CHAPTER II.

LOVE.

E bevea da' suoi lumi Un' estranea dolcezza, Che lasciava nel fine Un non so che di amaro. Sospirava sovente, e non sapeva La cagion dei sospiri. Così fui prima amante, che intendessi Che cosa fosse amore: Ben me ne accorsi alfin....

TASSO.

And from his eyes I drank A sweetness strange and new, But in the end, alas! I found That draught was bitter too. I sighed, and knew not why;-- I loved, and knew it not:-- But ah! too soon that knowledge came By sad experience brought....

Sir Anton Francesco Torelli was of one of the best families of the territory of Fermo;--endowed with the gifts of fortune, honored by his relations, respected by strangers, blessed with a lovely wife, and a son, in whom centred all the hopes of his declining years.

Happy would he have been if he had believed what is only too true, that the best instruction that children can receive, must be derived from the good examples of their parents: happy, if he had never sent from his home, his dear son Lelio! for his last steps towards the tomb would not have been embittered by sorrow. But, complying with the fashion of the times, he desired his son to be skilled in chivalric exercises, and the father's heart exulted in the hope that the noble ladies of Fermo might salute his son as the most accomplished and courteous nobleman of the land. With this idea, Sir Anton Francesco, having himself served a long time with the Cardinal dei Medici in Rome, thought he might easily instal his son Lelio as page in the court of the Grand Duke Cosimo. But Cosimo having died prematurely, worn out by the excessive love of pleasure, Lelio, a youth of elegant manners and fine figure, so pleased the Lady Isabella, Duchess of Bracciano, and daughter of Cosimo, that she obtained the handsome page for her own service.

In those times, noblemen serving at court, were required to learn the skilful management of all knightly weapons, to fight with the sword and dagger, and even to defend themselves unarmed from unexpected attacks with the stiletto or poniard; and there were some excellent books written about this art, which served also as a model to other nations. Nor did they neglect the practice of fire-arms, although that was not esteemed so noble an accomplishment; the management of horses they deemed indispensable, either in racing, tilting, or (more difficult still) curvetting before the ladies, then nice judges of such arts. Next in importance came dexterity in field-sports, among which stood foremost that of hawking, now fallen into disuse, or only kept up in Holland. To tell the truth, the knights made a show of admiring belles-lettres, but not the severer productions of the pen, nor those which spring new and vivid from the imagination warmed by the heart, but rather those arranged according to accepted formulas, and mutilated _in usum Delphini_; which composed the delights of the courtiers whom experience or fear had taught to touch carefully such dangerous matters. Justice, however, forbids us to let pass unnoticed some writer, who, kindled by the last panting breath of the Republic, dared to write, if not powerfully, at least conscientiously; but the last breath soon expires, the writer became silent, and bowed his head to fate. There were others, who wrote the truth, but dared not publish it, as if they had wished to constitute their remote descendants the heirs of their revenge; and, as it seems, the descendants opened the will, but reading what the inheritance was, thought best to refuse the legacy. The arts and sciences, however, were better received, particularly chemistry, for the purpose of making poisons, of which the men of those times, and the Medicis in particular, became very skilful manufacturers, and by what we read about it, we see that modern researches fall far short of ancient toxicology. Michael Angelo, immortal monument of human dignity, and eternal witness to the truth, that man was created in the image of God, when he no longer had a country, consecrated himself entirely to Heaven, and was replaced by Benvenuto Cellini, a man of great genius, but wholly without heart, who wasted his talents in working girdles, jewels, vases, plates, and similar superfluities of luxury; so that when he undertook the statue of Perseus, he was no longer able to raise to lofty conceptions his mind so long accustomed to female ornaments, whereupon Alfonzo dei Pazzi stung him with the bitter epigram:--

"With the trunk of a giant, the limbs of a lady, I rate your fair Perseus at one maravedi."[1]

[1]

Corpo gigante, e gambe di fanciulla Ha il nuovo Perseo: sicchè tutto insieme Ti può bello parer, ma non val nulla.

