Women of the Romance Countries Part 5

As to her personal appearance, Veronica was not beautiful in face, as her features were irregular; but it was said of her in her early womanhood that if her face had equalled her form she would have been one of the most beautiful women of her time. She was high-strung, enthusiastic, and pa.s.sionate, but she possessed a character and an intelligence which enabled her to hold herself in check; she was a most devoted wife and entirely domestic in her disposition. Her poetry is addressed chiefly to her husband, and she never tires of extolling his many virtues. His eyes, in particular, seem to have been especially beautiful in her sight, as she devotes no less than six sonnets and a madrigal to a description of their charms, calling them _occhi stellante_, and telling of their power in most fervid terms. We cannot, however, consider her as a woman who was wholly concerned with her own small affairs, as her letters show her to have been in communication with the most ill.u.s.trious literary men and women of all Italy, including Ariosto, Bembo, Sannazzaro, and Vittoria Colonna. Though her literary baggage was not extensive, the few sonnets she has left have a strength, simplicity, and sincerity which were rare among the poets of her time.

Her best poem was one addressed to the rival sovereigns, the Emperor Charles V., and the brilliant Francis I. of France; in it she pleads with them to give peace to Italy and join their forces, so as to drive back from the sh.o.r.es of Europe the host of the infidels. Her death occurred in the year 1550, and then, Mrs. Jameson tells us in somewhat ambiguous phrase, "she was buried by her husband." A little reflection will clear away the doubt, however, and make clear the fact that she was laid to rest beside the husband for whom she had buried herself in black for so many years.

No woman more completely devoted herself to her husband's memory, by means of her enduring verse, or deserves a higher place in the annals of conjugal poetry, than Vittoria Colonna; such laurel wreaths did she put upon the brow of her spouse, the Marquis of Pescara, that Ariosto was tempted to say, in substance, that if Alexander had envied Achilles the fame he had acquired in the songs of Homer, how much more would he have envied Pescara those strains wherein his gifted wife had exalted his fame above that of all contemporary heroes! Vittoria came from most ill.u.s.trious families, as her father was the Grand Constable Fabrizio Colonna and her mother was Anna di Montefeltro, daughter of Federigo, the first great Duke of Urbino. At the early age of four, fate joined Vittoria in an infant marriage to the young Count d'Avalo, who was of her own age, and who later, as the Marquis of Pescara, really became her husband. When Vittoria was but a young girl, her beauty and her wonderful talents, added to her high station, made her conspicuous among her countrywomen, and her hand was often sought in marriage even by reigning princes. Both the Duke of Savoy and the Duke of Braganza desired to marry her, and the pope was even persuaded to plead their cause; but all to no avail, as she had long considered her future settled and had no desire to change it. At the age of seventeen they celebrated their wedding, and their life together, which began with that moment, was never marred by a single discordant note.

The first four years of their married life were spent on the island of Ischia, where Pescara had a villa and a small estate, and there they lived in an idyllic happiness which has almost become proverbial. The young husband was not so studiously inclined as was his gifted wife, but he was a manly fellow, much given to athletic pursuits, and with a decided taste for a military career, and Vittoria was loved by him in a most tender and n.o.ble fashion. They were denied the happiness of children, and the young wife expresses her sorrow over this fact in her twenty-second sonnet; but she consoles herself by adding: "since it is not given to me to be the mother of sons who shall inherit their father's glory, at least may I be able, by uniting my name with his in verse, to become the mother of his great deeds and lofty fame." After their long honeymoon had come to an end, Pescara was moved to return to the world, or rather to enter it for the first time as a man, and he entered the imperial army. At the age of twenty-one, as a general of cavalry, he took part in the battle of Ravenna, where he was made a prisoner of war. After a year's detention, however, he was allowed to return to his post, and then followed campaigning in various parts of the peninsula. Vittoria, during all these days of absence, had remained quietly in their island home at Ischia, where she devoted her time to the composition of those sonnets in honor of her husband's glorious deeds which have since brought her such lasting reputation. In token of her fidelity and her general att.i.tude toward the world and society at this time, Vittoria had adopted as her device a small Cupid within the circlet of a twisted snake, and under it was the significant motto: _Quem peperit virtus prudentia servet amorem_ [Discretion shall guard the love which virtue inspired]. The soldier-husband came for a hasty visit to Ischia whenever distances and the varying fortunes of war made it possible; but his stays were brief, and he always wore in his wife's eyes that romantic halo which it was but natural that a poetic woman should throw about the head of a young and brilliant general whose handsome features and n.o.ble carriage made him none the less attractive, and who happened at the same time to be her husband.

After a somewhat short but notable career as a soldier, Pescara was given entire command of the imperial armies, and he it was who directed the fortunes of the day during that memorable battle of Pavia when King Francis I. of France was captured, and when the ill.u.s.trious French knight "without fear and without reproach," the Chevalier Bayard, made that remark which has long since become historic, _Tout est perdu fors l'honneur_. That battle won, and with such credit to himself, Pescara was loaded with praise and rewards, and, as is often the case under such circ.u.mstances, he was subjected to some temptations. His power had become so great, and his military skill was considered so remarkable, that efforts were made to entice him from the imperial service; he was actually offered the crown of the kingdom of Naples in case he would be willing to renounce his allegiance to Charles V. The offer tempted him, and he hesitated for a moment, writing to his wife to ascertain her opinion on the subject. It is clear that he wavered in his duty, but his excuse to Vittoria was that he longed to see her on a throne which she could grace indeed. She, however, without a moment's hesitation, wrote to him to remain faithful to his sovereign, saying, in a letter cited by Giambattista Rota: "I do not desire to be the wife of a king, but rather of that great captain who, by means of his valor in war and his n.o.bility of soul in time of peace, has been able to conquer the greatest monarchs." Pescara, obedient to his wife's desire, immediately began to free himself from the temptations which had been besetting his path, but he had gone so far upon this dangerous road that he was able to turn aside from it only after his. .h.i.therto untarnished honor had been sullied. The criticism which he received at this time made him melancholy, and, weakened by wounds received at the battle of Pavia, which now broke out again, he soon came to his end at Milan, at the age of thirty-five. Though she was for a long time stunned by her grief, Vittoria finally accepted her sorrow with some degree of calmness.

