Produced by Giovanni Fini, Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) [Illustration: BIANCA CAPPELLO.] _From an Original Painting by Cristofero Allori in the Uffizi at Florence._ A DECADE OF ITALIAN WOMEN. BY T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE, AUTHOR OF "THE GIRLHOOD OF CATHERINE DE' MEDICI." IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. II. LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1859. [_The right of Translation is reserved._] LONDON BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS. CONTENTS. TULLIA D'ARAGONA. Born, about 1510. Died, about 1570. CHAPTER I. PAGE My Lord Cardinal's daughter 1 CHAPTER II. Aspasia rediviva 10 CHAPTER III. "All's well, that ends well" 21 OLYMPIA MORATA. Born, 1526. Died, 1555. CHAPTER I. Good old times in Ferrara.âHow a Pope's daughter became a Duchess; bygones were bygones; and Love was still the lord of all 30 CHAPTER II. Troublous new times in Ferrara.âHow a French King's daughter became a Duchess; bygones were aught but bygones; and Mitre and Cowl were lords of all 54 CHAPTER III. How shall a Pope be saved? with the answer thereto.âHow shall our Olympia be saved? To be taken into consideration in a subsequent chapter 77 CHAPTER IV. "The whirligig of time brings in his revenges."âStill Undine.âThe "salvation" question stands over 92 CHAPTER V. Dark days.âThe great question begins to be answered 108 CHAPTER VI. The question fully answered at last.âFarewell, Ferrara!âWelcome inhospitable Caucasus.âOmne solum forti patria est 122 CHAPTER VII. At Augsburg; and at WÃ¼rzburg 143 CHAPTER VIII. The home at Schweinfurth 154 CHAPTER IX. The makers of history.âThe flight from Schweinfurth 168 CHAPTER X. A new home in Heidelberg; and a last home beneath it.âWhat is Olympia Morata to us? 182 ISABELLA ANDREINI. Born, 1562. Died, 1604. Italian love for the Theatre.âItalian Dramatic Literature.âTragedy.âComedy.âTiraboschi's notion of it.âMacchiavelli's Mandragola.âIsabella's high standing among her contemporaries.âHer husband.âHer high character.âDeath, and Epitaph.âHer writings.âNature and value of histrionic art 205 BIANCA CAPPELLO. Born, 1548. Died, 1587. CHAPTER I. The pretty version of the story; and the true version of the same.âSt. Mark's Square at Florence.âBianca's beauty.âThe Medici _en famille_.âThe Casino of St. Mark.âThe proprieties.â"Cosa di Francesco" 220 CHAPTER II. A favourite's husband.âThe natural course of things.âItalian respectability.âThe three brothers, Francesco, Ferdinand, and Pietro.âThe ladies of the court.âFrancesco's temperâhis avariceâand wealth.âFrolicsome days at Florence.âThe Cardinal recommends respectability.âThe Duke ensures it.âA court dialogue 234 CHAPTER III. Bianca balances her accounts.âDangers in her path.âA bold stepâand its consequences.âFacilis descensus.âA proud father.âBianca's witchcraft.âThe Cardinal is checkmated, for this game 257 CHAPTER IV. The Duchess Giovanna and her sorrows.âAn heir is born.âBianca in the shade.âThe "Orti Oricellari."âBianca entertains the Court there.âA summer night's amusement in 1577.âThe death of Giovanna 271 CHAPTER V. What is Francesco to do now?âThe Cardinal and Bianca try another fall.âCardinal down again.âFrancesco's vengeance.âWhat does the Church say?âBianca at Bologna.âThe marriage privately performed.âThe Cardinal learns the secret.âThe daughtership of St. Mark.âVenetian doings _versus_ Venetian sayings.âEmbassy to Florence.âSuppose we could have her crowned!âThe marriage publicly solemnised 284 CHAPTER VI. Bianca's new policy.âNew phase of the battle between the woman and the priest.âSerene, or not serene! that is the question.âBianca protests against sisters.âDeath of the child Filippo.âBianca's troubles and struggles.âThe villa of Pratolino.âFrancesco's extraordinary mode of life there 303 CHAPTER VII. The family feeling in Italy.âWho shall be the heir?âBianca at Cerreto.âCamilla di Martelli.âDon Pietro on the watch.â Bianca at her tricks again.âThe Cardinal comes to look after matters.âWas Francesco dupe or accomplice?âBianca's comedy becomes a very broad farce.âA "Villeggiatura" at PoggioâaâCajano.âThe Cardinal wins the game 317 CHAPTER VIII. Three hypotheses respecting the deaths of Francesco and Bianca.âThe official version of the story.âThe Novelist's version of the story.âA third possibility.âCircumstances that followed the two deaths.âBianca's grave; and epitaphs for it by the Florentines.âFerdinand's final success 333 OLYMPIA PAMFILI. Born, 1594. Died, 1656. Pope Joan rediviva.âOlympia's outlook on life.âHer mode of "opening the oyster."âShe succeeds in opening it.âOlympia's son.âOlympia at home in the Vatican.âHer trade.âA Cardinal's escape from the purple.âOlympia under a cloud. Is once more at the head of the field; and in at the death.âA Conclave.âOlympia's star wanes.âPÅna pede claudo 346 ELISABETTA SIRANI. Born, 1638. Died, 1665. CHAPTER I. Her life 366 CHAPTER II. Her death 379 LA CORILLA. Born, 1740. Died, 1800. CHAPTER I. The apprenticeship to the laurel 393 CHAPTER II. The coronation 403 APPENDIX 417 NOTES 429 INDEX 437 A DECADE OF ITALIAN WOMEN. TULLIA D'ARAGONA. (About 1510âabout 1570.) CHAPTER I. MY LORD CARDINAL'S DAUGHTER. One remarkable circumstance among those which specially characterised the great intellectual movement in Italy in the sixteenth century, was the large part taken in it by women. The writers of literary history,âa class especially abundant to the south of the Alps,âenumerate a surprisingly long catalogue of ladies more or less celebrated for their works. The list of poetesses registered by Tiraboschi as flourishing during the first half of the sixteenth century, consists of some forty names. And he intimates, that it might have been made much longer, had he thought it worth while to record every name mentioned by the chroniclers of such matters, who preceded him. A great many more are noticed as having been "learned" or "skilled in polite literature." Such facts constitute a very noteworthy feature of the social aspect of the period in question; and doubtless influenced largely the tone of society and manners, as well as the position and wellâbeing