But to return to Lelio Torelli; he had succeeded wonderfully in all the exercises that require strength and suppleness of limb. As to that discipline which is requisite to enlighten the intellect, either he had not given his mind to it, or had not been able to attain it; nor did he take pleasure in music, singing, or dancing; his glances rested upon a group of pretty women with less interest than upon a bunch of roses, and infinitely less than that with which he hunted the wild boar over hill and dale. No one more ready than he to leap with one bound into the saddle; no one more unerring in hurling a dart or firing a shot; and not to describe too minutely, he not only easily surpassed in prowess all his companions, but scarcely could there be found among the elder knights one to excel him.

Therefore he was more eager for affrays and disputes than was becoming in a noble youth, thus exhibiting a fierceness of disposition; and whenever by superior force or adroitness he overcame his opponent, deaf to the gentle tones of pity or pardon, he was not easily restrained from striking, until weariness or the interposition of bystanders arrested his hand. Then rancor took possession of him; and woe if he should one day have a chance to give vent to the vengeance treasured up in the depths of his soul! His enemies would certainly have done well to put, as the saying goes, the extreme unction in their pockets. As to the rest of his character, he was as strong in love as in hate, and always foremost in exposing himself to danger, even desiring to meet it alone, so that his friends had to restrain him. This he did neither to win praise nor to excite gratitude, for he despised and even spurned both, but through a natural generosity and even a certain feeling of superiority over his companions, and this superiority it was easier for them to envy than to counteract. Feared rather than loved, respected rather than followed, he seemed most worthy of authority.

It one day happened that Lady Isabella having summoned him in great haste, he had scarcely time to free himself from the hands of his antagonist, and appeared before her stained with blood. The noble lady seeing him in this condition, exclaimed in an angry voice:

"Go from my sight, you make me shudder!"

From that day, Lelio seemed no longer the same; instead of wreaking vengeance on any one who taunted him, as he would once have done, he now bit his lips, colored to the very roots of his hair, checked himself by violent effort, and met the sarcasm with a pleasant smile. He was more orderly in his person than before, and paid more attention to his luxuriant fair hair, and the neatness of his dress; but his once florid complexion had now become pale, his air pensive, his blue eyes sunken. And this was not all. Lelio would often stand apart from his companions, sad and silent, looking either at a flower, a falcon circling through the air, or a little cloud that undulated through the blue ether as if the loving zephyrs were contending for it; but he was oftenest to be seen in the evening, upon the brow of a hill, with both hands clasped upon his knees, gazing intently at the setting sun, and the gold, purple, and rich colors of mother-of-pearl, and the rainbow hues with which the glorious Father of Life surrounds his temporary tomb. He scarcely heeded his Spanish jennet, which strove in vain to rouse his inert master with his neighs; vainly, too, did his greyhound run before him, crouch for an instant, turn back to him, fly on again, bark, gaze, lick his hands and leap upon him; Lelio by voice and signs would gently endeavor to quiet him, so that the poor animal, seeing all his attempts useless, with drooping ears and tail would quietly crouch at his master's feet; nor did his weapons meet with any better fate, although sometimes he would seize them as if moved by a sudden impulse, and would exercise so violently with them as to bathe himself in perspiration, and exhaust his strength for several days.

Lady Isabella possessed a little volume of Petrarch's poems which always accompanied her in her solitary walks; this book disappeared, for Lelio had appropriated it to himself and was never tired of reading in it.

How had the youth become so changed? One day while absorbed in this book, and straying at random through the woody paths of Cerreto, some laughing country girls waited for him at the extremity of one of the walks, hidden behind some oaks, and threw handfuls of violets in his face, saying in jesting tones; "Such eyes were not made to be dimmed by poring over books, but to laugh and make love." And a gay old farmer, who passed by carrying upon his head a basket of grapes, laughing still louder, cried: "Ah, indeed! you do not know much about it; do you not see how dead in love he is? The end of the world must be coming, if our young girls do not know what love is."

And when, on calm evenings, the windows of the hall being open, the Lady Isabella poured forth a flood of harmony through the dark air, singing and playing songs and melodies, perhaps already composed, or, abandoning herself to the inspiration that moved her, improvising the verses and setting them to music; Lelio would stand motionless, leaning against a tree or the pedestal of a statue in the garden, inhaling a fatal enchantment, rendered more intoxicating by the atmosphere, the hour, the odorous emanations which the dewy herbs and flowers sent forth, and the sweet light which fell from the starry heavens; and when the windows were closed, the lamps lighted, and all animate creation resigned itself to that repose to which nature invites it, this solitary youth was still so absorbed in ecstasy, that he alone remained forgetful of everything, standing in the same place, until the first rays of the rising sun shining in his eyes recalled him to the accustomed duties of life.