Back she then went to Ischia, where they had pa.s.sed those earlier days together, and there, for seven years almost without interruption, she spent her time thinking of the dead lord of Pescara, and extolling him in her verse. Still young and beautiful, it was but natural that her grief might be controlled in time and that she might again find happiness in married life. Distinguished princes pleaded with her in vain, and even her brothers urged her to this course, which, under the circ.u.mstances, they considered entirely within the bounds of propriety; but to them all she gave the calm a.s.surance that her n.o.ble husband, though dead to others, was still alive for her and constantly in her thoughts. After the first period of her grief had pa.s.sed, she found herself much drawn toward spiritual and religious thoughts, and then it was that her poetry became devotional in tone and sacred subjects were now her only inspiration. Roscoe mentions the fact that she was at this time suspected of sympathizing in secret with the reformed doctrines in religion which were then making such headway in the North and playing such havoc with the papal interests, but there seems little ground for this suspicion beyond the fact that her devotion to the things of the spirit and her somewhat austere ideas in regard to manners and morals were in that day so unusual as to call forth comment. This sacred verse was published in a volume ent.i.tled _Rime spirituali_, and Guingene is authority for the statement that no other author before Vittoria Colonna had ever published a volume of poetry devoted exclusively to religious themes.

Her most faithful friend and admirer in all her long widowhood of twenty-two years was the great artist, sculptor, and painter, Michael Angelo, who never failed to treat her with the tenderest courtesy and respect. No other woman had ever touched his heart, and she gave him suggestion and inspiration for much of his work. After those first seven years of loneliness at Ischia, Vittoria spent much time in the convents of Orvieto and Viterbo, and later she lived in the greatest seclusion at Rome; there it was that death overtook her. Wherever she went, Michael Angelo's thoughtfulness followed her out, and in those last moments at Rome he was with her, faithful to the end. He was the kindly, rugged master-genius of his time, an intellectual giant, and she was a woman of rare devotion and purity of soul; and the real Platonic affection which seems to have possessed them, in that age of license and scepticism, is touching and impressive. What this friendship meant to him, the poet has expressed in the following sonnet addressed to Vittoria, which is here given in Wordsworth's matchless translation:

"Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace, And I be undeluded, unbetrayed; For if of our affections none find grace in sight of Heaven, then, wherefore had G.o.d made The world which we inhabit? Better plea Love cannot have than that in loving thee Glory to that eternal peace is paid, Who such divinity to thee imparts As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.

His hope is treacherous only whose love dies With beauty, which is varying every hour: But in chaste hearts, uninfluenced by the power Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower, That breathes on earth the air of Paradise."

The ducal court at Ferrara became, in the latter half of the sixteenth century, the centre of much intellectual life and brilliancy; generous patronage was extended to the arts and to literature, and here gathered together a company which rivalled in splendor the court of Urbino in the days of the Countess Elizabetta. The duke, Alfonso II., son of that unfortunate Renee, daughter of Louis XII. of France, who had been kept in an Italian prison for twelve long years because of her suspected sympathy with the reformed doctrines, came of a long line of princes who had in the past given liberally to the cause of learning. During his reign, which covers the period from 1559 to 1597, the social side of court life in his dukedom came into special prominence. The two sisters of Alfonso--Lucrezia and Leonora--presided over this court, and to it came, from time to time, many of the most beautiful women of Italy.

Tarquinia Moeza was there, a woman of beauty and of rare poetic gifts; Lucrezia Bendidio, beautiful and accomplished, and having constantly about her a most admiring throng of poets and literati; and later came the two acknowledged beauties of the day, Leonora di Sanvitali, Countess of Scandiano, and her no less charming mother-in-law, Barbara, Countess of Sala. Among the men of this company, suffice it to mention the name of the poet Guarini, whose fame has become enduring on account of his charming and idyllic drama, _Il pastor fido_, for he it is who seems to embody that sprightliness of wit which gave to Ferrara at that time its gladsome reputation.

To this court there came, for the first time, in the year 1565, young Torquato Ta.s.so, poet and courtier, scholar and gentleman, and already the author of a published narrative poem, the _Rinaldo_, which caused him to be hailed as the most promising poet of his generation when he was but in his eighteenth year. Bernardo Ta.s.so, the poet's father, was likewise a poet and a professional courtier of some distinction, and varying fortunes had taken him to Urbino, where the son Torquato grew up, surrounded by all the evidences of refinement and culture. He had been favored by nature with a tall and commanding figure, and his good looks had already caused more than one gentle heart to flutter, when, at the age of twenty-one, with his father's consent and approval, he entered the service of the Cardinal Luigi d'Este, and became at once a conspicuous figure in court circles. Almost instantly the youth, filled as he was with most romantic ideas and readily susceptible to the power of woman's beauty, fell a captive to the charms of the Princess Leonora d'Este, who, though some ten years his senior, seemed to embody all the graces and to completely satisfy the ideal which up to this time he had been able to see only with his mind's eye. Leonora had already been sought in marriage by many t.i.tled suitors, but she had invariably turned a deaf ear to such proposals, never finding one who could please her fancy or who promised comfort in her loneliness. For she was lonely in that court, as she seems to have dwelt in a sort of spiritual isolation most of the time; there was always a melancholy air about her, which had no doubt been induced in large measure by her mother's sad fate. For Ta.s.so to love her was most natural; but they both knew that such a love could be but hopeless, and it cannot be said that she encouraged him in any covert manner or that he made open profession of his pa.s.sion. It is true that he makes her the subject of many of his poems, wherein he lauds her to the skies, but this is no more than was expected of a court poet; he did the same for other ladies, but in all that was dedicated to her charms there seems to shine forth a truer light of real affection than is found in all the others. What words of affection, if any, pa.s.sed between them can never be known; but it seems that there must have been some sort of tacit consent to his silent adoration, and Ta.s.so tells in a madrigal, perhaps in proof of this, that once, when he had asked her pardon for having put his arm upon her own in the eagerness of conversation, she replied, with gentleness: "You offended, not by putting your arm there, but by taking it away!"

