Before we are through with Dante's little book, we seem to feel that Beatrice must have lived, that she was flesh and blood as we are, and that she really graced the fair city on the Arno in her time, as the poet would have us believe. She is pictured in company with other ladies, upon the street, in social gatherings at the homes of her friends, in church at her devotions, in tears and laughter, and ever is she pictured with such love and tenderness that she will remain, as Professor Norton says, "the loveliest and the most womanly woman of the Middle Ages--at once absolutely real and truly ideal."

At her death, Dante is disconsolate for a time, and then devotes himself to study with renewed vigor; and he closes his story of her with the promise that he will write of her what has never yet been written of any woman. This antic.i.p.ates, perhaps, the _Divine Comedy_, which was yet to be written, wherein Beatrice was his guide through Paradise and where he accords her a place higher than that of the angels. It may mar the somewhat idyllic simplicity of this story to add that Dante was married some years later to Gemma Donati, the daughter of a distinguished Florentine family, but such was the case. Little is known of her, however, as Dante never speaks of her; and while there is no reason to suppose that their union was not a happy one, it is safe to conclude that it gave him no such spiritual uplift as he had felt from his youthful pa.s.sion.

The extent of Dante's greatness is to be measured not only by his wide learning--for he was the greatest scholar of his time--but also by his n.o.ble seriousness, which enabled him to penetrate through that which was light and frivolous to that which was of deep import to humanity. His was not the task of amusing the idle populace with what he wrote--he had a high duty, which was to make men think on the realities of life and of their own short-comings. People whispered, as he pa.s.sed along: "See his dark face and melancholy look! h.e.l.l has he seen and Purgatory, and Paradise as well! The mysteries of life are his, but he has paid the cost." And many went back to their pleasures, but some were impressed with his expression. Whence came his seriousness, whence came his penetrating glance and sober mien? Why did he move almost alone in all that heedless throng, intent upon the eternal truth? Because from early youth he had nourished in his heart a pure love which had chastened him and given him an understanding of those deeper things of the spirit, which was denied to most men of his time. Doubtless Dante would have been Dante, with or without the influence of Beatrice, but through her he received that broad humanity which makes him the symbol of the highest thought of his time.

Whatever the story of Petrarch and his Laura may lack in dignity when compared with that of Dante and Beatrice, it certainly does not lack in grace or interest. While Dante early took an interest in the political affairs which distracted Florence, and was of a stern and somewhat forbidding character, mingling study with action, Petrarch, humanist and scholar as he was, represents also the more polite accomplishments of his time, as he was a most polished courtier and somewhat vain of his fair person. Dante's whole exterior was characteristic of his mind. If accounts be true, his eyes were large and black, his nose was aquiline, his complexion dark, and in all his movements he was slow and deliberate. Petrarch, on the contrary, was more quick and animated; he had bright blue eyes, a fair skin, and a merry laugh; and he himself it is who tells us how cautiously he used to turn the corner of a street lest the wind should disarrange the elaborate curls of his beautiful hair. Though record is made of this side of his character, it must not be a.s.sumed that his mind was a frivolous one, for he may be considered--as Professor Robinson says--as "the cosmopolitan representative of the first great forward movement" in Western civilization and deserves to rank--as Carducci claims--with Erasmus and Voltaire, each in his time the intellectual leader of Europe.

With regard to Laura, Petrarch has left the following lines, which were inscribed upon the fly-leaf of a favorite copy of Virgil, wherein it was his habit to keep a record of all those things which most concerned him: "Laura, who was so distinguished by her own virtues and so widely celebrated by my poetry, first appeared before my eyes in my early manhood, in the year of our Lord 1327, upon the sixth day of April, at the first hour, in the Church of Santa Clara at Avignon; in the same city, in the same month of April, on the same sixth day, at the same first hour, in the year 1348, that light was taken from our day, while I, by chance, happened to be at Verona, ignorant, alas! of my fate. The sad news came to me at Parma, in a letter from my friend Ludovico, on the morning of the nineteenth of May of the same year. Her chaste and beautiful form was laid in the Church of the Franciscans, the evening of the day she died. I am persuaded that her soul returned, as Seneca says of Scipio Africa.n.u.s, to the heaven whence it came. I have experienced a certain satisfaction in writing this bitter record of a cruel event, especially in this place, where I may see it often, for so may I be led to reflect that life can afford me no further joys; and the most serious of my temptations being removed, I may be counselled by the frequent perusal of these lines and by the thought of my departing years, that now the time has come to flee from Babylon. This, with G.o.d's help, will be easy when I frankly and manfully consider the needless troubles of the past with its empty hopes and unexpected issue."