Before continuing the recital of this love, I must explain what I have alluded to above. I wish to have it understood that I have made use of no poet's license, but that it is an historical fact, that Isabella, Duchess of Bracciano, was not only an authoress, a poetess, and a composer, but also an _improvisatrice_. Nor was this the only talent of this celebrated woman, for besides her native tongue, she spoke and wrote fluently in Latin, French, and Spanish; in the art of drawing she rivalled the most celebrated masters, and in every accomplishment that belonged to her high station, and in every lady-like elegance and refinement, she was so perfect as to be rightly esteemed rather wonderful than rare. All the chronicles which I have seen, which speak of this unfortunate Princess, agree in using the following words: "It is sufficient to say that she was esteemed by all, both far and near, as a perfect ark of learning and science, and the people loved her for those great qualities, and her father felt for her a most passionate tenderness." Blessed might she have been, could she have used such rich gifts of nature and high cultivation to render her life happy and her memory immortal!

Lelio, whenever it was possible, would enter the room of the Lady Isabella, and there, sure that he was unobserved, would take the instrument over which the fingers of his mistress had swiftly flown, and would kiss it madly, press it to his heart and brow, and bathe it with tears; and if he could find some paper upon which the Lady Isabella had been writing, he would read the lines over and over again, and try to compose some himself; but although his soul overflowed with poetry, the power adequately to express such overwhelming emotion was wanting; nor, perhaps, could even long study have enabled him to do justice to it. He would then be enraged with himself, rave, and finally end by blotting out with his tears what he had written with the ink. At last even this comfort, if we may call it one, was denied him. The Lady Isabella finding her spotless papers soiled, and being unable to discover the culprit, from that time forward carefully removed them.

But in truth, except for this waste of paper, Lady Isabella could not wish for a more assiduous and diligent page than Lelio. By the expression of her face, so much had he gazed upon it, he had learned to read the inmost secrets of her soul, nor did he need any further indication of her wishes to execute them. This assiduity increased to such a degree as to be somewhat troublesome, especially when Lady Isabella was conversing with Sir Troilo--for then he would invent a thousand excuses to enter unsummoned into her room, or not to leave it when there. As it rarely happens that two beings who hate, or wish to injure each other, however much they may endeavor to conceal their feelings, do not by some means or other finally reveal them, so the glances of Troilo and Lelio met, clashing like two enemies' swords, and the more Troilo persisted in looking sternly at Lelio, to make him, either through respect or fear, cast down his eyes, the more steadily would Lelio fix them upon him with an indescribable expression of rage. The few words which they exchanged always contained some biting sarcasm; bitter were the tones of their voices; bitter their actions, their bearing, their gestures.

Lelio, one day stealing, according to his custom, into Lady Isabella's room, took her lute in his hand, and making a pretence of playing it, began to sing a ballad that was a favorite of his mistress. He did not attempt to pour forth the full power of his clear voice, withheld by respect for the place, and because, ignorant of music, he had learned the song by ear only, repeating it who knows how many times; but growing excited by degrees, he yielded to the impulse that prompted him, and rarely or never had those halls resounded with the echoes of so rich a melody. Lady Isabella drew near unobserved, and touched by so much harmony, approached him gently, and when Lelio ceased singing, she placed her hand upon his head, and patting it playfully, said--

"Who taught you this, my fine boy?"

"Love--a very great love that I have for music."

"And you should follow the dictates of this love, since the cultivation of the fine arts ennobles the intellect and softens the heart."

And as the Duchess still kept her hand upon his head, Lelio, in an imploring voice, said to her--

"My Lady, for heaven's sake I beseech you to take your hand from my head."

"Should I not put it there?" asked the Duchess in tones slightly resentful, and withdrawing it quickly.

"Oh! my Lady, pity me, it burns my brain."

"I do not see why my hand should perform the office of the tunic of Nessus."