For twelve years Ta.s.so remained at Ferrara, constantly writing sonnets and short poems of all descriptions, which were most often addressed to Leonora, but at the same time he was busily working upon that longer poem in epic form, descriptive of the First Crusade, the _Gerusalemme liberata_, wherein he puts a new feeling into Italian poetry, which had been expressed before by Ariosto in his amatory verse, but which cannot be found to any great extent in his more pretentious work, the _Orlando Furioso_. This new feeling was real sentiment, and not sentimentality, and it denotes the growing conception of the worth and dignity of womanhood which we have already discovered in the poetry of Michael Angelo. Allowing for the infinite contradictions possible in human nature, it may be that these men of the same time, who so coolly killed their wives and sisters for acts of infidelity, were touched in some dim way with the same feeling, to which, alas! they gave but sorry expression, if the surmise be true.

The constant excitement of the court and his unending literary labors commenced to tell upon the poet in 1575, when his health began to fail and he grew irritable and restless, became subject to delusions, fancied that he had been denounced by the Inquisition, and was in daily terror of being poisoned. Then it was said that the poet was mad, and there are some who have whispered that it was his unrequited love for the Princess Leonora which brought about this calamity. However that may be, the climax was reached in the year 1577, when Ta.s.so, in the presence of Lucrezia d'Este,--who was then d.u.c.h.ess of Urbino,--drew a knife upon one of his servants. For this he was arrested, but soon after was given his liberty on condition that he should go to a Franciscan monastery and give himself that rest and attention which his failing health demanded.

Here, however, he was beset with the idea that the duke sought to take his life, and he fled in disguise to his sister, who was then living at Sorrento. Various explanations have been given for this sudden flight, and some biographers have insinuated that the duke had discovered some hidden intrigue between his sister Leonora and Ta.s.so which had caused the latter to fear for his safety. This supposition cannot be accepted as true, however, for if the duke had known or had even strongly suspected such a thing he would have promptly put the poet to death without compunction, and such a course of action would have been entirely justified by the public sentiment of the time. And if this supposition were true, is it probable that Ta.s.so would have been allowed to return to Ferrara in a short time, as he did? Now, begins a confused life, and the poet comes and goes, moved by a strange restlessness, never happy away from Ferrara, yet never caring to stay there long.

Finally, on one occasion he thought himself so neglected at his return that he made a most violent scene, and became so bitter and incoherent in his complaints that he was p.r.o.nounced insane and imprisoned by order of the duke. There he remained for seven years, and the most of that time he was in a well-lighted and well-furnished room, where he was allowed to receive visitors and devote himself to literary work whenever he so desired. At the end of this time, in which Ta.s.so himself speaks of his mental disorder, he went to Mantua, where he had been invited by the Prince Vincenzo Gonzaga; there he spent a few pleasant months; but he soon grew discontented, the roaming fit came upon him again, and after a number of years of pitiful endeavor he finally died, in 1595, at the convent of Saint Onofrio.

It does not seem just to blame the Princess Leonora d'Este for the sad fate which befell Ta.s.so, as so many have done, for there is no proof of any unkindness on her part. That he loved her there can be but little doubt, but hardly to the verge of madness, as he wrote love sonnets to other ladies at the same time; the truth seems to be that he became mentally unbalanced as the result of the precocious development of his powers, which made a man of him while yet a boy and developed in him an intensity of feeling which made his candle of life burn fiercely, but for a short time only. His end was but the natural consequence of the beginning, and whether Leonora helped or hindered in the final result, it matters not, for she was blameless. She died in the second year of Ta.s.so's imprisonment, sad at heart as she had ever been, never deeply touched by the poet's constant praises, and to the end a victim to that melancholy mood which had come upon her in childhood.

CHAPTER X

THE SEVENTEENTH AND EIGHTEENTH CENTURIES

The transition from the sixteenth to the seventeenth century in Italy was marked by no sudden changes of any kind. The whole country was thoroughly prostrate and under the control of the empire; a national spirit did not exist, and the people seemed content to slumber on without opposing in any way the tyranny of their foreign masters. The glory of the Italian Renaissance had been sung in all the countries of Europe; in every nook and corner of the continent, Italian painters and sculptors, princes and poets, artists and artisans of all kinds, had stimulated this new birth of the world; but this mission accomplished, Italy seemed to find little more to do, and for lack of an ideal her sons and daughters wasted their time in the pursuit of idle things. It was the natural reaction after an age of unusual force and brilliancy.

In the shadow of the great achievements of the sixteenth century in all lines of human activity, the seventeenth, lost in admiration, could imagine no surer way to equal attainment than to imitate what had gone before. Literature became stilted and full of mannerisms and underwent a process of refinement which left it without strength or vigor, and society in general seemed more concerned with form and ceremony than with the deeper things of the spirit.

Countless examples are on record to show the petty jealousies which were agitating the public mind at this time, and the number of quarrels and arguments which had their origin in most trivial causes pa.s.ses belief.