of the sex. But it is very questionable, whether certain theories respecting the comparative value of modern female education, to which all this sixteenth century galaxy has given rise, be not founded on misconception partly of the value of the learning possessed by these ladies, and more still of the circumstances and appearance, under which it presented itself to them. Intellectual culture in that day meant especially, almost exclusively, what has been since more technically called "learning." The movement, which was then once again stirring up the mind of the educated classes arose mainly, as every body knows, from the discovery and resuscitation of the literature of ancient Greece and Rome. To be, if not a good Grecian, at least a competent Latin scholar, was the first step absolutely necessary in the liberal education of either male or female. Nay, it constituted very frequently not only the first step, but the entire course. In Italy this was in an especial degree the case. Not only the fashion of literature, but the general tone of the educated mind became classical,âand pagan. And the rapidity with which the new modes of thought and fashion of taste spread, and,âspeaking of course with reference only to the educated classes,âpopularised themselves, is very striking. But they did so, because they were eminently suited to the proclivity of the minds to which they were presented. [Sidenote: THE NEW LEARNING.] For this new learning came to them as an emancipation and a licence. Such learning as had been before in existence was dry, severe, repulsive, associated only with ideas of discipline, sacrifice, and renunciation of the world and its pleasuresâthe proper business of ascetic priests and hermits. The new studies were the reverse of all this. Elegant, facile, materialistic in all their tendencies and associations, adapting themselves readily to the amusements and passions of the young and gay, they must be compared, if we would parallel them with aught of modern culture, with the lighter of those accomplishments, which are now called ornamental. The total unchristianising of Italian society, which the rage for classical literature very rapidly produced, was such as strikingly to justify the modern[1] crusade against classical culture preached by those who are anxious to preserve such Christianity as that, which then went down before the irruption of literary paganism. The exquisitely organised Ã¦sthetic faculties of the southern mind eagerly imbibed and readily assimilated the habits of thought, generated by a religion, whose only real object of worship was material beauty. The extremely relaxed morality of the time was subjected to a refining influence, but by no means checked by a literature rich in poetical drapery for every form of vice. And the lightest, gayest, freest portion of society, beginning now to be awakened to a relish for the elegances of life by increasing wealth and luxury, found exactly what suited them in the revived literature of the forefathers of their race; a literature which was the product of generations uninfluenced by the wholly irreconcilable ideas of a philosophy and religion imposed on their descendants with very partial success by men of differently constituted races from the east and from the north. Englishmen are wont to estimate the study of the literature of Greece and Rome in a manner very much at variance with the ideas expressed in the above sentences; and judging it, as of course we do, from its results among ourselves, most justly so. It would take us much too far afield to examine satisfactorily why these results should have been so different in the two cases. The most important portion of the causes of difference would probably be found to consist in the dissimilarity of our northern idiosyncrasies to those of the ancient writers. In Italy, the old tree bore its own natural fruit. With us, it was engrafted on another stock. The southern mind became all classical. The northern mind was modified only by contact with the ancient literature. Perhaps also, some weight may be allowed to the greater difficulty of the study in our case; whence it has arisen, that the thorough and analytical study of the dead languages, has been deemed eminently profitable as intellectual discipline, and as the best foundation of general mental culture. And these views of classic learning lead us to attribute almost instinctively, as it were, a high degree of solidity, grave scholastic laboriousness, and respectability to the acquirements of those who possess it. A lady well read in Greek and Latin, appears to us to have necessarily reached an intellectual elevation which places her above the shallowness, superficiality, and frivolousness with which modern female education is ordinarily reproached. And we sigh over the supposed inferiority in this respect, of England in the nineteenth century, to the brilliant Italy of the sixteenth. It is true, that in the case of Vittoria Colonna, we have seen a product of the classical training of that day, whichâ_mutatis mutandis_âwe might be content to reproduce. But the instance is wholly exceptional; and the qualities, moreover, which we admire in Vittoria are to be traced, probably, as far as they are independent on constitutional idiosyncrasy, to those associations with some very remarkable men, which taught her to use her ancient learning as a tool, and not a final object. [Sidenote: COUNCIL OF TRENT.] The subject of these pages is a less exceptional product of Italian sixteenth century classical studies; but by no means a less curious and suggestive exponent of one phase of the social life and manners of that epoch. Among the grave and reverend seniors industriously busy at Trent, in the year 1552, at their great work of constructing a dam to stop the course of a perennial river, may be observed one Peter Tagliavia, Archbishop of Palermo, a silverâhaired and right reverend old man, very prudent, wise, and sagacious, we are told, in the management of affairs of all[2] sorts. There he is sagaciously dragging forward his bit of stick to contribute to the formation of the great dam, undismayed by the swift running of the stream the while. He is much puzzled by the consideration of the manner and style in which it will be proper for the assembled Fathers of the Church to communicate with heretics. For it is quite clear, on the one hand, that _being_ heretics and excommunicate, and damned already accordingly, all propriety and Church etiquette would require that they should be treated and addressed as such. But, on the other hand, there is reason to believe that their arrogance will reach the height of expecting to be treated like Christians, and that failing such treatment, no reply will be got from them at all, and so all proceedings be stopped _in limine_.