The Babylon to which Petrarch refers was Avignon, then the home of the popes, which he declares was a place filled with everything fearful that had ever existed or been conceived by a disordered mind--a veritable h.e.l.l on earth. But here he had stayed this quarter of a century, a captive to the charms of his fair Laura. According to the generally accepted story, she was of high birth, as her father--Audibert de Noves--was a n.o.ble of Avignon, who died in her infancy, leaving her a dowry of one thousand gold crowns, which would amount to almost ten thousand pounds sterling to-day, and which was a splendid marriage portion for that time. In 1325, two years before her meeting with Petrarch, she was married to Hugh de Sade, when she was but eighteen; and while her husband was a man of rank and of an age suited to her own, it does not appear that he was favored in mind or in body, or that there was any special affinity between them. In the marriage contract it was stipulated that her mother and brother were to pay the dower left by the father and also to bestow upon the bride two gowns for state ceremonies, one of them to be green, embroidered with violets, and the other of crimson, with a tr.i.m.m.i.n.g of feathers. Petrarch frequently alludes to these gowns, and in the portraits of Laura which have been preserved she is attired in either one or the other of them. Her personal beauty has been described in greatest detail by the poet, and it is doubtful if the features of any other woman and her general characteristics of mind and body were ever subjected to such minute a.n.a.lysis as is exemplified in the present instance. Hands and feet, hair, eyes, ears, nose, and throat--all are depicted in most glowing and appreciative fashion; and, from the superlative degree of the adjectives, she must indeed have been fair to look upon and possessed of a great compelling charm. But from her lovely mouth--_la bella bocca angelica_, as he calls it--there never came a weak or yielding word in answer to his pa.s.sionate entreaties. For this was no mystical love, no such spiritual affection as was felt by Dante, but the love of an active man of the world whose feelings had been deeply troubled. In spite of his pleadings, she remained unshaken; and although she felt honored by the affection of this man, and was entirely susceptible to the compliment of his poetry, and in spite of the current notions of duty and fidelity, which were far from exacting, she had a better self which triumphed. The profligate Madame du Deffand, who occupies so conspicuous a place in the annals of the French court in the days of its greatest corruption, has little sympathy with a situation of this kind, and is led to exclaim: _Le fade personnage que votre Petrarque! que sa Laure etait sotte et precieuse!_ But Petrarch himself thought otherwise, for he has written thereupon: "A woman taught me the duty of a man! To persuade me to keep the path of virtue, her conduct was at once an example and a reproach."

Without following it in all its various incidents, it will suffice to say that this love of Petrarch for Laura, which lasted for so many years, exerted a powerful influence upon the poet and had much to do in shaping the character which was to win for him in later times the praise which Pierre de Nolhac has bestowed upon him in calling him the first modern man. Petrarch considered unworthy, it is true, the poems and sonnets which he consecrated to the charms of Laura, and he even regretted that his fame should rest upon them, when, in his own estimation, his ponderous works in Latin were of much more consequence.

But, incidental to his pa.s.sion for Laura, he was led to discuss within himself the two conceptions of love which were current at that time,--the mediaeval and monkish conception, based upon a sensual idea which regarded women as the root of all evil and the source of all sin, and the modern or secular idea, which is spiritual and may become holy.

In an imaginary conversation with Saint Augustine which Petrarch wrote to furnish a vehicle for the discussion of these matters, the poet exclaims that it is the soul--the inborn and celestial goodness--that he loves, and that he owes all to her who has preserved him from sin and urged him on to a full development of his powers. The ultimate result of all this thought and all this reflection upon the nature of the affections developed the humanity of the man, excited broad interests within his breast, gave him a wide sympathy, and ent.i.tled him to rank as the first great humanist.

Dante, with his vague and almost mystical adoration of Beatrice, which was at times a pa.s.sion almost subjective, is still in the shadow of the Middle Ages, their gloom is still upon him, and he can see but dimly into the centuries which are still to come; but his face is glorified by his vision of the spiritual possibilities of good and n.o.ble womanhood.

Petrarch, in the brief interval which has pa.s.sed, has come out into the light of a modern world; and there, in the midst of baffled desire, he is brought face to face with the great thought that though love be human it has power divine.

CHAPTER VI

WOMEN IN THE EARLY RENAISSANCE

Although the fourteenth century in Italy was one of almost continuous warfare between the different contending states of the peninsula, the fact remains that the whole country was enjoying a degree of prosperity which was unprecedented in the history of the Italian people. It was the beginning of the age of the despots, it is true, but in the midst of strife and contention there was at the same time a material progress which did much to enrich the country and enable its inhabitants to elevate their standard of living. The Italian cities were encouraging business transactions on a large scale; Italian merchants were among the most enterprising on the continent, making long trips to foreign countries for the purpose of buying and selling goods; and the Oriental trade, which had been diverted in great measure to Italian channels, was a constant source of profit. That all this could be so in the face of the warlike condition of society is due to the fact that much of the fighting was done by mercenary soldiers, or that the political quarrels of the time, which frequently concerned the fate of cities, too often had their rise in family feuds which, no matter how fiercely they were waged, did not interest the ma.s.ses. There were always thousands upon thousands of worthy citizens who felt no direct personal interest in the outcome of the fighting, and who pursued the even tenor of their way without much regard for what was taking place, so far as allowing it to interfere with their daily occupations was concerned.