Rank and position were of the utmost consequence, and questions of precedence in public functions were far more eagerly discussed than were questions of national policy. Naples, under the control of Spanish princes, was particularly noted for such exhibitions of undignified behavior. On one occasion, during a solemn church ceremony, the military governor of the city left the cathedral in a great rage because he had noticed that a small footstool had been placed for the archbishop, while nothing of the kind had been provided for his own comfort. At the death of a certain princess, the royal commissioners delayed the funeral because it was claimed that she had used arms and insignia of n.o.bility above her true rank, and was not ent.i.tled, therefore, to the brilliant obsequies which were being planned by the members of her family. The body was finally put in a vault and left unburied until the matter had been pa.s.sed upon by the heraldry experts in Madrid! During the funeral services which were being held in honor of the Queen of Spain, the archbishop desired footstools placed for all the bishops present, but the vicegerent opposed this innovation, and the ceremony was finally suspended because they could come to no agreement. The cities of Cremona and Pavia were in litigation for eighty-two years over the question as to which should have precedence over the other in public functions where representatives of the two places happened to be together; finally, the Milanese Senate, to which the question was submitted, "after careful examination and mature deliberation, decided that it had nothing to decide." Another example of this small-mindedness is shown in the case of the General Giovanni Serbelloni, who, while fighting in the Valteline in 1625, was unwilling to open a despatch which had been sent to him, because he had not been addressed by all his t.i.tles. It is a pleasure to add that as a result of this action he was left in ignorance as to the approach of the enemy and the next day suffered a severe defeat.

Rome was the seat of much splendor and display--an inevitable state of affairs when the fact is taken into consideration that the city was filled with legates and emba.s.sies, all anxious to wait upon his holiness the pope and gain some special privilege or concession. At this time the cardinals, too, were not mere ecclesiastics, but rather men of great wealth and power; often they became prime ministers in their several countries,--as Richelieu, for example,--and the great and influential houses of Savoy, Este, Gonzaga, Farnese, Barberini, and many others, always possessed one or more of them who vied in magnificence with the pope himself. And all this helped to make the Eternal City the scene of much brilliancy. The papal court was the natural centre of all this animation, and many a stately procession wended its way to the Vatican.

On one occasion, the Duke of Parma, wishing to compliment a newly elected pope, sent as his representative the Count of San Secondo, who went to his solemn interview followed by a long procession of one hundred and fifty carriages, and appeared before the pontiff with eighteen distinguished prelates in his train. This mad pa.s.sion for display led to so many evils of all kinds that Urban VIII. prohibited "indecent garments" for both men and women. In the interests of public morality, it was further decreed that women were not to take music lessons from men, and nuns were allowed no other professors than their own companions. Public singing, distinct from religious ceremonies, was a novelty at this time, and women with the gift of song were paid most liberally for their services. Venice was the city most noted for its festivals and carnivals, and here these women were given most generous treatment.

In Florence, as in all the rest of Italy, Spain was taken as "the gla.s.s of fashion, the mould of form" for the first part of the century, but the splendor of the court of Louis Quatorze soon caused French fashions to reign supreme. Then, as now, brides were accustomed to dress in white, while married women were given a wide lat.i.tude in their choice of colors. At first, widows wore a dress distinctive not only in color but in cut, yet eventually they were to be distinguished by only a small head-dress of black c.r.a.pe. Young women were much given to curling their hair, and at the same time it was the fashion to wear upon the forehead a cl.u.s.ter of blond curls, a _pet.i.te perruque_, which, in the words of an old chronicler, Rinuccini, "is very unbecoming to those whose hair happens to be of another color." From the same authority is derived the following information concerning the women belonging to the under crust of society: "Prost.i.tutes, formerly, all wore an apparent sign which revealed their infamous profession; it was a yellow ribbon fastened to the strings of the hats, which were then in fashion; when hats went out of style, the yellow ribbon was worn in the hair, and if the women were ever found without it they were severely punished. Finally, on payment of a certain tax, they were allowed to go without the ribbon, and then they were to be distinguished by their impudence only." In Florence, women of this cla.s.s were especially noted for their beauty, and there it was customary to compel them all to live within a certain district.

In the average Florentine household it had been the custom to have three women servants,--a cook, a second girl, and a _matrona_. This third servant was better educated than the others, and it was her duty, outside of the house, to keep her mistress company, whether she rode in her carriage or went about on foot. At home, she did the sewing and the mending, and generally dressed her mistress and combed her hair. For this work the _matrona_ received a salary of six or seven dollars a month, and it seems to have been usual for her employers to arrange a good marriage for her after several years of service, giving her at that time from one hundred to one hundred and fifty crowns as a dowry. Later in the century, the _matrona_ does not seem to have been so common, and many women went alone in their carriages, while on foot they were accompanied by a manservant in livery. The wealthier ladies of the n.o.bility, however, were accompanied in their conveyances by a _donzella_, and on the street and in all public places by an elderly and dignified manservant, dressed in black, who was known as the _cavaliere_. The fashion with regard to this male protector became so widespread that the women of the middle cla.s.s were in the habit of hiring the services of some such individual for their occasional use on fete days and whenever they went to ma.s.s. The further development of this custom and its effect upon public morals in the following century will be discussed on another page.

