in heaven."
"I desire to do so," said she, softly.
"Then why don't you do what you desire?" rejoined Valdés.
"Because I don't know how."
"Force, force, Signora! force is the onething wanting. 'The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.'"
"Lead me by the hand, then," said she, "instructing me in those footsteps by which I believe you have walked."
"You want me," said Valdés, "to show you some royal and ladylike road by which you may get to God without turning away from the world. But, lady, no such compromise can be made. Have you ever crossed a running stream?"
"Yes, many times."
"Do you not remember how your head swam if you looked at the flowing water, but how steady it was if you fixed your eyes on the opposite shore? Thus, with God and the world, endeavour to keep the view of your soul fixed and nailed with Christ on the cross. And if at any time, through want of care, your eyes are diverted to the things of thisworld, return, return, Signora, as quickly as possible, to fix them on Christ crucified; and all will be well. You know the human heart is naturally inclined to love. It must either love God and all things for God, or it must love itself and all things for itself. He who loves God, performs everything he does for Him. And thus, if he loves anything besides God, he loves it for the sake of God, and because God wills it so. And then his good works please and are acceptable to God, because they spring from love. Agreeable to this is what St. Augustine says—'Good works follow in them who are already justified, and do not go before in him who has to be justified.' You know how you yourself estimate what a person does in your affairs when you know you owe not his good services to the affection he bears you, but to some other motive."
This dialogue, which had been begun in the open air, was now being carried on in theDuchess's parlour. She sat in a high-backed, richly carved chair, looking out through the balconied window, on the bay of Naples, with streaks of summer lightning now and then illumining the sky, and the lurid fires of Vesuvius glowing in the distance. Valdés sat on a stool a little apart.
"Since you wish me," said she, after a pause, "to make the love of God my prime motive, and, next to it, the love of my neighbour,—well then, I will do so!—but mention, if it please you, some rule by which I may know and understand what it is I ought to do; because I wish to give myself up to the love of God, even so much so as to deprive myself of your favour, and that of a hundred others like you."
"No, Signora, no! you can never do that!" said Valdés, fervently: and he then sketched out for her the outline of a Christian life, not circumscribed within slavish bounds, butcapable of adaptation to time and place, sex and degree, based only on the immutable principle of loving God above and in all things, and one's neighbour even as one's self. It was a memorable evening for Giulia. Her cheeks were wet with tears, but they were the sweetest she had ever shed. They took no note of time, but prolonged the interview till night.
When they parted, she said to him:
"I shall never forget this conversation!"
"And I," said he, deeply moved, "shall remember it always."
"Oh, that I could preserve every word you have spoken! Do you think you could commit the substance to writing?"
"Undoubtedly, if you wish it."
"I do wish it, most earnestly. And pray for me, pray for me, dear friend, that your words may not only sink into my heart, but take root in it, and bring forth fruit abundantly."
"I will, indeed, Signora; but, above all, fail not to pray for yourself, that the love of God may abound in you yet more and more."
"Never knew I till now what that love was! I have heard tell a thousand times of this going out of a person's self to enter into God, but never, in all I have heard, was it made comprehensible."
"You are so much the more under obligation to love God, since He has preserved you so long in this world as to come to know this which till now you have not understood."
"You are right. May it please God that I know how to profit by it."
She gave him her hand. He kissed it with the utmost reverence: then, raising his eyes heavenwards, uttered a short, fervent prayer for her confirmation in the knowledge and love of God.
When he was gone, she covered her eyes with her hand, and tears slowly trickled downher cheeks. Almost unconsciously, she sank on her knees and murmured——
"O, my God! teach me to be what Thou wouldst have me to be, and then enable me to do what Thou wouldst have me to do! Form in me Thine own image and likeness, for Christ's sake!"
A strange calm and sweet peace took possession of her soul.
When Valdés presented himself to her, a few days afterwards, he brought her his manuscript version of the substance of their dialogue, written in his native Spanish, which was nearly as familiar to her as Italian, seeing that it was continually spoken by Vittoria Colonna and others of her familiar acquaintance. The faithfulness with which he had recalled the vivacity of her rejoinders showed how deeply they had interested him, and if his own speeches were less closely reported, it was chiefly because he had taken the opportunityof extending them even at the price of weakening their spirit.
"Here," said he, "you have what you required of me; and I have called it the Christian Alphabet, because, in fact, it contains but the A B C of Christian doctrine. Believe in nothing I have here set down that you cannot bring to the test of Scripture. And do not content yourself with this Alphabet, or with any mere writings of men, but drink of the pure water of life at its source. May Christ become the peaceful possessor of your heart, in such a manner as that He may absolutely and without contradiction rule and regulate all your purposes. When this is the case, you will not feel the want of anything whatsoever in this life to give you contentment and repose."