The general impression of the moral tone of this epoch in society is far from favorable. Divorce had become practically impossible for ordinary individuals; marriage was common enough, but appeared to possess no special sanct.i.ty; and as a result there were many illegitimate children, who seem, however, to have been recognized by their fathers and cared for with as great solicitude as were those who were born within the pale of the law. The ideas which were current regarding matters of decency and refinement will be found quite different from those prevalent in our own day. Coa.r.s.eness in speech and manner was common, no high moral standards were maintained, even by the Church, and diplomacy and calculation took the place of sincerity and conscience. Still, while these may have been the characteristics of a considerable number of the population, the fact must not be forgotten that even in that day of moral laxity there were many good and simple people who lived their homely lives in peace and quiet and contentment, unmoved by the rush of the world. We get a glimpse of what this simple life may have been from a charming little book by Pandolfino called _La Famiglia_, wherein the joys of family life are depicted in a most idyllic manner. The story deals with the beginning of the married life of a young couple; and we are shown how the husband takes the wife to his house after the wedding has been celebrated, displays to her his worldly possessions, and then turns them over to her keeping. After visiting the establishment and giving it a careful inspection, they kneel before the little shrine of the Madonna, which is near at hand, and there they pray devoutly that they may be given grace to profit by all their blessings, and that they may live long years together in peace and harmony, and the prayer ends with the wish that they may have many male children. The young wife is later advised not to paint her face, and to pay no attention to other men. There is no injunction to secrecy with regard to family affairs of importance, inasmuch as Pandolfino says very frankly that he doubts the ability of a woman to keep a secret, and that, while he is perfectly willing to grant that his wife is loving and discreet, he feels a much greater sense of security when he _knows_ she is unable to do him any harm. His quaint phrase is as follows: _Non perche io non conoscessi la mia amarevole e discreta, ma sempre estimai piu securo ch'ella non mi potesse nuocere che ella non volesse._

The material conditions for happiness--and they are certainly no unimportant factor--were wonderfully advanced, and the common people of Italy at this time were enjoying many comforts of life which were unknown to the higher cla.s.ses in other countries. The houses were generally large and of stone, supplies were plentiful and cheap, and, all in all, it appears to have been an age of abundance. It was customary for the housewives to lay in a supply of oil and wine for the year; they were most careful in regard to all matters of domestic economy and took a pride in their work. Indeed, Burckhardt has said that from this epoch dates the first conscious attempt to regulate the affairs of a household in a systematic way, and to this end it is interesting to note that bridal outfits were prepared with unusual care, special attention being given to the supply of household linen, which was sometimes elaborate. As a further aid to orderly housekeeping, it was often the custom for the wives to keep a careful account of daily expenditures, which they did with a skill that would doubtless cause the despair of many a modern housewife who has attempted the same thing. It must not be supposed, however, that the course of this domestic life was without annoyance, as even here at this early day servants were inclined to be exacting and hard to please. At least, that is the inference which may be drawn from a letter by an old notary of Florence, Lapo Mazzei, wherein he takes occasion to say, in inviting a friend to supper, that it will be entirely convenient to have him come, inasmuch as he has taken the precaution, in order not to trouble the house servants, to send to the bakery to be roasted a fat pullet and a loin of mutton!

Some of the customs of this time will seem to us quite primitive. It was an unheard-of thing, for example, to see carriages going about the streets, as they had not yet come into general use, and riding on horseback was the ordinary means of locomotion, even for ladies. Indeed, mention has been found in one of the early historians of an adventure which befell Louisa Strozzi, a daughter of the great Florentine house of Strozzi, as she was returning to her home, from a ball in the early morning hours, _on horseback_. It seems to have been the custom then, as now, to give b.a.l.l.s which lasted far into the night, and the growing wealth of the citizens caused an increasing love of display. In some communities laws were enacted in the interests of simplicity, and it was provided that not more than three dishes should be supplied for an ordinary entertainment, while twenty was the largest number which might be served at a wedding feast. With regard to matters of dress, Scipio Ammirato tells us in his sixteenth-century _History of Florence_ that in the earliest times the women had the simplest tastes and were "much more soft and delicate than the men," and he adds that "the greatest ornament of the most n.o.ble and wealthy woman of Florence was no other than a tight-fitting skirt of bright scarlet, without other girdle than a belt of antique style, and a mantle lined with black and white." Such simplicity, however, cannot have been long in vogue, for as early as 1323 the chronicler Villani informs us that the city authorities began to enact stringent sumptuary laws which were directed against the women.

Three years after this, we learn from the same source that the Duke of Milan had made complaint because the women of Florence had induced his wife to wear, "in front of her face," a most unsightly knot of yellow and white silk, in place of her own curls, a style of head-dress already condemned by the city fathers of Florence. After this incident, the historian adds, by way of sententious remark: "Thus did the excessive appet.i.te of the women defeat the reason and sense of the men." These laws of the year 1323 failed to prove effective, and finally, in 1330, more explicit measures were taken to check this growing evil. Villani had now best tell the story in his own words:

"The women of Florence were greatly at fault in the matter of superfluous ornaments, of crowns and wreaths of gold and silver and pearls and of other precious stones, and certain garlands of pearls, and other ornaments for the head, and of great price. Likewise they had dresses cut of several kinds of cloth and silk, with silken puffs of divers kinds, and with fringes of pearls, and little gold and silver b.u.t.tons, often of four and six rows together. It was also their custom to wear various strings of pearls and of precious stones at the breast, with different designs and letters. Likewise did they give costly entertainments and wedding parties, extravagant and with superfluous and excessive table." In the midst of this deplorable state of affairs, an ordinance was pa.s.sed forbidding women to wear crowns of any kind, even of painted paper; dresses of more than one piece and dresses with either painted or embroidered figures were forbidden, though woven figures were permitted. Also, bias patterns and stripes were put under the ban, excepting only those of not more than two colors. It was decided, furthermore, that more than two rings on a finger should not be tolerated. Other cities of Italy, having the same trouble to contend with, sent deputations to Florence asking for a copy of these regulations; this attempt on the part of the cities to control the habits of their citizens in these matters seems to have been quite general.