[3] Very perplexing! The sagacious Archbishop insisted much on this point, dragging up his bit of drift wood to the dam with pertinacious industry. He was made a cardinal in the following year for this and other merits; partly also, because he had royal blood in his veins,âwriting himself "Tagliavia d'Aragona." He died five years later, in 1558, still busy in damming that terrible river, which was already changing the face of things around him. Even Rome itself was very unlike what he had remembered it in the good old times, some fifty years ago or thereabouts. Ah! Rome was worth living in and living for in those days! Happy days! when, as His Eminence of Bibbiena used to say, we wanted nothing but a court with ladies. Court, with ladies, quotha! And with that our Archbishop's musings on the brave old days, when the second Julius was Pope, and no heretical turbulence had yet disturbed the sacerdotal empyrean, could hardly fail to recall a tolerably brilliant galaxy of such ladies, as were especially attracted from all parts of Italy, to a court whose numerous and wealthy courtiers were all professionally and permanently bachelors. "Poor Giulia!" sighed the Archbishop, "sometimes I wonder what became of her?" We will not ask for a reference to the accurate historian, who overheard, and has chronicled these words. Roccho Pirro, in his learned and voluminous history of the Sicilian prelates, it is true, omits to mention them. Yet, I think, that if his Eminence, Pietro Tagliavia d'Aragona, had been satisfactorily Boswellised, they must have been recorded. For "poor Giulia" had been the mother[4] of the rising young churchman's daughter some fifty years or so before the time at which we find his Eminence working in his vocation at the great dam. And this daughter was the celebrated Tullia (more or less) d'Aragona. [Sidenote: GIULIA OF FERRARA.] What _did_ become of poor Giulia? Giulia of Ferrara, the most celebrated beauty of her day, in all Italy: the noted toast of Rome,âthe beârhymed of ecclesiastical sonnetteersâthe sighedâfor by purpleâstockinged swains: Giulia, the Aspasia of many a frocked Pericles, and the mother of a royalâblooded churchman's child! How should respectable Mnemosyne know what becomes of such? Mnemosyne mentions, with a blush, having just seen her once in the pride of her beauty, flashing with cortÃ¨ge of horses and attendants, and glitter through the streets of Rome.[5] And that is all. Mnemosyne begs to be asked nothing more about her; and proceeds to relate with much complacency the fortunes and preferments of the excellent Cardinal Archbishop, the rules that he made for his clergy, and the privileges and property he acquired for his Church. Yet despite all this propriety on the part of respectable Mnemosyne, despite her decent reticences, and official records of Palermo chapterhouse doings, and Trent diplomacy, despite learned Roccho Pirro's folios and immortality in the columns of Ciacconius,[6] the fact is, that if the name of Archbishop Peter Tagliavia d'Aragona is ever now spoken by the lips of living nineteenthâcentury men, it is owing, incredible as the circumstance would have seemed to his Eminence, solely to his relationship to little _nullius filia_ Tullia. Not that the bloodâroyal young churchman, candidate as he was there at Rome, under the immediate eye of infallibility for the Church's highest honoursâscarlet stockings, palliums, red hats, and what notâseems to have felt any scruples and embarrassment about the matter. At all events he provided abundantly for his "furtively received daughter," as Zilioli phrases it; and took care that she should receive an education, calculated to make the most of the brilliant talents of all sorts, manifested by her from her earliest childhood. "To the utter astonishment of learned men," says Zilioli, "she was heard to carry on a disputation in Latin while yet a child. She wrote also both in Latin and in Italian compositions worthy of any literary man. So that, when grown up, joining as she did, to her knowledge and worth, an exquisite elegance of manner, she acquired the reputation of being the most perfectly accomplished woman of her time. She appeared in public with so much grace, with such beauty, and such affability of manner, that when to all that was added the magnificence and adornment of dress, calculated to set off all the charms of her person[7] to the utmost, it is impossible to imagine anything more charming and exquisitely finished than she was. Her musical touch was so exquisite, and she managed her voice in singing so sweetly, that the first professors were astonished at her performance. She spoke with grace and with rare eloquence, so that whether in light conversation or serious discussion, she delighted and captivated her hearers, like a second Cleopatra; and at the same time, her lovely and ever cheerful features were not wanting in those more potent charms, which admirers of female beauty are wont to look for in a beautiful face." [Sidenote: HER ACCOMPLISHMENTS.] So richly had nature endowed, and so successfully had art cultivated the child of the rising churchman! Father and daughter were both, during those early years of the sixteenth century, perfecting themselves for their subsequent destinies in the strangely jumbled social world of that wonderful old Rome; he duly progressing towards scarlet stockings and hats; and she to the somewhat similarly coloured promotion, in the enjoyment of which, painfully blushing Mnemosyne next authentically falls in with her. CHAPTER II. ASPASIA REDIVIVA. It is fancied, with small reason probably, that to grow old is necessarily more disagreeable to women than to men. And dates are therefore popularly held to be especially detestable facts to the fair sex. If this be so, the world in this matter, as in most others, showed itself excessively complaisant to our fascinating sixteenth century, Aspasia. For her contemporaries have been most strangely silent on the subject as regards her. The year of her birth, and more strangely still, that of her death, are alike unknown and undiscoverable. Must we therefore conclude, that the departure of the superannuated beauty, was as little interesting to the world as the arrival of the "furtively received" infant? The literary historians content themselves with vaguely stating, that Tullia "flourished" in 1550.