She took the book with solemnity, and promised compliance with his wishes. This singular little work, of which, till lately, it wasnot known that there was a copy extant, does not profess to be more than what Valdés called it, and confines itself to inculcating the formation of the Divine image in the soul, if haply it might find Him, without attempting to attack the prevailing corruptions of the Church. In fact, this remarkable layman, who set so many Reformers forward on the path of martyrdom, did so by inculcating a few great truths, rather than by pulling down strongholds of error; and a certain class of his disciples eventually brought discredit on him by veiling Reformed opinions under the punctilious observance of Romish practices. But not of these temporising spirits were Carnesecchi, Flaminio, or Vergerio; all of whom were of the school of Valdés.
When the structure is built, the scaffolding is removed: when we are raised up to Christ, our earthly props are often knocked away.
Ochino was soon to leave Naples—Valdés was soon to leave this earthly world. For a little while the Church had rest: and then burst out a furious, fiery persecution. Its burning annals have no place in my story; but I will annex a chapter about it as an Appendix, for those who will not or cannot refer to the original sources.
An advance had taken place in Ochino's opinions, which, for a time, was felt rather than understood by his hearers. He appealed directly to the Scriptures in support of his doctrine, and bade them search for themselves.In spite of his boldness, he not only was allowed to continue to preach in the Cathedral, but, in a chapter held at Naples in 1541, was re-elected General of the Capuchins.
His departure from the Church of Rome was detected, however, by the jealous eye of Cardinal Pole, who wrote to Vittoria Colonna, urging her to beware of his influence, and even exacting from her a promise, which no woman of independent spirit would have given, that she would not read any letter addressed to her by Ochino, without consulting him or Cardinal Cervini. Vittoria gave this promise, and afterwards redeemed it by transmitting to Cardinal Cervini, not one letter, but a packet of letters written to her by Ochino; observing on them, in an accompanying note, "I am grieved to see that the more he attempts to excuse himself, he condemns himself the more; and the more he believes he shall save others from shipwreck, the more he exposes himselfto the deluge; being out of the ark which alone can save."
Vittoria was at Rome, the head-quarters of intolerance, attending Fra Ambrogio's lectures in the church of San Silvestro, and sending her servant, after the sermon, to Michael Angelo, saying, "Tell him that I and Messer Lattanzio are here in this cool chapel, that the church is shut and very pleasant, and ask him if he will come and spend the morning with us." And when he came, their talk was not of polemics, but of painting, and of her building a convent on the slope of Monte Cavallo.
Vittoria, having put her hand to the plough, had drawn back; but Giulia had chosen the better part, and has attained the honour of being stigmatised in Romish records as "suspected of heretical pravity."
Oh! how she wept when Valdés died! They were tears of sweet and pure affection, unmixedwith bitterness or gloomy foreboding, for he had been called, at the second watch, to his rest: and she had now a good assurance of following in the same luminous track, upheld by the same right hand, straight up to heaven, without the intervention of a fearful purgatory.
He was called away in the strength of his manhood, for he was little more than forty, and his twin brother is lost sight of about the same time. Lovely in their lives, in death they were not long divided. Peaceful, natural decline removed them from the persecutions that awaited their followers.
It is not hard to divine his last admonitions to Giulia. "Search the Scriptures, for in them we know that we have eternal life. Pray, dear Signora! pray! As our Lord prayed on the mount, the fashion of His countenance was altered, and His raiment became white and glistening! Doubtless, wheneverwepray, theexpression of our countenance is altered in the sight of God, if not of man; and our raiment, the righteousness of Christ, becomes white and glistening. Oh, what an incentive to prayer! St. Matthew and St. Luke, you will find, in narrating the transfiguration, do not give us the preface—'and as he prayed.' But how important an addition it is! What a blessing that prayer drew down! It drew prophets and saints from heaven!"
"Valdés, dear friend! Would that my prayers might hereafter drawyoudown from heaven to comfort me! Yet no; I recall the selfish wish. Rather let me fancy you calling, 'Come up hither!'"
"Fancy our Lord so calling you, dear Signora, and it will be mere fancy no longer. All my teaching will have been in vain, if you covet human rather than divine sympathy and help."
"But you have been to me as a brother."
"There is a Friend that sticketh closer than a brother, Signora. Come, give me a text, ere you leave me, to dwell upon when you are gone."
"'Ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace.'"
"God grant it! And here is one for you, whose time has not yet come to be led forth. 'Behold! I have refined thee, but not with silver'—(not in the same way, that is; not with mere physical heat)—'I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction.' See! there is something that escapes us at first. God not only says He has tested us, but that He haschosenus. O, blessed to be the chosen of the Lord——"
"Valdés, I seek Him, but I know not that I have yet found Him——"
"Signora! 'let the heart of them rejoice thatseekthe Lord.'"
While masses were being sung and said forthe soul of Cardinal Ippolito, the spirit of Valdés departed without a sigh. "For so He giveth His beloved sleep." But were Giulia's affections, which had been gradually refining, then left without a human object? No. By the will of his paternal grandfather, her nephew, Vespasiano, the little Duke of Sabionetta, came into her charge; and the education of the dear little boy, now eight years old, became her care. She procured the best and most enlightened tutors for him, in Tuscan, Latin, and Greek; and despatched an envoy to Charles the Fifth, to secure for him the investiture of the state of Lombardy, and to supersede its administrators by Don Ferrante and Cardinal Ercole Gonzaga.