In matters of education more attention was paid to the boys than to the girls at this time, as the women were generally expected to let the men attend to the chief affairs of life, while they busied themselves with domestic duties. Still, it is on record that in the year 1338 there were from eight to ten thousand boys and girls in school in the city of Florence, learning to read. Among the people of the wealthy cla.s.s and of the n.o.bility, women were undoubtedly given greater educational advantages in many instances; and then again, in strictly academic circles, the daughters of a professor sometimes distinguished themselves for great learning and scholarship. It was at the University of Bologna in particular that women seem to have been most conspicuous in educational affairs, and here it was that a number of them were actually allowed to wear the robe of a professor and lecture to the students.

Among the number famed for their learning may be mentioned Giovanna Bianchetti and Maddalena Buonsignori, who gave instruction in law. The latter was the author of a small Latin treatise of some reputation, ent.i.tled _De legibus connubialis_, and the character of this legal work reveals the fact that she must have been much interested in the women of her time, for she has made here in some detail a study of their legal status from certain points of view. No list of this kind would be complete without mention of Novella d'Andrea, who was perhaps the best known of all these learned women, for to her erudition was added a most marvellous beauty which alone would have been sufficient, perhaps, to hand her name down to posterity. Her father was a professor of canonical law at the University of Bologna, and there it was that she became his a.s.sistant, and on several occasions delivered lectures in his stead. At such times it was her custom, if the tradition be true, to speak from behind a high screen, as she had found out from experience that the students were so bewildered by her grace and charm, when she stood openly before them, that they were in no mood for serious study, but gazed at her the while in undisguised admiration.

However pleasurable it may prove to reflect upon this peaceful scene, the fact must not be forgotten that more women were aiding men, directly or indirectly, to break laws than to make them, for many of the most bitter feuds and controversies of the time were waged about a woman.

Bianchina, the wife of Vergusio Landi, seduced by the great Galeazzo Visconti, who had been her husband's friend and ally, became the cause of a most ferocious war which was waged between the cities of Milan and Piacenza; Virginia Galucci, abducted by Alberto Carbonesi, brought about a long-standing hostility between these two families and caused much blood to be spilled; many other instances might be cited which would reveal the same state of affairs. A few of the most remarkable of these feuds have been deemed worthy of more extended notice, and the first among the number concerns the quarrel between the Buondelmonti and the Amedei, in Florence, in the thirteenth century. Buondelmonte de'

Buondelmonti, a young n.o.bleman from the upper Val d'Arno and a member of the Guelph party, was to marry a daughter of the house of Amedei, staunch Ghibelline supporters, and the wedding day was fast approaching; one day the young Guelph was met upon the street by a lady of the Donati family, also a Guelph, who reproached him for his intended union with one of the hated party, and urged him to marry her own daughter, Ciulla, who was far more desirable. The sight of the fair Donati was too much for the quick pa.s.sions of Buondelmonte; he fell in love with her at once, and straightway repudiated his former plan of marriage. It may well be imagined that the Amedei were enraged at this; the powerful Uberti and all the other Ghibelline families in Florence, about twenty-four in all, joined with them, and they swore to kill the fickle young lover on sight. On Easter morning, they lay in wait for the handsome but heedless young Buondelmonte at the north end of the Ponte Vecchio; and when he appeared, boldly riding without an escort, all clothed in white and upon a milk-white steed, they fell upon him and struck him to the ground, and left him dying there, his Easter tunic dripping with his blood. Their savage yell of triumph over this a.s.sa.s.sination was not the end, but the beginning, for forty-two Guelph families immediately took up the quarrel and swore to avenge the death of their comrade, and for more than thirty years the strife continued.

The story of Imelda de' Lambertazzi is even more tragic in its results, as here the woman has to suffer as well as the man, and in its general outlines this incident recalls many of the features of _Romeo and Juliet_, though there is no evidence that Shakespeare used it in any way, but rather confined his attention to the traditional story of the lovers of Verona. The Lambertazzi were a n.o.ble family of Bologna, and the daughter of the house had long been wooed most ardently by Bonifacio de' Geremei, whose family was in deadly feud with her own. Yielding finally to his entreaties, she allowed him to come to see her in her own apartments; but there they were surprised by her two brothers, who considered his presence as an affront offered not only to their sister, but to their house. Imelda barely had time to escape before the two men rushed upon Bonifacio, who was powerless to defend himself. With poisoned daggers, whose secret had been learned from the Saracens by the Crusaders, he was speedily stabbed to the heart, and then dragged into a dark corner beneath a winding staircase. After seeing her brothers leave the palace, Imelda returned to discover her lover's fate, while they rushed off to raise a hue and cry and plan for further deeds of violence. Imelda found the room where she had left the struggling men empty, but, following the drops of blood upon the floor, she soon came to the lifeless body hidden away. Drawing it out to the light, she found that it was still warm, and, knowing the secret of her brothers'

weapons, she resolved upon a desperate remedy, and endeavored to suck the poison from the wounds. The result of this most heroic attempt was fearful: the poison was communicated to her own veins, and she was soon stretched lifeless beside the luckless lover. There they were found by anxious servants, who, knowing of the quarrel, had not dared to stir about at first. Hallam says, after his account of this event: "So cruel an outrage wrought the Geremei to madness; they formed alliances with some of the neighboring republics; the Lambertazzi took the same measures; and after a fight in the streets of Bologna of forty days'

duration, the latter were driven out of the city, with all the Ghibellines, their political a.s.sociates. Twelve thousand citizens were condemned to banishment, their houses razed, and their estates confiscated."