[8] It is true, that a difference of opinion may be supposed to exist as to the portion of her career best deserving to be so characterised. But it is to be feared, that poor Tullia herself must have considered her "flourishing" to be over and gone for ever, by the time she reached that period. For in the total silence and negligence of every regular clerk in Mnemosyne's office, some notâtoâbeâbaffled, Dryasdust, whom our brilliant Tullia would doubtless have hated with instinctive aversion, has succeeded in poking out a certain letter that blabs much. Ah! those old letters in dusty yellow bundles, with the unimpeachable evidences of their signatures, addresses, and dates, hoarded by some correspondent's preserving instincts, in many cases little counted on by the writer, how much of all we know about our predecessors on earth's surface is due to their unforeseen taleâtelling! [Sidenote: FILIPPO STROZZI.] In the year 1531, Rome was settling down into her usual way of life, after the dreadful catastrophes of 1527. Pope Clement the Seventh had got over the most perilous and immediate of his troubles, but was, as Popes are wont to be, very much in need of assistance from his banker. Now, this necessary and important person was no other than the celebrated Filippo Strozzi, who was then in Rome, busied in the political as well as the monetary affairs of the papacy. But Strozzi was one of those marvellous men, whose abounding vital energies enable them to unite in their own persons, characters, pursuits, and occupations, which might seem to belong to half a dozen most dissimilar individuals. His political speculations and intrigues did not interfere with his muchâloved literary pursuits. His freeâthinking philosophy did not prevent his close intimacy with the Pope. And his vast commercial and banking operations were somehow made compatible with the career of a very notorious man of pleasure. How nearly two of the manifestations of this multiform character would occasionally chance to jostle each other, is indicated by the conclusion of a long and important letter[9] on matters of high political moment to Francesco Vettori. "Write to me in reply," he says, "and be sure, that your letter shall be seen by no one but His Holiness, as I desire may be the case with this of mine, written in much haste, and with Tullia at my side." Dated, Rome, 28th January, 1531. Was the bewitching Tullia close enough to his side to look over his shoulder, as the plotting politician wrote matters to be shown only to the Pope? Did she interest herself in schemes for the keeping a Florentine oligarchy in check? Or did she sit patiently at the writer's elbow, while he penned a letter of sixtyâfour lines of small print, waiting till he was at leisure to bestow some attention on his companion? In either case the degree of intimacy indicated is much closer than an ordinary one. Yet the next letter,[10] written little more than a month later to the same correspondent, seems in its sadly DonâJuanâlike tone, to afford very clear evidence that the writer, if not already tired of his gifted Sappho, certainly considered his _liaison_ with her in the nature of a "terminable contract." After a few lines on political matters, this Don Juan of a middleâaged banker[11] writes as follows: "As for my own private affairs, I should be sorry, that you should have believed certain silly stories of challenges and quarrels, about matters which in truth passed amicably among friends here. For though I do not pretend to take rank among your very prudent people, still I don't want to be set down as a perfect fool, as truly I should deserve to be, had I got into any such scrape for Tullia, or any other woman. She is not, as you say, beautiful; but she is, if I am not mistaken, highly gifted with talent and wit; and on that account, as it is impossible to me to live without the society of women, I have preferred hers to that of others.[12] And I have assisted her in some of her necessities, to prevent her from going to the wall by unjust oppression, during the period of my connection with her, which would have been painful and discreditable to me." [Sidenote: DATE OF HER BIRTH.] The date of this letter is March the 2nd, 1531. And as this date, with that of the preceding letter, are among the very few of any kind discoverable with reference to Tullia's biography, we must make the most of them. It is to be presumed, then, from the above passages, that she must have been at least twenty, and probably older, in 1531. But as her father died in 1558, and appears to have been engaged in active business up to the time of his death, and as no intimation is found of his age, as would probably have been the case, if he had lived to be remarkably old, we can hardly be very far wrong, in supposing him to have been about seventy at the time of his death, and accordingly twoâandâtwenty in 1510. It would seem, therefore, that Tullia could not have been born much before, and certainly not much after that date. In one respect, however, poor Tullia was assuredly wronged by the wealthy and libertine Florence banker. He says that she was not beautiful. Now, the testimony of a dozen enamoured poets might be adduced in favour of her rare and