Busy with all-absorbing questions of dress, etiquette, and domestic management, it does not appear that the women of the seventeenth century in Italy took any great share in public events, although one Italian woman at least, leaving the country of her birth, was placed by fate upon a royal throne. Henry IV. of France, about the year 1600, was hard pressed for the payment of certain debts by Ferdinand I., Grand Duke of Tuscany, as the Medici were still the bankers of Europe, and the French king was owing more than a million louis d'or; but the whole matter was settled in a satisfactory way when Henry gave definite promises to pay within a dozen years. To maintain his credit in the meantime, and to facilitate the payment of the money, the one-time King of Navarre demanded in marriage Marie de' Medici, the niece of the grand duke; it is needless to say that the request was speedily granted, for the pride and ambition of this rich Tuscan family were unlimited, and the memory of that other daughter of the house of Medici, Catherine, who had been Queen of France and mother of three French kings, was still fresh in the minds of all. The wedding ceremony was performed in great splendor, at Florence, Henry sending a proxy to represent him at that time; and then the young bride set out for France, followed by a glittering retinue, and bearing, as her dowry, six hundred thousand crowns of gold. Arriving at Leghorn, they took ship for Ma.r.s.eilles, and then began a triumphal march across the country, cities vying with each other in doing her honor. Cantu tells us that at Avignon, which was still a city under the temporal sway of the pope, Marie was placed in a chariot drawn by two elephants, and given an escort of two thousand cavaliers. There were seven triumphal arches and seven theatres; for it was the proud boast of the residents of Avignon that everything went by sevens in their city, as there were seven palaces, seven parishes, seven old convents, seven monasteries, seven hospitals, seven colleges, and seven gates in the city wall! Several addresses of welcome were delivered in the presence of the young queen, though in this instance the number was hardly seven, poems were read, and she received a number of gold medals bearing her profile upon one side and the city's coat of arms upon the other. Henry had left Paris to come to meet his bride, and it was at Lyons that the royal pair saw each other for the first time. It cannot be said that this first interview was warmly enthusiastic, for the king found her far less beautiful than the portrait which had been sent to him, and he soon came to the sad conclusion that she was too fat, had staring eyes and bad manners, and was very stubborn.

After the birth of a son and heir, who later became Louis XIII., the king neglected his wife to such an extent that she felt little sorrow at the time of his a.s.sa.s.sination. Then it was, as queen-regent, that Marie for the first time entered actively into political life; but her ability in this sphere of action was only moderate, and she was soon the centre of much quarrel and contention, wherein the unyielding feudal n.o.bility and the Protestants figured largely as disturbing causes. In the midst of these troublous times, the queen had an invaluable a.s.sistant in the person of Eleanora Galiga, her foster-sister, whose husband, Concino Concini, a Florentine, had come to France in the suite of Marie, and had subsequently risen to a position of influence in the court. Eventually, he became the Marechal d'Ancre, and his wife was spoken of as _la Marechale_ or _la Galiga_, for so great was the extent of Eleanora's control over the queen that she was one of the most conspicuous women in all Europe at that time. Gradually, she was criticised on account of the way in which she used her power, and it was alleged that she was overmuch in the company of divers magicians and astrologers who had been brought from Italy, and that the black art alone was responsible for her success. These accusations finally aroused such public hostility that, after a trial which was a travesty upon justice, Eleanora was soon condemned to death, on the charge of having unduly influenced the queen by means of magic philters. Eleanora went to her death bravely, saying with dignity to her accusers: "The philter which I have used is the influence which every strong mind possesses, naturally, over every weaker one."

Not long after this Florentine queen of France was playing her part in public affairs, all Europe was surprised by another woman, whose actions were without parallel and whose case seems to be the opposite of the one just cited. Marie de' Medici left Italy to become a queen, and now a queen is seen to abdicate that she may go to Rome to live. Christine, Queen of Sweden, a most enlightened woman and the daughter of the great Gustavus Adolphus who had brought about the triumph of the Protestant arms in Germany, relinquished her royal robes in the year 1654, announced her conversion to Catholicism, and finally went to Rome, where she ended her days. She was given a veritable ovation on her arrival there, as may well be imagined, for the Church rarely made so distinguished a convert, and Christine, in acknowledgment of this attention, presented her crown and sceptre as a votive offering to the church of the Santa Casa at Loretto. At Rome she lived in one of the most beautiful palaces in the city, and there divided her time between study and amus.e.m.e.nts. Through it all she was never able to forget the fact that she had been a queen, and many examples might be given of her haughty demeanor in the presence of those who were unwilling to do her bidding. Before leaving Sweden, Christine had tried to gather a circle of learned men about her at Stockholm, and the great French philosopher Descartes spent some months in her palace. Later, when in Paris, on her way to Italy, a special session of the French Academy had been held in her honor, and all of the literary men of France went out to the palace at Fontainebleau while she was domiciled there, to do her honor. Once in Rome, it was her immediate desire to become the centre of a literary coterie, and to that end she was most generous in her gifts to artists and men of letters. Her intelligence and her liberality soon gave her great influence, and before long she was able to organize an Academy in due form under her own roof. She was for many years a most conspicuous figure in Roman society, and at the time of her death, in 1689, Filicaa, a poet of some local reputation, declared that her kingdom comprised "all those who thought, all those who acted, and all those who were endowed with intelligence."

In this seventeenth century, as in the one before, parents were continually compelling their children and especially their daughters to enter upon a religious career, and many of them were forced to this course in spite of their protestations. Cantu tells of the case of Archangela Tarabotti, who was compelled to enter the convent of Saint Anne at Venice, though all her interests and all her ways were worldly in the extreme. To the convent she went, however, at the age of thirteen, because she was proving a difficult child to control, and there she was left to grind her teeth in impotent rage. In common with many other young girls of her time, she had never been taught to read or write, as the benefit of such accomplishments was not appreciated in any general way--at least so far as women were concerned; but, once within the convent walls, from sheer ennui, Archangela began to study most a.s.siduously, and finally published a number of books which present an interesting description and criticism of existing manners and customs in so far as they had to do with women and their att.i.tude toward conventual inst.i.tutions. Having entered upon this life under protest, her first books were written in a wild, pa.s.sionate style, and it was her purpose to make public the violence of which she had been a victim, and to prove, by copious references to authorities both sacred and profane, that women should be allowed entire liberty in their choice of a career.