Another story of b.l.o.o.d.y violence centres in the territory from Padova and Treviso, on the one hand, to Vicenza and Verona, on the other; and while the incidents took place in mediaeval times, dating from the latter part of the twelfth century, the consequences were so widespread and so lasting that they were by no means dead in the days of the early Renaissance. Tisolino di Camposampiero, a n.o.bleman of Padova, confided to his friend Ezzelino, the feudal lord of Onar and Romano, that it was his intention to marry his son to the rich heiress of Abano, Cecilia Ricco by name. Ezzelino received this confidence, and promised to keep the secret; but no sooner had he parted from the Padovan n.o.bleman than he made plans of his own, and succeeded in marrying his own son to the desirable heiress before Tisolino could interpose. What more was needed to start a feud of the first magnitude? Tisolino's disappointed son, whose heart was now filled with vengeance rather than with unrequited love, abducted his former fiancee by means of a clever ruse, and carried her off to his father's stronghold. The next day she was sent back, dishonored, to her husband, who refused to receive her under these circ.u.mstances; but at the same time he felt no compunctions about retaining her extensive dowry, which comprised many strong castles and other feudal holdings. Then the long struggle began which was to take many lives and last for many years. Succeeding generations inherited the hatred as one of their most cherished possessions, and it was almost a century before the quarrel spent itself.

One of the most beautiful and pathetic stories of this whole period, however, is the one which concerns the fate of Madonna Francesca, daughter of Guido the Elder, Lord of Ravenna and of Cervia. For many years, according to Boccaccio's account, Guido had waged a grievous war with the Lord Malatesta of Rimini, and finally, when peace was brought about between them through the mediation of friends, it was thought advisable to cement the friendship with as close a tie as possible. To that end, Guido agreed to give his fair young daughter, Francesca, in marriage to Gianciotto, Malatesta's son, without a thought to her own desires in the matter. When the plan was noised abroad, certain friends of Guido, knowing Gianciotto to be lame and rather rough in his manners, and considering it very doubtful whether Francesca would consent to marry him when once she had seen him, came to the father and urged him to act with discretion, so that no scandal might arise over the matter.

It happened that there was a younger son of the house of Malatesta, Paolo by name, who was young and handsome and possessed of most courtly and winning manners, and it was advised that he be sent to marry Francesca by proxy in his brother's stead, and that she should be kept in ignorance regarding the real state of affairs until it was too late to withdraw her word. So Paolo came to Ravenna with a brilliant train of gentlemen to celebrate the wedding festivities; and as he crossed the courtyard of the palace on the morning of his arrival, a maid who knew him pointed him out to Francesca through the open window, saying: "That is he who is to be your husband." This Francesca believed, as she had no reason to think otherwise, so skilfully was the marriage ceremony arranged, and it was not until her arrival at Rimini that she knew her fate. For there, on the morning following her coming, as she saw Gianciotto rise from her side, when she had thought him to be Paolo, the sad truth burst upon her. What excuses Paolo could give for this strange deception we are not told, but the fact remains that Francesca still loved him, and looked with scorn upon his misshapen brother. From that time the dangerous moment slowly approached. Living together in the same palace, it was but natural that Paolo and Francesca should be much in each other's society; while Gianciotto, unloved and unlovely, busied himself with his own affairs, which sometimes took him to other cities, as he was a man of ambition and essayed by political manoeuvres to advance his own interests. It happened once that in returning from one of these journeys he saw Paolo enter Francesca's room, and then for the first time he became jealous. Hitherto he had known of their affection for each other, but it had never dawned upon him that his own brother could thus betray his trust, while under his roof and receiving his protection. Now he rushed up the broad stairway and made straight for Francesca's door, anxious to know the worst. The door was found locked before him, and his hurried knocks brought sudden terror to the lovers within. There was an open window, however, through which Paolo counted upon disappearing, and so he bade the lady make haste to open to her lord, that he might not be curious. As Francesca opened the door, Paolo found to his dismay that the edge of his cloak had caught upon a nail; so that when Gianciotto, red with anger, burst into the room, the fatal secret was disclosed. Grasping his dagger, without a moment's hesitation, he stepped quickly to the window and would have slain his brother with a single mighty blow, but Francesca, throwing herself before him, sheathed the dagger in her heart and fell dead at his feet.

Gianciotto, still burning for revenge, and unmoved by his first b.l.o.o.d.y deed, again struck at Paolo, and this time he slew him. Then, following the words of the old story, "leaving them both dead, he hastily went his way and betook him to his wonted affairs; and the next morning the two lovers, with many tears, were buried together in one grave."

There is a terrible pathos about this story which has made it live during all these years. Through every line of it runs a commentary upon the barbarous customs of the time, which made such a situation possible, and its climax was so inevitable and so necessary, according to all the laws of nature, that we of a later day are inclined to shed a sympathetic tear and heave a sigh of regret.

