Part 10 (1/2)
CHAPTER X.
VITTORIA DI COLONNA.
”Vittoria e 'l nome; e ben conviensi a nata Fra le vittorie, ed a chi, o vada o stanzi, Di trofei sempre e di trionfi ornata, La Vittoria abbia seco, o dietro o innanzi.
Questa e un' altra Artemisia, che lodata.
Fu di pieta verso il suo Mausolo; anzi Tanto maggior, quanto e piu a.s.sai bel opra Che por _sotterra_ un nom, trarlo _di sopra_.”
Ariosto. _Orlando_, x.x.xvii., 18.
Costanza, the young and beautiful d.u.c.h.ess of Francavilla, had, at the beginning of the century, the fortress of the little island of Ischia committed to her charge. This young widow had sense, goodness, courage, rare prudence, energy, and fidelity; or Ischia, the key of the kingdom, and more than once a royal asylum, would never have been entrusted to her keeping.
She was not only guardian of the castle and island, but of her infant brother, Ferdinand, Marquis of Pescara. In his fifth year, the little fellow was betrothed to the baby Vittoria Colonna, of the same age, who was thenceforth consigned to the d.u.c.h.ess Costanza, to be educated with her future husband; and the little _promessi sposi_ might be seen straying about together, hand in hand, sharing their sweetmeats and play-things, and now and then having a little fight.
”Let dogs delight,” however, was so strenuously inculcated by the d.u.c.h.ess, that reciprocal forbearance soon cemented their affections. The Marquis was taught that he must reserve kicks and blows for his future enemies, and Vittoria that she must learn to bind up wounds rather than inflict them. And so they chased b.u.t.terflies, gathered flowers, and hunted for strawberries together, themselves the prettiest blossoms that ever floated on summer air.
”Ah, lovely sight! behold them,--creatures twain, Hand in hand wandering thro' some verdant alley, Or sunny lawn of their serene domain, Their wind-caught laughter echoing musically; Or skimming, in pursuit of bird-cast shadows, With feet immaculate the enamelled meadows.”
”Tiptoe now stand they by some towering lily, And fain would peer into its snowy cave; Now, the boy bending o'er some current chilly, She feebler backward draws him from the wave, But he persists, and gains for her at last Some bright flowers, from the dull weeds hurrying past.”[12]
[12] Aubrey de Vere. ”A Tale of the Olden Time.”
And thus the little betrothed led charmed lives, sporting and caressing, in the intervals of learning hymns and legends and listening to the d.u.c.h.ess's fairy tales.
She also taught them a good deal of history by word of mouth, so that they came to be quite as conversant with Romulus and Remus, Curtius and Horatius Cocles, as with giants and dwarfs. Then came the conning of the criss-cross row, duly followed by the Latin accidence, each rivalling and yet helping the other. Learned tutors and gifted artists gave the d.u.c.h.ess their aid; and thus the tranquil days glided on till they were nineteen; the bloodshed and anarchy which distracted unhappy Italy never troubling this charmed islet.
Bishop Berkeley said of Ischia, in a letter to Pope: ”'Tis an epitome of the whole earth! containing within the compa.s.s of eighteen miles a wonderful variety of hills, vales, rugged rocks, fruitful plains, and barren mountains, all thrown together in most romantic confusion. The air is, in the hottest season, constantly refreshed by cool breezes from the sea; the vales produce excellent wheat and Indian corn, but are mostly covered with vineyards, interspersed with fruit trees. Besides the common kinds, as cherries, apricots, peaches, &c., they produce oranges, limes, almonds, pomegranates, figs, water-melons, and many other fruits unknown in our climate, which lie everywhere open to the pa.s.senger. The hills are the greater part covered to the top with vines; some with chesnut groves, and others with thickets of myrtle and lentiscus.”
During this interval, Pescara had grown up into a strikingly handsome and interesting youth. His hair, says Giovio, was auburn, his nose aquiline, his eyes large and expressive; alternately flas.h.i.+ng with spirit and melting with softness. Vittoria wors.h.i.+pped him; and this was so artlessly manifest that Pescara grew a little arrogant upon it. She was a lovely blonde, with regular features, blue eyes, and hair of that tint which Petrarch described as ”chioma aurata,” and which Galeazzo da Tarsia, one of her poet-lovers, called ”trecce d'oro.” The Spanish painter, Francesco d'Olanda, spoke of her rare beauty; and Michael Angelo felt its powerful though innocent spell when, after their tender leave-taking on her death-bed, he regretted that he had not kissed her cheek instead of her hand.
Vittoria's father, in spite of his grand, historic name, was but a condottiere or captain of free lances, whose business and pleasure consisted in bloodshed and rapine. He dwelt perched up in an old ancestral castle overlooking a gloomy little walled town on a steep hill-side, from whence he and his men would now and then sweep down to devastate the property of his neighbours, much in the style of our own border chiefs. It was his son Ascanio, Vittoria's brother, who made war on Giulia, and seized her castles.
Thus, Vittoria, the daughter and sister of fighting men, was ready to admire and sympathize in the martial ardour of Pescara, which would have had something respectable in it, had any one fought in those days for any grand principle.
At nineteen, the betrothed were married. Of course there was much rejoicing, much feasting; chroniclers record the homages Vittoria received from rich relations, in the shape of diamond crosses, diamond rings, ”twelve golden bracelets,” &c., and recount the crimson velvet gowns fringed with gold, the flesh-coloured silk petticoats trimmed with black velvet, the purple brocaded mantles and so forth, composing her wardrobe, which doubtless exemplified the height of the fas.h.i.+on of the time.
After the great stir was a great calm: two years ensued of perfect married happiness. Then the young Marquis was summoned to the field; nor did Vittoria seek to withhold him from the call to arms. The King of Spain was also King of Naples, so of course Pescara fought on the Spanish side: but the French were victorious at Ravenna, where he was taken prisoner, after receiving some wounds in the face, which, the d.u.c.h.ess of Milan told him, only made him the better-looking.
He charmed his captivity by addressing to his wife a Dialogue on Love, full of the studied conceits of the time. Vittoria sent him a poetical epistle, full of tenderness and cla.s.sicality. Playing on her own name, she said:--”Se Vittoria volevi, io t'era appresso. Ma tu, lasciando me, lasciasti lei.”
”If victory was what you wanted, _I_ was by your side. But, leaving _me_, you lost _her_.”
One day, when she was with tearful eyes, inditing a sonnet to him, lo, Pescara himself suddenly stood before her! He had been released on paying a heavy ransom: she looked on him as ”un gran capitano.”
Before their happiness could pall, he was off again, to win new laurels.
He had, indeed, bravery worthy of some good cause; but he was a stern, inflexible commander: and in doing justice, he sometimes lost sight of mercy.
Pescara supplied his wife with an occupation during his absence, by sending her a young boy to educate; a little cousin of his own, the Marquis del Vasto; beautiful as a Cupid, but the naughtiest little Turk!