Incidentally, she cursed most thoroughly the fathers who compelled their daughters to take the veil in spite of their expressed unwillingness.

Perhaps the most important of these protests, which was given an Elzevir edition in 1654, was ent.i.tled _Innocence Deceived, or The Tyranny of Parents_. This special edition was dedicated to G.o.d, and bore the epigraph: "Compulsory devotion is not agreeable to G.o.d!" Another of these books was ent.i.tled _The h.e.l.l of Convent Life_, and these t.i.tles are certainly enough to show that she set about her task of religious--or, rather, social--reform with a most fervid, though somewhat bitter, zeal. Naturally, these open criticisms caused a great scandal in ecclesiastical circles, and many vigorous attempts were made to reconcile the recalcitrant nun and induce her to modify her views.

Finally, moved by the pious exhortations of the patriarch, Federigo Cornaro, she became somewhat resigned to her fate. Then it was said of her that "she abandoned the pomp of fine garments, which had possessed so great a charm for her," and the records show that the last years of her life were spent in an endeavor to atone for the extravagances of her youthful conduct. A number of devout books were produced by her during this time, and among them the following curious t.i.tles may be noticed: _The Paved Road to Heaven_ and _The Purgatory of Unhappily Married Women_.

A somewhat similar case of petty tyranny, and one which was soon the talk of all Europe, is the pathetic story of Roberto Acciauoli and Elizabetta Marmora. These two young people loved each other in spite of the fact that Elizabetta was the wife of Giulio Berardi; when the latter died, everyone supposed that the lovers would marry, and such was their intention, but they found an unexpected obstacle in their path, for Roberto's uncle, the Cardinal Acciauoli, had other views on the subject. It was his desire that his nephew should contract a marriage with some wealthy Roman family whose influence might aid him to become pope. The young man refused to further this project in any way, and insisted upon marrying the woman of his choice; the cardinal, in despair, had to fall back upon the a.s.sistance of his ruling prince, Cosmo II., Grand Duke of Tuscany. Cosmo, unwilling to offend this prelate who might some day become the head of the Church, took action in his behalf and ordered that Elizabetta should be confined in a Florentine convent. Thereupon Roberto fled to Mantua, and, after having married her by letter, publicly proclaimed his act and demanded that his wife be delivered up to him. The best lawyers in Lombardy now declared the marriage a valid one, but in Florence the steps taken were considered merely as the equivalent of a public betrothal. So the matter stood for a time, until the pope died and the ambitious cardinal presented himself as a candidate for the pontiff's chair. Then the outraged nephew sent to each one of the papal electors a detailed account of what had taken place, with the result that his uncle's candidacy was a complete failure. Cosmo, moved somewhat by public opinion, which was all upon the side of the lovers, ordered Elizabetta to be released from her captivity, whereupon she joined her husband in Venice, that she might share his exile. They were not allowed to remain there for a long time in peace, however, as Cosmo, smarting under the lash of popular disapproval, decided to make an effort to get them within his power again, that he might wreak his vengeance upon them.

Accordingly, he demanded that the Venetian republic should deliver them up, charging that they had been guilty of gross disrespect toward him, their sovereign. Hearing of this requisition, Roberto and Elizabetta, disguised as monks, fled to Germany, but were recognized at Trent and taken back to Tuscany. Acciauoli was then deprived of all his property and imprisoned for life in the fortress of Volterra, and his wife was threatened with the same treatment if she persisted in maintaining the validity of the marriage. Worn by all this trouble and persecution, Elizabetta weakened, failed to show the courage which might be expected from the heroine of such a dramatic story, and preferred to live alone for the rest of her days than to spend her life in prison with her devoted husband.

The eighteenth century found Italy still under the control of foreign rulers, and the national spirit was still unborn; public morals seem to have degenerated rather than improved, and then, as always, the women were no better than the men desired them to be. Details of the life of this period are extremely difficult to obtain, as the social aspects of Italian life from the decline of the Renaissance to the Napoleonic era have been quite generally neglected by historians; the information which is obtainable must be derived in large measure from books and letters on Italian travel, written for the most part by foreigners. One of the most interesting volumes of this kind was written by a Mrs. Piozzi, the English wife of an Italian, who had unusual opportunities for a close observation of social conditions; several of the following paragraphs are based upon her experiences.

The most striking thing in the social life of this time is the domestic arrangement whereby every married woman was supposed to have at her beck and call, in addition to her husband, another cavalier, who was known as a _cicisbeo_ and was the natural successor of the Florentine _cavaliere_ before mentioned. Cicisbeism has been much criticised and much discussed as to its bearing upon public morals, and many opposite opinions have been expressed with regard to it. The Countess Martinengo Cesaresco, who is a most careful and able student of Italian life, has the following to say upon the subject: "He [the _cicisbeo_] was frequently a humble relative--in every family were cadets too poor to marry, as they could not work for their living, or too sincere to become priests, to whom cavalier service secured a dinner, at any rate, if they wanted one. It was the custom to go to the theatre every evening--the box at the opera was an integral part of the household arrangements, a continuation of the salon--only it could not be reached without an escort. The chaperon did not exist, because a woman, no matter how old, was no escort for another woman, nor could she herself dispense with an attendant of the other s.e.x. A dowager of sixty and a bride of sixteen had equally to stay at home if there was not a man to accompany them. The cavalier's service was particularly in request at the theatre, but he was more or less on duty whenever his lady left her house for any purpose, with the doubtful exception of going to church. No husband outside a honeymoon could be expected to perform all these functions: he, therefore, appointed or agreed upon the appointment of somebody else to act as his subst.i.tute.