Dante has placed the two lovers in his _Inferno_ for their sin, but in the fifth canto, where he first sees them, he is moved to such pity for their unhappy lot that he exclaims:

"...Francesca, i tuoi martiri A lagrimar mi fanno tristo e pio!"

[Thine agonies, Francesca, sad and compa.s.sionate to weeping make me!]

And before she finished telling her tragic story, he swooned away as if he had been dying, "and fell, even as a dead body falls."

In a more recent time this story has been told by Silvio Pellico, who wrote a tragedy on the subject, and by Leigh Hunt in a poem. In England, Boker wrote a successful tragedy upon it many years ago, and more recently Stephen Phillips, in his _Paolo and Francesca_, has produced a dramatic poem of rare merit. Most recently of all, Gabriele d'Annunzio, the well-known Italian poet and novelist, has made this story the subject of a powerful drama, which was interpreted in a most wonderful way by the great Italian actress, Eleonora Duse. To show that others than poets have been inspired by Francesca's unhappy history, it may be of interest to record the fact that noted pictures ill.u.s.trating the story have been painted by many of the greatest artists.

To return to that early period in Italian history, so filled with strife and discord, it should be said that in spite of this constant warfare, the richer princes, especially in the north of Italy, lived in a most sumptuous manner, and prepared the way, to a certain degree, for the splendor of Lorenzo the Magnificent, which was to appear in the century following. The women in these regal courts were clothed in the most extravagant fashion, and the precious stuffs and precious stones of all the known world were laid at their feet by their admirers. Among these affluent n.o.blemen of the fourteenth century, Galeazzo Visconti was generally considered the handsomest man of his age. Symonds tells us that he was tall and graceful, with golden hair which he wore in long plaits, or tied up in a net, or else loose and crowned with flowers. By nature he was fond of display, liked to make a great show of his wealth, and spent much money in public entertainments and feasts and in the construction of beautiful palaces and churches. His wealth was so great and his reputation had gone so far abroad that he was able to do what other rich Italian n.o.blemen accomplished in a somewhat later time--arrange royal marriages for some of his children. His daughter Violante was wedded with great ceremony to the Duke of Clarence, son of Edward III. of England, who is said to have received with her as a dowry the sum of two hundred thousand golden florins, and at the same time five cities on the Piedmont frontier. London was a muddy, unpaved city at this time, primitive in the extreme; the houses were still covered with thatched roofs, beds were still made upon bundles of straw cast upon the floors, and wine was so scarce that it was generally sold for medicinal purposes. It has been pointed out that it must have been a strange experience for this English n.o.bleman to leave all that and come to a country of warmth and sunshine, where the houses were large and comfortable and made of marble, where the streets were dry and paved, where wine was as plenty as water, and where ease and luxury were seen on every hand.

This royal marriage was celebrated at Pavia, where Galeazzo held his court, and the historian Giovio has given some curious and interesting details regarding it. He says that on the completion of the ceremony Galeazzo gave rich gifts to more than two hundred Englishmen, and it was generally considered that he had shown himself more generous than the greatest kings. At the wedding feast, Gian Galeazzo, the bride's brother,--who was afterward married to Isabella, the daughter of King John of France,--at the head of a band of n.o.ble youths, brought wonderful new gifts to the table with the arrival of each new course upon the bill of fare. "At one time it was sixty most beautiful horses, adorned with gold and silver trappings; at another, silver plate, hawks, hounds, fine cuira.s.ses, suits of armor of wrought steel, helmets decorated with crests, tunics adorned with pearls, belts, precious jewels set in gold, and great quant.i.ties of cloth of gold and crimson stuff for the making of garments. Such was the profusion at this banquet that the remnants taken from the table were more than enough to supply ten thousand men." Not every heiress in Italy could have gloried in such a wedding feast as the one given in honor of Violante Visconti, but the wealth of these petty rulers was something almost incredible, and the general prosperity of the common people pa.s.ses belief. As has always been the case under such circ.u.mstances, increasing wealth has brought about increased expenditure, princ.i.p.ally in matters of dress, and the women in particular seem to have made the most of this opportunity.

Vanity and frivolity multiplied on every hand as a natural consequence; the Church was growing daily less able to cope with the moral degeneracy of the time on account of its own immoral condition; thus, the foundations were being laid for those centuries of corruption and national weakness which were soon to follow.

CHAPTER VII

WOMEN IN THE LATER RENAISSANCE

The age of Lorenzo de' Medici--that bright fifteenth century--in the history of the Italian peninsula was signalized by such achievement and definite result in the intellectual emanc.i.p.ation of the minds of men, art and poetry were given such an impetus and showed promise of such full fruition, that he who would now conjure up the picture of that fair day is well-nigh lost in wonderment and awe. But in this love of art and worship of the beautiful it soon becomes apparent that pagan influences were stealing into daily life, and that the religion of the Christian Church was fast becoming an empty form which had no value as a rule of conduct. Blind faith in the power of the Vicar of Christ to forgive the sins of this world still remained, and in that one way, perhaps, did the Church manage to exist throughout this period; for men, sinful and irreligious and blasphemous as they certainly were, were none the less so impressed with the possibilities of suffering in a future state that they insisted upon priestly absolution--which they accepted with implicit confidence--before setting out upon their journey into the Unknown. The most terrible crimes were matters of common occurrence and were allowed to go unrebuked, at least by the moral sentiment of the community; adultery was too frequent, murder caused little comment, and incest was not unknown. The pursuit of pleasure was of no less importance than the pursuit of fame and glory; the Italian idea of honor was in perfect harmony with deceit and treachery; and unclean living, and a married woman was considered above reproach so long as she did not allow her acts of infidelity to become known to all the world.