"I do not know, but I feel it." And the boy uttered these words in so tremulous and mournful a voice, that the Duchess put her hand to his forehead and exclaimed in a frightened tone--

"_Dio mio!_ how it burns! Poor Lelio! I fear you are ill. Ah! you are fainting, and there is no one here to help him. Lelio! Lelio! Ah! he will die in my arms. Holy Virgin, help him!"

Lelio, his face as white as a waxen image, bathed in a cold perspiration, closed his eyes and leaned his head upon Lady Isabella's bosom, while she supported him with both arms. Recovering himself presently, he opened his eyes with a sigh, perceived where he was, and remembering how it had happened, and the reason of his fainting, he said sadly,

"I thought that I was dying. Oh, why did I not really die?"

The Duchess took some scented spirits and bathed his temples with it, although the youth tried respectfully to prevent her.

"Let me, let me," said the Duchess. "I will be a mother to you. I might already be so in age--almost--and in affection. You have a claim upon my tenderness, for your own mother is far distant, and cannot help you, poor child. But what follies are these? Whence comes this despair? Speak to me; open your whole heart to me. I have seen you change countenance, have seen your inward struggles; and I have observed how your arm trembles when you assist me to mount my horse. Are you in love? Thoughtless boy, you should not hide it from me! For I too have known love's trials, and know also how to pity them. You, so noble, cannot have placed your affections on an unworthy object; and if upon one above you, there is no inequality which love cannot level; and you, by your high birth, your wealth, and more than all by your goodness, are deserving of an illustrious connexion. If I have any influence, I promise to exert it all to see you happy."

Meanwhile Lelio had regained his former composure; he even, all sorrow laid aside, appeared smiling, and his cheeks were rosy with the hue of youth, the springtime of life.

"Oh, indeed," he replied with feigned bashfulness, "do children know anything about such things? Are such the thoughts of eighteen years? What is love? Is it a fruit, a sword, or a falcon? I have always heard it said that youths grow thin, but that afterwards they become more vigorous than before. My lady, I feel so happy, so joyful, that I can ask for nothing more; and offering you passionately all the gratitude in my power for your pity, I entreat you to continue the maternal kindness which you have promised me, giving you my word of honor, that I, for my part, will ever strive to deserve it."

"I will do so, Lelio," said the Lady Isabella, adding, almost in spite of herself, "for I need, more than you can believe, people to love me truly. I, you see, Lelio, am miserable, miserable enough, for no one on this earth loves me. My father loved me dearly, but he has left me. O my father, why did you leave me alone--without a guide--abandoned by all?" While she was thus speaking, Lelio knelt on the ground, and kissing the hem of her dress, uttered these words:

"I make a sacred vow to be yours till death."

The Duchess, who through necessity and custom had learned to control her emotions, perceiving that she had gone further than she had intended, said, in order to distract her own thoughts and Lelio's from these events.

"Rise, Lelio, I do not wish the gift of voice which I have discovered in you to be lost: I do not want you to sing by ear, and am ready to teach you music. If you continue to improve as rapidly as you have begun, it will not be long before you will have no equal in the court of my illustrious brother Francesco. Let us take the music of the song that you were singing just now; I will show you the notes, and the places where the voice must be elevated and lowered. Signor Giulio Caccini, a Roman musician, composed it expressly for me. The melody is soft and sweet."

"If I had known before, honored lady, whose composition it was, I should have taken care not to learn it by heart, much less to sing it."

"Why so, Lelio? Have you unfriendly feelings towards Signor Giulio?"

"I have never exchanged a word with him; but his face has such a bad expression; he looks to me as if he had the whole sect of the Pharisees in his heart."

"It seems just the contrary to me. He is gracious and kind to all, speaks gently, and smiles sweetly. I could confess----"

"And I regard him as the most consummate traitor that has ever been since Judas. Mark but his smile; it does not seem to be his own; I believe he begged it from some second-hand dealer. In his small velvety hands, do you not see the cat's paw in which the claws are sheathed? He preaches charity and neighborly love to all, it is true, but he does it for his own sake; for he does not find it for his interest to encourage people to scrutinize too closely, and to discover by rigid examination the characters of others."

Lady Isabella said, smilingly, "Beware, Lelio; judge not, that you be not judged."

"Those are holy words, that must be understood literally, since otherwise it would be necessary to renounce both experience and life. And, therefore, I may judge, since I do not fear to be judged."