This was, in nine cases out of ten, the eminently unromantic cavalier servitude of fact. The high-flown, complimentary language, the profound bowing and hand-kissing of the period, combined to mystify strangers as to its real significance. Sometimes, when there was really a lover in the question, the _cavalier servente_ must have been a serious impediment; he was always _La plante ... a contrecarrer un pauvre tiers_, in the words of the witty President de Brosses, who, though he did not wholly credit the a.s.surances he received as to the invariable innocence of the inst.i.tution, was yet far from pa.s.sing on it the sweeping judgment arrived at by most foreigners. There is no doubt that habit and opportunity did, now and then, prove too strong for the two individuals thrown so constantly together. 'Juxtaposition is great,' as Clough says in his _Amours de Voyage_; but that such lapses represented the rule rather than the exception is not borne out either by reason or record."

Mrs. Piozzi is somewhat dubious in regard to this condition of affairs and is hardly disposed to take the charitable view which has just been given, but the general trend of more enlightened comment seems to agree with the Countess Cesaresco. In Sheridan's _School for Scandal_ occur the following lines, which convey the same idea:

LADY TEAZLE.--"You know I admit you as a lover no farther than fashion sanctions."

JOSEPH SURFACE.--"True--a mere platonic _cicisbeo_--what every wife is ent.i.tled to."

Fragments taken somewhat at random regarding the women of several of the more important cities of Italy may serve to give some idea regarding their general position and condition throughout the country at large.

Writing from Milan, Mrs. Piozzi says: "There is a degree of effrontery among the women that amazes me, and of which I had no idea till a friend showed me, one evening, from my own box at the opera, fifty or a hundred low shopkeepers' wives dispersed about the pit at the theatre, dressed in men's clothes (_per disempegno_, as they call it), that they might be more at liberty, forsooth, to clap and hiss and quarrel and jostle! I felt shocked." Venice was, as it had ever been, a city of pleasure. The women, generally married at fifteen, were old at thirty, and such was the intensity of life in this "water-logged town"--as F. Hopkinson Smith somewhat irreverently called it upon one occasion--that a traveller was led to remark: _On ne goute pas ses plaisirs, on les avale._ Here, as in all parts of Italy for that matter, the conditions of domestic life were somewhat unusual at this time, as it was the custom to employ menservants almost exclusively; as these servitors were under the control of the master of the house, it was quite common for the women to intrust to their husbands the entire management of household affairs.

Thus freed from family cares, Venetian ladies had little to occupy their time outside of the pleasures of society. Nothing was expected of them on the intellectual side; they had no thought of education, found no resource in study, and were not compelled to read in order to keep up with society small-talk; so long as they found a means to charm their masculine admirers, nothing more was demanded. Apparently, for them to charm and fascinate was not difficult, for, according to Mrs. Piozzi, "a woman in Italy is sure of applause, so she takes little pains to secure it." Accordingly, the women of Venice seem to have been quite unpretentious in their manners and dress. They wore little or no rouge, though they were much addicted to the use of powder, and their dresses were very plain and presented little variety. "The hair was dressed in a simple way, flat on top, all of one length, hanging in long curls about the neck or sides, as it happens." During the summer season it was the custom literally to turn night into daytime, as social functions were rarely begun before midnight, and it was dawn before the revellers were brought home in their gondolas. At one place in Venice were literary topics much discussed, and that was at Quirini's Casino, a semi-public resort where ladies were much in evidence, and this was but the exception which proved the rule.

Genoa has been thus described: "It possesses men without honesty, women without modesty, a sea without fish, and a woods with no birds," and, without going into the merits of each of these statements, it is safe to say that the state of public morals in this city was about the same as that to be found in any other Italian city. Apropos of the poor heating arrangements in Genoese houses, Mrs. Piozzi makes the following remark, which gives a sidelight upon some of the customs of the place and will interest the curious: "To church, however, and to the theatre in winter, they have carried a great green velvet bag, adorned with gold ta.s.sels and lined with fur to keep their feet from freezing, as carpets are not in use. Poor women run about the streets with a little earthen pipkin hanging on their arm filled with fire, even if they are sent on an errand."

In Florence, the art of making improviso verses--which has ever been popular in southern countries--seems to have reached its highest state of perfection during this eighteenth century, and a woman, the celebrated Corilla, was acknowledged to be the most expert in this accomplishment. At Rome, when at the climax of her wonderful career, she was publicly crowned with the laurel in the presence of thousands of applauding spectators; and in her later years, at Florence, her drawing room was ever filled with curious and admiring crowds. Without pretensions to immaculate character, deep erudition, or high birth, which an Italian esteems above all earthly things, Corilla so made her way in the world that members of the n.o.bility were wont to throng to her house, and many sovereigns, _en pa.s.sage_ at Florence, took pains to seek her society. Corilla's successor was the beautiful Fantastici, a young woman of pleasing personality and remarkable powers of improvisation, who soon became a popular favorite.

Both at home and abroad, Italian women were coming to the fore in musical circles, and no opera in any one of the continental capitals was complete without its prima donna. Among the distinguished singers of this epoch the two most celebrated were Faustina Bordoni and Catarina Gabrielli. Faustina, born in the year 1700, was the daughter of a n.o.ble Venetian family, and at an early age began to study music under the direction of Gasparoni; when she was but sixteen, she made her debut with such success that she was immediately given place as one of the greatest artists on the lyric stage. In Venice, Naples, Florence, and Vienna, she displayed such dramatic skill and such a wonderful voice that she was soon acknowledged as the most brilliant singer in Europe.