In an age of this kind it cannot be said that the women occupied a position which is to be envied by the women of to-day. It is not to be expected that the women will show themselves better than the men at such a time, and when was there a better opportunity for vice to run riot?

The convents of the time were, almost without exception, perfect brothels, and the garb of the virgin nun was shown scant respect--and was ent.i.tled to still less. Venice became a modern Corinth, and was a resort for all the profligates of the continent; it was estimated that there were twelve thousand prost.i.tutes within its gates at the beginning of the fifteenth century. A century later, Rome counted no less than seven thousand of these unsavory citizens, and they, with their villainous male confederates, who were ever ready to rob, levy blackmail, or commit murder, did much to make the Holy City almost uninhabitable in the days of Pope Innocent VIII. As Symonds has said, the want of a coordinating principle is everywhere apparent in this Italian civilization; the individual has reached his personal freedom, but he has not yet come to a comprehension of that higher liberty which is law; pa.s.sions are unbridled, the whim of the moment is an all-compelling power, and the time was yet far in the distance when society could feel itself upon a firm foundation.

From all that can be learned, it appears that women were not treated with any special respect; men were free to indulge in the most ribald conversation in their presence, and it has yet to be proved that they took offence at this unbecoming liberty. The songs which were composed at Carnival time were dedicated to the ladies especially, and yet in all literature it would be difficult to find anything more indecent. Society was simply in a crude state so far as its ideas of decency and delicacy were concerned, and both men and women were often lacking in what are now considered to be the most elementary notions of propriety. As the men were by far the more active and the more important members of each community, it cannot be said that women were looked upon with equal consideration. The Oriental idea of women in general, as domestic animals whose duty it was to minister to the wants and pleasures of their master and superior, lordly man, was but slowly vanishing, and many centuries of suffering, experience, and education were to intervene before saner and truer notions could prevail. Lorenzo de' Medici, in writing of a beautiful and talented woman, makes the following statement: "Her understanding was superior to her s.e.x, but without the appearance of arrogance or presumption; and she avoided an error too common among women, who, when they think themselves sensible, become for the most part insupportable." It is evident that if women were generally held in as high esteem as men, it is altogether unlikely that the expression "superior to her s.e.x" would have been employed, and the latter part of the sentence leads to the further inference that pretentious and pedantic women of the kind referred to were not altogether uncommon at this time.

No better ill.u.s.tration of the relative position of women in society can be found than in one of the letters received by Lorenzo from his wife, who was a member of the old and proud Orsini family, which was much more aristocratic than his own. She addresses him by the term _Magnifice Conjux_, which certainly does not betoken a very great degree of intimacy between husband and wife; and the letter concerns the unbearable conduct of the poet Poliziano, who was then an inmate of their house and the private teacher of their children. It seems that he had persecuted her with his attentions, and she is led to protest against his continued employment. In spite of her protest, however, she meekly adds: "Know, I should say to you, that if you desire him to remain, I shall be very content, although I have endured his uttering to me a thousand villainies. If this is with your permission, I am patient, but I cannot believe such a thing." Lorenzo's behavior upon the receipt of this letter will be of interest and will throw much light upon the question involved. Did he burn with indignation at this story of Poliziano's disgraceful conduct and did he dismiss him from his service forthwith as one unworthy of his trust? By no means. The children were soon after taken away from their mother's supervision and sent off to a villa not far from Florence, where they were put entirely under the control of the man who had just insulted their mother! Furthermore, Boccaccio wrote, at a somewhat earlier date it is true, but in a state of society which differed little from that under discussion, that women were of little real consequence in the world, and that "since but few good ones are to be found among them, they are to be avoided altogether."

[Ill.u.s.tration 2: _ITALIAN WEDDING COSTUMES AND CUSTOMS, FIFTEENTH CENTURY After a contemporary painting in the Guanazzi Gallery, Florence.

Represents nearly all that was known of the civil n.o.ble life at the beginning of the fifteenth century. The instruments of the musicians, who are seated on a slight elevation, bear representations of the old arms of the Florentine Republic (red fleur-de-lis on a silver field). In the background is seen the baptistery. The bride is clothed in a robe of black velvet, with gold embroideries. Her hand is in that of her husband, who, according to the mode, is bareheaded. After the wedding ma.s.s, he receives his guests before the door of his house._]

The position occupied by women in the eyes of the law is somewhat more difficult to determine, but it may be said with certainty that they took no part in the public duties of life and seem to have manifested no yearnings in that direction. They did not vote or hold public office, and would no doubt have looked inquiringly and without comprehension at anyone who proposed such possibilities. Women were evidently being shielded and protected as much as possible; property was rarely held by them in their own names, and the laws appear to have been made for the men almost exclusively. It will be remembered, perhaps, that when Dante was banished from Florence, his wife was allowed to continue her residence in that city without molestation, and was even able to save much of their property from confiscation and devote it to the education of their children. Later on, when Carlo Strozzi was sent away in exile, his family was not disturbed in the least, and it was during his absence from the city that his daughter Maddalena was married to Luchino Visconti in the midst of most brilliant ceremonies. Guests were invited from all the north of Italy, there were horseraces and tournaments, and the whole function was one of great pomp and brilliancy. The brothers and grown sons of exiled citizens were never accorded such consideration, and it is but fair to a.s.sume that the popular sentiment of the time demanded this exceptional treatment for the women. At one time it was even held to be against the Florentine statutes to banish a woman; in 1497, at the time of a conspiracy to restore the banished Piero de' Medici to power, his sister, though proved to have conspired in equal measure with the men, was not given an equal measure of punishment; she was merely kept in seclusion for a period at the palace of Guglielmo de' Pazzi, and was then set at liberty through the influence of Francesco Valori, to whom it seemed unworthy to lay hands upon a woman.