This young boy was trained up by her in the paths of virtue and godliness; and lovingly did he repay her pains. He grew up a fine character, distinguished for liberality and intelligence; and to him the Jews owed thelicence for their printing press at Sabionetta. When he died, in 1591, the line became extinct.
Besides superintending Vespasiano's education, the Duchess devoted herself to visiting the sick in the hospitals, and relieving the poor with her own hands. She shunned the company of the idle and frivolous, and cultivated the friendship of the wise and good. She lived to a ripe old age, shining more and more unto the perfect day—a light in a dark place, during an age of gross corruption—unsullied by the breath of slander, and respected, in spite of her averred 'heretical pravity,' by the Romish Church.
The faithful old maggior-domo, Perez, wrote thus to Vespasiano, on the 19th of April, 1566:
"It appears to me that I should fail in my duty, as a servant for twenty-one years together, towards the deserving memory of the illustrious lady, my Lady Donna Giuliadi Gonzaga, your aunt, if I did not offer to condole with your Excellency on her death.... "Her illustrious ladyship died, as you will have heard by letter from Magnifico Modignano, and from M. Federigo Zanichelli to-day, between twenty-one and twenty-two o'clock. She made an end conforming with her most holy life, continuing sensible to the moment when her sainted spirit left the body. Her will has been opened, and you will have learnt from the before-mentioned Modignano and Zanichelli, that your Excellency is left absolute heir of her property, deducting certain legacies; the will being very different from one executed seven years ago."
"It appears to me that I should fail in my duty, as a servant for twenty-one years together, towards the deserving memory of the illustrious lady, my Lady Donna Giuliadi Gonzaga, your aunt, if I did not offer to condole with your Excellency on her death.
... "Her illustrious ladyship died, as you will have heard by letter from Magnifico Modignano, and from M. Federigo Zanichelli to-day, between twenty-one and twenty-two o'clock. She made an end conforming with her most holy life, continuing sensible to the moment when her sainted spirit left the body. Her will has been opened, and you will have learnt from the before-mentioned Modignano and Zanichelli, that your Excellency is left absolute heir of her property, deducting certain legacies; the will being very different from one executed seven years ago."
To the aforesaid Perez she left an annuity of a hundred ducats: to Caterina, her maid, two hundred ducats down, and a bed and bedding. To Petrillo, whom she had brought up in her house, a thousand ducats; or, in caseof his death before he were of age, half that sum to his father and mother. To Metello, her page, a hundred ducats down. To the brother of her former maid, Caterina Rosso, and to his two children, a hundred ducats each, in remembrance of her services. To her chaplain, twenty ducats. To Madonna Antonia, her lady's-maid, twenty ducats and her salary. To two little girls assisting in the kitchen, ten ducats each, besides their wages. To all the house-servants, their expenses for a month.
Also, remembrances to the nuns of Santa Clara, and to certain officers of the Hospital for Incurables.
Also marriage portions to sundry young women, and legacies to her physicians.
Also legacies to four hospitals.
This remarkable entry was made——
"I leave Cynthia, my slave, to the said Vespasiano my heir, whom I direct to take her to his state of Lombardy; and, when hehas come to the truth of what I wished to know from her, to give her in marriage in that province, with two hundred ducats currency as dowry, and to make her free and set her at liberty."
And, on re-consideration, towards the close of the will,—after leaving a legacy to her undutiful daughter-in-law, and to her sister, a nun,——
"If ever any person be found who may have given me offence in any manner whatsoever, I freely pardon them, and beg my heir not to bear any resentment. I also order and bind my said heir that he use no constraint or severity towards the said Cynthia;—nor am I careful that he should learn from her what I said before that I wished to know; but that he shall make her free and set her at liberty, and give her in marriage in the province of Lombardy, as I before said."
If looks could kill, would not the stubborn,impenetrable Cynthia have been annihilated by the glances that were given her by the rest of the Duchess's women, when this testamentary disposition transpired? Had they the concentrated power of burning-glasses, she would have borne them just as stoutly. All her life she had been sinning and inly repenting; but, to draw from her one word she did not choose to speak—no! that they should not!She, an Abencerrage, to be treated like a slave? She had no feelings in common with her captors: she hated their race, and despised their creed. She only made an exception in favour of the Duchess; but the Duchess did not understand her: nobody understood her. Oh! how hackneyed a complaint it is, that we are not understood!
So, although Cynthia had shed sincere tears for her mistress, she felt a gloomy glory, when she heard the first clause relating to herself, in thinking that the more the young Dukeinsisted on her telling, the more she would never mind. But when she found her gentle mistress had retracted that command, and left her mentally and bodily at liberty—she stole away to a solitary place, and there shed big tears, beating her breast, and saying,
"O Leila, Leila! You loved me!—and indeed I loved you!"