Lelio was right, and a deed of blood is proof of it.

The chronicles relate that Captain degli Antinori having to carry to Eleonora di Toledo, wife of Piero dei Medici, a love-letter from the knight Antonio, his brother, then imprisoned on account of that very love at Porto Ferrai, took advantage of the opportunity of Don Piero's going out with his retinue, entered quickly the Palazzo Vecchio, went up to the apartments of the Lady Eleonora, who then occupied the frescoed rooms that look out upon the Piazza del Grano, and immediately asked an audience of the porter; but he had absolute orders not to let a single person pass, for his lady was dressing. In vain did the Captain insist that his business was most urgent--that those orders were not to be regarded--that he should let him pass, or at least apprise the lady of his presence. The porter, born and educated at Innspruck, would not listen to his arguments; his lady had given orders that for an hour he should give ingress to no one, and until the sixty minutes were expired, no one should pass. There was no remedy; the Captain began to walk up and down the antechamber in a passion, but soon becoming weary of oscillating backwards and forwards like the pendulum of a clock, he saw that the amiable Caccini was also waiting for an audience. Exchanging a few words of courtesy with him, and finding him apparently all kindness, particularly towards the Lady Eleonora, whom, with an air of tenderness, and with eyes full of tears, he called his adored and virtuous patron, he incautiously intrusted him with the letter, begging him, for the love of Heaven, to take care and let no one see it, and to give it with his own hands to the Lady Eleonora. Scarcely had the Captain turned his back, when the musician concealed himself in the embrasure of a window, and treacherously opening the letter, learned from it the truth of what was generally suspected--that is to say, the intrigue of the knight with the Princess; wherefore, in the hope of a great reward, he went directly to the Grand Duke, and first, humbly craving pardon for having opened the letter, excusing himself by affirming that he had done so out of the great love he bore to the dignity of his gracious and noble lord and master, he placed it in his hands. The Grand Duke changed countenance while reading it, but having finished, with apparent tranquillity, he refolded it leisurely, and putting it into his bosom, said, in a serious voice, as was his custom--for rumor says he spoke briefly:

"Musician, I see here four guilty persons--the knight Antinori, who wrote this letter, Captain Antinori, who brought it, Eleonora, who was to receive it, and you, who opened it; go--each one shall be rewarded according to his deserts."

Isabella, a woman of singular excellence of disposition, rendered, by the unfortunate circumstances of her life, unhappy, but not suspicious, added quickly:

"Any one who loves me, must dismiss such wrong and unreasonable prejudices; in my opinion they are unworthy and unjust, and generally give evidence of an ill-natured disposition. All have the right of being judged according to their works. Be careful, my dear Lelio, always to have a clear conscience, and life will seem less burdensome to you than to the other children of Adam. Come, now, and learn the song of this brave Roman. How can you believe that a man capable of composing so sweet a melody, could have a bad heart?"

Thus does man judge!

The Duchess, taking the sheet of music in her hand, commanded Lelio, who obeyed not unwillingly, to sit by her side, and began to teach him where the voice should rest, and how and where it should glide at length, or quaver in melodious trills; in short, all the tastes of an accomplished musician. But Lelio paid more attention to the white hands than to the notes, and still more to the lovely face that grew animated over the music; wrapt in a kind of ecstasy, he not only ceased accompanying Lady Isabella, but could hardly draw his breath. Lady Isabella said:--"But keep on." And he, uttering with difficulty a faint note, was silent the next moment. The Lady Isabella, again, "Why do you stop?" And thus alternated reproofs and silence. Lelio, prompted by love, drew nearer to the Duchess; hence, it so chanced that some of her raven ringlets, stirred by the motion of her head, touched his cheek; the boy trembled in every limb, his eyes, suffused with tears, shone with a wild light, his dry lips burned; it seemed joy, but it was really pain. The cheek touched by the hair became red, as if burning metal had been applied to it, and the page could scarcely bear the keen and tremulous passion that agitated him; but recovering himself, he would again return to the trial, as we see the moth, led by fatal instinct, flutter round the flame that consumes him. Thus, not heeding the minutes that sped, the personages of our history remained a long time, until the Duchess, casually raising her eyes, saw standing before her Sir Troilo Orsini.