fascinating beauty. And if it should be thought that evidence of this kind, however abundant and concurrent, needs confirmation, it has been supplied by the sister art. There is an admirable portrait of her by Bonvicini, a contemporary of Raphael, more generally known as Il Moretto da Brescia, which was engraved very tolerably at Milan, in 1823, by Caterina Piotti. It represents a very lovely face of the genuine regal type of Roman beauty. The brow is noble; and the magnificently cut, but rather large and statuesque features might perhaps seem somewhat hard in the firmness of their rich contour, were not the expression softened by an eye eloquent of all the tenderer emotions. Laurel branches fill the whole background of the picture, in token of the lady's rank as a poetess. How long after the date of the aboveâmentioned letters Tullia continued her residence in Rome, there remain no means of ascertaining. Zilioli says that she left it "after the death of her husband." And this one phrase is the only intimation of any sort we meet with, that such a person as Tullia's husband ever existed. It is true that such an appendage is not of a nature likely to be dwelt much on in love verses addressed to a lady. And to this category belong the greatest number of the notices of her, which have come down to us. Yet it seems strange that a wife should be celebrated from one end of Italy to the other, and recorded, or at least mentioned, in the pages of every literary historian of her country, and that she should have a husband whose name even was never, as it should seem, alluded to by his cotemporaries, and who has not left the slightest trace of his existence. It must be supposed that, if ever spoken of at all, he was only known as "La Tullia's" husband, a member of society discharging functions somewhat analogous to those of a Ballerina's mama. It is, at all events, certain that the lady was never known either among her contemporaries, or subsequently, by any other name than that of Tullia d'Aragona, and more commonly simply "La Tullia." And the strangeness of the view of sixteenth century society offered to us by an examination of the position "La Tullia" occupied in it, is not a little increased by the fact of her having had a sort of behindâtheâscenes husband, who appears to have exercised about as much influence on her social standing as her waitingâmaid. [Sidenote: HER HUSBAND.] There is reason to suppose that her residence in Rome must have continued till 1540 or 1541. For among the "Strozziane"[13] MSS. preserved in the Magliabecchian library at Florence, there is a volume containing the rules, members' names, transactions, &c. of the Academy of the "Humidi," in which are entered three or four sonnets sent from Rome to the Society by Tullia. They are not dated; but the Academy was founded in 1540, and the volume bears at the end the date of 1541. Nothing can be conceived more insipid and dry, than the lucubrations of these "Humid" Academicians; and in truth the effusions despatched to them by Tullia, and honoured by the Academy with insertion in their solemn Archives, are quite worthy of their place in the Humid annals. One is a sonnet in praise of Cosmo I. It begins "Almo pastor," and attributes to that lowminded debauchee and cruel tyrant all the virtues that can possibly be packed into fourteen lines. And this was written a couple of years after Filippo Strozzi (the very particular friend and protector, by whose side it was a pleasure to sit, while he wrote long business letters in 1531) put himself to death in despair, in preference to remaining in the power of Cosmo, his mortal and vindictive enemy. One might suspect that the fair Tullia had had an opportunity of looking over his shoulder also when he was writing that second letter, in which he had dared to say that she was not beautiful! Another of the sonnets sent by Tullia, and preserved by the "Humidi," is inscribed to Maria Salviati, and beginsâ "Soul pure and bright, as when thou cam'st from God!" Whence it may be inferred that there was in those days no such yawning abyss between the "monde" and "demiâmonde," as to prevent a lady highly placed in the former from being addressed acceptably by one who, according to nineteenth century notions, must be deemed a denizen of the latter. It must be understood, however, that any such phrase applied to Tullia's social position in her own sixteenth century, would give a very erroneous idea of what that in reality was. The classic Hetaira seems more akin to this Apolloâchartered libertine of an age bent on being equally classical. Accordingly we find that the house of La Tulliaâ_her_ house! no mention or hint of that Juniusâlike individual (Il Tullio, shall we call him?), who must nevertheless be supposed to have been at home there under hatches somewhere, or acting perhaps as groomâporter, and shouting the names and titles of the Monsignori and Eminences, as they arrived;âthe house of La Tullia was frequented by the "best society" in Rome. Ludovico Domenichi of Piacenza, himself a poet and a curious specimen of a sixteenth century professional literary man, who must have known Tullia at Florence in the latter years of her life, has recorded some of the sayings and doings of a company assembled at her house in Rome.