In the midst of this exciting and excited world, it may well be imagined that the pa.s.sions were strong and that women of charm and beauty were able to exercise no little influence upon the men who came within their power. Never, perhaps, in the history of modern civilization has the aesthetic instinct of a people been so thoroughly aroused as it was in Italy at this time, and the almost pagan love of beauty which possessed them led to many extravagances in their sentimental conceptions. As Lorenzo de' Medici was the most powerful and distinguished Italian of his time, so may he be termed its representative lover, for his excursions into the land of sentiment may be considered as typical of his day and generation. The first pa.s.sion of his heart was purely subjective and artificial, the result of a forcing process which had been induced by the power of brotherly love. It so happened that Lorenzo's brother Giuliano, who was a.s.sa.s.sinated later by the Pazzi, loved, very tenderly, a lady named Simonetta, reputed to be the most beautiful woman in all Florence; so great was her fame that she was quite generally spoken of as _la bella Simonetta_, and the artist Botticelli, who had an eye for a pretty woman, has left us a portrait which vouches for her charms in no uncertain way. She was but a fragile flower, however, and died in the bloom of youth, mourned by her lover with such genuine grief that, with one impulse, all sought to bring him consolation. Letters of condolence were written in prose and verse, sonnets were fairly showered upon him, and Greek and Latin were used as often as Italian in giving expression to the universal sorrow. But how all this affected Lorenzo, and what inspiration it gave to his muse, he had best relate in his own words, for the tale is not devoid of romance, and he alone can do it justice:

"A young lady of great personal charm happened to die at Florence; and as she had been very generally admired and beloved, so her death was as generally lamented. Nor was this to be marvelled at, for she possessed such beauty and such engaging manners that almost every person who had any acquaintance with her flattered himself that he had obtained the chief place in her affections. Her sad death excited the extreme regret of her admirers; and as she was carried to the place of burial, with her face uncovered, those who had known her in life pressed about her for a last look at the object of their adoration, and then accompanied her funeral with their tears. On this occasion, all the eloquence and all the wit of Florence were exerted in paying due honors to her memory, both in verse and prose. Among the rest, I, also, composed a few sonnets, and, in order to give them greater effect, I tried to convince myself that I too had been deprived of the object of my love, and to excite in my own mind all those pa.s.sions which might enable me to move the affections of others."

In this attempt to put himself in the place of another, Lorenzo de'

Medici began to wonder how it would seem to have such grief to bear on his own account; and then his thoughts went still further afield, and he found himself speculating as to whether or not another lady could be found of the same merit and beauty as the lamented Simonetta. In the midst of the great number of those who were writing eulogistic poetry in this lady's honor, Lorenzo began to feel that the situation lacked distinction, and he was not slow to realize what great reputation might be acquired by the lucky mortal who could unearth another divinity of equal charm. For some time he tried in vain, and then suddenly success crowned his efforts, and he has told us in what manner. "A public festival was held in Florence, to which all that was n.o.ble and beautiful in the city resorted. To this I was brought by some of my companions (I suppose as my destiny led) against my will, for I had for some time past avoided such exhibitions; or if at times I had attended them, it proceeded rather from a compliance with custom than from any pleasure I experienced in them. Among the ladies there a.s.sembled, I saw one of such sweet and charming manners that I could not help saying, as I looked at her, 'If this person were possessed of the delicacy, the understanding, and the accomplishments of her who is lately dead, most certainly she excels her in the charm of her person.' Resigning myself to my pa.s.sion, I endeavored to discover, if possible, how far her manners and conversation agreed with her appearance; and here I found such an a.s.semblage of extraordinary endowments that it is difficult to say whether she excelled more in person or in mind. Her beauty was, as I have said before, astonishing. She was of a just and proper height. Her complexion was extremely fair, but not pale, blooming, but not ruddy.

Her countenance was serious without being severe, mild and pleasant without levity or vulgarity. Her eyes were sparkling, but without indication of pride or conceit. Her whole figure was so finely proportioned that amongst other women she appeared with superior dignity, yet free from the least degree of formality or affectation. In walking or in dancing, or in other exercises which display the person, every motion was elegant and appropriate. Her sentiments were always just and striking and have furnished me material for some of my sonnets; she always spoke at the proper time, and always to the purpose, so that nothing could be added, nothing taken away.... To recount all her excellencies would far exceed my present limits, and I shall therefore conclude with affirming that there was nothing which could be desired in a beautiful and accomplished woman which was not in her most abundantly found. By these qualities, I was so captivated that not a power or faculty of my body or mind remained any longer at liberty, and I could not help considering the lady who had died as the star of Venus, which at the approach of the sun is totally overpowered and extinguished."