Troilo of the pallid brow! His eyes sparkled beneath his black and bushy eyebrows like the jackal's, eager for prey. He held his right hand within his black velvet mantle; his left hand, on his side, was holding his hat ornamented with black plumes; and so motionless was he, that one might have believed him a statue. Isabella encountered his malignant gaze without the slightest embarrassment, and paying no attention to it, said frankly:

"Welcome, Sir Troilo, and share my happiness, for I have discovered a new virtue in my page; he sings like an angel, and I intend to cultivate his voice till he is perfect; then, when he returns home, it will please his mother, and he will be the favorite of the ladies of Fermo."

Sir Troilo replied:

"You would repeat the injustice of Americus Vespucius, since I discovered before you did, that this youth, with proper instruction, might become a wonderful musician."

Lelio felt the keen satire, and his face burned, but he was silent.

"Your Ladyship," continued Sir Troilo, "I must now speak to you of something more important; please to listen to me.--Page, take these, and put them in my room, and be careful not to come back again until you are called."

"Save your honor, Sir Troilo, I am here in the service of her Ladyship the Duchess; and unless she be pleased to command otherwise, I beg of you to take it in courtesy, if I do not go."

This time it was Troilo who colored; and already some cutting reply quivered on his lip, when the Lady Isabella hastily interposed, saying:

"Lelio, obey Sir Troilo."

Lelio took the sword, gloves, and hat, and bowing low, walked slowly towards the door.

"Page!" cried Orsini after him, "carry my sword with both hands; it is heavy, and you may drop it."

Lelio drew the gleaming sword like lightning from its scabbard, and brandishing it swiftly around his head, replied with a bold voice, and without stopping:

"Never fear, Sir Troilo, for my heart and hand are strong enough to wield it as a gentleman against any honorable knight. You understand; against any knight."

If he added any other words, they were not heard, as he was so distant.

"See," said Sir Troilo, spitefully, closing the door of the hall, "see how your indiscreet mildness raises around you a troop of insolent fellows."

"I have not observed any insolent ones, although I have an ungrateful one, Sir Troilo."

And, seated side by side, they began to converse in low, but excited tones, and, to judge by their gestures and manner, it could be neither pleasure, kindness, nor any other tender feeling, that influenced this conversation, but reproofs, suspicions, and fears; the Omnipotent having ordained, in His eternal decrees, that man, for his sins, should never be perfectly happy.

Now my readers, especially my lady readers, must understand that three full years had elapsed since the day that Isabella and Troilo had sworn the eternity of an affection that never should have commenced; and three years is a long eternity in love affairs. Eternity! Fancy a word so unsuitable to the lips of man, still less to those of woman. Love engagements usually begin on two sides and end on one. It is the best plan, though one but rarely put into execution, to annul them at a fixed time by mutual consent. Contracts of love have not the same advantages as those of business. In the latter, before making such a contract, the person interested wishes to understand the exchanges, the purchases, the location, and the like, and the advantages accruing to him in the value, the expenses, and the accessories, like one accustomed to be mindful of his own interests in such affairs; but in the former he bargains and binds himself blindfold, awaiting the consummation before he reckons and judges how much he has gained by it. And this sad day of reckoning had come and passed for Isabella and Troilo, and by this time who knows how often they had summed it up! The truth of this history obliges us to confess that the lady had found herself at a great disadvantage, which fact contributed in no small degree to alienate the lovers. Indeed Isabella possessed an ardent love for true art, and for the pleasures of science; an apt and happy talent, and a very great enthusiasm; great kindness of disposition, sympathetic feelings, noble manners, lady-like elegance, and a courtesy truly regal. The sentiment of love remains. I cannot say that the power of loving was wanting in her, for it would not be true; but she was deceived, believing that that was an unconquerable necessity of the heart, which was merely an impulse of the imagination; and as there is nothing more ethereal than the fancy, or more ready to evaporate, she often not only wondered, but was terrified, to find herself cold towards persons and things for whom and which she had shortly before felt an ardent fondness. Happy would it have been for her if nature or art had balanced more equally her heart and her brain. Grave masters and solemn teachings had not been wanting; but if, when obliged to choose between severe precepts and easy ones, between strict teachings and mild ones, the second seem the pleasanter to follow, it need not be asked why they obtain the preference. In her father's house she was surrounded by the worst examples, and alas! miserable girl! they punished in her, the most innocent of them all, the crimes or consequences of crimes, of which her brothers should more justly have borne the penalties. Indeed, the various chronicles that I have examined concur in the same judgment, expressed in the following manner by one of them:--"Every one said that a remedy should have been adopted before Prince Francesco and her other brothers had made use of her to draw to their wishes other ladies of the city, carrying her out with them every night dressed as a man, and then pretending that she should remain a saint." Isabella, moreover, possessed, or better to express it, was possessed by what is called a poetic temperament--a warm heart in the power of an ardent imagination--like a bold knight on an unbridled horse, a situation replete with the saddest consequences.