[14] [Sidenote: A PARTY AT HER HOUSE.] A party of "gentilhuomini virtuosi" there were discussing Petrarch; and the question was raised, how far he had availed himself of ideas suggested to him by ancient Tuscan and ProvenÃ§al poets. While this was being debated, "L'Humore da Bologna" came in. This personage is mentioned frequently by Domenichi as a sayer and doer of eccentricities and droll things; but I have not succeeded in finding any account of him; and think it probable that "L'Humore" may have been one of those nicknames which the Italians are so fond of bestowing on one another. He at once showed himself to be quite at home, says Ludovico, laid aside his cloak; and entering into the conversation, gave it as his opinion that Petrarch had served the verses of his predecessors as Spaniards serve the cloaks, which they steal in the night; put fresh ornaments and trimmings on them, so that when they appear in them the next day, they are no longer recognisable. Upon which a Spaniard, who chanced to be among the company, attempted to call "L'Humore" to account for this insulting mention of his countrymen. "What!" cried the wit, "is your Excellency a Spaniard? Boy, bring me my cloak directly!" And so saying, he put it on, and wrapped it closely round him, as he sat, to the infinite amusement, says Domenichi, of the assembled company. After the death of that mysterious phantom, her husband, says Zilioli, Tullia left Rome in search of "fresh fields and pastures new." We can only know that this was after 1540. But it must have been much after this that she took up her residence in Florence. For the same writer tells us, that she was then both in years and appearance pretty nearly an old woman.[15] In 1562 she was, according to the date we have assigned to her birth, only fiftyâtwo or three, or thereabouts. And she must have resided in Florence several years prior to that date. For she lived there, we are told, under the patronage of Cosmo's Duchess Eleonora of Toledo, who died in that year. So that she could not have been much more than halfâway between forty and fifty, when she appeared to be "half an old woman." Supposing her to have gone to Florence about 1555, and to have left Rome not long after 1540, there is a space of some twelve or fifteen years, during which we very nearly lose all sight of her. Very nearly, but not quite; for we hear of long residences at Venice and Ferrara; and can trace her to Bologna by a phrase in an epigram too coarsely abusive to be reproduced, which Pasquin fired after her when she quitted Rome. Little cared the brilliant poetessâerrant for pasquinades let off behind her back, while her course from one pleasureâloving court to another was tracked, as Zilioli writes, by "an infinite number of lovers, especially among the poets, who pursued her like a pack of greyhounds, striving to bring her down by volleys of odes and sonnets," to which our not insensible Sappho was ready enough to reply in similar strain. [Sidenote: A SONNET BY HER.] Here, as a specimen of "her make," as the Italians say, is a sonnet addressed by her to Pietro Manelli, of Florence, who was one of her most devoted slaves: "Qual vaga Filomena, che fuggita Ã dall'odiata gabbia, ed in superba Vista sen va tra gli arboscelli e l'erba Tornata in libertate, e lieta vita; Ed io dagli amorosi lacci uscita, Schernendo ogni martir, e pena acerba Dell'incredibil duol, che in se riserba Qual ha per troppo amar l'alma smarrita; Ben avev'io ritolte, ahi stella fiera! Dal tempio di Ciprigna le mie spoglie E di lor premio me n'andava altera. Quando a me Amor; le tue ritrose voglie MuterÃ², disse; e femmi prigioniera Di tua virtÃ¹, per rinovar mie doglie." Which may be Englished as follows, without, it is to be hoped, any very cruel injury to the original: "As when from her abhorr'd captivity Fair Philomel hath fled, and proudly takes Her way through grassy meads and bushy brakes Restored to joyous life and liberty; So I, from amorous bonds escaping free, All torment scorning, and the poignant aches Of grief untold, which too much loving makes The doom of such, as loveâbewilder'd be, Had borne (alas! my hapless stars!) away My garments from the Cyprian Goddess' shrine Proud of the feat, when Love to me did say, 'I will transform that stubborn will of thine;' And so he made me captive to thy power, Renewing all my torments from that hour." This sonnet is not worse than thousands of other such, which obtained for their fabricators the name and reputation of poets in that age of vaunted intellectual movement; and it is certainly better than the majority of them. And thus our brilliant Aspasia of the _renaissance_ fluttered from court to court, everywhere received with open arms, everywhere the cynosure of all eyes, everywhere the centre of a knot of poets and _littÃ©rateurs_; and flashing off her sonnets and canzonets right and left; now as offerings to be laid at the feet of some most illustrious duke or duchess, and now in loving or saucy requital of those addressed to her by her brethren of the guild. But as "All that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest," the inexorable years too soon brought poor Tullia to that period of "half oldâwomanhood," as Zilioli so uncourteously terms it, which must have nearly coincided with the date assigned by grave Mazzuchelli to that period of "flourishing," which, it is to be feared, the "halfâold woman" would have fixed some fiveâandâtwenty years earlier. And what was to be done by a brilliant Apolloâchartered Aspasia, when fallen into half oldâwomanhood? CHAPTER III. "ALL'S WELL, THAT ENDS WELL." One of two alternatives only, according to the wellâknown _dictum_ of a judicious French philosopher, could be adopted by any Aspasia or other "charming woman" whatsoever, when brought to that pass. She must either take to cards, or "enter into devotion." Such would seem, according to the authority alluded to, to be the law of nature, which rules the destinies of charming women whose charms have gone from them. Tullia appears to have chosen the latter alternative, and established herself permanently at Florence under the special protection of the pious Duchess Eleonora di Toledo. The times were changed, too, in Italy, since the days of Tullia's youth. Life in Rome, and hence in a somewhat less degree also in the other centres of the peninsula, was very different under Popes Paul IV. and Pius IV., from what it had been under Leo X., Clement VII., or Paul III. Devotion was now the _mode_, especially in courts. Princes had begun to understand, that the cause of despotism was bound up with that of sacerdotal tyranny; and that reform in matters ecclesiastical went hand in hand with freedom in matters secular. Popes and kings had become aware, that their fight against mankind could only be carried on successfully by strict offensive and defensive alliance. Hence orthodox piety was one of the surest roads to court favour. And thus considerations of all sorts united in pointing