Later, she was brought to London, under the management of the great composer Handel, and there she finally displaced in the public favor her old-time rival, Cuzzoni. The singer known as Catarina Gabrielli was the daughter of the cook of the celebrated Cardinal Gabrielli; in spite of her low origin, she was possessed of a great though insolent beauty, in addition to her wonderful vocal powers, and her brilliant career in Europe was most exceptional in every way. In Italy, later in Vienna, and even in far-away St. Petersburg, she not only achieved wonderful success as a singer, but by her coquettish ways she contrived to attract a crowd of most jealous and ardent admirers, who pursued her and more than once fought for her favors. During her stay in Vienna, the French amba.s.sador, who had fallen a victim to her charms, became so madly jealous of the Portuguese minister, that he drew his sword on Catarina upon one occasion, and had it not been for her whalebone bodice she would have lost her life. As it was, she received a slight scratch, which calmed the enraged diplomat and brought him to his knees. She would pardon him only on condition that he would present her with his sword, on which were to be inscribed the following words: "Sword of M..., who dared strike La Gabrielli." Through the intervention of friends, however, this heavy penalty was never imposed, and the Frenchman was spared the ridicule which would have surely followed. Catarina, after a long and somewhat reckless career, pa.s.sed her last years in Bologna, where she died, in 1796, at the age of sixty-six, after having won general esteem and admiration by her charities and by her steadiness of character, which was in notable contrast to the extravagance of her earlier life.

Perhaps the three most distinguished Italian women in all the century were Clelia Borromeo, Laura Ba.s.si, and Gaetana Agnesi. The Countess Clelia was a veritable _grande dame_, who exerted a wide influence for good in all the north of Italy; Laura Ba.s.si was a most learned and distinguished professor of philosophy at the University of Bologna; and the last member of this ill.u.s.trious triad, Gaetana Agnesi, became so famous in the scholarly world that her achievements must be recounted with some attention to detail. At the time of her birth, in 1718, her father was professor of mathematics at Bologna, and it appears that she was so precocious that at the age of nine she had such command of the Latin language that she was able to publish a long and carefully prepared address written in that cla.s.sic tongue, contending that there was no reason why women should not devote themselves to the pursuit of liberal studies. By the time she was thirteen she knew--in addition to Latin--Greek, Hebrew, French, Spanish, German, and several other languages, and was so renowned for her linguistic attainments that she was called, familiarly, the "walking polyglot." When she was fifteen, her father began to invite the most learned men of Bologna to a.s.semble at his house and listen to her essays and discussions upon the most difficult philosophical problems; in spite of the fact that this display of her learning was known to be distasteful to the young girl, it was not until she reached her twentieth year that she was allowed to withdraw from society. In welcome seclusion, she devoted herself to the study of mathematics, and published several mathematical works whose value is still recognized. In 1752 her father fell ill, and, by Pope Benedict XIV., Gaetana was appointed to occupy his professorial chair, which she did with distinction. At her father's death, two years later, she withdrew from this active career; and after a most careful study of theology, she satisfied a long-cherished wish and entered a convent, joining the Order of Blue Nuns, at Milan. She was most actively interested in hospital work and charities of all kinds, and, as her death did not occur until 1799, lived a long life of usefulness.

CHAPTER XI

ITALIAN WOMEN IN THE NINETEENTH CENTURY

After the torpor and stagnation of the last two centuries, after the self-abas.e.m.e.nt of the people, and the apparent extinction of all spirit of national pride, the French invasion and domination, under the stern rule of Bonaparte, was a rude awakening. Old boundaries were swept aside, old traditions were disregarded, old rulers were dethroned; everywhere were the French, with their Republican banners, mouthing the great words Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity, ravaging and plundering in the most shameless fashion, and extorting the most exorbitant taxes.

But the contagion spread--the Italians were impressed with the wonderful exploits of the one-time Corsican corporal, and they, in turn, began to wag their heads in serious discussion of the "rights of man," as the French had done a decade before. For the dissemination of the new ideas, political clubs were organized throughout Italy as they had existed in France, and the whole country was in ferment. Add to that the fact that Napoleon began to levy troops in Italy as soon as his position warranted this action, and that soon Italian soldiers were in all parts of Europe fighting under the French flag, and one can perhaps have some picture of the complete way in which French influences were made to prevail. In this conquered territory the population may be divided into three cla.s.ses: first, the deposed n.o.bility, who had for the most part left the country; second, the middle cla.s.s, composed of professional men and the wealthier citizens; and third, the common people. Of these three cla.s.ses, the second was the one which Napoleon tried in every way to conciliate, for he counted upon its aid in the moulding of public opinion. He had little to do with the departed n.o.bility, the common people were helping him fight his battles, but, if he hoped to occupy Italy permanently, his real appeal had to be made to the educated cla.s.s.

Accordingly, the arts of peace were used in the interests of the G.o.d of war; public improvements of all kinds were begun over all Italy, under the supervision of the French officials, ca.n.a.ls were built, marshes were drained, academies of learning were founded, commerce was stimulated, schools for girls were started at Milan, Bologna, and Verona in imitation of those which had already been established in France, and, in fact, everything was done to prove to the people that the rule of the French was beneficial to the best interests of the peninsula. Many men of letters were won over by fair promises, and scientific men were, in many instances, so aided in their researches and so loaded with honors that it was difficult to resist the approaches of the emperor; and there resulted much fulsome praise in honor of Napoleon, who was hailed as a veritable G.o.d. Some there were, however, who resisted the advances of the conquerors and were loath to see the country so completely in the control of a foreign nation. It is true that Italy was enjoying a great prosperity in spite of the demands made upon it by the French, but this sudden accession of Republican ideas and the consciousness that Italian armies were fighting bravely all over the continent had aroused a national spirit which had lain dormant for centuries; the more far-seeing patriots were already looking forward to a time when Italy might be not only free but independent.