And how did Troilo appear on the day of reckoning? Troilo of the pallid brow, the heavy eyebrow, and the falcon eye. If we consider his figure, few were the knights in Italy who could sustain any comparison with him. He was well formed in person, and of so handsome a face that artists of note had begged him to sit to them as a model, and he had consequently grown very vain. His hair was short and his face smooth, with the exception of a dark imperial and moustache. Having heard that Alexander the Great leaned his head upon his right shoulder, Troilo, not to be inferior to him, imitated the habit. He always dressed in black velvet; was usually sad and pensive, speaking rarely, not because he imagined himself a poor conversationalist, for he ranked himself on the contrary far above Cicero, but it was natural to him. When he said but little, people were persuaded that he was a man of remarkable talents and a keen observer of human affairs; but if he conversed at greater length the vanity of his mind was clearly manifested, as our ancestors aver the solidity of the vase to be proved by sounding it. How the Fates had placed such a head on such a body is a question not easily answered. It is very certain that he would have driven to despair those who undertake to discover by external signs the passions and imaginations of the soul. He surpassed all the noblemen of that age in prowess and courage. In the bloody quarrels of the barons, for which the streets of Rome were then notorious, he was always the first to commence and the last to retreat. Naturally strong, he fought with strength, although treason was the height of his ambition; and his favorite hero, the famous Alphonso Piccolomini, a celebrated highwayman whom Ferdinand dei Medici, as Cardinal, once saved from the gallows, but afterwards, as Grand Duke, hung. But in the battles where skill rather than strength is requisite, or where the one should be tempered by the other, he showed himself so incompetent that he could not be trusted with the rank even of a colonel of infantry; nor did he succeed any better in business transactions, for sometimes by his obstinate silence he inspired suspicion, and sometimes by his vain eloquence, even more obstinate, contempt. Hence the Medicis abstained from employing him, and kept him at home, like the Bucentaur, the ornamented and useless galley which the Venetians used to bring out on the occasion of the marriage of the Doge with the Adriatic; so his commissions consisted of congratulations, as his three embassies to France bear witness, where he was sent the first time to congratulate the Duke d'Anjou upon the victory which he had gained at Moncontour over the Admiral Coligny; the second was when Charles IX. espoused Elizabeth, the second daughter of the Emperor Maximilian; the third and last when the Duke d'Anjou, afterwards Henry III., was chosen King of Poland. And yet so vainglorious was he, that he never ceased reminding Isabella of the many and great sacrifices which he had made for her, in not fighting battles which he never would have fought, and constantly longed for the victories which he never could have achieved. His love for Isabella was idleness, the impulse of youthful blood, pride in conquering a woman so handsome and so deservedly celebrated. He soon grew weary of it, since forms, however beautiful, please by their variety; and the lady's talent, by humiliating him, was to him rather a cause of dislike than of admiration. I will not affirm that he hated Isabella, but he chafed impatiently under the tie, and even more impatiently when he found that he could not free himself from it, and strengthened it irrevocably by a fatal knot. His mind was closed against the noble, the decorous, the right, and the beautiful. If Isabella recited her own or another's poetry, he would fall asleep--a terrible slight to a poet, but to a poetess culpable beyond measure. Music gave him the headache. With all this he was tormented by a cold and apathetic jealousy, not because he loved Isabella, but because he wished Isabella to love him;--he wished that all might read around her neck these words, which used to be engraved upon the collars of slaves: "The property of Troilo Orsini." In short, the time had arrived when the joyous rosy garland woven by love was changed to a chain of remorse and hate, forged by the hands of the infernal Furies.