out to Tullia the expediency of quitting _La BohÃ¨me_, and becoming at once a respectable member of society, and a pattern of propriety. Literature, however, of a courtly sort was held in much favour at the court of Cosmo, who founded academies and kept historians in his pay, to set him and his doings before posterity in a proper point of view. Tullia, therefore, in quitting the "pays de la BohÃ¨me," did not leave her muse behind her. On the contrary, her most important work was the production of this period of her life. "Guerrino il Meschino" is a poem consisting of some thirty thousand lines, in thirtyâsix cantos of octave rhyme. The poetess states in her preface, that it is a versification of a Spanish original; an assertion which has given some trouble to bibliographers; for the story of Guerrino was popular in Italian prose long before the time of Tullia, and has indeed continued so, quite independently of her poetical version, to such a degree as to have afforded the subject of popular dramatic representation within the present century. Some importance has been attached to the question of its origin from the circumstance of its having been supposed to have suggested to Dante some part of the plan of his poem. [Sidenote: GUERRINO IL MESCHINO.] In an article on Dantescan literature, by M. Charles Labitte, in the 31st vol. of the second series of the _RÃ©vue des Deux Mondes_, he says, that "it has been maintained that Dante took directly from the old romance of 'Guerrino il Meschino' the subject and the entire plan of his work. The date and the origin of the Guerrino, whether French or ProvenÃ§al, are uncertain.... Hell is represented in it with the concentric form attributed to it by Dante, and Satan in both cases occupies the lowest part of the abyss. But it would be easy to show, despite the weighty authority of Pelli and of Fontanini, that the romance of Guerrino, so popular in the fifteenth century, is at least in its present form posterior to the Divine Comedy." The fact is, however, that the idea of describing the adventures and sights encountered by a denizen of this world, or his travels through the world beyond the tomb, was exceedingly common in the century preceding Dante; and we find it reproduced in many different forms. And in all probability the story of Guerrino was popular long before it was written in the earliest shape in which we now have it. The contents are of the ordinary staple of the romances of chivalry, unreadable enough for the most part. Crescimbeni declares[16] that the story is comparable to the Odyssey; while the more critical Mazzuchelli finds it "full of improbabilities, utterly contrary to history, chronology, and geography."[17] Tullia's own view of her work, and her account of her motives in writing it, as set forth in her preface, are more to our present purpose. She begins by observing, that whereas all other pleasures either require the ministration of others, whose services we may not always be able to command, or are of such a nature as to be of short duration, like eating and drinking, or again bring with them dangers, expense, anxiety, and often mischief,âsuch as travelling, gambling, loveâmaking, and suchâlike; reading alone is open to none of these inconveniences. Accordingly everybody above the lowest classes, says Tullia, reads nowâaâdays; and for women it is a resource especially useful and necessary, as Giovanni Boccaccio well knew, who informed us that he wrote almost entirely for the ladies. And had he only done one thing which he has left undone, and left undone one which he has done, his book would have been all that could have been desired. The first is to have put his tales into verse, which it cannot be doubted, says our poetess, is much more pleasant reading than prose. The other matter, which should have been avoided, is the quantity of "improper, indecent, and truly abominable things which are found from one end to the other of that book, in which no respect is paid to the honour of married women, nor of widows, nor of nuns, nor of secular damsels, nor of godmothers or godfathers, nor of friends, nor of priests, nor of friars, and, lastly, not even of bishops. So that it is truly a thing to wonder at that not only princes and superiors, but even thieves and felons, who call themselves Christians, can bear to hear his name mentioned, without signing themselves with the Holy Cross, and stopping their ears as against the most horrible and abominable thing that human ears could listen to. Yet so utterly corrupt is our nature, that not only is this book not avoided as an abomination, but every one runs after it." Poor dear Tullia's virtue fresh taken up from grass, runs away with her a little! It is quite clear that there are to be no more cakes and ale for any body, now that her junketing days are done! [Sidenote: HER PROPRIETY.] She goes on to complain that all the romance writers, "even Ariosto himself," are disfigured by the same fault. She therefore, intent on finding some pleasant reading with no offence in it, met with this "exquisite book in the Spanish tongue, in which so many and various matters are treated of, that I assuredly know of none so pleasant in that language or any other. And then it is throughout perfectly chaste, perfectly pure, thoroughly Christian; and neither in the facts nor diction is there anything which any respectable and holy man or woman, married or single, nun or widow, may not read at all hours." This treasure of a book therefore she determines to clothe with verse, the only thing wanting to make it perfect. It is for you therefore, "my gentle readers, to accept my good intention, and give all the praise to God alone, from whom comes all good, and to whom alone I am thankful for the great grace which has so enlightened me while yet not overâripe, but youthful and fresh in age,â_in questa mia etÃ non ancor soverchiamente matura, ma giovenile e fresca_,âas to bring back my heart to Him, and make me wish and strive, as far as in me lies, that all others, both men and women, may have like grace." How delightfully the vein of natural womanhood crops out from under the thick overlying strata of propriety and devoutness! Poor Tullia! And to think of that wretch of a biographyâman Zilioli, talking of "halfâoldâwomanhood in years and in appearance," in speaking of a period anterior to this! It might be supposed, on the principle of setting a thief to catch a thief, that our Sappho sanctified, animated with the excellent dispositions she manifests, would have avoided the faults she so furiously inveighs against. But that hallucination of her "not yet overâripe age" would seem to have come upon her so strongly at times, as to have caused her to think the old thoughts and talk the old _BohÃ¨me_ talk of her youth, in total forgetfulness of her present character, and all the promises of her preface. Mazzuchelli, in noticing this preface of hers, briefly and gravely remarks that certain passages of her poem, which he refers to, show that she has not attained the object she aimed at. It is, however, difficult to say what Tullia may have deemed proper reading for nuns and damsels at all hours. And if any English readers wish to judge of this for themselves, they may be satisfied by consulting the tenth canto of the poem; which contains matters that would among us be considered very undesirable reading for any section of the community at any hours. To this reformed period of Tullia's life belongs also her dialogue "On the infinity of Love." It professes to be the report of a conversation that took place at her house in Florence, between herself and Benedetto Varchi, the historian and philosopher; and it no doubt in a great degree resembles the style of talk affected at the quasiâacademic meetings of friends, which constituted the then fashionable form of social intercourse. It was first printed at Venice in 1547, in a small volume of some two or three hundred pages, with a preface by Girolamo Muzio, one of Tullia's most fervent and most constant adorers. He commences his preface by drawing a distinction between spiritual and material love, and declares that his affection for the authoress of the dialogue is purely of the former kind. The work was sent to him, he says, by Tullia, without any idea of publication; and he had ventured to send it to the press without her knowledge. In the manuscript, as it reached him, the name "Sabina" stood as Varchi's interlocutor, in the place of "Tullia;" "doubtless," says Muzio, "because the writer's modesty was shocked at writing in her own name all the praises that Varchi is made to bestow on her in the course of the work." But he, Muzio, thinking that a feigned name could not with propriety be introduced in conjunction with the real name of Varchi, had decided on inserting the name of Tullia. [Sidenote: HER DIALOGUE ON LOVE.] The production itself is a truly wonderful proof of the amount of difference that may exist between the average cultivated human intellect in one age and country and in another. This dialogue on the infinity and necessary durability of love, is one of hundreds of similar writings on that and other such subjects, which constituted the fashionable and muchâenjoyed light reading of the educated classes in Italy at that period. To a modern English reader, no dryest blue book, no trashiest novel could appear so perfectly unreadable. The subject presented to a man of our day as the theme for an essay, might seem somewhat stiff and formalâ_banal_, as the French say; but he would see at once, that the consideration of it might lead to the discussion of several questions closely touching some of the most interesting and important problems of social polity. But Tullia and her contemporaries saw nothing of the kind. Nor let any saucy scapegrace imagine, that any experiences of the different attributes of Eros and Anteros, which the authoress may be supposed to have acquired in the course of her life, are in any wise brought to bear on any part of her theme. The dialogue might be innocently, if not profitably, read by any of those damsels and nuns for whom Tullia specially prepared her less immaculate poem. There are scholastically constructed argumentations, quotations from Petrarch and Dante, syllogisms, with talk of major and minor premise, and plenty of references to Aristotle, a little horribly _fade_ and mild raillery between the lady and Varchi, and wordsâwordsâwords, with such weary going backwards and forwards over the same dry places paved with them, as would make an admirable substitute for the treadmill in the case of felons of education. There are no means of knowing for how many years Tullia continued her pleasant life of literary occupation and society, with all that was most cultivated and agreeable in Florence. She would have published other things on which she was engaged, says Zilioli, "had she not been surprised by death before she had reached that extreme old age, which Pietro Angelio of Barga, a most able astrologer, had promised her, possibly with a view of acquiring favour in her eyes." Her patroness, Eleonora of Toledo, who despite many virtues and good qualities, was odious to the Florentines, on account of her "insopportabile gravitÃ ," says Litta,[18] because, that is, she was with her Spanish seriousness and gravity an intolerable bore to the lightâhearted Tuscans,âdied in 1562. And in all probability Tullia did not survive her many years. [Sidenote: AS A SOCIAL PHENOMENON.] The name of Tullia d'Aragona lives in the pages of Italian literary historians, and in the memory of educated Italians as a poetess. But she would not have merited presentation to the English reader as such. As a remarkable social phenomenon, the product of the social soil of the sixteenth century under the sun of the _renaissance_, the story of her life, imperfect as it is, is well worth notice. OLYMPIA MORATA. (1526â1555.) CHAPTER I. Good Old Times in FerraraâHow a Pope's Daughter became a DuchessâBygones were bygonesâand Love was still the Lord of all. A certain class of writers, probably among the most sincere and earnest of the defenders
{'title': 'A Decade of Italian Women, vol. 2 (of 2) by Thomas Adolphus Trollope', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}